THE WOMAN IN BLACK.
The greatest of thy follies is forgiven,
Even for the least of all the tears that shine
On that pale face of thine.
Thou didst kneel down, to him who came from heaven,
Evil and ignorant, and thou shalt rise,
Holy, and pure, and wise.
--Bryant.
Charles Stevens, his mother and Cora and her wounded father found safety
and shelter at the home of Richard Stevens in Boston. Richard Stevens
was an uncle to Charles, and a man past middle life, but noted for his
practical common sense. Like all others of this noted family, he never
rose high in either social or political circles. They were simply
farmers or small tradesmen, with more than average intelligence,
patriotic and honest as their great progenitor, who came over with
Columbus.
Richard Stevens knew that the delusion of witchcraft could not last. In
his house, which was among the best in Boston, save those occupied by
the governors and officers, the fugitives, save Mr. Waters, remained all
during the latter part of 1692. As soon as his wound was healed, George
Waters, mysteriously disappeared. He reached Williamsburg, Va., just
after his brother was acquitted. He did not meet with Henry, for he had
already taken a ship for Boston.
George Waters went to Robert Stevens, where he made himself known and
learned of his brother's acquittal.
"The mistake was soon discovered," said Robert Stevens; "even before the
case came on to be tried. Hearing that you had been arrested, I went to
see you and discovered that they had the wrong man; then I procured his
release."
George Waters thanked Mr. Stevens for what he had done.
"What are you going to do now?" asked Robert.
"I shall return to Boston."
"He will never cease to follow you."
"No."
Then Mr. Waters again became thoughtful, and Robert asked:
"Are you going to slay him?"
"No. Did Charles Stevens write to you?"
"Yes."
"Concerning the pardon?"
"He did."
"And have you done everything?"
"Everything that can be done."
"Do you bid me hope?"
"Yes."
That night George Waters set out by land to return to New England. It
was a formidable journey in those days, and required many weeks. There
were large rivers to be crossed, and he had to go to the headwaters
before he could swim them. Many days and nights did the lone traveller
spend in the forest.
One afternoon he was suddenly aware of a man pursuing him.
Instinctively, he knew it was his enemy Joel Martin. The man was alone,
and George Waters, who was an expert marksman, could have waylaid and
shot him. Martin came to seek his life, and, ordinarily, one might say
that he was fully justified in killing him. George paused on the crest
of a high hill, and with the declining sun full on him, watched the
determined pursuer.
"Joel Martin is a brave man," thought Mr. Waters. "He is as brave as he
is revengeful."
Martin was almost a mile away; but he clearly saw the figure of the
horseman and supposed he had halted to challenge him to battle. Martin
unslung his rifle and urged his jaded steed forward at a gallop, waving
his weapon in the air.
"I might be tempted to do it," George Waters thought, and he took his
gun from his back, threw it on the ground and rode away.
Joel Martin, who witnessed the strange proceeding, was puzzled to know
what it meant. He came up to the gun of his enemy and saw him riding
rapidly across the hills and rocks.
"Now he is at my mercy," cried Martin. "The fool hath thrown away his
gun to increase his speed."
George Waters was fully a mile ahead of Joel Martin, when he heard the
sharp report of a rifle followed by the crack of two or three muskets,
accompanied by an Indian yell. Waters felt his heart almost stand still.
He sought shelter in a dense thicket on the banks of a stream to await
the shadows of night. He wondered what had become of Martin, and when he
heard the yells of savages as he frequently did, he asked himself if
they were not torturing the unfortunate prisoner to death.
When night came, he saw a bright fire burning further down the creek,
and, leaving his horse tied to a bush, the brave Englishman crept
through the woods, crawling most of the way. At last he was near enough
to see a score of savages sitting about a camp fire. Near by, tied to a
tree was the miserable Virginian. Mr. Waters saw that he had two wounds,
and was no doubt suffering greatly.
His horse had been killed and afforded a feast for the savages, who
evidently had not yet decided the rider's fate. Having feasted until
their stomachs were overgorged, the Indians lay down upon the ground and
fell asleep. Their prisoner was severely wounded and tied with stout
deer-skin thongs, so that it would be utterly impossible for him to
escape, and in the heart of this great wilderness the dusky sons slept
in perfect security.
