Story Hour Readings: Seventh Year

WITCHCRAFT

By Nathaniel Hawthorne

Sir William Phips became Governor of Massachusetts
in 1692. Almost as soon as he assumed the government
he became engaged in a frightful business which
might have perplexed a wiser and better-cultivated head
than his. This was the witchcraft delusion, which originated 5
in the wicked arts of a few children. They belonged
to the Rev. Mr. Parris, minister of Salem. These children
complained of being pinched, and pricked with pins, and
otherwise tormented, by the shapes of men and women,
who were supposed to have power to haunt them invisibly
both in darkness and daylight.

Often in the midst of their family and friends the children
would pretend to be seized with strange convulsions and 5
would cry out that the witches were afflicting them. These
stories spread abroad and caused great tumult and alarm.
From the foundation of New England it had been the custom
of the inhabitants, in matters of doubt and difficulty,
to look to their ministers for counsel. So they did now; 10
but unfortunately the ministers and wise men were more
deluded than the illiterate people. Cotton Mather, a
very learned and eminent clergyman, believed that the
whole country was full of witches and wizards who had
given up their hopes of heaven and signed a covenant with15
the Evil One.

Nobody could be certain that his nearest neighbor or
most intimate friend was not guilty of this imaginary crime.
The number of those who pretended to be afflicted by
witchcraft grew daily more numerous; and they bore 20
testimony against many of the best and worthiest people.
A minister named George Burroughs was among the
accused. In the months of August and September, 1692,
he and nineteen other innocent men and women were put
to death. The place of execution was a high hill on the 25
outskirts of Salem; so that many of the sufferers, as they
stood beneath the gallows, could discern their habitations
in the town.

The killing of these guiltless persons served only to
increase the madness. The afflicted now grew bolder in 30
their accusations. Many people of rank and wealth were
either thrown into prison or compelled to flee for their
lives. Among these were two sons of old Simon Bradstreet,
the last of the Puritan governors. Mr. Willard, a pious
minister of Boston, was cried out upon as a wizard in open
court. Mrs. Hale, the wife of the minister of Beverly,
was likewise accused. Philip English, a rich merchant of 5
Salem, found it necessary to take flight, leaving his property
and business in confusion. But a short time afterward
the Salem people were glad to invite him back.

The boldest thing the accusers did was to cry out against
the Governor's own beloved wife. Yes, the lady of Sir 10
William Phips was accused of being a witch and of flying
through the air to attend witch meetings. When the
Governor heard this, he probably trembled.

Our forefathers soon became convinced that they had
been led into a terrible delusion. All the prisoners on 15
account of witchcraft were set free. But the innocent
dead could not be restored to life, and the hill where they
were executed will always remind people of the saddest
and most humiliating passage in our history.

—Grandfather's Chair.

TEA PARTIES IN OLD NEW YORK

By Washington Irving

In those happy days, a well-regulated family always
rose with the dawn, dined at eleven, and went to bed
at sundown. Dinner was invariably a private meal, and
the fat old burghers showed incontestable symptoms of
disapprobation and uneasiness on being surprised by a 5
visit from a neighbor on such occasions. But though our
worthy ancestors were thus singularly averse to giving
dinners, yet they kept up the social bonds of intimacy by
occasional banquetings, called tea parties.

As this is the first introduction of those delectable orgies 10
which have since become so fashionable in this city, I am
conscious my fair readers will be very curious to receive
information on the subject. Sorry am I that there will be
but little in my description calculated to excite their admiration.
I can neither delight them with accounts of suffocating 15
crowds, nor brilliant drawing rooms, nor towering
feathers, nor sparkling diamonds, nor immeasurable trains.

I can detail no choice anecdotes of scandal, for in those
primitive times the simple folk were either too stupid or
too good-natured to pull each other's characters to pieces; 20
nor can I furnish any whimsical anecdotes of brag—how
one lady cheated or another bounced into a passion; for
as yet there was no junto of dulcet old dowagers who met
to win each other's money and lose their own tempers at
a card table.

