Newspaper Page Text
mm*
~~' r ~ 7
dlmurnt
TT' *jjiHTtrTnr r -TinriMWiiiaWi
THE JUDGMENT OF DUNGARA-By Rudyard Kipling
r HEY t«rll the tale e,ven now nmoug the sal
proven of the Berbulda Hill, and for cor
roboration point to the rootles* und wln-
iowlesa MIsHton-hous*' The great God DunRura,
the God of Things a* They Are, Mont Terrible.
One-Eyed. Hearing the Ked Elephant Tank, did
it all; and he who refuses to believe In Dun
gara will assuredly be smitten by the Madn***
of Tat—the madness that fell upon the non*
and the daughters of the Burla Kol when the>
turned aside from Dungara and put on clothe*
So «a>s Athon Daze, who la High Prkmt of the
&hnne and Warden of the Ked Elephant Tusk
Hut if you auk the Assistant Collector and Agent
in Charge of the Buria Kol. he will laugh—not
because he hears any malice against mission*,
but because he himself saw the vengeance of
Dungara executed upon the spiritual children
of the Reverend Justus Krenk, PHstor of the
Tubingen Mission, and upon Gotta, his virtuous
wife.
Yet if ever a man merited good treatment of
the Gods it was the Reverend Justus, one time
of Heidelberg, who, on the faith of a call, went
into the wilderness and took the blonde, blue-
eyed Gotta with him. “We will these Heathen
now by idolatrous practices so darkened better
make," said Justus in the early days of his
career. “Yes." he added with conviction, "they
nhall be good and shall with their hands to work
|earn. For all good Christians must work."
And upon a stipend more modest even than
that of an English lay-reader, Justus Krenk
kept house beyond Kamala. and the gorge of
Malair, beyond the Herbulda River, close to the
foot of the blue hill of Panth, on whose summit
gtands the Temple of Dungara—In the heart of
the country of the Burla Kol—the naked, good-
tempered. timid, shameless, lazy Huria Kol.
Do you know what life at a Mission outpost
means'* Try to imagine a loneliness exceeding
that of the smallest station to which Govern
ment has ever sent you—isolation that weighs
upon the waking eyelids and drives you per
force headlong Into the labors of the day. There
la no post, there Is no one of your own color to
npeak to, there are no roads, there Is. Indeed,
food to keep you alive, but it Is not pleasant
to eat: and whatever of good or beauty or inter
est there is in your life, must come from your
self and the grace that ii\ay be planted In you
In the morning, with a patter of soft feet, the
converts, the doubtful, and the open scoffers,
troop up to the veranda. You muat be Infinitely
kind and patient, and. above all. clear-sighted,
for you deal with the simplicity of childhood, the
experience of man, and the subtlety of the sav
age. Your congregation have a hundred ma
terial wants to be considered; and it is for you.
«ts you believe in your personal responsibility
to your Maker, to pick out of the clamoring
crowd any grain of spirituality that may lie
therein. If to the cure of souls you add that
of bodies, your task will be all the more diffi
cult, for the sick and the maimed will profess
any and every creed for the sake of healing,
and will laugh at you because you are simple
enough to believe them.
