LA SALLE.
Many stories had been brought by the Indians to the French settlers in Canada, of the great country that lay west of the St. Lawrence and the lakes; and now and then an adventurous trapper had visited the shores of Lake Michigan, and had heard these stories repeated by the tribes living there; and then French priests found their way thither, and by and by it came to be believed that the country in the west was as well worth exploring as the shores of the Atlantic and St. Lawrence; and travellers began to visit the new territory and to trade more extensively with its natives, and to listen with believing ears to their tales of a great river that flowed from the north away and away, hundreds of miles, to the sea.
At that time France was very desirous of discovering a passage from the St. Lawrence to the Pacific Ocean, and when this new river began to be so much talked about, it was wondered whether it might not flow into the Pacific. But some people thought differently; they said that they had no doubt the great river flowed directly south and emptied into the Gulf of Mexico; and, after a great deal of talk, it was decided to send an expedition from Canada to find this great river, and to see where it rose and into what it flowed. The principal men in the party were Louis Joliet, who had been sent from France to discover the passage to the Pacific, and Father Marquette, a French priest, whose long residence among the Indians, and the love and respect with which he had inspired them, made him a very suitable companion for Joliet.
They left Canada by the way of the St. Lawrence, and, passing through the Great Lakes, entered Lake Michigan, and sailed through its waters in Green Bay. At the head of this bay they came to the last French station near Canada. Hereafter their journey would be entirely among tribes of strange Indians. But at the little settlement on Green Bay they saw a cross that had been erected by some French priest, and which the natives had adorned with flowers; and, encouraged by the thought that even on the farthest limit of French territory they were leaving friends, they started bravely for the undiscovered country, taking with them two Indian lads to show them the way to the Wisconsin River. Their canoes sailed up the beautiful waters of the Fox, whose fresh green banks and bordering trees gave promise of leading into a fair land beyond, and in a short time they had reached its head, and pushed out into the narrow channel, almost choked with wild rice, that led to the Wisconsin. The guides left them as soon as their canoes floated into the current of the larger river, and then their voyage began in earnest.
They drifted down the Wisconsin for a week, examining the country carefully on both sides, and always looking out for the great river they had come to find; and at the end of this time they saw, to their great joy, the shining waters of the Mississippi spreading out before them. And now they were obliged to go more carefully for fear of hostile Indians; they no longer spent their nights on the banks of the river, sleeping comfortably around a blazing camp-fire, but anchored their canoes out from shore, and stationed a sentinel to warn them of any danger that might come while they slept. Day after day they scanned the river-banks for sight of lurking foes, and night after night they rolled themselves in their blankets and went to sleep, expecting to be awakened by the war-whoop of the Indians; but, search as they might, they could find no trace of human beings along the river, and eight days passed before they saw a sign of friend or foe. On the ninth day they saw a well-worn path leading up from the river into the forest beyond. Joliet and Marquette sprang from their canoes and started up the path, while the rest of the party remained on the river to guard against surprise.
A short walk brought the leaders to the Indian village, which they were glad to find occupied by the friendly tribe of the Illinois. The chief welcomed them with uplifted hands, in token of friendly greeting, while his warriors gathered around him and waved the pipe of peace. And hardly had the Frenchmen responded to these greetings, when there came an invitation from the head chief of the whole tribe for the strangers to come to his village. They found him standing in front of his wigwam, with his calumet, or pipe of peace, raised toward the sun. He saluted them with a kiss, and invited them into his dwelling, where a banquet had been prepared. After partaking of this, the Frenchmen were escorted through the village by the entire population, who accompanied them to their canoes and stood on the banks while they embarked. Then, as they pushed out from shore, they waved them pleasant farewells, and the visitors went away delighted with their kind welcome. The chief had given Marquette his calumet, which was carefully preserved, as he knew it would be of value in dealing with other tribes.
