Twice Told Tales

by Nathaniel Hawthorne

  ENDICOTT AND THE RED CROSS.

  At noon of an autumnal day more than two centuries ago the Englishcolors were displayed by the standard bearer of the Salem train-band,which had mustered for martial exercise under the orders of JohnEndicott. It was a period when the religious exiles were accustomedoften to buckle on their armor and practise the handling of theirweapons of war. Since the first settlement of New England itsprospects had never been so dismal. The dissensions between Charles I.and his subjects were then, and for several years afterward, confinedto the floor of Parliament. The measures of the king and ministry wererendered more tyrannically violent by an opposition which had not yetacquired sufficient confidence in its own strength to resist royalinjustice with the sword. The bigoted and haughty primate Laud,archbishop of Canterbury, controlled the religious affairs of therealm, and was consequently invested with powers which might havewrought the utter ruin of the two Puritan colonies, Plymouth andMassachusetts. There is evidence on record that our forefathersperceived their danger, but were resolved that their infant countryshould not fall without a struggle, even beneath the giant strength ofthe king's right arm.

  Such was the aspect of the times when the folds of the English bannerwith the red cross in its field were flung out over a company ofPuritans. Their leader, the famous Endicott, was a man of stern andresolute countenance, the effect of which was heightened by a grizzledbeard that swept the upper portion of his breastplate. This piece ofarmor was so highly polished that the whole surrounding scene had itsimage in the glittering steel. The central object in the mirroredpicture was an edifice of humble architecture with neither steeple norbell to proclaim it--what, nevertheless, it was--the house of prayer.A token of the perils of the wilderness was seen in the grim head of awolf which had just been slain within the precincts of the town, and,according to the regular mode of claiming the bounty, was nailed onthe porch of the meeting-house. The blood was still plashing on thedoorstep. There happened to be visible at the same noontide hour somany other characteristics of the times and manners of the Puritansthat we must endeavor to represent them in a sketch, though far lessvividly than they were reflected in the polished breastplate of JohnEndicott.

  In close vicinity to the sacred edifice appeared that important engineof Puritanic authority the whipping-post, with the soil around it welltrodden by the feet of evil-doers who had there been disciplined. Atone corner of the meeting-house was the pillory and at the other thestocks, and, by a singular good fortune for our sketch, the head of anEpiscopalian and suspected Catholic was grotesquely encased in theformer machine, while a fellow-criminal who had boisterously quaffed ahealth to the king was confined by the legs in the latter. Side byside on the meeting-house steps stood a male and a female figure. Theman was a tall, lean, haggard personification of fanaticism, bearingon his breast this label, "A WANTON GOSPELLER," which betokened thathe had dared to give interpretations of Holy Writ unsanctioned by theinfallible judgment of the civil and religious rulers. His aspectshowed no lack of zeal to maintain his heterodoxies even at the stake.The woman wore a cleft stick on her tongue, in appropriate retributionfor having wagged that unruly member against the elders of the church,and her countenance and gestures gave much cause to apprehend that themoment the stick should be removed a repetition of the offence woulddemand new ingenuity in chastising it.

  The above-mentioned individuals had been sentenced to undergo theirvarious modes of ignominy for the space of one hour at noonday. Butamong the crowd were several whose punishment would be lifelong--somewhose ears had been cropped like those of puppy-dogs, others whosecheeks had been branded with the initials of their misdemeanors; onewith his nostrils slit and seared, and another with a halter about hisneck, which he was forbidden ever to take off or to conceal beneathhis garments. Methinks he must have been grievously tempted to affixthe other end of the rope to some convenient beam or bough. There waslikewise a young woman with no mean share of beauty whose doom it wasto wear the letter A on the breast of her gown in the eyes of all theworld and her own children. And even her own children knew what thatinitial signified. Sporting with her infamy, the lost and desperatecreature had embroidered the fatal token in scarlet cloth with goldenthread and the nicest art of needlework; so that the capital A mighthave been thought to mean "Admirable," or anything rather than"Adulteress."

