The King's Missive

Under the great hill sloping bare     To cove and meadow and Common lot,     In his council chamber and oaken chair,     Sat the worshipful Governor Endicott.     A grave, strong man, who knew no peer     In the pilgrim land, where he ruled in fear     Of God, not man, and for good or ill     Held his trust with an iron will.     He had shorn with his sword the cross from out     The flag, and cloven the May-pole down,     Harried the heathen round about,     And whipped the Quakers from town to town.     Earnest and honest, a man at need     To burn like a torch for his own harsh creed,     He kept with the flaming brand of his zeal     The gate of the holy common weal.     His brow was clouded, his eye was stern,     With a look of mingled sorrow and wrath;     "Woe's me!" he murmured: "at every turn     The pestilent Quakers are in my path!     Some we have scourged, and banished some,     Some hanged, more doomed, and still they come,     Fast as the tide of yon bay sets in,     Sowing their heresy's seed of sin.     "Did we count on this? Did we leave behind     The graves of our kin, the comfort and ease     Of our English hearths and homes, to find     Troublers of Israel such as these?     Shall I spare? Shall I pity them? God forbid!     I will do as the prophet to Agag did     They come to poison the wells of the Word,     I will hew them in pieces before the Lord!"     The door swung open, and Rawson the clerk     Entered, and whispered under breath,     "There waits below for the hangman's work     A fellow banished on pain of death     Shattuck, of Salem, unhealed of the whip,     Brought over in Master Goldsmith's ship     At anchor here in a Christian port,     With freight of the devil and all his sort!"     Twice and thrice on the chamber floor     Striding fiercely from wall to wall,     "The Lord do so to me and more,"     The Governor cried, "if I hang not all!     Bring hither the Quaker." Calm, sedate,     With the look of a man at ease with fate,     Into that presence grim and dread     Came Samuel Shattuck, with hat on head.     "Off with the knave's hat!" An angry hand     Smote down the offence; but the wearer said,     With a quiet smile, "By the king's command     I bear his message and stand in his stead."     In the Governor's hand a missive he laid     With the royal arms on its seal displayed,     And the proud man spake as he gazed thereat,     Uncovering, "Give Mr. Shattuck his hat."     He turned to the Quaker, bowing low,     "The king commandeth your friends' release;     Doubt not he shall be obeyed, although     To his subjects' sorrow and sin's increase.     What he here enjoineth, John Endicott,     His loyal servant, questioneth not.     You are free! God grant the spirit you own     May take you from us to parts unknown."     So the door of the jail was open cast,     And, like Daniel, out of the lion's den     Tender youth and girlhood passed,     With age-bowed women and gray-locked men.     And the voice of one appointed to die     Was lifted in praise and thanks on high,     And the little maid from New Netherlands     Kissed, in her joy, the doomed man's hands.     And one, whose call was to minister     To the souls in prison, beside him went,     An ancient woman, bearing with her     The linen shroud for his burial meant.     For she, not counting her own life dear,     In the strength of a love that cast out fear,     Had watched and served where her brethren died,     Like those who waited the cross beside.     One moment they paused on their way to look     On the martyr graves by the Common side,     And much scourged Wharton of Salem took     His burden of prophecy up and cried     "Rest, souls of the valiant! Not in vain     Have ye borne the Master's cross of pain;     Ye have fought the fight, ye are victors crowned,     With a fourfold chain ye have Satan bound!"     The autumn haze lay soft and still     On wood and meadow and upland farms;     On the brow of Snow Hill the great windmill     Slowly and lazily swung its arms;     Broad in the sunshine stretched away,     With its capes and islands, the turquoise bay;     And over water and dusk of pines     Blue hills lifted their faint outlines.     The topaz leaves of the walnut glowed,     The sumach added its crimson fleck,     And double in air and water showed     The tinted maples along the Neck;     Through frost flower clusters of pale star-mist,     And gentian fringes of amethyst,     And royal plumes of golden-rod,     The grazing cattle on Centry trod.     But as they who see not, the Quakers saw     The world about them; they only thought     With deep thanksgiving and pious awe     On the great deliverance God had wrought.     Through lane and alley the gazing town     Noisily followed them up and down;     Some with scoffing and brutal jeer,     Some with pity and words of cheer.     One brave voice rose above the din.     Upsall, gray with his length of days,     Cried from the door of his Red Lion Inn     "Men of Boston, give God the praise     No more shall innocent blood call down     The bolts of wrath on your guilty town.     The freedom of worship, dear to you,     Is dear to all, and to all is due.     "I see the vision of days to come,     When your beautiful City of the Bay     Shall be Christian liberty's chosen home,     And none shall his neighbor's rights gainsay.     The varying notes of worship shall blend     And as one great prayer to God ascend,     And hands of mutual charity raise     Walls of salvation and gates of praise."     So passed the Quakers through Boston town,     Whose painful ministers sighed to see     The walls of their sheep-fold falling down,     And wolves of heresy prowling free.     But the years went on, and brought no wrong;     With milder counsels the State grew strong,     As outward Letter and inward Light     Kept the balance of truth aright.     The Puritan spirit perishing not,     To Concord's yeomen the signal sent,     And spake in the voice of the cannon-shot     That severed the chains of a continent.     With its gentler mission of peace and good-will     The thought of the Quaker is living still,     And the freedom of soul he prophesied     Is gospel and law where the martyrs died