Category: History

Indictment v. Candy for afflicting Mary Walcott

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A conversation between Tony Fels and Margo Burns about the confessions during the Salem witch trials. Read the original post, part 1, and part 2.

Tony Fels responds.

Margo, I’m afraid you have posited a straw argument concerning the confessors in order to knock it down. No serious historian of the Salem witch hunt believes that the confessors thought that, in confessing, they had obtained a “get out of jail free card” or had “caught on to the deal” about how to handle the witchcraft interrogators. Nor would any serious historian contend that simply because no suspect who confessed was executed, that this fact alone meant the authorities had decided on a policy to spare those suspects’ lives. Indeed, we know that the witchcraft court convicted five confessed suspects (leaving aside Samuel Wardwell, who recanted his confession) at the court’s fourth and last session in mid-September. These individuals might have met their deaths if events had turned out differently.

The whole Salem witch hunt process was a terrifying ordeal that unfolded without any certain outcome. As you point out, confession was nothing anyone would take lightly, since the last person who had confessed to witchcraft, Goody Glover in Boston just four years earlier, had been put to death for the crime. For strictly religious reasons alone, no pious Puritan—and nearly all of the adult confessors could be classified as such—would have casually acknowledged such terrible acts of blasphemy in their own behavior. And yet, of the 150 or so accused in the Salem witch hunt, roughly one-third of these suspects confessed to the crime, and none of these confessors was ultimately executed. Plenty of evidence, much of which is included in your own 2012 article (“‘Other Ways of Undue Force and Fright’: The Coercion of False Confessions by the Salem Magistrates,” Studia Neophilologica 84: 24-39), suggests why this outcome was not purely coincidental: confessing increased one’s chances of survival.

I agree with you that such a likelihood could not have been discerned before the trials themselves got underway with the court’s first session on June 2-3. Eight people had confessed by this point (Tituba, Dorothy Good, Abigail Hobbs, Deliverance Hobbs, Mary Warren, Sarah Churchill, Margaret Jacobs, and Rebecca Jacobs). In your post, you mention 11 confessors before the first trial, but I’ve never seen the names of the three additional people you are referring to. You know the examination and related records better than I do, and these additional names may have surfaced since the publication of your own article. But just focusing on these eight, while one (Good) was a young child and two (Warren and Churchill) quickly recanted their confessions, the other five were all people who could have been selected to be tried at the court’s first session (June 2-3) or its second session (June 28–July 2), but none was. Instead, one non-confessing suspect (Bridget Bishop) was tried and convicted at the first session and on June 10 hanged, followed by five non-confessing suspects (Sarah Good, Susannah Martin, Rebecca Nurse, Elizabeth How, and Sarah Wilds) tried and convicted at the second session and hanged on July 19. At this point (roughly mid-July; there were no confessions in June) it seems possible to imagine that some of the remaining suspects and others still to be named might have begun to see an advantage to confessing.

One (the Salem slave Candy) did so on July 4, followed by five people (Ann Foster on July 15, and then Mary Lacey Sr., Mary Lacey Jr., Richard Carrier, and Andrew Carrier, all on July 21-22), all from Andover, the town to which the witch hunt had by now spread. These latter five were all linked to Martha (Allen) Carrier, an Andover woman strongly suspected of witchcraft by many of her neighbors and who had been accused and arrested at the end of May. It is reasonable to believe, though we have no direct evidence to this effect, that all five, which included two of Carrier’s children, confessed in the hope that their confessions might insulate them from sharing in what appeared to be the impending fate of Martha Carrier. The non-confessing Carrier was indeed tried first at the court’s third session (August 2-5) and was hanged along with the session’s four male convicted suspects, all also non-confessors (John Willard, George Jacobs Sr., John Procter, and George Burroughs) on August 19.

The approach and aftermath of the court’s third session opened a floodgate of further confessions coming from Andover or Andover-related suspects: two more relatives of Martha Carrier on July 23 (niece Martha Emerson) and July 30 (sister Mary Allen Toothaker); a middle-aged woman (Mary Bridges Sr.) on July 30 and her five daughters on August 3 (Mary Post) and August 25 (Mary Bridges Jr., Sarah Bridges, Susannah Post, and Hannah Post); two more of Martha Carrier’s children (Sarah and Thomas) on August 11; Rebecca Eames on August 19; and at least seven more Andover individuals (Elizabeth Johnson Jr., Mary Barker, William Barker Sr., Mary Marston, Elizabeth Johnson Sr., Abigail Johnson, and Abigail Dane Faulkner) by the end of the month. September brought perhaps another 22 confessions along with the court’s fourth session (September 6-17), during which some of the first confessing suspects (Abigail Hobbs, Ann Foster, Mary Lacey Sr., Rebecca Eames, and Abigail Dane Faulkner) were convicted based either on their guilty pleas or by a jury’s decision after a trial. Still, even these convicted confessing suspects avoided execution on September 22, on which date eight more convicted non-confessors (Martha Cory, Mary Esty, Alice Parker, Ann Pudeator, Margaret Scott, Wilmot Redd, Mary Parker, and Samuel Wardwell) were hanged.

(I have checked all of the above names and dates with the authoritative Records of the Salem Witch-Hunt, ed. Bernard Rosenthal, Margo Burns, et al., 2009. The same information may be found in Margo’s article, referenced above. Most historians, including Margo, seem to use Thomas Brattle’s assertion, written on October 8, 1692, that there were 55 confessors among the accused. Nobody, so far as I know, has published a complete list of these names. Based on data found in Records, I include Abigail Dane Faulkner among the August confessors. When she, along with Elizabeth Johnson Sr., and Abigail Johnson, are added to the other August confessors, the total for that month reaches 15, not 12, as noted in Margo’s Table 2 on p. 26 of her article. If 55 is the correct total for the overall number of confessors, then 22 additional suspects must have confessed in September.)

