Chapter VI

The Woman of Ipswich


Those were terrible times in Salem. Day after day the same scenes were
enacted. The judges with their cavalcade came in pomp from Ipswich, and
rode solemnly down the street to the meeting-house.

The people were as frantic now lest they or their friends be accused
of witchcraft, as they had formerly been fearful of suffering from its
spells.

That craving for excitement which had actuated so many of the possessed,
the opportunity for notoriety long coveted and at last put within reach
of the coarsest natures, now began to be regarded in their true light.
Moreover, there was a great opening for the wreaking of private hatreds,
and many, to quiet their uneasy consciences, persuaded themselves that
their enemies were in league with the Devil. But this zeal in pushing the
prosecutions was becoming dangerous. For the accused person, confessing,
and so granted his liberty, would straightway bring charges against his
accusers.

The signs of witchery multiplied in number. Certain spots upon the
body were accounted marks of the Devil. Were the victims from age or
stupefaction unable to shed tears, it was counted against them. The most
ordinary happenings of life, viewed in the light of this superstition,
acquired an unnatural significance.

There were those who walked abroad, free, but bearing the burden of a
wounded conscience. Many of these found intolerable the loathing and fear
which greeted them, and desired that they might have died before they had
falsely confessed to a crime of which they were not guilty.

There were rumours, that for any contumacious refusal to answer, the
barbarous common English law—peine forte et dure—would be brought in
usage.

Two dogs, regarded accomplices in the horrid crime, were hanged with
their owners.

A child not more than four or five years old was also committed as a
witch. Her alleged victim showed the print of small teeth in his arm
where she had bitten him.

Unbelievers were overwhelmed with evidence. Had not the laws of England
for over one hundred and fifty years been in force against witches?
Thirty thousand had been executed, and Parliament had lately appointed a
witch-finder, who, when he had discovered all the remaining witches in
England, so it was said, was to be sent to the colonies. Had not King
James written a book against sorcerers and those possessed by the Evil
One?

Archbishop Jewell had begged Queen Bess to burn all found guilty of the
offence. Above all, the Lord Chief Justice of England had condemned them,
and written a book from the Bible upon the subject.

Two weeks from the time she was put in prison, Deliverance was brought to
trial.

So high a pitch had the excitement reached, so wrought to a frenzied
condition were the villagers, that the authorities had been obliged to
take extreme measures, and had forbidden every one except the minister
and officers of the law to visit the prisoner.

Thus the little maid had not seen one familiar, loving face during the
two weeks previous to her trial.

Aside from her deep trouble and anxiety for fear her father were ill, she
grew desperately weary of the long monotonous days. Sometimes she amused
herself by writing the alphabet or some Bible verse on the hard earth
floor with the point of the pewter spoon that was given her with her
porridge. Again she quite forgot her unhappiness, plaiting mats of straw.

Short as her confinement had been, she had lost her pretty colour, and
her hands had acquired an unfamiliar whiteness. She had never been
released from the iron chain, it being deemed that ordinary fastenings
would not hold a witch.

A woman, accused like herself, was placed in the same cell. She was
brought from Ipswich, owing to the over-crowded condition of the jail in
that village. For two days and nights, Deliverance had wept in terror
and abhorrence of her companion. Yet some small comfort had lain in the
fact that the woman was fastened by such a short chain in the further
corner that she could not approach the little maid. Several times she had
essayed to talk to Deliverance, but in vain. The little maid would put
her hands over her ears at the first word.

One night, Deliverance had awakened, not with a start as from some
terrible dream, but as naturally as if the sunlight, shining on her own
little bed at home, had caused her to open her eyes. So quiet was this
awakening that she did not think of her surroundings, but lay looking
at the corner of the window visible to her. She saw the moon like pure,
bright gold behind the apple-leaves. After awhile she became conscious
of some one near by praying softly. Then she thought that whoever it was
must have been praying a long time, and that she had not observed it;
just as one often pays no attention to the murmur of a brook running,
hidden in the woods, until, little by little, the sound forces itself
upon his ear, and then he hears nothing but the singing of the water. So
now she raised herself on her elbow and listened.

In the darkness the cell seemed filled with holy words; then she knew it
was the witch praying, and in her prayers she remembered Deliverance.
Thereat the little maid’s heart was touched.

“Why do ye pray for me?” she asked.

“Because you are persecuted and sorely afflicted,” came the answer.

“I ken your voice,” said Deliverance; “ye be the witch-woman condemned to
die to-morrow. I heard the jailer say so.”

“I am condemned by man,” answered the woman, “but God shall yet maintain
my innocence.”

