Produced by Jeff Kaylin and Andrew Sly
Giles Corey, Yeoman
A Play
By
Mary E. Wilkins
Illustrated
New York
Harper & Brothers Publishers
1893
Cast of Characters.
Giles Corey.
Paul Bayley, _Olive Corey's lover._
Samuel Parris, _minister in Salem Village._
John Hathorne, _magistrate._
Jonathan Corwin, _magistrate._
Olive Corey, _Giles Corey's daughter._
Martha Corey, _Giles Corey's wife._
Ann Hutchins, _Olive's friend and one of the Afflicted Girls._
Widow Eunice Hutchins, _Ann's mother._
Phoebe Morse, _little orphan girl, niece to Martha Corey._
Mercy Lewis, _one of the Afflicted Girls._
Nancy Fox, _an old serving-woman in Giles Corey's house._
_Afflicted Girls, Constables, Marshal, People of Salem Village,
Messengers, etc._
Act I.
Scene I.--_Salem Village. Living-room in_ Giles Corey's _house._
Olive Corey _is spinning._ Nancy Fox, _the old servant, sits in the
fireplace paring apples. Little_ Phoebe Morse, _on a stool beside
her, is knitting a stocking._
_Phoebe_ (_starting_). What is that? Oh, Olive, what is that?
_Nancy._ Yes, what is that? Massy, what a clatter!
_Olive_ (_spinning_). I heard naught. Be not so foolish, child. And
you, Nancy, be of a surety old enough to know better.
_Nancy._ I trow there was a clatter in the chimbly. There 'tis
again! Massy, what a screech!
_Phoebe_ (_running to_ Olive _and clinging to her_). Oh, Olive, what
is it? what is it? Don't let it catch me. Oh, Olive!
_Olive._ I tell you 'twas naught.
_Nancy._ Them that won't hear be deafer than them that's born so.
Massy, what a screech!
_Phoebe._ Oh, Olive, Olive! Don't let 'em catch me!
_Olive._ Nobody wants to catch you. Be quiet now, and I'll sing to
you. Then you won't think you hear screeches.
_Nancy._ We won't, hey?
_Olive._ Be quiet! This folly hath gone too far. [_Sings spinning
song._
SPINNING SONG.
"I'll tell you a story; a story of one,
'Twas of a great prince whose name was King John.
A great prince was he, and a man of great might
In putting down wrong and in setting up right.
To my down, down, down, derry down."
_Nancy._ Massy, what screeches! [_Screams violently._
_Phoebe._ Oh, Nancy, 'twas you screeched then.
_Nancy._ It wasn't me; 'twas a witch in the chimbly. (_Screams
again._) There, hear that, will ye? I tell ye 'twa'n't me. I 'ain't
opened my mouth.
_Olive._ Nancy, I will bear no more of this. If you be not quiet, I
will tell my mother when she comes home. Now, Phoebe, sing the rest
of the song with me, and think no more of such folly. [_Sings with_
Phoebe.
"This king, being a mind to make himself merry,
He sent for the Bishop of Canterbury.
'Good-morning, Mr. Bishop,' the king did say.
'Have you come here for to live or to die?'
To my down, down, down, derry down.
"'For if you can't answer to my questions three,
Your head shall be taken from your body;
And if you can't answer unto them all right,
Your head shall be taken from your body quite.'
To my down, down, down, derry down."
_Nancy_ (_wagging her head in time to the music_). I know some words
that go better with that tune.
_Phoebe._ What are they?
_Nancy._ Oh, I'm forbid to tell.
_Phoebe._ Who forbade you to tell, Nancy?
_Nancy._ The one who forbade me to tell, forbade me to tell who
told me.
_Olive._ Don't gossip, or you won't get your stints done before
mother comes home.
_Phoebe_ (_sulkily_). I won't finish my stint. Aunt Corey set me too
long a stint. I won't. Oh, there she is now! [_Knits busily._
_Enter_ Ann Hutchins.
_Olive_ (_rising_). Well done, Ann. I was but now wishing to see
you. Sit you down and lay off your cloak. Why, how pale you look,
Ann! Are you sick?
_Ann._ You know best.
_Olive._ I? Why, what mean you, Ann?
_Ann._ You know what I mean, in spite of your innocent looks. Oh,
open your eyes wide at me, if you want to! Perhaps you don't know
what makes them bigger and bluer than they used to be.
_Olive._ Ann!
_Ann._ Oh, I mean nothing. I am not sick. Something frightened me
as I came through the wood.
_Olive._ Frightened you! Why, what was it?
_Phoebe._ Oh, what was it, Ann?
_Ann._ I know not; something black that hustled quickly by me and
raised a cold wind.
_Phoebe._ Oh, oh!