Why did all these individuals confess to crimes we know now they had never committed? We cannot expect the suspects themselves to have explained their motives at the time, because a confession by definition offered an admission of guilt. To the examiners and their surrounding communities, these people acknowledged they had entered into a pact with the Devil to hurt others through witchcraft. In your own article on the subject, Margo, you have emphasized the role played by judicial intimidation, which included everything from intense questioning and incarceration under harsh conditions to the occasional use of physical torture. This is undoubtedly a part of the story. For myself, I would emphasize the role played by guilt for these highly religious people. Under the frenzied conditions of a witch hunt, it was not hard for many of them to imagine that in some way or other they had allowed Satan to enter into their lives by wishing someone harm or hoping to gain personal advantage in some way that the Puritan community frowned upon. There is explicit evidence of this motivation in the confessions of Abigail Hobbs, Margaret Jacobs, Abigail Dane Faulkner, and others.

But confession also carried the hope that the Puritan belief in public repentance might take precedence over the Biblical injunction to “not suffer a witch to live.” Most confessions, beginning with Tituba’s, included anguished portions in which blame was shifted to someone else, typically to suspects who had previously been named. Confessors claimed that these other persons—for example, Sarah Good and Sarah Osburn for Tituba, Martha Carrier for many of the Andover confessors, George Burroughs for nearly all of them—had forced them to carry out the Devil’s wishes. In so doing, they likely hoped to elicit some sympathy for their plight as victims. Family members and friends also played key roles in exerting pressure on suspects to confess, believing that this might be the only way to save their lives. Andover resident Mary Tyler’s brother insisted repeatedly that she do so, both because he thought she must be a witch if so many people had said so and also because “she would be hang’d, if she did not confesse.” A petition submitted in January 1693, urging the newly reconstituted court to ignore the confessions made earlier by some of the Andover suspects, acknowledged the same motivation when it stated, “Confessing was the only way to obtain favor, [and] might be too powerful a temptation for timorous women to withstand, in the hurry and distraction that we have heard they were then in.” That these desperate strategies probably worked to some degree is suggested by the facts that it took until the witchcraft court’s fourth session before any of the confessing suspects were brought to trial, and that when the first group of confessors were finally convicted, this step seems to have been forced on the justices, who were coming under criticism for apparent hypocrisy in overlooking such “obviously” guilty suspects in favor of going after only those who had forthrightly proclaimed their innocence. Even after their conviction, these confessed suspects were still shown a final, and, as it turned out, decisive bit of leniency in receiving temporary stays of sentencing or execution, which Thomas Brattle stated, “for two or three [of them] because they are confessours.” (Abigail Faulkner received a stay of execution by reason of her pregnancy, and Dorcas Hoar, convicted during the same fourth session of the court, also received an unusual stay of execution following her confession just after her sentencing.)

Confession also had a larger impact on the overall course of the witch hunt. From Tituba’s admission of guilt at its start all the way up through the first group of Andover confessors in mid-July, confessions gave credence to the accusations of witchcraft and accelerated the drive to uncover more witches in the communities. Only toward the witch hunt’s end did the sheer number of confessions serve to undermine the credibility of the charges and help bring the panic to a close.

As I see it, the crux of the dispute between you, Margo, and me, lies, as with so many of the controversies generated by the study of the Salem witch hunt, in the question of where blame should be placed. In rejecting what you see as a “nice [but fictitious] story” that draws a moral distinction between those suspects who went to their deaths upholding the truth that they were not witches and those suspects who confessed to crimes they had not committed, you appear to want to concentrate all of the blame for the witch hunt on the Puritan judicial establishment, making sure that nobody gets distracted into thinking that confessors bear at least part of the blame. Hence your emphasis as well on the coerced nature of these confessions. There really was no meaningful choice for a suspect to make, you assert, since all were headed for execution anyway. Confessors did no greater harm than truth-tellers at Salem.

But the Salem magistrates, it’s worth remembering, were not autocrats but elected officials. The Puritan colony of Massachusetts, from top to bottom, fully supported the witch hunt when it was at its height, and even after the English-appointed governor in early October had abolished the first witchcraft court (which the Massachusetts House of Representatives endorsed only in a very close vote of 33-29), it took years for most residents to recognize that a serious miscarriage of justice had been done. In 1695, three years after the witch hunt’s end, a majority of Salem villagers could still sign a petition in support of Rev. Samuel Parris, perhaps the chief instigator of the panic.

In my view, the colony as a whole bears the lion’s share of the blame for the witch hunt, chiefly because of the extremism of its religious views, which lent themselves to picturing the world as a Manichean struggle between Christ and Satan, good and evil. In this context, the determination of thoroughly average people like Rebecca Nurse, Martha Carrier, and George Jacobs Sr. to tell the truth about themselves at all costs—itself one of the great virtues taught by Puritanism—may be seen as genuinely heroic, because it was the accumulated truth-telling of those 20 martyred individuals that did more than anything else to put an end to the catastrophe Massachusetts had brought on itself. The confessors, too, ironically testified to the great power of telling the truth, because when they later recanted their confessions after the witch hunt was over, the aspect of their behavior that they regretted most was that they had “belied themselves” before God.

Continue to Part 4.

