The Witch of Salem (Historical Novel). John R. Musick

woods. Their more recent hunts had proven successful, for the witches had temporarily left off tampering with their guns. The stranger whom they had met on that evening was quite forgotten.

      A fortnight after the stranger disappeared, John Louder was wandering in the forest, his gun on his shoulder. The sun had just dipped below the western hills and trees, and he was approaching a small lake at which the deer came to drink.

      It was a dense forest through which he was pressing his way. In places it was so dense he was compelled to part the underbrush with his hands. Centuries of summer suns had warmed the tops of the same noble oaks and pines, sending their heat even to the roots. Though the early frosts of October had stricken many a leaf from its parent stem, enough still remained to obscure the vision at a rod's distance.

      Night was approaching, and John Louder, brave as he was to natural danger, had a strange dread of shadows and the unreal.

      He pressed his way through the wood, until a spot almost clear of timber was in sight. This little area, which afforded a good view of the sky, although it was pretty well filled with dead trees, lay between two of those high hills or low mountains into which the whole surface of the adjacent country was broken.

      Dashing aside the bushes and brambles of the swamp, the forester burst into the area with an exclamation of delight.

      "One can breathe here! There is the lake to which the deer come to drink. Now, if Satan send not a witch to lead my bullets astray, perchance I may have a venison ere an hour has passed."

      He gathered some dry sticks of wood and, with his flint and steel, quickly kindled a fire.

      His fire was to keep off the mosquitoes, which were tormenting in that locality. The fire did not alarm the deer, for they had seen the woods burn so often that they would go quite close to a blaze.

      Hardly had he lighted his fire, when he was startled by the tramp of feet near, and a moment later a horseman rode out of the woods and drew rein before him.

      Louder was surprised, but by no means alarmed. A man in the forest was by no means uncommon, yet he felt a little curious to know why he was there. He reasoned that probably the fellow had lost his way, and had been attracted by his camp fire; but the stranger's question dispelled that delusion.

      "Are you John Louder?" he asked.

      "Yes."

      "You live at Salem?"

      "I do."

      "Are you a Protestant?"

      "I am."

      "You do not believe in the transubstantiation of the body and blood of Christ into the bread and wine of the Sacrament?"

      John Louder, who was a true Puritan and a hater of the Papists, quickly responded:

      "I do not hold to any such theology."

      "Nor do you believe in the infallibility of the pope?"

      "I believe no such doctrine."

      "Then there can be no doubt that you are a true Protestant."

      "I am," Louder answered with no small degree of pride.

      "So much the better."

      The stranger dismounted from his horse and slipped his left hand through the rein, allowing the tired beast to graze, while with his right hand he began searching in his pockets for something.

      "Would you have a Catholic king?" he asked while searching his pockets.

      "No."

      "You prefer a Protestant."

      "I do."

      "I knew it," and he continued, "King Charles is nearing his end. But a few months more must see the last of this monarch, and then we will have another. The great question which appeals to the heart of every Englishman to-day is, shall it be a Protestant or a Catholic?"

      "A Protestant!" cried John Louder, in his bigoted enthusiasm.

      "Then, John Louder, it behooves the English people to speak their minds at once, lest they have fastened upon them a monarch who will wrench from them their religious liberties."

      Louder was wondering what the man could mean when the stranger suddenly took from his pocket a book. It was a book with a red back, as could be seen from the fire-light. The stranger drew from another pocket a pen and an ink horn and, in a voice which was solemn and impressive, said:

      "Sign!"

      John Louder was astonished at the request, or command, whichever it might be, and mechanically stretched out his hand to take the book. At this moment the camp-fire suddenly flamed up, and he afterward averred that the face of the stranger was suddenly changed to that of a devil, and from his burning orbs there issued blue jets of flame, while the whole air was permeated with sulphur. With a yell of horror, he started back, crying:

      "Take it away! take away your book! I will not sign! I will not sign!"

      "Sign it, and I promise you a Protestant king."

      "Away! begone! The whole armor of God be between me and you."

      Quaking with superstitious dread, Louder sank down upon the ground and buried his face in his hands. For several minutes he remained thus trembling with fear, and when he finally recovered sufficiently to raise his eyes, the stranger was gone.

      He and his horse had vanished, and John Louder, seizing a firebrand, searched the ground for the print of a cloven foot. He found it and, snatching up his rifle, ran home as rapidly as he could. It was late that night when he reached his house and, rapping on the door, called:

      "Good-wife! Good-wife, awake and let me in!"

      "John Louder, wherefore came you so early, when I thought you had gone to stalk the deer and would not come before morning?"

      "I have seen him!"

      "Whom have you seen?"

      "The man with the book."

      This announcement produced great consternation in the mind of good-wife Louder. To have seen the man with the book was an evil omen, and to sign this book was the loss of one's eternal soul.

      "Did you sign it, John?" she asked.

      "No."

      "God be praised!"

      Chapter II.

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      I had a vision: evening sat in gold

       Upon the bosom of a boundless plain,

       Covered with beauty; garden, field and fold,

       Studding the billowy sweep of ripening grain,

       Like islands in the purple summer main,

       The temples of pure marble met the sun,

       That tinged their white shafts with a golden stain

       And sounds of rustic joy and labor done,

       Hallowed the lonely hour, until her pomp was gone.

       —Croly.

      Religious fanaticism is the most dangerous of all the errors of mankind. A false leader in religion may be more fatal than an incompetent general of an army, therefore ministers of the gospel and teachers have the greatest task imposed on them of any of God's creation. When once one's religion runs mad, barbarity assumes the support of conscience and feels its approval in the consummation of the most heinous crimes. The Pilgrims and Puritans who had fled from religious persecutions across the seas, and had come to the wilderness to worship God according to their own conscience were unwilling to grant the same privilege to others. For this reason they banished Roger Williams and persecuted other religious sects not in accordance with their own views.

      They whipped