_Olive._ 'Twas a cat or a dog, and your own fear raised the cold
wind. Think no more of it, Ann. Wait a moment while I go to the
north room. I have something to show you. [_Exit_ Olive _with a
candle._
_Phoebe._ What said the black thing to you, Ann?
_Ann._ I know not.
_Nancy._ Said it not: "Serve me; serve me?"
_Ann._ I know not. I was deaf with fear.
_Phoebe._ Oh, Ann, did it have horns?
_Ann._ I tell you I know not. You pester me, child.
_Phoebe._ Did it have hoofs and a tail?
_Ann._ Be quiet, I tell you, or I'll cuff your ears.
_Nancy._ She needn't be so topping. It will be laying in wait for
her when she goes home. I'll warrant it won't let her off so easy.
_Enter_ Olive, _bringing an embroidered muslin cape. She puts it
gently over_ Ann's _shoulders._
_Ann_ (_throwing it off violently_). Oh! oh! Take it away! take it
away!
_Olive._ Why, Ann, what ails you?
_Ann._ Take it away, I say! What mean you by your cursed arts?
_Olive._ Why, Ann! I have been saving a long time to buy it for
you. 'Tis like my last summer's cape that you fancied so much. I
sent by father to Boston for it.
_Ann._ I need it not.
_Olive._ I thought 'twould suit well with your green gown.
_Ann._ 'Twill suit well enough with a green gown, but not with a
sore heart.
_Nancy._ I miss my guess but it 'll suit well enough with her heart
too. I trow that's as green as her gown; green's the jealous color.
_Olive._ You be all unstrung by your walk hither through the wood,
Ann. I'll fold the cape up nicely for you, and you can take it when
you go home. And mind you wear it next Sabbath day, sweet. Now I
must to my wheel again, or I shall not finish my stint by nine
o'clock.
_Ann._ Your looks show that you were up later than nine o'clock
last night.
_Phoebe._ Oh, Ann, did you see the light in the fore room?
_Ann._ That did I. I stood at my chamber and saw it shine through
the wood.
_Nancy._ You couldn't see so far without spectacles.
_Ann._ It blinded me. I could get no sleep.
_Nancy._ You think your eyes are mighty sharp. Maybe your ears are
too? Maybe you heard 'em kissing at the door when he went home?
_Olive._ Nancy, be quiet!
_Nancy._ You needn't color up and shake your head at me, Olive.
They stood kissing there nigh an hour, and he with his arm round her
waist, and she with hers round his neck. They'd kiss, then they'd
eye each other and kiss again. I know I woke up and thought 'twas
Injuns, and I peeked out of my chamber window. Such doings! You'd
ought to have seen 'em, Ann.
_Phoebe._ Oh, Nancy, why didn't you wake me up?
_Olive._ Nancy, I'll have no more of this.
_Nancy._ That's what she ought to have said last night--hadn't she,
Ann? But she didn't. Oh, I'll warrant she didn't! I know you would,
Ann.
_Olive._ Nancy! [_A noise is heard outside._
_Phoebe._ Oh, what's that noise? What is coming?
_Enter_ Giles Corey, _panting. He flings the door to violently and
slips the bolt._
_Nancy._ Massy! what's after ye?
_Phoebe._ Oh, Uncle Corey, what's the matter?
_Giles._ The matter is there be too many evil things abroad
nowadays for a man to be out after nightfall. When things that can
be hit by musket balls lay in wait, old Giles Corey is as brave as
any man; but when it comes to devilish black beasts and black men
that musket balls bound back from--What! you here, Ann Hutchins?
What be you out after dark for?
_Ann._ I came over to see Olive, Goodman Corey.
_Giles._ You'd best stayed by your own hearth if you've got one.
Young women have no call to be out gadding after dark in these
times.
_Phoebe._ Oh, Uncle Corey, something did frighten Ann as she came
through the wood. A black beast, with horns and a tail and eyes like
balls of fire, jumped out of the bushes at her, and bade her sign
the book in a dreadful voice.
_Giles._ What! Was't so, Ann?
_Ann._ I know not. There was something.
_Olive_ (_laughing_). 'Twas naught but Ann's own shadow that her
fear gave a voice and a touch to. Say naught to frighten Ann,
father; she is the most timorous maid in Salem Village now.
_Giles._ There is some wisdom in fear nowadays. You make too light
of it, lass.
_Olive_ (_laughing_). Nay, father, I'll turn to and hang up my own
shadow in the chimbly-place for a witch, an you say so.
_Giles._ This be no subject for jest. Said you the black beast
spoke to you, Ann?
_Ann._ I know not. Once I thought I heard Olive calling. I know not
what I heard.
_Giles._ You'd best have stayed at home. Where is your mother,
Olive?
_Olive._ She has gone to Goodwife Bishop's with a basket of eggs.
_Giles._ Gone three miles to Goodwife Bishop's this time of night?
Is the woman gone out of her senses?
_Olive._ She is not afraid.
