How Master Joseph Circumvented Mistress Ann.
About an hour afterwards, Master Joseph saw one of his farm-hands coming
over the fields from the direction of his brother's house, which was
about two miles almost directly to the west of his own house. Going out
to meet him, he said--
"Well, Simon Peter, I see that you got the rake."
"Yes, Master Joseph; but they wish me to return it as soon as we can."
"That is right. Finish your job in the garden this afternoon, and take
it back early tomorrow morning. You can go to work now."
The man walked off toward the garden.
"Wait a moment!" his master cried. The man stopped. "Anything new at
brother Thomas's? Are they all at home?"
"No, indeed! Master Thomas has gone off to Ipswich--and little Ann is at
Salem town."
"I could not borrow a horse, then, of them, you think?"
"No, indeed, sir. There is only one left in the stable; and Mistress
Putnam means to use that to go to the trial this afternoon."
"Oh, well, I do not care much;" and his master walked off to the house,
while Simon Peter went to his work.
Then, after a somewhat earlier dinner than usual, Master Joseph ordered
his young horse, Sweetbriar, saddled; and after kissing his wife "in a
scandalous manner"--that is, out of doors, where some one might have
seen him do it--he mounted, and cantered off down the lane.
The young man loved a good horse and he claimed that Sweetbriar, with a
year or two more of age and hardening, would be the fastest horse in the
Province. As to temper, the horse was well named; for he could be as
sweet, when properly handled, as a rose; and as sharp and briary as any
rose-stalk under contrary conditions. A nervous, sensitive, high-mettled
animal; Mistress Putnam, though a good rider, said it was too much work
to manage him. While her husband always responded that Sweetbriar could
be ridden by any one, for he was as gentle as a lamb.
Just as Mistress Ann Putnam had got through her dinner, she saw her
brother-in-law Joseph riding up the lane. The brothers, as has been
seen, differed very widely relative to the Witchcraft prosecutions; but
still they visited one another, as they were held together by various
family ties, and especially by the old lawsuit against certain of the
Ipswich men, to which I have alluded.
Therefore Mistress Putnam opened the door and went out to the garden
gate, where by this time the young man had dismounted, and fastened his
horse.
"Is brother Thomas at home, Sister Ann?"
"No--he had a call to Ipswich this morning."
"Ah--the lawsuit business."
"I suppose so. But the messenger was so overcome with liquor, that he
could not even remember who sent him."
"Why, how could Thomas know where to go then?"
"Oh, the man managed to say that his employee would be waiting for
Thomas at the "Crown and Anchor," where he usually stops you know."
"Well, I am glad that Thomas went. I stopped to see if Jehosaphat could
do a little errand for me--I might have sent one of my own men, but I
forget matters sometimes."
"You will find him at the barn," replied Mistress
Putnam, a little anxious to cut short the conversation, as she wished to
get ready for her ride to Salem.
Going to the barn, Master Joseph soon found Jehosaphat. "How do, Fatty!"
this was the not very dignified diminutive into which Jehosaphat had
dwindled in common use. "How are you getting along?"
"Fair to middlin, sir. Not as well though as on the old place, Master
Joseph."
"I do not want to interfere with my brother, remember; but if at any
time he should not want you any more, remember the old place is still
open for you. It was your own fault, you know, that you went."
"I did not know when I was well off, Master Joseph. I was a fool, that
was all."
"I thought so," replied Master Joseph pithily. "But no matter about that
now--can you do an errand for me?"
"Of course I can--the mistress willing."
"Well, I said I wished to send you on an errand, and she told me where
to find you."
"That is all right then."
"Go to Goodman Buckley's, in Salem village, and ask him for a bundle I
left--bring it to my house, you know, you can take the roan horse
there. And, by the way, Fatty, if you want to stop an hour or two to see
the widow Jones's pretty daughter, I guess no great harm will be done."
Jehosaphat giggled--but then his face clouded. "But Mistress Putnam
wants to take the roan herself this afternoon. The trial comes off, you
know."