These fashionable parties were generally confined to the
higher classes, or noblesse; that is to say, such as kept their
own cows and drove their own wagons. The company 5
commonly assembled at three o'clock and went away about
six, unless it was winter time, when the fashionable hours
were a little earlier, that the ladies might get home before
dark. I do not find that they ever treated their company
to ice creams, jellies, or sillabubs, or regaled them with 10
musty almonds, moldy raisins, or sour oranges, as is often
done in the present age of refinement. Our ancestors were
fond of more sturdy, substantial fare. The tea table was
crowned with a huge earthen dish, well stored with slices
of fat pork, fried brown, cut up into morsels, and swimming 15
in gravy.

The company, being seated around the genial board and
each furnished with a fork, evinced their dexterity in
launching at the fattest pieces of this mighty dish in much
the same manner as sailors harpoon porpoises at sea or 20
our Indians spear salmon in the lakes. Sometimes the
table was graced with immense apple pies or saucers full
of preserved peaches and pears; but it was always sure to
boast of an enormous dish of balls of sweetened dough
fried in hog's fat and called doughnuts; a delicious kind25
of cake, at present scarce known in this city except in genuine
Dutch families.

The tea was served out of a majestic delft teapot ornamented
with paintings of fat little Dutch shepherds and
shepherdesses tending pigs, with boats sailing in the air30
and houses built in the clouds, and sundry other ingenious
Dutch fantasies. The beaux distinguished themselves by
their adroitness in replenishing this pot from a huge copper
teakettle which would have made the pigmy macaronis
of these degenerate days sweat merely to look at it. To
sweeten the beverage, a lump of sugar was laid beside each
cup, and the company alternately nibbled and sipped with 5
great decorum; until an improvement was introduced
by a shrewd and economic old lady, which was to suspend
a large lump directly over the tea table by a string from
the ceiling, so that it could be swung from mouth to mouth—an
ingenious expedient, which is still kept up by some 10
families in Albany, but which prevails without exception
in Communipaw, Bergen, Flatbush, and all our uncontaminated
Dutch villages.

At these primitive tea parties the utmost propriety and
dignity of deportment prevailed. No flirting nor coquetting; 15
no gambling of old ladies nor hoyden chattering and
romping of young ones; no self-satisfied struttings of
wealthy gentlemen with their brains in their pockets nor
amusing conceits and monkey divertisements of smart
young gentlemen with no brains at all. 20

The parties broke up without noise and without confusion.
They were carried home by their own carriages; that
is to say, by the vehicles nature had provided them, excepting
such of the wealthy as could afford to keep a wagon.

—Knickerbocker's History of New York.

A SCHOOL OF LONG AGO

By Edward Eggleston

A hundred and fifty years ago there was a famous
teacher among the German settlers in Pennsylvania,
who was known as "The Good Schoolmaster." His name
was Christopher Dock, and he had two little country schools.
For three days he would teach at a little place called Skippack, 5
and then for the next three days he would teach at
Salford.

People said that the good schoolmaster never lost his
temper. There was a man who thought he would try to
make him angry. He said many harsh and abusive words 10
to the teacher, and even cursed him; but the only reply
the teacher made was, "Friend, may the Lord have mercy
on you."

Other schoolmasters used to beat their scholars severely
with whips and long switches; but Schoolmaster Dock 15
had found a better way. When a child came to school for
the first time, the other scholars were made to give the
new scholar a welcome by shaking hands with him one
after another. Then the new boy or girl was told that
this was not a harsh school but a place for those who would
behave. And if a scholar were lazy, disobedient, or stubborn,
the master would in the presence of the whole school
pronounce him not fit for this school but only for a school
where children were flogged. The new scholar was asked 5
to promise to obey and to be diligent. When he had made
this promise, he was shown to a seat.

