Title: The Salem Belle: A Tale of 1692
Author: Wheelwright, Ebenezer
Language: English
As this book started as an ASCII text book there are no pictures available.


*** Start of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "The Salem Belle: A Tale of 1692" ***


Libraries.)



+-------------------------------------------------+
|Transcriber's note:                              |
|                                                 |
|Obvious typographic errors have been corrected.  |
|                                                 |
+-------------------------------------------------+


THE SALEM BELLE:


A Tale of 1692.


BOSTON:

TAPPAN & DENNET,

114 Washington Street.

1842.


Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1842, by
TAPPAN & DENNET,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of
Massachusetts.


{ Printed by S. N. Dickinson, }
{   52 Washington Street.     }



INTRODUCTION.


The following letter addressed to the author, will explain the
circumstances which led to the publication of this little work.


     Cumberland County, Va., July, 1841.

     DEAR SIR:

     In compliance with your request, I now send you a manuscript which
     contains all the material circumstances of a remarkable legend,
     founded on the singular events of 1692. The original chronicle
     is lost, but its general features were strongly impressed on
     my memory, and I committed them to writing, some years since,
     and very soon after the discovery that the first manuscript
     was missing. I hope you will be able to make such use of these
     materials, as shall expose the danger of popular delusions, and
     guard the public mind against their recurrence. It is too late to
     revive the folly of witchcraft, but other follies are pressing on
     the community,--fanaticism in various ways is moulding the public
     feeling into unnatural shapes, and shadowing forth a train of
     undefined evils, whose forms of mischief are yet to be developed.
     In this state of things, our true wisdom is to take counsel of
     the past, and not suffer ourselves to be led astray by bold and
     startling theories, which can only waste the mental energies,
     and make shipwreck of the mind itself on some fatal rock of
     superstition or infidelity.

     It is an age of boasted liberty and light, but it may well be
     doubted whether these high pretensions are any powerful defence
     against popular mistakes. It often happens that the moral plague
     spot is first seen in the walks of science. It was so in the days
     which this manuscript commemorates: men renowned for talents and
     learning gave countenance to a delusion which swept over the land,
     and will be known in all coming ages by its track of blood and
     death.

     I am not opposed to innovations upon any vicious principle or
     habit whatsoever. I have no respect for any venerable theory,
     unless its claims are supported by the Bible and common sense; but
     how often is that noble edifice of Truth, which the Bible reveals
     to our eye, deformed by the additions and inventions of men! The
     Catholic church has for ages thrown up its battlements and towers
     on the heavenly structure; but these imagined ornaments have only
     marred its beauty, and hidden its real grandeur from the eye.
     Other sects have attempted to improve upon the divine Architect;
     and thus it has happened that the cumbrous scaffolding has fallen,
     and buried multitudes in its ruins. But if this Temple had been
     permitted to stand in its own native simplicity, its perfect
     symmetry, its unrivalled strength and glory, not one of the
     countless millions who have sought its mysteries would have thus
     miserably perished.

     The elements of delusion always exist in the human mind. Sometimes
     they slumber for years, and then break forth with volcanic energy,
     spreading ruin and desolation in their path. Even now the distant
     roar of these terrible agents comes with confused and ominous
     sound on the ear. What form of mischief they will assume is among
     the mysteries of the future;--that desolation will follow in
     their train, no one can doubt; that they will purify the moral
     atmosphere, and throw up mighty land-marks as guides to future
     ages, is equally certain; the evil or good which shall be the
     final result, depends, under Providence, on the measure of wisdom
     we may gather from the lessons of the past.

     With sincere regard,

     Yours truly,

     J. N. L.


The foregoing letter speaks for itself; and in conformity to the
writer's suggestions, we shall now introduce to our readers the new
scenes and hitherto unknown actors in that fatal tragedy, which stains
so deeply the history of New England. Follies equally great with those
of the witchcraft delusion may yet infest a land as enlightened and
civilized as ours; and we cannot agree with our friend in the belief
that it is even now too late to revive the same superstition, though
its madness may not, as then, terminate in blood. Not more than twelve
years since, this same delusion existed in a neighboring state, and
within a few miles of its metropolis; numbers visited the spot, and to
this day believe that invisible and mysterious agencies controlled the
movements of individuals and families.

It is the object of the following pages to hold up the beacons of the
past, and in this connection to illustrate the social condition, the
habits, manners, and general state of New England, in these early days
of its history. We love to contemplate the piety and simplicity, while
we deplore the superstition of those times. Much of the former still
remains to challenge our admiration and excite our gratitude; the
latter, we trust, is passing away. Our fathers were not faultless, but
as a community, a nobler race was never seen on the globe: they were
indeed in some degree superstitious and intolerant, but far less so
than even the brilliant circles of wealth and fashion they left behind,
in their father land; and it will be well for their sons, if they do
not stumble over worse delusions, and fall into more fatal errors, than
those of their primitive ancestors.



THE SALEM BELLE.



CHAPTER FIRST.


That beautiful spot, now known as Mount Auburn, was formerly covered
by a forest, which in the early days of New England was the scene of
many a startling incident and wild adventure; the wolf howled in its
thickets, and the wild cat issuing from its borders, found an easy
prey among the flocks of the neighboring farmers: on this account, the
utmost skill and energy of the colonists were often taxed, to save
their property from pillage and destruction. The young men of those
times were bold and expert in the chase, and stimulated by rewards
offered by the colony, they often pursued their game many miles from
Boston, and seldom returned without trophies of their skill and
success. In this way, the vicinity of the town was soon cleared of
these scourges of newer and less populous settlements. At the period of
our narrative, however, the race of wild animals was not extinct, and
the chase was kept up as one of the most agreeable and salutary sports
which the austerity of those days would permit.

It was a fine evening in September, 1691, when two young men, who
had been engaged all day with a company of sportsmen, were returning
leisurely home on horseback. They were both members of Harvard college,
room mates and intimate friends. They lingered a mile or two behind
their associates, and though travelling after dark was not very safe in
those days, yet the beauty of the evening tempted them to loiter, and
possibly they were not unwilling to encounter some little adventure,
to make up for a dull and unsuccessful chase. At any rate, their
conversation was sufficiently interesting to detain them awhile on the
road.

'Have you heard from your cousin Mary of late?' said James Lyford to
his companion.

'Why do you ask that question? I have no such cousin as you refer to,'
replied his friend.

'I have heard you call her cousin Mary,' said James, 'and it was fair
to judge from your manner of speaking, that she bore this relation to
you.'

'Cousin,' replied Walter, 'is a name that belongs to every body or
nobody, as the case may be. It is a very convenient term, and affords
a good house to shelter in, when you are bored with questions. I have
forty such cousins as Mary.'

'Then you have forty such houses to shelter in,' said Lyford. 'Verily,
Walter, you will have no want of inns on the road to matrimony.'

'Forty inns are none too many for a road that promises to be so long,
as the one you think I am travelling. To be serious, Lyford, I wish
you would let me alone about Mary. She is beautiful and good, but I
dare not marry in this Puritan land. I must not reside here; and much
as I love Mary Graham, I can never take her to the lighter habits and
frivolous scenes of licentious France. You are aware that my parents
have left Virginia for Paris; that city must be my home. I must grapple
with its temptations, perhaps fall under their power; but duty, honor,
nay love itself forbid me to take Mary to its blighting influences.
But why talk of such subjects? I am but twenty-one years old and this
passion of love, the wise heads say, is not to be depended on; my own
feelings may change. And now, Lyford, you have the reasons why Mary
Graham must still be my cousin.'

'You speak like a philosopher, nay like a Christian too. I hope your
practice will correspond with your precepts, and that you will be
careful not to overact the cousin, in your intercourse with Mary. If
the cousin in speech becomes the lover in practice and example, it may
wake a responsive affection in her own heart, and if so, she cannot
quench it, as you may, among the gayeties of Paris. It may fade the
bloom on her cheek and quench the light in her eye; but it cannot, like
yours, be overcome by excitement abroad, or change at home.'

'Your remarks are very just,' said Walter; 'but why speak in this tone
of warning? think you, Lyford, I would trifle with her feelings? I have
no evidence that she returns my love; and do you pretend to see ought
that is reprehensible in my conduct?'

'Yes, Walter; and if your purposes are not serious in the matter, you
ought not to persist in those attentions, which clearly indicate your
love to her, and may produce similar feelings on her part. You deceive
yourself in this affair, and, it may be, you are deceiving her also.
Love is always in advance of the judgment, and you speak like one
little acquainted with its snares.'

'And what right have you,' replied Walter, 'to catechise me after this
fashion? It is one of your worst faults, Lyford, that you see every
thing in a dark and suspicious form. As to Mary, she never suspected me
of anything but friendship and good will. She does not love me. Would
to heaven she did! Were it not for the fatal dislike of my parents to
this Puritan race, I would rather live with Mary Graham on a mountain
fastness, or in the solitude of the desert, than to occupy, without
her, the throne of England or France; but my filial duties interpose,
and the stern demands of such parents as mine must not be disregarded.'

'Your purposes on this point must be settled,' said Lyford, 'and I must
catechise you till they are. I know not that Mary loves you. I hope she
never will, until you are so fully sensible of her value and your duty,
as to consult her interests in the case, as much at least as your own.
If you seek to gratify your vanity, by securing her love, when the
obstacles to your union are not to be overcome; then your principles
are not firm enough for me, and your friendship is no longer of any
value.'

'Ought I to deny myself the pleasure of her society,' returned Walter,
'because the severity of Puritan habits imposes so many restraints, and
is so rigid in its inquiries, and exact in its demands? I hope this
people, in the march of improvement, will learn to be a little more
liberal. You are too severe yourself, Lyford, and all the innocent
gayeties of life look to you, as so many clouds between us and heaven.'

'Religion is not severe in her demands,' said Lyford, 'and if she
appears so to you, Walter, it is because you invest her with false
attributes, and view her through a false medium. Mary Graham is a
sincere Christian; her cheerfulness of character you will readily
admit; it is a thing of nature, and never runs into excess. She has
often had occasion to rebuke the frivolous and turn back the current of
levity and folly, and she never shrinks from her duty in this respect,
as you well know. I should be sorry to believe any one could command
her love, who is not governed by a principle of true religion; and
I must add, Walter, if you fail in this point, I hope you will never
possess her love.'

'Whence, Lyford, pray tell me, whence this strange interest on
your part in Mary? do you mean to stand between us and tell her I
am unworthy of her love? You well know I believe in the reality of
religion, and reverence it too; you know my character, and cannot
suspect me of dishonor. What does all this mean?'

'I mean to put you on your guard, Walter. I can only repeat what I have
already said, that your present position and prospects do not warrant
you in lavishing upon Mary so many proofs of your love. The course you
are pursuing is unjust to her and unjust to yourself. I think you now
understand me.'

'I do not understand,' said Walter, 'by what right you prescribe my
duties, and undertake to regulate my social intercourse. It would seem
to me, to be more wise to mind your own affairs, and let mine alone.'

'And why should I let yours alone, when they interfere with mine? Is it
your privilege alone, Walter, to love Mary? Why may I not love her as
well as you? She is not less the object of my regard than yours. Mary
Graham is more dear to me than I can express. There is no one on earth
I love so well. Moreover, she returns my love, and of this I can give
you the most unequivocal proofs.'

'Now, I have it,' replied the indignant Walter; 'you mean to supplant
me in Mary's love, and all this parade of friendship and religion is
a mere artifice to cover your own selfish designs. Lyford, you are
playing the hypocrite and the villain.'

'Tell me not thus,' said Lyford calmly. 'Much as I love Mary, I shall
not stand in your way. Could I see, Walter, that to all your other
virtues, you added that of sincere piety towards God, I should rejoice
to see you together at the nuptial altar, and my prayers would go up
with yours, that it might be a blessed union.'

'I do not understand you, Lyford: you say I must desist from my
attentions to Mary, till my purposes are settled. When I ask why
you interfere, you tell me, it is on account of your own love, and
then, with strange inconsistency, you add, that, if I was a sincere
Christian, you would rejoice in our union. Why do you thus perplex and
mislead me?'

'All I have said is true, Walter: the lady you have known by the
name of Mary Graham, is the beloved sister of your friend Lyford. It
must remain a secret, and you must, on no account, divulge it. Do you
now wonder at my love? do you object to my counsels and cautions?
This dear sister is not the relative of Mr. Ellerson, with whom she
resides. She is my only sister, the grand-child of Gen. Goffe, and was
the little companion and solace of his last days. At his death, it was
deemed expedient that, under this assumed name, she should reside with
her friends at Salem. You have now the cause of my suggestions and
warnings. Will you not say they are reasonable and right?'

'You have indeed opened my eyes. Pardon me, oh Lyford! that angry burst
of passion which denounced my best friend. It was love to your sister
that prompted my wrath; and I must have the forgiveness of her brother,
before I can quietly rest.'

'It is forgiven,' said Lyford, seizing the hand of his friend, and
together, in silence and tears, they dismounted at the college gate and
entered the hall just at the commencement of evening prayers.



CHAPTER SECOND.


Walter Strale was of German descent; his parents, as we have seen,
resided for a time in Virginia, and it was during this period that
Walter was born. When he was about fourteen years of age, his father
determined to remove to France, and establish a mercantile house in
Paris. Mr. Strale, however, was unwilling to educate his son in that
gay metropolis; and though by no means strict in matters of religion,
he felt a deep solicitude that the morals of his child might be
preserved. It was at one time his purpose to leave him in Virginia,
among some highly valued and judicious friends; but as the means of
education were very imperfect in that region, he wisely determined
to send him to Boston, where he knew his studies would be carefully
superintended, and his morals effectually guarded.

It was difficult, after all, to understand fully the motives of Mr.
Strale, in sending his son to so rigid a school of morals. He was a
high churchman, and had a thorough contempt for what he called the
superstitions and austerities of the Puritans. It is probable the
extremely volatile temper of Walter made it necessary to place him
under careful restraints and a rigid discipline, and Mr. Strale, who
was a man of excellent sense, perceiving the advantages of a New
England education, was willing, for the sake of its fidelity, to
overlook its seeming bigotry and austerity; for with all his contempt
for the Puritan sect, he was ready to acknowledge, that on the score of
integrity and good morals, no people on earth could rival them.

On the morning of the twenty-fourth of June, 1685, Walter embarked at
James River, on board the _Sea Gull_, a beautiful schooner, under the
command of Capt. Wing, who was a shrewd trader, as well as a skilful
seaman, and had for some time past kept up a regular intercourse
between Virginia and the New England colonies. He was of course well
known to Mr. Strale, who was entirely satisfied in committing Walter
to his care. Mrs. Strale was careful to furnish, her son with every
convenience and luxury which maternal care could provide, and his
father sent with him a negro servant, named Pompey, the most faithful
of all his domestics, and who might in an important sense be called the
steward of his house: he presided over sundry departments of domestic
economy, and no one on the plantation was more jealous of his rights,
or displayed in a higher degree, the pride and authority of station;
yet Pompey professed to be a thorough democrat, and insisted that
all men were born free and equal: he could never solve the problems
and mathematics of slavery, yet as he required the strict obedience
of those under his control, he thought it no more than right to be
submissive, in his turn, to the mandates and discipline of his master.

Pompey's theory of universal liberty exposed him to much censure from
his fellow slaves, for he was in fact a tyrant on as large a scale
as circumstances would permit. Whenever he had a chance to exercise
his love of power, Pompey assumed the kingly prerogative, and claimed
for his opinions the supremacy of law; if any one questioned his
authority, or chose to plead his natural rights, Pompey assured him
that democracy always consulted the general good, and as power must
reside somewhere, it was natural to suppose that he who possessed it
knew best how and when it was proper to exercise it.

There was another circumstance which gave Pompey a little extra
consequence: in consideration of his fidelity, he was assured that if
he continued faithful till Master Walter was educated, he should then
receive his freedom. This period was now approaching, and he thought
it no harm to take a little of his future liberty in advance; but he
often misjudged in regard to the extent of his privilege, and was of
course subjected to some slight rebukes, which occasionally left marks
on his person, not at all to his credit. If there was any thing to
which Pompey had a mortal aversion, it was to the cane or the lash:
not, as he said, that he minded the pain,--but they always disfigured a
gentleman, and his freedom would not be worth having, if he carried on
his person such tokens of his vassalage and debasement.

The first impressions of a sea life are uniformly disagreeable. The
pleasant dreams which gather over the mind, in its views of distant
countries, changing latitudes, and the thousand forms of beauty which
flit through the air, or skim over the water, are dispelled by a
single hour's experience, and perish at the first touches of reality.
It was so with Strale. He had no proper notion of the unsettled life
of a sailor: the splendid visions which hung over the future, were
soon scattered by the fatal sea-sickness, and the retreating phantoms
thronged around the scenes of home, and invested every locality with
the same beauty which at first beckoned him away; but there was no hope
of return: the fine southern breezes were wafting him to a strange
land, of which he had few correct notions, and whose customs and
habits, however repugnant to his feelings, must be adopted as his own.

For two days our little hero was struggling with all the demons of
sea-sickness, homesickness, and the remembrances of past enjoyments;
but his mind was too buoyant to continue long under this depression. On
the third day he appeared on deck; and as the graceful schooner with
fine breezes and under a cloud of canvass was gliding on her path, the
bright and the beautiful again adorned the prospect, and restored the
pleasures which had been so suddenly and rudely dispersed. He was now
able to climb the mast, and take his post on its highest elevation.
Walter was always on the look-out for adventure, and the novelties of
the sea began to occupy his mind, and invest the objects around him
with unwonted attractions. Moreover, Capt. Wing, like other seamen,
was graphic in his descriptions of hair-breadth escapes, and was never
at a loss for some real or invented tale of wonders. This was an
unfailing source of amusement, and Walter listened to his narratives
with enthusiasm and delight: he longed for some experience in the same
school; he wished to be familiar with dangers, to conquer whatever
element might oppose him, and to be in all respects the master of his
own destiny.

'There is no character like that of a sailor, Walter,' said Capt. Wing,
as they were sitting together near the companion-way, after dinner; 'he
is a cook, a seamstress, a washwoman, a gentleman, a philosopher, and
an astronomer.'

'You judge from your own crew,' said Walter, 'for you have trained
them to all these different characters; but as to the mass of seamen,
you might safely add, they are spendthrifts, drunkards, and fools.'

'You are an ignorant boy, Strale. Do you not know there are as many
spendthrifts, rowdies, and scoundrels, on shore, in proportion to their
numbers, as on the sea? They have a better chance to keep out of sight,
and there is a little more refinement in their vices; but after all,
the sailor has more good qualities to counterbalance his bad ones:
he is grievously slandered by all sorts of men; as a body they are
faithful, obedient, patient and generous, and when you take into view
their sufferings and temptations, it is wonderful they do so well.'

'The name of a sailor was once full of terror to me,' returned Walter,
'for in every narrative of piracy I have read, they are fearful agents,
and seem to commit murder with as little scrapie as if it were lawful
business.'

'So you have judged of the sailor's character from the worst portraits
you can find. This is not fair, Walter: if you take this method with
landsmen, you will dread them as much as you do the sailor. What do
you think of those land pirates, who decoy seamen into their dens of
wickedness, and then turn them houseless and penniless upon the world?
There are good and bad in all classes: when you are older, you will do
justice to the sailor.'

'I would do it now, Capt. Wing. My judgment was hasty and my language
rash; my observation must be more extended before I can be a competent
judge in this matter; but in the variety of character you have given
the sailor, you have placed things so much at opposites, that I must
ask you to unriddle the paradox.'

'The necessities of the sailor,' returned Capt. Wing, 'have made
him a little of every thing. You can well enough understand why he
acts the tailor or the cook, but you cannot connect these humble
offices with the higher qualities of the gentleman and philosopher.
Now here is Le Moine--our French steward; no one can be more skilful
in his office, and yet that lad can tell you the name of every
prominent constellation, and with the proper instruments he can
measure his latitude with unfailing accuracy. The same is true of
many other seamen, upon whom a careless observer might turn an eye of
indifference or contempt. But look, Walter! the clouds are heaving up
in the west; we shall have a thunder squall, and you will now see how
the Sea Gull dances on the water. That is the black flag,' continued
Wing, addressing Roberts, the mate; 'there are pirates in the clouds
as well as on the water, and old Neptune gets all the plunder; but the
wind is fair, and we can run half an hour before we are overhauled.'

'It grows dark already, and the wind lulls,' said Roberts; 'this
sky-scraper will board us directly.'

'Let him come,' said Wing; 'he is one of my old acquaintance, but his
dress is darker than usual, and he looks more rough and surly than is
his wont.'

The wind had now died away, and there was a perfect calm on the water;
the Sea Gull was flapping her wings, but had no onward motion. In a
few moments the cloud suddenly expanded, and stretched a curtain of
terrific blackness from the western limit of the horizon to the extreme
north; the air was now excessively sultry, and an ominous silence and
gloom hung over the water; it was presently interrupted by a sharp
flash of lightning, followed by a deafening peal of thunder. 'Get up
the chain, Mr. Roberts,' said Wing; 'the lightning will soon be in
chase of us, and we must throw it overboard.' The chain was instantly
run up to the mast head, and its lower extremity hung over the
tafferel; the sails were furled, except the foresail, which was closely
reefed, and under a light breeze the schooner again made some headway.

The whole atmosphere was now veiled in blackness, and as if conscious
that some terrible convulsion was at hand, the crew of the schooner
stood at their posts in perfect silence, while Capt. Wing paced the
deck, with that hurried and tremulous motion, which indicated the
anxiety that oppressed him. A few drops of rain now fell on the deck
and the surrounding ocean. Another and more vivid gleam of lightning,
followed by rapid and still fiercer flashes, announced that the crisis
was at hand. The next moment the little Sea Gull was enveloped in a
blaze of lurid fire, and she staggered under a shock, which but for the
chain at the mast head, would have sent her to the bottom; at the same
moment, the roar of the hurricane was heard in the distance, and before
the panic occasioned by the lightning had subsided, the foresail was
torn from the bolt ropes, and scattered in shreds upon the sea,--and
in a cloud of tempest and foam, the Sea Gull was rushing through the
water, at the rate of ten knots per hour. The sea and sky were now
mingled together in wild and terrible uproar; the constant blaze of
lightning, the rapid peals of thunder, the trembling and creaking of
the schooner as she dashed on her way, presented a scene which startled
and overawed even her daring and experienced commander. But the crisis
was soon past, and in the course of forty minutes the violence of the
squall was over, and before sunset the Sea Gull, with no other damage
than the loss of her foresail, was gliding over the water, with a
pleasant breeze from the south.

'I am willing to grapple with anything but lightning,' said Wing,
'thanks to the chain we sent up; but for that, Walter, we should have
slept to night in the ocean.'

'I must go beyond second causes, Capt. Wing, for such a wonderful
deliverance as this; our gratitude is due to a higher Power, and I
would never forget it.'

'A sailor's gratitude, Walter, does not often express itself in words,
but its impulses are not the less strong because they are invisible.'

'They are transient, however,' said Walter, 'and the occasion that
gives them birth is forgotten as a dream. Gratitude must be a steady
principle, and not a blind emotion; its fruits must be visible in the
life.'

'We sailors,' said Wing, 'are not preachers; we do not study the items
of theology; if we did, we should be poor navigators. You are a boy,
Strale, and have seen little of the world; a few more tramps over its
rough surface, and you will think nothing of these narrow escapes.'

Walter did not reply, but resting on the tafferel, and casting his eye
over the fading light of a gorgeous sunset, he traced the beautiful
images of a better land, and breathed an earnest prayer that he might
be fitted to enter at last upon its pure and everlasting felicities.

No other incident of importance occurred, and on the evening of
the third of July, the schooner was moored by the side of a little
island off the harbor of Boston. The boat landed Walter and some of
the crew by the side of a fine rivulet which flowed from the rock.
The quiet evening soon gathered around, and was occupied in grateful
recollections of the past, and bright anticipations of the morrow. The
antiquary may be interested to know that all which remains of that
green spot where Roberts and the young Virginian rambled by moonlight,
may be found in the rocks now called 'the Hardings.'

At sunrise on the following morning, the fourth of July, the Sea Gull
was again under way. The day was fine, with a clear sky and a soft
southern breeze. The schooner glided among the beautiful islands of the
inner harbor, which were then filled with trees, and vocal with the
songs of birds. It was not, as now, covered by vessels of every name
and from every clime, but along its still waters the little galley with
oars, the fisherman's skiff, and now and then the white pinions of some
taller bark, were seen to move over its silence and solitude; neither
did that halo of glory which now circles the birth-day of freedom
kindle the patriot's ardor; nor did the stripes and stars wave on the
green hills, nor the merry peal of bells go up with the rejoicings of
a liberated nation; yet the elements of all this glory were there, and
many a prophetic eye even then discerned its dawn upon the mystic
horizon of the future.

As the vessel approached the town, the eye of Walter roamed in delight
among the varied scenery which adorned the prospect. The islands with
their forests, the bay, the blue mountains on the left, were reposing
in the beauty of the morning, and the youthful fancy of Strale threw
around them a thousand visions of future bliss. On the west the tower
of Harvard Hall rose in the distance, shadowing forth that eminence
and literary fame, which have since adorned that noble institution.
In a few moments, the town with its white edifices, the spires of its
churches, its trees and gardens, which had for some time appeared in
beautiful outline, were displayed in distinct groups and figures; and
Walter, who had till then seen only a few scattered habitations, gazed
with intense gratification on the miniature city, as it stretched its
little outposts, its convenient and spacious wharf, its thirty sail of
merchantmen and coasters, and its eight hundred buildings, with all the
attractions of novelty on his eye.

