The late Dr Bentley of Salem, in his History of that town, published in the Historical Society's Collections, observes, that 'the scene was like a torrent, sudden, irresistible, and momentary. They who thought they saw the delusion, did not expose it, and they who were deluded were terrified into distraction. For a time no life was safe. On the trials, children below twelve years of age obtained a hearing before magistrates. Indians came and related their own knowledge of invisible beings. Tender females told every fright, but not one man of reputation ventured to offer a single report, or to oppose openly the overwhelming torrent. Nothing could be more ridiculous than a mere narrative of the evidence. It would be an affront to the sober world. The terror was so great, that at the hazard of life, they who were charged with guilt confessed it, and the confessions blinded the judges. The public clamors urged them on, and the novelty of the calamity deprived them of all ability to investigate its true causes, till nineteen innocent persons were made victims to the public credulity.' 'From March to August, 1692,' says Dr Bentley, 'was the most distressing time Salem ever knew; business was interrupted, the town deserted, terror was in every countenance, and distress in every heart. Every place was the subject of some direful tale, fear haunted every street, melancholy dwelt in silence in every place after the sun retired. The population was diminished, business could not, for some time, recover its former channels, and the innocent suffered with the guilty. But as soon as the judges ceased to condemn, the people ceased to accuse. Terror at the violence and the guilt of the proceedings, succeeded instantly to the conviction of blind zeal, and what every man had encouraged, all now professed to abhor. Every expression of sorrow was found in Salem. The church erased all the ignominy they had attached to the dead, by recording a most humble acknowledgment of their error. But a diminished population, the injury done to religion, and the distress of the aggrieved, were seen and felt with the greatest sorrow.' I quote the following from Judge Story's Centennial Discourse.