CHAPTER XXIX.
Dulcibel's Life in Prison.
Dulcibel's life in prison was of course a very monotonous one. She didnot suffer however as did many other women of equally gentle nature. Inthe jails of Ipswich, Boston and Cambridge, there were keepers whoconformed in most cases strictly to the law. In many instances delicateand weakly women, often of advanced years, were chained, hands and feet,with heavy irons, night and day.
But Robert Foster and his son, who assisted him as under-keeper, whileindulging before the marshal and the constables in the utmost violenceand severity of language, and who were supposed to be strict enforcersof all the instructions received from the magistrates, were as we haveseen, at heart, very liberal and kind-hearted men. And the only fear theprisoners had, was that they would throw up their positions some day indisgust. Uncle Robie often declared to Dulcibel that he would, when shewas once fairly out of the clutches of her enemies.
Every now and then instructions would come to jailer Foster from one ofthe magistrates--generally Squire Hathorne--to put heavier irons on someone of the prisoners, whose spectre was still tormenting the "afflictedgirls." It being generally held that the more heavily you chained awitch, the less able she was to afflict her victims. And at these timesMaster Foster would get out his heaviest irons, parade them before theeyes of the constables, declare in a fierce tone what he was about todo, get the constable off on one pretext or another--and do nothing.
It was thought best and wisest for neither Master Joseph Putnam norMaster Raymond to seek many interviews with Dulcibel; the means ofintercourse between the two lovers being restricted to little notes,which goodwife Buckley, who frequently visited the maiden, transmittedfrom one to the other through the agency of either her husband or ofJoseph Putnam. This kept them both in heart; and Dulcibel beingsustained by the frequent assurances of her lover's devotion, and by thehope of escape, kept the roses of her cheeks in marvelous bloom duringher close confinement.
One of the constables, who managed to get sight of her one day throughthe half-opened door of her cell, expressed surprise to the jailer thatshe should still look so blooming, considering the weight of the heavychains to which she was continually subjected.
"And why should not the young witch look so?" replied the jailer. "Isnot her spectre riding around on that devil's mare half the night, andhaving a good time of it?"
The constable assented to this view of the case; and his suspicions, ifhe had any, were quieted. In fact even Squire Hathorne himself probablywould have been perfectly satisfied with an explanation of so undeniablea character.
Of course it was not considered prudent by Uncle Robie, that thefurniture or general appearance of Dulcibel's cell should be changed inthe least for the better. Not even a bunch of flowers that GoodwifeBuckley once brought to Dulcibel, could be allowed to remain there.While in a corner of the cell, lay the heavy chains which, if themarshal or one of the magistrates, should insist upon seeing theprisoner, could be slipped on her wrists and ankles in a few minutes.Fortunately, however, for Dulcibel, the interest of all these was nowcentered upon the trials that were in progress, the contumaciousobstinacy of Giles Corey, the host of new accusations at Ipswich andother neighboring places, and the preparations for the execution ofthose already condemned to death.
If they had a passing thought of the young witch Dulcibel Burton, it wasthat her time would come rapidly around in its turn, when speedy justiceno doubt would be done to her.
As to Antipas, her faithful servitor, he had relapsed again into his oldstaidness and sobriety in the comparative quietude of the prison. Onlyon the day of Giles Corey's execution had the prevailing excitementattending that event, and which naturally affected the constables andjailers, made him raging. To pass the constable's inspection, as well asfor his own safety, the jailer had chained him; but his voice could beheard ringing through the closed door of his cell at intervals frommorning till evening.
The burden of his thoughts seemed to be a blending of denunciation andexultation. The predictions of the four Quakers executed many yearsbefore on Boston common, and those of men and women who had been whippedat the cart's tail through the towns of the colony, evidently seemed tohim in progress of fulfillment:--
"They have torn the righteous to pieces; now the judgment is upon them,and they are tearing each other! Woe to the bloody towns of Boston andSalem and Ipswich! Satan is let loose by the Lord upon them! They haveslain the saints, they have supped full of innocent blood; now the bloodof their own sons, their own daughters, is filling the cup of God'svengeance! They have tortured the innocent women, the innocentchildren--and banished them and sold them to the Philistines as slaves.But the Lord will avenge His own elect! They are given up to believe alie! The persecutors are persecuting each other! They are pressing eachother to death beneath heavy stones! They are hanging each other on thegallows of Haman! Where they hung the innocent, they are hangingthemselves! Oh, God! avenge now the blood of thy Saints! As they havedone, let it be done unto them! Whip and kill! Whip and kill! Ha! ha!ha!"--and with a blood-curdling laugh that rang through the narrowpassages of the prison, the insane old man would fall down for a time onhis bed exhausted.
That was an awful day, both outside and inside the prison--for all theprisoners knew what a savage death old Giles Corey was meeting. Itseemed to Dulcibel afterwards, that if she had not been sustained by thepower of love, and a hopeful looking forward to other scenes, she musthave herself gone crazy during that and the other evil days that wereupon them. To some of the prisoners, the most fragile and sensitiveones, even the hour of their execution seemed to come as a relief.Anything, to get outside of those close dark cells--and to make an endof it!