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ESSEX INSTITUTE.
PRESENTED BY
The Library Committee shall divide the books and other
articles belonging to the Library into three classes, namely,
(a) those which are not to be removed from the building;
(b) those which may be taken only by written permission
of three members ol the committee; (c) those which may
circulate under the following rules.
Members shall be entitled to take from the Library two
folio or quarto volumes, or four volumes of lesser fold, upon
having them recorded, and promising to make good any
damage they sustain, while in their possession, and to re¬
place the same if lost, or pay a sum fixed by the Library
Committee.
No person shall lend any book belonging to the Institute,
excepting to a member, under a penalty of one dollar for
each offence.
The Library Committee may allow members to take more
than the allotted number of books upon a written applica-
tlon.
No person shall detain any book longer than four weeks
from the Library, if notified that the same is wanted by an-
other member, under a penalty of five cents per day, and
no volume shall be detained longer than three months at
one time under the same penalty.
The Librarian shall have power by order of the Library
Committee to call In any volume after it has been retained
by a member for ten days.
On or before April fifteenth, all books shall be returned
to the Library, and a penalty of five cents per day shall be
Imnosed for each volume detained.
No book shall be allowed to circulate until one month after
its receipt.
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WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND,
A ROMANCE.
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THE
A ROMANCE.
. . “ Call you theis witches?
“ They be tumblers methinks.”
Middleton.
PHILADELPHIA :
H. C, CAREY & I. LEA.— CHESTNUT STREET.
1824.
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Eastern District of Pennsylvania, To wit :
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BE IT REMEMBERED, That on the twenty- sixth day of
July, in the forty-ninth year of the Independence of the
United States of America, A D. 1824,
H. C. CAREY & I. LEA,
following, to wit:
of the said district, have deposited in this office the title of a
book, the right whereof they claiipas proprietors, in the words
« The Witch of New England ; a Romance.
Call you theis witches?
“ They be tumblers methinks........ Middleton.'"
In conformity to the act of the Congress of the United States, entitled “ An
act for the encouragement of learning, by securing the copies of maps, charts,
and books, to the authors and proprietors of such copies, during the times therein
mentioned.”- And also to the act entitled, “ An act supplementary to an act enti¬
tled “ An act for the encouragement of learning, by securing the copies of maps,
charts, and books, to the authors and proprietors of such copies during the times
therein mentioned, and extending the benefits thereof to the arts of designing, en-
craving, and etching historical and other prints.”
8 D. CAI.DWELL,
Clerk of the Eastern JHstrict of Pennsylvania.
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4
4
INTRODUCTION.
During the last Summer, while on a tour through
many of the Western States, my road lay not far from
the famous Enchanted Mountain, in the State of Ten¬
nessee, and I determined to gratify an ardent curi¬
osity by visiting a spot of which I had heard so
much. — I travelled alone, and the noble animal I rode
had already carried me nearly two thousand miles. —
After following a rough and wandering road for some
time, without meeting any individual, a miserable In¬
dian cabin appeared a few paces from me, and I ad¬
vanced to gather instruction as to the best route. An
old, gray-headed Savage greeted me with civility,
tendered the hospitality of his hut, and even consented
to pilot me to the curious rocks. — He seized his long
staff, — closed the door of his cabin, and with a haugh¬
ty and erect carriage, notwithstanding his great age,
led the way.
“ It will rain to night,” said the Cherokee.
u Why, there is a black cloud in the west,— but it
will blow over without rain,” answered I.
“ No one ever visits the rocks,” said the Indian,
41 without bringing rain. The clouds weep over the
fearful event, which the figures stamped on the great
stones are meant to render memorable.”
I had no answer to make to so plausible and round
an assertion,— and in a short time we arrived at the
rocks. On these we found a number of impressions,
exact representations of the tracks of turkeys, bears,
B
6
INTRODUCTION.
horses and men. Had they been stamped on sand or
snow, they could not have been more apparent or per¬
fect in the minutest parts. The men, with one ex¬
ception, had been provided with a toe extraordinary
— he who numbered but the usual five, by the size
and form of his foot, should have been a negro. One
of the tracks was of a giant, the length of the foot
exceeding sixteen inches, and near it was the mark of
a horse’s hoof ten inches in diameter. One of the
animals during the march, (which must have been
conducted with some order,) had slipped, but reco¬
vered himself, and the traces of his fall were plainly
visible on the rock, the texture of which is soft and
resembling the pipe stone. — I gazed with much gra¬
tification on the singular exhibition before me, and
soon became engaged in building fanciful theories to
account for the phenomena, — while the savage con¬
tinued to watch the scene with strong marks of vene¬
ration, and no small degree of superstitious dread.
“ What are those vast piles of stone?” said I, point¬
ing to a number which lay in the neighbourhood.
“They are tombs of valiant chiefs, slain in the dread¬
ful battle when the Great Warrior drove all before
him,” — answered the Indian.
We continued to ramble among the rocks till the
retiring sun had capped the vast range of Appalachian
Mountains with a glorious and dazzling diadem.
Warned of the approach of night by this magnificent
exhibition, I descended from the rocks ; and having
rewarded the Indian for his trouble, pursued my jour¬
ney with as much speed as the way would allow. I
had hardly ridden a mile, when the clouds began to
gather, and put on a black and frightful appearance ;
the thunder rolled sternly over the mountains, which
answered in loud and angry echoes ; and the lightning,
in long forked streaks, made the growing darkness
show more terrible. The wind had risen, too, and
roared through the forest with deafening violence ; —
while between the claps of thunder the fall of some of
the noble trees on the hills, as they went down, crash-
INTRODUCTION.
7
mg and overwhelming all beneath them, made the
ground tremble. My horse became alarmed, and at
every peal shook like a leaf, — and the rain now poured
upon us in floods. In this unpleasant predicament
the old Indian’s prophecy sped across my mind, and
I found myself much less of a sceptic in vaticiny than
I had been some hours before. After gaining the top
of a steep and very rugged hill I was about to descend,
when a solitary light at some distance from the high¬
way suddenly threw its rays along the sheets of water
which were rushing down the sides of the road like
torrents, and towards the beacon I hastened with all
possible despatch. It was in the window of a log-
house, planted on the very peak of the mountain and
surrounded by a few acres of cleared land. I dis¬
mounted, and without ceremony was about entering
the door, when the master appeared and offered bis
welcome. He was a tall, noble-looking mountaineer,
nearly seven feet high, — possessing all the easy free¬
dom of a savage, and dressed in the cap and green
frock of a hunter. Pie laughed as he noticed the con¬
dition of my dress and bade me enter, while he attend¬
ed to my horse. He soon returned, and with hearty
hospitality spread before me the contents of his larder.
When I had doffed some of my dripping garments,
which the wild-looking but pretty wife of my host,
officiously, took and hung near the fire, I sat down to
my supper, congratulating myself, as the loud storm
spent its fury around, that P’ortune had afforded me
so lucky a shelter.
“ Well, stranger,” said the mountaineer, “eat hearty,
-—there’s plenty of venison in the woods. And come,
tell all the news — I haven’t seen a paper for a fort¬
night. I have just come from a hunt. How do the
Greeks and Spaniards come on ? — I hope they’ll gain
their independence, — don’t you, stranger? Hah! they
say now the battle is between the people and the kings,
— and I’ll bet on the people, if they only follow the
true track-”
I afforded him the latest intelligence from Spain and
3
INTRODUCTION,
Greece, which was so favourable to the cause of Liber
ty, and he rubbed his hard hands together with much
delight, and drank to the success and prosperity of
the patriots. His loquacity after supper, as we drew
near the fire, became almost incessant, — but from its
wildness and occasional fire, kept me amused and
wakeful till near midnight. — Mingled with a hundred
anecdotes of his hunting exploits, he told me an inte¬
resting and melancholy story of a young traveller,
who, during the previous autumn, had been suddenly
attacked with fever, at his house, and after some
weeks’ illness, during which he was most kindly
nursed, had died and now lay interred a few yards
from the hunter’s door. The little money the stran¬
ger possessed had been expended in procuring medi¬
cines, — the generous hunter had buried him at his
own expense, and his eye glistened as he described
the person and gentle manners of the deceased. The
latter had left a bundle of manuscripts, which my host
brought for my inspection, saying, he believed they
were some sort of histories, — and as they were useless
to him, if I chose, they might become mine. Curi¬
osity led me to accept the packet, which I deposited
carefully in my saddle-bags, reserving it for future in¬
spection. In the morning I bade adieu to my hospi¬
table entertainers, and pursued my journey home¬
ward.
On examination, the papers proved to be sketches
of scenery, — hints for description, — memoranda of in¬
cidents, and two or three narratives nearly finished.
From several circumstances related in a sort of journal,
the author appeared to have been journeying in search
of health,, — but impressed with a sad foreboding that
change of scene and air would both prove useless.
Lie spoke of himself as one without family or near
relatives — and as a being for whom few or no tears
would fall after his death. Indeed, from what I could
learn, he died of a broken heart. I now select for
publication the following from among the Tales of the
Traveller. The Editor.
THE
WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
CHAPTER I.
A stern and fearless crew of men they stood,
And oft the sport of harlot Fortune, who
From off her angry brows the napkin plucked,
That she might better aim her blows and watch,
With heartless sneer, the mischief-work.
Anontaious*
At the period when our story commences, the Pu¬
ritans had been established in New England for more
than half a century. Dissenting from the establishment
of the Episcopal Church and suffering, on account of
their dissent, many and intolerable grievances, they
sought an asylum from their oppressors in the savage
wilds of an unknown continent. The wretched James,
the most contemptible tyrant who has disgraced the
throne of England, though educated in the principles
of Presbyterianism in Scotland, forgot them all when
he had reached and secured the throne of the three
kingdoms. Flattered and cajoled by the bishops, he
suffered the reins of ecclesiastical government to slip
into their hands ; — abandoned to sycophants the helm
of state, indolently resigning himself to literary or sen¬
sual pursuits, in the former of which he rose to the
character of pedant, while in the latter he sunk into
the still more contemptible one of epicure. With un¬
relenting severity, in the beginning of his reign, Ban¬
croft, Archbishop of Canterbury, conducted the per¬
secution of the Puritans ; and when Laud had obtained
the same dignity, which the first had disgraced, insult
and cruelty were heaped upon the unfortunate enthu-
b 2
10
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
siasts with determined and infernal zeal. To quit an
unprotecting and hard-hearted country was their only
resource, and their first views were directed to Hol¬
land. Here the emigrants increased in numbers —
lived in harmony among jthemselves, and enjoyed a
friendly intercourse with the Dutch.
In the year 1620, and twelve years after the first
establishment in Holland, a congregation under the
Rev. Mr. Robinson landed in New England, and
planted themselves at Plymouth. Here, after enduring
incredible hardships arising from a long and perilous
voyage, — the want of provisions, the inclemency of
the season, and the hostility of the Indians, they finally
settled. In the quaint language of the celebrated
Captain John Smith, the event is thus commemora¬
ted : — “About an hundred Brownists went to New
Plymouth, where their humorous ignorance caused
them to suffer a wonderful deal of misery with infinite
patience.” The rock on which the weary pilgrims
first stepped from their boats is regarded by their de¬
scendants with pride and veneration, and is always
hailed by the title of “ The forefathers’ rock.” The
day on which they landed, the 31st December, 1620,
is still kept by the people of Plymouth as a festival.
The whole number of those who arrived amounted
to one hundred and one, — while their situation was
as painful and distressing, as their prospects were dis¬
mal and discouraging. Their nearest civilized neigh¬
bours were at the distance of two hundred miles, and
utterly incapable, in a time of famine or danger, of
affording the shadow of assistance. Meeting perse¬
cution in its most cruel guise at home ; disgusted at
the licentiousness and profanation of the sabbath which
they had encountered in Holland ; exhausted by a dan¬
gerous and procrastinated voyage ; forced on a peril¬
ous and unknown shore; unprepared for the rigours
of an inhospitable climate, and surrounded by hostile
savages ; they bore all with the cool and steady firm¬
ness which has marked their descendants. The mind
reposes writh a serene and quiet pleasure upon the
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
11
picture which History draws of these hardy and con¬
scientious men ; and though the colours which the
Muse may use have not the vivid brightness and daz¬
zling hues with which she paints more obtrusive
events, the sober, mellow tints which sleep upon the
canvass are not less captivating. It has been said that
brave men struggling with adversity is a noble sight,
and it is one presented to the world by the first settlers
of New England.
As early as March, 1621, they received a visit from
one of the most powerful Sagamores of the neigh¬
bouring Indians. Masassoit, attended by sixty fol¬
lowers, met them and entered into a formal and
friendly treaty, wherein each party agreed to avoid
injuring the other; to punish offenders; to restore
stolen goods ; to assist each other in all justifiable
wars, and to promote peace among their neighbours.
For fifty years the Indian chief and his successors
observed the treaty inviolably, and his name is even
now pronounced with respectful veneration by the de¬
scendants of the early settlers.
The severe hardships combined with the bad
weather which the company had to encounter, and the
scorbutic habits contracted during the long voyage,
caused so fearful a mortality among them that ere the
month of April, one half of their number had paid
the last debt of nature. Their arrival had been but a
short time known to the natives, when the Indian
Priests or Powows convened; and performing with
great solemnity in a dark gloomy swamp their savage
incantations, for three days successively, with a view
to their destruction, imprecated deep and heavy
curses upon the strangers. As yet the latter had seen
none of the Aborigines, though some tools acciden¬
tally left in the forest had been stolen. When the
Spring however, had so far advanced as to invite
them to prepare for the cultivation of their gardens,
one morning a tall and stately savage, with the wild
but graceful dignity of nature, boldly entered the set¬
tlement; — walked erect and fearless through the street
12
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
to the rendezvous or storehouse; and to their infinite
surprize addressed them in English,— pronouncing
the words “ Welcome Englishmen.” He came, as
he told them, from a place distant five days’ journey
to the Eastward, — and had learned his broken En¬
glish from fishermen he had met at times along the
coast. He was received with kindness and hospitali¬
ty, and informed his entertainers that he bore the name
of Samoset; that by a late pestilence and ferocious war
the number of his countrymen had so melted away,
that not more than one of twenty remained. The
spot where they were now seated he represented as
having been formerly populous, but that a raging dis¬
ease had swept away every human being who had
dwelt there. While as a corroboration of his account,
pointing with his fingers to the extent of the fields, he
bade his hearers remark the numerous graves and
remnants of skeletons that whitened the green bosom
of the earth. He had been absent eight moons from
home, — but hearing of their arrival, had come with
the intention of giving them welcome and information
of their stolen tools. He was dismissed with a pre¬
sent, and returned the next day, accompanied by some
of his countrymen bearing the stolen tools and some
skins to trade with. Samoset remained, continuing
the steady friend of his new acquaintances; — teaching
them his rude arts — the savage method of planting
corn, and the fashionable and luxurious mode of dres¬
sing it with herring, immense quantities of which
were found in the neighbouring brooks.
While the religious persecution conducted by Laud
with unrelenting ferocity, caused the destruction of
thousands in England, it proved a principle of health¬
ful life and vigour to the infant settlements in Amer¬
ica. Many men distinguished for rank and character
in England, who were the friends and protectors of the
Puritans, [had they failed in the measures they were
pursuing for the establishment of liberty in their own
country, J had resolved to seek an asylum upon the
wild but free shores of our happy land.
THE WITCH* OF NEW ENGLAND.
13
The mind is involuntarily led to a train of deep re¬
flection or fanciful indulgence, when it reflects that
upon the list of intended emigrants were numbered
the names of Pym, Hazlerig, Hampden and Crom¬
well. Laud unwilling that so many objects of his ha¬
tred and jealousy should be removed from the fangs
of his detestable cruelty, applied for and obtained an
order from the Court to prevent these transportations.
Heavy restrictions were laid upon their escape; and
while some had succeeded in a flight to foreign coun¬
tries, this dreadful privilege was denied to others, who
were arbitrarily detained as hostages for the good con¬
duct of their friends abroad.
Where persecution rages the wisest, the noblest,
the most useful members of the community seek in
voluntary exile, even to the voiceless wilderness, for
the cherished freedom denied by the country of their
fathers. How different the page of history might
have been, had the dark and fearful energy of Crom¬
well’s mind pursued its powerful workings upon these
shores, is a speculation in which fancy may range
with uncurbed and wanton flight. And imagination
may indulge in dreams of what might now have been
the palladium of British liberty, had Hampden op¬
posed the unbending intrepidity of his noble soul on¬
ly against the cunning and ferocity of the untutored
Indian. With the stern and sombre feeling, which so
powerfully marked the character of our forefathers,
were blended an enthusiasm and fire that when strong¬
ly excited, upon some subjects bore the vivid aspect
of romance, or sunk into the rankest superstition.
The last named vice had woven her airy spell with a
cunning and strength that bound in error minds seem¬
ingly born to destroy her most potent and artful delu¬
sions. The master spirits of the age were not free
from her toils; and witchcraft had believers in its arts
among men apparently born to enlarge the circles of
science, and dispel the gloomy mists of ignorance.
The belief in witches was the fashion of the day, and
while James I. is known to have written upon demon-
14
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
ology, the great Bacon is supposed to have been not
incredulous.
A witch was defined by the acute learning of the
age to be, a person that having the free use of reason,
doth knowingly and willingly seek and obtain of the
Devil or of any other god beside the true Jehovah, an
ability to do or know strange things which he cannot
by his own human abilities arrive at. The unhappy
wretches at whom suspicion pointed were tried by ri¬
diculous and cruel ordeals too well known to need
description. The infuriated and brutal mob, too of¬
ten, took the Law into their own hands, and where
ignorance or malice pointed at the unhappy victim,
summary execution too often followed.
In Lorraine a savage and heartless dunce who bore
the name of Remegius had been appointed a Commis¬
sioner for the trial of witches, and he informs us, with
the cool accuracy of one who prided himself on his la¬
bours, that in the course of fifteen years he had con¬
demned nine hundred criminals to the stake. To the
diligence and accuracy which he has exhibited in trea¬
ting of the forms of demons the deepest and accutest
learning can add nothing novel. But as an instance of
nice olfactory nerves, and of the power of bad smells
over demons or evil spirits, I might mention the
flight of the one spoken of in Tobit, who incontinently
fled into the remotest parts of Egypt disgusted or
alarmed by the perfume of the burnt liver of a fish.
Though the Atlantic, like the fabled Lethe, might
have buried in forgetfulness in the minds of the Pilgrims
and their children, many things that happened in the
far off shores of their parent country, the belief in
witchcraft was not of the number. It lived and flour¬
ished by the change of climate. In New England
the latest witchcraft-phrenzy, with all its bloody hor¬
rors, raged about the year 1692; and became a calam¬
ity more terribly fearful than the sword or pestilence.
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
15
CHAPTER II.
Young blood is hot and quickly overflows,
When check, or stay, or contradiction’s met ;
And then it roars with wild and noisy din,
Running to waste.
Anonymous.
It was towards the close of the seventeenth centu¬
ry, and near one of the English settlements in New
England, that two horsemen followed a rugged and
half-formed road, winding round one of the highest
and most savage hills in the long range of mountains,
the beginning and end of which were lost in the dis¬
tance, as they mingled almost imperceptibly with the
blue and far-off sky. Summer had nearly passed
away, and evening already began to draw her mantle
of gray and crimson over the face of the wild and sa¬
vage scenery, which lay in rude but quiet grandeur,
as if partaking of the repose into which all nature was
sinking. The. lower part of the mountain clothed
and shaded by a thick growth of spruce and fir trees,
gave a dark and funereal character to the scene; — while
the surface was composed of rocks covered with very
long, green moss, extending from one rock to another,
so thick and strong as to be capable of bearinga man’s
weight. This immense bed of moss, catching and retain¬
ing the moisture deposited by the clouds and fogs con¬
tinually rising and hovering over the mountains, —
and prevented from having it exhaled by the sun,
owing to the deep, uninterrupted shade, poured down
a thousand springs dashing from rock to rock, till they
finally sunk into the river, which rushed with noisy
impetuosity along the base of the hills. Its black and
turbid body of waters rolled, or rather plunged along
its bed with loud and unceasing turbulence, — and af¬
ter coursing some distance at the bottom of the moun¬
tain, seemed by some great effort to have forced a
16
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
passage through the chain of hills. The chasm through
which it rushed — moaning like the distant thunder —
was between two gigantic rocks, which rose to an aw¬
ful height, and overhung with their dark and jutting
brows the angry torrent as it tumbled, all froth and
noise, into the valley beneath.
The two travellers pursued their route for some
distance in silence, — employed in selecting the best
part of the dangerous road, or gazing upon the wild
and sublime scenery that surrounded them. They
were both young, and though differing in person and
feature, were of manly and prepossessing appearance.
He who generally led the way, as if chiding the tardy
gait of his stout and somewhat clumsy horse, was of
the middle size, — athletic and strongly made, though
with much symmetry ; with fair hair and bright grey
eyes, that flashed the fiercest fire when their owner
became animated with feeling or passion. His com¬
panion was slender and above the common height,
with limbs, slight but elegantly turned : while a com¬
plexion naturally dark was rendered apparently more so
by large hazel eyes, and a profusion of brown hair that
curled and fell over his ample forehead, and strongly
penciled black eyebrows. The character of his face
appeared thoughtful and even pensive, when contrast¬
ed with the impatience and impetuous daring exhibit¬
ed in the countenance of his companion. The latter,
who had for some minutes pushed his horse and passed
in advance of his fellow-traveller, now slackened his
speed and turning to his friend said,
u It was both unlucky and provoking that we found
Uncas’ cabin deserted. He is the only individual of
these wily savages that I would place the slightest
reliance on. He, however, has on more than one oc¬
casion, shown himself the white man’s friend, and I
deeply regret we missed him.”
“ It is unfortunate,” replied the other. “He would
not have requested us to meet him at the cabin, if he
had not wished to afford some useful and important
information. In these disturbed and dangerous times,
THE WITCH OP NEW ENGLAND. 17
surrounded as we are by deadly and treacherous en¬
emies, — a friend of his description is richer than un¬
told gold. He has certainly been prevented from
keeping his appointment by some unforeseen accident.
46 Curse upon the whole treacherous tribe,” interrup¬
ted the other — “ Edward, I never yet knew an Indian
whom I would trust. They are as wily and as dan¬
gerous as the serpent, and I even doubt the faith and
proffered friendship of this Mohegan chief. What
can be his object in having requested an interview at
the hut ? And why did he not keep his appointment,
if any good were to arise from the meeting?”
The heightened complexion, lowering brow and
sparkling eye of the speaker, showed his feverish tem¬
perament and excited anger. And without awaiting
an answer he urged his unwilling horse rapidly over
the uneven and dangerous path, followed at some
distance bv his friend.
j
The scenery had now assumed a savage and indeed
fearful aspect. Immense rocks that seemed co-eval
with Time, hung with frowning threats over the nar¬
row and winding road, that trembled upon the brink
of precipices, from the top of which the eye when
turned downwards involuntarily closed, as if shocked
at the deep and vast gulf which disclosed itself below.
When the traveller looked upwards he shuddered as
he gazed on the immense masses of stone piled
one above another, which momentarily threatened
annihilation to all beneath them. Trees of gigantic
size and venerable age hung their long dark branches
over the road, making it almost one continued arch of
deep verdure, and shutting out the red streaks of the
setting sun, which now began to deluge the west in
seas of the richest and most vivid crimson. The
night-hawk had left his solitude and darted ra¬
pidly through the air, rejoicing in the cool breeze of
the evening, and making his shrill, loud plaint heard
afar, as he wantoned in his circling flights. At inter¬
vals, in the distance, the bay of the wolf might be
distinguished, and its deep, mournful howl as echoed
18
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
through the forest, added to the melancholy character
that now began to creep over the scene.
The picturesque and poetic habit in which nature
had dressed herself, accorded with the enthusiastic and
somewhat romantic feelings predominating in the
breast of Edward Bradley. He loitered on the way,
gazing intently upon the objects about him, and giving
free reins to a fanciful imagination, indulged in those
purple visions that bring unearthly and unmixed de¬
light to the minds which can call them from their un¬
trodden lair. He was speedily aroused from his
dream by perceiving that his companion had nearly
disappeared from view, and now spurred his horse,
riding eagerly on till he at length joined his ardent and
impatient fellow-traveller.
“ We shall not have the sun for a companion much
longer, Charles,” said he. u See how nobly he
sinks behind Pilgrim’s Cliff. The ancient mountain
wears a richer crown than any kingly head on the
old continent; and though I am not partial to that sort
of head-dress, not to admire in the present case is im¬
possible.”
“Ah,” replied the other, “you area republican
and a poet, and though a most ardent worshipper of
the majesty of nature,. seem to have but little admira¬
tion for the crowned head of a monarch. You have
the true Presbyterian notions of levelling and liberty.
You and your favourite Milton are agreed in your
fantastical ideas of freedom and equality.”
Edward was about to answer, when a rustling
among the leaves and the sound of a footstep causing
them to look up, the dark branches of some laurel bush¬
es were parted, and on a rock immediately above them,
stood the tall and commanding figure of an Indian
warrior. His hair long and straight, and originally
of the deepest black, was somewhat bleached by time;
his face displayed some of the furrows of age, but
his eye still retained the fierce vivacity of a youthful
warrior, and his figure the strength and unbending
attitude of manhood in its freshest and ripest prime.
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
19
One of the many ideas entertained by the Indians
of the whites was that they had sprung originally
from the sea, and had invaded the country^ of the
red-men because they possessed none of their own.
The latter were frequently termed in song the u white
foam of the ocean,” and this epithet is even now ap¬
plied, contemptuously, by the savages of the N. W.
of America. The Indian stretched forth his arm and
thus addressed the two horsemen, who had halted as
soon as they perceived and recognized in him the
Chief of whom they had lately been speaking.
u Whitemen of the ocean whither are ye turning
your footsteps, and why did ye not tarry at the cabin
till my return ? When I came and found that you
had turned your faces homewards, I fled with the
swiftness of the deer, across the hills, till I crossed
your path.” u On our arrival at the hut, in obedience
to your summons,” said Charles, “ we found no signs
of its master and concluded we had been deceived, as
we too often are by men of your complexion.”
The brow of the tall chief fell, and his form as¬
sumed all the pride of insulted integrity. Edward
who had perceived the gathering of the storm, has¬
tened to avert it by some soothing observation; — but
the clouds had burst and the tempest raged in all its
fury.
“ Deceived !” exclaimed the Indian, while his eye
darted fire, and his whole person seemed dilated be¬
yond its usual majestic proportions — a the white man
deceived by the dweller in the woods ! What follows
the track of the white man through the land of the
red hunter? Where he treads, the nations of the
woodlands melt away like the gray mists of the early
morning. There was a time when we roamed like
the meteor over the prairee, free and undisturbed, and
dreamt of no happiness beyond striking the spear
into the fleet stag, or entangling the heaver in our
toils. From the uttermost limits of the great world
of waters came the white man, armed with the thun¬
der and the lightning, which he had filched from the
20
THE WITCH OF NEW' ENGLAND.
Great Spirit, and bearing in his hands weapons still
more deadly and pernicious. In war he hunted us
like thtfwild beasts of the forest; took us captive in
his cunning toils, and spared neither young nor old ; —
while in peace he destroyed the hero and the sage by
the dreadful poison of his liquors, and his pernicious
frauds. But a few moons had wasted away, and whole
tribes of invincible \vTarriors descended into the nar-
row house : fearless hunters that swept the pathless
forests even to where the great Light sleeps, had pe¬
rished, vainly striving against their triumphant in¬
vaders, or had noiselessly dwindled into slaves ov
impotent drunkards, and their great names like the
withered leaf have fallen and decayed. — Retire, dan¬
gerous and terrible men ; leave us what we have still
left, the savage virtues inherited from our fathers, — the
gods whom we have worshipped from dark and un¬
known ages ; — and strive not, in the fruitless attempt
to cultivate a barren, thankless soil, to tear up the few
thrifty plants of our once quiet valleys, that still sur¬
vive the fostering cares of thy people, that still outlive
the poisonous effect of the white man’s friendship.”
Here the Indian ceased ; and, overcome by the in¬
tensity of his passion, he drew his garment about him,
threw himself upon the rocks, and seemed absorbed
by the emotions that agitated his whole frame to trem¬
bling. The two young men, who had hitherto lis¬
tened silent and motionless to the impassioned address
of the savage, now drew towards him, and with kind
and softened manner endeavoured to sooth the storm
of feeling which still strongly agitated the mind and
body of the chief. His eye was fixed upon the ground,
while his broad and noble chest heaved violently with
the effect of the strong emotions with which he W'as
excited. To their apologies and assurances of regard
and esteem, he for some time made no reply. At
length, becoming more composed, he rose with dig¬
nity and a kind of wild hauteur, and without vouch¬
safing a reply to the questions proposed to him, was
about to plunge again into the depths of the forest,
HIE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
21
when Edward caught him by the arm, and in a tone
between kindness and reproof said, —
“ You, surely, Uncas, will not depart before you
have informed us of the reason why you asked an in¬
terview ? Come, forgive the indiscreet and unintend¬
ed reproach of Charles, and afford us the information
you have promised. I am convinced it is of import¬
ance, and perhaps the fate of some very dear to us may
hang upon the issue of our meeting. For his sake,
the friend of your olden time, do not refuse us what
we ask.’’
The last sentence, which was pronounced with em¬
phasis and a peculiar manner, seemed, at once, to
strike upon some chord in the Indian’s breast that vi¬
brated to the touch. His countenance changed in an
instant, the gloom abqut his brow dispersed, his eye
threw out a softer and more benignant light ; and sud¬
denly seizing the hand of his young acquaintance, lie
pressed it strongly in his own, while he quickly an¬
swered,
u I will bury all anger, and say the reason why I
have sought you so earnestly.”
He now descended from the rock, and being en¬
tirely calmed by some kind apologies from Charles,
he walked by the side of the horses and proceeded to
explain the cause of his requesting a meeting with the
young men. u You know,” said he, “ that our nation
has lately held a solemn council, and I as a chief at¬
tended the great Talk. There were many mighty
warriors and sages skilled in the chronicles and wis¬
dom of our tribes, that collected around the council
fire, and instructed by the deep sagacity of their ha¬
rangues, or inspirited by the nre and grandeur of their
ardent and warlike addresses. We deliberated pa¬
tiently, and having formed our plans we addressed the
Great Spirit and separated, each returning the way he
had come.”
The chief then proceeded to say, that his companion
during a part of his route homewards had been an
Indian, well known, throughout the settlement, as the
c 2
THE WITCH OF NEW ENCLAND.
02
daring and implacable enemy of the whites. For
some time daring their walk, he had been silent and
sullen, deeply indulging in thought, and occasionally
uttering an exclamation of intense passion or smothered
anger. At last, by some sudden or powerful exertion,
he seemed to have formed a decision in his own mind,
and turning towards his companion proceeded to con¬
fide to him an unconquerable passion he had formed
for a young and lovely girl, the sister of Edward and
daughter of a Presbyterian minister, living in the ad¬
jacent village. He depicted, in the fiery and glowing
language of the children of the forest, the agony he
had undergone in vainly endeavouring to subdue the
powerful feeling that consumed him. He knew that
her race was the enemy and deadly exterminator of
his tribe ; that his nation had been despoiled of their
hunting grounds, and driven from the favourite haunts
of their forefathers by the all-conquering arms of the
white men ; that undying hatred was the feeling which
ought alone to live in the heart of the Indian ; that he
held in uncurbed and eternal enmity her brethren and
friends, — and yet so potent and fierce was the flame
preying upon him, that he found it unconquerable.
He described, in an agony of grief, the terrible exer¬
tions he had made to extinguish a passion which he
painted as dishonourable to a warrior, famed and re¬
spected as he was among his people : and ended by
declaring, while the hot tears dropt down his contor¬
ted features, that he had found the task too terrible to
be accomplished, — and had, now, come what would,
resolved upon the desperate plan of attempting to car¬
ry off the maiden from her friends, and retreat with
her into the deep and inmost recesses of the forest.
The feelings with which the two friends had lis¬
tened to the recital of Uncas, may be more easily con¬
ceived than described. Edward had heard the tale in
silence. His companion, with a face alternately pale
and crimson, had occasionally broke in upon the nar¬
rative with an exclamation of horror at the thought of
the possible success of the Indian’s enterprise, — or
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
23
with loud and impassioned imprecations uttered against
the savage who had planned a design so fatal to his
own happiness, and to that of his best and dearest
friends. Uncas went on to inform them that having,
in vain, endeavoured to persuade the enamoured In¬
dian to relinquish his desperate intention of seizing
upon the lovely object of his unhappy passion, he had
resolved with all despatch to make known the menaced
danger to her friends. With this intention he had re¬
quested an interview with her brother, at the hut.
The latterhe had known from his childhood, and from
meeting frequently had conceived for him a warm and
parental fondness, which had been exhibited on nu¬
merous occasions. He now drew near Edward and
in a low tone of voice said,
44 When I left the Sachem, I hurried instantly to
the cave. He was there and advised me, with the
fleetness of the hunted stag, to find and make you
aware of Samoset’s design.”
44 1 owe you a heavy debt of gratitude,” said Ed¬
ward, aloud, 44 and I trust you will not find me for¬
getful. But the night is advancing rapidly, and we
have still some rough road to pass over, t re we reach
my father’s house. You must accompany us and par¬
take of our fare for the night.”
The Indian declined the invitation, saying he should
be compelled to leave them, when he reached the bot¬
tom of the hill they were now about descending; when
they would be able, by increasing the speed of their
horses, shortly to arrive at the end of their ride.
The moon had now risen and appeared through the
chasms of the thick foliage, that hung over the road,
in all her mild loveliness, as if pleased at beholding
the reflection of her beauties, in the bosom of the ra¬
pid and noisy stream that roared below the immense
precipice, along the edge of which the narrow road
wound its tortuous course. The travellers were si¬
lent, each absorbed in reflections roused by the con¬
versation that had just closed. Their reverie was,
however, suddenly broken by the starting of Charles’
24
THE WITCH OF NEW' ENGLAND.
horse, affrighted by some wild animal, that, roused by
their approach, fled swiftly across the path, and disap¬
peared in the thicket. The temper of the rider was
not, now, of a nature to support patiently the restive¬
ness of the animal, and he accordingly unsparingly
applied the spur to the flanks of the terrified and plun¬
ging horse, who leaping from side to side of the road,
seemed momentarily upon the brink of inevitable de¬
struction. The terror and rearing of the horse lent
new impetuosity to the hasty and excited temper
of his master, who in despite of the warning of the
Indian and the entreaties of his friend, continued his
punishment of the maddened and furious animal. The
latter became, at last, entirely unmanageable, and in
an agony of fear rushed towards the precipice. Ed¬
ward and the chief, who had watched his motions with
dread and anxiety, now both sprang forward, endea¬
vouring to seize the reins before it became too late to
save the imprudent rider.
They were too late — The desperate leap of the ani¬
mal had carried him over the boundary of the road, —
and horse and man plunged down the frightful abyss,
with the too dreadful certainty of being dashed to
pieces. The savage uttered a yell of unaffected ter¬
ror, while Edward having dismounted pale and hor¬
ror-struck, rushed to the brink of the precipice, in¬
stinctively, but without the shade of a hope. They
both gazed breathless and silent.
The horse, fretted to madness, had taken a despe¬
rate leap ; and now, separated f rom his master, was
seen rolling and falling from rock to rock, with the
fearful impetus given by his strength and weight.
The crashing of the trees and bounding of the loose
rocks, displaced by his mangled body, sounded like
bursts of thunder. When, at last, bloody and lace¬
rated, be reached the brink of the dark and roaring-
torrent that washed the foot of the hill, the animal
seemed collecting all the remains of his wasted strength
and making a desperate effort to arrest his fate. He
appeared endeavouring to plant his hoofs in the crum-
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
25
bling earth, — to seize the wild shrubbery with his
teeth, — but all availed him not, — with a horrid and
fearful cry, born of despair and agony, he rolled into
the foaming and angry waters that opened their bosom
to receive him. A few desperate struggles the agon¬
ized animal still made, even amid the noise and fury
of the rapids; but they were unavailing, and in a few
seconds he disappeared for ever.
Shuddering at this appalling exhibition, on which
their attention had been unceasingly fixed, Edward and
Uncas, with melancholy and hopeless anxiety, now
sought for the mangled remains of their unhappy
friend. Not entertaining an idea that life still linger¬
ed about the victim, they sought for his limbs that
the last rites of religion and the duties of friendship
might yet be performed. While with painful care they
examined the side of the mountain, aided by the light
of a full and brilliant moon, their search was suddenly
arrested by a voice calling for assistance, and which
they, at once, distinguished as that of Charles. Has¬
tening in the direction, whence the cry proceeded,
they found at some distance from the road, their com¬
panion sustained along the side of an immense and
precipitous rock, clinging with the pertinacity of well-
awakened fear to the long, hanging moss or grass,
with which it was covered. Below him at the dis¬
tance of a hundred feet ran the river, deep and impe¬
tuous; while nothing intervened between him and the
fearful torrent but the almost perpendicular ledges of
the rock to which he clung with the grasp of death.
His was a situation in which, could the mind have
reasoned uninfluenced by the horror naturally excited,
death seemed infinitely more probable than the slight¬
est prospect of redemption. , But hope is the last
cherub that deserts the sinking wretch, and she sits
smiling upon the crest of the very wave that over¬
whelms him. She is as cruel as treacherous, and
falser than are dreams.
With the rapidity of thought, Uncas had drawn
his blanket closely about him, and leaping from rock to
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
rock, or descending by clinging to the branches of the
trees, he endeavoured to reach the unfortunate youth.
He was followed with no less zeal by Edward, who
forgetful of every thing save the hope of rescuing his
friend, trod closely on the steps of the Indian. They
reached the brow of the- precipice to which Charley
still hung; but found with horror that he was beyond
the reach of their assistance. He looked dishevelled
and nearly exhausted: the blood^oozed in heavy drops
from a wound in his forehead, while his hands ap¬
peared lacerated by the sharp weeds or grass, by
which alone he sustained the weight of his body. His
strength was evidently decreasing fast; and although
his faculties had not failed and he appeared collected,
notwithstanding his horrible situ ition, — his voice was
feeble and husky, and the extreme paleness of his
cheek and lips told but too plainly that he would
speedily be incapable of further exertion to maintain
his perilous situation. In vain did the Indian, by
throwing himself on the ground, endeavour to reach
and grasp the miserable man. It was impossible to
touch him. Edward in an agony of mingled hope and
despair suggested and made trial of several expe¬
dients, — but without success. In this fearful extrem¬
ity a thought seemed to flash across his mind, and
seizing the blanket he began to tear it into strips.
These he joined by strong knots and soon formed a
kind of rope long enough to reach his friend. u We
shall save him yet, thank Heaven,” said he. Then
bidding the chief seize hold of the blanket, they began
to lower it towards Charles.
“ The Great Spirit aids us,” said the Sachem —
“ and the deer will again fly before the young white
hunter.” The latter had watched the proceedings of
those above him, with the anxiety of one trembling
between life and a fearful death; and as he gazed upon
their 'a t expedient, the flush of new-born hope passed
across his distorted features. The blanket had be¬
gun to descend, and life again seemed within reach of
one who had almost bidden it farewell. At this mo-
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
27
ment, a black and heavy cloud, which had been slow¬
ly sailing towards them passed suddenly across the
moon,' — and the light by which they had hitherto
been aided failed. In a tone of despair and disap¬
pointment, a voice was heard, saying, 44 I cannot see
the rope, — my strength is rapidly decreasing, and I
shall find it impossible to maintain my grasp much
longer.”
“ For the love of Heaven do not yet despair,” said
Edward. 44 We shall save you without a doubt. Keep
your situation but for a moment longer and all will be
well.” As he uttered these words, he swung the rope
to and fro, during a moment of breathless and silent
anxiety. u I hear the rope but cannot seize it,” said
Charles — 44 my head grows giddy and a thick mist is
before my eyes — I am sinking, — the grass is giving
way and — I have it, I have caught it, — thank God, —
pull quickly.” The moon again shone, — and exer¬
ting their combined strength, Edward and the Indian
drew theexhausted sufferer to the top of the rock.
With the certainty of being again in safety, the
mind and body of Charles became both exhausted,
and feebly attempting to mutter some incoherent ex¬
pressions of gratitude to his deliverers, he sank faint¬
ing at their feet. He, however, speedily revived and
with the assistance of his companions soon regained
‘the road, where being mounted on the remaining horse
and attended by a friend on each side, he descended
the hill and proceeded towards the village, the lights
of which now appeared at no great distance. 44 1 have
had a narrow escape,” said he, 44 and never till now
entertained a correct idea of the feelings which a man
suffers who watches a dreadful and apparently certain
death, within a moment of reaching him. The sensa¬
tions are by no means pleasurable, and during the few
moments I hung in jeopardy, which seemed an age
in duration, a thousand thoughts shot across my mind
with a rapidity that is now inconceivable.”
While Edward expressed the agony with which he
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
28
had attended the progress of their attempts to rescue
his friend, the Indian preserved the taciturnity of his
tribe, and having accompanied the young men till
within a short distance of their home, he suddenly
bade them farewell and disappeared in the forest.
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
29
CHAPTER III.
See you that hag ? — She’s deep in omen-lore,
Can vaguest dreams unriddle and fortell
Unripe events; — an<l conjure leprosies,
Cold ague-fits — and sweats on those she hates.
Anonymous.
