University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

—Interior of the Village-Inn.
Enter Deacon Gidney, Just. Fisk and Pudeater, L. H.
Justice F.
What ails you, Cephas Pudeater, that you
Make that murmuring noise, and look amazed!

Deacon G.
He wishes to give his testimony—
And in this little pause, while greater hopes
Are making to a head—Pudeater, you may tell
What you have wished to say to us; we'll not
Arrest you now.

Pudeater.
'T is that that vexes me. She will not
Let me speak. Often this way have I been
Troubled in the fields, sometimes upon the road,
And stood dumb-foundered by the hour.

Justice F.
Is this the shape of your affliction?

Pudeater.
No, sir—it has no shape, but every sort
Of form, puts on to devil me.

Deacon G.
How was 't
With your oxen, Master Pudeater?

Pudeater.
[Crosses to C.]
That was the worst of all, your reverence;
Two noble cattle as ever trod a hoof
(You recollect them, Master Justice,—the brindles
That I bought of William Hoisington, beyond the bridge?)
I heard that Mistress Bodish had hard-threatened me,
And moved them to a meadow, farthest
From her house; no sooner there, than a great fly
In overpowering swarms, came on them,
And they fell lean as rakes. I took them then,
To Salisbury beach, where cattle used to gain
Their flesh; no sooner there, than up they ran
Unto the mouth of Merr'mack river,
Dashed into the water toward Plum Island—
And, swimming out to sea, have ne'er returned!

Deacon G.
And stopped your trouble there?

Pudeater.
That was its starting-point, your reverence;
For quickly after this, going one night
To barn, I suddenly was taken from the ground,
And thrown blank 'gainst a wearisome stone wall,
And after that again wondrously uphoisted,
And cast down a bank at the end o' the house;
And after still, merely passing her house,
This Ambla Bodish's, a horse,—I borrowed
Him at Walcutt's, since my oxen's strange
Navigation—with a small load of grain,
Striving to draw, his gear flew all in pieces,
The cart fell swiftly clattering down, and I
Poor Cephas Pudeater, hastening then
To lift a bag of corn—two bushels say,
In hest, could not upraise it with all my strength.
I was not drunk, your reverence, I'm sure
I was not drunk!

Justice F.
And what at Maple Hill?

Pudeater.
Oh, ask me not of that—one night
As I was passing, just in sport, I thrashed
The bushes with my staff, (I carry it
For safety in these troubled times, where'er I go)—
And out there sprung, I could not tell them
In the dark, great creatures of some sort,
Black-beaked and yellow-winged—two owl-like birds!
In fear I fled the spot—and as I ran,
Old Ambla Bodish, light-like, crossed my path,
Without the use of limbs—for in the air she
Seemed to glide, as though she were a crow!
A charm I had of cunning Goodwife Prawl,
'Gainst witchery in every shape, saved me
From harm—or Cephas Pudeater would not,
The Lord preserve us, now be standing here.
I was not drunk, your reverence; I'm sure
I was not drunk.

Deacon G.
Wear you still the charm?

Pudeater.
I do, your reverence—these two horse shoes—
But I do fear their potency is gone.
[Crosses to R.
As sure as wax is wax I was not drunk!

Deacon G.
[Pauses.]
What say you now, good Master Justice?

Justice F.
I think the cup is full.

[Rises.
Deacon G.
[Rises.]
I think it overflows:—
This will not bear a longer tarrying,
This afternoon should fix her. Have you
The warrant writ?

Justice F.
'T has been writ a week; but as in her,
We strike at the great head of this bewilderment,
Our weapons must be sharp and sure.

Deacon G.
We 're armed on every side, with witnesses,
Of all degrees; with testimony various
As the devil's shifts—slips she one rope,
There'll be a dozen to catch her. I 've had
A hand in that, you know, and I work sure—
So I am told, in all the parish business.

Justice F.
Pudeater, come hither.

[Takes Pud. aside.
Enter Topsfield, L. H.
Topsfield.
[Looking back.]
Come, Simon, linger not,
The time is urgent, and the hour draws on.

Enter Braybrook, L. H.
Deacon G.
Are you prepared to set forth to the Falls?
'T is there our closing confirmation lies.

Topsfield.
We are, and come to have direction
From your worships.

Deacon G.
There is a thunder-blighted child, made idiot
In a storm, at Newberry Falls—you are to learn
Whether any fresh pains have racked it
In the last ten hours. Mark well the faces
Of the people who report it to you.

Justice F.
If Justice Bly, of Norridgewook
Come out, as you pass, as no doubt he will—
Asking how we get on, tell him we 've twenty
In the jail; and if he can come to Salem
On Friday next, he'll see a goodly hanging:
We'll be ready, Deacon, by that time?

Deacon G.
No doubt, we shall.

Pudeater.
Your worship,
Might he ask the Judge to bring with him,
Good Marshal Williams, his own officer,
To see how we dispose our work? I shall
Be well enough to help, by then.

Deacon G.
But to the matter more in hand.

Justice F.
Here 's a list of some suspected,
Whom you may look for by the way.

Deacon G.
Bring you but word the child is dead—we know
Who launched the bolt—and all is sealed!
[Topsfield and Braybrook are going, L.
Halt there!—what, would you dare to venture forth,
Without a benediction—and be snatched away
To utter darkness, ere you know it! You,
Thomas Topsfield, and Simon Braybrook, you—
Upon an errand of the Lord are sent! Go forth
Neither to smite, nor slay, nor judge unjustly,
But to seize and hale before this Court,
Maligners of the sacred name, and doers
Of the works of darkness. Be wary—
Look to your stirrups at the Cross-Roads;
My blessing with you, my masters, and now
Ride forth courageously. Remember,
Master Topsfield, the news you bring will fix
Beyond appeal, the fate of Ambla Bodish!

[Exeunt Topsfield and Braybrook, L. H., Deacon G., Justice F. and Pudeater, R. H.