THE GENTLE BOY
In the course of the year 1656, several of the people calledQuakers, led, as they professed, by the inward movement of thespirit, made their appearance in New England. Their reputation,as holders of mystic and pernicious principles, having spreadbefore them, the Puritans early endeavored to banish, and toprevent the further intrusion of the rising sect. But themeasures by which it was intended to purge the land of heresy,though more than sufficiently vigorous, were entirelyunsuccessful. The Quakers, esteeming persecution as a divine callto the post of danger, laid claim to a holy courage, unknown tothe Puritans themselves, who had shunned the cross, by providingfor the peaceable exercise of their religion in a distantwilderness. Though it was the singular fact, that every nation ofthe earth rejected the wandering enthusiasts who practised peacetowards all men, the place of greatest uneasiness and peril, andtherefore, in their eyes the most eligible, was the province ofMassachusetts Bay.
The fines, imprisonments, and stripes, liberally distributed byour pious forefathers; the popular antipathy, so strong that itendured nearly a hundred years after actual persecution hadceased, were attractions as powerful for the Quakers, as peace,honor, and reward, would have been for the worldly minded. EveryEuropean vessel brought new cargoes of the sect, eager to testifyagainst the oppression which they hoped to share; and whenshipmasters were restrained by heavy fines from affording thempassage, they made long and circuitous journeys through theIndian country, and appeared in the province as if conveyed by asupernatural power. Their enthusiasm, heightened almost tomadness by the treatment which they received, produced actionscontrary to the rules of decency, as well as of rationalreligion, and presented a singular contrast to the calm and staiddeportment of their sectarian successors of the present day. Thecommand of the spirit, inaudible except to the soul, and not tobe controverted on grounds of human wisdom, was made a plea formost indecorous exhibitions, which, abstractedly considered, welldeserved the moderate chastisement of the rod. Theseextravagances, and the persecution which was at once their causeand consequence, continued to increase, till, in the year 1659,the government of Massachusetts Bay indulged two members of theQuaker sect with a crown of martyrdom.
An indelible stain of blood is upon the hands of all whoconsented to this act, but a large share of the awfulresponsibility must rest upon the person then at the head of thegovernment. He was a man of narrow mind and imperfect education,and his uncompromising bigotry was made hot and mischievous byviolent and hasty passions; he exerted his influence indecorouslyand unjustifiably to compass the death of the enthusiasts; andhis whole conduct, in respect to them, was marked by brutalcruelty. The Quakers, whose revengeful feelings were not lessdeep because they were inactive, remembered this man and hisassociates in after times. The historian of the sect affirmsthat, by the wrath of Heaven, a blight fell upon the land in thevicinity of the "bloody town" of Boston, so that no wheat wouldgrow there; and he takes his stand, as it were, among the gravesof the ancient persecutors, and triumphantly recounts thejudgments that overtook them, in old age or at the parting hour.He tells us that they died suddenly and violently and in madness;but nothing can exceed the bitter mockery with which he recordsthe loathsome disease, and "death by rottenness," of the fierceand cruel governor.
. . . . . . . . .
On the evening of the autumn day that had witnessed the martyrdomof two men of the Quaker persuasion, a Puritan settler wasreturning from the metropolis to the neighboring country town inwhich he resided. The air was cool, the sky clear, and thelingering twilight was made brighter by the rays of a young moon,which had now nearly reached the verge of the horizon. Thetraveller, a man of middle age, wrapped in a gray frieze cloak,quickened his pace when he had reached the outskirts of the town,for a gloomy extent of nearly four miles lay between him and hishome. The low, straw-thatched houses were scattered atconsiderable intervals along the road, and the country havingbeen settled but about thirty years, the tracts of originalforest still bore no small proportion to the cultivated ground.The autumn wind wandered among the branches, whirling away theleaves from all except the pine-trees, and moaning as if itlamented the desolation of which it was the instrument. The roadhad penetrated the mass of woods that lay nearest to the town,and was just emerging into an open space, when the traveller'sears were saluted by a sound more mournful than even that of thewind. It was like the wailing of someone in distress, and itseemed to proceed from beneath a tall and lonely fir-tree, in thecentre of a cleared but uninclosed and uncultivated field. ThePuritan could not but remember that this was the very spot whichhad been made accursed a few hours before by the execution of theQuakers whose bodies had been thrown together into one hastygrave, beneath the tree on which they suffered. He struggledhowever, against the superstitious fears which belonged to theage, and compelled himself to pause and listen.
"The voice is most likely mortal, nor have I cause to tremble ifit be otherwise," thought he, straining his eyes through the dimmoonlight. "Methinks it is like the wailing of a child; someinfant, it may be, which has strayed from its mother, and chancedupon this place of death. For the ease of mine own conscience Imust search this matter out."
He therefore left the path, and walked somewhat fearfully acrossthe field. Though now so desolate, its soil was pressed down andtrampled by the thousand footsteps of those who had witnessed thespectacle of that day, all of whom had now retired, leaving thedead to their loneliness. The traveller, at length reached thefir-tree, which from the middle upward was covered with livingbranches, although a scaffold had been erected beneath, and otherpreparations made for the work of death. Under this unhappy tree,which in after times was believed to drop poison with its dew,sat the one solitary mourner for innocent blood. It was a slenderand light clad little boy, who leaned his face upon a hillock offresh-turned and half-frozen earth, and wailed bitterly, yet in asuppressed tone, as if his grief might receive the punishment ofcrime. The Puritan, whose approach had been unperceived, laid hishand upon the child's shoulder, and addressed himcompassionately.
"You have chosen a dreary lodging, my poor boy, and no wonderthat you weep," said he. "But dry your eyes, and tell me whereyour mother dwells. I promise you, if the journey be not too far,I will leave you in her arms to-night."
The boy had hushed his wailing at once, and turned his faceupward to the stranger. It was a pale, bright-eyed countenance,certainly not more than six years old, but sorrow, fear, and wanthad destroyed much of its infantile expression. The Puritanseeing the boy's frightened gaze, and feeling that he trembledunder his hand, endeavored to reassure him.
"Nay, if I intended to do you harm, little lad, the readiest waywere to leave you here. What! you do not fear to sit beneath thegallows on a new-made grave, and yet you tremble at a friend'stouch. Take heart, child, and tell me what is your name and whereis your home?"
"Friend," replied the little boy, in a sweet though falteringvoice, "they call me Ilbrahim, and my home is here."
The pale, spiritual face, the eyes that seemed to mingle with themoonlight, the sweet, airy voice, and the outlandish name, almostmade the Puritan believe that the boy was in truth a being whichhad sprung up out of the grave on which he sat. But perceivingthat the apparition stood the test of a short mental prayer, andremembering that the arm which he had touched was lifelike, headopted a more rational supposition. "The poor child is strickenin his intellect," thought he, "but verily his words are fearfulin a place like this." He then spoke soothingly, intending tohumor the boy's fantasy.
"Your home will scarce be comfortable, Ilbrahim, this cold autumnnight, and I fear you are ill-provided with food. I am hasteningto a warm supper and bed, and if you will go with me you shallshare them!"
"I thank thee, friend, but though I be hungry, and shivering withcold, thou wilt not give me food nor lodging," replied the boy,in the quiet tone which despair had taught him, even so young."My father was of the people whom all men hate. They have laidhim under this heap of earth, and here i
s my home."
