Project Gutenberg's Giles Corey, Yeoman, by Mary E. Wilkins Freeman This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org Title: Giles Corey, Yeoman A Play Author: Mary E. Wilkins Freeman Release Date: March 10, 2006 [EBook #17960] Language: English Character set encoding: ASCII *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GILES COREY, YEOMAN *** 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. Phœbe 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 Phœbe Morse, on a stool beside her, is knitting a stocking. Phœbe (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! Phœbe (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! Phœbe. 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. Phœbe. 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, Phœbe, sing the rest of the song with me, and think no more of such folly. [Sings with Phœbe. “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. Phœbe. What are they? Nancy. Oh, I'm forbid to tell. Phœbe. 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. Phœbe (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? Phœbe. Oh, what was it, Ann? Ann. I know not; something black that hustled quickly by me and raised a cold wind. Phœbe. 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. Phœbe. 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. Phœbe. Oh, Ann, did it have horns? Ann. I tell you I know not. You pester me, child. Phœbe. 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. Phœbe. 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. Phœbe. 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. Phœbe. 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? Phœbe. 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. Phœbe. 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. Phœbe. There's Aunt Corey now. Who is she talking to? Enter Martha Corey. Phœbe. Who were you talking to, Aunt Corey? Martha. Nobody, child. Good-evening, Ann. Phœbe. 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. Phœbe. 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 Phœbe 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. Phœbe. Aunt Corey, may I eat an apple? Martha. Not to-night. 'Twill give you the nightmare. Phœbe. 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. Phœbe. 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 Phœbe 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, Phœbe 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? Phœbe (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? Phœbe. 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? Phœbe (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. [Phœbe sticks a pin into the doll. Phœbe. 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? Phœbe. 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. Phœbe. 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. Phœbe. 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. Phœbe. 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. Phœbe. Oh, Nancy, I hear the yellow bird twitter up chimbly! Nancy. 'Tis rare witchcraft. Phœbe. Is that all, Nancy? Nancy. All of this sort. I've given them all they can do to-night. Phœbe. Then sing the witch song, Nancy. Nancy. I'll sing the witch song, and you can dance on the table. Phœbe. But 'tis sinful to dance, Nancy! Nancy. 'Tis not sinful for a witch. Phœbe. 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. Phœbe jumps down from the table. Phœbe. 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 Phœbe Morse stealthily from other door. Phœbe carries her rag doll. Nancy. Massy sakes, hear them screeches! Phœbe (clinging to Nancy). Oh, Nancy, won't they catch us too! I'm afraid! Nancy. They can't touch us; we're witches too. Phœbe. Massy sakes! I forgot we were witches. Nancy. Hear that, will ye? Ain't she a-ketchin' it? Phœbe. 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. Phœbe. 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! [Phœbe 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? Phœbe. 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. Phœbe (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. Phœbe. 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! Phœbe. 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! Phœbe. There, you are up, Nancy. Nancy. I ain't half undoubled. Phœbe. 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, Phœbe urging her along. Curtain falls. Act III. The Meeting-house in Salem Village. Enter People of Salem Village and take seats. The Afflicted Girls, among whom are Ann Hutchins and Mercy Lewis, occupy the front seats. Nancy Fox and Phœbe. Enter the magistrates John Hathorne and Jonathan Corwin with Minister Parris, escorted by the Marshal, Aids, and four Constables. They place themselves at a long table in front of the pulpit. Hathorne (rising). We are now prepared to enter upon the examination. We invoke the blessing of God upon our proceedings, and call upon the Marshal to produce the bodies of the accused. [Exeunt Marshal and Constables. Afflicted Girls twist about and groan. Great excitement among the people. Enter Marshal and Constables leading Martha and Olive Corey in chains. Giles follows. The prisoners are placed facing the assembly, with the Constables holding their hands. Giles stands near. The Afflicted Girls make a great clamor. Ann. Oh, they are tormenting! They will be the death of me! I will not! I will not! Giles. Hush your noise, will ye, Ann Hutchins! Parris. Peace, Goodman Corey! Hathorne. Martha Corey, you are now in the hands of authority. Tell me now why you hurt these persons. Martha. I do not. I pray your worships give me leave to go to prayer. Hathorne. We have not sent for you to go to prayer, but to confess that you are a witch. Martha. I am no witch. I am a gospel woman. There is no such thing as