On Sunday, after the service at the meeting house, I spoke to Captain Walcott, giving him a letter of invitation for Deodat Lawson, an un-ordained preacher. I had decided to invite him to stay with us as I was desperate for extra support and I felt I could trust him to keep my news within the village. He had a jolly countenance but was serious when it was necessary. I hoped he could arrive soon.

Deodat, good man, was with me within the week. That night I poured out my troubles to him; he listened intently.

‘It started in my household, why?’

‘It is the Devil’s persecution. I have seen with my own eyes tonight with your two girls as to what is happening. Of course it is bewitchment. We must find the witches. This is very, very serious.’

That Sunday I took in the sad faces of the congregation that sat before me.

‘I must proclaim a fasting for three days. Everyone must comply. We live in dangerous times. Deodat Lawson will give us the sermon next week.’

The eyes of the congregation showed glassed emptiness. Before everyone dispersed in their wagons and horses, I espied the widow Sibley walking up to John Indian and Tituba. I moved towards them and listened.

‘What about making witch cakes?’

‘What good will that do?’ said John Indian.

‘Well, if we mix rye meal with egg and the waters of the afflicted girls and then we feed these to the animals and they behave strangely, we will know the girls are truly afflicted. Tituba, you collect the girls’ waters and John, you gather up dogs and cats.’

I couldn’t believe my ears. What madness was going on? What an interfering, bossy woman that widow Sibley was. How dare she tell my servants what to do! I would have to bring her in before the deacons for censure. I hope she will be contrite.

I returned to the parsonage and after lunch went to read my Bible. I thought the girls were in the garden but they burst into the front door. Abigail was very excited. She couldn’t contain herself.

‘Uncle, you should have seen it. It was good sport. Wasn’t it Betty?’ Betty was silent.

‘The cakes were cooked at the base of Leach’s hill in an oven in dirt with leaves atop. John Indian was a long time finding the dogs. They followed him and when they saw the cakes they ran towards them and wolfed then up and ran away. John Indian returned with a sack of spitting cats.’

Abigail had to hold herself from laughter.

‘John Indian put the sack on the ground and carefully opened the knot at the top then stood way back as spiteful balls of fluff scrambled out. The cats formed into two groups. The first cats went to sniff the cakes and then circled them before putting their noses up to stalk away in disgust. The second group sniffed the cakes and padded off in a brisk fashion.’

Abigail burst into laughter again.

John Indian said, ‘It proved nothing.’

Betty spoke at last. ‘I think John Indian was right.’

I arrived home, the parsonage, a house of God; the girls had run on ahead. I opened my door, saddened about what had happened at the meeting house. God would show a way.

A week passed. It was getting warmer. The villagers should have been happier. It was the time when we were blessed with new life. Heifers were becoming cows and giving birth to calves; lambs were entering the world with their bleats. Blades would push up breaking the ground. The meeting house, begging for some maintenance, looked better for the sun on it, leaving the windows shining. Green shoots edged round that holy edifice and one defiant daffodil that had burst through the earth waved its head gaily. Deodat and I sat in the parlour. No word passed between us.

I saw from the corner of my eye Abigail coming into the parlour. Instead of greeting our visitor, she opened her arms like a bird, and with the strangest look on her face, ran round and around the room, crying out, ‘Whish, whish, whish…’

I perused Deodat’s face. He gave a heavy sigh. He eyed me and his eyes read, ‘What have you brought me into?’

What I saw defied reason. Abigail was throwing a log from the fire into the room.

‘Whish, whish, whish,’ she screamed out as she moved two more burning logs from the fire with the poker and tossed another one right into the room. She looked happy as if she were at play. I watched as the second log rolled onto the floor. I was frozen. Then I came back as to what was transpiring.

‘Abigail. You’ll burn the parsonage down.’

Deodat, whom I had invited to the parsonage, looked at me in horror. He stood frozen.

I picked up one log at a time with my bare hands, and threw it with all my force back into the fire. My hands were burning. I. stared at Abigail.

‘Get to your room. Where’s Betty?’ I locked Abigail up in her room and saw Betty was not there. I raced to put soap on my hands; they were in pain. A knock was heard on the door. I ran to the door, opened it, to see my dear daughter.

‘There you are. Thank God. You can sleep in my room tonight. You are not to go to your room. Abigail has gone mad. Enough is enough. I may have to send you away to my cousin in Salem Town.’

Betty looked bewildered.

‘I must contact our friend, Captain Walcott, to take word to the town.’ I saw my daughter looking wide-eyed. I walked to Ingersoll’s Inn and told all those there that I needed to contact Captain Walcott.

My memory went back to that fateful day when I felt a little unworthy of being ordained. It had been in the blustery month of November, with its howling wind and its chill that I felt through the cracks of the meeting house in the town. I remember as I knelt I had thought that this just had to work. I had failed in Barbados through no fault of my own and had returned to the colonies basing myself in Boston where I had bought a shipping wharf. I was sure I could succeed there. But news travelled from Barbados to Boston, through letters and the visits to Boston, and I was mistrusted; insufficient business resulted and I was ruined again. I have worked hard in establishing communion between congregation members for the first time, although I could not administer it, I was solely a preacher. But we had a meeting house and I was its pastor and we held communion. And now I had to face this.

The village was supposed to be protected and yet this poor village had become the seat of Satan’s tyranny. The cat rubbed his head against me. I kicked it away with my boot.

A knock sounded, to which I rushed to see dear Captain Walcott in the doorway. I’m sure I smelt liquor on his breath. But I needed him.

‘Captain, please send this note to my kin in Salem Town. I have just hastily scribbled it. I am much grieved with the behaviour of my girls and I fear for my daughter. I must send her away because Abigail is more affected and undertaking dangerous antics.’

Captain Walcott, good man, agreed to do my bidding.