Classic Poem

FIFTY YEARS AFTER THE GREAT SWAMP FIGHT .

Heap high the wood, how cold it grows to-night!
With silent icy breath the night creeps in,
Till shivers shake the very soul of me.
There, that's a ruddy blaze. And thou, dear lad,
Hast thou thy netting there? The fish-net strong
To catch the flat fish with, or creeping crabs
On Pettaquamscut shore? What fighters they!
Each seizes on his fellow with his claws
And fiercely pulls and tugs with all his might,
As if one boiling pot was not for all.
Cold, cold, my son, and colder grows my heart,
This black cold winter night, and I thank God
Thou hast no blood of mine to chill thy veins,
Dear youth, who yet art dear as any son.

The fire lights the room well, does it not?
I see thy face with questions in thine eyes.
Yes, 't was Friend Collins came to-day in truth,
And with him neighbor Perry, good men both;
And last week came the young man from St. Paul's,
A fair young man, and earnest, who speaks well.
I went there, that is true, a month ago,
And made but little of his services,
With standings up, and sittings down, and prayers
Writ in a book; the Spirit moves not so.
Yet comfortable words they were I heard,
With exhortations to confess. I sat,
And did not stir with all the crowd. 'Tis true
I did remove my hat, for all men did.
And when the preacher stopped I came away.
Last week he came to see me, for he marked
My face, he said, and told me had I aught
Upon my mind 't were best to make clean breast;
His church allowed such comfort, so he said,
And he was clothed with all authority
To hear in case of need. Kindly he spoke —
A good young man, in truth. But I replied, —
Not so George Fox said, I have heard him preach;
And each man hath a teacher in himself,
He said, to tell him what is right and wrong.
Confession to a man cannot avail.
If I have aught that preys upon my mind,
The Light of Truth within me will direct
What I must do.

To-day the good Friends came,
Appointed by the Meeting to enquire
Wherefore I joined in worship in so far
As to remove my hat in St. Paul's church.
Thou, who art held in honor of us all
Shouldst set example, so they sternly said.
If thou hast aught to question or inquire,
Seek not for further light in unknown ways,
But lay thy case before the Meeting here,
Which will appoint good men to counsel thee.
I kindly thanked them, for they meant me well,
And wrote a paper of acknowledgment
Of my offense in taking off my hat,
And going to strange houses on first days.
So well content they parted from me then.

Put on more wood, dear lad, 't is colder now;
Or is it I am grown so old to-night,
More old than all my years, for in new lands
Time takes a heavy tribute of man's life, —
Or is it that these good enquiring Friends
Have stirred the well of sombre discontent,
The grief and shame that lie deep in my heart,
Which I have never breathed to mortal man?
Not to confess I dare — but yet the tale
May warn thy youth, nor alienate thy love,
My boy with clearest eyes, my Rachael's son.
Thy netting grows apace, the fire burns,
I'll try to tell it all.

