[figure description] Blank Leaf.[end figure description]

[figure description] Page 027.[end figure description]

The old legendary guest of the Province House
abode in my remembrance from mid-summer till January.
One idle evening, last winter, confident that
he would be found in the snuggest corner of the bar-room,
I resolved to pay him another visit, hoping to
deserve well of my country by snatching from oblivion
some else unheard of fact of history. The night was
chill and raw, and rendered boisterous by almost a
gale of wind, which whistled along Washington street,
causing the gas-lights to flare and flicker within the
lamps. As I hurried onward, my fancy was busy
with a comparison between the present aspect of the
street, and that which it probably wore when the British
Governors inhabited the mansion whither I was
now going. Brick edifices in those times were few,
till a succession of destructive fires had swept, and
swept again, the wooden dwellings and ware-houses
from the most populous quarters of the town. The

[figure description] Page 028.[end figure description]

buildings stood insulated and independent, not, as now,
merging their separate existences into connected
ranges, with a front of tiresome identity,—but each
possessing features of its own, as if the owner's individual
taste had shaped it,—and the whole presenting
a picturesque irregularity, the absence of which
is hardly compensated by any beauties of our modern
architecture. Such a scene, dimly vanishing from the
eye by the ray of here and there a tallow candle,
glimmering through the small panes of scattered windows,
would form a sombre contrast to the street, as I
beheld it, with the gas-lights blazing from corner to
corner, flaming within the shops, and throwing a noonday
brightness through the huge plates of glass.

But the black, lowering sky, as I turned my eyes
upward, wore, doubtless, the same visage as when it
frowned upon the ante-revolutionary New Englanders.
The wintry blast had the same shriek that was familiar
to their ears. The Old South church, too, still
pointed its antique spire into the darkness, and was
lost between earth and heaven; and as I passed, its
clock, which had warned so many generations how
transitory was their life-time, spoke heavily and slow
the same unregarded moral to myself. `Only seven
o'clock,' thought I. `My old friend's legends will
scarcely kill the hours 'twixt this and bed-time.'

Passing through the narrow arch, I crossed the
court-yard, the confined precincts of which were
made visible by a lantern over the portal of the
Province House. On entering the bar-room, I found,
as I expected, the old tradition-monger seated by a

[figure description] Page 029.[end figure description]

special good fire of anthracite, compelling clouds of
smoke from a corpulent cigar. He recognised me
with evident pleasure; for my rare properties as a
patient listener invariably make me a favorite with
elderly gentlemen and ladies of narrative propensities.
Drawing a chair to the fire, I desired mine host
to favor us with a glass a-piece of whisky punch,
which was speedily prepared, steaming hot, with a
slice of lemon at the bottom, a dark-red stratum of
port wine upon the surface, and a sprinkling of nutmeg
strewn over all. As we touched our glasses together,
my legendary friend made himself known to
me as Mr. Bela Tiffany; and I rejoiced at the oddity
of the name, because it gave his image and character
a sort of individuality in my conception. The old
gentleman's draught acted as a solvent upon his memory,
so that it overflowed with tales, traditions, anecdotes
of famous dead people, and traits of ancient
manners, some of which were childish as a nurse's
lullaby, while others might have been worth the notice
of the grave historian. Nothing impressed me more
than a story of a black, mysterious picture, which
used to hang in one of the chambers of the Province
House, directly above the room where we were now
sitting. The following is as correct a version of the
fact as the reader would be likely to obtain from any
other source, although assuredly, it has a tinge of
romance approaching to the marvellous:

In one of the apartments of the Province House
there was long preserved an ancient picture, the frame

[figure description] Page 030.[end figure description]

of which was as black as ebony, and the canvas itself
so dark with age, damp, and smoke, that not a touch of
the painter's art could be discerned. Time had thrown
an impenetrable veil over it, and left to tradition, and
fable, and conjecture, to say what had once been there
portrayed. During the rule of many successive governors,
it had hung, by prescriptive and undisputed
right, over the mantelpiece of the same chamber;
and it still kept its place when Lieutenant Governor
Hutchinson assumed the administration of the province,
on the departure of Sir Francis Bernard.

The Lieutenant Governor sat, one afternoon, resting
his head against the carved back of his stately arm
chair, and gazing up thoughtfully at the void blackness
of the picture. It was scarcely a time for such inactive
musing, when affairs of the deepest moment required
the ruler's decision; for, within that very hour, Hutchinson
had received intelligence of the arrival of a
British fleet, bringing three regiments from Halifax to
overawe the insubordination of the people. These
troops awaited his permission to occupy the fortress
of Castle William, and the town itself. Yet, instead
of affixing his signature to an official order, there sat
the Lieutenant Governor, so carefully scrutinizing the
black waste of canvas, that his demeanor attracted
the notice of two young persons who attended him.
One, wearing a military dress of buff, was his kinsman,
Francis Lincoln, the Provincial Captain of Castle
William; the other, who sat on a low stool beside his
chair, was Alice Vane, his favorite niece.

