Soon after the return of Lyford from Hadley, Strale having no longer
any special occasion for Pompey's services, determined to give him his
liberty, in advance of the time specified by his father. He accordingly
informed Pompey that he now wished him to enjoy the luxury he had
so long desired, that of being his own master. Walter furnished him
with a small sum of money, and Mr. Gardner assured him he should have
employment about the wharf at reasonable wages. Pompey was in raptures
in the possession of his newly acquired liberty, and for many days his
enjoyment was unbounded. But he had no notion of being employed as a
laborer; and having procured a fashionable hat, with silk stockings
and a coat well covered with gilded buttons, and silver buckles on his
shoes, Pompey strutted up and down King street for a month or more, to
the great amusement of the shop keepers, and with such vast opinions of
his own consequence, as no amount of ridicule could possibly diminish.
But the golden dream could not last always; it was not broken, however,
till the last penny of his cash had disappeared, when he awoke to the
consciousness that he had played the fool, and that his pretensions
to the character of a gentleman of leisure must be abandoned. In this
condition, he had recourse to Strale as his only friend, and begged him
to find employment for him on a farm, at a distance from town, where
he was willing to go back to his old habits of labor and care. Walter
had taken no pains to arrest him in his course of folly, believing that
experience was the only cure for his extravagant dreams; but he was
very willing to assist him in any way, that might promote his good, and
accordingly procured for him a situation on a farm in Danvers, occupied
by Mr. Putnam, a highly respectable man, who promised to watch the
motions and check the follies of Pompey, as much as might be in his
power.
It was a new and not very agreeable scene to Pompey. He had no chance
for the display of authority; but was ordered to mind his own
business, whenever he presumed to step out of his sphere. This life of
discipline was too severe to be endured, and he gradually became remiss
in his labors, until at length, it required the constant exercise
of authority to induce him to labor at all. In this condition, he
contrived various methods of escape from a post that was every way
disagreeable; but he well knew, that if he left Mr. Putnam without
good reason, he had nothing further to expect from Walter. Happily for
him, as he thought, the witch delusion was now advancing with a power
which nothing could resist; he saw the influence and importance which
had been gained by the impostors who pretended to be afflicted; and
there seemed no way so likely to mend his fortunes as to be afflicted
himself, and then turn informer.
With a view to carry out this policy, Pompey went to Mr. Parris and
entered a complaint against his master. He declared, that Mr. Putnam
tormented him night and day, and that strange things were going on at
the farm; that one morning a field of grass was cut without hands,
and the hay was put into the barn, perfectly dry in one hour after
cutting; and that only the day before, as he was at work loading
hay, Mr. Putnam stood at a long distance from him, with a hayfork in
his hand, and that, in a mysterious manner, the fork entered his arm,
inflicting a severe wound, the effects of which were now visible. These
wonderful events excited the astonishment of the clergyman, who sent
for the farmer, and requested his attendance on the afternoon of the
next day.
A few minutes after Trellison's departure, the farmer entered the room,
and found his minister in a reclining posture, and apparently absorbed
in deep meditation. 'I have come,' said he, 'Mr. Parris, in obedience
to your summons, and wish to know your pleasure.'
'Satan is among my flock, Mr. Putnam, and as the good shepherd careth
for his sheep, I have feared you may be entangled in his wiles.'
'In my belief, and I am sorry to say it,' said the farmer, 'Satan has
more to do with the minister than among the people.'
'Dare you speak thus to the Lord's ambassador, his commissioned and
anointed servant, whom he has clothed with the helmet of salvation,
and the shield of faith, that he may quench the fiery darts of the
devil?'
'You claim a high character, Mr. Parris; but I have heard of wolves in
sheeps' clothing, and the course you are pursuing, leaves me in little
doubt whose servant you are.'
'What other language than this is to be expected from those who have
signed the black book, and eaten the sacrament of devils. You have sold
yourself to the service of Satan, and these are the cursed fruits of
your compact; it was to question you on this point, that I sent for you
to-day, and you owe it to my forbearance, that your name is not now on
the scroll of the accused. I wished to know whether the evidence of
your servant Pompey could be relied on. Your own language now convinces
me of its truth, and you will soon reap the wages of your iniquity.'
'I well know,' replied Mr. Putnam, 'how little evidence it takes to
satisfy you, when you are resolved to carry out your purposes. Your own
inward convictions, you say, support the evidence of my servant. It
will, however, be well for you to inquire, how far his testimony may be
trusted. I have brought him with me, that you may question him in my
presence.'
