Page:Blackwood's Magazine volume 147.djvu/256
drove people away. Stow, the antiquary, gives an account of the affair:—
“In 1287 a Justus was proclaimed to bee holden at Buttolph’s toune, or Boston, in the faire time, whereof one part of the Justers came in the habit of monkes; the other, as defendants, in the habite of channons. Both these sortes of Justers had covenanted, after the Justes, to spoyle the faire; for atchieving whereof they fiered the towne in three severall places on the morrowe after Saint James’ Day, that they might more freely spoyle and sacke the residue; and whilst the merchants were busie to save their goods, and quench the fire, they were slaine downe by the said Justers, and their partakers. By this fiering the Blacke Friers’ church was burnt, and almost the whole towne, so that, as it was said, streames of gold and other mettals molten ran into the sea. As it was moreover said, that all the money in ready coine within England, would beneath recompence the losse then sustained. The captaine of which mischiefe was Robert Chamberlaine, Esquire, who was afterwards hanged, but would never confesse his fellowes.”
Chamberlain’s émeute must have done the place great injury. But the people pulled themselves together. How they set to work to rebuild, to found a church, the noble pile now standing, and how they brought their prosperity up to a higher pitch, are matters of some interest. The foundation-stone of a new church was laid, Boston was made a staple town, and the Hanseatic League estabtished a guild. This League was a union of German cities for mutual protection, and the vindication of their independence. These aims appealed to the sturdy and freedom-loving Bostonians. The relations with the Netherlands had always been close from the earliest days, and the Reformation movement there found echo in many a heart in Boston town; for was it not in Holland that the Pilgrim Fathers first took refuge in their flight from England?
With the exception of one, St. Mary’s, all the guild halls, and indeed most of the merchants’ houses, have now disappeared. Although Boston is a picturesque place, still there are few, if any, really old houses left—houses of the time when the town had not assumed the tranquil air of the nineteenth century. To be sure, there is a gable end of Pescod House, once the residence of the Pescod family. Down a lane running off the market-place is the old “bit,” cheek-by-jowl with a red brick warehouse. It will soon disappear, for the proprietor, a bacon merchant, has no room to spare, and utility is the order of the day.
But as a tremendous balance on the other side—as a plenary compensation for the lack of old dwelling-houses—there is the parish church of St Botolph, the pride of all Bostonians, and the wonder and admiration of all visitors. Boston “stump,”’ the lofty beacon-light of the old days, is a lasting example of grace and skill, and has weathered the storms of more than 400 years, Its great height of 300 feet is enhanced by the surrounding level country. Miss Ingelow, in her beautiful poem, the “High Tide on the Lincolnshire Coast, 1571,” describes how
And not a shadow mote be seene,
Save where full fyve good miles away,
The steeple towered from out the greene.’’
And so it is a landmark over the whole country-side, and far out in the North Sea a beacon for the toiling, weary fisherman. To attempt a description of the church, and do it full justice, would re-