The Burning of the Convent. 
 
The Burning of the Convent. 
 
 A NARRATIVE OF THE DESTRUCTION, BY A MOB, 
 
 OF THE URSULINE SCHOOL ON MOUNT 
 
 BENEDICT, CHARLESTOWN, AS 
 
 REMEMBERED BY ONE 
 
 OF THE PUPILS. 
 
 
 
 
 BOSTO 
 
 JAMES R. OSGOOD AND COMPANY, 
 Late Ticknor & Fields, and Fields, Osgood, & Co. 
 
 1877. 
 
Copyright. 
 LOUISA WHITNEY 
 
 1877. 
 
 University Press : Welch, Bigelow, & Co. 
 Cambridge. 
 
PEEFATOEY NOTE. 
 
 T was not originally the intention of 
 the writer of this little volume that 
 it should come before the public. A few 
 copies were printed for private distribution 
 among friends, and there it was supposed the 
 matter would end. The story of the Burning 
 of the Convent seems, however, to have been 
 received with a much hio-her decree of interest 
 than was expected; and it was deemed best, 
 for various reasons, to accede to the request 
 of the present publishers that it should be 
 reprinted for general circulation. 
 
 The volume is entirely what it purports to 
 be, — the author's recollection of events which 
 
VI PREFATORY NOTE. 
 
 happened forty-two years before this record of 
 them was made. It was written without any 
 reference to outside sources of information; 
 and although it has since Mien into the hands 
 of fellow-pupils who were in the Convent at 
 the time of its destruction, no material error 
 in the story has been pointed out. Human 
 testimony is fallible, especially when recorded 
 after a great lapse of time; but this narra- 
 tive may fairly be received as a truthful ac- 
 count of events so extraordinary as to have 
 impressed themselves indelibly on a naturally 
 retentive memory. T w 
 
 Cambridge, Mass., 
 May 1, 1877. 
 
INTRODUCTORY. 
 
 (I 
 
 HILE the present generation was still in 
 its infancy, Mount Benedict took its place 
 among the storied hills of Charlestown, 
 Mass., — the three B's, — a hill of battle, like 
 Bunker and Bieed, only the battle had its origin 
 in religious instead of political differences, and 
 bigotry made the attack and won the victory. I 
 was one of the vanquished on this occasion, being 
 at that time a small child. 
 
 So many years have elapsed since the event, — 
 which, besides, was followed by no results appre- 
 ciable by the multitude, — that I dare say few 
 persons at present know that the finest Ursuline 
 Convent in New England was once established 
 
2 THE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 on Mount Benedict, in Charlestown. It was built 
 expressly for a boarding-school, and intended for 
 the children of rich men, Protestants preferred. 
 It was, for those days, — I am speaking of the 
 early part of this century, — an immense struc- 
 ture, perfectly furnished and appointed for the 
 purpose ; and a body of Irish Nuns, educated in 
 French convents, were imported to give the in- 
 struction. Nearly the whole of Mount Benedict 
 was enclosed for the use of the Convent ; there 
 was a lodge, a Bishop's house, several terraced 
 walks, and grounds tastefully laid out, for the 
 recreation of the pupils. No such elegant and 
 imposing building had ever been erected in New 
 England for the education of girls. Picturesque, 
 on the summit of the hill, with a background 
 of trees, and a foreground of green terraces bor- 
 dered with shrubbery which descended to the 
 road, its many-windowed facade, glowing in the 
 light of the setting sun, was a sightly object to 
 the good citizens of Boston, returning from their 
 afternoon drive into the suburbs. 
 
INTRODUCTORY. 
 
 " The Convent " soon became a very popular 
 school with these " solid men of Boston," and 
 elsewhere, — even from the extreme north and 
 south of the country. Girls were sent from 
 Canada for the benefit of a warmer climate, and 
 from New Orleans that they might be braced by 
 a cooler atmosphere. The conventual school-sys- 
 tem had great attractions for parents brought up 
 under stern Puritan restrictions, against which 
 their daughters were beginning to rebel ; but it 
 was an odd idea to call in Catholic discipline as a 
 substitute for Puritan restraints which they could 
 enforce no longer. My father, who believed in 
 the widest liberty for men, was always lamenting 
 the growing independence of women, and the 
 difficulty he found in keeping his daughters under 
 the old rule of implicit obedience ; and as soon 
 as I was old enough to be sent from home, he 
 resolved to put me into the Ursuline school on 
 Mount Benedict, Charlestown, there to remain till 
 I was twenty years of age, — happy in the belief 
 
4 THE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 that the Nuns could save him the trouble of educat- 
 ing me in habits of strict submission to authority. 
 
 Nearly fifty years have elapsed since the day 
 when my mother told me that I was to be sent to 
 " the Convent " boarding-school. I remember it, 
 because to hear the news I was ordered in from the 
 garden, where I was comfortably keeping house 
 under a tall currant-bush, with a gooseberry-bush 
 wash-house attached, on whose thorns my doll's 
 wardrobe was drying. They twitched my sandy 
 locks, and w 7 ounded my still more sandy fingers, as 
 I literally tore myself away to obey the summons. 
 
 Nearly fifty years ! and it happened that on 
 the anniversary of that very day, I, an almost old 
 woman, broken down in health, found myself 
 driving with my husband in Charlestown, and 
 passing along the very base of Mount Benedict. 
 That hill still wore its respectable crown of ruins, 
 an unusual ornament in our country, and the 
 ascending terraces were still w r ell defined, though 
 the plan of the old pleasure-grounds was obi iter- 
 
INTRODUCTORY. 
 
 ated by time. For everything had heretofore 
 been allowed to remain just as the hands of the 
 mob left it, the Catholics having indulged them- 
 selves in the expensive luxury of retaining the 
 Convent property as a memorial of Protestant 
 bigotry. But, to my astonishment, on this day 
 of which I speak, I saw that the base of Mount 
 Benedict was swarming with sudden life; a steam- 
 paddy had already made a breach in it, and was 
 hard at work, storming it vigorously, assisted by 
 an army of Irishmen with dump-carts. The hill 
 had evidently been secularized, sold, and was in 
 process of grading ; religious resentment could 
 not always stand before the rise in real estate. 
 
 When I saw the work of levelling the hill fairly 
 under way, I began to wonder how long it would 
 be before the story of the destruction of the Con- 
 vent by a mob would be forgotten in the neigh- 
 borhood when those reminder ruins were removed 
 and their site covered with blocks of houses. 
 Probably Catholics would not be allowed to forget 
 
TIIE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 it, for they were the martyrs; but Protestants 
 would be glad to lose the memory of that singular 
 outburst of bigotry. Then we "fell on talk" 
 regarding the events of that August night of riot, 
 and my husband was surprised to find how accu- 
 rate was my remembrance of my own small part 
 in the drama, and he made me promise to write 
 down my recollections thereof. So, without fur- 
 ther preface, here is the 
 
STORY OF THE DESTRUCTION OF THE URSULINE 
 CONVENT ON MOUNT BENEDICT, 
 
 ON THE NIGHT OF AUGUST U, 1834, 
 AS REMEMBERED BY A VERY SMALL EYEWITNESS. 
 
 T was in June, 1834, that my mother 
 told me I was to enter the Convent as 
 a pupil as soon as the summer vacation 
 should be over. Dr. Lyman Beecher was the 
 individual who fixed the time of my entrance ; 
 during the previous winter he had been denoun- 
 cing fiercely " the Devil and the Pope of Rome " 
 in a course of lectures in Boston upon Romanism, 
 exciting a strong feeling against Catholics and all 
 their ways. My father was a Unitarian, violently 
 opposed to Orthodoxy, and a spirit of antagonism 
 to Dr. Beecher led him to carry out at that time 
 the plan he had long formed for my education in 
 a convent. 
 
8 THE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 In a few days after this had been announced to 
 me, I remember that a Convent school-circular 
 appeared in the house, which my mother and 
 I studied zealously. It was ornamented by a 
 vignette of the building, in which the three prin- 
 cipal doors, at the head of three lofty flights of 
 stone steps, were very prominent. Four ladies, 
 sitting quite at their ease in a barouche, spite of 
 the galloping of their horses, appeared driving up 
 to the middle door, while the Charlestown stage 
 (omnibuses were not in those days), in a cloud of 
 dust, and crowded with pupils, was seen modestly 
 drawing up to a side entrance. I was never weary 
 of gazing upon this wonderful work of art. nor of 
 reading the circular over and over, till I knew it 
 by heart. 
 
 The school, according to that document, was 
 divided into two sections, Senior and Junior, — 
 terms which inspired me with great respect, nor 
 could I imagine myself putting on the dignity 
 proper even to a Junior. Classes and studies 
 were elaborately set forth, the names of sundry of 
 the text-books being past my powers of pronoun- 
 
SUNDAY PRIVILEGES. 9 
 
 cing, even with the help of the dictionary. The 
 pupils were allowed only to spend one Sunday in 
 a month out of the Convent, either with their 
 parents or guardians, and my prophetic imagina- 
 tion warned me that each month would seem a 
 compressed eternity. Sunday duties were denned 
 in deference to Protestant prejudices; the pnpils 
 were expected to attend Morning Mass, but Prot- 
 estants might read their own Bibles during the 
 ceremony. Owing, perhaps, to the Puritan strict- 
 ness of home, — for, notwithstanding my father's 
 Unitarian belief, he thought it conducive to dis- 
 cipline to keep the Sabbath as it was kept in his 
 youth, — I did not value that privilege, as my 
 mother assured me I ought to do, nor yet the 
 prospect of committing chapters to memory on 
 Sunday afternoons, which indulgence the circular 
 also promised to Protestant children. In my heart 
 I suspected that the Catholic pupils had the easiest 
 Sundays to bear. 
 
 It was a relief to turn from those gloomy para- 
 graphs in the circular to those which treated of 
 dress ; this matter was discussed with a seriousness 
 1* 
 
10 THE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 befitting the greater importance of the subject. 
 The pupils were expected to dress in uniform : 
 blue merino frocks, darker blue wadded pelisses, 
 beaver bonnets trimmed with blue, was the wear 
 for winter ; and pink calico, as the best washable 
 color, for summer, with white frocks for "best," 
 black silk capes and aprons, and straw bonnets 
 trimmed with pink. No wonder I remember the 
 details, for my mother read them over and over 
 in every tone of voice, from defiance to despair 
 and from despair to submission, in view of the 
 trouble and expense involved in preparing such 
 an outfit for me. Mrs. Richards the dressmaker, 
 who worked for the family one month in spring, 
 another in fall, made her appearance, with top- 
 less thimble and dangling pin-ball, to sew for me 
 alone. Pink gingham garden-aprons and " cape- 
 bonnets " were also insisted upon by the circular, 
 and as many under-garments indicated as were 
 then thought necessary for a bride. And such a 
 fabulous number of stockings was required, that 
 my soul was disquieted within me by visions of 
 future darning; I had been used to sharing a 
 
MY OUTFIT. 11 
 
 limited supply of hosiery with a sister about my 
 size, and we had divided the task of mending 
 them between us. 
 
 During these days of preparation we were com- 
 pelled, sorely against the grain, to perform daily 
 long " stints " of hemming, for an outfit of sheets, 
 pillow-cases, towels, napkins, etc., was required 
 of each pupil ; but we were allowed to take our 
 sewing and our little chairs to the platform of the 
 garden-pump, and tell stories to each other, under 
 the shade of a crab-apple tree, whose fruit was in 
 a promising state of sourness. 
 
 It was a sad reflection that I should be away 
 at school when those crab-apples became ripe, but 
 my sister promised to keep my share for me in 
 the bottom of a battered coal-hod in the garret. 
 Last of all, a bottle of Kidder's indelible ink was 
 exhausted in a grand marking, and piles of white 
 work occupied every sunny window in the house. 
 
 I am afraid to say how much money was spent 
 in school-books for my benefit, as my father actu- 
 ally got every series used by the different classes 
 of pupils through the whole course of study, as 
 
12 THE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 given in the circular, — I suppose to convince 
 himself that he was really disposing of me for 
 years to come. 
 
 My mother used to sit up at night and sew 
 cloth covers on the books, and write my name 
 therein in her handsome " hand o' writ." " Suffi- 
 cient for the day is the evil thereof," I thought, 
 and I declined to look into them till I should be 
 compelled to do so in progress of time. Then 
 came the arduous task of packing my trunk, 
 which my mother accomplished on her knees, 
 and with as much care as if I had been <roin£ 
 to Pekin instead of to Charlestown, only four 
 miles off. The sole piece of finery admitted — 
 a pink sash to wear with the white frocks — lay 
 on the top, and I endeavored to draw from it all 
 the consolation it was capable of affording, as my 
 mother forbade me to take playthings or story- 
 books to school. I had wasted enough time over 
 them, she thought, and I was now to be intro- 
 duced to the stern realities of life. 
 
 My father drove me over in the chaise to 
 Charlestown, to introduce me to my future home 
 
INTRODUCTORY VISIT. 13 
 
 and teachers a few days before the term began. 
 Wretched, depressing necessity ! I remember, as 
 we slowly ascended Mount Benedict by the drive- 
 way, comparing the real appearance of the Con- 
 vent with my recollection of the vignette which 
 ornamented the circular. The building did not 
 seem quite so high, or the doors so broad, or the 
 nights of steps — veritable Jacob's-ladders in the 
 vignette — quite so lofty. I missed the barouche 
 and the stage, but, to make amends, the Lady 
 Superior's coach was at the main door, with two 
 fat horses and a fat coachman, all as motionless 
 as those in the vignette. My father instantly 
 drew up to the carriage, and jumped out of the 
 chaise. I felt by instinct that this was an occa- 
 sion. The door opened, and the Superior ap- 
 peared, coming down the steps. She was of 
 medium height and very stout, but she had the 
 quick step and vivacious air of a French-Irish 
 woman, and she carried herself with a royal up- 
 rightness and dignity that compelled deference 
 from all who approached her. Servants followed 
 her with shawls, cushions, and parcels, and their 
 
14 THE BURNING OF TI1E CONVENT. 
 
 deferential manner made her grand air more ap- 
 parent. I observed that the coachman lowered 
 his head on his breast as the Superior drew near, 
 that my father bowed lower and lower, that she 
 addressed him as a queen would address a subject, 
 that a word was said about me, that the lady's 
 eagle eye was turned upon me for a moment, 
 whereupon my head also fell upon my breast. A 
 slight bustle, — I remember the Superior got into 
 her coach while my father was hesitating as to 
 whether it would be proper for him to assist 
 her, — a slamming of carriage doors, and with a 
 solemn jog-trot the fat horses bore away their 
 mistress. Nobody was permitted to use the 
 grand entrance but the Superior and the Bishop ; 
 my father and I were ushered into the Convent 
 by a portress at a side door, and shown to the 
 "parlor." As usual in convents, a grating sep- 
 arated the guests' division of the apartment from 
 that appropriated to the Religieuses who came 
 in to attend visitors. The solemn portress, who 
 looked as if the muscles of her face were stiffened 
 for want of smiling, bade us sit down, in a sepul- 
 
SISTER MARY BENEDICT. 15 
 
 chral whisper, and vanished as if shod with felt. 
 A great bell clanged through the carpetless house, 
 and I set myself to watching the darkness, that 
 to my eyes, fresh from the light of a summer 
 noon, seemed to be condensed behind the oppos- 
 ing iron bars. A faint rustle quickened my atten- 
 tion, a black figure moved through the darkness 
 in wavering lines, stopped at the middle of the 
 grating, and a beautiful face looked out of it. 
 The "garb" of the Superior had not impressed 
 me much, it made but a faint blot on the out- 
 door sunshine, but the black setting to Sister 
 Mary Benedict's face and figure, as seen behind 
 the grating, had a sombre effect. Young as I 
 was, the Sister's beauty struck me at once, and 
 I pitied her for having to muffle it up in such a 
 gloomy head-gear. My father did not appear to 
 find it disfiguring, however; his manner was ex- 
 pressing great admiration, I thought, and I won- 
 dered how the Sister could keep her eyes cast 
 down so steadily, and the muscles of her face so 
 motionless, and how she managed to sj3eak with- 
 out parting her lips. 
 
16 ' THE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 Again there was a word said by my father 
 about poor little me, and I was summoned to 
 stand close to the grating, so that Sister Mary 
 Benedict's downcast eyes might rest upon me 
 easily. A white hand stole out from the black 
 hanging sleeve, and placed itself on my head. I 
 raised my eyes anxiously to her face, not expect- 
 ing in my humility to meet a glance of approba- 
 tion, but longing for one little look of sympathy, 
 homesick as I was already by anticipation. Alas ! 
 I might, as well have sought for it in a face of 
 stone, and I felt instinctively that her soul as well 
 as her body was shut out from me by an immov- 
 able barrier. 
 
 I returned home from this introductory visit to 
 my future abode w T ith a heart as heavy as lead ; 
 my dear sister flew to meet me, and to ask me 
 a thousand questions about my experiences, and 
 I could only weep bitterly as I assured her that I 
 knew, I was certain, I w r as going to be WTetched 
 at the Convent. I could not answer her anxious 
 '•Why, but why V 1 I felt my reasons, but I could 
 not put them into words ; I had a conviction that, 
 
SOMETHING IN THE WIND. 17 
 
 like "Chicken Little," I was going to a place where 
 I had " no business to be," and I felt new anguish 
 in parting with all that my soul held dear. I had 
 a grand wash of my doll's clothes, which were put 
 away in a candle-box. I even washed and ironed 
 the ribbons which my yellow kitten wore round 
 her neck, and I nearly killed my black rabbit by 
 stuffing him too often with fresh clover in my 
 farewell visits. I so longed for something to 
 happen which would prevent my going to the 
 Convent that I almost expected a miracle would 
 be wrought in my favor, nor did I neglect natural 
 means. I am ashamed to say that I ate green 
 apples and sat in draughts, vainly hoping that I 
 might fall ill, and be kept at home to take castor- 
 oil and rhubarb. 
 
 There really seemed to be opposition in the air 
 to my going. Several gentlemen called on my 
 father during the few last days of my stay at 
 home, for the purpose of talking to him about the 
 Convent, as I fancied from sundry overheard sen- 
 tences. It seemed very natural to my childish 
 mind that the public should interest itself in a 
 
18 THE BURNING OF TEE CONVENT. 
 
 matter that concerned me so deeply. I lingered 
 near my father when these talks were going on ; 
 as well as I could make out by paying strict atten- 
 tion, I learned that something had occurred which 
 made the Superior gracious to my father when he 
 met her entering her carriage on the day of our 
 visit, and unusually gracious also to others, and 
 which caused her to show herself more than usual 
 by driving about the country and stopping at the 
 houses of her friends. That same something caused 
 Sister Mary Benedict, the most beautiful and fas- 
 cinating of all the Nuns, to be sent constantly to 
 see visitors in the parlor, and that something in- 
 spired her to be more charming to them than ever. 
 Then allusions were made to a young girl who had 
 written a lying book, but my father would never 
 let me listen long enough to arrive at the heart of 
 the mystery. He held consultations in a low voice 
 with my mother ; I hoped they would end in a 
 reprieve from school, yet I had a sickening feeling 
 that my new books and clothes had cost too much 
 to be given up unless the equivalent money could 
 be miraculously restored to my father's pocket. 
 
I LEAVE HOME. 19 
 
 After all, nothing occurred to prevent my going, 
 and I was taken to the Convent, punctually, on 
 the appointed day. The last things put into my 
 trunk were the inevitable silver spoons, fork, and 
 mug, usually the only valuable furnishings of a 
 boarding-school table. I was too heavy-hearted 
 at the moment of leaving home to weep ; I had 
 put my doll to sleep for a month's nap; I was 
 already looking forward to my return at the end 
 of that time, and my sister promised she should 
 not be disturbed. That faithful friend also de- 
 clared she would nurse my kitten even in prefer- 
 ence to her own, and that my black rabbit should 
 be fed first. How differently I should have felt, 
 as I gave my sister the last solemn kiss of parting, 
 could I have foreseen that before my doll's first 
 monthly nap was over I should have left the 
 Convent forever, and that the place itself would 
 be wiped out of existence. I may as well relate 
 here the events that were working out the ruin 
 of the Convent, — events resulting in sorrow and 
 misery, even death, to some of the victims, but 
 bringing happiness to one little girl. 
 
20 THE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 Among the foreign customs retained in the 
 Ursuline School, which fascinated plain Protes- 
 tants by its novelty, was the pleasant one of 
 holding annually a high state-festival day, called 
 "Coronation day," just before the commencement 
 of the summer vacation. On that day only, 
 parents and guardians passed the limit of the 
 parlor, and were allowed admission to the school- 
 rooms. The music and dancing rooms were pret- 
 tily decorated, and furnished with rows of seats, 
 which were crowded with delighted elders, who 
 forgot the heat of a July day in admiring the 
 proficiency of the pupils in the accomplishments 
 taught in the Convent. There were performances 
 on the harp and guitar, as well as on the piano, 
 by curled darlings, dressed in the prescribed white 
 frocks and pink sashes. Drawings, landscapes in 
 India-ink, and fancy-work were handed about, and 
 high art was represented by theorem-paintings, 
 Grecian ditto, and painting on velvet. There 
 were part-songs, recitations, and little dramas 
 performed ; the results of the yearly examinations 
 were made public; and, last of all, there was a 
 
CORONATION DAY. 21 
 
 grand mustering of the white frocks and pink 
 sashes on the platform, from the midst of whom 
 a queen was chosen, not by her schoolmates, but 
 by the Nuns, who led her forward to the front 
 of the platform, and presented her to the public 
 as the prize scholar of the year, averaging first 
 both in lessons and deportment. As it was never 
 known beforehand on whom the choice would fall, 
 this was a moment of great excitement to the 
 pupils, and to the queen herself perhaps the 
 proudest moment of her life. Then there was a 
 Coronation, — a crown of beautiful white artificial 
 flowers, made by the Nuns, was put upon the 
 queen's curls, she was led to her throne, which 
 was, after a while, transferred to the head of the 
 long table in the Refectory, on which a magnifi- 
 cent collation was spread. The meagre diet of a 
 year was forgotten in the splendor of this repast, 
 wherein figured every indigestible delicacy that 
 French confectioners could devise to tempt the 
 palates of the children. Some of the Nuns were 
 accomplished confectioners, — Paris-trained, as the 
 school legends ran, — and it was a wonder that 
 
22 THE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 they did not forget an art practised only once a 
 year. 
 
 Sister Mary John, the Mother- Assistant, as she 
 was called, standing next in rank to the Superior 
 and her natural successor, was the principal 
 teacher of music at the Ursuline Convent. On 
 her had devolved the musical training of the 
 pupils for the last fete-day which was ever held 
 at the Convent, and which happened a few weeks 
 before the time of my entrance as a pupil. She 
 had been overworked throughout the year, having 
 had an unusual number of scholars, and the final 
 labors of " Coronation day " were too much for 
 her weary frame. A frightful headache seized her 
 even before the children dispersed on the evening 
 of that day for the summer vacation, which ter- 
 minated in brain -fever and delirium. Though 
 tenderly nursed and closely watched, she con- 
 trived, one hot day, when doors and windows 
 were left open, to elude the vigilance of her 
 nurses, and to make her escape into the world, 
 poor thing ! in her nightgown. She flew, ghost- 
 like, down the long slope of Mount Benedict, and 
 
SISTER MARY JOHN'S ESCAPE. 23 
 
 rushed into the first house outside the Convent 
 precincts, a farm-house occupied for many years 
 by Mr. Cutter, and situated on the main road. 
 Though a Yankee and a Protestant, he was a good 
 neighbor to the Ursuline community, for he let 
 them alone severely ; but when this fever-stricken 
 apparition with wild eyes and shorn head burst 
 upon him, as he sat at dinner with his family, 
 he bade his wife look after her, and hurried up 
 to the Convent to let the frightened Nuns know 
 where their patient might be found. The Supe- 
 rior's carriage, fat horses and coachman, with the 
 stately lady herself inside, were soon seen stand- 
 ing at Mr. Cutter's front door. Some passers-by 
 must have witnessed the struggle that ensued, 
 when poor Sister Mary John, screaming and rav- 
 ing in delirium, was half forced, half persuaded, to 
 enter the carriage, which immediately returned to 
 the Convent at a pace which probably astonished 
 the fat horses even more than the passers-by. In 
 a few hours an ingenious story began to be circu- 
 lated in and about Boston, and implicitly believed 
 by many people, to the following effect : " A poor 
 
24 THE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 Nun, who had fallen under the displeasure of the 
 tyrannical Superior, and had been imprisoned a 
 long time in the underground cells of the Con- 
 vent, had at last contrived to make her escape, 
 but had been followed by the Superior to the 
 house where she had taken refuge, and carried 
 back to the Convent by force, spite of her cries 
 and frantic resistance." A perfect storm of indig- 
 nation followed the circulation of this stoiy, which 
 it was almost impossible to refute, truth and 
 falsehood were so mixed up in it. The indigna- 
 tion grew and deepened unavoidably, for this 
 story, of which some of the facts were true, and 
 all the inferences false, seemed to justify the dis- 
 like and suspicion that had long been gathering 
 against the Convent. The handsome building it- 
 self, overlooking the Sovereign People's highway, 
 and standing in extensive grounds that must not 
 be entered, invited the curiosity that it repelled. 
 So did the stranger ladies, the Nuns, who occu- 
 pied it, and who so entirely ignored the world 
 around them. In fact, the whole establishment 
 was as foreign to the soil whereon it stood as if, 
 
DR. BEE CHER PREACHES. 25 
 
 like Aladdin's Palace, it had been wafted from 
 Europe by the power of a magician. During the 
 winter before my acquaintance with the Convent 
 occurred the great revival of religion in New 
 England, and the old hatred of Catholicism woke 
 up under its influence. As I mentioned before, 
 Dr. Lyman Beecher delivered a course of lectures 
 in Boston, in which the " Devil and the Pope of 
 Rome" were never introduced one without the 
 other, as inseparable in his mind as the Siamese 
 Twins in body, — who, by the way, were first 
 exhibited about that time. Dr. Beecher fiercely 
 denounced convents, and enlightened the people 
 as to the depravity popularly supposed to exist 
 inside their walls. Very opportunely for the effect 
 he wished to produce, a book called " Six Months 
 in a Convent " was just then published, the work 
 of a silly, ignorant, deceitful girl, a native of 
 Charlestown, whom the Superior of the Ursuline 
 Convent had charitably taken into her employ as 
 a seamstress. The public mind was in exactly the 
 condition to accept this book as true, and read it 
 with avidity, though it was palpably a tissue of 
 2 
 
26 THE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 falsehoods and stupid misconceptions from end to 
 end. It purported to relate the threats and per- 
 suasions used by the inmates of the Convent to 
 make the writer a Catholic against her will, and 
 it ended with an account of her escape from their 
 clutches just in time to save herself from being 
 carried off by force to St. Louis. The story pro- 
 ceeded in the usual melodramatic course, if I 
 remember it rightly, — I am sure I have read it 
 over again, under different titles, several times 
 since ! The girl — I can't remember her name — 
 left an interesting orphan, excites the sympathy 
 of good Catholics in the neighborhood of the 
 Convent, by expressing an interest in their form 
 of worship, and a dissatisfaction with her own 
 Protestant creed, whatever it was, — " Methodist, 
 Baptist, Hunker, Dunker, Shaker, or Quaker," as 
 Southey says. The Superior of the Ursulines is 
 persuaded to admit her into the Convent, that she 
 may be taught the doctrines of the Church, and 
 confirmed in her desire to embrace them. No 
 doubt she was an important person among the 
 Catholics at that time, and treated with attention, 
 
"SIX MONTHS IN A CONVENT." 27 
 
 as converts were not so common as they are now. 
 Bat -after she enters the Convent she finds that 
 she has to work hard, to live abstemiously, to 
 keep fasts, to perform penances, to rise early, to 
 obey in silence, to have no will of her own, to live 
 within four walls. She relates all these details of 
 a conventual life, as if they were so many affronts 
 put upon her by the Superior to punish her for 
 changing her mind, while that lady's persuasive 
 flatteries were by no means a sufficient counter- 
 balance, — layers of jam too thin to cover such 
 largo pills. Catholicism lost all its charms for 
 this young woman ; her experience in the Convent 
 dispelled all her romantic illusions in its favor; 
 and the life of a Religieuse, on a near view, seemed 
 beautiful no longer. She finds herself more of a 
 Protestant than ever, and wonders how she ever 
 came to desire to change her religion. Plenty of 
 weeping and repentance through the book, till the 
 young woman discovers the deep-laid plot to con- 
 vey her to St. Louis for the purpose of shutting her 
 up in a Convent there, and making a Catholic of 
 her by force. How this is to be done is left a 
 
28 THE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 mystery over which the victim and her readers 
 shudder together. Sleepless nights and agonized 
 days follow this fearful discovery, but when, oppor- 
 tunely hidden behind the organ in the chapel, she 
 overhears the Superior and Bishop Fenwick actu- 
 ally settling on the very day when this plot is to 
 be carried out, the young woman can bear it no 
 longer, but makes an elaborate escape from the 
 Convent by climbing fences and breaking down 
 lattice-work, to the best of my remembrance, in 
 preference to walking out of the door, which could 
 not have taken her half the time. 
 
