successively been borne to another resting-place. Before Ilbrahim would
consent to occupy it, he knelt down, and as Dorothy listened to his
simple and affecting prayer, she marvelled how the parents that had
taught it to him could have been judged worthy of death. When the boy
had fallen asleep, she bent over his pale and spiritual countenance,
pressed a kiss upon his white brow, drew the bedclothes up about his
neck, and went away with a pensive gladness in her heart.
Tobias Pearson was not among the earliest emigrants from the old
country. He had remained in England during the first years of the civil
war, in which he had borne some share as a cornet of dragoons, under
Cromwell. But when the ambitious designs of his leader began to develop
themselves, he quitted the army of the Parliament, and sought a refuge
from the strife, which was no longer holy, among the people of his
persuasion in the colony of Massachusetts. A more worldly consideration
had perhaps an influence in drawing him thither; for New England offered
advantages to men of unprosperous fortunes, as well as to dissatisfied
religionists, and Pearson had hitherto found it difficult to provide for
a wife and increasing family. To this supposed impurity of motive, the
more bigoted Puritans were inclined to impute the removal by death of
all the children, for whose earthly good the father had been
over-thoughtful. They had left their native country blooming like roses,
and like roses they had perished in a foreign soil. Those expounders of
the ways of Providence, who had thus judged their brother, and
attributed his domestic sorrows to his sin, were not more charitable
when they saw him and Dorothy endeavoring to fill up the void in their
hearts by the adoption of an infant of the accursed sect. Nor did they
fail to communicate their disapprobation to Tobias; but the latter, in
reply, merely pointed at the little, quiet, lovely boy, whose appearance
and deportment were indeed as powerful arguments as could possibly have
been adduced in his own favor. Even his beauty, however, and his winning
manners, sometimes produced an effect ultimately unfavorable; for the
bigots, when the outer surfaces of their iron hearts had been softened
and again grew hard, affirmed that no merely natural cause could have so
worked upon them.
Their antipathy to the poor infant was also increased by the ill success
of divers theological discussions, in which it was attempted to convince
him of the errors of his sect. Ilbrahim, it is true, was not a skilful
controversialist; but the feeling of his religion was strong as instinct
in him, and he could neither be enticed nor driven from the faith which
his father had died for. The odium of this stubbornness was shared in a
great measure by the child's protectors, insomuch that Tobias and
Dorothy very shortly began to experience a most bitter species of
persecution, in the cold regards of many a friend whom they had valued.
The common people manifested their opinions more openly. Pearson was a
man of some consideration, being a representative to the General Court,
and an approved lieutenant in the trainbands; yet within a week after
his adoption of Ilbrahim, he had been both hissed and hooted. Once,
also, when walking through a solitary piece of woods, he heard a loud
voice from some invisible speaker; and it cried, "What shall be done to
the backslider? Lo! the scourge is knotted for him, even the whip of
nine cords, and every cord three knots!" These insults irritated
Pearson's temper for the moment; they entered also into his heart, and
became imperceptible but powerful workers toward an end which his most
secret thought had not yet whispered.
* * * * *
On the second Sabbath after Ilbrahim became a member of their family,
Pearson and his wife deemed it proper that he should appear with them at
public worship. They had anticipated some opposition to this measure
from the boy, but he prepared himself in silence, and at the appointed
hour was clad in the new mourning suit which Dorothy had wrought for
him. As the parish was then, and during many subsequent years,
unprovided with a bell, the signal for the commencement of religious
exercises was the beat of a drum. At the first sound of that martial
call to the place of holy and quiet thoughts, Tobias and Dorothy set
forth, each holding a hand of little Ilbrahim, like two parents linked
together by the infant of their love. On their path through the leafless
woods, they were overtaken by many persons of their acquaintance, all of
whom avoided them, and passed by on the other side; but a severer trial
awaited their constancy when they had descended the hill, and drew near
the pine-built and undecorated house of prayer. Around the door, from
which the drummer still sent forth his thundering summons, was drawn up
a formidable phalanx, including several of the oldest members of the
congregation, many of the middle aged, and nearly all the younger males.