The Puritan, who had laid hold of little Ilbrahim's hand,relinquished it as if he were touching a loathsome reptile. Buthe possessed a compassionate heart, which not even religiousprejudice could harden into stone.
"God forbid that I should leave this child to perish, though hecomes of the accursed sect," said he to himself. "Do we not allspring from an evil root? Are we not all in darkness till thelight doth shine upon us? He shall not perish, neither in body,nor, if prayer and instruction may avail for him, in soul." Hethen spoke aloud and kindly to Ilbrahim, who had again hid hisface in the cold earth of the grave. "Was every door in the landshut against you, my child, that you have wandered to thisunhallowed spot?"
"They drove me forth from the prison when they took my fatherthence," said the boy, "and I stood afar off watching the crowdof people, and when they were gone I came hither, and found onlyhis grave. I knew that my father was sleeping here, and I saidthis shall be my home."
"No, child, no; not while I have a roof over my head, or a morselto share with you!" exclaimed the Puritan, whose sympathies werenow fully excited. "Rise up and come with me, and fear not anyharm."
The boy wept afresh, and clung to the heap of earth as if thecold heart beneath it were warmer to him than any in a livingbreast. The traveller, however, continued to entreat himtenderly, and seeming to acquire some degree of confidence, he atlength arose. But his slender limbs tottered with weakness, hislittle head grew dizzy, and he leaned against the tree of deathfor support.
"My poor boy, are you so feeble?" said the Puritan. "When did youtaste food last?"
"I ate of bread and water with my father in the prison," repliedIlbrahim, "but they brought him none neither yesterday norto-day, saying that he had eaten enough to bear him to hisjourney's end. Trouble not thyself for my hunger, kind friend,for I have lacked food many times ere now."
The traveller took the child in his arms and wrapped his cloakabout him, while his heart stirred with shame and anger againstthe gratuitous cruelty of the instruments in this persecution. Inthe awakened warmth of his feelings he resolved that, at whateverrisk, he would not forsake the poor little defenceless being whomHeaven had confided to his care. With this determination he leftthe accursed field, and resumed the homeward path from which thewailing of the boy had called him. The light and motionlessburden scarcely impeded his progress, and he soon beheld the firerays from the windows of the cottage which he, a native of adistant clime, had built in the western wilderness. It wassurrounded by a considerable extent of cultivated ground, and thedwelling was situated in the nook of a wood-covered hill, whitherit seemed to have crept for protection.
"Look up, child," said the Puritan to Ilbrahim, whose faint headhad sunk upon his shoulder, "there is our home."
At the word "home," a thrill passed through the child's frame,but he continued silent. A few moments brought them to a cottagedoor, at which the owner knocked; for at that early period, whensavages were wandering everywhere among the settlers, bolt andbar were indispensable to the security of a dwelling. The summonswas answered by a bond-servant, a coarse-clad and dull-featuredpiece of humanity, who, after ascertaining that his master wasthe applicant, undid the door, and held a flaring pineknot torchto light him in. Farther back in the passage-way, the red blazediscovered a matronly woman, but no little crowd of children camebounding forth to greet their father's return. As the Puritanentered, he thrust aside his cloak, and displayed Ilbrahim's faceto the female.
"Dorothy, here is a little outcast, whom Providence hath put intoour hands," observed he. "Be kind to him, even as if he were ofthose dear ones who have departed from us."
"What pale and bright-eyed little boy is this, Tobias?" sheinquired. "Is he one whom the wilderness folk have ravished fromsome Christian mother?"
"No, Dorothy, this poor child is no captive from the wilderness,"he replied. "The heathen savage would have given him to eat ofhis scanty morsel, and to drink of his birchen cup; but Christianmen, alas, had cast him out to die."
Then he told her how he had found him beneath the gallows, uponhis father's grave; and how his heart had prompted him, like thespeaking of an inward voice, to take the little outcast home, andbe kind unto him. He acknowledged his resolution to feed andclothe him, as if he were his own child, and to afford him theinstruction which should counteract the pernicious errorshitherto instilled into his infant mind. Dorothy was gifted witheven a quicker tenderness than her husband, and she approved ofall his doings and intentions.
"Have you a mother, dear child?" she inquired.
The tears burst forth from his full heart as he attempted toreply; but Dorothy at length understood that he had a mother,who, like the rest of her sect, was a persecuted wanderer. Shehad been taken from the prison a short time before, carried intothe uninhabited wilderness, and left to perish there by hunger orwild beasts. This was no uncommon method of disposing of theQuakers, and they were accustomed to boast that the inhabitantsof the desert were more hospitable to them than civilized man.
"Fear not, little boy, you shall not need a mother, and a kindone," said Dorothy, when she had gathered this information. "Dryyour tears, Ilbrahim, and be my child, as I will be your mother."
The good woman prepared the little bed, from which her ownchildren had successively been borne to another resting-place.Before Ilbrahim would consent to occupy it, he knelt down, and asDorothy listened to his simple and affecting prayer, shemarvelled how the parents that had taught it to him could havebeen judged worthy of death. When the boy had fallen asleep, shebent over his pale and spiritual countenance, pressed a kiss uponhis white brow, drew the bedclothes up about his neck, and wentaway with a pensive gladness in her heart.
Tobias Pearson was not among the earliest emigrants from the oldcountry. He had remained in England during the first years of thecivil war, in which he had borne some share as a cornet ofdragoons, under Cromwell. But when the ambitious designs of hisleader began to develop themselves, he quitted the army of theParliament, and sought a refuge from the strife, which was nolonger holy, among the people of his persuasion in the colony ofMassachusetts. A more worldly consideration had perhaps aninfluence in drawing him thither; for New England offeredadvantages to men of unprosperous fortunes, as well as todissatisfied religionists, and Pearson had hitherto found itdifficult to provide for a wife and increasing family. To thissupposed impurity of motive the more bigoted Puritans wereinclined to impute the removal by death of all the children, forwhose earthly good the father had been over-thoughtful. They hadleft their native country blooming like roses, and like rosesthey had perished in a foreign soil. Those expounders of the waysof Providence, who had thus judged their brother, and attributedhis domestic sorrows to his sin, were not more charitable whenthey saw him and Dorothy endeavoring to fill up the void in theirhearts by the adoption of an infant of the accursed sect. Nor didthey fail to communicate their disapprobation to Tobias; but thelatter, in reply, merely pointed at the little quiet, lovely boy,whose appearance and deportment were indeed as powerful argumentsas could possibly have been adduced in his own favor. Even hisbeauty, however, and his winning manners, sometimes produced aneffect ultimately unfavorable; for the bigots, when the outersurfaces of their iron hearts had been softened and again grewhard, affirmed that no merely natural cause could have so workedupon them.
Their antipathy to the poor infant was also increased by the illsuccess of divers theological discussions, in which it wasattempted to convince him of the errors of his sect. Ilbrahim, itis true, was not a skilful controversialist; but the feeling ofhis religion was strong as instinct in him, and he could neitherbe enticed nor driven from the faith which his father had diedfor. The odium of this stubbornness was shared in a great measureby the child's protectors, insomuch that Tobias and Dorothy veryshortly began to experience a most bitter species of persecution,in the cold regards of many a friend whom they had valued. Thecommon people manifested their opinions more openly. Pearson wasa man of some consideration, being a represe
ntative to theGeneral Court and an approved lieutenant in the trainbands, yetwithin a week after his adoption of Ilbrahim he had been bothhissed and hooted. Once, also, when walking through a solitarypiece of woods, he heard a loud voice from some invisiblespeaker; and it cried, "What shall be done to the backslider? Lo!the scourge is knotted for him, even the whip of nine cords, andevery cord three knots!" These insults irritated Pearson's temperfor the moment; they entered also into his heart, and becameimperceptible but powerful workers towards an end which his mostsecret thought had not yet whispered.
