True Stories of History and Biography | Page 4

Sir Richard Saltonstall, who had been one of the five
first projectors of the new colony. He soon returned to his native
country. But his descendants still remain in New England; and the good
old family name is as much respected in our days as it was in those of
Sir Richard.
Not only these, but several other men of wealth and pious ministers,
were in the cabin of the Arbella. One had banished himself for ever
from the old hall where his ancestors had lived for hundreds of years.
Another had left his quiet parsonage, in a country town of England.
Others had come from the universities of Oxford or Cambridge, where
they had gained great fame for their learning. And here they all were,
tossing upon the uncertain and dangerous sea, and bound for a home
that was more dangerous than even the sea itself. In the cabin, likewise,
sat the Lady Arbella in her chair, with a gentle and sweet expression on
her face, but looking too pale and feeble to endure the hardships of the
wilderness.
Every morning and evening the Lady Arbella gave up her great chair to

one of the ministers, who took his place in it and read passages from
the Bible to his companions. And thus, with prayers and pious
conversation, and frequent singing of hymns, which the breezes caught
from their lips and scattered far over the desolate waves, they
prosecuted their voyage, and sailed into the harbor of Salem in the
month of June.
At that period there were but six or eight dwellings in the town; and
these were miserable hovels, with roofs of straw and wooden chimneys.
The passengers in the fleet either built huts with bark and branches of
trees, or erected tents of cloth till they could provide themselves with
better shelter. Many of them went to form a settlement at Charlestown.
It was thought fit that the Lady Arbella should tarry in Salem for a time;
she was probably received as a guest into the family of John Endicott.
He was the chief person in the plantation, and had the only comfortable
house which the new comers had beheld since they left England. So
now, children, you must imagine Grandfather's chair in the midst of a
new scene.
Suppose it a hot summer's day, and the lattice-windows of a chamber in
Mr. Endicott's house thrown wide open. The Lady Arbella, looking
paler than she did on shipboard, is sitting in her chair, and thinking
mournfully of far-off England. She rises and goes to the window. There,
amid patches of garden ground and cornfield, she sees the few
wretched hovels of the settlers, with the still ruder wigwams and cloth
tents of the passengers who had arrived in the same fleet with herself.
Far and near stretches the dismal forest of pine trees, which throw their
black shadows over the whole land, and likewise over the heart of this
poor lady.
All the inhabitants of the little village are busy. One is clearing a spot
on the verge of the forest for his homestead; another is hewing the
trunk of a fallen pine tree, in order to build himself a dwelling; a third
is hoeing in his field of Indian corn. Here comes a huntsman out of the
woods, dragging a bear which he has shot, and shouting to the
neighbors to lend him a hand. There goes a man to the sea-shore, with a
spade and a bucket, to dig a mess of clams, which were a principal

article of food with the first settlers. Scattered here and there are two or
three dusky figures, clad in mantles of fur, with ornaments of bone
hanging from their ears, and the feathers of wild birds in their coal
black hair. They have belts of shell-work slung across their shoulders,
and are armed with bows and arrows and flint-headed spears. These are
an Indian Sagamore and his attendants, who have come to gaze at the
labors of the white men. And now rises a cry, that a pack of wolves
have seized a young calf in the pasture; and every man snatches up his
gun or pike, and runs in chase of the marauding beasts.
Poor Lady Arbella watches all these sights, and feels that this new
world is fit only for rough and hardy people. None should be here but
those who can struggle with wild beasts and wild men, and can toil in
the heat or cold, and can keep their hearts firm against all difficulties
and dangers. But she is not one of these. Her gentle and timid spirit
sinks within her; and turning away from the window she sits down in
the great chair, and wonders thereabouts in the wilderness her friends
will dig her