George Waters crept up closer and closer to the prisoner, and had to
actually crawl between two sleeping savages, to reach him; then he
slowly rose at the feet of Martin, who, unable to sleep for pain, was
the only human being in the camp awake. The prisoner saw him
approaching, saw him draw his knife, and expected to be killed by his
enemy; but he made no outcry. Better be stabbed to the heart by George
Waters than tortured by his fiendish captors.
George Waters cut the deer-skin thongs which bound him to the tree and,
in a whisper, asked:
"Can you walk?"
"No."
"I will carry you."
He took the wounded man on his own broad shoulders, and carefully bore
him from the camp. Not a word was said. Joel Martin's tongue seemed
suddenly to have become paralyzed. George Waters walked slowly,
carefully, and silently. The Indians slept. When they were some distance
from the camp, Martin, entertaining but one idea of Waters' plan, said:
"You have gone far enough with me. Stop right here and have it over
with. I shall make no outcry."
"Joel Martin, you are a brave man, I know,----" began Mr. Waters; but
Martin again interrupted him with:
"I shall make no outcry. You have a knife in your belt. Stab me, and be
done with it."
"I shall not."
"Where are you going to take me?"
"To my horse."
Martin grumbled at the useless delay, but suffered himself to be carried
to the horse.
"Can you ride?" Waters asked.
"Yes."
"I will help you to the saddle, and, if you think there is danger of
your falling, I can tie you."
He assisted the wounded man into the saddle and took the rein in his
hand, saying, "Hold, and I will lead."
"George Waters, where are you going with me?"
"To Virginia."
"Can it be that you intend to spare my life?"
"I have no occasion to take it."
The crestfallen Virginian said no more. All night long they journeyed
through the forests and across plains. At dawn of day they were among
the mountains. They rested and George Waters kept watch over the wounded
man while he slept.
By the middle of the afternoon, they were on the march again. Mr.
Martin's wounds were inflamed and sore, and he was in a fever. Next day
they reached the village of some friendly Indians, and remained there
two weeks, until the wounded man was able to proceed. George Waters went
with him until they were in sight of a village on the upper James River.
"I can go no further, Mr. Martin," said George Waters.
"I understand," he returned, dismounting from the saddle.
"Can you make your way to those houses?"
"Yes."
"I will take you nearer, if necessary."
"It is not."
George Waters cut two stout sticks with forks to place under his arms as
crutches. Martin watched his acts of kindness, while a softer expression
came over his face. He was about to go away, but turned about and,
seizing Waters by the hand, cried:
"God bless you! You are a man!"
Not willing to risk himself further he turned away, and George Waters
re-entered the forest. He reached Boston early in 1692, just after the
acquittal of his brother and others of the charge of witchcraft.
Everybody realizing that the madness had run its course, Charles Stevens
and his mother went back to their home at Salem, confident that they
need fear no more persecutions from Parris, whose power was gone.
[Illustration: George Waters cut stout sticks as crutches.]
Next day after his arrival, while going down a lonely path near the
village Charles suddenly came upon Sarah Williams.
Her eyes were blazing with the fires of hope, fanaticism and
disappointed pride.
"Charles! Charles!" she cried. "Nay, do not turn away from me, for, as
Heaven is my witness, I did not have your mother cried out upon!"
"Sarah Williams, I am as willing as any to forget the past, or, if
remember it I must, only think of it as a hideous nightmare from which,
thanks to Providence, we have escaped forever."
"Charles, let us be friends."
"Far be it from me to be your enemy, Sarah Williams."
"Can you not be more, Charles?" said the handsome widow, her dark eyes
on the ground, while her cheek became suffused with a blush.
"What mean you, Sarah Williams?"
"You used to love me."
The young man started and said:
"You mistake."
"I do not. You told me you did in the presence of Abigail Williams. At
the same time you confessed to killing Samuel Williams in order to wed
me."
Charles Stevens was thunderstruck, and could only gaze in amazement on
the bold, unscrupulous woman, who had trained under Parris, until she
was capable of almost any deception to carry her point.
"Sarah Williams, what you say is a lie!" he declared, in a voice hoarse
with amazement and indignation.
