'What influence?' asked Forrest.
Old man Evelith raised himself out of his chair, and beckoned us. 'What happened at the time was known only to a few; and all of those few were sworn to utter secrecy. After it was all over, as you know, Esau Hasket ordered that every mention of the David Dark should be excised from every company logbook, every news-sheet, every poster. The only way that we know today of the David Dark’s existence is through shipping records that were kept in Boston and also in Mexico City. There are several drawings and mezzotints of the ship, although all of them appear to be copies of one particular sketch that was made of her in 1689. I believe I sold a rather inferior watercolour of her not too long ago; again, a copy of the one known rendition.'
'I bought that watercolour myself, at Endicott's,' I put in.
'You did? Ah, well, that's fortunate. How much did you pay for it?'
'Fifty dollars.'
'Wasn't worth five. It probably wasn't even contemporary.'
'So much for your professional judgement,' Forrest ribbed me, and I gave him a look of mock annoyance.
Duglass Evelith shuffled along one of the shelves, and picked out a thin, black-bound book, which he laid flat on the library table. This isn't an original,' he said. The original was probably lost or burned years ago. But somebody had the foresight to copy the original exactly, complete with drawings, and so here it is. This copy was made in 1825, but we don't know who made it, or why. My great-grandfather Joseph Evelith bought it from a widow out at Dean's Corners, and there's a piece of paper inside it in his own handwriting saying "This explains at last; I have told Sewall." Here, here it is. The piece of paper itself. See the date on it? Eighteen thirty-one.'
'Does it say who wrote the original?' asked Edward.
'Oh, yes. This was the private diary of Major Nathaniel Saltonstall, of Haverhill, who was one of the presiding judges at the Salem Witch Trials. You may remember that it was Judge Saltonstall who first began to have doubts about the testimony at the trials, and resigned rather than continue to sit. In fact, he was so mortified and angered by the trials that he undertook his own investigation into the "Great Delusion" as the witch-hunt came to be known; and this diary of his contains the only full and reasonably accurate account of what went on.'
Duglass Evelith turned the diary's pages, and ran his chalky finger-nails along the sloping lines of 19th-century writing. 'Saltonstall had only settled in Salem during the winter of 1691. Before that, he had lived with his wife and family in Acushnet, New Bedford, and so he knew nothing of the events which had preceded the Salem witch-scare.'
While we listened, Duglass Evelith read through the diary's account of the Salem Witch Trials. The 'Great Delusion', as Judge Saltonstall constantly referred to it, was said in most history books to have begun in 1689, when a trader called Samuel Parris arrived in Salem Village with the intention of changing his livelihood to that of holy minister. On November 19, 1689, he was installed as Salem's first pastor.
With him, Parris had brought two slaves from the West Indies, a man called John Indian and his wife Tituba. Both slaves were adept at fortune-telling, card-tricks, and palmistry, and they liked to amuse the local children by telling them tales of witchcraft. The children, however, either began to pretend that they were possessed by witches, or else were gripped by a spasm of childish hysteria. Whatever it was, they would throw terrible fits and spasms, and thrash around on the floor and scream. Dr Griggs, the local physician, examined the 'afflicted' children and pronounced at once that they were bewitched.
Horrified, the Rev. Parris invited neighbouring ministers to come to his house for a day of fasting and prayer, and to witness the tortures of the 'afflicted' children. When they saw the children writhing and shrieking, the ministers confirmed the doctor's diagnosis: the children were unquestionably possessed.
Now the question was: who had bewitched them? And under intensive questioning, the children said 'Good', 'Osburn', and Tituba.'
So it was that on March 1, in front of John Hathorne and Jonathan Corwin, the two leading magistrates in Salem, Sarah Good, Sarah Osburn, and Tituba were all accused of witchcraft. Sarah Good, an unfortunate woman with very few friends, earnestly denied everything; but the children shrieked and writhed when they saw her, and she was promptly declared guilty. Sarah Osburn was dragged into court despite being bedridden, and the children threw themselves into spasms when she appeared, so that none of her denials were believed. Tituba, frightened and superstitious, admitted that she had agreed to serve Satan, and that she and the other accused women had all ridden through the air on a stick. This evidence was enough: all three women were chained and manacled and sent to jail.
The 'afflicted' children continued their accusations. Eighty-two-year-old George Jacobs, a white-haired dignified old man, answered charges that he was a wizard by saying, 'You tax me for a wizard; you may as well tax me for a buzzard. I have done no harm.' He was found guilty, and imprisoned.
The trials went on during the summer of 1692, becoming increasingly heated and hysterical. The whole of Salem Village seemed to be possessed by 'witch fever', and over and over again, when the villagers looked back on that summer in future years, they referred to it as 'a dream' or 'a nightmare', as if they had somehow been asleep.
Thirteen women and six men were hanged on Gallows Hill — the first, Bridget Bishop, on June 10; the last, Mary Parker, on September 22. In fact on September 22, eight witches and wizards were hung and as they swung in the air, the Rev. Mr. Noyes remarked, 'What a sad thing it is to see eight firebrands from hell hanging there.'
Two days earlier, however, an execution had taken place which was so horrible that it had begun to awaken the people of Salem from their 'Great Delusion'. Old Giles Corey, of Salem Farm, had denounced the work of the 'afflicted' children, and had been brought to stand trial; but he had refused to speak. Three times he had been brought before the judge and three times he had remained dumb. He had been taken to an open field between Brown Street and Howard Street burial ground, stripped naked, and made to lie flat, while heavy weights were placed on to his body. As more weights were added, Giles Corey's tongue was squeezed out of his mouth, and the sheriff with his cane had pushed it back in again. Corey was the first New-Englander to suffer the old English punishment of pressing to death.
Judge Saltonstall had written, 'The storme now seem'd to have spent itselfe, and the people awaken'd. There is in Historie no record of so sudden, so rapid, so complete a revulsione of feeling.' There were no more executions, and in May of the following year, all those accused and awaiting trial were released.
But Judge Saltonstall's account did not end here. He said that 'I remain'd curious as to how the Delusion had begunne; and why it should have died so quicklie. Had the children trulie been afflicted, or had they beene nothing more than eville pranksters? I sette about discoveringe for myself the truthe of these sorry events; and particularlie with the assistance of Micah Burrough, who had work'd for Esau Hasket as a Clerke, I piec'd together an Account as frightening as it is remarkable; yette for whose accuracie and truthe I can solemnlie Vouchsafe.'
Duglass Evelith rang a small silver bell, and his Indian manservant Quamus appeared. Quamus regarded us impassively, but from what Evelith had told us, he was probably quite capable of throwing all three of us out of there, or tearing us limb from limb. Evelith said, 'Quamus, these gentlemen are to be our guests for luncheon. The cold pie will do. And bring up a bottle of the Pouilly Fume; no, two bottles; and put them on ice.'