Chapter XIX

On Gallows’ Hill


At the foot of this scaffold, the driver stopped. Deliverance was bidden
to step out. Attended by the guard, she ascended the ladder. Only one
instinct remained to the heart-broken child, and that was to clasp still
closer to her breast the little kitten, the one faithful and loving
friend who clung to her in this dread hour.

“Deliverance Wentworth,” spoke the minister in a loud, clear voice, “will
you, while there is yet time, confess your sin of witchery, or will you
be launched into eternity to the loss of your immortal soul?”

She looked at him vaguely. His words had not pierced to her dulled
comprehension.

He repeated them.

Again she was silent. Slowly her unresponsive gaze turned from the
minister and swept the sea of upturned faces. Never was there a sterner,
sadder crowd than the one upon which she looked down; the men lean,
sour-visaged, the women already showing a delicacy, born of hardship
and the pitiless New England winters. Children hoisted on the shoulders
of yeomen were to be seen. She saw the wan, large-eyed face of little
Ebenezer Gibbs, as his father held him up to behold the witch who had
afflicted him with such grievous illness. Drawn together in a group
were the gentry. And all thrilled to a general terror for none knew on
whom the accusation might next fall. At the tavern, the loiterers, made
reckless by the awful plague, gathered to be merry and pledge a cup to
the dying.

With these latter mingled foreign sailors, their faces bronzed, wearing
gold rings in their ears and gay scarves around their waists.

One of these tavern roisterers shouted: “Behold the imp the witch carries
in the shape of a black cat!”

There came another cry: “Let the cat be strung up also, lest the witch’s
spirit pass into it at her death!”

Others caught up and repeated the cry. An ominous murmur rose from the
crowd, drowning the single voices.

The minister strove in vain to make himself heard.

To Deliverance the clamour was meaningless sound. But yet closer to her
breast she clasped the little kitten.

Slowly she turned her head and her gaze travelled over the landscape.
Vaguely she felt that she would never see the morrow’s sun, that now she
looked her last upon the kind earth.

Suddenly her gaze became fixed as she caught the flash of spears and saw
mounted soldiers emerge from the forest and come rapidly down the winding
road from the opposite hill. Some dim instinct of self-preservation
struggled through the stupor which enveloped her. She raised her arm
and pointed to the forest. So strange, so silent, seeming guided by
a mysterious power, was that gesture, that a tremor as at something
supernatural passed through the people.

They saw the minister speak excitedly to the hangman, whose jaw dropped
in amazement. Soon was distinctly heard the trampling of horses. A moment
later four soldiers, riding two abreast, swept up the hill with cries of:—

“Way, make way, good people, in the King’s name!”

Following these came his Excellency the new Governor, Sir William Phipps.
He sat severely erect on his richly caparisoned horse, attended by two
more soldiers. Reaching the scaffold he reined in his horse and waited. A
yet more astonishing thing than the unlooked-for arrival of the Governor
was about to occur.

There next appeared, a goodly distance behind, a sedan-chair carried by
four Moors. The occupant of the chair was a man of great size, whose
left leg was bandaged and rested on a pillow. Despite the cool morning
the sweat was rolling off his face, and he groaned. But dusty, warm,
and in pain as he seemed, he had a most comely countenance. The silken
chestnut curls fell on his shoulders, whilst his high and haughty nose
bespoke power in just proportion to the benevolence of his broad brow.
As the slaves bore him along very slowly, for they were much exhausted,
Sir Jonathan Jamieson, making his way through the crowd to join a group
of the gentry, crossed the path directly in front of the sedan-chair.
Here he paused, lingering a moment, to get a glimpse of the Governor, not
turning his head to perceive what was behind him.

As he thus paused, the stranger was observed to half rise and draw his
sword. But suddenly his face changed colour, his sword arm fell, and he
sank back on his pillows, his hand clutching his side. Those near by
heard him murmur, “As Thou hast forgiven me, even me.” But the rest of
the way to the scaffold not once did he raise his head nor remove his
hand from his side.