 The indignant Protestants, who implicitly be- 
 lieved this false and foolish book, never asked 
 themselves what motive but a charitable one could 
 have induced the Superior to burden herself with 
 the charge of a sickly, ignorant, poor, and friend- 
 less girl, who begged for her protection ; and what 
 motive she could have had for keeping such a 
 useless creature against her ivill. 
 
 While " Six Months in a Convent " excited the 
 lower classes of Boston and its vicinity against the 
 Charlestown Nunnery, Mrs. Sherwood's " Nun," a 
 
THE TRUCKMEN ORGANIZE. 29 
 
 fascinating tale which appeared about that time, 
 prejudiced more intelligent people, who could not 
 forbear mentally associating the only Convent 
 they knew about with those of which they were 
 reading in her book. 
 
 The Boston truckmen were at that time a well- 
 organized body of men, — a sort of guild, who 
 marched in Fourth of July processions, attired in 
 white smock-frocks, and were cheered by the 
 crowd for their manly bearing. They were of the 
 same social status as the romancing authoress of 
 "Six Months," and they took up her cause warmly, 
 finding her story fully confirmed, as they honestly 
 thought, by the escape and recapture of Sister 
 Mary John, which the newspapers detailed at 
 length in its perverted form. Secret indignation- 
 meetings were being held by the truckmen and 
 others, about the time when I entered the Ursu- 
 line Convent, and many persons supposed an 
 attack on the Convent to be impending. Hence 
 the visits, so mysterious to me, which my father 
 received from certain friends who believed that 
 danger threatened the Convent, and that it would 
 
30 THE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 be wise to delay my entrance into the Ursnline 
 School. But he, and many other sensible people 
 too, thought it impossible that any danger was to 
 be apprehended as to a school composed almost 
 entirely of Protestant pupils. 
 
 I am sorry to have interrupted my story by such 
 a long digression, but while you read it you must 
 imagine me jogging along to school in my father's 
 chaise with a heavy heart, in spite of my new pink 
 gingham frock in esse, and a consciousness of half 
 a dozen more both pink and white in posse. 
 
 My recollections of the fortnight passed at the 
 Ursuline School are fragmentary, but vivid ; like 
 scenes in a theatre, with the curtain of forget ful- 
 ness dropping between them. I remember arriv- 
 ing at the Convent late in the afternoon, just at 
 the recreation hour, and I soon find myself gravely 
 walking up and down one of the long terraces in 
 the garden, already a Senior, — greatly to my 
 sorrow, and obliged to behave with a Senior's 
 dignity, while the happy little Juniors were skip- 
 ping and playing in the walk above. T ow r ed the 
 misfortune of being made a member of the Senior 
 
THE MYSTERIOUS TREASURE. 31 
 
 class to the advanced state of my studies, which 
 fact, considering the low standard of education at 
 that time in girls' schools, I may mention without 
 vanity. There were several children about my 
 age in the Senior class, but most of the girls were 
 older, and I felt miserably out of place in their 
 company, especially as I had been brought up 
 with children younger than myself. Most of the 
 Seniors had already passed through the Junior 
 class, and were old acquaintances, having a free- 
 and-easy way with each other that I was sure I 
 never, never should acquire. Apropos of this feel- 
 ing, I remember that the girl whose desk was 
 next to mine in the school-room kept concealed 
 therein a certain mysterious treasure, namely, a 
 fragment of broken looking-glass, at which inti- 
 mate friends were allowed sometimes to peep ; 
 there were no mirrors in our dormitories, which 
 made this an inestimable privilege, and I was 
 so overcome one day by the apprehension that 
 I should never, never become one of those fa- 
 vored friends — not even if I remained at school 
 till I was twenty years old, as my father had 
 
32 THE BURNING OF TEE CONVENT. 
 
 decreed — that I burst suddenly into tears, and 
 was fain to hide my head behind my desk-cover. 
 Of course this foolish feeling was only one of the 
 miserable symptoms of homesickness. 
 
 On this first afternoon of my school experience 
 on the Senior walk, I met the scrutinizing glances 
 bestowed by my companions on me as a new 
 scholar, with deep blushes and deprecating smiles, 
 feeling very awkward in my solitude, while they 
 were promenading up and down, each with her 
 " particular friend," enjoying the luxury of whis- 
 pering secrets in each others ears. I began to 
 meditate how I could best climb the bank and 
 reach the Juniors in their walk above me, with 
 whom I longed to play, for they had dolls, so much 
 better than " particular friends," and some of them 
 were nursing their dolls with an air of maternal 
 solicitude which quite won my heart. I was sure 
 I should easily get acquainted with such anxious 
 mammas, for we should meet on common ground, 
 — surely they could sympathize in my grief at 
 parting with Claribel, and my reminiscences of 
 that darling must interest them deeply. 
 
A NEW TITLE. 33 
 
 Imagine my mortification when, just as I had 
 climbed to the top of the bank, a severe voice 
 from below called out, " Miss Goddard, come 
 down at once ! " I turned, hardly knowing my- 
 self under this new title of Miss, and saw one of 
 the black-robed Sisters beckoning with her finger 
 to hurry my movements. Several Juniors had 
 stopped their play and come up to look at me, 
 and I had to make my ignominious descent before 
 their curious eyes. Unluckily I slipped, and 
 rolled sprawling down the bank, with my legs and 
 arms rotating like the spokes of a broken wheel ; 
 the Juniors laughed aloud, and my face burned 
 like fire. 
 
 The black Nun did not laugh ; however, she 
 looked at me very gravely as she told me it was 
 against the rules for Seniors and Juniors to hold 
 any communication with each other except by 
 special permission, but, as I was a new scholar, 
 she would not report me for misdemeanor this 
 time, only I w T as to beware for the future. So 
 saying, she moved slowly away in her heavy black 
 robes, which must have been oppressively warm 
 2* c 
 
34 THE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 on that summer day. But the Nuns always 
 looked cool and comfortable, and I used to won- 
 der how it was that they never perspired ! — at 
 least I never saw any sign of perspiration on their 
 muffled faces. 
 
 Quite humbled in spirit, I retired to a distance 
 from the place of my downfall, and seated myself 
 under a smoke-bush. A Senior I was, and a 
 Senior unmixed I must remain, so it appeared, 
 and as a Senior and Miss Goddard into the bar- 
 gain, I ought not to cry ; but I could not help 
 shedding a n few tears, which I wiped away hur- 
 riedly on hearing footsteps approaching. Another 
 pair of " particular friends " who had strolled to 
 the farther end of the walk appeared returning, 
 with arms intertwined, and so deep in confiden- 
 tial talk that they did not notice me, the poor 
 little Solitary. But as they passed me I recog- 
 nized in one of them an old schoolmate of mine, 
 
 Mary H ; old schoolmate indeed ! at this 
 
 moment, amid the novelty of my surroundings, it 
 seemed to me that I must have known her in 
 another sphere of existence. I jumped up from 
 
AX OLD SCHOOLMATE. 35 
 
 my low seat and called her by name ; she 
 stopped abruptly, looked at me and knew me at 
 once. I can't say she seemed overjoyed to see 
 me, nor, indeed, should I have been specially glad 
 to meet her anywhere else but in this place where 
 I felt so lonely. " Why, Louisa Goddard, how did 
 you come here 1 " was her first, not very flattering 
 question. " I did n't know you were to be one of 
 the new scholars. Just got here 1 Wonder how 
 you'll like it? Darling Bella," turning to her 
 friend, who had politely withdrawn to the oppo- 
 site side of the alley, " wait for me a moment. 
 I '11 join you directly." " No hurry," returned 
 that young lady, taking the opportunity to empty 
 her shoes of gravel by leaning against a syringa- 
 bush, and standing on one leg at a time. Mary 
 and I looked at each other silently for a minute. 
 W T e had formerly been rivals at a little school kept 
 
 by a certain Miss J , a girl only sixteen years 
 
 old, who was extremely proud of us "advanced 
 pupils" amid a little crowd of A-B-C-darians. 
 We were eight or nine years old, and we two com- 
 posed the " first class," and recited together out of 
 
3G TEE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 Wood bridge's Geography, Colburn's "First Les- 
 sons," and Murray's " Abridged." 
 
 Miss J , with great want of judgment, used 
 
 to stimulate us to exertion in study, by pitting us 
 against each other, making constant comparisons 
 between us, and praising each of us alternately, at 
 the other's expense, so that we generally disliked 
 one another cordially. Sometimes, however, when 
 the pursuit of knowledge presented unusual diffi- 
 culties, we sympathized mutually, — as when Miss 
 
 J gave us passages to parse from " Paradise 
 
 Lost," where Milton shows his grammatical genius 
 in separating his nominative cases from his verbs 
 by immense distances. Till we became shrewd 
 enough to look for the nominative in the first line, 
 and the verb in the last line of these passages, 
 and pay no attention to the rest of them, we were 
 often hopelessly puzzled, and quite disposed to 
 
 help each other by " prompting." Miss J 
 
 used to make us " parse " from opposite corners of 
 the room, puss-in-the-corner fashion, in order to 
 prevent it. And in " recess" we sometimes fell 
 back into friendship, when, I am sorry to say, we 
 
OLD SCHOOL-DAYS RECALLED. 37 
 
 too often encouraged each other in being naughty 
 and ungovernable, taking pleasure in putting our 
 foolish young teacher to her wit's end for means 
 to control us. 
 
 As Mary and I stood looking at each other, the 
 memory of those half-forgotten days came back 
 to us both, and, being now at the mature age 
 of eleven or twelve, we had the grace to feel 
 ashamed of onr youthful follies. " Louisa,'' said 
 Mary, coming close to my ear, " we were really 
 very naughty girls at Miss J 's school some- 
 times. I can tell you I behave very differently 
 now, and so I hope do you" which she said with 
 a patronizing air that recalled all my old dislike. 
 " Now we will promise never to tell of each other 
 here, and while we are at the Convent we must 
 
 not talk before the girls about Miss J 's 
 
 school, or let them know we ever went there 
 together." Having made this abrupt and sensible 
 proposition, to which " of course I said yes" — like 
 Fair Zurich's daughter, in the popular song of 
 that day, — Mary returned to darling Bella, leav- 
 iug me plantee let under the smoke-bush and more 
 
38 TRE BURNING OF TEE CONVENT. 
 
 discontented than ever, as there I sat in melan- 
 choly mood, watching the girls' pink frocks mov- 
 ing about in the rays of the sinking sun. 
 
 In this way began my fortnight's experience in 
 the Ursuline Convent, which made a deep and 
 lasting impression on me because of its strange- 
 ness. School life in a foreign convent, French 
 or Belgian, would have been no stranger, save 
 that we should have spoken French. Never to 
 be alone, always to be under supervision, — these 
 novel conditions made me unutterably melancholy. 
 I will try and recall the routine that we followed 
 day after day. There were no rooms in that part 
 of the building devoted to the pupils, — rooms are 
 for a few, halls for many, — and we inhabited halls 
 exclusively. Each dormitory was occupied by six- 
 teen girls ; there were eight windows on each side, 
 and room for a little white bed between every two, 
 while small washstands stood under each window. 
 The floor was carpetless, the windows curtainless, 
 — each girl's trunk was placed at the foot of her 
 bed. There were two windows at the end of the 
 dormitory, and it was considered a great privilege 
 
HO W TEE DAY WAS BEGUN. 39 
 
 to be allowed to occupy the beds next them ; it 
 was comparative privacy to have a neighbor only 
 on one side, and comparative freedom to have a 
 double outlook upon the world. Very early in 
 the morning the great dormitory was thrown 
 open, and Sister Mary Austin, our special guar- 
 dian, appeared on the threshold, when she crossed 
 herself devoutly, and began to recite " Matins " 
 aloud, as she slowly walked along the aisle be- 
 tween the rows of beds. This she did with as 
 much dignity as was compatible with her duty of 
 waking up the girls, by dragging the bedclothes 
 off them to the right and left as she proceeded, 
 practice having given her great skill in suddenly 
 exposing the attitudes of the sleepers. I used to 
 sit up and watch them ; some with knees touch- 
 ing their chins, some in a huddle, some on their 
 backs, with arms at right angles, or tossed over 
 their heads, and some in statuesque positions, with 
 folded hands and feet crossed. There was only 
 one moment of immobility, and then every girl 
 was out of bed, dressing and washing silently. 
 Then in procession we went through the broad 
 
40 THE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 halls, first to the school-room, where we knelt 
 down in a double row, each girl before her desk, 
 while one of the oldest pupils, kneeling alone at 
 the head of the room, read or recited, according 
 as she was Protestant or Catholic, the morning 
 prayers of the Catholic church. The school-room 
 was a very large one, — Seniors from other dormi- 
 tories joined in the exercise, — and I amused my- 
 self by noticing which girls crossed themselves 
 during prayers, and must therefore be Catholics. 
 They were few in number, and generally foreign- 
 looking. Then came the procession to the Refec- 
 tory, where some elderly lay-Sisters waited on the 
 long tables which were set out with the regulation 
 spoons and mugs, and not much else. Melancholy 
 as was mv usual state of mind during that fort- 
 night, I felt a new access of misery whenever meal- 
 times arrived. Dry bread, though excellent of its 
 kind, and a mugful of milk for breakfast ; dry 
 bread and a bit of butter, with a glass of water 
 for supper, — meagre as this food seemed to me, 
 I thought I could have swallowed it philosophi- 
 cally had I been able to look forward and back- 
 
THE CONVENT FARE. 41 
 
 ward upon a good dinner. We usually had but 
 one course at this meal, soup made with vegeta- 
 bles one day, soup-meat mixed with vegetables on 
 the next. Salt-fish ditto, or hasty-pudding and 
 molasses, or rice-milk on Fridays and fast-days, 
 which seemed to me to be very frequent at that 
 time. Having spent my early childhood in an 
 English nursery, I had as great a hatred of rice- 
 pudding as little Reginald in Charles Reade's 
 story. " There filthy there abbommanabel," as 
 he said, and I thought. I always wept into my 
 mug of water till it was salt on rice-milk days. 
 Sometimes for a treat we had each three or four 
 dried and flattened prunes or figs, wizened to the 
 size of beans, served in little cup-plates. Even 
 our young teeth could hardly gnaw them, and the 
 girls declared them to be bits of the Sisters' old 
 shoes, chopped up with a hatchet. Even that ex- 
 quisite joke failed to make me laugh in my dis- 
 gust. I confess I did not get much sympathy in 
 my misery, for the pupils, accustomed to the diet, 
 cheerfully swallowed what was set before them, 
 and thought no more about it, save occasionally 
 
42 THE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 to remind each other of the feast-days that were 
 to come, particularly " Coronation day " and 
 church-festivals, when the girls were put in good 
 humor with Catholicism by little entertainments 
 got up in real French taste. I can only say that 
 there are no fete-days of the church in the later 
 summer, so far as my Convent experience goes. 
 
 However, we had food for our souls if not for 
 our bodies at meal-times; the older girls read 
 aloud from the head of the different tables the 
 Lives of the Saints. Protestant children were not 
 expected to listen unless they chose, — one of the 
 liberal practices in the Convent which raised the 
 school into high favor with their parents. These 
 " Lives" were quite as interesting to me as fairy 
 stories, — and much like them, — and, having 
 nothing to do in the way of eating, I listened 
 with all my ears. Our light meals were accom- 
 panied by "Grace before and after Meat," pecu- 
 liarly long, and there was much bending and 
 crossing among the Catholic pupils, who really 
 worked very hard in keeping up the piety of the 
 institution, while the Protestants looked on idly. 
 
CONVENT STUDIES. 43 
 
 I used to say to myself, indignantly, "It is a 
 shame that the less we receive the more thankful 
 we have to be." 
 
 After breakfast the processions moved back to 
 their several school-rooms, and half an hour's 
 recreation was allowed, or rather the privilege of 
 using the tongue for half an hour ; there were no 
 playthings or games, only a babel of voices was 
 heard. Then followed some hours of silence, when 
 the girls were supposed to be studying, and Sis- 
 ter Mary Austin held the books while the classes 
 stumbled through or gabbled over their lessons. 
 I don't remember that she ever explained a pas- 
 sage or talked with them about their tasks ; she 
 used to take out her handkerchief and yawn be- 
 hind it very often. Then came more processions 
 to and from the noon dinner, and short recreation 
 in the school-rooms before and after that meal. 
 In the afternoon, hours of silence ; fancy-work 
 was pursued zealously by the girls ; some of them 
 had seemed half asleep over the morning lessons, 
 but they waked up thoroughly over their canvas 
 and crewels, velvets and paints, and even Sister 
 
44 THE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 Mary Austin yawned no more. I had no fancy- 
 work, only some dreadful plain sewing, — some 
 under-garments that my mother had given me to 
 make, and which Sister Mary Austin basted for 
 me under protest. These cotton seams sunk me 
 greatly in my own esteem and increased my mel- 
 ancholy. P'or some reason that I have forgotten, 
 I studied very little during my stay at the Con- 
 vent and was put into no class. I used to sit and 
 long impatiently for the time when Sister Mary 
 Austin would place me, perhaps, in the first class, 
 where I should astonish the big girls by my brill- 
 iant recitations, and compel their respect in spite 
 of my plain sewing. 
 
 Late in the afternoon we walked in procession 
 for our sun-bonnets, hanging in a back hall, put 
 them on as nearly simultaneously as possible, and 
 then two by two made our way into that part of 
 the grounds known as the Bowers, — two broad 
 grassy avenues, having between them something 
 that was neither a hedge nor a thicket ; a deep 
 tangled wall of greenery in whose recesses a double 
 row of leafy arbors had been made. These were 
 
 
CONVENT PLAY-IIOURS. 45 
 
 the summer playing-places of the pupils, Seniors 
 and Juniors occupying different rows on opposite 
 sides of the green partition, and being strictly 
 forbidden to hold any intercourse with each other. 
 But the happy Juniors played with all their might, 
 and I, having neither bosom friend nor fancy-work, 
 used to sit on the grass and watch their energetic 
 housekeeping, a family in every arbor, dolls lolling 
 about against the branches, and tea-tables arranged 
 on low stumps. A dear aged Sister in spectacles, 
 who darned stockings continually, had charge of 
 the Juniors, and was even good-natured enough 
 to let them pull at her rosary as an imaginary 
 bell, and to sit quite still while a sick doll was 
 carefully put to bed on her shoulder and covered 
 with her veil. I witnessed many small breaches 
 of discipline, — whisperings between Seniors and 
 Juniors, Pyramus and Thisbe fashion, candy given 
 and received, and notes hastily passed, scribbled 
 on the fly-leaves of school-books. Unhappy child 
 that I was ! a prisoner and nothing to do. The 
 Convent cows, unwatched and grazing freely over 
 a large pasture, filled me with envy; I longed to 
 
46 THE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 be a cow or a bird or a spider or an ant, — any- 
 one of the happy creatures at liberty around me. 
 In fact, I was a doll-less child for the first time in 
 my life, — which is quite as bad as being a dogless 
 man, — and 1 actually mourned for my waxen 
 Claribel us Kachel mourneth .for her children. 
 Had I only been a Junior, I could, I thought, in 
 some way purchase a right of adoption in some 
 one of their darlings. 
 
 After tea there was another hour of profound 
 silence enjoined while the Nuns were at the Ves- 
 per service. My soul thrills as I recall the mel- 
 ancholy beauty of that hour. Motionless, I watched 
 the slow setting of the sun, lighting up the broad 
 summer landscape with a golden glow and darken- 
 ing it with purple shadows; and when the sun 
 had dropped behind the distant hills, and the 
 changing opal sky was fading into dull gray, the 
 voices of the Sisters rose solemnly from the Chapel 
 below, and the faint scent of incense mingled with 
 the breath of the white roses trained against its 
 walls, and floated into the open window on the 
 evening air. 
 
MOMENTS OF FREEDOM. 47 
 
 The Convent, with its broad halls, long galler- 
 ies, and massive walls, put me in mind of palaces 
 about which I had read. The great music-room 
 with its piano, the handsome gilt harp and guitars 
 dressed in uniforms of pink ribbons, seemed to me 
 elegant enough to be used for a meeting of Trou- 
 badours. I took several music-lessons there of 
 Sister Mary John, the unfortunate Mother- Assist- 
 ant, who showed, by her nervous, excitable man- 
 ner and flushed nice, that she had not yet recovered 
 entirely from that terrible brain-fever. 
 
 How I enjoyed the little moments of transit 
 between the school-room and music-room as I 
 went to my lessons and returned from them ! for 
 they were my only periods of solitude and freedom 
 from supervision, — I used to linger on the stairs, 
 jump up and down them three at a time, dance 
 wildly, and even make faces by way of making the 
 most of my liberty, — and I felt an ever-growing 
 desire to take advantage of it for the gratification 
 of my curiosity. The pupils were positively for- 
 bidden to visit any part of the building save the 
 halls appropriated to their use ; and few, even of 
 
48 THE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 those who had been at the school for years, had 
 ever attempted to break this rule. Yet legends 
 of adventurous spirits were handed down from 
 year to year, and circulated among the new girls, 
 and I had overheard just enough to excite my 
 imagination. " Such and such girls had made 
 their way — oh ! — as far as — um — urn — urn 
 
 — (whispering) — and seen — gracious, they had 
 seen the strangest things, for instance, um — um 
 
 — um — (whispers again) and had heard — 0, 
 they were so frightened ! — such tones — um — 
 um — strange voices — um — um — cries, — groans, 
 
 — sobs — " (tragic whispers, shuddering, expres- 
 sive silence). There was a brick tomb, a very 
 large one, at the bottom of the garden, where cer- 
 tain Nuns were buried, and about which the girls 
 made many surmises, which in time grew into 
 dreadful stories, told to new-comers with bated 
 breath. 
 
 On my way to the music-room I had to pass 
 the foot of the stairs leading to the uppet stories 
 of the Convent, which were supposed to be as 
 much out of our reach as heaven itself. We were 
 
A FORBIDDEN CHAMBER. 49 
 
 forbidden to go there ; and, according to school- 
 girl logic, that was sufficient proof that wicked- 
 ness was enacted there, in Chambers of Horrors. 
 I do believe these ridiculous fancies, held by 
 Protestant children to account for a novel disci- 
 pline which they could not comprehend, obtained 
 circulation among certain classes outside the Con- 
 vent, and assisted in bringing on the catastrophe 
 which destroyed the school. 
 
 When I first crossed the foot of those stairs I 
 looked up with straining eyes, and wondered what 
 I should see if I had ever the courage to mount 
 them. On the next occasion I began to think I 
 might find the courage, and on the conclusion of 
 my second lesson, when I was to pass those stairs 
 for the fourth time, I suddenly resolved to ven- 
 ture then and there, and, clasping my hands tightly 
 together over my heart, which beat so furiously 
 that I could hardly breathe, I flew rather than 
 ran up to the first landing, but beyond that point 
 I dared not go. However, I saw quite enough to 
 give my excited imagination a rude shock, and 
 to bring common-sense to the front. The stairs 
 3 D 
 
50 THE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 ended in another broad hall, with sundry dormi- 
 tories opening upon it, through whose half-open 
 doors I could see rows of little white beds just 
 like our own. Even in that moment I was im- 
 pressed with the exquisite neatness that prevailed, 
 and the spotless purity of the carpetless floors; 
 for, as in all foreign convents, the floors were made 
 of hard wood or solid stone, and were uncovered. 
 Dead silence reigned, and solitude, for the inhab- 
 itants of that upper story were all busy in their 
 various duties below. Small pictures in black 
 frames and crucifixes hung on the white walls 
 above the bed-heads ; no other furniture was vis- 
 ible ; a clock ticked loudly in the silence, and 
 seemed to address me personally with a stern " Go 
 away, go away, go away ! " and down stairs again 
 I flew, well rewarded for my temerity, had I been 
 old enough to know it, by the wholesome disbe- 
 lief that I began to feel, after this experience, in 
 the abominable stories whispered about among 
 the girls, partly because their lives of unnatural 
 seclusion gave them little else to talk about and 
 deprived them of any other excitement. 
 
