The Dumb Shall Sing

by Stephen Lewis

  THE DUMB SHALL SING

  Stephen Lewis

  CHAPTER ONE

  The sloop Good Hope, its crowned lion figurehead pointing to open water, rode the outgoing tide past the mouth of Newbury Bay toward deeper waters whose color changed from light blue near shore to an almost midnight black. The late afternoon sun was hidden by thick clouds that threatened a summer storm. The air was hot, moist, and still. A lone sea gull circled the vessel, and seeing nothing of interest, rose into the clouds.

  The year was 1638, and the English settlers' army had just routed the Pequot Indians in an uneven war that decimated the tribe. A half dozen soldiers stood on the deck in a loose line in front of the captives. The soldiers wore steel corselets and morion helmets. Some carried swords, others pikes, and two held muskets. The ones with muskets had leather bandoliers draped over their shoulders, containing pouches for powder and shot. Sweat gathered in the corners of their eyes and dripped down their necks and back, chafing the skin. They would have loved to remove their armor, but one look at their lieutenant convinced them that he would not be sympathetic to this request. It was not as though they needed to prepare for battle, or to defend themselves against the enemy, for the enemy was clearly vanquished and unable to offer any threat. But this was an occasion rich in ceremonial and symbolic significance, and the lieutenant, as well as the dignitaries, who stood not far away, would not tolerate any laxity in military decorum.

  The Pequots were tied with heavy ropes, hands and feet. Until the ship left land a safe distance behind, they had also worn a long chain wrapped around their necks, one after the other, and then attached to rings on the deck. It would not do to have them ruin the solemnity of the occasion by a premature leap into the waves. But with land now out of sight, Governor Samuel Peters had extended his long arm in a gesture to Lieutenant Waters to loose them so they could be dealt with, as planned, one at a time.

  Once the chains were removed, none of them so much as brought a hand to the deep welts on their necks left by the heavy weight of the chain. They wore nothing but a strip of leather cloth around their loins. Their skin was streaked with dirt and blood. The miasmic stench of the swamp where they had hoped to avoid the pursuing English lifted ripe off their skin and into the heavy air. They had sustained themselves on roots and berries for three weeks before they could no longer tolerate watching the women and children sicken from hunger, and so they had come out under a truce whose terms they had no power to soften. They stood now, their eyes vacant. Their slow breaths pressed their ribs against their skin. Only Massaquoit seemed to be taking an interest in the proceedings.

  He stood away from the others. He alone still had the long chain wrapped around his neck and body, but no longer attached to the rings on the deck. A soldier menaced him with the blade of his long pike. The ship rolled on a wave and the motion caused Massaquoit to lean into the pike. The soldier did not move the weapon away, and Massaquoit stared down with contempt as the blade pierced his chest just enough to draw a little blood. The ship righted itself and Massaquoit swayed away from the pike. The soldier remained holding his weapon so close to the captive's chest that any movement of Massaquoit toward him would have impaled him on the blade.

  The dignitaries, aboard to witness the activities about to occur, stood on a raised portion of the deck aft. Behind them were the captain and a sailor at the helm. In the center of this group of men stood Catherine, a woman in her forties, short, and a little plump. Her red and rounded cheeks gave her face a gentle, nurturing look, but her eyes were dark and bright as they darted from one man to the other.

  "Sirs," she said. "We did have an arrangement. Did we not?"

  "That was with your husband, as you well know," replied one of the men, short and round, whose white hair protruded from beneath the dark maroon skull cap perched on his head, giving him the look of a medieval Talmudist as much as the seventeenth century Puritan minister he was.

  "Well, then, Master Davis, as his widow I act in his place."

  "The arrangement is now unsuitable," the minister replied. Governor Peters, a head taller than anybody else on the ship, held a rolled document in front of her. He waved his large brimmed hat in front of his face. Perspiration glistened on his forehead and on the triangle of a beard beneath his chin.

  "The Court has decreed their fate," he said. "I am here to see that the order is carried out as written."

  "We are only thinking of you, Catherine," another said. The fine blue linen of his shirt, along with its fully expressed white ruff, implied the prosperous merchant he was. "As much as I would like to respect the word we gave to John, you are not he and it would not be a proper living arrangement."

  Catherine shifted her gaze over to the line of listless captives, who were now watching without much visible interest as two sailors contrived to secure one end of a split log, which still had bark on the underside, so that the other could extend over the railing.

  Catherine stared hard at the merchant. Not only had he been her husband's partner, but she had known him as a child back in Alford, in old England where he had been a regular visitor in her father's house. Since his own children had not survived into adulthood, and he had not remarried after his wife died, he had treated her as though she were his own daughter. She understood that he was trying to negotiate on her behalf with the governor and the minister, but still she could not entirely restrain her anger.

  "Joseph Woolsey, do you think I want to take one of them to my bed?"

  Minister Davis frowned, but a smile fought to establish itself on Joseph's face. The other men remained silent, their faces expressionless. They were younger and deferred to the two older men.

  "Look at them," Minister Davis said.

  "I am," Catherine replied.

  "Savages," the minister snapped.

