University of Virginia Library

11. CHAPTER XI.

The chief judge would not reply—could not perhaps,
till after he and his brothers had prayed together; and
when he did speak, he spoke with a subdued voice,
like one troubled with fear.

Gentlemen of the jury, said he; I have but a few
words to urge in reply.

1. You have been told that one should be a witch to
prove that she is not guilty of witchcraft. I admire the
ingenuity of the speaker; but my answer is, that by the
same rule, a man should be a wizard to prove that he is
not a manslayer—he being proved a manslayer. And
yet, being proved a manslayer, we put him to death. So
here—being proved a witch, if you are satisfied by the
proof, we put the prisoner to death, even though it would
require the exertion of diabolical power to overthrow the
proof.

2. You are told by one speaker that we are prone to
believe in the marvellous; and that, therefore, when a
marvellous thing is related, we ought to be on our guard
against that proneness to belief, and require more
proof. Now it appears to me that if we are prone to
a belief in the marvellous, instead of requiring more
proof to witchcraft, we should require less. For why
require much, if less will do?

3. But by another, it has been said that we are not
prone to belief in the marvellous; that on the contrary,
so prone are we to disbelieve in what may appear marvellous,

that proof, which we would be satisfied with in
the ordinary affairs of life, we should pay no regard to,
if it were adduced in favor of what we consider preternatural;
and that therefore in the case you are now to
try, you should require more proof than you would in
support of a charge not marvellous. To which we reply—that
where you have the same number of witnesses,
of the same character, in support of a marvellous
charge, you actually have more proof, than you would
have in the like testimony of the same witnesses, to a
charge not marvellous. And why?—Because by the
supposition of the speaker, as they are prone to a disbelief
in the marvellous, they would have required much
proof, and would not have been persuaded to believe
what they testify to, but upon irresistable proof—more
proof than would have satisfied them in the ordinary
affairs of life.

4. It has been said morever—that the greater the
crime charged, the more incredible it is; that great
crimes are perpetrated less frequently than small ones;
and that, therefore, more proof should be required of
parricide than of theft. Our reply to which is, that if a
witness declare to a parricide on oath, you have more
proof than you would have to a theft sworn to by the
very same witness; that, if the greater the crime, the
less credible it is, you are bound to attach more value to
his testimony where he testifies to parricide than where
he testifies to theft. And why?—Because, the greater
the crime charged, the greater the crime of the witness
if he charge falsely; and therefore the less likely is it,
by the supposition, that he does charge falsely.

But here I would have you observe that proof is proof,
and that after all, the proof which at law or otherwise
would be enough to establish one charge, would be
enough to establish any other. In every case you are to

be satisfied—you are to believe: and in the case now
before you, perhaps it may be well for you to look upon
the two improbabilities which I have now spoken of, as
neutralizing each other. If witchcraft is incredible
—it is incredible also that one should falsely charge
another with witchcraft.

5. It has been said too that the witnesses contradict
each other. Be it so. I confess that I see no such contradiction—but
if I did, I might be called upon to say
that perjured witnesses are remarkable for the plausibility
and straight-forwardness of their stories; and that
such plausibility and straight-forwardness are now regarded,
like unanimity, as a sign of bad-faith by judges
of experience. You are to be told moreover, that where
slight contradictions appear in what may be said by
several witnesses to the same fact, such contradictions
are a sign of good-faith—showing that no preconcerted
story has been told. I might refer, and I may venture
to do so perhaps, in a matter of such awful moment, to
the gospels in proof. It is a mighty argument for their
truth my friends, that no two of them perfectly agree—
no two of the whole as they could have agreed, if, as
there have been people wicked enough to say (though
not to believe) they had been prepared for deception
by a body of conspirators—

Brother—brother—put off thy shoes....the ground is
holy—said Governor Phips.

I have....I have—

The people groaned aloud.

—If you were called upon, each of you,five years from
to-day, to give a particular account of what you now
see and hear, and if each of you depended upon himself,
your stories would be unlike; but if you consulted together,
your stories would be sure to approximate. So
much for this head.

6. I have gone so far as to say that proof is proof, whatever
may be the case; but I do not say that you are to
require at any time, in any case, more proof than the
nature of the case will admit of. In other words, you
are not to insist upon the same sort and degree of proof
in every case. You are to be satisfied with such proof
as you can get—if you suppose that none better is left
behind. So says the law—

Nonsense—for if that rule is good, you might prove
any-thing—by any thing, said Burroughs.

