 | CHAPTER VIII. Nix's mate |  |
8. CHAPTER VIII.
The will of the people is above all law.
The Heaven-Born.
The devil take the hindmost.
Old Saw.
Fort Hill forever!
Boston Boys.
It was broad noon before our adventurer woke
from the heavy slumber in which the excitement and
suffering of the previous evening had thrown him.
As soon as he had hurried on his dress and taken a
short repast, he proceeded without delay to the house
of the hospitable apothecary, where he found every
thing ready prepared for the funeral. In less than two
hours after, the body was consigned to the earth; but
Fitzvassal felt that its spirit was still around him, to
warn him, and, if possible, to keep his feet from falling.
He now ascertained from the boy Willy, who had
been in the Poor-House with the unfortunate wife of
Classon, that so great were the privations, and so humiliating
the mortifications to which they had been
compelled to submit, that she determined to rely in
though her health was much broken, and there did
not seem to her to be a prospect of long continuance
on earth. The boy had become attached to her because
she was the first and only person that ever
seemed to take any interest in him; and when she
left, he contrived means to deliver himself likewise
from the life-in-death they endured from the harsh
charities of the world.
Of all forms of human suffering, there can be
none (saving those which arise from acts of depravity),
to be compared with obligations which are
whispered in the ear, looked from the eyes, and
thrust upon the wretch that endures them, in every
shape of suppressed but never forgetting consciousness.
He who can endure that, is either more or
less than mortal.
Touched by the gentle affection of the boy, Mistress
Classon took the lad under her protection,
and so long as she could earn a trifle by going out to
work, she contrived to support both him and herself.
Though they often had nothing but a crust of bread
and cold water for food, and a damp cellar without
the common necessaries of life for their lodging, yet
they slept sweetly in the consciousness of having
done their duty, and being free from the poisonous
atmosphere of that last of all curses which is falsely
called Charity.
Fitzvassal now engaged the kind apothecary to
Willy May, from the month in which he had been
lost and found)—as an apprentice in his shop, and
he made such provision for his wants as secured Mr.
Saultz from any expense to which he might otherwise
have been liable for his support.
Our adventurer was rambling down King's Street
in the early part of the afternoon of that day, when
his attention was arrested by an unusual tumult
in the public avenue. The report of the attempt on
the part of the British officers to impress certain freemen
of Boston was just then finding its way into
the more thickly settled parts of the town, and the indignation
of the populace was without bounds.
Several hundred people had collected at the upper
part of King's Street, among whom Randal was conspicuous;
and from the great excitement visible in
their actions, it was manifest that insult and injury
had roused them to such a pitch of indignation, that
it would require something more than mere words
and promises to appease their irritation.
“Let us to the Governor's!” shouted Randal from
a truck in the midst of the crowd, on which he had
mounted to gain a vantage ground for his influence,
“let us to the Governor's, and we will soon find
out whether the people of Boston are to be cuffed
and dragged about like cattle.—Hurrah, for the Governor's!—Liberty
and old Boston for ever!”
“Fort Hill, for ever!” shouted a hundred voices
and a movement was instantly perceptible in the
direction of the Governor's house.
“What is the matter?” inquired Fitzvassal, addressing
himself to a man who seemed rather to be
looking on than sympathizing with the offended
crowd.
“Why, don't you know?” answered the man, who
soon showed that he was a thorough-going Tory;
“the people are getting crazy because they can't bear
the wholesome laws of his Majesty.”
“What do you refer to just now? Has any thing
new happened to-day?”
“The king's officers,” replied the man, “only endeavored
to impress a few seamen, that's all;—and
hence all this fuss;—confound this republican spirit
I say!”
This information was sufficient for Fitzvassal.
Without any further inquiry he plunged into the
crowd, and rather led than followed them towards
Fort Hill.
There was now one incessant succession of shoutings,
of “Fort Hill for ever!” “Down with the Tyrants!”
“Sailors' Rights and no Impressment!”
“No Taxation without Representation!”
And as the throng advanced, the doors and windows
of the houses flew open; and it seemed as if
the Spirit of Liberty had all at once burst out like a
smothered blaze for a general conflagration. Hundreds
in the moving mass, at the head of which were seen
Randal and Fitzvassal, cheering the people on, and
sending forth new sentiments, which were taken up
and reiterated by the thousands who now approached
Fort Hill.