On the morning following the accident we have
described in the last chapter, the family of the minis¬
ter assembled as usual round the well furnished break¬
fast table, groaning under the variety and profusion
which mark that meal in America. The family was
not numerous, consisting of Mr Bradley, now a wi¬
dower, Edward his son to whom the reader has alrea¬
dy been introduced, and a daughter the darling at once
of the dark, superstitious but well meaning Clergyman,
and of her enthusiastic brother. The house in which
they resided, the parsonage of the village, was a large
and commodious stone dwelling, roughly constructed,
but convenient, and pleasingly situated at some short
distance from the town or hamlet. Gigantic and
venerable elms arose in front, protecting the seats on
the porch from the rays of the sun, and in the evening
threw their long and sombre shadows far down the
beautiful and well kept lawn that sloped for some dis¬
tance covered with the most beautiful verdure. The
neat but plain brick Church stood at a short distance,
and adjoining the parsonage lay the burial ground —
covered with numerous tombs and slabs of gray mar¬
ble; while the countless hillocks upon which the dark
rich sod slept in its rankest verdure, told of the mel¬
ancholy remnants of mortality that lay festering be¬
neath. A few trees — the weeping-willow — the fir or
the cedar, — hung over many of the graves, planted by
the gratitude or tenderness of some mourning friend;
and as the evening wind rustled through their lithe
D
30
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND
branches seemed to bend and sigh over the monu~
ments of the departed. To one curious in such mat¬
ters, a walk among the tombs might have afforded a
fund for deep thought and even amusement. — Epi¬
taphs, in various languages and in every variety of
style, spoke of the egotism of the living and the vir¬
tues of the buried. The relics of the clergymen who
had formerly dwelt in the mansion but a few paces
from the silent and narrow dwelling which now con¬
tained their mouldering ruins, were covered by long
rectangular tombs of blue and white marble, while
their sanctity and learning were commemorated in
long Latin inscriptions, at once the envy and admira¬
tion of unlettered gazers. — Commemorations of de¬
parted worth, in quaint and eccentric phraseology,
were numerous and of every degree. In some the
breaking heart seemed to pour out its last gush of
life, as it recited in homely but burning language the
merits of the deceased and the agony of the survi¬
vor. Even Humour had intruded into the enclosure
of the dead — and if the moistened eye turned from the
harrowing eloquence of unaffected sorrow, it rested
upon some memorial whose perusal recalled the fright¬
ened smile.
The elder Bradley, was a tall, gaunt figure, stoop¬
ing and awkward; — a down cast eye with large black,
bushy brows, gave a sinister and by no means agree¬
able expression to his countenance; — and his straight,
black hair crossed with true Presbyterian exactness,
did not help to soften the dark and midnight character
of his face, — still its expression was lightened and
even altered by a smile that at times wandered over it,
and exhibited teeth regular and of excellent white¬
ness. The tone of his voice, too, w*as full, manly, and
at times of singular sweetness, which combined
with his great enthusiasm in addressing his audience,
and the certainty in the minds of his hearers that he
deeply felt the doctrines he intended to inculcate, had
obtained for him among his parishioners and the
THE WITCH OF NEW’ ENGLAND. 31
neighbouring ministers the reputation of an eloquent
and gifted expounder of his text. But he was super¬
stitious, narrow minded — and in the prosecution of a
favorite doctrine — or in the execution of mistaken du¬
ty, — unrelenting, obstinate and cruel. An affection¬
ate father, he loved with the fondness of a tender mo¬
ther, the lovely girl who called him parent; and at the
same time that he entertained an equal partiality for
his son, — it was somewhat tempered by the deep res¬
pect with which he regarded the talents of Edward,
and the firm, unbending and romantic character which
the latter had maintained from childhood. His man¬
ners in general were cold and formal, — and though
when addressing his children their moody aspect was
somewhat enlivened by a ray of feeling, the cheerful
beam quickly passed away, and on the whole he might
have justly been regarded as a very repulsive indi¬
vidual.
The smile that so seldom visited her father’s face
could be said to dwell round the lovely mouth of
Agnes Bradley. Young, beautiful and innocent, the
world seemed to her one fair and fragant garden,
“Where birds and butterflies and flowers
“Make all one band of paramours.”
To a figure light and of the most delicate proportion,
a complexion which her eloquent blood rendered as
changeable and glowing as an evening cloud, at the de¬
parture of the sun; eyes mild and tranquil as a sum¬
mer noon, and a profusion of bright golden hair, were
joined manners gay even to childishness at times,
and a sensibility which but for its guileless simplicity
might have been termed overabounding. She had
lost her mother at an early age, and at once the dar¬
ling of her remaining parent and her brother, she had
encountered nothing but smiles and caresses. Too
young at the time of her mother’s death to be aware
of her misfortune, she had scarcely felt the want of
maturnal tenderness, so kindly had the loss been sup-
32
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
plied by the affectionate solicitude and attachment of a
most interesting woman, Mrs. Chesterly, a widow,
and mother of the young and impetuous horseman
who had so narrow an escape after his perilous fall.
While seated round the morning meal, the conver¬
sation had turned, naturally, upon the events of the
preceding evening; and during the animated and feel¬
ing description which Edward gave of the accident,
the beautiful cheek of the female listener alternately
became crimson or pale, as he detailed the hopes and
fears which had agitated the several actors in the short
but impressive drama of the past night. The elder
Bradley had attended to the recital with deep interest,
and when his son had finished, turning his eyes up¬
ward muttered a short prayer, in which gratitude for
the deliverance of his young acquaintance, was accom¬
panied with an ardent request that his course might be
turned from the inordinate pursuit of worldly plea¬
sure, the errors of a mistaken creed and idolatrous
worship, to the true church and doctrine of Christ.
“ Your friend has much cause to be thankful,” said
he, turning to Edward, “ in having been thus almost
miraculously snatched from the valley of the shadow
of Death. Most constantly and ardently I implore,
that the true and only light may guide him and his
mistaken but worthy mother, from the errors of their
prelatical Episcopalian Church, to the bosom of the
holy tabernacle of God’s gifted Saints. May they
see the pride and errors of their way and regain the
true fold.” A short silence followed this burst of
Presbyterian zeal, and was at length broken by Ag¬
nes, who with a voice somewhat changed from its
usual tone made inquiry of her brother concerning
Charles’ wound. —
u It wfas much slighter than we at first apprehen¬
ded,” said Edward, — u the Indian washed the blood
from the forehead, and the cut then appeared a mere
scratch. Your friend Mrs. Chesterly when I accom¬
panied Charles home applied a dressing ; and the
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
33
wounded man, with the exception of being something
exhausted and a little bruised, appeared as well as
ever.”
Young Bradley was an uncommon and would prob¬
ably be thought an eccentric character. His mind
had not been cast in a common mould. His way ol
life had been solitary — he had few companions, and de¬
sired fewer. His commerce had hitherto been more
with books than men, — and the men he had mixed
with had not led him to desire an intercourse more in¬
timate. Living in an ideal world and colouring it with
hues of his own creation, the actual objects which pre¬
sented themselves were too coarse and repulsive to ex¬
cite interest or pleasure. Born amid scenes wild,
noble, romantic and solitary, his mind had even in
childhood delighted in the dress which nature wore
around him, and as it were instinctively turned with
a kind of proud loathing from the contemplation ol
man, who inevitably suffered in the contrast. The in¬
dividuals he met were too often tame and contempti¬
ble, compared with the picture he had drawn of man¬
ly excellence. They were stupid or brutal, disgusting
or insignificant. Energy was seldom combined with
refinement, — learning was dull or superstitious; and
while Nature was habited in all the freshness of
youth and grandeur and sublimity of venerable age,
man seemed too often coarse, rude, selfish and piti¬
ful. The purest virtue — the most unalterable inte¬
grity — were not seldom to be met in the society that
surrounded him, and they claimed and received the
deference of respect. But the withcraft of courtesy,
— the facination and exquisite polish of refined man¬
ner, — the pale but lovely remnant of deceased chival¬
ry, which even yet, as a beautiful spirit, walks the
earth, — were to he seen only in the day dreams
conjured by the heat and vapours of a romantic
mind. The virtues that surrounded him were of
a sterner, perhaps of a nobler stock, but they
were less alluring and like many exquisite fruits
D2
34
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
covered with a harsh and disgusting rind. The
noble but savage wildness of the Indian, — the un¬
changing, dauntless enthusiasm of the harsh but vir¬
tuous Puritan, — the fierce courage and hardy tem¬
perament of the reckless adventurer, were the virtues
that most frequently met the eye; — and they were the
richest qualities that could possibly seize and take
root in the deep fertility of a young and virgin soil
They have grown and thriven, watered by the gentle
rains and kindly sunshine of a free government, and
younger scions have pushed their luxuriant limbs far
from the parent stem, bearing precious fruit and af¬
fording the secure and quiet shelter of their extended
shade. Such were the opinions and feelings that most
frequently crossed the mind of Edward Bradley.
That their possessor should most delight in solitude,
will readily be admitted. Nature was his mistress
and her lover was neither fickle nor capricious. The
fresh, green beauties, the balmy breath, the varying
face and soothing music of her gentle hours, held in
delicious trance her voluptuous admirer. If satiety
could be the consequence of lolling at the feet of so
much beauty and captivating mildness, it was quickly
chased by looking at her in another light. How
grand, how Godlike, does nature seem in the wild and
awful solitudes of a new world; where her black and
endless forest have never listened to the step of man,
and her mighty rocks sleep unwakened ever by the
voice of Echo. The man born and nurtured in the
neighbourhood of such scenes and led to gaze upon
their mighty features, or indulge in the dreams that
rise like mists above the boundless forests, or the un¬
known wanderings of the mighty stream, does not,
cannot think like the children of an old and kingly city.
H is spirit walks abroad in its own majesty and com¬
munes with the mountain, the cataract and the oak of
a thousand years. There is something awful in his
solitary pleasures which the man of towns knows not-
His melancholy has something grand about it, and
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND. 35
seems akin to the dread silence that lives amid the
eternal forest. The eye that has gazed and the foot
that has wandered over such scenery, have no delight
in the flat and stale aspect of paved streets and smooth
fields — and populous districts.
Though the character and feelings of young Brad¬
ley were such as I have endeavoured to depict, it
must not be supposed that he was an idle and useless
visionary. The kindness of a European kinsman
had set him above the reach of want in making him
heir to a fortune which, in our country at that period,
might have been considered amply sufficient. His
open and generous nature led him to use it in a way
that should have excited gratitude, were the virtue
any thing but a name. He had lived retired, mixing
but little with the inhabitants of the town, — but during
the war with the surrounding nations of hostile sava¬
ges, he had been among the first to endure the hard¬
ships and perils of Indian warfare. He was thought
to be shy and haughty, but commanded respect and
deference from the ardent — even fierce courage, com¬
bined with skill and enterprise, which he constantly
exhibited. Somewhat romantic and delighting in the
literature that carries the mind back to wizard times
and antique story, he was a poet in feeling, and in¬
dulging often in the dreams of imagination, he some¬
times endeavoured to give a less fugitive existence
to his visions by committing them to paper. But his
effusions were known only to himself, and lay in un¬
disturbed tranquillity in the recesses of his own desk.
The warning of the Indian Uncas had made an im¬
pression on his mind too deep and painful to be for a
moment forgotten. He had revolved in his own bo¬
som the threat of the savage, and the opportunities he
might avail himself of to carry it into execution, and
though it appeared by the exercise of due caution the
danger might be evaded, still there was a doubt con¬
cerning the future safety of his sister, that harrassed
and tormented him unceasingly. Unwilling to alarm
36
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
the fears of the delicate and truly feminine Agnes, he
had forborn making her aware of the whole of the
danger that attended her leaving home without a suffi¬
cient guard, and contented himself with requesting,
in an earnest tone, that she W’ould not quit the parson¬
age or the village without his or other protection. At
the same time giving as a reason for his caution, the
reports that some of the neighbouring savages inimi¬
cal to the whites had lately been discovered in the vi¬
cinity, and that danger was to be apprehended from
their ferocious and unrelenting hostility. The young
lady readily and cheerfully made the promise, grate¬
ful for this new proof of the watchful anxiety of her
brother, at the same time fondly imagining the danger
to be magnified by the affectionate solicitude of him
who gave the caution.
The better part of the day had been passed by the
members of the Bradley family in pursuing their usual
occupation, and upon the coming of evening, the cler¬
gyman had repaired to his closet; Edwrard had strolled
to the hills behind the village; and Agnes, throwing
on her shawl and bonnet, bad determined to visit a
young friend at a few hundred yards distance from the
house. With a light foot and a lighter heart she had
proceeded some distance on her way, when suddenly
turning the corner of a narrow lane or alley that led im¬
mediately to the street in which her friend lived, she
heard her name pronounced and looking back, not with¬
out a slight feeling of terror, observed the person who
had called. It was a woman whom she had often seen be¬
fore and not without dread. T he belief in w itchcraft
was, as has been said, almost universally prevalent in
the country and at the time of which I speak — and the
young girl w’ho now gazed with some degree of fright
on the object before her, was by no means sceptical.
Her father, whom she reverenced as at once good and
wise, w’as a believer and ardent foe of withcraft and
its votaries — and among her younger companions and
acquaintances to doubt their existence w’ould have
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND,
37
been little less than irreverant or wicked. To be
stopped and thus addressed with an air, if not of mys¬
tery, at least of more than common emotion, by one
who throughout the village had, for some time, been
suspected of evil deeds and more than mortal power,
made her young blood crawl coldly through her veins
and an involuntary shudder, which she could not dis¬
guise or conquer, showed the fearful loathing with
which she encountered the hag. The latter in ap¬
pearance might truly be said to deserve the name of
Witch. She was apparently sixty years of age or
more, — tall, raw-boned and much bent in the body;
her limbs large and muscular giving promise of great
strength; long, matted gray hair, bound in hideous
disorder round her head, hung over her forehead and
shaded a pair of black eyes deeply set in their sockets,
and rendered still darker by the knitting of the shaggy
brows, that when lowered almost hid the sinister fires
that flashed below, and whose brilliance had even a
kind of wild beauty amid all their ferocity. Her un¬
common figure, notwithstanding its filth and offensive
. attributes, had withal a savage dignity about it, which
was much increased by the singular decision of man¬
ner and affectation of superiority in the woman, which
at all events seemed to stamp upon their owner the
character of a stern, fearless and impetuous spirit.
Her dress was of the coarsest materials, covered with
dirt, and its numerous rents showed its mistress to be
no very cunning housewife or watchful sempstress.
As Agnes turned when her name was pronounced,
the beldame had halted and in the attitude in which
she first struck the sight of the timid girl she had all
the appearance of a sculptured Sybil. One foot was
thrown in advance of the other, her body bent, and
her bare, tawny and sinewy neck stretched to its ut¬
most extent, — her eyes opened to their full size and
filled with an arch but mischeivous expression, — her
forefinger pressed against her lips, which exhibited
through their opening two or three long and yellow
38
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
teeth, as a smile occasionally passed across her mouth;
— while her ample and party coloured dress hung in
deep, heavy folds, that gave relief to her spare and
bony figure. *
u And where may you be going, pretty Miss,’' said
the hag, throwing all her courtesy of manner into the
question.
The other female involuntarily trembled and
changed colour as she answered that she was about
to pay a visit to a young friend not many yards dis¬
tant.
“ And have you not heard,” said the other, with an
emphatic tone and knowing look, “ that Charles Ches-
terly had nearly broken his neck, — the reckless boy, —
bv tumbling from Crazy Crag, horse and all, the past
night ? It’s tvell the Redman was there or he’d fed
the birds he shoots so often. Ah ! he’s a fine man,
and mighty nice and handsome, as all the girls say, —
and some say that he’s to wed the beautiful daughter
of the new comer from the Old Country, — mayhap
you have heard so ?” —
A sneer of peculiar complexion lit up the features
of the Witch as she pronounced with marked empha¬
sis the last words. Her eye, which had till then ex¬
hibited no particular expression, burnt with a fierce
and searching brilliancy, as if she had determined to
look into the inmost recesses of the heart of her whom
she addressed. The latter coloured as she faltering
answered, that she had not heard of the report, and
added that the accident of the fall had been attended
with no dangerous consequences.
“ Well, well,” said the other, a he’s a lucky one
and yet may live to do more harm than ere he’ll do
good, with all his gentle blood. I’ve heard the law¬
yer say “ what’s born to be hung will never be
drowned,” and so he may be a witch if he chooses
and never get the ducking that kills the poor lone wo¬
man : — nor see the hissing sparks and feel the crack¬
ling flames that hover round the cursed stake. It’s
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
39
more than once that I’ve been threatened with such
like torments. And how’s your reverend father,
pretty Miss, and he your brother, that’s seen so oft
among the rocks and the dark shades and with never
any companion but his book ? I hope they’re well
and promising. Ah ! he’s a handsome man, the
young one, and makes (they say) the ladies’ hearts
ache. His eye is kinder too, than his, they say’s his
father.”
“ They’re well, good mother,” answered Agnes,
“ both of them — but why do you not come to the par¬
sonage oftener ? I have some clothes that I should
like to olfer you. They would make you a decent
Sunday suit and you might come to Church on Sun¬
day dressed as decently as any of your acquaintance.
These old rags are scarcely fit to wear on the Sab¬
bath.”'
“ The gifts of the rich to the decrepid and needy,”
muttered the beldame, “seldom flow from the love
they bear us. Ye little care if we feed or starve;
and bid us be grateful too for what ye cast to us as ye
would to a do%. The pains of hunger and the biting
of the cold you seldom reckon of, — but I have felt
them and my curse may light upon them that are
luckier. I need no braver clothes to trick my aching,
worn out body in, young woman; my old limbs now
have little longing but for the winding sheet ; and
mayhap younger may wear it ere I do.”
a I meant but to serve you, Annie Brown,” said
Agnes, “and if you will not accept the clothes, any
thing else I can do for you I will with pleasure, — but
have you something particular to tell me, as you
seemed to have when you stopped me
“Ay! av!” answered the other, “you have little
time to waste on the like of me. Ye’re in great haste
no doubt. My message — no thanks to her that gave
it — is soon said. I have met the Madam Chesterly,
a half hour gone, and she bade me, as she threw me
sixpence, tell you she was not well and would like to
1
40 THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
have you pass the evening with her. I told her too I ne¬
ver doubted you would obey the bidding. The young
man’s out upon the hills and with his gun, for all the
bruises that he got upon the mountain, when he rolled
among the rocks and drawned his prancing horse, —
that did nothing but gallop over the country throwing
dust in honest folks’ eyes. And yet perhaps ye may
see him when he returns, therefore never be down¬
cast, pretty maid. And now my tale is told I wish
ye much good of it and a fair evening.”
Saying this the hag turned on her heel and mutter¬
ing to herself in a low, hoarse growl, pursued her way
through the village to her hovel which stood at some
distance at the entrance of the forest. As she reached
the door and entered the wretched log-hut, gritting
her teeth and clenching her bony hands, she uttered a
deep curse as she exclaimed :
“The arrow’s rankling in the flanks of the young
doe — or I’m mistaken. She’s stricken and now may
court the thicket and drop her tears in the rapid bab-
ling stream that is as heartless as her rich kin. Ha !
ha! ha! That story of the foreign minx went to her
heart ; — I watched how her smooth cheek showed
. pale and red — and her lips were as ashy as my own — j
I hate her for her father’s sake — the stony hearted
priest he would have lit the faggot round me long
ago but that I have been as cunning as he, the crop-
eared puritan. I hate the white skinned imp for her
own sake too ; — she never sees me but she seems to
shudder and loathe my very sight, as if I were not a
woman like herself, but some brute beast the rather.’’
The beldame upon entering her dark and wretched
dwelling had closed the door, and the feeble light that
shot from a few dying embers in the hearth, threw a
sickly glow upon the filthy walls and earthen floor of
the cabin. As the light streamed at times across the
features of the mistress of the mansion when she had
seated herself on a low stool in the corner of the chim¬
ney, it added to their livid hues a tinge and character
THE WITCH OP NEW ENGLAND.
41
that seemed actually unearthly. Leaning her head
upon her two hands and gazing intently upon the
flickering of the feeble flames that still illumined the
hut, she had, at intervals, and with a low muttering
thrown out her soliloquy. The pauses she filled up
in caressing a huge black cat, that hailed her approach
by rubbing against the drapery of her ample dress and
answered to her endearments by loud, incessant pur~
ring.
«
A"
■H
E
42
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND,
CHAPTER IV.
. Visions
Of rapture all past-by, — and dreams that call
Dead Glory from her grave are lovely shades.
But from their quick decay spring mournful thoughts.
anonymous.
It was one of those lovely evenings that so often bless
and cheer us in our free and happy land. Beyond the
range of green and majestic mountains the setting sun
was already dressed in his dying colours. The res-
plendant hues of the clouds, the rich purple, the fresh
green and timid blue, melting into each other and
streaked with long dashes of burnished gold, wreath¬
ing into every fantastic form, were beyond the pow¬
ers of the poet or painter to describe. The woods
were musical with the evening hymns of guiltless
choristers, and the far-off dashing of the torrent stole,
interrupted at times, through the windings of the val¬
ley and the loneliness of the venerable forest. The
lovely hour combined, in one happy union, the sweet
fragrance of the freshest morning, with the rich and
gorgeous and somewhat melancholy charms which
cluster round the ending of a summer’s day. The
song of the woodman was heard in the distance, and
the faint tolling of the cattle-bell, at times, fell upon
the ear like a solitary note of richer music. The air
was full of fragrance and the fresh dew fell, blessing
the earth beneath.
Agnes had quitted the Sibyl, harrassed and some¬
what alarmed for the situation of her friend. For
Mrs. Chesterly, indeed, she had always felt the af¬
fection of a child, and that lady had hitherto, with a
maternal kindness not often found in a stranger, sup-
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
43
plied the fostering cares of a mother. The wife of
an English officer, she had accompanied her hus¬
band and a single child to America, where they had
happily resided for many years, when in a campaign
against the Indians, in which Captain Chesterly’s
military experience and courage had been of much
service to the new settlers, this brave man wras cruelly
murdered by the savages. In possession of a good
house and excellent farm she had, since the death of
her husband, employed herself in extending towards
Agnes the kindness and partiality of a doting parent.
Scarcely a day passed without an interview between
Agnes and her excellent friend, either at the parsonage
or at the house of the latter, which ’ftas small but
delightfully situated at the foot of the mountain and
about a mile or less from the village. Thither Ag¬
nes now bent her steps — frighted and distressed at
her late interview with the Witch, alarmed and anx¬
ious at the news of the indisposition of Mrs. Chesterly.
She continued her walk rapidly and without inter¬
ruption, till arrived at the neat, white cottage, she met
and embraced her kind protectress. She found her
slightly indisposed from the fright and anxiety suf¬
fered the evening previous, which had been some¬
what too much for a constitution and figure naturally
delicate and feeble. Soon assured by her conversa¬
tion and appearance that nothing serious was to be
apprehended, with the light-hearted gayety of youth
and health, she soon abandoned herself to the natural
and delightful playfulness of her disposition. The
accident whose event might have been so fearful and
disastrous, — its fortunate and almost miraculous end¬
ing, — and the gratitude due to Edward and the gen¬
erous Indian, — were the topics that employed the mo¬
ments of the fair talkers and made the time move ra¬
pidly and unobserved.
Charles, Mrs. Chesterly remarked, had immedi¬
ately after dinner taken his rifle and dogs, with the
intention of visiting and thanking Uncas at his hut in
44
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
the forest, and had probably, in pursuit of his beloved
and daily sport, rambled some distance from home.
“ He is a perfect Nimrod,’1 said she, “ and lives,
as I tell him, so much among the hills and forests,
that he must be able to claim acquaintance with every
venerable tree upon the mountains. He often pur¬
sues his game even into the country of the hostile
tribes, and I tremble with apprehension at the thought
of the danger he may some day incur from the fero¬
city and hatred of the Savages. He is well known to
them, I am told, and is regarded as a great and dex¬
terous hunter, and that is a character that in their eyes
claims much respect. But then he is so impetuous
and fearless that I constantly apprehend some disas¬
ter may result from his accidental rencounters with
the Indians.”
The lengthening of the shadows — the increased still¬
ness of the scene, where nothing was heard but the
roaring of the distant water-fall, — and the dark dress
assumed by the clouds in lieu of the rich and varie¬
gated costume in which they had so lately shone,
warned the friends that the moments had passed un¬
heeded and that caution required the immediate de¬
parture of Agnes. The kind matron threw a shawl
round the shoulders of her young visiter, affection¬
ately embraced her and bidding farewell, watched her
light and rapid movement till she disappeared from
sight.
Young Chesterly upon leaving home had struck
suddenly into the forest, and soon began to ascend
the range of hills behind which lay the wigwam of
Uncas. Directing his steps towards the dwelling of
the Indian he occasionally wandered into the wood in
search of game, as a pheasant or sometimes a deer
was startled at his approach. The scenery which
surrounded him, and which Edward Bradley would
have gazed on with enthusiasm, was scarcely ob¬
served by the ardent hunter as he called his dogs, —
clambered from precipice to precipice, — or stoic
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND,
45
lightly and covertly from tree to tree to obtain a shot
at a fawn or wild turkey. Precipices of great wild¬
ness and singular grandeur often suddenly interrup¬
ted his progress, but turning aside he seldom stopped
to admire their features, at once, so awful and majes¬
tic. The white pine, the pride and monarch of the
forests of-New England, reigned in legitimate and un¬
disputed sovereignty over the surrounding trees.
With a diameter not often exceeding six feet, this no¬
ble ornament of our woods rose sometimes to the
height of two hundred and sixty, — its vast and grace¬
ful stem, straight as a spear and tapering without a
limb for 150 feet reared itself proudly in the air.
The exquisite colour and form of the foliage added
new beauties and the kingly crown which encircled
the majestic tree, was in unison with the haughty
and splendid trunk which it adorned. The murmurs
of the wind as it travels through groves of these pines
are full of beauty and poetry; — and the sudden and
unexpected swells of the wild and unearthly music
often forced the young hunter to halt and for a mo¬
ment, forgetful of his sport, to dwell w'ith delight upon
the sounds.
Arrived at Uncas’ hut, he found the door closed
and its master absent. Thinking it probable the In¬
dian might be in the neighbourhood examining his
traps, Charles hallooed in a loud voice, making the
woods ring writh his name. Echo alone answered
him. Conceiving that a meeting was now improba¬
ble he concluded to give up the search and proceed
leisurely homewards. He accordingly began to re¬
trace his path, — but had not made much progress,
when hearing a light and rapid step he turned and be¬
held Uncas within a few yards of him. He cordially
welcomed the savage, and mentioning the object of
his visit, warmly thanked him, at the same time ma¬
king offer of his best services as some return for the
assistance he had received the night previous.
e 2
46
THE WITCH* OF NEW ENGLAND.
A fiery and haughty spirit burnt in the eye of the:
Indian as he adjusted the panther skin that hung over
his shoulder; and a faint and very transient smile was
observed about his mouth while he firmly grasped
his tomahawk. But whatever might have been his
feelings he seemed suddenly to suppress if not alto¬
gether to conquer them, and addressing his compan¬
ion, said,
“ I heard the voice of the whiteman and listened to
the answers from the deep caves and hollows which
the wailing and wandering spirits poured from their
hiding places. What would ye now with the Indian
Sachem ? He has no more lands to glut the avarice
of his pale enemies : he has now no child to satisfy
their cravings for blood. What would ye I say again:
Do the -white planters wish once more to plunder the
graves and monuments of our dead of the few skins
with which the piety of the living has dressed the se¬
pulchres of their kindred ? The pious veneration of
our tribes, though exiled from the abodes of their an¬
cestors, still teaches them to find in the deserted lands
of their kindred the mounds that cover the moulder¬
ing ashes of their forefathers. Influenced by this ho¬
ly feeling, we turn aside and leave the dreary path
that leads from the dwelling of our parents to watch in
silent lamentation over their tombs, and we find them
rifled and defaced.”
“ You have good cause I know,” said Charles, “ to
lament the arrival of the whites and little reason to
bear them much good will. I am aware of the ven¬
eration in which your tribes hold the graves of your
relatives — and I have heard the story of the robbery
of your mother’s tomb. I lament it sincerely, my
good friend, but you should remember that all white-
men are not capable of such base profanation.”
The savage looked mournfully at the young
man, and something like a sigh rose from his bosom
as he replied, — u I know it else had I not been the
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND,
47
friend of the vvhiteman. I owe them a life— but we
shall be hunted back until we can retreat no deeper
into the recesses of the forest. Our hatchets will be
broken. Our bows will be destroyed and our fires
extinguished. A little longer and the whitemen will
cease to persecute us, — for we shall have ceased to
exist and the great names of our fathers will have no
tongue to repeat them.”
I hope and think you prophesy falsely,” said Charles.
“ Surely there is land enough upon this immense
continent to serve us all. You must learn to think
better of us.”
Uncas made no answer, but continued to walk
silently, for some time, by the side of his companion.
At length abruptly addressing him, he said,
“When last the glorious and beautiful light of the
sky had sunk behind the distant hills and the birds
grew silent, I began to settle, as my custom is, to
take repose. Before sleep had descended upon me,
and my eyes were fast closed, methought a vision
appeared before me, and as mv spirit was much trou¬
bled and I trembled at the doleful sight, the appari¬
tion thus addressed me. u Behold, my, son, the spirit
of thy mother, — these are the breasts that have given
thee nourishment, — and here the hands that have co¬
vered thee from the cold and fed thee in hunger.
Canst thou forget to take revenge of those wild people
who have defaced my monument in spite and contempt,
— trampled upon our sacred antiquities and honoura¬
ble rites ? Behold the grave of the Sachem lies like
that of the unhonoured dead, — defaced and insulted
by an ignoble race. Thy mother now complains and
implores thy aid against these pale and thievish men
who intrude upon our lands. If this be endured I
shall not rest contented and quiet in my eternal hab¬
itation.” These words the spirit uttered and vanished,
— and I arose, the cold sweat standing on my brows
and my feeble limbs refusing their support.”
t8 THE WITCH. OF NEW ENGLAND.
The Indian as he concluded became evidently
much agitated. The muscles of his face were swelled
and distorted and a heavy dew hung upon his fore¬
head. The passion of grief seemed mingled with
terror, awakened even by the recollection of the vi¬
sion which had so deeply wrought upon his imagina¬
tion and superstitious fears. But with the martial
pride and fortitude so characteristic of his nation, he
seemed to struggle fiercely for a moment with his
feelings and then sunk into the silent and gloomy
composure, habitual to his tribe.
Chesterly was naturally shrewd and not unacquainted
with the Indian character. He attributed the fierceness
and moroseness of Uncas to one of those sudden exas¬
perations arising from a nature peculiar to the inhabi¬
tants of the forest. They are equally remarkable for
their acute feelings and their sudden provocation to
hostility. Like the wild plants of their deserts they
thrive best in the dark and silent shades ; shrink from
the withering hand of cultivation and perish beneath
the genial heat and influence of the sun. The som¬
bre recollection of the Chief had led him to reflect
upon the past condition of his countrymen. For¬
merly, and even within his own memory, no roof
arose in the forest that did not shelter the houseless
stranger : — no smoke curled above the green foliage
where he was not welcome to repose by its fire and
partake of the hunter’s repast. An old and quaint his¬
torian of New England in drawing their character
says “Their life is so void of care and they are so
loving also, that they make use of those things they en¬
joy as common goods, andare therein so compassion¬
ate that rather than one should starve through want,
they would starve all : thus do they pass their time
merrily, not regarding our pomp, but are better con¬
tent with their own, which some men esteem so
meanly of.”
Charles made no answer to the indignant address
TIIE WITCH OP NEW’ ENGLAND.
49
of the Chief ; — pitying the feelings that evidently tor¬
tured him, he concluded it best to suffer them to have
course and waste away by the intensity of their own
fires. They continued their walk together for some
time in silence, the Indian being on his way to the
village. By degrees he became more soothed, — the
passions roused by the effect of education and exam¬
ple being lulled by the natural generosity and kind¬
ness of a fierce but noble soul. He became excited
also by the appearance of some game, and delighted
with the skill his companion displayed in the use of
his rifle and his dexterity in the chase, he seemed
gradually to sink every painful feeling in the enthusi¬
asm of the hunter. He spoke of his own exploits, — <
pointed out the favourite retreats of the deer, — de¬
scribed the dens of the bear and the wolf, and de¬
lighted by the subject of his own conversation, be¬
came in the end pleased with himself and conse¬
quently in harmony with his companion.
50
THE WITGII OF NEW ENGLAND.
CHAPTER V.
5Tis Love, fierce Love, sweet cousin, that consumes
And wastes the crimson bloom upon my cheek. —
Fresh Sleep my downy pillow' now hath fled
And all my dreams are wakeful.
Anonymous.
Agnes Bradley pursued her route homewards ra¬
pidly and not without a degree of anxiety. Evening
had let fall her veil and though twilight still lingered
about the scenery, like the palid spirit of departed
day, her hues were grave and melancholv, and com¬
bining with the loneliness of all around, filled the
mind of the timid and beautiful girl with a dread that
at times almost overpowered her. She now recol¬
lected, for the first time, the caution of her brother, —
and while ignorant of its reason her terror and exci¬
ted imagination, dwelling upon the unusual charge,
conjured the most fearful pictures. Pale and agita¬
ted she passed quickly along a path that led for a
short distance on the shore of the river, the banks of
which were overhung by the trees. Could she pass
this in safety, (she thought) she should then be with¬
in sight of the parsonage, and within a few hundred
yards of some of the straggling houses of the village.
She had not proceeded many paces, when feeling her¬
self suddenly seized, she turned and with indescriba¬
ble horror found herself in the arms of an Indian.
The latter in a low, hoarse tone, mingled with res¬
pectful tenderness, endeavoured to sooth or calm the
wild terror of the female, who, recoiling with an in¬
stinctive loathing from his touch, seemed dumb and
almost motionless with affright. The savage pointed
to a canoe, which she now perceived for the first time,
tied to a willow tree near, and made her understand
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND. 5 1
she must enter and accompany him. His air, stern
and determined, had yet a gentleness when he ad¬
dressed her, and his fierce and martial eye lost its fe¬
rocity when fixed upon her face, and assumed an ex¬
pression of adoration mingled with sadness.
The terrified girl now attempted, with the eloquence
of grief and despair, to deprecate the fearful fate that
threatened. The Indian listened not without emotion,
— • but silently and exhibiting no symptom of change
in resolution. Throwing herself at his feet she im¬
plored his mercy, — offered ample reward, — the friend¬
ship and gratitude of her family, — threatened him
with the sure vengeance that would follow the perpe¬
tration of his crime ; — but in vain, — the savage main¬
tained his melancholy air and inflexible purpose. At
length startled by some noise or rustling in the
wrood he seized Agnes in his arms, and bore her
in spite of her struggles and cries rapidly to the canoe.
Overcome with her exertions and the horror of her
situation she fainted ; and the savage placing her in
the canoe, entered himself and pushing from the
bank, paddled rapidly down the stream. He used his
oar skillfully and was speedily gaining the middle of
the river, when two dogs rushed from the thicket
quickly followed by two men, one of whom carried a
rifle. They appeared to have been attracted by the
shrieks, which were loud and uttered as by one in the
extremity of terror and distress. They hastily gazed
about them, and as the moon shed a bright and un¬
clouded light upon the water, the canoe was soon dis¬
covered and hailed. No answer was returned from
the boat, and the savage redoubled his exertions to
gain a safe and level landing at some distance below.
“ By Heaven,” exclaimed one of the men on the
bank, “ I see a woman in the canoe and the rower is
an Indian.”
“ Yes,” answered his companion, it is indeed a
52
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
redman. But do you recognize the female ?” “ No’’
said the other, “ that is impossible at this distance.
She appears to be bound and motionless, or from her
silence she must have fainted with terror. The two
men, who proved to be -Charles and Uncas, ran along
the shore for some distance, following the canoe and
repeatedly calling to the rower to stop. The latter
however returned no answer, but seemed to be exer¬
ting every nerve to reach the opposite bank, which he
now evidently approached.
“ He must not be permitted to reach the shore,”
said Uncas, “ if his foot touches the ground the lady
will be lost.”
u I will fire,” said Charles and preparing his rifle,
he presented the piece, and again calling to the In¬
dian, warned him of his intention, and once more or¬
dered him to desist and return.
With the instinctive sagacity of his tribe, the savage
ceased rowing for a moment, drew the still inanimate
body of Agnes towards him and placing her in such
a manner as nearly to shield him, he again resumed
the oar and pushed vigourously for the bank.
“ The villain,” exclaimed Charles, “ and yet there
is not a moment to be lost. Shall I run the risk and
fire.”
%
“Yes,” answered Uncas, “but the white hunter
must now exert all his skill. I know the redman to
be the Sachem Samoset and the girl is surely the sis¬
ter of your friend PIdw;ird.”
An involuntary groan and exclamation of horror
from Charles, at once evinced his prior ignorance and
present fears. He faltered and the rifle sunk from
his shoulder. He trembed in every limb as he gazed,
with a look of despair, upon the canoe now within a
short distance of the landing place.
“ There is not a moment to be lost,” said Uncas,
“ see, young man, the canoe flies rapidly, — a few
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND. 53
more strokes of the oar and she will touch the
shore*”
“ Good God,” said Charles, “ should I miss the
wretch and murder her — it is too horrible.”
“ Quick ! — fire !” cried the Indian, u or all will be
lost. The Great Spirit will direct the ball, — fire.”
Collecting himself, by a strong mental effort, the
youth seized his rifle ; — took deliberate aim, — and the
report rung through the surrounding woods and hills,
answered by a thousand echoes that at last died away
among the distant cliffs. In an agony of doubt and fear
as the smoke disappeared, Charles gazed upon the
canoe. The savage still held the oar. He made two or
three strokes, each feebler than the former, tottered on
his seat and finally sunk to the bottom of the canoe.
Overcome by his feelings, the rifle dropped from
his hands and Charles fell sick and exhausted on the
ground. But Uncas, who had watched with deep
attention the result, threw off part of his dress and
plunging into the river swam towards the boat that
now drifted down the stream. He soon reached it—
entered, and catching the oar, speedily gained the
bank where in deep anxiety his companion sat wait¬
ing his approach.
Having lifted the inanimate form of Agnes from
the boat; they found, though covered with blood, she
had suffered no injury from the discharge of the rifle.
Placing her upon the grass, Charles proceeded to
sprinkle her face plentifully with water from the river,
and at length experienced the delight of seeing her
once more slowly raise the lids of her eyes, and gaze
with a stare of alarm and uncertainty around. Has¬
tening to assure her of her safety, — he endeavoured
to collect her scattered senses and make her aware of
her sudden and happy rescue. For some moments
the terrified girl seemed incapable of comprehending
either her present situation or the import of the ten¬
der and soothing attentions of her protector, whose
questions she noticed no otherwise than by a wild and
F WLm .
54 THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
unmeaning gaze. At last recovered by the cold and
copious bath her deliverer had scattered over her
face and temples,. — with a profound and heavy sigh
she seemed to regain her recollection, and seizing the
hand of Charles she involuntarily sunk into his arms.
It is in such moments that art is forgotten and nature
triumphs.
While Chesterly had been employed in attending to
the lady, Uncas approached the wounded Indian and
found his conjecture had been true. It was the Sa¬
chem Samoset. He lay severely but not dangerously
wounded. The ball had penetrated the right breast
and passed under his shoulder. He bled profusely
and appeared much exhausted. None surpass the
Indian in lofty contempt of death and in the stern and
noble fortitude with which he encounters pain and
torture. He appears even to feel a savage joy in con¬
temptuous taunting of his tormentors ; provokes their
ingenuity in cruelty ; and as the flame feeds on his vi¬
tals and the quivering flesh shrinks from the sinews,
he raises his hymn of triumph, pours forth the stern
defiance of an invincible spirit, and invoking the
shades of his fathers dies without a groan. Samoset,
as his countryman bent over him, bound his wound
and gave him liquor from a bottle slung to his belt,
neither uttered complaint nor made a remark. As
Uncas raised and assisted him to the shore an ex¬
pression of reproachful contempt seemed to pass over
his countenance as he looked at his fellow Chief, and
his eye rested for a moment, with the rage of a ma¬
niac, upon the young whiteman as he hung with un¬
affected rapture over Agnes. But the expression was
transient, — resuming the stern dignity of resignation,
— he remained coldly and obstinately silent.
The party now commenced their route towards the
village, which appeared but a few hundred yards in
advance. Agnes was fondly and carefully conducted
by her protector, now all softness ; and the wounded
savage exerting his remaining strength and assisted
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
56
by Uncas slowly followed. A few minutes’ walk res¬
tored Agnes to the arms of her friends, now seriously
alarmed at her absence. In the meantime the un¬
happy Sachem having reached the village and re¬
ceived the attentions his wound required, was con¬
ducted by the proper authorities to the building, which
in those older days, served the purposes of a jail.
♦
mt
t
56
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
CHAPTER Vr.
Poetic visions steeped him in their bliss,
In hues unearthly painting things sublime. —
Forms full of beauty, — sounds on earth unknown
His senses rapt and ravished e’en his soul,
Wafting th’ immortal essence, in its trance,
To nobler worlds.
Ajjojrraious.
For some days after her perilous adventure and
narrow escape, Agnes Bradley continued an invalid.
The severe shock she had received produced a fever
which though not dangerous, rendered confinement
necessary and roused the anxious fears of her friends.
While Mrs. Chesterly watched over her with the fond
solicitude of maturnal tenderness, her father seemed to
forget his sombre doctrines in unaffected anxiety for
her restoration, and her brother awaking from his vi¬
sions of ideal felicity and the dreams of a poetical 1
imagination, hung with increased fondness over the
unaffected and gentle virtues of the beautiful sufferer.
Charles Chesterly, surrounded by Love with all his
attendant train of romance, hopes, fears and wishes,
appeared a new being ; and forgetful of the mountain,
the valley and the chase, attended in feverish impa¬
tience the event of her recovery. The sudden burst
of the passion, — though it had long been lying hid in
his bosom, undiscovered or misunderstood, conjured
images, feelings and thoughs that by their rapid rise
seemed more the offspring of sweet but troubled
slumber than the legitimate progeny of real passion.
He felt a pleasure that trembled on th£ verge of pain.
His very fears were tempered with delight, and after
vainly attempting to analyze the passion he resigned
body and mind to the intoxicating influence of the J
new-born feeling. He found it delight mingled with
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
sorrow, — grief tempered with felicity, — night stealing
the hues of day, — frost living midst the smoke of
flames, — fire blazing amidst realms of ice ; — in a
word, he found it a train of inconsistencies,' unintelli¬
gible but omnipotent.
Having recovered her strength after a few days,
Agnes again appeared the life and spirit of the parlour
at the parsonage. Charles was now the received and
favoured lover, at once admitted by the lady and re¬
cognized by her family. The hours fled rapidly and
merrily — and if a thought of the fate that hung over the
wretched Samoset, at some moments threw a damp
over the vivacity of the party it was not long-lived.
The happy and prosperous do not dwell on the pain
or misery of the unfortunate. If seen at all, the latter
appear like breath upon the mirror, clouding the
brightness of the surface for a moment, making no
impression, disappearing in an instant and as speed¬
ily forgotten. Sympathy like the Aloe blooms rarely
and as quickly dies.
