Authors: Leonard Tourney
Another of the horsemen came in to report that there was a
great multitude of men and boys in the back parts of the houses, trampling down the gardens and scattering the chickens and ducks. Also, the Crispins’ privy had been overturned and set ablaze.
“We must act quickly or there will be no controlling this mischief,” said the magistrate upon hearing the news. “Mr. Moreau, you go find this rancorous carpenter, this Hodge, and tell him that the magistrate has come to arrest the tanner and the two women. Tell him I am arranging a parley—that there will be no more firing of pistols. My purpose is to secure the surrender of the house. Tell him the women will be charged with those crimes he speaks of and taken into custody forthwith. Tell him I promise they will be speedily tried—and if found guilty, hanged. Tell him that I order him to put down his weapons and cease his threats until the present business is resolved. Tell him he shall find the law is a dog with fangs, after all.”
“Yes, sir,” replied Moreau doubtfully. “But, sir, what if he will not comply?”
“Not comply!” boomed the magistrate. “Are you not the bailiff of the town, the magistrate’s chief officer? Let it be on his head if he does not comply! Here, take Hodkins and Martin with you for company.”
The magistrate nodded in the direction of two of his men who had been among the four waiting patiently for their next instructions. The pair came forward and accompanied Moreau outside. The magistrate turned to Matthew.
“You, Mr. Stock, will also be my ambassador. Go now to the tanner’s door and tell him I will speak with him. If he asks the reason, as he may well do, tell him it is to find out for myself the cause of this broil. Speak him fair. If he is as reasonable and honest as you say, he will respond in kind and we may all get some sleep this night.”
Matthew acknowledged the magistrate’s order and the timid pewter-maker was summoned from above and asked to fetch a white handkerchief to be used as a flag of truce. When he returned, Matthew took the handkerchief, which was a piece of good quality, and tied it to the staff of one of the
officers. Then Matthew went out into the dark street, his heart beating with apprehension and excitement. Carrying his flag, he walked slowly toward the tanner’s house, in which no light showed or sign of life was visible. But since he knew well what danger to him lay behind the shuttered windows he said a prayer to himself that the doughty defender of the house would recognize the symbol of parley, if not Matthew’s own form, and not shoot him with that devilish pistol.
He was within a dozen feet of the tanner’s door when Matthew heard Crispin call out, asking who approached and for what purpose.
“It is I, Matthew Stock, your friend and neighbor,” replied Matthew in as confident a voice as he could manage under the circumstances.
“Go away, Mr. Stock!” cried the tanner.
“I am come at the magistrate’s orders, sir. He desires to speak to you.”
“I have nothing to say to him or to any man. I ask only to be left in peace.”
“Peace? Impossible now! Be reasonable, Mr. Crispin. Your salvation rests with the law.”
“The law is my accuser.”
“It can also be your protection if you will allow it.”
“How’s that?”
“Agree to let the magistrate come in.”
Crispin thought about this for a few moments and then said he would talk, providing neither the constable nor the magistrate carried weapons.
Matthew paused before responding. The condition exceeded his instructions, but he hoped the magistrate would agree. “No weapons, sir. We will be unarmed and pray you will be also.”
“Very well,” called the tanner.
Matthew turned and walked back to the pewterer’s house.
“He will talk, then?” asked the magistrate as Matthew entered.
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“He’s agreed, sir,” said Matthew, “but asks that we come unarmed.”
“Unarmed? That’s what he wants, does he? That’s hard, Mr. Stock,” said the magistrate, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “He’s already fired on his neighbors once tonight. What guarantee do we have that he will not fire upon us when we are in his house?”
“I don’t think he will do that, sir,” said Matthew. “I think he agrees that his best interests are with the authorities now.”
“Think, think, think,
Mr. Stock, all thoughts. But what of certainties?”
“None, sir. I admit it’s a chance. But the odds are surely in our favor. Crispin is not by nature a violent man. If we offer no violence to him, why should he offer any to us?”
“Well, you put my faith to a test. Let us pray you’re right and that we both live to see the morning.”
Moreau now returned to say that he had spoken to Hodge and the carpenter was content to wait the outcome of the parley.
“He’s content, is he?” remarked the magistrate. “Already he talks like a great captain, but I shall prove him nothing but a knave at last. Come, Mr. Stock. Let’s go speak with the tanner.”
Crossing the street, Matthew walked slightly forward of the magistrate, holding a torch above his head so that the identities of both men could be plainly seen from the house. While he walked, Matthew prayed again, this time that Crispin would prove true to his word, for the lives of two men depended upon it now.
When they were not far from the door, the window in the upper story opened and Crispin’s face appeared. The tanner called out halt, and Matthew and the magistrate stopped. Matthew held the torch aloft. “We come unarmed,” he called. The magistrate opened his cloak to show Crispin he concealed no sword or pistol. Then the magistrate held the torch while Matthew opened his cloak to demonstrate the same.
“You’ve no knives or pocket dags about you either?” asked the tanner from the window.
“None. We said we were unarmed,” answered the magistrate.
“Come forward, then,” said Crispin.
He shut the window and the two men approached the shop, the front window of which had been badly shattered by stones hurled by the mob. Momentarily, they heard the door being unbarred. It opened and Crispin appeared. Matthew extinguished the torch and he and the magistrate went inside.
When the door was shut and barred again, the tanner lighted a single taper that cast a dim yellow light around the shop. The floor was covered with broken glass and with stones, turnips, and other debris. With Crispin in the room were two sons of Margaret Waite, her nephew John, and two of the tanner’s workmen. The workmen were armed with swords and the elder son of Margaret Waite held a pistol, which he pointed to the floor. Matthew assumed the women were upstairs.
