The preacher drew forth a knife, and went up to the door.
Sir ... sir ... you are wanted Sir ... right away Sir, said a low voice
at his elbow....
Who are you? ... where are you? cried he ... but the blood curdled
about his heart, and he recoiled from the sound as he spoke.
Here I be ... here ... here.
Elizabeth dropped on her knees and hid her face in the lap of her
sister; and Rachel, who was not of a temper to be easily frightened,
gathered her up and folded her arms about her, as if struck to the
heart with a mortal fear. But Burroughs, after fetching a breath or
two, went back to the door and stood waiting for the voice to be heard
again.
What are you?--speak--_where_ are you?
Here I be, said the invisible creature.
And who are you--what are you? cried Burroughs running up to the door,
and then to the window, and then to the fire-place, and then back to
the window, and preparing to push the slide away--
Here I be sir--here--here--
Well--if ever!--cried Rachel. Why don’t thee go to the door
George--starting up and leaving poor Elizabeth on her knees. Why! thee
may be sure there’s something the matter--going to the door a-tip-toe.
No no Rachel--no no; it may be a stratagem--
A stratagem for what pray?--what have we to fear?
The door flew open as she spoke, and a boy entered all out of breath,
his neck open, his hat gone, his jacket off, and his hair flying loose--
Why, Robert Eveleth--
O Sir--sir! said he, as soon as he could speak--O sir I’ve come to tell
you--didn’t you never see a Belzebub?--
A what?--
If you never did, now’s your time; just look out o’the door there, and
you’ll see a plenty on ’em.
Why, Robert--Robert--what ails the boy?
No matter now, aunt Rachel--you’re wanted Sir--they’re all on the
look-out for you now--you’re a goin’ to be tried to-morrow for your
life--I come here half an hour ago to tell you so--but I saw one o’ the
Shapes here right by the winder....
A what?--
--A Shape--an’ so d’ye see, I cleared out ... and so, and so--the
sooner you’re off, the better; they’re a goin’ to swear _your_ life
away, now--
His life, murmured Elizabeth.
My life--mine--how do you know this, boy?
How do I know it Sir?--well enough ... they’ve been over and waked
Bridgy Pope, and want her to say so too--and she and Abby--they sent me
off here to tell you to get away as fast as ever you can, all three of
you, if you don’t want to swing for it, afore you know where you be----
Robert Eveleth!--
O, it’s all very true Sir, an’ you may look as black as a
thunder-cloud, if you please, but if you don’t get away, and you--and
you--every chip of you, afore day-light, you’ll never eat another
huckleberry-puddin’ in this world, and you may swear to that, all
hands of you, as we say aboard ship....
Robert Eveleth, from what I saw of you the other day----
Can’t help that Sir ... you’ve no time to lose now, either of you;
you do as I say now, an’ I’ll hear you preach whenever you like,
arter you’re all safe--no, no, you needn’t trouble yourself to take
a chair--if you stop to set down, it’s fifty to five an’ a chaw o’
tobacco, ’t you never git up agin ... why! ... there’s Mary Wa’cote and
that air Judith Hubbard you see ... (lowering his voice) an’ I don’t
know how many more o’ the Shapes out there in the wood waitin’ for
you....
Poh.
Lord, what a power o’ faces I did see! when the moon came out, as I was
crackin’ away over the path by the edge o’ the wood.... I’ve brought
you father’s grey stallion, he that carried off old Ci Carter when the
Mohawks were out ... are you all ready?
All ready?
Yes, all--all--you’re in for’t too, Lizzy Dyer, and so are you, aunt
Rachel--an’ so--and so--shall I bring up the horse?
No--
No--yes, but I will though, by faith!
Robert!
Why Robert, thee makes my blood run cold--
Never you mind for that, Lizzy Dyer.
Robert Eveleth, I am afraid thy going to sea a trip or two, hath made
thee a naughty boy, as I told thy mother it would.
No no, aunt Rachel, no no, don’t say so; we never swear a mouthful when
we’re out to sea, we never ketch no fish if we do--but here am I; all
out o’ breath now, and you wont stir a peg, for all I can say or do
and be--gulp to you!
