Endicott and
the Red Cross
from Twice-Told Tales, vol. 2 by Nathaniel Hawthorne, 1838 Blogger's note: I've read Anya Seton's historical novel "The Winthrop Woman" about our ancestors, 10th GGParent's ROBERT FEAKE and his wife, ELIZABETH FONES WINTHROP and found that -to her credit- Seton closely followed primary sources to craft her story line. Despite her attempts to fictionalize, romanticize and 'justifize' the ultimate betrayal of an unfaithful wife, Seton provides a glimpse into a time and place we can only imagine along with her. The story tells how JOHN WINTHROP, Elizabeth's uncle and former father-in-law, plays a formative, zealous role in the early settlement of the Massachusetts Bay Colony. His successor's story -as crafted by Nathaniel Hawthorne (born in Salem)- is presented below. I include it as an introduction to two of my 9th Great grandfathers: MATTHIAS BUTTON, an ancestor who shared the transatlantic voyage in 1628 with Endicott and ROGER WILLIAMS, founder of Providence, Rhode Island.
'AT NOON of an autumnal
day, more than two centuries ago, the English colors were displayed by the
standard-bearer of the Salem trainband, which had mustered for martial exercise
under the orders of John Endicott. It was a period, when the religious exiles
were accustomed often to buckle on their armour, and practice the handling of
their weapons of war. Since the first settlement of New England, its prospects
had never been so dismal. The dissensions between Charles the First and his
subjects were then, and for several years afterwards, confined to the floor of
Parliament. The measures of the King and ministry were rendered more
tyrannically violent by an opposition, which had not yet acquired sufficient
confidence in its own strength, to resist royal injustice with the sword. The
bigoted and haughty primate, Laud, Archbishop of Canterbury, controlled the
religious affairs of the realm, and was consequently invested with powers which
might have wrought the utter ruin of the two Puritan colonies, Plymouth and
Massachusetts. There is evidence on record, that our forefathers perceived
their danger, but were resolved that their infant country should not fall
without a struggle, even beneath the giant strength of the King's right arm.
'Such was
the aspect of the times, when the folds of the English banner, with the Red
Cross in its field, were flung out over a company of Puritans. Their leader,
the famous Endicott, was a man of stern and resolute countenance, the effect of
which was heightened by a grizzled beard that swept the upper portion of his
breastplate. This piece of armour was so highly polished, that the whole
surrounding scene had its image in the glittering steel. The central object, in
the mirrored picture, was an edifice of humble architecture, with neither steeple
nor bell to proclaim it,--what nevertheless it was,--the house of prayer. A
token of the perils of the wilderness was seen in the grim head of a wolf,
which had just been slain within the precincts of the town, and, according to
the regular mode of claiming the bounty, was nailed on the porch of the
meetinghouse. The blood was still plashing on the door-step. There happened to
be visible, at the same noontide hour, so many other characteristics of the
times and manners of the Puritans, that we must endeavour to represent them in
a sketch, though far less vividly than they were reflected in the polished
breastplate of John Endicott.
'In close
vicinity to the sacred edifice appeared that important engine of Puritanic
authority, the whipping-post,--with the soil around it well trodden by the feet
of evil-doers, who had there been disciplined. At one corner of the
meetinghouse was the pillory, and at the other the stocks; and, by a singular
good fortune for our sketch, the head of an Episcopalian and suspected Catholic
was grotesquely encased in the former machine; while a fellow-criminal, who had
boisterously quaffed a health to the King, was confined by the legs in the
latter. Side by side, on the meetinghouse steps, stood a male and a female
figure. The man was a tall, lean, haggard personification of fanaticism,
bearing on his breast this label,--A WANTON GOSPELLER,--
which betokened that he
had dared to give interpretations of Holy Writ, unsanctioned by the infallible
judgment of the civil and religious rulers. His aspect showed no lack of zeal
to maintain his heterodoxies, even at the stake. The woman wore a cleft stick
on her tongue, in appropriate retribution for having wagged that unruly member
against the elders of the church; and her countenance and gestures gave much
cause to apprehend, that, the moment the stick should be removed a repetition
of the offence would demand new ingenuity in chastising it.
