The Great Physician
When the excitement had subsided somewhat, Lord Christopher was seen to
lean forward with renewed earnestness, raising his hand impressively.
“My dear people,” he said, and the great physician’s voice was tender
as if speaking to sick and fretful children, “my dear people, God hath
afflicted you more sorely with this plague of witchery than with the
Black Plague itself. Yet it lies with you to check this foul disease.
The Bible says, ‘Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.’ But it also
commands, ‘Judge not, that ye be not judged.’ Abide by the latter
injunction, that you save your souls from sin and let not your land run
red with innocent blood. Let each one of you be so exalted in goodness
that evil cannot enter into you. But, and my words on witchery impress
you not, let me at least beseech you who are of man’s estate and have
catched a child in sin, to remember that it but does as those around it,
and is therefore to be dealt by tenderly.
“And yet another subject am I driven to speak to you upon.
“Mightily does it distress me that you do bring your children up in
woeful ignorance of the Christmas-tide as we celebrate it in Merry
England. ’Tis very dolorous that you should be so blinded as to think
the proper observance of that Holy day bewrayeth a Popish tendency.
Methinks it be a lack of good red blood that makes you all so sour
and mealy-mouthed. Your Governor informs me that on that blessed day,
sadly you wend your way to church, with downcast eyes as though you
were sinners catched in naughtiness. There is great droning of psalms
through your noses, which is in itself a sorry thing, and I doubt not, an
unpleasant sound in the Lord’s ear. Whereas, in green old England, the
little children carol all day long. But here not even your babes have
sugar-plums. My stomach turns against you and your ways. How different
is it in my castle across the seas! To the mantel above the blazing
yule-log, my sweetest daughter pins her stocking. Outside, the snow snaps
with the cold and the frost flowers whiten the window-pane. Then come the
village lads and lassies singing, that we may open the window and fling
out siller pieces, sometimes a bit of bright gold.
“Lastly, at the chiming of the midnight bells, troop in my servant-men
and wenches. One and all we drink the hot-spiced glee-wine my sweet
Elizabeth makes in the silver wassail bowl. And to every man and maid I
give a piece of gold.
“I do beseech you, good people, to have remembrance after this, that
Christmas is children’s day, and that to keep it with sadness and dolour,
is an offence unto the Lord Christ, whose birth made that day, and who
was said by those versed in wisdom, to have been when a child tender,
holy, and gay, as it becometh all children to be. Therefore I would have
you bestow these delights upon your children, for they are bowed by
responsibilities beyond their years, and joy is checked in them, so that
I oft catch myself sighing, for I have great pain not to see all children
joyful and full of the vigour of life.
“Thus I would make an example of the little maid whom you have
persecuted, that you may deal gently with children, remembering how near
you were to shedding her innocent blood. I beseech you, by the grievous
sin that you and your learned judges so nearly committed, to be tender
with the poor children, knowing they speak the truth, unless you do
so fright them that in bewilderment they seek to save themselves by a
falsehood and know not into what evil they fall thereby. When you are
tempted to severity, inquire well into the merits of the case, lest you
do an injustice, keeping in mind the persecution of the little maid who
hath saved England.”
Thus Lord Christopher ceased speaking.
In the years to come it was related that his speech was so affecting as
to draw tears to the eyes of all, and that many a parent in Salem was
known thereafter to refrain from harsh reproof of a child, because of the
great physician’s words and the love that all learned to bear him during
the weeks his illness forced him to remain in Salem.
Regarding his earnest request that Christmas be observed by them
after his irreverend fashion, they did not condemn him for his Popish
tendency, but winked at it, as it were, knowing he had other virtues
to counterbalance this weakness. Being altogether charmed by him, they
earnestly trusted that for his own good he might come round to their way
of thinking.
During those few weeks his presence shed the only brightness in the
panic-stricken town. While he was powerless to avert the awful condition,
there were nevertheless many sad hearts which were made lighter, merely
to visit him in his sick-room at the tavern. And the goodwives, finding
their dainties did not please him as much as the sight of their little
children, ceased not to send the former, but instead sent both.
When at last he was able to leave his room, Lord Christopher went one
afternoon to Deliverance’s home.
Gladly he entered the forest road, thankful to leave the town behind him.
The terrible trials still continued. Only that morning he had seen two
persons hanged, and there was a rumour that a ship infected with smallpox
had entered the harbour.
He walked slowly, leaning on his stick, for he was yet very lame. The
greenness and peace of the majestic forest were grateful to him. Soon
he came in sight of Master Wentworth’s home. In the open doorway he saw
Deliverance seated at her spinning-wheel, singing as she guided the
thread.
Already the roses bloomed again in the little maid’s face, and never
was heart so free from sorrow as hers, save for that touch of yearning
which came to her whenever her glance rested on her father, who, since
his illness, was gentler and quieter than ever, seldom entering the
still-room, and devoting many hours to sitting on the stoop, dreaming in
the sunshine.
Master Ronald had not yet returned to Boston Town, loath to leave his
little sister, still fearful for her safety, not knowing in which
direction the wind of public opinion might veer.