As the day wears and the impetus of the
tnorning dies away, there will come upon you
an overwhelming sense of the uselessness of
your toll. This must be striven against, and
the only spur in your side will be the belief that
you are playing against the Devil for the living
soul. It Is a great, a joyous belief; but he who
can hold it unwavering for four-and-t wenty
consecutive hours, must be blessed with an
Abundantly strong physique and equable nerves
Ask the gray heads of the Barfnoekburn Medi
cal Crusade what manner of life their preachers
lead, speak to the Racine Gospel Agency, those
lean Americans whose boast is that they go
where no Englishman dare follow; get a Pastor
of the Tubingen Mission to talk of his experi
ences—if you can. You will be referred to the
printed reports, but these contain no mention 9f
the men who have lost youth and health, all that
a man may lose except faith. In the wilds; of
English maidens who have gone forth and died
In the fever-stricken jungle of the Panth Hills
knowing from tin first that death was almost
a certainty. Few Pastors will tell you of these
things any more than they will speak of that
\ oung David of St. Bees, who, set a pa if for the
Gord * work, broke down In tin utter desolation
and returned half distraught to the Head Mis
sion. crying “There is no God, but i have
walked with the Devil'
The report* are silent here, because heroism,
failure doubt, deapah and self-abnegation on
the part of a mere « ultured white man are thing*
of no weight as compared to the saving of one
half-human soul from a fantastic faith in wood-
spirits, goblin* of the rock, and river-fiends
And Gallio. the Assistant Collector of the
country side, '‘cared for none of these things '
He bad been long in the district, and the Huria
Kol loved him and brought him offerings of
speared fish, orchids from the dim moist heart
of the forests, and aa much game as ha could
eat In return, he gave them quinine, and with
Athon Daze. the High Priest, controlled their
simple policies.
“When you have been some years in the coun
try," said Gallic at the Krenks' table, "you grow
lo find one creed as good as another. I’ll give
you all the assistance in my power, of course,
hut don't hurt my Buria Kol. They are a good
people and they trust me"
"I will them the Word of the Gord teach,",
said Justus, his round face beaming with enthu
siasm. "and I will assuredly to their prejudice*
no wrong hastily without thinking make. Hut.
O my friend, this in the mind impartlallty-of-
creed-judgment-belooking Is very bad."
"Heigh-ho!” said Gallic. “I have their bodies
and the district to see to, but you can try what
you can do for their souls. Only don’t behave as
your predecessor did. or Pm afraid that I can t
guarantee your life.”
"And that?” said Gotta sturdily, handing him
a cup of tea.
“He went up to the Temple of Dungara—to
be sure he was new to the country—and began
hammering old Dungara over the head with an
umbrella; so the Burla Kol turned out and ham
mered him rather savagely. T was in the die
trict, and he sent a runner to me with u note
saying; 'Persecuted for the Gord’s Sake. Send
wing of regiment.’ The nearest troops were
about two hundred miles off. but I guessed what
he had been doing. I rode to Panth and talked
to old Athon Daze like a father, telling him
that a man of his wisdom ought to have known
that the Sahib had sunstroke and was mad
You never saw a people more sorry In your life.
Athon Daze apologized, sent wood and milk and
fowls and all sorts of things; and 1 gave five
rupees to the shrine and told Macnamara that
lie had been Injudicious. He said that I had
bowed down in the House of Rlmmon; but If be
had only Just gone over the brow of the hill
and insulted Palin Deo. the idol of the Surla
Kt»l, he would have been impaled on a charred
bamboo long before I could have done anything,
and then I should have had to have hanged
some of the poor brutes. Be gentle with them.
Padt I but I don’t think you’ll do much."
“Not l," said Justus, “but my Master. We
will with the little children begin. Many of
them will he sick—that is so. After the children.
Hie mothers, and then the men. But l would
greatly that you were in internal sympathies
with us prefer.”
Galllo departed to risk his life in mending the
rotten bamboo bridges of his people, in killing a
too persistent tiger here or there, in sleeping out
in the reeking jungle, or in tracking the Surla
Kol raiders who had taken a few heads from
their brethren of the Burla clan. A knock-
kneed. shambling young man was Gallio, nat
orally devoid of creed or reverence, with » long
Ing for absolute power which his undesirable
district gratified
“By the hands stretched timidly to the hem of her gown, Lotta understood
with whom she had to deal.”
No one wants my post,” he used to say
grimly, “and my Collector only pokes his nose
In when he’s quite certain that there is no fever
I’m monarch of all I survey, and Athon Daze is
my viceroy."
Because Galllo prided himself on his supreme
disregard of human life—though he never ex
tended the theory beyond his own—he naturally
rode forty miles to the Mission with a tiny
brown baby on his saddle-bow.
