IN THE NAME OF THE KING.
Captain Carteret and I clasped hands when we saw that the enemy had been
repelled for the time. They hardly would renew the fight for a few
hours, I thought, and we would have a chance to rest and get something
to eat, for it was now afternoon, and we all knew that breakfast had
been a long way back. So leaving a sentinel on guard at each face of the
palisade, we sent the other men away. Carteret and I went to his
quarters.
As the door opened I saw Simon standing in the centre of the room.
“Have you been here since the fighting began?” asked the Captain of him.
“I have,” answered Simon. “My life was not my own to lose it by a stray
bullet. When my oath is fulfilled I will fight.”
“There was need of every man,” replied Carteret sternly, “oaths or no
oaths. I like not cowards, even though they come with warrants from the
King.”
Simon made no response.
“Now, as concerns this matter,” continued the commander, “which we had
to break off when the battle began. Sir George Keith, and a braver man
there never lived, was my boyhood friend, Amherst, and I am much grieved
to learn that he is no more. I would have served him living, and, if I
can I will do so dead. It seems, Amherst, you are interested in the
affair, the nature of which is not clear to me. Let us see what is in
the royal warrant,” and he drew the parchment from his pocket.
“What is it about, Simon, for I am no hand at the law.”
Thereupon Simon related the tale, as he had it from his master, I
suppose, of how I had fought on the side of Duke Monmouth, and had been
adjudged a traitor, but had escaped ere I could be sold to slavery. As
Simon progressed I saw the Captain’s face grow grave and stern, for, it
seemed, he was a great friend at court, and all his people had been
against Monmouth. Therefore he had little liking for a rebel like
myself, and one who was accused of treason.
“What have you to say?” asked Carteret, when Simon had finished.
“Much,” I replied, and I began to think.
Truly I seemed to be in sore straits. If there was but some way out of
it with honor, most gladly would I have welcomed it. For I could not let
myself be taken now, and separated from Lucille, just when I had found
her again. If I was sent back to England under arrest as a traitor
(though I never admitted I was one, for I had no mind to betray my own
country) I might count on a long imprisonment, if not death, and I would
never see my love more. Then I hoped that a plan of escape might come to
me, and so, after all, foil Simon.
“The matter need not be decided now,” I said as though I had my case all
prepared, but only waited convenience to try it. “There is no occasion
for haste, as I promise I will not run out among the red devils howling
for our scalps. Let it rest.”
“Suppose you are killed?” suggested Simon. “What then becomes of the
warrant?”
“Why, you may keep it, Simon,” I said. “There is no law that will reach
the dead.”
“But I am under oath to a dead man to see the warrant properly served on
a live man,” expostulated the sailor, “and you are the person
mentioned.”
“’Tis a serious matter,” spoke up the Captain, “and one, the like of
which I never knew before. To be strictly within the law I must arrest
you, though you need not hand over your sword, nor suffer imprisonment.
For we need your counsel and stout arm in the defense of the block. The
Indians have only tasted blood, and want more. Our stubborn defense has
roused them to a pitch of fury, and they will soon be swarming about our
ears again.”
“Then I am to consider myself a prisoner,” I said, as calmly as I could;
for I did not like Captain Carteret’s easy compliance with Simon’s
demands.
“A prisoner, if you please,” replied the Captain. “The other details may
wait until the more pressing matter of the Indian attack is settled.
After that we may have no need of captors or prisoners, either.”
“’Tis very likely,” I said grimly, “seeing that we have but seventy
fighting men left to stand against more than seven hundred.”
But I was not as easy as I pretended about the matter of the royal
warrant. I knew it would not dared be ignored by Carteret, and Simon
would see to it that the Captain did not fail to execute it.
“Yes, it is necessary that you be considered under arrest,” went on the
commander, “though never did a jailer serve a warrant with less liking
for the task. For, mark you, Amherst, I had a liking for you as soon as
you and the sweet maid came in, and the affection has grown when I see
how well you can fight,” and all the while he was turning the document
over and over in his hand, as if he had hold of an unpleasant object. He
looked on both sides of the parchment, but made no move to open it and
learn the contents. Simon was watching both of us with a pleased light
in his eyes.
“Since then you are under arrest,” proceeded the Captain, “I believe it
is in accord with the law that I read the warrant to you. I am not very
well versed in legal lore, but, mayhap, I can make some small shift at
this.”