And then they went on down the river, past the curious Painted Rocks and the mighty forests and rolling prairies, and saw one day another large river flowing from the west—a rushing, mighty river, with turbid, yellow waves that would not mix with the clear waters of the Mississippi; Marquette thought that perhaps this new stream might lead him to the western ocean, if he would trust his frail canoe to its guidance, and the Indians whom he found there said that it was quite true that the yellow river would take him into the distant prairies, which he could easily cross, carrying his canoe on his shoulders, and that a short journey would bring him to another little stream which led into a small lake, from which started a deep river that flowed westward into the sea.
But, although this sounded like very pleasant travelling, Marquette could not leave his companions just then, and they continued their voyage down the Mississippi, passing the Ohio and Arkansas; at which latter point, discouraged by the reports of the hostile tribes who lived farther down, and afraid of falling into the hands of the Spaniards if they reached the Gulf, they turned back and began a leisurely ascent of the Mississippi.
They turned into the Illinois when they reached that river, and journeyed up its winding course, delighted with its fertile basin, rich with fine forests, cattle, deer, goats, and beaver, and beautiful with clear streams and lovely lakes, on which floated great numbers of swans. When they reached the head of the river, an Indian chief guided them through the forests to Green Bay, which they reached in September, well satisfied with their journey, and convinced that the Mississippi led to the Gulf of Mexico.
Joliet no sooner told the story of his expedition than a gentleman of Normandy living in Canada resolved to undertake a journey to the mouth of the Mississippi, and to the Pacific. This man was Robert Cavalier de la Salle, and in August, 1679, he left Canada equipped for a voyage down the Mississippi; but, being detained by the loss of his vessel and an attack of the Iroquois upon the Illinois, who were the friends of the French, it was two years after that date, 1681, before he found himself actually on his way.
They left by the way of the Chicago River, which they travelled down in sledges, the river being frozen over, and even when they reached the Mississippi they were detained some days by the ice; but at last they were able to begin the descent, and, like the former expedition, passed many days before they came to an Indian village that was inhabited.
The first notice they had of their approach to a settlement came from the drums and war-cries of the people who had assembled on the bank. La Salle immediately landed on the other side of the river; and, setting his men to work, they soon had a fort built, and were prepared to defend themselves. The Indians, seeing this, changed their tactics, and sent some messengers across the river in a canoe. La Salle went down to the shore carrying the calumet, which was received by the savages with respect, and friendly feeling was at once established.
The Frenchmen were very glad of this, as during the three days they spent there they learned many things about the Indians farther down the river, and were also well supplied with food for their journey; for this village was situated in the midst of orchards and fields, and the people were very intelligent and courteous, having pleasant manners, and being liberal and hospitable. La Salle planted a cross bearing the arms of France, and parted from his new friends with many expressions of gratitude. The Indians sent with him some interpreters, who introduced him to a friendly tribe some distance farther down, and La Salle found these Indians also very intelligent and hospitable. He describes their houses as being built of mud and straw, with cane roofs, and furnished with bedsteads, tables, etc. They also had temples where their chiefs were buried, and wore white clothing spun from the bark of a tree. These were very different habits from those that La Salle had seen among the Indians in the north, and he concluded that he must be nearing the end of his journey.
This proved to be true, for two weeks after he found the river dividing into three branches; he took one branch and two of his men the others, and in a short time they found that the water was salt, and knew that they had reached the mouth of the river; a little farther on they saw the sea, and found that they had reached the Gulf of Mexico by the way of the Mississippi.
On April 9, 1682, a cross was raised, upon which were inscribed the arms of France; then, after a religious ceremony, La Salle took possession of the Mississippi and all its branches, together with all the lands bordering them, in the name of the king of France. A few days after he turned his face homeward; but, being detained by sickness, did not reach Quebec until the next year. However, he had sent the accounts of his voyage on before him, and these had been forwarded to France; and, after some delay, a new expedition left France, whither La Salle had gone; the object of this expedition was to found a colony at the mouth of the Mississippi.
All might have gone well, had it not been for the jealousy of Beaujeu, the captain of the fleet, who refused to follow La Salle's advice about landing. As they coasted along the Gulf, from their ignorance of the coast, they passed the mouth of the Mississippi, and went farther westward than they had meant to. La Salle wished to turn back and search for the mouth of the river, but Beaujeu refused to do this, and insisted upon entering Matagorda Bay in Texas. Here La Salle was obliged to have his stores landed; and, as soon as this was done, Beaujeu sailed back to France again, caring little what became of his fellow-voyagers.