_Giles._ I'll warrant she is not afraid. So much the worse for her.
Mayhap she's gone riding on a broomstick herself. How is the cat?
_Olive._ She is better.
_Giles._ She was taken strangely, if your mother did make light of
it. And the ox, hath he fell down again?
_Olive._ Not that I have heard.
_Giles._ The ox was taken strangely, if your mother did pooh at it.
The ox was better when she went out of the yard.
_Phoebe._ There's Aunt Corey now. Who is she talking to?
_Enter_ Martha Corey.
_Phoebe._ Who were you talking to, Aunt Corey?
_Martha._ Nobody, child. Good-evening, Ann.
_Phoebe._ I heard you talking to somebody, Aunt Corey.
_Martha._ Be quiet, child. I was talking to nobody. You hear too
much nowadays. [_Takes off her cloak._
_Nancy._ Mayhap she hears more than folk want her to. I heard a
voice too, a gruff voice like a pig's.
_Giles._ I thought I heard talking too. Who was it, Martha?
_Martha._ I tell you 'twas no one. Are you all out of your wits?
[_Gets some knitting-work out of a cupboard and seats herself._
_Phoebe._ Weren't you afraid coming through the wood, Aunt Corey?
_Martha_ (_laughing_). Afraid? Why, no, child. Of what should I be
afraid?
_Giles._ I trow there's plenty to be afraid of. How did you get
home so quick? 'Tis a good three miles to Goody Bishop's.
_Martha._ I walked at a good speed.
_Giles._ I thought perhaps you galloped a broomstick.
_Martha._ Nay, goodman, I know not how to manage such a strange
steed.
_Giles._ I thought perhaps one had taught you, inasmuch as you have
naught to say against the gentry that ride the broomstick of a
night.
_Martha._ Fill not the child's head with such folly. How fares your
mother, Ann?
_Ann._ Well, Goodwife Corey.
_Giles._ She lacks sense, or she would have kept her daughter at
home. Out after nightfall, and the woods full of the devil knoweth
what.
_Martha._ Nay, goodman, there be no danger. The scouts are in the
fields.
_Giles._ I meant not Injuns. There be worse than Injuns. There be
evil things and witches!
_Martha_ (_laughing_). Witches! Goodman, you are a worse child than
Phoebe here.
_Giles._ I tell ye, wife, you talk like a fool, ranting thus
against witches. I would you had been where I have been to-night,
and heard the afflicted maids cry out in torment, being set upon by
Sarah Good and Sarah Osborn. I would you had seen Mercy Lewis
strangled almost to death, and the others testifying 'twas Sarah
Good thus afflicting her. But I'll warrant you'd not have believed
them.
_Martha_ (_laughing_). That I would not, goodman. I would have said
that the maids should be sent home and soundly trounced, then put to
bed, with a quart bowl of sage tea apiece.
_Giles._ Talk so if you will. One of these days folk will say you
be a witch yourself. You were ever hard-skulled, and could knock
your head long against a truth without being pricked by it. Hold out
if you can, when only this morning the ox and the cat were took so
strangely here in our own household.
_Martha._ Shame on you, goodman! The ox and the cat themselves
would laugh at you. The cat ate a rat, and it did not set well on
her stomach, and the ox slipped in the mire in the yard.
_Nancy._ 'Twas more than that. I know, I know.
_Giles._ Laugh if you will, wife. Mayhap you know more about it
than other folk. You never could abide the cat. I am going to bed,
if I can first go to prayer. Last night the words went from me
strangely! But you will laugh at that. [_Lights a candle. Exit._
_Phoebe._ Aunt Corey, may I eat an apple?
_Martha._ Not to-night. 'Twill give you the nightmare.
_Phoebe._ No, 'twill not.
_Martha._ Be still!
_There is a knock._ Olive _opens the door. Enter_ Paul Bayley. Ann
_starts up._
_Paul._ Good-evening, goodwife. Good-evening, Olive. Good-evening,
Ann. 'Tis a fine night out.
_Ann._ I must be going; 'tis late.
_Olive._ Nay, Ann, 'tis not late. Wait, and Paul will go home with
you through the wood.
_Ann._ I must be going.
_Paul_ (_hesitatingly_). Then let me go with you, Mistress Ann! I
can well do my errand here later.
_Ann._ Nay, I can wait whilst you do the errand, if you are speedy.
I fear lest the delay would make you ill at ease.
_Martha_ (_quickly_). There is no need, Paul. I will go with Ann. I
want to borrow a hood pattern of Goodwife Nourse on the way.
_Paul._ But will you not be afraid, goodwife?
_Martha._ Afraid, and the moon at a good half, and only a short way
to go?
_Paul._ But you have to go through the wood.
_Martha._ The wood! A stretch as long as this room--six ash-trees,
one butternut, and a birch sapling thrown in for a witch spectre.