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On the second Sabbath after Ilbrahim became a member of theirfamily, Pearson and his wife deemed it proper that he shouldappear with them at public worship. They had anticipated someopposition to this measure from the boy, but he prepared himselfin silence, and at the appointed hour was clad in the newmourning suit which Dorothy had wrought for him. As the parishwas then, and during many subsequent years, unprovided with abell, the signal for the commencement of religious exercises wasthe beat of a drum. At the first sound of that martial call tothe place of holy and quiet thoughts, Tobias and Dorothy setforth, each holding a hand of little Ilbrahim, like two parentslinked together by the infant of their love. On their paththrough the leafless woods they were overtaken by many persons oftheir acquaintance, all of whom avoided them, and passed by onthe other side; but a severer trial awaited their constancy whenthey had descended the hill, and drew near the pine-built andundecorated house of prayer. Around the door, from which thedrummer still sent forth his thundering summons, was drawn up aformidable phalanx, including several of the oldest members ofthe congregation, many of the middle aged, and nearly all theyounger males. Pearson found it difficult to sustain their unitedand disapproving gaze, but Dorothy, whose mind was differentlycircumstanced, merely drew the boy closer to her, and falterednot in her approach. As they entered the door, they overheard themuttered sentiments of the assemblage, and when the revilingvoices of the little children smote Ilbrahim's ear, he wept.
The interior aspect of the meeting-house was rude. The lowceiling, the unplastered walls, the naked wood work, and theundraperied pulpit, offered nothing to excite the devotion,which, without such external aids, often remains latent in theheart. The floor of the building was occupied by rows of long,cushionless benches, supplying the place of pews, and the broadaisle formed a sexual division, impassable except by childrenbeneath a certain age.
Pearson and Dorothy separated at the door of the meeting-house,and Ilbrahim, being within the years of infancy, was retainedunder the care of the latter. The wrinkled beldams involvedthemselves in their rusty cloaks as he passed by; even themild-featured maidens seemed to dread contamination; and many astern old man arose, and turned his repulsive and unheavenlycountenance upon the gentle boy, as if the sanctuary werepolluted by his presence. He was a sweet infant of the skies thathad strayed away from his home, and all the inhabitants of thismiserable world closed up their impure hearts against him, drewback their earthsoiled garments from his touch, and said, "We areholier than thou."
Ilbrahim, seated by the side of his adopted mother, and retainingfast hold of her hand, assumed a grave and decorous demeanor,such as might befit a person of matured taste and understanding,who should find him self in a temple dedicated to some worshipwhich he did not recognize, but felt himself bound to respect.The exercises had not yet commenced, however, when the boy'sattention was arrested by an event, apparently of triflinginterest. A woman, having her face muffled in a hood, and a cloakdrawn completely about her form, advanced slowly up the broadaisle and took a place upon the foremost bench. Ilbrahim's faintcolor varied, his nerves fluttered, he was unable to turn hiseyes from the muffled female.
When the preliminary prayer and hymn were over, the ministerarose, and having turned the hour-glass which stood by the greatBible, commenced his discourse. He was now well stricken inyears, a man of pale, thin countenance, and his gray hairs wereclosely covered by a black velvet skullcap. In his younger dayshe had practically learned the meaning of persecution fromArchbishop Laud, and he was not now disposed to forget the lessonagainst which he had murmured then. Introducing the oftendiscussed subject of the Quakers, he gave a history of that sect,and a description of their tenets, in which error predominated,and prejudice distorted the aspect of what was true. He advertedto the recent measures in the province, and cautioned his hearersof weaker parts against calling in question the just severitywhich God-fearing magistrates had at length been compelled toexercise. He spoke of the danger of pity, in some cases acommendable and Christian virtue, but inapplicable to thispernicious sect. He observed that such was their devilishobstinacy in error, that even the little children, the suckingbabes, were hardened and desperate heretics. He affirmed that noman, without Heaven's especial warrants should attempt theirconversion, lest while he lent his hand to draw them from theslough, he should himself be precipitated into its lowest depths.
The sands of the second hour were principally in the lower halfof the glass when the sermon concluded. An approving murmurfollowed, and the clergyman, having given out a hymn, took hisseat with much self-congratulation, and endeavored to read theeffect of his eloquence in the visages of the people. But whilevoices from all parts of the house were tuning themselves tosing, a scene occurred, which, though not very unusual at thatperiod in the province, happened to be without precedent in thisparish.
The muffled female, who had hitherto sat motionless in the frontrank of the audience, now arose, and with slow, stately, andunwavering step, ascended the pulpit stairs. The quiverings ofincipient harmony were hushed, and the divine sat in speechlessand almost terrified astonishment, while she undid the door, andstood up in the sacred desk from which his maledictions had justbeen thundered. She then divested herself of the cloak and hood,and appeared in a most singular array. A shapeless robe ofsackcloth was girded about her waist with a knotted cord; herraven hair fell down upon her shoulders, and its blackness wasdefiled by pale streaks of ashes, which she had strown upon herhead. Her eyebrows, dark and strongly defined, added to thedeathly whiteness of a countenance, which, emaciated with want,and wild with enthusiasm and strange sorrows, retained no traceof earlier beauty. This figure stood gazing earnestly on theaudience, and there was no sound, nor any movement, except afaint shuddering which every man observed in his neighbor, butwas scarcely conscious of in himself. At length, when her fit ofinspiration came, she spoke, for the first few moments, in a lowvoice, and not invariably distinct utterance. Her discourse gaveevidence of an imagination hopelessly entangled with her reason;it was a vague and incomprehensible rhapsody, which, however,seemed to spread its own atmosphere round the hearer's soul, andto move his feelings by some influence unconnected with thewords. As she proceeded, beautiful but shadowy images wouldsometimes be seen, like bright things moving in a turbid river;or a strong and singularly-shaped idea leaped forth, and seizedat once on the understanding or the heart. But the course of herunearthly eloquence soon led her to the persecutions of her sect,and from thence the step was short to her own peculiar sorrows.She was naturally a woman of mighty passions, and hatred andrevenge now wrapped themselves in the garb of piety; thecharacter of her speech was changed, her images became distinctthough wild, and her denunciations had an almost hellishbitterness.