'It is a grace you do not deserve, but to show you my forbearance and
lenity, I will admit and question him now. You shall not be condemned
without a hearing.'
This concession from Mr. Parris was sudden and unexpected; but he knew
the sturdy character of Putnam, his excellent reputation, and the
danger of pushing matters to extremity. He was therefore glad of the
opportunity to come down from the high ground he had taken, and to
assume the appearance of fairness and liberality.
Pompey was now introduced, and the poor African was in no very enviable
position, between the two inquisitors; but he made the best of his
circumstances, and sat down quietly to undergo the examination.
'You seem to be in a calmer state to-day, Pompey,' said the clergyman;
'I hope the cause of your trouble is removed.'
'Witch gone, Massa Parris, all gone; Pompey well as ever.'
'Thanks be to God!' said the clergyman; 'he has heard my prayer. I
wrestled with him a full hour on your account, and he gave me faith to
believe that the devil would be cast out.'
'Massa Putnam got the witch out; he did it all himself--nobody helped
him.'
'What do you mean, Pompey? I do not understand you.'
'I must now explain,' said Putnam, 'and am willing to apologize for
the language I used when I came in, so far as to express my belief
that you are under a strong delusion, and I do not wish to impute to
you corrupt and wicked motives. You have been a good minister, and a
kind man in past years, and you well know that in the contest for your
parish rights, I have taken your side and supported your claims; but
in these witch prosecutions, I have been astonished at the madness of
your course, and can only account for it on the ground that you are
partially insane; and now in regard to the change in Pompey, I will
tell you all the facts. I went out this morning to oversee some men
whom I had employed to dig a well. Pompey was there, dancing about in
strange attitudes, and presently he threw himself on the ground and
began to bite the roots of a tree, and fill his mouth with gravel. I
asked him the cause of his strange conduct, and his only reply was,
'Witch, Massa, witch got into Pompey.'
'Who put the witch in, Pompey?' was my next question.
'You, Massa; all well, when you go away.'
'Well, Pompey,' said I, 'if I made you sick, I ought to cure you. The
same person who put the witch in, ought to drive the witch out; and
taking him to a tree, I gave him, at least, forty stripes, every one
of which seemed to possess a magic power. The witches fled in every
direction, and I have brought him to you to-day, clothed, and in his
right mind. Now, Mr. Parris, I would not detract from the efficacy
of your prayers; you know my reverence for religion; but in my poor
opinion, if you would take those four wicked girls, (one of whom, I
grieve to say it, is my niece, and bears the honest name of Putnam,)
and apply the same remedy which has done so much for Pompey, no sign of
witchcraft would be seen, and the community would be restored to reason
and common sense.'
So saying, the farmer took his departure with Pompey, leaving the
minister to his own reflection, and to the deep mortification and
shame, in which his own credulity and folly had involved him.
The position of Mary Graham was now critical and alarming. Since her
return to Salem, she had boldly condemned the witch proceedings, and in
every circle where she moved, her whole influence was directed against
the prevailing delusion. Unappalled by the dangers that surrounded her,
she extended her sympathy and pity to those who were in prison, and
favored the escape of some who were in imminent danger of arrest. In
these offices of love and charity she was nearly alone; for though her
friends admired her courage and fortitude in the cause of humanity, yet
few of them dared to imitate her example. She wrote to Walter and her
brother, begging them in concert with Mr. Willard to see Dr. Mather,
who had returned from England, and enlist his influence to suspend
all further prosecutions. But this good man, though he deplored the
excesses into which the community was rushing, either believed the
evil would soon be cured, or was so far influenced by his son, that he
could not be induced to take a bold stand against the courts; yet it is
believed he used much private remonstrance and expostulation, and it
was generally supposed the public movements had none of his countenance
and support.
Walter replied to Mary's letter, and informed her that no measure had
been left untried with Sir William Phipps and his advisers; but nothing
could be done; the delusion had seized the minds of the most gifted men
in the land, and it was vain to hope for relief until the public malady
had run its course; and he expressed his fears that her own standing
in society, and the general esteem in which she was held, might not
prove a sufficient protection against the envy and malice of some, and
the credulity and superstition of others. He expressed his admiration
of the course she had taken, but in the present violent stage of the
delusion he thought it would be best for her to retire from active
participation in any remedies which might be applied, as they could
not benefit others, and might be attended by the worst consequences to
herself.
