CHAPTER XXXIV.
OLD MR. CALAMITY AND THE TEARING DOWN OF THE KING'S ARMS.
Our gentlemanly friend Mr. Calamity was now very, very old, long past the milestone of eighty. As Philadelphia grew, the streets lengthening, the fine houses rising higher and higher, he began to doubt that he was a prophet, and he shunned Benjamin Franklin when the latter was in the country.
One day, long before the Stamp Act, he passed the Gazette office, when the prosperous editor appeared.
"It's coming," said he, tap, tapping on. "What did I tell you?"
"What is coming?" asked our vigorous king of prosperity.
"War!" He became greatly excited. "Indians! they're coming with the tommyhawk and scalping knife, and we'll need to be thankful if they leave us our heads."
There were indeed Indian troubles and dire events at that time, but not near Philadelphia.
Time passed. He was a Tory, and he heard of Concord and Lexington, and he ceased to read the paper that Franklin printed, and his cane flew scatteringly as it passed the office door. To him that door was treason.
One evening he lifted his cane as he was passing.
"The king will take the puny colonies in his mighty arms and dash them against the high rock of the sea. He will dash them in pieces 'like a potter's vessel.' What are we to the throne of England!"
He heard of Bunker Hill, and his old heart beat free again.
"What did I tell you?" he said. "King George took the rebels in his arms and beat them against Bunker Hill. He'll plant his mighty heel on Philadelphia some day, and may it fall on the head of Benjamin Franklin, for of all rebels he is the most dangerous. Oh, that Franklin! He is now advocating the independence of the colonies!"
The Provincial Congress began to assemble, and cavalcades went out to meet the members as they approached the city on horseback. The Virginia delegation were so escorted into the city with triumph. The delegates were now assembling to declare the colony free. Independence was in the air.
Terrible days were these to Mr. Calamity. As often as he heard the word "independence" on the street his cane would fly up, and after this spasm his snuffbox would come out of his pocket for refreshment. His snuffbox was silver, and on it in gold were the king's arms.
He was a generous man despite his fears. He was particularly generous with his snuff. He liked to pass it around on the street, for he thereby displayed the king's arms on his snuffbox.
When the Massachusetts delegates came, the city was filled with joy. But Samuel Adams was the soul of the movement for independence, and after his arrival independence was more and more discussed, which kept poor old Mr. Calamity's cane continually flying. But his feelings were terribly wounded daily by another event of common occurrence. As he passed the snuffbox to the Continentals he met, and showed the royal arms upon it, they turned away from him; they would not take snuff from the royal snuffbox. These were ominous times indeed.
The province of Pennsylvania had decreed that no one should hold any office derived from the authority of the king. For a considerable period there was no government in Pennsylvania, no authority to punish a crime or collect a debt, but all things went on orderly, peacefully, and well.
Old Mr. Calamity used to sit under the great elm tree at Shakamaxon in the long summer days and extend his silver snuffbox to people as they passed. The tree was full of singing birds; flowers bloomed by the way, and the river was bright; but to him the glory of the world had fled, for the people no longer would take snuff from the box with the royal arms.
One day a lady passed who belonged to the days of the Penns and the Proprietors.
"Madam Bond," said he, "comfort me."
A patriot passed. The old man held out the snuffbox. The man hesitated and started back.
"The royal arms will have to go," said the patriot.
"Where from?" said the old man excited.
"From everywhere. We are about to decree a new world."
"They will never take these golden arms from that snuffbox. Sir, do you know that box was given to the Proprietor by Queen Charlotte herself?"
"Well, the golden arms will have to come off it; they will have to come down everywhere. No—I thank you," he continued. "I can not ever take snuff again out of a snuffbox like that."
Poor old Mr. Calamity turned to the lady.
"What am I to do? Where am I to go? You do pity me, don't you?"
A little girl passed near. He held out the box. The girl ran. The poor old man began to tremble.
"I have trembling fits sometimes," said he. "Take a pinch of snuff with me; it will steady me. Take a pinch of snuff for Queen Charlotte's sake."
He shook like the leaves of the elm tree in the summer wind.
Dame Bond hesitated.
He trembled more violently. "Do you hesitate to honor the name of Queen Charlotte?" he said.
The woman took a pinch of snuff in memory of the days gone. He grew calmer.