A mild and beautiful evening had collected round
the tea-table of Agnes its usual attendants. The
lively, joyous prattle of its mistress was gently re¬
lieved by the deep full tones of her brother’s
voice, bearing at times the melancholy character
habitual to his manner and the expression of his
features. The charming and tempered gayety of
Mrs. Chesterly shed its chaste and sober brightness
over the gloomy asperity of the minister. And the
loud, animated, hold and thoughtless observations of
Charles added noise and life if not harmony to the
scene. The air was fresh and fragrant, the sky quiet
and serene, and the sun, about to bid farewell to the
calm and lovely valley, appeared to linger upon the
mountain. Nature seemed in repose ; and the mind
involuntarily catching the tone of all around sunk in¬
to the same delicious tranquillity. There is a mild
joy in the silent happiness of such moments more al¬
lied to unearthly felicity than akin to the boisterous
f 2
58
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
exultation of noisier pleasures. Ecstacy has no voice,
— her loudest clamour is but a murmur. *
Agnes broke the silence of the circle by exclaiming,
“ My dear Edward I claim the performance of a
promise. You must read the fragment I caught a
glimpse of the other day. And you recollect my im¬
portunity procured a promise from you that we should
hear it.” “ Oh ! by all means,” cried Mrs. Chesterly,
u it is a witching hour this, — every object around
breathes poetry ; — we could not fix on a happier time.
Come — begin, my young bard, — with proper empha¬
sis and good discretion. We shall be all attention.”
“ What is the subject, Edward ?” cried Charles,. :
u love, war or the chase, I hope. They are the only
subjects worth a poet’s pen.”
u I do not agree with you, my young friend,” said
the elder Bradley, u there are many other matters
more noble, and fitter to exercise the genius and ima¬
gination of gifted men than those you mention. I
remember that best of poets in the English nation, the
incomparable Dr. Blackmore, hath truly drawn the
character of a minister in his Orator Tylon. Wherein
he says, if my memory will serve me,
“His wit, his learning, judgment equal rise,
“ Divinely humble, yet divinely wise.
“ He seemed express, on heaven’s high errant sent,
« As Moses meek, — as Aaron eloquent.”
But begin, my son, we will all listen to thy verses
with patience and satisfaction.”
Edward, perceiving that the reading was desired
and might possibly afford pleasure, without useless
affectation, took a manuscript from his desk and read
as follows : —
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
$9
THE LOVER.
A DRAMATIC FRAGMENT.
Scene — A Chapel , at midnight,
ENTER ALICE AND A FRIAR.
This, venerable father, is the place.
How dark and fearful and how cold is all
Within these black and lofty vaults ! No ray
Of cheering hue through the high casement plays ;
Respiration falters and the heart grows sick
At sounds ourselves have made. The rich banners,
In the night air slowly wave funereal,
With mournful sound their golden tissues flap,
And of our footsteps falling soft, th’ echo,
Methinks a supernatural loudness hath.
?Tis a dread hour this, — in such a place !
The creeping blood within my veins doth course
With chillness dull and icy, — and my limbs,
In all the freshness of their full-blown youth,
Their service now refuse and faltering halt.
And yet they say Antonio, since the death
Of lovely Inez, hath let pass no night
Unless he kept his vigil at her tomb,
There near the altar.
» Friar.
■ - - ■ ’Tis the house of God,
Young maid, and fit it is an awful shade
Should darkly overhang a place so holy.
But is not this the hour when he comes,
His melancholy converse with the dead
In enrapt syllables and tears to hold ?
CO
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
Alice.
It is — and as we passed the outer gate,
I saw a figure glide with noiseless step
And hurried air along the cloisters. On
The ground his eyes, and o’er his brow was drawn
His dark bonnet, while the black plume falling
His features shadowed, — and it must be he,
So well I know the haughty air my brother bears.
(Starting.) And see he comes e’en now.
Friar.
- - My eyes are old,
And now I nothing see except dull shadows,
As across the nave they flit ; nor hear aught.
’Tis the dark hour, daughter, that deceitful
Phantoms conjures up, and o’er frail mortals
Sheds its palid horrors, — curdling the blood,
And each dark ringlet twined, upraising.
Summon thy courage forth and tell a prayer,
’Twill yield thee comfort. — I have found it so
Alice.
Thou art a holy man : and sanctity,
They say, is strongest guard ’gainst dcv’lish spells :
But I cannot unblenched and careless breathe,
Amid these mouldering tombs, and keep my pulse
To its accustomed action. Let’s begone.
Friar.
Nay then, is all thy boasted love, at last,
For noble, young Antonio, come to this?
Wilt thou ignobly flee for downright fear
Of harmless shadows : and refuse all aid,
By which we may reclaim from madness wild
And sadly mournful, him thou say’st thou lov’st !
Alice.
I love Antonio, and I could, for him,
Pour out my heart like pure and welling waters,
And now though freezing blood crawl coldly througL
My aching veins, I mill await his coming.
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND. 6 t
But we had better ’ware how we accost
Him in his hour of gloom. Let’s watch
Beneath yon monument.
Friar.
■ - £ tiear his foot
E’en now upon the smooth and sounding marble,
We’ll to our covert and observe him well.
(they retire
ANTONIO ENTERS.
Mice.
How brave and noble is that manly form
Where reason’s fountain is dryed up! Mem’ry
Unseated from her golden throne, and mists
O’erhang and cloud the rich mind’s bright splendour.
Oh! that a fond and doting sister’s death
The awful ruin could rebuild! I’d smile
And quaff as nectar all th’ envenomed goblet;
It would be richly welcome, — for the world
And I are knit in holy charity:
We could not part with sweeter words than now.
Antonio.
These chill, unwholesome damps fall grateful
On my heated brow, — where burns wild fever,
And he in his madd’ning misrule oft unseats
A man’s poor wit. At times I entertain
Strange fancies, — and my waking dreams are oft
Built up with Folly’s shrewdest cozenings.
I should suspect my mind’s fair fabric tottered,
But that I thus, with cunning reason’s art
And by the very labour of the brain,
Can prove her healthful sanity.
Friar.
- . - Alas!
Poor youth thy melancholy logic proves
That madness oft-times steals the guise of wit!
Alice.
Ah ! dear Antonio ! he is sadly pale !
\
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
And on his ghastly front dull grief hath worn
Too many furrows for so young a brow.
Could I but bind thy throbbing temples hard.
Thy aching forehead bathe, all might be well.
See, father, down his haggard cheek the tear
(The big, manly tear,) its course meanders.
And round his mouth deep agony now plays,
His lip distorting. While the deep sigh he heaves
Echos around.
Friar.
- This gushing of the heart,
O’ercharged with grief and e’en to bursting swoln,
Like maddened mountain-torrents from their rocks
And precipices dire, in thunder rushing,
Will o’er his heated brain a freshness shed;
And as the awful thunder clears the air,
So may a calm succeed this storm of wo,
And o’er the scathed breast its sunshine cast.
Alice.
He throws him on the ground, before the tomb,
Outstretched his arms and with his streaming eyes
(How wild they glare) fixed on the holy cross,
Some prayer he mutters; hark! he speaks.
Antonio.
I cannot pray. My eyes grow dim and tearful.
The sacred aspect of Madonna’s face,
In lovely pureness on the boy God smiles;
But as I gaze, each fading feature melts,
With death-like paleness, into Inez’ traits.
Oh God! I cannot from my memoiy blot;
Nor from my wild and wandering eye dispel
This cheating phantom’s fearful loveliness.
Before my waking eye it sails. And dreams,
With all their darkling horrors conjure still,
When sleep some healing lends to watchful grief,
The spectre to my view I cannot clutch
The airy figure as it moves and lies,
With cruel seeming to the aching sense.
It will not answer when I fondly call
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND. 63
And name it sweet Inez, — love, — my spouse betrothed.
It nothing does but plant on mine its eye, '
Staring me to madness. Nay, gentle girl,
In pity, on Antonio look and speak
Some soothing to a crushed and breaking heart.
Sweet phantom speak — and let thy lulling notes
Drop fresh and dew-like on my burning brain.
Speak Inez! — by our loves I charge thee speak!
Nor utter madness heap upon my head.
Alice.
Now see how around his red eye rolls —
Huge drops of dew upon his forehead stand.
Each limb with fearful agony is shook;
While to some fleshless phantom of the air
Deep orisons he offers. — Speak to him.
Friar.
His noble intellect in ruin lies,
Like some majestic city of the waste
And herbless plain,— -where sands and blistering sttns
Their arid rays shed o’er the crumbliug walls.
While columns broken and o’er toppled domes,
Th* Ionian pillar and Corinthian wreath
Crowning and twining round the marble shaft,
(Like some arch-angel, in his towering pride)
All prostrate, ’mid the voiceless desart, lie.
It is a sight to make an old heart bleed —
And daughter I have one, callous by age
And by misfortune seared, and yet it melts
Like gentle maidens o’er a lay of wo,
To watch a sight so pitious and forlorn.
My son ! Antonio !
Antonio.
- Who daring breaks
On the dull domain of mystic silence,
Fair echo rousing from her sacred lair,
’Mid holy altars and the crumbling tomb ?
Hie thee to rest old man — these aged limbs
W^ith midnight vigil should have naught to do.
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
64
Alice.
All dearest brother, do ye not then know
The aged friar? Nor me poor Alice?
She whom you were wont to love, and -
Antonio.
- - She ’s dead
Thou nam’st. — But I will tell ye all the tale.
Listen — The winds were hushed and the fair morn,
Like to a young and blushing bride, just ris’n,
In beauteous seeming stept, — and her sweet breath.
With odourous wooing, rich perfume scattered
O’er the sad relics of the past night’s storm.
The maddened wave to wildest phrenzy lashed
Some hours back, in languid slumber slept.
The lowering clouds, dark daughters of the storm,
Fierce fires flashing and in their tiiunder clad,
Mad fled On high the pure deep azure vault
O’er all, in calm and lovely grandeur smiled.
Above the hills the golden sun too stepped
And in his ocean mirror pleased locked down.
We walked upon the beach Inez and I,
Fondly thinking as we watched, some relic
Of that gallant bark we saw entombed
Might reach the shore. Perchance (the hope was faint
Some member of the hapless crew might still,
Dashed on the rocky shore some life yet bear
Through all the horrors of that fearful storm, —
While gazing thus, the treacherous rock gave way,
She sank - The waves were jealous and they gorged
With richer beauty far, than hers who rose
The radient daughter of pale Ocean’s foam.
Clasped in their cold embrace she deeply sank,
And with the dark and fleeting waters passed
My heart and brain. — Hark! soft music sounds—
Drink of its sweetness quickly, for anon
It dies, — and naught is heard within these vaults
Chilling and damp, but the pale Echo’s lament.
Hear ye not now, old man, the thrilling notes?
There and there again, in richness swelling,
Almost too much to bear, it floats away.
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND. 65
jTis like an angel choir when it dwells,
With lengthening rapture, on some note unearthly,
Filling the azure chambers of the sky
With loud Hozannas rapturous.
Alice.
- Hear me
Dear Antonio, — ’tis thy fond sister calls.
Oh! calm this horrid tempest of the brain.
Once more greet me with a brother’s accent
And break the fearful dream that over hangs
And mist-like dulls thy healthful vision.
There are none here but we, — nor any sounds
But those our voices make, — except th’ echo
Amid the lofty vaults and lengthening aisles,
With our faltering accents revelling.
He answers not, — nor any sign gives out
As though he heard my prayer.
Friar.
- His paleness
Now more death-like grows and o’er his fixed eye
The film of death is passing — Support him,
Daughter, while I, with all an old man’s speed
For succour hasten. [Exit.
Edward read with taste and feeling, and to the ad-
vantages of his voice and manner may be attributed,
rather than to the merit of the poetry, the praises
that followed when he had concluded.
“ It is but a sketch or mere fragment,” said he,
M and though I had once thought of building upon
such slight foundation something like a tragedy, that
is now a whim of other times.”
“Do you know, my dear Edward,” said Mrs*
Chesterly, “ that the first speech of Alice upon en¬
tering the old Gothic chapel, seemed to renew feelings
perfectly similar I once experienced, in visiting an an¬
cient cathedral in Italy. We viewed it by torch light
and though my husband and several friends were in
G
66
THE. WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND
company I felt a solemn sort of dread, that I can ne¬
ver forget.”
“ There is certainly much that is venerable and im¬
posing in the buildings and ceremonies of the Cath¬
olic superstition,” answered the elder Bradley. “ But
its rites are idolatrous, and the manners of the clergy
are not in accordance with the pure functions of the
priesthood. I commend ye all to the love of God
and the dislike of the Romish creed.”
u I remember, however,” said Charles, “ that the
merry Monarch of England thought it the only reli¬
gion fit for a gentleman.”
“ He asserted,” said Bradley, M in the madness of
his vanity, that our holy creed the Presbyterian was
not fit, as a religion, for a gentleman. But in the af¬
fairs of men the excess of evil is always the source of
good ; and even from the sacrilege of the monarch
the people may reap benefit. Be not blinded and led
away, young man, by the false glare of worldly wit
from the mouths of scoffers and libertines.”
Here the minister’s brow contracted and all the fire
and unrelenting zeal of the Puritanic teacher seemed
roused by allusion to the insult offered his religion.
He was about to commence a warm and long dis¬
course upon the true interpretation of the gospel and
the proper mode of offering adoration to the Almighty,
when Edward luckily forestalled him by observing,
“ The most impressive address I ever listened to was
pronounced in a cave— and delivered from a pulpit
formed by the hand of Nature.”
“ I never shall forget it I am sure,” said Agnes.
“Pray Edward give Mrs. Chesterly some account of
that vast and splendid cavern. Although it is not
many miles off I believe she has never seen it.”
“ It is one of the ‘ antres vast’ that the foot of curi¬
osity sometimes enters,” said Edward. u Many of
the Indian superstitions hang about it also. Old Un-
cas has a hundred tales to tell of the cavern, and
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
67
some of them have all the arabesque witchery of the
Arabian Nights.”
“ The vast extent of the cavern and the number of
its colonnades, halls and chambers, all of which have
not yet been seen, render it impossible to give any
but a very faint description of its wonders. But, en¬
tering the mouth of the cave by a small aperture, four
or five feet below the surface of the surrounding-
earth you descend sixteen or seventeen feet, and find
yourself in an apartment, spacious and lofty. In
front lies a large table rock, three yards square, and
elevated some distance beyond the bottom of the cave,
on which some of the brilliant stalactites with which
the roof is covered descend. On the left hand opens
an arched way running one hundred and fifty feet,
and to the right appears another, six feet broad at the
bottom and six feet high, conducting to a large cham¬
ber. Pursuing this route for some distance a third
vaulted gallery presents itself, leading the dazzled and
wondering traveller into a noble and ample hall ten
feet wide, one hundred in length and from five to
eight feet high. Here the roof is supported by pil¬
lars and arches of various size and the most fantastic
character ; and the walls appear decorated with fes¬
toons white as snow hanging in every variety of care¬
less and tasteful drapery. Near the centre of this
apartment a long and narrow entry conducts to
another room, while a second leads into a number of
chambers to the left, .each furnished with pending
curtains, and supported by dazzling stalactites in the
fashion of the former. The curious explorer, if not
weary with gazing upon so much splendour and
treading so many intricate paths, may still pursue
his researches and continue wandering through halls
and galleries that contemptuously mock at the splen¬
dour of kingly palaces. Descending about ten feet,
his conductor will usher him into an apartment of
twenty feet square and nine high, furnished in the
style of the preceding rooms. In one corner of this
68
THE WITCH OP NEW ENGLAND.
chamber a small mound is formed about twelve feet
in diameter, and rising several feet from the ground,
the top of which is hollow and filled with water,
which drops from the stalactites overhanging, some of
which nearly descend to the basin. Still the adven¬
turous visiter must descend, and is led astonished and
delighted, through another arch into a hall brilliant
and gorgeous as the former, containing another basin
filled with the purest and most transparent water. In
this manner apartment succeeds apartment like the
crowned descendants of Banquo. And though I ex¬
plored the windings and suites of rooms for the dis¬
tance of one hundred rods, I found myself still in
wandering mazes lost and not carried to the end of
this subterranean palace.
“ But my son,” said old Bradley, u did you not
say you heard an impressive discourse in this dark
and untenanted abode ? How was that?”
M Our party was numerous,” answered Edward,
u and among the visiters was a venerable and aged
clergyman, who had been a missionary among the
savages. While passing through some one of the
large rooms a curious and most beautiful rock had at¬
tracted our attention. It rose some feet from the
floor and was in shape similar to a pulpit. Some one
suggested the idea of an address by the old missionary.
The good old man seized the opportunity and ascen¬
ded the rock. The scene was a study for Salvator
Rosa. The dazzling splendour and awful venerable¬
ness of the place, — where the cheerful light of the
day had never penetrated, — and where perhaps the
name of God had never before been pronounced ; the
attentive and excited features of the auditors, leaning
towards the gray-haired preacher, feeble but full of
eloquence and even impassioned ; the glare of the
torches on the roof, studded with one entire bed of
diamonds ; the tall, wild, but noble figure of our In¬
dian guide, listening in an attitude of natural grace
and attention, but coldly sceptical; all combined and
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
69
formed a picture that on my mind’s tablet lives in its
freshest colours.” w Ay and my dear Madam,” ex¬
claimed Agnes, u when the hymn was sung, it ap¬
peared as if a million of voices at once poured out
praise to Heaven. Some of the echoes rolled through
the cave like distant thunder; the sounds made me
tremble.”
“ The old missionary’s exhortation was the most
touching piece of eloquence I ever heard,” said Ed¬
ward. And if rhetoric, as Plato says, be the art of
ruling the minds of men, the venerable and estimable
old man was truly a rhetorician.”
“ I like your enthusiasm on the present occasion,
my son,” said old Bradley. “ In the situation of the
worthy divine, however, any. teacher of the divine
word would have been eloquent.”
“ I cannot think so,” answered Edward. “ Many
would have harrangued and very copiously ; — but few
could have combined the various talents of the an¬
cient missionary. The remark of the old Greek, ‘ he
can talk, but he is no speaker,’ is but too applicable
to modern orators.”
Old Bradley gave numerous and orthodox reasons
for maintaining his opinion, with which it is not ne¬
cessary to weary or detain the reader. Having con¬
cluded his observations upon one of the heads, into
which he had divided his discourse, Mrs. Chesterly
and the impatient and restless Charles, who had been
sitting on thorns for some time, seized the opportune
pause and took leave for the night.
70
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
CHAPTER VII.
A gibe is sharper and it deeper probes
Than weapon temper’d in the Ebro’s wave. —
A rankling venom on its point it bears
That turns all gentle thoughts to gall. — It dyes
The ruddy heart with black, unwholsome hues,
And feeds revenge.
Anonymous,
The piazza of a village tavern is the public Ex¬
change of the neighbouring newsmongers, and idlers.
Here the tale of the hour is received and repeated ;
the fate of heroes and empires decided and the petty
scandal of the day retailed with minute and good ma¬
tured exactness. Over whiskey and tobacco the mer-
its of rival candidates for popular favour are canvassed
with zeal and sometimes with good manners ; horses
sold, bought or exchanged with characteristic shrewd¬
ness ; and questions innumerable demanded of stran¬
gers with imperturbable civility and an assurance
worthy of all imitation. When the traveller has told
with commendable distinctness whence he has come
and w’hither his future route is to lead him, he will be
asked with an insinuating simplicity and mildness im¬
possible to be resisted, his name, his profession, the
nature of the business upon which he is employed, the
time of his return and the titles and history of his fel¬
low travellers. The inn keeper is a person of distinc¬
tion, and moreover is often “ one who hath had
losses.” — He is a newsmonger, a humourist, a boon
companion, an officer in the militia, a member of the
legislature, a keeper of potent spirits and vile wine ;
or in some happy instances, these various and shining
qualifications may meet like the ingredients of a sal-
lad in tasteful and fortunate conjunction.
The worthy who filled the responsible situation,
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
71
just described in the village and at the time of which
we speak, was a man of substance and weight in the eye
of society — He was a fat and portly individual in per¬
son, of solemn carriage, good estate, little wit and
much devotion — He hated cards, detested dice, held
a begger in abomination, attended meeting with un¬
broken regularity and seldom made his guests pay
more than double prices for what they consumed. He
believed in witchcraft and Predestination ; lived in
great dread of Annie Brown, whom he regarded as
little better than the Evil One and almost as powerful ;
and refused with singular perseverance to give an
Indian credit for either liquor or ammunition, both of
which he sold. Such was Solomon Lackbrain, host
of the King’s Head tavern, in the village of Eden ,
New England — His wife was a clever, tidy woman,
who bustled about her house with great activity, at-
attended with unceasing civility upon her guests and
applied soap and birch to her children at due times
and in proper proportions.
She boxed the ears of a stupid boy who did the ser¬
vice of a valet ; — quieted a roaring child ; — flattered
a guest ; served out liquor at the bar and sneered at
her husband, in the same moment, with a vivacity and
feeling not to be sufficiently admired. While he, dull
and phlegmatic, moved like the hours at a fashionable
rout ; she sped like an autumn evening, or her own
tongue or a spendthrift’s fortune and flew though her
house like a rich man’s jest round his own table.
This worthy personage was sitting and taking his
ease in the porch of his own inn one morning when he
was approached by a couple of singular appearance.
The woman to whom the reader has already been in¬
troduced under the name of Annie Brown, was accom¬
panied by a man who in person and manner was as
remarkable as herself. He was tall, gaunt and broad
across the shoulders. He appeared all bone and mus¬
cle, the latter by exercise and exposure to the weath¬
er and sun seemed to have attained the hardness of
horn. He might be said to have reached the age of
72 THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
seventy-five years but he moved with the strength and
activity of a man much younger. He was bare-footed
and wore no hat or cap. His gray hairs, suffered to
grow and remain in entire ignorance of a comb, had
assumed an appearance so'mewhat similar to a wild
and desolate heath, where brambles and thorns are
interwoven in such a manner as to be impenetrable to
rain and sun. His beard was unshorn and descended
far down his breast, as white as the early frost. He
carried in one hand an old, rusty rifle, while with the
other he supported a large pack of furs, bear and beaver
skins, slung over his shoulder. He was grumbling to
himself as he moved along bending under his heavy
burden; and neither replied nor gave much attention
to the discourse with which his more talkative com¬
panion endeavoured to entertain him.
“Arid do ve see yon fat paunch that sits in his arm¬
chair and plays with his thumbs all day ? Will he
trade with you for your skins do ye think Mike ?”
said Annie.
“ Umph !” said the man “ I guess he will ; and if he
wont he may let it alone and be d — cl.”
“ You must speak him fairly, ” observed the witch
“pour a little honey down his throat, it will open his
heart, and ye ’ll sell your skins the better bargain. —
If it had 'nt been for flattery I should have starved
long ago — And yet I hate it as I do the winter night
when the rheumatis torments my old limbs — I ’d
rather snarl and bite than smile and snigger; though
its an easy trade to live by too.”
“ I can’t work at it,” replied Mike, surlily “ I
never liked much talking and its only wasting
words “ But then ye ’ll get more money and may
laugh in your sleeve at the waddling gander ;” said
Annie, “ Get all the cash you can, Mike, and we ’ll
have a frolic and drink to our hearts content ; besides
if you make a good bargain with yon fat mole, his
wife the ranting shrew will comb his head for it, and
that will be some pleasure, to see the chap-fallen cur
sneak to bed with his scratched face.”
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
73
Mike bad listened with some attention to the ad¬
vice and exhortations of his companion though he
made no answer. In a sort of growl, however, he
muttered something to himself, as if forgetful, of his
attendant ; and appeared endeavouring so far to con¬
quer the natural and acquired surliness of his dispo¬
sition as to try in some measure her advice. In a
dogged and irresolute manner he muttered as he
walked slowly.
41 It’s sartain I must have some powder and lead.
I can make flints enough and thank nobody ; but th
powder and ball no man can do without. The game
will be plenty this year, though the tarnation settle¬
ments frightens more deer and beaver than I ever
killed. I must have a stout supply too, for damn me
if I come near the settlements again in a hurry. I
never feel well-like for a week after turning my back
upon the jail and court house. But after I’ve drunk
of the mountain spring and slept upon the hills —
ah ! I’m another sort of a man. I like a drunken
spree too, now and then ; but I’m happier among the
woods after all. The bark of the wolf and the scream
of the eagle do my heart more good than ever the
voice of man did.”
44 Why Mike, my man,” said the hag, interrupting
his soliloquy, 44 why don’t ye be pleasant and neigh¬
bourly. You do nothing but mutter and moan to
yourself, as if you sat in the chimney corner with ne¬
ver any friend to talk with but the black cat.”
44 Yes, and I’m told, Annie, there’s much virtue in
that ugly mink. They tell me you would not part
with her for the fattest buck in the forest. Is she the
devil in truth now ? And what will she do for you ?”
As he asked these questions in a low tone of voice,
he drew nearer the witch, and looking with some de¬
gree of dread around, he appeared waiting her an¬
swer. Annie laid her skinny fingers upon her lips as
she threw a keen glance upon the old hunter, who
gazed intently upon her, while his sun burnt face ac*
74
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
tually exhibited paleness as he gaped and expected
her reply. The hag walked close to his side, and put¬
ting her hand on his shoulder with a grin which she
meant should be friendly and insinuating, showed her
yellow fangs, while her eyes lightened with a bril¬
liancy half beautiful and hall fearful. The old man
shrunk from her clutch as if he had come in contact
with a serpent. But not appearing to observe his
horror, she said,
“ You and I are old friends, Mike, and I’ll tell you
somewhat, which, if it were known to yon oily publi¬
can, would lead me to the stake.”
“ Ah well, Annie,” replied the other, 41 I suppose
there’s no harm in it ; so I’ll e’en listen. You mean
me no mischief I guess. You’ll not damp the pow¬
der when I draw trigger on a fat deer, — nor frighten
the beavers from the traps.”
“Listen,” answered the witch. 44 You have not for¬
got old Moll White, that was burnt some time back
by the crop-eared puritans ? She was permitted to
take upon her a cat’s body nine times, and before she
suffered the death she gave Graymalkin to me.”
44 You don’t mean so, mother?” said the other, evi¬
dently much alarmed ; yet still urged by his curiosity
to listen, in spite of his evident and unaffected fears.
41 Ay! she had the cat,” answered Annie, 44 and one
night when the moon was in her wane, she took the beast
and at midnight christened her at the pure spring on
the hill near the blasted oak, you know. After that
she stole a dead body from the church-yard and cut¬
ting off several joints she bound one to each limb of
the cat, and on the following night Graymalkin was
conveyed into the middest of the sea by all the witches
sailing in their riddles or seives. And such a tem¬
pest as arose then was never seen by sailor ; for ma¬
ny a tall bark went to the bottom that night. When
all was over, in the morning, the cat returned to
Moll’s dwelling and lived with her till the faggot
hissed round her, and since that day she has been my
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
75
property and little would l change her for a purse
well filled with golden guineas.’”
44 I’ve heard folks say that witches can keep off de¬
vils and spirits in the likeness of toads and cats,”
muttered Mike, half to himself, M and mayhap its
true. I have seen a toad hop from the solid rock
when it has been cleft, and how it could live there if
it had not been the devil, I could never get any no¬
tion.”
41 Many kinds of devils there be, friend Mike,”
said the woman ; 44 some live in the fire and in the
air, and some on the earth, and then others dwell in
the water and under the land ; — besides fairies and
goblins that wait on ’em. Did you never see the
fiery spirits that work by blazing stars and fire drakes
and sit on the ship’s masts and frighten the sailors ;
sure you’ve seen the jack o’ lantern running along
the fences and leading folks into the dark pits and the
deep swamps, and flying up to the moon where they
all revel the mischeivous spirits. And besides these
many keep quarter in the air and brew tempests and
ride out on the lightning, tearing the great oaks and
firing steeples, and overturning chimneys, and striking
men and beasts down and sometimes they turn them
to cinders.”
The hunter gulped down the information lavished
upon him by his companion, with open eyes and ears,
only now and then interrupting her by an exclamation
of wonder, as he drank of her witchcraft lore ; he
listened with the avidity of a child attending the
recital of a fairy tale.
44 1 will tell you something to make you caper in
your grave,” continued Annie. 44 I have before now
seen five moons at the self same hour.”
44 Anan !” answered Mike, starting as if he saw a
ghost and scratching his uncovered head, where had
itbeen possible each particular hair would have stood
on end, 44 Anan !”
44 1 tell ye I have witnessed the sight,” said the hag,
'
76
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
“ and what’s more I had not eat of the root of hem*
lock, that makes your eyes conceit unseen objects.
And what’s more, I have ridden on the wind with
never a horse but my own broomstick, and descended
on tombs in the church-yard, at night time, with old
Hecate, the witches’ mistress. And, Mike, if you
will, I can look in the glass and show you what fate
will meet you. But by right we ought to have a
dead body to make the enchantment fair and strong;
but that’s a difficult thing to come at now a days ; it
seems to me that nobody dies in these times ; Ah ! it
was better when the Indians came down, now and
then, on the settlements and murdered a few ; and
kept our trade going.”
W rapped in silent wonder, Mike listened to the volu¬
ble beldame ; swallowing her rapid elocution, with all
the fascination of horror. Having never been scepti¬
cal with regard to her supernatural powers, he be¬
came each moment more firm in his opinion ; and
while he gazed with some dread upon a being so pow¬
erful in his eye, he determined, with a shrewdness
natural to him, to win her good will, if possible, and
procure her smiles upon his future attempts in the
way of his profession. Indulging in his golden vi¬
sions he fancied traps that never failed ; looked at his
veteran rifle and his imagination dwelt on a plenitude
of lead and powder, a never-erring aim, bucks of
branching antlers and briskets of never ending fat.
Throwing more sugar and courtesy into his manner
than had ever before mixed with its natural acidity,
he ieered upon the foul and ugly hag with a smile be¬
got of hypocrisy and loathing. The former however
predominated, like legitimate over constitutional
rights ; and Annie returned his glance of affection
with a laugh in which pride, vanity and contempt
mingled in disgustful and singular union. The co¬
quetry of the woman mastered the sour ferocity of the
misanthrope, and the witch abandoned herself to the
fascinating reflection that she had secured a willing
THE WITCH OP NEW ENGLAND. 77
and believing suitor. Mike became loquacious and
complimentary: Annie listened, believed, was cap¬
tivated and ended, like too many of her sex, in being
deceived. Having opened the flood-gates of his
speech, his words ran in torrents ; question succeeded
question in rapid and unceasing eagerness ; and giv¬
ing up his whole soul to a greedy credulity he feasted
upon her tales with an appetite that grew by what it
fed on. The female, delighted at finding so attentive
and believing a listener, dilate^ upon her exploits and
cunning wisdom with a never-tiring minuteness, and
told of feats and powers unearthly, and of deeds visi¬
ble only to the night’s eye the pale moon. The softer
passions appeared obliterated in her, and though she
still seemed mistress of the vices that hang about the
remnant of an abandoned old age, they most of them,
were devoured by the superior passion of her soul, a
jealousy and hatred towards all happier and better
than herself.
“ The light hates me,” said she, c< and little good¬
will I bear to it. The pitchy hour of midnight suits
me better than the glare of sunshine, when those I
hate bask in its rays. Rather than they should feel
its kindly warmth, I’d let the raw and frosty morning
thrust his cold icy fingers in my heart, and freeze it.
Could I but invent a curse that bore some power in
its venom I’d plant it, Mike, upon the happy ; I ne¬
ver yet could bear a smiling lip. And the little imps
that call men fathers, I feel a deadly loathing to.”
With such discourse the Witch beguiled the time ;
— and her attendant lent a ready and gratified ear,
until they reached the porch of the tavern, where
seated in his arm-chair, appeared the well-fed, super¬
stitious and purse-proud landlord. He started and
seemed considerably discomposed as the couple ap¬
proached with the evident intention of addressing
him. Ashamed however to betray his emotion he
endeavoured to smother his dread ; and collecting as
H
T8
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
much dignity into his unmeaning visage as it was ca¬
pable of supporting, he prepared for the encounter.
The Witch more at her ease than her companion, or
impelled by the natural vehemence of her feelings,
advanced first, bidding .the reserved publican, now
intrenched in his assumed austerity, good morrow.
The hunter followed, with a dogged and surly air,
and with some approach towards civility made his sa¬
lute to the man of moneys.
“ I wish your honour, Mr. Solomon, a fair day,”
said Annie, 4t and many returns of it. I have brought
ye old Mike Shuck, and a clever bundle of skins he
has to trade with you fora mighty trifle. I hope the
Madam is well and sprightly and all your family, Mr,
Lackbrain. You look well and hearty and business
is brisk with you no doubt, few would go elsewhere
when they might bide at the noble King’s Head, I
reckon.”
Mine host made a short and crabbed answer to the
address, contenting himself with remarking that the
state of his health was as comfortable as usual.
Somewhat angered but nothing abashed at the mode
in which her politeness had been received, the female
drew aside a step or two, as willing to afford way for
the approach of her comrade, who seemed to hang
back as a reserve. He shuffled towards Solomon and
when within a foot or two of his chair, threw down
his bundle of skins with a noise that made the inn¬
keeper start, and trying a curious attempt at a bow
proceeded to offer his greeting.
u Sarvent, sir! fine day overhead,” said the bea¬
ver hunter, “ I guess you’ll be wanting some skins
this morning. They are pure good ones, — all from
up the river, — and a long way I’ve had to tote them.
I’ll let you have them cheap — and I’ll make my affy-
davy there’s no worms in them. You may take the
whole bundle for three dollars and that’s a tarnation
good bargain, or I’m no hunter, that’s all.”
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
70
Mike’s reservoir of words here gave out, and moving
his eye from the bundle to the innkeeper alternately,
he rested upon his rifle and awaited in silence an an¬
swer to his proposals.
u There’s not much run for skins now,” answered
Solomon, “ and I’ve no great occasion for many and
those do not seem the primest, and what’s more they
are too dear, I won’t give more that two dollars for
the whole bundle — and you must trade in the shop
for half the amount.”
u I don’t care if I trade,” said the old man, M for
half the price, but of a sartainty two dollars is too
little for such a pack as that.”
Like the dark raven whose otnenous voice is the
forerunner of evil, the Witch again advanced to the
assistance of her friend, who she plainly perceived
was by no means capable of concluding an advanta¬
geous bargain wTith the publican. Wearing a clear
face upon a black and cloudy heart, she smiled as she
spoke ; though the sparkle in her eye showed the fire
that was ready to burst forth.
“ You surely don’t mean to beat down the old man
in his price, Mr. Lackbrain,” said she. u Even
numbers are not lucky, all the world over, and two
dollars is but a poor bid for such like skins. Come,
come, your honour, now open your heart and give
Mike his fair price — and faith its cheap enough the
three dollars. I can untye the winds, and I’ll give
ye luck if ye will but deal nobly by him.”
Solomon’s antipathy for the speaker was full before,
and it now overflowed. Reddening till his round and
rosy face showed like the rising moon he broke out
with violence, exclaiming,
“Aroint ye, ye witch — get ye to your infernal assem¬
bly and breathe out your damned speeches. I know
you for a witch by your beard, you withered hag.
5Tis only a few days since you last came here for
bread and broken meats, and because we sent you
30
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
home empty and hungry all my hogs fell sick and five
of them died outright. It’s all your doing, — but I’ll
hang ye yet, you jade. Pluck off your shoes and let
me see if your cloven foot won’t show itself.”
u And did’nt I tell you, ye lob and lubber,” said
Annie, u that if a sow eat her pigs she must be stoned
to death and buried, when yours did the like ; but
you would not follow my advice and now you have
got the consequence, and I hope the rest will die too.
Though I’m old and full of aged cramps I’d dance to
hear the news.”
“ I would you were cursed with bell, book and
candle, though it’s a heathenish rite,” answered the
Innkeeper. “ Begone and quit my house you Witch
of Endor, or I’ll have the constable for ye.’*
u Ah ! the world is like a loaded bowl, it runs all
on the rich man’s side,” replied the beldame. u But
for all that I scorn you, ye feeder on fat flaps of mut¬
ton, kidneys and rumps, I scorn you. Blood-freez¬
ing agues fasten on you, ye patch. God yield ye
curses, you beast with a heart in its belly. If there’6
any charm in wicked weeds and huly herbs I’ll be re¬
venged upon you, ye skin-flint, ye gormandizer, ye
gluttonous cuckold.”
Exhausted with the fury of her invectives she be¬
came silent, panting for breath, her eyes starting from
their sockets, and the veins of her forehead showing
like ropes through the fell of hair that hung over her
shaggy and meeting brows. While Solomon had
started from his chair and retreated to the wall, in
apparent dismay; the beaver-hunter stood like the
statue of wonder, immoveable and utterly confounded
by the figure and rhetoric of his new ally. Aston,
ished at her intrepid insolence and yet believing her
supernatural powers enabled her to come off with im¬
punity, his idea of the return Lackbrain might make
for such abuse, merged in the delight with which he
beheld his discomfiture and undisguised solicitude.
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
81
He rubbed his horny hands together in undissembled
satisfaction, and gazed upon the two disputants with
the air of a butcher when he encourages his dog to
attack a baited bull. He chuckled, whittled, clapped
his hands by way of exciting the combatants, and at
length burst into a laugh that made the premises ring
with its wild shouts. His enormous mouth appeared
like the ruins of a forest after a wild and desolating
fire, exhibiting here and there a huge, black stump,
the charred and forbidding remnant oi the conflagra¬
tion. The tears ran down his tanned and rugged
cheeks, trickling over his long, white and matted
beard; where they shone like dew upon a blasted
heath.
At this moment the loud, shrill voice of Dame
Lackbrain was heard in the kitchen as it its mistress
were in the extremity of rage. Shovels, tongs, ladles,
toasting irons, darted about like thunder, and tne dis¬
consolate husband shuddered as he listened to the
storm within wrhich threatened to drown the din of
that without. Crouching and like a snail retiring
within his shell, he shrunk into a corner, awaiting
with patient horror the tempest that drew near. Like
a tormented tiger the mistress of the mansion rushed
upon the arena. The husband groaned audibly,
Mike drew some paces back, and even the Witch ex¬
hibited no signs of increased pleasure or intrepidity
at the approach of the interloper. She held her
ground, however, and awaited the expected attack.
Mrs. Lackbrain appeared in the last stage of violent
and uncontrolled passion, and dashing aside the chair
which her trembling spouse had shrewdly endea¬
voured to convert into a sort of fortification, she ad¬
vanced promptly and courageously to the attack, selec¬
ting Annie to bear the brunt of her voluble abuse.
Trimmed in a flashy gown, which nevertheless paled
its ineffectual crimson in comparison with the Ver¬
million that burnt in her face, she poured her con-
11 2
32
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
tumely and abuse upon the Witch. Her rage made
her so far forget fear as to shake her fist in the face of
the latter, who no ways daunted, drew her tall figure
to its full height, smiled and sneering said,
“ The cat loves fish but dares not wet her feet. Ye
had better not lay the weight of a finger on me, Mis¬
tress, or ye’ll find it worse than a birth-hour’s blot.
Look to your nincompoop of a husband there, sitting
with sorrow at his elbow for a pleasant neighbour,
and much pleasanter I trow than she who shares his
bed and board, with all her blood-red gown that looks
like the Red Sea forsooth.”
14 Give me none of your calf-skin jests, you trollop,
that should lie buried under the gallows. I’ll have
you at the stake, you blear-eyed hag, or sent to the
Bermudas where the devils dwell : and fit compan¬
ions they will be for you with their hissing blasts.
May you feel fevers such as madmen feel when the
fit is on them. You are a deal more foul than the
wicked enchanter, for he commands the devil and the
witch serves him. Get out of my house I would not
have you for a Turnspit.”
44 I should be mighty proud to serve so sweet a
mistress,” said Annie, 44 but I think you’ll have to be
content with a handmaid not fair nor wanton, and that
can sing a ballad with a clear voice, — and withall pale
in the face and sad and not very overmuch well fa¬
voured, pretty dame Lackbrain.”
The help- mate of the master of the King’s Head
Tavern could undergo no more. The last sneer at
her personal attractions overcame her. She exerted
her remaining powers to pour out a few execrations
upon her tormentor, and sought refuge in a fit of hys¬
terical cries and moaning. Her husband, somewhat
brought to his recollection, now ventured to offer as¬
sistance, and carrying her into the house, deposited
his burthen in a chamber, where, when recovered
from the fit, she lay silent and exhausted.
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
83
ct You have fairly hunted the wild-cat into her hole
Annie,’' said Mike. “ Zooks ! but I believe you
can sail in an eggshell, for ye surely baited her, when
her back was up and the bristles stood in the air like
pine stems.”
u Did you mark her sudden pains ?” answered the
Witch, creeping up towards the hunter and speaking
in a low tone, and with a look intended to impress
upon his mind the idea of her supernatural powers.
u Did ye watch how the pangs stizi d on her unex¬
pected, I say ? It’s a sure presage oi w hat • ill follow.
I’ll gather infamous herbs when the eclipse of the
moou comes on and charm them, and when that’s
done I’ll make her image of the soft wax and waste it
before the flames. And mark me, the foul-mouthed
vixen shall melt and moulder in disease and torment,
as the wax runs in the fire’s heat. I’ll drink deep of
revenge if the draught poisons me.”
“ Don’t you think you had better travel on to the
wood?” said Mike. “I’ll finish my business here
with the gemman, and follow your track with the li¬
quor in the jumping of a buck.”
The hag appeared to think this the better plan, and
bidding him not let the stoorkeeper bamboozle him,
and urging a speedy conclusion of his bargain, she
departed, walking slowly towards the forest, — her
eyes fixed on the ground and muttering in a low
discontented tone to herself as she passed along.
Mike awaited the return of Lackbrain and again pro¬
posed commercing with him, endeavouring with all
his cunning and dexterity to enhance the value of
his skins, and obtain the price he demanded. But
he had to deal with one who in the art of trade
had deeper science and more dexterity than him¬
self. Solomon was immoveable in his resolution
to give but the two dollars, — though the sugges¬
tion of the Witch that the number was unlucky,
still held him in some uneasiness. His obstinacy
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
however conquered, and he would offer no more.
With a surly and frowning assent the hunter at
last parted with his bundle ; procured the powder,
lead and liquor from the store of the tavern, and
bidding a morose farewell, followed Annie Brown.
W
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND,
85
CHAPTER VIII.
There have been men, — and I do know of such,
Who link them with the solitude of woods,
And dwell in glens or near a rambling stream,
Where talking beings come not. — And they boast,
With shades of truth, the quiet raptures of their lone
sojourn. Anonymous.
