IN SALEM GAOL.
I dreamed that night I was back in Pemaquid, with the cannon pounding
away at the fort, bringing the stout timbers down about my ears. I
fought the fight over again, and suddenly awoke in the gray dawn of the
morning to hear a thundering summons at my door.
“Hello!” I cried, springing from bed, and seizing my sword. My eyes were
heavy with sleep, and I thought the Indians were upon us.
The knock came once more, and it did not sound so loud to me when I had
shaken off some of the slumber.
“Who’s there?” I called again.
“’Tis I, John Putnam, constable of Salem town under His Most Gracious
Majesty, the King,” was the reply.
A nameless dread, a chill, seized me, though I knew not the reason for
it. As the constable’s words died away I detected the sound of moving
feet beyond the oak door that separated us. I thought at once that Sir
George had sent the royal warrant for treason to be executed upon me.
“Wait,” I cried, wishing to gain a little time. Then for an instant I
reasoned with myself. What should I do? Give battle now, trusting to
break through the ranks of those the constable had brought with him,
and, if successful, flee? Or tarry and see the affair through? I did not
like to run for it on the first appearance of danger. Perhaps after all
I could find a way of escape. So in the next instant I had made up my
mind to take my arrest quietly.
I had an idea that the fighting I had done in behalf of the Colony would
stand me in good stead, and serve to gain me a pardon from the court.
Once more the summons came.
“We’ll not wait much longer,” was the warning from without.
“Then enter,” I called, flinging open the door. I stood face to face
with a half score of men, all armed, who well nigh filled the little
hall. John Putnam, the constable, was at their head.
“Your errand?” I inquired, shortly, thinking I knew it as well as he.
“I have a warrant, a royal warrant, for your body,” began the constable
pompously.
“I know it full well,” was my answer.
I noticed that the bodyguard, accompanying Master Putnam, looked one at
the other at this. A burly red-haired farmer, who clasped his flint-lock
as he would a club, whispered to the man next him:
“Mark you that, neighbor Passden? There is Satan’s work. He hath
informed the Captain in advance of our coming, and of the royal warrant,
which our worthy constable has not even yet removed from his jacket
pocket. Saw you ever the like?”
“Hush! Not so loud,” murmured the one addressed. “Aye, ’tis fearfully
marvelous. But speak not of it, or he may cast a spell of the evil on
us,” and the two shrank away.
I heard the whispers, but knew not what it all meant. I looked at the
constable, seeking an explanation.
“I hold a warrant,” he went on, “against you, Captain Edward Amherst,
charging you with certain detestable arts called witchcraft.”
“What!” I cried. “Have you lost your senses, Master Putnam?”
“Nay, hear me out,” he protested, drawing a parchment with a red seal
dangling therefrom, out of his pocket. The men closed up around me.
“You are charged,” the constable continued, slanting the document, so as
to catch the light of the rising sun from an east window full upon it,
“charged with practicing witchcraft, and sorceries, wickedly and
feloniously, upon and against Deliverance Hobbs, Benjamin Proctor and
John Bly. All of whom last night made depositions of the facts before
our gracious and most worthy Honor, Justice Hathorne. And I hereby
arrest you, Captain Amherst, on this warrant. You will be arraigned for
trial this day at the court of Oyer and Terminer, to be holden here by
Justices Hathorne and Corwin. You are, therefore, my prisoner.”
The constable folded the warrant together, and I noticed, when too late,
that he had been gradually edging himself nearer to me. Suddenly he
sprang at me, and threw his arms around mine, pinning my hands to my
sides. I had been stunned by the quick change from what I had been
expecting to that which I never dreamed of. But when I felt the hands of
the constable upon me, his arms about my body, my resolve to submit
quietly flew to the wind, and I nerved myself for the coming struggle.
I spread my arms apart, and easily forced off the hold of the constable.
Then I turned quickly and picked Master Putnam up as if he had been but
a small barrel of cider. I cast him out of the door, so that he fell
against the crowd of men, and some of them were knocked down, none too
gently, I fear, by his flight through the air.
Then I drew my sword from the scabbard, and stood ready to defend
myself, but they were a trifle wary now about advancing. For perhaps a
minute I stood thus, holding them at bay with the point of my weapon.
But one man unobserved had crawled into the room behind me. Of a sudden
I felt something fall over my head and slip down about my arms. It was a
rope noose, and it was quickly pulled taut, so that my hands were
fastened to my sides. I was helpless in an instant, with no chance to
use my sword.
“At him now, neighbors!” cried a big farmer, casting his flint-lock to
the floor. “The Lord of Hosts is on our side, and He will enable us to
prevail, and overcome the mighty disciple of Satan.”
“Aye, at him now, at him now! Kill the witch!” cried others.
On came the crowd with a rush, seeing that I was fast bound and
helpless. However, with a kick from each foot in turn I disabled two of
the constable’s guard as they sought to fall upon me, but the others
were too many to cope with, and they forced me down by sheer weight and
numbers. More ropes were brought and soon I was tied as neatly as a fowl
trussed for roasting.
Without a word they carried me away in that sorry fashion, Constable
Putnam limping along in the rear of the procession, for it appeared he
had been somewhat hurt when he went out of the door so quickly.
I was taken to Salem gaol, and when it was reached, the iron studded
door swung open, and I was thrust among two score others, suspected of
witchcraft, who were waiting trial. A groan went up as I was added to
their company. The door banged shut, hiding from view the pleasant sun,
which was just rising, and drowning the songs of the birds.
My captors placed me on the floor with no gentle hands, and went away.
Some of the prisoners, however, lifted me up on a bench, so that I was
more comfortable in body, though not so much so in mind.