"Now," the good master would say, when this was
done, "who will take this new scholar and help him to
learn?" When the new boy or girl was clean and bright 10
looking, many would be willing to take charge of him or
her; but there were few ready to teach a dirty, ragged little
child. Sometimes no one would wish to do it. In such a
case the master would offer to the one who would take such
a child a reward of one of the beautiful texts of Scripture 15
which the schoolmasters of that time used to write and
decorate for the children. Or he would give him one of
the pictures of birds which he was accustomed to paint
with his own hands.

Whenever one of the younger scholars succeeded in 20
learning his A, B, C, Christopher Dock would send word
to the father of the child to give him a penny, and he would
ask his mother to cook two eggs for him as a treat. These
were fine rewards for poor children in a new country.

There were no clocks or watches in the country. The 25
children came to school one after another, taking their
places near the master, who sat writing. They spent
their time reading until all were there; but everyone who
succeeded in reading his passage without mistake stopped
reading and came and sat at the writing table to write. 30
The poor fellow who remained last on the bench was called
the Lazy Scholar.

Every Lazy Scholar had his name written on the blackboard.
If a child at any time failed to read correctly, he
was sent back to study his passage and called again after
a while. If he failed a second or a third time, all the scholars
cried out, "Lazy!" Then his name was written on 5
the blackboard, and all the poor Lazy Scholar's friends
went to work to teach him to read his lesson correctly. And
if his name should not be rubbed off the board before school
was dismissed, all the scholars might write it down and
take it home with them. But if he could read well before 10
school was out, the scholars, at the bidding of the master,
called out, "Industrious!" and then his name was erased.

The funniest of Dock's rewards was that which he gave
to those who made no mistake in their lessons. He marked
a large O with chalk on the hand of the perfect scholar. 15
Fancy what a time the boys and girls must have had, trying
to go home without rubbing out this O!

If you had gone into this school some day, you might
have seen a boy sitting on a punishment bench, all alone.
This was a fellow who had told a lie or used bad language. 20
He was put there as not fit to sit near anybody else. If
he committed the offense often, a yoke would be put round
his neck, as if he were a brute. Sometimes, however, the
teacher would give the scholars their choice of a blow on
the hand or a seat on the punishment bench. They usually 25
preferred the blow.

The old schoolmaster in Skippack wrote one hundred
rules of good behavior for his scholars. This is perhaps the
first book on good manners written in America. But rules
of behavior for people living in houses of one or two rooms, 30
as they did in that day, were very different from those
needed in our time. Here are some of the rules:

"When you comb your hair, do not go out in the middle
of the room," says the schoolmaster. This was because families
were accustomed to eat and sleep in the same room.

"Do not eat your morning bread on the road or in school,"
he tells them, "but ask your parents to give it to you at 5
home." From this we see that the common breakfast
was bread alone, and that the children often ate it as they
walked to school.

"Put your knife upon the right and your bread on the
left side," he says. Forks were little used in those days, 10
and the people in the country did not have any. He also
tells them not to throw bones under the table. It was a
common practice among some people of that time to throw
bones and scraps under the table, where the dogs ate them.

As time passed on, Christopher Dock had many friends, 15
for all his scholars of former years loved him greatly. He
lived to be very old, and taught his schools to the last.
One evening he did not come home, and the people went
to look for the beloved old man. They found their dear
old master on his knees in the schoolhouse. He had died 20
while praying alone.

—Stories of American Life and Adventure.

FRENCH LIFE IN THE NORTHWEST

By James Baldwin

It is interesting to learn how the French people in the
Illinois country lived in friendship with the savage
tribes around them. The settlements were usually small
villages on the edge of a prairie or in the heart of the woods.
They were always near the bank of a river; for the watercourses 5
were the only roads and the light canoes of the
voyageurs were the only means of travel. There the French
settlers lived like one great family, having for their rulers
the village priest and the older men of the community.