"We shall see! We shall see!" she answered, in a hoarse, shrill voice.
"I will prove it. See, I will prove it and hang you yet. Beware! I do
not charge you with witchcraft, but with murder. Either take the place
you made vacant by the death of Samuel Williams, or hang!"
As least of the two evils, Charles Stevens intimated he preferred to
hang, and, turning abruptly about, he left her. Next day he was met by
Bly and Louder in the village, who interrogated him on his recent
trouble with Sarah Williams about the dead husband. Knowing both to be
outrageous liars, and unscrupulous as they were bold, he sought to avoid
them; but they followed him everywhere and interrogated him, until he
was utterly disgusted and finally broke away and went home.
Charles Stevens did not tell his mother of the threat of Sarah Williams,
for he considered it too absurd to notice. Three or four days later,
when he had almost ceased to think of the matter, he and his mother were
startled from their supper, by hearing a loud knock at the front door.
"Sit you still, Charles, and I will go and see who this late visitor
is."
She rose and went to the door and opened it.
Three or four dark forms stood without.
"Is Charles Stevens in?" asked one.
"Yes, sir."
"I want to see him."
"Who are you?"
"Don't you know me, Hattie Stevens? I am the sheriff," said the speaker
boldly, as he, unbidden, entered the house.
"You the sheriff! What can you want here?"
Turning to the men without, he said in an undertone:
"Guard the doors."
The dumfounded mother repeated:
"You the sheriff! What do you want here?"
"I want to see that precious son of yours, widow Stevens, and I trow he
will guess the object of my visit."
"My son! Surely he hath done no wrong. He hath broken no law."
"Where is he?"
The voice of the sheriff was pitched considerably above the ordinary
key, and Charles Stevens, hearing it in the kitchen, became alarmed, and
hastened into the front apartment, saying:
"I am here. Is it me you want to see?"
"Yes, Charles Stevens, I arrest you in the king's name."
"Arrest me? Marry! what offence have I done that I should be arrested by
the king's officers?"
"It is murder!" he answered.
"Murder!" shrieked both the mother and son.
"Verily, it is," answered the sheriff. Then he produced a warrant issued
on the complaint of Sarah Williams, charging Charles Stevens with the
murder of one Samuel Williams.
Charles could scarcely believe his ears, when he heard the warrant read.
He had for a long time known Sarah Williams to be a bold, scheming
woman; but that she would proceed to such a bold, desperate measure as
this seemed impossible.
"I am innocent!" he declared, while his mother sank into a chair and
buried her face in her hands.
"It is ever thus. The most guilty wretch on earth is innocent according
to his tell," the sheriff answered.
Charles Stevens besought the man not to confine him in jail, but was
told there was no help for it, and he was hurried away to prison,
leaving his mother overcome with grief in her chair.
* * * * * * *
It was some days before the news of Charles Stevens' arrest reached
Boston. The prosecution was interested in keeping the matter from the
friends of the accused, for the Stevens family were known to have many
friends in high places in the colonies, and they might interfere in the
coming trial.
Cora Waters lived for weeks in ignorance of the peril of the man she
loved. Her father had come home, her uncle was with them again, and she
was almost happy. Poor child of misfortune, she had never known real
happiness.
Bleak winter was taking his departure and a smiling spring promised to
be New England's guest. Hope and peace and newness of life always come
with spring. Spring gladdens the heart and rejuvenates the aged.
One morning, while the frosty breath of winter yet lingered on the air,
Cora Waters, who was an early riser, saw a large ship entering the
harbor. The wind was dead against the vessel; but she was skillfully
handled and tacked this way and that and gradually worked her way into
the harbor. A wreath of smoke from one of her ports was followed by the
heavy report of a cannon, which salute was answered by a shot from the
shore.
"The ship will soon be in," the girl declared. "I will go and see it."
In small seaport towns, such as Boston was at that day, the appearance
of a ship caused as much excitement as the arrival of a train on a new
railroad in a western village does to-day. Many people were hastening
down to the beach where the boat would bring in passengers. Some were
expecting friends. Others had letters from loved ones across the sea;
but Cora had no such excuse. It was simply girlish curiosity which
induced her to go with the crowd to the beach.