She was clad entirely in white, a pale, ethereal

[figure description] Page 031.[end figure description]

creature, who, though a native of New England, had
been educated abroad, and seemed not merely a stranger
from another clime, but almost a being from another
world. For several years, until left an orphan,
she had dwelt with her father in sunny Italy, and there
had acquired a taste and enthusiasm for sculpture and
painting, which she found few opportunities of gratifying
in the undecorated dwellings of the colonial gentry.
It was said that the early productions of her own
pencil exhibited no inferior genius, though, perhaps,
the rude atmosphere of New England had cramped
her hand, and dimmed the glowing colors of her fancy.
But observing her uncle's steadfast gaze, which appeared
to search through the mist of years to discover
the subject of the picture, her curiosity was excited.

`Is it known, my dear uncle,' inquired she, `what
this old picture once represented? Possibly, could it
be made visible, it might prove a masterpiece of some
great artist—else why has it so long held such a conspicuous
place?'

As her uncle, contrary to his usual custom, (for he
was as attentive to all the humors and caprices of
Alice as if she had been his own best beloved child,)
did not immediately reply, the young Captain of Castle
William took that office upon himself.

`This dark old square of canvas, my fair cousin,'
said he, `has been an heir-loom in the Province House
from time immemorial. As to the painter, I can tell
you nothing; but, if half the stories told of it be true,
not one of the great Italian masters has ever produced
so marvellous a piece of work, as that before you.'

[figure description] Page 032.[end figure description]

Captain Lincoln proceeded to relate some of the
strange fables and fantasies, which, as it was impossible
to refute them by ocular demonstration, had
grown to be articles of popular belief, in reference
to this old picture. One of the wildest, and at the
same time the best accredited accounts, stated it to
be an original and authentic portrait of the Evil One,
taken at a witch meeting near Salem; and that its
strong and terrible resemblance had been confirmed
by several of the confessing wizards and witches, at
their trial, in open court. It was likewise affirmed
that a familiar spirit, or demon, abode behind the
blackness of the picture, and had shown himself, at
seasons of public calamity, to more than one of the
royal governors. Shirley, for instance, had beheld
this ominous apparition, on the eve of General
Abercrombie's shameful and bloody defeat under the
walls of Ticonderoga. Many of the servants of the
Province House had caught glimpses of a visage
frowning down upon them, at morning or evening
twilight,—or in the depths of night, while raking up
the fire that glimmered on the hearth beneath; although,
if any were bold enough to hold a torch
before the picture, it would appear as black and undistinguishable
as ever. The oldest inhabitant of
Boston recollected that his father, in whose days the
portrait had not wholly faded out of sight, had once
looked upon it, but would never suffer himself to be
questioned as to the face which was there represented.
In connection with such stories, it was remarkable
that over the top of the frame there were some

[figure description] Page 033.[end figure description]

ragged remnants of black silk, indicating that a veil had
formerly hung down before the picture, until the
duskiness of time had so effectually concealed it.
But, after all, it was the most singular part of the
affair, that so many of the pompous governors of
Massachusetts had allowed the obliterated picture to
remain in the state-chamber of the Province House.

`Some of these fables are really awful,' observed
Alice Vane, who had occasionally shuddered, as well
as smiled, while her cousin spoke. `It would be almost
worth while to wipe away the black surface of
the canvas, since the original picture can hardly be
so formidable as those which fancy paints instead
of it.'

`But would it be possible,' inquired her cousin, `to
restore this dark picture to its pristine hues?'

`Such arts are known in Italy,' said Alice.

The Lieutenant Governor had roused himself from
his abstracted mood, and listened with a smile to the
conversation of his young relatives. Yet his voice
had something peculiar in its tones, when he undertook
the explanation of the mystery.

`I am sorry, Alice, to destroy your faith in the
legends of which you are so fond,' remarked he;
`but my antiquarian researches have long since made
me acquainted with the subject of this picture—if
picture it can be called—which is no more visible,
nor ever will be, than the face of the long buried
man whom it once represented. It was the portrait
of Edward Randolph, the founder of this house, a
person famous in the history of New England.'