Stoughton's court was now in full operation. His associates were
Gedney, Winthrop and Sewall. This court was confessedly illegal, but
the urgency of the occasion was considered a sufficient warrant for its
organization. It was, in fact, an exparte tribunal, as all the judges
were known to favor the superstition, and the only hope for those who
were brought before it was in the jury, who were so perplexed and
overawed, as in general to conform their verdicts to the known opinions
of the court.
While affairs remained in this state, there was little prospect of
relief from courts and judges. No other hope remained than that the
delusion would soon show itself in forms so extravagant and revolting
as to excite the contempt and rouse the indignation of the public.
This conviction soon reached the mind of Miss Graham, and she forbore
to remark upon the subject with her accustomed freedom. In fact it was
no longer safe to ridicule or condemn; and with all her popularity
and the universal esteem in which she had been held, it was evident
she was now regarded with distrust and suspicion. Mr. Ellerson, whose
views in general agreed with those of Mary, was extremely guarded and
cautious, and often suggested to her his fear that she spoke with too
little reserve. In fact, she was soon painfully convinced on this
point: many of those whom she loved, began to withdraw from her
society, and in various methods discovered their coolness and reserve.
She was no longer welcomed with the smile of confidence and affection,
and her evening walks, in which she was usually attended by several
young ladies and gentlemen, were either wholly omitted or kept up in
solitude. This change of the public feeling towards Mary was equally
sudden and startling. She was unable to perceive the causes, or trace
the insidious agents, who were fastening their toils around her.
Neither explanation nor satisfaction could be had, and the mysterious
reserve still gathered and increased, wherever she went. Some of her
friends, particularly the Higginsons, confessed they dared not be seen
in her society, while they privately assured her that their friendship
was unabated, and begged she would still regard them with confidence
and love.
There was a beautiful walk on the ground now occupied by the Salem
Common and the buildings on its left, in the direction towards Beverly.
This was a favorite resort for Mary, a place where she indulged in
many a happy contemplation on the works of nature, and the wonders
of Providence: here too, in the sweet interchange of sympathy and
affection with her young companions, she found sources of innocent and
unalloyed satisfaction, and sometimes when alone, as she penetrated the
depths of the forest and sat down on the green border of the rivulet,
or under the shade of the magnificent elm, she realized what the poet
many years after sung, in numbers that will never cease to move the
contemplative and pious mind:
'The calm retreat, the silent shade
With prayer and praise agree;
And seem by thy sweet bounty made,
For those who follow thee.'
Though forsaken in great measure by her friends, Mary continued her
visits to this chosen retreat, and there, in pensive recollection of
other days, and a humble trust in Providence, she found solace and
support for her disturbed and anxious mind. Mr. and Mrs. Ellerson,
conscious of her innocence, did every thing in their power to soothe
her feelings and sustain her sinking courage, but her sensitive mind
drooped under the cold neglects of the world, and she even imagined
that Walter's letters, though written in all the warmth of affection,
began to show symptoms of coldness. Mr. Ellerson thought it his duty
to inform Lyford of the state of things, and request his immediate
attendance at Salem: this was accordingly done without her knowledge,
and on the evening of the twenty-sixth of June, she found herself in
the arms of her affectionate and sympathizing brother.
Lyford was soon convinced that some deep laid plan had involved Mary in
the suspicion and distrust of the community; but while he trembled at
the dangers which surrounded her, his first object was to soothe her
feelings, by the kindest offices which affection could suggest, while
he constantly revolved in his mind the most probable methods for her
deliverance. He wrote immediately to Strale, concealing none of the
difficulties and dangers of the case, but requesting he would not now
visit Salem, as he feared it might increase the danger, and excite a
greater watchfulness against any means that might be devised for her
escape.
The next evening, Lyford and his sister walked together and visited
the place which was so much endeared to her, by its many delightful
associations. It was a fitting occasion to reveal all her griefs, and
Lyford no longer wondered at the unbroken sadness of her feelings. She
informed him, that as she walked on the borders of a little stream in
the forest, she had several times heard voices, pronouncing her real
name, and sometimes accompanied by a soft strain of music, inviting
her to new habitations among the immortals, and making promises of
every kind of enjoyment, if she would but consent to join a company
of spirits now on a visit to earth, and offering her distinctions and
honors in a new kingdom, which was about to be established in the
world. In conclusion, she had no doubt a conspiracy had been formed
against her reputation and life, and she believed Trellison had set in
motion these unseen agencies, which she feared would soon betray her to
prison and death.
