Justice for All
In 1622, two years after the Mayflower delivered the first pilgrims to New Plimoth, another ship from England landed on the shores of Massachusetts Bay. Financed by wealthy London merchant Solomon Blackwood, the Oceanus brought with it a group of Puritans anxious to establish a colony in the New World. Like all settlers in early America, this band of pilgrims had to face not only the dangers of taming nature but also of co-existing with the Native Americans, a people the newcomers both feared and mistrusted.
There were one hundred and two men, women and children in the new settlement. Most of the men were farmers while others were skilled craftsmen. Everyone worked hard trying to establish a successful community, all except Blackwood himself, who considered his task already completed. He had hired and provisioned the ship that transported the group of English Separatists to Massachusetts. Without him, the whole lot of them would still be back in England fearing the day a Catholic monarch was restored to the throne.
Unfortunately for the little band of settlers, the Oceanus landed in August, too late for the colonists to plant their crops. At first, they subsisted on the food in the ship's stores, but these provisions soon ran out. Once adequate shelter was provided for the families, the men split into two groups. One group tried to hunt for food in the woods while the other tried to catch fish to feed the hungry colonists. Neither group fared well, however.
"It seems we are only good at husbandry," one of the men admitted. "What do we know of fishing and hunting?"
"How are we ever to survive until next year when we bring in our first harvest?" another asked. "We will all starve."
"Not necessarily. Perhaps we can trade goods for food with our brethren in the New Plimoth Colony," a third suggested.
This seemed to be the best course of action. Unfortunately, the Mayflower pilgrims in New Plimoth were not much better off than those from the Oceanus who recently landed in Massachusetts. They had barely enough food for themselves let alone any to spare for the newcomers.
With no help coming from their fellow Puritans, Edward Parker, a strong, young carpenter, well-liked and respected by his fellow colonists, proposed a solution.
"The natives don't seem to be starving. Why don't we try to barter with them?"
"What could we possibly offer them?" asked Isaiah Witherspoon, a former soldier in His Majesty's army, whom the colonists had chosen as their governor.
"I'm sure Solomon Blackwood has brought a few British-made goods with him from London," Parker replied.
A hush fell on the colony. It was no secret that the carpenter, an unmarried man, had cast covetous glances at Prudence Blackwood, Solomon's comely young wife; and while the carpenter had never been forward or disrespectful to the lady in question, it was clear that he felt no amity toward her husband.
"Are you suggesting that I use my personal belongings to purchase food for the entire colony?" Blackwood asked indignantly. "Just why would I do that, might I ask?"
"For the simple reason that you need all of us," the carpenter answered. "What will happen to you if we all were to starve to death? Are you going to plant and harvest next year's crops all by yourself?"
Blackwood cast a hate-filled glance at the younger man, but he could not deny the obvious.
"Very well," the former merchant acquiesced. "I will offer these savages a few trinkets in exchange for food. It is, however, only a loan, not a gift. Once this colony is self-sufficient, I expect to be paid back in full at my usual rate of interest."
Many of the colonists grumbled resentfully. Most of them were already heavily in debt to the wealthy merchant for their passage to the New World, and Blackwood was a tight-fisted old man who never forgave a debt.
The carpenter's eyes briefly went to Prudence. The young woman was clearly ashamed and embarrassed by her husband's parsimony and lack of compassion.
It is so unfair, Parker thought—and not for the first time—that such a rare, precious jewel should be wed to an odious, self-seeking man like Solomon Blackwood. She deserves so much better.
Nearly a month later the small group of men who had been sent to trade with the Wampanoag tribe returned with a supply of food. The half-starved colonists eyed the grain, dried meat, fish and vegetables greedily.
"Wait," Isaiah Witherspoon cried as several colonists started to devour the supplies. "There is food enough here to last the winter, but only if we carefully ration it."
The colonists were alarmed—only enough food to last through the winter? How would they exist between the end of winter and the time of their first harvest?
"How can we hope to survive here without sustenance?" a frightened woman cried.
"When this food runs out," Parker assured her, "we can send another group to the Wampanoag to trade for more."
* * *
Spring at last arrived, and planting commenced as soon as the ground thawed. The long, hard winter, however, had taken a terrible toll on the colonists. Poor nutrition and disease reduced their number by nearly half. Yet despite the drastic decrease in population, the food supply had dwindled to a dangerously low level.
