THOU ART THE MAN!
Again Bartholomew Allerton, with much pride in the performance, beat
out the “assembly” in the Town Square, and at the sound some fourscore
men gathered from the houses, the shore, or those impaled garden plots
surrounding each house, where already patient toil had produced in the
wilderness very sweet reminiscences of English cottage-gardens.
The weather was wild, and ominous with the promise of one of those
fierce storms of wind and rain, pretty sure to visit the coast in March
and September, and still called by Plymouth folk the line storm, or the
equinoctial, in calm contempt of modern meteorological theories. They
also call a thunder-shower, however slight, a “tempest,” and who is to
object? Not I.
“Master Lyford’s friends are gathering in force,” remarked Standish, as
he stood at the door of his house just below the Fort on Burying Hill.
“His friends!” repeated Alden, who, living in the house between that of
the governor and the captain, was often to be found in company of the
latter. “I did not think he had friends enough in Plymouth to be called
a force.”
“Not in Plymouth, nor yet in heaven, but somewhere between the two. The
armies of the Prince of the Power of the Air.”
And Standish, smiling grimly, pointed to the troops of clouds scurrying
up over Manomet, and Watson’s Hill, and all along the eastern and
southern horizon; serried ranks, and scattered outposts, and flying
vedettes, which, now by a flank movement, and now by an onward rush,
seemed taking possession of all the blue battlefield above, blotting
out the azure, and audaciously attacking the great sun himself.
“’Tis the equinoctial,” stammered John Alden, perplexed.
“The wind, the great wind Euroclydon,” replied Standish, who loved
the sonorous and martial sound of old Bible English, and read it
alternately with his Cæsar.
“Are you ready, Captain? You remember our arrangements?” asked
Bradford, his fine face a little more pallid, a little more nervous
than its wont, as he stopped on his way up the hill with the Elder and
Doctor Fuller, who was vehemently saying,--
“Oh, he’ll clear himself, Elder, he’ll clear himself; an unsuspicious
man like Brother Lyford may be led into unadvised action from the very
best and soundest of motives.”
“Then he must be restrained, for the safety of other people as well as
for his own,” replied the Elder coldly. “If one of your fever patients
took a fancy in his delirium to set the house afire, I don’t suppose
you would leave him unchecked in his action, however blameless you
might hold himself.”
“No, no;--and yet--and yet”--muttered the doctor, whose common sense
found itself sadly at war with a whimsical fancy he had conceived for
Lyford, who was to be sure a university-bred man, and an accomplished
botanist, thus affording to the alumnus of Peter-house, Cambridge,
opportunity, which he did not often enjoy, for conversation on his
favorite topics.
His annoyance found, however, no farther expression until, entering the
Fort, he pettishly exclaimed, “Well, if we are to find an honest man we
shall need Diogenes’ lantern, or at any rate a twopenny dip or so.”
“’Tis the gathering storm,” replied Bradford in a depressed voice, as
he stood upon the threshold of the low-ceiled chamber, lighted only by
narrow slits intended more for defense than comfort. The bare benches
were already occupied by some eighty or ninety men, their pointed hats,
sombre doublets, and burnished “pieces” showing grotesquely through the
gloom which seemed to solidify the shadows and exaggerate the lights,
while an occasional flash of lightning added the last effect to the
picture.
A restless movement, a sense rather than a sound of expectancy, a
feeling of controversy, of doubt, of possible resistance, was in the
air, and Bradford’s sensitive organization responded at once to the
thrill.
“Pray for us mightily to-day, Elder, pray for unworthy me,” whispered
he, as the two ascended the platform at the head of the hall, where
stood the governor’s armchair with seats at either hand for his five
assistants, and benches for such persons as should be invited to occupy
them.
To this appeal the Elder responded only by a searching glance from
eyes of cold and wintry gray, and, passing on, he took his place at
the governor’s right hand, while Allerton and Doctor Fuller seated
themselves at the left. Winslow’s place was left vacant, and Standish,
instead of assuming his, stood near the door, fully armed and
equipped, watching Master Oldhame, who, with Lyford and several of
their insolent followers, came strolling up the hill, laughing loudly,
and displaying an exaggerated carelessness of demeanor.
