Twice-Told Tales

by Nathaniel Hawthorne

  THE SHAKER BRIDAL

  One day, in the sick chamber of Father Ephraim, who had beenforty years the presiding elder over the Shaker settlement atGoshen, there was an assemblage of several of the chief men ofthe sect. Individuals had come from the rich establishment atLebanon, from Canterbury, Harvard, and Alfred, and from all theother localities where this strange people have fertilized therugged hills of New England by their systematic industry. Anelder was likewise there, who had made a pilgrimage of a thousandmiles from a village of the faithful in Kentucky, to visit hisspiritual kindred, the children of the sainted mother Ann. He hadpartaken of the homely abundance of their tables, had quaffed thefar-famed Shaker cider, and had joined in the sacred dance, everystep of which is believed to alienate the enthusiast from earth,and bear him onward to heavenly purity and bliss. His brethren ofthe north had now courteously invited him to be present on anoccasion, when the concurrence of every eminent member of theircommunity was peculiarly desirable.

  The venerable Father Ephraim sat in his easy chair, not onlyhoary headed and infirm with age, but worn down by a lingeringdisease, which, it was evident, would very soon transfer hispatriarchal staff to other hands. At his footstool stood a manand woman, both clad in the Shaker garb.

  "My brethren," said Father Ephraim to the surrounding elders,feebly exerting himself to utter these few words, "here are theson and daughter to whom I would commit the trust of whichProvidence is about to lighten my weary shoulders. Read theirfaces, I pray you, and say whether the inward movement of thespirit hath guided my choice aright."

  Accordingly, each elder looked at the two candidates with a mostscrutinizing gaze. The man, whose name was Adam Colburn, had aface sunburnt with labor in the fields, yet intelligent,thoughtful, and traced with cares enough for a whole lifetime,though he had barely reached middle age. There was somethingsevere in his aspect, and a rigidity throughout his person,characteristics that caused him generally to be taken for aschool-master, which vocation, in fact, he had formerly exercisedfor several years. The woman, Martha Pierson, was somewhat abovethirty, thin and pale, as a Shaker sister almost invariably is,and not entirely free from that corpse-like appearance which thegarb of the sisterhood is so well calculated to impart.

  "This pair are still in the summer of their years," observed theelder from Harvard, a shrewd old man. "I would like better to seethe hoar-frost of autumn on their heads. Methinks, also, theywillbe exposed to peculiar temptations, on account of the carnaldesires which have heretofore subsisted between them."

  "Nay, brother," said the elder from Canterbury, "the hoar-frostand the black-frost hath done its work on Brother Adam and SisterMartha, even as we sometimes discern its traces in ourcornfields, while they are yet green. And why should we questionthe wisdom of our venerable Father's purpose although this pair,in their early youth, have loved one another as the world'speople love? Are there not many brethren and sisters among us,who have lived long together in wedlock, yet, adopting our faith,find their hearts purified from all but spiritual affection?"

  Whether or no the early loves of Adam and Martha had rendered itinexpedient that they should now preside together over a Shakervillage, it was certainly most singular that such should be thefinal result of many warm and tender hopes. Children ofneighboring families, their affection was older even than theirschool-days; it seemed an innate principle, interfused among alltheir sentiments and feelings, and not so much a distinctremembrance, as connected with their whole volume ofremembrances. But, just as they reached a proper age for theirunion, misfortunes had fallen heavily on both, and made itnecessary that they should resort to personal labor for a baresubsistence. Even under these circumstances, Martha Pierson wouldprobably have consented to unite her fate with Adam Colburn's,and, secure of the bliss of mutual love, would patiently haveawaited the less important gifts of fortune. But Adam, being of acalm and cautious character, was loath to relinquish theadvantages which a single man possesses for raising himself inthe world. Year after year, therefore, their marriage had beendeferred. Adam Colburn had followed many vocations, had travelledfar, and seen much of the world and of life. Martha had earnedher bread sometimes as a seamstress, sometimes as help to afarmer's wife, sometimes as school-mistress of the villagechildren, sometimes as a nurse or watcher of the sick, thusacquiring a varied experience, the ultimate use of which shelittle anticipated. But nothing had gone prosperously with eitherof the lovers; at no subsequent moment would matrimony have beenso prudent a measure as when they had first parted, in theopening bloom of life, to seek a better fortune. Still they hadheld fast their mutual faith. Martha might have been the wife ofa man who sat among the senators of his native state, and Adamcould have won the hand, as he had unintentionally won the heart,of a rich and comely widow. But neither of them desired goodfortune save to share it with the other.

