by Howard Pyle
CHAPTER XXXIII.
Mistress Ann Putnam’s Fair Warning.
In the course of the next day the removal of the three prisoners became known to everybody. Master Raymond wondered when he heard it, whether it was a check-mate to the plan of escape, with which the magistrates, in some way had become acquainted; or whether it was a mere chance coincidence. Finally he satisfied himself that it was the latter — though no doubt suggested by the rather loose threats of Master English’s many sailors.
When jailer Foster returned, he found means to inform Master Raymond that it had been entirely impossible — so suddenly was the whole thing sprung upon him — to let anyone in their secret know of what was going on. He had not even taken the assistant jailer, his own son, into his confidence, because he did not wish to expose him to needless danger. His son was not required to afford any help, and therefore it would be unwise to incur any risk of punishment. Besides, while Uncle Robie had made up his mind to do some tall lying of his own for the sake of saving innocent lives, he saw no reason why his son, should be placed under a similar necessity. Lying seemed to be absolutely needful in the case; but it was well to do as little of it as possible.
From his conversation with Master Herrick, Uncle Robie concluded that nothing had been divulged; and that the magistrates had acted only on the supposition that trouble of some kind might result from the sailors. And, looked at from that point of view, it was quite sufficient to account for the removal of two of the prisoners. As to why Dulcibel also should be sent to Boston, he could get no satisfactory explanation. It seemed in fact to be a matter of mere caprice, so far as uncle Robie could find out.
They had pushed on through the night to Boston — about a four hours’ slow ride — and delivered the three prisoners safely to the keeper of Boston jail. Uncle Robie adding the assurance to Goodwife Buckley — who acted as Master Raymond’s confidential agent in the matter — that he had spoken a word to his old crony who believed no more in witches than he did, which would insure to her as kind treatment as possible. And Robie further said that he had been assured by the Boston jailer, that Mistress Phips, the wife of the Governor, had no sympathy whatever with the witchcraft prosecutions, but a great deal of sympathy for the victims of it.
The game was therefore played out at Salem, now that Dulcibel had been transferred to Boston; and Master Raymond began to make arrangements at once to leave the place. In some respects the change of scene was for the worse; for he had no hold upon the Boston jailer, and had no friend there like Joseph Putnam, prepared to go to any length on his behalf. But, on the other hand, in Boston they seemed outside of the circle of Mistress Ann Putnam’s powerful and malign influence. This of itself was no small gain; and, thinking over the whole matter, Master Raymond came to the conclusion that perhaps the chances of escape would be even greater in Boston than in Salem.
So, in the course of the ensuing week, Master Raymond took an affectionate leave of his kind young host and hostess, and departed for Boston town, avowedly on his way back to his English home. This last was of course brought out prominently in all his leave-takings — he was, after a short stay in Boston, to embark for England. “What shall I send you from England?” was among his last questions to the various members of the “afflicted circle.” And one said laughingly one thing, and one another; the young man taking it gravely, and making a note in his little notebook of each request. If things should come to the worst, he was putting himself in a good position to influence the character of the testimony. A hundred pounds in this way would be money well employed.
Even to Mistress Ann Putnam he did not hesitate to put the same question, after a friendly leave-taking. Mistress Putnam rather liked the young Englishman; it was mainly against Dulcibel as the friend of her brother-in-law that she had warred; and if Master Raymond had not also been the warm friend and guest of Joseph Putnam, she might have relented in her persecution of Dulcibel for his sake. But her desire to pain and punish Master Joseph, — who had said so many things against her in the Putnam family — overpowered all such sentimental considerations. Besides, what Dulcibel had said of her when before the magistrates, had greatly incensed her.
“What shall you send me from England? And are you really going back there?” And she fixed her cold green eyes upon the young man’s face.
“Oh, yes, I am going back again, like the bad penny,” replied Master Raymond smiling.
“How soon?”
“Oh, I cannot say exactly. Perhaps the Boston gentlemen may be so fascinating that they will detain me longer than I have planned.”
“Is it because the Salem gentlewomen are so fascinating that you have remained here? We feel quite complimented in the village by the length of your visit.”
“Yes, I have found the Salem gentlewomen among the most charming of their sex. But you have not told me what I shall send you from London when I return?”
“Oh, I leave that entirely with you, and to your own good taste. Perhaps by the time you get back to London, you will not wish to send me anything.”
“I cannot imagine such a case. But I shall endeavor, as you leave it all to me, to find something pretty and appropriate; something suited to the most gifted person, among men and women, that I have found in the New World.”
Mistress Putnam’s face colored with evident pleasure — even she was not averse to a compliment of this kind; knowing, as she did, that she had a wonderful intellectual capacity for planning and scheming. In fact if she had possessed as large a heart as brain, she would have been a very noble and even wonderful woman. Master Raymond thought he had told no falsehood in calling her the “most gifted” — he considered her so in certain directions.
And so they parted — the last words of Mistress Putnam being, the young man thought, very significant ones.