Say no more, Paul. Sit you down and keep Olive company. I will go,
if only for the sake of showing these silly little hussies that
there is no call for a gospel woman with prayer in her heart to be
afraid of anything but the wrath of God. [_Puts a blanket over her
head._
_Ann._ I want no company at all, Goodwife Corey.
_Phoebe._ Aunt Corey, let me go, too; my stint is done.
_Martha._ Nay, you must to bed, and Nancy too. Off with ye, and no
words.
_Nancy._ I'm none so old that I must needs be sent to bed like a
babe, I'd have you know that, Goody Corey. [_Sets away apple pan;
exit, with_ Phoebe _following sulkily._
_Martha._ Come, Ann.
_Ann._ I want no company. I have more fear with company than I have
alone.
_Martha._ Along with you, child.
_Olive._ Oh, Ann, you are forgetting your cape. Here, mother, you
carry it for her. Good-night, sweetheart.
_Ann._ I want no company, Goodwife Corey. [Martha _takes her
laughingly by the arm and leads her out._
_Paul._ It is a fine night out.
_Olive._ So I have heard.
_Paul._ You make a jest of me, Mistress Olive. Know you not when a
man is of a sudden left alone with a fair maid, he needs to try his
speech like a player his fiddle, to see if it be in good tune for
her ears; and what better way than to sound over and over again the
praise of the fine weather? What ailed Ann that she seemed so
strangely, Olive?
_Olive._ I know not. I think she had been overwrought by coming
alone through the woods.
_Paul._ She seemed ill at ease. Why spin you so steadily, Olive?
_Olive._ I must finish my stint.
_Paul._ Who set you a stint as if you were a child?
_Olive._ Mine own conscience, to which I will ever be a child.
_Paul._ Cease spinning, sweetheart.
_Olive._ Nay.
_Paul._ Come over here on the settle, there is something I would
tell thee.
_Olive._ Tell it, then. I can hear a distance of three feet or so.
_Paul._ I know thou canst, but come.
_Olive._ Nay, I will not. This is no courting night. I cannot idle
every night in the week.
_Paul._ Thou wouldst make a new commandment. A maid shall spin flax
every night in the week save the Sabbath, when she shall lay aside
her work and be courted. There be young men here in Salem Village,
though you may credit it not, Olive, who visit their maids twice
every week, and have the fire in the fore room kindled.
_Olive._ My mother thinks it not well that I should sit up oftener
than once a week, nor do I; but be not vexed by it, Paul.
_Paul._ I love thee better for it, sweetheart.
_Olive._ My stint is done.
_Paul._ Then come. (_She obeys._) Now for the news. This morning I
bought of Goodman Nourse his nine-acre lot for a homestead. What
thinkest thou of that?
_Olive._ It is a pleasant spot.
_Paul._ 'Tis not far from here, and thou wilt be near thy mother.
_Olive._ Was it not too costly?
_Paul._ I had saved enough to pay for it, and in another year's
time, and I have the help of God in it, I shall have saved enough
for our house. What thinkest thou of a gambrel-roof and a lean-to,
two square front rooms, both fire-rooms, and a living-room? And
peonies and hollyhocks in the front yard, and two popple-trees, one
on each side of the gate?
_Olive._ We shall need not a lean-to, Paul, and one fire-room will
serve us well; but I will have laylocks and red and white roses as
well as peonies and hollyhocks in the front yard, and some mint
under the windows to make the house smell sweet; and I like well the
popple-trees at the gate.
_Paul._ The house shall be built of fairly seasoned yellow pine
wood, with a summer tree in every room, and fine panel-work in the
doors and around the chimbleys.
_Olive._ Nay, Paul, not too fine panel-work; 'twill cost too high.
_Paul._ Cupboards in every room, and fine-laid white floors.
_Olive._ We need a cupboard in the living-room only, but I have
learned to sand a floor in a rare pattern. [Paul _attempts to
embrace_ Olive. _She repulses him._
_Paul._ I trow you are full provident of favors and pence, Olive.
_Olive._ I would save them for thee, Paul.
_Paul._ And thou shalt not be hindered by me to any harm,
sweetheart. Was't thy mother taught thee such wisdom, or thine own
self, Olive?
_Olive._ 'Twas my mother.
_Paul._ Nay, 'twas thine own heart; that shall teach me, too.
[_Nine-o'clock bell rings._
_Olive._ Oh, 'tis nine o'clock, and 'tis not a courting night.
Paul, be off; thou must! [_They jump up and go to the door._
_Paul_ (_putting his arm around_ Olive). Give me but one kiss,
Olive, albeit not a courting night, for good speed on my homeward
walk and my to-morrow's journey.
_Olive._ Where go you to-morrow, Paul?
_Paul._ To Boston, for a week's time or more.
_Olive._ Oh, Paul, there may be Injuns on the Boston path! Thou
wilt be wary?
