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THE KNIGHT OF THE GOLDEN MELICE

A Historical Romance

JOHN TURVILL ADAMS

New-York: Derby & Jackson, 119 Nassau-Street. Cincinnati: W.H. Derby & Co.

"One ... calling himself ... Knight of the Golden Melice."

Alles weiderholt sich nur im Leben; Ewig jung ist nur die Fantasie: Was sich nie und nirgends hat begeben, Das allein veraltet nie!

Shiller.

TO H.L.A.

To whom but to yourself; my H., should I dedicate this Romance, which may be said to be the fruit of our mutual studies? With what delight I have watched the unfolding, like a beautiful flower, of your youthful mind, while instead of indulging in frivolous pursuits, so common to your age, you have applied yourself to the acquiring of useful knowledge as well as of elegant accomplishments, none but a parent can know. Accept what I have written, my darling, as a tribute to a love which makes the happiness of my life.

J.T.A.

INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER.

He cast, The Gospel's pearl upon our coast, And in these rocks for us did frame A temple where to sound His name. O let our voice His praise exalt Till it arrive at Heaven's vault, Which there perhaps rebounding may Echo beyond the Mexic bay. Thus sang they, in the English boat, A holy and a cheerful note, And all the way to guide their chime, With falling oars they kept the time.

The beginning of the 17th century is an interesting epoch in American annals. Although the Atlantic coast of that vast country now comprised within the limits of the United States and Canada had previously been traced by navigators, and some little knowledge acquired of the tribes of red men who roamed its interminable forests, no attempt at colonization worthy of the name had succeeded. The principal, if not the only advantage derived from the discovery of North America, came from the fisheries of Newfoundland and Labrador, frequented mostly by the adventurous mariners of England, France and Spain. In these cold seas, to the music of storms howling from the North Pole, and dashing with ceaseless rage the salt spray against the rocky shore, they threw their lines and cast their nets, at the same time enriching themselves, and forming for their respective countries a race of hardy and skilful sailors. The land attracted them not. The inducements which led to the more speedy conquest and settlement of South America by the Spaniards, were wanting. Gold and silver to tempt cupidity were not to be found, and the stern, though not inhospitable character of the Northern tribes was very different from the imbecile effeminacy of the Southern races. The opposition likely to be encountered was more formidable, and the prize to be won hardly proportioned to the hazard to be incurred. While, therefore, the atrocious Spaniards were enslaving the helpless natives of Peru and Mexico, and compelling them by horrid cruelties to deliver up their treasures, the wild woods of all that region to the north of the Gulf bearing the name of the latter country, continued to ring to the free shout of the tawny hunter. Not that attempts had not been made to obtain footing on the continent, but they had all failed by reason of the character of the emigrants, or the want of support from home, or of a thousand other causes reducible to the category of ill luck, bad management, or providential determination.

But the 17th century introduced a new order of things, beginning with the arrival of the first permanent colony on the coast of Virginia in the year 1607, indissolubly associated with the name of the chivalrous Captain John Smith; followed in 1614 by the occupancy of the mouth of the river Hudson, and of the island of Manhattan, the present site of the city of New-York, by the Dutch; and, in 1620, of New-England, by the English. The fulness of time had arrived, when the seeds of a mighty empire were to be sown.

A diversity of opinion prevails with regard to the motives of the early colonists to leave their homes. Without entering into an elaborate discussion of the subject, and thereby invading the province of the historian, it may perhaps be permitted me to say, that, in my judgment, they were partly political, partly religious, partly commercial, and partly adventurous.

