Crane Pond (18 page)

‘My spirits have gone,' comes the reply.

‘Instead of complaining about it, you could have used that same breath to invite us in,' Mr. Willard says in exasperation.

‘Oh John!' exclaims Nurse Hurd. Mr. Willard strides past her and opens the bedroom door.

‘This is the last time I shall ask you,' he says. ‘You are standing in the very suburbs of eternity. Do you wish us to pray with you or not?'

There is another long pause. ‘Yes, for the Lord's sake,' John Hurd replies at last.

 

On 24th May Governor Phips convenes a Court of Oyer and Terminer, meaning to Hear and Decide. This is a court that doesn't deal with the general run of cases but instead is given a particular task, in this instance to handle the witchcraft charges that have been accumulating over the months. William Stoughton is to preside and a further eight judges have been appointed to its bench, including Jonathan Corwin and John Hathorne, the two men who conducted the examinations in the meeting house of Salem Village, Nathaniel Saltonstall, Wait Still Winthrop, who opposed Sewall over the pirates' reprieves, and Sewall himself. That number should ensure that all relevant questions are raised and obviate the need to have lawyers in court representing the prosecution or defence.

Governor Phips takes his place at the lectern and scans the justices with the hurried impatient eyes of a man of action. ‘Before my Court of Oyer and Terminer begins to sit on the witchcraft cases,' he says, ‘I proclaim a fast to be held throughout this province of Massachusetts Bay.' He glances down at a paper in front of him to find the wording for the fast, then rattles off the grave instructions as if they are a mere matter of form: ‘Its purpose being to seek the Lord that He will rebuke Satan and be a light unto His people in this day of darkness.' He looks up and once more surveys the company with that challenging look of his. ‘Amen, gentlemen,' he concludes.

‘Amen,' the gentlemen repeat.

 

Sewall spends the fast day in his study. He prays on his knees for several hours. Gradually the pain of resting his weight on bare boards begins to consume his attention. From now on, two conversations take place at the same time. The first is with God, on the subject of the witchcraft crisis that is overtaking New England. Sewall hopes that the Lord will vouchsafe to dwell with his people and not break up their housekeeping. The other is with Sewall himself, on sundry matters.

One is the pain in his knees. Would the use of a cushion to ease the discomfort be a popish luxury or simply a practical way of prolonging his devotions?

Also he thinks of his dear wife Hannah, who is somehow able to be both good and sensible at the same time, which ought to be possible for all of us, since God has not sown discord and contradiction in the world—those elements have been placed there by His enemy.

The thought of wife Hannah is succeeded by that of
daughter
Hannah, and Sewall wonders how she is faring at Rowley. They have had a number of letters from her, each one tear-blotched and complaining. Also one from cousin Abigail, who explains that Hannah is finding country ways and the farming life a little difficult at first, but will settle down in due time. The fast is being observed at Rowley just as it is here, and Sewall is comforted to think that his child, those miles away, may be on her knees this very moment, just as he is. Young Sam, too, up in Mr. Hobart's house in Newton, though his observance is not so assured since he's been known to sneak into the kitchen to restore himself in the middle of a fast.

Sewall can hold out no longer. He shuffles across the room (he daren't unfold his legs just yet to stand up) and takes the cushion from his desk chair. Then he places it in front of his knees, goes on all fours, moves his weight forward on to his arms so he can raise his legs (emitting a huge groan as he does, which he dedicates to the glory of God), places his knees on the cushion and, with a thankful sigh, resumes his praying posture.

At last it's six o'clock. He prays one last prayer, that all the praying that has taken place this day the length and breadth of Massachusetts Bay has edged the province a little toward the light and away from the darkness. Amen, he says, and makes his way downstairs to break his fast.

The family are already assembled in the big hall, waiting for him: wife, little Joseph, baby Mary. On the table are beer, cider, wine, bread, cold meats, biscuits.

‘Is Betty still upstairs?' Hannah asks.

‘Betty? No.'

‘I thought she must be in your study, praying with you.'

‘I expect she's in her cupboard.'