“Here Is something for you, Padri,” said he
The Kola leave their surplus children to die
Don't see why they shouldn't, but you may rear
this one. I picked it up beyond the Berbulda
fork. I’ve a notion that the mother has been
following me through the woods ever since.”
“It Is the first of the fold,” said Justus, and
Gotta caught up the screaming morsel to her
bosom and hushed It craftily; while, as a wolf
hangs In the field, Matui, who had borne It and
in accordance with the law of her tribe had ex
posed it to die, panted weary and footsore in the
bamboo-brake, watching the house with hungry
mother-eyes. What would the omnipotent As
sistant Collector do? Would the little man in
the black coat eat her daughter alive, as Athon
Daze said was the custom of all men In black
coats?
Matui waited among the bamboos through the
long night; and, in the morning, there came
forth a fair white woman, the like of whom
Matui had never seen, and In her arms was
M&tui'a daughter clad in spotless raiment. Lotta
knew little of the tongue of the Burla Kol, but
when mother calls to mother, speech is easy to
understand. By the hands stretched timidly to
the hem of her gown, by the passionate gutturals
and the longing eyes, Lotta understood with
whom she had to deal. So Matui took her child
again—would be a servant, even a slave, to this
wonderful white woman, for her own tribe would
recognize he** no more. And Lotta wept with
her exhaustively, after the German fashion,
which Includes much blowing of the nose.
“First the child, then the mother, and last the
man, and to the Glory of God all,” said Justus
the Hopeful. And the man came, with a bow
and arrows, very angry indeed, for there was no
one to cook for him.
But the tale of the Mission is a long one, and
I have no space to show how Justus, forgetful
of his injudicious predecessor, grievously smote
Moto, the husband of Matui. for his brutality;
how Moto was startled, but being released from
the fear of instant death, took heart and became
the faithful ally and first convert of Justus; how
the little gathering grew, to the huge disgust of
Athon Daze; how the Priest of the God of Things
as They Are argued subtly with the Priest of
i he God of Things as They Should Be, and was
worsted; how the dues of the temple of Dun
gara fell away in fowls and fish and honey
comb; how Lotta lightened the Curse of ,Eve
among the women, and how Justus did his best
to introduce the Curs** of Adam; how the Buria
Kol rebelled at this, saying that their God was
an idle God, and how Justus partially overcame
their scruples against work, and taught them
that the black earth was rich in other produce
than pignuts only.
All these things belong to the history of many
months, and throughout those months the white-
haired Athon Daze meditated revenge for the
tribal neglect of Dungara. With savage cunning
he feigned friendship toward Justus, even hint
ing at his own conversion; but to the congrega
tion of Dungara he said darkly: “They of the
Padri’s flock have put on clothes and worship u
busy God. Therefore Dungara will afflict them
grievously till they throw themselves, howling,
into the waters of the Berbulda." At night the
Ked Elephant Tusk boomed and groaned among
the hills, and the faithful waked and said: “The
God of Things as They Are matures revenge
against the backsliders. Be merciful. Dungara
to us Thy children, and give us all their crops!"
Gate in the cold weather, the Collector and his
wife came into the Buria Kol country. “Go and
look at Krenk’s mission,’’ said Gallio. “He is
doing good work in his own way, and I think
he’d be pleased If you opened the bamboo chapel
that he has managed to run up. At any rate.
\ ou’Il see a civilized Buria Kol."
Great was the stir in the Mission. “Now he
and the gracious lady will that we have done
good work with their own eyes see. and—yes—
we will him our converts in all their new clothes
by their own hands constructed exhibit. It will
a great day be—for the Lord always," said Jus
tus; and Lotta said "Amen.”
Justus had, in his quiet way, felt jealous of
the Bazel Weaving Mission, his own converts
being unhandy; but Athon Daze had latterly in
duced some of them to hackle the glossy silky-
fibers of a plant that grew plenteously on the
Panth Hill. It yielded a cloth white and smooth
almost as the tappa of the South Seas, and that
day the converts were to wear for the first time
clothes made therefrom, Justus was proud of his
work.