Michael Shuckwell, or as he was more familiarly
denominated by the circle of his acquaintance, old
Mike Shuck, followed with Tong and rapid strides the
road pursued by the witch. In the character of the
inhabitants dwelling immediately upon a frontier, cer¬
tain doubtful shades appear which sometimes render
difficult the attempt to determine to which side of the
boundary they appertain. These colours played upon
the portrait of the beaver-hunter, 'who might be taken,
as, in some sort, a sample of the volunteer barbarians
whose race is at this time by no means extinct. Among
the early settlers of the country, Mike had been known
as a white-headed, hardy, and mischievous urchin, who
claimed kindred with no one, his whole family having
been cut off by the Indians, as was not unusual in those
days, and fearlessly announced himself his own pro¬
tector. Enured to danger and fatigue, in the perilous
warfare with the Indians, he grew a stranger alike to
fear, sickness, and civilization. As years fell upon
him, dislike to society increased. With cool and stur¬
dy indifference he planted his transitory habitation
wherever chance seduced him to court repose from
fatigue and inanity. His subsistence he won from the
forest, amid whose shadows and silence he seemed
most cheerfully to dwell. Nicely skilled in the secret
arts of trapping, he wore away the autumn and hunt¬
ing season in exploring the woods and numerous
36 THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
creeks, which steal sometimes in peaceful silence
through their glades, and at others hasten with rapid
and noisy turbulence to mingle their waters with the
larger rivers. Often as the early dawn glowed upon
the hills, he was seen bareheaded and shoeless follow¬
ing the meanders of these streams ; bending under a
load of traps; and examining with wary and skilful
eye the condition of his snares, and the victims of the
preceding night. When an Indian, with the rude
science of his forefathers, would return empty-handed
from the chace, such was the accuracy of Mike’s skill
that he never failed in collecting a pack of beavers
under the like disadvantageous circumstances. He
had neither family, relative, nor connexion of any
kind. If formerly he had known such, he had out¬
lived or forgotten them. Improvident and careless,
he made for the future no provision. But at times,
when urged by some more than common excitement
to use his tongue, he was wont, in half uttered grum¬
blings, to allude to his intended arrangements, for a
comfortable and independent old age. The period for
this salutary act he seemed to think yet far distant,
though trembling upon the verge of fourscore years ;
and with features and limbs worn by the rude storms
and snows of near eighty winters. When questioned,
he professed to be happy and content ; affirmed that
his rude and frugal meals were more palatable than
the spicy meats of the epicure ; and contended, often
without convincing, that the luscious liquor of the
grape would bear no comparison with the ssveet, pure
draught from the mountain spring. It must be con¬
fessed, however, that with this declaration in favour of
spring water, his practice did not exactly accord. Is
such felicity to be envied, — are such pursuits to be
exhibited for imitation ? We think not. Yet the old
man might have found his active life among the woods
and hills productive of vigorous circulation of the
blood, giving birth to health, cheerfulness, and
strength, and gilding the evening of his days with the
THE WITCH OP NEW ENGLAND. 87
bright and laughing hues that linger, but too often,
only on their morning.
It has been observed that man is ever the pupil of
that which surrounds him, and he who dwells in the
wilderness can read no lesson but that which is offered
by the objects from which he wins a subsistence. The
idea of mutual support and comfort never flits across
his mind ; and we are led to seek for the sources of
his affections, his feelings, and his morality, by ana¬
lyzing the occupation that employs him. There is
truth in the remark, that the woodman and the hunter
have little sympathy for any thing around them ; and
sentiment or feeling is a stranger slightly known and
seldom welcomed in the recesses of such bosoms.
The graceful foliage and the vivid smiling verdure that
lighten one portion of the forest ; the deep, shadowy
green that darkens another are unheeded or invisible
to the woodman. He has never planted, and knows
not the pleasure of watching the growth of the young,
or the grandeur of the aged tree. He feeds upon de¬
struction, and gazes on the noble oak only that he may
fell it with more expedition. He loves not the fields ;
they owe no culture to his labour. Fatigue is his ex¬
istence, unblessed with the hope of repose ; — and the
loveliest, most venerable objects are the first to fall
before the keen edge of his axe. If any thing wakes
his concern, it is the instrument of destruction ; and
his only care exists in anxiety that it may do the work
of annihilation with ease and rapidity. Attached to
no smiling dale or romantic height, the unpolished
hunter knows no land but as it mav have afforded him
4
a fleeting residence in a wretched hut; recollects no
scenery but as it may have been the refuge of his
game. The aged, gray-haired woodman, whose home,
from infancy, has been the forest, while
« A neighbouring wood, born with himself he sees,
“ Loves not his old contemporary trees,”
and sighs, only because Nature has denied the vigour
necessary for further destruction.
83
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
Mike speedily overtook the Witch, who had loitered
on her way; and uttering an imprecation on the inn¬
keeper as he joined her, -briefly related the ill success
which had attended the sale of his pack.
w Never repine at it,” exclaimed Annie. “ Come,
let us join hands in compact, and screw up all our
spite in its deadly venom. Know you not there live
powerful and blackhearted devils called spirits of re¬
venge ? They are the seedsmen of every sad and
midnight mischief. They visit the solitary, moody
man brooding over insult or injury; and with their
oily tongues incense him to rapine, sacrilege, theft,
murder, wrath, fury, and all manner of crime and bar¬
barity. They’ll visit us by and by, and we will invoke
Arioch the great spirit of revenge. I’ll gather the
foam the fair Moon sheds on the herbs and shrinking
flowers, when she’s enchanted by the powerful spell ;
and when I’ve sprinkled the earth and muttered the
charm, you shall behold the Elfin sprite.”
“ Is he a civil spirit?” said Mike. “And is he
never obstropolous ? Are you sure you can manage
the devil, Annie, when you raise him. I’ve heard
folks say that if he’s sour and cries Oho ! Oho ! it’s a
bad business for the raiser. I’ll have nothing to do,
I tell ye, with the calling on him, — but if he comes I
may as well see how he looks, and whether he has real
horns or no.”
“ Pish ! you’re an old fool,” answered she, “ did
not I tell you old Moll White was a witch so strong
she could control the Moon. Ah ! she had a fund of
dark learning, and many are the hours I’ve listened
to her black tales, till the morning light peeped in
through the hovel -window. There was never a mole,
hare-lip, or scar in the village, but she knew the way
it came. I learned some pretty witch-craft from her.
I could tell ye many a sad and merry tale, both of
witch and fairy, elf and sprite. — There’s Robin Good-
fellow; — oh ! he’s a madcap spirit. If ever the bowl
of curds and cream were not duly set out for him, and
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND,
89
the friar, and Sisse the dairy-maid, why then the pot¬
tage was burnt the next day, or the cheeses would
never curdle, or the butter would not come, or the ale
in the fat have no good head. He’s a mischievous
imp, and loves the wild tricks that he’s ever playing.’*
? “ I’d bet a dozen beavers and a buck,” said Mike,
“ it’s he that gives me the nightmare when I lay upon
my back. D — n him, he’s pretty heavy when he once
lays hold on a man. Do you think it was he that
killed old Carlo, that I loved better than all the world
beside. There was not such another hound this side
the great waters. ’Twould have done your heart
good, Annie, to have looked on him, large flewed, and
with ears and chest that streaked a path along the
morning dew, when he coursed the fields and wood.
I had a notion to go too, when he died — it went hard
wTith me, Annie Brown, to part with him. I never
loved any thing but him, and the creature cared for
nobody but me.”
Here the old man coughed, chew^ed his tobacco
with increased eagerness, and while a slight nervous
tremor passed across his features, two or three tears
rolled over his haggard and tawny cheeks, trickling
slowly down their deep furrows. He became lost in
thought, and unaccustomed to complain aloud, or seek
or receive consolation for his pains or disappointments,
he soon forgot his companion ; while he resumed his
former rapid gait and inarticulate murmuring. Now
and then a few words were distinctly heard, from
which it might be learned that the disconsolate old
man was addressing his dog with endearing epithets,
and endeavouring to console himself by repeating that
he was getting old and stiffer than he was wont to be,
and that it would not be long before he followed his
ancient friend, for now, he said, he did not follow the
chase, with the same delight, as in other days.
His companion had watched him some moments in
silence, and appeared to divine the cause of his emo¬
tion. But not overmuch pleased with his disregard of
x
90
THE WITCH OP NEW ENGLAND.
herself, she endeavoured again to excite his attention
by awaking his curiosity.
“ Did you never hear of Elfe, old Mike ?” said she.
w He was the first man made by him who stole the lire
from heaven, I’ve forgot his hard name.”
A surly and dogged negative was the answer she
received to her question. But she continued to talk.
The beaver-hunter continued his march silent and
sullen ; and if he heard the narrative of the Witch,
neither interrupted her by question nor remark. As
they left the precincts of the village, and pursued the
path that led to the hovel of the hag, the ground be¬
came broken and uneven ; the scenery wild and mo¬
rose in its features ; while the narrow path wound
along the dry and rocky bed of a mountain torrent
that, upon the breaking up of the frozen snows in the
early spring, resounded with the thunder of its im¬
petuous cataract, though it now lay as silent as the
deepest recesses of the forest. As Mike Shuck passed
along the uneven and stony road, he struck his foot
against the root of a tree ; and, stumbling forward,
fell to the ground. He arose, however, somewhat
bruised by his fall ; and, striking the spot with his
foot, observed,
“ There is one of the foul imps here, Annie, or I
never should have stumbled over a mountain path.”
He then, turning three times to the right, proceed¬
ed to dig a hole in the earth ; at the same time beg¬
ging the Witch, should he fall sick in two or three
days, to return to the spot and perform the necessary
rites to ensure his recovery.
“ Ay, ay,” answered his companion, “ I know the
ceremony full well. I hope that ye may have a little
touch of sickness, that ye may learn how shrewdly I
can perform the spell. I’ll come to the ground, and
then I must call you from the east, west, north, and
south ; from the groves, the woods, the rivers, and
the fens ; and afterwards from the fairies, red, black,
gray, and white. And it will be soon after that you
THE WITCH OF NEW BNCLAND. 9)
will recover from the deadliest disease. I know the
art as well as I know my right hand. Look how the
grass is dried up all about the place. The spirits have
been dancing here, for wherever they hold their revels
the grass is always parched.”
They had now reached the hovel of the Witch, who
unbarring the door, over which hung an old horse¬
shoe, they entered her dwelling. It was ruinous and
desolate in the extreme, at once exhibiting poverty,
filth, and wretchedness. The ruins of an ancient In¬
dian hut, it was constructed of logs, the intervals be¬
tween which had formerly been filled with clay or
mud, most of which had disappeared before the wind
and rain, and in stormy weather the tempest swept
loud and uncontrolled through the miserable habitation.
It contained but one apartment, which served all the
purposes of its mistress. A pile of straw, covered
with a wretched and tattered blanket, lay in one cor¬
ner and did the service of a bed. A large and heavy
log of wood was at the same time a chair and table ;
while the remaining furniture consisted solely of an
iron pot and spoqp, a tin cup and broken pitcher. In
the immense fire-place, which occupied nearly one
side of the building, lay a few half-burnt limbs of dry
wood smouldering in the ashes. The scenery around
was rather savage than beautiful. But immediately
in rear of the hut, and bursting from a bed of lofty and
enormous rocks, bubbled a noble and lovely spring,
whose waters clear and cool, after struggling and
winding for some distance between the rocks, collect¬
ed in a large pond or lake, from one corner of which
by a narrow outlet, they precipitated themselves down
a lofty height of perpendicular rocks, and at length
found their way to the valley beneath. Over the cas¬
cade, and seeming to rejoice and wanton in the glis¬
tening freshness of its spray, at times hung a rainbow,
clasping in its fragile and beautiful arms the falling
torrent. I j the far distance, the prospect was bound-
92
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
ed by the chain of mountains, whose dark blue sum¬
mits rose and fell in every variety of wave ; and as
the setting sun rested upon their haughty tops, they
seemed to swell and dilate into more majestic gran¬
deur when dressed in their evening hues, and crowned
by the rich and inimitable diadem of gold, purple, and
crimson clouds, the round and top of their awful so¬
vereignty. The eagle was seen, in his kingly flight,
sweeping far above the brows of the loftiest hills, or
hiding the terrors of his eye and beak beyond the bed
of clouds, that cast their dark and refreshing shadows
upon the earth.
Annie entered her dwelling with the air of a mis¬
tress, while her guest seated himself with the ease of
a savage. Having carefully deposited his rifle and
store of powder in a corner, Mike produced a large
and well filled bottle of liquor, which after applying
to his own mouth, he handed to the Witch. She ap¬
peared to drink with delight and perseverance, and
drawing a long breath as she took the bottle from her
lips, pronounced it the very spirit and elixer of bran¬
dy ; and proceeded to apply fire to the foul and black¬
ened remnant of a pipe, from which she soon drew
clouds of smoke, that rising in dark masses hung
about the rough unhewn rafters that upheld the roof
of the hut.
“ It is liquor good enough to make a cat speak,”
said she ; u and there lies poor Graymalkin, the pet.
Come here, ye old devil, and taste some of the cor¬
dial.”
The cat approached at the bidding of the mistress,
and Mike opened his eyes, expecting to witness the
uncommon sight of a cat drinking spirits. But the
animal refused the proffered beverage, and began a
mournful and incessant mewing.
“ Ah! ha!” exclaimed the beldame ; “ he will not
do the bidding. Whenever the cat mews, he cannot
obey the Witch’s command, whatever may be his
THE TWITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
93
power at other times. But Mike, honey, I can make
him do a world of things more than I’d like yonder
priests to know.”
w No doubt, no doubt,’’ answered the hunter, who
now gave ready credit to every hardened assertion of
the Witch. u He’s a powerful animal, one may see
that, plain enough, by the way he sees out of the eyes.
But ye don’t seem to like the parsons, Annie, and it’s
natural enough; for if they knew how you carry on,
I’ve a notion you’d walk to the stake.”
“ That’s plain enough,” said the other. u I have
cause to be wary; but passion will break out nowand
then, and I tell too much methinks. I owe old Brad¬
ley a grudge, and I detest his minion of a daughter.
But if I poisoned him, others like him would rise
from his ashes ; there’s little hope of ending the breed.
The priesthood is a great animal that will never die,
unless it kill itself ; and it seems, sometimes, almost
ready to do the world that favour.”
The two companions continued to carouse until the
long shadows of the mountains, behind which the sun
was sinking, had reached and darkened the scene of
their debauch. The Witch had fed the curiosity of
Mike Shuck by long and frequent tales of witchcraft
and enchantment ; of wasting, madness, and death
among her numerous victims. He listened with un¬
doubting attention to her recital, while every new
story added to the stock ot his firm belief in the
powers of the narrator, and increased the influence
which her masculine and daring spirit had already
acquired over the credulous and artless hunter. She
perceived the effect of her skill, and artfully entan¬
gling the toils she had thrown over her victim, she
determined to use him in future as time and occasion
should render his assistance serviceable.
Such was the situation of the two revellers, when
their tete a tete wras disturbed by the sound of voices
near the hut. The scene of their debauch was retired
and solitary, and the echo of a human voice was unu-
94
THE WITCH OP NEW ENGLAND.
sual within the neighbourhood of the old hag’s dwell¬
ing. Both rose with the view of ascertaining whence
the talking proceeded. But as they advanced a few
paces from the hovel, Annie exclaimed that a by the
itching of her ear she foretold something wicked was
about to be done, and that it certainly augured no
good to them.” Mike’s somewhat excited fears were,
however, soon relieved by perceiving that his alarm
had been caused only by the prattle of two children,
seemingly between three and eight years of age. They
were employed in picking wild berries, in search of
which they had wandered some distance from home.
As they approached, the countenance of the Witch
changed. Her sallow cheek became flushed, her eye
burnt with a more brilliant light than usual, and her
moutn, the lips of which were pale and compressed,
announced that some powerful excitement had crossed
her mind: u Do you know them ?” said she, suddenly
turning to the hunter, and seizing his arm so suddenly
as to make him start.
He answered, that he did not.
“ I’ll tell ye,” said Annie, with an expression of
face so truly devilish, that it made Mike’s blood run
cold, as he quickly asked her “ what was the matter?”
“ They are Goodman Lackbrain’s children, ye blind
old fool,” answered she, gritting her teeth and clench¬
ing her two hands till the veins seemed bursting. “ If
I had but a daisy root to cram down their throats and
stint the growth of the two imps, I’d feed their sto¬
machs and my own grudge to bursting. Why do ye
stand there gaping as if ye saw the foul one, or look¬
ing like one of the publican’s stuck swine? I will be
revenged on the crop-eared cur and his flamingo mate,
and I’ll do it suddenly, too.”
She now approached the children, and taking one
in each hand commanded Mike to follow her, and
proceeded towards the mountain. The hunter did
not appear to relish the order ; but his faculties were
now somewhat muddled by the liquor he had swaU
THE WITCH OP NEW ENGLAND. 9i>
lowed, and he appeared to yield a reluctant and surly
deference to the superiority assumed by the more
powerful mind of Goody Brown. 1 hey pursued their
walk for some distance, the Witch amusing the chil¬
dren by her tales, and plucking wild fruit for them as
they passed along, till they reached the side of a steep
and lofty precipice. Here she baited. Bidding the
children sit down and take some rest, she called to
Mike who had been lingering some distance in their
rear. He obeyed the summons, and as he came up
inquired what she intended to .do with the children,
saying, at the same time, he “ didn’t much like making
the youngsters pay for their parent’s faults.’* “ Ye
ass,” exclaimed the beldame, “ does not the minister
himself tell us from the pulpit, the sins of the father
shall be visited on the children ?”
She now directed Mike to assist her in collecting
some logs that lay about the spot, and began to build
a small enclosure on the edge of a precipice.
The logs above were placed in such a manner as to
jut over those below, making an escape from the pen,
by climbing, impossible. When the work was finished
she seized the children, and regardless of their shrieks
and prayers thrust them into the enclosure, and with
a bitter curse left them to their fate. As she turned
upon her heel and began to retrace her steps home¬
wards, she observed with a grin to her companion,
who appeared uneasy and disconcerted at the affair,
“ They’ll have slender diet in their new dwelling.
The young imps shall owe all their meat to the ravens’
bounty and they will pay the debt themselves, one
day, to the mountain crows. I’ll visit the Goodwife
Lackbrain and condole with her, when she hears of
her children’s loss. I’ll pamper my hatred with the
mother’s groans, and rouse her grief if it slumbers
but for an instant. I’ll change her blood-coloured
gown to a mourning jacket and a night-coloured pet¬
ticoat. I’ll teach the proud trollop to sneer at my
96
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
tattered habit and my wasted form. A foul curse
cling to her and her progeny.”
The cries of the poor children now became feebler,
and sounded in the distance like the faint sobbing of
exhausted nature. The hag and her follower direct¬
ed their route towards the hovel, and the scene of their
brutal cruelty was soon left behind them. To this
hour the spot is pointed out to the stranger ; while to
the surrounding neighbourhood it is well known un¬
der the appellation of The Devil’s Invention.
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
S7
CHAPTER IX.
Come, — come, pluck up thy drowsy courage, man !
Ne’er quake because the owlet hoots, and wolves
Howl at the lovely moon. Such sounds belong
To Night, who kindly lends her mask of clouds
To all that dare to put it on and play
A daring game. Take thou the ladder then,
And ’neath yon window plant it. Quickly mount.
And if he sleep, from forth his bed of straw,
With gentle murmur rouse him.
Anonymous.
When the Witch reached her dwelling she entered,
and throwing herself on the seat, sat moving her body
backwards and forwards, in silent and restless agita¬
tion for some moments. The eternal fever that seemed
to prey upon her mind, at all times, rendered her
body unquiet and agitated. She seldom maintained
one position above a moment : her limbs and features
were constantly tortured with nervous and involun¬
tary twitchings ; and like a wild and untameable beast
incessantly rubbing against the bars of his cage, she
appeared cursed with the fearful and unresting doom
of the first of woman-born. Even her slumber was
agitated, and low and indistinct moanings generally
accompanied her deepest sleep. Her nails were
gnawed and lacerated below the quick, by the inces¬
sant habit of biting them ; and her saffron complexion
and jaundiced eye told of her bilious and irritable
temperament. When roused by passion or extraor¬
dinary excitement, her blood seemed liquid fire, and
coursed through her swoln and bursting veins like
burning lava. A sudden insanity appeared to strike
and overwhelm her. The thought or feeling of the
moment bore down all reflection, fear, or remorse ;
absorbed every faculty of her enthusiastic mind ; and
was often pursued with a fierce and resolute obstinacy
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
that conquered obstacles apparently insurmountable*
Over common minds she invariably obtained an in¬
fluence and stern mastery that she seldom relin¬
quished, and often used with heartless and unrelent¬
ing disdain. Miserable aftd discontented with herself,
she hated, with rancourous violence, all the world.
Her only pleasure consisted in thwarting, and her en¬
joyment increased in proportion to the pain she in¬
flicted.
She had continued her rocking for several minutes,
in silent and deep thought, when suddenly starting
upon her feet, she approached the beaver-hunter, who
had been employed in examining the lock of his rifle.
With rapid and impatient manner she demanded if
he knew the Indian Sachem Samoset; but as if too
feverish and restless to await his answer, she went on
to say,
44 Him, the chief, they have caged in the jail yon¬
der, for trying to carry off" the vixen daughter of old
Bradley, who is going to wed the son of that outland¬
ish Madam Chesterly. I wish the foul fiend had
them all, children, parents, and connexions. I hate
the savage, for he’s a surly, morose beast, and ’twould
do my heart good to see the bear hang. But if he
can escape he will worry these folks to the bone ; and
I am determined to aid him, and effect his deliverance
if possible.
44 Yes, yes,” said Mike, 44 1 know Indian Sam, well
enough. We’ve trapped many a beaver together.
He’s not much of a soft-spoken man, that’s true, but
he’s a good shot and can hit a deer with any hunter
in the country. It’s a pity he should be cooped up,
and not allowed to run about and mind his traps. It
must be mighty tiresome to sit still all day in one
room, and never mount the hill nor hear the game
pass by.”
44 Will you assist in effecting his escape from pri¬
son, then said Annie.
44 As sure as a gun,” answered the other. 44 That
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
99
is, if there’s no danger of getting into his place my¬
self. I never could fetch breath in such a house, you
see : the woods and the open sky somehow are be¬
come necessary-like to my comfort now', and I should
never bide a little room and an iron window. If I
didn’t smell the fresh morning air, every day, I
don’t think I should feel comfortable, Annie. Use is
second nature, they say, and I can’t give up the moun¬
tain and the woods. Dry leaves are a better couch
than feather beds ; and I’m used to the hunter’s fare,
and like it too well to quit. And the cold spring that
runs from the rock tastes sweeter, after all, than the
d — d hot stuff we have been pouring down our throats
to-day. I feel as if a coal of fire stuck in my throat.
Come what will, to-morrow I’m off for the woods.
I’m never comfortable long out of the forest. It’s
my home, you see, Goody Brown ; and I can’t leave
it, if I wished it ever so hearty.”
“ Pluck that chicken heart from out your vagabond
bosom, and be a man,” said Annie. u Do ye think
aught is to be gained where nothing is ventured ? I
am a woman and have suckled many a babe, though
the poor brats are now all dead, and yet in my con¬
science I think I bear a firmer spirit than most of
those called men. Do you think to win the cup and
not run the race ? Put a little lead and charcoal into
your gun there, and if occasion offer, you may bring
down nobler game than you are wont to do.”
“ I know the hunter must wet his feet before he
catches a beaver,” answered Mike, u and I don’t re¬
fuse to run some risk to save the Indian from the
halter. But you can make a little conjuration, can’t
you, and so makr ail sure ? I should not mind their
taking a shot at me in the dark ; but I tell you again
I could not bear being caged up in the stone jug, as
they call the jail; and there’s mighty little spirit in it
I guess. As for the game you talk about, Goody
Brown, I’d rather bring down a buck with a pair of
100
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
branching horns and a fat haunch, than any two-legged
beast in the country.”
44 I will ensure your safety,” said the other, 44 if
you do but go into the scheme heart and hand. You
have often baited the wolf and wild bear, and you
surely cannot fear a poor impotent jailer. Besides, if
you save Samoset he will aid you in the hunt, and
show you where the deer herd and the beavers dwell:
he’s a great hunter among his nation, and can track
the game, they tell me, better than a bred hound.”
44 I shall owe him little thanks for all his learning
in that trade,” answered Mike with a contemptuous
sneer, — •“ There is not an Indian in his tribe can teach
me more than I know in my own craft. It comes
natural to me, you see ; and besides I have followed
the profession since I was knee-high to a muskitoe.”
u I know you are cunning in the chase, and can
outwit any redman in the nation,” said the Witch,
“ and moreover I have heard the Sachem say you
were the mightiest hunter in the land.”
“Did you indeed, though?” asked Mike, evi¬
dently tickled by the sly flattery of the hag, — 44 Did
Sam really say I could beat them all ? By Jingo it’s
a pity so it is, that such like as he should lie between
four stone walls and never be able to turn heels upon
them.”
44 It’s a burning shame,” said Annie, “and it would
be the like if you refused to aid in helping him to turn
back upon the filthy dungeon they have thrown him
into : the more so, as he always calls you Mike of the
never-failing aim, and says your ball is enchanted, or
at least is moulded of silver. Mayhap I can make
your aim surer and your bullet quicker than they are
even now, — if you will be guided by my direction
and serve him who is your true friend, and who praises
you into the bargain.”
44 I’ll do what I can to get him out of the snare,”
said the other, 44 though it’s no easy matter to get rid
THE WITCH OP NEW ENGLAND.
101
of the trap, when once it is shut, as you must know
well enough, Goody. Though such stone walls have
open ears, their mouths are mostly closed too tightly
for comfort.”
“ There’s no occasion, Michael Shuckwell,” said,
the beldame, with much bitterness, “ to twit me with
my misfortunes. Though I zvas plunged in the de¬
vil’s den for six weeks and fed on beggars’ fare, only
for scratching a vixen’s cheeks,* yet the sight of her
blood consoled me for all my suffering. I’d undergo
the like again for the same pay. Goodwife Dawson
will not brand me witch again, till she forgets hard
cuffs and loves the sight of her own blood. I fed on
the memory of the crimson stream for months after it
ceased to flow. There’s no morsel of a king’s feast
half so rich and dainty as a good mouthful of revenge.
Learn that and profit by it, hunter.”
“ It is food that few but the rich can afford to fatten
on,” said Mike, “ I don’t know as I ever tasted it. I
seldom have to do with other folk ; and all I ask is to
follow my own way undisturbed, and let others travel
their path in like quiet.”
“ Well, well,” exclaimed his companion, “ we will
wait the hour when evil spirits walk, and pinch the
travellers black and blue with their long fingers. And
then we will adventure on our plan to free the Sachem,
and grateful he will be to you, if we succeed in giving
him fresh air and mountain fragrance once again.”
u Doubtless, doubtless,” said Mike, “ he must wish
to tread the hills again. There’s nothing like snuff¬
ing the young morning air upon the highlands, after
choking in a close room all night.”
Bidding the Witch rouse him when the hour for
their adventure should have arrived, Mike threw
himself upon the earthen floor, in a corner of the hut,
and his loud breathing soon announced his deep slum¬
ber. Annie, incapable of repose, either sat in restless
agitation, or paced the apartment with rapid and ner-
I vous strides ; having recourse to the liquor until she
K
102 THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
ftad drained the bottle of its last dregs. The anxious
space between the birth of her plot to save the savage,
and the arrival of the hour for its success or failure,
•was a remnant of time that filled her with feverish
impatience. Her state of mind seemed in rebellion
and charged to overflowing with fretfulness, eager¬
ness, and some degree of dread, as to the eventual
success of her scheme.
u I’m settled and will do it,” said she, “ even if
murder rise and mix his bloody fingers In the business.
Tut! it is but strangling the old trembling jailer, if
he rouse or make resistance. Every crevice of the
building and I are well acquainted, and no thanks to
the laws, the Indian is the only prisoner in the jail.
Yon old snoring dotard, however, is necessary to
watch or assist as may fall out. Let him sleep off the
fog of his debauch, and his dull brain may be the
brighter for my service. Ha! he dreams and mutters
in his sleep. He sees pale phantoms of his fear,
visions and sights of things which are not. ’Tis
strange I have those phantasies myself at times. Can
he, a carcase only fit to be hewn and thrown to hounds,
have dreams like mine ? If he dream of banquets,
now, it betokens misfortune and failure to our
scheme.” m
Mike’s slumbers were broken and far from refresh¬
ing. He tossed from side to side of his uneasy couch ;
but the spirit he had drunk acted as a narcotic, and he
still remained subject to the powerful spell that hung
upon his brain. The Witch in the agony of her im¬
patience cursed the tardy steps of the night, and awai¬
ted with wakeful vehemence the slow approach of the
night’s dead hour. The moon had now risen, and
when unobscured by clouds, she poured streams of
rich but palid light through the open window and
crevices of the walls, into the dark and gloomy apart¬
ment. The mild and short-lived light cast a sickly
hue upon the features of the hag, making them appear
still more cadaverous than usual ; as a fleeting glimpse
the Witch op new England.
103*
dwelt for a moment upon the face of the sleeping hun¬
ter, his Weather-beaten cheeks showed like marble,
and his long white beard streamed like a dying me¬
teor. The only sounds that broke upon the silence of
the night, were the unchanging murmur of the wa¬
terfall as it rolled from rock to rock ; the faint and
inconstant sighing of the wind as it pursued its vary¬
ing rambles through the neighbouring wood ; and the
shrill, ill-boding hoot of the owl, or the faint and dy¬
ing howl of the hungry wolf as he bayed the moon
in the thickets of the mountain. Annie continued to
pace the hovel to and fro ; and ever and anon looked
out at the door to watch the progress of the night, or
seek in the damp falling dews some relief from the
hot and oppressive atmosphere of the hut.
Dread sceptred Silence held her sway o’er all ;
The aged flower in its fragrant fall,
Like velvet fell ; while for its spicy death
No moan was uttered by the subdued breath
Of winds that slumbering now forgot to sigh.
Hushed into noiseless rest.
Solemnity has her home in the deep, breathless si¬
lence of the ast and virgin forest. She walks abroad
at the hour of darkness, and he who has met her amid
such scenes will not readily forget her chilling majesty*
It is then that darkness is palpable and felt. The eye
and mind tremble as fancy pictures the shape of forms
unseen, and the burier of the dead reigns triumphant.
The Witch as she gazed upon the pale lamp of
Night, now high in the heavens, muttered,
u The hour approaches, and I must rouse this lump
of dirt. He must steal a ladder from Lackbrain’s
yard, and that planted against the back wall and at
the window of the prison, I will answer for the rest.
They little think how my time past that I spent in
their loathsome cage. They’ll find I was not idle,-*—
let it turn out as it may, for good or evil. If the iron
bars won’t move now, it will not be from the want of
a rusty nail and ten fingers, while I counted the te*
104
THE WITCH OP NEW ENGLAND,
dious hours of confinement. If I had had but a
friend to assist me in the descent, I would have lain
but little time in their toils. If Samoset escape, ven¬
geance is dear to the Indian, and he will excite his
tribe to slaughter, burning and ravage. The warriors
will pour down on the settlement like the mountain
torrent, and blood enough will be shed to content even
me. It is a draught I am fond of too, when it flows
from those I hate. Come what may, mischief is my
food, and my trade must be followed.”
She now approached the old man and turning him
with her foot, she bade him rise, .for the hour was
come, and they must prepare to free the savage.
He awoke, growled at being disturbed, but got
upon his feet at her bidding, and rubbing his half-
opened eyes announced his readiness to follow her.
She left the hut, and accompanied by the hunter, took
the path towards the village. He followed her rapid
steps, — stumbling along the rocky way and cursing
every stone and obstacle that impeded his progress.
In silence they pursued their route until arrived at the
village, when stealing with quiet and careful steps
they proceeded towards the dwelling of Lackbrain,
situated not far from the prison. When arrived at
the tavern, they entered the stable-yard, in a corner of
which lay the ladder, used in mounting to the hay-loft.
In a whisper directing Mike to throw it on his shoul¬
der, Annie, with a careful glance at the Inn where all
appeared wrapped in forgetfulness, turned her steps to¬
wards the jail. This was a large and heavy stone
building, standing at the end of the main street ; two
stories in height; with high narrow windows guarded
by iron bars ; while the lower apartments served as a
dwelling for the keeper and his family. In those
days few crimes were committed ; the prison had few
tenants, and the office of jailer was happily very
often a sinecure. Experience and vice had not yet
taught caution to be always alert ; and bolts shot and
bars drawn to escape from justice was seldom
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
105
dreamed of and often thought impossible. No light
appeared burning in the building and every thing
around was silent. The night was now dark, for
thick and heavy clouds from the west bad obscured
the moon, and the two conspirators moved slowly and
carefully till they reached the side of the prison,
where lay the room in which criminals were usually
confined. When they arrived, Goodwife Brown, by
signs, directed her associate to plant the ladder against
a window which she pointed out, and she perceived,
while a smile of triumph lit her dark face, that it was
of the required length. She now, in a whisper, or¬
dered Mike to mount, — listen and ascertain if the In¬
dian slept or was still wakeful. At this moment the
moon appeared, throwing aside her black mask ; and
though the old man shook his head, with some unea¬
siness as he looked at the hag and pointed to the hea¬
vens, yet, partly hid by the shadows of some thick
and branching elms, he proceeded to obey her com¬
mands. Whether the unexpected apparition of the
light had excited a tremor in his limbs, or in ascend¬
ing the ladder he missed a step, is even now uncer¬
tain, but he slipped, endeavoured to recover his lost
footing, failed, and in company with the ladder,
came to the ground, sprawling at full length and ma¬
king the pavement ring with his fall. He had scarcely
contrived to rise and conceal himself, directed by a
motion of his companion, behind one of the trees
whose shadow and trunk hid his figure, when a win¬
dow in the opposite house was opened and a man’s
voice called and demanded the cause of the noise.
No answer being returned the awakened sleeper, after
looking around, closed the sash, retired, and relieved
the actors of the drama in the street from their well-
founded terrors.
After a moment’s pause Mike again, and with no little
dread and much caution, proceeded to plant the ladder
against the wall. He had just succeeded in placing it
properly and was about, nothing willing, to mount, when
k 2
106 THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
a noise was heard near the back of the jail, and issu¬
ing from a lair under the large stone steps, in which
he had been sleeping, a strong and fierce watch-dog
rushed with newly awakejied fury. Mike, invol¬
untarily, ascended some steps of the ladder and the
furious animal seeing him out of his power, sprang
with increased ferocity towards the Witch. She ap¬
peared alarmed, but uttered no cry ; and knowing
that retreat would be useless stood to encounter the
attack of the enraged animal. He rushed with in¬
stinctive sagacity at her throat, and Mike, as he gazed
in great trepidation from his secure position, could
not help exclaiming to himself, as he watched the as¬
sault, that all was now over with his old acquaintance*
She appeared wrought up to desperation ; her eyes
were extended to their full size, and motionless
watched the approach of the dog ; her feet firmly
planted on the ground, and every sinew in her large
frame braced and prepared for the fearful strug¬
gle. As the animal flew at her neck, she drew
back a step, and missing his intended object, the
beast fastened upon her breast. As he hung with
thorough-hred obstinacy to his hold, Annie clinched
his throat with both her hands, then looking towards
the beaver-hunter she motioned him to advance.
“ Where is your knife ?” said she, in a whisper.
“ Dotard, have you lost you senses and the small
brains you once had ? Draw your hunting knife and
cut the brute’s throat ; he is tearing my flesh with his
sharp fangs, though he has missed my life this
time.”
The hunter fumbled in his pouch, but the knife
could not be found.
u I have left it in the cabin,” said he, with an
oath.
41 Hell’s torments rack ye,” exclaimed the Witch,
M you withered, sapless dog-bane, — thou pale-faced,
shag-haired coward. Must I be strangled for your
forgetfulness ?”
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
107
Rage and weakness from her exertion to hold the
dog, who struggled furiously, now evidently were ex¬
hausting the powers of the Witch, and her grasp
round the throat of the powerful animal was percep¬
tibly less vigcurous. She gasped for breath and re¬
treated some paces, staggered by the weight and op¬
position of the dog, but still preserving her gripe
upon his throat. At this moment, when she was
about to sink before the animal, and Mike, who be¬
gan to despair, had cast several wistful glances to¬
wards the wood, and the idea of retreat had appeared
with pleasing and almost irresistible attractions, he
suddenly exclaimed, as he turned a small pocket in¬
side out,
u I have it — I have it, — keep your hold, Goody,
for a minute longer and I’ll do his business.”
He ran towaids his companion and drawing a clasp-
knife, which he had found in his pocket, three or four
times across the throat of the dog, the animal groaned
and covering his combatant with a stream of blood, fell
lifeless on the pavement. Annie, pale, trembling and
faint, sunk upon the stones and remained some mo¬
ments without the power of motion or speech.
She recovered, however, speedily, am! turning to
the hunter said,
u Ascend the ladder at once, there is no time to be
lost. The Indian is most likely awake, and will be
ready to receive our assistance. Push the centre bar
inwards and it will yield to your hand and afford
space enough for the prisoner to pass.”
When arrived at the window, Mike perceived the
Indian pacing the apartment, wrapped in his blanket,
with folded arms and his eyes fixed on the iron grate-
work. Putting his finger on his lips he nodded to
the prisoner, and obeying the instructions of the
Witch, the middle iron bar was removed and an ap¬
erture appeared, large enough to admit the body of a
man. The countenance of the savage changed from
the stern solemnity of fortitude to the blight aspect
103
THE WITCH OF NE'V ENGLAND.
of hope. He placed a bench, the only piece of furni¬
ture of the prison, against the wall, mounted, and in
an instant breathed the pure air and gazed at the rich
firmament once more.
No moments were now to be wasted and bending
their steps towards the Inn, the ladder was deposited
in its usual place, and Annie Brown returned to her
hovel, after receiving the passionate and eloquent
thanks of the liberated Samoset, who followed by the
hunter, after the latter had nodded an adieu to the
Witch, pursued his rapid course towards the moun¬
tains. After walking about an hour, rays of bright,
redlight began to shoot from behind the ridge of hills,
bathing their summits in a flood of crimson and push¬
ing their beautiful and many-coloured streaks far
above the horizon. The air was soft and full of
balm ; the foliage in its deep and early verdure as it
moved to the gentle winds scattered wholesome odour;
the flowers were topped with dew, and the green sur¬
face of the earth showed like velvet sown with dia¬
monds as the sun smiled on the refreshing moisture.
The birds were offering their matins, and in the val¬
ley herds of cattle, just released from the nightly pen,
appeared feeding and enjoying their morning meal
with enviable zest.
The savage as he advanced up the hill appeared to
feel a delight bordering on intoxication. He snuffed
the perfume of the morning breeze eagerly ; stretched
his limbs to their full length ; and like a falcon from
the mew, his fierce eye burnt with delight as he gazed
on the rising sun, and the long line of noble heights
that swelled along the horizon till they melted into
the distant mists. Suddenly as if rapt by the energy
of his feelings, he burst into one of the wild strains of
his nation, and pointing to the rising luminary, began
in a low tone, which increased in loudness as he ad¬
vanced, tosing a hymn or address, some of the ideas
of which are contained in the following lines ;
THE WITCH OP NEW ENGLAND.
m
Lo ! morning bids his bride the night adieu,
Exulting, flushed with recent pleasure’s hue,
Delight’s deep blush upon his burning brows,
Glowing like virgins whispering marriage vows.
He stands upon the mountain-top and shakes
His golden tresses. O’er the woodland brakes
Impassioned, breathes his aromatic sigh
And wilding airs catch perfumes as they fly.
His mighty wings, dazzling with purple hues
And azure crimson-tipped, freshened with dews
From highest Heaven, like diamonds sparkling
On rainbow colours or those more darkling,
Expands ; and smiling bends his eye on earth ;
Then mounts into the region of his birth
Majestic, — godlike, — his wide path dying
With long streaks of million tints and plying
His way accustomed, leaving a bright tinge
Of wizard hues on th’ hills, like a rich fringe.
That bashful flower, Glory-of-the-morn,
Opens her bosom and adores : the horn
Jocund and flute-like all its soul pours out,
Wild, rich notes mingling with the hunter’s shout.
With bead-strung mocassins and light attire
And form of Grecian mould and glance of fire,
And gait of pride, the Indian leaves his home,
Red monarch of our western wilds, where roam
The fierce eyed panther and the graceful deer,
Haught and erect, holding his wild career
Swifter than brilliant visions melt away,
Or woman’s love or gratitude’s decay.
Home of my sires thy course shall be as proud
As morning’s march, and if an envious cloud
Hang on thy steps it shall be steeped in dyes
Of molten gems and like a crown arise,
Settling imperial on thine unseared front,
And thou shalt bear it as great Rome was wont.
Mike listened to the monotonous chant of the
Chief with some degree of interest ; and as they
struck into the thickest part of the wood and began to
ascend the steep and rugged ground, the old man
1 10 THE WITCH OF NEW BNGLAND.
seemed to grow young again, as it invigorated by the
sight of his favourite haunts, and pursued the difficult
and fatiguing march with the activity of boyhood.
After travelling some distance in company, the nat¬
ural taciturnity of both preventing much conversation,
they arrived at the spot where the route of each led in
an opposite direction. When about to part, the In*
dian pressed the rough hand of the old hunter with
much emotion ; assured him of his gratitude, and ta¬
king from his pouch a large lump of tobacco, he tore
a small share off for himself, and putting the remain¬
der into the hands of Mike, he pronounced farewell
in the low, gutteral tone of his tribe and quickly dis¬
appeared in the thicket. Mike smiled grimly ; shook
his head in token of adieu ; looked with unaffected
delight upon the gift of the savage ; and watching his
figure till it was lost in the forest, he threw his rifle
over his shoulder, began to whistle a favourite tune,
and proceeded with a light heart and careless step to¬
wards his beloved haunts, at some considerable dis¬
tance farther from the settlements.
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND,'
ill
CHAPTER X.
' ♦ #
- He sometimes wove,
In blushing, aromatic wreaths, which waste
From very sweetness, flowers that sprinkled
On Parnassus’ base their balmy perfumes;
Young-lipped buds with th’ opening rose involving
And vagrant vine in meshes intricate.
Anonymous.
