 | CHAPTER IX. Hope Leslie, or, Early times in the Massachusetts |  |
9. CHAPTER IX.
“What trick, what device, what starting hole canst thou
now find out, to hide thee from this open and apparent
shame?”
Henry IVth.
The day appointed for Magawisca's trial, arose
on Boston one of the brightest and most beautiful
of summer. There are moments of deep dejection
and gloom in every one's experience,
when the eye closes against the beauty of light,
when the silence of all those great powers that
surround us, presses on the soul like the indifference
of a friend, and when their evolving glories
overpower the wearied spirit, as the splendours
of the sun offend the sick eye. In this diseased
state of mind, Everell wandered about Boston,
till the ringing of the bell, the appointed signal,
gave notice that the court was about to open for
the trial of the Indian prisoner. He then turned
his footsteps towards the house where the sittings
of the magistrates were held; and on reaching it,
he found a crowd had already assembled in the
room assigned for the trial.
At one extremity of the apartment was a platform
of two or three feet elevation, on which sat
the deputies and magistrates, who constituted the
on similar occasions, been invited to be
present as advisory counsel. The New-England
people have always evinced a fondnesss for asking
advice, which may, perhaps, be explained by
the freedom with which it is rejected. A few
seats were provided for those who might have
claims to be selected from the ordinary spectators;
two of these were occupied by the elder
Fletcher, and Sir Philip Gardiner. Everell remained
amidst the multitude unnoticed and unnoticing;
his eye roving about in that vague and
inexpressive manner that indicates the mind holds
no communion with external objects, till he
was roused by a buz of “there she comes!” and
a call of “make room for the prisoner.” A lane
was opened, and Magawisca appeared, preceded
and followed by a constable. A man of middle
age walked beside her, whose deep set and
thoughtful eye, pale brow, ascetic complexion, and
spare person, indicated a life of self-denial, and of
physical and mental labour; while an expression
of love, compassion, and benevolence, seemed
like the seal of his Creator affixed to declare him
a minister of mercy to His creatures. Everell was
struck with the aspect and position of the stranger,
and inquired of the person standing next to
him, “who he was?”
The man turned on him a look of astonishment
which expressed, “who are you that ask so
strange a question?” and replied,—“That gentleman,
though it much offendeth his modesty to be so
called.”
`God be praised!' thought Everell. `Eliot,
(for he was familiar with the title, though not
with the person of that excellent man) my father's
friend! this augurs well for Magawisca.”
“I marvel,” continued his informant, “that
Mr. Eliot should, in a manner, lend his countenance
to this Jezabel. See, with what an air she
comes among her betters, as if she were queen of
us all.”
There was certainly nothing of the culprit, or
suitor in the aspect of Magawisca: neither guilt,
nor fearfulness, nor submission. Her eyes were
downcast, but with the modesty of her sex—her
erect attitude, her free and lofty tread, and the
perfect composure of her countenance, all expressed
the courage and dignity of her soul. Her national
pride was manifest in the care with which,
after rejecting with disdain the Governor's offer
of an English dress, she had attired herself in the
peculiar costume of her people. Her collar—
bracelet—girdle—embroidered moccasins, and
purple mantle with its rich border of bead-work,
had been laid aside in prison, but were now all
resumed and displayed with a feeling resembling
Nelson's, when he emblazoned himself with stars
and orders to appear before his enemies, on the
fatal day of his last battle.
The constable led her to the prisoner's bar.
There was a slight convulsion of her face perceptible
as she entered it, and when her attendant
signed to her to seat herself, she shook her head
and remained standing. Everell moved by an
irresistible impulse, forced his way through the
crowd, and placed himself beside her. Neither
spoke—but the sudden flush of a sun-beam on
the October leaf is not more bright nor beautiful
than the colour that overspread Magawisca's olive
cheek. This speaking suffusion and the tear
that trembled on her eye-lids, but no other sign,
expressed her consciousness of his presence. The
Magistrates looked at Everell, and whispered together,
but they appeared to come to the conclusion
that this expression of his feeling was natural
and harmless, and it was suffered to pass unreproved.
