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SILENT STRUGGLES.
by
MRS. ANN S. STEPHENS.
Author of "The Wife's Secret," "The Rejected Wife," "Mary Derwent,"
"Fashion and Famine," "The Heiress," "The Old Homestead," etc., etc.
A woman's heart, though delicate, is strong,
Like virgin-gold it takes the furnace heat.
Giving to history and immortal song
A glow of heroism pure and sweet.
Great men have sought the battle in their pride,
Hewing a path to glory as they fell;
But women, braver still, have grandly died
In silent struggles--fame may never tell.
Philadelphia:
T. B. Peterson & Brothers,
306 Chestnut Street.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1865, by
Mrs. Ann S. Stephens,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States,
in and for the Southern District of New York.
DEDICATION.
TO MRS. GEORGE H. PENFIELD, OF HARTFORD, CONN.
DEAR LADY:--
One of the sweetest privileges connected with the authorship of
a book is, that it can be made the landmark of such love and
kindly feeling as have united us from the day that we first met
till now. Believe me, it shall not prove my fault if this
dedication fails to link the future with the past, in one
perfect and life-long friendship.
ANN S. STEPHENS.
NEW YORK, APRIL 8, 1865.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I. THE SHIP IN A STORM
CHAPTER II. THE OLD STONE HOUSE
CHAPTER III. THE MINISTER
CHAPTER IV. EARLY IN THE MORNING
CHAPTER V. SIR WILLIAM AND HIS WIFE
CHAPTER VI. A GUIDE TO THE FARM-HOUSE
CHAPTER VII. THE UNEXPECTED VISITOR
CHAPTER VIII. THE MINISTER AND HIS PUPIL
CHAPTER IX. THE FORCED SACRAMENT
CHAPTER X. HUNTED DOWN
CHAPTER XI. DOOMED TO SLAVERY
CHAPTER XII. ELIZABETH AND HER COUSIN
CHAPTER XIII. THE BROTHER AND SISTER
CHAPTER XIV. ANNA HUTCHINSON'S CURSE
CHAPTER XV. GIVEN UP TO REVENGE
CHAPTER XVI. THE ACCEPTED INVITATION
CHAPTER XVII. THE LOVER'S QUARREL
CHAPTER XVIII. GATHERING ROSES AND THORNS
CHAPTER XIX. CONVERSATION ON THE PORCH
CHAPTER XX. WILD JEALOUSY
CHAPTER XXI. PASSIONATE DENUNCIATIONS
CHAPTER XXII. THE DEATH FIRE
CHAPTER XXIII. TITUBA'S STORY CONTINUED
CHAPTER XXIV. AMONG THE SHADOWS
CHAPTER XXV. THE MORNING RIDE
CHAPTER XXVI. BACK TO THE HOMESTEAD
CHAPTER XXVII. THE CHIEF AND THE LADY
CHAPTER XXVIII. WORKING OF THE EVIL SPELL
CHAPTER XXIX. ASKING FOR SHELTER
CHAPTER XXX. STRANGE SHADOWS
CHAPTER XXXI. NOON IN THE WOODS
CHAPTER XXXII. THE BEACON FIRE
CHAPTER XXXIII. ALL OR NOTHING
CHAPTER XXXIV. TOWARD THE SHORE
CHAPTER XXXV. UNACCOUNTABLE SYMPATHIES
CHAPTER XXXVI. SOUL TORTURES
CHAPTER XXXVII. DENUNCIATIONS AND REPROACHES
CHAPTER XXXVIII. SHELTERED IN THE WOODS
CHAPTER XXXIX. TAKEN CAPTIVE
CHAPTER XL. THE ACCUSERS OF BARBARA
CHAPTER XLI. BARBARA IN HER DUNGEON
CHAPTER XLII. OLD FRIENDS IN COUNCIL
CHAPTER XLIII. THE MINISTER'S EVIDENCE
CHAPTER XLIV. PROGRESS OF THE TRIAL
CHAPTER XLV. CONCLUDING TESTIMONY
CHAPTER XLVI. THE STRANGE ADVOCATE
CHAPTER XLVII. THE WIFE'S APPEAL
CHAPTER XLVIII. THE FOREIGN PACKAGE
CHAPTER XLIX. STRANGE TIDINGS
CHAPTER L. BARBARA STAFFORD'S STORY
CHAPTER LI. A MOTHER
CHAPTER LII. THE LAST WISH
CHAPTER LIII. THE PRISON WEDDING
CHAPTER LIV. THE ICE COVE
CHAPTER LV. CLOSING SCENES
CHAPTER LVI. OVER THE WATER
SILENT STRUGGLES.