The news of this insubordination among the people
had in the meanwhile reached the ears of the
Governor, who, accompanied by his aides and other
attendants, (among whom was Classon, who had
been so ready, on the failure of the British officers to
impress the men, to carry the report to Sir Edmund
Andros,) transferred his quarters to the Fort, where,
having shut the gate, and secured himself from the
rage of the people, he waited restlessly for their arrival.
Fort Hill is one of the three eminences that have
given the name of Tremont to the metropolis of
New England. It is a very considerable elevation
of ground on the eastern part of the town, and commands
one of the most beautiful prospects imaginable.
At present large stores and dwelling-houses intercept
the fine water-prospect in part, and have
destroyed its principal features of beauty; but in the
times of the first revolution, under the second James,
it presented a very different appearance. In those
days there was an uninterrupted sweep from the fortress
to the water's edge, and the eye, as it looked
from the heights, coursed over a charming slope of
and east overlooked the beautiful bay and the many
green islands which then, more than now, were
unparalleled for picturesque loveliness.
At present, there is hardly any vestage of the fort
which, in the troublous hours we are chronicling, was
the retreat for the tyrant of New England; but it
was then a place of strong defence. It was so contrived,
that not only the harbor was partially commanded
by it, but it overlooked from behind the different
avenues from the town which led directly to
its base. The ramparts were defended by twelve
cannon, and the whole was surrounded by a moat,
over which a drawbridge was thrown on the side
fronting High Street, the principal way of approach
from the town.
Among the few houses in the intermediate neighborhood
of the fort, was one commonly occupied by
the Governor and his suite when they were present
in the city. New-York was his permanent residence,
but, as we have already stated, Sir Edmund
Andros was now on a visit to Boston, partly on account
of the distracted state of the people, and partly
on account of a new Indian war which was threatening
to break out in the eastern parts of the country.
The flag of England was floating proudly from
Fort Hill, where Sir Edmund Andros had retired
from the fury of the people. He was guarded by
the fortress; but it had only one half its usual weight
of artillery, six of the cannon having been, a few
days before, transferred to the Rose Frigate.
So sudden had been the gathering of the people,
that the Governor had no time to spare in placing
himself where he could for a while check their advance
towards him; and as the crowd heaved and
surged at the foot of the hill, the bridge was seen
drawing up, a very few moments having passed
since its inmates had betaken themselves to its recesses.
At the moment Classon came to the house of Sir
Edmund Andros with the intelligence of the successful
resistance on the part of the people to the attempt
to impress the seamen, that dignitary was engaged in
earnest conversation with Mr. Wilmer, the only one
of his council in whom he placed implicit reliance,
and whom he therefore preferred to all the others
who composed his board of advisers. As may be
easily imagined, the report of such an occurrence
was in the last degree alarming, and they were making
hasty calculations, what were best to be done in
the emergency, when messenger after messenger
arrived, with even exaggerated accounts of the popular
movements, which were, in fact, serious enough
of themselves; so that the resolution was suddenly
taken to throw themselves into the fortress till the
indignation of the people could be appeased.
Sir Edmund Andros was now standing within the
fortress, by no means free from that apprehension
which his arbitrary and unreasonable conduct had
justly awakened; and near him were Mr. Wilmer,
Classon, and some other adherents, whom the emergency
of the time placed on a footing which would
not have been permitted, but for the present agitation
of his mind.
It is not to be supposed that the Governor had any
cowardly shrinkings, other than such as arose from a
consciousness of having done wrong. Had he been
expecting an ordinary enemy which he could oppose
like a soldier, he would unquestionably have
been as ready as any other man to conduct himself
well in the emergency: but his situation now was
very different. He had an infuriated people to contend
with, whom he, to be sure, heartily despised, but
whom he dared not treat as rebels against his tyrannical
authority: and he was never so much at a loss,
as when standing, as he did, in the midst of soldiers
with his friends about him, he saw the dark tide
swelling upward, with a purpose, perhaps, of attempting
to carry the fort by storm.