Tony Fels is Professor Emeritus of History at the University of San Francisco, where he taught for 29 years. At USF he taught, among other courses, American religious history and historical methods, the latter of which centered on the historiography of the Salem witch hunt. His book, Switching Sides: How a Generation of Historians Lost Sympathy for the Victims of the Salem Witch Hunt, was reviewed on Witches of Massachusetts Bay. For more about Tony Fels, go to https://www.tonyfels.com.

Ann Foster examination, 1692

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A conversation between Tony Fels and Margo Burns about the confessions during the Salem witch trials. Read the original post and part 1.

Margo Burns responds.

Tony, respectfully, it’s necessary to look at the historical data more closely—per case and on a timeline—before making claims about patterns that may have been discernable by the accused at the time they were accused. It’s simply not possible that the 11 people who confessed between February and May could have discerned any “pattern” about how their cases would be handled and made choices to confess. The magistrates easily forced confessions out of these people, people who were vulnerable and easily manipulated to say anything the authorities demanded of them—youths, people with low social status, or with some mental defect. And hardly people who were looking at some “big picture” or as some kind of “legal strategy.” No one knew anything about the plans or timing for prosecution anyway, or for certain who the Crown’s attorney or Chief Magistrate would be. At that point, June 2, over 70 people were in custody and 11 had confessed. Before then no one could have thought that confession might be some kind of get out of jail free card, especially considering that in the most recent witchcraft case in Boston, just three years earlier, with Stoughton on that bench. Goody Glover confessed and was hanged. Why would they think it would be different for them?

The first mittimus, in late May, to bring accused people back to Salem from jail in Boston for trial comprised a list of eight people who would ultimately put on trial that summer, plus Tituba, a confessor. While Tituba was the only one not tried that summer, she completely disappears from the legal record until she pops up again a whole year later to have her case dismissed. There is no way to figure out why. She is not part of any of the trials, including Sarah Good’s, for which she should have been a prime witness but she’s not there. The second best convictive standard as evidence in a witchcraft case was the testimony of a confessed witch—so why wasn’t Tituba called as a witness? By mid-July, this is all anyone knew about how things were going to unfold. A single data point, Tituba, does not make a pattern, and she wasn’t used as a witness against anyone.

By late June, before the court hanged 5 more people, the first prosecutor left, and frankly, a lot of things were up in the air about how the following cases would be handled. Ann Foster was interrogated five separate times in mid-July to produce a pretty amazing confession. How could she have concluded anything except that the authorities demanded a confession from her and would not stop until she had? And so she did. That is the purpose of interrogation: to elicit a confession to make prosecution easier. It’s hard to argue with evidence of someone speaking against their own self-interest. Before the Court had even convened in early June, only those 11 people had confessed. ALL the rest of the confessions, 43 of them, starting with Ann Foster’s, came from Andover residents or those who lived near enough to attend the church in Andover or were part of a family from Andover. You’d think that if there was a pattern to be discerned, people in other towns would have figured it out, too, to save themselves. Maybe you’d have some people who were already being prosecuted who would have caught on to the “deal” and recanted their claims to innocence at trial and thrown themselves on the mercy of the court, but no one did.

It’s also important to look at the recantations from several fully covenanted members of the Andover church who confessed in August under pressure and immediately recanted when the interrogations ended. Why would they recant? None of them claimed they’d confessed because they knew it would help them in any way, despite what they may have been told during the interrogations. For the rest of that summer, the interrogators used high-pressure interrogation tactics to coerce false confessions. The case of Samuel Wardwell in September is telling. He was the first confessor to be tried, and was hanged. When the time came for him to acknowledge his confession, he refused. He had discerned a pattern: everyone who was indicted end up being hanged. He knew that it didn’t matter if he confessed or not, and he knew his confession had been coerced. The court was going to hang him either way, so he recanted it.

In September, Dorcas Hoar possibly made a legal last-ditch effort to get some extra time before certain execution by confessing after she was sentenced. She probably did see that the four confessors sentenced to die got temporary stays, but it seems really unlikely that she was in a position to leverage four ministers to come to her aid to close the deal, unless it was in their best interest somehow, perhaps to show that it was still possible to save one’s soul.

I appreciate your effort to make the people who were executed “noble” for not confessing, but it’s revisionist history.

Continue to Part 3.

Margo Burns is the associate editor and project manager of Records of the Salem Witch-Hunt (Cambridge University Press, 2009), the most complete compendium of the trial documents. She’s been the expert featured on several Who Do You Think You Are? TV episodes and regularly speaks on the Salem witch trials at History Camp, historical societies, and libraries. Check out her 17th-Century Colonial New England website.

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Tituba's testimony, 1692

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After publishing “Traditional Understanding Overshadows Academic Explanations at Rebecca Nurse Commemoration” by Tony Fels, a fascinating discussion ensued in the Comments section between Tony Fels and Margo Burns. Since readers often skip the Comments section, I wanted to share this important conversation about the meaning of the Salem confessions. As Tony put it, “The Salem witch hunt is one of those subjects that simply crosses the boundaries between what interests academics and what interests the general public. We’re all involved in its meaning simply as people, as evidenced again and again by events like the 400th anniversary of Rebecca Nurse’s birthday.”

Margo Burns responds to original post:

Something that I can’t get through to people, both those who adhere to the traditional understanding as well as academic explanations, is that the notion that confession somehow spared people is simply not accurate. Just because no confessors were hanged does not mean it was the intention of the Court to spare confessors—that’s a historian’s fallacy. The Chief Magistrate wrote a warrant for the execution for several confessors in January, but they and the rest of the people sentenced to die then were all spared by the Governor.

