Old Joyce Boanes now took up the tale. She had two imps like mouses she said, and they killed the lambs at the farm-house called Cocket-wick, and one of these imps called “Rug” she took to Rose Hallybread, that they might torment Turner’s servant. Wherefore her imp made him bark like a dog; Rose Hallybread’s “inforced him to sing sundry tunes in his great extremity of paines;” Susan Cock’s compelled him to crow like a cock; and Margaret Landish’s made him groan. Poor old Joyce Boanes was hanged in return for her drivelling ravings.
So was Susan Cock; who confirmed all that had gone before, adding only that the night her mother died she gave her two imps, one like a mouse “Susan,” the other yellow and like a cat “Besse,” with which she did sundry acts of spite and damage. Wherefore Susan was put out of the way of further harm. Margaret Landish knew not much about the matter, but was executed nevertheless, for having bewitched Thomas Hart’s child—incited thereto by the girl’s pointing at her and crying “There goes Pegg the witch!” upon which Peg turned back and clapped her hands in a threatening manner, saying “she should smart for it,” and that very night the child fell sick in a raving manner, and died within three weeks after; often in its fits crying out that “Pegg the witch was by the bedside making strange mouths at her.”
Rebecca Jones owned to knowing the devil as a handsome young man, who pricked her wrist and made her his in soul and body. This was about four or five and twenty years ago, when living with John Bishop as his servant. About three months since too, going to St. Osyth to sell her master’s butter, she met a man in a ragged suit and with such great eyes that she was afraid of him, and he gave her three things like “moules,” having four feet apiece but no tails, and black, which he told her to nurse carefully and feed on milk. Their names were Margaret, Anie, and Susan, and they killed cows and sheep and hogs, and revenged her on her enemies. So Rebecca was hanged as befitted.
Johan Cooper, widow, had three imps, two like mouses and one like a frog; their names were “Prickeare, Robyn, and Frog,” and they killed men and beasts. Wherefore she too was hanged like the rest.
Anne Cate had four, given her by her mother twenty years ago, “James, Prickeare, Robyn, and Sparrow:” the first three like mouses, and the fourth like a sparrow; and they did evil and mischief and killed all whom she would. She was hanged too.
At the end of the tract is a very curious bit of evidence, given by an honest man of Manningtree, one Goff, a glover, concerning old Anne West, then on her trial. He said that one moonlight morning, about four o’clock, as he was passing Anne West’s house, the door being open, he looked in and saw three or four little things like black rabbits which came skipping towards him. He struck at them, but missed; when, by better luck, he caught one in his hand and tried to wring its head off; but “as he wrung and stretched the neck of it, it came out betweene his hands like a lock of wooll,” so he went to drown it at a spring not far off. But still as he went he could not hinder himself from falling down, so that at last he was obliged to creep on his hands and knees, till he came to the water, when he held the imp for a long space underneath, till he conceived it was drowned, but, “letting goe his hand, it sprang out of the water up into the aire, and so vanished away.” Coming back to Anne West’s, he found her standing at her door in terrible undress, and to his complaint of why did she send her imps to molest him? she answered “that they were not sent out to trouble him, but as Scouts upon another designe.”
But one of the most painful murders of the Hopkins Session was that of old Mr. Lewis,[132] the “Reading Parson” of Franlingham; a fine old man of good character, but generally regarded as a Malignant, because he preferred to read Queen Elizabeth’s Homilies instead of composing nasal discourses of his own, of the kind so dear to the Puritan party: wherefore the authorities and Matthew Hopkins—who was a devout Puritan—had their eyes upon him, and were not disposed to be lenient. He was swum in Hopkins’s manner, cross-bound; set on a table cross-legged; kept several nights without sleep, and twenty-four hours without food; run backwards and forwards in the room, two men holding him, until he was out of breath; “pricked” and searched for marks; after all which barbarity it is not surprising to find that the poor old Reading Parson of eighty-five “confessed.” Yes, he had made a compact with the devil and sealed it with his blood; and he had two imps that sucked him, one of which, the yellow dun imp, was always urging him to do some mischief, but the other was more amiable. Accordingly, to please the yellow dun he had one day sent it to sink an Ipswich ship, which he spied out in the offing: a commission which the imp executed with zeal and precision before the eyes of a whole beach full of spectators. This Ipswich ship was one of many that rode safely enough in the calm sea, but the imp troubled the waters immediately about her, and down she went like a stone, as all present could testify. Asked if he had not grieved to make so many—they were fourteen—widows in a few moments he said “No, he was glad to have pleased his imp.” This confession and various witch “bigges” found on him were held proofs conclusive; and Mr. Lewis was condemned to be hanged; his eighty years, and his gown, protecting him nowise. As soon as he was a little refreshed he denied all the ravings he had been induced to utter, read the burial service for himself with cheerfulness and courage, and met his death calmly and composedly; perhaps not sorry to resign into God’s keeping a life which Matthew Hopkins and the Puritans were rendering intolerable.
A Penitent Woman[133] of the same time confessed that when her mother lay sick a thing like a mole ran into bed to her. She, the Penitent Woman, started, but her mother told her not to fear, but to take the mole and keep it, saying, “Keep this in a pot by the fire, and thou shalt never want.” The daughter did as she was bid, and made the mole comfortable in its pot. And after she had done this, a seemingly poor boy came in and asked leave to warm himself by the fire. When he went away she found some money under the stool whereon he had sat. This happened many times, and so her mother’s promise and her imp brought the poor penitent romancer Barmecidal good luck. It could not have been much, for Hopkins, or at least his friend and comrade John Sterne, says in the examination of Joan Ruccalver, of Powstead, Suffolk, that “six shillings was the largest amount he had ever known given by an imp to its dame.”
That all this seemed right and rational in the eyes of sane men is one of the most marvellous things connected with the delusion: that well-educated Englishmen should send such a wretch as Matthew Hopkins with legal authorisation to prick witches, associating with him Mr. Calamy “to see that there was no fraud:” that they should arraign miserable old women by scores, and hang them by dozens: and that Baxter should gravely argue for the validity of ghosts and spectres on the plea that “various Creatures must have a various Situation, Reception, and Operation: the Fishes must not dwell in our cities nor be acquainted with our affairs”—strikes me chiefly with amazement at the marvellous imbecility of superstition. It is well for the leaders of sects to bid us cast down our reason before blind faith; for, assuredly, our reason, which is the greatest gift of God, pleads loudly against the follies of belief and the vital absurdities into which religionists fall when unchecked by common sense. It was only the “Atheists” and “Sadducees,” as they were called, who at last managed to put a stop to this hideous delusion: all the pious believers upheld the holy need of searching for witches, and of not suffering them to live wherever they might be found. All sects and denominations of Christians joined in this, and found a meeting-place of brotherly love and concord beneath the witches’ gallows. And though one’s soul revolts most at the so-called “Reformed Party,” because of the greater unctuousness of their piety, and their mighty professions, yet they were all equally guilty, one with the other; all equally steeped to the lips in insanest superstition. The temper of the times has so far changed now that men and women are no longer hung because they have mesmeric powers, or because hysterical and epileptic patients utter wild ravings: but the thing remains the same; there is the same amount of superstition still afloat, if somewhat altered in its direction; and modern Spiritualism, which has come to supersede Witchcraft, is, when it is true at all and not mere legerdemain, as little understood and as falsely catalogued as was ever the art of magic and sorcery.