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In Scotland, at least 3,837 people were tried for witchcraft. Yet in England, with a population four to five times larger, only 500 were. What caused such different outcomes between the two countries? After reading A History of Scottish Witches: The Devil’s Handmaidens by Mary W. Craig, the answer could be religions and rulers.

Basically, when the Catholic Church denied King Henry VIII a divorce, he declared himself the head of England’s church and state. In comparison, people in the Scottish Highlands tended to be Catholic, Central and Western Scots were Calvinist/Presbyterian, and the Lowlands leaned toward Episcopal. In addition, Scotland was ruled by a succession of squabbling regents until their young monarchs were of an age to rule.

And Auld Clooty was everywhere!

When King James VI of Scotland’s ships survived treacherous winds in 1589 on their voyage to bring home his new bride, Anne of Denmark, he claimed it was witchcraft. In Denmark, Anna Koldings and 12 others were burned at the stake for the crime. In Scotland, 70 suspected witches were rounded up in North Berwick, tortured until they confessed, and tried. Those found guilty were strangled and their bodies burned so the devil could not resurrect their bodies. King James participated in the trials, and in 1597 he published his treatise on witchcraft, called Daemonologie.

After Queen Elizabeth I’s death in 1603, James was crowned king of England and abandoned his country, returning only once in 22 years. His successors continued that trend, leaving Scotland in religious and political turmoil. Five major witch trials occurred, with the worst ones in 1628-1631 and 1661-1662. In 1736, the Scottish Witchcraft Act was repealed, which abolished the crime of witchcraft, stating the crime does not exist. However, a new crime of “pretended witchcraft” was put on the books, which carried a maximum penalty of one year’s imprisonment.

A History of Scottish Witches does not use a chronological or thematic sequence, causing repetition and making the narrative difficult to follow at times. Sections on fairies and folk beliefs don’t seem to tie into the surrounding witchcraft storylines. However, Craig succeeds in explaining how closely entwined Scotland’s courts and churches were involved in witchcraft accusations and executions. She also demonstrates how wars, epidemics, crop failures, and lack of royal oversight shaped Scottish history.

Thanks to Pen & Sword Books for the ARC.

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How to Kill a Witch: The Patriarchy's Guide to Silencing Women by by Zoe Venditozzi and Claire Mitchell

A lawyer and an educator meet at a mutual friend’s wedding. They’re both “quarrelsome dames” looking for a cause. They discover thousands of Scottish women have not received justice for being accused of witchcraft from the early 16th century to the mid-18th century. The two campaign for (1) apologies for the accused; (2) pardons for those convicted; and (3) a national memorial for the victims. in 2020, they create a podcast called Witches of Scotland, to interview experts on the Scottish witch-hunts. Their book, How to Kill a Witch, highlights much of what they learned through profiles of accused witches at different times and places throughout Scotland.

For me, Zoe Venditozzi and Claire Mitchell’s book revealed why the British witch trials were different from continental Europe’s. German cleric Heinrich Kramer’s Malleus Maleficarum (1486) was published years before the Witchcraft Act of 1563 became law in the British Isles and its colonies. England and Scotland each had separate rulers, laws, churches, and beliefs. The English hanged their witches, while the Scots typically strangled them and burned their bodies so the evil forces wouldn’t rise again.

In 1590, James VI of Scotland (1566-1625) attended the first major witch trials in Scotland, where Agnes Sampson and others were executed for using witchcraft against the king’s own ship. In 1597, James published his own treatise, Daemonologie, on witches, enchanters, and demons. Following the death of Queen Elizabeth I (1533-1603), James also became king of England. His book was reprinted for the occasion.

How to Kill a Witch explains the ways God and the Devil interacted, what courts considered a confession or proof of witchcraft, which torture methods were used, and how many of the victims’ names and stories were lost. It also recognizes how sexism and abuse of power erase people and history.

