CHAPTER VII.
TWO MEN WHO LOOK ALIKE.
I, to the world, am like a drop of water, That in the ocean seeks another drop, Who, falling there to find his fellow forth, Unseen, inquisitive, confounds himself. So I, to find a mother, and a brother, In quest of them, unhappy, lose myself. --Shakespeare.
Mr. George Waters, the escaped slave from Virginia, lived very quietlyat the home of Mrs. Stevens. His daughter was constantly with him, savewhen he made strange and unknown pilgrimages. During these mysteriousvisits, she stayed at the house of Mrs. Stevens.
Cora was a quiet little maid, whose hopes seemed crushed by somecalamity. She never forgot that her father, the once proud man, had beenarrested and sold as a slave. That long period of servitude, the flightand the fight were things which never faded from her mind. In the eyesof Charles Stevens, there was something singularly attractive about thischild. She was so strange, so silent and melancholy, that he felt forher the keenest sympathy. She lived in the shadow of some dark mystery,which he could not fathom. Her strange father was non-communicative andsilent as the grave.
Charles felt an interest in these people. It was a strange interest, onehe could not understand himself, and like all good boys, when he wantedwisdom and information, he went to his mother.
"Mother, do you ever talk with Cora?" he asked one day.
"Yes."
"Do you ever talk with her about England?"
"I have; but it seems her father was a roving player, without any fixedabode."
"And her mother?"
Mrs. Stevens, who was busy sewing, answered:
"I know nothing of her mother."
"Have you never asked about her?"
"No."
"Has she never mentioned her mother's name?"
"She has not."
The girl was nearly always at the home of Mrs. Stevens, though shesometimes took strolls alone through the town.
The melancholy child attracted the attention of Good-wife Nurse, whoasked her to her house and brought her a mug of fresh milk.
"Do you belong here?" asked Goody Nurse.
"I suppose we do," was the answer. "Father is here part of the time."
"And your mother?"
"I have none."
"Did she die in England?"
"Alas, I know not."
"Do you remember seeing her?"
Cora shook her head, and a shadow passed over her face.
"Has your father ever told you about her?" asked Goody Nurse.
"No, madame; I have not heard him speak her name."
Then Goody Nurse, with a curiosity that was natural, sought to questionthe child about her former life; but all she could gain was that herfather had been a strolling player.
Players were not in good repute in New England at this time. Theprejudice against the theatre, growing out of the rupture between theactors and the Roman Catholic Church, was inherited by the Protestants,who, to some extent, still continue their war against the stage. Thefact that George Waters had been an actor was sufficient to condemn himin the eyes of the Puritans.
When Mr. Parris learned that a player was in their midst, he elevatedhis ecclesiastical nose, and seemed to sniff the brimstone of Satan.When he learned that some of the dissenting members of his congregationhad been guilty of the heinous sin of speaking kind words to themotherless child of a player, he shook his wise head knowingly anddeclared, "Truly Satan is kind to his own." He made the player a subjectfor his next Lord's day sermon, in which he sought to pervert thescriptures to suit his prejudices. The subject of witchcraft wasbeginning to excite some attention, and he managed in almost everysermon to ring in enough of it to keep up the agitation. In the courseof his discourse, he declared:
"The New Englanders are a people of God settled in those, which were thedevil's territories, and it may easily be supposed that the devil isexceedingly disturbed, when he perceives such people here, accomplishingthe promises of old, made unto our blessed Jesus, that he should havethe uttermost parts of the earth for his possessions. There was not agreater uproar among the Ephesians, when the gospel was first broughtamong them, than there is now among the powers of the air after whomthose Ephesians walked, when first the silver trumpets of the gospelmade the joyful sound in their dark domain. The devil, thus irritated,hath tried all sorts of methods to overturn this poor plantation."
With this preface he assailed the unfortunate actor and his innocentchild as being tools of his Satanic majesty, and denounced those whowould lift the wounded, bleeding and beaten wayfarer from the road-side,carry him home, or offer his unfortunate child a cup of cold water asagents of darkness. Mr. Parris had forgotten some of the commands of thedivine Master, whom he professed to follow. He assailed "the little maidfuriously." That child of sorrow and of tears, whom he had never seenbefore, and whose young heart ached from the wrongs heaped on herinnocent young head, was to him an object of demoniac fury.
She sat in the rear of the church, and, covering her face with her handsas Mr. Parris assailed her father and herself, the tears silentlytrickled through her small fingers. Goody Nurse, who sat near the child,bent over and whispered some encouraging words in her ear.