“I would not,” she said in a light, but still impressive manner, “if I were you, stay a very long time in Boston. There is, I think, something dangerous to the health of strangers in the air of that town, of late. It would be a very great pity for you to catch one of our deadly fevers, and never be able to return to your home and friends. Take my advice now — it is honest and well meant — and do not linger long in the dangerous air of Boston.”
Thanking her for her solicitude as to his health, Master Raymond shook her thin hand and departed. But all the ride back to Joseph Putnam’s, he was thinking over those last words.
What was their real meaning? What could they mean but this? “You are going to Boston to try to save Dulcibel Burton. I do not want to hurt you; but I may be compelled to do it. Leave Boston as soon as you can, and spare me the necessity that may arise of denouncing you also. Joseph Putnam, whom I hate, but whose person and household I am for family reasons compelled to respect, when you are in Boston is no longer your protector. I can just as easily, and even far more easily, reach you than I could reach Captain Alden. Beware how you interfere with my plans. Even while I pity you, I shall not spare you!”
CHAPTER XXXIV.
Master Raymond Goes Again to Boston.
Master Raymond had agreed to keep his friend Joseph Putnam informed by letter of his movements — for there had been a postal system established a number of years before through the Massachusetts colony — but of course he had to be very careful as to what he put upon paper; the Puritan official mind not being over-scrupulous as to the means it took of attaining its ends.
He had brought excellent letters to persons of the highest character in Boston, and had received invitations from many of them to make his home in their houses — for the Boston people of all classes, and especially the wealthy, obeyed the Scriptural injunction, and were “given to hospitality;” which I believe is true to the present day. But Master Raymond, considering the errand he was on, thought it wisest to take up his abode at an Inn — lest he might involve his entertainers in the peril attending his unlawful but righteous designs. So he took a cheery room at the Red Lion, in the northern part of the town, which was
quite a reputable house, and convenient for many purposes not the least being its proximity to the harbor, which made it a favorite resort for the better class of sea-captains.
Calling around upon the families to which he had presented letters on his first visit, immediately after his arrival in the colony, he speedily established very pleasant social relations with a good many very different circles. And he soon was able to sum up the condition of affairs in the town as follows:
First, there was by far the most numerous and the ruling sect, the Puritans. The previous Governor, shut out by King James, Sir Edmund Andros, had been an Episcopalian; but the present one sent out on the accession of William and Mary, Sir William Phips, was himself a Puritan, sitting under the weekly teachings of the Reverend Master Cotton Mather at the North church.
Then there was an Episcopal circle, composed of about four hundred people in all, meeting at King’s Chapel, built about three years before, with the Reverend Master Robert Ratcliffe as Rector.
Besides these, there was a small number of Quakers, now dwelling in peace, so far as personal manifestations were concerned, being protected by the King’s mandate. These had even grown so bold of late, as to be seeking permission to erect a meeting-house; which almost moved the Puritan divines to prophesy famine, earthquakes and pestilence as the results of such an ungodly toleration of heresy.
Then there were a number of Baptists, who also now dwelt in peace, under the King’s protection.
Adding to the foregoing the people without any religion to speak of, who principally belonged to or were connected with the seafaring class, and Master Raymond found that he had a pretty clear idea of the inhabitants of Boston.
In relation to the Witchcraft prosecutions, the young Englishman ascertained that the above classes seemed to favor the prosecutions just in proportion to the extent of their Puritan orthodoxy. The great majority of the Puritans believed devoutly in witches, and in the duty of obeying the command, “Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.” And generally in proportion to a Puritan church-member’s orthodoxy, was the extent of his belief in witchcraft, and the fierceness of his exterminating zeal.
The Episcopalians and the Baptists were either very lukewarm, or else in decided opposition to the prosecutions looking upon them as simply additional proofs of Puritan narrowness, intolerance and bigotry.
The Quakers held to the latter opinion even more firmly than the liberal Episcopalians and Baptists: adding to it the belief that it was a judgment allowed to come upon the Puritans, to punish them for their cruelty to God’s chosen messengers.
As for the seafaring class, they looked upon the whole affair as a piece of madness, which could only overtake people whose contracted notions were a result of perpetually living in one place, and that on the land. And since the arrest of a man so well thought of, and of their own class as Captain Alden, the vocabulary allowed by the law in Boston was entirely too limited to embrace adequately a seaman’s emphatic sense of the iniquitous proceedings. As one of them forcibly expressed himself to Master Raymond:— “He would be condemned, if he wouldn’t like to see the condemned town of Boston, and all its condemned preachers, buried like Port Royal, ten condemned fathoms deep, under the condemned soil upon which it was built!” He used another emphatic word of course, in the place of the word condemned; but that doubtless was because at that time they had not our “revised version” of the New Testament.
The sea-captain who expressed himself in this emphatic way to Master Raymond, was the captain in whose vessel he had come over from England, and who had made another voyage back and forth since that time. The young man was strolling around the wharves, gazing at the vessels when he had been accosted by the aforesaid captain. At that particular moment however, he had come to a stand, earnestly regarding, as he had several times before, a vessel that was lying anchored out in the stream.