The beauty of the day, the mild breathings of summer, and the carol
of innumerable birds, were but the emblems of that sublimer glory,
which in after times rested on the birth-day of freedom. The fathers
of those times sleep in the dust. The sons, too, are silent as the
fathers; but on the ears of the third generation the hymn of liberty
poured its strains of gladness, and the name of Washington was borne on
every breeze and enshrined in every patriot's heart. That name will be
revered as long as Virtue herself shall be loved and honored; and in
any future struggle for liberty, his grateful country will interweave
with every fold of her star spangled banner, the beautiful motto:


     'He led the fathers and inspires the sons.'



CHAPTER THIRD.


During the passage of the Sea Gull up the harbor, no one seemed to
enjoy the genial influences of the day more than Pompey: there was
something in the very atmosphere, he said, which gave him life and
freedom, and he blessed the good land where a man might speak his mind
without fear of a cuff or a whip. His fancy revelled in new dreams of
liberty, and his exclamations of delight were so frequent and loud,
that Walter at last sent him below. Presently, however, his head peered
above the companion-way, and on his promise of silence and decorum,
Walter permitted him again to come on deck--but it was all in vain.
Pompey was in too warm a glow to keep still, and becoming once more a
little too garrulous, Capt. Wing seized a rope, but before he had a
chance to apply it, Pompey, who saw his purpose, was up the ratlings
and on the cross-trees, where, although he had a better view of the
blessed land, his raptures soon subsided, and he was enabled to keep
silence long enough to insure his safety when he came down.

The schooner soon reached the wharf, which at that time was the great
depôt of trade and commerce. As Walter passed by the long ranges of
wooden buildings which then occupied the ground, the merry cries of
the market men, the grand display of merchandise, and the bustle of
wagons and carts, formed a scene so full of novelty and attraction,
that he lingered for an hour or more, surveying the different objects
with lively curiosity and interest. Pompey was utterly amazed. 'What
sort of world be this, Massa?' was his exclamation, as he stood at
the termination of King street, from whence, at that time, all the
business part of the town was visible. 'Mind your business, Pompey,'
said Walter, 'and follow me with the luggage; if you stare at this
rate, they will have you up for a vagabond, and with good reason.'
Walter kept on, but in a moment or two, he heard a shout of merriment
and glee, which had the effect of stopping all business within its
circle. Pompey had just met with one of his own color, and when the two
friends rushed together, it caused such an explosion of good nature,
as sent the laugh up and down the street: the idlers came out to gaze,
and a stout drayman, who saw the ludicrous attitude of the two blacks,
tripped them both into the gutter, when Pompey, covered with shame and
choked with dust and passion, rose on his feet and gave the drayman
a violent blow, which nearly felled him to the ground; he was then
seized by an officer and carried to prison on the charge of fighting
in the streets; a serious crime, and one for which the fathers of New
England had provided due punishment, which was usually inflicted in
full measure on the culprit; for the rigid justice of those days was
not often tempered by the mild pleadings of mercy.

Walter saw how the affair was going, and wishing his servant to have
the full benefit of such a lesson, did not choose to interpose, but
directing a porter to take his luggage, he saw Pompey move off to
prison, with no regret that the ridiculous farce, in which he had
acted, was likely to meet its proper rebuke. On his arrival at the
hotel he was provided with suitable lodgings, and spent the remainder
of the day in walking about town, and viewing the various objects of
interest it contained.

The morning of the next day was occupied in visiting some of the
gentlemen of the town, to whom Walter was furnished with letters.
Among these were Mr. Stoughton, Judge Sewall, Rev. Mr. Willard, and
Mr. Winthrop, the latter a distinguished practitioner at the bar. He
was welcomed with the warm hospitality of those days, and assured of
their kind offices and best efforts for his welfare. He related to
Mr. Winthrop the affair in King street, between the two Africans, who
caused an immediate examination of the case before a magistrate, which
resulted in the release of Pompey, who followed his master home. His
dream of liberty had by this time nearly vanished, and the poor negro
was deeply concerned at his disgrace.

'It was a great breach of good manners, Pompey, to make such a noise in
the street and tumble about in the gutter,' said Walter; 'I thought you
intended to act the gentleman.'

'So I did, Massa, and many is the gentleman I have seen in the gutter,
besides me.'

'Very well, he is no gentleman while there, especially if he clamors
and fights as you did. That was too vulgar even for a gentleman's
servant, and I was ashamed to have the public see you had not been
better trained.'

'It is hard to get into jail, Massa, for being so glad to see an old
friend. Is it one of the laws, Massa?'

'It is every where a law, to pick up vagabonds in the gutter,' said
Walter; 'if you put me to this trouble every day, I shall send you back
to Virginia.'

'Right glad to go, Massa; homesick enough,' said Pompey.

'Well, you must get over it, and behave in better fashion for the
future. I am not without hopes, you will learn good manners in due
time. This lesson will help you a little, and so will I, if you will
try to help yourself. I want you now at my lodgings, and will there
show you what you have to do.'

Pompey followed Walter to the inn, in better spirits; for a word of
encouragement always gave him a glow of happiness, and he tossed his
head with a new sense of his importance, as he entered the hotel to
receive the orders and wait upon the movements of his young master.

In a few weeks, Walter was received into the family of Mr. Gardner,
a highly respectable merchant, who was a friend and correspondent of
his father. In this situation he was favored with the best literary
advantages and possessed every facility for social enjoyment. He was
committed to the special care of Mr. Cheever, one of the best teachers
New England has ever produced, and made rapid proficiency in his
studies; in less than two years, he was fully prepared for college;
the usual examination was passed with singular credit, and he entered
Harvard University in the year 1688. The social and moral influences
which had surrounded him in Boston had done much to check his too
volatile disposition, and to inspire him with a high respect for the
consistent and exemplary piety which so much prevailed in those days;
he was freely admitted to the best circles, where elegance without
ostentation, cheerfulness without frivolity, and refinement without the
despotism of fashion, were the natural and graceful ornaments of the
social character.

Walter was not slow in improving the advantages he enjoyed. It is
true, he sometimes thought the bow was bent too long, and that the
demands of religious duty might be somewhat relaxed, yet he had the
good sense to perceive in the state of the community around him,
the best illustration of the excellence and moral force of that
education in which science and religion acted in concert and moulded
the temper and habits by their combined influence. Walter, however,
was not religious in the true sense of the term. His understanding
admitted the excellence of the moral precepts that were taught him,
and his conscience confessed their power. He wanted neither light nor
conviction on the subject, but he had no special love for the strict
requirements of religion and had no experience of its renovating power
on the heart.

We must now pass over the first years of college life, and pursue the
train of incidents up to the period which introduced our narrative.
Walter had attained his senior year in college, and had proceeded
thus far with credit to himself and the esteem and confidence of his
instructors. He had now reached that period when the character is
rapidly developed, and new forms of good or ill are daily stamped
on its features. At the age of twenty years, with a graceful person,
pleasing manners, and confessedly in the highest literary ranks, his
prospects were too flattering to escape the fears of his friends, that
the temptations of life might prove too strong for his principles; but
those fears were groundless. Although every distinction which wealth or
talents could bestow were at his command, yet Strale was never unduly
elated; there was no affectation of superiority, no arrogant assumption
of rank, no pride of distinction. His whole course at Cambridge had
been marked by a strict regard to his moral and social duties. He had
even declined the personal services of Pompey, who was left in the
family of Mr. Gardner, and chose to perform himself the little drudgery
of college rooms, and to live in commons upon the ordinary college
fare. The uniform kindness of his temper, his liberality to his fellow
students, and his strict regard to every point of order and discipline,
procured for him an enviable and well deserved reputation.

It was happy for Strale that among his youthful associates he possessed
such a friend as Lyford. It was still more happy that the female
society to which he was introduced, possessed every moral ornament, as
well as the graces of refinement and good breeding. Among the ladies
of New England he found very much to respect and admire. A scrupulous
regard to the delicacy and dignity of the sex was almost universal,
nor is it to be denied, that in personal attractions and all the truly
valuable ornaments of character, they have not been surpassed by any
succeeding generation.

It is pleasant to call up the beautiful pictures of simplicity and
grace which adorned the dwellings of our ancestors; to look back upon
those groups of maidens, who breathed the air of moral purity, and
bounded in the full tide of health and happiness, over the gardens and
among the forests of this very spot, where the city now spreads its
marts of business, its solid piles of masonry, its 'streets of palaces
and walks of state.' If the beauty of that moral painting was sometimes
marred and defaced, it was as often retouched by many a simple, yet
unconscious artist, and its calm and beautiful outline is still visible
as a blessed vision of the past, and a sure beacon to future eminence
and glory.

It was common among the students of Harvard College in those days,
with the approbation of the faculty, to make frequent visits to Boston
for purposes of social and religious improvement. This practice was
encouraged in the belief that the early habits of the students would
be formed on the best models, and that the moral feeling which then
prevailed, was just the atmosphere in which they should live and
breathe. The elder Mather, at that time President of the College,
was himself a resident of Boston, and in connection with his College
duties, was pastor of a large congregation in town. The students were,
of course, when in Boston, much under his supervision, and any instance
of misconduct would hardly escape the notice of this vigilant guardian
of the public morals.

It was at the house of Mr. Hallam, a gentleman of intelligence and
wealth in town, that Strale first met with the young lady whom we must
still call Miss Graham. She was the intimate friend of Miss Caroline
Hallam, a beautiful and accomplished girl of the same age. The early
friendship they had formed was of a character not readily to be
interrupted, and the interchange of visits between Boston and Salem
was kept up, as often as the circumstances of the two friends would
allow. There was, however, a strongly marked difference between the
two young ladies. Miss Graham was sincere, confiding, and transparent
in her character. Miss Hallam was somewhat vain, unusually gay in her
temper, and strongly inclined to suspicion and jealousy; yet these
points of character were not sufficiently developed, to interrupt the
harmony which had prevailed for several years. In the summer of 1690,
at a small musical party at Mr. Hallam's, Walter was first introduced
to Miss Graham, and the sudden and powerful interest she then acquired
in his affections, had never been subdued. From that time, when Mary
was in town, the house of Mr. Hallam was Walter's chosen resort. His
attentions, however, were cautiously shunned, and while she never
failed in all the forms of politeness, there was a manifest reserve
in her manners, which, though it checked his hopes and increased his
respect and admiration, did not at all diminish his love.

It was not surprising, however, that Mary should feel some interest
in a young gentleman of so many accomplishments, as were possessed
by Strale. But, while she was careful not to betray any special
attachment, or discover to her friends that her affections were at all
involved in the matter, and while perhaps she was herself unconscious
of the power he was gaining over her feelings, the reserve of her
manners gradually softened, and she engaged with lively interest
in that sportive and animated conversation, for which both were
distinguished. But her natural seriousness of manner inclined her
rather to subjects of graver import, and she never concealed the fact
that religion and its kindred themes, were those upon which she most
delighted to dwell. Indeed, this was so obvious to Strale, that he
often regretted that his own heart refused its sympathy with a subject,
which was uppermost in the heart of the object of his love. It was
plain, however, that the acquaintance of the parties was becoming
every day more agreeable, and the general opinion was, that, if the
holy bands of matrimony did not finally unite such kindred tastes and
tempers, no predictions, touching these matters, could ever be trusted
again.

This state of things between the parties continued for about a year,
when it gave occasion for the conversation which Lyford held with
Strale on their return from a hunting excursion. A few days after this,
Walter informed Lyford he had written his father of his attachment to
Mary, and desired permission to make known his feelings, and, if she
did not object, he requested his consent to their future union. This
letter was accompanied by one from Mr. Gardner, in which he assured
Mr. Strale that Miss Graham was every way worth of Walter's love, and
possessed all those graces and accomplishments which would reflect the
highest credit on the family.

This declaration on the part of Strale was entirely satisfactory to
Lyford, and he no longer objected to the occasional intercourse which
had been kept up between the parties. It is not improbable, however,
that Walter was a little in advance of his father's consent, and that
some of those visions, which glittered on his eye, would reflect a
portion of their brilliancy on the mind of Miss Graham. But nothing
was said of a definite character, and the two friends were left to the
pleasure attending the consciousness of mutual love and the occasional
sadness of 'hope deferred.'

Mary Graham was a decided favorite in Boston. Her personal attractions
were surpassed by none, and her manners and conversation were scarcely
rivalled by any of her associates. Yet she was simple and unpretending
in her demeanor; her religious character, from long reflection and
deep conviction, was firm and decided; but she was no enthusiast, and
though even Walter, at times, thought her more precise and severe
than necessary, yet there was a charm of inexpressible beauty,
interwoven with her every movement, a purity of mind and purpose, a
visible communion with things unseen and eternal, which commanded the
unvoluntary homage and respect of all who knew her.

It was not strange that a young lady thus gifted, should have many
admirers, nor that love of equal strength with that of Strale's, should
be kindled in the affections of others. Such was the fact in regard
to Mary, and its consequences will be unfolded in the progress of our
narration. But it is a law of our nature, most beneficent and wise,
that but one response can be given, and, when given in sincerity and
truth, it is done with no divided heart.



CHAPTER FOURTH.


It was a frosty and dark evening, early in the following February, when
Walter and Lyford went into Boston, to meet a party of friends at the
house of Mr. Elliott, a gentleman who had recently come from Europe,
and whose commercial operations were, in future, to be conducted with
England and her American colonies. Mr. Elliott was wealthy, intelligent
and highly respected by all classes. It was deemed a high privilege
among the young gentlemen of the town, to be on visiting terms with
his family. His son, James, was amiable and agreeable, and Miss
Margaret Elliott was a decided belle. The good people of those days
were sometimes annoyed by the style of her dress, which was somewhat
in advance of the prevalent fashions, and was always formed upon the
best London or Paris models, though greatly modified and adapted to
the New England taste. Among the younger maidens, she would frequently
encounter looks of admiration or envy, according to the taste or temper
of the parties. But Miss Elliott insisted she could accommodate herself
no further to the prevalent scruples concerning dress, and as she was
a most amiable girl, condescending and affable to all, her imagined
vanity and love of fashion was generally forgiven.

The large hall of Mr. Elliott's house was brilliantly lighted, and at
seven o'clock the company began to assemble. They were received at the
door by a servant, and the ladies and gentlemen conducted to different
rooms, where the servants assisted in the arrangement of their dresses.
On entering the hall, they were received by Mr. Elliott, who presented
each to Mrs. Elliott, according to the etiquette of the day, and the
parties then dispersed themselves about the room.

When the young gentlemen from Cambridge arrived, the spacious rooms
were nearly filled with guests: the beauty and pride of the town were
present, members of the learned professions, several clergymen with
their families, Governor Stoughton, Judge Sewall and other eminent men
of the day, to whom these hours of recreation were among the greenest
spots in their lives of professional labor and care; but for the
youthful part of the company, these occasions possessed the highest
charm. The morning of life, as yet unclouded by care, and spreading
its pictures of joy on every hill, and crowning even the distant and
snow-clad steeps of old age with a visionary green, was too balmy
and bright to be false, too serene and beautiful to be deformed by
sudden tempest or a threatening sky. So reasons the mind in its early
views of life; such were the hopes and expectations of these young
men and maidens, as they looked through the vista of time. Yet was
there nothing in the nature of these social enjoyments which might not
challenge the scrutiny of even the most rigid and severe. There were no
card tables, no merry dances, nor frivolous games; yet conversation was
sprightly, good humored, and sometimes gay; the interchange of social
courtesies was cordial and sincere, and the mirth of the occasion, if
it might be called such, was neither excessive nor unbecoming.

'You can boast the belle of the flowers to-night,' said James Elliott
to his cousin, Miss Hallam; 'it seems like a rare exotic, and is a
perfect novelty to me; pray tell me where you obtained it.'

'I had it, James,' said Caroline, 'from one of the mountains of the
moon. You know our own supply of flowers in winter is very small.'

'You are dealing in riddles, Miss Hallam. Pray explain: I would like to
know where more might be had.'

'I have told you, James, already: will you never believe me?'

'Hardly ever, Caroline. You are always shutting the door and leaving me
in the dark. It would be civil to give me a lamp, that I might find my
way out.'

'You must get out by moon-light, James. I have you told a plain story,
and if you will not believe me, why, let it go. You believe, every day,
things much less credible.'

At that moment, Miss Graham joined the circle, and James, appealing to
her, said he hoped Miss Hallam would give her the explanation she had
refused to him.

'Why, you must study your map, Mr. Elliott,' said Mary; 'I suppose the
flower, or the plant that produced it, came from Africa.'

'There, James,' said Caroline, 'see how little wit you have! Would you
not thank me, now, to shut you up in the dark, to hide your blushes?'

'No, Caroline, for then I could not see you, and as to the blushes you
speak of, they will help my looks, which are none of the best. Miss
Graham, you have given this little vixen the best of the game: I shall
pay up hereafter.'

So saying, James moved off in tolerable humor, and glad to make
his retreat. He soon joined another group of ladies, and as his
conversation was very agreeable, he seldom found himself without
willing auditors. Moreover, he felt that, on the present occasion, the
honors of his father's house were in a measure confided to him, and the
slight confusion of the incident soon passed away.

The two young ladies he left were joined by another young gentleman
from Cambridge, named Trellison. He had graduated the preceding autumn
with some reputation; his manners were polished; and, except an
occasional harshness of expression, his face was not disagreeable. He
made high professions of religion, and there was a seeming modesty and
sobriety, in his deportment; yet to a practiced eye, he displayed the
tokens of fanaticism and hypocrisy rather than the unequivocal signs
of frankness and sincerity in his religious faith.

'I believe you always worship at the South church, when you are in
town,' said Mr. Trellison, addressing Miss Graham. 'I have never seen
you at the North. Will you go with me to hear Mr. Mather next Sabbath,
by way of variety?'

'My friends,' returned Miss Graham, 'worship at the South church, and
in truth I prefer Mr. Willard's preaching to that of Mr. Mather. He is
a man of singular candor, and his calm and benevolent temper has so
gained my esteem and confidence, that I think his preaching more useful
to me than any other.'

'All this is true of him, and much more; but he is a man who never
believes more than he can help, and is very slow to give credit to
matters of fact. I think this a serious blemish in his character.'

'Some men,' returned Mary, 'believe a great deal too much. Coolness and
caution in all matters of belief are essential to a well balanced mind.
If this be a fault in Mr. Willard, it is certainly a very amiable one.'

'This coolness you speak of, Miss Graham, is a great enemy to prompt
action. I go for energy and decision; without these features the mind
is comparatively powerless, and its great purposes perish in the moment
of their birth.'

'You cannot say this of Mr. Willard,' said Mary; 'his caution tempers
his zeal, but does not suppress it; his piety is not the less ardent
because it is cheerful and unobtrusive.'

'You are quite his eulogist, Miss Graham. I am more inclined to the
fervid zeal of the Mathers, than to the quiet course of Mr. Willard.
Nevertheless, I esteem him highly. But I believe in the power of mighty
impulses to renovate the heart and subdue the evil principle in man.
The heart of man is like a wasted garden, full of unsightly plants
and noxious weeds, and dry and barren trees. When these are burnt up
by the terrors of the Lord, the Sun of righteousness covers it with a
beautiful verdure, and it brings forth the fruits of holiness.'

'I believe, as you do, in a supernatural change of heart,' said Mary;
'but I consider a holy life and a willing obedience to the commands
of God, as the best evidence of his presence and power in the heart;
nor am I sure, that a soil, from which the noxious weed and barren
tree have been rooted out, may not as well bring forth the fruits of
holiness, when the seed are implanted by a divine hand, as if it were
burned over with fire. Nevertheless, there is beauty and truth in your
figure, and it is doubtless a consolation to the true believer, to have
a vivid remembrance of the work of the law on his heart.'

'Those are certainly the most active Christians,' replied Trellison,
'who see the depths of ruin, from which they have been rescued. They
have a clearer view of the danger of their fellow men, and are excited
to greater efforts in their behalf. It appears to me the special design
and tendency of Mr. Mather's preaching is, to awaken this solicitude
and excite to such efforts.'

'The minds of individuals,' returned Miss Graham, 'are affected by
such modes of address, as are best adapted to their peculiar habits
and tempers. Some men are more readily moved by terror, others by the
winning persuasions of the gospel. But in the remarks I have made, do
not, I pray you, think me the enemy of Mr. Mather. I am not, and if I
had not heard him preach, it is quite probable I should go with you
next Sabbath. I admire his talents, and his literary character is
deservedly high. Moreover, he is very agreeable in conversation, and
has entertained me much this very evening.'

At this moment, the summons to the evening's entertainment prevented
the reply of Trellison. In a large room, adjoining the hall, a range of
tables had been laid, and were covered with a rich variety of foreign
luxuries as well as the more substantial products of New England. The
hospitality of those days was not marked by all those nice refinements,
which so often embarrass the social life of the present times; but
it was liberal to profusion, and, though simple in its forms, was
not deficient in a just regard to the proprieties and restraints of
elegant society. Yet there was one feature in the social life of New
England, which constituted its principal charm, and gave it a direction
to the highest and noblest objects of human pursuit. It was a devout
recognition of Providence, at every social meeting, an unembarrassed
and grateful thanksgiving, always expected and offered with becoming
reverence and a grateful sense of obligation.

This interesting service was performed on the present occasion by Mr.
Willard, the accomplished pastor of the South church, and a more
pleasing spectacle is seldom witnessed. Around the tables were the
fathers of the colony, men eminent for learning, for mental vigor, and
above all, for distinguished, consistent and exemplary piety. Mingled
among them, in different groups, were fifty young men and maidens,
blooming in youth, the flower of the province, the first in rank and
manners in the land, all bowing their heads in reverence, while the
evening thanksgiving went up to the Giver of all good and the source of
every blessing. This was a part of that education which has made New
England the glory of all lands. But this glory has passed away from the
brilliant circles of its now splendid metropolis; gifts are received
with no audible response to the Giver; and Religion is too often deemed
a graceless intruder in the walks of wealth and fashion.

The conversation, which had occupied Trellison and Mary, had not
escaped the notice of Strale. From some cause, these two young
gentlemen were not often pleased with each other. The young ladies
insisted that Trellison considered Strale as a rival who could
not easily be supplanted. It was plain that Miss Graham was, in
some measure, the cause of this dislike; yet apart from this, the
characters of the two were so exceedingly different, that little
harmony of feeling could be expected between them. Strale was always
pleasing. Distinguished for frankness and simplicity, his conversation
was vigorous, playful and strongly marked with the characters of truth
and propriety. Trellison was cautious, frequently reserved, with good
manners; but an expression of cunning, and even malignity, would often
cross his countenance, and give to his features, which, in general,
were pleasing, a harsh and disagreeable aspect. He was selfish and
very suspicious of the motives and doings of others, and his bad
temper towards Strale was often manifested by an ambiguous politeness,
throwing off sarcasms, mingled with civility enough to show his own
dexterity, and conceal, in part, the bitter hatred which prompted him.

At the supper table Walter found means to join Miss Graham, and the
conversation, as usual, soon became playful and animated. Several
young ladies gathered round and formed a circle of attraction, which,
wherever it moved, was sure to carry its satellites with it, and
keep up its brilliancy. Trellison who had made unusual efforts to be
agreeable, finding himself unable to break the circle by starting
new topics and diverting the current in his own favor, at last joined
it himself. Soon after, as Walter was passing a glass of wine to
Miss Graham, Trellison's arm, either by design or a sudden change of
position, struck the hand of Strale and overturned the wine upon the
dress of Miss Graham. Trellison stooped to take up the broken pieces,
remarking:

'How unfortunate! what was the matter, Mr. Strale?'

'I ask pardon, Miss Graham,' said Strale; 'wine, they say, is a mocker;
but I would rather its color might grace your cheek than stain your
dress; my hand is not usually unsteady. Perhaps Mr. Trellison can
explain why it is so to-night.'

'I am sorry you think any explanation due from me: what possible
connection could I have with the accident? Mr. Strale, your imputation
is rude and unjust.'

'I know not how it is, Mr. Trellison: some person's arm struck my
hand abruptly, as it seemed to me. I thought it was yours: but if you
disclaim it, I am willing to take back the suspicion, and think it an
accident.'

'Your apology is hardly in season,' said Trellison; 'you had no right
to suppose any one in this room would willingly help you stain a lady's
dress; still less, to point out an individual, in a manner so invidious
and selfish.'

The young ladies, who had been engaged in assisting Miss Graham, now
returned, and before Walter had opportunity to reply, Miss Hallam
remarked to Trellison, that he was a very careless gentleman to molest
a lady's cup-bearer. Strale looked at Trellison, who bore this rebuke
unabashed; but he instantly replied: 'I am sorry you think me so
careless, Miss Hallam; but indeed, I was not aware of any agency in the
matter.'

'It may not have been intentional,' said Miss Hallam: 'it could not
have been, and perhaps I was deceived in supposing it to be you;
nevertheless, I thought it was.'

The conversation was getting a little too grave, and a movement
towards the hall was readily seconded by some of the young ladies, and
the company adjourned to the other room. The impressions which this
conversation made were not of the most agreeable kind; but they soon
passed away, and other topics and amusements restored, at least in
appearance, the harmony which had been so rudely disturbed.

The festivities of an evening party were always closed, in those
days, by devotional exercises; and on the present occasion, they were
performed by the younger Mather, who was now in his early manhood,
and whose vigorous, yet credulous and superstitious mind was destined
to exert a powerful, and we must add, a baleful influence upon the
social condition of the colony. It happened that, as he was about to
read the evening hymn which preceded the closing prayer, the shock of
an earthquake was slightly felt by the company. It was immediately
followed by a rapid and tumultuous sound, like the rattling of heavy
wheels over the pavement. Another shock succeeded, and the house,
for an instant, rocked, as if a sudden whirlwind had passed by. In
a moment, all was hushed, and the awe-stricken party stood like
motionless statues, wrapped in amazement and terror.