Glancing up from his book this afternoon, as he lay on the grass, under
the shade of a tree, he saw Lord Christopher approaching. So he rose
quickly, and went down to the gate to greet the great physician.
And the two, Lord Christopher leaning heavily on the student’s arm, for
he was wearied by his walk, went up the path to where little Deliverance
sat spinning.
Lord Christopher had a long talk with Master Wentworth this afternoon and
at the end of their conversation, the latter called his children to him.
“Ronald,” he said, “and you, my little Deliverance, Lord Christopher
urges me to return to England where he promises me, my lad, that you
shall have all advantage in the way of scholarly pursuits, and that you,
Deliverance, shall be brought up to be his daughter’s companion. What say
you both? The question is one which you must decide. I,” he added sadly,
yet with a wondrous sweetness in his face, “will not abide many years
longer with you; and my future is not in England, but in a fairer land,
and the sea I must cross greater than the one you know, so I would fain
leave you with a protector in this harsh world.”
A long silence followed his words. Then Ronald spoke. “Sir, I have none
other wish than to continue in this country in which I was born and
which has ever been my home. Surely I know the constant toil, the perils
from savages and wild beasts, the stern laws we Puritans have made for
each little sin, alas! the hardships too often known, and the gloom of
our serious thought which o’ershadows all. Yet through this sombre sky,
the sun will shine at last as brightly as it shines in England. In the
University that has nourished in me patriotism and liberty of thought,
I have grown to believe that here in this wilderness is the basis for a
greater England than the England across the seas.”
The student’s face glowed with ardour, his eyes were brilliant as if he
saw visions the others comprehended not.
“And you, Deliverance,” asked her father, tenderly.
Now the little maid’s fancy had woven a picture of herself in a court
dress of crimson velvet, her hair worn high, a lace collar falling on her
shoulders, a rose in her hand such as was carried by the little court
lady of the miniature. But her imagination, which had soared so high,
sank at Ronald’s words.
“What say you, little mistress?” asked Lord Christopher; “and your
brother will not go, being such a young prig as to prefer this
uncomfortable country in which to air his grand notions. Will you not go
with me?”
Deliverance sighed and sighed again. She glanced at her father’s
delicate hands, so transparent in the sunlight, and a prophetic sadness
reminded her of the time when she and Ronald would be left alone in the
world. Her glance travelled to her brother’s rapt, almost transfigured,
countenance. Although she felt no sympathy with his over-strange
university views, yet the thought of leaving him alone in this country
while she abided in luxury in England, smote her heart with a sense of
guilt, so that she moved over to him and slipped her hand in his and
rested her head against his shoulder.
“Good sir,” she said, “I will remain with Ronald and with father, but
with all my heart I thank you for your kindness and desire that I might
be the companion of your sweetest daughter.”
And none of the three knew that through a blinding mist of tears she saw
vanish forever the dream of a velvet gown with immoderate slashed sleeves.
So Lord Christopher went far away, but he did not go alone. He bore with
him a hunchback of Ipswich whose mother had been hanged as a witch on
Gallows’ Hill. Thus it sometimes happens that they who have had least to
do with a brave deed do, by some happy chance, reap the richest benefit
of another’s nobility. And thus it was with this little Hate-Evil. He
found himself no longer alone in the world. There in London he developed
into a scholar, becoming a poet of much fame, one who, honoured in the
court, was not less revered by the common people, that so poor and
deformed a body carried so great a soul. And at last he ceased to be
known by his stern New England appellation of Hate-Evil and was called by
the sweeter name of Content.
Yearly from England came a gift to Deliverance from Lord Christopher’s
fair daughter Elizabeth, in memory of the loyal service she had rendered
England in regaining the precious powder.
Within a few months, Abigail received a small package containing a
string of gold beads and a rare and valuable book entitled: “The Queen’s
Closet Opened: having Physical and Chirurgical Receipts: the Art of
Preserving Conserving and Candying & also a Right Knowledge of Perfuming
& Distilling: the Compleat Cook Expertly Prescribing the most ready wayes
whether French, Italian or Spanish, for the dressing of Flesh and Fish &
the ordering of Sauces & making of PASTRY.”
On the fly-leaf was written a recipe for pumpkin-pie, which the great
physician had himself compounded while in America, and which to this day
is handed down by the descendants of Abigail Brewster. Also, he wrote a
letter to the little girl who had so bravely journeyed to Boston Town to
save her friend.
“For,” he wrote, “fame is a fickle jade, & as often passes over as
she rewards those who are brave & so while some of us serve but as
instruments to further others’ brave actions yet, than loyal friendship,
there is no truer virtue & I speak with authority on the subject, having
had sad experience.”
Those who read the letter knew he referred to Sir Jonathan Jamieson, who
on the day of Lord Christopher’s speech disappeared from Salem. For many
years he was not heard of, until at last news came that he lived in
great opulence among the Cavaliers of Virginia, and had written a most
convincing book upon “Ye Black Art & Ye Ready Wayes of Witches.”
THE END.