The Knight Of The Golden Melice - John Turvill Adams (little red riding hood read aloud txt) 📗

Dame.

 

  

It Happened That Dr. Samuel Fuller, Of The Plymouth Colony, Who Had

Come Over With The First Pilgrims Was In Boston At The Time. He Was

Immediately Brought To The Wounded Man, And Was Soon Followed By

Governor Winthrop, Mr. Eliot, And Other Friends. The Corselet Had Been

Removed, And A Portion Of The Clothing Cut Away, And Spikeman Lay On

His Side, Spasmodically Breathing. Yet Had Resolution Not Entirely

Deserted Him. His Strong Character Still Spoke In His Face, And He

Looked Like One Who, Though Conquered, Was Not Subdued.

 

  

Doctor Puller Approached The Couch And Gently Touched The Arrow, But

It Produced Such A Spasm That He Did Not Repeat The Experiment. The

Eyes Of Spikeman Were Fastened On The Countenance Of The Surgeon, And

Read Therein His Doom.

 

  

"There Is No Hope?" He Gasped.

  

 

"I Humbly Trust," Said The Doctor, Who Was "Not Only Useful In His

Faculty, But Otherwise, As He Was A Godly Man, And Served Christ In

The Office Of A Deacon In The Church For Many Years, And Forward To Do

Good In His Place" According To An Old Chronicle--"I Humbly Trust That

A Crown Of Glory Awaits Thee In The Other World Whither Thou Art

Hastening."

  

 

A Groan, Which Shook The Couch Whereon He Was Lying, And Gent The

Blood Gushing From The Wound, Burst From Spikeman, As He Heard The

Answer.

  

 

"Yea," Said Good And Tender-Hearted Mr. Eliot, Let Our Brother Anchor

His Mind On The Promises Which Are Very Comfortable--For Ye Have Not

Received The Spirit Of Bondage Again To Fear, But Ye Have Received The

Spirit Of Adoption Whereby We Cry, Abba, Father.' For I Reckon That

The Sufferings Of The Present Time Are Not Worthy To Be Compared With

The Glory Which Shall Be Revealed In Us. 'Blessed Are The Dead Who

Die In The Lord, And Their Works Do Follow Them.'"

  

 

"Works?" Interrupted Spikeman. "Who Speaks Of Works? They Are Filthy

Rags."

 

  

"They Are Indeed But Filthy Rags," Said Mr. Eliot, "To Them Who Rely

Upon Them For Salvation; Yet Are They Not Unpleasing As Being The

Fruits Of Saving Faith."

 

 

 

"I Will Not Hear Of Works," Said Spikeman. "Moreover, Whom He Did

Predestinate--Them"--A Sudden Pang Prevented The Conclusion Of The

Sentence, But It Was Finished By Mr. Eliot.

 

 

 He Also Called; And Whom He Called, Them He Also Justified; And Whom

He Justified, Them He Also Glorified."

 

  

A Silence Followed, Which Was Interrupted Only By The Sobs Of Dame

Spikeman, Until The Wounded Man Inquired:

  

 

"How Long Shall I Live?" 

 

 

"It May Be Two Hours; It May Be Only One," Answered The Physician.

  

 

"A Short Time." Murmured The Assistant, "My Soul Doth Travail With

Anguish," He Said, Fixing His Burning Eyes On Mr. Eliot.

 

 

 

"O, My Brother!" Exclaimed The Divine, "The Precious Blood Of Christ

Cleanseth From All Sins, Though They Be As Crimson. Faint Not Now,

When Thou Art About To Cross The River Of Jordan, But Think Upon Thy

Redeemer."

 

  

"I Strive," Said Spikeman, "But There Are Thoughts Which--Which Rise

Up, As A Mist, Between Me And Him."

  

 

"O, Cleanse Thy Bosom Of This Perilous Stuff," Said Winthrop. "If

There Be A Sin Which Persecutes Thee, Confess It And Repent."

 

 

 

"Is That The Voice Of The Governor?" Asked Spikeman, Who Seemed To

Have Forgotten His Entrance. "Repentance! Repentance! It Is Too Late."

 

  

Those Around The Couch Looked At One Another With Dismay.

 

  

"Our Dear Brother," Said Mr. Eliot, "Of What Specially Wouldst Thou

Repent? Believe Me--It Is Never Too Late To Trust God's Mercies. Think

Of The Penitent Thief Upon The Cross."

 

 

 

"Do You Dare To Call Me A Thief?" Said Spikeman, Hoarsely. "Ah!" He

Added, "How I Talk! These Are Strange Feelings. What I Have To Do Must

Be Done Quickly. Call Eveline Dunning."

 

  

"Who Is In The Room?" He Inquired, After The Young Lady Had Entered.

 

  

The Names Of Those Present Were Enumerated. "Let Them Remain," He

Said. "They Are Of The Congregation, But I Would Not That The World

Should Know My Shame. Look Not Thus At Me," He Exclaimed, As Soon As

He Saw Eveline. "Thy Face Is Like Thy Father's, The Friend Whom I

Wronged. Be Nigh To Hear, But Let Me Not See Thee. Eveline, The

Property Which Should Be Thine, I Have Misapplied, And It Has Melted

From My Grasp. It Was That My Misdeed Might Not Be Discovered That I

Denied Thee To Miles Arundel, Though Thy Father Wished The Nuptials.