  Let not the reader argue from any of these evidences of iniquity thatthe times of the Puritans were more vicious than our own, when as wepass along the very street of this sketch we discern no badge ofinfamy on man or woman. It was the policy of our ancestors to searchout even the most secret sins and expose them to shame, without fearor favor, in the broadest light of the noonday sun. Were such thecustom now, perchance we might find materials for a no less piquantsketch than the above.

  Except the malefactors whom we have described and the diseased orinfirm persons, the whole male population of the town, between sixteenyears and sixty were seen in the ranks of the train-band. A fewstately savages in all the pomp and dignity of the primeval Indianstood gazing at the spectacle. Their flint-headed arrows were butchildish weapons, compared with the matchlocks of the Puritans, andwould have rattled harmlessly against the steel caps and hammered ironbreastplates which enclosed each soldier in an individual fortress.The valiant John Endicott glanced with an eye of pride at his sturdyfollowers, and prepared to renew the martial toils of the day.

  "Come, my stout hearts!" quoth he, drawing his sword. "Let us showthese poor heathen that we can handle our weapons like men of might.Well for them if they put us not to prove it in earnest!"

  The iron-breasted company straightened their line, and each man drewthe heavy butt of his matchlock close to his left foot, thus awaitingthe orders of the captain. But as Endicott glanced right and leftalong the front he discovered a personage at some little distance withwhom it behoved him to hold a parley. It was an elderly gentlemanwearing a black cloak and band and a high-crowned hat beneath whichwas a velvet skull-cap, the whole being the garb of a Puritanminister. This reverend person bore a staff which seemed to have beenrecently cut in the forest, and his shoes were bemired, as if he hadbeen travelling on foot through the swamps of the wilderness. Hisaspect was perfectly that of a pilgrim, heightened also by anapostolic dignity. Just as Endicott perceived him he laid aside hisstaff and stooped to drink at a bubbling fountain which gushed intothe sunshine about a score of yards from the corner of themeeting-house. But ere the good man drank he turned his faceheavenward in thankfulness, and then, holding back his gray beard withone hand, he scooped up his simple draught in the hollow of the other.

  "What ho, good Mr. Williams!" shouted Endicott. "You are welcome backagain to our town of peace. How does our worthy Governor Winthrop? Andwhat news from Boston?"

  "The governor hath his health, worshipful sir," answered RogerWilliams, now resuming his staff and drawing near. "And, for the news,here is a letter which, knowing I was to travel hitherward to-day, HisExcellency committed to my charge. Belike it contains tidings of muchimport, for a ship arrived yesterday from England."

  Mr. Williams, the minister of Salem, and of course known to all thespectators, had now reached the spot where Endicott was standing underthe banner of his company, and put the governor's epistle into hishand. The broad seal was impressed with Winthrop's coat-of-arms.Endicott hastily unclosed the letter and began to read, while, as hiseye passed down the page, a wrathful change came over his manlycountenance. The blood glowed through it till it seemed to be kindlingwith an internal heat, nor was it unnatural to suppose that hisbreastplate would likewise become red hot with the angry fire of thebosom which it covered. Arriving at the conclusion, he shook theletter fiercely in his hand, so that it rustled as loud as the flagabove his head.

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

  "Yea, truly," replied Roger Williams, "for the governor consultedrespecting this matter with my brethren in the ministry at Boston, andmy
opinion was likewise asked. And His Excellency entreats you by methat the news be not suddenly noised abroad, lest the people bestirred up unto some outbreak, and thereby give the king and thearchbishop a handle against us."

  "The governor is a wise man--a wise man, and a meek and moderate,"said Endicott, setting his teeth grimly. "Nevertheless, I must doaccording to my own best judgment. There is neither man, woman norchild in New England but has a concern as dear as life in thesetidings; and if John Endicott's voice be loud enough, man, woman andchild shall hear them.--Soldiers, wheel into a hollow square.--Ho,good people! Here are news for one and all of you."

  The soldiers closed in around their captain, and he and Roger Williamsstood together under the banner of the red cross, while the women andthe aged men pressed forward and the mothers held up their children tolook Endicott in the face. A few taps of the drum gave signal forsilence and attention.