We are now under the necessity of conducting our
readers to the parsonage, where the pretty Agnes ca¬
rolled like the lark as the merry hours flew swiftly and
unheeded* Charles seemed to have exchanged his
rifle for Cupid’s flower, Love in Idleness ; to have
forgotten the pleasures of the chase at the feet of his
mistress ; while his friend Edward, too often the vic¬
tim of feelings culpably indulged, or deluded by the
spells of imagination, wandered restless, unsatisfied,
and at times miserable, wearied with the world around
him and discontented with himself.
It is our object to draw men as they are, or have
been ; — possessing virtues mingled with faults ; ge¬
nius shaded by the defects of temper or the dark
clouds of adversity, or led astray by the glare of a de¬
ceitful and wandering fancy. Edward Bradley was
not a common character, — but he was one which is to
be met in the world. He had communed much and
frequently with himself. Silent towards others, many
a beautiful figure, novel allusion, and majestic meta¬
phor had crossed his mind in silence, pleased for the
moment, vanished and were forgotten. Many of his
thoughts were proud and noble. Had they been
dressed in language they would have been eloquent.
He conversed with the forest, and a companion of the
hills he listened to the loud and super-human elo¬
quence of the storm, or enjoyed the more liquid me-
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
U2
lody of the flowing stream. He loved a crowd, — but
it was only that he might be silent and solitary when
wrapped in its thickest folds. His book was the hu¬
man face, — his science the study of the heart. Con¬
versation, when interest was not awakened, was fa¬
tiguing and disgustful, — taking part in the prattle of
mixed and numerous society cloying and loathsome.
Silence in such situations was not an absence of pain ;
it was an opulent and racy enjoyment that fed without
surfeiting. Music, simple and unaffected, was a
source of unpolluted and exquisite delight, — scientific
combination and miraculous execution, as they were
not comprehended, excited no pretended rapture.
Feelings of fierce and terrible anguish, at times crossed
his mind, and even dwelt there for successive days,
unconquerable by reason or bodily exertion. It ap¬
peared a kind of constitutional insanity, and when it
passed away left its victim relieved, but feeble. In
such moments, whose recollection was almost too hor¬
rible to be dwelt on, the idea of self destruction would
sometimes flit across his mind, like an evil and con¬
demned fiend, holding up the promise of relief and
escape. But the image of a Superior Power, and love
for a few objects which had twined themselves round
his heart, counteracted the temptings of the demon.
Still death was then regarded as Heaven’s last and
most precious donation, and awaited with impatience.
Every thing that he did appeared inferior to what he
might have done; and from comparison with superior
productions, in lieu of producing satisfaction gave
birth only to disappointment and mortification. Such
was young Bradley, — but he was brave, generous,
gifted, full of courtesy, and overflowing with feeling.
The contrast between Chcsterly and himself was strong
and apparent. The former was gay, thoughtless,
boisterous ; frequently giving offence, but when con¬
vinced of error tree to mike amends, and with a dis¬
position open and affectionate. He loved his friend
with fervour, tinctured with respect for his superior
THE WITCH OP NEW ENGLAND.
113
intellect, and the dignity of manner that sometimes
approached, without intention, the air of command.
Indeed it may be said that his attachment bore the
appearance of enthusiasm, a feeling frequently excited
in those who owned an intimacy with Edward Brad¬
ley.
Chesterly was passionately addicted to hunting; the
country afforded a rich stock of game, and frequently
accompanied by his friend, who at once enjoyed the
manly exercise and romantic scenery, whole days and
nights were passed in the exciting amusement of the
chase. The game was often of a noble and dangerous
species. The fierce, untameable panther, the ferocious
wolf, the sagacious and surly bear, as well as the
graceful and beautiful stag, frequently fell before the
skill and courage of the ardent hunters. Charles ap¬
peared inspired with more than usual vivacity and
daring, while employed in the active and dangerous
amusement ; and displayed a skill and intrepidity in
its prosecution, that made him well known and re¬
markable among the white and red inhabitants of the
country.
The weather was now fine, and a party to consist
of two friends, accompanied by the Indian Uncas,
was formed to spend some days in the forest, and en¬
joy the healthful and favourite sport. A knapsack,
strapped upon the shoulders of each hunter, held the
few necessaries for their accommodation in the woods ;
and followed by three or four well-trained dogs, the
two friends, at the early peep of dawn, departed for
the cabin of their Indian acquaintance ; whom they
found ready and happy to follow them. After walk¬
ing some few miles from the village, before they struck
into the interior of the country, the scenery that lay
before them became of a singular and curious charac¬
ter. The surface of the ground appeared broken and
irregular; while the hills, composed of white sand,
were covered with bushes bearing a small blue berry,
and with dwarf pitch-pine shrubs. Many of the trees
L
114
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
had been cut for fire-wood, and the stumps appeared
rising above the surface of the sand. But the re¬
moval of the pines had exposed the hills to be torn
away by the violence of the wind, and in some places,
remains of dwellings appeared, which had either been
destroyed or partly removed in order to avoid being
covered by the sand. The hills or heaps appeared to
have been constantly shifting, and when swept away
in one place were piled up in another. In some
sunken ponds and marshy places that were found inter¬
spersed among them, forty or fifty cows were seen,
wading and even swimming, plunging their heads
into the water till it reached to their horns, and feed¬
ing upon the roots and herbs produced in the water.
After walking some distance through a wood of
pines, the trees not exceeding twenty feet in height,
the hunters found their path obstructed by a mound
rising among the trees almost to their tops. This vo¬
lume of sand gradually rolling into the woods with
the winds, had covered numbers of the trees to their
very summits. The sportsmen mounted this precipice
with difficulty; but, arrived at the summit a curious
spectacle presented itself to their view. Before them
lay a desert of white sand, four miles in length, pa-
rellel with the sea and at least a mile and a half in
breadth. The tops of the trees appeared above the
surface, but they were all dead. Where they had
been lately covered, the bark and twigs still were visi¬
ble. From some trees they had fallen off, and others
had been so long lashed and worn by the winds and
sand, that nothing of their former appearance re¬
mained but the hardy knots and heart. Over the far
greater part of this melancholy wilderness, however,
the trees had long since disappeared, and the hunters,
after traversing it for a short distance, turned to the
left, and quitting the arid and comfortless scenes, soon
gained sight of the blue ridge of hills; towards a pass
in which they now directed their course with fresh
speed and eagerness.
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
115
They soon gained the foot of the heights, and began
to ascend the rough path or narrow road that led to a
well wooded and extensive plain, the haunt of nume¬
rous herds of deer and other game. Charles was oc¬
cupied in directing and calling to the dogs ; in di¬
verging from the route to shoot a pheasant ; or in
expatiating upon the prospect of the sport which
awaited them upon the hills ; or in detailing to the
savage, a willing and pleased listener, his former feats
in the chase. Edward listened with pleasure to the
wild sallies and gay discourse of his friend ; and par¬
taking in the excitement of the moment, joined in the
animated conversation.
• “ Have you visited the cave lately ?” said he to
Uncas, when Charles had quitted them for a moment.
“ Is all well there ? It is now some time since I have
seen the venerable inhabitant.”
“The gray -haired old man is well,” answered
the other. w He seems content in his solitude, and
holds little converse but with the ancient trees, and
has no*visiters but the deer as they pass daily by his
habitation to drink at the mountain spring.”
“ I will visit him before I return,” replied the other.
<l I have some books and a few necessaries in my
knapsack, that may make his solitary dwelling more
tolerable. His is a dreadful fate, and though he bears
it with a philosophy and resignation almost more than
human, it will probably be bettered only by his death.
I have heard more wisdom from his lips, and derived
more knowledge of the human heart from his conver¬
sation, than from all the world beside.”
u He has the rich eloquence of age upon his tongue,”
said the Indian, “ and instruction flows in a purer and
deeper stream from him who counts many years upon
his brow. It falls like the sweet and gentle waters
from the summer cloud, fertilizing the young and un¬
ploughed soil.”
u Have you ever observed those huge bones that
are sometimes seen scattered near the deep springs
f.
116 THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
on the mountain?” asked Charles as he joined his two
companions.
“ Often;” said Edward ; “ they no doubt once be¬
longed to the huge mammoth, now extinct, but whose
remains are so often observed by the traveller in our
immense wilds. Pray, what do the elders, and wise
men of your nation say of them, Uncas ?”
“ I have often examined them with curiosity and
astonishment.”
The savage hesitated for a moment, but assuming
a proud air, he said, “ Listen, — and I will tell you —
“ After the Great Spirit had formed the earth, he
made the various birds and.beasts which now inhabit
it. He also made man ; — but having formed him
white and very imperfect and ill-tempered, he placed
him on one side of it where he now inhabits and
whence he has lately found a passage across the great
tvater to be a plague to us. As the Great Spirit was
not pleased with this his work, he took of black clay
and made what you call a Negro, with a woolly head.
This black man was much better than the white man,
but still he- did not answer the wish of the Great
Spirit; — that is, he was imperfect. At last, the
Great Spirit having procured a piece of pure, fine
red clay, formed from it the Red Man, perfectly to
his mind ; and he was so well pleased with him, that
he placed him on this great island, separate from the
white and black men ; and gave him rules for his
conduct, promising happiness in proportion as they
should be observed. He increased exceedingly and
was perfectly happy for ages ; but the foolish young
people, at length forgetting his rules became exceed¬
ingly ill-tempered and wicked. In consequence of
this, the Great Spirit created the great buffaloe, the
bones of which you now see before us ; these made
war upon the human species alone, and destroyed all
but a few who repented and promised the Great Spirit
to live according to his laws, if he would restrain the
devouring enemy. Whereupon he sent lightning and
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
117
thunder and destroyed the whole race, except two, a
male and female, which he shut up in yonder moun¬
tain, ready to let loose again, should occasion re¬
quire.”
“ Upon my honour, Uncas,” said Charles, <c your
tradition does much credit to the whites, and their
descendants, however, I have no doubt you have very
good grounds for believing the tale, though it is by
no means flattering to the children of the first produc¬
tion of the Deity.”
“ I have heard a very old chief and prophet say,”
replied the Indian, u that in ancient times a herd of
these great buffaloes came to the spring in the forest,
yonder, and began a universal destruction of the
bears, deer, elks, and other animals which had been
created for the use of the Indians. The Great Man
above, looking down and seeing this, was so enraged
that he seized his lightning, descended to the earth,
seated himself upon the neighbouring mountain on a
rock, on which his seat and the print of his feet are
still to be seen, and hurled his bolts among them till
the whole were slaughtered, except the big bull, who
presenting his forehead to the shafts, shook them off
as they fell ; but at length missing one, it wounded
him in the side ; whereupon springing round he
hounded over by the great lakes and rivers, beyond
which he is living, at this day.”
“ You are excellent in traditionary lore,” said
Charles, “ and make as seducing a raconteur as one
of those charming Eastern story-tellers ; and I make
bold to say, your tales have as firm a foundation in
truth as those of any Arab of them all.” The In¬
dian smiled at what he did not understand, but made
no answer.
“ The traditions of some of these aboriginal tribes,”
said Edward, “ are beautiful, full of fancy and poetry,
and are handed down from father to son, with scru¬
pulous and extraordinary accuracy. Many of their
war-hymns and love songs are overflowing with soft
L 2
118
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
and melancholy tenderness, or replete with martial
fire and enthusiasm. I have often listened for hours
to the songs and tales of poor Miquon, who had been
a famous bard and prophet- among his countrymen.”
u Did he not commit suicide ?” asked Charles,
“ That is an uncommon circumstance among the In¬
dians. But I think I have heard he eat of the may-
apple root and perished by the poison.”
“He had an honest and noble heart,” said Ed*
• *
ward, “ and was universally respected. He lived at
no great distance from my father’s house and had a
wife and two children of whom he had become ex¬
travagantly fond. He often visited us and as he was
singularly amiable, we were pleased with his visits
and always gave him a warm welcome. Not unfre-
quently I went myself to the lovely spot he had select¬
ed for his own dwelling. I found his family ever gay,
hospitable and happy, until within a short period of
his unfortunate end ; then the countenance of the In¬
dian bore the deep impress of helpless melancholy.
The cause I was ignorant of. His wife had become
attached to another man, and the miserable husband,
foreseeing that a separation must ensue, shuddered
at the agony of giving up his children, whoa! he re¬
garded with a kind of idolatry. It is the custom
where divorce takes place for the children to remain
with the mother. To one hope the wretched father
still clung. The season for preparing sugar advanced
and he flattered his breaking spirit with the hope that
when his family removed to their camp, the seducer,
who dwelt at some distance would not follow. The
vision was quickly dispelled. Returning from a
morning hunt he discovered the unwelcome visiter in
deep consultation with his faithless wife. This last
blow was more than he could endure. He took a
large cake of his sugar, and pursuing the road to my fa¬
ther’s house about ten miles distant ; he entered my
room with anguish forcibly pictured on his contorted
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
119
features. As he approached he offered me the
sugar.”
“ My friend,” said he, “ your bounty has often
filled my cheerful pipe with the Indian weed and as
yet I have done nothing in gratitude. Take this as
a return for your kindness and a pledge from me as
your true friend.” He said nothing more. Then
taking my hands between his, he pressed them af¬
fectionately ; wept a few silent tears ; left me, and re¬
turned to the camp. A few hours afterwards, a run¬
ner from thence, passed through the village to make
known his death. On leaving me he had passed a few
moments in caressing his children ; quitted them and
retiring a short distance had eaten of the fatal root.
He was discovered by some of his tribe staggering
along the shore of the river, but before aid could be
procured he had ceased to lament the inconstancy of
woman, and to weep over the fate of his fatherless
children.”
“That is a sad story,” said Chesterly, “had I
been her husband, I would have shook off the leman,
though she twined round my heart strings.”
“ When the arrows of fortune strike, my dear
Charles,” said Edward, “ to bear her blows with re¬
signation and continue calm, requires a generous and
philosophic policy not often to be found in the civil¬
ized world, and perhaps less seldom expected among
savages ; though my own opinion is that pure mag¬
nanimity is oftener to be met in the forest than in the
city. Interest is the Deity of civilized man, and upon
her altars he offers fame, health, wife, children ; and
when he has no other bribe to win her favours with,
he lays down his soul at the threshold of her temple.”
“ I know,” replied Charles, “ you are a warm ad¬
vocate for the savage and though methinks you go too
far, I cannot deny the truth of many of your argu¬
ments.”
“The character of the American Indian,” said
120
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
the other, 44 is a noble one. He is brave, hospitable,
a faithful friend and kind husband according to the
habits of his people. To his offspring he is indul¬
gent and tender, dutiful to his parents, respectful to-
wards age, and to the young, affectionate. He avows
with warm gratitude the goodness and watchful pro¬
vidence of the great Manitto ; he is wise in council,
patient under suffering and fatigue ; but for injuries
revengeful, and plunged in superstition. Still he has
the warm elements of a noble mind, and the catalogue
of his virtues far out-vies the list of his vices. He
has often been spoiled of his inheritance ; driven from
the abode of his fathers, the scene of his childish
gambols and his manly sports ; and in time crushed
and exterminated by the grasping avarice of the
whites, the existence of his nation will have become a
tradition.”
They had now arrived at the hunting ground and
pursued their sport for some hours with zeal and
success. Several deer and some smaller game had
already fallen ; when the dogs suddenly halted! and
commenced a fierce and loud balking before a thicket
composed of low bushes and briars closely grown to¬
gether. They appeared anxious, but alarmed, and
the huntsmen immediately concluded that a panther
or some of the wild and ferocious beasts which often
were met on the mountains lay concealed in the
thicket. Charles always impetuous, advanced, and
urging the dogs, endeavoured to prevail on them to
enter the bushes and rouse the animal which as yet
was not visible. The dogs increased their barking
and ran to and fro evidently enraged, — but at the
same time alarmed and refusing to enter the thicket
though urged by caresses and blows.
44 Take heed, young man,” said Uncas, 44 it is the
lair of the wild cat. He is dangerous, and when
baited fierce and terrible in his anger. He is the Red
Man’s enemy, — beware.”
“ I saw his eye,” said Edward, who had approach-
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
121
ed and was watching the bushes attentively, u I will
fire, and if the shot does not succeed it may alarm
and rouse him. Be on your guard as he will pro¬
bably spring on one of us.” Without being able to
take an accurate aim he fired. A low growl and a
movement in the thicket was heard, but the beast still
appeared loath to quit his retreat. The dogs conti¬
nued their loud and incessant uproar and Charles im¬
patient and excited, advanced to the edge of the
briars, with the intention of alarming or gaining a
sight of the animal. He pushed aside some of the
branches of a low scrub-oak with his rifle, but be¬
fore he had time to recover his piece a large, gaunt,
and ferocious wolf darted from her lair, struck the
face of the hunter with one of her paws and without
turning fled rapidly across the wood, the dogs fol¬
lowing at some distance in her rear. As she fled
Edward and the Indian both discharged their rifles
at her, and though the blood marked her track, she
continued her flight without falling. Charles, had
luckily escaped with a slight scratch ; but angered and
disappointed at his accident, prepared to follow the
animal, determined at all events to continue the pur¬
suit until the wolf should be taken or destroyed.
Guided by the noise of the dogs and by the drops of
blood which stained the track of the wolf the hunter
followed her to the mouth of a den into which the
hounds had driven her. One of these was persuaded
to enter, — but returned badly wounded and obsti¬
nately refused to make a second attack.
“ Curse ye for a coward,” said Charles, addressing
his favourite dog, who lay panting on the ground,
while from a deep wound in his neck the blood
trickled upon the grass. “ I never knew you to flinch
before, even when the bear and the fierce panther
stood at bay.”
The poor hound seemed to understand the reproach
of his master ; looked wistfully in his face, shook his
wounded neck, from which the red stream ran in
122
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
large drops, and crouching at his feet, wagged his tail,
but made no attempt again to enter the cave.
“ Poor fellow !” said Edward, patting the animal,
now almost exhausted. u Why, Charles, if he had
the folly tore-enter he could do no service, the faith¬
ful creature is exhausted, with loss of blood and the
exertion he has already made.’,
u Then, by Heaven, I will bait the wolf, myself,”
exclaimed Charles, at the same time, throwing off his
coat and preparing his rifle, he approached the en¬
trance of the den. His companions endeavoured,
but fruitlessly, to dissaude him from the folly of the
attempt. He was obstinate. Edward used reason,
ridicule and entreaty, but in vain. The savage though
he warned the daring hunter of the peril he was about
to encounter, yet it was evident that he admired the
adventurous and intrepid resolution of the young
man, and wished him to make the hazardous attack.
The mouth of the cavern, on the side of a very steep
ledge of rocks, was about two feet square, and to¬
wards this aperture Charles now advanced, armed
with his rifle doubly loaded, and along, sharp hunting
knife stuck in his belt. He entered and found the
sides of this subterraneous cavity composed of smooth
solid rocks, which seemed to have been rifted by a
former earthquake. The top and bottom were also
of stone; the height not sufficient to enable him to
stand upright ; and the breadth in no part more than
three feet. It was silent as the tomb and a thick and
fearful darkness filled the whole. The ferocious
monsters of the desert only had hitherto explored this
solitary and silent mansion of terror. The hunter pro.
ceeded slowly and with extreme caution, groping his
way through the fearful gloom upon his hands and feet.
He had advanced many yards in this manner, when
in the midst of the darkness before him he thought
he observed two balls of fire. He halted immediately,
and the opinion he had already formed that the wolf
lay before him, and that it was the glare cf her cyc>
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
123
balls which had startled him, was now made good, by
an angry, smothered growl that issued from the up¬
per end of the cave. The balls of light moved as if
the animal had dropt her head between her legs, in
the attitude of preparing to spring upon her prey ; she
howled loudly and fiercely, snapped her teeth, and
rays or sparks of fire seemed to issue from her eyes
as she awaited the intruder. Not a moment was to
be lost, — the instant was critical, and the hunter was
aware of his perilous situation. Possessing an ad¬
mirable presence of mind, he levelled his rifle, took
deliberate aim at what he supposed her head and
fired. Stunned with the shock and almost suffocated
by the smoke that had little or no vent, he had barely
strength and recollection to seize his hunting knife
and prepare, should the wolf not have expired, to
encounter the close and formidable attack she would,
in all probability, make upon him. His feelings at
this moment were indeed awful ; retreat was entirely
cut off ; the powerful animal would now be exasper¬
ated to madness, — and he was compelled to receive
her- furious and desperate assault in a narrow dark
passage, so low that it was impossible to stand up¬
right. He perhaps now repented his foolish and rash
impetuosity — that had induced him to rush upon in¬
evitable destruction. He waited some seconds, ex¬
pecting and prepared to meet the attack of the beast.
But all was silent, and as the smoke cleared away, by
finding a passage through the mouth of the den, he
watched with breathless impatience for another sight
of the furious eyes of the wolf ; — they were not to be
seen ; the darkness was now deep and uninterrupted.
u Is she dead ?” said Charles to himself, and the idea
of her destruction relieved him from a cold, damp
sweat that he found hanging on his forehead. He
speedily recovered his fearless spirit of adventure and
determined to approach and ascertain the condition of
the wolf. Creeping some yards farther and holding
his knife prepared to defend himself, he stretched his
124 THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
rifle towards the corner of the cave and touched the
body of the beast ; it did not move. The hunter be¬
came more assured, seized it by the ears and retreat¬
ing on his knees dragged the dead prize in triumph to
the mouth of the den.
His two friends had been waiting in anxious and
breathless expectation the event of his rash enterprize.
When the report of the rifle had reached them, their
feelings had been wrought to the highest pitch of so¬
licitude. Their excited fears had pictured the young
sportsman falling a prey to the maddened and resist¬
less ferocity of the wolf ; and encountering a fearful
and horrid death in the dark intricacies of the cav¬
ern.
The Indian had spoken little, but was restless and
uneasy, walking to and fro before the entrance of the
cave, endeavouring to listen and learn the event by
laying his ear to the ground. Edward now blamed
himself for having, at any rate, suffered his compan>
ion to undertake the enterprize, and felt a degree of
shame for having permitted him rather than himself
to brave the animal in her den. Conquered by his
feelings he had determined to commit the imprudence
he had just reprobated, and was preparing to follow
and ascertain the fate of his friend when the latter ap¬
peared unhurt and triumphant. He was greeted with
strong expressions of affection, and, as is often the
case, the success of his attempt seemed to obliterate
its folly. Elated, but modest, for the truly brave are
always so, he received their congratulations and
praises with silence and blushes. He now blamed
himself for what he called a fool-hardv and bovish
exploit, which he begged them to forget and forgive.
The poor hound faint with the loss of blood, had
crept to his master’s feet, and seemed by his fond and
dumb caresses to participate in the pleasure and pride
of the victory. At the sight of his favourite dog
Chesterly appeared evidently abashed ; the flush of
shame, for an instant, burnt upon his cheek, and bend-
THE WITCH OP NEW ENGLAND. J25
ing over the faithful animal he seemed endeavouring
by present fondness to do away the memory of his
undeserved harshness. Tearing a cravat from his
neck, he staunched the blood and bound the wound of
the affectionate brute, who licking his master’s hand
forgot all sense of pain in the joy of his endearments.
They now determined to hunt in different directions
and having appointed a place of rendezvous, they se¬
parated. Edward, followed by a hound, took a course
through the forest, leading farther from the inhabited
parts of the country and towards the dwelling of the
friend whom, in the morning, he had expressed an in¬
tention of visiting. He rambled for some hours
through the woods, now lost in thought, and then
stopping to admire some of the grand or lovely scenes
that constantly presented themselves. After walking
till he felt considerable fatigue, he stopped to take a
few moment’s rest, when he ascertained, to his un¬
feigned chagrin, that he had missed his way and that
there remained no hope of gaining the habitation of
his friend until the next morning. His only course,
now, was to endeavour to pass the intermediate hours
as comfortably as possible in the forest. He contin¬
ued his walk some distance further, seeking the most
convenient spot to repose on till the morning.
Night had begun to draw on her mantle of sha¬
dows, and the last lingering masses of red and pur¬
ple that painted the western clouds had melted in¬
to the darkness. The sluggish beetle swam through
the air upon his humming wings ; the cheerful cricket
filled the ear of evening with her never-dying song ;
and the tree-frog sang his unvarying note from every
tree. The fire-fly darted through the dark foliage,
showing her pale yellow light, and the night-loving
bat sported in his rapid and irregular flights, passing
swiftly across the path of the tired hunter.
Edward threw aside his knapsack and determined
to pass the night under the shelter of a large rock.
M
THE WITCH OF NF.W ENGLAND.
12G
He proceeded to collect the dry wood which lay in
the neighbourhood, and having placed a layer of it
round his intended couch, by the aid of his rifle he
began to kindle the fire, without which it would have
been unsafe to sleep in the forest, when the sound of
a footstep, at some distance, arrested his attention.
Upon looking round he perceived, through the inter¬
vals of the large and ancient oaks, the figure of a man
bending under the load of near half an elk and some
beavers, pursuing his course either not observing or
pretending ignorance of the presence of the young
hunter. He called several times to the stranger, who
made no answer and continued his walk without halt¬
ing. Edward now followed, with the determination
of learning who the man might be, when the latter
seeing his intention suddenly stopt and awaited his
approach. His appearance and manner were ex¬
tremely singular ,* he was old but appeared still strong
and active, wore neither hat nor shoe, had a long,
white beard, and stood bending under his burden,
which he had not thrown from his shoulders when he
stopt. He said nothing, but with a surly and unsoci¬
able air waited the address of Bradley. The latter
bade him good evening as he came up, observed he
was heavily laiden and asked if he intended to pass
the night in the forest or could guide him to any hut
in the vicinity, though he believed that no dwelling
was to be found for many miles around.
11 I’ve a notion there are few livers here abouts but
myself,” answered the man, “and I’m not over fond
of company, stranger.”
“ Then you inhabit in this vicinity yourself, my
friend ?” said Edward.
“ Mayhap I do and mayhap 1 don’t,” answered
the other-
“Well,” said Edward, “ I have lost my way and
been benighted in the woods, and if you can afford
me a meal and shelter till the morning I shall be your
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
127
debtor. If not I must return to my rock again and
go supperless to bed. I have been hunting all day
and I promise you feel a sharp appetite.”
Mike, for our readers will have recognized an old
acquaintance, muttered a sort of grumbling invita¬
tion, and bade the young man to follow him. He led
the way through an extensive hazel thicket, whence
descending into a narrow and rocky ravine he fol¬
lowed a devious route, in the midst of a thick grove
of swamp- ash, and at last arrived at a large and cheer¬
ful fire which he had previously kindled, and in
default of whose light the scene around would have
been desolate and dreary in the extreme. But in the
recess, Mike Shuck and his plunder, as he very can¬
didly termed it, (for it was the property of some In¬
dian hunter) were secure from all intrusion. As he
arrived he threw down his heavy burthen and turning
to his self-invited guest, with a smile that malice al¬
most converted into a grin, he desired him to be
seated.
u I live here, stranger,” said he, “ and this is my
chimney corner,” pointing as he spoke to the large,
blazing fire.
Edward smiled and seated himself upon the bear^
skin to which his host motioned him, while the latter
proceeded to prepare the supper and perform the rites
of hospitality. The meal was speedily ready and con¬
sisted of a beaver-tail and an elk marrow-bone, both
of which had been prepared, by Mike, on the coals.
The host ate heartily and without ceremony ; while
his companion, amused at the eccentric character be¬
fore him, made a slight meal on the delicacies above-
mentioned, and speedily followed the example set by
the old man, who having despatched his supper threw
himself by the fire, and endeavoured to court repose.
In winning this solace howrever he seemed to find much
difficulty. He tossed with feverish restlessness from
side to side, and continued a-low sort of murmer or
complaining until Edward dropt asleep.
123
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
CHAPTER XI.
•
. • . There is a place,
A black and gloomy cave* with weeds o’erhung,
Ne’er kissed by jocund ray, — nor cheered with sound
Of wilding laughter, — nor of sparkling jest,
Thither I’ll wende my course.
ANOXYMOUS.
The next morning as the first beams of the sun
won their bright way through the thick foliage that
overhung his couch, and fell upon his face, Edward
awoke. He found his fellow-lodger already risen
and employed in building a new fire upon the relics
of that which had served them on the past night.
He nodded to his young companion as the latter arose
and paid the compliments of the morning ; but con¬
tinued his arrangements for the new meal without
breaking silence or paying any sort of attention to his
guest. He proceeded to cut some slices from the
elk, which he broiled on the coals, and having served
himself to a large portion which he commenced de¬
vouring with great rapidity and relish, he turned to
his companion and invited him to follow his example.
Edward helped himself to a piece of the stake, and as
he gazed at the old hunter admired the singular avid¬
ity and despatch which he displayed in causing the
provision to disappear.
u I certainly have enjoyed the pleasure of seeing
you before,” said he to the beaver-hunter.
“ Likely — likely,” answered the other, “ I’m Mike
Shuckwell, the hunter, and live on the mountains. — I
guess, now I look at you, you must be the parson’s
son. — Isn’t your name Bradley, stranger?”
u It is,” answered Edward, “ and I shall be happy
to make a return for your hospitality, if you will call
THE WITCH OP NEW ENGLAND. 199
at my father’s house, when next your inclination may
lead you to the village.”
“It’s mighty seldom that inclination carries me.
there,” said Mike, “ I can’t fetch breath freely away
from the hills ; it’s pleasant living here, eh ! stranger ?
To be sure I am forced now and then to bide a few
hours in the town to trade for powder and lead j— but
I never quit home, if it is not for summat of that
sort.”
“ You have not a very extensive society here it ap¬
pears,” said Bradley.
“ Anan !” said Mike, stareing and resting from his
meal for a moment.
“ I say you seem to have but few companions or
associates.”
“ Oh ! ay I” answered the hunter, looking cun*
ningly at Edward, “ the fewer the better, — they’re al¬
ways giving trouble and frighten the game with their
tarnal long talk. I never had but one friend, here
abouts, old Ranger, and he died a year back. Poor
fellow ! — damn me if I don’t think I’d give up tobacco
for ever if I could only have the hound back again ; I
could not sleep for a week after he died, stranger
and my vituals didn’t relish some how for a while af¬
ter he quit me, poor Ranger ! That thing at your
feet there is nothing to him.- We always slept on the
same skin and he knew my ways as well as I did
myself. Poor Ranger ! poor Ranger ! he quit me
a year back.”
The old man dropped the bone he had been knaw-
ing, and fixing his eyes upon the dying embers of the
fire, murmured to himself with an air of deep and
unaffected sorrow ; he appeared entirely to forget that
any one was near him, and moving his head slowly
backwards and forwards the hot tears collected in his
eyes, and overflowing, passed down his weather-bea¬
ten cheeks, leaving their streaks upon his dark sun*
burnt visage,— while he continued from time to time
to mutter the words M poor Ranger, poor Ranger.”
m2
130
THE WITCTT op NEW ENGLAND.
Edward had gazed at the grief of the gray-haired
hunter with deep interest. He felt that consolation
would he fruitless — and he hail too much humanity
to proffer it. It is the ready coin that passes, soiled
by a thousand brutal hands, from the heartless gazer
upon misery. It is the sinecure of the prosperous, —
the unfelt tax paid by the happy to the unfortunate.
It is the gratification of selfish content and haughty
ease, at the expense of breaking hearts and lowly
despondence.
Mike now rose and as his eye rested upon the fi¬
gure of the young man, he seemed to recollect himself
and be aware that he was not, as usual, solitary. He
turned to his companion and observed,
“ It is as light now as it will be to day, stranger,
and if you have far to go, you need not wait for the
sun.”
Edward took the hint, and after again thanking his
host for the hospitality of the past night, he took his
rifle and accompanied by his dog, pursued his route
through the forest. After he had walked some dis¬
tance, he turned and observed the figure of the old
beaver- catcher in the same posture of melancholy
thought ; gazing upon the dying embers of the fire
and apparently wrapped in the recollection of his for¬
mer faithful and regretted associate. He made his
way, with some difficulty, through the rocky and en¬
tangled thicket, and having after some labour and
time gained the summit of a high hill, he stopped in
order to ascertain, if possible, his present situation
and what route it was now necessary to follow, in or¬
der to reach the dwelling of the friend he intended to
visit. Having arrived at the top of the height, Edward
found a level plain lying before him about a mile square
part of it covered by a beautiful meadow, formerly a
beaver-pond, flanked by a dam at each end. Here
though elevated more than three thousand feet above
the) level of the sea, the hunter beheld a deep and
lovely valley i while from a steep and precipitous
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
131
mountain on the east issued several springs, one of
which, the source of a neighbouring river, rushed
madly and impetuously down the rocky and abrupt
declivities of the hill. In the distance and mingling
with the blue sea of heaven, swelling in their majes¬
tic heights, ran a long ridge of lofty hills, whose
white heads were scarcely distinguishable from the
clouds that eternally dwelt upon them. For these
summits the Indians entertained a religious and su¬
perstitious veneration, as the habitation of invisible
and superior beings; and while they never dared to
ascend themselves, scrupulously endeavoured to de¬
ter others from what they deemed a sacriligious and
hazardous attempt. From Uncas, Edward had re¬
ceived a hundred tales and traditions relative to the
marvellous mountain. Among others the Chief re¬
lated that his country had once been drowned, and all
the inhabitants, but a single pair, had been destroyed.
These foreseeing the flood had fled to the hill, lived
and repeopled the desert fields. He had pointed out
the spot, an immense and inaccessible height, where
lay a bed of rich and invaluable carbuncles, which iu
a dark and gloomy night, appeared bright and lumi¬
nous. ' The young hunter gazed with enthusiasm
upon the scene, where sublimity and loveliness melted
into each other with a grace and charm of which na¬
ture is alone capable.
From the height on which he stood the country lay
before him for many miles in extent, alternately grand
and beautiful but always wild. He was now enabled
to fix upon a course leading to the spot he intended to
visit, and having taken his direction he resumed his walk
and after some fatigue reached tne place of his destina¬
tion. Between two huge rocks on the declivity of a hill
surrounded and almost hidden by thick bushes, ap¬
peared the entrance to a cave. Edward pushed aside
the underwood and briars, and in the gloomy recess,
appeared the top of a ladder, by which he descended
about ten feet and found himself in a subterraneous
132 THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
apartment, where the faint and dim light afforded by
the aperture cast a solemn and somewhat melancholy
glare on all around. A few articles of rough but
useful furniture appeared.- A cot-bed, a table and a
chair were all the luxuries that caught the eye. But
attention was immediately arrested by the singular
yet highly venerable inhabitant of this dark abode.
He was a man very far advanced in life, of a noble
and majestic presence ; a few white hairs still crowned
his high intellectual forehead, and a long, silver beard
hung below his breast. He had been reading before
the entrance of the hunter, but on the appearance of
the latter laid aside his book and welcomed him with
every appearance of warm and unaffected pleasure.
“ These kind visits, my young friend, to old age
and misfortune are noble and generous,” said he.
“ I have learned from Uncas that your sister has es¬
caped the designs of the savage Chief, and that the
latter is about to receive the reward of his villainous
and desperate attempt. The faithful Indian first com¬
municated to me the intention of his countryman to
carry off the young maiden, and at my injunction
he lost no time in putting you upon your guard.
Though it appears your sister unsuspectingly ran
imminent danger and was saved almost miraculously.”
“ Yes,” answered Edward, w thanks to the faithful
and kind hearted Uncas and the exertions of a young
friend of mine, she is again happy with her family.
“ What magic there lies in those two words, family
and country,” said the old man. “ I have bidden
mine farewell for ever ; and my bones will rest far
from the land of my infancy and the home of my fa¬
thers. Plato would not allow him to be banished
who still enjoyed sun, air, water and earth, as he had
done before. He accounted every place as country to
a wise man, and all parts of the worid a palace to
a quiet and honest mind. He thought nature had no
more given a man a country than she had bestowed
upon him houses, lands or gold. I could not agree
THE WITCXXXOF YEW EVGLD.
133
with the ancient philosopher, even though I was ena¬
bled to enjoy the pure sunshine and the sweet air.
As it is, my young friend, I bear with patience the
misfortunes, which I cannot consider as the offspring
of my own vices.”
Edward listened with attention and veneration to
the words of the venerable recluse, whose air of dig¬
nity, mildness and command, made deep impression
on his hearer. There was a touch of quiet, voiceless
grief that tinged his countenance, — though firm and
dignified resignation appeared in every word and sen¬
tence that fell from his lips.
u Is there no hope then,” said Edward, u that you
may once again visit your native land ?”
44 None,” replied the other, M Charles the I., though
with some amiable domestic qualities, was a tyrant,
and merited the death he suffered. His son, with less
virtue than his father, has vices that make him still
more worthy the same scaffold. He will never for¬
give the opponents of his sire, — and while he contin¬
ues the hireling of France will never cease to perse¬
cute the friends of a pure and free government.”
41 But do you not think,” asked Bradley, 44 that laws
too severe may defeat their own end ? And that the
King would find it for his own interest to steep if
possible all remembrance of the past in oblivion ?”
44 Doubtless, my dear Edward, good laws and good
morals are reciprocally formed by each other. But
the passions of revenge and hatred bury all other con¬
siderations under their overwhelming influence. Kings
never forget injuries. They readily make use of
men who may be gifted with eloquence, courage or
abilities, when they can serve their purposes ; but
they remain at the same moment jealous of their tal¬
ents, and on all occasions strive to check their pride
and blacken their reputation. The interest of kings
and that of their subjects are diametrically opposite.”
41 I think,” said Edward, 4< that the obligation of
subjects to the sovereign should subsist as long as,
134 THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
and no longer, than the power and inclination last by
which he is able and willing to protect them. When
■the king forgets the laws and mercy, the people should
not remember their allegiance.”
“ When the weight of more years has fallen upon
you Edward,” said the other, w you will have found
that men, in general, kings and subjects, keep their
agreements when it is for their mutual advantage not
to break them. Patience under some evils, (less than
they might be) corresponds more with my stiff and fee¬
ble age than with your youthful blood, which would boil
under them. But if I might presume to indulge in pro¬
phecy, I would predict that this land would one clay
become as independent as free ; the refuge of the per¬
secuted, and the resting place of the unfortunate wan¬
derer. You cannot from the nature of circumstances
remain dependant on the mother country ; — but a sep-
eration will engender a jealous hatred that will live
long and grow by that which will afford it food.”
The old man sighed, as thus, with the spirit of pro¬
phecy, he foretold the cold courtesy, the rigourous
injustice, which was to be extended by a harsh and
cruel mother towards an uncherished and hated off¬
spring. He beheld in imagination, while he depicted
with the wisdom of experience and the warm, glow¬
ing eloquence of excited feeling, the contemptuous
bearing of the parent land towards the ardent aspira¬
tions of the young and unfledged country. Her scorn¬
ful denouncements of the virtues, talents, spirit of
those who should have the audacity to shake off the
trammels of an unkind and tyrannical mother, — he
painted in deep and glaring colours. He spoke of the
biting sneers, the malicious falsehoods and the daring
libels that would be showered upon the morals, litera¬
ture, manners, of the youthful people. But while he
lamented this ungenerous and unmanly conduct, he
drew a pure and beautiful portrait of what the young
and hardy nation was in future to become.
Edward listened with delight to the wise, and at
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
135
times, impassioned elocution of the gray-bearded or¬
ator -and reflecting upon his hard and undeserved
fortunes and on the mild equanimity with which he
bore them, he beheld him with increased veneration.
“To your watchful benevolence, my young friend,”
said he, “ I am indebted for all the comforts of this
desolate habitation. To you I owe the great, I was
about to add the only, solace of solitude, my books.
Thank Heaven, with them, forgetfulness kindly steals
upon a few hours of my lonely existence. I cannot
imagine a state more destitute than that of him who
when the delights of sense have fled, has no pleasures
of the mind to gild the dreadful blank of life. To
you and to the faithful, feeling savage I owe every
thing.”
“ You possess, indeed, a devoted friend in Uncas;”
said Edward, “ next to the Great Spirit I believe he
reverences you. There is a wild enthusiasm in his
attachment which belongs to an uncultivated, but a no¬
ble mind ; it is as pure as it is uncommon.”
“ Since I quitted Europe,” said the old man, u my
wife and two children have left this world. One re¬
mains, a daughter. Many months since, I contrived to
send her information of my existence and conjured her,
if possible, to let me once again behold and bless her.
I intended when she arrived in the country to have
begged the protection of your family towards her, —
to have embraced her and them in the common course
of nature, I could not have expected to survive but a
brief period. I have awaited news of her with an
impatience and anxiety not to be conceived, — but as
yet have received none. Promise me, Edward, that
if she arrives, you will protect her as a brother, while
here, and place her in a situation to return with
safety to her friends in Europe.”
Bradley readily promised to perform what was re¬
quired of him, and his companion seemed to be re¬
lieved from a heavy weight of anxiety, as he offered
thanks for the intended courtesy. Some hours were
136
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
passed by the two friends in a conversation as inter¬
esting as it was instructive to the younger. The old
man displayed a wisdom, experience and knowledge
of the affairs of Europe,— ^combined with a fund of
deep learning that at once instructed and charmed his
attentive listener. But the progress of the sun now
warned Edward that the moment for his departure
had arrived. Bidding his host an affectionate fare¬
well, with the promise of meeting him again ere long,
he left the cave and commenced his way towards the
spot at which he expected to meet his fellow sports¬
men on their return homewards.
The shadows were long and dark when he reached
the appointed rendezvous, where he found the two
hunters, fatigued with the day’s sport and awaiting his
arrival. The ardent Chesterly recounted with ani¬
mated delight their successful chase, and expressed
surprize that his friend had not proved equally for¬
tunate. The kind-hearted Indian spoke little, but
seemed gratified at the air of satisfaction that dwelt
upon the countenance of Edward, as it augured that
all was well at the cave. The latter amused his com¬
panions with an account of his past night’s lodging and
a description of his host, with whom Uncas appeared
well acquainted. Charles had met him in the forest
during his former excursions, and knew him well by
report as the eccentric and vagabond hunter. Re¬
suming their walk toward the village, near the com¬
mencement of which the Indian bade them goodnight,
the two friends soon arrived at the parsonage, where
the foresight of Agnes had prepared a supper to which
the tired sportsmen did ample justice before they re¬
tired to their chambers.
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND,
137
CHAPTER XII.
Full hearts can’t always burst.
But like some weeping stream to ruin run;
Hid’n from the cheering sun.
And with black shadows of remembrance curs’t.
Anonymous.
