17203	----	WITCHCRAFT AND DEVIL LORE IN THE CHANNEL ISLANDS TRANSCRIPTS FROM THE OFFICIAL RECORDS OF THE GUERNSEY ROYAL COURT, WITH AN ENGLISH TRANSLATION AND HISTORICAL INTRODUCTION. BY JOHN LINWOOD PITTS, _Membre de la Société des Antiquaires de Normandie._ _Editor of "The Patois Poems of the Channel Islands;" "The Sermon on the Mount and the Parable of the Sower, in the Franco-Norman Dialects of Guernsey and Sark," &c., &c._ Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live. --EXODUS xxii, 18. [Illustration] Guernsey: GUILLE-ALLÈS LIBRARY, AND THOMAS M. BICHARD, PRINTER TO THE STATES. 1886. [_All Rights Reserved._] TO EDGAR MACCULLOCH, ESQUIRE, F.S.A., LONDON AND NORMANDY, AND MEMBER OF THE FOLKLORE SOCIETY, BAILIFF OF GUERNSEY, WHOSE HISTORICAL RESEARCHES HAVE TENDED SO MUCH TO ELUCIDATE THE TIME-HONOURED CONSTITUTION AND ANCIENT CUSTOMS OF HIS NATIVE ISLAND, THIS BRIEF RECORD OF ONE OF THE DARKEST CHAPTERS IN ITS CHEQUERED ANNALS Is Dedicated WITH SENTIMENTS OF THE HIGHEST RESPECT AND ESTEEM. _Venena magnum fas nefasque non valent Convertere humanam vicem._ HORACE, Epod. V. 87-8. FOREWORD. In presenting to the public another little volume of the "Guille-Allès Library Series," it affords me much pleasure to acknowledge various kindnesses experienced during its preparation. From Edgar MacCulloch, Esq., F.S.A., Bailiff of Guernsey, I have received several valuable hints and suggestions bearing upon the subject; and also from F.J. Jérémie, Esq., M.A., Jurat of the Royal Court. I am also particularly indebted to James Gallienne, Esq., Her Majesty's Greffier, for his uniform kindness and courtesy in allowing the fullest access at all times to the Archives under his care, not only in respect to the subject-matter of the present publication, but also in other historical researches which I have wished to make. I am equally obliged to Mr. E.M. Cohu and Mr. H.J.V. Torode, Deputy-Greffiers, and to Mr. A. Isemonger, Bailiff's Clerk, for various information and much ready help, which materially facilitated my investigations. All these gentlemen have my cordial acknowledgments and best thanks. J.L.P. Guernsey, December, 1885. NOTE.--The Seal represented on the title page is that of the Guernsey Bailiwick. It was first granted by Edward I. in the seventh year of his reign (1279), and bears the inscription: S. BALLIVIE INSULE DE GERNEREYE. CONTENTS. _Page_ DEDICATION v. FOREWORD vii. TABLE OF CONTENTS viii. INTRODUCTION 1 WITCHCRAFT IN GUERNSEY 1 The Witches' Sabbath 2 The Devil's Ointment 2 Three Women burnt for Heresy in Guernsey 3 WITCHCRAFT IN JERSEY 4 Ordinance of the Royal Court 4 Women Hanged and Burnt *4 Mr. Philippe Le Geyt's Opinion 5 Later Superstitions 5 The Pricking of Witches *5 _Sorcerots_, or Witches' Spells 6 Torture of Witches in Guernsey *6 " " Scotland 7 GENERAL PERSECUTION OF WITCHES *7 On the Continent *7 In America *7 In England 8 In Scotland 8 CONFESSIONS OF GUERNSEY WITCHES UNDER TORTURE 9 Collette Du Mont 11 Marie Becquet 15 Isabel Becquet 16 DEPOSITIONS AGAINST COLLAS BECQUET 22 NOTE ON THE GUERNSEY RECORDS 27 WITCHCRAFT TRIALS IN GUERNSEY, 1563-1634 28 THE STORY IN BRIEF OF THE GUILLE-ALLÈS LIBRARY 33 INTRODUCTION. The Witchcraft superstitions of the Channel Islands, sad as they were in their characteristics and results--as is abundantly evidenced by our judicial records--were but a part and parcel of that vast wave of unreasoning credulity which swept across the civilised world during the Middle Ages, and more or less affected every class of society, and all sorts and conditions of men. From the lists given in the following pages (pp. 28-32), it will be seen that in about seventy-one years, during the reigns of Elizabeth, James I. and Charles I., no fewer than seventy-eight persons--fifty-eight of them being women, and twenty of them men--were brought to trial for Sorcery in Guernsey alone. Out of these unfortunate victims, three women and one man appear to have been burnt alive; twenty-four women and four men were hanged first and burnt afterwards; one woman was hanged for returning to the island after being banished; three women and one man were whipped and had each an ear cut off; twenty-two women and five men were banished from the island; while five women and three men had the good fortune to be acquitted. Most of these accused persons were natives of Guernsey, but mention is made of one woman from Jersey, of three men and a woman from Sark, and of a man from Alderney. With regard to the gatherings at the so-called Witches' Sabbaths, there can be no doubt that--quite apart from the question of any diabolic presence at such meetings--very questionable assemblies of people did take place at intervals among the inhabitants of many countries. Probably these gatherings first had their rise in the old pagan times, and were subsequently continued from force of habit, long after their real origin and significance had been forgotten. Now, it would be very easy for these orgies to become associated--particularly in the then superstitious condition of the popular mind--with the actual bodily presence of the Devil as one of the participants; while it is also not improbable that, in some cases at least, heartless and evil-minded persons worked upon the prevailing credulity to further their own nefarious purposes. Our esteemed Bailiff has offered a suggestion or two of considerable value on this point with regard to certain Guernsey phases of the superstition. He thinks it highly probable that some of these deluded women were actually the dupes of unprincipled and designing men, who arrayed themselves in various disguises and then met their unfortunate victims by appointment. This idea is, indeed, borne out to a great extent by some of the particulars stated in the following confessions. For instance, some of the women assert that when they met the Devil he was in the form of a dog, _but rather larger_; he always stood upon his hind legs--probably the man's feet; and, when he shook hands with them, his paw _felt like a hand_--doubtless it _was_ a hand. Another suggestion of the Bailiff's is also worth notice. It is that the black ointment so often mentioned as being rubbed on the bodies of the so-called witches, had a real existence, and may have been so compounded as to act as a narcotic or intoxicant, and produce a kind of extatic condition, just as the injection of certain drugs beneath the skin is known to do now. These suggestions are certainly worth consideration as offering reasonable solutions of at least two difficulties connected with those strange and lamentable superstitions. In one way or other there must have been some physical basis for beliefs so widely extended and so terribly real. Imagination, of course, possesses a marvellous power of modification and exaggeration, but still it requires some germs of fact around which to crystallise. And it is to the discovery of the nature of such germs that a careful and conscientious observer will naturally turn his attention. * * * * * While speaking of the burning of Witches in Guernsey, I may also refer for a moment to the three women who, in Queen Mary's reign suffered death by fire, for heresy, because the reason of their condemnation and punishment has caused some controversy, and is often associated in the popular mind with a charge of sorcery. Dr. Heylin in his _Survey_ (page 323), says:-- Katherine Gowches, a poor woman of St. Peter-Port, in Guernsey, was noted to be much absent from church, and her two daughters guilty of the same neglect. Upon this they were presented before James Amy, then dean of the island, who, finding in them that they held opinions contrary to those then allowed about the sacrament of the altar, pronounced them heretics, and condemned them to the fire. The poor women, on the other side, pleaded for themselves, that that doctrine had been taught them in the time of King Edward; but if the queen was otherwise disposed, they were content to be of her religion. This was fair but it would not serve; for by the dean they were delivered unto Helier Gosselin, then bailiff, and by him unto the fire, July 18, 1556. One of these daughters, Perotine Massey, she was called, was at that time great with child; her husband, who was a minister, having in those dangerous times fled the island; in the middle of the flames and anguish of her torments, her belly broke in sunder, and her child, a goodly boy, fell down into the fire, but was presently snatched up by one W. House, one of the by-standers. Upon the noise of this strange incident, the cruel bailiff returned command that the poor infant must be cast again into the flames, which was accordingly performed; and so that pretty babe was born a martyr, and added to the number of the holy innocents. Parsons, the English Jesuit, has asserted that the women were felons and were executed for theft, while other apologists have described them as prostitutes and generally infamous in character. The original sentences, however, which still exist at the Guernsey _Greffe_, and which I have examined, conclusively settle the question. Both the ecclesiastical sentence, which is in Latin, and the civil sentence, which is in French, distinctly describe the charge as one of _heresy_, and make no mention whatever of any other crime as having aught to do with the condemnation. It has been questioned too whether a child could be born alive under such circumstances. Mr. F.B. Tupper, in his _History of Guernsey_ (page 151), says: "We are assured by competent surgical authority that the case is very possible"; and he further mentions that in a volume entitled _Three Visits to Madagascar_, by the Rev. Wm. Ellis, published in London, in 1858, a precisely similar case is stated to have occurred in that island. A native woman was burnt for becoming a convert to Christianity, and her infant, born in the flames, was thrust into them again, and burnt also. Lord Tennyson refers to this Guernsey martyrdom in his historical drama of _Queen Mary_ (Act v. Scene iv.). It is night-time in London; a light is burning in the Royal Palace; and he makes two "Voices of the Night" say:-- _First_:--There's the Queen's light. I hear she cannot live. _Second_:--God curse her and her Legate! Gardiner burns Already; but to pay them full in kind, The hottest hold in all the devil's den Were but a sort of winter; Sir, in Guernsey, I watch'd a woman burn; and in her agony The mother came upon her--a child was born-- And, Sir, they hurl'd it back into the fire, That, being thus baptised in fire, the babe Might be in fire for ever. Ah, good neighbour, There should be something fierier than fire To yield them their deserts. With regard to Witchcraft in Jersey, I have not had an opportunity of personally examining the official records there. I find, however, some information on the subject, given by M. De La Croix, in his _Ville de St. Hélier_, and _Les Etats de Jersey_, upon which I have drawn. In the way of legislation, the Guernsey Court does not appear to have promulgated any penal statutes on the subject, being content to treat the crime as one against the common law of the Island. In Jersey on the contrary, Witchcraft was specially legislated against at least on one occasion, for we find that on December 23rd, 1591, the Royal Court of that island passed an Ordinance, of which the following is the purport:-- Forasmuch as many persons have hitherto committed and perpetrated great and grievous faults, as well against the honour and express commandment of God as to the great scandal of the Christian faith, and of those who are charged with the administration of justice, by seeking assistance from Witches and Diviners in their ills and afflictions; and seeing that ignorance is no excuse for sin, and that no one can tell what vice and danger may ensue from such practices: This Act declares that for the time to come everyone shall turn away from such iniquitous and diabolical practices, against which the law of God decrees the same punishments as against Witches and Enchanters themselves; and also in order that the Divine Vengeance may be averted, which on account of the impunity with which these crimes have been committed, now threatens those who have the repression of them in their hands. It is, therefore, strictly forbidden to all the inhabitants of this island to receive any counsel or assistance in their adversities from any Witches or Diviners, or anyone suspected of practicing Sorcery, under pain of one month's imprisonment in the Castle, on bread and water; and on their liberation they shall declare to the Court the cause of such presumption, and according as this shall appear reasonable, shall be dealt with as the law of God directs. In 1562 two women were executed in Jersey for witchcraft. One of them named _Anne_, a native of St. Brelade's, was burnt at St. Helier's; and the other, _Michelle La Blanche_, expiated her crime at the gibbet of the Hurets, in the parish of St. Ouen, because criminals dwelling on the Fief Haubert de St. Ouen, were, in accordance with custom, required to be executed within the boundaries of the said Fief--seeing that it possessed a gallows-right--and their goods and lands became forfeited to the Seigneur. In 1583 a rather curious point of law was raised in connection with a pending witch-trial at St. Helier's. On the 15th of February in that year, a suspected witch named _Marion Corbel_, who had been imprisoned in the Castle awaiting her trial, suddenly died. Whereupon her relatives came forward and claimed to be heirs to her goods and chattles, seeing that she had not been convicted of the imputed crime, and urging that her death put an end to further criminal proceedings. The Queen's Procureur, however--it was in the reign of Elizabeth--contended that death was no bar to the completion of the indictment, although it had effectually removed the criminal from the jurisdiction of the Court, as far as punishment was concerned. The very reasonable claim of the deceased woman's relatives was therefore set aside, and the defunct of course being found guilty, her possessions reverted to the crown. Again, forty years later, in 1623, an old woman of sixty, named _Marie Filleul_, daughter of _Thomas Filleul_, of the parish of St. Clement's, was tried before a jury of twenty-four of her countrymen, and found guilty of the diabolical crime of Sorcery. She was therefore hanged and burnt as a witch, and her goods were confiscated to the King [James I.], and to the Seigneurs to whom they belonged. It may be interesting to note here the opinion of Mr. Philippe Le Geyt, the famous commentator on the constitution and laws of Jersey, and one of the most enlightened men of his time, who for many years was Lieutenant-Bailiff of that island. He was born in 1635 and died in 1715, in his eighty-first year. In Vol. I., page 42, of his works, there occurs a passage of which the following is a translation:-- As Holy Scripture forbids us to allow witches to live, many persons have made it a matter of conscience and of religion to be severe in respect to such a crime. This principle has without doubt made many persons credulous. How often have purely accidental associations been taken as convincing proofs? How many innocent people have perished in the flames on the asserted testimony of supernatural circumstances? I will not say that there are no witches; but ever since the difficulty of convicting them has been recognized in the island, they all seem to have disappeared, as though the evidence of the times gone by had been but an illusion. This shows the instability of all things here below. Coming down now to within a century ago, we find an article in the _Gazette de Jersey_, of Saturday, March 10th, 1787, complaining of the great increase of wizards and witches in the island, as well as of their supposed victims. The writer says that the scenes then taking place were truly ridiculous, and he details a case that had just occurred at St. Brelade's as corroborative of his assertion. It appears that a worthy householder there, had dreamed that a certain wizard appeared to him and ordered him to poison himself at a date which was specified, enjoining him above all things not to mention the incident to anyone. The poor silly fellow was dreadfully distressed, for he felt convinced that he would have to carry out the disagreeable command. At the same time he was quite unable to keep so momentous a secret to himself, and so he divulged the approaching tragedy to his wife. The good woman's despair was fully equal to his own, and after much anxious domestic counsel they determined to seek the good offices of a White Witch (_une Quéraude_), with the hope that her incantations might overcome the evil spells of the Black Witch who was causing all the mischief. This White Witch prescribed lengthened fasting and other preparations for the great ordeal, and on a given night she and the bewitched householder, together with his wife and four or five trusty friends with drawn swords, shut themselves up in a room, and commenced their mysterious ceremonial. There was the boiling of occult herbs; the roasting of a beeve's heart stuck full of nails and pins; the reading of certain passages from the family Bible; a mighty gesticulating with the swords, which were first thrust up the chimney to prevent the Black Witch from coming down, and anon were pointed earthward to hinder him from rising up; and so the ridiculous game went on. The only person who benefited was of course the imposter, who was paid for her services; while we may perhaps charitably hope that her dupes also were afterwards easier in their minds. The writer adds that many other persons besides this man at St. Brelade's, had latterly believed themselves bewitched, and had consulted wizards, who were thus driving a profitable trade. * * * * * Among the indications and symptoms of a witch, are reckoned various bodily marks and spots, said to be insensible to pain (page 20), inability to shed tears, &c. The pricking of witches was at one time a lucrative profession both in England and Scotland, one of the most noted prickers being a wretched imposter named Matthew Hopkins who was sent for to all parts of the country to exercise his vile art. Ralph Gardner, in his _England's Grievance Discovered_ (1655), speaks also of two prickers, Thomas Shovel and Cuthbert Nicholson, who, in 1649 and 1650, were sent by the magistrates of Newcastle-on-Tyne, into Scotland, there to confer with another very able man in that line and bring him back to Newcastle. They were to have twenty shillings, but the Scotchman three pounds, per head _of all they could convict_, and a free passage there and back. When these wretches got to any town--for they tried all the chief market-towns in the district--the crier used to go round with his bell, desiring "all people that would bring in any complaint against any woman for a witch, they should be sent for and tried by the person appointed." As many as thirty women were brought at once into the Newcastle town-hall, stripped and pricked, and twenty-seven set aside as guilty. Gardner continues:-- The said witch-finder acquainted Lieutenant-Colonel Hobson that he knew women whether they were witches or no by their looks; and when the said person was searching of a personable and good-like woman, the said colonel replied and said, 'Surely this woman is none, and need not be tried;' but the Scotchman said she was, for the town said she was, and therefore he would try her; and presently, in sight of all the people, laid her body naked to the waist, with her clothes over her head, by which fright and shame all her blood contracted into one part of her body, and then he ran a pin into her thigh, and then suddenly let her coats fall, and then demanded whether she had nothing of his in her body, but did not bleed? But she, being amazed, replied little. Then he put his hands up her coats and pulled out the pin, and set her aside as a guilty person and child of the devil, and fell to try others, whom he made guilty. Lieutenant-Colonel Hobson, perceiving the alteration of the aforesaid woman by her blood settling in her right parts, caused that woman to be brought again, and her clothes pulled up to her thigh, and required the Scot to run the pin into the same place, and then it gushed out of blood, and the said Scot cleared her, and said she was not a child of the devil. If this precious wretch had not been stopped he would have declared half the women in the north country to be witches. But the magistrates and the people got tired of him at last, and his imposture being discovered, he was hanged in Scotland. At the gallows he confessed that he had been the death of 220 men and women in England and Scotland, simply for the sake of the twenty shillings which he generally received as blood-money. * * * * * The belief in _Sorcerots_, or witches' spells of a peculiar kind, mentioned in the _Depositions_ (pages 22, 23, &c.) receives curious modern confirmation by a kindred superstition still current among the emancipated negroes of the United States. It was described in a letter on "Voudouism in Virginia" which appeared in the _New York Tribune_, dated Richmond, September 17, 1875. Mr. Moncure D. Conway, in quoting this and commenting on it in his _Demonology and Devil-Lore_ (Vol. I. pages 68-69), says that it belongs to a class of superstitions generally kept close from the whites, as he believes, because of their purely African origin. Mr. Conway is, however, probably mistaken about the origin, seeing that the same belief prevailed in Guernsey three centuries ago. The extract from the letter is as follows:-- If an ignorant negro is smitten with a disease which he cannot comprehend, he often imagines himself the victim of witchcraft, and having no faith in "white folks' physic" for such ailments, must apply to one of these quacks. A physician residing near the city [Richmond] was invited by such a one to witness his mode of procedure with a dropsical patient for whom the physician in question had occasionally charitably prescribed. Curiosity led him to attend the seance, having previously informed the quack that since the case was in such hands he relinquished all connection with it. On the coverlet of the bed on which the sick man lay, was spread a quantity of bones, feathers, and other trash. The charlatan went through with a series of so-called conjurations, burned feathers, hair, and tiny fragments of wood in a charcoal furnace, and mumbled gibberish past the physician's comprehension. He then proceeded to rip open the pillows and bolsters, and took from them some queer conglomerations of feathers. These he said had caused all the trouble. Sprinkling a whitish powder over them, he burnt them in his furnace. A black offensive smoke was produced, and he announced triumphantly that the evil influence was destroyed, and that the patient would surely get well. He died not many days later, believing, in common with his friends and relatives, that the conjurations of the "trick doctor" had failed to save him only because resorted to too late. From the above it is evident that the natural tendency of wool and feathers to felt and clog together, has been distorted, by widely different peoples, into an outward and visible sign that occult and malignant influences were at work. * * * * * As to the manner in which wizards and witches were put to the question in Guernsey--that is tortured until they confessed whatever was required of them--Mr. Warburton, a herald and celebrated antiquary who wrote in the reign of Charles II., has given a circumstancial account, the correctness of which may be relied on. His _Treatise on the History, Laws and Customs of the Island of Guernsey_, bears the date of 1682, and at page 126 he says:-- By the law approved (_Terrien_, Lib. xii. cap. 37), torture is to be used, though not upon slight presumption, yet where the presumptive proof is strong, and much more when the proof is positive, and there wants only the confession of the party accused. Yet this practice of torturing does not appear to have been used in the island for some ages, except in the case of witches, when it was too frequently applied, near a century since. The custom then was, when any person was supposed guilty of sorcery or witchcraft, they carried them to a place in the town called _La Tour Beauregard_, and there, tying their hands behind them by the two thumbs, drew them to a certain height with an engine made for that purpose, by which means sometimes their shoulders were turned round; and sometimes their thumbs torn off; but this fancy of witches has for some years been laid aside. It will be noticed in the subsequent _Confessions_ of witches (page 11, &c.), that a number of colons (:) are inserted in the text where they would not be required as ordinary marks of punctuation. These correspond, however, to similar pauses in the original records, and evidently indicate the successive stages by which the story was wrung from the wretched victims. They are thus endowed with a sad and ghastly significance, which must be borne in mind when the confessions are read. It must also be remembered that these confessions were not usually made in the connected form in which they stand recorded, but were rather the result of leading questions put by the inquisitors, such as: How old were you when the Devil first appeared to you? What form did he assume? What parish were you in? What were you doing? &c., &c. Melancholy and revolting as all this is, yet the tortures made use of in Guernsey were far from possessing those refinements of cruelty and that intensity of brutality which characterised the methods practiced in some other countries. Let us take as a proof of this, the notable case of Dr. Fian and his associates, who were tried at Edinburgh, in the year 1591. The evidence was of the usual ridiculous kind, and a confession--afterwards withdrawn--was extorted by the following blood-curdling barbarities, as is quoted by Mr. C.K. Sharpe, in his _Historical Account of the Belief in Witchcraft in Scotland_:-- The said Doctor was taken and imprisoned, and used with the accustomed paine provided for those offences inflicted upon the rest, as is aforesaid. First, by thrawing of his head with a rope, whereat he would confesse nothing. Secondly, he was perswaded by faire meanes to confesse his follies; but that would prevaile as little. Lastly, hee was put to the most severe and cruell paine in the world, called the bootes, who, after he had received three strokes, being inquired if he would confesse his damnable actes and wicked life, his toong would not serve him to speak; in respect whereof, the rest of the witches willed to search his toong, under which was founde two pinnes thrust up into the heade, whereupon the witches did say, now is the charme stinted, and shewed that these charmed pins were the cause he could not confesse any thing; then was he immediately released of the bootes, brought before the King, his confession was taken, and his own hand willingly set thereunto.... But this Doctor, notwithstanding that his owne confession appeareth remaining in recorde under his owne hande-writing, and the same thereunto fixed in the presence of the King's majestie, and sundrie of his councell, yet did he utterly denie the same. Whereupon the Kinges majestie, perceiving his stubbourne wilfulnesse, conceived and imagined that in the time of his absence hee had entered into newe conference and league with the devill, his master, and that hee had beene agayne newly marked, for the which he was narrowly searched; but it coulde not in anie wice be founde; yet, for more tryall of him to make him confesse, hee was commaunded to have a most straunge torment, which was done in this manner following: His nailes upon all his fingers were riven and pulled off with an instrument called in Scottish a turkas, which in England wee call a payre of pincers, and under everie nayle there was thrust in two needles over, even up to the heads; at all which tormentes notwithstanding the Doctor never shronke anie whit, neither woulde he then confesse it the sooner for all the tortures inflicted upon him. Then was hee, with all convenient speed, by commandement, convaied againe to the torment of the bootes, wherein he continued a long time, and did abide so many blowes in them, that the legges were crusht and beaten together as small as might bee, and the bones and flesh so bruised that the blood and marrow spouted forth in great abundance, whereby they were made unserviceable for ever; and notwithstanding all those grievous paines and cruell torments, hee would not confess anie thing; so deeply had the devill entered into his heart, that hee utterly denied all that which he had before avouched, and would saie nothing thereunto but this, that what he had done and sayde before, was onely done and sayde for fear of paynes which he had endured. After this horrible treatment the wretched man was strangled and burnt. The following list gives a few--and only a few--of the direful results to which this widespread superstition led. The instances are chiefly taken from Dr. Réville's _History of the Devil_, and Haydn's well-known _Dictionary of Dates_:-- At Toulouse a noble lady, fifty-six years of age, named Angela de Labarète, was the first who was burnt as a sorceress, in which special quality she formed part of the great _auto-da-fé_ which took place in that city in the year 1275; at Carcasonne, from 1320 to 1350, more than four hundred executions for witchcraft are on record; in 1309 many Templars were burnt at Paris for witchcraft; Joan of Arc was burnt as a witch at Rouen, May 30th, 1431; in 1484 Pope Innocent VIII. issued a bull against witchcraft, causing persecutions to break out in all parts of Christendom; during three months of the year 1515, about five hundred witches were burnt at Geneva; in 1524 many persons were burnt for the same crime in the Diocese of Como; about the year 1520 a great number suffered in France, and one sorcercer confessed to having 1,200 associates; from 1580 to 1595--a period of fifteen years--about nine hundred witches were burnt in Lorraine; between 1627 and 1629, no fewer than one hundred and fifty-seven persons, old and young, and of all ranks, were burnt at Wurtzburg, in Bavaria; in 1634 a clerk named Urbain Grandier, who was parish priest at Loudon, was burnt on a charge of having bewitched a whole convent of Ursuline nuns; in 1654 twenty poor women were put to death as witches in Brittany; in 1648-9 serious disturbances on account of witchcraft took place in Massachusetts; and in 1683 dreadful persecutions raged in Pennsylvania from the same cause; in 1692, at Salem, in New England, nineteen persons were hanged by the Puritans for witchcraft, and eight more were condemned, while fifty others confessed themselves to be witches, and were pardoned; in 1657 the witch-judge Nicholas Remy boasted of having burnt nine hundred persons in fifteen years; in one German principality alone, at least two hundred and forty-two persons were burnt between 1646 and 1651, including many children from one to six years of age; in 1749 Maria Renata was burnt at Wurtzburg for witchcraft; on January 17th, 1775, nine old women were burnt at Kalish, in Poland, on a charge of having bewitched and rendered unfruitful the lands belonging to the palatinate; at Landshut, in Bavaria, in 1756, a young girl of thirteen years was convicted of impure intercourse with the Devil and put to death. There were also executions for sorcery at Seville, in Spain, in 1781, and at Glarus, in Switzerland, in 1783; while even as late as December 15th, 1802, five women were condemned to death for sorcery at Patna, in the Bengal Presidency, by the Brahmins, and were all executed. IN ENGLAND the record of Witchcraft is also a melancholy chapter. A statute was enacted declaring all witchcraft and sorcery to be felony without benefit of clergy, 33 Henry VIII. 1541; and again 5 Elizabeth, 1562, and 1 James I. 1603. The 73rd Canon of the Church, 1603, prohibits the Clergy from casting out devils. Barrington estimates the judicial murders for witchcraft in England, during two hundred years, at 30,000; Matthew Hopkins, the "witch-finder," caused the judicial murder of about one hundred persons in Essex, Norfolk, and Suffolk, 1645-7; Sir Matthew Hale burnt two persons for witchcraft in 1664; about 1676 seventeen or eighteen persons were burnt as witches at St. Osyths, in Essex; in 1705 two pretended witches were executed at Northampton, and five others seven years afterwards; in 1716, a Mrs. Hicks, and her daughter, a little girl of nine years old, are said to have been hanged as witches at Huntingdon, but of this there seems to be some doubt. The last really authentic trial in England for witchcraft took place in 1712, when the jury convicted an old woman named Jane Wenham, of Walkerne, a little village in the north of Hertfordshire, and she was sentenced to be hanged. The judge, however, quietly procured a reprieve for her, and a kind-hearted gentleman in the neighbourhood gave her a cottage to live in, where she ended her days in peace. With regard to the mobbing of reputed sorcerers, it is recorded that in the year 1628, Dr. Lamb, a so-called wizard, who had been under the protection of the Duke of Buckingham, was torn to pieces by a London mob. While even as late as April 22nd, 1751, a wild and tossing rabble of about 5,000 persons beset and broke into the work-house at Tring, in Hertfordshire, where seizing Luke Osborne and his wife, two inoffensive old people suspected of witchcraft, they ducked them in a pond till the old woman died. After which, her corpse was put to bed to her husband by the mob, of whom only one person--a chimney-sweeper named Colley, who was the ringleader--was brought to trial and hanged for the detestable outrage. The laws against witchcraft in England had lain dormant for many years, when an ignorant person attempted to revive them by filing a bill against a poor old woman in Surrey, accused as a witch; this led to the repeal of the laws by the statute 10 George II. 1736. Credulity in witchcraft, however, still lingers in some of the country districts of the United Kingdom. On September 4th, 1863, a poor old paralysed Frenchman died in consequence of having been ducked as a wizard at Castle Hedingham, in Essex, and similar cases have since occurred; while on September 17th, 1875,--only ten years ago--an old woman named Ann Turner, was killed as a witch, by a half-insane man, at Long Compton, Warwickshire. IN SCOTLAND, thousands of persons were burnt for witchcraft within a period of about a hundred years, in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. Among the victims were persons of the highest rank, while all orders of the state concurred. James I. even caused a whole assize to be prosecuted because of an acquittal; the king published his work on _Dæmonologie_, in Edinburgh, in 1597; the last sufferer for witchcraft in Scotland was at Dornoch, in 1722. CONFESSIONS OF WITCHES UNDER TORTURE. _LE 4 JUILLET 1617._ Devant AMICE DE CARTERET, Ecuyer, Baillif, présents, etc. SENTENCE DE MORT. _Collette Du Mont_, veuve de _Jean Becquet_, _Marie_, sa fille, femme de _Pierre Massy_, _Isbel Bequet_, femme de _Jean Le Moygne_, etant par la coutume renommée et bruit des gens de longue main du bruit de damnable art de Sorcellerie, et icelles sur ce saisies et apprehendées par les Officiers de Sa Majesté, apres s'etre volontairement sumis et sur l'enquete generale du pays, et apres avoir été plusieurs fois conduites en Justice, ouïes, examinées et confrontées sur un grand nombre de depositions faites et produites à l'encontre d'elles par les dits Officiers, par lesquels est clair et evident qu'auraient, par longeur d'années, le susdit diabolique art de Sorcellerie, par avoir non seulement jété leur sort sur des choses insensible, mais aussi tenu en langueur par maladies etranges plusieurs personnes et betes, et aussi cruellement meurti grand nombre d'hommes, femmes, et enfans, et fait mourir plusieurs animaux, recordés aux informations sur ce faites, s'ensuit qu'elles sont plainement convaincues et atteintes d'etre Sorcieres. Pour reparation duquel crime a eté dit par la Cour que lesdites femmes seront presentement conduites la halte au col au lieu de supplice accoutumé, et par l'Officier criminel attachées à un poteau, pendues, etranglées, osciées, et brulées, jusqu'à ce que leur chairs et ossements soient reduits en cendres, et leurs cendres eparcées; et sont tous les biens, meubles, et heritages, si aucun en ont acquit, à Sa Majesté. Pour leur faire confesser leurs complices, qu'elles seront mises à la question en Justice avant que d'etre executées. [TRANSLATION.] Before AMICE DE CARTERET, Esq., Bailiff, and the Jurats. _JULY 4th, 1617._ SENTENCE OF DEATH. _Collette du Mont_, widow of _Jean Becquet_; _Marie_, her daughter, wife of _Pierre Massy_; and _Isabel Becquet_, wife of _Jean Le Moygne_, being by common rumour and report for a long time past addicted to the damnable art of Witchcraft, and the same being thereupon seized and apprehended by the Officers of His Majesty [James I.], after voluntarily submitting themselves, both upon the general inquest of the country, and after having been several times brought up before the Court, heard, examined, and confronted, upon a great number of depositions made and produced before the Court by the said Officers; from which it is clear and evident that for many years past the aforesaid women have practiced the diabolical art of Witchcraft, by having not only cast their spells upon inanimate objects, but also by having retained in languor through strange diseases, many persons and beasts; and also cruelly hurt a great number of men, women, and children, and caused the death of many animals, as recorded in the informations thereupon laid, it follows that they are clearly convicted and proved to be Witches. In expiation of which crime it has been ordered by the Court that the said women shall be presently conducted, with halters about their necks, to the usual place of punishment, and shall there be fastened by the Executioner to a gallows, and be hanged, strangled, killed, and burnt, until their flesh and bones are reduced to ashes, and the ashes shall be scattered; and all their goods, chattels, and estates, if any such exist, shall be forfeited to His Majesty. In order to make them disclose their accomplices, they shall be put to the question before the Court, previous to being executed. Sentence de mort ayant esté prononcée à l'encontre de _Collette Du Mont_, veuve de _Jean Becquet_, _Marie_, sa fille, femme de _Pierre Massy_, et _Isbel Becquet_, femme de _Jean Le Moygne_, auroyent icelles confessé comme suit:-- CONFESSION DE COLLETTE DU MONT. Premier, la diste _Collette_ immediatement appres la dyte sentence donnée, et avant que de sortir de l'auditoire, a librement recognu qu'elle estoit Sorciere; toutesfois ne voulant particularizer les crimes qu'auroit commis a esté conduite avec les autres en la Maison de la Question, et la dite question luy estant applicquée, a confessé qu'elle estoit encore jeune lors que le Diable en forme de chat: s'aparut à elle: en la Paroisse de Torteval: lors qu'elle retournoit de son bestiall, estant encore jour, et qu'il print occasion de la seduire, par l'inciter à se venger d'un de ses voisins avec lequell elle estoit pour lors en querelle pour quelque domage qu'elle auroit receu par les bestes d'yceluy; que depuis lors qu'elle avoit eu querelle avec quelcun, ill se representoit à elle en la susdite forme: et quelquefois en forme de chien: l'induisant à se venger de ceux contre lesquels elle estoit faschée: la persuadant de faire mourir des personnes et bestes. Que le Diable l'estant venue querir pour aller au Sabat, l'appelloit sans qu'on s'en apperceust: et luy bailloit ung certain onguent noir, duquel (appres s'etre despouillée) elle se frotoit le dos, ventre et estomac: et s'estant revestuë, sortoit hors son huis, lors estoit incontinent emportée par l'air d'une grande vitesse: et se trouvoit a l'instant au lieu du Sabat, qui estoit quelquefois pres le cimetiere de la paroisse: et quelques autres fois pres le rivage de la mer, aux environs du Chateau de Rocquaine: là où estant arivée s'y rencontroit souvent quinze ou saize Sorciers et Sorcieres avec les Diables, qu'y estoient là en forme de chiens, chats, et lievres: lesquels Sorciers et Sorcieres elle n'a peu recognoistre, parce qu'ils estoyent tous noircis et deffigurés: bien est vray avoir ouy le Diable les evocquer par leur noms, et se souvaient entre autres de la _Fallaise_, et de la _Hardie_; dit confesse qu'a l'entrée du Sabath: le Diable les voulant esvosquer commencoit par elle quelquefois. Que sa fille _Marie_, femme de _Massy_, à present condamnée pour pareill crime, est Sorciere: et qu'elle la menée par deux fois au Sabath avec elle: ne scait par où le Diable la merchée: qu'au Sabath appres avoir adoré le Diable, lequell se tenoit debout sur ses pieds de derriere, ils avoient copulation avec luy en forme de chien; puis dansoyent dos a dos. Et appres avoir dansé, beuvoyent du vin (ne scait de quelle couleur), que le Diable versoit hors d'un pot en ung gobelet d'argent ou d'estrain; lequell vin ne luy sembloit sy bon que celuy qu'on boit ordinarement; mangeoist aussy du pain blanc quj leur presentoit--n'a jamais veu de sell au Sabath. Confesse que le Diable luy avoit donné charge d'appeler en passant _Isebell le Moygne_: lors quelle viendroit au Sabath, ce qu'elle a fait diverses fois. Qu'au partir du Sabath le Diable l'incitoit à perpetrer plusieurs maux: et pour cest effect luy bailloit certaines pouldres noires, qu'il lui commandoit de ietter sur telles personnes et bestes qu'elle voudroit; avec laquelle pouldre elle a perpetré plusieurs maux desquels ne se souvient: entres autres en ietta sur _Mes. Dolbell_, ministre de la paroisse: et fut occasion de sa mort par ce moyen. Par ceste mesme pouldre ensorcela la femme de _Jean Maugues_: toutesfois nie qu'elle soit morte par son sort: qu'elle toucha par le costé, et ietta de ceste pouldre sur la femme defuncte de _Mr Perchard_, successeur ministre du dit _Dolbell_, en ycelle paroisse, ycelle estant pour lors enceinte, tellement qu'elle la fist mourir et son fruit--ne scait quelle occasion luy fut donnée par la dite femme. Que sur le refus que la femme de _Collas Tottevin_ luy fist de luy donner du laict: elle fist assecher sa vache, en iettant sur ycelle de ceste pouldre: laquelle vache elle regarit par appres en luy faisant manger du son, et de l'herbe terrestre que le Diable lui bailla. Sentence of Death having been pronounced against _Collette Du Mont_, widow of _Jean Becquet_; _Marie_, her daughter, wife of _Pierre Massy_; and _Isabel Becquet_, wife of _Jean Le Moygne_; the same have confessed as follows:-- CONFESSION OF COLLETTE DU MONT. First, the said _Collette_ immediately after the said sentence was pronounced, and before leaving the Court, freely admitted that she was a Witch; at the same time, not wishing to specify the crimes which she had committed, she was taken, along with the others, to the Torture Chamber, and the said question being applied to her, she confessed that she was quite young when the Devil, in the form of a cat: appeared to her: in the Parish of Torteval: as she was returning from her cattle, it being still daylight, and that he took occasion to lead her astray by inciting her to avenge herself on one of her neighbours, with whom she was then at enmity, on account of some damage which she had suffered through the cattle of the latter; that since then when she had a quarrel with anyone, he appeared to her in the aforesaid form: and sometimes in the form of a dog: inducing her to take vengence upon those who had angered her: persuading her to cause the death of persons and cattle. That the Devil having come to fetch her that she might go to the Sabbath, called for her without anyone perceiving it: and gave her a certain black ointment with which (after having stripped herself), she rubbed her back, belly and stomach: and then having again put on her clothes, she went out of her door, when she was immediately carried through the air at a great speed: and she found herself in an instant at the place of the Sabbath, which was sometimes near the parochial burial-ground: and at other times near the seashore in the neighbourhood of Rocquaine Castle: where, upon arrival, she met often fifteen or sixteen Wizards and Witches with the Devils who were there in the form of dogs, cats, and hares: which Wizards and Witches she was unable to recognise, because they were all blackened and disfigured: it was true, however, that she had heard the Devil summon them by their names, and she remembered among others those of _Fallaise_ and _Hardie_; confessed that on entering the Sabbath: the Devil wishing to summon them commenced with her sometimes. Admitted that her daughter _Marie_, wife of _Massy_, now condemned for a similar crime, was a Witch: and that she took her twice to the Sabbath with her: at the Sabbath, after having worshipped the Devil, who used to stand up on his hind legs, they had connection with him under the form of a dog; then they danced back to back. And after having danced, they drank wine (she did not know what colour it was), which the Devil poured out of a jug into a silver or pewter goblet; which wine did not seem to her so good as that which was usually drunk; they also ate white bread which he presented to them--she had never seen any salt at the Sabbath. Confessed that the Devil had charged her to call, as she passed, for _Isabel le Moygne_: when she came to the Sabbath, which she had done several times. On leaving the Sabbath the Devil incited her to commit various evil deeds: and to that effect he gave her certain black powders, which he ordered her to throw upon such persons and cattle as she wished; with this powder she perpetrated several wicked acts which she did not remember: among others she threw some upon _Mr Dolbell_, parish minister: and was the occasion of his death by these means. With this same powder she bewitched the wife of _Jean Maugues_: but denied that the woman's death was caused by it: she also touched on the side, and threw some of this powder over the deceased wife of _Mr Perchard_, the minister who succeeded the said _Dolbell_ in the parish, she being _enceinte_ at the time, and so caused the death of her and her infant--she did not know that the deceased woman had given her any cause for doing so. Upon the refusal of the wife of _Collas Tottevin_ to give her some milk: she caused her cow to dry up, by throwing upon it some of this powder: which cow she afterwards cured again by making it eat some bran, and some terrestrial herb that the Devil gave her. CONFESSION DE MARIE BECQUET. _Marie_, femme de _Pierre Massy_, appres sentence de mort prononcée a l'encontre d'elle, ayant esté mise a la question, a confessé qu'elle est Sorciere; et qu'à la persuation du Diable, quj s'aparut à elle en forme de chien: elle se donna à luy: que lors que se donna à luy ill la print de sa patte par la main: qu'elle s'est oint du mesme onguent que sa mere s'oignoit: et a esté au Sabath sur la banque pres du Chateau de Rocquaine, avec luy, où n'y avoit que le Diable et elle, se luy sembloit: en la susdite forme en laquelle elle la veu plusieurs fois. A été aussi au Sabath une fois entre autres en la ruë, _Collas Tottevin_; que toutes les fois qu'elle alloit au Sabath le Diable la venant querir luy sembloit qu'il la transformait en chienne; dit que sur le rivage, pres du dit Rocquaine: le Diable, en forme de chien, ayant eu copulation avec elle, luy donnoit du pain et du vin, qu'elle mangeoit et beuvoit. Que le Diable luy bailloit certaines pouldres: lesquelles pouldres ill luy mettoit dans la main, pour ietter sur ceux qu'il luy commanderoit: qu'elle en a ietté par son commandement sur des personnes et bestes: notament sur l'enfant _Pierre Brehaut_. Item, sur la femme _Jean Bourgaize_ lors qu'estoit enciente. Item, sur l'enfant _Leonard le Messurier_. CONFESSION OF MARIE BECQUET. _Marie_, wife of _Pierre Massy_, after sentence of death had been pronounced against her, having been put to the question, confessed that she was a Witch; and that at the persuasion of the Devil, who appeared to her in the form of a dog: she gave herself to him: that when she gave herself to him he took her by the hand with his paw: that she used to anoint herself with the same ointment as her mother used: and had been to the Sabbath upon the bank near Rocquaine Castle with her, where there was no one but the Devil and her as it seemed: in the aforesaid form in which she had seen him several times: She was also at the Sabbath on one occasion among others in the road near _Collas Tottevin's_; every time that she went to the Sabbath, the Devil came to her, and it seemed as though he transformed her into a female dog; she said that upon the shore, near the said Rocquaine: the Devil, in the form of a dog, having had connection with her, gave her bread and wine, which she ate and drank. The Devil gave her certain powders: which powders he put into her hand, for her to throw upon those whom he ordered her: she threw some of them by his orders upon persons and cattle: notably upon the child of _Pierre Brehaut_. Item, upon the wife of _Jean Bourgaize_, while she was _enceinte_. Item, upon the child of _Leonard le Messurier_. CONFESSION D'ISABEL BECQUET. _Isebelle_, femme de _Jean de Moygne_, ayant esté mise a la question, a tout aussytost confessé qu'elle est Sorciere: et que sur ce qu'elle tomba en querelle avec la _Girarde_, sa belle-soeur: le Diable en forme de lievre print occasion de la seduire: se representant à elle en plain jour dans une ruë pres de sa maison: et la persuadant et incitant de se donner à luy: et que l'aideroit à se venger de la dite _Girarde_ et de tous aultres: à laquelle persuation n'ayant icelle à l'instant voulu condescendre: aussy tout disparut: mais incontinent luy vint derechef au devant en la mesme ruë, et poursuyvant sa premiere pointe: l'exhortoit aux mesmes fins que dessus: cela fait, ill la laissa et se retira, apres luy avoir, au prealable, mis une pochée de pasnés; qu'elle portoit pour lors, une certaine pouldre noire envelopée dans ung linge qu'il mist: laquelle pouldre elle retint par devers soy. S'aparut à elle une autre fois en mesme forme au territoire de la ville, l'incitant dereschef à se donner à luy, à quoy ne voulant icelle condescendre luy fist adonc requeste de luy donner une beste vive: lors de ce pas revint ches elle querir ung poullet, qu'elle luy apporta au mesme lieu où l'avoit laissé, lequell ill print: et appres l'avoir remerecie luy donna assignation de se trouver le lendemain avant jour au Sabath, avec promesse qu'il l'enverroit querir: suivant laquelle promesse, estant la nuittée ensuivant, la vielle _Collette du Mont_ venant la querir, lui bailla de l'onguent noir qu'elle avoit eu du Diable; duquell (apprès s'estre despouillée) s'oignit le dos, et le ventre, puis s'estant revestuë, sortit l'huis de sa maison: lors fut à l'instant enlevée: et transportée au travers hayes et buissons, pres la banque sur le bord de la mer, aux environs du Chasteau de Rocquaine, lieu ordinaire où le Diable gardoit son Sabath; là où ne fut sytost arivée, que le Diable ne vint la trouver en forme de chien avec deux grandes cornes dressées en hault: et de l'une de ses pattes (qui lui sembloyent comme mains), la print par la main: et l'appellant par son nom, luy dist qu'estoit la bien venuë: lors aussytost le Diable la fist mettre sur ses genoux: luy se tenant debout sur ses pieds de derrière; luy ayant fait detester l'Esternelle en ses mots: _Je renie Dieu le Pere, Dieu le Fils et Dieu le St. Esprit_; se fist adorer et invocquer en ses termes: _Nostre Grand Maistre aide nous!_ avec paction expresse d'adherer à luy; que cela fait, ill ont copulation avec elle en la susdite forme de chien, ung peu plus grand: puis elle et les aultres danserent avec luy dos à dos: qu'apres avoir dansé, le Diable versoit hors d'un pot du vin noir, qu'il leur presentoit dans une escuelle de bois, duquell elle beut, toutesfois ne luy sembloit sy bon que le vin quj se boit ordinairement: qu'il y avoit du pain--mais n'en mangea point: confesse qu'elle se donna lors à luy pour ung mois: ainsy retournerent du Sabath comme y estoyent allés. Que seconde fois fut au Sabath, apres que la vielle _Collette_ l'eut esté querir et qu'elle se fist oindre d'onguent cy dessus;--declare qu'à l'entree du Sabath eut dereschef copulation avec le Diable, et dansa avec luy; appres avoir dansé, à sa solicitation de prolonger le temps, se donna à luy pour trois ans; qu'au Sabath le Diable faisoit evocation des Sorciers et Sorcieres par ordre (se souvient tresbien y avoir ouy le Diable appeller la vielle _Collette_, la premiere, en ces termes: _Madame la Vielle Becquette_); puis la _Fallaise_; appres la _Hardie_. Item, _Marie_, femme de _Massy_, fille de la dite _Collette_. Dit appres eux, elle mesme estoit evosquée par le Diable, en ses termes: _La Petite Becquette_; qu'elle y a ouy aussy evosquer _Collas Becquet_, fils de la dit vielle (lequell la tenoit par la main en dansant, et une que ne cognoist la tenoit par l'autre main): qu'il y en avoit viron six autres que ne cognoissoit: que la dite vielle estoit tousjours proche du Diable: que quelque fois tandis que les uns dansoyent les autres avoyent copulation avec les Diables en forme de chien: et estoyent au Sabath viron trois ou quatre heures, non plus. Qu'estant au Sabath le Diable la mercha en haut de la cuisse: laquelle merche ayant esté reuisitée par les sage femmes, ont raporté avoir mis dedans une petite espingue bien avant, qu'elle n'a point senty, et n'en est sorty aulcuns sang; ne scait par ou le Diable a merche les autres: que les premiers venues au lieu du Sabath attendoyent les autres; et apparoissoyent tous les Sorciers et Sorcieres en leur propre formes: toutesfois noircis et defficgurés, et ne les pouvoit en cognoistre. Que le Diable apparoissoit quelque fois en forme de boucq au Sabath; ne la veu en autres formes; qu'au departir, ill se faisoit baiser la derriere, leur demandant quant reviendroyent: les exhortoit qu'eussent à adherer tousiours a luy: et faire des maux, et pour cest effet leur bailloit certaines pouldres noires envelopées dans ung drapeau, pour en ietter sur ceux qu'ils vouloyent ensorcerer: qu'au departir du Sabath le Diable s'en alloit d'un coste et eux de l'autre: appres les avoir toutes prinses par la main: Qu'à l'instigation du Diable elle en a jetté sur plusieurs personnes et bestes: notament sur _Jean Jehan_, lors qu'il vint chez elle querir ung pourceau. Item, sur l'enfant _James Gallienne_, et sur aultres: Item, sur les bestes de _Brouart_ et aultres. Que c'estoit le Diable qui fut veu ches le susdit _Gallienne_, en forme de rat et bellette, ycelle estant pour lors aux environs de la maison du dit _Gallienne_, et s'estant venu rendre à elle en resemblance d'homme, la frapa de plusieurs coups par le visage et teste: dont estoit ainsy meurdie et deschirée lors que fut veüe le lendemain par _Thomas Sohier_. Et croit que la cause de ce maltraitement fut pour ce que ne voulut aller avec le Diable chez le dit _Gallienne_. Qu'elle n'alloit point au Sabath sinon lors que son mary estoit demeuré la nuict en pescherie à la mer. Que lors qu'elle vouloit ensorceler quelcun, sa poudre estant faillie, le Diable s'aparoissoit à elle, luy disant qu'allast en querir en tell endroit qu'il luy nommoit, ce qu'elle faisoit, et ne falloit d'y en trouver. CONFESSION OF ISABEL BECQUET. _Isabel_, wife of _Jean le Moygne_, having been put to the question, at once confessed that she was a Witch: and that upon her getting into a quarrel with the woman _Girarde_, who was her sister-in-law: the Devil, in the form of a hare, took occasion to tempt her: appearing to her in broad daylight in a road near her house: and persuading and inciting her to give herself to him: and that he would help her to avenge herself on the said _Girarde_, and everybody else: to which persuasion she would not at the moment condescend to yield: so he at once disappeared: but very soon he came again to her in the same road, and pursuing his previous argument: exhorted her in the same terms as above: that done, he left her and went away, after having previously put her a sackful of parsnips; she then took a certain black powder wrapped in a cloth which he placed; which powder she kept by her. He appeared to her another time under the same form in the town district, inciting her anew to give herself to him, but she not wishing to comply, he next made a request to her to give him some living animal: whereupon she returned to her dwelling and fetched a chicken, which she carried to him to the same place where she had left him, and he took it: and after having thanked her he made an appointment for her to be present the next morning before daylight at the Sabbath, promising that he would send for her: according to which promise, during the ensuing night, the old woman _Collette du Mont_, came to fetch her, and gave her some black ointment, which she had had from the Devil; with this (after having stripped herself) she anointed her back and belly, then having dressed herself again she went out of her house door: when she was instantly caught up: and carried across hedges and bushes to the bank on the sea shore, in the neighbourhood of Rocquaine Castle, the usual place where the Devil kept his Sabbath; no sooner had she arrived there than the Devil came to her in the form of a dog, with two great horns sticking up: and with one of his paws (which seemed to her like hands) took her by the hand: and calling her by her name told her that she was welcome: then immediately the Devil made her kneel down: while he himself stood up on his hind legs; he then made her express detestation of the Eternal in these words: _I renounce God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Ghost_; and then caused her to worship and invoke himself in these terms: _Our Great Master, help us!_ with a special compact to be faithful to him; and when this was done he had connection with her in the aforesaid form of a dog, but a little larger: then she and the others danced with him back to back: after having danced, the Devil poured out of a jug some black wine, which he presented to them in a wooden bowl, from which she drank, but it did not seem to her so good as the wine which is usually drunk: there was also bread--but she did not eat any: confessed that she gave herself to him for a month: they returned from the Sabbath in the same manner that they went there. The second time she was at the Sabbath was after the old woman _Collette_ had been to fetch her, and she anointed herself with the ointment as above stated;--declared, that on entering the Sabbath, she again had connection with the Devil and danced with him; after having danced, and upon his solicitation to prolong the time, she gave herself to him for three years; at the Sabbath the Devil used to summon the Wizards and Witches in regular order (she remembered very well having heard him call the old woman _Collette_ the first, in these terms: _Madame the Old Woman Becquette_): then the woman _Fallaise_; and afterwards the woman _Hardie_. Item, he also called _Marie_, wife of _Massy_, and daughter of the said _Collette_. Said that after them, she herself was called by the Devil: in these terms: _The Little Becquette_: she also heard him call there _Collas Becquet_, son of the said old woman (who [_Collas_] held her by the hand in dancing, and someone [a woman] whom she did not know, held her by the other hand): there were about six others there she did not know: the said old woman was always the nearest to the Devil: occasionally while some were dancing, others were having connection with the Devils in the form of dogs; they remained at the Sabbath about three or four hours, not more. While at the Sabbath the Devil marked her at the upper part of the thigh: which mark having been examined by the midwives, they reported that they had stuck a small pin deeply into it, and that she had not felt it, and that no blood had issued: she did not know in what part the Devil had marked the others: those who came first to the place of the Sabbath, waited for the others; and all the Wizards and Witches appeared in their proper forms: but blackened and disfigured so that they could not be recognised. The Devil appeared sometimes in the form of a goat at the Sabbath; never saw him in other forms: on their departure he made them kiss him behind, and asked them when they would come again: he exhorted them always to be true to him: and to do evil deeds, and to this end he gave them certain black powders, wrapped in a cloth, for them to throw upon those whom they wished to bewitch: on leaving the Sabbath, the Devil went away in one direction and they in the other: after he had taken them all by the hand: At the instigation of the Devil she threw some of the powder over several persons and cattle: notably over _Jean Jehan_, when he came to her house to look for a pig. Item, over the child of _James Gallienne_, and over others. Item, over the cattle of _Brouart_, and of others. It was the Devil that was seen at the said _Gallienne's_ house in the form of a rat and a weazle, she herself being then in the neighbourhood of _Gallienne's_ house, and he [the Devil] came to her in the form of a man, and struck her several blows on the face and head: by which she was bruised and torn in the way that she was seen the next day by _Thomas Sohier_. And she believed that the cause of this maltreatment was because she would not go with the Devil to the house of the said _Gallienne_. She never went to the Sabbath except when her husband remained all night fishing at sea. Whenever she wanted to bewitch anyone and her powder happened to have been all used up, the Devil appeared to her and told her to go to such a place, which he named, for some more, and when she did so, she never failed to find it there. DEPOSITIONS CONTRE COLLAS BECQUET. _Le xvij Mai 1617._ _Susanne Le Tellier_, veufve de _Pierre Rougier_, depose que son mary estant decedé, trouva des sorcerots en son lict; et qu'en son djt lict mortuaire, il se plaignoit esté ensorcelé par _Collas Becquet_, avec lequel avoit eu dispute, sur laquelle dispute luy dyt que s'en repentiroit; et la dessus fut prins de m...[A] duquel fut douze jours malade; qu'ils trouverent quarante-quatre sorcerots en l'oreiller de son enfant, que les uns estoyent fait comme herissons, les autres comme pommes, et les autres plats comme la rouelle de la main; et du fill de chanvre entortillé avec de plumes. [Footnote A: Illegible in the record.] _Susanne_, femme de _Jean Le Messurier_, depose que son mary et _Collas Becquet_ plaiderent à jour passé ensemble; qu'allors ils avoyent ung enfant ayant de viron six semaines, et comme elle le despouilloit au soir, pour le coucher, il tomba sur l'estomac du djt enfant une beste noire laquelle fondit si tost que fut tombée, d'aultant qu'elle fist debvoir de la rechercher et ne peut jamais apercevoir qu'elle devint; incontinent l'enfant fut prins de mal et ne voulu teter, mais fut fort tormenté; que s'estant avisée de regarder dans l'oreiller du djt enfant y trouverent des sorcerots cousus de fil, et les ayant tirés et bien espluché la plume de l'oreiller, y regarda sept jours appres et y entrouva derechef avec une febve noire percée; dequoy, ayant le djt _Becquet_ ouy qu'il en estoit suspecté, sa femme vint ches la deposante comme le djt _Becquet_ estoit à la mer, et luy djt qu'à raison du bruit que la deposante avoit sucité sur son mary, iceluy _Becquet_ fuetteroit le djt _Mesurier_, son mary, et elle, et les tueroit; qu'apres cela la deposante fut ches eux leur dire que ne les craignoit, ny luy ny elle, de ce qu'ils la menacoyent de tuer son mary et elle; qu'ayant la deposante un jour six grands poulets qui couroyent appres leur mere, ils sortirent de leur maison et revinent au soir; et un à un se mirent a saulter en hault contre la cheminée et manget la scie, qu'ils moururent tous un à un, à voy ...[B] comme ils sautoyent, jusques au dernier qui dura en vie jusqu'à une heure devant le jour qu'il mourut; que depuis que l'eurent declare à _Mr Deljsle_ et les eut menacés, il a amendé à son enfant et se porte bien. [Footnote B: Illegible in the record.] _Collas Rougier_ depose que son frere _Piere Rougier_ en mourant chargeoit _Collas Becquet_ de sa mort. _Collas Hugues_ raport qu'estant en une nopsce y survint _Collas Becquet_ jouet avec sa belle-fille, laquelle le rebouta; et des le mesme soir elle fut frapée de telle facon qu'on pensoit qu'elle mourust à chacune heure; qu'elle est demeurée mechaignée de coste, et trouva un des sorcerots en son lict, qui pour lors furent monstrés à Messrs de Justice qui estoyent à tenir des veues à St. Pierre; que la djte fille tomboit quelque fois y terre toute aveuglée. La femme du djt _Hugues_ depose tout de mesme que son mary. _Jean De Garis_, fils _Guillaume_, depose qu'il y a viron deux ou trois ans qu'ayant presté quelque argent sur un gage à _Collas Becquet_, luy demandant son argent, ou qu'il feroit ventiller son gage; luy repartit le djt _Becquet_ à feray donc ventiller autre chose; qu'estant le djt _de Garis_ arivé en sa maison, trouva la fille malade et affligée; qu'ils trouverent des sorcerots et aultres brouilleries par plusieurs fois à l'oreiller de leur enfant; mais que la mere du djt _Becquet_ estant venue en la maison du djt _de Garis_, luy donna à boire de l'eau et la moitié d'un pain comme avoit esté conseillé de faire; depuis ne trouverent plus rien à l'oreiller du djt enfant; toutesfois pour eviter les djts sorcerots, ont toujours depuis couché leur enfant sur la paille; croit que ce mal leur ariva par leur moyen. _Mr Thomas de Ljsle_ depose que _Thomas Brouart_, qui demeure en sa maison, ayant appellé le fils de _Collas Becquet_, sorcier, il arriva qu'il fut un jour trouvé au lict du djt _Thomas_ grand nombre de vers, et les ayant le djt _Sieur de Ljsle_ veus, les jugea comme une formioniere, tant estoyent mouvans et espais, et à peine en peuvent vuider le dit enfant, l'ayant mis en plusieurs endroits; qu'appres fut le djt enfant accueillis de poulx de telle maniere que quoyque luy changeassent des chemises et habits tous les jours ne l'en pouvoyent franchir; et qu'ayant le djt _Thomas Brouart_ un corset tout neuf, fut tellement couvert de poulx qu'on n'auroit peu cognoistre le drap, et fut contraint le faire jetter parmy les choux; surquoy fait menacer aultre _Massi_ de la batre si elle ne s'abstenoit d'ainsy traiter son enfant; qu'estant revenu trouva le djt corset parmis les choux denue de poulx, lesquels du depuis ont quitté le djt _Brouart_. _Jacques le Mesurier_ depose qu'il y a viron deux ou trois ans qu'il rencontra _Collas Becquet_ et _Perot Massi_, quj avoyent du poisson, et d'aultant qu'ils lui debvoyent de l'argent, il voulut prendre de leur poisson à rabatre, mais ne luy en voulant bailler, eurent quelque dispute; sur quoy l'un des djts _Becquet_ ou _Massi_ le menacerent qu'il s'en repentiroit; qu'au bout de deux ou trois jours il fut saisi d'un mal que le brusloit, et quelques fois devenoit tout morfondu, sans qu'on le peust eschauffer, et sans aulcune relache; qu'il fut en ces tourments pres d'un mois. _Collas Becquet_ entendit que le deposant le chargeoit d'estre causte de son mal, et menacoit qu'il tueroit le djt deposant; mais bientost appres fut le djt deposant guery; dit de cuider et de croire les djts _Becquet_ et _Massy_, ou un d'iceux, fut cause de son mal. DEPOSITIONS AGAINST COLLAS BECQUET. _MAY 17, 1617._ _Susanne Le Tellier_, widow of _Pierre Rougier_, deposed that after her husband was dead she found witches' spells in his bed; and that while he was upon his said deathbed he complained of being bewitched by _Collas Becquet_, with whom he had had a quarrel, and who during the quarrel told him he would repent of it; whereupon he was taken with ...[A], whereof he was ill for twelve days; they also found forty-four witches' spells in her child's pillow, some of which were made like hedgehogs, others round like apples, and others again flat like the palm of the hand; and they were of hempen thread twisted with feathers. [Footnote A: Illegible in the record.] _Susanne_, wife of _Jean Le Messurier_, deposed that her husband and _Collas Becquet_ had angry words together one day; they had an infant about six weeks old, and as she was undressing it in the evening to put it to bed, there fell upon the stomach of the said infant, a black beast which melted away as soon as it fell, so that although she carefully sought for it, she could never discover what had become of it; immediately afterwards the infant was taken ill and would not suck, but was much tormented; being advised to look into the said infant's pillow, she found there several witches' spells sewn with thread; these she took out and carefully dressed all the feathers in the pillow; yet when she examined it again a week afterwards, she found there a black bean with a hole in it; of which, the said _Becquet_ hearing that he was suspected, his wife came to witness's house while the said _Becquet_ was at sea, and told her that on account of the rumour which witness had raised about her husband, he the said _Becquet_ would thrash the said _Messurier_, her husband, and herself, and would kill them; after that, witness went to their house to say they were not afraid either of him or her, or of their threats to kill her husband and her; witness had six big chickens which ran after their mother, going out of the house in the morning and returning at night; and one by one they began to jump up against the chimney and eat the soot, so that they all died one after the other, ...[B] as they jumped, until the last one which remained alive up to one hour of daybreak, when it died; after they had told this to _Mr. de Lisle_, and he had threatened the people, her infant recovered and remained well. [Footnote B: Illegible in the record.] _Collas Rougier_ deposed that his brother _Pierre Rougier_ when dying charged _Collas Becquet_ with causing his death. _Collas Hugues_ reported that being at a wedding, _Collas Becquet_ arrived there, and began to toy with his daughter-in-law, who repelled his advances; the very same evening she was taken ill in such a manner that they thought she would have died from one hour to another; besides which she remained under the charm, and they found one of the witches' spells in her bed, which was shown to the Members of the Court, who were making an inspection at St. Peter's; the said girl sometimes fell to the ground quite blinded. The wife of the said _Hugues_ deposed to exactly the same as her husband. _Jean de Garis_, son of _William_, deposed that about two or three years ago, having lent some money on pledge to _Collas Becquet_, he asked him for the money, or else for a verification of his security; when the said _Becquet_ replied that he would let him know what his security was; the said _de Garis_ having then returned home, found his daughter sick and afflicted; they found witches' spells and other conjurations several times in their child's pillow; but the mother of the said _Becquet_ having come to the said _de Garis's_ house, he gave her a drink of water and half-a-loaf of bread, as he had been advised to do; since which time they had found nothing more in the child's pillow; however to avoid all risk of the said witches' spells they had always since then let their child sleep upon straw; he fully believed that this evil had come upon them by their means. _Mr. Thomas de Lisle_ deposed that _Thomas Brouart_, who resided in his house, having called the son of _Collas Becquet_ a wizard, it happened that there was one day found in the said _Thomas's_ bed a great number of maggots, which the said _Sieur de Lisle_ saw, and compared to an ant-hill, so lively and thick were they, and they could hardly clear the said child of them, although they put it in different places; afterwards the said child gathered lice in such a manner that although its shirts and clothes were changed every day they could not free it; the said _Thomas Brouart_ also had a brand new vest, which was so covered with lice that it was impossible to see the cloth, and he was compelled to have it thrown among the cabbages; upon which he went and threatened _Massi's_ wife that he would beat her if she did not abstain from thus treating his child; and on returning he found the said vest among the cabbages clear of lice, which had also since then quitted the said _Brouart_. _Jacques le Mesurier_ deposed that about two or three years ago he met _Collas Becquet_ and _Perot Massi_, who had some fish and who moreover owed him money; he wished to take some of their fish at a reduced price, but they would not agree to it, and they quarrelled; whereupon one of the two, either _Becquet_ or _Massi_, threatened him that he would repent of it; and at the end of two or three days, he was seized with a sickness in which he first burnt like fire and then was benumbed with cold so that nothing would warm him, and this without any cessation; he suffered in this way for nearly a month. _Collas Becquet_ heard that witness charged him with being the cause of his sickness, and he threatened that he would kill witness; but very soon afterwards the said witness was cured; and he affirms and believes that the said _Becquet_ and _Massy_, or one of them, was the cause of his attack. * * * * * NOTE ON THE GUERNSEY RECORDS. The Records at the Guernsey _Greffe_, from which the foregoing confessions and depositions have been transcribed, and whence the following list of accusations is compiled, are of a very voluminous character. In fact there is enough matter in them, connected with Witchcraft alone, to fill at least a couple of thick octavo volumes. There is, however, so much sameness in the different cases, and such a common tradition running through the whole, that the present excerpts give a very fair idea of the features which characterise the mass. While some of these Records are tolerably complete, the greater part of them unfortunately are fragmentary and imperfect. The books in which they were originally written seem to have been formed of a few sheets of paper stitched together. Then at some later period a number of these separate sections--in a more or less tattered condition--were gathered into volumes and bound together in vellum. It is evident, however, that very little care was exercised in their arrangement in chronological order. The consequence is that one portion of a trial sometimes occurs in one part of a volume, and the rest in another part; sometimes the depositions alone seem to have been preserved; sometimes the confessions; while in many cases the sentences pronounced are all that can now be discovered. Nevertheless these old Records enshrine much that is interesting, and very well deserve a more exhaustive analysis than they have ever yet received. There are also in the margins of these volumes, scores of pen-and-ink sketches of a most primitive description, depicting the carrying out of the various rigours of the law. Rough and uncouth as these illustrations are, they nevertheless possess a good deal of graphic significance, and I hope to reproduce some of them in facsimile, in a future publication. They represent, for instance, culprits hanging on the gallows--sometimes two or three in a row--with a fire kindled underneath; others attached to stakes in the midst of the flames; others, again, racing away under the lash of the executioner, &c., &c., and thus form a most realistic comment on the judicial severities recorded in the text. WITCHCRAFT TRIALS IN GUERNSEY, From 1563 to 1634, a period of 71 years. QUEEN ELIZABETH.--1558-1603. HELIER GOSSELIN, Bailiff, 1550-1563. _November 19th, 1563._ Gracyene Gousset, Catherine Prays, Collette Salmon, wife of Collas Dupont, Condemned to death and the Royal pardon refused. _December 17th, 1563._ Françoise Regnouff, Martin Tulouff, Condemned to death and the Royal pardon refused. _December 22nd, 1563._ Collette Gascoing. This woman was found guilty, and the Royal pardon being refused, she was whipped, had one of her ears cut off, and was banished from the island. THOMAS COMPTON, Bailiff, 1563-1572. _July 30th, 1570._ Jeannette Du Mareesc, Was banished for seven years. _October 27th, 1570._ Michelle Tourtell, Banished from the island. _November 3rd, 1570._ Coliche Tourtell, James de la Rue, Both banished from the island. _November 10th, 1570._ Lorenche Faleze, wife of Henry Johan, Banished from the island. _November 17th, 1570._ Thomasse Salmon. Marie Gauvein, wife of Ozouet. Both these women were whipped, had each an ear cut off, and were banished from the island. GUILLAUME BEAUVOIR, Bailiff, 1572-1581. No prosecutions for Witchcraft seem to have taken place during his tenure of office. THOMAS WIGMORE, Bailiff, 1581-1588. _1583._ Collas de la Rue. The result of this trial is uncertain. LOUIS DEVYCKE, Bailiff, 1588-1600. No Witchcraft prosecutions during his term of office. KING JAMES I.--1603-1625. AMICE DE CARTERET, Bailiff, 1601-1631. _1611._ Marie Rolland. The result of this trial is uncertain. _June 11th, 1613._ Oliver Omont, Cecille Vaultier, wife of Omont, Guillemine, their daughter, Were all banished from the island. _July 17th, 1613._ Laurence Leustace, wife of Thomas Le Compte, Banished from the island. _July 4th, 1617._ Collette du Mont, widow of Jean Becquet. Marie, her daughter, wife of Pierre Massy. Isabel Becquet, wife of Jean Le Moygne. All three women, after being found guilty, confessed under torture, and were then hanged and burnt. _August 8th, 1617._ Michelle Jervaise, widow Salmon. Jeanne Guignon, wife of J. de Callais, and two of her children. These four persons were hanged and burnt, after being put to the question. _October 17th, 1617._ Marie de Callais. Philipine le Parmentier, widow of Nicolle, of Sark. These two women were hanged and burnt, after being previously put to the question. _November 25th, 1617._ Thomasse de Calais, wife of Isaac le Patourel, Banished from the island. _November 25th, 1617._ Christine Hamon, wife of Etienne Gobetell. This woman was banished from the island, but returned on May 6th, 1626, when she was again arrested and sentenced to death. She was hanged July 21st, 1626. _August 1st, 1618._ Jean de Callais, together with his son, and servants. All these were charged with practicing Witchcraft, and were sent out of the island. _December, 1618._ Jean Nicolle, of Sark, Being found guilty, was whipped, had an ear cut off, and was banished from the island. _May 1st, 1619._ Pierre Massi, Condemned to be hanged. He, however, contrived to get out of prison and drowned himself. _August 7th, 1619._ Jeanne Behot, Banished from the island. _April 22nd, 1620._ Girete Parmentier, Jeanne Le Cornu, widow of Collas le Vallois. These two women were banished. _May 8th, 1622._ Collette de l'Estac, wife of Thomas Tourgis. Collette Robin. Catherine Hallouris, widow Heaulme. These three women were hanged and burnt, after being put to the question. _October 17th, 1622._ Thomas Tourgis, of the Forest. Jeanne Tourgis, his daughter. Michelle Chivret, wife of Pierre Omont. All three were burnt alive. _October 19th, 1622._ Jean Le Moigne. Guillemine la Bousse. This man and woman were set at liberty. _November 30th, 1622._ Perine Marest, wife of Pierre Gauvin, Banished, together with her husband and children. _October 3rd, 1623._ Etienne Le Compte, Hanged and burnt. _May 28th, 1624._ Marguerite Tardif, wife of P. Ozanne, Set at liberty. _June 4th, 1624._ Ester Henry, wife of Jean de France. This woman was burnt alive. The sentence states that her flesh and bones are to be reduced to ashes and scattered by the winds, as being unworthy of any sepulture. _July 16th, 1624._ Collette la Gelée. This woman was hanged and burnt. _October 22nd, 1624._ Jean Quaripel, Hanged and burnt. KING CHARLES I.--1625-1649. _July 23rd, 1625._ Elizabeth, wife of Pierre Duquemin, Banished for 7 years. _August 11th, 1626._ Jeanne de Bertran, wife of Jean Thomas, Hanged and burnt. _August 12th, 1626._ Marie Sohier, wife of J. de Garis, Hanged and burnt. _November 10th, 1626._ Judith Alexander, of Jersey, wife of Pierre Jehan, Hanged and burnt. _August 25th, 1627._ Job Nicolle, of Sark, Condemned to perpetual banishment. _January 16th, 1629._ Anne Blampied, wife of Thomas Heaulme, of the Forest. Thomas Heaulme, of the Forest. Both banished for seven years. _May 1st, 1629._ Marguerite Picot (l'Aubaine), Hanged and burnt. _August 7th, 1629._ Susanne Prudhome, wife of Guilbert, of the Castel, Put to the question, hanged, and burnt. JEAN DE QUETTEVILLE, Bailiff, 1631-1644. _July 1st, 1631._ Jehan Nicolle, of Sark, Set at liberty. _July 15th, 1631._ Marie Mabile, wife of Pierre de Vauriouf. Thomas Civret. Both were put to the question, hanged, and burnt. _July 23rd, 1631._ Susanne Rouane, wife of Etienne Le Compte, Judith Le Compte, } Bertrane " } four daughters of the above. Ester " } Rachel " } The mother was condemned to perpetual banishment from the island, and the daughters were banished for fifteen years. _October 1st, 1631._ Marie Mortimer, wife of François Chirret. Also her son. Both were set at liberty. _October 1st, 1631._ Vincente Canu, wife of André Odouère. Marie de Callais. Both were set at liberty. _December 10th, 1631._ Jehan Canivet. Renette de Garis, wife of Martin Maugeur. Elizabeth le Hardy, wife of Collas Deslandes. Simeone Mollett. Marie Clouet, wife of Pierre Beneste. All the above were condemned to perpetual banishment. _January 28th, 1634._ Jacob Gaudion, of Alderney, Condemned to perpetual banishment. _May 16th, 1634._ Marie Guillemotte, wife of Samuel Roland, known as Dugorne. Marie Rolland, her daughter. The mother was hanged and burnt, and the daughter was condemned to perpetual banishment. THE STORY IN BRIEF OF THE GUILLE-ALLÈS LIBRARY, GUERNSEY. BY J. LINWOOD PITTS. In concluding the editorial duties connected with the issue of this fourth volume of the "Guille-Allès Library Series," it seems to me that the time is an opportune one for adding some short account of the origin and foundation of the noble Institution from which the "Series" takes its name. The Guille-Allès Library is proving such an immense boon to our little insular community, that very naturally, many inquiries are from time to time made--especially by strangers--as to how its existence came about. In order to answer these questions we must go as far back as the year 1834. At that time Mr. Guille--who is a Guernseyman by birth--was but a boy of sixteen, and had been two years in America. He was serving his apprenticeship with a well-known firm in New York, and he enjoyed the privilege of access to a very extensive library in that city, founded by a wealthy corporation known as _The General Society of Mechanics and Tradesmen_. The pleasure and profit which he derived from this source were so great, and made such a deep impression upon his mind that, young as he was, he formed the resolution that if his future life proved prosperous, and his position enabled him to do so, he would one day found a similar institution in his own little native island of Guernsey. Throughout the whole of his future career this intention was present with him; and commencing at once,--in spite of his then very limited means--to purchase books which should form a nucleus for the anticipated collection, he began to lay the foundation of the literary treasures which crowd the shelves of the Guille-Allès Library to-day. At the age of twenty, when out of his apprenticeship, he found himself the possessor of several hundreds of volumes of standard works, many of which are now in the Library, and upon which he must naturally look with peculiar and very legitimate pleasure, as being the corner stones of the subsequent splendid superstructure. Business affairs prospered with Mr. Guille. As time rolled on he was taken into partnership with the firm, as was also his friend and fellow-countryman, Mr. F.M. Allès, and his increasing prosperity enabled him to put his cherished project into more tangible shape. While on a visit to Guernsey in 1851, he wrote a few articles in the _Gazette Officielle_, with the view of drawing public attention to the importance of forming district or parish libraries. These articles attracted the notice of _The Farmers' Club_, an association of intelligent country gentlemen who met at the Castel. Their secretary, the late Mr. Nicholas Le Beir, wrote to Mr. Guille at the request of the members, informing him of their appreciation of his views, and of his having been elected an honorary member of their association, in token of their esteem. They had previously elected in a similar way the famous French poet Béranger, and also Guernsey's national bard, the late Mr. George Métivier. Mr. Guille accepted the honour, and the correspondence which ensued resulted in his offering his collection of books--supplemented by a considerable sum of money--towards forming the commencement of such libraries as he had been advocating. Nothing, however, really definite was done until Mr. Guille's next visit to Guernsey in 1855-6, when after consultation with that devoted friend of education, the late Mr. Peter Roussel, a meeting of a few friends--including Mr. Roussel and his venerable mother, Mr. Guille, Judge Clucas, Mr. Le Beir, and Mr. Henry E. Marquand--who were known to be favourable to the project was held, several handsome subscriptions were promised, Mr. Guille renewed his offer previously made to _The Farmers' Club_, and a workable scheme was matured. THE GUILLE LIBRARY, for so the Committee decided to name the undertaking, consequently commenced its useful career in 1856. The collection of books was divided into five sections, which were placed in separate cases, and located at convenient distances about the island--where they were taken charge of by friends--the largest being reserved for the town. The intention was to exchange these cases in rotation, and so establish a circulating library in the most comprehensive sense of the term. But this was, in reality, never carried out, for after the volumes had been read in their respective stations, they were returned to their places, and left to slumber unused, until Mr. Guille once more came to the island in 1867, with the intention of remaining permanently, and he then had them all brought to town and arranged in one central _depôt_. Mr. Guille also opened a branch Reading-room and Library at St. Martin's, in the hope of being able thereby to draw the young men of the parish from the degrading attractions of the public house. For three years he kept this comfortable room open, while in winter and summer neither rain nor storm prevented him from being present there every evening to personally superintend the undertaking. Ultimately, however, he found the strain too much for his health, and he discontinued the branch so as to concentrate more attention upon the central establishment in town. For five-and-twenty years, from 1856 to 1881, Mr. Guille worked steadily and unostentatiously at the benevolent enterprise which he had inaugurated. Death removed several of his early coadjutors, and for many years he bore all the financial burdens and toiled on single-handed and alone. What was still more discouraging was that he unfortunately had to encounter for a very long time an almost incredible amount of mental supineness on the part of those whom he was so disinterestedly seeking to benefit. It was not as though any desire for knowledge existed among the mass of the Guernsey people, and he only had to assume the pleasant duty of satisfying that desire. Such a desire did not exist. Many of the people not only never had read any books but they flatly declined to begin. Mr. Guille felt that this deplorable attitude ought to be combatted, and he therefore persevered in the thankless and difficult task of trying in the first place to create the want, and in the second place to satisfy it. A quarter-of-a-century's earnest effort in a good cause, however, cannot fail to produce some fruit, and within the last three or four years much brighter days have dawned. Mr. Guille's lifelong friend and former business partner, Mr. F.M. Allès,--who had often previously substantially assisted him,--has latterly thoroughly associated himself with the work, and the result is that the rudimentary scheme of 1856 has at length culminated in the splendid GUILLE-ALLÈS LIBRARY, which was thrown open to the public in the old Assembly Rooms, on the 2nd of January, 1882, and bears on its portal the appropriate motto: _Ingredere ut proficias_--"Enter that thou mayst profit." How admirably this fine Institution is fulfilling its mission is well-known to all who frequent it. It already contains a collection of over 35,000 volumes--to which constant additions are being made--of valuable and standard works in all branches of science, literature and art, both in the French and English languages, besides numerous works in German, Italian, Greek, Latin, &c. It has a commodious Reading-room, well supplied with journals and periodical publications; while a Society of Natural Science has also been inaugurated and meets in connection with it. The Guernsey Mechanics' Institution--after an existence of just half-a-century--was absorbed into it at the close of 1881; and the Library of the _Société Guernesiaise_--founded in 1867--now finds a home on its shelves. The subscription for membership is merely nominal, and Messrs. Guille and Allès have made arrangements to endow the Institution with such ample funds as shall secure in perpetuity the many benefits which it is conferring upon the island. THE FUTURE OF THE INSTITUTION is therefore fully assured and its wants provided for. The spacious new buildings which have been for many months in process of erection are now (December, 1885) rapidly approaching completion. They comprise a spacious and handsome Lecture Hall, capable of seating from 250 to 300 persons; a Book-room 63-ft. by 25-ft., exclusively for the lending department, and which will accommodate on its shelves from 45,000 to 50,000 additional volumes--with a large anteroom for the convenience of the subscribers. The present Reading-room will then be used for a Reference Library and Students' Consulting and Reading-room. There are also a General Reading-room, a Working Men's Reading-room, and numerous apartments suitable for Class-rooms and Committee-rooms. The roof of the original building has been reconstructed and raised so as to form a suite of rooms 100-ft. long, 24-ft. wide, and 10-ft. high. Lighted from the top these are specially adapted for the exhibition of objects of interest, pictures, or for a local museum. A convenient residence for the Librarian is arranged in a separate building, which is extended so as to provide on the ground floor convenient rooms for the reception and storing of books and for the special work of the Librarians. When the Library was first removed to the Assembly Rooms, the premises were leased from the States, who had purchased them in 1870. Subsequently, however, in December, 1883, Messrs. Guille and Allès purchased the Rooms from the States for £900 British, and afterwards bought from the Parish the plot of land behind the Rooms--which belonged to the Rectory--and upon which they have now built the spacious new premises above-mentioned. As soon as these extensions are available, the founders purpose inaugurating comprehensive courses of popular illustrated lectures on physical science, economic products, natural history, microscopic science, literary subjects, &c., which will appeal at once to the eye and the understanding, and impart a large amount of very useful knowledge in an easy and agreeable way. There will also be classes in various subjects, including the French, German and Italian languages, drawing, music, &c., &c., all of which will be open to girls as well as boys, women as well as men. In an island like Guernsey, where from the smallness of the community many of the young people necessarily have to go and seek their fortunes abroad, the advantages for self-culture offered by an Institution like this can scarcely be over-rated. The local facilities afforded for the acquisition of French are particularly marked, while it cannot for a moment be doubted that a young man or woman who can use both French and English with fluency, is much better equipped for the battle of life than is a person knowing only one of these languages. Whatever intellectual needs may become apparent in the people, these the Guille-Allès Library will set itself to supply. Its founders, indeed, are especially anxious that there should be no hard and fast barriers about its settlement, which might cramp its expansion or fetter its usefulness. On the contrary they desire--while adhering, of course, to certain main lines of intellectual activity--to imbue it with such elasticity of adaptation as will enable it to successfully grapple with the changing necessities of changing times. The chief wants of to-day may not necessarily be the most pressing requisites of a century hence. Therefore, one of the greatest essentials--and at the same time one of the greatest difficulties--in a foundation like this, is to provide for and combine within it such a fixity of principle and such an adaptability of administration as shall enable it to keep pace with the progress of the ages, and suit itself to the several requirements of succeeding generations as they pass. COST AND ENDOWMENT. The cost of carrying out this great enterprise--including the erection of buildings, purchase of books, fittings, &c.--has already amounted to between £15,000 and £20,000, and the outlay shows no signs of cessation. In addition to these expenses there is the Endowment Fund already referred to, and for this the munificent donors intend to set apart a sum to which the above amount bears but a small proportion. So that altogether the community will be indebted to them for an educational foundation worth a magnificent figure in money value alone, while besides this, we must not forget the long years of thoughtful care and of self-denying energy involved in maturing these splendid projects, or the healthy mental and moral stimulus which the conduct of these patriotic gentlemen has supplied. PRESENTATION OF PORTRAITS. A very pleasing ceremony took place on Wednesday, December 17th, 1884, at St. Julian's Hall, when His Excellency Major-General Sarel, C.B., Lieut.-Governor, presented Messrs. Guille and Allès with their portraits on behalf of a numerous body of subscribers resident in all parts of the island, and also in Paris, New York, and Brooklyn. A public meeting had been called on the 4th of February previous, when an influential Committee was appointed; about £227 was speedily raised, and then Mr. Frank Brooks was commissioned to paint two life-size portraits in oil, which gave great satisfaction when finished, and are now hung in the Library. Julius Carey, Esq., Chief Constable (Mayor) of St. Peter-Port, as President of the Portrait Committee, opened the proceedings, by briefly narrating the circumstances which had called the meeting together. His Excellency then, after a few preliminary remarks, said:-- He must express the very great pleasure which he felt in being present on such an interesting occasion, when the whole community were testifying their appreciation of the noble Library which had been founded for their benefit. Indeed he felt it a great honour to have been asked to present these handsome portraits to Messrs. Guille and Allès. It would not be necessary for him to dwell at any length on the antecedents of these gentlemen, who were well-known in the island. Many years ago Mr. Guille went to the United States, and there he found the advantages which accrued from having access to a good library. He then conceived the idea of one day bestowing a similar boon upon his own native island, and this project he had been happily spared to carry out. During his exile the thought had remained ever with him; he had not allowed business to engross all his attention; and now that he had returned once more to settle down in the little rock-bound island-home of his youth, he was reducing to practice the beneficent plans of earlier years. He was not content to lead a life of ease with the produce of his industry, but he had founded an institution of incalculable value for the moral and intellectual welfare of the isle. Then there was another large-hearted Guernseyman, Mr. Allès, who determined that his old friend Mr. Guille should not be left to carry out his noble scheme alone. They had long been associated in business enterprises, and they were now linked in the higher bond of a common desire for the well-being of their fellow-citizens. All honour to them for it. The Library told its own story and needed no encomium. All it wanted was constant readers and plenty of them, and he could not too strongly impress upon the people--and especially upon the rising generation--the immense advantages they would derive from availing themselves of its literary treasures. In conclusion, it simply remained for him, on behalf of the Committee and the Subscribers, to ask Messrs. Guille and Allès to accept these paintings, which would show to future generations of Guernseymen the form and features of two public benefactors who had deserved so well of their country and their kind. Mr. Guille, in response, gave a very interesting address in English, and Mr. Allès followed with an equally appropriate and practical speech in French, both gentlemen being received with prolonged applause, and listened to by the numerous assembly with the most interested attention. Brief complimentary addresses were then delivered by Edgar MacCulloch, Esq., F.S.A., Bailiff (Chief Magistrate) of Guernsey, and by F.J. Jeremie, Esq., M.A., Jurat of the Royal Court, and the proceedings terminated with a hearty vote of thanks to the Lieut.-Governor, proposed by the Very Rev. Carey Brock, M.A., Dean of Guernsey. A brass plate attached to Mr. Guille's portrait bears the following inscription:-- Presented to THOMAS GUILLE, Esq., by his numerous friends, in recognition of the great benefit he has conferred upon the inhabitants of his native Island as one of the Founders of the Guille-Allès Library. Guernsey, 17 December, 1884. A similar plate, bearing the name of Mr. Frederick Mansell Allès, is attached to his portrait. Note.--The Assembly Rooms were built by private subscription in 1782, at a cost of about £2,500, and had therefore been in existence exactly a century when they passed into the hands of Messrs. Guille and Allès in 1882. During this long period they were the fashionable _foyer_ of the Island's festivity and gaiety, and formed the scene of many a brilliant gathering. * * * * * A. DE GRUCHY & Co. THE OLDEST AND LARGEST HOUSE IN THE CHANNEL ISLANDS. ESTABLISHED 1810. GENERAL DRAPERY DEPARTMENTS 50 and 52, KING STREET, 2 and 6, KING'S ARCADE. _TAILORING and GENTLEMEN'S_ OUTFITTING DEPARTMENTS 46 and 48, KING STREET, and 1, KING'S ARCADE. FURNISHING DEPARTMENT 50, KING STREET, 10, KING'S ARCADE, and NEW STREET. Furnishing Ironmongery Department 5, KING'S ARCADE. ST. HELIER'S, JERSEY. * * * * * GUERNSEY. VAL-NORD BANK HOUSE Classical and Mathematical School MR. CHAMBERLAIN, PRINCIPAL. MONS. H. FRANÇOIS, FRENCH PROFESSOR. MISS LANE, AFTERNOON JUNIOR CLASS. The object Mr. Chamberlain has in view is to supply a thoroughly liberal Education. The general School Course comprises Biblical History, Ancient History, the History and Literature of our own Country; the Greek, Latin and French Languages; Geometrical, Isometrical, Architectural and Landscape Drawing; Euclid, Algebra and Trigonometry; Navigation, Geography and Mapping; the use of the Globes, both table and high-standing; Land Surveying, Mensuration, Book-keeping, English Grammar, Composition with Précis-writing and Analysis; and such branches of Natural Science as it may be practicable from time to time to introduce into the School teaching. The classification of the School, and the System adopted, secure all the advantages of emulation and honourable rivalry. THE SCHOOL OF SCIENCE DEPARTMENT.--Familiar Lectures are given occasionally during the Winter Months on Electricity, Galvanism, Magnetism, Chemistry, Telegraphy and Printing. ELECTRICITY.--Is shown and explained by the use of a large Plate Glass Electrifying Machine, next in size smaller than the one at the Royal Polytechnic, with all the apparatus required. CHEMISTRY.--The Elucidation of Principles and the explanation of Chemical Phenomena are made as clear and concise as possible, by many experiments. MAGNETISM.--This is so very instructive a branch of Science that many experiments are well understood by the Pupils, both in the use of the Natural Magnet and the Electro-Magnet. GALVANISM.--There are several Galvanic Batteries in use, so that the Boys accustomed to them can readily apply a particular sort to any experiment. TELEGRAPHY.--Communication is carried on at any distance chosen, or from one part of the house to another. PRINTING.--This is likewise thoroughly explained by the use of a Press and all the apparatus attached, including several cases of Type. Mr. CHAMBERLAIN, having full command of the School of Science Department, is enabled, without engaging the services of Professional Men (who generally make a very high charge), to give suitable Lectures without increasing the Fees as contained below. Parents will thus see that the lectures _being both amusing and instructive_ must be conducive to the _expansion of the mind_, at the same time making an _agreeable change_ in the general School routine. SCHOOL FEES: For Pupils above 10 years of age 8 Guineas per Annum. " " under 10 " " 6 " " EXTRAS.--PER ANNUM. French 1 Guinea. Painting 6 Guineas. Drawing 4 Guineas. Music and German [Transcriber's Note: missing] HOURS FROM 9 TO 12 A.M. AND FROM 1 TO 3 P.M. _Three Months' notice will be required previous to the Removal of a Pupil._ * * * * * JUST PUBLISHED. CRUCES AND CRITICISMS: an Examination of Certain Passages in Greek and Latin Texts. By WILLIAM W. MARSHALL, M.A., B.C.L., F.R.S.L., of the Inner Temple, formerly Scholar of Hertford College, Oxford. Demy 8vo., Cloth 2s. 6d., Paper Covers 2s. London: ELLIOT STOCK, 62, Paternoster Row, E.C. 1886. _BY THE SAME AUTHOR._ PLUTARCH'S LIVES OF THE GRACCHI, translated from the text of Sintenis, with Introduction, Marginal Analysis, and Appendices. By WILLIAM W. MARSHALL, B.A., of the Inner Temple, late Scholar of Hertford College, Oxford. Crown 8vo., paper covers, 1s. 6d., or cloth, 2s. Oxford, JAMES THORNTON. 1881. "Mr. MARSHALL has succeeded in cutting out of Plutarch a very neat piece of biography and presenting it in a pleasant English dress, with a careful introduction and a few useful Appendices. The English is the editor's, and is very agreeable reading. The Introduction is a clever account of Plutarch, with a critical notice of his work, his merits, and his inaccuracies, together with a summary sketch of the affairs of Rome when the Gracchi came into notice. The student of Roman history will be glad of this small, but carefully edited, account of the two brethren."--_School Guardian._ THE LATIN PRAYER BOOK OF CHARLES II.; or, an Account of the "Liturgia" of Dean Durel, together with a Reprint and Translation of the Catechism therein contained, with Collations, Annotations, and Appendices, by the late Rev. CHARLES MARSHALL, M.A., Rector of Harpurhey; and WILLIAM W. MARSHALL, B.A. Demy 8vo. Cloth. 1882. A few remaining copies may be obtained from THOMAS FARGIE, 21, St. Ann's Square, Manchester. Price, 7s. 6d. The late Very Rev. J.S. HOWSON, D.D., Dean of Chester, writes (July 9, 1883):-- "I have much pleasure in stating that I regard the work of Mr. MARSHALL and his son upon the Latin Prayer Book of Charles II. as a publication of great importance. The volume has been of much use to me personally; and I believe its value will be felt by all who study it candidly and carefully." "A liturgical, historical, and theological work of great value, creditable alike to the care, industry, and scholarly attainments of the editors. No clergyman should engage in liturgical controversy without consulting its pages."--_Church Advocate_. Favourably reviewed also by _The British Quarterly Review_, _Literary World_, _Churchman_, _Record_, _Clergyman's Magazine_, _Rock_, _Manchester Guardian_, _Liverpool Daily Courier_, _Chorley Guardian_, _Liverpool Albion_, &c., &c. * * * * * H.M. STICKLAND, BOOKSELLER, STATIONER, PRINTER BOOKBINDER, &c., 43, HIGH STREET, GUERNSEY. Bookseller and Stationer by appointment to Elizabeth College and the Ladies' College. PHOTOGRAPHIC VIEWS (IN ALL SIZES) OF THE CHANNEL ISLANDS. DEPOT OF THE SOCIETY FOR PROMOTING CHRISTIAN KNOWLEDGE CIRCULATING LIBRARY. * * * * * STICKLAND & Co., _(ESTABLISHED 1840),_ WINE AND SPIRIT IMPORTERS GRANGE, GUERNSEY. SOLE AGENTS FOR MESSRS. THOS. SALT & Co.'s EAST INDIA AND BURTON ALES. GUINNESS & Co.'s DUBLIN STOUT _Wines exported with the greatest care, in parcels of not less than three dozen._ * * * * * THE BERESFORD LIBRARY JERSEY. This Library was established in 1848, and it now contains upwards of 10,000 volumes. An examination of the contents of the Catalogue will go far to shew that it may be compared favourably with any Provincial Circulating Library in the Kingdom. The price of the Catalogue (300 pages) is Sixpence. C. LE FEUVRE, BERESFORD STREET _JERSEY._ _December, 1885._ * * * * * Nouvelle Chronique de Jersey (ESTABLISHED 1855), PUBLISHED WEDNESDAYS AND SATURDAYS 8s. PER ANNUM, OR BY POST 12s. 6d., Circulates throughout Jersey, and is well known in the United Kingdom, Canada, the United States, and the Colonies. The importance of this journal as an advertising medium is unquestionable. HUELIN & LE FEUVRE, Proprietors. OFFICE: 11, ROYAL SQUARE, JERSEY. P.S.--At this office may be had also the popular works, entitled "Le Souvenir du Centenaire de la Bataille de Jersey," and the "Guide Historique et Descriptif de l'Ile," by J. LE BAS. * * * * * R. HARTWELL'S PIANOFORTE, HARMONIUM AND Music Warehouse, 16, SMITH STREET, GUERNSEY. (Established 1830). PIANOFORTES SOLD ON THE THREE YEARS' SYSTEM OF PURCHASE. AGENT FOR HIGH-CLASS ENGLISH AND FOREIGN PIANOFORTES. Messrs. JOHN BROADWOOD & SONS' Pianofortes. COLLARD & COLLARD'S New Metal-framed Pianofortes. Messrs. J. & P. SCHIEDMAYER'S Iron-framed Pianofortes. _SOLE LOCAL AGENCY FOR_ GEORGE ROGERS & SONS' IRON-FRAMED PIANOFORTES, FITTED WITH BEST PARIS MADE FRENCH ACTIONS. Harmoniums in walnut wood cases from £7 7s. TRAYSER'S powerful toned Harmoniums, of superior construction, suitable for use in Chapels. Price £38. OLD AND CHOICE VIOLINS KEPT IN STOCK. GUITARS, FLUTES, DRUMS, BANJOS AND OTHER INSTRUMENTS ON SALE. * * * * * Masonry and Ashlar Work. [Illustration] JAMES LE PAGE, GENERAL CONTRACTOR FOR MASONRY, ASHLAR AND BRICK WORK, Rose Cottage, Ozouëts, GUERNSEY. _Best Tested Portland Cement, Patent Drain Pipes, &c., &c._ All kinds of Granite and other Monumental and Tomb Work executed. LETTER CUTTING, &c., BY SKILLED WORKMEN, AT MODERATE CHARGES. Important to Farmers and Livery Stable Proprietors. STAFFORDSHIRE _STABLE PAVING BRICKS_ MOST SUITABLE FOR CATTLE, &c. These bricks are made expressly for Stables, so as to allow free and perfect drainage. SPECIMENS ON APPLICATION TO J. LE PAGE, CONTRACTOR, Ozouëts. * * * * * When it is considered that the Liver is one of the most important organs in eliminating from the system the vitiated matter which accumulates in unhealthy persons, the value of CUMBER'S PODOPHYLLIN AND _COLOCYNTH PILLS_ WILL AT ONCE BE MANIFEST. PODOPHYLLIN is an American remedy of comparatively recent introduction, but which has rapidly made its way to the foremost place in the treatment of Liver Complaints. COLOCYNTH, on the other hand, has according to Orfila, a specific stimulant influence over the large intestines. The combination of these two drugs forms a Valuable Medicine in the treatment of complaints arising from Disorders of the Liver and Bowels, such as: Furred Tongue, Disagreeable Taste in the Mouth, Headache, Giddiness, General Lassitude, Pains in the Back--especially under the shoulder blade--and irregular action of the bowels and other excretory organs. Moreover these Medicines are made up into very small sized pills, which are covered with a tasteless pearly white film, and they will be found a most useful family medicine for both sexes. SOLD IN BOXES AT 6d. AND 1s., BY H. CUMBER, JUN., 4, FOUNTAIN STREET GUERNSEY. * * * * * GUILLE-ALLÈS LIBRARY SERIES. EDITED BY J. LINWOOD PITTS. _RECENTLY PUBLISHED_. THE PATOIS POEMS OF THE CHANNEL ISLANDS (First Series), the Norman-French Text, with Parallel English Translation, Historical Introduction and Notes. Demy 8vo. In paper covers, or cloth gilt. THE PATOIS POEMS OF THE CHANNEL ISLANDS (Second Series), the Norman-French Text, with Parallel English Translation, Philological Introduction and Historic Notes. Demy 8vo. In paper covers, or cloth gilt. THE SERMON ON THE MOUNT, AND THE PARABLE OF THE SOWER, translated into the Franco-Norman Dialect of Guernsey, from the French of LE MAISTRE DE SACY, by GEORGE MÉTIVIER; to which is added a Sark version of the Parable of the Sower; with Parallel French and English Versions. Demy 16mo. Cloth gilt. WITCHCRAFT AND DEVIL LORE IN THE CHANNEL ISLANDS, Transcripts and Translations of the Depositions and Confessions made in the most celebrated of the local Trials for Witchcraft, as preserved in the Official Records of the Guernsey Royal Court, with Historical Introduction. Demy 8vo. In paper covers. _IN PREPARATION._ THE PRÉCEPTE D'ASSISE OF THE ISLAND OF GUERNSEY: comprising the ancient Norman-French Text, edited with Parallel English Translation, Historical Introduction, Analysis, Glossary and Notes; engravings of Seals, Signatures, &c. CHOICE EXCERPTS FROM THE ROMAN DE ROU, by ROBERT WACE, of Jersey, the famous Norman Trouvère and Chronicler, who flourished in the Twelfth Century; with Parallel English Translation and Historic Notes. THE DESCENT OF THE SARAGOUSAIS.--A reprint of the old Norman Ballad--including the rare additional verses--with English Translation and Historic Notes. 
37877	----	[Illustration: GOODY TWO SHOES LONDON: JOHN LANE NEW YORK: JOHN LANE COMP WALTER CRANE'S PICTURE BOOKS LARGE SERIES: RE-ISSUE] [Illustration: GOODY TWO SHOES] [Illustration: ABCDEFGH IJKLMNO PQRSTU VWXYZ] GOODY TWO SHOES. IN the reign of good Queen Bess, there was an honest, industrious countryman named Meanwell, who, living under a hard landlord, was cruelly turned out of his little farm, which had enabled him to support a wife and two children, called Tommy and Margery. Care and misfortune soon shortened his days; and his wife, not long after, followed him to the grave. At her death the two poor children were left in a sad plight, and had to make all sorts of shifts to keep themselves from starving. They were also without proper clothes to keep them warm; and as for shoes, they had not even two pairs between them: Tommy, who had to go about more than his sister, had a pair to himself, but little Margery for a long time wore but one shoe. But Heaven had heard their dying mother's prayers, and had watched over and protected them. Relief was at hand, and better things were in store for them. It happened that Mr. Goodall, the clergyman of the parish, heard of their sad wandering sort of life, and so he sent for the two children, and kindly offered to shelter them until they could get regular work to do. Soon after this, a gentleman came from London on a visit, and no sooner did he hear the story of the orphans, than he resolved to be their friend. The very first thing he did was to order a pair of shoes to be made for Margery. And he offered to take Tommy to London, promising to put him in a way to do well by going abroad. [Illustration] [Illustration] As these two children loved each other very dearly, Margery was in great trouble when the time came for her brother to start, and wept bitterly. But Tommy, in order to comfort her, promised he would not fail to come back to see her, when he should return from foreign countries. After he was gone, Margery began to recover her usual cheerfulness: but what helped greatly to put her into good spirits, was the pleasure she took in her new shoes. As soon as the old shoemaker brought them, she put them on, and ran at once to the clergyman's wife, crying out with glee, as she pointed to them, "Two shoes, ma'am! See, Two shoes!" These words she kept on repeating to everybody she met, and so came to be called GOODY TWO SHOES. Now Margery was a thoughtful little girl, and was most anxious to learn to read and write. When Mr. Goodall saw this, he kindly taught her what she most wished to know, and in a short time she became a better scholar than any of the children who went to the village school. As soon as she found that this was the case, she thought she would try to teach such poor children as could not go to school. Now, as very few books were then printed, she thought she could get over the difficulty by cutting, out of wood, six sets of capital letters like these:-- A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z. And ten sets of these common letters:-- a b c d e f g h i j k l m n o p q r s t u v w x y z. When, after much pains and trouble, she had finished all these wooden letters, she managed to borrow an old spelling-book, and, with the help of this, she made her playmates set up the words she wished them to spell. One day, as Margery was coming home from the next village, she met with some wicked, idle boys, who had tied a young raven to a staff, and were just going to throw stones at it. She offered at once to buy the raven for a penny, and this they agreed to. She then brought him home to the parsonage, and gave him the name of Ralph, and a fine bird he was. Madge soon taught him to speak several words, and also to pick up letters, and even to spell a word or two. Some years before Margery began to teach the poor cottagers' children, Sir Walter Welldon, a wealthy knight, had set up an elderly widow lady in a small school in the village. This gentlewoman was at length taken ill, and was no longer able to attend to her duties. When Sir Walter heard of this, he sent for Mr. Goodall, and asked him to look out for some one who would be able and willing to take Mrs. Gray's place as mistress of the school. The worthy clergyman could think of no one so well qualified for the task as Margery Meanwell, who, though but young, was grave beyond her years, and was growing up to be a comely maiden; and when he told his mind to the knight, Margery was at once chosen. Sir Walter built a larger school-house for Margery's use; so that she could have all her old pupils about her that liked to come, as well as the regular scholars. From this time, no one called her "Goody Two Shoes," but generally Mrs. Margery, and she was more and more liked and respected by her neighbours. Soon after Margery had become mistress of the school, she saved a dove from some cruel boys, and she called him Tom, in remembrance of her brother now far away, and from whom she had heard no tidings. [Illustration] About this time a lamb had lost its dam, and its owner was about to have it killed; when Margery heard of this, she bought the lamb and brought it home. Some neighbours, finding how fond of such pets Margery was, presented her with a nice playful little dog called Jumper, and also with a skylark. Now, master Ralph was a shrewd bird, and a bit of a wag too, and when Will, the lamb, and Carol, the lark, made their appearance, the knowing fellow picked out the following verse, to the great amusement of everybody:-- "Early to bed, and early to rise, Is the way to be healthy, wealthy, and wise." Mrs. Margery was ever on the look-out to be useful to her neighbours. Now a traveller from London had presented her with a new kind of instrument, a rough-looking barometer, by the help of which she could often guess correctly how the weather would be, a day or two beforehand. This caused a great talk about the country, and so provoked were the people of the distant villages at the better luck of the Mouldwell folks, that they accused Mrs. Margery of being a witch, and sent old Nicky Noodle to go and tax her with it, and to scrape together whatever evidence he could against her. When this wiseacre saw her at her school-door, with her raven on one shoulder and the dove on the other, the lark on her hand, and the lamb and little dog by her side, the sight took his breath away for a time, and he scampered off, crying out, "A witch, a witch, a witch!" She laughed at the simpleton's folly, and called him jocosely a "conjuror!" for his pains; but poor Mrs. Margery did not know how much folly and wickedness there was in the world, and she was greatly surprised to find that the half-witted Nicky Noodle had got a warrant against her. At the meeting of the justices, before whom she was summoned to appear, many of her neighbours were present, ready to speak up for her character if needful. But it turned out that the charge made against her was nothing more than Nicky's idle tale that she was a witch. Now-a-days it seems strange that such a thing could be; but in England, at that period, so fondly styled by some "the good old times," many silly and wicked things were constantly being done, especially by the rich and powerful against the poor--such things as would not now be borne. It happened that, among the justices who met to hear this charge against Mrs. Margery, there was but one silly enough to think there was any ground for it; his name was Shallow, and it was he who had granted the warrant. But she soon silenced him when he kept repeating that she _must_ be a witch to foretell the weather, besides harbouring many strange creatures about her, by explaining the use of her weather-glass. [Illustration] Fortunately her patron, Sir Walter Welldon, was well acquainted with the use of the new instrument. When he had explained its nature to his foolish brother-justice, he turned the whole charge into ridicule, and gave Mrs. Margery such a high character, that the justices not only released her at once, but gave her their public thanks for the good services she had done in their neighbourhood. One of these gentlemen, Sir Edward Lovell, who was a widower, fell ill, and requested Mrs. Margery to take charge of his house, and look after his dear children. Having taken counsel with her kind old friend the clergyman, she consented to this, and quite won Sir Edward's respect and admiration by her skill and tenderness in nursing him, and by the great care she took of his children. By the time that Sir Edward fully regained his health, he had become more and more attached to Mrs. Margery. It was not then to be wondered at, that when she talked of going back to her school, he should offer her his hand in marriage. This proposal took her quite by surprise, but she really loved Sir Edward; and her friends, Sir Walter and Mr. Goodall, advised her to accept him, telling her she would then be able to do many more good works than she had ever done before. [Illustration] All things having been settled, and the day fixed, the great folks and others in the neighbourhood came in crowds to see the wedding, for glad they were that one who had, ever since she was a child, been so deserving, was to be thus rewarded. Just as the bride and bridegroom were about to enter the church, their friends assembled outside were busily engaged in watching the progress of a horseman, handsomely dressed and mounted, who was galloping up a distant slope leading to the church, as eagerly as if he wanted to get there before the marriage. This gentleman, so elegantly dressed, proved to be no other than Margaret's brother, our former acquaintance little Tommy, just returned with great honour and profit from a distant foreign country. When they had recovered from this pleasant surprise, the loving couple returned to the altar, and were married, to the satisfaction of all present. After her happy marriage, Lady Lovell continued to practise all kinds of good; and took great pains in increasing and improving the school of which she had been the mistress, and placed there a poor but worthy scholar and his wife to preside over it. [Illustration: GOODY TWO SHOES] [Illustration: ABCDEFGH IJKLMNO PQRSTU VWXYZ] [Illustration:WALTER CRANE'S PICTURE BOOKS LARGE SERIES ENGRAVED & PRINTED BY EDMUND EVANS, LTD.] Transcriber Notes: Passages in italics were indicated by _underscores_. Small caps were replaced with ALL CAPS. The illustrations have been moved so that they do not break up paragraphs. 
45278	----	provided by the Internet Archive GOODY TWO SHOES. By Anonymous [Illustration: 0001] [Illustration: 0001] [Illustration: 9003] T will be readily understood by our young readers, that the real name of the little girl who is the heroine of this story was not Goody Two Shoes, but Margery Meanwell. Her father, Mr. Meanwell, was for many years a very respectable farmer in the parish of Mouldwell, where Margery was born; but misfortunes, and the cruel persecutions of Sir Timothy Gripe, his landlord, and the rich Farmer Graspall, ruined this worthy man, and was the source of all poor Margery's troubles. [Illustration: 8003] Farmer Meanwell died soon after of a broken heart, and his poor wife, unable to struggle with misfortunes, only survived him a few days, leaving their unfortunate offspring, Margery and Tommy, friendless orphans in an unpitying world. The loss of their parents seemed to endear these orphans more to each other, and they were continually seen strolling hand in hand about the village, as if they were afraid of being separated. They had relations--but as they were rich, they took no notice of these poor children; being ashamed to own such a little ragged girl as Margery, and such a dirty curly-headed boy as Tommy. Mr Smith, the clergyman of the parish where Margery and Tommy were born, was a very worthy man, and being at this time visited by a rich and charitable friend, he told him the story of the poor orphans. The stranger gave Mr. Smith money to buy some clothes for Margery, and said that he would make Tommy a little sailor. Tommy was happy to hear this, and next day the gentleman bought him a jacket and trowsers, of which he was very proud. Margery could never give over admiring Tommy in his new dress; but her happiness met with a severe check, for the gentleman was to return to London in a few days, and to take Tommy along with him. The parting of these children was very affecting; poor Margery's eyes were red with crying, and her cheeks pale with grief, while little Tommy, by way of consolation, said he would never forget his dear sister, and kissed her a hundred times over. As Tommy left his sister, he wiped her eyes with the corner of his jacket, and promised to return, and bring her fine things from abroad. When Margery found that Tommy did not come back, she cried all day until she went to bed, and next morning she went round every one in the village, weeping and lamenting that her brother Tommy was gone. Fortunately, while she was in this distress, the shoemaker came with a pair of new shoes, which the gentleman had ordered for her, and it being so long since little Margery wore a pair of shoes, her attention was so engaged as to give a new turn to her thoughts. Nothing but the pleasure of examining her two shoes could have put a stop to the violence of her grief. She immediately put on the shoes, and then went to let Mrs. Smith see them. It was with delight that little Margery exhibited them to her benefactress, saying, "Two shoes, ma'am! see, two shoes!" She then went through the whole village to show her new shoes, addressing them in the same way, until she got the name of "Little Two Shoes," but, being a very good child, they usually called her "Little Goody Two Shoes," and she never entirely lost that name. Poor Margery was destitute of friends; but, although very young, she contrived to meet the children as they returned from school, and prevailed on one of them to learn her the alphabet. She used to borrow their books, and sit down and read till they came from dinner. It was by these means that she soon acquired more learning than her playmates at school, and in a short time she formed a little plan for instructing children who had not yet learned to read. She found that there were twenty-six letters in the alphabet, and every word spelled with them; but as these letters might be either large or small, she cut, out of little pieces of wood, ten sets of the alphabet in small letters, and ten of the large, or capitals. With the assistance of an old spelling-book, she made her companions arrange the words they wanted to spell out of her wooden alphabets, and then showed them how to make sentences. When they wished to play at this game, she placed the children around her, and gave them a word to spell. If the word was plum-pudding, the first brought the letter _p_, the second _i_, the third _u_, the fourth _m_, and so on, till the whole was completed. By this method, in a short time Margery gained such great credit among the parents of the children that they were all happy when she appeared with the basket of letters in her hand, which proved a source of amusement as well as instruction, and she at last had a regular set of scholars. [Illustration: 8005] Margery usually left home at seven o clock in the morning, and the first house she called at was Farmer Wilson's. Mrs. Wilson always received her with pleasure, saying, "O Little Goody, I am glad to see you--Billy has learned his lesson." The little boy was equally happy to see her; and after giving him his lesson, she went to Farmer Simpson's. A dog used to bark at her when she first went to that house, but he soon learned to know her, "Come in Margery," said Mrs Simpson, "Sally wants you very much, for she has learned her lesson." Little Sally began her lesson by placing the syllables of two letters, which she did very correctly, and pronounced them as Goody Two Shoes had taught her. [Illustration: 9006] Some time after, as Little Goody was returning from her pupils rather later than usual, she was overtaken by a violent storm of thunder and lightning; but she took refuge in a farmer's barn, and lay down among some straw at the farther end. She had not remained long, before four robbers also sought shelter from the storm in the same place, and not observing Little Goody, who was at some distance, they began to arrange their future plans of depredation. Among other schemes of villany, they formed the resolution of breaking into the houses of Sir William Dove and Sir Timothy Gripe on the night following, and to plunder them of all their money, plate, and jewels. During their conversation, Little Goody listened with great attention; but the tempest being over, the robbers left the barn without discovering that they had been overheard, When she thought they were fairly gone, Goody made the best of her way home; and, rising early next morning, went to Sir William Dove, and told him all she had heard. The knight asked her name, and then giving her some money, desired her to call on him next day. Goody next proceeded to Sir Timothy Gripe's, and sent in her name by the servant; but, as he refused to see her, she, with some difficulty, got admittance to Lady Gripe, and related what she had heard in the barn. This lady was a very sensible woman, and did not despise the information; but secretly engaged people to guard the house; and when the robbers came in two parties to attack both houses, they were all taken and sent to jail. Sir William Dove, who was grateful for the service Little Goody had done him, said she should no longer sleep in a barn, as he would try to get some proper situation for her; but the wicked Sir Timothy was vexed that his life had been saved by her means, and never rewarded or thanked her. The most respectable school in that neighbourhood was conducted by a Mrs. Williams, a very good lady; but old age induced her to resign the situation, when Sir William Dove getting notice of, sent for her, and recommended Little Goody as a person worthy to succeed her. As Mrs. Williams already knew that Margery had a good heart, she found on examination, her head to be equally so; and being every way qualified for the place, Margery was, at the old lady's request, appointed to succeed her. She was now no longer called _Margery_ or _Goody Two Shoes_, but only known by the name of _Mrs. Margery._ [Illustration: 8007] Margery had a very feeling heart, and could not endure to see even a dumb animal used with cruelty, without trying to prevent it. As she was one day walking through the village, her attention was drawn to some boys, who were tying a poor raven, which they had caught, to a post, on purpose to amuse themselves with the cruel diversion of shying, or throwing a stick at it. Margery, to get the raven, gave them a penny, and brought it home with her. She called the raven Ralph; taught him to speak and spell; and as he was fond of playing with the capital letters, the children called them Ralph's alphabet. Shortly after, when rambling in the fields, she saw two boys torturing a beautiful dove by allowing it to fly a little way, and then pulling it back again, with a string which was tied to its foot. Margery rescued this bird for a mere trifle, and carried it with her. She also learned the dove to spell with her letters, besides many other curious things; and being very useful in carrying letters, she called him Tom. It is a curious fact, that Tom showed as great a liking to the small letters as Ralph had for the large, and the scholars used to give them the appellation of "Tom's alphabet." [Illustration: 9008] Another useful assistant of Mrs. Margery's was a fine skylark, which some of the neighbours made her a present of. As some children are very fond of lying in bed too long in the morning, she sent this pretty bird, which sung sweetly at their window, and taught them when to rise. A poor little lamb, which had lost its dam, was about to be killed by the butcher, when Margery making a bargain with him for it, took it home and called it Will. He taught the children when to go to bed, and being very gentle, was a great favourite; but he only carried home the satchel of those who behaved best and brought it again in the morning. She also got a present of a little dog, called Jumper, which was very sagacious, and might have been termed Porter of the School, for he never allowed any unknown person to enter. [Illustration: 8009] Shortly after, little Jumper gave a wonderful proof of his sagacity. The children had just finished their lessons, when the dog ran in, and seizing Margery's apron, tried to pull her out of the schoolroom. She allowed the dog to drag her out to the garden, and he returned and brought out one of the children in the same manner; upon which Mrs Margery called them all into the garden. This saved all their lives, for in less than five minutes after, the roof of the house fell in. This was a great loss to Mrs. Margery, who had no place to teach in; but Sir William Dove caused another school to be built at his own expense, and she got the use of Farmer Grove's hall till it was ready, which was in the centre of the village. While there she learned the farmer's servants and neighbours to read and write, and by degrees became so esteemed in the parish, that almost every one consulted her, and many serious disputes where settled by her advice. Mrs. Margery, who was always doing good, contrived an instrument to tell when the weather was to continue favourable or unfavourable; by which means she told the farmers when to mow the arrass and gather in the hay with safety. Several persons, who suffered in their crops by not consulting Margery, were so angry at their losses, that they accused her of being a witch and sent Gaffer Goosecap, a silly old meddling fool, to obtain evidence against her. This old fellow entered the school as Margery was walking about, having the raven on one shoulder, the pigeon on the other, the lark on her hand, and the lamb and dog at her side, and he was so frightened, that he cried. "A witch! a witch!" Margery exclaimed, smiling, "A conjurer! a conjurer!" and he ran off; but soon after a warrant was issued against her, and she was carried before a meeting of the justices, followed by all the neighbours. [Illustration: 9010] Although this accusation met with the contempt it deserved, yet one of the magistrates was silly enough to believe the slander, and asked, who could give her a character. Margery inquired if any one there could speak against it, and told them, that she had many friends both able and willing to defend her; but she could not think of troubling them on such a silly business, for if she was a witch, she would show them her charm. She then took out her weather-glass, and placed it upon the table. Sir Charles Jones, who was present on this occasion, was so delighted with her conduct, that he offered her a handsome annuity to superintend his family and the education of his daughter. This she refused at first, but Sir Charles being seized with a severe illness, and again entreating her, she at last consented. In this situation, she conducted herself with so much propriety, and behaved so tenderly to his daughter, that on his recovery, when she proposed to leave him, he made her an offer of his hand. Margery knew the real value of the worthy baronet, and esteemed him as he deserved: therefore, after he had amply provided for his daughter she consented to become Lady Jones. When this circumstance was understood in the neighbourhood, it diffused a general joy throughout the village, where Margery was greatly beloved, and brought crowds to witness the marriage. The clergyman was proceeding with the ceremony, when a young gentleman, handsomely dressed, came running into the church, and requested that the ceremony, might, be stopped until he had a conversation with the bride. The whole assembly were astonished at his request, particularly the bride and bridegroom, who stood motionless, without having power to return an answer to the stranger. However, the gentleman coming forward, discovered himself to be Tommy, her brother, and she fainted away in his arms. [Illustration: 8011] Tommy Meanwell had just landed from abroad, where he had made a great fortune, which he intended to share with his dear sister, when he heard of her intended marriage, and posted to be present on the occasion. After mutual congratulations, this happy pair were united, and lived happily together many years, doing all the good in their power. In the course of time, both Sir Timothy and Farmer Graspall were so reduced as to be supported by the charity of Lady Jones, who delighted in relieving the indigent, rewarding the industrious, and instructing the children in the neighbourhood. Having lived to an advanced age in the constant practice of virtue, and having made some liberal bequests in favour of her fellow-creatures, her spirit returned to God who gave it, leaving all who knew her to mourn her departure. THE END 