But La Salle was not to be disheartened by such a mishap as this. He cheered the hearts of his men by his hopeful words, and they set about establishing the colony at once. They found the climate agreeable, and the natives friendly and willing to trade; they belonged to the same race as those on the Mississippi, and, like them, lived in large villages, and had comfortably furnished houses. La Salle had no fear in leaving his colony among these well-disposed natives; and, as soon as it was possible, he left his company and went in search of the Mississippi, which he had hopes of finding without difficulty.
But the river was farther off than he knew, and he was an utter stranger to the country; and, although he turned again and again, two years passed and he had not yet seen its shining waters. At last he determined to take half the colony and find his way to Canada, where he might obtain supplies, as they had received nothing from France since their arrival, owing to the bad report of La Salle that Beaujeu had taken back.
Canada was two thousand miles away, but there were friends there, and the brave leader could not bear to see his countrymen suffering when it might be possible to bring them help. The little party of twenty was not very well equipped for a long journey through a strange country. They had to make clothing of the sails of one of the vessels; their shoes were of buffalo-hide and deer-skin; they had to make boats of skin to cross the swollen rivers, and they depended for food upon the game they could find. And so their progress was very slow, and it took them two months to reach Trinity River.
But hardship was not the only thing that La Salle had to bear on this wearying march. Part of the men became dissatisfied with him, and rebelled against his authority. They killed his nephew and a faithful Indian servant while they were absent from the camp on a hunting expedition, and when La Salle appeared and asked where his nephew was, one of the murderers raised his gun and shot their leader dead.
La Salle was one of the bravest and noblest of the French explorers. If he had been allowed to carry out his plans, France would have been stronger and richer in America than it was ever her fortune to become. It was ten years after his death before any other attempt was made to settle the Mississippi Valley.
To La Salle belongs the honor of being the first European to sail from the upper part of the Mississippi down to the Gulf of Mexico, and it was he who started that spirit of adventure which led to so many Frenchmen devoting their lives to the exploration of the great river and its many branches, thus making the western part of the country familiar to the Europeans, and laying the foundations of the French power in the valley of the Mississippi; and laying, at the same time, the foundations of that firm and lasting friendship with the Indians which was the strongest safeguard of the French in America; for all the tribes along the great river and on the shores of the northern lakes grew to love and reverence the French name.
They looked upon them as brothers, for they came to their humble villages and led the same simple lives that they themselves led. They hunted and fished with them, wore the same kind of clothing, and slept contentedly in their rude wigwams. They talked with them in their own language, and called their lakes and streams by their poetical Indian names. They even married the daughters of their race, and the kindly French priests knew no difference between white man and red man, but ministered to all alike. The Indians freely entered the little chapels that were scattered up and down along the river, and lovingly hung the cross with flowers; and little Indian children were brought there to be baptized, just as the little French children were, and all was peace and harmony. And the calumet never passed from chief to chief but as a sign of peace, and of the abiding friendship which began when Marquette was greeted by the Illinois chief with hands raised toward heaven, as if calling down the blessing of the Great Spirit upon the meeting.
THE STORY OF ACADIA.
Once upon a time, in a country in the north dwelt a very happy race of people. The land did not lie so far north but that it had bright springs and sunny summers, and all through the valleys lay pretty little villages surrounded with orchards and fields and meadows. And little dark-eyed children wandered through the orchards in the morning sunshine, and broke off boughs of pink-tinted blossoms whereon the dew lay not yet dried, and through green-carpeted fields, where the young grain waved, and through the high meadow-grass, gathering daisies and sweet, wild forget-me-nots. All day long the place was bright and happy with children's faces and children's voices.
The Driving out of the AcadiansTHE DRIVING OUT OF THE ACADIANS.
THE DRIVING OUT OF THE ACADIANS.
