Complete Works of Howard Pyle

by Howard Pyle

  “Oh, of course,” replied Master Raymond. “I do not know that I told a downright lie either, all day; although I must admit that I acted a pretty big one. But you must deal with fools according to their folly — you know we have Scripture for that.”

  “I do not think I would have done it merely to save myself,” said Master Joseph, evidently a little conscience-smitten. “But to save you, my friend, that seems to be different.”

  “And Dulcibel,” added Master Raymond. “If I were imprisoned what would become of her?”

  “Yes, I am glad I did it,” responded his friend, regaining his confidence. “I have really hurt neither brother Thomas nor Sister Ann; on the contrary, I have prevented them from doing a great wrong. I am willing to answer for this day’s work at the Last Day — and I feel certain that then at least, both of them will thank me for it.”

  “I have no doubt of it,” said Mistress Elizabeth who herself brought up in the rigid Puritan school, had felt the same misgivings as her husband, but whose scruples were also removed by this last consideration.

  As for Master Raymond, he, being more a man of the world, had felt no scruples at playing such a deceitful part. I am afraid, that to save Dulcibel, he would not have scrupled at open and downright lying. Not that he had not all the sensitiveness of an honorable man as to his word; but because he looked upon the whole affair as a piece of malicious wickedness, in defiance of all just law, and which every true-hearted man was bound to oppose and defeat by all means allowable in open or secret warfare.

  “I suppose you go back to Boston to morrow?” said his host, as they were about to separate for the night.

  “Yes, immediately after breakfast. This affair is a warning to me, to push my plans to a consummation as soon as possible. I think I know what their next move will be — a shrewd man once said, just think what is the wisest thing for your enemies to do, and provide against that.”

  “What is it?”

  “Remove the Governor.”

  “Why, I understood he was a mere puppet in the hands of the two Mathers.”

  “He would be perhaps; but there is a Lady Phips.”

  “Ah!’ the gray mare is the better horse,’ is she, as it is over at brother Thomas’s?”

  “Yes, I think so. Now mark my prediction, friend Joseph; the first blow will be struck at Lady Mary. If Sir William resists, as I feel certain that he will — for he is, if not well educated, a thoroughly manly man — then he will be ousted from his position. You will note that it has been the game all through to strike at any one, man or woman, who came between these vampires and their prey. I know of only one exception.”

  “Ah, who is that?”

  “Yourself.”

  Master Joseph smiled grimly. “They value their own lives very highly, friend Raymond; and know that to arrest me would be no child’s play. Besides, Sweetbriar is never long unsaddled; and he is the fastest horse in Salem.”

  “Yes, and to add to all that, you are a Putnam; and your wife is closely connected with Squire Hathorne.”

  “There may be something in that,” said his friend.

  “Yes, even Mistress Ann has her limits, which her husband — submissive in so many things — will not allow her to pass. But we are both a little tired, after such an eventful day. Good night!”

  CHAPTER XLVI.

  Mistress Ann’s Opinion of the Matter.

  While the foregoing conversation was taking place, one of a very different kind was passing between Mistress Ann and her worthy husband. He had gathered up all the particulars he could of the examination and had brought them home to his wife for her instruction.

  After listening to all that he had to tell, with at least outward calmness, she said bitterly: “The whole thing was a trick, you see, to keep you and me away from Salem.”

  “Do you think so? Do you think then, that no man really wanted to see me at Ipswich?”

  “It is as plain as the nose on your face,” replied his wife. “You were to be decoyed off to Ipswich, my horse sent out of the way, and then Joseph’s madcap horse offered to me, they knowing well that the worthless creature would not behave himself with any woman on his back.”

  “Oh, pshaw, Ann; you do not mean that my simple-hearted brother, Joseph Putnam, ever planned and carried out a subtle scheme of that kind?” said honest Thomas, with an older brother’s undervaluation of the capabilities of a mere boy like Joseph.

  “I do not say that Joseph thought it all out, for very probably he did not; doubtless that Master Raymond put him up to it — for he seems cunning and unprincipled enough for anything, judging, by what you have told me of his ridiculous doings.”

  “You may call them ridiculous, Ann; but they impressed everybody very much indeed. Dr. Griggs, told me that he had no doubt whatever that an ‘evil hand’ was on him.”

  “Dr. Griggs is an old simpleton,” said his wife crossly.

  “And even Squire Hathorne says that he never saw a stronger case of spectral persecution. Why, when one of the young men thrust the point of his rapier at the yellow bird, some of its feathers were cut off and came fluttering to the ground. Squire Hathorne says he never saw anything more wonderful.”

  “Nonsense — it is all trickery!”

  “Trickery? Why, my dear wife, the Squire has the feathers! — and he means to send them at once to Master Cotton Mather by a special messenger, to confute all the scoffers and unbelievers in Boston and Plymouth!”

