Tag: Samuel Parris

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Curious what plants were well-known by the 17th-century Massachusetts Bay colonists, I delved into Michael Brown’s new book, Medieval Plants and Their Uses. Planting and harvesting were essential to the survival of communities. Besides food and medicinal purposes, though, could plants have been involved in the Salem witch trials? After all, one widely debunked hypothesis claimed ergot poisoning could have caused the witch hunt.

According to Brown, during wet weather a parasite caused fungus to grow on rye. Since grains were processed at the local mill, ergot poisoning could spread far and wide. Ergot-related mass casualties occurred in continental Europe but notably not in England, where wheat was the popular grain.

Also known as St. Anthony’s Fire, ergot poisoning could cause “hallucinations, convulsions, erratic behavior, or gangrene; death was common.” While some of these symptoms were apparent in the Salem courthouse in 1692, their underlying causes could be many different health issues. Plus, not every local household or family member displayed symptoms—which would happen if they shared bread—so it’s unlikely that ergot poisoning was a cause of the witch-hunt.

Planting the colony

From the start of the Great Migration, ships came from England with plant cuttings and seeds to grow crops and herbs for food, flavorings, and medicines. Recipes were passed down and shared, like making tansy tea for worms; using vinegar, salt, and honey for cleaning and sterilizing a wound; and eating dandelions to encourage urine flow.

Living on Will’s Hill, the tightknit Wilkins clan may not have been privy to the diuretic dandelion remedy. Patriarch Bray Wilkins reported “my water was sodainly stopt, & I had no benefit of nature, but was like a man on a rack” and accused his grandson-in-law John Willard—an outsider—of causing his bladder issue and his grandson Daniel Wilkins’ death. When a “skillful” woman’s remedies didn’t work, she asked Bray if any “evil persons” did him damage. He said he was “sore afraid they had.” Afflicted accuser Mercy Lewis even said she saw John Willard on his grandfather Bray’s belly. Bray later claimed it was not him “but the testimony of the afflicted persons and the jury … that would take away [John Willard’s] life if any thing did, & within about 1/4 hour after this I was taken in the sorest distress & misery my water being turned into real blood, or of a bloody colour & the old pain returned excessively as before which continued for about 24 hours together” (RSWH 528). It’s clear Bray’s urine retention was a real illness, such as an enlarged prostate, and not a witch’s curse. Yet John Willard was executed for witchcraft on 19 August 1692.

Brown also covers plants with religious associations and magical powers. For instance, Rev. John Hale could have put calendula under his pillow to reveal in dreams that Dorcas Hoar was stealing from him. Saint John’s wort could have expelled the demons from Rev. Samuel Parris’ home while mugwort could have kept ghosts and evil spirits away.

Besides offering insight into historic diets and medical remedies, this book covers common, everyday usage of plants for housekeeping, laundry, animal health care, beauty treatments, and even aphrodisiacs. Well illustrated with photos, Medieval Plants and Their Uses concludes with a few original medieval recipes, a list of plants (their medical and/or practical uses, name variants), and suggested reading.

Brown provides an accessible and fascinating insight into the uses of medieval plants.

Prerelease book provided by NetGalley and Pen & Sword Books Ltd. for review consideration.

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While researching Thomas Danforth (1623-1699), I discovered Paige’s History of Cambridge and Hutchinson’s Witchcraft Delusion of 1692 quoted from Samuel Sewall’s Diary on Danforth’s illness, death, and burial. Sewall visited Danforth on 28 October 1699 and recorded in his diary that Elizabeth (Danforth) Foxcroft informed Sewall that her father “was much indisposed the 22 inst., which was the beginning of his sickness.” Danforth was “much troubled with the Palsie”—which caused paralysis and involuntary tremors. Two entries later in his diary, Sewall wrote:

“Lord’s Day, Novr. 5, Tho. Danforth Esq. dies about 3 post merid. [p.m.] of a fever. Has been a magistrate 40 years. Was a very good husbandman, and a very good Christian, and a good Councilor: was about 76 years old.”

“…Sixth day, Nov. 10, 1699. Mr. Danforth is entombed about 1/4 of an hour before 4 p.m. Very fair and pleasant day; much company. Bearers on the right side Lt. Governor, Mr. Russell, Sewall; left side, Mr. W. Winthrop, Mr. Cook, Col. Phillips. I helped lift the corpse into the tomb, carrying the feet. Had cake and cheese at the house. Col. Hathorne, Mr. Corwin, Bro. Sewall were there from Salem. Councilors had rings, ministers gloves, Mr. Mather and Brattle scarfs and rings: so had the bearers.”