The tiny streams that crept down from the mountains loved the little faces that leaned over them, and the little hands that threw dainty flowers on their merry, rippling waves; even the birds that flew down into shady, silent corners to drink showed no fear if, perchance, they found a little child there before them. The wind that sung through the pines at the foot of the mountain sung only words of peace, and the whole place seemed only to know blue skies, sweet fragrant breezes, and floods of golden sunshine.
And when the bright, happy days came to an end, then the children would gather on the doorsteps of the quaint little houses, and, while they watched the moon rise large and silvery over the spire of the church, they would listen to the stories told by their fathers and mothers of the land beyond the great sea, which their ancestors had sailed away from forever when they came to find a new home in this northern land.
The children dearly loved to hear the stories of that far-away France which their great-grandfathers and great-grandmothers but dimly remembered; for, although their own homes were in America, they always thought of themselves as French. They knew nothing of England or English customs, and English children would have seemed strangers to them, while the little Indian boys and girls with whom they played seemed dear and familiar friends; for in this northern land, which the French people called Acadia because it was such a lovely and beautiful place, the Indians had always been well treated by the whites, and they were very fond of them in return.
The Indian children played in the streets with the French children, and wandered with them through the meadows and forests. The Indian fathers and mothers went to the village churches, and learned of the good priests how to lead useful and happy lives; and they brought their children to be baptized and confirmed, and wanted them to grow up knowing how to live the same kind of lives that their little French neighbors would live when they grew up.
And so for many years these people lived in this pleasant country, and were contented and happy. But by and by trouble came. Acadia was taken away from the French and given to the English, who sent their soldiers there. The Acadians were very sorry for this; they did not want to belong to England, for they were French and loved France. At that time both England and France had armies in America, and both were trying to get as much land as they could; and, as the English were the more successful in this war, they got possession of Acadia and changed its name to Nova Scotia.
Then there was an English governor sent there to rule the country; and, although the Acadians loved the French, they promised not to help them, but said they would give help neither to the English nor the French.
But the English were not satisfied with this. They were all the time afraid that the Acadians would help the French. So one day the English commander sent a fleet of vessels to Acadia, and all the Acadians were told to gather in the churches and listen to the reading of some papers that had been sent there by him; the Acadians came, but no sooner were they all gathered together than the English soldiers drove them all down to the harbor, where the ships lay. Then they were driven on the ships in crowds, and neighbors and friends and families were all separated; perhaps a father in one ship, a mother in another, and their children in a third. There was no time to say good-by to their pretty little homes—no time to say good-by to dear friends.
As soon as they had been crowded on the ships the soldiers set fire to their homes, and soon the peaceful villages of Acadia were utterly destroyed. Nothing remained of the once lovely place but heaps of ashes, burned fields, and desolate tracts of country.
The ships sailed away to different ports, and the Acadians were scattered all over the country. Friends who had been separated often never met again, and the little boys and girls who had played so happily in the green fields of Acadia were now to go sorrowing all their lives for the dear playmates they would never see again.
It was a very cruel thing to do. It was an act unworthy the heart of an English soldier, who could not but remember his own home in fair, green England. It was something that the English ought to have been ashamed to do, for the Acadians were a peaceful people and not likely to make them any trouble.
But sometimes, in war, men forget that they are men, and act cruelly and wrongly; and that is what the English did when they drove the Acadians from their homes to wander homeless and poor and sad all over the country.
If you should go to Nova Scotia to-day you would not find the Acadia of that far-off time. The country is English now, and the only memories of Acadia are those that linger in the lonely mountain echoes, in the sad sighing of the pines, in the wild flowers of the meadow, which make you think of the children that once played there; in the soft murmur of the streams, which seem to sing, as you listen, long-forgotten tunes; and in the deep roar of the sea, on whose waves the Acadians were borne away forever from that beautiful, happy land which became but a dream of the past.
THE STORY OF PONTIAC.