The silence, which lasted a moment or two, was broken by Mr. Mather,
who remarked that the providence of God had furnished a theme for
reflection, which was fitted to impress the mind with the instability
of earth and all earthly things. It was a voice of admonition which
could not be disregarded. When pestilence and famine were abroad in
the land, the means of at least temporary relief were possessed. But
when the pillars of the world were moved and its foundations upheaved
by unseen and terrible agents; it was then every earthly refuge was
vain. 'But,' he continued, 'there is one hiding place which, in the
midst of every convulsion, is safe for the believer. Time has not
reached it with his consuming hand; tempests have beat upon it in
vain; pestilence, famine or earthquake can never waste its strength;
it shall survive the ruin of earth, the wreck of planets, and a
dissolving universe. This refuge is the 'Rock of ages;' here are towers
of strength and palaces of hope, built on foundations which rest on
the throne of God. The voice we have just heard is the voice of a
father telling us to hide in these chambers of his grace, 'until the
indignation be overpast;' it is but a louder echo of his mercy, warning
us that earth must pass away with a great noise, and the elements melt
with fervent heat; and, at the same time, assuring us that, though the
mountains depart and the hills be removed, his loving kindness shall
not depart from his people.'

Such was a part of the extempore address, which the interesting
circumstances of the evening called forth. It was followed by a fervent
prayer, and a train of salutary reflections occupied the minds of the
party, as they dispersed to their several homes.



CHAPTER FIFTH.


'What an unfortunate evening we have had!' said Strale to Lyford, on
their return home; 'every thing has gone wrong. Trellison was in the
wrong place, the wine went the wrong way, and the earthquake came at
the wrong time.'

'Hush, Walter; you speak too lightly on this latter point. All the
trifles of the evening vanished from my mind when the earthquake voice
of my Maker spoke to me of a coming judgment, and a crashing world. Why
is it, Walter, that we think so little of our future destiny? Why do we
build our hopes on a world we must leave so soon?'

'I know it is a fitting time to think, James,' said Strale; 'I would
that sensible objects had less effect upon me; but so it is, Lyford,
and I cannot help it. I thought more of my own misfortunes this
evening than any thing else. Even the earthquake scarcely diverted my
thoughts from that unfortunate overthrow, which I verily believe was
caused by Trellison.'

'It is vain and foolish, Walter, to dwell upon such trifles. I am no
enemy, as you well know, to social pleasures, but at such an hour as
this, I am sorry your mind is not better occupied. It is now nearly
midnight, the way is solitary, and its very silence seems to me ominous
and impressive: these leafless trees, all nature hushed and dead, the
voice which has just issued from the groaning earth,--all these speak
to us of our mortality, warn us of the flight of time, and throw around
us the dim figures and solemn images of a coming hereafter.'

'You are superstitious to-night, James. I do not mean to say your views
in the main are not reasonable and right, but there is a tinge of
melancholy in your language and manner, which is hardly natural. I wish
to be as religious as you are, but not quite so grave, for gravity you
know has little to do with my constitution. We are now nearly home,
and when we get there I will converse with you on religion if you wish,
but not exactly in this way.'

At this moment they entered a narrow turn in the road, which was lined
on either side by a dense forest for nearly a mile; the large tangled
bushes formed the only fence, and the way was so nearly open, that any
one coming from the woods might enter it with little obstruction. The
night was extremely dark, and not even a star was visible; the young
travellers, however, were provided with a small lantern, which was a
very important guide in this stage of their walk. A slight rustling
in the woods had once or twice arrested the attention of James, who
remarked that he could hardly account for it at that hour of the night,
and at this season of the year.

'The wind may produce it,' said Strale; 'the imagination may produce
it; and possibly, Lyford, the Salem witches may be dancing about in
the woods. By the way, I wonder Cotton Mather said nothing about these
rumors from Salem; he is just the man to believe them. Do you think it
possible he knows nothing of the story?'

'Very possible, indeed; for it attracts very little notice, and is in
fact very little known. Mr. Mather is inclined to superstition, but I
hardly think he believes in ghosts and witches. I am quite sure his
father would not sanction such folly, and the father and son are not
much inclined to differ in opinion.'

'I have no very high opinion of Cotton Mather. He may be a good man; he
is certainly forcible and impressive in the pulpit; and it is thought
his rising greatness will soon eclipse that of his father; but in my
belief Dr. Mather, if not a greater man, is a far better one, and the
son, with all his eccentric brilliancy, can never rival the father. He
is headstrong, violent, and intolerant. I hope the President will soon
return, and keep his son from meddling with college affairs.'

'He will soon be here,' said Lyford; 'and in my opinion he will come
the messenger of good to these colonies; he will obtain for this
Puritan community from the Prince of Orange, what the bigotry and pride
of the Stuarts would never grant. No man's return to Boston can be so
welcome as that of Dr. Mather.'

The conversation was interrupted by a sound in the woods, resembling
the tread of footsteps among the tangled bushes. Walter proposed to
walk in the direction indicated by the noise, and ascertain if possible
the cause. Lyford, however, objected, and thought it best not to
separate; for a little of the superstition which such circumstances
might readily occasion, had now affected the minds of both, but
particularly that of Lyford. They walked silently along for a moment or
two, when a sudden flash was seen, which was followed by a quick, sharp
report, like that of a rifle, and the rustling of the bushes over the
way indicated that they were torn and rent by a shower of lead. Another
flash succeeded, when a shot struck the hand of Strale, and passed off
into the neighboring woods.

'There are no witches here,' said Strale; 'there is too much cold
lead to come from the gun of a witch; look at my hand, Lyford, and be
thankful as I am it was not my head.'

'This is no time to look at heads or hands,' said Lyford, 'but to
escape the loss of both, if we can'; and he instantly extinguished the
lamp, and suppressing the voice of Walter, who was about to speak, they
moved along as silently as possible, and in half an hour entered the
college gate.

These singular events, following each other so rapidly, made a strong
impression on the minds of both Strale and Lyford. It was impossible
not to connect them in some shape with Trellison, and yet there was a
boldness and audacity in the affair, which was hardly consistent with
his reputation for caution and cunning. It was too late to do any thing
about it that night, and after an examination of the wound of Strale,
which proved very slight, a few simple remedies were applied, and they
retired for such rest as the exciting scenes of the evening might allow.

The next day the story was rife in Cambridge, and a strong excitement
was produced throughout the town. Trellison was at once suspected,
and as his dislike to Strale was well known, a legal investigation
was proposed, and immediately carried into effect; not, however,
without a strong remonstrance from Walter and his friend, who were
disposed to let the affair drop. A warrant was immediately issued for
the apprehension of Trellison, but before it could be served, he was
warned of the movements against him, and advised to make his escape.
This he refused to do, and declared himself ready for immediate trial.
Accordingly, when the officer appeared, he accompanied him to a
magistrate, and the investigation proceeded in regular form.

All the evidence against Trellison was circumstantial, and rested
mainly on two facts; one of these was his inveterate dislike of Strale,
which, with all his caution, he had been unable to conceal; the other
was the very late hour of his return, and his disturbed and agitated
manner, which was remarked by several persons, as soon as he entered
his lodgings. In his defence, he stated very forcibly his objections to
the first branch of evidence, declaring that nothing less than madness
could prompt even an enemy to a kind of revenge which was so rash, and
must recoil so soon on the aggressor. He explained the lateness of his
return by saying that he walked with one of the young ladies for nearly
half an hour before he left Boston, and on taking his leave, he came
home on the public road, and was himself surprised, on his arrival, at
the lateness of the hour.

The magistrate demanded the name of the young lady, as her evidence
might be important in the case.

Trellison replied, that he should give it with reluctance, but would
do it, if the requirement was mandatory.

The magistrate repeated the question, and insisted on a prompt reply.

'The name of the lady,' said Trellison, 'is Miss Graham.'

Walter started at this annunciation, and the blood rushed to his face;
but he recovered himself in a moment, and the sudden flush escaped the
notice of all excepting Trellison.

The magistrate thought it necessary to send for Miss Graham, and
ordered that Trellison should be held in custody till the next day,
when Miss Graham's evidence would be taken, and all the parties should
have a fair hearing.

Strale and Lyford now requested that Trellison might be liberated on
his own bail. They also stated the complaint had been made against
their wishes, and they believed the evidence was such as did not
warrant his committal. But the magistrate immediately ordered Trellison
to prison, and rebuked the young students for meddling with his
official duties. The public feeling was very strong against Trellison,
and scarcely any doubt remained, that on the next day he would be
convicted of an aggravated assault, with intent to murder.

At this stage of the business, to the surprise of all, two young men,
members of college, appeared and declared themselves the parties in
fault. They stated, that having been in Roxbury the preceding afternoon
on a shooting excursion, they had taken supper at an inn on their
way home, and after supper several persons came in, and the evening
was occupied in card-playing and wine-drinking; the wine proved too
strong for them, so much so as to make them wholly unconscious of
the earthquake, the news of which surprised them, the next day. On
their return home at a late hour, they saw a long distance behind
them a light, which they supposed proceeded from the lantern of some
members of college. They had now partially recovered from the effects
of the wine, and on seeing this light, they resolved to play off a
joke, and accordingly went into the neighboring woods and waited till
the students came up; they then fired successively, aiming at the
bushes a few rods in advance of the travellers. The guns were loaded
with buckshot only, but they supposed the unsteadiness of their aim
proceeded from the fumes of wine, and on hearing Strale remark that his
hand was wounded, and seeing him by the light of the lantern hold it up
to his companion, they feared the joke had been carried too far, and
after waiting till the road was still, they went home.

This relation established the innocence of Trellison beyond all doubt,
and very much to the annoyance of several officious individuals who had
prejudged the case, and fully believed in his guilt. Walter and Lyford
shared too in the awkwardness and confusion that followed. All they
could do was to make a full apology, and express their deep regret at
the course which had been taken. Trellison bowed haughtily, but in such
a manner as to show that the offence would not readily be forgiven. The
two young men who had made confession, were held to bail for subsequent
examination, and the parties soon after dispersed.



CHAPTER SIXTH.


A few days after the adventure in the woods, Lyford obtained leave
to visit his friends in Hadley. At that time such a journey was no
small affair; and the road was so new, so little travelled, and the
settlements on the way were so thinly scattered, that it required a
good deal of preparation, and was usually performed on horseback. There
were no inns on the road, except a small house in the settlement at
Worcester, and a log cabin in the neighborhood of Brookfield, where
food and lodging might be had.

The journey was undertaken in company with a friend, and the ride of
four days among the forests of New England was characterized by a
variety of romantic and pleasing incidents. It was not without peril
of life and limb, for the road was often precipitous, and though
sometimes travelled in sleighs and wheel carriages, these conveyances
were little adapted to its rugged surface, and afforded small comfort
to their riders. The road was perfectly known to Lyford, and the
scenery on the way was so picturesque and beautiful that he often
paused in admiration on some of the cliffs over which his path led
him, and gazed long and with lively interest at those wild and rugged
features of nature which the labor of man has since softened into
the calmer lineaments of pleasant meadows, flourishing gardens and
cultivated fields.

The village of Hadley had been the residence of the venerated Gen.
Goffe. Every incident in his grandfather's history, every spot which
the illustrious exile loved, was dear to the memory of Lyford. In their
early childhood, James and his sister were the solace of many a weary
hour, and threw around the aged patriot the last gleams of sunshine
which fell on his troubled career. Every one loved the old man; and
the mandate of the royal Stuart and his bribe of gold were of no force
among the peaceful villagers, who well knew the veteran's retreat,
and could never be persuaded, by promise or threat, to betray him.
The sympathies of the community in which he lived were wholly on his
side, and all those friendly offices which affection could suggest, or
kindness confer, were liberally bestowed. But the tyrannical Charles
was then in the zenith of his power, and the last days of Goffe were
imbittered by the tidings of his constant and successful aggressions
on the laws and liberties of England. Whatever were his errors in
pronouncing judgment upon the only Stuart who commands the sympathy
and affection of posterity, it is certain that Gen. Goffe deplored
the necessity of such a sacrifice, and acted under a strong, but
misguided sense of duty. His name is yet held in honored and grateful
remembrance; his ashes rest in a land where no kingly prerogative
tramples with its iron foot on the sacred rights of man, and where
the blessed vision that shone so brightly on his eye, is a living and
glorious reality.

During Lyford's absence, his sister returned to Salem, and Walter
applied himself with new vigor to his studies. Before Mary left Boston,
however, their mutual vows had been pledged, with the full consent
of Walter's parents, whose reply to his earnest request was as kind
and affectionate as he could desire. Strale had never requested Miss
Graham to explain the circumstances of Trellison's long interview
with her on his way home from Mr. Elliott's, but as she was aware of
the difficulties which occurred at Cambridge on the next day, and of
the singular and suspicious attitude in which Trellison's declaration
had placed her, she now thought it proper to make Walter acquainted
with all the facts in the case. It appeared that Mr. Trellison had
long persisted in a class of attentions which were exceedingly
annoying and disagreeable, and Miss Graham determined to accept his
offer to accompany her home, with a view to put a final end to his
importunities. On this occasion Trellison again renewed his request,
that she would so far permit his attentions as to allow him the hope of
a future union, declaring that his love was stronger than death, and
that no conceivable suffering could be equal to that which must follow
the abandonment of his hope. Miss Graham had long known the strength
of his attachment, and in reply assured him that in many points he
possessed her esteem and respect, but beyond that, she could give no
response to his feelings, and begged he would cease his attentions,
declaring once for all, that all hope and expectation on his part were
entirely groundless, and must terminate, as her affections were already
fixed upon another, and his duty to himself and to her required that
he should no longer molest her with such attentions as she could never
reciprocate.

The result of this interview accounted for the haggard and troubled
appearance of Trellison on his return to Cambridge. It was a fatal
blow to his hopes, it struck deeply at his pride, and aroused a train
of reflections and purposes which, under various disguises, were so
interwoven with the severity of his religious views, as to conceal
from him in part their real turpitude. He could not forgive Strale for
supplanting him, as he supposed, in Mary's love. He began to think Miss
Graham herself was not the angelic being his fancy had pictured, and a
feeling of bitterness against both soon passed over his mind, which he
chose to indulge, as furnishing some antidote to the disappointment and
shame which had nearly overwhelmed him.

It was now the clear sunshine of happiness with Walter. His long
cherished object had been attained, and he looked forward with pride
and pleasure to the day when he could call Miss Graham his own, and
present her to his parents as the object of his warmest love.

Mary, too, was happy; but there was one blot in the beautiful picture
she was contemplating. Strale was not decidedly religious. His
principles were firm, his views of religion serious and respectful;
but this was not sufficient or satisfactory. She was desirous most of
all, that he might possess that inestimable pearl, which he who obtains
will never give up, and he who refuses to seek will never obtain. Her
conversations with Walter on religious subjects were frequent and
serious; and every day, while they were together, she had the happiness
to find him more deeply interested, and more determined that his future
well being should become a matter of personal concern and solicitude.

On the last evening before Mary left Boston, the conversation was more
than usually interesting. The day had been clear and cold--there was
little snow on the ground, but it presented a smooth surface of ice
over which they found a pleasant walk on the borders of the forest
which then occupied, in the wildness of its original growth, the
present site of the Boston common. The moonlight was falling among the
trees, and was also reflected from the ice and snow, whose beautiful
expanse was visible on the south. The subject of conversation was the
character of New-England piety. Walter had serious objections to its
general features, which he thought were unnatural and unwarranted
by the scriptures. He objected to its harshness and severity, its
alliance to bigotry and superstition, its restraint upon the buoyancy
and cheerfulness of youth, and its rigid demands upon the time and
attention of its professors.

'These, Mary,' said he, 'are difficulties which I cannot get over.
Surely religion was never intended to strip the world of its beauty
and clothe it in unnatural gloom. It must animate all our joyous
sensibilities, and not suppress them--it must give us bright pictures
of the future life, and not such as will cast shadows and gloom over
the present.'

'Religion, Walter,' replied Mary, 'must strip the world of its false
beauty, and present it in its true light. It must frown upon every
sensibility, however joyous, which is sinful. It claims our supreme
regard, and demands the first place in our pursuits, the first in
our affections. The beauty and color of the richest wine are often
heightened by the poisonous drug--shall we therefore press the chalice
to our lips? Will you not agree with me that most of that which charms
the youthful mind is false and illusive?'

'I have often found it so. But on the other hand, is there no excess
in religious sensibility? Do not insanity and despair sometimes follow
in the train of excited apprehensions of future wrath, and is not the
imagination often terrified and distracted by groundless alarms?'

'This excess of sensibility is not peculiar to religious subjects. The
intense application of the mind to any subject of absorbing interest
will often destroy its balance, and unfit it for usefulness and
happiness. How is it with the men of pleasure, of wealth, of talent
and fame? Are they not overthrown sometimes by the excitement of their
several vocations? And can religion, Walter, which is of all themes the
most exciting, be always contemplated with such calmness as never to
distract the mind?'

'It is not religion, dear Mary, that I object to; but to those
distorted and unnatural shapes which it seems to wear in the
community. Look now at the strange delusion which prevails at Salem.
Under color of religion, several innocent persons have been imprisoned,
charged with crimes which they cannot commit if they would; and yet we
are told the interests of true religion require their punishment.'

'These are the excrescences of religion,' replied Mary, 'not the
thing itself. As to the witch stories, and the proceedings of the
magistrates, there is folly enough about them; but I am quite sure no
part of it is to be laid to religion. Superstition affects all minds
more or less. It has a most powerful agency in the papal church, and
is an important part of the machinery by which that evil system is
supported. I believe there is less of it here than elsewhere; and yet
if its elements are once in commotion, there is no absolute protection
against its power. Not many years since several persons were punished
in England for witchcraft, and it is unfortunate that the relations
between the physical and mental states are not better understood. The
ignorant and credulous too often mistake the disorders of their minds
for the influence of mysterious spirits and malignant demons, and
for want of a just discrimination, the most disastrous results will
sometimes follow.'

'I am ashamed to confess, Mary, that my own experience goes to confirm
the truth of your remarks. I am not wholly free from superstitious
feelings. There have been times in my life when I was ready to start
at the fall of a leaf, and have felt an undefinable and mysterious
awe, for which I could trace no sufficient cause. I have been at times
almost ready to sympathize with those who look at the blooming of a
flower out of its season, or the sudden blighting of blossoms on the
tree, as intimations of death or some other calamity. I remember a
family of six brothers in Virginia, the youngest ten years of age,
and all of them in sound and vigorous health. A number of peach trees
in fine condition were growing in front of the house. They were very
remarkable for the abundance and excellence of their fruit. Early in
the spring before I left, those trees were observed to be full of
blossoms, when suddenly, and without apparent cause, the bloom of
three of them was blighted, and in a few weeks they died. Soon after I
reached Boston I was informed by letter, that three of those brothers
were successively seized with fever and died. Was not this, Mary, a
shadow of things to come, a significant token of the desolation which
so soon fell upon the family? Was it not at least remarkable in its
circumstances?'

'Just now, Walter, you seemed to warn me against superstition, and then
suggested a train of thought which could not fail to awaken it, if I
had any. Indeed, Walter, I have no belief in its being a wonder, even
as you state it. What is more common than for a peach tree to be full
of blossoms, and then suddenly die. A worm at the root, a thousand
blighting influences, are constantly at work to undermine its little
life; and if the incident contains an impressive lesson, it does not
warrant us in believing it the design of Providence to reveal thereby
the deaths which soon after occurred.'

'You are not so credulous even, as I am,' said Walter, 'and I certainly
am not so religious as you are. This would seem to prove there is no
tendency in your religion to blend itself with superstition. It is
therefore but reasonable that I should give up this point. Yet that
superstition now reigns to an alarming degree in this very religious
community is not to be denied. The singular antics and wild fancies of
those who are so strangely affected, will easily satisfy the multitude
of the presence and power of evil spirits; and where shall we look
for a remedy? Now, strange as it may seem to you, it is my belief, if
public amusements were introduced, assemblies for dancing, and even
theatrical exhibitions, these would do more to banish the delusion than
any thing else. The truth is, I hear so many strange things, so well
accredited from sources so respectable, that I half believe Satan has
been let loose upon the community, and is moulding the opinions and
conduct of men according to his own will.'

'The measures you propose, to drive him off,' said Mary, laughing,
'would rather induce him to stay. He is said to be very much at home
in places where these amusements abound. Nevertheless, if I were sure
he would be so well satisfied with the means you propose, as to let go
his hold upon the fancies of the community, I think we might be gainers
by the exchange. It would be substituting the lesser for the greater
evil.'

'What surprises me most,' said Walter, 'is the ready credence which
is given to those who say they are affected by witches. Judge Sewall,
who is certainly a wise and cool tempered man, Gov. Stoughton, and
other distinguished men, are firm believers in the reality of these
affections; and there is even now an appeal to the Mosaic scriptures
to punish witches with death. One of its commands, 'Thou shalt not
suffer a witch to live,' is quoted as a divine warrant for judicial
proceedings; and such is the zeal manifested in the cause, I fear it
will lead to the death of those individuals who are now in prison.'

'Well, Walter, whatever comes of it, do not, I pray you, impute it to
religion. It has nothing to do with it. Some of the most pious in the
land are doing all in their power to divert the public feeling into a
different channel. There is Mr. Higginson, my own minister, of Salem,
venerable and beloved by all; Mr. Willard, here, Mr. Brattle and Mr.
Leverett, the latter your own tutor at Cambridge; all these, and many
others, though to some extent believers in witchcraft, are entirely
opposed to the interference of the law, and think the evil will soon
cure itself. Let us trust in Providence that all will come right. And
for you, dear Walter, I dread the thought that this mental epidemic
should lead you to distrust for a moment the efficacy and power of
the gospel. Believe it, Walter, for it is assuredly true: the gospel,
received and trusted, is the best remedy for every mental and moral
disorder.'

'It would be happy for me, dear Mary, could the same christian graces
which adorn your character, shine forth in mine. I know that true piety
towards God is my only safeguard from the ills of life, my only hope
for the life to come. I believe in the great truths you profess. I long
to experience their power in my own heart, and whatever sacrifice of
the world it may cost, I hope through the mercy of a Redeemer, I shall
be his willing and obedient disciple.'

The conversation closed as they reached the door of Mr. Hallam, with
whose family Mary was to spend the last night of her stay in Boston.

It was not surprising that a superstition so unwarrantable should give
to a mind like Strale's, false and unfavorable notions of religion. He
imputed the delusion to what he thought the sternness and severity of
the popular religious feeling, not considering that a simple analysis
of the mind will develope a multitude of causes, upon which the
imputation may far more justly rest. The conversation we have related
tended very much to dispel this error, and in the painful scenes which
were soon to be developed, he was enabled to distinguish with great
accuracy between the religious principle and the wild and dreadful
fanaticism with which it was attended.



CHAPTER SEVENTH.


It was now the latter end of February, 1692. The winter had been
cold, and the ground since December had most of the time been covered
with snow. Our young friend, James Lyford, we left in Hadley. He was
spending a few weeks in the family of Mr. Temple, who in the days
of General Goffe was his intimate friend, and by his generosity and
personal society had contributed greatly to the quiet and happiness
of the exiled patriot. James had spent his early youth in Hadley,
and a thousand pleasant associations were connected with its natural
scenery, and the localities and friends of his childhood. The little
time allowed for his visit, passed rapidly away, and his engagements
at college required his return early in March. He wished also to spend
a few days in Worcester on his return, to see a friend who had just
located in that new settlement. One of Mr. Temple's sons, named Henry,
a lad of fourteen years of age, was permitted to accompany him.

The little fellow had heard much of Boston, and longed to see a place
which contained so many objects to gratify curiosity. The notions of
the peaceful villagers of Hadley, in those days, were confined very
much to their own beautiful territories, and they never thought of
visiting Boston except for purposes of business, and having supplied
their wants, which were few and simple, they always gladly returned to
their homes, and in the community of friendship and good will, together
with the christian sympathy which pervaded their little settlement,
they found a degree of contentment and happiness, to which wealth,
fashion and luxury can never attain.


     'Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife,
       Their sober wishes never learned to stray;
     Along the cool, sequestered vale of life,
       They kept the noiseless tenor of their way.'


But the youth of Hadley were not always satisfied with the quiet scenes
of rural life. The fame of Boston, its high buildings, crowded market,
the steeples and bells of the churches, the ships in the harbor, and
its various objects of interest and attraction, possessed a charm which
never invested their own blue hills and blooming forests. Boston at
this time contained six thousand inhabitants, and was a beautiful town,
covered with fine buildings, pleasant gardens, and streets ornamented
by trees. Many of our young readers will remember their feelings, when
for the first time they came to visit this now splendid city, and will
readily imagine those of young Temple, when the same prospect, though
in miniature, was held out to his eye.

It required some special preparation for a journey to Boston, the
distance being one hundred miles, and through a country but little
travelled, and with only two inns on the road. The sleighing was now
fine, and Lyford preferred this mode of conveyance, as they had several
articles to carry, which could not be taken on horseback. Mr. Temple
provided them with every thing necessary for themselves, and provender
for the horse; they had also materials for producing fire, an axe, and
a shovel, to be used in case of snow-drifts, besides the trunk which
contained Lyford's clothes, and books; a rifle, with sufficient powder
and ball, completed their arrangements for the journey.