It needed but a little thought to tell me how the matters that had
lately transpired had come about. I knew that Sir George at the present
time did not dare to urge the old charge of treason against me because
of my present loyalty to the King and the Colony. He was afraid to
fight, I believed, and, desiring revenge for my blow, and at the same
time to see me removed from where I might meet Lucille, he had hit upon
this plan to have me killed as a witch. And his plot was like to work
well.
I recalled what Willis had told me of the state of people’s minds in
regard to those suspected of witchcraft. I could realize what it meant
now. Though had I not seen some of the things I did I would not have
believed them.
I saw men and women in that gaol, who had been among the best liked of
the townspeople. Colonists of wealth, delicate mothers and men of
culture were there, herded together like sheep, and treated like common
felons. It was enough to make me cry out for shame for my countrymen,
who could be so deluded and deceived. I forgot my own plight to see so
many waiting to be sacrificed, for what afterward proved to be a most
terrible error. Aye, it was many years ere the black memory of Salem
witchcraft of 1692 was forgotten.
Among the prisoners was Martha Cory, mother of my former Lieutenant. She
cried when she saw me, and asked for tidings of her son. To my sorrow I
could not give them, as Cory had been separated from me when we
surrendered at Pemaquid, and I had not seen him since, though I told his
mother I trusted he was safely exchanged.
George Reed was also a prisoner. He was a brother of one of my recruits
who had fallen at the battle of St. Johns, and when I told the brother
in gaol his sorrows were added to. Dorcas Goode was there, and Sarah
Osborn, and Mary Warren; women whose sons or brothers had marched with
me to the war. Some did not return, and if they but knew they might
count themselves well off. Those were dark days, indeed, in Salem town.
Presently I called to the jailer, and, upon my promise that I would not
try to escape, he loosened my bonds so I could walk and move about with
some freedom. Now I was not minded to be executed as a witch, and I
wanted all my strength, and nimbleness of limb, for whatever struggle
there might be ahead. Greatly did I desire to be within sword’s length
of Sir George Keith for a little while, and I resolved that I would give
him but one chance to draw his weapon.
I went about among the prisoners, and soon engaged one of the guards in
talk. From him, and from what I could piece out in my own mind, I
learned how my arrest had been brought about. Sir George, after his
meeting with me, had gone to the home of Justice Hathorne, and had sworn
to a complaint as to my witch powers. It was easy to find others as
witnesses to whom ordinary events by reason of the excitement in the
Colony, had become much changed in meaning. So that in simple happenings
such as the loss of a cow or a sheep, the witchcraft of some neighbor
was discernible. Sir George had learned of Benjamin Proctor and John
Bly, who each had lost a cow from some disease. He had suggested that I
might be the witch who had worked evil spells upon the animals.
The two farmers, worrying over the loss of their cows, had eagerly
seized on the explanation that I was the evil spirit responsible. Sir
George had told how my strength was as the power of three men, though my
body was not overly large. He had told of the great rock I had lifted
after the mightiest man in the Colony had failed to budge it, and thus
the charges against me had grown out of nothing.
The two farmers and Deliverance Hobbs, who was an old woman, scarce
knowing what she said, were sure I was a person in league with the
devil. So they had prayed the judge, through Sir George Keith, that I
might be apprehended and brought to trial.
Sir George had induced the constable to arrest me at dawn, saying I
could be more easily taken if suddenly aroused from sleep. So, too, he
had urged that I might be given a speedy trial, that the witchcraft in
the land might be crushed out with a heavy hand, and the powers of evil
made the less. He had talked with much cunning to the authorities, and
he being, as they knew, in favor with the King and Governor, they had
done all he wished.
Thus I was in Salem gaol, with little chance of leaving it, save at the
trial, and then, perchance, it would be but a short shrift to the
gallows.
It was noon. The sun shone overhead and beat down on the prison, but to
us inside, only the reflection of the golden beams came in through the
iron barred window. Steps were heard coming toward the door, and, as it
swung open the guards thrust some platters of food in to us. Some cakes
of corn meal, with a bit of mutton, was all there was. Scarce sufficient
for half that were there. When the jailer handed me my portion he
muttered beneath his breath:
“Of what use to feed witches, when, if they so desired, Satan himself
would bring them hell-broth through the very walls of this gaol.”
“Say you so?” I replied, laughing bitterly. “Say you so? Then why do we
not have Satan bear us hence through these same walls if so be we are
witches. One is as easy as the other.”
“I had not thought of that,” he said, shrinking back, “the guard without
must be doubled, and Dominie Parris shall offer fervent prayers that ye
all may be safely held here.”
During the meal I talked with some of my companions and learned that
they had been cast into prison on the most flimsy pretexts. One old
woman, because she had passed through a field where sheep were feeding.
She touched some of the lambs with her hand. The next day some of the
sheep were dead, and Elizabeth Paddock was accused of bewitching them.
Another woman was taken because, when she had baked some dumplings an
apple was found whole inside of them, and it was said that Satan must
have aided her. Still another lad, whose mother had been hanged as a
witch, was in gaol. Grief and terror had made him out of his mind, and
he continually called out that he had turned into a witch, and saw his
mother riding through the air on a cloud of geese feathers. Salem gaol
was a most fearsome place those days.
After the rude meal, the constable, accompanied by his former bodyguard,
came to bring me to the court house. It was with no very cheerful heart
I made ready to go with him, for I could nearly guess how the trial
would end with Sir George to urge on the witnesses. Still I could but
take my chance, as I had many times before, and I trusted to my good
fortune to bring me safely through.
A man can die but once, and I wondered vaguely, as I stepped out,
whether Lucille would care if I died.