As they entered, Standish, quietly placing himself between the two
principals and their following, waved the latter to seats at the rear
of the hall, and, courteously addressing the former, said,--
“The governor and council crave your presence upon the platform,
gentlemen.”
“And why so much ceremony to-day, Captain Standish?” demanded Oldhame
in a blustering attempt to imitate the suavity of the soldier. “We have
had the privilege and the honor, if there be any, of sitting upon yon
platform more than once already, and need not to be marshaled thither
to-day more than on other days.”
“Ay, but to-day the governor designs to pay you some special attention,
and your seats are not as before,” replied Standish grimly, and,
without waiting for reply, strode on up the hall followed by the
mutineers, who, in spite of their best efforts at audacity, presented
an aspect of mingled apprehension and wrath, ill becoming the leaders
of a righteous revolution.
The elevated seats were, indeed, a little differently arranged from
usual. The five official chairs stood in their customary position,
but no other seat remained except one bench placed near the edge of
the platform, and at such an angle that the occupants faced both the
governor and the mass of the people. To this bench Standish silently
but peremptorily waved the two men, who both felt and appeared more
like prisoners than guests. Hesitating a moment, Oldhame led the way up
the steps, and before seating himself would have pushed back the bench
so as to place it at right angles to the front edge of the platform,
but found it secured to the flooring. With an angry scowl he was about
to speak, but Bradford, raising a hand with quiet dignity, said,--
“Let be, if it please you, Master Oldhame. This Court of the People is
convened to inquire into certain matters concerning you, and it is best
that you should be placed in the front of the assembly that all men may
both see and hear your innocence, if haply you can prove it.”
“Innocence, Master Governor! Innocence of what?” demanded Oldhame
truculently, while Lyford’s face suddenly lost its color, and
moistening his lips with his tongue, he cast such crafty and alarmed
looks around the assembly that Giles Hopkins whispered to Philip De la
Noye,--
“Mind you that rat we found in the trap t’other day? I wish I had my
little dog here to worry him.”
“You shall be both heard and answered anon, friend,” replied Bradford
patiently. “First, however, we will ask the Elder to lead us in prayer
for guidance and for wisdom.”
Fervently and strongly did the Elder respond to this summons, nor did
he at all forget the whispered petition Bradford had made in the moment
of his weakness; and once again the prayer of faith became effectual,
even in the moment of its utterance, so that when William Bradford
said Amen it was in more calmness, more conscious strength, and more
security of divine guidance, than he had been able to feel for days.
Standing before his people in all the simple dignity of his character
and his position, he addressed them as friends, as associates, as
freemen, taking for granted that each was as eager as himself to
retain in all its completeness the great treasure of freedom and of
self-government they had attained. “For,” said he, turning his eyes for
a moment upon the traitors, and then reverting to his friends, “both
ye and all the world know we came hither to enjoy the liberty of our
conscience and the free use of God’s ordinances, and for that end have
ventured our lives, and passed through much hardship hitherto; and we
and our friends have borne the charge of these beginnings, which has
not been small”--
“Spare us the preamble, I beseech you, Master Governor, and come to the
root of the matter. Who has disturbed this somewhat sour-faced liberty
and peace ye came here to seek?”
The insolence of the tone as well as of the words stirred even
Bradford’s chastened temper, and turning upon the traitor he angrily
exclaimed,--
“Who?--who but you, John Oldhame, you and your followers! As Nathan
said to David, so say I now to you, Thou art the man!”
The stinging contempt of the tone pierced like an arrow, and fairly
stammering with rage the rebel sprang to his feet and made for the
governor, but Standish quietly interposed with voice and presence,--
“Best be seated, Master Oldhame! The matter has not yet come to a
passage at arms. Sit down man, sit down!”