[figure description] Page 034.[end figure description]

`Of that Edward Randolph,' exclaimed Captain
Lincoln, `who obtained the repeal of the first provincial
charter, under which our forefathers had enjoyed
almost democratic privileges! He that was styled the
arch enemy of New England, and whose memory is
still held in detestation, as the destroyer of our liberties!'

`It was the same Randolph,' answered Hutchinson,
moving uneasily in his chair. `It was his lot to taste
the bitterness of popular odium.'

`Our annals tell us,' continued the Captain of Castle
William, `that the curse of the people followed this
Randolph where he went, and wrought evil in all the
subsequent events of his life, and that its effect was
seen likewise in the manner of his death. They say,
too, that the inward misery of that curse worked itself
outward, and was visible on the wretched man's countenance,
making it too horrible to be looked upon.
If so, and if this picture truly represented his aspect,
it was in mercy that the cloud of blackness has gathered
over it.'

`These traditions are folly, to one who has proved,
as I have, how little of historic truth lies at the bottom,
' said the Lieutenant Governor. `As regards the
life and character of Edward Randolph too implicit
credence has been given to Dr. Cotton Mather, who—
I must say it, though some of his blood runs in my
veins—has filled our early history with old women's
tales, as fanciful and extravagant as those of Greece
or Rome.'

`And yet,' whispered Alice Vane, `may not such

[figure description] Page 035.[end figure description]

fables have a moral? And methinks, if the visage
of this portrait be so dreadful, it is not without a
cause that it has hung so long in a chamber of the
Province House. When the rulers feel themselves
irresponsible, it were well that they should be reminded
of the awful weight of a people's curse.'

The Lieutenant Governor started, and gazed for a
moment at his niece, as if her girlish fantasies had
struck upon some feeling in his own breast, which all
his policy or principles could not entirely subdue.
He knew, indeed, that Alice, in spite of her foreign
education, retained the native sympathies of a New
England girl.

`Peace, silly child,' cried he, at last, more harshly
than he had ever before addressed the gentle Alice.
`The rebuke of a king is more to be dreaded than the
clamor of a wild, misguided multitude. Captain Lincoln,
it is decided. The fortress of Castle William
must be occupied by the Royal troops. The two remaining
regiments shall be billeted in the town, or
encamped upon the Common. It is time, after years
of tumult, and almost rebellion, that his majesty's
government should have a wall of strength about it.'

`Trust, sir—trust yet awhile to the loyalty of the
people,' said Captain Lincoln; `nor teach them that
they can ever be on other terms with British soldiers
than those of brotherhood, as when they fought side
by side through the French war. Do not convert the
streets of your native town into a camp. Think twice
before you give up old Castle William, the key of the
province, into other keeping than that of true born
New Englanders.'

[figure description] Page 036.[end figure description]

`Young man, it is decided,' repeated Hutchinson,
rising from his chair. `A British officer will be in
attendance this evening, to receive the necessary instructions
for the disposal of the troops. Your presence
also will be required. Till then, farewell.'

With these words the Lieutenant Governor hastily
left the room, while Alice and her cousin more slowly
followed, whispering together, and once pausing to
glance back at the mysterious picture. The captain
of Castle William fancied that the girl's air and mien
were such as might have belonged to one of those
spirits of fable—fairies, or creatures of a more antique
mythology,—who sometimes mingled their
agency with mortal affairs, half in caprice, yet with
a sensibility to human weal or woe. As he held the
door for her to pass, Alice beckoned to the picture
and smiled.

`Come forth, dark and evil Shape!' cried she.
`It is thine hour!'

In the evening, Lieutenant Governor Hutchinson
sat in the same chamber where the foregoing scene had
occurred, surrounded by several persons whose various
interests had summoned them together. There
were the Selectmen of Boston, plain, patriarchal
fathers of the people, excellent representatives of the
old puritanical founders, whose sombre strength had
stamped so deep an impress upon the New England
character. Contrasting with these were one or two
members of Council, richly dressed in the white wigs,
the embroidered waistcoats and other magnificence of
the time, and making a somewhat ostentatious display

[figure description] Page 037.[end figure description]

of courtier-like ceremonial. In attendance, likewise,
was a major of the British army, awaiting the Lieutenant
Governor's orders for the landing of the troops,
which still remained on board the transports. The
Captain of Castle William stood beside Hutchinson's
chair, with folded arms, glancing rather haughtily at
the British officer, by whom he was soon to be superseded
in his command. On a table, in the centre of
the chamber, stood a branched silver candlestick,
throwing down the glow of half a dozen wax lights
upon a paper apparently ready for the Lieutenant
Governor's signature.

