Maine's First Governor
A stalwart country lad, in a crude
homespun suit of his mother's weaving such as all New England
boys used to wear in the days when America was young, stood one
bright autumn morning a century ago at a cross road of the
high-way which leads from Portland to Portsmouth. Two coal black
steers were nibbling at the grass along the roadside near the
boy and showed as little haste as he to be on their way. The lad
was young William King of Scarboro, who had that morning left
his mother's home at Dunstan's Landing and had set out to make
his fortune in the world, accompanied only by the two black
steers, which were his share of his dead father's property.
Just where he should go to seek the
fortune he was so confident of finding, was the problem while
young King was facing there at the cross roads. Both highways
invited him. On one hand, the road lay through long aisles of
cool forest trees, while on the other a dusty brown ribbon of
broken turf reached out through fertile fields and flowering
meadows. Low-roofed farm houses were visible here and there.
Cattle were feeding in the fields and newly-planted crops of
corn and potatoes gave promise of a splendid harvest.
|
Governor William King |
Suddenly a loud "Caw! Caw!" aroused the
boy from his thoughts and, flying just above his head, he saw a
huge black crow, looking for his breakfast among the tender,
green tips of the corn. He watched the bird until it faded in a
small black speck in the distance along the highway leading
towards Portland.
"I'll follow the crow," decided William
King, and, driving his steers before him, he took the route
which led him first to Portland and eventually to Bath.
The young man, scarcely twenty-one years
old, whose destination was decided by the crow, later became the
first Governor of Maine. Had not the crow pointed out the way,
William King might have taken the Portsmouth Pike and a great
statesman have been lost to the Pine Tree State.
William King was born in Scarboro in
1768 and his family was one of the most illustrious in the
State. His grandfather, Richard King, came from England and
settled in Massachusetts in the 18th century. William was one of
the younger members of the family and because of his father's
early death did not have the educational advantages of his
brothers. He entered the sawmill business in Topsham shortly
after he was twenty-one and soon extended his business to large
ship-building ventures. At the age of twenty-seven he had made a
name for himself in politics.
In the War of 1812, he took an active
part in the defense of Maine against the English. For years he
was the Maine representative to the Massachusetts Legislature
and it was due largely to his efforts that Maine was separated
from the mother state in 1820. His people honored him by
electing him their first governor and he filled the office for a
year with honor and dignity. In 1821, he was called by President
Monroe to make one of a commission to settle the United States
claims in Florida and left Maine for a time. He died at his home
in Bath, July 17, 1852, at the age of 85. In that city, Maine
has erected over his resting place an imposing granite shaft.
Such is a brief history of the great
man's life, but side by side with these bare events are
innumerable stories and incidents which give illuminating
side-lights on the character of the State's first Governor.
These personal touches, which give him
the place he deserves in the hearts of Maine people of later
generations, have escaped the pages of history and are to be
learned only by sympathetic poring over old records and letters
handed down by friends and relatives of the splendid old
Governor's own day.
A story of interest deals with the
bringing of his bride to Bath by young William King, who had
then become one of the most promising citizens of that city
which he had adopted for his home. On a Sabbath morning near the
close of the 18th century, the first families of Bath were
calmly making their way to the Old North Church. The ladies in
elaborate, flaring silk gowns and quaint beribboned bonnets
seemed to be occupied with other than their usual Sunday
thoughts. They were talking excitedly in half-suppressed
whispers, while to the right and left strict watch was kept for
the approach of some looked-for stranger.
"She was the belle of the season in
Boston society last winter," murmured a stately dame to her
companion as they paused at the entrance of the church.
"Indeed, she is the greatest beauty of
the year," commented a serious-faced gentleman to a group of his
fellows.
''And as charming as she is beautiful," added another.
''And as wise as she is charming,"
remarked a dignified citizen in a military coat, who had just
joined the group in the church-yard.
"Her gown should be of the latest Boston
style," hopefully suggested a fashionably attired girl, whose
thoughts seemed to have strayed to worldly subjects.
The church bell tolled its final summons
and the curious crowd passed indoors and settled down for
morning worship. William King was that day to bring his bride to
Bath and, as was the custom of the times, her first appearance
was to be at the Sabbath service at the Old North Church. King
was one of the most sought-after young men in Bath, while his
bride was hailed as one of the beauties of the decade. The young
statesman had been in Boston on state business when the charms
of young Mistress Anne Frazier had captivated him. He had
pressed his suit with ardor and had sent home glowing-accounts
of his bride's loveliness.