“But ye will be dead,” said Deliverance.

“I shall have gone to my Father in heaven,” replied the woman, and the
darkness hid her worn and glorified face, “but my innocence will be
maintained that others may be saved.”

“Do ye think that I will be saved?” asked Deliverance.

“Of what do they accuse you?” asked her companion.

“O’ witchery,” answered Deliverance; and she began to weep.

But the woman, although she might not move near her, comforted her there
in the darkness.

“Weep not that men persecute you, dear child. There is another judgment.
Dear child, there is another judgment.”

For a long time there was silence. Then the woman spoke again. “Dear
child,” she said, “I have a little son who is a cripple. Should you live
and go free, will you see that he suffers not?”

“Where bides he?” asked Deliverance.

“In Ipswich,” came the reply. “He was permitted to be with me there in
the jail, but when I was brought to Salem, he was taken from me. Will
they be kind to him, think you, though he be a witch’s child?”

“I ken not,” answered Deliverance.

“Think you they would harden their hearts against one so small and weak,
with a crooked back?” asked the woman.

Deliverance knitted her brows, and strove to think of something
comforting she could say, for the woman’s words troubled her heart.
Suddenly she sat up eagerly, and there was a ring of hope in her sweet,
young voice.

“I remember summat which will comfort ye,” she cried, “and I doubt not
the Lord in His mercy put it into my mind to tell ye.” She paused a
moment to collect her thoughts.

“I am waiting,” said the woman, wistfully; “dear child, keep me not
waiting.”

“Listen,” said Deliverance, solemnly; “there be a boy in the village
and his name be Submit Hodge. He has a great hump on his back and bandy
legs——”

“Thus has my little son,” interrupted the woman.

“And he walks on crutches,” continued Deliverance.

“My little son is o’er young yet for crutches,” said the woman. “I have
always carried him in my arms.”

“And one day he was going down the street,” said Deliverance, resuming
her narrative, “when some naughty boys larfed at him and called him
jeering names——”

A smothered sob was heard in the other end of the cell.

“Then what should hap,” continued Deliverance, “but our reverend judge
and godly parson walking arm-in-arm along the street in pious converse,
I wot not. I saw the judge who was about to pass his snuff-box to the
parson, forget and put it back in his pocket, and his face go red
all at once, for he had spied the naughty boys. He was up with his
walking-stick, and I thought it was like to crack the pate o’ Thomas
Jenkins, who gave over larfing and began to bellow. But the parson told
him to cease his noise; then he put his arm around Submit Hodge. Ye ken
I happed to hear all this because I was going to a tea-party with my
patchwork, and I just dawdled along very slow like, a-smelling at a rose
I picked, but with ears wide open.

“And I heard our parson tell the naughty boys that Submit was the Lord’s
afflicted, and that it was forbid in His Holy Word e’er to treat rudely
one who was blind or lame or wanting in gumption or good wits. ‘For,’ he
said, ‘they are God’s special care. And it be forbid any man to treat
them ill.’ With that the judge put his hand in his pocket and drew forth
a handful of peppermint drops for Submit. And being a high-tempered body,
he cracked another boy over his pate with his walking-stick. ‘’Twill
holpen ye to remember your parson’s words,’ quoth he. And then he and
the parson walked on arm-in-arm. When I passed Thomas Jenkins who was
bellowing yet, I larfed and snickered audible-like, for I ne’er liked
naughty boys. It be a goodly sight to clap eyes on Submit these days, so
blithe and gay. Nobody dare tease the lad.”

“You comfort me greatly,” said the woman; “the Lord’s words were in my
heart, but in my misery I had nigh forgot them. You have given me peace.
Should you be saved, you will not forget my little son. Though you be but
a young maid, God may grant you grace to holpen him as is motherless.”

“What be his name?” asked Deliverance.

“’Tis Hate-Evil Hobbs,” answered the woman; “he lives in Ipswich.”

“I will get father to take me there, and I be saved,” answered
Deliverance, drowsily; “now I will lie down and go to sleep again, for I
be more wore-out a-pining and a-weeping o’er my sad condition than e’er I
be after a long day’s chores at home.”

She stretched herself out on the straw and pillowed her head on her arm.

“Good-night, dear child,” said the woman. “I will pray that God keep us
in the hollow of His hand.”

Deliverance, drifting into profound slumber, scarce heard her words. She
awoke late. The morning sunshine filled her cell. She was alone. In the
corner of the cell, where the woman had lain, were the irons which had
fastened her and her straw pallet. Deliverance never saw her again.