"That strengthens me," he said. "What am I to do? The things that I see daily tear me all to pieces. It broke my heart to see that child run away. I can not cross the sea, and if they were to tear down the king's arms from the State House I would die. I would tremble until I grew cold and my breath left me. You do pity me, don't you? I sometimes grow cold now when I tremble."
It was June. A bugle rang out in the street.
"What is that?" he asked of a volunteer who passed by.
"It is the summons."
"For what?"
"For the assembling of the people."
"In God's name, for what? Is a royal messenger coming?"
"No. They are going to tear down the king's arms from all the buildings at six, and are going to pile them up on tar barrels and make a bonfire of them when the sun goes down. The flame will ascend to heaven. That will be the end of the reign of King George III in this province forever!"
The old man trembled again.
"I am cold," he said.—"Dame Bond, take another pinch of snuff out of the silver box with the golden arms—it helps me."
Dame Bond once more paid her respects to Queen Charlotte.
"Before God, you do not tell me, sir, that they are going to take down the king's arms from the State House?"
"The king's arms are to be torn down from all the buildings, my aged friend; from the inns, the shops, the houses, the State House, and all."
"Dame Bond, my limbs fail. I shall never go home again. Tell the family as you pass that I shall not return to tea with them. Let me pass the evening here, where Penn made his treaty with the Indians. To-night is the last of Pennsylvania. I never wish to see another morning."
The destruction of the royal arms.
At seven o'clock in the long, fiery day the great bell rang. The bugle sounded again. People ran hither and thither. A rocket flared across the sky, and a great cry went up:
"Down with the arms!"
A procession headed with soldiers passed through the streets of the city bearing with them a glittering sign. Military music filled the air.
The old man's daughter Mercy came to see him under the tree and to persuade him to go home with her.
"Mercy—daughter—what are they carrying away?"
"The king's arms from the State House; that is all, father."
"All! all! Say you rather that it is the world!"
The roseate light faded from the high hills and the waters. The sea birds screamed, and cool breezes made the multitudinous leaves of the tree to quiver.
"Mercy—daughter—and what was that?"
"They are lighting a bonfire, father."
"What for?"
"To burn the king's arms."
"What will we do without a king?"
"They will have a Congress."
A great shout went up on a near hill.
"But, Mercy—daughter—a Congress is men. A Congress is not a power ordained. Oh, that I should ever live to see a day like this! 'Twas Franklin did it. I can see it all—it was he; it was the printer boy from Boston."
Darkness fell. It was nine o'clock now. There was a discharge of firearms, and a great flame mounted up from the pile on the hill, and put out the stars and filled the heavens.
"Father, let us go home."
"No, let me stay here under the tree."
"Why, father?"
"The palsy is coming upon me—I can feel it coming, and here I would die."
"Oh, father, return with me, for my sake!"
"Well, help me, then."
She lifted him, and they went back slowly to the street.
The city was deserted. The people were out to the hill. There was a crackling of dry boards in the bonfire, and the flame grew redder and redder, higher and higher.
They came to the State House. The old man looked up. The face of the house was bare; the king's arms were gone.
He sank down on the step of an empty house and began to tremble. He took out his silver snuffbox and held it shaking.
"For Queen Charlotte's sake, daughter," he said.
She touched the box, to please him.
"Gone," he said; "the king's arms are gone, and I have no wish to survive them. I feel the chill coming on—'tis the last time. Take the silver box, daughter; for my sake hide it, and always be true to the king's arms upon it. As for me, I shall never see the morning!"
He lay there in the moonlight, his eyes fixed on the State House where the king's arms had been.
The people came shouting back, bearing torches that were going out. Houses were being illuminated.
He ceased to tremble. They sent for a medical man and for his near kin. These people were among the multitude. They came late and found him lying in the moonlight white and cold.
The bells are ringing. Independence is declared. The king's rule in the province is gone forever. Benjamin Franklin's name commands the respect of lovers of liberty throughout the world. He is fulfilling the vision of Uncle Benjamin, the poet. He has added virtue to virtue, intelligence to intelligence, benevolence to benevolence, faith to faith. So the ladder of success ascends. Like his great-uncle Tom, his influence has caused the bells to ring; it will do so again.
Franklin heard of his great popularity in America while in England.
"Now I will call for the pamphlets," he said. He again walked alone in his room. He faced the future. "Not yet, not yet," he added, referring to the pamphlets. "The struggle for liberty has only begun. I will order the pamphlets when the colonies are free. The hopes in them will then be fulfilled, and not until then."