Sir Jonathan passed serenely, swinging his blackthorn stick, all
unwitting how nigh death he had been in that short moment.

Next there came riding a-horseback, Master Ronald Wentworth, the brother
of the condemned maid.

His student’s cap was set on the back of his head, his dark locks falling
on either side of his white face, his small-clothes and riding boots
a-colour with the mud.

But doubtless the most astonishing sight of all to the amazed people was
a small, mud-bespattered maiden, attired in sad-coloured linsey-woolsey,
seated on a pillion behind the Fellow of Harvard, her chin elevated in
the air, her accustomed meekness gone.

This important personage was the missing Abigail Brewster.

When these last arrivals had reached the scaffold, Governor Phipps
dismounted, and giving his horse into the care of a soldier ascended
the ladder to the platform. His face was pale and his expression
ill-favoured, as if he relished not the discomfort he had undergone. The
murmurings and whispers had died down. His words were anxiously attended.

“My good people,” he commenced solemnly, “it hath become my duty to
declare unto you that I came, not to pardon Deliverance Wentworth, but
to declare her innocent of the charge brought against her, for the which
she has been condemned to death. Circumstances have been so cunningly
interwoven by the Evil One as to put upon this young maid, whom I
pronounce wholly free and innocent of blame, the character of a witch.
Lord Christopher Mallett, Physician to his Majesty the King, hath matter
whereof he would speak to you to warn you of the evils attaching to an
o’er hasty judgment.

“But there is yet another word, which I, your Governor, would impress
with all solemnity upon you. Assisted by that godly minister, Master
Cotton Mather, I have made careful study of the will of the Lord
regarding the sin and punishment of witchery. Better, far better, I say
unto you, that twenty innocent people should be made to suffer than
that one witch should go unhanged when you have catched her. This I
say because we are now in a fair way to clear the land of witches. I
would have you abate not one jot nor tittle of the zeal you have so
far manifested, lest the good work be half done and thereby nothing be
accomplished. For but one witch left in the land is able to accomplish
untold evil. Therefore, while the Lord hath been gracious to so
expediently correct the error of your judgment in sentencing this maid to
be hanged, yet I do not condemn your error, but see rather, within the
shell of wrong, the sweet kernel of virtuous intent, that you spared not
in your obedience to the Lord’s behest, one who, by reason of her tender
years, appealed most artfully to your protection.”

Thereat the Governor ceased speaking, and seated himself on a stool which
had been carried up on the scaffold for him.

Eagerly the people speculated as to the cause of this unlooked-for
pardon. As the Governor ceased speaking, the tavern roisterers sent
up shouts and tossed off mugs of sack. One fellow, a merry-andrew of
the town, turned handsprings down the road. This uncouth and ill-timed
merriment was speedily checked by the authorities.

Meanwhile the Beadle was seen to go up and place a stool on the scaffold.
Then he went half-way down the ladder and took a pillow and another
stool handed up to him, and arranged these in front of the first seat,
after which he descended, for the platform was not strong, and already
accommodated three people besides Deliverance: the Governor, the
minister, and the hangman.

Now the ladder bent and creaked under a tremendous weight, as Lord
Christopher Mallett, panting for breath, pausing for groans at every
step, ascended by painful degrees and dropped so heavily upon the stool
placed in readiness for him that the frail structure shook dangerously.
Assisted by the hangman, he lifted his gouty leg on the pillowed stool.
Then he saw Deliverance standing near by, and stretched forth his hands,
while a smile lighted with its old-time geniality his worn countenance.

“Come hither, little mistress,” he said, “and let me feast my eyes on
you, for I swear no more doughty and brave-hearted lass abides in his
Majesty’s kingdom.”

But Deliverance stood still, regarding him with dull eyes. Something in
the delicate child-mind had been strained beyond endurance.

The black kitten struggled from her arms and leapt to the floor of the
platform, craning its head with shrinking curiosity over the edge.