"The Governor and his mighty men," she said, "have gatheredtogether, taking counsel among themselves and saying, 'What shallwe do unto this people even unto the people that have come intothis land to put our iniquity to the blush?' And lo! the devilentereth into the council chamber, like a lame man of low statureand gravely apparelled, with a dark and twisted countenance, anda bright, downcast eye. And he standeth up among the rulers; yea,he goeth to and fro, whispering to each; and every man lends hisear, for his word is 'Slay, slay!' But I say unto ye, Woe to themthat slay! Woe to them that shed the blood of saints! Woe to themthat have slain the husband, and cast forth the child, the tenderinfant, to wander homeless and hungry and cold,
till he die; andhave saved the mother alive, in the cruelty of their tendermercies! Woe to them in their lifetime! cursed are they in thedelight and pleasure of their hearts! Woe to them in their deathhour, whether it come swiftly with blood and violence, or afterlong and lingering pain! Woe, in the dark house, in therottenness of the grave, when the children's children shallrevile the ashes of the fathers! Woe, woe, woe, at the judgment,when all the persecuted and all the slain in this bloody land,and the father, the mother, and the child, shall await them in aday that they cannot escape! Seed of the faith, seed of thefaith, ye whose hearts are moving with a power that ye know not,arise, wash your hands of this innocent blood! Lift your voices,chosen ones; cry aloud, and call down a woe and a judgment withme!"
Having thus given vent to the flood of malignity which shemistook for inspiration, the speaker was silent. Her voice wassucceeded by the hysteric shrieks of several women, but thefeelings of the audience generally had not been drawn onward inthe current with her own. They remained stupefied, stranded as itwere, in the midst of a torrent, which deafened them by itsroaring, but might not move them by its violence. The clergyman,who could not hitherto have ejected the usurper of his pulpitotherwise than by bodily force, now addressed her in the tone ofjust indignation and legitimate authority.
"Get you down, woman, from the holy place which you profane," hesaid. "Is it to the Lord's house that you come to pour forth thefoulness of your heart and the inspiration of the devil? Get youdown, and remember that the sentence of death is on you; yea, andshall be executed, were it but for this day's work!"
"I go, friend, I go, for the voice hath had its utterance,"replied she, in a depressed and even mild tone. "I have done mymission unto thee and to thy people. Reward me with stripes,imprisonment, or death, as ye shall be permitted."
The weakness of exhausted passion caused her steps to totter asshe descended the pulpit stairs. The people, in the mean while,were stirring to and fro on the floor of the house, whisperingamong themselves, and glancing towards the intruder. Many of themnow recognized her as the woman who had assaulted the Governorwith frightful language as he passed by the window of her prison;they knew, also, that she was adjudged to suffer death, and hadbeen preserved only by an involuntary banishment into thewilderness. The new outrage, by which she had provoked her fate,seemed to render further lenity impossible; and a gentleman inmilitary dress, with a stout man of inferior rank, drew towardsthe door of the meeting-house, and awaited her approach.
Scarcely did her feet press the floor, however, when anunexpected scene occurred. In that moment of her peril, whenevery eye frowned with death, a little timid boy pressed forth,and threw his arms round his mother.
"I am here, mother; it is I, and I will go with thee to prison,"he exclaimed.
She gazed at him with a doubtful and almost frightenedexpression, for she knew that the boy had been cast out toperish, and she had not hoped to see his face again. She feared,perhaps, that it was but one of the happy visions with which herexcited fancy had often deceived her, in the solitude of thedesert or in prison. But when she felt his hand warm within herown, and heard his little eloquence of childish love, she beganto know that she was yet a mother.
"Blessed art thou, my son," she sobbed. "My heart was withered;yea, dead with thee and with thy father; and now it leaps as inthe first moment when I pressed thee to my bosom."
She knelt down and embraced him again and again, while the joythat could find no words expressed itself in broken accents, likethe bubbles gushing up to vanish at the surface of a deepfountain. The sorrows of past years, and the darker peril thatwas nigh, cast not a shadow on the brightness of that fleetingmoment. Soon, however, the spectators saw a change upon her face,as the consciousness of her sad estate returned, and griefsupplied the fount of tears which joy had opened. By the wordsshe uttered, it would seem that the indulgence of natural lovehad given her mind a momentary sense of its errors, and made herknow how far she had strayed from duty in following the dictatesof a wild fanaticism.
"In a doleful hour art thou returned to me, poor boy," she said,"for thy mother's path has gone darkening onward, till now theend is death. Son, son, I have borne thee in my arms when mylimbs were tottering, and I have fed thee with the food that Iwas fainting for; yet I have ill performed a mother's part bythee in life, and now I leave thee no inheritance but woe andshame. Thou wilt go seeking through the world, and find allhearts closed against thee and their sweet affections turned tobitterness for my sake. My child, my child, how many a pangawaits thy gentle spirit, and I the cause of all!"
She hid her face on Ilbrahim's head, and her long, raven hair,discolored with the ashes of her mourning, fell down about himlike a veil. A low and interrupted moan was the voice of herheart's anguish, and it did not fail to move the sympathies ofmany who mistook their involuntary virtue for a sin. Sobs wereaudible in the female section of the house, and every man who wasa father drew his hand across his eyes. Tobias Pearson wasagitated and uneasy, but a certain feeling like the consciousnessof guilt oppressed him, so that he could not go forth and offerhimself as the protector of the child. Dorothy, however, hadwatched her husband's eye. Her mind was free from the influencethat had begun to work on his, and she drew near the Quakerwoman, and addressed her in the hearing of all the congregation.
"Stranger, trust this boy to me, and I will be his mother," shesaid, taking Ilbrahim's hand. "Providence has signally marked outmy husband to protect him, and he has fed at our table and lodgedunder our roof now many days, till our hearts have grown verystrongly unto him. Leave the tender child with us, and be at easeconcerning his welfare."
The Quaker rose from the ground, but drew the boy closer to her,while she gazed earnestly in Dorothy's face. Her mild butsaddened features, and neat matronly attire, harmonized together,and were like a verse of fireside poetry. Her very aspect provedthat she was blameless, so far as mortal could be so, in respectto God and man; while the enthusiast, in her robe of sackclothand girdle of knotted cord, had as evidently violated the dutiesof the present life and the future, by fixing her attentionwholly on the latter. The two females, as they held each a handof Ilbrahim, formed a practical allegory; it was rational pietyand unbridled fanaticism contending for the empire of a youngheart.
"Thou art not of our people," said the Quaker, mournfully.
"No, we are not of your people," replied Dorothy, with mildness,"but we are Christians, looking upward to the same heaven withyou. Doubt not that your boy shall meet you there, if there be ablessing on our tender and prayerful guidance of him. Thither, Itrust, my own children have gone before me, for I also have beena mother; I am no longer so," she added, in a faltering tone,"and your son will have all my care."
"But will ye lead him in the path which his parents havetrodden?" demanded the Quaker. "Can ye teach him the enlightenedfaith which his father has died for, and for which I, even I, amsoon to become an unworthy martyr? The boy has been baptized inblood; will ye keep the mark fresh and ruddy upon his forehead?"
"I will not deceive you," answered Dorothy. "If your child becomeour child, we must breed him up in the instruction which Heavenhas imparted to us; we must pray for him the prayers of our ownfaith; we must do towards him according to the dictates of ourown consciences, and not of yours. Were we to act otherwise, weshould abuse your trust, even in complying with your wishes."
The mother looked down upon her boy with a troubled countenance,and then turned her eyes upward to heaven. She seemed to prayinternally, and the contention of her soul was evident.
"Friend," she said at length to Dorothy, "I doubt not that my sonshall receive all earthly tenderness at thy hands. Nay, I willbelieve that even thy imperfect lights may guide him to a betterworld, for surely thou art on the path thither. But thou hastspoken of a husband. Doth he stand here among this multitude ofpeople? Let him come forth, for I must know to whom I commit thismost precious trust."