Thereupon Carteret, assuming a dignified air, that was in strange
keeping with his powder-grimed face, and his battle-torn clothing,
opened the warrant. He read over the first few lines to himself, and
then burst out with:
“Providence preserve us! But this is more than passing wonderful and
strange! Can it be that I read aright?”
And while Simon watched him eagerly, and I with fear at what was to
come, the Captain read what was written, skipping half a dozen words,
every now and then.
“‘Warrant--hum--for one Captain Edward Amherst--hum--did on divers
occasions--hum--practice the said detestable arts, wickedly and
feloniously and traitorously, upon and against--hum--the deponents John
Bly, Deliverance Hobbs and Benjamin Proctor.’ What is this? ‘Wherefore,
that is to say, the said--in manner following--hum--is hereby charged
with witchcraft.’
“Witchcraft!” he fairly shouted at the end. “Witchcraft? Has that vile
malady come among us?”
“Witchcraft?” faltered Simon, his face white with fear.
“Witchcraft?” I cried out, wondering what would happen next.
“Witchcraft? Who talks of witchcraft?” asked a sweet voice behind us,
and we turned to behold Lucille, who had come in unobserved.
“Aye, witchcraft,” replied Captain Carteret, the first to recover from
the surprise. “’Tis little, madame, that you can have to do with this
crime, which makes the bravest and boldest to shudder in fear. For the
evil repute of it and the terror it has wrought, has spread to Elizabeth
town, even from Salem.”
“Perchance I may have more to do with it than at first appears,” said
Lucille. Then I happened to remember something of a certain document she
had.
“Let us consider,” went on Carteret, moving a little away from me, and
taking care not to look me in the eye. “Simon, you had this warrant, and
when you gave it to me I supposed it was for treason against His Most
Gracious Majesty, as you stated. ’Tis so endorsed on the outside. How
came you by it?”
“From Sir George Keith,” answered Simon, “as he lay dying on the sands,
slain----”
“Nay, not slain,” I interrupted sternly, “speak the truth. Not slain,
but killed in a fair fight, though it was not my sword that dealt the
fatal blow.”
“When he lay dying,” went on Simon, correcting himself, but, otherwise,
not heeding me, “he called me, his bond servant, to him, and made me
swear an oath that I would take the warrant, and following Captain
Amherst, command the first King’s representative I met, to serve it.
This I did, for Sir George obtained permission from Captain Amherst,
that I might accompany him to this place.”
“Said he what the warrant was for?” asked Carteret.
“Only that it was for treason,” responded Simon. “I marked that he
pulled two documents from his pocket, looked at them both, and giving me
one, replaced the other in his breast. Then he died, and we buried him
in the sands.”
I knew then what had occurred. Sir George had made an error. He
possessed the original warrant of treason against me, and also the one
for witchcraft that he had been at pains to secure in Salem. The two
documents were together, and, knowing that the charge of being a witch
had failed, he sought, even though he knew he would be dead, to have me
apprehended on the other. But he had given the wrong warrant to Simon.
So that now the only document I feared was buried with the dead. Ere
this the sea had probably washed away all trace of the grave, and,
mayhap, the silent occupant.
I was a free man!
Sir George had overreached himself, and set me at liberty, when he meant
to send me to prison.
“Know you aught of this witchcraft?” asked the Captain of Simon, never
looking at me.
“I heard somewhat of it,” was the sailor’s answer. “There was talk, when
I left Salem, that Captain Amherst and others had done many grievous
wrongs to innocent persons. I heard something, too, of a warrant for
him, but I was not there at the time, being away on business for my
lord. Doubtless Captain Amherst fled ere the warrant could be served.
But ’tis strange, though,” went on Simon, “that Sir George should speak
of a charge of high treason against the King, and give me only a warrant
for witchcraft.”
“His mind may have played him false,” suggested Carteret. “This often
occurs to those about to die.”
“Perchance,” said Simon, gloomily.
But I knew what had happened.
“No matter,” came from Carteret, “the wording of the warrant is of small
consequence. Witchcraft being a crime, may well be considered treason
against His Majesty, and that is what Sir George meant, I suppose. So,
albeit I am little versed in the manner of apprehending spirits, yet I
must do my duty, for I am the Governor now, and the representative of
the King. ’Tis ill to judge a man ere he is tried, and you may prove no
witch, Captain Amherst, but an honest gentleman, and a soldier.
Therefore assuming that you are such, yet I want your promise, or,
seeing that it savors of war now, your parole, that you will not
escape.”