_Paul_ (_laughing_). Have no fear for me, sweetheart. I shall have
my musket.
_Olive._ A week?
_Paul._ 'Tis a short time, but long enough to need sweetening with
a kiss when folk are absent from one another.
_Olive_ (_kisses him_). Oh, be careful, Paul!
_Paul._ Fear not for me, sweetheart, but do thou too be careful,
for sometimes danger sneaks at home, when we flee it abroad. Keep
away from this witchcraft folly. Good-by, sweetheart. [_They part._
Olive _sets a candle in the window after_ Paul's _exit. Nine-o'clock
bell still rings as curtain falls._
Scene II.--_Twelve o'clock at night. Living-room at_ Giles Corey's
_house, lighted only by the moon and low fire-light. Enter_ Nancy
Fox _with a candle,_ Phoebe _following with a large rag doll._
Nancy _sets the candle on the dresser._
_Nancy._ Be ye sure that Goody Corey is asleep, and Goodman Corey?
_Phoebe_ (_dances across to the door, which she opens slightly, and
listens_). They be both a-snoring. Hasten and begin, I pray you,
Nancy.
_Nancy._ And Olive?
_Phoebe._ She is asleep, and she is in the south chamber, and could
not hear were she awake. Here is my doll. Now show me how to be a
witch. Quick, Nancy!
_Nancy._ Whom do you desire to afflict?
_Phoebe_ (_considers_). Let me see. I will afflict Uncle Corey,
because he brought me naught from Boston to-day; Olive, because she
gave that cape to Ann instead of me; and Aunt Corey, because she set
me such a long stint, because she would not let me eat an apple
to-night, and because she sent me to bed. I want to stick one pin
into Uncle Corey, one into Olive, and three into Aunt Corey.
_Nancy._ Take the doll, prick it as you will, and say who the
pricks be for. [Phoebe _sticks a pin into the doll._
_Phoebe._ This pin be for Uncle Corey, and this pin be for Olive,
and this pin for Aunt Corey, and this pin for Aunt Corey, and this
pin for Aunt Corey. Pins! pins!! pins!!! (_Dances._) In truth,
Nancy, 'tis rare sport being a witch; but I stuck not in the pins
very far, lest they be too sorely hurt.
_Nancy._ Is there any other whom you desire to afflict?
_Phoebe._ I fear I know not any other who has angered me, and I
could weep for 't. Stay! I'll afflict Ann, because she hath the
cape; and I'll afflict Paul Bayley, because I'm drove forth from the
fore room Sabbath nights when he comes a-courting; and I'll afflict
Minister Parris, because he put me too hard a question from the
catechism; that makes three more. Oh, 'tis rare sport! (_Seizes the
doll and sticks in three pins._) This pin be for Ann, this pin be
for Paul, and this pin be for Minister Parris. Deary me, I can think
of no more! What next, Nancy?
_Nancy._ I'll do some witchcraft now. I desire to afflict your aunt
Corey, because she doth drive me hither and thither like a child,
and sets no value on my understanding; Olive, because she made a
jest of me; and Goody Bishop, because she hath a fine silk hood.
_Phoebe._ Here is the doll, Nancy.
_Nancy._ Nay, I have another way, which you be too young to
understand. [Nancy _takes the candle, goes to the fireplace, and
courtesies three times, looking up the chimney._
_Nancy._ Hey, black cat! hey, my pretty black cat! Go ye and sit on
Goody Corey's breast, and claw her if she stirs. Do as I bid ye, my
pretty black cat, and I'll sign the book.
_Phoebe._ Oh, Nancy, I hear the black cat yawl!
_Nancy_ (_after courtesying three times_). Hey, black dog! hey, my
pretty black dog! Go ye and howl in Mistress Olive's ear, so she be
frighted in her dreams, and so get a little bitter with the sweet.
Do as I bid ye, my pretty black dog, and I'll sign the book.
_Phoebe._ Oh, Nancy, I hear the black dog howl!
_Nancy_ (_after courtesying three times_). Hey, yellow bird! hey, my
pretty yellow bird! Go ye and peck at Goody Bishop's fine silk hood
and tear it to bits. Do as I bid ye, my pretty yellow bird, and I'll
sign the book.
_Phoebe._ Oh, Nancy, I hear the yellow bird twitter up chimbly!
_Nancy._ 'Tis rare witchcraft.
_Phoebe._ Is that all, Nancy?
_Nancy._ All of this sort. I've given them all they can do
to-night.
_Phoebe._ Then sing the witch song, Nancy.
_Nancy._ I'll sing the witch song, and you can dance on the table.
_Phoebe._ But 'tis sinful to dance, Nancy!
_Nancy._ 'Tis not sinful for a witch.
_Phoebe._ True; I forgot I was a witch. [_Gets upon the table and
dances, dangling her doll, while_ Nancy _sings._
WITCH SONG.