"In a few more weeks our food stores will be empty. It seems it is time to visit the Wampanoag again," Isaiah Witherspoon announced at the Sabbath Day meeting.
Solomon Blackwood stood up and defiantly bellowed, "Don't anyone expect me to provide the goods for trade this time."
"Keep your possessions, Blackwood," Parker shouted angrily. "We have handcrafted wares to trade with the natives this time. Some of us in the settlement actually put forth a little effort and produce something of value."
A murmur of agreement spread through the meetinghouse. Most of the men present deeply resented Solomon Blackwood's unwillingness to work. Isaiah Witherspoon stepped in quickly to restore the peace.
"It is settled then," the governor declared. "A party of five men will leave at daybreak tomorrow. God willing, they will return with enough food to last us until our harvest is in."
A month passed, and there was no sign of the five men who had gone to trade with the Wampanoag. Unbeknownst to the colonists, the men had drowned when their boat capsized in the swift current of the river, which had risen dramatically after the spring thaw.
Each day, the colonists' supplies grew steadily smaller.
"If the men are not back with more food by the end of the week, we will have nothing at all to eat," Isaiah Witherspoon announced mournfully.
Again, it was the carpenter who spoke up.
"Let us not wait until then to do something about this precarious situation. We must take action. I think the women should begin gathering berries and edible plants, and the men should try their hand at hunting and fishing again."
Yet no one, man or woman, wanted to venture into the woods for fear of the Wampanoag that sometimes hunted there.
The carpenter shook his head with disgust.
"I will go into the woods alone then, and the rest of you should go down to the water and see what you can catch."
That night the carpenter shot a deer. It was the first fresh meat the colonists had eaten since their departure from England. One deer, however, did not last long when it was divided between nearly four dozen hungry men, women and children.
A week later, the food stores were gone. Even with the handful of fish, the colonists were able to catch and with Edward Parker's supply of rabbits, wild turkeys and the occasional deer, there was not enough food to keep them all alive.
"We will have to send another group to trade with the Wampanoag. They are our only hope," Governor Witherspoon declared.
The colonists objected.
"How do we know the barbarous savages did not kill the five men we sent out last time?"
"What items could we use for barter? All the goods we had to spare went with the last trading party."
Even the wise Parker vetoed Witherspoon's suggestion.
"Why send men out now? When they return in a month's time, we will all be dead."
While the colonists continued to debate Isaiah Witherspoon's proposal, the carpenter picked up his rifle and, with grim determination, headed toward the woods.
* * *
Two days later when the sun came up and the colonists woke, they were surprised to see a supply of food piled against the door of the meetinghouse. Word spread quickly through the colony: the men had returned at long last, bringing with them the much-needed food supplies. The women quickly prepared a meal, and the entire colony ate together, thanking God for his blessings. Only when their bellies were full did anyone notice that the five men who had presumably returned from the Wampanoag with the food were not among them.
"Most likely they are fast asleep," Governor Witherspoon hypothesized. "They are no doubt exhausted after their long journey."
The following day, a group of angry Native Americans arrived in the village, demanding to speak to the White Man's chief.
"What is the problem?" Governor Witherspoon asked warily.
"Your people broke into one of our lodges and stole food from us."
"You must be mistaken. We are all God-fearing Christians here, and stealing is against the laws of both our God and our king."
One Wampanoag brave saw a supply of corn standing against the meetinghouse.
"There is the proof," he said.
"That corn was not stolen. We bartered goods for food with your chief. In fact, our men returned just yesterday."
"There was no trade with our people since before the winter."
"Let me summon the men, and they will tell you themselves."
However, the five men designated to serve as emissaries to the Wampanoag were still not to be found.
The natives became angry.
"We have tried to live peacefully with those of your settlement, but we will not tolerate thievery. In the past, our people have gone to war over such things."
The implied threat struck fear in the governor's heart.
"Wait! Before you return to your chief, let me investigate the matter. If I find that one of us stole from your village, he will be punished to the full extent of our laws."
"And what punishment is that?"
"He will be put to death."
The Wampanoag braves seemed satisfied and agreed. The death of the one guilty man was preferable to a battle where many innocent men on both sides might die.
