University of Virginia Library

7. CHAPTER VII.

Meanwhile other charges grew up, and there was a
dread everywhere throughout the whole country, a deep
fear in the hearts and a heavy mysterious fear in the
blood of men. The judges were in array against the
people, and the people against each other; and the number
of the afflicted increased every day and every hour,
and they were sent for from all parts of the Colony.
Fasting and prayer preceded their steps, and whithersoever
they went, witches and wizards were sure to be
discovered. A native theologian, a very pious and very
learned writer of that day, was employed by the authorities
of New England to draw up a detailed account of
what he himself was an eye witness of; and he says of
the unhappy creatures who appeared to be bewitched, all
of whom he knew, and most of whom he saw every day
of his life, that when the fit was on, they were distorted
and convulsed in every limb, that they were pinched
black and blue by invisible fingers, that pins were stuck
into their flesh by invisible hands, that they were scalded
in their sleep as with boiling water and blistered as with
fire, that one of the afflicted was beset by a spectre with
a spindle that nobody else could see, till in her agony
she snatched it away from the shape, when it became
instantly visible to everybody in the room with a quick
flash, that another was haunted by a shape clothed in a
white sheet which none but the afflicted herself was able
to see till she tore a piece of it away, whereupon it grew

visible to others about her, (it was of this particular story
that Sarah Good spoke just before she was turned off)
that they were pursued night and day by withered hands
—little outstretched groping hands with no bodies nor
arms to them, that cups of blue fire and white smoke of
a grateful smell, were offered them to drink while they
were in bed, of which, if they tasted ever so little, as they
would sometimes in their fright and hurry, their bodies
would swell up and their flesh would grow livid, much
as if they had been bit by a rattle snake, that burning
rags were forced into their mouths or under their armpits,
leaving sores that no medicine would cure, that
some were branded as with a hot iron, so that very deep
marks were left upon their foreheads for life, that the
spectres generally personated such as were known to
the afflicted, and that whenever they did so, if the shape
or spectre was hurt by the afflicted, the person represented
by the shape was sure to be hurt in the same way,
that, for example, one of the afflicted having charged a
woman of Beverly, Dorcas Hoare, with tormenting her,
and immediately afterwards, pointing to a far part of the
room, cried out, there!—there! there she goes now!
a man who stood near, drew his rapier and struck at the
wall, whereupon the accuser told the court he had given
the shape a scratch over the right eye; and that Dorcas
Hoare being apprehended a few days thereafter, it was
found that she had a mark over the right eye, which
after a while she confessed had been given her by the
rapier; that if the accused threw a look at the witnesses,
the latter, though their eyes were turned another way,
would know it, and fall into a trance, out of which they
would recover only at the touch of the accused, that
oftentimes the flesh of the afflicted was bitten with a peculiar
set of teeth corresponding precisely with the teeth
of the accused, whether few or many, large or small,
broken or regular, and that after a while, the afflicted
were often able to see the shapes that tormented them,
and among the rest a swarthy devil of a diminutive
stature, with fierce bright eyes, who carried a book in
which he kept urging them to write, whereby they would
have submitted themselves to the power and authority
of another Black Shape, with which, if they were to be
believed on their oaths, two or three of their number had
slept.

In reply to these reputed facts however, which appear
in the grave elaborate chronicles of the church, and are
fortified by other facts which were testified to about the
same time, in the mother country, we have the word of
George Burroughs, a minister of God, who met the accusers
at the time, and stood up to them face to face, and
denied the truth of their charges, and braved the whole
power of them that others were so afraid of.

Man! man! away with her to the place of death!
cried he to the chief judge, on hearing a beautiful woman
with a babe at her breast, a wife and a mother acknowledge
that she had lain with Beelzebub. Away
with her! why do you let her live! why permit her to
profane the House of the Lord, where the righteous are
now gathered together, as ye believe? why do ye spare
the few that confess—would ye bribe them to live?
Would ye teach them to swear away the lives and characters
of all whom they are afraid of? and thus to preserve
their own? Look there!—that is her child—her
only child—the babe that you see there in the lap of that
aged woman—she has no other hope in this world, nothing
to love, nothing to care for but that babe, the manchild
of her beauty. Ye are fathers!—look at her
streaming eyes, at her locked hands, at her pale quivering
mouth, at her dishevelled hair—can you wonder now
at anything she says to save her boy—for if she dies, he

dies? A wife and a mother! a broken-hearted wife and
a young mother accused of what, if she did not speak as
you have now made her speak, would separate her and
her baby forever and ever!