Thus equipped, the two friends started on the twenty-sixth of February,
and in the evening arrived at a little settlement, thirty miles from
Hadley, where they passed the night. Leaving early the next morning,
they hoped to reach Worcester in the evening, and they rode quietly
most of the day, moving very slowly on account of the difficulties of
the road, which was but slightly broken. The morning had been fine and
clear, but towards noon the clouds came up, and the wind changed to
northeast,--indicating one of those violent snow-storms which sometimes
filled up the roads, and placed a long embargo on social intercourse.
As the day declined, it began to snow, and James now urged his horse
to his utmost speed, as they were far from any habitation, and there
seemed no alternative, but either to get to Worcester, or perish
in the woods. The snow was now falling thick and fast, with a high
northeast wind directly in the faces of the travellers, and creating
new obstacles to the already difficult road; the evening was at hand,
and they were still ten miles from Worcester, and so violent was the
storm, that it soon became evident they could not reach the settlement.
In this dilemma, they hesitated for a moment, when James recollected a
kind of shed he had seen on his way up, about a mile from their present
position; and being assured that the only chance for their lives was in
reaching that spot, they redoubled their efforts, James clearing the
way with his shovel, and Henry leading the horse, the tempest meanwhile
raging with the greatest violence.

The horse was now hardly able to keep his feet, having been jaded
and exhausted by incessant toil, and they were still a quarter of a
mile from the shed: at this moment they reached a high drift, which
it seemed impossible to pass; and Henry, worn out with cold and
fatigue, could no longer make the least effort. Lyford was now in the
most alarming circumstances; he was himself greatly fatigued, and
his strength could not much longer sustain him. He placed Henry in
the sleigh, and covered him with blankets, while he returned to the
snow-drift with his shovel, and in half an hour worked through. It
was now dark, and the wind had fortunately blown the snow from the
remainder of the road to the shed, which he reached, at last, nearly
overcome by anxiety and fatigue. It was well they found a resting-place
there, for just before them an immense snow-drift reared its white
and impassable barrier, which the strength of twenty men could not
sufficiently reduce, and there was no circuit by which it could be
avoided.

The shed under which our travellers were now resting, was built of
logs, and wholly open in front; it faced the south, and its roof,
composed of lighter wood, sloped nearly to the ground. It was built
merely to feed horses on their way, and furnish a convenient spot,
where travellers might rest for an hour. In one corner was a rough
chimney, made of stones, but there was no furniture of any description,
and little shelter from rain when the wind was south; but it seemed to
our travellers, in their forlorn condition, like a home of safety and
rest. They were yet unable to tell what might befall them, but their
first duty of devout thanksgiving to a kind and protecting Providence
was immediately and gratefully performed.

The storm had now increased to a furious tempest; the wind roared
among the trees, and its wild and startling echoes sounded from the
valleys and rocks. Sometimes they came in the loud tones of thunder,
and then in the rapid sweep of the whirlwind; and vast clouds of
snow were driven along the open spaces, and piled in huge heaps near
the open front of the shed, affording some additional shelter to its
inmates. But the place was at best a cold and comfortless lodging:
there was no wood for a fire, and only the dim candle of the lantern
to afford them light. In these circumstances, Lyford made the best
possible arrangements for the night: the sleigh was placed in a corner,
two large blankets were extended before it and fastened to a pole,
which was secured to a low beam that ran across the shed, and by a
rude frame-work supported its roof. This contrivance furnished a kind
of enclosure, which kept out the snow, and afforded a partial shelter
for the horse as well as themselves. The poor animal, thoroughly
exhausted, on being loosed from the harness, immediately laid himself
down, and was covered by a blanket, and protected as far as possible
from the storm. Lyford prepared a bed in the sleigh, of such materials
as he could collect, and after taking some refreshment they covered
themselves and went quietly to rest.

When the morning appeared, the storm was wild and fierce as ever. An
immense quantity of snow had fallen, the atmosphere was filled with its
driving masses, and there seemed no prospect of a favorable change.
Lyford dug his way a few steps from the shed, but it was vain to
contend with the furious elements, and he was glad to retreat to his
forlorn shelter. By the light of day he discovered a quantity of broken
wood and branches of trees, which afforded them the relief of a fire;
and this was the more necessary, as the air was now excessively cold. A
survey of their supplies followed, by which it appeared their corn and
provisions were sufficient, with economy, for eight or ten days; the
horse, however, it was necessary to keep on very short allowance, as
there was little prospect that they could proceed on their journey for
ten days at least.

On the third day the storm abated, and in the afternoon the sun
came forth in his glory. Lyford succeeded in digging his way to a
neighboring tree, and ascended to its topmost branches, where he
beheld a vast and trackless expanse of snow, which had spread over hill
and valley to an average depth of nearly three feet, but which in many
places was piled like mountains, and seemed to defy all the power of
man to break down its barriers and force a passage.

As Lyford descended from the tree, he saw a dark object on the snow,
about a quarter of a mile distant, and in the direction of what
appeared to be the road. It first seemed like the trunk of a tree,
which had been burned to a coal, yet he soon perceived it had a slow
motion towards him. His curiosity was strongly excited, and he gazed
with increasing interest, until the outlines of a human figure were
distinctly visible, as it dragged its slow pace through the heavy
snow drifts towards Lyford. In about an hour from the time he was
discovered, Pompey--for it was no other than he--stood before Lyford,
who was extremely perplexed and surprised at his sudden appearance.

'Be this you, Massa James?' said Pompey. 'How came you up in dis tree,
and among dese snow banks?'

'It will be time enough to ask these questions when I get out. But
what brings you here, Pompey?'

'Come to find you, Massa. Went to Wooster first, but no Massa Lyford
there--so I came all the way here. Will you tell me, Massa, where I get
something to eat?'

'All in good time. But where did you stay last night, Pompey?--you
could hardly walk a mile a day through such snow drifts as these.'

'Staid in the trunk of a tree, Massa, these two nights, and glad to get
there,--snow storm drove me in. I look out to-day, and saw a man climb
a tree. I thought if Pompey get to that man, he may find something
better than snow to eat.'

'Hard fare, Pompey; how do you like this blessed land now?'

'Nothing but trouble in it, Massa James; kicks, prisons, and
snow-storms. No such things in Virginny. Hope Massa Walter send me back
before de debils carry me off. Boston and Salem full of debils as dey
can hold; de women full of debils, too, and de men running as if de
debils were after them. Here's a letter for you, Massa Lyford.'

James took Pompey to the shed, where the poor negro obtained some
food, and was soon in a condition to give some further account of
himself. The letter he brought was from Strale, in which he requested
Lyford to return without delay. He stated that universal distrust
prevailed, and that consternation and dismay extended to every circle;
the regular studies at college were interrupted, accusations for
witchcraft were coming in from every quarter, and it was fully believed
the reign of Satan had commenced. For himself, he held the popular
notions in utter contempt; but it was foolish and dangerous to oppose
them openly, and he begged that Lyford would not tarry at Worcester,
but return at once, as his counsel and assistance might be necessary;
and as no one was safe, it was better for him to be at home, where such
measures might be adopted, as the course of events should require.

Walter had despatched this letter to Worcester, in the expectation that
Lyford was there; but the faithful negro, finding he had not arrived,
pushed on towards Hadley, until driven by the snow-storm into such
shelter as he could find, when he fortunately discovered Lyford in the
manner we have related.

It was impossible to leave the shed with any hope of making progress
through the snow; the travellers were therefore compelled to wait for
a change of weather. They succeeded in procuring wood enough in the
neighborhood to keep up their fire, and by good management they were
tolerably comfortable for a few days. During this time, the solitary
waste was cheered by no voice or track of man; all was silent, save
that now and then the loud report of Lyford's rifle, aimed at some
passing wild-fowl, sent its echoes among the trees: but on the sixth
day a gentle south wind sprung up, which was soon followed by a cloudy
sky, and in the evening torrents of rain began to fall, which deluged
the country like a flood. It continued all the next day, and it was
with great difficulty a dry spot could be preserved in the shed. In
the evening it cleared up; the wind suddenly changed to north-west,
and became extremely cold. The next day, being the eighth from the
time they first entered the shed, the travellers were again on their
way over a smooth surface of snow and ice; and in two hours the little
cluster of houses at the settlement, with its white church spire,
greeted their eyes, and gave them promise of refreshment and rest.

Such adventures as these were very common among the pioneers of New
England. Her vigorous and hardy population, despising the rigor of
the climate, penetrated her deepest recesses, planted themselves in
the midst of her forests, and there, rich in contentment, in honest
industry and vigorous health, and above all in the unfettered exercise
of the rights of conscience, they fulfilled their work on earth, and
calmly and peacefully descended to their graves. Other generations
like themselves have filled the land; the welcome of hospitality, the
house of God, the family altar, the blessed Bible, and the thousand
endearments of home and friends,--these, all these, and unnumbered
other blessings, have been conferred upon New England by her primitive
inhabitants, and are at once the monuments of their fidelity, and the
pledges that if the sons walk in the footsteps of the fathers, she will
continue to advance in national eminence and glory.



CHAPTER EIGHTH.


The demon of superstition was now abroad in New England. The
unaccountable delusion of witchcraft so pervaded the public mind, that
suspicions and jealousies were engendered among the nearest friends;
perplexity and astonishment were visible in every countenance. So
strange were the movements of those who were supposed to be affected
by demons, and such the confessions of reputed witches, that men of
sober judgment and highly gifted minds were involved in the general
belief, and united in the execration of those who were believed to be
confederate with Satan and his emissaries. Neither age nor rank were
exempted from suspicion, and those who were charged with practicing
witchcraft upon almost any testimony, were arrested and committed to
prison. Many deserted their homes and went into other parts of the
country; days of fasting and prayer were multiplied; parts of the
Bible were hung around the neck, as a defence against the power of the
devil; and a constant dread of the black book which was supposed to be
in circulation among the witches, and was said to contain the terms of
treaty with Satan, kept the minds of the credulous in constant distress
and anxiety.

This delusion, it is well known, prevailed mostly in Salem and its
vicinity. To the disturbed fancies of the populace, the very air was
peopled with demons, and Satan, loosed from his chains, was tormenting
men before their time. A few persons withstood the delusion, but it
was at the peril of their lives, if they attempted open opposition:
such was the popular frenzy that, if any question were raised as to the
reality of these unseen agencies, it was considered a fair case for
prosecution, and the bold innovator was in constant peril of reputation
and life. Still there were some who had the courage to remonstrate, and
who employed every art of persuasion and influence to stay the ruin
which they saw was coming on the land. They also favored the escape of
many who were accused; and, though believers themselves, to a certain
extent, in this kind of Satanic influence, they always opposed those
measures of cruelty and shame, in which the fatal tragedy was finally
closed.

Among these benevolent and excellent men, the names of Willard
of Boston, Brattle of Cambridge and Higginson of Salem are most
conspicuous. These gentlemen refused all part in the witch
prosecutions, and earnestly protested against bringing the crime of
witchcraft before the civil tribunals, alleging that the individuals
charged with this sin were in the hands of God, who alone had a right
to punish them, and that the liability to mistake in the nature of
the evidence, and the want of a just discrimination, on a subject
so mysterious, entirely disqualified the courts to act upon such
cases. Their efforts, however, were in vain; yet it may be reasonably
believed that, to some extent, they were able to modify and soften
the proceedings of the courts, though it was impossible to control or
suppress them.

Lyford started for Boston about the tenth of March, spending but a
single day at Worcester. The people at this settlement were astonished
at the tidings which reached them from Boston and Salem; but they were
fortunate enough to escape the mania, and, though disposed to the same
general belief, they viewed the cases of such as were accused in a
much more calm and benevolent light, and were disposed to regard them
as subjects of pity and prayer rather than as outcasts from God and
man. But as Lyford approached Boston, he discovered among the people
a bitter hatred of the supposed witches, and a belief that no service
could be more pleasing to God than to destroy them utterly from the
land. He saw at once the terrible engine of power, which designing
men might seize to punish private wrongs, and push their projects of
revenge for real or supposed injuries. He knew the self-blinding power
of the human mind, and how readily its dark purposes assume the form of
religious duties and wear the counterfeit of the heavenly graces. And
it was this view that filled him with apprehensions and forebodings,
which neither conscious rectitude nor the power of reason could allay.

It was the first object of Lyford, after seeing Strale, to visit his
sister at Salem; but as he could give no satisfactory reason for his
journey, without disclosing his relation to Mary, the government of
the college refused his request, and his long absence in the winter was
assigned as the cause. In this dilemma, it was determined that Walter,
to whom this objection did not apply, should visit Salem and ascertain
the true state of things, and the danger, if any, to which Mary might
be exposed. The engagement of the parties was now publicly known, and
Walter's request was immediately granted.

On his arrival at Salem, which was about the latter part of March,
he found such a state of consternation and terror as could scarcely
be described. Witches were every where. They would flit through the
streets after sunset; and at an early hour in the evening, demons, with
long tails and cloven feet, were stalking about, partly concealed in
mists and shadows, but taking care to show enough of their origin to
keep the good people of Salem within doors after dark, and thus they
had the whole promenade to themselves. Some of the old ladies averred
that they were visible in the day time, and that one of them was
perched in Mr. Higginson's pulpit on a Sabbath afternoon and kept the
place till the good man opened the Bible and read the passage about
resisting the devil, when he suddenly decamped, leaving behind him a
long train of fire, and filling the church with the fumes of sulphur.
Mr. Higginson did not, however, appear conscious of the victory he had
attained; for, when told of it the next day, he remarked, that he never
supposed such extraordinary power in any one passage of the Bible;
but since the testimony was so clear, he hoped they now possessed the
means of expelling all the evil spirits in Salem, and he prayed that
his people would not fail to use these weapons, as they were certainly
lawful, and their own observation had shown them to be successful.

Mary Graham had resided, for several years, in the family of Mr.
Ellerson. This gentleman was of course acquainted with all the
circumstances of her history, and had manifested towards her the utmost
kindness and friendship. In fact, no one, at all acquainted with Miss
Graham, could fail to esteem and admire her character. It had been
the special care of Mrs. Ellerson to instruct her in all the pleasing
accomplishments of genteel life, and at the same time, to restrain
her from those amusements and follies, which dissipate the mind and
unfit it for religious contemplation and duty; she therefore gave, as
much as possible, a serious complexion to her studies and seasons of
social enjoyment. The pupil well repaid the care of the teacher, and,
at the age of eighteen, beautiful, accomplished and beloved by all, she
entered the best circles, and we have already had some glimpses of the
virtues which adorned her character. Mr. and Mrs. Ellerson had been
consulted in every stage of her relations to Strale, and the affair was
not concluded without their entire concurrence and approval. Walter was
of course a welcome visiter at their house, whenever he had opportunity
and leave of absence from college. But these seasons were necessarily
very infrequent, as the college discipline allowed little time for
recreation, and required a strict attention to the regular studies.

The circumstances in which Walter now found his friends, were
altogether new and peculiar. A gloom was spread over the town, which
was relieved by no cheerful meetings of friends, no lively airs of
music, nor even the busy hum of trade. The streets of the village were
silent as the fields that surrounded them, and the necessary offices of
kindred and friendship were imbittered by suspicion, and discharged
with indifference and coldness. The common ties of relationship and
affection were nearly dissolved, and piety itself was forced into
unnatural relations with credulity and superstition.

About twenty persons were now in prison, awaiting their trial for
practicing witchcraft; others were daily suspected and arrested; and
there was scarcely an individual in Salem, who was not more or less
under the influence of this delusion. Mr. and Mrs. Ellerson were among
the most incredulous; yet facts and statements were daily going the
rounds, which were so well supported, and the reality of this mystical
influence was so generally believed, that persons as reflecting and
considerate even as they were, did not escape the incipient stages of
the public malady.

The hour for tea had nearly arrived, when Walter entered the parlor
of Mr. Ellerson. Mary was not at home, having engaged to pass the
afternoon and evening with the Misses Higginson. Mr. and Mrs. Ellerson
were also absent, and Walter, after having spent an hour with Mary and
her companions, and engaged to return for her in the evening, went
back to await the arrival of his friends, the Ellersons. They returned
about seven o'clock, and the conversation was very soon directed to the
prevailing topic of the day.

'You have a strange atmosphere in Salem,' said Walter; 'every thing
looks unnatural and melancholy; I hope the witches have kept away from
your house, Mr. Ellerson?'

'They would not find very pleasant quarters here, Walter; but as
all the other houses in town are full, they may for want of better
accommodations force their way in. Their reception might be somewhat
cold, but I am told they are not very scrupulous where they once get
possession.'

'It is a singular business,' replied Walter; 'but the more I think of
it, the stronger is my conviction that it is all a fatal delusion,
foolish, wonderful, and wicked. I have no patience with such follies. I
have heard to-day stranger things than I ever read in the tales of the
fairies, the legends of Bagdad, or the whole system of pagan fables.'

'You are always rash, Walter. You must look at the evidence in favor
of any alleged fact, however strange, before you decide against its
truth. Have you seen any who profess to be troubled by witches?'

'I have not,' said Walter; 'but that makes no difference; the stories
are incredible. There is no such influence at the present day, if there
ever was.'

'I am going this evening, Walter,' said Mr. Ellerson, 'to see for
myself. There is a reputed witch, and a person said to be afflicted by
her, who reside about half a mile from us. I shall be glad if you will
go with me.'

'Nothing will please me better,' said Walter. 'I have often felt the
influence of Satan, but have never seen him, and if he now makes his
appearance in this gross, terrestrial atmosphere, I would like to know
if my senses can discern him. I think we shall see he has many ways of
making fools of even sober and considerate men.'

In a short time they set off, and a walk of ten minutes among the
pleasant gardens and cottages of Salem, brought them to a house, where
a crowd of people had gathered to witness the visible power of devils
over men. As they entered the room, a female dressed in the rustic
fashion of the country, was seated in a chair before them. She was
pale and silent, but there was a wildness in her appearance, and a
fierce expression in her eye, which indicated that strange elements
were at work, suppressed for the time, but liable to act at any moment
with fearful energy. A supposed witch was presently conducted into the
room. She was an old lady, of tottering gait, and apparently in very
feeble health, but perfectly self-possessed and quiet. At sight of her,
the afflicted person sprang into the air, and uttering the wildest
cries, she raved about the room, and was hardly restrained by the force
of two men from escaping to the street. In a moment more, she sat down
with comparative tranquillity; but again her frame was agitated, and
she was suddenly lifted with no visible effort, and seemed for a moment
suspended in the air; then falling on the floor, she was quiet a little
while, when she gradually assumed a sitting posture, and began to
reason with some master demon, and called upon the witch to cease her
torment.

'I have nothing to do with your torment,' said the old lady.

'Then it is Satan that does it, by your means,' said the girl.

'I have nothing to do with Satan, and know not what your torments are,'
was the reply.

'That is the way Satan blinds you. When you are gone, I have no
suffering.'

'You have greatly wronged me,' replied the lady; 'and on this account
I have no doubt my presence is painful to you. I hope God will forgive
you, and restore that reason, which in his inscrutable wisdom he has
taken away.'

The old lady was now removed from the room, when the afflicted person
relapsed into a state of quiet, which was of course attributed to the
absence of the exciting cause.

'This is a juggler's game, Mr. Ellerson,' said Walter; 'that person
accused is no more a witch than I am. If it be not an intended cheat,
it is a diseased mind, or a nervous irritability, which has been
trained into a system, and acts with some regularity. These people are
some of them knaves, and most of the remainder are fools; the reputed
witch is the only one in her right mind.'

'I cannot decide so readily as you. There is some evidence in the
Scriptures of the reality of visible, Satanic influence, but I am
inclined to believe there has been little, if any of it, since the
Christian era; but how that female preserves her stationary posture in
the air, with no visible support, I cannot imagine. If you, Walter,
are wise on this point, I wish you would enlighten me.'

'There is some mystery in it,' said Strale, 'but so there is in every
thing. To believe such follies we must renounce common sense, and I had
almost said a belief in a beneficent Providence. I have seen persons
poised on the fingers of others, in such a manner as to be apparently
unaffected by gravitation; the cause, no one explains; but if such
cases are scrutinized, it will doubtless be found they are perfectly
consistent with natural laws. Think you, Mr. Ellerson, it is possible
that the devil has such power on earth?'

'He is the prince of the power of the air,' replied Mr. Ellerson. 'We
know that in the time of Christ, he did exercise power over the bodies
and minds of men, and may it not be impious in us to deny that he has
such influence now, though it may be in less degree?'

'I would not be impious or irreverent on this or any other subject,'
rejoined Walter; 'yet there are so many natural causes, which may
account for these things, that I am very slow to attribute them to
the agency of Satan. I believe a limited power over man is possessed
by the arch apostate, but it seems to me the period of its physical
developement was confined to the early ages of the Christian church,
just as the age of miracles was measured and limited by the necessities
of the church. I doubt not he retains power to tempt men. I have felt
it myself, alas! too often; but, Mr. Ellerson, since I have known Mary,
she has led me to a brighter path of contemplation and hope. I would
be no visionary theorist; I would be an humble, serious, every-day
Christian.'

'Such, dear Walter, I would have you to be. Such, indeed, I trust you
are,' replied Mr. Ellerson. 'True piety enlightens as well as purifies;
and let not, I pray you, this mysterious delusion, for such I must
regard it, disturb your faith in that Gospel, which must be your only
hope, for time and eternity. What will be the issue of these troubles,
no one can tell. A dark cloud has come over the land; when it shall
pass away is known only to Him, to whom darkness and the day are alike.'

They had now reached Mr. Ellerson's dwelling. It was a beautiful
habitation, and the moon was shining brightly over the garden and a
neighboring grove, and falling in placid radiance on a little stream
which glided through the field. That spot is now covered by mansions
of opulence and comparative grandeur; but the romance of the scene has
passed away, the white fence of the garden is broken down; the bed of
the stream is covered by the green earth, and the moonbeams shine over
the works of taste and art; but not with the simplicity and grace in
which they danced upon the forest oak and the tangled grove.

Walter remained a few days at Salem, and notwithstanding the state of
things around him, it was one of the happiest periods of his life:
another and a sweeter illusion occupied his mind; the bright pictures
of coming days, undefaced by a single visible stain, passed in rapid
succession before his charmed imagination; the hopes of future years
gathered in beautiful groups on his eye, while he felt that the lovely
object, around which these visions were glittering, would soon be his
own.

During this brief period, the conversation of the two friends was
devoted mainly to the subject of religion. The holy influences of the
Gospel had found their way to the mind and heart of Strale. He saw in a
new light the wonderful scheme of redemption; he admired and adored the
grace which had made him a partaker of its blessings, and he resolved
that his whole future life should illustrate its excellence and glory.

We need not speak of the joy that glowed in the heart of Mary, as she
beheld and admired the change. Her cup of worldly happiness was full to
overflowing; she looked even upon the distracted community around her
in a calm reliance on Him who controls the tempest and stills its rage;
but she saw not the dark cloud that was even then gathering in her sky;
she heard not the dashing of those waves, which were soon to ingulf her
dearest hopes. The song of the sirens was too sweet to be hushed by the
distant thunder, and her unconscious feet were already treading on the
fatal shore.



CHAPTER NINTH.


Nothing is more essential to a well-ordered civil government, than a
well-balanced public mind; for want of this, in different ages, laws
have been framed and penalties executed in cases which go beyond the
reach of human investigation, and relate to subjects of which we can
form only faint and obscure conceptions, and consequently all the
evidence touching such cases is more or less to be distrusted.

At the period we are now contemplating, the connection between the
spiritual world and the physical being of man was supposed to be
developed in an extraordinary degree. It was believed the boundaries
between the material and invisible states were more clearly defined,
and that strange and startling intercourse was held by mysterious
agents, on these border territories. It was indeed no novelty in those
days for the civil courts to claim jurisdiction over the rambling
vagaries of the mind, and so far as any law affecting the social or
civil compact was plainly violated, it was certainly within their
office to punish the offence; but the courts travelled out of their
way, and, invading the natural rights of man, they entered a field
of inquiry, whose dim and uncertain forms could never be reduced to
facts, or supply materials of evidence, on which a sober mind could
rely. Of this nature was the court organized by Sir William Phipps, for
the trial and punishment of witches. It had no legitimate character,
and the functions it assumed were entirely beyond the rights of any
earthly tribunal. Nevertheless, its authority was acknowledged, and
its stern and dreadful mandates were obeyed as promptly as they were
issued. The influence of this court, by giving judicial sanction to the
extravagances of the times, tended very much to strengthen and prolong
the delusion, and the remarkable infatuation of the judges overcame the
plain common sense of the jury, which but for their influence would
soon have checked the mania, and restored the public mind to calmness
and reason.

We have before remarked, that Mr. Willard, the minister of the South
Church, was strongly opposed to the proceedings of the courts. This
was the more remarkable from the fact, that the chief justice and two
of the judges were members of his church. Mr. Willard admitted the
possibility of Satanic influence, but he denied that it was visible
in any such form as to warrant judicial interference. He remonstrated
with great earnestness against the general movements, and there is no
doubt he suffered so much reproach on this account, that his remarkable
talents and exemplary piety could scarcely sustain him. It is certain
also, that he was accused of practicing witchcraft, and though the
complaint was rejected by the court, there were not wanting those who
believed him confederate with Satan, and a direct agent in promoting
his designs upon the people of New England. There were some, however,
who took Mr. Willard's ground, and boldly maintained that the court was
illegal, and could not in any sense take cognizance of such matters.
We have already mentioned Thomas Brattle and John Leverett, tutors
of Harvard College; and there is good reason to believe President
Mather was of the same opinion, and attempted to restrain the popular
feeling; but no one was more bold than Robert Calef, an eminent
merchant of Boston, whose views on the subject were as sound and
discriminating as those of any man of that age. No individual did more
to dispel the delusion, and the records he has left behind have reared
an imperishable monument to his courage, fidelity, and success.