Boats had been lowered from the vessel, which, having no deck, could not
get into shore and was forced to cast anchor some distance off. The
boats, filled with passengers, were rowed ashore.
Cora stood with a careless, idle air gazing on the gentlemen and ladies
as they disembarked. None specially excited her interest. Many were
there greeting relatives and friends; but she had no friend or relative,
and what were all those people to her?
She was about to turn away, when a face and pair of dark-blue eyes
attracted her attention. She involuntarily started and stared impudently
at the stranger, her heart beating, and her breath coming in short quick
gasps.
"That face--that face! I have seen in my dreams!" she thought.
It was the pale face of a woman, still beautiful, although her features
showed lines of suffering and anxiety. She was dressed in black from
head to foot, and a veil of jet black was wound round her head. For a
few moments, she stood looking about and then came directly to Cora and
asked:
"Young maid, do you live in this town?"
"I do, for the present," Cora answered, though she instinctively
trembled, for that voice, too, sounded like a long-forgotten dream. What
strange spell was this which possessed her? The woman asked:
"Can you direct me to a house of public entertainment?"
"Come with me."
Cora knew that the lady had suffered with seasickness, and was anxious
to reach land. She hastened with her to a public house kept by a widow
Stevens, whose husband was a distant relative of Charles. As they walked
up the hill toward the house, the woman continued to ply Cora with
questions:
"Are you a native of America?" she asked.
"No."
"England is your birth-place?"
"It is."
"Have you been long here?"
"I was quite a child when I came," she answered.
"Have you lived a long while in this town?"
"Only a few months," she answered.
They had nearly reached their destination, when Cora saw her father
coming toward them. At sight of his daughter's companion, the face of
the father became white as death, and, bounding forward, he pulled her
aside, saying:
"No, no! Cora, you shall not go another step with her!"
At sound of his voice, the woman in black seized his arm and cried:
"George! George! George!"
"Away! away!"
"No, no! Now that I have found you, I will not let you go. You may kill
me, cut off my hands, and still the fingers will cling to you. Oh, God!
I thank thee, that, after so many years, thou hast answered my prayers!"
"Woman, release me!"
"George! George!"
Cora was lost in a maze of bewilderment. She was conscious of the
strange woman in black clutching her father's arm and calling him
George, while he strove to drive her away.
A great throng of people gathered about them. Mr. Waters became rude in
his efforts to break away. At last he flung her off, and she fell, her
forehead striking on the sharp corner of a stone, which started the
blood trickling down her fair white brow. The woman swooned. Sight of
blood touched the heart of George Waters, and, stooping, he raised the
inanimate form in his arms, as tenderly as if she had been an infant,
and bore her to a public house and a private room.
When the woman in black recovered consciousness, she and George Waters
were alone, and he was tenderly dressing the wound he had made.
"George," she said with a smile, "you will let me talk with you now?"
"Yes."
"George, you believed me guilty when you abandoned me at Edinburgh?"
"Yes."
"You do yet?"
"I do."
"George, Joseph Swartz told you a falsehood."
"No, no, woman, do not----"
"Hold, George; let me show you his dying confession. Let me show you the
testimony of a priest."
She took up a small, red leather bag, such as was used in those days by
ladies, undid the strings and, opening it, drew forth some papers, which
she handed to him.
"Do you know the writing?" she asked.
"This is Joseph Swartz, my best and truest friend."
"No, no; read his death-bed confession, and you will see he was your
malignant foe."
He read the paper through, and his hands trembled with excitement,
astonishment and rage. He was about to say something, when she
interrupted him with:
"No, no; don't, don't, George. He is dead--let us forgive. If you want
more proof, I have it. See Father Healey's statement. He took Joseph
Swartz's confession."
Glancing at the paper, he threw it aside and cried:
"Honore! Honore! Forgive me! I should have believed you, not him. I
stole your child and, like a foolish man, ran away, without questioning
you."
"I have been sixteen years seeking these proofs. I would not have come
without them. You are forgiven, for, now that you have the proof, you
believe."
When George Waters went out of the room, he was met by his daughter,
Cora, who asked:
"Father, who is she--the woman in black?"
"An angel--your mother!"
"May I see her?"
"Yes, at once," and he led her to the apartment.