Oft hast thou heard
Of Justice Bull who lived upon the hill,
And built the goodly house. I've showed thee oft
Foundation stones, where they are standing yet.
I was his servant, as thou knowest too,
Indentured servant, which was but to say
He was my master till I came of age.
A kind and generous master, too, he was.
And for my mistress, how I loved her well!
From eight years old I knew no other care;
In childish sickness she was my dear nurse,
My mistress too, whose word must be obeyed,
But gentle in her ways, with dignity
And sweetness such as never woman had.
And to this house George Fox came, and he preached
Of peace, and meekness, patience under wrong.
I heard him preach, and saw his saintly face.
And after he was gone the men discussed
His doctrine. I was but the lad who served
And brought the mugs of cider and the rum,
But I had eager ears and listened too.
And one said: What, have patience under wrong
And not defend our rights! The world would turn
And all things have an end if one submits
To impositions or to injuries!
My right arm shall defend whate'er I have.
And mine! another cried. And then a third:
Nay, nay, said he, you see not what he means,
One wrong can never right another wrong —
Bear witness to the wrong, but suffer it,
So shall it die, nor sin beget again
A sinful progeny which but increase
And fill the world with tumult and with crime.
And so they talked the while I passed the cups;
And each man unconvinced went to his home.
That was in seventy-two. The time sped on,
The days grew troublous. Indians would not work.
A muttering of war came from the north.
We thought ourselves secure, nor dreamed of harm,
And one cold winter's night all went to rest.
I barred the windows as I always did,
My master and the mistress barred their door —
Their room beside the great room where they sat.
The children slept, the boys of six and eight,
And with her in her room the cradle stood.
A still cold night, with sigh of rising wind —
Cold, like to-night, which brings it all to mind.
I, too, crept to my couch, a trundle bed
Pulled out, and placed before the kitchen fire —
The attic was too cold on such a night.
I know not just how long I slept. I woke
With sense of some one moving, very near.
How still! And then a crackle not like frost.
And then a flickering light that blazed up high
Which gleamed in through the holes the shutters had.
I started up, my master, too, was up.
We looked out through the chinks into the night
And saw black shapes that softly crept up close,
With torches in their hands, close to the house.
We called the men, and quickly got our guns.
And with the first report as one man fell
Arose a fearful yell, like growl of dogs
And shrieks of frantic women all in one.
My master even paled, so many there.
And then the fray began. The fire-brands flew,
Up to the roof they flew, while creeping shapes
Came close beneath the shutters to the house
And beat upon the doors to break them in.
My master called the men, directed them.
Look to thy mistress, boy, he cried to me.
Up to the roof he climbed. One went below
To where the well was sunk beneath the floor,
Quickly the bucket filled, and passed it up.
The house was strong, no fear except from fire;
The shutters oak, the bars were made so stout
No fear they would break in, but fire might drive
Us forth, to certain terror and to death.
My mistress stood, the infant in her arms,
The boys clung to her skirts, the room was dark,
Except a brazen gleam between the cracks
Of window shutters flung across the room.
And fearful sounds there were which pierced the night.
We stood in silence listening to the shrieks.
A shade appeared, and in the room a yell!
I saw the infant seized, heard horrid sounds,
The children screamed but once, but once they cried,
And then again that sound of awful blow!
" Jahleel! " my mistress cried, " Jahleel, Jahleel! "
And I stood still! A horror froze my limbs,
A blackness bound my eyes. I tell thee, boy,
I was afraid. Yea, coward, caitiff, fool
And traitor, — all thy blazing eyes can say, —
I was all that. Afraid, afraid was I,
For what? For my own paltry useless life
Which then God gave me for my punishment.
I saw the other deed, nor moved a hand,
No soul knew I was there. Now first I speak
After these many years, through which, at times,
The recollection comes to torture me.
However I escaped I know not well.
There lay my mistress, dead, and there her boys,
And still her cry for help rang in my ears.
'T is true I joined the army in the fight
And fought my way with others through the camp,
And many an Indian soul to judgment went
Sent by my hand. They called me brave, indeed;
And would have made me captain of the band, —
Me, me, who was a coward and a fool!

And then once more came peace and quiet days.
We worked and tilled the fields, I ploughed the land
And built this little house, my freedom earned
Ere yet I was of age. I would have wed;
Thy mother was my friend, thou knowest well.
But each time I would speak, my mistress' voice
Rang in my ears. " Jahleel, Jahleel! " she cried,
And I, who could not guard her in her need,
Dared not to ask a woman for her love.
So slipped she from me, by another won.
Then I began to justify myself.

Endure, endure, George Fox said, suffer wrong,
And I had suffered it if any has.
So then I joined the meeting on the hill,
And found external peace for many years.
But all the time I knew that my poor peace
Was founded on a lie, it could not last.
Truly I suffered wrong, and passive stood,
But not from courage, not from self-control.
It was that I was paralyzed by fear.
Bear witness to the wrong, George Fox had said,
But there I stood, and saw it all, nor tried
To help or succor them in any way,
And so their death lies heavy on my head.
I was partaker in that dreadful deed —
Aye, I, who loved her, helped to slay her then.
That is the truth, which when I plainly saw,
I then began to preach — of love I preached,
Of penitence, of purity, of death.
Men said, he hath the spirit of George Fox,
Which gives him such humility and power.
They little knew what reasons good I had
To call myself the chief of sinners all!
This is my life, and I have told it thee,
Dear lad, who art too young to understand.
But this thou mayest know, though all the rest,
The sorrow, the remorse, the sense of guilt
Be far from thee forever, dearest boy.
Think thoughts of truth, be brave, keep honor bright,
Lest in some sudden crisis of thy life,
When action springs instinctive without thought,
The flower of thy life, thy heart's best fruit,
Prove but a rotten hideous thing in fact.
So live that in some moment such as mine
Thou shalt not fail as I did, to my shame.
Live high, think truth, make hand obey thy will
And keep thy will obedient unto God.

How still the fire burns, 't is warmer now —
The wind more gently blows. Go bar the door —
Hearken; a cry? Yea, and I know it well!
Thou canst not hear it, boy: Jahleel, it calls!
My mistress' voice, not warningly this time;
She softly calls, and bids me come to her.
My dearest mistress, dost thou then forgive?
Then may I trust my gracious Lord and thine
Hath taken away my stain, my shame is gone!
Thou with the brave and valiant heart, dear boy,
Shalt take my life up where I lay it down.