CHARLES AND CORA.
We wandered to the pine forest,
That skirts the ocean foam.
The lightest wind was in its nest,
The tempest in its home.
The whispering waves were half asleep
The clouds were gone to play,
And on the bosom of the deep
The smile of heaven lay.
--Shelley.
In a thousand artless ways, Cora, despite the strange mystery which
seemed to envelop her, won her way to the hearts of all who knew her.
Goody Nurse, who was a frequent caller at the home of the widow Stevens,
was loud in her praises of the maiden, who had budded into womanhood.
Charles found her growing more shy, as she became more mature and more
beautiful; but as she grew more reserved, her power over him became
greater, until, though unconscious of it, she had made him her slave.
One day he met her in one of her short rambles about the wood near the
house. Her eyes were on the ground, and her face was so sad that it
seemed to touch his heart. He went toward her, and she started from her
painful reverie and looked as if she would fly.
"Cora, it is I, are you afraid of me?" he asked.
"No."
Then he went to her side and asked:
"Why are you so sad to-day?"
"Do I seem sad?"
"You look it."
"It is because of the good pastor's hatred of me. You were not at Church
last Lord's day?"
"No; I was in Boston."
"Hath not your mother told you of it?"
"She told me nothing."
Her sad eyes seemed to swim in tears, and Charles entreated her to tell
him what Mr. Parris had said of her. Without answering his question, she
asked:
"What do you think of Goody Nurse and her sisters, Goody Cloyse and
Goody Easty?"
"They are very excellent women," Charles answered, "I would that we had
more like them."
"Is it wrong for a young maid such as I to keep their company?"
"Assuredly not."
Charles saw that Cora had something to tell, and he begged her to come
to a large moss-covered log, on which they seated themselves, and then
he asked:
"Cora, who said it was wrong?"
"Mr. Parris."
"When?"
"On last Lord's day he did upbraid us as the emissaries of the Devil,
and Goody Nurse avowed if the minister did not cease to upbraid her in
church, she would absent herself."
"That would be a violation of law. All are compelled to attend worship
on Lord's day."
She was silent for several moments and then remarked:
"Can a law compel one to go where she is maligned and all the calumnies
hate can invent heaped upon her head?"
"By the laws of the colony, all must attend church on Lord's day."
The laws of the Puritans were exacting, and ministers of the character
of Mr. Parris took advantage of them.
"It is sad," sighed Cora.
"What did Mr. Parris say of you on last Lord's day, Cora?"
"I cannot recall all that he said. Even his text I have forgotten, for,
as he was announcing it, Abigail Williams was seized with a grievous
fit, and did cry out that Goody Nurse was pinching her. When she became
quiet, and the pastor again announced his text, Abigail interrupted him
with: 'It is not a doctrinal text, and it is too long.' He said that
when the children of God went to worship, Satan came also. Then he
declared that the Devil was in the church at that moment, and he looked
at Goody Nurse and me, who sat near each other in the church. 'Do any of
you doubt that the imps of darkness are in your presence? Behold how
they associate the one with the other. Those who afflict and persecute
the children of the righteous, and the unholy offspring of a player!' He
grew in a towering passion and cried out so against me, that all eyes
were turned upon me, and I bowed my head. No sooner had I done so, than
he called on all to witness how Satan rebuked dared not show his face in
the house of God. If I but looked on him to deny his charges he called
it the brazen impudence of a child of darkness. All through his sermon,
I sat listening to reproof for what I cannot help, or the frequent
allusions to the familiar spirits of Goody Nurse."
Tears quietly stole from the sad eyes and trickled down the cheeks of
the maiden. He sought to console her and, to change her mind to a more
cheerful subject, asked:
"Where is your father?"
"Alas, I know not, save that he has gone with his brother Harry Waters
to Canada to procure furs."
"Cora, what strange mystery surrounds your life?"
"I know not."
"Don't you remember aught of your mother?"
"No; I never saw her. My earliest recollections are of the theatre,
where a nurse cared for me in the greenroom, while my father performed
on the stage."