Sir Edmund was a man about forty years old, very
polished in his manners and address, but whose features
were harsh and forbidding. His courtesy was
too condescending to be agreeable, and his general
bearing was marked with aristocratic arrogance. He
was really a new man among the titled; being one
forced upon them for the sake of the money which
thereupon went to the crown. At any rate knight-hood
did not sit gracefully on the Governor; for, with
all his politeness—if there is not an inconsistency involved
herein—he seemed to be perpetually conscious
of his dignity. His dress was very splendid, consisting
of crimson velvet much adorned with gold
lace, with thread-lace collar and wrist-bands, diamond
knee-buckles, and brilliant Bristol stones in his
shoes.
Ambrose Wilmer, the father of Grace, to whom we
have already alluded, had been recently appointed
one of Sir Edmund Andros's council on account of
his religious principles. Heretofore he had not obtruded
his opinions on a people who were generally
so opposed to them as the Bostonians; not only because
he could expect to find very little sympathy
among them, but for the more prudential reason, that
a zealous avowal of his sentiments would be likely
to stand in the way of his practice at the bar. He
was now, however, an open and avowed Catholic,
and had for some time unhesitatingly declared his
principles, probably from a short-sighted view of public
events, and from an ill-grounded belief that James
would effect an entire revolution in the established
Protestant religion. In personal appearance Mr.
Wilmer was extremely elegant, closely resembling his
daughter; but his predominant expression was one
but his judgment was cool; and Sir Edmund
Andros found in him an adviser that came too
late for his preservation.
“This is a bad business, truly,” exclaimed the Governor,
looking with undisguised concern at the turbulent
sea of heads that was now rapidly approaching
the moat; “what is best to be done, Mr. Wilmer?”
“It is a difficult matter to determine,” replied the
counsellor, shaking his head and looking down at his
feet.
“It will never do to fire on them should they be
unreasonable?” said the Governor, in a tone that
seemed to suggest an expedient, and at the same time
to inquire as to its practicability.
“You may depend upon it, Sir Edmund,” replied
Mr. Wilmer, “that the moment any blood is spilt by
your soldiers, a revolution is inevitable.”
“Nonsense!” interjected the Governor. “Now that
is too good a joke, truly. Revolution, indeed! Come
now, Mr. Wilmer, do let us talk seriously about this
matter;—would it answer to give the fellows a shot?”
“A shot,” replied Mr. Wilmer, “would find an
answer among those fanatics before it would be
agreeable for you to meet it. No, Sir; in the name of
heaven, do nothing at present, but endeavor to reconcile
the people to your authority. They are, I
was going to say, justly offended at the peremptory
is therefore to be made for them.”
The noise and uproar of the people had now increased
to a fearful extent, and the situation of those
who were within the fort was by no means agreeable;
especially as a number of missiles found their way
over the parapet into the fort, and a shower of stones,
hurled from slings, struck the flag-staff, and showed a
disposition on the part of the crowd to use violence
in their measures.
A cry now went up among the people for Sir Edmund
Andros. A number of persons rushed to his
house, which was found almost deserted; when they
joined the others round the fort, who were already
persuaded that the Governor had taken refuge within
its gates.
“Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!” went up a thousand
voices - “Sir Edmund Andros! Redress! Down
with tyranny! No taxation without representation!
Sailors' rights for ever! Hurrah! Hurrah!”
Sir Edmund looked at his counsellor, and seemed
to implore his advice.
“I think it would be prudent,” said Mr. Wilmer,
“if you were at least prepared for the worst; for in
case the populace are permitted to take possession of
the fort, there is no calculating to what extent they
may afterwards meditate mischief.”
“I think you are right,” replied the Governor, and
he immediately gave orders to have the guns loaded
to carry the fort, the crowd might meet with such a
repulse as would at once, as he imagined, put an end
to the project.
The noise of the drums and fifes, and the preparations
which were audibly going on in the fort, seemed
only to infuriate the people the more.
“Who'll follow me?” cried Randal, as he brandished
a club, and stood ready to leap into the moat.
“Who'll follow me? we will soon find out whether
we are to be trampled on in this way or not; who
dares follow me?”
A hundred voices simultaneously answered to this
call, and the ardor of the people would soon have
defeated their own purpose, or deluged the town in
blood, had not the Governor at that moment sprung
on the parapet, and taking off his hat, presented himself
respectfully to the crowd.