“We have come unarmed,” the magistrate said, looking about him at the grim-faced men. His eyes rested on the tanner, who was leaning against the counter. “Thomas Crispin, would I could wish you a more pleasant evening. This is the hour that honest men sleep. Pray we do not incur heaven’s wrath for what has transpired this night.”
“I welcome your honor to my house,” said Crispin. “But I know you have observed the state of things. A man must defend his house, his wife. I have two young daughters upstairs who are beside themselves with terror and confusion. I have broken no law, sir.”
“May I sit down?” asked the magistrate calmly.
Crispin made a sign with his hand, and one of his workmen brought a stool forward and placed it before the magistrate. Then the workman looked at Matthew as though to ask if he wanted one too, and Matthew shook his head and said he preferred to stand.
The magistrate sat down and crossed his legs. For a moment he gazed at the tanner as though he were assessing the man; then he said, “This insurrection has put the whole town in jeopardy, both from the rigor of the Queen’s law which forbids such riotous assemblies and from its very self, for with so many torches there’s a clear and present danger of burning down the town. I desire to see no man taken from his house by violence, yet I would have peace and order and, by God, I will have it or more than one will suffer for his ill behavior.”
As he spoke these words, the magistrate’s voice rose; he had begun softly and ended in a carefully controlled anger that caused every countenance in the room to pale before it. Crispin’s workmen looked uncertainly at their master. John Waite seemed horrified by the power the magistrate was about to unleash upon him, and even the tanner seemed cowed.
Crispin answered defensively, “I was asleep in my bed when the riot began. Had I not put two of my servants on guard because of the threats against me earlier made, the mob would have broken down the door and taken us all in our sleep.”
“Very likely,” said the magistrate, calm again. He looked around the shop, surveying the damage. “This is a bad piece of work. The question before us now, sir, is what is to be done?” The magistrate turned to Matthew and indicated by a slight nod of his head that it was the constable’s turn to speak. Matthew advanced toward the tanner.
“Our first purpose is to secure quiet in the town,” he said in the same soft voice that the magistrate had used and that seemed to be having a telling effect on Crispin, who looked less belligerent than before. “There must be no more riot, no fires.” Crispin nodded. Matthew continued: “The leader of the riot says he will stir up no more trouble on the condition that we take you into custody—you and your wife and her sister.”
“Surrender!” exclaimed Crispin angrily.
“There’s little alternative,” said the magistrate. “It’s the
only thing that will pacify the mob. Of course sufficient force will restore order—for a time, at least. But I can’t have reinforcements brought down from Colchester until morning, and God knows what damage will be done by then. At present you are at the mob’s mercy, and your weapons will be to no avail if they decide to set fire to the house. They’re in an angry mood, angry enough to burn you out.”
“But your men—on horseback. Surely the mob wouldn’t—”
“Don’t underestimate them. We had the advantage of surprise, but we’ve lost that now. They’ve regrouped and we’re outnumbered.”
“If they see you’re under arrest,” Matthew said, “it will take the wind out of their sails and they may be content to row themselves home again.”
“I have made note of their leaders,” said the magistrate. “They’ll get their punishment. In the meantime you and your wife and her sister will be housed in the Blue Boar. They’ll be under arrest, but secure from the mob’s wrath. In your present state I can guarantee nothing but blood and fire if these things must be done by force of arms.”
The tanner shook his head and frowned, yet he seemed to be considering these proposals. “But you have said you couldn’t protect us
here,”
he said, looking first at Matthew and then at the magistrate. “Why should I think you could do so were my wife and sister-in-law in custody at the inn?” “The light of day will put the majority of those assembled outside in a better frame of mind,” the magistrate answered. “They will recognize the dangers to themselves if this civil broil continues. A troop of horsemen from Colchester will show them the wisdom of going about their business.”
But the tanner continued to look dubious. At that moment his wife came down the stairs. Looking about her at the men and the debris in the shop, Jane Crispin shook her head sadly. Then she said she had overheard the discussion and was of the mind to surrender to the constable as had been suggested. “If it will save souls,” she said. “I would much rather stay with my husband and poor wretched children, who must
bear the brunt of these proceedings. But my liberty puts
their
lives in greater danger. For what shall we do if the house is set afire or the mob comes raging in? Whom will they spare in their rage?”
For a moment they all were silent. Then Crispin sighed and said he would agree to the surrender. “What would the charge be . . . against my wife?” he asked.
“Nothing more than breach of peace, for the present,” answered the magistrate, who seemed pleased at the prospect of an end to the riot. “The mob will think it more serious, and for the time being we will allow them to.”
“Very well,” said Crispin. “I surrender, then.” He handed over his pistol.
“I do as well,” said his wife.
John Waite went upstairs to fetch Margaret, who presently returned with him. The arrangements were quickly explained to her and, seeing that her sister and her husband had already conceded to the plan, Margaret made no objection. She was terrified and exhausted by the night’s events. “My trust is now in God, who alone has power to save the innocent from such abuse,” she said.
Then her sons asked if they could accompany their mother, and the magistrate said no. “It must look like an official arrest, not a family expedition. You were best to stay and watch your mother’s house.”
One of the Waite sons opened the door and the little company stepped into the street. The parley had lasted for nearly an hour, and when Matthew emerged he could see that a large number of the mob had again approached the house. They were held back by only a half dozen of the magistrate’s men, who formed a line against them. At the head of the mob, Matthew could see Ned Hodge. The appearance of the truce party caused the crowd to murmur angrily. Hodge shouted, “There’s Crispin and the witches! See what you have in your own town, friends and countrymen. Why, look what the tanner has done to honest Stephen Binding.”