Be quiet Sir....few people see spectres; and witches
will do their mischief, not in the light of day, and before
a multitude, but afar and apart from all but their
associates. You are to be satisfied with less proof therefore
in such a case, than it would be proper and reasonable
for you to require in a case of property—

And if so—why not in murder?....murders being perpetrated
afar and apart from the world—

Peace I bid you...Having—

How dare you!

—Having disposed of what has been urged respecting
the proof, gentlemen of the jury, I should now leave
the case with you, but for a remark which fell from a
neighbour a few minutes ago. Doctor Mather will now
touch upon what I would gladly pass over—the growth
and origin of the evil wherewith we are afflicted.

Here a man of majestic presence of about fifty years
of age arose, and laying aside his hat, and smoothing
away a large quantity of thick glossy hair, which parting
on his forehead, fell in a rich heavy mass upon his
broad shoulders, prayed the jury and his brethren of
the church to bear with him for a few moments; he
should try to be very brief. Brother George—he did
not question his motive he said, but brother George
Burroughs would have you believe that witches and wizards

are no longer permitted upon our earth; and that
sorcery, witchcraft, and spells are done with.

Whereto I reply....First—that there has been hitherto
throughout all ages and among every people, and is
now a general, if not a universal,belief in witchcraft and
so forth. Now if such universality of belief respecting
the appearance of departed souls after death, has been,
as it certainly has, a great argument for the immortality
of the soul with such as never heard of the Seriptures
of Truth, I would ask why a like universality of belief
respecting witchcraft and sorcery should be thought of
no value, as an argument? Every where the multitude
believe in witchcraft or in that which is of a piece with
it. Spirits and fairies, goblins and wizards, prophets
and witches, astrologers and soothsayers are found
mixed up with the traditionary love and the religious
faith of every people on earth, savage and civilized—(so
far as we know, I should say);—with that of people who
inhabit the isles of the sea, afar and apart from each
other and from all the rest of the world. I speak advisedly.
They believe in spirits, and they believe in a
future state—in sorcery and immortality. The wild
Irish have what they call their banshees, and the Scotch
their second-sight, and the French their loup-garoux, or
men turned into wolves—and so also have the Irish;
and a part of our jocular superstition is the posterity of
that which existed among the the terrible Goths. Maria—a
word that we hear from the lips of the idle and
profane, before they have got reconciled to the wholesome
severity of our law, was in old Runic a goblin
that seized upon the sleeper and took away all power
of motion. Old Nicka too—he that we are in the
habit of alluding to, in a grave way, as Old Nick, was a
spright who used to strangle such as fell into the water.
Bo—was a fierce Gothic captain, the warlike son of

Odin. whose name was made use of in battle to scare a
surprised enemy. Every where indeed, and with every
people, earth sea and air have been crowded with specters,
and the overpeopled sky with mighty shadows—I
do not know a—

Here the great black horse which Burroughs had left
underneath a tree, trotted up to the very door, and
stood still, with the reigns afloat upon his neck, and
thurst his head in over the heads of the people, who
gave way on every side, as he struck his iron hoofs on
the step, and for a second or two there was a dead quiet
over the whole house. The speaker stopped and appeared
astonished, for the eyes of the animal in the
strong light of the torches, were like two balls of fire,
and his loose main was blowing forward in the draught
of the door, so as actually to sound aloud.

Why do you stop—what are you afraid of, Doctor
Mather? Not afraid of old Pompey are you?

Had n't you better tie him up? asked a judge.

No—I have something else to do, but I desire that
somebody at the door will. But nobody would go near
the creature.

—History abounds with proof, I say, respecting witchcraft
and sorcery, witches and wizards, magic, spells
and wicked power. If we put all trust in the records
of history for one purpose, why not for another? If a
witness is worthy of belief in one thing—why is he not
another? If we find no treachery nor falsehood in a
writer; if we meet with nothing but confirmation of
what he says, when we refer to other writers of the same
people and age, why disbelieve him when he speaks of
that which, being new to our experience, we cannot be
able to judge of? Able and pious men should be trusted,
whatever they may say, so long as they are not contradicted
by other able and pious men—

We are to believe not only in witches then, but in
fairies and loups-garoux—

Be quiet Sir—

Softly judge....And we are to believe that he who in
the course of a tale about the ordinary affairs of ordinary
life—

Have done Sir.

