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Though visibly part of his Rowley community, John Howard remains somewhat anonymous in Salem witch trial research.

Rowley Massachusetts old building
Rowley, Massachusetts by Drew Collins (2013)

On August 25, 1692, Ephraim Foster of Andover and Joseph Tyler of Boxford submitted a complaint to John Higginson, justice of the peace, in Salem that John Jackson Sr., John Jackson Jr., and John Howard, laborers of Rowley, committed several acts of witchcraft upon the bodies of 13-year-old Rose Foster of Andover and 16-year-old Martha Sprague of Boxford. The following day, the three men were apprehended. John Jackson Jr. and Sr. were examined by the justices on August 27, though no examination for John Howard exists.

From various bills that were submitted, we learn a few details about the three accused witches. Abraham Perkins held the three men and a guard in his home before William Baker brought the Jacksons and John Howard to Salem. Thomas Fosse recorded the three men were jailed in Ipswich from 27 August through 12 December 1692 and Thomas Manning made fetters for the Jacksons and John Howard.

The Jacksons clearly had hereditary links to witchcraft. When confronted by his accusers in court, John Jr. admitted he was bewitched by his Aunt How—Elizabeth (Jackson) How who was hanged as a witch July 19—while his father claimed to be innocent of the charges (Records of the Salem Witch-Hunt).

Grouped together with the Jacksons, John Howard was in a precarious spot.

So, who was John Howard?

The Howard (Haward, Hayward, etc.) surname was not found in the vital records of Rowley before the 19th century, though John Howard settled in Rowley years before the Salem witch trials. He had no known family ties in the town or elsewhere in the Massachusetts Bay Colony. Howard didn’t serve during the colonial wars or take the oath of freemanship. Yet he was a visible part of the Rowley community.

In June 1662, John Howard testified that he signed up for a nine-month voyage on the ship Ann, under Captain Thomas Barnard. Mr. Jones the pilot was unfamiliar with the islands and their voyage did not go as planned. At one point they had no bread, water, or provisions. Howard said he saw the pilot Jones and master Barnard “scuffling in the cabin and some bad language was used, and the master’s neckcloth torn.” Upon their return home, the sailors weren’t paid. The court held the ship at Marblehead harbor until the debts were paid. Curiously, at the same court, John Jackson Sr. was trying to get paid for his labor on another ship (EQC 2:392-394).

This 1662 court case was the first mention found of Howard. Although he was not associated with Rowley or any town (neither were the other sailors) at the time, it’s likely this was the same man accused of witchcraft in 1692. Based on his articulate and confident speech, Howard would appear to be educated to some degree and at least 21 years old (born no later than 1641). That age would make him a contemporary of John Jackson Sr., who was born in Rowley about 1645.

Living in Rowley

On 2 November 1677, John Howard was living in tithingman Daniel Wicom’s district in Rowley. Four days later, he was in court again. “Upon complaint of John Howard, the selectmen of Rowley from time to time are enjoined and impowered to provide a place of habitation for him and employ him to the best advantage for him and the town” (EQC 6:344). Howard knew how to bargain, though the record didn’t mention what skill or talent he offered in exchange.

At the town meeting held 19 June 1684, John Howard was chosen to “ring the meeting house bell upon Sabbath days, lecture days, and other public meeting days, and to sweep the meeting house, and to ring the nine o’clock bell at night” (Blodgette, Early Settlers of Rowley, p. 165). This was not a special privilege or a job given only to church members. It was a task often assigned by the town to someone who otherwise survived through the charity of others. Ringing the bell and sweeping the meeting house—plus any other work he could find—kept Howard off the short list of paupers in Rowley. John Jackson Sr., however, was listed as a pauper from 1713 until his death in 1719 (Gage, History of Rowley, p. 405).

In 1691, John Howard was taxed £1.06.08; Corp. Ezekiel Northend was taxed the highest, at £10, while John Wicom paid the least, at 3 shillings, 10 pence. John Jackson was taxed at £1.06.08 (Gage, p. 398-400).

After the trials

John Howard died less than two years after being released from the Ipswich jail on charges of witchcraft. Although the exact date was not written down in the town records, on 11 September 1694 Joseph Boynton was chosen to administer his estate. Howard’s household stuff—bed, bedding, pots, pans, tools, chest, two heifers, one pig—totaled £17.15.07. Between debts and funeral expenses, only a few pence remained.

At the bottom of the inventory list, James Dickenson and Samuel Palmer added a note that referred to the 1677 agreement with the town of Rowley: “There is also a house that John Howard was possessed of at his decease which is upon the town’s land, which land was granted by the said town to said Howard to improve during his natural life as will appears further by said grant which land was granted to said Howard upon the condition that what house or building said Howard should build should be the town’s at his decease” (Essex County Probate, 14011).

Why does John Howard matter?

Although he left no descendants, studying the life of John Howard provides more insight as to why certain people were targeted in the witch hunt. Unlike the Jackson family who had lived in Rowley several generations, Howard had no relatives in town. He lived alone and set up an agreement with the selectmen that implied he had no spouse or children. John Jackson Sr. was widowed in 1671, less than a year after his son John Jr. was born. He did not remarry. After his release from jail, son John Jackson Jr. is not mentioned again in the records. 

In the end, the connection between the Jacksons and John Howard was that they were poor, unmarried laborers living in Rowley.

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A scene from the Salem Village parsonage, with Betty Parris, Tituba, John Indian, and Abigail Williams at the Witch History Museum on Essex Street, Salem, Mass.

From the 1692 Salem witch-hunt records, we know Tituba was “the Indian servant of Mr. Samuel Parris,” the minister of Salem Village. But we know very little about her life and her background. When was she born and where did she come from before being accused, interrogated, and jailed as a witch?

Although called a “servant,” Tituba probably lived in perpetual servitude. While slaves did exist in New England, most were of African descent, not Native American. Tituba could have been a Wampanoag, a Carib, or an Arawak Indian, which scholars have debated for years. Her foreignness within her small community went beyond her ethnic background though. In court, Tituba refers to “her mistress in her own country,” implying that she was born outside of the 13 Colonies as well.