The houses were built along a single narrow street and so10
close together that the villagers could carry on their
neighborly gossip each from his own doorstep. These
houses were made of a rude framework of corner posts,
studs, and crossties, and were plastered, outside and in,
with "cat and clay"—a kind of mortar, made of mud and 15
mixed with straw and moss. Around each house was a
picket fence, and the forms of the dooryards and gardens
were regulated by the village lawgivers.

Adjoining the village was a large inclosure, or "common
field," for the free use of all the villagers. The size of 20
this field depended upon the number of families in the
settlement; it sometimes contained several hundred acres.
It was divided into plots or allotments, one for each household,
and the size of the plot was proportioned according
to the number of persons in the family. Each household 5
attended to the cultivation of its own ground and gathered
its own harvest. And if anyone should neglect to care for
his plot and let it become overgrown with weeds and thistles,
he forfeited his right to any part of the common field and
his ground was given to another. 10

Surrounding the common field was a large tract of
cleared land that was used as a common pasture ground.
In some cases there were thousands of acres in this tract,
and yet no person was allowed to use any part of it except
for the pasturage of his stock. When a new family came 15
into the settlement or a newly married couple began housekeeping,
a small part of the pasture ground was taken into
the common field, in order to give the new household its
proper allotment.

The priest occupied the place of father to all the villagers, 20
whether white or red. They confided all their troubles to
him. He was their oracle in matters of learning as well as
of religion. They obeyed his word as law.

The great business of all was fur trading and the care of
their little plots of ground. The women kept their homes 25
in order, tended their gardens, and helped with the plowing
and the harvesting. The men were the protectors of the
community. Some were soldiers, some were traders, but
most were engaged in hunting and in gathering beaver skins
and buffalo hides to be sold to the traders. 30

The traders kept a small stock of French goods—laces,
ribbons, and other articles, useful and ornamental—and
these they exchanged for the products of the forest. The
young men, as a rule, sought business and pleasure in the
great woods. Some of them became voyageurs, or boatmen,
in the service of the traders. In their light canoes they
explored every rivulet and stream and visited the distant 5
tribes among the sources of the Mississippi and Missouri.
Others took to the forest as woods rangers, or coureurs de
bois, and became almost as wild as the Indians themselves.
They wandered wherever their fancy led them, hunting
game, trapping beavers, and trading with their dusky 10
friends. Those who roamed in the Lake regions built here
and there small forts of logs and surrounded them with
palisades. In one of these forts a company of two or three
coureurs would remain for a few weeks and then leave it
to be occupied by anyone who might next come that way. 15
A post of this kind was built at Detroit long before any
permanent settlement was made there; and scattered long
distances apart on the Lake shore and in the heart of the
wilderness, were many others.

The northern coureurs, when returning from the woods, 20
resorted to Mackinac as their headquarters; or loaded
with beaver skins they made their way to Montreal,
where they conducted themselves in a manner that would
have shamed a Mohawk or a Sioux. But the rangers
of the Illinois country were in the habit of returning once 25
each year to their village homes. There they were welcomed
with joy, balls and festivals were given in their
honor, and old and young gathered around them to hear
the story of their adventures.

Thus in the heart of the wilderness, these French settlers 30
passed their lives in the enjoyment of unbounded freedom.
They delighted in amusements and there were almost as
many holidays as working days. Being a thousand miles
from any center of civilization they knew but little of what
was taking place in the world. In their hearts they were
devoted to their mother country; they believed that
"France ruled the world and therefore all must be right." 5
Further than this they troubled themselves but little.
They were contented and happy and seldom allowed
themselves to be annoyed by the perplexing cares of
business.

They had no wish to subdue the wilderness—to hew 10
down the forest, and make farms, and build roads, and
bring civilization to their doors. To do this would be to
change the modes of living that were so dear to them. It
would destroy the fur trade, and then what would become
of the traders, the voyageurs, and the coureurs15
de bois? These French settlers were not the kind of people to
found colonies and build empires.

We are indebted to Father Marest for a description
of the daily routine of life among the converts and French
settlers at Kaskaskia. At early dawn his pupils came to 20
him in the church, where they had prayers and all joined
in singing hymns. Then the Christians in the village met
together to hear him say Mass—the women standing on
one side of the room, the men on the other.

