At noon of an autumnal day more than two centuriesago the English colors were displayed by the standardbearer of the Salem train-band， which had mustered formartial exercise under the orders of John Endicott. Itwas a period when the religious exiles were accustomedoften to buckle on their armor and practise the handlingof their weapons of war. Since the first settlement ofNew England its prospects had never been so dismal.
The dissensions between Charles I. and his subjects werethen， and for several years afterward， confined to the floorof Parliament. The measures of the king and ministrywere rendered more tyrannically violent by an oppositionwhich had not yet acquired sufficient confidence in itsown strength to resist royal injustice with the sword.
The bigoted and haughty primate Laud， archbishop ofCanterbury， controlled the religious affairs of the realm，and was consequently invested with powers which mighthave wrought the utter ruin of the two Puritan colonies，Plymouth and Massachusetts. There is evidence on recordthat our forefathers perceived their danger， but wereresolved that their infant country should not fall withouta struggle， even beneath the giant strength of the king’sright arm.
Such was the aspect of the times when the folds of theEnglish banner with the red cross in its field were flungout over a company of Puritans. Their leader， the famousEndicott， was a man of stern and resolute countenance，the effect of which was heightened by a grizzled beard thatswept the upper portion of his breastplate. This piece ofarmor was so highly polished that the whole surroundingscene had its image in the glittering steel. The centralobject in the mirrored picture was an edifice of humblearchitecture with neither steeple nor bell to proclaim it—what， nevertheless， it was—the house of prayer. A tokenof the perils of the wilderness was seen in the grim headof a wolf which had just been slain within the precincts ofthe town， and， according to the regular mode of claimingthe bounty， was nailed on the porch of the meetinghouse.
The blood was still plashing on the doorstep. Therehappened to be visible at the same noontide hour so manyother characteristics of the times and manners of thePuritans that we must endeavor to represent them in asketch， though far less vividly than they were reflected inthe polished breastplate of John Endicott.
In close vicinity to the sacred edifice appeared thatimportant engine of Puritanic authority the whippingpost，with the soil around it well trodden by the feet ofevil-doers who had there been disciplined. At one cornerof the meeting-house was the pillory and at the other thestocks， and， by a singular good fortune for our sketch，the head of an Episcopalian and suspected Catholic wasgrotesquely encased in the former machine， while a fellowcriminalwho had boisterously quaffed a health to the
king was confined by the legs in the latter. Side by sideon the meeting-house steps stood a male and a femalefigure. The man was a tall， lean， haggard personification offanaticism， bearing on his breast this label， “A WANTONGOSPELLER，” which betokened that he had dared togive interpretations of Holy Writ unsanctioned by theinfallible judgment of the civil and religious rulers. Hisaspect showed no lack of zeal to maintain his heterodoxieseven at the stake. The woman wore a cleft stick on hertongue， in appropriate retribution for having wagged thatunruly member against the elders of the church， and hercountenance and gestures gave much cause to apprehendthat the moment the stick should be removed a repetitionof the offence would demand new ingenuity in chastisingit.
The above-mentioned individuals had been sentencedto undergo their various modes of ignominy for thespace of one hour at noonday. But among the crowdwere several whose punishment would be lifelong—somewhose ears had been cropped like those of puppy-dogs，others whose cheeks had been branded with the initialsof their misdemeanors； one with his nostrils slit andseared， and another with a halter about his neck， whichhe was forbidden ever to take off or to conceal beneathhis garments. Methinks he must have been grievouslytempted to affix the other end of the rope to someconvenient beam or bough. There was likewise a youngwoman with no mean share of beauty whose doom it wasto wear the letter A on the breast of her gown in the eyesof all the world and her own children. And even her ownchildren knew what that initial signified. Sporting with herinfamy， the lost and desperate creature had embroideredthe fatal token in scarlet cloth with golden thread and thenicest art of needlework； so that the capital A might havebeen thought to mean “Admirable，” or anything ratherthan “Adulteress.”
Let not the reader argue from any of these evidences ofiniquity that the times of the Puritans were more viciousthan our own， when as we pass along the very street of thissketch we discern no badge of infamy on man or woman.
It was the policy of our ancestors to search out even themost secret sins and expose them to shame， without fearor favor， in the broadest light of the noonday sun. Weresuch the custom now， perchance we might find materialsfor a no less piquant sketch than the above.
Except the malefactors whom we have described andthe diseased or infirm persons， the whole male populationof the town， between sixteen years and sixty were seen inthe ranks of the train-band. A few stately savages in all thepomp and dignity of the primeval Indian stood gazing atthe spectacle. Their flint-headed arrows were but childishweapons， compared with the matchlocks of the Puritans，and would have rattled harmlessly against the steel capsand hammered iron breastplates which enclosed eachsoldier in an individual fortress. The valiant John Endicottglanced with an eye of pride at his sturdy followers， andprepared to renew the martial toils of the day.