Miss Graham had accepted an invitation from her friend Miss Elliott,
to spend the last two weeks of May in Boston. An intimate and endeared
friendship now existed between these two young ladies. It was greatly
promoted by Lyford, who had carefully studied the character of his
sister's friend, and there was no one in his judgment who surpassed
Miss Elliott in moral excellence, as well as mental accomplishments.
Every attention had been bestowed upon her education; and though her
manners and appearance were more formal and stately than comported with
the simplicity of the times, yet she universally secured the respect
and good-will of all classes in society.

It was grateful to Mary's feelings to retire for a while from the
painful scenes she was every day compelled to witness at home. Her
health and spirits were sinking under the strange excitement which
pervaded the community at Salem and its neighborhood, and the change
she sought was now absolutely necessary. The two friends were entirely
agreed in matters of religious faith, and their intercourse with the
world was regulated by a scrupulous regard to Christian decorum and
example. The fashionable society of Boston was at that time professedly
religious; the outward forms of devotion were generally and greatly
respected; yet a powerful current of worldly influence was visible,
and the clergymen of those days complained that the vital power of the
Gospel was far too little manifested, in the lives and conversation of
its professors.

On Miss Graham's arrival at Boston, she was visited by all her friends;
but the usual routine of social parties was now nearly suspended. The
painful suspicions and jealousies that were abroad had interrupted
the peace of families, and extensive divisions in the churches and
in general society were disturbing the public harmony, and shaking
the foundations of social confidence in a most alarming degree.
Still the state of things was far better than in Salem; and though
the popular feeling even in Boston went along with the belief in
supernatural agencies, yet there was enough of common sense remaining
to oppose a formidable barrier to the action of courts and judges in
the business. This conservative influence prevailed most in the first
and third churches; but in the congregation of Cotton Mather, which
was very large, there was scarcely a dissenting voice from the general
belief, and the Sabbath day exercises at the North Church were almost
exclusively governed by the impressions of an invisible world; and the
church itself was regarded as the grand post of observation, from which
the march and countermarch of Satan's ranks were discerned, while he
moved at their head, enlisting recruits for his new kingdom, about to
be established.

On the last week in May, a day of fasting and prayer had been solemnly
observed in reference to the prevailing calamities. The point of
Satan's visible agency was now scarcely disputed, and those who doubted
or disbelieved were in too much personal danger to make any public
protest against the prevalent doctrines; yet it was scarcely possible
for one who entertained such views as Walter to avoid an occasional
sarcasm; and Miss Graham herself was disposed to treat the subject with
lightness, in the hope that its folly might in this way be more readily
seen. The high standing they occupied was to some extent security
from danger. But, on the other hand, there was a feeling of envy and
jealousy towards the unsuspecting maiden, which soon involved her in
suspicions; and Miss Hallam, who regarded Walter's attachment to Mary
with extreme displeasure, availed herself of the general distrust to
produce unfavorable impressions wherever her influence extended.

In this state of things the last Sabbath in May arrived. The religious
exercises of the week had prepared the people to expect that their
ministers would follow up the subject, and give such views of the
whole case as comported with their own convictions, and the teachings
of Scripture. The day was singularly beautiful; the freshness of its
early dawning, and the summer breezes, that were diffusing life and
joyousness around, were expressive of a mild and beneficent Providence;
but Nature in her calm and delightful aspect, was all unconscious
of the dark figures and mysterious demons, that were thronging the
imaginations of men; her morning hymn was ascending in grateful chorus
from forest, valley, and stream; but she was no longer the handmaid
of devotion, for man refused to mingle in her silent or audible
aspirations, or in any sense, to bend the knee at her shrine.

At ten o'clock, the bells rang for public worship, and the streets,
which till then had been silent as the desert, were now thronged
with multitudes on their way to the house of God. Sadness and sorrow
were visible in every countenance. The early flowers of spring, the
narcissus, the violet, and the snow-drop, which were wont to adorn the
dresses, or fringe the hair of the young and beautiful, were utterly
neglected, and the silent processions moved along the streets to their
respective places of worship, as if they were following the dead to
their burial. Even the church bells, which sent their cheerful melodies
among the valleys and rocks, now seemed to toll upon the ear, the
funeral dirge of all that was bright and happy in the land; the merry
laugh of childhood, the clear sunshine of the brow of youth, and the
serene tranquillity of maturer years, were suppressed and clouded by
an unseen yet terrible influence, before whose mysteries Reason was
overthrown, and Religion herself was staggered.

Miss Elliott and Mary, accompanied by their brothers and Strale, left
home at the usual time for public worship. As they passed along on
their way to the South Church, they were deeply impressed with the
state of feeling so obvious around them; to see their fellow beings
enslaved by a superstition so unnatural and absurd; to be unable to
break the fatal spell which had fallen upon nearly all, and to mark
in the dim future those undefined yet assuredly fatal consequences,
of whose nature and extent the worst apprehensions might be indulged,
filled their minds with anxiety and sorrow. But they endeavored to turn
from these sad meditations to the hopes and consolations of the Gospel
they loved, and which they firmly believed would deliver the mind from
its debasing thraldom, and give to its emancipated powers 'the glorious
liberty of the sons of God.'

The South Church occupied the ground on which the present edifice
stands, and its site was then called 'the Green.' It was constructed of
cedar, and for those times it was an imposing and beautiful edifice;
its tall spire, rising from the midst of a grove of buttonwood trees,
and far above all surrounding objects, was gazed at with an interest
and reverence which in these days is not often bestowed on those
significant emblems which point upward to a 'house not made with hands,
eternal in the heavens.'

The pulpit was located, as now, in the northeast side of the building,
and directly in front was a row of seats designed for and occupied
by the elders. A small enclosure, still further in front, and facing
the congregation, was occupied by the deacons, and before them was a
platform, on which the leader of the music stood and conducted the
psalmody, in which all who were able to sing, and some who were not,
were in the habit of uniting.

On the present occasion, the service was commenced as usual by a
prayer occupying about ten minutes, and followed by a psalm from
the New-England version then in use, which was first read by Mr.
Willard, and then given out by the ruling elder, line by line, to
the congregation. The selection for the morning was the fifty-first
psalm, and its penitential character was strikingly adapted to the time
and circumstances of their worship. Many a charming voice united in
the simple melody, and many a contrite heart mingled its confessions
and prayers, in the true spirit of devotion, with those of the pious
psalmist.

As we wish to bring into view the principal features of Sabbath-day
worship in those times, we give the following version of the psalm, in
the words in which it was sung:


     'Have mercy upon me, oh God!
       According to thy grace;
     According to thy mercies great,
       My trespasses deface.

     'Oh! wash me throughly from my guilt,
       And from my sin, me clear;
     For I my trespass know, my sins
       Before thee still appear.

     'Of joy and gladness, make thou me
       To hear again the voice;
     That so the bones, which thou hast broke,
       May cheerfully rejoice.

     'From the beholding of my sin
       Hide thou away thy face;
     Likewise, all mine iniquities,
       Oh! do thou clean deface.'


The musical critic may sneer at the peculiar metre and simple
versification, but it is probable the true design of sacred music was
far more readily attained in those days and in this homely garb, than
it can be by the high pretensions and meretricious ornaments of its
modern masters.

The position of Mr. Willard was one of painful embarrassment. He had
publicly declared his dissent from the prevalent opinions, and in this
advanced stage of the popular delusion, when its early opposers were
every day falling into the ranks of its believers, it required no
small share of moral courage to maintain his ground. It was expected
he would now make known his opinions without reserve, and that these
opinions would appear greatly modified, if not totally changed. In this
expectation, the church was thronged by multitudes who were anxious to
quote his name and authority in support of the wild theories, which
were now so generally adopted and believed.

The prayer which followed the music was distinguished for its
fervency and pathos, and as the pastor carried up the desires of the
congregation in his own affecting and impressive language, the fixed
and solemn attention of the audience, indicated that it was no formal
service, but one in which all the powers of the soul were deeply
absorbed. At the close of the prayer, another psalm was sung, in the
following words:


     'Thou hid'st in wrath and us pursuest,
       Thou slay'st and dost not rue;
     Thou so with clouds dost hide thyself,
       Our prayer cannot pass through.

     'Fear and a snare is come on us,
       Waste and destruction;
     For my folks' daughters, now mine eyes
       Run water rivers down.

     'Come thou into thy chambers, shut
       Thy doors about thee fast;
     Hide thou awhile, my people,
       Awhile, till wrath be past.

     'Lo! from his place God comes again
       The world for sin to smite;
     Earth will her blood reveal--her slain--
       Earth will bring all to light.'


The text was then announced, and was at once indicative of the
sentiments and designs of the preacher. It was the first verse of the
fourth chapter of John's Epistle: 'Beloved, believe not every spirit,
but try the spirits whether they be of God.'

The preacher assumed as an undoubted fact, fully warranted by the
Scriptures, that spiritual agencies for good and ill were constantly at
work among men, but it was so difficult to define their nature, their
peculiar offices, and the extent of their power, that it was our wisdom
to avoid all speculation, except so far as was necessary to guard
against practical error.

It was now a popular theory, that evil spirits assumed visible forms,
and were permitted to make compacts or treaties with such as were
pleased with their terms and conditions. This doctrine he denounced as
in the highest degree absurd and dangerous, declaring it was a delusion
fraught with the worst consequences, that the kind of evidence by which
this theory was supported was totally unwarranted, and could not for a
moment be trusted by a sound and discriminating mind.

He then proceeded to analyze the mind, its nature, its liability to
mistake, its unsuspected deceits, its love of fable and delight in the
marvellous and supernatural. He pointed out the frequent errors of
the imagination; that it changes material substances, and creates in
air, on earth, and in the ocean, innumerable shapes, which it clothes
in beauty or gloom, according to the light in which these objects are
contemplated. He then described its effects on the physical system,
producing nervous agitation, fancied maladies, and strange distortions
of the countenance, which it falsely attributes to unnatural and unreal
causes.

Such being the character of the mind, it was impossible in the nature
of the case to discriminate so accurately between its own actings and
those of spiritual agents, as to measure the criminality of persons
charged with the practice of witchcraft, or warrant the interference of
the civil law. It often happens that a state of mind, supposed to be
in the highest degree criminal, is the result of insanity and disease,
and calls for sympathy and relief, instead of reproach and punishment;
and in conclusion he declared his full conviction, that a lying spirit,
like that of the prophets of Ahab, was now abroad in the land, and in
the fulness of his grief over the public calamities, he entreated and
charged his people to try the spirits, to criticise severely every
ground of accusation; for among the devices of Satan, none were more
common than deception and fraud, and it was not impossible for him to
persuade even the pious to believe a lie, for he was a liar from the
beginning, and himself the father of lies.

Such a sermon and at such a time, could not fail to produce a strong
excitement. As the congregation retired from the house, signs of
displeasure were manifest on every side. The high reverence in which
the character of Mr. Willard had been held, could scarcely restrain the
general feeling of anger; but there were some who deeply sympathized
with their minister, and felt that this noble testimony against the
prevailing delusion, was as imperiously demanded, as it was faithfully
and fearlessly given.



CHAPTER TENTH.


'It is good to see a little light in these dark days,' said Lyford,
addressing Miss Elliott on their return from church. 'Mr. Willard has
acted the hero and the christian.'

'He has indeed,' said Margaret; 'I hope his counsels will be regarded;
for I am confident he has given them at the risk of his life.'

'I never before heard a sermon,' said Lyford, 'which contained so much
sound mental philosophy. If feeling and fanaticism condemn it, reason
and common sense will approve. But he who has most of the former, and
least of the latter, is counted the wisest man in these days.'

'Yet these are times,' said Margaret, 'in which the truly wise man may
add vastly to his stock of wisdom. It is interesting after all to trace
the windings and workings of this fanaticism, especially when it acts
upon such minds as Cotton Mather's. This man is a perfect paradox to
me. His mind is original and bold, yet his language is often so puerile
as to disgrace his intellect. His manners and conversation are pleasing
and often fascinating; he is beyond all his compeers in industry and
intelligence, yet his pedantry and superstition are intolerable. I have
a great desire to hear him preach this afternoon. Miss Graham also
wishes to go; and as the occasion is so remarkable, I think we shall
be justified in leaving our own church. If you and Mr. Strale will
accompany us, your curiosity at least will be gratified, and we hope
some greater good may be the result.'

Walter and Lyford readily consented, and when the interval of public
worship had elapsed, the party went to the North Church, where the
services commenced at two o'clock. An immense congregation had
assembled, for it was understood Mr. Mather would defend the popular
theories, and on such an occasion no one could be listened to with
more interest and attention. After the preliminary exercises by Dr.
Mather, which were exceedingly interesting, and a psalm of nearly the
same character as those sung at the South Church in the morning, the
text was announced by Cotton Mather from Isaiah xxviii., 15: 'For your
covenant with death shall be disannulled, and your agreement with hell
shall not stand. When the overflowing scourge shall pass by, ye shall
be trodden down by it.'

The great object of this discourse was to support the position that
Satan has confederates among men, and that some of these individuals
are parties to a covenant or agreement, in virtue of which they are
regularly enlisted in his service, and empowered to act in his behalf.

The nature and provisions of this contract, he alleged, were in general
uniform, though in some cases slight variations were made, and now and
then special powers were conferred. The confessions of witches, and the
concurring testimony of the Bible, furnished an amount of proof on this
subject, which, however remarkable and opposed to the usual course of
events, could not be rejected without incurring the displeasure of God,
and subjecting the land to still greater encroachments from the powers
of darkness. The providence of God had unfolded a variety of facts
from which we were enabled to state the general terms and conditions on
which the confederacy was founded, and he felt it due to the occasion
and to his people to make known its principal features, in the belief
that it might induce his hearers to watch the first approaches of
Satan, and shun every possible temptation.

To the mind, in its common apprehensions, he said the influence of
Satan was only perceived in the general forms of temptation and
suggestion; but in proportion as it yielded its consent to sin, in
these days of Satan's peculiar power, its perceptions of the invisible
world became enlarged and distinct, and the advantages and pleasure
of sin were greatly magnified, while its dreadful consequences were
thrown entirely in the back ground, and the mind was wholly occupied
in grasping at the luminous and beautiful forms which were made to
pass over the imagination. In this state of feeling the suggestions of
Satan became more rapid and distinct, until they were imbodied in a
regular system. At this stage of the transaction, Satan appears in a
visible form, adapted to the temper and feelings of his victim, doing
no violence to his natural taste, but assuming an air of dignity
and authority, blended with seeming kindness, and proffers his terms
of treaty on a scroll, in the form of interrogatory, in substance as
follows:

First. Have you a supreme contempt for the laws and authority of God?

Secondly. Are you disposed to resist his will, and gratify your own?

Thirdly. Do you reject the Scriptures so called, as containing unjust
and unreasonable requirements?

Fourthly. Do you contemn and despise the sacraments and institutions of
God?

Finally. Do you surrender yourself, soul and body, to my service, to be
employed in whatever way I may judge conducive to the progress of my
kingdom among men?

These questions, and others like them, are accompanied by a statement
of immunities and privileges which Satan promises to confer in case the
party gives his assent, and pledges himself to fidelity in all parts of
the compact to the best of his ability. The advantages to be conferred
on the part of Satan are as follows:

First. He promises to preserve his subject from all personal danger,
for having entered into this contract.

Secondly. To allow him free indulgence in whatever sins may be most
agreeable to his taste and disposition.

Thirdly. To invest him with new faculties, by which he may enter the
spiritual world, and hold communion with kindred spirits, who inhabit
the regions of the air.

Fourthly. To give him power over the bodies and minds of others, that
he may torment and perplex them, and then free them from disquietude
and pain, on condition that they will come over to his service.

Finally. To give him honors and rewards in his kingdom, proportioned to
the value of his services and the degree of his fidelity.

The terms being agreed upon, the solemn assent of both parties is
given, and the bond is written in mystical characters, sealed with a
black seal, and the miserable man signs it with a pen dipped in his own
blood. After this, all fear of God, all dread of wrath, all sensibility
of conscience, and every disposition to good cease for ever, and no
renewing grace, no sanctifying influence can evermore visit that
heart, which is thus abandoned of its Maker, and separated to all evil
and misery for ever.

Such, continued the preacher, is the nature, and these are the terms
of this dreadful confederacy. For its proof, we have only to refer to
the facts and confessions that are daily passing under our observation.
That Satan has come down upon us in great wrath, is no longer to be
denied; that God, for wise but inscrutable reasons, has permitted this
calamity to come upon the land, no one can doubt. These reasons in due
time will be unfolded, and meanwhile we may be assured that our sins as
a community have done much to provoke God, our rightful governor, to
leave us a prey to this 'roaring lion, who goeth about seeking whom he
may devour.'

But if any one denies that the confessions and statements which have
been so often and solemnly made, are to be relied upon, we will refer
them to an unerring record, an infallible proof that Satan possesses
such power on earth. The plainest precepts of the Mosaic law recognized
such wicked agencies, and provided for them summary and dreadful
punishment. The first king of Israel worshipped at the altar of demons,
and at the instance of a witch, the holy Samuel stood before him.
In the dim shadows of the invisible state, that venerable form, in
distinct and solemn features, was presented to his eye, and in the
strange and mystical tones of that unimagined state of being, denounced
the death and ruin of himself and his house. As we come down to later
times, we find in the days of our blessed Saviour, the presence and
power of evil spirits, and it was one of his offices of love to deliver
men from this cruel bondage; and in all succeeding times, we see
traces of the same dreadful agencies, until at length, upon this land,
consecrated to God, the visible footsteps of the destroyer are seen,
and every means of expulsion which the Scriptures warrant, must be
employed to drive him from our midst.

Having thus stated the nature and proof of this confederacy, he
proceeded to point out the means by which the tempter might be resisted
and overcome. These, he said, were obviously watchfulness, fasting and
prayer. When a christian was faithful in these duties, there was little
danger of being overcome by temptation, and he detailed at length, the
times and seasons and the different points of character at which the
assaults of Satan would be most successfully directed, and the various
methods by which he might be repelled. He then showed that Satan
could not, and never intended to perform his part of the contract;
that so long as his subject was useful in his cause, he might defend
and protect him; but the moment his affinity with the master spirit
was detected and exposed, he seldom, or never interposed to save him
from punishment. He then closed his discourse by the most passionate
entreaties to his people, to guard against the wiles of the adversary;
to watch and pray lest they entered into temptation; to repent of
their sins, which had brought down the judgments of God on the land,
and to be fruitful in those works of faith and labors of love which
would prove the sincerity of their trust in God, and turn away from his
heritage these tokens of his anger.

As Strale and his friends returned from church, the sermon was a
fruitful theme of conversation. 'I could almost forgive Mr. Mather for
his superstition,' said Walter, 'if it would hurt no one but himself.'

'And why pardon it in him,' said Mary, 'when you condemn it so much in
others?'

'Because,' returned Walter, 'I admire his genius: it is grand and
beautiful even in its illusions; he has the faculty of making rank
folly appear like luminous and well-supported truth.'

'And it is the more criminal and dangerous for all this,' returned
Mary; 'he reminds me of a beautiful stream, which in the distance is
invested with a thousand charms. Its banks are arched with shades and
bordered with flowers. Every thing is inviting and lovely; but when
you approach, the rustling of the serpent among its bushes, and the
poisonous green on its margin, show you that Death has planted his
engines among that foliage, and hurls his arrows with destructive aim
upon the unsuspecting traveller.'

'It is safe enough for me, Mary, to admire the beauty of that river,
provided I see its dangers and avoid them; but I am fully aware of the
justice of your views, and in the present state of public feeling,
such a sermon may do inexpressible harm. I cannot doubt Mr. Mather's
sincerity, but he ought to know better; he has the means of knowing
better and is deeply responsible for the mischievous effects of such
preaching. He has a wonderful faculty of making the worse appear the
better reason, and clothing his own hallucinations in the garb of
truth; but he will never be a safe man, and I dread his influence in
our political circles.'

'We must deal with him in all charity,' said Mary; 'he aims to do good,
and I have a prevailing opinion of his piety, though I must confess,
the picture is shaded by many a sombre line.'

The young friends soon reached home, and agreeably to the pious custom
of those days, each one retired to his chamber for meditation and
prayer. These duties were kept up till nearly sunset, when the family
assembled at the tea table, where no secular conversation was permitted
to intrude. The evening was usually occupied in religious conversation
or sacred music. On the present occasion, some appropriate selections
were made from the version of Sternhold and Hopkins, at that time used
by the Church of England, and the sweet voices of the young maidens
gave utterance to strains of melody which for culture and expression,
were seldom heard in the primitive days of New England.

The later hours of the evening were spent in the garden. The moon
was riding with her starry train, in peerless beauty above them.
The fragrance of the apple blossoms filled the air, and the sweet
tranquillity of a Sabbath eve came down upon this lovely circle of
friends, as they contemplated that better land, whose vivid emblems
were shining above and around them.



CHAPTER ELEVENTH.


The beautiful month of June was now spreading its green ornaments over
the face of New England. Never did the early summer unfold a more
luxuriant foliage, or cover the fields with a fresher beauty, than
that which now adorned the land. The forests and gardens were vocal
with the music of birds, the rose and violet came forth in unwonted
fragrance, and a cloud of incense went up from every valley and hill,
to the praise of their Creator and Lord. The world of nature was moving
on in perfect harmony and beauty. But the world of mind was in ruins,
its stately palaces had fallen, Reason was dethroned, and a dark
mass of chaotic elements moved over its surface in mingled confusion
and horror. Spirits of evil were riding on the blast, unnatural and
distorted shapes occupied every field of thought and reflection, and
Superstition held in her mighty grasp whatever element opposed her
power, and scowled in triumph and scorn over a perverted understanding
and a misguided conscience.

On the 10th of June, 1692, the first victim of this mournful delusion
died at the scaffold and by the hands of the public executioner. Her
indictment stated, that she had made a covenant with Satan, and in
obedience thereto, was engaged in the practice of wicked arts, to
the great annoyance of godly persons. The nature of these practices
was described at length, and consisted in the infusion of wicked and
devilish thoughts into minds hitherto pure and uncorrupt, in the
infliction of sharp pains on the hands, the neck and the limbs of the
sufferer, in various temptations to assist the devil in his nefarious
designs upon the peace and order of society, and in promises of future
rewards if the party would consent to become a subject and servant of
Satan.

A company of nervous and agitated witnesses supported the indictment,
by testifying to the power she exerted over their minds and bodies,
and the wild actings of their own fanaticism, and its physical
effects, were imputed by them to a mysterious energy derived by the
supposed witch from the master of apostate spirits. On such evidence
as this, she was condemned by the highest court in New England, and,
by a sentence most unjust and cruel, was consigned to an ignominious
death. As the multitude, who witnessed the execution, retired from
the dreadful spectacle, it was only to tremble for themselves and for
each other: even the pleadings of mercy and the voice of pity were
suppressed, and those who dared to intimate a belief in opposition to
the prevalent opinions, were the first to be suspected and arrested.

On the evening of this day, two persons were seen on their way to the
house of Mr. Parris, the clergyman of Danvers, at that time called
'Salem village.' One of these was a young man of genteel appearance,
and the other a female, whose dress was that of a country maiden, but
whose sharp countenance and cunning, selfish aspect denoted that she
was intelligent beyond her apparent condition. The conversation was
earnest and vehement on both sides; and as they approached the house,
the slowness of their pace indicated that their plans, or purposes,
were not fully matured.

'This business looks too serious to me,' said the female; 'I hardly
dare undertake it. Miss Graham must be innocent; and how can I be the
cause of her death?'

'Did you not say,' said Trellison, 'that she had been the cause of
constant torment and vexation, that she controlled your movements, and
by a look suspended your purposes; that in her presence, you would weep
or smile, without any cause whatever? Moreover, did you not see her at
that cursed sacrament of devils, where every vow is sealed by blood,
and where she solemnly ratified the hellish compact? What are all these
but proofs of her damnable affinity with Satan? You cannot go back. The
Lord requires your service, and it must be done.'

'But, Mr. Trellison,' replied the female, 'if I take this course, what
will become of me? I shall be shunned by the good; and if Miss Graham
is acquitted, where shall I find recompense and security?'

'Have I not told you of recompense? Is it nothing to free the world
from the possessed of Satan? Is it nothing to foil the great adversary
of soul and body? Is it nothing to free yourself from these annoyances?
Is it nothing, Clarissa, to save your own life?'

'My own life--what is that worth, Mr. Trellison, if the mind is loaded
with conscious guilt? Even now, I start at every shadow, and imagine a
foe in every one I meet. And what is the amount of this victory over
Satan, as you call it? Why it seems to me, such a victory would be
my ruin. But I have started in the race, and fate seems to press me
onward. I may be doing God service. Will you, Mr. Trellison, pledge
yourself that my reward shall be reasonable and sure?'

'I have pledged my word, and the assurances of all the faithful are
yours, that whatever injury any one suffers in this righteous cause,
shall be fully recompensed. You shall be rewarded.'

They now separated as they approached the house, and Clarissa, who
had been fully instructed in the part she was to act, entered the
kitchen, and took her place with the servant, with whom she had long
been acquainted. Trellison, as he entered the parlor, saw Mr. Parris,
through an open door, seated in his library alone. They had long been
familiar acquaintances, and though the clergyman was many years his
senior, yet he was fully aware of the reputation of his friend for
piety, and had known him personally since his first entrance at Harvard
College. After some desultory conversation, the mournful events of the
day were called up, and Mr. Parris remarked, that he looked back upon
its scenes with extreme agitation and horror. 'Surely, Mr. Trellison,'
said he, 'it was a dreadful sacrifice. But how could it be avoided?'

'It was a sacrifice well pleasing to the Lord,' said Trellison. 'Why
start, Mr. Parris, at the sternness of the divine command? Must our
pity overcome our sense of obligation?'

'No indeed,' said Mr. Parris; 'and here is the bitterness of the trial.
He that putteth his hand to the plough, is forbidden to look back: but
how can I behold such misery without a tear of pity?'