"Does he never talk of her?"
"My mother?"
"Yes."
"He never mentions her name."
"Have you never asked him about her?"
"Yes."
"What answer does he make?"
"He says I may learn all in due time."
To Charles Stevens, it was quite evident that Cora's father was
purposely putting off some important revelation. He gazed upon her fair
young face and in it could see little or no resemblance to her father.
Then a suspicion entered his mind, that she might not after all be the
child of George Waters. Though mysterious, Cora tried to conceal
nothing; her manner and conversation were frank and open.
"Your father was captured at the battle of Sedgemore, was he not?"
"Yes; he was impressed into the army of Monmouth. My father had no
interest in either army. What were their quarrels to him? Part of the
time he was in the Netherlands, and a part of the time in France,
Scotland or Wales. I don't think at any time he knew much of England's
trouble. We were roving all the time and thought little of political
questions. When he was arrested and forced into Monmouth's army, at
Bridgewater, he asked whose army it was."
"And you followed him?"
"I followed at a distance and from a lofty hill watched the long, hard
struggle. Oh, such a scene as it was! Ranks of cavalry and ranks of
infantry dashing at each other. Through the great volumes of smoke and
dust, I watched the regiment to which my father had been attached. I saw
it in the thickest of the fight and, kneeling by a stone fence, prayed
God to spare him. God answered my prayer, for he was spared. When I saw
Monmouth's army retreating and the ruthless butchers of the king in
pursuit, I ran down the lane, weeping and wringing my hands, expecting
to find his dead body. I was very young then; but the scene has been
indelibly stamped on my memory.
"As I was running down the hill, I met him, so covered with dust and
blackened with gunpowder, that at first I knew him not. He knew me, and,
as I swooned at his feet, he carried me across a field to a road-side
inn, where I recovered, and we were about to resume our flight, when the
king's soldiers surrounded the house. One of the officers cocked his
pistol to shoot my father and would have done so, had I not clung to his
neck and presented my body as a shield between him and the trooper's
bullet.
"'Spare him for the hangman,' suggested another.
"He was spared, and at the trial it appeared that he held no commission
in the rebel's army, so he was condemned to ten years' penal servitude
in the colonies, and was sent to Virginia, whither I went, also. Of our
escape, through the kindness and courage of your relative in Virginia,
you already know."
"Is your father going to take you away?"
"Yes; he says that my persecution at Salem will cease as soon as he can
prepare a home for me."
"Where?"
"In Maine."
"Do you want to go away, Cora?"
She was silent for a long while, in fact, so long was she silent that he
asked the question again before she answered. Then, fixing her
beautiful eyes, with a startled expression, on him, she answered:
"No, no! I would not go away, if I could remain in peace; but our
persecutions seem endless. My father is a good man. Although he was a
player, he was ever the kindest of fathers, and taught me only the
purest religious sentiments, yet Mr. Parris calls him the agent of the
devil."
Charles shudderingly responded:
"Cora, I fear we are on the verge of a fearful upheaval of ignorance and
superstition. Religion, our greatest blessing, perverted, will become
our greatest curse. I cannot understand it, Cora; but we are on the
brink of some terrible volcano, which will destroy many, I fear."