  "Fellow-soldiers, fellow-exiles," began Endicott, speaking understrong excitement, yet powerfully restraining it, "wherefore did yeleave your native country? Wherefore, I say, have we left the greenand fertile fields, the cottages, or, perchance, the old gray halls,where we were born and bred, the churchyards where our forefathers lieburied? Wherefore have we come hither to set up our own tombstones ina wilderness? A howling wilderness it is. The wolf and the bear meetus within halloo of our dwellings. The savage lieth in wait for us inthe dismal shadow of the woods. The stubborn roots of the trees breakour ploughshares when we would till the earth. Our children cry forbread, and we must dig in the sands of the seashore to satisfy them.Wherefore, I say again, have we sought this country of a rugged soiland wintry sky? Was it not for the enjoyment of our civil rights? Wasit not for liberty to worship God according to our conscience?"

  "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 across themild visage of Roger Williams, but Endicott, in the excitement of themoment, shook his sword wrathfully at the culprit--an ominous gesturefrom a man like him.

  "What hast thou to do with conscience, thou knave?" cried he. "I saidliberty to worship God, not license to profane and ridicule him. Breaknot in upon my speech, or I will lay thee neck and heels till thistime to-morrow.--Hearken to me, friends, nor heed that accursedrhapsodist. As I was saying, we have sacrificed all things, and havecome to a land whereof the Old World hath scarcely heard, that wemight make a new world unto ourselves and painfully seek a path fromhence to heaven. But what think ye now? This son of a Scotchtyrant--this grandson of a papistical and adulterous Scotch womanwhose death proved that a golden crown doth not always save ananointed head from the block--"

  "Nay, brother, nay," interposed Mr. Williams; "thy words are not meetfor a secret chamber, far less for a public street."

  "Hold thy peace, Roger Williams!" answered Endicott, imperiously. "Myspirit is wiser than thine for the business now in hand.--I tell ye,fellow-exiles, that Charles of England and Laud, our bitterestpersecutor, arch-priest of Canterbury, are resolute to pursue us evenhither. They are taking counsel, saith this letter, to send over agovernor-general in whose breast shall be deposited all the law andequity of the land. They are minded, also, to establish the idolatrousforms of English episcopacy; so that when Laud shall kiss the pope'stoe as cardinal of Rome he may deliver New England, bound hand andfoot, into the power of his master."

  A deep groan from the auditors--a sound of wrath as well as fear andsorrow--responded to this intelligence.

  "Look ye to it, brethren," resumed Endicott, with increasing energy."If this king and this arch-prelate have their will, we shall brieflybehold a cross on the spire of this tabernacle which we have builded,and a high altar within its walls, with wax tapers burning round it atnoon-day. We shall hear the sacring-bell and the voices of the Romishpriests saying the mass. But think ye, Christian men, that theseabominations may be suffered without a sword drawn, without a shotfired, without blood spilt--yea, on the very stairs of the pulpit? No!Be ye strong of hand and stout of heart. Here we stand on our ownsoil, which we have bought with our goods, which we have won with ourswords, which we have cleared with our axes, which we have tilled withthe sweat of our brows, which we have sanctified with our prayers tothe God that brought us hither! Who shall enslave us here? What havewe to do with this mitred prelate--with this crowned king? What havewe to do with England?"

  Endicott gazed round at the excited countenances of the people, nowfull 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 thrust itthrough the cloth and with his left hand rent the red cross completelyout of the banner. He then waved the tattered ensign above his head.

  "Sacrilegious wretch!" cried the high-churchman in the pillory, unablelonger to restrain himself; "thou hast rejected the symbol of our holyreligion."

  "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.--"Beata flourish, drummer--shout, soldiers and people--in honor of theensign of New England. Neither pope nor tyrant hath part in it now."

  With a cry of triumph the people gave their sanction to one of theboldest exploits which our history records. And for ever honored bethe name of Endicott! We look back through the mist of ages, andrecognize in the rending of the red cross from New England's bannerthe first omen of that deliverance which our fathers consummated afterthe bones of the stern Puritan had lain more than a century in thedust.