CHAPTER I.
THE SHIP IN A STORM.
A storm had been lowering all day over the harbor of Boston, heaping the
horizon with vast leaden embankments of heavy vapor, and shrouding the
hills with dense floating fog that clung around them in waves and masses
like draperies sweeping around some old monastic ruin. As the night
approached, a sharp wind came up from the east, accompanied by a
drifting rain that cut through the fog like a storm of silver shot. The
force of the tempest swept this away only to reveal the harbor in wild
turmoil, its waters heaving shoreward filled with muttering thunders
from the far off ocean, and each hill reverberating hoarsely to their
impetuous charge against its foundations.
It was a terrible hour for any unfortunate wayfarer who dared to be
abroad. The streets of the town were almost empty, and the wharves
utterly deserted save by a half dozen poor fishermen, who struggled to
keep their boats from being dashed to pieces against the timbers to
which they were chained. But the turbid waves leaped around and over
them, tearing the cables from their hold and beating the little crafts
to atoms or hurling them away like nutshells in the stormy riot.
As the day wore on, even these poor fishermen retreated in-doors,
leaving their little property to the tempest, and both earth and ocean
were given up to the storm. But on the heights which look seaward stood
two men thrown together even in that tempest into a strange and what
seemed an almost unnatural companionship; for in age, character, and
appearance each was a direct contrast to the other.
The storm beat heavily on them both, and though one from his age, and
the other from an education which had been almost effeminate, seemed
unlikely to brave a tempest like that without an important motive, it
would have been impossible for either of these men to have told what
brought them on the heights that boisterous day.
The old man had reached the hill first, and stood with his face to the
storm, looking out upon the turbulent waste of ocean with an anxious,
almost wild gaze, as if he were expecting some object long desired and
watched for to rise out of that leaden distance, and reward his steady
encounter of the elements.
The young man came up the ascent with a quick, struggling step, for the
storm was in his face, and he was compelled to fight it inch by inch. He
had shaded his eyes from the pelting rain, and cast an earnest gaze into
the distance, as if he, too, expected something, when the old man's
cloak was seized by the wind, and borne out with a rush and flutter like
the wing of a great bird, which made the youth conscious of another
presence. He looked around suddenly, and stepped forward, lifting the
hat from his head, with grave respect.
"Another man here, so far from town, and in all the tempest? I thought
that no one but a harum-scarum youngster like myself would venture forth
in a storm like this!"
"And I," answered the person thus addressed, sweeping back the iron gray
locks, that fell wet and scattered over his forehead, with a hand like
withered parchment, "I, too, believed that nothing but an old wanderer,
impelled by the spirit which he can never resist, would dare the wind on
these heights. Look, young man, for the rain blinds me: discern you
nothing in the distance yonder?"
The young man again sheltered his eyes with one hand, looking earnestly
forth towards the ocean.
"Nothing," he said at last. "I have searched that pile of clouds before,
and find only deeper blackness now."
"Searched it before! Did you expect something, then?" questioned the old
man, turning a pair of bright, gray eyes upon his companion. "Did you
expect something?"
As he spoke those eyes grew wild, and the penetrating glance, which he
bent upon the youth from under his heavy brows, struck to the young
heart, which was open to a new impression every moment.
"Nay, I do not know. It can be nothing but that unaccountable
restlessness which never leaves me in peace when a storm is howling over
the ocean. I could not stay in-doors--indeed, I never can on such
days--and, without knowing why, came up here to look this whirlwind in
the face, which, in return, is almost lifting me from my feet!"
The old man did not heed him, but stooped forward, looking towards the
ocean, while the rain beat against his face, dripping down in great
drops over his gray eye-brows, and deluging the hand with which he
strove to clear the blinding moisture away.
"It is coming! the clouds lift--the darkness is cleft--the bosom of the
deep heaves with life! Young man, look again! See you not the faint
outlines of a ship, spars, hull, and sails, reefed close--there--there,
riding in the bosom of the storm?"
He broke off with this exclamation, and drew his tall figure upright,
pointing towards the sea with a gesture of almost solemn exultation.
"Is that a ship, I say, or a bleak skeleton of the thing I have been
waiting for?"
"Upon my life--upon my soul, ten thousand pardons--but I think it really
is a ship, or some evil spirit has pencilled the skeleton of his devil's
craft in the clouds."
"Ha!" ejaculated the old man with a start, "see, see!"