That Charles Stevens was no false prophet, subsequent history has fully
proven. Coming events seemed to cast their dark shadows before. In New
England, there had been a preparation for this stage in the temper with
which the adventurers had arrived in the country, and the influences
which at once operated upon them. Their politics and religion were
gloomy and severe. Those who were not soured with the world were sad,
and, it should be remembered, they fully believed that Satan and his
powers were abroad and must be contended with daily and hourly and in
every transaction of life. There was little in their new home to cheer
them; for the gloomy and unexplored forests shrouded the entire land
beyond the barren seashore. Their special enemy, the Indian, always on
the alert in some mysterious glade to take advantage of them, was not,
in their view, a simple savage. Their clergy, ignorant and fanatic as
they were zealous, assured them that the Indians were worshippers and
agents of Satan; and it is difficult to estimate the effect of this
belief on the minds and tempers of those who were thinking of the
Indians at every turn of daily life. Indian hatred has ever been mingled
with ferocity and fanaticism quite inconsistent with mild precepts of
Jesus Christ. This passion, kindled by the first demonstration of
hostility on the part of the Massachusetts red man, grew and spread
incessantly under the painful early experience of colonial life, and has
been only intensified by time. In turn, every man had to be scout by day
and night, in the swamp and in the forest, and every woman had to be on
the watch in her husband's absence to save her babes from murderers and
kidnappers. Whatever else their desires might be, even to supply their
commonest needs, the citizens had first to station themselves within
hail of each other all day, and at night to drive in their cattle among
the dwellings and keep watch by turns. Even on Sundays, patrols were
appointed to look to the public safety while the citizens were at
church. Mothers carried their babes to the meeting-house in preference
to remaining at home in the absence of husbands and neighbors. The
Sabbath patrol was not only for the purpose of looking for Indians, but
to mark the absentees from worship, note what they were doing, and give
information accordingly to the authorities. These patrols were chosen
from the leading men of the community--the most active, vigilant and
sensible--and one can easily perceive that much ill-will might have
accumulated in the hearts of those whom they saw fit to report. Such
ill-will had its day of triumph when the Salem tragedy reached its
climax.
Levity, mirth and joy were condemned by the Puritans, and nearly all
amusements were discarded. The merry whistle of the lad was ungodly in
their eyes, and Charles Stevens had come in for his share of the reproof
because God had given him a light heart. Life to them was sombre, and,
usually, sombre lives lead to bloodshed, crime and fanaticism.
Charles sought to instil some of his joy into the sad life of the
unfortunate maid. To him the sun shone brightly, the flowers bloomed
radiantly, and the birds sang sweetly for the pleasure of man. Life was
earnest, but not austere, and religion did not demand gloom.
"Have no care for what Mr. Parris may say," he said. "His congregation
is divided against him, and he cannot harm you."
"Only a little longer, just a little longer, and I will be gone where
they can torment me no more," answered Cora. "In the forests of Maine, I
will be hidden from the eyes of my enemies and be alone with God."
They rose and wandered down the path on either side of which the densest
of thickets grew. Both were lost in thought. A shadow had come over the
face of Charles Stevens the moment Cora spoke of going away. He had
never admitted even to himself that he loved her; yet, ever since that
stormy night when he volunteered to brave the tempest and conducted her
home, he had been strangely impressed with Cora.
The mystery of her early life was somewhat repugnant to one of his
plain, outspoken nature; yet, with all that, he was forcibly impressed
by her sweet, pure and sad disposition.
They were wandering pensively hand in hand toward his mother's home,
when a voice called to them from across the brook. The sound of the
voice broke the spell, and, looking up, he saw Sarah Williams coming
toward them.
"Hold, will you, Charles Stevens, until I speak to the one who
accompanies you."
The young widow was greatly excited, and her voice trembled with
emotion.
"Who is that woman?" asked Cora, trembling with agitation.
"Sarah Williams."
"I have seen her."
"Where?"
"At church. She was the one who upbraided Goody Nurse for being a
witch."
Cora was greatly agitated, as she saw Sarah Williams, with demoniacal
fury, hastening toward her. Surely she would do her no injury, for Cora
was not conscious of ever having given her offence.
"Have no fears, Cora, she will not harm you. I trow it is some
commonplace matter of which she would speak."
Thus assured, she had almost ceased to dread the approach of the woman,
when Sarah Williams suddenly cried, in a voice trembling with fury:
"Cora Waters, have you no sense of shame? Are you wholly given up to the
evil one?"
"What mean you?" Cora asked.
"Why do you torment me?"
"I do not, knowingly."
"False tool of Satan! Did not your shape come at me last night?"
"Assuredly not."
"Oh woman, woman! why will you speak so falsely? I saw you."
"When?"
"Last night, as I lay in my bed, you came and choked me, because I would
not sign the little red book which you carried in your hand."