“They shall in white clothes clothed to meet
the Collector and hfs well-born lady come down
singing ‘Now thank we all our God.* Then he
will the Chapel open, and—yes—even Gallio to
believe will begin. Stand so, my children, two
by two. and—Lotta. why do they thus them
selves bescratch? It Is not seqmly to wriggle.
Nala, my child. The Collector will be here and
be pained."
The Collector, his wife, and Gallio climbed the
hill to the mission station. The converts were
drawn up in two lines, a shining band nearly
forty strong. “Hah!” said the Collector, whose
acquisitive bent of mind led him to believe that
lie had fostered the institution from the first.
“Advancing, I see, by leaps and bounds.’
Never was truer word spoken! The Mission was
advancing exactly as he had said—at first by
little hops and shuffles of shamefaced uneasi
ness, but soon by the leaps of fly-stung horses
and the bounds of maddened kangaroos. From
the hill of Panth the Red Elephant Tusk deliv
ered a dry and anguished blare. The ranks of
the converts wavered, broke and scattered with
yells and shrieks of pain, while Justus and
Gotta stood horror-stricken.
“It is the Judgment of Dungara!” shouted a
voice. "I burn! 1 burn! To the river or w«
die!"
The mob wheeled and headed for the rocks
that overhung the Berbulda, writhing, stamping,
twisting, and shedding its garments as it ran.
pursued by the thunder of the trumpet of Dun
gara. Justus and Lotta fled to the Collector
almost in tears.
•i cannot understand! Yesterday.’ panted
Justus, “they had the Ten Commandments.
What is this? Praise the Lord all good spirit?
by land or by sea. Nala! Oh, shame!
With a bound and a scream there alighted on
the rocks above their heads Nala. once the pride
of the Mission, a maiden of fourteen Summers
good, docile, and virtuous—now naked as 11..
dawn and spitting like a wild-cat.
"Was it for this!” she raved, hurling her petti
* oat at Justus; “was U for this I left my people
and Dungara—for the fires of your Bad Place*
Blind ape, little earthworm, dried fish that yoi
are. you said that 1 should never burn! O Dun
gara, 1 burn now! 1 burn now! Have mercy.
God of Things as They Are!”
She turned and flung herself into the Berbulda.
and the trumpet of Dungara bellowed jubilantly.
The last of the converts of the Tubingen Mission
had put a quarter of a mile of rapid river be
tween herself and her teachers.
“Yesterday.” gulped Justus, “she taught in
i he school A. B, C, D.—Oh! It is the work of
Satan!"
But Gallio was curiously regarding the
maiden's petticoat where it had fallen at bi»
feet. He felt its texture, drew back his shirt
sleeve beyond the deep tan of his hand and
pressed a fold of the cloth against the flesh A
blotch of angry red rose on the white skin
“Ah!" said Gallio calmly, “I thought so
“What is it?” said Justus.
1 should call it the Shirt of Nessus, but .
Whar-! did you get the fiber of this cloth from?"
“Athon Daze,” said Justus. He showed the
boys how it should manufactured be.”
“The old fox! Do you know that be has given
you the Nilgfrl Nettle—scorpion—Girardenta
heterophylla—to work up. No wonder they
squirmed! Why, it stings even when they make
bridge-ropes of it, unless it’s soaked for six
weeks. The cunning brute! It would take
about half an hour to burn through their thick
hides, and then ... I"
Gallio burst into laughter, but Lotta was
weeping in the arms of the Collector's wife, and
Justus had covered his face with his hands.
"Glrardenfa heterophylla!” repeated Gallio.
“Krenk, why didn’t you tell me? I could have
saved you this. Woven fire! Anybody but a
naked Kol would have known it. and. if I’m s
judge of their wavs, you’ll never get them
back.”
He looked across the river to where the con
verts were still wallowing and wailing in the
shallows, and the laughter died out of his eyes,
for he saw that the Tubingen Mission to the
Buria Kol was dead.