Confession was the gold standard of convictive evidence in witchcraft cases in that era, mentioned in all the contemporary books about witchcraft, and it was not controversial legally the way spectral evidence was. The belief that a confession, even a false one, could spare one from being hanged in 1692 makes it easier to then cast those who were executed as martyrs. They had a way to save themselves but they refused to tell a lie even though it would save them from hanging. So noble! It’s a nice story, but it is not based on historical facts.

Tony Fels responds:

I can’t agree with Margo Burns on this point. She’s technically correct: Confession was the best of all evidence of witchcraft, and those who confessed would have had no assurance that they would not ultimately be hanged for the crime. Indeed, six confessors were convicted by the first witchcraft court and three later on by the second court. But all those trials and convictions occurred late in the witch hunt (mid-September 1692 and then January 1693).

Meanwhile, Tituba had confessed back in March 1692, followed by Abigail Hobbs in mid-April, Deliverance Hobbs a couple days later, Margaret Jacobs in May, Ann Foster and her daughter Mary Lacey Sr. in mid-July, and then a great many more from Andover. A pattern must have been discerned that the confessors were at least being held temporarily without trial in order to name others or to rid the community of the more dangerous, recalcitrant suspects first. Thus, to confess at least bought a suspect time.

By contrast, those suspects who early on proclaimed their innocence, even as they were brought to the first trials in June, July, and August, refused to take that step of falsely confessing. We can surely sympathize with those who were intimidated into confessing, but the actions of those who resisted such pressures do present us with a noble story!

Continue to Part 2.

Margo Burns is the associate editor and project manager of Records of the Salem Witch-Hunt (Cambridge University Press, 2009), the most complete compendium of the trial documents. She’s been the expert featured on several Who Do You Think You Are? TV episodes and regularly speaks on the Salem witch trials at History Camp, historical societies, and libraries. Check out her 17th-Century Colonial New England website.

Tony Fels is Professor Emeritus of History at the University of San Francisco, where he taught for 29 years. At USF he taught, among other courses, American religious history and historical methods, the latter of which centered on the historiography of the Salem witch hunt. His book, Switching Sides: How a Generation of Historians Lost Sympathy for the Victims of the Salem Witch Hunt (2018), was reviewed on Witches of Massachusetts Bay. For more about Tony Fels, go to https://www.tonyfels.com/.

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By Tony Fels

On June 7, 2021, the NPR show, “Here and Now,” aired a segment on the 400th birthday of Rebecca Nurse, broadcast from the Rebecca Nurse Homestead in Danvers (formerly Salem Village), Massachusetts. Readers of Witches of Massachusetts Bay will doubtless recognize Nurse as one of the most well-known of the 20 individuals executed at Salem for alleged witchcraft.

The radio program struck my interest for revealing the enduring strength of what might be called the “traditional” understanding of the Salem witch hunt over more recent explanations advanced by some of the many scholars who have studied the tragedy. By the “traditional” understanding, I mean the one made famous by Arthur Miller’s 1953 play, The Crucible, though Miller’s play in fact owed practically everything to journalist-historian Marion Starkey’s The Devil in Massachusetts, which appeared four years earlier. As Starkey (and then Miller) saw it, the witch hunt was a product of social hysteria, brought on by a lethal combination of extreme religious values, calling on people to live up to impossible standards of piety, and ages-old communal scapegoating based on personal enmities. When individuals can’t meet their own community’s norms for a life of rectitude, their sense of guilt may lead them either to imagine they have committed terrible transgressions or else to deflect the blame onto others. Intolerance toward oneself in effect breeds intolerance of others. The heroes in both accounts (Starkey’s gripping narrative and Miller’s equally chilling drama) were the 20 martyrs, who, like Rebecca Nurse, went to their deaths rather than confess to the falsehood that they had made a compact with the Devil.

In an early part of the 11-minute segment, “Here and Now” host Robin Young discusses some recent academic explanations for the witch hunt with Kathryn Rutkowski, curator and president of the Rebecca Nurse Homestead. “Historians say the witch trials were to keep women in line,” Young suggests, referring, without naming the source, to the feminist argument advanced especially by Carol F. Karlsen in The Devil in the Shape of a Woman (1987). Young, however, omits the fact that Karlsen’s study actually showed little interest in Rebecca Nurse or any of the other courageous Salem martyrs (14 were women, 6 were men) in favor of concentrating on the young women who, out of the anguish Puritans are said to have foisted onto women in general, did the accusing.

Rutkowski responds by referencing two other recent scholarly interpretations (again without mentioning the names of authors). One, set forth by Mary Beth Norton in her book, In the Devil’s Snare (2002), argued that the Puritans’ continuing conflicts with Native Americans to the north brought on the witch scare, by depositing orphaned victims of Indian attacks in Salem Village, where they reenacted their childhood traumas by accusing other people of attacking them through witchcraft. Another, advanced by Emerson Baker in his A Storm of Witchcraft (2015), proposed a catch-all explanation for the witch hunt under the phrase, “a perfect storm,” said to include the Native American context, the insecurities of a new colonial charter, a harsh winter, village factionalism, and the local pastor Samuel Parris’ rigid orthodoxy. In truth, no such extraneous circumstances or “perfect storms” are needed to account for witch hunting, which occurred with deadly commonality across nearly 300 years of history throughout western Europe, including in its colonial outposts like New England. Indeed, Hartford, Connecticut, was the scene of a lesser version of the Salem events in 1662, when another witch panic led to 14 indictments and four likely executions.