Filled with wonder, Charles Stevens turned his eyes upon Cora, whose
face expressed blank amazement, and asked:
"What does this mean?"
"I take God to be my witness, that I know nothing of it, no more than
the child unborn," she answered.
"Woe is the evil one, who speaks falsely when accused!" cried the
enraged Sarah Williams. Then she closed her fist and made an effort to
strike Cora, who, with a scream, shrunk from her.
"Hold, Sarah Williams! Don't judge hastily, or you may judge wrongly."
"Go to! hold your peace, Charles Stevens, for, verily, I know whereof I
speak, when I charge that the shape of Cora Waters does grievously
torment me."
"Are you mad?"
"No."
"Then of what do you accuse her?"
"She is a witch."
At this awful accusation both Charles and Cora shrunk back in dismay,
and for a moment neither could speak; but Sarah Williams was not silent.
She continued upbraiding the unfortunate girl, heaping charge upon
charge on her innocent head, until Cora felt as if she needs must sink
beneath the load.
"You have bewitched my cows; my sheep and swine die mysteriously. Your
form is seen oft at night riding through the air. My poultry die
strangely and mysteriously, and my dog has fits. Even my poor cat hath
fallen under the evil spell which you cast on all about me. Alas, Cora
Waters, you are bold and bad. Charles Stevens, beware how you are seen
about her, lest the wrath that will fall upon her head involve you in
ruin."
Cora Waters, leaning against a tree, covered her face with her hands and
murmured:
"Oh, God! wilt thou save me from the wrath of these misguided people?"
"See how she blasphemes! For a witch to call on the name of God is
blasphemy of the very worst kind. Away, witch!" and Sarah stamped her
foot in violence upon the ground.
"Stay, Cora!" Charles interposed, very calmly. Then he turned upon Sarah
Williams, and added:
"You accuse her falsely, Sarah. Beware how you charge her of what the
law makes a crime, or you may have to answer in a court for slander."
"Charles Stevens, beware how you defend the being at your side. She is
an imp of darkness, and a day is coming when such will not be permitted
to run at large. Beware! _beware!_ BEWARE!" and with the last command
amounting almost to a shriek, she turned about and ran away.
Long Charles Stevens stood gazing after the retreating woman. The gentle
breeze, stirring the leaves of the sweet-scented forest, bore pleasant
odors to them, the birds sang their sweet peaceful songs, while a
squirrel, with a nut in its paws, skipped nimbly over the leaves near
and, pausing, reared upon its hind legs and looked at them from its
bright little eyes, while the flowers nodded their gaudy little heads as
if to invite every one to be glad; but Charles and Cora saw not all
these beauties of nature. She stood leaning against the friendly trunk
of a giant oak, and turned her eyes on him with a look of helpless
appeal and agony. He was so dazed by the bold accusation, that he could
not speak for several seconds. She was first to regain her speech.
"She, too, is my enemy."
"Yes," he answered.
"I have no friend----" she began.
"Don't say that, Cora. While mother and I live, you have two friends,"
he interrupted.
"Yes--yes; I had not forgotten you; but you may be powerless to aid me.
I learned that they were going to arrest and try some of the accused
people for witches. It is terrible," she added with a shudder. "In
England they burn witches at the stake. My father saw one thus roasted.
He said it did touch him with tenderness to see the gallant way she met
her fate--cursing and reviling the hooting mob gathered about her,
whilst the angry flames, leaping upward, licked her face, caught her
locks, crackling about her old gray head. I trow it was a sorry sight,
and God be praised, I never saw such a one!"
"You never will, Cora, for those days are passed. We live in a more
enlightened and humane age. People are not burned to death now, as they
used to be. We are safe under the shelter of humane and wise laws."
Charles was mistaken. Human laws have never been perfect or just, and
mankind will never be safe while laws are interpreted by partial
magistrates. Laws are never perfect, for, were they, continual
amendments would be unnecessary.