'When Abraham was commanded to slay his son,' said Trellison, 'he
laid him on the altar and took the knife in his hand. Was there any
misgiving? Doubtless pity moved his heart; but his hand was true to the
divine mandate, and he only forbore at the express command of God.'

'But are we equally sure, that God commands us to this work of
violence? Might we not by prayer disarm the Tempter, and drive him from
our midst?'

'Faith without works is dead; and how can we expect the blessing of
God, but in the use of means? Shall Satan rage in our land, and the
servant of God remain idle at his post? Every thing depends on the
energy and zeal with which this arch-apostate is hunted and driven from
his hiding places; and those, who harbor him and practice his wicked
devices, must perish without mercy.'

'True, most true, Mr. Trellison: forgive the momentary, the sinful
pity, which would, if indulged, unnerve my hand, and draw me back from
the service of God. I would not shrink from my duty; but I am startled
and confounded at the numbers who have engaged in this cursed league
with Satan. They must be punished. You are aware, that a society has
recently been formed for the discovery and punishment of witches. This
scroll was brought to me to-day by a member, and all the persons on
this list will be watched, and probably most of them arrested. If you
know of other cases, where the charges can be supported by competent
evidence, it will be my duty to present them to the society.'

Trellison took the list, which contained the names of seven or eight
persons. Most of these had long been suspected; but the last name on
the scroll was that of one, whose blameless life and holy profession
had hitherto given him a high rank in the community. It was the Rev.
George Burroughs, a minister of the gospel, of the same religious faith
as that of Mather, Parris and their associates, and perfectly exemplary
in his deportment and conversation.

'And has it come to this?' said Trellison. 'Oh, the power of these
hellish arts, that have profaned even the house of God, and turned the
servant of Christ to a minister of Satan! But I can hardly credit what
you say. Is the proof convincing?'

'Perfectly so,' said Mr. Parris. 'He was Satan's minister at that
dreadful sacrament, in which most of those now in prison bound
themselves to his service by their own signature, under the bloody
seal. Moreover, he has the promise of being a prince in Satan's
kingdom; and he took one of those faithful maidens, who have put their
lives in jeopardy for the service of God, and carried her to a high
mountain, where, after the fashion of his master, he showed her the
glory of the world, and promised to give her all, if she would but
sign her name. But she wisely told him, those things were not his to
give, and refused to sign. Such is the evidence against Mr. Burroughs.
There is no alternative; we have canvassed the whole matter, and he
must die.'

'So perish all the enemies of the Lord!' said Trellison. 'And now, Mr.
Parris, there is yet one name to be added to that gloomy catalogue.
Until now, I have not been nerved with strength to go forward in this
divine work, and while my heart rebels at every step and my whole frame
is convulsed with agony, I pronounce the name of Mary Graham.'

Mr. Parris started from his seat. 'Such a name, and from you, Mr.
Trellison?'

'Tremble not, my friend, nor wonder at what seems so strange. I have
had such revelations from the Lord, such experience of her dreadful
compact with the Prince of darkness, and such proofs from others who
know her well, that, upon the peril of my soul, I dare not disobey a
voice louder than seven thunders to my ears. Miss Graham is bound over
to Satan!'

'I cannot credit your assertions, Mr. Trellison: Miss Graham is above
all suspicion. If such a mind is affected by this dreadful influence,
who of us shall escape?'

'Nevertheless you must,' said Trellison. 'I was once held in bondage
by her magic arts: but, thanks to God, my soul is now at liberty;
escaped, as a bird out of the snare of the fowler. But others are still
entangled in her yoke of bondage, and they must be liberated. Some of
our students have fallen under her power, and under this roof is one
who is daily persecuted by her devices. Clarissa Snow, the faithful
servant of Mr. Ellerson, is now here, and will tell you in person what
she has suffered.'

'Oh, righteous God!' said Mr. Parris, 'spare me this heavy blow! let
not thy wrath wax hot against thy servant; and if this work of judgment
must proceed, consign it, I beseech thee, to other hands, and let no
more blood be found in my skirts!'

'What means this language?' said Trellison. 'Has not God vouchsafed
to you his peculiar presence and blessing? has he not revealed to you
these mysteries of iniquity, and made you the honored instrument of
bringing to light the hidden things of darkness? will you pause in the
work to which he calls you?

'I cannot pause,' replied Mr. Parris; 'but I know not how to proceed.
Once more, I appeal to Heaven for the rectitude of my purposes; and if
I am the chosen instrument to sweep the chaff from his threshing floor,
I can only say--Oh God, thy will be done! let me not turn back from
this work; let me not blench in this terrible conflict with the powers
of darkness; let me not turn my hand from the shedding of blood, till a
voice from the excellent Glory tells me to forbear!'

'And now,' he added, 'your testimony shall be examined, and if it be
such as the revelations of God to my own soul shall approve, Miss
Graham, whatever may be the consequences, must be arrested.'

In a few moments, Clarissa was introduced, and to the several questions
that were asked, she replied in such a manner as confirmed the
statements of Trellison. She complained of various torments in the
presence of Miss Graham, which torments ceased when she was absent.
She also complained of dark purposes and evil thoughts, which always
vanished when Miss Graham was out of sight.

It is not necessary to repeat more, for the credulous clergyman was
easily convinced; and moreover, these results accorded with those
inward revelations which to him were conclusive evidence of her guilt;
and he now, though with a trembling hand, added her name to the list of
victims.

This was but the first step in the dark machinations of Trellison.
He knew the ground he occupied was treacherous: but confiding in the
strength of the public delusion, and perhaps believing, in part, he
was doing God service, he was emboldened to proceed and carry on his
designs of blood. In the picture, which the conversation we have
related gives of his character, the lines are deepened to an uncommon
shade of guilt. But in the midst of the revenge he sought, there were
feelings of gloomy fanaticism, which probably concealed from his own
view the enormity of his purposes, and even clothed them with a false
lustre. He was a believer in these compacts with Satan; and the very
unaccountable testimony of credible witnesses had led him to look upon
those who practiced witchcraft, as persons who must be cut off, and the
land be purged, in this way, from the demons who had broken loose upon
it. Yet in the midst of all, there must have been moments, when the
accuser Conscience broke in upon his refuge of lies, and upbraided him
with a purpose, which came nearer to the acts of Satan, than any which
visible evidence had yet developed.



CHAPTER TWELFTH.


Soon after the return of Lyford from Hadley, Strale having no longer
any special occasion for Pompey's services, determined to give him his
liberty, in advance of the time specified by his father. He accordingly
informed Pompey that he now wished him to enjoy the luxury he had
so long desired, that of being his own master. Walter furnished him
with a small sum of money, and Mr. Gardner assured him he should have
employment about the wharf at reasonable wages. Pompey was in raptures
in the possession of his newly acquired liberty, and for many days his
enjoyment was unbounded. But he had no notion of being employed as a
laborer; and having procured a fashionable hat, with silk stockings
and a coat well covered with gilded buttons, and silver buckles on his
shoes, Pompey strutted up and down King street for a month or more, to
the great amusement of the shop keepers, and with such vast opinions of
his own consequence, as no amount of ridicule could possibly diminish.
But the golden dream could not last always; it was not broken, however,
till the last penny of his cash had disappeared, when he awoke to the
consciousness that he had played the fool, and that his pretensions
to the character of a gentleman of leisure must be abandoned. In this
condition, he had recourse to Strale as his only friend, and begged him
to find employment for him on a farm, at a distance from town, where
he was willing to go back to his old habits of labor and care. Walter
had taken no pains to arrest him in his course of folly, believing that
experience was the only cure for his extravagant dreams; but he was
very willing to assist him in any way, that might promote his good, and
accordingly procured for him a situation on a farm in Danvers, occupied
by Mr. Putnam, a highly respectable man, who promised to watch the
motions and check the follies of Pompey, as much as might be in his
power.

It was a new and not very agreeable scene to Pompey. He had no chance
for the display of authority; but was ordered to mind his own
business, whenever he presumed to step out of his sphere. This life of
discipline was too severe to be endured, and he gradually became remiss
in his labors, until at length, it required the constant exercise
of authority to induce him to labor at all. In this condition, he
contrived various methods of escape from a post that was every way
disagreeable; but he well knew, that if he left Mr. Putnam without
good reason, he had nothing further to expect from Walter. Happily for
him, as he thought, the witch delusion was now advancing with a power
which nothing could resist; he saw the influence and importance which
had been gained by the impostors who pretended to be afflicted; and
there seemed no way so likely to mend his fortunes as to be afflicted
himself, and then turn informer.

With a view to carry out this policy, Pompey went to Mr. Parris and
entered a complaint against his master. He declared, that Mr. Putnam
tormented him night and day, and that strange things were going on at
the farm; that one morning a field of grass was cut without hands,
and the hay was put into the barn, perfectly dry in one hour after
cutting; and that only the day before, as he was at work loading
hay, Mr. Putnam stood at a long distance from him, with a hayfork in
his hand, and that, in a mysterious manner, the fork entered his arm,
inflicting a severe wound, the effects of which were now visible. These
wonderful events excited the astonishment of the clergyman, who sent
for the farmer, and requested his attendance on the afternoon of the
next day.

A few minutes after Trellison's departure, the farmer entered the room,
and found his minister in a reclining posture, and apparently absorbed
in deep meditation. 'I have come,' said he, 'Mr. Parris, in obedience
to your summons, and wish to know your pleasure.'

'Satan is among my flock, Mr. Putnam, and as the good shepherd careth
for his sheep, I have feared you may be entangled in his wiles.'

'In my belief, and I am sorry to say it,' said the farmer, 'Satan has
more to do with the minister than among the people.'

'Dare you speak thus to the Lord's ambassador, his commissioned and
anointed servant, whom he has clothed with the helmet of salvation,
and the shield of faith, that he may quench the fiery darts of the
devil?'

'You claim a high character, Mr. Parris; but I have heard of wolves in
sheeps' clothing, and the course you are pursuing, leaves me in little
doubt whose servant you are.'

'What other language than this is to be expected from those who have
signed the black book, and eaten the sacrament of devils. You have sold
yourself to the service of Satan, and these are the cursed fruits of
your compact; it was to question you on this point, that I sent for you
to-day, and you owe it to my forbearance, that your name is not now on
the scroll of the accused. I wished to know whether the evidence of
your servant Pompey could be relied on. Your own language now convinces
me of its truth, and you will soon reap the wages of your iniquity.'

'I well know,' replied Mr. Putnam, 'how little evidence it takes to
satisfy you, when you are resolved to carry out your purposes. Your own
inward convictions, you say, support the evidence of my servant. It
will, however, be well for you to inquire, how far his testimony may be
trusted. I have brought him with me, that you may question him in my
presence.'

'It is a grace you do not deserve, but to show you my forbearance and
lenity, I will admit and question him now. You shall not be condemned
without a hearing.'

This concession from Mr. Parris was sudden and unexpected; but he knew
the sturdy character of Putnam, his excellent reputation, and the
danger of pushing matters to extremity. He was therefore glad of the
opportunity to come down from the high ground he had taken, and to
assume the appearance of fairness and liberality.

Pompey was now introduced, and the poor African was in no very enviable
position, between the two inquisitors; but he made the best of his
circumstances, and sat down quietly to undergo the examination.

'You seem to be in a calmer state to-day, Pompey,' said the clergyman;
'I hope the cause of your trouble is removed.'

'Witch gone, Massa Parris, all gone; Pompey well as ever.'

'Thanks be to God!' said the clergyman; 'he has heard my prayer. I
wrestled with him a full hour on your account, and he gave me faith to
believe that the devil would be cast out.'

'Massa Putnam got the witch out; he did it all himself--nobody helped
him.'

'What do you mean, Pompey? I do not understand you.'

'I must now explain,' said Putnam, 'and am willing to apologize for
the language I used when I came in, so far as to express my belief
that you are under a strong delusion, and I do not wish to impute to
you corrupt and wicked motives. You have been a good minister, and a
kind man in past years, and you well know that in the contest for your
parish rights, I have taken your side and supported your claims; but
in these witch prosecutions, I have been astonished at the madness of
your course, and can only account for it on the ground that you are
partially insane; and now in regard to the change in Pompey, I will
tell you all the facts. I went out this morning to oversee some men
whom I had employed to dig a well. Pompey was there, dancing about in
strange attitudes, and presently he threw himself on the ground and
began to bite the roots of a tree, and fill his mouth with gravel. I
asked him the cause of his strange conduct, and his only reply was,
'Witch, Massa, witch got into Pompey.'

'Who put the witch in, Pompey?' was my next question.

'You, Massa; all well, when you go away.'

'Well, Pompey,' said I, 'if I made you sick, I ought to cure you. The
same person who put the witch in, ought to drive the witch out; and
taking him to a tree, I gave him, at least, forty stripes, every one
of which seemed to possess a magic power. The witches fled in every
direction, and I have brought him to you to-day, clothed, and in his
right mind. Now, Mr. Parris, I would not detract from the efficacy
of your prayers; you know my reverence for religion; but in my poor
opinion, if you would take those four wicked girls, (one of whom, I
grieve to say it, is my niece, and bears the honest name of Putnam,)
and apply the same remedy which has done so much for Pompey, no sign of
witchcraft would be seen, and the community would be restored to reason
and common sense.'

So saying, the farmer took his departure with Pompey, leaving the
minister to his own reflection, and to the deep mortification and
shame, in which his own credulity and folly had involved him.

The position of Mary Graham was now critical and alarming. Since her
return to Salem, she had boldly condemned the witch proceedings, and in
every circle where she moved, her whole influence was directed against
the prevailing delusion. Unappalled by the dangers that surrounded her,
she extended her sympathy and pity to those who were in prison, and
favored the escape of some who were in imminent danger of arrest. In
these offices of love and charity she was nearly alone; for though her
friends admired her courage and fortitude in the cause of humanity, yet
few of them dared to imitate her example. She wrote to Walter and her
brother, begging them in concert with Mr. Willard to see Dr. Mather,
who had returned from England, and enlist his influence to suspend
all further prosecutions. But this good man, though he deplored the
excesses into which the community was rushing, either believed the
evil would soon be cured, or was so far influenced by his son, that he
could not be induced to take a bold stand against the courts; yet it is
believed he used much private remonstrance and expostulation, and it
was generally supposed the public movements had none of his countenance
and support.

Walter replied to Mary's letter, and informed her that no measure had
been left untried with Sir William Phipps and his advisers; but nothing
could be done; the delusion had seized the minds of the most gifted men
in the land, and it was vain to hope for relief until the public malady
had run its course; and he expressed his fears that her own standing
in society, and the general esteem in which she was held, might not
prove a sufficient protection against the envy and malice of some, and
the credulity and superstition of others. He expressed his admiration
of the course she had taken, but in the present violent stage of the
delusion he thought it would be best for her to retire from active
participation in any remedies which might be applied, as they could
not benefit others, and might be attended by the worst consequences to
herself.

Stoughton's court was now in full operation. His associates were
Gedney, Winthrop and Sewall. This court was confessedly illegal, but
the urgency of the occasion was considered a sufficient warrant for its
organization. It was, in fact, an exparte tribunal, as all the judges
were known to favor the superstition, and the only hope for those who
were brought before it was in the jury, who were so perplexed and
overawed, as in general to conform their verdicts to the known opinions
of the court.

While affairs remained in this state, there was little prospect of
relief from courts and judges. No other hope remained than that the
delusion would soon show itself in forms so extravagant and revolting
as to excite the contempt and rouse the indignation of the public.
This conviction soon reached the mind of Miss Graham, and she forbore
to remark upon the subject with her accustomed freedom. In fact it was
no longer safe to ridicule or condemn; and with all her popularity
and the universal esteem in which she had been held, it was evident
she was now regarded with distrust and suspicion. Mr. Ellerson, whose
views in general agreed with those of Mary, was extremely guarded and
cautious, and often suggested to her his fear that she spoke with too
little reserve. In fact, she was soon painfully convinced on this
point: many of those whom she loved, began to withdraw from her
society, and in various methods discovered their coolness and reserve.
She was no longer welcomed with the smile of confidence and affection,
and her evening walks, in which she was usually attended by several
young ladies and gentlemen, were either wholly omitted or kept up in
solitude. This change of the public feeling towards Mary was equally
sudden and startling. She was unable to perceive the causes, or trace
the insidious agents, who were fastening their toils around her.
Neither explanation nor satisfaction could be had, and the mysterious
reserve still gathered and increased, wherever she went. Some of her
friends, particularly the Higginsons, confessed they dared not be seen
in her society, while they privately assured her that their friendship
was unabated, and begged she would still regard them with confidence
and love.

There was a beautiful walk on the ground now occupied by the Salem
Common and the buildings on its left, in the direction towards Beverly.
This was a favorite resort for Mary, a place where she indulged in
many a happy contemplation on the works of nature, and the wonders
of Providence: here too, in the sweet interchange of sympathy and
affection with her young companions, she found sources of innocent and
unalloyed satisfaction, and sometimes when alone, as she penetrated the
depths of the forest and sat down on the green border of the rivulet,
or under the shade of the magnificent elm, she realized what the poet
many years after sung, in numbers that will never cease to move the
contemplative and pious mind:


     'The calm retreat, the silent shade
       With prayer and praise agree;
     And seem by thy sweet bounty made,
       For those who follow thee.'


Though forsaken in great measure by her friends, Mary continued her
visits to this chosen retreat, and there, in pensive recollection of
other days, and a humble trust in Providence, she found solace and
support for her disturbed and anxious mind. Mr. and Mrs. Ellerson,
conscious of her innocence, did every thing in their power to soothe
her feelings and sustain her sinking courage, but her sensitive mind
drooped under the cold neglects of the world, and she even imagined
that Walter's letters, though written in all the warmth of affection,
began to show symptoms of coldness. Mr. Ellerson thought it his duty
to inform Lyford of the state of things, and request his immediate
attendance at Salem: this was accordingly done without her knowledge,
and on the evening of the twenty-sixth of June, she found herself in
the arms of her affectionate and sympathizing brother.

Lyford was soon convinced that some deep laid plan had involved Mary in
the suspicion and distrust of the community; but while he trembled at
the dangers which surrounded her, his first object was to soothe her
feelings, by the kindest offices which affection could suggest, while
he constantly revolved in his mind the most probable methods for her
deliverance. He wrote immediately to Strale, concealing none of the
difficulties and dangers of the case, but requesting he would not now
visit Salem, as he feared it might increase the danger, and excite a
greater watchfulness against any means that might be devised for her
escape.

The next evening, Lyford and his sister walked together and visited
the place which was so much endeared to her, by its many delightful
associations. It was a fitting occasion to reveal all her griefs, and
Lyford no longer wondered at the unbroken sadness of her feelings. She
informed him, that as she walked on the borders of a little stream in
the forest, she had several times heard voices, pronouncing her real
name, and sometimes accompanied by a soft strain of music, inviting
her to new habitations among the immortals, and making promises of
every kind of enjoyment, if she would but consent to join a company
of spirits now on a visit to earth, and offering her distinctions and
honors in a new kingdom, which was about to be established in the
world. In conclusion, she had no doubt a conspiracy had been formed
against her reputation and life, and she believed Trellison had set in
motion these unseen agencies, which she feared would soon betray her to
prison and death.

'And now, dear brother,' said she, 'what can I do? friends have
deserted me on every side; wherever I turn, I meet no response to the
most common offices of friendship and good will. When the Sabbath
comes, that day of holy rest, whose heavenly influences have fallen so
peacefully on my heart, it brings no relief to my troubled spirit: in
the very temple of God, I see nothing but averted faces or disturbed
looks, and I go and come more lonely and neglected than even the
sparrow, who finds a nest for herself among the altars of God.'

'I know not what it means,' said James; 'I am sure, Mary, it is not
safe for you to remain here, and yet to attempt flight would probably
be followed by instant pursuit, and go to confirm the suspicions that
already exist. I shall not leave you, but we will consult together, and
our earnest prayers must go up to Heaven for light and deliverance.'

'I have thought, James,' said Mary, 'that it is no longer of any use
to conceal my name. The purpose intended by this concealment has been
answered; and though it may prejudice my cause still more with the
authorities at Boston, yet, in my present circumstances, I wish there
may be no ambiguity or deception in any part of my conduct: besides,
it is already known to some extent, for it has been repeated in yonder
woods in my hearing.'

'You are right, Mary,' replied her brother. 'I believe more good than
evil will result from the disclosure: I will get Mr. Ellerson to
mention the facts to a few of his friends, and they will soon become
generally known; but dear Mary, do not sink under this load of sorrow;
Walter and myself will love you even unto death. It is a dark day, but
light may arise, and I feel assured that your deliverance will in some
way be effected.'

'Ah! my brother,' said Mary, 'I would that such a hope could send
its reviving influence to my heart, but I have the most gloomy
anticipations and painful forebodings of the result. As I was walking,
a few evenings since, by the side of this beautiful stream, I was
enabled to cast my eye forward to the land of perfect and eternal
repose; the lovely images of nature reflected to my mind the glories of
the heavenly world, and I longed to put on the garments of immortality
and walk among those pleasant landscapes, where the storms of trouble
never blow. But the strife will soon be over, and 'mortality will then
be swallowed up of life.''

'Why speak so mournfully, dear Mary? This world is not yet a desert,
which no flower of hope nor green beauty of summer can adorn. Winter
may come with its frost, but spring will return and bring freshness,
blossoms and life in its train. There is a bright side to the picture;
do not refuse to behold it.'

'Hush,' said Mary, 'hear you not the voices in yonder forest?' James
paused, but no sound reached his ear. The wind sighed mournfully along,
as if in sympathy with the sadness which had fastened deeply on the
minds of brother and sister, as, arm in arm, they walked on the borders
of the forest.

'Listen again,' said Mary; 'surely you must hear them, James.'

A low strain of music, like a faint chorus of voices, now fell upon his
ear; in a moment it swelled to a distinct sound and sent its notes of
melody among the valleys and rocks. A few words only of the first and
second verses were distinguished, but every sound became more clear and
impressive, until the following lines were distinctly understood:


     'On the bright and balmy air,
       On the summer clouds we ride,
     From our golden realms we bear
       Jewels for our master's bride.

     'Mary, in the bowers above,
       Sweetest groves of fairy land,
     We will crown thee Queen of Love,
       Princess of the fairy band.

     'Where the living palm-trees grow,
       Where the crystal waters glide;
     Realms untouched by want or wo,
       Thou shalt be our master's bride.

     'Far below the sunny waves,
       We have gems and jewels rare,
     Pearly grots and coral caves,
       Thou shalt be our mistress there.'


At this stage of the music the words became inaudible, until the sound
died away in the forest, and the quiet stillness of the evening again
rested on the landscape.

'These are strange things, Mary,' said her brother, 'but they are
only a part of the snares which are intended to betray you. Time will
soon disclose all; meanwhile, have courage, my dear sister; in your
conscious rectitude you will find consolation and support; in God there
is abundant strength, and what man can do shall be faithfully done.
Have no distrust of Walter; his love to you is all you can desire; he
would be here to-day but for my cautions and warnings. As the danger
thickens around you, we will watch and protect you at every step; but
let us not trust in ourselves; it is not to be denied that your danger
is great, and I am now of opinion that immediate flight is necessary:
we will consult our friends to-night, and what we do must be done
quickly.'

They soon returned home; it was too late for any hope of flight, and
that very evening, Mary Lyford, by a warrant from the magistrate,
was placed in the custody of the sheriff, to await her trial for the
practice of witchcraft and sorceries.



CHAPTER THIRTEENTH.


The news of Miss Lyford's arrest, and the disclosure of her real
name, produced a deep sensation in the community. The victims of this
delusion had been hitherto taken from the lower walks of life, and this
first attack upon the high places of society, while it shocked the
feelings of many, served to reconcile the populace to the action of the
courts, as it indicated that no influence of wealth or standing would
be allowed to protect the guilty from punishment. Such was the state of
the public mind, that except among Mary's immediate friends, no effort
was made, or contemplated, for her deliverance. The sin of witchcraft
was of too deep a dye to be forgiven; and the common doctrine was,
that religion itself must turn away from such deadly foes to God and
man. When the warrant was served, she was immediately removed from
her friends, and placed in the care of an officer, who was directed to
furnish an upper room in his house for her reception, and to guard her
with ceaseless vigilance. There was little occasion for this warning,
for the officer, whose name was Harris, would have thought himself
bound over to perdition, had he suffered any prisoner in charge for a
crime so enormous, to escape. All access to Miss Lyford was forbidden,
except to her brother and Mr. and Mrs. Ellerson, who, assured of
her innocence, did not scruple to express to the officer the utmost
indignation and horror, at the violence thus done to one of their own
family.

It was scarcely possible to realize the change which the period of
a single month had produced. The whole affair of Mary's arrest and
confinement seemed so like a dream, that they could hardly persuade
themselves of its reality. But in a short time they saw the full extent
of her danger, and had little doubt her death would be demanded by the
populace, and that the court, whatever might be its wishes, would not
dare to refuse the victim. The kind of evidence which was then current
and considered valid, was so completely interwoven with every feature
of her case, that her guilt, in the public view, was already proved.
In these circumstances, Mr. Ellerson and his lady forbore to excite
the populace, by public denunciation; but in their own circle of high
respectability and influence, they were loud in their demands for her
release, and insisted that some sinister motive had betrayed her into
the toils of the accuser.