The strange being might well cry out with astonishment. As he looked the
great embankment of clouds was torn asunder, and a burst of fire kindled
up its edges till it hung like streamers and tatters of flame around a
vessel of considerable size, which was, for the instant, lifted out of
the cloud into full view. The young man, whose sight was clear, could
even detect persons grouped upon the deck.
"It is a signal gun. She wants a pilot, or is in distress," he said,
eagerly. "Ha! she blazes out once more--they are casting her anchor.
Heavens, how she plunges! There--there, the cloud swallows her again!"
The old man had fallen upon his knees, allowing his long, gray cloak to
sweep away with the wind. He locked both hands over his face, and seemed
to be offering up either thanksgiving or entreaties to heaven; for his
voice, sharp and piercing, penetrated the storm too impetuously for the
words to be distinguished.
The young man stood a moment, reluctant to disturb him. That thin form
was completely exposed to the storm, and he could not refrain from an
attempt to rescue the old man's cloak from the wind, and gather it about
him. Besides, the grass was completely saturated on which he knelt, and
to remain upon it longer might bring a death chill.
"Sir, forgive me, but this is a dangerous place for prayer. The earth is
deluged where you kneel."
The old man struggled to his feet, and looked down upon the crushed
grass with humiliation and wonder.
"Kneel! did I in truth kneel?" he said, anxiously, like one who excuses
himself from a grave crime; "and here, in the open day? I beseech you,
remember, my young friend, that it was the surprise of yon ship and the
tempest which cast me into that unseemly position. When a servant of God
prays, it should be standing upright, face to face with the Being after
whose image he was made."
"You were, indeed greatly overcome," answered the youth, arranging the
folds of the old man's cloak. "The ship yonder must contain some dear
friend, that its appearance should move you so deeply."
"Some dear friend! Samuel Parris has no friends to expect from the
mother-land now. It is many years since he and all that is left of his
kin took root in the New World."
"And yet you were looking for the ship so anxiously?"
"Aye, young man. I was looking for something which was to come up from
the east through yon gate of clouds; but whether it was a weather-worn
vessel or an archangel sent on some special mission, was not told me."
"And you come hither expecting nothing?"
"Expecting every thing, for Jehovah is everywhere," answered the old
man, solemnly.
The youth was greatly impressed, his eye brightened.
"I only wish it were in my power to have expectations grounded on so
much faith," he said. "Now I come forth like a storm-bird, because a
strife of wind and water fills me with some grand expectation never
realized, but which seems always on the verge of fulfilment. You may
perchance smile, but it seems to me as if I had been months and years
watching for that very craft yonder, as if my own fate were anchored
with it in the storm. Nay, more, the guns, as they boomed over these
waves, seemed challenging me to meet some new destiny, and grapple with
it to the end, as I will--as I will!"
The young man stretched his arm towards the shadowy vessel, and his
slight, almost boyish form swelled with excitement, while the dark brown
eyes, usually bright and playful as a child's, darkened and grew larger
with the sudden excitement that had come upon him.
The minister grasped his outstretched arm, and fixed a steady gaze on
his face.
"And you also have been on the watch. Like me, you have come blindfold
through the storm, searching into the future for that ghostly ship,
where it spreads its shrouds of dull mist, and rocks upon the moaning
sea. Has the spirit of prophecy touched your young life also, that you
say these things with a shortened breath and white cheek, like one
terrified or inspired?"
"I know not," said the young man; "but, like you, I have expected that
visit long. In storm and darkness as it comes now have I seen it."
"How--where?" cried the old man, breathlessly.
"In my dreams or reveries, I know not which, it has floated often,
shrouded as it is now, impalpable, a phantom of spars and fog."
"And you have seen this?"
"No, not with my eyes; it comes across my life like a ghost whose
presence fills you with awe, but answers to no sense."
"Like a ghost which you would fain flee from and cannot. Is it thus the
spirit deals with you also?"
"Nay, I would not flee, it arouses my courage. Even now my heart leaps
toward yon vessel as if some precious thing lay in its hold which no one
but myself may dare to claim."
"This is strange--marvellously strange," said the minister, forgetting
himself in the enthusiasm of the young man.
"What is strange?"
"That we two should meet here for the first time in our lives, haunted
by the same dreams, waiting together for the same revelation. Heaven
forbid that this should prove a device of the evil one urging us on to
perdition. I trust that you have not come forth without fasting and
prayer, my young brother, for of a verity there is great need of both in
these latter days."
The youth smiled, for solemn thoughts made but brief impressions on him,
and the idea of quenching any one of his bright fancies by fasting or
prayer amused him exceedingly, notwithstanding the earnestness of the
old man's words.