Partly shrouded in the voluminous folds of one of
the window curtains, which fell from the ceiling to
the floor, was seen the white drapery of a lady's robe.
It may appear strange that Alice Vane should have
been there, at such a time; but there was something
so childlike, so wayward, in her singular character,
so apart from ordinary rules, that her presence did
not surprise the few who noticed it. Meantime, the
chairman of the Selectmen was addressing to the
Lieutenant Governor a long and solemn protest against
the reception of the British troops into the town.

`And if your Honor,' concluded this excellent, but
somewhat prosy old gentleman, `shall see fit to persist
in bringing these mercenary sworders and musketeers
into our quiet streets, not on our heads be the
responsibility. Think, sir, while there is yet time,
that if one drop of blood be shed, that blood shall be
an eternal stain upon your Honor's memory. You,
sir, have written, with an able pen, the deeds of our

[figure description] Page 038.[end figure description]

forefathers. The more to be desired is it, therefore,
that yourself should deserve honorable mention, as a
true patriot and upright ruler, when your own doings
shall be written down in history.'

`I am not insensible, my good sir, to the natural
desire to stand well in the annals of my country,' replied
Hutchinson, controlling his impatience into
courtesy, `nor know I any better method of attaining
that end than by withstanding the merely temporary
spirit of mischief, which, with your pardon, seems to
have infected elder men than myself. Would you
have me wait till the mob shall sack the Province
House, as they did my private mansion? Trust me,
sir, the time may come when you will be glad to flee
for protection to the King's banner, the raising of
which is now so distasteful to you.'

`Yes,' said the British major, who was impatiently
expecting the Lieutenant Governor's orders. `The
demagogues of this Province have raised the devil,
and cannot lay him again. We will exorcise him, in
God's name and the King's.'

`If you meddle with the devil, take care of his
claws!' answered the Captain of Castle William,
stirred by the taunt against his countrymen.

`Craving your pardon, young sir,' said the venerable
Selectman, `let not an evil spirit enter into
your words. We will strive against the oppressor
with prayer and fasting, as our forefathers would
have done. Like them, moreover, we will submit
to whatever lot a wise Providence may send us,—
always, after our own best exertions to amend it.'

[figure description] Page 039.[end figure description]

`And there peep forth the devil's claws!' muttered
Hutchinson, who well understood the nature of
Puritan submission. `This matter shall be expedited
forthwith. When there shall be a sentinel at every
corner, and a court of guard before the town-house,
a loyal gentleman may venture to walk abroad. What
to me is the outcry of a mob, in this remote province
of the realm? The King is my master, and England
is my country! Upheld by their armed strength, I
set my foot upon the rabble, and defy them!'

He snatched a pen, and was about to affix his signature
to the paper that lay on the table, when the
Captain of Castle William placed his hand upon his
shoulder. The freedom of the action, so contrary
to the ceremonious respect which was then considered
due to rank and dignity, awakened general surprise,
and in none more than in the Lieutenant Governor
himself. Looking angrily up, he perceived that his
young relative was pointing his finger to the opposite
wall. Hutchinson's eye followed the signal; and he
saw, what had hitherto been unobserved, that a black
silk curtain was suspended before the mysterious picture,
so as completely to conceal it. His thoughts
immediately recurred to the scene of the preceding
afternoon; and, in his surprise, confused by indistinct
emotions, yet sensible that his niece must have had
an agency in this phenomenon, he called loudly upon
her.

`Alice!—Come hither, Alice!'

No sooner had he spoken than Alice Vane glided
from her station, and pressing one hand across her

[figure description] Page 040.[end figure description]

eyes, with the other snatched away the sable curtain
that concealed the portrait. An exclamation of surprise
burst from every beholder; but the Lieutenant
Governor's voice had a tone of horror.

`By heaven,' said he, in a low, inward murmur,
speaking rather to himself than to those around him,
`if the spirit of Edward Randolph were to appear
among us from the place of torment, he could not
wear more of the terrors of hell upon his face!'

`For some wise end,' said the aged Selectman, solemnly,
`hath Providence scattered away the mist of
years that had so long hid this dreadful effigy. Until
this hour no living man hath seen what we behold!'

