The Accusation, Trial and Sentence

The Accusation, Trial and Sentence


My name is Humility Corey and I am fifteen years old.

My family and I are refugees. Outcasts from a society that will not tolerate our beliefs. King James II of England is a Catholic and we do not hold with Papist views. We are what people call pilgrims, like those they call Puritans, but unlike them, we wish to be separated from the English Church completely. Here we're allowed to keep the same faith we had before we left Plymouth, three years ago in 1691.

Some of our friends emigrated to Holland, but my family were afraid of losing our English identity, so father decided that one day we would go to New England and join others that had already left. He had been told that Plymouth, Massachusetts had been accepting pilgrims since 1620 and that there was plenty of opportunities for anyone willing to work. It cost him most of our savings for our passage on board The Fortune, which left London on a wet September morning. The ship was under the command of Master Barton, a rough, bear of a man with a ginger beard which covered only some of the scars he wore and who had the appearance of fierceness to a green twelve year old. But I soon came to admire him...any man that can control a crew of thirty dirty thieves and murderers deserved some respect. We were aboard for 75 days and it was hell. As soon as we landed I swore I would never again board a ship.

My family and I were settled in a little village called Salem. This name is meant to mean peace and security so we had high hopes. Father, mother, my elder sister Sarah and my five year old brother Issac, along with myself, were hoping for a new start and were keen to make new neighbours and friends.

We were happy for a while and, attending church each week, settled in quickly. The rest of our time was spent as expected, planting cereals, cooking and taking care of the children. The men would fish and brew beer as well as helping build the small houses from the forests close by. There had been much talk about the native Indians as we began to communicate and trade with them and we found most of them willing to help. There were a couple of incidents with those that didn't like us intruding on their land but generally things were going well.

That was until one morning after church. There were around ten people gathered around what seemed to be something lying on the floor. Of course, curiousity caught the better of me and I excused myself from father and mother. Abigail Williams was writhing around on the ground, her legs pretzeled. No one knew what to do and just stood there pointing, mouths agape. I heard Honesty James whisper that Satan had hold of her. At Church we'd all listened to sermons about witchcraft and that prayer was the only way to combat evil forces. Everyone knew that witches infiltrated churches. They were clever. But no one had truly thought that we'd witness anything like this. Why would the Devil consort with people like us?

Over the next day or two, the rumour of Devil's work grew. More young women were having fits; one even claimed the Devil's dog had appeared to her one evening.

"None of you are to near Abigail Williams or any other that has been infected with the Devil's sperm." Father ordered. "I will not have my family consorting with the Devil." I'd never heard my father talk like this.

Still I could only wonder as day by day, more girls reported seeing apparitions or began acting strangely. Some said they were being poked and prodded by unseen beings. One man claimed that his wife bewitched other men by feeding them a stew and then infected them with the madness by making love to them. The villagers had become hysterical, with no sense or reason as to what they were saying or doing. It wasn't safe to trust anyone or to speak out against the accusers. The feeling of mistrust grew and our peace and security disappeared as quickly as the rumours spread.

Father and most people in the village were convinced that the Devil had come to play. The atmosphere grew dark as many of the girls had now been questioned by our Church Deacon, Edward Putnam and our horse borrower, Ezekiel Cheever, who was standing in as Court Recorder.

Abigail was one of those girls. Father and mother had been at her 'trial' and told me how the two men had questioned her. "How did the Devil come to you? What do you do at night when most decent people are abed? Have you the mark of the Devil on you?" These questions were repeated again and again and then her clothes were torn from her body, in front of witnesses and her body examined by the Deacon himself. Abigail went on to name more of the villagers, even ones that hadn't had fits or claimed to see apparitions. Another five villagers were names, including my sister Sarah. "No, not Sarah" mother had screamed.

I had been podding peas when the door slammed open and father ran in with several other men, including Ezekeil. "Get Sarah' he shouted. Sarah came downstairs and was immediately grabbed by him and another neighbour. Mother was in tears and I just stood there not knowing what was happening. Father told me that Sarah had been accused of witchcraft. "She will be taken and examined" he said. Pleading with him, I tried to make him see sense. Everyone in the village had gone mad. But it was no use. Father had no choice but to let Sarah go, else he would be accused of the same crime himself. That was the mad part; anyone who claimed someone was innocent was denounced too and a suspected witch could claim anyone was their familiar, dressed to confuse us all. That night I prayed that the Devil would not visit me. I was scared and couldn't sleep for worry.

Sarah's trial was to be later that same day. She was to appear along with Constance Good. Old widow Good had been charged with conversing with dead siblings, making witchcake and consorting with a spirit in the shape of a black cat. Two accused and undoubtably two hangings. Very rarely was any person found innocent.

I was forbidden to go to Sarah's trial. I would never see her again. She had been examined and found guilty of riding broomsticks, making witchcake and having the Devil's mark on her. Her sentence was to be hanged early the following morning. Father and mother were distraught but could do nothing.

The madness in Salem continued. I wondered if we'd have been better off staying in England after all. We'd lost friends, neighbours and most of all our beloved Sarah. A high price to pay for a new start.