by Howard Pyle
It seems very curious to those of the present day who have investigated this matter of witch persecutions, that such a sound and orthodox view as this of Joseph Putnam’s should have had such little weight with the judges and ministers and other leading men of the seventeenth century. While a few urged it, even as Joseph Putnam did, at the risk of his own life, the great majority not only of the common people but of the leading classes, regarded it as unsound and irreligious. But the whole history of the world proves that the vox populi is very seldom the vox Dei. The light shines down from the rising sun in the heavens, and the mountain tops first receive the rays. The last new truth is always first perceived by the small minority of superior minds and souls. How indeed could it be otherwise, so long as truth like light always shines down from above?
“Have you communicated this view to your brother and sister?” asked Dulcibel.
“I have talked with them for a whole evening, but I do think Sister Ann is possessed too,” replied Joseph Putnam. “She fairly raves sometimes. You know how bitterly she feels about that old church quarrel, when a small minority of the Parish succeeded in preventing the permanent settlement of her sister’s husband as minister. She seems to have the idea that all that party are emissaries of Satan. I do not wonder her little girl should be so nervous and excitable, being the child of such a nervous, high-strung woman. But I am going to see them again this afternoon; will you go too, Master Raymond?’
“I think not,” replied the latter with a smile, “I should do harm, I fear, instead of good. I will stay here and talk with Mistress Dulcibel a little while longer.”
Master Putnam departed, and then the conversation became of a lighter character. The young Englishman told Dulcibel of his home in the old world, and of his travels in France and Switzerland. And they talked of all those little things which young people will — little things, but which afford constant peeps into each other’s mind and heart. Dulcibel thought she had never met such a cultivated young man, although she had read of such; and he felt very certain that he never met with such a lovely young woman. Not that she was over intelligent — one of those precociously “smart” young women that, thanks to the female colleges and the “higher culture” are being “developed” in such alarming numbers nowadays. If she had been such a being, I fancy Master Raymond would have found her less attractive. Ah, well, after a time perhaps, we of the present day shall have another craze — that of barbarism — in which the “coming woman” shall pride herself mainly upon possessing a strong, healthy and vigorous physical organization, developed within the feminine lines of beauty, and only a reasonable degree of intelligence and “culture.” And then I hope we shall see the last of walking female encyclopedias, with thin waists, and sickly and enfeebled bodies; fit to be the mothers only of a rapidly dwindling race, even if they have the wish and power to become mothers at all.
I am not much of a believer in love at first sight, but certainly persons may become very much interested in each other after a few hours’ conversation; and so it was in the case before us. When Ellis Raymond took up his hat, and then lingered minute after minute, as if he could not bring himself to the point of departure, he simply manifested anew to the maiden what his tones and looks had been telling her for an hour, that he admired her very greatly.
“Come soon again,” Dulcibel said softly, as the young man managed to open the door at last, and make his final adieu. “And indeed I shall if you will permit me,” was his earnest response.
But some fair reader may ask, “What were these two doing during all the winter, that they had not seen each other?”
I answer that Dulcibel had withdrawn from the village gatherings since the breaking of the engagement with Jethro. At the best, it was an acknowledgment that she had been too hasty in a matter that she should not have allowed herself to fail in; and she felt humbled under the thought. Besides, it seemed to her refined and sensitive nature only decorous that she should withdraw for a time into the seclusion of her own home under such circumstances.
As for the village gossips, they entirely misinterpreted her conduct. Inasmuch as Jethro went around as usual, and put a bold face upon the matter, they came to the conclusion that he had thrown her off, and that she was moping at home, because she felt the blow so keenly.
Thus it was that while the young Englishman had attended many social gatherings during the winter he had never met the one person whom he was especially desirous of again meeting.
One little passage of the conversation between the two it may be well however to refer to expressly for its bearing upon a very serious matter. Raymond had mentioned that he had not seen her recently flying around on that little jet black horse, and had asked whether she still owned it.
“Oh, yes,” replied Dulcibel; “I doubt that I should be able to sell Little Witch if I wished to do so.”
“Ah, how is that? She seems to be a very fine riding beast.”
“She is, very! But you have not heard that I am the only one that has ever ridden her or that can ride her.”
“Indeed! that is curious.”
I have owned her from a little colt. She was never broken to harness; and no one, as I said, has ever ridden her but me. So that now if any other person, man or woman, attempts to do so, she will not allow it. She rears, she plunges, and finally as a last resort, if necessary, lies down on the ground and refuses to stir. “Why, that is very flattering to you, Dulcibel,” said Raymond smiling. “I never knew an animal of better taste.”
“That may be,” replied the maiden blushing; “but you see how it is that I shall never be able to sell Little Witch if I desire to do so. She is not worth her keep to any one but me.”
“Little Witch! Why did you ever give her a name like that?”
“Oh, I was a mere child — and my father, who had been a sea-captain, and all over the world, did not believe in witches. He named her “Little Witch” because she was so black, and so bent on her own way. But I must change her name now that people are talking so about witches. In truth my mother never liked it.”
CHAPTER VIII.
An Examination of Reputed Witches.
Warrants had been duly issued against Sarah Good, Sarah Osburn, and the Indian woman Tituba, and they were now to be tried for the very serious offence of bewitching the “afflicted children.”
One way that the witches of that day were supposed to work, was to make images out of rags, like dolls, which they named for the persons they meant to torment. Then, by sticking pins and needles into the dolls, tightening cords around their throats, and similar doings, the witches caused the same amount of pain as if they had done it to the living objects of their enmity.
In these cases, the officers who executed the warrants of arrest, stated “that they had made diligent search for images and such like, but could find none.”
On the day appointed for the examination of these poor women, the two leading magistrates of the neighborhood, John Hathorne and Jonathan Corwin, rode up the principal street of the village attended by the marshal and constables, in quite an imposing array. The crowd was so great that they had to hold the session in the meeting-house The magistrates belonged to the highest legislative and judicial body in the colony. Hathorne, as the name was then spelt, was the ancestor of the gifted author, Nathaniel Hawthorne — the alteration in the spelling of the name probably being made to make it conform more nearly to the pronunciation. Hathorne was a man of force and ability — though evidently also as narrow-minded and unfair as only a bigot can be. All through the examination that ensued he took a leading part, and with him, to be accused was to be set down at once as guilty. Never, among either Christian or heathen people, was there a greater travesty of justice than these examinations and trials for witchcraft, conducted by the very foremost men of the Massachusetts colony.
The accounts of the examination of these three women in the manuscript book I have alluded to, are substantially the same as in the official records, which are a
mong those that have been preserved. I will give some quotations to show how the examinations were conducted: —
“Sarah Good, what evil spirit are you familiar with?”
She answered sharply, “None!”
“Have you made no contracts with the Devil?”
“No!”
“Why then do you hurt these children?”
“I do not hurt them. I would scorn to do it.”
“Here the children who were facing her, began to be dreadfully tormented; and then when their torments were over for the time, again accused her, and also Sarah Osburn.
“Sarah Good, why do you not tell us the truth? Why do you thus torment them?”
“I do not torment them.”
“Who then does torment them?”
“It may be that Sarah Osburn does, for I do not.”
“Her answers,” says the official report, “were very quick, sharp and malignant.”
It must be remembered in reading these reports, that the accused were not allowed any counsel, either at the preliminary examinations, or on the trials; that the apparent sufferings of the children were very great, producing almost a frenzied state of feeling in the crowd who looked on; and that they themselves were often as much puzzled as their accusers, to account for what was taking place before their eyes.
In the examination of Sarah Osburn, we have similar questions and similar answers. In addition, however, three witnesses alleged that she had said that very morning, that she was “more like to be bewitched herself.” Mr. Hathorne asked why she said that. She answered that either she saw at one time, or dreamed that she saw, a thing like an Indian, all black, which did pinch her in the neck, and pulled her by the back part of the head to the door of the house. And there was also a lying spirit.
“What lying spirit was this?”
“It was a voice that I thought I heard.”
“What did it say to you?”
“That I should go no more to meeting; but I said I would, and did go the next Sabbath day.”
“Were you ever tempted further?”
“No.”
“Why did you yield then to the Devil, not to go to meeting for the last three years?”
“Alas! I have been sick all that time, and not able to go.”
Then Tituba was brought in. Tituba was in the “circle” or an attendant and inspirer of the “circle” from the first; and had marvelous things to tell. How it was that the “children” turned against her and accused her, I do not know; but probably she had practised so much upon them in various ways, that she really was guilty of trying to do the things she was charged with.
“Tituba, why do you hurt these children?”
“Tituba does not hurt ’em.”
“Who does hurt them then?”
“The debbil, for all I knows.’
“Did you ever see the Devil?” Tituba gave a low laugh. “Of course I’ve seen the debbil. The debbil came an’ said, ‘Serb me, Tituba.’ But I would not hurt the child’en.”
“Who else have you seen?”
“Four women. Goody Osburn and Sarah Good, and two other women. Dey all hurt de child’en.”
“How does the Devil appear to you?”
“Sometimes he is like a dog, and sometimes like a hog. The black dog always goes with a yellow bird.”
“Has the Devil any other shapes?”
“Yes, he sometimes comes as a red cat, and then a black cat.”
“And they all tell you to hurt the children?”
“Yes, but I said I would not.”
“Did you not pinch Elizabeth Hubbard this morning?”
“The black man brought me to her, and made me pinch her.”
“Why did you go to Thomas Putnam’s last night and hurt his daughter Ann?”
“He made me go.”
“How did you go?”
“We rode on sticks; we soon got there.”
“Has Sarah Good any familiar?”
“Yes, a yeller bird. It sucks her between her fingers. And Sarah Osburn has a thing with a head like a woman, and it has two wings.”
(“Abigail Williams, who lives with her uncle, the Rev. Master Parris, here testified that she did see the same creature, and it turned into the shape of Goody Osburn.”)
“Tituba further said that she had also seen a hairy animal with Goody Osburn, that had only two legs, and walked like a man. And that she saw Sarah Good, last Saturday, set a wolf upon Elizabeth Hubbard.”
(“The friends of Elizabeth Hubbard here said that she did complain of being torn by a wolf on that day.”)
“Tituba being asked further to describe her ride to Thomas Putnam’s, for the purpose of tormenting his daughter Ann, said that she rode upon a stick or pole, and Sarah Good and Sarah Osburn behind her, all taking hold of one another. Did not know how it was done, for she saw no trees nor path, but was presently there.”
These examinations were continued for several days, each of the accused being brought at various times before the magistrates, who seem to have taken great interest in the absurd stories with which the “afflicted children” and Tituba regaled them. Finally, all three of the accused were committed to Boston jail, there to await their trial for practising witchcraft; being heavily ironed, as, being witches, it was supposed to be very difficult to keep them from escaping; and as their ability to torment people with their spectres, was considered lessened in proportion to the weight and tightness of the chains with which they were fettered. It is not to be wondered at, that under these inflictions, at the end of two months, the invalid, Sarah Osburn, died. Tituba, however, lay in jail until, finally, at the expiration of a year and a month, she was sold in payment of her jail fees. One account saying that her owner, the Rev. Master Parris, refused to pay her jail fees, unless she would still adhere to what she had testified on her examination, instead of alleging that he whipped and otherwise abused her, to make her confess that she was a witch.
CHAPTER IX.
One Hundred and Fifty More Alleged Witches.
Ah this was bad enough, but it was but the beginning of trouble. Tituba had spoken of two other women, but had given no names. The “afflicted children” were still afflicted, and growing worse, instead of better. The Rev. Master Noyes of Salem town, the Rev. Master Parris of Salem village, Sergeant Thomas Putnam, and his wife, — which last also was becoming bewitched, and had many old enmities — and many other influential people and church members, were growing more excited, and vindictive against the troubles of their peace, with every passing day.
“Who are they that still torment you in this horrible manner?” was the question asked of the children and young women, and they had their answers ready.
There had been an old quarrel between the Endicotts and the Nurses, a family which owned the Bishop Farm, about the eastern boundary of said farm. There had been the quarrel about who should be minister, in which the Nurses had sided with the determined opponents of Mistress Ann Putnam’s reverend brother-in-law. The Nurses and other families were staunch opposers of Master Parris’s claim to ownership of the Parsonage and its grounds. And it was not to be wondered at, that the accusations should be made against opponents rather than against friends.
Besides, there were those who had very little faith in the children themselves, and had taken a kind of stand against them; and these too, were in a dangerous position.
“Who torments you now?” The answer was ready: Martha Corey, and Rebecca Nurse, and Bridget Bishop, and so on; the charges being made now against the members, often the heads, of the most reputable families in Salem town and village and the surrounding neighborhoods. Before the coming of the winter snows probably one hundred and fifty persons were in prison at Salem and Ipswich and Boston and Cambridge. Two-thirds of these were women; many of them were aged and venerable men and women of the highest reputation for behavior and piety. Yet, they were bound with chains, and exposed to all the hardships that attended incarceration in small and badly constructed pris
ons.
A special court composed of the leading judges in the province being appointed by the Governor for the trial of these accused persons, a mass of what would be now styled “utter nonsense” was brought against them. No wonder that the official record of this co-called court of justice is now nowhere to be found. The partial accounts that have come down to us are sufficient to brand its proceeding with everlasting infamy. Let us recur to the charges against some of these persons:
The Rev. Cotton Mather, speaking of the trial of Bridget Bishop, says: “There was one strange thing with which the Court was newly entertained. As this woman was passing by the meeting-house, she gave a look towards the house; and immediately a demon, invisibly entering the house, tore down a part of it; so that, though there was no person to be seen there, yet the people, at the noise, running in, found a board, which was strongly fastened with several nails, transported into another quarter of the house.”
A court of very ignorant men would be “entertained” now with such a story, in a very different sense from that in which the Rev. Cotton Mather used the word. The Court of 1692, doubtless swallowed the story whole, for it was no more absurd than the bulk of the evidence upon which they condemned the reputed witches.
One of the charges against the Rev. Master Burroughs, who had himself been a minister for a short time in the village, was, that though a small, slender man, he was a giant in strength. Several persons witnessed that “he had held out a gun of seven foot barrel with one hand; and had carried a barrel full of cider from a canoe to the shore.” Burroughs said that an Indian present at the time did the same, but the answer was ready. “That was the black man, or the Devil, who looks like an Indian.”