  "Men," Catherine said, "no more nor less, only without the benefit of your condition." She turned to the captain.

  "Sir, are you ready to bring her about and head back to port?"

  "Aye, Mistress, if you say so."

  "You cannot do that," Master Davis said.

  "Joseph, is this not now my vessel, as it was my husband's?"

  "To be sure," he replied, "But the Court has decided, and your ship is only the means to serve its purpose."

  "It is, nonetheless, my ship, and Captain Gregory here knows that if he wants to sail it again as master he will do as I say."

  The captain nodded.

  "I would not want to be the one to tell Mistress Williams that she cannot have what she has a mind to have."

  "It is not my temper you need to fear," Catherine said, "but the money my husband, in good faith, loaned out to the town to finance the late war, and which I have chosen to have repaid in flesh rather than coin. I have more need for muscle and sinew than money. And gentleman, by relieving you of your debt so cheaply, I am giving you a bargain you can hardly refuse, for as you yourself have observed these poor wretches are not worth much, nor would they bring you much return on the market were you to ship them down to Barbados."

  Master Peters drew back a step or two and the others followed. The men spoke together in hushed voices for a few moments, and then Peters approached Catherine.

  "Pick, then," he said. "But remember the terms of the treaty. They apply to him you choose. And you, as his mistress."

  She did not hesitate.

  "That one," she pointed to Massaquoit. Blood still oozed from the fresh wound on his chest, but he seemed not to notice.

  "Surely not him," Joseph said.

  "Captain," Catherine said.

  "As you wish," the governor said. "One devil will serve as another."

  "Business," Catherine replied, "only business. It is a pity your obligations t
o my poor dead husband were not greater, for then I would have purchased the lives of more than one of these."

  Masters Peters whispered something to Lieutenant Waters who was sweating in his armor, and impatient to be finished with his task. He nodded, and spoke to the soldier whose pike still rested against the chest of Massaquoit.

  "I wouldn't loose this one, just yet," the soldier said.

  "Nor would I," the lieutenant said. "Just push him further back, away from the others."

  The soldier pressed his blade against Massaquoit's chest, but he did not move. The soldier pressed harder, and turned the blade so that its point pierced the skin next to the recent wound. Still, Massaquoit did not move.

  "What do you say, lieutenant?" the soldier asked. "I can stick him like a hog for the fire."

  The lieutenant looked at Catherine and then back to the soldier.

  "Push him back. We've seen enough of his blood for now."

  The soldier turned his pike so that he could shove the shaft up under Massaquoit's jaw. He pushed hard, and Massaquoit stumbled back.

  "Right," the soldier said. "You could have done that before, and given me a break in this blasted heat."

  Governor Peters walked to the log, which was now securely fashioned.

  "The General Court, in concluding the treaty with the Pequot nation, has made specific mention of these eight sachems here assembled, who did lead their people into the swamp known as Cuppacommock, or The Hiding Place, and there did stubbornly continue their unlawful war against us, and as a consequence to punish their perverse refusal to surrender and to have them stand as a warning to others who might rise up against the lawful English settlements here and elsewhere in New England, have sentenced these eight, now standing here, to death."

  Magistrate Woolsey strode toward Massaquoit, stopping an arm's length from him.

  "You, Massaquoit, are to be spared. Mistress Williams has interceded on your behalf, according to terms previously agreed to by the Court, and you are to be handed over to her care, and under her instruction you are to abandon your savage ways and accept Our Lord."

  "When we surrendered," Massaquoit said, "we understood all our lives would be spared."

  "Perhaps you misunderstood the terms," the lieutenant said.

  "My English is too good for that," Massaquoit replied. "Many years I have traded with the English. I was never confused before."

  The lieutenant shrugged.

  "I wouldn't worry about all that if I was you, as you are to live."

  "I have no wish to be this woman's slave."

  "Enough!" Minister Davis said, his voice a deep rumble over the quiet waters. "Let us proceed."

  The soldiers shifted about. Two went to the first Indian in the line, each taking an arm. The Indian remained listless. Two other soldiers attended to their matchlock muskets, adjusting the smoldering matches so that only the ends protruded from the serpentine clamps. They blew the ash off the end of the matches so they glowed red.

  Catherine stepped a little closer to Master Davis.

  "Are you going to offer a word for them?"

  “I will do my best to find a way to pray for their heathen souls, though I know them to be butchering savages.”

  "God has already spoken," Governor Peters snapped. “Our good minister need add nothing further. That they are here, and about to die under our orders, vouchsafes their utter damnation." He turned to Lieutenant Waters, “You can begin."

  "Hoist him up," the lieutenant said.

  The two soldiers holding the first Indian lifted his dead weight onto the log. He did not resist, and when they stepped back, he stood. His expression now was one of stubborn contempt for his captors.

  "Move, then," one of the soldiers said. When the Indian did not stir, he drew his sword and pressed it against his stomach. Still the Indian remained motionless. The soldier pressed harder and the blade pierced the skin. The Indian had steeled himself against the thrust, but still the pain caused him to shift his weight, and as he did, he lost his footing and he began to fall off the plank. The soldier withdrew his sword and used the flat of its blade to push the Indian off.