“The Governor! the Governor!” shouted the tumultuous
assembly; and attention being called to the
presence of Sir Edmund Andros, those who had been
just ready to spring into the moat, fell back as if they
had already gained the object of their search.
“Have patience, my good people!” exclaimed the
Governor, “and I will presently send you an ambassador,
through whom we can have all our difficulties
adjusted;—you shall have all you want, and more
too.”
This was said in a tone which those who knew
bitterest sarcasm and contempt. Nevertheless they
did not give vent to their feelings, but joined the general
cry, which was sent back responsive to the apparent
peace-offering.
“Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah! three cheers for
Liberty! Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!”
The Governor having bowed to the people as hypocritically
as he knew how, leaped back into the
fort, and immediately addressed himself to Mr. Wilmer.
“And whom, do you think, I intend to send as my
minister plenipotentiary to this rabble-rout, hey?”
and he smiled contemptuously as he called;
“Classon! this way!”
The miserable tool of power was at the Governor's
side in a moment.
“For heaven's sake, what are you going to do, Sir
Edmund?” whispered Mr. Wilmer.
“You shall see, presently,” replied the knight,
laughing; “I am going to give this scamp of mine
a lesson in diplomacy, that's all. Do you go, Classon!
and nail a towel to a broomstick, and then come
back here; do you mind?”
“Ay! Ay! Sir,” said the publican, entering at once
into the humor of the scheme, and running away to
execute the order of his master.
“Does your excellency know what you are going
to do?” inquired Mr. Wilmer, addressing the Governor,
thought would turn the whole affair into a frolic.
“Oh yes!” replied the chief magistrate, “I know
well enough what I am going to do;—I mean to
teach these plebeian scoundrels better manners than
to come here hollowing and shouting after they know
not what; the scurvy miscreants! I tell you what it
is, Sir; if you think I am going to govern hogs without
ringing their noses, you are very much mistaken,
that's all.”
“You know your own business best, Sir Edmund;
but upon my honor as a gentleman,” replied Mr.
Wilmer, “I advise you to adopt a very different
course with these people. You must remember that
they are not English villains, but are all of them,
perhaps, freemen of Boston.”
“Freemen of the devil,” exclaimed the Governor;
“what right have they to call themselves freemen;
have they any charter of liberty, I should like to
know?”
And the aristocratic mocker laughed at the idea
of that privation under which the people were groaning
and toiling in almost hopeless misery.
“Your excellency may laugh,” said his adviser,
“but I fear you don't understand the character of
this people so well as I do. They are puritans to be
sure, and they imagine that nobody else knows any
thing but they: for which bigotry and blind infatuation
there is no remedy that I know of, but patience.
exemplary members of holy mother church if
they had been more frankly and generously dealt
with by our august sovereign; but you will be sorely
disappointed if you expect that they will be ruled
after the manner you devise.”
But Sir Edmund only laughed the more scornfully
at this intercession of Mr. Wilmer, and replied:
“You must know, Sir, that ever since the disagreeable
duty devolved on me, by his Majesty's order,
of governing these people, there has hardly a
week passed without some outrage or other having
been committed. There has not been one of his Majesty's
laws obeyed without murmuring. I for one,
am tired of trifling; and now that they have seen fit
to resist the king's officers in a duty which had my
express sanction, I will show the puppies what it is
to bark at their masters. But here comes my ambas
sador!”
Just then Abner Classon came up, bearing the
towel nailed to the broomstick, which he carried
with all that mock solemnity which he knew would
be agreeable to his master.
“Now, Classon,” said the Governor, “put on that
red flannel cap of your's and carry the flag of truce
to your townsmen—and tell them from me, that it is
a sign that they had better go home and make their
faces clean, and let alone matters that don't concern
them.”
“But I am afraid to carry such a message to
them,” said Classon.
“Nonsense!” exclaimed the Governor, pulling his
ear, as if he meant to encourage him, “do you fancy
that they will fail to respect the flag of truce? Go
to the commissary, and deluge yourself first with
drink. I suspect you will be ready enough then.
Bring some liquor here! the siege has made us
dry!”
The last part of this speech was addressed to one
of his servants, who went immediately on his errand,
and forthwith brought a square bottle of Hollands
and a silver goblet.
“Help yourself now like a man, and let us see if
you can't get up a becoming outfit for the embassy.”
