by Howard Pyle
“I know a little witch of that kind,” said Master Raymond, humoring the Captain’s fancy; “but she is now in Boston prison, and in danger of her life.”
“Ah! I think I have heard something of her — very beautiful, is she not? I caught a glimpse of her when I went up to see Captain Alden, who the bigoted fools have got in limbo there. I could not help laughing at Alden — the idea of calling him a witch. Alden is a religious man, you know!”
“But it may cost him his life!”
“That is what I went to see him about. I offered to come up with a party some night, break open the jail, and carry him off to New York in the Storm King.”
“Well?”
“Oh, you know the better people are not in the jail, but in the jailer’s house — having given their promise to Keeper Arnold that they will not try to escape, if thus kindly treated. And besides, if he runs off, they will confiscate his property; of which Alden foolishly has a good deal in houses and lands. So he thinks it the best policy to hold on to his anchor, and see if the storm will not blow itself out.”
“And so you have no conscientious scruples against breaking the law, by carrying off any of these imprisoned persons?”
“Conscientious scruples and the Puritan laws be d —— !” exclaimed the Captain; thinking perhaps that this was an occasion when he might with propriety break his rule as to swearing while in port.
“Your language expresses my sentiments exactly!” responded the young Englishman, who had never uttered an oath in his life. “Captain, I am betrothed to that young lady you saw when you went to see Captain Alden. If she is ever brought to trial, those Salem hell-hounds will swear away her life. I mean to rescue her — or die with her. I am able and willing to pay you any reasonable price for your aid and assistance, Will you help me?”
The Captain sprang to his feet. “Will I help you? The great God dash the Storm King to pieces on her next voyage if I fail you! See here,” taking a letter out of a drawer, “it is a profitable offer just made me. But it is a mere matter of merchandise; and this is a matter of a woman’s life! You shall pay me what you can afford to, and what you think right; but, money or no money, I and the Storm King, and her brave crew, who will follow wherever I lead, are at your service!”
As Captain Tolley uttered these words, in an impassioned, though low voice, and with a glowing face and sparkling blue eyes, Master Raymond thought he had never seen a handsomer man. He grasped the Captain’s extended hand, and shook it warmly. “I shall never forget this noble offer,” he exclaimed. And he never did forget it; for from that moment the two were life-long friends.
“What is your plan?” said the Captain.
“A peaceable escape if possible. If not, what you propose to Captain Alden.”
“I should like the last the best,” said the Captain.
“Why, it would expose you to penalties — and keep your vessel hereafter out of Boston harbor.”
“You see that I have an old grudge of my own,” replied the Captain. “These Puritan rascals once arrested me for bringing some Quakers from Barbados — good, honest, innocent people, a little touched here, you know,” — and the Captain tapped his broad, brown brow with his finger. “They caught me on shore, fined me, and would have put me in the stocks; but my mate got word of it, we were lying out in the storm, trained two big guns to bear upon the town, and gave them just fifteen minutes to send me on board again. That was twenty years ago, and I have not been here since.”
“They sent you on board, I suppose?”
“Oh, the Saints are not fools,” replied the Captain, laughing. “As for being shut out of Boston harbor hereafter, I do not fear that much. The reign of the Saints is nearly over. Do you not see that the Quakers are back, and the Baptists, and the prayer-book men, as they call the Episcopalians! — and they do not touch them, though they would whip the whole of them out of the Province, at the cart’s tail, if they dared. But there are Kings in Israel again!” and the Captain laughed heartily. “And the Kings are always better shepherds to the flock than the Priests.”
“You may have to lie here idle for a while; but I will bear the expense of it,” said Master Raymond. “Have the proper papers drawn up, and I will sign them.”