—Testifies to a miracle, should be credited as much
for what he says of the miracle as for the rest of the—

Be quiet Sir.

—As for the rest of the tale....You cannot escape me
brother—

Will you be quiet Sir?

No.

—The Bible is crowded with proof, continued the
Doctor. Sooth-sayers and sorcerers, interpreters of
dreams, false-prophets, and a witch with power to make
the grave and the sea give up their dead; men whose
little rods became live serpents while they strove with
Aaron the High-priest, multitudes who were clothed
with a mischievous power....all these are spoken of in
the Bible.

It has been said here that credulity is a sign of ignorance.
It may be so, my dear friends—but you must
know as well as I do, that incredulity is everywhere
found among the ignorant. Able men believe much,
because they are able men. The weak disbelieve much
because they are weak. Who are they that laugh when
they hear that our earth is a globe, and that once in every
twenty-four hours, it turns completely round underneath
our feet—

Much whispering here, and a look of surprise on every
side of the speaker, encouraged him to a more emphatic
delivery.

Who are they that refuse to believe much that the

learned and the wise, fortified in their wisdom by the
beauty of holiness, and the gravity of age, are steadfastly
assured of? The truth is that extraordinary
minds have a courage that ordinary minds have not—
for they dare to believe what may expose them to ridicule.
The longer we live and the more we know, the
more assured we are that impossible things are possible—

To be sure Doctor, said a judge.

—That nothing is impossible therefore....Now, my
friends of the jury—it appears to me that if witchcraft
had been a common thing with every people, and in all
ages, we could not possibly have had more evidence of
it, than we have now. We have the records of History,sacred
as well as profane. We have a great body of
laws, made year after year, among the most enlightened
people that ever inhabited the earth, about conjurations,
spells and witchraft, and this, in all parts of the
globe and especially in the land of our Fathers; judgment
of death, day after day, and year after year, under
that law; confessions without number by people
charged with sorcery and witchcraft, not only in various
parts of England, but by our very fire-sides and at
our very doors. Added to all this, we have the universal
faith of which I spoke, and altogether, a body of proof,
which if it be false—would be more wonderful than
witchcraft is—

True....true....fearfully and wonderfully true, brother.

—But if such things are elsewhere why may they not
be here? If they have been heretofore, why may they
not be now, and forever? We do not know, worms that
we are, how the Lord God of Heaven and earth operates
in His pavillion of thick darkness—we do not
know whether he will or will not work in a given way.
We only know that he may do whatever he will....that

for Him there is no such law as the law of nature.
And if so, why may not witches be employed as the
wicked are, as great warriors are, for scourging the nations
of our earth, and for the glory of our Father above.
—Let us pray.

Prayer followed, and after the prayer, the multitude
sung a psalm together, and the jury withdrew.

They were not gone long, and when they came back
there was but just light enough to see their faces. Not
a breath could be heard....not a whisper—and the foreman
stood up and was about to speak in the name of
the twelve, when Burroughs, who could bear it no longer,
leaped upon his feet, and turned to the jury with
tenfold power, and gasping for breath, called upon each
man by name, as he hoped for mercy hereafter, to speak
for himself.

Brother Burroughs!

Brother Moody—

Be quiet Master Burroughs.

I will not be quiet, Master Judge—

Officer!

I will not be quiet I say! And hereafter you will remember
my words, and if they prevail with you, men
of Massachusetts-Bay, ye will be ready to cry out for
joy that I was not brow-beaten by your looks; nor scared
by your threats—

Have done Sir.—Do your duty Master High-Sheriff.

—Begone Sir. Touch me if you dare.—You see
this staff.—You know something of me and of my ways.
—Touch me if you dare. What I have to say shall be
said, though I die for it. By our Soverign Lord and
Master and Mary his Queen, I charge you to hear me!
You are shedding the blood of the innocent! You are
driving away the good and the brave by scores from the
land! You are saying to people of no courage, as to

that poor woman there—as I live she is fast asleep—
asleep!...while that grey-headed man who stoops over
her is about to pronounce the judgment of death upon
her—

Wake the prisoner....what, ho, there! cried the chief
judge.

The officer went up to poor Martha and shook her;
but she did not appear to know where she was, and fell
asleep again with her little withered hands crossed in
her lap.