Yet, Eveline, Marry Him Not; He Is Of The Corrupt Church Of England."

 

  

These Words He Uttered With Many Interruptions Of Pain, Resuming When

The Paroxysm Passed Away.

  

 

"Would You See Miles?" Inquired The Weeping Girl.

  

 

"To What End? I Care Not For Him. He Is Not Of The Congregation. Go

Now. I Have Done."

 

 

 

"My Spirit Is Lightened," He Said, As She Left The Room. "Edmund

Dunning," He Added, As His Mind Temporarily Wandered, "Why Do You

Fasten Your Accusing Eyes On Me? I Have Made All The Reparation That I

Can. What More?"

  

 

"Alas!" Said Mr. Eliot, Aside, To Governor Winthrop, "Who Would Have

Thought This Of One So Zealous For Our Israel?"

 

  

Low As Was The Tone, The Words Struck The Ear Of Spikeman.

 

  

"Whatever Be My Sins," He Said, "Even Though Dark As Those Of David, I

Have Been Zealous Unto Slaying For The People Of God. Is The Enemy

Taken?" He Inquired.

 

 

"Whom Mean You?" Asked Winthrop.

 

  

"Whom Should I Mean, But The Man Ye Call The Knight Of The Golden

Melice?"

 

  

"He Is Not Yet Taken," Answered The Governor.

 

 

 Let Him Be Hunted, As A Partridge On The Mountains; Let Him Be Run

Down And Seized; Kill Him, If He Resists."

 

 

 

"This Is No Fitting Frame Of Mind For A Parting Spirit," Said Mr.

Eliot. "Let Me Beseech You To Turn Your Thoughts On The Saviour."

 

  

But Delirium Had Now Taken Possession Of The Mind Of The Dying Man,

And Made Him Insensible Alike Of All That Was Said And Of Pain.

 

 

 "Away With Him!" He Cried, "Who Lays Snares For The Feet Of My People.

Hew Him Down, Though He Hugged The Arms Of The Altar."

 

  

"Shall We Not, Beloved Brother, Unite Our Supplications To The Throne

Of Grace, For The Last Time On Earth?" Asked Mr. Eliot, Bending Over

Him.

 

  

"Who Shall Lay Anything To The Charge Of God's Elect? It Is God Who

Justifies," Said Spikeman, Turning On The Minister His Glazing Eyes.

  

 

"It Is In Vain," Said Winthrop. "He Heeds Not Nor Understands What You

Say."

  

 

"Papistical Mummeries! Your Croziers, Your Mitres, Your Mumbled

Prayers From The Mass-Book! I Hate Them! Forty Years Long They

Wandered In The Wilderness, But They Prevailed At Last. Stay Ye The

Hands Of Our Moses! Be Strong! Quit Ye Like Men."

 

 

 

"His Mind, Even In Its Wanderings, Doth Remember Israel," Said Dr.

Fuller.

 

  

"He Hath, Indeed," Said Winthrop, "Ever Avouched Himself A Devoted

Servant Of Our Cause. Unhappy Is It--"

  

 

He Looked At The Weeping Wife, And Left The Sentence Unfinished.

  

 

"Let Him Who Is Without Sin Cast The First Stone," Said Good Mr.

Eliot.

 

  

"Where Sin Abounded, Grace Did Much More Abound!" Exclaimed The Dying

Man.

  

 

"Dear Husband," Said Dame Spikeman, Sobbing, And Taking His Hand,

"Know You Me?"

  

 

"What Woman Speaks?" Said Spikeman. "It Is The Voice Of

Prudence--Sweet Pru--" 

 

 

His Wife Let The Hand Fall, And Covering Her Face With Her

Handkerchief, Burst Into A Flood Of Tears. A Severer Spasm Than Any

Before Shook The Assistant's Frame; A More Copious Gush Of Blood

Poured From The Wound; And In The Effort To Speak The Name Of The

Girl, The Spirit Passed To Its Account.

  

 

"Strange," Said Pure-Minded Mr. Eliot, "That He Should Utter The Name

Of The Serving-Maid." 

 

 

A Look Of Intelligence Passed Between The Governor And The Physician,

But Neither Spoke.

  

 

"He Is Silent," Said The Divine; "He Is Stiller, And Feels Less Pain."

  

 

"He Will Never Feel Pain Again In This World," Said The Doctor,

Approaching The Bed, At A Little Distance From Which He Had Been

Sitting, And Gazing On The Corpse.

  

 

Dame Spikeman Screamed, And Was Borne, Fainting, From The Apartment In

The Arms Of Eveline And Prudence, Who Hastened In At The Sound.

  

 

"Behold," Said Mr. Eliot, Who, After The Manner Of Clergymen, Was

Anxious To "Improve The Solemn Occasion," "Another Warning Addressed

To Us All, To Be Ready, For We Know Not Neither The Day Nor The Hour.

