Untitled

SCENE III. -- GOVERNOR ENDICOTT'S private room. An open window.

ENDICOTT seated in an arm-chair. BELLINGHAM standing near.

ENDICOTT. O lost, O loved! wilt thou return no more? O loved and lost, and loved the more when lost! How many men are dragged into their graves By their rebellious children! I now feel The agony of a father's breaking heart In David's cry, "O Absalom, my son!"

BELLINGHAM. Can you not turn your thoughts a little while To public matters? There are papers here That need attention.

ENDICOTT. Trouble me no more! My business now is with another world, Ah, Richard Bellingham! I greatly fear That in my righteous zeal I have been led To doing many things which, left undone, My mind would now be easier. Did I dream it, Or has some person told me, that John Norton Is dead?

BELLINGHAM. You have not dreamed it. He is dead, And gone to his reward. It was no dream.

ENDICOTT. Then it was very sudden; for I saw him Standing where you now stand, not long ago.

BELLINGHAM. By his own fireside, in the afternoon, A faintness and a giddiness came o'er him; And, leaning on the chimney-piece, he cried, "The hand of God is on me!" and fell dead.

ENDICOTT. And did not some one say, or have I dreamed it, That Humphrey Atherton is dead?

BELLINGHAM. Alas! He too is gone, and by a death as sudden. Returning home one evening, at the place Where usually the Quakers have been scourged, His horse took fright, and threw him to the ground, So that his brains were dashed about the street.

ENDICOTT. I am not superstitions, Bellingham, And yet I tremble lest it may have been A judgment on him.

BELLINGHAM. So the people think. They say his horse saw standing in the way The ghost of William Leddra, and was frightened. And furthermore, brave Richard Davenport, The captain of the Castle, in the storm Has been struck dead by lightning.

ENDICOTT. Speak no more. For as I listen to your voice it seems As if the Seven Thunders uttered their voices, And the dead bodies lay about the streets Of the disconsolate city! Bellingham, I did not put those wretched men to death. I did but guard the passage with the sword Pointed towards them, and they rushed upon it! Yet now I would that I had taken no part In all that bloody work.

BELLINGHAM. The guilt of it Be on their heads, not ours.

ENDICOTT. Are all set free?

BELLINGHAM. All are at large.

ENDICOTT. And none have been sent back To England to malign us with the King?

BELLINGHAM. The ship that brought them sails this very hour, But carries no one back.

A distant cannon.

ENDICOTT. What is that gun?

BELLINGHAM. Her parting signal. Through the window there, Look, you can see her sails, above the roofs, Dropping below the Castle, outward bound.

ENDICOTT. O white, white, white! Would that my soul had wings As spotless as those shining sails to fly with! Now lay this cushion straight. I thank you. Hark! I thought I heard the hall door open and shut! I thought I beard the footsteps of my boy!

BELLINGHAM. It was the wind. There's no one in the passage.

ENDICOTT. O Absalom, my son! I feel the world Sinking beneath me, sinking, sinking, sinking! Death knocks! I go to meet him! Welcome, Death!

Rises, and sinks back dead; his head failing aside upon his shoulder.

BELLINGHAM. O ghastly sight! Like one who has been hanged! Endicott! Endicott! He makes no answer!

Raises Endicott's head.

He breathes no more! How bright this signet-ring Glitters upon his hand, where he has worn it Through such long years of trouble, as if Death Had given him this memento of affection, And whispered in his ear, "Remember me!" How placid and how quiet is his face, Now that the struggle and the strife are ended Only the acrid spirit of the times Corroded this true steel. Oh, rest in peace, Courageous heart! Forever rest in peace!