Never again, though they hung mournfull;.
round the deserted school for three months,
could Lotta or Justus coax back even the most
promising of their flock. No! The end of con
version was the fire of the Bad Place—fire that
ran through the limbs and gnawed into the
bones. Who dare a second time tempt the anger
of Dungara? Let the little man and his wife go
elsewhere. The Buria Kol would have none of
them. An unofficial message to Athon Daze that
if a hair of their heads were touched, Athon
Daze and the priests of Dungara would be
hanged by Galllo at the tempi* •brine, protected
Justus and Lotta from the stumpy poisoned
arrows of the Buria Kol. but neither fish nor
fowl, honeycomb, salt, nor young pig were
brought to their doors any more. And, alas!
man cannot live by grace alone if meat be
wanting.
“Let us go, mine wife,” said Justus; "there
is no good here, and the Lord has willed that
some other man shall the work take—In good
time—in His own good time. We will go away,
and I will—yes—some botany bestudy.”
If any one is anxious to convert the Burla Kol
afresh, there lies at least the core of a mission-
house under the hin of Panth. But the chapel
and school have long since fallen back into
jungle.
THE GRAY CHAMPION - - - By Nathaniel Hawthorne
T HERE was once a time when New Englind
groaned under the actual procure of
heavier wrongs than those threatened
ones which brought on the Revolution. Janies
II.. the bigoted successor of Charles the Volup
tuous, had annulled the charters of all the col
OTiirs and sent a harsh and unprincipled soldier
Vo take away our liberties and endanger our
religion. The administration of Sir Edmund
Andros lacked scarcely a single characteristic
of tyranny—a governor and council holding of
fice from the King and wholly independent of
the country; laws made and taxes levied without
toncurrence of the people, immediate or by their
representatives; the rights of private citizen*
violated and the titles of all landed property de
Hared void; the voice of complaint stifled by re
strictions on the press, and. finally, disaffection
overawed by the first band of mercenary troops
that ever marched on our free soil. For two
years our ancestors were kept in sullen sub
mission by that filial love*which had invarlabG
Secured their allegiance to the mother country,
•whether its head chanced to be a Parliament.
Protector or Popish monarch. Till these evil
times, however, such allegiance had been merely
nominal, and the colonists had ruled themselves,
enjoying far more freedom than is even yet tin*
privilege of the native subjects of Great Britain.
At length a rumor reached our shores that the
Prince of Orange had ventured on an enterprise
the success of which would be the triumph of
civil and religious rights and the salvation of
New England. It was but a doubtful whisper
Jt might be false or the attempt might fail, and
in either case the man that stirred against King
James would lose his head. Still, the intelligence
produced a marked effect. The people smiled
mysteriously in the streets and threw bold
glances at their oppressors, while far and wide
there was a. subdued and silent agitation, as if
the slightest signal would rouse the whole land
from its sluggish despondency. Aware of their
danger, the rulers resolved to avert it by an
Imposing display of strength, and perhaps to
fconfirm their despotism by yet harsher measures
One afternoon in April. 1689, Sir Edmund An-
Oros and his favorite councillors, being warm
with wine, assembled the red-coats of the Gov
ernor’s guard and made their appearance in the
streets of Boston. The sun was near setting
when the march commenced. The roll of the
drum at that unquiet crisis seemed to go through
the streets less as the martial music of the sol
diers than as a muster-call to the inhabitants
themselves. A multitude by various avenues as
sembled in King street, which was destined to
| be the scene, nearly a century afterward, of an
other encounter between the troops of Britain
and a people struggling against her tyranny.