Here Burroughs interrupted the boy, and after informing the sisters of
what had occurred while he was with Mr. Paris and the poor children,
he made the boy go over the whole story anew, and having done so, he
became satisfied in his own soul, that if the conspirators were at work
to destroy the poor girl before him, there would be no escape after she
was once in their power.
Be of good cheer, Elizabeth, said he, and as he spoke, he stooped down
to set his lips to her forehead.
George--George--we have no time to lose--what are we to do? said
Rachel, putting forth her hand eagerly so as to stay him before he had
reached the brow of Elizabeth; and then as quickly withdrawing it, and
faltering out a word or two of self-reproach.
If you think as I do, dear Rachel, the sooner she is away the better.
I do think as thee does--I do, George ... (in this matter.) Go for the
black mare, as fast as thee can move, Robert Eveleth.
Where shall I find her ... it’s plaguy dark now, where there’s no light.
On thy left hand as the door slips away; thee’ll find a cloth and a
side-saddle over the crib, with a--stop, stop--will the grey horse bear
a pillion?
Yes--forty.
If he will not, however, the mare will ... so be quick, Robert, be
quick....
Away bounded the boy.
She has carried both of us before to-day, and safely too, when each
had a heavier load upon her back than we both have now. Get thee ready
sister--for my own part--I--well George, I have been looking for sorrow
and am pretty well prepared for it, thee sees. I knew four months ago
that I had wagered my life against Judith Hubbard’s life--I am sorry
for Judith--I should be sorry to bring her to such great shame, to say
nothing of death, and were it not for others, and especially for that
poor child, (pointing to Elizabeth) I would rather lay down my own
life--much rather, if thee’ll believe me George, than do her the great
mischief that I now fear must be done to her, if our Elizabeth is to
escape the snare.
I _do_ believe you--are you ready?--
Quite ready; but why do thee stand there, as if thee was not going
too?--or as if thee had not made up thy mind?
Ah--I thought I saw a face--
I dare say thee did; but thee’s not afraid of a face, I hope?
I hear the sound of horses’ feet--
How now?--it is not for such as thee to be slow of resolve.
He drew a long breath--
George--thee is going with us?
No, Rachel--I’d better stay here.
Here! shrieked Elizabeth.
Here!--what do thee mean, George? asked her sister.
I mean what I say--just what I say--it is for me to abide here.
For thee to abide here? If it is the duty of one, it is the duty of
another, said Elizabeth in a low, but very decided voice.
No, Elizabeth Dyer, no--I am able to bear that which ought never to be
expected of you.
Do thee mean death, George?--we are not very much afraid of death, said
Rachel--are we Elizabeth?
No--not very much--
You know not what you say. I am a preacher of the gospel--what may be
very proper for me to do, may be very improper for a young beautiful----
George Burroughs--
Forgive me Rachel--
I do ... prepare thyself, my dear Elizabeth, gird up thy loins; for the
day of travail and bitter sorrow is nigh to thee.
Here am I sister! And ready to obey thee at the risk of my life. What
am I to do?
I advise thee to fly, for if they seek thy death, it is for my sake--I
shall go too.
Dear sister--
Well?--
Stoop thy head, I pray thee, continued Elizabeth--I--I--(in a
whisper)--I hope he’ll go with thee.
With me?--
With us, I mean--
Why not say so?
How could I?
Mary Elizabeth Dyer!
Nay nay--we should be safer with him--
Our safety is not in George Burroughs, maiden.
But we should find our way in the dark better.
Rachel made no reply, but she stood looking at her sister, with her
lips apart and her head up, as if she were going to speak, till her
eyes ran over, and then she fell upon her neck and wept aloud for a
single moment, and then arose and, with a violent effort, broke away
from Elizabeth, and hurried into their little bedroom, where she staid
so long that Elizabeth followed her--and the preacher soon heard their
voices and their sobs die away, and saw the linked shadows of both in
prayer, projected along the white roof.
A moment more and they came out together, Rachel with a steady look
and a firm step, and her sister with a show of courage that awed him.
Thee will go with us now, I hope, said Rachel.
He shook his head.