Slowly, something familiar in the kindly face and the outstretched hands
of the great physician made itself apparent to Deliverance’s benumbed
faculties. Troubled, she looked long at him. Over her face broke a sweet
light, the while she plucked daintily at her linsey-woolsey petticoat.
“Ye can feel for yourself, good sir, and ye like,” she said in her sweet,
high treble, “that it be all silk without’n a thread o’ cotton in it.”

As she spoke she drew nearer him, but before she reached him, put out her
arms with a little fluttering cry and sank at the great physician’s feet.

When consciousness returned to her, she found herself seated on some
gentleman’s lap. Her temples were wet with a powerful liquid whose
reviving odour she inhaled. Not then did she realize that she was indeed
seated on the lap of that austere dignitary, Governor Phipps. At perfect
peace she sat with her golden head resting against his purple velvet
coat, her eyelids closed from weariness, her confusion gone. Dimly as in
a dream she heard the voice of Lord Christopher addressing the people.

“In this town of Salem, I had reason to believe, resided one who had
recently come as a stranger among you. This stranger to you, had been my
cherished friend, my confidant in all things, and he betrayed me. Traitor
though he was, I could have forgiven him, perceiving now with clearer
eyes his weakness against a great temptation, but he hath shamefully
persecuted a child, which, of all sins, is the most grievous.”

The speaker paused and his piercing glance singled out one of the group
of gentry, gathered on the edge of the crowd. The man thus marked by that
gaze was Sir Jonathan Jamieson. A moment he returned that challenging,
scornful look; then as the eyes of all near by turned toward him, his
face whitened and, with a defiant raising of his head, he turned abruptly
and strove to make his way out of the crowd.

“Let me pass, churls,” he cried fiercely, glancing round, “or I will
crack your pates.”

So those who stood by, being yeomen, and naturally awed by those of
gentle blood, drew aside at the threat, albeit they muttered and cast
dark looks upon Sir Jonathan as he passed.

This scene was observed by very few, as the great body of people hung
intent upon Lord Christopher’s words.

“This man,” he continued, “was, as I telled you, my cherished friend,
my confidant in all things, although he possessed no interest in my
craft. Being of a bookish turn of mind, he treated with friendly derision
and apparent unconcern my experiments in leechcraft and chirurgery,
professing no faith in them. Now it having been my practice to consult
regularly a soothsayer, I learned from him that in two years’ time
England would be visited by the Black Plague. Thereby I was greatly
saddened and sorrowed o’ nights, having visions of good folk dying in the
streets and carted off to the potter’s field. Most of all did I think of
the poor children who have not their elders’ philosophy to bear pain and
are most tender to suffer so. The thought of these poor little ones so
worked upon me that I had no peace. At last an idea of great magnitude
took possession of me. In the two years’ time that was to elapse afore
this terrible visitation would take place, I resolved to discover a
simple which would be both a preventive and a cure for this plague with
which the Lord sees fit to visit us at sundry times. I took his Majesty
the King into my confidence. The proposed adventure received his gracious
approval. For its furtherance he gave me large monies, and I also used
the greater substance of my house. I travelled to India to consult with
Eastern scholars, wondrously learned in mysterious ways beyond our ken.
Weeks, day and night, I spent in experimenting. At last one morn, just
as the day broke, and its light fell on my two trusty servitors who had
fallen asleep e’en as they stood assisting me, I gave a great shout for
joy. My last experiment had stood the test. I had triumphed. The recipe
was perfected. ‘Wake, wake,’ I cried, ‘and give thanks unto God.’