62273	----	book was produced from images made available by the HathiTrust Digital Library.) DEVONSHIRE WITCHES. BY PAUL Q. KARKEEK. (Read at Teignmouth, July, 1874.) _Reprinted from the Transactions of the Devonshire Association for the Advancement of Science, Literature, and Art. 1874._ DEVONSHIRE WITCHES. BY PAUL Q. KARKEEK. (Read at Teignmouth, July, 1874.) Devonshire bears powerful evidence to the theory of Mr. Buckle, that the climate and scenery of a country tend to influence the creed of the people. Our miles of broad and almost deserted moorland, the deep valleys, the dark combes, and our stormy iron-bound coasts, may to a certain extent have inclined the Devonians of the past to a firmer belief in the miraculous, than would be found in a more populous and less rugged county. Traces of this are present even now. Although ages have passed away since unhappy men and women were tried for witchcraft, there may still be found in the western shires scores who believe in charms, and who are habitual consultants of the "wise man;" and sufferers from the evil-eye, or people who have been ill-wished, are constantly heard of. Prior to the arrival of James I. our statute-book looked but mildly on witchcraft. Laws were passed in 1551 and 1562 against this offence, but it remained for James the Demonologist to bring matters to a climax. In proportion as the Puritans and their doctrines spread, so increased the belief in, and prosecution for, witchcraft. This belief partook of the nature of an epidemic. Suddenly prisoners were seized, tried in various ways, taken before the magistrates, and sent to the assizes, where they were but seldom acquitted. Popular opinion having been satisfied, things resumed their usual course. There was no doubt about the crime; the same village contained the victims and the person of ill-repute. The inhabitants could see for themselves the patient whom no physician could cure, and who pronounced the complaint to be witchcraft; and the confession of the accused only too plainly confirmed all suspicions. Next to murder, nothing could be more palpable; and yet, when once the foundations of this fearful creed were disturbed by rationalism, the whole fabric was speedily swept away, leaving but few traces to show how great it had been, and these only in the minds of the most ignorant classes. Strange to say, there are but few records of the conviction of witches which were not fully supported by the confessions of the accused. It is indeed true that these confessions were only too frequently extorted by gross cruelty, but in scores of cases this was not needed. The prisoners rejoiced in their crimes, and seemed proud of their evil reputations. In that awful moment, when, with one foot on the gallows ladder, and preparing to pay the penalty of their fancied crimes, they even then would relate, and in glowing colours, their evil deeds, there could be but small reason for idle boastings then; but so it was. The witches themselves as firmly believed in their evil powers as did their accusers and judges. The trials by law were conducted with all order and fairness. There was no unusual mode of procedure. In those days justice leaned towards the accuser, and inclined to punishment; but witchcraft was not an exception, or was treated worse than murder or theft, and not nearly so badly as heresy. As I said before, these trials of witches would come in spasms, and with all the fury of an epidemic. The history of one such epidemic I propose to relate. In the year 1682 there lived in the town of Bideford three old women, poor, ugly, and discontented. One, Temperance Lloyd, pursued the lucrative occupation of an apple-woman, when she could find any good citizen rash enough to deal with her. No good housewife would allow her children to go near her; for she was a witch, and the children might get under the influence of the evil-eye. Once she had been sent to the assizes, but was acquitted, much to the disgust of the Bideford folk. On another occasion she had been dragged before the magistrates and examined, but let off. It was no light matter to be tried for witchcraft; but then there was one consolation, nothing could be done to a witch until she had been forsaken by the devil, her master; so it was only necessary to try her often enough. She had two companions in her evil ways; one was Susanna Edwards, who was a witch of a higher class than old Temperance Lloyd, for she had a pupil, one Mary Trembles, who had come to an understanding with Susanna Edwards to learn the art and mystery of witchcraft in all its branches. Things had been going on very quietly in Bideford for some time. People had died in unusual ways, and many had suffered without making much ado about it; but there is an end to all things, and one day the storm broke. This came about in the following manner: A certain gentleman, named Thomas Eastchurch, lived in Bideford with Elizabeth his wife, and Grace Thomas, her maiden sister. Mistress Grace had been ailing for some time, and had consulted several physicians, but to no purpose. Her brother did not attach much importance to the case, and considered she was suffering from natural causes. Doctors in those days called nervous attacks witchcraft. Some months previous to the date of our story, Mistress Grace Thomas had recovered sufficiently well as to be able to go out a little to take the air. While out she came across Temperance Lloyd, who, to her astonishment, fell on her knees, and thanked heaven that she was well and out again. Now, people do not usually go on their knees in the open streets to return thanks for the recovery of sick folk, even if they are doating old beggar women. This was suspicious, and coupled with the fact that it was Temperance Lloyd, the notorious witch, who was so surprisingly grateful, it caused Mistress Thomas to form a little theory about the origin of her ailments. That night she became much worse, and lay so for some months, sometimes better and sometimes worse. At length, on July 2nd, as she lay a groaning and complaining of her pains, and particularly of one knee, her sister looked at it, and on close inspection of the painful joint, discovered nine places like unto the pricks of a thorn. It needed no great amount of reasoning power to see that if people have nine prick holes on their knee, they must be bewitched. Then they recollected the fervent delight exhibited last September by Temperance Lloyd, and forthwith Dame Eastchurch procured an interview with that worthy. When asked if she had made any images of wax or clay for the bewitching of her sister, Temperance replied in the negative, but owned that she had used a piece of leather for that purpose. This distinction without a difference was not likely to avail her anything, and she was at once arrested. The next day, Sunday, July 3rd, a court of inquisition was opened at the Town-hall, and his worship the mayor, Mr. Thomas Gist, Alderman John Davies, and the town clerk, Mr. John Hill, formed the bench before which the case was tried. Mistress Thomas described very fully the history of her complaint. She gave all the symptoms; she told about the prickings, and pinchings, and swoonings in a style that would have satisfied any one; and what was more, she had lost every pain and ache ever since that Temperance Lloyd had been locked up. Then Dame Eastchurch related the discovery of the nine prick-holes, and of the acknowledgment by the prisoner of using the piece of leather to bewitch her sister. The next witness, Ann Wakely, who had been sick nurse to Mistress Thomas, confirmed the foregoing evidence, even to the magical disappearance of the pains at the moment of the prisoner's arrest. Furthermore, she had been commissioned by the mayor to examine the body of the prisoner, which she had done in company with Honor Hooper and other matrons, and they had discovered marks of diabolic familiarity about her. The prisoner, too, had admitted to her that a certain magpie, which came and fluttered at the window of Mistress Thomas on Thursday morning last, was the devil himself. Honor Hooper confirmed all this. Then Mr. Thomas Eastchurch gave his evidence, which consisted in retailing a long conversation he had had with the prisoner yesterday, in which she had confessed to having met the devil in Higher Gunstone Lane, and that he had tempted her to exercise her craft on Grace Thomas. The description of the devil is simply that of a hobgoblin. He was the length of her arm, and wore black clothes; he had broad eyes, and a mouth like a toad. Then Temperance Lloyd was called on for her confession, which was given _ad libitum_. All that the preceding witnesses had said was true, and in addition she related that on her visits to Mr. Eastchurch's house she was accompanied by a "braget cat" (the devil in disguise), and that when she had pricked and pinched her victim, though the room was full of people, no one had seen her. Here was enough to hang a dozen witches; but now that she was in a mood to confess--an evident proof of her desertion by the devil--the magistrates went into all her other witcheries, and truly they make a goodly list. She had been acquitted, though guilty, in 1670 of bewitching William Herbert to death; and in 1679 she had done to death the daughter of Mr. Edward Fellow, a gentleman of Bideford. When finished with by the magistrates, the prisoner was taken to church, and in the presence of all the witnesses against her was examined by the rector, Mr. Michael Ogilby. This appears to be a relic of the old ecclesiastical courts. Here the prisoner adds other trifling items to her already long list of crimes. She had done to death Jane Dallyn, and also Lydia Burman. There was some excuse for this last, inasmuch as the said Lydia Burman had given evidence at the assizes in 1670 that the prisoner had appeared to her in the shape of a red pig, while she was at work, brewing in the house of Humphrey Ackland, of Bideford. Then Mr. Ogilby put her to the test of reciting the Lord's Prayer and the creed, but the prisoner failing to do this to his satisfaction, "he gave her many good exhortations, and so departed from her." Such was the evidence against, and the confession of, Temperance Lloyd. People believed it in those days, but now, alas! _Cuilibet in sua arte credendum est._ Now, when Temperance was locked up in gaol, she evidently found it lonely, and so made sufficient observations to her attendants as to necessitate the arrest of her old cronies, Susanna Edwards and Mary Trembles. One remark was to the effect that if she was to be hanged, that Susanna should join her, and at the same time dropping hints about riding on a red cow, and so on. On July 18th the same magistrates set to work on Susanna Edwards and Mary Trembles. A certain Grace Barnes had been taken ill in a mysterious manner, and to the alarm of her husband and friends. Whilst the attack lasted, one Agnes Whitfield, who was present, heard some one at the door, which opening, she found Mary Trembles pretending to be going to the bakehouse with a white pot in her hands. Grace Barnes being told who was at the door, cried out that Mary Trembles was one of them who did torment her; the other was Susanna Edwards, because she was always coming to her house on some foolish pretence or other. Then a blacksmith called William Edwards reports a conversation of Susanna Edwards, showing that she and Mary Trembles had been trying their art on Grace Barnes. One of the informants was Joane Jones, who was probably the female watcher at the prison, because she gives evidence of conversations overheard between Mary Trembles and Susanna Edwards while in prison. A curious scene took place before the magistrates on this occasion. Anthony Jones, husband of the last witness, was standing by the side of Susanna Edwards, and seeing her to twist her fingers about, said, "Thou devil, thou art tormenting some person or other!" This enraged the old woman, who looked at him and said, "Well enough I'll fit thee." The evidence of Grace Barnes being required, a constable and the man Jones are sent to fetch her; and as they are bringing her with much ado into the court, Susanna catches the eye of the officious Mr. Jones, who forthwith falls down in a fit, and is described as having "leapt and capered like a madman, and fell a shaking, quivering, and groaning, and lay for the space of half an hour like a dying or dead man." Then follows the examination of Mary Trembles, who pleads guilty to everything and anything. She had been enlisted to the cause of witchcraft by Susanna Edwards, and had been promised by her "never to want for money, drink, or clothes;" that the devil had appeared to her like a Lyon, and that she and Susanna had bewitched Grace Barnes because the latter had refused them some bread. Susanna Edwards, in her confession, said that she had made the acquaintance of the devil two years ago in Parsonage Close, and that he was like a gentleman. She met him again the same day in Stambridge Lane, and that he again persuaded her to kill Grace Barnes. She had bewitched one Dorcas Coleman, and finally owned that "she gave herself to the devil when she did meet him in Stambridge Lane, and that the said Mary Trembles was a servant to her, in like manner as she, this examinant, was a servant to the devil (whom she called by the appellation of a gentleman)." Another case was gone into against Susanna Edwards on July 26th, but it merely confirmed her confession, which was hardly necessary. These miserable old women were, on this evidence and these confessions, sent to Exeter, where they, on August 18th, were tried, found guilty, and condemned to be hanged; and which sentence was carried out on the 25th of the same month at Heavitree, as we are informed in Jenkin's _History of Exeter_. Even at the foot of the gallows they stuck to their story, altering it but little, though they were much questioned by a meddlesome Mr. Hann, "who was a minister in those parts." In a curious tract published in London this same year (1682), which I have appended to this, with a copy of the deposition taken at the magistrates' enquiry, there is a statement that Mary Trembles was very loath to be hanged, and in order to get her to the place of execution was strapped on a horse. It is commonly supposed that this was the last execution for witchcraft in England; but such is not the case. In 1716 a woman and her daughter were hanged at Huntingdon for selling their souls to the devil. Twenty years after, in 1736, the penal act of James I. was erased from the statute-book. The judges of the land were among the first to set their faces against these judicial murders; one of the earliest being Mr. Chief Justice Holt, who on all occasions endeavoured to procure an acquittal. There is a letter among the State papers from Lord Keeper North, who was at Exeter on circuit at these assizes, to Sir Leoline Jenkins, which gives an excellent view of the question as then considered. It is dated Exeter, August 19th, 1682. "Here have been three old women condemned for witchcraft; your curiosity will make you enquire of the circumstances. I shall only tell you that what I had from my brother Raymond, before whom they were tried, that they were the most old, decrepid, despicable, miserable creatures that he ever saw. A painter would have chosen them out of the whole country for figures of that kind to have drawn by. "The evidence against them was very full and fanciful, but their own confessions exceeded it. They appeared not only weary of their lives, but to have a great deal of skill to convict themselves. Their description of the sucking devills with sawcer-eyes was as natural that the jury could not chuse but beleeve them. Sir, I find the country so fully possessed against them, that though some of the _virtuosi_ may think these the effect of confederacy, melancholy, or delusion, and that young folkes are altogether as quick-sighted as they who are old and infirme; Yet wee cannot repreive them without appearing to denye the very being of witches, which, as it is contrary to law, so I think it would be ill for his Majesties service, for it may give the faction occasion to set afoot the old trade of witchfinding that may cost many innocent persons their lives, which the justice will not prevent." Though this was the last execution for witchcraft in the West, it was not the last trial. In 1695 a woman named Mary Guy was tried before Chief Justice Holt, at Launceston Castle, for bewitching Philadelphia Row. In this case the victim vomited pins, straws, and feathers; but, owing to a successful appeal, by the judge to the jury, a verdict of acquittal was brought in. In 1696 Elizabeth Horner was tried before this same judge at Exeter, and though evidence of a startling nature was given by the children of a Mr. William Bovet, the jury acquitted her; a result brought about no doubt by the exertions of the judge. This case of Elizabeth Horner was the last tried in Devonshire, and with her acquittal was heard the last of Devonshire witches in courts of justice. APPENDIX.--No. I. A True and Impartial Relation of the Information against Three Witches who were indicted, arraigned, and convicted at the Assizes holden for the county of Devon, at the Castle of Exon, August 14th, 1682, with their several Confessions, &c. &c.[1] [Footnote 1: It is easy to see that some of these depositions are placed out of order. The first three should be the last. Compare dates.] DEVON.--The information of Dorcas Coleman, the wife of John Coleman, of Biddiford aforesaid, Mariner, taken upon her oath, before Thomas Gist, Mayor of the Burrough Town and Manor of Biddiford, and John Davies, Alderman, etc., on the 26th of July, Anno Domini 1682. The said informant upon her oath saith, That about the end of the month of August in the year 1680, she was taken in tormenting pains, by pricking in her arms, stomach, and heart, in such a manner as she never was taken before. Upon which she, this informant, did desire one Thomas Bremincom to repair unto Dr. Beare for some remedy for those pains. And shortly afterwards the said Dr. Beare did repair unto this informant. And upon view of her body, he did say that it was past his skill to ease her of her pains, for he told her that she was bewitched. And further saith, that at the time of her tormenting pains, she did see her, the said Susanna Edwards, in her chamber; and that she this informant would point with her finger at what place in the chamber the said Susanna Edwards would stand, and where she would go. And further saith, that she hath continued so ever since more or less every week. And saith that when the said Susanna was apprehended concerning Grace Barnes of Biddiford aforesaid, that this informant did go to see the said Susanna: and that when the said Susanna was in prison she did confess unto this informant, that she had bewitched her and done her some bodily harm by bewitching her. And thereupon she fell down on her knees and desired this informant to pray for her, the said Susanna Edwards. The Information of Thomas Bremincom of Biddiford in the county aforesaid, gent., taken, etc., the 26th of July AD 1682. The said informant upon his oath saith, that about two years ago, Dorcas Coleman, the wife of John Coleman of Biddiford aforesaid, mariner, was taken very sick, and in her sickness this informant did repair unto one Dr. Beare for some remedy for these pains. The said Mr. Beare being come unto her, and upon view of her body, did say that it was past his skill to ease her, by reason that she was bewitched. And further saith that after the said Mr. Beare had left her, he this informant did see one Susanna Edwards, of Biddiford aforesaid widow, to come into her chamber to visit her the said Dorcas. This informant further saith, That as soon as the said Dorcas did see the said Susanna Edwards, she did strive to fly in her face; but was not able to get out of the chair wherein she sate. This informant and John Coleman, the said Dorcas' husband did strive to help her out of the chair: upon which the said Susanna began to go backwards to go out of the chamber. And further said, that when the said Susanna was almost gone out of the chamber the said Dorcas did slide out of the chair upon her back, and so strive to go after the said Susanna. But this informant and her said husband seeing her in such a sad condition did endeavour to take her up from the ground, but could not until the said Susanna was gone down over the stairs. This informant further saith, that at the same time of her tormenting pains, and when she could neither see nor speak, by reason that her pains were so violent upon her, this informant hath seen her the said Dorcas, to point with her hand which way the said Susanna was gone. And saith that immediately after he hath gone out at the fore door, and hath seen the said Susanna to go the same way that the said Dorcas did point with her hand. The Information of John Coleman of Biddiford, in the County aforesaid, Mariner, taken, etc. the 26th July 1682. The said informant upon his oath saith--That Dorcas Coleman his wife, has been a long time sick, in a very strange and unusual manner; and he hath sought far and near for remedy, and saith that one Dr. George Beare being advised with concerning her sickness in this deponent's absence (whilst he was at sea) the said Mr. Beare hath (as this Informant was told by his said wife and his uncle Thomas Bremincom, at his return) said that it was past his skill to prescribe directions for her cure, because the said Dorcas was bewitched. This informant further saith, that about three months last past, his said wife was sitting in a chair, and being speechless, he this informant did see one Susanna Edwards, of Biddiford, to come into the chamber under a pretence to visit her.--Whereupon this Informant's wife did strive to come at her the said Susanna, but could not get out of the chair, upon which this informant and the said Thomas Bremincom did endeavour to help her out of the chair, and the said Susanna did go towards the chamber door. And further saith, That when the said Susanna was come at the chamber door, she the said Dorcas (remaining speechless as aforesaid) did slide out of the chair upon her back, and so strove to come at her the said Susanna, but was not able to rise from the ground, until the said Susanna was gone down the stairs; and further saith, That the said Dorcas continued in such a strange and unusual manner of sickness ever since unto this day with some intermissions. The Information of Grace Thomas, of Biddiford in the County aforesaid, Spinster, taken upon her oath the 3rd day of July, A.D. 1682 before us. The said informant upon her oath saith, that upon or about the second day of February which was in the year of our Lord 1680, this informant was taken with great pains in her head, and all her limbs, which pains continued on her till near or upon 1st day of August then following; and then this Informant's pains began to abate, and this Informant was able to walk abroad to take the air: But in the night she was in much pain and not able to take her rest. This Informant further saith, That upon or about the 30th day of September now last past this informant was going up the High Street of Biddiford, when this informant met with Temperance Lloyd of Biddiford aforesaid, widow, and she the said Temperance did then and there fall down on her knees to this Informant and wept--saying "Mrs. Grace, I am glad to see you so strong again." Upon which this informant said, "Why dost thou weep for me?" Unto which the said Temperance replied, "I weep for joy to see you so well again," as the said Temperance then pretended. This Informant further saith--That that night she, this informant, was taken very ill with sticking and pricking pains as tho' pins and awls had been thrust into her body, from the crown of her head to the soles of her feet; and this informant lay as though it had been upon a rack. And saith, that these pricking pains have continued upon her body ever since; and that her pains are much worse by night than by day. This informant further saith, That on Thursday 1st of June last in the night, she the Informant was bound and seemingly chained up with all her sticking pains in her belly; so that on a sudden her belly was as big as two bellies, which caused her to cry out, "I shall die;" and in this sad condition this Informant lay as though she had been dead for a long space (which those persons that were in the chamber with her, this informant did compute to be about two hours). And this Informant further saith, that on Friday night last, being the 30th of June, this Informant was again pinched and pricked to the heart with such cruel thrusting pains in her head, shoulders, arms, hands, thighs and legs, as tho' the flesh would have been then immediately torn from the woman with a man's fingers and thumbs. And further saith--That she was even plucked out over her bed, and lay in this condition for the space of three hours (as she was informed by some of those persons then in the chamber). This Informant further saith that upon the 1st day of this instant July, as soon as the aforesaid Temperance Lloyd was apprehended and put in the prison of Biddiford, she this Informant immediately felt her pricking and sticking pains to cease and abate. And saith--that she hath continued so ever since unto this time, but is still in great weakness of body. And further saith, that she believeth that the said Temperance Lloyd hath been an instrument of doing much hurt and harm to her body, by pricking and tormenting of her in manner as before set forth. The Information of Elizabeth Eastchurch wife of Thomas Eastchurch of Biddiford, Gent., taken upon her oath, etc., the 3rd of July, A.D. 1682. The said informant upon her oath saith--That upon the 2nd day of this instant July the said Grace Thomas then lodging in this informant's said husband's house and hearing of her to complain of great pricking pains in one of her knees, she this informant did see her said knee, and observed that she had nine places in her knee which had been prickt, and that every of the said pricks were as tho' it had been the prick of a thorn. Whereupon this Informant upon the same 2nd of July did demand of the said Temperance Lloyd, whether she had any wax or clay in the form of a picture whereby she had pricked and tormented the said Grace Thomas. Unto which the said Temperance made answer that she had no wax or clay, but confessed that she had only a piece of leather which she had pricked nine times. The Information of Anne Wakely, wife of William Wakely of Biddeford, Husbandman, taken the 3rd of July, A.D. 1682. The said informant upon her oath saith, That upon the 2nd of July Instant, she this deponant by order of Mr. Mayor did search the body of the said Temperance Lloyd, in the presence of Honor Hooper, and several other women. And upon search of her said body, she this informant did find in her secret parts, two teats, hanging nigh together like unto a piece of flesh that a child had suckt. And that each of the said teats was about an inch in length. Upon which this Informant did demand of her the said Temperance whether she had been suckt at that place by the Black Man? meaning the Devil. Whereto the said Temperance did acknowledge that she had been suckt there often times by the Black Man, and the last time she was suckt by the said Black Man, was the Friday before she was searched, viz the 30th of June last. And this Informant saith, that she had been attendant of the said Grace Thomas about six weeks last past; and that on Thursday, the 29th June last in the Morning, she this informant did see some thing in the shape of a Magpie to come at the Chamber window where the said Grace did lodge. Upon which this Informant did demand of the said Temperance whether she did know of any bird to come and flutter at the said window. Unto which question the said Temperance did then say, that it was the Black Man in the shape of a bird; and that she the said Temperance was at that time by the said Thomas Eastchurch's door of the house where the said Grace Thomas did lodge. The like is deposed by Honor Hooper, servant unto the said Thomas Eastchurch, as appears by her information taken upon her oath the day and year above said before the said Thomas Gist, Mayor and John Davies, Alderman of Biddiford. Temperance Lloyd--her examination taken the 3rd of July A.D. 1682. The said informant being brought before us by some of the constables of the said borrough, upon the complaint of Thomas Eastchurch of Biddiford aforesaid, gent, and charged upon suspicion of having used some Magical art, sorcery, or witchcraft upon the body of Grace Thomas of Biddiford, spinster; and to have had discourse or familiarity with the Devil in the shape of a Black man; and being demanded how long since she had discourse or familiarity with the Devil in the likeness of a Black man, saith--That about the 30th of September last she met the Devil in the likeness of a Black man about the middle of the afternoon of that day, in a certain street or lane in the town of Biddiford, called Higher Gunstone Lane, and then and there he did tempt and solicit her to go with him to the house of the said Thomas Eastchurch to torment the body of the said Grace Thomas, which this examinant at first did refuse to do, but afterwards by the temptation and persuasion of the Devil she did go to the house of the said Thomas Eastchurch, and that she went upstairs after the said black man, and confesseth that both of them went up into the chamber where the said Grace Thomas was, and that there they found one Anne Wakely, the wife of William Wakely of Biddiford, rubbing and stroking one of the arms of the said Grace Thomas. And the said Examinant doth further confess that she did then and there pinch with the nails of her fingers the said Grace Thomas, in her shoulders, arms, thighs, and legs, and that afterwards they came down into the street together; and that there this examinant did see something in the form of a grey or braget cat; and saith that the said cat went into the said Thomas Eastchurch shop. The said Examinant being further demanded, whether she went any more unto the said Thomas Eastchurch house, saith and confesseth that the day following she came again to the said Thomas Eastchurch's house invisible and was not seen by any person; but there this examinant did meet with the braget cat as aforesaid, and the said cat did retire and leap back into the said Thomas Eastchurch's shop. The said Examinant being further demanded when she was at the said Thomas Eastchurch the last time, saith that she was there upon Friday the 30th of June last, and that the Devil in the shape of the said Black man was there with her; and that they went up again into the said chamber, where she found the said Grace Thomas lying on her bed in a very sad condition, notwithstanding which she this examinant and the said black man did torment her again: and saith and confesseth that she this examinant had almost drawn her out of her bed, and that on purpose to put the said Grace out of her life. And further saith that the Black man (or rather the Devil) did promise this examinant, that no one should discover her. And confesseth that the said Black man or the Devil did suck her teats, which she now hath in her secret parts: and that she did kneel down to him in the street, as she was returning to her own house and after that they had tormented the said Grace Thomas in manner as last above mentioned. Being demanded of what stature the said Black man was, said, that he was about the length of her arm and that his eyes were very big, and that he hopt or leapt in the way before her; and afterwards did suck her again as she was lying down, and that his sucking was with great pain unto her, and afterwards vanished clear away out of her sight. This Examinant does further confess that upon the first of June last, whilst the said Mr. Eastchurch and his wife were absent, that she did pinch and prick the said Grace Thomas with the aid and help of the Black man in her belly, stomach, and breast, etc., and that they continued so tormenting of her, about the space of two or three hours, with an intent to have killed her. And further saith that at the same time she did see the said Anne Wakely, rubbing and chafing of several parts of the said Grace Thomas, her body; although the said Anne being present at the taking of this examination doth affirm that she did not see the said examinant. Whereas the said Temperance Lloyd hath made such an ample confession and declaration concerning the said Grace Thomas, we the said Mayor and Justice were induced to demand of her some other questions concerning other Witcheries which she had practiced upon the bodies of several other persons within this Town; viz.-- She the said examinant did confess that about the 14th of March, in the year 1670, she was accused, indicted, and arraigned for practising Witchcraft upon the body of William Herbert, late of Biddiford, husbandman; and that altho' at the trial of her life at the Castle of Exeter, she was there acquitted by the Judge and Jury then; yet this Examinant does now confess that she is guilty thereof, by the persuasion of the Black man and that she did prick the same William Herbert unto death. And whereas upon or about the 15th of May, in the year 1679, she was accused before the then Mayor and Justices of the town of Biddiford aforesaid, for practising witchcraft upon the body of Anne Fellow, the daughter of Edward Fellow of Biddiford, gent, and although her body was then searched by four women of the town of Biddiford, and the proofs then against her not so clear and conspicuous the said Mr. Fellow did not further prosecute against her--yet this examinant doth now confess, that the said Black man or Devil with her, this examinant did do some bodily hurt to the said Anne Fellow, and that thereupon the said Anne did shortly die and depart this life. Whereas we Thomas Eastchurch and Elizabeth Eastchurch his wife, Honor Hooper and Anne Wakely, upon yesterday which was the 3rd of July 1682, did give in our several informations upon our oaths, before Thomas Gist, Mayor, and John Davies, Alderman, two of his Majesties Justices of the Peace within the Burrough, etc., of Biddiford, against Temperance Lloyd, for using and practising witchcraft upon the body of Grace Thomas, as by our several examinations it doth appear: But because we were dissatisfied in some particulars concerning a piece of leather, which the said Temperance confessed of unto the said Elizabeth Eastchurch and we conceiving that there might be some enchantment used in or about the same leather; Therefore upon this present 4th of July we with the leave of Mr. Mayor did bring the said Temperance into the Parish Church of Biddiford, in the presence of Mr. Michael Ogilby, rector of the same parish church, and divers other persons, where the said Temperance was demanded by the said Mr. Ogilby, how long since the Devil did tempt her to do evil. Whereupon she did confess, that about twelve years ago, she was tempted by the Devil, to be instrumental to the death of William Herbert. And that the Devil did promise her, that she should live well and do well. And she did then also confess that she was an instrument of the death of the said William Herbert. And as to the said Grace Thomas, she further confessed, that on Friday the 23rd of June last; she the said Temperance, came into the said Thomas Eastchurch's shop, in the form of a cat, and fetcht out of the same shop, a puppet or picture (commonly called a child's baby) and that she carried the same into the chamber where the said Grace did lodge and left it about the bed: where the said Grace did lie; but would not confess that she had prickt any pins in the said puppet, or baby picture, altho she were demanded particularly that question by the said Mr. Ogilby. Also the said Temperance did then confess That she was the cause of the death of Anne Fellow, the daughter of Edward Fellow.--Also she did then confess that she was the cause of the death of one Jane Dallyn, wife of Symon Dallyn of Biddiford, mariner, by pricking her in one of her eyes, which she did so secretly perform that she was never discovered or punished for the same. Also the said Temperance did confess and declare that she did bewitch unto death one Lydia Burman of Biddiford, spinster, because she had been a witness against her, at the trial for her life, at the Assizes when she was arraigned for the death of the said William Herbert, and had deposed that the said Temperance had appeared to her in the shape of _a red pig_ at such times as she the said Lydia was brewing in the house of Humphrey Ackland of Biddiford. Being further demanded in what part of the house of the said Mr. Eastchurch, or in what part of the bed whereon the said Grace Thomas lay, she left the puppett above mentioned, saith, That she would not, nor must not discover, for if she did discover the same that the devil would tear her in pieces. And afterwards Mr. Ogilby desired her to say the Lord's prayer and her creed; which she imperfectly performing he did give her many good exhortations, and so departed from her. In witness whereof, we have hereunto set our hands, this 4th day of July Anno Domini 1682. The information of Thomas Eastchurch of Biddiford, gent, taken the 3rd of July A.D. 1682. The said informant upon his oath saith, that upon yesterday, which was 2nd of July, he did hear the said Temperance Lloyd say and confess, that about the 30th of September last, as she was returning from the bakehouse with a loaf of bread under her arm towards her own house, she did meet with some thing in the likeness of a black man in the street called Higher Gunstone Lane, within this town, and then and there the said black man did tempt and persuade her to go to this Informant's house, to torment one Grace Thomas, who is this informant's Sister in law. That the said Temperance did first refuse the temptation, saying that the said Grace Thomas had done her no harm. But afterward, by the further persuasion of the said black man, she did go to this informant's house and that she went up stairs after the said blackman: and confessed that both of them went into the chamber where the said Informant's said sister in law was, and that there they found Anne Wakely rubbing one of the arms of the said Grace Thomas. And this informant further saith--That the said Temperance did also confess that the Blackman did persuade her to pinch the said Grace in the knee, arms and shoulders, intimating with her fingers how she did it. And that when she came down stairs into the street, she saw a braget cat go into the Informant's Shop, and that she believed it to be the Devil. And this Informant did hear the said Temperance confess that on Friday night last, the Black man did meet with her near her own door about ten of the clock and there did again tempt her to go to this Informant's house and to make an end of the said Grace Thomas. Whereupon the said Temperance did go to this Informant's house with the black man, and that she did prick and pinch the said Grace Thomas again in several parts of her body, declaring with both her hands how she did it. And that thereupon the said Grace did cry out terribly. And confessed that the said black man told her that she should make an end of the said Grace Thomas. And further did confess, that the black man did promise her that no one should discover her or see her. And she also confessed that about 12 of the clock that same night that same black man did suck her in the street, she kneeling down to him. That he had blackish clothes and was about the length of her arm. That he had broad eyes and a mouth like a toad, and afterwards vanisht clear away out of her sight. This informant further saith that he heard the said Temperance confess, that about the 1st of June last the said black man was with her again, and told her that on that night she should make an end of the said Grace Thomas; and confessed that she had griped the said Grace in her belly, stomach and breast and clipt her to the heart. And that the said Grace did cry out pitifully. And that the said Temperance was about the space of two hours tormenting her. And that Anne Wakely (with several other women) were then in the chamber but could not see the said Temperance: and that the black man stood by her in the same room. This informant further saith, that he supposed that the said Grace Thomas in her sickness had been afflicted through a distemper arising from a natural cause and did repair to several physicians but that she could never receive any benefit prescribed by them. The Information of William Herbert of Biddiford blacksmith taken the 12th of August A.D. 1682. This Informant upon his oath saith, that near or upon the 2nd of February in the year 1670 he did hear his father William Herbert declare on his death bed that Temperance Lloyd of Biddiford widow had bewitched his said father unto death. This Informant's father further declaring to this informant that he with the rest of his relations should view his father's body after his decease and that by his body they should see what prints and marks the aforesaid Temperance had made upon his body. And saith that his father did lay his blood to the charge of the said Temperance Lloyd, and desired this informant to see her apprehended for the same; which was accordingly done, and saith that she was accused for the same, but that she was acquitted at the Assizes. This informant further saith, that upon the 4th of July last, he went to the prison of Biddiford, where the said Temperance was, and demanded of her, whether she had done any bodily harm unto the said William Herbert deceased; unto which she answered "Surely, William, I did kill thy father." This informant did demand of her further whether she had done any hurt to one Lydia Burman late of Biddiford, unto which the said Temperance answered that she was the cause of her death. This informant demanded of her, why she had not confessed so much when she was in prison last time? She answered that her time was not expired, for the Devil had given her greater power for a longer time. And this informant did hear the said Temperance confess that she was the cause of the death of Ann Fellow, daughter of Edward Fellow of Biddiford, gent. And also that she the said Temperance was the cause of the bewitching out of one of the eyes of Jane wife of Symon Dallyn of Biddiford, Mariner. The information of John Barnes of Biddiford, yeoman, taken the 18th of July A.D. 1682. The said informant upon his oath saith, that upon Easter Tuesday, which was the 18th of May last, this Informant's wife, Grace Barnes, was taken with very great pains of sticking and pricking in her arms, stomach and breast, as tho' she had been stabbed with awls being so described unto him by the said Grace in such a manner as this Informant thought she would have died immediately; and in such sad condition she had continued to this present day in tormenting and grievous pains. And further saith, that upon Sunday last, which was the 16th of July instant, about 10 of the clock in the forenoon, this Informant's said wife was taken worse than before, insomuch as four men and women could hardly hold her. And at that time one Agnes Whitefield, wife of John Whitefield of Biddiford, cordwainer, being in this Informant's house and hearing some body at the door, she did open the door where she found one Mary Trembles of Biddiford, single woman, standing with a white pot in her hand, as though she had been going to the common bakehouse. And thereupon this Informant's wife did ask of the said Agnes, who it was that was at the door? Unto which the said Agnes answered that it was Mary Trembles. Then this Informant's wife said that she, the said Mary Trembles was one of them that did torment her, and that she was come now to put her the said Grace out of her life. The Information of Grace Barnes, the wife of John Barnes of Biddiford, yeoman, taken the 2nd of August, Anno Domini 1682. The said Informant upon her oath saith, that she had been very much pain'd and tormented in her body these many years last past insomuch that she had sought out for remedy far and near and never had any suspicion that she had magical art or witchcraft used upon her body until about a year and half ago, that she was informed by some physicians that it was so. And further saith thereupon she had some suspicions of one Susanna Edwards of Biddiford, widow, because that the said Susanna would oftentimes repair to this Informant's house upon frivolous or no occasion at all. And further saith that about the middle of May last she was taken with very great pains of sticking and pricking in her arms, breast, and heart as though divers awls had been prick'd or stuck into her body, and was in great tormenting pains for many days and nights together with very little intermission. And saith that upon Sunday the 16th of July last, she was taken in a very grievous and tormenting manner; at which instant of time one Agnes Whitefield, the wife of John Whitefield of Biddiford, was in this Informant's house, who opening the door and looking out found one Mary Trembles of Biddiford standing before the door. And thereupon this informant did ask of the said Agnes, who it was that stood at the door? who answered that it was the said Mary Trembles. Upon which this informant was fully assured that the said Mary Trembles, together with the said Susanna Edwards, were the very persons that had tormented her by using some magical art or witchcraft upon her body as aforesaid. The Information of William Edwards, of Biddiford, blacksmith, taken the 18th of July, Anno Dom. 1682. The said Informant upon his oath saith, that upon the 17th of July inst. this informant did hear Susanna Edwards confess, that the Devil had carnal knowledge of her body; and that he had suck'd her in her breast. And further saith that he did hear the said Susanna to say, that she and one Mary Trembles of Biddiford did appear hand in hand invisible in John Barnes' house of Biddiford, where Grace the wife of the said John Barnes did lie in a very sad condition. And further saith that he did then also hear the said Susanna to say, that she and the said Mary Trembles were at that time come to make an end of the said Grace Barnes. The Information of Joane Jones, the wife of Anthony Jones of Biddiford, husbandman, taken the 18th of July, Anno Dom. 1682. The said informant upon her oath, saith that upon the 18th of July she this informant being present with Susanna Edwards of Biddiford, widow, there came to see the said Susanna one John Dunning, of Great Torrington, which said John Dunning this Informant did hear him to demand of the said Susanna how and by what means she became a witch. Unto which question the said Susanna did answer, that she did never confess afore now, but now she would. And further saith, that she did hear the said Susanna confess unto the said John Dunning that she was on a time out gathering of wood, at which time the said Susanna did see a gentleman to draw nigh unto her: whereupon she was in good hopes to have a piece of money of him. This Informant further saith that the said John Dunning did demand of the said Susanna where she did meet with the said gentleman; she did answer that it was in Parsonage Close. And further saith, that after the said John Dunning was gone, this Informant did hear the said Susanna confess, that on Sunday the 16th inst. she with Mary Trembles and by the help of the Devil, did prick and torment Grace the wife of John Barnes of Biddiford, and this informant further saith that she did hear the said Susanna Edwards and Mary Trembles say and confess that they did this present day torment and prick her the said Grace Barnes: and further saith that she did hear the said Mary Trembles say unto the said Susanna Edwards "O thou Rogue, I will now confess all: for 'tis thou that hast made me to be a witch and thou art one thyself and my conscience must swear it." Unto which the said Susanna replied, "I did not think thou would have been such a Rogue to discover it." And further saith that the said Susanna did confess that the Devil did oftentimes carry about her spirit. And further saith that she did hear the said Susanna say and confess that she did prick and torment Dorcas Coleman the wife of John Coleman of Biddiford, mariner. And further saith that she did hear the said Susanna Edwards to confess that she was suckt in her breast several times by the Devil in the shape of a boy, lying by her in her bed and that it was very cold unto her. And this Informant further saith that her husband observing the said Susanna to gripe and twinkle her hands upon her own body, said unto her, "Thou Devil, thou art now tormenting some person or other." Whereupon the said Susanna was displeased with him, and said, "Well enough I'll fit thee;" and that present time the said Grace Barnes was in great pain with prickings and stabbings in her heart, as she did afterwards affirm. This informant further saith that one of the Constables and her said husband with some others were sent by Mr. Mayor to bring the said Grace Barnes unto the Town Hall of Biddiford aforesaid, which they did accordingly do, and immediately as soon as he with others had led and with much ado brought the said Grace Barnes into the town-hall, the said Susanna Edwards turned about and looked upon her said husband, and forthwith this informant's husband was taken in a very sad condition, as he was leading and supporting the said Grace Barnes up the stairs of the said Town-hall, before the Mayor and Justices; insomuch that he cried out, "Wife I am now bewitched by this Devil" meaning Susanna Edwards; and forthwith leapt and capered like a madman and fell a shaking, quivering and groaning, and lay for the space of half an hour like a dying or dead man. And at length coming to his senses again did declare unto this Informant, that the said Susanna Edwards had bewitched him. And this Informant further saith, that she did never knew her said husband to be taken in any fits or convulsions, but a person of a sound and healthy body ever since he had been this Informant's husband. The Information of Anthony Jones of Biddiford, Husbandman, taken the 19th of July A.D. 1682. The said informant upon his oath saith, that yesterday whilst the said Susanna Edwards was in the Town-hall of Biddiford concerning the said Grace Barnes he did observe the said Susanna to gripe and twinkle her hands upon her own body, in an unusual manner: whereupon the said Susanna was displeased with this informant, and said, "Well enough I will fit thee." And at that present time the said Grace Barnes was in great pains with prickings and stabbings unto her heart as the said Grace did afterwards affirm. This Informant further saith that one of the constables etc. with some others being sent by order of Mr. Mayor, to bring the said Grace unto the Town-hall of Biddiford, immediately, as soon as they had brought the said Grace unto the Town-hall, the said Susanna turned about and looked upon this informant, and forthwith the Informant was taken in a very sad condition as he was coming up the stairs of the said Town-hall, before the Mayor and Justices, insomuch that he cried out, "Wife, I am now bewitched by this Devil Susanna Edwards." The Examination of Mary Trembles of Biddiford, single woman, taken July 18th, 1682. The said Examinant being brought before us and accused for practising of witchcraft upon the body of Grace Barnes, wife of George Barnes, of Biddiford, yeoman, was demanded by as how long she had practised witchcraft, said and confessed, that about three years last past, one Susanna Edwards of Biddiford, widow, did inform her, that if she would do as the said Susanna did, that this Examinant should do very well. Whereupon this Examinant did yield unto the said Susanna Edwards, and said that she would do as the said Susanna did; and this Examinant further confesseth that the said Susanna Edwards did promise that this Examinant should neither want for money, drink, nor clothes. And further confesseth that after she had made this bargain with Susanna Edwards, that the Devil in the shape of a Lyon (as she conceived) did come to this Examinant--and that he did suck her, and that his sucking was so hard as to cause her to cry out for the pain thereof. And further confesseth that on Tuesday in Easter week, which was 18th of May last, she, this Examinant did go about the town of Biddiford, to beg some bread, and in her walk, she did meet with the said Susanna Edwards, who asked this Examinant where she had been. Unto whom this Examinant answered, that she had been about the town, and had begged some meat, but could get none. Whereupon this Examinant, together with the said Susanna, did go to the said John Barnes' house, in hope that there they should have some meat. But the said John Barnes not being within his house, they could get no meat or bread, being denied by the said Grace Barnes and her servants, who would not give them any meat. Whereupon the said Susanna Edwards did bid this Examinant to go to the said John Barnes' house again, for a farthing's worth of tobacco. Whereupon this Examinant did go, but could not have any: whereof this Examinant did acquaint the said Susanna, who then said that it should be better for the said Grace if she had let this Examinant have had some tobacco. And further confesseth, that on the 16th of this instant, she the said Susanna, did go to the said John Barnes house, and went into the fore door, invisibly into the room, where they did pinch and prick the said Grace Barnes almost unto death; and that she saw the said John Barnes in bed with his wife, on the inner side of the bed. And saith and confesseth, that on the 16th inst. as she was going towards the common bakehouse, she, with the help of the Devil, would have killed the said Grace Barnes, if that she, this examinant, had not spilt some of the meat she was then carrying to the bakehouse. The examination of Susanna Edwards, of Biddiford, widow, taken 18th of July A.D. 1682. The said Examinant being brought before us, and accused of practising witchcraft upon the body of Grace Barnes, wife of John Barnes of Biddiford, yeoman, was demanded by us how long she had discourse or familiarity with the Devil; saith, that about two years ago, she did meet with a gentleman in a field called the Parsonage Close, in the town of Biddiford, and saith, that his apparel was all of black. Upon which she did hope to have a piece of money of him. Whereupon the gentleman drawing near unto this examinant, she did make a curchy or courtesy unto him, as used to do to gentlemen. Being demanded what and who the said gentleman, she spake of was, the said examinant answered, that it was the Devil. And confessed that the Devil did ask of her, whether she was a poor woman? Unto whom she answered, that she was a poor woman; and that thereupon the Devil, in the shape of the gentleman, did say unto her, that if this examinant would grant him one request, that she should neither want for meat, drink, nor clothes: whereupon this examinant did say unto the said gentleman (or rather the Devil) "In the name of God, what is it that I shall have?" Upon which the said gentleman vanished clear away from her. And further confesseth, that afterwards there was something in the shape of a little boy, which she thinks to be the Devil, came into her house, and did lie with her and that he did suck at her breast. And confesseth that she did afterwards meet him in a place called Stanbridge Lane, in this parish of Biddiford leading towards Abbotsham (which is the next parish on the west of Biddiford) where he did suck blood out of her breast. And further confesseth that on Sunday the 16th inst., this Examinant together with Mary Trembles, did go unto the house of John Barnes, and that nobody did see them; and that they were in the same room where Grace the wife of the John Barnes was, and that they did prick and pinch the said Grace Barnes with their fingers, and put her to great pain and torment, insomuch that the said Grace was almost dead. And confesseth, that this present day, she did prick and torment the said Grace Barnes again (intimating with her fingers how she did it). And also confesseth that the Devil did entice her to make an end of the said Grace: and that he told her he would come again to her once more. And confesseth, that she can go to any place invisible, and yet her body shall be lying in her bed. And further confesseth, that the Devil hath appeared to her in the shape of a Lyon, as she supposed. Being demanded whether she had done any bodily hurt unto any other person beside the said Grace Barnes, saith and confesseth, that she did prick and torment Dorcas Coleman, wife of John Coleman of Biddiford, mariner. And saith that she gave herself to the Devil, when she did meet him in Stambridge Lane as aforesaid. And saith, that the said Mary Trembles was a servant to her, this examinant, in like manner as she this examinant was a servant to the Devil (whom she called by the appellation of a gentleman). _Examined with the original whereof this is a true copy._ Thomas Gist. _Mayor._ John Davies. _Alderman._ John Hill. _Town Clerk._ The substance of the last words and confession of Susanna Edwards, Temperance Lloyd, and Mary Trembles, at the time and place of their execution, Aug. 25, 1682, as fully as could be taken in a case liable to be so much noise and confusion as is usual on such occasions. _Mr. H._ Mary Trembles, what have you to say as to the crime you are to die for? _Mary._ I have spoken as much as I can speak already, and can speak no more. _H._ In what shape did the Devil come to you? _Mary._ The Devil came to me once, I think like a Lyon. _H._ Did he offer violence to you? _Mary._ No, not at all: but did frighten me, and did nothing to me; and I cried to God and asked what he would have, and he vanished. _H._ Did he give thee any gift, or did'st thou make him any promises? _Mary._ No. _H._ Did he ever make use of thy body? _M._ Never in my life. _H._ Have you a secret teat? _M._ None. (The grand inquest said it was sworn to them.) _H._ Mary Trembles, was not the Devil there with Susan, when I was once in prison with you, and under her coats? the other told me he was there, but is now fled; and that the Devil was in the way when I was going to Taunton with my son, who is a Minister? Thou speakest now as a dying woman, and as the Psalmist says, "I will confess my iniquities, and acknowledge all my sins." We find that Mary Magdalene had seven Devils: and she came to Christ and had mercy, and if thou break thy league with the Devil, and make a covenant with God, thou may'st also obtain mercy. If thou hast anything to speak, speak thy mind? _Mary._ I have spoken the very truth and can speak no more: Mr. H. I would desire that they may come by me, and confess as I have done. _H._ Temperance Lloyd. Have you made any contract with the Devil? _T._ No. _H._ Did he ever take any of thy blood? _T._ No. _H._ How did he appear to thee at the first, or where, in the street? In what shape? _T._ In a wonderful shape. _H._ Had he ever any carnal knowledge of thee? _T._ No, never. _H._ What did he do when he came to thee? _T._ He caused me to go and do harm. _H._ And did you go? _T._ I did hurt a woman sore against my conscience: he carried me up to her door, which was open: The woman's name was Mrs. Grace Thomas. _H._ What caused you to do harm? What Malice had you against her? and did she do you any harm? _T._ No, she never did me any harm: but the Devil beat me about the head grievously, because I would not kill her: but I did bruise her after this fashion (laying her two hands to her side). _H._ Did you bruise her till the blood came out of her nose and mouth? _T._ No. _H._ How many did you destroy and hurt? _T._ None but she. _H._ Did you know any mariners that you or your associates destroyed by overturning of ships or boats? _T._ No. I never hurt any ship, bark, or boat in my life. _H._ Was it you or Susan that did bewitch the children? _T._ I sold apples, and the child took an apple from me, and the mother took the apple from the child, for which I was very angry; but the child died of small-pox. _H._ Did you know one Mr. Lutteris about these parts, or any of your confederates? Did you or them bewitch his child? _T._ No. _H._ Temperance, how did you come to hurt Mrs. Grace Thomas? Did you pass through the keyhole of the door or was the door open? _T._ The Devil did lead me up stairs, and the door was open, and this is all the hurt I did. _H._ How did you know it was the Devil? _T._ I knew it by his eyes. _H._ Had you no discourse or treaty with him? _T._ No. He said I should go along with him to destroy a woman, and I told him I would not. He said he would make me: and then he beat me about the head. _H._ Why did you not call upon God? _T._ He would not let me do it. _H._ You say you never hurt ships or boats; did you never ride over an arm of the sea on a cow? _T._ No. No, Master: 'twas she (meaning Susan), when Temperance said "'twas she," she said "she lied" and that she was the cause of bringing her to die "for she cried when she was first brought to gaol, if that she was hanged, she would have me hanged too; she reported I should ride on a cow before her, which I never did." _H._ Susan, did you see the shape of a bullock? At the first time of your examination you said it was like a short black man about the length of your arm? _Susan._ He was black, Sir. _H._ Susan, had you any knowledge of the bewitching of Mrs. Lutteris' child, or did you know a place called Trunta Burroughs? _S._ No. _H._ Are you willing to have any prayers? Then Mr. H. prayed, whose prayer we could not take, and they sung part of the 40th Psalm at the desire of Susan Edwards. As she mounted the ladder, she said, "The Lord Jesus speed me: though my sins be red as scarlet, the Lord Jesus can make them as white as snow, the Lord help my soul." Then was executed. Mary Tremble said, "Lord Jesus, receive my soul! Lord Jesus, speed me!" and then was also executed. Temperance Lloyd said, "Jesus Christ, speed me well! Lord, forgive all my sins! Lord Jesus Christ, be merciful to my poor soul." Mr. Sheriff. You are looked on as the woman that hath debauched the other two. Did you ever lie with the Devil? _T._ No. _Sh._ Did you know of their coming to gaol? _T._ No. _Sh._ Have you anything to say to satisfy the world? _T._ I forgive them as I desire the Lord Jesus will forgive me. The greatest thing that I did was Mrs. Grace Thomas; and I desire I may be sensible of it, and that the Lord Jesus Christ may forgive me. The Devil met me in the street and bid me kill her, and because I would not, he beat me about the head and back. _Sh._ In what shape or colour was he? _T._ In black like a bullock. _Sh._ How do you know you did it? how went you in thro' the keyhole or the Door? _T._ At the Door? _Sh._ Had you no discourse with the Devil? _T._ Never but this day six weeks. _Sh._ You were charged about twelve years since, and did you never see the Devil but about this time? _T._ Yes, once before. I was going for brooms; and he came to me and said, "This poor woman has a great burthen, and would help ease me of my burthen;" and I said, "The Lord had enabled me to carry it so far, and I hope I shall be able to carry it further." _Sh._ Did the Devil never promise you any thing? _T._ No. Never. _Sh._ Then you have served a very bad master, who gave you nothing. Well, consider you are just departing this world: do you believe there is a God? _T._ Yes. _Sh._ Do you believe in Jesus Christ? _T._ Yes, and I pray Jesus Christ to pardon all my sins. And so was executed. APPENDIX.--No. II. Copied from a 4to published Tract in the Library of the British Museum. THE TRYAL, CONDEMNATION, AND EXECUTION OF THREE WITCHES; VIZ. TEMPERANCE FLOYD, MARY FLOYD, & SUSANNA EDWARDS. Who were arraigned at Exeter on the 18th of August, 1682, & being proved guilty of witchcraft were condemned to be hanged, which was accordingly Executed in the view of many spectators, whose strange and much to be lamented Impudence is never to be forgotten. Also how they Confessed what Mischiefs they had done by the assistance of the Devil, who lay with the above named Temperance Floyd nine nights together. Also how they squeezed one Hannah Thomas to death in their arms. How they also caused several ships to be cast away, causing a boy to fall from the top of a main-mast into the sea. WITH MANY WONDERFULL THINGS WORTH YOUR READING. Printed for F. Deacon, at the Sign of the Rainbow, a little beyond St. Andrew's Church, in Holborn. 1682. The Tryal, Condemnation, and Execution of three witches who were Arraigned at Exeter on the 18th of August, 1682. Let not my assertion seem strange to the Ingenious Reader, who seems to affirm this (by some incredulous) story, concerning the subsequent matter; nor will I trouble you with a long prologue to stir you to believe that which so many letters have verified, concerning the matter in hand, but so it was. The Assizes being held at Exon (alias) Exeter, on the 18th of August, 1682. It happened that there was three persons Arraigned for witchcraft whose names take as followeth, (viz.) Temperance Floyd, Mary Floyd, and Susannah Edwards, all dwelling in one town, in the aforesaid County of Devon, namely Bideford, by some called Bythford, all three being stricken in years, which might have taught them more grace; but Man's Enemy, Soul's destroyer, and the author of wickedness so prevailed with them that they made an Interchange accepting a Hell for an Heaven, rather willing to please the Devil than the Great Creator whose smiles are more precious than refined Gold, the loss of whose love is no less than Everlasting Destruction. These I say, these poor souls (aiming at nothing but ruin) embrace folly instead of wisdom, present pleasure for eternal pain; take Flames for Crowns, Misery for Happiness, change God for a Devil and a soul for Hell. It is so much to be lamented that these persons should take delight in nothing more than to Converse with Devils, who reason tells seeks nothing but Destruction, God's dishonour, and Man's overthrow, to (if it were possible) empty Heaven and fill Hell. I come now to the particulars. The aforesaid Persons whose names are already inserted came to their Tryal having been sometime before accused of Witchcraft, and for that cause Imprisonment; when they came to the Bar, their indictment was read, and though the Devil had so much power over them, yet they had not Impudence enough to deny what they were accused for: Intemperate Temperance Floyd, who was the eldest of the three, pleaded to the indictment, and owned the accusation, acknowledging she had been in league with the Devil 20 years and upwards, and that in the term of those years she had been guilty of many cruelties, and by Hellish power afflicted both Man and Beast; but now to the other Two who were instructed in that Damnable art of Witchcraft by the above named Temperance Floyd, they acknowledged that they had served five years with her to learn her accursed art, and during the term of those years they saw and were acquainted with many wonderful and unlawful tricks. For they owned that they had not been idle in their Hellish practices, but had served him faithfully, who will reward them gratefully for their Diabolical Indulgence. We have an account of some of their Wicked, Inhuman, Accursed, Damnable, and Preposterous action. But let us chiefly mind the Eldest and worst of these Three, namely Temperance Floyd. Let her be the substance of our matter, who was the introducer and cause of the other two's overthrow. These wicked wretches being all of one mind, at last began to exercise their Devilish Arts, and upon one Mr. Hann, a minister in those parts; a person of good repute and Honest Conversation, who sought his soul's eternal happiness, while they designed their everlasting Ruin. These Hellish agents intended Mischief and misery to the person of Mr. Hann: but the overruling Power prevented them; but because they could not be suffered to exercise their Diabolicism upon his body, they thought they would be some other way Revenged, so witch like, they laid their Diabolical Charms upon his cattle, so that those cows that used to give milk, when they came to be milked they gave blood, to the great astonishment of the milkers; but finding themselves outcast from everlasting happiness, they grew insolent in their Cursed Conceits, resolving to make use of that art which they should so deadly pay for. But I too much insist upon the Old hag whose cruelties are and were sufficiently manifested by her own confession at her Tryal, the other Two witches being somewhat younger than the Old Shape of Prince Lucifer, who acknowledged themselves to have been servants to the Old one for five years to learn the art and mystery of Hellish, Damnable, Accursed and Most to be Lamented Witchcraft; and in the term of these 5 years grew to be as dexterous as their Devilish Tutor, trying their experiments upon Man and Beast to the injury of both, but the Old one confessed plainly that she had caused several Ships at sea to be cast away, with loss of many men's lives and the prejudice of many others. She confessed also that the Devil lay carnally with her for Nine Nights together, and that she had Paps about her an Inch long, which the Devil us'd to suck to Provoke her to Letchery; but the other two seemed to be more Pensive than she, for they confessed that she was the Introducer of their Misery, and that they had served both the Devil and her five years' slavery, to understand the ready way to everlasting Destruction. But Heaven's Vengeance never fails to follow such offenders who do wickedly, presumptuously and prophanely make use of the Devil to satisfy their Impious wills. But to proceed, this old witch whose name was Temperance Floyd, was without doubt perfectly Resolute, not minding what should become of her Immortal soul, but rather Impudently owned at, as well as after her Tryal, so Audacious, that she had done many wicked Exploits by the Power (not virtue) of her Hellish Discipline: She confessed that she had been Instrumental to the Death of several, namely one Hannah Thomas, by pretence of love, Squeezing her in her arms so long till the blood gushed out of her mouth; she confessed that she and the other two had been the death of Two more, besides several others that they had lamed by their Hellish Art; they confessed that they had been the destruction of many cattle, both small and great, and many more things too tedious to relate; being asked at their trial to say the Lord's Prayer, they answered, that they could not except it were backwards; they said the Devil used to be with them on Nights in Several Shapes, sometimes like a Hound, who Hunted before them (but without doubt he hunted for Souls). There were many more accusations laid against them, which they all owned (except one) which was about causing a ship to be sunk, and a boy that fell from the Topmast of another ship and so broke his neck or as some say Drowned in the Sea. It being asked how long they had been in league with the Devil, one of them said twenty years she had been his Familiar Acquaintance, the other two were of lesser standing, but long enough to Ruin their Precious Souls. They also Asserted that the Devil came with them to the Prison Door, and there left them much like what he is, the Author of Lies, the Inventor of Mischief, the Betrayer of Souls, the unsatisfied deceiver and God's Enemy. All these things being Confessed by their own Tongues, it is not strange to think that Judgment past upon them regularly in such cases. But now to proceed. As to the manner of their Deportment going to the place of Execution. It is certainly affirmed the old witch Temperance Floyd went all the way Eating and was seemingly unconcerned, but Mary Floyd was very obstinate, and would not go, but lay down, insomuch that they forc'd to tye her on a horse's back, for she was very loath to receive her deserved Doom. But when they came to the place of Execution, they desired the Minister to pray for them, and that part of the 40th Psalm might be sung; which was accordingly done, and presently after the Executioner did his office. Thus have you heard of the wicked life and Miserable death of three Gross Offenders, who slighted God's Commandments, despised a Christ and embraced a Devil, lost Heaven to purchase Hell, at the dear rate of their Immortal Souls. Let this then be a caution for all Sinners to forsake Sin and Satan, whose end and design is to ruin Souls, to enslave Mortals, and without doubt, were it possible, to pull God's Almighty Majesty out of his everlasting Throne. 'Tis great pitty that some have so little esteem of their Jewels which Jesus Christ the Son of the Almighty, purchased at so dear a rate, yet vile Sinners never call to mind, or at least very seldom, what Labyrinths of Misery they involve themselves in, how they crush Christ, and how they wound his already wounded side for sinners: But now to conclude, take a poor sinners advice, walk uprightly and justly, and let not the fruition of present enjoyment, cause you to neglect Eternal Happiness, the enjoyments of which is beyond Expression and the loss thereof Eternal Misery, Destruction, and Ruin. 
20569	----	[Illustration: She stood up serene but heroic] DULCIBEL A Tale of Old Salem BY HENRY PETERSON Author of "Pemberton, or One Hundred Years Ago" Illustrations by HOWARD PYLE PHILADELPHIA The John C. Winston Co. 1907 Copyright 1907 BY Walter Peterson. Contents. Chapter. Page. I DULCIBEL BURTON 1 II IN WHICH SOME NECESSARY INFORMATION IS GIVEN 12 III THE CIRCLE IN THE MINISTER'S HOUSE 17 IV SATAN'S ESPECIAL GRUDGE AGAINST OUR PURITAN FATHERS 22 V LEAH HERRICK'S POSITION AND FEELINGS 24 VI A DISORDERLY SCENE IN CHURCH 27 VII A CONVERSATION WITH DULCIBEL 32 VIII AN EXAMINATION OF REPUTED WITCHES 47 IX ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY MORE ALLEGED WITCHES 54 X BRIDGET BISHOP CONDEMNED TO DIE 59 XI EXAMINATION OF REBECCA NURSE 64 XII BURN ME OR HANG ME, I WILL STAND IN THE TRUTH OF CHRIST 73 XIII DULCIBEL IN DANGER 80 XIV BAD NEWS 91 XV THE ARREST OF DULCIBEL AND ANTIPAS 94 XVI DULCIBEL IN PRISON 102 XVII DULCIBEL BEFORE THE MAGISTRATES 107 XVIII WELL, WHAT NOW? 123 XIX ANTIPAS WORKS A MIRACLE 128 XX MASTER RAYMOND GOES TO BOSTON 136 XXI A NIGHT INTERVIEW 139 XXII THE REVEREND MASTER PARRIS EXORCISES "LITTLE WITCH" 149 XXIII MASTER RAYMOND ALSO COMPLAINS OF AN "EVIL HAND" 162 XXIV MASTER RAYMOND'S LITTLE PLAN BLOCKED 166 XXV CAPTAIN ALDEN BEFORE THE MAGISTRATES 172 XXVI CONSIDERING NEW PLANS 180 XXVII THE DISSIMULATION OF MASTER RAYMOND 188 XXVIII THE CRUEL DOINGS OF THE SPECIAL COURT 192 XXIX DULCIBEL'S LIFE IN PRISON 199 XXX EIGHT LEGAL MURDERS ON WITCH HILL 205 XXXI A NEW PLAN OF ESCAPE 214 XXXII WHY THE PLAN FAILED 221 XXXIII MISTRESS ANN PUTNAM'S FAIR WARNING 230 XXXIV MASTER RAYMOND GOES AGAIN TO BOSTON 237 XXXV CAPTAIN TOLLEY AND THE STORM KING 244 XXXVI SIR WILLIAM PHIPS AND LADY MARY 252 XXXVII THE FIRST RATTLE OF THE RATTLESNAKE 262 XXXVIII CONFLICTING CURRENTS IN BOSTON 269 XXXIX THE RATTLESNAKE MAKES A SPRING 273 XL AN INTERVIEW WITH LADY MARY 280 XLI MASTER RAYMOND IS ARRESTED FOR WITCHCRAFT 287 XLII MASTER RAYMOND ASTONISHES THE MAGISTRATES 293 XLIII WHY THOMAS PUTNAM WENT TO IPSWICH 303 XLIV HOW MASTER JOSEPH CIRCUMVENTED MISTRESS ANN 309 XLV THE TWO PLOTTERS CONGRATULATE EACH OTHER 330 XLVI MISTRESS ANN'S OPINION OF THE MATTER 336 XLVII MASTER RAYMOND VISITS LADY MARY 343 XLVIII CAPTAIN TOLLEY'S PROPOSITIONS 351 XLIX MASTER RAYMOND CONFOUNDS MASTER COTTON MATHER 355 L BRINGING AFFAIRS TO A CRISIS 366 LI LADY MARY'S COUP D'ETAT 371 LII AN UNWILLING PARSON 385 LIII THE WEDDING TRIP AND WHERE THEN 394 LIV SOME CONCLUDING REMARKS 397 =Illustrations.= Page. STOOD UP SERENE BUT HEROIC FRONTISPIECE. "THE LORD KNOWS THAT I HAVEN'T HURT THEM" 68 MARCHED FROM JAIL FOR THE LAST TIME 208 CHAPTER I. Dulcibel Burton. In the afternoon of a sunny Autumn day, nearly two hundred years ago, a young man was walking along one of the newly opened roads which led into Salem village, or what is now called Danvers Centre, in the then Province of Massachusetts Bay. The town of Salem, that which is now the widely known city of that name, lay between four and five miles to the southeast, on a tongue of land formed by two inlets of the sea, called now as then North and South Rivers. Next to Plymouth it is the oldest town in New England, having been first settled in 1626. Not till three years after were Boston and Charlestown commenced by the arrival of eleven ships from England. It is a significant fact, as showing the hardships to which the early settlers were exposed, that of the fifteen hundred persons composing this Boston expedition, two hundred died during the first winter. Salem has also the honor of establishing the first New England church organization, in 1629, with the Reverend Francis Higginson as its pastor. Salem village was an adjunct of Salem, the town taking in the adjacent lands for the purpose of tillage to a distance of six miles from the meeting-house. But in the progress of settlement, Salem village also became entitled to a church of its own; and it had one regularly established at the date of our story, with the Reverend Samuel Parris as presiding elder or minister. There had been many bickerings and disputes before a minister could be found acceptable to all in Salem village. And the present minister was by no means a universal favorite. The principal point of contention on his part was the parsonage and its adjacent two acres of ground. Master Parris claimed that the church had voted him a free gift of these; while his opponents not only denied that it had been done, but that it lawfully could be done. This latter view was undoubtedly correct; for the parsonage land was a gift to the church, for the perpetual use of its pastor, whosoever he might be. But Master Parris would not listen to reason on this subject, and was not inclined to look kindly upon the men who steadfastly opposed him. The inhabitants of Salem village were a goodly as well as godly people, but owing to these church differences about their ministers, as well as other disputes and lawsuits relative to the bounds of their respective properties, there was no little amount of ill feeling among them. Small causes in a village are just as effective as larger ones in a nation, in producing discord and strife; and the Puritans as a people were distinguished by all that determination to insist upon their rights, and that scorn of compromising difficulties, which men of earnest and honest but narrow natures have manifested in all ages of the world. Selfishness and uncharitableness are never so dangerous as when they assume the character of a conscientious devotion to the just and the true. But all this time the young man has been walking almost due north from the meeting house in Salem village. The road was not what would be called a good one in these days, for it was not much more than a bridle-path; the riding being generally at that time on horseback. But it was not the rather broken and uneven condition of the path which caused the frown on the young pedestrian's face, or the irritability shown by the sharp slashes of the maple switch in his hand upon the aspiring weeds along the roadside. "If ever mortal man was so bothered," he muttered at last, coming to a stop. "Of course she is the best match, the other is below me, and has a spice of Satan in her; but then she makes the blood stir in a man. Ha!" This exclamation came as he lifted his eyes from the ground, and gazed up the road before him. There, about half a mile distant, was a young woman riding toward him. Then she stopped her horse under a tree, and evidently was trying to break off a switch, while her horse pranced around in a most excited fashion. The horse at last starts in a rapid gallop. The young man sees that in trying to get the switch, she has allowed the bridle to get loose and over the horse's head, and can no longer control the fiery animal. Down the road towards him she comes in a sharp gallop, striving to stop the animal with her voice, evidently not the least frightened, but holding on to the pommel of the saddle with one hand while she makes desperate grasps at the hanging rein with the other. The young Puritan smiled, he took in the situation with a glance, and felt no fear for her but rather amusement. He was on the top of a steep hill, and he knew he could easily stop the horse as it came up; even if she did not succeed in regaining her bridle, owing to the better chances the hill gave her. "She is plucky, anyhow, if she is rather a tame wench," said he, as the girl grasped the bridle rein at last, when about half way up the hill, and became again mistress of the blooded creature beneath her. "Is that the way you generally ride, Dulcibel?" asked the young man smiling. "It all comes from starting without my riding whip," replied the girl. "Oh, do stop!" she continued to the horse who now on the level again, began sidling and curveting. "Give me that switch of yours, Jethro. Now, you shall see a miracle." No sooner was the switch in her hand, than the aspect and behavior of the animal changed as if by magic. You might have thought the little mare had been raised in the enclosure of a Quaker meeting-house, so sober and docile did she seem. "It is always so," said the girl laughing. "The little witch knows at once whether I have a whip with me or not, and acts accordingly. No, I will not forgive you," and she gave the horse two or three sharp cuts, which it took like a martyr. "Oh, I wish you would misbehave a little now; I should like to punish you severely." They made a very pretty picture, the little jet-black mare, and the mistress with her scarlet paragon bodice, even if the latter was entirely too pronounced for the taste of the great majority of the inhabitants, young and old, of Salem village. "But how do you happen to be here?" said the girl. "I called to see you, and found you had gone on a visit to Joseph Putnam's. So I thought I would walk up the road and meet you coming back." "What a sweet creature Mistress Putnam is, and both so young for man and wife." "Yes, Jo married early, but he is big enough and strong enough, don't you think so?" "He is a worshiped man indeed. Have you met the stranger yet?" "That Ellis Raymond? No, but I hear he is something of a popinjay in his attire, and swelled up with the conceit that he is better than any of us colonists." "I do not think so," and the girl's cheek colored a deeper red. "He seems to be a very modest young man indeed. I liked him very much." "Oh, well, I have not seen him yet. But they say his father was a son of Belial, and fought under the tyrant at Naseby." "But that is all over and his widowed mother is one of us." "Hang him, what does it matter!" Then, changing his tone, and looking at her a little suspiciously. "Did Leah Herrick say anything to you against me the other night at the husking?" "I do not allow people to talk to me against my friends," replied she earnestly. "She was talking to you a long time I saw." "Yes." "It must have been an interesting subject." "It was rather an unpleasant one to me." "Ah!" "She wanted me to join the 'circle' which they have just started at the minister's house. She says that old Tituba has promised to show them how the Indians of Barbados conjure and powwow, and that it will be great sport for the winter nights." "What did you say to it?" "I told her I would have nothing to do with such things; that I had no liking for them, and that I thought it was wrong to tamper with such matters." "That was all she said to you?" and the young man seemed to breathe more freely. The girl was sharp-witted--what girl is not so in all affairs of the heart?--and it was now her turn. "Leah is very handsome," she said. "Yes--everybody says so," he replied coolly, as if it were a fact of very little importance to him, and a matter which he had thought very little about. Dulcibel, was not one to aim all around the remark; she came at once, simply and directly to the point. "Did you ever pay her any attentions?" "Oh, no, not to speak of. What made you think of such an absurd thing?" "'Not to speak of'--what do you mean?" "Oh, I kept company with her for awhile--before you came to Salem--when we were merely boy and girl." "There never was any troth plighted between you?" "How foolish you are, Dulcibel! What has started you off on this track?" "Yourself. Answer me plainly. Was there ever any love compact between you?" "Oh, pshaw! what nonsense all this is!" "If you do not answer me, I shall ask her this very evening." "Of course there was nothing between us--nothing of any account--only a boy and girl affair--calling her my little wife, and that kind of nonsense." "I think that a great deal. Did that continue up to the time I came to the village?" "How seriously you take it all! Remember, I have your promise, Dulcibel." "A promise on a promise is no promise--every girl knows that. If you do not answer me fully and truly, Jethro, I shall ask Leah." "Yes," said the young man desperately "there was a kind of childish troth up to that time, but it was, as I said, a mere boy and girl affair." "Boy and girl! You were eighteen, Jethro; and she sixteen nearly as old as Joseph Putnam and his wife were when they married." "I do not care. I will not be bound by it; and Leah knows it." "You acted unfairly toward me, Jethro. Leah has the prior right. I recall my troth. I will not marry you without her consent." "You will not!" said the young man passionately--for well he knew that Leah's consent would never be given. "No, I will not!" "Then take your troth back in welcome. In truth, I met you here this day to tell you that. I love Leah Herrick's little finger better than your whole body with your Jezebel's bodice, and your fine lady's airs. You had better go now and marry that conceited popinjay up at Jo Putnam's, if you can get him." With that he pushed off down the hill, and up the road, that he might not be forced to accompany her back to the village. Dulcibel was not prepared for such a burst of wrath, and such an uncovering of the heart. Which of us has not been struck with wonder, even far more than indignation, at such times? A sudden difference occurs, and the man or the woman in whom you have had faith, and whom you have believed noble and admirable, suddenly appears what he or she really is, a very common and vulgar nature. It makes us sick at heart that we could have been so deceived. Such was the effect upon Dulcibel. What a chasm she had escaped. To think she had really agreed to marry such a spirit as that! But fortunately it was now all over. She not only had lost a lover, but a friend. And one day before, this also would have had its unpleasant side to her. But now she felt even a sensation of relief. Was it because this very day a new vision had entered into the charmed circle of her life? If it were so, she did not acknowledge the fact to herself; or even wonder in her own mind, why the sudden breaking of her troth-plight had not left her in a sadder humor. For she put "Little Witch" into a brisk canter, and with a smile upon her face rode into the main street of the village. CHAPTER II. In Which Some Necessary Information is Given. Dulcibel Burton was an orphan. Her father becoming a little unsound in doctrine, and being greatly pleased with the larger liberty of conscience offered by William Penn to his colonists in Pennsylvania, had leased his house and lands to a farmer by the name of Buckley, and departed for Philadelphia. This was some ten years previous to the opening of our story. After living happily in Philadelphia for about eight years he died suddenly, and his wife decided to return to her old home in Salem village, having arranged to board with Goodman Buckley, whose lease had not yet expired. But in the course of the following winter she also died, leaving this only child, Dulcibel, now a beautiful girl of eighteen years. Dulcibel, as was natural, went on living with the Buckleys, who had no children of their own, and were very good-hearted and affectionate people. Dulcibel therefore was an heiress, in a not very large way, besides having wealthy relatives in England, from some of whom in the course of years more or less might reasonably be expected. And as our Puritan ancestors were by no means blind to their worldly interests, believing that godliness had the promise of this world as well as that which is to come--the bereaved maiden became quite an object of interest to the young men of the vicinity. I have called her beautiful, and not without good reason. With the old manuscript volume--a family heirloom of some Quaker friends of mine--from which I have drawn the facts of this narrative, came also an old miniature, the work of a well-known English artist of that period. The colors have faded considerably, but the general contour and the features are well preserved. The face is oval, with a rather higher and fuller forehead than usual; the hair, which was evidently of a rather light brown, being parted in the center, and brought down with a little variation from the strict Madonna fashion. The eyes are large, and blue. The lips rather full. A snood or fillet of blue ribbon confined her luxuriant hair. In form she was rather above the usual height of women, and slender as became her age; though with a perceptible tendency towards greater fullness with increasing years. There is rather curiously a great resemblance between this miniature, and a picture I have in my possession of the first wife of a celebrated New England poet. He himself being named for one of the Judges who sat in the Special Court appointed for the trial of the alleged witches, it would be curious if the beautiful and angelic wife of his youth were allied by blood to one of those who had the misfortune to come under the ban of witchcraft. Being both beautiful and an heiress, Dulcibel naturally attracted the attention of her near neighbor in the village, Jethro Sands. Jethro was quite a handsome young man after a certain style, though, as his life proved, narrow minded, vindictive and avaricious. Still he had a high reputation as a young man with the elders of the village; for he had early seen how advantageous it was to have a good standing in the church, and was very orthodox in his faith, and very regular in his attendance at all the church services. Besides, he was a staunch champion of the Reverend Mr. Parris in all his difficulties with the parish, and in return was invariably spoken of by the minister as one of the most promising young men in that neighborhood. Jethro resided with his aunt, the widow Sands. She inherited from her husband the whole of his property. His deed for the land narrated that the boundary line ran "from an old dry stump, due south, to the southwest corner of his hog-pen, then east by southerly to the top of the hill near a little pond, then north by west to the highway side, and thence along the highway to the old dry stump again aforesaid." There is a tradition in the village that by an adroit removal of his hog-pen to another location, and the uprooting and transplanting of the old dry stump, at a time when nobody seemed to take a very active interest in the adjoining land, owing to its title being disputed in successive lawsuits, Jethro, who inherited at the death of his aunt, became the possessor of a large tract of land that did not originally belong to him. But then such stories are apt to crop up after the death of every man who has acquired the reputation of being crafty and close in his dealings. We left Jethro, after his interview with Dulcibel, walking on in order that he might avoid her further company. After going a short distance he turned and saw that she was riding rapidly homeward. Then he began to retrace his steps. "It was bound to come," he muttered. "I have seen she was getting cold and thought it was Leah's work, but it seems she was true to her promise after all. Well, Leah is poor, and not of so good a family, but she is worth a dozen of such as Dulcibel Burton." Then after some minutes' silent striding, "I hate her though for it, all the same. Everybody will know she has thrown me off. But nobody shall get ahead of Jethro Sands in the long run. I'll make her sorry for it before she dies, the spoiled brat of a Quaker infidel!" CHAPTER III. The Circle in the Minister's House. It would, perhaps be unfair to hold the Reverend Master Parris responsible for the wild doings that went on in the parsonage house during the winter evenings of 1691-2, in the face of his solemn assertion, made several years afterwards, that he was ignorant of them. And yet, how could such things have been without the knowledge either of himself or his wife? Mistress Parris has come down to us with the reputation of a kindly and discreet woman--nothing having been said to her discredit, so far as I am aware, even by those who had a bitter controversy with her husband. And yet she certainly must have known of the doings of the famous "circle," even if she refrained from speaking of them to her husband. At the very bottom of the whole thing, perhaps, were the West Indian slaves--"John Indias" and his wife Tituba, whom Master Parris had brought with him from Barbados. There were two children in the house, a little daughter of nine, named Elizabeth; and Abigail Williams, three years older. These very probably, Tituba often had sought to impress, as is the manner of negro servants, with tales of witchcraft, the "evil-eye" and "evil hand" spirits, powwowing, etc. Ann Putnam, another precocious child of twelve, the daughter of a near neighbor, Sergeant Putnam, the parish clerk, also was soon drawn into the knowledge of the savage mysteries. And, before very long, a regular "circle" of these and older girls was formed for the purpose of amusing and startling themselves with the investigation and performance of forbidden things. At the present day this would not be so reprehensible. We are comparatively an unbelieving generation; and what are called "spiritual circles" are common, though not always unattended with mischievous results. But at that time when it was considered a deadly sin to seek intercourse with those who claimed to have "a familiar spirit," that such practices should be allowed to go on for a whole winter, in the house of a Puritan minister, seems unaccountable. But the fact itself is undoubted, and the consequences are written in mingled tears and blood upon the saddest pages of the history of New England. Among the members of this "circle" were Mary Walcott, aged seventeen, the daughter of Captain Walcott; Elizabeth Hubbard and Mercy Lewis, also seventeen; Elizabeth Booth and Susannah Sheldon, aged eighteen; and Mary Warren, Sarah Churchhill and Leah Herrick, aged twenty; these latter being the oldest of the party. They were all the daughters of respectable and even leading men, with the exception of Mercy Lewis, Mary Warren, Leah Herrick and Sarah Churchhill, who were living out as domestics, but who seem to have visited as friends and equals the other girls in the village. In fact, it was not considered at that time degrading in country neighborhoods--perhaps it is not so now in many places--for the sons and daughters of men of respectability, and even of property, to occupy the position of "help" or servant, eating at the same table with, and being considered members of the family. In the case before us, Mercy Lewis, Mary Warren and Sarah Churchhill seem to have been among the most active and influential members of the party. Though Abigail Williams, the minister's niece, and Ann Putnam, only eleven and twelve years of age respectively, proved themselves capable of an immense deal of mischief. What the proceedings of these young women actually were, neither tradition nor any records that I have met with, informs us; but the result was even worse than could have been expected. By the close of the winter they had managed to get their nervous systems, their imaginations, and their minds and hearts, into a most dreadful condition. If they had regularly sold themselves to be the servants of the Evil One, as was then universally believed to be possible--and which may really be possible, for anything I know to the contrary--their condition could hardly have been worse than it was. They were liable to sudden faintings of an unnatural character, to spasmodic movements and jerkings of the head and limbs, to trances, to the seeing of witches and devils, to deafness, to dumbness, to alarming outcries, to impudent and lying speeches and statements, and to almost everything else that was false, irregular and unnatural. Some of these things were doubtless involuntary but the voluntary and involuntary seemed to be so mingled in their behavior, that it was difficult sometimes to determine which was one and which the other. The moral sense seemed to have become confused, if not utterly lost for the time. They were full of tricks. They stuck concealed pins into their bodies, and accused others of doing it--their contortions and trances were to a great extent mere shams--they lied without scruple--they bore false witness, and what in many, if not most, cases they knew was false witness, against not only those to whom they bore ill will but against the most virtuous and kindly women of the neighborhood; and if the religious delusion had taken another shape, and we see no reason why it should not have done so, and put the whole of them on trial as seekers after "familiar spirits" and condemned the older girls to death, there would at least have been some show of justice in the proceedings; while, as it is, there is not a single ray of light to illuminate the judicial gloom. When at last Mr. Parris and Thomas Putnam became aware of the condition of their children, they called in the village physician, Dr. Griggs. The latter, finding he could do nothing with his medicines, gave it as his opinion that they were "under an evil hand"--the polite medical phrase of that day, for being bewitched. That important point being settled, the next followed of course, "Who has bewitched them?" The children being asked said, "Tituba." CHAPTER IV. Satan's Especial Grudge against Our Puritan Fathers. "Tituba!" And who else? Why need there have been anybody else? Why could not the whole thing have stopped just there? No doubt Tituba was guilty, if any one was. But Tituba escaped, by shrewdly also becoming an accuser. "Who else?" This set the children's imagination roving. Their first charges were not so unreasonable. Why, the vagrant Sarah Good, a social outcast, wandering about without any settled habitation; and Sarah Osburn, a bed-ridden woman, half distracted by family troubles who had seen better days. There the truth was out. Tituba, Sarah Good and Sarah Osburn were the agents of the devil in this foul attempt against the peace of the godly inhabitants of Salem village. For it was a common belief even amongst the wisest and best of our Puritan fathers, that the devil had a special spite against the New England colonies. They looked at it in this way. He had conquered in the fight against the Lord in the old world. He was the supreme and undoubted lord of the "heathen salvages" in the new. Now that the Puritan forces had commenced an onslaught upon him in the western hemisphere, to which he had an immemorial right as it were, could it be wondered at that he was incensed beyond all calculation? Was he, after having Europe, Asia and Africa, to be driven out of North America by a small body of steeple-hatted, psalm-singing, and conceited Puritans? No wonder his satanic ire was aroused; and that he was up to all manner of devices to harass, disorganize and afflict the camp of his enemies. I am afraid this seems a little ridiculous to readers nowadays; but to the men and women of two hundred years ago it was grim and sober earnest, honestly and earnestly believed in. Who, in the face of such wonderful changes in our religious views, can venture to predict what will be the belief of our descendants two hundred years hence? CHAPTER V. Leah Herrick's Position and Feelings. I have classed Leah Herrick among the domestics; but her position was rather above that. She had lived with the Widow Sands, Jethro's aunt, since she had been twelve years old, assisting in the housework, and receiving her board and clothing in return. Now, at the age of twenty, she was worth more than that recompense; but she still remained on the old terms, as if she were a daughter instead of a servant. She remained, asking nothing more, because she had made up her mind to be Jethro's wife. She had a passion for Jethro, and she knew that Jethro reciprocated it. But his aunt, who was ambitious, wished him to look higher; and therefore did not encourage such an alliance. Leah was however too valuable and too cheap an assistant to be dispensed with, and thus removed from such a dangerous proximity, besides the widow really had no objection to her, save on account of her poverty. Leah said nothing when she saw that Jethro's attentions were directed in another direction; but without saying anything directly to Dulcibel, she contrived to impress her with the fact that she had trespassed upon her rightful domain. For Leah was a cat; and amidst her soft purrings, she would occasionally put out her velvety paw, and give a wicked little scratch that made the blood come, and so softly and innocently too, that the sufferer could hardly take offence at it. Between these sharp intimations of Leah, and the unpleasant revelations of the innate hardness of the young man's character, which resulted from the closer intimacy of a betrothal, Dulcibel's affection had been gradually cooling for several months. But although the longed-for estrangement between the two had at length taken place, Leah did not feel quite safe yet; for the Widow Sands was very much put out about it, and censured her nephew for his want of wisdom in not holding Dulcibel to her engagement. "She has a good house and farm already, and she will be certain to receive much more on the death of her bachelor uncle in England," said the aunt sharply. "You must strive to undo that foolish hour's work. It was only a tiff on her part, and you should have cried your eyes out if necessary." And so Leah, thinking in her own heart that Jethro was a prize for any girl, was in constant dread of a renewal of the engagement, and ready to go to any length to prevent it. Although a member of the "circle" that met at the minister's house, Leah was not so regular an attendant as the others; for there were no men there and she never liked to miss the opportunity of a private conversation with Jethro, opportunities which were somewhat limited, owing to the continual watchfulness of her mistress. Still she went frequently enough to be fully imbued with the spirit of their doings, while not becoming such a victim as most of them were to disordered nerves, and an impaired and confused mental and moral constitution. CHAPTER VI. A Disorderly Scene in Church. If anything were needed to add to the excitement which the condition of the "afflicted children," as they were generally termed, naturally produced in Salem village and the adjoining neighborhood, it was a scene in the village church one Sunday morning. The church was a low, small structure, with rough, unplastered roof and walls, and wooden benches instead of pews. The sexes were divided, the men sitting on one side and the women on the other, but each person in his or her regular and appointed seat. It was the custom at that time to select a seating committee of judicious and careful men, whose very important duty it was to seat the congregation. In doing this they proceeded on certain well-defined principles. The front seats were to be filled with the older members of the congregation, a due reverence for age, as well as for the fact that these were more apt to be weak of sight and infirm of hearing, necessitated this. Then came the elders and deacons of the church; then the wealthier citizens of the parish; then the younger people and the children. The Puritan fathers had their faults; but they never would have tolerated the fashionable custom of these days, whereby the wealthy, without regard to their age, occupy the front pews; and the poorer members, no matter how aged, or infirm of sight or hearing are often forced back where they can neither see the minister nor hear the sermon. And one can imagine in what forcible terms they would have denounced some city meeting-houses of the present era where the church is regarded somewhat in the light of an opera house, and the doors of the pews kept locked and closed until those who have purchased the right to reserved seats shall have had the first chance to enter. The Reverend Master Lawson, a visiting elder, was the officiating minister on the Sunday to which we have referred. The psalm had been sung after the opening prayer and the minister was about to come forward to give his sermon, when, before he could rise from his seat, Abigail Williams, the niece of the Reverend Master Parris, only twelve years old, and one of the "circle" cried out loudly:--"Now stand up and name your text!" When he had read the text, she exclaimed insolently, "It's a long text." And then when he was referring to his doctrine, she said:--"I know no doctrine you mentioned. If you named any, I have forgotten it." And then when he had concluded, she cried out, "Look! there sits Goody Osburn upon the beam, suckling her yellow-bird betwixt her fingers." Then Ann Putnam, that other child of twelve, joined in; "There flies the yellow-bird to the minister's hat, hanging on the pin in the pulpit." Of course such disorderly proceedings produced a great excitement in the congregation; but the two children do not appear to have been rebuked by either of the ministers, or by any of the officers of the church; it seeming to have been the general conclusion that they were not responsible for what they said, but were constrained by an irresistible and diabolical influence. In truth, the children were regarded with awe and pity instead of reproof and blame, and therefore naturally felt encouraged to further efforts in the same direction. I have said that this was the general feeling, but that feeling was not universal. Several of the members, notably young Joseph Putnam, Francis Nurse and Peter Cloyse were very much displeased at the toleration shown to such disorderly doings, and began to absent themselves from public worship, with the result of incurring the anger of the children, who were rapidly assuming the role of destroying angels to the people of Salem village and its vicinity. As fasting and prayer were the usual resources of our Puritan fathers in difficulties, these were naturally resorted to at once upon this occasion. The families to which the "afflicted children" belonged assembled the neighbors--who had also fasted--and, under the guidance of the Reverend Master Parris, besought the Lord to deliver them from the power of the Evil One. These were exciting occasions, for, whenever there was a pause in the proceedings, such of the "afflicted" as were present would break out into demoniac howlings, followed by contortions and rigid trances, which, in the words of our manuscript, were "enough to make the devil himself weep." These village prayers, however, seeming to be insufficient, Master Parris called a meeting of the neighboring ministers; but the prayers of these also had no effect. The "children" even surpassed themselves on this occasion. The ministers could not doubt the evidence of their own reverend eyes and ears, and united in the declaration of their belief that Satan had been let loose in this little Massachusetts village, to confound and annoy the godly, to a greater extent than they had ever before known or heard of. And now that the ministers had spoken, it was almost irreligious and atheistical for others to express any doubt. For if the ministers could not speak with authority in a case of this kind, which seemed to be within their peculiar field and province, what was their judgment worth upon any matter? CHAPTER VII. A Conversation with Dulcibel. As Dulcibel sat in the little room which she had furnished in a pretty but simple way for a parlor, some days after the meeting of the ministers, her thoughts naturally dwelt upon all these exciting events which were occurring around her. It was an April day, and the snow had melted earlier than usual, and it seemed as if the spring might be an exceptionally forward one. The sun was pleasantly warm, and the wind blowing soft and gently from the south; and a canary bird in the rustic cage that hung on the wall was singing at intervals a hymn of rejoicing at the coming of the spring. The bird was one that had been given her by a distinguished sea-captain of Boston town, who had brought it home from the West Indies. Dulcibel had tamed and petted it, until she could let it out from the cage and allow it to fly around the room; then, at the words, "Come Cherry," as she opened the little door of the cage, the bird would fly in again, knowing that he would be rewarded for his good conduct with a little piece of sweet cake. Cherry would perch on her finger and sing his prettiest strains on some occasions; and at others eat out of her hand. But his prettiest feat was to kiss his mistress by putting his little beak to her lips, when she would say in a caressing tone, "Kiss me, pretty Cherry." After playing with the canary for a little while, Dulcibel sighed and put him back in his cage, hearing a knock at the front door of the cottage. And she had just turned from the cage to take a seat, when the door opened and two persons entered. "I am glad to see you, friends," she said calmly, inviting them to be seated. It was Joseph Putnam, accompanied by his friend and visitor, Ellis Raymond, the young man of whom Dulcibel had spoken to Jethro Sands. Joseph Putnam was one of that somewhat distinguished family from whom came the Putnams of Revolutionary fame; Major-General Israel Putnam, the wolf-slayer, being one of his younger children. He, the father I mean, was a man of fine, athletic frame, not only of body but of mind. He was one of the very few in Salem village who despised the whole witch-delusion from the beginning. He did not disbelieve in the existence of witches--or that the devil was tormenting the "afflicted children"--but that faith should be put in their wild stories was quite another matter. Of his companion, Master Ellis Raymond, I find no other certain account anywhere than in my Quaker friend's manuscript. From the little that is there given of personal description I have only the three phrases "a comelie young man," "a very quick-witted person," "a very determined and courageous man," out of which to build a physical and spiritual description. And so I think it rather safer to leave the portraiture to the imagination of my readers. "Do you expect to remain long in Salem?" asked Dulcibel. "I do not know yet," was the reply. "I came that I might see what prospects the new world holds out to young men." "I want Master Raymond to purchase the Orchard Farm, and settle down among us," said Joseph Putnam. "It can be bought I think." "I have heard people say the price is a very high one," said Dulcibel. "It is high but the land is worth the money. In twenty years it will seem very low. My father saw the time when a good cow was worth as much as a fifty-acre farm, but land is continually rising in value." "I shall look farther south before deciding," said Raymond. "I am told the land is better there; besides there are too many witches here," and he smiled. "We have been up to see my brother Thomas," continued Joseph Putnam. "He always has had the reputation of being a sober-headed man, but he is all off his balance now." "What does Mistress Putnam say?" asked Dulcibel. "Oh, she is at the bottom of all his craziness, she and that elfish daughter. Sister Ann is a very intelligent woman in some respects, but she is wild upon this question." "I am told by the neighbors that the child is greatly afflicted." "She came in the room while we were there," responded Master Raymond. "I knew not what to make of it. She flung herself down on the floor, she crept under the table, she shrieked, she said Goody Osburn was sticking pins in her, and wound up by going into convulsions." "What can it all mean?--it is terrible," said Dulcibel. "Well, the Doctor says she is suffering under an 'evil hand,' and the ministers have given their solemn opinion that she is bewitched; and brother Thomas and Sister Ann, and about all the rest of the family agree with them." "I am afraid it will go hard with those two old women," interposed Ellis Raymond. "They will hang them as sure as they are tried," answered Joseph Putnam. "Not that it makes much difference, for neither of them is much to speak of; but they have a right to a fair trial nevertheless, and they cannot get such a thing just now in Salem village. "I can hardly believe there are such things as witches," said Dulcibel, "and if there are, I do not believe the good Lord would allow them to torment innocent children." "Oh, I don't know that it will do to say there are no witches," replied Joseph Putnam gravely. "It seems to me we must give up the Bible if we say that. For the Old Testament expressly commands that we must not suffer a witch to live; and it would be absurd to give such a command if there were no such persons as witches." "I suppose it must be so," admitted Dulcibel, with a deep sigh. "And then again in the New Testament we have continual references to persons possessed with devils, and others who had familiar spirits, and if such persons existed then, why not now?" "Oh, of course, it is so," again admitted Dulcibel with even a deeper sigh than before. But even in that day, outside of the Puritan and other religious bodies, there were unbelievers; and Ellis Raymond had allowed himself to smile once or twice, unperceived by the others, during their conversation. Thus we read in the life of that eminent jurist, the Honorable Francis North, who presided at a trial for witchcraft about ten years before the period of which we are writing, that he looked upon the whole thing as a vulgar delusion, though he said it was necessary to be very careful to conceal such opinions from the juries of the time, or else they would set down the judges at once as irreligious persons, and bring in the prisoners guilty. "I am not so certain of it," said Ellis Raymond. "How! What do you mean, Master Raymond?" exclaimed Joseph Putnam; like all his family, he was orthodox to the bone in his opinions. "My idea is that in the old times they supposed all distracted and insane people--especially the violent ones, the maniacs--to be possessed with devils." "Do you think so?" queried Dulcibel in a glad voice, a light seeming to break in upon her. "Well, I take it for granted that there were plenty of insane people in the old times as there are now; and yet I see no mention of them as such, in either the Old or the New Testament." "I never thought of that before; it seems to me a very reasonable explanation, does it not strike you so, Master Putnam?" "So reasonable, that it reasons away all our faith in the absolute truthfulness of every word of the holy scriptures," replied Joseph Putnam sternly. "Do you suppose the Evangelists, when they spoke of persons having 'familiar spirits,' and being 'possessed of devils,' did not know what they were talking about? I would rather believe that every insane person now is possessed with a devil, and that such is the true explanation of his or her insanity, than to fly in the face of the holy scriptures as you do, Master Raymond." Dulcibel's countenance fell. "Yes," she responded in reverential tones, "the holy Evangelists must know best. If they said so, it must be so." "You little orthodox darling!" thought young Master Raymond, gazing upon her beautiful sad face. But of course he did not express himself to such an effect, except by his gaze; and Dulcibel happening to look up and catch the admiring expression of two clear brown eyes, turned her own instantly down again, while a faint blush mantled her cheeks. The young Englishman knew that in arousing such heterodox opinions he was getting on dangerous ground. For expressing not a greater degree of heresy than he had uttered, other men and even women had been turned neck and heels out of the Puritan settlements. And as he had no desire to leave Salem just at present, he began to "hedge" a little, as betting men sometimes say. "Insane people, maniacs especially, do sometimes act as if they were possessed of the devil," he said frankly. "And no doubt their insanity is often the result of the sinful indulgence of their wicked propensities and passions." "Yes, that seems to be very reasonable," said Dulcibel. "Every sinful act seems to me a yielding to the evil one, and such yielding becoming common, he may at least be able to enter into the soul, and take absolute possession of it. Oh, it is very fearful!" and she shuddered. "But I find one opinion almost universal in Salem," continued Raymond, "and that is one which I think has no ground to sustain it in the scriptures, and is very mischievous. It is that the devil cannot act directly upon human beings to afflict and torment them; but that he is forced to have recourse to the agency of other human beings, who have become his worshipers and agents. Thus in the cases of these children and young girls, instead of admitting that the devil and his imps are directly afflicting them, they begin to look around for witches and wizards as the sources of the trouble." "Yes," responded Joseph Putnam earnestly, "that false and unscriptural doctrine is the source of all the trouble. That little Ann Putnam, Abigail Williams and the others are bewitched, may perhaps be true--a number of godly ministers say so, and they ought to know. But, if they are bewitched, it is the devil and his imps that have done it. If they are 'possessed with devils'--and does not that scripture mean that the devils directly take possession of them--what is their testimony worth against others? It is nearly the testimony of Satan and his imps, speaking through them. While they are in that state, their evidence should not be allowed credence by any magistrate, any more than the devil's should." It seems very curious to those of the present day who have investigated this matter of witch persecutions, that such a sound and orthodox view as this of Joseph Putnam's should have had such little weight with the judges and ministers and other leading men of the seventeenth century. While a few urged it, even as Joseph Putnam did, at the risk of his own life, the great majority not only of the common people but of the leading classes, regarded it as unsound and irreligious. But the whole history of the world proves that the _vox populi_ is very seldom the _vox Dei_. The light shines down from the rising sun in the heavens, and the mountain tops first receive the rays. The last new truth is always first perceived by the small minority of superior minds and souls. How indeed could it be otherwise, so long as truth like light always shines down from above? "Have you communicated this view to your brother and sister?" asked Dulcibel. "I have talked with them for a whole evening, but I do think Sister Ann is possessed too," replied Joseph Putnam. "She fairly raves sometimes. You know how bitterly she feels about that old church quarrel, when a small minority of the Parish succeeded in preventing the permanent settlement of her sister's husband as minister. She seems to have the idea that all that party are emissaries of Satan. I do not wonder her little girl should be so nervous and excitable, being the child of such a nervous, high-strung woman. But I am going to see them again this afternoon; will you go too, Master Raymond?' "I think not," replied the latter with a smile, "I should do harm, I fear, instead of good. I will stay here and talk with Mistress Dulcibel a little while longer." Master Putnam departed, and then the conversation became of a lighter character. The young Englishman told Dulcibel of his home in the old world, and of his travels in France and Switzerland. And they talked of all those little things which young people will--little things, but which afford constant peeps into each other's mind and heart. Dulcibel thought she had never met such a cultivated young man, although she had read of such; and he felt very certain that he never met with such a lovely young woman. Not that she was over intelligent--one of those precociously "smart" young women that, thanks to the female colleges and the "higher culture" are being "developed" in such alarming numbers nowadays. If she had been such a being, I fancy Master Raymond would have found her less attractive. Ah, well, after a time perhaps, we of the present day shall have another craze--that of barbarism--in which the "coming woman" shall pride herself mainly upon possessing a strong, healthy and vigorous physical organization, developed within the feminine lines of beauty, and only a reasonable degree of intelligence and "culture." And then I hope we shall see the last of walking female encyclopedias, with thin waists, and sickly and enfeebled bodies; fit to be the mothers only of a rapidly dwindling race, even if they have the wish and power to become mothers at all. I am not much of a believer in love at first sight, but certainly persons may become very much interested in each other after a few hours' conversation; and so it was in the case before us. When Ellis Raymond took up his hat, and then lingered minute after minute, as if he could not bring himself to the point of departure, he simply manifested anew to the maiden what his tones and looks had been telling her for an hour, that he admired her very greatly. "Come soon again," Dulcibel said softly, as the young man managed to open the door at last, and make his final adieu. "And indeed I shall if you will permit me," was his earnest response. But some fair reader may ask, "What were these two doing during all the winter, that they had not seen each other?" I answer that Dulcibel had withdrawn from the village gatherings since the breaking of the engagement with Jethro. At the best, it was an acknowledgment that she had been too hasty in a matter that she should not have allowed herself to fail in; and she felt humbled under the thought. Besides, it seemed to her refined and sensitive nature only decorous that she should withdraw for a time into the seclusion of her own home under such circumstances. As for the village gossips, they entirely misinterpreted her conduct. Inasmuch as Jethro went around as usual, and put a bold face upon the matter, they came to the conclusion that he had thrown her off, and that she was moping at home, because she felt the blow so keenly. Thus it was that while the young Englishman had attended many social gatherings during the winter he had never met the one person whom he was especially desirous of again meeting. One little passage of the conversation between the two it may be well however to refer to expressly for its bearing upon a very serious matter. Raymond had mentioned that he had not seen her recently flying around on that little jet black horse, and had asked whether she still owned it. "Oh, yes," replied Dulcibel; "I doubt that I should be able to sell Little Witch if I wished to do so." "Ah, how is that? She seems to be a very fine riding beast." "She is, very! But you have not heard that I am the only one that has ever ridden her or that can ride her." "Indeed! that is curious." I have owned her from a little colt. She was never broken to harness; and no one, as I said, has ever ridden her but me. So that now if any other person, man or woman, attempts to do so, she will not allow it. She rears, she plunges, and finally as a last resort, if necessary, lies down on the ground and refuses to stir. "Why, that is very flattering to you, Dulcibel," said Raymond smiling. "I never knew an animal of better taste." "That may be," replied the maiden blushing; "but you see how it is that I shall never be able to sell Little Witch if I desire to do so. She is not worth her keep to any one but me." "Little Witch! Why did you ever give her a name like that?" "Oh, I was a mere child--and my father, who had been a sea-captain, and all over the world, did not believe in witches. He named her "Little Witch" because she was so black, and so bent on her own way. But I must change her name now that people are talking so about witches. In truth my mother never liked it." CHAPTER VIII. An Examination of Reputed Witches. Warrants had been duly issued against Sarah Good, Sarah Osburn, and the Indian woman Tituba, and they were now to be tried for the very serious offence of bewitching the "afflicted children." One way that the witches of that day were supposed to work, was to make images out of rags, like dolls, which they named for the persons they meant to torment. Then, by sticking pins and needles into the dolls, tightening cords around their throats, and similar doings, the witches caused the same amount of pain as if they had done it to the living objects of their enmity. In these cases, the officers who executed the warrants of arrest, stated "that they had made diligent search for images and such like, but could find none." On the day appointed for the examination of these poor women, the two leading magistrates of the neighborhood, John Hathorne and Jonathan Corwin, rode up the principal street of the village attended by the marshal and constables, in quite an imposing array. The crowd was so great that they had to hold the session in the meeting-house The magistrates belonged to the highest legislative and judicial body in the colony. Hathorne, as the name was then spelt, was the ancestor of the gifted author, Nathaniel Hawthorne--the alteration in the spelling of the name probably being made to make it conform more nearly to the pronunciation. Hathorne was a man of force and ability--though evidently also as narrow-minded and unfair as only a bigot can be. All through the examination that ensued he took a leading part, and with him, to be accused was to be set down at once as guilty. Never, among either Christian or heathen people, was there a greater travesty of justice than these examinations and trials for witchcraft, conducted by the very foremost men of the Massachusetts colony. The accounts of the examination of these three women in the manuscript book I have alluded to, are substantially the same as in the official records, which are among those that have been preserved. I will give some quotations to show how the examinations were conducted:-- "Sarah Good, what evil spirit are you familiar with?" She answered sharply, "None!" "Have you made no contracts with the Devil?" "No!" "Why then do you hurt these children?" "I do not hurt them. I would scorn to do it." "Here the children who were facing her, began to be dreadfully tormented; and then when their torments were over for the time, again accused her, and also Sarah Osburn. "Sarah Good, why do you not tell us the truth? Why do you thus torment them?" "I do not torment them." "Who then does torment them?" "It may be that Sarah Osburn does, for I do not." "Her answers," says the official report, "were very quick, sharp and malignant." It must be remembered in reading these reports, that the accused were not allowed any counsel, either at the preliminary examinations, or on the trials; that the apparent sufferings of the children were very great, producing almost a frenzied state of feeling in the crowd who looked on; and that they themselves were often as much puzzled as their accusers, to account for what was taking place before their eyes. In the examination of Sarah Osburn, we have similar questions and similar answers. In addition, however, three witnesses alleged that she had said that very morning, that she was "more like to be bewitched herself." Mr. Hathorne asked why she said that. She answered that either she saw at one time, or dreamed that she saw, a thing like an Indian, all black, which did pinch her in the neck, and pulled her by the back part of the head to the door of the house. And there was also a lying spirit. "What lying spirit was this?" "It was a voice that I thought I heard." "What did it say to you?" "That I should go no more to meeting; but I said I would, and did go the next Sabbath day." "Were you ever tempted further?" "No." "Why did you yield then to the Devil, not to go to meeting for the last three years?" "Alas! I have been sick all that time, and not able to go." Then Tituba was brought in. Tituba was in the "circle" or an attendant and inspirer of the "circle" from the first; and had marvelous things to tell. How it was that the "children" turned against her and accused her, I do not know; but probably she had practised so much upon them in various ways, that she really was guilty of trying to do the things she was charged with. "Tituba, why do you hurt these children?" "Tituba does not hurt 'em." "Who does hurt them then?" "The debbil, for all I knows.' "Did you ever see the Devil?" Tituba gave a low laugh. "Of course I've seen the debbil. The debbil came an' said, 'Serb me, Tituba.' But I would not hurt the child'en." "Who else have you seen?" "Four women. Goody Osburn and Sarah Good, and two other women. Dey all hurt de child'en." "How does the Devil appear to you?" "Sometimes he is like a dog, and sometimes like a hog. The black dog always goes with a yellow bird." "Has the Devil any other shapes?" "Yes, he sometimes comes as a red cat, and then a black cat." "And they all tell you to hurt the children?" "Yes, but I said I would not." "Did you not pinch Elizabeth Hubbard this morning?" "The black man brought me to her, and made me pinch her." "Why did you go to Thomas Putnam's last night and hurt his daughter Ann?" "He made me go." "How did you go?" "We rode on sticks; we soon got there." "Has Sarah Good any familiar?" "Yes, a yeller bird. It sucks her between her fingers. And Sarah Osburn has a thing with a head like a woman, and it has two wings." ("Abigail Williams, who lives with her uncle, the Rev. Master Parris, here testified that she did see the same creature, and it turned into the shape of Goody Osburn.") "Tituba further said that she had also seen a hairy animal with Goody Osburn, that had only two legs, and walked like a man. And that she saw Sarah Good, last Saturday, set a wolf upon Elizabeth Hubbard." ("The friends of Elizabeth Hubbard here said that she did complain of being torn by a wolf on that day.") "Tituba being asked further to describe her ride to Thomas Putnam's, for the purpose of tormenting his daughter Ann, said that she rode upon a stick or pole, and Sarah Good and Sarah Osburn behind her, all taking hold of one another. Did not know how it was done, for she saw no trees nor path, but was presently there." These examinations were continued for several days, each of the accused being brought at various times before the magistrates, who seem to have taken great interest in the absurd stories with which the "afflicted children" and Tituba regaled them. Finally, all three of the accused were committed to Boston jail, there to await their trial for practising witchcraft; being heavily ironed, as, being witches, it was supposed to be very difficult to keep them from escaping; and as their ability to torment people with their spectres, was considered lessened in proportion to the weight and tightness of the chains with which they were fettered. It is not to be wondered at, that under these inflictions, at the end of two months, the invalid, Sarah Osburn, died. Tituba, however, lay in jail until, finally, at the expiration of a year and a month, she was sold in payment of her jail fees. One account saying that her owner, the Rev. Master Parris, refused to pay her jail fees, unless she would still adhere to what she had testified on her examination, instead of alleging that he whipped and otherwise abused her, to make her confess that she was a witch. CHAPTER IX. One Hundred and Fifty More Alleged Witches. Ah this was bad enough, but it was but the beginning of trouble. Tituba had spoken of two other women, but had given no names. The "afflicted children" were still afflicted, and growing worse, instead of better. The Rev. Master Noyes of Salem town, the Rev. Master Parris of Salem village, Sergeant Thomas Putnam, and his wife,--which last also was becoming bewitched, and had many old enmities--and many other influential people and church members, were growing more excited, and vindictive against the troubles of their peace, with every passing day. "Who are they that still torment you in this horrible manner?" was the question asked of the children and young women, and they had their answers ready. There had been an old quarrel between the Endicotts and the Nurses, a family which owned the Bishop Farm, about the eastern boundary of said farm. There had been the quarrel about who should be minister, in which the Nurses had sided with the determined opponents of Mistress Ann Putnam's reverend brother-in-law. The Nurses and other families were staunch opposers of Master Parris's claim to ownership of the Parsonage and its grounds. And it was not to be wondered at, that the accusations should be made against opponents rather than against friends. Besides, there were those who had very little faith in the children themselves, and had taken a kind of stand against them; and these too, were in a dangerous position. "Who torments you now?" The answer was ready: Martha Corey, and Rebecca Nurse, and Bridget Bishop, and so on; the charges being made now against the members, often the heads, of the most reputable families in Salem town and village and the surrounding neighborhoods. Before the coming of the winter snows probably one hundred and fifty persons were in prison at Salem and Ipswich and Boston and Cambridge. Two-thirds of these were women; many of them were aged and venerable men and women of the highest reputation for behavior and piety. Yet, they were bound with chains, and exposed to all the hardships that attended incarceration in small and badly constructed prisons. A special court composed of the leading judges in the province being appointed by the Governor for the trial of these accused persons, a mass of what would be now styled "utter nonsense" was brought against them. No wonder that the official record of this co-called court of justice is now nowhere to be found. The partial accounts that have come down to us are sufficient to brand its