“How many were there?—­About forty, and Goody Cloyse and
     Goody Good were their deacons.

     “What was it?—­They said it was our blood, and they had it
     twice that day.”

The interrogator again turned to Mary Walcot, and inquired,—­

     “Have you seen a white man?—­Yes, sir:  a great many times.

     “What sort of a man was he?—­A fine grave man; and, when he
     came, he made all the witches to tremble.

     “(Abigail Williams confirmed the same, and that they had
     such a sight at Deacon Ingersoll’s.)

     “Who was at Deacon Ingersoll’s then?—­Goody Cloyse, Goody
     Nurse, Goody Corey, and Goody Good.

“(Then Sarah Cloyse asked for water, and sat down, as one seized with a dying, fainting fit; and several of the afflicted fell into fits, and some of them cried out, ’Oh! her spirit has gone to prison to her sister Nurse.’)”

The audacious lying of the witnesses; the horrid monstrousness of their charges against Sarah Cloyse, of having bitten the flesh of the Indian brute, and drank herself and distributed to others, as deacon, at an infernal sacrament, the blood of the wicked creatures making these foul and devilish declarations, known by her to be utterly and wickedly false; and the fact that they were believed by the deputy, the council, and the assembly,—­were more than she could bear.  Her soul sickened at such unimaginable depravity and wrong; her nervous system gave way; she fainted, and sunk to the floor.  The manner in which the girls turned the incident against her shows how they were hardened to all human feeling, and the cunning art which, on all occasions, characterized their proceedings.  That such an insolent interruption and disturbance, on their part, was permitted, without rebuke from the Court, is a perpetual dishonor to every member of it.  The scene exhibited at this moment, in the meeting-house, is worthy of an attempt to imagine.  The most terrible sensation was naturally produced, by the swooning of the prisoner, the loudly uttered and savage mockery of the girls, and their going simultaneously into fits, screaming at the top of their voices, twisting into all possible attitudes, stiffened as in death, or gasping with convulsive spasms of agony, and crying out, at intervals, “There is the black man whispering in Cloyse’s ear,” “There is a yellow-bird flying round her head.”  John Indian, on such occasions, used to confine his achievements to tumbling, and rolling his ugly body about the floor.  The deepest commiseration was felt by all for the “afflicted,” and men and women rushed to hold and soothe them.  There was, no doubt, much loud screeching, and some miscellaneous faintings, through the whole crowd.  At length, by bringing the sufferers into contact with Goody Cloyse, the diabolical fluid passed back into her, they were all relieved, and the examination was resumed.  Elizabeth Procter was now brought forward.