Today in Salem: Governor Phips is locked in his office, avoiding the judges, recalling the desperate letter he’d written to the King. But of course he hasn’t heard back yet. Phips had sent his plea less than three weeks ago. The King would have had to write back immediately for his response to cross the Atlantic in time. Still, Phips had hoped.
“My enemies are seeking to turn it all upon me,” he’d written. “I depend upon your friendship, and desire you will please to give a true understanding of the matter if any thing of this kind be urged or made to use of against me.”
If the King would only tell him what to do, then Phips wouldn’t have to decide himself. But now he’s run out of time, and as dreadful as it feels, he knows what the right thing is to do.
When he finally emerges from his office, an assistant judge is waiting for him, and once again poses the question. Will the Court sit in three days?
The Governor looks up and takes a breath before speaking.
“It must fall,” he says.
“What does it mean, though?” The assistant judge has relayed the news to the Chief Justice, who is still angry after yesterday’s cold and stormy journey. “How do we proceed?” the assistant asks. “There are still so many in jail, waiting for trials, some even condemned already.”
But the Chief Justice doesn’t know. Neither do the jail keepers, the prisoners, the ministers, or the citizens. No one knows what will happen next. They know only one thing.
The Court is dissolved.