She turned her face upon the male auditors, and after a momentarydelay, Tobias
Pearson came forth from among them. The Quaker sawthe dress which marked his military rank, and shook her head; butthen she noted the hesitating air, the eyes that struggled withher own, and were vanquished; the color that went and came, andcould find no resting place. As she gazed, an unmirthful smilespread over her features, like sunshine that grows melancholy insome desolate spot. Her lips moved inaudibly, but at length shespake.
"I hear it, I hear it. The voice speaketh within me and saith,'Leave thy child, Catharine, for his place is here, and go hence,for I have other work for thee. Break the bonds of naturalaffection, martyr thy love, and know that in all these thingseternal wisdom hath its ends.' I go, friends; I go. Take ye myboy, my precious jewel. I go hence, trusting that all shall bewell, and that even for his infant hands there is a labor in thevineyard."
She knelt down and whispered to Ilbrahim, who at first struggledand clung to his mother, with sobs and tears, but remainedpassive when she had kissed his cheek and arisen from the ground.Having held her hands over his head in mental prayer, she wasready to depart.
"Farewell, friends in mine extremity," she said to Pearson andhis wife; "the good deed ye have done me is a treasure laid up inheaven, to be returned a thousand-fold hereafter. And farewellye, mine enemies, to whom it is not permitted to harm so much asa hair of my head, nor to stay my footsteps even for a moment.The day is coming when ye shall call upon me to witness for ye tothis one sin uncommitted, and I will rise up and answer."
She turned her steps towards the door, and the men, who hadstationed themselves to guard it, withdrew, and suffered her topass. A general sentiment of pity overcame the virulence ofreligious hatred. Sanctified by her love and her affliction, shewent forth, and all the people gazed after her till she hadjourneyed up the hill, and was lost behind its brow. She went,the apostle of her own unquiet heart, to renew the wanderings ofpast years. For her voice had been already heard in many lands ofChristendom; and she had pined in the cells of a CatholicInquisition before she felt the lash and lay in the dungeons ofthe Puritans. Her mission had extended also to the followers ofthe Prophet, and from them she had received the courtesy andkindness which all the contending sects of our purer religionunited to deny her. Her husband and herself had resided manymonths in Turkey, where even the Sultan's countenance wasgracious to them; in that pagan land, too, was Ilbrahim'sbirthplace, and his oriental name was a mark of gratitude for thegood deeds of an unbeliever.
. . . . . . . . .
When Pearson and his wife had thus acquired all the rights overIlbrahim that could be delegated, their affection for him becamelike the memory of their native land, or their mild sorrow forthe dead, a piece of the immovable furniture of their hearts. Theboy, also, after a week or two of mental disquiet, began togratify his protectors by many inadvertent proofs that heconsidered them as parents, and their house as home. Before thewinter snows were melted, the persecuted infant, the littlewanderer from a remote and heathen country, seemed native in theNew England cottage, and inseparable from the warmth and securityof its hearth. Under the influence of kind treatment, and in theconsciousness that he was loved, Ilbrahim's demeanor lost apremature manliness, which had resulted from his earliersituation; he became more childlike, and his natural characterdisplayed itself with freedom. It was in many respects abeautiful one, yet the disordered imaginations of both his fatherand mother had perhaps propagated a certain unhealthiness in themind of the boy. In his general state, Ilbrahim would deriveenjoyment from the most trifling events, and from every objectabout him; he seemed to discover rich treasures of happiness, bya faculty analogous to that of the witch hazel, which points tohidden gold where all is barren to the eye. His airy gayety,coming to him from a thousand sources, communicated itself to thefamily, and Ilbrahim was like a domesticated sunbeam, brighteningmoody countenances, and chasing away the gloom from the darkcorners of the cottage.
On the other hand, as the susceptibility of pleasure is also thatof pain, the exuberant cheerfulness of the boy's prevailingtemper sometimes yielded to moments of deep depression. Hissorrows could not always be followed up to their original source,but most frequently they appeared to flow, though Ilbrahim wasyoung to be sad for such a cause, from wounded love. Theflightiness of his mirth rendered him often guilty of offencesagainst the decorum of a Puritan household, and on theseoccasions he did not invariably escape rebuke. But the slightestword of real bitterness, which he was infallible indistinguishing from pretended anger, seemed to sink into hisheart and poison all his enjoyments, till he became sensible thathe was entirely forgiven. Of the malice, which generallyaccompanies a superfluity of sensitiveness, Ilbrahim wasaltogether destitute: when trodden upon, he would not turn; whenwounded, he could but die. His mind was wanting in the staminafor self-support; it was a plant that would twine beautifullyround something stronger than itself, but if repulsed, or tornaway, it had no choice but to wither on the ground. Dorothy'sacuteness taught her that severity would crush the spirit of thechild, and she nurtured him with the gentle care of one whohandles a butterfly. Her husband manifested an equal affection,although it grew daily less productive of familiar caresses.
The feelings of the neighboring people, in regard to the Quakerinfant and his protectors, had not undergone a favorable change,in spite of the momentary triumph which the desolate mother hadobtained over their sympathies. The scorn and bitterness, ofwhich he was the object, were very grievous to Ilbrahim,especially when any circumstance made him sensible that thechildren, his equals in age, partook of the enmity of theirparents. His tender and social nature had already overflowed inattachments to everything about him, and still there was aresidue of unappropriated love, which he yearned to bestow uponthe little ones who were taught to hate him. As the warm days ofspring came on, Ilbrahim was accustomed to remain for hours,silent and inactive, within hearing of the children's voices attheir play; yet, with his usual delicacy of feeling, he avoidedtheir notice, and would flee and hide himself from the smallestindividual among them. Chance, however, at length seemed to opena medium of communication between his heart and theirs; it was bymeans of a boy about two years older than Ilbrahim, who wasinjured by a fall from a tree in the vicinity of Pearson'shabitation. As the sufferer's own home was at some distance,Dorothy willingly received him under her roof, and became histender and careful nurse.
Ilbrahim was the unconscious possessor of much skill inphysiognomy, and it would have deterred him, in othercircumstances, from attempting to make a friend of this boy. Thecountenance of the latter immediately impressed a beholderdisagreeably, but it required some examination to discover thatthe cause was a very slight distortion of the mouth, and theirregular, broken line, and near approach of the eyebrows.Analogous, perhaps, to these trifling deformities, was an almostimperceptible twist of every joint, and the uneven prominence ofthe breast; forming a body, regular in its general outline, butfaulty in almost all its details. The disposition of the boy wassullen and reserved, and the village schoolmaster stigmatized himas obtuse in intellect; although, at a later period of life, heevinced ambition and very peculiar talents. But whatever might behis personal or moral irregularities, Ilbrahim's heart seizedupon, and clung to him, from the moment that he was broughtwounded into the cottage; the child of persecution seemed tocompare his own fate with that of the sufferer, and to feel thateven different modes of misfortune had created a sort ofrelationship between them. Food, rest, and the fresh air, forwhich he languished, were neglected; he nestled continually bythe bedside of the little stranger, and, with a fond jealousy,endeavored to be the medium of all the cares that were bestowedupon him. As the boy became convalescent, Ilbrahim contrivedgames suitable to his situation, or amused him by a faculty whichhe had perhaps breathed in with the air of his barbaricbirthplace. It was that of reciting imaginary adventures, on thespur of the moment, and apparently in inexhaustible succession.His tales were of course monstrous, disjointed, and without aim;but they were curious on account of a vein of human tendernesswhich ran through them all,
and was like a sweet, familiar face,encountered in the midst of wild and unearthly scenery. Theauditor paid much attention to these romances, and sometimesinterrupted them by brief remarks upon the incidents, displayingshrewdness above his years, mingled with a moral obliquity whichgrated very harshly against Ilbrahim's instinctive rectitude.Nothing, however, could arrest the progress of the latter'saffection, and there were many proofs that it met with a responsefrom the dark and stubborn nature on which it was lavished. Theboy's parents at length removed him, to complete his cure undertheir own roof.