But all these considerations fall by the wayside as soon as the program turns to Beth Lambright, one of a large number of proud Rebecca Nurse descendants who live throughout the United States. As Lambright tells Robin Young, Nurse, age 71 at the time of her death, lived a quite ordinary colonial life, raising eight children and helping with the work on her family farm. “Yet this ordinary life became an extraordinary moment of, really, heroism,” Lambright explains, when by “standing in the truth, [Nurse] paid for that with her life.” Lambright took her family to visit the Danvers homestead a few years ago because she wanted to pass on to her children the important lesson of what their colonial ancestor had accomplished. As Lambright puts it, “No matter what your community might say about you, if you do not believe it’s true, you stand in what you know to be true.” These are lines that Arthur Miller might have included in The Crucible, a work that Lambright knows well, both from having read it and from having watched her daughter perform in a high school production of the play.

Hoping to draw out a political lesson for today’s times, Young asks Lambright if she doesn’t see some parallels to what’s been happening lately, with America menaced by “conspiracy theorists” and “angry mobs” with “pitchforks.” It’s clear from Young’s left-leaning political perspective that she sees these Trumpian manifestations as the equivalent of 1692’s witch hunters. Lambright appears to agree, but I’m not so sure. She observes, “We’re seeing loud voices. They might look like the majority for a while, but it doesn’t mean that they’re always speaking truth. We have to be really careful that we understand who we are and what our truth is.” Most recently, it’s the Democrats, not the Republicans, who have been in the majority. And antiracist zealots on the left are just as capable of trying to enforce conformity of belief on a particular community through scapegoating as are extremists on the right.

Arthur Miller himself might similarly have seen threatening “pitchforks” coming from the margins of both ideological extremes. While it is well known that The Crucible offered up the Salem witch hunt as an allegory for Senator McCarthy’s red scare of the 1950s, in his later life the playwright acknowledged that the lessons of the Salem witch hunt fit the murderous excesses of the Chinese Communists’ Cultural Revolution just as well. The Salem story for good reason continues to resonate with Americans now nearly 330 years after it drew to a close.

(The NPR program may be heard at https://www.wbur.org/hereandnow/2021/06/07/rebecca-nurse-salem-witch-trials. A popular show like this one naturally comes with some factual errors. In the introduction, Robin Young speaks of about 200 people who were tried at Salem, when she means the number who were accused. The Salem Court of Oyer and Terminer (the special witchcraft court) tried 27 suspects, while the later Superior Court of Judicature (which produced no lasting punishments) handled about 70 remaining cases. Later in the show, Young refers to “one man” who was executed at Salem, when actually there were six men. Beth Lambright meant to say that George Jacobs Sr.’s body, not George Burroughs’, is also buried on the Rebecca Nurse Homestead grounds.)

After this post was published, a fascinating discussion ensued between Tony Fels and Margo Burns. Read the four-part conversation on witch confessions, martyrs, and more.

Tony Fels is Professor Emeritus of History at the University of San Francisco, where he taught for 29 years. At USF he taught, among other courses, American religious history and historical methods, the latter of which centered on the historiography of the Salem witch hunt. His book, Switching Sides: How a Generation of Historians Lost Sympathy for the Victims of the Salem Witch Hunt, was reviewed on Witches of Massachusetts Bay. For more about Tony Fels, go to https://www.tonyfels.com/.

Giles Corey pressed to death. Unknown artist.

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A follow-up to the post Richard Francis: From Sewall biographer to Salem witch trials storyteller.

In Olde England as well as New, hangings were a public spectacle. Despite the grim proceedings, executions drew large crowds. In Massachusetts Bay Colony, hangings may not have had a carnival-like atmosphere, with vendors offering meat pasties and barkers selling broadsides of the convicted’s confessions. Still, farmers, clergy, merchants, gentlemen, sailors, servants, housewives, and children attended the Salem witch trials and executions.

Two miles from the prison, Proctor’s Ledge was chosen as a place where crowds could gather and still see the victims swinging from the rope. And if the convicted witches had strong voices, like Rev. George Burroughs, those gathered could clearly hear his perfect rendition of “The Lord’s Prayer.”

Silent protest

Giles Corey was never convicted of witchcraft. He pleaded “not guilty” in the Salem court but would not agree to stand trial. In consequence, the judges chose to inflict peine forte et dure (French for “strong and hard punishment,” or pressing to death with heavy weights). Perhaps after a night or two in the already crowded Salem prison, the judges expected Corey to change his mind. For two days, Samuel Sewall wrote, the Court, Captain Gardner of Nantucket, and other friends begged Corey to agree to be tried by the judges and a jury of his peers. He remained mute.

In Crane Pond: A Novel of Salem, Richard Francis said Corey’s pressing death occurred at Proctor’s Ledge—the site of the witch hangings. Given that at any moment Corey could put a stop to his punishment and agree to be tried, it’s highly unlikely that he was carted all the way to Proctor’s Ledge. Besides, the crowds would not see much of a spectacle from their vantage point, and watching an old man being crushed to death was agonizingly slow. (It was not as slow as two days,* but stubborn and silent Giles Corey may have survived two or three hours as the rocks piled up, his ribs cracked, his lungs collapsed, and his last breath escaped.)

Where did Giles Corey die?

In 1867, Charles W. Upham asserted Corey’s torture occurred “in an open field somewhere between Howard Street Burial Ground and Brown Street.” Other authors—and tour guides—mistakenly claimed Corey was pressed to death at Howard Street Cemetery near the prison. In 1692, however, the land was privately owned and only became a burial ground in 1801. More recently, Marilynne K. Roach suggested Lieutenant Thomas Putnam’s lot bordering the prison yard would be a likely spot, especially agreeable to Thomas since his daughter Ann Jr. was one of the major witchcraft accusers.

