True Stories From History and Biography (15 page)

Seven times, as the successive monarchs of Britain ascended the throne,
the trumpet-peal of proclamation had been heard by those who sat in our
venerable chair. But, when the next king put on his father's crown, no
trumpet-peal proclaimed it to New England! Long before that day, America
had shaken off the royal government.

Now that Grandfather had fought through the Old French War, in which our
chair made no very distinguished figure, he thought it high time to tell
the children some of the more private history of that praiseworthy old
piece of furniture.

"In 1757," said Grandfather, "after Shirley had been summoned to England,
Thomas Pownall was appointed governor of Massachusetts. He was a gay and
fashionable English gentleman, who had spent much of his life in London,
but had a considerable acquaintance with America. The new governor appears
to have taken no active part in the war that was going on; although, at
one period, he talked of marching against the enemy, at the head of his
company of cadets. But, on the whole, he probably concluded that it was
more befitting a governor to remain quietly in our chair, reading the
newspapers and official documents."

"Did the people like Pownall?" asked Charley.

"They found no fault with him," replied Grandfather. "It was no time to
quarrel with the governor, when the utmost harmony was required, in order
to defend the country against the French. But Pownall did not remain long
in Massachusetts. In 1759, he was sent to be governor of South Carolina.
In thus exchanging one government for another, I suppose he felt no
regret, except at the necessity of leaving Grandfather's chair behind
him."

"He might have taken it to South Carolina," observed Clara.

"It appears to me," said Laurence, giving the rein to his fancy, "that the
fate of this ancient chair was, somehow or other, mysteriously connected
with the fortunes of old Massachusetts. If Governor Pownall had put it
aboard the vessel in which he sailed for South Carolina, she would
probably have lain wind-bound in Boston harbor. It was ordained that the
chair should not be taken away. Don't you think so, Grandfather?"

"It was kept here for Grandfather and me to sit in together," said little
Alice, "and for Grandfather to tell stories about."

"And Grandfather is very glad of such a companion, and such a theme," said
the old gentleman, with a smile. "Well, Laurence, if our oaken chair, like
the wooden Palladium of Troy, was connected with the country's fate, yet
there appears to have been no supernatural obstacle to its removal from
the Province House. In 1760, Sir Francis Bernard, who had been governor of
New Jersey, was appointed to the same office in Massachusetts. He looked
at the old chair, and thought it quite too shabby to keep company with a
new set of mahogany chairs, and an aristocratic sofa, which had just
arrived from London. He therefore ordered it to be put away in the
garret."

The children were loud in their exclamations against this irreverent
conduct of Sir Francis Bernard. But Grandfather defended him, as well as
he could. He observed, that it was then thirty years since the chair had
been beautified by Governor Belcher. Most of the gilding was worn off by
the frequent scourings which it had undergone, beneath the hands of a
black slave. The damask cushion, once so splendid, was now squeezed out of
all shape, and absolutely in tatters, so many were the ponderous gentlemen
who had deposited their weight upon it, during these thirty years.

Moreover, at a council held by the Earl of Loudon with the governors of
New England, in 1757, his lordship, in a moment of passion, had kicked
over the chair with his military boot. By this unprovoked and
unjustifiable act, our venerable friend had suffered a fracture of one of
its rungs.

"But," said Grandfather, "our chair, after all, was not destined to spend
the remainder of its days in the inglorious obscurity of a garret. Thomas
Hutchinson, lieutenant-governor of the province, was told of Sir Francis
Bernard's design. This gentleman was more familiar with the history of New
England than any other man alive. He knew all the adventures and
vicissitudes through which the old chair had passed, and could have told,
as accurately as your own Grandfather, who were the personages that had
occupied it. Often, while visiting at the Province House, he had eyed the
chair with admiration, and felt a longing desire to become the possessor
of it. He now waited upon Sir Francis Bernard, and easily obtained leave
to carry it home."

"And I hope," said Clara, "he had it varnished and gilded anew."

