Come, rest in this bosom, my own stricken deer,
Though the herd have fled from thee, thy home is still here:
Here is the smile that no cloud can o'ercast,
And a heart and a hand all thy own to the last.
--Moore.
When Charles Stevens regained consciousness, he was lying on a bed, and kindly faces were bending over him. He was conscious from the first of an oppressive weight of trouble, but could not realize what had occurred. As one awakening from a troubled dream, he strove to gather up his scattered faculties and recall what had happened. Like a blast of doom, the awful truth burst upon him, and he leaped to his feet. He was at the home of Landlord Nurse, and the pale, sad, horror-stricken faces about him were the old gentleman and his sons and daughters. They caught Charles before he reached the door.
"My mother!" cried the young man.
"No; you can do her no good by an act of rashness!" John Nurse answered.
"Tell me all about it. I will sit here and listen to it all," said Charles, when he discovered that he could not break away from his friends.
"Your mother and Cora Waters have both been cried out upon as witches, warrants were issued, and they were arrested. Now collect your faculties and act on your coolest judgment. Think what you will do."
Charles Stevens bowed his head in his hands and reflected long and earnestly on the course to pursue. He recalled the words of Oracus, the brave young chief, who could muster a hundred warriors. He was cunning and might devise some plan of escape, and Charles was not long in resolving what to do. He would not act hurriedly. He would be desperate; but that desperation would have coolness and premeditation about it.
He promised his friends to be calm, assuring them he would be guarded in his speech, and then begun seeking an interview with his mother and Cora. It was three days before the interview was granted. He found them occupying loathsome cells, each chained to the wall. The interview was long, and just what such an interview could be, full of grief and despair. Charles tried to hope. He tried to see a ray of sunlight; but the effort only revealed the swaying forms of those hung on Witches' Hill.
Even if he summoned Oracus and all his braves, would they be strong enough to break down that door of iron, or cut the chains asunder! Charles, in his desperation, resolved to rescue the beloved ones or die in the effort. He went away weeping.
He did not return home. That home was desolate, lonely and so like the tomb, that he dared not go near it. At the home of his kind friend, he wrote to relatives at New Plymouth, Boston, New York, Virginia and the Carolinias. To all he appealed for help, for Charles was determined to move heaven and earth or rescue his mother and Cora; but he did not depend on those distant relatives and friends so much as the dusky friends in the forest. He knew that before answers could come to his letters, he would be dead, or would have succeeded in his efforts. Even if he should be killed in an abortive attempt, however, he hoped that his relatives would resume the warfare for the prisoners.
"Where is Cora's father?" he asked himself. "Could I but find the Waters brothers, I would have two friends and allies to aid me. Oh, Heaven, give me light! Give me light!"
Charles Stevens, like all true Christians, in this dark hour went to God for aid. Kneeling, he prayed as he had never prayed before. He seemed to take hold of the throne of grace and, with a faith strengthened and renewed, drew inspiration for his desperate resolve from the only living fountain. Armed with his rifle and pistols, he left the village and went into the forest. The forest inspires man with reverence and love for God. The giant trees, the deep glens, the moss and ferns and cool shades seem to breathe of eternity. Charles Stevens had always loved the dark old woods, and never had they seemed so friendly as on this occasion, when they screened him from the frowns of man.
Solitude offered him its charms. The zephyrs sought to soothe his sorrows by their gentle whispers, and the birds sang for the peace of his troubled spirit, while the babbling brooks strove to make him gay; but who can be gay when loved ones are menaced with a terrible danger? Charles Stevens saw little of the beauty of nature. His eyes were searching the forests for dusky forms, which he hoped to meet. Those dusky sons of the forest were not often desirable sights; but Charles was as anxious to see the feathers and painted faces of these heathens, as if they were brothers.
He spent the day in wandering through the woods, forgetting to take any nourishment, for he had brought no food with him, and, in fact, he had not thought to eat since the arrest of his mother and Cora.
He was weak and faint, and his hands trembled. He was not hungry; but his strength was giving way, and he realized that he had been foolish not to provide himself with food.
Evening came, and he sank down on the mossy banks of a stream and took a few draughts of water to revive him. The stars came out one by one.
By the merest chance, he raised his despairing eyes and, gazing across the stream to the woods beyond, saw a light. Charles struggled to his feet and gazed like one to whom life has suddenly been restored.
"Perhaps it is Indians!"
He plunged into the creek, waded across and started through the woods toward the light. It was much further away than he had at first supposed, and he was several minutes in reaching the camp fire.
Ten dusky sons of the forest were seated about the camp fire, while two men in the garb of civilization were roving about. Charles felt some misgivings at first on discovering men of his own color in the camp. He crawled from tree to tree, from log to bush, until he was near enough to see the features of the men. When he first got within sight they stood with their backs toward him and he could not see their faces; but at last one turned about so that the glare of the fire-light fell full on his face, and, with a cry of joy, Charles Stevens bounded to his feet, crying:
"Mr. Waters! Mr. Waters!" and dashed toward the camp.