On their way home, Charles and Cora were compelled to pass the Salem
church. As they did so, they met Mr. Parris face to face, as he was
coming out of the sanctuary whither he had gone to pray. He paused near
the door and, fixing his large gray eyes on the unfortunate maid, glared
at her much as an angry lion might gaze on the object of its hatred;
then he turned away on his heel with something about the children of
darkness profaning the house of the Lord.
Cora shuddered as long as he was in sight, and when he had disappeared,
she said:
"Surely, he is a bad man!"
They resumed their walk to the house. Though neither spoke, they went
slowly, each buried in thought. The gentle zephyrs, the frisking
squirrels, the nodding flowers, the singing birds, were all unheeded by
them. When the home was reached, he found his mother standing in the
door, her face almost deathly white.
Though she said nothing, he knew she was greatly disturbed. Her wheel
stood idle, the great heap of wool rolls lying unspun at the side of it.
She smiled faintly and, as Cora passed into the little room set apart
for her, turned her eyes anxiously to her son.
"Mother, has any one been here since we left?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Was it Mr. Parris?"
"It was."
"We saw him come out of the church as we passed."
"He was here but a moment since."
Then Charles felt that something had been said to his mother to occasion
alarm, and he asked her what it was.
"He advised me to warn you to flee from the wrath to come. He said you
would be involved in ruin ere you knew it, if you continued in your
present course."
"What did he mean?"
"He referred to her," and Mrs. Stevens significantly nodded toward the
apartment in which Cora was. Charles had expected this answer. He went
slowly to the door and looked down the road to see if the pastor was
still in sight; but he was not. Only the broad, well-beaten
thoroughfare, with the great, old trees standing on either side, and the
blue sea beyond the hill, with the village in the valley were visible.
The youth's heart was full of bitterness, and the manner in which his
mother's words were spoken was not calculated to allay the storm within
his breast. Though her words did not say so, her manner indicated that
she shared the opinions of Mr. Parris. Turning from the door, Charles
went toward her and said:
"Mother, whatever he said of her is false. I know he hates Cora, that he
would make her one of the emissaries of Satan; but his charges are
false. You know--you must know that she is a pure, good girl."
"I do know it," she answered, her face still anxious and pale. "The
accusation is false. I know it is false; yet he threatens."
"Whom does he threaten?"
"You."
Charles laughed, as only a brave lad can laugh at danger. Why need he
fear Mr. Parris? Charles was young and inexperienced. He knew not the
age in which he lived, and little did he dream of the power which Mr.
Parris, as pastor of the church, could wield over the public. The pulpit
controlled judges and juries, law-makers and governors in that day, and
when an evil-disposed person like Mr. Parris became pastor of a
congregation, he could wield a terrible influence.
"Mother, how can he injure me?" Charles asked.
"In more ways than one."
"What are they?"
"I don't know, Charles; but I know--I feel that something terrible is
about to happen. Our people will suffer from Mr. Parris--especially all
who oppose his ministry."
"I oppose his ministry, and I have no fear of him. All he can do is to
wound the feelings of that poor girl; but she will go away soon, beyond
reach of his calumny."
"Heaven grant she may, and right soon, too." As Charles was about to
leave the house, his mother asked: "Have you heard that Adelpha Leisler
from New York is coming?"
"Adelpha Leisler! No----" He started, half in joy and half in regret.
"She is. Surely, you have not forgotten her."
"No, mother. I will never forget the pretty maid."
"Who, you said in your boyhood, was one day to be your wife."
"Truly, I did. I have heard that Adelpha hath kept the promise of early
childhood to make a beautiful woman. When will she come?"
"It is said she will be here before next Lord's Day."
The expression of joy uttered in words, as well as the glow which
lighted up his countenance, was seen by the white-faced young woman in
the next apartment. Cora was not an intentional eavesdropper. Her door
had been left accidentally ajar, and when she heard the name Adelpha
Leisler spoken, she started to her feet, moved by a strange impulse
quite inexplicable to her. She had never heard the name Adelpha Leisler
before, and yet she intuitively felt that the name had some terrible
bearing on her destiny. With loud beating heart, lips parted and her
whole being expressing pain, she crouched close to the door and
listened.