  He fell into the water with a splash that seemed louder than it was. He disappeared beneath the surface for a few moments, but then his body reappeared. Although his hands and feet were bound, and he bled from his wound, he managed to float on his back. The rain that had been threatening all afternoon, now began to fall. The musketeers bent over their weapons to shield them from the rain.

  "We can't have him making shore," the lieutenant said, and he then nodded at the two soldiers holding the muskets. One of them now sighted down the long barrel of his weapon. The soldier opened the pan, pressed the lever like trigger, bringing the end of the match down into the pan, which was now being wetted by the rain. There was a loud pop and a flash, but that was all. The soldier pulled down his musket in disgust.

  The Indian was managing a little kicking motion, which propelled him over the waves. The second soldier now aimed.

  "He is floating out to sea," Massaquoit said. "Do you expect him to make land in Southampton?"

  Minister Davis pulled off his skullcap, strode over to the soldier, and held the cap over the sputtering match.

  "Fire," he said.

  This time the flash was followed by an explosive sound. The body of the Indian in the water spasmed against the impact of the ball that ripped through his gut. His legs stopped kicking, and he sank. All eyes remained on the spot, now red with his blood, where he had disappeared, but he did not again break the surface of the water. From some place in the distance, a gull swooped down and landed on the water. It was soon joined by half a dozen of his fellows. One paddled through the spot where the Indian sank, and when it rose its feathers were stained red.

  Minister Davis turned his head to the skies and received the pouring rain on his face. He replaced his skullcap and joined the others who were now huddled against the pelting drops.

  Catherine stepped in front of him. His eyes seemed not to focus.

  "Master Davis," she said.

  He did not respond.

  "Master Davis," she said again, in a louder voice. He turned his glance toward her. She looked up at the pouring rain and then at the soldier who had shot the Indian.

  "Do you think it providential?" she said.

  "What is that?"

  "The rain that doused the powder until you saw fit to intervene."

  "I was only helping to do God's work," he said.

  "I see," she said. "I had thought that maybe the rain meant that God did not approve. If He did, perhaps He would have kept the powder dry Himself."

  He stared coldly at her.

  "Mistress, you overstep yourself."

  Catherine knew she had gone as far as she could, and maybe a step further. Even as the widow of one of the wealthiest men in the colony, even while standing on the deck of the trading sloop she owned, and even though she had just relieved these gentlemen of a debt the Colony owed her, still she should not spar with the likes of Minister Davis, a man who served God and his own ambitions in equal measure. Still, Catherine thought, she had seen the flint of his heart chip, if not soften, from time to time. This, however, was clearly not one of those occasions.

  "As you say," she said, and stepped back.

  The lieutenant walked over to the soldier who was bending over his musket.

  "Well done, Henry," the lieutenant said.

  The soldier shoved the ramrod down the muzzle. He looked up, but did not smile. Instead his eyes seemed both intent on the task at hand and at the same time a thousand miles away.

  "Yes," he muttered, and yanked the ramrod out of the barrel. He pulled open the drawstring on his pouch and poured powder into the pan. He hunched over more as the rain began to pelt down more heavily.

  "You won't need any more of that," Catherine said. "This is not a turkey hunt."

  The other Indians stared silently into the water where their comrade had disappeared. The
gulls, not finding anything to eat, had deserted their vigil. The soldiers guarding the remaining captives shifted from leg to leg, waiting for the next command. Magistrate Woolsey held his hands before his eyes. The lieutenant looked at Governor Peters and Minister Davis.

  "Continue," Peters said, but his voice was barely audible. He took a deep breath. "Get on with it," he said so that he could be heard.

  "It is the Lord's work we do here," Minister Davis said.

  Lieutenant Waters barked a command and the soldiers lifted the next Indian onto the log. While he stood there, the lieutenant checked the ropes binding his hands and his feet.

  "He will sink before long, I warrant," he said.

  "Let us see, then," Governor Peters replied. "Do not fire on him unless he stays afloat."

  The rain had slicked the log so that all the soldiers had to do was push against the Indian's shoulders until he lost his balance and rolled off. He hit the water with a splash, managed to float for a minute and then sank beneath the surface. The next Indian was placed on the plank, and he did not wait to be pushed, but managed to jump off and go straight under. Each of the others followed in kind. After each splash, the gulls swooped down, circled, and left.

  Only Massaquoit remained. He tried to climb onto the plank.

  "That is where I belong," he said.

  "Agreed," Governor Peters replied. "But you are bought and paid for. And if we were to let you join your companions, we would again be in debt to Mistress Williams here, and that is a circumstance none of us would enter into lightly. So I am afraid that you must live."

  * * * *

  Catherine was left alone with Massaquoit and the one soldier who had been his guard throughout the proceedings. The others had gone below. Governor Peters said he felt the need for rest after the strain of the day. Minister Davis said that he wanted to find a quiet place in the hold of the ship where he could meditate on God's wondrous providence in sending the savage enemy into the hands of the English, and from which he could offer up his thanks to the Lord.

  The sloop held a course back to the harbor. As they approached their anchorage, the sailors prepared the shallop that would carry the visitors to shore.