The Governor, as chief Magistrate, now rose
and requested Mr. Eliot to supplicate divine assistance
in the matter they were about to enter
on. The good man accordingly performed the
duty with earnestness and particularity. He first
set forth the wonder-working providence of God
in making their enemies to be at peace with them.
He recounted in the narrative style, then much
used in public devotions, the various occasions on
which they had found their fears of the savages
groundless, and their alarms unfounded. He
touched on divers instances of `kindness and
neighbourlike conduct that had been shown them
were a law unto themselves. He intimated that
the Lord's chosen people had not now, as of old,
been selected to exterminate the heathen, but to
enlarge the bounds of God's heritage, and to convert
these strangers and aliens, to servants and
children of the most High! He alluded to the
well known and signal mercies received from the
mother of the prisoner, and to that valiant act of
the prisoner herself, whereby she did redeem from
death, and captivity worse than death, the child—
the only child, of a sorely bereaved man. He
hinted at the authorities for the merciful requital
of these deeds in the promises of the spies of
Joshua to the heathen woman of Jericho, that
when the Lord had given them the land, they
would deal truly with her, and show kindness to
her, and to her father's house; and in the case of
David's generosity to Mephibosheth, the son of
Jonathan, the son of Saul, wherein he passed by
the evil that Saul had done him, and only remembered
the favours of Jonathan. He alluded to
the ruined chief, the old father, on whom `the
executed wrath of God had fallen so heavily, that,
as divers testified, the light of reason was quite
put out, and he was left to wander up and down
among the tribes, counselling revenges to which
none listened.' And finally, he dwelt on `the
gospel spirit of forgiveness as eminently becoming
those who, being set on a hill in the wilderness,
were to show their light to the surrounding
this occasion, justice and mercy might be made
publicly to kiss each other.
When he had done, all eyes turned again on
Magawisca, and many who had regarded her with
scorn, or at best, idle curiosity, now looked at her
with softened hearts, and moistened eyes. Not
so Sir Philip, who had his own reasons for being
apprehensive of any advance Magawisca might
make in the favour of her Judges. He whispered
to a Magistrate near whom he sat, “is it
not a singular procedure thus to convert a prayer
into an ex parte statement of the case?”
“Very singular,” replied the good man, with an
ominous shake of the head, “but brother Eliot
hath an overweening kindness towards the barbarians.
We shall set all right,” he added with one
of those sagacious nods, so expressive of soi-disant
infallibility. The Governor now proceeded to
give an outline of the charges against Magawisca,
and the testimony that would be adduced to
support them. He suppressed nothing, but gave
a colour to the whole, which plainly indicated his
own favourable dispositions, and Everell felt lightened
of half his fears. Sir Philip was then requested
to relate the circumstances that had,
through his instrumentality, led to the taking of
the prisoner, and so much of the conversation
he had heard between her and Miss Leslie, as
might serve to elucidate the testimony of the Indian,
who had pretended, by his information, to
Magawisca, for the first time, raised her eyes, and
fixed them on him; his met hers, and he quailed
before her glance. As if to test the power of
conscience still further, at this critical moment,
his unhappy page, poor Rosa, pressed through the
crowd, and giving Sir Philip a packet of letters
just arrived from England, she seated herself on
the steps of the platform, near where the knight
stood.
Sir Philip threw the packet on the table before
the Governor, and stood for a few moments
silent, with his eyes downcast, in profound
meditation. The trial was assuming an
unexpected and startling aspect. Sir Philip now
feared he had counted too far on the popular prejudices,
which he knew were arrayed against
Magawisca, as one of the diabolical race of the
Pequods. He perceived that all the weight of
Eliot's influence would be thrown into the prisoner's
scale, and that the Governor was disposed,
not only to an impartial, but to a merciful investigation
of her case.
Reposing confidently on the extraordinary favour
that had been manifested towards him by
the magistrates, he had felt certain of being able
to prevent Magawisca's disclosure of their interview
in the prison, or to avert any evil consequence
to himself, by giving it the air of a malignant
contrivance, to be expected from a vengeful
savage, against one who had been the providential
felt that this might be a difficult task.
