A PAUPER'S FUNERAL—BEN'S FRIEND THE MINISTER, AND BEN'S VICTORY IN WRESTLING

When I returned to the shop, Mr. Harrington said: "I'm glad you're back, Ben. The rest of the selectmen have left the care of Benoni Mead's funeral to me, and I've got a lot of things to do. We must have some gloves and scarves for the bearers, and you'll have to ride down to Charlestown to buy them."

I mounted a horse and rode through Menotomy and over the Plains. There was a sharp breeze blowing; and as I neared the Neck, I heard a creaking as if a rusty hinge was being turned.

Looking to the left, I saw a negro hanging in gibbets at the foot of a ledge. The wind made the body sway to and fro, and the grating of the chains caused the noise. The sight made cold shivers go up my back, and I hurried on till I reached Cheever's store near the Boston ferry and bought the gloves and scarves.

On the next day little Benoni was buried. Days on which there were funerals were half-holidays, that every one might attend. When I arrived at the Hadley house, there were a number of men near the door, and others leaning on the fence. The town bier stood in front of the house, and the pall was over it.

I went into the house and looked at Benoni. His thin little face was peaceful and happy as if he had found rest and an end of pain. Old Seth Green slouched in after me. Winter pig we used to call him, he was so sleek and fat. He looked at Benoni with a woe-begone expression, and, turning away, helped himself to some liquor which stood on a table.

I followed him out and heard him say to Amos Muzzy: "Have you been in to see Benoni? Looks real sweet and pretty. Mighty good rum the town provided. Some of Buckman's best. Poor little fellow! I think I'll go in and take another look at him."

The minister, Mr. Clark, now came. He made a short prayer, and then the coffin was placed on the bier and covered with the pall. Some of the most prominent men in the town were the pall-bearers. They placed the bier on their shoulders, and the procession followed them. As we passed the meeting-house, the bell tolled. When we reached the burying-yard, the coffin was lowered into the grave. The minister made another short prayer. Earth was thrown on the coffin, the grave was filled in, and we departed.

I say the minister, Mr. Clark. For some time after the death of Mr. Hancock we had no settled pastor. Ministers came and preached awhile for us and then departed. We had become so accustomed to the old bishop that it seemed as if no one could satisfy us or fill his place. It was not till late in the previous year that we found the man who suited.

Mr. Jonas Clark, a young college graduate, preached to us, and we were mutually pleased. The town voted to request him to become our pastor. He accepted, and was ordained in November. The town voted one hundred pounds for the celebration. The Governor's Council came out from Boston. Deputations were sent from the surrounding towns, and we had a great time, hours of preaching and hours of feasting. People loved Mr. Hancock for his great common sense, his bluff, hearty, jovial manner, and the wit and humour that abounded in him at a time when most ministers thought it their duty to look as solemn as a gravestone.

Mr. Clark became as much beloved and respected as Mr. Hancock, and yet he did not resemble him. His manners were elegant. He was learned, able, and very polite. Neat as wax, he made us feel ashamed of our slovenly ways. He was not the bluff, hale fellow the old bishop was, who compelled us to do what he knew was right.

Mr. Clark had a kind heart, a keen, clear mind. Though he guided us with a firm hand, it was done in such a gentle and polite manner, that we rarely felt how completely we were under his control.

And though he was a student and his tastes were delicate, still he did not frown upon our rude sports, provided they were not low or brutal. "They make the body erect and supple and give strength and elasticity to the muscles. The body should be cultivated as well as the mind. What we want is a sound mind in a sound body."

Wrestling was the great sport in those days, and I was always fond of it. I was very strong naturally, and my trade as blacksmith had toughened my muscles wonderfully.

Our strongest man and best wrestler was Jonas Parker. You would hardly have suspected it; for though he had rather a grim, determined look, he was a quiet, staid, religious man and a great lover of reading.

A few years before, he had bought some land of Dr. Fiske and built a house not far from Bishop Hancock's and constantly borrowed and read his books.

He was also a great lover of wrestling, knew all the tricks, and had the reputation of being the best man in our county at it.

He watched me wrestling with the other boys, and one day said to me: "Ben, you've got the making of a great wrestler in you. Come up to my house when you can, and I'll teach you what I know about it."

On holidays and whenever I got a chance, I went up to his place, and we would walk down to a grove back of his barn and wrestle. We kept this up all the spring and summer, and he taught me the different throws.

He said: "You're coming on at a great rate, Ben. When you get your full strength, I think you'll be as good or a better wrestler than I am, and there's not such a great difference even now. I don't think we had ever better wrestle in earnest, for it might make bad blood between us. We can wrestle together for practice and leave it undecided which is the better man."

After wrestling we would go into the house, and he would take out a book of plays by William Shakespeare and read from it to me. We were both religious men and did not believe in play acting. But plays like these could do no harm. Jonas loved this man's writings next to the Bible, and I saved up money and bought a copy of the book myself. Mr. Clark had the same love for Shakespeare, and often when we stopped wrestling, as it began to grow dark, Jonas would say that Mr. Clark had asked him to come down to his house with me, and he would read to us. The plays seemed much finer as he read them in his clear voice and explained them to us, for by ourselves we only saw a portion of their beauties.

Jonas and I were at his house one August evening of this year, 1757, and Mr. Clark had just begun to read, when Dr. Fiske rode up, and pulling up his horse, called out: "Mr. Clark! Mr. Clark! There's bad news—very bad news from the army. Colonel Brattle has received word from General Webb that the French army were advancing to attack Fort William Henry, and he was afraid it would be taken. Good-by!"

Mr. Clark shut up the book and said: "This is no night for Shakespeare. Let us pray for the safety of our army."

