Civilised Englishmen in the New World

My name is Benjamin Church.  I am a Captain in the Plymouth Colony militia in New England.  It is the spring of 1675 and I am thirty six years old.  I am married to Alice; we have a three year old son, Thomas, and live in a farmstead to the west of the province on land traditionally occupied by the Sakonnet tribe.

Like all English settlers we have carved our farm out of the endless forest with our bare hands and, though it is only fifty five years since the Mayflower landed, we have earned the right to call this land our home.  We have brought the word of God and the rule of law to the heathen, for which they should be profoundly grateful instead of continually agitating for war.

I trust the Lord that my wife and son are safe.  I have not seen them for some weeks now as the war clouds are gathering.  My duty to the colony keeps me away from home as we English prepare for the anticipated onslaught from King Philip and his Wampanoag warriors.  ‘King Philip’ is the name the English have bequeathed to the chief of the Wampanoag nation, his birth name is Metacomet. I have met him and he is a large, powerfully built warrior but a cold fish, difficult to read and proud.

         Today I am sitting in the wooden meeting house within the stockaded confines of Plymouth plantation to witness the trial of three Wampanoag tribesmen.  The air is a heavy fog of tobacco smoke emanating from numerous clay pipes in the packed public galley.  I myself am drawing thoughtfully in my own nose warmer as I contemplate these events.  I find the Indian weed relaxes me and helps me to think. 

The three accused stand wrapped in deer hide. They affect a sneering attitude of open contempt for the proceedings.  In truth this is an inauspicious examination since the three are trusted lieutenants of Philip and all stand accused of the murder of another Wampanoag man.  If they are found guilty, the effect will be to inflame the already aroused passions of the Wampanoag warriors who consider the English to have no business in their internal affairs.  In all likelihood a guilty verdict will precipitate the looming conflagration.  However, murder in Plymouth Colony cannot go unpunished, even amongst the savages.  We English are civilised men. 

The dead man was a ‘praying Indian’, which means he was a converted Christian who went by the name of John Sassamon.  Sassamon was a truly remarkable savage, having been educated at Harvard, he was fluent in English and was an ordained minister.  I happen to know he was also a double agent working for Governor Josiah Winslow of Plymouth colony.  I know this because Josiah Winslow and I are old friends. 

The Governor is ten years my senior but we have been close since I was a youth.  Today he is dressed formally in puritan black; I note this in stark contrast to the worn leather military jerkin I am wearing.  Josiah is a politician and I am a soldier but we have one common cause, the preservation and expansion of the English in New England.  He has his methods and I have mine.  While generally a guarded man, Josiah will occasionally let drop small indiscretions in my hearing, which is how I came to learn of Sassamon’s secret commission. 

I know our Governor employs spies and I know other things about him too.  I know he was implicated in the death of King Philip’s older brother, Wamsutta, known to the English as Alexander, who died in suspicious circumstances after dining at Winslow’s table.  So the events I witnessed in court today, though remarkable, were not entirely surprising to me.

The three Wampanoag defendants, Tobias, Wampapaquan and Mattashunnamo, all resolutely declared their innocence.  The one prosecution witness, Patuckson, a praying Indian, was equally resolute in his assertion that the three Indians in the dock were guilty of the brutal murder of John Sassamon.  There has been no supporting evidence in favour of Patuckson’s accusation and no corroborating witness testimony.  The accused have averred that several native witnesses would provide them with alibis but Governor Winslow strongly argued that there would be no way to corroborate the testimony of such witnesses who may well be motivated to lie in order to save their fellow Wampanoag tribesmen.  Therefore no defence witnesses have been allowed to testify. 