RED-HAIRED SUSANNE. 51 
 
 In our various processions through the main 
 hall of the building, wc always passed the great 
 double doors of the Chapel, which opened upon it. 
 Sometimes those doors would be ajar, giving us a 
 glimpse of the interior, where some one of the 
 Catholic pupils was often seen kneeling in pen- 
 ance. A Canadian girl named Susanne P 
 
 was frequently punished in this manner for giving 
 way to sudden outbursts of angry violence, with- 
 out apparent reason save that she had an unusual 
 quantity of red hair. This was supposed to be 
 the infallible accompaniment of a temper, and in- 
 deed might well be the cause of it, as in those 
 days the owner of red hair was alternately snubbed 
 and ridiculed for that misfortune by her brown- 
 haired and black-haired companions. " Red Hair," 
 this was the name given by unappreciative school- 
 girls to Susanne's magnificent locks, by which 
 even I, ignorant little thing as I was, well remem- 
 ber her. She had large black eyes, which, by 
 contrast with her hair, added to the singularity 
 of her appearance. These eyes she was accus- 
 tomed during school -hours to fix on vacancy, 
 
52 THE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 wherever that may be, while she would clasp 
 round her knees a pair of very white hands spot- 
 ted with freckles, which were, as I noticed, just 
 the color of her hair. She would forget the book 
 she w r as studying, and let it slip gradually off her 
 knee till it fell to the floor with a loud bang, 
 which often made Sister Mary Austin jump in the 
 middle of a yawn, and drew upon Susanne the 
 attention of the whole school. She was a silent, 
 reserved girl, except when she fell into one of her 
 sudden passions, and on such occasions she had a 
 way of hiding herself behind the waves of her 
 bright hair, which had an electric sparkle and 
 vitality singularly in contrast with her pale still 
 face. Every hair seemed instinct with separate 
 life, and her great eyes fairly caught a dull glow 
 from the influence of this superb dievelure. I 
 could not forbear looking at her compassionately 
 when I saw her so often in the Chapel kneeling 
 motionless as marble under this living hair ; and, 
 lowly as her head was bent, I thought I could 
 detect a glance of recognition sliding from under 
 her eyelids. 
 
BIG II MASS. 53 
 
 Sundays we all attended High Mass in the 
 Chapel, the Protestant girls taking their Bibles 
 with them, which they were supposed by their 
 parents to read diligently during the services. I 
 am sorry to say the only diligent readers I saw 
 were those who had contrived to conceal story- 
 books between the covers. A low partition sep- 
 arated ns from the main body of the Chapel, and 
 behind a similar partition on the opposite side was 
 the apartment occupied by the Nuns during Mass. 
 Heavy crimson curtains, slightly parted, effectu- 
 ally concealed them, filling up most of the space 
 above the partition. But, though unseen, their ex- 
 quisite singing ravished the ear, — so ravished my 
 childish senses that I should not have been sur- 
 prised had a troop of angels swooped out upon 
 us from between the parted curtains, with white 
 wings brushing the crimson, looking perhaps like 
 the beautiful St. Ursula over the altar. 
 
 I was not old enough to appreciate the value of 
 the solid silver candlesticks and vessels that fur- 
 nished the altar, or the silver-gilt communion-ser- 
 vice used by the Bishop at High Mass. The older 
 
54 THE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 girls had much to say on the subject, and they 
 were never tired o£jidmiring the elegance of the 
 lace made by the Nuns for their Chapel, and the 
 splendor of the Bishop's robes embroidered by 
 them. But 0, the pictures ! Really valuable 
 works by foreign artists hung on the walls, so 
 titterly unlike any pictures I had ever seen that I 
 could not look at them as such. The genius that 
 had breathed a soul into them, such as a grown- 
 up amateur would have appreciated as the perfec- 
 tion of art, informed them to my inexperienced 
 eye with an almost real life and breath, that awed 
 me inexpressibly. I remember one full-length fig- 
 ure of some virgin saint, with flowing robes and 
 hair, and a face of perfect loveliness, glowing with 
 ecstatic devotion, as her eyes, piercing heaven for 
 " ten thousand perpendicular miles," — such was 
 my childish thought, — seemed to hold in their 
 gaze a something not even to be guessed at. 
 While I was losing myself in this picture, I won- 
 dered how the girls about me could fidget, and 
 sigh, and complain in whispers of the discomfort 
 of their kneeling positions. Where else could one 
 
THE DYING MONK. 55 
 
 be but on one's knees in presence of that picture 1 
 was my feeling. I remember specially only one 
 more painting, probably because it was so com- 
 plete a contrast to the other. It was the head of 
 an aged ascetic dying in the wilderness, starved to 
 skin and bone, with shrivelled arms and claw-like 
 fingers, with which he hardly had strength to 
 clasp a crucifix against his ragged robe. There 
 was a skull in the picture, — much resembling 
 the lean head of the Monk, — cross-bones, a great 
 book, and the mouth of a cave. His eyes, too, 
 were raised upward, but " dear," thought I, 
 " lie only wants the Lord to see the red rings 
 about them, and their livid sockets." These pic- 
 tured saints seemed to my imagination endowed 
 with a mysterious life of their own, and I always 
 fancied the chapel inhabited by their moving 
 figures when the doors were shut and locked, as 
 they often w r ere when we passed by in procession. 
 There was a great difference in the behavior of 
 the Protestant and Catholic girls at chapel. Many 
 of the former made it their business to assume 
 indifference to the services, for which reason, per- 
 
56 THE BURNING OF TEE CONVENT. 
 
 haps, the few Catholics felt called upon to show a 
 more than usual devotion thereat. A beautiful 
 Creole girl, the oldest of the Catholic pupils, 
 set them a perfect example in that respect. I 
 suppose I noticed her particularly on account of 
 
 the contrast she presented to Susanne P , who 
 
 was her neighbor at Sunday morning Mass, — 
 for the Catholic girls liked to be together, — 
 kneeling so close to her side that her bright locks 
 touched the lovely Creole's dusky cheek and her 
 bands of ebon hair. But Susanne's eyes, with 
 their sparks of fire, were often fixed in upward 
 
 glance, while Louisa M (that was the name 
 
 of the West-Indian beauty) kept hers hidden 
 under their black lashes. 
 
 I began to know the names of those girls who 
 
 most interested me. Ellen and Eosamond M ■ 
 
 were Catholics, sisters ; Ellen ros}^ laughing, 
 brilliant in health and spirits, and poor Rosamond 
 sullen, pitted with small-pox, with a harelip and 
 no palate, so that her imperfect discordant speech 
 was a foil to her sister's joyous sweetness of voice. 
 There were four sisters named W (two in 
 
DANCING DAY. 57 
 
 the Senior and two in the Junior class), — four 
 sizes of pink frocks, and all the wearers pretty. 
 The oldest was handsome, and was beginning to 
 know it and to look forward to leaving school and 
 wearing something better than a pink frock. 
 The second was a grave, quiet girl, a great favor- 
 ite with the Nuns ; she already showed a strong 
 leaning to Catholicism, and at last married a gen- 
 tleman of that faith. The younger ones, unless 
 by special permission, only saw their sisters to 
 speak with them on dancing days, when Elizabeth 
 settled their sashes, and Penelope gave them good 
 advice ; for on that day the classes were taught 
 together. Nearly all dressed in white frocks, and 
 a holiday feeling pervaded the school. A certain 
 
 Penelope E w T as one of the prettiest dancers ; 
 
 she chasseed about merrily, with a smile for every 
 one she met. She was the motherless daughter 
 of an officer, and had lost the use of one eye, 
 which was always covered by a green shade. But 
 the other was of a lovely laughing violet-blue, and 
 its glance, when it met yours, so pleasant that it 
 was worth that of any two eyes in the whole 
 3* 
 
58 THE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 school. One little girl wore a superb net, with 
 heavy tassels, all of blue saddler's silk. "Too 
 lovely for anything," I thought both her and her 
 net, and I wished I could conceal my mop of hair 
 under such an elegant appendage. I was some- 
 what ashamed of it, as it had lately been cut by 
 our maiden aunt, who was in the habit of bringing 
 her shears twice a year into our family, and " bar- 
 bering " us in an eccentric fashion of her own, 
 the heads of both bo} T s and girls looking exactly 
 alike when they came from under her hands. She 
 was kind enough to pay us a flying visit when she 
 heard I w T as about to be sent to school, in order to 
 give my hair an extra touch, and she pronounced 
 her work a triumph of art, w r hen finished. My 
 head was indeed "a unique," as I saw, after com- 
 paring it with the heads of my schoolmates, not 
 so fortunate as myself in maiden aunts with a 
 genius for men's business. I should add, to do 
 her justice, that she could "carpenter," paper- 
 hang and paint, and once " marbled " her front 
 staircase so handsomely that it saved her the 
 purchase of a carpet. 
 
MARIA F AND MARY B . 59 
 
 The little girl with the blue silk net was called 
 Anna Augusta ; such an appropriate name, I 
 thought, for the owner of that exquisite thing. I 
 resolved that if ever Claribel had a sister, she 
 should be christened Anna Augusta. 
 
 One lovely girl among the pupils, named Maria 
 
 F , had the face of a young Madonna, with a 
 
 sweet, pure, still expression, that made it a pleas- 
 ure for me to look upon her, she seemed so pecu- 
 liarly fit to be in a convent. Some of the wild, 
 turbulent children seemed entirely out of place 
 in a community of nuns, while Maria's looks and 
 ways were in perfect harmony with her surround- 
 ings ; she might have been the youngest of St. 
 
 Ursula's eleven thousand virgins. Mary B , a 
 
 complete contrast to the placid Maria in manners, 
 was the wit of the Senior class. She was as given 
 to graceful gestures as a French girl, her panto- 
 mime was as expressive as her words ; we always 
 opened our mouths, prepared to laugh, whenever 
 she opened hers to speak, — even I, the melancholy 
 Jacqueline of the class. 
 
 After Mass, on my first Sunday at the Convent, 
 
60 THE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 the Superior sent for me to come to her own room, 
 whither I was escorted by a Sister, who knocked 
 for me on the door. She was graciously invited 
 to enter with me, which she did, bending her body 
 reverently. I suppose this honor Avas conferred 
 on me by way of curing my homesickness, of 
 which the Superior had been told. She was very 
 gracious to me, presenting me to the Bishop, who 
 had just officiated at Mass, and who, without his 
 brocade robes stiff with embroidery, looked to me 
 like a peacock stripped of his feathers. I am 
 afraid my miserable discontent made me very sar- 
 castic ; soon, though, I was desperately frightened 
 at finding myself in the Presence. The Superior 
 was a very portly woman, even stout, but I be- 
 lieve I have mentioned that she carried herself 
 with royal dignity, and even arrogance. The 
 whole household feared her ; she spoke sharply to 
 the Nuns, who bowed before her ; the servants 
 always approached her with bent head, downcast 
 eyes, and hands crossed on their breasts. The 
 pupils were taught to rise simultaneously when- 
 ever she entered any one of the school-rooms, and 
 
THE BISHOP'S ADVICE. Gl 
 
 to remain standing while she swept through it, 
 and as long as she continued to occupy the seat 
 prepared for her at the head of the room, which 
 she filled as if it had been a throne. With the 
 Bishop alone was she on equal terms, and when, 
 on this my visit to her apartment, my fright 
 allowed me the use of my senses, it seemed to me 
 they were sitting together just like any old lady 
 and gentleman, only that they appeared very 
 happy in wrangling and contradicting each other, 
 — poor things ! except when together they never 
 could enjoy the pleasure of disputing, for they 
 were despotic sovereigns elsewhere, and nobody 
 dared oppose them. Each carried a silver-gilt 
 snuff-box, which they presented one to the other 
 at intervals, taking friendly pinches of snuff to- 
 gether when controversy lulled. There was a 
 pause after I had been introduced to the Bishop 
 as a new pupil, and had placed myself at his knee, 
 by the Superior's order. " This little girl is ridic- 
 ulously homesick ; what shall we do with her 1 " 
 said she in an admonitory tone, and looking at 
 the Bishop as if expecting him to lecture me on 
 
62 THE BURNING OF TEE CONVENT. 
 
 my folly. I dared not lift my eyes to his face, 
 and in the silence that followed, the ticking of 
 the mantel clock and the beating of my heart 
 seemed to be racing with each other. At length 
 the Bishop spoke, and sharply. " Take your fin- 
 gers out of your mouth," said he, " and go to Sis- 
 ter Mary Francis, and ask her to tie up your 
 frock." Relieved, but ashamed, I crept up to the 
 Nun who had brought me to the Superior's room ; 
 she hastened to obey the command, and drew the 
 string so tightly that it broke, and I was allowed 
 to make my escape in her company. My unfortu- 
 nate sloping shoulders, w r hich were always letting 
 my frocks drop out of place, and getting me into 
 trouble, for once did me a good turn. I was even 
 glad to get back to my Sunday lesson, the " getting 
 by heart," as the phrase goes, of a chapter in the 
 Testament. Poor Sister Mary Austin found Sun- 
 day anything but a holiday, for it was her duty 
 to "hear" every girl in the Senior class recite a 
 chapter; her religious opinions, I suppose, were 
 considered to be so firmly fixed as to be proof 
 against the influence of the heretical Bible. In- 
 
ONCE I LA UGHED. C)3 
 
 deed, as the girls hesitated, stumbled, or drawled 
 through their recitations while she prompted or 
 reproved or waited or yawned, I thought she must 
 get such a surfeit of our Bible as fairly to dislike 
 it. I used to wonder at the constancy of Sister 
 Mary Austin's yawns, till I heard the girls allud- 
 ing to midnight masses, four o'clock matins, and 
 mysterious penances practised at night. 
 
 Once, and only once during that homesick fort- 
 night at the Convent, I laughed aloud, and it hap- 
 pened in this wise. As in melancholy mood I was 
 sitting on the grass during afternoon recreation in 
 the garden, gazing vaguely towards the Convent, I 
 suddenly spied, outside an upper window, a black 
 object that hung suspended between heaven and 
 earth. I walked towards it, and it resolved itself 
 into Sister Mary Bernard cleaning the window on 
 the outside. She was a lay Sister, a servant who 
 had taken the vows ; there were several of them. 
 There she was, astride on a buck-board, with her 
 feet in old shoes down at the heel, pointing to- 
 ward heaven, and a great length of black worsted 
 stocking visible, embroidered with darns and open- 
 
64 THE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 worked with holes. Her rusty black veil streamed 
 out behind in the breeze, like a banner wildly 
 waving ; her white forehead-band was dragged dis- 
 reputably over one eye ; and her rosary went 
 bump, bump against the buck-board as she ener- 
 getically brandished a towel aloft. 
 
 I remember but little about the Nuns ; a few 
 of their names I picked up, but to my unaccus- 
 tomed eye they all looked alike. There was but 
 one novice in a white veil, whom we pitied pro- 
 foundly, for she was in the last stages of consump- 
 tion, her face as white as her veil, and her hollow 
 cough echoed about the house. She w 7 as young, 
 pretty, and so anxious to mortify her poor dying 
 flesh that she persisted in fulfilling her duties to 
 the utmost limit of her strength, and I have often 
 seen her totter and catch hold of the table to sup- 
 port herself, as she waited on the little ones in 
 the refectory. 
 
 And now a ray, or rather a whole sun, of joy 
 lighted up my unhappy life, to my great aston- 
 ishment. By the rules of the school the pupils 
 were allowed to go home and spend Sunday once 
 
/ A3! SENT FOR. 65 
 
 a month ; therefore to the end of my first month 
 at school I was looking forward with inexpressible 
 longing. The first fortnight had dragged itself 
 away, and I was beginning to count the days of 
 the second, with the feeling of one who has clam- 
 bered with difficulty to the top of a hill, and pre- 
 pares hopefully to run down to the bottom again, 
 knowing that the distance, though the same, will 
 seem shorter as one's steps are accelerated. I had 
 received no visit from home during the whole long 
 fortnight, which made me sad, as other girls were 
 daily sent for to see their friends. My heart used 
 to beat fast with hope when the servant whose 
 business it w T as to summon pupils to the parlor 
 appeared at the school-room door, and then sink 
 w T ith disappointment when another name than 
 mine was called. But quite early one Saturday 
 morning my turn came, and " Miss Louisa God- 
 dard" was asked for. How musically Bridget's 
 brogue sounded in pronouncing my name ! I was 
 so dizzy with delight that I could hardly walk 
 out of the school-room, and the girls nodded and 
 looked at me kindly as I passed the rows of desks. 
 
66 THE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 Indeed, had my stay in the Convent been pro- 
 longed, I should of course have recovered from 
 homesickness, made friends with the girls of my 
 class, and been very happy. On this Saturday I 
 certainly was so, for my father, whom I found in 
 the parlor, told me that, notwithstanding the rule 
 of the school, the Superior had given him permis- 
 sion to take me home to spend Sunday. I sup- 
 pose he had had a conference with Sister Mary 
 Benedict, the lovely Nun whose business it was 
 to fascinate visitors, and the ruling powers had 
 decided that an early visit home would assuage 
 my homesickness, I being an unusual sufferer 
 from that disease. I know I was very grateful 
 to the Superior for the permission, as I flew up 
 stairs through the solitary halls and dressed in 
 the empty dormitory. 
 
 What happy days were the Saturday and Sun- 
 day I passed at home ! With what absorbed 
 attention my little brothers and sisters, from ten 
 years old to two, listened to my school experiences, 
 ranged about me as I sat on the pump-platform 
 in the garden, — a flight of short steps of which 
 
TWO HAPPY DAYS AT HOME. G7 
 
 I was the top-stair. With what solicitude I nursed 
 and fed my doll, waking her from her fortnight's 
 nap, and how pleased I was when my black rab- 
 bit, to whom I made an immediate visit, loped 
 up in a friendly way, and wiggled his nose up 
 and down against my hand. A body-guard of 
 children escorted me to the stable, — the summer 
 baby-house, which was under a convenient pile 
 of planks, for the benefit of the dolls' health, who 
 were then supposed to be boarding in the country, 
 — and to the purple-plum tree, where I was made 
 to sit down, while my sister Lucretia tore her pin- 
 afore in climbing up to the most eligible shaking 
 place. My mother tried to talk to me about my 
 clothes, and my father about my studies, but I 
 am afraid I did not pay much attention to their 
 words of wisdom. Monday morning came only 
 too soon ; it seemed impossible I should have 
 been at home two days, and I felt that when T 
 returned to the Convent my visit would only 
 appear like one of those vivid dreams of home 
 that were at once my solace and my misery. I 
 assured my mother of this, with tears rolling 
 
G8 THE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 down my cheeks, and I begged her at least to 
 let me take my doll back with me, as a proof 
 that I had been awake. I told her I was not a 
 bit ashamed to be the only girl in the Senior class 
 who played with a doll ; and she at last consented. 
 Then I vowed to my dear Claribel to be so devoted 
 to her that she should never suffer as I had from 
 homesickness, even though she should have no 
 companion in the Senior class, and should be for- 
 bidden by the rules to get acquainted with any 
 doll in the Junior class, however desirable. My 
 sister Anne generously lent me a small trunk in 
 which to pack ClaribeFs clothes, we both lament- 
 ing that there w T as no time to put her into uni- 
 form, and in return I gave Anne my buff kitten, 
 in whose character, as she developed into cathood, 
 I was in truth disappointed. In the most slovenly 
 manner she had already dirtied and torn her whole 
 month's wardrobe of ribbons, that I had so care- 
 fully prepared for her; and, worse still, she had 
 caught a mouse, and showed a determination to 
 catch more, — a thing for which in her early youth 
 I had hoped she had a special antipathy. 
 
DANGER THREATENS. GO 
 
 On the whole, I made my second journey to 
 school with a lighter heart than I bore in my 
 bosom on the first, Claribel clasped in my arms, 
 and my feet resting* on her trunk as my father 
 and I again drove from Dorchester to Charlestown 
 in the chaise. He had been strongly advised not 
 to allow me to return, some of his friends assur- 
 ing him that the dislike and suspicion which had 
 long been growing against the Convent had at last 
 reached positive hatred, and that its destruction 
 was openly threatened. But my father still 
 laughed these apprehensions to scorn, and was 
 totally incredulous of danger to the Convent. I 
 had listened with great interest to these conver- 
 sations between my father and his friends, and I 
 quite understood them, for at school I had heard 
 the older pupils talking the matter over eagerly, 
 and I was familiar with the story of Sister Mary 
 John's escape and recapture. I had besides " as- 
 sisted" at various disputes held among the girls 
 about that notorious book, " Six Months in a Con- 
 vent," and the character of its author. Sectarian 
 spirit ran very high, — the Catholic girls vehe- 
 
70 THE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 mently denouncing her, and declaring her book to 
 be one long falsehood, while a few bigoted Protes- 
 tants were sure there was much to be said on her 
 side. Most of the pupils were quite indifferent, 
 however, to the subject, save that they enjoyed 
 the fun of listening to the quarrel. 
 
 So on this my return journey to the Convent, 
 I was not surprised to find my father stopped on 
 
 the way by an old acquaintance, Mr. C , whom 
 
 we met driving rapidly out of town on his way 
 to our house, his errand being to warn my father 
 of the certainty of danger to the Convent. When 
 he passed us, he made a sign to my father to halt, 
 sprang out of his vehicle, laid his hand on the 
 reins, and was almost ready to force my father to 
 turn about, while he rapidly and eagerly repeated 
 to him facts that had come to his knowledge re- 
 specting the designs of certain ill-conditioned per- 
 sons on the Ursuline Convent. I heard the word 
 "mob" used by him several times, and the assur- 
 ance that the very Monday night just approaching 
 had been fixed upon by the "mob" for the de- 
 struction of the "Nunnery," as they called it. 
 
THE CONVENT IN COMMOTION. 71 
 
 How I did hope my father would listen to Mr. 
 
 C and turn back ! Not that the idea of a 
 
 mob frightened me, though I had read of the 
 French Revolution, and my mother had described 
 the Bread Riots in England, which she had her- 
 self witnessed ; but it would be so nice to go home 
 again and surprise the children ! Still my father 
 shook his head incredulously, declared there was 
 no possible danger to be feared for the Convent, 
 
 and Mr. C left him very reluctantly, after 
 
 using some strong language of disapproval, at 
 which papa only laughed. So on we drove again, 
 and I was somewhat consoled for my disappoint- 
 ment in not returning home by feeling myself a 
 sort of heroine. 
 
 And on reaching Mount Benedict I found the 
 whole school in commotion. Instead of silence 
 and emptiness in the halls, girls were actually 
 passing through them ; there was no studying in 
 the Senior school-room, but the older girls drew 
 crowding round Sister Mary Austin talking eagerly, 
 while the younger ones pressed close behind to 
 listen, or followed their own devices at their desks. 
 
72 THE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 I had expected to be told to put my doll into my 
 trunk till afternoon recreation, but no notice was 
 taken of her, and I hastened to hide her in my 
 desk, and put her trunk underneath it. Alas, 
 alas, dearest Claribel ! little did I think that I 
 was looking on your face for the last time, as I 
 tenderly covered it with a bit of blotting-paper, 
 and hid it behind "Blair's Rhetoric." As soon 
 as these maternal duties were finished, I joined 
 the circle about Sister Mary Austin, and learned 
 that great events had happened in my absence. 
 Floating rumors of designs against the Convent 
 had of course reached the Nuns from time to time, 
 but as the Bishop disbelieved utterly in them, of 
 course so did these poor helpless women. But on 
 the very Saturday which began my little holiday 
 the Superior had received formal notice that she 
 was in danger, — she, her community, and the 
 building they occupied, — from the Selectmen of 
 Charlestown, and in a few hours afterward they 
 sent up a committee, chosen from their number, 
 to consult with the Superior as to what should 
 be done for her defence, and to ask permission to 
 
 
 
THE SUPERIOR INDIGNANT. ,73 
 
 examine the vaults of the building. They wished 
 to be able to contradict the report, generally 
 believed, that there were cells under the Convent, 
 used for the punishment of the refractory Nuns, 
 and also secret places of torment and iniquity. 
 The Superior failed to appreciate the kind motives 
 of these worthy Selectmen ; she was furiously in- 
 dignant at the abominable stories in circulation 
 about her and her community, and when their 
 committee were admitted to her presence, she 
 overwhelmed them with a torrent of invectives, 
 refused to allow them to examine her cellars, and 
 if she had possessed the power, she would have 
 scourged them from her gate. She appeared to 
 hold them responsible for stories which they only 
 repeated. But Sister Mary John, the Mother 
 Assistant, received the deputation of Selectmen in 
 a very different spirit. She considered herself the 
 innocent cause of the reports that were blasting 
 the reputation of the Convent, and perhaps bring- 
 ing destruction upon it ; and she besought the 
 Superior to allow her to explain the facts relative 
 to her illness and its results, in presence of the 
 
74 THE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 committee. She did so with all her eloquence, 
 and with such an air of truth that the gentlemen 
 appeared to believe her entirely, and they prom- 
 ised to publish a card in Monday morning's papers, 
 explaining the circumstances that had led to the 
 story of the escaped Nun, recaptured and brought 
 back to the cells of the underground Convent 
 against her will, which, as they now believed, and 
 as she assured them, had their origin in the cir- 
 cumstances of her illness. 
 
 On Monday morning this statement appeared 
 in the papers, but coupled with an account of the 
 reception given the committee of Charlestown 
 Selectmen by the Superior of the Convent, and 
 her refusal to allow them to examine the cellars of 
 the building for themselves. She had received 
 visits also from other gentlemen, — some dictated 
 by friendship, others by curiosity, — and her vio- 
 lent language and arrogant bearing had displeased 
 many even of her friends ; while others applauded 
 her courage. Of course, exaggerated accounts of 
 her behavior quickly circulated among those who 
 were looking for every pretext to destroy at least 
 
NINE HOURS DAILY SILENCE. 
 
 her position, if not herself and the institution over 
 which she ruled. She must have raised many ene- 
 mies against herself during the years of her abso- 
 lute and domineering rule on Mount Benedict. 
 
