Witch Child (9 page)

‘How do you know?’ I asked quietly, looking round warily. We were by ourselves in the big firelit room, no other soul even close, but to speak of such things could put us both in danger. If she saw the witch in me, perhaps others could see it. Fear filled my throat and stirred the hairs on the back of my neck. ‘Is it so clear?’

‘Kind knows kind. Whether ’tis a gift or a curse, I can’t tell, but I know ’tis not of our choosing.’ She still did not look at me, but I knew from her words that she practised the craft. ‘I was warned of your coming.’

‘By whom? How?’

‘Not for you to know.’ Her eyes were on me now and in each of their black centres a twin fire burned. ‘But you need to take care wherever you go. Especially here.’

‘Here? Why here? I thought all were free to start a new life. I thought –’

She gave her cackling laugh. ‘Bless you, my dear. It is
worse
here! Folk bring their superstitions with them over the ocean. Once here, they find themselves surrounded by the forest. No man can say how far it stretches, infested with natives and who knows what. Their faith is like a faint spark in a vast darkness. Their fears grow like bind-weed, choking everything.’

‘I can be careful. I can look after myself.’

She cackled again. ‘That I doubt. But I do not speak just of you.’ She leaned forward to swing the kettle over the ashy logs. ‘Martha’s a good woman and she’s shown you kindness.’

I didn’t deny it.

‘Then have a care, my smart young maid. You’re as sharp as a thorn, with a mind of your own. You must keep a curb on your tongue or you’ll have more than yourself in trouble. Keep your counsel and look to your back.’

Entry 35

Our departure has been delayed yet again. Days drift by and still nothing is decided. The Salem men say we must use native guides but Reverend Cornwell and the Elders will not hear of it. They argue that they are heathen, the sons of Satan, that we must trust in God to guide us through the wilderness, just as Moses did his people. Not everyone is of the same opinion, even among the Elders. John Rivers came back from the last meeting severely out of temper, muttering that Elias Cornwell can quote all he wants about Moses. The children of Israel were forty years in the wilderness, which is a long while to be wandering and homeless. God took His time before getting them out.

The Salem men will not go without the natives. They say that we are going into parts little travelled and without native knowledge we are sure to get lost. John Rivers says that we cannot go without help from Salem, whatever the Elders may think. We do not have enough carts or beasts to carry all our goods and people. The Salem men are practical and shrewd. They will not lend us wagons, oxen and horses, lest they do not get them back again.

After a deal of arguing, Rivers and his party have won. We are to have native guides after all. Now there is fresh grumbling. Hire of wagons and oxen will cost us dear and no-one will part with a horse. They are reckoned too valuable to be risked in such an enterprise as this.

g

Journey 3: wilderness

Entry 36 (July 1659)

We left Salem on a brilliant July day, rising to an early morning as fresh and clear as any in England. I remembered my grandmother’s garden, sweet with the scent of gillyflowers and roses. I saw again the hollyhocks, delphiniums and canterbury bells, shining bright, like jewels in the sunlight. Sadness caught my throat as I thought of the cottage behind all dark and deserted, the little plot choked and filled with weeds.

We assembled to parade through the town, some riding, some walking, others mounted on carts piled high with goods and belongings. The town turned out to watch us and it was like a fair, a festival, such as they had at Lammas or Harvest, when processions would pass through every town and village. I was too young to remember, but my grandmother had told me about them. It made me sad that I had missed those times when work could be put off until the morrow and everyone could be gay and merry, at least for one day.

We left the town and the country spread out before us, green under a cloudless sky. The road forward was broad and well-made, winding off into the distance through land as open as parkland, and set with tall trees, some standing alone, others grouped in clumps: beech, ash, oak.

I was not alone in my thoughts of home. I saw fleeting joy pass over many faces, each time followed by the same shadowing sadness. As if a dear one, long departed, had been glimpsed in the face of stranger. The long sought but never to be seen again beloved.

We advanced slowly, for we were a large group and truly must have resembled the tribes of Israel in their flight out of Egypt; driving our cattle, sheep and goats in front of us; rambling along, ragtag and bobtail; ambling behind the rumbling carts and spreading on to the sward beside the road.

We were not pursued by Pharaoh’s army. We even had time to stop and pick the strawberries. They grew in abundance, the fruits large, as big as plums, lush and juicy. We filled our aprons and ate them until our mouths were stained red and our hands sticky.

It began that way, like a high day, a holy day, until even the doubters among us were laughing. Martha rode up on the cart with her chickens squawking. They are all glossy-feathered now, restored to plumpness by corn and scraps from Widow Hesketh. Jonah drove the oxen, leaning back to joke and tease her. I walked alongside with Rebekah and Tobias, he carrying the smallest of her brothers on his shoulders while the others scampered around, glad to be free of the confines of the town.

