Kayleigh: My project is following the history of witchcraft and showing this year’s theme of triumph and tragedy, of how the horrible deaths and torture that the accused went through caused people to change how they think about the government and how they treat trials. I know that in your book, A Storm of Witchcraft, you talk about the current significance of the trials. I was wondering how you think Salem has become a place where modern-day witches want to live when in history witches had been hunted and killed there.
Dr. Baker: Well, as I like to say, Gallows Hill has cast a large and dark shadow on Salem since 1692. And I really think that has been a point of shame and humiliation and reflection on people in Salem ever since. Note that it took until the 300th anniversary for the city to even build a memorial to acknowledge that. And that there were, as I talk about in the book, efforts before that. They tried at the 200th anniversary and there just didn’t seem to be the will in the community to face it. There really was an effort I think to really try to forget—collective amnesia.
Look at the whole side of the executions where people knew, well into the 18th century, the Proctor family owned the land, surely they knew where the executions took place, and yet somehow by the 19th century the community somehow managed to collectively “forget.” [If you were sitting here with me, you’d see I was putting quotes around the word “forget.”] And so it was a long sort of sore spot for the community, and as I point out in the book, Salem really was publicly ridiculed for it as early as 1697 in the first book where they do that.
So, back to your question: How does that get Salem to be a welcoming place? It is interesting. I was on a panel discussion about this subject a few years ago. Essentially, you hear about some of the people who come to Salem, for example, a fellow who had several murder sentences overturned—a very famous case—he was released from prison after a wrongful conviction after he served many years in jail. He and his wife moved to Salem. When asked why, his response was that the people in Salem understand how dangerous, how damaging it is to pre-judge people, to rush to judgment. He said it’s sort of like letting people be and prove themselves on their merits. In essence, they felt that Salem was a very welcoming place, that no one was making any assumptions about them or their past. They said that Salem had made that mistake before and the people here now wanted to be a more open and welcoming community, where people, regardless of who they are—their background, their faith, anything—that they would be welcome in Salem.
I get that sense here in the people of Salem overall that people want to try to make amends. The one way that you can do that is to be an open and caring community where everyone—immigrants from all over the world, people of whatever faith—can be comfortable and feel at home in Salem.
We know very little about Eunice (—) Cole’s background and her life in England. By 1636, she was married to William Cole, who was 20 to 30 years older than she was. The couple was childless and apparently had no relatives in New England. Yet more than three hundred years after she died, Eunice is still remembered in Hampton, New Hampshire, and her difficult life can be traced in numerous court records.
In 1636, William Cole and his wife Eunice sailed to Boston as servants of Matthew Craddock, a wealthy merchant of London who had properties in the Massachusetts Bay Colony. Once they landed, however, the couple did not work on Craddock’s properties and neglected to pay £10 for their ship passage. By 16 November 1637, Craddock’s agent was demanding payment, though they had no money to pay the debt. Even the town of Boston was cautious about helping the aged carpenter, giving him “two acres only for his present planting” at Mount Wollaston.
There, William and Eunice Cole met Rev. John Wheelwright, who shortly afterward was disenfranchised and banished from the colony. The Coles followed him. In April 1638, William witnessed an Indian deed between Wheelwright and Wehanownowit. He signed the Exeter Combination the following year.
In June 1640, William Cole received a grant in Hampton for a town lot and upland. It seemed like William and Eunice Cole’s fortunes were improving.
But in 1645, Eunice was brought to court for her “slanderous speeches” against her neighbors. Sitting in the stocks didn’t improve her behavior. In 1647, William Cole offered to “rescue [steal] goods out of the hands of William Fuller, the constable,” and he and his wife were charged with biting the constable’s hands. To top it off, Eunice had some choice words to say about Fuller. Eunice made several court appearances in 1648, 1651, and 1654 for unstated charges.
In 1656, Eunice was accused of witchcraft and imprisoned in Boston, but not convicted. Witchcraft was a capital crime, punishable by hanging, and in June of that year, widow Anne Hibbens was executed for witchcraft in Boston. Eunice was in prison so long that her husband William pleaded for her release in 1659. In 1660, Eunice was in court again for unseemly speeches and was whipped by Hampton constable John Huggins. From prison in 1662, Eunice asked to be released to take care of her 88-year-old husband as only a wife could do. She remained locked up, unable to pay her prison fees.
