CHAPTER V.
It is not a little remarkable that within a few days after the death of Sarah Good, a part of her pretended prophecy, that which was directed by her to the man who called her a witch at the place of death, was verified upon him, letter by letter, as it were.
He was way-laid by a party of the Mohawks, and carried off to answer to the tribe for having reported of them that they ate the flesh of their captives.—It would appear that he had lived among them in his youth, and that he was perfectly acquainted with their habits and opinions and with their mode of warfare; that he had been well treated by their chief, who let him go free at a time when he might lawfully have been put to death, according to the usages of the tribe, and that he could not possibly be mistaken about their eating the flesh of their prisoners. It would appear too, that he had been watched for, a long while before he was carried off; that his path had been beset hour after hour, and week after week, by three young warriors of the tribe, who might have shot him down, over and over again if they would, on the step of his own door, in the heart of a populous village, but they would not; for they had sworn to trap their prey alive, and to bring it off with the hide and the hair on; that after they had carried him to the territory of the Mohawks, they put him on trial for the charge face to face with a red accuser; that they found him guilty, and that, with a bitter laugh, they ordered him toeat of the flesh of a dead man that lay bleeding on the earth before him; that he looked up and saw the old chief who had been his father when he belonged to the tribe, and that hoping to appease the haughty savage, he took some of the detestable food into his mouth, and that instantly—instantly—before he could utter a prayer, they fell upon him with clubs and beat him to death.
Her prophecy therefore did appear to the people to be accomplished; for had she not said to this very man, that for the work of that day, “He should breathe blood and eat blood?”
Before a week had passed over, the story of death, and the speech of the prophetess took a new shape, and a variety of circumstances which occurred at the trial, and which were disregarded at the time, were now thought of by the very judges of the land with a secret awe; circumstances that are now to be detailed, for they were the true cause of what will not be forgotten for ages in that part of the world ... the catastrophe of our story.
At the trial of Sarah Good, while her face was turned away from her accuser, one of the afflicted gave a loud scream, and gasping for breath, fell upon the floor at the feet of the judges, and lay there as if she had been struck down by the weight of no mortal arm; and being lifted up, she swore that she had been stabbed with a knife by the shape of Sarah Good, while Sarah Good herself was pretending to be at prayer on the other side of the house; and for proof, she put her hand into her bosom and drew forth the blade of a penknife which was bloody, and which upon her oath, she declared to have been left sticking in her flesh a moment before, by the shape of Sarah Good.
The Judges were thunderstruck. The people were mute with terror, and the wretched woman herself coveredher face with her hands; for she knew that if she looked upon the sufferers, they would shriek out, and foam at the mouth, and go into fits, and lie as if they were dead for a while; and that she would be commanded by the judges to go up to them and lay her hands upon their bodies without speaking or looking at them, and that on her doing so, they would be sure to revive, and start up, and speak of what they had seen or suffered while they were in what they called their agony.
The jury were already on their way out for consultation—they could not agree, it appeared; but when they saw this, they stopped at the door, and came back one by one to the jury box, and stood looking at each other, and at the judges, and at the poor old woman, as if they no longer thought it necessary to withdraw even for form sake, afraid as they all were of doing that, in a case of life and death, for which they might one day or other be sorry. A shadow was upon every visage of the twelve—the shadow of death; a look in the eyes of everybody there, a gravity and a paleness, which when the poor prisoner saw, she started up with a low cry—a cry of reproach—a cry of despair—and stood with her hands locked, and her mouth quivering, and her lips apart before God—lips white with fear, though not with the fear of death; and looked about her on every side, as if she had no longer a hope left—no hope from the jury, no hope from the multitude; nay as if while she had no longer a hope, she had no longer a desire to live.
There was a dead preternatural quiet in the house—not a breath could be heard now, not a breath nor a murmur; and lo! the aged foreman of the jury stood forth and laid his hands upon the Book of the Law, and lifted up his eyes and prepared to utter the verdict of death; but before he could speak so as to be heard, for hisheart was over-charged with sorrow, a tumult arose afar off like the noise of the wind in the great woods of America; or a heavy swell on the sea-shore, when a surge after surge rolls booming in from the secret reservoir of waters, like the tide of a new deluge. Voices drew near with a portentous hoof-clatter from every side—east, west, north and south, so that the people were mute with awe; and as the dread clamor approached and grew louder and louder every moment, they crowded together and held their breath, they and the judges and the preachers and the magistrates, every man persuaded in his own soul that a rescue was nigh. At last a smothered war-whoop was heard, and then a sweet cheerful noise like the laugh of a young child high up in the air—and then a few words in the accent of authority, and a bustle outside of the door, which gave way as if it were spurned with a powerful foot; and a stranger appeared in the shadow of the huge trees that over-hung the door-way like a summer cloud—a low, square-built swarthy man with a heavy tread, and a bright fierce look, tearing his way through the crowd like a giant of old, and leading a beautiful boy by the hand.
What, ho! cried he to the chief judge, walking up to him, and standing before him, and speaking to him with a loud clear voice. What ho! captain Robert Sewall! why do ye this thing? What ho, there! addressing himself to the foreman of the jury—why speed ye so to the work of death? and you, master Bailey! and you governor Phips! and you doctor Mather, what business have ye here? And you ye judges, who are about to become the judges of life and death, how dare ye! Who gave you power to measure and weigh such mystery? Are ye gifted men—all of you—every man of you—specially gifted from above? Are you Thomas Fisk—with yourwhite hair blowing about your agitated mouth and your dim eyes, areyouable to see your way clear, that you have the courage to pronounce a verdict of death on your aged sister who stands there! And you Josh Carter, senior! and you major Zach Trip! and you Job Saltonstall! Who are ye and what are ye, men of war, that ye are able to see spirits, or that ye should become what ye are—the judges of our afflicted people! And who are we, and what were our fathers, I beseech you, that we should be base enough to abide upon earth but by your leave!
