Nathaniel Hawthorne
 


   Endicott And The Red Cross
    From Twice-Told Tales

        
    At noon of on 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 armor, and practise  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  armor  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 meeting-house. The  blood  was 
still plashing on the doorstep. 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 endeavor 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 
meeting-house 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 incased 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 meeting-house 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 above-mentioned 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  cropped, 
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 needlework; so that the capital A  might  have 
been thought to mean Admirable, or anything 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 inclosed 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 behooved 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 meeting-house. 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 
churchyards 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 
meeting-house.
    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.
    "What hast thou to do with conscience, thou knave?" cried he. "I said  liberty 
to worship God, not license to profane and ridicule him.  Break  not  in  upon  my 
speech, or I will lay thee neck and heels till this time tomorrow! Hearken to  me, 
friends, nor heed that accursed rhapsodist. As I was saying,  we  have  sacrificed 
all things, and have come to a land whereof the old  world  hath  scarcely  heard, 
that we might make a new world unto ourselves, and  painfully  seek  a  path  from 
hence to heaven. But what think  ye  now?  This  son  of  a  Scotch  tyrant - this 
grandson of a Papistical and adulterous Scotch  woman,  whose  death  proved  that 
a golden crown doth not always save an anointed head from the block - "
    "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 thine 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 forever 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.

    1838

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