 There was no school during that Monday morn- 
 ing after my return; confusion and excitement 
 reigned during the hours usually devoted to strict 
 silence. For nine hours daily silence was enforced 
 among the pupils, while I was among them ; be- 
 side observing it during school-hours, we were 
 obliged to do so at meals, at matin and vesper 
 hours, and in the school-room, except when half- 
 hours of recreation were allowed by the presiding 
 teacher. It seemed to me that I should never 
 become accustomed to those nine daily hours of 
 silence, but the old pupils consoled themselves 
 under their monotony by looking forward to the 
 fete-days, the holidays, and half-holidays, which 
 were frequent during term-time. And a deal of 
 whispering was done by the experienced scholars, 
 who seemed to enjoy forbidden " communication " 
 as it was called, carried on under fear of discovery, 
 better than if it had been permitted. 
 
76 THE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 I could not help noticing how much the poor 
 Sisters were excited on that Monday morning by 
 the condition of things, and how, after all, they 
 seemed to enjoy it. Sister Mary Austin forgot to 
 yawn, and actually laughed aloud as the pupils 
 caricatured the embarrassment of the Selectmen 
 on their Saturday visit, and their awkward man- 
 ner of filing in and out of the doors. Sounds of 
 similar mirth came through the open windows 
 from the other school-rooms, — it was like an 
 unexpected holiday. Even unwholesome excite- 
 ments are welcome to people living in such abso- 
 lute, dull seclusion as did the Nuns, and in their 
 ignorance and innocence they could not foresee 
 the possibility of real danger, when they had done 
 absolutely nothing to deserve it. As for the Su- 
 perior, her strong will, violent temper, and natural 
 courage made her not unwilling to dwell on the 
 idea of danger which she felt herself strong enough 
 to meet, and she consoled the more timid of the 
 Sisters by telling them that there were Catholic 
 Irishmen enough in Boston to defend them in case 
 they were attacked. 
 
AN EXCITED DANCING-SCHOOL. 77 
 
 On Monday afternoon Mrs. Barrymore the dan- 
 cing-mistress appeared as usual, full of sympathy 
 with the Sisters, and indignation at the abomina- 
 ble stories in circulation against the Convent, some 
 of which had got into the papers, besides the oft- 
 repeated legend of the escaped Nun. There was 
 much controversy between the friends and ene- 
 mies of the Convent as to the truth of these 
 stories, so Mrs. Barrymore said ; also as to wheth- 
 er the Boston truckmen would dare to carry out 
 their threats of attacking the building, and 
 whether such violence would or would not be 
 excusable under the circumstances. Mrs. Barry- 
 more, herself a Catholic, laughed at the idea of a 
 mob, and comforted the Nuns with strong expres- 
 sions of her disbelief. In her excitement she 
 taught the pupils that afternoon con amove, and 
 the pupils, equally excited, never " took their 
 steps " more vigorously. Never w T ere higher jumps 
 taken in the assemblies, longer runs in the ckasses, 
 wider circles in the Pas le Basque. The lay Sis- 
 ters whose business it was to dress us sent us all 
 to the dancing-hall in our very best clothes; I 
 
78 THE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 suppose it was their way of expressing excitement. 
 The Superior came in to look upon us, as was 
 her habit on great occasions when new dances had 
 been learned, or when a favorite pupil was to per- 
 form the Highland Fling or the Cachucha before 
 her admiring schoolmates. We stopped dancing, 
 and turned towards her, courtesying, as she moved 
 among us with gracious dignity, and seated her- 
 self at the head of the room. A waltz-quadrille 
 followed, in which I acquitted myself so well that 
 Mrs. Barrymore patted me on the shoulder with 
 her usual phrase of commendation, " Excellent 
 well, my dear." But yet another honor was in 
 store for me. While I was still blushing with 
 pleasure at this word of praise from the strict 
 Mrs. Barrymore, a little Junior ran up breathless 
 to tell me that I had been selected to fan the 
 Superior that afternoon, and to bring me into the 
 Presence. 
 
 Behold me, then, mounted on the high stool of 
 honor at the Superior's side, very warm myself 
 after dancing, but afraid to direct the fan in such 
 a way as to take from her any air for the cooling 
 
/ FAN THE SUPERIOR. 
 
 of my own face. I don't know why she chose to 
 give me the privilege of fanning her ; I could not 
 have been a favorite in so short a time, dull and 
 unhappy as I had been from homesickness too. 
 Perhaps she thought it could not outlast this 
 mark of attention, even if my visit to her room on 
 a previous Sunday had foiled to cure me. Per- 
 haps she wished to make friends with the Mam- 
 mon of Unrighteousness at this period of her life, 
 and thought my father's influence might stand 
 her in good stead if she could win his support by 
 graciousness to me. But dear me ! — it just oc- 
 curs to me, — how strange to find myself account- 
 ing so gravely and at such length for so trivial a 
 circumstance ! It shows the strength of that con- 
 ventual influence which managed to impress even 
 upon the newest pupils the vital importance of 
 the Superior's every act ; so that to this day I 
 find myself acknowledging it. 
 
 Well, after all, I found my place at the Supe- 
 rior's side on that Monday afternoon a very inter- 
 esting one, especially as she often forgot me and 
 my fan altogether, so that I had many opportuni- 
 
80 THE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 ties of resting my arm or fanning myself furtively. 
 In the intervals of dancing she would send for 
 certain of the older pupils — she never beckoned 
 to any one — to come near her, and she held with 
 them animated conversations in regard to the cir- 
 cumstances in which she and the Convent were 
 placed. She ridiculed unsparingly not only those 
 who believed the reports against her, but those 
 who dared to tell her that she was in danger; 
 particularly the Selectmen of Charlestown, and 
 their deputation, whom she called vulgarians, ple- 
 beians, shop-keepers, and what not. She gloried 
 in her haughty reception of them, and in her re- 
 fusal to meet their wishes ; and the girls, flattered 
 by her condescension in talking to them as equals, 
 naturally sympathized and agreed w^ith her, and 
 those who w T ere able outdid her in sarcasm and 
 vehemence. Mrs. Barrymore, too, came up occa- 
 sionally, wiping her warm face, and added her 
 word of approval to the indignation-meeting round 
 the Superior's chair. 
 
 In the midst of this talk the portress was seen 
 approaching, passing through the girls with bowed 
 
THE CIIARLESTOWN SELECTMAN. 81 
 
 head .and clasped hands, and at last, bending low 
 before the Superior, " Another Selectman from 
 Charlestown was in the parlor," she said, in the 
 subdued voice used by the servants in addressing 
 their Sovereign Lady, " and requested to see the 
 Superior on urgent business." The " Mother Ab- 
 bess," to use another of her titles, flamed up at 
 once, and after scolding the portress roundly, — 
 " For you know I ordered you not to admit 
 another messenger from Charlestown on any ac- 
 count," she said, — she ordered her to go back 
 and shut the door in the man's face, if nothing 
 else would make him go. The portress made no 
 answer, of course, for the Superior never allowed 
 such an act of independence, but it was evident 
 she retired reluctantly to fulfil this command. 
 Soon she reappeared, still moving humbly forward, 
 but too much agitated to preserve her usual air 
 of submission. " Madame, the man refuses to go, 
 and pray hear me, Madame ! " she supplicated, 
 seeing the Superior about to burst into a rage ; 
 "he says this Convent is really in great danger, 
 that even this very night it may be attacked, — - 
 4* f 
 
82 THE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 he says the Selectmen have sent him to get your 
 permission to go into the cellars and examine 
 them thoroughly, so that an affidavit can be made 
 for the evening papers, — there is nothing wrong 
 there, Madame, and the Selectmen want to swear 
 positively that they know it, that they have seen 
 for themselves, — 'the man says it may be too late, 
 even now, but unless such a card is published this 
 evening they won't answer for the consequences, 
 and it is all they can do for us." I don't remem- 
 ber the exact words, bat this is the substance of 
 what the poor frightened portress managed to say, 
 in spite of several violent interruptions from the 
 Superior. Even then that infatuated woman was 
 obdurate. " Stop whimpering, you fool ! " she 
 cried, in her imperious way, — "I won't allow my 
 premises to be searched. I 'm not afraid of any- 
 body, — the Bishop is my adviser when I need 
 one. The Selectmen of Charlestown are old wo- 
 men, — no doubt they 're afraid. It is their busi- 
 ness to protect us, wdiatever happens, and without 
 any conditions, and send the man back to tell 
 them so." 
 
WANTS TO SEARCH THE CELLAR. 83 
 
 And now Sister Mary John, tall, thin, angular, 
 entered the room, and hurried up to the Superior, 
 more quickly than etiquette warranted. She was 
 weeping, though she made a great effort to com- 
 mand her tears and to control her trembling voice, 
 so that she might speak with proper submission 
 of manner. She implored the Superior not to 
 send away this man, who came in a friendly 
 spirit ; something she added about the value even 
 of one friend in the midst of a community of ene- 
 mies, and begged to be allowed to accompany the 
 visitor to the cellar of the building, and to show 
 him, herself, every part of the basements that he 
 desired to see. I remember the violent opposition 
 of the Superior to this request, and a vehement, 
 hurried argument between her and Sister Mary 
 John ; but the latter at length prevailed ; indeed, 
 she was in so very nervous a condition that it was 
 hardly prudent to refuse her. She hurried away 
 in an eager, flurried manner, her eyes swollen 
 with crying, her nose red, — and a large nose is 
 the only feature of her face I distinctly remember, 
 — and wringing her pocket-handkerchief between 
 
84 THE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 her hands. Then came a scene of confusion : the 
 Superior suddenly rose and followed the Mother 
 Assistant; the school, disturbed by the unusual 
 interruption, broke up in a hurry ; some of the 
 Sisters appeared among us, greatly excited ; some 
 of the pupils ran into the main hall, others 
 crowded out upon a balcony overlooking the usual 
 door of entrance. A degree of order was at last 
 restored, and we all flocked into our usual school- 
 rooms. Here a hubbub of voices rose, the girls 
 describing to Sister Mary Austin, and commenting 
 to one another on what had just passed. It 
 seems that the Superior, after leaving the dancing- 
 hall so suddenly, overtook Sister Mary John on 
 her way to the main cellar door, lantern in hand, 
 and accompanied by the Selectman, and, revoking 
 the permission she had given, she positively for- 
 bade her to go a step farther. She snatched the 
 lantern from the Mother Assistant, thrust it into 
 the hand of her unlucky companion, flung open 
 the cellar door, and pointed down the stairs with 
 a peremptory gesture. " There, sir," she cried, 
 " if you want to play the spy in my house, you 
 
HE DECLINES THE JOB. 85 
 
 shall do it alone. I won't allow any one of the 
 Sisters to enter that cellar on your account. Go 
 down, sir, with your lantern, and look about at 
 your leisure, — there is no man here to prevent 
 yon." The poor citizen from Charlestown hesi- 
 tated, stepped forward, the gulf below yawned dark 
 as Erebus, he stepped back again ; and at last, 
 fairly daunted by the Superior's eye, he suddenly 
 put down the lantern, and hurried out of the 
 building as fast as he could. The Superior's 
 laugh of derision followed him, and it was echoed 
 by the girls, who had crowded into the hall to 
 witness the proceedings. Probably the poor man 
 drew a breath of relief as he prepared to walk 
 down the avenue, after leaving the Convent ; he 
 was seen to stop and mop his face, as he emerged 
 from the door, with a yellow bandanna handker- 
 chief, — another object of ridicule for the girls. 
 But his troubles were not yet over; he was as- 
 sailed with a volley of sarcastic remarks by the 
 pupils, who had rushed out upon the balcony to 
 watch his departure. Allowed, for the first time 
 in their experience at the Convent, perfect free- 
 
86 THE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 dom of speech and of action, they felt bound to 
 
 take the part of the Sisters who thus indulged 
 
 them, and they were indeed encouraged by those 
 
 poor unreasoning women — big children themselves 
 
 — to give their tongues full liberty. " He 's afraid, 
 
 he 's afraid, — he dares n% he dares r£t" cried some. 
 
 " He 's tumbled into the ash-heap ; see how pale he 
 
 is ! " "He was n't afraid, he did go down, and he 
 
 saw a ghost, and that makes him pale," screamed 
 
 others. " See his pocket-handkerchief, it 's turned 
 
 yellow with fright," cried a shrill voice. One pupil 
 
 of a literary turn fired this parting shot after the 
 
 victim of these exquisite witticisms : — 
 
 " Curiosity came from Heaven : 
 Its power selectmen knew ! " 
 
 " Who wrote that ? " asked an admiring friend 
 of this literary young lady afterwards, in the 
 school-room. " Why, don't you know 1 " replied 
 the other with an air; "the man that wrote the 
 First Class Book, of course. I got it out of that." 
 Poor Sister Mary Austin was bewildered with de- 
 light and surprise, as the girls buzzed about her, 
 telling her how they had tormented and put down 
 
WHAT THE GIRLS SAID. 87 
 
 " that horrid man " with these impertinences ; she 
 wondered at the ready wit of her pupils. 
 
 How well I remember all that happened on 
 that Monday ! As I had not taken any part in 
 the martyrdom of the unfortunate Selectman, and 
 had cudgelled my brains in vain to get up some 
 remark that should be thought worth listening to 
 in the general fire of wit, I remained unnoticed 
 in the crowd of tall, eager girls, and went about 
 from group to group, attentive to every word that 
 was uttered. The report that the Convent was 
 to be att-acked that very night by a mob had 
 spread through the whole school, causing a vast 
 excitement, but no real belief. " Of course," one 
 girl would say, "my papa, who lives in Boston, 
 must know all about it, and he would never let 
 me stay here if such a dreadful thing was going 
 to happen." "Neither would my aunt Jane," 
 "Nor my grandmother either," "Nor uncle Ned," 
 cried one and another, and this seemed to be the 
 opinion of all the girls old enough to reason. 
 "How nice it would be," exclaimed one of the 
 younger girls, " if all our folks in Boston would 
 
88 THE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 club together and charter the Charlestown stage, 
 and send for a lot of us to go home to-night ! " 
 
 One of her schoolmates, Katie L , laughed 
 
 derisively. " My mamma would send her own 
 private carriage if she thought there was any 
 danger," said Katie, who was a bit of a snob. 
 " Well, what is there odd in my thinking of the 
 Charlestown stage," said the first speaker, "when 
 we have been hearing the noise of carriage-wheels 
 outside, ever since 'dancing' was over'? Just as 
 it was on Coronation Day, when the stage was 
 coming and going till dark ! " " That 's true," 
 remarked another. " I never knew the Superior 
 to have so much company as she has had this 
 afternoon." "I do wish we could see the car- 
 riages as well as hear them," said Katie L . 
 
 " I dare say my mamma has been here in her car- 
 riage this very day, for she and the Superior are 
 great friends, you know." 
 
 While she was speaking I noticed the lovely 
 
 Creole, Louisa M , lolling indolently against 
 
 a desk, on the top of which Susanne P was 
 
 perched cross-legged, her hands clasped round her 
 
LOUISA AND S US ANNE. 89 
 
 knees as usual. They were both listening and 
 saying nothing, these girls from the extreme 
 north and south, whose friends were too far away 
 to come to their aid, were it necessary. I remem- 
 ber, because it was a deviation from the customary 
 uniform, that Louisa was dressed in a buff crape, 
 made low in the neck, with a surplice waist, as 
 was the fashion then, in which she looked charm- 
 ingly, and a heavy gold chain, with a cross at- 
 tached, was clasped round her slender throat. 
 This she was lazily fingering as she reclined, and 
 I noticed the purple discoloration of her almond- 
 shaped nails as she did so. " If my mamma 
 should send for me in the carriage," continued 
 
 Katie L , who was of a generous nature, " I 
 
 would make room for you two girls," and she 
 nodded to Louisa and Susanne, " because all your 
 folks are so far off, and we 've got any quantity 
 of spare room in our house where you could sleep ; 
 would n't that be nice 1 " she added, rather anx- 
 iously, as neither of the girls spoke. Louisa did 
 not take the trouble to lift her eyelids, heavy with 
 their black lashes, but she opened her red lips 
 
90 THE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 just wide enough to murmur, iu her slow Spanish 
 accent, "It would be mooch trouble, thank you, 
 — but I hope noting will happen." But Susanne's 
 eyes opened wide, and the light of battle was in 
 them, — how they glowed ! In a loud, clear voice 
 she first said, "But I would not leave ! " and then 
 subsided into her usual silence. 
 
 Here the Superior entered with even more than 
 her usual breeziness, hot and excited, but I never 
 saw her appear tired. She had just dismissed the 
 numerous visitors, some of them parents of pupils, 
 who had driven out of Boston late on that warm 
 afternoon to assure her, and reassure themselves, 
 that there was no danger to be apprehended that 
 night, or any other, from the attack of a mob. 
 Such a thing as a mob did not exist, and never 
 had existed in Boston, nor was there material out 
 of which to make one, — such was their unanimous 
 conclusion. We hastily prepared to make obei- 
 sance to the Superior on this her unusual appear- 
 ance among us, but she showed no disposition to 
 exact our reverences, falling into easy talk with 
 those about her, as if she really felt the need of 
 
SAGE REFLECTIONS. 91 
 
 our sympathy. In a few minutes she withdrew 
 as abruptly as she had entered, as if too nervous 
 to remain long quiet in any place. 
 
 I observed a small group of the very oldest 
 girls standing together at the end of the room, 
 who had been quiet, moderate, and self-contained 
 all through that day of uproar and confusion. I 
 hastened to join them, half fearing they would 
 repulse me, as they seemed to be talking together 
 with a confidential air. But they did not ; indeed, 
 one of the gravest of the girls made way for me 
 to stand at her side, and even allowed me to take 
 her hand, looking down upon me with a kind 
 smile. I could not quite catch the meaning of 
 all that was said, but I perceived that these girls 
 disapproved of all that had been said and done 
 in the Convent that day. They thought the 
 Superior had acted very strangely with regard to 
 the Charlestown Selectmen, particularly on that 
 afternoon. They said she should have allowed 
 Sister Mary John to accompany their deputy in 
 his examination of the cellars and basements, — 
 treating him politely, as he only came in the in- 
 
92 THE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 terests of the Convent, and explaining again to 
 him clearly the circumstances relating to the ill- 
 ness of the Mother Assistant. They also thought 
 that the Superior should have condescended to 
 explain to him her relations with the foolish lying 
 girl who had written " Six Months in a Convent," 
 in such a manner as to insure the facts being laid 
 before the public. And they were all disgusted 
 with the behavior of the pupils, who had been so 
 impertinent after the dancing-lesson, and aston- 
 ished that the Sisters should have been so foolish 
 and thoughtless as to allow and encourage it. But 
 I discovered that they too disbelieved in the com- 
 ing mob, for, as one of them observed, her father 
 would surely know if anything of the kind was 
 to be apprehended, and he would have sent for 
 her to come home at once, if it was so. Indeed, 
 the pupils, with but few exceptions, big and little, 
 wise and foolish, though they liked the excitement 
 of talking about it, had no real apprehension of 
 danger, feeling sure that their parents and guar- 
 dians would never leave them to meet it unpro- 
 tected. 
 
SETTING UP FOR GOODNESS. 93 
 
 Then I drifted away from these sober-talking 
 
 Seniors, and encountered Mary H , of whom 
 
 I had seen little since her exhortation to me 
 on the first day of my arrival at school. I had 
 observed, however, that she was "naughty" no 
 longer, but, on the contrary, that she held a high 
 place in her class for "deportment" as well as 
 "study," though she was one of the youngest of 
 its members. As we were again schoolmates, it 
 seemed natural that we should continue to be 
 rivals, and in that case that I too, like Miss 
 Edgeworth's Jessie, should set up for goodness. I 
 had already suffered considerably in trying to do 
 this at home, for as the oldest of a large family I 
 had been expected to " set a good example " ever 
 since the sister next me in age was a baby in long- 
 clothes. But even if it should turn out that 
 
 Mary H 's standard of goodness was too high 
 
 for me to reach, I was determined to quarrel with 
 her no more, — no, no, we were too old to " get 
 mad," or " put out," with each other, and too old 
 also to " stump " each other to " cut up shines," 
 as Dolly the cook, whom we respectfully ad- 
 
94 THE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 dressed as " black lady," used to say. Quarrel- 
 ling would be improper at our age, and I resolved 
 that we would disagree genteelly, if I found I 
 could not keep my amiable resolution. 
 
 So I addressed Mary cordially, and we fell to 
 talking on the great topic of the day ; would the 
 Convent be attacked b} r a mob, and, if so, would 
 the attack be made on that very night? Mary 
 and I brought our wits to bear on the question, 
 and as I was really anxious to believe in the com- 
 ing of the mob, as a way of escape from the Con- 
 vent, and as Mary was polite and s} 7 mpathetic, we 
 soon talked each other into a firm faith that some- 
 thing certainly was going to happen, and most 
 likely that very night. And if so, what was the 
 best way to meet it 1 What could we do to pre- 
 pare for the mob, in case it should come 1 I sug- 
 gested going to bed in our clothes ; Mary thought 
 that would not be very comfortable, and, besides, 
 Sister Mary Austin would be sure to find us out. 
 I insisted — at least, if we went to bed dressed, 
 we should be all ready to go home in case the 
 delightful chance did arrive. Mary suggested a 
 
SYMPATHY OFFERED. 95 
 
 compromise, — we would take off our frocks, and 
 slip our nightgowns on over our petticoats, so that 
 we should seem to be all right if Sister Mary 
 Austin chanced to look at us. I agreed to this, 
 and we promised each other solemnly to carry this 
 plan into effect. We shook hands upon it. I 
 was in high spirits, feeling somewhat in this way : 
 as I could not go home unless I was dressed, it 
 ought to follow that if I ivas dressed I should go 
 home. 
 
 " Darling Bella " now called Mary away, and I, 
 left alone, began to Pas le Basque down the 
 school-room, in great sweeps from side to side. 
 But my heart reproached me for its own lightness 
 wdien I suddenly heard the sound of sobbing, and 
 presently noticed that the cover of one of the 
 desks was raised, and that the sobs came from be- 
 hind it. It was under shelter of the lids of our 
 desks that w T e did our crying at school, and it w r as 
 not considered etiquette to notice any one whose 
 head was hidden in that way. But I ventured to 
 approach this time, and offer consolation in school- 
 girl fashion, — by putting my arm round the 
 
96 THE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 shoulders, shaken with sobs, laying my cheek as 
 close to the cheek of the afflicted one as her 
 pocket-handkerchief would allow, and murmuring 
 words of comfort. To be sure she was a stranger 
 to me, but I felt quite hurt when she suddenly 
 turned her back upon me, jerked me away with 
 her sharp elbow, and muttered, " Do let me alone, 
 you !" I looked at her "particular friend," who 
 sat near, with a dejected countenance. " She 's 
 crying because she 's afraid that mob 's going to 
 come," said the friend, with a solemn shake of the 
 little head. " Is it possible," I thought to nryself, 
 "that she is crying for that]" I am afraid / 
 should have wept bitterly if I had been made to 
 believe that the mob was not "going to come." 
 
 Here a strange voice, calling us to order, made 
 us all start, and the sobbing to cease suddenly. 
 The Vesper hour had arrived, and poor Sister 
 Mary Austin, feeling herself entirely incapable of 
 reducing us to silence, after she had allowed us to 
 remain so long in such a state of misrule, was 
 obliged to send for Sister Mary Benedict to enforce 
 her authority ; the beautiful, strong-minded Sis- 
 
THE LAST VESPER SERVICE. 
 
 ter, whose very look compelled obedience, even 
 before her voice comnicanded it. 
 
 We hastened to settle ourselves in our seats, 
 under her cold, severe eye, and when order was 
 entirely restored and silence reigned, a monitor 
 was chosen to watch over the school-room, and, 
 though they knew it not, the Nuns departed to 
 join with their companions in the last Vesper ser- 
 vice they should ever hold in that house. The 
 remembrance of that hour, even now, fills me with 
 solemnity. No one thought of rebelling against 
 long-accustomed authority, now that Sister Mary 
 Benedict had made us feel that our period of 
 license was over, and the girls subsided quickly 
 into a stillness so deep that I thought I could 
 hear the beating of their hearts, as well as the 
 hurried breathing, which could not be controlled 
 at once after so long a period of strong excitement. 
 Yet when the solemn Vesper-music stole upon the 
 silence, rising and falling in minor cadences, the 
 reaction came, the excitement gradually abated, 
 and I am sure those of the girls who could feel 
 the meaning of that plaintive singing must have 
 
98 THE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 shared the vague yet real apprehension and anxi- 
 ety that gave such wondrous expression to the 
 voices of those poor Sisters. 
 
 At any rate, we all went up to bed in serious 
 mood, just as the twilight was fading, — for I 
 don't think I have mentioned the early hour of 
 retirement at the Convent, half past seven for 
 Seniors and Juniors alike, — and at the time of 
 year of which I write there was just light enough 
 at that hour for us to undress without the lantern, 
 which, in winter, swung from the ceiling of the 
 room, and just made darkness visible. 
 
 My cot was next but one to an end window, 
 and the young girl w 7 ho occupied the bed between 
 me and that window had not made her appearance 
 at school since the close of vacation, so that for 
 the time I enjoyed the privilege of a double- 
 bedded room, and by just turning my head to the 
 right, a wide sky view r through the uncurtained 
 panes that belonged to the corner of my privileged 
 
 neighbor. The oldest W sister slept next the 
 
 end window opposite, but I did not feel enough 
 acquainted with her to hazard any whimpered re- 
 
TO BED, DRESSED. 99 
 
 mark across the " middle passage," though I was 
 very anxious to know what her opinion really was 
 as to the probable events of the night. I suspect 
 she thought very little about the matter, for she 
 undressed quickly with many loud and long yawns, 
 and was in bed and asleep before I had managed 
 to slip off my frock and put on my nightgown 
 over the rest of my clothing, for I was resolved to 
 keep my agreement with Mary, and to go to bed 
 dressed, if Sister Mary Austin's argus eyes would 
 let me, — she usually kept -so close a watch on 
 our toilet proceedings. That night, however, she 
 went through her duties mechanically, and took 
 very little notice of us, so that I had the happi- 
 ness of carrying out my plan, and of lying in my 
 petticoats, in a delightful perspiration, with the 
 bedclothes closely drawn up under my chin, so as 
 to hide any peculiarity in my appearance, should 
 the Sister glance at me in her nightly promenade 
 down the "middle aisle " of the dormitory. Mary's 
 bed was near the door, a long way from mine, and 
 though I strained my eyes in the fading twilight, 
 trying to watch her, I could not see whether or 
 
100 THE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 no she had kept her part of our agreement not to 
 undress that night. 
 