'The abovementioned
individuals had been sentenced to undergo their various modes of ignominy, for
the space of one hour at noonday. But among the crowd were several, whose
punishment would be life-long; some, whose ears had been cropt, like those of
puppy-dogs; others, whose cheeks had been branded with the initials of their
misdemeanors; one, with his nostrils slit and seared; and another, with a
halter about his neck, which he was forbidden ever to take off, or to conceal
beneath his garments. Methinks he must have been grievously tempted to affix
the other end of the rope to some convenient beam or bough. There was likewise
a young woman, with no mean share of beauty, whose doom it was to wear the
letter A on the breast of her gown, in the eyes of all the world and her own
children. And even her own children knew what that initial signified. Sporting
with her infamy, the lost and desperate creature had embroidered the fatal
token in scarlet cloth, with golden thread, and the nicest art of needle-work;
so that the capital A might have been thought to mean Admirable, or any thing
rather than Adulteress.
'Let not
the reader argue, from any of these evidences of iniquity, that the times of
the Puritans were more vicious than our own, when, as we pass along the very
street of this sketch, we discern no badge of infamy on man or woman. It was
the policy of our ancestors to search out even the most secret sins, and expose
them to shame, without fear or favor, in the broadest light of the noonday sun.
Were such the custom now, perchance we might find materials for a no less
piquant sketch than the above.
'Except the
malefactors whom we have described, and the diseased or infirm persons, the
whole male population of the town, between sixteen years and sixty, were seen
in the ranks of the trainband. A few stately savages, in all the pomp and
dignity of the primeval Indian, stood gazing at the spectacle. Their
flint-headed arrows were but childish weapons, compared with the matchlocks of
the Puritans, and would have rattled harmlessly against the steel caps and
hammered iron breastplates, which enclosed each soldier in an individual
fortress. The valiant John Endicott glanced with an eye of pride at his sturdy
followers, and prepared to renew the martial toils of the day.
'"Come, my stout hearts!" quoth he, drawing his sword. "Let us
show these poor heathen that we can handle our weapons like men of might. Well
for them, if they put us not to prove it in earnest!"
'The iron-breasted
company straightened their line, and each man drew the heavy butt of his
matchlock close to his left foot, thus awaiting the orders of the captain. But,
as Endicott glanced right and left along the front, he discovered a personage
at some little distance, with whom it behoved him to hold a parley. It was an
elderly gentleman, wearing a black cloak and band, and a high-crowned hat,
beneath which was a velvet skull-cap, the whole being the garb of a Puritan
minister. This reverend person bore a staff, which seemed to have been recently
cut in the forest, and his shoes were bemired, as if he had been travelling on
foot through the swamps of the wilderness. His aspect was perfectly that of a
pilgrim, heightened also by an apostolic dignity. Just as Endicott perceived
him, he laid aside his staff, and stooped to drink at a bubbling fountain,
which gushed into the sunshine about a score of yards from the corner of the
meetinghouse. But, ere the good man drank, he turned his face heavenward in
thankfulness, and then, holding back his gray beard with one hand, he scooped
up his simple draught in the hollow of the other.
'"What, ho! good Mr. Williams," shouted Endicott. "You are
welcome back again to our town of peace. How does our worthy Governor Winthrop?
And what news from Boston?"
'"The Governor hath his health, worshipful Sir," answered Roger
Williams, now resuming his staff, and drawing near. "And, for the news,
here is a letter, which, knowing I was to travel hitherward to day, his
Excellency committed to my charge. Belike it contains tidings of much import;
for a ship arrived yesterday from England."
'Mr. Williams,
the minister of Salem, and of course known to all the spectators, had now
reached the spot where Endicott was standing under the banner of his company,
and put the Governor's epistle into his hand. The broad seal was impressed with
Winthrop's coat of arms. Endicott hastily unclosed the letter, and began to
read; while, as his eye passed down the page, a wrathful change came over his
manly countenance. The blood glowed through it, till it seemed to be kindling
with an internal heat; nor was it unnatural to suppose that his breastplate
would likewise become red-hot, with the angry fire of the bosom which it
covered Arriving at the conclusion, he shook the letter fiercely in his hand,
so that it rustled as loud as the flag above his head.
'"Black tidings these, Mr. Williams," said he; "blacker never
came to New England. Doubtless you know their purport?"
'"Yea, truly," replied Roger Williams; "for the Governor
consulted, respecting this matter, with my brethren in the ministry at Boston;
and my opinion was likewise asked. And his Excellency entreats you by me, that
the news be not suddenly noised abroad, lest the people be stirred up unto some
outbreak, and thereby give the King and the Archbishop a handle against
us."
'"The Governor is a wise man,--a wise man, and a meek and
moderate," said Endicott, setting his teeth grimly. "Nevertheless, I
must do according to my own best judgment. There is neither man, woman, nor
child in New England, but has a concern as dear as life in these tidings; and,
if John Endicott's voice be loud enough, man, woman, and child shall hear them.