“Yes, Master Oldhame,” added the governor, resuming his usual
self-restraint and manner of voice, “this is matter for sober
discussion and not for heated wrangling.” Then turning to the people he
continued calmly:
“It is well known not only to these but to you all, that when the
Charity arrived here some weeks gone by she brought letters from
the gentlemen Adventurers, upon whom we depend for aid and comfort,
demanding account of certain ill stories that had traveled home by the
Anne, partly on the tongues of those who, daunted by the hardness of
the life here, went back as soon as they might, and partly in letters
writ by those Laodiceans who remained with us but are not of us. These
tales were for the most part idle, such as that we have no grass for
cattle; no wholesome water; that salt will not cure fish here; that
neither fish nor wild fowl are to be found, and alas, alas! that
moskeetos are to be found both in our fields and housen, which, indeed,
is a plaint we may not deny.
“With these were weightier matters, to which I, with the help of the
Assistants, made answer as seemed good to us, as that we have neither
Sacrament in use, to which we answer, How can we have when to our great
grief our pastor, Master Robinson, is withholden from coming to us,
and no worthy minister is sent to supply his place? Next, that we have
great diversity of religious belief, and this is a thing never heard
of till last Lord’s Day. But passing sundry other matters not best to
enter upon now, we spoke to the lighter question, saying that although
we do not contend that the water of our springs is as delightsome as
the beer and wine these grumblers so sorely missed, it is as good, nay,
I will say it is better, water than any other in the world, so far as
I know of mine own experience. As for the lack of grass, we replied,
Would we had one beast for every hundred that the grass would fatten.
As for the lack of fish and fowl, and the story that salt would not
cure fish caught in these waters, we did but ask, What is it brings so
many sail to these parts year by year, and how do they carry home their
fish, if they may not be cured?
“That fish may not be salted here is as true as that no ale or beer can
be kept from souring in London. That we have thieves among us of late
is sadly true, but if none were bred in England none would come hither,
and as all men know, those who are caught have smarted well for their
offense, and shall do so still more if they mend not their manners.
“But as for the moskeetos, we said, They were matter of such sadness
and weight that we counseled such as cannot endure moskeeto bites to
stay at home, at least until they are moskeeto proof, for surely they
are all unfit for beginning new plantations, and must leave these
emprises to hardier men.
“Glad am I to offer you matter of mirth and cheerfulness in the
beginning, brethren, for now comes a tale of more serious import.
“Knowing that they who could write thus to our friends were still among
us, it was but reasonable that we who stand as fathers to the colony
should seek out who they were, and stop the mischief before it grew
to larger dimensions. We have sought, and grieved am I to say we have
found, these enemies where last we should have looked for them.
“Master John Oldhame, taking passage on the Anne with his family and
his following, came among us as a stranger, asking at the first no more
than permission to settle so near that in case of attack from Indians
he might shelter under our wing, and profit by our countenance. We
heartily bade him come and live in our village, helped him to build
housen for himself and his people, portioned him a plot of land,
aided him in every way that he desired, and gave him a voice in our
assemblies.
“As for Master Lyford, he was, as you know, sent over at the company’s
charges, him and his large family, Master Winslow who was then in
England having been wrought upon by the Adventurers to accept him as a
minister of the gospel, and fit to become our pastor. Arrived here, he
received a house, a double portion of food and stores, a man to serve
him at our charge, and all such honor and observance as we knew how to
bestow, although we determined to tarry for a season before accepting
him as our minister in full. But now, how have these two carried
themselves among us? Have they repaid love with love, and good with
good? or has it not rather been after the fashion of the hedgehog in
the fable, which the coney in a bitter cold day invited to shelter in
her burrow, which at first was meek and gentle enow, but anon when he
was comforted and warm, thrust out his prickles and so vext the poor
coney that in the end it was she who was thrust out into the cold.”
A low murmur of appreciation followed the parable, and Oldhame once
more sprang to his feet, while Standish attentively followed every
movement.
“So far as I can gather any serious meaning from the buffoonery Master
Bradford intends for wit,” began he, “I take it that he accuseth me
and this godly minister of treason to this colony, where as he meanly
reminds us we have received certain benefits, for the which I am quite
ready to pay”--
“Shame! Shame!”
“Shame as much as you will, Alden and Soule, Bartlett and Prence! I’ve
marked you, my springalds, but what I’ve to say is that the inditing is
false and altogether malicious. Neither Lyford nor I have writ any such
letters, or sent any such message now or ever. Say you not so, Master
Lyford?”