There was once a little Indian boy whose home was on the shores of a beautiful lake in the midst of a deep forest. He was the son of a powerful chief, and from his earliest years looked forward to the time when he too should be a great warrior, like his father, and lead his tribe in successful battle against his enemies. For although his quiet home was far away from great cities, and most of the neighboring tribes were friendly, yet some of the noise and stir and trouble of the great outside world had crept even to that distant woodland home; and the children there early learned that they must grow up brave and daring men, and ready to defend their homes if need be. This boy Pontiac was always a leader among his companions in all games of daring and skill. He it was who led them into the forests in their hunt after wild, and ferocious animals, or by the courses of distant streams in search of rare flowers and stones, or along the shores of the lakes, where the startled birds made vain efforts to fly beyond his aim—for Pontiac's arrow was always swift and sure—and who carried home at night the largest part of the day's spoils, whether they were fishing in the lake, or hunting in the forest, or searching for the glittering minerals that were scattered over the land.
The Story of Pontiac's PlotTHE STORY OF PONTIAC'S PLOT.
THE STORY OF PONTIAC'S PLOT.
And the years that he spent in childish sports were also spent in learning many useful things, and by the time he was a well-grown boy he knew every inch of the forests for miles and miles around, and all the winding streams that came down from the hill-country, and every curve and bay in the great lakes that lay not far distant from his home. Although he was a very daring and active boy, sometimes he was very thoughtful too, and he would often leave his companions and hide away in the branches of some great tree, or in some sheltered nook by the lake, and sit alone for hours thinking. At such times he was often sad, for his thoughts were of his brave people, who had suffered so much and been so cruelly treated by the English.
Pontiac had hated the English ever since he could remember, not because they were of a different race and strangers, for the French were of a different race and strangers too, but because, in all their dealings with the Indians, the English had always been cruel, treacherous, and ready to take advantage, while the French had always been kind, trustworthy, and ready to be the red man's friend. And as the boy grew into manhood the hatred still continued, for the English still continued to steal the Indians' land and oppress them by unjust laws; and when his father died, and he became chief over the powerful Ottawas, he resolved to do all that he could to drive the English from his native land, so that the Indians and kindly French alone should live there peaceably and happily.
The Ottawas lived in the region lying between Lake Erie and Lake Michigan, and the neighboring tribes, the Chippeways, Wyandots, Senecas, and Pottawattomies, were also friends to the French and foes to the English, and ready to carry out any plan that the great chief Pontiac might propose.
The French, who hated the English as much as the Indians did, looked on, and were very glad to see that Pontiac and the other chiefs were so bitter against their common enemy; and the French leaders did everything in their power to keep the English and Indians at war.
At that time there was constant war between England and France, because each country thought she had the better right to America, and was trying to drive the other away.
Already the Acadians had been driven from their home by English soldiers, and England had conquered all the Canadian towns; and unless something was done very soon, the Indians and French would have no chance at all, for the English were more and more successful all the time. So Pontiac thought of a very bold plan. He was not so afraid of the English soldiers as some of the chiefs, for once, when leading his brave Ottawas against the English under General Braddock, he had seen them run before the attack of his men, and had come to the conclusion that they were no braver than any other soldiers. The more he thought of his plan the better he liked it; and at last he told it to the French, who approved it heartily, and said they had no doubt of its success. They told Pontiac that the French king had been asleep for a while, and that was the reason the English had gained so many victories; but that soon he would awake, and then he would drive the English away from the land of his "red children."
This was good news to Pontiac, who dearly loved France, and he went home more resolved than ever to carry out his plan, which was—that on a certain day all the Indians should join together and attack all the English forts at once, and so drive their hated enemy from the country forever. So he called the chief men of his tribe together, and they all agreed that this would be an easy thing to do if the other tribes would join. And then Pontiac sent messengers to every tribe between the Alleghany Mountains and the Mississippi; the messengers carried a belt of red beads and a tomahawk stained red, which meant that Pontiac was inviting them to begin war. In every village the messengers entered, the chief took the belt and tomahawk and held them up before his people, as a sign that he was willing to fight, and would help Pontiac drive away the English.
Soon afterward all the great chiefs met in council, and agreed on a day for the attack. It was to be May 7, 1763. Each chief was to lead his tribe against a certain fort, and the English were all to be murdered like dogs. But it happened that all the forts were not attacked on that day after all.
