"Do you know, Squire, how Master English's sailors are talking around the wharves?"
"No! What are the rascals saying?"
"Well, Mistress Putnam has been told by a friend of hers in the town, that he heard a half-drunken sailor, belonging to one of Master English's vessels, say that they meant to tear down the jail some night, hang the jailers, and carry off their Master and Mistress."
"Ah," said the Squire, "this must be looked into."
"Another of the sailors is reported to have said, that if the magistrates attempted to hang Mistress English they would hang Squire Hathorne, and Squire Gedney, if they could catch him, by the side of her."
"The impudent varlets!" exclaimed Squire Hathorne, his wine-red face growing redder. "Master English shall sweat for this. How many of his sailors are in port now?"
"Oh, I suppose there are fifty of them; and all reckless, unprincipled men. To my certain knowledge, there is not a member of church among them."
"The godless knaves!" cried the magistrate. "I should like to set the whole lot of them in the stocks, and then whip them out of the town at the cart's tail."
"Yes, that is what they deserve, but then we cannot forget that they are necessary to the interests of the town—unless Salem is to give up all her shipping business—and these sailors are so clannish that if you strike one of them, you strike all. No, it seems to me, Squire, we had better take no public notice of their vaporing; but simply adopt means to counteract any plans they may be laying."
"Well, what would you suggest, Master Putnam? Has Mistress Putnam any ideas upon the subject? I have always found her a very sensible woman."