  At length that calm despair which occurs only in a strong andsomewhat stubborn character, and yields to no second spring ofhope, settled down on the spirit of Adam Colburn. He sought aninterview with Martha, and proposed that they should join theSociety of Shakers. The converts of this sect are oftener drivenwithin its hospitable gates by worldly misfortune than drawnthither by fanaticism and are received without inquisition as totheir motives. Martha, faithful still, had placed her hand inthat of her lover, and accompanied him to the Shaker village.Here the natural capacity of each, cultivated and strengthened bythe difficulties of their previous lives, had soon gained them animportant rank in the Society, whose members are generally belowthe ordinary standard of intelligence. Their faith and feelingshad, in some degree, become assimilated to those of theirfellow-worshippers. Adam Colburn gradually acquired reputation,not only in the management of the temporal affairs of theSociety, but as a clear and efficient preacher of theirdoctrines. Martha was not less distinguished in the duties properto her sex. Finally, when the infirmities of Father Ephraim hadadmonished him to seek a successor in his patriarchal office, hethought of Adam and Martha, and proposed to renew, in theirpersons, the primitive form of Shaker government, as establishedby Mother Ann. They were to be the Father and Mother of thevillage. The simple ceremony, which would constitute them such,was now to be performed.

  "Son Adam, and daughter Martha," said the venerable FatherEphraim, fixing his aged eyes piercingly upon them, "if ye canconscientiously undertake this charge, speak, that the brethrenmay not doubt of your fitness."

  "Father," replied Adam, speaking with the calmness of hischaracter, "I came to your village a disappointed man, weary ofthe world, worn out with continual trouble, seeking only asecurity against evil fortune, as I had no hope of good. Even mywishes of worldly success were almost dead within me. I camehither as a man might come to a tomb, willing to lie down in itsgloom and coldness, for the sake of its peace and quiet. Therewas but one earthly affection in my breast, and it had growncalmer since my youth; so that I was satisfied to bring Martha tobe my sister, in our new abode. We are brother and sister; norwould I have it otherwise. And in this peaceful village I havefound all that I hoped for,--all that I desire. I will strive,with my best strength, for the spiritual and temporal good of ourcommunity. My conscience is not doubtful in this matter. I amready to receive the trust."

  "Thou hast spoken well, son Adam," said the Father. "God willbless thee in the office which I am about to resign."

  "But our sister!" observed the elder from Harvard, "hath she notlikewise a gift to declare her sentiments?"

  Martha started, and moved her lips, as if she would have made aformal reply to this appeal. But, had she attempted it, perhapsthe old recollections, the long-repressed feelings of childhood,youth, and womanhood, might have gushed from her heart, in wordsthat it would have been profanation to utter there.

  "Adam has spoken," said she hurriedly; "his sentiments arelikewise mine."