Though more than sixty years had elapsed
since the Pilgrims came, this crowd of their de
scendants still showed the strong and sombre
features of their character perhaps more strik
ingly in such a stern emergency than on hap
pier occasions. There was the sober garb, the
general severity of mien, the gloomy but undis
mayed expression, the scriptural forms of speech
and the confidence in Heaven’s blessing on a
righteous cause which would have marked a
hand of the original Puritans when threatened
by some peril of the wilderness, indeed, it was
not yet time for the old spirit to be extinct,
since there were men in the street that day who
had worshipped there beneath the trees before a
house was reared to the God for whom they had
become exiles. Old soldiers of the Parliament
were here, too, smiling grimly at the thought
that their aged arms might strike another blow
against the House of Stuart. Here also, were the
veterans of King Philip’s war. who had burned
villages and slaughtered young and old with pi
ous fierheness. while the godly souls throughout
the land were helping them with prayer. Sex
oral ministers were scattered along the crowd,
which, unlike all other mobs, regarded them
with such reverence as if there were sanctity
in their very garments. These holy men exerted
their Influence to quiet the neople. hut not to
disperse them.
Meantime, the purpose of the Governor in dis
turbing the peace of the town at a period when
the slightest commotion might throw the coun
try into a ferment was almost the universal sub
ject of inquiry, and variously explained.
“Satan will strike this master stroke present
ly." cried some, “because he knoweth that his
time Is short. All our godly pastors are to be
dragged to prison We shall see them at a
Smithfleld tire in King street."
Hereupon the people of each parish gathered
. loser round their minister, who looked calmlx
upward and assumed a more apostolic dignity,
as well befitted a candidate for the highest honoi
«*f his profession a crown of martyrdom. it
was actually fancied at that period that New
England might have a John Rogers of her ow a
to take the place of that worthy in the Primer
“The Pope of Home has given orders for a
new St. Bartholomew," cried others "We are to
he massacred, man and male child."
Neither was this rumor w holly discredited, al
though the wiser class believed the Governor’s
object somew hat less atrocious. His predecessor
under the old charter. Bradstreet. a venerabl-*
companion of the first settlers, was known to be
In town. There were grounds for conjecturing
that Sir Edmund Andros intended at once to
strike terror by a parade of military force and
to confound the opposite faction by possessing
himself of the { r chief.
“Stand firm for the old charter Governor!
•houted the crowd, seizing upon the idea—“the
good old Governor Bradstreet!"
While this cry was at the loudest the people
were surprised by the well-known figure of Gov
ernor Bradstreet himself, a patriarch of nearly
ninety, who appeared on the elevated steps of a
door and with characteristic mildness besought
them to submit to the constituted authorities.
"My children," concluded this venerable per
son. " do nothing rashly. Cry not aloud, but
pray for the welfare of New England and ex
pect patiently what the Lord xvill do In this
matter.”
The event was soon to be decided. All this
time the roll of the drum had been approaching
through Cornhill, louder and deeper, till with
reverberation from house t*o house and the
regular tramp of martial footsteps It burst into
the street. A double rank of soldiers made their
appearance, occupying the whole breadth of the
passage, with shouldered matchlocks. and
matches burning, So as to present a row of fires
in the dusk. Their steadv march was like the
progress of a machine that would roll irresisti
bly over everything in its way. Next, moving
slowly, with a confused clatter of hoofs on the
pavement, rode a party of mounted gentlemen,
ihe central figure being Sir Edmund Andros, el
derly. but erect and soldier-like. Those around
him were his favorite councillors and the bitter
est foes of New* England. At his right hand
rode Sir Edward Randolph, our arch enemy,
that “blasted wretch," as Cotton Mather calls
him, who achieved the downfall of our ancient
government and was followed with a sensible
curse through life and to his grave. On the other
*lde was Bullivant, scattering jests and mock
ery as he rode along. Dudley came behind with
m downcast look, dreading, as well he might, to
meet the Indignant gaze of the people, who be
held him, their only countryman by birth, among
the oppressors of his native land. The captain
of a frigate in the harbor and two or three
civil officers under the Crown were also there
But the figure which most attracted the public
eye and stirred up the deepest feeling was the
Episcopal clergyman of King’s Chapel riding
haughtily among the magistrates in his priestly
vestments, the fitting representative of prelacy
tnd persecution, the union of Church and State,
and all those abominations which had driven
the Puritans to the wilderness. Another guard
of soldiers, in double rank, brought up the rear.