Service had begun in the old church when
its darkened hush was broken by a silken rustle and William King
and his lady appeared. Down the aisle they moved, observed by
all the eager watchers, the bride, indeed, in her grace
fulfilled all expectations. The bridegroom, his tall figure clad
in the famous military coat with its vivid scarlet lining, and
his face alight with pride, looked every inch the "king" his
name proclaimed him.
The young people took their places in
their pew and service continued. At its close, on the church
green, the ladies and gentlemen of the congregation, prominent
in the civil and social life of Bath, welcomed Mrs. King to the
place of leader, which she filled so graciously until her death.
The years following the War of 1812, in
which William King played a valiant part, were years of
political strife for him. In the Massachusetts legislature, he
put up a vigorous fight for the separation of Maine from the
mother state. In 1820, when Maine became a commonwealth in its
own right, he was one of the members of the legislative body
which drew up its constitution and his personal genius as a
statesman is responsible for some of its leading articles. At
the first state election he was the one logical candidate for
Governor and his election was practically unanimous. Everyone in
Maine knew him, his political record was an open book and his
personal popularity was phenomenal. For one year he served Maine
as her first magistrate.
Though entirely happy in his home life
and successful in politics, with the church he was always out of
harmony. His religious views were too liberal for Maine in those
early years. The card parties held often in the big house were a
source of never ending controversy between him and the ministry.
The Governor frequently invited a group of intimates to the big
house for a hand at cards, and thus, in the long parlor of the
King mansion with the breeze from the Kennebec blowing gently
through the room, many a quiet afternoon was passed. The old
Governor was passionately fond of the game and would clap the
cards down on the table with a thunderous noise, but never was
he known to be other than a perfect host. Always there was
refreshment for the gentlemen and tea for the ladies. After the
cards were put away, the huge coach of the Kings would be called
and the guests whirled away to their homes behind the Governor's
own fast horses.
Some worthy member of the Old North
Church, considering it his sacred duty to remonstrate with the
Governor on his evil ways, took him to task with the remark:
"Card playing means cheating. I could never refrain from it were
I, perchance, to play."
Quick as a flash came the retort from
Gov. King whose temper was never of the smoothest: "I dare say
that's true, but never fear, I never allow myself to play in
such company as yours."
Matters went from bad to worse until the
Governor severed his connection with the Old North and with a
sudden shifting of course joined the rival organization, the Old
South. He tried in vain to induce his wife to join with him,
though in later years he himself returned to the church of which
he had first been a member. In explaining his difficulties with
the church, he was wont to tell the following story:
"It's about like this," his Excellency
would say. "Once there was an obliging young chap of a
wood-chuck who had dug a hole for his winter home and stored it
full of nuts. The storms came on and it was bitterly cold. A
shiftless skunk came along and, seeing the woodchuck's warm
home, asked to be let in. Little woodchuck gave him a hearty
welcome. The skunk got warm and when the time came when he
should have thanked his host and left, he refused to go. He
stayed and stayed. He slept in the woodchuck's bed and ate the
woodchuck's food, and pretty soon the woodchuck began to smell
like a skunk and things got so bad that Mr. Woodchuck had to
move out and spend the winter as best he could out in the cold
and snow. That's about the way it is with me and the church."
A huge tract of land in that portion of
Maine where the village of Kingfield now flourishes, came,
during his active political life, into Gov. King's possession.
He made frequent visits to it, and there under his patronage a
settlement was made. On one of his visits, Mrs. King accompanied
him and as she and the general were approaching the village, he
called her attention to the beauties of the country-side and
asked her what she thought would be an appropriate name for the
town. Glancing over the fertile fields and across the hills, she
quickly replied, "Why not call it Kingsfield?" The village was
so named, though in later years the "s" has been dropped.
Towards the last of his life the mind of
the splendid old Governor lost much of its brilliance and his
later years were darkened by poor health, an enfeebled
intellect, and a long series of domestic sorrows. It was on July
17, 1852, at the age of 85 years that he passed away in his home
city.
A visit to Bath reveals much of interest
relating to the old Governor. The mansion by the Kennebec is now
the site of King's Tavern, while, a few miles from the business
section, a quaint stone house, with tall cathedral windows and
with the gay garden and spreading trees of olden times, is still
standing just as it was when Gov. King and his lady so royally
welcomed their guests to their summer home.
Ione Fales Winans
|