“No, there shall be no papers between you and me,” rejoined the Captain stoutly. “I hate these lawyers’ pledges. I never deal with a man, if I can help it, who needs a signed and sealed paper to keep him to his word. I know what you are, and you ought to be able to see by this time what I am. The Storm King shall lie here three months, if need be — and you shall pay me monthly my reasonable charges. But I will make out no bill, and you shall have no receipt, to cause any trouble to anybody, hereafter.”
“That will suit me,” replied Master Raymond, “I shall be in the bar-room of the Red Lion every morning at ten. You must be there too. But we will only nod to each other, unless I have something to tell you. Then I will slip a note into your hand, making an appointment for an interview. I fear there may be spies upon my movements.”
Captain Tolley assenting to these arrangements, Master Raymond and he again shook hands, and the latter was put ashore in one of the Storm King’s boats. It was a little curious that as the young man reached the wharf, ascending a few wooden steps from the boat, whom should he see at a little distance, walking briskly into the town, but one who he thought was Master Thomas Putnam. He could not see the man’s face, for his back was toward him; but he felt certain that it was the loving and obedient husband of Mistress Ann Putnam.
CHAPTER XXXVI.
Sir William Phips and Lady Mary.
When Mistress Dulcibel Burton, in company with Master Philip English and his wife, arrived at Boston jail, and were delivered into the care of Keeper Arnold, they received far better treatment than they had expected.
The prison itself, situated in a portion of Boston which is now considered the centre of fashion and elegance, was one of those cruel Bridewells, which were a befitting illustration of what some suppose to have been the superior manners and customs of the “good old times.” It was built of stone, its walls being three feet thick. Its windows were barred with iron to prevent escape; but being without glazed sashes, the wind and rain and snow and cold of winter found ready access to the cells within. The doors were covered with the large heads of iron spikes — the cells being formed by partitions of heavy plank. And the passage ways of the prison were described by one who had been confined in this Boston Bridewell, as being “like the dark valley of the shadow of death.”
But the jailers seem to have been more humane than the builders of the prison; and those awaiting trial, especially, were frequently allowed rooms in the Keeper’s house — probably always paying well, however, for the privilege.
Thus, as Captain Tolley had said, Captain Alden was confined in Keeper Arnold’s house; and, when the party in which the readers of this story are especially interested, arrived late at night from Salem, they were taken to comparatively comfortable apartments. The jailer knew that Master Philip English was a very wealthy man; and, as for Dulcibel, Uncle Robie did not forget to say to his old crony Arnold, among other favorable things, that she not only had warm friends, among the best people of Salem, but that in her own right, she possessed a very pretty little fortune, and was fully able to pay a good price for any favors extended to her.
The magistrates in Salem had refused to take bail for Captain Alden; but Master English was soon able to make an arrangement, by which he and his wife were allowed the freedom of the town in the daytime; it being understood that they should return regularly, and pass the night in the jail — or, speaking strictly, in the Keeper’s house.
For things in Boston were different from what they were at Salem. In Salem the Puritan spirit reigned supreme in magistrates and in ministers. But in Boston, there was, as we have said, a strong anti-Puritan influence. The officials sent over from England were generally Episcopalians — the officers of the English men-of-war frequently in por
t, also were generally Episcopalians. And though the present Governor, Sir William Phips, was a member of the North Church, the Reverend Cotton Mather taking the place of his father, the Reverend Increase Mather — and though the Governor was greatly under the influence of that dogmatic and superstitious divine — his wife, Lady Mary, was utterly opposed to the whole witchcraft delusion and persecution.
Sir William himself had quite a romantic career. Starting in life as one of the later offspring of a father and mother who had twenty-six children, and had come as poor emigrants to Maine, he was a simple and ignorant caretaker of sheep until eighteen years of age. Then he became a ship carpenter; and at the age of twenty-two went to Boston, working at his trade in the day time, and learning how to read and write at night. In Boston he had the good fortune to capture the heart of a fair widow by the name of Mistress Hull, who was a daughter of Captain Robert Spencer. With her hand he received a fair estate; which was the beginning of a large fortune. For, it enabled him to set up a ship-yard of his own; and by ventures to recover lost treasure, sunk in shipwrecked Spanish galleons, under the patronage of the Duke of Albemarle, he took back to England at one time the large amount of £300,000 in gold, silver and precious stones, of which his share was £16,000 — and in addition a gold cup, valued at £1,000 presented to his wife Mary. And such was the able conduct and the strict integrity he had shown in the face of many difficulties and temptations, that King James knighted him, making him Sir William.