* * *
The men and women gathered together in the meetinghouse. The governor looked at them gravely.
"A very serious matter has arisen," he began. "Our Wampanoag neighbors claim one of us has stolen food from their village."
"But the food wasn't stolen," a farmer cried out. "It was a fair trade."
"Has anyone seen the men who brought the food back?"
No one replied, not even the men's families had knowledge of their whereabouts.
"If we do not get to the bottom of this matter, it will mean war with the Wampanoag."
Terrified cries went up through the group.
"But we cannot hope to win against so many of them. We will all be slaughtered."
"Then we will have to find the guilty party and hang him," the governor declared.
Edward Parker's deep, hearty laughter echoed throughout the meetinghouse.
"Hang him?" he cried. "Yesterday you all got down on your knees and thanked God for the bounty he brought you, and now you talk of hanging your hero!"
"What do you know of this matter, Parker?" Solomon Blackwood demanded to know.
"I know women and children were wasting away before my eyes, and not a man among you would go into the woods to hunt for food for fear of the natives."
Several men hung their heads low, shamed by the carpenter's words.
"I did my best to find game, but it was not enough to feed us all. But one morning I found a supply of food in a small Wampanoag settlement not far from here. I could not, in good conscience, walk away. I admit my crime of thievery and do so without fear of divine retribution, for had I stood by and watched people die of hunger and done nothing to help them, I would consider myself guilty of a far worse crime."
A troubled silence fell on the room. Finally, it was broken by Governor Witherspoon.
"The Wampanoag expect us to punish the guilty man. What should we do?"
The blacksmith spoke up.
"Edward Parker is not only the bravest of our group, but he is also the only hunter and skilled carpenter among us. How can we hang him?"
"If the Wampanoag make war on us, we will be annihilated," Witherspoon replied.
"But they do not know who the guilty one among us is," the cooper declared. "They will be satisfied as long as one of us pays for the act."
"What are you suggesting?" the governor asked. "That we hang an innocent man?"
"When we left England," the blacksmith argued, "we all knew of the danger that was ahead of us. By God's great blessing, we survived the voyage and a good number of us were able to live through the winter. Now we are faced with a choice that could mean the very existence of the colony. We are but a small group pitted against overwhelming odds. We will need men like Parker if we are to survive. We must therefore decide now. Do we execute him or do we sacrifice another, less essential man for the good of the entire colony?"
The Puritans looked uneasily at one another. They were sure that condemning an innocent man was in violation of God's laws, but what was the alternative? More than likely, the extinction of the colony and the death of good Puritans at the hands of heathens.
It was Isaiah Witherspoon who asked the question that was on everyone's mind.
"Who is to be the sacrificial lamb?"
"Who among us has the least value to the group?" Parker asked slyly. "What man eats our food and yet does no work to contribute to our existence?"
All eyes turned to Solomon Blackwood.
"This is an abomination!" the merchant thundered. "Are you forgetting that I financed your journey here? That it was I who provided the goods to barter with the Wampanoag when we first ran short of food?"
"For which you put us all further into your debt," Parker reminded everyone. "You expect to be paid back for your generosity—and with interest!"
Blackwood looked to his wife for support, but the young woman sided with the others.
"I will never agree to this travesty of justice."
Full of pride and self-righteousness, the merchant stood up and started walking toward the doors of the meetinghouse.
Before Blackwood could make it safely outside, however, a group of men grabbed him from behind. Then someone hit him over the head, and he fell to the ground.
* * *
The Wampanoag braves stood beside Isaiah Witherspoon, watching the corpse of Solomon Blackwood swing from the branch of a tree.
"You have kept your word," the native told the governor. "There will be peace between our people."
That summer and autumn a bountiful harvest was gathered, and the colonists never again had to face the threat of starvation. The following year, after a suitable period of mourning, the carpenter married Solomon Blackwood's widow, and he and Prudence and their children became part of the history of the new land. The colony, thanks to the dedication and hard work of its people, thrived and grew. None of the early settlers ever spoke of Solomon Blackwood again, yet neither did they ever forget their part in his death.
This story was inspired by the legend of an early hanging in Wessagusset now Weymouth, MA. The image in the upper left corner is by John W. Ehninger.
It's a good thing Salem's life doesn't depend on how much work he does!