The most in-depth study, Tituba, Reluctant Witch of Salem by Elaine Breslaw, claims Tituba was an Arawak Indian kidnapped from a Dutch settlement in South America and brought to Barbados. Based on the etymology of her name it could be plausible—but that scenario and the name also could apply to multiple people. Instead of suggesting Tituba absorbed an amalgam of cultural influences in Barbados, Breslaw creates a captive story that not only orphans Tituba but has the young Indian girl living with an African family. To tie the pieces together, Breslaw finds a 1676 plantation list of “negroes” that places a “Tattuba” with the “boys & girls,” suggesting an age range—and providing white owners with possible connections to Samuel Parris. As genealogists, we learn that even if the name is the same, we still need to connect the 1692 Tituba with earlier documents—and that cannot be done conclusively.

Like many slaves, we may never know her parents, her birthplace, or her age, though we can surmise some details based on the life of Tituba’s owner, Samuel Parris (1653-1720).

The Life of Parris

Samuel was the son of Thomas Parris (d. 1673), a cloth merchant of London. Thomas’ older brother John (d. 1660) owned a sugar plantation in Barbados in the 1640s, where he was a merchant and sometime slave trader. When he died there in 1660, part of John’s property went to his brother Thomas and his children. Thomas’ eldest son John inherited land from his uncle in England and Ireland. Younger son Samuel inherited a plantation and other property in Barbados.

At some point, Thomas and son Samuel moved to Barbados, where the climate, the foods, and the racial demographics were much different from England and even New England. With such valuable and income-producing properties, they would have become accustomed to having slaves and servants as an everyday part of island life.

Samuel left Barbados to attend Harvard College in Massachusetts Bay Colony, where his classmates would be future ministers, government officials, and businessmen. To an aspiring young man, Parris may have made the association that true gentlemen had servants and slaves to take care of farming and household chores so they themselves could be occupied with worldly matters. Before completing his degree, however, Thomas died, causing Samuel to return to Barbados to settle his father’s estate. Instead of living on the plantation, Samuel moved to Bridgetown, where he acted as a merchant agent. In December 1679, he was listed with one slave and one servant on the Barbados census.

By 1680, Samuel Parris returned to Boston, most likely bringing with him John Indian and Tituba. In short order, the 27-year-old bachelor married Elizabeth Eldridge/Eldred (1648?-1696) and set up house. Without the business acumen of his uncle and because of his own fractious nature, Samuel was not a successful merchant. He defaulted on a commercial loan and spent time in the courts. Perhaps thinking the ministry was a more suitable, pastoral occupation, in 1685, Samuel took a position as a paid preacher in Stowe, Massachusetts. Several years and much negotiating later, he became the minister at Salem Village, taking Tituba and John Indian with him.

The Qualities of a Servant

In the court trials, Tituba mentions her “previous mistress” in whose home she would have learned how to be in charge of a household—from tending the garden, preserving foods, cooking meals to housecleaning, laundry, spinning, and making candles and soaps. To be capable of running the household, we can estimate that Tituba would have been between the ages of 16 and 25 when she came to Boston. Without having much supervision in a bachelor’s home, it’s doubtful she would have been younger. If she were much older, that would have meant a shorter working life, and we know from his biography that Samuel was stingy and too demanding for that.

When Samuel married, Tituba’s workload would not have been divided in half. From his interactions with the Salem Villagers, it’s easy to get the impression that Samuel aspired to a higher social stratum than a yeoman farmer. In Boston, Elizabeth Parris may have done more entertaining than cleaning. And as a minister’s wife, she was expected to make her rounds, helping people in the community, leaving Tituba to take care of hearth and home—and children.

Samuel and Elizabeth had three children—Thomas (b. 1681), Betty (1682-1760), and Susanna (1688-1706)—and, at some point, niece Abigail Williams joined the family.

Tribulations and Trials

Although the children had chores and schooling to attend to, Betty and Abigail’s so-called witch afflictions in 1692 meant more work for Tituba. Not only was the house filled with visitors observing the two girls, Betty and Abigail’s ailments were a convenient way to get out of housework.

After weeks of hysterical outbursts, fits, and twitches from the two girls, Samuel Parris gave up on Cotton Mather’s proscribed prayers and fasting, pushing instead for names of those who had bewitched the children. It’s not surprising whose names were on the list—the outcasts and outsiders—including Tituba, the overworked Indian servant from Barbados. These women didn’t fit in polite, Christian society, with their cursing (impoverished Sarah Good), their lack of church attendance (bedridden Sarah Osburn), their otherness (Indian servant Tituba).

If you visit local attractions in Salem, Massachusetts, Tituba is portrayed as a black slave telling tales to young and impressionable girls at the Salem Village parsonage. But the role of storyteller wasn’t created for Tituba until Charles W. Upham (1802-1875) re-imagined her as the center of the maelstrom in his book Salem Witchcraft (1867), which was widely read and repeated by historians and authors.

Probably after being physically coerced by Samuel Parris, Tituba confesses to being a witch before the magistrates—but not to occult practices like fortune-telling or Caribbean voodoo. She does, however, tell of Satan making her pinch and hurt the girls, of riding a stick to night-time meetings with other witches, and of the existence of more witches. With obvious references to British witchcraft folklore, Tituba’s testimony weaves together Samuel Parris’ sermons of Satan’s conspiracy against his church and the people’s fears that the girls were experiencing a preternatural battle for their souls. Instead of creating unity to save the church, Tituba’s words turned neighbor against neighbor.

Story with No Ending

Tituba’s value as a witness against Sarah Good and Sarah Osburn unexpectedly saved her life, while forfeiting theirs. As more afflicted accusers came forward, more innocent victims were accused, and spectral evidence spread near and far, Tituba lay forgotten in prison.

According to contemporary chroniclers, after the General Jail Delivery, Samuel Parris refused to pay Tituba’s jail fees. But by paying seven pounds for her shackles and 13 months’ room and board, a new master bought an Indian servant whose future labor was worth more than the fees. After watching others die in jail or being led out to the gallows and being rejected by the family she had served for a dozen years, perhaps her new owner thought Tituba would be a docile and obedient servant. Beaten down and neglected, she was malnourished, her body stiff from the shackles and hardly any exercise, her mind constantly living in fear. No doubt, Tituba was grateful to be part of the living again. And, so, quietly Tituba the Indian servant disappeared from recorded history.