Two days afterward, another messenger rode up to our shop.

"There has been a great disaster. Fort William Henry is taken, and the garrison has been massacred."

"Go on! How did it happen?"

"Colonel Munro was at the fort with a small force. Montcalm advanced with his army to attack it. Munro sent to Webb for reËnforcements. He promised to send them and did send a few. Munro again asked for more men, but Webb didn't let a man go. Montcalm attacked the fort, battered it to pieces, and finally the garrison was compelled to surrender. They were to deliver up their arms and then were to be allowed to march off to the English army. They gave up their guns and started back to Webb, but before they got far they were set upon by the Indians and most of them massacred. Some few escaped to Webb's army."

"And what was Webb doing all this time?"

"Shaking in his shoes, I guess. He is now; for he has sent messengers everywhere for reËnforcements.""The miserable coward! We'll send him men, but he ought to be hanged."

The next day a number of men set out under Captain Blodgett.

I wished to go very much, but Mr. Harrington said: "It's too late in the season for them to do anything. They will just sit down and watch each other. Your time is up next spring, and if you want to go then, I'll let you off early."

So I stayed at home, and it was well I did, for the company only got as far as Springfield, where they were met by messengers from Webb, who had got over his fright, telling them to return. They came back to Lexington, having been out only twelve days.

When they returned, we had a great jollification. The company marched to the training-field, and went through the exercises. Crowds gathered round and ate gingerbread and drank beer.

A lot of worthless fellows used to wander round the country, and pick up a living by wrestling and betting on themselves. Such a man appeared on the training-field that day.

"Here I am, boys, at your service,—Sam Sloan, the champion wrestler of Essex County. I've wrestled with the best men of every town in the county,—Newburyport, Ipswich, Gloucester, Marblehead, Salem,—and thrown them all. I've been from one end of the county to the other, and not a man can stand up against me. I hear you've got the best man in Middlesex in this town, and I've come to throw him. If you think I can't, make your bets. I've got ten pounds with me, and I want to bet every penny of it."

He found plenty of men who were ready to bet with him, for all had confidence in Jonas.

Some one ran after Jonas and brought him to the place where this man was boasting.

"So, you're Jonas Parker, the best man in Middlesex? Well, you look as if you could wrestle a bit, but you'll know more about it, after I get through with you."

Jonas said nothing, but took off his jacket and waistcoat, and looked at him quietly, with a grim smile.

Then they grappled each other, and I watched them anxiously. It did not seem to me that Jonas was exerting himself fully or doing his very best. But the man from Essex was laid on the ground in a short time.

He jumped up furious. "That was an accident. Just a piece of bad luck. My foot slipped on something in the grass. It wasn't a fair wrestle. Come on and try it again. I can throw you as easy as tumbling off a log."

"Wait a minute," said Jonas; "pay your bets, and then we'll talk."

The man pulled out his wallet, paid his bets, and said, "Now, come on, and I'll show you what wrestling is."

"Wait a bit," said Jonas; "don't hurry! You talk big. But you must first prove that you are a wrestler. There's a likely lad here, and if you wrestle him, and show that you can wrestle, you can take an hour's time to get fresh, and I'll try you again."

The man blustered; but Jonas turned away, and coming to me, said: "Now, Ben, I want you to show these people what there is in you. You can throw him if you only make up your mind to it. You are very strong in the arms, and if I were you, I'd give him a grip at first just to show him your strength, and to put a little fear into him."

Father stepped up, and said: "Jonas, what are you up to? Ben can never wrestle that man."

"Neighbour Comee! You don't know what Ben can do at wrestling, and I do. And faith! I have a suspicion he's the best wrestler in the county."

Then Jonas led me to the man. "This is the lad."

"Lad! Why, he's as big as you be. How old are you?"

"Twenty, sir."

"Well, come on."

We caught hold of each other, and I gave him a grip that made him gasp. We broke away, and he looked at me, panting, and said:

"What be ye, anyhow? You've got a hug like a black bear."

"Oh, that's nothing. That's just a little love squeeze to show you how much I like you."

"Well, come on again; I'll show you what wrestling is."He was not so strong as I, and I hustled him round in a lively way; but he knew a good deal about wrestling, and kept his feet well. We struggled for a while, and I squeezed him and shook him up, and then tried Jonas's pet throw. He went to the ground like a log, and lay there stunned.

I was scared at first, for I thought I had killed him, but Jonas said: "He's all right, Ben. Just stand back, boys, and give him a little air."

He came to in a short time, sat up, and after looking about him got up and said: "A likely lad! I should say so. A kind of mixture of bear, wildcat, and greased lightning. I must get out of this town quick, or you'll be setting some child at me, and I don't know what would happen."

He jammed his hat on his head, took his coat and waistcoat under his arm, and hurried away.

Of course, I got great credit and praise, for no one but Jonas knew that I was a first-class wrestler; and the men all felt proud to have another man in the town almost as good at it as Jonas.

Amos and Davy had been staring at me, open-mouthed. Both of them came up and shook hands with me in a most respectful manner. Father took me by the arm and walked home with me, giving me a lecture all the way on the vanity of foolish games and warning me to beware of a false pride in my strength.

But when I had taken the basin, and was washing my face and hands by the back door, I could hear him telling mother about it, as jubilant as one of those old Hebrews over the fall of his enemies.

Goodness! If I had displayed the vanity and false pride that he showed over me, I don't know what punishment he would not have given me.

When I came in, he bottled himself up, and looked at me in a sad, reproving manner. But I knew he was as happy as a man could be. Mother did not like it, and I had to assure her again and again that I was not hurt. She began to talk about giving me some herb tea, and I got out of the house as quickly as possible.