Ilbrahim did not visit his new friend after his departure; but hemade anxious and continual inquiries respecting him, and informedhimself of the day when he was to reappear among his playmates.On a pleasant summer afternoon, the children of the neighborhoodhad assembled in the little forest-crowned amphitheatre behindthe meeting-house, and the recovering invalid was there, leaningon a staff. The glee of a score of untainted bosoms was heard inlight and airy voices, which danced among the trees like sunshinebecome audible; the grown men of this weary world, as theyjourneyed by the spot, marvelled why life, beginning in suchbrightness, should proceed in gloom; and their hearts, or theirimaginations, answered them and said, that the bliss of childhoodgushes from its innocence. But it happened that an unexpectedaddition was made to the heavenly little band. It was Ilbrahim,who came towards the children with a look of sweet confidence onhis fair and spiritual face, as if, having manifested his love toone of them, he had no longer to fear a repulse from theirsociety. A hush came over their mirth the moment they beheld him,and they stood whispering to each other while he drew nigh; but,all at once, the devil of their fathers entered into theunbreeched fanatics, and sending up a fierce, shrill cry, theyrushed upon the poor Quaker child. In an instant, he was thecentre of a brood of baby-fiends, who lifted sticks against him,pelted him with stones, and displayed an instinct of destructionfar more loathsome than the bloodthirstiness of manhood.
The invalid, in the meanwhile, stood apart from the tumult,crying out with a loud voice, "Fear not, Ilbrahim, come hitherand take my hand;" and his unhappy friend endeavored to obey him.After watching the victim's struggling approach with a calm smileand unabashed eye, the foulhearted little villain lifted hisstaff and struck Ilbrahim on the mouth, so forcibly that theblood issued in a stream. The poor child's arms had been raisedto guard his head from the storm of blows; but now he droppedthem at once. His persecutors beat him down, trampled upon him,dragged him by his long, fair locks, and Ilbrahim was on thepoint of becoming as veritable a martyr as ever entered bleedinginto heaven. The uproar, however, attracted the notice of a fewneighbors, who put themselves to the trouble of rescuing thelittle heretic, and of conveying him to Pearson's door.
Ilbrahim's bodily harm was severe, but long and careful nursingaccomplished his recovery; the injury done to his sensitivespirit was more serious, though not so visible. Its signs wereprincipally of a negative character, and to be discovered only bythose who had previously known him. His gait was thenceforthslow, even, and unvaried by the sudden bursts of sprightliermotion, which had once corresponded to his overflowing gladness;his countenance was heavier, and its former play of expression,the dance of sunshine reflected from moving water, was destroyedby the cloud over his existence; his notice was attracted in afar less degree by passing events, and he appeared to findgreater difficulty in comprehending what was new to him than at ahappier period. A stranger, founding his judgment upon thesecircumstances, would have said that the dulness of the child'sintellect widely contradicted the promise of his features, butthe secret was in the direction of Ilbrahim's thoughts, whichwere brooding within him when they should naturally have beenwandering abroad. An attempt of Dorothy to revive his formersportiveness was the single occasion on which his quiet demeanoryielded to a violent display of grief; he burst into passionateweeping, and ran and hid himself, for his heart had become somiserably sore that even the hand of kindness tortured it likefire. Sometimes, at night and probably in his dreams, he washeard to cry "Mother! Mother!" as if her place, which a strangerhad supplied while Ilbrahim was happy, admitted of no substitutein his extreme affliction. Perhaps, among the many life-wearywretches then upon the earth, there was not one who combinedinnocence and misery like this poor, broken-hearted infant, sosoon the victim of his own heavenly nature.
While this melancholy change had taken place in Ilbrahim, one ofan earlier origin and of different character had come to itsperfection in his adopted father. The incident with which thistale commences found Pearson in a state of religious dulness, yetmentally disquieted, and longing for a more fervid faith than hepossessed. The first effect of his kindness to Ilbrahim was toproduce a softened feeling, and incipient love for the child'swhole sect; but joined to this, and resulting perhaps fromself-suspicion, was a proud and ostentatious contempt of alltheir tenets and practical extravagances. In the course of muchthought, however, for the subject struggled irresistibly into hismind, the foolishness of the doctrine began to be less evident,and the points which had particularly offended his reason assumedanother aspect, or vanished entirely away. The work within himappeared to go on even while he slept, and that which had been adoubt, when he lay down to rest, would often hold the place of atruth, confirmed by some forgotten demonstration, when herecalled his thoughts in the morning. But while he was thusbecoming assimilated to the enthusiasts, his contempt, in nowisedecreasing towards them, grew very fierce against himself; heimagined, also, that every face of his acquaintance wore a sneer,and that every word addressed to him was a gibe. Such was hisstate of mind at the period of Ilbrahim's misfortune; and theemotions consequent upon that event completed the change, ofwhich the child had been the original instrument.
In the mean time, neither the fierceness of the persecutors, northe infatuation of their victims, had decreased. The dungeonswere never empty; the streets of almost every village echoeddaily with the lash; the life of a woman, whose mild andChristian spirit no cruelty could embitter, had been sacrificed;and more innocent blood was yet to pollute the hands that were sooften raised in prayer. Early after the Restoration, the EnglishQuakers represented to Charles II that a "vein of blood was openin his dominions;" but though the displeasure of the voluptuousking was roused, his interference was not prompt. And now thetale must stride forward over many months, leaving Pearson toencounter ignominy and misfortune; his wife to a firm enduranceof a thousand sorrows; poor Ilbrahim to pine and droop like acankered rosebud; his mother to wander on a mistaken errand,neglectful of the holiest trust which can be committed to awoman.
. . . . . . . . .
A winter evening, a night of storm, had darkened over Pearson'shabitation, and there were no cheerful faces to drive the gloomfrom his broad hearth. The fire, it is true, sent forth a glowingheat and a ruddy light, and large logs, dripping with half-meltedsnow, lay ready to be cast upon the embers. But the apartment wassaddened in its aspect by the absence of much of the homelywealth which had once adorned it; for the exaction of repeatedfines, and his own neglect of temporal affairs, had greatlyimpoverished the owner. And with the furniture of peace, theimplements of war had likewise disappeared; the sword was broken,the helm and cuirass were cast away forever; the soldier had donewith battles, and might not lift so much as his naked hand toguard his head. But the Holy Book remained, and the table onwhich it rested was drawn before the fire, while two of thepersecuted sect sought comfort from its pages.