Meanwhile, William Cole was in dire straits. In 1657, Craddock’s estate made another demand for payment on the 10-pound bond. On 3 November 1659, William asked the General Court for relief. Instead, the court demanded the town of Hampton take over his estate and support him. Aged and very sickly, on 26 May 1662, William wrote his will, in which he gave his house, land, cattle, household stuff, and whatever remained to Thomas Webster upon condition of keeping him comfortable during his life—and then he promptly expired. The inventory totaled £59.14.0, with the five-acre house lot and the house upon it worth £20. To Eunice, he left only her clothes. The Norfolk county court set aside the will, and after debts were paid, half went to Thomas Webster and the other half went to the selectmen of Hampton for Eunice’s support.
Without a home to return to, in 1670, the town of Hampton erected a hut for Eunice Cole, and the townspeople took turns supplying her food and fuel. In a short time, old fears and stories returned of Eunice hurting or killing people and livestock, being a shape-shifter, having conversations with the devil, and trying to steal children. After gathering testimonies, in 1673 the jury decided Eunice was not legally guilty of witchcraft but strongly suspected her of familiarity with the devil. On 7 September 1680, again the court “vehemently” suspected Eunice of being a witch but without “full proof.” They ordered her imprisoned, with a lock on her leg.
Eunice returned to Hampton only to die, alone in her hut, in October 1680.
Celebrate genealogy and ancestral connections to Salem, Massachusetts, during a weekend of lectures, tours, and research
November 8, 2019, Salem, MA. Residents and visitors are invited to celebrate their ancestral and immigrant connections to Salem, Massachusetts, during the first annual Salem Ancestry Days celebration, which will be held May 1-4, 2020. The weekend will feature lectures, tours, research opportunities, and information on the people who connect us all to Salem.
Whether one is considering the Salem Witch Trials, author Nathaniel Hawthorne, abolitionist Charlotte Forten, navigator Nathaniel Bowditch, architect Samuel McIntire, or one of the families that left their mark on Salem’s maritime history, there are remarkable connections to be made to the people who created the Salem story. Event organizers also hope connections are made to the native persons, the Naumkeag, who lived on the land prior to the arrival of Roger Conant and the Dorchester Company, and the enslaved or indentured persons who were not in Salem by choice.
In the early 20th century the Great Salem Fire changed the landscape of downtown Salem and gave rise to new neighborhoods of French Canadian, Polish, and eastern European immigrants. Today Salem is home to communities of Latinx and Hispanic heritage that can and should be celebrated through Salem Ancestry Days.
For centuries, Salem has been a destination for emigrants, immigrants, and travelers. The community is a landing point and a starting point for families who are starting their American journey or changing their family’s trajectory. Through collaboration with the Phillips Library at the Peabody Essex Museum, Essex National Heritage Commission, American Ancestors and New England Historic Genealogical Society, and the City of Salem, the Ancestry Days celebration intends to be a gathering point for descendants of Salem’s families as well as a research opportunity for people who want to learn more about their family history.
About Salem: Salem, Massachusetts, is a destination recognized around the world for its rich history, which includes the tragic Salem Witch Trials of 1692, the glorious maritime era that left its indelible mark on Salem through architecture, museums, and artifacts, and for its month-long celebration of Halloween.
About Destination Salem: As the destination marketing organization for the City of Salem, Destination Salem cooperatively markets Salem as one of Massachusetts’ best destinations for families, couples, domestic, and international travelers who are seeking an authentic New England experience, cultural enrichment, American history, fine dining, unique shopping, and fun. For more information, visit Salem.org.
Wicked Salem by Sam Baltrusis covers 300-plus years of history and people in three categories: the Witches, the Murderers, and the Cursed. The book includes stories about Bridget Bishop, George Jacobs Sr., and Mary Estey; self-confessed Boston Strangler Albert DeSalvo, Giles Corey, and Captain White’s murderer, Richard Crowninshield; Rev. Cotton Mather, Sheriff George Corwin, Nathaniel Hawthorne, and Harry Houdini. According to Baltrusis—a tour guide and paranormal researcher—each person profiled has a particular “haunt” in Salem.
Despite his scaredy-cat persona, Baltrusis tells intriguing stories filled with detailed information about actual people and places in Salem, intermingled with his personal and professional experiences. He interviews modern-day practicing witches, including Laurie Cabot the Official Witch of Salem and tour guide Thomas O’Brien Vallor. And in case readers get confused, Vallor adamantly explains: “The victims of the witch trials were definitely not witches.” The book also includes sidebars—most notably with Margo Burns, project manager of Records of the Salem Witch-Hunt, and Kelly Daniell, archivist for Peabody Historical Society—for historical perspective.