  But while speaking these few words, Martha grew so pale that shelooked fitter to be laid in her coffin than to stand in thepresence of Father Ephraim and the elders; she shuddered, also,as
if there were something awful or horrible in her situation anddestiny. It required, indeed, a more than feminine strength ofnerve, to sustain the fixed observance of men so exalted andfamous throughout the sect as these were. They had overcome theirnatural sympathy with human frailties and affections. One, whenhe joined the Society, had brought with him his wife andchildren, but never, from that hour, had spoken a fond word tothe former, or taken his best-loved child upon his knee. Another,whose family refused to follow him, had been enabled--such washis gift of holy fortitude--to leave them to the mercy of theworld. The youngest of the elders, a man of about fifty, had beenbred from infancy in a Shaker village, and was said never to haveclasped a woman's hand in his own, and to have no conception of acloser tie than the cold fraternal one of the sect. Old FatherEphraim was the most awful character of all. In his youth he hadbeen a dissolute libertine, but was converted by Mother Annherself, and had partaken of the wild fanaticism of the earlyShakers. Tradition whispered, at the firesides of the village,that Mother Ann had been compelled to sear his heart of fleshwith a red-hot iron before it could be purified from earthlypassions.

  However that might be, poor Martha had a woman's heart, and atender one, and it quailed within her, as she looked round atthose strange old men, and from them to the calm features of AdamColburn. But perceiving that the elders eyed her doubtfully, shegasped for breath, and again spoke.

  "With what strength is left me by my many troubles," said she, "Iam ready to undertake this charge, and to do my best in it."

  "My children, join your hands," said Father Ephraim.

  They did so. The elders stood up around, and the Father feeblyraised himself to a more erect position, but continued sitting inhis great chair.

  "I have bidden you to join your hands," said he, "not in earthlyaffection, for ye have cast off its chains forever; but asbrother and sister in spiritual love, and helpers of one anotherin your allotted task. Teach unto others the faith which ye havereceived. Open wide your gates,--I deliver you the keysthereof,--open them wide to all who will give up the iniquitiesof the world, and come hither to lead lives of purity and peace.Receive the weary ones, who have known the vanity ofearth,--receive the little children, that they may never learnthat miserable lesson. And a blessing be upon your labors; sothat the time may hasten on, when the mission of Mother Ann shallhave wrought its full effect,--when children shall no more beborn and die, and the last survivor of mortal race, some old andweary man like me, shall see the sun go down, nevermore to riseon a world of sin and sorrow!"

  The aged Father sank back exhausted, and the surrounding eldersdeemed, with good reason, that the hour was come when the newheads of the village must enter on their patriarchal duties. Intheir attention to Father Ephraim, their eyes were turned fromMartha Pierson, who grew paler and paler, unnoticed even by AdamColburn. He, indeed, had withdrawn his hand from hers, and foldedhis arms with a sense of satisfied ambition. But paler and palergrew Martha by his side, till, like a corpse in its burialclothes, she sank down at the feet of her early lover; for, aftermany trials firmly borne, her heart could endure the weight ofits desolate agony no longer.

  ENDICOTT AND THE RED CROSS

  At noon of on autumnal day, more than two centuries ago, theEnglish colors were displayed by the standard-bearer of the Salemtrainband, which had mustered for martial exercise under theorders of John Endicott. It was a period when the religiousexiles were accustomed often to buckle on their armor, andpractise the handling of their weapons of war. Since the firstsettlement of New England, its prospects had never been sodismal. The dissensions between Charles the First and hissubjects were then, and for several years afterwards, confined tothe floor of Parliament. The measures of the King and ministrywere rendered more tyrannically violent by an opposition, whichhad not yet acquired sufficient confidence in its own strength toresist royal injustice with the sword. The bigoted and haughtyprimate, Laud, Archbishop of Canterbury, controlled the religiousaffairs of the realm, and was consequently invested with powerswhich might have wrought the utter ruin of the two Puritancolonies, Plymouth and Massachusetts. There is evidence on recordthat our forefathers perceived their danger, but were resolvedthat their infant country should not fall without a struggle,even beneath the giant strength of the King's right arm.