Would you have us put her to death? asked one of
the judges. You appear to argue in a strange way.
What is your motive?—What your hope?—What would
you have us do? suffer them to escape who will not confess,
and put all to death who do?

Even so.

Why—if you were in league with the Evil One yourself
brother George, I do not well see how you could hit
upon a method more advantageous for him.

Hear me—I would rather die myself, unfitted as I am
for death, die by the rope, while striving to stay the mischief-makers
in their headlong career, than be the cause
of death to such a woman as that, pleading before you
though she be, with perjury; because of a truth she is
pleading, not so much against life as for life, not so
much against the poor old creature whom she accuses of
leading her astray, as for the babe that you see there; for
that boy and for its mother who is quite sure that if she
die, the boy will die—I say that which is true, fathers!
and yet I swear to you by the—

Thirteen-pence to you, brother B. for that!

—By the God of Abraham, that if her life—

Thirteen-pence more—faith!

The same to you—said the outlandishman. Sharp
work, hey?

Fool—fool—if it depended upon me I say, her life and
that of her boy, I would order them both to the scaffold!
Ye are amazed at what you hear; ye look at each other
in dismay; ye wonder how it is that a mortal man hath
courage to speak as I speak. And yet—hear me!
Fathers of New-England, hear me! beautiful as the boy
is, and beautiful as the mother is, I would put the mark

of death upon her forehead, even though his death were
certain to follow, because if I did so, I should be sure
that a stop would be put forever to such horrible stories.

I thought so, said major Gidney—I thought so, by my
troth, leaning over the seat and speaking in a whisper to
judge Saltanstall, who shook his head with a mysterious
air, and said—nothing.

Ye would save by her death, O, ye know not how much
of human life!

Brother Burroughs!

Brother Willard!—what is there to shock you in what
I say? These poor people who are driven by you to
perjury, made to confess by your absurd law, will they
stop with confession? Their lives are at stake—will they
not be driven to accuse? Will they not endeavor to make
all sure?—to fortify their stories by charging the innocent,
or those of whom they are afraid? Will they stop
where you would have them stop? Will they not rather
come to believe that which they hear, and that of which
they are afraid?—to believe each other, even while they
know that what they themselves do swear is untrue?—
May they not strive to anticipate each other, to show
their zeal or the sincerity of their faith?—And may they
not, by and by—I pray you to consider this—may they
not hereafter charge the living and the mighty as they
have hitherto charged the dead, and the poor, and the
weak?

Well—

Well!

Yes—well!—what more have you to say?

What more! why, if need be, much more! You drive
people to confession, I say—you drive them to it, step
by step, as with a scourge of iron. Their lives are at
stake, I will say-yet more-I mean to say much more now;
now that you will provoke me to it. I say now that

you—you—ye judges of the land!—you are the cause of
all that we suffer! The accused are obliged to accuse.
They have no other hope. They lie—and you know it,
or should know it—and you know, as well as I do, that
they have no other hope, no other chance of escape. All
that have hitherto confessed are alive now. All that
have denied your charges, all that have withstood your
mighty temptation—they are all in the grave—all—all—

Brother—we have read in the Scriptures of Truth,
or at least I have, that of old, a woman had power to
raise the dead. If she was upon her trial now, would
you not receive her confession? I wait your reply.

Receive it, governor Phips! no—no—not without
proof that she had such power.

Proof—how?

How! Ye should command her to raise the dead for
proof—to raise the dead in your presence. You are
consulting together; I see that you pity me. Nevertheless,
I say again, that if these people are what they say
they are, they should be made to prove it by such awful
and irresistible proof—ah!—what are ye afraid of,
judges?

We are not afraid.

Ye are afraid—ye are—and of that wretched old
woman there!

What if we call for the proof now—will you endure
it?