The judges looked at each other in consternation.
Who is it! ... who is it! cried the people as they rushed forward and gathered about him and tried to get a sight of his face. Whocanit be!
Burroughs—Bur—Bur—Burroughs, Idobelieve! whispered a man who stood at his elbow, but he spoke as if he did not feel very sure of what he said.
Not George Burroughs, hey?
I’d take my oath of it neighbour Joe, my Bible-oath of it, leaning forward as far as he could reach with safety, and shading his eyes with his large bony hand—
Well, Idosay! whispered another.
I see the scar!—as I live, I do! cried another, peering over the heads of the multitude, as they rocked to the heavy pressure of the intruder.
But how altered he is! ... and how old he looks!...—and shorter than ever! muttered several more.
Silence there! cried the chief judge—a militia-captain, it is to be observed, and of course not altogether so lawyer-like as a judge of our day would be.
Silence there! echoed the High Sheriff.
Never see nobody so altered afore, continued one of the crowd, with his eye fixed on the judge—Iwillsay that much, afore I stop, Mr. Sheriff Berry, an’ (droppinghis voice) if you don’t like it, you may lump it ... who cares for you?
Well—an’ who cares for you, if you come to that.
Officer of the court, how now! cried the chief judge in a very loud sharp voice.
Here I be mister judge—I ain’t deef.
Take that man away.
I say ... you! cried the High-Sheriff, getting up and fetching the man a rap over the head with his white-oak staff ... do you hear that?
Hear what?
What Mr. judge Sewall says.
I don’t care for Mr. judge Sewall, nor you nyther.
Away with him Sir! out with him! are we to suffer this outrage on the dignity of the court ... in the House of the Lord—away with him, Sir.
Here’s the devil to pay and no pitch hot—whispered a sailor-looking fellow, in a red baize shirt.
An’ there’s thirteen-pence for you to pay, Mr. Outlandishman, said a little neighbour, whose duty it was to watch for offenders in a small way, and fine them for swearing, drinking, or kissing their wives on the sabbath day.
What for?
Why, for that air oath o’yourn.
What oath?
Why, you said here’s the devil to pay!
Ha—ha—ha—and there’s thirteen-pence foryouto pay.
You be darned!
An’ there’s thirteen-pence more for you, my lad—ha—ha—ha—
The officer now drew near the individual he was ordered to remove; but he did so as if a little afraid of hisman—who stood up face to face with the judge, and planted his foot as if he knew of no power on earth able to move him, declaring he would’nt budge a peg, now they’d come to that; for the house they were in had been paid for out of the people’s money, and he’d as much right there as they had; but havin’ said what he had to say on the subject, and bein’ pooty considr’ble easy on that score now, if they’d mind their business he’d mind his; and ifthey’dbehave, he would.
Very well, said the chief judge, who knew the man to be a soldier of tried bravery. Very well! you may stay where you are; I thought we should bring you to your senses, neighbour Joe.
Here the stranger broke away from the crowd and leaped upon the platform, and setting his teeth and smiting the floor with a heavy iron-shod staff, he asked the judges why they did not enforce the order? why with courage to take away life, they had no courage to defend their authority. How dare ye forgive this man! said he; how dare you bandy words with such a fellow! What if youhavebeen to the war with him? Have ye not become the judges of the land? With hardihood enough to undertake the awful representation of majesty, have ye not enough to secure that majesty from outrage?
We know our own duty sir.
No such thing sir! you do not—if you do, it shall be the worse for you. You are afraid of that man—
Afraid sir!—Who are you!
Yes—you are afraid of that man. If you are not, why allow him to disturb the gravity of such an hour as this? Know your own power—Bid the High-sheriff take him into custody.
A laugh here from the sturdy yeoman, who having paid his quota for building the house, and fought his share ofthe fight with the Indians, felt as free as the best of them.
Speak but the word, Sirs, and I will do what I see your officer hath not valor enough to do. Speak but the word, Sirs! and I that know your power, will obey it, (uplifting the staff as he spoke, while the fire flashed from his eyes, and the crowd gave way on every side as if it were the tomahawk or the bow of a savage)—speak but the word I say! and I will strike him to the earth!
George Burroughs—I pray thee! said a female, who sat in a dark part of the house with her head so muffled up that nobody could see her face—I pray thee, George! do not strike thy brother in wrath.
Speak but the word I say, and lo! I will stretch him at your feet, if he refuse to obey me, whatever may be the peril to me or mine.
I should like to see you do it, said the man. I care as little for you, my boy,—throwing off his outer-garb as he spoke, and preparing for a trial of strength on the spot—as little for you, George Burroughs, if that is your name, as I do for your master.
Will you not speak! You see how afraid of him they all are, judges; you know how long he has braved your authority—being a soldier forsooth. Speak, if ye are wise; for if ye do not—
George! George!... No, no, George! said somebody at his elbow, with a timid voice, that appeared to belong to a child.
The uplifted staff dropped from his hand.