 | Witchcraft |  |
SCENE I.
—Near Witch Hill.Enter Deacon Gidney, Justice Fisk, and Officer Pudeater, L. E.
Deacon G.
How now with law? Keep you, good man Pudeater,
Moving?
Justice F.
Dull, dull, your reverence; the quills decay,
The benches rot, and Cephas, here, picks flesh
Too fast,—he doth begin to scorn my coats.
I've writ no mittimus, a fortnight now
To-morrow.
Deacon G.
Take care, the village-folk will slip away
To sad disorder, let you the rein so free!
Justice F.
Good Deacon, I behold it clearly:
Is there no hope? Might Cephas make a riot
With such others as he could, to gather
The evil humor to a head that I
Might probe it?
10
Hear you from Hadley?
Justice F.
A private piece of gossipry last night;
Two old witches hung, and three, now, under
Suspicion—rare work, your reverence,
But out o' the jurisdiction.
Deacon G.
Have courage,
Mr. Justice; good shall come of Salem, yet—
And Deacon Perfect Gidney, mark you,
Is your friend.
Justice F.
I thank you, and am beholden;
You see a hope?
Deacon G.
If I am pure, I do—the witchcraft
Has reached Hadley and Lynn; and from the villages
About, a wolf at bay, encompassed in,
Will here, at Salem, tear most bloodily,
The hand that touches it.
Justice F.
I see, I see, sir.
Deacon G.
Where will this judgment sift down its darkness first,
And where shoot in its covenant lightnings first?
Here 's Mistress Benom's house, here old Hubbard's,
Whom the church hath excommunicated;
And there, Ambla Bodish, lone with her son
Gideon; who walks not in the sanctuary
On Sabbath days.
Justice F.
I'm cheerful, not that these poor old wretches
Must be burned, or hanged, or cast in irons,
But, as you say, that good shall come of Salem, yet.
Deacon G.
Oh, Mr. Justice—and even you, sir,
Goodman Pudeater, may join us—let us
[Crosses to C.
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In Salem, that we his poor servants—
(For what 's an hundred pound a year, and glebe,
And tithe, and parsonage, aye, and besides,
The best domicil of the parish, too)—
That we, meek of spirit, may put him down.
Pudeater.
I thank your reverence, humbly: I give thanks—
May I help?
Deacon G.
He serves your process, doth he not?
Justice F.
Pudeater is a worthy officer.
Deacon G.
You may.
[Crosses to R.
Pudeater.
I have a wife and child, Heaven be praised,
Shall thank you: Goodwife Pudeater
[Crosses to C.
And the lesser Cephas, thank you, Master Deacon.
[Retires up.
Deacon G.
Ah, ha—there 's dust rising upon the road!
Who comes in haste—an hour before his time?
The postman, with further news from Hadley!
His horses' eyeballs shoot ahead with speed,
And glare against the elm-leaves by the road,
His nostrils puff the summer dust away—
Great news, no doubt; exterminations bloody.
Pudeater.
It 's Ostler Tarboll, air, the great rider
Of Hadley.
Deacon G.
First for the news, and then for dinner,
With sauce and the salt blessing of a grace! I see
That Deacon Perfect Gidney's chimney smokes
To the last turn almost the lamb-joint needs.
[Exit Deacon Gidney, R.
Pudeater.
An excellent man, your worship, of good heart.
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Yes, of good heart for work that 's toward—
Be sure that he, who when a stripling boy,
Did strike a wicked woman of four score,
For kneeling not when his good father called
To prayer, will not delay to sharply deal
With sorcery, now.
Pudeater.
A mittimus a day?
Justice F.
A score.
Pudeater.
Let 's go and see when 't will begin.
Justice F.
Do you go on, Pudeater, and tell them
I am coming.
Pudeater.
[Going]
Sweet man! oh Cephas, Cephas,
You 're a happy father's child!—There'll be a roast
On Lord's day next for this.
Justice F.
Go on, go on.
Pudeater.
Perfect Pudeater, if the Deacon will allow,
Shall be the next boy's name.
Justice F.
Be diligent.
[Exit Justice R.
Pudeater.
I surely will—I'll run up and down the town
In all directions, stay out late o' nights,
Keep an eye open upon old women,
And on the wicked moon, which turns their heads,
Pry through key-holes, to overhear their talk—
From all I hear, I'm sure there must be witches
Somewhere in this neighborhood—If I can
But catch one, I shall be made forever.