One of the first acts of James the First of England, on his accession to the throne in 1603, was the conclusion, by a peace with Spain, of the long war so gloriously signalized by the destruction of the Armada. The pacific policy wherewith he began his administration, he never abandoned during the twenty-two years while he held the sceptre. Hence the spirit of enterprise which exists in various degrees in every flourishing nation, finding itself diverted from that warlike channel wherein it had been accustomed to flow, was obliged to seek other issues. The immense region beyond the sea claimed by England by priority of discovery, offered a theatre for a portion of that spirit to expend itself upon. Hither turned their eyes those who, in the wars, had contracted a fondness for adventure, and were unwilling to sink back into the peaceful pursuits of laborious industry. For such men, the vague and the uncertain possess irresistible attractions. For them, emigration was like the hazard of the gaming-table; ruin was a possible consequence, but fortune might also crown the most extravagant hopes. The merchant regarded with favor a scheme which would furnish employment for his ships by the transportation of men and stores. Besides, the fisheries had always been productive; they might be largely extended, and a trade in furs and other products of the country opened with the Indians. Perhaps the precious metals, found in such quantities by the Spaniards at the South, might enrich the North. Happily they found not that pernicious bane which is alike the corrupter of private morals and the debaucher of nations. To these considerations may be added a willingness at least on the part of the government, to rid itself of idle profligates and unruly spirits. Guided by this chart, it is not difficult to understand why efforts similar to those which had proved abortive, should now be successful.

Soon, in logical and honest sequence with the principles which they professed, followed a system of persecution rivaling that of which they complained in England. To be true to themselves and creed, they were obliged to adopt it. We may do as we please; we may say that the fanatical notion, the horrid Erinnys, the baleful mother of woes innumerable, that the dogmas of religion may rightfully be enforced by the sword of the civil, power, dominated the world, and in this way account for their conduct; or apologize for it by the necessities of their situation, and the peculiarities of their creed; or combine these causes, and so extenuate what cannot be defended.

I can well understand how a Puritan of 16--would justify his rigor. His opinion of himself would be like that of the amiable Governor Winthrop, as found in his first will, as one "adopted to be the child of God, and an heir of everlasting life, and that of the mere and free favor of God, who hath elected me to be a vessel of glory." Such was the Puritan in his own eyes. He was the chosen of heaven. He had, for the sake of the Gospel, abandoned his country and the comforts of civilization, to erect his Ebenezer in the wilderness. He wanted to be let alone. He invited not Papists or English Churchmen, or any who differed in opinion from him, to throw in their lots with his. They would only be obstacles in his way, jarring-strings in his heavenly antique-fashioned harp. Away with the intruders! What right had they to molest him with their dissenting presence? The earth was wide: let them go somewhere else. They would find more congenial associates in the Virginia colony. He would have no Achans to breed dissension in his camp. With bold heart and strong hand would he cast them out. His was the empire of the saints; an empire, not to be exercised with feebleness and doubt, but with vigor and confidence.

It is obvious that a very wide difference existed between the characters of the two colonies. The cavalier, sparkling and fiery as the wines he quaffed, the defender of established authority and of the divine right of kings, was the antithesis of the abstemious and thoughtful religionist and reformer, dissatisfied with the present, hopeful of a better future, and not forgetful that it was in anger God gave the Israelites a king.

Meanwhile the Roman Catholics had not been idle. Their devoted missionaries, solicitous to occupy other regions which should more than supply the deficiency occasioned by the Protestant defection, and confident of the final triumph of a Church, out of whose pale they believed could be no salvation, had scattered themselves over the continent, and with marvellous energy and self-sacrifice, were extending their influence among the natives. No boundaries can be placed to the visions of the enthusiastic religionist. His strength is the strength of God. No wonder, then, that the Roman Catholic priest should cherish hopes of rescuing the entire new world from heresy, which he considered worse than heathenism, and should enlist all his energies in so grand a cause. It is almost certain that extensive plans were formed for the accomplishment of this object.

Such were the elements which the seething caldron of the old world threw out upon the new. A part only of the materials furnished by these elements have I used in framing this tale. It is an attempt to elucidate the manners and credence of quite an early period, and to explain with the license accorded to a romancer, some passages in American history.