In 1711, no one came forward to ask for compensation from the government on behalf of Tituba.

Sources

Previously posted on my Genealogy Ink website.

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As the first man accused of witchcraft at the 1692 Salem trials, John Proctor’s position was unique. Born in England in 1631, his family had lived in the Bay Colony since 1635. Proctor was a well-known yeoman farmer, with property in Ipswich as well as 700 acres leased from the Downing estate. Proctor also operated a tavern on a busy road in what nowadays is Peabody, Massachusetts.

Much of Proctor’s trial centered upon his disbelief in the afflicted accusers, including his maidservant Mary Warren. It was common gossip that Proctor thought they should have their lies beaten out of them or be hanged. To belie his opinion, the afflicted accusers did a call-and-response routine in the courtroom. For example, Abigail Williams said Proctor’s specter would attack Sarah Bibber and in response, Bibber would have a fit. Judge Thomas Danforth didn’t see it as stage direction, and Judges John Hathorne and Jonathan Corwin—who had seen the play before—committed Proctor to jail.

Knowing himself innocent of witchcraft, Proctor looked to the judges and the local clergy for help but none was forthcoming. His friends and neighbors attested to John and Elizabeth Proctor’s good characters and Christian faith, petitioning for their release. It didn’t work. John Proctor even wrote to prominent Boston ministers asking that the trials be moved to Boston or at least the judges be replaced. He pleaded to the ministers to attend the trials too, to stop the “shedding of our innocent blood.” Apparently, he received no response.

Written under Duress

No doubt Proctor spent sleepless nights in jail, worrying about his fate and the fate of his loved ones. Despite suffering such injustice, Proctor’s unwavering faith shines through in his last will and testament, written in jail on August 2, 1692, with his brother Joseph Proctor, Philip Fowler, and Thomas Chote serving as witnesses.

While most wills of the 17th century start with a similar preamble, Proctor added artistic flourishes to his letters. He wrote in large script: “In the Name of God Amen!” He used a typical phrase, “of sound mind,” but with added weight that perhaps others were not. He openly declared: “I bequeath my Immortal Soul unto God” and distribute “my Earthly goods which God hath bountifully given me.” Finally, he had the last word.

Having had three wives and numerous children, 60-year-old Proctor divided his estate equitably among the children. In his will, he gave his two eldest sons, Benjamin and John Proctor, all his lands as their shares and then they had to pay their siblings equal portions. In 1695, the total estate was worth £208-0-0, divided by 12 surviving children, leaving £17-6-8 a share. Not factored into the equation and not mentioned in the will was the widow’s one-third dower.

This notable omission suggested that John Proctor expected his wife to hang. After all, the verdict in Elizabeth’s case was guilty, and though she had a short reprieve for her pregnancy, Judge William Stoughton was determined to see that sentence through. None of them anticipated a last-minute reprieve from Governor William Phips. Elizabeth, however, thought her husband was coerced into writing his will without mentioning their prenuptial agreement. She tried to plead her case after the estate was settled. Unfortunately, she was legally dead in the eyes of the law. In 1703, a reversal of attainder allowed her to challenge the courts. But it wasn’t until some of the trial victims and their families were awarded compensation in 1711 that she received her due. She and her deceased husband John Proctor received £150. The records did not show how the money was divided among the large Proctor family, but since Elizabeth’s name was in the decree, she hopefully received half.

A Lasting Legacy

Although Thorndike Proctor did not receive lands from his father John’s will, he decided to follow in his footsteps. He purchased part of the Downing estate where his father had lived, building a house near where the old tavern stood.

In 1724, Thorndike purchased Nicholas Chattwell’s house in Salem. According to Sidney Perley, from this house you could see the hanging of the alleged witches in 1692. His son Thorndike Jr. later purchased the land where the executions happened, at Proctor’s Ledge.

Thanks to the Proctor land purchases, Perley’s clues, and confirmation from the Gallows Hill Project team, today we can visit the place where 19 people were wrongfully hanged for witchcraft.

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Once part of acreage owned by Giles and Martha Corey of Salem Farms (now Peabody), Crystal Lake filled with sediment over time. 

Neglected and overgrown, the property was revitalized through a multi-year project completed in November 2018. The city of Peabody dredged the lake, installed a large fountain, and added two docks, a gazebo, and picnic tables.

The finishing touches were returning the Giles and Martha Corey memorial stones to the park, along with new signage telling their stories. 

Though the location of their burials is unknown, the citizens of Peabody placed two granite markers at the site on September 22, 1992, to commemorate the Coreys and their deaths during the Salem witch trials 300 years before. Thanks to the Peabody Historical Society, the new sign between the two memorials gives details about the couple and the trials they faced. 

Outspoken to a Fault

Giles Corey did not agree to a trial by jury. For his defiance of the court, he “died under the torture of stone weights at age 81” on September 19, 1692. 

During her trial, Martha declared, “I am an innocent person. never had to do with witchcraft since I was born. I am a Gospel woman.” The Court of Oyer and Terminer, however, found her guilty of witchcraft. 

Martha Corey, aged 60, was hanged at Proctor’s Ledge on September 22, 1692. She died with seven other “firebrands of hell.” Their deaths marked the end of the executions.

Crystal Lake is off Lowell Street, near the Big Y Market (637 Lowell St.), in West Peabody, Massachusetts. A bikeway connects Crystal Lake to Peabody’s green spaces. Recreation includes fishing, paddleboats, and canoeing.

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seasonal magazines on Salem witch trialsEvery October it’s inevitable that new publications on the Salem witch trials are published. It’s odd because the witches of our Halloween imaginations have nothing to do with the innocent people hanged in 1692. This time one of the new entries, The Salem Witch Trials: The True Witch Hunt of 1692 and Its Legacy Today, you’ll find tucked between other seasonal special issues on the magazine shelves.

