Daily Kennebec journal. [microfilm reel] (Augusta, Me.) 1870-1975, 1876-07-08
NO. 100.
Talfs and Sketehfs.
MISTRESS WILSON.
y TALE OF SALEM wITCHCRAFT.
TcoNTINrEp FROM YESTERDAY

In Enoch Dalton's household also there
was little sleep that night. Miriam, be-
set with entreaties and reproaches, an
swered in the sayings of the godly Cotton
Mather, or with the line of Holy Writ,
Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live"
The woman was like flint in her resolve,
and words never SO appealing had as
much effect on her as the rushing break
ers on the cliffs of Marblehead. that they
cover for moment with foam and spray,
and falling back. leave as hard and bleak
and frowning as before. Enoch only
wore himself out, and paced the room, at
last, alone, while Miriam lay down to
take more feigned than real repose.
She did him wrong. 1t was pure sem
timent of humanity, manly instinct to
help and protect hunted, defenceless
woman, who, in her happier days, had
gone in and out of his house on errands
of neighborly kindness, that made him
speak for Mistress Wilson now. He was
not so far beyond his fellow-citzens in
cool-headedness and understanding as to
repudiate the idea of witchcraft altogeth-
er. How should he have been, when that
storm of superstition that swept over the
land carried with 1t men who stood as
thinkers high above their fellows? Learned
and gody men held discourses on the
manifold arts of the Evil One, by which
he ensnared weak souls to do his bidding,
and for aught Enoch knew that might be
true. There might be witches. Only
one who had shown naught but kindness
to him and his, one to whose accusation
Jealousy was not stranger, his straight
forward, shrewd common sense told him
was no witch. He was plain man who
troubled himself little with what lay be-
yond him; it was Mr.. Mather's business
to make sermons and interpret. as it were,
for God and the devil; it was his business
to plough and sow and reap and mind his
household; and whatever questions came
up there in his own little sphere, he was
capable to decide upon. His child was
not bewitched. but sick. and the Evil One
had whispered more suggestions to his
wife than to Mistress Wilson. 1t was the
phrase on every ones lips in those dark
times, "Satan is Abroad and Enoch be-
ieved it. Satan had entered his wife's
heart Alas, yes, and possibly his own
too, as he bitterly swore never-dying
mindlulness of this wrong that was to be,
and an eternal memory for finite error.
Miriam's pretended slumber became
real at length; but as she fell asleep with
her mind full of confused and distressing
thoughts, they followed her into her
dreams. Like the shifting figures of
kaleidoscope, melting one into another,
horrid pictures passed through her poor,
bewrtdered BRAIN The house stood in
flames because she had thrown the baby
on the fire, and all the neighbors were
there calling her murderess and trying to
drag her away to justice. Then some
,,,l.: toI. a.
other took up the word and they fell back
from her, pointing with their fingers and
jeering. And again she was sitting by
the hearth with Dame Walford at the 9TH
er side. and suddenly it was not the dame
rope around her neck. Her face was
deathly pale, and her dark blue eyes. fixed
upon Miriam, seemed to cast spell over
cry out as she would fain have done
Then the babe in her arms began to strug-
gle and getting down. went to Mistress
Wilson and clambered on her knees. 1t
reached up ana took the rope with its lit
tie hands and threw it in the fire, and i'm
mediately there was dazzling light.
and Mistress Wilson stood clothed in "a
white robe. with wings at her shoulders,
Upon that she was seized with a great
dread, for the child stood holding by her
and would not return to Miriam, though
she recognized it for her own in that
brightness and tried and tried in vain to
call it back. 1t was very fair. There
was no trace of the witch's mark upon its
brow, and its hair shone golden in the
light that streamed around. Then it ap-
peared that the spirit turned to go, the
child ever following, and with a great eff
fort Miriam broke the spell, and stretched
out her arms and cried
NAY, fake it rot, 1t is mine know
it now. 1t is mine indeed ~
AS she spoke she felt sharp pain, and
her eyes opened
The sun was shining in her face, and
she had struck her hand on the childs
little bed that stood beside her Half be-
yet from her dream, she raised
herself and saw the baby lying in peace
ful slumber. Its little face looked verv
sweet and fair its brow was smooth, anl
the sunbeams santng past seemed to
make halo round its golden hair. Even
as she looked at it the black thoughts and
tancies of days and weeks gone by melted
like the dark visions of that night, and as
in her dream, she recognized the child.
But nameless anxiety fell upon her, and
a horrible dread, and her voice was shrill
and strange, as she called:
"Oh, Enoch, Enoch, rise and ride to
town! For the child is well again. The
child is mine, and Mistress Wilson must
not die"
He started W from the chair where he
had fallen asleep in sheer exhaustion. The
words rang like clarion. The spell was
broken-the scales had fallen from his
wife's eyes-the child was well But
Mistress Wilson-was there yet time to
save her?
He spoke not II word, but saddled the
old plough horse, with shaking hands,
swung himself on it. and rode away.
Never since he could remember had he
slept so late as on that morning, For over
The sea the fishing boats that had put out
at dawn showed now but speck of shin
ing sail. And bark +! Were those the Sa-
lem bells that the wind brought so far?
No for the the hOur annnintad for tha