Soldiers, wheel into a hollow square! Ho, good people! Here are news for one
and all of you."
'The soldiers
closed in around their captain; and he and Roger Williams stood together under
the banner of the Red Cross; while the women and the aged men pressed forward,
and the mothers held up their children to look Endicott in the face. A few taps
of the drum gave signal for silence and attention.
'"Fellow-soldiers,--fellow-exiles,"
began Endicott, speaking under strong excitement, yet
powerfully restraining it, "wherefore did ye leave your native country?
Wherefore, I say, have we left the green and fertile fields, the cottages, or,
perchance, the old gray halls, where we were born and bred, the church-yards
where our forefathers lie buried? Wherefore have we come hither to set up our
own tombstones in a wilderness? A howling wilderness it is! The wolf and the
bear meet us within halloo of our dwellings. The savage lieth in wait for us in
the dismal shadow of the woods. The stubborn roots of the trees break our
ploughshares, when we would till the earth. Our children cry for bread, and we
must dig in the sands of the sea-shore to satisfy them. Wherefore, I say again,
have we sought this country of a rugged soil and wintry sky; Was it not for the
enjoyment of our civil rights? Was it not for liberty to worship God according
to our conscience?"
'"Call you this liberty of conscience?" interrupted a voice on the
steps of the meetinghouse.
'It was
the Wanton Gospeller. A sad and quiet smile flitted across the mild visage of
Roger Williams. But Endicott, in the excitement of the moment, shook his sword
wrathfully at the culprit,--an ominous gesture from a man like him.
'"Nay, brother, nay," interposed Mr. Williams; "thy words are
not meet for a secret chamber, far less for a public street."
'"Hold thy peace, Roger Williams!" answered Endicott, imperiously.
"My spirit is wiser than shine, for the business now in hand. I tell ye,
fellow-exiles, that Charles of England, and Laud, our bitterest persecutor,
arch-priest of Canterbury, are resolute to pursue us even hither. They are
taking counsel, saith this letter, to send over a governor-general, in whose
breast shall be deposited all the law and equity of the land. They are minded,
also, to establish the idolatrous forms of English Episcopacy; so that, when
Laud shall kiss the Pope's toe, as cardinal of Rome, he may deliver New
England, bound hand and foot, into the power of his master!
'A deep
groan from the auditors,--a sound of wrath, as well as fear and
sorrow,--responded to this intelligence.
"Look ye to it, brethren," resumed Endicott, with increasing
energy. "If this king and this arch-prelate have their will, we shall
briefly behold a cross on the spire of this tabernacle which we have builded,
and a high altar within its walls, with wax tapers burning round it at noonday.
We shall hear the sacring-bell, and the voices of the Romish priests saying the
mass. But think ye, Christian men, that these abominations may be suffered
without a sword drawn? without a shot fired? without blood spilt, yea, on the
very stairs of the pulpit? No,--be ye strong of hand, and stout of heart! Here
we stand on our own soil, which we have bought with our goods, which we have
won with our swords, which we have cleared with our axes, which we have tilled
with the sweat of our brows, which we have sanctified with our prayers to the
God that brought us hither! Who shall enslave us here? What have we to do with
this mitred prelate,--with this crowned king? What have we to do with
England?"
'Endicott gazed
round at the excited countenances of the people, now full of his own spirit,
and then turned suddenly to the standard-bearer, who stood close behind him.
'"Officer, lower your banner!" said he.
'The officer
obeyed; and, brandishing his sword, Endicott thrust it through the cloth, and,
with his left hand, rent the Red Cross completely out of the banner. He then
waved the tattered ensign above his head.
'"Sacrilegious wretch!" cried the high-churchman in the pillory, unable
longer to restrain himself; "thou hast rejected the symbol of our holy
religion!"
'"Treason, treason!" roared the royalist in the stocks. "He hath
defaced the King's banner!"
'"Before God and man, I will avouch the deed," answered Endicott.
"Beat a flourish, drummer!--shout, soldiers and people!--in honor of the
ensign of New England. Neither Pope nor Tyrant hath part in it now!"
'With a
cry of triumph, the people gave their sanction to one of the boldest exploits
which our history records. And, for ever honored be the name of Endicott! We
look back through the mist of ages, and recognize, in the rending of the Red
Cross from New England's banner, the first omen of that deliverance which our
fathers consummated, after the bones of the stern Puritan had lain more than a
century in the dust."'
Endicott is also featured in Quaker John Greenleaf Whittier's "The King's Missive" (Like Hawthorne, Whittier was from Essex County and resided in Haverhill -home to other ancestors)