The French women were dressed in prettily colored 25
jackets and short gowns of homemade woolen stuffs or of
French goods of finer texture. In summer most of them
were barefooted, but in winter and on holidays they wore
Indian moccasins gayly decorated with porcupine quills,
shells, and colored beads. Instead of hats they wore 30
bright-colored handkerchiefs, interlaced with gay ribbons
and sometimes wreathed with flowers.

The men wore long vests drawn over their shirts, leggings
of buckskin or of coarse woolen cloth, and wooden clog
shoes or moccasins of heavy leather. In winter they
wrapped themselves in long overcoats with capes and hoods
that could be drawn over their heads and thus serve for 5
hats. In summer their heads were covered with blue
handkerchiefs worn turbanlike as a protection from mosquitoes
as well as from the rays of the sun.

After the morning devotions were over, each person
betook himself to whatever business or amusement was 10
most necessary or congenial; and the priest went out to
visit the sick, giving them medicine and consoling them in
whatever way he could. In the afternoon those who chose
to do so came again to the church to be taught the catechism.
During the rest of the day the priest walked about 15
the village, talking with old and young and entering into
sympathy with all their hopes and plans. In the evening
the people would meet together again to chant the hymns
of the church. This daily round of duty and devotion
was often varied by the coming of holidays and festivals 20
and sometimes by occurrences of a sadder nature—death,
or misfortune, or the threatened invasion of savage foes.

—The Discovery of the Old Northwest.

A BEAR STORY

By Maurice Thompson

A man and his wife with three children—a boy aged nine
and two little girls, the elder seven and the younger
five years old—lived in a comfortable cabin not far from
the eastern line of Indiana. Their nearest neighbor was
six or seven miles distant, and all around their little clearing 5
stood a wall of dense forest. The father tended a small
field of corn and vegetables, but their main dependence for
food was upon the game killed by him, so he was often
absent all day in the woods, hunting deer and turkeys.

The children were forbidden to go outside the inclosure 10
while their father was away, and the mother, at the slightest
hint of danger, was instructed to close the door and bar it
and shut the portholes. But even in times of such danger,
people grew careless and permitted themselves to take
risks in a way quite incredible to our minds. Children 15
were restless when confined to a cabin or within a small
yard, when the green woods were but a few steps away,
with flowers blooming and rich mosses growing all around.
They constantly longed to be free, if only for a few moments,
to wander at will and make playhouses in the dusky shade,20
to climb upon the great logs and watch the gay-winged
birds flit about in the foliage on high.

One day in early spring the father went to the woods to
hunt. Before setting forth with his rifle on his shoulder,
he particularly charged his wife not to permit the children,
no matter how much they begged and cried for it, to go
outside the yard. 5

"At this time of the year," he said, "bears and all other
wild beasts are cross. They wander everywhere and are
very dangerous when met with. Watch the children."

The wife did try faithfully to keep her eyes upon her
darlings; but she had many household duties to perform, 10
and so at last she forgot.

The spring was very early that year, and although it
was not yet May, the green tassels were on the maples and
the wild flowers made the ground gay in places. All around
the clearing ran a ripple of bird song. The sunshine was 15
dreamy, the wind soft and warm.

The little boy felt the temptation. It was as if a sweet
voice called him to the wood. Nor were the little girls
less attracted than he by the thought of gathering mosses
and flowers and running at will under the high old trees.20

Before their mother knew it, they were gone. She had
not yet discovered their truancy when a cry coming from
some distance startled her; it was her little boy's voice
screaming lustily, and upon looking out she saw all three
of the children running as fast as they could across the 25
clearing from the wood toward the house. Behind them,
at a slow, peculiar lope, a huge bear followed.