Pearson found it difficult to sustain their united and disapproving
gaze; but Dorothy, whose mind was differently circumstanced, merely drew
the boy closer to her, and faltered not in her approach. As they entered
the door, they overheard the muttered sentiments of the assemblage, and
when the reviling voices of the little children smote Ilbrahim's ear, he
wept.
The interior aspect of the meeting-house was rude. The low ceiling, the
unplastered walls, the naked woodwork, and the undraperied pulpit
offered nothing to excite the devotion, which, without such external
aids, often remains latent in the heart. The floor of the building was
occupied by rows of long, cushionless benches, supplying the place of
pews, and the broad aisle formed a sexual division, impassable except by
children beneath a certain age.
Pearson and Dorothy separated at the door of the meeting-house, and
Ilbrahim, being within the years of infancy, was retained under the care
of the latter. The wrinkled beldams involved themselves in their rusty
cloaks as he passed by; even the mild-featured maidens seemed to dread
contamination; and many a stern old man arose, and turned his repulsive
and unheavenly countenance upon the gentle boy, as if the sanctuary
were polluted by his presence. He was a sweet infant of the skies, that
had strayed away from his home, and all the inhabitants of this
miserable world closed up their impure hearts against him, drew back
their earth-soiled garments from his touch, and said, "We are holier
than thou."
Ilbrahim, seated by the side of his adopted mother, and retaining fast
hold of her hand, assumed a grave and decorous demeanor, such as might
befit a person of matured taste and understanding, who should find
himself in a temple dedicated to some worship which he did not
recognize, but felt himself bound to respect. The exercises had not yet
commenced, however, when the boy's attention was arrested by an event,
apparently of trifling interest. A woman, having her face muffled in a
hood, and a cloak drawn completely about her form, advanced slowly up
the broad aisle, and took a place upon the foremost bench. Ilbrahim's
faint color varied, his nerves fluttered, he was unable to turn his eyes
from the muffled female.
When the preliminary prayer and hymn were over, the minister arose, and
having turned the hour-glass which stood by the great Bible, commenced
his discourse. He was now well stricken in years, a man of pale, thin
countenance, and his gray hairs were closely covered by a black velvet
skull cap. In his younger days he had practically learned the meaning of
persecution from Archbishop Laud, and he was not now disposed to forget
the lesson against which he had murmured then. Introducing the
often-discussed subject of the Quakers, he gave a history of that sect,
and a description of their tenets, in which error predominated, and
prejudice distorted the aspect of what was true. He adverted to the
recent measures in the province, and cautioned his hearers of weaker
parts against calling in question the just severity which God-fearing
magistrates had at length been compelled to exercise. He spoke of the
danger of pity, in some cases a commendable and Christian virtue, but
inapplicable to this pernicious sect. He observed that such was their
devilish obstinacy in error, that even the little children, the sucking
babes, were hardened and desperate heretics. He affirmed that no man,
without Heaven's especial warrant, should attempt their conversion, lest
while he lent his hand to draw them from the slough, he should himself
be precipitated into its lowest depths.
The sands of the second hour were principally in the lower half of the
glass when the sermon concluded. An approving murmur followed, and the
clergyman, having given out a hymn, took his seat with much
self-congratulation, and endeavored to read the effect of his eloquence
in the visages of the people. But while voices from all parts of the
house were tuning themselves to sing, a scene occurred, which, though
not very unusual at that period in the province, happened to be without
precedent in this parish.
The muffled female, who had hitherto sat motionless in the front rank
of the audience, now arose, and with slow, stately, and unwavering step
ascended the pulpit stairs. The quiverings of incipient harmony were
hushed, and the divine sat in speechless and almost terrified
astonishment, while she undid the door, and stood up in the sacred desk
from which his maledictions had just been thundered. She then divested
herself of the cloak and hood, and appeared in a most singular array. A
shapeless robe of sackcloth was girded about her waist with a knotted
cord; her raven hair fell down upon her shoulders, and its blackness was
defiled by pale streaks of ashes, which she had strewn upon her head.