With humor and anger at the betrayal, condemnation, and execution of these Scottish women, Claire and Zoe help us envision the accused and the world they lived in while also recognizing the dangers of misogyny in our lives today.

Thanks to Sourcebooks for the ARC.

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With a background in ancient history and literature, author Alexis Hannah Prescott explores how Greek and Roman gods and folklore transcend time and place in her book, The First Witches: Women of Power in the Classical World. 

The western world so admired the classical arts, culture, and history that centuries later schoolboys applying to the newly founded Harvard College in the 1630s had to be well versed in Latin grammar. And once enrolled, they studied Latin, Greek, and Hebrew. 

Curiously, students were reading classical texts imbued with the power of witches and witchcraft, which is incompatible to the Bible’s warnings. The Bible mentions forbidden practices such as divination, consulting with mediums or familiar spirits, interpreting omens, casting spells, and necromancy, though without much detail. The problem with witchcraft is in trying to manipulate spiritual forces instead of asking God for help. And the punishment for contacting demonic spirits is not being able to inherit the kingdom of God. 

In case you’re not a classical scholar, Prescott provides synopses of major works—like Homer’s Odyssey, Virgil’s Aeneid, Ovid’s Metamorphoses, and Lucan’s Erichtho—to explain the archetypes of Greco-Roman witches. As they transform from the strong, attractive but vindictive Greek witch to the bitter, haggard Roman one, Prescott mentions how dramatic social and political changes affected witches (and women’s) roles in society and in literature. 

The author also makes the point that witch hunts in Britain and the 13 Colonies were not based on the King James Bible (1611). Being able to read and have access to the Bible was mostly limited to the upper classes and to clerics. (Puritans in the Massachusetts Bay Colony, however, made education a priority. They learned to read so they could study the Scriptures.) King James himself was extraordinarily concerned about witchcraft—believing witches caused the tumultuous seas that delayed his bride Anne of Denmark’s arrival in England—so much so that he wrote Daemonologie (1597). 

At the Salem witch trials in 1692, judges and some of the jury attended Harvard. They studied Greco-Roman literature featuring attractive, alluring Greek witches with deadly streaks of hostility, and Roman hag witches who torture, maim, and sabotage men. Classical witchcraft, mixed with regional folktales and backed by the Bible, was real in the dark woods and villages of Massachusetts Bay. A cursing beggar woman, a healthy cow that suddenly drops dead, sleep paralysis while dreaming of your neighbor, or shapeshifters in the shadows—what else could it be except witchcraft?

Prescott covers the witch’s metamorphosis from classical antiquity to the modern day, using literary characters we may be more familiar with, like Snow White’s wicked stepmother, Dr. Frankenstein, and Shakespeare’s weird sisters in Macbeth. Since the 1960s, she notes, Wicca and other trends have changed the classical witch dynamic. 

Or maybe it’s the women taking back their power.

Thanks to Pen & Sword History for the ARC.

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Sophie Saint Thomas’ latest book* tackles reproductive rights, systemic injustices, and lack of bodily autonomy issues for women throughout the ages. According to an old medical papyrus, she writes, it’s been proven that ancient Egyptians used birth control and emmenagogues or abortifacients. Through withdrawal, suppositories, barrier methods, and nature’s own herbal pharmacy, earlier peoples learned by trial and error how to limit or encourage pregnancies as needed.

While misogyny certainly existed back then, it grew exponentially with the Roman Empire converting to Christianity—and controlled by (purportedly) celibate, cloistered men. After all, German monk Martin Luther (95 Theses) said “let [women] bear children to death. … They were created for that.” Although Catholic church policy was against birth control, some leaders like Saint Augustine of Hippo believed abortion was acceptable before a clearly human shape formed or the “ensoulment” of a fetus occurred.

For witches, Saint Thomas includes French midwife, abortion provider, and fortuneteller Catherine Monvoisin, who also provided deadly poisons and performed Black Masses for her clients. She was burned at the stake for witchcraft in 1680. In more modern times, Laurie Cabot (b. 1933) was designated the Official Witch of Salem in 1977 by the Massachusetts governor.