He had at first, as has been seen, enlisted
against Magawisca, not from any malignant feeling
towards her, but merely to advance his own
private interests. In the progress of the affair,
his fate had, by his own act, become singularly involved
with hers. Should she be acquitted, he
might be impeached; perhaps exposed and condemned
by her testimony. Alliances like his
with Rosa, were by the laws of the colony, punished
by severe penalties. These would be aggravated
by the discovery of his imposture. At
once perceiving all his danger, he mentally cursed
the fool-hardiness with which he had rushed,
unnecessarily and unwittingly, to the brink of a
precipice.
He had observed Magawisca's scrutinizing eye
turn quickly from him to Rosa, and he was sure
from her intelligent glances, that she had at once
come to the conclusion, that this seeming page
was the subject of their prison interview. Rosa
herself appeared to his alarmed imagination, to
be sent by heaven as a witness against him. How
was he to escape the dangers that encompassed
him? He had no time to deliberate on the most
prudent course to be pursued. The most obvious
was to inflame the prejudices of Magawisca's
judges, and by anticipation to discredit her testimony;
and quick of invention, and unembarrassed
by the instincts of humanity, he proceeded, after
between the prisoner and Miss Leslie, to detail
the following gratuitous particulars.
He said, `that after conducting Miss Leslie to
the Governor's door, he had immediately returned
to his own lodgings, and that induced by the still
raging storm to make his walk as short as possible,
he took a cross-cut through the burial ground;
that on coming near the upper extremity of the
enclosure, he fancied he heard a human voice
mingling with the din of the storm; that he paused,
and directly a flash of lightning discovered
Magawisca kneeling on the bare wet earth, making
those monstrous and violent contortions, which
all who heard him, well knew characterized the
devil-worship of the powwows; he would not—
he ought not repeat to christian ears, her invocations
to the Evil-one to aid her in the execution
of her revenge on the English; nor would he,
more particularly describe her diabolical writhings
and beatings of her person. His brethren
might easily imagine his emotions at witnessing
them by the sulphureous gleams of lightning, on
which, doubtless, her prayers were sped.'
Sir Philip had gained confidence as he proceeded
in his testimony, for he perceived by the
fearful and angry glances that were cast on the
prisoner, that his tale was credited by many of his
audience, and he hoped by all.
The notion that the Indians were the children
of the devil, was not confined to the vulgar; and
now rejected by all but the most ignorant and
credulous, was then universally received.
All had, therefore, listened in respectful silence
to Sir Philip's extraordinary testimony, and it was
too evident that it had the effect, to set the current
of feeling and opinion against the prisoner.
Her few friends looked despondent; but for herself,
true to the spirit of her race, she manifested
no surprise, nor emotion of any kind.
The audience listened eagerly to the magistrate,
who read from his note-book, the particulars
which had been received from the Indian
informer, and which served to corroborate and
illustrate Sir Philip's testimony. All the evidence
being now before the court, the Governor asked
Magawisca, “if she had aught to allege in her
own defence.”
“Speak humbly maiden,” whispered Mr. Eliot,
“it will grace thy cause with thy judges.”
“Say,” said Everell, “that you are a stranger
to our laws and usages, and demand some one to
speak for you.”
Magawisca bowed her head to both advisers,
in token of acknowledgment of their interest,
and then raising her eyes to her judges, she said,
—“I am your prisoner, and ye may slay me, but
I deny your right to judge me. My people have
never passed under your yoke—not one of my
race has ever acknowledged your authority.”
“This excuse will not suffice thee,” answered
one of her judges: “thy pride is like the image
of Nebuchadnezar's dream—it standeth on feet
of clay—thy race have been swift witnesses to
that sure word of prophecy. `Fear thou not, O
Jacob, my servant, for I am with thee, and I will
make a full end of the people whither I have driven
thee'—thy people truly—where are they?”
“My people! where are they?” she replied,
raising her eyes to heaven, and speaking in a
voice that sounded like deep-toned music, after
the harsh tones addressed to her,—“my people
are gone to the isles of the sweet south-west; to
those shores that the bark of an enemy can never
touch: think ye I fear to follow them?”
There was a momentary silence throughout
the assembly; all seemed, for an instant, to feel
that no human power could touch the spirit of
the captive. Sir Philip whispered to the magistrate
who last spoke,—“Is it not awful presumption
for this woman thus publicly to glory in her
heathen notions?”