 And now Sister Mary Austin had made her 
 final passage through the dormitory, murmuring 
 her prayers with abstracted look, had paused at 
 the door to cross herself, and utter her final 
 " Benedicite," or whatever pious Latin phrase 
 serves a Religieuse for a formal "good night," 
 and had shut us in to repose. As for me, I w r as 
 so wide awake that I could not even close my 
 eyes, and I lay, I knew not how long, but it 
 seemed to me for half the night, listening to the 
 deep breathing, mingled with an occasional snore, 
 of my room-mates, who were quite weary enough 
 to fall asleep at once. A few uneasy ones stirred 
 on their pillows and muttered some unintelligible 
 words, perhaps still disturbed by the excitement 
 of the day, for the most dyspeptic would not have 
 been made restless by our supper of dry bread 
 and milk. 
 
 In the midst of these heavy sleepers I felt my- 
 self alone in the room, and, becoming more and 
 more uncomfortable and hot under my petticoats, 
 
MOUNT BENEDICT AT NIGHT. 101 
 
 I determined to stay in bed no longer. So I rose 
 softly and ventured to steal to the end window, in 
 the alley of my absent neighbor, from which a 
 glimpse of the avenue and the Bishop's house 
 was visible. I even had the courage to raise the 
 window, very gently, and the summer night-wind 
 suddenly blowing in my face made me feel as if 
 I had actually stepped out doors. I folded my 
 arms on the window-sill, and leaned out as far as I 
 could, that I might give myself up to the illusion 
 of fancying myself out in the night alone, when 
 all the world but me was asleep. 
 
 The Convent, on the summit of Mount Bene- 
 dict, stood so high that I seemed to be lifted up 
 among the stars that sparkled and twinkled like 
 heavy golden drops around and above me. The 
 breeze, steadily blowing, stirred me to vague im- 
 aginings of distant beauty and sweetness, for it 
 was laden with perfume from the wooded hills a 
 long way off. For the Convent stood between the 
 sea and an amphitheatre of hills, whose slopes 
 were covered with villages, villas, and gardens, 
 and the charming suburbs of a great city, while 
 
102 THE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 their summits were still crowned with rich groves 
 of trees. But just outside the Convent grounds, 
 and around the base of Mount Benedict, lay, like 
 an encircling ring, that barren, clayey district, 
 given up to brickmaking, from out of which the 
 city of Boston, was springing. This region of clay- 
 pit appeared so ugly, dull, and desolate, when we 
 looked down upon it from our bowery playground 
 on Mount Benedict during recreation hours, that 
 I never willingly suffered my eyes to dwell upon 
 it, overlooking it quickly to let them rest instead 
 upon the green and purple distance. But on this 
 night such a change appeared as made a fairy 
 land of that distant plain. All the brick-kilns 
 had been set burning, and as night concealed the 
 ugly brickyards and clay-fields in which they were 
 erected, nothing was visible but the magic circle 
 of fire that seemed to be drawn around the Con- 
 vent. 
 
 No sound was to be heard but the crackling 
 of the kiln-fires, the far-away bark of a dog, the 
 monotonous droning of the late grasshoppers, and 
 the vague hum and stir of insects and leaves on a 
 
THE FIRST YELL OF THE M OB. 103 
 
 summer night. These, then, were the " Voices of 
 the Night," whose whispers delighted my startled 
 imagination. 
 
 The breeze was so cooling, so refreshing, the 
 distant sounds so soothing, that insensibly I grew 
 sleepy and my head drooped lower and lower, till 
 my cheek touched my folded arms. I made an 
 effort to waken myself and to hold up my heavy 
 head, and opened my eyes to their full width, for 
 which I was rewarded by seeing a bright falling 
 star curve down to the horizon. 
 
 For one instant I watched it ; the next was the 
 first moment in my life when I realized the mean- 
 ing of the word appalled. I heard — what shall 
 I call it 1 — a shout, a cry, a howl, a yell 1 It was 
 the sound of a mob, a voice of the night, indeed, 
 that made it hideous. Child as I was, I knew at 
 once the meaning of the sound, — it came from 
 more than a mile away, for, as we heard after- 
 wards, the mob gave one roar as it crossed Charles- 
 town bridge, and then observed profound silence 
 till it reached the Convent grounds. My heart 
 beat thick and fast, my hands clasped themselves 
 
104 THE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 together, and there was a rushing and ringing in 
 my ears, as if the mob was surging around me 
 already. But in a few moments I recovered my- 
 self, and drew back into the dormitory from the 
 window. The girls still slept profoundly, and not 
 a sound was audible about the building ; that dis- 
 tant cry, so significant to me, was not loud enough 
 to awaken any sleeper. 
 
 Once more I ventured to put my head out of 
 the window, and waited for what would come 
 next, in a trance of suspense, hardly daring to 
 breathe. Again the watch-dog barked, at the far- 
 away farm-house, the grasshoppers droned, the 
 fires in the brickyards crackled, but how changed 
 was the night to my excited imagination ! Save 
 for those faint noises, solemn silence again reigned, 
 but I knew it was to be broken, horribly broken, 
 and I shivered all over in the anticipation. I 
 looked up at the stars, vaguely fancying that the 
 worlds above would in some way be changing, in 
 sympathy with the world below, and half sur- 
 prised to see them still in their places, throb- 
 bing with the same measured beat. 
 
WAS IT A DREAM? 105 
 
 Though I leaned, waiting, against the window, 
 still as a little statue, my brain was whirling with 
 thought. Yes, the mob was really coming, — Mary 
 and I were right. I, for one, was dressed, and 
 could in a moment slip on my frock, if necessary, 
 but what would happen 1 At least I should have 
 to go home, — the mob would do something to 
 make that necessary. Very likely there would be 
 an end to the school, at least for a time. Delight- 
 ful thought ! Courage came back to me at the 
 bare idea. • Welcome the mob if it could bring 
 that about ! " Destruction of the Convent," — 
 yes, the girls had repeated that phrase many 
 times, — when 1 Yesterday 1 To-day 1 Why, it 
 seemed an age since I heard them talking about 
 it, and how still it was, how silent ! The dog had 
 done barking, — he must have gone to sleep, and 
 no wonder, for I had been waiting an eternity. 
 Did I really, after all, hear that cry 1 Perhaps I 
 dreamed it ; that would be natural enough when 
 my head was full of mobs, and the girls had talked 
 of nothing else — to-day % yesterday 1 which was 
 it 3 Ah ! — A horrible yell suddenly rent the air 
 5* 
 
106 THE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 within a few yards of the window at which I was 
 standing, and a host of dark figures rushed into 
 view, turning the corner of the Bishop's house, 
 rolling over the ground, as it seemed in the dim 
 starlight, like a black cloud. I flew across the 
 
 room to Elizabeth W 's bed, shaking her and 
 
 crying out, "Wake up, wake up, the mob has 
 really come ! " She started up screaming ; in- 
 deed, though the rioters had gone round to the 
 front of the house, and were no longer visible 
 from our windows, which looked another way, the 
 hoarse outcry they made would have roused the 
 Seven Sleepers. 
 
 All the girls in the dormitoiw suddenly wakened, 
 screamed in concert with Elizabeth, and many of 
 them sprang out of bed in affright. I could just 
 discern their figures moving helplessly about in 
 the darkness. Suddenly the door opened, and 
 Sister Mary Austin appeared ; by the light of a 
 lantern swinging from the hall ceiling opposite 
 the door I could see that she was shaking all 
 over, but she tried to control the trembling of 
 her voice, as she called out, " Girls, dont be fright- 
 
0, THE MOD! THE MOB! 107 
 
 ened ! There can't be any danger, but you bad 
 better dress yourselves." The younger girls ran 
 up to her, and clung to her screaming, " 0, the 
 mob, the mob, — we shall all be killed ! 0, what 
 shall we do, what w ill become of us 1 " The older 
 ones wept and wailed and wrung their hands, and 
 those w 7 ho were intimate friends threw their arms 
 about each other, and vowed to keep together 
 whatever happened. Sister Mary Austin, herself 
 w r eeping hysterically, kept imploring the girls to 
 dress themselves, whenever she could command 
 her voice, and the poor things essayed to do so, 
 but they were so agitated, so bewildered, that 
 few of them were able to put on all their clothes, 
 or to fasten properly such as they did contrive 
 to get into. It was not for want of time, for we 
 had hours yet to wait before the will of the mob 
 declared itself; perhaps the want of light had 
 something to do with the strange helplessness of 
 the scholars, — of course no lamp was allowed in 
 any room w r ith windows, lest the mob should be 
 attracted by it, — and the dim glimmer of the 
 hall lantern only puzzled the poor children whose 
 
108 THE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 eyes were blinded with tears and terror. As for 
 me, I managed to take off my nightgown and put 
 on my frock, and then I sat quietly down on my 
 trunk, feeling a sort of contempt for the insane 
 terror of all the people about me, kept at its cli- 
 max by the furious outcries of the rioters. In- 
 deed, I should give myself credit for feeling the 
 high courage of a heroine, if 1 had not to confess 
 that my common-sense whispered to me, from the 
 first, that the girls had nothing to fear from the 
 hands of the mob, who probably considered them 
 as objects of pity. It was the Superior whom 
 they specially hated, and her Nuns and her Con- 
 vent, and on these was to be spent the wrath and 
 rage born of religious bigotry. This thought made 
 me calm and fearless, though it was rather an in- 
 stinct than a thought, for of course it did not pre- 
 sent itself definitely to my mind. So I sat on my 
 trunk and listened to the cries of the rioters, and 
 the responsive wailing of the girls, oddly mingled 
 with fretful complainings, like children as they 
 were, — "0 dear, I can't find the bottom of my 
 petticoat ! " " mercy, this shoe is n't mine, I 
 
THE FIRST SHOT FIRED. 109 
 
 can't make it go on at heel ! " "0, my frock, the 
 sleeve is wrong side out, or something; it won't 
 go on ! " " Where is my other stocking 1 It 's 
 away under your bed, Jane, I never can get it ! " 
 " What shall I ever do 1 My flannel petticoat has 
 got wet all over in my washbowl ! " 
 
 And now we heard two gunshots fired in rapid 
 succession outside the Convent, and simultaneously 
 loud screams issued from every dormitory where 
 the scholars were collected. Some one rushed 
 into our dormitory, crying out, " They have shot 
 the Superior; she went to the top of the high 
 steps to speak with them, and they would n't lis- 
 ten, and they shot her." Poor Sister Mary Aus- 
 tin sank back on her chair in strong hysterics at 
 this word, and a scene of great confusion ensued ; 
 some of the older girls tried to help the poor 
 Sister as well as their trembling limbs would let 
 them ; they fanned her and dashed water in her 
 face. Another messenger entered and shook Sis- 
 ter Mary Austin by the shoulder. " Do you hear 
 me % " she said, — it was some tall girl from a 
 neighboring dormitory, whom I did not know by 
 
110 THE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 name, — " the Superior is not hurt ; they shot at 
 her, but they did not hit her. Sister ! do stop 
 crying so terribly, do hear me, — the Superior is 
 just as safe as you are, and she'll be here very 
 soon, and you can see her for yourself." 
 
 Poor Sister Mary Austin sat up, gasping for 
 breath, and although I had not recovered from 
 the terrible impression made upon me by those 
 gunshots, I was struck with the ridiculous appear- 
 ance of the poor lady, with her veil drenched, 
 her linen headpiece half off, disclosing her round 
 shaven poll. Ludicrous ideas always seize most 
 strongly upon me in the midst of horror. 
 
 Now we heard a quick, firm step coming through 
 the hall, attended by a patter of little feet ; and 
 in a moment the Superior herself was among us, 
 surrounded by a crowd of Juniors, trembling little 
 things who had forgotten their awe of her and 
 clung to her desperately. Many of us ran to 
 meet her at the door, and I among the number, 
 eager to know what had really befallen her. Sis- 
 ter Mary Austin clutched her dress with nervous 
 eagerness, and the Superior looked down upon her 
 
THE SUPER TOR DEMANDED. Ill 
 
 with her usual grand air, though she was evidently 
 excited to the highest pitch. It was difficult to 
 catch what she said through the chorus of fear 
 and lamentation which the children about her 
 kept up, but her eyes flashed, as I could see by 
 the rays from the lantern which happened to fall 
 upon her as she stood near the door. It seems 
 that the mob had never ceased to call upon her 
 name, from the moment they reached the front of 
 the building, ordering her, with oaths and savage 
 outcries, to come forth, and bring with her the 
 miserable victims whom she kept imprisoned in 
 her dungeons. The Superior would have gone 
 out and confronted the rioters immediately had 
 she not been restrained by the Nuns, who clung 
 to her with prayers and tears, and entreated her 
 not to venture into unnecessary danger. For a 
 long time they held her back, but she had the 
 courage of a man, and the taunts and jeers of the 
 mob stung her to recklessness, and she at last 
 tore herself from the arms of the Sisters, and 
 rushed out upon the landing of the high flight of 
 steps that gave access to the main door of the 
 
112 TIIE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 building. Though she had the courage of a man, 
 she was as ignorant of the world as a child, and 
 utterly wanting in tact. She had been used to 
 -command all her life, and she looked upon the 
 mob with immeasurable contempt, — as canaille, 
 as creatures that could be cowed by threats. I 
 can imagine how she appeared as she stood on the 
 top of the steps high above them, her tall erect 
 figure dimly outlined in the starlight, her black 
 robes fluttering back and blending with the dark 
 background which the open door made behind 
 her. The mob saluted her with a storm of objur- 
 gation, which she bore without flinching, inter- 
 rupting them at last in her clear, loud voice, with 
 some word that intimated her desire to speak. 
 Curiosity as to what she would say caused a sud- 
 den silence to fall on the rioters, and it is possi- 
 ble that if she had known how to address them 
 she might have prevailed with them and per- 
 suaded them to disperse. For they seemed at 
 first by no means determined to commit violence, 
 in spite of their savage threats to that effect. It 
 can hardly be believed possible, but such was the 
 
THE SUPERIOR ADDRESSES THE MOB. 113 
 
 fact, that the Superior addressed that listening 
 crowd in language as violent as their own, deliv- 
 ered with the utmost arrogance and imperiousness 
 of manner. I never knew what her words really 
 were, with the exception of one threat, which I 
 myself heard her boast of having made; and if 
 she uttered it to the mob with half the angry 
 vehemence that she used in repeating it after- 
 wards, I do not wonder that she excited violent 
 indignation. "Disperse immediately," she said to 
 the rioters ; "for if you don't, the Bishop has 
 twenty thousand Irishmen at his command in 
 Boston, and they will whip you all into the sea ! " 
 Think of the effect of such a speech as that on a 
 body of American truckmen and mechanics ! It 
 was immediately after she had launched this 
 threat at the rioters that, breaking their silence 
 with fierce yells, they fired at the Superior twice, 
 and the affrighted Nuns, hovering in the shadow 
 of the door behind her, pulled her back by force, 
 and barred the door in the nice of the mob. 
 
 Even then it did not proceed to extremities, — 
 we had yet a long time to wait ! All the dor- 
 
 H 
 
114 TEE BURNING OF TEE CONVENT. 
 
 mitories were at the back of the building, looking 
 upon the garden, which, as is usual in convents, 
 was entirely shut in by high fences, and the same 
 strong picket-fences, built out on each side of the 
 main facade, cut off all communication between 
 the grounds at the front and those at the back of 
 the Convent. It was from the end window of one 
 of the Senior dormitories, at right angles with the 
 front avenue, that I caught the first glimpse of the 
 rioters passing through it. 
 
 Profound silence and darkness by the Superior's 
 orders reigned in the lower story of the building, 
 and in the front up-stairs rooms; but the girls 
 moved freely through the back dormitories, as 
 these were farther removed from the sight and 
 sound of the mob, unless, indeed, it should break 
 down the separating fences, or force a passage into 
 the house. Tired of sitting on my trunk, waiting 
 for I knew not what, 1 too wandered about in the 
 dormitories, always seeing a succession of painful 
 sights. In one the poor Novice, her pale face laid 
 back into her white veil, was stretched on a bed 
 in a dead faint, waited upon by some of the girls, 
 
THE GIRLS IN DISTRESS. 115 
 
 who, however, hardly knew what to do for her. 
 
 In another Rosamond M lay on the floor in 
 
 a fit, her weak nerves being quite unable to bear 
 the terror of the night. Several of the children 
 had hysterics more or less severe, and the sound 
 of their laughing, crying, and groaning was dis- 
 mal indeed. I don't remember encountering indi- 
 vidual girls in my wanderings, — probably in my 
 state of exaltation I met them, and looked at 
 them without recognizing them. One only I re- 
 member. The front rooms opposite the dormito- 
 ries were closed by the Superior's order, to shut 
 out as much as possible the noise made by the 
 rioters, but as I happened to notice one of these 
 doors ajar, while I was lingering in the hall, I 
 ventured to push it open. There, alone, sitting 
 on the sill of an open window, her face and figure 
 visible in the light thrown up from some lanterns 
 
 carried by the men below, sat Susanne P ! 
 
 She looked up calmly as I entered, but said noth- 
 ing ; and made way for me to come and sit beside 
 her. Seeing her so composed, I went up to her, 
 whispering, " Susanne, how dare you ! " for it 
 
11G THE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 was reported among the girls that stones had been 
 thrown at the few among them who had been 
 reckless enough to appear near a front window. 
 " I have been here a long time," she said qnietly, 
 in her pretty broken English; "no one has noticed 
 me, — come and look ! " 
 
 I ventured to put my head over the window-sill, 
 and I saw below me a crowd of men and a few 
 lanterns, moving together confusedly, and I heard 
 a jargon of voices, though I could not distinguish 
 much that was said. Some were in eager consul- 
 tation, apparently ; there was much talk inter- 
 rupted with oaths ; savage tones struck my ear ; 
 foul language was uttered that I could not under- 
 stand, and the Superior's name often mentioned, 
 never without an oath and some insulting appella- 
 tion. One sentence only I clearly remember ; for 
 it was spoken right beneath us, and so distinctly 
 uttered that I think it was said to frighten us, 
 by some one who saw us at the window. " Sad 
 enough for the poor girls," said the voice, "but 
 there is no help for it, — we must blow up this 
 cursed building with gunpowder." 
 
THE CONVENT TO BE BLOWN UP. 117 
 
 I drew my head in quickly ; perhaps I should 
 have been frightened had I not looked at Su- 
 sanne, and taken courage from her contemptuous 
 smile. Some one else must have overheard this 
 speech, or one like it, from another window, for on 
 leaving Susanne alone at her post of observation, 
 I found the poor girls suffering from a new access 
 of terror, caused by a report that we were all 
 going to be blown up. A few years after I was 
 
 told that Susanne P was the sister of Louis 
 
 Perrault, who, with his father, were prominent 
 leaders of the Canadian rebellion, and who took 
 rank as heroes in the minds of Canadian sympa- 
 thizers. Certainly Susanne, the daughter of the 
 house, was a born heroine ! 
 
 The mob had now been before the Convent for 
 an hour or two; it seemed a long, long time, 
 though we had no way of measuring it. With the 
 exception of certain gusts of terror which swept 
 through the children when some new, dreadful 
 threat of the rioters, uttered more distinctly than 
 usual, was reported among them, the excitement 
 that completely overwhelmed them at first had 
 
118 THE BURNING OF THE CONVENT 
 
 subsided, and the poor weary girls had fallen into 
 a state of passive endurance. Many of them 
 seemed stupefied as they sat about on their trunks 
 or on the floor, leaning against the foot of a bed- 
 stead, for there was not a single chair in the dor- 
 mitories. Some were dozing as they lay stretched 
 across the foot of a bed ; some had taken pillows, 
 and had thrown themselves down to rest in the 
 alleys between the cots. There seemed to be a 
 general feeling that it was not the thing at such 
 a time to lie down properly on the bed in the 
 usual manner. And all were in different stages 
 of dress and undress, hardly one fitly attired, for 
 the Nuns were entirely absorbed in their own ter- 
 rors, and not one paid the least attention to the 
 condition of the pupils, or even at any time sug- 
 gested to them to try and save such valuable 
 articles as could be easily carried from the wreck 
 and ruin that was to be apprehended. 
 
 Suddenly the calm into which we had fallen 
 was broken by a joyful cry : "They are going off! 
 The mob is really going off ! They have left the 
 Convent, and they are all moving in a body towards 
 
THE MOB SEEMS TO WITHDRAW. 119 
 
 Charlestown ! " Even the most timid of the girls 
 hastened to look out of the front windows, anxious 
 to see for themselves if this wonderful, delightful 
 news could be true. All was pleasant flutter, and 
 a joyful excitement succeeded to the late melan- 
 choly state of suspense, for the mob was indeed 
 moving off, and had already left the front of the 
 building. We could see the black cloud of figures 
 rolling along the terrace-walks leading to the main 
 avenue that wound its w r ay down the hill to 
 Charlestown. I rushed to the room where Susanne 
 
 P ■ still sat motionless on the window-sill, and 
 
 followed the cloud w T ith my eyes as it slowly re- 
 treated. 
 
 I heard the laughing and chattering of the 
 girls, so suddenly relieved from apprehension, in 
 the neighboring rooms, but I could not say one 
 word. I confess to a horrible feeling of disappoint- 
 ment. I had so hoped that the mob might do 
 something that would lead to my going home and 
 to the breaking up of the school, though very 
 vague in my mind was the idea of what that 
 something might, could, or should be. Susanne 
 
120 THE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 was equally silent, and paid no attention to me 
 whatever. At last I conld contain myself no 
 longer, and I said, mournfully, " So they are 
 really going away, after all ! " And I heaved a 
 deep sigh. "You are mistaken," said Susanne, 
 quietly. " Tu te trompes," she muttered, forget- 
 ting her English in the earnestness with which 
 she watched the proceedings of the mob. " Look 
 there ! " she exclaimed aloud, and I looked with 
 all my eyes. 
 
 At the end of the terrace-walks, and before de- 
 scending the hill, the black cloud wavered and 
 stopped ; then it rolled back and forth in various 
 uncertain directions, then it settled, and, after 
 what seemed a long time, the light from a couple 
 of bonfires began to illumine the scene. These 
 were fed with boards and pickets from the fences 
 at the bottom of the walks ; we could see men 
 pulling and tearing them away, and throwing 
 them upon the bonfires, which then emitted great 
 showers of sparks. I thought the light was al- 
 ready growing very brilliant, when suddenly the 
 flames from some burning tar-barrels blazed out 
 
A FIRE-ENGINE APPEARS. 121 
 
 fiercely, streaming high up in the air, putting out 
 the light of the fainter bonfires and making the 
 place as light as day. The black cloud resolved 
 itself entirely into the figures of men, which 
 moved irregularly about the fires. 
 
 Soon we heard a faint tinkling sound, and we 
 saw a speck of dim light like that of a lantern 
 hung high on a frail support, come moving and 
 creeping up the hill from the main road to 
 Charlestown. " Susanne, what is it]" I whis- 
 pered. " It is the fire-engine from Charlestown," 
 she answered. " They have seen the blaze ; they 
 thought it must be from the Convent, that it was 
 on fire, and they have come to put it out." 
 " Then they will certainly help us, those firemen," 
 I whispered again, for I was too much excited to 
 speak loud. " They certainly will drive the mob 
 off," I went on, hardly knowing whether I wished 
 they would or not ! There was a pause when the 
 engine reached the top of the hill, apparently a 
 parley between the rioters and the firemen. " Now 
 look again," said Susanne, in her quiet tone ; the 
 lantern, swinging high above the engine, turned 
 6 
 
122 THE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 round slowly, drew off from the rioters, began to 
 descend the hill. Down, down, down it went, 
 swaying from side to side, while the engine-bell 
 tinkled, tinkled ever more faintly, and slowly the 
 machine disappeared from our straining eyes, and 
 was lost from sight ere it turned sharp round into 
 the road. 
 
 The little opposition made to their doings by 
 the firemen seemed to give the rioters sudden 
 courage, which, as we afterwards heard, was stim- 
 ulated also by liquor, — a barrel of spirit, proba- 
 bly New England rum, having been broached in 
 the neighborhood of the bonfires, — and an entire 
 change took place in their conduct, hitherto so 
 vacillating. They leaped and danced about the 
 blazing tar-barrels, yelling, singing, throwing their 
 arms about in wild gestures, so that their figures, 
 seen against the brilliant light of the flames, 
 looked like a confusion of black whirling wheels, 
 whose spokes were legs and arms. Suddenly some 
 of the number ran to the bonfires, snatched from 
 them burning firebrands, which they whirled aloft, 
 and, loudly calling on the rest to follow, they 
 
BACK COME THE RIOTERS. 123 
 
 placed themselves at the head of the dreadful 
 returning tide of rioters, which now surged back 
 towards the Convent with a hoarse roar like a 
 great wave rising to ingulf it. 
 
 Now, indeed, there was no mistaking the pur- 
 pose of the rioters, their time for action had 
 come ; and the poor children, still watching at 
 the front windows, and just now so happy in the 
 relief of their fears, saw it and knew it as well 
 as I did. A great cry arose, and then an ago- 
 nized and confused screaming from the poor crea- 
 tures. I remember no more of Susanne than if 
 she had disappeared by magic from before my 
 eyes ; I rushed back to the hall, where I encoun- 
 tered a crowd of distracted children running in 
 every direction. Suddenly I heard voices calling 
 
 out, " Maria F , where is Maria F 1 The 
 
 Superior wants Maria F " ; and I caught a 
 
 glimpse of some of the Nuns urging that lovely 
 young creature into a front room. I did not fol- 
 low her, but I know that she w T as there seized 
 upon by the Superior, and put forward as a for- 
 lorn hope by that poor lady and her terrified 
 
124 THE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 group of Nuns, at their wits' ends for means to 
 meet the coming destruction. I heard a window 
 in that room thrown open ; and, running back to 
 the post of observation I had just quitted, I was 
 in time to catch a glimpse of Maria's head and body- 
 thrust out of the window so far that it was evident 
 she was grasped from behind by some unseen hand, 
 and to hear her youthful treble pipe forth, " Go 
 away, go away ! my father's a judge, and he will 
 put you all in prison ! " This address to the mob, 
 of course, produced not the least effect, probably it 
 was not even heard, but poor Maria had done her 
 best ; she was hastily jerked back by the hands 
 that held her, and the window shut down. The 
 Superior really thought that her idea of threaten- 
 ing the mob with the terrors of the law, by the 
 mouth of a judge's daughter, was an inspiration 
 of genius sure to be successful, though such be- 
 niffhted ignorance of life and human nature is 
 almost impossible to believe ! 
 