proceeding with everlasting infamy. Let us recur to the charges against some of these persons: The Rev. Cotton Mather, speaking of the trial of Bridget Bishop, says: "There was one strange thing with which the Court was _newly entertained_. As this woman was passing by the meeting-house, she gave a look towards the house; and immediately a demon, invisibly entering the house, tore down a part of it; so that, though there was no person to be seen there, yet the people, at the noise, running in, found a board, which was strongly fastened with several nails, transported into another quarter of the house." A court of very ignorant men would be "entertained" now with such a story, in a very different sense from that in which the Rev. Cotton Mather used the word. The Court of 1692, doubtless swallowed the story whole, for it was no more absurd than the bulk of the evidence upon which they condemned the reputed witches. One of the charges against the Rev. Master Burroughs, who had himself been a minister for a short time in the village, was, that though a small, slender man, he was a giant in strength. Several persons witnessed that "he had held out a gun of seven foot barrel with one hand; and had carried a barrel full of cider from a canoe to the shore." Burroughs said that an Indian present at the time did the same, but the answer was ready. "That was the black man, or the Devil, who looks like an Indian." Another charge against Master Burroughs was, that he went on a certain occasion between two places in a shorter time than was possible, if the Devil had not assisted him. Both Increase Mather, the father, and his son Cotton, two of the most prominent and influential of the Boston ministers, said that the testimony as to Mr. Burroughs' giant strength was alone sufficient rightfully to convict him. It is not improbable that the real animus of the feeling against Master Burroughs was the belief that he was not sound in the faith; for Master Cotton Mather, after his execution, declared to the people that he was "no ordained minister," and called their attention to the fact that Satan often appeared as an angel of light. CHAPTER X. Bridget Bishop Condemned to Die. Salem, the habitation of peace, had become, by this time a pandemonium. The "afflicted children" were making accusations in every direction, and Mistress Ann Putnam, and many others, were imitating their example. To doubt was to be accused; but very few managed to keep their heads sufficiently in the whirlwind of excitement, even to be able to doubt. With the exception of Joseph Putnam, and his visitor, Ellis Raymond, there were very few, if any, open and outspoken doubters, and indignant censurers of the whole affair. Dulcibel Burton also, though in a gentler and less emphatic way, sided naturally with them, but, although she was much less violent in her condemnation, she provoked even more anger from the orthodox believers in the delusion. For Joseph Putnam, as belonging to one of the most influential and wealthy families in Salem, seemed to have some right to have an opinion. And Master Raymond was visiting at his house, and naturally would be influenced by him. Besides, he was only a stranger at the best; and therefore, not entirely responsible to them for his views. But Dulcibel was a woman, and it was outrageous that she, at her years, should set up her crude opinions against the authority of the ministers and the elders. Besides, Joseph Putnam was known to be a determined and even rather desperate young man when his passions were aroused, as they seldom were though, save in some just cause; and he had let it be known that it would be worth any person's life to attempt to arrest him. It was almost the universal habit of that day, to wear the belt and sword; and Messrs. Putnam and Raymond went thus constantly armed. Master Putnam also kept two horses constantly saddled in his stable, day and night, to escape with if necessary, into the forest, through which they might make their way to New York. For the people of that province, who did not admire their Puritan neighbors very much, received all such fugitives gladly, and gave them full protection. As for Master Raymond, although he saw that his position was becoming dangerous, he determined to remain, notwithstanding the period which he had fixed for his departure had long before arrived. His avowed reason given to Joseph Putnam, was that he was resolved to see the crazy affair through. His avowed reason, which Master Putnam perfectly understood, was to prosecute his suit to Dulcibel, and see her safely through the dangerous excitement also. "They have condemned Bridget Bishop to death," said Master Putnam, coming into the house one morning from a conversation with a neighbor. "I supposed they would," replied Master Raymond. "But how nobly she bore herself against such a mass of stupid and senseless testimony. Did you know her?" "I have often stopped at her Inn. A fine, free-spoken woman; a little bold in her manners, but nothing wrong about her." "Did you ever hear such nonsense as that about her tearing down a part of the meeting-house simply by looking at it? And yet there sat the best lawyers in the colony on the bench as her judges, and swallowed it all down as if it had been gospel." "And then those other stories of her appearing in people's bed-rooms, and vanishing away suddenly; and of her being responsible for the illness and death of her neighbors' children; what could be more absurd?" "And of the finding of puppets, made of rags and hogs' bristles, in the walls and crevices of her cellar! Really, it would be utterly contemptible if it were not so horrible." "Yes, she is to be executed on Gallows Hill; and next week! I can scarcely believe it, Master Raymond. If I could muster a score or two of other stout fellows, I would carry her off from the very foot of the gallows." "Oh, the frenzy has only begun, my friend," replied Raymond. "You know whose trial comes on next?" "How any one can say a word against Mistress Nurse--that lovely and venerable woman--passeth my comprehension," said Joseph Putnam's young wife, who had been a listener to the conversation, while engaged in some household duties. "My sister-in-law, Ann Putnam, seems to have a spite against that woman. I went to see her yesterday, and she almost foams at the mouth while talking of her." "The examination of Mistress Nurse before the magistrate comes off to-day. Shall we not attend it?" "Of course, but be careful of thy language, Friend Raymond. Do not let thy indignation run away with thy discretion." Raymond laughed outright, as did young Mistress Putnam. "This advice from you, Master Joseph! who art such a very model of prudence and cold-bloodedness! If thou wilt be only half as cautious and discreet as I am, we shall give no offence even to the craziest of them." CHAPTER XI. Examination of Rebecca Nurse. When they arrived at the village, the examination was in progress. Mistress Rebecca Nurse, the mother of a large family; aged, venerable, and bending now a little under the weight of years, was standing as a culprit before the magistrates, who doubtless had often met her in the social gatherings of the neighborhood. She was guarded by two constables, she who needed no guarding. Around, and as near her as they were allowed to stand, stood her husband and her grown-up sons and daughters. One of the strangest features of the time, as it strikes the reader of this day, was the peaceful submission to the lawful authorities practised by the husbands and fathers, and grown-up sons and brothers of the women accused. Reaching as the list of alleged witches did in a short time, to between one hundred and fifty and two hundred persons--nearly the whole of them members of the most respectable families--it is wonderful that a determined stand in their behalf was not the result. One hundred resolute men, resolved to sacrifice their lives if need be, would have put a stop to the whole matter. And if there had been even twenty men in Salem, like Joseph Putnam, the thing no doubt would have been done. And in the opinion of the present writer, such a course would have been far more worthy of praise, than the slavish submission to such outrages as were perpetrated under the names of law, justice and religion. The sons of these men, eighty years later, showed at Lexington and Concord and Bunker Hill, that when Law and Peace become but grotesque masks, under which are hidden the faces of legalized injustice and tyranny, then the time has come for armed revolt and organized resistance. But such was the darkness and bigotry of the day in respect to religious belief, that the great majority of the people were mentally paralyzed by the accepted faith, so that they were not able in many respects to distinguish light from darkness. When an estimable man or woman was accused of being a witch, for the term was indifferently applied to both sexes, even their own married partners, their own children, had a more or less strong conviction that it might possibly be so. And this made the peculiar horror of it. In at least fifty cases, the accused confessed that they were witches, and sometimes accused others in turn. This was owing generally to the influence of their relatives, who implored them to confess; for to confess was invariably to be acquitted, or to be let off with simple imprisonment. But to return to poor Rebecca Nurse, haled without warning from her prosperous, happy home at the Bishop Farm, carried to jail, loaded with chains, and now brought up for the tragic farce of a judicial examination. In this case also, the account given in my friend's little book is amply confirmed by other records. Mistress Ann Putnam, Abigail Williams (the minister's niece), Elizabeth Hubbard and Mary Walcott, were the accusers. "Abigail Williams, have you been hurt by this woman?" said magistrate Hathorne. "Yes," replied Abigail. And then Mistress Ann Putnam fell to the floor in a fit; crying out between her violent spasms, that it was Rebecca Nurse who was then afflicting her. "What do you say to those charges?" The accused replied: "I can say before the eternal Father that I am innocent of any such wicked doings, and God will clear my innocence." Then a man named Henry Kenney rose, and said that Mistress Nurse frequently tormented him also; and that even since he had been there that day, he had been seized twice with an amazed condition. "The villain!" muttered Joseph Putnam to those around him, "if I had him left to me for a time, I would have him in an amazed condition!" "You are an unbeliever, and everybody knows it, Master Putnam," said one near him. "But we who are of the godly, know that Satan goes about like a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour." "Quiet there!" said one of the magistrates. Edward Putnam (another of the brothers) then gave in his evidence, saying that he had seen Mistress Ann Putnam, and the other accusers, grievously tormented again and again, and declaring that Rebecca Nurse was the person who did it. "These are serious charges, Mistress Nurse," said Squire Hathorne, "are they true?" "I have told you that they are false. Why, I was confined to my sick bed at the time it is said they occurred." "But did you not send your spectre to torment them?" "How could I? And I would not if I could." Here Mistress Putnam was taken with another fit. Worse than the other, which greatly affected the whole people. Coming to a little, she cried out: "Did you not bring the black man with you? Did you not tell me to tempt God and die? Did you not eat and drink the red blood to your own damnation?" These words were shrieked out so wildly, that all the people were greatly agitated and murmured against such wickedness. But the prisoner releasing her hand for a moment cried out, "Oh, Lord, help me!" "Hold her hands," some cried then, for the afflicted persons seemed to be grievously tormented by her. But her hands being again firmly held by the guards, they seemed comforted. Then the worthy magistrate Hathorne said, "Do you not see that when your hands are loosed these people are afflicted?" "The Lord knows," she answered, "that I have not hurt them." "You would do well if you are guilty to confess it; and give glory to God." "I have nothing to confess. I am as innocent as an unborn child." "Is it not strange that when you are examined, these persons should be afflicted thus?" "Yes, it is very strange." [Illustration: "The Lord knows that I haven't hurt them"] "Do you believe these afflicted persons are bewitched?" "I surely do think they must be." Weary of the proceedings and the excitement, the aged lady allowed her head to droop on one side. Instantly the heads of the accusers were bent the same way. Abigail Williams cried out, "Set up Mistress Nurse's neck, our necks will all be broken." The jailers held up the prisoner's neck; and the necks of all the accused were instantly made straight again. This was considered a marvelous proof; and produced a wonderful effect upon the magistrates and the people. Mistress Ann Putnam went into such great bodily agony at this time, charging it all upon the prisoner, that the magistrates gave her husband permission to carry her out of the house. Only then, when no longer in the sight of the prisoner, could she regain her peace. "Mistress Nurse was then recommitted to the jail in Salem, in order to further examination." "What deviltry is coming next?" said Joseph Putnam to his friend. Many of those around glared on the speaker, but he was well known to all of them as a daring--and when angered even a desperate young man--and they allowed him to say with impunity, freely what no one else could even have whispered. His son in after years, looked not into the wolf's eyes in the dark den with a sterner gaze, than he looked into the superstitious and vengeful wolves' eyes around him. "To think that a godly old woman like Mistress Nurse, should be tormented by this Devil's brood of witches, led on by that she-devil sister of mine, Ann Putnam." Many around heard him, but none cared to meet the young man's fierce eyes, as they blazed upon those that were nearest. "Do control yourself, my friend," whispered Master Raymond. "Preserve yourself for a time when your indignation may do some good." Then the constable brought in a little girl of about five years of age, Dorcas Good, a daughter of Sarah Good, who had been arrested on the complaint of Edward and Jonathan Putnam. The evidence against this little girl of five was overwhelming. Mistress Ann Putnam, Mercy Lewis, and Mary Walcott were the accusers--charging the innocent and pretty little creature with biting, pinching and choking them--the little girl smiling while they were giving their testimony. She was not old enough to understand what it was all about, and that even her life was in danger from these demoniacs. They absolutely pretended to show the marks of her little teeth in their arms. Then, after going through the usual convulsions, they shrieked out that she was running pins into them; and the pins were found on examination sticking into their bodies. The little girl was, as I have said, at first inclined to laugh at all the curious proceedings, and the spasms and contortions of the witnesses, but at last, seeing everyone so solemn and looking so wickedly at her, she began to cry; until Joseph Putnam went up to her and gave her some sweet cake to eat, which he had provided for his own luncheon and then, looking into his kind face, she began to smile again. The Magistrates frowned upon Master Putnam, as he did this, but he paid no attention to their frowns. And when the little girl was ordered back to jail as a prisoner to await her trial, he bent down and kissed her before she was led away by the constable. This was the end of the proceedings for that day and the crowd began to disperse. "This is a pretty day's work you have made of it, sister-in-law," said Joseph Putnam, striding up to his brother's wife. "You say that you are tormented by many devils, and I believe it. Now I want to give you, and all the Devil's brood around you, fair warning that if you dare to touch with your foul lies any one belonging to my house including the stranger within my gates, you shall answer it with your lives, in spite of all your judges and prisons." So saying, he glared at his two brothers, who made no reply, and walked out of the meeting-house in which this ungodly business had been transacted. "Oh, it is only Joe," said Thomas Putnam; "he always was the spoiled child of the family." His wife said nothing, but soon a hard, bitter smile took the place of the angry flush that the young man's words had produced. Dulcibel Burton was not one of his household, nor within his gates. CHAPTER XII. Burn Me, or Hang Me, I Will Stand in the Truth of Christ. After the trial and conviction of Bridget Bishop, the Special Court of seven Judges--a majority of whom were leading citizens of Boston, the Deputy Governor of the Province, acting as Chief-Justice--decided to take further counsel in this wonderful and important matter of the fathers of the church. So the Court took a recess, while it consulted the ministers of Boston and other places, respecting its duty in the case. The response of the ministers, while urging in general terms the importance of caution and circumspection, recommended the earnest and vigorous carrying on of the war against Satan and his disciples. Among the new victims, one of the most striking cases was that of George Jacobs and his grand-daughter Margaret. The former was a venerable-looking man, very tall, with long, thin white hair, who was compelled by his infirmities to support himself in walking with two staffs. Sarah Churchill, a chief witness, against him, was a servant in his family; and probably was feeding in this way some old grudge. "You accuse me of being a wizard," said the old man on his examination; "you might as well charge me with being a buzzard." They asked the accused to repeat the Lord's prayer. And Master Parris, the minister, who acted as a reporter, said "he could not repeat it right after many trials." "Well," said the brave old man finally, after they had badgered him with all kinds of nonsensical questions, "Well, burn me, or hang me, I will stand in the truth of Christ!" As his manly bearing was evidently producing an effect, the "afflicted girls" came out in full force the next day at the adjourned session. When he was brought in, they fell at once into the most grievous fits and screechings. "Who hurts you?" was asked, after they had recovered somewhat. "This man," said Abigail Williams, going off into another fit. "This is the man," averred Ann Putnam; "he hurts me, and wants me to write in the red book; and promises if I will do so, to make me as well as his grand-daughter." "Yes, this is the man," cried Mercy Lewis, "he almost kills me." "It is the one who used to come to me. I know him by his two staffs, with one of which he used to beat the life out of me," said Mary Walcott. Mercy Lewis for her part walked towards him; but as soon as she got near, fell into great fits. Then Ann Putnam and Abigail Williams "had each of them a pin stuck in their hands and they said it was done by this old Jacobs." The Magistrates took all this wicked acting in sober earnest; and asked the prisoner, "what he had to say to it?" "Only that it is false," he replied. "I know no more of it than the child that was born last night." But the honest old man's denial went of course, for nothing. Neither did Sarah Ingersoll's deposition made a short time afterwards; in which she testified that "Sarah Churchill came to her after giving her evidence, crying and wringing her hands, and saying that she has belied herself and others in saying she had set her hand to the Devil's book." She said that "they had threatened her that if she did not say it, they would put her in the dungeon along with Master Burroughs." And that, "if she told Master Noyes, the minister, but once that she had set her hand to the book, he would believe her; but if she told him the truth a hundred times, he would not believe her." The truth no doubt is that Master Noyes, Master Parris, Cotton Mather, and all the other ministers, with one or two exceptions, having committed themselves fully to the prosecution of the witches, would listen to nothing that tended to prove that the principal witnesses were deliberate and malicious liars; and that, so far as the other witnesses were concerned, they were grossly superstitious and deluded persons. No charity that is fairly clear-sighted, can cover over the evidence of the "afflicted circle" with the mantle of self-delusion. Self-delusion does not conceal pins, stick them into its own body, and charge the accused person with doing it, knowing that the accusation may be the prisoner's death. This was done repeatedly by Mistress Ann Putnam, and her Satanic brood of false accusers. Sarah Churchill was no worse than the others, judging by her remorse after she had helped to murder with her lying tongue her venerable master and we have in the deposition of Sarah Ingersoll, undoubted proof that she testified falsely. When Ann Putnam, Mercy Lewis and Mary Walcott all united in charging little Dorcas Good--five years old!--with biting, pinching and almost choking them; "showing the marks of her little teeth on their arms, and the pins sticking in their bodies, where they had averred she was piercing them"--can any sane, clear-minded man or woman suppose it was an innocent delusion, and not a piece of horribly wicked lying? When in open court some of the "afflicted" came out of their fits with "their wrists bound together, by invisible means," with "a real cord" so that "it could hardly be taken off without cutting," was there not only deception, but undeniable collusion of two or more in deception? When an iron spindle was used by an alleged "spectre" to torture a "sufferer," the said iron spindle not being discernible by the by-standers until it became visible by being snatched by the sufferer from the spectre's hand, was there any self-delusion there? Was it not merely wicked imposture and cunning knavery? I defy any person possessing in the least a judicial and accurate mind, to investigate the records of this witchcraft delusion without coming to the conclusion that the "afflicted girls," who led off in this matter, and were the principal witnesses, continually testified to what they knew to be utterly false. There is no possible excuse for them on the ground of "delusion." However much we may recoil from the sad belief that they testified in the large majority of cases to what they knew to be entirely false, the facts of the case compel us with an irresistible force to such an unhappy conclusion. When we are positively certain that a witness, in a case of life or death, has testified falsely against the prisoner again and again, is it possible that we can give him or her the benefit of even a doubt as to the animus of the testimony? The falsehoods I have referred to were cases of palpable, unmistakable and deliberate lying. And the only escape from considering it _wilful_ lying, is to make a supposition not much in accord with the temper of the present times, that, having tampered with evil spirits, and invoked the Devil continually during the long evenings of the preceding winter, the prince of powers of the air had at last come at their call, and ordered a legion of his creatures to take possession of the minds and bodies that they had so freely offered to him. For certainly there is no way of explaining the conduct of the "afflicted circle" of girls and women, than by supposing either that they were guilty of the most enormous wickedness, or else that they were "possessed with devils." CHAPTER XIII. Dulcibel in Danger. The terrible excitement of these days was enough to drive the more excitable portion of the inhabitants of Salem almost crazy. The work of the house and of the farm was neglected; a large number of suspected persons and their relatives were sunk in the deepest grief, the families of some of the imprisoned knew not where to get their daily food; for their property was generally taken possession of by the officers of the law at the time of the arrest, the accused being considered guilty until they were proved to be innocent. Upon conviction of a capital offence the property of the condemned was attainted, being confiscated by the state; and the constables took possession at once, in order that it might not be spirited away. And no one outside of the circle of the accusers knew whose turn might come next. Neither sex, nor age, nor high character, as we have seen, was a bar against the malice, or the wantonness of the "afflicted." The man or woman who had lived a righteous life for over eighty years, the little child who wondered what it all meant, the maiden whose only fault might be to have a jealous rival, all were alike in danger. Especially were those in peril, however, who dared to take the side of any of the accused, and express even the faintest disbelief in the justice of the legal proceedings, or the honesty of the witnesses. These would be surely singled out for punishment. Again and again, had this been done until the voices of all but the very boldest were effectually silenced. Those arrested now, as a general thing, would confess at once to the truthfulness of all the charges brought against them, and even invent still more improbable stories of their own, as this mollified the accusers, and they often would be let off with a solemn reprimand by the magistrates. Joseph Putnam and his male servants went constantly armed; and two horses were kept saddled day and night, in his stable. He never went to the village unaccompanied; and made no secret of his determination to resist the arrest of himself or, as he had phrased it, "any one within his gates," to the last drop of his blood. Living with the Goodman Buckley who had leased the Burton property, was a hired man named Antipas Newton. He was a good worker though now getting old, and had in one sense been leased with the place by Dulcibel's father. Antipas's history had been a sad one. Adopted when left an orphan by a benevolent farmer who had no children, he managed by diligence and strict economy to acquire by the age of thirty, quite a comfortable property of his own. Then the old couple that he called Father and Mother became converts to Quakerism. Fined and imprisoned, deprived of their property, and, after the expiration of their term of imprisonment, ordered to leave the colony, they had been "harbored" by the man for whom they had done so much in his early years. Antipas was a person of limited intelligence, but of strong affections and wide sympathies. Again and again, he harbored these persecuted ones, who despite their whippings and banishment would persist in returning to Salem. Finally, Antipas himself was heavily fined, and his property sold to pay the fines. His wife had died early, but a young daughter who kept his house in order, and who had failed in her attendance at the church which was engaged in persecuting her father, was also fined heavily. As her father's property was all gone, and she had no money of her own, she could not pay the fine, and was put in prison, to be sent to Barbados, and sold as a slave, that thus the fine might be collected. But the anguish, and the exposure of her prison, were too much for the young girl; and she died before means of transportation could be found. As a result of these persecutions, Antipas became demented. As his insanity grew evident, the prosecutions ceased; but he was still in danger of starvation, so few would give him employment, both on account of his impaired mind, and of the odium which attached to any friend of the abhorred Quakers. Captain Burton, Dulcibel's father, came to the village at this time. He had been one of the sea-captains who had indignantly refused to take the Southwick children, or any other of the Salem children, to Barbados; and he pitied the poor insane man, and gave him employment. Not only did he do this, but, as we have said, made it an article of the lease of his property, that the Buckleys should also keep Antipas as a farm servant. Antipas, to the general surprise of the villagers had proved to be an excellent servant, notwithstanding his insanity. Only on training days and other periods of excitement, did his insanity obtrude itself. At all other times he seemed to be a cheerful, simple-hearted, and very capable and industrious "hand." To Dulcibel, as was natural, Antipas always manifested the greatest devotion. Her little black mare was always groomed to perfection, he never being satisfied until he took a white linen handkerchief that he kept for the purpose, and, passing it over the mare's shining coat, saw that no stain or loose black hair remained on it. "You think that Mistress Dulcibel is an angel, do you not?" said one of the female servants to him about this time, a little scornfully. "No, I know what she is," he replied. "Shall I tell you--but if I do, you will not believe"--and he looked at the girl a little doubtfully. "Oh, yes, I will," said the girl. "Come here then and I will whisper it to you. I heard the minister read about her once, she is the woman that is 'clothed with the sun and has the moon under her feet, and upon her head a crown of twelve stars.'" "That is wicked, Antipas. If Master Parris heard that you said things like that, he would have you whipped and put in the stocks." "Master Parris? you mean Beelzebub! I know Beelzebub when I see him." And Antipas gave one of his unnatural, insane laughs, which were getting very frequent of late. For the general excitement was proving too much for Antipas. Fie stopped frequently in his work, and muttered to himself; and then laughed wildly, or shed tears. He talked about the witches and the Devil and evil spirits, and the strange things that he saw at night, in the insane fashion that characterized the "afflicted children." As for Dulcibel in these times, she kept pretty much to herself, going out very little. As she could not sympathize with the general gossip of the neighborhood, she remained at home, and consequently had very few visitors. Joseph Putnam called whenever he came to the village, which, as I have stated, was but seldom; and Ellis Raymond came every few days. Yes, it was a courtship, I suppose; but one of a very grave and serious character. The conversation generally turned upon the exciting events continually occurring, some new arrest, some new confession, some new and outrageously absurd charges. Master Raymond's hand, if anyone accosted him suddenly, instinctively sought the hilt of his rapier. He was better skilled in the use of that weapon than was usual, and had no fear that he should be unable to escape from the constables, if not taken at a disadvantage. Still, as that would compel him to fly into the woods, and as it would separate him from Dulcibel, he had been very careful not to express in public his abhorrence of all the recent proceedings. I am afraid that he was guilty of considerable dissimulation, even paying his court to some of the "afflicted" maidens when he had the opportunity, with soft words and handsome presents; and trying in this way to enlist a party in his behalf, in case he or any of his friends should need supporters. Joseph Putnam censured him one day for his double dealing, which was a thing not only out of Master Joseph's line, but one which his frank and outspoken nature rendered it very difficult for him to practise. But Raymond with his references to King David's behavior towards Achish, King of Gath, and to certain other scripture, especially Paul's being "all things to all men that he might save all," was rather too weighty for Joseph, whose forte was sensible assertion rather than ingenious argument. And so Master Raymond persevered in his course, feeling no more compunction in deceiving the Salemites, as he said to himself, than he would in deceiving and cheating a pack of savage wolves, who were themselves arrayed in sheep's clothing. Jethro Sands had of late shown a disposition to renew his attentions to Dulcibel; but, after two or three visits, in the last of which he had given the maiden the desired opportunity, she had plainly intimated to him that the old state of affairs between them could never be restored. "I know the reason too," said Jethro, angrily "it is all owing to that English popinjay, who rides about as if we colonists were not fit to dust his pretty coat for him." "He is a gentleman, and a friend of mine," replied Dulcibel warmly. "Why do you not say a lover of yours, at once?" "You have no right to talk to me in that manner. I will not endure it." "You will not--how will you help it?" He was now thoroughly angry, and all his native coarseness came to the surface. "I will show you," said Dulcibel, the Norse blood of her father glowing in her face. "Good evening, Sir!" and she left the room. Jethro had not expected such a quiet, but effective answer. He sat twirling his thumbs, for awhile, hoping that she would return. But realizing at last that she would not, he took his departure in a towering anger. Of course this was the last of his visits. But Dulcibel had made a deadly enemy. It was unfortunate, for the maiden already had many who disliked her among the young people of the village. She was a superior person for one thing, and "gave herself airs," as some said. To be superior, without having wealth or an acknowledged high social position, is always to be envied, and often to be hated. Then again, Dulcibel dressed with more richness and variety of costume than was usual in the Puritan villages. This set many of the women, both young and old, against her. Her scarlet bodice, especially, was a favorite theme for animadversion; some even going so far as to call her ironically "the scarlet woman." It is curious how unpopular a perfectly amiable, sweet-tempered and sweet-tongued maiden may often become, especially with her own sex, because of their innate feeling that she is not, in spite of all her courteous endeavors, really one of them. It is an evil day for the swan when she finds herself the only swan among a large flock of geese. Dulcibel's antecedents also were not as orthodox as they might be. Her mother, it was granted, was "pious," and of a "godly" connection; but her father, as he had himself once said, "had no religion to speak of." He had further replied to the question, asked him when he first came to Salem, as to whether he was "a professor of religion," that he was "only a sea captain, and had no other profession." And a certain freedom of thought characterized Dulcibel, that she could scarcely have derived from her pious mother. In fact, it was something like the freedom of the winds and of the clouds, blowing where they liked; and had been probably caught up by her father in his many voyages over the untrammeled seas. At first Dulcibel had been rather impressed by the sermons of Master Parris and Master Noyes and the other ministers, to the effect that Satan was making a deadly assault upon the "saints," in revenge for their interference with his hitherto undisputed domination of the new world. But the longer she thought about it, the more she was inclined to adopt Joseph Putnam's theory, that his sister-in-law and niece and the other "afflicted" persons were possessed by devils. She inclined to this view in preference even to what she knew was Ellis Raymond's real conviction, that they were a set of hysterical and vicious girls and women who had rendered themselves half-insane by tampering for a whole winter with their nervous and spiritual organizations; until they could scarcely now distinguish the true from the untrue, the real from the unreal, good from evil, or light from darkness. "They have become reprobates and given over to an evil mind," said Master Raymond to her one day; clothing his thought as nearly as he could in scriptural language, in order to commend it to her. "Yes, this seems to be a reasonable explanation of their wicked conduct," replied Dulcibel. "But I think after all, that it amounts to about the same thing as Joseph Putnam says, only that his is the stronger and more satisfactory statement." And thinking of it, Master Raymond had to come to the same conclusion. His own view and that of his friends were about the same, only they had expressed themselves in different phrases. CHAPTER XIV. Bad News. The blow fell at last, and where they might have expected it. As Joseph Putnam said afterwards, "Why did I not bring them out to my house? They would not have dared to take them from under my roof, and they could not have done it if they had dared." One of his servants had been sent to the village on an errand; he had not performed his errand, but he had hurried back at once with the news. Dulcibel Burton had been arrested the previous evening, about nine o'clock, on the charge of being a witch. Antipas Newton had also been arrested. Both had been taken to prison, and put in irons. A desperate, determined look came into the faces of the two men as they gathered every word the servant had to tell. Young Mistress Putnam burst into tears. But the men dashed a tear or two from their eyes, and began to collect their thoughts. It was not weeping but stern daring, that would be needed before this thing was through. The prisoners were to be brought up that afternoon for examination. "I have my two men, who will follow wherever I lead them," said Master Putnam. "That makes four of us. Shall we carry her off from under their very eyes?" And his face glowed--the fighting instinct of his race was very strong within him. "It might not succeed, those men are neither cowards nor babies," answered his guest. "Besides, it would lead probably to your banishment and the confiscation of your property. No, we must have the wisdom of the serpent, as well as the boldness of the lion." "The result of the examination may be favorable, so young and good and beautiful as she is," said Mistress Putnam. "They lap their tongues in the blood of lambs, and say it is sweet as honey," replied her husband, shaking his head. "No, they will show no mercy; but we must try to match them." "Yes, and with as little hazard and cost to you, my noble friend, as possible," said Master Raymond. "Let me act, and take all the risk. They cannot get hold of my property; and I would just as lief live in New York or Philadelphia or England as among this brood of crazy vipers." "That is wise counsel, Joseph," said his wife. "Oh, I suppose it is," he answered emphatically. "But I hate wise counsel." "Still, my good friend, you must admit that, as Dulcibel betrothed herself to me only two days ago, I am the one to take the greatest risk in this matter." "Indeed!" said Mistress Putnam. "I knew it would be so; and I told Joseph it would be, only yesterday." "I give you joy of such a mistress!" cried Master Putnam, grasping his friend's hand. "Yes, I grant now your right of precedence in this danger, and I will follow your lead--yes, to the death!" "I hold you to that," said Master Raymond. "Remember you are pledged to follow my lead. Now, whatever I do, do not wonder, much less express any wonder. For this is war, and I have a right to meet craft with craft, and guile with guile. Depend upon it, I will save her, or perish with her." CHAPTER XV. The Arrest of Dulcibel and Antipas. The arrest of Dulcibel had been entirely unexpected to herself and the Buckleys. Dulcibel indeed had wondered, when walking through the village in the morning, that several persons she knew had seemed to avoid meeting her. But she was too full of happiness in her recent betrothal to take umbrage or alarm at such an unimportant circumstance. A few months now, and Salem, she hoped, would see her no more forever. She knew, for Master Raymond had told her, that there were plenty of places in the world where life was reasonably gay and sunny and hopeful; not like this dull valley of the shadow of death in which she was now living. Raymond's plan was to get married; sell her property, which might take a few months, more or less; and then sail for England, to introduce his charming wife to a large circle of relatives. Dulcibel had been reading a book that Raymond had brought to her--a volume of Shakespeare's plays--a prohibited book among the Puritan fathers, and which would have been made the text for one of Master Parris's most denunciatory sermons if he had known that it was in the village. Having finished "Macbeth" she laid the book down upon the table and began playing with her canary, holding it to her cheek, putting its bill to her lips, and otherwise fondling it. While she was thus engaged, she began to have the uncomfortable feeling which sensitive persons often have when some one is watching them; and turning involuntarily to the window which looked out on a garden at the side of the house, she saw in the dim light that dark faces, with curious eyes, seemed nearly to fill up the lower half of the casement. In great surprise, and with a sudden tremor, she rose quickly from the seat; and, as she did so, the weird faces and glistening eyes disappeared, and two constables, attended by a crowd of the villagers, entered the room. One of these walked at once to her side, and seizing her by the arm said, "I arrest you, Dulcibel Burton, by the authority of Magistrate Hathorne. Come along with me." "What does all this mean, friend Herrick?" said Goodman Buckley, coming into the room. "It means," said the constable, "that this young woman is no better than the other witches, who have been joining hand with Satan against the peace and dignity of this province." Then, turning to Dame Buckley, "Get her a shawl and bonnet, goodwife; if you do not wish her to go out unprotected in the night's cold." "A witch--what nonsense!" said Dame Buckley. "Nonsense, is it?" said the other constable. "What is this?" taking up the book from the table. "A book of plays! profane and wicked stage plays, in Salem village! You had better hold your peace, goodwife; or you may go to prison yourself for harboring such licentious devices of Satan in your house." Goodwife Buckley started and grew pale. A book of wicked stage-plays under her roof! She could make no reply, but went off without speaking to pack up a bundle of the accused maiden's clothing. "See here!" continued the constable, opening the book, "All about witches, as I thought! He-cat and three other witches! 'Round about the cauldron go: In the poisoned entrails throw.' It is horrible!" "Put the accursed book in the fire, Master Taunton," said Herrick. There was a small fire burning on the hearth, for the evening was a little cool, and the other constable threw the book amidst the live coals; but was surprised to see that it did not flame up rapidly. "That is witchcraft, if there ever was witchcraft!" said Jethro Sands, who was at the front of the crowd. "See, it will not burn. The Devil looks out for his own." "Yes, we shall have to stay here all night, if we wait for that book to burn up," said Master Herrick. "Now if it had been a Bible, or a Psalm-book, it would have been consumed by this time." "My father told me," said one of the crowd, "that they were once six weeks trying to burn up some witch's book in Holland, and then had to tear each leaf separately before they could burn it." "Where is the yellow bird--her familiar--that she was sending on some witch's errand when we were watching at the window?" said another of the crowd. "Oh, it's not likely you will find the yellow bird," replied Herrick. "It is halfway down to hell by this time." "No, there it is!" cried Jethro Sands, pointing to a ledge over the door, where the canary-bird had flown in its fright. "Kill it! kill the familiar! Kill the devil's imp!" came in various voices, the angry tones being not without an inflection of fear. Several pulled out their rapiers. Jethro was the quickest. He made a desperate lunge at the little creature, and impaled it on the point of his weapon. Dulcibel shook off the hold of the constable and sprang forward. "Oh, my pretty Cherry," she cried, taking the dead bird from the point of the rapier. "You wretch! to harm an innocent little creature like that!" and she smoothed the feathers of the bird and kissed its little head. "Take it from her! kill the witch!" cried some rude women in the outer circles of the crowd. "Yes, mistress, this is more than good Christian people can be expected to endure," said constable Herrick, sternly, snatching the bird from her and tossing it into the fire. "Let us see if the imp will burn any quicker than the book." "Ah, she forgot to charm it," said the other constable, as the little feathers blazed up in a blue flame. "Yes, but note the color," said Jethro. "No Christian bird ever blazed in that color." "Neither they ever did!" echoed another, and they looked into each other's faces and shook their heads solemnly. At this moment Antipas Newton was led to the door of the room, in the custody of another officer. The old man seemed to be taking the whole proceeding very quietly and patiently, as the Quakers always did. But the moment he saw Dulcibel weeping, with Herrick's grasp upon her arm, his whole demeanor changed. "What devil's mischief is this?" cried the demented man; and springing like an enraged lion upon Master Herrick, he dashed him against the opposite wall, tore his constable's staff from his hands and laying the staff around him wildly and ferociously cleared the room of everybody save Dulcibel and himself in less time than I have taken to tell it. Jethro stepped forward with his drawn rapier to cover the retreat of the constables; but shouting, "the sword of the Lord and of Gideon!" the deranged man, with the stout oaken staff, dashed the rapier from Jethro's hand, and administered to him a sounding whack over the head, which made the blood come. Then he picked up the rapier and throwing the staff behind him, laughed wildly as he saw the crowd, constable and all, tumbling out of the door of the next room into the front garden of the house as if Satan himself in very deed, were after them. "I will teach them how they abuse my pretty little Dulcibel," said the now thoroughly demented man, laughing grimly. "Come on, ye imps of Satan, and I will toast you at the end of my fork," he cried, flourishing Jethro's rapier, whose red point, crimson with the blood of the canary-bird, seemed to act upon the mind of the old man as a spark of fire upon tow. "Antipas," said Dulcibel, coming forward and gazing sadly into the eyes of her faithful follower, "is it not written, 'Put up thy sword; for he that takes the sword shall perish by the sword'? Give me the weapon!" The old man gazed into her face, at first wonderingly; then, with the instinct of old reverence and obedience, he handed the rapier to her, crossed his muscular arms over his broad breast, bowed his grisly head, and stood submissively before her. "You can return now safely," Dulcibel called out to the constables. They came in, at first a little warily. "He is insane; but the spell is over now for the present. But treat him tenderly, I pray you. When he is in one of these fits, he has the strength of ten men." The constables could not help being impressed favorably by the maiden's conduct; and they treated her with a certain respect and tenderness which they had not previously shown, until they had delivered her, and the afterwards entirely humble and peaceful Antipas, to the keeper of Salem prison. But the crowd said to one another as they sought their houses: "What a powerful witch she must be, to calm down that maniac with one word." While others replied, "But he is possessed with a devil; and she does it because her power is of the devil." They did not remember that this was the very course of reasoning used on a somewhat similar occasion against the Savior himself in Galilee! CHAPTER XVI. Dulcibel in Prison. In the previous cases of alleged witchcraft to which I have alluded, the details given in my manuscript volume were fully corroborated, even almost to the minutest particulars, by official records now in existence. But in what I have related, and am about to relate, relative to Dulcibel Burton, I shall have to rely entirely upon the manuscript volume. Still, as there is nothing there averred more unreasonable and absurd than what is found in the existing official records, I see no reason to doubt the entire truthfulness of the story. In fact, it would be difficult to imagine grosser and more ridiculous accusations than were made by Mistress Ann Putnam against that venerable and truly devout and Christian matron, Rebecca Nurse. When Dulcibel and Antipas, in the custody of four constables, reached the Salem jail, it was about eleven o'clock at night. The jailor, evidently had expected them; for he threw open the door at once. He was a stout, strong-built man, with not a bad countenance for a jailer; but seemed thoroughly imbued with the prevailing superstition, judging by the harsh manner in which he received the prisoners. "I've got two strong holes for these imps of Satan; bring 'em along!" The jail was built of logs, and divided inside into a number of small rooms or cells. In each of these cells was a narrow bedstead and a stone jug and slop bucket. Antipas was hustled into one cell, and, after being chained, the door was bolted upon him. Then Dulcibel was taken into another, though rather larger cell, and the jailor said, "Now she will not trouble other people for a while, my masters." "Are you not going to put irons on her, Master Foster?" said Herrick. "Of course I am. But I must get heavier chains than those to hold such a powerful witch as she is. Trust her to me, Master Herrick. She'll be too heavy to fly about on her broomsticks by the time I have done with her." Then they all went out and Dulcibel heard the heavy bolt shoot into its socket, and the voices dying away as the men went down the stairs. She groped her way to the bed in the darkness, sat down upon it and burst into tears. It was like a change from Paradise into the infernal regions. A few hours before and she had been musing in an ecstasy of joy over her betrothal, and dreaming bright dreams of the future, such perhaps as only a maiden can dream in the rapture of her first love. Now she was sitting in a prison cell, accused of a deadly crime, and her life and good reputation in the most imminent danger. One thing alone buoyed her up--the knowledge that her lover was fully aware of her innocence; and that he and Joseph Putnam would do all that they could do in her behalf. But then the sad thought came, that to aid her in any way might be only to bring upon themselves a similar accusation. And then, with a noble woman's spirit of self-sacrifice, she thought: "No, let them not be brought into danger. Better, far better, that I should suffer alone, than drag down my friends with me." Here she heard the noise of the bolt being withdrawn, and saw the dim light of the jailer's candle. As the jailer entered he threw down some heavy irons in the corner of the room. Then, he closed the door behind him, and came up to the unhappy girl. He laid his hand upon her shoulder and said: "You little witch!" Something in the tone seemed to strike upon the maiden's ear as if it were not unfamiliar to her; and she looked up hastily. "Do you not remember me, little Dulcy? Why I rocked you on my foot in the old Captain's house in Boston many a day." "Is it not uncle Robie?" said the girl. She had not seen him since she was four years old. The jailer smiled. "Of course it is," he replied, "just uncle Robie. The old captain never went to sea that Robie Foster did not go as first mate. And a blessed day it was when I came to be first mate of this jail-ship; though I never thought to see the old captain's bonnie bird among my boarders." "And do you think I really am a witch, uncle Robie?" "Of course ye are. A witch of the worst kind," replied Robie, with a chuckle. "Now, when I come in here tomorrow morning nae doobt I will find all your chains off. It is just sae with pretty much all the others. I cannot keep them chained, try my best and prettiest." "And Antipas?" "Oh, he will just be like all the rest of them, doobtless. He is a powerful witch, and half a Quaker, besides." "But do you really believe in witches, uncle Robie?" "What do these deuced Barebones Puritans know about witches, or the devil, or anything else? There is only one true church, Mistress Dulcibel. I have sa mooch respect for the clergy as any man; but I don't take my sailing orders from a set of sourfaced old pirates." Then, leaving her a candle and telling her to keep up a stout heart, the jailer left the cell; and Dulcibel heard the heavy bolt again drawn upon her, with a much lighter heart, than before. Examining the bundle of clothes that Goodwife Buckley had made up, she found that nothing essential to her comfort had been forgotten, and she soon was sleeping as peacefully in her prison cell as if she were in her own pretty little chamber. CHAPTER XVII. Dulcibel before the Magistrates. The next afternoon the meeting-house at Salem village was crowded to its utmost capacity; for Dulcibel Burton and Antipas Newton were to be brought before the worshipful magistrates, John Hathorne and Jonathan Corwin. These worthies were not only magistrates, but persons of great note and influence, being members of the highest legislative and judicial body in the Province of Massachusetts Bay. Among the audience were Joseph Putnam and Ellis Raymond; the former looking stern and indignant, the latter wearing an apparently cheerful countenance, genial to all that he knew, and they were many; and especially courteous and agreeable to Mistress Ann Putnam, and the "afflicted" maidens. It was evident that Master Raymond was determined to preserve for himself the freedom of the village, if complimentary and pleasant speeches would effect it. It would not do to be arrested or banished, now that Dulcibel was in prison. When the constable, Joseph Herrick, brought in Dulcibel, he stated that having made "diligent search for images and such like," they had found a "yellow bird," of the kind that witches were known to affect; a wicked book of stage-plays, which seemed to be about witches, especially one called "he-cat"; and a couple of rag dolls with pins stuck into them. "Have you brought them?" said Squire Hathorne. "We killed the yellow bird and threw it and the wicked book into the fire." "You should not have done that; you should have produced them here." "We can get the book yet; for it was lying only partly burned near the back-log. It would not burn, all we could do to it." "Of course not. Witches' books never burn," said Squire Hathorne. "Here are the images," said a constable, producing two little rag-babies, that Dulcibel was making for a neighbor's children. The crowd looked breathlessly on as "these diabolical instruments of torture" were placed upon the table before the magistrates. "Dulcibel Burton, stand up and look upon your accusers," said Squire Hathorne. Dulcibel had sunk upon a bench while the above conversation was going on--she felt overpowered by the curious and malignant eyes turned upon her from all parts of the room. Now she rose and faced the audience, glancing around to see one loved face. At last her eyes met his; he was standing erect, even proudly; his arms crossed over his breast, his face composed and firm, his dark eyes glowing and determined. He dared not utter a word, but he spoke to her from the inmost depths of his soul: "Be firm, be courageous, be resolute!" This was what Raymond meant to say; and this is what Dulcibel, with her sensitive and impassioned nature, understood him to mean. And from that moment a marked change came over her whole appearance. The shrinking, timid girl of a moment before stood up serene but heroic, fearless and undaunted; prepared to assert the truth, and to defy all the malice of her enemies, if need be, to the martyr's death. And she had need of all her courage. For, before three minutes had passed--Squire Hathorne pausing to look over the deposition on which the arrest had been made--Mistress Ann Putnam shrieked out, "Turn her head away, she is tormenting us! See, her yellow-bird is whispering to her!" And with that, she and her little daughter Ann, and Abigail Williams and Sarah Churchill and Leah Herrick and several others, flung themselves down on the floor in apparent convulsions. "Oh, a snake is stinging me!" cried Leah Herrick. "Her black horse is trampling on my breast!" groaned Sarah Churchill. "Make her look away; turn her head!" cried several in the crowd. And one of the constables caught Dulcibel by the arm, and turned her around roughly. "This is horrible!" cried Thomas Putnam--"and so young and fair-looking, too!" "Ah, they are the worst ones, Master Putnam," said his sympathetic friend, the Rev. Master Parris. "She looks young and pretty, but she may really be a hundred years old," said deacon Snuffles. Quiet at last being restored, Magistrate Hathorne said: "Dulcibel Burton, why do you torment Mistress Putnam and these others in this grievous fashion?" "I do not torment them," replied Dulcibel calmly, but a little scornfully. "Who does torment them, then?" "How should I know--perhaps Satan." "What makes you suppose that Satan torments them?" "Because they tell lies." "Do you know that Satan cannot torment these people except through the agency of other human beings?" "No, I do not." "Well, he cannot--our wisest ministers are united upon that. Is it not so, Master Parris?" "That is God's solemn truth," was the reply. "Who is it that torments you, Mistress Putnam?" continued Squire Hathorne, addressing Mistress Ann Putnam, who had sent so many already to prison and on the way to death. Mistress Putnam was angered beyond measure at Dulcibel's intimation that she and her party were instigated and tormented directly by the devil. And yet she could not, if she would, bear falser witness than she already had done against Rebecca Nurse and other women of equally good family and reputation. But at this appeal of the Magistrate, she flung her arms into the air, and spoke with the vehemence and excitement of a half-crazy woman. "It is she, Dulcibel Burton. She was a witch from her very birth. Her father sold her to Satan before she was born, that he might prosper in houses and lands. She has the witch's mark--a snake--on her breast, just over her heart. I know it, because goodwife Bartley, the midwife, told me so three years ago last March. Midwife Bartley is dead; but have a jury of women examine her, and you will see that it is true." At this, as all thought it, horrible charge, a cold thrill ran through the crowd. They all had heard of witch-marks, but never of one like this--the very serpent, perhaps, which had deluded Eve. Joseph Putnam smiled disdainfully. "A set of stupid, superstitious fools!" he muttered through his teeth. "Half the De Bellevilles had that mark."[1] [Footnote 1: "Most part of this noble lineage carried upon their body for a natural birth-mark, from their mother's womb, a snake."--_North_.] "I will have that looked into," said Squire Hathorne. "In what shape does the spectre come, Mistress Putnam?" "In the shape of a yellow-bird. She whispers to it who it is that she wants tormented, and it comes and pecks at my eyes." Here she screamed out wildly, and began as if defending her eyes from an invisible assailant. "It is coming to me now," cried Leah Herrick, striking out fiercely. "Oh, do drive it away!" shrieked Sarah Churchill, "it will put out our eyes." There was a scene of great excitement, several men drawing their swords and pushing and slashing at the places where they supposed the spectral bird might be. Leah Herrick said the spectre that hurt her came oftenest in the shape of a small black horse, like that which Dulcibel Burton was known to keep and ride. Everybody supposed, she said, that the horse was itself a witch, for it was perfectly black, with not a white hair on it, and nobody could ride it but its mistress. Here Sarah Churchill said she had seen Dulcibel Burton riding about twelve o'clock one night, on her black horse, to a witches' meeting. Ann Putnam, the child, said she had seen the same thing. One curious thing about it was that Dulcibel had neither a saddle nor a bridle to ride with. She thought this was very strange; but her mother told her that witches always rode in that manner. Here the two ministers of Salem, Rev. Master Parris and Rev. Master Noyes, said that this was undeniably true, that it was a curious fact that witches never used saddles nor bridles. Master Noyes explaining further that there was no necessity for such articles, as the familiar was instantly cognizant of every slightest wish or command of the witch to whom he was subject, and going thus through the air, there being no rocks or gullies or other rough places, there was no necessity of a saddle. Both the magistrates and the people seemed to be very much instructed by the remarks of these two godly ministers. That "pious and excellent young man," Jethro Sands, here came forward and testified as follows: He had been at one time on very intimate terms with the accused; but her conduct on one occasion was so very singular that he declined thereafter to keep company with her. Hearing one day that she had gone to Master Joseph Putnam's, he had walked up the road to meet her on her return to the village. He looked up after walking about a mile, and saw her coming towards him on a furious gallop. There seemed to have been a quarrel of some kind between her and her familiar, for it would not stop all she could do to it. As she came up to him she snatched a rod that he had cut in the woods, out of his hand, and that moment the familiar stopped and became as submissive as a pet dog. He could not understand what it meant, until it suddenly occurred to him that the rod was a branch of witch-hazel! Here the audience drew a long breath, the whole thing was satisfactorily explained. Every one knew the magical power of witch-hazel.[2] [Footnote 2: This and many other passages, as the reader will notice, are quoted verbatim from the manuscript volume.] Jethro further testified that Mistress Dulcibel freely admitted to him that her horse was a witch; never speaking of the mare in fact but as a "little witch." As might be expected, the horse was a most vicious animal, worth nothing to anybody save one who was a witch himself. He thought it ought to be stoned, or otherwise killed, at once. The Rev. Master Noyes suggested that if it were handed over to his reverend brother Parris, he might be able, by a course of religious exercises, to cast out the evil spirit and render the animal serviceable. The apostles and disciples, it would be remembered, often succeeded in casting out evil spirits; though sometimes, we are told, they lamentably failed. The magistrates here consulted a few minutes, and Squire Hathorne then ordered that the black mare should be handed over to the Rev. Master Parris for his use, and that he might endeavor to exorcise the evil spirit that possessed it. Dulcibel had regarded with calm and serious eyes the concourse around her while this wild evidence was being given. Notwithstanding the peril of her position, she could not avoid smiling occasionally at the absurdity of the charges made against her; while at other times her brow and cheeks glowed with indignation at the maliciousness of her accusers. Then she thought, how could I ever have injured these neighbors so seriously that they have been led to conspire together to take my life? Oh, if I had never come to Salem, to a place so overflowing with malice, evil-speaking and all uncharitableness! Where there was so much sanctimonious talk about religion, and such an utter absence of it in those that prated the most of its possession. Down among the despised Quakers of Pennsylvania there was not one-half as much talking about religion but three times as much of that kindly charity which is its essential life. "Dulcibel Burton," said Squire Hathorne, "you have heard what these evidence against you; what answer can you make to them?" Blood will assert itself. The daughter of the old sea-captain, himself of Norse descent on the mother's side, felt her father's spirit glowing in her full veins. "The charges that have been made are too absurd and ridiculous for serious denial. The 'yellow bird' is my canary bird, Cherry, given me by Captain Alden when we lived in Boston. He brought it home with him from the West Indies. Ask him whether it is a familiar. My black horse misbehaved on that afternoon Jethro Sands tells of, as I told him at the time; simply because I had no whip. When he gave me his switch, the vixenish animal came at once into subjection to save herself a good whipping. It was not a hazel switch, his statement is false, and he knows it, it was a maple one." "And you mean to say, I suppose," shrieked out Mistress Ann Putnam, "that you have no witch-mark either; that you do not carry the devil's brand of a snake over your heart?" "I have some such mark, but it is a birth-mark, and not a witch-mark. It is a simple curving line of red," and the girl blushed crimson at being compelled to such a reference to a personal peculiarity. But she faltered not in her speech, though her tones were more indignant than before. "It is not a peculiarity of mine, but of my mother's family. Some say that a distant ancestor was once frightened by a large snake coming into her chamber; and her child was born with this mark upon her breast. That is all of it. There is no necessity of any examination, for I admit the charge." "Yes," screamed Mistress Putnam again, "your ancestress too was a noted witch. It runs in the family. Go away with you!" she cried striking apparently at something with her clenched hand. "It is her old great grandmother! See, there she is! Off! Off! She is trying to choke me!" endeavoring seemingly to unclasp invisible hands from her throat. The other "afflicted" ones joined in the tumult. With one it was the "yellow bird" pecking at her eyes, with another the black horse rearing up and striking her with its hoofs. Leah Herrick cried that Dulcibel's "spectre" was choking her. "Hold her hands still!" ordered Squire Hathorne, and a constable sprang to each side of the accused maiden and held her arms and hands in a grasp of iron. Joseph Putnam made an exclamation that almost sounded like an oath, and made a step forward; but a firm hand was laid upon his shoulder. "Be patient!" whispered Ellis Raymond, though his own mouth was twitching considerably. "We are the anvil now; wait till our turn comes to be sledgehammer!" Such a din and babel as the "afflicted" kept up! By the curious power of sympathy it affected the crowd almost to madness. If Dulcibel looked at them, they cried she was tormenting them. If she looked upward in resignation to Heaven, they also stared upwards with fixed, stiff necks. If she leaned her head one side they did the same, until it seemed as if their necks would be broken; and the jailers forced up Dulcibel's neck with their coarse, dirty hands. Dulcibel had not attended any of the other examinations, but similar demonstrations on the part of the "afflicted" had been described to her. It was very different, however, to hear of such things and to experience them in her own person. And if she had been at all a nervous and less healthy young woman, she might have been overcome by them, and even led to admit, as so many others had admitted under similar influences, that she really was a witch, and compelled by her master, the devil, could not help tormenting these poor victims. "Why do you not cease this?" at last cried Squire Hathorne, sternly and wrathfully. "Cease what?" she replied indignantly. "Tormenting these poor, suffering children and women!" "You see I am not tormenting them. Bid these men unloose my hands, they are hurting me." "They say your spectre and your familiar are tormenting them." "They are bearing false witness against me." "Who does hurt them then?" "Their master, the devil, I suppose and his imps." "Why should he hurt them?" "Because they are liars, and bear false witness; being hungry for innocent blood." The spirit of the free-thinking, free-spoken old sea-captain--nurtured by the free winds and the free waves for forty years--was fully alive now in his daughter. A righteous, holy indignation at the abominable farce that was going on with all its gross lying and injustice had taken possession of her, and she cared no longer for the opinions of any one around her, and thought not even of her lover looking on, but only of truth and justice. "Yes, they are possessed with devils--being children of their father, the devil!" she continued scornfully. "And they shall have their reward. As for you, Ann Putnam, in seven years from this day I summon you to meet those you have slain with your wicked, lying tongue, at the bar of Almighty God! It shall be a long dying for you!" Then, seeing Thomas Putnam by his wife's side, "And you, Thomas Putnam, you puppet in a bad woman's hands, chief aider and abettor of her wicked ways, you shall die two weeks before her, to make ready for her coming! And you," turning to the constables on each side of her, "for your cruel treatment of innocent women, shall die by this time next year!" The constables loosened their grasp of her hands and shrank back in dismay. The "afflicted" suddenly hushed their cries and regained their composure, as they saw the accused maiden's eyes, lit up with the wildness of inspiration, glancing around their circle with lightning flashes that might strike at any moment. Even Squire Hathorne's wine-crimsoned face paled, lest she would turn around and denounce him too. Even if she were a witch, witches it was known sometimes spoke truly. And when she slowly turned and looked upon him, the haughty judge was ready to sink to the floor. "As for you, John Hathorne, for your part in these wicked doings," here she paused as if waiting to hear a supernatural voice, while the crowded meeting-house was quiet as a tomb--"No! you are only grossly deluded; you shall not die. But a curse shall be upon you and your descendants for a hundred years. They shall not prosper. Then a Hathorne shall arise who shall repudiate you and all your wicked works, and the curse shall pass away!" Squire Hathorne regained his courage the instant she said he should not die, little he cared for misfortunes that might come upon his descendants. "Off with the witch to prison--we have heard enough!" he cried hoarsely. "Tell the jailer to load her well with irons, hands and feet; and give her nothing to eat but bread and water of repentance. She is committed for trial before the special court, in her turn, and at the worshipful judges' convenience." CHAPTER XVIII. Well, What Now? The crowd drew long breaths as they emerged from the meeting-house. This was the first time that the accused had fully turned upon the accusers. It was a pity that it had not been done before; because such was the superstition of the day, that to have your death predicted by one who was considered a witch was no laughing matter. The blood ran cold even in Mistress Ann Putnam's veins, as she thought of Dulcibel's prediction; and the rest of the "afflicted" inwardly congratulated themselves that they had escaped her malediction, and resolved that they would not be present at her trial as witnesses against her, if they could possibly avoid it. But then that might not be so easy. Even the crowd of beholders were a little more careful in the utterance of their opinions about Dulcibel than they had been relative to the other accused persons. Not that they had much doubt as to the maiden's being a born witch--the serpent-mark seemed to most of them a conclusive proof of that--but what if one of those "spectres," the "yellow bird" or the uncontrollable "black mare" should be near and listening to what they were even then saying? "What do I think about it?" said one of the crowd to his companion. "Why I think that if he who sups with the devil should have a long spoon, he who abuses a witch should be certain her yellow bird is not listening above his left shoulder," and he gave a quick glance in the direction alluded to, while half of those near him, as they heard his warning words, did the same. And there was not much talking against Dulcibel after this, among that portion of the villagers. Ellis Raymond had heard this speech as he walked silently out of the meeting-house with Joseph Putnam, and a grim smile flitted over his face. He felt prouder than ever of his beautiful betrothed. He was not a man who admired amazons or other masculine women, such, as in these days, we call "strong-minded;" he liked a woman to keep in her woman's sphere, such as the Creator had marked out for her by making her a woman; but circumstances may rightly overrule social conventions, and demand action suitable to the emergency. Standing at bay, among a pack of howling wolves, the heroic is a womanly as well as manly quality; and the gun and the knife as feminine implements, as the needle and the scissors. Dulcibel had never reasoned about such things; she was a maiden who naturally shrank from masculine self-assertion and publicity; but, called to confront a great peril, she was true to the noble instincts of her family and her race, and could meet falsehood with indignant denial and contempt. How she had been led to utter those predictions she never fully understood--not at the time nor afterwards. She seemed to herself to be a mere reed through which some indignant angel was speaking. "Well," said Joseph Putnam, as they got clear of the crowd, "brother Thomas and sister Ann have wakened up the tiger at last. They will be "afflicted" now in dead earnest. Did you see how sister Ann, with all her assurance, grew pale and almost fainted? It serves her right; she deserves it; and Thomas too, for being such a dupe and fool." "Do you think it will come true?" said Master Raymond. "Of course it will; the prediction will fulfill itself. Thomas is superstitious beyond all reasonableness; and good Mistress Ann, my pious sister-in-law, is almost as bad as he is, notwithstanding her lies and trickery. Do you know what I saw that Leah Herrick doing?" "What was it?" "In her pretended spasms, when bending nearly double, she was taking a lot of pins out of the upper edge of her stomacher with her mouth, preparatory of course, to making the accusation that it was Dulcibel's doings." "But she did not?" "No, it was just before the time that Dulcibel scared them so with the predictions; and Leah was so frightened, lest she also should be predicted against, that she quietly spit all the pins into her hand again." "Ah, that was the game played by a girl about ten years ago at Taunton-Dean, in England. Judge North told my father about it. One of the magistrates saw her do it." "Well, now, what shall we do? They will convict her just as surely as they try her." "Undoubtedly!" "Shall we attack and break open the jail some dark night, sword in hand? I can raise a party of young men, friends of the imprisoned, to do it; they only want a leader." "And all of you go off into perpetual banishment and have all your property confiscated?" "I do not care. I am ready to do it." "If you choose to encounter such a risk for others, I have no objection. I believe myself that if the friends and relatives of the accused persons would take up arms in defense of them, and demand their release, it would be the very manliest and most sensible thing they could do. But the consciences of the people here make cowards of them. They are all in bondage to a blind and conceited set of ministers, and to a narrow and bigoted creed." "Then what do you plan?" "Dulcibel's escape. You know that I managed to see her for a few minutes early this morning. She has a friend within the prison. Wait till we get on our horses, and I will explain it all to you." CHAPTER XIX. Antipas Works a Miracle. The next morning Antipas Newton was brought before the Magistrates for examination. Antipas seemed so quiet and peaceful in his demeanor, that Squire Hathorne could hardly credit the story told by the constables of his violent behavior on the night of the arrest. "I thought you were a Quaker," said he to the prisoner. "No, only half Quaker; the other half gospeller," replied the old man meekly. Mistress Ann was not present; her husband brought report that she was sick in bed. Probably she did not care to come, the game being too insignificant. Perhaps she had not quite recovered from the stunning effect of Dulcibel's prediction. Though it was not likely that a doom that was to be seven years in coming, would, after the first impression was past, be felt very keenly. There was time for so much to happen during seven years. But the Rev. Master Parris's little niece, Abigail Williams, was present, and several other older members of the "circle," prepared to witness against the old man to any extent that seemed to be necessary. After these had made their customary charges, and had gone through some of their usual paroxysms, Joseph Putnam, accompanied by Goodman Buckley, came forward. "This is all folly," said Joseph Putnam stoutly. "We all know Antipas Newton; and that he has been deranged in his intellects, and of unsound mind for the last twenty years. He is generally peaceful and quiet; though in times of excitement like the present, liable to be driven into outbreaks of violent madness. Here is his employer, Goodman Buckley, who of course knows him best, and who will testify to all this even more conclusively than I can." Then Goodman Buckley took the oath with uplifted hand, and gave similar evidence. No one had even doubted for twenty years past, that Antipas was simple-minded. He often said and did strange things; but only when everybody around him was greatly excited, was he at all liable to violent outbreaks of passion. Squire Hathorne seemed half-convinced; but the Reverend Master Parris rose from the bench where he had been sitting, and said he would like to be heard for a few moments. Permission being accorded: "What is insanity?" said he. "What is the scriptural view of it? Is it anything but a judgment of the Lord for sin, as in the case of Nebuchadnezzar; or a possession by a devil, or devils, as in the Case of the Gadarene who made his dwelling among the tombs as told in the fifth chapter of Mark and the eighth of Luke? That these were real devils is evident--for when permission was given them to enter into the herd of swine, they entered into them, and the swine ran down a steep place into the sea and were drowned. And as there were about two thousand swine, there must have been at least two thousand devils in that one so-called insane man; which no doubt accounted for his excessive violence. After the devils had left him, we are told that his countrymen came and saw him sitting at the feet of Jesus, no longer naked, but clothed and in his right mind. Therefore it follows as a logical deduction, that his not being before in his right mind was because he was possessed with devils." The magistrates and people evidently were greatly impressed with what Master Parris had said. And, as he sat down, Master Noyes, who was sitting beside his reverend brother, rose and said that he considered the argument they had just heard unanswerable. It could only be refuted by doubting the infallibility of the Scripture itself. And he would further add, as to the case before them, that this so-called insanity of the prisoner had not manifested itself until he had been repeatedly guilty of harboring two of that heretical and abominable sect called Quakers and had incurred imprisonment and heavy fines for so doing; to pay which fines his property had been rightfully sold. This punishment, and the death of his daughter by the decree of a just God, apparently not being sufficient to persuade him of the error of his ways, no doubt he had been given over to the devil, that he might become a sign and a warning to evil-doers. But, instead of repenting of his evil ways, he seems to have entered the service of Captain Burton, who was always known to be very loose in his religious views and observances; and who it now seems was himself a witch, or, as he might be rather more correctly termed, a wizard, and the father of the dangerous girl who was properly committed for trial yesterday. Going thus downward from bad to worse, this Antipas had at last become a witch himself; roaming around tormenting godly and unoffending people to please his mistress and her Satanic master. In conclusion he said that he fully agreed with his reverend brother, that what some of the world's people, who thought themselves wise above that which was written, called insanity, was simply, as taught in the holy scriptures, a possession by the devil. Magistrate Hathorne nodded to Magistrate Corwin, and Magistrate Corwin nodded in turn decidedly to his learned brother. They evidently considered that the ministers had settled that point. "Well, then," said Joseph Putnam, a little roughly to the ministers, "why do you not do as the Savior did, cast out the devils, that Antipas may sit down here in his right mind? We do not read that any of these afflicted people in Judea were cast into prison. In all cases they were pitied, not punished." "This is an unseemly interruption, Master Putnam," said Squire Hathorne sternly. "We all know that the early disciples were given the power to cast out devils and that they exercised the power continually, but that in later times the power has been withdrawn. If it were not so, our faithful elders would cast out the spectres that are continually tormenting these poor afflicted persons." While this discussion had been going on, Antipas had been listening to all that was said with the greatest attention. Once only had he manifested any emotion; that was when the reference had been made to the death of his daughter, who had died from her exposure to the severity of the winter season in Salem jail. At this time he put his hand to his eyes and wiped away a few tears. Before and after this, the expression of his face was rather as of one who was pleased and amused at the idea of being the center of attraction to such a large and goodly company. At the conclusion of Squire Hathorne's last remark, a new idea seemed to enter the old man's confused brain. He looked steadily at the line of the "afflicted" before him, who were now beginning a new display of paroxysms and contortions, and putting his right hand into one of his pockets, he drew forth a coil of stout leather strap. Grasping one end of it, he shouted, "I can heal them! I know what will cure them!" and springing from between the two constables that guarded him, began belaboring the "afflicted" with his strap over their backs and shoulders in a very energetic fashion. Dividing his energies between keeping off the constable and "healing the afflicted," and aided rather than hindered by Joseph Putnam's intentionally ill-directed efforts to restrain him, the insane man managed to administer in a short time no small amount of very exemplary punishment. And, as Masters Putnam and Raymond agreed in talking over the scene afterwards, he certainly did seem to effect an instantaneous cure of the "afflicted," for they came to their sober senses at the first cut of the leather strap, and rushed pell-mell down the passage as rapidly as they could regardless of the other tormenting "spectres." "This is outrageous!" said Squire Hathorne hotly to the constables as Antipas was at last overpowered by a host of assailants, and stood now firmly secured and panting between the two officers. "How dared you bring him here without being handcuffed?" "We had no idea of his breaking out anew, he seemed as meek as a lamb," said constable Herrick. "Why, we thought he was a Quaker!" added his assistant. "I am a Quaker!" said Antipas, looking a little dangerous again. "You are not." "Thou liest!" said the insane man. "This is one of my off days." Joseph Putnam laughed outright; and a few others, who were not church-members, laughed with him. "Silence!" thundered Squire Hathorne. "Is this a time for idle levity?" and he glared around the room. "We have heard enough," continued the Squire, after a few words with his colleague. "This is a dangerous man. Take him off again to prison; and see that his chains are strong enough to keep him out of mischief." CHAPTER XX. Master Raymond Goes to Boston. Whatever the immediate effect of Dulcibel's prediction had been, Mistress Ann Putnam was now about again, as full of wicked plans, and as dangerous as ever. She knew, for everybody knew, that Master Ellis Raymond had gone to Boston. In a village like Salem at that time, such fact could hardly be concealed. "What had he gone for? "To see a friend," Joseph Putnam had said. "What friend?" queried Mistress Ann. That seemed important for her to know. She had accused Dulcibel in the first place as a means of hurting Joseph Putnam. But now since the trial, she hated her for herself. It was not so much on account of the prediction, as on account of Dulcibel's terrific arraignment of her. The accusation that her husband was her dupe and tool was, on account of its palpable truth, that which gave her perhaps the greatest offence. The charge being once made, others might see its truth also. Thus all the anger of her cunning, revengeful nature was directed against Dulcibel. And just at this time she heard from a friend in Boston, who sent her a budget of news, that Master Raymond had taken dinner with Captain Alden. "Ah," she thought, "I see it now." The name was a clue to her. Captain Alden was an old friend of Captain Burton. He it was, so Dulcibel had said, from whom she had the gift of the "yellow bird." She knew Captain Alden by reputation. Like the other seamen of the time he was superstitious in some directions, but not at all in others. He would not for the world leave port on a Friday--or kill a mother Carey's chicken--or whistle at sea; but as to seeing witches in pretty young girls, or sweet old ladies, that was entirely outside of the average seaman's thoughts. Toward all women in fact, young or old, pretty or ugly, every sailor's heart at that day, as in this, warmed involuntarily. She also knew that the seamen as a class were rather inclined to what the godly called license in their religious opinions. Had not the sea-captains in Boston Harbor, some years before, unanimously refused to carry the young Quakeress, Cassandra Southwick, and her brother, to the West Indies and sell them there for slaves, to pay the fines incurred by their refusal to attend church regularly? Had not one answered for the rest, as paraphrased by a gifted descendant of the Quakers?-- "Pile my ship with bars of silver--pack with coins of Spanish gold, From keelpiece up to deck-plank the roomage of her hold, By the living God who made me! I would sooner in your bay Sink ship and crew and cargo, than bear this child away!" And so Master Raymond, who it was rumored had been a great admirer of Dulcibel Burton, was on a visit to Boston, to see her father's old friend, Captain John Alden! Mistress Putnam thought she could put two and two together, if any woman could. She would check-mate that game--and with one of her boldest strokes, too--that should strike fear into the soul of even Joseph Putnam himself, and teach him that no one was too high to be above the reach of her indignation. The woman was so fierce in this matter, that I sometimes have questioned, could she ever have loved and been scorned by Joseph Putnam? CHAPTER XXI. A Night Interview. A few days passed and Master Raymond was back again; with a pleasant word and smile for all he met, as he rode through the village. Mistress Ann Putnam herself met him on the street and he pulled up his horse at the side-path as she stopped, and greeted her. "So you have been to Boston?" she said. "Yes, I thought I would take a little turn and hear what was going on up there." "Who did you see--any of our people?" "Oh, yes--the Nortons and the Mathers and the Higginsons and the Sewalls--I don't know all. "Good day; remember me to my kind brother Joseph and his wife," said she, and Raymond rode on. "What did that crafty creature wish to find out by stopping me?" he thought to himself. "He did not mention Captain Alden. Yes, he went to consult him," thought Mistress Putnam. Master Joseph Putnam was so anxious to meet his friend, that he was standing at the turning in the lane that led up to his house. "Well, what did the Captain say?" "He was astounded. Then he gave utterance to some emphatic expressions about hell-fire and damnation which he had probably heard in church." "I know no more appropriate occasion to use them," commented young Master Joseph drily. "If it were not for certain portions of the psalms and the prophets, I could hardly get through the time comfortably nowadays." "If we can get her safely to Boston, he will see that a fast vessel is ready to take us to New York; and he will further see that his own vessel--the Colony's rather, which he commands--never catches us." "That looks well. I managed to see Dulcibel for a few minutes to-day, and"-- "How is she?" inquired Raymond eagerly. "Does she suffer much?" "Not very much I think. No more than is necessary to save appearances. She told me that the jailer was devoted to her. He will meet you to-night after dark on the hill, to arrange matters." "Say that we get from the prison by midnight. Then it will take at least three hours riding to reach Boston--though we shall not enter the town." "Three hours! Yes, four," commented his friend; "or even five if the night be dark and stormy; and such a night has manifest advantages. Still, as I suppose you must wait for a northwest wind, that is pretty sure to be a clear one." "Yes, the main thing is to get out into the open sea. Captain Alden plans to procure a Danish vessel, whose skipper once out of sight of land, will oppose any recapture by force." "I suppose however you will sail for New York?" "Yes, that is the nearest port and we shall be perfectly safe there. Still Jamestown would do. The Delaware is nearer than the James, but I am afraid the Quakers would not be able to protect us, as they are too good to oppose force by force." "Too good! too cranky!" said Master Putnam. "A pretty world the rascals would make of it, if the honest men were too good to fight. It seems to me there is something absolutely wicked in their non-resistant notions." "Yes, it is no worse to kill a two-legged tiger or wolf than a four-legged one; one has just as good a right to live as the other." "A better, I think," replied Master Putnam. "The tiger or wolf is following out his proper nature; the human tiger or wolf is violating his." "You know I rather like the Quakers," rejoined Master Raymond. "I like their general idea of considering the vital spirit of the Scripture more than the mere outward letter. But in this case, it seems to me, they are in bondage to the mere letter 'thou shalt not kill;' not seeing that to kill, in many cases, is really to save, not only life, but all that makes life valuable." That evening just about dusk, the two young men mounted their horses, and rode down one of the roads that led to Salem town, leaving Salem village on the right--thinking best not to pass through the village. Within a mile or so of the town, Master Putnam said, "here is the place" and led the way into a bridle path that ran into the woods. In about five minutes he halted again, gave a low whistle, and a voice said, a short distance from them, "Who are you, strangers?" "Friends in need," replied Master Putnam. "Then ye are friends indeed," said the voice; and Robert Foster, the jailer, stepped from behind the trunk of a tree into the path. "Well, Robie, how's the little girl?" said Master Joseph. "Bonnie as could be expected," was the answer. "She sends word to you, sir," addressing Master Raymond, "that you had better not come to see her. She knows well all you could say--just as well as if she heard it, the brave, bonnie lassie!" "I know it," replied Master Raymond. "Tell her I think of her every moment--and that things look bright." "Let us get out of this glooming, and where we can see a rod around us," suggested the jailer. "I like to see at least as far as my elbow, when I am talking confidentially." "I will go--you stay here with the horses," said Raymond to Master Putnam. "I do not want you mixed up with this thing any more than is absolutely necessary." "Oh, I do not care for the risk--I like it," replied his friend. "Stay, nevertheless," insisted Master Raymond. And getting down from his horse, and handing the bridle rein to Master Putnam, he followed the jailer out into an open space, where the rocks coming to the surface, had prevented the growth of the forest. Here it was a little lighter than it had been in the wood-path; but, the clouds having gathered over the sky since they started, it was not possible to see very far around them. "Hold up there!" cried Robie, catching Raymond by the arm--"why, man, do you mean to walk straight over the cliff?" "I did not know any chasm was there," said Raymond. "I never saw this place before. Master Putnam said it was a spot where we should not be likely to be molested. And it does look desolate enough." He leaned back against one of two upright planks which seemed to have been placed there for some purpose, and looked at a little pile of dirt and stones not far from his feet. "No," said the jailer. "I opine we shall not be disturbed here. I do not believe there is more than three persons in Salem that would be willing to come to this hill at this time of day,--and they are here already." And the jailer smiled audibly. "Why, how is that?" "Because they are all so damnably sooperstitious!" replied Robie, with an air of vast superiority. "Ah! is this place then said to be haunted?" "Yes,--poor Goodwife Bishop's speerit is said to haunt it. But as she never did anybody any harm while she was living, I see not why she should harm any one now that she is dead." "And so brave Bridget was executed near this place? Where was the foul murder done?" "You are leaning against the gallows," said Robie quietly. "And that pile of stones at your feet is over her grave." Raymond was a brave man, physically and morally, and not at all superstitious; but he recoiled involuntarily from the plank against which he had been leaning, and no longer allowed his right foot to rest upon the top stones of the little heap that marked the grave. "Oh, I thought you knew it," said the jailer calmly. "I say, let them fear goodwife Bishop's ghost who did her wrong. As for me, I favored her all I dared; and her last word to me was a blessing. But now for your honor's business, I have not long to stay." "I have planned all but the getting out of jail. Can it be easily done?" "As easy as walking out of a room." "Will you not be suspected?" "Not at all, I think--they are so mightily sooperstitious. I shall lock everything tight after her; and make up a good story about my wakening up in the middle of the night, just in time to see her flying out of the top o' the house, on her black mare, and thrashing the animal with a broom-handle. The bigger the lie the quicker they will believe it." "If they should suspect you, let Master Putnam know, and he will get you off, if wit and money together can do it." "Oh, I believe that," said the jailer. "Master Putnam is well known in all these parts, as a man that never deserts a friend; and I'll warrant you are one of the same grit." "My hand on it, Robie!" and he shook the jailer's hand warmly. "I shall never forget this service." "I am a rough, ignorant man," replied Robie quietly; "but I know gentle blood when I see it." "What time of night will suit you best?" "Just about twelve o'clock at night. That is the time all the ghosts and goblins and weetches choose; and when all honest people are in their beds, and in their first and soundest sleep." "We shall not be able to give you much warning, for we must wait a favorable wind and tide." "So you let me know by nightfall, it will do." "And now for the last point--what do I pay you? I know we are asking you to run a great risk. The men that whip gentlewomen, at the cart's tail, and put little children into jail, and sell them as slaves, will not spare you, if they find out what you have done. Thank God, I am rich enough to pay you well for taking such a fearful risk and shall be only too glad to reward your unselfish deed." "Not a shilling!" replied Robie proudly. "I am not doing this thing for pay. It is for the old Captain's little girl, that I have held in these arms many a day--and for the old Captain himself. While these bloody landsmen," continued the old sailor, "plague and persecute each other, Master Raymond, what is that to us, we men of the sea, who have a creed and a belief of our own, and who never even think of hurting a woman or a child? But as for these landsmen, sticking at home all the time, how can they be expected to know anything--compared to men that have doubled both Capes, and seen people living all sorts of ways, and believing all sorts of things? No, no," and Robie laughed disdainfully, "let these land-lubbers attend to their own affairs; but let them keep their hands off us seamen and our families." "So be it then, Robie; I honor your feelings! But nevertheless I shall not forget you. And one of these days, if we get off safely, you shall hear from me again about this matter." And then, their plans settled, Robie trudged down to the town; while the young men rode back the way they had come, to Master Putnam's. CHAPTER XXII. The Reverend Master Parris Exorcises "Little Witch." It will be remembered that Squire Hathorne had directed that Dulcibel's little horse should be handed over to the Reverend Master Parris, in order that it might be brought into due subjection. This had pleased Master Parris very much. In the first place he was of a decidedly acquisitive turn--as had been shown in his scheming to obtain a gift of the minister's house and orchard--and moreover, if he was able to cast out the devil that evidently possessed this horse, and make it a sober and docile riding animal, it would not only be the gain of a very pretty beast, but would prove that something of the power of casting out devils, which had been given to the disciples of old, had come down unto him. In such a case, his fame probably would equal, if not surpass, that of the great Boston ministers, Increase and Cotton Mather. Goodman Buckley had brought down the little mare, the next morning after the examination. The mare would lead very well, if the person leading her was on horseback--very badly, if he were not, except under peculiar circumstances. She was safely housed in the minister's stable, and gazed at with mingled fear and admiration by the family and their immediate neighbors. Master Parris liked horses, had some knowledge of the right way to handle them, and showed more wisdom in his treatment of this rather perverse animal of Dulcibel's than he had ever manifested in his church difficulties. He began by what he called a course of conciliation--to placate the devil, as it were. How he could bring his conscience to allow of this, I am not able to understand. But then the mare, if the devil were once cast out, would be, on account of her rare beauty, a very valuable animal. And so the minister, twice a day, made a point of going into the little passage, at the head of the stall, speaking kindly to the animal, and giving her a small lump of maple sugar. Like most of her sex, Susannah--as Master Parris had renamed her, knowing the great importance of a good name--was very fond of sugar; and her first apparent aversion to the minister seemed gradually to change into a kind of tacit respect and toleration, under the influence of his daily medications. Finally, the wary animal would allow him to pat her neck without striking at him with one of her front feet, or trying to bite him; and even to stroke her glossy flanks without lunging at him with her hind heels, in an exceedingly dangerous fashion. But spiritual means also were not neglected. The meeting-house was very near, and the mare was brought over regularly when there were religious services, and fastened in the near vicinity of the other more sober and orthodox horses, that she might learn how to behave and perhaps the evil spirit be thus induced to abandon one so constantly exposed to the doubtless unpleasant sounds (to it) of psalm and prayer and sermon. A horse is an imitative animal, and very susceptible to impressions,--both of a material and a mental character--and I must confess that these proceedings of the minister's were very well adapted to the object he had in view. The minister also had gone farther--but of this no one at the time knew but himself. He had gone into the stable on a certain evening, when his servant John Indian was off on an errand; and had pronounced a prayer over the possessed animal winding up with an exorcism which ought to have been sufficient to banish any reasonable devil, not only from the mare, but from the neighborhood. As he concluded, what seemed to be a huge creature, with outstretched wings, had buffeted him over the ears, and then disappeared through the open window of the stable. The creature was in the form of a big bat; but then it was well known that this was one of the forms which evil spirits were most fond of assuming. The minister therefore had strong reasons for supposing that the good work was now accomplished; and that he should find the mare hereafter a Susannah not only in name but in nature--a black lily, as it were. But of course this could not be certainly told, unless some one should attempt to ride her; and he suggested it one day to John Indian. But John Indian--unknown to anybody but himself--had already tried the experiment; and after a fierce contest, was satisfied with his share of the glory. His answer was:-- "No, no, master--debbil hab no 'spect for Indian man. Master he good man! gospel man! debbil 'fraid of him--him too much for debbil!" This seemed very reasonable for a poor, untutored Indian. Mistress Parris, too, said that she was certain he could succeed if any one could. The evil spirits would be careful how they conducted themselves towards such a highly respected and godly minister as her revered husband. Several of her acquaintances, pious and orthodox goodwives of the village, said the same thing. Master Parris thought he was a very good horseman besides; and began to take the same view. There was the horse, and he was the man! So one afternoon John Indian saddled and bridled the mare, and brought her up to the horse-block. Susannah had allowed herself to be saddled without the slightest manifestation of ill-humor; probably the idea of stretching her limbs a little, was decidedly pleasant in view of the small amount of exercise she had taken lately. But the wisest plan was not thought of. The minister's niece, Abigail Williams--one of the "afflicted"--had looked upon the black mare with longing eyes; and if she had made the experiment, it probably would have been successful. But they did not surmise that it might be the man's saddle and mode of riding, to which the animal was entirely unaccustomed, that were at the bottom of the difficulty. And, besides, Master Parris wanted the mare for his own riding, not for the women folks of his household. Detained by various matters, it was not until quite late in the afternoon, that the minister found time to try the experiment of riding the now unbewitched animal. It was getting too near night to ride very far, but he could at least try a short ride of a mile or so; which perhaps would be better for the first attempt than a longer one. So he came out to the horse-block, attended by his wife and Abigail Williams, and a couple of parishioners who had been holding a consultation with him, but had stopped a moment to see him ride off upon the animal of which so many marvelous stories had been told. "Yes," said the minister, as he came out to the horse-block, in answer to a remark made by one of his visitors, "I think I have been able with the Lord's help, to redeem this animal and make her a useful member of society. You will observe that she now manifests none of that viciousness for which formerly she was so noted." The mare did stand as composedly and peacefully as the most dignified minister could desire. "You will remember that she has never been ridden by any one, man or woman, save her witch mistress Dulcibel--Jezebel, I think would be a more fitting name for her, considering her wicked doings." Here Master Parris took the bridle rein from John Indian and threw his right leg over the animal. As the foot and leg came down on that side, and the stirrup gave her a smart crack, the mare's ears, which had been pricked up, went backwards and she began to prance around, John Indian still holding her by the mouth. "Let her go, John," said the minister; "she does not like to be held," and he tightened the rein. John, by his master's orders, had put on a curbbit; in place of the easy snaffle to which the mare had always been accustomed. And now as the minister tightened the rein, and the chain of the curb began to press upon and pain the mouth of the sensitive creature, she began to back and rear in a most excited fashion. "Loose de rein!" cried John Indian. The minister did so. But the animal now was fully alarmed; and no loosening or tightening would avail much. She was her old self again--as bewitched as ever. She reared, she plunged, she kicked, she sidled, and went through all the motions, which, on previous occasions, she had always found eventually successful in ridding her back of its undesired burden. "Oh, do get off of the wild beast," cried Mistress Parris, in great alarm. "She is still bewitched," cried Abigail Williams. "I see a spectre now, tormenting her with a pitchfork." "Oh, Samuel, you will be killed!--do get off that crazy beast!" again cried weeping Mistress Parris. "'Get off!' yes!" thought the minister; "but how am I going to do it, with the beast plunging and tearing in this fashion?" The animal evidently wanted him off, and he was very anxious to get off; but she would not hold still long enough for him to dismount peaceably. "Hold her while I dismount!" he cried to John Indian. But when John Indian came near to take hold of the rein by her mouth, the mare snapped at him viciously with her teeth; and then wheeled around and flung out her heels at his head, in the most embarrassing manner. Finally, as with a new idea, the mare started down the lane at a quick gallop, turned to the left, where a rivulet had been damned up into a little pond not more than two feet deep, and plunged into the water, splashing it up around her like a many jetted fountain. By this time, the minister, being only human, naturally was very angry; and commenced lashing her sides with his riding whip to get her into the lane again. This made the fiery little creature perfectly desperate, and she reared up and backwards, until she came down plump into the water; so that, if the saddle girth had not broken, and the saddle come off, and the minister with it, she might have tumbled upon him and perhaps seriously hurt him. But, as it was, no great damage was done; and the bridle also breaking, the mare spit the bit out of her mouth, and went down the lane in a run to the road, and thence on into the now fast-gathering night, no one could see whither. Mistress Parris, John Indian and the rest were by this time at the side of the pond, and ready to receive the chapfallen minister as he emerged with the saddle and the broken bridle from the water. "You are a sight, Samuel Parris!" said his wife, in that pleasant tone with which many wives are apt to receive their liege lords upon such unpleasant occasions. "Do get into the house at once. You will catch your death of cold, I know. And such a mess your clothes will be! But I only wonder you are not killed--trying to ride a mad witch's horse like that is." The minister made no reply. The situation transcended words. And did not allow even of sympathy, as his visitors evidently thought--not at least until he got on some clean and dry clothes. So they simply shook their heads, and took their course homewards. While the bedraggled and dripping Master Parris made his way to the house wiping the water and mud from his face with his wife's handkerchief, and stopping to shake himself well, before he entered the door, lest, as his wife said, "he should spoil everything in his chamber." Abigail Williams, when she went to see Mistress Ann Putnam that night, had a marvelous tale to tell; which in the course of the next day, went like wildfire through the village, growing still more and more marvelous as it went. Abigail had seen, as I have already said, the spectre of a witch goading the furious animal with a pitchfork. When the horse tore down the lane, it came to the little brook and of course could not cross it--for a witch cannot cross running water. Therefore, in its new access of fury, it sprang into the pond--and threw off the minister. Abigail further declared that then, dashing down the lane it came to the gate which shut it off from the road, and took the gate in a flying leap. But the animal never came down again. It was getting quite dark then, but she could still plainly see that a witch was upon its back, belaboring it with a broomstick. And she knew very well who that witch was. It was the "spectre" of Dulcibel Burton--for it had a scarlet bodice on, just such as Dulcibel nearly always wore. They two--the mare and its rider--went off sailing up into the sky, and disappeared behind a black cloud. And Abigail was almost certain that just as they reached the cloud, there was a low rumbling like thunder. It was noticeable that every time Abigail told this story, she remembered something that she had not before thought of; until in the course of a week or two, there were very few stories in the "Arabian Nights" that could surpass it in marvelousness. As the mare had not returned to her old stable at Goodman Buckley's, and could not be heard of in any other direction, Abigail's story began to commend itself even to the older and cooler heads of the village. For if the elfish creature had not vanished in the black cloud, to the sound of thunder, where was she? Joseph Putnam, and his household however held a different view of the subject, but they wisely kept their own counsel; though they had many a sly joke among themselves at the credulity of their neighbors. They knew that a little while after dark, a strange noise had been heard at the barn, and that one of the hired men going out, had found Dulcibel's horse, without saddle or bridle, pawing at the door of the stable for admission. As this was a place the animal had been in the habit of coming to, and where she was always well treated and even petted, it was very natural that she should fly here from her persecutors, as she doubtless considered them. Upon being told of it, and not knowing what had occurred Master Joseph thought it most prudent not to put the animal into his stable, but ordered the man to get half-a-peck of oats, and some hay, and take the mare to a small cow-pen, in the woods in an out of the way place, where she might be for years, and no one outside his own people be any the wiser for it. The mare seemed quite docile, and was easily led, being in company with the oats, of which a handful occasionally was given to her; and so, being watered at a stream near by and fed daily, she was no doubt far more comfortable than she would have been in the black cloud that Abigail Williams was perfectly ready to swear she had seen her enter and where though there might be plenty of water, oats doubtless were not often meet with. CHAPTER XXIII. Master Raymond Also Complains of an "Evil Hand." Master Raymond had everything now prepared upon his part, and was awaiting a message from Captain Alden, to the effect that he had made a positive engagement with the Danish captain. He had caught a serious cold on his return from Boston and, turning the matter over in his mind--for it is a wise thing to try to get some good result out of even apparently evil occurrences--he had called in the village doctor. But the good Doctor's medicine did not seem to work as it ought to--for one reason, Master Raymond regularly emptied the doses out of the window; thinking as he told Master Joseph, to put them where they would do the most good. And when the Doctor came, and found that neither purging nor vomiting had been produced, these with bleeding and sweating being the great panaceas of that day--as perhaps of this--he was naturally astonished. In a case where neither castor oil, senna and manna, nor large doses of Glauber's salts would work, a medical man was certainly justified in thinking that something must be wrong. Master Raymond suggested whether "an evil hand" might not be upon him. This was the common explanation at that time in Salem and its neighborhood. The doctors and the druggists nowadays miss a great deal in not having such an excuse made ready to their hands--it would account alike for adulterated drugs and ill-judged remedies. Master Raymond had the reputation of being rich, and the Doctor had been mortified by the bad behavior of his medicines--for if a patient be not cured, if he is at least vigorously handled, there seems to be something that can with propriety be heavily charged for. But if a doctor does nothing--neither cures, nor anything else--with what face can he bring in a weighty bill? And so good Doctor Griggs readily acquiesced in his patient's supposition that "an evil hand," was at work, and even suggested that he should bring Abigail Williams or some other "afflicted" girl with him the next time he came, to see with her sharpened eyes who it was that was bewitching him. But Master Raymond declined the offer--at least for the present. If the thing continued, and grew worse, he might be able himself to see who it was. Why should he not be as able to do it as Abigail Williams, or any other of the "afflicted" circle? Of course the doctor was not able to answer why; there seemed to be no good reason why one set of "afflicted" people should have a monopoly of the accusing business. Of course this came very quickly from the Doctor to Mistress Ann Putnam--for he was a regular attendant of that lady, whose nervous system indeed was in a fearful state by this time. And she puzzled a good deal over it. Did Master Raymond intend to accuse anyone? Who was it? Or was it merely a hint thrown out, that it was a game that two parties could play at? But then she smiled--she had the two ministers, and through them all the other ministers of the colony--the magistrates and judges--and the advantages of the original position. Imitators always failed. Still she rather liked the young man's craft and boldness--Joseph Putnam would never have thought of such a thing. But still let him beware how he attempted to thwart her plans. He would soon find that she was the stronger. Joseph Putnam then began to answer inquiries as to the health of his guest,--that he was not much better, and thought somewhat of going up to Boston for further medical advice--as the medicines given him so far did not seem to work as well as they should do. "Could he bear the ride?" "Oh, very well indeed--his illness had not so far affected his strength much." CHAPTER XXIV. Master Raymond's Little Plan Blocked. "Our game is blocked!" said Joseph Putnam to Master Raymond as he rode up one afternoon soon after, and dismounted at the garden gate, where his guest was awaiting him, impatient to hear if anything had yet come from Captain Alden. "What do you mean?" said his guest. "Mean? Why, that yon she-wolf is too much for us. Captain Alden is arrested!" "What! Captain John Alden!" "Yes, Captain John Alden!" "On what charge?" Master Joseph smiled grimly, "For witchcraft!" "Nonsense!" "Yes, devilish nonsense! but true as gospel, nevertheless." "And he submits to it?" "With all around him crazy, he cannot help it. Besides, as an officer of the government, he must submit to the laws." "On whose complaint?" "Oh, the she-wolf's of course--that delectable smooth-spoken wife of my brother Thomas. How any man can love a catty creature like that, beats me out." "I suppose she found out that I went frequently to see the Captain, when in Boston?" "I suppose so." "Who could have informed her?" "Her master, the devil, I suppose." "Where is the Captain to be examined?" "Oh, here in Salem, where his accusers are. It comes off tomorrow. They lose no time you see." "Well, I would not have believed it possible. Whom will they attack next?" "The Governor, I suppose," replied Master Joseph satirically. "Or you?" "If she does, I'll run my sword through her--not as being a woman, but as a foul fiend. I told her so. Let her dare to touch me, or any one under this roof!" "What did she say when you threatened her?" "She put on an injured expression; and said she could never believe anything wrong of her dear husband's family, if all the 'spectres' in the world told her so." "Well, I hope you are safe, but as for me--" "Oh, you are, too. You are within my gates. To touch you, is to touch me. She fully realizes that. Besides brother Thomas is her abject tool in most things; but some things even he would not allow." Yes, Captain John Alden, son of that John Alden who was told by the pretty Puritan maiden, "Speak for yourself John," when he went pleading the love-suit of his friend Captain Miles Standish; John Alden, captain of the only vessel of war belonging to the colony, a man of large property, and occupying a place in the very front rank of Boston society, had been arrested for witchcraft! What a state of insanity the religious delusion had reached, can be seen by this high-handed proceeding. Here again we come on to ground in which the details given in the old manuscript book, are fully confirmed, in every essential particular by existing public records. Mr. Upham, whose admirable account of "Salem Witchcraft" has been of great aid to me in the preparation of this volume, is evidently puzzled to account for Captain Alden's arrest. He is not able to see how the gallant Captain could have excited the ire of the "afflicted circle." He seems to have been entirely ignorant of this case of Dulcibel Burton--hers doubtless being one of the many cases in which the official records were purposely destroyed. If he had known of this case, he would have seen the connection between it and Captain Alden. It also might have explained the continual allusions to the "yellow bird" in so many of the trials--based possibly on Dulcibel's canary, which had been given to her by the Captain, and whose habit of kissing her lips with its little bill had appeared so mysterious and diabolical to the superstitious inhabitants of Salem village. Master Raymond's health, as is not to be wondered at, had improved sufficiently by the next day, to allow of his accompanying Joseph Putnam to the village, to attend Captain Alden's examination. The meeting-house was even more crowded than usual, such was the absorbing interest taken in the case, owing to the Captain's high standing in the province. The veteran Captain's own brief account of this matter, which has come down to us, does not go into many details, and is valuable mainly as showing that he regarded it very much in the same light that it is regarded now--owing probably to the fact that while a church member in good standing, he doubtless was a good deal better seaman than church member. For he says he was "sent for by the Magistrates of Salem, upon the accusation of a company of poor distracted or possessed creatures or witches." And he speaks further of them as "wenches who played their juggling tricks, falling down, crying out, and staring in people's faces." The worthy Captain's account is however, as I have said, very brief--and has the tone of one who had been a participant, however unwillingly, in a grossly shameful affair, alike disgraceful to the colony and to everybody concerned in it. For some additional details, I am indebted to the manuscript volume. Captain Alden had not been arrested in Boston. He says himself in his statement, that "he was sent to Salem by Mr. Stoughton"--the Deputy Governor, and Chief-Justice of the Special Court that had condemned and executed Bridget Bishop, and which was now about to meet again. Before the meeting of the magistrates, Master Raymond had managed to have a few words with him in private, and found that no arrangements with any skipper had yet been made. The first negotiations had fallen through, and there was no other foreign vessel at that time in port whose master possessed what Captain Alden considered the requisite trustworthiness and daring. For he wanted a skipper that would show fight if he was pursued and overtaken; not that any actual fighting would probably be necessary, for a simple show of resistance would doubtless be all that was needed. "When I get back to Boston, I think I shall be able to arrange matters in the course of a week or two." "What--in Boston jail?" queried Master Raymond. "You do not suppose the magistrates will commit me on such a trumped-up nonsensical charge as this?" said the stout old captain indignantly. "Indeed I do," was the reply. "Why, there is not a particle of truth in it. I never saw these girls. I never even heard of their being in existence." "Oh, that makes no difference." "The devil it doesn't!" said the old man, hotly. My readers must remember that he was a seaman. Here the sheriff came up and told the Captain he was wanted. CHAPTER XXV. Captain Alden before the Magistrates. There was an additional magistrate sitting on this occasion, Master Bartholomew Gedney--making three in all. Mistress Ann Putnam, the she-wolf, as her young brother-in-law had called her, was not present among the accusers--leaving the part of the "afflicted" to be played by the other and younger members of the circle. There was another Captain present, also a stranger, a Captain Hill; and he being also a tall man, perplexed some of the girls at first. One even pointed at him, until she was better informed in a whisper by a man who was holding her up. And then she cried out that it was "Alden! Alden!" who was afflicting her. At length one of the magistrates ordering Captain Alden to stand upon a chair, there was no further trouble upon that point; and the usual demonstrations began. As the accused naturally looked upon the "afflicted" girls, they went off into spasms, shrieks and convulsions. This was nearly always the first proceeding, as it created a profound sympathy for them, and was almost sufficient of itself to condemn the accused. "The tall man is pinching me!" "Oh, he is choking me!" "He is choking me! do hold his hands!" "He stabs me with his sword--oh, take it away from him!" Such were the exclamations that came from the writhing and convulsed girls. "Turn away his head! and hold his hands!" cried Squire Hathorne. "Take away his sword!" said Squire Gedney while the old Captain grew red and wrathful at the babel around him, and at the indignities to which he was subject. "Captain Alden, why do you torment these poor girls who never injured you?" "Torment them!