Pontiac was to attack Detroit, the strongest and most important of the forts. Before the appointed day he went to the fort with a number of his men, and asked the commander to let them come in and give an Indian dance. The English officer and his men were very willing to do this, as life was very tedious away from home and friends, and they were glad of anything that would amuse them. So the Indians entered the fort, and went through their strange, outlandish dance; but all the time they were looking carefully about the fort, seeing where it was strongest and where weakest, noticing the number of guns, and finding out about the provisions in case they should not be able to take it at once; and as soon as they had seen all they wanted to they went away, and the English did not imagine for a moment the real reason of their coming. The next thing to do was to take the fort, and Pontiac thought if he could get inside of the walls with some armed men, it would be a very easy thing to surprise the English, and thus make a successful attack. So he planned that he and his warriors should all go to the fort, carrying their guns hidden away under their blankets, and that they would ask the officer to let them come in and hold a council. Of course the officer would agree to this, seeing that they carried no weapons; and then, as soon as they were inside the fort, they would, at a certain signal, kill all the white officers, and so take the soldiers by surprise.
This was a bold plan; but all the warriors agreed to it, and waited impatiently for the time to come.
But among the Indians was a beautiful maiden, who had learned to love and trust the English, and who could not bear to think of their being so cruelly murdered; and she resolved to save them if she could. She was used to going in and out of the fort as she pleased, for she was a favorite with the officers, who had shown her many kindnesses; and one day, before Pontiac had time to carry out his plan, she went to the fort, taking with her, as an excuse, a pair of moccasons as a present to Major Gladwyn, the chief officer. But, when she came into the officer's presence, her courage failed her; she knew what her own fate would be if her words were not heeded, and Pontiac should succeed after all; and so, she quite lost heart, and, laying the moccasons down on the table, talked a little while with the major, and then went out without giving her warning. But when she was again outside, her troubled face attracted the notice of the sentinel, who immediately suspected some plot, and persuaded her to go back to Major Gladwyn. And then, after many promises of protection, she at length told him of Pontiac's plan, and warned him to be prepared. Major Gladwyn immediately began to make ready for Pontiac's visit, and when he appeared the next day, with fifty of his boldest warriors, all carrying their guns under their blankets, he found the English soldiers standing in ranks, armed and prepared for battle.
The chief saw at once that his plan had failed, and, as the English did not intend to fight unless the Indians began the battle, Pontiac and his men were allowed to leave the fort again in peace. And so Detroit was saved by a tender-hearted girl, and once again, as happened many times during the terrible struggles between the Indians and whites, the English had to thank an Indian maiden for help and warning in time of need.
But this failure only made Pontiac and the other chiefs more furious than ever. As soon as possible the other forts were attacked. The Wyandots burned Fort Sandusky, and butchered the soldiers; the Chippeways murdered nearly all the inmates of Fort Mackinaw; and by a clever trick Michilimackinac was also taken. The capture of Michilimackinac was on a holiday; the Indians had approached the fort and were playing ball outside; they had invited the soldiers out to see the game, and as they stood looking on, an Indian suddenly threw the ball near the gate of the fort. This was the sign agreed upon. The Indians all made a rush for the ball, and as they passed the squaws, who had been looking on, each man snatched his hatchet, which had been hidden under the women's blankets, and ran into the fort. The soldiers were not prepared, and in the surprise and confusion most of them were killed.
And so the Indians went on, taking fort after fort, until there remained only three in the hands of the English. One of these was Detroit, which Pontiac had surrounded for months with his own and other tribes; but the English had a large store of provisions, and Pontiac, seeing no hope of success just then, went away with his men to attack places less strong.
But he was still fiercely determined to drive the English from his western home, and for two years he gave them no peace—surprising them here and there, now at dead of night, and then in broad noonday, until the terrible war-cry of the Ottawas became a fear and dread to all the English in the west; but finally, worn out and discouraged with the useless struggle, one by one his warriors left him, and he fled to the Illinois, and lived with that tribe until his death.