 This solemn farce being concluded, and Maria's 
 head disappearing, the ever-increasing yells of the 
 mob, now swarming once more under the walls of 
 
/ RECEIVE A CHARGE. 125 
 
 the building, drove me also from the window, and 
 I ran back again into the hall, where I found the 
 Superior trying to rally the children, who were 
 wildly running about here and there. Her strong- 
 will prevailed over many, who came clustering 
 about her. With her quick eye she singled out 
 those of the older girls who seemed to have the 
 most presence of mind. To each of them she 
 intrusted one of the smallest of the children at 
 her knees, with a few solemn words of charge, 
 clasping their hands together with her own firm 
 palm. Suddenly her eye fell on me, and she 
 almost smiled. " Why, you are as brave as a 
 little lion ! " she said, and, drawing me up to her 
 with one hand, she brought forward with the other 
 a small, sickly, thin child, whose pink frock was 
 dropping off her skeleton shoulders. The poor 
 little creature was perfectly dazed with terror 
 and bewilderment, and the Superior looked at 
 her keenly, as she put her helpless hand into 
 mine. " Her mind is gone to-night entirely," said 
 she, "and I give her in charge to you, because 
 you are not frightened. Promise me solemnly 
 
126 THE BURNING OF TEE CONVENT. 
 
 that you won't let go her hand, till you find your- 
 self in some safe place." Her voice and manner 
 made a great impression on me ; I looked up into 
 her face and gave the required promise, at the 
 same time squeezing the poor little girl's hand 
 so hard that she gave a little moan. 
 
 I shall never cease to wonder at the personal 
 coolness and courage of the Superior in this fear- 
 ful crisis ; as remarkable as the childish ignorance 
 and want of tact she showed in the management 
 of others. For the mob, brutalized with drink, 
 rending the air with hoarse outcries, were already 
 endeavoring to force the heavy outer doors with 
 violent blows, which resounded through the build- 
 ing, and shook it to its foundation. And the Su- 
 perior knew that if these rioters should come upon 
 her, inflamed with liquor, rage, and hate as they 
 were tl^en, they would kill her. Yet her eye 
 never quailed, and neither hand nor voice trem- 
 bled. 
 
 I don't know how the time went. I suppose it 
 was only for a minute or two that we stood par- 
 alyzed in the hall, listening to the violent attack 
 
THE MOB ENTERS. 127 
 
 being made on the doors below. Suddenly a black 
 body of Nuns came flying through the whole length 
 of the passage from the Superior's room, and threw 
 themselves upon her, pushing her forward, and 
 crying, "0 Madame, ma Mere, they have en- 
 tered your room, they are climbing in through 
 the window, it is full of men already, — they will 
 be here in a moment, — 0, fly, fly ! — 0, ivhere 
 shall we go 1 " And they wept and groaned fran- 
 tically. " Silence ! " cried the Superior, in her 
 commanding voice. " Mcs Soeurs, follow me ! and 
 you girls," she added, hastily turning to us, " if 
 any of you are willing to run the risk of coming 
 with me, do you keep close beside me." She then 
 ran forward through the hall, followed by the 
 Nuns, and by many of the girls, the big ones 
 dragging their little charges after them, till she 
 reached a certain stairway. Here she paused to 
 look back at her following, and just then a crash 
 was heard below, so sudden and deafening, that 
 the violent screams of women and children above 
 and the triumphant hurrahs of the mob beneath 
 were hardly audible above it. No wonder the 
 
128 THE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 sound was overwhelming ! Well-directed volleys 
 of stones were fired simultaneously and in quick 
 repetition at all the lower front windows of the 
 building, and the crashing of glass was as loud as 
 a volley of musketry. Some of the girls who were 
 following the Superior, not knowing what they 
 did in their terror, ran past her with a wild 
 shriek, farther down the long hall, and vanished 
 from sight, nor did she attempt to stop them. 
 She herself flew down the stairs, and I saw that 
 she held a large key in her hand. Just at the 
 bottom of these stairs a massive door opened from 
 the lower back hall into a small paved court, sunk 
 between two long projecting wings of the main 
 building ; and from this court there was access to 
 the large back garden of the Convent. All the 
 Nuns, and about twenty of the girls, prepared to 
 follow the Superior, but when they saw her put 
 the large key which she carried into the lock of 
 the court door, with a natural hesitation they lin- 
 gered at the top of the stairs, not knowing who 
 or what might rush in upon them as soon as that 
 door should be opened. As for me, I was wrought 
 
A SORTIE EFFECTED. 129 
 
 up to a pitch of heroism: indeed, I don't think 
 that I screamed once during that night, even in 
 sympathy with the screaming multitude around 
 me, and, seeing the Superior all alone at the foot 
 of the stairs essaying to unlock the door, I broke 
 through the trembling crowd on the landing above 
 and hurried down to join her, as fast as I could 
 drag my passive charge after me. " Brave girl ! " 
 she said, as I pressed close to her side ; nor can 
 I describe the feelings which agitated me during 
 the moment of suspense when she was turning 
 the heavy lock of the door. The stillness with- 
 out made that moment still more exciting ; I im- 
 agined a band of crouching rioters in ambush just 
 outside the door, and prepared myself for the 
 sudden spring of a drunken mob, ready to beat 
 down the Superior and the Nuns with clubs, or 
 shoot at them with guns. I think the Superior 
 shared my apprehensions, for she drew a long 
 shuddering breath as she at length mastered the 
 lock, and flung the door wide open. Ah ! shall 
 I ever forget the ghostly stillness of that court- 
 yard 1 It struck me with awe, as something 
 
130 THE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 supernatural, in contrast with the horrible din 
 of destruction at the front of the building. Shall 
 I ever forget how calmly the moonlight slept upon 
 its fair pavement, save when the small shadows 
 of leaves, stirred by the night-wind, moved lightly 
 over it, like fairy feet dancing'? The court, was 
 planted with white-rose bushes, yet in bearing, 
 and shall I ever forget how the full-blown roses 
 w r ere set among the dusky branches, like so many 
 ivory cups, nor how they seemed to hold a sweeter 
 perfume than ever rose-cups held before 1 For, as 
 I stood at the Superior's side, close enough to feel 
 the beating of her heart while she was struggling 
 with the unyielding lock, I had so wrought my- 
 self up to expect, and to meet, nameless horrors 
 in that courtyard, that the reaction set my im- 
 agination free to enjoy and idealize the peaceful 
 reality. 
 
 Well for the Superior it was, that her room 
 contained many valuable articles, besides a large 
 sum of money just paid in by the pupils ; for, if 
 the men who first climbed into it through her 
 windows had not stopped to steal her possessions, 
 
REFUGE AT THE TOMB. 131 
 
 she could never have had time to escape from the 
 upper hall as she did. 
 
 As soon as the anxious little crowd waiting at 
 the top of the stairs saw the Superior disappearing 
 in safety through the court door, they all rushed 
 tumultuously after her, and we followed her quickly 
 to the very bottom of the long garden, where our 
 further progress was stopped by a board fence, 
 some eight or ten feet high. As it had been built 
 strong enough to keep out all curious intruders 
 and garden thieves, of course it effectually shut us 
 in. The Superior led the way to the very door 
 of the solid brick tomb, which was as large as a 
 small house, and made us all sit down on the 
 grass-border of the broad walk leading past it. 
 The iron door of the tomb was ajar, perhaps for 
 the purpose of ventilation, and I think the Supe- 
 rior meant to take refuge within it, should she be 
 followed by the rioters. 
 
 And now profound silence was again enjoined 
 upon us by the Superior, who sat enthroned 
 among us, — for she always held herself enthroned 
 like a queen, however lowly her position, — and 
 
132 TITE BURNING OF TITE CONVENT. 
 
 the Nuns crouched about her feet. The moon, 
 which had but lately risen, and which began to be 
 obscured by light clouds, occasionally revealed the 
 figures of the girls, who, motionless in various 
 hopeless attitudes, had withdrawn themselves as 
 much as possible into the shade of the bushes 
 that lined the garden paths. Some of them slept 
 the sleep of utter exhaustion, in spite of the hor- 
 rible noise. For the mob, after forcing their way 
 into the Convent, quickly overran it from garret 
 to cellar, and the work of its destruction pro- 
 ceeded rapidly. With fascinated eyes I watched 
 its progress, for I sat where I could see the build- 
 ing from top to bottom. The rioters began their 
 work by ransacking the cellars and basements, 
 probably looking for those dungeons and cells of 
 which they had heard, and which they chose to 
 believe w^ere used by the Superior as places of 
 punishment for such Nuns among the Community 
 as fell under her displeasure, and their voices, 
 underground, sounded like the hoarse growling of 
 a pent-up sea. Up stairs, at the same time, a few 
 wandering lights crossed the windows hurriedly, 
 
THE BUILDING SACKED. 133 
 
 and movei from room to room quickly, carried 
 probably by certain practical spirits, who were 
 taking advantage of the opportunity to search for 
 such valuables as they could pocket easily. Soon 
 lights and figures mounted from story to story, 
 and a moving panorama of rioters crossed and 
 recrossed the windows in procession. The noise 
 of breaking and tearing down heavy furniture, the 
 smashing and crashing of glass, pictures, and 
 china, began to rise above the din and dissonance 
 of voices; occasionally some window would sud- 
 denly be cleared of figures, and with a rush of 
 rioters from within, certain large pieces of furni- 
 ture would fill the gap for a moment, and then 
 thunder down upon the pavement below, followed 
 by the hurrahs and jeering laughter of the crowd. 
 Sundry harps and guitars were destroyed in this 
 way, and the sharp snap and melancholy after-wail 
 of their broken strings, as they fell, put into my 
 mind the sudden thought, " 0, what if they should 
 throw out one of the Sisters ! " 
 
 And still we sat in profound silence, the girls 
 effacing themselves as much as possible among the 
 
134 THE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 shrubs, the Nuns huddled together, hiding their 
 faces in their veils, about the knees of the Supe- 
 rior, who, erect and motionless, kept her eyes 
 fixed on the doomed Convent, where she had so 
 long held arbitrary rule. Whenever the night- 
 wind rustled suddenly in the branches of the 
 trees, or sent the fallen leaves scurrying along the 
 garden-walks, we fancied for a moment that the 
 sounds were made by stealthy footsteps approach- 
 ing, and our hearts beat fast. I heard the low 
 sigh of relief breathed by such of my companions 
 as were awake, when the cause of the sudden 
 sounds made themselves evident. For when the 
 faint moonlight broke through the clouds, I saw 
 some of the children still asleep, with heads nod- 
 ding on their breasts. The poor little child put 
 under my care by the Superior, and who could 
 not have been more than six years old, lay across 
 my lap, either asleep or stupefied, and I still held 
 her hand grasped mechanically in mine, in fulfil- 
 ment of my promise. In answer to a whispered 
 inquiry, she told me that her name was Louisa, 
 that she came from New Orleans. Occasionally 
 
POOR CLARIBEL! 135 
 
 during this dreary time of waiting the poor little 
 thing would stir her head uneasily in my lap, and 
 mutter something, as if in a dream, — waking or 
 sleeping, I knew not which, — about " Mother" or 
 " Aunt Fan," or a certain wax-doll whose remem- 
 brance seemed to haunt her brain. And I had 
 plenty of time to think of my poor Claribel, and 
 wonder at my folly in not making an attempt to 
 save her. I don't know to this day why I did 
 not, for there was nothing to hinder me from 
 groping my way to the school-room at any time 
 during the hours when the mob were keeping us 
 in suspense till they should have made up their 
 minds what to do with us. 
 
 And now the windows of the Convent began to 
 be illuminated, one after the other, and commen- 
 cing in the second story, with a more brilliant 
 light. No candles, lamps, or torches, such as the 
 rioters had been carrying through the rooms, could 
 account for it. For they were firing the Convent. 
 I could see men going from room to room, heaping 
 all sorts of combustible materials, bedding, cur- 
 tains, clothing, into the middle of the floors, and 
 
136 THE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 even flinging school-books upon the piles, which 
 catne down with fluttering leaves, like big birds 
 swooping upon them. After an ominous pause I 
 saw the fire burst from these combustible heaps, 
 at first feebly, and then, as it were, stretching its 
 arms higher and higher toward the ceiling, pal- 
 pitating and brightening as if breathing in a new 
 life. As soon as the rioters had made sure that 
 each fire was w T ell lighted, they rushed from the 
 room where they had kindled it and went to work 
 elsewhere, till in a very short time the windows 
 of the Convent began to glow like openings into 
 a world of flames. Again there arose the sounds 
 of destruction ; of rending, tearing, and falling of 
 heavy weights, and the shivering and crackling 
 of glass, but made by a power stronger than the 
 hands of a dozen mobs. These were the most 
 horrible moments of all that horrible night, aud 
 the noise was aggravated by the increased roaring 
 of the fire, which, together with the brilliancy of 
 its light and the pungent smell of smoke, threw 
 the poor women and children about me into a 
 stronger agony of terror than ever ; the harder to 
 
THE GARDEN FENCE STOPS US. 137 
 
 bear because it had to be suppressed. For we all 
 felt that the time must come soon when we should 
 be discovered. The rioters, driven from the build- 
 ing by the fire, would assuredly turn to fresh 
 mischief; probably nothing had prevented the Su- 
 perior from being followed long before but the 
 ignorance of the mob as to the nature of con- 
 vents. They had no idea the poor Sisters were 
 waiting for them at the bottom of the garden, but 
 of course supposed they could walk out of it at 
 pleasure, and probably had done so. But if the 
 search for the Superior should commence, the 
 rioters knew she could not have escaped them at 
 the front of the Convent, and would follow her 
 through the garden, sure that she must have 
 taken that way to a place of refuge. 
 
 And the very last of the rioters seemed about 
 quitting the building; a few lingered yet in the 
 music-room, and they must have been wild with 
 intoxication or excitement, for their last act, be- 
 fore leaving the room, was actually to hoist up 
 and throw from the window a piano, which fell 
 with a crash distinctly audible above all other 
 
138 THE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 sounds ; then, with one final yell, the ruffians 
 disappeared from our sight. Every moment we 
 were growing more and more anxious and dis- 
 tracted. What should we do] where could we 
 go 1 We were shut up in that garden as closely 
 as if we were in prison, with no place even of 
 temporary refuge from the rioters but the tomb, 
 and the poor girls held the tomb in as much hor- 
 ror as they did the rioters. Through the whole 
 of that eventful night the same fears and appre- 
 hensions were shared by all, and though very few 
 words were exchanged, each of us knew sympa- 
 thetically what the rest were feeling. I suppose 
 I was the only child among them all who was 
 buoyed up under the terrors of the night by the 
 delightful hope of deliverance from the Convent 
 and a return to liberty. I am sure the rioters 
 would have exulted over me as one victim released 
 by them from the Superior's rule, had they known 
 my state of mind. 
 
 I was beginning to feel very much cramped by 
 long sitting on the grass. I had raised up poor 
 Louisa, and was trying to prop her head against 
 
FRIENDS ON THE OTHER SIDE. 139 
 
 my shoulder while I wrapped my frock about her 
 bare neck and arms, when I fancied I heard sus- 
 picious sounds, as of people walking softly on the 
 other side of the fence. I held my breath to 
 listen; there could be no mistake this time; no 
 rustling of foliage or fluttering of leaves ever pro- 
 duced such sounds. And there were several foot- 
 steps audible together, as if a number of men 
 were creeping along towards us, one after another. 
 We all heard them plainly ; for a moment the ter- 
 rified children sat paralyzed with new fear, and 
 then, starting up, they rushed toward the Supe- 
 rior, huddling together about her, and trying to 
 repress their screams, lest they should be over- 
 heard. But it was too late ; the footsteps stopped 
 suddenly, strong hands began to tear down the 
 fence close behind us, and the deep breathing of 
 men intent on hard work was plainly audible. It 
 was useless for us to think of escaping them, with 
 the burning Convent in front of us ; useless to 
 think of hiding in the garden, which would soon 
 be illuminated in every part by the flames. I 
 looked at the Superior anxiously ; brought to bay 
 
140 THE BURNING OF TEE CONVENT. 
 
 at last, she opened her mouth to call out, " Who 
 is there 1 " I hastily interrupted her, not know- 
 ing what might happen if her voice was heard, 
 and, taking the word from her lips, — with a des- 
 perate effort of courage, I confess, — / called out, 
 ''Who is there] what do you want?" A horrible 
 moment of suspense followed, and then a sup- 
 pressed voice answered, " We are friends ; don't 
 be afraid, we have come to save you." The Su- 
 perior knew the voice, and exclaimed, joyfully, 
 " It is Mr. Cutter, and his men are with him. 0, 
 God be thanked ! " she added, fervently. This 
 ejaculation was the only admission of fear or ap- 
 prehension that she allowed to escape her lips 
 that night in my hearing. " Hush, hush ! " the 
 suppressed voice warned us. " You will be over- 
 heard. For the Lord's sake, keep quiet ; them 
 fellows are looking for the Superior already ; we 
 Avere afraid we should be too late." And the tear- 
 ing and ripping of boards went on furiously. So 
 strongly was the fence built, that it seemed an 
 intolerable length of time before an opening could 
 be made in it sufficiently large for one person to 
 
OVER AND THROUGH THE FENCE. 141 
 
 creep through, with aid from the outside, the men 
 having only their hands to work with. There was 
 such a rash of frightened creatures at the opening, 
 each anxious to escape first, and pulling and push- 
 ing those who impeded her, that Mr. Cutter had 
 to exert all the authority that could be compressed 
 into energetic whispers before he could bring about 
 some kind of order, and begin to pull us through, 
 one at a time. For my part, I felt myself a hero- 
 ine ; the first distinct cry of the mob on Charles- 
 town bridge, which I heard from my solitary station 
 at the dormitory window, had transformed me into 
 one, though I confess to sundry momentary back- 
 slidings into cowardice ; and in that capacity I 
 withdrew proudly from the crowd, with my passive 
 little charge, and waited my turn. 
 
 There was a great deal of confusion before the 
 terrified company found themselves safe on the 
 right side of the fence, and to facilitate their 
 escape, a man was assisted by his comrades to 
 climb the fence, where he sat astride, pulling up 
 the children, one after another, from the Convent 
 garden, and dropping them down into strong hands, 
 
142 THE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 which waited to receive them on the other side. 
 This process took less time than would have been 
 required to make another opening in the fence; 
 but it was an ignominious mode of exit, and 
 showed to great advantage the odd disarray of 
 the children. I could see, for instance, that one 
 had on only a petticoat outside her nightgown, 
 another a nightcap under her bonnet, — for chil- 
 dren wore nightcaps in those days. A third dis- 
 played one leg bare, with a garterless stocking on 
 the other; a fourth had a shawl pinned over a 
 flannel skirt ; a stringless shoe and a slipper down 
 at heel clambered over the fence together on one 
 pair of feet. 
 
 Suddenly I saw my old acquaintance Mary, put- 
 ting up her arms imploringly to the man whose 
 leg dangled down above her, as if begging him to 
 help her up next. I had not before observed that 
 she was with us, and I .was anxious to know 
 whether she had gone to bed dressed, according to 
 the solemn agreement made between us to that 
 effect on the afternoon previous. Yes, I could see 
 quite plainly, by the light from the burning Con- 
 
A PROMISE NOT FULFILLED. 143 
 
 vent, that she had kept her word ; up she went in 
 the man's strong grasp, in her pink frock, appar- 
 ently all right. But she was awkward, and the 
 man who was pulling her by both wrists was in a 
 hurry ; he gave a sudden jerk, the pink frock 
 burst open, and some folds of Mary's nightgown 
 fluttered forth ; her cape-bonnet fell back from 
 her shoulders, and more nightgown was revealed, 
 and as she made an involuntary flying leap over 
 the top of the fence, I saw reason to be convinced 
 that her nightgown was her only garment, save 
 the treacherous pink frock. 
 
 '' There, Mary's goodness has been too much for 
 her, after all ! " I thought. She was afraid of 
 offending Sister Mary Austin. Well, she '11 never 
 have another chance, and I suppose she is glad she 
 obeyed rules up to the last minute, though it has 
 cost her two petticoats and a pair of pantalets." 
 
 Being determined to fulfil ray promise to keep 
 fast hold of Louisa's hand till she should be in a 
 place of safety, I refused to be dragged over the 
 fence in my turn, but crept quietly through the 
 opening, about the very last to make my escape, 
 
144 THE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 though I must confess this act of courage cost 
 me a great effort. And yet, though in haste to 
 follow my companions, who were fast disappear- 
 ing from my sight, as they made their way down 
 the hill towards Mr. Cutter's house, I turned and 
 looked hack on the Convent through the narrow 
 gap in the fence, — like a picture of fire set in a 
 black frame, — and for the first and only time 
 that night I shed bitter tears. I did so mourn 
 over the fate of my poor Claribel, perhaps at that 
 very moment melting in the flames. I declare 
 I don't like to think of the grief I suffered on 
 her account, as I sat, dumb, on the ground that 
 night in the garden, with my eyes fixed on what 
 I thought her funeral-pyre; nor of the remorse 
 which tortured me in thinking how easily I could 
 have saved her. 
 
 Poor little Louisa looked into my face when she 
 saw me weeping, and I fancied her countenance 
 was troubled ; and she made an unsuccessful effort 
 to find her pocket, with the purpose, I do believe, 
 of offering me her handkerchief when she saw me 
 wiping my e3*es on the hem of my frock. 
 
TEMPORARY SHELTER. 145 
 
 We found ourselves in a potato-field, which 
 covered the slope of Mount Benedict, between the 
 Convent and Mr. Cutter's house, which fronted the 
 high-road at the bottom of the hill. Down through 
 the ridges we stumbled, as fast as we could, 
 following the Superior and her little anxious party 
 into the very house where poor Sister Mary John 
 had taken refuge in the delirium of brain-fever. 
 A number of people met us at the door, and with- 
 out speaking, they led the way at once up stairs, 
 ushering us into a couple of large back chambers, 
 whose windows faced the Convent. There was a 
 high feather-bed in the room which I entered, 
 covered with a patchwork quilt, and I immedi- 
 ately, with a great effort of strength, lifted up my 
 little Louisa, and laid her upon it, that she might 
 rest for a few minutes at least. I was not used 
 to feather-beds, but I think this must have been a 
 very fine one, for I recollect well how the child 
 sunk down into the midst of the feathers, which 
 rose up all around her and almost hid her from 
 my sight, in the bottom of a little nest, while I 
 stood on tiptoe to peep down upon her like a 
 7 j 
 
146 THE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 small mother-bird over a big fledgling. The older 
 girls generously gave up the bed to the little ones, 
 who clambered up its height, and flung themselves 
 down upon it, in a promiscuous confusion of heads 
 and legs, — like a handful of jack straws just 
 dropped. The one fixed idea in my mind through 
 the night was, that it behooved me to keep fast 
 hold of my Louisa's hand under all circumstances ; 
 and to effect this, as she lay in the bed, I was 
 obliged to stand on a footstool beside her, and 
 lean my head against the bedpost. Then my eyes 
 naturally fixed themselves on the burning Con- 
 vent, full in view from the windows, — a magnifi- 
 cent display of fireworks, which illuminated the 
 room, the house, and the neighborhood for a good 
 distance. 
 
 I think I must have fallen into a state of semi- 
 somnambulism, a sort of half-awake, half-asleep 
 condition, for I remember gradually losing my 
 identity, and becoming in an odd way one with 
 the flames, from which I felt unable to turn my 
 eyes. They appeared to rise and fall with my 
 breath, to pulsate with the beating of my heart, 
 
SISTER MARY JOHN. 147 
 
 and through the varied noises of the conflagration 
 a voice seemed to be addressing me in an under- 
 tone. Yet I was conscious that Sister Mary John 
 had dropped into an arm-chair by my side, and 
 was sitting there absolutely motionless, her long 
 neck drooping forward, and holding the crucifix 
 of her rosary clasped in her hands. Other people 
 moved about the room, talking in low murmurs ; 
 their figures flitted before my eyes, but I recog- 
 nized only this one figure of Sister Mary John, 
 still as a statue. I even lost sight of Louisa's 
 pale little face, though I knew I was always clasp- 
 ing her hand. Suddenly I started up, thoroughly 
 roused ; Sister Mary John had flung up her head 
 with a wild cry, and before I could draw a long 
 breath she had sprung from her chair, and was 
 running round and round the room, like an animal 
 in a cage, vehemently talking to herself in a toy- 
 rent of meaningless words. The people in the 
 room shrank away from her for a moment, but it 
 was evident that she was perfectly harmless. De- 
 lirium had broken out again, and no wonder. Poor 
 creature ! she saw no one, and took no notice 
 
148 THE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 when she was spoken to, but she continued to run 
 pitifully about the room, still clasping her crucifix. 
 And nobody paid much attention to her ; a sort 
 of apathy had fallen upon us, and we had got 
 used to horrors. I now think I must have lost 
 myself once more in sleep after that, for I remem- 
 ber starting up again, and becoming conscious of 
 a strange apparition. The tall figure of Sister 
 Mary John stood between me and the window, dis- 
 guised in a large bonnet and a school-girl's cloak 
 that hardly reached her knees. She was perfectly 
 quiet again, but she trembled all over ; she had 
 taken it into her head that the vengeance of the 
 mob was to fall on her alone, and that she would 
 be instantly murdered unless she was disguised as 
 a school-girl. She therefore insisted on wrapping 
 herself in a child's cloak, the only garment of the 
 kind possessed by our scantily clothed party, re- 
 fusing to accept instead one that was offered her 
 by Mrs. Cutter, and which was quite long enough 
 for her. 
 
 Mr. Cutter appeared at the chamber door. 
 "Come," said he, hurriedly, in a low voice. "Are 
 
THE MOB AT OUR DOOR. 149 
 
 you ready 1 ? Follow me; for you can't stay here. 
 The mob have tracked the Superior, and they 
 declare she is in this house. I have put them off 
 as long as I can. I dare n't keep you any longer. 
 I and my men will go with you up Winter Hill, 
 and try and find some hiding-place for you. 
 Come, come, no delay." This was the substance 
 of what he said to us ; and w T e w r ere hurried off by 
 the women of the family, who were waiting clown 
 stairs to aid our escape. In fact, w T e were too 
 near the Convent; and there was so much light 
 from the flames that no place of concealment 
 remained for us in its neighborhood. 
 