How Suddenly Hath Our Friend Been Forever Removed From The Scene Of

His Labors And His Hopes. 'As The Cloud Is Consumed And Vanisheth

Away, So He That Goeth Down To The Grave Shall Come Up No More; He

Shall Return No More To His House, Neither Shall His Place Know Him

Any More.' But, Though The Spirit Be Gone, Its Memory Remains Behind.

Out Of The Good And The Evil It Hath Done, Shall Be Erected Its

Monument On Earth. O, Let Us Hope That The Former, Sprinkled And

Cleansed By The Blood That Maketh All Things Pure, May Be Accepted,

And The Latter Forgiven, For His Sake Who Shed It. For He Who Made Us

Knoweth Whereof We Are Made; He Remembereth That We Are Dust; He Seeth

Not As Man Seeth. Only He Knows All The Secrets Of The Weak, Trembling

Heart, Its Temptations, Its Trials, Its Struggles, Its Sorrows, Its

Triumphs, Its Despairs. Our Friend Was A Captain In Israel. He Hath

Fallen With His Armor On, And Girded For The Battle. He Loved The

Suffering Church. Be That A Remembrance To Rise Like A Sweet-Smelling

Incense Before The Congregation; And If Thou, Whose Pure Eyes Cannot

Behold Iniquity, Wilt Not Be Extreme To Mark What Is Done Amiss,

Neither May We, The Work Of Thy Hands, Dare To Assume Thy Prerogative;

But As The Sons Of Sinning Noah, With Averted Eyes, Covered The

Nakedness Of Their Father With Their Garments, So Will We Hide In

Forgetfulness Each Short-Coming And Each Transgression."

  

 

As The Good Man, With A Swelling Heart And Sad Eyes, In Which

Glittered The Sacred Drops Of Human Feeling, Uttered These Words, He

Looked Like A Pitying Angel From Whose Lips Reproach Could Not Fall,

And Whose Blessed Office Was Only To Instruct And To Forgive. 

 

 

The Death Of One As Important As The Assistant Spikeman Could Not But

Be Sensibly Felt In So Small A Community. He Had Been A Man Whose

Daring Nature Would Not Allow Him To Be At Rest, And Who Was Never

Contented, Except In The Exercise Of All His Faculties. Hence He Had

Been Not Only Active And Scheming In Private Life, But Also Busy And

Bold In Public, Driven Forward, As It Were, By A Sort Of Inborn

Necessity. Though Not Deeply Regretted, He Yet Was Missed. Those Whom

His Adventurous Spirit Employed In The Fisheries, And The

Just-Commencing Fur Trade, Missed Him; His Brethren Of The

Congregation, Wherein His Voice, To The Edification Of His Hearers,

Had Often Been Lifted Up In The "Gift Of Prophecying," Missed Him; And

His Coadjutors In The Government, To Whom In More Than One Instance

His Keen Natural Sagacity Had Been A Guide, And His Zeal A Stimulus

And Support, Missed Him; But It Was Only For A Short Time. How Often

Has It Been Remarked, That Few Things Are As Capable Of Making Us Feel

Our Insignificance, As The Shortness Of Time In Which We Are

Forgotten. Active, Prominent, Influential As He Had Been, Spikeman Was

Soon Remembered Only As Yesterday Is Remembered. There Were No Loves

Twining Around His Memory, Reaching Beyond The Grave, And Bringing Him

Back To Earth; No Tender Recollections Of Benefits Conferred, Which

The Heart Cherishes As An Inestimable Treasure. There Was Naught For

The Mind To Dwell Upon, Save His Public Duties, Which He, Had Indeed

Discharged Respectably, But No More. Another Assistant Could Fill His

Place As Well; Another Exercise The Gift Of Prophecying To The Use Of

Edifying; And Other Merchants Succeed To, His Trade. Verily Is The

Life Of Man As The Track Of An Arrow In The Air; As Smoke Lost In The

Clouds; As A Flake Of Snow That Falls Upon The Water; As A Childish

Grief, Or Aught Else That Is Most Transient.

  

 

But The Death Of The Wicked Is A Benefit To Earth. A Gloomy Shadow

Hath Passed Away; The Blight Of Its Presence Will Fall No More On The

Innocent. The Purpose For Which He Was Sent Into This World, That From

Its Joys And Its Sorrows He Might Become A Nobler Being, Seems To Have

Been Defeated. But I Know Not. Pass, Then, Dark Spirit; My Eyes Seek

Not To Follow Thy Track.

  

 

The Relation Which Existed Between Arundel And Eveline Was, Of Course,

Affected By The Disclosure Of Spikeman On His Death-Bed--No Opposition

Being Henceforth Made To The Free Intercourse Of The Two Young People.

There Were, Indeed, Some Who Lamented That The Daughter Of Precious

Edmund Dunning Should Become The Wife Of One Who Had Not Cast In His

Lot With The Saints; But Then, Again, Arundel Was No Enemy To Their

Cause, No Railing Rabsheka, But A Well-Behaved And Modest Youth, Who

Paid, At Least, An Outward Respect