--you see I am not touching them. I do not even know them; I never saw them before in my life," growled the indignant old seaman. "See! there is the little yellow bird kissing his lips!" cried Abigail Williams. "Now it is whispering into his ear. It is bringing him a message from the other witch Dulcibel Burton. See! see! there it goes back again to her--through the window!" So well was this done, that probably half of the people present would have been willing to swear the next day, that they actually saw the yellow bird as she described it. "Ask him if he did not give her the yellow bird," said Leah Herrick. "But probably he will lie about it." "Did you not give the witch, Dulcibel Burton, a yellow bird, which is one of her familiars?" said Squire Hathorne sternly. "I gave her a canary bird that I brought from the West Indies, if that is what you mean," replied the Captain. "But what harm was there in that?" "I knew it! The yellow bird told me so, when it came to peck out my eyes," cried Mercy Lewis. "Oh! there it is again!" and she struck wildly into the air before her face. "Drive it away! Do drive it away, some one!" Here a young man pulled out his rapier, and began thrusting at the invisible bird in a furious manner. "Now it comes to me!" cried Sarah Churchill. And then the other girls also cried out, and began striking into the air before their faces, till there was anew a perfect babel of cries, shrieks and sympathizing voices. Master Raymond, amid all his indignation at such barefaced and wicked and yet successful imposture, could hardly avoid smiling at the expression of the old seaman's face as he stood on the chair, and fronted all this tempest of absurd and villainous accusation. At first there had been a deep crimson glow of the hottest wrath upon the old man's cheeks and brow; but now he seemed to have been shocked into a kind of stupor, so unexpected and weighty were the charges against him, and made with such vindictive fierceness; and yet so utterly absurd, while at the same time, so impossible of being refuted. "He bought the yellow bird from Tituba's mother--her spectre told me so!" cried Abigail Williams. "What do you say to that, Master Alden?" said Squire Gedney. "That is a serious charge." "I never saw any Tituba or her mother," exclaimed the Captain, again growing indignant. "Who then did you buy the witch's familiar of?" asked Squire Hathorne. "I do not know--some old negro wench!" Here the magistrates looked at each other sagely, and nodded their wooden heads. It was a fatal admission. "You had better confess all, and give glory to God!" said Squire Gedney solemnly. "I trust I shall always be ready to give glory to God," answered the old man stoutly; "but I do not see that it would glorify Him to confess to a pack of lies. You have known me for many years, Master Gedney, but did you ever know me to speak an untruth, or seek to injure any innocent persons, much less women and children?" Squire Gedney said that he had known the accused many years, and had even been at sea with him, and had always supposed him to be an honest man; but now he saw good cause to alter that judgment. "Turn and look now again upon those afflicted persons," concluded Squire Gedney. As the accused turned and again looked upon them, all of the "afflicted" fell down on the floor as if he had struck them a heavy blow--moaning and crying out against him. "I judge you by your works; and believe you now to be a wicked man and a witch," said Squire Gedney in a very severe tone. Captain Alden turned then and looked directly at the magistrate for several moments. "Why does not my look knock you down too?" he said indignantly. "If it hurts them so much, would it not hurt you a little?" "He wills it not to hurt you," cried Leah Herrick. "He is looking at you, but his spectre has its back towards you." There was quite a roar of applause through the crowded house at such an exposure of the old Captain's trickery. He was very cunning to be sure; but the "afflicted" girls could see through his knavery. "Make him touch the poor girls," said the Reverend Master Noyes. For it was the accepted theory that by doing this, the witch, in spite of himself, reabsorbed into his own body the devilish energy that had gone out of him, and the afflicted were healed. This was repeatedly done through the progress of these examinations and the after trials; and was always found to be successful, both as a cure of the sufferers, and an undeniable proof that the person accused was really a witch. In this case the "afflicted" girls were brought up to Captain Alden, one after the other and upon his being made to touch them with his hand, they invariably drew a deep breath of relief, and said they felt entirely well again. "You see Captain Alden," said Squire Gedney solemnly, "none of the tests fail in your case. If there were only one proof, we might doubt; but as the Scripture says, by the mouths of two or three witnesses shall the truth be established. If you were innocent a just God would not allow you to be overcome in this manner." "I know that there is a just God, and I know that I am entirely innocent" replied the noble old seaman in a firm voice. "But it is not for an uninspired man like me, to attempt to reconcile the mysteries of His providence. Far better men than I am, even prophets and apostles, have been brought before magistrates and judges, and their good names lied away, and they condemned to the prison and the scaffold and the cross. Why then, should I expect to fare better than they did? All I can do, like Job of old, is to maintain my integrity--even though Satan and all his imps be let loose for a time against me." Here the Reverend Master Noyes rose excitedly, and said that the decisions of heathen courts and judges were one thing; and the decisions of godly magistrates, who were all members of the church of the true God, and therefore inspired by his spirit, was a very different thing. He said it was simply but another proof of the guilt of the accused, that he should compare himself with the apostles and the martyrs; and these worshipful Christian magistrates with heathen magistrates and judges. Hearing him talk in this ribald way, he could no longer doubt the accusation brought against him; for there was no surer proof of a man or woman having dealings with Satan, than to defame and calumniate God's chosen people. As Mr. Noyes took his seat, the magistrates said they had heard sufficient, and ordered the committal of the accused to Boston prison to await trial. "I will give bail for Captain Alden's appearance, to the whole amount of my estate," said Joseph Putnam coming forward. "A man of his age, who has served the colony in so many important positions, should be treated with some leniency." "We are very sorry for the Captain," answered Squire Gedney, "but as this is a capital offence, no bail can be taken." "Thank you, Master Putnam, but I want no bail," said the old seaman proudly. "If the colony of Massachusetts Bay, which my father helped to build up, and for which I have labored so long and faithfully, chooses to requite my services in this ungrateful fashion, let it be so. The shame is on Massachusetts not on me!" CHAPTER XXVI. Considering New Plans. "Well, what now?" said Master Joseph Putnam to his guest, as they rode homeward. "You might give up the sea-route and try a push through the wilderness to the Hudson River." "Rather dangerous that." "Yes, unless you could secure the services of some heathen savages to pilot you through." "Could we trust them?" "Twenty years ago, according to my father's old stories, we could; but they are very bitter now--they do not keep much faith with white men. "Perhaps the white men have not kept much faith with them." "Of course not. You know they are the heathen; and we have a Bible communion to exterminate them, and drive them out of our promised land." "Do you believe that?" "Well, not exactly," and Master Joseph laughed. "Besides, I think the Quaker plan both cheaper in the end and a great deal safer. Not that I believe they have any more right to the land than we have." "Penn and the Quakers think differently." "I know they do--but they are a set of crazy enthusiasts." "What is your view? That of your ministers? The earth is the Lord's. He has given it to His saints. We are the saints." Master Joseph laughed again. "Well, something like that. The earth is the Lord's. He has intended it for the use of His children. We are His children quite as much as the savages. Therefore we have as much right to it as they have." "Only they happen to be in possession," replied Master Raymond, drily. "Are they in possession? So far as they are actually in possession, I admit their right. But do you seriously mean that a few hundred or thousand of wild heathen, have a right to prior occupancy to the whole North American continent? It seems to me absurd?" "A relative of mine has ten square miles in Scotland that he never occupies, in your sense of the word any more than your red-men do; and yet he is held to have a valid right to it, against the hundreds of peasants who would like to enter in and take possession." "Oh, plenty of things are done wrong in the old world," replied Master Putnam; "that is why we Puritans are over here. But still the fact remains that the earth is the Lord's and that He intended it for His children's use; and no merely legal or personal right can be above that. If ever the time comes that your relative's land is really needed by the people at large, why then some way will have to be contrived to get hold of it for them." "The Putnam family have a good many broad acres too," said Master Raymond, with a smile, looking around him. "Oh, you cannot scare me," replied his friend, also smiling. "What is sauce for the Campbell goose is sauce for the Putnam gander. If the time ever comes when the public good requires that the broad lands of the Putnams--if there be any Putnams at that time--have to be appropriated to meet the wants of their fellow men, then the broad Putnam lands will have to go like the rest, I imagine. We have taken them from the Indians, just as the Normans took them from the Saxons--and as the Saxons took them from the Danes and the ancient inhabitants--by the strong hand. But the sword can give no right--save as the claim of the public good is behind it. Show me that the public good requires it, and I am willing that the title-deeds for my own share of the broad Putnam lands shall be burnt up tomorrow." "I believe you, my dear friend," said Master Raymond, gazing with admiration upon the manly, glowing face of this nature's nobleman. "And I am inclined to think that your whole view of the matter is correct. But, coming back to our first point, do you know of any savage that we could trust to guide us safely to the settlements on the Hudson?" "If old king Philip, whose head has been savagely exposed to all weathers on the gibbet at Plymouth for the last sixteen years, were alive, something perhaps might be done. His safeguard would have carried you through." "Is there not another chief, called Nucas?" "Oh, old Nucas, of the Mohegans. He was a character! But he died ten years ago. Lassacus, too, was killed. There are a couple of Pequod settlements down near New Haven I believe; but they are too far off." "And then you could not tell me where to put my hand on some dozen or so of the Indians, whom I might engage as a convoy." "Not now. A roving party may pass in the woods at any time. But they would not be very reliable. If they could make more by selling your scalps than by keeping them safely on your heads, they would be pretty sure to sell them." "Then I see nothing to do, but to go again to Boston, and arrange another scheme on the old plan." "You ought not to travel long in Dulcibel's company without being married," said Master Putnam bluntly. "Very true--but we can not well be married without giving our names to the minister; and to do that, would be to deliver ourselves up to the authorities." "Mistress Putnam and myself might accompany you to New York--we should not mind a little trip." "And thus make yourselves parties to Dulcibel's escape? No, no, my good friend--that would be to put you both in prison in her place." "It is not likely there would be any other woman on board the vessel--that is of any reputation. You must try to get some one to go with you." "And incur the certainty of punishment when she returns?" "Perhaps you could find some one who would like to settle permanently in New York. I should like to go myself if I could, and get out of this den of wild beasts." "Yes, I may be able to do that--though I shall not dare to try that until the last day almost--for the women always have some man to consult, and thus our secret plan would get blown about, to our great peril." "I have a scheme!" cried Master Joseph in exultation. "It is the very thing," and he burst out laughing. "Kidnap Cotton Mather, or one of the other Boston ministers, and take him with you." "That would be a bold stroke," replied Master Raymond, also laughing heartily. "But, like belling the cat, it is easier said than done. Ministers are apt to be cautious and wary. They are timid folk." "Not when a wedding is to be solemnized, and a purse of gold-pieces is shaken before them," returned Master Putnam. "Have everything ready to sail. Then decoy the minister on board, to marry a wealthy foreign gentleman, a friend of the skipper's--and do not let him go again. Pay him enough and the skipper will think it a first rate joke." "But he might be so angry that he would refuse to marry us after all our trouble." "Oh, do not you believe that--if you make the fee large enough. Treat him kindly, represent to him the absolute necessity of the case, say that you never would have thought of such a thing if it could in any way have been avoided, and I'll warrant he will do the job before you reach New York." "I wish I felt as certain as you do." "Well, suppose he will not be mollified. What then? Your end is attained. He has acted as chaperon, and involuntary master of propriety whether he would or not. A minister is just as good as a matron to chaperon the maiden. Of course he will have his action for damages against you, and you will be willing to pay him fairly, but if he brings you before a jury of New Yorkers, and you simply relate the facts, and the necessity of the case, little will he get of damages beyond a plentiful supply of jokes and laughter. You know there is very little love lost between the people of the two colonies; and that the Manhattan people have no more respect for all the witchcraft business, than you and I have." Master Raymond made no reply. He did not want to kidnap a minister, if it could be in any way avoided. With Master Putnam, however, that seemed to be one of the most desirable features of the proposed plan, only he was tenfold more sorry now than ever, that such weighty prudential reasons prevented his taking any active share in the enterprise. To kidnap a minister--especially if it could be the Reverend Cotton Mather--seemed to him something which was worth almost the risking of his liberty and property in which to take a hand. CHAPTER XXVII. The Dissimulation of Master Raymond. About this time the gossips of Salem village began to remark upon the attentions that were being paid by the wealthy young Englishman, Master Ellis Raymond, to various members of the "afflicted circle." He petted those bright and terribly precocious children of twelve, Ann Putnam and Abigail Williams; he almost courted the older girls, Mary Walcot, Mercy Lewis and Leah Herrick and had a kindly word for Mary Warren, Sarah Churchill and others, whenever he saw them. As for Mistress Ann Putnam, the mother, he always had been very respectful to her. While in Boston he had purchased quite an assortment of those little articles which the Puritan elders usually denominated "gew-gaws" and "vain adornments" and it was observed that Abigail Williams especially had been given a number of these, while the other girls had one or more of them, which they were very careful in not displaying except at those times when no grave elder or deacon was present to be shocked by them. I will acknowledge that there was some dissimulation in this conduct of Master Raymond's, and Joseph Putnam by no means approved of it. "How you can go smiling around that den of big and little she-wolves, patting the head of one, and playing with the paw of another, I cannot understand, friend Raymond. I would not do it to save my life." "Nor I," answered Master Raymond gravely. "But I would do it to save your life, friend Joseph, or that of your sweet young wife there--or that of the baby which she holds upon her knee." "Or that of Mistress Dulcibel Burton!" added sweet Mistress Putnam kindly. "Yes, or that of Dulcibel Burton." "You know, my dear friends, the plan I have in view may fail. If that should fail, I am laying the foundation of another--so that if Dulcibel should be brought to trial, the witnesses that are relied upon may fail to testify so wantonly against her. Even little Abigail Williams has the assurance and ingenuity to save her, if she will." "Yes, that precocious child is a very imp of Satan," said Joseph Putnam. "What a terrible woman she will make." "Oh, no, she may sink down into a very tame and commonplace woman, after this tremendous excitement is over," rejoined his friend. "I think at times I see symptoms of it now. The strain is too great for her childish brain." "Well, I suppose your dissimulation is allowable if it is to save the life of your betrothed," said Master Putnam, "but I would not do it if I could and I could not if I would." "Do you remember Junius Brutus playing idiot--and King David playing imbecile?" "Oh, I know you have plenty of authority for your dissimulation." "It seems to me," joined in young Mistress Putnam, "that the difference between you is simply this. Joseph could not conscientiously do it; and you can." "Yes, that is about the gist of it," said her young husband. "And now that I have relieved my conscience by protesting against your course, I am satisfied you should go on in your own way just the same." "And yet you feel no conscientious scruples against abducting the minister," rejoined Raymond laughing; "a thing which I am rather loath to do." "I see," replied Joseph, also laughing. "I scruple at taking mustard, and you at cayenne pepper. It is a matter of mental organization probably." "Yes--and if a few or many doses of mustard will prevent my being arrested as a witch, which would put it entirely out of my power to aid Dulcibel in her affliction--and perhaps turn some of the "afflicted" girls over to her side, in case she has to stand a trial for her life--I shall certainly swallow them with as much grace as if they were so many spoonfuls of honey. There is a time to be over-scrupulous, friend Joseph, but not when my beloved one is in the cage of the tigers. Yes, I shall not hesitate to meet craft with craft." And Mistress Putnam, sweet, good woman as she was, nodded her head, woman-like, approvingly, carried away perhaps by the young man's earnestness, and by the strength of his love. CHAPTER XXVIII. The Cruel Doings of the Special Court. Meanwhile the Special Court of seven Judges--a majority of whom were from Boston, with the Deputy Governor of the Colony, William Stoughten, as Chief-Justice--was by no means indolent. Of the proceedings of this court, which embodied apparently the best legal intellect of the colony, no official record is in existence. Its shameful pages, smeared all over with bigotry and blood, no doubt were purposely destroyed. So far as we are acquainted with the evidence given before it, it was substantially the same as had been given at the previous examinations before the committing magistrates. That nothing was too extravagant and absurd to be received as evidence by this learned court, is proven by the statement of the Reverend Cotton Mather, already alluded to, relative to a demon entering the meeting-house and tearing down a part of it, in obedience to a look from Mistress Bridget Bishop--of which diabolical outrage the Court was duly informed. Besides, there could have been no other kind of evidence forthcoming, that would apply to the crime of which all the accused were charged, Witchcraft. Many of the prisoners indeed were accused of murdering children and others, whose illness had been beyond the physician's power to cure; but the murders were all committed, it was alleged, by the use of "spectres," "familiars," "puppets," and other supernatural means. Against such accusations it was impossible for men and women of the highest character and reputation to make any effectual defence, before a court and jury given over so completely to religious fanaticism and superstitious fancies. To be accused was therefore to be condemned. Yes, this Special Court, having had all its misgivings, if it ever really had any, quieted by the answer of the council of ministers, was doing quick and fearful work. Meeting again in the latter part of June, it speedily tried, convicted and sentenced to death five persons:--Sarah Good, Sarah Wildes, Elizabeth How, Susanna Martin and Rebecca Nurse. Then, adjourning till August 5th, it tried and convicted George Burroughs, John Procter, Elizabeth Procter, George Jacobs, John Willard and Martha Carrier. Then meeting on September 9th, it tried and condemned Martha Corey, Mary Easty, Alice Parker and Ann Pudcator; and on September 17th, Margaret Scott, Wilmot Reed, Samuel Wardwell and Mary Parker. It will be noticed that of the above nineteen persons, only five were men. As the greater number of the accusers were also of the female sex, it was natural, I suppose, that this should be so. And thus we find that the word witch is applied indifferently in the old records, to men and women; the masculine term wizard being seldom used. That the learned Judges were fully as superstitious as the people at large, is conclusively proved by certain facts that have come down to us. In the case of that lovely and venerable matron, Rebecca Nurse, the jury at first brought in the verdict "Not guilty." But immediately all the accusers in the Court, and all the "afflicted" out of it, made a hideous outcry. Two of the Judges said they were not satisfied. The Chief-Justice intimated that there was one admission of the prisoner that the jury had not properly considered. These things induced the jurors to go out again, and come back with a verdict of "Guilty." One of the charges against Rebecca Nurse, testified to by Edward Putnam, was that, after the said Rebecca Nurse had been committed to jail, and was thus several miles distant in the town of Salem, "she, the said Nurse, struck Mistress Ann Putnam with her spectral chain, leaving a mark, being a kind of round ring, and three streaks across the ring. She had six blows with a chain in the space of half-an-hour; and she had one remarkable one, with six streaks across her arm. Ann Putnam, Jr., also was bitten by the spectre of the said Rebecca Nurse about two o'clock of the day. I, Edward Putnam, saw the marks, both of bite and chains." It was a great hardship in all these trials, that the prisoners were not allowed any counsel; while on the other hand, the members of the Court seemed to take it for granted from the first, that they were guilty. The only favor allowed them was the right of objecting to a certain extent to those jurors whose fairness they mistrusted. One of the accused, a reputable and aged farmer named Giles Corey, refused to plead. His wife, Martha Corey, was among the convicted. At her examination, some time previous, he had allowed himself to testify in certain respects against her; involved as he was for a time in the prevailing delusion. But he was a man of strong mind and character; and though not entirely able to throw off the chains which superstition had woven around him, he repented very sorely the part he had taken against his wife. This was enough to procure his own accusation. The "afflicted girls" brought their usual complaints that his spectre tormented them. They fell down and shrieked so wildly at his examination, that Squire Hathorne asked him with great indignation, "Is it not enough that you should afflict these girls at other times without doing it now in our presence?" The honest and sturdy man was visibly affected. He knew he was not consciously doing anything; but what could it all mean? If he turned his head, the girls said he was hurting them and turned their heads the same way. The Court ordered his hands tied--and then the girls said they were easier. But he drew in his cheeks, after a habit he had, and the cheeks of the girls were sucked in also, giving them great pain. The old man was fairly dumfounded. When however one of the girls testified that Goodman Corey had told her that he saw the devil in the shape of a black hog in the cow-house, and was very much frightened by it, the spirited old man said that he never was frightened by man or devil in his life. But he had a fair property, and two sons-in-law to whom he wished to leave it. He knew well that if he were tried he would be convicted, and that would carry with it the confiscation of his property. So, as other noble-hearted men had done in that and the previous age, he refused when brought before the Special Court, to plead either "guilty" or "not guilty." In these later times the presiding Judge would simply order a plea of "not guilty" to be entered, and the trial would proceed. But then it was otherwise--the accused himself must plead, or the trial could not go on. Therefore he must be made to plead--by placing heavy weights upon his breast, and adding to them until the accused either agreed to plead, or died under the torture. In which last case, the prisoner lost his life as contumacious; but gained his point of preserving his estate, and title of nobility if he had any, to his family. So, manly old Giles Corey, remorseful for the fate he had helped to bring upon his wife, and determined that his children should inherit the property he had acquired, maintained a determined silence when brought before the Special Court. Being warned, again and again, he simply smiled. He could bear all that they in their cruel mockery of justice could inflict upon him. Joseph Putnam and Master Raymond rode down to Salem that day--to the orchard where the brave old man was led out of jail to meet his doom. They saw him, tied hand and foot, and heavy flat stones and iron weights laid one by one upon him. "More! More!" pleaded the old man at last. "I shall never yield. But, if ye be men, make the time short!" "I cannot stand this," said Master Raymond. "We are powerless to help him--let us go." "To torture an old man of eighty years in this way! What a sight for this new world!" exclaimed Master Putnam, as they turned their horses' heads and rode off. His executioners took Giles Corey at his word. They knew the old man would never yield. So they mercifully heaped the heavy weights upon him until they had crushed out his life. CHAPTER XXIX. Dulcibel's Life in Prison. Dulcibel's life in prison was of course a very monotonous one. She did not suffer however as did many other women of equally gentle nature. In the jails of Ipswich, Boston and Cambridge, there were keepers who conformed in most cases strictly to the law. In many instances delicate and weakly women, often of advanced years, were chained, hands and feet, with heavy irons, night and day. But Robert Foster and his son, who assisted him as under-keeper, while indulging before the marshal and the constables in the utmost violence and severity of language, and who were supposed to be strict enforcers of all the instructions received from the magistrates, were as we have seen, at heart, very liberal and kind-hearted men. And the only fear the prisoners had, was that they would throw up their positions some day in disgust. Uncle Robie often declared to Dulcibel that he would, when she was once fairly out of the clutches of her enemies. Every now and then instructions would come to jailer Foster from one of the magistrates--generally Squire Hathorne--to put heavier irons on some one of the prisoners, whose spectre was still tormenting the "afflicted girls." It being generally held that the more heavily you chained a witch, the less able she was to afflict her victims. And at these times Master Foster would get out his heaviest irons, parade them before the eyes of the constables, declare in a fierce tone what he was about to do, get the constable off on one pretext or another--and do nothing. It was thought best and wisest for neither Master Joseph Putnam nor Master Raymond to seek many interviews with Dulcibel; the means of intercourse between the two lovers being restricted to little notes, which goodwife Buckley, who frequently visited the maiden, transmitted from one to the other through the agency of either her husband or of Joseph Putnam. This kept them both in heart; and Dulcibel being sustained by the frequent assurances of her lover's devotion, and by the hope of escape, kept the roses of her cheeks in marvelous bloom during her close confinement. One of the constables, who managed to get sight of her one day through the half-opened door of her cell, expressed surprise to the jailer that she should still look so blooming, considering the weight of the heavy chains to which she was continually subjected. "And why should not the young witch look so?" replied the jailer. "Is not her spectre riding around on that devil's mare half the night, and having a good time of it?" The constable assented to this view of the case; and his suspicions, if he had any, were quieted. In fact even Squire Hathorne himself probably would have been perfectly satisfied with an explanation of so undeniable a character. Of course it was not considered prudent by Uncle Robie, that the furniture or general appearance of Dulcibel's cell should be changed in the least for the better. Not even a bunch of flowers that Goodwife Buckley once brought to Dulcibel, could be allowed to remain there. While in a corner of the cell, lay the heavy chains which, if the marshal or one of the magistrates, should insist upon seeing the prisoner, could be slipped on her wrists and ankles in a few minutes. Fortunately, however, for Dulcibel, the interest of all these was now centered upon the trials that were in progress, the contumacious obstinacy of Giles Corey, the host of new accusations at Ipswich and other neighboring places, and the preparations for the execution of those already condemned to death. If they had a passing thought of the young witch Dulcibel Burton, it was that her time would come rapidly around in its turn, when speedy justice no doubt would be done to her. As to Antipas, her faithful servitor, he had relapsed again into his old staidness and sobriety in the comparative quietude of the prison. Only on the day of Giles Corey's execution had the prevailing excitement attending that event, and which naturally affected the constables and jailers, made him raging. To pass the constable's inspection, as well as for his own safety, the jailer had chained him; but his voice could be heard ringing through the closed door of his cell at intervals from morning till evening. The burden of his thoughts seemed to be a blending of denunciation and exultation. The predictions of the four Quakers executed many years before on Boston common, and those of men and women who had been whipped at the cart's tail through the towns of the colony, evidently seemed to him in progress of fulfillment:-- "They have torn the righteous to pieces; now the judgment is upon them, and they are tearing each other! Woe to the bloody towns of Boston and Salem and Ipswich! Satan is let loose by the Lord upon them! They have slain the saints, they have supped full of innocent blood; now the blood of their own sons, their own daughters, is filling the cup of God's vengeance! They have tortured the innocent women, the innocent children--and banished them and sold them to the Philistines as slaves. But the Lord will avenge His own elect! They are given up to believe a lie! The persecutors are persecuting each other! They are pressing each other to death beneath heavy stones! They are hanging each other on the gallows of Haman! Where they hung the innocent, they are hanging themselves! Oh, God! avenge now the blood of thy Saints! As they have done, let it be done unto them! Whip and kill! Whip and kill! Ha! ha! ha!"--and with a blood-curdling laugh that rang through the narrow passages of the prison, the insane old man would fall down for a time on his bed exhausted. That was an awful day, both outside and inside the prison--for all the prisoners knew what a savage death old Giles Corey was meeting. It seemed to Dulcibel afterwards, that if she had not been sustained by the power of love, and a hopeful looking forward to other scenes, she must have herself gone crazy during that and the other evil days that were upon them. To some of the prisoners, the most fragile and sensitive ones, even the hour of their execution seemed to come as a relief. Anything, to get outside of those close dark cells--and to make an end of it! CHAPTER XXX. Eight Legal Murders on Witch Hill. A mile or so outside of the town of Salem, the ground rises into a rocky ledge, from the top of which, to the south and the east and the west, a vast expanse of land and sea is visible. You overlook the town; the two rivers, or branches of the sea, between which the town lies; the thickly wooded country, as it was then, to the south and west; and the wide, open sea to the eastward. Such a magnificent prospect of widespread land and water is seldom seen away from the mountain regions; and, as one stands on the naked brow of the hill, on a clear summer day, as the sunset begins to dye the west, and gazes on the scene before and around him, he feels that the heavens are not so very far distant, and as if he could almost touch with these mortal hands the radiance and the glory. The natural sublimity of this spot seems to have struck the Puritan fathers of Salem, and looking around on its capabilities, they appear to have come to the conclusion that of all places it was the one expressly designed by the loving Father of mankind for--a gallows! "Yes, the very spot for a gallows!" said the first settlers. "The very spot!" echoed their descendants. "See, the wild "Heathen Salvages" can behold it from far and near; the free spoken, law-abiding sailors can descry it, far out at sea; and both know by this sign that they are approaching a land of Christian civilization and of godly law!" I think if I were puzzled for an emblem to denote the harsher and more uncharitable side of the Puritan character, I should pick out this gallows on Witch Hill near Salem, as being a most befitting one. This was the spot where, as we have already related, approaching it from the north, Master Raymond had his interview with jailer Foster. But that was night, and it was so dark that Master Raymond had no idea of its commanding so fine a view of both land and water. He had been in Boston during the execution of poor Bridget Bishop; and though he had often seen the gallows from below, and wondered at the grim taste which had reared it in such a conspicuous spot, he had never felt the least desire, but rather a natural aversion, to approach the place where such an unrighteous deed had been enacted. But now the carpenters had been again at work and supplanted the old scaffolding by another and larger one. Now the uprights had been added too--and on the beam which they supported there was room for at least ten persons. This seemed to be enough space to Marshall Herrick and Squire Hathorne; though at the rate the arrests and convictions were going on, it might be that one-half of the people in the two Salems and in Ipswich, would be hung in the course of a year or so by the other half. But for this special hanging, only eight ropes and nooses were prepared. The workmen had been employed the preceding afternoon; and now in the fresh morning light, everything was ready; and eight of those who had been condemned were to be executed. The town, and village, and country around turned out, as was natural, in a mass, to see the terrible sight. And yet the crowd was comparatively a small one, the colony then being so thinly settled. But this, to Master Raymond's eyes, gave a new horror to the scene. If there had been a crowd like that when London brought together its thousands at Tyburn, it would have seemed less appalling. But here were a few people--not alienated from each other by ancestral differences in creed or politics, and who had never seen each other's faces before--but members of the same little band which had fled together from their old home, holding the same political views, the same religious faith; who had sat on the same benches at church, eaten at the same table of the Lord's supper, near neighbors on their farms, or in the town and village streets; now hunting each other down like wolves, and hanging each other up in cold blood! This it was that set apart the Salem persecution from all other persecutions of those old days against witches and heretics; and which has given it a painful pre-eminence in horror. It was neighbor hanging neighbor; and brother and sister persecuting to death with the foulest lies and juggling tricks their spiritual brothers and sisters. And the plea of "delusion" will not excuse it, except to those who have not investigated its studied cruelty and malice. Sheer, unadulterated wickedness had its full share in the persecution; and that wickedness can only be partly extenuated by the plea of possible insanity or of demoniacal possession. [Illustration: Marched from jail for the last time] The route to the gallows hill was a rough and difficult one; but the condemned were marched from the jail for the last time, one by one, and compelled to walk attended by a small guard and a rude and jeering company. There was Rebecca Nurse, infirm but venerable and lovely, the beloved mother of a large family; there was the Reverend George Burroughs, a small dark man, whose great physical strength was enough, as the Reverend Increase Mather, then President of Harvard College, said, to prove he was a witch; but who did not believe in infant baptism, and probably was not up to the orthodox standard of the day in other respects, though in conduct a very correct and exemplary man; there was old John Procter, with his two staffs, and long thin white hair; there was John Willard, a good, innocent young man, lied to death by Susanna Sheldon, aged eighteen; there was unhappy Martha Carrier four of whose children, one a girl of eight, had been frightened into testifying before the Special Court against her; saying that their mother had taken them to a witch meeting, and that the Devil had promised her that she should be queen of hell; there was gentle, patient and saintlike Elizabeth How, with "Father, forgive them!" on her mild lips; and two others of whom we now know little, save that they were most falsely and wickedly accused. There also were the circle of the "afflicted," gazing with hard dry eyes on the murder they had done and with jeers and scoffs on their thin and cruel lips. There, too, were the reverend ministers, Master Parris of Salem village, and Master Noyes of Salem town, and Master Cotton Mather, who had come down from Boston in his black clothes, like a buzzard that scents death and blood a long way off, to lend his spiritual countenance to the terrible occasion. Master Noyes, however, the most of the time, seemed rather quiet and subdued. He was thinking perhaps of Sarah Good's fierce prediction, when he urged her, as she came up to the gallows to confess, saying to her that, "she was a witch, and she knew it!" Outraged beyond all endurance at this last insult at such a moment, Sarah Good cried out: "It is a lie! I am no more a witch than you are. God will yet give you blood to drink for this day's cruel work!" Which prediction it is said in Salem, came true--Master Noyes dying of an internal hemorrhage bleeding profusely at the mouth. It was not a scene that men of sound and kindly hearts would wish to witness; and yet Joseph Putnam and Ellis Raymond felt drawn to it by an irresistible sense of duty. Hard, indeed, it was for Master Raymond; for the necessity of the case compelled him to suppress all show of sympathy with the sufferer, in order that he might more effectually carry out his plans for Dulcibel's escape from the similar penalty that menaced her. And he, therefore, could not even ride around like Master Putnam, with a frowning face, uttering occasional emphatic expressions of his indignation and horror, that the crowd would probably not have endured from any one else. There were some incidents that were especially noticeable. Samuel Wardwell had "confessed" in his fear, but subsequently taken back his false confession, and met his death. While he was speaking at the foot of the gallows declaring his innocence, the tobacco smoke from the pipe of the executioner, blew into his face and interrupted him. Then one of the accusing girls laughed out, and said that "the Devil did hinder him," but Joseph Putnam cried, "If the Devil does hinder him, then it is good proof that he is not one of his." At which some few of the crowd applauded; while others said that Master Putnam himself was no better than he ought to be. The Reverend Master Burroughs, when upon the ladder, addressing the crowd, asserted earnestly his entire innocence. Such was the effect of his words that Master Raymond even hoped that an effort would be made to rescue him. But one of the "afflicted girls" cried out, "See! there stands the black man in the air at his side." Then another said, "The black man is telling him what to say." But Master Burroughs answered: "Then I will repeat the Lord's prayer. Would the Devil tell me to say that?" But when he had ended, Master Cotton Mather, who was riding around on his horse, said to the people that "the Devil often transformed himself into an angel of light; and that Master Burroughs was not a rightly ordained minister;" and the executioner at a sign from the official, cut the matter short by turning off the condemned man. Rebecca Nurse and the other women, with the exception of their last short prayers, said nothing--submitting quietly and composedly to their legal murder. And before the close of one short hour eight lifeless bodies hung dangling beneath the summer sun. Joseph Putnam and Master Raymond, and a few others upon whom the solemn words of the condemned had made an evident impression, turned away from the sad sight, and wiped their tearful eyes. But Master Parris and Master Noyes, and Master Cotton Mather seemed rather exultant than otherwise; though Master Noyes did say; "What a sad thing it is to see eight firebrands of hell hanging there!" But, as Master Cotton Mather more consistently answered: "Why should godly ministers be sad to see the firebrands of hell in the burning." Then, as the hours went on, the bodies were cut down, and stuck into short and shallow graves, dug out with difficulty between the rocks--in some instances, the ground not covering them entirely. There some remained without further attention; but, in the case of others, whose relatives were still true to them, there came loving hands by night, and bore the remains away to find a secret sepulcher, where none could molest them. But the gallows remained on the Hill, where it could be seen from a great distance; causing a thrill of wonder in the bosom of the wandering savage, as of the wandering sailor, gazing at its skeleton outline against the sunset sky from far out at sea--waiting for ten more victims! CHAPTER XXXI. A New Plan of Escape. About this time a new plan of escape was suggested to Master Raymond; coming to him in a note from Dulcibel. Master Philip English, one of the wealthiest inhabitants of Salem town, and his wife Mary, had been arrested--the latter a short time previous to her husband. He was a merchant managing a large business, owning fourteen houses in the town, a wharf, and twenty-one vessels. He had one of the best dwellings in Salem--situated at its eastern end, and having a fine outlook over the adjacent seas. He had probably offended some one in his business transactions; or, supposing that he was safely entrenched in his wealth and high social position, he might have expressed some decided opinions, relative to Mistress Ann Putnam and the "afflicted children." As for his wife, she was a lady of exalted character who had been an only child and had inherited a large property from her father. The deputy-marshall, Manning, came to arrest her in the night time, during her husband's absence. She had retired to her bed; but he was admitted to her chamber, where he read the warrant for her apprehension. He allowed her till morning, however, placing guards around the house that she might not escape. Knowing that such an accusation generally meant conviction and death, "she arose calmly in the morning, attended the family prayers, spoke to a near relative of the best plan for the education of her children, kissed them with great composure, amid their agony of cries and tears, and then told the officer that she was ready to die." On her examination the usual scene ensued, and the usual falsehoods were told. Perhaps the "afflicted girls" were a little more bitter than they would have been, had she not laughed outright at a portion of their testimony. She was a very nice person in her habits, and it was testified against her, that being out one day in the streets of Salem walking around on visits to her friends during a whole morning, notwithstanding the streets were exceedingly sloppy and muddy, it could not be perceived that her shoes and white stockings were soiled in the least. As we have said, at this singular proof of her being a witch, the intelligent lady had laughed outright. And this of course brought out the additional statement, that she had been carried along on the back of an invisible "familiar"--a spectral blue boar--the whole way. Of course this was sufficient, and she was committed for trial. And now wealthy Master Philip English and his wife were both in prison; and he daily concocting plans by which he might find himself on the deck of the fastest sailer of all those twenty-one vessels of his. Uncle Robie had thought this might be also a good opportunity for Dulcibel. And it struck Master Raymond the same way; while Master English had no objection, especially as it was mainly for Dulcibel that the jailer would open the prison doors. And this was better than the violence he had at first contemplated; for, as his vessels gradually began to accumulate in port, owing to the interruption to his business caused by his arrest, he had only to give the word, and a party of his sailors would have broken open the prison some dark night, and released him from captivity. The "Albatross," Master English's fastest sailer at length came into port; and the arrangements were speedily made. The first north-westerly wind, whether the night were clear or stormy--though of course with such a wind it would probably be clear--the attempt was to be made, immediately after midnight. Uncle Robie was to unlock the jail-doors, let them out, lock the doors again behind them, and have a plentiful supply of witch stories to account for the escape. And Master Raymond had some hopes also, that Abigail Williams would come to the jailer's support in anything that seemed to compromise him in the least; for he had promised to send her a beautiful gift from England, when he returned home again. And with such a sharpener to the vision, the precocious child would be able to see even more wonderful things than any she had already testified to. The favorable wind came at length, and with it an exceedingly propitious night; there being a moon just large enough to enable them to see their way, with not enough light to disclose anything sharply. Master Raymond had planned all along to take Dulcibel's horse also with them; and if he could ride the animal, it would obviate the necessity of taking another horse also, and being plagued what to do with it when they arrived at the prison. For he was very desirous that Master Putnam should not be in the least involved in the matter. Master Raymond therefore had been practising up in the woods for about a week, at what the minister had failed so deplorably in, the riding of the little black mare. At first he could absolutely do nothing with her; she would not be ridden by any male biped. But finally he adopted a suggestion of quick-witted Mistress Putnam. He put on a side saddle and a skirt, and rode the animal woman fashion--and all without the least difficulty. The little mare seeming to say by her behavior, "Ah, now, that is sensible. Why did you not do it before?" So, late on the evening appointed for the attempted escape, after taking an affectionate leave of his host and hostess, and putting a few necessary articles of apparel into a portmanteau strapped behind the saddle, Master Raymond started for Salem town. Leaving the village to the right, he made good time to the town, meeting no one at that late hour. He had covered the mare with a large horse-blanket, so that she should not easily be recognized by any one who might happen to meet them. There was a night watchman in Salem town; but a party of sailors had undertaken to get him off the principal street at the appointed hour, by the offer of refreshments at one of their haunts; and by this time he was too full of Jamaica spirits to walk very steadily or see very clearly. Arrived at the prison, Master Raymond found the Captain and mate of the "Albatross" impatiently awaiting him. It was not full time yet, but they concluded to give the signal, three hoots of an owl; which the mate gave with great force and precision. Still all seemed dark and quiet as before. Then they waited, walking up and down to keep the blood in their veins in motion, as the nights were a little cool. "It is full time now," said the Captain, "give the signal again, Brady." Brady gave it--if anything with greater force and precision than before. But not a sign from within. Had the jailer's courage given away at the last moment? Or could he have betrayed them? They paced up and down for an hour longer. It was evident that, for some reason or other, the plan had miscarried. "Well, there is no use awaiting here," exclaimed the Captain of the "Albatross" with an oath; "I am going back to the ship." Master Raymond acquiesced. There was no use in waiting longer. And so he re-donned his petticoat--much to the amusement of the seamen and started back to Master Putnam's arriving there in the darkest hours of the night, just before the breaking of the day. CHAPTER XXXII. Why the Plan Failed. The reason of the failure of the plan of escape may be gathered from a little conversation that took place between Squire Hathorne and Thomas Putnam the morning of the day fixed upon by Master Philip English. Thomas Putnam had called to see the magistrate at the suggestion of that not very admirable but certainly very sharp-witted wife of his. I do not suppose that Thomas Putnam was at all a bad man, but it is a lamentable sight to see, as we so often do, a good kind honest-hearted man made a mere tool of by some keen-witted and unscrupulous woman; in whose goodness he believes, in a kind of small-minded and yet not altogether ignoble spirit of devotion, mainly because she is a woman. Being a woman, she cannot be, as he foolishly supposes, the shallow-hearted, mischievous being that she really is. "Do you know, Squire, how Master English's sailors are talking around the wharves?" "No! What are the rascals saying?" "Well, Mistress Putnam has been told by a friend of hers in the town, that he heard a half-drunken sailor, belonging to one of Master English's vessels, say that they meant to tear down the jail some night, hang the jailers, and carry off their Master and Mistress." "Ah," said the Squire, "this must be looked into." "Another of the sailors is reported to have said, that if the magistrates attempted to hang Mistress English they would hang Squire Hathorne, and Squire Gedney, if they could catch him, by the side of her." "The impudent varlets!" exclaimed Squire Hathorne, his wine-red face growing redder. "Master English shall sweat for this. How many of his sailors are in port now?" "Oh, I suppose there are fifty of them; and all reckless, unprincipled men. To my certain knowledge, there is not a member of church among them." "The godless knaves!" cried the magistrate. "I should like to set the whole lot of them in the stocks, and then whip them out of the town at the cart's tail." "Yes, that is what they deserve, but then we cannot forget that they are necessary to the interests of the town--unless Salem is to give up all her shipping business--and these sailors are so clannish that if you strike one of them, you strike all. No, it seems to me, Squire, we had better take no public notice of their vaporing; but simply adopt means to counteract any plans they may be laying." "Well, what would you suggest, Master Putnam? Has Mistress Putnam any ideas upon the subject? I have always found her a very sensible woman." "Yes, my wife is a very remarkable woman if I do say it," replied Master Putnam. "Her plan is to send Master English and his wife off at once to Boston--that will save us all further trouble with them and their sailors." "A capital idea! It shall be carried out this very day," said the magistrate. "And she also suggests that the young witch woman, Dulcibel Burton, should be sent with them. That friend of my brother Joseph, is still staying around here; and Mistress Putnam does not exactly comprehend his motives for so long a visit." "Ah, indeed--what motive has he?" And Squire Hathorne rubbed his broad forehead. "There was some talk at one time of his keeping company with Mistress Burton." "What, the witch! that is too bad. For he seems like a rather pleasant young gentleman; and I hear he is the heir of a large estate in the old country." "Of course there may be nothing in it--but Mistress Putnam also heard from one of her female cronies the other day, that jailer Foster was at one time a mate on board Captain Burton's vessel." "Ah!" "And you know how very handsome that Mistress Dulcibel is; and, being besides a witch of great power, it seems to Mistress Putnam that it is exposing jailer Foster to very great temptation." "Mistress Putnam is quite correct," said Squire Hathorne. "Mistress Dulcibel had better be transferred to Boston also. There the worshipful Master Haughton has the power and the will to see that all these imps of Satan are kept safely." "As the seamen may be lying around and make a disturbance if the removal comes to their knowledge, Mistress Putnam suggested that it had better not be done until evening. It would be a night ride; but then, as Mistress Putnam said, witches rather preferred to make their journeys in the night time--so that it would be a positive kindness to the prisoners." "Very true! very well thought of!" replied Squire Hathorne, with a grim smile. "And no doubt they will be very thankful that we furnish them with horses instead of broomsticks. Though as for Mistress Dulcibel, I suppose she would prefer her familiar, the black mare, to any other animal." "That was very marvelous. Abigail Williams says that she is certain that the mare, after jumping the gate, never came down to earth again, but flew straight on up into the thundercloud." "And it thundered when the black beast entered the cloud, did it not?" said the magistrate in a sobered tone. He evidently saw nothing unreasonable in the story. "Yes--it thundered--but not the common kind of thunder--it was enough to make your flesh creep. The minister says he is only too thankful that the Satanic beast did throw him off. He might have been carried off to hell with her." "Yes, it was a very foolish thing to get on the back of a witch's familiar," said the magistrate. "It was tempting Providence. And Master Parris has cause for thankfulness that only such a mild reproof as a slight wetting, was allowed to be inflicted upon him. These are perilous times, Master Putnam. Satan is truly going about like a roaring lion, seeking what he may devour. Against this chosen seed,--this little remnant of God's people left upon the whole earth--no wonder that he is tearing and raging." "Ah me, my Christian friend, it is too true! And no wonder that he is so bold, and full of joyful subtlety. For is he not prevailing, in spite of all our efforts? You know there are at least four hundred members of what rightly calls itself the Church of England--for certainly it is not the church of Christ--in Boston alone! When the royal Governor made the town authorities give up the South Church--even our own Church, built with our own money--to their so-called Rector to hold their idolatrous services in, we might have known that Satan was at our doors!" "Oh, that such horrible things should happen in the godly town of Boston!" responded Squire Hathorne. "But when the King interfered between Justice and the Quakers, and forbade the righteous discipline we were exercising upon them, of course a door was opened for all other latitudinarianism and false doctrine. Why, I am told that there are now quite a number of Quakers in Boston; and that they even had the assurance to apply to the magistrates the other day, for permission to erect a meeting-house!" "Impossible!" exclaimed Master Putnam. "They ought to have been whipped out of their presence." "Yes," continued the worthy Magistrate irefully; "but when the King ordered that the right of voting for our rulers should no longer be restricted to church-members; but that every man of fair estate and good moral character, as he phrases it, should be allowed to vote, even if he is not a member at all, he aimed a blow at the very Magistracy itself." "Yes, that is worse than heresy! And how can a man possess a good moral character, without being a member of the true church?" "Of course--that is self-evident. But it shows how the righteous seed is being over-flooded with iniquity, even in its last chosen house; how our Canaan is being given up to the Philistines. And therefore it is, doubtless, that Satan, in the pride of his success, is introducing his emissaries into the very house of the Lord itself; and promising great rewards to them who will bow down and sign their names in his red book, and worship him. Ah! we have fallen on evil times, Master Putnam." And so the two worthy Puritans condoled with each other, until, Master Putnam, bethinking himself that he had some worldly business to attend to, Squire Hathorne proceeded to give the necessary directions for the removal of the three prisoners from Salem to Boston jail. This was accomplished that very night, as Mistress Putnam had suggested; Deputy Marshall Herrick and a constable guarding the party. Dulcibel occupied a pillion behind jailer Foster; Master English and his wife rode together; while Master Herrick and the constable each had a horse to himself. The original plan was for Dulcibel to ride behind Master Herrick; but upon jailer Foster representing that there might be some danger of a rescue, and offering to join the party, it was arranged that he should have special charge of Mistress Dulcibel, whom he represented to Herrick as being in his opinion a most marvelous witch. Uncle Robie's true reason for going, however, was that the jailer in Boston was an old friend of his, and he wished to speak a secret word to him that might insure Dulcibel kinder treatment than was usually given in Boston jail to any alleged transgressor. CHAPTER XXXIII. Mistress Ann Putnam's Fair Warning. In the course of the next day the removal of the three prisoners became known to everybody. Master Raymond wondered when he heard it, whether it was a check-mate to the plan of escape, with which the magistrates, in some way had become acquainted; or whether it was a mere chance coincidence. Finally he satisfied himself that it was the latter--though no doubt suggested by the rather loose threats of Master English's many sailors. When jailer Foster returned, he found means to inform Master Raymond that it had been entirely impossible--so suddenly was the whole thing sprung upon him--to let anyone in their secret know of what was going on. He had not even taken the assistant jailer, his own son, into his confidence, because he did not wish to expose him to needless danger. His son was not required to afford any help, and therefore it would be unwise to incur any risk of punishment. Besides, while Uncle Robie had made up his mind to do some tall lying of his own for the sake of saving innocent lives, he saw no reason why his son, should be placed under a similar necessity. Lying seemed to be absolutely needful in the case; but it was well to do as little of it as possible. From his conversation with Master Herrick, Uncle Robie concluded that nothing had been divulged; and that the magistrates had acted only on the supposition that trouble of some kind might result from the sailors. And, looked at from that point of view, it was quite sufficient to account for the removal of two of the prisoners. As to why Dulcibel also should be sent to Boston, he could get no satisfactory explanation. It seemed in fact to be a matter of mere caprice, so far as uncle Robie could find out. They had pushed on through the night to Boston--about a four hours' slow ride--and delivered the three prisoners safely to the keeper of Boston jail. Uncle Robie adding the assurance to Goodwife Buckley--who acted as Master Raymond's confidential agent in the matter--that he had spoken a word to his old crony who believed no more in witches than he did, which would insure to her as kind treatment as possible. And Robie further said that he had been assured by the Boston jailer, that Mistress Phips, the wife of the Governor, had no sympathy whatever with the witchcraft prosecutions, but a great deal of sympathy for the victims of it. The game was therefore played out at Salem, now that Dulcibel had been transferred to Boston; and Master Raymond began to make arrangements at once to leave the place. In some respects the change of scene was for the worse; for he had no hold upon the Boston jailer, and had no friend there like Joseph Putnam, prepared to go to any length on his behalf. But, on the other hand, in Boston they seemed outside of the circle of Mistress Ann Putnam's powerful and malign influence. This of itself was no small gain; and, thinking over the whole matter, Master Raymond came to the conclusion that perhaps the chances of escape would be even greater in Boston than in Salem. So, in the course of the ensuing week, Master Raymond took an affectionate leave of his kind young host and hostess, and departed for Boston town, avowedly on his way back to his English home. This last was of course brought out prominently in all his leave-takings--he was, after a short stay in Boston, to embark for England. "What shall I send you from England?" was among his last questions to the various members of the "afflicted circle." And one said laughingly one thing, and one another; the young man taking it gravely, and making a note in his little notebook of each request. If things should come to the worst, he was putting himself in a good position to influence the character of the testimony. A hundred pounds in this way would be money well employed. Even to Mistress Ann Putnam he did not hesitate to put the same question, after a friendly leave-taking. Mistress Putnam rather liked the young Englishman; it was mainly against Dulcibel as the friend of her brother-in-law that she had warred; and if Master Raymond had not also been the warm friend and guest of Joseph Putnam, she might have relented in her persecution of Dulcibel for his sake. But her desire to pain and punish Master Joseph,--who had said so many things against her in the Putnam family--overpowered all such sentimental considerations. Besides, what Dulcibel had said of her when before the magistrates, had greatly incensed her. "What shall you send me from England? And are you really going back there?" And she fixed her cold green eyes upon the young man's face. "Oh, yes, I am going back again, like the bad penny," replied Master Raymond smiling. "How soon?" "Oh, I cannot say exactly. Perhaps the Boston gentlemen may be so fascinating that they will detain me longer than I have planned." "Is it because the Salem gentlewomen are so fascinating that you have remained here? We feel quite complimented in the village by the length of your visit." "Yes, I have found the Salem gentlewomen among the most charming of their sex. But you have not told me what I shall send you from London when I return?" "Oh, I leave that entirely with you, and to your own good taste. Perhaps by the time you get back to London, you will not wish to send me anything." "I cannot imagine such a case. But I shall endeavor, as you leave it all to me, to find something pretty and appropriate; something suited to the most gifted person, among men and women, that I have found in the New World." Mistress Putnam's face colored with evident pleasure--even she was not averse to a compliment of this kind; knowing, as she did, that she had a wonderful intellectual capacity for planning and scheming. In fact if she had possessed as large a heart as brain, she would have been a very noble and even wonderful woman. Master Raymond thought he had told no falsehood in calling her the "most gifted"--he considered her so in certain directions. And so they parted--the last words of Mistress Putnam being, the young man thought, very significant ones. "I would not," she said in a light, but still impressive manner, "if I were you, stay a very long time in Boston. There is, I think, something dangerous to the health of strangers in the air of that town, of late. It would be a very great pity for you to catch one of our deadly fevers, and never be able to return to your home and friends. Take my advice now--it is honest and well meant--and do not linger long in the dangerous air of Boston." Thanking her for her solicitude as to his health, Master Raymond shook her thin hand and departed. But all the ride back to Joseph Putnam's, he was thinking over those last words. What was their real meaning? What could they mean but this? "You are going to Boston to try to save Dulcibel Burton. I do not want to hurt you; but I may be compelled to do it. Leave Boston as soon as you can, and spare me the necessity that may arise of denouncing you also. Joseph Putnam, whom I hate, but whose person and household I am for family reasons compelled to respect, when you are in Boston is no longer your protector. I can just as easily, and even far more easily, reach you than I could reach Captain Alden. Beware how you interfere with my plans. Even while I pity you, I shall not spare you!" CHAPTER XXXIV. Master Raymond Goes Again to Boston. Master Raymond had agreed to keep his friend Joseph Putnam informed by letter of his movements--for there had been a postal system established a number of years before through the Massachusetts colony--but of course he had to be very careful as to what he put upon paper; the Puritan official mind not being over-scrupulous as to the means it took of attaining its ends. He had brought excellent letters to persons of the highest character in Boston, and had received invitations from many of them to make his home in their houses--for the Boston people of all classes, and especially the wealthy, obeyed the Scriptural injunction, and were "given to hospitality;" which I believe is true to the present day. But Master Raymond, considering the errand he was on, thought it wisest to take up his abode at an Inn--lest he might involve his entertainers in the peril attending his unlawful but righteous designs. So he took a cheery room at the Red Lion, in the northern part of the town, which was quite a reputable house, and convenient for many purposes not the least being its proximity to the harbor, which made it a favorite resort for the better class of sea-captains. Calling around upon the families to which he had presented letters on his first visit, immediately after his arrival in the colony, he speedily established very pleasant social relations with a good many very different circles. And he soon was able to sum up the condition of affairs in the town as follows: First, there was by far the most numerous and the ruling sect, the Puritans. The previous Governor, shut out by King James, Sir Edmund Andros, had been an Episcopalian; but the present one sent out on the accession of William and Mary, Sir William Phips, was himself a Puritan, sitting under the weekly teachings of the Reverend Master Cotton Mather at the North church. Then there was an Episcopal circle, composed of about four hundred people in all, meeting at King's Chapel, built about three years before, with the Reverend Master Robert Ratcliffe as Rector. Besides these, there was a small number of Quakers, now dwelling in peace, so far as personal manifestations were concerned, being protected by the King's mandate. These had even grown so bold of late, as to be seeking permission to erect a meeting-house; which almost moved the Puritan divines to prophesy famine, earthquakes and pestilence as the results of such an ungodly toleration of heresy. Then there were a number of Baptists, who also now dwelt in peace, under the King's protection. Adding to the foregoing the people without any religion to speak of, who principally belonged to or were connected with the seafaring class, and Master Raymond found that he had a pretty clear idea of the inhabitants of Boston. In relation to the Witchcraft prosecutions, the young Englishman ascertained that the above classes seemed to favor the prosecutions just in proportion to the extent of their Puritan orthodoxy. The great majority of the Puritans believed devoutly in witches, and in the duty of obeying the command, "Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live." And generally in proportion to a Puritan church-member's orthodoxy, was the extent of his belief in witchcraft, and the fierceness of his exterminating zeal. The Episcopalians and the Baptists were either very lukewarm, or else in decided opposition to the prosecutions looking upon them as simply additional proofs of Puritan narrowness, intolerance and bigotry. The Quakers held to the latter opinion even more firmly than the liberal Episcopalians and Baptists: adding to it the belief that it was a judgment allowed to come upon the Puritans, to punish them for their cruelty to God's chosen messengers. As for the seafaring class, they looked upon the whole affair as a piece of madness, which could only overtake people whose contracted notions were a result of perpetually living in one place, and that on the land. And since the arrest of a man so well thought of, and of their own class as Captain Alden, the vocabulary allowed by the law in Boston was entirely too limited to embrace adequately a seaman's emphatic sense of the iniquitous proceedings. As one of them forcibly expressed himself to Master Raymond:--"He would be _condemned_, if he wouldn't like to see the _condemned_ town of Boston, and all its _condemned_ preachers, buried like Port Royal, ten _condemned_ fathoms deep, under the _condemned_ soil upon which it was built!" He used another emphatic word of course, in the place of the word _condemned_; but that doubtless was because at that time they had not our "revised version" of the New Testament. The sea-captain who expressed himself in this emphatic way to Master Raymond, was the captain in whose vessel he had come over from England, and who had made another voyage back and forth since that time. The young man was strolling around the wharves, gazing at the vessels when he had been accosted by the aforesaid captain. At that particular moment however, he had come to a stand, earnestly regarding, as he had several times before, a vessel that was lying anchored out in the stream. After passing some additional words with the captain upon various matters, and especially upon the witches, a subject that every conversation at that time was apt to be very full of, he turned towards the water and said:-- "That seems to be a good craft out there." It was a vessel of two masts, slender and raking, and with a long, low hull--something of the model which a good many years later, went by the name of the Baltimore clipper. "Yes, she is a beauty!" replied the captain. "She looks as if she might be a good sailer." "Good! I reckon she is. The Storm King can show her heels to any vessel that goes out of this port--or out of London either, for that matter." "What is she engaged in?" Here the captain gave a low whistle, and followed it up with a wink. "Buccaneers occasionally, I suppose?" "Oh, Captain Tolley is not so very _condemned_ particular what he does--so that of course it is entirely lawful," and the captain winked again. "He owns his vessel, you see--carries her in his pocket--and has no _condemned_ lot of land-lubber owners on shore who cannot get away if there is any trouble, from the _condemned_ magistrates and constables." "That is an advantage sometimes," said the young man. He was thinking of his own case probably. "Of course it is. Law is a very good thing--in its place. But if I buy a bag of coffee in the East Indies or in South America, why should I have to pay a lot of money on it, before I am allowed to sell it to the people that like coffee in some other country? _Condemn_ it! There's no justice in it." Master Raymond was in no mood just then to argue great moral questions. So he answered by asking:-- "Captain Tolley does not make too many inquiries then when a good offer is made him?" "Do not misunderstand me, young man," replied the captain gravely. "My friend, Captain Tolley, would be the last man to commit piracy, or anything of that kind. But just look at the case. Here Captain Tolley is, off at sea, attending to his proper business. Well, he comes into some _condemned_ port, just to get a little water perhaps, and some fresh provisions; and hears that while he has been away, these _condemned_ land-lubbers have been making some new rules and regulations, without even asking any of us seafaring men anything about it. Then, if we do not obey their foolish rules, they nab us when we come into port again, and fine us--perhaps put us in the bilboes. Now, as a fair man, do you call that justice?" Master Raymond laughed good-humoredly. "I see it has its unfair side," said he. "By the way, I should like to look over that vessel of his. Could you give me a line of introduction to him?" "Of course I can--nothing pleases Tolley more than to have people admire his vessel--even though a landsman's admiration, you know, really cannot seem of much account to a sailor. But I cannot write here; let us adjourn to the Lion." CHAPTER XXXV. Captain Tolley and the Storm King. The next day furnished with a brief note of introduction, Master Raymond, with the aid of a skiff, put himself on the deck of the Storm King. Captain Tolley received him with due courtesy, wondering who the stranger was. The Captain was a well-built, athletic, though not very large man, with a face naturally dark in hue, and bronzed by exposure to the southern sun. As Master Raymond ascertained afterwards, he was the son of an English father and a Spanish mother; and he could speak English, French and Spanish with equal facility. While he considered himself an Englishman of birth, his nationality sat very loosely upon him; and, if need be, he was just as willing to run up the French or Spanish colors on the Storm King, as the red cross of St. George. After reading the note of introduction, Captain Tolley gave a keen look at his visitor. "Yes, the Storm King is a bird and a beauty," said he proudly. "Look at her! See what great wings she has! And what a hull, to cut the seas! She was built after my own plans. Give me plenty of sea-room, and a fair start, and I will laugh at all the gun frigates of the royal navy." "She looks to be all you say," said his visitor admiringly--but rather surprised that not an oath had yet fallen from the lips of the Captain. He had not learned that Captain Tolley, to use his own language, "never washed his ammunition in port or in mild weather." When aroused by a severe storm or other peril, the Captain was transformed into a different man. Then, in the war of the elements, or of man's angry passions, he also lightened and thundered, and swore big guns. "Let us go down into the cabin," said the Captain. Reaching there, he filled a couple of glasses with wine and putting the decanter on the table, invited his visitor to be seated. Then, closing the door, he said with a smile, "nothing that is said inside this cabin ever is told anywhere else." There was that in the speech, bearing and looks of Captain Tolley which inspired Master Raymond with great confidence in him. "I feel that I may trust you, Captain," he said earnestly. "I have done business for a great many gentlemen, and no one ever found me untrue to him," replied Captain Tolley, proudly. "Some things I will not do for anybody, or for any price; but that ends it. I never betray confidence." "Do you believe in witches, Captain?" "Indeed I do." "Well I suppose that settles it," replied the young man in a disappointed tone, rising to his feet. "I know a little witch down in Jamaica, that has been tormenting me almost to death for the last three years. But I tell you she is a beauty--as pretty as, as--the Storm King! She doesn't carry quite as many petticoats though," added the Captain laughing. "Oh! That is the kind of witch you mean!" and Master Raymond sat down again. "It is the only kind that I ever came across--and they are bad enough for me," responded the Captain drily. "I know a little witch of that kind," said Master Raymond, humoring the Captain's fancy; "but she is now in Boston prison, and in danger of her life." "Ah! I think I have heard something of her--very beautiful, is she not? I caught a glimpse of her when I went up to see Captain Alden, who the bigoted fools have got in limbo there. I could not help laughing at Alden--the idea of calling him a witch. Alden is a religious man, you know!" "But it may cost him his life!" "That is what I went to see him about. I offered to come up with a party some night, break open the jail, and carry him off to New York in the Storm King." "Well?" "Oh, you know the better people are not in the jail, but in the jailer's house--having given their promise to Keeper Arnold that they will not try to escape, if thus kindly treated. And besides, if he runs off, they will confiscate his property; of which Alden foolishly has a good deal in houses and lands. So he thinks it the best policy to hold on to his anchor, and see if the storm will not blow itself out." "And so you have no conscientious scruples against breaking the law, by carrying off any of these imprisoned persons?" "Conscientious scruples and the Puritan laws be d----!" exclaimed the Captain; thinking perhaps that this was an occasion when he might with propriety break his rule as to swearing while in port. "Your language expresses my sentiments exactly!" responded the young Englishman, who had never uttered an oath in his life. "Captain, I am betrothed to that young lady you saw when you went to see Captain Alden. If she is ever brought to trial, those Salem hell-hounds will swear away her life. I mean to rescue her--or die with her. I am able and willing to pay you any reasonable price for your aid and assistance, Will you help me?" The Captain sprang to his feet. "Will I help you? The great God dash the Storm King to pieces on her next voyage if I fail you! See here," taking a letter out of a drawer, "it is a profitable offer just made me. But it is a mere matter of merchandise; and this is a matter of a woman's life! You shall pay me what you can afford to, and what you think right; but, money or no money, I and the Storm King, and her brave crew, who will follow wherever I lead, are at your service!" As Captain Tolley uttered these words, in an impassioned, though low voice, and with a glowing face and sparkling blue eyes, Master Raymond thought he had never seen a handsomer man. He grasped the Captain's extended hand, and shook it warmly. "I shall never forget this noble offer," he exclaimed. And he never did forget it; for from that moment the two were life-long friends. "What is your plan?" said the Captain. "A peaceable escape if possible. If not, what you propose to Captain Alden." "I should like the last the best," said the Captain. "Why, it would expose you to penalties--and keep your vessel hereafter out of Boston harbor." "You see that I have an old grudge of my own," replied the Captain. "These Puritan rascals once arrested me for bringing some Quakers from Barbados--good, honest, innocent people, a little touched here, you know,"--and the Captain tapped his broad, brown brow with his finger. "They caught me on shore, fined me, and would have put me in the stocks; but my mate got word of it, we were lying out in the storm, trained two big guns to bear upon the town, and gave them just fifteen minutes to send me on board again. That was twenty years ago, and I have not been here since." "They sent you on board, I suppose?" "Oh, the Saints are not fools," replied the Captain, laughing. "As for being shut out of Boston harbor hereafter, I do not fear that much. The reign of the Saints is nearly over. Do you not see that the Quakers are back, and the Baptists, and the prayer-book men, as they call the Episcopalians!--and they do not touch them, though they would whip the whole of them out of the Province, at the cart's tail, if they dared. But there are Kings in Israel again!" and the Captain laughed heartily. "And the Kings are always better shepherds to the flock than the Priests." "You may have to lie here idle for a while; but I will bear the expense of it," said Master Raymond. "Have the proper papers drawn up, and I will sign them." "No, there shall be no papers between you and me," rejoined the Captain stoutly. "I hate these lawyers' pledges. I never deal with a man, if I can help it, who needs a signed and sealed paper to keep him to his word. I know what you are, and you ought to be able to see by this time what I am. The Storm King shall lie here three months, if need be--and you shall pay me monthly my reasonable charges. But I will make out no bill, and you shall have no receipt, to cause any trouble to anybody, hereafter." "That will suit me," replied Master Raymond, "I shall be in the bar-room of the Red Lion every morning at ten. You must be there too. But we will only nod to each other, unless I have something to tell you. Then I will slip a note into your hand, making an appointment for an interview. I fear there may be spies upon my movements." Captain Tolley assenting to these arrangements, Master Raymond and he again shook hands, and the latter was put ashore in one of the Storm King's boats. It was a little curious that as the young man reached the wharf, ascending a few wooden steps from the boat, whom should he see at a little distance, walking briskly into the town, but one who he thought was Master Thomas Putnam. He could not see the man's face, for his back was toward him; but he felt certain that it was the loving and obedient husband of Mistress Ann Putnam. CHAPTER XXXVI. Sir William Phips and Lady Mary. When Mistress Dulcibel Burton, in company with Master Philip English and his wife, arrived at Boston jail, and were delivered into the care of Keeper Arnold, they received far better treatment than they had expected. The prison itself, situated in a portion of Boston which is now considered the centre of fashion and elegance, was one of those cruel Bridewells, which were a befitting illustration of what some suppose to have been the superior manners and customs of the "good old times." It was built of stone, its walls being three feet thick. Its windows were barred with iron to prevent escape; but being without glazed sashes, the wind and rain and snow and cold of winter found ready access to the cells within. The doors were covered with the large heads of iron spikes--the cells being formed by partitions of heavy plank. And the passage ways of the prison were described by one who had been confined in this Boston Bridewell, as being "like the dark valley of the shadow of death." But the jailers seem to have been more humane than the builders of the prison; and those awaiting trial, especially, were frequently allowed rooms in the Keeper's house--probably always paying well, however, for the privilege. Thus, as Captain Tolley had said, Captain Alden was confined in Keeper Arnold's house; and, when the party in which the readers of this story are especially interested, arrived late at night from Salem, they were taken to comparatively comfortable apartments. The jailer knew that Master Philip English was a very wealthy man; and, as for Dulcibel, Uncle Robie did not forget to say to his old crony Arnold, among other favorable things, that she not only had warm friends, among the best people of Salem, but that in her own right, she possessed a very pretty little fortune, and was fully able to pay a good price for any favors extended to her. The magistrates in Salem had refused to take bail for Captain Alden; but Master English was soon able to make an arrangement, by which he and his wife were allowed the freedom of the town in the daytime; it being understood that they should return regularly, and pass the night in the jail--or, speaking strictly, in the Keeper's house. For things in Boston were different from what they were at Salem. In Salem the Puritan spirit reigned supreme in magistrates and in ministers. But in Boston, there was, as we have said, a strong anti-Puritan influence. The officials sent over from England were generally Episcopalians--the officers of the English men-of-war frequently in port, also were generally Episcopalians. And though the present Governor, Sir William Phips, was a member of the North Church, the Reverend Cotton Mather taking the place of his father, the Reverend Increase Mather--and though the Governor was greatly under the influence of that dogmatic and superstitious divine--his wife, Lady Mary, was utterly opposed to the whole witchcraft delusion and persecution. Sir William himself had quite a romantic career. Starting in life as one of the later offspring of a father and mother who had twenty-six children, and had come as poor emigrants to Maine, he was a simple and ignorant caretaker of sheep until eighteen years of age. Then he became a ship carpenter; and at the age of twenty-two went to Boston, working at his trade in the day time, and learning how to read and write at night. In Boston he had the good fortune to capture the heart of a fair widow by the name of Mistress Hull, who was a daughter of Captain Robert Spencer. With her hand he received a fair estate; which was the beginning of a large fortune. For, it enabled him to set up a ship-yard of his own; and by ventures to recover lost treasure, sunk in shipwrecked Spanish galleons, under the patronage of the Duke of Albemarle, he took back to England at one time the large amount of £300,000 in gold, silver and precious stones, of which his share was £16,000--and in addition a gold cup, valued at £1,000 presented to his wife Mary. And such was the able conduct and the strict integrity he had shown in the face of many difficulties and temptations, that King James knighted him, making him Sir William. Now, through his own deserts, and the influence of the Reverend Increase Mather, agent in England of the colony, he was Governor-in-Chief of the Province of Massachusetts Bay, and Captain General (for military purposes) of all New England. And he was living in that "fair brick house in Green lane," which, years before, he had promised his wife that he would some day build for her to live in. Lady Mary was a very sweet, nice woman; but she had a will of her own, and never could be persuaded that Sir William's rise in the world was not owing entirely to her having taken pity on him, and married below her station. And really there was considerable truth in this view of the matter, which she was not inclined to have him forget; and Sir William, being a manly and generous, though at times rather choleric gentleman, generally admitted the truth of her assertion that "she had made him," rather than have any controversy with her about it. One of the first acts of Sir William on arriving to fill his position as Governor, was to order chains put upon all the alleged witches in the prisons. In this order might be very plainly traced the hand of his pastor, the Reverend Cotton Mather. Lady Mary was outraged by such a command. One of her first visits had been to the jail, to see Captain Alden, whom she knew well. Keeper Arnold had shown her the order. "Put on the irons," said Lady Mary. The jailer did so. "Now that you have obeyed Sir William, take them off again." The jailer smiled, but hesitated. "Do as I command you, and I will be accountable to Sir William." Very gladly did Keeper Arnold obey--he had no faith in such accusations, brought against some of the best behaved people he ever had in his charge. "Now, do the same to all the other prisoners!" commanded the spirited lady. "I may as well be hung for a cow as a calf," said the jailer laughing--and he went gravely with one pair of fetters all through the cells, complying literally with the new Governor's orders. Of course this soon got to the ears of the Rev. Cotton Mather, who went in high indignation to the Governor. But the latter seemed to be very much amused, and could not be brought to manifest any great amount of indignation. "You know that Lady Mary has a will of her own," said he to his pastor. "If you choose to go and talk to her, I will take you to her boudoir; but I am not anxious to get into hot water for the sake of a few witches." The minister thought of it a moment; but then concluded wisely not to go. For, as Lady Mary said to her husband afterwards, "I wish that you had brought him to me. I would have told him just what I think of him, and his superstitious, hard-hearted doings. For me, I never mean to enter North Church more. I shall go hereafter to South Church; Masters Willard and Moody have some Christian charity left in them." "I think you are too hard on Master Cotton Mather, my dear," replied Sir William mildly. "Too hard, am I? What would you say if those girl imps at Salem should accuse me next! Your own loving wife,--to the world." "Oh, my dear wife, that is too monstrous even to think of!" "No more monstrous than their accusation of Mistress English of Salem, and her husband. You know them--what do you think of that?" "Certainly, that is very singular and impossible; but Master Mather says--" "Master Mather ought to be hung himself," said the indignant lady; "for he has helped to murder better people than he is, a great deal." "My dear, I must remonstrate--" "And there is Captain Alden--he is a witch, too, it seems!" And Lady Mary laughed scornfully. "Why not you too? You are no better a man than Captain Alden." "Oh, the Captain shall not be hurt." "It will not be through any mercy of his judges then. But, answer my question: what will you do, if they dare to accuse me? Answer me that!" "You certainly are not serious, Lady Mary?" "I am perfectly serious. I have heard already a whisper from Salem that they are thinking of it. They even have wished me warned against the consequences of my high-handed proceedings. Now if they cry out against me, what will you do?" We have said that Sir William was naturally choleric--though he always put a strong constraint upon himself when talking with his wife, whom he really loved; but now he started to his feet. "If they dare to breathe a whisper against you, my wife, Lady Mary, I will blow the whole concern to perdition! Confound it, Madam, there are limits to everything!" She went up to him and put her arm around his neck and kissed him. "I thought that before they touched me, they would have to chain the lion that lies at my door," she said proudly and affectionately; for, notwithstanding these little tiffs, she really was fond of her husband, and proud of his romantic career. But--coming back to our sheep--Dulcibel not having the same amount of wealth and influence behind her as Master English had, was very well contented at being allowed a room in Keeper Arnold's house; and was on the whole getting along very comfortably. Master Raymond had seen her soon after his arrival, but it was in company with the jailer; the principal result being that he had secretly passed her a letter, and had assured himself that she was not in a suffering condition. But things of late were looking brighter, for Master Raymond had made the acquaintance of Lady Mary through a friend to whom he had letters from England, and Lady Mary had begun to take an interest in Dulcibel, whom she had seen on one of her visits to Mistress English. Through Lady Mary, in some way, Dulcibel hoped to escape from the prison; trusting that, if once at large, Master Raymond would be able to provide for her safety. But there was one great difficulty. She, with the others, had given her word to the Keeper not to escape, as the price of her present exemption from confinement in an exposed, unhealthy cell. How this promise was to be managed, neither of them had been able to think of. Keeper Arnold might be approached; but Dulcibel feared not--at least under present circumstances. If brought to trial and convicted then to save her life, Dulcibel thought he might be persuaded to aid her. As to breaking her word to the Keeper, that never entered the mind of the truthful maiden, or of her lover. Death even was more endurable than the thought of dishonor--if they had thought of the matter at all. But as I have said, they never even thought of a such thing. And therefore how to manage the affair was a very perplexing question. CHAPTER XXXVII. The First Rattle of the Rattlesnake. One day about this time Master Raymond was sitting in the porch of the Red Lion, thinking over a sight he had just seen;--a man had passed by wearing on the back of his drab coat a capital I two inches long, cut out of black cloth, and sewed upon it. On inquiry he found the man had married his deceased wife's sister; and both he and the woman had been first whipped, and then condemned to wear this letter for the rest of their lives, according to the law of the colony.[3] [Footnote 3: See Drake's History of Boston] Master Raymond was puzzling over the matter not being able to make out that any real offence had been committed, when who should walk up to the porch but Master Joseph Putnam. After a hearty hand-shaking between the two, they retired to Master Raymond's apartments. "Well, how are things getting along at Salem?" "Oh, about as usual!" "Any more accusations?" "Plenty of them, people are beginning to find out that the best way to protect themselves is to sham being 'afflicted,' and accuse somebody else." "I saw that a good while ago." "And when a girl or a woman is accused, her relatives and her friends gather around her, and implore her to confess, to save her life. For they have found that not one person who has been accused of being a witch, and has admitted the fact, has been convicted. "And yet it would seem that a confession of witchcraft ought to be a better proof of it, than the mere assertion of possible enemies," responded Master Raymond. "Of course--if there was any show of reason or fairness in the prosecutions, from first to last; but as it is all sheer malice and wickedness, on the part of the accusers, from the beginning to the end, it would be vain to expect any reasonableness or fairness from them." "We must admit, however, that there is some delusion in it. It would be too uncharitable to believe otherwise," said Master Raymond thoughtfully. "There may have been at the very first--on the part of the children," replied Master Putnam. "They might have supposed that Tituba and friendless Sarah Good tormented them--but since then, there has not been more than one part of delusion to twenty parts of wickedness. Why, can any sane man suppose that she-wolf sister-in-law of mine does not know she is lying, when she brings such horrible charges against the best men and women in Salem?" "No, I give up Mistress Ann, she is possessed by a lying devil," admitted Master Raymond. "It is well she does not hear that speech," said Joseph Putnam. "Why?" "Because, up to this time, you seem to have managed to soften her heart a little." "I have tried to. I have thought myself justified in playing a part--as King David once did you know." "It is that which brings me here. I met her at the house of a friend whom I called to see on some business a day or two ago." "Ah!" "She said to me, in that soft purring voice of hers, 'Brother Joseph, I hear that your good friend Master Raymond is still in Boston.' I answered that I believed he was. 'When he took leave of me,' she continued, 'I advised him not to stay long in that town--as it was often a bad climate for strangers. I am sorry he does not take wise counsel.' Then she passed on, and out of the house. Have you any idea what she meant?" Master Raymond studied a moment over it in silence. Then he said:--"It is the first warning of the rattlesnake, I suppose. How many do they usually give before they spring?" "Three, the saying goes. But I guess this rattlesnake cannot be trusted to give more than one." "I was convinced I saw your brother Thomas as I came ashore from the Storm King the other day." "Ah, that explains it then. She understands it all then. She understands it all now just as well as if you had told her." "But why should she pursue so fiendishly an innocent girl like Dulcibel, who is not conscious of ever having offended her?" "Why do tigers slay, and scorpions sting? Because it is their nature, I suppose," replied Master Putnam philosophically. "Because, Mistress Dulcibel openly ridiculed and denounced her and the whole witchcraft business. And you will note that there has not been a single instance of this being done, that the circle of accusers have not seemed maddened to frenzy." "Yes,--there has been one case--your own." "That is true--because I am Thomas Putnam's brother. And, dupe and tool as he is of that she-wolf, and though there is no great amount of love lost between us--still I am his brother! And that protects me. Besides they know that it is as much any two men's lives are worth to attempt to arrest me." "And then you think there is no special enmity against Dulcibel?" "I have not said so. Jethro Sands hates her because she refused him; Leah Herrick wants her driven away, because she herself wants to marry Jethro, and fears Jethro might after all, succeed in getting Dulcibel; and Sister Ann hates her, because--" "Well, because what?" "Oh, it seems too egotistical to say it--because she knows she is one of my dear friends." "She must dislike you very much then?" "She does." "Why?" "Oh, there is no good reason. At the first, she was inclined to like me--but I always knew she was a cold-blooded snake and she-wolf, and I would have nothing to do with her. Then when brother Thomas began to sink his manhood and become the mere dupe and tool of a scheming woman, I remonstrated with him. I think, friend Raymond, that I am as chivalrous as any man ought to be. I admire a woman in her true place as much as any man--and would fight and die for her. But for these men that forget their manhood, these Marc Antonies who yield up their sound reason and their manly strength to the wiles and tears and charms of selfish and ambitious Cleopatras, I have nothing but contempt. There are plenty of them around in all ages of the world, and they generally glory in their shame. Of course brother Thomas did not enjoy very much my mean opinion of his conduct--and as for sister Ann, she has never forgiven me, and never will." "And so you think she hates Dulcibel, mainly because you love her?" "That is about the shape of it," said Master Putnam drily. "That Dulcibel feels for me the affection of a sister, only intensifies my sister-in-law's aversion to her. But then, you see, that merely on the general principle of denouncing all who set themselves in opposition to the so-called afflicted circle, Dulcibel would be accused of witchcraft." "Well, for my part, I think the whole affair can only be accounted for as being a piece of what we men of the world, who do not belong to any church, call devilishness," said Master Raymond hotly. "You see," responded Master Putnam, "that you men of the world have to come to the same conclusion that we church members do. You impute it to 'devilishness' and we to being 'possessed by the devil.' It is about the same thing. And now give me an idea of your latest plans. Perhaps I can forward them in some way, either here or at Salem." CHAPTER XXXVIII. Conflicting Currents in Boston. All this time the under-current of opposition to these criminal proceedings against the alleged witches, was growing stronger, at Boston. The Reverend Samuel Willard and Joshua Moody both ministers of undoubted orthodoxy from the Puritan stand-point, did not scruple to visit the accused in the keeping of jailer Arnold, and sympathize openly with them. Captain Alden and Master Philip English and his wife especially, were persons of too great wealth and reputation not to have many sympathizing friends. On the other hand, the great majority of the Puritans, under the lead of the Reverend Cotton Mather, and the two Salem ministers, Parris and Noyes were determined that the prosecution should go on, until the witches, those children of the Evil One, were thoroughly cast out; even if half of their congregations should have to be hung by the other half. At a recent trial in Salem, one of the "afflicted" had even gone so far as to cry out against the Rev. Master Willard. But the Court, it seemed, was not quite ready for that; for the girl was sent out of court, being told that she must have mistaken the person. When this was reported to Master Willard, it by no means tended to lessen his growing belief that the prosecutions were inspired by evil spirits. Of course in this condition of things, the position of the Governor, Sir William Phips, became a matter of the first importance. As he owed his office mainly to the influence of the Rev. Increase Mather, and sat under the weekly ministrations of his learned son, Cotton Mather, the witch prosecutors had a very great hold upon him. With a good natural intellect, Sir William had received a very scanty education; and was therefore much impressed by the prodigious attainments of such men as the two Mathers. To differ with them on a theological matter seemed to him rather presumptuous. If they did not know what was sound in theology, and right in practise; why was there any use in having ministers at all, or who could be expected to be certain of anything? Then if Sir William turned to the law, he was met by an almost unanimous array of lawyers and judges who endorsed the witchcraft prosecution. Chief-Justice Stoughton, honest and learned Judge Sewall--and nearly all the rest of the judiciary--were sure of the truth in this matter. Not one magistrate could be found in the whole province, to decide as a sensible English judge is reported by tradition to have done, in the case of an old woman who at last acknowledged in the feebleness of her confused intellect that she was a witch, and in the habit of riding about on a broomstick: "Well, as I know of no law that forbids old women riding about on broomsticks, if they fancy that mode of conveyance, you are discharged." But there was not one magistrate at that time, wise or learned enough to make such a sensible decision in the whole of New England. Thus with the almost unanimous bar, and the great preponderance of the clergy, advising him to pursue a certain course, Sir William undoubtedly would have followed it, had he not been a man whose sympathies naturally were with sea-captains, military officers, and other men-of-the-world; and, moreover, if he had not a wife, herself the daughter of a sea-captain, who was an utter disbeliever in her accused friends being witches, and who had moreover a very strong will of her own. Of course if the Governor should come to Lady Mary's opinion, the prosecution might as well be abandoned--for, with a stroke of his pen, he could remit the sentences of all the convicted persons. Left to himself and Lady Mary, he doubtless would have done this; but he wished to continue in his office, and to be a successful Governor; and he knew that to array himself against the prosecution and punishment of the alleged witches was to displease the great majority of the people of the province; including, as I have shown, the most influential persons. In fact, it was simply to retire from his government in disgrace. All this the Reverend Cotton Mather represented to Sir William, with much else of a less worldly, but no doubt still more effective character, based upon various passages of the old Testament rather than upon anything corresponding to them in the New. And so the prosecutions and convictions went on; but the further executions waited upon the Governor's decision. CHAPTER XXXIX. The Rattlesnake Makes a Spring. It was a Thursday afternoon, and the "afflicted circle" was having one of its informal meetings at the house of Mistress Ann Putnam. At these meetings the latest developments were talked over; and all the scandal of the neighborhood, and even of Boston and other towns, gathered and discussed. Thus in the examination of Captain Alden in addition to the material charges of witchcraft against him, which I have noted, were entirely irrelevant slanders of the grossest kind against his moral character which the "afflicted girls" must have gathered from very low and vulgar sources. The only man present on this occasion was Jethro Sands; and the girls, especially Leah Herrick, could not but wonder who now was to be "cried out against," that Jethro was brought into their counsels. It is a curious natural instinct which leads every faculty--even the basest--to crave more food in proportion to the extent in which it has been already gratified. In the first place, the "afflicted" girls no doubt had their little spites, revenges, and jealousies to indulge, but afterwards they seemed to "cry out" against those of whom they hardly knew anything, either to oblige another of the party, or to punish for an expressed disbelief in their sincerity, or even out of the mere wantonness of power to do evil. Mistress Ann Putnam opened the serious business of the afternoon, after an hour or so had been spent in gossip and tale-bearing, by an account of some recent troubles of hers. "A few nights ago," said she, "I awakened in the middle of the night with choking and strangling. I knew at once that a new 'evil hand' was upon me; for the torment was different from any I had ever experienced. I thought the hand that grasped me around the throat would have killed me--and there was a heavy weight upon my breast, so that I could hardly breathe. I clutched at the thing that pressed upon my breast, and it felt hard and bony like a horse's hoof--and it was a horse. By the faint moonlight I saw it was the wild black 'familiar' that belongs to the snake-marked witch, Dulcibel Burton. But the hand that grasped my throat was the strong hand of a man. I caught a sight of his face. I knew it well. But I pity him so much that I hesitate to reveal it. I feel as if I would almost rather suffer myself, than accuse so fine a young man as he seemed to be of such wicked conduct." "But it appears to me that it is your duty to expose him, Mistress Putnam," said Jethro Sands. "I know the young man whose spectre you saw, for he and that black witch of a mare seem to be making their nightly rounds together. They 'afflicted' me the other night the same way. I flung them off; and I asked him what he meant by acting in that way? And he said he was a lover of the witch Dulcibel; who was one of the queens of Hell--I might know that by the snake-mark on her bosom. And she had told him that he must afflict all those who had testified against her; and she would lend him her 'familiar,' the black mare, to help him do it." By this time, even the dullest of the girls of course saw very plainly who was being aimed at; but Mistress Putnam added, "upon learning that Master Jethro had also been afflicted by this person, I had very little doubt that I should find the guilty young man had been doing the same to all of you; for we have seen heretofore that when these witches attack one of us, they attack all, hating all for the same reason, that we expose and denounce them. I may add that I have also heard that the young man in question is now in Boston doing all he can in aid of the snake-witch Dulcibel Burton; and representing all of us to Lady Mary Phips and other influential persons, as being untruthful and malicious accusers of innocent people." Here she turned to one who had always been her right-hand as it were, and said:--"I suppose you have been tormented in the same way, dear Abigail?" Ann Putnam, her daughter, however, that precocious and unmanageable girl of twelve, here broke in: "I think my mother is entirely mistaken. I was treated just the same way about a week ago; but it was not the spectre of Master Raymond at all--it was the spectre of another man whom I never saw before. It was not at all like Master Raymond; and I, for one, will not join in crying out against him." In those old times, parents were treated with a much greater show, at least, of respect and veneration than they are at present; and therefore Mistress Putnam was greatly shocked at her daughter's language; but her daughter was well known to all present as an exceptional child, being very forward and self-willed, and therefore her mother simply said, "I had not expected such unkind behavior from you, Ann." "Master Raymond has been very kind to all of us, you know--has given us pretty things, and has promised to send us all presents when he gets back from England; and I have heard you and father both say, that the Putnams always stand up for their friends." This reference to the promised presents from England, evidently told all around the circle. They had nothing to gain by "crying out" against Master Raymond, they had something to gain by not doing it; besides, he was a very handsome young man, who had tried to make himself agreeable to almost all of them as he had opportunity. And though Dulcibel's beauty went for nothing in their eyes, a young man's good looks and gallant bearing were something entirely different. And so Abigail Williams, and Mary Walcot, and Mercy Lewis, and Leah Herrick, and Sarah Churchill, and Elizabeth Hubbard all had the same tale to tell with suitable variations, as young Ann Putnam had. They were certain that the face of the "spectre" was not the face of Master Raymond; but of some person they had never before seen. Mercy Lewis and Sarah Churchill, in fact, were inclined to think it was the face of Satan himself; and they all wondered very much that Mistress Putnam could have mistaken such an old and ugly face, for that of the comely young Englishman. As for Leah Herrick, she did not care in her secret heart if Master Raymond were in love with Dulcibel--so that he would only take her out of the country, where there was no danger of Jethro's seeing her any more. All her belief that Dulcibel was a witch was based upon jealousy, and now that it was utterly improbable that Jethro would ever turn his thoughts in that direction again, she had no hard feeling towards her; while, as she also had reason to expect a handsome present from England, she did not share in the least Jethro's bitterness against the young Englishman. But although Mistress Putnam was thus utterly foiled in her effort to enlist the "afflicted circle" in her support, she was not the woman to give up her settled purpose on that account. She knew well that she was a host in herself, so far as the magistrates were concerned. And, having Jethro Sands to join her, it made up the two witnesses that were absolutely necessary by the law of Massachusetts as of Moses. The "afflicted circle" might not aid her, but it was not likely that they would openly revolt, and take part against her in public; and so she went the very next morning in company with that obedient tool, her husband and Jethro Sands, to the office of Squire Hathorne, and got him to issue a warrant for the arrest of Master Ellis Raymond, on the usual charge of practicing witchcraft. CHAPTER XL. An Interview with Lady Mary. Master Raymond, having obtained an introduction to the Governor's wife, Lady Mary, lost no time in endeavoring to "cultivate the amenities of life," so far as that very influential person was concerned. He had paid the most deferential court to her on several occasions where he had been able to meet her socially; and had impressed the Governor's lady very favorably, as being an unusually handsome, well-bred and highly cultivated young man. A comely and high-spirited lady of forty, she was better pleased to be the recipient of the courteous and deferential attentions of a young Englishman of good connections like Master Raymond, than even to listen to the wise and weighty counsel of so learned a man as Master Cotton Mather. Only in the last minutes of their last meeting however, when handing her ladyship to her carriage, did Master Raymond feel at liberty to ask her if he could have a short private interview with her the next morning. She looked a little surprised, and then said, "Of course, Master Raymond." "At what hour will it suit your ladyship?" "At twelve, precisely, I have an engagement at one;" and the carriage drove off. A minute or two before twelve, Master Raymond was at the Governor's house in Green lane; and was duly admitted, as one expected, and shown into her ladyship's boudoir. "Now, come right to the point, Master Raymond; and tell me what I can do for you," said her ladyship smiling. "If I can help you, I will; if I cannot, or must not, I shall say so at once--and you must continue to be just as good a friend to me as ever." "I promise that to your ladyship," replied the young man earnestly. He really liked and admired Lady Mary very much. "Is it love, or money?--young men always want one of these." "Your ladyship is as quick-witted in this as in everything else." "Well, which is it?" "Love." "Ah--who?" "Mistress Dulcibel Burton." "What!--not the girl with the snake-mark?" Raymond bowed his head very low in answer. Lady Mary laughed. "She is a witch then, it seems; for she has bewitched you." "We were betrothed to each other only a few days before that absurd and lying charge was made against her." "And her horse--her black mare--that upset the Reverend Master Parris into the duck pond; and then went up into the clouds; and, as Master Cotton Mather solemnly assured me, has never been seen or heard of since--what of it--where is it, really?" "In an out-of-the-way place, up in Master Joseph Putnam's woods," replied the young man smiling. "And you are certain of it?" "As certain as riding the mare for about ten miles will warrant." "Master Mather assured me that no man--except perhaps Satan or one of his imps--could ride her." "Then I must be Satan or one of his imps, I suppose." "How did you manage it?" "I put a side-saddle on the beast; and a woman's skirt on myself." The lady laughed outright. "Oh, that is too good! It reminds me of what Sir William often says, 'Anything can be done, if you know how to do it!' I must tell it to him he will enjoy it so much. And it will be a good thing to plague Master Mather with." "Please do not tell anyone just now," protested the young man earnestly. "It may bring my good friend, Joseph Putnam, into trouble. And it would only make them all angrier than they are with Dulcibel." "Dulcibel--that is a strange name. It is Italian--is it not." "I judge so. It is a family name. I suppose there is Italian blood in the family. At least Mistress Dulcibel looks it." "She does. She is very beautiful--of a kind of strange, fascinating beauty. I do not wonder she bewitched you. Was that serpent mark too from Italy?" "I think it very likely." "Perhaps she is descended from Cleopatra--and that is the mark left by the serpent on the famous queen's breast." "I think it exceedingly probable," said Master Raymond. My readers will have observed before this, that he was an exceedingly polite and politic young man. "Well, and so you want me to get Mistress Dulcibel, this witch descendant of that famous old witch, Cleopatra, out of prison?" "I hoped that, from the well-known kindness of heart of your ladyship, you would be able to do something for us." "You see the difficulty is simply here. I know that all these charges of witchcraft against such good, nice people as Captain Alden, Master and Mistress English, your betrothed Dulcibel, and a hundred others, are mere bigotry and superstition at the best, and sheer spite and maliciousness at the worst--but what can I do? Sir William owes his position to the Reverend Increase Mather--and, besides, not being a greatly learned man himself, is more impressed than he ought to be by the learning of the ministers and the lawyers. I tell him that a learned fool is the greatest fool alive; but still he is much puzzled. If he does not conform to the wishes of the ministers and the judges, who are able to lead the great majority of the people in any direction they choose, he will lose his position as Governor. Now, while this is not so much in itself, it will be a bar to his future advancement--for preferment does not often seek the men who fail, even when they fail from having superior wisdom and nobleness to the multitude." It was evident that Sir William and Lady Mary had talked over this witchcraft matter, and its bearing upon his position, a good many times. And Master Raymond saw very clearly the difficulties of the case. "And still, if the robe of the Governor can only continue to be worn by dyeing it with innocent blood, I think that a man of the natural greatness and nobility of Sir William, would not hesitate as to his decision." "But a new Governor in his place might do worse." "Yes, he might easily do that." "When it comes to taking more lives by his order, then he will decide upon his course. So far he is temporizing," said the lady. "And Dulcibel?" "She is not suffering," was the reply. "Oh, if I only could say the same of the poor old women, and poor young women, now lying in those cold and loathsome cells--innocent of any crime whatever either against God or against man--I should not feel it all here so heavily," and Lady Mary pressed her hand against her heart. "But we are not responsible for it! I have taken off every chain--and do all I dare; while Sir William shuts his eyes to my unlawful doings." "Will you aid her to escape, should her life be in danger? You told me to speak out frankly and to the point." The lady hesitated only for a moment. "I will do all I can--even to putting my own life in peril. When something _must_ be done, come to me again. And now judge me and Sir William kindly; knowing that we are not despots, but compelled to rule somewhat in accordance with the desires of those whom we have been sent here to govern." Lady Mary extended her hand; the young man took it, as he might have taken the hand of his sovereign Queen, and pressed it with his lips. Then he bowed himself out of the boudoir. CHAPTER XLI. Master Raymond is Arrested for Witchcraft. As Master Raymond walked up the street toward the Red Lion, he felt in better spirits. He had secured the aid, if things should come to the worst of a very influential friend--and one who, woman-like, would be apt to go even farther than her word, as noble spirits in such cases are apt to do. Therefore he was comparatively light-hearted. Suddenly he felt a strong grasp upon his shoulder; and turning, he saw a couple of men beside him. One he knew well as deputy-marshall Herrick, of Salem. "You are wanted at Salem, Master Raymond," said Marshall Herrick gravely, producing a paper. Raymond felt a sinking of heart as he glanced over it--it was the warrant for his arrest, issued by Squire Hathorne. "At whose complaint?" he asked, controlling his emotions, and speaking quite calmly and pleasantly. "At the complaint of Mistress Ann Putnam and Master Jethro Sands," replied the officer. "Of witchcraft? That is very curious. For as Dr. Griggs knows, just before I left Salem Farms, I was suffering from 'an evil hand' myself." "Indeed!" said the officer. "When am I to go?" "Immediately. We have provided a horse for you." "I should like to get my valise, and some clothes from the Red Lion." The officer hesitated. Master Raymond smiled pleasantly. "You must be hungry about this time of day, and they have some of the best wine at the Lion I ever tasted. You shall drink a bottle or two with me. You know that a man travels all the better for a good dinner and a bottle of good wine." The officers hesitated no longer. "You are a sensible man, Master Raymond, whether you are a witch or not," said the deputy marshall. "I think if the wine were better and plentier around Salem, there would be fewer witches," rejoined Master Raymond; which the other officer considered a very witty remark, judging by the way he laughed at it. The result of this strategic movement of Master Raymond's, was that he had a couple of very pleasant and good-humored officials to attend him all the way to Salem jail, where they arrived in the course of the evening. Proving that thus by the aid of a little metaphorical oil and sugar, even official machinery could be made to work a good deal smoother than it otherwise would. While the officers themselves expressed their utter disbelief to the people they met, of the truth of the charges that had been brought against Master Raymond; who in truth was himself "an afflicted person," and had been suffering some time from an "evil hand," as the wise Dr. Griggs had declared. The Salem keeper, Uncle Robie, true to his accustomed plan of action, received Master Raymond very gruffly; but after he had got rid of the other professionals, he had a good long talk, and made his cell quite comfortable for him. He also took him in to visit Antipas, who was delighted to see him, and also to hear that Mistress Dulcibel, was quite comfortably lodged with Keeper Arnold. Then the young man threw himself upon his bed, and slept soundly till morning. He did not need much study to decide upon his plans, as he had contemplated such a possibility as that, ever since the arrest of Dulcibel, and had fully made up his mind in what manner he would meet it. If, however, he had known the results of the conference of the "afflicted circle" two days previous, he would have felt more encouraged as to the probable success of the defence he meditated. The constable that had aided the deputy-marshall in making the arrest, had agreed however to send word to Joseph Putnam of what had occurred; and comforted by the thought of having at least one staunch friend to stand by him, Master Raymond had slept soundly even on a prison pallet. The next morning, as early as the rules of the jail would admit, Joseph Putnam came to see him. "I had intended to come and see you in Boston to-day," said Master Joseph, "but the she-wolf was too quick for me." "Why, had you heard anything?" "Yes, and I hardly understand it. Abigail Williams called to see Goodwife Buckley yesterday, and told her in confidence that it was probable you would be cried out against by Sister Ann and Jethro Sands; and to warn me of it." "Abigail Williams!" "Yes; and she also dropped a hint that none of the other 'afflicted girls' had anything to do with it--for they looked upon you as a very nice young man, and a friend." "Well, that is good news indeed," said Master Raymond brightening up. "And I called upon Doctor Griggs on my way here, and he says he is confident there was an 'evil hand' upon you when you were suffering at my house; and he will be on hand at the examination to give his testimony, if it is needed, to that effect." "But that terrible sister-in-law of yours! If she could only be kept away from the examination for half-an-hour; and give me time to impress the magistrates and the people a little." "It might be done perhaps," said Joseph Putnam musing. "Do not be too conscientious about the means, my dear friend," continued Master Raymond. "Do not stand so straight that you lean backward. Remember that this is war and a just war against false witnesses, the shedders of innocent blood, and wicked or deceived rulers. If I am imprisoned, what is to become of Dulcibel? Think of her--do not think of me." Joseph Putnam was greatly agitated. "I will do all I can for both of you. But my soul recoils from anything like deceit, as from wickedness itself. But I will think over it, and see if I cannot devise some way to keep Sister Ann away, for a time or altogether." "Give me at least fifteen minutes to work on the Magistrates, and to enlist the sympathies of the people in my behalf. For me, so far as my conscience is concerned, I should not hesitate to shoot that Jezebel. For the murder of the twenty innocent men and women who have now been put to death, she is mainly responsible. And to kill her who surely deserves to die, might save the lives of fifty others." Joseph Putnam shook his head. "I cannot see the matter in that light, Friend Raymond." "Oh," replied Raymond, "of course I do not mean you should kill Mistress Ann. I only put it as giving my idea of how far _my_ conscience would allow me to go in the matter. Draw her off in some way though--keep her out of the room for awhile--give me a little time to work in." "I will do all I can; you may be sure of that," responded Master Putnam emphatically. Here further confidential conversation was prevented by the entrance of the marshall. CHAPTER XLII. Master Raymond Astonishes the Magistrates. The examination was to commence at three o'clock in the afternoon, and to be held in the Court House in the town, as being more convenient to Squire Hathorne than the meeting-house in the village. As Master Thomas Putnam's house and farm were several miles beyond the village, it made quite a long ride for them to attend the examination. He had arranged with his wife, however, to start immediately after their usual twelve o'clock dinner, taking her behind him on a pillion, as was customary at that day--his daughter Ann being already in town, where she was paying a visit to a friend. He had received however a message about ten o'clock, requesting his immediate presence at Ipswich, on a matter of the most urgent importance; and though he was greatly puzzled by it, he concluded to go at once to Ipswich and go from there direct to Salem town, without coming home again, as it would be very much out of his road to do so. According to this new arrangement, Mistress Ann would take the other horse, and a lady's saddle, and ride to town by herself. They had still a third horse, but that was already in town with her daughter. The Court House was but a short distance from the prison; and, as it was a good Puritan fashion to be punctual to the minute, at three o'clock precisely Squires Hathorne and Corwin were in their arm-chairs, and Master Raymond standing on the raised platform in front of them. As the latter looked carefully around the room, he saw that neither Thomas Putnam nor his mischievous wife, nor his own best friend Joseph Putnam, was present. Squire Hathorne also observed that Mistress Ann Putnam was not present; but, as she was usually very punctual, he concluded that she would be there in a few minutes, and after some whispered words with his colleague, resolved to proceed with the examination. Turning to the young Englishman, he said in his usual stern tones:--"Ellis Raymond, you are brought before authority, upon high suspicion of sundry acts of witchcraft. Now tell us the truth of this matter." But no answer came from the accused. Then, when all eyes were intently regarding him, he gave a wild shriek, and fell outstretched upon the platform. "Let me to him!" said Dr. Griggs, elbowing his way through the crowd. "I said a month ago that an 'evil hand' was upon him; and now I am certain of it." Master Raymond had not been an attentive observer of the recent trials for nothing; and he now gave the audience an exhibition which would compare favorably with the best, even with Mistress Ann Putnam's and Abigail William's. His face became shockingly contorted, and he writhed and twisted and turned convulsively. He tore imaginary spectral hands from around his neck. He pushed imaginary weights from off his breast. He cried, "Take them away! Pray, take them away!" until the whole company were very much affected; and even the magistrates were greatly astounded. Dr. Griggs loosened his collar and unbuttoned his doublet, and had water brought to sprinkle his face keeping up a running fire of words at the same time, to the effect that he knew, and had said, as least a month before, that Master Raymond had an "evil hand" upon him. "Who is it hurts you?" at length asked credulous Squire Hathorne. "See, there is the yellow bird!" cried the young man, staring into vacancy. "He is coming to peck my eyes out! Kill it! kill it!" dashing his hands out from his face violently. "Has no one a sword--pray do try to kill it!" Here an impetuous young villager, standing by, drew his rapier, and stabbed violently in the direction of the supposed spectral bird. "Oh! Oh! You almost killed it! See, there are some of its feathers!" And three yellow feathers were seen floating in the air; being small chicken feathers with which he had been provided that very morning by Uncle Robie, the jailer; and which the adroit Master Raymond rightly thought would have a prodigious effect. And the result was fully equal to his expectations. From that moment, it was evident that he had all the beholders with him; and Squire Hathorne, disposed as he had been to condemn him almost without a hearing, was completely staggered. He had the feathers from the "yellow bird" carefully placed upon his desk, with the purpose of transmitting them at once to Master Cotton Mather who, with these palpable proofs of the reality of the spectral appearance would be able utterly to demolish all the skeptical unbelievers. Finding that such an effect had been produced, Master Raymond allowed himself to regain his composure somewhat. "Mistress Ann Putnam, who is one of the two complainants, unaccountably is not here," said Squire Hathorne. "Master Jethro Sands, what have you to say against this young man? You are the other complainant." "Probably my mother has come to the conclusion that she was mistaken, as I told her; and therefore she has remained at home," said Ann Putnam, the daughter; who was delighted with the feather exhibition, and was secretly wondering how it was done. "Well, what have you to say,--Jethro Sands?" The audience looked around at Jethro with scornful faces, evidently considering him an imposter. What did he know about witches--compared to this rich young man from over the seas? "Tell him you find you were mistaken also," whispered Leah Herrick. "After seeing what we have seen, I withdraw my charges, Squire. I think that Mistress Putnam and myself must have been visited by the spectre of somebody else, and not by Master Raymond." "I hope that next time you will wait until you are quite certain," replied Squire Hathorne gruffly. "Do you know that Master Raymond can have his action against you for very heavy damages, for slander and defamation?" "I certainly am very sorry, and humbly beg Master Raymond's pardon," said Jethro, very much alarmed. He had never thought that the affair might take this turn--as indeed it did in many cases, some six months afterward; and which was a very effective damper upon the spirits of the prosecutors. Then the magistrates could do nothing less than discharge the prisoner; and Master Raymond stepped down from the platform a free man, to be surrounded by quite a circle of sympathizing friends. But his first thanks were due to Dr. Griggs for his professional services. "Doctor, those things you did for me when in the convulsions, relieved me greatly," and he took out his purse. "Yes, Doctor, I insist upon it. Skill like yours is always worth its recompense. We must not muzzle the ox, you know, that treads out the corn." And he put a gold piece into Dr. Grigg's palm--which was not often favored with anything but silver in Salem. Dr. Griggs was glad that he had been able to render him a little service; and said that, if there had been the least necessity for it, he would have gone on the platform, and testified as to the complete absurdity of the charge that that excellent woman, Mistress Ann Putnam, evidently in mistake, had brought against him. Then the "afflicted circle" had to be spoken to, who this afternoon did not appear to be in the least afflicted, but in the very best of spirits. They now felt more admiration for him than ever; and greeted him with great cordiality as he came to where they were standing. "When are you going back to England?" was a frequent question; and he assured them he now hoped to go before many weeks; and then, smiling, added that they would be certain to hear from him. As the crowd thinned out a little, Abigail Williams called him aside; "and did you really see the yellow bird, Master Raymond?" said she archly. "The yellow bird!" replied he dreamily. "Ah! you know that when we that are 'afflicted' go into trances, we are not conscious of all that we see." "For it seemed to me," continued the girl in a low tone, "that those feathers looked very much like chicken feathers." Then she laughed cunningly, and peered into his face. "Indeed!" replied the young man gravely; "well, a chicken's bill, pecking at your eyes, is not a thing to be made light of. I knew of a girl, one of whose eyes was put entirely out by her pet canary." And as he moved at once toward the rest of the group, the quick-witted and precocious child was compelled to follow. The magistrates had left the Court House, with the majority of the people, including Jethro Sands, when who should come in, walking hastily, and his face flushed with hard riding, but Thomas Putnam. "Am I too late? What was done?" he said quickly to Leah Herrick, who was standing near the door. "Oh, the charge broke down, and Master Raymond was discharged." "Ah! Where is my wife?" "She did not come. It was said by your daughter, that she probably found she was mistaken in the person, and stayed for that reason." "I do not believe it--she would have told me. What did Jethro Sands do?" "Oh, he withdrew the charges, so far as he was concerned. There was a great deal more danger that Master Raymond would prove him to be a witch, than he Master Raymond." "I see--it is a case of conspiracy!" exclaimed Master Putnam hotly. "Had you any hand in this, Master Raymond?" turning to the young Englishman, who had drawn near, on his way to the door. "Ah, Master Putnam, glad to see you. You did get here early enough however to witness my triumphant vindication. Here is learned Dr. Griggs, and young Mistress Williams, and your own gifted daughter, and handsome Mistress Herrick, and half-a-dozen others of my old friends who were ready to testify in my behalf, if any testimony had been needed. Make my compliments to Mistress Putnam; and give her my best thanks for her noble course, in confessing by her absence that she was mistaken, and that she had accused the wrong person." The cool assurance with which this was uttered, quite confused Thomas Putnam. Could his wife have stayed away purposely? Perhaps so, for she was accustomed to rapid changes of her plans. But why then had he been lured off on a wild-goose chase all the way to Ipswich? While he was standing there musing, his daughter came up. "I think, father, you and mother, next time, had better take my advice," said that incorrigible and unmanageable young lady; just about as opposite a character to the usual child of that period as could well be imagined. But these witchcraft trials, in which she figured so prominently had utterly demoralized her in this as in certain other respects. CHAPTER XLIII. Why Thomas Putnam Went to Ipswich. What young Master Joseph Putnam undertook to do, he was apt to do pretty thoroughly. When he had once made up his mind to keep both his brother's wife and his brother himself, away from the examination, he had rapidly thought over various plans, and adopted two which he felt pretty certain would not fail. They all involved a little deceit, or at least double dealing--and he hated both those things with a righteous hatred--but it was to prevent a great injustice, and perhaps to save life. As he rode rapidly homeward, turning over various plans, in his mind, he had passed through the village, when he saw some one approaching on what seemed to be the skeleton of an old horse. He at once recognized the rider as an odd character, a carpenter, whom he at one time had occasion to employ in doing some work on a small property he owned in Ipswich. Reining up his horse, Master Putnam stopped to have a chat with the man--whose oddity mainly consisted in his taciturnity, which was broken only by brief and pithy sentences. "A fine day Ezekiel--how are things in Ipswich?" "Grunty!" "Ah! I am sorry to hear it. Why, what is the matter?" "Broomsticks, chiefly." "You mean the witches. That is a bad business. But how shall we mend it?" The old carpenter was too shrewd to commit himself. He glanced at Master Putnam, and then turning his head aside, and giving a little laugh, said, "Burn all the broomsticks." "A good idea," replied Master Putnam, also laughing. "Oh, by the way, Ezekiel, I wonder if you could do a little errand for me?" and the young man took out his purse and began opening it. "You are not in a great hurry, are you?" "Hurry, is for fools!" "You know where my brother Thomas lives? Up this road?" They were just where two roads joined, one leading by his own house, and the other past his brother's. "I wish I knew the road to heaven as well." "You know how to keep silent, and how to talk also, Ezekiel--especially when you are well paid for it?" The old man laughed. "A little bullet sometimes makes a big hole," he said. "I want you to go to my brother Thomas, and say simply these words:--Ipswich Crown and Anchor. Very important indeed. At once. Wait till he comes." "All right." And he held out his hand, into which Master Joseph put as much silver as the old man could make in a whole week's work. "You are not to remember who sent you, or anything else than those words. Perhaps you have been drinking rather too much cider, you know. Do you understand?" The old man's face assumed at once a very dull and vacant expression, and he said in that impressive manner which rather too many glasses is apt to give, "Ipswich. Crown and Anchor. Very important indeed. At once. Wait till he comes." "That will do very well, Ezekiel. But not a word more, mind!" "Tight as a rat-trap," replied the old man--and he turned his skeleton's head, and went up the road towards Thomas Putnam's. Joseph felt certain that this would take his brother to Ipswich. Both of them were greatly interested in a lawsuit with certain of the Ipswich people, regarding the northern boundary of the Putnam farms. Thomas was managing the matter for the family; and was continually on the look-out for fresh evidence to support the Putnam claim. In fact, bright Master Raymond had once said that, between the Salem witches and the Ips-witches, Master Thomas seemed to have no peace of his life. But this was before the witch persecutions had assumed such a tragical aspect. When Ezekiel had found Thomas Putnam and delivered his brief message, without dismounting from his skeleton steed, Master Putnam asked at once who sent the message. "Ipswich. Crown and Anchor. Very important indeed! At once. Wait till he comes," repeated the old man, with a face of the most impassive solemnity, and emphasizing every sentence with his long fore-finger. And that was all Master Thomas could get out of him. That much came just as often as he wished it; but no more--not a word. Mistress Ann Putnam had come out to the gate by that time. "He has been drinking too much cider," she said. This gave a suggestion to Ezekiel. "Yes, too much cider. Rum--steady me!" Mistress Putnam thought that it might produce an effect of that kind, and, going back into the house, soon reappeared with a rather stiff drink of West India rum; which the old man tossed off with no perceptible difficulty. He smiled as he handed back the tin cup which had held it. "Yes--steady now!" he said. "Who gave you the message?" again asked Master Putnam. Ezekiel looked solemn and thoughtful. "Who gave 'im the message," replied Ezekiel slowly. "Yes--who sent you to me?" "Who sent yer--to--me?" again repeated Ezekiel. "Ipswich. Crown and Anchor. At once. Wait till he comes." Then the old man's countenance cleared up, as if everything now must be perfectly satisfactory. "Oh there is no use in trying to get any more out of him--he is too much fuddled," said Mistress Putnam impatiently. "More rum--steady me!" mumbled Ezekiel. "No, not a drop more," said Thomas Putnam peremptorily. "You have had too much already." The old man frowned--and turning the skeleton steed after considerable effort, he gave his parting shot--"Crown and anchor--wait till he comes!" and rode off in a spasmodic trot down the lane. "I shall have to go to Ipswich, and see about this, it may supply the missing link in our chain of evidence!" "But how about this afternoon?" queried his wife. "Oh, I can get to Salem by three o'clock, by fast riding. I will leave the roan horse for you." "Saddle the grey mare, Jehosaphat." And thus it was that his brother Joseph, looking out of his sitting-room window, about an hour after his arrival at home, saw Master Thomas Putnam, on his well-known grey mare, riding along the road past his house on the most direct route to Ipswich. "He is out of the way, for one--if he waits an hour or two for any person to meet him on important business at the Crown and Anchor," thought the young man. "It is important indeed though that he should go, and keep himself out of mischief; and from helping to take any more innocent lives. And when he comes to his senses--in the next world, if not in this--he will thank me for deceiving him. Now let me see whether I can do as good a turn for that delectable wife of his." CHAPTER XLIV. How Master Joseph Circumvented Mistress Ann. About an hour afterwards, Master Joseph saw one of his farm-hands coming over the fields from the direction of his brother's house, which was about two miles almost directly to the west of his own house. Going out to meet him, he said-- "Well, Simon Peter, I see that you got the rake." "Yes, Master Joseph; but they wish me to return it as soon as we can." "That is right. Finish your job in the garden this afternoon, and take it back early tomorrow morning. You can go to work now." The man walked off toward the garden. "Wait a moment!" his master cried. The man stopped. "Anything new at brother Thomas's? Are they all at home?" "No, indeed! Master Thomas has gone off to Ipswich--and little Ann is at Salem town." "I could not borrow a horse, then, of them, you think?" "No, indeed, sir. There is only one left in the stable; and Mistress Putnam means to use that to go to the trial this afternoon." "Oh, well, I do not care much;" and his master walked off to the house, while Simon Peter went to his work. Then, after a somewhat earlier dinner than usual, Master Joseph ordered his young horse, Sweetbriar, saddled; and after kissing his wife "in a scandalous manner"--that is, out of doors, where some one might have seen him do it--he mounted, and cantered off down the lane. The young man loved a good horse and he claimed that Sweetbriar, with a year or two more of age and hardening, would be the fastest horse in the Province. As to temper, the horse was well named; for he could be as sweet, when properly handled, as a rose; and as sharp and briary as any rose-stalk under contrary conditions. A nervous, sensitive, high-mettled animal; Mistress Putnam, though a good rider, said it was too much work to manage him. While her husband always responded that Sweetbriar could be ridden by any one, for he was as gentle as a lamb. Just as Mistress Ann Putnam had got through her dinner, she saw her brother-in-law Joseph riding up the lane. The brothers, as has been seen, differed very widely relative to the Witchcraft prosecutions; but still they visited one another, as they were held together by various family ties, and especially by the old lawsuit against certain of the Ipswich men, to which I have alluded. Therefore Mistress Putnam opened the door and went out to the garden gate, where by this time the young man had dismounted, and fastened his horse. "Is brother Thomas at home, Sister Ann?" "No--he had a call to Ipswich this morning." "Ah--the lawsuit business." "I suppose so. But the messenger was so overcome with liquor, that he could not even remember who sent him." "Why, how could Thomas know where to go then?" "Oh, the man managed to say that his employee would be waiting for Thomas at the "Crown and Anchor," where he usually stops you know." "Well, I am glad that Thomas went. I stopped to see if Jehosaphat could do a little errand for me--I might have sent one of my own men, but I forget matters sometimes." "You will find him at the barn," replied Mistress Putnam, a little anxious to cut short the conversation, as she wished to get ready for her ride to Salem. Going to the barn, Master Joseph soon found Jehosaphat. "How do, Fatty!" this was the not very dignified diminutive into which Jehosaphat had dwindled in common use. "How are you getting along?" "Fair to middlin, sir. Not as well though as on the old place, Master Joseph." "I do not want to interfere with my brother, remember; but if at any time he should not want you any more, remember the old place is still open for you. It was your own fault, you know, that you went." "I did not know when I was well off, Master Joseph. I was a fool, that was all." "I thought so," replied Master Joseph pithily. "But no matter about that now--can you do an errand for me?" "Of course I can--the mistress willing." "Well, I said I wished to send you on an errand, and she told me where to find you." "That is all right then." "Go to Goodman Buckley's, in Salem village, and ask him for a bundle I left--bring it to my house, you know, you can take the roan horse there. And, by the way, Fatty, if you want to stop an hour or two to see the widow Jones's pretty daughter, I guess no great harm will be done." Jehosaphat giggled--but then his face clouded. "But Mistress Putnam wants to take the roan herself this afternoon. The trial comes off, you know." "Oh, it is not a trial--it is only an examination. And it is all fiddlesticks, anyhow. My sister-in-law is ruining her health by all this witch business. But if she insists upon going, I will lend her one of my horses. Therefore that need not keep you." So Jehosaphat, in high glee at having an afternoon's holiday, with the roan horse, threw on the saddle and mounted. As he rode at a rapid canter down the lane, Mistress Ann heard the noise, but supposed it was Master Joseph riding off again,--and did not even trouble herself to look out of the window, especially as she was just then changing her gown. Not long after, coming into the family room, who should she see there, sitting demurely, reading one of the Reverend Cotton Mather's most popular sermons, but the same Master Joseph Putnam whom she had thought she was well rid of. "I thought you had gone. I surely heard you riding down the lane," she said in a surprised tone. "Oh, no, I wanted to speak with you about something." "Who was it then?