  Such was the aspect of the times when the folds of the Englishbanner, with the Red Cross in its field, were flung out over acompany of Puritans. Their leader, the famous Endicott, was a manof stern and resolute countenance, the effect of which washeightened by a grizzled beard that swept the upper portion ofhis breastplate. This piece of armor was so highly polished thatthe whole surrounding scene had its image in the glitteringsteel. The central object in the mirrored picture was an edificeof humble architecture with neither steeple nor bell to proclaimit--what nevertheless it was--the house of prayer. A token of theperils of the wilderness was seen in the grim head of a wolf,which had just been slain within the precincts of the town, andaccording to the regular mode of claiming the bounty, was nailedon the porch of the meeting-house. The blood was still plashingon the doorstep. There happened to be visible, at the samenoontide hour, so many other characteristics of the times andmanners of the Puritans, that we must endeavor to represent themin a sketch, though far less vividly than they were reflected inthe polished breastplate of John Endicott.

  In close vicinity to the sacred edifice appeared that importantengine of Puritanic authority, the whipping-post--with the soilaround it well trodden by the feet of evil doers, who had therebeen disciplined. At one corner of the meeting-house was thepillory, and at the other the stocks; and, by a singular goodfortune for our sketch, the head of an Episcopalian and suspectedCatholic was grotesquely incased in the former machine while afellow-criminal, who had boisterously quaffed a health to theking, was confined by the legs in the latter. Side by side, onthe meeting-house steps, stood a male and a female figure. Theman was a tall, lean, haggard personification of fanaticism,bearing on his breast this label,--A WANTON GOSPELLER,--whichbetokened that he had dared to give interpretations of Holy Writunsanctioned by the infallible judgment of the civil andreligious rulers. His aspect showed no lack of zeal to maintainhis heterodoxies, even at the stake. The woman wore a cleft stickon her tongue, in appropriate retribution for having wagged thatunruly member against the elders of the church; and hercountenance and gestures gave much cause to apprehend that, themoment the stick should be removed, a repetition of the offencewould demand new ingenuity in chastising it.

  The above-mentioned individuals had been sentenced to undergotheir various modes of ignominy, for the space of one hour atnoonday. But among the crowd were several whose punishment wouldbe life-long; some, whose ears had been cropped, like those ofpuppy dogs; others, whose cheeks had been branded with theinitials of their misdemeanors; one, with his nostrils slit andseared; and another, with a halter about his neck, which he wasforbidden ever to take off, or to conceal beneath his garments.Methinks he must have been grievously tempted to affix the otherend of the rope to some convenient beam or bough. There waslikewise a young woman, with no mean share of beauty, whose doomit was to wear the letter A on the breast of her gown, in theeyes of all the world and her own children. And even her ownchildren knew what that initial signified. Sporting with herinfamy, the lost and desperate creature had embroidered the fataltoken in scarlet cloth, with golden thread and the nicest art ofneedlework; so that the capital A might have been thought to meanAdmirable, or anything rather than Adulteress.

  Let not the reader argue, from any of these evidences ofiniquity, that the times of the Puritans were more vicious thanour own, when, as we pass along the very street of this sketch,we discern no badge of infamy on man or woman. It was the policyof our ancestors to search out even the most secret sins, andexpose them to shame, without fear or favor, in the broadestlight of the noonday sun. Were such the custom now, perchance wemight find materials for a no less piquant sketch than the above.

  Except the malefactors whom we have descr
ibed, and the diseasedor infirm persons, the whole male population of the town, betweensixteen years and sixty, were seen in the ranks of the trainband.A few stately savages, in all the pomp and dignity of theprimeval Indian, stood gazing at the spectacle. Theirflint-headed arrows were but childish weapons compared with thematchlocks of the Puritans, and would have rattled harmlesslyagainst the steel caps and hammered iron breastplates whichinclosed each soldier in an individual fortress. The valiant JohnEndicott glanced with an eye of pride at his sturdy followers,and prepared to renew the martial toils of the day.

  "Come, my stout hearts!" quoth he, drawing his sword. "Let usshow these poor heathen that we can handle our weapons like menof might. Well for them, if they put us not to prove it inearnest!"