The whole scene was a picture of the condi
tion of New England, and its moral, the defor
mity of any government that does not grow- out
of the nature of things, and the character of the
people on one side the religious multitude with
their sad visages and dark attire, and on the
other the group of despotic rulers with the high
churchman in the midst, and here and there a
< ruclflx at their bosoms, all magnificently clad,
flushed with wine, proud of unjust authority
and scoffing at the universal groan. And the
mercenarx soldiers, waiting but the word to
deluge the street with blood, showed the only
means by which obedience could be secured.
"O Lord of Hosts." cried a voice among th**
crowd, “provide a champion for Thy people!"
This ejaculation was loudly uttered, and serv
ed as a herald’s cry to introduce a remarkable
personage. The crowd had rolled back, and were
now huddled together nearly at the extremity
of the street, while the soldiers had advanced
no more than a third of its length. The inter
vening space was empty—a paved solitude’be
tween lofty edifices which threw' almost a twi
light shadow over it. Suddenly there was seen
the figure of a man who seemed to have emerged
from among the people anti was walking by >
himself along the centre of the street to con
front the armed band. He wore the old Puritan
dress—a dark cloak and a steeple-crowned hat
in the fashion of at least fifty years before,
with a heavy sword upon his thigh, but a staff
in his hand to assist the tremulous gait of age.
When at some distance from the multitude,
the old man turned slowly round, displayed a
face of antique majesty rendered doubly vener
able by the hoary beard that descended on his
breast. He made a gesture at once of encour
agement and warning, then turned again and re
sumed his way.
“Who is this gray patriarch?” asked the young
men of their sires.
“Who is this venerable brother?” asked the
old men among themselves.
But none could make reply. The fathers of
i he people, those of fourscore years and up
ward. were disturbed, deeming it strange that
they should forget one of such evident authority
whom they must have known in their early days,
the associate of Winthrop and all the old coun
cillors, giving laws and making prayers and
leading them against the savage. The elderly
men ought to have remembered him, too, with
locks as gray in their youth as their own were
now. And the young! How could he have passed
so utterly from their memories—that hoary sire,
the relic of long-departed times, whose awful
benediction had surely been bestowed on their
uncovered heads in childhood?
"Whence did he come? What is his purpose ’
Who can this old man be?” whispered the won
dering crowd.
Meanwhile the venerable stranger, staff in
hand, was pursuing his solitary walk along the
centre of the street. As he drew near the ad
vancing soldiers, and as the roll of their drum
came full upon his ear. the old man raised him
self to a loftier mien, while th® decrepitude of
age seemed to fall from his shoulders, leaving
him in gray but unbroken dignity. Now he
marched onward with a warriors step, keeping
time to the military music. Thus the aged form
advanced on one side and the whole parade of
soldier^ and magistrates on the other, till, when
scarcely twenty yards remained between, the old
man'grasped his staff by the middle and held it
before him like a leader’s truncheon.
“Stand!” cried he.
The eye, the face and attitude of command,
the solemn yet warlike peal of that, voice—fit
either to rule a host In the battle-field or be
raised to God in prayer—were irresistible. At
the old man’s xvord and outstretched arm the
roll of the drum was hushed at once and the ad
vancing line stood still. A tremulous enthusi
asm seized upon the multitude. That stately
form, combining the leader and the saint, so
gray, so dimly seen, In such an ancient garb,
could only belong to some old champion of the
righteous cause whom the oppressor’s drum had
summoned from his grave. They raised a shout
of awe and exultation, and looked for the de
liverance of New England.
The Governor and the gentlemen of his party,
perceiving themselves brought to an unexpected
stand, rode hastily forward, as if they would
have pressed their snorting and affrighted horses
right against the hoary apparition. He, howev
er, blenched not a step, but, glancing his severe
eye round the group, which half encompassed
him, at last bent it sternly on Sir Edmund An
dros. One would have thought that the dark
old man was chief ruler there, and that the Gov
ernor and council with soldiers at their back,
representing the whole power and authority of
the Crown, had no alternative but obedience.