"Verily, the Devil's own will be the Devil's own!" declared the pastor,his eyes flashing with fury. "When one of Satan's imps hath been woundedby a shaft of truth, shot from the bow of God, the angels of darkness,verily, will hover over the suffering devil, and seek to undo what Godhath done." He called on those suffering from the familiar spirits tobehold one even now willing to soothe the offspring of a wicked player.
When Cora left the church that day, she asked Mrs. Stevens why Mr.Parris hated her and said such hard things about her. "Surely I neverdid him harm, and why doth he assail me so cruelly?"
Mrs. Stevens strove to comfort the wounded feelings of the child, byassuring Cora that it was the mistaken zeal of the minister, who, butfor the scales of prejudice covering his eyes, would by no means be socruel with her.
"Oh, would that father would return and take me from this place!" sobbedCora.
"Cora, are you tired of me? Have I not been kind to you?"
"Yes, you have, and I thank you for all your goodness."
"Are you not happy with me?"
"Yes, I could be very happy, did not Mr. Parris say such vile things ofmy father and myself. Do you think me one of Satan's imps?"
"No, no, sweet child; you are one of God's angels."
"But I am the child of a player, and he said none such could enter intothe kingdom of the Lord."
"That is but a display of his prejudice and ignorance, Cora. I have readthe good book from beginning to end, and nowhere do I see anything inGod's Holy Bible that excludes even the player from entering intoeternal rest."
"But he, the interpreter of God's word, says we are doomed."
"He says more than is narrated in the Book of Life. If the ministerswould only keep constantly in their minds these words: 'For I testifyunto every man that heareth the words of the prophecy of this book. Ifany man shall add unto these things, God shall add unto him the plaguesthat are written in this book,' then there would be lessmisconstructions put upon the Bible. Men would be more careful not toaccuse their brother, while the beam was in their own eye. Why, Cora,you are but a child, and Christ said: 'Suffer little children to comeunto me and forbid them not, for of such is the kingdom of Heaven.' Now,instead of following the holy precept of the Master, whom he feigns toserve, he declares you an imp of darkness. His zeal hath made him mad.Where is your father?"
"Alas, I know not."
"When will he return?"
"I know not."
"What are his plans?"
"I am wholly ignorant of them."
Next day Charles Stevens was wandering through the forest near thespring where he rescued the wounded stranger some years before. Oftenhad he thought of that melancholy man and the strange resemblance hebore to Cora's father.
"Where is he now, a
nd what has been his fate?" he thought, as hestrolled toward the spring. Suddenly he paused and looked toward thebrooklet. Well might he be startled. The negro servants, John andTituba, were engaged in some of their diabolical incantations in thestream. Kneeling by the water's side, each bent until their foreheadstouched the water, then, starting up, they murmured strange fetich wordsin their diabolical African tongue. John had a whip in his hand, withwhich he lashed the water furiously, and uttered his eldritch shrieks.Charles paused, spell-bound, hardly knowing what to make of the strangeconduct of the negroes, and wishing he could lay the whip about theirown bare shoulders.
During a lull in their performance, he heard a rapid tread of feetcoming toward the spring, and beheld his mother, followed by Cora. Nosooner did the negroes see them, than they left off lashing the waterwith their whips and, with the most wild, unearthly screams, boundedfrom the spot and ran off into the woods.
Mrs. Stevens and Cora both screamed, and were about to fly, when Charlesemerged from his place of concealment, saying:
"Don't run away, I am here."
"Charles! Charles! what were they doing?" Mrs. Stevens asked.
"It was some of their wild incantations," he answered. "The knavesdeserve to have a good whip laid about their bare backs."
"Truly, they do. Why did they fly at our approach?" asked Mrs. Stevens.
"Perhaps the foolish creatures thought their spell was broken," Charlesanswered.
"I am so affrighted," said Cora, shuddering. She was growing dizzy, andMrs. Stevens said:
"Catch her, or she will fall."
He bore her to the spring and, kneeling by the brook, bathed the fairwhite brow, until she opened her eyes and murmured:
"Mother!"
Many times afterward, both mother and son, recalling the incident,wondered why she, for the first time, had called for her mother. At allother times and on all other occasions, the maid persistently deniedthat she knew aught of her mother.
A few days later, her father, who had mysteriously and unceremoniouslydisappeared, returned. No one asked any questions as to where he hadbeen, or what business had engaged his attention. He gave the widow somegolden guineas for her care of his child. That night Charles cameaccidentally upon the father and daughter in the garden. They weresitting in a green bower, partially screened from view, so he approachedto within a few paces without being seen.