“Escape?” I inquired. “Escape? Where to? How?” for I was not yet ready
to tell certain things.
“You must promise that you will not try to get away by any means such as
witches use; the riding of broom sticks, of fence rails, or on the back
of a black cat (though I do not believe we have one in the place) since
I have heard all these means mentioned as being of service to witches
when they wish to escape through the air.”
“I promise,” I replied, as gravely as I could.
“And also promise that you will work no harm to any in the block house
by the black art,” went on Carteret. “Though it might serve, could you
practice some devil’s trick on those red servants of His Majesty of the
lower regions, who howl without. Say, Captain,” he continued, eagerly,
and looking at me for the first time since he had read the warrant,
“would it not be within your province and power to summon a horde of
witches and have them torment the Indians? That would be fine. The
savages would be filled with fear and trembling and the terror of death,
and leave us alone.
“Could you not work some such black art as that,” he went on earnestly.
“’Twould be a noble use for your powers, and might even serve to absolve
you when it comes to trial. What say you?”
“Why do you speak like a child?” I answered with some anger. “Enough of
this. I give the promises you want readily, because there is no need to
make them. I have no more power as a witch than have you or Simon
or----”
“The Lord forbid!” exclaimed Carteret, with fervor. And he shrank back
as if to escape contact with me.
“Then you cannot ride a fence rail?” he asked when he had studied over
the matter a while longer.
“Nay,” I said, mockingly, for I was weary of the farce.
“Nor a broom stick?”
“Nay.”
“Nor a black cat?”
“Peace! Peace!” I cried; “this is worse than to fight the Indians.”
“And you can work no magic on them, then?” persisted Carteret.
“Not so much as would cause a papoose to cry out.”
I thought the commander looked disappointed, forgetting his fear of my
witch powers in his desire to see them worked on the savages.
“Well, you may consider that you are on parole,” he went on after a
pause.
“And you will see, will you not, Captain Carteret, that he is sent back
to Governor Phips?” asked Simon. “For that was the last wish of Sir
George.”
“Tut, tut, Simon,” said Carteret, “the matter is out of your hands now,
though you did your part, and kept your oath as you should. Captain
Amherst is my prisoner on parole, and I will consider what further to
do, when we have more time, and a greater security in which to discuss
it.”
“But I have somewhat to say now, if it please you, Captain Carteret,” I
broke in, at the same time stepping forward. Lucille kept near me. “It
will not be much.”
“Well?”
“Since it seems that Simon has this warrant against me,” I began, “I
will tell you that in Salem town, whence I came I was arrested as a
witch about a month back.”
Carteret started as though to leave the room.
“Bah!” I cried, “are you afraid of that man? Why, you would have laughed
had you been there to have heard the tales of witchcraft related as
evidence in court.”
And then I told Carteret all that had happened, save only about the
first warrant Sir George had, which was for treason, sure enough, though
I did not hold it so.
“You seem to have suffered much, you and Mistress Lucille,” said the
commander, when I had finished, “and your tale savors of the truth. But
as I am only acting as Governor, and the representative of the King in
the absence of my brother, I must move cautiously in the matter. If I
did not serve the royal warrant, even though it be for witchcraft, which
you say does not exist, I may be held to strict account. So though I am
loath to so do I must hold you as a prisoner under the aforesaid
parole.”
Lucille had been listening to all that was said. At the last words of
Carteret she took a step forward, and drew from the bosom of her dress a
sea-stained document, the import of which I knew. She held it out to
Carteret.
“What? More warrants?” he asked, smiling a little.
“Read,” said Lucille.
He unfolded the parchment.
“‘Royal’--hum--there is a blot here,” he read, “‘royal,’ oh yes,
‘pardon,’ that is it. ‘Royal pardon given by His Excellency, Sir William
Phips, Governor of Massachusetts, to one Captain Edward Amherst, of
Salem town, who is accused of the crime of witchcraft.’ Why--why----”
“Aye, ‘why, why,’” mimicked Lucille. “What now of prisoners and
paroles?”
Carteret stared at the pardon in his hand.
“Why, this nullifies the warrant,” he said slowly, “if it be a true
pardon.”
“True?” exclaimed Lucille. “You will find it true enough. I saw it
written. Read to the end.”
Captain Carteret read:
“‘Witness our hand and seal, in the name of His Majesty the King.’”
Then while we stood silent, there arose a terrible cry outside. It was
followed by musket shots, and then we heard the Indian war whoop.