The Time-Life branded magazine covers a broad sweep of history in its 96 pages, from European origins and witch hunts of today to Arthur Miller’s play, The Crucible, and modern witchcraft. Like many ideas designed to make a quick buck, this one is rife with mistakes big and small. To be fair, that’s one of the most difficult problems with telling the Salem story: for more than 300 years, this one event has been cloaked in embarrassment while physical and historical details have been lost. Not having a witch-hunt historian to oversee or edit this project results in all sorts of difficulties.

Let’s hit on the easy mistakes. The trials occurred in Salem, now a city, though the first accusations of witchcraft happened in Salem Village, now known as the town of Danvers. Throughout the magazine, this geographic distinction is so confused that even the House of the Seven Gables is misplaced (94).

While the witch trials did make Salem the epicenter and focus of tourism, it’s not accurate to repeatedly say Salem has “embraced its history.” The city is known for its maritime trade, its literary scene, its unique and Far East-inspired architecture, its influence on education, and so much more, but it’s the dark shadow of the witch trials that not all the Salemites “embrace.” Of course, Salem has a plethora of witch shops and witch-related attractions, which some locals like and others hate—especially in October.

Of English traditions

In the 17th century, Massachusetts Bay Colonists were not exactly “European immigrants.” As an English colony, most people came from England. Plus, English witch hunts were much different from European ones. In Europe, witchcraft was considered heresy, which is why the Catholic Church and the pope-appointed Inquisitors rooted out witches and punished those found guilty by burning them to death. During Queen Mary Tudor’s reign, 1553-1558, English Protestants and other nonconformists who opposed her Catholic rule were charged with heresy and burned to death. However, English witchcraft accusations percolated up from the people to the courts and was a capital offense, punished by hanging (10-29).

Witchcraft and folk magic were very much a part of everyday life (6, 34). Puritans—from Harvard graduates and ministers to farmers, merchants, and sailors—believed in witches. Some were skeptical about the accusations, but notables like Puritan minister Cotton Mather and Judge William Stoughton believed witches were making pacts with the Devil to destroy their communities and take down their churches. Using occult magic (tarot cards, palmistry, dowsing, astrology, predicting the future, etc.) was fraternizing with the Devil to gain goods or knowledge that only God should have, while maleficent witchcraft (like cursing, casting spells, giving the evil eye) used the Devil to harm individuals, animals, crops, and cause other devastations.

Being a Puritan

All Massachusetts Bay people were required to attend church and could be punished if they did not. But only members were allowed to receive communion, baptize their children, and hold positions in the church (and in the government before the 1692 charter). Church membership required evidence of a personal conversion experience that confirmed to themselves that they were “elect” in the eyes of God, followed by the men sharing their conversion experience in front of the congregation, and a vote by members on whether they believed that person was qualified to join the ranks of members. (Women sometimes had church leaders speak for them.)

Each household was required to pay their share of the minister’s annual salary whether they were members or not, Puritan or not (9). Salem Village had three ministers within 16 years, a high turnover rate caused by village conflicts that meant members could not afford to be too picky when ministerial applicants interviewed. That’s why they accepted Samuel Parris, who never finished his Harvard education, had little ministering experience, and lacked the training to unify people. He had the upper hand, driving a hard bargain as far as his salary and demanding that the congregation ordain him as a minister (42).

Individual details

Tituba was a Native American and is referred to as an “Indian” and “servant” throughout the trial records. During the 19th century, revisionists turned her into an African American who practiced voodoo and lured young girls with stories of island life and magic. This unlikely circle of girls didn’t hang out in the Parris kitchen; they had plenty of chores to keep them occupied. Tituba most likely lived in Barbados before coming to Massachusetts, but her testimony is full of English demons and witches, not native beliefs and superstitions (38, 42, 43, 44, 57).

Tituba—and everyone else who falsely confessed to witchcraft—avoided execution not from confessing but because the trials started to wind down before they were tried (45). Judge Stoughton was ready to hang all the confessors. As the accused witches from Andover learned, people who had confessed were still in jail while some who cried innocence were dead. They may have been counting on the advantage of time to reprieve them. Tituba remained in jail because she confessed and was considered guilty. She, and everyone else who was not released on bail, stayed in prison until the general gaol (jail) delivery in spring 1693—which required them to pay their jail fees before being released (51).

Sarah Good and Sarah Osborne were not “condemned … when they refused to confess” (38). The court used spectral evidence, the afflicteds’ reactions to the accused, and the statements of others to convict. Osborne died in jail before her trial, so there was no verdict to execute her.

Sarah Good’s baby girl was born in December 1691, before her incarceration (38). Her 4- or 5-year-old daughter Dorothy Good was charged (not “convicted”) with witchcraft and jailed to await her trial. Her name was not “Dorcas”—a mistake made once and corrected in the trial records—which is not a nickname for Dorothy (46).

Philip and Mary English of Salem were arrested and jailed on charges of witchcraft. After weeks of being in the Boston jail, they escaped (52).

Salem witch trials
Gov. William Phips

Sir William Phips did not know of the witch-hunt crisis before coming to Massachusetts. He arrived to start a new government based on the new charter by William & Mary that curtailed some of the activities that the colonists previously enjoyed. In October 1692, Phips allowed some of the prisoners in jail, mostly children, to be let out on bail, to be recalled at a future date for trial. Prisoners who had been jailed based on spectral evidence still needed to wait for their trials to be held before being judged innocent. Only people whose verdicts were guilty and were sentenced to hang needed to be pardoned by Governor Phips (47, 51).

Ministers were on both sides of the witch trials debate. It was only Judge Nathaniel Saltonstall who “express[ed] doubts about the process” and resigned from the Court of Oyer and Terminer in June 1692. A change of heart did not happen when the new court handled the witch trials cases in January 1693; instead, the judges were told they must disregard all spectral evidence. Besides Judge Samuel Sewall (in 1697), no other judges publicly apologized, though 12 jury members during the witch trials asked pardon of God, of “the living sufferers,” and of “all whom we have justly offended” in Salem (51, 55).

Ann Putnam Jr., one of the major afflicted accusers, sought church membership in 1706 in the Salem Village church, now Danvers (55). She was received into full communion, with the support and guidance of Rev. Joseph Green.