For witch hunts, Saint Thomas relies on Stacy Schiff’s The Witches: Salem 1692—a book lambasted by Jane Kamensky in the New York Times—causing her to repeat debunked information. For example, trial documents refer to Tituba as an Indian servant. After being released from jail, she disappears from the historical record yet later becomes known as Tituba the Black Witch of Salem. Saint Thomas says, “this indicates that she was associated with black magic … [but] it could also have a more straightforward explanation: her skin color.” Fifty years ago, Chadwick Hansen proved that Tituba’s metamorphosis from an Indian to a Black person occurred and was based on prevalent 19th-century racism, which in turn made Tituba the scapegoat for the Salem witch trials (New England Quarterly, March 1974).

For centuries, witches have been associated with Satan, since the (female) witch’s power comes from her pact with the (male) Devil. Between Anton LaVey’s Church of Satan and the Satanic Panic of the 1980s, Saint Thomas shows how wild ideas about devil-worshipping sex groups, Black Masses, and child sacrifices became rampant in the news. And that’s how the Christian right uses Americans’ fears to demonize any person or movement supporting reproductive rights.

Written in a pop-history style, Saint Thomas makes accessible 4,000 years of health care. With Roe v. Wade overturned in 2022, reproductive justice is on the ballot in 2024. The difference between the Republican and Democratic platforms are starkly different. As a reminder, Saint Thomas points out that Justice Samuel Alito cited 17th-century jurist Matthew Hale when announcing the Supreme Court’s Dobbs decision: “Hale asserted that marital rape could not constitute a crime.” Your vote matters.

Thanks to Running Press for ARC.

*This book covers political issues, bodily autonomy, and religion framed within the historical and contemporary witch hunts context. It is a book review, not a political opinion piece.

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    In Witchcraft: A History in Thirteen Trials, Marion Gibson argues that witch trials from the late Medieval period to today were motivated not by the Bible but by demonology.

    In the Massachusetts Bay Colony, the 1641 Body of Liberties laws do draw from the Bible, including “Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live” (KJV, Exodus 22:18). But devils were destructive forces frequently mentioned in witch trials. Demonology mostly focused on women—the weaker sex—succumbing to the forked-tongue lies of Satan’s minions. Misogyny was rampant, especially in male-dominated arenas like religion and government. Over the last 700 years, in fact, the most common trait of a witch was being female (though not all the accused were).

    As Gibson discusses, German churchman and demonologist Heinrich Kramer (c. 1430-1505) failed in his first attempt to destroy the “witches” of Innsbruck, Austria. But afterwards, he wrote the exceptionally popular Malleus Maleficarum in 1487, also known as The Hammer of Witches. By 1600, about 45 demonology titles were published in Western Europe, including one by King James VI of Scotland (later James I of England). These books were widely circulated among churchmen, rulers, the upper classes, and scholars—including Judge William Stoughton and ministers Cotton Mather and Samuel Parris, all of whom influenced the Salem witch trials in 1692.

    For the Salem story, Gibson focuses on “Tatabe,” Parris’ Indian servant who had a prominent but short-lived role early in the Salem witch trials. Under duress, Tituba (falsely) confessed to practicing witchcraft but was not executed, while the ones who claimed their innocence at trial were. Instead of the power of Tituba’s testimony and its many parallels to British witchcraft beliefs, Gibson concentrates on the hypothetical Arawak birth story from Elaine Breslaw’s Tituba, Reluctant Witch of Salem. Highlighting those parallels would have helped to debunk the voodoo myths surrounding Tituba, often told by misguided writers and tour guides who haven’t delved into the original records.

    Thirteen Trials includes cases from Europe, Africa, and the Americas, covering a wide variety of situations, cultures, and time periods. It’s a fascinating read, with each history connected to the underlying premise of misogyny and violence against women.