  A scornful reply was at the end of his wife’s tongue but, on second thought, she did not allow it to get any farther. Suppose that she did convince her husband and Squire Hathorne that they had been grossly deceived and imposed upon — and that Master Raymond’s apparent afflictions and spectral appearance were the result of skilful juggling, what then? Would their enlightenment stop there? How about the pins that the girls had concealed around their necks, and taken up with their mouths? How about Mary Walcot secretly biting herself, and then screaming out that good Rebecca Nurse had bitten her? How about the little prints on the arms of the “afflicted girls,” which they allowed were made by the teeth of little Dorcas Good, that child not five years old; and which Mistress Ann knew were made by the girls themselves? How about the bites and streaks and bruises which she herself had shown as the visible proof that the spectre of good Rebecca Nurse, then lying in jail, was biting her and beating her with her chains? For Edward Putnam had sworn: “I saw the marks both of bite and chains.”

  Perhaps it was safer to let Master Raymond’s juggling go unexposed, considering that she herself and the “afflicted girls” had done so very much of it.

  Therefore she said, “I have no faith in Master Raymond nevertheless; no more than Moses had in King Pharaoh’s sorcerers, when they did the very same miracles before the king that he had done. I believe him now to be a cunning and a very bad young man, and I think if I had been on the spot, instead of his being at this very moment as I have very little doubt, over at brother’s, where they are congratulating each other on the success of their unprincipled plans, Master Raymond would now be lying in Salem jail.”

  “Probably you are correct, my dear,” responded her husband meekly; “and I think it not unlikely that Master Raymond may have thought the same, and planned to keep you away — but it was evident to me, that if the ‘afflicted girls’ had taken one side or the other in the matter, it would not have been yours. Why, even our own daughter Ann, was laughing and joking with him when I entered the court room.”

  “Yes,” said his wife disdainfully— “that is girl-nature, all over the earth! Just put a handsome young man before them, who has seen the world, and is full of his smiles and flatteries and cajolements, and the wisest of women can do nothing with them. But the cold years bring them out of that!” she added bitterly. “They find what they call love, is a folly and a snare.”

  Her husband looked out of the window into the dark night, and made no reply to this outburst. He had always loved his wife, and he thought, when he
married her, that she loved him — although he was an excellent match, so far as property and family were concerned. Still she would occasionally talk in this way; and he hoped and trusted that it did not mean much.

  “I think myself,” he said at length, “that it is quite as much the pretty gifts he has made them, and has promised to send them from England, as his handsome face and pleasant manners.”

  “Oh, of course, it all goes together. They are a set of mere giggling girls; and that is all you can make of them. And our daughter Ann is as bad as any of the lot. I wish she did not take so much after your family, Thomas.”

  This roused her husband a little. “I am sure, Ann, that our family are much stronger and healthier than your own are. And as to Ann’s being like the other girls, I wish she was. She is about the only delicate and nervous one among them.”

  “Well, Thomas, if you have got at last upon that matter of the superiority of the Putnams to everybody else in the Province, I think I shall go to bed,” retorted his wife. “That is the only thing that you are thoroughly unreasonable about. But I do not think you ever had a single minister, or any learned scholar, in your family, or ever owned a whole island, in the Merrimack river as my family, the Harmons, always have done, since the country was first settled — and probably always shall, for the next five hundred years.”

  To this Thomas Putnam had no answer. He knew well that he had no minister and no island in his family — and those two things, in his wife’s estimation, were things that no family of any reputation should be without. He had not brought on the discussion, although his wife had accused him of so doing, and had only asserted what he thought the truth in stating that the Putnams were the stronger and sturdier race.

  “I do not wish to hurt your feelings, Thomas, in reminding you of these things,” continued his wife, finding he was not intending to reply; “I will admit that your family is a very reputable and worthy one, even if it is not especially gifted with intellect like the Harmons, else you may be sure that I should not have married into it. But I have a headache, and do not wish to continue this discussion any longer, as it is unpleasant to me, and besides in very bad taste.”

  And so, taking the hint, Master Putnam, like a dutiful husband, who really loved his somewhat peevish and fretful wife, acknowledged by his silence in the future that the Harmons were much superior to any family that could not boast of possessing a minister and an island; the latter for five hundred years!

  CHAPTER XLVII.

  Master Raymond Visits Lady Mary.

  When Master Raymond returned to Boston, he found that an important event had taken place in his absence. Captain Alden and Master Philip English and his wife, had all escaped from prison, and were nowhere to be found. How Captain Alden had managed things with the jailer the young man was not able to ascertain — probably however, by a liberal use of money. As for Master English and his wife, they were, as I have already said, at liberty in the day time, under heavy bonds; and had nothing to do but walk off sometime between sunrise and sundown. As Master English’s ship, “The Porcupine,” had been lying for a week or two in Boston harbor, and left with a brisk northwest wind early in the morning of the day when they were reported missing, it was not difficult for anyone to surmise as to their mode of escape. As to Captain Alden, he might or might not have gone with them.

  As was natural, there was a good deal of righteous indignation expressed by all in authority. The jailer was reprimanded for his carelessness in the case of Captain Alden, and warned that if another prisoner escaped, he would forfeit his, of late, very profitable position. And the large properties of both gentlemen were attached and held as being subject to confiscation.