Only the victims and their families who petitioned received financial reparations (55). Most did not. Businessman Philip English, whose goods and fortune were stolen by Sheriff George Corwin, received very little money for all that he lost (55).

Hundreds (maybe even thousands) of writers, “historians, psychologists, and scientists” have spent years trying to understand why the witch hunts happened (57).

History matters

Politicians today misuse the term “witch hunt” not because they are innocent victims but to flip the blame on those who expose the politician’s wrongdoings. Taking a broad look at this political trend is interesting, especially when you have Life photographs to fill the pages. Producing a full-color magazine to grab that short sale at the checkout line seems disingenuous.

Salem is a weighty subject, with layers of inaccurate details that accumulated over the centuries. Even though Salem has the best collection of witch trial records available, it’s hard to separate fact from what we learned in school, The Crucible, TV and film productions, tourist attractions, and modern witchcraft. These details trip up unwary writers and editors who have not spent years studying the witch trials.

Note: I am not pointing out every error I found, nor did I read the accompanying articles (modern witchcraft, The Crucible) in the magazine. This post follows up on an article in the Salem News, “Historians critical of magazine on Salem witch trials” (4 Nov. 2018) for which I was interviewed, along with historian and public speaker Margo Burns and Kelly Daniell, curator for the Peabody Historical Society and Museum.

If you’re looking for one of the most up-to-date and historically accurate read on the Salem witch trials, the best book currently on the market is Emerson W. Baker’s A Storm of Witchcraft (2015).

Note: This article was published in November 2018 and refers to the magazine issue that came out in 2018. I’ve seen the same magazine cover on bookstore shelves since then and I do not know if the latest version has been updated since 2018.

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My Zazzle shop is a complement to the Witches of Massachusetts Bay history and travel website. I wanted it to be different from the stores in Salem, not only because I’m showcasing the WitchesMassBay brand and logo, but because I wanted to create something personal for people who are connected to the past.

After creating the obligatory logo t-shirt (since I need “work shirts”), I designed three mugs: the Historian, the Descendant, and the Author. I liked the concept so much that I included the titles on circle-, square-, and heart-shaped ornaments. And while my shop doesn’t include the rods needed, I imagine using these shapes to create a mobile, with names of ancestors written on the backs—a kinetic family sculpture.

One of the objectives of my website is to make history real and relatable. These 17th-century folks caught up in the witch hunts were ordinary people with flaws, just like you and me. I’m not much of an artist, but I can pick a good quote. Their words still resonate with power and conviction, from Martha Corey saying, “I cannot help people talking about me,” to Rebecca Nurse declaring that “God will clear my innocency.” Just think of the conversation starters when your coffee mug makes such a statement.

One of my favorite lines from the Salem witch trials comes from Tituba—pertinent and impertinent as it is—so I included her words on a t-shirt in my Halloween, etc., collection. Don’t get me wrong: I have a deep connection to the witch trials but I also love Halloween.

The WitchesMassBay shop is a work in progress. (I have so many good quotes to discover!) If you have suggestions, let me know.

Oh, and here’s a Zazzle secret: There are special sale codes every day, whether it’s a sitewide discount or a product type.

Shop WitchesMassBay now.

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Proctor’s Ledge, Salem

If your ancestors lived in Massachusetts Bay Colony during the 17th century, at some point they were affected by the Salem witch trials of 1692. Perhaps they were one of the accused witches, one of the participants (afflicted “girls,” accusers, judges, or jury members), one of the trial attendees, or watched, as Rev. Nicholas Noyes said, the “firebrands of hell hanging there.” Perhaps they were neighbors of the accused or the accusers—or maybe they lived far enough away from the vortex. But, undoubtedly they knew about the events in Salem, whether from experience, word-of-mouth, ministers preaching, or reading various treatises on the subject.

More than 300 years have passed since the witch hunts, and over time, much has been lost, from original court papers to buildings associated with the trials. It’s as if the communal memory was erased, once men such as Rev. Cotton Mather and Robert Calef wrote their books. In the 19th century, after Salem’s maritime fortunes were on the wane, writers such as Nathaniel Hawthorne and Charles W. Upham returned to the theme of witchcraft. Since then, many theories have been proposed of what really did happen in the Massachusetts Bay Colony to cause more than 150 people to be imprisoned for witchcraft—and the answers still elude us today.

A Discovery of Witches

Although we’ve lost much through the passage of time, we’ve also heard, seen, or read many things that are not true—from Salem tourist attractions, popular media, and even scholars—about the witch hunts of 1692. So let’s clear up 10 misconceptions.

  • No accused witches in Colonial America were burned at the stake. Witchcraft was a capital offense, which meant death by hanging. In continental Europe, witchcraft was heresy against the church and punishable by burning at the stake.
  • What is now called Gallows Hill in Salem is not where the accused witches were hanged. In early 2016, the Gallows Hill Project team verified conclusions made by early 20th-century historian Sidney Perley that the victims were hanged at Proctor’s Ledge, on the lower slope of Gallows Hill bounded by Proctor and Pope streets. In 2017, a memorial was created and dedicated at that location.
  • Judge Jonathan Corwin’s house, now called the Witch House, is billed as “the only structure in Salem with direct ties to the witchcraft trials of 1692.” Yes, the wealthy judge lived there, but were any of the accused witches brought there? Probably not.
  • Salem is considered the epicenter of the 1692 witch hunt. However, the first accusations were from “afflicted” girls in Salem Village, now the town of Danvers. The witch hunt spread to other towns, most notably Andover. Salem is where the Court of Oyer and Terminer tried people accused of witchcraft and where the 20 victims were executed. The accused were jailed not only in Salem but in such places as Boston and Ipswich.
  • The “afflicted accusers” were not all girls. Nine-year-old Betty Parris and her 11-year-old cousin Abigail Williams were the first to have strange fits. However, their “affliction” spread to the young and old, men as well as women and children.
  • Old, poor widows were not the only ones accused of witchcraft. People jailed for witchcraft in 1692 range in age from 4 years old to in their 80s, both male and female. Some were poor, some were wealthy. The first three people arrested for witchcraft were 38-year-old beggar Sarah Good; sickly 50-year-old Sarah Osborne; and Rev. Samuel Parris’ Indian servant Tituba. Sarah Good was hanged, Sarah Osborne died in jail, and Tituba, who pleaded guilty, survived.
  • Though Upham and many other writers claim Tituba told stories of voodoo and the Devil to impressionable young girls, starting the witch hunt, no contemporary accounts point fingers at Rev. Parris’ Indian servant. Images from the trials are of witches on broomsticks, witches with animal familiars (a yellow bird was rather popular), witches signing the Devil’s book in blood, heretical baptisms and communions—all centuries-old Western European themes, not voodoo. In the Danvers church records, Rev. Parris believed the “diabolical means” of making the witch cake “unleashed the witchcraft in the community.”
  • Bridget Bishop, one of the most notorious accused witches and the first to hang, was not the rowdy tavern keeper as often portrayed. In 1981, David L. Greene, editor of The American Genealogist, proved how Bridget Bishop of Salem Town and Sarah Bishop of Salem Village were conflated into one person. Both were married to men named Edward Bishop.
  • The youngest victim, Dorothy Good, is mistakenly called “Dorcas” in many books about the Salem witch trials. Dorcas is the name Judge John Hathorne wrote on her original arrest warrant, though he wrote Dorothy on subsequent records. (The name Dorcas is not a nickname for Dorothy.) According to William Good, his daughter Dorothy, “a child of 4 or 5 years old, was in prison seven or eight months and 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” (petition for compensation, Salem, 13 September 1710).
  • Although the last executions for witchcraft occurred on 22 September 1692, there were more trials and even some guilty convictions. In March 1693, four weeks after she was found not guilty of witchcraft, Lydia Dustin died in prison because her family could not pay her jail fees.