Thus much have I thought proper to premise. It is impossible to judge correctly of the men of any age, without taking into consideration the circumstances in which they were placed, and the opinions that prevailed in their time. To apply the standard of this year of grace, 1856, to the religious enlightenment of more than two hundred years ago, would be like measuring one of Gulliver's Lilliputians by Gulliver himself. I trust that the world has since improved, and that of whatever passing follies we may be guilty, we shall never retrograde to the old narrow views of truth. If mankind are capable of being taught any lesson, surely this is one--that persecution or dislike for opinion sake is a folly and an evil, and that we best perform the will of Him to whom we are commanded to be like, not by contracting our affections into the narrow sphere of those whose opinions harmonize with ours, but by diffusing our love over His creation who pronounced it all "very good."

THE KNIGHT OF THE GOLDEN MELICE.

Our tale begins within a few years after the end of the first quarter of the 17th century, at Boston, in Massachusetts, then in the infancy of its settlement.

On an evening in the month of May, were assembled some seven or eight men around a table, in a long, low room, the sides only of which were plastered, the rough beams and joists overhead being exposed to view; the windows were small, and the floor without a carpet; and the furniture consisted of the table, over which was spread a black cloth, whereupon stood several lighted candles in brass candlesticks, of a dozen chairs, covered with russet-colored leather, and of some wooden benches, ranged against the walls, and which were occupied by various persons. At one end of the apartment the floor was raised a few inches, and the chair standing on this elevation differed from the others in having arms at the sides, and in being of ampler proportions, as if by its appearance to vindicate a claim to superior position. But unpretending as was the room, it was a place of no little importance, being no less than the Court Hall and Council Chamber of the "Governor and Company of the Massachusetts Bay, in New England." At the moment of which we are speaking, it was appropriated to a meeting of the Court of Assistants of the Colony.

The person occupying the arm-chair, on the platform, was a man of not unpleasing appearance, somewhat less than fifty years of age, and dressed with considerable precision in the style prevailing among gentlemen of distinction at that day. His face was rather long, and surmounted by a high and well developed forehead, from the top of which, dark, parted hair fell in curls down the temples over a white ruff, fringed with costly lace, that encircled his neck. His eyes were blue; his eye-brows highly arched; his nose large; beard covered the upper lip and chin; and so far as an opinion could be formed, from his sitting posture, he was tall and well-made. The expression of his countenance was gentle, and there was an air of introspection and abstraction about it as if he were much in the habit of communing with his own thoughts. The upper part of his person, which only was visible, the rest being hid by the table and depending cloth, was clothed in a black coat or doublet, without ornament or even the appearance of a button, and at his side he wore a rapier, evidently more as a badge of his rank than for use.

Seated at his right hand, and below the platform, was a man a dozen years at least his elder, whose stout look and fiery glances indicated that if time had grizzled his thick and close cut hair, it had not quenched the heat of his spirit. Like the gentleman first described, he was dressed in sad-colored garments, differing but little from them, except that instead of a ruff, he wore a plain white band, falling upon his breast, cut somewhat like those worn by clergymen at the present day, but longer, and passing round the neck and covering the collar of the coat. Although the oldest of the company, he seemed to have himself the least under control, continually moving in his chair, drawing forward and pushing away the sheets of paper that lay before him, and now and then darting an impatient glance at the person in the arm-chair, from whom it would wander over his companions, and then fasten on the door.

The third and last gentleman whom we think proper to describe, was a man of about the age of the first, but utterly unlike him. His head was covered with a black skull cap, beneath which, rose ears more prominent than ornamental, being very little relieved by the hair, which was cropped short. His complexion was florid, and the parts of the face, about the chin and jaws, full and heavy, giving an appearance of great roundness to the countenance. His features were regular, the mouth small and compressed, and on the upper lip he wore a moustache, parted in the centre, and brushed out horizontally, balanced by a tuft on the chin, four or five inches long. An adventurous spirit gazed out of his clear steady eyes, and altogether he looked like a man of determined temper, and one who, having once formed a resolution, would find it difficult to relinquish it. Around his neck he also had a broad band, divided in the middle, and falling half way down his breast. The remainder of the persons around the table bore the same general resemblance to these three, in dress, that one gentleman ordinarily does to another, and all were engaged in conversation.

Presently the gentleman in the arm-chair, who was evidently the President, took up a small bell that was placed before him, and sounding it, the summons was replied to by the entrance of a man from a side-door. He was the servitor or beadle of the Court, and moving to the end of the table opposite the President, he stood facing him and waiting his commands.