    Today, in Salem and elsewhere, “people who have redefined witchcraft and embraced the identity of ‘witch’” embody the medieval demonologists’ worst nightmares (ch. 13).

    But the struggle continues.

    See also: Tituba, Indian Servant of Mr. Samuel Parris

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    Dorothy Good had a little mark on her finger, perhaps a flea bite, that she attributed to a little snake her mother had given her. Instead of a sweet memory between Sarah Good and her child exploring the outdoor world, it prodded outcries of witchcraft.

    Dorothy was only four years old. Her mother Sarah had been locked up in prison for witchcraft for weeks. And Dorothy was too young to understand some people considered her own words were tantamount to a confession of having an animal familiar, and would later judge her mother of a capital crime. Dorothy spent eight and a half months in jail before Samuel Ray paid a 50-pound recognizance bond for her release. She never faced trial, but losing her mother and the nightmare of those dark times had a profound effect on her mental health. In his 1710 petition for restitution, her father William Good declared that Dorothy, “being chained in the dungeon was so hardly used and terrified that she has ever since been very chargeable having little or no reason to govern herself.”

    By 1699, William Good, his second wife Elizabeth, and daughter Dorothy were living with Lieut. Benjamin Putnam (1664-1715), who was compensated by the town for their expenses. By 1708, when she was of age, Dorothy’s name was recorded separately in the Salem Town Records, though she continued to live with the Putnams at least through 2 January 1716. Dorothy reappeared on record 5 September 1720, when she was “warned out of this town.” She didn’t leave. Instead, Dorothy lived in several villager households and occasionally in the House of Correction partway through 1738.

    Rambling About

    Dorothy Good disappears from the Salem records after 1738, though she turns up in the Bristol county, Massachusetts, court records the same year: “To the Constables of Swansey [Swansea]… Whereas Dorothy Good late of Beverly hath come to dwell in said Swansey the sixth day of July last … warn the abovesaid Dorothy Good to depart this town … August 23d, 1738.” (Some of her aunts and cousins lived in Beverly.)

    Based on the records, it also appears Dorothy had three children. In the fall of 1720, the town paid Nathaniel Putnam “for 11 weeks keeping & nursing Dor[othy] Good … & child.” In November 1722, Benjamin Gillingham, late master of ye House of Correction, claimed 18 weeks for “keeping of Doro Good & for sireing.” Salem selectmen paid the town of Concord because in June 1725, Dorothy “strayed hence & lay’d in there of a bastard child.” In March 1727, Jonathan Batchelder agreed “to keep Doro Good at his house … and keep Doro Good from straying and rambling about as formerly.”

    In August 1761, a newspaper article published by the New London News and picked up by other papers, including the New York Mercury, Boston News-Letter, Boston Evening Post, and New Hampshire Gazette reported: “Dorothy Good, a transient, vagrant person, was found dead in a bog meadow near New London last Friday [7 August 1761]…. As decent a burial was given her as the circumstances would admit.”

    The uncommon name and the description fit Dorothy Good. Plus, the death notice was picked up by numerous newspapers in New England, suggesting a sort of notoriety beyond her poverty. With almost no doubt, this was the end of Dorothy Good, the poor little girl imprisoned for witchcraft in 1692.

    Missed a post? Sarah Good’s families: Part 1 Sarah Solart | Part 2 Sarah Poole | Part 3 Sarah Good | Part 4 William Good | Part 5 Dorothy Good

    William Good's petition for restitution.

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    William Good first appears in Chelmsford, Massachusetts, in 1672, when he was warned for not living under family government. This didn’t mean William had a tendency of wandering away from his home and family like Roger Toothaker (1634-1692). The Puritans had a neighborhood watch system whereby single men and women were prohibited from living alone in case they got into ungodly mischief. William was an “able-bodied man” who paid his minister’s rate, bought gunpowder, and then in December 1675 he joined Capt. Mossely’s military company in Dedham. Some time after he returned, in 1677, Chelmsford selectmen provided William with four acres of land to build a house and to follow his trade, expecting him to settle down and become a good citizen. He apparently did not, for in December 1682, he was living in Andover.