The knight's prompting had the intended effect.
“Has this Pequod woman,” demanded the
magistrate, “never been instructed in the principles
of truth, that she dares thus to hold forth her
heathenisms before us? Dost thou not know,
woman,” he continued, holding up a Bible, “that
this book contains the only revelation of a future
world—the only rule for the present life?”
“Certainly—require the oath of him,” whispered
Everell to Magawisca.
Magawisca bowed her assent to the Governor.
Sir Philip would not probably have been so
prompt in his false testimony, if he had anticipated
being put on his oath; for he was far enough
from having one of those religious consciences
that regard truth as so sacred that no ceremonies
can add to its authority. But now, his word being
questioned, it became necessary for him to
recede from it, or to maintain it in the usual
legal form; and, without hesitating, he advanced
to the table, raised his hand, and went
through the customary form of the oath. The
collectedness and perfect equanimity of Magawisca,
to this moment, had seemed to approach
to indifference to her fate; but the persevering
falsehood of Sir Philip, and the implicit faith in
which it was apparently received, now roused her
spirit, and stimulated that principle of retaliation,
deeply planted in the nature of every human being,
and rendered a virtue by savage education.
She took a crucifix from her bosom—Everell
whispered, “I pray thee hide that, Magawisca, it
will ruin thy cause.” Magawisca shook her
head, and held up the crucifix.
“Put down that idolatrous sign,” said the Governor.
“She hath, doubtless, fallen under popish enchantments,”
whispered one of the deputies; “the
the western forests.”
Magawisca, without heeding the Governor's
command, or observing the stares of astonishment
that her seeming hardihood drew upon her, addressed
herself to Sir Philip: “This crucifix,” she
said, “thou didst drop in my prison. If, as thou
saidst, it is a charmed figure, that hath power to
keep thee in the straight path of truth, then press
it to thy lips now, as thou didst then, and take back
the false words thou hast spoken against me.”
“What doth she mean?” asked the Governor,
turning to Sir Philip.
“I know not,” replied the knight, his reddening
face and embarrassed utterance indicating he
knew that which he dared not confess—“I know
not; but I should marvel if this heathen savage
were permitted, with impunity, to insult me in
your open court. I call upon the honourable
magistrates and deputies,” he continued, with a
more assured air, “to impose silence on this woman,
lest her uttered malignities should, in the
minds of the good people here assembled, bring
scandal upon one whose humble claims to fellowship
with you, you have yourselves sanctioned.”
The court were for a moment silent: every eye
was turned towards Magawisca, in the hope that
she would be suffered to make an explanation;
and the motions of curiosity coinciding with the
dictates of justice, in the bosoms of the sage
judges themselves, were very like to counteract
Philip. Everell rose to appeal to the court to
permit Magawisca to invalidate, as far as she was
able, the testimony against her, but Mr. Eliot laid
his hand on his arm, and withheld him. “Stay,
my young friend,” he whispered, “I may speak
more acceptably.” Then, addressing the court,
he `prayed the prisoner might be allowed liberty
to speak freely, alleging that it was for the wisdom
of her judges to determine what weight was
to be attached to her testimony;' and glancing
his eye at Sir Philip, he added, “the upright need
not fear the light of truth.”
Sir Philip again remonstrated; he asked `why
the prisoner should be permitted further to offend
the consciences of the godly? Surely,' he said,
`none of her judges would enforce her demand;
surely, having just sworn before them in the prescribed
form, they would not require him to repeat
his oath on that symbol of popish faith, that had
been just styled an idolatrous sign.'
“This, I think, brother Eliot, is not what thou
wouldst ask?” said Governor Winthrop.
“Nay, God forbid that I should bring such
scandal upon our land. It is true, I have known
many misguided sons of the Romish church who
would swear freely on the holy word, what they
dared not verify on the crucifix; which abundantly
showeth that superstition is with such, stronger
than faith. But we, I think, have no warrant
for using such a test—neither do we need it.
The prisoner hath asserted that this symbol belongeth
use it to fortify his word; if so, the credit of his
present testimony would be mainly altered; and
it seemeth to me but just, that the prisoner should
not only be allowed, but required, to state in full
that to which she hath but alluded.”
