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in the parish could not be forgotten; and
Parris,
moved by personal malice, as well as by blind zeal,
‘stifled the accusations of some,’—such is the testimony of the people of his own village,—and, at the same time ‘vigilantly promoting the accusation of others,’ was ‘the beginner and procurer of the sore afflic-
tions to
Salem village and the country.’
Martha Cory, who, on her examination in the meeting-house before a throng, with a firm spirit, alone, against them all, denied the presence of witchcraft, was committed to
prison.
Rebecca Nurse, likewise, a woman of purest life, an object of the special hatred of
Parris, resisted the company of accusers, and was committed.
And
Parris, filling his prayers with the theme, made the pulpit ring with it. ‘Have not I chosen you twelve,’
—such was his text,—‘and one of you is a devil?’
At this,
Sarah Cloyce, sister to Rebecca Nurse, rose up and left the meeting-house; and she, too, was cried out upon, and sent to prison.
The subject grew interesting; and, to examine Sarah Cloyce and Elizabeth Procter, the deputy-governor,
and five other magistrates, went to
Salem.
It was a great day; several ministers were present.
Parris officiated; and, by his own record, it is plain that he himself elicited every accusation.
His first witness, John, the
Indian servant, husband to Tituba, was rebuked by
Sarah Cloyce, as a grievous liar.
Abigail Williams, the niece to
Parris, was also at hand with her tales: the prisoner had been at the witches' sacrament.
Struck with horror,
Sarah Cloyce asked for water, and sank down ‘in a dying fainting fit.’—‘Her spirit,’ shouted the band of the afflicted, ‘is gone to prison to her sister Nurse.’
Against
Elizabeth Procter, the niece of
Parris told stories yet more foolish than false the