--I surely heard some one." "Perhaps it was one of those spectral horses, with a spectral rider. As Master Mather says: These are very wonderful and appalling times!" And the young man laughed a little scornfully. "Brother Joseph, I do not care to talk with you upon this question. I greatly regret, as do your brothers and your uncles, that you have gone over to the infidels and the scoffers." "And I regret that they are making such fools of themselves," replied Joseph hotly. "I have no time to discuss this question, brother Joseph," said Mistress Ann with dignity. "I am going to Salem town this afternoon, very much in the cross, to give my testimony against a young friend of yours. Would that I could have been spared this trial!" and his sister-in-law looked up to the ceiling sanctimoniously. As Joseph told his young wife that night, her hypocrisy hardened his heart against her; so that he could have kept her at home by sheer force, if it were necessary, and at all expedient--in fact he would have preferred that rough but sincere way. "If you testify to anything that throws doubt upon Master Raymond's perfect innocency and goodness, you will testify to a lie," replied Master Joseph severely. "As I said, I have no time for argument. Will you be good enough to tell Jehosaphat to saddle the roan for me." "You know that I had your permission to send Fatty off on an errand--and he is not back yet." Mistress Putnam started and bit her lip. She had made a mistake. "I suppose he will be back before long." "I doubt it. I sent him to the village." "Well, I suppose I can put on the saddle myself. Your conscience probably would not allow you to do it--even if common courtesy towards a woman, and that woman your sister, demanded it." "Without deciding the latter point, I should think it almost impossible for me to put a saddle on the roan just now." "Why? I do not understand you." "Because he is doubtless miles away by this time." "Jehosaphat did not take the horse!" "It is precisely what he did do." "He knew I wanted the roan to ride to Salem town this afternoon." "He told me you did; but I said that I thought you would have too much sense to go. Still, if you would go, that I would lend you one of my horses." "Well, where is your horse?" "There, at the door. You can take off my saddle, and put on your side-saddle, and, if you are in a hurry, Sweetbriar can do the distance in half the time that the roan could." Mistress Putnam could have cried with anger and vexation. Like many people of strong and resolute will, she was a good deal of a coward on horseback; and she knew that Sweetbriar was what the farmers called "a young and very skittish animal." Still her determined spirit rose against thus being outdone; besides, she knew well that in a case like this, where none of the "afflicted circle," not even her own daughter, would aid her, the whole thing might fall through if she were not present. So she said, "Well, I will saddle your horse myself." Here Master Joseph relented--because he now felt certain of his game. "I have conscientious scruples against lifting even my little finger to aid you in this unholy business," he said more placidly, "but under the circumstances, I will saddle Sweetbriar for you." So saying, he took off his saddle from the horse, and substituted the side-saddle which he brought from the barn. Then he led Sweetbriar to the horse-block, and his sister-in-law mounted. She glanced at his spurs. "You ride him with spurs, I see. Hand me my riding-whip," she said, pointing to where she had laid it, when she first came out. "I would not strike him, if I were you. He is not used to the whip--it might make him troublesome." Mistress Putnam made no reply; but gathered up the reins, and the horse started down the lane. A singular smile came across the young man's features. He went back and closed the door of the house, and then started in a rapid walk across the field towards his own home. Neither of them thought it mattered that the house was left for a time unprotected. Mistress Putnam knew that a couple of farm-hands were at work in a distant field, who would be back at sundown; and there were so few strollers at that time, that no farmer thought of bolting up his doors and windows when he went to meeting, or to see a neighbor. The way home across the fields was a good deal nearer than to go by the road, as the latter made quite an angle. And, as the young man strode swiftly, on he could see in many places his sister-in-law, riding deliberately along, and approaching the forks of the road, where anyone going to his own house, would turn and ride away from, instead of toward Salem. "When she gets to the forks of the road, look out for squalls," said Master Joseph to himself. For many had been his own fights with Sweetbriar, when the horse wanted to go towards his stable, after a long ride, and his young master wanted him to go in the opposite direction. Sweetbriar had already gone about twenty miles that day--and, besides, had been given only the merest mouthful for dinner, with the object of preparing him for this special occasion. The next swell in the ground afforded the young man an excellent view. Sweetbriar had arrived at the turn which led to his stable; where rest and oats awaited him; and it evidently seemed to Him the height of injustice and unreason to be asked to go all the way back to Salem again. Mistress Ann, however, knew nothing of these previous experiences of the animal, but imputed his insubordinate behavior entirely to self-will and obstinacy. And thus, as the great globe moves around the sun in a perpetual circle, as the result of the two conflicting forces of gravitation and fly-off-it-iveness, so Sweetbriar circled around and around, like a cat chasing his tail, as the result of the conflicting wills of himself and his rider. Master Joseph watched the progress of the whole affair with decided pleasure. "No woman but a witch could get Sweetbriar past that turn," he said to himself, laughing outright, "And no man, who had not a pair of spurs on." At last, getting out of all patience, Mistress Putnam raised her whip and brought it down sharply on her horse's shoulder. This decided the struggle; for, unused to such punishment, the fiery animal reared, and then turning, sprang up the road that led to his stable at a wild gallop. His rider as I have said, was not a very good horse-woman, and she now took hold of the horn of the saddle with her right hand, to enable her to keep her seat; and tried to moderate the gait of the horse with the reins and the voice, abandoning all further resistance to his will as useless. Setting off at a run, Master Joseph was able to reach home just about the same time as his sister-in-law did. "Ah! I am glad you changed your mind, Sister Ann, about going to Salem. It is a great deal more sensible to come and spend the afternoon with Elizabeth." "Very glad to see you, Sister Ann," said Mistress Joseph, coming out to the horse-block, at which Sweetbriar, from force of habit, had stopped. Mistress Ann looked offended, and replied coldly, "I had no intention of coming here this afternoon, Sister Elizabeth; but this vile brute, which Joseph lent me, after sending away my own horse, would neither obey the reins nor the whip." "You rascal!" said Master Joseph severely, addressing the horse. "You do not deserve to have a lady ride you." "Can you not lend me another horse--say the one Elizabeth always rides?" "All the other horses are out at work," replied Master Joseph; "and before I could get one of them in, and at all groomed up, ready for the saddle, I am afraid it would be too late for your purpose." "So I must be compelled to do as you wish, and stay away from the examination?" said Mistress Ann bitterly. "Oh, if you choose, I will put a pillion on Sweetbriar, and see how that works?" replied Master Joseph with a meek and patient expression of countenance, as of one upbraided without cause. "To be sure, Sweetbriar has never been asked to carry double; but he might as well learn now as ever." "That seems to be the only thing that can be done now," and the expression of Mistress Ann's face resembled that of a martyr who was about to be tied to the stake; for riding on a pillion brought the lady always into the closest proximity with the gentleman, and she was now cherishing towards Master Joseph a temper that could hardly be called sisterly. There was necessarily a great waste of time in getting the pillion on Sweetbriar. He never had carried double, and he evidently felt insulted by being asked to do it. Master Joseph glanced at the sun, and knew it must be now full two o'clock. Only by fast riding, would it be possible to get to Salem court-house by three; and the roads, as they then were, did not admit of fast riding except in a few places. It was no easy thing for Mistress Ann to get on Sweetbriar, for the horse backed and sidled off from the horse-block whenever she attempted it--all his sweetness seemed gone by this time, and the briars alone remained. At least fifteen minutes more were lost in this way. But at last the difficult feat was accomplished. "Hold on to me tightly," said the young man, "or you will be thrown off--" for the irritated animal began to curvet around in all directions, manifesting a strong determination to go back to his stable, instead of forward towards Salem. "I think we had better try the other road, and not pass the forks where you had so much trouble with him," said Master Joseph, as the horse went more quietly, going up the first hill. "As you think best," said his sister-in-law, in a sharp tone, "If I had a horse like this I would shoot him!" "Oh, Sweetbriar is good enough usually. I never saw him so violent and troublesome as he is to-day. And I think I know the reason of it." "What is the reason?" "I fear he has an 'evil hand' upon him," said Master Joseph with great solemnity. "Nonsense," replied Mistress Ann sharply. "He has got the wicked One in him; that is the matter with him." "That is about the same thing," said Master Joseph. Now they were at the top of the hill, and the horse broke into tantrums again; requiring all of Master Joseph's skill to prevent his toppling himself and his two riders over one of the many boulders that obstructed the road. "If you do not hold on to me more tightly, Sister Ann, you will be thrown off," said Master Joseph, putting back his right hand to steady her. And Mistress Ann was compelled to lock her arms around him, or take the chance of serious injury from being dashed to the rough highway. The young man would have liked to relieve his feelings by a hearty burst of laughter, as he felt her arms embracing him so warmly, but of course he dared not. They soon came near the main road, running due north and south, and which it was necessary to take, as it led directly down to Salem. Sweetbriar knew that road well--and that he never stopped when once turned to the south on it, short of a six mile ride. He remembered his recent victorious struggle at the Forks, and now resolved upon another battle. All of Master Putnam's efforts--or what seemed so--could not get him headed southward on that road. In truth, burdened as he was, the young man really could not do it, without incurring too much risk to the lady behind him. Those who have ever had such a battle with a wilful, mettlesome horse, know that it often requires the utmost patience and determination on the part of his rider, to come out victorious. The best plan--the writer speaks from some experience--is to pull the animal round in a circle until his brain becomes confused, and then start him off in the right direction. But Sweetbriar evidently had a better brain than usual, for when the whirl came to an end, it always found his pointing like the magnetic needle to the north. It had been Master Joseph's plan to pretend a good deal of earnestness in the struggle which he was certain would come in this place; but he was pleased to find that there was no need of any pretence in the matter. The horse, under the circumstances, the young man having a lady's safety to consult, was the master. Repeated trials only proved it. Whenever the fierce, final tug of war came, Mistress Ann's safety had to be consulted, and the horse had his own way. So, as the result Sweetbriar started off in a sharp canter up, instead of down, the road. "Take me home then," said his sister-in-law--"if you will not take me to Salem." "If I _will_ not," repeated Master Joseph. "I give you my honest word, Sister Ann, that I could not make this horse go down the road, with us two on his back, if I stayed here all the afternoon trying. I should think you must have seen that." "No matter. Take me home." "Besides, we could not get to Salem before four o'clock now, if Sweetbriar went his best and prettiest." "I give it up. Let us turn and go home." "If we turn and go back the way we came, I do not think I shall be able to get this self-willed animal past my own gate." "Well, what do you mean to do?" said the lady bitterly. "Ride on up to Topsfield?" Master Joseph laughed. "No--there is a road strikes off towards your house a short distance above here, and I think I can get you home by it, without any further trouble." "Very well--get me home as soon as you can. I do not feel like any further riding, or much more talking." "Of course it is very aggravating," replied Master Putnam soothingly, "but then you know as Master Parris says, that all these earthly disappointments are our most valuable experiences--teaching us not to set our hopes upon worldly things, but upon those of a more enduring and satisfying character." His sister-in-law's face, that he could not see, she being behind him, wore a look as she listened to this, which could be hardly called evangelical. "You wished very much I know to go this afternoon to Salem," continued Master Joseph, in the same sermonizing tone; "but doubtless your wish has been overruled for good. I think, as a member of church, you should be willing to acquiesce patiently in the singular turn that affairs have taken, and console yourself with the thought that you have been innocently riding these peaceful roads instead of being in Salem, doing perchance an infinite deal of mischief." "No doubt what you are saying seems to you very wise and edifying, Joseph Putnam, but I have a bad headache, and do not care to converse any further." "But you must admit that your projected visit has been frustrated in a very singular, if not remarkable manner?" Master Joseph knew that he had her now at an advantage; she was compelled to listen to everything he chose to say. His saddle was even better in that respect than the minister's pulpit--you might leave a church, but she could not leave the horse. "I do not see anything very miraculous, brother Joseph, in a young man like you having a self-willed and unprincipled horse. In truth, the wonder would be if you had a decent and well-governed animal," replied his sister-in-law wrathfully. The young man smiled at the retort, but she could not see the gleam of sunshine as it passed rapidly over his face; lingering a moment in the soft depths of his sweet blue eyes. There was no smile however in his voice, but the previous solemnity, as he continued:-- "And yet if Balaam's ass could see the angel of the Lord, with his drawn-sword, standing in the way, and barring his further progress in wrongdoing, why might not this horse--who is much more intelligent than an ass--have seen a similar vision?" The young man had begun this speech somewhat in sport; but as he ended it, the assumed tone of solemnity had passed into one of real earnestness. For, as he asked himself, "Why should it not be? This woman with him was bound on a wicked errand. Why should not the angel or the Lord stand in her way also--and the horse see him, even if his riders did not?" Mistress Putnam made no answer. Perhaps now that the young man was really in earnest, what he said made some impression upon her, but, more probably it did not. He, too, relapsed into silence. It seemed to him a good place to stop his preaching, and let his sister-in-law think over what he had said. "Thank Heaven we are here at last!" said the baffled woman, as they rode up to the horse-block at her own door. Sweetbriar stood very quiet, and she stepped on the block, Master Joseph keeping his seat. "Will you dismount and stay to supper, brother Joseph?" said Mistress Ann, in a soft purring tone. Master Joseph fairly started with his surprise, and looked steadily into her dark, inscrutable eyes--eyes like Jael's as she gazed upon sleeping Sisera. "No, I thank you--I expect a friend to supper. I hope brother Thomas heard some good news at Ipswich. Come and see us when you feel like it." And he rode off. As he told his wife afterwards, he would not have taken supper with his sister Ann that evening as he valued his life. And yet perhaps it was all imagination--and he did not see that thing lurking in the depths of his sister-in-law's cold, unfathomable eyes that he thought he did. And yet her testimony against Rebecca Nurse, reads to us, even at this late day, with all the charity that we are disposed to exercise towards things so long past, as cold-blooded, deliberate murder. CHAPTER XLV. The Two Plotters Congratulate Each Other. When Master Joseph arrived home, he told his wife of what a perverse course things had taken, amid his own and her frequent laughter. And then he could do nothing else than walk up and down impatiently, glancing at frequent intervals towards the road, to see if anybody were coming. In the course of an hour or so, nobody appearing and Sweetbriar being sweetened up again by a good feed, he ordered the horse brought out. Then he was persuaded by his wife to recall the order, and wait patiently till sundown. "What impatient creatures you men are!" said Mistress Elizabeth with feminine superiority. "Doubtless he will be along. Give him sufficient time. Now, do not worry, husband mine, but take things patiently." So Master Joseph was induced to control his restlessness and just as soon as he could have been reasonably expected, Master Raymond was seen riding up the lane at a light canter. "Hurrah!" cried Master Joseph, running to meet him. "And is it all over?" "We have smitten Ammon, hip and thigh, from Aroer even till thou come to Minnith!" answered Master Raymond, laughing. "It was you that kept the she-wolf away, I know. How did you do it?" "Come in and I will tell you all about it. And I want to hear how all went off in Salem." After a couple of hours' conversation, broken frequently by irresponsible bursts of laughter, the young men were mutually enlightened; and complimented each other upon the success with which they had worked out their respective schemes--while young Mistress Elizabeth complimented them both, thinking honestly in her innocent heart that two such wonderful young men certainly had never before existed. "How I should like to have seen you astonishing old Squire Hathorne," said Master Joseph. "I am afraid you would have spoiled all by laughing," said his young wife. "You know you never can control your merriment, Joseph." "I cannot? You should have seen me preaching to sister Ann this afternoon. I kept my face all the time as sober as a judge's. You know she had to take it all quietly--she could not even run away from it." "I would have given one of your five-pound Massachusetts notes to see it," said Master Raymond. "And five pounds more to see your brother Thomas stamping up and down the bar-room of the 'Crown and Anchor,' waiting for that Ipswich man to meet him." "I was very careful all through not to tell a direct falsehood," said Master Joseph; "it is bad enough to deceive people, without being guilty of downright lying." "Oh, of course," replied Master Raymond. "I do not know that I told a downright lie either, all day; although I must admit that I acted a pretty big one. But you must deal with fools according to their folly--you know we have Scripture for that." "I do not think I would have done it merely to save myself," said Master Joseph, evidently a little conscience-smitten. "But to save you, my friend, that seems to be different." "And Dulcibel," added Master Raymond. "If I were imprisoned what would become of her?" "Yes, I am glad I did it," responded his friend, regaining his confidence. "I have really hurt neither brother Thomas nor Sister Ann; on the contrary, I have prevented them from doing a great wrong. I am willing to answer for this day's work at the Last Day--and I feel certain that then at least, both of them will thank me for it." "I have no doubt of it," said Mistress Elizabeth who herself brought up in the rigid Puritan school, had felt the same misgivings as her husband, but whose scruples were also removed by this last consideration. As for Master Raymond, he, being more a man of the world, had felt no scruples at playing such a deceitful part. I am afraid, that to save Dulcibel, he would not have scrupled at open and downright lying. Not that he had not all the sensitiveness of an honorable man as to his word; but because he looked upon the whole affair as a piece of malicious wickedness, in defiance of all just law, and which every true-hearted man was bound to oppose and defeat by all means allowable in open or secret warfare. "I suppose you go back to Boston to morrow?" said his host, as they were about to separate for the night. "Yes, immediately after breakfast. This affair is a warning to me, to push my plans to a consummation as soon as possible. I think I know what their next move will be--a shrewd man once said, just think what is the wisest thing for your enemies to do, and provide against that." "What is it?" "Remove the Governor." "Why, I understood he was a mere puppet in the hands of the two Mathers." "He would be perhaps; but there is a Lady Phips." "Ah!' the gray mare is the better horse,' is she, as it is over at brother Thomas's?" "Yes, I think so. Now mark my prediction, friend Joseph; the first blow will be struck at Lady Mary. If Sir William resists, as I feel certain that he will--for he is, if not well educated, a thoroughly manly man--then he will be ousted from his position. You will note that it has been the game all through to strike at any one, man or woman, who came between these vampires and their prey. I know of only one exception." "Ah, who is that?" "Yourself." Master Joseph smiled grimly. "They value their own lives very highly, friend Raymond; and know that to arrest me would be no child's play. Besides, Sweetbriar is never long unsaddled; and he is the fastest horse in Salem." "Yes, and to add to all that, you are a Putnam; and your wife is closely connected with Squire Hathorne." "There may be something in that," said his friend. "Yes, even Mistress Ann has her limits, which her husband--submissive in so many things--will not allow her to pass. But we are both a little tired, after such an eventful day. Good night!" CHAPTER XLVI. Mistress Ann's Opinion of the Matter. While the foregoing conversation was taking place, one of a very different kind was passing between Mistress Ann and her worthy husband. He had gathered up all the particulars he could of the examination and had brought them home to his wife for her instruction. After listening to all that he had to tell, with at least outward calmness, she said bitterly: "The whole thing was a trick, you see, to keep you and me away from Salem." "Do you think so? Do you think then, that no man really wanted to see me at Ipswich?" "It is as plain as the nose on your face," replied his wife. "You were to be decoyed off to Ipswich, my horse sent out of the way, and then Joseph's madcap horse offered to me, they knowing well that the worthless creature would not behave himself with any woman on his back." "Oh, pshaw, Ann; you do not mean that my simple-hearted brother, Joseph Putnam, ever planned and carried out a subtle scheme of that kind?" said honest Thomas, with an older brother's undervaluation of the capabilities of a mere boy like Joseph. "I do not say that Joseph thought it all out, for very probably he did not; doubtless that Master Raymond put him up to it--for he seems cunning and unprincipled enough for anything, judging, by what you have told me of his ridiculous doings." "You may call them ridiculous, Ann; but they impressed everybody very much indeed. Dr. Griggs, told me that he had no doubt whatever that an 'evil hand' was on him." "Dr. Griggs is an old simpleton," said his wife crossly. "And even Squire Hathorne says that he never saw a stronger case of spectral persecution. Why, when one of the young men thrust the point of his rapier at the yellow bird, some of its feathers were cut off and came fluttering to the ground. Squire Hathorne says he never saw anything more wonderful." "Nonsense--it is all trickery!" "Trickery? Why, my dear wife, the Squire has the feathers!--and he means to send them at once to Master Cotton Mather by a special messenger, to confute all the scoffers and unbelievers in Boston and Plymouth!" A scornful reply was at the end of his wife's tongue but, on second thought, she did not allow it to get any farther. Suppose that she did convince her husband and Squire Hathorne that they had been grossly deceived and imposed upon--and that Master Raymond's apparent afflictions and spectral appearance were the result of skilful juggling, what then? Would their enlightenment stop there? How about the pins that the girls had concealed around their necks, and taken up with their mouths? How about Mary Walcot secretly biting herself, and then screaming out that good Rebecca Nurse had bitten her? How about the little prints on the arms of the "afflicted girls," which they allowed were made by the teeth of little Dorcas Good, that child not five years old; and which Mistress Ann knew were made by the girls themselves? How about the bites and streaks and bruises which she herself had shown as the visible proof that the spectre of good Rebecca Nurse, then lying in jail, was biting her and beating her with her chains? For Edward Putnam had sworn: "I saw the marks both of bite and chains." Perhaps it was safer to let Master Raymond's juggling go unexposed, considering that she herself and the "afflicted girls" had done so very much of it. Therefore she said, "I have no faith in Master Raymond nevertheless; no more than Moses had in King Pharaoh's sorcerers, when they did the very same miracles before the king that he had done. I believe him now to be a cunning and a very bad young man, and I think if I had been on the spot, instead of his being at this very moment as I have very little doubt, over at brother's, where they are congratulating each other on the success of their unprincipled plans, Master Raymond would now be lying in Salem jail." "Probably you are correct, my dear," responded her husband meekly; "and I think it not unlikely that Master Raymond may have thought the same, and planned to keep you away--but it was evident to me, that if the 'afflicted girls' had taken one side or the other in the matter, it would not have been yours. Why, even our own daughter Ann, was laughing and joking with him when I entered the court room." "Yes," said his wife disdainfully--"that is girl-nature, all over the earth! Just put a handsome young man before them, who has seen the world, and is full of his smiles and flatteries and cajolements, and the wisest of women can do nothing with them. But the cold years bring them out of that!" she added bitterly. "They find what they call love, is a folly and a snare." Her husband looked out of the window into the dark night, and made no reply to this outburst. He had always loved his wife, and he thought, when he married her, that she loved him--although he was an excellent match, so far as property and family were concerned. Still she would occasionally talk in this way; and he hoped and trusted that it did not mean much. "I think myself," he said at length, "that it is quite as much the pretty gifts he has made them, and has promised to send them from England, as his handsome face and pleasant manners." "Oh, of course, it all goes together. They are a set of mere giggling girls; and that is all you can make of them. And our daughter Ann is as bad as any of the lot. I wish she did not take so much after your family, Thomas." This roused her husband a little. "I am sure, Ann, that our family are much stronger and healthier than your own are. And as to Ann's being like the other girls, I wish she was. She is about the only delicate and nervous one among them." "Well, Thomas, if you have got at last upon that matter of the superiority of the Putnams to everybody else in the Province, I think I shall go to bed," retorted his wife. "That is the only thing that you are thoroughly unreasonable about. But I do not think you ever had a single minister, or any learned scholar, in your family, or ever owned a whole island, in the Merrimack river as my family, the Harmons, always have done, since the country was first settled--and probably always shall, for the next five hundred years." To this Thomas Putnam had no answer. He knew well that he had no minister and no island in his family--and those two things, in his wife's estimation, were things that no family of any reputation should be without. He had not brought on the discussion, although his wife had accused him of so doing, and had only asserted what he thought the truth in stating that the Putnams were the stronger and sturdier race. "I do not wish to hurt your feelings, Thomas, in reminding you of these things," continued his wife, finding he was not intending to reply; "I will admit that your family is a very reputable and worthy one, even if it is not especially gifted with intellect like the Harmons, else you may be sure that I should not have married into it. But I have a headache, and do not wish to continue this discussion any longer, as it is unpleasant to me, and besides in very bad taste." And so, taking the hint, Master Putnam, like a dutiful husband, who really loved his somewhat peevish and fretful wife, acknowledged by his silence in the future that the Harmons were much superior to any family that could not boast of possessing a minister and an island; the latter for five hundred years! CHAPTER XLVII. Master Raymond Visits Lady Mary. When Master Raymond returned to Boston, he found that an important event had taken place in his absence. Captain Alden and Master Philip English and his wife, had all escaped from prison, and were nowhere to be found. How Captain Alden had managed things with the jailer the young man was not able to ascertain--probably however, by a liberal use of money. As for Master English and his wife, they were, as I have already said, at liberty in the day time, under heavy bonds; and had nothing to do but walk off sometime between sunrise and sundown. As Master English's ship, "The Porcupine," had been lying for a week or two in Boston harbor, and left with a brisk northwest wind early in the morning of the day when they were reported missing, it was not difficult for anyone to surmise as to their mode of escape. As to Captain Alden, he might or might not have gone with them. As was natural, there was a good deal of righteous indignation expressed by all in authority. The jailer was reprimanded for his carelessness in the case of Captain Alden, and warned that if another prisoner escaped, he would forfeit his, of late, very profitable position. And the large properties of both gentlemen were attached and held as being subject to confiscation. But while the magistrates and officials usually were in earnest in these proceedings, it was generally believed that the Governor, influenced by Lady Mary, had secretly favored the escaping parties. The two ministers of South Church--Masters Willard and Moody--were also known to have frequently visited the Captain and Master English in their confinement, and to have expressed themselves very freely in public, relative to the absurdity of the charges which had been made against them. Master Moody had even gone so far as to preach a sermon on the text, 'When they persecute you in this city, flee ye into another,' which was supposed by many to have a direct bearing on the case of the accused. And it is certain that soon afterwards, the Reverend Master Moody found it expedient to resign his position in South Church and go back to his old home in Portsmouth. Anxious to learn the true inwardness of all this matter, Master Raymond called a few days after his return to see Lady Mary. Upon sending in his name, a maid immediately appeared, and he was taken as before to the boudoir where he found her ladyship eagerly awaiting him. "And so you are safely out of the lion's den, Master Raymond," said she, laughing. "I heard you had passed through securely." The young man smiled. "Yes, thanks to Providence, and to a good friend of mine in Salem." "Tell me all about it," said the lady. "I have had the magisterial account already, and now wish to have yours." "Will your ladyship pardon me if I ask a question first? I am so anxious to hear about Mistress Dulcibel. Have you seen her lately--and is she well?" "As well and as blooming as ever. The keeper and his wife treat her very kindly--and I think would continue to do so--even if the supply of British gold pieces were to fail. By the way, she might be on the high seas now--or rather in New York--if she had so chosen." "I wish she had. Why did she not go with them?" "Because your arrest complicated things so. She would not go and leave you in the hands of the Philistines." "Oh, that was foolish." "I think so, too; but I do not think that you are exactly the person to say so," responded the lady, a little offended at what seemed a want of appreciation of the sacrifice that Dulcibel had made on his account. But Master Raymond appeared not to notice the rebuke. He simply added: "If I could have been there to counsel her, I would have convinced her that I was in no serious danger--for, even if imprisoned, I do not think there is a jail in the Province that could hold me." "Well, there was a difficulty with the Keeper also--for she had given her word, you know, not to escape, when she was taken into his house." "But Captain Alden had also given his word. How did he manage it?" "I do not know," replied the lady. "But, to a hint dropped by Dulcibel, the jailer shook his head resolutely, and said that no money would tempt him." "The difficulty in her case then remains the same as ever," said the young man thoughtfully, and a little gloomily. "She might go into the prison. But that would be to give warning that she had planned to escape. Besides, it is such a vile place, that I hate the idea of her passing a single night in one of its sickening cells." "Perhaps I can wring a pardon out of Sir William," said the lady musing. "Oh, Lady Mary, if you only could, we should both forever worship you!" The lady smiled at the young man's impassioned language and manner--he looked as if he would throw himself at her feet. "I should be too glad to do it. But Sir William just now is more rigid than ever. He had a call yesterday from his pastor, Master Cotton Mather, and a long talk from him about the witches. Master Mather, it seems, has had further evidence and of the most convincing character, of the reality of these spectral appearances." "Indeed!" said Master Raymond showing great interest for he had an idea of what was coming. "Yes, in a recent examination at Salem before Squire Hathorne, a young man struck with his sword at a spectral yellow bird which was tormenting an afflicted person; and several small yellow feathers were cut off by the thrust, and floated down to the floor. Squire Hathorne writes to Master Mather that he would not have believed it, if he had not seen it; but, as it was, he would be willing to take his oath before any Court in Christendom, that this wonderful thing really occurred." Master Raymond could not help laughing. "I see you have no more faith in the story than I have," continued Lady Mary. "But it had a great effect upon Sir William, coming from a man of such wonderful learning and wisdom as Master Cotton Mather. Especially as he said that he had seen the yellow feathers himself; which had since been sent to him by Squire Hathorne, and which had a singular smell of sulphur about them." The young man broke into a heartier laugh than before. Then he said scornfully, "It seems to me that no amount of learning, however great, can make a sensible man out of a fool." "Why, you know something about this then? Did it happen while you were in Salem?" "I know everything about it," said Master Raymond, "I am the very man that worked the miracle." And he proceeded to give Lady Mary a detailed account of the whole affair, substantially as it is known to the reader. "By the way, as to the feathers smelling of sulphur," concluded the young man, "I think that it is very probable, inasmuch as I observed the jailer's wife that very morning giving the younger chickens powdered brimstone to cure them of the pip." "I think you are a marvelously clever young man," was the lady's first remark as he concluded his account. "Thank your ladyship!" replied Master Raymond smiling. "I hope I shall always act so as to deserve such a good opinion." "I would have given my gold cup--which the Duke of Albemarle gave me--to have been there; especially when the yellow bird's feathers came floating down to Squire Hathorne's reverential amazement," said Lady Mary, laughing heartily. "You must come up here tomorrow morning at noon. Master Mather is to bring his feathers to show the Governor, and to astound the Governor's skeptical wife. You are not afraid to come, are you?" "I shall enjoy it very much--that is, if the Governor will promise that I shall not suffer for my disclosures. I am free now, and I do not wish to be arrested again." "Oh, I will see to that. The Governor will be so curious to hear your story, that he will promise all that you desire as to your safety. Besides, he will not be sorry to take down Master Mather a little; these Puritan ministers presume on their vocation too much. They all think they are perfectly capable of governing not only Provinces, but Kingdoms; while the whole history of the world proves their utter incapacity to govern even a village wisely." "That is true as the gospel, Lady Mary. But one thing I have always noticed. That while every minister thinks this, he would himself far rather be governed even by one of the world's people, than by a minister of any other belief than his own. So you see they really do think the same as we do about it; only they do not always know it." "You are a bright young man," Lady Mary replied pleasantly, "and I think almost good enough to wear such a sweet rose next your heart as Mistress Dulcibel." CHAPTER XLVIII. Captain Tolley's Propositions. That evening as Master Raymond was standing in the bar-room of the Red Lion, Captain Tolley came in, and after tossing off a stout glass of rum and water, went out again, giving the young Englishman a nod and the agreed-upon-signal, a smoothing of his black beard with the left hand. After the lapse of a few minutes, Master Raymond followed, going towards the wharves, which in the evening were almost deserted. Arrived at the end of one of the wharves, he found the Captain of the Storm King. "So you got out of the clutches of those Salem rascals safely?" said the Captain. "I was afraid I should have to go all the way to Salem for you." "You would not have deserted me then, Captain?" "That is not the kind of a marlinespike I am," replied the Captain quaintly. "I'd have got you out of Salem jail, unless it is a good deal stronger than the Boston one." "Thank you, Captain, but I am glad there was no need of your trying." "You heard of course that Captain Alden was off, and Master and Mistress English?" "Yes--and very glad I was too." "Why did not your sweetheart go with the Englishes?" "There were several reasons--one, a rather foolish one, she would not leave me in prison." "She would not?" "No." "D---- me! Why that girl is fit to be a sailor's wife! When we get her off safely I intend to have her as the figure-head of the Storm King." "I am afraid that would be a very unhealthy position--she might catch a bad cold," replied Master Raymond. "Oh, of course I mean in wood, painted white with red cheeks," said Captain Tolley. "It brings good luck to have a fine woman for a figure-head--pleases old Nep, you know." "But we must get her off first," rejoined Master Raymond. "Now to keep out of that hateful jail, she has given her word to Keeper Arnold not to escape. You know she cannot break her word." "Of course not," replied the Captain; "a lady is like a sailor, she cannot go back on her promise." "And there is where the trouble comes in." "Buy Keeper Arnold over." "I am afraid I cannot--not for a good while at least. They are all down upon him for Captain Alden's escape. They might give him a terrible whipping if another prisoner got off." The Captain shrugged his shoulders. "Yes, I saw them whip some Quakers once. It was not a good honest lash, but something the hangman had got up on purpose, and which cut to the very bone. I have seen men and women killed, down on the Spanish main, but I never saw a sight like that! Good, harmless men and women too! A little touched here, you know," and the Captain tapped his forehead lightly with his fore-finger. "Yes--I should not like to hear that Master Arnold had been tortured like that on our account." "Suppose we carry her off some night by force, she having no hand in the arrangements? She can even refuse to go, you know, if she pleases--we will handle her as gently as a little bird, and you can come up and rescue her, if you choose, and knock down two or three of us. How would that do? Half-a-dozen of the Storm King's men could easily do that. Choose a night with a brisk nor'wester, and we would be past the castle's guns before the sleepy land-lubbers had their eyes open." Master Raymond shook his head dubiously. "I do not like it--and yet I suppose it must do, if nothing better can be found. Of course if we carry her off bodily, against her will, it would neither be a breaking of her pledge nor expose Keeper Arnold to any danger of after punishment, though he might perhaps get pretty seriously hurt in resisting us, and she would not like that much." "I suppose then we must wait a while longer," said the Captain. "I am ready any time you say the word--only be careful that a good west or a nor'west wind is blowing. When once out on the high seas, we can take care of ourselves." "Many French privateers out there?" "Thick as blackberries. But they are of no account. Those we cannot fight, we can easily run away from. There is no craft on these seas, that can overhaul the Storm King!" With a hearty shake of the hand the two parted, the Captain for the vessel of which he was so proud; Master Raymond for his room in the Red Lion. CHAPTER XLIX. Master Raymond Confounds Master Cotton Mather. The next day, a little before noon, Master Raymond knocked at the door of the Governor's Mansion, and was at once conducted to Lady Mary's boudoir. "The Reverend Master Mather is already with the Governor," said her ladyship, "and I expect to receive a summons to join them every moment." And in fact the words were hardly out of her mouth, when Sir William's private secretary, Master Josslyn, appeared, with a request for her ladyship's presence. "Come with me," said she to Master Raymond; "but do not say anything--much less smile or laugh--until I call upon you for your testimony." As they entered, the courteous Governor handed his lady to a seat on the sofa; and Master Mather made a dignified obeisance. "I have brought along a young friend of mine, who was with me, and would also like to hear of all these wonderful things," said her ladyship; and Master Raymond bowed very deferentially to both the high dignities, they returning the bow, while Sir William politely requested him to be seated. "I was just on the point of showing to Sir William the most remarkable curiosities of even this very remarkable era--and he suggested that you also doubtless would like to see them," said the minister; at this time a man of about thirty years of age. He was a rather comely and intelligent looking man, and Master Raymond wondered that one who appeared so intellectual, should be the victim of such absurd hallucinations. Lady Mary bent her head approvingly, in answer to the minister. "I should like very much to see them," she replied courteously; and Master Mather continued:-- "In the work I have been preparing on the "Wonders of the Invisible World," several of the sheets of which I have already shown to Sir William, I have collected many curious and wonderful instances. Thus in the case of the eldest daughter of Master John Goodwin, whom I took to my own house, in order that I might more thoroughly investigate the spiritual and physical phenomena of witchcraft, I found that while the devils that tormented her were familiar with Latin, Greek and Hebrew, they seemed to have very little knowledge of the various Indian dialects." "That certainly is very curious," replied Sir William, "inasmuch as those heathen are undeniably the children of the devil, as all our wisest and most godly ministers agree." "Yes," continued the minister, "it is true; and that makes me conjecture, that these devils were in fact only playing a part; to deceive me into thinking that the red heathen around us were not really the children of Satan, as they undoubtedly are." "I think that the most reasonable view," responded the Governor. "As to the reality of this new assault by Satan upon this little seed of God's people in the new world," continued Master Mather, fervently, "I have now no doubt whatever. Proof has been multiplied upon proof, and the man, or woman, who does not by this time believe, is simply one of those deplorable doubters, like Thomas, who never can be convinced. For my part, I consider Witchcraft the most nefandous high treason against the Majesty on High! And a principal design of my book is to manifest its hideous enormity, and to promote a pious thankfulness to God that Justice so far is being inflexibly executed among us." Lady Mary's face flushed a little, for she saw the drift of the minister's censure. It was well known in all the inner circles, that she had neither faith in the reality of witchcraft, nor the least sympathy with the numerous prosecutions, and the inflexible justice which the minister lauded. The Governor knew his wife's temper, and hastened to say:-- "Still we must admit, Master Mather, that some persons, with tender conscience, require more convincing proofs than do others. And therefore I was anxious that Lady Mary should see these feathers you spoke of, cut from the wings of one of those yellow birds which appear to be used so frequently as familiars by the Salem witches." "Oh, yes, I had forgotten them for the moment." And putting his hand into his breast pocket, Master Mather produced a small box, which he opened carefully and called their attention to a couple of small yellow feathers placed on a piece of black cloth within. "I would not take a hundred pounds for these spectral feathers," said the minister exultingly. "They are the only positive proof of the kind, now existing in the whole world. With these little feathers I shall dash out the brains of a host of unbelievers--especially of that silly Calef, or Caitiff, who is all the time going around among the merchants, wagging his vile tongue against me." Sir William and Lady Mary had been looking upon the feathers very curiously. At last Lady Mary gave a low, incredulous laugh. Her husband looked at her inquiringly. "They are nothing but common chicken feathers which could be picked up in any barn yard," she said scornfully. "Your ladyship is very much mistaken, you never saw chicken feathers like those," said the minister, his face now also flushing. "Who was the yellow bird afflicting, when these feathers were cut?" the lady asked. "A young man was on his examination for witchcraft, Squire Hathorne writes me; but he was found to be himself a victim, and was released--which proves, by the way, how careful the worshipful magistrates are in Salem, lest any who are innocent should be implicated with the guilty. The young man began to cry out that an 'evil hand' was on him, and that a yellow bird was trying to peck out his eyes. Whereupon one of the by-standers pulled out his rapier, and smote at the spectral bird--when these feathers were cut off; becoming visible of course as soon as they were detached from the bird and its evil influence. It is one of the most wonderful things that I ever heard of," and Master Mather gazed on the feathers with admiring and almost reverential eyes. "Sir William," said his lady, "you have, I hope, a little common sense left, if these Massachusetts ministers and magistrates have all gone crazy on this subject. You know what a chicken is, if they do not. Are not those simply chicken feathers?" "Why, my dear," replied the Governor, wriggling in his great arm-chair, "I grant that they certainly do look like chicken feathers; but then you know, the yellow bird the witches use, may have feathers like unto a chicken's." "Nonsense!" replied Lady Mary. "None are so blind as those that will not see. I suppose that if I were to bring that afflicted young man here, and he were to acknowledge that the whole thing was a trick, got up by him to save his life, you would not believe him?" "Indeed I should," replied Sir William. "Yes, Lady Mary, find the young man, and question him yourself," said Master Mather. "None are so certain as those that have never informed themselves. I have made inquiry into these marvelous things; I even took that afflicted girl, as I have told you, into my own house, in order to inform myself of the truth. When you have investigated the matter to one-tenth the extent that I have, you will be prepared to give a reasonable opinion as to its truth or falsehood. Until then, some modesty of statement would become a lady who sets up her crude opinion against all the ministers and the magistracy of the land." This was a tone which the leading ministers of that day among the Puritans, did not hesitate to take, even where high dignitaries were concerned and Master Mather had the highest ideas of the privilege of his order. "Then I suppose, Master Mather, that if the afflicted young man himself should testify that these feathers were simply chicken feathers, that he had artfully thrown up into the air, you would not acknowledge that he had deceived you?" "If such an impossible thing could happen, though I know that it could not, of course I should be compelled to admit that Squire Hathorne and a hundred others, who all saw this marvelous thing plainly, in open day, were deceived by the trick of an unprincipled mountebank and juggler." "I shall hold both you and Sir William to your word," replied Lady Mary emphatically. Then, turning to the young Englishman, who had remained entirely silent so far, paying evident attention to all that was spoken, but giving no sign of approval or disapproval, she said, "Master Raymond, what do you think of this matter?" Master Raymond rose from his chair and stepped a pace or two forward. Then he said, "If I answer your ladyship's question freely, it might be to my own hurt. Having had my head once in the lion's mouth, I am not anxious to put it there again." The lady looked significantly at Sir William. "Speak out truly, and fear nothing, young man," said the Governor. "Nothing that you say here shall ever work you injury while I am Governor of the Province." "What do you wish to know, Lady Mary?" "You, I believe, were the afflicted young man, to whom Master Mather has referred?" Master Raymond bowed. "Was there any reality in those pretended afflictions?" "Only a bad cold to begin with," said the young man smiling. "How about the yellow bird?" "It was all a sham. I dealt with credulous and dangerous fools according to their folly." "How about those feathers?" "They are feathers I got from the wings of one of the Salem jailor's chickens." Sir William laughed, "How about the smell of sulphur which Squire Hathorne and Master Mather have detected in the feathers?" "I think it very probable; as I observed Goodwife Foster that morning giving her chickens powdered brimstone for the pip." Here the Governor laughed loudly and long until Master Mather said indignantly, "I am sorry, Sir William, that you can treat so lightly this infamous confession of falsehood and villainy. This impudent young man deserves to be set for three days in the pillory, and then whipped at the cart's tail out of town." "Of course it is a very shameful piece of business," replied the Governor, regaining his gravity. "But you know that as the confession has been made only on the promise of perfect immunity, I cannot, as a man of my word, suffer the least harm to come to the young person for making it." "Oh, of course not," said the minister, taking up his hat, and preparing to leave the room; "but it is scandalous! scandalous! All respect for the Magistracy and authority seems to be fading out of the popular mind. I consider you a dangerous man, a very dangerous young man!" This last of course to Master Raymond. "And I consider you tenfold more dangerous with your clerical influence, and credulity, and superstition!" replied the young Englishman hotly. Being of good family, he was not inclined to take such insults mildly. "How dare you, with your hands all red with the blood of twenty innocent men and women, talk to me about being dangerous!" "Peace!" said Sir William with dignity. "My audience chamber is no place to quarrel in. "I beg your Excellency's pardon!" said Master Raymond, humbly. "One moment, before you go," said Lady Mary, stepping in front of the minister. "I suppose you will be as good as your word, Master Mather and admit that with all your wisdom you were entirely mistaken?" "I acknowledge that Squire Hathorne and myself have been grossly deceived by an unprincipled adventurer--but that proves nothing. Because Jannes and Jambres imitated with their sorceries the miracles of Moses, did it prove that Moses was an impostor? There was one Judas among the twelve apostles, but does that invalidate the credibility of the eleven others, who were not liars and cheats? It is the great and overwhelming burden of the testimony which decides in this as in all other disputed matters--not mere isolated cases. Good afternoon, madam. I will see you soon again, Sir William, when we can have a quiet talk to ourselves." "Stay!" cried Lady Mary, as the offended minister was stalking out of the room. "You have forgotten something," and she pointed to the little box, containing the chicken's feathers which had been left lying upon the table. The minister gave a gesture expressive of mingled contempt and indignation--but did not come back for it. It was evident that he valued the feathers now at considerably less than one hundred pounds. "Young man," said the Governor, smiling, "you are a very bright and keen-witted person, but I would advise you not to linger in this province any longer than is absolutely necessary. Master Mather is much stronger here than I am." CHAPTER L. Bringing Affairs to a Crisis. The next morning a note came to Master Raymond from Joseph Putnam, brought by one of the farm-hands. It was important. Abigail Williams had called upon Goodwife Buckley, and told her in confidence that it was in contemplation, as she had learned from Ann Putnam, to bring Dulcibel Burton back to Salem jail again. The escape of Captain Alden and the Englishes from the Bridewell in Boston, had caused a doubt in Salem as to its security. Besides, Lady Phips had taken ground so openly against the witch prosecutions, that there was no knowing to how great an extent she might not go to aid any prisoner in whom she took an interest. Abigail Williams further said that Mistress Ann Putnam had become very bitter both against her brother-in-law Joseph and his friend Master Raymond. She was busy combatting the idea that the latter really ever had been afflicted--and was endeavoring to rouse Squire Hathorne's indignation against him as being a deceiver. As the young man read this last, he wondered what effect would be produced upon the credulous magistrate, when he received word from Master Mather as to what had occurred in the Governor's presence. Would he be so angry as to take very arbitrary measures; or so ashamed as to let it all pass, rather than expose the extent to which he had been duped? He feared the former--knowing in which way Mistress Ann Putnam's great influence with him would be directed. Master Joseph advised immediate action--if peaceable means would not serve, then the use of violent ones. If Captain Tolley could not find among his sailors those who would undertake the job, he, Master Joseph, would come down any night with three stout men, overpower the keepers, and carry off Mistress Dulcibel, with the requisite amount of violence to keep her promise unbroken. Master Raymond wrote a note in return. He was much obliged for the information. It was evident that the time had come for action; and that it was dangerous to delay much longer. Of course peaceable means were to be preferred; and it was possible he might be able either to bribe the keeper, or to get a release from the Governor; but, if force had to be resorted to, Captain Tolley could command his whole crew for such a service, as they were the kind of men who would like nothing better. In fact, they would not hesitate to open fire upon the town, if he ordered it--and even run up the flag of a French privateer. After dispatching this business, Master Raymond went out on the porch of the Red Lion, and began an examination of the clouds and the weather-cocks. It had been raining slightly for a day or two, with the wind from the southeast; but though the vanes still pointed to the southeast, and the light lower clouds were moving from the same point of the compass, he caught glimpses through the scud of higher clouds that were moving in an entirely opposite direction. "How do you make it out?" said a well-known voice. He had heard some one approaching, but had supposed it to be a stranger. "I am not much of a sailor; but I should say it would clear up, with a brisk wind from the west or the northwest by afternoon." "Aye!" said Captain Tolley, for it was he; "and a stiff nor'wester by night. If it isn't I'll give my head for a foot-ball. Were I bound out of the harbor, I would not whistle for a better wind than we shall have before six hours are over." Master Raymond glanced around; no one was near them. "Are you certain of that, Captain? Would it do to bet upon? "You may bet all you are worth, and your sweetheart into the bargain," replied the Captain laughing, with a significant look out of his eyes. "When are you going, Captain?" "Oh, to-night, perhaps--if I can get all my live stock on board. "To-night then let it be," said the young man in a whisper; "by fair means, or by foul. I may succeed by fair means; have a boat waiting at the wharf for me. It will be light enough to get out of the harbor?" "There is a gibbous moon--plenty. Once past the castle, and we are safe. We can easily break open the keeper's house--and quiet him with a pistol at his head." "You must not harm him--he has been a good friend to her." "Of course--only scare him a little. Besides, he is not a good friend, if he makes a noise." "Well, I will see you by ten o'clock--with her or without her--Yes, I will bet you a gold piece, Captain, that the wind gets around to the west by four o'clock." This last was in Master Raymond's usual tones--the previous conversation having been in whispers. "You will be safe enough in that, Master Raymond," said the landlord of the Red Lion, whose steps the young Englishman had heard approaching. "Do you think so? I do not want to take the young man's money, he is only a landsman you know, Mate; but I will bet you a piece of eight that the wind will not get around till a half hour after that time. And we will take it all out in drinks at your bar, at our leisure." "Done!" said the landlord. "And now let us go in, and take a drink all around in advance." CHAPTER LI. Lady Mary's Coup D'Etat. Master Raymond's next proceeding was to call on Lady Phips. Sending in his name, with a request to see her ladyship on very important business, he was ushered as usual into her boudoir. "I must be doing something, Lady Mary," he said, after a few words relative to the evident change of weather; "I have news from Salem that the Magistrates are about to send Mistress Dulcibel back to Salem jail." "That is sad," she answered. "And, besides, there is no knowing what new proceedings they may be concocting against me. I must take Sir William's advice, and get out of this hornet's nest as soon as possible." "Well what can I do for you?" "Get an order from Sir William releasing Dulcibel from prison." "Oh, that I could! God knows how gladly I would do it." "You can at least try," said Master Raymond desperately. The lady hesitated a moment. "Yes, as you say, I can at least try. But you know how impossible it is to carry on the government of this Province without the support of the ministers and the magistrates. Sir William is naturally anxious to succeed; for, if he fails here, it will block his road to further preferment." "And he will allow the shedding of innocent blood to go on, in order to promote his own selfish ambition?" said the young man indignantly. "You are unjust to the Governor. He will do all he can to moderate this fanaticism; and, if it comes to the worst, he will order a general jail-delivery, and meet the consequences. But he hopes much from time, and from such developments as those of your chicken feathers"--and the lady smiled at the thought of the minister's discomfiture. "Some things can wait, but I cannot wait," insisted Master Raymond. "You must acknowledge that." "Sir William starts this afternoon on a visit to Plymouth, to remain for a day or so; but I will have a talk with him, and see what I can do," replied the lady. "Call here again at six o'clock this evening." "Such beauty and spirit as yours must be irresistible in the cause of virtue and innocence," said the young man, rising to depart. "No flattery, Master Raymond; I will do all I can without that;" but Lady Mary being still a very comely woman, as she certainly was a very spirited one, was not much displeased at the compliment, coming from such a handsome young man as Master Raymond. Eulogy that the hearer hopes embodies but the simple truth, is always pleasant alike to men and women. It is falsehood, and not truth, that constitutes the essence of Flattery. The day dragged on very drearily and slowly to Master Raymond. The waiting for the hour of action is so irksome, that even the approach of danger is a relief. But patience will at last weary out the slowest hours; and punctually at six o'clock, the young man stood again at the door of the Governor's mansion. Lady Mary evidently was expecting him--for he was shown in at once. She looked up wearily as he entered. "I can do nothing to-day," she said. "What ground did the Governor take?" "That sound policy forbade him to move in the matter at present. The persecuting party were very indignant at the escape of Captain Alden and the Englishes; and now for him to grant a pardon to another of the accused, would be to irritate them to madness." Master Raymond acknowledged to himself the soundness of the Governor's policy; but he only said: "Then it seems that Dulcibel must go back to Salem prison; and I run a good chance of going to prison also, as a self-confessed deceiver and impostor." "If she were released, could you both get away from Boston--at once?" Master Raymond's voice sank to a whisper. "I have all my plans arranged. By the third hour after midnight, we shall be where we can snap our fingers at the magistrates of Boston." "I have been thinking of a plan. It may work--or may not. But it is worth trying." The young man's face lightened. "You know that England is ruled by William and Mary, why should not the Province of Massachusetts also be?" "I do not understand you." "Upon leaving Sir William, I was somewhat indignant that he would not grant my request. And to pacify me, he said he was sorry that I had not the same share in the government here, that Queen Mary had at home--and then I could do more as I pleased." Still Master Raymond's face showed that he was puzzled to catch her meaning. She laughed and rose from her chair; the old, resolute expression upon her spirited face, and, opening the door into the next room, which was the Governor's private office, she said: "Come here a moment, Master Josslyn." The private Secretary entered. "Prepare me," she said to the Secretary, "the proper paper, to be signed by the Governor, ordering Keeper Arnold to release at once Mistress Dulcibel Burton from confinement in the Boston Bridewell." "But the Governor, you know, is absent, Lady Mary," said the Secretary, "and his signature will be necessary." "Oh, I will see to that," replied the lady a little haughtily. Master Raymond sat quietly--waiting for what was to come next. He could not conceive how Lady Mary intended to manage it. As for the lady, she tapped the table with her shapely fingers impatiently. In a few minutes Master Josslyn reappeared with the paper. "All it now wants is the signature of the Governor," said he. The lady took up a pen from the table by which she was sitting, and filled it with ink; then with a firm hand she signed the paper, "William Phips, Governor, by Lady Mary Phips." "But, your ladyship, the keeper will not acknowledge the validity of that signature, or obey it," said Master Josslyn in some alarm. "He will not? We shall see!" responded her ladyship rising. "Order my carriage, Master Josslyn." In fifteen minutes, Lady Mary, accompanied by Master Raymond, was at Keeper Arnold's house. "I bring you good news, Master Arnold," said Lady Mary, "I know you will rejoice, such a tender-hearted man as you are at the release of Mistress Dulcibel Burton. Here is the official document." She flourished it at him, but still kept it in her hand. Dulcibel was soon informed of the good news; and came flying out to meet her benefactor and her lover. "Put on a shawl and your veil at once; and make a bundle of your belongings," said Lady Mary, kissing her. "Master Raymond is in a great hurry to carry you off--at which I confess that I do not wonder." Dulcibel tripped off--the sooner she was out of that close place the better. "Well, what is it, Master Arnold?" said Lady Mary to the keeper, who acted as if he wished to say something. "It is only a form, my lady; but you have not shown me the Governor's warrant yet?" "Why, yes I have," said Lady Mary, fluttering it at him as before. But Keeper Arnold was fully aware of the responsibility of his position; and putting out his hand, he steadied the fluttering paper sufficiently to glance over its contents. When he came to the signature, his face paled. "Pardon me, my lady; but this is not the Governor's writing." "Of course it is not--why, you silly loon, how could it be when he has gone to Plymouth? But you will perceive that it is in Master Josslyn's writing--and the Governor ought to have signed it before he started." "This is hardly in regular form, my lady." "It is not? Do you not see the Governor's name; and there below it is my name, as proof of the Governor's. Do you mean to impeach my attestation of Sir William's signature? There is my name, Lady Mary Phips: and I will take the responsibility of this paper being a legal one. If anybody finds fault with you, send him to me; and I will say you did it, in the Governor's absence from town, at my peremptory order." The lady's face glowed, and her eyes flashed, with her excitement and determination. "It would be as much as my position is worth to disobey it and me!" rejoined Lady Mary. "I will have you out of this place in three days' time, if you cast disrespect upon my written name." "There can be no great haste in this matter. Bring the release tomorrow, and I will consult authority in the meanwhile," said the keeper pleadingly. "Authority? The Governor's name is authority! I am authority! Who dare you set up beside us? You forget your proper respect and duty, Master Arnold." The keeper was overborne at last. "You will uphold me, if I do this thing, Lady Mary?" said he imploringly. "You know me, Master Arnold--and that I never desert my friends! I shall accept the full responsibility of this deed before Sir William and the magistrates. And they cannot order any punishment which he cannot pardon." By this time it had grown quite dark. "Shall I take you anywhere in my carriage?" said Lady Mary, as Dulcibel reappeared with a bundle. "It is not necessary," replied Master Raymond joyfully, "I will not compromise you any further. God forever bless your ladyship! There is not another woman in New England with the spirit and courage to do what you have done this day--and the reader of our history a hundred years to come, as he reads this page, shall cry fervently, God bless the fearless and generous soul of Lady Mary!" "Let me know when you are safe," she whispered to the young man, as he stood by her carriage. "Master and Mistress English are now the guests of Governor Fletcher of New York--changing a Boston prison for a Governor's mansion. You will be perfectly secure in that Province--or in Pennsylvania, or Maryland or Virginia." And the carriage drove off. It was in that early hour of the evening, when the streets in town and city, are more deserted than they are for some hours afterwards; everyone being indoors, and not come out for visiting or amusement. And so the young man and his companion walked towards the north-eastern part of the town, meeting only one or two persons, who took no special notice of them. "You do not ask where we are going, Dulcibel?" at last said Master Raymond. She could not see the sweet smile on his face; but she could feel it in his voice. "Anywhere, with you!" the maiden replied in a low tone. "We are going to be married." He felt the pressure of her hand upon his arm in response. "That is, if we can find a minister to perform the ceremony." "That will be difficult, I should think." "Yes, difficult, but not impossible. After getting you out of prison, as Lady Mary did, I should not like to call anything impossible." "Lady Mary is an angel!" "Yes, one of the kind with wings," replied her companion laughing. "She has kindly loaned us her wings though--and we are flying away on them." Before long they were at one of the wharves; then on a small boat--then on the deck of the "Storm King." "I am better than my word, Captain Tolley." "Aye! indeed you are. And this is the birdie! Fair Mistress, the "Storm King" and his brood are ready to die to shield you from harm." Dulcibel looked wonder out of her clear blue eyes. What did it all mean? She smiled at the Captain's devoted speech. "I do not want any one to die for me, Captain. I would rather have you sing me a good sea-song, such as my father, who was also a sea-captain, used to delight me with at home." "Oh, we can do that too," answered the Captain gaily. "I hope we shall have a jolly time of it, before we reach our destination. Now, come down into the cabin and see the preparations I have made for you; a sailor's daughter must have the best of sailor's cheer." "One word, Captain," said Master Raymond, as the Captain came up on deck again, leaving Dulcibel to the privacy of her state-room. "It does not seem fitting that a young unmarried woman should be alone on a vessel like this, with no matron to bear her company." "Sir!" said the Captain, "I would have you know that the maiden is as safe from aught that could offend her modesty on the decks of the "Storm King," as if she were in her father's house." "Of course she is. I know that well--and mean not the least offense. And she, innocent as she is, has no other thought. But this is a slanderous world, Captain, and we men who know the world, must think for her." "Oh, I admit that," said Captain Tolley, somewhat mollified, "we cannot expect of mere land's people, who put an innocent girl like that into prison for no offense, the gentle behavior towards women that comes naturally from a seaman; but what do you propose?" "To send for one of the Boston ministers, and marry her before we leave port." "Why, of course," replied the Captain. "It is the very thing. Whom shall we send for? The North Church is nearest--how would Master Cotton Mather do?" The young man stood thoughtfully silent for a moment or two. The ministers of South Church and of King's chapel were more heterodox in all this witchcraft business; but for that very reason he did not wish to compromise them in any way. Besides, he owed a grudge to Master Mather, for his general course in sustaining the persecution, and his recent language in particular towards himself. So his lips gradually settled into a stern determination, and he replied "Master Mather is the very man." "It may require a little ingenuity to get him aboard at this time of the evening," said the Captain. "But I reckon my first mate, Simmons, can do it, if any one can." "Here, Simmons," to the first mate, who was standing near, "you look like a pillar of the church, go ashore and bring off Master Cotton Mather with you. A wealthy young Englishman is dying--and he cannot pass away from Boston in peace without his ministerial services." "Dying?" ejaculated Master Raymond. "Yes, dying! dying to get married--and you cannot pass out of Boston harbor in peace, without his ministerial services." "Would it not do as well to ask him to come and marry us?" "I doubt it," replied the Captain. "Master Mather is honest in his faith, even if he is bigoted and superstitious--and death cannot be put off like marriage till tomorrow. But take your own course, Simmons--only bring him." "Shall I use force, sir, if he will not come peaceably?" asked the mate coolly. "Not if it will make a disturbance," said his commander. "We do not want to run the gauntlet of the castle's guns as we go out of the harbor. The wind is hardly lively enough for that." "I will go down and tell Dulcibel," said Master Raymond. "It is rather sudden, but she is a maiden of great good sense, and will see clearly the necessity of the case. And as she is an orphan, she has no father or mother whose consent she might consider necessary. But Mate"--going to the side of the vessel, which the boat was just leaving, "not a word as to my name or that of the maiden. That would spoil all." "Aye, aye, sir! Trust me to bring him!" and the boat started for the shore, under the vigorous strokes of two oarsmen. CHAPTER LII. An Unwilling Parson. Not quite an hour had elapsed, when the sound of oars was again heard; and Captain Tolley, peering through the dark, saw that another form was seated opposite the mate in the stern-sheets of the boat. "I thought that Simmons would bring him," said Captain Tolley to the second mate; "such a smooth tongue as he has. It is a pity he wasn't a minister himself--his genius is half wasted here." "Glad to see you on board the Storm King, Master Mather," was the greeting of the Captain, as the minister was helped up to the deck by the mates. "The Storm King! Why I was told that it was an English frigate, just come into port," said the minister in a surprised voice. "The messenger must have made a mistake," replied the Captain coolly. "You know that landsmen always do get things mixed. "Well, as I am here, no matter. Show me the dying man." "Walk down into the cabin," said the Captain politely. Entering the cabin which was well lighted, Master Raymond stepped forward, "I am happy to see you, Master Mather. You remember me, do you not?" "Master Raymond, I believe," returned the minister coldly. "Where is the dying man who requires my spiritual ministrations?" "Dying!" laughed the Captain. "How strangely that fellow got things mixed. I said dying to get married--did I not, Master Raymond?" "Of course you did--that is, after you had explained yourself." Master Mather's face looked blank, he did not know what to make of it. "In truth, Master Mather," said the young Englishman, "I was under the necessity of getting married this evening; and, thinking over the worshipful ministers of Boston town, I singled you out as the one I should prefer to officiate on the happy occasion." "I decline to have anything to do with it," said Master Mather indignantly, turning on his heel, and going to the door of the cabin. But here a muscular sailor, with a boarding pike, promptly forbade his passage by putting the pike across the door way. "What do you mean by barring my way in this manner?" said the minister in great wrath to the captain. "Have you no reverence for the law?" "Not a particle for Boston law," replied Captain Tolley. "The only law recognized on board the Storm King is the command of its Captain. You have been brought here to marry these two young friends of mine; and you will not leave the vessel before you do it--if I have to take you with us all the way to China." Master Mather pondered the matter for a moment. "This is too informal, there are certain preliminaries that are necessary in such cases." "Advisable--but I am told not absolutely necessary," replied Master Raymond. "Wait then for an hour or two; and we shall be on the high seas--and out of any jurisdiction," added Captain Tolley. "Who is this maiden? Who gives her away?" asked the minister. "This maiden is Mistress Dulcibel Burton," said Master Raymond, taking her by the hand. "She is an orphan; but I give her away," added the Captain. "Dulcibel Burton! the serpent witch!" exclaimed Master Mather. "What is that convict doing here? Has she broken jail?" "Master Mather," said the Captain in an excited tone, "if you utter another word of insult against this innocent and beautiful maiden, I will have you flung overboard to the sharks! So take care of what you say!" and the indignant seaman shook his finger in the minister's face warningly. "Master Mather," added Raymond, more coolly, "Mistress Burton has not broken jail. She was duly released from custody by Keeper Arnold on the presentation of an official paper by Lady Mary Phips. Therefore your conscience need not be uneasy on that score." "Why are you here then--why making this haste? It is evident that there is something wrong about it." "Boston has not treated either of us so well that we are very desirous of remaining," replied Master Raymond. "And as we are going together, it is only decorous that we should get married. If you however refuse to marry us, we shall be compelled to take you with us--for the mere presence of such a respected minister will be sufficient to shield the maiden's name from all reckless calumniators." The second mate came to the door of the cabin. "Captain, there is a fine breeze blowing, it is a pity not to use it." "Make all ready, sir," replied the Captain. Then turning to the minister, "There is no particular hurry, Master Mather. You can take the night to think over it. To-morrow morning probably, if you come to your senses, we may be able to send you ashore somewhere, between here and the capes of the Delaware." "This is outrageous!" said Master Mather. "I will hold both of you accountable for it." "It is a bad time to threaten, when your head is in the lion's mouth, Master Mather," returned Captain Tolley fiercely. "No one knows but my own men that you ever came on board the 'Storm King.' How do you know that I am not Captain Kidd himself?" The minister's face grew pale. It was no disparagement to his manhood. Even Master Raymond's face grew very serious--for did even he know that this Captain Tolley might not be the renowned freebooter, of whose many acts of daring and violence the wide seas rang? "I would counsel you for your own good to do at once what you will have to do ultimately," said Master Raymond gravely. "I owe you no thanks for anything; but"--and the young man laughed as he turned to Dulcibel--"I never could trap even a fox without pitying the animal." Dulcibel went up to the minister, and put her hand upon his arm:--"Do I look so much like a witch?" she said in a playful tone. "We are told that Satan can enrobe himself like an angel of light," replied Master Mather severely. "I judge you by what I have heard of your cruel deeds." "As you judged the cruel yellow bird that turned out to be only a harmless little chicken," said Master Raymond sarcastically. "Enough of this folly. Will you marry us now--or not? If you will, you shall be put ashore unharmed. If you will not, you shall go along with us. Make up your mind at once, for we shall soon be out of Boston harbor." Master Mather had a strong will--and an equally strong won't--but the Philistines were, for this time, too much for him. That reference to Captain Kidd had frightened him badly. "Stand up--and I will marry you. Unscrupulous as you both are, it is better that you should be married by legal rites, than allowed to go your own way to destruction." And then--the important ceremony being duly gone through--he pronounced Master Ellis Raymond and Mistress Dulcibel Burton man and wife. The Captain being allowed by Master Raymond to take the first kiss, as acting in the place of the bride's father. "No, not a penny!" said the minister, closing his hand against the golden pieces that the groom held out to him. "All I ask is, that you comply with your promise--and put me on shore again as soon as possible." "Better take a drink of wine first," said the Captain, filling up a glass and handing it to him. "I will neither break bread nor drink wine on this"--he was going to say _accursed_ ship; but the fierce eyes of the possible freebooter were upon him, and he said, "on this unhappy vessel." Captain Tolley laughed heartily. "Oh well, good wine never goes begging. The anchor is not up yet, and we will put you off just where you came on. Come along!" Without a word of leave-taking to the two whom he had joined together, Master Mather followed the Captain. In fact though, Master Raymond and Dulcibel scarcely noted his going, for they were now seated on a small sofa, the arm of the young husband around the shapely waist of his newly-made wife, and the minister dismissed from their minds as completely as the wine-glass out of which they had just drank. He had answered their purpose and in the deep bliss of their new relation, they thought no more about him. As Master Mather turned to descend to the boat again--not wasting any formal words of leave-taking upon the Captain either--the latter grasped him by the arm. "Wait one moment," said Captain Tolley. "You will speak of what has occurred here this evening Master Mather, or not, at your pleasure. But be careful of what you say--for there is no power on this coast, strong enough to protect you against my vengeance!" And with a scowl upon his face, that would not have done injustice to the dreaded Captain Kidd himself, he added in a hoarse, fierce tone the one impressive word "Beware!" The minister made no reply. It was a day of fierce men and wild deeds--especially on the high seas. Prudence in some positions is far better than valor. "Now, my hearties! let us get out of this harbor as soon as possible!" cried the Captain. "I might have held him till we were opposite the castle, and put him ashore there; but it is safer as it is. We have a regular clearance, and he cannot do anything legally under an hour or two at least--while in half-an-hour we shall be outside. With a stiff breeze like this, once on the open seas, I fear neither man nor devil!" CHAPTER LIII. The Wedding Trip and Where Then. Whether Master Mather did make any serious effort to prevent the "Storm King" from leaving the harbor, I am unable to say; but as I find no reference to this affair either in his biography or his numerous works, I am inclined to think that like a wise man, he held his peace as to what had occurred, and resolved never to go on board another vessel after nightfall. Certainly no cannon ball cut the waves as the "Storm King" sailed swiftly past the castle, and no signal was displayed signifying that she must come at once to anchor. And the little trip to New York was as pleasant in all respects as a young couple on a bridal tour could desire--even if the mere relief from the anxieties and threatened dangers of the previous long months had not been of itself a cause of happiness. Arrived at New York, Master Philip English and his wife received them with open arms. Master Raymond had brought letters from England to Governor Fletcher and others, and soon made warm friends among the very best people. There was no sympathy whatever in New York at that time with the witchcraft persecutions in Massachusetts; and all fugitives were received, as in the case of the Englishes, with great sympathy and kindness. Much to my regret, at this point, the old manuscript book to which I have been so largely indebted, suddenly closes its record of the fortunes of Master and Mistress Raymond. Whether they went to England, and took up their residence there among Master Raymond's friends, or found a home in this new world, I am therefore not able with absolute certainty to say. From what I have been able, however, to gather from other quarters, I have come to the conclusion that they were so much pleased with their reception in New York, that Master Raymond purchased an estate on the east side of the Hudson River, where he and the charming Dulcibel lived and loved to a good old age, leaving three sons and three daughters. If this couple really were our hero and heroine, then the Raymonds became connected, through the three daughters, with the Smiths, the Joneses and the Browns. In one way, perhaps, the question might be set at rest, were it not too delicate a one for successful handling. There is little doubt that among the descendants of Mistress Dulcibel, on the female side, the birth-mark of the serpent, more or less distinct, will be found occasionally occurring, even now, at the lapse of almost two centuries. Therefore, if among the secret traditions of any of the families I have mentioned, there be one relative to this curious birth-mark, doubtless that would be sufficient proof that in their veins runs the rich blood of the charming Dulcibel Raymond. CHAPTER LIV. Some Concluding Remarks. Perhaps before I conclude I should state that the keeper of the Boston Bridewell, Master Arnold, was summarily dismissed for accepting the validity of the Governor's signature. But he did not take it very grievously to heart for Master Raymond, Captain Alden and others whom he had obliged saw him largely recompensed. Captain Alden, by the way, had fled for concealment to his relatives in Duxbury. Being asked when he appeared there, "Where he came from?" the old captain said "he was fleeing from the devil--who was still after him." However his relatives managed to keep him safely, until all danger was passed, both from the devil and from his imps. As for Lady Mary, the indignation of "the faithful" was hot against her--and finally against Sir William, who could not be made to see in it anything but a very good joke. "You know that Lady Mary will have her own way," he said to Master Mather. "Wives should be kept in due gospel subjection!" returned the minister. "Oh, yes, rejoined the Governor smiling; but I wish you had a wife like Lady Mary, and would try it on her! I think we should hear something breaking." But when Mistress Ann Putnam and others began "to cry out" against Lady Mary as a witch, the Governor waxed angry in his turn. "It is time to put a stop to all this," he said indignantly. "They will denounce me as a witch next." So he issued a general pardon and jail delivery--alike to the ten persons who were then under sentence of death, to those who had escaped from prison, and to the one hundred and fifty lying in different jails, and the two hundred others who had been denounced for prosecution. It was a fair blow, delivered at the very front and forehead of the cruel persecution and it did its good work, though it lost Sir William his position--sending him back to England to answer the charges of his enemies, and to die there soon afterwards in his forty-fifth year. When Chief-Justice Stoughton, engaged in fresh trials against the reputed witches, read the Governor's proclamation of Pardon, he was so indignant that he left his seat on the bench, and could not be prevailed upon to return to it. Neither could he, to the day of his death, be brought to see that he had done anything else than what was right in the whole matter. Not so the jury--which, several years after, confessed its great mistake, and publicly asked forgiveness. Nor Judge Sewall, who rose openly in church, and confessed his fault, and afterward kept one of the days of execution, with every returning year, sacred to repentance and prayer--seeing no person from sunrise to nightfall, mourning in the privacy of his own room the sin he had committed. Mistress Ann Putnam and her husband both died within the seven years, as Dulcibel in her moment of spiritual exaltation had predicted. Her daughter Ann lived to make a public confession, asking pardon of those whom she had (she said unintentionally) injured, and died at the age of thirty-five--her grave being one that nobody wanted their loved ones to lie next to. As for the majority of the "afflicted circle," they fell as the years went on into various evil ways--one authority describing them as "abandoned to open and shameless vice." Master Philip English, after the issue of the Governor's pardon, returned to Salem. Seventeen years afterwards, he was still trying to recover his property from the officials of the Province. Of £1500 seized, he never recovered more than £300; while his wife died in two years, at the age of forty-two, in consequence of the treatment to which she had been subjected. Master Joseph Putnam and his fair Elizabeth lived on in peace at the old place; taking into his service the Quaker Antipas upon his release from prison. The latter was always quiet and peaceful, save when any allusion was made to the witches. But he had easy service and good treatment; and was a great favorite with the children, especially with that image of his father, who afterwards became distinguished as the Major General Putnam of Revolutionary fame. As for the presents that had been promised to the "afflicted circle," they came to them duly, and from London too. And they were rich gifts also; but such a collection of odd and grotesque articles, certainly are not often got together. Master Raymond had commissioned an eccentric friend of his in London to purchase them, and send them on; acquainting him with the peculiar circumstances. There were yellow birds, and red dragons, and other fantastic animals, birds and beasts. But they came from London and the "circle" found them just suited to their peculiar tastes; and they always maintained, even in defiance of Mistress Ann, that Master Raymond was a lovely gentleman and an "afflicted" person himself. It will thus be seen that these Salem maidens were in their day truly esthetic--having that sympathetic fondness for unlovely and repulsive things, which is the unerring indication of a daughter of Lilith. * * * * * And now, in conclusion, some one may ask, "Did the Province of Massachusetts ever make any suitable atonement for the great wrongs her Courts of Injustice had committed?" I answer Never! Massachusetts has never made any, adequate atonement--no, not to this day! The General Assembly, eighteen years afterwards, did indeed pass an act reversing the convictions and attainders in all but six of the cases; and ordering the distribution of the paltry sum of £578 among the heirs of twenty-four persons, as a kind of compensation to the families of those who had suffered; but this was all--nothing, or next to nothing! Perhaps the day will some time come, when the cry of innocent blood from the rocky platform of Witch Hill, shall swell into sufficient volume to be heard across the chasm of two centuries. Then, on some high pedestal, where the world can see it, Massachusetts shall proclaim in enduring marble her penitence and ask a late forgiveness of the twenty innocent men and women whom she so terribly wronged. And as all around, and even the mariner far out at sea, shall behold the gleaming shaft, standing where stood the rude gallows of two centuries ago, they shall say with softening eyes and glowing cheeks: "It is never too late to right a great wrong; and Massachusetts now makes all the expiation that is possible to those whom her deluded forefathers dishonored and persecuted and slew!" _By the Author of Dulcibel_ PEMBERTON; OR, ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO "A well-told romance of old Philadelphia and its vicinity. The incidents of the story are interwoven with the struggle for independence. The book is intensely American in character and sentiment, and healthful in its stimulation of patriotism."--_New York Observer_. Cloth. 12mo. 400 pages. $1.50 THE JOHN C. 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26282	----	Columbian Historical Novels _By JOHN R. MUSICK_ _With Reading Courses_ Being a Complete History of the United States from the Time of Columbus to the Present Day ONE HUNDRED PHOTOGRAVURES, HALF-TONE PLATES, MAPS OF THE PERIODS AND NUMEROUS PEN-AND-INK DRAWINGS, BY F. A. CARTER THE R. H. WHITTEN COMPANY _New York_ _Los Angeles_ Copyright, 1906, by FUNK & WAGNALLS COMPANY _Printed in the United States of America_ [Illustration] [Illustration] COLUMBIAN HISTORICAL NOVELS VOLUME VII THE WITCH OF SALEM _or_ _Credulity Run Mad_ by JOHN R MUSICK _Illustrations by_ FREELAND A. CARTER THE R. H. WHITTEN COMPANY _New York_ _Los Angeles_ Copyright, 1893, by the FUNK & WAGNALLS COMPANY [_Registered at Stationers' Hall, London, Eng._] [Illustration] _Printed in the United States_ PREFACE. It is a difficult task to go back to ages by-gone, to divest ourselves of what we know and are and form a clear conception of generations that have been, of their experiences, objects, modes of life, thought and expression. It is a task better suited to the novelist than the historian, and even the former treads on dangerous ground in attempting it. One of the prime objects of the Columbian Historical Novels is to give the reader as clear an idea as possible of the common people, as well as of the rulers of the age. The author has endeavored at the risk of criticism to clothe the speeches of his characters in the dialect and idioms peculiar to the age in which they lived. In the former volumes, sentences most criticised are those taken literally as spoken or written at the time. Though it would seem that a few critics grow more severe the nearer an author approaches the truth, yet the greater number of thinking men and women who review these books are students themselves, and the author who adheres to the language of a by-gone age has nothing to fear from them. The "Witch of Salem" is designed to cover twenty years in the history of the United States, or from the year 1680 to 1700, including all the principal features of this period. Charles Stevens of Salem, with Cora Waters, the daughter of an indented slave, whose father was captured at the time of the overthrow of the Duke of Monmouth, are the principal characters. Samuel Parris, the chief actor in the Salem tragedy, is a serious study, and has been painted, after a careful research, according to the conception formed of him. No greater villain ever lived in any age. He had scarce a redeeming feature. His religion was hypocrisy, superstition, revenge and bigotry. His ambition led him to deeds of atrocity unsurpassed. Having drawn the information on which this story is founded from what seem the most reliable sources, and woven the story in a way which it is hoped will be pleasing and instructive, we send this volume forth to speak for itself. JOHN R. MUSICK. Kirksville, Mo., Oct. 1st, 1892. TABLE OF CONTENTS. PAGE CHAPTER I. THE MAN WITH THE BOOK, 1 CHAPTER II. PENNSYLVANIA, 23 CHAPTER III. THE INDENTED SLAVE, 43 CHAPTER IV. MR. PARRIS AND FLOCK, 65 CHAPTER V. A NIGHT WITH WITCHES, 81 CHAPTER VI. THE CHARTER OAK, 101 CHAPTER VII. TWO MEN WHO LOOK ALIKE, 116 CHAPTER VIII. MOVING ONWARD, 134 CHAPTER IX. CHARLES AND CORA, 152 CHAPTER X. CHARLES AND MR. PARRIS, 172 CHAPTER XI. ADELPHA LEISLER, 191 CHAPTER XII. LEISLER'S FATE, 216 CHAPTER XIII. CREDULITY RUN MAD, 234 CHAPTER XIV. THE FATE OF GOODY NURSE, 256 CHAPTER XV. "YOUR MOTHER A WITCH!" 276 CHAPTER XVI. ESCAPE AND FLIGHT, 290 CHAPTER XVII. OUT OF THE FRYING PAN INTO THE FIRE, 306 CHAPTER XVIII. SUPERSTITION REIGNS, 327 CHAPTER XIX. THE WOMAN IN BLACK, 346 CHAPTER XX. CONCLUSION, 364 HISTORICAL INDEX, 383 CHRONOLOGY, 391 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. PAGE William Penn making his treaty of peace and friendship with the Indians (See page 32), _Frontispiece_ "Take it away!" 1 "Cannot rise! Prythee, what ails you, friend?" 11 Seizing a firebrand, he searched for the print of the cloven foot, 21 William Penn, 27 "We all rose in the air on broomsticks," 95 Charles Stevens, at one sweep, snuffed out every candle on the table, 108 The Charter Oak, 113 The sturdy wife assailed him with her mop-stick and drove him away, 147 "Then you may both go down--down to the infernal regions together!" 189 "Which of the twain shall it be?" 213 Eight men, bearing litters, were at the door. All were dripping with water, 233 At every stroke he repeated, "I do this in the name of the Lord," 239 "Its motions were quicker than those of my axe," 250 The sheriff brought the witch up the broad aisle, her chains clanking as she stepped, 274 The jail trembled to its very centre, 301 Nought was to be seen, save massacre and pillage on every side, 310 The resolute father continued to fire as he retreated, 320 Lieut.-Gov. Stoughton, 330 George Waters cut two stout sticks for crutches, 353 "Charles Stevens, do you seek death?" 371 Cotton Mather, 380 Witches' Hill, 382 Map of the period, 306 THE WITCH OF SALEM. CHAPTER I. THE MAN WITH THE BOOK. Through shades and solitudes profound, The fainting traveler wends his way; Bewildering meteors glare around, And tempt his wandering feet astray. --Montgomery. [Illustration: "Take it away!"] The autumnal evening was cool, dark and gusty. Storm-clouds were gathering thickly overhead, and the ground beneath was covered with rustling leaves, which, blighted by the early frosts, lay helpless and dead at the roadside, or were made the sport of the wind. A solitary horseman was slowly plodding along the road but a few miles from the village of Salem. In truth he was so near to the famous Puritan village, that, through the hills and intervening tree-tops, he could have seen the spires of the churches had he raised his melancholy eyes from the ground. The rider was not a youth, nor had he reached middle age. His face was handsome, though distorted with agony. Occasionally he pressed his hand to his side as if in pain; but maugre pain, weariness, or anguish, he pressed on, admonished by the lengthening shadows of the approach of night. Turning his great, sad, brown eyes at last to where the road wound about the valley across which the distant spires of Salem could be seen, he sighed: "Can I reach it to-night? I must!" Salem, that strange village to which the horseman was wending his way, in October, 1684, was a different village from the Salem of to-day. It is a town familiar to every American student, and, having derived its fame more from its historic recollections than from its commerce or industries, its name carries us back two centuries, suggesting the faint and transient image of the life of the Pilgrim Fathers, who gave that sacred name to the place of their chosen habitation. Whatever changes civilization or time may bring about, the features of natural scenery are, for the most part, unalterable. Massachusetts Bay is as it was when the Pilgrim Fathers first beheld it. On land, there are still the craggy hills, with jutting promontories of granite, where the barberries grow, and room is found in the narrow valleys for small farms, and for apple trees, and little slopes of grass, and patches of tillage where all else looks barren. The scenery is not more picturesque to-day, than on that chill autumnal eve, when the strange horseman was urging his jaded steed along the path which led to the village. His garments were travel-stained and his features haggard. Three hunters with guns on their shoulders were not half a mile in advance of the horseman. They, too, evidently had passed a day of arduous toil; for climbing New England hills in search of the wild deer was no easy task. They were men who had hardly reached middle age; but their grave Puritanic demeanor made them look older than they were. Their conversation was grave, gloomy and mysterious. There was little light or frivolous about them, for to them life was sombre. The hunt was not sport, but arduous toil, and their legs were so weary they could scarcely drag themselves along. "Now we may rejoice, John Bly, that home is within sight, for truly I am tired, and I think I could not go much farther," one of the pedestrians remarked to the man at his side. "Right glad will I be when we are near!" answered the fatigued John Bly. "This has been a hard day with fruitless result." "We have had some fair shots to-day," put in a third man, who walked a little behind the others. "Verily, we have; yet what profits it to us, Samuel Gray, when our guns fail to carry the ball to the place? I had as many fair shots to-day as would bring down a dozen bucks, and yet I missed every time. You know full well I am not one to miss." "You are not, John Louder." Then the three men looked mysteriously at each other. They were all believers in supernatural agencies, and the fact that such a faultless marksman should miss was enough to establish in their minds a belief that other than natural causes were at work. There could be no other reason given that John Louder should miss his mark, than that his gun was "bewitched." It was an age when the last dying throes of superstition seemed fastening on the people's minds, and the spasmodic struggle threatened to upset their reason. The New Englander's mind was prepared for mysteries as the fallow ground is prepared for the seed. He was busied conquering the rugged earth and making it yield to his husbandry. His time was divided between arduous toil for bread and fighting the Indians. He was hemmed in by a gloomy old forest, the magnitude of which he did not dream, and it was only natural, with his fertile imagination, narrow perceptions and limited knowledge, that he would see strange sights and hear strange sounds. Images and visions which have been portrayed in tales of romance and given interest to the pages of poetry were made by him to throng the woods, flit through the air and hover over the heads of terrified officials, whose learning should have placed them beyond the bounds of superstition. The ghosts of murdered wives, husbands and children played their part with a vividness of representation and artistic skill of expression hardly surpassed in scenic representation on the stage. The superstition of the Middle Ages was embodied in real action, with all its extravagant absurdities and monstrosities. This, carried into the courts of law, where the relations of society and conduct or feelings of individuals were suffered to be under control of fanciful or mystical notions, could have but one effect. When a whole people abandoned the solid ground of common sense, overleaped the boundaries of human knowledge, gave itself up to wild reveries, and let loose its passions without restraint, the result was more destructive to society than a Vesuvius to Pompeii. When John Louder said his gun was bewitched, there was no incredulous smile on his companions' faces. The political complexion of New England at that time no doubt had much to do with the superstitious awe which overspread that country. Within the recollection of many inhabitants, the parent government had changed three times. Charles II. had lived such a life of furious dissipation, that his earthly career was drawing to a close. The New England people were zealous theologians, and Massachusetts and Plymouth hated above all sects the Roman Catholics. Charles II. could not reign long, and James, Duke of York, his brother, would be his successor, as it was generally known that Charles II. had no legitimate heir. It was hoped by some that his illegitimate son, the Duke of Monmouth, a Protestant, might succeed him. Some had even hinted that Charles II., while flying from Cromwell, had secretly married Lucy Waters, the mother of the duke; but this has never been proved in history. The somewhat ostentatious manner in which the Duke of York had been accustomed to go to mass, during the life of his brother, was the chief cause of the general dislike in which he was held. Even Charles, giddy and careless as he was in general, saw the imprudence of James' conduct, and significantly told him on one occasion that _he_ had no desire to go upon his travels again, whatever James might wish. When it became currently reported all over the American colonies that this bigoted Catholic would, on the death of his brother, become their ruler, the New Englanders began to tremble for their religion. There was murmuring from every village and plantation, keeping society in a constant ferment. The three hunters were still discussing their ill luck when the sound of horse's hoofs fell on their ears, and they turned slowly about to see a stranger approaching them on horseback. His sad, gray eye had something wild and supernatural about it. His costume had at one time been elegant, but was now stained with dust and travel. It included a wrought flowing neckcloth, a sash covered with a silver-laced red cloth coat, a satin waistcoat embroidered with gold, a trooping scarf and a silver hat-band. His trousers, which were met above the knees by a pair of riding boots, like the remainder of his attire, was covered with dust. The expression of pain on his face was misconstrued by the superstitious hunters into a look of fiendish triumph, and John Louder, seizing the arm of Bly, whispered: "It is he!" "Perhaps----" "I know it, Bly, for he hath followed me all day." "Then wherefore not give him the ball, which he hath guarded from the deer?" "It would be of no avail, John. A witch cannot be killed with lead. He would throw the ball in my face and laugh at me." The three walked hastily along, casting wary and uneasy glances behind as the horseman drew nearer. Each trembled lest the horseman should speak, and once or twice he seemed as if he would; but pain, or some other cause unknown to the hunters, prevented his doing so. He rode swiftly by, disappearing over the hill in the direction of Salem. When he was out of sight the three hunters paused, and, falling on their knees, each uttered a short prayer for deliverance from Satan. As they rose, John Louder said: "Now I know full well, good men, that he is the wizard who hath tampered with my gun." "Who is he?" "Ah! well may you ask, Samuel Gray, who he is; a stranger, the black man, the devil, who hath assumed this form to mislead and torment us. One can only wonder at the various cunning of Satan," and Louder sighed. "Truly you speak, friend John," Bly answered. "The enemy of men's souls is constantly on the lookout for the unwary." "I have met him and wrestled with him, until I was almost overcome; but, having on the whole armor of God, I did cry out 'Get thee behind me, Satan!' and, behold, I could smell the sulphur of hell, as the gates were opened to admit the prince of darkness." The shades of night were creeping over the earth, and the three weary hunters were not yet within sight of their homes, when the horseman who had so strangely excited their fears drew rein at a spring not a fourth of a mile from the village of Salem and allowed his horse to drink. He pressed his hand to his side, as if suffering intolerable anguish, and murmured: "Will I find shelter there?" Overcome by suffering, he at last slipped from his saddle and, sitting among the rustling leaves heedless of the lowering clouds and threatened storm, buried his face in his hands. Two hours had certainly elapsed since he first came in sight of Salem, and yet so slow had been his pace, that he had not reached the village; but on the earth, threatened with a raging tempest, he breathed in feeble accents a prayer to God for strength to perform the great and holy task on which he was bent. He was sick and feeble. In his side was a wound that might prove fatal, and to this he occasionally pressed his hand as if in pain. He who heareth the poor when they cry unto Him, answered the prayer of the desolate. A farmer boy came along whistling merrily despite the approaching night and storm. Not the chilling blasts of October, the dread of darkness, nor the cold world could depress the spirits of Charles Stevens, the merry lad of Salem. In fact, he was so merry that, by the straight-laced Puritans, he was thought ungodly. He had a predisposition to whistling and singing, and was of "a light and frivolous carriage." He laughed at the sanctity of some people, and was known to smile even on the Lord's Day. When, in the exuberance of his spirits, his feet kept time to his whistling, the good Salemites were horrified by the ungodly dance. Charles Stevens, however, had a better heart, and was a truer Christian than many of those sanctimonious critics, who sought to restrain the joy and gladness with which God filled his soul. It was this good Samaritan who came upon the suffering stranger whom the three Puritans had condemned in their own minds as an emissary of the devil. "Why do you sit here, sir?" Charles asked, leaving off his whistle. "Night is coming on, and it is growing so chill and cold, you must keep moving, or surely you will perish." "I cannot rise," was the answer. "Cannot rise! prythee, what ails you, friend?" "I am sick, sore and wounded." "Wounded!" cried Charles, "and sick, too!" [Illustration: "Cannot rise! Prythee, what ails you, friend?"] His sharp young eyes were enabled to penetrate the deepening shades of twilight, and he saw a ghastly pallor overspreading the man's face, who, pressing his hand upon his side, gave vent to gasps of keen agony. His left side was stained with blood. "You are wounded!" Charles Stevens at last declared. "Pray, how came it about?" "I was fired upon by an unseen foe, for what cause I know not, as, being a stranger in these parts, I have had no quarrel." "Come, let me help you to rise." "No, it is useless. I am tired and too faint to go further. Let me lie here. I will soon be dead, and all this agony will be over." At this, the cheerful mind of Charles Stevens asserted itself by inspiring hope in the heart of the fainting stranger. "No, no, my friend, never give up. Don't say die, so long as you live. It is but a few rods further to the home where I live with my mother. I can help you walk so far, and there you can get rested and warmed, and mother will dress your wound." "Can I go?" the traveller asked. "Men can do wonders when they try." "Then I will try." "I will help you." The boy threw his strong arm around the man and raised him to his feet; but his limbs no longer obeyed his will, and he sank again upon the ground. "It is of no avail, my good boy. I cannot go. Leave me to die." Charles turned his eyes about to look for the stranger's horse; but it had strayed off in the darkness. To search for him would be useless, and for a moment the good Samaritan stood as if in thought; then, stripping off his coat and wrapping it around the wounded man, he said hopefully: "I will be back soon, don't move," and he hurried away swiftly toward home. On reaching the threshold, he thanked God that he was not a wanderer on such a night. The New England kitchen, with its pewter-filled dresser, reflecting and multiplying the genial blaze of the log-heaped fire-place, its high-backed, rush-bottomed chairs, grating as they were moved over the neatly sanded floor, its massive beam running midway of the ceiling across the room, and its many doors, leading to other rooms and attics, was a picture of comfort two hundred years ago. The widowed mother, with her honest, beautiful face surrounded by a neat, dark cap border, met her son as he entered the kitchen and, glancing at him proudly, said: "The wind gives you good color, Charles." "Yes, mother," rubbing his cheeks, "they do burn some;--mother." "Well?" "I heard you tell Mr. Bly, the other day, that you could trust me with all you had. Will you trust me with old Moll and the cart to-night?" "What do you want with Moll and the cart?" "To go to the big spring under the hill for a poor man who is sick and wounded." "And alone?" "Yes, mother." "It is a freezing night." "Yes, mother, and he may die. He is unable to walk. Remember the story of the good Samaritan." After a long pause, the widow said, "Yes, you may have old Moll and the cart. Bring him here, and we will care for him; but remember that to-morrow's work must be done." "If you have any fault to find to-morrow night, don't trust me again!" and the boy, turning to the cupboard beneath the dressers, buttered a generous slice of bread, then left the room with a small pitcher, and returned with it brimming full of cider, his mother closely noting all, while she busied herself making things to rights in her culinary department. Charles next went out and harnessed the mare to the cart, then returned to the kitchen for his bread and cider. "Why not eat that before you go?" queried the mother. "I am not hungry, I have had some supper, you know. Good night, mother. I will be back soon; so have the bed ready for the wounded stranger." "God bless you, my brave boy," the mother exclaimed, as he went out and sprang into the cart. She now knew that he had taken the bread and cider for the sick man, under the hill. Charles hurried old Moll to a faster gait than she was accustomed to go, and found the stranger where he had left him. Leaping from the cart, he said: "I am back, sir! You said you were faint. Here's some of our cider, and if you will sit up and drink it and eat this bread, you will feel better, and here is old Moll and the cart ready to take you home where you will receive good Christian treatment until you are well enough to go on your way rejoicing." So he went on, bobbing now here and now there and talking as fast as he could, so as not to hear the poor man's outpourings of gratitude, as he ate and drank and was refreshed. With some difficulty, he got the stranger into the cart, where, supported by the boy's strong arm, he rode in almost total silence through the increasing darkness to the home of the widow Stevens. He was taken from the cart and was soon reclining upon a bed. His wound, though painful, was not dangerous and began to heal almost immediately. Surgery was in its infancy in America, and on the frontier of the American colonies, every one was his own surgeon. The widow dressed the wound herself, and the stranger recovered rapidly. Charles next day found a horse straying in the forest with a saddle and holsters, and, knowing it to be the steed of the wounded stranger, he brought it home. As the wounded man recovered he became more silent and melancholy. He had not even spoken his name and seldom uttered a word unless addressed. One night this mysterious stranger disappeared from the widow's cottage. He might have been thought ungrateful had he not left behind five golden guineas, which, the note left behind said, were in part to remunerate the good people who had watched over and cared for him so kindly. Charles Stevens and his mother were much puzzled at this mysterious stranger, and often when alone they commented on his conduct. Their home was outside the village of Salem, and for days they did not have a visitor; but two or three of their neighbors had seen the stranger while at their house, yet they told no one about him. His mysterious disappearance was kept a secret by mother and son. Little did they dream that in after years they would suffer untold sorrow for playing the part of good Samaritans. John Louder and his friends had almost forgotten their day of hard luck in the 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." [Illustration: Seizing a firebrand, he searched for the print of a cloven hoof.] 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. PENNSYLVANIA. 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 Quakers, bored holes in their tongues, branded them with hot irons, and even hung them for their religious views. Why need one blame Spain for the infamous inquisition, when the early churches of Protestantism did fully as bad? Religious fervor controlled by prejudice and ignorance is the greatest calamity that can befall a nation. The Quakers appeared first in England about the time Roger Williams procured his charter for Rhode Island. The term Quaker now so venerated and respected was given this sect in derision, just as the Puritans, Protestants and many other now respectable sects were named. Their founder and preachers were among the boldest and yet the meekest of the non-conformists. Their morality was so strict that by some they were denominated ascetics, and this strictness was carried into every habit and department of life. Extravagant expenditures, fashionable dress, games of chance, dancing, attending the theatres and all amusements, however harmless, were forbidden by this sect. Even music was discouraged as a seductive vanity. The members of this church were forbidden to own slaves, to take part in war, engage in lawsuits, indulge in intemperance or profanity, which, if persisted in, was a cause for the expulsion of a member from the society, and the whole body was in duty bound to keep a watch upon the actions of each other. Their practices so generally agreed with their principles, that society was compelled to admit that the profession of a Quaker or Friend, as they usually styled themselves, was a guaranty of a morality above the ordinary level of the world. The founder of this remarkable sect was George Fox, a shoemaker of Leicestershire, England, who, at the early age of nineteen, conceived the idea that he was called of God to preach the gospel of the Lord Jesus Christ. He attacked the coldness and spiritual deadness of all the modes and forms of religious worship around him, and soon excited a persecuting spirit which marked his ministerial life of about forty years as a pilgrimage from one prison to another. When, in 1650, he was called before Justice Bennet, of Derby, he admonished that magistrate to repent and "tremble and _quake_ before the word of the Lord," at the same time his own body was violently agitated with his intense emotions. The magistrate and other officers of the court then and there named him a "Quaker" out of derision, a term which the society have since come to use themselves. William Penn, the son of a distinguished English admiral, became an early convert to this religion. At an early age, while at college, he embraced the doctrines and adopted the mode of life of George Fox and his followers. When his father first learned that his son was in danger of becoming a Quaker, he was incredulous. The admiral was a worldly, ambitious man and had great plans in view for his son, which would all be blasted if the precocious youth adopted the new religion. The struggles of young William Penn with his ambitious father, were long and bitter. He was beaten and turned out of doors by his angry parent, then taken back by the erratic but kind-hearted father and sent to France to be lured with gayety and dazzled with promises of wealth and distinction; but William Penn had the courage of his convictions and yielded not one whit of his religious ideas. Conscious of being right, he was unmoved by either promises or threats, and he even withstood the fires of persecution. On one occasion he and another were tried on a charge of preaching in the streets. The jury, after being kept without fire, food, or water for two days and nights, brought in a verdict of "not guilty," for which they were each heavily fined by the court and committed to Newgate prison. Penn and his companion did not wholly escape, for they were fined and imprisoned for contempt of court, in wearing their hats in the presence of that body. At this time William Penn was only twenty-four years of age. [Illustration: William Penn.] A great many Friends had emigrated to America, and two had become proprietors of New Jersey. The first event that drew Penn's particular attention to America was when he was called upon to act as umpire between the two Quaker proprietors of New Jersey. Having the New World thus thrust upon his attention, the young convert to the new religion began to look with longing eyes across the Atlantic for a home for himself and his persecuted brethren. Shortly afterward, he obtained from the crown a charter for a vast territory beyond the Delaware. This charter was given in payment of a debt of eighty thousand dollars due to his father from the government. The charter was perpetual proprietorship given to him and his heirs, in the fealty of an annual payment of two beaver skins. In honor of his Welch ancestry, Penn proposed calling the domain "New Wales;" but for some reason the secretary of state objected. Penn, while endeavoring to think up an appropriate title, suggested that Sylvania would be an appropriate name for such a woody country. The secretary who drew up the charter, on the impulse of the moment, prefixed the name of Penn to Sylvania in the document. William Penn protested against the use of his name, as he had no ambition to be thus distinguished, and offered to pay the secretary if he would leave it out. This he refused to do, and Penn next appealed to the king--"the merrie King Charlie," who insisted that the province should be called Pennsylvania, in honor of his dead friend the admiral. Thus Pennsylvania received its name. The territory included in William Penn's charter extended north from New Castle in Delaware three degrees of latitude and five degrees of longitude west from the Delaware River. William Penn was empowered to ordain all laws with the consent of the freemen, subject to the approval of the king. No taxes were to be raised save by the provincial assembly, and permission was given to the clergymen of the Anglican church to reside within the province without molestation. The charter for Pennsylvania was granted on March 14, 1681, and in the following May, Penn sent William Markham, a relative, to take possession of his province and act as deputy governor. A large number of emigrants in the employ of the "company of free traders" who had purchased lands in Pennsylvania of the proprietor, went with him. These settled near the Delaware and "builded and planted." With the assistance of Algernon Sidney, a sturdy republican, who soon after perished on the scaffold for his views on personal liberty, Penn drew up a code of laws for the government of the colony, that were wise, liberal and benevolent, and next year sent them to the settlers in Pennsylvania for their approval. William Penn soon discovered that his colony was liable to suffer for the want of sea-board room. He coveted Delaware for that purpose, and resolved if possible to have it. This territory, however, was claimed by Lord Baltimore as a part of Maryland, and for some time had been a matter of dispute between him and the Duke of York. For the sake of peace, the latter offered to purchase the territory of Baltimore; but the baron would not sell it. Penn then assured the Duke that Lord Baltimore's claim was "against law, civil and common." The duke gladly assented to the opinion, and the worldly-wise Quaker obtained from his grace a quitclaim deed for the territory, now comprising the whole of the State of Delaware. As soon as William Penn had accomplished his purpose, he made immediate preparations for going to America, and within a week after the bargain was officially settled, he sailed in the ship _Welcome_, with one hundred emigrants, in August, 1682. Many of his emigrants died from small-pox on the voyage; but with the remainder he arrived, early in November, at New Castle, where he found almost a thousand emigrants. In addition to these, there were about three thousand old settlers--Swedes, Dutch, Huguenots, Germans and English--enough to form the material for the solid foundation of a State. There Penn received from the agent of the Duke of York, and in the presence of all the people, a formal surrender of all that fine domain. The Dutch had long before conquered and absorbed the Swedes on the Delaware, and the English in turn had conquered the Dutch, and it was by virtue of his charter, giving him a title to all New Netherland, that the duke claimed the territory as his own. The transfer inherited for Penn and his descendants a dispute with the proprietors of Maryland, which might seem incompatible with the views of Quakers. William Penn, in honor of the duke, attempted to change the name of Cape Henlopen to Cape James; but geography is sometimes arbitrary and refuses to change at will of rulers, and Henlopen and May preserve their original names given them by the Dutch. It was the earliest days in November when William Penn, with a few friends, set out in an open boat and journeyed up the river to the beautiful bank, fringed with pine trees, on which the city of Philadelphia was soon to rise. On this occasion was made that famous treaty with the Indians, with which every school-boy is acquainted. Beneath a huge elm at Shakamaxon, on the northern edge of Philadelphia, William Penn, surrounded by a few friends, in the habiliments of peace, met the numerous delegations of the Lenni-Lenape tribes. The great treaty was not for the purchase of lands; but, confirming what Penn had written and Markham covenanted, its sublime purpose was the recognition of the equal rights of humanity, under the shelter of the forest trees, barren of leaves from the effects of the early frosts. Penn proclaimed to the men of the Algonkin race, from both banks of the Delaware, from the borders of the Schuylkill, and, it may have been, even from the Susquehannah, the same simple message of peace and love which George Fox had professed before Cromwell, and which Mary Fisher had borne to the Grand Turk. He argued that the English and the Indian should respect the same moral law, should be alike secure in their pursuits and their possessions, and should adjust every difference by a peaceful tribunal, to be composed of an equal number of wise and discreet men from each race. Penn said: "We meet on the broad pathway of good faith and good-will. No advantage will be taken on either side; but all shall be openness and love. I will not call you children, for parents sometimes chide their children too severely, nor brothers only, for brothers differ. The friendship between me and you, I will not compare to a chain, for that rains might rust, or the falling tree might break. We are the same as if one man's body were divided into two parts. We are all one flesh and blood." The sincerity of the speaker, as well as his sacred doctrine, touched the hearts of the forest children, and they renounced their guile and their revenge. The presents which Penn offered were received in sincerity, and with hearty friendship they gave the belt of wampum. "We will live," said they, "in love with William Penn and his children, as long as the moon and the sun shall endure." Mr. Bancroft says: "This agreement of peace and friendship was made under the open sky, by the side of the Delaware, with the sun and river and the forest for witnesses. It was not confirmed by an oath; it was not ratified by signatures and seals; no record of the conference can be found, and its terms and conditions had no abiding inscription but on the heart. There they were written like the law of God. The simple sons of the wilderness, returning to their wigwams, kept the history of the covenant by strings of wampum, and, long afterward, in their cabins, would count over the shells on a clean piece of bark and recall to their own memory and repeat to their children or to the stranger the words of William Penn. New England had just terminated a disastrous war of extermination. The Dutch were scarcely ever at peace with the Algonkins. The laws of Maryland refer to Indian hostilities and massacres, which extended as far as Richmond. Penn came without arms; he declared his purpose to abstain from violence; he had no message but peace, and not a drop of Quaker blood was shed in his time by an Indian. "Was there not progress from Melendez to Roger Williams? from Cortez and Pizarro to William Penn? The Quakers, ignorant of the homage which their virtues would receive from Voltaire and Raynal, men so unlike themselves, exulted in the consciousness of their humanity. 