 So I lifted my poor little Louisa out of her 
 nest, and we followed the Superior and the Sis- 
 ters, who had most of them been hidden in an 
 adjacent room, and who now appeared wrapped in 
 a few shawls and hoods, which did not disguise 
 them much. The poor young Novice tottered 
 down stairs, supported by two of the Nuns, her 
 white veil twisted about her head something in 
 the form of a cap. Just as I was crossing the 
 threshold of the chamber, I stumbled over a little 
 
150 THE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 brown cape, which had been dropped either by 
 some child who had gone down before me or by 
 some one in the house. I joyfully picked it up, 
 with no idea, however, of inquiring for the owner, 
 and fastened it round little Louisa's neck. 
 
 We left the Cutter farm-house as quietly as 
 possible by the back door, Sister Mary John hur- 
 rying on first, with such odd long strides that two 
 of the older girls, of whom she had been fond, ran 
 forward to join her and to take her between them, 
 each holding an arm. But she was so afraid 
 murderers were pursuing her, that the girls had 
 hard work to soothe and quiet her. We blun- 
 dered along through a back yard and a field or 
 two, after leaving the house, and finally emerged 
 upon the road at some distance from it. The 
 men who were with us hurried us continually, but, 
 fortunately for the little children, the Superior, 
 who was stout and wholly unaccustomed to walk- 
 ing, soon got out of breath, and positively declared 
 her determination to "take it slowly." The men 
 argued in vain. The Superior vowed she would 
 walk no faster if the mob were at her heels, and 
 
ANOTHER FLIGHT NECESSARY. 151 
 
 called imperatively on Sister Mary John to slacken 
 her pace. The poor lady, accustomed to obey the 
 Superior implicitly, did so now as long as she 
 could remember the command, and then hurried 
 forward again. The sick young Novice, stimu- 
 lated by fear, and perhaps refreshed by the open 
 air, felt herself able to walk, but she was only too 
 happy to creep on slowly between two strong 
 Nuns; and we poor children dragged our weary 
 bodies along in straggling procession. No rioters 
 appeared anywhere ; we were already a good dis- 
 tance from the Convent, and the Superior, whose 
 reckless courage never failed her, even at the mo- 
 ment when she found herself face to face with the 
 mob, began to laugh and joke with Mr. Cutter 
 and the Sisters about her, sorely to the distress 
 of our escort, who seemed to be for more alarmed 
 for her than she was for herself. At that time 
 there were scarcely any houses between Mount 
 Benedict and Winter Hill; the few scattered dwell- 
 ings being occupied by bricklayers and laborers, 
 and by no means suitable as places of refuge for 
 so large a party, even had it been prudent to stop 
 
152 THE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 so near the precincts of the Convent. Mr. Cutter 
 made us walk as fast as was possible • he and the 
 men with him were leading the most backward of 
 the children by the hand, till we had climbed well 
 up Winter Hill, and were nearly a mile, I should 
 say, from the Convent. Here our anxious escort 
 thought it best to pause and look about for some 
 place where it would be safe to ask for shelter. 
 We were passing some comfortable-looking houses, 
 probably built by people who wished to commend 
 the hue view from the top of the hill, and Mr. 
 Cutter happened to know some of their occupants. 
 So, calling a halt before a substantial dwelling, he 
 went forward himself to the door, and began to 
 knock and ring, at first softly, and afterwards 
 louder and louder. Then he stepped back into 
 the front yard, and called up to the chamber 
 window, addressing the occupants of the house by 
 name. All in vain; dead silence prevailed; the 
 house was shut up as if it was deserted, every 
 blind closed, and not a sign of life anywhere. 
 " Well, if that ain't peculiar ! " I remember Mr. 
 Cutter said to himself, as he slowly withdrew 
 
HOSPITALITY SLEEPS. 153 
 
 down the gravel-walk to the gate. " Let 's try 
 t' other man." " T' other man " lived close by, 
 and Mr. Cutter made a similar attack on his hos- 
 pitality; but no answer was vouchsafed: the same 
 silence, the same air of desertion, reigned, not 
 only at Mr. "T' other man's," but about the neigh- 
 borhood. It was like a " deserted village." Mr. 
 Cutter seemed provoked, as well as astonished, 
 that he could make no one hoar, and this sur- 
 prised me. I thought to mysolf, in my simplicity, 
 " Why, if these people have been able to sleep 
 sound all night, so near the uproar of the mob 
 and the light of the burning Convent, it is n't at 
 all likely they could wake up for any noise Mr. 
 Cutter is able to make ! " I always prided myself 
 on being reasonable. 
 
 Meantime we grew tired of waiting, and as no 
 one seemed willing to let us in, we found a tempo- 
 rary resting-place for ourselves ; we thankfully sat 
 down on the edge of the sidewalk, and were glad 
 to rest our heads against the fence behind us. 
 Mr. Cutter urged us to rise, telling us we must 
 " keep moving," till we found some person willing 
 7* 
 
154 THE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 to receive us; lie could only hope that person 
 would be found living within a reasonable dis- 
 tance. And this hope was unexpectedly fulfilled, 
 for just as we were preparing to rise from our 
 comfortable seats, we heard at a little distance 
 the sound of a window opening, and a voice cried, 
 " Who 's down there % What 's wanted 1 " W r e 
 all turned to look in the direction of the voice, 
 and saw a ghostly apparition gleaming white from 
 an upper window of a house at a little distance, 
 whose hospitality Mr. Cutter had not yet sought. 
 It resolved itself into the nightcapped head of an 
 old gentleman, which bobbed up and down, like 
 Punch's, over the window-sill, when Mr. Cutter 
 had made haste to place himself below and begin 
 an eager parley with it. Auxious to hear what 
 was said, I followed our good guide into the small 
 front yard of the house, with my inseparable little 
 companion, and we sat down together under a 
 convenient lilac-bush. Mr. Cutter was trying to 
 persuade the old gentleman to admit us, and 
 shelter us till morning, when the mob, as he said, 
 would certainly disperse to seek its own safety, 
 
GOOD JOSEPH ADAMS. 155 
 
 and the fugitives from the Convent be sought for 
 by their friends and taken away. 
 
 The old gentleman said he had been up and 
 about his house all night, — " Strange," thought 
 I, " that he should be so much more wakeful than 
 his neighbors ! " — very much alarmed by the 
 mob, of whose vicinity he was aware, and very 
 anxious about the fate of the women and children 
 at the Convent. He declared he was thankful for 
 the Superior's escape, but he was very reluctant 
 to admit her, as he knew her to be the special 
 object of the hatred of the rioters, though he made 
 no objection to receiving any number of children 
 under his roof. But he was a kind-hearted old 
 gentleman, he of the nightcap, and Mr. Cutter at 
 last persuaded him to admit us all, assuring him 
 that we were not followed by any of the mob, who 
 must have been thrown off the scent, and be look- 
 ing after the Superior in another direction, if 
 indeed they thought it worth while to search for 
 her at all. 
 
 So the nightcap disappeared from the window 
 to reappear at the front door, where it bobbed a 
 
156 TEE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 hospitable welcome, even to the Superior, who 
 showed herself heartily glad to be once more 
 under a roof. We all crowded into a little par- 
 lor on the right-hand side of the front door, where 
 an old lady in a ruffled cap gleamed on the Nuns 
 curiously through a pair of spectacles. She wished 
 to be kind to them, and she was very sorry for 
 them, — very sorry, too, to have them in her 
 house at that time. Yet all honor to Mr. and 
 Mrs. Joseph Adams of Winter Hill, for they were 
 indeed good Samaritans, — better than the Samar- 
 itan, for his kindness cost him only time and 
 money, while theirs brought them, as they firmly 
 believed, into danger, all the more formidable to 
 their fears because they did not know in what 
 shape it would come or when to expect it. 
 
 And now, while Mr. Adams made haste to bar 
 and lock the front door, and Mrs. Adams to hide 
 the only candle she dared keep burning in the 
 house behind the fireboard of the parlor, the Su- 
 perior, in her usual queenly fashion, seated her- 
 self right in the centre of the mahogany horse-hair 
 sofa. It was the most elegant piece of furniture 
 
THE MOB AGAIN. 157 
 
 in the room, and no one dreamed, though seats 
 were scarce, of sharing it with her. Sister Mary 
 John was in such a state of restless, nervous ex- 
 citement that good Mrs. Adams took her up stairs 
 at once, and tried to quiet her by making her lie 
 down on the bed ; on the other side of the same 
 bed the Nuns laid the poor worn-out young Nov- 
 ice, — I wish I could remember her name ! — two 
 sufferers from the effects of this dreadful night's 
 work, equally exhausted, but showing it so differ- 
 ently. 
 
 Meantime I had seated myself on the carpet at 
 the Superior's feet, with Louisa stretched out on 
 the hearth-rug, and her head on my knees. 
 
 The Superior seemed neither tired nor anxious ; 
 she appeared as fresh as if she had been soundly 
 sleeping all night in her bed, and perfectly indif- 
 ferent in regard to the past, the present, or the 
 future. She was in reckless spirits, and her lively 
 speeches, which she tried to utter in whispers, 
 made me laugh. She must have recognized me 
 as a kindred spirit in courage, for she did not dis- 
 dain to amuse me with her banter. Having: occa- 
 
158 THE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 sion to use her handkerchief, she felt in her deep 
 pocket and brought forth a very dirty one, and 
 also her snuff-box, which she was delighted to find 
 there. Her face brightened up. " Old friend, I 
 did n't forget you, then ! " she cried, and eagerly 
 she took off the cover. Alas, it was empty ! Her 
 countenance fell ; I had never seen it wear an 
 expression of such distress. But recovering her- 
 self, and heaving a comical sigh, she held forth 
 tragically, one in each hand, her soiled handker- 
 chief and empty snuff-box. " If I only had a 
 clean pocket-handkerchief and some snuff," she 
 said, " I should be perfectly happy ! " 
 
 Then Mr. Adams entered the room hurriedly, 
 and implored the Superior to be silent; he had 
 seen from the upper window people approaching 
 from the direction of the Convent ; and even as 
 he spoke the sound of rude talking and snatches 
 of rough singing became audible. With beating 
 heart I heard the voices and steps come nearer 
 and nearer, pause, as if for consultation, and 
 finally stop at Mr. Adams's gate. Heavy feet 
 trampled the gravel-walk which led to the front 
 
THEY CLAMOR FOR US. 159 
 
 door, and the bell rang loud and long, while the 
 feet shuffled impatiently on the doorsteps. I sup- 
 pose there was not a human being in the house 
 who dared to draw a long breath at that moment. 
 Mr. Adams showed great presence of mind ; he 
 let the impatient hands pull the door-bell several 
 times, and paid no attention to the voices which 
 shouted for the " man of the house " to appear. I 
 watched him as he stood in our midst, with his 
 finger on his lip. At last, when the clamor out- 
 side could no longer be ignored, he pulled off his 
 coat, drew on his head the nightcap in which we 
 were first introduced to him, appearing all in white 
 clown to his waist, like a man just out of bed, and 
 crept softly up stairs. We heard his light foot- 
 steps cross the room overhead, and then the lei- 
 surely opening of a window and throwing back 
 of a blind. I suppose the old gentleman never 
 knew before how great a talent he had for acting. 
 With a sleepy air of astonishment and a bewil- 
 dered manner of speech, just like a man suddenly 
 roused from a deep sleep, he asked what was the 
 matter, and why such a noise was made about his 
 
160 THE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 house. A confusion of voices answered him : a 
 great deal of foul language was used that I did 
 not understand, but this was the substance of 
 their errand : They were searching for the Supe- 
 rior ; she had been seen going toward Winter 
 Hill ; they suspected she might be hiding about 
 the neighborhood somewhere, perhaps in that very 
 house ; or, if not, very likely the old man knew 
 something about her. If so, she was wanted, and 
 he 'd better tell all he knew if he had any notion 
 of what was good for himself. Mr. Adams eagerly 
 interrupted them by asking questions, like a mnn 
 perfectly astonished at what he heard, and full 
 of unbounded curiosity to have it explained. The 
 Superior walking up "Winter Hill ! Why, what 
 could they mean] And dear me ! there was a fire 
 down Charlestown way, and a big one, too ! When 
 folks shut their blinds before they went to bed, 
 they could never see anything, nor hear anything 
 either, especially if folks were getting old and 
 deaf. So that was the Convent burning ! Good 
 gracious! how did it happen'? Well, I want to 
 know ! And good Mr. Adams, acting perfect igno- 
 
A SKILFUL PERFORMANCE. 1G1 
 
 ranee to the life in regard to the night's work, got 
 the fellows below all talking together about it, 
 explaining, answering questions, boasting among 
 themselves, and contradicting each other, till, be- 
 ing probably half intoxicated and dull of appre- 
 hension, they forgot the purpose of their visit, and 
 finally went off together, disputing and wrangling 
 over the events of the night. 
 
 All this has taken nearly as long to tell as it 
 did to happen ; and when, the rioters having gone, 
 Mr. Adams came down stairs to us once more, 
 after carefully closing his blinds and his windows, 
 and stuffing his nightcap into a handy pocket, in 
 case it should be needed again, he could not help 
 modestly admiring his own skill in getting rid of 
 them, even in the midst of his anxiety on our 
 behalf. We children were all conveyed softly up 
 stairs to a back chamber opposite the one occu- 
 pied by the Nuns, and as I passed its open door 
 I saw the poor Novice, white as the pillow under 
 her head, lying with her eyes shut, so deathly still 
 that when, a few weeks afterwards, I heard she 
 was dead, I pictured her to myself, stretched out 
 
162 THE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 in her coffin, and looking exactly as I remember 
 her at this moment, when I saw her for the last 
 time. For the last time also I saw poor Sister 
 Mary John, as I glanced through that open door. 
 She was struggling to rise from her pillow, and 
 was gently restrained by the Sisters, w T ho bent over 
 her. She had heard our footsteps as we came up 
 the stairs, and possessed with the idea that the 
 murderers who had been so long pursuing her had 
 at last found her out, she was full of terror, and I 
 shall never forget the expression of her great hag- 
 gard e}'es as she fixed them on the door, — the 
 last look I ever had of her. The Nuns had ven- 
 tured to keep a candle burning in the room they 
 occupied, as it fortunately was furnished with 
 window-shutters, which they closed tightly before 
 they dared indulge themselves with a light. By 
 the melancholy glimmer of this one candle these 
 two sad faces, side by side on one pillow, were 
 daguerreotyped on my memory. 
 
 I suppose the opposite room, in which we 
 children were crowded together, was good Mrs. 
 Adams's "spare room," for though we were al- 
 
WHEN WILL IT END? 1G3 
 
 lowed no candle, I perceived through the darkness 
 a glimmering of pure white all about it, from 
 muslin curtains and from toilet-covers and " ti- 
 dies " and towels and a Marseilles counterpane. 
 Mrs. Adams gently requested us to take off our 
 shoes before stretching ourselves on this last, and 
 I, finding a vacant spot near the footboard of the 
 bedstead, made haste to take it for poor little 
 Louisa's use, and as her small body occupied but a 
 tiny place, I squeezed myself in, close to her side, 
 partly for the convenience of holding her hand, 
 and partly because I began to feel inexpressibly 
 weary. The little Southerner was as passive all 
 night in my hands as Claribel herself would have 
 been, — she showed no more will or life. The 
 poor little creature was no heavier than a good- 
 sized doll, but she was far more badly made ; her 
 small skeleton lacked altogether the plump round- 
 ness of finish that sawdust gives. 
 
 " Will this night ever come to an end ] " I 
 asked myself, as I lay with my head against the 
 footboard of the bedstead, trying hard to keep my 
 quivering eyelids closed, for though I was terribly 
 
164 THE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 weary, I had no desire to sleep. I really had to 
 make an effort to remember how daylight and 
 sunshine looked. So many events and so many 
 emotions had been crowded into the last few 
 hours that I seemed to have lived a year since 
 the last sunset. " And no sign of morning yet ! " 
 I thought, opening my eyes, and fixing them on 
 the window to see if there was any glimmering 
 of dawn. Nothing but the everlasting night was 
 to be seen in the sky, but voices again struck my 
 ear, and the sounds of footsteps drawing nearer 
 and nearer. More rioters, I thought, starting up 
 from the bed. And indeed the bell again rang 
 loudly, and thumps and kicks were bestowed on 
 the front door. And in the midst of the perfect 
 silence preserved in the house I heard Mr. Adams 
 again opening the window and blinds of his cham- 
 ber, and caught the sound of his voice, addressing 
 those below who had disturbed him. The par- 
 leying back and forth between door and window 
 did not last long this time ; of course the visitors 
 were a band of rioters, who had not given up the 
 search for the Superior, and I don't know what 
 
FRIENDS FIND US. 1G5 
 
 number of righteous falsehoods were uttered by 
 Mr. Adams in getting rid of them. They went 
 away, however, and I sank back into my old place 
 by the footboard. The bed was covered with 
 children, and some lay about the floor on the pil- 
 lows they had taken from it, and I don't remem- 
 ber that they took any notice of this second visit 
 of the mob. I dare say most of them were asleep. 
 And after the intruders were gone I too fell asleep, 
 probably only for a few moments, and my sleep 
 must have been light, for I was aroused by hear- 
 ing more voices at the front door, more knocking 
 and ringing, followed in due course by the opening 
 of the chamber window, and Mr. Adams's tones of 
 expostulation. But I was very much surprised to 
 hear him suddenly speak in a natural, joyful voice, 
 and then, leaving the w r indow open, hurry down 
 stairs, and actually unbolt and unlock the front 
 door, and fling it wide open ! I heard footsteps 
 in the little hall, and afterwards in the parlor 
 below, but I could distinguish no voices, as proba- 
 bly the conversation was carried on in whispers. 
 Who could these strange visitors be, that were 
 
1GG THE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 so gladly admitted into the Superior's pres- 
 ence? 
 
 I was just about to wake Louisa and go down 
 stairs to see for nryself what had happened, when 
 Mrs. Adams opened our chamber door and came 
 in gently. " I am awake ! " I whispered, jumping 
 off the bed. " Who are those people down stairs, 
 Mrs. Adams V "I am so sorry to wake up these 
 tired children," she answered, " but I think they 
 ought to know that Mr. B aud his brother- 
 in-law," — she mentioned his name, but I have 
 forgotten it, — " the fathers of two of the Convent 
 scholars, have just come out of Boston in search 
 of their children, and Mr. Cutter sent them here 
 to look for them." I suddenly remembered that 
 Mr. Cutter and his men had disappeared as soon 
 as they had left us safely housed at Mr. Adams's, 
 — of course to return home immediately and keep 
 guard over their own property. Mrs. Adams went 
 on to say, in the whispered tones we were all 
 
 enjoined to use, that Mr. B and his brother 
 
 were greatly distressed and disappointed in not 
 finding their children at her house, and on hearing 
 
ONE MORE START. 107 
 
 from the Superior that they had never joined her 
 party, and that she knew nothing about them. 
 As they had already made all the inquiries they 
 dared in the neighborhood of the Convent, they 
 now proposed to return to Boston at once, in 
 hopes of finding their daughters safe at home 
 before them. And they offered to take charge of 
 as many of the children whom Mr. Adams was 
 so kindly sheltering as were willing to accompany 
 them. Mrs. Adams roused the girls from their 
 sleep on the bed and on the floor, and made them 
 
 all understand this offer of Mr. B and his 
 
 brother, patiently explaining it over and over to 
 minds stupefied by so many hours of excitement 
 and fatigue. She was hospitable and thoughtful 
 to the last, assuring the girls that they were wel- 
 come to stay at her house just as long as they 
 wished, till their parents and friends should come 
 for them, and bidding them remember that it 
 would not be easy to get to Boston that night, 
 when no carriages could be procured, and the 
 roads might be infested by the rioters. I am 
 afraid we did not pay much attention to Mrs. 
 
168 THE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 Adams's prudent remarks ; we all decided to go 
 
 with Mr. B and his brother, — believing, with 
 
 the faith of little girls, that we should be safe in 
 the company of grown-up men, — all except a few 
 of the children whose homes were at a distance, 
 and who had no friends in Boston. 
 
 We did not give much time to preparation for 
 our journey ; there was very little to be done. 
 Frocks were tied up and twitched into position ; 
 those who had on small shawls brought the two 
 ends round from back to front ; and those who 
 still had strings in their shoes laced them up. 
 Those who had bonnets felt themselves to be in 
 full dress, and we bareheaded ones involuntarily 
 shrank behind them, as we stole down the stairs 
 in a little procession, to present ourselves to the 
 gentlemen who were waiting for us. 
 
 The Superior, still sitting erect on her sofa, as 
 one whom it was impossible to subdue or fatigue, 
 took very little notice of us, and seemed not to 
 care whether we went or stayed. She was talking 
 volubly to the gentlemen, in low tones of course, 
 but with many emphatic gestures, expressing, as 
 
NO TIME FOR THANKS. 1G9 
 
 was natural enough, vehement indignation at the 
 treatment to which she had been subjected, and 
 the losses she had been made to suffer. The 
 gentlemen, who would have sympathized with her 
 keenly at any other time, were just then too anx- 
 ious about their daughters' safety to think of any- 
 thing else, and they left her abruptly, as soon as 
 the forlorn group of children appeared in the hall. 
 Before we quitted the house, careful Mrs. Adams 
 took the precaution of stealing out upon the side- 
 walk and surveying the road up and down, so as 
 to make sure that the coast was clear for our 
 starting. We left those generous, hospitable peo- 
 ple without a word of adieu, or one expression of 
 gratitude for their great goodness to us in our 
 misfortunes, and I don't know whether our parents 
 and friends ever called to thank them afterwards 
 on our behalf. Nor do I know how long the Su- 
 perior and her Community stayed at their house ; 
 I never saw the Superior again, but in my memory 
 she remains perpetually sitting bolt upright on 
 the hair-cloth sofa, her dirty handkerchief in one 
 hand, her snuff-box in the other. 
 
170 THE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 Mr. B crept in behind the parlor fireboard, 
 
 just as we were leaving the house, in order to 
 consult his watch, and great was my astonishment 
 to find it was only three o'clock when our journey 
 to Boston began. A journey indeed it proved to 
 
 be, though Mr. B had intended, when we 
 
 started, to make it as easy as possible for our 
 weary little legs by taking us to Charlestown 
 Street through roads as direct as it seemed pru- 
 dent to follow, and then, chartering a stage, to 
 convey us the rest of the way to the city. Mr. 
 Adams's house fronted the main road to Boston by 
 the way of Charlestown, but it led past the foot 
 of Mount Benedict. As it was the only road to 
 
 the city with which Mr. B was acquainted, he 
 
 at first slowly took his way down the hill, with 
 the intention of following it, if possible; but when 
 we got near the bottom of Winter Hill, the light 
 that still blazed from the burning Convent illu- 
 minated a great number of black figures still sur- 
 rounding the building, and going up and down 
 Mount Benedict, crowding the turnpike before us, 
 and making a confused, excited murmur of talking 
 
A WEARY WANDERING. 171 
 
 and laughing. Perhaps the crowd had been drawn 
 
 together only by curiosity ; but Mr. B dared 
 
 not venture to pass them with his odd-looking 
 flock of girls, who would be instantly recognized 
 as fugitives from the Convent, and at least ex- 
 posed to brutal jeers, so he reluctantly turned 
 back, and after ascending Winter Hill again, he 
 plunged to the left into a lane that he fancied 
 would lead us past the foot of Mount Benedict 
 and into the street beyond by a detour. 
 
 So on we walked and walked in this solitary 
 
 lane, Mr. B and his brother first leading the 
 
 way, and the children straggling behind in pro- 
 found silence. I still held little Louisa's hand in 
 a tight grasp, and it was lucky for me she was 
 so light and small, as I was obliged to half carry 
 
 her when her feeble steps failed. Mr. B was 
 
 very patient, and very sure we should come out 
 all right on the main road in time, but evidently 
 we had found the long lane that had no turning, 
 and he grew first anxious and then discouraged, 
 and stopped at last to reconnoitre. We had come 
 to a little bridge which crossed a small stream, 
 
172 THE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 and, hanging over this bridge with folded arms, 
 apparently regarding the water, was the solitary 
 figure of a man, as motionless as the fisherman 
 on my mother's Chinese Willow ware plates, who 
 surveys the blue water from the blue bridge in the 
 same attitude. I remember asking little Louisa 
 if she did not see the resemblance, supposing that 
 every family from Canada to New Orleans used 
 Willow- pattern plates because we did. The poor 
 little thing was getting fretful, and I wanted to 
 
 amuse her while Mr. B was talking with the 
 
 solitary on the bridge. He was evidently asking 
 the w r ay, and the man, without raising his head, 
 
 muttered some reply w 7 ith which Mr. B had 
 
 to be satisfied. When he rejoined us, I heard 
 him tell his brother that the right way to get 
 to Charlestown Main Street from this lane, as well 
 as he could make out from the answers he had 
 received from the man, was by Lechmere Point, 
 and that Lechmere Point was off in that direction, 
 vaguely sweeping the dark horizon w r ith his hand. 
 So we started on our journey again with new 
 courage. I never heard of Lechmere Point before 
 
MORNING DAWNS. 173 
 
 that moment. I have never been there since, and 
 I am sure we did not find it that night, though 
 
 Mr. B continued to walk on and on towards 
 
 the horizon with the perseverance of the Wan- 
 dering Jew; and we followed, still in profound 
 silence, our strength kept up in some mysterious 
 
 way. We all felt that Mr. B was doing his 
 
 very best for us, and that if he had not under- 
 taken to guide us he could have gone straight 
 home by the main road, unnoticed by the rioters, 
 if they were still in the neighborhood, so we would 
 not add to his perplexities by our complaints. 
 
 We were walking with our faces to the east, and 
 we could see morning coming from a long way off. 
 When the dawn began to glimmer in the sky, it 
 seemed to me like the quivering of a closed eye- 
 lid just before it is lifted; and as the light grew 
 brighter and rose higher and higher above the 
 horizon, this eyelid of night seemed gradually to 
 unclose, till the eye of day looked forth uncur- 
 tained. My imagination was stimulated by hours 
 of unwonted excitement, and all manner of strange 
 fancies darted through my brain, as I believe I 
 
174 THE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 have made evident euough in the course of this 
 little history. 
 