Frightened almost to death, the poor woman scarcely
knew what she was doing; but she had the fighting instinct
of all backwoods people, and her first motion was to snatch 30
off the wall, where it lay in a deer's-horn rest, a large horse
pistol. With this in hand she ran to meet her children.
Some hunter had broken the bear's fore leg with a bullet
a few days before, which accounted for its strange, waddling
gait; but it was almost within reach of the hindmost child
when the mother arrived. The bear at once turned its
attention to the newcomer, and with a terrific snarl rushed 5
at her. On sped the children, screaming and crazy with
fright. It was a moment of imminent peril to the mother,
but she was equal to the occasion. She leveled the pistol
and fired. Six leaden slugs struck the bear in the head
and neck, knocking it over. 10

Not very far away in the woods at the time, the man
heard the loud report, and fearing that Indians were murdering
his family, he ran home to find his wife just reviving
from a swoon. She had fainted immediately after seeing
the effect of her shot. 15

The bear was not yet dead, but a ball from the rifle finished
him. He was a monster in size. Doubtless the
wound in his fore leg had made it difficult for him to get
food, and he had attacked the children on account of sheer
hunger. But had he not been in that maimed condition, 20
his attack would have been successful and the hindmost
child would have been torn to pieces and eaten up in the
shortest time and with little show of table manners.

—Stories of Indiana.

A PATRIOT OF GEORGIA

By Joel Chandler Harris

The Revolutionary War in Georgia developed some
very romantic figures, which are known to us rather
by tradition than by recorded history. First among them,
on the side of the patriots, was Robert Sallette. Neither
history nor tradition gives us the place of his birth or the 5
date of his death; yet it is known that he played a more
important part in the struggle in the colony than any man
who had no troops at his command. He seems to have
slipped mysteriously on the scene at the beginning of the
war. He fought bravely, even fiercely, to the end; and 10
then, having nothing else to do, slipped away as mysteriously
as he came.

Curious as we may be to know something of the personal
history of Robert Sallette, it is not to be found chronicled
in the books. The French twist to his name makes it 15
probable that he was a descendant of those unfortunate
Acadians who, years before, had been stripped of their
lands and possessions in Nova Scotia by the British, their
houses and barns burned, and they themselves transported
away from their homes. They were scattered at various 20
points along the American coast. Some were landed at
Philadelphia, and some were carried to Louisiana. Four
hundred were sent to Georgia. The British had many acts
of cruelty to answer for in those days, but none more infamous
than this treatment of the gentle and helpless 5
Acadians. It stands in history to-day a stain upon the
British name.

Another fact that leads to the belief that Robert Sallette
was a descendant of the unfortunate Acadians was the
ferocity with which he pursued the British and the Tories. 10
The little that is told about him makes it certain that he
never gave quarter to the enemies of his country.

His name was a terror to the Tories. One of them, a
man of considerable means, offered a reward of one hundred
guineas to any person who would bring him the head of 15
Robert Sallette. The Tory had never seen Sallette, but
his alarm was such that he offered a reward large enough
to tempt some one to assassinate the daring partisan.
When Sallette heard of the reward, he disguised himself
as a farmer, and provided himself with a pumpkin, which 20
he placed in a bag. With the bag swinging across his
shoulder, he made his way to the house of the Tory. He
was invited in, and deposited the bag on the floor beside
him, the pumpkin striking the boards with a thump.

"I have brought you the head of Robert Sallette," said 25
he. "I hear that you have offered a reward of one hundred
guineas for it."

"Where is it?" asked the Tory.

"I have it with me," replied Sallette, shaking the loose
end of the bag. "Count out the money and take the head." 30

The Tory, neither doubting nor suspecting, counted out
the money and placed it on the table.

"Now show me the head," said he.

Sallette removed his hat, tapped himself on the forehead,
and said, "Here is the head of Robert Sallette!"

The Tory was so frightened that he jumped from the
room, and Sallette pocketed the money and departed. 5

SONG OF THE PIONEERS

By W. D. Gallagher

COLUMBUS AND THE ECLIPSE

By James Johonnot