You are saying to her and such as her....Confess and
you are safe. Deny, and you perish—

To the point Mr. Burroughs....We are tired of this;
we have put up with enough to-day—

I will. I demand of you judges that you call upon
every man there in that box to say, each man for himself,
whether it be his opinion that Martha Cory should
suffer death. I will have it so....I will have it on record
—I will not permit a man of the twelve in such a case
to hide himself under the cloak of the majority—

It cannot be master Burroughs—it cannot be—such a
thing was never heard of....gentlemen of the jury, look
upon the prisoner.

Hear me but a word more! I see death in the very
eyes of the jury—I see that we have no hope. Hear
me nevertheless....hear me for a minute or two, and I
will go away from you forever—

Let us hear him, said another judge.

I proved to you the other day that an accuser had
perjured herself in this court, before your faces, ye
mighty and grave men. What was my reward? You
gave judgment of death on the accused—You let the
accuser go free—I see that accuser now. What will
be said of your justice at home, if you permit her to

escape? Will the judges of England forget you? or
the majesty of England forgive you?—

The horse at the door began to grow impatient—
snorting and striking with his feet.

—Ye know that the knife was a forgery; and the
sheet which has made so much talk here, why even that
was a—

He stopped short, and looking at a female who sat
near him, appeared to lose himself entirely, and forget
what he was going to say.

Well Sir—

Excuse me....I....I....excuse me....although I have no
doubt of the fact, although as I hope to see the face of
my Redeemer, I do believe the story of the sheet and
the story of the spindle, to be of a piece with the story
of the knife; a trick and a forgery, yet—yet—

Here he made a sign to the female, as if to encourage
her.

—Yet I dare not say now, I dare not say here, on
what my belief is founded. But hear me....they talk of
teeth and of whole sets of teeth being discoverable by
the prints which appear in their flesh. How does it
happen I pray you that all these marks turn out to be
on parts of the body which might be bitten by the afflicted
themselves? And how does it happen, I pray
you, that instead of corresponding teeth, or sets of teeth
being found in the accused, ye have repeatedly found
her as now, without a tooth in her head? Nay....how
does it happen that Abigail Paris and Bridget Pope,
who are indeed sufferers by a strange malady, babes
that are innocent as the dove, I am sure....God forbid
that I should lay the mischief at their door—

Seven and seven pence—muttered the man, who kept
an account of the oaths.

—How does it happen I say,that of all the accusers

they and they alone have escaped the mark of the teeth?
How!....because they alone speak the truth; because
they are the deceived....we know not how, judges, but
in a fearful way. They are deceived....poor children,
but they do not seek to deceive others. Nor do they
lie in wait for a—

He was interrupted by a loud furious neigh, so loud
and so furious from the great black stallion at the door,
that Martha awoke and started up with a scream that
thrilled the very blood of the judges, and made the people
hurry away from the bar.

Burroughs now saw that he had no hope, and that in a
moment the poor soul before him would bear the sentence
of death. He caught up his iron-shod staff, and
breaking through the crowd which recoiled from his
path as if he were something whose touch would be fatal
to life, sprang upon the back of the horse, and gallopped
away toward the sea-shore.

No language on earth, no power on earth can describe
the scene that followed his departure, the confusion, the
outcry, the terror of the people who saw the fire fly
from his rocky path, and heard leap after leap of the
charger bounding toward the precipice; nor the fright
of the judges; nor the pitiable distress and perplexity
of the poor childish woman, when she was made fully
to understand, after the tumult was over and the dread
clamor and fire-flashing had passed away, and every-thing
was quiet as the grave—nothing to be heard but
a heavy trample afar off and the dull roar of the sea—
that she must be prepared for death.

She could not believe it....she would not believe it—
she did not....such was her perfect simplicity, till the
chief judge came to her and assured her with tears in
his eyes, over and over again, that it must be so.

Ah me! said poor Martha looking out toward the
quarter of the sky where the horseman had so hastily
disappeared, and where she had seen the last of the
fire-light struck from his path; Ah me, bending her head
to listen, and holding up her finger as if she could hear
him on his way back. Ah me!—ah me....and that was
all she said in reply to her judges, and all she said when
they drove her up to the place of her death, decked out
in all her tattered finery, as if it were not so much for
the grave, as for a bridal that she was prepared.

Ah me! said poor Martha when they put the rope
about her neck....Ah me!—and she died while she was
playing with her little withered fingers, and blowing the
loose grey hair from about her mouth as it strayed away
from her tawdry cap....saying over the words of a child
in the voice of a child, Ah me—ah me—with her last
breath—

God forgive her judges!