CHAPTER IX

“What trick, what device, what starting hole canst thou now find out, to hide thee from this open and apparent shame?” —Henry IV'

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 sur- round 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 court; and those elders who had, as was customary on similar occa- sions, been invited to be present as advisory counsel. The New-England people have always evinced a fondness 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

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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 gentle- man, sir, is the ‘apostle of New-England,’ g 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.’

“1 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 w ere 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 ex- pressed the courage and dignity of her soul. Her national pride was manifest in the care with which, after rejecting with disdain the Gover- nor’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-w ork, had been laid aside in prison, but were now r all resumed and displayed with a feeling resembling Nelson’s, 2 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 w hen her atten- dant signed to her to seat herself, she shook her head and remained standing. Everell moved by an irresistible impulse, forced his w ay through

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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 conclu- sion 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 diverse instances of ‘kindness and neighbourlike conduct that had been shown them by the poor heathen people, who having no law, were a law unto themselves.’ He intimated that the Lord’s chosen people had not now, as of old, been selected to extermi- nate 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 authori- ties 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

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those who, being set on a hill in the wilderness, were to show their light to the surrounding nations,’ and concluded with the prayer that on this occasion, justice and mercy might be made publicly to kiss each other.

When he had done, all eyes turned again on Magawisca, and manv 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 bar- barians. 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 disposi- tions, and Everell felt lightened of half his fears. Sir Philip was then requested to relate the circumstances that had, through his instrumen- tality, 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, w ho had pretended, by his information, to reveal a direful conspiracy. Sir Philip rose, and 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.

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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 instrument of her detection. But he now felt that this might be a difficult task.

He had at first, as has been seen, enlisted against Magawisaca, 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. Al- liances like his with Rosa, were by the laws of the colony, punished by severe penalties. These would be aggravated by the discovery of his im- posture. 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 faithfully relating the conversation in the churchyard, 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

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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 the belief in a familiar intercourse with evil spirits, now rejected by all but the most ignorant and credulous, was then universally received.

— AtEhad, therefore, listened in respectful silence to Sir Philip’s ex- traordinary 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 testi- mony. 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 acknowledg- ment 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: “thv pride is like the image of Nebuchadnezar’s dream — it standeth on feet of

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clay — thy race have been swift witnesses to that sure word of prophecy. 'Fear thou not, O Jacob, my servant, for 1 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 1 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 the Pequod woman,” demanded the magistrate, “never been instructed in the prin- ciples 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?”

“1 know,” she replied, “that it contains thy rule,* 1 and it may be j needful for thy mixed race; but the Great Spirit hath written his laws on the hearts of his original children, and we need it not.”

“She is of Satan’s heritage, and our enemy — a proved conspirator against the peace of God’s people, and I see not why she should not be cut off,” said the same gentleman, addressing his brethren in office.

“The testimony,” said another of the magistrates, in a low voice, in which reason and mildness mingled, and truly indicated the disposition of the speaker; “the testimony appeareth to me insufficient to give peace to our consciences in bringing her to extremity. She seems, after her own manner, to be guided by the truth. Let the Governor put it to her, whether she will confess the charges laid against her.”

The Governor accordingly appealed to the prisoner: “I neither con- fess nor deny aught,” she said, “I stand here like a deer caught in a thicket, awaiting the arrow of the hunter.”

Sir Philip again whispered to his next neighbour, who, unconsciously

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obeying the knight’s crafty suggestions, seemed to have become the con- ductor of the prosecution. “She hath the dogged obstinacy of all the Pequod race,” said he, “and it hath long been my opinion, that we should never have peace in the land till their last root was tom from the soil.”

“You may be right, brother,” replied the Governor, “but it becometh us, as Christian men, to walk circumspectly in this matter: ” then opening a note-book, elevating his voice, and turning to the knight, he added, “I observe that your present testimony. Sir Philip, hath not kept equal pace with that taken down from your lips on a former occasion. I have looked over these memoranda with a careful eye, and 1 do not perceive even an intimation of your having seen the prisoner after parting with Hope Leslie.”

The knight had anticipated this scrutiny, and was prepared to answer it: “I was not upon oath then,” he replied, “and, of course, was not required to disclose the whole truth; and, besides, it was then, as your excellency may remember, doubtful whether the prisoner would be taken, and I was reluctant to magnify, unnecessarily, the apprehensions of the paternal guardians of the people.”

Though this insinuated compliment was enforced by a deferential bow to the Governor, he passed it over, and replied to the first clause of Sir Philip’s rejoinder: “You allege, Sir Philip Gardiner, that you were not then on oath — neither have you been now; we do not require a member of the congregation to take the oath, unless charged by the party against whom he testifies. What sayest thou, maiden, shall I administer the oath to him?”

“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 w ent 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

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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, “1 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 French priests have spread their nets throughout 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.

“1 know not,” replied the knight, his reddening face and embarrassed utterance indicating he knew that which he dared not confess — “1 know not; but I should marvel if this heathen savage were permitted, with impunity, to insult me in your open court. 1 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 the favour any of them might have felt for Sir 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 accept- ably.” 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

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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 to Sir Philip Gardiner, and that he did 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 proposi- tion, during which Sir Philip seemed virtually to have changed places with the prisoner, and appeared as agitated as it 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 magis- trates 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 w as 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, w hich they could not repair. The Gover- nor answered this argument by suggesting that they, being forewarned,

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were forearmed, and might certainly rely on their own sagacity to detect any imposture. Of course, no individual 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 deliber- ate, 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

“Fear not to speak, Magawisca,” whispered Everell.

“1 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 a bewildered, terrified child, that instinctively flies 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 Phillip’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 byJRosa’s involun- tary 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 over- whelming confusion, that if he could gain time, he might escape the dangers that menaced him. He rose, and, with an effrontery that, with

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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 reason, 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, he would, on the sure word of a Christian man, clear up whatever suspi- cions 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 investi- gation. 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 Phillip’s testimony, was yet, at present, materiallv 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. 1 pray thee,” she continued, bending low her head, “I pray thee now to set my spirit free. Wait not for his testimony” — she pointed to Sir Phillip — “as well may ye expect 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 1 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

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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 murmurs of the crowd. She spoke, and all again 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!’ 3 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! — for one who, as ye have testimony within yourselves, in that her looks and words do so prevail over your judgments, is presently aided and abetted by the arch enemy of mankind! — 1 call upon you, my brethren,” he added, turning to his

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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, 1 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, decid- ing against her — the voice of nature crying out for her.

Before the parties separated, the Governor arranged a private inter- view with Sir Philip Gardiner, to take place at his own house immediately after dinner.

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