And false the light on glory's plume,
As fading hues of even,
And Love and Hope, and Beauty's bloom,
Are blossoms gathered for the tomb,--
There's nothing bright but Heaven.
--Moore.
The last expiring throe of a mighty superstition was about to convulse the little society at Salem, and, as usual in such cases, ignorance and prejudice went hand in hand for the destruction of reason and humanity. The last of the great religious persecutions was to begin, when eminent divines were to stand and point with pride to the swaying bodies of their victims, hanging from the gibbet, and call them "fire-brands of hell."
In the village of Salem, there was a strife between Samuel Parris the minister and a part of his people; a strife so bitter, that it had even attracted the attention of a general court. We all know, even in these modern days, what a furor can be created in a church, when a part of the organization is arrayed against the pastor. Sometimes the divine shepherd loses his temper and says ugly things against his flock, and thinks many which he does not utter.
Parris was a man filled with ambition and prejudice. He was a fanatic and easily driven to frenzy by opposition. An unfavorable criticism upset his highly nervous organism, and he set out to find some proof in the Scriptures for condemning his enemies. It never entered into his mind to love those who hated him.
Mr. Parris had lived in the West Indies for several years before going to Salem, and had brought with him some slaves purchased from the Spaniards. Among them were two famous in history as John and Tituba his wife. Historians disagree as to the nationality of these slaves. Some aver they were Indians, others call them negroes, while some state they were half and half. Whatever may have been their nationality, their practices were the fetichism of western Africa, and there can be no doubt that negro blood predominated in their veins. All their training, their low cunning and beastly worship, their deception and treachery were utterly unlike the characteristics of the early aborigines of America, and were purely African.
John and Tituba were full of the gross superstitions of their people, and were of the frame and temperament best adapted to the practice of demonology.
In the family of Samuel Parris, his daughter, a child of nine years, and his niece, a girl of less than twelve, began to have strange caprices. During such a state of affairs the pastor actually permitted to be formed, with his own knowledge, a society of young girls between the ages of eight and eighteen to meet at the parsonage, strangely resembling those "circles" of our own time called seances, for spiritualistic revelations. There can be no doubt that the young girls were laboring under a strong nervous and mental excitement, which was encouraged rather than repressed by the means employed by their spiritual director. Instead of treating them as subjects of morbid delusion, Mr. Parris regarded them as victims of external and diabolical influence, and strangely enough this influence, on the evidence of the children themselves, was supposed to be exercised by some of the most pious and respectable people of the community. As it was those who opposed Mr. Parris, who fell under the ban of suspicion, there is room to suspect the reverent Mr. Parris with making a strong effort to gratify his revenge.
Many a child has had its early life blighted and its nerves shattered by a ghost-believing and ghost-story-telling nurse.
No class of people is more superstitious in regard to ghosts and witches than negroes. Whatever fetich ideas may have been among the Indians of the New World, many more were imbibed from the Africans with whom they early came in contact.
Old Tituba was a horrid-looking creature. If ever there was a witch on earth, she was one, and as she crouched in one corner, smoking her clay pipe, her eyes closed, telling her weird stories to the girls, no one can wonder that they were strangely affected.
"Now, chillun, lem me tell ye, dat ef ebber a witch catches ye, and pinches ye, and sticks pins in ye, ye won't see 'em, ye won't see nobody, ye won't see nuffin," said old Tituba.
"What should we do if a witch were to catch us, Tituba?" asked Abigail Williams, the niece of Mr. Parris.
"Dar but one thing to do, chile. Dat am to burn de witch or hang 'em."
"Are there witches now?"
"Yes, dar be plenty. I see 'em ob night. Doan ye nebber see a black man in de night?"
The children were all silent, until one little girl, whose imagination was very vivid, thought she had seen a black man, once.
"When was it?" asked Abigail Williams.
"One night, when I waked out of my sleep, I saw a great black something by my side."
The little blue eyes opened so wide and looked with such earnestness on the assembled children, that there could be no doubting her sincerity.
"Can we catch witches?" Abigail asked Tituba.
"Yes."
"How?"
"Many ways."
Then she proceeded to tell of the various charms by which a witch might be detected, such as drawing the picture of the person accused and stabbing it with a knife of silver, or shooting it with a silver bullet.
"Once, when a witch was in a churn," continued Tituba, "and no butter would come, den de man, he take some hot water an' pour it in de churn, an' jist den dar come a loud noise like er gun, an' dey see er cloud erbove de churn. Bye um bye, dat cloud turned ter er woman's head an' et war an ole woman wat lib in der neighborhood and war called a witch."
"Is that true, Tituba?" asked one of the little girls.
"It am so, fur er sartin sure fact, chile."
Nothing is more susceptible than a young imagination. It can see whatever it wills, hear whatever is desired, and like wax is ready to receive any impression one chooses to put on it. A child can be made to believe it sees the most unnatural things, and in a few days Tituba and John had thoroughly convinced the children that they saw spirits and witches in the air all about them.
One evening, a pretty young woman, not over twenty-one or two, came to the parsonage, where the witches and ghosts had been holding high revel. She was a brunette with a dark keen eye and hair of jet. Her face was lovely, save when distorted by passion, and her form was faultless.
