Part, the Second
Several of the Afflicted saw on the 20th of March, the Lord’s day in Meeting, Goodwife Corey suffer the most unusual evidence of witchcraft. A yellow bird, seen only by the girls, had entered somehow the Meetinghouse, first landing upon the minister’s hat hanging on a peg and then—mirable dictu—it could be seen betwixt the fingers of Martha Corey. And then her spirit flew and perched atop the ceiling beam like a man riding in the saddle, high above the church, though she herself be in the congregation. Both Abigail Williams and Ann Putnam swore to it, and moreover, they claimed Goodwife Corey was the newest cause of their affliction.
The following day, the 21st of March, we were summoned as magistrates to examine Mrs. Corey as bewitched and causing afflictions on the girls and the other accusers. Despite being twelve of the clock, a throng of one hundred or more from here the Village and Salem Town assembled.
I began with a prayer for all those gathered that the Lord guide us in our deliberations, that the tormented girls and the women to whom the terror has spread, that they be relieved and that God shew the truth and his Will be done. The accused asked that she be allowed to pray, and a murmur rose amidst the assembled, several voicing their objections. I cast my eye about the room: the afflicted rocked and moaned as though an evil wind blew through the rows, and several others—Goodwife Bishop and Goodwife Proctor and Goodwife Bonham—took notice as well and made to copy the girls, but this was mere sympathy. Thomas Putnam, too, watched with one eye on the congregation and another on the accused. Quite rightfully, I believe, I told Goody Corey that she was not there for prayer, that there would be plenty of time to make Peace with the Lord, and that she was to submit to the Questions of the Magistrates.
Mr. Hathorne took the role of inquisitor, right enough. “Goodwife Corey, why hast thou afflicted those children?”
“I do not afflict them,” she said. “I scarce account any of them, but they are some chance accountered in the Village.”
“They saith they are so afflicted,” Hathorne pressed her. “If not you, then who does so torment them?”
“I do not know. How should I know?”
From the corner where she perched, Alice moaned, first a low hum like a cat’s contented purr, and then her lips parted and the sound intensified to a full-throated O, and a tremor ran from her fingertips and hands to her shoulders. She shook her head violently and then snapped into a quiet trancelike state, her gaze focused on some scene invisible to the rest of us. Through the open windows, the smell of decay drifted. I cleared my throat and continued.
“How should I know what ails these girls?” Martha Corey demanded. She knotted her fingers and twisted her hands.
From the rows where the girls were seated, a pained scream rang out. “Why dost thou torment me?” One of them, Ann Putnam, leapt to her feet and said, “See, her yellow bird pecks my hand.” She held up her fingers so the Assembled might see the red marks on her palms.
I asked Goodwife Corey if she had some familiar spirit, in the shape of a yellow bird, that attended upon her.
“Yellow bird? I know no such thing.”
To which Mr. Hathorne ordered the woman to be searched for such sign, and the girl who had seen the yellow bird shouted that it was too late, the bird had flown. Ann Putnam, Sr., the girl’s mother, said, “However she did stick my child in the head. Come examine her for any sign.” The bailiff approached the child and found an iron pin sticking upright through the child’s cap and standing straight in her hair. Mr. Hathorne stuck his spectacles atop his head and put down the deposition he had been reading. “The child says: ‘And she bade me sign the book, a book writ with blood.’ What of this book of yours? Even your husband has said you do sometimes hide a book when he comes upon you in surprise.”
“I have no such book. I am a gospel woman.”
“You are a gospel witch,” Ann Putnam shouted from her seat. “I was at prayer with my father at my own house, and there came the shape of Goodwife Corey praying to the devil and entreat me sign the devil’s book.”
The members again whispered among themselves, and many turned to their neighbors what hidden thoughts escaped their countenance. I did espy Mr. Corey muttering to himself and beating his fist against his breast, and next to him, Alice Bonham staring at me as if to make me stop.
“What say ye to this deposition?” Mr. Hathorne enquired.