Sidney Perley believed rocks were carried inside the prison to be placed on top of Corey’s prone body. I believe the answer is much simpler: In the prison yard. While no contemporaneous writers described the location, the prison yard had enough space—and rocks—to carry out the deed without drawing large crowds. After all, the laws of the colony did not permit such “inhumane, barbarous, or cruel” torture as inflicted on Giles Corey—at least not publicly. While people did witness his punishment, they were not able to stop it. And if they tried, he’d probably die of his internal injuries anyway.

* Thanks to Professor Tony Fels for correcting me in his comment to my previous post, Richard Francis: From Sewall biographer to Salem witch trials storyteller. Tony is the author of Switching Sides: How a Generation of Historians Lost Sympathy for the Victims of the Salem Witch Hunt, which I wrote about here.

“Where Was Giles Corey Pressed to Death?” by Marilynne K. Roach (American Ancestors Magazine, 15.4:36-39)

Diary of Samuel Sewall

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No doubt Samuel Sewall never anticipated his private diaries would be widely read and quoted by historians and others interested in the minutiae of his life. As a family man, merchant, and part-time judge, Sewall faced common challenges that rocked his world, from his fitful children dying young to his religious doubts of being elect. He wrote so often about attending funerals that it seemed like penance for making bad decisions that reverberated beyond hearth and home.

As his biographer, Richard Francis knows Sewall’s daily habits, his relationships, worldly concerns, and eternal worries, all of which were written in his journals. What Sewall rarely mentioned was the Salem witch trials, for which he’s best known. And so, Francis extrapolates from the diaries how Sewall’s character would react by writing Crane Pond: A Novel of Salem as historical fiction. Interspersed with court actions and executions, Francis reminds us that Sewall is not just a judge, he’s a man with a full and busy life. As an author, Francis helps the reader experience Sewall’s world, from the ferry trips from Boston to Salem with a meat pasty in his pocket to his first encounter with witchcraft and how it “was awful to see how the afflicted persons were agitated.”

Though Sewall agreed with the sentencing—there are no court documents that tell otherwise—in his diary he showed ambivalence toward the witch trials. For instance, Sewall participated in a fast and prayer meeting for his friend—and accused witch—Captain John Alden. He was relieved when Alden escaped from jail. On August 19, Sewall wrote: “This day George Burrough, John Willard, Jno Procter, Martha Carrier, and George Jacobs were executed at Salem, a very great number of spectators being present. [Ministers] Mr. Cotton Mather was there, Mr. Sims, Hale, Noyes, Cheever, &c. All of [the convicted] said they were innocent, Carrier and all. Mr. Mather says they all died by a righteous sentence. Mr. Burrough by his speech, prayer, protestation of his innocence, did much move unthinking persons, which occasions their speaking hardly concerning his being executed.” In the margins, Sewall wrote: “Dolefull! Witchcraft.”

Francis succeeds in creating believable dialogue and in building relationships. Judge William Stoughton talked like a formidable ally—or enemy. As expected, Sewall showed him the proper deference. With his daughter Hannah, Sewall was an attentive father, crawling into the closet where she hid to help her deal with her fears. After years of being consumed by his own role in the Salem witch trials, Sewall apparently did not think how the other judges would take his public apology in 1697. As Francis shows, he didn’t expect Waitstill Winthrop to sharply rebuke him outside the meeting house for speaking out of turn. The author also helps us understand Sewall’s struggles to be a noble father, a worthy citizen, a fair judge, and a faithful Puritan.

Using Sewall’s diary definitely adds substance to Francis’ novel. But the author slips on occasion, like referring to Rebecca Nurse—one of the most well-known victims—as a widow, though her husband died three years after she was hanged for witchcraft. He locates the site of Giles Corey’s pressing death at Proctor’s Ledge (where the convicted witches were hanged), though no contemporaneous source suggests it. And Francis claims that if a convicted witch made a confession before the hangman did his job, they would have an immediate reprieve. Ministers asked victims to confess to witchcraft—believing them to be real witches—but only so they could meet their maker with a repentant heart.

By telling the Salem story from a judge’s point of view, Francis offers a multidimensional perspective of the trials. I also suggest reading the author’s award-winning biography on Sewall.

Crane Pond: A Novel of Salem by Richard Francis

Judge Sewall’s Apology: The Salem Witch Trials and the Forming of an American Conscience by Richard Francis

Post edited 15 June 2021 to correct the length of time it took for Giles Corey to die under torture. Thanks, Professor Tony Fels!

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Massachusetts Bay Colony had numerous issues with pirates, from Dixey Bull to Blackbeard. During the interim (post-Andros, pre-Phips) government, the Court of Assistants ruled on a piracy case involving several men from Salem. The final verdicts would reverberate throughout the 1692 witch trials since seven of the nine justices who sat on the Court of Oyer and Terminer had served during the interim government.

For three months, Thomas Pound and his pirate crew captured several ships along the coast from Maine to Virginia. At his trial in January 1690, Pound detailed his travels and pillages. His plan was to head to Curacao to attack French ships, but Capt. Samuel Pease, commander of the sloop Mary, found them first. Outfitted by the government, Mary’s crew went to battle against Pound’s crew, and four pirates died. Capt. Pease died from his injuries a week later, adding murder to the felony and piracy charges.

