After Reverend Parris led a prayer, the magistrates called Giles Corey to the stand. He was the second man to be questioned. His wife, Martha, had already stood in his place and was now in the Salem gaol awaiting her trial. Giles was coarse and angry, and he refused to put up with the absurdity of the trial. His answers made the magistrates livid, and the afflicted had such violent fits, it was hard for the magistrates to keep order.
I watched in both horror and fascination as John Indian convulsed in front of us, acting just as possessed as the young girls. What could drive anyone to such behavior—especially a grown man? Fear? Resentment? Retribution for his enslavement?
It was terrifying to watch. Their spasms and seizures looked real—and perhaps they were. Mama had told us about studying mental health in her 2001 path. The mind was a powerful thing. Could it be that the afflicted were under some kind of mental delusion that caused real fits?
Was that John’s trouble? Or was he so afraid that if he wasn’t one of the afflicted, he’d become one of the accused?
Eventually, the magistrates ordered Giles to be removed to the Salem gaol to await further questioning. After a short recess, they brought in Abigail Hobbs, a fourteen-year-old girl from Topsfield who had a reputation for being wild and erratic. For over a year, she had claimed that she had sold her soul to the devil. She had been in Maine during the massacres, but insteadof living in fear like everyone else, she ran free in the hills around Topsfield, telling people that the devil protected her.
It was no surprise that she had been accused of witchcraft. And it was no surprise that she, like Tituba, didn’t deny the charges.
The strange thing was that the afflicted showed no signs of discomfort when Abigail Hobbs was brought in. They did not have fits or spasms—even when Abigail admitted from the start that she had been wicked. Instead, the afflicted watched with quiet curiosity.
After almost an hour of incessant questions and strange confessions about her connection to the devil and his familiars, it appeared that Abigail was no longer willing to speak. Whether she was tired or bored, she decided to stop answering the questions and stared at the magistrates as if she couldn’t hear them.
“I see Sarah Good’s and Sarah Osborn’s specters!” Mercy Lewis cried out suddenly, pointing at Abigail Hobbs. “They have jammed their fingers in Abigail’s ears! They will not let her hear you.”
Four of the other afflicted girls cried out the same thing, over and over, as Abigail appeared not to hear any of them.
This satisfied the magistrates, who had Abigail removed from the Meeting House.
“How awful,” Ann Putnam said, shaking her head. “Poor Abigail.”
“She hath suffered so,” Mercy agreed.
“The poor thing,” Abigail Williams crooned.
Hope turned to me, frowning. “It appears the girls are only afflicted if someone disagrees with them,” she whispered louder than necessary.
Mercy skewered Hope with a glare that would have frightened anyone but Hope.
I pressed my hand on Hope’s arm to silence her.
“The court will now call Mary Warren,” Magistrate Hathorne said.
Immediately, the afflicted began to writhe and spasm—John included. Several of the girls cried out their alarm, claiming several specters entered the room with Mary.
Mary’s face was downcast and pale. She glanced up at the afflicted and then quickly looked down again. Her employers, John and Elizabeth Proctor, had already been questioned and were sitting in the Boston prison awaiting their trials because the Salem gaol had run out of room.
As soon as Mary was standing before the magistrates, John Hathorne demanded, “What do you say for yourself? Are you guilty or not?”
“I am innocent,” Mary claimed.
“You were a little while ago an afflicted person. Now you are an afflicter. How comes this to pass?”
“I look up to God and take it to be a great mercy of God.”
“What? Do you take it to be a great mercy to afflict others?”
Mary’s eyes opened wide at the accusation, and she shook her head, but Elizabeth Hubbard quickly stood up to testify that after Mary recovered from her afflictions, she said that the afflicted persons dissembled. As soon as she said that, all the afflicted people in the Meeting House, and a couple more who had not yet been afflicted, began to convulse and cry out. The room was in such turmoil, the magistrate struggled to gain control.
Mary wrung her hands and looked like she might vomit. All the color drained from her face, and she crumpled to the floor. The girls started to claim that the Proctors’ specters had struck her down to prevent her from confessing, and Mary began to writhe on the ground, unable to hear, see, or speak.
Hope reached for my hand and held it tight as we watched. My pulse was racing. The spectacle was so unimaginable. Eventually, Mary began to cry out that she was sorry and asked God to save her. As soon as she was on her feet, she fainted again. Eventually, the magistrates had her carried out of the Meeting House to recover.
“We will take an adjournment,” Magistrate Corwin said as he stood. “We will reconvene in one hour.”
Father and Susannah rose and went to the magistrates. No doubt many of the people in the Meeting House would remove to the ordinary for their midday meal.