"Sarah Williams, where have you been, that we have seen nothing of you for a fortnight?" asked Mrs. Parris as the visitor entered the house.
"I have been to Boston, and but just came back yesterday. What strange things have been transpiring since I left?"
At this moment a door opened and Mr. Parris, a tall, pale man, entered from his study. The new-comer, without waiting for the pastor's wife to answer her question, rose and, grasping the hand of her spiritual adviser, cried:
"Mr. Parris, how pale you are! but then I cannot wonder at it, when I consider all I have heard."
"What have you heard, Sarah?" he asked.
"I have heard you are having trouble in your congregation."
"Who told you?"
"The rumor has gone all over the country, even reaching Boston. And they do say that the evil spirits have visited Salem to defame you."
Mr. Parris pressed his thin lips so firmly that the blood seemed to have utterly forsaken them, and his cold gray eye was kindled with a subdued fire, as he answered:
"I am far from insensible that at this extraordinary time of the devil coming down in great wrath upon us, there are too many tongues and hearts thereby set on fire of hell."
"To whom can you trace your troubles?"
"To Goodwife Nurse," answered the pastor. "It is that firebrand of hell who seeks to ruin me."
"I saw Goody Nurse," cried one of the smaller children.
"When?" asked Mr. Parris.
"Last night."
The pastor, the visitor, and the wife exchanged significant glances, and the father asked:
"Where did you see her?"
"She came with the black man to my bed."
"What did she do?"
"She asked me to sign the book."
"What book?"
"I don't know; but it was a red book."
The anxious mother, in a fit of hysterics, seized her child in her arms and cried:
"No, no, no! don't you sign the book and sell your immortal soul, child!" and she gave way to a fit of weeping, which unnerved all the children, who began to howl, as if they were beset by demons. When the hubbub was at its height, the door to an adjoining room opened, and Tituba and John stuck their heads into the room.
"She am dar! she am dar!" cried old Tituba. "I see her! I see dem bofe!"
"Yes, I see um--see um bofe, Tituba," repeated John.
"Who do you see?" asked the pastor.
"See de black man and Goody Nurse."
"Where?"
"Dar."
They pointed along the floor, then up the wall to the ceiling, where they both avowed that they saw Goodwife Nurse and the black man, or demon, dancing with their heels up and heads down.
The negro clapped his hands, patted his foot on the floor and cried aloud:
"Doan yer see um, Marster? doan yer see um, chillun?"
One little girl, who fixed her eyes on a certain dark corner of the room, thought she could see a shadow moving on the wall, but was not quite certain. The pastor was overcome by the presence of the prince of darkness in his own house, and, falling on his knees, began to pray. As a natural result, when all minds were directed to one channel, as they were by prayer, the superstitious feeling which possessed them passed away, and the household, which a few moments ago was on the verge of hysteria, became more calm, and when all rose from their knees, Mrs. Parris asked her visitor to spend the evening with them.
"I fain would stay; but I dread the long walk home."
"Samuel will accompany you, unless Charles Stevens comes, as he promised. In case he should, he can go with you."
At the mention of Charles Stevens, the young woman's eyes grew brighter, and her face became crimson.
"Sarah, have you not heard from your husband?" asked the minister.
"No; he is dead."
"Did you never hear of the pinnace?"
"No; but it was no doubt lost."
"How long since he left?"
"A year. He went to New York, was seen to leave that port, and has never been heard from."
"It is sad."
"Verily, it is," and Sarah tried hard to call up a tear, and wiped her eyes with the corner of her apron.
John and Tituba had retired to their domain, the kitchen, to conjure up more demons and plan further mischief.
Mr. Parris could not keep his mind long from the rebellious members of his flock. "I will be avenged on them," he thought. "Verily, I will be avenged for every pang they have made me suffer."
He had forgotten the command, "Vengeance is mine, I will repay, saith the Lord."
Sarah Williams proceeded to further delve into the trouble with Mr. Parris and his church.
"Is Rebecca Nurse your enemy?" she asked.
"Verily, she is; so is her sister Goodwife Corey."
"Why are they your enemies?"
"They want another pastor, and have done all in their power to ruin me."
"Why do you endure it?" asked Sarah.
"How can I help myself? I retain my charge and shall retain it, despite Goody Nurse."
At this the youngest child said:
"Goody Nurse was at church last Lord's day with a yellow bird."
"A yellow bird?" cried all.
"Yes; I saw a yellow bird fly into the church and light on her shoulder."
Tituba had told the poor deluded child that if Goodwife Nurse were a witch, she would be accompanied by a yellow bird.
"Surely you saw no yellow bird last Lord's day."
"Verily, I did, and it came first and sat on her shoulder, and then on her knee, and, while father was preaching, it whispered in her ear."
"Could you hear what it said?" asked the pastor.
"No, for I was not near enough."
Then the pastor and his wife and visitor exchanged glances. Foolishly credulous and blindly superstitious, as well as prejudiced, their minds were like the fallow ground ready to receive any impression, however silly.