Back in Boston, the Court of Assistants convicted the pirates and sentenced them to “be hanged by the neck until they be dead.” As the day of execution drew near, Magistrate Waitstill Winthrop sought support to ask Governor Simon Bradstreet to grant the pirates a reprieve. By the time the sheriff received the order, pirate Thomas Johnson had been turned off the scaffold and was dead, and the noose was being prepared for Thomas Hawkins. Since colonials rallied around such spectacles of death—and justice—Magistrate Samuel Sewall wrote in his diary, the last-minute reprieves “gave great disgust to the people; I fear it was ill done.” Sewall’s reluctant agreement with the other magistrates weighed heavily on him as he awaited reprisals from God.

Notably, in court Thomas Pound had pointedly claimed Thomas Hawkins, whose boat was used at the start of their enterprise, was not at any point a prisoner. Hawkins deserted the crew at Tarpaulin Cove, was captured separately, and taken in chains to Boston jail. He was not involved in the battle that killed Capt. Pease. Perhaps Pound wanted to remind the judges that Hawkins was well connected. Hawkins’ sister Elizabeth had married Adam Winthrop (brother of Waitstill) and John Richards, a magistrate; sister Abigail was married to the Honorable John Foster, a justice of common pleas; and sister Hannah was married to Elisha Hutchinson, a magistrate.

Influenced by elite connections instead of the rule of law, the judges failed in their duty to let justice be done. Two years later, these same men failed to respond to neighborly petitions to save victims accused of witchcraft based on spectral evidence. Yet when whispers of witchcraft enveloped elite members of society, those accusations never made it to court.

And as for the pirates? Most were released after paying 20 marks. Bound for England for trial, Thomas Hawkins was slain when the ship was attacked by a French privateer; Pound survived the battle, became captain of a Royal Navy ship, and died a “gentleman” in 1703.

Sources: Pirates of the New England Coast; Diary of Samuel Sewall, 1:309-310; New England Historical Genealogical Register Vol. 45:215-217; Baker, A Storm of Witchcraft.

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A student interview with Professor Emerson W. Baker on the triumph and tragedy of the 1692 Salem witch trials as part of the 2019 National History Day contest. (Missed Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, or Part 5?)

Kayleigh: Why aren’t the accused and condemned Salem witch trial victims considered martyrs?

Dr. Baker: I do see that term martyr thrown around from time to time; I sometimes use that term. I really think they were. I’m not really a religious historian but martyrs are people who willingly accept their fate—usually a gruesome, horrible fate—in the name of maintaining their religious beliefs. They refuse to yield. Let me put it this way. I don’t think anyone gets into the martyr business. It’s not a good career move. I don’t think anyone sets out to become a martyr to make a name for themselves. But they do it because they are such devout believers in their faith that they are willing to die for it rather than in any way malign or give up that faith or lessen it.

Certainly, it seems to me that by the late summer of 1692, it’s becoming increasingly clear that if you confess, you may not save your life but you will at least prolong it. Having said this, I know my friend Margo Burns disagrees with this to some degree. She’d be right in saying, “Tad, we don’t know if Governor Phips had let the Court of Oyer and Terminer meet in November if it would have convicted and sentenced to death even more of the folks who confessed.” In January they did, in fact, start convicting people who had confessed in the September meeting of the court. I think she’s right there. But having said that, by the summer of 1692, if you noticed the people who had gone to trial, those who had pled “not guilty” had a very quick trial and sentence and execution.

If you looked at those who said they were a witch, like Tituba and Abigail Hobbs, months after their confessions they were still alive. So families were starting to beg people to just confess. At the time, did they actually think that they would ultimately be spared? Maybe not. But if you wanted to stick to your strong Christian convictions, that was a real quick path to death in 1692. If you were willing to lie—to put a stain on your soul and your family for eternity—and say that you were a witch, you would still be living, at least for a while. I think that’s a critical thing to understand that went on in Salem, that many people took that way out.

So to me, these victims really are martyrs. Why are they not considered that today? I think it’s a good question; I never really had that question posed to me. I’m still thinking about it. A couple of things. One is that people today don’t really understand what really happened in 1692, they don’t actually understand who was executed and why, and who was not. Whenever I give a talk and I say over a third of the people who were accused confessed and died, people are shocked by it. They just don’t know that. I think part of the issue is just a lack of awareness.

Two, if you think about it, we’re such a secular society today that we really don’t have martyrs. And also, in the Puritan faith, at the time when these people might have been considered martyrs in the 17th century, certainly the church and the authorities didn’t think them to be martyrs because they had been the ones who put them to death. And at the time when you want to consider people that were martyrs in the 19th and 20th centuries. I think we have a much more secular society, so I think that explains it. So, a lack of understanding and also the nature of our society today.

Kayleigh: Salem is most famous for the 1692 witch trials and people still talk about that history, especially during October. Nowadays, there are witch hunts, like in Africa. Why don’t people seem to care that it’s still happening? Or don’t do anything about it? It’s rarely in the news at all.

Dr. Baker: You see a story show up once every year or so. To me, part of it goes back to the fact that every society has its witchcraft. We no longer accuse people of being witches but there are still cases of mob violence today. They are declining. But I think as far as trying to put a stop to it, there are actually some international efforts that are underway between some of the humanitarian relief organizations that are trying to work to address some of these concerns.

But as to why they are not more well known? I think part of it is that witchcraft persecutions we have today in places like Africa are not state-sanctioned trials and executions. This is essentially mob violence. What you’re talking about here, well, there’s no official thing you can do to intervene. Instead what’s really called for is education. I’ve tried to explain to people the reason why we’re having crop failures is because of global weather patterns and it’s not one poor person in town you think is cursing the fields. It’s sort of an insidious situation.

How do you stop hate crimes? How do we stop the mass shootings in the schools? And in the churches? You can’t legislate that. No amount of aid or money will necessarily solve those problems. We have some of these problems in our country and there’s no easy answer, except to solve these problems through education. 