"Bring in the prisoner," said the President, in a low tone, but so distinct that it was heard all over the room.

The beadle noiselessly glided out, and in a few moments returned, leading a man, whose wrists were fastened with gyves, whom he conducted to the end of the table he had just left, and placed so as to confront the President.

"Take off the irons," said the same, low, musical voice.

The man, thus unpleasantly introduced, was in the prime of life, certainly not more than thirty-five or six years of age, and from his bold and erect carriage, seemed to have been bred a soldier. Upon the order to take off the shackles being complied with, he cast a look of acknowledgment toward the speaker.

"Master Nowell," said the President, "read the accusation."

The person addressed, who was the Clerk or Secretary, rose hereupon from his seat near the centre of the table, and read "the information," which it is unnecessary to give at length, charging the prisoner with using most foul, scandalous, indecent, defamatory, and unseemly invectives, reproaches, and passionate speeches, toward and against the worshipful magistrates and godly ministers of the colony, thereby contriving and designing to bring into contempt, all law, order, religion, and good government, &c., and to subvert the authority of the magistrates and undermine the wholesome influence of the godly ministers, &c., to the disgrace and ruin of the colony and scandal of true religion, &c.

When the paper had been read, the President demanded--"Are you guilty or not?"

"I am as innocent as the worshipful Governor himself, and whoever wrote those lies, is a villain and a foresworn knave," replied the prisoner.

"Enter that the prisoner says he is not guilty," said the President, addressing the Secretary; "and do thou, Philip Joy, remember where thou art, and express thyself in a manner more becoming this presence."

"It is hard to be tied up like a mad dog and not get angry," replied the accused.

"Sirrah!" cried the gentleman, whose appearance was described next after the President, "dost thou bring a contumacious spirit here to bandy words with the right worshipful Governor? Silence, and answer peremptorily to the questions of thy betters."

"Nay, worthy Deputy Governor Dudley, the poor man is, I doubt not, already sensible of his error, and sinned more out of ignorance than design," observed the President.

"The honored Governor," spoke an assistant from near the bottom of the table, "is, I fear, disposed to be too lenient in respect of these foul-mouthed carrion."

"Our law condemns no man unheard; nor will I be more stern," answered the mild Governor Winthrop, . "It seems to me to be the part of a judge to allow no harsh suspicions to enter his mind, lest they throw baleful shadows over his decisions. Philip Joy," he added, turning to the prisoner, "thou hast declared thyself innocent; wilt thou be tried by a jury, or art content to trust thy cause to the judgment of the honorable Court of Assistants?"

"I care not who tries me," replied Joy. "I am a true man; and, though I don't belong to the congregation, am as honest as a great many who do, and he is a horrid villain, who--"

"Enough," interrupted the Governor, "a quick tongue often prejudices, while a slow one seldom doth. Do I understand that it is thy desire to be tried by the Assistants?"

"It is not my desire to be tried by any one," said Joy; "but, sith I am to be put on my deliverance, I think that I shall stand a better chance in the hands of honorable gentlemen, some of whom have been soldiers, than in the dirty paws of tinkers, and cobblers, and mere mechanicals."

No smile mantled over the faces of his grave judges, but it was obvious, from the twinkling of eyes and glances shot by one to another, that the speech of Joy had done him no harm with those who, even thus early, began to feel annoyed at the approach of the clouted shoe.

"Art thou prepared for thy trial? inquired the President.

"At any moment, and the sooner the better, your worship. I had rather mount guard, for a week, in steel helmet and corselet, with breast, back, culet, gorget, tasses, sword, musket and bandoliers, in the hottest sun that ever roasted a blackamoor, or stand up to my knees, six months, in snow, without my mandilion, than lie a day longer in that ace--I mean that kennel of a lock-up."

"It, meseems, thou art in a hurry to have justice done thee, good fellow," said, with a grim smile, the gentleman who was the third one described, stroking, with his embroidered glove, the tuft of hair that hung below his chin.

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