  The iron-breasted company straightened their line, and each mandrew the heavy butt of his matchlock close to his left foot, thusawaiting the orders of the captain. But, as Endicott glancedright and left along the front, he discovered a personage at somelittle distance with whom it behooved him to hold a parley. Itwas an elderly gentleman, wearing a black cloak and band, and ahigh-crowned hat, beneath which was a velvet skull-cap, the wholebeing the garb of a Puritan minister. This reverend person bore astaff which seemed to have been recently cut in the forest, andhis shoes were bemired as if he had been travelling on footthrough the swamps of the wilderness. His aspect was perfectlythat of a pilgrim, heightened also by an apostolic dignity. Justas Endicott perceived him he laid aside his staff, and stooped todrink at a bubbling fountain which gushed into the sunshine abouta score of yards from the corner of the meeting-house. But, erethe good man drank, he turned his face heavenward inthankfulness, and then, holding back his gray beard with onehand, he scooped up his simple draught in the hollow of theother.

  "What, ho! good Mr. Williams," shouted Endicott. "You are welcomeback again to our town of peace. How does our worthy GovernorWinthrop? And what news from Boston?"

  "The Governor hath his health, worshipful Sir," answered RogerWilliams, now resuming his staff, and drawing near. "And for thenews, here is a letter, which, knowing I was to travel hitherwardto-day, his Excellency committed to my charge. Belike it containstidings of much import; for a ship arrived yesterday fromEngland."

  Mr. Williams, the minister of Salem and of course known to allthe spectators, had now reached the spot where Endicott wasstanding under the banner of his company, and put the Governor'sepistle into his hand. The broad seal was impressed withWinthrop's coat of arms. Endicott hastily unclosed the letter andbegan to read, while, as his eye passed down the page, a wrathfulchange came over his manly countenance. The blood glowed throughit, till it seemed to be kindling with an internal heat, nor wasit unnatural to suppose that his breastplate would likewisebecome red-hot with the angry fire of the bosom which it covered.Arriving at the conclusion, he shook the letter fiercely in hishand, so that it rustled as loud as the flag above his head.

  "Black tidings these, Mr. Williams," said he; "blacker never cameto New England. Doubtless you know their purport?"

  "Yea, truly," replied Roger Williams; "for the Governorconsulted, respecting this matter, with my brethren in theministry at Boston; and my opinion was likewise asked. And hisExcellency entreats you by me, that the news be not suddenlynoised abroad, lest the people be stirred up unto some outbreak,and thereby give the King and the Archbishop a handle againstus."

  "The Governor is a wise man--a wise man, and a meek andmoderate," said Endicott, setting his teeth grimly."Nevertheless, I must do according to my own best judgment. Thereis neither man, woman, nor child in New England, but has aconcern as dear as life in these tidings; and if John Endicott'svoice be loud enough, man, woman, and child shall hear them.Soldiers, wheel into a hollow square! Ho, good people! Here arenews for one and all of you."

  The soldiers closed in around their captain; and he and RogerWilliams stood together under the banner of the Red Cross; whilethe women and the aged men pressed forward, and the mothers heldup their children to look Endicott in the face. A few taps of thedrum gave signal for silence and attention.

  "Fellow-soldiers--fellow-exiles," began Endicott, speaking understrong excitement, yet powerfully restraining it, "wherefore didye leave your native country? Wherefore, I say, have we left thegreen and fertile fields, the cottages, or, perchance, the oldgray halls, where we were born and bred, the churchyards whereour forefathers lie buried? Wherefore have we come hither to setup our own tombstones in a wilderness? A howling wilderness itis! The wolf and the bear meet us within halloo of our dwellings.The savage lieth in wait for us in the dismal shadow of thewoods. The stubborn roots of the trees break our ploughshares,when we would till the earth. Our children cry for bread, and wemust dig in the sands of the sea-shore to satisfy them.Wherefore, I say again, have we sought this country of a ruggedsoil and wintry sky? Was it not for the enjoyment of our civilrights? Was it not for liberty to worship God according to ourconscience?"