  But while the magistrates and officials usually were in earnest in these proceedings, it was generally believed that the Governor, influenced by Lady Mary, had secretly favored the escaping parties. The two ministers of South Church — Masters Willard and Moody — were also known to have frequently visited the Captain and Master English in their confinement, and to have expressed themselves very freely in public, relative to the absurdity of the charges which had been made against them. Master Moody had even gone so far as to preach a sermon on the text, ‘When they persecute you in this city, flee ye into another,’ which was supposed by many to have a direct bearing on the case of the accused. And it is certain that soon afterwards, the Reverend Master Moody found it expedient to resign his position in South Church and go back to his old home in Portsmouth.

  Anxious to learn the true inwardness of all this matter, Master Raymond called a few days after his return to see Lady Mary. Upon sending in his name, a maid immediately appeared, and he was taken as before to the boudoir where he found her ladyship eagerly awaiting him.

  “And so you are safely out of the lion’s den, Master Raymond,” said she, laughing. “I heard you had passed through securely.”

  The young man smiled. “Yes, thanks to Providence, and to a good friend of mine in Salem.”

  “Tell me all about it,” said the lady. “I have had the magisterial account already, and now wish to have yours.”

  “Will your ladyship pardon me if I ask a question first? I am so anxious to hear about Mistress Dulcibel. Have you seen her lately — and is she well?”

  “As well and as blooming as ever. The keeper and his wife treat her very kindly — and I think would continue to do so — even if the supply of British gold pieces were to fail. By the way, she might be on the high seas now — or rather in New York — if she had so chosen.”

  “I wish she had. Why did she not go with them?”

  “Because your arrest complicated things so. She would not go and leave you in the hands of the Philistines.”

  “Oh, that was foolish.”

  “I think so, too; but I do not think that you are exactly the person to say so,” responded the lady, a little offended at what seemed a want of appreciation of the sacrifice that Dulcibel had made on his account.

  But Master Raymond appeared not to notice the rebuke. He simply added: “If I could have been there to counsel her, I would have convinced her that I was in no serious danger — for, even if imprisoned, I do not think there is a jail in the Province that could hold me.”

  “Well, there was a difficulty with the Keeper also — for she had given her word, you know, not to escape, when she was taken into his house.”

  “But Captain Alden had also given his word. How did he manage it?”

  “I do not know,” replied the lady. “But, to a hint dropped by Dulcibel, the jailer shook his head resolutely, and said that no money would tempt him.”

  “The difficulty in her case then remains the same as ever,” said the young man thoughtfully, and a little gloomily. “She might go into the prison. But that would be to give warning that she had planned to escape. Besides, it is such a vile place, that I hate the idea of her passing a single night in one of its sickening cells.”

  “Perhaps I can wring a pardon out of Sir William,” said the lady musing.

  “Oh, Lady Mary, if you only could, we should both forever worship you!”

  The lady smiled at the young man’s impassioned language and manner — he looked as if he would throw himself at her feet.

  “I should be too glad to do it. But Sir William just now is more rigid than ever. He had a call yesterday from his pastor, Master Cotton Mather, and a long talk from him about the witches. Master Mather, it seems, has had further evidence and of the most convincing character, of the reality of these spectral appearances.”

  “Indeed!” said Master Raymond showing great interest for he had an idea of what was coming.

  “Yes, in a recent examination at Salem before Squire Hathorne, a young man struck with his sword at a spectral yellow bird which was tormenting an afflicted person; and several small yellow feathers were cut off by the thrust, and floated down to the floor. Squire Hathorne writes to Master Mather that he would not have believed it, if he had not seen it; but, as it was, he would be wi
lling to take his oath before any Court in Christendom, that this wonderful thing really occurred.”

  Master Raymond could not help laughing.

  “I see you have no more faith in the story than I have,” continued Lady Mary. “But it had a great effect upon Sir William, coming from a man of such wonderful learning and wisdom as Master Cotton Mather. Especially as he said that he had seen the yellow feathers himself; which had since been sent to him by Squire Hathorne, and which had a singular smell of sulphur about them.”

  The young man broke into a heartier laugh than before. Then he said scornfully, “It seems to me that no amount of learning, however great, can make a sensible man out of a fool.”

  “Why, you know something about this then? Did it happen while you were in Salem?”

  “I know everything about it,” said Master Raymond, “I am the very man that worked the miracle.” And he proceeded to give Lady Mary a detailed account of the whole affair, substantially as it is known to the reader.

  “By the way, as to the feathers smelling of sulphur,” concluded the young man, “I think that it is very probable, inasmuch as I observed the jailer’s wife that very morning giving the younger chickens powdered brimstone to cure them of the pip.”

  “I think you are a marvelously clever young man,” was the lady’s first remark as he concluded his account.

  “Thank your ladyship!” replied Master Raymond smiling. “I hope I shall always act so as to deserve such a good opinion.”

  “I would have given my gold cup — which the Duke of Albemarle gave me — to have been there; especially when the yellow bird’s feathers came floating down to Squire Hathorne’s reverential amazement,” said Lady Mary, laughing heartily. “You must come up here tomorrow morning at noon. Master Mather is to bring his feathers to show the Governor, and to astound the Governor’s skeptical wife. You are not afraid to come, are you?”