A SENTENCE OF DEATH.
When, after a walk through the town, during which our progress was
delayed by a curious throng of people who stared at me as if I had been
a wild animal, we came to the court house, there was another gaping
crowd at the door.
“Make way! Make way!” cried Constable Putnam. “Make way, good people,
for the representative of His Most Gracious Majesty.”
Another time his pompous air and his words might have called forth jibes
and ridicule from the thoughtless, but now, such was the time and the
occasion, and so deep in every heart was the fear of witchcraft, that
not a soul smiled.
The assemblage opened up in a living lane, and through it we passed into
the court room. It was filled to overflowing, as it had been on another
occasion, which I well remembered. I looked about me, noting little
change since I had sat there as a spectator a few months back. And yet
what a change there had been.
The same judges were on the bench, their Honors, John Hathorne and
Jonathan Corwin, while Master Stephen Sewall was there to act as clerk;
to take down with quill scratchings, whatever words should fall from my
lips.
On the left of the judges sat the jury. All were men of grave mien, some
of whom I knew well. They looked at me as I was brought in, and some
whispered among themselves.
Then as I glanced hurriedly over the room I saw many of my old comrades.
A few turned their heads away as if they feared I would cast the blight
of the evil eye on them. Others looked more kindly at me. One man gazed
fixedly into my face, and I was at a loss for a moment to recall who he
was. Then after I had thought a bit I knew him for my former lieutenant,
Giles Cory. He had grown a beard, and looked travel stained, as if he
had just finished a journey around the world. I longed to ask of him
what his adventures had been since we last saw each other in Pemaquid,
and I wondered if he knew that his old mother was in gaol as a witch.
As I looked at him some one whispered in his ear. It was evidently the
news of his mother, for I saw Cory’s face pale, and he hastened from the
room. Poor lad, he little knew then, nor did I, how soon he was to stand
where I stood, and to suffer a terrible death that I came nigh to.
I marked on many faces looks of ill ease and fright, for no man knew
whether he was safe from accusation.
I looked for Lucille, though I knew no reason why she should be present.
Thinking she might be hidden by some pillar, or by those in front, I
stood up and gazed about me. At the time I was half minded to jump down
among those who, with drawn swords and ready flint-locks, guarded me,
and make a fight of it then and there. But my slightest move was
watched, and the men closed up around me so that I saw nothing but death
should I make the attempt. Then I resumed my seat.
A moment later I observed, half hidden by one of the large upright
beams, the devil’s face of my enemy. I caught but a passing glance, but
even in that I saw him smile in triumph at me. His hand sought his sword
hilt caressingly, and I thought of the day when my weapon was at his
throat cursing the impulse that had halted me from driving it home.
While I watched Sir George I saw a man come up behind him and whisper
something. I marked the fellow and noted that he was the sailor who had
been in the Governor’s ante-chamber, the same one who had been the first
to cry out that we must give up Pemaquid. Now, when he came before me in
my hour of trial, I began to believe him my evil genius. I was sure he
was in the service of Sir George, and had followed me to the war merely
to keep track of me for his master.
Sir George turned so that I could see his face as Simon, the sailor,
spoke to him. And the eyes of my lord grew small, like the half closed
orbs of a tiger about to spring, and he started, as if surprised, at the
news his henchman brought him. Then the two hurried from the court room,
leaving me to wonder what game was afoot now. Something that boded no
good, I wagered, and I longed to be free that I might have a hand.
But I must needs look to myself now, for the judges were ready to
proceed, and the clerk was reading the charges against me. These were
wordy with legal terms, whereby I was accused of witchcraft by
Deliverance Hobbs, John Bly and Benjamin Proctor. When the reading was
finished Judge Hathorne inquired of me whether I was ready to confess.
“What, your honor?” I asked. “Confess to this most foul lie? Not so. Set
me before my accusers and I will answer them.”
Now, had I been wise, I would have admitted that I was a witch, when,
perchance, I would have gotten off with no more than some stripes, and
being driven from the town. But I stood on my honor, as you shall see
with what results.
“Have your way, then,” replied the judge, shrugging his shoulders, as
though, like Pilate, he washed his hands of all guilt of my blood.
Then came John Bly to the stand. He was a farmer, whose son had gone
with me to the war.
“Swear the witness,” said the judge, and Clerk Sewall did so.
“May it please your worships,” began John, “I did buy a pig of Master
Edward Bishop some two months ago. As I was leading it to sell yesterday
I passed Captain Amherst in the road nigh to the tavern of Samuel
Willis.”
“Did I aught to you?” I asked from where I sat. “Did I more than bid you
a good day and ask after your dame?”
“Aye, that was all you did,” answered Bly, “but I recalled afterward
that you did cast a longing look at my pig.”
“’Twas because I had not yet eaten that day,” I said, smiling a bit at
the remembrance, “and your porker was a fine fat one. I wished for a bit
of bacon from it.”
“Yea, he looked at the pig,” proceeded the witness, “and when I got the
animal a little farther on it took strange fits. It leaped into the air,
squealing most dreadful, and knocked its head against the fence. So I
was sure it was bewitched, for never did pig of mine behave so before.”
“What say you to that?” asked Judge Corwin.
“Naught,” I made reply, “save that the animal had some distemper.”
Then Benjamin Proctor took the stand. He eagerly related that when I had
first come to Salem there had been the terrifying scarlet snow, which,
though two women witches had doubtless caused it, might have had some of
my handiwork in also, as I was the only stranger to arrive in town that
night.