(Same air as Spinning Song.)
"I'll tell you a story, a story of one;
'Twas of a dark witch, and the wizard her son.
A dark witch was she, and a dark wizard he,
With yellow birds singing so gay and so free.
To my down, down, down, derry down.
"The clock was a-striking, a-striking of one.
The witches came out, and the dancing begun.
They courtesied so fine, and they drank the red wine--
The wizards were three and the witches were nine.
To my down, down, down, derry down.
"Halloo, the gay dancers! Halloo, I was one;
The goody that prayed and the maiden that spun!
The yellow birds chirped in the boughs overhead,
And fast through the bushes the black dog sped.
To my down, down, down, derry down."
[_A noise is heard._ Phoebe _jumps down from the table._
_Phoebe._ Oh, Nancy, something's coming! Run, run quick, or it 'll
catch us! [_Both run out. Curtain falls._
Act II.
_Best room in the house of_ Widow Eunice Hutchins, Ann's _mother._
John Hathorne _and_ Minister Parris _enter, shown in by_ Widow
Hutchins.
_Hutchins._ I pray you, sirs, to take some cheers the while I go
for a moment's space to my poor afflicted child. I heard her cry out
but now. [_Exit._
[Hathorne _and_ Parris _seat themselves, but_ Hathorne _quickly
springs up, and begins walking._
_Hathorne._ I cannot be seated in this crisis. I would as lief be
seated in an onset of the savages. I must up and lay about me. We
have heretofore been too lax in this dreadful business; the powers
of darkness be almost over our palisades. I tell thee there must be
more action!
_Parris_ (_pounding with his cane_). Yea, Master Hathorne, I am with
thee. Verily, this last be enough to make the elect themselves quake
with fear. This Martha Corey is a woman of the covenant.
_Hathorne._ There must be no holding back. The powers of darkness
be let loose amongst us, and they that be against them must be up.
We must hang, hang, hang, till we overcome!
_Parris._ Yea, we must not falter, though all the woods of
Massachusetts Bay be cut for gallows-trees, and the country be like
Sodom. Verily, Satan hath manifested himself at the head of our
enemies; the colonies were never in such peril as now. We must
strive as never before, or all will be lost. The wilderness full of
malignant savages, who be the veritable servants of Satan, closes us
in, and the cloven footmark is in our midst. There must be no
dallying as we would save the colonies. Widow Hutchins saith her
daughter is grievously pressed. (_A scream._) There, heard you
that?
_Hathorne._ It is dreadful, dreadful, that an innocent maid should
be so tormented by acts which her guileless fancy could never
compass!
_Parris._ Verily, malignity hath ever cowardice in conjunction with
it. Satan loveth best to afflict those who can make no defence, and
fastens his talons first in the lambs.
_Enter_ Widow Hutchins _with the embroidered cape._
_Hutchins._ Here, your worships, is the cape.
_Hathorne_ (_examines it_). I have seen women folk wear its like on
the Sabbath day. I can see naught unwonted about it.
_Parris._ It looketh like any cape.
_Hutchins._ I fear it be not like any cape. Had your worships seen
my poor child writhe under it, and I myself, when I would try it on,
bent down to my knees as under a ton weight, your worships would not
think it like any cape.
_Parris._ I suspect there be verily evil work in the cape, and a
witch's bodkin hath pierced these cunning eyelets. It goeth so fast
now that erelong every guileless, senseless thing in our houses,
down to the tinder-box and the candle-stick, will find hinges and
turn into a gate, whereby witchcraft can enter. You say, Widow
Hutchins, that Olive Corey gave this cape to your daughter?
_Hutchins._ That did she. Yesterday evening Ann went down to Goody
Corey's house for a little chat; she and Olive have been gossips
ever since they were children, though lately there hath been
somewhat of bitterness betwixt them.
_Parris._ How mean you?
_Hutchins._ I have laid it upon my mind ere now to tell you, being
much wrought up concerning it, and thinking that you might give me
somewhat of spiritual consolation and advice. It was in this wise.
Paul Bayley, who, they say, goeth every Sabbath night to Goody
Corey's house and sitteth up until unseemly hours with Olive, looked
once with a favorable eye upon my daughter Ann. Had your worships
seen him, as I saw him one day in the meeting-house, look at Ann
when she wore her green paduasoy, you had not doubted. Youths look
not thus upon maidens unless they be inclined toward them. But this
hussy Olive Corey did come between Paul and my Ann, and that not of
her own merits. There is nobody in Salem Village who would say that
Olive Corey's looks be aught in comparison with my Ann's, but I trow
Goody Corey hath arts which make amends for lack of beauty. I trow
all ill-favored folk might be fair would they have such arts used
upon them.
_Hathorne._ What mean you by that saying?