After the Witch had thrust the children of Lack-
brain into the pen, or Devil’s Invention, and retired
accompanied by Mike Shuck, the poor boys had wept
until fatigue, and the approach of night, brought on
a deep slumber, in which they lay until the next
morning. Necessity can sharpen the wits of men,
and it added to the acuteness of the children. The
little fellows finding an egress at the top impossible,
instinctively began to search for one at the bottom of
their prison; and guided by the direction of Nature,
succeeded in scratching a passage beneath the logs,
through which they eventually escaped. As they
were ignorant of the route to the village, they wan¬
dered for three days about the rocks and forest, en¬
deavouring to subsist upon the wild fruits, until at¬
tracted by the noise of the ocean, they were, at last,
led to the shore. Their parents, in the mean time,
alarmed at their unusual absence, had assembled their
neighbours, and after searching without success, and
in a fearful anxiety for two days, on the third disco¬
vered the unfortunate infants.
The elder boy, of a delicate and feeble frame, had
with a noble generosity, endeavoured to procure a
scanty subsistance for the younger at his own ex¬
pense. Employed in plucking berries for his bro¬
ther, and in attempting to soothe the piercing lamen¬
tations of the hungry child, he had neglected his own
N
133
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
pains, until nature, become entirely exhausted by the
long and weakening fast, had at last faltered, and given
way. On the evening of the third day after their
escape, they reached the 'sea, — and here nothing pre¬
sented itself to the affrighted and feeble infants but
the sandy beach, and the dreary, measureless face of
the dark waters. Exhausted, and incapable of pro¬
ceeding further, the elder, at length gave way to
the tears he had hitherto restrained, and subdued
by the acute pains of a torturing hunger, and an utter
feebleness, he had lain himself under the shelter of a
large log thrown by the sea on the shore. Here,
holding his brother closely clasped in his embrace,
and endeavouring to soothe his piercing cries as long
as his exhausted strength permitted, the brave boy
had at length sunk into a slumber from which he ne¬
ver awoke.
u Never mind, Tom,” said he, in faltering tones to
the younger, who was sobbing, with pain and fright,
u we’ll see mother soon, and then you’ll have a good,
hearty supper, and lie in your own bed again. And
when morning comes, you’ll have plenty of bread and
milk, — and — ”
Here the dry and husky voice of the child was
lost in a low, indistinct rattling in the throat, and
pressing his brother closely in his arms, he sunk into
sleep, or more properly, death.
In this situation they were found by some of the
villagers, towards night-fall, and carried home to the
disconsolate parents. Every exertion to restore the
famished child proved fruitless, and the other nearly
exhausted, appeared almost in the jaws of death. The
father, attached to his children, and naturally, when
not warped by prejudice or ignorance, warm-hearted,
seemed to feel deep and unaffected sorrow. But it
was upon the violent and uncurbed temper of the mo¬
ther, that grief showed itself with a strength and fear¬
ful violence, that bordered upon insanity. The dead
THE WITCH OP NEW ENGLAND.
130
boy had been her favourite, her darling child. As
mild and gentle, as the parent was loud and stormy,
he had twined like a delicate and beautiful vine round
her harsher nature, and when he died and fell, her
heart seemed plucked forth by the fragile tendrils
that clung to it. At one moment she hung in quiet
and suffocating grief over the pale corpse, gazing as
if life depended on the sight of her offspring. Then,
as if suddenly awakened to a sense of her situation,
and of the truth, she abandoned herself to a wild
storm of sorrow, as shocking as it was afflicting. She
called upon her darling William by every fond and
endearing name, — wrung her hands, and wept with
agony at receiving no answer ; then, with flashing
eyes, uttered threats and reproaches at his silence,
and finally, in a paroxysm of delirious suffering, sunk
at the feet of her deceased boy. Senseless and ex¬
hausted, the wretched parent was carried from the
melancholy object of her watchfulness, and placed in
her chamber, where she lay feeble and unconscious
for some hours.
Many of the neighbouring gossips had been at¬
tracted by curiosity, or other motives, to visit the
house of mourning ; and as the funeral was to take
place on the ensuing evening, three women offered
their services to watch the body during the night.
Refreshments were placed in the chamber, and a so¬
litary lamp cast its gloomy light over the bed of death,
and the faces of the watchers, who were soon left to
themselves by the unfeeling gazers, as darkness
warned them that a return homewards was then pru¬
dent. Their potations were deep and frequent, and
increased their natural garrulity.
“ It’s a sore loss to goodwife Lackbrain, the death
of her cherished boy,” said an old, shrivelled female,
with a cough that interrupted her speech at every
third word.
b‘Yes, yes,” answered another, “I know whose
140
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
heart aches ; but pride should have a fall, and those
that dress in scarlet, may come to wear mourning.
I’m told that Annie Brown was here the other noon,
and high words fell ’twixt her and the mistress here.
Few quarrel with the old one hut some harm comes,
as you can tell goody Dawson.”
“ I scorn your meaning, mistress,” said a stout*
red-faced woman, whose cheeks bore testimony of
her fondness for the cup. “ I gave the foul witch
as good as she brought, and will again, any day, the
hag ! And if there ’s law in the land she will hang
yet.”
u Ah, she ’s a powerful one,” coughed out the eldest
speaker, M and man)7 a wild tale they tell of her and
the devil. Ye had better ware, gossips, how ye trifle
with one that rules the bad spirits. I could tell ye
many a spell that Annie has formed and wrought, an
if I had breath, but,” — here the ancient dame was
, precluded from adding more by a violent fit of cough¬
ing, which continued some minutes, and nearly suffo¬
cated the old woman, who, as a relief, had repeatedly
recourse to the brandy, which stood on the table.
“Yes,” said dame Walford, looking round the
room with some alarm, “ she is a powerful woman, and
it is little I should like to offend her. Why, it is no
later than Lord’s day last, that Mary Smith was going
home with a neighbour, that she separated from at
the freshet next her house. Well, on her return be¬
tween goodman Dawson’s, and Thomas Evans’, she
was startled by a rustling in the woods, which she
thought was occasioned by swine, and presently after
there did appear to her a woman, whom she apprehend¬
ed to be Annie Brown. The last asked her where her
consort was ; and she answered she had none. And
then she said, “ thy consort is at home by this time.
Lend me a pound of cotton.” Then Mary told her
she had but two pounds in the house, and would not
spare any, even to her mother. And the Witch an*
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
141
swered, she had better have done it, for her sorrow
was great already, but should be much greater ; and
that she was going a great journey, but should never
get there. As she left her, she was struck as with a
clap of fire on the back, the Witch vanished toward
the water side, in Mary’s apprehension, in the shape
of a cat. While the Witch had on her head a white
linen hood, tied under the chin, and her waistcoat and
petticoat were brown, with an old green apron, and
a black hat, upon her head.”
“ Beside all that,” exclaimed the eldest watcher of
the dead, “ her husband Oliver told me that she came
home in a sad condition. Ugh, Ugh — Ugh — this
cough is destroying me. Mistress Dawson give me
a little of the liquor if it please ye. Well, — he said
that Mary passed by him with the child in her aTms,
and laid it on the bed, while she sat down on the
chest, and leaned her head on her elbow. Three times
he asked her how she did, — but she could not speak.
And then he took her in his arms, and held her up,
and repeated the question, while she seemed to have
something in her throat, that stopped her breath, — •
Ugh — Ugh — Ugh — a little spirit if ye please. Well,
he unlaced her clothes, and then she spake, and said,
Lord have mercy on me, this wicked woman will kill
me. And when he asked what woman, she said
goody Brown. He, poor man, tried to persuade her
that it was all her weakness, — but she told him no, — -
and said, that her back was as a flame of fire, and her
lower parts were, as it were, numb, and without feel¬
ing. He even pinched her, and she felt it not. She
continued that night, and the day and night following,
very ill, and is still bad of her limbs, and complains
still, daily of it. If this be never witchcraft, I never
saw a witch,-— and few will deny that , I guess. And,
moreover, I saw her myself at the time she was ill,
and her face was coloured, and spotted with several
eolours. The neighbours said it was fantasy, but her
N 2
142
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
eyes, for all the world, looked as if they had been
scalded.”
“ Often have I seen her,' followed by her cat,1’ said
Dame Walford, “ Oliver told me that he saw her cat
come into the garden, — and he took down his gun to
shoot her, but the beast got upon a tree, and the gun
would not take fire, nor stay cocked, with all he could
do. After that the man saw three cats, the large
black one vanished away on the plain ground, and he
could never tell how they went. I don’t think ye’li
refuse to believe in her witchcraft now, goody Daw¬
son.’1
“ I believe she deserves a halter, and will get it
some day, yet,” said the other. “ I often see the bea¬
ver catcher, old Mike Shuck, wandering about the
wild hills with her, and if he does not look sly, she
will bring him to the gallows with her.”
“ D’ye think the lamp burns blue ?” said dame
Walford, evidently not at ease. u It is about the evil
hour, and I wish I was in my own bed again. They
sav Maho is the devil that has chief possession of
Annie, and he from all accounts is one of mighty
power. The elves that plait the horses1 tails, my hus¬
band says, are all servants to her, and that all the mis¬
chief done in the barn-yard is by her spells.”
“ She uses the withered branches of yew in her
midnight charms,” said the old woman, u and while
the charm is working, she is mute as death, for if
the silence is broke, every one knows the spell will
be marred. It is a mighty thing to have such potent
skill, especially when a woman begins to wax old, and
is apt to meet little but scorn and neglect. It is cer¬
tain, moreover, that whoever draws the Witch’s blood
is free from her power, though there be none will deny
that danger dwells in the trial. Ye did not scratch
her cheek till ye saw the crimson stream, I reckon,
goodwife Dawson. The more for your ill luck.”
w It was not for want of inclination I did not plant
THE WITCH OP NEW ENGLAND.
143
my nails in her face, and learn the colour of her
blood, ” said the other. “ The time may come when
my fingers will be sharper, and the beldame’s skin
somewhat softer.”
“ Ah ! you are a wilful woman, and must e’en have
your own way,” said the ancient dame, u but ye had
better take a friend’s counsel and ware how you med¬
dle with the cunning one. It is little good-will she
bears towards' any, and less to them that thwart or
molest her.”
In such disjointed chat the three females whiled
away the moments until the arrival of morning, when
released from their watch, each returned to her home
to await the fall of evening and the hour of the fune¬
ral, — at which the trio had determined, at all events,
to be present. A burial is a ceremony, in which to
my simple apprehension, it appears that females take
more interest than men. In the populous city, as the
long train moves slowly to the dwellings of the dead,
the crowd of gazers numbers among its anxious and
excited spectators a far greater number of the gentler
sex. Is curiosity or sensibility the motive ? A sight
which in the numerous town is one that saddens some
moment of every day, is in the narrow village an oc¬
curence of pith and rarity. And so far is one of
more than common interest. The victim knew and
was known by all. By his departure a void has been
made which each one sees, — and many feel. To wit¬
ness the rites with which he is consigned to his kin¬
dred dust is therefore the business of all. Many join
with the throng to see and be seen, — some to de¬
tract from the dead and envy the living, and the far
greater number herd with the crowd as gregarious
animals. They follow the festering body to the spot,
where the warrior and the man of peace, the happy
and the miserable mingle their remains in one mass
of common putrefaction. He that rambles above the
sepulchres of men, may from the tombs read pas-
144
TIIE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
sionate and eloquent advice. The fever of pride may
be abated, the lust of vanity may die before the
mausoleum and from vice may sometimes be stript
her rich and gaudy masquerade.
As the hour approached a crowd began to collect
before the house of Lackbrain. The relatives and
friends of the family were ushered into the dwelling,
where, with windows closed, they sat in darkness and
in silence. Under the piazza and before the door a
number of men remained walking or conversing.
Among these latter, and as it appeared, a sojourer at
the village caravansary, stood a short, fat, rosy-faced
man, about fifty years of age. His countenance was
shrewd and intelligent ; a quick, bright eye lent ani¬
mation to his face ; and all his motions gave evidence
of a restless and intrepid temper. The costume of
the stranger was, at that time not so common as it is
now. It consisted of a plain drab coat, without col¬
lar, breeches of the same cloth, stockings and shoes,
and a large broad-brimmed hat which maintained a
firm and unmoving position upon the head of its
owner. In a word he wore the dress and manner of
a Quaker. The appearance of a stranger, as usual
excited a stir and buzz among the assembled villa¬
gers. Questions were asked among the crowd re¬
specting the new-comer and when not satisfactorily
answered, they were often repeated to the stranger
himself, who with a shrewdness and sarcastic wit an¬
swered in such a way as to put his examiners com¬
pletely at fault. Sometimes in return to a direct in¬
terrogatory he baffled the proposer by a question
equally particular, and appeared to derive infinite
amusement from the disappointed curiosity of his
well-bred inquisitors. Various opinions and rumours
ran through the small knots of spectators,— and while
most agreed in denominating him a Quaker, others
went so far as to declare he was one of a sect of
Friends called Tom Case’s crew, the disciples of one
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
145
Tom Case, who had been so troublesome and vexa¬
tious even to the Friends themselves, that they had
denied him and his followers.
An old and starch-looking puritan who had assailed
the stranger with numerous and well applied ques¬
tions, seemed particularly irritated at the answers he
had received and eyed his offender with an angry and
searching eye. Several of his acquaintance had col¬
lected round him and listened with some deference to
the expression of his opinions. “ He is one of Case’s
crew, or I never saw one,” said he, “ And you all
know, that of this prodigious Tom and his band,
there are things well known in this country, that are
prodigious and diabolical. ’Tis well known, I say, that
some of these, whom this villain had led captive at
his will, were so much under his influence, that if upon
their coming where he was, he fastened his eye upon
them, they would presently tremble and stagger and
fall and foam like epileptical persons, and roll about
upon the ground, until they rolled unto his feet, where
he did what he pleased with them.”
u Yes,” answered another pale, yellow-looking man,
with long, lank cheeks, and strait black hair, combed
flat and smooth upon his forehead. “ He fascinated
a friend of mine by his eye, and he drooped and fell
sick for some months until the foul fiend left him, and
then he remained powerful weak and never had his
appetitite for a lengthy time.”
“ I have it from excellent authority too,” said Oliver
Smith, the first speaker, w that a mad and furious bull
that had become the terror of all the country around,
when he beheld this Tom, came and licked his hands,
as quietly and tamely as if he had been a spaniel.”
“ My woman, who fears few things,” said good-
man Dawson, “ ordered me if I came in the way of
this aforesaid Case, to mind my eye and keep at a
wary distance, for she believes the devil lodges in
him. Is it not likely think ye neighbours ?”
146
TIfE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
As the conversation continued, curiosity became
more excited, and by degrees the talkers had ap¬
proached the end of the piazza, where sat composed
and calm the object of universal attention. Without
appearing to listen he had caught many of the re¬
marks, as they fell from the speakers, and at times as
he turned his head to look down the long street, or
watch the approach of some newly arriving couple,
a slight smile of scorn was observed gamboling about
his mouth. Goodman Smith with a dogged perti¬
nacity, at length assailed him again, and exerting all
his ingenuity, endeavoured by cross-questions to eli¬
cit some account of his profession, name and business
at the village. The puritan was, however, no match
for the shrewd and sarcastic stranger, who, preserving
his temper with admirable coolness, baffled with ease
and no little triumph, all the attacks made upon him.
As the assaulters had their own arms turned against
them, they evidently became incensed, and from sly
inuendos, began to proceed to open and heavy charges
against the object of their curiosity. His cutting an¬
swers and contemptuous sneers had driven Oliver
into a fever of passion, which he endeavoured, with
much inconvenience to himself to smother, being
aware that the place and occasion of the meeting were
little fitted for broils and noisy contention. The din¬
gy complexion and ashy lips of the meagre Dawson
assumed a hue commonly a stranger to their pallid and
bloodless surface ; and the natural fearfulness of his
disposition was stung almost into desparate daring by
the taunts which were evidently with malicious and
unsparing causticness, directed against his remarks
and figure. He became restless and uneasy, for a
moment advanced with a flushed cheek and sparkling
eye, as if wrought to the commission of some sudden
and violent act, but the feeble nerves of the paltroon
withered as he met the calm look of his adversary
and he slunk baffled and agitated to his position, be-
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND. 147
hind some less timorous spectator. A coward can¬
not act the man of courage. Vanity may induce him
to attempt the character, — but he generally over acts,
4 out-herods Herod,’ has the mask torn from his con¬
torted features and takes refuge in his habitual pusil¬
lanimity.
The conversation had already assumed a stormy
cast and the vanquished in argument were evidently
about to forget decorum and fly to the last resort in
unequal disputes, by courtesy, called the ultimate
reasoning of kings. The idea of force and hard
blows had perceptibly flashed upon the minds of some
of the more numerous party, who were upon the eve
of using this royal prerogative and of treating the
successful disputant with an unceremonious drubbing,
when luckily for the convenience of the v/eaker party,
the minister made his appearance and appeased the
tumult. The unknown had hitherto preserved his
temper and presence of mind with admirable cool¬
ness, and nothing dismayed had prepared, if not to
attack at least to defend and repulse, with the con¬
joined energies of a fearless spirit and vigorous body.
Though still collected, he was apparently under the
effect of very considerable excitement, which the ap¬
pearance of the clergyman did not seem to lessen.
As the latter approached, the crowd gave way and he
advanced towards the object upon whom all eyes
were fixed in anger or curiosity. The latter feeling
in the multitude was not decreased, when as the mi¬
nister walked on and looked steadfastly, for a moment
on the stranger, he changed colour and appeared to
feel disgust and antipathy.
44 What do you here, man of evil and of fearful
ways ?” said Bradley.
44 1 am pursuing the calls of my business, friend,”
answered the other, 44 and I hold it that thou hast
neither law nor reason for propounding useless and
impertinent interrogatories to a casual sojourner in
143
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
thy village, — and one, moreover, who is neither wil«
ling nor intending to answer thy uncalled for ques¬
tions.”
“ Thomas Case,” sakl the minister, for the re¬
doubtable stranger was, indeed, no other than that
renowned and intrepid person ; u much outcry has
been raised on account of New England persecuting
the Quakers ; but for my part, I will not raise my
voice in the cry, and though it becomes me to pre¬
vent these irrascible men from laying violent hands
upon your body, I exhort you to quit our peaceable
habitations and return to those who harbour you.
You have hitherto been too successful in seducing the
people, not only to attend unto the mystical dispensa¬
tions of the light within, as having the whole of reli¬
gion contained therein, but also to oppose the good
order both civil and sacred erected in the colonv.”
“ Puritan,” answered Case, with a bold and un¬
daunted air, “ thou hast vomited forth much abuse
against the best men in this and the English nation, and
thou hast profanely and wantonly alluded to doctrines
of our creed. Look, proud one, to thine own errors
of belief and thy backslidings, and use thy neigh¬
bours with better manners.”
“ Sneering man,” said the other. “ It has been so
brought to pass by the insolence of traducers that
under the name of Puritans all our religion is branded.
Whosoever squares his actions by any rule Divine or
human, he is a puritan. Whosoever would be go¬
verned by the king's laws, he is a puritan. Whether
this account of matters be allowed or no, there have
been among the puritans some of the most emi¬
nent of these days. There have been men, whose
characters might very agreeably be looked for,
among the collections of a Dorotheus, or the orations
of a Nazianzen, or they are worthy, at least, of no¬
thingless than the exquisite style of a Melchior Adam
to eternize them.”
THE WITCH OP NEW ENGLAND.
149
u Thy belief is seated is superstition and thy creed
is profane, and blasphemous towards thy Creator,”
said the other, w therefore cease thy unmerited eulo¬
gies on men and on doctrines whereon heaven smiles
not.”
“ Quakerism,” interrupted Bradley, very indignant,
“ has, by some, and truly, been called the sink of all
heresies ; we see the vomit cast out in the by-past
ages by whole kennels of seducers, licked up again in
these days, for a new digestion and once more ex¬
posed for the poisoning of mankind. Away scoffer
and hardened unbeliever.”
Here Tom Case could no longer contain the tem¬
pest which had been long brewing and which had
gained a force and violence which nothing could quell.
His face become bloated with rage. His eyes as¬
sumed a wild and brutal lustre, and giving vent to his
collected wrath, he burst into the following anathema
against his antagonist : u Hence and trouble me no
more, thou fiery fighter and green-headed trumpeter,
— thou hedge-hog and grinning dog, — thou mole,—
thou lizzard, — thou bell of no metal, but the tone of
a kettle, — thou wheel-barrow,— thou whirl pool, —
thou fire-brand, — Oh thou whirligig, — thou adder and
scorpion, — thou louse, — thou mooncalf, — thou ragged
tatterdemalion, — thou Judas, — thou livest in philo¬
sophy and logic that are of the devil.”
The clergyman remained confounded at the vehe¬
mence and passion with which the Quaker uttered his
abuse. He was silent for a moment and seemingly
recovering the self-possession he had nearly lost, stood
calmly gazing at the infuriated stranger. The latter
exhausted, and breathless with rage and the rapidity
of his utterance, became silent also, — but still eyed
his opponent with a fixed and determined stare of
unbending enmity. The surrounding spectators, who
had watched the encounter with much excitement,
evidently leaning towards the side of their pastor,
o
150
THE WITGH OF NEW ENGLAND.
now betrayed intentions by no means friendly towards
Case. Old Smith, whose enmity had not been les¬
sened by what had recently passed, approached and
was about to lay hands' upon the object of his dis¬
like. The latter regarded him with a firm and un¬
changing aspect, and while he warned him to lay no
violent hand upon him was by no means terrified at
the expected encounter. The fleshless Dawson
seemed also to raise the ghost of his manhood and
gave some gentle note of intended violence. The
spirit seemed catching and was on the point of being
communicated to the throng, when Bradley, inter¬
fering, recalled the men to a sense of the occasion and
place of their meeting. A calm succeeded the storm,
and the Quaker complying with the hint of the mi¬
nister that a removal would be most proper, having
ordered his horse, with a stern and unsubdued air,
mounted and rode slowly out of the village, while
those he left behind, somewhat ashamed for their vio¬
lence, remained silent and awaiting the progress of
the funeral.
Bradley seized the occasion to declaim against the
religion of the Friends and the toleration allowed by
the government to different sects. “ Poly-piety,”
said he, “ is the greatest impiety in the world, my
hearers and friends. My heart naturally detests tole¬
ration of divers religions, or of one religion in segre-
gant shapes, however disguised. To authorize an
untruth by toleration of state, is to build a sconce
against the walls of heaven whereby to batter God
out of his chair and tumble down the throne of the
High One. He that is willing to tolerate any unsound
opinion, that his own may be tolerated in return,
though never so sound, will for a need hang God’s
bible at the devil’s girdle and offer the bread of life
to the scornful demons. It is astonishing to me that
the brains of men should be so parboiled in such im¬
pious ignorance. Credit me, my brethren, we should
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
151
not authorize a single and ungodly toleration in mat¬
ters of religion. But in the present case violence
towards the scoffer and unbeliever would have been
disreputable and of little avail. I would also raise
ray feeble voice against the painting of the cross
upon the English standard, as no way comporting with
the sacred character thereof. For though the said
symbol hath been erased from the colours of our
militia, it is still sinfully retained in the ensigns of
courts and ships. Let me, my hearers, also seize
the present moment to cry out with my combined
powers against an evil which hath advanced with ra¬
pid and huge strides in our infant colony. I allude
to the custom and new fangled fashion of wearing a
thing called a wig, — a thing uncivil and unmanly,
whereby men do deform themselves and offend sober
and modest persons and do evidently corrupt good
manners and molest the sanctity of the tabernacle.”
The minister now proceeded to the chamber where
lay the unburied body of the dead child. Here a far
different scene presented itself. Instead of the noise
and turmoil of the out-door occurrence, all was silent,
dark and sad. The coffin lay open and the placid,
beautiful countenance of the sweet boy appeared un¬
covered. Death had not yet stolen the lovely hues
and expression which it bore when life lingered, as
if loath to quit so fair a dwelling. A faint and hard¬
ly preceptible expression was about the mouth, which
might almost have been called the smile of resigna¬
tion, as if the guileless, innocent being had breathed
his last breath during a rich and happy dream. The
pangs of hunger and the terrors attending his waking
moments had been steeped in forgetfulness ; and some
enchanting vision seemed even yet to play about the
pale corpse and rob it of all disgustful appearance.
It was placid and seemed happy.
In a corner of the chamber sat the father, his face
covered with his hands, through which the large tears
152
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
trickled uncontrolled, and frequent convulsive sobs,
to which he gave way, without the power of opposi¬
tion, broke the general silence of the place. Beside
her child, and with the fixed, unwandering stare of
agony, knelt the heart-broken mother. Her grief
was silent, and her eye met nothing but the melan¬
choly object that she mourned, with inward torment.
A death-like paleness had usurped the place of her
habitual complexion ; while her handsome, well-form¬
ed, features were contorted, and tremulous. Her
eyes were swoln and inflamed, but she shed no tears.
Her hand now and then touched the forehead of the
boy, as if to smooth the bright, rich curls, which the
light wind at times ruffled ; but she neither spoke, nor
uttered any sound. Sometimes she approached her
head very near the lips of the corpse, as if willing to
listen for some faint breath that might still remain,
but as she drew suddenly back, the blood that rushed
impetuously to her head, and dyed her temples, evi¬
denced her conviction that hope was no more.
When Bradley entered, and beheld the scene be¬
fore him, he gazed in pity for a moment, took a seat,
and remained some time in silence. He then knelt
and prayed aloud. The father, and others present,
joined in the prayer ; but the mother remained unal¬
tered in her position, and occupied entirely by the ob¬
ject beside her. When the prayer was finished, the
minister beckoned to a man, who approached with the
lid of the coffin, and two females advanced for the
purpose of assisting, and removing the disconsolate
parent. Then, as if suddenly recalled to a perfect
sense of her situation, the mother started up, and
with a shriek that made the blood of her hearers run
coldly, she threw off the women who were about to
raise her; and who retired trembling and affrighted.
In the paroxysm of her despair she uttered cries that
sank deep into the hearts of her hearers. She called
her child by every endearing epithet ; intreating him
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
153
to answer, covered his face with kisses, and embraced
the cold body, pressing it to her bosom. Turning
her streaming eyes towards heaven, for now the tears
fell heavy and abundant, she exclaimed, — •
u God ! God ! give me back my boy, my fair, my
lovely child. Was he not too good to die ? The
sweet smile never left his red lip, and all his words
were soft as thy own dews. William — William, I
say, answer me, or I will be angry. Do speak to thy
poor mother, who loves thee better than her soul.
Give me but one kind smile, — one, only one kiss my
boy. Surely you love me, dear boy, answer me, in
pity. Oh my fair, my beautiful child — he cannot — he
cannot.”
The miserable woman, here, wrung her hands in
all the bitterness of irremediable wo, and at last
overcome by her fearful paroxysms, she sank lifeless
into the arms of her friends, and was conveyed to her
chamber.
The coffin was now closed, and the funeral moved
slowly towards the church-yard. Day-light had be¬
stowed her last kiss upon the mountains, but the blush
of delight still lived upon the brows of the noble hills.
A mild breeze played with the foliage ; scattered the
fragrance that it stole, and changed the light, fleecy
clouds into various fantastic forms, as it propelled them
gently towards the east. A deep stillness dwelt upon
the scene ; and as the long, silent procession entered
the cemetary, a feeling of quiet, and somewhat aw¬
ful, melancholy impressed the minds of most of those
who offered the last show of regard to the dead. The
service had ended, the coffin was committed to the
earth, and the rich, black mould had already fallen
with heavy and chilling sound upon its cover, when
the attention of the crowd was drawn towards a fe¬
male, who, with a haggard countenance, and long dis¬
hevelled hair, rushed through the assembly, and ut¬
tering a wild, piercing shriek, threw herself on the
o 2
154
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
grave. It was the unhappy mother. On recovering
from her swoon, she had broken away from her at¬
tendants, and fled madly toward the church-yard.
With sobs, and broken language, she implored them
to desist ; affirmed with desperate earnestness that the
child still lived ; and imprecated wild and even savage
curses upon those she termed the destroyers of her
boy. By every fond name that a doting mother could
employ, uttered with the teoderest softness, she im¬
plored her child to return, regardless of the presence
and exhortations of those around. The scene became
truly shocking. At length, at the instance of Bradley,
two men, taking the wretched, pitiable woman in their
arms, bore her away, her screams sounding, for many
minutes, in the distance. As she disappeared from
the yard, a noise resembling a half-smothered laugh
was heard, and some of the spectators attracted by the
sound, now perceived, for the first time, standing on
a hillock, that overlooked the burial ground, the figure
of the Witch. She, however, suddenly disappeared ;
and the crowd, warned by the darkness, dispersed,
leaving the scene of distress silent and sad.
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
155
CHAP. XIII.
Death ne’er presents a show for eyes polite,
E’en when he steals from fair and hectic maids
The noiseless breath. When Murder does his will,
In gore and blood he dips his bony hands
And strikes the beholder dumb.
Anonymous.
When the beaver-catcher parted from Annie
Brown and had bidden adieu to the Indian Samcset,
he directed his course, towards his usual haunts, but
he often seemed restless and uneas}\ His feelings
were novel, unpleasant, and to him, difficult to be ac¬
counted for. He was in possession of more than his
usual comforts and trod after some absence, the paths
in which he had hitherto found content and happi¬
ness. But seldom in the humour to analize his sen¬
sations, he for some time, wandered through the
thickets of the forest or along the banks of the stream,
examining his traps and occasionally, with unerring
aim, using his rifle. Still, content, which had so
long been the inmate of his bosom, was absent ; and
for some hours he pursued his usual and favourite
occupations with impatience and a feverish dissatis-
tion that robbed them of all rest. The old man, at
length, worn out and disconsolate, threw himself on
the bank of the babbling rivulet whose meanders he
had been pursuing, and as a sigh, which almost
sounded like a groan, escaped him, he exclaimed,
w Ay, ay, it must be that, — I could never have
tossed about all night and never closed eyes, if it
had not been for that. Every leaf that the wind
rustled, sounded like steps approaching, and the
damned owl that sat hooting all the night I thought
several times was the wailing of a child. I ’ve heard
156
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
that evil doing brings the brave and fearful to a level.
I ’m sure I ’ve had no rest since the poor brats were
shut up in the pen. .Yes I will, — I ’ll do it and may¬
hap all will be comfortable again.”
As Mike uttered the last words he sprang up, as
if a load had been taken from his bosom, and with
light and rapid steps turned his course towards the
part of the forest, where the children had been con¬
fined by the Witch. As he passed along, the ancient
hunter began, by degrees, to regain his usual care¬
less composure. Though far from immaculate, and
in the habit of doing deeds, which, one whose ideas
of morality were more strict, would have accounted
crimes or misdemeanours of no trifling weight, his
conscience was oppressed by the idea of the black
and savage act, in which if not a principal, he had, at
all events, performed the part of an accessory. He
trembled at the idea of murder, and such, upon re¬
flection, the deed he had assisted in, appeared to his
imagination. He could not disguise to himself, —
and, perhaps, now for the first time, it appeared plain
to him, that the mental intrepidity and energy of the
Witch had obtained a mastery over his own intellect,
that when in her company he could not resist. The
idea of her supernatural power, in which he placed
unwilling but undoubting credance, hampered him.
While his natural cunning and selfishness strongly
urged him to win and secure her good will, though,
at the expense of personal convenience and some faint
ideas of the impropriety attending a connexion with a
sorceress. He combated, with singular ingenuity,
all the objections raised by conscience upon the latter
score ; and like many of better brains and richer for¬
tunes, became an easy convert to the lulling eloquence
of interest or caprice. How easy to know the right
and pursue the wrong.
When Mike arrived at the scene of his former
cruelty and found that the children had escaped, he
was evidently delighted. He rubbed his hands with
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
157
undissembled satisfaction and solaced himself with
the reflexion that the little victims were safe, and
that he should not have to encounter the displeasure
of Annie, the anticipation of which, he had with
much mental labour endeavoured to force from his
thoughts. Resolved to conceal from his coadjutor
his determination to have rescued them from their
perilous confinement, he turned his steps towards her
hovel, partly impelled by curiosity to know if she
had discovered the escape of the little prisoners and
somewhat urged, though unwilling to acknowledge
it, even to himself, by the desire to ascertain if her
skill had devined his own intentions towards them.
With these feelings he approached the abode of the
Witch. All was silent around the hut and he ar¬
rived at the door without hearing or seeing any
thing of its mistress. His curiosity was wide awake,
and he advanced carefully and on tip-toe towards the
window, intending to learn the occupation of the hag.
As he was about to raise his head and look through
the hole that did the service of a window, he was
alarmed by what he deemed the voice of the Witch
and retreated with evident perturbation. Immedi¬
ately all was silent again and he thought he distin¬
guished the low breathing of one that slept. Col¬
lecting his scattered courage, he once more advanced
to the breach. Having slowly and cautiously raised
his head to a level with the window, he looked in
and beheld the owner of the dwelling extended upon
her lowly couch and apparently wrapt in deep slum¬
ber. — Unlike the beings with whom she might hardly
be said to claim kindred, Annie, as she often turned
night into day and outwatched the stars, so she some¬
times courted repose when the sun rode high in the
heavens.
44 Can she sleep so soundly ?” said Mike to him¬
self, 44 I guess there be many would like to buy the
secret from her. It is more than I could do last
night and I reckon she has more to answer for than I
158 THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
have. Bat use, they say, is second Nature and she
may’nt mind sin now a days.”
The hunter continued to gaze at her for some mi¬
nutes longer, — but his surprise at her tranquil slum¬
ber soon ceased. The female became restless, and
began to toss from side to side of her wretched
couch. Her features were contorted and her large
bony hands were clenched in agony, while huge drops
of perspiration rolled down her forehead. Her mouth
quivered and for some seconds she seemed struggling
to articulate ; but the words died on her lips and no¬
thing but a low and disgusting mutter was heard.
At length the paroxysm became too fearful to be borne
in silence and the dreamer raised herself on her foul
bed. Her face was deadly pale, — her features tor¬
tured and altered from their usual form. About her
mouth a dark blue tinge was observable and the lips
moved without uttering any sound. Her hands
grasped the bed covering with convulsive exertion
and her eyes, open and fixed, wore a deadly and un¬
meaning expression that excited horror in the specta¬
tor. He watched with intense interest the being be¬
fore him. All idea of self, and dread lest he should
be discovered, were swallowed in the deep and pain¬
ful anxiety with which he gazed upon the forbidding
and fearful sight. He stood breathless and motion¬
less, awaiting the result of the dreadful exhibition.
At length the female appeared to make a violent ex¬
ertion, and extending her arms seemingly to protect
herself, she exclaimed,
u Off, off, I say. It is not time and I will not go.
I did not murder him though I hate his mother.
Take your hot fingers from my throat or I shall choke,
oh ! oh ! oh !”
Here the woman sighed as if about to render her
soul and gasped for breath. The hunter trembled in
every limb, — but stood without the power of moving
to her assistance. She now uttered a wild, long
thriek in the extremity of helpless despair; her arm-#
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND. 159
struggled with the empty void, endeavouring to
defend herself ; she gritted her teeth with impotent
rage and at length, totally exhausted, sank back upon
her bed, silent and motionless. She lay some moments
in this situation, till a deep groan seemed to af¬
ford her relief. She drew a long breath, stretched
her muscular limbs to their full extent and with a pale
and haggard countenance suddenly raised herself and
stared wildly around the apartment. She rubbed her
eyes, started up and walked across the floor, mutter¬
ing to herself,
a I have been dreaming, — and no pleasant dreams
have I had. It’s lucky I’ve no chamber-fellow to
listen if I blab my secrets in my sleep, as they say the
guilty do. Sleep has no pleasure for me. It is worse
even than my waking hours. But I hate the blabbing
tell-tale day. Crime’s best handmaids are darkness
and the night, and they serve her with most skill and
despatch. One comfort is, some of the hours of
light are past and I am nearer the tomb by so much
of the clock.”
Mike Shuck, when the Witch rose, left his station
with rapid and noiseless steps. He passed some dis¬
tance down the ravine in order that his approach
might not seem too sudden ; and to draw the atten¬
tion of Annie, who had now opened the door to
breathe a fresher air, he rolled a rock down the preci¬
pice, whose noisy and lumbering flight quickly turned
her gaze in that direction. He advanced, not with¬
out some agitation, and greeted her with more than
habitual courtesy. She returned the salutation and
appeared rather pleased than otherwise with the visit.
She had not failed to remark the unpolished deference
which the hunter seemed to pay her without being
conscious of it; and she felt flattered by the offering,
though she despised the votary. The latter entered
the hut, by her invitation, and as he seated himself
could not avoid feeling some uneasiness when he re¬
collected the scene he had just witnessed, and found
160
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
himself alone with one whom he now regarded with
more than former dread. Annie commenced the con¬
versation by inquiring what luck had pursued him in
his hunting ; and cunningly mingling a few encomiums
upon his skill and success, soon won his attention by
a slight sacrifice to his vanity. If Mike ever ap¬
peared garrulous it was when his game became the
subject of conversation. He would dilate with infi¬
nite gratification to himself, and with attorney-like mi¬
nuteness, upon all the incidents of his sporting ad¬
ventures. The history of the death of such a deer, —
the dexterity displayed in entrapping some particular
beaver, afforded matter for verbose digression and
minute detail.
The Witch listened with patience, and as he paused
after one of his picturesque recitals, she asked if, in
passing through the village, he had heard how Dame
Lackbrain fared after her brat’s decease. The hunter
looked surprised but answered in the negative ; and
inquired with some show of anxiety which of her
children had died. Annie seized the subject with un¬
feigned delight, and entered upon a particular account
of the death, funeral and its consequences. She dwelt
with a flushed cheek and undissembled pleasure upon
the scene in the grave-yard ; and too much engrossed,
by her own feelings, to notice the evident uneasiness
and disgust with which Mike attended to her recital,
she went on to say,
u It was a cheering sight to watch the scarlet pride
rush into the church-yard and scamper towards the
grave, like a cur with crackers at his tail. She howled
and shook her hands till the parson in his tawny coat
and the assembled croud fairly looked pale as they
gazed. I drank a full draught of revenge. — and that
is a luxury the poor seldom taste. Do ye know the
flavour of the cordial, hunter? If you have never
drank of that cup, you know little of worldly plea¬
sure.”
“ I have not often thirsted for the draught,” said
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
161
Mike, “ But Goody Brown what think ye of the
death of that boy ? It’s a had business, — it has wor¬
ried me more than a winter’s storm or bad luck in the
traps for a whole season. But you remember I al¬
ways was against shutting the poor infants in the
damned pen, and only consented, as it were, in silence
and because you would have your own way.”
The hunter rose in evident discomposure and
walking across the hut looked out at the door. The
hag watched him with a searching and malicious
look ; shook her head and muttered in a tone too low
to reach his ears.
“All men’s faces are true whatever, their hands
may be. They tell shrewd tales, at times, to those
who know how to read them. I can peruse as plain
a book as that at midnight. He seems a hot friend,
suddenly cooling. Hang a king-fisher in the air by
the neck and the bill will tell which way the wind
blows. The shallow fool writes on his brow what his
heart would fain keep close and hidden ; but I’ll be
too cunning fora brainless woodman.”
“ Did you ever see a spirit in your dreams, Annie
said Mike, turning and awaiting her answer with
much apparent interest.
“ Yes — often,” said the other.
“ I saw one last night — or I never saw a beaver,’5
exclaimed the hunter. “ How did it seem to you ?
What was the thing like ? It’s a fearful sight for sar-
tain.”
“Oh!” said the other, “it’s made just as it’s
shaped, — it is as broad as it hath breadth, — is merely
as high as it is, — moves with its own organs, — and
moreover is of its own colour besides.”
“That is just as it appeared to me,” rejoined Mike,
“ and it d meed before my eyes all night, — keeping me
from sleep and holding me uneasy, as it were. I am
right glad I never consented to your cramming the little
ones in that hole on the mountain. You remember I
always was against it, — I’ll take my oath to that.”
p
162
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
“ You’ll take your oath to a lie then,” muttered
Annie, to herself. “ However, I’ll wait till he has
dined and filled his veins ; his blood is cold now, but
when his paunch is stuffed he may be better imposed
on.”
The Witch turned to a corner of the hovel and
uncovering a basket produced some cold meats and
bread, which she spread upon the huge log that
served the purpose of a table. At the side of this
collation she placed a bottle of spirits, and then, with
all her courtesy, invited her visiter to join in the re¬
past. To do this thfe hunter needed no second re¬
quest. He ate voraciously and, by the advice of his
entertainer, had recourse more than once to the
brandy. He became loquacious and bolder in the
expression of his opinions. Annie attempted with
much art to win him to her way of thinking, — but he
remained obstinate and openly charged her with the
death of the child. The woman grew evidently ex¬
asperated at finding that all her art had proved una¬
vailing in making him a convert to her creed. Find¬
ing persuasion and cajolery had lost their usual pow¬
er, she used threats with an audacity peculiar to her¬
self ; but Mike had become equally fearless from his
deep potations and heard her stormy revilings with an
indifference that a few hours before he would have
deemed impossible. In answer to one of her abusive
epithets he had even ventured to cast a term of re¬
proach in her own teeth. The beldame became
almost insane with passion ; her eyes rolled and the
livid hue of her lip and cheek indicated the fury of
her wrath. She strode to the door and pressed her
hand upon her forehead, which was swelled and
drawn into deep furrows by the contraction of her
heavy brows. As she passed across the floor her
foot struck against something that lay on the earth.
She uttered a deep and horrid oath as she turned to
ascertain the cause of her stumbling ; but as her eye
caught the object of her execration, she started and
her face suddenly flushed.
THE WITCH OP NEW ENGLAND.
163
It tells me what to do,5’ said she, “ and I’ll turn
no deaf ear to such advice. He is old and besotted
with the drink, — he cannot make much resistance,—
and besides the deed is necessary for my own safety.
Self-preservation is the first feeling of brute and man.
If I do not, — he will betray me, and the gallows and
I will be shortly acquainted. Yes, — yes , — I’ll do it,
—I’ll do it.”