"What does this old fellow here?” cried Ed
ward Randolph fiercely. “On, Sir Edmund! Bid
the soldiers forward and give the dotard the
same-choice that you give all his countrymen—
to stand aside or be trampled on.”
"Nay, nay! Let us show respect to the good
grandsire,” said Bullivant, laughing. See you
not he Is some old round-headed dignitary who
hath lain asleep these thirty years and knows
nothing of the change of times? Doubtless he
thinks to put us down with a proclamation in
old Noll's name.”
“Are you mad. old man?” demanded Sir Ed
mund Andros in loud and harsh tones. "How
dare you stay the march of King James's Gov
ernor?*’
“I h~ve stayed the march of a King himself
ere now,” replied the gray figure, with stern
composure. "I am here. Sir Governor, because
the cry of an oppressed people hath disturbed
me in my secret place, and, beseeching this favor
earnestly of the Lord, it was vouchsafed me to
appear once again on earth in the good old cause
of his saints. And what speak ye of James?
There is no longer a Popish tyrant on the throne
of England, and by to-morrow noon his name
shall be a by-word in this very street, where
ye would make it a word of terror. Back, thou
that wast a Governor, back! With this night
thy power is ended. To-morrow, the prison'
Back, lest I foretell the scaffold!"
The people had been drawing nearer and near
er and drinking in the words of their champion,
who spoke in accent* long disused, like one un
accustomed to converse except with the dead of
many years ago. But h!s voice stirred their
souls. They confronted the BQldiers, not wholly
without arms, and ready to convert the very
stones of the street into deadly weapons. SHr
Edmund Andros looked at the old man; then he
cast his hard and cruel eye over the multitude
and beheld them burning with that lurid wrath
so difficult to kindle or to quench, and again he
fixed hia gaze on the aged form which stood ob
scurely In an open space where neither friend
nor foe had thruBt himself. What were his
thoughts he uttered no word which might dis
cover, but, whether the oppressor were over
awed by the Gray Champion’s look or perceived
his peril in the threatening attitude of the peo
ple, It is certain that he gave back and ordered
Ms soldiers to commence a slow and guarded re
treat. Before another sunset the Governor and
all that rode so proudly with him were prison
ers, and long ere it was known that James had
abdicated King William was proclaimed through
out New England.
But where was the Gray Champion? Some
reported that when the troops had gone from
King street and the people were thronging tu
multuously In their rear, Bradstreet, the aged
Governor, was seen to embrace a form more aged
than his own. Others soberly affirmed that
while they marvelled at the venerable grandeur
of his aspect* the old man faded from their eyes,
melting slowly into the hues of twilight, till
where he stood there was an empty space. But
all agreed that the hoary shape was gone. The
men of that generation watched for his reap
pearance in sunshine and in twilighf but never
saw him more nor knew when his funeral passed
nor where his gravestone was.
And who was the Gray Champion? Perhaps
his name might be found in the records of that
stern court of justice which passed a sentence
100 mighty for the age. but glorious in all after
times for its humbling lesson to the monarch
and its high example to the subject. I have heard
that whenever the descendants or the Puritan?
are to show the spirit of their sires the old mat
appears agai-n. When eighty years had passed,
he walked once more in King street. Five years
later, in the twilight of an April morning, he
stood on the green beside the meeting-house at
Lexington where now the obelisk of granite with
a slab of slate inlaid commemorates the first-
fallen of the Revolution. And when our fathers
were toiling at the breastwork on Bunker’s Hill
all through that night the old warrior walked
his rounds. Long, long may it be ere he comes
kgain! His hour is one of darkness and adver
sity and peril. But should domestic tyranny
oppress us or the invader s step pollute our soil,
still may the Gray Champion come! For he is
the type of New England’s hereditary spirit, and
his shadowy march on the eve of danger must
ever be the pledge that New England's sons will
vindicate their ancestry.