The Witch of Salem Part 36

When he had completed the terrible story, the young chief drew his blanket about his shoulders and said:

"I am your friend, and if your white brothers prove false, remember your red brother will be true."

"I believe you, Oracus."

"I have shown one white brother through the paths, away from his enemies, and you will always find Oracus in his forest home ready to befriend you."

"The time may come when I will need your aid," said Charles Stevens.

After a long interview, he rose and started home. He was near the great bridge which spanned the brook, when he suddenly came upon a tall, powerful man, whose sallow face and cavalier-like manner showed him to be a citizen of the southern colonies. Charles instantly recognized him as Mr. Joel Martin, the man whom he had seen on that night with Mr.

Parris, Bly and Louder, coming to arrest Cora's father.

"You are Charles Stevens?" the Virginian said, halting before the youth.

"I have no desire to deny my name, for it is that of an honest man; I am Charles Stevens," he answered.

"Do you know who I am?"

"I suspect you are one whom I saw at my house, though your name I have not learned."

"I am Joel Martin, and by profession an overseer on a Virginia plantation. There were but two of us, my brother and I. He was an overseer of an adjoining plantation, when one day a slave escaped. He pursued him and was slain."

"I have heard the story," interrupted Charles.

"You have? and from his own lips?"

"I have; and I do not blame the man who was seeking liberty. He was a white man, as you yourself are. He had committed no crime, save that he was arrested as one of Monmouth's insurgents and had been captured while in the ranks of the rebel."

Martin's eyes flashed with fury and, in a voice that was hoa.r.s.e, he whispered:

"You aided him to escape; but it shall not avail. I have for years followed on his trail, and I will not let go my hold on him, until I have dragged him to the scaffold. No; the blood of my brother cries out for vengeance, and I will follow him day and night through the trackless forests, until I have brought the renegade to justice. He cannot conceal himself so deep in the forest, he cannot hide himself among the savage tribes, nor burrow so deep in the earth, but that I will find him."

Charles Stevens turned away and was walking toward home, when the tall Virginian, by a few quick strides, overtook him and, laying his hand on his shoulder, said:

"You do not care to hear these threats; but I have not done with you yet. Listen; I want to say more. If you seek to thwart me, I will kill you. Do you hear?"

"I have no fear of you, Mr. Martin," cried Charles Stevens, turning on the tall, swarthy southerner a glance which made him quail. "Your profession is brutality. You are a stranger to mercy; yet I will defy you. I fear you not, and, if you seek my life, you had better take heed for your own."

Charles boldly walked away, leaving the discomfited Virginian to fume and rage alone. The shades of night were falling fast over the village of Salem, as Charles hurried homeward, and he was amazed as he came in sight of the house, to see a great throng of people going away from the door. The young man quickened his pace, hardly knowing whether he was asleep or awake. A negro slave came running toward him crying:

"Ma.s.sa! Ma.s.sa! Ma.s.sa!"

"What has happened?" asked Charles.

"Um tuk um away! Dey tuk um off!"

"Who?"

"Yo mudder."

"My mother! Oh, G.o.d!" Charles Stevens ran swift as a roe buck toward the crowd, which had now almost reached the jail.

"What does this mean?" he demanded of John Bly, whom he met near the jail.

"Your mother is a witch," Bly answered.

"You lie!" cried Charles, and with one swift, sure blow, he laid the slanderer senseless at his feet.

"Hold, Charles Stevens! Hold! Be not rash, or she may fare worse,"

whispered a kind voice at his side, and, turning, he saw the sad face of John Nurse. He had drunk the bitter cup to its dregs and could advise.

The world seemed swimming before the eyes of Charles Stevens. He tried to rush to that throng, whom he saw dragging both his mother and Cora Waters to the jail; but in vain. His feet refused to carry him. He strove to utter an outcry; but his voice failed, and all became darkness.

CHAPTER XVI.

ESCAPE AND FLIGHT.

Come, rest in this bosom, my own stricken deer, Though the herd have fled from thee, thy home is still here: Here is the smile that no cloud can o'ercast, And a heart and a hand all thy own to the last.

--Moore.

When Charles Stevens regained consciousness, he was lying on a bed, and kindly faces were bending over him. He was conscious from the first of an oppressive weight of trouble, but could not realize what had occurred. As one awakening from a troubled dream, he strove to gather up his scattered faculties and recall what had happened. Like a blast of doom, the awful truth burst upon him, and he leaped to his feet. He was at the home of Landlord Nurse, and the pale, sad, horror-stricken faces about him were the old gentleman and his sons and daughters. They caught Charles before he reached the door.

"My mother!" cried the young man.

"No; you can do her no good by an act of rashness!" John Nurse answered.

"Tell me all about it. I will sit here and listen to it all," said Charles, when he discovered that he could not break away from his friends.

"Your mother and Cora Waters have both been cried out upon as witches, warrants were issued, and they were arrested. Now collect your faculties and act on your coolest judgment. Think what you will do."

Charles Stevens bowed his head in his hands and reflected long and earnestly on the course to pursue. He recalled the words of Oracus, the brave young chief, who could muster a hundred warriors. He was cunning and might devise some plan of escape, and Charles was not long in resolving what to do. He would not act hurriedly. He would be desperate; but that desperation would have coolness and premeditation about it.

He promised his friends to be calm, a.s.suring them he would be guarded in his speech, and then begun seeking an interview with his mother and Cora. It was three days before the interview was granted. He found them occupying loathsome cells, each chained to the wall. The interview was long, and just what such an interview could be, full of grief and despair. Charles tried to hope. He tried to see a ray of sunlight; but the effort only revealed the swaying forms of those hung on Witches'

Hill.

Even if he summoned Oracus and all his braves, would they be strong enough to break down that door of iron, or cut the chains asunder!

Charles, in his desperation, resolved to rescue the beloved ones or die in the effort. He went away weeping.

He did not return home. That home was desolate, lonely and so like the tomb, that he dared not go near it. At the home of his kind friend, he wrote to relatives at New Plymouth, Boston, New York, Virginia and the Carolinias. To all he appealed for help, for Charles was determined to move heaven and earth or rescue his mother and Cora; but he did not depend on those distant relatives and friends so much as the dusky friends in the forest. He knew that before answers could come to his letters, he would be dead, or would have succeeded in his efforts. Even if he should be killed in an abortive attempt, however, he hoped that his relatives would resume the warfare for the prisoners.

"Where is Cora's father?" he asked himself. "Could I but find the Waters brothers, I would have two friends and allies to aid me. Oh, Heaven, give me light! Give me light!"

Charles Stevens, like all true Christians, in this dark hour went to G.o.d for aid. Kneeling, he prayed as he had never prayed before. He seemed to take hold of the throne of grace and, with a faith strengthened and renewed, drew inspiration for his desperate resolve from the only living fountain. Armed with his rifle and pistols, he left the village and went into the forest. The forest inspires man with reverence and love for G.o.d. The giant trees, the deep glens, the moss and ferns and cool shades seem to breathe of eternity. Charles Stevens had always loved the dark old woods, and never had they seemed so friendly as on this occasion, when they screened him from the frowns of man.

Solitude offered him its charms. The zephyrs sought to soothe his sorrows by their gentle whispers, and the birds sang for the peace of his troubled spirit, while the babbling brooks strove to make him gay; but who can be gay when loved ones are menaced with a terrible danger?

Charles Stevens saw little of the beauty of nature. His eyes were searching the forests for dusky forms, which he hoped to meet. Those dusky sons of the forest were not often desirable sights; but Charles was as anxious to see the feathers and painted faces of these heathens, as if they were brothers.