Next he related how I had such great strength that I could do feats no
other man could attempt. I had taken a gun, Proctor said, with a
seven-foot barrel, of so great weight that strong men could not with
both hands hold it out steadily. Yet he had seen me make nothing of
taking the weapon up and, by grasping it near the lock, hold it out as
easily as a man would a pistol, discharging it at a mark.
Again, he said, he had seen me take a heavy fowling piece with a
five-foot barrel, and lift it in the following marvelous manner. I
thrust my forefinger down the muzzle and held the piece out at arm’s
length. Other strong men had only been able to hold this gun out in the
usual way, Proctor said, yet I supported the entire weight on one
finger.
Master Proctor told how I had lifted a barrel of molasses high above my
head, something no other man of those parts could do. Lastly he related,
with much detail, how he and others had seen me cast the stone by the
brook that May day. I had plucked the rock from its bed as though it was
but a gun flint, he said, and had heaved it from me so that it rolled
down the hill, striking another bowlder. The stone I cast had broken
into a thousand pieces, some narrowly missing a maid of the Colony, one
Lucille de Guilfort. I had been near to causing her death, Proctor said,
which must have come speedily, amid the flying rock fragments, had I not
been a witch, and made the stones to fall harmless all about the maid.
The judges asked me if I had anything to say against these charges.
“They are true in the main,” I replied. “More than this. If your honors
will but send for the guns I will repeat the feats that caused so much
wonder here before your eyes. To show you that though they are not easy
to accomplish, yet I can do them with the strength God has given me.
What witchcraft is there in that? As for the great stone by the brook,
so far from lifting it with ease, it took all my powers, and, had it
weighed a pound more I must have failed. The maid escaped harm, and I
thank God for it, though it was through no power of mine.”
Then came Deliverance Hobbs. Her tale was strange enough. She had seen,
she testified, a man, with my face, but with a monkey’s body, a dog’s
feet and a peacock’s tail, riding in the air on a fence board, as she
gathered up her wood one night. She said she knew it could not be me,
for she had seen me sail with my company in the sloops a few days
before. A day or so after she had seen me in the air a grievous sickness
had fallen upon her daughter, she continued, and the child had cried out
that a witch tormented her, thrusting pins and needles into her flesh.
When they asked her to name the spirit, the girl had spoken my name.
This ended the testimony. The judges urged me again to confess that I
was in league with Satan and the powers of darkness. That the devil was
my master, and that I had promised to serve him for worldly gain. If I
admitted this with a penitent heart, I might go free, they said. For it
was a well established fact, according to Judge Hathorne, that, if a
witch confessed, the evil spirits no longer tormented such a one, nor
could he work harm to others.
But I refused to charge myself with such a crime, even to save my life.
I told them all so, and said there were no witches, except those of a
disordered mind.
It was dark now. Fantastic shadows filled the room, and a sound, like a
great sigh, went up from the lips of the people. Then, at the orders of
the judge, came tip-staves, with lighted candles, which only served to
dispel the gloom in a few places, making the remainder more dark.
The jury filed out, and, though it seemed a year, they were back again,
speedily.
“Guilty,” said the foreman. I could hear those of the assemblage catch
their breaths as one man.
Then the judges put on their black caps, while Justice Hathorne said:
“And the sentence of this court is that you be taken hence, and hanged
by the neck until you are dead, and may God have mercy on your soul.”
I had expected it, yet it gave me a cold chill to hear the solemn words.
They led me away, through the surging crowd, out of the dim lighted
court room, back to the gaol I had left not long ago. The other
prisoners crowded about me, eager to learn the outcome of the trial, and
to ascertain what chance they stood. I was too heart-sick to talk much,
and merely told them that I had been convicted, and was sentenced to
die.
Then I cast myself into a corner, to wait, for--I scarce knew what. But
I reflected that he who gives up hope has little left, and, that though
I had submitted quietly, so far, that was no reason why I should do so
further. If they were minded to kill me, I thought, they could doubtless
accomplish their purpose, but I resolved that I would make some suffer
before I died. I would not go empty handed across to the other shore.
I had strength, beyond the power of most men, and I would use it when
the time came. If I only had some one beside myself to fight for. If I
only had the right to battle for Lucille, then I felt that I could do
wonders. But my heart was not in it.
I determined, if no better chance offered, that I would go even to the
scaffold, quietly. Then, when I stood bound, waiting for the drop to
fall, I doubted not I could burst my bonds, seize a sword from a guard,
and leap among the people. Then I could at least die fighting.
For I resolved I would not be swung off, like a pirate at the yardarm,
if I was able to prevent it.
Several days passed. I partook heartily of the coarse food provided, for
I knew I would need all of my strength to carry out my design. I
endeavored to learn the date of my execution, but could not. All my
questioning of the guards was turned aside.
It was rumored that the regular gallows was deemed too frail for a man
of my strength, so they had gone to the work of making another machine.
What kind it was I learned later. Existence in the gaol had come to be
such a hell to me now, that I prayed the day of death might arrive
speedily.
One morning, just a week after my arrest, I awoke with a start. Some one
in the prison was singing, I could not catch all of the words, but the
song was an old psalm tune, of the Lord, and of Isaac and of Jacob. I
sat up on the narrow bench. Most of those poor wretches about me were
still sleeping; breathing heavily. There was just the faintest gleam of
daylight, as I could see through the high barred window. As I sat there
a moment the sun rose, and the beams turned the iron bars above my head,
into gleaming yellow gold.
There was the tramp of feet outside. The day of my death had dawned.
I stretched my arms upward, and I could feel the muscles firm and hard.
I might have torn the iron bars loose, but I waited.
“Let them come,” I said softly.