“So powerful was the powder, of such noble strength, that e’en its odour
caused my daughter to swoon lily-white when I would have administered
a dose to her as a preventive against sickness in the future. One man
only besides the King was in my confidence. This was my friend and he
was my undoing. Whilst I was in attendance upon his Majesty who had
been wounded at a boar-hunt, this false friend, having free access to my
house, entered and stole the parchment having the recipe. With a wounded
heart I set to work, again to recall the intricate formula of the recipe.
I was unsuccessful. Papers of value leading to the composing of the cure
were left me, but the amount and proper compounding of the ingredients
had been set down only in the stolen parchment. To add to my trouble
I perceived that the King’s faith in me was shaken, that he regretted
the monies put at my disposal. Moreover, he credited not my tale of my
false friend’s baseness, but professed to think I had failed, and strove
to hide my discomfiture beneath a cloak of lies. I despaired. At last
I learned that my enemy had gone to America and landed at ye Town of
Boston, whither I followed him. I arrived after a favourable voyage and
sought your Governor. To him alone I gave my rightful name and mission.
And here with much secrecy I was obliged to work, having no proof by
which to confirm my accusation. My only hope lay in surprising my enemy
afore he had time to destroy the parchment from fear and malice. My
search led me to your town. It was the close of day. I sent my Indian
guide to a farmhouse for food, and seated myself on a fallen tree for a
resting-minute. I was o’er cautious and determined not to enter the town
afore nightfall, desiring that my enemy should not recognize me, if I
by any inadvertence happed to cross his path. As I waited, there came
tripping along this same little maid whom you would have hanged.

“I learned from her of the stranger in your town. Thereat I resolved to
go back to Boston Town and obtain assistance to arrest this base traitor.
Now, prompted by an unfortunate desire to annoy him and full of triumph,
I did whisper in the little maid’s ear tormenting words to say when next
she met him, chuckling to myself as I thought of his astonishment that a
fair and innocent child should have an inkling of his guilt. So high did
my spirits rise after the little maid left me that I could not sit still,
but must needs rise and stroll down the path to meet my Indian guide.
There I met an old silly, praying. I dropped a black pellet in one of his
pails of milk as an idle jest. But I have paid dearly for my malicious
chuckling. I have paid well.” The speaker paused to groan and wipe the
sweat from his brow.

“I have travelled far in uncivilized countries, amidst savage people,” he
continued, “but ne’er have I known such a terrible journey as I endured
last night. The memory of it will last me throughout this world, and who
knows and the Lord forgive not my sins, but that I shall remember it in
the next. I was carried up stream and down stream, terrible insects arose
with a buzzing sound and fastened themselves on my flesh, the howling of
wild beasts smote my ears. Yet am I thankful to have made that journey,
for by it I have saved the life of a brave lass who hath done a doughtier
deed in her King’s service than any of you who have prosecuted her. It
was her nimble wit, working in prison, that obtained the stolen parchment
and sent it to me. Through her messenger I learned of my enemy’s intent
to strike at my very vitals, my high position and favour with the King.
He was having the recipe compounded, to return with it to England and
obtain the honour of its discovery himself. But thanks be to God, the
evil of his ways was his undoing. This little maid whom you would have
hanged hath saved England from the plague, and I am made her debtor for
life.”

A shout broke from the stern, repressed Puritans.

“Let us behold the little maid who hath saved England. Let the child
stand forth.”

Governor Phipps put Deliverance upon her feet, and holding her hand
walked to the edge of the platform. When the people saw her in her
sad-coloured gown, her hair a golden glory around her face, they were
silent from awe and self-reproach. Only when the kitten leapt upon her
petticoat and climbed to her shoulder, there seating itself with rightful
pride, the sober Puritans broke into wild shoutings and laughter.
Laughter mingled with tears, that in all the town of Salem, so brave a
maid had found in her extremity but two loyal friends, Mistress Abigail
Brewster and a little kitten.

Deliverance, frightened by the cries and unwonted animation of the
upturned faces, began to weep and put out her arms pitifully to Lord
Christopher.

“Oh, might it pleasure ye to take me home, good sir?”

Before he could reply, a young man bounded up the ladder and caught the
little maid in his arms.

“I could keep from you no longer, sweetheart,” he cried.

Deliverance’s arms tightened around his neck. “I be o’er glad to see ye,
dear Ronald,” she said, laying her head on his shoulder, “and, oh, let it
pleasure ye not to dilly-dally, but to take me to father, for I be fair
weary to see him?”

So the Fellow of Harvard, with a word to his Excellency for permission,
slowly descended the ladder with his precious burden in his arms.

Thus Deliverance returned to her father.