Lyford had accompanied his sister to the jailer's room, where he
provided every convenience which the rough and superstitious keeper
would allow. For several days before her arrest, Mary had been prepared
for the worst; and she calmly resigned herself into the hands of the
law, to await an issue, which she from the first apprehended would be
fatal. There was no visible emotion in her countenance, but a deep
melancholy had fallen upon those lovely features, which in their mild
and beautiful, yet pensive and solemn aspect, would have excited in any
heart, not steeled by fanaticism, the liveliest interest and sympathy.
No ray of light could penetrate the cloud that shaded her earthly
hopes, and her spirit was now struggling to free itself from worldly
ties, and to move in a calmer region, beyond this stormy and distracted
world.

The next day after Mary's arrest, Lyford returned to Boston, to
communicate the tidings to Walter, and prevent any rash or violent
measure, to which his vehement temper might prompt him. No language
can describe his feelings, when the facts were disclosed by Lyford;
but the strong excitement of his mind was soon subdued by the calm
remonstrances of his friend, who assured him that every thing depended
on coolness and deliberation. Walter immediately laid upon himself the
most severe restraints, and while he vowed to effect her deliverance,
or perish in the attempt, he soon became so entirely the master of his
own feelings, that no perceptible change was visible in his deportment.
His first impulse was to proceed directly to Salem; but Lyford
convinced him that such a step would be worse than useless, as he would
not be permitted to see Mary, and it might throw serious obstacles in
the way of her escape. It was therefore concluded he should remain at
home, and that no interview with Mary should be attempted, but through
the medium of her brother.

The trial of Miss Lyford took place about the middle of July. Several
witnesses were examined, whose testimony was considered conclusive of
her guilt. Clarissa, Mr. Ellerson's servant, testified to the strange
influence she exerted over her, and even in court took care to exhibit
one of those remarkable fits of agitation and nervous excitement,
which were universally satisfactory to the judges. Another witness
declared she had seen Miss Lyford walking alone in the neighborhood of
the forest, and that mysterious voices were heard in the woods, and
unearthly music, and she remembered and repeated some lines, which
intimated that she had consented to become one of a band of spirits, on
account of which, she was soon to be crowned queen of a new kingdom,
and to receive an untold amount of riches. Other testimony of a similar
character was produced, but Trellison took care not to appear in the
case; he did not choose to involve himself in unnecessary difficulties,
and was probably aware that revenge for his known disappointment might
be assigned as a motive for his testimony, and thus defeat the great
object he had in view.

Such was the nature and amount of the evidence, it was scarcely
possible to expect an acquittal. The examination was indeed prolonged,
beyond the usual time, perhaps with a view to give some notion of the
lenity of the court; but when the case was given to the jury, they
scarcely hesitated, and when the verdict was demanded, it was with a
bolder voice than usual, that the foreman pronounced the fatal word,
"Guilty!" There was a deep solemnity and silence in the thronged court
room, though little sympathy was manifested for the unoffending and
beautiful maiden, whose fate was now so certain. The public frenzy had
sealed the fountains of compassion, and the judge soon after pronounced
sentence of death, to be executed on the twentieth of the following
August.

We have not yet spoken of the demeanor of Miss Lyford, during this
fearful period. Suffice it to say, it was calm and dignified, worthy
her illustrious descent, and adorned by every christian virtue. Her
confidence was not in man; and though her ties to life were of the
strongest character, she could contemplate death without dismay. The
shock attending the trial and sentence was indeed great, but the gospel
was present to her aid with its well-springs of consolation, its life
of immortality, and 'its exceeding weight' of future and eternal
glory. Her eye of faith looked beyond the tempests of that awful night,
whose fearful horrors thickened over her, and beheld the rising day of
celestial glory.

The friends of Mary now sought from Gov. Phipps, through the kind
offices of his lady, the executive clemency: but the faint hope they
entertained of a pardon, soon died away in total despair. Sir William
absolutely refused to interpose, and his purpose was strengthened
by his knowledge of her name and descent, which were more odious to
him, if possible, than her imputed witchcraft. But when it came to
be announced that the young lady hitherto known as Miss Graham, was
a relative of the venerated Goffe, a feeling of sympathy and pity
was strongly and generally manifested; but its public exhibition was
soon hushed by a sense of personal danger; every one was too deeply
concerned for himself, to bestow much solicitude upon the fate of
others.

Other methods were now adopted, and high rewards were offered in
private, to bold and adventurous men, if they would procure her escape
from prison: but no one could be found of sufficient courage to make
the effort. Walter then attempted to bribe the jailer; but that
resolute officer would not be tampered with. He was too much concerned
for his own soul, he said, to suffer a witch to escape. He redoubled
his vigilance; other sentinels were also placed on guard, and no access
to Miss Lyford was permitted, except an occasional visit from James,
who now spent all his time at Salem; and even this boon was with great
difficulty obtained.

On these occasions, James bore to his sister the most affecting
memorials of Walter's continued love, and assured her of his belief
that some way of escape would yet open, and that all his time and
thoughts were employed in devising plans for her deliverance. Mary,
however, placed little reliance on such deceitful grounds of hope, and
remitted nothing of her endeavors to prepare for the awful scene that
awaited her. It was indeed grateful to see such proofs of Walter's
affection, in the midst of all the obloquy which had clouded her name,
and made her the reproach and scorn of the community; but her ties
to earth were loosening, the glorious visions of the heavenly rest
absorbed her mind, and she looked beyond the troubled stream she must
soon cross, to a land of undecaying beauty and eternal repose.

All the efforts of James and Walter were warmly seconded by the
Ellersons; and in their frequent conversations, every suggestion
that prudence could make, was carefully balanced and weighed. But it
was reserved for the fertile invention of Strale, to devise the only
expedient which seemed to offer the least chance of success; and though
this was confessedly romantic and extremely difficult to manage, it was
resolved to make the trial.

Near the house of Mr. Harris, who had charge of Miss Lyford, there was
a small cottage, occupied by a poor but honest laborer, named William
Somers. This man was an ardent admirer of Gen. Goffe, and had once
seen and conversed with him at his retreat in Hadley. Moreover, he was
a sturdy Puritan, and in high reputation for honesty and piety: no
one ever questioned his integrity, and he was the last person to be
suspected of any plot against the peace of the community, Somers was
just the man for the present emergency; and as soon as Miss Lyford's
name was publicly disclosed, he went to Mr. Ellerson, and volunteered
his services in any proper measures for her release, assuring him he
might rely on his fidelity. There was little need of this assurance,
for Somers was never known to break his word or slight his engagements.
The location of Somers' cottage was very favorable, and in fact
essential to the success of the plan, as no other house near that
of Harris could possibly be obtained. His offer of assistance was
therefore gratefully accepted, and he was at once admitted to the
councils of Mary's friends. The progress of our narrative will develope
the means that were employed, and the consequences that followed.

The policy now to be adopted, required that Walter should no longer
keep up his relations to Miss Lyford, and that he should so far
acquiesce in the public feeling, as to offer no vindication, or even
suggest a wish in her behalf. It was no easy task to pursue this line
of conduct; but as it did not require a positive disavowal of his
engagement, he felt justified in assuming such a degree of indifference
to her fate, as might be necessary for the successful prosecution of
his designs.

Among Mary's friends in Boston, there were very few who did not follow
the fashion of the world, in deserting the unfortunate, and leaving
them to struggle alone in their wretchedness, without sympathy or
consolation. Miss Hallam, Mary's earliest and most intimate friend,
was one of the first to forsake her. In fact, this young lady was
never pleased with the attentions which were so liberally bestowed on
Miss Lyford, and it was more than suspected that her own attachment
to Strale, reconciled her to the impending fate of her friend. She
saw, with scarcely disguised pleasure, that Walter seemed to regard
Mary with little interest, and as he was now a frequent visiter at
her father's, she began to hope his affections were already enlisted
in her behalf. There were some, however, whose feelings and conduct
were far different. Among these, Miss Elliott was deeply affected
at the situation of her friend, and did not hesitate to condemn the
proceedings, as in the highest degree cruel and unjust. She made
repeated visits to Mr. Willard, in the hope that he might do something
in her behalf; and the benevolent clergyman employed all the power
he possessed in her favor. She made the same application to Cotton
Mather, but the stern fanaticism of this man was proof against all her
entreaties. He declared he had no malice, and nothing but kindness
towards Miss Lyford in his heart; but he solemnly believed in the
allegations against her, and that God and man required the sacrifice.
The proof he said was clear, and an exception in her favor would be
cruelty to the community and treachery to his divine Master. All he
could do was to pray, that notwithstanding her sorceries, she might,
if possible, be forgiven, and he would not refuse her the tribute of a
tear. Such were the feelings of this remarkable man, and such the power
of superstition over his vigorous but ill governed mind. He was not
naturally cruel, but in whatever devious course his perverted sense of
duty impelled him, no consideration of reason or humanity could bring
him back.

Mean-while the days glided on, and the period was at hand when the
fatal sentence of the law was to be executed. The nineteenth of
August had been assigned for the death of Burroughs and three of his
associates, who had been condemned on the same grounds. One female
also had been selected, to complete the sacrifice. For these unhappy
individuals there was no hope of escape; the public voice had condemned
them, as well as the iniquitous court before which they were tried;
and they prepared, with christian resignation, for the doom which
could not be averted. Miss Lyford's sentence had been assigned one
day later, as the case was deemed one of solemn and peculiar interest;
and moreover it was the policy of the court to impress the public
mind with the enormity of the crime of witchcraft, by repeating the
tragedy in its most awful and startling forms. The only hope that
remained for Mary, was in those secret movements of her friends, which,
in their complicated and delicate machinery, might be frustrated by
the severance of a single cord. Her brother had acquainted her with
the outlines of the plan, but she had little faith in a prospect
which seemed so visionary and hopeless. Neither had Lyford any great
confidence in its success, and every day had meditated some new
expedient to accomplish her deliverance--but it was all in vain. No
other hope appeared; and when the eighteenth of August had arrived,
Mary was still in the custody of Harris, and that vigilant officer and
his three assistants, were the sleepless sentinels at their post of
dishonor and shame.



CHAPTER FOURTEENTH.


'Accursed be the hour that gave me birth! Why was I born for this? Oh,
thou insulted, yet forbearing God! if thine avenging justice pursues
me to the lowest perdition, it will not outrun my crimes. Why did I
hunt the innocent without cause, and heap on my soul such mountains of
guilt? Oh, hide me, earth! bury me in thy deepest graves, if they will
but shelter me from a raging conscience and a frowning God! How shall I
save the innocent blood? how shall my feet, which have run so swiftly
in the way of evil, turn back into the path of peace? These hands have
built that fatal scaffold, on which innocence and virtue must perish!
Oh, might I die in her stead! Oh, that my blood might expiate my guilt!
Vain hope! the weight of mountains, the fires of the second death
can neither crush nor consume me. Mine is an undying death, mine an
unquenchable flame!'

Such were the exclamations of the wretched Trellison, as he stood on
that fatal hill with the scaffold which, the day before, had been
erected under a tree, directly in his view. He was now fully awake to
a consciousness of his crimes: he had betrayed into the hands of the
law, one of the most innocent and virtuous of her sex, and was about to
witness the awful consummation of his guilt. He had opened the door,
but it was beyond his power to shut it. If he avowed the truth, his
single testimony could not avail against the host of witnesses which
his own arts had procured, and whose evidence, if now confronted by
his, would in self-defence be combined to involve himself as well as
Miss Lyford in ruin and death. In this condition, he thought of every
possible method to avert the impending fate of Miss Lyford; but every
avenue seemed to be closed; and after wandering up and down the hill
for several hours, in the utmost horror and distraction of mind, he
finally determined to follow her to the scaffold, and there avow his
guilt, and invoke every power within his reach, to save her from the
threatened doom.

It is often a mournful duty to display the workings of an accusing
conscience. The picture may warn us to shun the incipient stages of
guilt, and turn back into the current of reason and reflection the wild
and turbulent elements of excited passion. Too often, alas! we plunge
into the very vortex of ruin, ere we are conscious that we have passed
the boundaries of virtue. Such is the influence of pride, self-love,
and self-esteem, that the first discovery of guilt and danger, often
comes too late to save us from the final plunge. This was preëminently
the case with Trellison: with hasty and violent feelings, unguarded
by reason, and driven by every wave of passion, he had mistaken his
own purposes of revenge for zeal in the cause of religion, and had
so blended his own selfish designs with an imagined regard for the
honor of his Maker, as to conceal from himself his actual guilt, until
its fatal effects stared him in the face, and revealed the depths of
iniquity in which he was ingulfed.

When the next morning dawned, crowds of people were seen gathering
round the spot, where the dreadful sacrifice which public fanaticism
demanded, was to be made. Rev. George Burroughs and three other
individuals, named Willard, Proctor, and Jacobs, together with one
female, were taken from prison and conducted by the sheriff to the
place of execution. The scene was one of appalling interest; and
as the unhappy victims passed through the streets, loud murmurs of
disapprobation were heard from many individuals, who believed they
were mainly indebted for these tragical events to Boston interference,
and who were indignant that Salem should be the chosen theatre for the
display of these bloody scenes. The venerable Higginson, with several
of his most influential parishioners, utterly refused all part in these
proceedings, while his associate in the ministry, Mr. Noyes, fully
coöperated with Parris, Mather, and Stoughton, in all the length and
breadth of this fatal delusion. When the hour of execution drew near,
the public murmur became more loud and distinct, so much so as to
excite alarm lest the purposes of justice might be frustrated. But at
this moment Cotton Mather appeared on the ground, on horseback, and by
the circulation of new proofs of Satan's promises and covenants with
these unhappy persons, effectually silenced the voice of sympathy and
the din of opposition. As the dreadful scene proceeded, Burroughs was
seen kneeling on the scaffold in prayer, in which he solemnly appealed
to his Maker for his uprightness of heart and his entire innocence
of the crime for which he was called to die. He prayed fervently
for himself and his hapless associates, thus performing in his last
hours the kind offices of his sacred profession, and administering
consolation to his fellow sufferers. Neither did he forget those bitter
enemies who had brought him to this scene of horror; but earnestly
supplicated their forgiveness from God, as he himself heartily forgave
them.

Thus perished the persecuted Burroughs and his unhappy companions. They
died as outcasts from God and man, their very names regarded with scorn
and horror, and their persons execrated as the vilest of the vile. Time
has lifted the veil; the storm of reproach has passed away; the shadows
of the invisible world, in which they were seen to move as dark and
mysterious forms enlisted in the service of Satan, and doing his will,
have given place to the sunshine of Reason and Truth. The white robes
of innocence and virtue now adorn them in the eye of every beholder,
and that foul stain stamps with its darkest hues, the memories of
Stoughton, Sewall, Gedney, and Cotton Mather.

Let it not be supposed there were no redeeming traits in the characters
of these men. It was a superstitious age, and the delusions which
were now abroad, had fastened with immense power upon the community
at large; but this, though it may be urged in mitigation of their
offences, was no valid excuse. They had unerring and sufficient maps
in the experience of the past. They had the sure word of God. They had
reason and common sense, which, impartial and unperverted, might have
shown them the madness and cruelty of their course. These guides were
consulted too late; and we have it recorded of Judge Sewall, that he
deeply repented of his agency in these painful scenes, and publicly
deplored his errors in the presence of the members of the South Church,
presenting his own example as a warning to future magistrates to
avoid that fatal rock, on which justice and mercy had alike suffered
shipwreck.

It is probable Stoughton and Mather carried this delusion in part
to their graves; and it is scarcely possible to contemplate these
characters with complacency. There is no monument along the track
of succeeding years, which redeems their memory from its deserved
reproach. Mather was learned and industrious beyond any man of that age
in New England; but he was credulous to the last degree; of a bold and
fiery temper, deeply tinctured with fanaticism, rash in his judgment,
severe in his rebukes, and overbearing in his conduct. A cloud rests
upon his memory, through which Charity herself can scarcely discern
the faint rays of real piety, which, notwithstanding all his errors,
probably existed in his heart. Stoughton was, if possible, still more
deeply implicated in these cruel proceedings, and the remark of an
eminent historian of Harvard College is undoubtedly just, that 'upon
no individual did the responsibility of the sad consummation of that
excitement rest more heavily, than upon William Stoughton.'

The next day was to be signalized by the death of Miss Lyford. The
public feeling was now so far subdued, that there was little danger to
be apprehended from the populace. If the death of Burroughs had excited
so little commotion, it was concluded there would be no interruption
to any future proceedings of the like character. Moreover, there was
a general belief that few cases of witchcraft had been more clearly
defined, and the singular language which had been addressed to her from
the woods, and was heard by others, was considered entirely conclusive
in her case. There had been no attempt to trace the cause of this
strange proceeding, but it was at once attributed to mysterious and
spiritual agents; yet Lyford suspected what afterwards proved true,
that a female from Hadley, who knew his sister's history and was in
the confidence of her grandfather, had been employed by Trellison in
this work of deception; but he had no means of proving such a plot, and
any attempt to implicate Trellison, who was now in high favor with the
ruling powers, would probably recoil on himself, and lessen the chances
of his sister's escape.

No access to Miss Lyford had been for some time permitted, except to
her brother, and even this indulgence was now prohibited. Trellison
found means, however, to convey to her a full confession of his guilt,
his determination to avow it publicly, and if possible to stay the
proceedings. He earnestly begged her forgiveness, and assured her
that he wished to live no longer than to make a public vindication
of her character, and save her if possible from her impending doom.
This communication was not received till late in the evening, and it
being impossible to obtain the favor of a light, or to procure the
least office of kindness from her keepers, Mary was, of course, wholly
ignorant of its contents. Her mind, also, was so fully occupied with
the plans now in progress for her deliverance, that she was the less
anxious to know its purport, and placing the paper in her bosom, the
incident was nearly forgotten.

Trellison was involved in difficulties which so distracted his mind,
that he was unable to devise any probable means, by which Miss Lyford's
fate could be averted. His confessions and retractions, if made, he
knew would only be regarded as new proof of her Satanic arts, and he
now thought it safer to make his appeal to the populace and enlist
their sympathies, than to attempt to stay a warrant which had been
already issued, and could only be revoked by the Governor. Still he
was unsettled in his plans, except that in the failure of all other
means, he resolved to vindicate her at the scaffold, though it might
cost him his life. The truth was, his convictions and remorse had
arrived too late; and in the existing state of public feeling there
was no proper light, in which evidence could be fairly seen; or if
seen, its legitimate power could not at that time be felt. Strange as
it may seem, the reports circulated by Cotton Mather on the preceding
day had maddened the populace, and made them insatiate of blood. It
was now believed that the death of Miss Lyford was essential to the
public peace, and there was probably no moment in the progress of this
delusion, when it ran higher, or was more terrible in its control over
every generous feeling, than at this period.

Meanwhile, it was on the extravagance of this delusion that Miss
Lyford's friends relied for her deliverance. The very feeling which
Trellison feared would render his confessions unavailing, they were
willing to provoke as the best means of her salvation. Mr. and Mrs.
Ellerson no longer made any appeal in her behalf. Strale was in Boston,
apparently unconcerned and unaffected, while Lyford alone kept his post
near his sister, the only visible friend, from whom she could expect
countenance or support.

There is that in human calamity, which, unsoothed by the voice of
sympathy, and unrelieved by the kind offices of friendship, falls with
a withering and consuming power on the heart. When such calamity is
frequent and long continued, even the ties of kindred and affection
are often sundered, and the unhappy sufferer, though conscious of
rectitude, finds himself sinking in despondency, solitary and desolate,
and his only support is drawn from the hope of a better world. Such
emphatically was the condition of those who were proscribed for their
supposed sorceries. Cut off from the sympathies of their fellow men,
exposed to insult, violence, and death, and at last consigned to the
scaffold, they were spectacles of unrelieved sorrow and wretchedness,
of which the world can furnish few examples. But these unhappy victims
did not forget their obligations to their fellow men and to God.
They almost uniformly died in the spirit of forgiveness; and if, as
the scoffer and the infidel allege, there be no hereafter, no review
of character and responsibility, no discrimination between good and
bad beyond this fleeting world, no probationary life here, and no
retributory condition hereafter, then indeed is our faith vain, our
works of love and charity are vain, and an unbroken gloom rests on the
territories of the grave!

But the infidel forgets that the same chance which placed him in this
world may not yet have exhausted its power. If it can move the world
in its orbit, regulate the seasons, and govern, by irrepealable law,
the motions of unnumbered suns and worlds, it may, for aught he can
tell, act upon his future being; it may redeem the vital principle from
the ashes of the tomb, and cast it among some new elements of life,
which may be perfectly adapted to the work of retribution. Let him then
beware of a theory which provides no security for his future happiness,
while it reserves the right to perpetuate his being for ever; let
him turn his eye to that even balance, in which his actions will be
weighed, and bring home to his heart the consolations which nothing but
the gospel, approved, accepted, and trusted, can supply.



CHAPTER FIFTEENTH.


On the evening of the nineteenth of August, a little schooner, which
had occasionally stopped at the port of Salem, on trading voyages up
and down the coast, entered the harbor. She was called the 'Water
Witch,' a fore-and-aft vessel of beautiful model and fine proportions.
Whenever she was seen coming up the bay, crowds of people assembled
to witness her movements. She was always kept in the best condition,
and her nicely-trimmed sails, the perfect symmetry of her spars, her
graceful attitudes on the water, and above all, her rapid and varied
motions, procured for Captain Ringbolt, who commanded her, an enviable
and well-deserved reputation.

When the Water Witch appeared, it was always expected the next day
would be one of extensive traffic, particularly among the country
maidens of the neighborhood. Captain Ringbolt always had a good supply
of laces, brocades, muslins, and all sorts of fashionable ornaments;
and his very showy assortment was generally disposed of to good
advantage. How he obtained his merchandise was sometimes a mystery;
but the Salem ladies were careful not to inquire too curiously into
the matter; they were quite willing Captain Ringbolt should have
his own way; and, as he was uniformly courteous and obliging, any
suspicions would certainly be inexpedient, and perhaps unjust. It was
rather wonderful, however, that so much charity was extended towards
this gentleman, considering the very strict morals of the Puritans,
and the rigid honesty with which they were accustomed to discharge
their pecuniary obligations. The gallant captain generally told a good
story, and, as our narrative all along supposes, there was no want of
credulity among the people.

As the Water Witch dropped her anchor, Somers stood on the beach,
watching her motions with deep interest and evident anxiety; one of his
neighbors, named Bolton, who was also one of Miss Lyford's guards,
having obtained leave of absence for an hour, was strolling near him,
and remarked the closeness of his survey. Somers, absorbed in his own
reflections, did not notice Bolton, till he touched him on the shoulder
and said: 'What now, Somers? you are looking sharp for Ringbolt; what
kind of traffic do you mean to drive with him?'

'Is this you, Bolton?' said Somers, in some confusion; but in a moment
recovering himself, he added: 'These are perilous times, neighbor; the
witch proceedings have stopped all business, and I thought, as there
are not many fire-arms in town, if I could get all the pistols Ringbolt
has, it might be a little speculation.'

'This Captain Ringbolt will soon grow rich,' said Bolton, 'if my
guesses are right; he was here only two weeks ago, and sold all his
cargo in two days. But he may come to a bad market now, unless he
waits for better times before he sells his goods; he is a shrewd man,
however, and sells things for a good price, when nobody else can sell
at all. I wish I knew where he gets his articles. Neighbor Somers, I
shall have nothing to do after the witches are hung; you know this
captain--I wish you would try to get me a berth on board for the next
voyage.'

'You are no more fit for a sailor, Bolton, than a monkey is to furl a
topsail. Captain Ringbolt would tumble you overboard before you got ten
leagues from land. You had better stay where you are, and find honester
business than any I ever knew you to be employed about.'

'You are sharp this evening, Somers. You will one day be convinced that
the man who watches criminals is doing a great favor to the community.
But I cannot think what has brought Ringbolt back so soon; his vessel
is light; I think he must have intended to be here this morning, and
see how the devil hangs up his friends.'

'They had better send to the devil for a sheriff. And you, Bolton, are
nearly right: a man must be more than half a devil, to be engaged in
such business.'

'It is a truly godly business,' said Bolton, 'and I wonder at your
language, Somers; if these witches will serve their master, they must
take such wages as he gives them; and the wages of sin is death. The
sheriff deserves the thanks of all pious persons for his courage and
zeal in the cause.'

'I wonder they had not employed you in the business,' said Somers; 'you
talk like one who has no great compassion for a reputed witch, guilty
or not guilty.'

'I am too sinful to be thus employed,' returned Bolton. 'I am not
worthy, Somers, even to walk in the footsteps of those holy men, who
are now purging the land of its sin and shame.'

'You are worthy,' replied Somers, 'to have a rope fastened to your
neck, and to be swung from a gallows as high as Haman's. What a wretch
you are, Bolton, to see the innocent murdered around you, and exult in
their death!'

'You must take care of your language, Somers, if you would save your
own neck; there is to be another hanging to-morrow, and when that is
over we shall want other victims; and your chance is getting to be a
fair one. Why, if Mr. Parris, or Mr. Noyes, had heard half what you
have said to me, you would be in prison this very night!'

'As to my own chance, it will be hard business to hang me up; but no
thanks to you, Bolton, if it is not done to-morrow. You are under
a strange delusion, and I must allow something for that. You were a
good neighbor once, and I hope will be so again; but the time looks
very distant to me. I am down this afternoon to get the first chance
at Captain Ringbolt's assortment. Pistols, according to my way of
thinking, will be in good demand; and I want something to defend myself
with, and to put a shot or two into you, in case you should be an
informer. At any rate, I am determined to have a first-rate pair for
myself. You know I have some skill in the use of them. Will you go on
board?'

'Not I,' said Bolton; 'I never go where pistols and powder are about,
except when I use them in the holy cause. I hope you will think no more
of what I said, Somers; you know I would not betray a friend.'