'And now, dear brother,' said she, 'what can I do? friends have
deserted me on every side; wherever I turn, I meet no response to the
most common offices of friendship and good will. When the Sabbath
comes, that day of holy rest, whose heavenly influences have fallen so
peacefully on my heart, it brings no relief to my troubled spirit: in
the very temple of God, I see nothing but averted faces or disturbed
looks, and I go and come more lonely and neglected than even the
sparrow, who finds a nest for herself among the altars of God.'
'I know not what it means,' said James; 'I am sure, Mary, it is not
safe for you to remain here, and yet to attempt flight would probably
be followed by instant pursuit, and go to confirm the suspicions that
already exist. I shall not leave you, but we will consult together, and
our earnest prayers must go up to Heaven for light and deliverance.'
'I have thought, James,' said Mary, 'that it is no longer of any use
to conceal my name. The purpose intended by this concealment has been
answered; and though it may prejudice my cause still more with the
authorities at Boston, yet, in my present circumstances, I wish there
may be no ambiguity or deception in any part of my conduct: besides,
it is already known to some extent, for it has been repeated in yonder
woods in my hearing.'
'You are right, Mary,' replied her brother. 'I believe more good than
evil will result from the disclosure: I will get Mr. Ellerson to
mention the facts to a few of his friends, and they will soon become
generally known; but dear Mary, do not sink under this load of sorrow;
Walter and myself will love you even unto death. It is a dark day, but
light may arise, and I feel assured that your deliverance will in some
way be effected.'
'Ah! my brother,' said Mary, 'I would that such a hope could send
its reviving influence to my heart, but I have the most gloomy
anticipations and painful forebodings of the result. As I was walking,
a few evenings since, by the side of this beautiful stream, I was
enabled to cast my eye forward to the land of perfect and eternal
repose; the lovely images of nature reflected to my mind the glories of
the heavenly world, and I longed to put on the garments of immortality
and walk among those pleasant landscapes, where the storms of trouble
never blow. But the strife will soon be over, and 'mortality will then
be swallowed up of life.''
'Why speak so mournfully, dear Mary? This world is not yet a desert,
which no flower of hope nor green beauty of summer can adorn. Winter
may come with its frost, but spring will return and bring freshness,
blossoms and life in its train. There is a bright side to the picture;
do not refuse to behold it.'
'Hush,' said Mary, 'hear you not the voices in yonder forest?' James
paused, but no sound reached his ear. The wind sighed mournfully along,
as if in sympathy with the sadness which had fastened deeply on the
minds of brother and sister, as, arm in arm, they walked on the borders
of the forest.
'Listen again,' said Mary; 'surely you must hear them, James.'
A low strain of music, like a faint chorus of voices, now fell upon his
ear; in a moment it swelled to a distinct sound and sent its notes of
melody among the valleys and rocks. A few words only of the first and
second verses were distinguished, but every sound became more clear and
impressive, until the following lines were distinctly understood:
'On the bright and balmy air,
On the summer clouds we ride,
From our golden realms we bear
Jewels for our master's bride.
'Mary, in the bowers above,
Sweetest groves of fairy land,
We will crown thee Queen of Love,
Princess of the fairy band.
'Where the living palm-trees grow,
Where the crystal waters glide;
Realms untouched by want or wo,
Thou shalt be our master's bride.
'Far below the sunny waves,
We have gems and jewels rare,
Pearly grots and coral caves,
Thou shalt be our mistress there.'
At this stage of the music the words became inaudible, until the sound
died away in the forest, and the quiet stillness of the evening again
rested on the landscape.
'These are strange things, Mary,' said her brother, 'but they are
only a part of the snares which are intended to betray you. Time will
soon disclose all; meanwhile, have courage, my dear sister; in your
conscious rectitude you will find consolation and support; in God there
is abundant strength, and what man can do shall be faithfully done.
Have no distrust of Walter; his love to you is all you can desire; he
would be here to-day but for my cautions and warnings. As the danger
thickens around you, we will watch and protect you at every step; but
let us not trust in ourselves; it is not to be denied that your danger
is great, and I am now of opinion that immediate flight is necessary:
we will consult our friends to-night, and what we do must be done
quickly.'
They soon returned home; it was too late for any hope of flight, and
that very evening, Mary Lyford, by a warrant from the magistrate,
was placed in the custody of the sheriff, to await her trial for the
practice of witchcraft and sorceries.