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Emerson (“Tad”) W. Baker is a historian and professor at Salem State University and the author of A Storm of Witchcraft: The Salem Witch Trials and the American Experience (2014), The Devil of Great Island: Witchcraft & Conflict in Early New England (2007), and The New England Knight: Sir William Phips, 1651-1695 (1998).

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A student interview with Professor Emerson W. Baker on the triumph and tragedy of the 1692 Salem witch trials as part of the 2019 National History Day contest. (Missed Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, or Part 4?)

Kayleigh: Are there any other lessons from the Salem witch trials that people of today should learn?

Dr. Baker: Any other lessons of the trials? Wow. That’s clearly like the big question.

If we can think before we rush to judgment, if we could try to put ourselves in other people’s shoes rather than scapegoating them, it would be nice. The other thing is how our society—well pretty much every society throughout history—has always considered itself to be superior to everyone who lived before. Even in the up-to-date, modern society of 1692 I’m sure they felt the same way: that previous generations were nowhere near as smart or as sophisticated or technologically savvy or you name it. We tend to put down previous generations and assume they were more stupid than we were.

You see it all the time on TV, for example. One of my least favorite shows on television is Ancient Aliens. It’s a show on the History Channel where they look at things from the ancient world that don’t make sense or that we don’t understand. For example, we don’t understand how they built the great pyramids. We don’t understand how they built things to such exacting standards in prehistoric times only using stone tools.

So if we don’t understand it, for some people the answer can’t be that these people had ancient wisdom and knowledge that we are not smart enough to figure out. In some ways, they were our superiors. As a historian, I can accept that and say, “wow, there’s a lot we could probably learn here.” But if you look at a show like Ancient Aliens, the basic premise is people long ago were clearly stupid and inferior compared to us. So if they were able to do things that we cannot explain—like building the great pyramids—the logical answer is that they had help from ancient aliens who flew in from outer space to do these things for them.

Every time I give a talk about the Salem witch trials, someone always says, “How can they be so superstitious?” Well, they weren’t superstitious, they were God-fearing Christians and the Devil was real. “How could they be so foolish and superstitious, so ignorant to execute all these people for witchcraft?” My point is: They weren’t foolish, they weren’t superstitious. They thought they were doing what needed to be done according to the knowledge of the day to protect the individuals and their society. They thought people who were believed to be witches were in league with Satan, and through Satan were using his black power to destroy the earth.

Every society has challenges. People looking back at history are going to judge them and say, “wow they were really stupid. Why did they do it this way? Why wasn’t it so obvious to them that the answer was something else?” If only we could try to be more like a just society, and try to eliminate hatred and discrimination and realize that we don’t have all the answers. We should try to do the best we can under the circumstances, and not judge our fellow people, nor judge people in the past unless we really try to understand their lives.

Emerson (“Tad”) W. Baker is a historian and professor at Salem State University and the author of A Storm of Witchcraft: The Salem Witch Trials and the American Experience (2014), The Devil of Great Island: Witchcraft & Conflict in Early New England (2007), and The New England Knight: Sir William Phips, 1651-1695 (1998).

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Cotton Mather wrote the only government-approved book about the Salem witch trials.

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A student interview with Professor Emerson W. Baker on the triumph and tragedy of the 1692 Salem witch trials as part of the 2019 National History Day contest. (Missed Part 1, Part 2, or Part 3?)

Kayleigh: As you said in your book, A Storm of Witchcraft, Governor William Phips created one of the first large-scale government coverups in American history by curbing free speech [about the Salem witch trials]. This happened again, during World War I, etc. Why do you think the government seems to repeat the same problems over and over again? Is it because they don’t learn from history or they forget about the past?

Dr. Baker: I don’t really think history repeats itself but I do think sometimes it burps itself back up. Part of it is that most politicians are not good historians. I also think too that unfortunately, it’s sort of a self-preservation reaction to try to cover something up. It’s an instinctive thing to muzzle the press, to quiet dissent. It’s weird because on the one hand, you know, it’s such an American thing to have dissent and to have freedom of speech and open opinion. It’s also part of a self-preservation mode to try to quash that, to control that.

Frankly, you can see that today in this whole bit about fake news. The president can’t control free speech, he can’t issue a public speech ban the way William Phips did, but what he can do as much as possible is to control the media by saying they are speaking falsehoods. To me, it’s the same kind of process. What’s interesting to me—and this is where Salem is so fascinating—is that every generation has that version, that incident of Salem: the Red Scare, McCarthyism, or earlier on, the treatment of Loyalists, or the issue of slavery. Every generation has its political fight where one group or multiple groups try to restrict the freedom of speech, the freedom of the press, of other groups, for political ends. Ultimately, unfortunately, it almost seems to be part of human nature and it’s something we have to be constantly on guard for and to fight against.

At the end of my previous book, The Devil of Great Island, which is another case of witchcraft in New Hampshire in the 1680s, I say, unfortunately, as long as we have hatred and prejudices and racism and bigotry and persecution and scapegoating, we’re going to have some form of witchcraft. And we’re also going to have some kind of effort to restrict people’s freedoms. It’s not the most optimistic, uplifting note. But to me, it’s why studying this stuff is so important because it rings true today and it alerts us to the dangers of any efforts to restrict a free society.

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Emerson (“Tad”) W. Baker is a historian and professor at Salem State University and the author of A Storm of Witchcraft: The Salem Witch Trials and the American Experience (2014), The Devil of Great Island: Witchcraft & Conflict in Early New England (2007), and The New England Knight: Sir William Phips, 1651-1695 (1998).

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