“Oh verily, verily, good gentlemen all, no such thought has ever”--
“There, that will do, man. And now we call upon you, Master Governor,
for any warrant you may have for this insult, and if you have none, we
demand an ample apology.”
“You positively deny writing any letters of complaint concerning us?”
asked Bradford deliberately.
“We do.”
“Master Allerton, be pleased to bring forth the papers you hold in
charge.”
Allerton, his crafty face illuminated with a smile of unusual
satisfaction, brought forward a small table, and placed upon it some
twenty or thirty letters, carefully arranged and docketed, in his
neat and scholarly script. Laying his hand upon the papers, Bradford
looked at the traitors with an austere sadness significant of his just
yet gentle nature; then, turning to the people, he related how by the
advice of his council he had seized these letters, already on their way
to England, and with Winslow’s help copied the most of them, retaining,
however, some of the originals with which to confront the writers in
case of denial.
But as the governor in his calm and judicial voice made this
announcement, glancing as he spoke at the documents spread out upon
the little table, Oldhame, furious at the humiliating discovery of his
lie, started again to his feet, foaming out all sorts of threats and
defiance, and threatening indefinite but terrible vengeance. Finally
turning to the benches with a gesture almost magnificent in its
reckless abandon, he cried,--
“My masters, where are your hearts! Now is the time to show yourselves
men! How oft have you groaned in my ears under the tyranny of these
oppressors, and now is your time to fling off the yoke! Stand to your
arms, brethren! Make a move, and I am with you!”
As he recognized the intent of this seditious appeal, Standish sprang
forward, his hand upon his sword’s hilt, but Bradford, without rising,
made a slight repressive gesture, and ran his eye quickly over the
ranks of faces confronting him, marking the expression on each.
A few, notably Billington’s, Hicks’s, Hopkins’s, and some of the
new-comers’, wore an anxious, a sheepish, or a frightened air, combined
in two or three cases with truculence, and in others with doubt, but
the great body of the freemen met the eye of their governor with
cordial sympathy and reassurance, and although no man stirred, several
handled their weapons and looked around them with an eagerness boding
ill for the traitors should they proceed to extremity.
Oldhame also reviewed the fourscore faces arrayed before him, and was
quick to perceive and accept his defeat.
“Ye coward dogs! Crouch under your master’s lash till it cut your
hearts out! What is it to me or mine!”
The bitter words ground between his teeth reached no ears but those of
Lyford, upon whom, as he sank cowering back upon the bench, Bradford
next turned his eyes demanding,--
“What is _your_ opinion, Master Lyford, upon this question of opening
another’s letters?”
The ex-minister started as if stung by the lash of a whip, passed his
hand across his trembling lips, and stammered,--
“I--I--I meant no harm. I”--
“Master Lyford answers the accusation of his own conscience rather than
my question,” said Bradford serenely, as the quavering voice trailed
away into silence. “The matter in his mind is this: When our brother,
Edward Winslow, was about sailing out of England in the Charity,
bringing with him this man who had been pushed upon him as a worthy
substitute for our own revered pastor, he writ with his own hand to
Master Robinson an account of the matter, with sundry other things
touching the spiritual and temporal concerns of the company. This
letter he sealed, addressed, and left lying in his state cabin, along
with sundry others, some of his own inditing, and some intrusted to
him by friends, to convey hither. One of these was from a well-known
English gentleman to Elder Brewster, and bore both names upon the cover.
“Master Winslow’s affairs calling him back to London before the
sailing of the vessel, he left all these letters in his writing-case
under charge of Master Lyford, who used the same cabin. But no sooner
was Winslow’s back turned than Master Lyford, opening the chest
with keys of his own, read the letters, and made copies of the two
mentioned, telling under his own hand how he obtained them. These
copies he brought hither, and now is sending them back into England
by the Charity, and small charity of the godly sort doth he show in
his comments inclosed with the copies to one of our most powerful and
unloving opponents among the Adventurers.