And the Governor purposely turned aside, that the
fellow might not be interrupted in his agreeable task
of helping himself to gin.
“There!” resumed Sir Edmund, after he was satisfied
that the man had swallowed about a pint of
the spirits, “there, I think we shall now be in prime
order for treating with the beleaguers. Come now,
march!”
“Let me intreat you,” again interposed Mr. Wilmer,
“not to send this man on such a mad errand.
It is impossible to say what may be the
result. If they are not stimulated to throw themselves
precipitately on the fort, and thus meet an untimely
death, which would throw the whole country into a
this poor fool to their malice; do consider of it, before
you proceed any further.”
But the more Mr. Wilmer spoke against the thing,
the more firmly did it seem that Sir Edmund was
bent on having his own way; the former, therefore,
finally yielded, remarking:
“As you please, Sir Edmund; but if your excellency
has not cause to repent of this rash proceeding,
I will never again volunteer any advice respecting
a people in whom I am so much deceived.”
With all his audacity, however, the Governor had
not courage enough to let down the drawbridge of
the fort, by which his mock ambassador might find
a convenient passage across the mote; but he ordered
him to make the best of his way over that he
could.
Classon accordingly undertook to fulfil the command
of his master, whom he was afraid to disobey;
and leaping from the parapet to which he had ascended,
he sprang with several bounds into the moat,
which he forthwith undertook to climb.
In the meanwhile the multitude, whose clamor
had to a great extent subsided since the appearance
of the Governor, in the confident expectation that he
would commission some respectable individual to
hear an account of their immediate subject of complaint,
and be the medium of conciliation, when they
saw the well-known pander of their detested Governor,
they could not control their indignation.
“Hush!” said Randal, making a sign to the people,
“let him alone till he gets near enough,—he is
the rascal that took part with the press-gang this
morning—we'll fix his flint for him presently.
Stand back a while, and don't scare him,—let's hear
what his old groggy face has to say to us.”
The people, over whom Randal seemed to have
complete authority, gave way at this intimation; and
as Classon struggled on the steep bank of the moat,
the former lent him his hand to enable him to reach
the ground above.
“And what word do you bring from our gracious
master, Mr. Herald,” inquired Randal, as with a giant
grasp he brought the fellow to his landing place;
“what message, hey?”
“Sir Edmund Andros bade me say to you,” exclaimed
Classon, loud enough to be heard by every
man in the assembly, where a death-like silence reigned
for the time, so anxious were they to hear a report
from their Governor, “that you may look upon
this ere as a sign that you had better all go home and
wash your faces, and not meddle any longer with matter's
that don't concarn you.”
The shouts and screams, mingled with curses and
execrations, that followed this announcement, rose on
the air like thunder, or the sound of the breaking up
of the ice when it has been heaped mountain high
fury to the ocean.
“Tar and feather the scoundrel!” shouted five
hundred voices at once, as if the punishment had
been instantaneously suggested to them all at the
same time; “tar and feather, the scoundrel! The
drunken old pander of the tyrant—hurrah for the
tar and feathers!—give the Tory a court dress for once
in his life!—to the rope-walk at the bottom of the
Common!”
The idea of wreaking their vengeance on Classon,
whom they had always hated, and whom they now
detested as the mean tool of an unpardonable insult,
so possessed the minds of the people, that they were
diverted from their undefinable business with the
Governor, and were now bent on inflicting that punishment
which in this country has often been
awarded to political offenders, who for some especial
act have made themselves obnoxious to it.
“To the rope-walk! to the rope-walk!” was the
continued cry;—“away with him to the rope-walk!”
and while some seized the offender, and ran him on
toward the place of sacrifice, many of them shot
ahead to make all things ready, and to stir up more
people to partake in the promised entertainment.
The roar of the infuriated multitude now gradually
died away about Fort Hill, while other parts of the
town were called on to listen to the disturbance, and
crowd.
In the meanwhile the Governor, flattering himself
that this stratagem had succeeded, laughed at
the apprehensions of Mr. Wilmer, who knew the people
too well to look for so sudden a pacification.
Sir Edmund, however, in his secret soul, began to
fear that he had gone too far, and had no small reason
to dread his ill-timed frivolity might have become
the means of sacrificing a man, who, however base
and worthless in the estimation of the community,
had always served him with a fidelity which demanded
better treatment in return.