"Father, have you heard anything more?" she asked.
"No."
"Nor have you seen any one from there?"
"I have not."
"Do you suppose danger is over?"
"Danger never will be over, until there has been a revolution in thegovernment."
Long did Charles ponder over those mysterious words, and ask himselfwhat they meant. He again conferred with his mother, and when she hadheard all he had to tell, she was constrained to ask:
"Who are they?"
Mrs. Stevens, like her son, was too well bred to pry into the secrets ofher guests. A few days later Mr. Waters again disappeared and was notseen for two months.
It was at the close of a sultry day in July that Mr. John Louder and hisneighbor Bly were returning from Boston in a cart. As usual, theirconversation was of the solemn kind, characteristic of the Puritan. Themany mysteries in nature and out of nature formed their principal topic.Each had had his long, ardent conflict with sin and Satan.
Each was a firm believer in personal devils and legions of devils. Thespirits of the air were thought to be all about them, even at that verymoment.
"Neighbor Bly, I believe that she is a witch," said Louder.
"Verily, even so do I."
"If the magistrates would so adjudge her, she would, according to thelaws, be hung."
"Truly she would. I saw her shape again last night."
"Did you?"
"Yes, she came to my bed and did grievously torment me, by sitting forfully two hours upon my chest."
"Why did you not call upon the name of God, and she would have gone?"
"Fain would I have done so, had it been possible; but her appearancetook from me the power of speech, and I was dumb. She sat upon me,grinning at me, and she said:
"'Would ye speak if ye could?'
"Then at last a yellow bird came in at the window and whispered somewords in her ear, and the shape flew away with a black man."
"Verily, neighbor Bly, you have been grievously tormented; yet littleworse is your case than my own. My cattle are bewitched and die. Thewitches hurl balls at them from any distance, which strike them, andthey shrink and die at once. The other morn I had salted my cows, whenone suddenly showed strange signs of illness and soon fell on her sideand did die. Neighbor Towne, who witnessed it, said the poor beast wasstruck with a witch ball. He says they gather the hair from the back ofthe afflicted beasts and, making a ball of it from the spittle of theirmouths, blow their breath upon it and hurl it any distance to an object.The object so struck will at once wither and die. He said that, should Istrip the hair from the spine of the dead brute, a ball made of it wouldstrike down any other beast of the herd, even if thrown by my own hand."
With a sigh, Bly said:
"Truly, we live in the age when the devil is to be loosed for a littleseason. Would to Heaven, St. John would again chain the dragon."
The sun had almost dipped behind the long line of blue hills. A listlessrepose, peculiar to New England autumns, seemed to have settled over thehills and valleys about the neighborhood of Salem. A drowsy, dreamyinfluence overhung land and sea and pervaded the very atmosphere. Nowonder that the superstitious Puritans of that day and age believed theplace bewitched. Certain it is, that it seemed under the same power,that held strange spells over the minds of the good people, causingthem to walk in a continual revery. These early Puritans were given toall kinds of marvellous beliefs, as we have seen, subjected to trancesand visions, and frequently saw strange sights, and heard wonderfulnoises in the air. All Salem abounded with local tales, haunted spotsand twilight superstitions. Shooting stars and flaming meteors were moreoften seen about that enchanted spot, than in any other part of thecountry.
The two travellers silently jogged along in the cart, casting occasionalglances down the road. Just before reaching Salem, the road dipped belowthe trees, which concealed some glens and breaks, above which only thechurch, standing in the suburb of the village, could be seen. Thesequestered situation of the meeting-house seemed to have always made ita favorite resort for troubled spirits. It stood on a knoll, surroundedby beech trees and lofty elms, from among which its decent whitewashedwalls shone modestly forth, as the only bright object among so muchsombre gloom and shade. A broad path wound its way down a gentle slopeto the creek, which emptied into the bay, bordered by tall trees,through which glimpses of the sea and blue hills might be caught.Between the travellers and the church extended a wide, woody dell, alongwhich the brook roved among broken rocks and trunks of fallen trees.Over a deep, black part of the stream was thrown a bridge. The roadwhich led up to it was thickly shaded, and in places indistinguishableat any great distance by overhanging trees, which cast a gloom about it,even in daytime, but occasioned a fearful darkness at night. This placewas reputed to be a favorite resort for the witches of Salem, for theyhad frequently been seen dancing upon the bridge.