He who listened, while the other read, was the master of thehouse, now emaciated in form, and altered as to the expressionand healthiness of his countenance; for his mind had dwelt toolong among visionary thoughts, and his body had been worn byimprisonment and stripes. The hale and weather-beaten old man whosat beside him had sustained less injury from a far longer courseof the same mode of life. In person he was tall and dignified,and, which alone would have made him hateful to the Puritans, hisgray locks fell from beneath the broad-brimmed hat, and rested onhis shoulders. As the old man read the sacred page
the snowdrifted against the windows, or eddied in at the crevices of thedoor, while a blast kept laughing in the chimney, and the blazeleaped fiercely up to seek it. And sometimes, when the windstruck the hill at a certain angle, and swept down by the cottageacross the wintry plain, its voice was the most doleful that canbe conceived; it came as if the Past were speaking, as if theDead had contributed each a whisper, as if the Desolation of Ageswere breathed in that one lamenting sound.
The Quaker at length closed the book, retaining however his handbetween the pages which he had been reading, while he lookedsteadfastly at Pearson. The attitude and features of the lattermight have indicated the endurance of bodily pain; he leaned hisforehead on his hands, his teeth were firmly closed, and hisframe was tremulous at intervals with a nervous agitation.
"Friend Tobias," inquired the old man, compassionately, "hastthou found no comfort in these many blessed passages ofScripture?"
"Thy voice has fallen on my ear like a sound afar off andindistinct," replied Pearson without lifting his eyes. "Yea, andwhen I have hearkened carefully the words seemed cold andlifeless, and intended for another and a lesser grief than mine.Remove the book," he added, in a tone of sullen bitterness. "Ihave no part in its consolations, and they do but fret my sorrowthe more."
"Nay, feeble brother, be not as one who hath never known thelight," said the elder Quaker earnestly, but with mildness. "Artthou he that wouldst be content to give all, and endure all, forconscience' sake; desiring even peculiar trials, that thy faithmight be purified and thy heart weaned from worldly desires? Andwilt thou sink beneath an affliction which happens alike to themthat have their portion here below, and to them that lay uptreasure in heaven? Faint not, for thy burden is yet light."
"It is heavy! It is heavier than I can bear!" exclaimed Pearson,with the impatience of a variable spirit. "From my youth upward Ihave been a man marked out for wrath; and year by year, yea, dayafter day, I have endured sorrows such as others know not intheir lifetime. And now I speak not of the love that has beenturned to hatred, the honor to ignominy, the ease andplentifulness of all things to danger, want, and nakedness. Allthis I could have borne, and counted myself blessed. But when myheart was desolate with many losses I fixed it upon the child ofa stranger, and he became dearer to me than all my buried ones;and now he too must die as if my love were poison. Verily, I aman accursed man, and I will lay me down in the dust and lift upmy head no more."
"Thou sinnest, brother, but it is not for me to rebuke thee; forI also have had my hours of darkness, wherein I have murmuredagainst the cross," said the old Quaker. He continued, perhaps inthe hope of distracting his companion's thoughts from his ownsorrows. "Even of late was the light obscured within me, when themen of blood had banished me on pain of death, and the constablesled me onward from village to village towards the wilderness. Astrong and cruel hand was wielding the knotted cords; they sunkdeep into the flesh, and thou mightst have tracked every reel andtotter of my footsteps by the blood that followed. As we wenton--"
"Have I not borne all this; and have I murmured?" interruptedPearson impatiently.
"Nay, friend but hear me," continued the other. "As we journeyedon, night darkened on our path, so that no man could see the rageof the persecutors or the constancy of my endurance, thoughHeaven forbid that I should glory therein. The lights began toglimmer in the cottage windows, and I could discern the inmatesas they gathered in comfort and security every man with his wifeand children by their own evening hearth. At length we came to atract of fertile land; in the dim light, the forest was notvisible around it; and behold! there was a straw-thatcheddwelling which bore the very aspect of my home, far over the wildocean, far in our own England. Then came bitter thoughts upon me;yea, remembrances that were like death to my soul. The happinessof my early days was painted to me; the disquiet of my manhood,the altered faith of my declining years. I remembered how I hadbeen moved to go forth a wanderer when my daughter, the youngest,the dearest of my flock, lay on her dying bed, and--"
"Couldst thou obey the command at such a moment?" exclaimedPearson, shuddering.
"Yea, yea," replied the old man hurriedly. "I was kneeling by herbedside when the voice spoke loud within me; but immediately Irose, and took my staff, and gat me gone. Oh! that it werepermitted me to forget her woful look when I thus withdrew myarm, and left her journeying through the dark valley alone! forher soul was faint, and she had leaned upon my prayers. Now inthat night of horror I was assailed by the thought that I hadbeen an erring Christian and a cruel parent; yea, even mydaughter, with her pale, dying features, seemed to stand by meand whisper, 'Father, you are deceived; go home and shelter yourgray head.' O Thou, to whom I have looked in my farthestwanderings," continued the Quaker, raising his agitated eyes toheaven, "inflict not upon the bloodiest of our persecutors theunmitigated agony of my soul, when I believed that all I had doneand suffered for Thee was at the instigation of a mocking fiend!But I yielded not; I knelt down and wrestled with the tempter,while the scourge bit more fiercely into the flesh. My prayer washeard, and I went on in peace and joy towards the wilderness."
The old man, though his fanaticism had generally all the calmnessof reason, was deeply moved while reciting this tale; and hisunwonted emotion seemed to rebuke and keep down that of hiscompanion. They sat in silence, with their faces to the fire,imagining, perhaps, in its red embers new scenes of persecutionyet to be encountered. The snow still drifted hard against thewindows, and sometimes, as the blaze of the logs had graduallysunk, came down the spacious chimney and hissed upon the hearth.A cautious footstep might now and then be heard in a neighboringapartment, and the sound invariably drew the eyes of both Quakersto the door which led thither. When a fierce and riotous gust ofwind had led his thoughts, by a natural association, to homelesstravellers on such a night, Pearson resumed the conversation.
"I have well-nigh sunk under my own share of this trial,"observed he, sighing heavily; "yet I would that it might bedoubled to me, if so the child's mother could be spared. Herwounds have been deep and many, but this will be the sorest ofall."
"Fear not for Catharine," replied the old Quaker, "for I knowthat valiant woman, and have seen how she can bear the cross. Amother's heart, indeed, is strong in her, and may seem to contendmightily with her faith; but soon she will stand up and givethanks that her son has been thus early an accepted sacrifice.The boy hath done his work, and she will feel that he is takenhence in kindness both to him and her. Blessed, blessed are theythat with so little suffering can enter into peace!"
The fitful rush of the wind was now disturbed by a portentoussound; it was a quick and heavy knocking at the outer door.Pearson's wan countenance grew paler, for many a visit ofpersecution had taught him what to dread; the old man, on theother hand, stood up erect, and his glance was firm as that ofthe tried soldier who awaits his enemy.
"The men of blood have come to seek me," he observed withcalmness. "They have heard how I was moved to return frombanishment; and now am I to be led to prison, and thence todeath. It is an end I have long looked for. I will open untothem, lest they say, 'Lo, he feareth!'"
"Nay, I will present myself before them," said Pearson, withrecovered fortitude. "It may be that they seek me alone, and knownot that thou abidest with me."
"Let us go boldly, both one and the other," rejoined hiscompanion. "It is not fitting that thou or I should shrink."