The minister did not notice this gleam of levity, which would have
shocked him to the soul, for his eyes were fascinated by the strange
vessel, and he could not force them to look steadily on any other
object.
While the two men stood together the wind had shifted, carrying off the
rain. Through the gray mists left behind came a crimson glow from the
sun, which was that moment sinking behind the heights and shooting its
golden lances after the storm as it rolled slowly back upon the bosom of
the ocean.
"It is gone," said the old man, mournfully, as the heavy clouds settled
back upon the vessel; "the vapors have swallowed it up as usual. Let us
descend the hill, brother."
"Not yet--not yet!" cried the youth. "See! the storm is breaking away,
the sunset has drawn it seaward. Look, look how beautifully the vessel
pencils itself against that break of blue in the sky."
The old man turned again, and clasping his hands, murmured, "It is
neither phantom nor mist, but a ship of sturdy English oak, with masts
and spars standing. Hush!--young man, see you nothing upon the deck?"
"Yes, surely, a group of persons standing together."
"No, not that, nearer the bow!"
"It is the form of a woman alone, with her arms folded and her face
turned this way."
"Aye, the form of a woman with an outer garment of crimson, beneath
which her arms are crossed as she looks westward, is it not?"
"Truly you have described the woman, for, though I cannot see her
features, they are certainly turned this way."
"My sight is dim and will not serve me; tell me, stands the lady there
yet?"
"Yes, yes--clearer and clearer the sunset gathers over the vessel,
turning the angry waves to gold; the clouds are fringed with light, and
grow luminous around her. Sir, I entreat you tell me--who is this
woman?"
"Alas, I do not know."
"But the vessel, what is her name, from what port does she come?"
"How should I answer questions like these--I who never saw either the
vessel or the woman till now, save as shadows drifting through the
night. If yonder ship be, as it seems, of tough oak, and the woman a
living soul, then is the revelation complete and I may seek rest, sure
that the end will come."
The minister turned away as he spoke, and gathering the cloak around him
prepared to descend toward the town, but the young man lingered.
"Stay, stay!" he cried; "the people on board that craft are mad! No boat
could live in these waves, and yet they lower one to the water, and men
jump in, flinging themselves over the side of the vessel. Come back,
old man, she is preparing to descend. Her mantle gleams redly against
the black side of the ship; she gathers it around her like the wings
of a tropical bird, and settles down in the boat, which plunges and
rocks like a wild animal tugging at its chains. They loosen the
cable--a wave seizes upon the boat--it quivers upon the topmost
crest--plunges--and--oh! heavens! A man poises himself on the bulwarks
and leaps into the boiling ocean--the boat rocks heavily--turns to save
him--they grasp at his garments and attempt to pull him in--now the boat
is hurled onward and the poor man is lost--no! they fling a cable from
the vessel--he snatches it and they draw him up the sides again. But the
boat--another wave seizes it! Old man, old man, gather up your strength
and follow me. It is for this we have been brought together."
The youth ran forward as he spoke, taking the nearest path to the shore.
The minister followed after with a degree of energy that belied his
years. Now and then they caught a glimpse of the boat, struggling feebly
with the waves, and this gave them courage.
It was no slight distance that lay between the crest of that hill and
the broken shore at its foot; but space seemed nothing to the impetuous
young man. He rushed down the steep, calling out cheerfully for his
companion to be careful of the inequalities over which he bounded like a
deer, and at length stood panting on a curve of the beach, with his head
uncovered and his wild, bright eyes roving over the harbor in search of
the boat.
It was struggling up the harbor, beaten to and fro by the wind, which
seemed to come from every point at once, and tossed fearfully by the
waves that were wrangling together and leaping after it like ravenous
wolves.
It was evident that the sailors had lost all control of the little
craft, which fairly leaped in the water with a desperate strain, as if
mad to escape from its howling enemies. Suddenly the wind took it on the
crest of a wave, whirled it sheer about, and drove it on with fury
towards the point where Parris and his young companion stood.
A chain of sunken rocks girded the shore in that place, breaking up the
waves into innumerable whirlpools, and sending sheets of foam back upon
the storm. It scarcely seemed a minute when the boat made a plunge into
the midst of this terrible danger, and for an instant lay still, with
the angry foam boiling around it, and the white faces of its occupants
in full view. One man held the stump of a broken oar in his grasp, and
with its splintered end beat against the waves, as if this frantic
exertion would do them good. Another had lost his oar, and sat with his
arms folded, calmly surveying the land, with his wild eyes sternly
measuring the danger before him. Two other men toiled on with the
strength of giants, but the oars were no better than rushes in their
hands, and all their strength scarcely more than the flutter of dead
tree boughs against a wind like that.