_Hutchins._ I mean Goody Corey hath devilish arts whereby she
giveth her daughter a beauty beyond her own looks, wherewith she may
entice young men.
_Hathorne._ You say that this cape caused your daughter torment?
_Hutchins._ Your worships, it lay on her neck like a fire-brand,
and she thought she should die ere she cast it off.
_Hathorne._ Widow Hutchins, will you now put on the cape?
_Hutchins._ Oh, your worship, I dare not put it on! I fear it will
be the death of me if I do.
_Hathorne._ Minister Parris, wilt thou put on the cape?
_Parris._ Good Master Hathorne, it would ill behoove a minister of
the gospel to put himself in jeopardy when so many be depending upon
him to lead them in this dreadful conflict with the powers of
darkness. But do thou put on the mantle the while I go to prayer to
avert any ill that may come of it.
_Hathorne._ Nay, I will make no such jest of my office of
magistrate as to put this woman's gear on my shoulders. I doubt if
there be aught in it. Prithee, Widow Hutchins, when did this torment
first come upon the young woman?
_Hutchins._ Your worship, she went, as I have said, to Goody
Corey's yester-evening to have a little chat with her gossip, Olive,
and Paul Bayley came in also, and some of them did talk strangely
about this witchcraft, Olive and Goody Corey nodding and winking,
and making light of it. And then when Ann said she must be home,
Paul rose quickly and made as though he would go with her, but Goody
Corey would not let him, and herself went with Ann. And she did
practise her devilish arts upon my poor child all the way home, and
when my poor child got on the door-stone she burst open the door,
and came in as though all the witches were after her, and she hath
not been herself since. She hath ever since been grievously
tormented, being set upon now by Goody Corey, and now by Olive,
being choked and twisted about until I thought she would die, and so
I fear she will, unless they be speedily put in chains. It seemeth
flesh and blood cannot endure it. Mercy Lewis is just come in, and
she saw Goody Corey and Olive upon her when she opened the door.
_Hathorne._ This evil work must be stopped at all hazards, and this
monstrous brood of witches gotten out of the land.
_Parris._ Yea, verily, although we have to reach under the covenant
for them. [_Screams._
_Hutchins._ Oh, your worships, my poor child will have no peace
until they be chained in prison.
_Hathorne._ They shall be chained in prison before the sun sets. I
will at once go forth and issue warrants for the arrest of Martha
Corey and her daughter. [_More violent screams and loud voices
overhead._
_Parris._ Would it not be well, good Master Hathorne, for us to see
the afflicted maid before we depart?
_Hutchins._ Oh, I pray you, sirs, come up stairs to my poor child's
chamber and see yourselves in what grievous torment she lies. She
hath often called for Minister Parris, saying they dared not so
afflict her were he there.
_Hathorne._ It would perchance be as well. Lead the way, if you
will, Widow Hutchins. [_Exeunt. Screams continue._
_Enter_ Nancy Fox _and_ Phoebe Morse _stealthily from other door._
Phoebe _carries her rag doll._
_Nancy._ Massy sakes, hear them screeches!
_Phoebe_ (_clinging to_ Nancy). Oh, Nancy, won't they catch us too!
I'm afraid!
_Nancy._ They can't touch us; we're witches too.
_Phoebe._ Massy sakes! I forgot we were witches.
_Nancy._ Hear that, will ye? Ain't she a-ketchin' it?
_Phoebe._ Nancy, do you suppose it's the pin I stuck in my doll
makes Ann screech that way?
_Nancy._ Most likely 'tis. Stick in another, and see if she
screeches louder.
_Phoebe._ No, I won't. I'll pull the pin out; 'twas this one in my
doll's arm. (_Pulls out pin and flings it on the floor._) I won't
have Ann hurt so bad as that if Olive did give her the cape. Why
don't she stop screeching now, Nancy? Oh, Nancy, somebody's coming!
I hear somebody at the door. Crawl under the bed--quick! quick!
[Phoebe _gets down and begins to crawl under the bed._ Nancy _tries
to imitate her, but cannot bend herself._
_Nancy._ Oh, massy! I've got a crick in my back, and I can't double
up. What shall I do? (_Tries to bend._) I can't; no, I can't! 'Tis
like a hot poker. Massy! what 'll I do?
_Phoebe._ You've got to, Nancy. Quick! the latch is lifting. Quick!
quick! I'll push you. No; I'll pull you. Here!
[_Pulls_ Nancy _down upon the floor, and rolls her under the bed;
gets under herself just as the door is pushed open._
_Enter_ Giles Corey _in great excitement._
_Giles_ (_running across the room, and listening at the door leading
to the chamber stairs_). Devil take them! why don't they put an end
to it? Why do they let the poor lass be set upon this way?
Screeching so you can hear her all over Salem Village! There! hear
that, will ye? Out upon them! Widow Hutchins! Widow Hutchins! Can't
you give her some physic? Sha'n't I come up there with my musket?