"No," answered Grandfather. "What Mr. Hutchinson desired was to restore
the chair, as much as possible, to its original aspect, such as it had
appeared, when it was first made out of the Earl of Lincoln's oak-tree.
For this purpose he ordered it to be well scoured with soap and sand and
polished with wax, and then provided it with a substantial leather
cushion. When all was completed to his mind, he sat down in the old chair,
and began to write his History of Massachusetts."

"Oh, that was a bright thought in Mr. Hutchinson!" exclaimed Laurence.
"And, no doubt, the dim figures of the former possessors of the chair
flitted around him, as he wrote, and inspired him with a knowledge of all
that they had done and suffered while on earth."

"Why, my dear Laurence," replied Grandfather, smiling, "if Mr. Hutchinson
was favored with any such extraordinary inspiration, he made but a poor
use of it in his History; for a duller piece of composition never came
from any man's pen. However, he was accurate, at least, though far from
possessing the brilliancy or philosophy of Mr. Bancroft."

"But, if Hutchinson knew the history of the chair," rejoined Laurence,
"his heart must have been stirred by it."

"It must, indeed," said Grandfather. "It would be entertaining and
instructive, at the present day, to imagine what were Mr. Hutchinson's
thoughts, as he looked back upon the long vista of events with which this
chair was so remarkably connected."

And Grandfather allowed his fancy to shape out an image of
Lieutenant-Governor Hutchinson, sitting in an evening reverie by his
fireside, and meditating on the changes that had slowly passed around the
chair.

A devoted monarchist, Hutchinson would heave no sigh for the subversion of
the original republican government, the purest that the world had seen,
with which the colony began its existence. While reverencing the grim and
stern old Puritans as the founders of his native land, he would not wish
to recall them from their graves, nor to awaken again that king-resisting
spirit, which he imagined to be laid asleep with them forever. Winthrop,
Dudley, Bellingham, Endicott, Leverett, and Bradstreet! All these had had
their day. Ages might come and go, but never again would the people's
suffrages place a republican governor in their ancient Chair of State!

Coming down to the epoch of the second charter, Hutchinson thought of the
ship-carpenter Phips, springing from the lowest of the people, and
attaining to the loftiest station in the land. But, he smiled to perceive
that this governor's example would awaken no turbulent ambition in the
lower orders, for it was a king's gracious boon alone that made the
ship-carpenter a ruler. Hutchinson rejoiced to mark the gradual growth of
an aristocratic class, to whom the common people, as in duty bound, were
learning humbly to resign the honors, emoluments, and authority of state.
He saw,—or else deceived himself—that, throughout this epoch, the people's
disposition to self-government had been growing weaker, through long
disuse, and now existed only as a faint traditionary feeling.

The Lieutenant-Governor's reverie had now come down to the period at which
he himself was sitting in the historic chair. He endeavored to throw his
glance forward, over the coming years. There, probably, he saw visions of
hereditary rank, for himself and other aristocratic colonists. He saw the
fertile fields of New England, portioned out among a few great
landholders, and descending by entail from generation to generation. He
saw the people a race of tenantry, dependent on their lords. He saw stars,
garters, coronets, and castles.

"But," added Grandfather, turning to Laurence, "the Lieutenant-Governor's
castles were built nowhere but among the red embers of the fire, before
which he was sitting. And, just as he had constructed a baronial residence
for himself and his posterity, the fire rolled down upon the hearth, and
crumbled it to ashes!"

Grandfather now looked at his watch, which hung within a beautiful little
ebony Temple, supported by four Ionic columns. He then laid his hand on
the golden locks of little Alice, whose head had sunk down upon the arm of
our illustrious chair.

"To bed, to bed, dear child!" said he. "Grandfather has put you to sleep,
already, by his stories about these FAMOUS OLD PEOPLE!"

On the evening of New Year's day, Grandfather was walking to and fro,
across the carpet, listening to the rain which beat hard against the
curtained windows. The riotous blast shook the casement, as if a strong
man were striving to force his entrance into the comfortable room. With
every puff of the wind, the fire leaped upward from the hearth, laughing
and rejoicing at the shrieks of the wintry storm.