[Exit Pudeater, L. H.
Enter Topsfield and Braybrook, L. H.
Topsfield.
(R.)
Why, Simon, you stumbled against a stone
13
At the break of day, and your axe lost edge
As though 't had rusted in the dew all night.
Braybrook.
(L.)
I 've seen over in the opening here,
Some twenty flights of crows that went apast
Like clouds, nor cawed a single feather of them all.
Enter an old man, passing from R. to L.
Old Man.
Good morrow, men!
Topsfield.
Good morrow, uncle!—You move past as if
You had your youth just given you.
Old Man.
And so I have—and, new-arrived upon this shore,
I feel it in my blood and in my steps;
Now that the weight of ancient government
Is off my mind, I feel, and should I not?—
As though a chain were taken from the arm,
And I, uplifted from an atmosphere
Where, on the earth I gasped, to stand upright,
And breathe it as Nature outpours to me.
Topsfield.
The air is fresh and free here, and there 's plenty of it.
In every gift our Salem is a lovely place.
Braybrook.
A little raw, Thomas, at north-east,
And makes us pull the cap over the nose.
Old Man.
A long chain of many precious links it needs
To hold this greenness to that waste, beyond
The water here; one day, the ocean may
Go mad and break it.
Braybrook.
When the sky falls we'll catch a plenty larks.
14
Well, well: There 's news from Boston even now,
Of heaving upward in the state. Look out, my men!
[Exit Old Man, E. L.
Topsfield.
A cheerful old man, who feels now for me first,
What we have always felt—we who have grown
Into our prime with this green world, have reached
This felling manhood, since first the first white foot
Was set on 't, for you and I and Gideon Bodish,
On the same day were born, twins not of the womb,
But of the air, the place, the season.
Braybrook.
'T was a Wednesday, in the morning I was born,
The dawn-cock crew, (they say,) just as I came;
You were after me an hour or two, Thomas,
And Gideon, in the middle of the day.
Topsfield.
But as I say,
How little like is Gideon to us
And other children of the soil. He still
Holds fast to his mean narrow home, follows
His mother's steps, obeys her words, and seeks
No wider range, than their small fields.
Braybrook.
We must beguile him more into our sports,
Nor let his excellent boldness dwindle,
Like the dull blaze of summer logs.
Topsfield.
I would go many miles, and often,
To make him cheerfuller: I fear, I know,
There 's something sad and strange beneath that roof—
Depend upon 't—it makes me sad to think so.
15
“He has not wived, no children sit upon his knee;
“His whole soul's tide has set one way, and washes
“Forever that large shore, a mother's love.
“Braybrook.
You 're shrewd, and more
“Than half right; he goes from home but to return,
“How horse-like his steps fly on returning—
“And he is there, but to remain, watchful
“As the great-winged hawk about it.”
“Topsfield.”
See! there is Ambla, now,
[Look.off R. H.
Stands in the door, and looks towards this hill;
Her locks are grey, her daily garments, like
The other village-wives', and yet unlike:
And when, as often, at evening, she walks
This Maple Hill, I think, somehow, that she
And it are suited; a wild strange wood is this—
And she a woman—darkly strange and wild.
Ambla and Gideon, though with us, walk not
Our path—but always move apart and bear
With them, in gesture, greeting look, and voice,
The memory of a life greater than ours;
“Old Ambla changes more from what she was,
“E'en while we look on her, grows stranger!
“With what a smile she used in other days,
“When village children strayed that way, as oft
“I did, to open wide her garden gate—
“Young Salem's first of gardens tending—
“And bring them in: Oh, beautiful and chief
“Was she, in her majestical, fair port,
“Of all women—guide to the lost and sad,
“Helper to all poor neighborhood, kindling
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“For wayfarers of all creeds, all colors
“And all climes; but now another spirit
“Walks with her apart”—Hark, now!—What 's that—
You heard a rustling?
Braybrook.
I did—over this way
Crossing to R.
Topsfield.
A streaked panther?—It is—I see him now
Again.—Cast down your axe, and seize your gun.
Come, call Gideon Bodish and take the track.
Braybrook.
Remember, we throw them by this hazel bush.
Topsfield.
Quick! Quick! The town awards a goodly prize,
To him who takes the panther.—And this,
Our Salem, we must shield from every harm.
[Exeunt Topsfield and Braybrook, R.
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