Since Grandfather first spoke these words, the most famous of American poets has drawn sweet tears from all of us, by his beautiful poem of Evangeline.
And now, having thrown a gentle gloom around the Thanksgiving fire-side, by a story that made the children feel the blessing of a secure and peaceful hearth, Grandfather put off the other events of the Old French War till the next evening.
In the twilight of the succeeding eve, when the red beams of the fire were dancing upon the wall, the children besought Grandfather to tell them what had next happened to the old chair.
"Our chair," said Grandfather, "stood all this time in the Province House. But, Governor Shirley had seldom an opportunity to repose within its arms. He was loading his troops through the forest, or sailing in a flat-boat on Lake Ontario, or sleeping in his tent, while the awful cataract of Niagara sent its roar through his dreams. At one period, in the early part of the war, Shirley had the chief command of all the king’s forces in America."
"Did his young wife go with him to the war?" asked Clara.
"I rather imagine," replied Grandfather, "that she remained in Boston. This lady, I suppose, had our chair all to herself, and used to sit in it, during those brief intervals when a young French woman can be quiet enough to sit in a chair. The people of Massachusetts were never fond of Governor Shirley’s young French wife. They had a suspicion that she betrayed the military plans of the English to the generals of the French armies."
"Probably not," said Grandfather. "But the mere suspicion did Shirley a great deal of harm. Partly, perhaps, for this reason, but much more on account of his inefficiency as a general, he was deprived of his command, in 1756, and recalled to England. He never afterwards made any figure in public life."
As Grandfather’s chair had no locomotive properties, and did not even run on castors, it cannot be supposed to have marched in person to the Old French War. But Grandfather delayed its momentous history, while he touched briefly upon some of the bloody battles, sieges, and onslaughts, the tidings of which kept continually coming to the ears of the old inhabitants of Boston. The woods of the north were populous with fighting men. All the Indian tribes uplifted their tomahawks, and took part either with the French or English. The rattle of musketry and roar of cannon disturbed the ancient quiet of the forest, and actually drove the bears and other wild beasts to the more cultivated portion of the country in the vicinity of the sea-ports. The children felt as if they were transported back to those forgotten times, and that the couriers from the army, with the news of a battle lost or won, might even now be heard galloping through the streets. Grandfather told them about the battle of Lake George, in 1755, when the gallant Colonel Williams, a Massachusetts officer, was slain, with many of his countrymen. But General Johnson and General Lyman, with their army, drove back the enemy, and mortally wounded the French leader, who was called the Baron Dieskau. A gold watch, pilfered from the poor Baron, is still in existence, and still marks each moment of time, without complaining of weariness, although its hands have been in motion ever since the hour of battle.