Before more could be said, there came a rap at the door, and Charles Stevens, the lad who succored the wounded stranger that had so mysteriously disappeared, entered. Charles was almost a man, and bid fair to make a fine-looking fellow. He was tall and muscular, with bold gray eyes and a face open and manly. He had lost none of his mirth, and his merry whistle still shocked some of the staid old Puritans.
As soon as Charles entered, the young widow rose, all blushing, to greet him. She was not more than one or two years his senior, and, being still beautiful, there was a possibility of her entrapping the youth.
The pastor greeted him warmly and assured him that his visit was most opportune; but he regretted very much that he had not come an hour sooner.
"Wherefore would you have had me come an hour sooner?" asked the merry Charles.
"That you might, with your own eyes, behold some of the wonderful manifestations of the prince of darkness."
With a laugh, Charles answered that such manifestations were too common to merit much comment; but as a matter of course he asked what the manifestations were.
"An example of witchcraft."
At this Charles laughed, and Mr. Parris was shocked at his scepticism.
"Wherefore do you laugh, unregenerated youth?" cried the pastor.
"A witch! I believe there are no witches," he answered.
"Would you believe your eyes, young sceptic?"
"I might even doubt my own eyes."
"Wherefore would you?"
"Nothing is more deceptive than sight; optical delusions are common. Did you see a witch?"
"Not myself; but others did."
"Who?"
"John, Tituba and Ann Parris saw the witches dancing on the ceiling, with their feet up and their heads down."
At this Charles Stevens again laughed and answered:
"Verily you are mad, Mr. Parris, to believe what those lying negroes say. They have persuaded the child into the belief that she sees strange sights."
Mr. Parris became greatly excited and cried:
"The maid sees the shape of Goody Nurse and the black man at night. They come and choke her, to make her sign the book."
"What book?"
"The devil's book. Do you not remember some time ago a stranger was at your house, who mysteriously disappeared?" Of course Charles remembered. He had never forgotten that mysterious stranger, and often wondered what had been his fate.
"The same shape appeared before John Louder in the forest, where he had gone to stalk deer, and asked him to sign the red book in which is recorded the souls of the damned."
This was the frightful story told by Louder on his return from the night's hunt, and many of the credulous New Englanders believed him. Mr. Parris, having become warmed up on his subject, resumed:
"Charles, Charles, shake off the hard yoke of the devil. Where 'tis said, 'the whole world lies in wickedness,' 'tis by some of the ancients rendered, 'the whole world lies in the devil.' The devil is a prince, yea, the devil is a god unto all the unregenerate, and, alas, there is a whole world of them. Desolate sinner, consider what a horrid lord it is you are enslaved unto, and oh, shake off the slavery of such a lord."
Charles was unprepared for such a sermon, and had no desire to be bored with it, yet he was left without choice in the matter.
The young widow came to his relief and took him off under her protection and soon made him forget that he had ever been rebuked by the parson. Certainly, he had never met a more agreeable person than Sarah Williams. Her husband was a brother of Mrs. Parris, and she wielded a great influence in the minister's family. Gradually she absorbed more and more of Charles Stevens' society, telling him of her recent visit to Boston, and of the latest news from England, inquiring about his mother, and talking only on the subjects which most interested him. He thought her a charming woman.
The hour was late ere they knew it, and Puritanic New England was an enemy to late hours. Sarah declared she must go home.
"Come again, Sarah," said Mrs. Parris.
"I will. Verily, I must go; but see, the moon is down, how dark it is."
Charles was not slower to take the hint than a young man of our own day. Humanity has been the same since Eve first evinced her power over Adam in the garden. Ever since, men have been led by a pretty face often to their ruin. Charles, in a bashful, awkward way, informed the young widow that he was going the same road, and it would not be much out of his way to accompany her to her very door. Of course she was pleased, and Charles and the young widow went away together.
"Have you never learned the fate of your husband, Sarah?" he asked.
"No; poor Samuel is dead," she answered.
"It is sad that you know not his fate. Was he drowned at sea, killed by the Indians, or murdered by the pirates?"
"I know not. I am very lonely now, Charles."
"I pity you."
"Do you?"
"Verily, I do."
"Thank you, Charles."
"Your parents are in Boston, are they not?"
"Yes."
"Do you intend to live always thus alone?"
"Oh, I trust not," and the darkness concealed the sly glance which Sarah cast from her great dark eyes on the unsuspecting youth at her side. The conversation was next changed to Mr. Parris, his quarrel with his flock, and the strange phenomenon developing at his house.
"What think you of it, Charles?"
"It is a sham."
"Oh, no, no! John, the negro man, is bewitched, and has fits."
"A good flogging would very quickly bring him out of his fits."
By this time they had reached the door of Sarah Williams' house. She turned upon the youth and, seizing his arm, in a voice trembling with emotion, said:
"Charles, I beseech of you, as you love life and happiness, do not say aught against Mr. Parris or witchcraft. We stand on the brink of something terrible, and no one knows what the end may be."
As Charles wended his way homeward, he pondered over the strange words of Sarah Williams, and asked himself:
