No account has come down of the examinations of Edward Bishop, or Sarah his wife.  He was the third of that name, probably the son of the “Sawyer.”  His wife Sarah was a daughter of William Wildes of Ipswich, and, it would seem, a sister of John Wildes, the examination of whose wife has just been mentioned.  Some of the evidence indicates that she was a niece of Rebecca Nurse.  They all belonged to that class of persons who, under the general appellation of “the Topsfield men,” had been in such frequent collision with the people of the Village.  Edward Bishop was forty-four years of age, and his wife forty-one.  They had a family, at the time of their imprisonment, of twelve children.  Sarah Bishop had been dismissed from the church at the Village, and recommended to that at Topsfield, May 25, 1690.  They had land in Topsfield, as well as in the Village, and were more intimately connected in social relations with the former than the latter place.  They effected their escape from prison, and survived the storm.  Mary, the wife of Philip English, was committed to prison.  We have no record of her examination.

Mary Black, the negro woman, belonged to Nathaniel Putnam, but lived in the family of his son Benjamin.  Her examination shows that she was an ignorant but an innocent person.  She knew nothing about the matter, and had no idea what it all meant.  To the questions with which the magistrate pressed her, her answers were, “I do not know,” “I cannot tell.”  The only fact brought out against her besides the actings of the girls was this:  “Her master saith a man sat down upon the form with her about a twelvemonth ago.”  Parris, in his minutes, gives this piece of evidence, but does not enlighten us as to its import.  The magistrate asked her, “What did the man say to you?” Her answer was:  “He said nothing.”  This is all they got out of her; and it is all the light we have on the mysterious fact, that a man was once seated, at some time within twelve months, on the same form or bench with poor Mary Black.  The magistrate asked the girls, “Doth this negro hurt you?” They said “Yes.”—­“Why do you hurt them?”—­“I did not hurt them.”  This question was put to her, “Do you prick sticks?” perhaps the meaning was, Do you prick the afflicted children with sticks?  The simple creature evidently did not know what they were driving at, and answered, “No:  I pin my neckcloth.”  The examiner asked her, “Will you take out the pin, and pin it again?” She did so, and several of the afflicted cried out that they were pricked.  Mary Walcot was pricked in the arm till the blood came, Abigail Williams was pricked in the stomach, and Mercy Lewis was pricked in the foot.  It is probable, that, in this case, the girls, as they often appear to have done, provided themselves by concert beforehand with pins ready to be stuck into the assigned parts of their bodies, and managed to get the queer and unusual question put.  The whole thing has the appearance of being pre-arranged; and it answered the purpose, filling the crowd with amazement, and excluding all possible doubt from the minds of the magistrates.  Mary was committed to prison, where she remained until discharged, in May, 1693, by proclamation from the governor.