Mike Shuck, during the foregoing speech, which
was uttered aside, had remained seated on the stool,
with his back turned towards Annie Brown, and bore
the appearance of one, who, if not stupified by liquor,
was at least rendered careless, and almost indifferent
to what passed around him. The Witch fixed her eye
upon him with a look of indescribable hatred, — stood
for a moment motionless, then suddenly seized a large
knife that lay on the earthen floor, and with the rapi¬
dity of lightning, plunged it into the bosom of the
hunter. The latter started, and uttered a cry of hor¬
ror ; but when he perceived the blow was about to be
repeated, rushed furiously upon the beldame, strug¬
gling violently to obtain the weapon. The blood from
a long wound in his breast flowed copiously, and he
seemed to suffer much pain. The Witch was strong,
uncommonly muscular, and stood as she, at length,
regained the use of her arm, on the point of striking
another blow with the knife, which in all probability
would end the scuffle. As she raised her arm with
a desperate energy, and drew back a step to make her
stroke the surer, her foot slipped in the clotted blood,
and as she, by a violent effort, recovered her footing,
the knife flew from her grasp, and fell at some dis¬
tance from the combatants. The struggle now become
more dreadful than before. Hope flashed across the
mind of the old huntsman, and the hag was rendered
more furious by disappointment, and the opposition
she encountered. Both had hitherto remained silent,
and they now contested with the fearful bitterness of
hate and revenge, well aware that life was to be the
164
THE WITCII OF NEW ENGLAND.
prize of the victor. The old man’s usual activity
and strength were evidently much lessened by his
debauch, and the loss of blood which continued to
trickle in large heavy drops from his neck and breast,
and it became apparent that unless aid approached,
his situation would speedily become desperate. Aware
of the decrease in his strength, and alarmed at his pe¬
rilous state, he uttered several loud, piercing, shrieks,
which were echoed distinctly and audibly from rock
to rock, and died away in the distant valley. The
Witch exhibited evident alarm, and had become
breathless, and almost exhausted by her desperate ex¬
ertions.
They had now separated, and stood gazing at each
other panting with rage and exhaustion. Mike re¬
newed his shouts for assistance, and made the wood
ring with his cries ; but he was evidently sinking with
pain and fatigue, and exhibited a countenance ghastly
and horrible in the extreme. The Witch having re¬
gained some breath, suddenly rushed upon the ex¬
hausted old man, and seizing him with both hands by
the throat, held him firmly, notwithstanding all his
struggles, until black in the face, and with his eyes
starting from his front he sunk upon his floor. She
still continued to clench his throat, and setting her
knees upon his breast, exclaimed between her closed
teeth -
u Die — die, hound ! Will ye never yield your
cursed breath ? He bleeds like a hog. — I neverthought
the gray-beard held such streams of blood. I am
wet with the red river, and the floor is dyed with the
clotted offal. But ye’ll shed no more hunter, if that
can add to your comfort. A pestilence light upon your
carrion remains. An ugly carcase ye make,” said she,
spurning the body with her f oot.
She looked stedfastly at the breathless and disgust¬
ing corpse, as she turned it with her heel. Then sud¬
denly staring round her, and observing that the long
crimson rays of the sinking sun streamed in at the
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
165
window, and mingled their bright and glorious hues
with the foul and clotted masses of blood that lay
upon the earth, she started, and seemed, for the first
time, aware of the peril of her situation. With that
obliquity of reasoning which often guides the guilty,
she now resolved to fly for having committed the
very deed, which she had deemed would render a
flight unnecessary. She formed a light bundle of
such of her treasures as she intended to bear with
her, and quitting the hovel, began to ascend the hill
with long and rapid steps. She directed her course
towards one of the nearest Indian villages ; deter¬
mined to seek refuge from justice with the tribe of
the chief Samoset, whose release from prison she had
so lately effected. Having walked for some hours, till
extreme fatigue obliged her to halt ; she passed the
night in the forest under the shelter of a rock, and the
next morning gained the settlement of the savages,
where she received welcome and refreshment.
On the evening of the funeral, the appearance and
conduct of Annie Brown in the vicinity of the church¬
yard had not passed unnoticed. Some unfavourable
suspicions had been excited ; and as her character was
by no means, in general, such as to allay them, seve¬
ral of the villagers had determined to secure and have
her examined. With this intention, on the morning
following the perpetration of the crime just described,
a party revisited her dwelling, and in lieu of its usual
inhabitants, found the melancholy and repulsive re¬
mains of the poor beaver-catcher. The trembling
and astonished spectators gazed with horror upon the
spectacle before them, and suspicion immediately
fixed upon the Writch, as the perpetrator of the black
and cruel deed. They found the face of the old man
pale, wan, and bloodless, as if the spring of life had
at length run dry. His eye- balls, half-thrust from
their sockets, gave an expression to his countenance
that made the lookers-on shudder, and their blood to
.i' run cold. His shaggy and matted hair was torn and
P 2
\ 66
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
scattered over the floor, and his long, venerable, white
beard was disordered, and plucked in hand-fulls by
the roots. His nostrils were widely stretched, as if
he had gasped convulsively for breath, while his si¬
newy and bony fingers were displayed and crooked as
if, in the last agony, he had grasped the earth, upon
which the deep indenting of his nails showed plainly
evident.
His body was conveyed to the village, and a party
of the inhabitants immediately set out in pursuit of
the murderess. But their search was ineffectual ; the
criminal had escaped beyond their reach, and they re¬
turned without success.
THE WITCH OP NEW ENGLAND.
167
CHAPTER XIV.
Battle, battle is the word, my comrades,
And th’ encounter will be such as suits not
Quaking limbs, — pale cheeks and tender sinews.
The tissued banner with its gorgeous dyes,
That waves and flaunts upon the fearful wind;
The warlike swellings of the martial band
Oft make a coward soul throw off its fears
And act the soldier: — But the peril now
Is fierce and manlike, — counting no such aids.
Anonymous.
After the Indian Samoset’s escape from prison,
he pursued the route leading to the abode of his tribe,
with the impatience and activity of one who, after a
long and cruel absence, moves towards home. The
powerful magic that dwells within that little word,
witches the rude mind of the unmannered savage,
with a spell as potent as that with which it enchants
the rich intellect of the sage or the brilliant fancy of
the poetic dreamer. The frozen seas of the dwarfish
Laplander and the burning night-wind of the thirsting
Arab would not be bartered by them for the delicious
scenes of verdant Greece or the soft voluptuousness
of Italian breezes. Heaven has kindly sown the
feeling in the heart of man ; and home and country
are rooted in its core.
When the savage arrived at the village of his tribe,
he was received as one from the dead. His country¬
men had obtained intelligence of his intended crime,
his capture and imprisonment ; and doubting not that
death would be the punishment inflicted on him, they
had regarded the chief as lost. His return was hailed
as a triumph and thirst for revenge was the feeling
that reigned paramount in every bosom. The sachem
was not of a temper to quench the fire that was al-
168
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
ready in a blaze. Possessing an uncommon share of
the rude eloquence of his nation, joined to a fierce
and undaunted courage, he was regarded by his coun¬
trymen with reverence and fear. He had obtained
the title of Prophet; and by sagacity and cunning
often induced the ignorant and superstitious savages
to yield to him the deference and obedience, held to
be due to the favourite of their gods. Runners, se¬
lected from the young and active warriors, were de¬
spatched to the neighbouring sachems, summoning
them to attend a grand council ; and in the interim,
preparations were made for striking a sudden and
heavy blow on the settlements of the Whites.
The council, composed of the most venerable and
intrepid sachems, was convened ; and the elder mem¬
bers addressing the assembly in the wild and figura¬
tive eloquence of their country, excited the warriors
to a fierce and bloody inroad upon the whites, in
which after the fashion of their warfare, neither age
nor sex was to be spared. The younger hearers lis¬
tened with growing excitement to the impassioned
harangues of the speakers. But the chief Samoset,
who had with deep sagacity watched the workings of
their minds, seized an opportune moment and descri¬
bing in bold and fiery terms the injuries and insults
committed by the whites upon the red men, roused
them to a pitch of enthusiasm bordering upon insanity.
They sprang from their seats and clashed their arms.
A low, wild murmur ran through the assembly. — and
in the sparkling eyes and heightened colour of their
complexions might be read the thirst for blood and
havock roused by the subtle and heated declamation
of the vindictive prophet. 'The scene was a fine
study for a painter. The noble forms and statue-like
attitude of the listeners ; the deep, unwaking attention
with which they hung upon the prophet’s words : the
rude, but beautiful scenery that surrounded the crowd ;
and the wild, yet graceful action of the orator com-
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND. 169
bined to create a deep and long-remembered interest.
The vote was unanimous in favour of war, the coun¬
cil broke up and the chiefs separated to prepare for
the final meeting, previous to the attack, the time and
place of which were already specified.
On the day of Samoset’s escape from prison, his
departure had been discovered, but it was too late for
pursuit ; the Indian had gained the mountains and his
retreat was effectually covered. The character of the
savages and the influence the sachem was known to
exercise over his tribe, excited well-grounded suspi¬
cions that an attempt at revenge would speedily fol¬
low his return to his countrymen. The white inhabi¬
tants had lived long enough in the neighbourhood of
the Indians to be aware of their treacherous and re¬
vengeful character ; and foreseeing that an attack
■would propably follow the enlargement of the chief,
took measures to repel the expected invasion and har-
rying.
The two friends Bradley and Chesterley had, in
former wars or inroads, been distinguished alike for
their conduct and courage ; and on the present emer¬
gency were appointed to command the armed corps
of forty or fifty men, who prepared to watch and pre¬
vent the intended barbarities of their red neighbours.
The hardy and intrepid individuals composing this
force were accustomed to the mode of Indian war¬
fare ; and combining the active and fearless character
of hunters with some show of discipline, were es¬
teemed a force amply sufficient to encounter and mas¬
ter any body though much superior in point of num¬
ber, which their enemies could bring against them.
Having sent scouts in different directions to watch the
motions of the savages and appointed a place of ren¬
dezvous in case of alarm, the inhabitants of the village
awaited, without much anxiety, the approach of their
adversaries, whom, when aware of their attack, they
seldom dreaded.
1 70
THE WITCII OF NEW ENGLAND.
The night, succeeding the morning on which these
useful precautions had been taken, was clear and
beautiful. The moon had not yet 4 filled her horns,'
but watched above the hills in her pure and quiet
loveliness, now and then veiled by a passing cloud,
whose edges she tinged with her pale, brilliant hues, as
the light vapour glided gracefully over her face. It
was about the hour of midnight, when the inhabitants
of the hamlet were roused by the distant report of a
rifle, followed in close succession by the noise of se¬
veral others. The alarm was quickly spread and the
armed men collecting at the appointed spot, dis¬
covered the long, red light of the beacon-fire, on the
mountain, ascending, amid a cloud of black smoke,
far above the tops of the adjacent trees. In a few
minutes, a man carrying a rifle, was seen by the light
of the flames swiftly flying down the side of the hill
and leaping with fearless and almost incredible agility
from rock to rock, a fall from any of which, had he
missed his footing, would have been followed by in¬
evitable destruction. As he several times appeared
entirely uncovered by the trees and under-wood, a
shot was fired from the hill, but it seemed without
effect, for he continued his route towards the village,
with undiminished speed and finally reached the spot,
where the armed inhabitants had collected. He proved
to be, as was expected, the scout who had been watch¬
ing on the mountain. The brave and active young
man had discovered the approach of the savages ; fled
without noise to the beacon which he had fired, and
impelled by his ardent courage, determined before he
fled to discharge his rifle at an Indian. With this
intention he remained at the brink of a precipice
more than twenty feet in height, until the file of war¬
riors was sufficiently near to enable him to shoot with
effect. rI aking deliberate aim, he fired and saw the
Indian in advance fall. Plunging immediately down
the height, he fled towards the village, and though
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
171
as he ran, nearly a dozen shots were discharged at
him, he escaped unhurt, one of the balls having passed
through his hat and another striking on his powder-
horn had glanced without doing harm.
On being interrogated by Bradley, the man in¬
formed him, that, as well as he could judge by the
light of the moon, the savages amounted in number
to a hundred. Many of them were armed with
rifles or muskets, — the rest with spears, bows and
arrows and large knotted clubs. In the midst of
the band he had observed a female ; and from her
air and dress, he decided it could be no other than
the Witch Annie Brown, who had no doubt, fled for
protection to the Indians, whom, she now, in the spi¬
rit of hatred and revenge, accompanied on their ex¬
pedition in search of blood and plunder. The scout,
observed that, at one moment he had decided to aim
his rifle at her, — but half-believing that she held a
charmed life and that the shot would be thrown away,
he determined, after a moment of hesitation, to sacri¬
fice an Indian.
Edward, having formed his men, moved some dis¬
tance from the village towards the hills ; but prudence
dictating that anv advance into the forest, during the
night, would be useless and dangerous, and no signs
of the enemy appearing, the men slept on their arms,
in the position they occupied, till the approach of day¬
light. A thick and heavy dew had fallen during the
night, and in the morning as soon as the rays of the
sun began to clear away the clouds of fog, the com¬
pany commenced its march through the forest in pur¬
suit of the enemy. They marched some distance
through the woods, in three divisions, by files, the
right commanded by Edward, the left by Chesterly
and the centre led by Oliver Smith, an old and intre¬
pid campaigner. In this order they proceeded for
some distance, without discovering any signs of the
enemy. It soon became necessary, however, to change
172
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
the order of march. A thick and impervious growth
of shrubs and briars had sprung up, where, some
years before, the land had been partially cleared and
the large trees felled. The men were formed into
one body, led by young Bradley ; while his friend
Charles brought up the rear. The scenery around
was dark and savage in the extreme. The rocky and
difficult ground upon which they marched was sur¬
rounded entirely by the black and silent forest, whose
recesses, from a distance, looked gloomy and fearful.
They continued their course for some time through
the thicket and were about entering the forest, when
a loud and horrid yell burst from the wood, followed
by a discharge of fire-arms and arrows. Bradley
with coolness and intrepidity, halted his men and pre¬
pared to resist the sudden attack. The Indians
considerably more numerous than their adversaries,
rushed impetuously forward, and the battle, princi¬
pally fought man to man, became bloody and obsti¬
nate. The whites, animated bv the exhortations and
example of their officers, who at once performed the
part of soldiers and commanders, fought with great
bravery ; sometimes in bodies of several, in open
view ; and again individually, under cover, taking
aim from behind the trunks of trees, and continuing
the combat in a manner independent of each other.
The fiery temper of Chesterly impelled him while in
pursuit of a savage, whom he had already wounded,
to advance in front of his own men and within a very
short distance of a large rock, where a number of In¬
dians had posted themselves. A shower of arrows
and two or three bullets, flying very near him, warned
him of his danger ; and retreating for protection to
a large tree, his situation was discovered and a party
of his men moved to his rescue. Placing himself at
their head, he ran forward to dislodge the enemy from
the rock and the conflict again became general. A
tall and athletic savage, painted and decorated like a
THE WITCH OF NEW' ENGLAND* 173
chief, and well armed, sprang from the rock as the
soldiers advanced and discharging his rifle, the ball,
from which, wounded Charles slightly in the shoulder,
rushed upon him with his tomahawk. As he ap¬
proached, Chesterly fired, and the Indian, by a con¬
vulsive start, announced that he was struck, but still
continued with a fierce and determined countenance
to advance. When within a few paces he threw his
tomahawk, but his antagonist by a skillful motion of the
body avoided the blow, and drawing his sword, for
his rifle was unloaded, sprang on the chief, who armed
with a long hunting knife met him with equal fury.
The combat became close and bloody. Several
wounds were given and received, — though the short¬
ness of the savage’s weapon prevented him from
dealing a mortal blow. He became wrought to mad¬
ness as he was several times baffled by the skill of
Chesterly ; and covered with blood which now flowed
in a stream from a wound in his breast caused by the
rifle ball, he closed suddenly with his antagonist, by
a furious exertion threw him to the ground and seated
himself on his breast. Panting with rage and fatigue,
he for a moment fixed his eyes upon Charles with an
expression of deadly hatred and disgust. But sud¬
denly his face became convulsed, — his eye assumed
a glassy and dim appearance, and he raised his arm
to strike the knife into the heart of his foe. The
situation of the latter was hopeless, but he had pre¬
served his spirit unshaken and waited his expected
death with fortitude. As the chief drew back to
inflict the anticipated blow, his adversary thought he
observed a tremor in his arm .hope flashed across
his mind for an instant and with the exertion of de¬
spair, he raised himself from the ground, seized the
hand of the Indian and drove the weapon to his heart*
The latter gave a deep sigh, — extended his arm as if
to clutch his enemy with the gripe of death and co-
' vered with gore, sunk lifeless on the earth. Drenched
Q*
174
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
with the blood of his victim and feeble and almost
fainting from the loss of his own, Chesterly had barely
strength to raise himself and lean against the trunk
of a tree. Upon looking at the dead body before him
he recognized, for the first time, the features of the
Sachem Samoset. The expression of intense hatred
and antipathy still dwelt upon the face, and Charles
now readily accounted for the desperate and blind
fury, exercised by the unsuccessful against the fa¬
voured lover.
The spot upon which the sanguinary fray had been
exhibited was now silent and deserted. A number
of dead and dying lay within a few paces, but the
noise and turmoil of the battle now roared at a dis¬
tance. The Indians, pressed and unable to stand the
attack of their opponents had retired farther into the
recesses of the forest ; and by the victors they were
impetuously followed. Becoming faint and exhausted
by the flow of blood from his wounds, which, though
not dangerous, now began to feel sore and painful,
the young soldier tore his cravat into bandages and
dressing his hurts with all the skill his situation would
permit, lay quietly down at the foot of a large oak,
awaiting the issue of the battle.
Edward Bradley, from the commencement of the
fight, had conducted with an intrepidity and skill, be¬
yond his years and experience. Ardent but cool, he
had not, like his fiery friend, forgotten the leader in
the soldier. He had remedied many mishaps, — en¬
couraged the brave and poured new vigour into the
drooping and wavering among his companions. In
the early part of the conflict he had more than once
passed within the reach of Samoset, but the savage
appeared to avoid an encounter and evidently ne¬
glected many opportunities of striking at the brother
of Agnts. Whilst directing and heading a party of
his men who were advancing to drive a number of
the Indians from a situation where they annoyed and
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
175
at the same time remained protected from their op¬
ponents, Edward’s eye had been attracted by the
voice and action of an individual whose appearance
forcibly caught his attention. The person appeared
to be a female, who with violent and animated ges¬
tures seemed in the act of inspiring new courage* into
a party of the savages, who had retreated and were
evidently unwilling again to face their adversaries.
Her action was singularly wild and uncommon, and at
the same time had an air of grace and majesty that
belongs to superior intellect and a fearless spirit. It
seemed that her rhetoric was not successful, for with
an incensed and violent manner she seized a rifle from
one of the recreant Indians and striking a blow which
felled the owner, she called to the rest and rushed
herself, towards a body of the whites, who were en¬
gaged in a distant part of the wood. The red war¬
riors appeared struck with the conduct of the female,
and raising a loud and horrible yell followed her to
the attack. They were, however, met by the whites
who poured upon them a deadly fire and they fled
in confusion, followed, though reluctantly, by the wo¬
man who retired slowly and indignantly from the
fight.
This desultory combat had lasted some hours and
though the whites had lost many of 'their men, the
loss of their enemies had been much more heavy and
the latter seemed inclined to put an end to the conflict
and retire farther into the forest. By the exhortation
and example of some of the braver chiefs, however,
they continued to fight, at times, with fury and ob¬
stinacy. Edward had been actively employed, in all
parts of the field of battle, and in more than one per¬
sonal encounter, had come oft' with brilliant and well-
earned success. Having discharged his fusee several
times, he had presented it at a savage, who appeared
to have singled him out from his companions and was
v pressing him with determined ferocity. The muzzle
176
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
was pressed against the breast of the Indian, — Ed¬
ward pulled the trigger, but the fuzee missed fire.
The warrior, active and athletic, availing himself of
the indefensible attitude of his opponent, uttered a
loud and piercing yell or war-whoop, rushed forward
with his upraised hatchet, compelled him to surren¬
der, and having stripped him of his arms, hurried
some distance into the wood, where he bound him to
a tree and then returned to the fight.
The situation of the prisoner, sufficiently torment¬
ing at first, soon became still more terrible. Con¬
stantly changing ground, from various causes, the
scene of the battle now approached the part of the
forest where Bradley stood bound without the possi¬
bility of escape. He at length found himself placed
directly between the fire of the two parties. Fancy
can scarcely portray a more distressful and danger¬
ous situation. Incapable of motion in his body, his
limbs, or even his head, he remained in moment¬
ary expectation of death. The bullets flew inces¬
santly from each side ; many buried themselves in
the bark of the tree to which he was bound, and some
tore rents in his clothes, inflicting slight wounds, the
blood from which, however trickled down his limbs
and he soon found that the red stream ran over the
tops of his shoes. Resigning himself with the forti¬
tude of a strong, proud and excited mind, he awaited
with impatience some ball that would, at once end his
life and the mortifying, harassing feelings to which
his deplorable situation made him the prey. While,
the victim of sensations so far from being enviable,
Edward stood without a gleam of hope, the battle
appeared for a moment to be in favour of the Indians.
The whites changed their position and were followed
by their red foes. It was during this interval of time
that a young savage approaching the prisoner, began
to amuse himself in a novel and extraordinary man¬
ner. He found Bradley lashed to the tree and might
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND. 177
with a single blow of his tomahawk , have dispatched
him to a different abode. But he was a humourist
and preferred exciting the terror of his victim to spill¬
ing his blood. He began by hurling his hatchet at
the head of the prisoner and making it strike the tree
within a few inches of his face. In this manner he
continued to amuse himself, exhibiting his admirable
skill by coming nearer every stroke to the head of the
unfortunate captive, and several times buried the mur¬
derous tomahawk within a hair’s breadth of the brains
of his miserable enemy. The Indian-, at length, de¬
sisted from his cruel sport and turned his course in a
direction towards the spot where the battle now was
fought, the sounds of which became more faint and
evidently proceeded from a considerable distance. In
a short time, Edward perceived several savages flying
and concluded that victory had, eventually, turned in
favour of his own party. This conviction was in a
few moments made stronger by the arrival of his cap-
tor, who, without speaking, unbound his prisoner and
then commanding him to follow, commenced a rapid
march through the forest. Having reached a large
party of fugitive savages, Bradley was stripped of
his coat, vest, stockings and shoes ; loaded with as
many of the packs of the wounded as could be piled
upon his shoulders ; after which being strongly pin¬
ioned, his wrists were bound with a cord drawn as
tightly as the strength of two men could effect. The
thoughts that passed across his mind were sombre and
melancholy. He wished for death and yet, now that
the desired goal appeared in sight, the idea and hope
of escape irresistably obtruded itself. He was weary
of his sufferings, of the world, and of himself, — still
a release from his present torments played about his
fancy as pregnant with delight that could never die.
A stern and invincible pride, which might have been
termed his master passion, upheld him amid his tor¬
ments j and in the deepest agony of his body, the
2
178
THE WITCH OP NEW ENGLAND.
idea that a smile of scorn still lived upon his lip and
braved his enemies, poured balm upon his bleeding
wounds.
After he had marched, with these feelings for many
long and tedious miles, the Indians worn out with fa¬
tigue, halted for repose. His hands had now be¬
come dreadfully swoln by the ligatures, — his feet were
tom and bleeding, and the anguish he experienced as
the cold evening wind blew upon his sore wounds
drove him to desparation. He was sinking under the
heavy burthen which bent him down with its weight,
and rendered frantic by the acute pains that shot
through all his limbs, he implored his captors that
they would in mercy use the tomahawk, — or release
his hands. At this moment the Indian who had cap¬
tured him came towards him, — took some of the
packs from his shoulders, unbound his tortured wrists
and threw him a pair of old mocasins. The march
or retreat was soon resumed. Driving Edward be¬
fore them the savages pursued their route to the spot,
destined for their night’s encampment, where a
scene of horror, far more appalling than any he had
yet witnessed awaited the unfortunate captive.
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
179
CHAPTER XV.
Deep love though unrequited seldom dies,
In young maids’ hearts it lies like hidden founts
In silent rocks : — and ere it greets the eye
The dwelling where it weeping lives is riven.
Anonymous.
It was some hours after sunset when the party
arrived at the spot destined for the night’s repose.
It lay in a narrow, silent valley, carpeted with the
most refreshing verdure, and surrounded on all sides
but one by steep and rocky heights. On the declivi¬
ties of the hills and the surface of the rich, level land
rose a number of beautiful and majestic poplars,
whose tall and gigantic stems swelled in proud and
graceful dignity far above the neighbouring trees.
From a cleft rock in the side of a hill rushed a pure
and powerful spring, which after leaping, babbling and
frothing over the impediments in its course, gained
the vale, where broken into a hundred rillets it lavished
its freshness over the meadow, wetting to fertility.
The surface of the heights was covered with hemlock
and spruce, whose foliage seemed edged with silver
as the moon, from a cloudless sky, shone upon the
lovely and quiet aspect of the scene. The lonely
Whip-poor-will, which the Indians regard with super¬
stitious veneration, pursued her nightly flight in rapid
and varying circles ; uttering her short, melancholy
cry as she darted through the air and awakening
ideas of gloom and despondency.
When the savages reached the valley, fatigued and
exhausted they threw themselves on the ground by
the side of the spring. But the spirit of revenge and
barbarity seemed, in a few moments, to lend them
new strength. The wretched captive, tortured by his
aching and bleeding wounds,— worn out and sinking
180
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
with fatigue and exhaustion, — and painting with the
colours of a vivid imagination the series of torments
still in store for him, laid himself in despair and an¬
guish upon the earth. His tormentors allowed him
but a short-lived respite. They dragged him from
the ground, — stripped him naked, — bound him to a
tree and began to pile quantities of dry -wood and
other fuel in a circle around him. Their labours
were accompanied with shouts and horrid yells that
froze the blood of their victim, who aware that en¬
treaties and prayers for mercy would be fruitless, re¬
signed himself to his fate with a dogged and feverish
resolution. Their intention, apparently, was to burn
or rather slowly roast him to death. The flames were
kindled, and as they slowly approached the miserable
sufferer, the Indians commenced dancing round the
stake, uttering loud and fearful shrieks or singing,
with unaffected delight, their war-hymn. As the
heat of the fire grew more intense the agonies of Ed¬
ward became beyond endurance, and endeavouring,
vainly, to find relief by shifting his body from side to
side of the stake, — his torments drew from the spec¬
tators shouts of wild triumph and demoniac laughter,
while in the delirium of their sport they ran around
the stake with frantic cries and gestures. Death now
stared him in the face, with determined and fearful
aspect ; — his body was tortured, but from his mind
the bitterness of dissolution had past away, and no
lingering tye bound him to life and the world, save
the single wish to spare his friends the pangs that
would follow the intelligence of his decease. He
summoned a desperate resolution and watched the
approach of the flames with a cool and steady eye.
He even grew impatient ol their tardy creeping. But
it was the still and horrid calm that succeeds the fe¬
ver of despair, — a species of insanity into which a
proud and powerful mind is often driven, when the
shade of hope has disappeared. At such a moment
there is a freezing, icy chill strikes upon the hear^
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND. 181
which those who have felt it never can forget, and
those who have been more fortunate cannot compre¬
hend.
The Indian who had captured him, and who was,
(it appeared,) a chief of power and reputation, had
watched his prisoner intently during the scene we
have described. The air of stern dignity or contempt
which had, at last, fixed itself on the features of
young Bradley, seemed to make a sudden and forci¬
ble impression upon the savage. As if impelled by
some novel but powerful impulse, he rushed through
the flames that were now approaching rapidly towards
the stake ; scattered the faggots ; cut the bands of the
prisoner and drew him from his perilous situation.
The shouts and horrid orgies of the assembly now
ceased. The Indians looked exasperated and disap¬
pointed, — but as the victim was the property of his
captor, — they were obliged to bear their mortification
in silence.
The sachem addressed him with kindness, even
with affection ; cloathed him and gave him food and
drink from his own stores. Determined, however,
not to lose his prisoner, he took precautions for his
safe keeping. Deprived of their expected entertain¬
ment, the savages prepared for sleep, — and the chief
directing Edward to stretch himself on the ground,
he extended his arms to their full length and bound
each fast to a young tree ; his legs were fastened to
two saplings after the same fashion ; and afterwards
a number of slender poles were cut, which, with some
bushes, being laid across his body from heal to head,
he was suffered to court repose as he might. Not
contented with these precautions, as many Indians as
could find room placed themselves on each side of the
prisoner to preclude all attempts at escape. The
night, as will readily be believed, dragged her hours
tediously and painfully away. But the mind of
Bradley, even in this tormenting and dreary situation,
at some moments during the night, felt a ray of cheer*
182 THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
fulness lend its genial warmth, and almost give birth
to a smile as he thought on the singular and ludi¬
crous picture presented by himself. Such are the
curious and incomprehensible anticks of mind, which
some have attempted to account for and none can
understand.
On the following morning he was permitted to re¬
tain his blanket and mccasins, and to march without
the load of packs. He was also protected by his
master from the insults of the savages. When, at
length, the Indians approached their village, they
ranged themselves in order, advancing in single file ;
the principal chief or sachem in the middle, preceded
by the arms of the prisoner, which were borne in tri¬
umph. Immediately following the chief walked Ed¬
ward, held by three stout savages, and guarded on
each side by a file of six warriors. When arrived at
the collection of huts, a band of old men, women and
children advanced to meet them ; and after some ma¬
noeuvres which bore a slight appearance towards reg¬
ularity, they formed a circle round the warriors, sing¬
ing, dancing and brandishing above their heads rattles
made of the tails of rattlesnakes. After having re¬
peated their dance three times, the crowd dispersed
and Bradley was conducted by Epenovv, his new mas¬
ter, to a hut and guarded by several Indians chosen
from among those who had not been employed in the
late battle. Epenow sent him bread and venison ;
and a kind-hearted savage whom he had once met and
relieved, when sick near his father’s house, brought
him a garment of furs, which afforded protection from
the cold and damps of the night air.
Worn out with fatigue of body, and jaded in spirit,
Bradley endeavoured to win some repose on being
left to himself Notwithstanding the pain of his wounds
and the feverish state of his blood, he slept soundly
and was awakened at an early hour in the morning by
his guards. They conducted him with much ceremony
to a long hut in which they had kindled a large fire
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
183
and which was now to be the scene of a strange and
fantastic ceremony ; by which, as they informed him,
they would be enabled to divine whether it was agree¬
able to the Great Spirit that he should be saved from
the fate of prisoners in general. Two large mats were
spread upon the ground, upon one of which Edward
was placed, and the guard retired. A few moments
after, rushed in an Indian priest, decorated with furs
and snake-skins, and hideously discoloured with paint
and dyes ; who, after a number of uncouth noises and
strange gesticulations, drew a circle with meal around
the fire. Three others followed the first, and they again
were succeeded by the like number ; who, after they
had performed similar ceremonies, placed themselves
in a line opposite to Bradley, the chief priest being
seated in the middle. A hymn sung to a wfild and
mournful tune, accompanied by the music of their rat¬
tles, being ended, the priest laid down five grains of
corn, and after a short speech deposited three more,
which he continued to do until the fire became entirely
encircled. Sticks were then laid between the divisions
of the corn, and the incantation continued during the
whole day, accompanied with fasting. At night a
plentiful feast was prepared of the best meats, and
they informed Edward that the circle of meal repre¬
sented their country, the circle of corn the sea-shore,
and the sticks the land of his own ancestors ; that the
magic rites had proved fortunate for him, and that it
was determined he should live and work for the sa¬
chem, his present master. His clothes and pocket-
book, containing some writing, were now delivered to
him by Epenow, who seemed to regard with venera¬
tion, and some degree of dread the papers, which he
called the speaking leaves, having himself been once
the bearer < f a letter, and witness to the information
it communicated.
The chief now conducted his prisoner to his own hut,
where sat his wife, and a young and beautiful girl, whom
he called daughter. They brought him water to wash
184
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
his hands, and served him with a hunch of feathers,
as a towel ; after which they dressed his wounds with
skill and tenderness, and having offered him food and
drink, rose and left him for a short time alone. Like
the fatigued and care-worn traveller, when he first
discovers the limpid beauties of a cheerful spring
amid the hot and sandy desert, Edward thought upon
the soft and kindly attentions of the benevolent fe¬
males. The elder was a tall and noble-looking wo¬
man, apparently of great strength, and of command¬
ing manners. An air of dignity and condescension,
mingled with the skill and readiness she exhibited in
binding his hurts. But in the younger, the wild and
unaffected graces of the savage were coloured beauti¬
fully and strangely by a delicacy and bashfullness that
melted with novel and rare felicity in her manner.
Her years could not have been more than sixteen, and
her form, of the common height, was sculptured with
the true and exquisite taste of nature, in her hap¬
piest mood. A rich abundance of glossy, coal black
hair hung in braids, far below her delicate and well-
turned waist ; her eyes, shaded by dark and heavy
lashes, that turned upwards, were mild and liquid ;
and her complexion, approaching the olive, was still
wooed bv the rose that nestled in lovely and capri¬
cious changeableness on her cheek. Her manner was
of delicate softness, and the few sentences she ut¬
tered, in the language of the invalid, were tinged with
the green and woodland graces of her own idiom. No
affected coyness dwelt in her manner, but a full, open,
and innocent freedom, sweetly relieved by the timid
delicacv of her own pure thoughts, ran through all she
did, like a clear, unpolluted rill over green and virgin
lands, hearing rich fertility with its waters. She was
the darling of her parents ; and the stern warrior, as
he gazed on the light and noiseless motions of her
airy figure, seemed to sink the savage in the doting
and admiring father. Like the female ivy, wedded
to the ancient gigantic elm, her light and tender sprays
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
185
clung with close and loving fondness about the rough
unbending trunk of the uncivilized Indian. At times,
with playful fondness, she covered the dark sun-burnt
cheeks of the sachem with her light kisses, the seals of
love, — and he, as if changed by the talisman, became as
soft as the laughing and delicate being that fluttered
about him. As yet smiling, guileless, and pure as the
bud of the chaste tree, the young Haneda had remained
unknown to love and to sorrow. She sang the wild
songs, and joined in the active, picturesque dances of
her country with a blythe heart, and nimble foot ;
while often a fanciful and delicious archness seasoned
her gay talk like the pungent race of a generous wine,
or glistened in the corner of a rich black eye like
sun-beams on the early dew. Tender and gentle-
hearted, rather than spurn the grovelling worm, she
turned aside ; and often wept bitter tears over the cru¬
elties of her barbarous* countrymen. In a word, she
was made to love and to be beloved.
The reflections of Edward, as with a powerful, but
cloudy pencil, he drew the picture of his situation,
and future prospects wore the dark and shadowy
tints of some of those old, rich, and gloomy portraits
that win and fix the attention of the spectator with a
force and sombre pleasure that seems to grow by what
it feeds on. If a flash of hope struck upon the black
melancholy ideas that were conjured by his fancy, —
it was like the rare and narrow touches of light in the
pictures, only serving to make the dark and obscure
masses of shade more distinct. His temperament
thoughtful and sad at all times, led him to dwell upon
the frowning, rather than the smiling hues, and he
now looked forward towards the future, if not with
despondence, at least with little hope. His wounds
and bruises, which till now he had somewhat disre¬
garded, began to give acute and unceasing pain. His
skin became hot and parched, and the unerring symp¬
toms of fever already crept through his swelled and
aching veins. Weak and trembling, he was forced to
186
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
lie down on the skins which covered a corner of the
hut ; and when, after the absence of an hour, the two
females, and the chief returned, was tormented with
the thirst and pains of a raging fever. The women
when they approached, gazed on his flushed cheek
and inflamed eye, and watched the involuntary start¬
ing and motion of his limbs, looked distressed and pi¬
tiful. They addressed the sachem, pointing to the
prisoner, and appeared deeply and unaffectedly inte¬
rested in his situation. The Indian gazed for a mo¬
ment with a stern and savage air at the suffering man ;
but his daughter, gliding towards him, gently placed
her two hands on his shoulders, and looking wistfully
in his face, spoke to him in their own tongue ; he soft¬
ened, smiled, and patting her on the head, nodded as¬
sent. She fondled on the warrior for a moment with
delight, kissed his cheek, and as he left the hut, ad¬
vanced towards Bradley.
“ We will nurse the faint and wounded whitv man,”
said the blushing and artless girl. u When he has
drunk of the Indian cup he will be strong again, and
bound like the wild deer, or like laughing Haneda,
when she flies through the green prairie, following
the light fawn.” She took his hand, and placing her
own on his hot and throbbing temples, she started as
she turned, and motioned to her mother to advance,
and learn the state of the invalid. The matron touch¬
ed his heated skin, and directing her daughter, by a
gesture, to remain, she left the apartment, apparently
for the purpose of preparing relief for the sufferer.
When left alone with Edward, the pretty Haneda
seemed to feel no awkward embarrassment. With
light and fairy steps she hovered about his lowly
couch ; placed the skins in the best form to afford him
ease ; and at length seating herself on the earth, she
gently laid his head upon her lap, and commenced
chafing his swoln and burning temples. There was
an air of sweet purity and feminine softness in her
manner that had something almost unearthly in it.
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
187
And Bradley, as he silently, and in the agony of pain,
gazed at times on the lovely and innocent being, he
thought of the pure and beautiful spirits, described in
the mythology of her fathers.
When the mother returned, she brought with her
a draught, which the sick man drank, and in a short
time, after being thrown into profuse perspiration, he
fell into a long and tranquil slumber. On awaking,
he felt relieved from the acute and terrible pains he
had before experienced ; but he still continued weak,
languid, and from the swelling of his feet, and the
state of his wounds and bruises, unable to walk with¬
out assistance. During the many days that Edward
lay upon the bed of pain, the young Ilaneda devoted
her time and exertions to the amusement of her pri¬
soner. Her store of gay and plaintive songs, and the
wild and superstitious legends of her ancestors were
all exhausted in shortening the hours of confinement.
She seemed to gaze with a mixture of devotion and
love upon Bradley ; and perhaps not aware of its na¬
ture or name, she suffered the novel and absorbing-
power of the latter passion to sink with its deceptive
beguiiings deep into her heart. Though the barb had
struck, and profoundly too, the wound had not yet
rankled, and the poor girl still danced and sang,
while the wreathed smiles kept their home about her
lips. Among her numerous devices to wile away
the time, and amuse the prisoner, were the singular
dances of her country'. The Sachem Epenow, aware
that the exhausted state of Bradley’s health, and his
unhealed hurts prevented all attempts at escape, left
him entirely at liberty; and, assisted by Haneda, Ed¬
ward frequently walked a few yards into the forest
adjoining the huts, where, seated on the grass, he wit¬
nessed the gambols and dances of the Indian girls.
Sometimes, to the number of thirty, they suddenly
appeared emerging from the wood, bound with gir¬
dles of green leaves, and their skins painted with fan¬
tastic variety of hues. The tallest and most active,
183
TIIE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
with a pair of buck’s horns on her head, an otter’s
skin as a girdle, and another on one arm, holding a
bow and arrow in her hand, and a quiver hanging at
her back, appeared as leader to the band. Her fol¬
lowers bore horns on their brows, and wooden swords
or staves in their hands, and thus accoutred, with
songs and antic gestures, forming a circle, danced
round the invalid.
One evening as Edward reclined upon his bed of
skins, and watched the skill and ingenuity with which .
the Indian women, mother, and daughter plaited the
long dried grass into a variety of forms and party-co¬
loured devices, the chief, Epenow, suddenly entered
the cabin, on his return from hunting. He looked fa¬
tigued and feverish, declined the refreshment offered
by the females, and throwing himself down in a cor¬
ner of the hut, remained silent and evidently labour¬
ing under pain and indisposition. His wife and daugh¬
ter looked at each other with concern and anxiety,—
but neither spoke to the sachem, who continued quiet
and reserved, suffering his pains, whatever they might
be, without complaint, or exhibiting any sign of la¬
mentation. Quitting the apartment, at a motion from
her mother, Haneda quickly returned with a cup, and
a sharp and pointed flint, which' she delivered to the
former. Approaching her husband, the woman seat¬
ed herself on the floor by his side, bound one of her
arms with a thong of deer-skin, and opening a vein in
her arm, she suffered about a pint of blood to flow
into the vessel. Having stopped the stream, she
smiled, and raising the head of the savage, who had
taken no notice of what was passing, she delivered the
cup to him. He sat up, carried the vessel to his lips,
and, without ceasing, drank the contents. He then
rose, and followed by his wife, retired to his own
hut.
Edward had gazed with much curosity, and some
disgust at this extraordinary proceeding, at which,
however, Haneda exhibited neither surprise, nor any
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
189
unusual excitement. She appeared to watch her fa¬
ther with much interest, and as the mother retired,
the affectionate girl, silently embraced her, but showed
no dissatisfaction at what had just occurred.
“ In the name of Heaven, my kind nurse, what can
this horrid ceremony mean ?” said Edward.
The Indian exhibited some astonishment at the ear¬
nestness with which the question was asked, and said,
“ When the earth is dry and parched, the Good Spirit
sends the fresh and wholesome rain to restore its
healthfulness. And so when the red warrior sinks
under pain, and fever, and feebleness, the good matron
turns the pure and cooling rivulet of her own life-
stream into the hot and diseased veins of him she
loves. It lends new vigour, and the deep river from
the sachem’s heart will flow gladly and clearly from
the mixture. Would not the fair and beautiful brides
of the pale chiefs, think ye, do as much ? It is one of
'the delights of marriage, and cheerfully would my fa¬
ther do the like for her he loves. If Haneda’s blood
could carry balm and comfort with it to those she
loves, the crimson rill should flow from the deepest,
most secret fountains of the heart. Tou would not
have tasted the cup, or her veins would, long since,
have furnished the draught for you.”
The beautiful savage, as if unconscious of what she
did, took the hand of Edward, smiling mournfully as
she did so, carried it to her heart, pressed it for a
moment ; when suddenly blushing, she relinquished
her hold on it, and casting down her eyes, seated her¬
self at some distance. She did not appear aware of
having done any thing improper or indelicate ; but
some powerful feeling suddenly rushed through her
bosom, and the spotless delicacy of a young and un¬
corrupted female heart irresistibly dictated to her, at
the moment, and perhaps for the first time, that she
had been too familiar. She sat for some moments in
gloomy silence ; a conduct unusual with her, for hi¬
therto filled to the brim with joy arid cheerfulness,
R 2
190 THE WITGH OF NEW ENGLAND.
her young, innocent, and 'unsuspecting bosom had
poured out the overflowings of its content and mirth
with lavish and refreshing plentifullness. Was she,
for the first time, aware of the nature of her new
feelings ? And did she, with the innate and unearthly
whiteness of a virgin heart, now only discover that
she loved ?