‘I've looked there. I've looked everywhere. Except for your study. I didn't want to disturb you at prayer. But everywhere else.'

They search the house and garden all over again, calling Betty's name. Sarah and Susan join in too. Sewall remembers the occasion when Sam went missing. Perhaps he's careless of his children?

Just as he's becoming frightened, an old friend appears, John Alden, who has returned from Canada where he has been negotiating the release of hostages being held by the Indians. Alden is one of the original members of the South Church though he misses many meetings because he spends much of his time both as a ship's captain and in the forests of the north, fighting with and against the Indians who live up there. He is a tough, weather-beaten sixty-year-old who smells of the outdoors and has an old battler's pith and shrewdness. He joins the search with a will and he and Sewall walk up and down the road calling out Betty's name, their unconsummated cries dispersing on the evening breeze.

‘I must find the constable, and report her missing,' Sewall says finally. ‘Why don't you go to the house and wait for me there?'

‘No, I'll come with you.'

But before they have taken more than a few paces, there's a clatter of wheels and along comes a carriage travelling at a furious pace, a black man in the driving-seat. As it gets nearer, Sewall sees it's Bastian. Stupidly, he has been so preoccupied that he forgot about his absence, though if he'd been at home Bastian would have been the most diligent of searchers, as he was when Sam went missing. The carriage is one Sewall rented yesterday to take his family out for an airing preparatory to the fast and to his forthcoming preoccupation with the witchcraft trials (they went to the Turk's Head in Dorchester and ate sage cheese, with good beer and cider).

Bastian jerks at the reins and the vehicle comes to a halt. Sewall is about to ask why on earth he is in such a hurry when the carriage door opens and out leaps Betty. He turns joyfully towards her but she immediately bursts into tears, rushes past him and runs towards home. Sewall turns back and looks up at Bastian, who shrugs his shoulders in perplexity at the mysterious ways of the young.

 

Bastian has been happy to observe the fast, at least in the sense of not having anything to eat. But he was quite unable to spend the whole day in prayer. He can say what he needs to say in a few minutes. The rest will be repetition. He decided to visit a friend called Jane who is a slave belonging to an acquaintance of the Sewalls. Jane had asked if he would come sometime to ease a water-pump which she found difficult to operate when doing the laundry. Since the carriage was still available he rode over in it, intending to return it to the stables just round the corner on his way back.

Finally he repaired the pump and returned to the carriage. When he opened the door he found Betty squashed into a corner, crying her eyes out. She was unwilling or unable to explain what had happened, so he brought her straight back home.

Betty is curled up on her bed, facing the wall. She weeps and says sorry over and over again. Sewall waits as patiently as he is able. It's been a day requiring patience, and despite his concern for his child he can't help thinking longingly about the beer and cider (also the meats and biscuits) waiting downstairs, and about his old friend waiting too. Finally Betty speaks, though her words seem to be constructed out of sobs: ‘I wanted to hide.'

‘God can find us anywhere.'

‘I don't mean God.' Of course she doesn't mean God. The poor child was trying to find somewhere she could observe the fast without any fear of the
Devil
's advances. ‘I went in the carriage because I thought no one would look for me there. And then suddenly it was going along. I was the only one inside it.'

Sewall approaches the bed, puts his hand on his daughter's shoulder. The poor child must have imagined the Devil was driving her off to hell.

‘I thought we might be going to the place we hired the carriage from,' Betty continues, ‘but we went a long long way instead. Then, when we stopped, I didn't know where we were. After a time I looked out of the window, but it was a strange place. I thought, if I get out here I will be lost, so I stayed where I was. I was there for hours and hours. I think I fell asleep for a while. I was frightened I would never see our house again.'

At last Sewall is able to go downstairs. He briefly explains what's happened. Mr. Alden is amused at Betty's adventure. His own son is long grown and has followed in his father's footsteps (indeed was one of the hostages his father went north to redeem). Then Alden's expression becomes serious again.

‘Did your negotiations fail?' Sewall asks him.

‘No, not at all. The prisoners were released and I brought them back with me. Elizabeth was delighted to see our John come safely home.'