  "Call you this liberty of conscience?" interrupted a voice on thesteps of the meeting-house.

  It was the Wanton Gospeller. A sad and quiet smile flitted acrossthe mild visage of Roger Williams. But Endicott, in theexcitement of the moment, shook his sword wrathfully at theculprit--an ominous gesture from a man like him.

  "What hast thou to do with conscience, thou knave?" cried he. "Isaid liberty to worship God, not license to profane and ridiculehim. Break not in upon my speech, or I will lay thee neck andheels till this time tomorrow! Hearken to me, friends, nor heedthat accursed rhapsodist. As I was saying, we have sacrificed allthings, and have come to a land whereof the old world hathscarcely heard, that we might make a new world unto ourselves,and painfully seek a path from hence to heaven. But what think yenow? This son of a Scotch tyrant--this grandson of a Papisticaland adulterous Scotch woman, whose death proved that a goldencrown doth not always save an anointed head from the block--"

  "Nay, brother, nay," interposed Mr. Williams; "thy words are notmeet for a secret chamber, far less for a public street."

  "Hold thy peace, Roger Williams!" answered Endicott, imperiously."My spirit is wiser than thine for the business now in hand. Itell ye, fellow-exiles, that Charles of England, and Laud, ourbitterest persecutor, arch-priest of Canterbury, are resolute topursue us even hither. They are taking counsel, saith thisletter, to send over a governor-general, in whose breast shall bedeposited all the law and equity of the land. They are minded,also, to establish the idolatrous forms of English Episcopacy; sothat, when Laud shall kiss the Pope's toe, as cardinal of Rome,he may deliver New England, bound hand and foot, into the powerof his master!"

  A deep groan from the auditors,--a sound of wrath, as well asfear and sorrow,--responded to this intelligence.

  "Look ye to it, brethren," resumed Endicott, with increasingenergy. "If this king and this arch-prelate have their will, weshall briefly behold a cross on the spire of this tabernaclewhich we have builded, and a high altar within its walls, withwax tapers burning round it at noonday. We shall hear the sacringbell, and the voices of the Romish priests saying the mass. Butthink ye, Christian men, that these abominations may be sufferedwithout a sword drawn? without a shot fired? without blood spilt,yea, on the very stairs of the pulpit? No,--be ye strong of handand stout of heart! Here we stand on our own soil, which we havebought with our goods, which we have won with our swords, whichwe have cleared with our axes, which we have tilled with thesweat of our brows, which we have sanctified with our prayers tothe God that brought us hither! Who shall enslave us here? Whathave we to do with this mitred prelate,--with this crowned king?What have we to do with England?"

  Endicott gazed round at the excited countenances of the people,now full of his own spirit, and then turned suddenly to thestandard-bearer, who stood close behind him.

  "Officer, lower your banner!" said he.

  The officer obeyed; and, brandishing his sword, Endicott thrustit through the cloth, and, with his left hand, rent the Red Crosscompletely out of the banner. He then waved the tattered ensignabove his
head.

  "Sacrilegious wretch!" cried the high-churchman in the pillory,unable longer to restrain himself, "thou hast rejected the symbolof our holy religion!"

  "Treason, treason!" roared the royalist in the stocks. "He hathdefaced the King's banner!"

  "Before God and man, I will avouch the deed," answered Endicott."Beat a flourish, drummer!--shout, soldiers and people!--in honorof the ensign of New England. Neither Pope nor Tyrant hath partin it now!"

  With a cry of triumph, the people gave their sanction to one ofthe boldest exploits which our history records. And foreverhonored be the name of Endicott! We look back through the mist ofages, and recognize in the rending of the Red Cross from NewEngland's banner the first omen of that deliverance which ourfathers consummated after the bones of the stern Puritan had lainmore than a century in the dust.