'There is no telling what you may do in such times as these; but there
is little danger, so long as you are within reach of my pistol; beyond
that, I would not trust you an hour. By the way, Bolton, have you
no fears that Satan may carry you off, while you are hanging up his
subjects? I wonder he does not appear in their behalf. If I believed
as much as you do, I would not dare to stand guard over Miss Lyford.'

'I have weapons to fight him that you know nothing of, Somers. I have
had some glimpses of him at twilight, but he saw me clothed in such
armor that he dared not approach. I once met this same Apollyon in the
day-time, but only a small part of his dragon form was visible; and
when I held up the holy gospels, he vanished into thin air.'

'If you should be called to grapple with him in person,' returned
Somers, 'you would be more likely to make a treaty with him than to
show fight. I am not sure, but it would be well for you to see what
terms you can make with him; for I am well assured he will have his own
terms by and by, and carry you off;--not that you are worth even the
devil's acceptance, but because he is sent to look after such as you.'

At that moment Captain Ringbolt landed, and Bolton walked off, not
exactly at his ease; for he knew that the honest and sturdy Somers was
a dangerous enemy to such characters as he knew himself to possess;
besides, it was time to resume his station as guard to Miss Lyford. 'I
shall be released to-morrow,' thought he, 'and then I will make peace
with Somers, and see if I cannot muster a little pity for the witch,
and this will be sure to win his favor.'

Meanwhile, Somers went on board the Water Witch with Captain Ringbolt,
and, entering the cabin, they conferred a short time, and soon settled
the plan of operations. The crew of the schooner were entirely ignorant
of Ringbolt's intended movements; and though a little suspicious that
the voyage to Salem was not exactly of a trading character, they were
so well trained and disciplined as perfectly to understand that nothing
was to be said, even among themselves; all they had to do was to obey
the orders of their superior.

Captain Ringbolt sent up his usual notices, which were posted in the
streets, with an additional clause, stating that on account of the
great event, which he trusted all godly persons would wish to behold
on the morrow, he should not expose his goods for sale, till the day
after, when, at the usual time and place, a most valuable assortment
of articles, selected with great care, would be offered for sale. He
returned thanks for the patronage he had received in past times, and
assured the good people of Salem that no efforts would be wanting to
merit their confidence, and meet the wishes of the public.

Somers walked away in sad contemplation on that state of things which
seemed to make one delusion necessary to counteract and dispel another,
which was far worse and more dangerous. But he was not quite satisfied
with himself, especially with the kind of deception he had practiced on
Bolton. The die, however, was cast. He implored pardon for the part he
now felt compelled to act, and while he believed the extremity of the
case, in the main, justified his course, yet it was so uncongenial to
his feelings, and so opposite to the whole tenor of his life, that he
was not a little disquieted by the scruples that oppressed him. He had
a wife and one child. They were his earthly solace and hope, and his
precautions, and those of Strale, had provided for their safety. For
himself, the result was uncertain, but every possible contingency was
guarded against, so far as human sagacity could foresee, or human skill
provide.

The twilight had now fallen on the village and its surrounding
scenes. The shadows deepened into uncommon gloom, as if Nature were
spreading a funeral pall for the dead, and mourning over her deluded
children and her own disregarded voice. Well might she sympathize in
the sad desolation around her! Her own mighty impulses of gratitude
and affection were silenced and suppressed by the mighty fabric of
fanaticism and delusion, which occupied the throne of the intellect
and the heart. Who shall assure us, that such scenes will never recur?
Where, in the weak and erring temper of man, do we find a guarantee
that bloodshed and crime, the fruit of other delusions, shall not again
desolate the land? Let us not boast of the dignity of Reason, the
victories of Science, and the golden age of taste and refinement. These
are often the soil in which the worst delusions spring up and cover the
land with a foliage so rank and poisonous, that the moral atmosphere is
filled with pestilence and death.

As the evening advanced, the different agents in the events about to
take place, were all at their posts. Strale occupied the cottage of
Somers. Lyford was at Mr. Ellerson's, Somers was in attendance upon
Strale, and the Water Witch, with furled sails, was resting quietly on
the bosom of the river, while her vigilant crew, with a double watch,
waited the orders of their master.

It was late, the same night, when Trellison left Salem for Boston. His
subsequent reflections had determined him to see Governor Phipps, make
his confessions, and procure, if possible, a reprieve or pardon. In
case of failure in his application, he could return in season to make
his last effort at the scaffold. But new difficulties awaited him. Sir
William was absent from town, and would not return for several days.
There was no delegated authority to which application could be made,
and his lady, who at the hazard of her life once saved a condemned
individual, dared not and indeed could not interpose. The night was
spent in anxious consultations, and ended with the conviction that his
only chance of success was a public confession, and an appeal to the
multitude.



CHAPTER SIXTEENTH.


Harris, the jailer of Miss Lyford, we have before remarked, was
extremely superstitious. The other persons on guard were nearly as
much so as their superior. The characters of these men had been
thoroughly studied by Strale and his friends, and they were satisfied
an experiment might be made on their credulity and superstition, with
reasonable hope of success. The idea very generally prevailed, that
all who were active in the witch prosecutions were exposed to fiery
assaults from Satan. On this account, it was deemed a religious duty
to guard the prisoners with the greatest possible care, and the most
resolute men were selected for this purpose.

The jailer was often apprehensive that Satan might appear in defence of
his prisoners. He thought it very possible that a part of the compact
might be that they should be delivered in the moment of their greatest
peril. He often spoke of some probable encounter with the devil,
for it was hardly possible that so faithful a servant of God should
remain unmolested, while subverting the kingdom of Satan on earth.
In conversation with Bolton and his associates, he often warned them
to prepare for such an encounter, and told them of the best methods
to beat off the Serpent, should he be so bold as to attack them.
Harris thought his spiritual armor was impregnable, and his prowess
irresistible, and though as yet he had no opportunity of signalizing
his courage by a pitched battle with any of the demons around him, yet
he boasted of one or two skirmishes in which the Adversary, though he
shook his dragon head and gnashed his teeth, was finally glad to make
his retreat. The courageous jailer did not use his worldly weapons, but
he always confronted his enemy with passages of scripture, and, in the
last resort, employed the most powerful spiritual weapon which he said
never failed, and that was prayer. Harris was not much given to this
exercise, for its potency, he insisted, was weakened by too frequent
repetition; consequently, he kept this weapon for the last extremity,
and never employed it, when other expedients would answer.

This view of Harris' character applied to Bolton and the other guards
of Miss Lyford, so far as superstition was concerned, but Harris was
quite their superior in other respects. He was powerful and bold, and
in grappling with flesh and blood, few men could stand before him; but
he was quite deceived in supposing himself a match for the imaginary
demons around him. No man was more likely to make good his retreat, if
he had occular demonstration of the presence of these mysterious beings.

About ten o'clock in the evening, Lyford requested the privilege of
visiting his sister for the last time. He was rudely repulsed by Harris
and the guard, who said they were forbidden to admit any person on any
pretence whatever.

'Hitherto,' said Lyford, 'you have permitted me to visit my afflicted
sister, and if she be guilty, and as much so as you allege, she is
still my sister, and nature pleads in her behalf. I trust you will
permit me to go in.'

'It is vain to ask,' said Harris; 'the permission you had from the
Governor has been revoked, and you cannot go in.'

'Will you take no responsibility in the matter?' said Lyford, 'and let
me pass for the last time?'

'None whatever,' was the reply. 'Our orders are positive, and we cannot
permit you to go in.'

'Mr. Harris,' returned Lyford, 'you say my sister has made a compact
with Satan; if so, I trust he will appear in her behalf; for, bad as he
is, I would trust him for humanity sooner than such wretches as you. If
he possesses any power, I believe he will now exert it. I was informed
he was seen in the chamber of the sheriff last night, in a threatening
attitude, so that he was hardly able to proceed in his dreadful work
to-day. Moreover, I am told by others, that he is excited to uncommon
rage, and will not any longer tolerate the murder of his friends.'

Harris seemed startled by these remarks, and as the night was
excessively dark, and the train of reflection which Lyford had awakened
was not the most agreeable, the jailer began to fortify his courage
by repeating passages from the Bible, and calling upon the guard to
unite with him in this holy employment, assuring them that Satan would
not dare to appear in the face of such rebukes as the holy scriptures
contained.

'Look,' said Bolton, 'see, Mr. Harris, what terrible shape is that
coming towards us?' The startled jailer cast his eyes in the direction
pointed out by Bolton, and he saw, gleaming through the shade, a
figure, which his terrified imagination instantly formed into that of a
dragon. From his horns, streams of fire were spouting, and a sound like
the hissing of a hundred serpents, rushed on the ear. A moment more,
and volumes of fire poured from his mouth, discovering by their light,
the hideous and distorted features of a demon, while with slow and
solemn pace he advanced towards the house.

'Get thee behind me, Satan!' said the agitated Harris. He then looked
round for a moment, with a bewildered and uncertain gaze. Lyford had
disappeared; Bolton and his companions had fled like the wind. Harris
then closed his eyes, and fell on his knees, uttering a hurried and
tremulous prayer. Looking up again, the fearful apparition still
advanced, and when in the light that was blazing all around, Harris
caught sight of his cloven foot, the unhappy jailer no longer doubted
that Satan in person was at hand, in behalf of Miss Lyford. The Bible
dropped from his hands, the voice of prayer died on his lips. Steel
and pistol were of no avail. No other weapon remained, and taking
to his heels, the unlucky Harris deserted his post, and fled like
a racer for his life, into the depths of the forest. Looking for a
moment from behind a tree, he saw the fiery dragon enter the house.
Then, redoubling his speed, he pushed on over bushes, fences and
brooks, until he plunged into a ditch, from which, after floundering
about for an hour, he made shift to get, weary and exhausted, upon
its neighboring bank. Even here he dared not open his eyes, lest the
terrible image, in its lurid flames, should once more haunt his vision;
but falling on his knees, he devoutly returned thanks, for the strength
he had received to flee from the destroyer.

Meanwhile, the faithful Somers rushed into the house, and with a single
stroke of his axe, broke in the door of Miss Lyford's chamber, and then
bearing her down stairs, he placed her in a wagon, which had been
provided at a little distance, for the occasion. Walter having divested
himself of his dragon's dress, left the horns, the cloven foot and
the black robe in the jailer's room, and with Lyford, hastened to the
beach, where Somers and Mary had already arrived, and in a few moments,
they were all safely on board the Water Witch. The wife and child of
Somers had been sent on board, early in the evening, and when the next
morning dawned, they were ten leagues from Salem harbor, on their way
to Virginia.

The scheme which had been so completely successful was entirely
the invention of Strale; its details were arranged with the utmost
precision and care, and it was executed with an admirable degree of
coolness and skill. Gunpowder in its various adaptations produced the
fire. The burning of tobacco caused the smoke, which seemed to proceed
from his breath. His face blackened and disfigured, a black gown thrown
over his shoulders, and leather sandals in the form of cloven feet,
completed the disguise.

It was not surprising that a device, which in ordinary circumstances
would have been equally foolish and hopeless, should be, in the
present state of public feeling, perfectly adapted to its end. It was
then supposed that visible appearances from the world of spirits were
not uncommon, and the disordered fancies of men created innumerable
apparitions and shapes of evil, which the senses gifted with
supernatural acuteness, were enabled to discern among the grosser forms
of the material world.

The chronicle we have consulted does not reveal the process by which
the mode of Miss Lyford's escape was concealed from the public eye. Yet
it contains some hints on this point which are reserved for our next
chapter, and it also intimates that many secrets were kept by the men
in power, which, had they been disclosed, would have covered the actors
in these tragedies with confusion and shame, and finished at once the
work of persecution and death.



CHAPTER SEVENTEENTH.


The morning dawned with a most welcome radiance upon the haggard
and exhausted Harris, as he lay on the bank of a muddy brook, from
which, after his desperate efforts in the ditch, he had no strength to
retreat. But he soon felt the refreshing influence of the morning air,
and as he cast his eye over the different and well-known objects around
him, his scattered senses began to return and his courage to revive. He
saw in the miserable plight of his dress and the bruises on his limbs
that he had been foiled in his great battle with the adversary; but he
hoped that after all Satan had been so much annoyed by his prayers and
quotations, that he had fled out of the region. He dared not, however,
venture back into the house, until he saw Bolton coming towards him,
who having fled at the first onset, was not so stupified with terror
as his friend Harris. Bolton, however, looked as if he had passed a
comfortless night. He had been separated from the other guards, who
had sought their own safety, and at last found shelter in a cottage,
distant from town, where he remained till morning.

'How came you, Bolton, to leave me to fight the battle alone?'
exclaimed Harris.

'Because, I am no match for the devil,' said Bolton; 'and you,
Harris--did you stand your ground?'

'Stand it? Yes, long after you had left it, and it was not till the
monster was directly upon me, that I began to retreat.'

'Retreat! you retreat?' said Bolton; 'why, you said the devil would
flee at the first word you uttered. I am afraid, Harris, you are not so
much of a saint as you thought.'

'Saint!' replied the indignant Harris, 'it would take an army of saints
to drive off such a dragon as he who assaulted me. I tell you, Bolton,
if I had not been a saint I should have been consumed by the flames
that surrounded me. But thank God, I was delivered out of the mouth of
the lion!'

'Shall we venture into the house?' said Bolton; 'it is now clear
daylight, and as dragons are abroad only in the night, I think we may
go in with safety.'

'I will go,' said Harris; 'my courage revives, and methinks I could
even face the dragon again. Oh! Bolton, it is a great thing to have a
good conscience!'

'It is a better thing, so far as safety is concerned, to have nimble
feet,' replied Bolton. 'I believe you and I, Harris, must trust more to
these than to any special friendship with conscience.'

'We are both sinners, Bolton, and saints too, I hope,' said Harris;
'but look, every thing seems natural about the house; there is no mark
of fire or brimstone. I have faith to believe that last prayer of mine
was not fruitless.'

As the jailer uttered this, they entered the door, and the first
objects they saw were the horns, cloak and appurtenances of Strale.
A note was seen on the table, and Harris hastily opening it, read as
follows:


     'The bird has flown. Faithful guards, what account will ye give
     of your stewardship? Thanks to your superstition and folly, they
     have given us that, which we sought in vain from your sense of
     justice and humanity. The wicked flee when no man pursueth. If ye
     tremble and flee before the painted symbol of Satan, what will ye
     do when you meet the arch Enemy face to face?

     WALTER STRALE.'


'So then we have run away from a shadow, and the devil was this Walter
Strale! I thought the scoundrel was in Boston, and had given up the
witch. I would as soon be hung myself, as have this thing known.'

'But it must be known,' said Bolton; 'how else can we give account of
the lady's escape? We must see the magistrates, tell them the facts,
and take their advice.'

'There is no other way,' returned Harris; 'it is a dreadful
alternative, but I hardly think they will wish to betray us on their
own account; it would cover them with disgrace as well as us.'

So saying, they proceeded to the house of one of the magistrates,
who called in the sheriff and one of his assistants. After a full
conference, they decided to report that the escape of Miss Lyford was
effected by violence. The injury done to the door would support this
view of the case, and the absence of Strale and Lyford, and the sudden
departure of the Water Witch would furnish a plausible story, and allay
the anger of the populace.

It was now eleven o'clock, and the population of Salem and its
neighborhood, near and remote, were assembled on the hill, to
witness another act in the tragedies of the times. The scaffold was
overshadowed by a tree, whose graceful figure and verdant branches had
long attracted the youth and maidens of the vicinity in their summer
rambles, and under its pleasant shade, many a whisper of affection and
many a secret of innocence and love, had been breathed to willing ears
and confiding hearts.

Near this spot stood the unhappy Trellison; around and before him, and
stretching away to the base of the hill, a silent and solemn multitude
were waiting the arrival of the officers of the law and their hapless
victim. On his right, the beautiful town was reposing in the brightness
and calm of a clear summer day; but to the eye of man, a strange and
startling gloom had fallen upon a scene, which up to this fatal period,
had been radiant in the fairest forms of beauty and loveliness. One
spot only riveted the gaze of Trellison, and as his eye explored the
shaded avenue, along which the sad procession must pass, the ashy
paleness of his victim's countenance, the neglected ringlets that once
with magic power had played upon her neck of spotless white, and the
slender figure whose graceful proportions had charmed every beholder,
completely filled his imagination, and threw over his face the gloom of
despair. The heavy moments rolled on, and at length the hour of twelve
was announced by the under sheriff, while neither officer nor prisoner
appeared. A beam of hope now lighted the eye of Trellison; he knew some
unseen power had suspended or averted the fatal sentence, and with
unutterable emotions, he saw the sheriff at last ascend the platform to
explain the mysterious absence of the prisoner. The multitude gathered
around, while the officer declared, as he said, with grief and shame
inexpressible, that Miss Lyford had been withdrawn by violence; that
Ringbolt and the crew of the Water Witch, in concert with Strale, had
effected by stratagem and force, the escape of the criminal, and thus
the law was defrauded of its demands, and the majesty of Heaven of a
sacrifice, which would have done much to vindicate its insulted honor,
and defeat the machinations of the devil. The people were exhorted to
go home, and if any of them felt encouraged in the practice of these
wicked arts, by the escape of Miss Lyford, they might be assured the
law would not relax its demands, nor the officers of justice their
vigilance, but the land must, at all hazards, be purged of Satan and
his devices. They were also charged to pray that the mischievous
and wicked maiden who had escaped, might be overtaken by the Divine
vengeance, and punished for her sorceries.

At that moment, Trellison mounted the scaffold. His face, which till
now had worn the livid hue of death, was covered by the flush of
emotion. Every eye in that immense assemblage was fixed upon him. As he
flung off his cap and threw back his disordered hair, he seemed moved
by an impulse little less than divine. In a few moments his aspect
became composed, and in a calm and clear voice he gave utterance to the
feelings which moved his inmost soul.

'Heaven, to-day, has interposed,' said this master of the assembly,
'and spared the innocent blood. Why slept thy thunders, oh Jehovah!
when the dire machination entered my heart? when I cursed the innocent
victim and laid snares for her life? Thou didst turn back upon my soul
a tide of guilt and horror, which would have drowned me in destruction
and perdition, and now thou hast checked its rage, and given me space
to proclaim the innocence of that victim, whom thou hast this day
saved from the altar of Moloch. Hear me, magistrates and men, and ye
ministers of an insulted God! hear me, old age, middle life and youth!
I proclaim in your ears that the maiden who has this day escaped
death, was guiltless of the crime for which she was condemned to die!
Deceived by my own heart, mistaking the bitter passion of revenge for
zeal in the service of my Maker, it was this hand that brought down the
threatened ruin upon that child of innocence and love. The fetters that
bound me in delusion and shame are broken for ever. But who shall wash
our guilty hands from the blood we have shed? Who shall reanimate the
cold forms that but yesterday lived and breathed in our midst? Here,
from this fatal hill, shall go down a memorial through all departing
generations, which shall brand us for ever. The winds that sweep over
these valleys and rocks shall testify against us. Yonder tree, riven
by lightning, and blasted to its very roots, shall testify against us.
This mount of offence, on which we now stand, shall testify against us.
For me, I go from this place, to solitude, penitence and prayer. Go you
to the like solemn offices, and bless your Maker, as I do, that this
vial of wrath has been stayed. Hold back your hands from blood; already
it cries for vengeance from the ground. Be grateful, as I am, that we
are not yet pursued by his avenging hand, or smitten by the thunders of
his wrath.'

The speaker descended from the scaffold. As he passed through the
spell-bound and awe-struck multitude, no one molested him. He lingered
for a moment on the edge of the forest, and then waving his hand, as if
he would again impress the solemn truths he had uttered, on the minds
of the audience, he disappeared among the tress. An unbroken silence
reigned for a few moments through all that vast assembly, and the
first words that were spoken, were an expression of thankfulness that
the innocent maiden had escaped; but the solemn impressions of the
day failed to arrest the mighty torrent of superstition that was now
rushing over the land. There were not wanting those who attributed this
change in Trellison to the power of her magic arts. This belief gained
ground, as Trellison was never more seen in public, and his retreat was
undiscovered and unknown. The delusion still prevailed; other scenes of
blood were witnessed; and history, faithful to its trust, has branded
that age and its men of power and influence with an infamy which must
abide upon them for ever.



CHAPTER EIGHTEENTH.


The Water Witch glided on her way with fine breezes and in gallant
trim, as if conscious of her beauty and the charm she spread over the
waters. In truth, this gem of the ocean was a sort of idol with Capt.
Ringbolt, who declared he could never survive her loss. He insisted
that her like had never before floated on the sea, and that when her
day of service was over, old Neptune would give her a tomb in some
bed of coral and pearls, and send up a pillar of foam in perpetual
commemoration of this graceful jewel in his crown. Her passengers,
however, were occupied with far graver thoughts. The first interview
between Strale and Mary was too simple and impressive to be here
described. It is enough to say, that a remembrance of the dangers and
distresses of the last few months, while it bound them to each other
by the strongest ties, led them also to united and devout thanksgivings
to that divine Being who had preserved them through all.

The voyage to Virginia was soon accomplished. Capt. Ringbolt, whose
kind offices were so essential to the safety of Miss Lyford, and
without whose agency the project for her deliverance must have failed,
was well rewarded for his services. It is but just to say, however,
that his humanity and generosity prompted him to assist in the
undertaking without any stipulated recompense. He had no fear that
his trade would be essentially disturbed, as he was confident a state
of things so unnatural must soon pass away. Yet for a time he thought
it prudent to keep up his traffic along the southern coast, where his
business might still be prosecuted with success.

A few days after the arrival of the party at Virginia, they found
a vessel for England, in which they determined to embark. Having
established Somers in a small house, and furnished him with means to
cultivate a good farm, Walter and Lyford, with Mary, sailed for Europe.
The voyage was prosperous, and in two months from their embarkation
they reached the shores of France, and soon entered its gay metropolis,
where in the family of Mr. Strale, Mary Lyford found the affection of
parents, and gave in return the love and gratitude of a child. All
the scenes of their past history were related by Walter, and in a few
weeks, with the full consent of his parents, he led Mary to the nuptial
altar. Their happiness was now complete. Years of love and tranquillity
glided away, untarnished by the lapse of time, consecrated by a visible
communion with God, and the life of christian faith.

The same enlightened and devoted piety which resisted the force of
the wildest superstition, was equally victorious over the gayeties
and follies of Paris. They were placed in circumstances where the
attractions of the world, its distinctions and honors, were freely
offered them; but they chose to live as pilgrims and strangers on the
earth, looking for a better country, even a heavenly. After a few
years' residence in Paris, they removed to Bremen, the original home
of Mr. Strale, where Walter, highly distinguished for his literary
character, filled one of the most important civil offices, and
diffused around him the best influences of the christian faith, adorned
and supported by a truly christian example.

Mr. Lyford returned to New England. He loved the land of the pilgrims;
and notwithstanding its follies and crimes, it was still the home of
his heart. He had seen among the friends of his sister one whom his
judgment not less than his fancy recommended to his affections. It
was his first, his long cherished, and ever constant love. On his
arrival at Virginia he addressed a letter to Miss Elliott, in which he
disclosed his attachment, and begged she would reciprocate a love which
could be none but hers. This communication was not wholly unexpected;
for their early sympathies, and the high esteem in which Lyford had
ever been held, had long before this awakened responsive affection in
her own heart. Soon after, he appeared in Boston, and was united in
marriage to one who was the pride of her family, and whose charms of
person and manners were only excelled by those of Miss Lyford.

It was one of the first objects of Lyford on his return to New England,
to seek the unhappy Trellison, and convey to him the free forgiveness
of his sister, and her sincere desires for his usefulness and happiness
here and hereafter. He was particularly charged by Mary to perform this
act of christian charity; for the letter of Trellison, which she read
on board the Water Witch, made a deep impression on her mind. She well
knew the gloomy fanaticism of his temper, and was anxious to mitigate
as far as possible, the anguish and horror which had overwhelmed him.
Bitterness and revenge had no abode in the bosom of Miss Lyford; and
though she had previously written to Trellison and assured him of her
forgiveness, she was not satisfied till she could know from her brother
that her message had been communicated.

Lyford had much difficulty in ascertaining the residence of Trellison.
He found him at last in a remote settlement, where he was devoting his
time to the instruction of children, and exerting the best influence
in the very small and scattered community in which he lived. They
conversed together of the scenes through which they had passed; in
which Trellison declared that so far as he was an actor, he could never
forgive himself; and his only hope of pardon from Heaven was founded
on the assurance of forgiveness to the chief of sinners.


The ancient chronicle from which we have sketched these pictures
here drops its curtain. We find no further traces of the different
individuals whose characters and doings have flitted like a dream
before our minds. But their history shadows forth their destiny; and we
may trace its brighter or darker lines, by the characters in which they
have been seen.

That memorable tree under which these deeds of terror were done, was
then in its greenness and beauty. Not long after, and it literally
fulfilled the prophetic intimation of Trellison. "Smitten, as was
supposed by lightning, it withered away, and stood for years with
leafless, outstretched arms, and sapless trunk, until burned to the
ground, by the descendants of the third and fourth generation of those
who suffered under it. In superstitious minds, tempests and torrents
could not wash away the blood from the unhallowed hill whereon it grew,
and the soil was cursed and barren of wholesome vegetation."[A]

True Religion acknowledges no affinity with superstition. She has
indeed suffered from the artificial bonds in which skepticism has
entwined them; but if her robes have been soiled and her countenance
marred by the unnatural position she is thus compelled to occupy, her
voice of charity and accents of love still proclaim her divine, and she
will always come forth with renovated beauty, and offer to man the best
antidote against superstition, and his only true happiness for time and
eternity.

FOOTNOTE:

[A] 'Historical Letters,' by A. CUSHING, Esq.





*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "The Salem Belle: A Tale of 1692" ***

Copyright 2023 LibraryBlog. All rights reserved.