Her eyebrows, dark and strongly defined, added to the deathly whiteness
of a countenance, which, emaciated with want, and wild with enthusiasm
and strange sorrows, retained no trace of earlier beauty. This figure
stood gazing earnestly on the audience, and there was no sound, nor any
movement, except a faint shuddering which every man observed in his
neighbor, but was scarcely conscious of in himself. At length, when her
fit of inspiration came, she spoke, for the first few moments in a low
voice and not invariably distinct utterance. Her discourse gave evidence
of an imagination hopelessly entangled with her reason; it was a vague
and incomprehensible rhapsody, which, however, seemed to spread its own
atmosphere round the hearer's soul, and to move his feelings by some
influence unconnected with the words. As she proceeded, beautiful but
shadowy images would sometimes be seen, like bright things moving in a
turbid river; or a strong and singularly shaped idea leaped forth, and
seized at once on the understanding or the heart. But the course of her
unearthly eloquence soon led her to the persecutions of her sect, and
from thence the step was short to her own peculiar sorrows. She was
naturally a woman of mighty passions, and hatred and revenge now wrapped
themselves in the garb of piety; the character of her speech was
changed, her images became distinct though wild, and her denunciations
had an almost hellish bitterness.
"The governor and his mighty men," she said, "have gathered together,
taking counsel among themselves and saying, 'What shall we do unto this
people--even unto the people that have come into this land to put our
iniquity to the blush?' And lo! the Devil entereth into the
council-chamber, like a lame man of low stature and gravely apparelled,
with a dark and twisted countenance, and a bright, downcast eye. And he
standeth up among the rulers; yea, he goeth to and fro, whispering to
each; and every man lends his ear, for his word is, 'Slay, slay!' But I
say unto ye, Woe to them that slay! Woe to them that shed the blood of
saints! Woe to them that have slain the husband, and cast forth the
child, the tender infant, to wander homeless, and hungry, and cold, till
he die; and have saved the mother alive, in the cruelty of their tender
mercies! Woe to them in their lifetime, cursed are they in the delight
and pleasure of their hearts! Woe to them in their death-hour, whether
it come swiftly with blood and violence, or after long and lingering
pain! Woe, in the dark house, in the rottenness of the grave, when the
children's children shall revile the ashes of the fathers! Woe, woe,
woe, at the judgment, when all the persecuted and all the slain in this
bloody land, and the father, the mother, and the child shall await them
in a day that they cannot escape! Seed of the faith, seed of the faith,
ye whose hearts are moving with a power that ye know not, arise, wash
your hands of this innocent blood! Lift your voices, chosen ones, cry
aloud, and call down a woe and a judgment with me!"
Having thus given vent to the flood of malignity which she mistook for
inspiration, the speaker was silent. Her voice was succeeded by the
hysteric shrieks of several women, but the feelings of the audience
generally had not been drawn onward in the current with her own. They
remained stupefied, stranded as it were, in the midst of a torrent,
which deafened them by its roaring, but might not move them by its
violence. The clergyman, who could not hitherto have ejected the usurper
of his pulpit otherwise than by bodily force, now addressed her in the
tone of just indignation and legitimate authority.
"Get you down, woman, from the holy place which you profane," he said.
"Is it to the Lord's house that you came to pour forth the foulness of
your heart, and the inspiration of the Devil? Get you down, and remember
that the sentence of death is on you, yea, and shall be executed, were
it but for this day's work!"
"I go, friend, I go, for the voice hath had its utterance," replied
she, in a depressed and even mild tone. "I have done my mission unto
thee and to thy people. Reward me with stripes, imprisonment, or death,
as ye shall be permitted."