After passing some additional words with the captain upon various matters, and especially upon the witches, a subject that every conversation at that time was apt to be very full of, he turned towards the water and said: —
“That seems to be a good craft out there.”
It was a vessel of two masts, slender and raking, and with a long, low hull — something of the model which a good many years later, went by the name of the Baltimore clipper.
“Yes, she is a beauty!” replied the captain.
“She looks as if she might be a good sailer.”
“Good! I reckon she is. The Storm King can show her heels to any vessel that goes out of this port — or out of London either, for that matter.”
“What is she engaged in?”
Here the captain gave a low whistle, and followed it up with a wink.
“Buccaneers occasionally, I suppose?”
“Oh, Captain Tolley is not so very condemned particular what he does — so that of course it is entirely lawful,” and the captain winked again. “He owns his vessel, you see — carries her in his pocket — and has no condemned lot of land-lubber owners on shore who cannot get away if there is any trouble, from the condemned magistrates and constables.”
“That is an advantage sometimes,” said the young man. He was thinking of his own case probably.
“Of course it is. Law is a very good thing — in its place. But if I buy a bag of coffee in the East Indies or in South America, why should I have to pay a lot of money on it, before I am allowed to sell it to the people that like coffee in some other country? Condemn it! There’s no justice in it.”
Master Raymond was in no mood just then to argue great moral questions. So he answered by asking: —
“Captain Tolley does not make too many inquiries then when a good offer is made him?”
“Do not misunderstand me, young man,” replied the captain gravely. “My friend, Captain Tolley, would be the last man to commit piracy, or anything of that kind. But just look at the case. Here Captain Tolley is, off at sea, attending to his proper business. Well, he comes into some condemned port, just to get a little water perhaps, and some fresh provisions; and hears that while he has been away, these condemned land-lubbers have been making some new rules and regulations, without even asking any of us seafaring men anything about it. Then, if we do not obey their foolish rules, they nab us when we come into port again, and fine us — perhaps put us in the bilboes. Now, as a fair man, do you call that justice?”
Master Raymond laughed good-humoredly. “I see it has its unfair side,” said he. “By the way, I should like to look over that vessel of his. Could you give me a line of introduction to him?”
“Of course I can — nothing pleases Tolley more than to have people admire his vessel — even though a landsman’s admiration, you know, really cannot seem of much account to a sailor. But I cannot write here; let us adjourn to the Lion.”
CHAPTER XXXV.
Captain Tolley and the Storm King.
The next day furnished with a brief note of introduction, Master Raymond, with the aid of a skiff, put himself on the deck of the Storm King. Captain Tolley received him with due courtesy, wondering who the stranger was. The Captain was a well-built, athletic, though not very large man, with a face naturally dark in hue, and bronzed by exposure to the southern sun. As Master Raymond ascertained afterwards, he was the son of an English father and a Spanish mother; and he could speak English, French and Spanish with equal facility. While he considered himself an Englishman of birth, his nationality sat very loosely upon him; and, if need be, he was just as willing to run up the French or Spanish colors on the Storm King, as the red cross of St. George.
After reading the note of introduction, Captain Tolley gave a keen look at his visitor. “Yes, the Storm King is a bird and a beauty,” said he proudly. “Look at her! See what great wings she has! And what a hull, to cut the seas! She was built after my own plans. Give me plenty of sea-room, and a fair start, and I will laugh at all the gun frigates of the royal navy.”
“She looks to be all you say,” said his visitor admir
ingly — but rather surprised that not an oath had yet fallen from the lips of the Captain. He had not learned that Captain Tolley, to use his own language, “never washed his ammunition in port or in mild weather.” When aroused by a severe storm or other peril, the Captain was transformed into a different man. Then, in the war of the elements, or of man’s angry passions, he also lightened and thundered, and swore big guns.
“Let us go down into the cabin,” said the Captain. Reaching there, he filled a couple of glasses with wine and putting the decanter on the table, invited his visitor to be seated. Then, closing the door, he said with a smile, “nothing that is said inside this cabin ever is told anywhere else.”
There was that in the speech, bearing and looks of Captain Tolley which inspired Master Raymond with great confidence in him. “I feel that I may trust you, Captain,” he said earnestly.
“I have done business for a great many gentlemen, and no one ever found me untrue to him,” replied Captain Tolley, proudly. “Some things I will not do for anybody, or for any price; but that ends it. I never betray confidence.”
“Do you believe in witches, Captain?”
“Indeed I do.”
“Well I suppose that settles it,” replied the young man in a disappointed tone, rising to his feet.
“I know a little witch down in Jamaica, that has been tormenting me almost to death for the last three years. But I tell you she is a beauty — as pretty as, as — the Storm King! She doesn’t carry quite as many petticoats though,” added the Captain laughing.
“Oh! That is the kind of witch you mean!” and Master Raymond sat down again.
“It is the only kind that I ever came across — and they are bad enough for me,” responded the Captain drily.