Bradley, with deep concern, advanced towards the
lovely and interesting girl, while in warm and glow¬
ing terms he painted the gratitude he felt for her un¬
ceasing and devoted attendance upon him. To a
manner and voice highly persuasive, he joined, when
much excited, that ardent and burning force of ex¬
pression, which, while it witnesses for the feelings of
the speaker, seldom fails to seize the attention of the
hearer. Haneda listened with evident and unrestrain¬
ed pleasure to the effusions of his thankfuilness. The
sound of his voice, alone, seemed to afford her de¬
light ; and when he touched upon the effect her
kindness and devotedness had produced upon his own
heart, and asserted that the remembrance of her would
linger there for ever, she hung with eager and undis¬
guised pleasure upon every accent. The idea that
her image, in case of a separation, would live in his
memory, evidently soothed the pain arising from the
sudden and novel sensations which engrossed her
mind.
The idea of a possible separation, now, for the first
time, struck her ; and the pain it caused had awakened
a sense of the state of her heart. She had ascertained
that she loved the stranger ; and the suddenness of
the knowledge, together with the mental assurance
that a return of affection was not to be expected, over¬
whelmed her. She rose, said a few words in a low
tone, in answer to Edward ; but her voice falter¬
ing, she became again silent, then, forcing a languid
smile, she moved towards the door. But nature was
not to be controlled by so young and artless an ac¬
tress. Before she could reach the threshold she sob-
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
191
bed violently, and covering her face with her hands,
wept bitterly, and rushed from the hut.
Bradley was no coxcomb ; yet it was now impos¬
sible for him to doubt what before he had never
dreamt. The innocent and beautiful Indian, plainly
loved him ; and he felt a degree of shame tinge his
cheek, as he reflected, that he could not return her
pure and devoted affection. When a spotless and
ardent female bosom receives, for the first an^ji only
time, this fierce and devouring passion, it is not only,
a more unsullied and noble feeling, but one in¬
finitely more powerful than any that exalts or disgra¬
ces man : — that daring being, who affirms, with proud
impiety, that his own grovelling image has been
formed in the likeness of his Creator.
192
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
CHAPTER XVI.
We parted and she hung
In tearless horror on the wild adieu :
And every hour grew,
Paler and sadder as she swan-like sung.
She wasted daily now ;
Waning like lamps sepulchral when unfed
In chambers of the dead ;
While the cold damps of death slept on her brow
At last she smiled and died,
Naming her lover’s name with latest breath,
And melting into death,
As purest spirits into Edenglide.
Anonymous.
Autumn had now arrived and drawn on her cloak
of many colours. The forest was dyed with innum¬
erable hues, and the dark venerable russet of the aged
oak was strikingly contrasted with the deep crimson,
green, purple and orange which brightened and col¬
oured the surrounding trees. The air was pure, re¬
freshing and full of balm, and wandered through the
endless forest with quiet and melancholy sound. The
ground was carpeted with the bright foliage that rus¬
tled under the foot of the hunter or the deer ; and as
a burst of gentle wind shook the light boughs, showers
of party-coloured leaves darkened the air. The long
ridge of majestic hills bounding the prospect from the
Indian village, rose from the deep valleys up to the
clouds, and on their dark blue tops and sides the
light haze might be seen during the greater part of
the day. Rocks and precipices that during the sum¬
mer were invisible, now, as the woods were less
dense, appeared in the distance : and the sun as it de¬
clined towards the horizon bathed the clouds and
mountains in a sea of colours as sublime and beauti-
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
193
ful as they were full of change. After the ocean,
there exists no sight so grand, — none that so affects
the mind with the idea of nature’s vastness and man’s
feebleness, — as that interminable main of waving
forests, when viewed from some commanding and
solitary height. And yet how soon this mighty har¬
vest of noble plants melts away before the torch and
the axe of diminutive man.
Hitherto Bradley had been suffered by his Indian
master to remain unguarded and unconfined. His
wounds and the hurts upon his feet, together with the
feebleness which followed his fever, had left him ut¬
terly incapable of attempting escape ; and his wily
owner entertaining no suspicion, had pursued his
usual sports and mode of life, without giving much
attention to his captive. The slow hours passed
with the same lagging pace and as strength and health
began, once more, to dawn, the hope and idea of
flight again swelled the heart of Edward. The soft
and feminine Haneda still lavished her time and
kindness upon him ; and while her deep and immac¬
ulate passion called for his gratitude, he felt that
kindness to her as well as selfish wishes urged him to
attempt escape from his harrassing situation. The
Indian maid lived apparently contented while em¬
ployed in conducing to his relief or comfort ; and in
the beautiful phrase of a delightful old poet,
. “ She, full of bashfulness and truth,
“Loved much, hoped little and desired naught.”
Pleased and happy to be near him, she asked nothing
but permission to watch and provide for bis wants,—
to hover about him and anticipate his wishes, — in a
word, to gaze at and to hear him. The mind of the
prisoner, naturally active, had dwelt for some time
upon the prospect of escape. Difficulties almost in¬
surmountable constantly presented themselves, yet
still hope held out her lures and with her wanton flat-
' tery kept alive the spirit of adventure. Aware that
194
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
the suspicions of the Sachem Epenow would be in¬
stantly roused, should he once appear capable of ef¬
fecting a flight, Bradley resolved to continue, at least
in outward show, a helpless invalid. He seldom
moved from his cabin and then only for a short dis¬
tance ; and when he walked, affected the weakness
and lameness of one who still laboured under un¬
cured wounds.
The effect of confinement and anxiety, however,
began to appear. The pale cheek and languid eye,
the thoughtful brow and pensive air, could not pass
unheeded by the watchful and devoted Haneda. She
beheld them, — and for some time gazed with pity and
alarm without divining the cause. N?w exertions
were made to amuse, and the simple science of In¬
dian cures was studied and exhausted without suc¬
cess. The gloom of the patient became catching, —
and the young girl wasted and pined in secret over
the pallid figure of him whom she now felt was all the
world to her. In one of her solitary musings the
truth suddenly flashed across her mind. She started
as if thunderstruck, the blood flowed impetuously to
her cheeks and temples, — and as suddenly rolled back
into her heart, cold and striking through her remo¬
test veins a chill, unwholesome thrilling. To part
from him, even as he was, would she felt be as death
to her ; and for some moments the enamoured savage
clung to the hope that time and gratitude would at
last prove the parents of a softer passion. She re¬
solved to prevent his departure. Hints and expres¬
sions that had formerly fallen from Edward, — now
flashed with new light and meaning upon the simple
and uncultivated mind of the young Indian, — and she
felt and acknowledged to herself, that the man she
loved could be happy only with his own countrymen
and away from her. But to be near him was now
her chief, — indeed only delight, — and to part with
that solitary happiness was too terrible for a fond and
devoted heart* She vowed to consecrate her mo-
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
195
merits and exertions to alleviating the pains of his
confinement ; — but to suffer him to quit her for ever,
appeared more like a vision than a thing to be con¬
sented to or even anticipated. With the deceitful
and lulling pleading of passion she laid asleep the ar¬
guments that justice and even delicacy had awakened
in her young and pure bosom. Resolved, but dis¬
contented with herself ; unhappy in the very act
which held out the prospect of felicity ; and with her
tender heart made for love, and loving even to over¬
flowing, but running waste unblessed by hope, the
graceful and delicate Haneda wandered sleepless and
miserable. In solitude she wept and with Bradley
she was silent, restless and gloomy. His solicitude
and attentions towards her, in lieu of affording rap¬
ture as formerly, distressed and confused her ; and
miserable when absent, she now trembled at finding
that even when beside him she was no longer conten¬
ted and happy. She daily became more wretched
and the damp of deferred hope and death was settling
fast upon her heart.
. ..I . . Thus many die.
Calmly and quiet as young roses fade,
Leaf paling after leaf, and still no aid.
These fearful feelings continued to harrass the noble-
minded girl for more than a week. At length mad¬
dened by her own thoughts, and wrought to the mag¬
nanimous but cruel resolution by the gentle, pure,
though deep passion which engrossed her sleeping
and wakeful moments, she determined to part with
Bradley and to aid his escape. Her love inducing
her to sacrifice itself upon its own altar.
It was one of those beautiful and quiet evenings
that attend on the fall of the leaf, when scarcely the
echo of a sound was to be heard. The limbs of the
forest were almost stript and the huge boughs of the
old and gigantic trees stretched their knotted and
skeleton arms in gloomy nakedness, as if to catch the
196
TIIE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
last warm rays of the sinking sun. The air was fresh,
but soft, — and bore a kindly warmth that made it dou¬
bly grateful. Haneda and Bradley had been sitting
at the front of the cabin, for some time, in silence.
As the last streaks of the light disappeared, the In¬
dian maid turned to her companion and looking on the
ground, said,
“ The thoughts of the white chief are not dwelling
in the direction of those rich clouds, though his eyes
are fixed upon them. Where the great light rises
there live his memory and his love. ’Tis certain
they never can die; Haneda feels that they cannot die.”
“ It is true, my kind nurse,” said Edward, w the
thoughts of the captive will wander towards the home
of his youth, — it is, perhaps, the only pleasure of the
prisoner, separated from those he loves, to visit in im¬
agination, at least, the friends who mourn over his
loss. But I have had much to solace the pains of
confinement and should I ever again join my friends,
the recollection of your unequalled kindness and
friendship will never escape from my heart.”
The girl smiled faintly as he uttered these words.
But immediately her face assumed an expression of
dignity and firmness, that Bradley had never before
observed on it ; — its general character being of the
most gentle and timid nature. Some powerful and
engrossing idea filled her mind, and rising, she
advanced towards Edward and said in a low but firm
voice,
u I know your wishes ; — you cannot be happy with
the redmen, — even with the friends of Haneda. You
must fly, — and the sachem’s daughter shall assist in
your escape.”
Bradley gazed with delight and reverence upon the
heroic and lovely maid. He seized her hand and
covering it with kisses endeavoured to pour out his
grateful feelings. The Indian, for a moment, was
overpowered, and abandoning her hand to him, the
bright flu$h of rapture stole over her cheek and dyed
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
191
her temples and forehead with its deep hues. But
suddenly she awoke from the trance. To the warm
blush succeeded a deadly paleness, — and withdrawing
her hand, abruptly, she pressed it strongly against her
brows and staggering towards the cabin of her mo¬
ther, she disappeared.
Haneda did not appear again, and Edward passed
the night filled with admiration and gratitude towards
the generous savage, and with the delicious hope that
he should again taste of liberty and mingle with the
friends of his childhood. On the following morning
his benefactress appeared, languid, but with a smile,
(as she greeted him,) that looked combined of love
and resignation. She busied herself with more than
ordinary alacrity in contributing to his convenience,
and arranged the little delicacies which her care and
skill had provided for his morning meal, with even
deeper interest than on former occasions. Having
prepared his breakfast, she retired to a corner of the
hut, and as he eat, sang one of her songs, the air of
which was mournful in the extreme, and seemed cho¬
sen by the youthful songstress as emblematic of her
own future prospects. When he had finished, she
advanced and informed him she had fixed on the en¬
suing night for his flight. The chief, her father, was
now absent on a hunting expedition, accompanied by
all or most of the able-bodied Indians, and the fa¬
vourable opportunity was not to be lost. She sat
down close to the side of Bradley and drawing from
her bosom a piece of smooth and polished bark, on
which she had marked the bends, windings and fords
of the neighbouring rivers, she proceeded to instruct
him in the route most eligible for him to pursue. She
advised him to follow the course of the stream, as it
would conduct him, without the hazard of being lost
in the forest, to the nearest settlement of the whites.
Though longer than the route by which he had ar¬
rived at the Indian village, the fond and' considerate
girl had naturally concluded, that during his suffer-
s
198
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
ings on the late march- the prisoner had taken but
slight notice of the road he pursued. She, therefore,
with precise and reiterated instructions endeavoured
to make him master of the difficulties and dangers of
his intended journey.
Deeply impressed with reverence and gratitude to¬
wards his benefactress, Edward gazed with a feeling
of delight and respect upon her youthful and noble
features, beaming, as they were, with an expression
full of pure and devoted attachment to the man she
was about to say bye well to for ever. She seldom
left him during the remainder of the day, and with
some delicate and affectionate design constantly hov¬
ered about him. She had prepared a supply of pro¬
visions and having furnished him with a pair of mo-
casons, ornamented by her own hands, and an Indian
spear to protect him through the forest, she with deep
but hidden anguish awaited the approach of night.
The hour so anxiously expected, at length arrived.
Her mother had retired to rest. In the neighbouring
cabins every sound was hushed. As the bright moon
began to light the top of the hills and brighten the
thin clouds that passed slowly over their summits,
Edward, restless with impatience, heard a light, rapid
step and the door of the hut opening, Haneda entered.
She did not speak, but observing that Bradley ap- j
peared ready, she beckoned to him, and as he fol- I
lowed, proceeded with noiseless and careful steps to- 1
wards the forest. When they had reached the woods, ]
she turned towards her companion, and as the moon, l
now risen, shone upon her face, the large, heavy tears 1
rolled down her cheeks. Edward took her hand and \
pressed it repeatedly to his lips. Then as if his own 1
heart was too full for many words, he said in a low
voice,
“ And now, my beautiful and incomparable friend, 1
nothing remains but for me to invoke a blessing upon j
thee and then to part.5’
“Ah! me! and that will he a fearful act for the
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
199
poor Indian girl,” said Haneda. “ It is harder even
than I thought it. And yet the very thought has
broken and crushed a very young and once a very
smiling heart.”
The situation of Bradley was one full of torment.
He felt distressed and humbled to the earth, — but he
remained silent. He carried the hand of his com¬
panion many times to his lips and forehead, and sev¬
eral hot tears fell upon it. She perceived them and
said.
w Before we say farewell I will lead the pale war¬
rior some little distance farther. Under that vast and
branching tree, whose green habit the autumn winds
have stript from it, we will say the word. Nay, do
not move so quickly, for when that little space has
been past, Haneda will never look upon the great
forest again with delight. That little word farewell,
is very, very full of anguish, and if we put it but
a few steps farther off it seems a blessing.”
When they had reached the tree, the young girl
suddenly stopped and trembled violently. Ed-
%vard was obliged to support her drooping figure, —
and put his hrm gently round her waist. But she
started as he did so and put away his arm, leaning
for a moment against the tree. Then, as if by a vio¬
lent and instantaneous exertion she advanced towards
him, presented her cheek which he saluted, and say¬
ing, feebly,
“ May the Great Spirit protect you, farewell !
farewell !”
She signed to him to leave her. With a sorrowful
heart he obeyed, and turned his steps in the direction
towards the river. After walking some distance, led
by an irresistible feeling, he stopt and looked back at
the interesting being he had just quitted. She was
standing in an attitude of hopeless despair, watching
his retreating figure- As he halted, she started,
waved her hand towards him, then pressing it against
200
THE WITCH OF XEW ENGLAND.
her eyes, she suddenly fled towards the Indian village
and disappeared for ever.
With rapid steps, but a heavy heart, Edward pur¬
sued his route through the thick wood. The image of
the charming but uncultivated female he had just left
hung perpetually before his eyes ; and with the way¬
ward feeling so common to man, he mourned the ab¬
sence of one, who but a few moments before, he
wished never again to behold. With a hunter’s saga-
city, guided by the stars, the bark of the trees and
other arcana, known to the rambling inhabitants of a
new and wild couutry, he pursued the course which
was to lead him to the banks of the river. The light
afforded by the moon was beautiful, and the long sha¬
dows of the trees appeared darkly and distinctly
marked upon the ground, where even the few leaves
that still clothed their branches were shadowed and
defined. He travelled for some hours without en¬
countering any living animal, though the distant howl
of the wolf or the cry of the wild-cat often broke the si¬
lence of the scene around him. Once or twice, indeed,
he distinguished the shadow of some animal moving
covertly among the bushes and thickets, — but as if
fearful of approaching nearer, the hungry and prowl¬
ing inhabitant of the wood slunk away with a low in¬
distinct and angry growl.
At length as the day began to dart his warm and
glistening rays through the forest, spangling with
millions of brilliant drops the branches and high grass
of the wood, he distinguished the sullen roar of the
rapids and in a short time arrived at the bank of the
river. The stream here was neither bread nor deep;
but dashed over its rocky and shelving bed with loud
and unceasing roar, covered with a white foam, which
ascended in thick mist. The ground was clothed
with trees to the very edge of the water, and along
the shore, thick and entangled bushes made the route
difficult and at times impossible to be followed. He
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
201
was, now, frequently obliged to strike some distance
into the forest in order to pursue the course of the
river, and found the travelling harrassing and fatigue-
ing in the extreme. The life of confinement he had
lately led rendered him less capable of bearing fatigue
and he began to suffer pain and lassitude before many
hours of the morning had passed. Consulting the
bark, upon which Haneda had drawn the various
bends of the river, he at length reached the spot
which she had described as the ford. Plunging into
the dark and angry looking stream, which reached
to his bosom, he passed to the opposite shore,,
and as he once again mounted the bank blessed,
his benefactress, and with renewed exertions ad¬
vanced on his way homewards. He thought, now,
that could he once reach the village after his perils
and escape and pursue again the life he had formerly
disdained, that he should have nothing to complain
of, — nothing to desire. He was returning a wiser
and perhaps a better man. Adversity teaches sore
lessons, — and if her eloquence be harsh and unmu¬
sical, her maxims are golden. The image of the In¬
dian girl still played before his mind’s eye ; and the
sweet, silent eloquence and voiceless persuasion that
pleaded in her look, when he last gazed at her, haun¬
ted him without cessation. He did not love her and
still she was the most interesting being he had ever
known. Perhaps the silent flame was on the eve of
being kindled and the cold, damp breath of pride had
extinguished the latent spark for ever. By pride man
wins hell as angels lost heaven.
With perseverence but with strength that rapidly
decreased, Edward pursued his difficult way. Com¬
pletely exhausted, he twice during the day halted and
endeavoured to recover his worn out force, but Avith-
out success; and as evening came on and he had
already reached the road that led to the village, (not
many miles ofl',) he became faint, sick and tho-
roughlv worn out. He still attempted to walk on, ho-
s 2
202
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
ping that some chance traveller might meet and af¬
ford him assistance ; or that, upheld by the energy
of his feelings, his sinews would yet serve him till he
reached the dwelling of some white inhabitant of the
country. The road, if indeed the narrow and rugged
path might so be termed, wandered with erring and
intricate mazes through a low, flat country, where the
woods had been partially burned, and the black stumps
and dreary face of the land gave the whole scene
a desolate, barren and cheerless appearance. The
feelings of the traveller as he slowly and feebly tot¬
tered along became gloomy in proportion as his limbs
refused to do their office. He was now almost ar¬
rived at the end of his disastrous pilgrimage ; home
already gladdened his heart as he saw it in imagina¬
tion ; and now when on the threshold, as it were, he
was condemned to sink and abandon it for ever. The
thought of dying" in such a spot and at such a time,
as his eye glanced around and took in the wild, sad
and comfortless scene about him, struck with a cold¬
ness and disgustful dampness upon his heart, that the
idea of death had never before, even in times more
perilous, conjured to his fancy. Death is most terri¬
ble amid loneliness and silence. And when his feeble
and decrepid victim is condemned to watch his slow
blow, unwitnessed and unmourned, the proudest and
haughtiest spirit droops before the lingering and long
anticipated stroke. With melancholy forebodings
Bradley continued to totter along the path ; — but sud¬
denly his head became giddy, a mist played before
his eyes and staggering forwards, with a groan, he
sunk lifeless on the ground.
While the inanimate body lay upon the cold earth
two travellers on horseback slowly advanced from
that end of the road which led to the nearest sea-port
town, and seemed pursuing their way towards the
neighbouring village. They proved to be a lady at¬
tended by a stout, middle-aged man, dressed in the
round jacket and loose trowsers of a sailor, and who
THE WITCH OP NEW ENGLAND.
203
from the manner in which he sat upon his horse exhi¬
bited evident signs of his entire ignorance of the no¬
ble equestrian art. The female was young, clad in a
riding habit of black cloth and, from the air of atten¬
tion and respect with which she was treated by her
companion, seemed of the higher or richer order of
society. As they approached, the animal which the
man bestrode, started and showed decisive signs of
restiveness and unwillingness to proceed. He was
in advance of the lady, and his rider utterly unable
either .to restrain or guide him, as soon as he beheld
the body of a man, lying by the side of the road, and
at which the horse had been alarmed, immediately
dismounted. Indeed he seized with avidity upon
any circumstance that afforded a tolerable excuse for
relieving him from a situation in which he was alike
unskillful and miserable. The lady was much shocked
at the sight, and having halted, watched with deep emo¬
tion, while her fellow-traveller advanced to ascertain
the condition of the unfortunate Bradley. The stran¬
ger as he raised the body in his arms and felt the
heart, turned eagerly towards the female and ex¬
claimed,
“ He’s not dead yet, Ma’am, and it’s likely, by good
luck in our coming, may live many days to come,—
for all, it’s nearly over with him.”
u Thank Heaven,” answered the other, u it is a hor¬
rid place to die in (shuddering as she looked around
on the desert and blasted scene.) Pray assist me to
dismount, and we may revive the unhappy man.”
“ I’ll do that for you,” said the sailor, u if you arc
as ready to get down as I was, I wish you much joy
of the descent, young lady.”
As the seaman raised Bradley’s head, the female
began to chafe his temples, and directed her compa¬
nion to loosen the black handkerchief about his neck.
He did so, but smiling with much drollery, he drew
from his pocket a bottle covered with leather, which
he applied to the mouth of the inanimate man, say-
204 THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
ing at the same time, it was approved medicine in
almost all cases that had come within his practice.
“ He is some unfortunate hunter,” said the lady, as
she looked at the dress, and saw the spear which lay
by the side of Edward ; “ and from his pale and ema¬
ciated appearance, no doubt, he has been long among
these dreadful and intermineable forests. Is not part
of his dress in the Indian style ? And he wears the
shoes of the savages.”
“He has a pair of handsome, blue mustachios, too,”
said the sailor, “ but they are not the fashion among
the red sportsmen. It’s most likely the poor fellow
was returning from a hunting expedition, and his
strength has given out just as he was almost in a
snug harbour. Ha ! look there Ma’am, see, the blood
is just beginning to give his white cheeks a little of
the colour that ’s so pretty in your own.”
The female, as she hung over the body of Edward,
watched with intense interest for the first appearance
of returning animation. She was evidently deeply
affected, and as she gazed on the fine features and
commanding form before her, pity and anxiety for the
event of his recovery appeared to absorb her entirely.
The cordial which the seaman had administered, and
which the reader will probably have concluded, had
been provided for a different purpose, began to show
its power in restoring life to the patient. The latter
had been exhausted by extreme fatigue, which, in the
debilitated state of his body, had brought on a faint¬
ing fit; and the brandy, which had been copiously ad¬
ministered, speedily produced a happy, though not its
most common effect.
When Bradley Hoovered his senses, he stared wildly
about him for a moment with the air of a dreamer,
suddenly awakened. He raised himself slowly, and
fixing his eyes stedfastly upon the beautiful creature
before him, watched her as some lovely vision, which
was in a moment to disappear. His intense gaze
brought a deep blush into the cheeks of the lady, who.
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND. 205
though exhibiting unequivocal signs of delight at his
recovery, suddenly rose from her knee, on which she
had been kneeling, and turned away in confusion.
Her companion now addressed Edward, and after con¬
gratulating him upon his restoration, entered into a short
and humorous account of the manner of their meet-
ing, giving him to understand that to his own skill
and foresight, and the kindness of fortune, he was in¬
debted for his return to life. Bradley, much recruited
by the cordial of his worthy assistant, rose, and ad¬
vancing towards the fair and benevolent being who
had so strongly attracted his attention, in warm and
eloquent terms poured out his gratitude. With a grace
and timid modesty that heightened her beauty, the
lovely young girl received his acknowledgments,
which were at length interrupted by her fellow-tra¬
veller, who notified the approach of evening, and re¬
commended the prosecution of their journey. It now
appeared that the strangers were on their way to the
village, towards which Edward had also been turning
his steps. There was an air and manner about the
latter person that immediately proclaimed the gentle¬
man, and irresistibly led most of those who beheld
him, for the first time, to take an interest in his wel¬
fare. He had perceptibly awakened this feeling in
his new acquaintances, and it was proposed by the
seaman, after he had said a few words in an under
tone to the lady, that they all should proceed to the
village together. lie added, at the same time, with
a queer smile, «nd a slight blush on his sun-burnt
face, that he would relinquish his horse to the sick
traveller, and walk by his side. To this Bradley ob¬
jected, until observing that the o&er party was evi¬
dently uneasy at the idea of remounting his horse af¬
ter his late alarm, he took possession of his seat, and
the party proceeded on their road.
As they passed along, the conversation naturally
turned upon the late situation of Bradley; who now
gave a short account of his captivity and escape. The
206
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
female listened with avidity to the recital, and alreadv
prepossessed in favour of the stranger, the novel and
romantic incidents of his adventure rivited her atten¬
tion, and increased the interest she already felt in his
behalf. Flattered by the evident concern he had roused
in the bosom of his auditor, Edward, as he continued
to listen to, or gaze at his fellow-traveller, began,
himself, to entertain a like feeling towards her. Such
are the workings of gratified vanity, adventitiously
aided by time and events. Nor was this suddenly
excited feeling decreased in either bosom, when, in
the course of conversation, it appeared that the lady
was none other than the daughter of his friend of the
cave, and was now on her way to the dwelling of his
father. To large eyes of a deep blue, fringed with
long black eye-lashes, she joined a rich abundance of
dark glossy hair,, which played in beautiful disorder
over a forehead and cheeks of truly feminine white¬
ness. With a soft voice, she possessed a manner full
of confiding, and artless grace that irresistibly won
and held the attention. In short, she was of rare
beauty, and enhanced the value of the jewel she pos¬
sessed, by appearing totally unaware of its costly
value.
The village was at length reached, the parsonage
entered, and Edward again clasped in his arms the
companions of his youth. The austere, but venerable
looking clergyman, silently adored his God, in grati¬
tude for the restoration of his son ; Chesterley, with
boisterous and hearty delight, wrung the hands of his
friend; and the gentle Agnes wept in undissembled
and uncontrolled tenderness upon the bosom of her
brother. He appeared as one who had broken the
cearments of the grave, and burst unexpectedly upon
the sight of sorrowing friends. Such sudden and un¬
looked for meetings make young hearts swell and
overflow ; and the almost ossified veins of age dilate
and soften with the warm stream that is driven ra¬
pidly through them.
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
207
The strangers were presented and welcomed as the
friends of Edward. The lady had been expected,
for although neither Chesterly nor the Bradley family
knew of the inhabitant of the cave, they were not ig¬
norant that a relative of one of Edward’s friends was
to be, for a short time, an inmate of their house.
Much was to be told and heard by all. Chesterly re¬
lated that after the close of the battle, and the flight
of the Indians, the whites remained too much fatigued,
and had suffered too great loss to follow far in the
pursuit. Bradley they supposed was murdered, and
borne off by the savages in triumph, as one of the
white men had seen him thrown down, and then drag¬
ged from the field by an Indian warrior. For himself,
he had remained after the combat with Samoset, too
much reduced by pain, and the loss of blood, to move
from the spot where he had thrown himself, and was *
in the evening carried from the field by some of his
fellow-soldiers.
On the morning after his return, filled with impa¬
tience to announce to his aged friend the glad tidings
of his daughter’s arrival, Edward left his father’s
house, and hastened towards the forest. On his way
he stopped at the cabin of Uncas, who forgot his In¬
dian phlegm in the delight with which he welcomed
the re-appearance of his young friend. The faithful
and noble-hearted savage had continued to supply the
wants of the recluse ; and now accompanied Bradley
towards the dreary dwelling of their mutual acquaint¬
ance. With hearts at ease they pursued their route
rapidly through the woods, and at length came in
sight of the dark and entangled thicket, that nearly
covered the entrance of the cavern. As they entered,
they observed the old man deeply intent upon bis
book ; so firmly indeed did his attention appear to be
fixed upon bis studies, that he seemed ignorant of
their approach. Edward advanced, and with the gay
' tones of a happy man saluted his friend, taking at the
same time his hand, which lay upon the table before
208
TIIE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
him. But as if he had touched an adder, he relin¬
quished his hold, and started hack with unfeigned
horror. The hand was cold and clammv. Its owner
was dead.
The same mild placidity that had dwelt upon the
living features, haunted their palid ruins. The eyes
were closed as if in sleep. But about the mouth a
smile still remained, loth to quit a spot where it had
lived so long. The body was erect, and the spirit
must have fled suddenly, and without disturbing the
venerable mansion over which it had so long presided.
Edward wept, and .was not ashamed to weep ; and the
Indian wrung hi* hands and groaned aloud, in the
bitterness of his sorrow. Thus died, and thus was
mourned, Whalley, one of the fearless judges of
Charles I. of England. A plain stone, with the ini¬
tials E. W., is still traditionally supposed to mark the
grave of General Whalley, in the old church-yard.
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
209
CHAPTER XVII.
The thirsty camel snuffs the far-off spring;
Following the pest the boding raven flies;
And heartless man is found where blood ’s to flow—
Since aneient Lilith’s day ’t hath been his sport
To gloat on others’ wo.
Anonymous.
When the Witch quitted the scene of the combat
she retired slow and dogged, as if loath to lose sight
of blood and pain, and followed with reluctant
steps a small party of Indians, who fled in a di¬
rection different from that taken by the captors of
Bradley. Her irritable and restless temper soon led
her to look with contempt and disgust upon her new
companions. Friends who have sworn eternal affec¬
tion and during long periods have worn but one heart,
will upon the dissention for a nothing, steep their
friendship in forgetfulness and plant in its stead a bit¬
ter, an irreconcileable enmity. And foes, who but
yesterday could have thought shrewdly upon recipro¬
cal murder, will upon the shallow foundation of a
sudden whim build a strong and durable intimacy.
Thus Annie, who had lately endowed her red friends
with every virtue, suddenly discovered that they pos¬
sessed every vice. She became uneasy and discon¬
tented ; and finally, with her rapid and habitual de¬
cision, she determined to quit her new associates.
Wandering, for some time, without any decided
purpose, at length, urged by fate or the power of
former associations, she turned her steps towards the
hovel which had lately sheltered her. Upon entering
the foul and deserted cabin, she smiled grimly as her
eye, for a moment, rested upon the disgusting and
T
210
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
clotted evidences of her late crime. The body of
the old hunter had disappeared, but the ground was
still covered with his blood and parcels of his hair ;
while the marks of his fearful and dying struggles
were still to be seen. She appeared to feel neither
horror nor contrition at the exhibition before her,—
but seating herself upon the log, resumed her ha¬
bit of nervous and incessant swinging backward and
forward, occasionally talking to herself. While in
this situation and absorbed by the powerful workings
of her sleepless mind, her attention was suddenly ar¬
rested by a slight noise. She started, and rose in¬
stantly from the seat. — while her eye ran round the
hut, as if in search of some weapon of defence.
None was to be found. She glanced at the small
window in the side of the cabin, whence the sound
had appeared to come, and instantly a man’s face dis¬
appeared from the aperture. She then rushed to¬
wards the door, — but as she gained the threshold, she
felt herself suddenly seized and pinioned by two
strong men. She became pale and trembled violently,
for a moment, but her courage returned instantly,—
and making no resistance, she submitted to be bound
and led towards the village.
Amidst the shouts and hootings of the populace,
who had assembled to greet her arrival, and whose
presence seemed to inflict more pain than the antici¬
pation of her future punishment, she entered the gates
of the prison from which she had so lately emanci¬
pated the Indian sachem. As she passed through
the crowd, her complexion varied more than once, but
she remained silent and contemptuous, until arrived
at the door of the jail, when she turned and venting
her spleen in a furious and bitter malediction upon
the surrounding spectators, she turned her back upon
them and disappeared.
The news of the capture of Annie Brown soon
spread through the neighbouring settlements ; and the
THE WITCH OP NEW ENGLAND.
21 1
ministers collected to debate and consult upon the
course to be pursued. The belief in witchcraft was
too deeply rooted and the evidence brought against
the unhappy woman too strong to make the consulta¬
tion long or angry. It was determined that she
should be tried for the crime of sorcery, as well as
for the murders of which she was strongly suspected.
The day appointed for the trial at length arrived, and
the prisoner who had complained with feverish im¬
patience of the delay, entered the court with the de-
termed and insolent air of command, for which she
had so long been remarkable. The room was crowded
and the deep, profound attention with which the mul¬
titude watched every motion of the undaunted fe¬
male, was strongly coloured by the superstitious dread
with which they still regarded her supernatual pre¬
tensions. Pale and anxious faces, with the fixed, un¬
wandering eye, told of the anxiety and excitement
with which the result was expected. Low and in¬
distinct murmurs ran through the hall and the narra¬
tors of her supposed spells found willing, untired and
believing auditors. The solemn, dark and severe
countenances of the assembled ministers and judges,
the terror exhibited by many of the spectators, — the
nature of the crime and the dreadful punishment that
waited upon conviction, with the unbending and
haughty audacity with which the prisoner appeared at
the bar, all tended to render the scene impressive even
to awfulness. Silence was commanded and the trial
commenced. With breathless and unbroken attention
the audience hung upon the various, singular and in¬
credible evidence offered by a number of witnesses,
who detailed with minute and solemn precision num¬
berless acts of the prisoner’s necromancy. There is
a species of terror which affords its pleasures. The
excitement which is the consequence of such fear is
akin to the delirious animation of which bitter and
' distasteful drugs are often the parent, — and to which
212
THE WITCft OF NEW ENGLAND.
those who use them cling with unconquerable and
growing fondness. The' idea of fear often gives a
pungency to the exhibition, which without it would
appear comparatively tame. Many of the auditors,
while they listened to the detailed narratives of the
hag’s sorceries, trembled as they gazed upon her dark
and uncommon features, — but curiosity triumphed
and they remained in her dreaded presence, abiding
the event of the trial.
Many elderly men and women had given their tes¬
timony, when the name of a female witness was called.
Some little delay ensued and it appeared that the wit¬
ness hesitated to advance. At the command of the
Court, however, she moved towards the table in front
of the judges. She was young, apparently not more
than sixteen years of age, and as she placed herself
at the table, her face wore a ghastly paleness and her
limbs trembled so violently that she was forced to
lean against the railing of the bar. She cast a rapid
glance at the Witch, as she took her stand, but in¬
stantly withdrew her eyes with increased terror. An¬
nie observing her horror, and irritated at the disgust
and loathing with which the girl regarded her, deter¬
mined, though she had, hitherto, maintained a surly
silence, to revenge the insult offered to her vanity.
Pique at the offence, which she now imagined had
been aimed at her personal appearance, seemed sud- .
denly to rouse all her pride and venom ; and the red
spot upon her dark cheek and the sparkle in her eye
betokened the fierce violence of her awakened resent¬
ment.
After relating many instances of the prisoner’s
witchcraft, the girl proceeded to tell that she had fre¬
quently been tormented by her in the shape of a
black cat. That she had numberless times attempted
to seize the animal, — but it had always eluded her
vigilence, — until one evening she suddenly rushed
upon it with a large knife and inflicted a wound on the
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
213
beast’s foot, after which it never re-appeared. She
heard afterwards, what tended to substantiate her
suspicions, that the Witch had a bad wound upon her
foot, which she no doubt had received while disguised
under the form of the black cat. Such conclusive
evidence was not to be resisted or doubted, and a
murmur of horror and deep conviction ran through
the crowd. Annie became almost maddened with
rage, and watching her opportunity she sprang upon
the witness and seizing her by the hair, exclaimed
with furious passion,
“Ye lie, ye lie, you pale-faced chit, no drop of my
blood was ever spilt by such a whey-face. But I’ll
see if a woman’s nails can bring any from your white
cheeks. I’ll teach ye truth and better manners to¬
wards your elders.”
The poor girl, in an agony of fear made the room
echo with her frantic cries and when the surrounding
men had torn the Witch from her victim, the latter
was borne off utterly senseless and with the blood
streaming from her cheeks. This conduct contributed
but little to influence the judges in her favour, and
Annie was pronounced guilty of the crime, for which
she stood charged. Nothing now remained but that
sentence should be pronounced upon the unhappy wo¬
man. The superior judge, an ancient and venerable
looking personage, but who still, in his stern and un¬
bending countenance, exhibited an expression of dis¬
gust and horror as he regarded the prisoner, thus
addressed her.
“ In the prosecution of this unfortunate affair, the
justices, judges and all others concerned have con-
scienciously endeavoured to do the thing that was
right. To this worthy end we have diligently and
accurately consulted the precedents of former times
and the salutary precepts laid down and explained by
learned writers about witchcraft. We have unwea-
riedly studied Keeble on the Common Law, Chapter,
. T 3
214 THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
Conjuration. Sir Matthew Hale’s trials of Witches,
printed 1682. Glanvil’s Collection of sundry trials
in England and Ireland. Cotton Mather’s memora¬
ble Providence relating to Witchcraft, printed 1685.
And it now remains for me to decide and I do de¬
clare that you Annie Brown have been proved guilty
of the horrible and hellish crime of witchcraft and
that we do sentence you to the death, which you have
by your wicked sorceries, so fully deserved. — And
may God have mercy on your soul.”
The wretched woman heard her fate announced
with a calmness that shocked and intimidated many
of the crowd. As the judge concluded his address,
she turned to the officer and with a steady brow and
unchanging voice, said, “ They say the gu Ity fear to
die and tremble at the bare apparition of death.
But I entertian no such dread and it cannot come too
soon. Come lead me back to my jail, or rather to
the gallows, that I may rid me from the gaze of those
I hate and despise.” Raising her tall figure to its
full height, she advanced through the crowd, which
gave way at her approach and still seemed to regard
her fierce and unbroken spirit with awe and terror.
It was on a cold and gusty morning in the dreary
month of November that a crowd collected around
the door of the prison. It was the morning of the
execution and the assembled spectators, wrapt in their
cloaks and hoods, waited anxiously and impatiently
for the hour of death. I have watched the faces of
a multitude on such a day, and found but little com¬
miseration dwelling on the features of men or fe¬
males. Impatient complaints at the delay, — heartless
sneers at the feelings and expected fate of the crimi¬
nal, half-smothered and brutal oaths at being detained
in the cold air, were the sounds that most generally
fell, plenteous and disgustful, upon the ear.
A knot of three or four women had collected near
fhe door of the prison and, at times, stood deeply
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
215
interested in their conversation. An old and meagre-
looking female with an air of doubt and derision on
her countenance, seemed to he listened to with de¬
ference and curiosity as she, in a low and broken
voice, harangued her auditors.
“ You have but little right as yet, Goodwife Daw¬
son, to crow over her downfall. Betwixt the bowl
and the lip much often falls, and it’s along step from
the prison door to the gallows on the hill. Annie
Brown is a powerful woman and till I see her swing,
I ’ll never believe that she dies on the gallows.”
“ I scorn her, living or dead,” interrupted Goody
Dawson, “ and if there wasn’t a man to do the work,
I ’d tye the rope myself, about her filthy neck. There’s
but slight chance of her escape, now, thank Heaven,
unless she rides off upon her broomstick or her foul
black cat. And neighbour Walford, here, looks as
if she thought it as likely as not. The hag will not
put her nails upon an honest woman’s face again, I
guess.”
“ Do ye think it will happen ?” whispered Good-
wife Walford, (with a pale cheek,) to the oldest talker.
u They say she can fly if she chooses, and no one
would mount the cart that could keep out.”
u Ah ! ye ’ll see when it comes to pass,” replied
the other. u But mark what an ancient woman tells
you, and one that has witnessed many things that few
others look upon. If I see her hang upon the beam,
for all that I ’ll have my thoughts, — ye understand
me neighbour ?”
“ Yes — yes,” answered her companion, moving
close to her side and whispering in her ear. “ And
if you’ll let me have the charm, you spake about, to
guard against her walking through our lone house, —
you shall have the ten shillings we talked of some
days back.”
“ You shall have it,” said the old dame, “ but hush,
216
THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
no more of that now. And have ye heard, gos¬
sips, of the bridal that ’s about to happen ?”
“ No — no,” answered the other and approached
with instinctive curiosity towards the announcer of
news. “ Ah ! well,” said the ancient relater of scan¬
dal, “ I always thought the sprightly young sportsman
would be caught in that snare.”
“ What ! is the Madam Chesterly’s son about to
wed the minister’s fair-headed daughter?” asked Mrs.
Dawson, interrupting her companion.
“ If you had given an honest woman breath to tell
her own news, neighbour, and not snapped the words
from her mouth, you might have heard as much.
As it is you may make your own tale and find hearers
for it.”
u And if there’s not another wedding on the anvil,
I don’t know a woman’s eye,” said Dame Walford.
<c She is a pretty and a nice lady, the daughter of the
old general that was found dead in the forest, and
who the folks say was the wicked murderer of the
sainted king that’s gone. If there be not love be¬
twixt her and the minister’s melancholy son, I have
little skill in lovers’ looks.”
“ Do ye not hear the bolts drawing, neighbours ?
exclaimed the eldest speaker. “ Behold, how the
woman walks. Ah ! Annie, you were always a bold
one. Come let ’s follow and see all.”
The group pursued the prisoner, who now ap¬
peared, (guarded by the officers of justice,) issuing
from the jail and on her way towards the place of
execution, at some distance on the hill. Of the trio
who had just closed their conference, the eldest moved
with all the speed and vigour of her worn-out limbs,
all feelings drowned in the eager longing of ungrati-
fied curiosity. The Witch’s former antagonist fed
her hatred with an unwandering stare at the misera¬
ble object of her aversion ; while her younger and
THE WITCH OP NEW ENGLAND. 217
more timid companion, followed pale, trembling and
faint with the sight, yet still led on with the stream
of the crowd. When arrived at the spot where the
career of an uncommon and fearless being was to
close, a breathless calm reigned throughout the as¬
sembly. And as the moment for the closing act of
the disgusting drama had arrived, the excitement of
the spectators, wound up to its full height, showed
itself only in deep, watchful gazing and unbroken
silence. The victim with a firm step and steady gait
mounted the scaffold. The executioner finished the
awful preparations for his final task, and the minister,
Bradley, advanced towards the unhappy culprit, to
ask, for the last time, mercy on her crimes. “ She’s
a fearless woman,” muttered the old dame to herself,
without taking her eyes from the Witch. M Look,
the minister is going to pray, before she sinks. It ’s
a fine and an awful sight, that’s certain.”
“ She don’t seem willing to hear the preacher,”
whispered Dame Walford. “ She shakes her head
at what he is saying. And now, behold, she looks
fierce and angry. What is it she says to him ? Can
you hear, neighbour ? See ! see ! quick,— Heaven
bless us ! — She has thrust the minister from her, and
plunged from the scaffold.”
FINIS.
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Uncharted Knowledge
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