All day we travelled in this way, stopping at noon for refreshment, eating the food we brought with us, sitting on blankets, while the animals cropped the grass. We went until sunset when it was time to set up camp. Elias Cornwell led a solemn service of thanksgiving (I do not know why, we have not even reached the forest) and we built fires and cooked on them like a beggar band. Some sleep under canvas shelters, others under the wagons or out in the open for the night is mild. I write by the light of the stars.

Entry 37

Today, the way narrowed. The broad road we took out of Salem has diminished to a track. Roads are few here. Most long journeys are taken by sea or by river, but we have elected to travel overland. Around us the ground was still open, allowing us to pass with relative ease, but thick swathes of dark green smudged each horizon. On all sides, the great forest loomed. Our progress, slow at the best of times, slowed further. We could only travel as fast as the heavy carts and the lumbering cattle would allow. For a long time the trees stayed a blur, getting no nearer. The forest came upon us gradually. The single trees dotting the landscape grew more numerous and clustered closer together, the stands of beech, oak and pine became more substantial, but nothing could prepare us for the forest itself.

The trees massed in a ragged line. The track we were on wove into it and soon became lost in the shadowy depths where towering trees cut the bright day to half light. Cedars spread huge branches. Pines reared up so tall that their tops seemed to bend together. Rough-barked trunks grew to such girth that four men with linked arms could not reach around them. The leaves and litter of centuries lay thick on the forest floor.

Through the trees we could see only blackness. The cavalcade stopped, even the animals were reluctant to enter; they turned, lowing plaintively, and the horses stamped and whinnied, tossing their heads nervously. The children no longer played and ran about. They returned to their mothers, clutching at their skirts. Women turned to their menfolk who stared as round-eyed as their children. This was the Wild Wood, greater than any that we had heard of in fireside stories. To enter was to step into a realm of mystery and who knew what forces held sway in its dark depths?

Two men stole from the margins, as quiet as ghosts. Truly they seemed like some kind of apparition for they appeared in the blink of an eye; the space they occupied, empty one minute, was filled the next. They stood before us and uttered no word of greeting. These were natives, Red Indians, the first that many of the company had ever seen. Their sudden presence caused cries of alarm. Some of the women started up shrieking and some of our men reached for their weapons. The Salem men had to intervene. They were not come to attack us. They stood out in plain sight, bows slung across their backs. These were our guides. They had been with us all along, we just had not seen them. They had come out now because they were needed. Without them we would never find the settlement for which we were heading. Without them, we might never be seen again.

Our guides are to be the pair I had seen in the market. The boy and his grandfather. They were known to the Salem men and the young man stepped forward to speak to them. Our Elders gathered, too, and all stood in consultation. To the surprise of many, the boy spoke English as well as any in the company. His grandfather took no part in these negotiations. He stood still and easy, ignoring the stares of the curious. Occasionally his dark eyes flicked over us, as if to satisfy his own curiosity. Again, I felt his eyes seek mine and hold them, just for a second. Again I experienced that feeling of strangeness, as if he was looking into me. He held me, as a stoat might hold a rabbit, then his gaze moved on and the feeling of strangeness had gone.

By the time they had finished talking, the sun was sinking behind the forest. It was too late to venture in. We had to camp for the night.

The Indians have repaired I know not where. I write by the flickering firelight. Out of its circle all is blackness.

Elias Cornwell led prayers before supper. He took his text from the gospel according to Matthew:
‘
“Wide is the gate, and broad is the way, that leadeth to destruction, and many there be that go in thereat.

‘
“Because strait is the gate, and narrow is the way, which leadeth unto life, and few there be that find it ...
”
’

Entry 38

We have entered the forest proper. Sometimes the way is as wide as a King’s riding, other times it disappears completely, stopped by impenetrable thicket. Saplings and briars have to be cleared, sometimes whole trees, to allow the wagons through. The wagons halt and Tobias and some of the other men go forward, shouldering axes, ready to cut our way. The woods ring with the sound of metal on wood. Progress slows to almost nothing. It is hot under the canopy of leaves, with hardly a breath of wind, and the many biting insects are proving bothersome.

Entry 39

I have lost count of the days spent like this. We have food in plenty, and there is more to be gathered in the forest, but the Indians have proved their worth. If it were not for them, we would have died of thirst. The woods, so thick and lush, are as a desert to us, but these men know the site of every hidden stream and spring in the country. They also lead the men to hunt game, adding venison and turkey to our diet. They bring other things, too: nuts, fruits and salad herbs.