Now, through his own deserts, and the influence of the Reverend Increase Mather, agent in England of the colony, he was Governor-in-Chief of the Province of Massachusetts Bay, and Captain General (for military purposes) of all New England. And he was living in that “fair brick house in Green lane,” which, years before, he had promised his wife that he would some day build for her to live in.
Lady Mary was a very sweet, nice woman; but she had a will of her own, and never could be persuaded that Sir William’s rise in the world was not owing entirely to her having taken pity on him, and married below her station. And really there was considerable truth in this view of the matter, which she was not inclined to have him forget; and Sir William, being a manly and generous, though at times rather choleric gentleman, generally admitted the truth of her assertion that “she had made him,” rather than have any controversy with her about it. One of the first acts of Sir William on arriving to fill his position as Governor, was to order chains put upon all the alleged witches in the prisons. In this order might be very plainly traced the hand of his pastor, the Reverend Cotton Mather. Lady Mary was outraged by such a command. One of her first visits had been to the jail, to see Captain Alden, whom she knew well. Keeper Arnold had shown her the order. “Put on the irons,” said Lady Mary. The jailer did so. “Now that you have obeyed Sir William, take them off again.” The jailer smiled, but hesitated. “Do as I command you, and I will be accountable to Sir William.” Very gladly did Keeper Arnold obey — he had no faith in such accusations, brought against some of the best behaved people he ever had in his charge.
“Now, do the same to all the other prisoners!” commanded the spirited lady.
“I may as well be hung for a cow as a calf,” said the jailer laughing — and he went gravely with one pair of fetters all through the cells, complying literally with the new Governor’s orders.
Of course this soon got to the ears of the Rev. Cotton Mather, who went in high indignation to the Governor. But the latter seemed to be very much amused, and could not be brought to manifest any great amount of indignation. “You know that Lady Mary has a will of her own,” said he to his pastor. “If you choose to go and talk to her, I will take you to her boudoir; but I am not anxious to get into hot water for the sake of a few witches.” The minister thought of it a moment; but then concluded wisely not to go. For, as Lady Mary said to her husband afterwards, “I wish that you had brought him to me. I would have told him just what I think of him, and his superstitious, hard-hearted doings. For me, I never mean to enter North Church more. I shall go hereafter to South Church; Masters Willard and Moody have some Christian charity left in them.”
“I think you are too hard on Master Cotton Mather, my dear,” replied Sir William mildly.
“Too hard, am I? What would you say if those girl imps at Salem should accuse me next! Your own loving wife, — to the world.”
“Oh, my dear wife, that is too monstrous even to think of!”
“No more monstrous than their accusation of Mistress English of Salem, and her husband. You know them — what do you think of that?”
“Certainly, that is very singular and impossible; but Master Mather says—”
“Master Mather ought to be hung himself,” said the indignant lady; “for he has helped to murder better people than he is, a great deal.”
“My dear, I must remonstrate—”
“And there is Captain Alden — he is a witch, too, it seems!” And Lady Mary laughed scornfully. “Why not you too? You are no better a man than Captain Alden.”
“Oh, the Captain shall not be hurt.”
“It will not be through any mercy of his judges then. But, answer my question: what will you do, if they dare to accuse me? Answer me that!”
“You certainly are not serious, Lady Mary?”
“I am perfectly serious. I have heard already a whisper from Salem that they are thinking of it. They even have wished me warned against the consequences of my high-handed proceedings. Now if they cry out against me, what will you do?”
