by Howard Pyle
“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 wh
o 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 oppo
se 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.
