Silent Struggles Part 1

Silent Struggles.

by Ann S. Stephens.

CHAPTER I.

THE SHIP IN A STORM.

A storm had been lowering all day over the harbor of Boston, heaping the horizon with vast leaden embankments of heavy vapor, and shrouding the hills with dense floating fog that clung around them in waves and ma.s.ses like draperies sweeping around some old monastic ruin. As the night approached, a sharp wind came up from the east, accompanied by a drifting rain that cut through the fog like a storm of silver shot. The force of the tempest swept this away only to reveal the harbor in wild turmoil, its waters heaving sh.o.r.eward filled with muttering thunders from the far off ocean, and each hill reverberating hoa.r.s.ely to their impetuous charge against its foundations.

It was a terrible hour for any unfortunate wayfarer who dared to be abroad. The streets of the town were almost empty, and the wharves utterly deserted save by a half dozen poor fishermen, who struggled to keep their boats from being dashed to pieces against the timbers to which they were chained. But the turbid waves leaped around and over them, tearing the cables from their hold and beating the little crafts to atoms or hurling them away like nutsh.e.l.ls in the stormy riot.

As the day wore on, even these poor fishermen retreated in-doors, leaving their little property to the tempest, and both earth and ocean were given up to the storm. But on the heights which look seaward stood two men thrown together even in that tempest into a strange and what seemed an almost unnatural companionship; for in age, character, and appearance each was a direct contrast to the other.

The storm beat heavily on them both, and though one from his age, and the other from an education which had been almost effeminate, seemed unlikely to brave a tempest like that without an important motive, it would have been impossible for either of these men to have told what brought them on the heights that boisterous day.

The old man had reached the hill first, and stood with his face to the storm, looking out upon the turbulent waste of ocean with an anxious, almost wild gaze, as if he were expecting some object long desired and watched for to rise out of that leaden distance, and reward his steady encounter of the elements.

The young man came up the ascent with a quick, struggling step, for the storm was in his face, and he was compelled to fight it inch by inch. He had shaded his eyes from the pelting rain, and cast an earnest gaze into the distance, as if he, too, expected something, when the old man's cloak was seized by the wind, and borne out with a rush and flutter like the wing of a great bird, which made the youth conscious of another presence. He looked around suddenly, and stepped forward, lifting the hat from his head, with grave respect.

"Another man here, so far from town, and in all the tempest? I thought that no one but a harum-scarum youngster like myself would venture forth in a storm like this!"

"And I," answered the person thus addressed, sweeping back the iron gray locks, that fell wet and scattered over his forehead, with a hand like withered parchment, "I, too, believed that nothing but an old wanderer, impelled by the spirit which he can never resist, would dare the wind on these heights. Look, young man, for the rain blinds me: discern you nothing in the distance yonder?"

The young man again sheltered his eyes with one hand, looking earnestly forth towards the ocean.

"Nothing," he said at last. "I have searched that pile of clouds before, and find only deeper blackness now."

"Searched it before! Did you expect something, then?" questioned the old man, turning a pair of bright, gray eyes upon his companion. "Did you expect something?"

As he spoke those eyes grew wild, and the penetrating glance, which he bent upon the youth from under his heavy brows, struck to the young heart, which was open to a new impression every moment.

"Nay, I do not know. It can be nothing but that unaccountable restlessness which never leaves me in peace when a storm is howling over the ocean. I could not stay in-doors--indeed, I never can on such days--and, without knowing why, came up here to look this whirlwind in the face, which, in return, is almost lifting me from my feet!"

The old man did not heed him, but stooped forward, looking towards the ocean, while the rain beat against his face, dripping down in great drops over his gray eye-brows, and deluging the hand with which he strove to clear the blinding moisture away.

"It is coming! the clouds lift--the darkness is cleft--the bosom of the deep heaves with life! Young man, look again! See you not the faint outlines of a ship, spars, hull, and sails, reefed close--there--there, riding in the bosom of the storm?"

He broke off with this exclamation, and drew his tall figure upright, pointing towards the sea with a gesture of almost solemn exultation.

"Is that a ship, I say, or a bleak skeleton of the thing I have been waiting for?"