We have said that Sir William was naturally choleric — though he always put a strong constraint upon himself when talking with his wife, whom he really loved; but now he started to his feet.
“If they dare to breathe a whisper against you, my wife, Lady Mary, I will blow the whole concern to perdition! Confound it, Madam, there are limits to everything!”
She went up to him and put her arm around his neck and kissed him. “I thought that before they touched me, they would have to chain the lion that lies at my door,” she said proudly and affectionately; for, notwithstanding these little tiffs, she really was fond of her husband, and proud of his romantic career.
But — coming back to our sheep — Dulcibel not having the same amount of wealth and influence behind her as Master English had, was very well contented at being allowed a room in Keeper Arnold’s house; and was on the whole getting along very comfortably. Master Raymond had seen her soon after his arrival, but it was in company with the jailer; the principal result being that he had secretly passed her a letter, and had assured himself that she was not in a suffering condition.
But things of late were looking brighter, for Master Raymond had made the acquaintance of Lady Mary through a friend to whom he had letters from England, and Lady Mary had begun to take an interest in Dulcibel, whom she had seen on one of her visits to Mistress English.
Through Lady Mary, in some way, Dulcibel hoped to escape from the prison; trusting that, if once at large, Master Raymond would be able to provide for her safety. But there was one great difficulty. She, with the others, had given her word to the Keeper not to escape, as the price of her present exemption from confinement in an exposed, unhealthy cell. How this promise was to be managed, neither of them had been able to think of. Keeper Arnold might be approached; but Dulcibel feared not — at least under present circumstances. If brought to trial and convicted then to save her life, Dulcibel thought he might be persuaded to aid her. As to breaking her word to the Keeper, that never entered the mind of the truthful maiden, or of her lover. Death even was more endurable than the thought of dishonor — if they had thought of the matter at all. But as I have said, they never even thought of a such thing. And therefore how to manage the affair was a very perplexing question.
CHAPTER XXXVII.
The First Rattle of the Rattlesnake.
One day about this time Master Raymond was sitting in the porch of the Red Lion, thinking over a sight he had just seen; — a man had passed by weari
ng on the back of his drab coat a capital I two inches long, cut out of black cloth, and sewed upon it. On inquiry he found the man had married his deceased wife’s sister; and both he and the woman had been first whipped, and then condemned to wear this letter for the rest of their lives, according to the law of the colony.
Master Raymond was puzzling over the matter not being able to make out that any real offence had been committed, when who should walk up to the porch but Master Joseph Putnam. After a hearty hand-shaking between the two, they retired to Master Raymond’s apartments.
“Well, how are things getting along at Salem?”
“Oh, about as usual!”
“Any more accusations?”
“Plenty of them, people are beginning to find out that the best way to protect themselves is to sham being ‘afflicted,’ and accuse somebody else.”
“I saw that a good while ago.”
“And when a girl or a woman is accused, her relatives and her friends gather around her, and implore her to confess, to save her life. For they have found that not one person who has been accused of being a witch, and has admitted the fact, has been convicted.
“And yet it would seem that a confession of witchcraft ought to be a better proof of it, than the mere assertion of possible enemies,” responded Master Raymond.
“Of course — if there was any show of reason or fairness in the prosecutions, from first to last; but as it is all sheer malice and wickedness, on the part of the accusers, from the beginning to the end, it would be vain to expect any reasonableness or fairness from them.”
“We must admit, however, that there is some delusion in it. It would be too uncharitable to believe otherwise,” said Master Raymond thoughtfully.
“There may have been at the very first — on the part of the children,” replied Master Putnam. “They might have supposed that Tituba and friendless Sarah Good tormented them — but since then, there has not been more than one part of delusion to twenty parts of wickedness. Why, can any sane man suppose that she-wolf sister-in-law of mine does not know she is lying, when she brings such horrible charges against the best men and women in Salem?”