Meanwhile, Grandfather's chair stood in its customary place by the
fireside. The bright blaze gleamed upon the fantastic figures of its oaken
back, and shone through the open-work, so that a complete pattern was
thrown upon the opposite side of the room. Sometimes, for a moment or two,
the shadow remained immovable, as if it were painted on the wall. Then,
all at once, it began to quiver, and leap, and dance, with a frisky
motion. Anon, seeming to remember that these antics were unworthy of such
a dignified and venerable chair, it suddenly stood still. But soon it
began to dance anew.

"Only see how grandfather's chair is dancing!" cried little Alice.

And she ran to the wall, and tried to catch hold of the flickering shadow;
for to children of five years old, a shadow seems almost as real as a
substance.

"I wish," said Clara, "Grandfather would sit down in the chair, and finish
its history."

If the children had been looking at Grandfather, they would have noticed
that he paused in his walk across the room, when Clara made this remark.
The kind old gentleman was ready and willing to resume his stories of
departed times. But he had resolved to wait till his auditors should
request him to proceed, in order that they might find the instructive
history of the chair a pleasure, and not a task.

"Grandfather," said Charley, "I am tired to death of this dismal rain, and
of hearing the wind roar in the chimney. I have had no good time all day.
It would be better to hear stories about the chair, than to sit doing
nothing, and thinking of nothing."

To say the truth, our friend Charley was very much out of humor with the
storm, because it had kept him all day within doors, and hindered him from
making trial of a splendid sled, which Grandfather had given him for a New
Year's gift. As all sleds, now-a-days, must have a name, the one in
question had been honored with the title of Grandfather's Chair, which was
painted in golden letters, on each of the sides. Charley greatly admired
the construction of the new vehicle, and felt certain that it would
outstrip any other sled that ever dashed adown the long slopes of the
Common.

As for Laurence, he happened to be thinking, just at this moment, about
the history of the chair. Kind old Grandfather had made him a present of a
volume of engraved portraits, representing the features of eminent and
famous people of all countries. Among them Laurence found several who had
formerly occupied our chair, or been connected with its adventures. While
Grandfather walked to and fro across the room, the imaginative boy was
gazing at the historic chair. He endeavored to summon up the portraits
which he had seen in his volume, and to place them, like living figures,
in the empty seat.

"The old chair has begun another year of its existence, to-day," said
Laurence. "We must make haste, or it will have a new history to be told
before we finish the old one."

"Yes, my children," replied Grandfather, with a smile and a sigh, "another
year has been added to those of the two centuries, and upward, which have
passed since the Lady Arbella brought this chair over from England. It is
three times as old as your Grandfather; but a year makes no impression on
its oaken frame, while it bends the old man nearer and nearer to the
earth; so let me go on with my stories while I may."

Accordingly, Grandfather came to the fireside, and seated himself in the
venerable chair. The lion's head looked down with a grimly good-natured
aspect, as the children clustered around the old gentleman's knees. It
almost seemed as if a real lion were peeping over the back of the chair,
and smiling at the group of auditors, with a sort of lion-like
complaisance. Little Alice, whose fancy often inspired her with singular
ideas, exclaimed that the lion's head was nodding at her, and that it
looked as if it were going to open its wide jaws and tell a story.

But, as the lion's head appeared to be in no haste to speak, and as there
was no record or tradition of its having spoken, during the whole
existence of the chair, Grandfather did not consider it worth while to
wait.

"Charley, my boy," said Grandfather, "do you remember who was the last
occupant of the chair?"

"It was Lieutenant-Governor Hutchinson," answered Charley. "Sir Francis
Bernard, the new governor, had given him the chair, instead of putting it
away in the garret of the Province House. And when we took leave of
Hutchinson, he was sitting by his fireside, and thinking of the past
adventures of the chair, and of what was to come."