Why don't they find out who is so tormenting her and chain her up in
prison? 'Tis some witch or other. Oh, I'd hang her; I'd tie the rope
myself. Poor lass! poor lass! [_The door is pushed open, and_ Giles
_starts back._
_Enter_ John Hathorne, Minister Parris, _and_ Widow Hutchins.
_Giles._ Good-day, Widow Hutchins. Shall I go up there with my
musket?
_Parris._ I trow there be too many of thy household up there now.
_Giles._ I'd lay about me till I hit some of 'em. I'll warrant I
would. Oh, the poor lass! hear that!
_Parris._ She is a grievous case.
_Giles._ I heard the screeches out in the wood, and I ran in
thinking I might do somewhat. I would Martha were here. I'll be
bound she'd laugh and scoff at it no longer!
_Hathorne._ Laugh and scoff, say you?
_Giles._ That she doth. Martha acts as if the devil were in her
about it. She doth nothing but laugh at and make light of the
afflicted children, and saith there be no witches. She would not
even believe 'twas aught out of the common when our ox and cat were
took strangely. If she were herself a witch she could be no more
stiff-necked.
_Parris._ Doth she go out after nightfall?
_Giles._ That she doth, in spite of all I can say. She hath no fear
that an honest gospel woman should have in these times. She went out
last night, and I was so angered that I charged her with galloping a
broomstick home.
_Hathorne._ Did she deny it?
_Giles._ She laughed as she is wont to do. She even made a jest
on't, when I could not when I would go to prayer, and the words
stayed beyond my wits. I would she could be here now, and hear this!
_Parris._ Perchance she doth.
_Giles._ I'll warrant she'd lose somewhat of her stiff-neckedness.
Hear that! Can't ye chain up the witch that's tormenting the poor
lass! Is't Goody Osborn?
_Hathorne._ The witch will be chained and in prison before
nightfall. Come, Minister Parris, we can do no good by abiding
longer here. Methinks we have sufficient testimony.
_Parris._ Verily the devil hath played into our hands. [_They turn
to leave._
_Hutchins._ Oh, your worships, ye will use good speed for the sake
of my poor child.
_Giles._ Ay, be speedy about it. Put the baggage in prison as soon
as may be, and load her down well with irons.
_Hathorne._ I will strive to obey your commands well, Goodman
Corey. Good-day, Widow Hutchins; your daughter shall soon find
relief.
_Parris._ Good-day, Widow Hutchins, and be of good cheer.
[_Exeunt_ Hathorne _and_ Parris, _while_ Widow Hutchins
_courtesies._
_Giles._ Well, I must even be going too. I have my cattle to water.
I but bolted in when I heard the poor lass screech, thinking I might
do somewhat. But good Master Hathorne will see to it. Hear that! Do
ye go up to her, widow, and mix her up a bowl of yarb tea, till they
put the trollop in prison. I'm off to water my cattle, then devil
take me if I don't give the sheriffs a hand if they need it. Goody
Osborn's house is nigh mine. Good-day, widow. [_Exit_ Giles.
_Hutchins_ (_laughing_). Give the sheriffs a hand, will he?
Perchance he will, but I doubt me if 'tis not a fisted one. He sets
his life by Goody Corey, however he rate her. (_A scream from above
of_ "Mother! Mother!") Yes, Ann, I'm coming, I'm coming! [_Exit._
_Phoebe_ (_crawls out from under the bed_). Now, Nancy, we've got a
chance to run. Come out, quick! Oh, if Uncle Corey had caught us
here!
_Nancy._ I can't get out. Oh! oh! The rheumatiz stiffened me so I
couldn't double up, and now it has stiffened me so I can't undouble.
No, 'tis not rheumatiz, 'tis Goody Bishop has bewitched me. I can't
get out.
_Phoebe._ You must, Nancy, or some body 'll come and catch us.
Here, I'll pull you out.
[_Tugs at_ Nancy's _arms, and drags her out, groaning._
_Nancy._ Here I am out, but I can't undouble. I'll have to go home
on all-fours like a cat. Oh! oh!
_Phoebe._ Give me your hands and I'll pull you up. Think you 'tis
witchcraft, Nancy?
_Nancy._ I know 'tis. 'Tis Goody Bishop in her fine silk hood
afflicts me. Oh, massy!
_Phoebe._ There, you are up, Nancy.
_Nancy._ I ain't half undoubled.
_Phoebe._ You can walk so, can't you, Nancy? Oh, come, quick! I
think I hear somebody on the stairs. (_Catches up her doll and
seizes_ Nancy's _hand._) Quick! quick!
_Nancy._ I tell ye I can't go quick; I ain't undoubled enough.
Devil take Goody Bishop!
[_Exit, hobbling and bent almost double,_ Phoebe _urging her along.
Curtain falls._