Endure it! Yes—whatever it may be. Speak to
her. Bid her do her worst—I have no fear—you are
quaking with fear. I defy the Power of Darkness;
you would appear to tremble before it. And here I set
my foot—and here I call for the proof! Are they indeed
witches?—what can be easier than to overthrow such
an adversary as I am? Why do ye look at me as if I were
mad—you are prepared to see me drop down perhaps,

or to cry out, or to give up the ghost? Why do ye
shake your heads at me? What have I to fear? And
why is it I beseech you, that you are not moved by the
evil-eye of that poor woman? Why is it, I pray you,
fathers and judges, that they alone who bear witness
against her are troubled by her look?

Brother Sewall, said one of the judges who had been
brought up to the law; Master Burroughs, I take it, is
not of counsel for the prisoner at the bar?

Assuredly not, brother.

Nor is he himself under the charge?

The remark is proper, said Burroughs. I am aware
of all you would say. I have no right perhaps to open
my mouth—

No right, perhaps?—no right brother B., said Winthrop—no
right, we believe?—but—if the prosecutors
will suffer it?—why, why—we have no objection, I suppose—I
am sure—have we brother G.?

None at all. What say you Mr. Attorney-general?

Say Sir! What do I say Sir! why Sir, I say Sir,
that such a thing was never heard of before! and I say
Sir, that it is against all rule Sir! If the accused require
counsel, the court have power to assign her suitable
counsel—such counsel to be of the law, Sir!—and
being of the law Sir, he would have no right Sir, you
understand Sir,—no right Sir—to address the jury, Sir
—as you did the other day Sir—in Rex versus Good,Sir,
—none at all Sir!

Indeed—what may such counsel do then?

Do Sir! do!—why Sir, he may cross-examine the
witnesses.

Really!

To be sure he may Sir! and what is more, he may
argue points of law to the court if need be.

Indeed!

Yes—but only points of law.

The court have power to grant such leave, hey?

Yes, that we have, said a judge. You may speak us
a speech now, if you will; but I would have you confine
yourself to the charge.—

Here the prosecutor stood up, and saying he had
made out his case, prayed the direction of the court—

No, no, excuse me, said Burroughs; no, no, you have
taught me how to proceed Sir, and I shall undertake for
the wretched woman, whatever may be thought or said
by the man of the law.

Proceed Mr. Burroughs—you are at liberty to proceed.

Well Martha, said Burroughs—I am to be your counsel
now. What have you to say for yourself?

The lawyers interchanged a sneer with each other.

Me—nothin' at all, Sir.

Have you nobody here to speak for you?

For me!—Lord bless you, no! Nobody cares for poor
Martha.

No witnesses?

Witnesses!—no indeed, but if you want witnesses,
there's a power of witnesses.

Where?—

There—there by the box there—

Poor Martha! You do not understand me; the witnesses
you see there belong to the other side.

Well, what if they do?

Have you no witnesses of your own, pray?

Of my own! Lord you—there now—don't be cross
with me. How should poor Martha know—they never
told me;—what are they good for?

But is there nobody here acquainted with you?

And if there was, what would that prove? said a man
of the law.

My stars, no! them that know'd me know'd enough
to keep away, when they lugged me off to jail.

And so there's nobody here to say a kind word for
you, if your life depended on it?

No Sir—nobody at all—nobody cares for Martha.
Gracious God—what unspeakable simplicity!

O, I forgot Sir, I forgot! cried Martha, leaning over
the bar and clapping her hands with a cry of childish
joy. I did see neighbor Joe Trip, t'other day, and I told
him he ought to stick by me—

Well where is he—what did he say?

Why he said he'd rather not, if 'twas all the same to
me.

He'd rather not—where does he live?

And I spoke to three more, said a bystander, but they
wouldn't come so fur, some was afeared, and some
wouldn't take the trouble.

Ah! is that you, Jeremiah?—how d'ye do, how d'ye
do?—all well I hope at your house?—an' so they
wouldn't come, would they?—I wish they would though,
for I'm tired o' stayin' here; I'd do as much for
them—

Hear you that judges! They would not come to testify
in a matter of life and death. What are their names?
—where do they live?—they shall be made to come.