"Oh, it is not a trial--it is only an examination. And it is all
fiddlesticks, anyhow. My sister-in-law is ruining her health by all this
witch business. But if she insists upon going, I will lend her one of my
horses. Therefore that need not keep you."
So Jehosaphat, in high glee at having an afternoon's holiday, with the
roan horse, threw on the saddle and mounted.
As he rode at a rapid canter down the lane, Mistress Ann heard the
noise, but supposed it was Master Joseph riding off again,--and did not
even trouble herself to look out of the window, especially as she was
just then changing her gown.
Not long after, coming into the family room, who should she see there,
sitting demurely, reading one of the Reverend Cotton Mather's most
popular sermons, but the same Master Joseph Putnam whom she had thought
she was well rid of.
"I thought you had gone. I surely heard you riding down the lane," she
said in a surprised tone.
"Oh, no, I wanted to speak with you about something."
"Who was it then?--I surely heard some one."
"Perhaps it was one of those spectral horses, with a spectral rider. As
Master Mather says: These are very wonderful and appalling times!" And
the young man laughed a little scornfully.
"Brother Joseph, I do not care to talk with you upon this question. I
greatly regret, as do your brothers and your uncles, that you have gone
over to the infidels and the scoffers."
"And I regret that they are making such fools of themselves," replied
Joseph hotly.
"I have no time to discuss this question, brother Joseph," said Mistress
Ann with dignity. "I am going to Salem town this afternoon, very much in
the cross, to give my testimony against a young friend of yours. Would
that I could have been spared this trial!" and his sister-in-law looked
up to the ceiling sanctimoniously. As Joseph told his young wife that
night, her hypocrisy hardened his heart against her; so that he could
have kept her at home by sheer force, if it were necessary, and at all
expedient--in fact he would have preferred that rough but sincere way.
"If you testify to anything that throws doubt upon Master Raymond's
perfect innocency and goodness, you will testify to a lie," replied
Master Joseph severely.
"As I said, I have no time for argument. Will you be good enough to tell
Jehosaphat to saddle the roan for me."
"You know that I had your permission to send Fatty off on an errand--and
he is not back yet."
Mistress Putnam started and bit her lip. She had made a mistake. "I
suppose he will be back before long."
"I doubt it. I sent him to the village."
"Well, I suppose I can put on the saddle myself. Your conscience
probably would not allow you to do it--even if common courtesy towards a
woman, and that woman your sister, demanded it."
"Without deciding the latter point, I should think it almost impossible
for me to put a saddle on the roan just now."
"Why? I do not understand you."
"Because he is doubtless miles away by this time."
"Jehosaphat did not take the horse!"
"It is precisely what he did do."
"He knew I wanted the roan to ride to Salem town this afternoon."
"He told me you did; but I said that I thought you would have too much
sense to go. Still, if you would go, that I would lend you one of my
horses."
"Well, where is your horse?"
"There, at the door. You can take off my saddle, and put on your
side-saddle, and, if you are in a hurry, Sweetbriar can do the distance
in half the time that the roan could."
Mistress Putnam could have cried with anger and vexation. Like many
people of strong and resolute will, she was a good deal of a coward on
horseback; and she knew that Sweetbriar was what the farmers called "a
young and very skittish animal." Still her determined spirit rose
against thus being outdone; besides, she knew well that in a case like
this, where none of the "afflicted circle," not even her own daughter,
would aid her, the whole thing might fall through if she were not
present. So she said, "Well, I will saddle your horse myself."
Here Master Joseph relented--because he now felt certain of his game. "I
have conscientious scruples against lifting even my little finger to
aid you in this unholy business," he said more placidly, "but under the
circumstances, I will saddle Sweetbriar for you."
So saying, he took off his saddle from the horse, and substituted the
side-saddle which he brought from the barn. Then he led Sweetbriar to
the horse-block, and his sister-in-law mounted.