The more you learn about the 1692 witch hunts in the Massachusetts Bay Colony, the better you can understand the times and trials your ancestors lived through.

By Posted on Posted in History, Tours & Sightseeing Tagged with , ,

In 1892, Salem—which basked in its architectural splendor, its rich maritime history, and its scientific and educational pursuits—wanted to bury its dark past. But as the 200th anniversary of the Salem Witch Trials approached, publishers and businessmen stirred up the pot by producing newspaper articles, travelogues, books, pamphlets, photographic prints, and even witch spoons. Taking advantage of the renewed interest, many of these printed items relied on town histories, Charles W. Upham’s Salem Witchcraft (Vol. 1 and Vol. 2), Nathaniel Hawthorne’s fiction, and unsubstantiated traditions.

One such book, Witchcraft Illustrated, Witchcraft to be Understood: Facts, Theories and Incidents with a Glance at Old and New Salem and its Historical Resources, includes images of Salem and Danvers interspersed between stories of witchcraft near and far. One curious photograph, identified as “The House Where Witchcraft Started, Now Danvers, Mass.,” also appears on Wikipedia and Find a Grave, but not in the many witch-hunt history books that have been published. The photo caption clearly is referring to the parsonage, home of Reverend Samuel Parris (1653-1720) when his daughter Betty Parris and niece Abigail Williams showed symptoms of being “under an Evil hand” in 1692. This same photo is featured on postcards captioned “the Old Parris House,” of which a colorized version, available at CardCow.com, is postmarked 1914.

1734 parsonage addition
from Henrietta D. Kimball’s Witchcraft Illustrated

What a find! But, wait. If this is “the parsonage in Salem Village as photographed in the late 19th century” (as labeled on Wikipedia), why didn’t historians include the image in their books?

The Parsonage

The first minister of Salem Village, Rev. James Bayley (1650-1707), kept his own house, though the village promised a few times to build a parsonage. It wasn’t completed until after the second minister, George Burroughs (1650-1692), arrived, for in February 1681, the town voted: “We will Build a House for the Ministry and provid convenient Land For that end: the Dementions of the House are as followeth: 42 foot long twenty foot Broad: thirteen foot stude: fouer chimleis no gable ends” (“Salem Village Book of Records 1672-1697,” SWP No. d1e711).

According to the plaque at the parsonage site, “The house faced south and included a half-cellar on its west side which was composed of dry-laid fieldstones, and which was entered by means of a stairway from the porch (front entry). The east side of the house did not include a cellar, the house sills resting on ground stones. The first floor consisted of two rooms separated by the front entry and a massive brick chimney structure. Two bed chambers were located on the second floor. Each of the house’s four rooms included a fireplace. By 1692 a saltbox lean-to was attached to the rear of the house, and used as a kitchen.”

Addition and Demolition

list of Salem Village ministersRev. Peter Clark (1696-1768), who served as the Salem Village minister from 1717 to 1768, had the town build an addition to the original building. In January 1734, “it was then voted that ‘we will demollesh all ye Lenture behind ye parsonage house, and will build a new house of three and twenty feet long and eighteen feet broad and fifteen feet stud with a seller [cellar] under it and set it behind the west room of our parsonage house.’ This new addition was two and one-half stories high, included a side door which faced the west and a roof which ran perpendicular to the 1681 parsonage. The cellar foundation was composed of cut and faced stones and included a jog for a chimney” (from 1734 Addition marker).

Over the ensuing decades, the parsonage continued its decline, but the townspeople could not afford to build a new parsonage nor repair the old one. In 1784, Rev. Benjamin Wadsworth (1750-1826) was given “an acre of land, bordering upon the road, for a house-lot. And upon this lot, the bounds of which may now be traced, he built for himself, about twenty rods west of the old site, the spacious house which is still standing” (Proceedings at the Celebration of the Two Hundredth Anniversary of the First Parish at Salem Village: Now Danvers, October 8, 1872, p. 91). Afterwards, the original 1681 parsonage was demolished and the 1734 addition was moved to Sylvan Street.

By 1872, Charles Baker Rice describes the 1734 addition on Sylvan Street “in a condition next to ruinous, and occupied by hay, squashes, old barrels, and pigs” (p. 91). Rice continues, “It will thus be seen that this building, contrary to the report that has had some currency, was not in reality any part of the original parsonage, and was never occupied by Mr. Parris or any of his witches. It was not in existence until nearly forty years after he had left the place; and it has no other flavor of witchcraft upon it than what it may have absorbed in standing for half a century in contact with the older and once infected building” (p. 92).