“And why hath he done this? Not to fulfill a heavy and painful duty,
and to protect a people and an emprise laid upon him by Almighty God,
even as the children of Israel were laid upon the shoulders of Moses
until he all but sank beneath the weight! No, Master Lyford can plead
no such necessity for the opening and reading of letters writ and
sealed by one who trusted him, but rather his motive seems to have been
the desire of doing despite to his benefactors, and of working mischief
and destruction to them who have never done him other than kindness,
trusting and befriending him as one of themselves.
“And now, Master Allerton, I will ask you to read out these letters,
and any who will may draw near and look at the originals signed both by
John Oldhame and John Lyford.”
The letters were read, and as page after page of Lyford’s malignant
treachery, and Oldhame’s fierce vituperation was turned, murmurs of
indignation, ominous mutterings, with here and there a groan or a
faint hiss arose from the benches, especially when the freemen heard
it recommended that the Adventurers should, as soon as possible,
send a body of men “to over-sway those here;” that they should at
all risks prevent Pastor Robinson’s coming, and should, if possible,
depose Winslow from his position as agent. Again a subdued commotion
was excited by the advice to send over a certain captain, who had
apparently been previously mentioned, with the promise that he should
at once be chosen military leader, “for this Captaine Standish looks
like a silly boy, and is in utter contempt.”
In hearing this philippic many an eye was turned upon its subject, but
he, standing at ease with one hand upon Gideon’s hilt, only gathered
his beard in the other fist and smiled good-humoredly. He at least was
“moskeeto-proof.”
“And now, men,” demanded the governor, turning to the people, “what
have you to say? Let any one who would make a proposal as to our
dealing with these two speak his mind freely.”
But before any other could reply to this demand, Lyford, breaking away
from Oldhame’s fierce restraint, fell upon his knees, bursting into
tears and sobs, wringing his hands, and cringing to the floor, while he
howled out all sorts of self-accusations, calling himself a miserable
sinner, “unsavorie salt,” Judas, and many other opprobrious epithets,
doubting, as he professed, if God would ever pardon him, and in any
case despairing of the forgiveness of his benefactors and hosts, for he
had so wronged them as to pass all forgiveness. Finally, he confessed
in the most abject terms that “all he had writ against them was false
and naught, both for matter and manner,” and professed himself willing
and anxious to retract everything in the presence of God, angels, and
men.
But the scene was soon cut short, for the self-respecting men who
listened to this abjection found it too great a humiliation of the
divine image in man, and while the culprit still sobbed and whined at
his feet, the governor, briefly ordering him to rise and be silent,
turned to the people and repeated his demand for their suffrages.
A brief discussion ensued, chiefly among the elders, the younger men
signifying their assent or dissent by a word or two, and Bradford,
listening to all, watching the expression of all, and gathering the
sense of the assembly as much by intuition as from spoken words, at
last announced that the Court of the People found these two men guilty
of the offenses with which they stood charged, and were decided to
banish them from the settlement as dangerous to its safety. A murmur
of assent ratified this decision, and the details arranged by the
governor and council were unanimously accepted. Oldhame was to depart
at once, while his family had permission to remain until he could find
a comfortable home for them, and then rejoin him without his coming to
fetch them.
As for Lyford, his retraction and professions of contrition had
their effect, especially with the doctor, whose earnest appeals for
indulgence finally procured permission for the penitent to remain in
the village for six months on probation, his sentence then either to be
acted upon or, in case his repentance should prove sincere, to possibly
be altogether remitted.
The two culprits received their sentence very differently, yet very
characteristically. Oldhame, breathing fire and fury, departed from the
Fort at once in a blue flame of profanity and vituperation, and before
night set sail for Nantasket to join the Gorges men settled in that
neighborhood.
But the meaner traitor could hardly be persuaded to stand upon his
feet, preferring to grovel at those of his judges, who for the most
part received his demonstrations very coldly, Bradford suggesting, as
he twisted away the hand Lyford was moistly kissing,--
“There’s a homely old proverb, master, which you might do well to
recall: ‘Actions speak louder than words.’”
“And still another,” broke in John Alden, “says that ‘Promises butter
no parsnips.’”
Thus ended the first trial for treason in America, and so was decided
the most important cause ever brought before the Court of the People, a
tribunal soon to be replaced by the trial by jury.