She glanced at his spurs. "You ride him with spurs, I see. Hand me my
riding-whip," she said, pointing to where she had laid it, when she
first came out.
"I would not strike him, if I were you. He is not used to the whip--it
might make him troublesome."
Mistress Putnam made no reply; but gathered up the reins, and the horse
started down the lane.
A singular smile came across the young man's features. He went back and
closed the door of the house, and then started in a rapid walk across
the field towards his own home. Neither of them thought it mattered that
the house was left for a time unprotected. Mistress Putnam knew that a
couple of farm-hands were at work in a distant field, who would be back
at sundown; and there were so few strollers at that time, that no
farmer thought of bolting up his doors and windows when he went to
meeting, or to see a neighbor.
The way home across the fields was a good deal nearer than to go by the
road, as the latter made quite an angle. And, as the young man strode
swiftly, on he could see in many places his sister-in-law, riding
deliberately along, and approaching the forks of the road, where anyone
going to his own house, would turn and ride away from, instead of toward
Salem.
"When she gets to the forks of the road, look out for squalls," said
Master Joseph to himself. For many had been his own fights with
Sweetbriar, when the horse wanted to go towards his stable, after a long
ride, and his young master wanted him to go in the opposite direction.
Sweetbriar had already gone about twenty miles that day--and, besides,
had been given only the merest mouthful for dinner, with the object of
preparing him for this special occasion.
The next swell in the ground afforded the young man an excellent view.
Sweetbriar had arrived at the turn which led to his stable; where rest
and oats awaited him; and it evidently seemed to Him the height of
injustice and unreason to be asked to go all the way back to Salem
again. Mistress Ann, however, knew nothing of these previous
experiences of the animal, but imputed his insubordinate behavior
entirely to self-will and obstinacy. And thus, as the great globe moves
around the sun in a perpetual circle, as the result of the two
conflicting forces of gravitation and fly-off-it-iveness, so Sweetbriar
circled around and around, like a cat chasing his tail, as the result of
the conflicting wills of himself and his rider.
Master Joseph watched the progress of the whole affair with decided
pleasure. "No woman but a witch could get Sweetbriar past that turn," he
said to himself, laughing outright, "And no man, who had not a pair of
spurs on."
At last, getting out of all patience, Mistress Putnam raised her whip
and brought it down sharply on her horse's shoulder. This decided the
struggle; for, unused to such punishment, the fiery animal reared, and
then turning, sprang up the road that led to his stable at a wild
gallop.
His rider as I have said, was not a very good horse-woman, and she now
took hold of the horn of the saddle with her right hand, to enable her
to keep her seat; and tried to moderate the gait of the horse with the
reins and the voice, abandoning all further resistance to his will as
useless.
Setting off at a run, Master Joseph was able to reach home just about
the same time as his sister-in-law did.
"Ah! I am glad you changed your mind, Sister Ann, about going to Salem.
It is a great deal more sensible to come and spend the afternoon with
Elizabeth."
"Very glad to see you, Sister Ann," said Mistress Joseph, coming out to
the horse-block, at which Sweetbriar, from force of habit, had stopped.
Mistress Ann looked offended, and replied coldly, "I had no intention of
coming here this afternoon, Sister Elizabeth; but this vile brute, which
Joseph lent me, after sending away my own horse, would neither obey the
reins nor the whip."
"You rascal!" said Master Joseph severely, addressing the horse. "You do
not deserve to have a lady ride you."
"Can you not lend me another horse--say the one Elizabeth always rides?"
"All the other horses are out at work," replied Master Joseph; "and
before I could get one of them in, and at all groomed up, ready for the
saddle, I am afraid it would be too late for your purpose."
"So I must be compelled to do as you wish, and stay away from the
examination?" said Mistress Ann bitterly.
"Oh, if you choose, I will put a pillion on Sweetbriar, and see how that
works?" replied Master Joseph with a meek and patient expression of
countenance, as of one upbraided without cause. "To be sure, Sweetbriar
has never been asked to carry double; but he might as well learn now as
ever."