A pair of strong arms encircled his waist, and the young man heard a voice say:
"White man go too soon!"
He had been seized by a sentry; but Mr. Waters and Oracus hastened to him, and he was released. The other white man was the brother of Mr. Waters, and Charles, bewildered, overjoyed, yet faint and weak, was half led and half carried to the camp. He found himself making hurried explanations, while a savage was broiling venison steaks before the fire for him.
"We know all," said Mr. George Waters.
"What! do you know they have been cried out upon?" asked Charles.
"We do."
"Do you know they are in prison?"
"We have heard it all," said Mr. Waters, calmly.
"How could you have heard it?" asked Charles.
"We have faithful friends, who inform us of everything."
"Were you going to take action for their rescue?" asked Charles.
"We were concerting plans when you came; but you must have food."
Charles Stevens gazed on the calm face of the man before him, and could but wonder at his coolness.
"Mr. Waters, do you know that your own daughter is one of the accused?"
"I know all."
"How can you be so calm, knowing all as you do?"
"I am calm for my daughter's sake. The only hope of liberating her, of saving her life, is by cool, deliberate and well matured plans."
"Are your plans formed?"
"Yes."
"When will you act?"
"On to-morrow night. Oracus will have all his warriors ready by that time, and we will require crow-bars, hammers and axes, to break in the door of the jail. Meanwhile, if you expect to aid us, you will have to take some refreshments, food and drink, and get some sleep. You don't look as if you had slept for weeks."
"I scarcely have."
"Your conduct is foolish. If you love your mother, you should give the full strength of body and mind to her rescue."
Charles ate some broiled venison and went to sleep.
So exhausted was he, that he did not awake until the noise of breaking camp aroused him.
Another white man was in camp. His hands were fastened behind his back and he was tied to a tree. His sallow complexion and angular features were familiar to Charles Stevens. The prisoner was Joel Martin.
"Two of the Indians captured him last night," explained George Waters. "He was prowling about in the woods, and they seized him."
"What are you going to do with him?" Charles asked.
"We will do him no hurt unless we are forced to," said Mr. Waters.
"I trust you will not be forced," said Charles Stevens.
"So I pray; yet we must protect ourselves and those whom we would rescue."
"I see that many more Indians are in camp than were here yesterday."
"Yes."
"Are they friends?"
"They are the braves of Oracus, and will follow where he leads."
Charles Stevens passed an anxious day. A part of the time he was near enough to Joel Martin to hear him muttering:
"I have no fear of George Waters, galley slave. You may turn me over to your heathen cut-throats; yet I will defy you. If I live, I will yet drag you to justice for the murder of my brother."
"Mr. Martin, you have forgotten that the word of God says, 'Vengeance is mine and I will repay, saith the Lord,'" put in Charles.
"I will be the instrument of vengeance."
"You are in the power of Mr. Waters."
"For the present I am."
"Don't you think you should be careful how you threaten him, seeing he has you at his mercy."
Charles could not intimidate the bold Virginian. He was furious, and no threat of punishment could move him.
During the day, a dozen more Indians came in. The red men now numbered eighty, and by the afternoon the entire party was moving toward Salem.
At dusk they were but five miles from the village. Here a halt was called, and, after a short consultation, Oracus detailed five of his braves to guard Mr. Martin, and with the others moved on over the hills and through the woods toward Salem.
"What will they do with him?" Charles asked.
"Release him when we leave the village."
"Mr. Waters, would you not be justified in killing him?"
"No."
"Why not? He will murder you if he can."
"No one is justified in slaying a prisoner, and I shall never do it. No more blood will be on my hands, unless it be in defence of her. For her, I slew the other, and only for her will my arm ever be raised against my fellow man."
"Not even in self defence?"
"No, as God is my judge, my hand shall never be raised even to defend this miserable life. I live but for my child, and when she is gone, I care not how soon I am called. I have known only sorrow since----"
He did not finish the sentence, but turned away.
It was late in the night when the party entered Salem. The houses were dark and silent. No light was visible from any window, and it seemed a deserted hamlet. Earnestness without excitement was evinced. Everything was done in perfect order. The men moved first to the blacksmith shop, where several supplied themselves with axes, heavy crow-bars and sledges.
"Explain to your warriors that, under no circumstances, are they to shed blood," said Mr. George Waters.
While Oracus was giving this order to his braves, Mr. Waters, by the aid of a lighted pine knot, found a pair of cold chisels, which he appropriated.
Then the party moved off toward the jail in perfect order. There was no undue haste, or nervous excitement. All seemed as cool as if they were going as invited guests to a banquet.