His was the most dreaded name in the west, and for years after, when France and England were no longer at war, and the Indians were for the most part peaceful, the English settlers in the lake region and on the banks of the Mississippi still remembered, with shuddering horror, the name of Pontiac, the last of the great Indian chiefs.
THE REVOLUTION.
Although America had been settled by different nations—one place by the English, another by the Dutch, another by the French, another by the Swedes, and so on—it came to pass at last, as you have seen, that after a great deal of trouble and much fighting, England owned the greater part of it, and that the English language was spoken and English law obeyed from Maine to Florida. In fact, America was no longer looked upon as a country by itself, but as a province of England. And the people called themselves English, and were very proud to do so too; for then, as now, England was one of the greatest countries in the world.
This friendly feeling might have lasted for many years, if it had not been for the foolish and wrong acts of the English king and his advisers.
The great war which England had been carrying on, a part of which was the fighting against the French and Indians in America, had cost a great deal of money, and had left England very much in debt, and the king, George III., ordered the American colonies to be taxed in order to help pay the debt off.
The Americans were quite willing to pay their share; but they said that since America was a part of the English possessions, American statesmen should be sent to the English Parliament to represent the colonies, and see that their interests were guarded; just as from all the different counties of England men were sent to Parliament to see that taxes were not distributed unjustly among the people there.
But George III. utterly refused to permit the colonists to send these representatives; and instead passed some very unjust laws, and laid taxes on many articles that had not been taxed before.
This aroused the indignation of the Americans, who refused to pay the taxes, and even attacked the English officers who tried to collect them. Meetings were held all over the country, and everywhere the same feeling was shown. In Boston, rather than pay the tax on a shipload of tea, the Bostonians, disguised as Indians, went on board the ship and threw the tea into the harbor. In New York an angry mob burned the effigy of the English Governor, and in every place women refused to buy English goods and said they would rather wear homespun than submit to such injustice.
This conduct only angered the king the more. He denied the right of America to resist his laws, and passed measures more irritating still.
The Americans began to wonder if he would force them into an open rebellion. The excitement grew stronger each day, and the king's authority was openly questioned. In large meetings the chief Americans discussed the vexed question, and decided that they had been right in resisting the king, and would continue to resist him until he repealed the unjust laws. Patrick Henry, a great orator of Virginia, made an address, in which he denounced George III. as a tyrant, and warned him against further exciting the indignation of the colonists. The king replied by calling the Americans traitors, and sending an armed force to frighten the rebels into submission.
Many of the wisest Englishmen tried to persuade King George to acknowledge the rights of the Americans in this matter; among them William Pitt, Earl of Chatham, who in an address to Parliament declared that he rejoiced that America had resisted. But they were unsuccessful, and things grew quickly worse.
The presence of English troops in America was the signal for more determined opposition. Companies of militia were formed in all the towns and villages, and the English saw that the Americans were preparing to defend themselves. In Boston, where the anger against the British soldiers was very great, and where some quarrels with them had already happened, the English general saw these preparations on every side. Among other things, he heard that the people had collected ammunition and provisions at Concord, a village some distance away, and he sent a party of soldiers to destroy these stores. As this party passed through Lexington, another village, on the way to Concord, on the morning of April 19, 1775, they found a company of farmers assembled on the village green, to keep them from going further. They fired upon these men, and the Americans fired in return, though they were obliged to give way. Several of the Americans were killed and wounded, and this was the first blood shed in the Revolution.
Two months later, on June 17th, as English troops were preparing to leave Boston, they found that breastworks had been made on Bunker Hill, behind which stood the Americans ready to resist them. The battle which followed showed the English that the Americans were much better soldiers than they had any idea of. They fought with the utmost skill and courage, and only withdrew when their powder and shot were quite exhausted; and although the English thus won the day, still the Americans were far from being disheartened.
But they really did not wish a long and hard war with England, and would have been very glad if the king had shown any signs of relenting; but he did not, and they determined to fight it out. An army of twenty thousand men was soon gathered around Boston; George Washington, one of the heroes of the French and Indian wars, was chosen commander-in-chief of the army, and war really began.