"That seems to be the only thing that can be done now," and the
expression of Mistress Ann's face resembled that of a martyr who was
about to be tied to the stake; for riding on a pillion brought the lady
always into the closest proximity with the gentleman, and she was now
cherishing towards Master Joseph a temper that could hardly be called
sisterly.
There was necessarily a great waste of time in getting the pillion on
Sweetbriar. He never had carried double, and he evidently felt insulted
by being asked to do it. Master Joseph glanced at the sun, and knew it
must be now full two o'clock. Only by fast riding, would it be possible
to get to Salem court-house by three; and the roads, as they then were,
did not admit of fast riding except in a few places.
It was no easy thing for Mistress Ann to get on Sweetbriar, for the
horse backed and sidled off from the horse-block whenever she attempted
it--all his sweetness seemed gone by this time, and the briars alone
remained. At least fifteen minutes more were lost in this way. But at
last the difficult feat was accomplished.
"Hold on to me tightly," said the young man, "or you will be thrown
off--" for the irritated animal began to curvet around in all
directions, manifesting a strong determination to go back to his stable,
instead of forward towards Salem.
"I think we had better try the other road, and not pass the forks where
you had so much trouble with him," said Master Joseph, as the horse went
more quietly, going up the first hill.
"As you think best," said his sister-in-law, in a sharp tone, "If I had
a horse like this I would shoot him!"
"Oh, Sweetbriar is good enough usually. I never saw him so violent and
troublesome as he is to-day. And I think I know the reason of it."
"What is the reason?"
"I fear he has an 'evil hand' upon him," said Master Joseph with great
solemnity.
"Nonsense," replied Mistress Ann sharply.
"He has got the wicked One in him; that is the matter with him."
"That is about the same thing," said Master Joseph.
Now they were at the top of the hill, and the horse broke into tantrums
again; requiring all of Master Joseph's skill to prevent his toppling
himself and his two riders over one of the many boulders that obstructed
the road.
"If you do not hold on to me more tightly, Sister Ann, you will be
thrown off," said Master Joseph, putting back his right hand to steady
her. And Mistress Ann was compelled to lock her arms around him, or take
the chance of serious injury from being dashed to the rough highway. The
young man would have liked to relieve his feelings by a hearty burst of
laughter, as he felt her arms embracing him so warmly, but of course he
dared not.
They soon came near the main road, running due north and south, and
which it was necessary to take, as it led directly down to Salem.
Sweetbriar knew that road well--and that he never stopped when once
turned to the south on it, short of a six mile ride. He remembered his
recent victorious struggle at the Forks, and now resolved upon another
battle. All of Master Putnam's efforts--or what seemed so--could not get
him headed southward on that road. In truth, burdened as he was, the
young man really could not do it, without incurring too much risk to the
lady behind him. Those who have ever had such a battle with a wilful,
mettlesome horse, know that it often requires the utmost patience and
determination on the part of his rider, to come out victorious. The best
plan--the writer speaks from some experience--is to pull the animal
round in a circle until his brain becomes confused, and then start him
off in the right direction.
But Sweetbriar evidently had a better brain than usual, for when the
whirl came to an end, it always found his pointing like the magnetic
needle to the north. It had been Master Joseph's plan to pretend a good
deal of earnestness in the struggle which he was certain would come in
this place; but he was pleased to find that there was no need of any
pretence in the matter. The horse, under the circumstances, the young
man having a lady's safety to consult, was the master. Repeated trials
only proved it. Whenever the fierce, final tug of war came, Mistress
Ann's safety had to be consulted, and the horse had his own way. So, as
the result Sweetbriar started off in a sharp canter up, instead of down,
the road.
"Take me home then," said his sister-in-law--"if you will not take me to
Salem."
"If I _will_ not," repeated Master Joseph. "I give you my honest word,
Sister Ann, that I could not make this horse go down the road, with us
two on his back, if I stayed here all the afternoon trying. I should
think you must have seen that."
"No matter. Take me home."