In many instances, Baltrusis judiciously uses the word “allegedly,” especially in reference to oft-repeated “quotes” from long-dead people. In retelling a ghost sighting at the Samuel Pickman House, he admits, “after doing exhaustive historical research, I found no real proof to suggest the story of the murder or the supposed demonic infestation at the house is true” (17). I’m curious why it’s included, even if it’s a hotspot of paranormal activity. Baltrusis said he “made a concerted effort to stick to the historical facts, even if it resulted in debunking an alleged encounter with the paranormal” (235).
Lingering Lore and Legends
Baltrusis claims Wicked Salem is about “correcting the misinformation associated with the witch trials hysteria of 1692. Over the past decade, I have noticed a shift toward untangling these historical inaccuracies, but we still have a long way to go” (240). Yet much of the book, Baltrusis admits, came from updated excerpts from his nine previous books and published articles. (That must be why 18 pages about the U.S.S. Salem’s haunted attraction in Quincy was included, though the ship had nothing to do with the city of Salem.) In addition, he conducted interviews, read paranormal books on Salem, and checked out related blogs and websites for this volume.
However, Baltrusis repeats myths that have been corrected ages ago by historians and genealogists. Here are just a few:
Joanna Chibbun “declared that [Sarah] Good, who was pregnant in 1692 and lost her unborn child in Ipswich, actually murdered the infant” (72). Good’s infant daughter was born 10 December 1691, before she was charged with witchcraft (see New England Historical & Genealogical Register 157:9, published 2003).
In 1981, David L. Greene sorted out the identities of accused witches Bridget Bishop and Sarah Bishop (The American Genealogist 57:129-131). Although acknowledging the confusion, Baltrusis writes: Bridget “lived in Salem Village (present-day Danvers) but owned property on the eastern side of Salem’s current Washington and Church streets … that she sometimes leased out to tenants” (26, 41). Sarah Bishop and her husband ran an unlicensed tavern in Salem Village while Bridget Bishop lived in Salem Town. That’s why, regarding her Salem Village accusers, Bridget explicitly said: “I never saw these persons before; nor I never was in this place [Salem Village] before.”
On Bridget Bishop’s hanging, one of Baltrusis’ interviewees claims: “They could have just put the noose around Bridget’s neck and killed her instantly. But they didn’t. The executioners actually positioned the noose so she would die a slow, horrible death. She was hanging in the gallows—convulsing and losing control of her bowels—in front of a crowd of people. They were publicly shaming her before they killed her” (28-30). That’s not exactly true. Yes, hordes of people attended such a public spectacle, believed to be for their own edification. While we don’t know if the victims were hanged using the gallows or a tree, a quick death only happened if the victim’s neck snapped as their bodies dropped. That rarely happened; it often took “up to 20 minutes for the victims to die” by strangulation, as Margo Burns explains (67). And, yes, after death, the spontaneous relaxation of muscles sometimes caused bodily fluids to seep out.
Howard Street Cemetery is not where Giles Corey was crushed to death (18, 104, 106). The obstinate Corey suffered the medieval torture of peine fort et dure at the now-demolished 1683 jail at the corner of Federal Street and Prison Lane (now St. Peter’s Street). Like many of the witch trial victims, we don’t know where Giles Corey’s broken body was buried. But it’s not at Howard Street Cemetery, where the first burial occurred in 1801. (American Ancestors Magazine 15.4:36-37, published 2014)
More Weight
Throughout Wicked Salem, Frank C. Grace’s photographs capture the essence of the city’s past, while Baltrusis offers educational and entertaining stories—without the profound weight of history.
Granted, I’m not the intended audience of Baltrusis’ works. I’m skeptical about the existence of ghosts and paranormal phenomena. I’m disturbed by the continual misappropriation of the Salem witch trials with Halloween, Haunted Happenings, and horror thrills. And I have a penchant for being a mythbuster when it comes to innocent people accused of witchery.
Though visibly part of
his Rowley community, John Howard remains somewhat anonymous in Salem witch
trial research.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Every 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).
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.
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.
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.
Once part of acreage owned by Giles and Martha Corey of Salem Farms (now Peabody), Crystal Lake filled with sediment over time. 
Every 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.