The weakness of exhausted passion caused her steps to totter as she
descended the pulpit stairs. The people, in the meanwhile, were stirring
to and fro on the floor of the house, whispering among themselves, and
glancing toward the intruder. Many of them now recognized her as the
woman who had assaulted the governor with frightful language, as he
passed by the window of her prison; they knew, also, that she was
adjudged to suffer death, and had been preserved only by an involuntary
banishment into the wilderness. The new outrage, by which she had
provoked her fate, seemed to render further lenity impossible; and a
gentleman in military dress, with a stout man of inferior rank, drew
toward the door of the meeting-house, and awaited her approach. Scarcely
did her feet press the floor, however, when an unexpected scene
occurred. In that moment of her peril, when every eye frowned with
death, a little timid boy pressed forth, and threw his arms round his
mother.
"I am here, mother, it is I, and I will go with thee to prison," he
exclaimed.
She gazed at him with a doubtful and almost frightened expression, for
she knew that the boy had been cast out to perish, and she had not hoped
to see his face again. She feared, perhaps, that it was but one of the
happy visions, with which her excited fancy had often deceived her, in
the solitude of the desert or in prison. But when she felt his hand warm
within her own, and heard his little eloquence of childish love, she
began to know that she was yet a mother.
"Blessed art thou, my son," she sobbed. "My heart was withered; yea,
dead with thee and with thy father; and now it leaps as in the first
moment when I pressed thee to my bosom."
She kneeled down and embraced him again and again, while the joy that
could find no words expressed itself in broken accents, like the bubbles
gushing up to vanish at the surface of a deep fountain. The sorrows of
past years, and the darker peril that was nigh, cast not a shadow on the
brightness of that fleeting moment. Soon, however, the spectators saw a
change upon her face, as the consciousness of her sad estate returned,
and grief supplied the fount of tears which joy had opened. By the words
she uttered, it would seem that the indulgence of natural love had given
her mind a momentary sense of its errors, and made her know how far she
had strayed from duty, in following the dictates of a wild fanaticism.
"In a doleful hour art thou returned to me, poor boy," she said, "for
thy mother's path has gone darkening onward, till now the end is death.
Son, son, I have borne thee in my arms when my limbs were tottering, and
I have fed thee with the food that I was fainting for; yet I have ill
performed a mother's part by thee in life, and now I leave thee no
inheritance but woe and shame. Thou wilt go seeking through the world,
and find all hearts closed against thee, and their sweet affections
turned to bitterness for my sake. My child, my child, how many a pang
awaits thy gentle spirit and I the cause of all!"
She hid her face on Ilbrahim's head, and her long raven hair, discolored
with the ashes of her mourning, fell down about him like a veil. A low
and interrupted moan was the voice of her heart's anguish, and it did
not fail to move the sympathies of many who mistook their involuntary
virtue for a sin. Sobs were audible in the female section of the house,
and every man who was a father drew his hand across his eyes. Tobias
Pearson was agitated and uneasy, but a certain feeling like the
consciousness of guilt oppressed him, so that he could not go forth and
offer himself as the protector of the child. Dorothy, however, had
watched her husband's eye. Her mind was free from the influence that had
begun to work on his, and she drew near the Quaker woman, and addressed
her in the hearing of all the congregation.
"Stranger, trust this boy to me, and I will be his mother," she said,
taking Ilbrahim's hand. "Providence has signally marked out my husband
to protect him, and he has fed at our table and lodged under our roof,
now many days, till our hearts have grown very strongly unto him. Leave
the tender child with us, and be at ease concerning his welfare."
The Quaker rose from the ground, but drew the boy closer to her, while
she gazed earnestly in Dorothy's face. Her mild, but saddened features,
and neat matronly attire harmonized together, and were like a verse of
fireside poetry. Her very aspect proved that she was blameless, so far
as mortal could be so, in respect to God and man; while the enthusiast,
in her robe of sackcloth and girdle of knotted cord, had as evidently
violated the duties of the present life and the future, by fixing her
attention wholly on the latter. The two females, as they held each a
hand of Ilbrahim, formed a practical allegory; it was rational piety and
unbridled fanaticism contending for the empire of a young heart.