    Several years later, William married the widow Sarah (Solart) Poole. It’s likely that he knew of Sarah’s 40-pound inheritance due from her father’s estate (but not her dead husband’s debts) before they married. After all, Sarah clearly suffered from melancholia and grief, being known for living in barns and outhouses, suffering from “extreme foolishness or incomposure of mind,” and incapable of taking care of herself—all strong reasons why not to wed! In late March 1686, William Good of Salem Village, weaver, sold his wife Sarah’s inherited land to Freeborn Balch. By 1692, he’s called a laborer, but William didn’t make enough money to secure his small family with food, shelter, and other essentials. Between the stresses of survival, the seeming lack of her own relatives’ compassion and support, hunger and probable mental illness, Sarah Good was a cantankerous woman. In December 1691, she gave birth to her second child, which made her situation more dire.

    In February 1692, when asked to name the witches who caused their strange afflictions, the minister’s nine-year-old daughter Betty Parris and her 11-year-old cousin Abigail Williams pointed at Sarah Good. She must have been scary, unkempt—an outsider who was ungracious when receiving alms and belligerent when denied much-needed support. William quickly turned against her when he told the magistrates “he was afraid that she either was a witch or would be one very quickly.” Sarah Good was executed for witchcraft on 19 July 1692.

    On 7 June 1693, William Good married Elizabeth Drinker, daughter of John and Elizabeth Drinker of Beverly. They had a son born 18 January 1695/6 in Salem Village, who died young.

    Supporting the Goods

    The selectmen paid local residents to house, feed, and clothe a destitute person or family. By 21 November 1699, William Good and his family were receiving help (again) from the town. On that date, Benjamin Putnam received £3 for the relief of William Good and family for the upcoming winter.

    In 1712, the Massachusetts Bay Colony answered petitions to pay reparations to the victims or their families for expenses related to the Salem witch trials. William Good petitioned for “the damage sustained by him in the year 1692 by reason of the sufferings of his family upon the account of supposed witchcraft”: for his wife Sarah who was imprisoned and executed; a suckling child who died in prison; and daughter Dorothy who was imprisoned (RSWH, 871). Although William did not specify a specific amount—since he no doubt did not pay any jail fees (food, blankets, shackles, confinement)—his caretaker, Benjamin Putnam, received £30 on William’s behalf. The amount was higher than many others; it may have taken into account William’s situation and his long-term dependency on public funds.

    William died before 20 November 1714, on which date the Salem selectmen gave “to our neighbors of the village 20 shillings towards Wm Good’s funeral.” His widow Elizabeth died, age 73, on 3 January 1728/9. The selectmen made a final payment to David Judd for keeping and caring for Elizabeth Good until her death.

    updated 27 May 2024

    Missed a post? Sarah Good’s families: Part 1 Sarah Solart | Part 2 Sarah Poole | Part 3 Sarah Good | Part 4 William Good | Part 5 Dorothy Good

    Deposition of Ann Putnam Jr. against Sarah Good

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    On 30 March 1672, William Good of Chelmsford was “warned for living from family government” (Middlesex Co.: Abstracts of Court Records 1643-1674, 2:144). Besides married people who deserted their spouses, this charge was given to single men and women of marriageable age who were not allowed to live alone because they could be tempted into unclean acts or ungodly behavior. That same year, Good’s minister’s rate was 1s 8d, and he owned no animals (Waters, History of Chelmsford, 617).

    On 1 September 1674, Good was one of “Chelmsford’s able-bodied men” who purchased 1s 6d of gunpowder (Waters, 89). During King Philip’s War, he was recorded in Dedham as part of Capt. Mossely’s Company on 9 December 1675 (NEHGR 8:242). On 26 February 1677[/8?], the town of Chelmsford gave him 4 acres of land “to build a house on it to follow his trade” (Waters, 578). In 1682 and 1683, however, Good appears in the Andover Tax and Record Book.

    Woo the widow?

    The selectmen of Salem failed to secure widow Sarah (Solarte) Poole’s inheritance being held by her stepfather Ezekiel Woodward in Wenham, as demanded by the Essex County Court in June 1685. The skeptic in me wonders if that money may have been the incentive for bachelor William Good to meet Sarah. The couple married sometime after that court date but before 30 March 1686, when Good and his wife were sued for debt by John Cromwell—for Sarah and her late husband Daniel Poole’s November 1682 spending spree (his suit, her two petticoats, and yards of cloth).

    The Court seized three acres in Thorndike’s meadow recently acquired from Woodward to satisfy judgment. Four months later, William Good sold what appears to be the last bit of Sarah’s inheritance, one and three-quarters of an acre of meadow in Wenham to Freeborn Balch for 5 pounds (EQC 9:579-580; Boyer & Nissenbaum’s SV Witchcraft 139-147).

    About 1689, Sarah and William Good, “being destitute of a house to live in…they being poor,” boarded with Samuel and Mary Abbey in Salem Village until Sarah became “so turbulent a spirit, spiteful, and so maliciously bent” that the Abbeys turned them out of their house. Afterwards, Sarah behaved “very crossly and maliciously to them and their children, calling their children vile names and have threatened them often” (RSWH 423). Sarah also begged door to door, and was known for cursing and muttering, especially when she went away empty-handed.

    On 29 February 1692, 38-year-old Sarah Good was one of the first to be charged with witchcraft that year. She was executed in Salem on 19 July 1692.

    William and Sarah Good had the following children:

    • Dorothy Good, born about 1687/8; died in New London, Connecticut, 7 August 1761. She was arrested for witchcraft 24 March 1692 and released 10 December 1692 upon recognizance paid by Samuel Ray.
    • [female] Good, born in Salem Village 10 December 1691. As a suckling child, she was imprisoned with her mother Sarah and died before 2 June 1692 in Boston prison. (She was not born in prison and her first name is not recorded.)

    William Good married second, Chebacco/Ipswich 7 June 1693, Elizabeth Drinker (1654-1729). He died shortly before 20 November 1714 when the Salem selectmen paid Salem Village 20 shillings for his funeral.

    Continue to Part 4. Missed a post? Sarah Good’s families: Part 1 Sarah Solart | Part 2 Sarah Poole | Part 3 Sarah Good | Part 4 William Good | Part 5 Dorothy Good

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    After her father John died in June 1672, several events happened that affected Sarah Solarte’s life and her future. In December 1672, her mother Elizabeth became Ezekiel Woodward’s second wife. Her brother John, who had been in England, died by early 1675. Mother Elizabeth died on 3 February 1677/8, followed by 20-year-old brother Joseph in the fall of 1678. In 1679, stepfather Ezekiel married his third wife, Sarah. Woodward continued to live at the Solarte family’s inn and he still held onto their inheritances.  

    Sarah meets her match

    On 27 June 1661, the Salem court bound six-year-old Daniel Poole* as an apprentice to John Rowden of Salem, planter, for fourteen and a half years (EQC 2:311). After his term was over, Daniel continued to live with the Rowdens, who had no children of their own. Daniel even pledged to take care of Rowden’s wife after John’s death. In his will, dated 21 April 1682, John Rowden gave most of his estate to “Daniel Poole who hath been brought up by me from his childhood being mine by adoption and given me by his natural parents” (EQC 9:127).

    By the fall of 1682, the courtship between Sarah Solarte and Daniel Poole was in full swing. On 1 November 1682, the couple went on a spending spree, charging—on John Cromwell of Salem’s account—kersey, canvas, serge, and other materials, plus a suit of clothes for him and two petticoats for her. For Sarah, it must have been a thrill to have someone lavish attention and gifts on her.

    Perhaps in expectation of upcoming nuptials for sister Sarah, the Solarte sisters (and husbands) asked the Court on 30 November 1682 to divide their dead brother Joseph’s share of their father’s estate. Also filed but undated was another petition that must have been written for the March 1683 court held in Ipswich, based on the line: “your honors have declared at the last court at Salem that his portion shall be divided amongst us.” This second document more forcefully claimed, “Ezekiel Woodward that married with our mother did refuse to enter into any obligation to pay our portions.” In fact, “our sister Sarah the wife of Daniel Poole, she is now 28 years of age and she is yet without her portion.” At issue was the need for a legal instrument to require Woodward to comply to the ruling on the earlier case.

    From these two petitions, we know Sarah Solarte married Daniel Poole after 30 November 1682 and before the Court convened on 27 March 1683.

    Sarah’s sorrows

    On 12 October 1683, John Rowden wrote a second will. This time he left his estate to Nathaniel Felton Sr. of Salem, who was to keep and provide for wife Mary Rowden (EQC 9:127). The change was made because, by that date, Daniel Poole had died. To confirm it, in the next action against Ezekiel Woodward in November 1683, Sarah is referred to as the widow of Daniel Poole.

    The loss was too much for Sarah. After Daniel’s death, “Sarah disposed of his whole estate, viz., a horse, two cows, and all his moveables.” John Price, speaking for the selectmen of Salem to the Court, declared Sarah Poole, widow, formerly of Wenham, “was not capable of governing herself, but either through extreme foolishness or incomposure of mind, exposed herself to hazard and suffering, lodging in barns and outhouses, without anything to relieve her necessities. Being informed that there was an estate of 40 pounds belonging to her in Wenham, they requested that someone be appointed to take care of the estate and also have charge of her person that she be kept in good order, for they thought that the town should not be charged with it, so long as she had an estate of her own.”

    In response, “the Court considering the motion of the selectmen of the town of Salem relating to Sarah Poole, widow, finding that she not capable of providing for herself or improving what belonged to her, ordered the selectmen to dispose of her both for employment and maintenance and also to take into their hands what belongs to her in Wenham or elsewhere and sell or otherwise dispose of it for her use” (EQC 9:486-487).

    Instead of being a dependent of her stepfather Ezekiel Woodward in Wenham or living with a sibling, Sarah became a ward of Salem.

    Sarah and Daniel had no children.

    *Daniel Poole may be the son of William Poole. At the general town meeting in Salem on 1 March 1655/6, a William Poole petitioned to become a resident but he was denied (Salem Town Records 1:156). Other men named Poole do not seem to fit, including the well-to-do John Poole of Lynn, though an unrecorded man is possible too.

    Continue to Part 3. Missed a post? Sarah Good’s families: Part 1 Sarah Solart | Part 2 Sarah Poole | Part 3 Sarah Good | Part 4 William Good | Part 5 Dorothy Good

    Witch Trials Memorials, Salem, Mass.

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    On 29 February 1691/2, two warrants signed by magistrates John Hathorne and Jonathan Corwin put into motion the Salem witch trials. Sarah Good was on one warrant, while Sarah Osborne and Tituba were on the other. The three women had one thing in common: villagers questioned their belief in the Puritan faith. Sarah Good, the beggar, insulted “the godly” who gifted her with alms. Sarah Osborne, bedridden for 14 months, skipped religious services. Tituba, the Indian servant of Rev. Samuel Parris, probably came from Barbados so who knew what islanders believed. However, their stories ended three different ways: Sarah Osborne died in the Boston jail on 10 May 1692; Sarah Good was hanged for witchcraft 19 July 1692; and Tituba was released from jail sometime after the 9 May 1693 grand jury declined to convict her for covenanting with the devil.