'We have done better,' said they truly, 'than if, with the proud Spaniards, we had gained the mines of Potosi. We may make the ambitious heroes, whom the world admires, blush for their shameful victories. To the poor, dark souls around about us we teach their rights as men.'" After the treaty, Penn again journeyed through New Jersey to New York and Long Island, visiting friends and preaching with his usual fervor and earnestness. Then he returned to the Delaware, and, on the seventh day of November, he went to Uplands (now Chester), where he met the first provincial assembly of his province. There he made known his benevolent designs toward all men, civilized and savage, and excited the love and reverence of all hearers. The assembly tendered their grateful acknowledgment to him, and the Swedes authorized one of their number to say to him in their name that they "would live, serve and obey him with all they had," declaring that it was "the best day they ever saw." He informed the assembly of the union of the "territories" (as Delaware was called) with his province, and received their congratulations. Then and there was laid the foundation for the great commonwealth of Pennsylvania. One matter still remained to be adjusted, and that was some satisfactory arrangement with the third Lord Baltimore, concerning the boundary lines. This at last having been amicably adjusted, Penn went up the Delaware in an open boat to Wicaco, to attend the founding of a city, to which allusion had been made in his concessions in 1681. Before his arrival in America, Penn had thought of this city he was to found, and resolved to give it the name of Philadelphia--a Greek word signifying brotherly love--as a token of the principles in which he intended to govern his province. Near a block-house constructed by the Swedes, but which had since been converted into a church, he purchased lands extending from the high banks of the Delaware, fringed with pines, to those of the Schuylkill. There his surveyor laid out the city of Philadelphia upon a plan which would embrace about twelve square miles. The surveyor who aided William Penn in laying out Philadelphia was Thomas Holme. It was at the close of the year 1682, that the town was surveyed, and the boundaries of the streets marked on the trunks of the chestnut, walnut, locust, spruce, pine and other forest trees covering the land. Many of the streets were named for the forest monarchs on which these inscriptions were cut, and still bear the names. The growth of the town was rapid, and, within a year after the surveyor had finished this work, almost a hundred houses had been erected there, and the Indians daily came with the fruits of the chase as presents for "Father Penn," as they delighted to call the proprietor. In the following March, the new city was honored by the gathering there of the second assembly of the province, when Penn offered to the people, through their representatives a new charter. The new charter was so liberal in all its provisions, that when he asked the question: "Shall we accept the new constitution or adhere to the old one?" they voted in a body to accept the new charter, and became at once a representative republican government, with free religious toleration, with justice, for its foundation, and the proprietor, unlike those of other provinces, surrendered to the people his chartered rights in the appointment of officers. From the beginning, the happiness and prosperity of his people appeared to be uppermost in the heart and mind of William Penn. It was this happy relation between the proprietor and the people, and the security against Indian raids, that made Pennsylvania far outstrip her sister colonies in rapidity of settlement and permanent prosperity. It was late in 1682 that a small house was erected on the site of Philadelphia for the use of Penn, and only a few years ago it was still standing between Front and Second Streets, occupied by Letitia Court. There he assisted in fashioning those excellent laws which gave a high character to Pennsylvania from the beginning. Among other wise provisions was a board of arbitrators called peace-makers, who were to adjust all difficulties and thus prevent lawsuits. The children were all taught some useful trade. When factors wronged their employees, they were to make satisfaction and one-third over. All causes for irreligion and vulgarity were to be suppressed, and no man was to be molested for his religious opinions. It was also decreed that the days of the week and the months of the year "shall be called as in Scripture, and not by heathen names (as are vulgarly used), as ye First, Second and Third months of ye year, beginning with ye day called Sunday, and ye month called March," thus beginning the year, as of old, with the first spring month. Pennsylvania was first divided into three counties--Bucks, Chester and Philadelphia, and the annexed territories were also divided into three counties--New Castle, Kent and Sussex--known for a long time afterward as the "Three Lower Counties on the Delaware." Penn returned to England in the summer of 1684, leaving the government of the province during his absence to five members of the council, of which Thomas Lloyd, the president, held the great seal. William Penn's mission in America had been one of success. In 1685, Philadelphia contained six hundred houses; schools were established, and William Bradford had set up a printing press. He printed his "Almanac for the year of the Christian's Account, 1687," a broadside, or single sheet, with twelve compartments, the year beginning with March. William Penn could look with no little degree of pride upon his work. If ever man was justified in being proud, he was. Looking upon the result of his work, he, with righteous exultation, wrote to Lord Halifax, "I must, without vanity, say I have led the greatest colony into America that ever man did upon private credit, and the most prosperous beginnings that ever were in it are to be found among us." Penn bade the colonists farewell, with the brightest hopes for the future, saying, "My love and my life are to and with you, and no water can quench it, nor distance bring it to an end. I have been with you, cared for you, and served you with unfeigned love, and you are beloved of me and dear to me beyond utterance. I bless you in the name and power of the Lord, and may God bless you with his righteousness, peace and plenty all the land over." Then of Philadelphia, the apple of the noble Quaker's eye, he said, "And thou, Philadelphia, the virgin settlement of this province, my soul prays to God for thee, that thou mayest stand in the day of trial, and that thy children may be blessed." He stood on the deck of the ship which was anchored at the foot of Chestnut Street, when he delivered his farewell address, and on that bright August day, when the good ship spread her sails and sped away across the seas, he bore away with him to England the blessings of the whole people. Four months after Penn's return to England, Charles the Second died, and his brother James ascended the throne. A period of theological and political excitement in England followed, in which William Penn became involved. William Penn and the new king had long been personal friends, and through the influence of the honest Quaker, twelve hundred persecuted Friends were released from prison, in 1686. As James was under the influence of the Jesuits, his Quaker friend was suspected of being one of them, and when the revolution that drove James from the throne came, Penn was three times arrested on false charges of treason and as often acquitted, his last acquittal being in 1690. There had meanwhile been great political and theological commotions in Pennsylvania, and in April, 1691, the three lower counties on the Delaware, offended at the action of the council at Philadelphia, withdrew from the union, and Penn yielded to the secessionists so far as to appoint a separate deputy governor over them. In consequence of representations which came from Pennsylvania, the monarchs William and Mary deprived Penn of his rights as governor of his province, in 1692, and the control of the domain was placed in the hands of Governor Fletcher of New York, who, in the spring of 1693, reunited the Delaware counties to the parent province. Fletcher appeared at the head of the council at Philadelphia on Monday, the 15th of May, with William Markham, Penn's deputy, as lieutenant governor. The noble Quaker, however, had powerful friends who interceded with King William for the restoration of Penn's rights. He was called before the Privy Council to answer certain accusations, when his innocence was proven, and a few months later, all his ancient rights were restored. Penn's fortune had been wasted, and he lingered in England, under the heavy hand of poverty, until 1699, when, with his daughter and second wife, Hannah Callowhill, he sailed to Philadelphia. Meanwhile, his colony, under his old deputy, William Markham, had asserted their right to self-government and made laws for themselves. They were prosperous, but clamorous for political privileges guaranteed to them by law. Regarding their demands as reasonable, Penn, in November, 1701, gave them a new form of government, with more liberal concessions than had been formerly given. The people of the territories or three lower counties were still restive under the forced union with Pennsylvania, and Penn made provisions for their permanent separation in legislation, in 1702, and the first independent legislature in Delaware was assembled at New Castle in 1703. Although Philadelphia and Delaware ever afterward continued to have separate legislatures, they were under the same government until the Revolution in 1776. Shortly after Penn's arrival in America, he received tidings that measures were pending before the privy council, for bringing all of the proprietary governments under the crown. Penn located in Philadelphia, declaring it his intention to live and die there. He erected an excellent brick house on the corner of Second Street and Norris Alley. Disparaging news from his native land determined him to return to England, which he did in 1701, where he succeeded in setting matters to rights. He never returned to America. Harassed and wearied by business connected with his province, he was making arrangements in 1712 to sell it for sixty thousand dollars, when he was prostrated with paralysis. He survived the first shock six years, though he never fully recovered, then he died, leaving his estates in America to his three sons. His family governed Pennsylvania, as proprietors, until the Revolution made it an independent State, in 1776. During that time the great province of Pennsylvania had borne its share of troubles with the French and Indians. CHAPTER III. THE INDENTED SLAVE. Heaven from all creatures hides the book of fate, All but the page prescribed, their present state: From brutes what men, from men what spirits know; Or who could suffer being here below? The lamb thy riot dooms to bleed to-day, Had he thy reason, would he skip and play? Pleased to the last, he crops the flowery food, And licks the hand just raised to shed his blood. --Pope. That which was most dreaded in New England and all the American colonies came to pass. Charles II. died, and his brother James, Duke of York, was crowned King of England. On ascending the throne, the very first act of James II. was one of honest but imprudent bigotry. Incapable of reading the signs of the times, or fully prepared to dare the worst that those signs could portend, James immediately sent his agent Caryl to Rome, to apologize to the pope for the long and flagrant heresy of England, and to endeavor to procure the re-admission of the English people into the communion of the Catholic Church. The pope was more politic than the king and returned him a very cool answer, implying that before he ventured upon so arduous an enterprise as that of changing the professed faith of nearly his entire people, he would do well to sit down and calculate the cost. The foolish king, who stopped at nothing, not even the mild rebuke of the holy father, would not open his eyes, and as a natural result he was soon cordially hated by nearly all his subjects. His brother had left an illegitimate son called the Duke of Monmouth, who was encouraged to attempt to seize the throne of his uncle. At first the cause of the duke seemed prosperous. His army swelled from hundreds to thousands; but, owing to his lack of energy and fondness for pleasure, he delayed and gave the royal armies time to recruit. He was attacked at Sedgemore, near Bridgewater, and, owing to the perfidity or cowardice of Gray, his cavalry general, the rebels were defeated. Monmouth was captured, and his uncle ordered him beheaded, which was done. Then commenced the most barbarous punishment of rebels ever known. An officer named Kirk was sent by the king to hunt down the Monmouth rebels, or those sympathizing with them. His atrocious deeds would fill a volume, and are so revolting as to seem incredible. Another brutal ruffian of the time was Judge Jeffries. The judicial ermine has often been disgraced by prejudiced judges; but Jeffries was the worst monster that ever sat on the bench. He hung men with as much relish as did Berkeley of Virginia. His term was called the "bloody assizes," and to this day the name of Judge Jeffries is applied in reproach to the scandalous ruling of a partial judiciary. The accession of James II. made fewer changes in the American colonies than was anticipated. Perhaps, had his reign been longer, the changes would have been greater. The suppression of Monmouth's rebellion gave to the colonies many useful citizens. Men connect themselves, in the eyes of posterity, with the objects in which they take delight. James II. was inexorable toward his brother's favorites. Monmouth was beheaded, and the triumph of legitimacy was commemorated by a medal, representing the heads of Monmouth and Argyle on an altar, their bleeding bodies beneath, with the following: "Sic aras et sceptra tuemur." ("Thus we defend our altars and our throne.") "Lord chief justice is making his campaign in the west," wrote James II. to one in Europe, referring to Jeffries' circuit for punishing the insurgents. "He has already condemned several hundreds, some of whom we are already executed, more are to be, and the others sent to the plantations." The prisoners condemned to transportation were a salable commodity. Such was the demand for labor in America that convicts and laborers were regularly purchased and shipped to the colonies where they were sold as indented servants. The courtiers round James II. exulted in the rich harvest which the rebellion promised, and begged of the monarch frequent gifts of their condemned countrymen. Jeffries heard of the scramble, and indignantly addressed the king: "I beseech your majesty, that I inform you, that each prisoner will be worth ten pound, if not fifteen pound, apiece, and, sir, if your majesty orders these as you have already designed, persons that have not suffered in the service will run away with the booty." Under this appeal of the lord chief justice the spoils were divided and his honor was in part gratified. Many of the convicts were persons of family and education, and were accustomed to ease and elegance. "Take all care," wrote the monarch, under the countersign of Sunderland, to the government in Virginia, "take all care that they continue to serve for ten years at least, and that they be not permitted in any manner to redeem themselves by money or otherwise, until that term be fully expired. Prepare a bill for the assembly of our colony, with such clauses as shall be requisite for this purpose." No legislature in any of the American colonies seconded such malice, for the colonies were never in full accord with James II. Tyranny and injustice peopled America with men nurtured to suffering and adversity. The history of our colonization is the history of the crimes of Europe, and some of the best families in America are descended from the indented servants of the Old World. In Bristol, kidnapping had become common, and not only felons, but young persons of birth and education were hurried across the Atlantic and sold for money. Never did a king prove a greater tyrant or more inhuman and cruel than James II. After the insurrection of Monmouth had been suppressed, all the sanguinary excesses of despotic revenge were revived. Gibbets were erected in villages to intimidate the people, and soldiers were intrusted with the execution of the laws. Scarce a Presbyterian family in Scotland, but was involved in proscription or penalties. The jails were overflowed, and their tenants were sent as slaves to the colonies. Maddened by the succession of murders; driven from their homes to caves, from caves to morasses and mountains; death brought to the inmates of a house that should shelter them; death to the benefactor that should throw them food; death to the friend that listened to their complaint; death to the wife or parent that still dared to solace husband or son; ferreted out by spies; hunted with dogs;--the fanatics turned upon their pursuers, and threatened to retaliate on the men who should still continue to imbrue their hands in blood. The council retorted by ordering a massacre. He that would not take the oath should be executed, though unarmed, and the recusants were shot on the roads, or as they labored in the field, or stood at prayer. To fly was admission of guilt; to excite suspicion was sentence of death; to own the covenant was treason. Sometimes the lot of an indented slave was a happy one. Hundreds and thousands of fugitives flying from persecution came to the New World, while thousands of others were sent as convicts. Virginia received her share of the latter. One bright spring morning a ship from England entered the James River with a number of these indented slaves to be sold to the planters. Notice had been given of the intended sale and many planters came to look at the poor wretches huddled together like so many beasts in an old shed, and guarded by soldiers. Mr. Thomas Hull, a planter of considerable means, and a man noted for his iron will, was among those who came to make purchases. "Well, Thomas, have you looked over the lot?" asked another planter. "No, Bradley, have you?" "Yes, though I am shortened in money, and unable to purchase to-day." "Well, Bradley, what have you seen among them?" "There are many fine, lusty fellows; but I was most interested and grieved in one." "Why?" "He is a man who has known refinement and ease, is perchance thirty-five and has with him a child." "A child?" "Yes, a maid not to exceed ten years, but very beautiful with her golden hair and soft blue eyes." "Is the child a slave?" "No." "Then wherefore is it here?" asked Hull. "His is truly a pathetic story as I have heard it. It seems he was a widower with his child wandering about the country, when he fell in with some of the Duke of Monmouth's people and enlisted. He was captured at Sedgemore, and condemned by Jeffries. The child was left to wander at will; but by some means she accompanied her father, managed to smuggle herself on shipboard, and was not discovered until the vessel was well out to sea. Then the captain, who was a humane man, permitted them to remain together to the end of the voyage. She is with her father now, and a prettier little maid I never saw." "By the mass! I will go and see her," cried Hull. "If she be all you say, I will buy them both." "But she is not for sale." "Wherefore not?" "She was not adjudged by the court." With the cold, heartless laugh of a natural tyrant, Hull answered: "It will be all the same. He who purchases the father will have the maid also." He went to the place where the slaves were confined and gazed on the lot, very much as a cattle dealer might look upon a herd he contemplated purchasing. His gaze soon fastened on a fine, manly person in whose proud eye the sullen fires were but half subdued. He stood with his arms folded across his broad chest and his eye fixed upon a beautiful girl at his side. The captive spoke not. A pair of handcuffs were on his wrists, and the chains came almost to the ground; but slavery and chains could not subdue the proud captive. Hull delighted in punishing those whom he disliked. He was a papist at heart and consequently in sympathy with James II., so for this indented slave he incurred from the very first a most bitter dislike. When the slave was brought forth to be sold, he bid twelve pounds for him. This was two pounds more than the required price, and he became the purchaser. "You are mine," cried Hull to the servant. "Come with me." The father turned his great brown eyes dim with moisture upon his child, and Hull, interpreting the look, added, "Hold, I will buy the maid also." "She cannot be sold," the officer in charge of the slaves answered, "unless the master of the ship sees fit to sell her for passage money." The master of the ship was present and declared he would do nothing of the kind. "I will take her back to England, if she wishes to return," he added. The child was speechless, her great blue eyes fixed on her father. "What will you do with the maid?" asked Hull, who, having the father, felt sure the child would follow. "I will return her to England free of charge, if she wills it." "Who will care for her there?" asked Hull. "Do you know her relatives?" "No; all are strangers to me." The father, with his proud breast heaving with tumultuous emotion, stood silently gazing on the scene. He was a slave and he remembered that a slave must not speak unless permission be granted him by his master; but it was his child, the only link that bound him to earth, whose fate they were to decide, and, had he been unfettered, he might have clasped her to his bosom. "Speak with the maid," suggested a by-stander, "and see if she has a friend in England who will care for her." The master of the ship went to the bewildered child and, taking her little hand in his broad palm, said: "Sweet little maid, you are not afraid to trust me?" She turned her great blue eyes up to him and, in a whisper, answered: "I am not." "Have you a mother?" "No." "Have you any friends in England?" "None, since my father came away." "Where did you live before your father enlisted in the army of Monmouth?" "We travelled; we lived at no one place." "Have you no friends or relatives in England?" "None." The captain then asked permission to talk with the father. The permission was given by Hull, for he saw that his slave had the sympathy of all present, and it would not be safe to refuse him some privileges. The master of the vessel and the magistrate who had superintended the selling of the slaves for the crown found the slave a very intelligent gentleman. He said he had but one relative living so far as he knew. He had a brother who had come to America two or three years before; but he had not heard from him, and he might be dead. "Do you know any one in England to whom your child could be sent?" "I do not." "What were you doing before you entered the duke's army?" "I was a strolling player," the man answered, his fine tragic eyes fixed firmly on the officers. "My company had reached a town one day, in which we were to play at night, and just as I was getting ready to go to the theatre, the Duke of Monmouth entered. He was on his way to Sedgemore, and I was forced to join him. My child followed on foot and watched the battle as it raged. When it was over I could have escaped, had I not come upon Cora, who was seeking me. I took her up in my arms and was hurrying away, when the cavalry of the enemy overtook me and I was made a prisoner." The simple story made an impression on all who heard it save the obdurate master. The magistrate asked the slave what he would have done with his child. "Let her stay in the colony until my term of service is ended, then I will labor to remunerate any who would keep her." At this Hull said he would take the maid, and she might always be near the father. All who knew Hull looked with suspicion on the proposition. A new-comer had arrived on the scene. This was a young man of about the same age as the prisoner. He was a wealthy Virginian named Robert Stevens, noted for his kindness of heart and charity. He did not arrive on the scene until after the indented slave had been sold; but he soon heard the story of the captive from Sedgemore and his child. Robert Stevens' heart at once went out to these unfortunates, and he resolved on a scheme to make the father practically free. "Has the slave been sold?" he asked. "He has, and I am the purchaser," answered Hull. "How much did you give for him?" "Twelve pounds." "I will give fifty." "He is already sold," repeated Hull exultingly. He despised Robert Stevens for his wealth and popularity. To have purchased a slave whom Robert Stevens wanted, was great glory for Hull. "Fear not, good man," said Robert to the unfortunate slave. "I have money enough to purchase your freedom." Unfortunately those words fell on the ears of Thomas Hull, and he answered: "It is the order of the king that all serve their term out, and none be allowed to purchase their freedom." "I will give you one hundred pounds for the slave," cried Robert. "No." "A thousand!" "Robert Stevens, for some reason you want this slave restored to liberty." "No. Sell him to me, and he shall serve out his term." "I understand your plan. You would make his servitude a luxury. You cannot have the slave for a hundred times the sum you offer. By law, the convict is fairly mine until he hath fully served his term. I am not so heartless as you deem me. His child can go to my house, where she will be cared for." "No, no, no!" cried the captive, his eyes turned appealingly to Robert Stevens. "You take her; you take her. Go with him, Cora." The child sprang to the side of Robert Stevens, for already she had come to dread the man who was her father's master. Hull's face was black with rage. He bit his lips, but said nothing. With his slave, he hurried home. The name of the slave was George Waters, and he was soon to learn the weight of a master's hand. Thomas Hull was the owner of negro slaves, as well as white indented servants, and he made no distinction between them. George Waters, proud, noble as he was, was set to work with the filthy negroes in the tobacco fields. The half-savage barbarians, with their ignorance and naturally low instincts, were intended to humiliate the refined gentleman. "You is one of us," said a negro. "What am your name?" "George Waters." "George--George, dat am my name, too," said the negro, leaning on his hoe. "D'ye suppose we is brudders?" "No." "Well, why is we bofe called George?" "I don't know." The overseer came along at this moment and threatened them with the lash, if they did not cease talking and attend to their work. Again and again was the proud George Waters subjected to indignities, until he could scarcely restrain himself from knocking Martin, his overseer, down, and selling his life in the defence of his liberty; but he remembered Cora, and resolved to bear taunts and indignities for her sake, until his term of service was ended. His only comfort was that his child was well cared for. He had been a year and a half on the upper plantation of Thomas Hull, and though he had demeaned himself well, and had done the labor of two ordinary men--though he had never uttered a word of complaint, no matter what burdens were laid upon him, his natural pride and nobility of character won the hatred of the overseer. The fellow had a violent temper and hated George Waters. One day, from no provocation at all, he threatened to beat Waters. The servant snatched the whip from his hand and said: "I would do you no harm, sir. I have always performed my tasks to the best of my ability, and never have I complained; but if you so much as give me one stroke, I will kill you." There was fire in his eye and an earnestness in his voice, which awed the cowardly overseer; but at the same time they increased his hatred. He resolved to be revenged, and reported to Hull that the slave was rebellious. Hull permitted George Waters to be tied to a tree by four stout negroes, whose barbarous natures delighted in such work, and the overseer laid a whip a dozen times about his bare shoulders. No groan escaped his lips. For three days he lay about his miserable lodge waiting for his wounds to heal, and meanwhile made up his mind to fly from the colony. He had heard that a society of Friends, or Quakers, had formed a colony to the north, which was called Pennsylvania; and he knew that they would succor a slave. As soon as he was well enough, he stole from a cabin a gun, a knife and some ammunition, and set out in the night to find the plantation of Robert Stevens, where Cora was. His escape was discovered and the overseer, with Thomas Hull, set out in hot pursuit of the fugitive. At dawn of day they came in sight of him in the forest on the Lower James River and, being on horseback, gave chase. "Keep away! keep back!" cried the fugitive, "or I will not answer for the consequences," and he brandished his gun in the air. The overseer was armed with pistols and, drawing one, galloped up to within a hundred paces of the fugitive and fired, but missed. Quick as thought, George Waters raised his gun and, taking aim at the breast of his would-be slayer, shot him dead from the saddle. The body fell to the ground, and the frightened horse wheeled about and ran away. Thomas Hull, who was a coward, awed by the fate of his overseer, turned and fled as rapidly as his horse could go. Horrified at what he had done, and knowing that death, sure and swift, would follow his capture, George Waters turned and fled down the James River. Some guardian angel guided his footsteps, for he found himself one night, almost starved, faint and weak, at the plantation of Robert Stevens. George was driven to desperate straits when he accosted the wealthy planter and asked for food. Robert recognized him as the father of the little maid whom he had taken to his home as one of his family. "I have heard all; you must not be seen," said Robert. Then he conducted him to an apartment of his large manor house. "Are you hungry?" "I am starving." Robert brought him food with his own hands and, as he ate, asked: "Do you want to see Cora?" "May I?" "Yes." "I am a slave and a--a----" "I know what you would say. Do not say it, for you slew only in self-defence." "But I will be hanged if found." "You shall not be found. Heaven help me, if I shield a real criminal from justice; but he who strikes a blow for liberty is worthy of aid." After the fugitive had in a measure satisfied his hunger, Robert said: "You will need sleep and rest, after which you must prepare for a long journey." "Whither shall I go?" "To Massachusetts. I have relatives in Salem, where you will be safe." "Safe!" He repeated the word as if it were a glorious dream--a vision never to be realized. "Yes, you will be safe; but as you must make the journey through a vast forest, you will need to be refreshed by rest and food." The wild-eyed fugitive, with his face haggard as death, seized the arm of his benefactor and said: "They will come and slay me as I sleep." "Fear not, my unfortunate brother, for I will put you in a chamber where none save myself shall know of you." "And my child?" "She shall accompany you to Salem." The fugitive said no more. He entrusted everything to the man who had promised to save him. He was led up two flights of stairs, when they came to a ladder reaching to an attic, and they went up this attic ladder to a chamber, where there was a narrow bed, with soft, clean sheets and pillows, the first the prisoner had seen in the New World. "You can sleep here in perfect security," said Robert. "I will see that you are not molested by any one." The wayworn traveller threw himself on the bed and fell asleep. Stevens went below and told his wife of the fugitive. Ester Stevens was the daughter of General Goffe, the regicide, who had been hunted for years by Charles II. for signing the death warrant of the king's father and serving in the army of Oliver Cromwell, and Mrs. Stevens could sympathize with a political fugitive. They ran some risk in keeping him in their house; but as a majority of the colonists had been in sympathy with the Duke of Monmouth, for James II. had few friends in Virginia and Thomas Hull none, their risk was not as great as it might seem. The fugitive late next day awoke, and Robert carried his breakfast to him. The colony was wild with excitement over the escape of an indented slave and the killing of the overseer. Thomas Hull represented the crime to be as heinous as possible, to arouse a sympathy for himself and a hatred for the escaped slave. Some people were outspoken in the belief that the escaped slave should be killed; others were in sympathy with him. They reasoned that Hull had been a hard master, and that this poor fellow was no criminal, but a patriot, for which he had been adjudged to ten years' penal servitude. Many of the searchers came to the mansion house of Stevens; but he managed to put them off the track. For five days and nights George Waters remained in the attic. On the sixth night Robert Stevens came to him and said: "You must now set out on your journey." "But Cora--can I see her?" "She will accompany you. Here is a suit of clothes more befitting one of your rank and station, than the garb of an indented slave." He placed a riding suit with top boots and hat in the apartment. When he had attired himself, Robert next brought him some arms, a splendid gun and a brace of pistols of the best make. "You may have need of these," said the planter. "You will also find holsters in the saddle." "And does Cora know of this?" "I have told her all." The father shuddered. In the pride of his soul, he remembered that he was a slave, had felt the lash, and was humiliated. Under a wide-spreading chestnut near the planter's mansion, stood three horses ready saddled. A faithful negro slave was holding them, and the little maid, clothed for a long journey, awaited her father's arrival. A fourth horse was near on which were a pack of provisions and a small camping outfit. The father and child met and embraced in silence, and, had she not felt a tear on her face, she would hardly have known that he was so greatly agitated. "We will mount and be far on the journey before the day dawns," said Robert. "Do you go with us?" asked George Waters. "Certainly. I know the country and will guide you beyond danger." They mounted and travelled all night long. At early dawn, they halted only to refresh themselves with a cold breakfast, and pushed on. Three days Robert journeyed with them, and then, on the border of Maryland, he halted and told them of a land now within their reach, where the Quakers dwelt. There they might rest until they were able to go to Massachusetts. He gave a purse of gold to the father, saying: "Take it, and may God be as good to you as he has been to me." The fugitive murmured out some words of thanks; but his benefactor wheeled his steed about and galloped away, lest the words of gratitude might fall on his ears. "Let us go on, father," said Cora. For days, Cora Waters could never tell how long, they journeyed, until at last, on the banks of the Delaware, they came upon a small town where dwelt a people at peace with all the world--the Quakers, and the tired child and her father were taken in, given food and shelter, Christian sympathy, and assured of safety. CHAPTER IV. MR. PARRIS AND FLOCK. And false the light on glory's plume, As fading hues of even, And Love and Hope, and Beauty's bloom, Are blossoms gathered for the tomb,-- There's nothing bright but Heaven. --Moore. The last expiring throe of a mighty superstition was about to convulse the little society at Salem, and, as usual in such cases, ignorance and prejudice went hand in hand for the destruction of reason and humanity. The last of the great religious persecutions was to begin, when eminent divines were to stand and point with pride to the swaying bodies of their victims, hanging from the gibbet, and call them "fire-brands of hell." In the village of Salem, there was a strife between Samuel Parris the minister and a part of his people; a strife so bitter, that it had even attracted the attention of a general court. We all know, even in these modern days, what a furor can be created in a church, when a part of the organization is arrayed against the pastor. Sometimes the divine shepherd loses his temper and says ugly things against his flock, and thinks many which he does not utter. Parris was a man filled with ambition and prejudice. He was a fanatic and easily driven to frenzy by opposition. An unfavorable criticism upset his highly nervous organism, and he set out to find some proof in the Scriptures for condemning his enemies. It never entered into his mind to love those who hated him. Mr. Parris had lived in the West Indies for several years before going to Salem, and had brought with him some slaves purchased from the Spaniards. Among them were two famous in history as John and Tituba his wife. Historians disagree as to the nationality of these slaves. Some aver they were Indians, others call them negroes, while some state they were half and half. Whatever may have been their nationality, their practices were the fetichism of western Africa, and there can be no doubt that negro blood predominated in their veins. All their training, their low cunning and beastly worship, their deception and treachery were utterly unlike the characteristics of the early aborigines of America, and were purely African. John and Tituba were full of the gross superstitions of their people, and were of the frame and temperament best adapted to the practice of demonology. In the family of Samuel Parris, his daughter, a child of nine years, and his niece, a girl of less than twelve, began to have strange caprices. During such a state of affairs the pastor actually permitted to be formed, with his own knowledge, a society of young girls between the ages of eight and eighteen to meet at the parsonage, strangely resembling those "circles" of our own time called séances, for spiritualistic revelations. There can be no doubt that the young girls were laboring under a strong nervous and mental excitement, which was encouraged rather than repressed by the means employed by their spiritual director. Instead of treating them as subjects of morbid delusion, Mr. Parris regarded them as victims of external and diabolical influence, and strangely enough this influence, on the evidence of the children themselves, was supposed to be exercised by some of the most pious and respectable people of the community. As it was those who opposed Mr. Parris, who fell under the ban of suspicion, there is room to suspect the reverent Mr. Parris with making a strong effort to gratify his revenge. Many a child has had its early life blighted and its nerves shattered by a ghost-believing and ghost-story-telling nurse. No class of people is more superstitious in regard to ghosts and witches than negroes. Whatever fetich ideas may have been among the Indians of the New World, many more were imbibed from the Africans with whom they early came in contact. Old Tituba was a horrid-looking creature. If ever there was a witch on earth, she was one, and as she crouched in one corner, smoking her clay pipe, her eyes closed, telling her weird stories to the girls, no one can wonder that they were strangely affected. "Now, chillun, lem me tell ye, dat ef ebber a witch catches ye, and pinches ye, and sticks pins in ye, ye won't see 'em, ye won't see nobody, ye won't see nuffin," said old Tituba. "What should we do if a witch were to catch us, Tituba?" asked Abigail Williams, the niece of Mr. Parris. "Dar but one thing to do, chile. Dat am to burn de witch or hang 'em." "Are there witches now?" "Yes, dar be plenty. I see 'em ob night. Doan ye nebber see a black man in de night?" The children were all silent, until one little girl, whose imagination was very vivid, thought she had seen a black man, once. "When was it?" asked Abigail Williams. "One night, when I waked out of my sleep, I saw a great black something by my side." The little blue eyes opened so wide and looked with such earnestness on the assembled children, that there could be no doubting her sincerity. "Can we catch witches?" Abigail asked Tituba. "Yes." "How?" "Many ways." Then she proceeded to tell of the various charms by which a witch might be detected, such as drawing the picture of the person accused and stabbing it with a knife of silver, or shooting it with a silver bullet. "Once, when a witch was in a churn," continued Tituba, "and no butter would come, den de man, he take some hot water an' pour it in de churn, an' jist den dar come a loud noise like er gun, an' dey see er cloud erbove de churn. Bye um bye, dat cloud turned ter er woman's head an' et war an ole woman wat lib in der neighborhood and war called a witch." "Is that true, Tituba?" asked one of the little girls. "It am so, fur er sartin sure fact, chile." Nothing is more susceptible than a young imagination. It can see whatever it wills, hear whatever is desired, and like wax is ready to receive any impression one chooses to put on it. A child can be made to believe it sees the most unnatural things, and in a few days Tituba and John had thoroughly convinced the children that they saw spirits and witches in the air all about them. One evening, a pretty young woman, not over twenty-one or two, came to the parsonage, where the witches and ghosts had been holding high revel. She was a brunette with a dark keen eye and hair of jet. Her face was lovely, save when distorted by passion, and her form was faultless. "Sarah Williams, where have you been, that we have seen nothing of you for a fortnight?" asked Mrs. Parris as the visitor entered the house. "I have been to Boston, and but just came back yesterday. What strange things have been transpiring since I left?" At this moment a door opened and Mr. Parris, a tall, pale man, entered from his study. The new-comer, without waiting for the pastor's wife to answer her question, rose and, grasping the hand of her spiritual adviser, cried: "Mr. Parris, how pale you are! but then I cannot wonder at it, when I consider all I have heard." "What have you heard, Sarah?" he asked. "I have heard you are having trouble in your congregation." "Who told you?" "The rumor has gone all over the country, even reaching Boston. And they do say that the evil spirits have visited Salem to defame you." Mr. Parris pressed his thin lips so firmly that the blood seemed to have utterly forsaken them, and his cold gray eye was kindled with a subdued fire, as he answered: "I am far from insensible that at this extraordinary time of the devil coming down in great wrath upon us, there are too many tongues and hearts thereby set on fire of hell." "To whom can you trace your troubles?" "To Goodwife Nurse," answered the pastor. "It is that firebrand of hell who seeks to ruin me." "I saw Goody Nurse," cried one of the smaller children. "When?" asked Mr. Parris. "Last night." The pastor, the visitor, and the wife exchanged significant glances, and the father asked: "Where did you see her?" "She came with the black man to my bed." "What did she do?" "She asked me to sign the book." "What book?" "I don't know; but it was a red book." The anxious mother, in a fit of hysterics, seized her child in her arms and cried: "No, no, no! don't you sign the book and sell your immortal soul, child!" and she gave way to a fit of weeping, which unnerved all the children, who began to howl, as if they were beset by demons. When the hubbub was at its height, the door to an adjoining room opened, and Tituba and John stuck their heads into the room. "She am dar! she am dar!" cried old Tituba. "I see her! I see dem bofe!" "Yes, I see um--see um bofe, Tituba," repeated John. "Who do you see?" asked the pastor. "See de black man and Goody Nurse." "Where?" "Dar." They pointed along the floor, then up the wall to the ceiling, where they both avowed that they saw Goodwife Nurse and the black man, or demon, dancing with their heels up and heads down. The negro clapped his hands, patted his foot on the floor and cried aloud: "Doan yer see um, Marster? doan yer see um, chillun?" One little girl, who fixed her eyes on a certain dark corner of the room, thought she could see a shadow moving on the wall, but was not quite certain. The pastor was overcome by the presence of the prince of darkness in his own house, and, falling on his knees, began to pray. As a natural result, when all minds were directed to one channel, as they were by prayer, the superstitious feeling which possessed them passed away, and the household, which a few moments ago was on the verge of hysteria, became more calm, and when all rose from their knees, Mrs. Parris asked her visitor to spend the evening with them. "I fain would stay; but I dread the long walk home." "Samuel will accompany you, unless Charles Stevens comes, as he promised. In case he should, he can go with you." At the mention of Charles Stevens, the young woman's eyes grew brighter, and her face became crimson. "Sarah, have you not heard from your husband?" asked the minister. "No; he is dead." "Did you never hear of the pinnace?" "No; but it was no doubt lost." "How long since he left?" "A year. He went to New York, was seen to leave that port, and has never been heard from." "It is sad." "Verily, it is," and Sarah tried hard to call up a tear, and wiped her eyes with the corner of her apron. John and Tituba had retired to their domain, the kitchen, to conjure up more demons and plan further mischief. Mr. Parris could not keep his mind long from the rebellious members of his flock. "I will be avenged on them," he thought. "Verily, I will be avenged for every pang they have made me suffer." He had forgotten the command, "Vengeance is mine, I will repay, saith the Lord." Sarah Williams proceeded to further delve into the trouble with Mr. Parris and his church. "Is Rebecca Nurse your enemy?" she asked. "Verily, she is; so is her sister Goodwife Corey." "Why are they your enemies?" "They want another pastor, and have done all in their power to ruin me." "Why do you endure it?" asked Sarah. "How can I help myself? I retain my charge and shall retain it, despite Goody Nurse." At this the youngest child said: "Goody Nurse was at church last Lord's day with a yellow bird." "A yellow bird?" cried all. "Yes; I saw a yellow bird fly into the church and light on her shoulder." Tituba had told the poor deluded child that if Goodwife Nurse were a witch, she would be accompanied by a yellow bird. "Surely you saw no yellow bird last Lord's day." "Verily, I did, and it came first and sat on her shoulder, and then on her knee, and, while father was preaching, it whispered in her ear." "Could you hear what it said?" asked the pastor. "No, for I was not near enough." Then the pastor and his wife and visitor exchanged glances. Foolishly credulous and blindly superstitious, as well as prejudiced, their minds were like the fallow ground ready to receive any impression, however silly. Before more could be said, there came a rap at the door, and Charles Stevens, the lad who succored the wounded stranger that had so mysteriously disappeared, entered. Charles was almost a man, and bid fair to make a fine-looking fellow. He was tall and muscular, with bold gray eyes and a face open and manly. He had lost none of his mirth, and his merry whistle still shocked some of the staid old Puritans. As soon as Charles entered, the young widow rose, all blushing, to greet him. She was not more than one or two years his senior, and, being still beautiful, there was a possibility of her entrapping the youth. The pastor greeted him warmly and assured him that his visit was most opportune; but he regretted very much that he had not come an hour sooner. "Wherefore would you have had me come an hour sooner?" asked the merry Charles. "That you might, with your own eyes, behold some of the wonderful manifestations of the prince of darkness." With a laugh, Charles answered that such manifestations were too common to merit much comment; but as a matter of course he asked what the manifestations were. "An example of witchcraft." At this Charles laughed, and Mr. Parris was shocked at his scepticism. "Wherefore do you laugh, unregenerated youth?" cried the pastor. "A witch! I believe there are no witches," he answered. "Would you believe your eyes, young sceptic?" "I might even doubt my own eyes." "Wherefore would you?" "Nothing is more deceptive than sight; optical delusions are common. Did you see a witch?" "Not myself; but others did." "Who?" "John, Tituba and Ann Parris saw the witches dancing on the ceiling, with their feet up and their heads down." At this Charles Stevens again laughed and answered: "Verily you are mad, Mr. Parris, to believe what those lying negroes say. They have persuaded the child into the belief that she sees strange sights." Mr. Parris became greatly excited and cried: "The maid sees the shape of Goody Nurse and the black man at night. They come and choke her, to make her sign the book." "What book?" "The devil's book. Do you not remember some time ago a stranger was at your house, who mysteriously disappeared?" Of course Charles remembered. He had never forgotten that mysterious stranger, and often wondered what had been his fate. "The same shape appeared before John Louder in the forest, where he had gone to stalk deer, and asked him to sign the red book in which is recorded the souls of the damned." This was the frightful story told by Louder on his return from the night's hunt, and many of the credulous New Englanders believed him. Mr. Parris, having become warmed up on his subject, resumed: "Charles, Charles, shake off the hard yoke of the devil. Where 'tis said, 'the whole world lies in wickedness,' 'tis by some of the ancients rendered, 'the whole world lies in the devil.' The devil is a prince, yea, the devil is a god unto all the unregenerate, and, alas, there is a whole world of them. Desolate sinner, consider what a horrid lord it is you are enslaved unto, and oh, shake off the slavery of such a lord." Charles was unprepared for such a sermon, and had no desire to be bored with it, yet he was left without choice in the matter. The young widow came to his relief and took him off under her protection and soon made him forget that he had ever been rebuked by the parson. Certainly, he had never met a more agreeable person than Sarah Williams. Her husband was a brother of Mrs. Parris, and she wielded a great influence in the minister's family. Gradually she absorbed more and more of Charles Stevens' society, telling him of her recent visit to Boston, and of the latest news from England, inquiring about his mother, and talking only on the subjects which most interested him. He thought her a charming woman. The hour was late ere they knew it, and Puritanic New England was an enemy to late hours. Sarah declared she must go home. "Come again, Sarah," said Mrs. Parris. "I will. Verily, I must go; but see, the moon is down, how dark it is." Charles was not slower to take the hint than a young man of our own day. Humanity has been the same since Eve first evinced her power over Adam in the garden. Ever since, men have been led by a pretty face often to their ruin. Charles, in a bashful, awkward way, informed the young widow that he was going the same road, and it would not be much out of his way to accompany her to her very door. Of course she was pleased, and Charles and the young widow went away together. "Have you never learned the fate of your husband, Sarah?" he asked. "No; poor Samuel is dead," she answered. "It is sad that you know not his fate. Was he drowned at sea, killed by the Indians, or murdered by the pirates?" "I know not. I am very lonely now, Charles." "I pity you." "Do you?" "Verily, I do." "Thank you, Charles." "Your parents are in Boston, are they not?" "Yes." "Do you intend to live always thus alone?" "Oh, I trust not," and the darkness concealed the sly glance which Sarah cast from her great dark eyes on the unsuspecting youth at her side. The conversation was next changed to Mr. Parris, his quarrel with his flock, and the strange phenomenon developing at his house. "What think you of it, Charles?" "It is a sham." "Oh, no, no! John, the negro man, is bewitched, and has fits." "A good flogging would very quickly bring him out of his fits." By this time they had reached the door of Sarah Williams' house. She turned upon the youth and, seizing his arm, in a voice trembling with emotion, said: "Charles, I beseech of you, as you love life and happiness, do not say aught against Mr. Parris or witchcraft. We stand on the brink of something terrible, and no one knows what the end may be." As Charles wended his way homeward, he pondered over the strange words of Sarah Williams, and asked himself: "What does she mean?" CHAPTER V. A NIGHT WITH WITCHES.[A] As bees bizz out wi' angry fyke When plundering herds assail their byke, As open pussies mortal foes, When, pop! she starts before their nose, As eager runs the market crowd, When, "Catch the thief!" resounds aloud, So Maggie runs, the witches follow, Wi' monie an eldritch skreech and hollow. --Burns. [Footnote A: The incidents narrated in this chapter were gathered from Cotton Mather's "Invisible World," and legends current at the time. Strange as it may seem, these narratives were believed, and some are from sworn testimony in court.] Most people are superstitious. In fact, we might put it stronger and say, all people are superstitious. Superstition is natural, and so long as there are great mysteries unrevealed to man, there will be superstition. So long as the great mysteries of life and death and a future existence are shrouded in the unknown, there will be believers in the supernatural. So long as there are powers and forces not understood, they will be attributed to unknown or unnatural causes. Most people are unwilling to admit, even to themselves, that they are superstitious, yet somewhere in their nature will be found a belief in some odd and ludicrous superstition. Many have a dread of the unlucky number; some will not commence a journey on Friday; they feel better when they have seen the new moon over their right shoulder, and when the matter is well sifted, we find lurking about all a strange, inexplicable superstition. Two hundred years ago, superstition was far more prevalent than at present, and some of the wisest and best of that day possessed the oddest and most unreasonable opinions. A few evenings after the incidents narrated in the foregoing chapter, Charles Stevens, who had been all day on a hunt, at night found himself near an old deserted house, four or five miles from town. The house had been built by some Puritans, years before, and the family which had lived in it were murdered by Indians. The house was currently reported at the village to be haunted; but Charles, who was not a believer in ghosts, resolved to pass the night there, in preference to braving a threatening thunderstorm. His negro man Pete was with him, and when he told Pete to gather up some dry wood, the darkey, with eyes protruding from his head, asked: "Massa Charles, am ye gwine to stay heah all night?" "Certainly, Pete, why not? A storm is coming, and we could not reach home in such a tempest." "But dis house am haunted." "Oh, nonsense, Pete. Get the wood, and don't let such foolish notions as ghosts enter your mind." Pete reluctantly obeyed, and Charles went into the house where was an old lamp which had been left there by hunters. It was nearly full of oil, and he lighted it by aid of his flint and steel. Some rude benches and three-legged stools constituted the furniture. Pete, finding that nothing could induce his master to go on, gathered a quantity of dry wood before the rain began to fall, and started a fire. The single lamp, burning dimly on the mantel, gave a weird ghost-like gleam, and Pete shuddered as he glanced into the dark corners and the black attic above, from whence his fervid imagination conjured up lost spirits, ghosts and goblins ready to seize him by the hair. Just as the first great rain-drops began to fall on the old weather-beaten roof of the deserted house, they heard the rapid tramp of feet without. Pete uttered a horrified yell and sprang into the chimney, where he was trying to start a fire. Charles told him to refrain from his silly conduct and went to the door to see who their visitors were. "Charles, Charles, is it you?" cried a voice which he recognized as John Louder. "We saw the light within and determined to seek shelter." Louder was accompanied by his neighbors Bly and Gray, all carrying guns and some small game in their hands. "You have been in the forest to-day?" "Yes, with ill luck, too. Marry! I trow, neighbors, we will have a tempest," cried Louder, as he and his companions entered the old house. A burst of thunder shook the earth; the wild winds raged about the house, making the rickety old structure creak and groan, while the air about seemed on fire. For a moment all were awed to silence; then Charles said: "It will soon pass. The rain will soon drown it." "Have you but just come?" asked Louder. "Just arrived." "I would not, under other circumstances, put up in such a place as this; but it is better than the storm raging without." The hunters, thankful for even such poor shelter, skinned some squirrels, and toasted them before the glowing fire, which Pete had built. Supper over, they drew the benches close about the fire, and while they listened to the raging storm without, conversed on the mysteries of that invisible world, which has always formed an interesting theme for the children of Adam. "Charles Stevens, only a few years ago, you harbored at your house a wizard," said Louder. Charles Stevens was half amused and half indignant. He began to expostulate with Louder, when the latter said: "Nay, nay; I charge you not with bartering with the devil; but list to me. On the selfsame day you found the stranger wounded at the road-side near the spring, we three had been hunting among the hills for deer. Some one had bewitched my gun. I know it, for when I fired, the bullet, which never failed on other occasions to go straight to the mark, went astray. All day long that mysterious stranger had followed us, grievously tormenting us and leading astray our shots, until I loaded my piece with a sixpence and fired at a large fat buck which strutted temptingly before me. Had you probed his wound I trow you would have found my sixpence buried in his side." At this, the negro, who was crouched in a corner, groaned in agony, while Charles was inclined to treat the matter lightly. Louder related how, while at the lake in the wood, he had been visited by this mysterious apparition, who offered him a book to sign, adding that he knew at once that his tormentor was a wizard or the Devil, that his eyes were in an instant changed to fire, and sulphurous smoke issued from his nostrils. "Can you ask me if I believe my own eyes and my own ears?" concluded Louder. "Those are truths, and had I signed his book, I would have been tormented by fiends and my soul forever lost." "They do say the people are ready to cry out on Goody Nurse," put in Bly. "Goody Nurse! surely not," answered Charles. "She is one of the best women I know. She is kind, good and gentle with all." "Verily, so is Satan, until he has his clutches upon you. Goody Nurse is a witch." "Beware, John Louder, how you malign such as she," said Charles, growing serious. "Have the proof before you assert." "I know whereof I speak," declared John Louder. "About five or six months ago, one morning about sunrise, I was in my chamber assaulted by the shape of Goody Nurse, which looked on me, grinned at me, and very much hurt me with a blow on the side of my head. That selfsame day, about noon, the same shape walked in the room where I was, and an apple strangely flew out of my hand, into the lap of my wife, six or eight feet from me. Can you deny such evidences as this?" "I have seen her," put in John Bly, "and once when her shape did assail me, I struck at her with my cane, and she cried out that I had torn her coat." Samuel Gray stated that he had been tormented with spectres and spirits. All this was agony to the horrified negro, who, crouching in one corner, shivered with dread, while his eyes wildly rolled in agony. "Once a shape appeared to me and did tempt me to sign a book which I refused to do, and the shape whipped me with iron rods to compel me thereunto." "Did you know the witch?" asked Charles. "Verily, I did." "Who was it?" "One Bridget Bishop. I afterward saw her at a general meeting of witches in a field, where they all partook of a diabolical sacrament, not of bread and wine, but of the flesh and blood of murdered people." At this the negro groaned and crouched closer to the chimney jamb. The storm roared without, and the rain fell with a steady pouring sound, as the superstitious hunters filled their pipes and gathered closer about the fire. "There is no need to deny longer that witches exist," said John Louder. "I have seen enough of them to convince me beyond question that there are witches. Ann Durent one day left her infant, William Durent with Amy Dunny, a woman who has since been known to be a witch. Though Dunny was an old woman, she afterward confessed she had given suck to the child, whereat Durent was displeased and Dunny went away with discontent and menaces. "The night after, the child fell into strange and sad fits, wherein it continued for divers weeks. One doctor Jacob, who knew something of witches, advised her to hang up the child's blanket in the chimney corner all day, and at night, when she went to put the child into it, if she found anything in it, then to throw it without fear into the fire. Accordingly at night when she took down the blanket, there fell out of it a great toad, which hopped up and down the hearth, uttering strange cries. A boy caught it, and held it in the fire with the tongs, where it made a horrible noise, and flashed like gunpowder, with a report like that of a pistol. Whereupon the toad was seen no more. The next day a kinswoman of Dunny said she was grievously scorched with the fire, and on going to the house it was found to be even so. After the burning of the toad, the child recovered." "I did not believe in witchcraft at first," remarked Samuel Gray, by way of preface to some weird account of his own; "but I cannot doubt my senses. I had been to Boston on business for the parson and, being belated, was riding along the road homeward. I had just reached the old Plaistowe field, when I suddenly discovered a long black something, like a monster cat or panther, running along the fence at my side. I was seized of some strange power and despite my will was forced to wink my eyes. If I closed my eyes but for a second, the black object was back at the point where it started from and ran along again, until I closed my eyes, when it appeared where I had first seen it. My horse became affrighted and ran away with me." John Bly knocked the ashes from his pipe and began: "I have an uncle in Virginia, who was sorely tried by witches. One witch in the neighborhood, especially, did grievously torment him. He would go to his door and see his field full of cattle; but on entering the field itself, no cattle were to be seen. Knowing full well that he was bewitched, he loaded his gun with a silver bullet, and one day fired at a large white cow. Instantly every beast disappeared, and he saw an old woman over the hill limping as if in pain. It was the suspected witch, whom he had shot in the leg. She did not bother him any more; but another witch used to come at night and ride him. She would shake a witch bridle over his head, utter some incantation and my uncle would be turned into a horse, and she would ride him hard until morning. Then she would bring him home, remove the spell, and he would be asleep in bed at dawn. One night he was thus ridden to a witch ball and tied to a tree. He rubbed his head against the tree until he got the bridle off, the spell was broken and he was once more a man. He took the enchanted bridle and laid in wait for the witch. As she emerged from the door, he seized her, shook the bridle over her head, repeated the words she had used, and instantly she was changed into a fine gray mare. He mounted her and rode her furiously, out of revenge, for many miles to a blacksmith, where he alighted and, awaking the smith, had him shoe the mare at once. Then he rode her nearly home, when he turned her loose. "Next morning he went to the home of his neighbor, whose wife he suspected of being the witch, and inquired after the health of the family. "'My wife is ill,' answered the head of the house. "'What ails her?' "'Alas, I know not.' "My uncle went into the room where the woman lay in bed suffering greatly. "'Are you very ill?' my uncle asked. "'I am sick almost unto death,' the woman answered. "'Let me hold your hand and see if you have a fever.' "'No, no, no!' and she sought to hide her hands under the cover; but my uncle was a resolute man, and he seized her hand and drew it from beneath the cover, and behold, a horseshoe was nailed unto it. On each hand and each foot there was nailed a shoe which the smith at the trial swore he had put on the gray mare the night before." The negro groaned at the conclusion of the narrative, and his face was so expressive of agony, that it formed a comical picture, exciting the laughter of Charles Stevens, and Bly supposing that he was skeptical of the story he had told said: "Do you doubt the truth of my narrative, my merry fellow? Perchance you may some day feel the clutches of a witch upon you, then, pray God, beware." "These are matters of too serious moment to excite one to laughter," put in Mr. Gray, solemnly. "Since the devil is come down in great wrath upon us, let us not in our great wrath against one another provide a lodging for him." Charles, the reckless, merry youth, treated the matter as it would be treated at the present day. "You need not deride the idea of witches changing people to horses," said John Louder, who, according to accounts given of him, by Cotton Mather, was either an accomplished liar or a man possessing a vivid imagination. "Have you ever had any personal experience?" asked Charles. "Indeed I have." "What was it?" "Goody Nurse does such things; but she has ever been too shrewd to be caught as was the witch in Virginia." "Goody Nurse! For shame on you, Mr. Louder, to accuse that good, righteous woman with offences as heinous as having familiar spirits." With a solemnity so earnest that sincerity could scarcely be doubted, John Louder remarked: "Glad should I be, if I had never known the name of this woman, or never had this occasion to mention so much as her name. Goody Nurse is the most base of all God's creatures, for she takes unto herself a seeming holiness." "What hath she done?" "Listen and I will tell you. She hath grievously afflicted my children. At night her shape appears to them accompanied by a black man. She hath power to change her own form into an animal, a bird or insect at will. Once my little girl was attacked by a large black cat, which she recognized as Goody Nurse. "Not only does she afflict my children; but my cattle, my gun and myself have been bewitched by her." John Louder here paused and, refilling his pipe, lighted it, took a few whiffs to get it going and resumed: "If you will listen to what I say, I will tell you of a certain incident which befell me last summer. One night I had retired early to rest, for, having been in the fields all day, I was somewhat weary. I fell asleep and was dreaming of pleasant forests, running brooks, green meadows, thrift and plenty, when suddenly methought I heard a voice calling unto me. "'John Louder! John Louder!' it seemed to say. "I started up from my pillow and sat on the side of my bed. The day had been very hot, the night was still warm, and the window had been left open, that the good south breeze might refresh my heated face. Suddenly in through that window came a great black object. I could see the eyes like blue flames, the face with a hideous grin, great sharp ears and short horns on top. He had bat-like wings, a tail, and on one foot was a cloven hoof. "I was too much affrighted to speak; but the shape motioned me to rise. I did so. An instant later, lo, a second shape appeared, and this was Rebecca Nurse. They did not ask me to sign the book, this time, for I had declined so often to do so, that they thought it little need. "'Come!' said Goody Nurse. I rose and followed, I own, for I was under some strange spell. "We got out of the house, I know not how, and I saw a great many people waiting. Some were on the ground, and some were in the air. All were on broomsticks. "'Come, John Louder, mount behind me,' said Rebecca Nurse, and I was compelled to get behind her." "What was she riding?" Charles asked. "A broomstick." Charles, by an effort, restrained the laughter, which the answer had so nearly created, and John Louder resumed: "She uttered a strange, terrible cry, and we all rose in the air on the broomsticks and away we sped like birds. I was in constant fear lest I should fall and be dashed to death on the ground. I clung to her, and she, uttering strange screeches and cries, sped on like a bird through the air. Her broomstick rose and fell at her command. "At last we descended to a valley, and all the witches save Goody Nurse disappeared. Here I soon learned that, instead of riding, I was to be ridden. By a few magic words, my face became elongated, my body grew, my hands and feet became hoofs, my body was covered with hair, I had a mane and tail, and I was a horse, with a saddle on my back, and a bit in my mouth. Mounting me, the old witch cried: "'Be going, Johnnie, I will give you sore bones ere the cock crows.' [Illustration: "We all rose in the air on broomsticks."] "I was goaded to desperation. I ran, I leaped, I sprang from precipices so high, that, had I not been held up by the spirits of the air, I must have been dashed to death on the rocks below. I was agonized, and I wanted to die. "At last we came to a valley and a house, which I recognized as the old Ames Meeting House. Here a number of poor wretches like myself who had been changed to beasts and ridden almost to death, were tied up. Some of them were horses, some were bulls, and one had been changed to a ram, another to an ostrich. I was tied to a tree so near to the door of the house, that I could see within. "Verily, it was such a sight as I pray God I may never witness again. There were the witches at their infernal feast. The liver and lungs, torn warm and bleeding from some helpless wretch, lay on the table. They partook of the food, also the diabolical sacrament, and then commenced their dance. I saw them dancing with their feet up to the ceiling and their heads hanging down. "In my agony of spirit, I seized the tree nearest me in my mouth, and bit it so hard that I broke out the tooth," and here the narrator exhibited his teeth, one of the front ones being gone. "You see the tooth is missing. A week later I went to the Ames Meeting House and found the tooth sticking in the tree. "After they had kept up their infernal dance for an hour, Goody Nurse again appeared and, mounting on my back, did ride me most grievously hard over the hills and plains, until we came to my home. Then she suddenly slipped from my back and hurled me head first through the window, where I fell in my own shape by the side of the bed." Charles Stevens, feeling assured that he had a solution to the marvellous story, said: "It was no doubt a frightful dream, which to you seemed real." "Dream, was it?" cried Louder. "I sprang to my feet, ran to the window, and, sure as I am a white man, there was Goody Nurse soaring away through the air on a broomstick." When he had finished his story, the horrified group shuddered and gathered closer about the fire which had burned low on the hearth. Pete tried to lay on a stick with his trembling hand, but was not equal to the task. The lamp-wick burned low in its socket, flickered and threatened to go out, while the storm without howled with increasing fury, the rain beat against the side of the house, and the thunder crashed overhead. A shuddering silence seemed to have seized upon the group, and they sat watching the flickering lamp and smouldering fire, when suddenly all were roused by a loud rapping at the door. The entire group started up in alarm, the negro howled, and Bly gasped: "God save us!" "The whole armor of God shield us against the witches," groaned John Louder. "Heaven help us now!" whispered Gray. Charles Stevens, though scarcely more than a youth, was the most self-possessed of all. He rose and opened the door. A blinding flash revealed a pair of horses with drooping heads in the rain and storm, while a man and young girl, the late riders of the horses, stood at the door holding the reins. As soon as the door was opened, the man, holding the little maiden's hand in his own, stepped into the house to be out of the gust of wind and rain. "We are belated travellers, kind sir, and seek shelter from the storm," the stranger began. At sound of his voice, John Louder sprang to his feet, and, seizing the lamp, held it close to the man's face. Starting back with a yell, he cried: "Away! wizard, devil, away! You are he who offered the book to me. Away! away! or I will slay you!" The startled stranger answered: "I never saw you before." John Louder insisted that he was the evil one who had met him at the lake while he was stalking the deer, and had offered him the book to sign. "I never saw you before in my life," the stranger answered, his theatrical tones making a strange impression on the superstitious Louder. He read in his face the look of a demon, and continued to cry: "You must, you shall go away! Prince of darkness, back into the storm which your powers created!" Charles Stevens was too much amazed to speak for some moments, for, by the combined aid of the lamp and firelight, he saw before him the very features of the man whom he had found wounded and almost dying at the spring. The wanderer turned his sad and handsome face to the youth and asked: "Can you take us to shelter?" "I did once, and will again." "You did once? Truly you mistake, for I never saw you before. My child will perish in this storm." "It is five miles to my house; but if you will come with me I will show you the way." They tried to dissuade Charles from going out into the driving storm; but he was not moved by their entreaties. He only saw the young maiden's pale, sweet face and appealing blue eyes, and he set off with the two through the storm, which beat about them so that they were quite wet to the skin when the house of widow Stevens was reached. The man and the maid were given beds and dry clothing. Next morning, Charles asked the stranger: "Are you not the man who came here in 1684, wounded?" "I am not. I was never here before. What is your name?" "Charles Stevens." "Have you relatives in Boston?" "Yes, my grandfather, Mathew Stevens, who was a Spaniard by birth and called Mattheo Estevan, died in Boston twenty years ago, and I have uncles, aunts and cousins living there." "Have you relatives in Virginia?" "I have cousins." "Is one Robert Stevens?" "He is." "I know him, he befriended me and sent me here." Then the stranger told how he had been an indented slave in Virginia, and escaped from a cruel master through the aid of Robert Stevens. The strangers were George Waters and his daughter Cora. CHAPTER VI. THE CHARTER OAK. When time, who steals our years away Shall steal our pleasures too, The memory of the past will stay, And half our joys renew. --Moore. The Stevens family was growing with the colonies. Of the descendants of Mathew Stevens who came to New Plymouth in the _Mayflower_, there were many living in Boston, New York, Salem, Rhode Island and Connecticut. The family, widely scattered as its members were, never lost track of each other. They knew all their relatives in Virginia, Maryland and Carolinia. Charles Stevens, but a youth, was on a visit to Connecticut, when an event transpired, which has since become historical. An aunt of Charles Stevens was the wife of a certain Captain Wadsworth, and Charles was visiting at this aunt's house when the incident happened. As the student of American history doubtless knows, the tyrannical Governor Andros of New York, claimed dominion over all that scope of country denominated as the New Netherland, a very indefinite term applied to a great scope of country extending from Maryland to the Connecticut River, to which point Andros claimed jurisdiction. As early as 1675, he went to the mouth of the Connecticut River with a small naval force, to assert his authority. Captain Bull, the commander of a small garrison at Saybrook, permitted him to land; but when the governor began to read his commission, Bull ordered him to be silent. Andros was compelled to yield to the bold spirit and superior military power of Captain Bull, and in a towering passion he returned to New York, flinging curses and threats behind him at the people of Connecticut in general and Captain Bull in particular. More than a dozen years had passed since Andros had been humiliated by Connecticut, and, despite his anathemas, the colony quietly pursued the even tenor of its way. At the end of that period, a most exciting incident occurred at Hartford, during the visit of Charles Stevens to that city. This historical incident has about it all the rosy hues of romance. On the very day of the arrival of Charles Stevens at Hartford, while he was talking with Captain Wadsworth, his aunt's husband, a member of the colonial assembly suddenly entered the house, his face flushed with excitement. "What has happened, Mr. Prince?" Wadsworth asked, for he could see that the man was greatly excited. "Governor Andros has come again," gasped Mr. Prince. "Why should that alarm us? The fellow, though given to boasting, is not dangerous, or liable to put his threats into execution." "But he has grown dangerous!" declared Mr. Prince. "The liberties of the colony are involved. Andros appears as a usurper of authority--the willing instrument of King James the second, who, it seems, has determined to hold absolute rule over all New England." Captain Wadsworth became a little uneasy, though he was still inclined to treat the matter lightly. Mr. Prince, to convince him of the danger they were in, continued: "You remember that on his arrival in New York as governor of New Netherland, he demanded the surrender of all the colonial charters into his hands." "I remember such an order, and furthermore that all the colonies complied with his infamous demand save Connecticut. We have stubbornly refused to yield our charter voluntarily, for it is the guardian of our political rights." "That is true, Captain Wadsworth," continued Mr. Prince, "and, to subdue our stubbornness, this viceroy has come to Hartford with sixty armed men, to demand the surrender of the charter in person." Captain Wadsworth bounded to his feet in a rage and, placing his hand on the hilt of his sword, declared: "He shall not have it!" Arriving at Hartford on the 31st of October, 1687, Andros found the general assembly in session in the meeting-house. The members received him with the courtesy due to his rank. Before that body, with armed men at his back, he demanded a formal surrender of the precious charter into his hands. The members of the assembly were alarmed and amazed at his request. The day was well nigh spent, when he arrived, and the members were engaged in a heated debate on a subject of the utmost importance. "Wait until the discussion is ended, and then we will listen to you, governor," the president of the assembly answered to the demand of Andros. "I have come for the charter, and I will have it!" said Andros, in his haughty, imperious manner. He consented, however, to await the discussion; but as soon as it was ended, he declared that he would have the charter. Captain Wadsworth chanced to be at his house on the arrival of Andros, and, as everybody had the most implicit confidence in the captain's good sense, a member was despatched for him, as has been stated. After the captain had taken two or three turns across the room, he paused and asked: "What is the assembly doing?" "Engaged in a debate." "And will he wait until it has ended?" "He has promised to do so." "Hasten back, Mr. Prince, and whisper in the ears of every member to prolong the debate. It will give us time. I am going to do something desperate. Tell them to discuss any side and every side of the question at issue, and have your longest speech-makers do their best--talk on anything and everything whether to the point or against it, so that they kill time until night." Mr. Prince fixed his amazed eyes on the captain's face and read there a desperate determination. "Captain," he began. "I know what you would say, Mr. Prince; but it is needless to waste words; my resolution is formed, and I am going to save our charter or perish in the attempt." "I hope you will not endanger your own life----" "Mr. Prince, our liberties are in danger, and there is no time to think of life. Hasten back to the assembly and I will follow in a few moments." Mr. Prince bowed and hastily returned to the house where the assembly was in session. As soon as he was gone, Charles Stevens said: "Uncle, something terrible is going to happen, I know from your look and words. Won't you let me go with you?" Captain Wadsworth fixed his eyes on the youth and answered: "Yes, Charles, you will answer." "What do you mean, uncle?" "Are you willing to help us?" "I am." "Then you can put out the lights." "What lights?" "At the proper time, put out the lights in the assembly; but wait; I will go and muster the train-bands, and have them at hand to prevent the governor's soldiers from injuring the members of the general assembly." Captain Wadsworth went out, and on his way looked into the State-house where everything was going as well as he could have wished. He found the debaters cudgelling their brains for something to say to the point or against it. Never did debaters take greater interest in a minor subject. He summoned his train-bands to assemble at sunset. This done, he went home and found Charles eagerly waiting. "Charles, you see the soldiers of Governor Andros at the State-house?" "Yes." "They are sent to take our liberties. My train-bands have their eyes on them." "What do you intend doing, uncle? Will you fight them?" "Not unless they force it. We have no wish to shed their blood. Listen; the charter is to be brought to the assembly in the same mahogany box in which Charles II. sent it to Governor Winthrop. When it is laid on the table, the lights are to be snuffed out. Do you understand?" "Yes." "Can you do it?" "Nothing is easier." "Remember, the work must be done right at the time, not too soon, nor too late." "I will do it at the exact moment, uncle. Have no fear on that score." The sun was setting, and the captain said: "Come, Charles, let us hasten to the assembly. Look well at the setting sun, you may not live to see it rise." Charles Stevens smiled and answered: "You do not expect me to be a coward?" "By no means; but I want you to be fully impressed with the seriousness of your mission." They went to the general assembly at the meeting-house, where they found everything in the utmost confusion. The debate was at a white heat. "Take your place, Charles, and be prepared to do your part," whispered Captain Wadsworth. Charles got as close to the long table used by the secretaries as possible, without attracting special attention. The discussion went on, darkness came and four lighted candles were placed on the table, and two set on a shelf on the wall. Those two candles on the wall were a great annoyance to Charles until he saw a man stationed near them. Time passed on, and darkness had enveloped the earth. The debate was drawing to a close, or, in fact, had gone as far as it could, without arousing the suspicion of Governor Andros. When it ended, the governor of New York declared: "I have waited as long as I will. I demand the charter at once. As governor of New York, this being a part of my dominion, I will have it." "Wait----" began the president. [Illustration: Charles Stevens, at one sweep, snuffed out every candle on the table.] "No; already I have waited too long. Bring it at once." There have been so many stories told of the Charter Oak that the author here feels justified in stepping aside from the narrative to quote from the journal for June 15, 1687, the following entry: "Sundry of the court, desiring that the patent or charter might be brought into the court, the secretary sent for it, and informed the governor and court that he had the charter, and showed it to the court, and the governor bid him put it into the box again, and lay it on the table, and leave the key in the box, which he did, forthwith." Affairs had proceeded to this point, when Charles Stevens, who had crept quite close to the table, with a long stick, at one sweep, snuffed out every candle on the table. "Treason! treason!" cried Andros, and at this moment the two remaining candles on the wall were extinguished. "Lights! lights!" cried a voice, and at the same moment, Andros shouted: "The boy did it! kill the boy and seize the box!" His hand was outstretched to take the box from the table, when the same stick which had extinguished the lights gave his knuckles such a rap that he uttered a yell of pain. Though the lights were extinguished, through the windows the faint starlight dimly illuminated the scene. Charles Stevens saw the outline of his uncle, who seized the box and hurried with it from the meeting-house. He followed him as rapidly as he could. A terrible uproar and confusion inside attracted the attention of everybody, so Captain Wadsworth escaped without being noticed, with the precious document under his arm. The youth was close behind him and, when they were outside, seized his arm. "Unhand me!" cried Captain Wadsworth, snatching his sword from its sheath. "Uncle!" "Charles, it is you? Marry! boy, have a care how you approach me. Why! I was about to run you through." "Have you got it?" "Whist! Charles, the governor's soldiers are near. They may hear you." "They have enough to do in there," answered the boy, pointing toward the meeting-house, in which pandemonium seemed to reign. The voice of Governor Andros could be heard loud above the others calling to the troops to come to his aid. The soldiers began to crowd about the house, when, at a signal from Captain Wadsworth, the train-bands came on the scene and prepared to grapple with the soldiers. A bloody fight seemed inevitable; but Governor Andros, who was a coward as well as tyrant, at sign of danger, begged peace. "Lights! Light the candles!" he cried, "and we will have peace." When the candles were relighted, the members were seen seated about the table in perfect order; but the charter could nowhere be seen. For a few moments, the outwitted governor stood glaring at first one and then the other of the assembly. His passion choked him to silence at first; but as soon as he partially recovered his self-possession, he demanded: "Where is the charter?" No one answered, and, with bosom swelling with indignation at being cheated by a device of the shrewd members of the assembly, he threatened to have them arrested. "Governor Andros, we dispute your authority here, and have disputed it before," said a member of the assembly. "You have your soldiers at the door and we have the train-bands of Connecticut ready to defend us against violence." "Who of you has the charter?" "I have not," answered one. "Nor I." "Nor I," answered each and every one. "It was the boy," cried the enraged governor. "I saw him; he struck my hand in the dark; yet I knew it was he. Where is he? Whose son is he?" Every member of the assembly shook their heads. "We do not know him. He does not live in Connecticut." "Where does he live?" "He is from Massachusetts and beyond even the claimed bounds of your jurisdiction." "So this is another trick. You have imported one from a distant colony to steal the charter," the indignant governor cried. "We resent your insult!" cried an officer of the assembly. "The imputation is false!" A scene far more stormy than any which had preceded it followed. The governor threatened the colony with the fury of his vengeance, and vowed he would report them to the king as in open rebellion against his authority. The colonists were shrewd and firm, and though some made very sarcastic answers to the governor's charges, they were, in the main, quite respectful. Meanwhile, Captain Wadsworth and his wife's nephew, having the charter, hurried through the crowd, which opened for them to pass and closed behind them. Once in the street they hastened away at a rapid pace. "What are you going to do with it?" Charles asked. "Place it where it cannot be found by the tyrants," said the gallant captain. "There is a venerable oak with a hollow in it. In this cavity we will hide the charter, and none but you and I will know where it is. You can return to Salem, beyond reach of Governor Andros, and, as for me, he can flay me alive before I will reveal the hiding-place." They had reached the outskirts of the village and paused beneath the wide-spreading branches of a great oak tree. The wind, sighing through the branches, seemed to the liberty-adoring Wadsworth to be whispering of freedom. [Illustration: The Charter Oak.] "Stand a little way off, Charles," commanded the captain. "And watch to see that no one is observing me." Then, while Charles stood as sentry, he went to the tree and put the charter in the hollow. Little did the captain or his youthful assistant dream that their simple act would make the old tree historic. As long as American students shall study the history of their country, will "The Charter Oak" be famous. That same night Charles Stevens, fearing the wrath of Governor Andros, set out for his home at Salem. The tree in which the document was hidden was ever afterward known as the "Charter Oak." It remained vigorous, bearing fruit every year until a little after midnight, August, 1856, when it was prostrated by a heavy storm of wind. It stood in a vacant lot on the south side of Charter Street, a few rods from Main Street, in the city of Hartford. When, in 1687, Andros demanded the surrender of the colonial charters, the inhabitants of Rhode Island instantly yielded. When the order for the seizure of the charters was first made known, the assembly of Rhode Island sent a most loyal address to the king saying: "We humbly prostrate ourselves, our privileges, our all, at the gracious feet of your majesty, with an entire resolution to serve you with faithful hearts." Andros therefore found no opposition in the little colony. Within a month after his arrival at Boston, he proceeded to Rhode Island, where he was graciously received. He formally dissolved the assembly, broke the seal of the colony, which bore the figure of an anchor, and the word Hope, admitted five of the inhabitants into his legislative council, and assumed the functions of governor; but he did not take away the parchment on which the charter was written. The people of Rhode Island were restive under the petty tyranny of Andros, and when they heard of the imprisonment of the despot at Boston, in 1689, they assembled at Newport, resumed popular government under the old charter, and began a new independent political career. From that time, until the enforced union of the colonies for mutual defence, at the breaking out of the French and Indian war, the inhabitants of Rhode Island bore their share in the defensive efforts, especially when the hostile savages hung along the frontiers of New York like an ill-omened cloud. The history of that commonwealth is identified with that of all New England, from the beginning of King William's war, soon after, to the expulsion of Andros. Six years after the charter was hidden in the oak, Andros was succeeded by Governor Fletcher who made an attempt to control Connecticut, but was humbled and prevented and, in fact, driven away by Captain Wadsworth. In 1689, the charter was brought out from the long place of concealment, a popular assembly was convened, Robert Treat was chosen governor, and Connecticut again assumed the position of an independent colony. The name of Captain Wadsworth will ever be dear to the people of Connecticut, and so will the venerable oak which concealed their charter. CHAPTER VII. TWO MEN WHO LOOK ALIKE. I, to the world, am like a drop of water, That in the ocean seeks another drop, Who, falling there to find his fellow forth, Unseen, inquisitive, confounds himself. So I, to find a mother, and a brother, In quest of them, unhappy, lose myself. --Shakespeare. Mr. George Waters, the escaped slave from Virginia, lived very quietly at the home of Mrs. Stevens. His daughter was constantly with him, save when he made strange and unknown pilgrimages. During these mysterious visits, she stayed at the house of Mrs. Stevens. Cora was a quiet little maid, whose hopes seemed crushed by some calamity. She never forgot that her father, the once proud man, had been arrested and sold as a slave. That long period of servitude, the flight and the fight were things which never faded from her mind. In the eyes of Charles Stevens, there was something singularly attractive about this child. She was so strange, so silent and melancholy, that he felt for her the keenest sympathy. She lived in the shadow of some dark mystery, which he could not fathom. Her strange father was non-communicative and silent as the grave. Charles felt an interest in these people. It was a strange interest, one he could not understand himself, and like all good boys, when he wanted wisdom and information, he went to his mother. "Mother, do you ever talk with Cora?" he asked one day. "Yes." "Do you ever talk with her about England?" "I have; but it seems her father was a roving player, without any fixed abode." "And her mother?" Mrs. Stevens, who was busy sewing, answered: "I know nothing of her mother." "Have you never asked about her?" "No." "Has she never mentioned her mother's name?" "She has not." The girl was nearly always at the home of Mrs. Stevens, though she sometimes took strolls alone through the town. The melancholy child attracted the attention of Good-wife Nurse, who asked her to her house and brought her a mug of fresh milk. "Do you belong here?" asked Goody Nurse. "I suppose we do," was the answer. "Father is here part of the time." "And your mother?" "I have none." "Did she die in England?" "Alas, I know not." "Do you remember seeing her?" Cora shook her head, and a shadow passed over her face. "Has your father ever told you about her?" asked Goody Nurse. "No, madame; I have not heard him speak her name." Then Goody Nurse, with a curiosity that was natural, sought to question the child about her former life; but all she could gain was that her father had been a strolling player. Players were not in good repute in New England at this time. The prejudice against the theatre, growing out of the rupture between the actors and the Roman Catholic Church, was inherited by the Protestants, who, to some extent, still continue their war against the stage. The fact that George Waters had been an actor was sufficient to condemn him in the eyes of the Puritans. When Mr. Parris learned that a player was in their midst, he elevated his ecclesiastical nose, and seemed to sniff the brimstone of Satan. When he learned that some of the dissenting members of his congregation had been guilty of the heinous sin of speaking kind words to the motherless child of a player, he shook his wise head knowingly and declared, "Truly Satan is kind to his own." He made the player a subject for his next Lord's day sermon, in which he sought to pervert the scriptures to suit his prejudices. The subject of witchcraft was beginning to excite some attention, and he managed in almost every sermon to ring in enough of it to keep up the agitation. In the course of his discourse, he declared: "The New Englanders are a people of God settled in those, which were the devil's territories, and it may easily be supposed that the devil is exceedingly disturbed, when he perceives such people here, accomplishing the promises of old, made unto our blessed Jesus, that he should have the uttermost parts of the earth for his possessions. There was not a greater uproar among the Ephesians, when the gospel was first brought among them, than there is now among the powers of the air after whom those Ephesians walked, when first the silver trumpets of the gospel made the joyful sound in their dark domain. The devil, thus irritated, hath tried all sorts of methods to overturn this poor plantation." With this preface he assailed the unfortunate actor and his innocent child as being tools of his Satanic majesty, and denounced those who would lift the wounded, bleeding and beaten wayfarer from the road-side, carry him home, or offer his unfortunate child a cup of cold water as agents of darkness. Mr. Parris had forgotten some of the commands of the divine Master, whom he professed to follow. He assailed "the little maid furiously." That child of sorrow and of tears, whom he had never seen before, and whose young heart ached from the wrongs heaped on her innocent young head, was to him an object of demoniac fury. She sat in the rear of the church, and, covering her face with her hands as Mr. Parris assailed her father and herself, the tears silently trickled through her small fingers. Goody Nurse, who sat near the child, bent over and whispered some encouraging words in her ear. "Verily, the Devil's own will be the Devil's own!" declared the pastor, his eyes flashing with fury. "When one of Satan's imps hath been wounded by a shaft of truth, shot from the bow of God, the angels of darkness, verily, will hover over the suffering devil, and seek to undo what God hath done." He called on those suffering from the familiar spirits to behold one even now willing to soothe the offspring of a wicked player. When Cora left the church that day, she asked Mrs. Stevens why Mr. Parris hated her and said such hard things about her. "Surely I never did him harm, and why doth he assail me so cruelly?" Mrs. Stevens strove to comfort the wounded feelings of the child, by assuring Cora that it was the mistaken zeal of the minister, who, but for the scales of prejudice covering his eyes, would by no means be so cruel with her. "Oh, would that father would return and take me from this place!" sobbed Cora. "Cora, are you tired of me? Have I not been kind to you?" "Yes, you have, and I thank you for all your goodness." "Are you not happy with me?" "Yes, I could be very happy, did not Mr. Parris say such vile things of my father and myself. Do you think me one of Satan's imps?" "No, no, sweet child; you are one of God's angels." "But I am the child of a player, and he said none such could enter into the kingdom of the Lord." "That is but a display of his prejudice and ignorance, Cora. I have read the good book from beginning to end, and nowhere do I see anything in God's Holy Bible that excludes even the player from entering into eternal rest." "But he, the interpreter of God's word, says we are doomed." "He says more than is narrated in the Book of Life. If the ministers would only keep constantly in their minds these words: 'For I testify unto every man that heareth the words of the prophecy of this book. If any man shall add unto these things, God shall add unto him the plagues that are written in this book,' then there would be less misconstructions put upon the Bible. Men would be more careful not to accuse their brother, while the beam was in their own eye. Why, Cora, you are but a child, and Christ said: 'Suffer little children to come unto me and forbid them not, for of such is the kingdom of Heaven.' Now, instead of following the holy precept of the Master, whom he feigns to serve, he declares you an imp of darkness. His zeal hath made him mad. Where is your father?" "Alas, I know not." "When will he return?" "I know not." "What are his plans?" "I am wholly ignorant of them." Next day Charles Stevens was wandering through the forest near the spring where he rescued the wounded stranger some years before. Often had he thought of that melancholy man and the strange resemblance he bore to Cora's father. "Where is he now, and what has been his fate?" he thought, as he strolled toward the spring. Suddenly he paused and looked toward the brooklet. Well might he be startled. The negro servants, John and Tituba, were engaged in some of their diabolical incantations in the stream. Kneeling by the water's side, each bent until their foreheads touched the water, then, starting up, they murmured strange fetich words in their diabolical African tongue. John had a whip in his hand, with which he lashed the water furiously, and uttered his eldritch shrieks. Charles paused, spell-bound, hardly knowing what to make of the strange conduct of the negroes, and wishing he could lay the whip about their own bare shoulders. During a lull in their performance, he heard a rapid tread of feet coming toward the spring, and beheld his mother, followed by Cora. No sooner did the negroes see them, than they left off lashing the water with their whips and, with the most wild, unearthly screams, bounded from the spot and ran off into the woods. Mrs. Stevens and Cora both screamed, and were about to fly, when Charles emerged from his place of concealment, saying: "Don't run away, I am here." "Charles! Charles! what were they doing?" Mrs. Stevens asked. "It was some of their wild incantations," he answered. "The knaves deserve to have a good whip laid about their bare backs." "Truly, they do. Why did they fly at our approach?" asked Mrs. Stevens. "Perhaps the foolish creatures thought their spell was broken," Charles answered. "I am so affrighted," said Cora, shuddering. She was growing dizzy, and Mrs. Stevens said: "Catch her, or she will fall." He bore her to the spring and, kneeling by the brook, bathed the fair white brow, until she opened her eyes and murmured: "Mother!" Many times afterward, both mother and son, recalling the incident, wondered why she, for the first time, had called for her mother. At all other times and on all other occasions, the maid persistently denied that she knew aught of her mother. A few days later, her father, who had mysteriously and unceremoniously disappeared, returned. No one asked any questions as to where he had been, or what business had engaged his attention. He gave the widow some golden guineas for her care of his child. That night Charles came accidentally upon the father and daughter in the garden. They were sitting in a green bower, partially screened from view, so he approached to within a few paces without being seen. "Father, have you heard anything more?" she asked. "No." "Nor have you seen any one from there?" "I have not." "Do you suppose danger is over?" "Danger never will be over, until there has been a revolution in the government." Long did Charles ponder over those mysterious words, and ask himself what they meant. He again conferred with his mother, and when she had heard all he had to tell, she was constrained to ask: "Who are they?" Mrs. Stevens, like her son, was too well bred to pry into the secrets of her guests. A few days later Mr. Waters again disappeared and was not seen for two months. It was at the close of a sultry day in July that Mr. John Louder and his neighbor Bly were returning from Boston in a cart. As usual, their conversation was of the solemn kind, characteristic of the Puritan. The many mysteries in nature and out of nature formed their principal topic. Each had had his long, ardent conflict with sin and Satan. Each was a firm believer in personal devils and legions of devils. The spirits of the air were thought to be all about them, even at that very moment. "Neighbor Bly, I believe that she is a witch," said Louder. "Verily, even so do I." "If the magistrates would so adjudge her, she would, according to the laws, be hung." "Truly she would. I saw her shape again last night." "Did you?" "Yes, she came to my bed and did grievously torment me, by sitting for fully two hours upon my chest." "Why did you not call upon the name of God, and she would have gone?" "Fain would I have done so, had it been possible; but her appearance took from me the power of speech, and I was dumb. She sat upon me, grinning at me, and she said: "'Would ye speak if ye could?' "Then at last a yellow bird came in at the window and whispered some words in her ear, and the shape flew away with a black man." "Verily, neighbor Bly, you have been grievously tormented; yet little worse is your case than my own. My cattle are bewitched and die. The witches hurl balls at them from any distance, which strike them, and they shrink and die at once. The other morn I had salted my cows, when one suddenly showed strange signs of illness and soon fell on her side and did die. Neighbor Towne, who witnessed it, said the poor beast was struck with a witch ball. He says they gather the hair from the back of the afflicted beasts and, making a ball of it from the spittle of their mouths, blow their breath upon it and hurl it any distance to an object. The object so struck will at once wither and die. He said that, should I strip the hair from the spine of the dead brute, a ball made of it would strike down any other beast of the herd, even if thrown by my own hand." With a sigh, Bly said: "Truly, we live in the age when the devil is to be loosed for a little season. Would to Heaven, St. John would again chain the dragon." The sun had almost dipped behind the long line of blue hills. A listless repose, peculiar to New England autumns, seemed to have settled over the hills and valleys about the neighborhood of Salem. A drowsy, dreamy influence overhung land and sea and pervaded the very atmosphere. No wonder that the superstitious Puritans of that day and age believed the place bewitched. Certain it is, that it seemed under the same power, that held strange spells over the minds of the good people, causing them to walk in a continual revery. These early Puritans were given to all kinds of marvellous beliefs, as we have seen, subjected to trances and visions, and frequently saw strange sights, and heard wonderful noises in the air. All Salem abounded with local tales, haunted spots and twilight superstitions. Shooting stars and flaming meteors were more often seen about that enchanted spot, than in any other part of the country. The two travellers silently jogged along in the cart, casting occasional glances down the road. Just before reaching Salem, the road dipped below the trees, which concealed some glens and breaks, above which only the church, standing in the suburb of the village, could be seen. The sequestered situation of the meeting-house seemed to have always made it a favorite resort for troubled spirits. It stood on a knoll, surrounded by beech trees and lofty elms, from among which its decent whitewashed walls shone modestly forth, as the only bright object among so much sombre gloom and shade. A broad path wound its way down a gentle slope to the creek, which emptied into the bay, bordered by tall trees, through which glimpses of the sea and blue hills might be caught. Between the travellers and the church extended a wide, woody dell, along which the brook roved among broken rocks and trunks of fallen trees. Over a deep, black part of the stream was thrown a bridge. The road which led up to it was thickly shaded, and in places indistinguishable at any great distance by overhanging trees, which cast a gloom about it, even in daytime, but occasioned a fearful darkness at night. This place was reputed to be a favorite resort for the witches of Salem, for they had frequently been seen dancing upon the bridge. It was with some degree of nervousness that the travellers drew near to the bridge. The sun had dipped behind the blue hills of the west, and the pale, lambent glow of the evening star shot athwart the sky, ere the bridge was reached. While it was yet twilight in the uplands, it was night here. The hollow sounds of the horse's feet on the bridge chilled the hearts of the occupants of the cart, and when the outline of a horse and rider appeared on the other side, Louder seized Bly by the arm and gasped: "God save us! Where did they come from? They were not there a moment before." "They rose up out of the ground." Their horse, which was very much frightened, would have dashed down the road had not the horseman brought his steed directly across their path. "Your beast seems affrighted," coolly remarked the horseman. At sound of his voice, Louder gave utterance to a wild yell of dismay. The horse stood trembling and refused to move the cart an inch. Louder rose from the seat and glared through the deepening gloom at the stranger. That white face, those great, sad eyes once seen could never be forgotten. He uttered a yell of horror, crying: "Begone, wizard! The armor of God be between me and thee! Fiend of the regions of darkness, it was thou who offered me the book to sign. Away! begone! tempt me no more, for, by the grace of Heaven, I defy you! I will not sign!" At this moment, the horse at the cart, seeing an opening in the road, dashed on to the village, leaving the horseman gazing in mute wonder after them. His white face wore a puzzled and pained look. He turned his horse's head into another path, saying: "It has been some years since I was here, and yet, if I mistake not, this is surely the path that leads to her house." Thirty minutes later, the same horseman drew rein in front of the widow Stevens' cottage and, dismounting, tied his horse to a small tree and approached the house. A light was shining through the window, and the whirr of the wheel told that the industrious widow was at her evening work. He rapped at the door and was bidden enter. On entering, he discovered that three persons occupied the cottage--the widow, her son and a beautiful, sunny-haired maiden. The latter started up at his appearance, crying: "Father! father!" and, leaping forward, threw her arms about his neck. The new-comer looked in amazement upon the girl, but made no answer. "Father, father, why don't you speak?" "There is some mistake!" he began. "Are you not my father?" "I never saw you before, little maid." Then Cora started back and gave the stranger a curious glance. He looked exactly like her father, save that he was dressed almost wholly in buckskin, and had a wild, forest-like appearance. Then, as she scrutinized him more closely, she perceived a slight scar on his left cheek. This was not on her father's face. "You are not my father; but you are very like him," she said. "I am not your father, little maid. I came to thank these people for their kindness to me a few years ago." "Are you he whom I found by the brook, wounded and dying?" asked Charles. "I am." "Your mysterious disappearance occasioned much comment." Before the stranger could frame an answer, the door was again thrown open, and this time it was Cora's father, in reality, who entered the house. She sprang to him, saying: "Father, I see now there is a difference between you and him!" For the first time, George Waters saw the stranger. As their eyes met, each started, gazed at the other a moment, as if to be assured he was right, and then George Waters cried: "Harry!" "George!" A dramatic episode, such as is so often acted upon the stage, or described in novels, followed, and, by degrees, the small audience caught from words dropped by the men, that they were brothers, who had long been separated, and had been searching for each other. When the excitement attending the discovery had in a measure subsided, the brothers walked down toward the spring, where, seating themselves on a moss-grown stone, George Waters told his brother of joining Monmouth's army, of being arrested and sold as a slave in Virginia, and of his escape and long perilous flight to New England. "Where have you been since you were here, Harry?" "I was a captive among the Indians for a few months, was liberated by some French Jesuits and went to France and thence to England, hoping to see you. I was several weeks at our old home near Stockton. Then I came back to America and have been in New York trading in furs." A silence of several moments followed. George, whose soul seemed stirred with some deep emotions, asked: "Harry, while in England, in Stockton, did you see her?" Harry knew to whom he referred, and he answered: "No." "Where is she?" "I know not." "Do you know whether she be living or dead?" "I do not." "God grant that she be dead!" At this moment, Cora, who had followed behind them and overheard their strange words, came forward and asked: "Father, what do you mean?" "Nothing, child. There, let us return to the house, for it is growing late." Then, as they walked up the gentle slope to the cabin of the widow, the maiden repeated to herself: "But he does mean something!" CHAPTER VIII. MOVING ONWARD. Laws formed to harmonize contrarious creeds, And heal the wounds through which a nation bleeds; Laws mild, impartial, tolerant and fixed, A bond of union for a people mixed; Such as good Calvert framed for Baltimore, And Penn the Numa of th' Atlantic shore. The Stevens family were so intimately related to their country, that the history of one is the history of the other. Philip Stevens, or Estevan, had located in the south and left behind a numerous progeny, while his brother Mathew, who came over in the _Mayflower_, had left an equally large family in New England. Their descendants began to push out into the frontier colonies, those in the south going as far north as Pennsylvania, and those in the east pushing out westward to New York and New Jersey. The family were lovers of freedom, and, wherever a struggle has been made on American soil for liberty, one of these descendants of the youth who landed on American soil with Columbus, in 1492, has been found. They disliked Andros, and the members of this now extensive and widely scattered family were in sackcloth and ashes, so to speak, when King James, in 1688, gave Andros a vice-regal commission to rule New York and all New England. When the viceroy journeyed from Boston to New York City, early in August the same year, George Stevens, a cousin of Charles, accompanied him, and saw Andros received by Colonel Bayard's regiment of foot and horse, who was entertained by the loyal aristocrat. In the midst of the rejoicings, the news came that the queen, the second wife of James, had been blessed with a son, who became heir to the throne. The event was celebrated the same evening by bonfires in the streets and a feast at the city hall. At the latter, Major Van Cortlandt became so hilarious, that he made a burnt sacrifice to his loyalty of his hat and periwig, waving the burning victims over the banquet table on the point of his straight sword. Princess Mary, the eldest daughter of King James, had married the Prince of Orange, and this new birth in the royal family was a disappointment to the Dutch inhabitants of New York, as well as the Protestant republicans, who had begun to hope that William and Mary would succeed James to the throne of England. This event intensified the general discontent, because of the consolidation of New York with New England and the abridgment of their rights, and the people were ready to rebel at almost any moment, especially as Andros had rendered himself particularly obnoxious. Like the other colonies, Maryland was shaken by the revolution in England, in 1688, and, for a while, experienced deep sorrows. The democratic ideas, which, for several years, had been spreading over the provinces, could not reconcile the rule of a lord proprietor with the true principles of republicanism. Even when Charles Calvert went to England after the death of his father, signs of political discontent were conspicuous in Maryland. In 1678, the general assembly, influenced by the popular feeling, established the right of suffrage--"casting of a vote for rulers"--on a broad basis. On the return of Charles, in 1681, he annulled this act and, by an arbitrary ordinance, resisted the right of freemen owning fifty acres of land, or personal property of the value of forty pounds sterling. This produced great disquietude, and Ex-Governor Fendall planned an insurrection for the purpose of abolishing the proprietorship and establishing an independent republican government. The king was induced to issue orders that all the offices of the government in Maryland should be filled by Protestants alone; and so, again, the Roman Catholics were deprived of their political rights. Lord Baltimore went to England again, in 1684, leaving the government of his province in charge of several deputies under the nominal governorship of his infant son. There he found his rights in great peril; but before the matter could be brought to a direct issue by the operation of a writ of _quo warranto_, King James was driven from the throne, and Protestant William and Mary ascended it. Lord Baltimore immediately acquiesced in the political change. On account of his instructions to his deputies to proclaim the new monarchs being delayed in their transmission, he was charged with hesitancy; and a restless spirit named Coode, an associate of Fendall in his insurrectionary movements--"a man of loose morals and blasphemous speech"--excited the people by the cry of "a popish plot!" He was the author of a false story put in circulation, that the local magistrates in Maryland and the Roman Catholics there had engaged with the Indians in a plot for the destruction of the Protestants in the province. An actual league at that time between the French and the Jesuit missionaries with the savages on the New England frontiers for the destruction of the English colonies in the east seemed to give color to the story, which created great excitement. The old feud burned intensely. The Protestants formed an armed association led by Coode. They marched to the Maryland capital, took possession of the records and assumed the functions of a provisional government, in May, 1689. In the following August they met in convention, when they prepared and sent to the new sovereigns a report of their proceedings, and a series of absurd and false accusations against Lord Baltimore. In conclusion, they requested the monarchs to depose Lord Baltimore by making Maryland a royal province and taking it under the protection of the crown. William and Mary listened favorably to the request and, moved by the false representations, complied with it. Coode was ordered to administer the government in the name of the king. He ruled with the spirit of a petty tyrant, until the people of every religious and political creed were heartily disgusted with him, and, in 1692, he was supplanted by Sir Lionel Copley, whom the king sent to be governor of Maryland. On the arrival of the new governor, in the spring of 1692, he summoned a general assembly, to meet at St. Mary's in May. New laws abolishing religious toleration were instituted. The church of England was made the state church for Maryland, to be supported by a tax on the whole people. "Thus," says McMahan, "was introduced, for the first time in Maryland, a church establishment, sustained by law and fed by general taxation." Other laws oppressive in their bearings upon those opposed in religious views to the dominant party were enacted, some of which remained in force until the glorious emancipation day, in the summer of 1776, gave freedom to our nation. Partly in order to better accommodate the people of Maryland, but more for the purpose of punishing the adherents of Lord Baltimore, who constituted a greater proportion of the population of St. Mary's, the seat of government was moved from there to Anne Arundel, a town on the shore of the Chesapeake, early in 1694, and there a general assembly was convened in February. The following year, the name of the place was changed by authority to Annapolis, and the naval station of the province was established there. Annapolis has, ever since, continued to be the capital of Maryland, while St. Mary's, dependent for its existence upon its being the capital of the province, speedily sunk into ruins. Lord Baltimore never recovered his proprietary rights. Neither did he return to America, but died in England in the year 1714, at the age of eighty-five years. He was succeeded by his son Benedict Leonard Calvert. That son had abandoned the faith of his father and, in the spring of 1715, died, when his title to the province devolved upon his infant son Charles, who, with his brothers and sisters, had been educated as Protestants. Charles Calvert, Lord Baltimore and William Penn were contemporaries, and were equally conspicuous for their beneficent disposition. They are regarded as the best of all the proprietors, who owned charted domains in America. Rufus Stevens, an uncle of Charles Stevens, the youth of Salem, was living in New Jersey, when Lord Berkeley, disgusted by the losses and annoyances which the ownership of the colony brought upon him, sold his interests in the province to John Fenwick and Edward Byllinge, English Friends, or Quakers, for the sum of five thousand dollars. The tract thus disposed of was in the western part of the province. With some emigrants, mostly of the society of Friends, Fenwick sailed for his new possessions. They entered at a spot not far from the Delaware River, which they named Salem, on account of the peaceful aspect of the country and the surrounding Indians. There, with the peculiar gravity of the sect, Fenwick and his two daughters, thirteen men (most of them heads of families) and one woman, the wife of one of the emigrants, sat in silent worship, according to their custom, under the shadow of a great tree, with covered heads and quiet bodies, on the ensuing "First Day" after their arrival. Then they built log cabins for shelter, and so began a new life in the wilds of New Jersey. The principal proprietor was Byllinge; but soon after the departure of Fenwick, heavy losses in trade made him a bankrupt, and his interest in New Jersey was first assigned to William Penn and others for the benefit of his creditors, and was afterward sold to them. These purchasers and others who became associated with them, unwilling to maintain a political union with other parties, bargained with Carteret for a division of the province. This was done in July, 1676, Carteret retaining the eastern part of the province, and the new purchasers holding the western part. From that time, until they were united and became a royal province in 1702, these divisions were known as East and West Jersey. Even to this day, we frequently hear the expression, "The Jerseys," used. Most of the settlers of West Jersey were Friends, and the proprietors gave them a remarkably liberal constitution of government, entitled: "The concessions and agreements of the proprietors, freeholders and inhabitants of the province of West Jersey in America." The following year (1677), more than four hundred Friends came from England and settled below the Raritan. Andros required them to acknowledge his authority as the representative of the Duke of York. This they refused to do, and the matter was referred to the eminent crown-lawyer and oriental scholar, Sir William Jones, for adjudication. Sir William decided against the claims of the duke, who submitted to the decision, released both provinces from allegiance to him, and the Jerseys became independent of foreign control. The first popular assembly in West Jersey met at Salem, in November, 1681, and adopted a code of laws for the government of the people. One of these laws provided that in all criminal cases, excepting treason, murder and theft, the aggrieved party should have power to pardon the offender. In the year 1679, Carteret died, and the trustees of his American estates offered East Jersey for sale. It was bought, in 1682, by William Penn and others, among them the earl of Perth, the friend of Robert Barclay, whom the proprietors appointed governor for life. Barclay was an eminent young Friend, whose writings were held in high estimation by his own sect, especially his "Apology for the true Christian Divinity, as the same is held forth and practised by the people called in scorn Quakers," and his "Treatise on Christian Discipline." The purchase of these lands was not made in the interest of either religion or liberty, but as a speculation. Barclay governed the province by deputies until 1690. England and Scotland contributed a large number of Friends to East Jersey, and other immigrants flocked from Long Island, to find repose and peace; but repose is not to be found by lovers of freedom, under royal rule, and they were forcibly impressed with the significance of the injunction, "Put not your trust in princes," for James the king failed to keep the rosy promises of James the duke, and they were forced to submit to the tyranny of Andros. When that detested viceroy was expelled from the country, in 1689, the Jerseys were left without a regular civil government, and so they remained for several years. Wearied with contentions, with the people of the provinces and with the government at home, and annoyed by losses in unprofitable speculations, the proprietors of the Jerseys surrendered them to the crown, in 1702, when Queen Anne was the reigning British monarch. The government of that domain was then confided to Sir Edward Hyde (Lord Cornbury), whose instructions constituted the supreme law of the land. He was then governor of New York and possessed almost absolute legislative and executive control within the jurisdiction of his authority. In New Jersey the people had no voice in the judiciary or the making and executing of laws other than recommendatory. All but Roman Catholics were granted liberty of conscience; but the bigoted governor always showed conspicuous favors to the members of the Church of England. The governor was dishonest and a libertine, and under his rule the people of New Jersey were little better than slaves. Printing, except by royal permission, was prohibited in the province, and the traffic in negro slaves was especially encouraged. New Jersey remained a dependency of New York, yet with a distinct legislative assembly of its own, until the year 1738, when it was made an independent colony, and it so remained until the Revolutionary War, when it became a separate State. After the province gained its freedom from New York, Mr. Morris was commissioned its governor. He was the son of an officer in Cromwell's army, who, about the year 1672, settled on a farm of three thousand acres on the Harlem River, New York, which was named Morrisania. Last of the royal governors of New Jersey was William Franklin, son of Dr. Benjamin Franklin, who was appointed in 1763, and closed his official career in the summer of 1776, when he was deposed by the continental congress and sent under guard to Connecticut. There he was released on parole and went to England, where he died in 1813. One of the Stevens family having served as governor of North Carolinia, it was only natural that other members of the southern branch of that rapidly increasing family in the south should push out into the Carolinias and take part in the early settlement of these colonies. After the failure of the schemes of Loche and Cooper to form "Fundamental Constitutions," a splendid government, in 1669, was completed. The "constitutions" were signed in March, 1670, and were highly lauded in England, as forming the wisest scheme for human government ever devised. Monk, Duke of Albemarle, was created palatine or viceroy for the new empire, who was to display the state parade of his office, with landgraves, barons, lords of manor and heraldry, among the scattered settlers in pine forests, living in log cabins with the Indians. Never was a more ludicrous idea entertained with any degree of seriousness; yet, so far as the proprietors were concerned, this splendid government was established; but the simple settlers had something to say; and when the governor of the Albemarle county colony attempted to introduce the new government, they said, "No." They had a form of government of their own, far better adapted to their social circumstances than the one sent from England, and they resolved to adhere to it. All attempts to enforce obedience to the new form of government, all oppressive taxation imposed upon the people, and especially the commercial restrictions authorized by the English navigation laws, produced wide-spread discontent. Most particularly was this fostered by refugees from Virginia, who had been engaged in Bacon's rebellion, and who sought personal safety among the people below the Roanoke. These refugees, smarting under the lash of tyranny, scattered broadcast over the generous soil the germinal ideas of popular freedom, and successful oppression was made difficult, if not impossible. At this period, North Carolinia did not contain four thousand inhabitants. They carried on a small trade in tobacco, maize and fat cattle with the merchants of New England. This sort of smuggling was perhaps excusable, when we consider the grinding navigation laws of the monopolists. The little vessels, trading between North Carolinia and New England, brought many articles to the southern colonies, which they were incapable of producing. English cupidity envied them their small prosperity, and the navigation laws of 1672 were put in force. An agent of the government appeared, who demanded a penny for every pound of tobacco sent to New England. The colonists resisted the levy and the tax-gatherer became rude and had frequent collisions with the people. On one occasion, he went to the home of Francisco Stevens, a planter, who had shipped some tobacco to a relative in Boston, and demanded a steer in payment for the shipment. The tax-gatherer attempted to drive away the ox, when the sturdy wife assailed him with her mop-stick and drove him from the premises. [Illustration: The sturdy wife assailed him with her mop-stick and drove him away.] The exasperated people finally, in December, 1677, seized the public funds and imprisoned the governor and six of his councillors, called a new representative assembly and appointed a chief magistrate and judge. Then, for two years, the colonists were permitted to conduct the affairs of their government without any foreign control. Meanwhile, John Culpepper, their leader, whom the royalists denounced as an "ill man, who merited hanging for endeavoring to set the people to plunder the rich," conscious of his integrity, went boldly to England to plead the cause of the colony. While in the act of re-embarking for America, he was arrested, tried for treason and honorably acquitted. Returning to North Carolinia, he was appointed surveyor-general of the province, and, in 1680, laid out the city of Charleston in South Carolinia. Until the arrival of Seth Sothel as governor, North Carolinia enjoyed a period of repose. He had purchased a share in the provinces of Clarendon, and was sent to administer the government. On his voyage, he was captured by Algerine pirates, but, escaping them, reached North Carolinia, in 1683. It has been said of this avaricious, extortionate and cruel statesman, that "the dark shades of his character were not relieved by a single virtue." His advent disturbed the public tranquillity. He plundered the people, cheated the proprietors, and on all occasions seems to have prostituted his delegated power to purposes of private gain. About six weeks of his misrule were all the independent colonists could stand. Then the people rose in rebellion, seized the governor, and were about to send him to England to answer their accusations before the proprietors, when he asked to be tried by the colonial assembly. It is asserted by historians of note, that that body was more merciful than his associates in England would have been, for they found him guilty and sentenced him to only one year's punishment and perpetual disqualification for the office of governor. Sothel withdrew to the southern colony, and was succeeded by Philip Ludwell, an energetic, honest man, whose wisdom and sense of justice soon restored order and good feeling in the colony. He was succeeded by John Archdale, a Quaker, who, in 1695, came as governor of the two colonies. His administration was a blessing. The people over whom he ruled were as free in their opinions and actions as the air they breathed. Legal or moral restraints were few; yet the gentle-minded people were enemies to violence or crime. They were widely scattered, with not a city or town and scarce a hamlet within their sylvan domain. The only roads were bridle paths from house to house, and these were indicated by notches cut in trees--"blazed roads." There was not a settled minister in the colony until 1703. The southern, or Carteret County Colony was, meanwhile, steadily moving along in population and wealth. The settlers, perceiving the fatal objections to the "Fundamental Constitutions" as a plan of government for their colony, did not attempt conforming thereto, but established a more simple government adapted to their conditions. Under it, the first legislative assembly of South Carolinia convened, in the spring of 1672, at the place on the Ashley River where the colony was first seated. In that body, jarring political, social and theological interests and opinions produced passionate debates and violent discord. South Carolinia has ever been a seething political caldron, and, even in that early date, there was a proprietary party and a people's party, a high church party and a dissenters' party, each bigoted and resolute. At times, the debates were so heated and earnest, that they seemed on the eve of plunging the colony into civil war. The savages had commenced plundering the frontier, and all factions of the whites were forced to unite against this common enemy. The bold frontiersman, with his trusty rifle, was often unable to defend his home. His cattle were run away or slaughtered before his very eyes. Old Town was the first point selected for the capital; but Charleston was finally laid out on Oyster Point, and the seat of government was removed to this city, where the second assembly met, in 1682. Immigrants flowed in with a full and continuous stream. Families came from Ireland, Scotland and Holland, and when the edict at Nantes, which secured toleration to Protestants in France, was revoked, a large number of Huguenots fled from their country, and many sought an asylum in the Carolinias. The traditionary hatred of the English for the French was shown at this time. For fully ten years these French refugees were deprived the privilege of citizenship in the land of their adoption. A colony of Scotch Presbyterians, numbering ten families, was located at Port Royal, South Carolinia, in 1682, and four years later was attacked and dispersed by the Spaniards, who claimed Port Royal as a dependency of St. Augustine. The persecution of the Huguenots in France drove many to seek homes in the colonies, despite English hatred to them. The struggles of South Carolinia with the Indians, and the attempted oppression of the home government is but a repetition of the experience of the other colonies, until the good John Archdale came as governor of the Carolinias. His administration was short, but highly beneficial. He healed dissensions, established equitable laws, in the spirit of a true Christian example of toleration and humanity. He cultivated friendly intercourse with the Indians and the Spaniards at St. Augustine, so that his administration was marked as a season of peace, prosperity and happiness. CHAPTER IX. CHARLES AND CORA. We wandered to the pine forest, That skirts the ocean foam. The lightest wind was in its nest, The tempest in its home. The whispering waves were half asleep The clouds were gone to play, And on the bosom of the deep The smile of heaven lay. --Shelley. In a thousand artless ways, Cora, despite the strange mystery which seemed to envelop her, won her way to the hearts of all who knew her. Goody Nurse, who was a frequent caller at the home of the widow Stevens, was loud in her praises of the maiden, who had budded into womanhood. Charles found her growing more shy, as she became more mature and more beautiful; but as she grew more reserved, her power over him became greater, until, though unconscious of it, she had made him her slave. One day he met her in one of her short rambles about the wood near the house. Her eyes were on the ground, and her face was so sad that it seemed to touch his heart. He went toward her, and she started from her painful reverie and looked as if she would fly. "Cora, it is I, are you afraid of me?" he asked. "No." Then he went to her side and asked: "Why are you so sad to-day?" "Do I seem sad?" "You look it." "It is because of the good pastor's hatred of me. You were not at Church last Lord's day?" "No; I was in Boston." "Hath not your mother told you of it?" "She told me nothing." Her sad eyes seemed to swim in tears, and Charles entreated her to tell him what Mr. Parris had said of her. Without answering his question, she asked: "What do you think of Goody Nurse and her sisters, Goody Cloyse and Goody Easty?" "They are very excellent women," Charles answered, "I would that we had more like them." "Is it wrong for a young maid such as I to keep their company?" "Assuredly not." Charles saw that Cora had something to tell, and he begged her to come to a large moss-covered log, on which they seated themselves, and then he asked: "Cora, who said it was wrong?" "Mr. Parris." "When?" "On last Lord's day he did upbraid us as the emissaries of the Devil, and Goody Nurse avowed if the minister did not cease to upbraid her in church, she would absent herself." "That would be a violation of law. All are compelled to attend worship on Lord's day." She was silent for several moments and then remarked: "Can a law compel one to go where she is maligned and all the calumnies hate can invent heaped upon her head?" "By the laws of the colony, all must attend church on Lord's day." The laws of the Puritans were exacting, and ministers of the character of Mr. Parris took advantage of them. "It is sad," sighed Cora. "What did Mr. Parris say of you on last Lord's day, Cora?" "I cannot recall all that he said. Even his text I have forgotten, for, as he was announcing it, Abigail Williams was seized with a grievous fit, and did cry out that Goody Nurse was pinching her. When she became quiet, and the pastor again announced his text, Abigail interrupted him with: 'It is not a doctrinal text, and it is too long.' He said that when the children of God went to worship, Satan came also. Then he declared that the Devil was in the church at that moment, and he looked at Goody Nurse and me, who sat near each other in the church. 