In vain did Classon cry out for mercy and for
help. There was none for such an offender as he.
He was regarded as a man lost to every principle of
virtue and good feeling, wholly devoid of honor and
patriotism, and the miserable instrument of a man
who was himself the instrument of a cruel and oppressive
tyrant. The people therefore rejoiced in the
opportunity which the events of the day had afforded,
of showing their proper spirit, and making an example
of a man who, in the point of Tory subserviency
to a nefarious administration, had many compeers
in Boston.
A sort of temporary pillory was now constructed and
placed upon a cart drawn by jacks, and in this Classon
was placed and dragged to the neighborhood of
the rope-walk, which ran nearly the whole length of
was pelted with rotten eggs, decayed vegetables, and
all the nameless missiles which are gathered together
for such an occasion; so that the wretched man
was almost exhausted before he reached the place
where it was intended to make a more especial example
of him.
The cry, as they turned round the Common, was
—“Feathers! feathers! now boys, for the feathers!”
And a dispute seemed at one time likely to arise, whether
they should go back to the house of the Governor,
and take his beds for the supply of their wants, or
whether they should make a requisition on the house
of Mr. Wilmer, which was close by, and seemed to
afford the greater convenience for the occasion.
As Mr. Wilmer was not so popular as he deserved
to be from the part he took on the side of the Colonists
in opposition to the Governor, they were not
sorry for a pretext for showing him the state of their
disposition. They therefore determined to call at
his house, and procure the feathers necessary for the
meditated operation. As soon as this point was settled,
they drove down to Mr. Wilmer's house, and at
once invested it.
The people believing that Mr. Wilmer was in his
house, called loudly for him, and bade him contribute
something towards the court-dress, as they called it,
of Classon.
“Hullo! there,” cried one of the leading men,
this time, you old priest-ridden hunks, that you can
afford to spare an armful for a poor, shivering Tory
brother,—can't you?”
Which declaration was applauded to the echo, by
the clapping of hands, and every conceivable kind of
noise which a promiscuous multitude of two or three
thousand persons could make.
The family, as might be supposed, were exceedingly
alarmed at these proceedings, more especially
as they had not been prepared by any previous intelligence
of the popular outbreak; and they feared
that some accident might have happened by which
Mr. Wilmer had awakened the displeasure of the populace,
though they knew well enough that nothing
remarkable had occurred that morning when he left
the house to visit the Governor.
Mrs. Wilmer and her daughter were so much
frightened, that after the first glance at the crowd
they were afraid to go the window; the servants
were, if possible, under still greater apprehension
than they, and Horace Seymour was, though fast recovering
from his misfortune, unable as yet to leave
his chamber. The family could not even imagine what
could be the demand of such a crowd.
The anxiety of Fitzvassal at this moment may
easily be conjectured. In an instant he saw the true
position of affairs, and running round by the back
part of the house, where stood a small and comparatively
to a chamber, seized a feather-bed, and tossing
a handful of gold to the woman, who looked on
thunder-struck at the movement, he as rapidly departed,
and coming to the garden fence of the Wilmers',
threw the bed over into the enclosure. He then
sprang over the fence, and taking the same in his
arms, he boldly entered the house by a back door,
and hurried as fast as possible to the front. In doing
this he was obliged to pass the apartment where
Grace and her mother were clinging to each other
in their agony of apprehension. But he heeded them
not, till, having thrown open a window which looked
upon the street, he crowded the bed through it,
when the people outside seized upon the same amidst
the most tremendous acclamations.
The crowd having attained its object, and, as it is
supposed, compelled the counsellor to humble himself
in obedience to their will, immediately began to
move off; and so rapid was their departure, that before
Fitzvassal could collect himself sufficiently to
explain the cause of his intrusion, the ladies had
ceased to fear any further effects of their violence.
As Fitzvassal entered from one door of the drawing-room,
Mr. Temple came in through the other.
The latter had observed his conduct and perfectly
apprehended his purpose; and rejoining as he did to
find the expedient successful, it was not singular
adroitness.