Tobias attempted to counter Patuckson’s testimony by suggesting that Patuckson was motivated by malice and owed him a gambling debt.  However, as Governor Winslow so eloquently pointed out; since Patuckson was a good Christian he would not engage in gambling and if he were not a Christian he would not have reported the murder to the Plymouth authorities.  Thus, through the logic of the Governor’s argument, Tobias’ objections were dismissed.  Nevertheless, to put three men to death (that being the statutory penalty for murder) on the basis of the unsupported word of one Indian went against the grain of English natural justice and so in the interests of fairness and transparency, Governor Winslow had suggested invoking the intervention of the Lord in divining the truth of the matter.  He suggested employing the noble and ancient rite of trial by touch so that The Almighty in his divine wisdom may reveal to the court the guilt or innocence of the accused.  After all, Winslow had argued, in such a sensitive case as this justice must be seen to be done.  Philip should not be allowed to claim that his kinsmen had been executed, if that was to be the outcome of these deliberations, without due legal process.

         The body of the unfortunate John Sassamon was brought into the meeting room on a wheeled mortuary table.  We spectators were spared the sight of his putrefying corpse by a linen sheet covering the remains; however the cloying smell of corruption was unmistakable.  Governor Winslow rose and asked leave of the magistrate, Thomas Hinkley, to inspect the body. 

         “On behalf of Plymouth Colony,” intoned Winslow, “It is my solemn duty to establish that the remains have not been in any way disturbed since being brought to Plymouth. Let no man say that these proceedings are not scrupulously fair.” 

Hinkley duly obliged and Winslow made some brief observations.  On raising the sheet at the head, Winslow was assailed by the reek of decay and recoiled from the smell.  He pulled from his pocket a small silver flask which he unstopped and held to his nose.  I presumed it contained lavender oil or some such from his lady’s dressing table, brought hither by Winslow specifically to temper the stink of death. Winslow continued to examine the corpse under the raised sheet which he held in such a way as to hide the visage of the rotting corpse from the assembled throng, out of consideration for our sensitivities.

Finally Winslow pronounced himself satisfied and the magistrate called a minister forward to officiate over the ordeal.  Some minutes were spent in solemn prayer and supplication before the minister turned to the accused Indians.  He called Tobias to approach Sassamon’s body.  I could see that Tobias was confused by the proceedings and not a little suspicious.  Nevertheless, under the forceful coercion of men at arms Tobias reluctantly did as he was bidden.  As Tobias approached the corpse, the minister removed the sheet from Sassamon’s bloated and blackened face.

         “Behold!” cried the minister.  “The body bleeds afresh as if it has newly been slain!”

         Sure enough the evidence of the miracle was there before the astonished gaze of all in the meeting house.  Blood was running from the corpse’s nose.  It was now a pleasant April in Plymouth Colony.  Sassamon had been killed in mid-winter and his frozen corpse found beneath the ice of Assawompset Pond in January, therefore this miraculous bleeding could only be the handiwork of the Lord.  Trial by touch was predicated on the well-known fact that a murdered corpse will bleed in the presence of the murderer and was not Tobias standing but a pace away from the body?  Triumphantly the Minister held his bible aloft in one hand and pointed at Tobias with the other as uproar engulfed the court.

         “He is guilty!” cried the minister.  “Guilty in the eyes of The Lord!  So help me God!”

         Tobias was protesting his innocence but his words were drowned out by the voices of the multitudes crying out for English justice.  The men at arms put their hands on the murderer and dragged him back to join the other defendants in the dock. 

         As I was marvelling at the wondrous power of the Lord made manifest before me in this very room, my eye happened to alight on Josiah Winslow sitting nearby.  Unnoticed by anyone but me, since all were spellbound by the uncanny drama just played out before them, a small smile played around the corners of my old friend’s clever mouth.  He held in his hand the miniature flask of what I had presumed to be scented oil.  I saw Winslow cast a glance at the small bottle, whereupon the Governor’s countenance changed as he noticed a slight blemish.  Winslow hurriedly produced a kerchief and wiped the silver surface clean then put the bottle away in his pocket.  As Winslow folded his kerchief, I caught a glimpse of a fresh blood-red stain on the white cotton before it too was stowed in Winslow’s pocket.  I immediately understood that the bottle did not contain scented oil after all.  I was shocked to discover the mystery of the miracle revealed.  The Lord moves in mysterious ways his wonders to perform, though I was now troubled by the sacrilegious thought that sometimes the Lord requires a little help from civilised men such as Josiah Winslow to accomplish his ends.