"Thou art not of our people," said the Quaker, mournfully.
"No, we are not of your people," replied Dorothy, with mildness, "but we
are Christians, looking upward to the same Heaven with you. Doubt not
that your boy shall meet you there, if there be a blessing on our tender
and prayerful guidance of him. Thither, I trust, my own children have
gone before me, for I also have been a mother; I am no longer so," she
added, in a faltering tone, "and your son will have all my care."
"But will ye lead him in the path which his parents have trodden?"
demanded the Quaker. "Can ye teach him the enlightened faith which his
father has died for, and for which I, even I, am soon to become an
unworthy martyr? The boy has been baptized in blood; will ye keep the
mark fresh and ruddy upon his forehead?"
"I will not deceive you," answered Dorothy. "If your child become our
child, we must breed him up in the instruction which Heaven has imparted
to us; we must pray for him the prayers of our own faith; we must do
toward him according to the dictates of our own consciences, and not of
yours. Were we to act otherwise, we should abuse your trust, even in
complying with your wishes."
The mother looked down upon her boy with a troubled countenance, and
then turned her eyes upward to Heaven. She seemed to pray internally,
and the contention of her soul was evident.
"Friend," she said at length to Dorothy, "I doubt not that my son shall
receive all earthly tenderness at thy hands. Nay, I will believe that
even thy imperfect lights may guide him to a better world; for surely
thou art on the path thither. But thou hast spoken of a husband. Doth he
stand here among this multitude of people? Let him come forth, for I
must know to whom I commit this most precious trust."
She turned her face upon the male auditors, and after a momentary delay,
Tobias Pearson came forth from among them. The Quaker saw the dress
which marked his military rank, and shook her head; but then she noted
the hesitating air, the eyes that struggled with her own, and were
vanquished; the color that went and came, and could find no
resting-place. As she gazed, an unmirthful smile spread over her
features, like sunshine that grows melancholy in some desolate spot.
Her lips moved inaudibly, but at length she spake.
"I hear it, I hear it. The voice speaketh within me and saith, 'Leave
thy child, Catharine, for his place is here, and go hence, for I have
other work for thee. Break the bonds of natural affection, martyr thy
love, and know that in all these things eternal wisdom hath its ends.' I
go, friends, I go. Take ye my boy, my precious jewel. I go hence,
trusting that all shall be well, and that even for his infant hands
there is a labor in the vineyard."
She knelt down and whispered to Ilbrahim, who at first struggled and
clung to his mother, with sobs and tears, but remained passive when she
had kissed his cheek and arisen from the ground. Having held her hands
over his head in mental prayer, she was ready to depart.
"Farewell, friends in mine extremity," she said to Pearson and his wife;
"the good deed ye have done me is a treasure laid up in Heaven, to be
returned a thousand-fold hereafter. And farewell ye, mine enemies, to
whom it is not permitted to harm so much as a hair of my head, nor to
stay my footsteps even for a moment. The day is coming when ye shall
call upon me to witness for ye to this one sin uncommitted, and I will
rise up and answer."
She turned her steps toward the door, and the men, who had stationed
themselves to guard it, withdrew, and suffered her to pass. A general
sentiment of pity overcame the virulence of religious hatred.
Sanctified by her love and her affliction, she went forth, and all the
people gazed after her till she had journeyed up the hill, and was lost
behind its brow. She went, the apostle of her own unquiet heart, to
renew the wanderings of past years. For her voice had been already heard
in many lands of Christendom; and she had pined in the cells of a
Catholic Inquisition before she felt the lash and lay in the dungeons of
the Puritans. Her mission had extended also to the followers of the
Prophet, and from them she had received the courtesy and kindness which
all the contending sects of our purer religion united to deny her. Her
husband and herself had resided many months in Turkey, where even the
Sultan's countenance was gracious to them; in that pagan land, too, was
Ilbrahim's birthplace, and his Oriental name was a mark of gratitude for
the good deeds of an unbeliever.
* * * * *