They therefore proceeded through the entry to the door, whichthey opened, bidding the applicant "Come in, in God's name!" Afurious blast of wind drove the storm into their faces, andextinguished the lamp; they had barely time to discern a figure,so white from head to foot with the drifted snow that it seemedlike Winter's self, come in human shape, to seek refuge from itsown desolation.
"Enter, friend, and do thy errand, be it what it may," saidPearson. "It must needs be pressing, since thou comest on such abitter night."
"Peace be with this household," said the stranger, when theystood on the floor of the inner apartment.
"Catharine, blessed woman!" exclaimed the old man, "art thou cometo this darkened land again? art thou come to bear a valianttestimony as in former years? The scourge hath not prevailedagainst thee, and from the dungeon hast thou come forthtriumphant; but strengthen, strengthen now thy heart, Catharine,for Heaven will prove thee yet this once, ere thou go to thyreward."
"Rejoice, friends!" she replied. "Thou who hast long been of ourpeople, and thou whom a little child hath led to us, rejoice! Lo!I come, the messenger of glad tidings, for the day of persecutionis overpast. The heart of the king, even Charles, hath been movedin gentleness towards us, and he hath sent forth his letters tostay the hands of the men of blood. A ship's company of ourfriends hath arrived at yonder town, and I also sailed joyfullyamong them."
As Catharine spoke, her eyes were roaming about the room, insearch of him for whose sake security was dear to her. Pearsonmade a silent appeal to the old man, nor did the latter shrinkfrom the painful task assigned him.
"Sister," he began, in a softened yet perfectly calm tone, "thoutellest us of His love, manifested in temporal good; and now mustwe speak to thee of that selfsame love, displayed in chastenings.Hitherto, Catharine, thou hast been as one journeying in adarksome and difficult path, and leading an infant by the hand;fain wouldst thou have looked heavenward continually, but stillthe cares of that little child have drawn thine eyes and thyaffections to the earth. Sister! go on rejoicing, for histottering footsteps shall impede thine own no more."
But the unhappy mother was not thus to be consoled; she shooklike a leaf, she turned white as the very snow that hung driftedinto her hair. The firm old man extended his hand and held herup, keeping his eye upon hers, as if to repress any outbreak ofpassion.
"I am a woman, I am but a woman; will He try me above mystrength?" said Catharine very quickly, and almost in a whisper."I have been wounded sore; I have suffered much; many things inthe body; many in the mind; crucified in myself, and in them thatwere dearest to me. Surely," added she, with a long shudder, "Hehath spared me in this one thing." She broke forth with suddenand irrepressible violence. "Tell me, man of cold heart, what hasGod done to me? Hath He cast me down, never to rise again? HathHe crushed my very heart in his hand? And thou, to whom Icommitted my child, how hast thou fulfilled thy trust? Give meback the boy, well, sound, alive, alive; or earth and Heavenshall avenge me!"
The agonized shriek of Catharine was answered by the faint, thevery faint, voice of a child.
On this day it had become evident to Pearson, to his aged guest,and to Dorothy, that Ilbrahim's brief and troubled pilgrimagedrew near its close. The two former would willingly have remainedby him, to make use of the prayers and pious discourses whichthey deemed appropriate to the time, and which, if they beimpotent as to the departing traveller's reception in the worldwhither he goes, may at least sustain him in bidding adieu toearth. But though Ilbrahim uttered no complaint, he was disturbedby the faces that looked upon him; so that Dorothy's entreaties,and their own conviction that the child's feet might treadheaven's pavement and not soil it, had induced the two Quakers toremove. Ilbrahim then closed his eyes and grew calm, and, exceptfor now and then a kind and low word to his nurse, might havebeen thought to slumber. As nightfall came on, however, and thestorm began to rise, something seemed to trouble the repose ofthe boy's mind, and to render his sense of hearing active andacute. If a passing wind lingered to shake the casement, hestrove to turn his head towards it; if the door jarred to and froupon its hinges, he looked long and anxiously thitherward; if theheavy voice of the old man, as he read the Scriptures, rose but alittle higher, the child almost held his dying breath to listen;if a snow-drift swept by the cottage, with a sound like thetrailing of a garment, Ilbrahim seemed to watch that somevisitant should enter.
But, after a little time, he relinquished whatever secret hopehad agitated him, and with one low, complaining whisper, turnedhis cheek upon the pillow. He then addressed Dorothy with hisusual sweetness, and besought her to draw near him; she did so,and Ilbrahim took her hand in both of his, grasping it with agentle pressure, as if to assure himself that he retained it. Atintervals, and without disturbing the repose of his countenance,a very faint trembling passed over him from head to foot, as if amild but somewhat cool wind had breathed upon him, and made himshiver. As the boy thus led her by the hand, in his quietprogress over the borders of eternity, Dorothy almost imaginedthat she could discern the near, though dim, delightfulness ofthe home he was about to reach; she would not have enticed thelittle wanderer back, though she bemoaned herself that she mustleave him and return. But just when Ilbrahim's feet were pressingon the soil of Paradise he heard a voice behind him, and itrecalled him a few, few paces of the weary path which he hadtravelled. As Dorothy looked upon his features, she perceivedthat their placid expression was again disturbed; her ownthoughts had been so wrapped in him, that all sounds of thestorm, and of human speech, were lost to her; but whenCatharine's shriek pierced through the room, the boy strove toraise himself.
"Friend, she is come! Open unto her!" cried he.
In a moment his mother was kneeling by the bedside; she drewIlbrahim to her bosom, and he nestled there, with no violence ofjoy, but contentedly, as if he were hushing himself to sleep. Helooked into her face, and reading its agony, said, with feebleearnestness, "Mourn not, dearest mother. I am happy now." Andwith these words the gentle boy was dead.
. . . . . . . . .
The king's mandate to stay the New England persecutors waseffectual in preventing further martyrdoms; but the colonialauthorities, trusting in the remoteness of their situation, andperhaps in the supposed instability of the royal government,shortly renewed their severities in all other respects.Catharine's fanaticism had become wilder by the sundering of allhuman ties; and wherever a scourge was lifted there was she toreceive the blow, and whenever a dungeon was unbarred thither shecame, to cast herself upon the floor. But in process of time amore Christian spirit--a spirit of forbearance, though not ofcordiality or approbation--began to pervade the land in regard tothe persecuted sect. And then, when the rigid old Pilgrims eyedher rather in pity than in wrath; when the matrons fed her withthe fragments of their children's food, and offered her a lodgingon a hard and lowly bed; when no little crowd of schoolboys lefttheir sports to cast stones after the roving enthusiast; then didCatharine return to Pearson's dwelling and made that her home.
As if Ilbrahim's sweetness yet lingered round his ashes; as ifhis gentle spirit came down from heaven to teach his parent atrue religion, her fierce and vindictive nature was softened bythe same griefs which had once irritated it. When the course ofyears had made the features of the unobtrusive mourner familiarin the settlement, she became a subject of not deep, but general,interest; a being on whom the otherwise superfluous sympathies ofall might be bestowed. Every one spoke of her with that degree ofpity which it is pleasant to experience; every one was ready todo her the little kindnesses which are not costly, yet manifestgood will and when at last she died, a long train of her oncebitter persecutors followed her, with decent sadness and tearsthat were not painful, to her place by Ilbrahim's green andsunken grave.
Twice-Told Tales Page 5