'Do any of you doubt that the imps of darkness are in your presence? Behold how they associate the one with the other. Those who afflict and persecute the children of the righteous, and the unholy offspring of a player!' He grew in a towering passion and cried out so against me, that all eyes were turned upon me, and I bowed my head. No sooner had I done so, than he called on all to witness how Satan rebuked dared not show his face in the house of God. If I but looked on him to deny his charges he called it the brazen impudence of a child of darkness. All through his sermon, I sat listening to reproof for what I cannot help, or the frequent allusions to the familiar spirits of Goody Nurse." Tears quietly stole from the sad eyes and trickled down the cheeks of the maiden. He sought to console her and, to change her mind to a more cheerful subject, asked: "Where is your father?" "Alas, I know not, save that he has gone with his brother Harry Waters to Canada to procure furs." "Cora, what strange mystery surrounds your life?" "I know not." "Don't you remember aught of your mother?" "No; I never saw her. My earliest recollections are of the theatre, where a nurse cared for me in the greenroom, while my father performed on the stage." "Does he never talk of her?" "My mother?" "Yes." "He never mentions her name." "Have you never asked him about her?" "Yes." "What answer does he make?" "He says I may learn all in due time." To Charles Stevens, it was quite evident that Cora's father was purposely putting off some important revelation. He gazed upon her fair young face and in it could see little or no resemblance to her father. Then a suspicion entered his mind, that she might not after all be the child of George Waters. Though mysterious, Cora tried to conceal nothing; her manner and conversation were frank and open. "Your father was captured at the battle of Sedgemore, was he not?" "Yes; he was impressed into the army of Monmouth. My father had no interest in either army. What were their quarrels to him? Part of the time he was in the Netherlands, and a part of the time in France, Scotland or Wales. I don't think at any time he knew much of England's trouble. We were roving all the time and thought little of political questions. When he was arrested and forced into Monmouth's army, at Bridgewater, he asked whose army it was." "And you followed him?" "I followed at a distance and from a lofty hill watched the long, hard struggle. Oh, such a scene as it was! Ranks of cavalry and ranks of infantry dashing at each other. Through the great volumes of smoke and dust, I watched the regiment to which my father had been attached. I saw it in the thickest of the fight and, kneeling by a stone fence, prayed God to spare him. God answered my prayer, for he was spared. When I saw Monmouth's army retreating and the ruthless butchers of the king in pursuit, I ran down the lane, weeping and wringing my hands, expecting to find his dead body. I was very young then; but the scene has been indelibly stamped on my memory. "As I was running down the hill, I met him, so covered with dust and blackened with gunpowder, that at first I knew him not. He knew me, and, as I swooned at his feet, he carried me across a field to a road-side inn, where I recovered, and we were about to resume our flight, when the king's soldiers surrounded the house. One of the officers cocked his pistol to shoot my father and would have done so, had I not clung to his neck and presented my body as a shield between him and the trooper's bullet. "'Spare him for the hangman,' suggested another. "He was spared, and at the trial it appeared that he held no commission in the rebel's army, so he was condemned to ten years' penal servitude in the colonies, and was sent to Virginia, whither I went, also. Of our escape, through the kindness and courage of your relative in Virginia, you already know." "Is your father going to take you away?" "Yes; he says that my persecution at Salem will cease as soon as he can prepare a home for me." "Where?" "In Maine." "Do you want to go away, Cora?" She was silent for a long while, in fact, so long was she silent that he asked the question again before she answered. Then, fixing her beautiful eyes, with a startled expression, on him, she answered: "No, no! I would not go away, if I could remain in peace; but our persecutions seem endless. My father is a good man. Although he was a player, he was ever the kindest of fathers, and taught me only the purest religious sentiments, yet Mr. Parris calls him the agent of the devil." Charles shudderingly responded: "Cora, I fear we are on the verge of a fearful upheaval of ignorance and superstition. Religion, our greatest blessing, perverted, will become our greatest curse. I cannot understand it, Cora; but we are on the brink of some terrible volcano, which will destroy many, I fear." That Charles Stevens was no false prophet, subsequent history has fully proven. Coming events seemed to cast their dark shadows before. In New England, there had been a preparation for this stage in the temper with which the adventurers had arrived in the country, and the influences which at once operated upon them. Their politics and religion were gloomy and severe. Those who were not soured with the world were sad, and, it should be remembered, they fully believed that Satan and his powers were abroad and must be contended with daily and hourly and in every transaction of life. There was little in their new home to cheer them; for the gloomy and unexplored forests shrouded the entire land beyond the barren seashore. Their special enemy, the Indian, always on the alert in some mysterious glade to take advantage of them, was not, in their view, a simple savage. Their clergy, ignorant and fanatic as they were zealous, assured them that the Indians were worshippers and agents of Satan; and it is difficult to estimate the effect of this belief on the minds and tempers of those who were thinking of the Indians at every turn of daily life. Indian hatred has ever been mingled with ferocity and fanaticism quite inconsistent with mild precepts of Jesus Christ. This passion, kindled by the first demonstration of hostility on the part of the Massachusetts red man, grew and spread incessantly under the painful early experience of colonial life, and has been only intensified by time. In turn, every man had to be scout by day and night, in the swamp and in the forest, and every woman had to be on the watch in her husband's absence to save her babes from murderers and kidnappers. Whatever else their desires might be, even to supply their commonest needs, the citizens had first to station themselves within hail of each other all day, and at night to drive in their cattle among the dwellings and keep watch by turns. Even on Sundays, patrols were appointed to look to the public safety while the citizens were at church. Mothers carried their babes to the meeting-house in preference to remaining at home in the absence of husbands and neighbors. The Sabbath patrol was not only for the purpose of looking for Indians, but to mark the absentees from worship, note what they were doing, and give information accordingly to the authorities. These patrols were chosen from the leading men of the community--the most active, vigilant and sensible--and one can easily perceive that much ill-will might have accumulated in the hearts of those whom they saw fit to report. Such ill-will had its day of triumph when the Salem tragedy reached its climax. Levity, mirth and joy were condemned by the Puritans, and nearly all amusements were discarded. The merry whistle of the lad was ungodly in their eyes, and Charles Stevens had come in for his share of the reproof because God had given him a light heart. Life to them was sombre, and, usually, sombre lives lead to bloodshed, crime and fanaticism. Charles sought to instil some of his joy into the sad life of the unfortunate maid. To him the sun shone brightly, the flowers bloomed radiantly, and the birds sang sweetly for the pleasure of man. Life was earnest, but not austere, and religion did not demand gloom. "Have no care for what Mr. Parris may say," he said. "His congregation is divided against him, and he cannot harm you." "Only a little longer, just a little longer, and I will be gone where they can torment me no more," answered Cora. "In the forests of Maine, I will be hidden from the eyes of my enemies and be alone with God." They rose and wandered down the path on either side of which the densest of thickets grew. Both were lost in thought. A shadow had come over the face of Charles Stevens the moment Cora spoke of going away. He had never admitted even to himself that he loved her; yet, ever since that stormy night when he volunteered to brave the tempest and conducted her home, he had been strangely impressed with Cora. The mystery of her early life was somewhat repugnant to one of his plain, outspoken nature; yet, with all that, he was forcibly impressed by her sweet, pure and sad disposition. They were wandering pensively hand in hand toward his mother's home, when a voice called to them from across the brook. The sound of the voice broke the spell, and, looking up, he saw Sarah Williams coming toward them. "Hold, will you, Charles Stevens, until I speak to the one who accompanies you." The young widow was greatly excited, and her voice trembled with emotion. "Who is that woman?" asked Cora, trembling with agitation. "Sarah Williams." "I have seen her." "Where?" "At church. She was the one who upbraided Goody Nurse for being a witch." Cora was greatly agitated, as she saw Sarah Williams, with demoniacal fury, hastening toward her. Surely she would do her no injury, for Cora was not conscious of ever having given her offence. "Have no fears, Cora, she will not harm you. I trow it is some commonplace matter of which she would speak." Thus assured, she had almost ceased to dread the approach of the woman, when Sarah Williams suddenly cried, in a voice trembling with fury: "Cora Waters, have you no sense of shame? Are you wholly given up to the evil one?" "What mean you?" Cora asked. "Why do you torment me?" "I do not, knowingly." "False tool of Satan! Did not your shape come at me last night?" "Assuredly not." "Oh woman, woman! why will you speak so falsely? I saw you." "When?" "Last night, as I lay in my bed, you came and choked me, because I would not sign the little red book which you carried in your hand." Filled with wonder, Charles Stevens turned his eyes upon Cora, whose face expressed blank amazement, and asked: "What does this mean?" "I take God to be my witness, that I know nothing of it, no more than the child unborn," she answered. "Woe is the evil one, who speaks falsely when accused!" cried the enraged Sarah Williams. Then she closed her fist and made an effort to strike Cora, who, with a scream, shrunk from her. "Hold, Sarah Williams! Don't judge hastily, or you may judge wrongly." "Go to! hold your peace, Charles Stevens, for, verily, I know whereof I speak, when I charge that the shape of Cora Waters does grievously torment me." "Are you mad?" "No." "Then of what do you accuse her?" "She is a witch." At this awful accusation both Charles and Cora shrunk back in dismay, and for a moment neither could speak; but Sarah Williams was not silent. She continued upbraiding the unfortunate girl, heaping charge upon charge on her innocent head, until Cora felt as if she needs must sink beneath the load. "You have bewitched my cows; my sheep and swine die mysteriously. Your form is seen oft at night riding through the air. My poultry die strangely and mysteriously, and my dog has fits. Even my poor cat hath fallen under the evil spell which you cast on all about me. Alas, Cora Waters, you are bold and bad. Charles Stevens, beware how you are seen about her, lest the wrath that will fall upon her head involve you in ruin." Cora Waters, leaning against a tree, covered her face with her hands and murmured: "Oh, God! wilt thou save me from the wrath of these misguided people?" "See how she blasphemes! For a witch to call on the name of God is blasphemy of the very worst kind. Away, witch!" and Sarah stamped her foot in violence upon the ground. "Stay, Cora!" Charles interposed, very calmly. Then he turned upon Sarah Williams, and added: "You accuse her falsely, Sarah. Beware how you charge her of what the law makes a crime, or you may have to answer in a court for slander." "Charles Stevens, beware how you defend the being at your side. She is an imp of darkness, and a day is coming when such will not be permitted to run at large. Beware! _beware!_ BEWARE!" and with the last command amounting almost to a shriek, she turned about and ran away. Long Charles Stevens stood gazing after the retreating woman. The gentle breeze, stirring the leaves of the sweet-scented forest, bore pleasant odors to them, the birds sang their sweet peaceful songs, while a squirrel, with a nut in its paws, skipped nimbly over the leaves near and, pausing, reared upon its hind legs and looked at them from its bright little eyes, while the flowers nodded their gaudy little heads as if to invite every one to be glad; but Charles and Cora saw not all these beauties of nature. She stood leaning against the friendly trunk of a giant oak, and turned her eyes on him with a look of helpless appeal and agony. He was so dazed by the bold accusation, that he could not speak for several seconds. She was first to regain her speech. "She, too, is my enemy." "Yes," he answered. "I have no friend----" she began. "Don't say that, Cora. While mother and I live, you have two friends," he interrupted. "Yes--yes; I had not forgotten you; but you may be powerless to aid me. I learned that they were going to arrest and try some of the accused people for witches. It is terrible," she added with a shudder. "In England they burn witches at the stake. My father saw one thus roasted. He said it did touch him with tenderness to see the gallant way she met her fate--cursing and reviling the hooting mob gathered about her, whilst the angry flames, leaping upward, licked her face, caught her locks, crackling about her old gray head. I trow it was a sorry sight, and God be praised, I never saw such a one!" "You never will, Cora, for those days are passed. We live in a more enlightened and humane age. People are not burned to death now, as they used to be. We are safe under the shelter of humane and wise laws." Charles was mistaken. Human laws have never been perfect or just, and mankind will never be safe while laws are interpreted by partial magistrates. Laws are never perfect, for, were they, continual amendments would be unnecessary. On their way home, Charles and Cora were compelled to pass the Salem church. As they did so, they met Mr. Parris face to face, as he was coming out of the sanctuary whither he had gone to pray. He paused near the door and, fixing his large gray eyes on the unfortunate maid, glared at her much as an angry lion might gaze on the object of its hatred; then he turned away on his heel with something about the children of darkness profaning the house of the Lord. Cora shuddered as long as he was in sight, and when he had disappeared, she said: "Surely, he is a bad man!" They resumed their walk to the house. Though neither spoke, they went slowly, each buried in thought. The gentle zephyrs, the frisking squirrels, the nodding flowers, the singing birds, were all unheeded by them. When the home was reached, he found his mother standing in the door, her face almost deathly white. Though she said nothing, he knew she was greatly disturbed. Her wheel stood idle, the great heap of wool rolls lying unspun at the side of it. She smiled faintly and, as Cora passed into the little room set apart for her, turned her eyes anxiously to her son. "Mother, has any one been here since we left?" he asked. "Yes." "Was it Mr. Parris?" "It was." "We saw him come out of the church as we passed." "He was here but a moment since." Then Charles felt that something had been said to his mother to occasion alarm, and he asked her what it was. "He advised me to warn you to flee from the wrath to come. He said you would be involved in ruin ere you knew it, if you continued in your present course." "What did he mean?" "He referred to her," and Mrs. Stevens significantly nodded toward the apartment in which Cora was. Charles had expected this answer. He went slowly to the door and looked down the road to see if the pastor was still in sight; but he was not. Only the broad, well-beaten thoroughfare, with the great, old trees standing on either side, and the blue sea beyond the hill, with the village in the valley were visible. The youth's heart was full of bitterness, and the manner in which his mother's words were spoken was not calculated to allay the storm within his breast. Though her words did not say so, her manner indicated that she shared the opinions of Mr. Parris. Turning from the door, Charles went toward her and said: "Mother, whatever he said of her is false. I know he hates Cora, that he would make her one of the emissaries of Satan; but his charges are false. You know--you must know that she is a pure, good girl." "I do know it," she answered, her face still anxious and pale. "The accusation is false. I know it is false; yet he threatens." "Whom does he threaten?" "You." Charles laughed, as only a brave lad can laugh at danger. Why need he fear Mr. Parris? Charles was young and inexperienced. He knew not the age in which he lived, and little did he dream of the power which Mr. Parris, as pastor of the church, could wield over the public. The pulpit controlled judges and juries, law-makers and governors in that day, and when an evil-disposed person like Mr. Parris became pastor of a congregation, he could wield a terrible influence. "Mother, how can he injure me?" Charles asked. "In more ways than one." "What are they?" "I don't know, Charles; but I know--I feel that something terrible is about to happen. Our people will suffer from Mr. Parris--especially all who oppose his ministry." "I oppose his ministry, and I have no fear of him. All he can do is to wound the feelings of that poor girl; but she will go away soon, beyond reach of his calumny." "Heaven grant she may, and right soon, too." As Charles was about to leave the house, his mother asked: "Have you heard that Adelpha Leisler from New York is coming?" "Adelpha Leisler! No----" He started, half in joy and half in regret. "She is. Surely, you have not forgotten her." "No, mother. I will never forget the pretty maid." "Who, you said in your boyhood, was one day to be your wife." "Truly, I did. I have heard that Adelpha hath kept the promise of early childhood to make a beautiful woman. When will she come?" "It is said she will be here before next Lord's Day." The expression of joy uttered in words, as well as the glow which lighted up his countenance, was seen by the white-faced young woman in the next apartment. Cora was not an intentional eavesdropper. Her door had been left accidentally ajar, and when she heard the name Adelpha Leisler spoken, she started to her feet, moved by a strange impulse quite inexplicable to her. She had never heard the name Adelpha Leisler before, and yet she intuitively felt that the name had some terrible bearing on her destiny. With loud beating heart, lips parted and her whole being expressing pain, she crouched close to the door and listened. CHAPTER X. CHARLES AND MR. PARRIS. Night is the time for rest, How sweet when labors close, To gather round an aching breast The curtain of repose, Stretch the tired limbs, and lay the head Upon our own delightful bed. --Montgomery. Jealousy, for the first time, entered the heart of Cora Waters. Blessed is the being free from this curse. The green-eyed monster, unbidden, enters the heart and enthrones himself as ruler of the happiness of the individual over whom it assumes sway. She heard all that mother and son said, and then watched him as he went out. Then she closed the door of her apartment and retired to her bedroom. It was almost evening, and when Mrs. Stevens informed her that tea was ready, she feigned headache and asked to be excused. It was the heart rather than the head that ached. Charles Stevens was gathering in the herds as was the custom for the night, when he came rather suddenly upon John Louder, returning from the forest. "Ho, Charles Stevens, where were you last Lord's Day?" asked Louder. "Was I missed?" "You were, and I trow the patrol could not find you." "I was in Boston." "Do you know that Mr. Parris hath begun to cry out against some of the people?" "I have heard as much, and I think the pastor should be more careful, lest he will do an injustice." Louder shook his head and, seating himself on the green bank of a brooklet, answered: "Goody Nurse is a witch. She hath grievously tormented me on divers occasions and in divers ways. Fain would I believe her other but I cannot." "John Louder, you are a deceived and deluded man." "Nay, nay, Charles, you mock me. I have had her come and sit upon my chest and oppress me greatly with her torments. Have I not been turned into a beast and ridden through thorns and briars at night and awoke to find myself in bed?" Charles, laughing, answered: "It was the troubled dream from which you awoke." "Nay; I found the thorns and briars pricking my hands and legs." "Perchance you walked in your sleep." "Charles, why seek to deceive me in that way, when I know full well that what I tell you is surely truth? I see with my eyes, I hear with my ears, and I feel with my senses. Only night before last, I was ridden into a field where they partook of a witches' sacrament." "And what was it, pray?" asked Charles with a smile of incredulity. "The flesh and blood of a murdered victim." Charles laughed outright. "Nay, nay, Charles, you need not laugh," cried Louder, angrily. "She was there, too." "Who?" "The maid who hath lived at your house. The offspring of a vile player. Behold, I saw her partake of the sacrament." Charles Stevens' face alternately paled and flushed as he answered: "John Louder, you are the prince of liars, and beware how you repeat your falsehoods, or I shall crack your skull." Louder, who was a coward, as well as superstitious, had a wholesome dread of the stout youth. He sprung back a few paces and stammered: "No, no, I don't mean any harm. I--I am not saying anything against you." "John Louder, you are a notorious liar, and I warn you to be careful in the future how your vile tongue breathes calumny against innocent people. Begone!" Louder slowly rose and slunk away, and Charles Stevens returned home. The evening air fanned his heated brow, and he sought to cool his angry temper before he reached home. The silent stars watched the sullen youth who, pausing at the gate, gazed in his helpless misery on the broad-faced moon and murmured: "How will all this end?" It was his usual bedtime when Charles Stevens entered the house, and his face was calm as a summer sky over which a storm had never swept. His mother was still plying her wheel, and the heap of wool rolls had grown less and continued to diminish. She asked her son no questions. He sat down near the table, took up a book of psalms and proceeded to read. There was one in the next apartment who heard him enter. It was Cora, and, rising, she crouched near the door to listen. Perhaps they would say something more of Adelpha Leisler; but he did not mention her name again, and she almost hoped he cared nothing for her now, although he had confessed that in his boyhood he had looked upon her as his future wife. Almost every man selects his wife in his early boyhood; but the child lover seldom becomes the husband. The love of a play-mate, tender as it may be, is not the love of maturity. Cora strove to console herself with these thoughts; but there was another danger that would obtrude itself in her way. That was the knowledge that he had not seen Adelpha for years, and she had developed from a child to a beautiful woman. Long she sat near the door, feeling decidedly guilty at playing the part of an eavesdropper; but when Charles rose, closed his book and went to his room, and the mother put away her work, Cora rose and went to her bed. Despite her sorrow and mental worry, she had sweet dreams. Somebody, who was Charles, appeared to her in light, and she rose with the sun in her eyes, which at first produced the effect of a continuation of her dream. Her first thought on coming out of the dream was of a smiling nature, and she felt quite reassured. The dream had been so pleasant and sweet; life seemed so peaceful and full of hope; nature smiled so brightly on this holy morn, that she almost forgot the hot words of the pastor and her jealousy of the night before. She began hoping with all her strength, without knowing why, and suffered from a contraction of the heart. It was a bright day; but the sunbeam was still nearly horizontal, so she reasoned that it was quite early; but she thought she ought to rise in order to assist Charles' mother in her household duties. She would see Charles himself, feel the warmth of his glance and hear the music of his voice. No objection was admissible; all was certain. It was monstrous enough to have suffered the pangs of jealousy on the night before; but now that the bright dreams and glorious dawn had dispelled these, she felt sure that good news had come at last. Youth is so constituted, that it quickly wipes its tears away, for it is natural for youth to be happy, while its breath is made up of hope. Cora could not have recalled a single instance in which Charles Stevens had uttered a word of hope or encouragement to her. Her thoughts seemed to play at hide and seek in her brain, and she was so strangely, peculiarly happy this morning, that she preferred to enjoy the revels of day-dreams to the realities of life. Leaving her bed, she bathed her face and said her prayers. Voices were heard without, and she listened. One was the well beloved voice of Charles Stevens. He was speaking with some one, whom she rightly guessed had just arrived. The voice of the new-comer was too far distant for her to recognize it at first: but her eye, glancing through the lattice, descried the form of a man coming toward the house. That tall form, with thin, cadaverous features and stern, unbending eye, was the man who had publicly condemned her and held her up to the scorn of the whole congregation, because she was the child of a player. Cora did not hate him, for she was too pure, too good, too heavenly to hate even the man who had declared her to be a firebrand of perdition. What was his object this lovely morn? His appearance dispelled all the rosy dreams and once more plunged her into that horrible, oppressive gloom, which seemed heavier than lead upon her heart. "You are abroad early, this morning, Mr. Parris," Charles answered to the minister's morning greeting. "Not too soon, however," the reverend gentleman answered. "The devil does not sleep. He is abroad continually, and, verily, one needs must rise early to be before him and his minions." "Where are you going, Mr. Parris?" asked the youth. "I am coming here." "Your call is early." "Not earlier than Satan's. I trow he is here even already and hath abided with you, before I came." Charles made no answer to this, for there is no wrath like the wrath of an angry preacher, whose zeal warps his judgment and makes a fanatic of him. Bigoted, tyrannical, haughty and cruel, Parris swooped down on his enemies with the fury of an eagle. Charles Stevens was a little amazed at the manner of the minister and asked: "Is your business with me?" "It is." "What is it?" "It seems best that we converse where there is no danger of being overheard, Charles, as what I have to say is of a very grave and serious nature and concerns your soul's welfare." When a bigoted, ambitious zealot becomes interested in the welfare of a person, that person is in danger. The anxious girl, whose face was pressed close to the window lattice watching the men, heard all and turned so pale, that even the warm rays of the sun failed to give the tint and glow of life to the cheek. She saw them walk away down the path and go across the brook among the trees and over the distant hill. To Charles, it was like making a pilgrimage to some place of evil, the end of which he dreaded. Across the hill, hidden from the town by trees and intervening slope, they paused near the corner of a stone fence, and Mr. Parris leaned against the wall and gazed on Charles in silence. "What have you to say, Mr. Parris?" the young man asked, as the cold, gray eye, like a gleam of steel fell upon him. Mr. Parris, in slow and measured tones, answered: "No man knows until the time comes what depths are within him. To some men it never comes. Let them rest and be thankful. To me it was brought--it was forced upon me. I am despised, misused and abused by the world for the fact that I stand in the hand of God to do his holy will." "You talk strangely, Mr. Parris," said Charles, when the wild-eyed fanatic had finished and turned his haggard face up toward heaven. "I think your earnestness and zeal are mistaken." "Yes, mistaken by all; but I know the Lord ordains me for this good and holy work, and I will serve my Master, hard as the task may be." "Mr. Parris, may we not be mistaken in what constitutes the service of the Master?" "Aye! Is not the way so plain that a wayfaring man, though a fool, cannot err therein?" "Yet, 'they shall put you out of the synagogues; yea, the time cometh that whosoever killeth you will think that he doeth God service.' The great question to decide is which is right. 'Not every one that saith Lord, Lord, shall enter into the kingdom of heaven.'" "I am right!" cried Mr. Parris, his face flaming with passion. "So Melendez believed, when he drenched the soil of Fort Carolinia with the blood of innocent women and children." "Young man, I am the preacher, not you. It is for me to speak and you to listen. Satan has been unchained, and the air is full of evil spirits." "Mr. Parris, I have heard enough. Let me stop you here. It will be better for you and better for me. Let me go home." "Not yet. The Lord commands, and it must and shall be spoken. I have been in torments ever since I stopped short of it before. Look not amazed nor alarmed when I tell you that the day of the wrath of the Lord is coming, and the minions of hell that torment this accursed land will be gathered into the fires of destruction. Charles, forgive this earnestness, it is for your sake. It is another of my miseries. I cannot speak on that subject nor of that subject without stumbling at every syllable, unless I let go my check and run mad;" and as Charles Stevens gazed into those wild eyes and hollow cheeks, he thought the man must already be mad. "Let us return home, Mr. Parris. Take another day to think, before you give expression to what you would say." "No, no; you must hear me now! Here is a man driving his cows forth to graze. He will be gone directly. I entreat you let us walk down the road and return, for what I would say, Charles, must be for your ears alone." He yielded to the entreaty. How could he do otherwise, for there could be no harm in walking with the pastor? Mr. Parris, among his other accomplishments, had the power of dissembling. He could assume a smiling exterior while a devil raged in his heart. After they had gone aside some distance, and the farmer had passed on with his cows, they returned to the old stone wall, and Charles waited, very much as a criminal might, who stood to receive his sentence. "You know what I am going to say," the pastor began, his austere face once more assuming its terrible expression. "You don't like me, your mother don't like me, and the congregation is divided, doing all in their power to dispossess me; but I am right. What other men may mean when they use that expression, I cannot tell. What I mean is that I am under the influence of some tremendous power, which I know is God Almighty, Himself, and resist that power I dare not. I may be called a fanatic, cruel, mad; but the great and good God who made me ordains me in all things. This power--this spirit--this will, whatever it may be, is the chief motive that moves me. It could draw me to fire; it could draw me to water; it could draw me to the rack, as it did martyrs of old; it could draw me to any death--to anything pleasing, or repulsive; but I am mistaken, misunderstood by people, and the future as well as the present generation may condemn me in their narrow views as being dishonest, as being revengeful, as being even bloodthirsty; but, Charles, when God did command Peter to slay, did he refuse? No. If my God commands me to slay, I will do it, though rivers of blood shall flow----" The face of the wild fanatic was terrible to look upon. Charles Stevens, bold as he was, gazing on him in the full light of day, could not repress a shudder. His thin, cadaverous face, smooth shaven and of an ashen hue, was upturned to heaven, and those great, awful eyes seemed gazing on things unlawful for man to see. The long right arm was raised toward the sky, and again that deep voice called out: "O thou great Jehovah, do but command me, and rivers of blood shall flow----" "Mr. Parris!" began Charles, alarmed. "Stop! I implore you do not interrupt me, Charles. Wait until, by fasting and prayer and long, solemn meditation on these mysterious subjects, the Lord has opened your eyes to the invisible world, then you may judge. If you become weary with long standing, sit down, and I will pour into your ears such proofs that you can no longer deny the existence of witchcraft." Charles felt the strange spell of the fanatic's presence, and he merely bowed his head as a signal for him to proceed. Mr. Parris, in his deep sepulchral voice, continued:[B] [Footnote B: Like argument is used by Cotton Mather in his "Invisible World."] "Mr. John Higginson, that reverend and excellent person, says that the Indians, which came from far to settle about Mexico, were, in their progress to that settlement, under a conduct of a Devil, very strangely emulating the blessed covenant which God gave Israel in the wilderness. Acosta says that the Devil, in their idol Vitzlipultzli, governed that mighty nation. He commanded them to leave their country, promising to make them lords over all the provinces possessed by six other nations of Indians, and give them a land abounding with all precious things. They went forth, carrying their idol with them in a coffer of reeds, supported by four of their principal priests, with whom he still discoursed in secret, revealing to them the successes and accidents of their way. He advised them when to march and where to stay, and, without his command, they moved not. The first thing they did wherever they came, was to erect a tabernacle for their false god, which they always set in the midst of their camp, and they placed the ark upon an altar. When, wearied with the pains and fatigues of travel, they talked of proceeding no further in their journey than a certain pleasant stage, whereto they were arrived, the Devil, in one night, horribly killed the ones who had started this talk by pulling out their hearts, and so they passed on till they came to Mexico. "The same Devil, which then thus imitated what was in the church of the Old Testament, now among us, would imitate the affairs of the church in the New. The witches do say that they form themselves after the manner of Congregational Churches, and that they have baptism and a supper and officers among them, abominably resembling those of our Lord. What is their striking down with a fierce look? What is their making of the afflicted rise with a touch of their hand? What is their transportation through the air? What is their travelling in spirit, while their body is cast into a trance? What is their causing cattle to run mad and perish? What is their entering their names in a book, their coming together from all parts at the sound of a trumpet, their appearing sometimes clothed with light and fire upon them, then covering themselves and their instruments with invisibility? Are not all these but a blasphemous imitation of certain things recorded about our Saviour, or his prophets, or the saints in the kingdom of God?" "Mr. Parris," said Charles, when the fanatic had paused in his wild harangue for want of breath, "you seem in earnest; but you must bear in mind that there is a mistaken zeal----" "Hold, Charles, I know what you would say; but God has opened my eyes to the abominations of witchcraft." "So Bishop Mendoza thought, when he ordered the innocent slain. Beware of false prophets, Mr. Parris. They are more to be dreaded than the protean devil of which you speak. Be sure that you remove the beam from your own eye, before you try to see the mote in the eye of your brother." The sallow face of the fanatic grew more ghastly than before. His teeth gnashed, and his great eyes seemed starting in hatred from his head. Seizing the wrist of Charles with his hand, he clutched it so tightly as to almost make him cry out in pain. "Charles, Charles, why persecutest thou me? Have not the scales of infidelity fallen from your eyes? Would you deny the power of God?" Charles Stevens, by an effort, freed his hand and, with a boldness which increased as he spoke, answered: "It is not God whom I deny, but man. God is good and just and kind. He who, in the name of the Lord, would pervert His holy word is an impostor and blasphemer more base than a thief or an infidel." "Charles, beware!" "I have listened patiently to you, Mr. Parris. Now listen to me. Where do you find in Scripture justification for the charges you lay at the doors of innocent people such as Goody Nurse, Goody Easty, Goody Cloyse and the poor little maid Cora Waters? What harm have they ever done you, that you, as a Christian man, might not forgive them?" "Charles----" interrupted Mr. Parris. "Hold, sir; you shall hear me through. Mr. Parris, you must be a man of singular shamelessness, craft, ruthlessness and impudence, withal. You began your operations with sharp bargaining about your stipend and sharp practice in appropriating the house and land assigned for the use of successive pastors. You wrought so diligently, under the stimulus of your ambition, that you have got the meeting-house sanctioned as a true church and yourself ordained as the first pastor of Salem Village. Because you were opposed by Goody Nurse, her sisters and others, you seek to charge them with offences made punishable under our laws with death." The sallow face of the pastor grew almost white; but, in a voice of forced calmness, he said: "Go on--go on!" "No; it is for you to tell, without further discussion, why you brought me here. Rather let me guess it. You have brought me to say something to me about Cora Waters. You have come to tell me she is a witch, and I tell you it is false." The passionate minister glared at the youth for a moment and said: "Charles, do you deny that she is the child of a player?" "I do not; but what sin follows being the child of a player, or being even a player? Nowhere does the Bible condemn the actor for his profession; and, if the player be godly, his calling is unobjectionable. Oh, Mr. Parris, eradicate from your heart the deadly poison of prejudice, and there will appear no harm in that fair, innocent and much-abused young maid. She has ever been a child of sorrow and of tears, one who never in thought wronged any one. Tell me that child is a witch? Mr. Parris, it is false!" [Illustration: "Then you may both go down--down to the infernal regions together!"] "Then," cried the pastor, suddenly changing his tone, turning to Charles, and bringing his clenched hand down upon the stone fence with a force that laid the knuckles raw and bleeding; "then you may both go down--down to the infernal regions together!" The dark look of hatred and revenge with which the words broke from his livid lips, and with which he stood holding out his bruised and bleeding hand, made Charles shudder and turn to go home; but the pastor caught his arm. "Mr. Parris, let me go. I have heard quite enough. We understand each other thoroughly." "And you will not give her up?" "Never." "Verily, she hath bewitched you." "I do not believe in witchcraft." "What! Do you deny the word of God? Have a care! You are going too far in this. And your mother?" "She does not believe in it, either." "Charles, why have you and your mother grievously opposed me?" he demanded, his eyes glaring with hatred and his breath coming hard, while a white froth, tinged with blood, exuded from his lips. "Because you are a bad man, Mr. Parris," cried Charles. "You are a saintly fraud." The rage of the pastor knew no bounds. Pointing his wounded and bleeding hand at Charles, he cried: "Go! and may the curse of an outraged God go with you!" Charles went home. CHAPTER XI. ADELPHA LEISLER. Oh, my luve's like a red, red rose, That's newly sprung in June; Oh, my luve's like the melodie, That's sweetly played in tune. As fair art thou, my bonnie lass, So deep in luve am I; And I will luve thee still, my dear, Till a' the seas gang dry. --Burns. There are moments in every life when the soul hovers on some dark brink. It may be the brink of atheism, of despair, of crime, or superstition. Outside influences go far toward impelling life's voyager on his course. If the current takes a sudden turn, it bears him in a different direction from which he had intended. The human mind is inexplicable. It is not a machine that can be taken apart and analyzed. It is not material that can be grasped and comprehended. It is that mysterious knowing, feeling and willing, independent of circumstances; that immortal, indestructible portion of man called soul. It is governed by no known laws, and at times seems to assume all the caprices of chance. Charles Stevens was a youth of good strong, common sense; yet he could but feel strangely impressed by the words and the awful look of Mr. Parris. The man was surely more than mortal. His voice, hollow and sepulchral, seemed to issue from the tomb. His thin, cadaverous face was sufficient in itself to inspire wonder. Those great, blazing eyes had within them all the fires of lunacy, fanaticism and cunning. Mr. Parris was nothing more than an unscrupulous bigot. He was ambitious, as is proven by his machinations in getting himself declared the pastor of Salem. He was greedy, as is shown by his taking the parsonage and lands as well as demanding an increase in his stipend. He was revengeful, as is shown by the way in which he persecuted those who opposed him. He was unscrupulous in his methods, as is proven in the means he employed. He was filled with prejudice, as is shown in his assailing Cora Waters, because her father was an actor; yet Mr. Parris believed himself a righteous and holy man, walking in the path of the just. Charles Stevens failed to tell his mother of the strange interview with the pastor, somehow he could not. He unaccountably shuddered when he thought of it, and, despite the fact that he had little superstition in his composition, he felt at times a strange instinctive dread at the awful warning of the pastor. Since the evening on which the name of Adelpha Leisler had been mentioned, Cora Waters had been strangely shy and reticent, so that Charles Stevens could not tell her of the interview with Mr. Parris, even if he would. Cora was a remarkable girl. She united in the highest perfection the rarest of earthly gifts--genius and beauty. No one possesses superior intellectual qualities without knowing it. The alliteration of modesty and merit is pretty enough; but where merit is great, the veil of that modesty never disguises its extent from its possessor. It is the proud consciousness of rare qualities, not to be revealed to the every-day world, that gives to genius that shy, reserved and troubled air, which puzzles and flatters you, when you encounter it. Cora realized her beauty and genius; but, with that charming versatility, that of right belongs to woman, she had the faculty of bending and modelling her graceful intellect to all whom she met. Her rare genius, however, could not brook the cold reproofs of the bigoted Parris. The flower which might have ornamented his chapel and filled the little church with sweetest perfume was withered by the chilling frosts of bigotry and prejudice. A player could yield no perfume for Christ, and the sweet, musical voice was stilled, and the heart so full of love, emotion and religion was chilled and driven into exile; but she lived and hoped in her own little world. The sunlight of love was on her heart, until the name of Adelpha Leisler shut out that sunlight and left all in darkness and despair. Though Cora was excommunicated for being the child of a player, she never let go her hold on Christ. Her father, strolling actor as he was, had taught her to look to God for everything, and in her hour of trial, she knelt in the seclusion of her own room and prayed that this cup might pass from her lips, if it be the Lord's will; but if not, she asked God to give her strength to bear her suffering and trials. She freely forgave Mr. Parris, for she believed his persecution of herself and others was through mistaken zeal. With Charles Stevens, she was more shy than she used to be. She kept aloof from him for two or three days, until her conduct became noticeable, and Charles one day sought her in the garden for an explanation. "Have I offended you, Cora?" he asked. She turned her frightened eyes to his for a moment and answered: "No." "Then why do you avoid me? I have scarcely seen you for three days." She was overwhelmed with hope and confusion for some moments; then, with a faltering voice, she asked: "Did you wish to see me?" "I did, Cora. I would not give offence to you for the world, and I feared I had in some way wounded your feelings." "Charles, was not Mr. Parris here the other morning?" "Yes." "You went away with him; I saw you through my window." "I did." "Why did he come?" "Don't ask me about that man. He is one whom I would to God I had never known." "Don't speak so of him, Charles." "Cora, he is a bad man." "He is the pastor." "For all that, he is cruel and bloodthirsty. I know it. I feel it." Cora shuddered and made a feeble effort to defend the pastor who had persecuted her; but Charles, who had the retaliating spirit of humanity in his soul, declared he was a pious fraud and a disgrace to his cloth. On their return to the house, Mrs. Stevens met them at the door with a glad smile on her face, and cried: "She has come, Charles." "Who?" he asked. "Adelpha Leisler." Mrs. Stevens saw an immediate change in the face of Cora. The features which had begun to glow with happiness suddenly grew sad and clouded, and the eyes drooped. Charles did not perceive that sudden change so apparent to his mother, for, at the announcement of the arrival of one whom he had known in his happy childhood days, his heart bounded with joy. "Where is she, mother?" "With Goody Nurse." He hastily took leave of Cora, who, with an oppressive weight on her heart, which seemed to almost suffocate her, went to the little room in which she had known so much joy and misery. All was dark now. Her heart vibrated painfully in her breast. Hope and joy seemed forever banished. He was gone. She could hear his footsteps moving away from the house, and, throwing herself on the couch, she gave way to a fit of weeping. Never did Cora Waters so feel her utter insignificance and loneliness. She was a child of an indented slave, utterly dependent on the one whom she had had the audacity to love. When she realized how unworthy she was, the unfortunate girl sobbed, half aloud: "Oh, God, why didst thou create me with desires and ambitions above my sphere? Why didst thou cast me into this place, where I would meet him, only to suffer? Father, father, come and take me hence!" Meanwhile, Charles Stevens, unconscious of her suffering, was hurrying as rapidly as he could to the home of Goody Nurse, where he was to meet Adelpha Leisler. He reached the house and was greeted by a tall, beautiful young woman, with great, black eyes and hair. The greeting she gave him was warm, almost ardent, for, although Adelpha was an accomplished young lady, she had all of the genial warmth of youth. They were soon talking pleasantly of those happy days of long ago. Glorious past, gone like a golden dream to return no more! The very memory of such pleasure produces pain, because it is forever gone. Great changes had come since last they met. His father was living then, a handsome, strong man, noted for his kindness of heart. Many friends, who now existed only in pleasant remembrance, then lived, breathed and moved upon the earth. Then he loved Adelpha, and she loved him, and he half hoped that this meeting in mature life would reproduce the pleasant sensations of childhood; but there is a love which is not the love of the thoughtless and the young--a love which sees not with the eyes and hears not with the ears, but in which soul is enamoured of soul. The cave-nursed Plato dreamed of such a love. His followers sought to imitate it; but it is a love that is not for the multitude to echo. It is a love which only high and noble natures can conceive, and it has nothing in common with the sympathies and ties of coarse affections. Wrinkles do not revolt it. Homeliness of features do not deter it. It demands youth only in the freshness of emotions. It requires only the beauty of thought and spirit. Such a love steals on when one least suspects and takes possession of the soul. Such a love cannot be uprooted by admiration or fancy. Charles Stevens found Adelpha grown so beautiful, so witty and accomplished, that he was awed in her presence at first; but her freedom of manner removed all restraint, and in an hour they seemed transported back to childhood's happy hours. Next day they wandered as they had done in earlier years by purling streams and mossy banks, under cool shadows of friendly trees. Every old playground and hallowed spot was visited once more, and they lived over those joyous scenes of childhood. "I sometimes wish that childhood would last forever," said Charles. "Childhood brings its joys, but its sorrows as well," Adelpha answered, as she sat on the mossy bank at his side, her bright eyes on his face. "One would grow weary of never advancing. Don't you remember how, in your boyhood, you looked forward with pleasure to the time when you would be a man?" "I do." "And how you planned for a glorious future?" "I remember it all." "To doom you to perpetual childhood, to constantly have those hopes of being a man blasted would eventually bring you to endless misery. No, Charles, childhood, to be happy and joyous, must be brief. The youth with ambition longs to enter man's estate. He sees life only in its rosiest hues, and his hopes and anticipations form half his happiness." "Your words, Adelpha, teach me how foolish and idle was my remark. Let us change the subject to something more practical. Will your father, as governor of New York, be disturbed?" Her face grew sad. "I have great fears." "For what?" "Father and Jacob Milborne may be declared usurpers." "But it was on the accession of William and Mary to the throne of England that your father became governor." "True. It was not until Andros had been seized in Boston, imprisoned and sent to England, that my father suggested the seizure of Fort James. He was made commander and afterward governor, and so holds his office to this day. I don't know how William and Mary, our dread sovereigns, will be affected by this seizure of the government of New York." "It was in their interest." "It was so intended; but we have all learned not to put our trust in princes. It is quite dangerous to do so, and I sometimes fear that trouble will come of it." "Surely, Adelpha, one of your happy turn of mind would not borrow trouble. It will come quite soon enough without, and a philosopher would wait until it comes rather than seek it." "You are right, Charles; let us be young again, romp in the wood, chase butterflies and forget the dark clouds that may be hovering over us." She started to her feet and asked: "Charles, who is that lovely, but shy young girl, whom I see hurrying along the path?" He looked in the direction indicated by Adelpha's jewelled finger, and said: "She is Cora Waters." "And who is Cora Waters?" "A very sweet and amiable girl tarrying here for the present. Her father was a player, and he became involved in the rebellion in England." Charles did not care to tell all, for Cora was a disagreeable subject to discuss with Adelpha; but the companion of his childhood was not to be so easily put off. "Charles, she is very pretty. Why have you not told me of her before?" "I did not suppose you would be interested in her," the young man answered. "Not interested in her, with all the romance attached to her. A child reared in old England, of which I have heard so much, the daughter of a player, perchance an actress herself. Oh, Charles, I am very anxious to see her and talk with her." "Adelpha, do you forget that she is a player?" "Oh, no; we descendants of the Netherlands look on such things in a far different light from the fanatical Puritans of New England. I must know this Cora Waters." "You shall." As Charles strolled away from the spring with Adelpha, the face of Sarah Williams appeared from behind some bushes. Her jet black eyes flashed with fire, and her teeth gnashed until they threatened to crack between her angry jaws. "He hath another! Which of the two doth he love most? I will know, and then--woe betide her!" Sarah Williams was cunning and utterly unscrupulous. As she glared after Charles and Adelpha, her fertile brain was forming a desperate, wicked scheme. She watched them until they disappeared over the hill, and then, turning about, walked hurriedly to the parsonage. Adelpha, who was a merry, light-hearted girl, in love with all the world, insisted on forming the acquaintance of Cora, until Charles, to gratify her, granted her request, and the maids met. Cora was distant and conventional, while Adelpha was warm-hearted and genial. They came to like each other, despite the fact that each looked on the other as a rival. Cora had given up Charles Stevens, realizing that she was inferior and unworthy in every sense, and certainly not capable of competing with the daughter of the governor of New York. On the other hand, Adelpha saw a dangerous rival in this mysterious maid with eyes of blue and hair of gold; but Adelpha was honest and true, as were the old Knickerbockers who followed her. She realized the maid's power and, in her frank and open manner, loved her rival. Despite the fact that they were rivals, the girls became friends, and as Adelpha had learned more of Cora's trials, she gave her the full sympathy of her warm, loving heart. Sarah Williams, who watched them with no little interest, asked herself: "I know he loves both. Can a man wed two? No; he must choose between the two, so I will stand between." Charles, on account of his superior education, was regarded as an extraordinary personage. He was gloomy and sad of late, for Sarah Williams, with her keen woman's instinct, had probed his secret. He was troubled to know which maid he loved most. Cora, with her melancholy beauty, appealed to his strong emotions; but Adelpha, with her fine figure, her great, dark, lustrous eyes and charming manner, seemed equally attractive. If Cora were the stream that ran deepest, Adelpha was the one that sparkled brightest. At one moment he was ready to avow his love for one, and the next moment he was willing to swear eternal fealty to the other. Late one afternoon, he wandered with Cora at his side across the flowery meadow to a point of land presenting a grand and picturesque view of green fields, blue hills and the distant sea. They had come to watch the sunset, and Charles wished to be alone with Cora, that he might sound the depths of his heart and ask himself if he really loved her. Her father was to come in a few days and take her away to the far-off wilderness, so, if he spoke the promptings of his soul, he must do it now. Long they sat on the grassy knoll and watched the declining sun. "How long have you known Adelpha?" Cora asked. "We were children together." "Has she always lived in New York?" "Yes; but our grandparents knew each other. Matthew Stevens had a Dutch friend, Hans Van Brunt, whom he met in Holland. When Van Brunt emigrated to New Amsterdam and Matthew Stevens to New Plymouth they renewed their friendship. Their descendants have always kept up the friendship. Matthew Stevens was my grandfather, and Hans Van Brunt was Adelpha Leisler's great-grandfather. When quite a child, Adelpha's mother, the wife of a prosperous New York merchant, spent a year in Boston where I lived. It was then Adelpha and I first became acquainted." Cora's eyes were on the distant blue hills; but her thoughts seemed elsewhere. Charles would have given much to have known what was in her mind. Did she, in her heart, entertain hatred for Adelpha? Her remark a moment later convinced him to the contrary. "Adelpha is a lovely maid and as good as she is beautiful. Her lot is a happy one." There was no bitterness, no regret in the remark; yet her words were so sad, that they went to the heart of Charles. "Cora, there is such a difference in the lots of people, that sometimes I almost believe God is unjust." "Charles!" she cried, quite shocked. "Hear me out, before you condemn me, Cora. Here is Adelpha, who has known only sunshine and happiness, health and prosperity. She was born in a wealthy family, and has all the luxuries that riches can buy----" "She is good and deserves them," interrupted Cora. "God has rewarded her." "But, on the other hand, you are just as good; yet your life has been one of bitterness. Misery seems to steal some people at their birth; but sometimes there come changes in the lives of people. All may run smoothly for a while, then storms gather about the head of the child of fortune, while, on the other hand, to one who has fought and struggled through storms and adversity a peaceful harbor may open----" Cora suddenly said: "God forbid, Charles, that our lots should be reversed. I would not have Adelpha Leisler drain the cup of bitterness, as I have done; but we must change our subject, for, see there, Adelpha and Alice Corey are coming." He looked up and saw the two near at hand. Alice Corey was a bright-eyed girl of fourteen, a niece of Goody Nurse who had been accused of witchcraft. She was a girl of a light and happy disposition, and, as yet, cares sat lightly on her brow. "Watching the sunset, are you?" said Adelpha, breathless with rapid walking. "We have been," answered Charles. "Well, it is a pretty thing to see, and I wish he would always be setting," declared Alice Corey. "A child's wish," answered Adelpha. "What would become of your flowers?" "I am sure I don't know. I do so love that red tinge over there, just where it touches the gray." "It is somewhat like that queer sea-shell which Cora showed me yesterday," said Adelpha. "What splendid paints these mermaids must use, down in their deep sea-caves! It is a kind that does not rub off with wetting. The shells are their pink saucers." "What! Do they really paint?" cried the credulous Alice. Charles Stevens laughed softly and answered: "No, child. You must not believe such stories. I will tell you a prettier one if you'll listen." "Oh, I'll listen!" cried Alice, who, like all children, was ever ready to give ears to a story. Charles began: "Once upon a time, long before Adam and Eve lived, I believe it was, while the earth was young, there lived on it a fair, radiant maiden, sweeter than the breath of fresh-blown roses and more lustrous than the morning star. All the world was her own paradise, and she traversed it as she chose, finding everywhere trees bearing golden fruit, which never turned to ashes, flowers in perpetual bloom, fountains that bubbled and birds that sang in the linden groves, all for her. Nothing was forbidden her. No cares, no fears, or griefs marred her pleasures; for she had no law to consult but her own wishes. When she would eat, the trees bent down their boughs, and whispered, 'Choose my fruit.' When she would listen, the birds vied with each other in their melodies. When she would walk, the green sod was proud to bear her, and, when weary, the gentlest flower-laden zephyrs soothed her to rest. Thus she might have remained always happy; but one day she chanced to see herself in the water, and she thought how every thing else was double. Then she became conscious of a strange pain. Every thing now lost its charm. She sought a companion; but she could find none. Nothing was wanting but the thing she most desired--the sight of her own kin. At last, she instinctively felt that the burning gaze of a lover was bent upon her face, and, looking up, she saw only the sun in the sky, shining as though myriads needed his light. 'Alas!' she sighed, 'He is as lonely as I, and he shall be my lover;' but the sun was coy and timid. He gazed proudly at her from a great distance, and veiled himself behind a cloud when she would see him, that his brightness might not harm her; but he never came nigh. At last, when she was worn out with longing for a closer companionship, she set out to find her adored sun; and as she sighed, 'Shall I find him never?' some one from a grotto near by answered, 'Ever?' 'Who are you?' cried the maid. 'I am a bodiless spirit,' was the answer, 'the voice of one that is gone. I tell impossible things. I am the shadow of the past, the substance of events to come. Man is a mocker.' 'Can you tell me where to find my lover?' asked the maid. Echo told her not to look up for him, for he was too high above her, not to seek him in the east, for then he was hastening away; but to seek him in the west, where he laid himself and rested at night, for the night was made for lovers. Then she hastened joyously, till she came to the extreme west, to the very edge of the world." "How could she get to the edge, when it is round?" interrupted Alice. "Probably the world was not round at that time," explained Adelpha. Charles went on: "The maid summoned all the powers of nature and the air, and bade them build a palace. It was not like other palaces. There were no jewels there; but every thing was warm and crimson and ruddy. The gates were parallel bars of cloud, with the west wind for warden. Crystals of rain-drops paved the court-yard. The architecture was floating mists and delicate vapors, filled with a silent music, that waited only for the warm touch of the player to melt it into soul-subduing harmonies; and along the galleries ran a netted fringe of those tender whispers, which only the favored may hear. So she built her palace and filled it with all things such as she thought the sun would like, not forgetting an abundance of fire to warm him, lest even her love would prove insufficient for one of so fiery a nature. Then she dismissed her attendants and sat down alone to wait his coming. The day seemed long and drear and weary; but she had seen him watching her, and he was coming at last. Down the slope he glided, holding his fiery steeds in check. There was joy for the desolate one, for her lover was coming; but the pitiless sun descended and swept by, scorning the open gates, and her siren voice, that would have wooed him thither. The next day passed, and the next, and the next, and she was still disappointed; but she could not believe that all her labor had been in vain, and still she nursed her sickly, dying hope. Though that sun has set thousands of times since then, she hopes for their union still. In the day time the palace is dark like the clouds; but, as evening approaches, she lights it up for his coming. Then we see those glorious tints of crimson and gold and purple and dun, dimming till they mingle with the white clouds above, and, were we near enough, we might possibly hear the tones of the reviving music, as it melts; but as the sun goes fairly down, the music hushes, the beautiful tints fade and die, the palace becomes a dark spot again, and the poor little watcher within sighs forth her disappointment and composes herself to wait for another sunset." "I don't believe your story, Charles Stevens," said Alice, at the conclusion, "and I don't see what good it does, anyhow, to make up such a one as that." "The moral in it is man's faithlessness and woman's constancy," put in Cora Waters, who had, for a long time, been silent. Adelpha, who had watched the sun sink beneath the distant blue hills, as she listened to Charles, now chanced to glance over her shoulder at the sea behind, with the moon just rising above the watery horizon, and with a merry peal of laughter she added: "Charles, your heroine is more dull than modern maids, or, when the sun jilted her, she would have wooed the moon." Alice, rising, said, "It is growing dark. Let us go home." "Alice, are you afraid of the witches, which seem to disturb Mr. Parris and Cotton Mather?" asked Adelpha. "There are no witches," Alice Corey answered with a shudder. "Father and mother both deny that there are any witches, and it is wrong to cry out against my aunt, Goody Nurse." "I dare say it is. The evening grows chill. Let us go home." As the four wended their way across the fields and meadows, Charles Stevens, who walked between Cora and Adelpha, cast alternately furtive glances at each, sorely troubled to decide which he liked best. "Both are beautiful," he thought. "Ere long I must wed, and which of the twain shall it be? Both are beautiful, and both are good; but, unfortunately, they are two, and I am one." The child, who had lingered behind to pluck a wild flower, at this moment came running after them, calling: "Wait! wait! I implore you, wait for me!" "What have you seen, Alice?" "A black woman." The girls were almost ready to faint; but Charles, who was above superstition, bade them be calm and hurried through the deepening shades of twilight to the trees on the hill where the woman had been seen. He came in sight of the figure of a woman clothed in black, sitting at the root of an oak. "Who are you?" he asked, advancing toward her. "Charles Stevens!" she gasped, raising her head. "Sarah Williams, what are you doing here?" "Prythee, what are you doing?" she asked. "This is unaccountable." She rose and, turning her white face to him, said: "Charles Stevens, which of the twain do you love best?" and she pointed to Cora and Adelpha. He made no answer. "Which of the twain is it?" she repeated. "Aye, Charles Stevens, you shall never wed either. Do you hear?" [Illustration: "Which of the twain shall it be?"] "Woman, what mean you?" "You cannot decide which you love most. Wed neither, Charles. Wed me!" "You!" he cried, in astonishment. "Yes, why not?" "You already have a husband." "No; he is dead, he was lost at sea. I am still young and fair, and wherefore not choose me?" Charles Stevens burst into a laugh, half merriment and half disgust, and turned from the bold, scheming woman. She followed him for a few paces, saying in tones low but deep: "Verily, Charles Stevens, you scorn me; but I will yet make you repent that you ever treated my love with contempt. You shall rue this day." He hurried away from the annoyance, treating her threats lightly, and little dreaming that they would be fulfilled. Winter came and passed, and Adelpha Leisler still lingered at Salem. Rumors of trouble came to her ears from home; but the light-hearted girl gave them little thought. One morning in May, 1691, Charles met her coming to seek him. Her face was deathly white, and her frame trembling. "What has happened, Adelpha?" "There is trouble at home, Charles," she cried. "Father and Milborne have been arrested and imprisoned and I fear it will fare hard with them. I want to set out for New York at once. Will you accompany me?" "I will." They found his mother and Cora and told them all. He implored Cora to remain with his mother, until he returned, which she consented to do. CHAPTER XII. LEISLER'S FATE. The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, And all that beauty, and all that wealth e'er gave, Await alike the inevitable hour:---- The paths of glory lead but to the grave. --Gray. In order to explain the sudden danger which menaced the father of Adelpha Leisler, and which she, like a true, heroic daughter, hastened to brave, we will be compelled to narrate some events in our story of a historical nature. Jacob Leisler was an influential colonist of an old Dutch family, as has been stated, and a Presbyterian. Under the reign of James II. the Presbyterians had suffered, and no one rejoiced more at the accession of William and Mary than did the Dutch of New York. Sir Edmond Andros, the weak tool of the Duke of York, had rendered himself decidedly unpopular as governor of New York, Connecticut and Massachusetts. Every one rejoiced when he was finally arrested at Boston and sent to England, and no one rejoiced more than the New Yorkers themselves. The accession of William and Mary to the throne of England was hailed with joy throughout the American Colonies. In New York, a general disaffection to the government prevailed among the people. Under the smiles of Governor Andros, papists began to settle in the colony. The collector of the revenues and several principal officers of King James threw off the mask and openly avowed their attachment to the doctrines of Rome. A Latin school was set up, and the teacher was strongly suspected of being a Jesuit. The people of Long Island were disappointed in their expectations of the favors promised by the governor on his arrival, and became his personal enemies, and in a word the whole body of the people had begun to tremble for the Protestant cause. Here the leaven of opposition first began to work. Intelligence from England of the designs there in favor of Orange elevated the hopes of the disaffected; but until after the rupture in Boston, no man dared to act. Sir Edmond Andros, who was perfectly devoted to the arbitrary measures of King James, by his tyranny in New England had drawn upon himself the universal odium of a people animated with a love of liberty, and in the defense of it resolute and courageous. Therefore, when unable longer to endure his despotic rule, he was seized, imprisoned and afterward sent to England as has been stated. The government was, in the meantime, vested in a committee of safety, of which Mr. Bradstreet was chosen president. Already, information of the popular uprising in England for the Prince of Orange had reached New York and was stirring the blood of the progenitors of the old Knickerbockers, who longed to have their own beloved prince with them. On receiving news of the arrest of the detested Andros, several captains of the New York militia convened themselves to concert measures in favor of the Prince of Orange. Among them was Jacob Leisler, Adelpha's father, who was most active of all. He was a man of wealth and considerable esteem among the people, but destitute of the qualifications essential to such an enterprise. His son-in-law, Milborne, a shrewd Englishman, directed all his councils, while Leisler as absolutely influenced the other officers. The first thing they contrived was to seize the garrison of New York; and the custom, at that time, of guarding it every night by militia gave Leisler a fine opportunity of executing the design. He entered it with forty-nine men and determined to hold it till the whole militia should join him. Colonel Dougan, who was about to leave the province, then lay embarked in the bay, having a little before resigned the government to Francis Nicholson, the lieutenant-governor. The council, civil officers and magistrates of the city were against Leisler, and therefore many of his friends were at first fearful of espousing a cause opposed by so many noted gentlemen. For this reason, Leisler's first declaration in favor of the Prince of Orange was subscribed by only a few among several companies of the train-bands. While the people, for four successive days, were in the utmost perplexity to determine what party to choose, being solicited by Leisler on the one hand and threatened by the lieutenant-governor on the other, the town was alarmed with a report that three ships were coming up with orders from the Prince of Orange. This report, though false, served to further the interests of Leisler; for on that day, June 3d, 1689, his party was augmented by the addition of six captains and four hundred men in New York and a company of seventy men from East Chester, who all subscribed a second declaration, mutually covenanting to hold the fort for that prince. Until this time, Colonel Dougan continued in the harbor, waiting the issues of these commotions, and Nicholson's party, being unable longer to contend with their opponents, were totally dispersed, the lieutenant-governor himself absconding on the very night after the declaration was signed. Leisler, being in complete possession of the fort, sent home an address to King William and Queen Mary, as soon as he received the news of their accession to the throne. The address was a tedious, incorrect, ill-drawn narrative of the grievances which the people had endured and the methods lately taken to secure themselves, ending with a recognition of the king and queen over the whole English dominion. This address was soon followed by a private letter from Leisler to King William, which, in very broken English, informed his majesty of the state of the garrison, the repairs he had made to it, and the temper of the people, and concluded with a strong protestation of his sincerity, loyalty and zeal. Jost Stoll, an ensign, on delivering this letter, had the honor to kiss his majesty's hand; but Nicholson, the lieutenant-governor, and one Ennis, an Episcopal clergyman, arrived in England before him, and by falsely representing the late measures in New York, as proceeding rather from their aversion to the Church of England than zeal for the Prince of Orange, Leisler and his party were deprived of the rewards and notice which their activity for the revolution justly warranted. Though the king made Stoll the bearer of his thanks to the people for their fidelity, he so little regarded Leisler's complaints against Nicholson, that the latter was soon after made the governor of Virginia, while Dougan returned to Ireland and became Earl of Limerick. Leisler's sudden rise to supreme power over the province, with fair prospects of King William's approbation of his conduct, could but excite the envy and jealousy of the late council and magistrates, who had refused to join in aiding the revolution; and hence the cause of all their aversion both to the man and his measures. Colonel Bayard and Courtland, the mayor of the city, headed the opposition to Leisler, and, finding it impossible to raise a party against him in the city, they very early retired to Albany, and there endeavored to foment the opposition. Leisler, fearful of their influence, and to extinguish the jealousy of the people, thought it prudent to admit several trusty persons to a participation in that power which the militia, on the first of July, had committed solely to himself. In conjunction with these, who, after the Boston example, were called the committee of safety, he exercised the government, assuming to himself only the honor of being president of their councils. This mode of government continued till the month of December, when a packet arrived with a letter from the Lords Carmarthen, Halifax and others, directed to "Francis Nicholson, esq., or, in his absence, to such as, for the time being, take care for preserving the peace and administering the laws, in their majesty's province of New York, in America." This letter was dated the 29th of July and was accompanied by another from Lord Nottingham, dated next day, which empowered Nicholson to take upon him the chief command, and to appoint for his assistance as many of the principal freeholders and inhabitants, as he should deem necessary, also requiring him "to do every thing appertaining to the office of lieutenant-governor, according to the laws and customs of New York, until further orders." As Nicholson had absconded before the letter reached New York, Leisler considered the letter as directed to himself, and from this time issued all kinds of commissions in his own name, assuming the title and authority of lieutenant-governor. It was while he was thus acting as governor that his daughter made a visit to Salem as was stated in the preceding chapter. On the 11th of December, he summoned the committee of safety and, agreeably to their advice, swore in the following persons for his council. "Peter De Lanoy, Samuel Stoats, Hendrick Jansen and Johannes Vermilie, for New York; Gerardus Beekman, for King's County; Thomas Williams for West Chester, and William Lawrence, for Orange County." Except the eastern inhabitants of Long Island, all the southern part of the colony cheerfully acquiesced to Leisler's command. The principal freeholders, however, by respectful letters, gave him hopes of their submission, and thereby prevented his taking up arms against them, while they were privately soliciting the colony of Connecticut to take them under its jurisdiction. It was not so much an aversion to Leisler's authority, as a desire to unite with a people from whom they had originally sprung, which prompted the Long Islanders to desire a union with Connecticut, and when Connecticut declined their offer of annexation, they appeared to openly advocate Leisler's cause. At Albany, the people were determined to hold the garrison and city for King William, independent of Leisler, and on the 26th of October, before the arrival of the packet from Lord Nottingham, they formed themselves into a convention to resist what they called the usurpation of Leisler. As Leisler's attempt to reduce this country to his command was the original cause of divisions in the province, and in the end brought about the ruin of himself and his son-in-law, it may not be out of place here to give the resolution of the convention at large, a copy of which was sent down to the usurping governor. "Peter Schuyler, mayor, Dirk Wessels, recorder, Jan Wendal, Jan Jansen Bleeker, Claes Ripse, David Schuyler, Albert Ryckman, aldermen, Killian Van Rensselaer, justice, Captain Marte Gerritse, justice, Captain Gerrit Teunisse, Dirk Teunisse, justices, Lieutenant Robert Saunders, John Cuyler, Gerrit Ryerse, Evert Banker, Rynier Barentse. "Resolved: since we are informed by persons coming from New York, that Captain Jacob Leisler is designed to send up a company of armed men, upon pretence to assist us in this country, who intend to make themselves master of their majesties' fort and this city, and carry divers persons and chief officers of this city prisoners to New York, and so disquiet and disturb their majesties' liege people; that a letter be written to Alderman Levinus Van Schaic, now at New York, and Lieutenant Jochim Staets, to make narrow inquiry of the business, and to signify to the said Leisler, that we have received such information; and withal acquaint him, that, notwithstanding we have the assistance of ninety-five men from our neighbors of New England, who are now gone for, and one hundred men upon occasion, to command, from the county of Ulster, which we think will be sufficient this winter, yet we will willingly accept any such assistance as they shall be pleased to send for the defence of their majesties' county of Albany; provided they be obedient to, and obey such orders and commands as they shall, from time to time, receive from the convention; and that by no means they will be admitted to have the command of their majesties' fort or this city; which we intend, by God's assistance, to keep and preserve for the behoof of their majesties, William and Mary, King and Queen of England, as we hitherto have done since their proclamation; and if you hear that they persevere with such intentions, so to disturb the inhabitants of this county, that you then, in the name and behalf of the convention and inhabitants of the city and county of Albany, protest against the said Leisler, and all such persons that shall make attempt for all losses, damages, bloodshed, or whatsoever mischiefs may insue thereon; which you are to communicate with all speed, as you perceive their design." Taking it for granted that Leisler at New York and the convention at Albany were equally affected by the revolution, nothing could be more egregiously foolish than the conduct of both parties, who, by their intestine divisions, threw the province into convulsions, sowing the seeds of mutual hatred and animosity, which, for a long time after, greatly embarrassed the public affairs of the colony. When Albany declared for the Prince of Orange, there was nothing else that Leisler could properly require; and, rather than sacrifice the public peace of the province to the trifling honor of resisting a man who had no civil designs, Albany ought to have delivered the garrison into his hands, until the king's orders were received; but while Leisler was intoxicated with his new-gotten power, Bayard, Courtland and Schuyler, on the other hand could not brook a submission to the authority of a man, mean in his abilities and inferior in his degree. Animated by these feelings both sides prepared for hostilities. Mr. Livingston, a principal agent for the convention, retired into Connecticut to solicit aid for the protection of the frontier against the French. Leisler, suspecting that these forces were to be used against him, endeavored to have Livingston arrested as an aider and abettor of the French and the deposed King James. The son-in-law of Leisler, Jacob Milborne, was commissioned for the reduction of Albany. Upon his arrival before the city, a great number of the inhabitants armed themselves and repaired to the fort, then commanded by Mr. Schuyler, while many others followed the members of the convention to a conference with him at the city hall. In order to win the crowd over to his side, Milborne declaimed much against King James, popery and arbitrary power; but his oratory was lost upon the hearers, who, after several meetings, still adhered to the convention. Milborne drew up a few of his men in line of battle and advanced to within a few paces of the fort with bayonets fixed. Mr. Schuyler had the utmost difficulty to prevent both his own men and the Mohawks, who were then in Albany, and perfectly devoted to his service, from firing upon Milborne's party, which consisted of an inconsiderable number. Under these circumstances, he thought proper to retreat, and soon after departed from Albany. A second expedition in the Spring proved more successful, for he gained possession of the city and fort. No sooner was he in possession of the garrison, than most of the principal members absconded, upon which, their effects were arbitrarily seized and confiscated, which so highly exasperated the sufferers, that their posterity, for a long time, hurled their bitterest invectives against Leisler and his adherents. It was during these intestine troubles and the threatened Indian wars, that Governor Leisler's daughter was in Salem out of the way of danger. The New Englanders were keeping up a petty warfare with the Owenagungas, Ourages and Penocooks. Between these and the Schakook Indians, there was a friendly communication, and the same was suspected of the Mohawks, among whom some of the Owenagungas had taken sanctuary. This led to conferences between commissioners from Boston, Plymouth, Connecticut and other places, for it was essential to the peace of the English colonists to preserve peace and general amnesty with the powerful Five Nations, and hold them as allies against the hostile French in Canada and the Indians of the east. Colonel Henry Sloughter had been commissioned governor of New York, January 4, 1689; but he did not arrive to take possession until 1691, over two years after his commission, when the vessel bearing the new governor, _The Beaver_, arrived in the harbor. Fair historians have acquitted Mr. Leisler of any blame in what others have been pleased to call his usurpation. He was a man not wholly without ambition, yet he was honest and did what he thought right. He had much of the stubbornness as well as honesty of the Netherlands in his composition, and believing himself in the right, determined to persist in it. Jacob Milborne, his English son-in-law, was the more ambitious of the two, and had guided and directed the affair. Leisler was sitting in his house when informed by Milborne that a vessel called _The Beaver_ had arrived, bearing Colonel Sloughter, who purported to have a governor's commission. "Then we will greet him as our governor," said the honest Leisler. "Wait until you know he is not an impostor, and that this is not a trick to seize our fort," cautioned Milborne. Then Leisler, reconsidering the matter, decided to wait. _The Beaver_ brought with it one Ingoldsby, who had a commission as captain. When Ingoldsby appeared, Leisler offered him quarters in the city: "Possession of his majesty's fort is what I demand," Ingoldsby replied, and he issued a proclamation requiring submission. The aristocratic party, which had long been chafing under the rule of the republican uprising under Leisler, thus obtained as a leader one who held a commission from the new sovereign. Leisler, conforming to the original agreement made with his fellow-insurgents, replied that Ingoldsby had produced no order from the king, or from Sloughter, who, it was known had received a commission as governor, and, promising him aid as a military officer, refused to surrender the fort. The troops as they landed were received with all courtesy and accommodation; yet passions ran high, and a shot was fired at them. The outrage was severely reproved by Leisler, who, on March 10th, the day of the landing of the troops issued proclamations and counter proclamations, promising obedience to Sloughter on his arrival. It was on the evening of March 19th, that this profligate, needy, and narrow-minded adventurer, who held the royal commission, arrived in New York, and Leisler at once sent messengers to receive his orders. Leisler's messengers were detained, and next morning he sent the new governor a letter asking him to whom he should surrender the fort. His letter was unheeded, and Sloughter, who had already come to hate the republican Leisler, ordered Ingoldsby to arrest him and all the persons called his council. The prisoners, eight in number, were promptly arraigned before a special court, constituted for the purpose by an ordinance, with inveterate royalists as judges. Six of the inferior insurgents, who made their defence, were convicted of high treason and reprieved. Leisler and Milborne denied to the governor the power to institute a tribunal for judging his predecessor, and appealed to the king. In vain they plead the merit of their zeal for King William, since they had so lately opposed his governor. Leisler in particular attempted to justify his conduct from the standpoint that Lord Nottingham's letter entitled him to act in the capacity of lieutenant-governor; but through ignorance, or sycophancy, the judges, instead of delivering their own opinion on this branch of the prisoner's defence, referred it to the governor and council, praying their opinion, whether that letter, "or any other letters, or papers, in the packet from Whitehall, can be understood, or interpreted, to be and contain any power or direction to Captain Leisler, to take the government of this province upon himself, or that the administration thereupon be holden good in law." Of course the decision was against Leisler, and they were arraigned at the bar of justice for the crime of high treason. On their refusal to plead, they were condemned of high treason as mutes, and sentenced to death. Joseph Dudley of New England, but at this time chief justice of New York, gave it as his opinion that Leisler had no legal authority whatever, while Sloughter wrote: "Certainly, never greater villains lived; but I have resolved to wait for the royal pleasure, if, by any other means than hanging, I can keep the country quiet." Jacob Leisler was tried and condemned early in May, 1691, while Charles Stevens and Adelpha were hastening to New York. Charles, who had heard something of the offence of Governor Leisler, and who, young as he was, had come to realize that royalty yielded nothing to the republican ideas, began to fear the worst. The acts of Leisler had the semblance of popular government, and even the liberal William and Mary had their dread of the people. Charles knew Sloughter by reputation as a narrow-minded, bigoted knave, who would scruple at nothing which tended to elevate him in the eyes of the aristocratic party, of which he was a conspicuous devotee. Charles could offer but little consolation, and, as he contemplated Adelpha's sad future, he asked himself: "Has the wheel of fortune changed its revolutions, and is the sun which has ever shone bright for Adelpha to be clouded? God forbid!" Charles Stevens and Adelpha reached New York on the very day the assembly was convened (May 14th, 1691) to determine the fate of Leisler and Milborne. It was evening, and when they entered the town and the once beautiful home now despoiled, was dark and sad. The weeping mother met her daughter at the door. The character of the assembly was thoroughly royalist. It passed several resolutions against Leisler, especially declaring his conduct at the fort an act of rebellion, and on the 15th of May, the second day of their session and the next after the arrival of Adelpha, Sloughter, in a moment of excitement, assented to the vote of the council, that Leisler and Milborne should be executed. "The house, according to their opinion given, did approve of what his excellency and council had done." [Illustration: Eight men, bearing litters, were at the door. All were dripping with water.] The families of the doomed were notified that on the next day, the 16th of May, 1691, Leisler and Milborne would be hung. The morning of the 16th dawned gloomy and dark. The rain poured in torrents; but Mrs. Alice Leisler and her family, accompanied by Charles, went to bid the doomed men adieu at the jail. Then Charles hurried the weeping women and children home. Great thunder-bolts seemed to rend Manhattan Island. The lightning spread a lurid glare on the sky, and the rain fell in torrents. All of the household knew what was being done, and, falling on their knees, they prayed God for strength. Two hours wore on, and then there came a rap at the door. Charles went and opened it. Eight men, bearing litters, on which were stretched two lifeless forms, were at the door. All were dripping with water. "Come in!" said Charles, and he sprang to seize Adelpha, who had fallen to the floor in a convulsion. CHAPTER XIII. CREDULITY RUN MAD. The weird sisters, hand in hand, Posters of the sea and land, Thus do go about, about; Thrice to thine, and thrice to mine, And thrice again, to make up nine. --Shakespeare. Charles Stevens was detained in New York until early in 1692. First he became involved in trouble through his sympathy with the unfortunate Leisler family and was thrown into prison; but a few days later he was released on bond. Then he lingered awaiting his trial; but the case was finally dismissed, and then he joined an expedition against the Indians on the frontier. He wrote home regularly and never failed to mention Cora in his letter. All the while, Charles was at a loss to decide whether it was Cora or Adelpha who had won his affections. Adelpha's great misfortune and grief only seemed to endear her to him, for the noblest hearts grow more tender with sorrow. Early in 1692, he returned to Salem after an absence of ten months. Great changes were soon to come about. Salem was about to enter upon that career of madness known in history as Salem Witchcraft. There are few portions of ancient or modern history which exhibit stranger or more tragical and affecting scenes than that known as Salem Witchcraft, and few matters of authentic history remain so deeply shrouded in mystery at the present day. The delusion has never been satisfactorily explained, and time seems to obscure rather than throw light upon the subject. At this period, the belief in witchcraft was general throughout Christendom, as is evinced by the existence of laws for the punishment of witches and sorcerers in almost every kingdom, state, province and colony. Persons suspected of being witches, or wizards, were tried, condemned and put to death by the authority of the most enlightened tribunals in Europe. Only a few years before the occurrences in New England, Sir Matthew Hale, a judge highly and justly renowned for the strength of his understanding, the variety of his knowledge and the eminent Christian graces which adorned his character, had, after a long and anxious investigation, adjudged a number of men and women to die for this offence. Only a few rare minds, such as Charles Stevens, living far in advance of the age, were skeptical on the subject of witchcraft. These bold spirits placed themselves in great danger of being "cried out upon" as witches themselves. This delusion had its fountain-head in Salem; but it was by no means confined to this locality. It spread all over the American colonies and, like most superstitions, hovered along the frontier, where it was fostered in the shadow of ignorance and grew in the dark halls of superstition. The author will not deny that there are many, to this day, who attribute what they do not in the light of reason understand, to supernatural agencies. In Virginia, in Ohio, Kentucky, Illinois and Missouri there existed, in their early days, strange stories of witchcraft. If the butter did not form from the milk, some witch was in the churn. If the cattle died of an epidemic, or a disease unknown to the poor science of the day, it was the result of witchcraft. If a child or grown person was afflicted with some strange disease, such as epilepsy, the "jerks," "St. Vitus' dance," "rickets" or other strange nervous complaints, which they could not understand, they at once attributed it to witchcraft. There sprang up a class of people called "witch-doctors" who, it was claimed, had power to dispel the charm and bring the witch to grief. The only way a witch could relieve herself and reestablish her power was to go to the house of the person bewitched and borrow something. As, in those early days, all articles of domestic use were scarce, and neighbors depended on borrowing, many an old lady was amazed to find herself refused, and was wholly unable to account for the sudden coolness of persons, whom she had always loved. Mr. Parris, the fanatic, fraud and schemer, perhaps did more to augment witchcraft, than any other person in the colonies. Parris was ambitious. The circle of young girls, as the reader will remember, first held their séances at his home. Their young nervous systems were so wrought upon, that, at their age in life, they were thrown into spasms resembling epileptic fits. Instead of treating their disease scientifically, as such cases would be treated at present, the parson foolishly declared that they were bewitched. Those children could not have been wholly impostors. They were deceived by the preachers and the zealous, bloodthirsty bigots into actually believing some of the statements they uttered. Their nerves were shattered, their imaginations wrought upon, until they took almost any shape capricious fancy or the evil-minded Parris would dictate. When Charles Stevens arrived in Salem, instead of finding the dread superstition a thing of the past, to be forgotten or remembered only with a sense of shuddering shame, he found that the flame had been fanned to a conflagration. Mr. Parris and Mr. Noyes contrived to preach from their pulpits sermons on protean devils and monsters of the air, until the more credulous of their congregations were almost driven to insanity. One evening, as Parris was passing the home of Goody Vance, she met him at the door, and, with a face blanched with fear and annoyance, said: "Mr. Parris, I am grievously annoyed with a witch in my churn." "What does she do?" he asked. "She prevents the butter from forming, and I have churned until my arms seem as if they would drop off." The parson's face grew grave, and, going to a certain tree, he broke some switches from it and entered the house. "Take the milk from the churn," he said. "Pour it into a skillet and place the skillet on the coals before the fire." This was done, and the astounded housewife, with her numerous children, stood gazing at the pastor, who, with his white, cadaverous face, thin lips and hooked nose, looked as if he might have power over the spirits of darkness. He drew a chair up before the fire and, seating himself, began whipping the milk, saying: "I do this in the name of the Lord," which he repeated with every stroke. [Illustration: At every stroke he repeated, "I do this in the name of the Lord."] Goody Nurse, who was on the best of terms with Goody Vance, had unfortunately broken the spindle of her wheel and, knowing that her neighbor had an extra one, came to borrow it. She was astonished to see their pastor seated before a skillet of milk whipping it with switches. No sooner was her errand made known, than Parris, leaping to his feet, cried: "No! no! lend her nothing, or you will break the spell! Avaunt, vile witch, or I will scourge you until your shoulders are bare and bleeding." Goody Nurse, astonished and terrified, retired, and next Lord's day the incident formed a theme for Mr. Parris' sermon. This was the first sermon Charles had heard since his return. "Mother, I will go no more to hear Mr. Parris," Charles declared, on reaching home. "You must, my son. The laws of the colony compel the attendance on divine worship." "Such laws should be repealed as foolish. Compel one to go to church, to listen to such nonsense!" and Charles hurried away in disgust. Cora had been watching him during his conversation with his mother. He had scarcely been able to speak with her at all since his return. Charles turned toward her as he ceased speaking, and Cora, seeming to dread meeting his eyes, was about to disappear into her room, when he called her: "Cora, don't go away. I must talk with you." "What would you say?" she asked, her heart fluttering in her bosom like a captive bird. "There is much. Let us go down to the brook and sit on the green banks as we used to do." She trembled, hesitated a moment and acquiesced. They went slowly down the path, neither saying a word until the brook was reached. When they were seated on the bank, Charles asked: "Cora, are you still persecuted by Mr. Parris? Does he continue to denounce you?" "He does." "That is an evidence that he is a man of low qualities. And he still assails Goody Nurse?" "Yes, sir. Goody Nurse, Goody Corey, Bishop and Casty have all been cried out upon, and it is not known when they will stop." "This craze has assumed dangerous proportions, Cora." "It has. They are going to law," she answered. "Some are already in jail." "I have heard of it, and, with prejudiced judges and juries and false witnesses, life will be in great peril." "I know it." Then Charles was silent for a moment, listening to the song of a bird in its leafy bower. When the feathered songster had warbled forth his lay and flown to a distant tree on which to try its notes, Charles asked: "Have you seen your father recently?" "He was here two months ago." "Did he want to take you away with him?" "He did; but I could not go. I promised to remain until your return." "Cora, may it not be dangerous so far on the frontier?" "There is danger; but he has secured me a home with the family of Mr. Dustin, where he thinks I will be safe." "Is your father's brother with him?" "He is." "Did they come here together?" "Yes; they are inseparable." "Cora, don't you think there is some mystery about those brothers, which you do not understand?" "I know there is." "Were they both players?" "I believe they once were." "Have you told your father of the persecutions of Mr. Parris?" "Not all." "Why not?" "It would have done no good, and would have caused him unnecessary annoyance," she answered meekly. "Just like you, Cora, always afraid of making some one trouble." Her eyes were on the brooklet and filled with tears, as she remembered how happy Adelpha Leisler had been when at Salem, and how heavily the hand of affliction had fallen upon her. "Charles, were you with her when it happened?" she asked. "I was." "Did you comfort her?" "Such poor words of comfort as one can offer on such occasions, I gave her," he answered. "It was so sad, and she is so good, so kind and so noble. Did she bear up well under her great afflictions?" "As well as one could." "Alas, the fires of affliction are to try the faithful. God gave her strength to bear up under her trials and sufferings." "Her troubles are over, Cora, and ours are but just begun." "What do you mean?" "This cloud of superstition which is settling about us may engulf us in ruin." She made no answer. Cora was very pretty as she sat on the embankment, her eyes upon the crystal stream, gliding onward like a gushing, gleesome child, and he could not but declare her the most beautiful being he had ever seen. Charles Stevens was no coquette. He was not trifling with the heart or happiness of either Cora or Adelpha, and he had never yet spoken a word of love to either. Both had won his sympathy, his esteem and admiration; but, until he had satisfied himself which had in reality won his heart, he would make no avowal to either. Seeing that what he said was calculated to throw a shade of gloom over her, he changed the subject by saying: "Let us not anticipate evil, Cora. Wait until it is upon us." "Spoken like a philosopher," she answered; "but, Charles, if you see evil in the future, why not all go away?" "Where should we go?" "Far to the north and east. My father has found a home in the heart of a great, dense forest. There man is as free as the birds of the air, and nothing can fetter thought or will. No bigoted pastor can say, 'You shall worship God in this fashion;' but all are permitted to worship God as they choose. There are only the friendly skies, the grand old forest and God to judge human actions, instead of narrow-minded people, with false notions of religion." "I could not go, Cora." "Why not?" "This is my home. I know no other. Over in yonder church-yard, sleeps my sainted father. He won this pleasant home from the stern, unyielding wilderness, and I will not be driven from it by a set of false fanatics, who accuse, or may accuse us of impossible crimes." "Charles, if my father builds us a home in the great wilderness, won't you and your mother come and visit with us, until this storm cloud has blown away? I do not ask you to give up your home. I do not ask you to shrink from the defence of it; but a short sojourn abroad cannot be thought to be an abandonment. You should accept our hospitality to afford us an opportunity to repay the debt of gratitude we owe, as well as to secure your mother from an annoyance, which is growing painful." Her argument was very strong and had its weight with Charles. "When do you expect your father?" he asked. "Any time, or no time. He knows not himself when he may come. Poor father; he hath labored arduously to subdue the forest and build us a home. We had nothing,--we were slaves." "But slaves no longer, Cora." "Why not? Our term has not expired." "King William has pardoned all the participators in Monmouth's rebellion." For a moment, she was overwhelmed with joy and, clapping her hands, gazed toward heaven, murmuring: "Oh my God, I thank thee!" but, anon, the reaction came. The pardon for participation in Monmouth's rebellion was granted; but the subsequent crime--the flight from the master and the slaying of the overseer--could not be cured by the king's pardon to the Monmouth rebels. With a gasping sob, she said: "But that other--that awful thing?" "What, Cora?" "The flight, the pursuit and the death of the overseer. Oh, Charles, we can never be safe, while that hangs over us." Charles Stevens gazed upon the pretty face bathed in tears, beheld the agony which seemed to overwhelm her, and his soul went out toward the poor maid. He had little consolation to offer; but his fertile brain was not wholly barren of resources. "Cora, don't give way to despair," he said. "What your father did was right and justifiable, though technically the law may take a different view. I have a relative living in Virginia, wealthy and influential. I shall write to him to procure a pardon for your father." "I know him. The good man, Robert Stevens, who so kindly gave us a home and aided us to escape. He will do all he can for us." "He is rich and powerful, and I believe he can ultimately procure a pardon for Mr. Waters." Having consoled her, they rose and returned to the house. That same evening, Charles Stevens met John Bly near the house of his mother. "How have you been, John?" Charles asked. "This is the first time I have seen you since my return." "I am as well as one can be who has been ridden twenty leagues," Bly answered. "Ridden twenty leagues?" cried Charles Stevens in amazement. "Pray what do you mean?" "I was turned into a horse last night and ridden twenty leagues during the darkness, and I am sore and almost exhausted now." Charles laughed and passed on. "I verily believe that all are going mad," he thought. As he went away, he heard Bly say: "Verily, if you doubt that this one Martin is a witch, fall but once in her power, and you will give ear to what I have said of her." Next day he met John Kembal, a woodman. Kembal had his axe on his shoulder, and his face was very pale. "Charles, why did you not tarry in the west?" he asked. "Why came you back to this land most accursed of devils." "John Kembal, have you, too, gone mad over this delusion of witchcraft?" asked Charles. "Charles, verily, you have forgotten that the Scriptures say that he that hath eyes let him see, and he that hath ears let him hear. Thank God, I have both eyes and ears, and I have seen and heard, though I would that I had not." "What have you seen, John Kembal?" Charles asked. "I will tell you without delay; but I can but pause to thank God with every breath that she can no longer do me injury, seeing she is in prison and chains." "Whom do you accuse?" "Susanna Martin." "What harm has she done you?" "Listen, and I will tell you all that I know myself. Susanna Martin, the accused, upon a causeless disgust, did threaten me, about a certain cow of mine, that she should never do me any more good, and it came to pass accordingly; for, soon after, the cow was found dead on the dry ground, without any distemper to be discerned upon her; upon which I was followed with a strange death upon more of my cattle, whereof I lost to the value of thirty pounds." "Perchance, some disease broke out among them," suggested Charles. "Nay, nay; do not forge that excuse for this creature of darkness. I have more to tell. Being desirous to furnish myself with a dog, I applied myself to buy one of this Martin, who had a female with whelps in her house; but she not letting me have my choice, I said I would supply myself at one Blezdel's, whereupon I noticed that she was greatly displeased. Having marked a puppy at Blezdel's, I met George Martin, the husband of Susanna Martin, who asked me: "'Will you not have one of my wife's puppies?' and I answered: "'No; I have got one at Blezdel's, which I like better.' "The same day one Edmond Eliot, being at Martin's house, heard George Martin relate to his wife that I had been at Blezdel's and had bought a puppy. Whereupon Susanna Martin flew into a great rage and answered: "'If I live, I'll give him puppies enough!' "Within a few days after, I was coming out of the woods, when there arose a little black cloud in the northwest, and I immediately felt a force upon me, which made me not able to avoid running upon the stumps of trees that were before me, albeit I had a broad, plain cart-way before me; but though I had my axe on my shoulder, to endanger me in my falls, I could not forbear going out of my way to tumble over the stumps, where the trees had been cut away. When I came below the meeting-house, there appeared unto me a little thing like a puppy, of a darkish color, and it shot backward and forward between my legs. I had the courage to use all possible endeavors of cutting it with my axe; but I could not hit it. The puppy gave a jump from me and went, as to me it seemed, into the ground.[C] [Footnote C: See Cotton Mather's "Wonders of the Invisible World," p. 144.] [Illustration: "Its motions were quicker than those of my axe."] "On going a little further, there appeared unto me a black puppy, somewhat bigger than the first, but as black as a coal. Its motions were quicker than those of my axe; it flew at my belly, and away; then at my throat; so, over my shoulder one way, and then over my shoulder another way. My heart now began to fail me, and I thought the dog would have torn my throat out; but I recovered myself and called upon God in my distress; and, naming the name of Jesus Christ, it vanished away at once." Charles Stevens tried to argue with Bly that he had had an attack of blind staggers, and that the dog was only an optical delusion; but he could in no way convince him that it was not a reality, and that he was not bewitched. According to Mr. Bancroft, New England, like Canaan, had been settled by fugitives. Like the Jews, they had fled to a wilderness. Like the Jews, they had looked to heaven for a light to lead them on. Like the Jews, they had heathen for their foes, and they derived their highest legislation from the Jewish code. Cotton Mather said, "New England being a country whose interests are remarkably inwrapped in ecclesiastical circumstances, ministers ought to concern themselves in politics." Cotton Mather and Mr. Parris did concern themselves in politics, and the latter, being unscrupulous and ambitious as well as fanatical, caused hundreds of unfortunate people to mourn. The circle of children who had been meeting at the house of Mr. Parris began to perform wonders. In the dull life of the country, the excitement of the proceedings of the "circle" was welcome, no doubt, and it was always on the increase. The human mind requires amusement, as the human body requires food, exercise and rest, and when healthful and innocent amusements are denied, resort is had to the low and vicious. Mr. Parris, who preached sermons against the evils of the theatre and excommunicated the child of an actor, fostered in his own house an amusement as diabolical and dangerous as has ever been known. Results of that circle were wonderful. Whatever trickery there might be--and, no doubt, there was plenty; whatever excitement to hysteria; whatever actual sharpening of common faculties, it is clear that there was more; and those who have given due and dispassionate attention to the process of mesmerism and its effects can have no difficulty in understanding the reports handed down of what these young creatures did and said and saw, under peculiar conditions of the nervous system. When the physicians of the district could see no explanation of the ailments of the afflicted children "but the evil hand," they, with one accord, came to the conclusion that their afflictions were through the agencies of Satan. Convulsions and epilepsy are among the many mysteries which medical science has not mastered to this day, and one cannot wonder that the doctors two centuries ago should declare the afflicted ones bewitched. Then came the inquiry as to who had stricken the children, and the readiest means that occurred was to ask this question of the children themselves. At first they refused to disclose any names; but there was soon an end to any such delicacy. The first prominent symptoms occurred in November, 1691, and the first public examination of witches took place March 1st, 1692, just before the return of Charles Stevens from New York. One among the first arrested was Sarah Good, a weak, ignorant, poor, despised woman, whose equally weak and ignorant husband had abandoned her, leaving her to the mercy of evil tongues. This ignorant woman was taken to jail, and, shortly after, her child, little Dorcas, only four years old, was also arrested and imprisoned in chains on charge of witchcraft. All this met the approval of Mr. Parris, whose pale, thin face glowed with triumph as he declared: "Now is the coming of the Lord, and the consumption of the fire-brands of hell." No wonder Charles Stevens was serious. Over twenty people were in prison on charge of witchcraft, among them an Irish woman, a Roman Catholic, hated more on account of her religion than any suspicion of evil against her. She was among the first to hang. Parris, the wild-eyed fanatic, swinging his arms about, walked up and down the village, crying against the evil spirits of the air and longing to get his clutches on the vile actor, who had dared enter the consecrated village of Salem. One evening Mr. Waters returned as mysteriously as he had disappeared. His daughter was greatly rejoiced to see him and, after the joy of the first greeting was over, told of all that was transpiring and of the threats of Mr. Parris. "You must go away," he said. "When?" she asked. "On the morrow." Charles had a short talk with Mr. Waters, and arrangements were made for the departure of Cora on the morrow. Mr. Waters retired late that night to his room. As he was in the act of undressing, he became conscious that a face was pressed against the window. He stood in the dark corner where he could scarce be seen. He held a pistol in his hand until the face disappeared from the window, and creeping to it, looked out. There stood a man in the broad glare of the moon. He had only to glance at his tall form and his ruffian features to recognize him as the brother of the overseer whom he had shot in Virginia. For ten minutes Mr. Waters did not move, but kept his eyes riveted on the man, who, instinct and reason told him, was an enemy. At last the man retired down the path under the hill. Mr. Waters hurriedly wrote a few lines on a scrap of paper, with only the moon for his candle, and, folding the letter, addressed it to his daughter and laid it on his pillow. Then he opened the window and leaped out to the ground. He followed the man under the hill, where he found him in conversation with three other men, Mr. Parris, John Bly and Louder. He was near enough to hear what they said and catch their plans; but he did not wait to listen. As he was creeping among the bushes, a man suddenly rose before him. His dark, tawny skin, his blanket and features indicated that he was an aborigine. He had seen the white men under the hill, and he told Mr. Waters that he had ten braves at hand. "Tell them to do no one harm, Oracus," said Mr. Waters. "I have never harmed mankind, save in defence, and, God willing, I never will. I am going away." The Indian silently bowed and disappeared into the forest. Mr. Waters paused under a large oak tree and gazed at the house where his daughter was sleeping so peacefully; then he went away to the great north woods. CHAPTER XIV. THE FATE OF GOODY NURSE. Oh! lives there, Heaven, beneath thy dread expanse, One hopeless, dark idolator of chance, Content to feed, with pleasures unrefined The lukewarm passions of a lowly mind? --Campbell. Charles Stevens was sleeping soundly, dreaming of Cora and peace, when there came a rap at the outer door. He rose and, but half-dressed, proceeded to open it. Four tall, dark men stood without. By the aid of the moon, he recognized Mr. Parris, Bly and Louder. "Is Mr. Waters here?" asked Mr. Parris. "He is asleep in his room," Charles answered. "Awake him. This good man from Virginia wants to see him." Charles turned away and went to Mr. Waters' room. The door was ajar, and, entering, he found the apartment vacant. An open window showed by what means Mr. Waters had made his escape. Charles hastened to inform the nocturnal visitors, and a scene ensued that can be as well imagined as described. Charles was upbraided for aiding a criminal to escape. Mr. Joel Martin, the brother of the overseer shot in Virginia, was enraged that his brother's slayer should, after years of search, be discovered only to escape his clutches, while Mr. Parris, with assumed piety declared: "It is ever thus, when one covenants with the devil. An actor in the theatres taken to the home and family of those claiming to be Christians. Verily, I am not surprised that he is also a murderer. When one lets go his hold on the Lord, there can be no crime to which he will not descend." The household was roused, and Cora was informed of her father's narrow escape. Mr. Martin from Virginia had a requisition from that colony for his arrest. She wept, but said not a word. When the disappointed officers went away, Charles sought to comfort her; but she answered: "Cruel fate seems to have doomed me to misery, Charles. Father cannot return; I cannot escape, and I feel that Mr. Parris is drawing a net about me, which will entangle my feet." "Trust in God, and all is well!" Charles answered. Often, in their darkest hours, her pious father had offered the same advice, for he was a firm believer in divine intervention in human affairs. Next day a daughter of Goody Nurse came to the house, weeping as if her heart would break. "What is the matter, Sarah?" asked Mrs. Stevens. "Mother is arrested!" sobbed the young woman. "Arrested!" "Yes." "For what charge?" Charles asked. "For being a witch. A warrant has been sworn out against her, and she was taken away this morning." Here the unfortunate young woman broke down and sobbed in silence. "Where was she taken?" asked Mrs. Stevens. "To jail and put in irons, for a witch must be put in irons. It is charged that she hath bewitched Abigail Williams and the other children of Mr. Parris' circle." Were Mr. Parris a creation of fiction and not a real character of history, no doubt the critic would say he was overdrawn; but Samuel Parris was a living, breathing man, or a fiend in human form. He had a large following, and was spoken of as our beloved pastor. Mr. George Bancroft, America's greatest historian, says:[D] [Footnote D: Bancroft's "History of the United States", vol. ii., p. 256.] "The delusion, but for Parris, would have languished. Of his own niece, the girl of eleven years of age, he demanded the names of the devil's instruments, who bewitched the band of 'the afflicted,' and then became at once informer and witness. In those days, there was no prosecuting officer, and Parris was at hand to question his Indian servants and others, himself prompting their answers and acting as recorder to the magistrates. The recollection of the old controversy in the parish could not be forgotten; and Parris, moved by personal malice as well as blind zeal, 'stifled the accusation of some,' such is the testimony of the people of his own village, and, at the same time, 'vigilantly promoting the accusation of others,' was 'the beginning and procurer of the afflictions of Salem village and country.' Martha Corey, who, on her examination in the meeting-house, before a throng, with a firm spirit, alone, against them all, denied the presence of witchcraft, was committed to prison. Rebecca Nurse, likewise a woman of purest life, an object of special hatred of Parris, resisted the company of accusers, and was committed. And Parris, filling his prayers with the theme, made the pulpit ring with it. 'Have not I chosen you twelve,'--such was his text,--'and one of you is a devil?' At this, Sarah Cloyce, sister to Rebecca Nurse, rose up and left the meeting-house, and she, too, was cried out upon and sent to prison." Mrs. Stevens, her son and Cora Waters tried to soothe the fears of the poor young maid, who, in her hour of affliction, childlike, had flown to her friends with her tale of woe. "I will go at once and denounce Mr. Parris for the part he has played in this!" cried Charles, starting from the house. At the little gate, he was overtaken by Cora, who, laying her hand on his arm, said: "Don't go, Charles. Don't leave the house while in this heat of passion." "Cora, I cannot endure that hypocrite longer. He is a devil, not a man, to carry his malice so far." "But reflect, Charles. What you might say in the heat of your anger can do poor Goody Nurse no good." "It will be a relief to me." "No; it may engender future trouble. This is a trying hour; the danger is great; let us take time for deliberation." He was persuaded by Cora to say nothing at that time and returned to the house. To the sorrowing daughter had been administered such consolation as faithful, loving friends could offer, and she went home hoping that her unfortunate mother might yet escape the wrath of Mr. Parris. "It is all the work of Samuel Parris," declared Mrs. Stevens. "Because Goody Nurse opposed his ministry, he seeks revenge." "Parris is an unworthy man," Charles declared. Before he could say more, Cora Waters, who had posted herself as a sentry at the door said: "Here comes Ann Putnam." At mention of this woman's name, both Charles and his mother became silent. She was the mother of one of the afflicted children, and was herself of high nervous temperament, undisciplined in mind, and an absolute devotee to her pastor. She was at this time about thirty years of age, with blue eyes, brown hair and face fair and round. As she entered the door, almost out of breath, she cried: "I come, Goody Stevens, to be the bearer of what I trust will be welcome tidings. Goody Nurse hath been arrested and sent to prison for her grievously tormenting the family of Mr. Parris and myself." "Can you suspect that such news will be welcome tidings in this home?" cried Mrs. Stevens. "Ann Putnam, truly you must believe that I am unworthy to be called woman, if you think I can rejoice at the downfall of that good woman." "Good woman!" shrieked Ann Putnam, stamping her foot on the floor with such force as to make the house quiver. "Good woman! She is a witch! She opposed our beloved pastor his stipend; she wished to remove him, and because she failed, she now assails his household with her witchcraft. Oh, vile creature, I would I had never seen her!" "Ann Putnam, you are deluded." "Deluded!" shrieked Ann Putnam, her eyes flashing with fire. "Could you all but see me in my sore afflictions, could you but know the fits I have, and witness the suffering of her victims, you would not call it delusion." "Ann Putnam, Mr. Parris has so wrought upon your imagination, that you are insane." At the attempt to impute anything evil to her beloved pastor, Ann Putnam's rage knew no bounds, and, in a voice choking with wrath, she declared that Mr. Parris was the most saintly man living. "His zeal for the cause of Christ hath brought down upon him the wrath of the worldly minded. He is a saint--a glorious saint, and because he denounced Cora Waters for being the child of a player, you would malign him." "Ann Putnam," interrupted Charles Stevens, "you have no right to impugn the motives of my mother, nor to assail our guest. The zeal of Mr. Parris has made a monster of him. He is a wicked, cruel, revengeful man, rather than a follower of the meek and lowly Lamb of God." "I will not stay where my blessed pastor is spoken so ill of!" declared Ann Putnam, and she bounded out of the door, shaking the dust off her shoes. At the gate, she paused and held her fist in the air, and at the height of her masculine voice screamed: "I denounce you! I cry out against you, Hattie Stevens! I will to do no more with you!" and having performed that wonderful act of discarding a former friend, she turned about and hurried over the hill. "Charles, I am sorry you and your mother angered her," said Cora. "Why, Cora?" he asked. "She can do us ill." "Ann Putnam is an evil woman and a fit follower of such a man as Parris," declared Charles. "My mother did a noble act in denouncing him." "It is time, Charles," interrupted Cora. "I feel, I know that if evil befalls you, I am the cause. I must go away. I cannot remain here to prove the ruin of those who befriended me. I must go away." "Where would you go?" "I know not where; but I will go anywhere, so that I may not prove the ruin of my friends. The wild heathen in the forest could not be more cruel than these people." "Cora, you shall not go!" cried Charles. "No, you shall not. I will protect you and mother. I have friends, friends true and strong, friends of whom they little dream. They live in the forest and will come to my aid by the hundreds to fight my battles." "Do you mean the Indians?" "Yes. Two years ago I saved the life of Oracus, a young chief, and made him my friend. An Indian, once a friend, is the truest of friends. Oracus and his warriors would die for me." "Do not appeal to the Indians, if you can avoid it," the girl plead. Charles assured her if she did go away, it would not remove the wrath of the minister from them, and she decided to remain. Mr. Parris hated Rebecca Nurse more than any other person in Salem. He was now about to accomplish his designs. Until the day of trial, Rebecca Nurse lay in jail, with great, heavy fetters, which she could scarcely carry, upon her. Her husband, family and friends did all in their power to procure her release on bond; but witchcraft was not a bailable offence. They tried to secure mercy for the old woman from Mr. Parris; but he was inexorable. When Mr. Parris, a few months before, was publicly complaining of neglect in the matter of firewood for the parsonage, and of lukewarmness on the part of the hearers of his services, "Landlord Nurse" was a member of the committee who had to deal with him, and he and his relatives were among the majority, who were longing for Mr. Parris' apparently inevitable departure. So when, through the machinations of the pastor, the good woman was arrested, they appealed to him in vain for mercy. The meeting-house, in which the trial was held, was crowded with spectators. Neighbor jostled neighbor, and terrible, awe-inspiring whispers ran over the throng. Prayer was offered, and the court opened, and Rebecca Nurse, weak and sick, old and infirm as she was, was made to stand up before that tribunal to plead to the charge of witchcraft. When her son would have supported his aged mother, he was driven away. Mr. Parris was the first witness called. The law of evidence, or at least the practice in Salem at that time, was quite different from the present. Hearsay testimony was freely admitted in the case of Goody Nurse. Mr. Parris stated that he was called to see a certain person who was sick. Mercy Lewis was sent for. She was struck dumb on entering the chamber. She was asked to hold up her hand, if she saw any of the witches afflicting the patient. Presently she held up her hand, then fell into a trance. While coming to herself, she said that she saw the spectres of Goody Nurse and Goody Carrier having hold of the head of the sick man. The testimony of Mr. Parris was given in a calm and deliberate manner calculated to impress the jury with truth. Never did an assassin whet his dagger with more coolness or with more malice drive it to the heart of his victim, than did this sanctimonious villain weave the net of ruin about his victims. Thomas Putnam, the husband of Ann Putnam, stated that both his wife and child were bewitched and had most grievous fits, all of which they charged to Goody Nurse. He described his wife as being sorely attacked and striving violently with her arms and legs, and presently she would begin to converse with Good-wife Nurse, saying: "Goody Nurse, begone! begone! begone! Are you not ashamed, a woman of your profession, to afflict a poor creature so? What hurt did I ever do you in my life? You have but two years to live, and then the devil will torment your soul, for this your name is blotted out of God's book, and it shall never be put in God's book again. Begone! For shame! Are you not afraid of what is coming upon you? I know what will make you afraid, the wrath of an angry God. I am sure that will make you afraid. Begone! Do not torment me. I know what you would have; but it is out of your reach; it is clothed with the white robes of Christ's righteousness." After this, she seemed to dispute with the apparition about a particular text of Scripture, while she kept her eyes closed all the time. The apparition seemed to deny it, and she said she was sure there was such a text, and she would tell it, and then the shape would be gone. Said she: "I am sure you cannot stand before that text." Then she was sorely afflicted, her mouth drawn on one side, and her body strained for about a minute, and then she said: "I will tell. I will tell, it is,--it is,--it is the third chapter of the Revelations." Such stuff could not in this day be admitted in any intelligent court of justice. Ann Putnam, the wife of Thomas Putnam, was next to testify against Goody Nurse. She said: "On March 18th, 1692, being wearied out in helping to tend my poor afflicted child and maid, about the middle of the afternoon I lay me down on the bed to take a little rest; and immediately I was almost pressed and choked to death, that, had it not been for the mercy of a gracious God and the help of those that were with me, I could not have lived many moments; and presently I saw the apparition of Martha Corey, who did torture me so, as I cannot express, ready to tear me to pieces, and then departed from me a little while; but before I could recover strength, or well take breath, the apparition of Rebecca Nurse fell upon me again with dreadful tortures and hellish temptations to go along with her, and she brought to me a little red book in her hand, and a black pen, urging me vehemently to write in her book; and several times that day she did most grievously torture me, almost ready to kill me. And on that same day Martha Corey and Rebecca Nurse, the wife of Francis Nurse senior, did both torture me, with tortures such as no tongue can express." "Did you suffer from Rebecca Nurse again?" the witness was asked. "Yes." "When?" "On divers times. On the 20th, which was the Sabbath day. After that, she came and sat upon my breast and did sorely torment me and threaten to bear the soul out of my body, blasphemously denying the blessed God, and the power of the Lord Jesus Christ to save my soul, and denying several passages of Scripture, which I told her of, to repel her hellish temptations." The afflicted children were present, and when the unfortunate prisoner, tired and sick, bent her head, they began to scream and bent their heads also. When she gazed at Abigail Williams, the girl was seized with a convulsion, and so were the others, so that the trial had to be suspended for a few minutes, until quiet was restored. Charles Stevens, who was present, remarked, loud enough to be heard: "If they had a stick well laid about their backs, I trow it would cure them of such devil's capers." "Have a care, Charles. Take heed of your hasty speech," said a by-stander. Mrs. Putnam, fearful that her first deposition would not convict the woman, who had dared speak boldly against her beloved pastor, again took the stand and testified: "Once, when Rebecca Nurse's apparition appeared unto me, she declared that she had killed Benjamin Houlton, John Friller, and Rebecca Shepherd, and that she and her sister Cloyse, and Edward Bishop's wife, had killed John Putnam's child. Immediately there did appear to me six children in winding-sheets, which called me aunt, which did most grievously affright me; and they told me they were my sister Baker's children of Boston, and that Goody Nurse, Mistress Corey of Charlestown and an old deaf woman at Boston murdered them, and charged me to go and tell these things to the magistrates, or else they would tear me to pieces, for their blood did cry for vengeance. Also there appeared to me my own sister Bayley and three of her children in winding-sheets, and told me that Goody Nurse had murdered them." This evidence was followed by the afflicted children bearing testimony to being grievously tormented by defendant, who came sometimes in the shape of a black cat, a dog, or a pig, and who was sometimes accompanied by a black man. Louder next related his experience of being changed to a horse and ridden to a witches' ball, and of seeing Rebecca Nurse ride through the air on a broomstick. The West Indian negro man John, the husband of Tituba and servant of Mr. Parris, was next put on the witness stand. The magistrate asked him: "John, who hurt you?" "Goody Nurse first, and den Goody Corey." "What did she do to you?" "She brought de book to me." "John, tell the truth. Who hurt you? Have you been hurt?" "The first was a gentleman I saw." "But who hurt you next?" "Goody Nurse. She choke me and brought me de book." "Where did she take hold of you?" "Upon my throat, to stop my breath." "What did this Goody Nurse do?" "She pinch me until de blood came." At this, Ann Putnam had a fit and was carried out. Abigail Williams was called to the stand and asked: "Abigail Williams, did you see a company at Mr. Parris' house eat and drink?" "Yes sir; that was their sacrament." "How many were there?" "About forty. Goody Cloyse and Goody Good were their deacons." "What was it?" "They said it was our blood, and they had it twice that day." "Have you seen a white man?" "Yes sir, a great many times." "What sort of a man was he?" "A fine, grave man, and when he came, he made all the witches to tremble." "Did you see the party of witches at Deacon Ingersol's?" "I did." "Who was there?" "Goody Cloyse, Goody Corey, Goody Nurse and Goody Good." Then the examining magistrate turned to the old, infirm and unfortunate prisoner, and asked: "What do you say, Goody Nurse, to these things?" The old, sick woman, summoning up all her energies, answered: "I take God to be my witness, that I know nothing of it, no more than the child unborn." The jury did not consider the evidence strong enough for hanging an old lady, who had been the ornament of their church and the glory of their village and its society, and they brought in a verdict of "not guilty." The momentary rejoicing of the triumphant defendants was drowned by the howls of the afflicted and the upbraiding of Mr. Parris. One judge declared himself dissatisfied; another promised to have her tried anew; and the chief justice pointed out a phrase used by the prisoner, which might be made to signify that she was one of the accused gang in guilt, as well as in jeopardy. It might really seem as if the authorities were all scheming together, when we see the ingenuity and persistence with which they discussed the three words "of our company," as used by the accused. The poor old woman offered an explanation, which ought to have been satisfactory. "I intended no otherwise than as they were prisoners with us, and therefore did then, and yet do judge them not legal evidence against their fellow-prisoners. And I, being something hard of hearing and full of grief, none informing me how the court took up my words, therefore had no opportunity to declare what I intended when I said they were of our company." The foreman of the jury would have taken a favorable view of this matter, and have allowed full consideration, while other jurymen were eager to recall the mistake of the verdict; but the prisoner's silence from failing to hear, when she was expected to explain, turned the foreman against her, and caused him to declare: "Whereupon these words were to me a principal evidence against her." Still it was too monstrous to hang the poor old woman. After her condemnation, the governor reprieved her, probably on the ground of the illegality of setting aside the first verdict of the jury, in the absence of any new evidence; but Mr. Parris, the power behind the people, caused such an outcry against executive clemency to be raised, that the governor withdrew his reprieve. Next Sunday after the sentence, there was a scene in the church, the record of which was afterward annotated by the church members in grief and humiliation. After the sacrament, by a vote, it was unanimously agreed, that sister Nurse, being convicted as a witch by the court, should be excommunicated in the afternoon of the same day. Charles Stevens, impelled by a morbid curiosity, went to the church that afternoon. The place was thronged. Parris, with the triumphant gleam of a devil on his hypocritical features, was in the pulpit with the elders. The deacons presided below. The sheriff and his officers brought in the witch and led her up the broad aisle, her chains clanking as she stepped, and her poor old limbs scarcely able to bear their weight. As she stood in the middle of the aisle, the Reverend Mr. Noyes pronounced her sentence of expulsion from the church on earth and from all hope of salvation hereafter. Having freely given her soul to Satan by a seven years' service for diabolical powers, she was delivered over to him forever. In conclusion, Reverend Mr. Noyes said: "And now, vile woman, having sold yourself to the Devil, go to your master amid the hottest flames of hell!" She was aware that every eye regarded her with horror and hate, unapproached under any circumstances; but she was able to sustain it. She was still calm and at peace that day, and during the fortnight of final waiting. When the fatal day of execution came, she traversed the streets of Salem, between the houses in which she had been an honored guest, and surrounded by well-known faces, and then there was the hard, hard task, for her aged limbs, of climbing the rocky and steep path on Witches' Hill to the place where the gibbets stood in a row, and the hangman was waiting for her. Sarah Good and six others of whom Salem chose to be rid that day went with her. [Illustration: The sheriff brought the witch up the broad aisle, her chains clanking as she stepped.] It was the 19th of July, 1692, when, at a signal, all eight swung off into eternity, and Reverend Mr. Noyes, in his zeal, pointing to the swaying bodies, said: "There hang eight fire-brands of hell!" Mr. Parris, unable to conceal his triumph, declared these the most holy words ever uttered by lips not divine. The bodies were put away on the hill like so many dead dogs; but during the silent watches of the night, Charles Stevens and the sons and grandsons of Rebecca Nurse disinterred her and brought her remains home where a coffin had been prepared. Mrs. Stevens and Cora Waters dressed the body in most becoming robes. All kissed the cold dead face of one they loved, as she lay in a rear room, the windows blinded and a guard outside. Then the body was hurriedly buried in a grave prepared in the field, where soon after the afflicted husband slept at her side. Considering such horrible events, one can but conclude that superstition was having full sway. CHAPTER XV. "YOUR MOTHER A WITCH." 