All this the two men upon the shore took in at a glance. Then the
female, who had fallen forward upon her knees in the stern, absorbed
their whole attention. The face was turned that way, white and
contracted. Her hands were clasped and flung out with imploring anguish.
Her eyes gleamed, her frame quivered and rocked to and fro. The winds
had torn the bonnet from her head, and the waters dashing over the boat
saturated her crimson mantle till it hung heavily around her, and turned
purple under the scattered coils of her hair.
The boat gave a lurch: she started up, her white lips parted as if
uttering desperate cries; but if any escaped her they were swallowed by
the storm. Still their terrible eloquence broke forth in one wild
gesture, as she flung her locked hands upwards, and sunk down again,
shuddering and cowering into the bottom of the boat.
"She cannot live! she is lost!" cried the young man upon the beach,
frantic almost as the woman in her peril. "Is there no rope, no help,
nothing?"
"There is a God above," answered Parris, who stood with his gleaming
eyes fixed upon the boat.
The youth dashed out his arms against the wind, maddened by these heavy
words. Then, with a sudden cry, he darted forward and seized upon the
old man's cloak.
"Give it me--give it me!" he cried, rending it from the minister's
shoulders. "God expects his creatures to work when he sends danger--knot
these strips together if you would not see all those souls perish before
our eyes. Work, old man! Save that woman, and I, too, will kneel down
anywhere and give thanks to God honestly as you. Tie them firmly, and
tighten the knots with hand and foot--see--as I do."
While he spoke, the youth tore the old man's cloak into long strips,
using his delicate hands and white teeth simultaneously in the work; to
these he added his own short cloak, rent into fragments with equal
impetuosity.
The old man obeyed him, and began to knot the fragments together, while
the youth pressed his foot upon each knot, drew it firmly, and proceeded
to the next. A cable of some length was thus produced, which he tied
around his waist, while he flung the other end to the minister, who,
fired with sudden energy, followed the directions given him in stern
silence.
"Now come with me into the surf and hold firm, or you will have another
poor wretch to pray over," cried the young man. "Now, while that wave
goes out--ah! she strikes!--she falls apart!--there! there!--that red
heap in the foam!"
The youth plunged headlong into the waves. The old man stood waist deep,
with the end of the cable grasped firmly and wrapped around his right
arm. The winds dashed in his face and swept around his feet, striving to
uproot them, but he stood firm; the waters might as well have beat
against a pillar of iron. He felt the cable tighten with a jerk; for an
instant he saw the youth upon the crest of a wave, then all was roar and
darkness. A wave had rolled in and out again, straining at the cable
till it almost broke the old man's arm. Another rush of water. The cable
slackened, it was broken, or--wild hope--the waters which came roaring
in might bring the youth in their bosom.
The old man turned and fled up the shore, shouting a thanksgiving as he
felt the cable tighten in his hold. Like a monster that bears a child on
its bosom, the wave rushed up, and surged back again, leaving two human
beings struggling in its spent foam. A mass of dull crimson broke up
through the white froth, and tresses of long hair floated on the foam
wreaths.
The old man rushed back, seized upon these two lifeless creatures, and
dragged them to dry land. His iron energies were all aroused now; other
human beings were yet in the waves. He left the strange female and the
youth, helpless as they were, and went back in search of other lives.
It took time, for the poor boatmen were struggling hard for life, and
the storm fought them inch by inch, sweeping one man into eternity, and
washing over the others every moment.
While feelings of humanity transformed this dreamer into an activity
that would have astonished any one that knew him, the two persons he had
already saved lay senseless on the bank of ferns where he had cast them
down. It was not yet dark, and a black shadow from the hills rolled over
them, making their white faces ghastly as death. The woman was the first
to move; she struggled a little, clasping and unclasping her hands with
quick spasms of pain. Then the violet tinge grew to a faint flush on her
eyelids, and they quivered open, allowing two large gray eyes yet filled
with dull affright to look upward with vague wonder upon the sky.
Directly other senses awoke from their lethargy. The boom of the ocean
struck a shudder through all her frame; she began to tremble beneath the
cold sweep of the winds, and felt vaguely about with her hand for
something to fold about her.
Instead of the garment she sought, her hand fell across the pale face of
the young man, and struck a fresh chill to her heart. She began to
remember where she was, and what had happened. Her first thought was
that one of the dead seamen had been cast to her side, but, for a time,
she had no strength to rise up and look at the cold horror.