I pray thee George--do not thou abide here--by going with us thee
may have it in thy power to help a----in short, we have need of thee
George, and thee had better go, even if thee should resolve to come
back and outface whatever may be said of thee--
What if I see an angel in my path?
Do that which to thee seemeth good--I have no more to say--the greater
will be thy courage, the stronger the presumption of thy innocence,
however, should thee come back, after they see thee in safety--what do
thee say Elizabeth?--
I didn’t speak, Rachel--but--but--O I _do_ wish he would go.
I shall come back if I live, said Burroughs.
Nay nay George--thee may not see thy way clear to do so--
Hourra there, hourra! cried Robert Eveleth, popping his head in at the
door. Here we be all three of us--what are you at now?--why aint you
ready?--what are you waitin’ for?
George--it has just occurred to me that if I stay here, I may do
Elizabeth more good than if I go with you--having it in my power to
escape, it may be of weight in her favor--
Fiddle-de-dee for your proof cried Robert Eveleth--that, for all
your proof! snapping his fingers--that for all the good you can do
Elizabeth--I say, Mr. Burroughs--a word with you--
Burroughs followed him to a far part of the room.
If you know when you are well off, said the boy--make her go--you may
both stay, you and Elizabeth too, without half the risk; but as for
aunt Rachel, why as sure as you’re a breathin’ the breath o’ life now,
if you don’t get her away, they’ll have her up with a short turn; and
if you know’d all, you’d say so--I said ’twas _you_ when I fuss come,
for I didn’t like to frighten her--but the fact is you are only one
out o’ the three, and I’d rather have your chance now, than either o’
their’n--
Why? Robert--
Hush--hush--you stoop down your head here, an’ I’ll satisfy you o’ the
truth o’ what I say.... Barbara Snow, and Judy Hubbard have been to
make oath, and they wanted Bridgy Pope to make oath too--they’d do as
much for her they said--how ’t you come to their bed-side about a week
ago, along with a witch that maybe you’ve heerd of--a freckled witch
with red hair and a big hump on her back--
No no--cried the preacher, clapping his hand over the boy’s mouth and
hastily interchanging a look with Elizabeth, whose eyes filled with a
gush of sorrow, when she thought of her brave good sister, and of what
she would feel at the remark of the boy ... a remark, the bitter truth
of which was made fifty times more bitter by his age, and by the very
anxiety he showed to keep it away from her quick sensitive ear.
But Rachel was not like Elizabeth; for though she heard the remark, she
did not even change color, but went up to the boy, and put both arms
about his neck with a smile, and gave him a hearty kiss ... and bid him
be a good boy, and a prop for his widowed mother.
A moment more and they were all on their way. It was very dark for a
time, and the great wilderness through which their path lay, appeared
to overshadow the whole earth, and here and there to shoot up a
multitude of branches--up--up--into the very sky--where the stars and
the moon appeared to be adrift, and wallowing on their way through a
sea of shadow.
Me go too? said a voice, apparently a few feet off, as they were
feeling for a path in the thickest part of the wood.
The preacher drew up as if an arrow had missed him. Who are you? said
he--
No no, George ... let me speak--
Do you know the voice?
No--but I’m sure ’tis one that I have heard before.
Me go too--high!
No.
Where you go?--high!
Rachel pointed with her hand.
Are you afraid to tell? asked the preacher, looking about in vain for
somebody to appear.
I have told him--I pointed with my hand--
But how could he see thy hand such a dark night? said Elizabeth.
As _you_ would see it in the light of day, said the preacher.
High--high--me better go too--poo-ka-kee.
No, no--I’d rather not, whoever thee is--we are quite safe--
No--no, said the voice, and here the conversation dropped, and they
pursued their way for above an hour, at a brisk trot, and were already
in sight of a path which led to the Providence Plantations, their city
of refuge--
High--high--me hear um people, cried the same voice. You no safe much.
And so do I, cried Burroughs. I hear the tread of people afar off--no,
no, ’tis a troop of horse--who are you--come out and speak to us--what
are we to do?--the moon is out now.
High, poo-ka-kee, high!
Yes--come here if thee will, and say what we are to do.