You'll excuse me, said the prosecutor. You are the
day after the fair; it's too late now.

Too late! I appeal to the judges—too late!—would
you persuade me Sir, that it is ever too late for mercy,
while there is yet room for mercy? I speak to the
judges—I pray them to make use of their power, and
to have these people who keep away at such a time
brought hither by force.

The court have no such power, said the Attorney-General.

How Sir! have they not power to compel a witness
to attend?

To be sure they have—on the part of the crown.

On the part of the crown!

Yes.

And not on the part of a prisoner?

No.

No! can this be the law?

Even so, said a judge.

Well, well—poor Martha!

What's the matter now?—what ails you, Mr. Burroughs?

Martha—

Sir!

There's no hope Martha.

Hope?

No Martha, no; there's no hope for you. They will
have you die.

Die!—me!—

Yes, poor Martha—you.

Me!—what for?—what have I done?

O that your accusers were not rock, Martha!

Rock!

O that your judges could feel! or any that anybody
who knows you would appear and speak to your piety
and your simplicity!

Law Sir—how you talk!

Why as for that now, said Jeremiah Smith, who stood
by her, wiping his eyes and breathing very hard; here
am I, Sir, an' ready to say a good word for the poor
soul, if I die for it; fact is, you see, Mr. Judge Sewall
I've know'd poor Martha Cory—hai'nt I Martha?—

So you have Jerry Smith.

—Ever since our Jeptha warn't more'n so high,—

Stop Sir, if you please, you are not sworn yet, said
one of the judges.

Very true—swear him, added another.

You'll excuse me, said the Attorney-general. I say,
you—what's your name?

Jerry Smith.

And you appear on the side of the prisoner at the bar,
I take it?

Well, what if I do?

Why in that case, you see, you are not to be sworn,
that's all.

Not sworn! cried Burroughs. And why not Sir?

Why we never allow the witnesses that appear against
the crown, to take the oath.

Against the crown Sir! what on earth has the crown
to do here?—what have we to do with such absurdity?

Have a care, brother Burroughs!

Do you know Sir—do you know that, if this man be
not allowed to say what he has to say on oath, less
credit will be given to what he says?

Can't help that Sir.—Such is the law.

Judges—judges—do ye hear that?—can this be the
law? Will you give the sanction of oaths to whatever
may be said here against life?—and refuse their sanction
to whatever may be said for life? Can such be the
law?

The judges consulted together and agreed that such
was the law, the law of the mother-country and therefore
the law of colonies.

Of a truth, said Burroughs, in reply; of a truth, I
can perceive now why it is, if a man appear to testify in
favor of human life that he is regarded as a witness
against the crown.—God help such crowns, I say!

Brother!—dear brother!

God help such crowns, I say! What an idea of kingship

it gives! What a fearful commentary on the guardianship
of monarchs! How much it says in a word or
two of their fatherly care! He who is for the subject,
even though a life be at stake, is therefore against the
king!

Beware of that Sir.—You are on the very threshold
of treason.

Be it so.—If there is no other way, I will step over
that threshold —.

If you do Sir, it will be into your grave. —

Sir!—

Dear brother, I beseech you!

Enough—enough-I have nothing more to do—nothing
more to say, Sir—not another word, Sir—forgive me
Sir—I—I—I—the tears of the aged I cannot bear; the
sorrow of such as are about to go before God, I am not
able, I never was able to bear. I beseech you, however,
to look with pity upon the poor soul there—poor
Martha!—let her gray hairs plead with you, as your gray
hairs plead with me—I—I—proceed, Mr. Attorney-General.

I have nothing more to say?

Nothing more to say!

With submission to the court—nothing.

Do you throw up the case then? said a judge.

Throw up the case! no indeed—no!—But if Mr.
Counsellor Burroughs here, who has contrived in my
humble opinion, to make the procedure of this court
appear—that is to say—with all due submission—appear
to be not much better than a laughing-stock to the
—to the—to my brethren of the bar—if Mr. Burroughs,
I say, if he has nothing more to say—I beg leave to say
—that is to say—that I have nothing more to say —.

Say—say—say—whispered one of his brethren of the
bar—what say you to that Mr. Burroughs?