A whispered consultation of the magistrates
followed this proposition, during which Sir Philip
seemed virtually to have changed places with the
prisoner, and appeared as agitated as if he were
on the verge of condemnation: his brow was
knit, his lips compressed, and his eye, whose
movement seemed beyond his control, flashed
from the bench of magistrates to Magawisca,
and then fixed on Rosa, as if he would fain have
put annihilation in its glance. This unhappy
girl still sat where she had first seated herself;
she had taken off her hat, laid it on her lap, and
rested her face upon it.
There was a vehement remonstrance, from
some of the members of the court, against permitting
the prisoner to criminate one who had
shown himself well and zealously affected towards
them. And it was urged, with some plausibility,
that the hints she had received of the advantage to
be gained by disqualifying Sir Philip, would tempt
her to contrive some crafty tale that might do
him a wrong, which they could not repair. The
Governor answered this argument by suggesting
that they, being forewarned, were forearmed, and
might certainly rely on their own sagacity to detect
was forward to deny, for himself, such an allegation,
and the Governor proceeded to request Magawisca
to state the circumstances to which she
alluded as having transpired in the prison. Magawisca
now, for the first time, appeared to hesitate,
to deliberate, and to feel embarrassed.
“Why dost thou falter, woman?” demanded
one of her judges; “no time shall be allowed
now to contrive a false testimony—proceed—
speak quickly.”
“Fear not to speak, Magawisca,” whispered
Everell.
“I do fear to speak,” she replied aloud; “but
it is such fear as he hath, who, seeing the prey
in the eagle's talons, is loath to hurl his arrow,
lest, perchance, it should wound the innocent
victim.”
“Speak not in parables, Magawisca,” said Governor
Winthrop, “but let us have thy meaning
plainly.
“Then,” replied Magawisca, “let me first
crave of thy mercy, that that poor youth, (pointing
to Rosa,) withdraw from this presence.”
All eyes were now directed to Rosa, who, herself,
conscious that she had become the object of
attention, raised her head, threw back the rich feminine
curls that drooped over her face, and looked
wildly around her. On every side her eye encountered
glances of curiosity and suspicion;
her colour deepened, her lips quivered, and, like
to its mother's side, she sprang up the steps,
grasped Sir Philip's cloak, as if she would have
hidden herself in its folds, and sunk down at his
feet. Sir Philip's passions had risen to an uncontrollable
pitch; “Off boy,” he cried, spurning her
with his foot. A murmur of “shame! cruelty!”
ran through the house. The unhappy girl rose to
her feet, pressed both her hands on her forehead,
stared vacantly about, as if her reason were annihilated,
then darting forward, she penetrated
through the crowd, and disappeared.
There were few persons present so dull as not to
have solved Magawisca's parable, at the instant the
clue was given by Rosa's involuntary movements.
Still, all they had discovered was, that the page
was a disguised girl; and a hope darted on Sir
Philip, in the midst of his overwhelming confusion,
that if he could gain time, he might escape
the dangers that menaced him. He rose, and,
with an effrontery that, with some, passed for the
innocence he would fain have counterfeited, said,
'that circumstances had just transpired in that
honourable presence, which, no doubt, seemed
mysterious; that he could not then explain them
without uselessly exposing the unhappy; for the
same reson, namely, to avoid unnecessary suffering,
he begged that no interrogatories might, at
the present time, be put to the prisoner, in relation
to the hints she had thrown out; that if the
Governor would vouchsafe him a private interview,
man, clear up whatever suspicions had been excited
by the dark intimations of the prisoner, and
the very singular conduct of his page.'
The Governor replied, with a severe gravity,
ominous to the knight, `that the circumstances
he had alluded to certainly required explanation;
if that should not prove satisfactory, they would
demand a public investigation. In the mean
time, he should suspend the trial of the prisoner,
who, though the decision of her case might not
wholly depend on the establishment of Sir Philip's
testimony, was yet, at present, materially affected
by it.'
`He expressed a deep regret at the interruption
that had occurred, as it must lead,' he said, `to
the suspension of the justice to be manifested either
in the acquittal or condemnation of the prisoner.
Some of the magistrates being called
away from town on the next morning, he found
himself compelled to adjourn the sitting of the
court till one month from the present date.'