Righting a Wrong

sign for Samuel Parris archaeological siteIn his footnote, Rice refers to mistakes in J.W. Hanson’s History of the Town of Danvers, from its Early Settlement to 1848 (a sketch on p. 276) and John W. Proctor’s Centennial Celebration at Danvers, Mass., June 16, 1852 (on p. 13). Rice says: “Mr. Hanson has given, in his history, a view of the building now standing as of ‘a portion of the old Parris house.’ John W. Proctor also was misled in the same manner, though he speaks less confidently, and only as from report. But the measurements are conclusive. The present building corresponds to the dimensions of the addition of 1734, while it bears no likeness to the original house of 1681, or to any practicable section of it. The difference in height to the plates, for one item, is three feet. Due inquiry would have shown, too, that the more trustworthy tradition does not identify the buildings; while the fact of the removal of the present structure from the old site will readily account for the mistaken notion of some concerning it” (p. 92).

Richard B. Trask, town archivist at the Danvers Archival Center, also says the 1734 addition moved to Sylvan Street “acquired an incorrect but much touted witchcraft connection during the 19th century” (Postcard History Series: Danvers, p. 20). That mistaken belief persisted long after the 1734 addition was torn down in the 1870s, and now has cropped up again, thanks to digital reproductions of the photo, postcards, and old books.

Recovering the Past

1681 Salem Village parsonage site

In time, the parsonage cellar hole filled in and by 1898 only “a rough stone on the slight elevation in the field off the street…helps to identify the place where the Parris house stood,” Edwin Monroe Bacon writes in Historic Pilgrimages in New England. After all, he explains, “Upham says there was a ‘general desire to obliterate the memory of the calamity’” (p. 178).

The place where the witchcraft outbreak started was almost lost to history until 1970, when Trask, then a history student, asked the property owners about excavating the land. Today, visitors can see the stone outline of the original parsonage, with a few interpretive markers adding context. Artifacts from the archaeological dig are located at the Danvers Archival Center.

Thanks to Pie Ball and others who replied on my Facebook page, for helping me resolve this photo identification—once again.

Originally published on my Genealogy Ink website 31 May 2015.

By Posted on Posted in History, Tours & Sightseeing Tagged with , , ,

Perley 1700 map Bridget Bishop lot shown in yellow
On Perley’s map, Bridget Bishop’s lot highlighted in yellow

As mentioned in a previous blog post, Which Bishop? The one who got away, Sarah (Wildes) Bishop and her husband Edward ran an unlicensed tavern in Salem Village near the Beverly line. Bridget Bishop, wife of Edward the sawyer, lived in Salem Town. Unfortunately, during the Salem witch trials, some afflicted accusers mistook one Goody Bishop for the other, heaping more accusations on one than she deserved. In 1981, David L. Greene solved the problem of mistaken identities in The American Genealogist (157:130), though people today continue to mix up the Bishop women’s lives.

Bridget Bishop lived in Salem Town

Sidney Perley’s “Salem in 1700” series mentioned past and post-1700 owners of property, including Thomas Oliver who married the widow Bridget (Playfer) Wasselbe in 1666:

“Benjamin Ropes House. Thomas Oliver owned this lot and the small house upon it as early as 1661. He died possessed of the estate in 1679. It was then appraised at 45 pounds. His widow Bridget Oliver continued to live there until 1681, and married Edward Bishop, being hanged as a witch in 1692. In the distribution of Mr. Oliver’s estate, in 1693, this house and lot were assigned to his grandson Job Hilliard of Boston, cordwainer, it being valued at that time at 38 pounds. Mr. Hilliard, for 65 pounds, conveyed the house and lot to Benjamin Ropes of Salem, cordwainer, January. 22, 1694/5” (Essex Antiquarian, 8:35-36).

After the death of her second husband, Bridget was granted administration on the Oliver estate on 24 June 1679. Instead of receiving the typical widow’s third, Bridget was ordered to pay 20 shillings each to two stepsons and her daughter. In return, the court gave “the estate to be for the use of the widow … and to have liberty to sell the 10-acre lot by advice of the selectmen of Salem, towards paying the debts and her present supply, and as need be, any other part of the estate” (Early Probate Records, 1635-1681, 3:319).

“Good fences make good neighbors”

Burdened with her dead husband’s debts, Bridget was in dire straits. Fortunately, in January 1679/1680, the selectmen allowed her to sell 10 acres of Salem land in the north field to John Blevin for 45 pounds (Essex deeds book, 5:274-276). In June 1681, she sold a narrow strip of land to schoolmaster Daniel Epes. It’s described as about two poles wide bounded by the street on the west (now Washington Street), with the length being the border between Epes’ land on the north and Oliver land on the south. In return, Bridget received 35 shillings in hand, plus a newly built fence 8 poles long and 5 feet high dividing the two properties—installed and paid for by Epes. This parcel, “lying on the back side of her house,” eventually became Church Street (Essex deeds book, 6:352-355).

Sometime after this date, Bridget married Edward Bishop. Contrary to Perley’s comment above, Bridget did not move out in 1681. The 1679 probate gave her rights to the Oliver estate until her death, not until remarriage. Edward, who had no property to call his own, moved into the Oliver house. According to Marilynne K. Roach, about 1685 Bridget and Edward Bishop built a second house on the Oliver lot (American Ancestors magazine, 14.4:45-47). As a sawyer (literally, someone who saws wood), it’s likely Edward used lumber from the old Oliver house to build the new structure.

Following the evidence

After the Bishop home was completed, John Bly Sr. was hired to tear down the cellar wall of the old Oliver house. In testimony given at Bridget’s witch trial in 1692, Bly claimed during demolition 7 years before, he found several poppets made with rags and hog bristles with headless pins stuck in them in the cellar wall.

John Louder also testified that 7 or 8 years prior, when he was living with John Gedney Sr. (d. 1688), owner of the Ship Tavern, the Gedneys were having troubles with Bridget Bishop’s fowl escaping her property. One night, Louder experienced sleep paralysis, and in his hallucinations, he thought it was Bridget sitting on his stomach and choking him. The next day, he and Mistress Susannah Gedney were in their orchard when Susannah confronted Bridget—in the next adjoining orchard—about her supposed nighttime travels.