‘And to see you too, I'm sure.'

‘Oh, she doesn't worry about me. I'm indestructible, she knows that.' He pauses. ‘But there was an unpleasant surprise waiting for me. I've been sent a summons to appear at the witchcraft examinations the day after tomorrow.'

‘What? You've been in Canada for these last weeks. How can
you
be accused?'

‘If I can go as far as Canada I suppose the Devil can do the same. Or maybe the witches fly there on their sticks. But if they do, I have to say I didn't see them. I hope that my accusers will believe me when I tell them that.'

Sewall thinks for a moment. The trials are due to commence in a week or so. He would much prefer to keep away from the examinations until then—he already feels compromised by his attendance at those two previous sessions. It's not good practice to be present at both ends of a legal process. But John Alden is one of his dearest friends. And it's impossible to imagine him getting involved in witchcraft. Like Sewall's brother Stephen he's too practical, too much a man of action, to countenance such activity. He is a person of the here and now, firmly located in this world. ‘I will come with you to the examination,' he says finally. ‘Let's see what the accusers have to say.'

 

John Alden and Sewall enter the Salem Village meeting house by the main doors, along with the rest of the crowds. The girls are already at the front of the dim room (the windows of the shabby building are mostly broken and boarded up). They are crying out and staring round at the people, looking for their tormentor. One of the littlest—Ann Putnam, Sewall realises—slumps forward and is only prevented from falling by a man grabbing hold of her.

‘Who's tormenting you?' asks Hathorne.

For a moment Ann seems lost for words. Then the man whispers in her ear and she cries out, ‘Alden! Alden! It's Alden who's tormenting me!'

‘And where
is
this Alden?' asks Hathorne.

Sewall shakes his head at such a disrespectful manner of speech but the child knows no better and Mr. Hathorne is simply repeating what she said. She raises her arm and points vaguely at the oncoming people. The man behind leans forward again and pushes at her elbow until her pointing is directed squarely at John Alden.

Alden strides with firm purposeful steps to the front of the room and glares at Ann, who shrinks back into the protection of her helper (no doubt her father, the man who wrote that letter about the wheel within a wheel). ‘You are playing at juggling tricks,' Alden says. ‘You and all the other girls.'

‘Please remove your hat, Mr. Alden,' says Hathorne. ‘You are in a meeting house now.'

Alden turns to face him. The hat in question is an old leather cap, scratched and battered by all those forays into the northern forests. ‘This place is acting as a courtroom for the present,' he replies, ‘and as I understand it, all are equal in the eyes of the law. So I think I'll keep it on my head for the time being.'

Hathorne puffs out as if about to rebuke him but thinks better of it, perhaps aware that his future colleague Samuel Sewall is a friend of the accused. ‘Mr. Alden, why does this child accuse you?' he asks instead.

‘That's a good question, Mr. . . . Examiner,' replies Alden. ‘She didn't seem to know
who
to accuse until that man prompted her.'

‘Ann,' says Mr. Hathorne, ‘have you ever seen Mr. Alden before? In his fleshly form?'

‘No, sir.'

‘Then how do you know this
is
Mr. Alden?'

‘
He
told me.' She points at her father. There is muttering and shuffling throughout the room. Sewall remembers how Mr. Stoughton dismissed Thomas Putnam as an annoying busybody. But of course Mr. Stoughton isn't a father. He, Sewall, can understand the need to try to guide your suffering daughter to the source of her pain. That's exactly what he would do for Betty, if he was able to.

Mr. Hathorne confers with his colleague, then makes an announcement: ‘The examiners would like to discuss this matter
in camera.
'

A baffled silence greets these words. ‘In private,' glosses Hathorne.

Everyone is ushered out on to the lane running past the building, accusers included. It's a warm day in late May and after the gloom inside the sun is dazzling. Sewall finds himself in the middle of the crowd while Mr. Alden remains not far from the meeting-house door with a space around him. This gradually clarifies itself into a ring of accusers who begin to sway from side to side, and then to chant
Alden
,
Alden
in time with their movements, then to shout it out. Their movements become exaggerated, turning into a sort of dance.