Elsie on the Hudson Part 5

"And the majority decide, I suppose?"

"That is my idea," he said pleasantly.

"Your ideas are always kind ones, father dear," she responded with a loving look up into his eyes.

"Though occasionally not altogether agreeable to my eldest daughter, eh?" he returned with a smile, and playfully patting the hand which he held.

"Ah, papa, I do not often object by word or look to your decisions nowadays, do I?" she said half-imploringly.

"No, it has been a very rare thing for a very long while now," he said with a tenderly affectionate look--"so rare that I really believe my dear eldest daughter has come to have full faith in her father's wisdom and love for her."

"Indeed, papa, I don't doubt either in the very least," she exclaimed with an energy that brought an amused smile to her father's lips and eyes.

"Good-morning, papa!" cried a sweet child voice at that moment; "here we come, and mamma will follow in a very few minutes." And with that Elsie and Ned came bounding across the deck to their father's side. He welcomed both with kind greetings and fatherly caresses.

"Is your sister Grace up yet?" he asked, and Elsie answered: "Yes, sir; and almost dressed. She opened her door as I was going by, and gave me a kiss, and told me to tell papa she would be ready to go up to breakfast in a very few minutes!"

"Ah," he said; "I fear she may hurry too much for her feeble strength.

Neddie, boy, go down to the cabin, knock at your sister's door, and tell her papa says it is so early yet that she need not hurry with her dressing. We will wait till she and mamma are quite ready to go up to the house."

"I will, papa," was the ready and cheerful response, as the little fellow turned to obey, but then he paused with the exclamation, "Oh, here they come--both of them!"

The captain rose to exchange morning greetings with his wife and daughter, then all set out for the cottage on the hill.

They found the other guests gathered on the front porch, and when morning salutations had been exchanged they fell into conversation, breakfast being not quite ready. The question was at once proposed how and where they should spend the day, and when the captain told of his plan in regard to that, it was hailed with delight. No one could think of anything better, and it was decided that they would start very shortly after finishing their morning meal.

"Will it be a long voyage, captain?" asked Sydney in a jesting tone.

"Something less than crossing the Atlantic," he returned with becoming gravity.

"It certainly is, captain," Evelyn said with a smile. Then turning to Sydney, "Kingston is ninety-three miles north of New York."

"Oh, well then, one will not need to burden one's self with much luggage," laughed Sydney.

"So there will be no time consumed in packing trunks," remarked Lucilla.

"I never have any trouble about that. Papa always does it for me,"

said Grace, giving him a loving look and smile.

"Will we go on sh.o.r.e at Kingston, papa?" asked Elsie.

"Probably," he replied.

"And see the tree the silver bullet man was hung on?" asked Neddie.

"I do not know whether it is still standing or not, my son," replied his father; "and, if so, it probably looks much like other apple trees. It was not at Kingston he was hanged, however, but at Hurley--a few miles from there."

"Kingston is a very old place, is it not?" asked Violet.

"Yes," said her mother; "it was settled by the Dutch as early as 1663, Lossing tells us, and at first called Wiltwyck--which means wild witch or Indian Witch--on account of the troubles between the settlers and the Indians. A redoubt was built by the Dutch on the bank of the creek near the old landing place, and they called the creek Redoubt Kill, or Creek. Now it is called Rondout--a corruption of Redoubt. Years later, near the close of the century, the population of the town was increased by a valuable addition from Europe--a colony of French Huguenots, who fled from that dreadful persecution begun in 1685 by Louis XIV.'s revocation of the Edict of Nantes."

"What does that mean, grandma?" asked Neddie.

"I will tell you sometime; perhaps while we are going up the river to-day," she answered in kindly tones. "I cannot do it now, for there is the breakfast bell."

They were all seated upon the _Dolphin's_ deck very shortly after leaving the table, and in a few moments the yacht was steaming rapidly up the river. Then Neddie, going to his grandmother's side, claimed her promise to explain to him what was meant by an edict--particularly the one of which she had spoken.

"An edict," she said, "is a public decree that things shall be so and so. The Edict of Nantes said that the persecution of the Protestants must stop and they be allowed to worship G.o.d as they deemed right; the revocation of that edict gave permission to the Romanists to begin persecution again. Therefore, to save their lives, the Protestants had to flee to other lands."

"Where did they go, grandma?" asked Eric, who was listening with as keen an interest as Neddie himself.

"A great many to England and Germany and some to this country. It was really a great loss to France, for they were industrious and skilful artisans--manufacturers of silk, jewelry, and gla.s.s."

"I'm glad some of them did come here," said Eric. "The ma.s.sacre of St.

Bartholomew was before that, wasn't it, grandma?"

"Yes; on the 26th of August, 1572; in that seventy thousand Protestants were butchered by the Papists in France, by the authority of the Pope and the king. From that time on, until 1598, there were terrible persecutions, stopped in that year by Henry IV.'s issue of the Edict of Nantes, allowing, as I have told you, Protestants to worship G.o.d according to the dictates of their consciences. That edict remained in force for nearly a century, but was revoked in 1685 by Louis XIV."

"Then the Protestants moved away to escape being killed?" asked Eric.

"Yes," replied Grandma Elsie, "and some of them came up this river and settled on its sh.o.r.es. They found it less hazardous to dwell beside the savage Indians than among the persecuting Papists."

"So they came across the ocean and up this river and settled near Kingston, did they, grandma?" queried Eric.

"They settled in the valley of Ulster and Orange counties," she answered.

"And then they had good times, I hope," said Neddie.

"Not for some time," she answered, "because the Indians were fierce and jealous of the palefaces, as they called the whites. It was not until after the Revolution that they ceased to give trouble to the white settlers, both Huguenots and others. But it was borne with patience and perseverance; and many of their descendants helped in the hard struggle for our independence."

"Fighting the British in the Revolutionary War, do you mean, grandma?"

asked Neddie.

"Yes; fighting for freedom. That was the war that made us the great and growing nation that we are to-day. It was a fearful struggle, but G.o.d helped us, and we should never forget to give him thanks for our liberties."

"I hope we won't," said Eric. "Papa says we have more to be thankful for than any other people; and I think so myself."

"As I do," said his grandma; "and my little grandsons are much better off than very many other children, even in this good land."

"Yes, grandma, I know that; papa and mamma often remind me of it; and I do feel thankful for my many blessings; for none of them more than for my dear, sweet grandma," he added with a loving look into her eyes.

"As I do for my dear grandchildren," she returned, giving him a loving smile and softly patting the hand he had laid on her knee.

"Indeed, we all love you dearly, grandma," exclaimed Ned. "But, now, please won't you go on and tell us some more? Tell about the Indians, and what they and the white folks did to each other."

"I could not tell all that was done, nor would it be a pleasant story if I could," replied Grandma Elsie. "The Esopus Indians lived on the flats extending northward from the creek for some distance. They did not fancy their white neighbors, and determined to kill them. They fell upon the settlement one day while the able-bodied men were in the field and slew sixty-five persons. The others fled to the redoubt, and the Indians began to build a stockade near it. But a call for help was sent to New York, and the Governor sent troops, who drove the Indians back to the mountains. Not long afterward the Dutch followed the Indians into their fastnesses, destroyed their forts and villages, laid waste their fields, burned their stores of maize, killed many of their warriors, captured eleven of them, and released twenty-two of the Dutch whom they were holding captives. All that led to a truce the next December and a treaty of peace the following May."

"Were the Huguenots there when all that happened, grandma?" asked Eric.