“Then,” said Magawisca, for the first time
speaking, with a tone of impatience, “then, I pray
you, send me to death now. Any thing is better
than wearing through another moon in my prison-house,
thinking,” she added, and cast down her
eye-lids, heavy with tears, “thinking of that old
man—my father. I pray thee,” she continued,
bending low her head, “I pray thee now to set
my spirit free. Wait not for his testimony”—
the green herb to spring up in your trodden
streets, as the breath of truth to come from his
false lips. Do you wait for him to prove that
I am your enemy? Take my own word, I am
your enemy; the sun-beam and the shadow cannot
mingle. The white man cometh—the Indian
vanisheth. Can we grasp in friendship the hand
raised to strike us? Nay—and it matters not
whether we fall by the tempest that lays the forest
low, or are cut down alone, by the stroke of
the axe. I would have thanked you for life
and liberty; for Mononotto's sake I would have
thanked you; but if ye send me back to that dungeon—the
grave of the living, feeling, thinking
soul, where the sun never shineth, where the stars
never rise nor set, where the free breath of heaven
never enters, where all is darkness without
and within”—she pressed her hand on her breast
—“ye will even now condemn me to death, but
death more slow and terrible than your most suffering
captive ever endured from Indian fires and
knives.” She paused—passed unresisted without
the little railing that encompassed her, mounted
the steps of the platform, and advancing to the
feet of the Governor, threw back her mantle, and
knelt before him. Her mutilated person, unveiled
by this action, appealed to the senses of the
spectators. Everell involuntarily closed his eyes,
and uttered a cry of agony, lost indeed in the
were as hushed as death. “Thou didst promise,”
she said, addressing herself to Governor Winthrop,
“to my dying mother, thou didst promise,
kindness to her children. In her name, I demand
of thee death or liberty.”
Everell sprang forward, and clasping his hands
exclaimed, “In the name of God, liberty!”
The feeling was contagious, and every voice,
save her judges, shouted “liberty!—liberty! grant
the prisoner liberty!”
The Governor rose, waved his hand to command
silence, and would have spoken, but his
voice failed him; his heart was touched with the
general emotion, and he was fain to turn away to
hide tears more becoming to the man, than the
magistrate.
The same gentleman who, throughout the
trial, had been most forward to speak, now rose;
a man of metal to resist any fire. “Are ye all fools,
and mad!” he cried; “ye that are gathered here together,
that like the men of old, ye shout `great is
Diana of the Ephesians!' For whom would you stop
the course of justice? for one who is charged before
you, with having visited every tribe on the
shores and in the forests, to quicken the savages
to diabolical revenge!—for one who flouts the
faith once delivered to the saints, to your very
faces!—for one who hath entered into an open
league and confederacy with Satan against you!
in that her looks and words do so prevail over
your judgments, is presently aided and abetted by
the arch enemy of mankind!—I call upon you, my
brethren,” he added, turning to his associates,
“and most especially on you, Governor Winthrop,
to put a sudden end to this confusion by the formal
adjournment of our court.”
The Governor bowed his assent. “Rise, Magawisca,”
he said, in a voice of gentle authority,
“I may not grant thy prayer; but what I can
do in remembrance of my solemn promise to thy
dying mother, without leaving undone higher
duty, I will do.”
“And what mortal can do, I will do,” said
Everell, whispering the words into Magawisca's
ear as she rose. The cloud of despondency that
had settled over her fine face, for an instant vanished,
and she said aloud,—“Everell Fletcher,
my dungeon will not be, as I said, quite dark, for
thither I bear the memory of thy kindness.”
Some of the magistrates seemed to regard this
slight interchange of expressions between the
prisoner and her champion as indecorous: the
constables were ordered immediately to perform
their duty, by re-conducting their prisoner to jail;
and Magawisca was led out, leaving in the breasts
of a great majority of the audience, a strange
contrariety of opinion and feelings. Their reason,
guided by the best lights they possessed, deciding
out for her.
Before the parties separated, the Governor arranged
a private interview with Sir Philip Gardiner,
to take place at his own house immediate-after
dinner.
| CHAPTER IX. Hope Leslie, or, Early times in the Massachusetts | |