Before the words were well out of her mouth, a young savage appeared in
the path, a few feet from the head of her horse, and after explaining
to her that she was pursued by a troop, and that he and six more of
the tribe were waiting to know whether she wanted their help, he threw
aside his blanket and showed her, that although he was in the garb of a
swift-runner, he did not lack for weapons of war.
No, no, not for the world poor youth! cried the woman of peace, when
her eye caught the glitter of the knife, the tomahawk and the short
gun--I pray thee to leave us ... do leave us--do, do!--speak to him
George ... he does not appear to understand what I say--entreat him to
leave us.
High--high! said the young warrior, and off he bounded for the
sea-shore, leaving them to pursue their opposite path in quietness.
Rachel and Elizabeth were upon a creature that knew, or appeared to
know every step of the way; but the young high-spirited horse the
preacher rode, had become quite unmanageable, now that the moon was up,
the sky clear, and the shadows darting hither and thither about her
path. At last they had come to the high road--their peril was over--and
they were just beginning to speak above their breath, when Burroughs
heard a shot fired afar off--
Hush--hush--don’t move; don’t speak for your lives, cried he,
as the animal reared and started away from the path ... soh,
soh--I shall subdue him in a moment--hark--that is the tread of a
horse--another--and another, by my life--woa!--woa!--
My heart misgives me, George--that youth--
Ah--another shot--we are pursued by a troop, and that boy is picking
them off--
O Father of mercies! I hope not.
Stay you here--I’ll be back in a moment--woa--woa!--
George----George--
Don’t be alarmed--stay where you are--keep in the shadow, and if I
do not come back immediately, or if you see me pursued, or if--woa,
woa--or if you see the mare prick up her ears, don’t wait for me, but
make the best of your way over that hill yonder--woa!--keep out o’ the
high road and you are safe.
Saying this, he rode off without waiting for a reply, intending to
follow in the rear of the troop, and to lead them astray at the risk
of his life, should they appear to be in pursuit of the fugitives.
He had not gone far, when his horse, hearing the tread of other
horses--a heavy tramp, like that of a troop of cavalry on the charge,
sounding through the still midnight air, gave a loud long neigh. It was
immediately answered by four or five horses afar off, and by that on
which the poor girls were mounted.
The preacher saw that there was but one hope now, and he set off at
full speed therefore, intending to cross the head of the troop and
provoke them to a chase; the manœuvre succeeded until they saw that he
was alone, after which they divided their number, and while one party
pursued him, another took its way to the very spot where the poor girls
were abiding the issue. He and they both were captured--they were all
three taken, alive--though man after man of the troop fell from his
horse, by shot after shot from a foe that no one of the troop could
see, as they galloped after the fugitives. They were all three carried
back to Salem, Burroughs prepared for the worst, Rachel afraid only for
Elizabeth, and Elizabeth more dead than alive.
But why seek to delay the catastrophe? Why pause upon that, the
result of which every body can foresee? They put him upon trial on
the memorable fifth day of August (1692) in the midst of the great
thunder-storm. Having no proper court of justice in the Plymouth-colony
at this period, they made use of a Meeting-House for the procedure,
which lasted all one day and a part of the following night--a night
never to be forgotten by the posterity of them that were alive at the
time. He was pale and sick and weary, but his bearing was that of a
good man--that of a brave man too, and yet he shook as with an ague,
when he saw arrayed against him, no less than eight confessing witches,
five or six distempered creatures who believed him to be the cause of
their malady, Judith Hubbard, a woman whose character had been at his
mercy for a long while (He knew that of her, which if he had revealed
it before she accused him, would have been fatal to her) John Ruck his
own brother-in-law, two or three of his early and very dear friends of
the church, in whom he thought he could put all trust, and a score of
neighbors on whom he would have called at any other time to speak in
his favor. What was he to believe now?--what _could_ he believe? These
witnesses were not like Judith Hubbard; they had not wronged him, as
she had--they were neither hostile to him, nor afraid of him in the
way she was afraid of him. They were about to take away his life under
a deep sense of duty to their Father above. His heart swelled with
agony, and shook--and stopped, when he saw this--and a shadow fell,
or appeared to fall on the very earth about him. It was the shadow of
another world.