It was with some degree of nervousness that the travellers drew near tothe bridge. The sun had dipped behind the blue hills of the west, andthe pale, lambent glow of the evening star shot athwart the sky, ere thebridge was reached. While it was yet twilight in the uplands, it wasnight here. The hollow sounds of the horse's feet on the bridge chilledthe hearts of the occupants of the cart, and when the outline of a horseand rider appeared on the other side, Louder seized Bly by the arm andgasped:
"God save us! Where did they come from? They were not there a momentbefore."
"They rose up out of the ground."
Their horse, which was very much frightened, would have dashed down theroad had not the horseman brought his stee
d directly across their path.
"Your beast seems affrighted," coolly remarked the horseman.
At sound of his voice, Louder gave utterance to a wild yell of dismay.The horse stood trembling and refused to move the cart an inch. Louderrose from the seat and glared through the deepening gloom at thestranger. That white face, those great, sad eyes once seen could neverbe forgotten. He uttered a yell of horror, crying:
"Begone, wizard! The armor of God be between me and thee! Fiend of theregions of darkness, it was thou who offered me the book to sign. Away!begone! tempt me no more, for, by the grace of Heaven, I defy you! Iwill not sign!"
At this moment, the horse at the cart, seeing an opening in the road,dashed on to the village, leaving the horseman gazing in mute wonderafter them. His white face wore a puzzled and pained look. He turned hishorse's head into another path, saying:
"It has been some years since I was here, and yet, if I mistake not,this is surely the path that leads to her house."
Thirty minutes later, the same horseman drew rein in front of the widowStevens' cottage and, dismounting, tied his horse to a small tree andapproached the house. A light was shining through the window, and thewhirr of the wheel told that the industrious widow was at her eveningwork. He rapped at the door and was bidden enter. On entering, hediscovered that three persons occupied the cottage--the widow, her sonand a beautiful, sunny-haired maiden. The latter started up at hisappearance, crying:
"Father! father!" and, leaping forward, threw her arms about his neck.The new-comer looked in amazement upon the girl, but made no answer.
"Father, father, why don't you speak?"
"There is some mistake!" he began.
"Are you not my father?"
"I never saw you before, little maid."
Then Cora started back and gave the stranger a curious glance. He lookedexactly like her father, save that he was dressed almost wholly inbuckskin, and had a wild, forest-like appearance. Then, as shescrutinized him more closely, she perceived a slight scar on his leftcheek. This was not on her father's face.
"You are not my father; but you are very like him," she said.
"I am not your father, little maid. I came to thank these people fortheir kindness to me a few years ago."
"Are you he whom I found by the brook, wounded and dying?" askedCharles.
"I am."
"Your mysterious disappearance occasioned much comment."
Before the stranger could frame an answer, the door was again thrownopen, and this time it was Cora's father, in reality, who entered thehouse. She sprang to him, saying:
"Father, I see now there is a difference between you and him!"
For the first time, George Waters saw the stranger. As their eyes met,each started, gazed at the other a moment, as if to be assured he wasright, and then George Waters cried:
"Harry!"
"George!"
A dramatic episode, such as is so often acted upon the stage, ordescribed in novels, followed, and, by degrees, the small audiencecaught from words dropped by the men, that they were brothers, who hadlong been separated, and had been searching for each other.
When the excitement attending the discovery had in a measure subsided,the brothers walked down toward the spring, where, seating themselves ona moss-grown stone, George Waters told his brother of joining Monmouth'sarmy, of being arrested and sold as a slave in Virginia, and of hisescape and long perilous flight to New England.
"Where have you been since you were here, Harry?"
"I was a captive among the Indians for a few months, was liberated bysome French Jesuits and went to France and thence to England, hoping tosee you. I was several weeks at our old home near Stockton. Then I cameback to America and have been in New York trading in furs."
A silence of several moments followed. George, whose soul seemed stirredwith some deep emotions, asked:
"Harry, while in England, in Stockton, did you see her?"
Harry knew to whom he referred, and he answered:
"No."
"Where is she?"
"I know not."
"Do you know whether she be living or dead?"
"I do not."
"God grant that she be dead!"
At this moment, Cora, who had followed behind them and overheard theirstrange words, came forward and asked:
"Father, what do you mean?"
"Nothing, child. There, let us return to the house, for it is growinglate."
Then, as they walked up the gentle slope to the cabin of the widow, themaiden repeated to herself:
"But he does mean something!"
The Witch of Salem; or, Credulity Run Mad Page 9