Delusion; or, The Witch of New England

by Eliza Buckminster Lee

The delusion that passed through our country in 1692 has left a dark chapter in the history of New England. But it was not alone in New England that this fearful delusion influenced the minds and actions of men. It was believed all over Europe, in the seventeenth century, that evil spirits mingled in the concerns of mortals, and that compacts were made with them, and sealed with the blood of many of the most eminent persons of the age.

The desire to penetrate the mysteries of the spiritual natures that we believe every where to surround us, has taken different forms in different states of society. In New England, it seems to have begun in the wicked fancies of some nervous or really diseased children, who were permitted, at last, to accuse and persecute persons who were remarkable for goodness or intellect, and especially females who were distinguished for any excellence of mind or person.

An historian of the time says, "In the present world, it is no wonder that the operations of evil angels are more sensible than that of the good; nevertheless 'tis very certain that the good angels fly about in our infected atmosphere to minister to the good of those who are to be the heirs of salvation. Children and ignorant persons first complained of being tormented and affected in divers manners. They then accused some persons eminent for their virtues and standing in society."

We have seen that Edith was disposed to think lightly of the subject at first, although she rejoiced that the old woman of the cliff had escaped suspicion by a timely death. But when she found that some of her own neighbors had been suspected, and that one old woman, in another village, for denying all knowledge of evil spirits, had been executed, she was filled with consternation; and when others, to save themselves from the same dreadful fate, increased the delusion of the times by confessing a compact with the evil one, her pity was mingled with indignation. With so much clearness of intellect, and simplicity of heart, she could not persuade herself that it was any thing but wilful blindness, and a wicked lie.

But Edith began soon to feel much anxiety for her faithful Dinah. Persons in any way distinguished for any peculiarity were most likely to be accused, and she had secretly made arrangements to send her away, and conceal her, should the smallest indication of suspicion fall upon her. For herself Edith had no fears. It would have been hard to make this pure and simple-minded creature believe that she had an enemy in the world. She had not read the French maxim, that there may be such a weight of obligation that we can only be released from it by ingratitude.

Dinah had remarked, for several days, in the little Phoebe most strange and unnatural contortions, and writhings of the body, startings and tremblings, turning up her eyes and distorting her mouth; and also that she took little food, and often was absent from home; but, with her usual tenderness, and fear of giving anxiety to Edith, she had forborne to mention it.

Indeed, the child had always been wayward and strange, and especially indocile to Edith's instructions, although she seemed at times to have a strong affection for her. She was fond of long rambles in the woods, and of basking in the sun alone on the beach, and retained all her love for those vagrant habits she had learned from her grandmother. Edith had too much tenderness and indulgence to restrain what appeared a harmless and perhaps healthful propensity.

She had tried, however, to civilize the poor, neglected child, and had taught her to say her prayers every night, kneeling at her side.

It was a cold, chilly evening in our tardy spring: the little family had drawn around the cheerful evening fire, and the evening meal was just finished: Edith felt happy, for she had been reading a cheerful letter from Seymore. The shutters were closed, and she had indulged the little Phoebe, as she often did at this hour, with a noisy game. Edith was already tired: she looked at the clock: it was the bed hour for the child.

"Come, my child, be serious for a moment, and say your evening prayer." Phoebe kneeled: the prayer was short, but whenever she came to the word God, or Savior, she cried out that she could not say it.