We journey each day until the light begins to fade. The overarching canopy hides the sun during the day, but the trunks are bare below a certain level. When the sun dips to the horizon, it shows through in thin fingers of yellow, orange, reddish light. Shadows spread and lengthen. It is a sign that we must make haste to camp for the night. When the last light goes, the darkness is absolute. Down here there are no moon or stars.

Fear grows as the night falls fast upon us. Fear of the unknown. Fear of the darkness.

It is enough to rock the strongest faith. Elias Cornwell prays for protection, to keep us from harm.

‘
“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow ...
”
’

And even his voice shakes.

We are truly in the wilderness. Screeching and howlings rend the night. The cries are of creatures unknown to us, not heard in England since ages past. The men take turn to stand guard, muskets at the ready, for such threats are real enough. These woods are home to wolf, bear and mountain lion.

The forest is also the realm of Satan and against him and his forces guns offer no protection. ‘Only prayer is proof against them,’ Elias Cornwell reminds us, but despite his ministrations, stories of all kinds gain credence and grow in circulation. Stories heard in Salem, of Black Men and forest spirits, and stories brought from home, of elves and goblins, of all manner of evil things lurking outside the firelight’s protective circle.

We camp in a tight ring, backs to the forest, faces to the fire. The Indians camp always a little way off from us. Their small fire shows, tiny as a spark, in the great blackness. They are at home in the forest. If they feel threats about them, they do not show it. They make their shelter, seemingly out of nothing, bending young saplings over to make a frame, roofing this with foliage, making beds from ferns and dried leaves from the forest floor. In the morning, when they break camp, they leave no sign that they have ever been there.

Entry 40

I was brought up deep in the woods and I do not fear the forest as the others do. Neither does Jonah. He has travelled in Russia and Bohemia and assures me that the forests there are just as mighty as this. The forest holds no terror for him. He finds it interesting. At night he slips to the Indian camp. Only they can tell him about the plants he finds on the forest floor, plants he has never seen before. He wants to know the names they call them, what use they make of them. Jonah spends long hours with them, then he comes back and writes their answers in his book, adding little sketches of the clothes they wear, the shelters they make.

Many of our travelling companions think the Indians all to be the same, all savages, but Jonah explains that the native people in New England are divided into nations. They use the same sort of speech and language, only differing in certain expressions, just as is true in different parts of England. These two are Pennacook and their tribe lives to the north of here. The boy was educated by white people, that is why his English is good. His grandfather speaks little of our language but he is the one who names the plants and describes their properties. The boy translates for him.

Some nights even Jonah is too tired to do anything but sleep. The journey is difficult. Every day there are new problems: rivers to ford, boggy and marshy ground to traverse, hills to climb or ways to be cut. More and more are footsore or too weak to walk any more, but riding on the carts puts more strain on the horses and oxen, so this is the privilege of the very few. Nevertheless, we press on, yard by yard, cutting a way through the wilderness with a determination that even the Indians admire.

Entry 41

Last night, just as evening was coming on, we reached a clearing, a high point in the forest, a good place to camp for the night. From it, the trees spread out in all directions, as vast as the ocean we crossed to come here. As we looked out, the clouds parted and a finger of light broke from the west. The last rays of the dying sun shone red and golden, touching on a hill some way distant.

‘Look! Look there!’

A cry rang out, then another. All ran to see what the shouting was about.

Smoke was rising, thin wisps curling up into the sky. The first signs we had seen of human habitation. A few thought it might be a native settlement, but the Indians shook their heads.

‘White man’s fire,’ the younger one said, and turned away to stare in the opposite direction. ‘It is called Beulah. It is the place you seek.’

Voices cried out in praise to the Lord and many wept, clutching on to each other. Some sank to their knees, fingers steepled. Although such customs in prayer are frowned upon, old habits die hard. Elias Cornwell did not scold as he would at other times. He led the rejoicing, face rapt, tears streaming.

‘We have reached our deliverance. Before us stands the City on the Hill. Beulah, Bride of God.’

Entry 42

The hill is further than it appeared. First sighting made it seem near enough to reach out and touch, but the strangeness of the light, joined with hope and expectation, shortened the distance. A line of further hills lies between us and Beulah. Many more miles of difficult travelling before we can reach our destination.

Entry 43

As soon as we left the hilltop, our goal disappeared altogether, swallowed in the endless expanse of trees. Just as I feared that the vision might have been just that, an illusion, the trees began to thin. The way was wider here, the edges showed signs of having been cut back. The surface had been levelled, the worst holes filled. Fresh hoof prints showed, but they belonged to our riders sent ahead to warn of our coming. Other than these, there are no tracks. Grass and weeds grew freely upon it, the road seemed little used.