"Upon my life--upon my soul, ten thousand pardons--but I think it really is a ship, or some evil spirit has pencilled the skeleton of his devil's craft in the clouds."

"Ha!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the old man with a start, "see, see!"

The strange being might well cry out with astonishment. As he looked the great embankment of clouds was torn asunder, and a burst of fire kindled up its edges till it hung like streamers and tatters of flame around a vessel of considerable size, which was, for the instant, lifted out of the cloud into full view. The young man, whose sight was clear, could even detect persons grouped upon the deck.

"It is a signal gun. She wants a pilot, or is in distress," he said, eagerly. "Ha! she blazes out once more--they are casting her anchor.

Heavens, how she plunges! There--there, the cloud swallows her again!"

The old man had fallen upon his knees, allowing his long, gray cloak to sweep away with the wind. He locked both hands over his face, and seemed to be offering up either thanksgiving or entreaties to heaven; for his voice, sharp and piercing, penetrated the storm too impetuously for the words to be distinguished.

The young man stood a moment, reluctant to disturb him. That thin form was completely exposed to the storm, and he could not refrain from an attempt to rescue the old man's cloak from the wind, and gather it about him. Besides, the gra.s.s was completely saturated on which he knelt, and to remain upon it longer might bring a death chill.

"Sir, forgive me, but this is a dangerous place for prayer. The earth is deluged where you kneel."

The old man struggled to his feet, and looked down upon the crushed gra.s.s with humiliation and wonder.

"Kneel! did I in truth kneel?" he said, anxiously, like one who excuses himself from a grave crime; "and here, in the open day? I beseech you, remember, my young friend, that it was the surprise of yon ship and the tempest which cast me into that unseemly position. When a servant of G.o.d prays, it should be standing upright, face to face with the Being after whose image he was made."

"You were, indeed greatly overcome," answered the youth, arranging the folds of the old man's cloak. "The ship yonder must contain some dear friend, that its appearance should move you so deeply."

"Some dear friend! Samuel Parris has no friends to expect from the mother-land now. It is many years since he and all that is left of his kin took root in the New World."

"And yet you were looking for the ship so anxiously?"

"Aye, young man. I was looking for something which was to come up from the east through yon gate of clouds; but whether it was a weather-worn vessel or an archangel sent on some special mission, was not told me."

"And you come hither expecting nothing?"

"Expecting every thing, for Jehovah is everywhere," answered the old man, solemnly.

The youth was greatly impressed, his eye brightened.

"I only wish it were in my power to have expectations grounded on so much faith," he said. "Now I come forth like a storm-bird, because a strife of wind and water fills me with some grand expectation never realized, but which seems always on the verge of fulfilment. You may perchance smile, but it seems to me as if I had been months and years watching for that very craft yonder, as if my own fate were anch.o.r.ed with it in the storm. Nay, more, the guns, as they boomed over these waves, seemed challenging me to meet some new destiny, and grapple with it to the end, as I will--as I will!"

The young man stretched his arm towards the shadowy vessel, and his slight, almost boyish form swelled with excitement, while the dark brown eyes, usually bright and playful as a child's, darkened and grew larger with the sudden excitement that had come upon him.

The minister grasped his outstretched arm, and fixed a steady gaze on his face.

"And you also have been on the watch. Like me, you have come blindfold through the storm, searching into the future for that ghostly ship, where it spreads its shrouds of dull mist, and rocks upon the moaning sea. Has the spirit of prophecy touched your young life also, that you say these things with a shortened breath and white cheek, like one terrified or inspired?"

"I know not," said the young man; "but, like you, I have expected that visit long. In storm and darkness as it comes now have I seen it."

"How--where?" cried the old man, breathlessly.

"In my dreams or reveries, I know not which, it has floated often, shrouded as it is now, impalpable, a phantom of spars and fog."

"And you have seen this?"

"No, not with my eyes; it comes across my life like a ghost whose presence fills you with awe, but answers to no sense."

"Like a ghost which you would fain flee from and cannot. Is it thus the spirit deals with you also?"

"Nay, I would not flee, it arouses my courage. Even now my heart leaps toward yon vessel as if some precious thing lay in its hold which no one but myself may dare to claim."