Another time, Louder opened Gedney’s back door and walked toward the house end when he spied Bridget in her orchard going toward her house. In fear, he froze in place, unable to move, and saw the devilish shapeshifting creature he’d seen before fly over the apple trees. He claimed he was struck dumb for three days afterward. At her trial, Bridget denied knowing Louder but admitted having some differences with the Gedneys before, whose orchard adjoined hers (Records of the Salem Witch-Hunt, pp. 368-371).

Placing Bridget on the map

From probate records and trial testimony, we know Bridget’s second home was situated near the town house, with her garden “by the northwest corner of her house” and orchard bordering the former John Gedney Sr. property (shown on Perley’s 1700 map as estate of Deliverance Parkman). Today, a bank building at 71 Washington Street is the approximate site of the Bishop house while the old Lyceum Hall at 43 Church Street covers land previously occupied by Bridget’s orchard.

Bridget’s trial for witchcraft in 1692 was held in the town house only steps from her home. One block in the opposite direction and a few blocks north stood the old wooden 1684 jail (now corner of Federal and St. Peter streets), from which Bridget was carted to Proctor’s Ledge (7 Pope Street) and unjustly hanged for witchcraft on 10 June 1692.

A month after Bridget’s death, Job Hilliard was appointed administrator of his grandfather Thomas Oliver’s estate. In August 1693, the Oliver lot with orchard and garden was appraised for 20 pounds, and the house on it at 18 pounds (Essex Probate #20009).

FOR SALE: “A dwelling house, orchards, and garden containing about three-quarters of an acre of land butted and bounded as followeth: on the land of Mr. Daniel Epes northerly, on the land of John Preist easterly, on the land of Coles. Gedney & John Ropes southerly, & on the lane or Towne House street westerly, to have and to hold the said dwelling house & grounds together with all the trees, fences, ways, easements, waters, water courses, & all the privileges and appurtenances hereunto.”

After selling the property to Benjamin Ropes, Hilliard paid 9 pounds to widower Edward Bishop for building the house on the Oliver lot (Essex deeds, 10:112). According to Perley, Bridget’s house was torn down by 1768.

Special thanks to Emerson W. Baker, author of A Storm of Witchcraft. During lunch at History Camp Boston 2018, he drew a map for me showing Bridget’s orchard adjoining Gedney’s property, then wiped his mouth with the napkin before I could grab it.

By Posted on Posted in Research Tagged with ,

stacks, not PEM’s though

In 1799, Salem ship captains created a research library that—over 200 years and numerous mergers later—became the world-renowned Phillips Library of the Peabody Essex Museum. For many years, the collection had its home in the stately Plummer Hall on Essex Street in downtown Salem, in the architecturally rich, cultured atmosphere of the Saltonstall reading room, surrounded with bookshelves and ship models.

Over the last 20 years, the reading room closed for long stretches of time for building restoration and renovations, including climate control, modern archival storage, and digital cataloging of the collections. After numerous promises to return the Phillips Library Collections to its longtime home in the 1850s building, PEM abruptly announced in December 2017 that the 400,000 books and 5,500 linear feet of manuscripts were moving permanently to a recently purchased and retrofitted warehouse in Rowley.

In late June 2018, the PEM Collection Center opened at 306 Newburyport Turnpike in Rowley. Much of the warehouse’s 120,000 square feet is storage for 1.8 million museum pieces that are not on exhibit at the museum. Still under construction are the conservation lab, digitization space, a photography studio, and curatorial and research areas.

Hundreds of 12-foot-tall shelves in Room 156 hold the treasures from the Phillips Library, including a rare book section, with room to grow. The stacks are not open for researchers to browse through the book spines (something I truly enjoy doing because I often have aha! research moments that way). However, for the first time in years, the collection is accessible.

Like many special libraries and archives, PEM’s research library has rules to abide by. There are storage lockers for your bags, coats, and pens. Inside, though, you’re welcome to use your laptop computer, the guest Wi-Fi account, and your phone for taking pictures of documents. While the space lacks the beauty of the reading room in Salem, it’s functional and modern despite a shortage of electrical outlets.

What’s available

Let’s start with the mergers first. You’ll find collections from the East India Marine Society (founded 1799); the Essex Historical Society (1821) and Essex County Natural History Society (1833), which formed the revered Essex Institute in 1848; the Peabody Academy of Science (1868), which changed its name to the Peabody Museum of Salem in 1915; materials on art, culture, and exhibitions of the Peabody Essex Museum (1992); and collections from smaller institutions.

Much of the collections were donated by individuals, families, societies, businesses, and institutions with connections to Salem and surrounding towns, particularly Essex county. Since PEM was created by the 1992 merger of the Essex Institute and the Peabody Museum of Salem, subjects cover a broad swath of knowledge, from literary, historical, genealogical, and cultural interests to artistic, architectural, maritime, and scientific pursuits.

Among the books, manuscripts, diaries, photographs, account books, maps, ship logbooks, and printed ephemera, you find original Salem witch trial documents, Winthrop family papers, Nathaniel Hawthorne first editions, Essex county histories, business papers by Philip English and the Touzel family, vital records from Massachusetts towns, Puritan sermons, and shipping reports.

Visiting the collections onsite and online

Salem’s PEM research library at Rowley is free and open to the public. Check hours before you go. (And make sure your GPS sends you to Rowley. The entrance is about half a mile from the Agawam Diner.)

https://www.pem.org/visit/library-02/visiting-the-reading-room

PhilCat searchable catalog

http://pem-voyager.hosted.exlibrisgroup.com/vwebv/searchBasic

Manuscript finding aids

https://pem.as.atlas-sys.com/

Digital collections

https://www.pem.org/visit/library-02/online-collections

Salem witch trial records

https://pem.quartexcollections.com/collections/salem-witch-trials-collection/salem-witch-trials-documents

See also:

Collection center for artifacts from Peabody Essex unveiled (Salem News)

Mission impossible: The great collection move of 2018 (PEM)

Peabody Essex Museum’s Phillips Library collections: a timeline from 1799 to 2018