The Indians' moccasined feet made scarcely any noise upon the ground, as they moved forward. Mr. Henry Waters carried in his hand a stout iron bar, and twenty Indians bore on their shoulders a heavy log of wood.
At a word of command from Oracus the others deployed as flankers and guards. They had strict orders to harm no one; but, should they find any attempting to approach them, they were to seize and hold such persons.
The jail was reached. The long, low wall of stone, with gates of iron, loomed up like some sullen monster before the determined men. Mr. Henry Waters thrust the heavy iron bar he carried under the iron gate, and tore it off its hinges.
Then George Waters and Charles raised their sledges, while the savages with the heavy log of wood ran it like a monster battering-ram against the door. At the same instant they struck it with their sledges.
The crash was deafening, and the jail trembled to its very centre. Again, and again, and again did those crashing thunder-bolts fall upon the iron door. The unfortunate inmates, not knowing the object of this terrible attack, set up a howl which was heard above the thunder crashes. The door, stout as it was, could not long withstand that assault. It gave way with a crash, and fell into the hall way.
The terrified jailer tumbled out of his bed, only to find himself seized and held by a pair of painted sons of the forest. Others who attempted to interfere were seized and held in grasps of iron.
No sooner was the door of the jail burst off its hinges, than George Waters and Charles Stevens, each with a chisel and hammer, rushed in to cut the chains of the prisoners.
"Mother! mother! where are you?" cried Charles.
He had to call several times before the frightened woman could answer. Then from out the darkness there came a feeble response. He groped his way along in the darkness. He found a cell door, tore it open and reached her side.
At this moment some one lighted a torch within the jail. A scene, wild, weird and terrible burst upon their view. The prisoners were almost driven to madness by the sudden appearance of the savage and civilized liberators.
Charles Stevens, with chisel and hammer, quickly cut the chains of his mother and hastened to liberate Cora. Her father held the light, while he cut the iron band.
"Free! free!" cried the excited Charles. "Let us away before the town is roused!"
"No," answered Mr. George Waters; "not while a prisoner remains to suffer the wrath of prejudice."
Then with chisel and hammer he went from one to another and cut the iron bands which bound them.
Oracus and Henry Waters joined him in the work of liberation, until all were freed.
This required several moments of time, and the confusion and uproar which they were compelled to make was rousing the town.
Mr. Parris, half-dressed, ran barefoot through the town, waving his long arms in the air, and shouting that the fiends of the air had conspired to liberate the prisoners. His words and his wild, fanatical manner tended rather to increase the fear of the people of Salem, than diminish it. Then there went out the report through the village that the Indians had attacked the town, and the people, roused from their midnight slumbers, magnified the numbers of the assailants ten to one.
"Cora! Mother!" whispered Charles, "this way!"
He took a hand of each and started to run from the jail down the street.
Others followed.
"Fly! all of you! Fly for your lives!" cried Henry Waters, who, now that his work was done, flung aside his iron bar and sledge.
At a word of command from Oracus his warriors formed a hollow square about the escaping fugitives, and moved off as rapidly as they could.
Everybody was bewildered. Everybody running into the street was asking:
"What has happened? What has gone amiss?"
"They are rescuing the prisoners," shouted Mr. Parris, wildly. "Don't you see them hurrying away with them."
He ran to the sheriff and cried:
"Bestir yourself! Do you not see they are taking your prisoners away?"
"I have no deputies," answered the sheriff. "They number hundreds, and the Indians are with them."
"Nonsense! They are only disguised, and are not a dozen. Come! I will go with you."
Four or five by-standers, being thus emboldened, offered to go themselves and aid in recovering the prisoners.
"Come! I will lead you!" cried the eager preacher, allowing his zeal to overcome his discretion.
They ran after the escaping party, and Mr. Parris, either being more zealous than the others, or more swift of foot, outran them and, eluding some of the Indians, who tried to intercept him, ran to where Charles Stevens was half leading and half dragging his mother and Cora from the village.
"Fire-brand of hades! you shall not escape me," cried Mr. Parris seizing Cora's shoulder with a clutch so fierce as to make her cry out.
Charles released both his mother and Cora, and, seizing Mr. Parris by the throat, hurled him to the ground, and raised a hammer to brain him; but at this moment a strong hand seized his arm, and the calm, kind voice of Mr. Waters said:
"Stay your hand, Charles. Do the man no harm."
Next moment, a pair of dusky hands seized Mr. Parris, and he was hurried away to the rear. Mr. Henry Waters caused a couple of guns to be fired in the air in order to intimidate their pursuers. This had the desired effect, and the mention of Indians was sufficient to drive all to the defense of their homes.
The fugitives reached the forest before the sheriff and Mr. Parris could get an armed party in pursuit.
They followed them to the brook, and fired a volley at them, but in vain. The number of accused who escaped on that night, has been estimated at from twenty to one hundred.