Several battles were fought; sometimes the English were successful and sometimes the Americans, and the end seemed as far off as ever.
At last the Americans, seeing that King George would never come to terms, declared that they would no longer submit to English rule at all; but would make America a free country and govern themselves. For although they had not meant to do this in the beginning of the trouble, they now saw it was the only thing that could be done. Representatives from all parts of the colonies met at Philadelphia, and there drew up a Declaration of Independence, in which they explained the reasons for their action, and then declared that the American colonies should be from that time an independent nation, forever free from English government. It was on July 4, 1776, that they adopted this declaration; so that July 4th has been celebrated ever since as the nation's birthday. The declaration was read in all the towns amid ringing of bells and universal rejoicing, and thus the rebellion of the colonies against England became arevolution, or complete change of government. More troops were sent from England, and the colonies prepared for a long and desperate struggle.
Volunteers came thronging from the hills of New England, the valley of the Hudson, the plantations of Virginia, and the rice-fields of the Carolinas; the colonists had found out that there could only be strength in union. The war went on, and the Americans had the hardest part of the struggle still to come. They had but little money, and often suffered for food and clothing.
While the English army was well fed and comfortably clothed, the Americans, in winter-quarters at Valley Forge, went hungry and ragged, leaving the prints of their bleeding feet on the snow, and encouraged only by the brave heart of Washington, who, amid the universal discouragement still kept on his way, calm, resolute, and incapable of despair. But better days dawned. Robert Morris, of Philadelphia, devoted his large private fortune to the expenses of the army, and established a system of credit by which money could be raised for the soldiers; and soon after there was a great victory at Saratoga, through which a large part of the English army under General Burgoyne had to surrender to the Americans.
The battle of Saratoga showed the nations of Europe that America was likely to win the day; and France, which was very hostile to England, agreed to help the colonies with men and money. In many ways the cause of the colonists gained new strength, and this was the turning-point of the war. From this time the Americans gained courage and hope as one victory followed another, and finally, on October 19, 1781, the English general, Lord Cornwallis, surrendered his army to Washington at Yorktown, Va., and thus ended the war.
The English troops were called home, and articles of peace between England and the United States of America were signed at Paris.
The United States chose George Washington for the president of the new republic. He was inaugurated April 30, 1789, in New York, which was then the capital.
The Revolution separated us forever from England, and made us, politically, an independent nation. But it could not break the ties of race, which will always make most Americans feel strongly bound to the mother country.
To-day there is no nation on earth to which America turns with friendlier eyes than England, which gave to it its language, its laws, and its religion, and whose brave sons crossed the seas, and through much trouble and peril laid the foundations of this great new country; and, in spite of all differences, the American and Englishman must ever feel that they are both descendants of the brave Norse races that crossed the Northern seas hundreds of years ago to choose for themselves a new home in England, and that no difference of time or place can change the mark of race that proves them brothers.
Transcriber's Notes:Variations in spelling, punctuation and hyphenation have been retained except in obvious cases of typographical error:"... who were (faired-skinned —>) fair-skinned""... the inhabitants of (Lumbez —>) Tumbez,""(Atahuala —>) Atahualpa looked upon the fair faces""Don Pedro had a daughter, Isabella(; —>),""... commanded by (Giovani —>) Giovanni Verrazano,""They marched two days (though —>) through swamps""THE (REVOLUTOIN —>) REVOLUTION."Illustrations interrupting paragraphs have been moved.
Transcriber's Notes:
Variations in spelling, punctuation and hyphenation have been retained except in obvious cases of typographical error:
"... who were (faired-skinned —>) fair-skinned"
"... the inhabitants of (Lumbez —>) Tumbez,"
"(Atahuala —>) Atahualpa looked upon the fair faces"
"Don Pedro had a daughter, Isabella(; —>),"
"... commanded by (Giovani —>) Giovanni Verrazano,"
"They marched two days (though —>) through swamps"
"THE (REVOLUTOIN —>) REVOLUTION."
Illustrations interrupting paragraphs have been moved.