"Besides, we could not get to Salem before four o'clock now, if
Sweetbriar went his best and prettiest."
"I give it up. Let us turn and go home."
"If we turn and go back the way we came, I do not think I shall be able
to get this self-willed animal past my own gate."
"Well, what do you mean to do?" said the lady bitterly. "Ride on up to
Topsfield?"
Master Joseph laughed. "No--there is a road strikes off towards your
house a short distance above here, and I think I can get you home by it,
without any further trouble."
"Very well--get me home as soon as you can. I do not feel like any
further riding, or much more talking."
"Of course it is very aggravating," replied Master Putnam soothingly,
"but then you know as Master Parris says, that all these earthly
disappointments are our most valuable experiences--teaching us not to
set our hopes upon worldly things, but upon those of a more enduring and
satisfying character."
His sister-in-law's face, that he could not see, she being behind him,
wore a look as she listened to this, which could be hardly called
evangelical.
"You wished very much I know to go this afternoon to Salem," continued
Master Joseph, in the same sermonizing tone; "but doubtless your wish
has been overruled for good. I think, as a member of church, you should
be willing to acquiesce patiently in the singular turn that affairs have
taken, and console yourself with the thought that you have been
innocently riding these peaceful roads instead of being in Salem, doing
perchance an infinite deal of mischief."
"No doubt what you are saying seems to you very wise and edifying,
Joseph Putnam, but I have a bad headache, and do not care to converse
any further."
"But you must admit that your projected visit has been frustrated in a
very singular, if not remarkable manner?" Master Joseph knew that he
had her now at an advantage; she was compelled to listen to everything
he chose to say. His saddle was even better in that respect than the
minister's pulpit--you might leave a church, but she could not leave the
horse.
"I do not see anything very miraculous, brother Joseph, in a young man
like you having a self-willed and unprincipled horse. In truth, the
wonder would be if you had a decent and well-governed animal," replied
his sister-in-law wrathfully.
The young man smiled at the retort, but she could not see the gleam of
sunshine as it passed rapidly over his face; lingering a moment in the
soft depths of his sweet blue eyes. There was no smile however in his
voice, but the previous solemnity, as he continued:--
"And yet if Balaam's ass could see the angel of the Lord, with his
drawn-sword, standing in the way, and barring his further progress in
wrongdoing, why might not this horse--who is much more intelligent than
an ass--have seen a similar vision?"
The young man had begun this speech somewhat in sport; but as he ended
it, the assumed tone of solemnity had passed into one of real
earnestness. For, as he asked himself, "Why should it not be? This woman
with him was bound on a wicked errand. Why should not the angel or the
Lord stand in her way also--and the horse see him, even if his riders
did not?"
Mistress Putnam made no answer. Perhaps now that the young man was
really in earnest, what he said made some impression upon her, but, more
probably it did not.
He, too, relapsed into silence. It seemed to him a good place to stop
his preaching, and let his sister-in-law think over what he had said.
"Thank Heaven we are here at last!" said the baffled woman, as they rode
up to the horse-block at her own door. Sweetbriar stood very quiet, and
she stepped on the block, Master Joseph keeping his seat.
"Will you dismount and stay to supper, brother Joseph?" said Mistress
Ann, in a soft purring tone. Master Joseph fairly started with his
surprise, and looked steadily into her dark, inscrutable eyes--eyes like
Jael's as she gazed upon sleeping Sisera.
"No, I thank you--I expect a friend to supper. I hope brother Thomas
heard some good news at Ipswich. Come and see us when you feel like
it." And he rode off.
As he told his wife afterwards, he would not have taken supper with his
sister Ann that evening as he valued his life.
And yet perhaps it was all imagination--and he did not see that thing
lurking in the depths of his sister-in-law's cold, unfathomable eyes
that he thought he did. And yet her testimony against Rebecca Nurse,
reads to us, even at this late day, with all the charity that we are
disposed to exercise towards things so long past, as cold-blooded,
deliberate murder.