    Several notable items in the Records of the Salem Witch-Hunt include: William Good saying he feared his wife was a witch due to her bad carriage to him; Sarah’s siblings neither testifying for or against her; and Samuel and Mary Abbey testifying that the Good family lived with them because they were “destitute of a house to dwell in” but it didn’t last long because Sarah was “so turbulent a spirit, spiteful, and so maliciously bent” that the Abbeys had to kick the family out (p. 423).

    By studying her birth family and two marriages, we learn much about Sarah’s temperament before she was accused of witchcraft, and what may have led her to being one of the first accused.

    Solarte family

    Sometimes called “Frenchman,” Sarah’s father John Solarte purchased a house and 10 acres of land in Wenham in 1652, where he became an ordinary keeper. It was a lucrative business. In the spring of 1672, however, John declared his will before two men because “I being often troubled with fainting fits and do apprehend I have not long to live.” On 24 June 1672, John drowned—by suicide, according to a jury of inquest. His estate was worth 500 pounds, and was divided 165 pounds to the widow; 84 pounds to son John; two daughters already had their shares; and 42 pounds to each of the other six children—including Sarah.

    Widow Elizabeth Solarte married six months later to widower Ezekiel Woodward (1625-1699), who took up the ordinary license and held onto his stepchildren’s inheritance even after his wife Elizabeth died and he had remarried.

    John Solarte, born say 1625, died in Wenham 24 June 1672 (recorded as “John Soolard, Frenchman”). He married about 1650 to Elizabeth (–), who was born say 1630 and died in Wenham 3 February 1677/8. Elizabeth married second, Wenham 20 December 1672, Ezekiel Woodward (1625-1699). He married first, about 1650, Ann Beamsley (1633-1671), and third, in 1679, to Sarah, widow of Nathaniel Piper.

    John and Elizabeth (–) Solarte’s children were:

    • Mary Solarte, d. bef. 30 November 1682 when husband claimed her portion of father’s estate for her heirs; m. Beverly May 1666 John Edwards (c. 1644-1697), son of Rice Edwards.
    • Elizabeth Solarte m. c. 1672 Joseph Lovett (b. 1650), son of John and Mary Lovett. Lived in Beverly.
    • Sarah Solarte b. c. 1654; d. Salem 19 July 1692 hanged as a witch; m1. 1682 Daniel Poole; m2. William Good.
    • John Solarte, mariner, d. betw. 26 Sept. 1672 (will, EPR 25862) and 1 Sept. 1675 (wife’s remarriage) m. bef. Sept. 1672 Sarah Cocke (1655-1739). Lived in England.
    • Hannah Solarte, b. 1658; d. Lexington 12 April 1722; m. c. 1681 John Trask of Beverly (d. 1735).
    • Joseph Solarte, b. c. 1658, d. bef. 3 March 1679 (inventory, Early EPR 3:294), unmarried. In November 1682, his siblings petitioned the court for their shares of his estate.
    • Martha Solarte, b. Wenham 25 Aug. 1659; m. c. 1680 Thomas Kilham (1654-1725), son of Corp. Daniel Kilham (d. 1700) and Mary Safford.
    • Abigail Solarte, b. Wenham 15 Aug. 1664; d. 1741-1742; m. Beverly 10 Nov. 1681 Mordecai Larcom (1658-1717), son of Mordecai Larcom (d. 1713) and Elizabeth.
    • Bethia Solarte, b. Wenham 28 Feb. 1666, d. Wenham 4 Aug. 1729; m. Beverly 21 April 1684 John Herrick of Beverly (b. 1662), son of Ephraim Herrick (1638-1693) and Mary Cross.

    Continue to Part 2. Missed a post? Sarah Good’s families: Part 1 Sarah Solart | Part 2 Sarah Poole | Part 3 Sarah Good | Part 4 William Good | Part 5 Dorothy Good