a witch. Shall I confess that I am what doth not exist? It were not only a lie, but a fool's lie. Mercy. There is a black man whispering in her ears. Hathorne. What saith the black man to you, goodwife? Martha. I pray your worships to ask the maid. Perchance, since she sees him, she can also hear what he saith better than I. Hathorne. Why do you not tell how the devil comes in your shape and hurts these maids? Martha. How can I tell how? I was never acquaint with the ways of the devil. I leave it to those wise maids who are so well acquaint to tell how. Perchance he hath whispered it in their ears. Afflicted Girls. Oh, there is a yellow bird! There is a yellow bird perched on her head! Hathorne. What say you to that, Goodwife Corey? Martha. What can I say to such folly? Hathorne. Constables, let go the hands of Martha Corey. [The Constables let go her hands, and immediately there is a great outcry from the Afflicted Girls. Afflicted Girls. She pinches us! Hold her hands! Hold her hands again! Oh! oh! Ann. She is upon me again! She digs her fingers into my throat! Hold her hands! Hold her hands! She will be the death of me! Giles. Devil take ye, ye lying trollop! 'Tis a pity somebody had not been the death of ye before this happened! Hathorne. Constables, hold the hands of the accused. [Constables obey, and at once the afflicted are quiet. Hathorne. Goodwife Corey, what do you say to this? Martha. I see with whom we have to do. May the Lord have mercy upon us! Hathorne. What say you to the charges that your husband, Giles Corey, hath many a time brought against you in the presence of witnesses—that you hindered him when he would go to prayer, causing the words to go from him strangely; that you were out after nightfall, and did ride home on a broomstick; and that you scoffed at these maids and their affliction, as if you were a witch yourself? Giles. I said not so! Martha, I said it not so! Hathorne. What say you to your husband's charge that you did afflict his ox and cat, causing his ox to fall in the yard, and the cat to be strangely sick? Giles. Devil take the ox and the cat! I said not that she did afflict them. Hathorne. Peace, Goodman Corey; you are now in court. Martha. I say, if a gospel woman is to be hung as a witch for every stumbling ox and sick cat, 'tis setting a high value upon oxen and cats. Giles. I would mine had all been knocked in the head, lass, and me too! Hathorne. Peace! Ann Hutchins, what saw you when Goodwife Corey went home with you through the wood? Ann. Hold fast her hands, I pray, or she will kill me. The trees were so full of yellow birds that it sounded as if a mighty wind passed over them, and the birds lit on Goody Corey's head. And black beasts ran alongside through the bushes, which did break and crackle, and they were at Goody Corey and me to go to the witch dance on the hill. And they said to bring Olive Corey and Paul Bayley. And Goody Corey told them how she and Olive would presently come, but not Paul, for he never would sign the book, not even though Olive trapped him by the arts they had taught her. And Goody Corey showed me the book then, and besought me to sign, and go with her to the dance. And when I would not, she and Olive also afflicted me so grievously that I thought I could not live, and have done so ever since. Hathorne. What say you to this, Goodwife Corey? Martha. I pray your worship believe not what she doth charge against my daughter. Corwin. Mercy Lewis, do you say that you have seen both of the accused afflicting Ann Hutchins? Mercy. Yes, your worship, many a time have I seen them pressing her to sign the book, and afflicting when she would not. Corwin. How looked the book? Mercy. 'Twas black, your worship, with blood-red clasps. Corwin. Read you the names in it? Mercy. I strove to, your worship, but I got not through the C's; there were too many of them. Hathorne. Let the serving-woman, Nancy Fox, come hither. [Nancy Fox makes her way to the front. Hathorne. Nancy, I have heard that your mistress afflicts you. Nancy. That she doth. Hathorne. In what manner? Nancy. She sendeth me to bed at first candlelight as though I were a babe; she maketh me to wear a woollen petticoat in winter-time, though I was not brought up to't; and she will never let me drink more than one mug of cider at a sitting, and I nigh eighty, and needing on't to warm my bones. Corwin. Hath she ever afflicted you? Your replies be not to the point, woman. Nancy. Your worship, she hath never had any respect for my understanding, and that hath greatly afflicted me. Hathorne. Hath she ever shown you a book to sign? Nancy. Verily she hath; and when I would not, hath afflicted me with sore pains in all my bones, so I cried out, on getting up, when I had set awhile. Hathorne. Hath your mistress a familiar? Nancy. Hey? Hathorne. Have you ever seen any strange thing with her? Nancy. She hath a yellow bird which sits on her cap when she churns. Hathorne. What else have you seen with her? Nancy. A thing like a cat, only it went on two legs. It clawed up the chimbly, and the soot fell down, and Goody Corey set me to sweeping on't up on the Lord's day. Giles. Out upon ye, ye lying old jade! Hathorne. Silence! Nancy, you may go to your place. Phœbe Morse, come hither. [Phœbe Morse approaches with her apron over her face, sobbing. She has her doll under her arm. Hathorne. Cease weeping, child. Tell me how your aunt Corey treats you. Hath she ever taught you otherwise than you have learned in your catechism? Phœbe (weeping). I don't know. Oh, Aunt Corey, I didn't mean to! I took the pins out of my doll, I did. Don't whip me for it. Hathorne. What doll? What mean you, child? Phœbe. I don't know. I didn't stick them in so very deep, Aunt Corey! Don't let them hang me for it! Hathorne. Did your aunt Corey teach you to stick pins into your doll to torment folk? Phœbe (sobbing convulsively). I don't know! I don't know! Oh, Aunt Corey, don't let them hang me! Olive, you won't let them! Oh! oh! Corwin. Methinks 'twere as well to make an end of this. Hathorne. There seemeth to me important substance under this froth of tears. (To Phœbe.) Give me thy doll, child. Phœbe (clutching the doll). Oh, my doll! my doll! Oh, Aunt Corey, don't let them have my doll! Martha. Peace, dear child! Thou must not begrudge it. Their worships be in sore distress just now to play with dolls. Parris. Give his worship the doll, child. Hast thou not been taught to respect them in authority? [Phœbe gives the doll to Hathorne, whimpering. Hathorne, Corwin, and Parris put their heads together over it. Hathorne (holding up the doll). There be verily many pins in this image. Goodwife Corey, what know you of this? Martha. Your worship, such a weighty matter is beyond my poor knowledge. Hathorne. Know you whence the child got this image? Martha. Yes, your worship. I myself made it out of a piece of an old homespun blanket for the child to play with. I stuffed it with lamb's wool, and sewed some green ravellings on its head for hair. I made it a coat out of my copperas-colored petticoat, and colored its lips and cheeks with pokeberries. Hathorne. Did you teach the child to stick in these pins wherewith to torment folk? Martha. It availeth me naught to say no, your worship. Mercy (screams). Oh, a sharp pain shoot through me when I look at the image! 'Tis through my arms! Oh! Hathorne (examining the doll). There is a pin in the arms. Ann. I feel sharp pains, like pins, in my face; oh, 'tis dreadful! Hathorne (examining the doll). There are pins in the face. Phœbe (sobbing). No, no! Those are the pins I stuck in for Aunt Corey. Don't let them hang me, Aunt Corey. Parris. That is sufficient. She has confessed. Hathorne. Yes, methinks the child hath confessed whether she would or no. Goodwife Corey, Phœbe hath now plainly said that she did stick these pins in this image for you. What have you to say? Martha (courtesying). Your worship, the matter is beyond my poor speech. [Hathorne tosses the doll on the table, Phœbe watching anxiously. Hathorne. Go to your place, child. Phœbe. I want my doll. Parris. Go to thy place as his worship bids thee, and think on the precepts in thy catechism. [Phœbe returns sobbing. Afflicted Girls. Oh, Goody Corey turns her eyes upon us! Bid her turn her eyes away! Ann. Oh, I see a black cat sitting on Goody Corey's shoulder, and his eyes are like coals. Now, now, he looks at me when Goody Corey does! Look away! look away! Oh, I am blind! I am blind! Sparks are coming into my eyes from Goody Corey's. Make her turn her eyes away, your worships; make her turn her eyes away! Hathorne. Goody Corey, fix your eyes upon the floor, and look not at these poor children whom you so afflict. Martha. May the Lord open the eyes of the magistrates and ministers, and give them sight to discover the guilty! Parris. Why do you not confess that you are a witch? Martha (with sudden fervor). I am no witch. There is no such thing as a witch. Oh, ye worshipful magistrates, ye ministers and good people of Salem Village, I pray ye hear me speak for a moment's space. Listen not to this testimony of distracted children, this raving of a poor lovesick, jealous maid, who should be treated softly, but not let to do this mischief. Ye, being in your fair wits and well acquaint with your own knowledge, must know, as I know, that there be no witches. Wherefore would God let Satan after such wise into a company of His elect? Hath He not guard over His own precinct? Can He not keep it from the power of the Adversary as well as we from the savages? Why keep ye the scouts out in the fields if the Lord God hath so forsaken us? Call in the scouts! If we believe in witches, we believe not only great wickedness, but great folly of the Lord God. Think ye in good faith that I verily stand here with a black cat on my shoulder and a yellow bird on my head? Why do ye not see them as well as these maids? I would that ye might if they be there. Black cat, yellow bird, if ye be upon my shoulder and my head, as these maids say, I command ye to appear to these magistrates! Otherwise, if I have signed the book, as these maids say, I swear unto ye that I will cross out my name, and will serve none but the God Almighty. Most worshipful magistrates, see ye the black cat? See ye any yellow bird? Why are ye not afflicted as well as these maids, when I turn my eyes upon ye? I pray you to consider that. I am no saint; I wot well that I have but poorly done the will of the Lord who made me, but I am a gospel woman and keep to the faith according to my poor measure. Can I be a gospel woman and a witch too? I have never that I know of done aught of harm whether to man or beast. I have spared not myself nor minded mine own infirmities in tasks for them that belonged to me, nor for any neighbor that had need. I say not this to set myself up, but to prove to you that I can be no witch, and my daughter can be no witch. Have I not watched nights without number with the sick? Have I not washed and dressed new-born babes? Have I not helped to make the dead ready for burial, and sat by them until the cock crew? Have I ever held back when there was need of me? But I say not this to set myself up. Have I not been in the meeting-house every Lord's day? Have I ever stayed away from the sacrament? Have I not gone in sober apparel, nor wasted my husband's substance? Have I not been diligent in my household, and spun and wove great store of linen? Are not my floors scoured, my brasses bright, and my cheese-room well filled? Look at me! Can I be a witch? Ann. A black man hath been whispering in her ear, telling her what to say. Hathorne. What say you to that, Goody? Martha. I say if that be so, he told me not to his...