Within the antique frame, which so recently had
enclosed a sable waste of canvas, now appeared a
visible picture, still dark, indeed, in its hues and shadings,
but thrown forward in strong relief. It was a
half-length figure of a gentleman in a rich, but very
old-fashioned dress of embroidered velvet, with a
broad ruff and a beard, and wearing a hat, the brim
of which overshadowed his forehead. Beneath this
cloud the eyes had a peculiar glare, which was almost
life-like. The whole portrait started so distinctly
out of the back-ground, that it had the effect of a
person looking down from the wall at the astonished
and awe-stricken spectators. The expression of the
face, if any words can convey an idea of it, was
that of a wretch detected in some hideous guilt, and
exposed to the bitter hatred, and laughter, and withering
scorn, of a vast surrounding multitude. There
was the struggle of defiance, beaten down and

[figure description] Page 041.[end figure description]

over-whelmed by the crushing weight of ignominy. The
torture of the soul had come forth upon the countenance.
It seemed as if the picture, while hidden behind
the cloud of immemorial years, had been all the
time acquiring an intenser depth and darkness of expression,
till now it gloomed forth again, and threw
its evil omen over the present hour. Such, if the
wild legend may be credited, was the portrait of Edward
Randolph, as he appeared when a people's
curse had wrought its influence upon his nature.

`'Twould drive me mad—that awful face!' said
Hutchinson, who seemed fascinated by the contemplation
of it.

`Be warned, then!' whispered Alice. `He trampled
on a people's rights. Behold his punishment—
and avoid a crime like his!'

The Lieutenant Governor actually trembled for an
instant; but, exerting his energy—which was not,
however, his most characteristic feature—he strove
to shake off the spell of Randolph's countenance.

`Girl!' cried he, laughing bitterly, as he turned to
Alice, `have you brought hither your painter's art—
your Italian spirit of intrigue—your tricks of stage-effect—
and think to influence the councils of rulers
and the affairs of nations, by such shallow contrivances?
See here!'

`Stay yet awhile,' said the Selectman, as Hutchinson
again snatched the pen; `for if ever mortal
man received a warning from a tormented soul, your
Honor is that man!'

`Away!' answered Hutchinson fiercely. `Though

[figure description] Page 042.[end figure description]

yonder senseless picture cried “Forbear!”—it
should not move me!'

Casting a scowl of defiance at the pictured face,
(which seemed, at that moment, to intensify the horror
of its miserable and wicked look,) he scrawled
on the paper, in characters that betokened it a deed
of desperation, the name of Thomas Hutchinson.
Then, it is said, he shuddered, as if that signature
had granted away his salvation.

`It is done,' said he; and placed his hand upon
his brow.

`May Heaven forgive the deed,' said the soft, sad
accents of Alice Vane, like the voice of a good spirit
flitting away.

When morning came there was a stifled whisper
through the household, and spreading thence about
the town, that the dark, mysterious picture had started
from the wall, and spoken face to face with Lieutenant
Governor Hutchinson. If such a miracle had
been wrought, however, no traces of it remained behind;
for within the antique frame, nothing could be
discerned, save the impenetrable cloud, which had
covered the canvas since the memory of man. If the
figure had, indeed, stepped forth, it had fled back,
spirit-like, at the day-dawn, and hidden itself behind
a century's obscurity. The truth probably was, that
Alice Vane's secret for restoring the hues of the picture
had merely effected a temporary renovation.
But those who, in that brief interval, had beheld the
awful visage of Edward Randolph, desired no second
glance, and ever afterwards trembled at the

[figure description] Page 043.[end figure description]

recollection of the scene, as if an evil spirit had appeared
visibly among them. And as for Hutchinson, when,
far over the ocean, his dying hour drew on, he gasped
for breath, and complained that he was choking with
the blood of the Boston Massacre; and Francis Lincoln,
the former Captain of Castle William, who was
standing at his bedside, perceived a likeness in his
frenzied look to that of Edward Randolph. Did his
broken spirit feel, at that dread hour, the tremendous
burthen of a People's curse?

At the conclusion of this miraculous legend I inquired
of mine host whether the picture still remained
in the chamber over our heads; but Mr. Tiffany informed
me that it had long since been removed, and
was supposed to be hidden in some out-of-the-way corner
of the New England Museum. Perchance some curious
antiquary may light upon it there, and, with the
assistance of Mr. Howorth, the picture cleaner, may
supply a not unnecessary proof of the authenticity of
the facts here set down. During the progress of the
story a storm had been gathering abroad, and raging
and rattling so loudly in the upper regions of the
Province House, that it seemed as if all the old Governors
and great men were running riot above stairs,
while Mr. Bela Tiffany babbled of them below. In
the course of generations, when many people have
lived and died in an ancient house, the whistling of
the wind through its crannies, and the creaking of its
beams and rafters, become strangely like the tones of

[figure description] Page 044.[end figure description]

the human voice, or thundering laughter, or heavy
footsteps treading the deserted chambers. It is as if the
echoes of half a century were revived. Such were
the ghostly sounds that roared and murmured in our
ears, when I took leave of the circle round the fireside
of the Province House, and plunging down the
door-steps, fought my way homeward against a drifting
snow-storm.

Previous section

Next section