“Really, Captain Nix,” said he, approaching our
adventurer, and grasping him cordially by the hand,
“you seem to have been set apart by heaven for the
accomplishment of great objects: and this, too, appears
to be a favorite field for your chivalry. It was
but the other day you saved the life of young Seymour
as well as”—
“Is it possible that this is the gentleman,” exclaimed
Mrs. Wilmer in astonishment, “to whom we are
so deeply indebted?” And she looked from one to the
other, as much as to indicate that she had not the
pleasure of Fitzvassal's acquaintance.
“Pardon me, ladies,” said Mr. Temple, “I thought
that you were acquainted with my friend.”
He then, without further ceremony, presented the
supposed Captain Nix to them.
The color slightly mantled on Fitzvassal's cheek
as he found himself playing the hypocrite in the
presence of her he adored; and the deep roses shadowed
the cheeks and temples of the beautiful girl as
she courtesied before the enamored gaze of her admirer.
As Mrs. Wilmer had been the first to lead the conversation,
she did not suffer it to lag, but relieved
Fitzvassal from the unavoidable embarrassment of
one who had to meet the acknowledgments of their
kindness.
“It would not be easy for us, Captain Nix, to express
to you how very much we thank you for your
great kindness to us; nor do we deem it a slight favor
that you have been instrumental in preserving
the life of one whom we value so much as we do
Mr. Temple.”
The venerable gentlemen bowed courteously at
this compliment, and the psuedo-captain Nix replied,
that it was the highest happiness a sailor could enjoy
to be the means of affording the slightest satisfaction
to the most accomplished of their sex.
Mr. Temple now explained to the ladies the cause
of the popular disturbance, and when they understood
the peculiar favor which had been extended to
them by the presence of mind and the promptitude of
Fitzvassal's service, they renewed to him the sense
which they entertained of his goodness, and overwhelmed
him with their thanksgivings.
The service which Fitzvassal had rendered in this
last instance to the Wilmers, was indeed more important
than it appeared; for the crowd believing
that their demand had not been complied with from
the deliberate determination of Mr. Wilmer, whom
they supposed to be secreted in the house, were already
proceeding to violent measures, and were beginning
to tear down the fence that bordered on the
street; while some were taking the blinds from their
which, if they had not been timely put a stop to by
the sudden diversion of our adventurer, might have
been carried to the most deplorable lengths.
Mrs. Wilmer and her daughter, as we have before
noticed, regularly attended the congregational churches,
and were in fact strict Presbyterians, so far as the
observances of the sabbath required; but, as respects
the innocent amusements of life, they conformed as
nearly to the usages of the Catholics as Mr. Wilmer
did; so that, by a happy combination, they perhaps
evinced finer specimens of character than could be
anywhere else found among the colonists. Formed
as they were by the discipline and liberality of two
different sects, they made themselves agreeable to individuals
of both parties; and it was a common remark,
that, go where you would, there was no society
in New England more cultivated and polite than
that in the domestic circle of the Wilmers.
The uproar of the distant multitude was now so loud,
that Fitzvassal and Mr. Temple, feeling a deep interest
in the fate of the unhappy Classon, took their
leave of the ladies, and withdrew. Bending their
steps toward the bottom of the Common, they soon
came to the scene of the disturbance. A graver's kettle
had been brought out from the yard adjoining the
rope-walk, and a barrel of tar emptied into it, under
which a fire was soon kindled. Classon was then
stripped naked, and daubed, by means of a mop, from
mouth and ears free from the unctuous matter. As
soon as this was done, the feather-bed was ripped
open, and Classon rolled over in it till he was more
effectually covered than a bird; presenting altogether
the most grotesque appearance that could be
produced by any disguise.
While this operation was going on, the populace
kept up a continual uproar, seeming to take the
greatest delight in thus showing their abhorrence of
a man who, though a born citizen of the place, added
to the most profligate and abandoned life a total
disregard of all the duties of a patriot.
They now replaced him in the pillory, and paraded
him over the city with Sir Edmund Andros's
flag of truce flying above his head; nor did they fail
to make a circuit of Fort Hill, uttering groans and
imprecations, till finally, as if their rage had become
exhausted, they released the miserable man, who was
borne, half-lifeless, to his own house near Winnissimmit
Ferry. The crowd now dispersed with more
order than could have been expected; and long before
the sun had sunk below the horizon, there was
not the slightest indication in the town that any
rioting had occurred among the people.
| CHAPTER VIII. Nix's mate | |