Sir George had induced the constable to arrest me at dawn, saying I could be more easily taken if suddenly aroused from sleep. So, too, he had urged that I might be given a speedy trial, that the witchcraft in the land might be crushed out with a heavy hand, and the powers of evil made the less. He had talked with much cunning to the authorities, and he being, as they knew, in favor with the King and Governor, they had done all he wished.
Thus I was in Salem gaol, with little chance of leaving it, save at the trial, and then, perchance, it would be but a short shrift to the gallows.
It was noon. The sun shone overhead and beat down on the prison, but to us inside, only the reflection of the golden beams came in through the iron barred window. Steps were heard coming toward the door, and, as it swung open the guards thrust some platters of food in to us. Some cakes of corn meal, with a bit of mutton, was all there was. Scarce sufficient for half that were there. When the jailer handed me my portion he muttered beneath his breath:
“Of what use to feed witches, when, if they so desired, Satan himself would bring them hell-broth through the very walls of this gaol.”
“Say you so?” I replied, laughing bitterly. “Say you so? Then why do we not have Satan bear us hence through these same walls if so be we are witches. One is as easy as the other.”
“I had not thought of that,” he said, shrinking back, “the guard without must be doubled, and Dominie Parris shall offer fervent prayers that ye all may be safely held here.”
During the meal I talked with some of my companions and learned that they had been cast into prison on the most flimsy pretexts. One old woman, because she had passed through a field where sheep were feeding. She touched some of the lambs with her hand. The next day some of the sheep were dead, and Elizabeth Paddock was accused of bewitching them. Another woman was taken because, when she had baked some dumplings an apple was found whole inside of them, and it was said that Satan must have aided her. Still another lad, whose mother had been hanged as a witch, was in gaol. Grief and terror had made him out of his mind, and he continually called out that he had turned into a witch, and saw his mother riding through the air on a cloud of geese feathers. Salem gaol was a most fearsome place those days.
After the rude meal, the constable, accompanied by his former bodyguard, came to bring me to the court house. It was with no very cheerful heart I made ready to go with him, for I could nearly guess how the trial would end with Sir George to urge on the witnesses. Still I could but take my chance, as I had many times before, and I trusted to my good fortune to bring me safely through.
A man can die but once, and I wondered vaguely[vaguely], as I stepped out, whether Lucille would care if I died.