 1 think my thoughts as well as my eyes must 
 have been in the sky, for I recollect realizing, with 
 a great start, that we had fairly come out at last 
 on Charlestown Main Street, after losing our way 
 and wandering vaguely about, I knew not where. 
 I am sure the gentlemen who were with us were 
 astonished too, to find themselves unexpectedly 
 exactly where they wanted to be just when they 
 were feeling sure they should never get there ! 
 And it was time the journey should end; some 
 town-clock struck six as we crossed the street and 
 hurried into the great paved courtyard of the 
 tavern or stage-house. I was astonished to see 
 the sun shining brightly on houses and shops ; I 
 think I must have been walking mechanically, 
 with "my heart asleep," as the Irish say, for I 
 had forgotten that day was come, and had only 
 been conscious of the relief I felt in the departure 
 of that dreadfully long night. I roused my torpid 
 faculties, and helped little Louisa to climb a flight 
 of steep back stairs, by which somebody belonging 
 
THE RETURNING MOB. 175 
 
 to the tavern introduced us all into a large private 
 
 room. Mr. B and his brother, who had been 
 
 anxious and uncertain and hesitating in manner 
 and speech ever since they left Mr. Adams's house, 
 now brightened up and grew brisk and quick and 
 energetic. They were very thankful that we had 
 got safely to the stage-house before the town had 
 waked up, and while the streets were empty and 
 deserted ; they could hardly understand our good 
 luck in finding them so, or why it was that at six 
 o'clock of a summer morning the shops were still 
 shut up and the blinds of the houses closed. The 
 great stage-house itself was not open to the pub- 
 lic, and when Mr. B , who had often stopped 
 
 there, led us through the courtyard to the back 
 entrance, he was surprised to see the stables 
 closed and the yard empty, save that two or three 
 hostlers lounged about, keeping well out of sight 
 of passers-by. We were told that behind all these 
 bolts and shutters and blinds the people who lived 
 on Charlestown Street were palpitating with alarm 
 and apprehension, expecting every moment the 
 return of the rioters, of whom nothing had been 
 
17G THE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 seen since they roused the town by marching 
 through it between nine and ten o'clock of the 
 night before. If we could only keep in advance 
 of them, and leave the stage-house before they 
 came up, how lucky we should be ! 
 
 The two gentlemen went down stairs to order 
 the stage at once, which was to take us the rest 
 of the way to Boston. They were gone a long 
 time, we thought, as we sat round the walls of the 
 tavern parlor, on two dozen wooden chairs, terri- 
 bly impatient to be off, and straining our ears to 
 catch the sound of stage-wheels, or the tramp of 
 the rioters, wondering which we should hear first ! 
 We had plenty of time to examine each other 
 curiously by the light of day ; such a forlorn little 
 set of children as we were, — half of us with 
 nothing on our heads but our tumbled hair, which 
 fell in elf-locks round our dusty faces. Down the 
 cheeks of the smallest girls meandered muddy 
 streaks, the marks of tears wiped away with dirty 
 fingers. I don't believe we mustered a couple of 
 pocket-handkerchiefs in the entire party, or half 
 a dozen shoestrings. Some of us dragged our 
 
THE HEADLESS DOLL. 177 
 
 shoes after us slipshod, and both shoes and stock- 
 ings, and the bottoms of our frocks, were covered 
 with mud from walking through dewy grass and 
 dust}' roads. Some garterless stockings had been 
 encumbering the wearers by getting under their 
 heels, and they were tying them up with ravel- 
 lings from ragged petticoats, torn cither on the 
 bushes or in being dragged over the Convent 
 fence. A very few of the children had made an 
 attempt to save some of their property. One girl 
 had her " lap-bag" with her patchwork and silver 
 thimble ; another, who was dressed more thor- 
 oughly than any of the party, having on frock, 
 bonnet, and shawl, carried her nightgown rolled 
 
 up under the shawl. This reminded Mary H 
 
 to take off her nightcap, which she still wore 
 under her bonnet, and put it in her pocket. One 
 little girl carried a small doll, whose head had 
 rolled from its shoulders in the course of the 
 night, so that the poor little mother sat weeping 
 silently in a corner ; while my heart ached sym- 
 pathetically in thinking of Claribel. Penelope 
 E had saved a basketful of stockings, the 
 
178 THE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 legs of which hung limp around the sides of the 
 basket. They reminded me of the dangling necks 
 of dead ducks which I had seen hanging out of 
 the market - basket at home. Some milk was 
 brought up for us to drink. I made my little 
 Louisa swallow some, and I carried a tumblerful 
 to the afflicted mother in the corner, who only 
 shook her head sadly and pushed it away. I had 
 made a bed of two chairs, and a pillow of my lap, 
 for Louisa, and I felt a great pity for the poor 
 little thing as I sat looking down into her pale 
 thin face, with such dark rings round her eyes 
 that the pale blue orbs looked almost white. She 
 did not close them, neither did she appear to see 
 with them. 
 
 How glad we were when Mr. B opened the 
 
 door and summoned us all to get into the stage ; 
 he looked heated and vexed, for he had great diffi- 
 culty in persuading the stage-agent to let us have 
 the use of his " team," and the coachman had 
 been unwilling to be seen on the box, and had 
 also needed much persuasion. It was no wonder 
 they hesitated, for the streets began to be filled 
 
WE LEAVE CIIARLESTOWN. 179 
 
 with ill-looking men returning from the Convent, 
 and they might be ripe fur more mischief when 
 they recognized the passengers in the stage. 
 
 Shut up in the back parlor of the tavern, 
 we had heard nothing, and when the children 
 found themselves jostled by " rowdy " men as soon 
 as they reached the street, and saw a crowd of 
 them pouring along the sidewalk, they would have 
 turned and run back to the house, had not Mr. 
 
 B insisted on hurrying us into the stage. 
 
 He was most anxious to be at home, looking after 
 his ow r n daughter, and yet he would not leave 
 us behind him, so he determined to take the risk 
 of an immediate return to Boston. We children 
 
 filled the stage to overflowing, and Mr. B ■ 
 
 and his brother encouraged the driver by placing 
 themselves one on each side of him on the stage- 
 box. 
 
 And so began one of the strangest progresses 
 ever made; the Convent was mobbed, robbed, and 
 burnt by a body of from sixty to a hundred men, 
 most of them Boston truckmen, who had bound 
 themselves to undertake that work of destruction ; 
 
 
180 TEE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 while some tivo thousand men, old and young, and 
 of all conditions, stood quietly by and looked on, 
 aiding and abetting the rioters, because they did 
 nothing to hinder them. In fact, after the work 
 was done, rioters and spectators must have frater- 
 nized in a general spree, for they returned together 
 to the city from whence they came only when the 
 broad light of day made it unsafe for them to be 
 found anywhere else. Our stage drove from the 
 door of the tavern just as this streaming tide of 
 rioters was pouring down both sides of the de- 
 serted Main Street of Charlestown ; and of course 
 the large coach, the only vehicle in sight, attracted 
 their attention at once. They had no difficulty 
 in identifying the passengers; on account of the 
 heat of the weather the curtains of the stage had 
 been rolled up all round and the windows let 
 down, so that the interior, full of pink calico, and 
 crowded with childrens' heads, half of them bon- 
 netless, was visible to all. We looked as ill-con- 
 ditioned as a body of little paupers broken loose 
 from the almshouse, and those of the mob who 
 first caught sight of us broke into loud cheering 
 
A STRANGE ESCORT. 181 
 
 and rude laughter. Fortunately it happened that 
 the crowd was in a mood of high good-humor, and 
 its heart may have warmed to our disreputable 
 appearance, so like its own. At any rate, the 
 idea of acting as our escort to the city seemed to 
 seize upon it- as a good joke. So we slowly rode 
 the gantlet between a double file of amiable ruf- 
 fians, who saluted us with jeers, yells, shrill whist- 
 ling, and cat-calling, roars of laughter, rough jokes, 
 and questions. Most of them were in their shirt- 
 sleeves ; some, like ourselves, had no hats ; others 
 had trimmed their hats with green wreaths, and 
 stuck flowers in their breasts ; some had red and 
 yellow handkerchiefs tied round their heads, with 
 a coxcomb or sunflower stuck in the knot. Some 
 danced and shuffled along the sidewalk; others 
 strode on with heads thrown back. Three or four 
 together, with arms lovingly intwined, filled the 
 width of the sidewalk here and there. Some car- 
 ried a couple of hens, one under each arm ; some 
 had shawls put across their shoulders, scarf-fashion, 
 or tied round their waist. " That is my winter 
 shawl,'' quietly remarked one of the older girls, 
 
182 THE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 breaking the silence in which we were riding 
 along, and pointing to a burly tall fellow with a 
 tartan plaid round his body. Luckily he did not 
 see her. Many mock-respectful low bows were 
 bestowed upon us, and much wild waving of arms 
 and hands by way of salute. We scarcely under- 
 stood any of the questions put to us in such 
 rough, vulgar utterance as the crowd made use 
 of, but we did not feel afraid of them ; they were 
 evidently good-natured and meant us no harm. 
 " Saved yer diamonds 1 " shouted one young man 
 to Penelope, who was resting her basket on the 
 edge ' of the stage window. The lovely, fearless 
 girl shook her head, and displayed one of her 
 stockings with a smile ; the crowd applauded ve- 
 hemently. "I 've got something of yours, I guess ! " 
 bawled out another, holding up his clenched fist 
 to the carriage, which probably contained some 
 valuable which he had stolen. " We 've spoiled 
 your prison for you," cried a third. " You won't 
 never have to go back no more." Indeed, the 
 general sentiment of the mob seemed to be that 
 they had done us a great favor in destroying the 
 
A PROCESSION OF RIOTERS. 183 
 
 Convent, for which we ought to be grateful to 
 them. 
 
 How soon we get accustomed to anything, how- 
 ever strange ! By the time our slow driver, who 
 did not wish to excite the attention of the crowd 
 by rapid driving over the stones, had brought us 
 across the bridge into the city, we had ceased to 
 fear this moving procession of rioters or to pay 
 much attention to them. 0, how tired we all 
 were ! We thought of nothing but rest, and the 
 girls began to comfort themselves with the reflec- 
 tion that it could not be far off. As for me, I had 
 decided in my own mind to walk out to my home 
 in Dorchester, about two miles and a half from 
 Boston, just as soon as I should have fulfilled my 
 promise to leave Louisa in a safe place ; so T knew 
 that my hour of rest was still far off, and I mus- 
 tered all my resolution to meet the call yet to be 
 made on my strength. 
 
 Mr. B and his brother, during this strange 
 
 drive, had continued to sit one on each side of 
 the coachman, apparently lost in abstraction, or 
 asleep ; for they looked neither to the right nor 
 
184 THE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 the left, never speaking to each other, or turning 
 to address the children or even the coachman, try- 
 ing to escape the notice of the crowd by effacing 
 themselves as much as possible. But when our 
 stage had turned off into the city streets, and we 
 had left the body of returning rioters behind us, 
 they quickly recovered speech and energy, urged 
 the driver to speed, and after a deafening, jolting 
 rattle over Boston pavements, the stage drew up 
 
 at the door of Mr. B 's house on Pearl Place. 
 
 Before the gentlemen could jump down from the 
 
 box seat, Mrs. B came running to the door, 
 
 in hopes of meeting her daughter, who was not 
 
 with us, and Mr. B 's disappointment was 
 
 equal to hers, when he found that she had not 
 yet got home, where he, on his part, had been so 
 long hoping to find her. 
 
 We children were kindly ushered up stairs to a 
 parlor well furnished with sofas and chairs, and 
 
 Mrs. B took some of the girls to her own 
 
 chamber, bidding them lie down and rest for a 
 while. Breakfast, she said, would soon be ready, 
 it was only eight o'clock, and she would let them 
 
MY CHARGE IN SAFETY. 185 
 
 know when the table was spread. She and Mr. 
 
 B then went away, absorbed in their own 
 
 affairs. Mr. B 's brother had already hurried 
 
 home in hopes of being more fortunate, and find- 
 ing his own little daughter safe with her mother. 
 I never knew whether it was so, or what befell 
 
 Mr. B 's little girl, or what was the fate of 
 
 the children with whom I had been associated all 
 night. They all vanished out of my life, at once 
 
 and forever. I had drawn back when Mrs. B , 
 
 looking compassionately at Louisa, kindly held 
 out her hand to lead me and my little charge to 
 her bedchamber, and had said something about 
 making Louisa comfortable enough on the sofa. 
 The little passive thing lay down there as I bid 
 her, and I was delighted to see her actually shut 
 her faded eyes, as if she really meant to go to 
 sleep in the pleasant room whose comfortable ap- 
 pearance seemed to reassure her. I was sure that 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. B would take good care of her, 
 
 and that, as I seemed to have made no impression 
 on her feeble mind, she probably would not miss 
 me when she waked. Feeling that I had fulfilled 
 
186 TEE BURNING OF TEE CONVENT. 
 
 my promise to the Superior in regard to her, I 
 withdrew my hand from hers, lingered to kiss her 
 pale forehead and make sure that she was really 
 sleeping, and then slipped out of the room, down 
 the stairs, and out of the house, finding, fortu- 
 nately for me, the front door ajar. 
 
 In a moment I had turned the corner of Pearl 
 Place, into Pearl Street. I knew my way home 
 perfectly ; up Pearl Street into High, down High 
 to Summer Street, along Summer to Sea Street, 
 and through the length of Sea Street, out upon 
 the Dorchester turnpike. Pearl Street was a 
 handsome street, lined on each side with gentle- 
 men's houses, some of which had beautiful gar- 
 dens attached to them. There was quite a hill to 
 be climbed at the upper end of it, where it turned 
 into High Street, and up this hill I toiled as rap- 
 idly as possible, for the few people who met me 
 looked at me with such wonder and curiosity that 
 I was in a hurry to leave this genteel part of the 
 town and lose myself in the purlieus of Sea Street. 
 As I have represented myself in the light of a 
 heroine, through this little history, I am ashamed 
 
/ START FOR DORCHESTER. 187 
 
 to say that in spite of my going to bed dressed, 
 on the previous evening, I had shown as little 
 forethought in completing my toilet as the tim- 
 idest child in school whom terror had deprived of 
 presence of mind. I was one of the bonnetless 
 company, having nothing on my head or on my 
 neck and arms. No wonder people stared ! I 
 was unfortunate enough to own a great crop of 
 coarse hair, a pair of keen black eyes, and a thin 
 face, still "peaked" from the effects of a long 
 typhoid-fever. " Dear me," I thought uneasily, 
 as a milkman, jumping from his cart almost upon 
 my feet, saluted me with a stare and a prolonged 
 whistle, " I must look exactly like a weasel peep- 
 ing from a brush-heap ! " for I was quite aware of 
 my personal defects, and that I must be uglier 
 than ever just then. The Boston Athenaeum, a 
 handsome brick building, stood just at the head 
 of Pearl Street, and as I approached it, I saw, to 
 
 my consternation, Dr. A , our family physician, 
 
 reading the "Advertiser," at the open window of 
 the Reading-Room ; he was an elegant gentleman, 
 precise in dress and manner, of whom I was al- 
 
188 TUE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 ways a little afraid. How devoutly I hoped he 
 would not see me as I passed ! I had lost one 
 shoestring, so that I could not walk very fast, but 
 I held my head down, and shuffled along as rap- 
 idly as possible, hoping that Dr. A would be 
 
 too much absorbed in his newspaper to look up. 
 But I believe that in those days the " Advertiser " 
 never contained articles of absorbing interest ; at 
 least the good doctor was not reading such a one 
 at that moment, for he raised his eyes precisely as 
 I was passing the window, and fixed them on me. 
 He was really too surprised even to speak for a 
 minute, and I hurried on, pretending not to see 
 him. At last, " Louisa Goddard," he cried, in his 
 loud cheery voice, " what are you doing here at 
 this time of the morning, and where did you come 
 from % " I turned short round upon him, and 
 with a brevity that makes me smile when I think 
 upon it, I replied, " The Convent was burnt to 
 the ground last night by a mob, and I am on my 
 way home." And I whisked round the corner as 
 quickly as possible, running along High Street till 
 my stringless shoe came off, I was so afraid the 
 
TWO MILES, BAREHEADED. 189 
 
 doctor would stop me, and I was bent on getting 
 home at once. 
 
 News did not travel very fast at that time, and 
 the destruction of the Convent was not generally 
 
 known till late in the day. Dr. A afterwards 
 
 said that he was too astounded by my appearance 
 and words to come to his senses till I had disap- 
 peared, and though he ran after me bareheaded, 
 — a fact on which he dwelt, as a proof of his 
 determination to overtake me, — I was gone past 
 recall. I felt more at my ease when I got into 
 Sea Street, which swarmed with Irish, as I passed 
 unnoticed among the little Pats and Bridgets that 
 played in the gutter, and crowded the sidewalk in 
 front of the shanties where they lived. I began 
 to feel a great pain in my right hand, — the hand 
 in which I had grasped little Louisa's slender fin- 
 gers for so many hours ; I had actually strained it 
 badly by this close continued pressure. I rubbed 
 it and shook it, as I walked bareheaded for two 
 good miles, under the morning sun, along Dor- 
 chester turnpike. This turnpike crossed a marsh, 
 and was the highway between South Boston and 
 
190 THE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 the country. Tramps, beggars, and evil-disposed 
 persons were always wandering up and down upon 
 it, and though several gentlemen's chaises and 
 carryalls passed me on the road, I was not taken 
 much notice of, I suppose because I resembled the 
 foot-passengers they were in the habit of meeting 
 there. Excitement kept me up during that long- 
 walk, but as I entered the back gate of my father's 
 yard I felt that I was going to break down. 
 Could it be possible that I was actually at home 
 at that very hour on yesterday morning 1 I had 
 to search back in my memory to recall the time, 
 for years seemed to have passed since then. I 
 hurried through the kitchen quickly • the cook 
 was washing dishes at the sink, and she too turned 
 and looked at me, as if she saw a spectre. I 
 stopped at the foot of the back stairs and looked 
 up; my mother was just crossing the landing, 
 turning on her hand a clean sock for my father to 
 put on, for she was one of the old-fashioned wives 
 who laid out their husband's clean clothes at the 
 proper times of changing as regularly as they did 
 their baby's. 
 
/ REACH HOME. 191 
 
 How well I remember her look and her scream 
 when she saw me, — a scream that was repeated 
 when I slowly ascended the stairs and appeared 
 before her in all my forlornness. " What is the 
 matter 1 How did you get here ? " she cried, seiz- 
 ing hold of me. I answered her just as briefly as 
 
 I had answered Dr. A . " The Convent was 
 
 burned last night by a mob, and so I thought I 
 had better come home." And then I broke into a 
 violent fit of tears and hysterics. Strange to say, 
 notwithstanding they had been forewarned of the 
 possibility of this event happening, my parents 
 did not believe my statement. My mother was 
 immediately possessed with the idea that I had a 
 brain-fever, — probably the result of my late long 
 sickness, — and that I had run away from the 
 Convent in that condition. Perhaps a confused 
 recollection of Sister Mary John's illness haunted 
 her mind. She forbade my speaking a single 
 word more, though I made desperate efforts be- 
 tween my sobs, and as soon as I was somewhat 
 calmed, to get her to listen to my adventures. 
 She took me into a darkened chamber, undressed 
 
192 THE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 and put me to bed, shut the door behind her, and 
 sent for the doctor. I fell asleep, of course, for- 
 tunately, or I might indeed have had a brain- 
 fever, and before I waked the door began to be 
 besieged by officious friends, who came to let my 
 parents know what had happened on Mount Ben- 
 edict. Three of the pupils died afterwards from 
 the effects of that night's terrors and exposures, 
 but I remained well enough to enjoy being the 
 heroine of the family for a time. Indeed, I had 
 the pleasure of knowing that I was called a hero- 
 ine by some others outside the family. Long 
 years afterwards I heard the story of the burning 
 of the Convent by a mob repeated by strangers in 
 California, and the courageous behavior of a little 
 girl named Louisa Goddard commented upon in 
 terms of admiration. No one knew that home- 
 sickness in my case was stronger than fear, and 
 that I was glad to welcome any way of escape 
 from the novelty of Convent restraints. I was 
 too young to understand the real dangers of the 
 night, and too old or perhaps too sensible to be- 
 lieve in the imaginary ones. 
 
WILL TEE SCEOOL BE BE OPENED? 193 
 
 The friends of the Convent wished very much 
 that the school should be continued, and urged 
 the Sisters not to allow themselves to be driven 
 from their post by the outcries of Protestant 
 bigots. A large house in Roxbury was taken for 
 them, and it seemed probable for some time that 
 the school would be reopened there on a very 
 small scale. This was a very anxious period for 
 me, and I had sundry dreadful frights, for my 
 father drove over with me several times to see the 
 Sisters while they were in Roxbury, always assur- 
 ing me, on the way, that he should leave me 
 among them if he found they were ready to re- 
 ceive pupils. 
 
 Before this matter was settled, however, I was 
 obliged to have some new frocks, my wardrobe 
 having been destroyed in the fire that consumed 
 the Convent. As my mother was much occupied 
 with " the baby " of the period, who was teething, 
 — we always had a baby at our house, and it 
 was always teething, — she permitted me to go to 
 Boston and choose them for myself. I well re- 
 member good Mr. D , in his auburn wig, bend- 
 
 9 m 
 
194 THE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 ing over the counter and pressing upon my notice 
 some excellent French calicoes, " in good washable 
 pink, best color in the world for children's wear," 
 on which I turned my back with horror. I 
 made haste to buy a blue print and a buff ging- 
 ham, and was hurrying out of the store, when 
 
 Mr. D called me back to thrust a little folded 
 
 paper into my hand, containing patterns of the 
 desirable pink calicoes, which I was to show my 
 mother, and tell her they were cut from a lot 
 of new goods, just received. "I am quite sure," 
 he added, benignly smiling, "that when she ex- 
 amines these patterns she will let you have a 
 new pink frock ! " 
 
 " 0, dear me ! I am dreadfully afraid she will, 
 too," thought I to myself, as I walked away ; and 
 I confess that after a struggle with my conscience 
 I scattered the patterns along the street, and re- 
 solved to say nothing to my mother about them. 
 " Never," I thought, " would I put myself in the 
 way of resuming the Convent uniform, — it would 
 be like committing suicide to present myself to 
 my father in a new pink frock, of my own free 
 
NO MORE PINK DRESSES! 195 
 
 will; why, I should feel like a lamb ready for 
 sacrifice." 
 
 However, the Ursuline Community at last left 
 the neighborhood of Boston, following the orders 
 of their superiors, and all sorts of scandalous sto- 
 ries were put in circulation in reference to their 
 departure, not one of which, probably, had the 
 least foundation in truth. 
 
 This was a great relief to me, and now that I 
 was no longer harassed by the fear of returning 
 to the Convent, I recollect entering very warmly 
 into the general indignation expressed by our 
 friends at the conduct of the State in refusing to 
 pay the Catholics the damages due them legally 
 for the destruction of their property on Mount 
 Benedict by the mob. My father, remembering my 
 school-books and money paid for me in advance, 
 thought some recompense due from the State to 
 parents; and my mother, with a sigh, cordially 
 agreed with him, as she recollected the time and 
 labor spent on my outfit. My beautiful silver 
 mug, one of fifty or sixty which glittered in the 
 refectory buffet, — all of which were probably 
 
196 THE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 stolen by the rioters, — was a present to me in 
 infancy from an aged aunt who lived to lament its 
 loss, and was frequently heard to declare "that 
 Massachusetts owed a new silver mug to every 
 child bereaved of one by the mob." 
 
 Bereaved ! Ah, I could have borne to be bereaved 
 of my mug, my school-books, my pink frocks, and 
 my pillow-cases, if Claribel had only been spared ! 
 Even Claribel despoiled of her wardrobe, which 
 had been the labor of my life, and dressed only in 
 the tissue-paper chemise, the sole garment she 
 brought with her from the shop. Thus, in my 
 turn, I made my moan, with the feeling, however, 
 that the State of Massachusetts could do nothing 
 to recompense me. 
 
 But while all sore feeling in regard to personal 
 losses has long since passed away, the great fact 
 remains the same, that the State of Massachusetts 
 owed the Catholics complete reparation for the 
 destruction of the Ursuline Convent on Mount 
 Benedict by a wicked mob, and I shall never cease 
 to feel indignant because it owes that reparation 
 still ! 
 
ONE M OB SYMPATHIZER SNUBBED! 197 
 
 After I grew up to be a young lady I remember 
 meeting at a ball a certain middle-aged dandy, 
 who endeavored to make himself agreeable to me, 
 while waiting for our dance to begin, by relating 
 one of his youthful experiences. "He had," he 
 said, "formed one of a large party of young gentle- 
 men, who followed the rioters to Charlestown, on 
 the night of the burning of the Convent, merely 
 out of curiosity to see what they would do," and 
 who afterwards, seated on the grass at a respectful 
 distance, watched them till they had completed 
 their work of destruction. 
 
 " And did you do nothing to prevent it ] " I 
 asked, flashing round upon him indignantly. "Did 
 you make no attempt to help the Nuns and the 
 children ?" 
 
 " Why — a — no — " he answered, a little dis- 
 concerted at my vehemence ; " there did n't seem 
 to be anything we could do, — and in fact — I 
 was nH acquainted with any of the young ladies of 
 the school at that time. There were some very 
 pretty girls there, so I have heard, but you see, I 
 had n't been introduced. If I had known any of 
 
198 THE BURNING OF THE CONVENT. 
 
 them, of course I should have — Ah ! " greatly 
 relieved, "there is our waltz at last. How beauti- 
 fully the Germanias play those Nathalie waltzes ! 
 Allow me," and Mr. Dandy let his eye-glass 
 drop from the socket in which he had stuck it, 
 and put forth a gracefully curving arm to encircle 
 my waist. 
 
 " Excuse me," said I coldly, drawing back, "but 
 I don't like a feeble partner. I like to be held 
 up firmly when I waltz, and that arm," and I 
 looked significantly at the outstretched member, 
 "must be weak indeed which had not strength 
 to uplift itself in defence of helpless women and 
 girls." 
 
 " I had him there ! " was my elegant reflection, 
 as I walked away, fanning my flushed face, and 
 rejoicing that my skill as a dancer, which Mrs. 
 Barryrnore had praised at the Convent, was now 
 sufficiently developed to make my refusal of Mr. 
 Dandy for a partner a mortification to him. 
 
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