'Tis a bleak wild, but green and bright In the summer warmth and the mid-day light, There's the hum of the bee and the chirp of the wren, And the dash of the brook from the older glen. There's the sound of the bell from the scattered flock, And the shade of the beach lies cool on the rock, And fresh from the west is the free-wind's breath. There is nothing here that speaks of death. --Bryant. Shortly after the arrest and incarceration of Goodwife Nurse, Reverend Deodat Lawson, an eminent Boston divine, came to Salem village. All land travel at that time was on horseback. He lodged at the house of Nathaniel Ingersol near the home of the minister Mr. Parris. The appearance of a foreigner in the village was at once the signal for making a new convert, and the afflicted put themselves on exhibition to convince him that evil spirits were abroad. He had been but a short time at the house of Ingersol, when Captain Walcut's daughter Mary came to see him and speak with him. She greeted him with a smile, and hoped he had had a pleasant journey. It was now growing late, and she stood in the door bidding all good-evening, preparatory to going home. Suddenly the girl gave utterance to a wild shriek and leaped into the house, holding her wrist in her left hand. "What is the matter?" asked Mr. Lawson. "I am bitten on the wrist," she cried. "Surely you cannot be bitten, for I have seen nothing to bite you." "Nevertheless, I am bitten. It is a witch that hath bitten me." The candle had been burning all the while in the apartment, and Mr. Lawson knew that no one could have been in the room without his knowledge. "Some one hath grievously bitten me!" the girl sobbed. Mr. Lawson seized the candle and, holding it to her wrist, saw apparently the marks of teeth, both upper and lower set, on each side of her wrist. He was lost in wonder and, placing the candle on the mantel, remarked: "It is a mystery." "Yea, verily it is," Lieutenant Ingersol answered; "but you have not seen the beginning of the wonders of witchcraft in this village. Satan surely hath been loosed for a little season." "I have heard much of the sore afflictions of the children at the home of Mr. Parris," remarked Mr. Lawson. "And they are sorely afflicted, as I can bear testimony. After tea we will walk over to his house." Mr. Lawson assented, and Mary Walcut was sent home. After an early tea, Mr. Lawson went to the parsonage, which was but a short distance. Mr. Parris met them at the door. His white, cadaverous face, prominent cheek bones, aquiline nose, piercing eyes, and wild, disheveled hair giving him a strange, weird appearance. He greeted Reverend Mr. Lawson warmly and thanked him for coming all the way from Boston to preach for him next Lord's Day. "I am so sorely tried with my many afflictions, that I cannot compose my mind for sermonizing." "I have heard somewhat of the afflictions and troubles that beset you," Rev. Deodat Lawson answered. "Verily you cannot have heard more than has occurred. I am maligned, misunderstood and beset everywhere by the enemies of God." "Meet it with prayer and humiliation," answered Mr. Lawson. "I do--I do--and, verily, the Lord is making my enemies my footstool. Many are already in prison, and many more will yet go to the gallows." The pastor gnashed his teeth in silent rage, while his eyes gleamed with hate. "How are the afflicted children?" asked Mr. Lawson. "No better. Abigail come hither." Abigail Williams, the niece of the pastor, came from an adjoining room. She was a girl of twelve, with a fair face, but cunning eyes, which deprived her of the innocence of childhood. Mr. Lawson at once entered into conversation with her, but had not proceeded far, when she uttered a shriek and, turning her face to the ceiling, whirled about in a circle, while her eyes, rolling back in her head, snapped like flashes of light. Her mouth was drawn to the left side of her face and her whole frame convulsively jerked till she fell to the floor, where she writhed and struggled, and blood-stained froth issued from her mouth, while Mr. Lawson gazed upon her appalled. Then she sprang to her feet and hurried violently to and fro through the room in spite of the efforts to hold her. Sometimes she made motions as if she would fly, reaching her arms up as high as she could, and bringing them down at her side, crying: "Whish! whish! whish!" Presently she began talking in a strange, hysterical and half inaudible manner. "There is Goodwife Nurse!" she cried. "Do you not see her? Why, there she stands!" and the girl pointed to a corner of the room that was vacant. Her eyes seemed riveted on some object that kept moving about. After a short silence, Abigail Williams said: "There, she is offering me the book to sign; but I won't take it, Goody Nurse! I won't! I won't! I won't take it! I do not know what book it is. I am sure it is not God's book. It is the Devil's book, for aught I know." Then she remained a moment with her eyes closed and arms folded across her breast, after which she ran to the fire, and began to throw fire-brands about the house, and run into the fireplace, against the back of the wall, as if she would go up the chimney. They caught hold of her and pulled her out. "It is nothing uncommon," Mr. Parris explained. "In other fits, the children have sought to throw themselves into the fire." Mr. Lawson did not tarry long at the house of the pastor; but returned to the home of Lieut. Ingersol. When Sunday came, Mr. Lawson went to the church to preach. Several of the afflicted people were "at meeting," for it was thought proper that the afflicted should be in the house of God. So long as one was able to go to church, they were taken, regardless of any mental affection they might have. Mrs. Pope, Goodwife Bibber, Abigail Williams, Mary Walcut, Mary Lewes and Doctor Grigg's maid, all of whom were persons bewitched, are reported by reliable historians as being present at this "Lord's Day service." There was also present Goodwife Corey, who was subsequently arrested for a witch. While at prayer, Mr. Lawson was interrupted by shrieks and struggles on the part of the afflicted, and a voice near said: "Fits!" He kept on praying for the Lord to relieve them of their torments, while Charles Stevens, who was in the house, declared that a whip would relieve them. After the prayer, a psalm was sung, as usual, and then Abigail Williams, turning to the preacher, said in a loud, coarse voice: "Now stand up and name your text!" After he had named his text, she said: "It is a long text." He had scarcely begun his sermon, when Mrs. Pope, one of the afflicted women, bawled out: "Now, there is enough of that." "These mad people ought to be kept away from the house of worship," declared Charles Stevens to a neighbor. Rev. Mr. Lawson, unaccustomed to these interruptions, was greatly annoyed and had to pause frequently in his sermon. Goodwife Corey was present at the time, and Abigail Williams, in the midst of the sermon, cried out: "Look! look, where Goodwife Corey sits on the beam, suckling her yellow bird betwixt her fingers!" At this, Ann Putnam, the daughter of Thomas Putnam, said: "There is a yellow bird sitting on Mr. Lawson's hat, where it hangs on the pin in the pulpit." Those who sat nearest the girls tried to restrain them from speaking aloud; but it was in vain; for, despite all precaution, they would occasionally blurt out some ridiculous nonsense, which the people attributed to the results of witchcraft. "Charles Stevens, what say you, now that your eyes have witnessed these abominations?" said John Bly. "I say, if I had my way, I would cure them," answered the youth. "How would you, pray?" Bly asked. "With a good whip about their shoulders." "Beware, Charles Stevens, how you speak so lightly of these afflictions, lest you bring on yourself the same condemnation of those on Witches' Hill." There are some spirits so bold, that they overawe and intimidate even an enraged populace. Martin Luther's very audacity saved him, on more than one occasion, and something like the same spirit enabled Charles Stevens to overcome or overawe the deluded populace of Salem. A few days after the execution of Goody Nurse, he was passing the meeting house, when he was accosted by the West Indian negro, John. "You not believe in witches?" said John. "No." "Goody Nurse brought me de book." "John, I believe you lied. I believe you have perjured yourself and sent your soul to endless torment," answered Charles Stevens. John was a cunning rascal and thought to give him a proof positive of the powers of witchcraft. He fell down in a fit, and Charles applied his cane to him until he ran howling away effectually cured, while Charles, disgusted with the black-skinned African, left him and hurried out of the village. Charles Stevens' favorite walk was across the brook and among the great old oak trees beyond. His mind was greatly harassed and, like all great minds when perplexed, sought solitude. He went farther and farther into the woods and sat down upon a large stone. The recent trial of Goody Nurse, her conviction and execution moved his soul. He could not understand how people, civilized and enlightened, could be so deceived by what, to him, was so apparent. Charles knew that all were not dishonest in their belief. He even believed that some of the actors in this tragedy were sincere, but had been over-persuaded by Mr. Parris, whom he set down as the prime mover in it all. He sat for a long time, much longer than he supposed, reflecting on the past, and planning for the future, when he was startled by hearing footsteps coming toward him. He raised his head, and saw a young Indian brave, with his blanket wrapped about his shoulders, carrying a bow in his hand. His head was ornamented with a bunch of feathers, and his face was painted with all the gorgeous hues of savage barbaric art. He recognized Charles Stevens, for, advancing toward him with a smile, he extended his hand saying: "My white brother is not happy. What has made him sad?" The Indian was a good judge of human character, and in the face of the young white man he read a look of sorrow. "The white men of Salem are very wicked, Oracus," said Charles. "Not only are they wicked to their red brothers, but to their white brothers, as well. They have taken the old and helpless, the weak and forlorn, and put them to death." The young savage folded his arms across his massive chest and stood for a long time in silence. His eyes were upon the ground, and his stolid features were without show of emotion. His people had suffered wrongs at the hands of the white men; but in this one he had ever found an earnest, true friend. There existed between Charles and the brave a bond of brotherhood as enduring as life. The young chief inquired what had been done at the village, and Charles proceeded to tell him all, in as few words as possible, of the arrest, trial and execution of Goody Nurse and others. When he had completed the terrible story, the young chief drew his blanket about his shoulders and said: "I am your friend, and if your white brothers prove false, remember your red brother will be true." "I believe you, Oracus." "I have shown one white brother through the paths, away from his enemies, and you will always find Oracus in his forest home ready to befriend you." "The time may come when I will need your aid," said Charles Stevens. After a long interview, he rose and started home. He was near the great bridge which spanned the brook, when he suddenly came upon a tall, powerful man, whose sallow face and cavalier-like manner showed him to be a citizen of the southern colonies. Charles instantly recognized him as Mr. Joel Martin, the man whom he had seen on that night with Mr. Parris, Bly and Louder, coming to arrest Cora's father. "You are Charles Stevens?" the Virginian said, halting before the youth. "I have no desire to deny my name, for it is that of an honest man; I am Charles Stevens," he answered. "Do you know who I am?" "I suspect you are one whom I saw at my house, though your name I have not learned." "I am Joel Martin, and by profession an overseer on a Virginia plantation. There were but two of us, my brother and I. He was an overseer of an adjoining plantation, when one day a slave escaped. He pursued him and was slain." "I have heard the story," interrupted Charles. "You have? and from his own lips?" "I have; and I do not blame the man who was seeking liberty. He was a white man, as you yourself are. He had committed no crime, save that he was arrested as one of Monmouth's insurgents and had been captured while in the ranks of the rebel." Martin's eyes flashed with fury and, in a voice that was hoarse, he whispered: "You aided him to escape; but it shall not avail. I have for years followed on his trail, and I will not let go my hold on him, until I have dragged him to the scaffold. No; the blood of my brother cries out for vengeance, and I will follow him day and night through the trackless forests, until I have brought the renegade to justice. He cannot conceal himself so deep in the forest, he cannot hide himself among the savage tribes, nor burrow so deep in the earth, but that I will find him." Charles Stevens turned away and was walking toward home, when the tall Virginian, by a few quick strides, overtook him and, laying his hand on his shoulder, said: "You do not care to hear these threats; but I have not done with you yet. Listen; I want to say more. If you seek to thwart me, I will kill you. Do you hear?" "I have no fear of you, Mr. Martin," cried Charles Stevens, turning on the tall, swarthy southerner a glance which made him quail. "Your profession is brutality. You are a stranger to mercy; yet I will defy you. I fear you not, and, if you seek my life, you had better take heed for your own." Charles boldly walked away, leaving the discomfited Virginian to fume and rage alone. The shades of night were falling fast over the village of Salem, as Charles hurried homeward, and he was amazed as he came in sight of the house, to see a great throng of people going away from the door. The young man quickened his pace, hardly knowing whether he was asleep or awake. A negro slave came running toward him crying: "Massa! Massa! Massa!" "What has happened?" asked Charles. "Um tuk um away! Dey tuk um off!" "Who?" "Yo mudder." "My mother! Oh, God!" Charles Stevens ran swift as a roe buck toward the crowd, which had now almost reached the jail. "What does this mean?" he demanded of John Bly, whom he met near the jail. "Your mother is a witch," Bly answered. "You lie!" cried Charles, and with one swift, sure blow, he laid the slanderer senseless at his feet. "Hold, Charles Stevens! Hold! Be not rash, or she may fare worse," whispered a kind voice at his side, and, turning, he saw the sad face of John Nurse. He had drunk the bitter cup to its dregs and could advise. The world seemed swimming before the eyes of Charles Stevens. He tried to rush to that throng, whom he saw dragging both his mother and Cora Waters to the jail; but in vain. His feet refused to carry him. He strove to utter an outcry; but his voice failed, and all became darkness. CHAPTER XVI. ESCAPE AND FLIGHT. Come, rest in this bosom, my own stricken deer, Though the herd have fled from thee, thy home is still here: Here is the smile that no cloud can o'ercast, And a heart and a hand all thy own to the last. --Moore. When Charles Stevens regained consciousness, he was lying on a bed, and kindly faces were bending over him. He was conscious from the first of an oppressive weight of trouble, but could not realize what had occurred. As one awakening from a troubled dream, he strove to gather up his scattered faculties and recall what had happened. Like a blast of doom, the awful truth burst upon him, and he leaped to his feet. He was at the home of Landlord Nurse, and the pale, sad, horror-stricken faces about him were the old gentleman and his sons and daughters. They caught Charles before he reached the door. "My mother!" cried the young man. "No; you can do her no good by an act of rashness!" John Nurse answered. "Tell me all about it. I will sit here and listen to it all," said Charles, when he discovered that he could not break away from his friends. "Your mother and Cora Waters have both been cried out upon as witches, warrants were issued, and they were arrested. Now collect your faculties and act on your coolest judgment. Think what you will do." Charles Stevens bowed his head in his hands and reflected long and earnestly on the course to pursue. He recalled the words of Oracus, the brave young chief, who could muster a hundred warriors. He was cunning and might devise some plan of escape, and Charles was not long in resolving what to do. He would not act hurriedly. He would be desperate; but that desperation would have coolness and premeditation about it. He promised his friends to be calm, assuring them he would be guarded in his speech, and then begun seeking an interview with his mother and Cora. It was three days before the interview was granted. He found them occupying loathsome cells, each chained to the wall. The interview was long, and just what such an interview could be, full of grief and despair. Charles tried to hope. He tried to see a ray of sunlight; but the effort only revealed the swaying forms of those hung on Witches' Hill. Even if he summoned Oracus and all his braves, would they be strong enough to break down that door of iron, or cut the chains asunder! Charles, in his desperation, resolved to rescue the beloved ones or die in the effort. He went away weeping. He did not return home. That home was desolate, lonely and so like the tomb, that he dared not go near it. At the home of his kind friend, he wrote to relatives at New Plymouth, Boston, New York, Virginia and the Carolinias. To all he appealed for help, for Charles was determined to move heaven and earth or rescue his mother and Cora; but he did not depend on those distant relatives and friends so much as the dusky friends in the forest. He knew that before answers could come to his letters, he would be dead, or would have succeeded in his efforts. Even if he should be killed in an abortive attempt, however, he hoped that his relatives would resume the warfare for the prisoners. "Where is Cora's father?" he asked himself. "Could I but find the Waters brothers, I would have two friends and allies to aid me. Oh, Heaven, give me light! Give me light!" Charles Stevens, like all true Christians, in this dark hour went to God for aid. Kneeling, he prayed as he had never prayed before. He seemed to take hold of the throne of grace and, with a faith strengthened and renewed, drew inspiration for his desperate resolve from the only living fountain. Armed with his rifle and pistols, he left the village and went into the forest. The forest inspires man with reverence and love for God. The giant trees, the deep glens, the moss and ferns and cool shades seem to breathe of eternity. Charles Stevens had always loved the dark old woods, and never had they seemed so friendly as on this occasion, when they screened him from the frowns of man. Solitude offered him its charms. The zephyrs sought to soothe his sorrows by their gentle whispers, and the birds sang for the peace of his troubled spirit, while the babbling brooks strove to make him gay; but who can be gay when loved ones are menaced with a terrible danger? Charles Stevens saw little of the beauty of nature. His eyes were searching the forests for dusky forms, which he hoped to meet. Those dusky sons of the forest were not often desirable sights; but Charles was as anxious to see the feathers and painted faces of these heathens, as if they were brothers. He spent the day in wandering through the woods, forgetting to take any nourishment, for he had brought no food with him, and, in fact, he had not thought to eat since the arrest of his mother and Cora. He was weak and faint, and his hands trembled. He was not hungry; but his strength was giving way, and he realized that he had been foolish not to provide himself with food. Evening came, and he sank down on the mossy banks of a stream and took a few draughts of water to revive him. The stars came out one by one. By the merest chance, he raised his despairing eyes and, gazing across the stream to the woods beyond, saw a light. Charles struggled to his feet and gazed like one to whom life has suddenly been restored. "Perhaps it is Indians!" He plunged into the creek, waded across and started through the woods toward the light. It was much further away than he had at first supposed, and he was several minutes in reaching the camp fire. Ten dusky sons of the forest were seated about the camp fire, while two men in the garb of civilization were roving about. Charles felt some misgivings at first on discovering men of his own color in the camp. He crawled from tree to tree, from log to bush, until he was near enough to see the features of the men. When he first got within sight they stood with their backs toward him and he could not see their faces; but at last one turned about so that the glare of the fire-light fell full on his face, and, with a cry of joy, Charles Stevens bounded to his feet, crying: "Mr. Waters! Mr. Waters!" and dashed toward the camp. A pair of strong arms encircled his waist, and the young man heard a voice say: "White man go too soon!" He had been seized by a sentry; but Mr. Waters and Oracus hastened to him, and he was released. The other white man was the brother of Mr. Waters, and Charles, bewildered, overjoyed, yet faint and weak, was half led and half carried to the camp. He found himself making hurried explanations, while a savage was broiling venison steaks before the fire for him. "We know all," said Mr. George Waters. "What! do you know they have been cried out upon?" asked Charles. "We do." "Do you know they are in prison?" "We have heard it all," said Mr. Waters, calmly. "How could you have heard it?" asked Charles. "We have faithful friends, who inform us of everything." "Were you going to take action for their rescue?" asked Charles. "We were concerting plans when you came; but you must have food." Charles Stevens gazed on the calm face of the man before him, and could but wonder at his coolness. "Mr. Waters, do you know that your own daughter is one of the accused?" "I know all." "How can you be so calm, knowing all as you do?" "I am calm for my daughter's sake. The only hope of liberating her, of saving her life, is by cool, deliberate and well matured plans." "Are your plans formed?" "Yes." "When will you act?" "On to-morrow night. Oracus will have all his warriors ready by that time, and we will require crow-bars, hammers and axes, to break in the door of the jail. Meanwhile, if you expect to aid us, you will have to take some refreshments, food and drink, and get some sleep. You don't look as if you had slept for weeks." "I scarcely have." "Your conduct is foolish. If you love your mother, you should give the full strength of body and mind to her rescue." Charles ate some broiled venison and went to sleep. So exhausted was he, that he did not awake until the noise of breaking camp aroused him. Another white man was in camp. His hands were fastened behind his back and he was tied to a tree. His sallow complexion and angular features were familiar to Charles Stevens. The prisoner was Joel Martin. "Two of the Indians captured him last night," explained George Waters. "He was prowling about in the woods, and they seized him." "What are you going to do with him?" Charles asked. "We will do him no hurt unless we are forced to," said Mr. Waters. "I trust you will not be forced," said Charles Stevens. "So I pray; yet we must protect ourselves and those whom we would rescue." "I see that many more Indians are in camp than were here yesterday." "Yes." "Are they friends?" "They are the braves of Oracus, and will follow where he leads." Charles Stevens passed an anxious day. A part of the time he was near enough to Joel Martin to hear him muttering: "I have no fear of George Waters, galley slave. You may turn me over to your heathen cut-throats; yet I will defy you. If I live, I will yet drag you to justice for the murder of my brother." "Mr. Martin, you have forgotten that the word of God says, 'Vengeance is mine and I will repay, saith the Lord,'" put in Charles. "I will be the instrument of vengeance." "You are in the power of Mr. Waters." "For the present I am." "Don't you think you should be careful how you threaten him, seeing he has you at his mercy." Charles could not intimidate the bold Virginian. He was furious, and no threat of punishment could move him. During the day, a dozen more Indians came in. The red men now numbered eighty, and by the afternoon the entire party was moving toward Salem. At dusk they were but five miles from the village. Here a halt was called, and, after a short consultation, Oracus detailed five of his braves to guard Mr. Martin, and with the others moved on over the hills and through the woods toward Salem. "What will they do with him?" Charles asked. "Release him when we leave the village." "Mr. Waters, would you not be justified in killing him?" "No." "Why not? He will murder you if he can." "No one is justified in slaying a prisoner, and I shall never do it. No more blood will be on my hands, unless it be in defence of her. For her, I slew the other, and only for her will my arm ever be raised against my fellow man." "Not even in self defence?" "No, as God is my judge, my hand shall never be raised even to defend this miserable life. I live but for my child, and when she is gone, I care not how soon I am called. I have known only sorrow since----" He did not finish the sentence, but turned away. It was late in the night when the party entered Salem. The houses were dark and silent. No light was visible from any window, and it seemed a deserted hamlet. Earnestness without excitement was evinced. Everything was done in perfect order. The men moved first to the blacksmith shop, where several supplied themselves with axes, heavy crow-bars and sledges. "Explain to your warriors that, under no circumstances, are they to shed blood," said Mr. George Waters. While Oracus was giving this order to his braves, Mr. Waters, by the aid of a lighted pine knot, found a pair of cold chisels, which he appropriated. Then the party moved off toward the jail in perfect order. There was no undue haste, or nervous excitement. All seemed as cool as if they were going as invited guests to a banquet. The Indians' moccasined feet made scarcely any noise upon the ground, as they moved forward. Mr. Henry Waters carried in his hand a stout iron bar, and twenty Indians bore on their shoulders a heavy log of wood. At a word of command from Oracus the others deployed as flankers and guards. They had strict orders to harm no one; but, should they find any attempting to approach them, they were to seize and hold such persons. The jail was reached. The long, low wall of stone, with gates of iron, loomed up like some sullen monster before the determined men. Mr. Henry Waters thrust the heavy iron bar he carried under the iron gate, and tore it off its hinges. Then George Waters and Charles raised their sledges, while the savages with the heavy log of wood ran it like a monster battering-ram against the door. At the same instant they struck it with their sledges. The crash was deafening, and the jail trembled to its very centre. Again, and again, and again did those crashing thunder-bolts fall upon the iron door. The unfortunate inmates, not knowing the object of this terrible attack, set up a howl which was heard above the thunder crashes. The door, stout as it was, could not long withstand that assault. It gave way with a crash, and fell into the hall way. The terrified jailer tumbled out of his bed, only to find himself seized and held by a pair of painted sons of the forest. Others who attempted to interfere were seized and held in grasps of iron. [Illustration: The jail trembled to its very centre.] No sooner was the door of the jail burst off its hinges, than George Waters and Charles Stevens, each with a chisel and hammer, rushed in to cut the chains of the prisoners. "Mother! mother! where are you?" cried Charles. He had to call several times before the frightened woman could answer. Then from out the darkness there came a feeble response. He groped his way along in the darkness. He found a cell door, tore it open and reached her side. At this moment some one lighted a torch within the jail. A scene, wild, weird and terrible burst upon their view. The prisoners were almost driven to madness by the sudden appearance of the savage and civilized liberators. Charles Stevens, with chisel and hammer, quickly cut the chains of his mother and hastened to liberate Cora. Her father held the light, while he cut the iron band. "Free! free!" cried the excited Charles. "Let us away before the town is roused!" "No," answered Mr. George Waters; "not while a prisoner remains to suffer the wrath of prejudice." Then with chisel and hammer he went from one to another and cut the iron bands which bound them. Oracus and Henry Waters joined him in the work of liberation, until all were freed. This required several moments of time, and the confusion and uproar which they were compelled to make was rousing the town. Mr. Parris, half-dressed, ran barefoot through the town, waving his long arms in the air, and shouting that the fiends of the air had conspired to liberate the prisoners. His words and his wild, fanatical manner tended rather to increase the fear of the people of Salem, than diminish it. Then there went out the report through the village that the Indians had attacked the town, and the people, roused from their midnight slumbers, magnified the numbers of the assailants ten to one. "Cora! Mother!" whispered Charles, "this way!" He took a hand of each and started to run from the jail down the street. Others followed. "Fly! all of you! Fly for your lives!" cried Henry Waters, who, now that his work was done, flung aside his iron bar and sledge. At a word of command from Oracus his warriors formed a hollow square about the escaping fugitives, and moved off as rapidly as they could. Everybody was bewildered. Everybody running into the street was asking: "What has happened? What has gone amiss?" "They are rescuing the prisoners," shouted Mr. Parris, wildly. "Don't you see them hurrying away with them." He ran to the sheriff and cried: "Bestir yourself! Do you not see they are taking your prisoners away?" "I have no deputies," answered the sheriff. "They number hundreds, and the Indians are with them." "Nonsense! They are only disguised, and are not a dozen. Come! I will go with you." Four or five by-standers, being thus emboldened, offered to go themselves and aid in recovering the prisoners. "Come! I will lead you!" cried the eager preacher, allowing his zeal to overcome his discretion. They ran after the escaping party, and Mr. Parris, either being more zealous than the others, or more swift of foot, outran them and, eluding some of the Indians, who tried to intercept him, ran to where Charles Stevens was half leading and half dragging his mother and Cora from the village. "Fire-brand of hades! you shall not escape me," cried Mr. Parris seizing Cora's shoulder with a clutch so fierce as to make her cry out. Charles released both his mother and Cora, and, seizing Mr. Parris by the throat, hurled him to the ground, and raised a hammer to brain him; but at this moment a strong hand seized his arm, and the calm, kind voice of Mr. Waters said: "Stay your hand, Charles. Do the man no harm." Next moment, a pair of dusky hands seized Mr. Parris, and he was hurried away to the rear. Mr. Henry Waters caused a couple of guns to be fired in the air in order to intimidate their pursuers. This had the desired effect, and the mention of Indians was sufficient to drive all to the defense of their homes. The fugitives reached the forest before the sheriff and Mr. Parris could get an armed party in pursuit. They followed them to the brook, and fired a volley at them, but in vain. The number of accused who escaped on that night, has been estimated at from twenty to one hundred. CHAPTER XVII. OUT OF THE FRYING PAN INTO THE FIRE. Though high the warm, red torrent ran, Between the flames that lit the sky; Yet, for each drop, an armed man Shall rise, to free the land, or die. --Bryant. The liberated prisoners went whithersoever they pleased. Some went to Boston, others to Plymouth, many to New York, New Jersey and Maryland, while a few returned to England. They were wearied with their experience in the New World, and were content to spend their days in England. Charles Stevens retained a firm hold on his mother and Cora, until it was quite evident that their pursuers had, for the present, at least, given up the chase. They went on in the forest until they were joined by the five savages left to guard Joel Martin. Martin was no longer with them. Charles did not inquire what had become of him, for he was wholly engrossed in the safety of Cora and his mother. [Illustration: MAP OF NORTH AMERICA PERIOD, 1680 TO 1700 DRAWN FOR "THE WITCH OF SALEM"] The Indians and the Waters brothers were engaged in a consultation. Charles took no part in the consultation, for he knew nothing to advise. Then the Indians accompanied them for a few miles through the woods. The forest was dark and sombre, and they had only the silent stars to light their path, until the tardy moon, rising at a late hour, filled the landscape with silver light. Day dawned, and they were in a wild, picturesque wood, with towering hills and stupendous oaks on every side. Here they halted again for consultation. Oracus, after giving them all the provisions he had with him, took his warriors and stole off into the forest. George Waters and his brother urged the escaped prisoners to eat some dried venison and parched corn and sleep. They did. Indian blankets on the ground afforded them beds, and their only covering was the sky. Charles slept until the afternoon was almost spent, and then he was awakened by the tramp of horses feet. He started up and found three Indians with five horses, saddled and bridled. The Indians belonged to the braves of Oracus, and, without a word, they dismounted and turned over the horses to the Englishmen, and stole away into the forest. A few moments later, the white people were mounted and riding away through one of the narrow paths known only to the Waters brothers. Charles Stevens' soul was too full for him to give heed to what course they took. His mother and Cora were free, though he little dreamed that they were escaping from one danger to another. They arrived one night at the home of Mr. Dustin, near Haverhill, in Massachusetts. When the frontiersman heard their story, he said: "You are welcome, my persecuted friends, to the shelter of my roof, so long as it can afford you any protection; but the war clouds seem to grow darker and more lowering every moment, and I don't know how long my roof will afford protection to any one." Charles Stevens had been so busy with his own cares and griefs, that he had forgotten that a terrible Indian war was raging on the frontier. This war was known as King William's war, in which the French joined with the Indians in bringing fire and sword upon the inhabitants of New England and New York. The French and English had long been jealous of each other, and a connected account need not be given here of all the disastrous occurrences which lead up to the terrible assault on Haverhill, where the fugitives from Salem were stopping. We will mention, as first of the principal attacks during the war of King William, the attack on Schenectady. This was made in pursuance of a plan adopted by Count Frontenac, then governor of Canada, as a means of avenging on the English Colonies the treatment of King James, deposed by William and Mary, which had inflamed the resentment of Frontenac's master, Louis XIV. While New York was torn with internal strife over Leisler, the governor of Canada fitted out three expeditions against the colonies, and in the midst of winter one was sent against New York. The attack on Schenectady was the fruit of this expedition. It was made by a party consisting of about two hundred French and fifty Caughnewaga Indians, under command of Maulet and St. Helene, in 1689 and 1690. Schenectady was built in the form of an oblong square with a gate at either extremity. The enemy found one of the gates not only open, but unguarded. Although the town was impaled and might have been protected, there was so little thought of danger, that no one deemed it necessary to close the gate. The weather was very cold, and the English did not suppose an attack would be made. It was eleven o'clock and thirty minutes on Saturday night, February 8th, 1690, when the enemy entered, divided their party, waylaid every portal and began the attack with a terrible war-whoop. Maulet attacked a garrison, where the only resistance was made. He soon forced the gate, slew the soldiers and burned the garrison. One of the French officers was wounded in forcing a house; but St. Helene came to his aid, the house was taken, and all in it were put to the sword. Naught was now to be seen, save massacre and pillage on every side, while the most shocking barbarities were practised on the unfortunate inhabitants. "Sixty-three houses and the church were immediately in a blaze," says a contemporaneous writer. Weak women, in their expiring agonies, saw their infants cast into the flames, or brained before their eyes. Sixty-three persons were murdered and twenty-seven carried into captivity. A few persons were enabled to escape; but, being without sufficient clothing, some perished in the cold before they reached Albany. About noon next day, the enemy left the desolate place, taking such plunder as they could carry with them and destroying the remainder. It was the intention of Maulet to spare the minister, for he wanted him as his own prisoner; but he was found among the mangled dead, and his papers burned. Two or three houses were spared, while the others were consigned to the flames. [Illustration: Naught was to be seen, save massacre and pillage on every side.] Owing to the wretched condition of the roads and the deep snows, news of the massacre did not reach the great Mohawk castle, only seventeen miles distant, for two days. On receipt of the terrible news, an armed party set out at once in pursuit of the foe. After a long tedious march through the snow and forest, they came upon their rear, and a furious fight followed, in which about twenty-five of them were killed and wounded. A second party of French and Indians was sent against the delightful settlement of Salmon Falls, on the Piscataqua. At Three Rivers, Frontenac had fitted out an expedition of fifty-two men and twenty-five Indians, with Sieur Hertel as their leader. In this small band he had three sons and two nephews. After a long and rugged march, Hertel reached the place on the 27th of March, 1690. His spies having reconnoitred it, he divided his men into three companies, leading the largest himself. Just at dawn of day the attack was made. The English stoutly resisted, but were unable to withstand the well-directed fire of their assailants. Thirty of the bravest defenders fell. The remainder, amounting to fifty-four, were made prisoners. The English had twenty-seven houses reduced to ashes, and two thousand domestic animals perished in the barns that were burned. The third party, which was fitted out at Quebec by the directions of Frontenac, made an attack upon Casco, in Maine. The expedition was commanded by M. De Portneuf. Hertel, on his return to Canada, met with this expedition, and, joining it with the force under his command, came back to the scene of warfare in which he had been so unhappily successful. As the hostile army marched through the country of the Abenakis, numbers of them joined it. Portneuf, with his forces thus augmented, came into the neighborhood of Casco, about the 25th of May, 1690. On the following night, an Englishman who entered the well-laid ambush was captured and killed. This so excited the Indians that they raised the war-whoop. Fifty English soldiers were sent from the fort to ascertain the occasion of the yelling, and were drawn into the ambuscade. A volley from the woods on either side swept them down, and before the remainder could recover from the panic into which they were thrown by the volley, they were assailed with swords, bayonets and tomahawks, and but four out of the party escaped and these with severe wounds. "The English seeing now that they must stand a siege, abandoned four garrisons, and all retired into one which was provided with cannon. Before these were abandoned, an attack was made upon one of them, in which the French were repulsed with an Indian killed and a Frenchman wounded. Portneuf now began to doubt of his ability to take Casco, fearing the issue; for his commission only ordered him to lay waste the English settlements, and not to attempt fortified places; but, in this dilemma, Hertel and Hopehood (a celebrated chief of the tribe of the Kennebec), arrived. It was now determined to press the siege. In the deserted forts they found all the necessary tools for carrying on the work, and they began a mine within fifty feet of the fort, under a steep bank, which entirely protected them from its guns. The English became discouraged, and, on the 28th of May, surrendered themselves as prisoners of war. There were seventy men and probably a greater number of women and children; all of whom, except Captain Davis, who commanded the garrison, and three or four others, were given up to the Indians, who murdered most of them in their most cruel manner; and, if the accounts be true, Hopehood excelled all other savages in acts of cruelty." These barbarous transactions produced both terror and indignation in New York and New England, and an attempt at a formidable demonstration against the enemy was made. The general court of Massachusetts sent letters of request to the several executives of the provinces, pursuant to which, they convened at New York, May 1st, 1661. As the result of the deliberations, two important measures were adopted. Connecticut sent General Winthrop with troops to march through Albany, there to receive supplies and to be joined by a body of men from New York. The expedition was to proceed up Lake Champlain to destroy Montreal. There was a failure, however, of the supplies, and this project was defeated. Massachusetts sent forth a fleet of thirty-four sail, under William Phipps. He proceeded to Port Royal, took it, reduced Acadia, and thence sailed up the St. Lawrence, with the design of capturing Quebec. The troops landed with some difficulty, and the place was boldly summoned to surrender. A proud defiance was returned by Frontenac, as his position at that time happened to be strengthened by a re-enforcement from Montreal. Phipps, learning this, and finding, also, that the party of Winthrop, which he expected at Montreal, failed, gave up the attempt, and returned to Boston, with the loss of several vessels and a considerable number of troops, for a part of his fleet was wrecked by a storm. It was in the midst of such trying scenes and devastation on the part of the French and savages, that superstition and fanaticism broke loose in Salem and produced a reign of terror far greater than that caused by the savages on the frontier. It was from such scenes to such scenes that Charles Stevens, his mother and friends fled. Mr. Dustin lived near Haverhill, in Massachusetts, and when they appealed to him for shelter and protection he said: "To such as I have you are welcome; but, I assure you, it is poor. The savage scalping-knife may be more dangerous than the fanatic's noose in Salem." They had been at Haverhill but a few weeks, when, as Charles and Mr. Henry Waters were one day returning from a hunt, they discovered a man trailing them. "It's a white man," Charles remarked. "So I perceive, and why should he trail us?" Henry Waters asked. "I know not; but let us ascertain." They halted at the creek near Haverhill, and were sitting on the banks of the stream, when a voice from the rocks above demanded their surrender. Looking up, they found themselves covered with three rifles. Three white men, one of whom they recognized as Mr. Joel Martin, the Virginian, stepped out from behind the rocks and advanced toward them, assuring them that any effort to escape, or resist would result in instant death. "I have you at last, murderer!" cried Martin, seizing Henry Waters. "No, you mistake----" began Charles; but Henry Waters signed him to keep quiet. The Waters brothers, as the reader is aware, were twins and looked so much alike, that it was difficult to distinguish one from the other. Charles was not slow to grasp at the idea of Henry Waters. He would suffer himself to be taken to Virginia in his brother's stead, where he would make his identity known and establish an alibi; but there was danger of the revengeful Martin killing his prisoner before he reached Virginia, and Charles said: "Will you promise, on your honor as a Virginian, not to harm the prisoner until he reaches a court of justice?" The Virginian gave his promise, and then the three led Mr. Waters hurriedly away, mounted horses, hastened to Boston and took a vessel for Virginia. Charles Stevens went to Mr. George Waters and told him what had happened. Mr. Waters' face grew troubled; but he said nothing. That night there was an alarm of savages in the neighborhood and Charles Stevens and Mr. Waters went with a train-band to meet the foe. In a skirmish, Mr. Waters was wounded, and it was thought best for him to go to Boston for medical treatment. "I have friends and relatives there," Charles said, "and we might be safe." Next day the four secretly set out for Boston, where they lodged for awhile with some relatives of Charles and his mother, who kept their presence a secret. Before concluding this chapter, it is the duty of the author, although stepping aside from the narrative, to relate what befell their brave friends, the Dustins, during the progress of King William's war. The atrocities committed upon the colonists by the French and Indians were equal to any recorded in the annals of barbarous ages. Connected with these were instances of heroic valor on the part of the heroic sufferers, which are not surpassed. On March 15th, 1697, the last year of King William's war, an attack was suddenly made on Haverhill by a party of about twenty Indians. It was a rapid, but fatal onset, and a fitting _finale_ of so dreadful a ten years' war. Eight houses were destroyed, twenty-seven persons killed, and thirteen carried away prisoners. One of these houses, standing in the outskirts of the village and, in fact, over the hill, so as to be almost out of sight of the people in the town, was the home of Mr. Dustin, the house which had afforded shelter to the fugitives from the Salem witchcraft persecution. On that fatal morning, Mr. Dustin had gone to the field to commence his spring work. The season was early, and the plow and shovel had already begun to turn over the rich, black soil. The industrious farmer had but just harnessed his horse, when the animal began to sniff the air, and, turning his eyes toward some bushes, Mr. Dustin discovered two painted faces, with heads adorned by feathers. At the same moment, a rattling crash of firearms and the terrible war-whoop announced the attack on Haverhill. He unharnessed his horse, seized his gun, which he always kept near at hand, and galloped away like the wind toward the house, pursued by arrows of the Indians. Reaching the house before the Indians, he cried to his family to fly, and he would cover their retreat. "Mrs. Neff, take Mrs. Dustin and fly for your lives," he cried. Mrs. Dustin had an infant, but a few days old, and was confined to her bed. Mrs. Neff was her nurse. The husband made an attempt to remove his wife; but it was too late. The Indians, like ravenous wolves, were rushing on the house. Mrs. Dustin turned to her husband and said: "Go, Thomas, you cannot save me, go and save the children." Moved by her urgent appeal, he leaped on his horse and, with his gun in his hand, galloped away after the children, seven in number, who were already running down the road. The first thought of the father was to seize one, place it on the horse before him, and escape; but he was unable to select one from the others. All were alike dear to him, and he resolved to defend all or perish in the effort. They had reached a point below the town, where the road ran between two hills in a narrow pass. A party of Indians, eleven in number, had seen the children and were running after them. Mr. Dustin spurred his horse between the children and the savage foe, and shouting to his darlings to fly, and bidding the oldest carry the youngest, he drew rein at the pass and cocked his gun. Thomas Dustin was a dead shot, and his rifle was the best made at that day. Facing the savages, he fired and shot the leader dead in his tracks. His followers were appalled at the fate of their brawny chieftain, and for a moment hesitated. Mr. Dustin hesitated not a single instant, but proceeded, without a moment's delay, to reload his gun. Five of the Indians fired at the resolute father, as he rode away after his flying children. "Run! run! run for your lives!" he shouted. The Indians, with a whoop of vengeance followed the father. He had four balls in his gun, and, wheeling his horse about, he fired this terrible charge at them. Though none were killed instantly at this shot, three were wounded, two so severely that they died next day. The Indians abandoned the pursuit of the resolute father, who continued to fight as he retreated, and turned their attention to less dangerous victories, so Mr. Dustin escaped with his children. Mrs. Neff, the nurse in attendance on Mrs. Dustin, heroically resolved to share the fate of her patient, even when she could have escaped. The Indians entered the house, and, having made the sick woman rise and sit quietly in the corner of the fire-place, they pillaged the dwelling, and set it on fire, taking the occupants out of it. At the approach of night, Mrs. Dustin was forced to march into the wilderness and seek repose on the hard, cold ground. Mrs. Neff attempted to escape with the baby, but was intercepted. The infant had its brains beaten out against a tree, and the body was thrown into the bushes. The captives of Haverhill, when collected, were thirteen miserable, wretched people. That same day they were marched twelve miles before camping, although it was nearly night before they set out. Succeeding this, for several days they were compelled to keep up with the savage captors, over an extent of country of not less than one hundred and forty or fifty miles. Feeble as she was, it seems wonderful that Mrs. Dustin should have borne up under the trials and fatigues of the journey; but she did. [Illustration: The resolute father continued to fire as he retreated.] After this, the Indians, according to their custom, divided their prisoners. Mrs. Dustin, Mrs. Neff and a captive lad from Worcester fell to the share of an Indian family consisting of twelve persons. These now took charge of the captives and treated them with no particular unkindness, save that of forcing them to extend their journey still further toward an Indian settlement. One day they told the prisoners that there was one ceremony to which they must submit after their arrival at their destination, and that was running the gauntlet between two files of Indians. This announcement filled Mrs. Dustin and her companions with so much dread, that they mutually resolved to make a desperate attempt to escape. Mrs. Hannah Dustin, Mrs. Mary Neff the nurse, and the lad Samuel Leonardson, only eleven years of age, were certainly not persons to excite the fear of a dozen sturdy warriors. The Indians believed the lad faithful to them, and never dreamed that the women would have courage enough to attempt to escape, and no strict watch was kept over them. In order to throw the savage captors off their guard, Mrs. Dustin seemed to take well to them, and on the day before the plan of escape was carried out, she ascertained, through inquiries made by the lad, how to kill a man instantly and how to take off his scalp. "Strike him here," the Indian explained, placing his finger on his temple, "and take off his scalp so," showing the lad how it was done. With this information, the plot was ripe. Just before dawn of day, when the Indians sleep most profound, Mrs. Dustin softly rose from her bed of earth and touched Mary Neff on the shoulder. A single touch was sufficient to awake her, and she sat up. Next the lad had to be aroused. Being young and wearied, his slumbers were profound. An Indian lay near asleep. Mrs. Dustin seized his tomahawk, and Mrs. Neff seized another Indian's weapons. The nurse shook Samuel. The lad rose, rubbed his eyes and went over to where the man lay, who had instructed him in the art of killing. He seized his hatchet and held it in his hand ready. At a signal from Mrs. Dustin, three blows fell on three temples, and with a quiver three sleepers in life had passed to the sleep of death. Once more the hatchets were raised, and six of the twelve were dead. The little noise they were compelled to make disturbed the slumbers of the others, and the three hatchets, now red with blood, fell on three more. Mrs. Neff, growing nervous and excited, cut her man's head a little too far forward, and he started up with a yell. The blood blinded him, however, and she stabbed him. The yell had roused the others, and a squaw with a child fled to the woods, while the tenth, a young warrior, was assailed by Mrs. Dustin and the lad and slain ere he was fully awake. Ten of the twelve were dead, and the escaped prisoners, after scuttling all the boats save one, to prevent pursuit, started in that down the river, with what provisions they could take from the Indians. They had not gone far, when Mrs. Dustin said: "We have not scalped the Indians." "Why should we?" asked Mrs. Neff. "When we get home and tell our friends that we three slew ten Indians, they will demand some proof of the assertion, and the ten scalps will be proof." Samuel Leonardson, boy like, was anxious to have the scalps of his foes, and so they overruled Mrs. Neff and, turning about, went back to the camp which was now deserted save by the ghastly dead, their glassy eyes gazing upward at the skies. "This is the way he told me to do it," said Samuel, seizing the tuft of hair on the head of the man who had instructed him in scalping. He ran the keen edge of a knife around the skull and, by a quick jerk, pulled off the scalp. Being novices in the art, it took them some time to remove the scalps from the heads of all; but the bloody task was finally accomplished and putting the scalps in a bag, they once more embarked in the Indian canoe and started down the stream. "With strong hearts, the three voyagers went down the Merrimac to their homes, every moment in peril from savages or the elements, and were received as persons risen from the dead. Mrs. Dustin found her husband and children saved. Soon after, she went to Boston, carrying with her a gun and tomahawk, which she had brought from the wigwam, and her ten trophies, and the general court of Massachusetts gave these brave sufferers fifty pounds as a reward for their heroism. Ex-Governor Nicholson, of Maryland, sent a metal tankard to Mrs. Dustin and Mrs. Neff, as a token of his admiration. That tankard is now (1875) in the possession of Mr. Emry Coffin, of Newburyport, Massachusetts. During the summer of 1874, one hundred and seventy-seven years after the event, citizens of Massachusetts and New Hampshire erected on the highest point of Dustin's Island an elegant monument, commemorative of the heroic deed. It displays a figure of Mrs. Dustin, holding in her right hand, raised in the attitude of striking, a tomahawk, and a bunch of scalps in the other. On it are inscribed the names of Hannah Dustin, Mary Neff and Samuel Leonardson, the English lad."[E] [Footnote E: Lossing's "Our Country," vol. iii., p. 418.] Haverhill was a second time attacked and desolated during King William's war, and other places suffered. The treaty at Ryswick, a village near the Hague, in Holland, soon after, put an end to the indiscriminate slaughter in Europe and America. At this insignificant little village, a peace was agreed upon between Louis XIV. of France and England, Spain and Holland, and the German Empire, which ended a war of more than seven years' duration. Louis was compelled to acknowledge William of Orange to be the sovereign of England. That war cost Great Britain one hundred and fifty millions of dollars in cash, besides a hundred millions loaned. The latter laid the foundation of England's enormous national debt, which, to-day, amounts to five thousand millions of dollars. Prior to the treaty at Ryswick, a Board of Trade and Plantations was established in England, whose duty it was to have a general oversight of the affairs of the American colonies. It was a permanent commission, the members of which were called "Lords of Trade and Plantations." It consisted of seven members, with a president, and was always a ready instrument of oppression in the hands of the sovereign, and became a powerful promoter of those discontents in the colonies, which broke out in open rebellion in 1775. The peace of Ryswick was of short duration. Aspirants for power again tormented the people with the evils of war. King James II. died in France, September, 1701. He had been shielded by Louis after his flight from his throne to France, and now the French monarch acknowledged James' son, James Francis Edward (known in history as the pretender) to be the lawful king of England. This act greatly offended the English, because the crown had been settled upon Anne, James' second Protestant daughter. Louis, in addition, had offended the English by placing his grandson, Philip of Anjou, on the throne of Spain, so increasing the influence of France among the dynasties of Europe. King William was enraged and was preparing for war, when a fall from his horse, while hunting, caused his death. He was succeeded by Anne, and a war ensued, which lasted almost a dozen years and is known in history as Queen Anne's War. We have, however, too long dwelt on the general history of the country. It will be essential to our story that we return to the village of Salem where superstition was reigning, while the chief characters of our story were resting in security at Boston, not daring to go abroad by day. CHAPTER XVIII. SUPERSTITION REIGNS. The awful tragedy was through, And friends and enemies withdrew. Some smite their breasts and trembling say, "Unlawful deeds were done to-day." --Paxton. After the escape of Mrs. Stevens and Cora Waters, a wave of superstition swept over the village of Salem with such irresistible fury, that it seemed in greater danger than the frontier settlements did from the French and Indians. The Nurse family and all their relatives came in for a greater share than any other. Mrs. Cloyse was second of the family to be accused by Parris and his minions. Mrs. Cloyse drew ill-will upon herself at the outset by doing as her brother and sister Nurse did. They all absented themselves from the examinations in the church, and, when the interruptions of the services became too flagrant, from Sabbath worship. They declared that they took that course, because they disapproved of the permission given to the profanation of the place and the service. At last Mrs. Cloyse, or Goody Cloyse, as she was called in the records of the day, was arrested. Mary Easty and Elizabeth Proctor were also arrested. Mary Easty, sister of Mrs. Nurse, was tried and condemned. On her condemnation and sentence, she made an affective memorial while under sentence of death, and fully aware of the hopelessness of her case, addressing the judges, the magistrates and the reverend ministers, imploring them to consider what they were doing, and how far their course in regard to accused persons was inconsistent with the principles and rules of justice. "I ask nothing for myself," she said. "I am satisfied with my own innocence and certain of my doom on earth and my hope in Heaven. What I do desire, is to induce the authorities to take time, and to use caution in receiving and strictness in sifting testimony; and so shall they ascertain the truth, and absolve the innocent, the blessing of God being upon your conscientious endeavors." No effect was produced by her warnings or remonstrances. Before setting forth from the jail to the Witches' Hill on the day of her death, she serenely bade farewell to her husband and many children, and many of her friends, some of whom afterward related that "her sayings were so serious, religious, distinct and affectionate as could well be expressed, drawing tears from the eyes of all present." The subject of witchcraft grew more interesting after the execution of Mary Easty, and to examine Elizabeth Proctor and Sarah Cloyse, or Cloyce, as Mr. Bancroft spells the name, the deputy governor and five magistrates went to Salem. It was a great day. Several ministers were present. Parris officiated, and, by his own record, it is plain that he himself elicited every accusation. His first witness John, the West India negro servant, husband to Tituba, was rebuked by Sarah Cloyse as a grievous liar. Abigail Williams, the niece to Parris, was also at hand with her wonderful tales of sorcery. She swore she had seen the prisoner at the witches' sacrament. Struck with horror at such bold perjury, Sarah Cloyse called for water and swooned away before it could be brought her. Upon this, Abigail Williams, her brother's wife, Sarah Williams, Parris' daughter and Ann Putnam shouted: "Her spirit is gone to prison to her sister!" Against Elizabeth Proctor, Abigail Williams related stories that were so foolish that one wonders how any sensible person could believe them. Among other things she told how the accused had invited her to sign the Devil's book. "Dear child!" exclaimed the accused, in her agony, "it is not so. There is another judgment, dear child," and her accusers, turning toward her husband, declared that he, too, was a wizard. All three were committed. Examinations and commitments multiplied. Giles Corey, a stubborn old man of more than four-score years, could not escape the malice of his minister and his angry neighbors, with whom he had quarrelled. Parris had had a rival in George Burroughs, a graduate of Harvard College, who, having formerly preached in Salem village, had friends there desirous of his return. He was a skeptic on the subject of witchcraft, and Parris determined to have his revenge on him, and, through his many agents and instruments, had him accused and committed. Thus far there had been no success in obtaining confessions, though earnestly solicited. It had been strongly hinted that a confession was an avenue of safety. At last, "Deliverance Hobbs owned every thing that was asked of her," and left unharmed. The gallows was to be set up, not for those who professed themselves witches, but for those who rebuked the delusion. [Illustration: Lieut.-Gov. Stoughton.] On May 14th, the new charter and the royal governor arrived in Boston. On the next Monday, the charter was published, and the parishioner of Cotton Mather, with the royal council, was installed in office. The triumph of Cotton Mather was complete. A court of oyer and terminer was immediately instituted by ordinance, and the positive, overbearing Stoughton was appointed by the governor and council as its chief judge, with Sewall and Wait Winthrop, two feebler men, as his associates. By the second of June, the court was in session at Salem, making its experiment on Bridget Bishop, a poor and friendless old woman. The fact of witchcraft was assumed as "notorious." To fix it on the prisoner, Samuel Parris, who had examined her before her commitment, was the principal witness to her power of inflicting torture. He had seen it exercised. Then came the testimony of the bewitched, and a terrible mess of stuff it was. One, on reading it, might suppose that all the inmates of Bedlam had been summoned into court to give their personal experience in the land of insanity. Many of the witnesses testified that the "shape" of the prisoner often grievously tormented them, by pinching, choking, or biting them, and did otherwise seriously afflict them, urging them all the while to write their names in a book, which "the spectre" called: "Our book." Sarah Williams, who was devotedly attached to Mr. Parris and his cause, swore that it was the shape of this prisoner, with Cora Waters, which one day took her from her wheel and, carrying her to the river side, threatened to drown her, if she did not sign the book mentioned, which she yet refused to do. Others said that the witch "in her shape," that is, appearing to them in a spiritual body invisible to any save the parties before whom she would appear, boasted that she had ridden John Bly, having first changed him into a horse. One testified to seeing ghosts of dead people, who declared that Bridget Bishop had murdered them. While the examination of the accused was in progress, the bewitched seemed extremely tortured. If she turned her eyes on them, they were struck down. While they lay in swoons or convulsions, the poor old woman was made to touch them, and they immediately sprang to their feet. Samuel Parris had his minions well trained. On any special action of her body, shaking of her head, or the turning of her eyes, they imitated her posture and seemed under some strange spell. Evidence was given that one of the bewitched persons persuaded a man to strike at the spot where the "shape of this Bishop stood," and the bewitched cried out: "You have tore her coat," and it was found that the woman's dress was torn in the very place. Deliverance Hobbs, who had confessed to being a witch, now testified that she was tormented by the spectres for her confession. And she now testified that this Bishop tempted her to sign the book again, and to deny what she had confessed. "It was the shape of this prisoner," she declared, "which whipped me with iron rods, to compel me thereunto, and I furthermore saw Bridget Bishop at a general meeting of the witches, in a field at Salem village, where they partook of a diabolical sacrament in bread and wine, then administered." John Cook testified: "About five or six years ago, one morning, about sunrise, I was in my chamber assaulted by the shape of this prisoner, which looked on me, grinned at me, and very much hurt me with a blow on the side of the head, and on the same day, about noon, the same shape walked into the room where I was, and an apple strangely flew out of my hand." Samuel Gray testified: "About fourteen years ago, I waked on a night, and saw the room wherein I lay full of light. Then I plainly saw a woman, between the cradle and the bedside, which looked upon me. I rose, and it vanished, though I found all the doors fast. Looking out at the entry door, I saw the same woman, in the same garb again, and I said, 'In God's name, what do you come for?' I went to bed and had the same woman again assaulting me. The child in the cradle gave a great screech, and the woman disappeared. It was long before the child could be quieted; and, though it was a very likely, thriving child, yet from this time it pined away, and, after divers months, died in a sad condition. I knew not Bishop then, nor her name; but when I saw her after this, I knew her by her countenance and apparel and all circumstances, that it was the apparition of this Bishop, which had thus troubled me." John Bly testified: "I bought a sow of Edmund Bishop, the husband of the prisoner, and was to pay the price agreed upon to another person. This prisoner, being angry that she was thus hindered from fingering the money, quarrelled with me; soon after which the sow was taken with strange fits, jumping, leaping and knocking her head against the fence. She seemed blind and deaf and could not eat, whereupon my neighbor John Louder said he believed the creature was overlooked, and there were sundry other circumstances concurred, which made me believe that Bishop had bewitched it." The examining magistrates asked Bly: "Have you ever been transformed by the prisoner?" "I have," Bly answered. "When was it?" "Last summer. One night, as I was coming home late, the shape of the prisoner came at me. She shook a bridle over my head and I became a horse. Then she mounted me, rode me several leagues and the bridle was removed, and I lay in my bed." John Louder, another acquaintance of Charles Stevens, was next called. John had had his experience with witches. He was an ardent admirer of Mr. Parris, and one of his emissaries. Louder, Bly and, in fact, all of Parris' tools were ignorant, bigoted and superstitious. They could be made to believe anything the pastor would tell them. Louder testified: "I had some little controversy with Bishop about her fowls. Going well to bed, I did awake in the night by moonlight, and did see clearly the likeness of this woman grievously oppressing me; in which miserable condition she held me, unable to help myself till near day. I told Bishop of this; but she denied it, and threatened me very much. Quickly after this, being at home on a Lord's Day, with the doors shut about me, I saw a black pig approach me, at which I, going to kick, it vanished away. Immediately after sitting down, I saw a black thing jump in at the window and come and stand before me. The body was like that of a monkey, the feet like a cock's; but the face was much like a man's. I was so extremely affrighted, that I could not speak. This monster spoke to me and said: "'I am a messenger sent unto you, for I understand that you are in some trouble of mind, and if you be ruled by me, you shall want for nothing in this world.' "Whereupon, I endeavored to clap my hands upon it; but I could feel no substance; and it jumped out of the window again; but it immediately came in by the porch, though the doors were shut, and said: "'You had better take my counsel.' "Whereupon, I struck at it with my stick, but struck only the ground-sel, and broke my stick. The arm with which I struck was presently disenabled, and it vanished away. I presently went out at the porch door and spied this Bishop, in her orchard, going toward her house; but I had not power to set one foot forward unto her. Whereupon, returning into the house, I was immediately accosted by the monster I had seen before, which goblin was now going to fly at me; whereat I did cry out: "'The whole armor of God be between me and you!' "So it sprang back and flew over the apple tree, shaking many apples off the tree in its flying over. At its leap, it flung dirt with its feet against my stomach, whereon, I was then struck dumb, and so continued for three days together." The records of the case on trial shows that William Stacy testified: "I received money of this Bishop for work done by me, and I was gone but a matter of three rods from her, when, looking for my money, I found it unaccountably gone from me. Some time after, Bishop asked me if my father would grind her grist for her? I demanded why not? "'Because folks count me a witch.' "I answered: "'No question but he will grind for you.' "Being gone about six rods from her, with a small load in my cart, suddenly the off wheel stumped and sank down into a hole, upon plain ground, so that I was forced to get help for the recovering of the wheel; but, stepping back to look for the hole which might give me this disaster, there was none at all to be found. Some time after, I was waked in the night; but it seemed as light as day, and I perfectly saw the shape of this Bishop in the room, troubling me; but upon her going out, all was dark again. When I afterward charged Bishop with it, she did not deny it, but was very angry. Quickly after this, having been threatened by Bishop, as I was again in a dark night, going to the barn, I was very suddenly taken or lifted from the ground, and thrown against a stone wall. After that, I was hoisted up and thrown down a bank, at the end of my house. After this, again passing by this Bishop, my horse with a small load, striving to draw, all his gears flew to pieces, and the cart fell down, and I, going to lift a bag of corn, of about two bushels, could not budge it." The foregoing is a sample of the testimony on which people were hung. We have given these, that the reader may see what firm hold Mr. Parris and superstition had on the people. We could give page after page of this testimony; but the above is sufficient. If the reader wants a fuller account of the trials of Bishop, Martin or any of the unfortunates who suffered death at Salem during the reign of superstition, we refer them to the collections of Cotton Mather in his "Invisible World." From that book we quote the following information, as elicited by the examination in case of Susanna Martin, at Salem, June 29th, 1692: Magistrate.--"Pray, what ails these people?" Martin.--"I don't know." Magistrate.--"But what do you think of them?" Martin.--"I don't desire to spend my judgment upon it." Magistrate.--"Don't you think they are bewitched?" Martin.--"No; I do not think they are." Magistrate.--"Tell us your thoughts about them." Martin.--"No; my thoughts are my own, when they are in; but when they are out, they are another's. Their master----" Magistrate.--"Their master? Whom do you think is their master?" Martin.--"If they be dealing in the black art, you may know as well as I." Magistrate.--"Well, what have you done toward this?" Martin.--"Nothing at all." Magistrate.--"Why, 'tis you, or your appearance." Martin.--"I cannot help it." Magistrate.--"If it be not your master, how comes your appearance to hurt these?" Martin.--"How do I know? He that appeared in the shape of Samuel, a glorified saint, may appear in any one's shape." No wonder that a writer having occasion to examine into the evidence a few years ago, and commenting on it, should exclaim: "Great God! and is this the road our ancestors had to travel in their pilgrimage in quest of freedom and Christianity? Are these the misunderstood doctrines of total depravity?" Reverend Mr. Noyes seemed to rival Mr. Parris in the persecution of witches. "You are a witch. You know you are," he said to Sarah Good, while urging her to confession. "You are a liar," the poor woman replied, "and, if you take my life, God will give you blood to drink." Confessions became important in the prosecutions. Some, not afflicted before confession, were so, presently, after it. The jails were filled; for fresh accusations were needed to confirm the confessions. Mr. Hale says: "Some, by these their accusations of others, hoped to gain time, and get favor from the rulers. Some of the inferior sort of people did ill offices, by promising favor thereby, more than they had ground to engage. Some, under these temptations, regarded not as they should what became of others, so that they could thereby serve their own turns. Some have since acknowledged so much. If the confessions were contradictory; if witnesses uttered apparent falsehoods, 'the Devil,' the judges would say, 'takes away their memory, and imposes on their brain.'" Who, under such circumstances, would dare to be skeptical, or refuse to believe the confessors? Already, twenty persons had been put to death for witchcraft. Fifty-five had been tortured or terrified into penitent confessions. With accusations, confessions increased; with confessions, new accusations. Even "the generation of the children of God" were in danger of "falling under that condemnation." The jails were full. One hundred and fifty prisoners awaited trial, two hundred more were accused or suspected. It was also observed that no one of the condemned confessing witchcraft had been hanged. No one that confessed, and retracted a confession, had escaped either hanging or imprisonment for trial. No one of the condemned who asserted innocence, even if one of the witnesses confessed to perjury, or the foreman of the jury acknowledged the error of the verdict, escaped the gallows. Favoritism was shown in listening to accusations, which were turned aside from friends or partisans. If a man began a career as a witch-hunter, and, becoming convinced of the imposture, declined the service, he was accused and hanged. Samuel Parris had played a strong hand and was more than successful. His harvest of vengeance seemed to have no end. Witches' Hill became a Tyburn-hill, and as many as eight were hung at one time. Matters had at last gone too far. The delusion reached its climax in the midsummer of 1692, and on the second Wednesday in October following, about a fortnight after the last hanging at Salem, the representatives of the colony assembled, and the people of Andover, their minister joining with them, appeared with their remonstrance against the doings of witch tribunals. "We know not," they said, "who can think himself safe, if the accusation of children and others under a diabolical influence shall be received against persons of good fame." The discussions which ensued were warm, for Mr. Parris had defenders even in the legislature, who denounced Charles and Hattie Stevens "as murderers and exercisers of the black art." The general court did not place itself in direct opposition to the advocates of the trials. It ordered by bill a convocation of ministers, that the people might be led in the right way, as to the witchcraft. The reason for doing it and the manner were such, that the judges of the court, so wrote one of them, "consider themselves thereby dismissed." As to legislature, it adopted what King William rejected--the English law, word for word, as it was enacted by a house of commons, in which Coke and Bacon were the guiding minds; but they abrogated the special court, and established a tribunal by statute. Phipps had, instantly on his arrival, employed his illegal court in hanging the witches. The representatives of the people delayed the first assembling of the legal court till January of the following year. Thus an interval of more than three months from the last executions gave the public mind security and freedom. Though Phipps conferred the place of chief judge on Stoughton, yet jurors, representing the public mind, acted independently. When the court met at Salem, six women of Andover, at once renouncing their confessions, treated the witchcraft but as something "so called," the bewildered but as "seemingly afflicted." A memorial of like tenor come from the inhabitants of Andover. More than one-half of the cases presented were dismissed; and, though bills were found against twenty-six persons, the trials showed the feebleness of the testimony on which others had been condemned. The minds of the juries had become enlightened, even before the prejudiced judges. The same testimony was produced, and there at Salem, with Stoughton on the bench, verdicts of acquittal followed. One of the parties acquitted on this occasion was an old acquaintance. Mr. Henry Waters, who had been arrested for his brother and taken to Virginia, suddenly appeared in Salem. John Louder, at once cried out against him and caused him to be arrested. On being arraigned, he plead not guilty and was put on his trial. John Louder was the principal witness. He stated that one day he and Bly were hunting and that defendant pursued them and bewitched their guns. Then he testified that he fired a silver bullet and wounded the defendant. He also testified to his appearing before him on the evening he went to stalk deer, and offering him a book to sign. It was known that the accused had suffered from a wound. Mr. Waters then proceeded to explain: "My name is Henry Waters, and, in early life, my brother and I were players. We were members of the Church of England and detested the Catholic Religion. The end of Charles II. was drawing near, and we reasoned that James II., his brother, would become heir to the throne. Our only hope was to organize a strong party and seize the throne for the Duke of Monmouth. I was sent to the American colonies to secure pledges of support, and get the names of all who would resist a papal monarch on my book. I came, leaving my brother and his child in England. On the way here, I was suddenly fired upon by an Indian in ambush and wounded in the side. As these men were stalking a deer I passed along and affrighted the animal, so it ran away, and I was for this accused of being a wizard." He was then asked by the examining magistrate, if he did offer a book to Mr. John Louder to sign. "I did," he quickly answered. "When was it?" "At the time and place he states." "What book was it?" "I have it here," and he produced a small, red-backed blank book. "This has caused so much trouble. Examine it, and you will see it was to contain only the names of those who would resist the accession of the Duke of York to the throne." The book was passed around to the Judge and Jury, and a smile dawned on the face of each, which was dangerous to the friends of the prosecution. That book would have hung Henry Waters during the reign of James II.; but now it was his salvation. He was one of the first acquitted. The delusion was on the wane. "Error died among its worshippers." CHAPTER XIX. THE WOMAN IN BLACK. The greatest of thy follies is forgiven, Even for the least of all the tears that shine On that pale face of thine. Thou didst kneel down, to him who came from heaven, Evil and ignorant, and thou shalt rise, Holy, and pure, and wise. --Bryant. Charles Stevens, his mother and Cora and her wounded father found safety and shelter at the home of Richard Stevens in Boston. Richard Stevens was an uncle to Charles, and a man past middle life, but noted for his practical common sense. Like all others of this noted family, he never rose high in either social or political circles. They were simply farmers or small tradesmen, with more than average intelligence, patriotic and honest as their great progenitor, who came over with Columbus. Richard Stevens knew that the delusion of witchcraft could not last. In his house, which was among the best in Boston, save those occupied by the governors and officers, the fugitives, save Mr. Waters, remained all during the latter part of 1692. As soon as his wound was healed, George Waters, mysteriously disappeared. He reached Williamsburg, Va., just after his brother was acquitted. He did not meet with Henry, for he had already taken a ship for Boston. George Waters went to Robert Stevens, where he made himself known and learned of his brother's acquittal. "The mistake was soon discovered," said Robert Stevens; "even before the case came on to be tried. Hearing that you had been arrested, I went to see you and discovered that they had the wrong man; then I procured his release." George Waters thanked Mr. Stevens for what he had done. "What are you going to do now?" asked Robert. "I shall return to Boston." "He will never cease to follow you." "No." Then Mr. Waters again became thoughtful, and Robert asked: "Are you going to slay him?" "No. Did Charles Stevens write to you?" "Yes." "Concerning the pardon?" "He did." "And have you done everything?" "Everything that can be done." "Do you bid me hope?" "Yes." That night George Waters set out by land to return to New England. It was a formidable journey in those days, and required many weeks. There were large rivers to be crossed, and he had to go to the headwaters before he could swim them. Many days and nights did the lone traveller spend in the forest. One afternoon he was suddenly aware of a man pursuing him. Instinctively, he knew it was his enemy Joel Martin. The man was alone, and George Waters, who was an expert marksman, could have waylaid and shot him. Martin came to seek his life, and, ordinarily, one might say that he was fully justified in killing him. George paused on the crest of a high hill, and with the declining sun full on him, watched the determined pursuer. "Joel Martin is a brave man," thought Mr. Waters. "He is as brave as he is revengeful." Martin was almost a mile away; but he clearly saw the figure of the horseman and supposed he had halted to challenge him to battle. Martin unslung his rifle and urged his jaded steed forward at a gallop, waving his weapon in the air. "I might be tempted to do it," George Waters thought, and he took his gun from his back, threw it on the ground and rode away. Joel Martin, who witnessed the strange proceeding, was puzzled to know what it meant. He came up to the gun of his enemy and saw him riding rapidly across the hills and rocks. "Now he is at my mercy," cried Martin. "The fool hath thrown away his gun to increase his speed." George Waters was fully a mile ahead of Joel Martin, when he heard the sharp report of a rifle followed by the crack of two or three muskets, accompanied by an Indian yell. Waters felt his heart almost stand still. He sought shelter in a dense thicket on the banks of a stream to await the shadows of night. He wondered what had become of Martin, and when he heard the yells of savages as he frequently did, he asked himself if they were not torturing the unfortunate prisoner to death. When night came, he saw a bright fire burning further down the creek, and, leaving his horse tied to a bush, the brave Englishman crept through the woods, crawling most of the way. At last he was near enough to see a score of savages sitting about a camp fire. Near by, tied to a tree was the miserable Virginian. Mr. Waters saw that he had two wounds, and was no doubt suffering greatly. His horse had been killed and afforded a feast for the savages, who evidently had not yet decided the rider's fate. Having feasted until their stomachs were overgorged, the Indians lay down upon the ground and fell asleep. Their prisoner was severely wounded and tied with stout deer-skin thongs, so that it would be utterly impossible for him to escape, and in the heart of this great wilderness the dusky sons slept in perfect security. George Waters crept up closer and closer to the prisoner, and had to actually crawl between two sleeping savages, to reach him; then he slowly rose at the feet of Martin, who, unable to sleep for pain, was the only human being in the camp awake. The prisoner saw him approaching, saw him draw his knife, and expected to be killed by his enemy; but he made no outcry. Better be stabbed to the heart by George Waters than tortured by his fiendish captors. George Waters cut the deer-skin thongs which bound him to the tree and, in a whisper, asked: "Can you walk?" "No." "I will carry you." He took the wounded man on his own broad shoulders, and carefully bore him from the camp. Not a word was said. Joel Martin's tongue seemed suddenly to have become paralyzed. George Waters walked slowly, carefully, and silently. The Indians slept. When they were some distance from the camp, Martin, entertaining but one idea of Waters' plan, said: "You have gone far enough with me. Stop right here and have it over with. I shall make no outcry." "Joel Martin, you are a brave man, I know,----" began Mr. Waters; but Martin again interrupted him with: "I shall make no outcry. You have a knife in your belt. Stab me, and be done with it." "I shall not." "Where are you going to take me?" "To my horse." Martin grumbled at the useless delay, but suffered himself to be carried to the horse. "Can you ride?" Waters asked. "Yes." "I will help you to the saddle, and, if you think there is danger of your falling, I can tie you." He assisted the wounded man into the saddle and took the rein in his hand, saying, "Hold, and I will lead." "George Waters, where are you going with me?" "To Virginia." "Can it be that you intend to spare my life?" "I have no occasion to take it." The crestfallen Virginian said no more. All night long they journeyed through the forests and across plains. At dawn of day they were among the mountains. They rested and George Waters kept watch over the wounded man while he slept. By the middle of the afternoon, they were on the march again. Mr. Martin's wounds were inflamed and sore, and he was in a fever. Next day they reached the village of some friendly Indians, and remained there two weeks, until the wounded man was able to proceed. George Waters went with him until they were in sight of a village on the upper James River. "I can go no further, Mr. Martin," said George Waters. "I understand," he returned, dismounting from the saddle. "Can you make your way to those houses?" "Yes." "I will take you nearer, if necessary." "It is not." George Waters cut two stout sticks with forks to place under his arms as crutches. Martin watched his acts of kindness, while a softer expression came over his face. He was about to go away, but turned about and, seizing Waters by the hand, cried: "God bless you! You are a man!" Not willing to risk himself further he turned away, and George Waters re-entered the forest. He reached Boston early in 1692, just after the acquittal of his brother and others of the charge of witchcraft. Everybody realizing that the madness had run its course, Charles Stevens and his mother went back to their home at Salem, confident that they need fear no more persecutions from Parris, whose power was gone. [Illustration: George Waters cut stout sticks as crutches.] Next day after his arrival, while going down a lonely path near the village Charles suddenly came upon Sarah Williams. Her eyes were blazing with the fires of hope, fanaticism and disappointed pride. "Charles! Charles!" she cried. "Nay, do not turn away from me, for, as Heaven is my witness, I did not have your mother cried out upon!" "Sarah Williams, I am as willing as any to forget the past, or, if remember it I must, only think of it as a hideous nightmare from which, thanks to Providence, we have escaped forever." "Charles, let us be friends." "Far be it from me to be your enemy, Sarah Williams." "Can you not be more, Charles?" said the handsome widow, her dark eyes on the ground, while her cheek became suffused with a blush. "What mean you, Sarah Williams?" "You used to love me." The young man started and said: "You mistake." "I do not. You told me you did in the presence of Abigail Williams. At the same time you confessed to killing Samuel Williams in order to wed me." Charles Stevens was thunderstruck, and could only gaze in amazement on the bold, unscrupulous woman, who had trained under Parris, until she was capable of almost any deception to carry her point. "Sarah Williams, what you say is a lie!" he declared, in a voice hoarse with amazement and indignation. "We shall see! We shall see!" she answered, in a hoarse, shrill voice. "I will prove it. See, I will prove it and hang you yet. Beware! I do not charge you with witchcraft, but with murder. Either take the place you made vacant by the death of Samuel Williams, or hang!" As least of the two evils, Charles Stevens intimated he preferred to hang, and, turning abruptly about, he left her. Next day he was met by Bly and Louder in the village, who interrogated him on his recent trouble with Sarah Williams about the dead husband. Knowing both to be outrageous liars, and unscrupulous as they were bold, he sought to avoid them; but they followed him everywhere and interrogated him, until he was utterly disgusted and finally broke away and went home. Charles Stevens did not tell his mother of the threat of Sarah Williams, for he considered it too absurd to notice. Three or four days later, when he had almost ceased to think of the matter, he and his mother were startled from their supper, by hearing a loud knock at the front door. "Sit you still, Charles, and I will go and see who this late visitor is." She rose and went to the door and opened it. Three or four dark forms stood without. "Is Charles Stevens in?" asked one. "Yes, sir." "I want to see him." "Who are you?" "Don't you know me, Hattie Stevens? I am the sheriff," said the speaker boldly, as he, unbidden, entered the house. "You the sheriff! What can you want here?" Turning to the men without, he said in an undertone: "Guard the doors." The dumfounded mother repeated: "You the sheriff! What do you want here?" "I want to see that precious son of yours, widow Stevens, and I trow he will guess the object of my visit." "My son! Surely he hath done no wrong. He hath broken no law." "Where is he?" The voice of the sheriff was pitched considerably above the ordinary key, and Charles Stevens, hearing it in the kitchen, became alarmed, and hastened into the front apartment, saying: "I am here. Is it me you want to see?" "Yes, Charles Stevens, I arrest you in the king's name." "Arrest me? Marry! what offence have I done that I should be arrested by the king's officers?" "It is murder!" he answered. "Murder!" shrieked both the mother and son. "Verily, it is," answered the sheriff. Then he produced a warrant issued on the complaint of Sarah Williams, charging Charles Stevens with the murder of one Samuel Williams. Charles could scarcely believe his ears, when he heard the warrant read. He had for a long time known Sarah Williams to be a bold, scheming woman; but that she would proceed to such a bold, desperate measure as this seemed impossible. "I am innocent!" he declared, while his mother sank into a chair and buried her face in her hands. "It is ever thus. The most guilty wretch on earth is innocent according to his tell," the sheriff answered. Charles Stevens besought the man not to confine him in jail, but was told there was no help for it, and he was hurried away to prison, leaving his mother overcome with grief in her chair. * * * * * * * It was some days before the news of Charles Stevens' arrest reached Boston. The prosecution was interested in keeping the matter from the friends of the accused, for the Stevens family were known to have many friends in high places in the colonies, and they might interfere in the coming trial. Cora Waters lived for weeks in ignorance of the peril of the man she loved. Her father had come home, her uncle was with them again, and she was almost happy. Poor child of misfortune, she had never known real happiness. Bleak winter was taking his departure and a smiling spring promised to be New England's guest. Hope and peace and newness of life always come with spring. Spring gladdens the heart and rejuvenates the aged. One morning, while the frosty breath of winter yet lingered on the air, Cora Waters, who was an early riser, saw a large ship entering the harbor. The wind was dead against the vessel; but she was skillfully handled and tacked this way and that and gradually worked her way into the harbor. A wreath of smoke from one of her ports was followed by the heavy report of a cannon, which salute was answered by a shot from the shore. "The ship will soon be in," the girl declared. "I will go and see it." In small seaport towns, such as Boston was at that day, the appearance of a ship caused as much excitement as the arrival of a train on a new railroad in a western village does to-day. Many people were hastening down to the beach where the boat would bring in passengers. Some were expecting friends. Others had letters from loved ones across the sea; but Cora had no such excuse. It was simply girlish curiosity which induced her to go with the crowd to the beach. Boats had been lowered from the vessel, which, having no deck, could not get into shore and was forced to cast anchor some distance off. The boats, filled with passengers, were rowed ashore. Cora stood with a careless, idle air gazing on the gentlemen and ladies as they disembarked. None specially excited her interest. Many were there greeting relatives and friends; but she had no friend or relative, and what were all those people to her? She was about to turn away, when a face and pair of dark-blue eyes attracted her attention. She involuntarily started and stared impudently at the stranger, her heart beating, and her breath coming in short quick gasps. "That face--that face! I have seen in my dreams!" she thought. It was the pale face of a woman, still beautiful, although her features showed lines of suffering and anxiety. She was dressed in black from head to foot, and a veil of jet black was wound round her head. For a few moments, she stood looking about and then came directly to Cora and asked: "Young maid, do you live in this town?" "I do, for the present," Cora answered, though she instinctively trembled, for that voice, too, sounded like a long-forgotten dream. What strange spell was this which possessed her? The woman asked: "Can you direct me to a house of public entertainment?" "Come with me." Cora knew that the lady had suffered with seasickness, and was anxious to reach land. She hastened with her to a public house kept by a widow Stevens, whose husband was a distant relative of Charles. As they walked up the hill toward the house, the woman continued to ply Cora with questions: "Are you a native of America?" she asked. "No." "England is your birth-place?" "It is." "Have you been long here?" "I was quite a child when I came," she answered. "Have you lived a long while in this town?" "Only a few months," she answered. They had nearly reached their destination, when Cora saw her father coming toward them. At sight of his daughter's companion, the face of the father became white as death, and, bounding forward, he pulled her aside, saying: "No, no! Cora, you shall not go another step with her!" At sound of his voice, the woman in black seized his arm and cried: "George! George! George!" "Away! away!" "No, no! Now that I have found you, I will not let you go. You may kill me, cut off my hands, and still the fingers will cling to you. Oh, God! I thank thee, that, after so many years, thou hast answered my prayers!" "Woman, release me!" "George! George!" Cora was lost in a maze of bewilderment. She was conscious of the strange woman in black clutching her father's arm and calling him George, while he strove to drive her away. A great throng of people gathered about them. Mr. Waters became rude in his efforts to break away. At last he flung her off, and she fell, her forehead striking on the sharp corner of a stone, which started the blood trickling down her fair white brow. The woman swooned. Sight of blood touched the heart of George Waters, and, stooping, he raised the inanimate form in his arms, as tenderly as if she had been an infant, and bore her to a public house and a private room. When the woman in black recovered consciousness, she and George Waters were alone, and he was tenderly dressing the wound he had made. "George," she said with a smile, "you will let me talk with you now?" "Yes." "George, you believed me guilty when you abandoned me at Edinburgh?" "Yes." "You do yet?" "I do." "George, Joseph Swartz told you a falsehood." "No, no, woman, do not----" "Hold, George; let me show you his dying confession. Let me show you the testimony of a priest." She took up a small, red leather bag, such as was used in those days by ladies, undid the strings and, opening it, drew forth some papers, which she handed to him. "Do you know the writing?" she asked. "This is Joseph Swartz, my best and truest friend." "No, no; read his death-bed confession, and you will see he was your malignant foe." He read the paper through, and his hands trembled with excitement, astonishment and rage. He was about to say something, when she interrupted him with: "No, no; don't, don't, George. He is dead--let us forgive. If you want more proof, I have it. See Father Healey's statement. He took Joseph Swartz's confession." Glancing at the paper, he threw it aside and cried: "Honore! Honore! Forgive me! I should have believed you, not him. I stole your child and, like a foolish man, ran away, without questioning you." "I have been sixteen years seeking these proofs. I would not have come without them. You are forgiven, for, now that you have the proof, you believe." When George Waters went out of the room, he was met by his daughter, Cora, who asked: "Father, who is she--the woman in black?" "An angel--your mother!" "May I see her?" "Yes, at once," and he led her to the apartment. CHAPTER XX. CONCLUSION. How calm, how beautiful comes on The stilly hour, when storms are gone; When warring winds have died away, And clouds, beneath the glancing ray, Melt off, and leave the land and sea Sleeping in bright tranquillity, Fresh as if day again were born, Again upon the lap of Morn. --Moore. In his dungeon cell, Charles Stevens learned that the veil of mystery which, like a threatening cloud, had enshrouded the life of Cora Waters was lifted, and the sunlight, for the first time, streamed upon her soul. She knew a mother's love. Her parents, estranged since her infancy, were again united. Such incidents are told in song and story, but are seldom known in reality. Charles heard the story in all its details related by his mother on one of her visits. He also learned that the colony of Virginia, by royal sanction, had granted a pardon to Mr. George Waters for the "death of one James Martin, late overseer to Thomas Hull." "I am glad they are happy, mother," the unhappy prisoner said. "It is the reward which in the end awaits the just," she said. "They have forgotten me." "Charles, why say you that?" "Had not Cora Waters forgotten me, surely she would have visited me while sick and in prison." "They have just heard of it," she answered. "Just heard of it!" he repeated, amazed. "I have lain here pining in this dungeon for three long weeks, and you tell me they have but just heard of it." "I am assured they have." "Mother, that seems impossible. Why, I thought all the world knew it." "But few know of it, my son. It seems to be the scheme of the prosecution to keep the matter secret. You have not written. You have sent no message?" "No, mother." "Then, pray, how could they learn of it save by the merest accident? A passing stranger bore the news." Charles Stevens heaved a sigh. "Perhaps 'tis so; but it seemed that my groans and sighs must be heard round the world, yet neither Cora Waters nor Adelpha Leisler, at whose side I stood a comforter in the dark hours of trouble, has seen fit to offer me one word of consolation." "I trow, Charles, that Adelpha knows it not. Cora is coming." "Who hath told you?" "A friend from Boston brings information that the Waters brothers, with the newly found wife and mother and Cora, are coming to Salem to do all in their power to aid you." Charles sadly shook his head and said: "My poor friends can do nothing for me." "They can at least offer you consolation and comfort." "Yes; but what more?" "That is much." "True; and I will appreciate it. I could not think that Cora would forget me. Neither would Adelpha, if she knew." His mother after waiting some time for her son to resume, at last said: "Charles, if your choice were left you, which of the two, Adelpha or Cora, would you wed?" Charles, smiling, answered: "Mother, it is not for one living within the shadow of the scaffold to think of marriage." "Charles, can you really think your case so serious?" "I do mother. I know it." "Oh, Charles, surely they will not condemn you! They have no proof. You are innocent." "I am innocent, mother; but that is no reason that evidence will not be produced against me." "Yet it will be false." "False, of course; yet many have been hung on testimony false as Satan himself." "Oh, Charles, what shall we do?" "Trust in the Lord, mother. When all earthly help is gone, we can only look to God for aid. I have prayed to him that, if it be his will, this cup might pass; yet his will, not mine, be done. If I must die a martyr to that woman's falsehood, I pray he may give me sufficient strength to endure the trial." The mother fell on the neck of her son, crying: "You shall not die! Oh, my son! my son!" Charles comforted his mother as well as he could, and she took her leave. All was dark and gloomy. He knew that malice and hatred pursued him, caught his throat and would not let go its hold, until it dragged him to death. He was buried in the midst of his gloomy reflections, when the door of his cell opened, and a jailer, entering, said: "Another visitor for you, Charles Stevens." "Another visitor? Who can it be?" he asked. "It is I," and Samuel Parris entered. For a moment, Charles Stevens was struck dumb at the audacity of the pastor of Salem in venturing to enter the cell of one whom he had wronged. Though the power of Mr. Parris was on the wane, it was not wholly gone. He took advantage of the confusion of Charles Stevens to signal the jailer to leave them, and he went out, closing the iron door behind him. Folding his arms on his breast, Parris gazed on the prisoner. Charles Stevens, about whose waist was a thick belt of leather, fastened by a chain to the wall, sat on a miserable cot, his face bowed in his hands. He did not look up at the white, cadaverous face and great, blazing orbs, which gleamed with fury upon him, although he knew full well that those eyes were on him. "Charles!" the deep sepulchral voice at last spoke. "Well?" "Look up." With a sigh, the young prisoner raised his head. Every movement he made was accompanied by the rattling of chains. "Charles, you will not believe me, when I tell you I am sorry for this." "No; I will not." "Nevertheless, I am. Charles Stevens, you do not know me; the world misjudges me, and all future generations will do the same. Some things which I have done may seem harsh; yet I was commanded of Heaven to do them." "Samuel Parris, if you have come to upbraid me, to gloat over my captivity and add to my misery, do so. I am powerless and cannot resist you; but I do entreat you not to blaspheme your Maker." The great eyes of Parris gleamed with sullen fire; his thin lips parted; his breath came short and quick, and for a few moments he was unable to answer. At last, becoming calmer, he said, in his deep sepulchral voice: "Charles, you do not like me?" "I confess it." "I have rebuked you for your sinful associations, and the wicked dislike rebuke. The devils said to the Saviour, when he would cast them out, 'Let us alone; we have naught to do with thee.' Everywhere in this life, the sinner says, 'Leave me alone,' yet it is my calling to go forth and snatch brands from the burning. Charles, why will you not denounce the child of that player?" "She hath done no wrong." "Do you love her?" "That is a question you have no right to ask, or expect me to answer." "I have read it in your heart." "I have no answer." "What have you to say in extenuation of your conduct hitherto?" "Nothing." "Why did you return to Salem?" "It is my home." "Did you anticipate this accusation?" "No." "And what do you expect now?" "Death." "Have you no hope of escaping?" "None." "But you seem calm and collected." "Why should I not?" "Most men fear death." "True." "And do not you?" "I would rather live." "What would you consent to do to save your life?" "Nothing dishonorable." "What I am about to propose is by no means dishonorable, but honorable and fair in every particular." "Proceed." "You are charged with the death of Samuel Williams. Whether you be guilty or not, it is quite clear that Williams is dead. Now it is the duty of some one to care for the widow. She is young----" "Hold, Mr. Parris! If you are going to propose that I shall wed Sarah Williams, spare your words; I will not." "Charles Stevens, do you seek death?" [Illustration: "Charles Stevens, do you seek death?"] "None should wed where the heart is not. That bold, unscrupulous woman has already won my contempt." "Have a care!" "Go tell her that Charles Stevens prefers death on the gibbet to becoming her husband." Mr. Parris gazed on the helpless prisoner for several minutes, his thin lips curled with a sneering smile. "Charles Stevens," he said in low measured tones, "you are a fool. Do you know what it is to die? Have you counted the cost of a leap in the dark?" "No sane man courts death; yet to the Christian, who hath kept God's commands, the monster is robbed of half his terrors. God has wisely constituted us so that we dread death. If we did not, we would not be willing to endure the misfortunes, disappointments and ills which afflict us from the cradle to the grave; but the Christian can say welcome to death in preference to dishonor. I thank my God, Samuel Parris, that I can, with the prophets of old, say, O, grave, where is thy victory?" "Charles Stevens, have you ever thought that, after all, this, too, may be a delusion? That the Bible may be only the uninspired work of man, and that there may be no beyond--no God, save in nature?" "So you have turned atheist?" cried Charles. "Perhaps you have been one all along?" "Charles Stevens, one cannot help their doubts." "One need not be a hypocrite, Mr. Parris. One can even drive doubts away. The true Christian never doubts and never fears. Pray for faith, have faith in your prayers, believe and ask God to help your unbelief, and doubts will disappear." "Charles, you are too young, too wise to die. Accept Sarah Williams and live." "Never! Away, hypocrite! Schemer, begone!" The pastor, quite humbled, turned and went from the prison. There was a malignant gleam in his great wicked eyes, which boded the unfortunate prisoner no good. For several weeks longer, Charles Stevens languished in prison. Cora, her father and mother came to Salem and visited him. When Cora Waters gazed on the young man, from whom she had parted a few weeks before in the full vigor of his young life and strength, and saw him emaciated, weak and pale, so that she scarcely knew him, she broke down and wept. The two were left alone in the cell. Then Charles told her how uncertain were his chances of life, and how impending his prospects of death. He could not quit this life without telling her that he loved her, and that he wished to live to make her his wife. Though that pleasure was forever denied him, it would make his last days more agreeable to know that his love was returned. What answer could she make? She, whose fondest hope this had been, said nothing; but, with heart overflowing, she threw her arms about the prisoner and burst into tears. Had she won him only to lose him? Was he to be snatched from her side at the very moment that she found him her own? "No, no, no! they shall not! they shall not!" she sobbed. From that day, Cora shared the imprisonment of her lover, so far as the jailer would permit. She added to his comfort and assured him that her undying love would follow him to the grave. Their hopes rose and sank as the day of trial drew near. The fatal day came at last, and Charles was arraigned before the court of oyer and terminer on charge of the murder of one Samuel Williams. He plead not guilty and made every preparation for defense. It was like fighting a masked battery; for they knew not what the evidence would be against them. The trial opened, and Sarah Williams, to make the scene more effective, came dressed in black and looking very pale. She was called to the stand and, between tears and sobs, told her sad story of how her loving husband had one day quarrelled with the defendant, and the latter had threatened him. Was any one else present? Yes. John Bly and Mr. Louder were both present when he threatened to kill her husband. Charles Stevens remembered having a slight altercation when he was quite a boy with Mr. Williams; but it was such a trivial matter that he had forgotten it till now. Then she told that her loving husband feared he would be slain by Charles Stevens, and that he went away to New York city on a voyage, and that the same day Charles Stevens had come to her house, and had asked her whither her husband had gone, and she had every evidence to believe he went after him. There were other witnesses, who swore that about this time Charles Stevens left the town and was gone away for some time. Charles remembered that on that occasion he had taken a journey to Rhode Island. Then came two strangers, evidently sea-faring men, of the lowest order. They were brutal, unscrupulous and had lived the lives of buccaneers, as was afterward proved. Both swore that they knew the defendant, although he had never seen either before. They saw the defendant slay Samuel Williams on Long Island, near the beach, and both gave a graphic account of his dragging the body along the sand and hurling it into the water, where the tide bore it away. Their statements were corroborative. Bly and Louder were next produced, who gave evidence that the defendant had confessed to them that he had slain Samuel Williams, and that defendant was greatly enamored of the murdered man's wife. Mr. Parris and others testified to having seen him in the company of Sarah Williams on divers of times, and that he had shown great fondness for her. "What have you to say to this evidence?" asked the chief justice to the prisoner. "I can only say they are all grievous liars." "The jury will take notice how the defendant assaults men of unquestioned character. Even the minister is assailed." There was a murmur of discontent, in which even some of the jury joined. Judges, jury and prosecutors were all against Charles, and his trial must result in conviction. The people were excited at the dastardly murder, and began to complain at the delay in the trial, which wore tediously on day after day for nearly a week. At last the evidence was all in, and the last argument made. There was everything against the prisoner. The prosecution had been so skillfully planned and executed, that there could be but one result. Charles Stevens was very calm, while Cora was carried away in a fainting condition. Mr. Waters went to the prisoner to speak with him. Charles' face was white as death; but his mind was clear and showed not the least agitation. "There can be but one result," the prisoner said. "An acquittal is impossible. Be good to Cora and mother, and keep them both away on that day. It would be too much for them. They would not forget it to their dying hour." Mr. Waters assured him that his last requests should be granted, and spoke a few words of consolation and hope. So many good people of late had perished on the gibbet, that hanging was no longer ignominious. The best and purest had died thus. The jury had been out but a few moments, when a great hub-bub arose without, and voices could be heard crying: "Wait! wait! stay your verdict!" A crowd of men rushed into the court room with a tall young man, whose weather-beaten face indicated a seafaring life, at the head of them. His cruel gray eyes, bold manner, as well as the pistols and cutlass at his belt, gave him the appearance of a pirate. "I am not dead, I trow! Who said I was dead?" he asked. "Samuel Williams! Alive!" cried a score of voices. "Who said I was murdered?" Sarah Williams rose with a shriek and stared at her husband, as if he had been an apparition, while all the witnesses, including the Rev. Mr. Parris, were covered with confusion. The jury was recalled and Samuel Williams himself took the stand. He stated: "I left my wife, because I could not live with her, and, marry! I would prefer hanging to existence with her. I went to New York, where Captain Robert Kidd was beating up recruits to sail as a privateer in the _Adventurer_ to protect commerce against the French privateers and sea-robbers. I enlisted and then, with one hundred and fifty men, Kidd did good service on the American coast, and we went to the Indian Ocean to attack pirates. Our plunder from the pirates made us long to gain more booty, and Kidd became a pirate himself. Armed with cutlasses and pistols, we were made to board many vessels, English as well as other nationalities. We went to South America, the West Indies, and finally came to New York, where Captain Kidd, one dark night, landed on Gardiner's Island, east of Long Island, with an enormous treasure of gold, jewels and precious stones, which he buried in the earth. From there we came to Boston. A pardon had been granted for all, save Kidd, who was yesterday arrested and sent to England to be tried.[F] I heard that a man had been arrested for my murder, and I hastened to save him." [Footnote F: Kidd was subsequently tried, condemned, and hung in chains; but his treasure on Gardiner's Island has not to this day been found.] The romantic story of the returned pirate produced the most profound sensation among the people in the court room. The jury had just voted on a verdict of guilty, when they were recalled, and instructed to give a verdict of acquittal, which they did. Mr. Parris retired in humiliation and disgrace. Cora fainted in her rescued lover's arms, while Mrs. Stevens, falling on her knees, thanked God that the light of Heaven at last shone on the path so long dark. Cora's mother came to take her from the liberated prisoner; but he would not give her up, holding her until she regained consciousness, when all went home together, a happy and united family. Almost in the twinkling of an eye, the delusion was dispelled, and many who had been wrong hastened, so far as in them lay to make reparation. The bigoted and fanatical, if we may not say hypocritical preachers, were displaced by God-fearing, righteous ministers, who were more liberal, exercising common sense, and possessing humanity as well as godliness, which is ever essential to a good minister. They were liberal, even to the player's child as well as to the players themselves. George and Henry Waters both became citizens of Salem, and Charles and Cora were married three months after the acquittal of the former. Their lives were eventful, with as much happiness as is commonly allotted to mortals of earth, and they left nine children, all brought up in the fear of the Lord, and lovers of liberty. Witchcraft prosecutions were doomed, and shortly after the acquittal of Charles Stevens in so singular a manner, they altogether ceased to prosecute. The imprisoned witches and wizards were reprieved and set free. Reluctant to yield, the party of superstition were resolved on one conviction. The victim selected was Sarah Daston, a woman eighty years old, who, for twenty years, had borne the undisputed reputation of a witch. If ever there was a witch in the world, she, it was said, was one. Her trial was conducted at Charlestown in the presence of a great throng. There was more evidence against her than any tried at Salem; but the common mind disenthralled of the hideous delusion asserted itself, through the jury by a verdict of acquittal. Cotton Mather, who was thoroughly imbued with the delusion, to cover his confusion, got up a case of witchcraft in his own parish. He averred that miracles were wrought in Boston. Cotton Mather does not seem to have been bloodthirsty, though he was more anxious to protect his vanity than his parishioners, and his bewitched neophyte, profiting by his cautions, was afflicted by veiled spectres. The imposture was promptly exposed to ridicule by one who was designated as "a malignant, calumnious, and reproachful man, a coal from hell." It was the uncultured, but rational, Robert Calef. Cotton Mather wrote and spoke much on the subject of witchcraft, long after the delusion had vanished. [Illustration: Cotton Mather.] The inexorable indignation of the people of Salem Village drove Parris from the place. Noyes confessed his error and guilt, asked forgiveness and devoted the remainder of his life to deeds of charity. Sewall, one of the judges, by rising in his pew in the Old South meeting-house on a fast day, and reading to the whole congregation a paper, in which he bewailed his great offence, recovered public esteem. Stoughton and Cotton Mather never repented. The former lived proud, unsatisfied and unbeloved. The latter attempted to persuade others and himself that he had not been specially active in the tragedy. His diary proves that he did not wholly escape the impeachment of conscience, for it is stated that Cotton Mather, who had sought the foundation of faith in tales of wonders himself, "had temptations to atheism and to the abandonment of all religion as a mere delusion." As when a storm clears away, it leaves the atmosphere clearer, so the common mind of New England became more wise. By employing a cautious spirit of search, eliminating error, rejecting superstition as tending toward cowardice and submission, the people cherished religion as a source of courage and a fountain of freedom, and forever after refused to separate belief from reason. The actual fate of Mr. Parris is not certainly known. Some have intimated that he died of a loathsome disease, others that, like Judas, he took his own life; but we are assured that he received his share of earthly torment for his base hypocrisy and cruel wrongs. Most of the people who pretended to be afflicted afterward made confessions admitting their error. Efforts were made by the legislature to make amends for some of the great wrongs done at Salem; but such wrongs can never be righted. The victims of Parris' hate and avarice have slept for two hundred years on Witches' Hill, and there await the trump that shall rouse the dead, when the just shall be separated from the unjust. Salem Village is peaceful, happy and quiet. In the gentle murmur of waves, the whisper of breezes and the laugh of babbling brooks, about the quaint old town, all nature seems to rejoice that the age of superstition has passed. THE END. [Illustration: Witches Hill.] HISTORICAL INDEX. Albany resists Leisler, 223 Albany Convention, resolutions of, 229 Andover remonstrates against the doings of the witch tribunes, 342 Andros, governor of New York, claims dominion of Connecticut, 102 Andros arrives at Hartford for charter, 104 Andros has a vice-royal commission to rule New York and all New England, 135 Andros seized, imprisoned and sent to England, 218 Anne's, Queen, war, 324 Archdale, governor of the Carolinias, 148 Arrival of William Penn at Newcastle, 30 Arrival of Sloughter in the _Beaver_, 228 Assembly meets at Philadelphia, 36 Assembly condemns Leisler and Milborne, 231 Baltimore, Lord. Penn makes satisfactory arrangements with him for Delaware, 34 Baltimore, Lord, goes to England, 137 Baltimore, Lord, death of, 139 Barclay, Quaker author, appointed governor of East Jersey, 142 Bayard receives Andros, 102 Bayard and Cortlandt oppose Leisler, 220 Berkeley, Lord, sells his interest in New Jersey, 140 Board of Trade and Plantations, 325 Boll, Captain, and Andros, 102 Bradford, William, first printer in Philadelphia, 37 Burroughs, Rev. George, rival of Parris, 330 Byllinge sells his interest in New Jersey to Penn, 141 Calvert, Leonard, death of, 139 Carteret, death of, 142 Casco, Maine, attacked by Indians, 312 Catholicism in New York under King James, 216 Charles II., his reign drawing to a close, 6 Charles Stuart (the Pretender), 326 Charter of Connecticut in mahogany box, 107 Charter Oak, story of, 109 Church establishment in Maryland, 139 Circle at Mr. Parris' house, 67 Cloyse, Mrs., arrested, 328 Connecticut refuses to surrender charter, 103 Coode's plot, 137 Coode in possession of the records of Maryland, 138 Culpepper, John, surveyor-general of North Carolinia, 147 Daston, Sarah, acquitted of witchcraft, 380 Delaware's independent legislature, 1703, 41 Deliverance Hobbs confesses to being a witch, 330 Dougan, Colonel, leaves New York, 217 Duke of Monmouth, 44 Duke of York, fears of, 6 Duke of York gives Penn a quitclaim deed to Delaware, 29 Duke of York releases the Jerseys, 142 Dustin, Mr., defending his children, 319 Dustin, Mrs., captured, 320 Dustin, Mrs., and fellow-captives slay ten Indians and escape, 322 Dustin, Hannah, monument of, 324 Easty, Mary, arrested for a witch, 328 East Jersey, Barclay appointed governor for, 142 Ennis, Episcopal preacher, misrepresents Leisler in interest of Nichols, 219 English Friends purchase New Jersey, 140 Escape of condemned witches, 302 Evidence against Rebecca Nurse, 265 Fenwick's first day in New Jersey, 140 Fits and witchcraft, 252 Fletcher succeeds Andros, 115 Fox, George, founder of Quakers, 25 Franklin, William, son of Dr. Benjamin Franklin, last royal governor of New Jersey, 144 Friends, the term applied to Quakers, 25 Frontenac fitting out expedition against Salmon Falls, 311 Good, Sarah, and little child arrested as witches, 253 Governor of New Jersey a tyrant, 144 Hale, Sir Mathew, on witchcraft, 235 Haverhill attacked by Indians, 317 Haverhill a second time attacked, 325 Heir of James II. to throne, 135 Holme, Thomas, the surveyor who aided Penn in laying out Philadelphia, 35 Hyde, Sir Edmund, governor of Jerseys, 144 Immigrants to South Carolinia, 150 Indented slaves, 46 Ingoldsby, Sloughter's captain, 229 Ingoldsby arrests Leisler and eight of his council, 230 James II. on the throne of England, 39 James II. sends agent to Rome to visit the Pope, 40 Jeffries, judge of the "Bloody Assizes,", 45 Jerseys, the, surrendered to the crown, 1702, 143 John, Mr. Parris' West Indian slave, 66 Jury acquits Rebecca Nurse, 272 Jury reconsiders verdict and convicts Rebecca Nurse, 273 Kidd, Captain Robert, the pirate, 377 Kidd, Captain, fate of, 378 King William's War, 308 Kirk hunting Monmouth's rebels, 44 Laws fashioned by William Penn, 36 Lawson, Rev. Deodat, at Salem, 276 Lawson, Rev. Deodat, and the bewitched, 278 Lawson interrupted in his sermon by the bewitched, 279 Legislatures in American colonies do not favor the malice of James II., 47 Leisler, Jacob, 216 Leisler seizes the garrison of New York, 218 Leisler sends an address to King William, 219 Leisler in charge of affairs at New York, 221 Leisler and Milborne arrested, 250 Leisler tried and condemned, 231 Leisler executed, 233 Leonardson, Samuel, escapes with Mrs. Dustin, 323 Locke and Cooper's scheme, 145 Markham, William, sent to take possession of Pennsylvania for William Penn, 28 Martin, Susanna, accused of being a witch, 246 Mary, eldest daughter of James II., marries Prince of Orange, 135 Maryland, how affected by the Revolution of 1688, 136 Maryland becomes a royal province, 138 Maryland, seat of government moved to Anne Arundel 139 Mather, Cotton, 249 Mather's, Cotton, Mexican argument, 184 Mather's, Cotton, triumph, 331 Mather's tendency to atheism, 381 Milborne, Jacob, son-in-law of Leisler, 219 Milborne, Jacob, captures Albany, 226 Milborne hung, 232 Monk, Duke of Albemarle, created viceroy over empire of North Carolinia, 145 Monmouth, Duke of, beheaded, 44 Morris commissioned governor of New Jersey, 144 Neff, Mrs., nurse to Mrs. Dustin, captured, 320 New Castle, arrival of Penn at, 30 New Englanders, character of, 5 New England settled by fugitives, 351 New Jersey divided into East and West Jersey, 141 Nicholson, lieutenant-governor of New York, 210 Nicholson misrepresents Leisler, 220 Nicholson made governor of Virginia, 221 Nicholson, governor of Maryland, sends Mrs. Dustin a silver tankard, 321 North Carolinia and the navigation act, 146 Noyes, Rev. Mr., and the eight firebrands of hell, 375 Nurse, Rebecca, arrested as a witch, 256 Nurse, Rebecca, trial of, 265 Nurse, Rebecca, acquitted, 272 Nurse, Rebecca, convicted and sentenced, 273 Nurse, Rebecca, excommunicated, 274 Nurse, Rebecca, hung, 275 Orange, Prince of, marries Princess Mary, 135 Parris, Samuel, minister at Salem, 65 Parris' circle, 251 Parris propagating the delusion of witchcraft, 258 Parris, fate of, unknown, 382 Penn, William, adopts the religion of a Quaker, 26 Penn's attention drawn to America--his charter, 27 Penn gets a quitclaim deed to Delaware from Duke of York, 29 Penn's treaty with the Indians, 31 Penn's new charter adopted, 36 Penn returns to England in summer of 1684, 37 Penn bidding colonists farewell--his departure, 38 Penn, restored to his rights, returns to America, 40 Penn, death of, 41 Pennsylvania, how named, 28 Pennsylvania divided into three counties, 37 Persecution of the Monmouth rebels, 47 Philadelphia, how named and laid out by Penn and Holme, 35 Phipps reduces Acadia, 314 Phipps in Massachusetts, 342 Pilgrims persecute Quakers, 24 Puritan superstition, 160 Quakers persecuted by Pilgrims, 24 Quaker, how the term came to be used, 25 Rhode Island charter surrendered, 114 Ryswick, treaty of, 325 Salem, 2 Salem witchcraft, 234 Salmon Falls attacked, 311 Schenectady attacked by French and Indians, 309 Sidney, Algernon, aids Penn in drawing up a code of laws for Pennsylvania, 29 Sloughter, Colonel Henry, commissioned governor of New York, 228 Sothel, Seth, governor of North Carolinia, 147 Sothel arrested, tried and convicted, 148 South Carolinia politics in 1672, 149 Stoll, Jost, the ensign who bore Leisler's letter to King William, 220 Stoughton, judge to try witches, 343 Superstition, the reign of, 328 Swedes and William Penn, 34 Tituba, Mr. Parris' slave, 66 Train-bands summoned, 107 Treat, Robert, governor of Connecticut, 115 Uplands (now Chester County), Penn meets assembly at, 34 Van Cortlandt's burnt offering, 135 Wadsworth and the Charter Oak, 110 Walcut, Mary, bitten by a witch, 277 _Welcome_, name of Penn's ship, 30 West Jersey, first popular assembly at Salem, 142 William and Mary deprive Penn of his rights as governor, 40 William and Mary's ascension to the throne of England hailed with joy throughout New England, 217 Williams, Abigail, niece of Mr. Parris, 68 Williams, Abigail, bewitched, 279 Winthrop's expedition fails, 314 Witchcraft, belief in general, 235 Witchcraft, evidence of, 266 Witchcraft, trials for, 331 Witchcraft, doctrine of, 380 Witch doctor, 236 Witches hung on Witches' Hill, 275 CHRONOLOGY. PERIOD VII.--AGE OF SUPERSTITION. A.D. 1680 TO A.D. 1700. 1680. CHARLESTON, S. C., founded by the removal of the Carteret Colony. 1681. PENNSYLVANIA granted to William Penn by Charles II.,--March 4. 1682. LA SALLE explored the Mississippi to its mouth; named Louisiana. DELAWARE (the three lower counties) granted to William Penn,--Aug. 24. PHILADELPHIA founded by William Penn. 1684. MASSACHUSETTS' CHARTER declared null and void by English Court,--June 18. 1685. ACCESSION OF JAMES II. to the throne of Great Britain,--Feb. 6. 1686. ARRIVAL OF SIR EDMUND ANDROS, Governor of all New England,--Dec. 20. 1687. CHARTER OF CONNECTICUT concealed in Charter Oak at Hartford,--Oct. 31. 1689. ACCESSION OF WILLIAM III. AND MARY II. to the throne of Great Britain,--Feb. 13. KING WILLIAM'S WAR, between Great Britain and France,--lasted eight years. 1690. BURNING OF SCHENECTADY, N. Y., by French and Indians,--Feb. 9. PORT ROYAL taken by the British under Phipps,--May. 1691. MASSACHUSETTS, Plymouth, Maine, and Nova Scotia united,--Gov. Phipps, Oct. 7. LEISLER AND MILBORNE hung,--May 16. 1692. PHIPPS' WITCHCRAFT COURT at Salem, Mass. (Twenty persons convicted of witchcraft and put to death.) 1694. DEATH OF MARY II., Queen of Great Britain,--Dec. 28. 1697. TREATY OF RYSWICK closed King William's War; no change in territory,--Oct. 30. 1699. CAPTAIN WILLIAM KIDD, the pirate, at Gardner's Bay, Long Island. [Transcriber's Note: Inconsistent use of hyphens has been retained as in the original: Goodwife/Good-wife, firebrands/fire-brands, roadside/road-side, firelight/fire-light, fireplace/fire-place, hubbub/hub-bub, seafaring/sea-faring. Other punctuation and spelling has been standardized.]