Both books ended their quotes with the list of mourning gifts the family gave to honored guests and casket bearers. But wait. Where was Danforth buried? Even though Danforth lived in Cambridge, Massachusetts, I searched Boston’s Historic Burying Grounds Initiative database first. Ten Danforths were listed, but not the Thomas who died in 1699. So I tried the Find a Grave database, narrowing down the search to Cambridge. Still nothing.

But what if Sewall said something more in his diary? And he did!

The entry continued: “Cambridge Burying Place is handsomely fenced in with boards, which has not been done above a month or six weeks.”

Thanks to Samuel Sewall’s diary, we know where Hon. Thomas Danforth’s mortal remains lie. While it doesn’t explicitly say which tomb Danforth is in, and none are labeled with his name, he’s definitely buried in an unmarked tomb at Old Burying Ground in Cambridge. His wife and possibly other family members may be buried there too. I added a memorial for Danforth at Find a Grave, not knowing one already existed with an “unknown location.” The duplicate listings were merged into Memorial 240442382.

Danforth and the Salem witch trials

As deputy governor, Thomas Danforth observed the examinations of accused witches Elizabeth Proctor and Sarah Cloyce at a meeting of the Court of Assistants in Salem in April 1692. Local magistrates, John Hathorne and Jonathan Corwin, handled the questioning, while Rev. Samuel Parris transcribed the session.* This experience no doubt led to Danforth’s disapproval of the judicial proceedings.

In a letter dated 8 October 1692, Thomas Brattle, an outspoken opponent of the witch trials, wrote: “But although the chief judge, and some of the other judges, be very zealous in these proceedings, yet this you may take for a truth, that there are several about the Bay, men for understanding, judgment, and piety, inferior to few, if any, in [New England], that do utterly condemn the said proceedings, and do freely deliver their judgment in the case to be this, viz., that these methods will utterly ruin and undo poor N. E. I shall nominate some of these to you, viz., the Hon. Simon Bradstreet Esq.; the Hon. Thomas Danforth Esq.; the Rev. Mr. Increase Mather, and the Rev. Mr. Samuel Willard….”

With the Court of Oyer and Terminer disbanded, Tuesday, 6 December 1692—“a very dark cold day,” Sewall reports—was “the day appointed for choosing of Judges.” William Stoughton was unanimously chosen Chief Justice of the new Superior Court of Judicature with 15 votes, while Thomas Danforth received 12 votes, and John Richards, Waitstill Winthrop, and Sewall received 7 votes each. Only 15 Assistants were present. Apparently, Danforth didn’t want anything to do with the witch trials, which would be a significant focus of the new court with so many accused witches still in jail. Two days later, Sewall’s diary says, “Mr. Danforth is invited to dinner, and after pressed to accept his place.” After Lecture on Thursday, December 22, Stoughton, Richards, Winthrop, and Sewall received their commissions as Judges and took their oaths. Danforth, having been “pressed,” later joined them on the bench.

The Salem witch trials started again in January 1693. Of the 56 indictments for witchcraft, true bills were found against 26 but only three were found guilty—Elizabeth Johnson Jr., Sarah Wardwell, and Mary Post. Without the use of spectral evidence in court and possibly because of Danforth’s influence, the court quickly brought the trials to an end. Then, Governor Phips issued pardons for the three convicted women as well as others convicted from the previous court.

Thomas Danforth remained on the supreme court until his death in 1699. On November 7 of that year, Sewall wrote, “Mr. Stoughton, in his speech to the Grand Jury, takes great notice of Judge Danforth’s death. Saith he was a lover of religion and religious men; the oldest servant the country ever had; zealous against vice; and if had any detractors; yet was so much on the other as to erect him a monument among this people.” Then there was a sharp reminder from the Puritan minister, Mr. Willard, who “in his prayer mentioned God’s displeasure in his removal; and desired the Judges might act on the bench as those who must shortly go to give their account.”

Salem’s End

Thomas Danforth is also known for giving 800 acres of land to families who wanted to escape Salem and memories of the witch trials. Previously known as Danforth’s Farms, the town was incorporated in 1700 as Framingham, Massachusetts, named after Framlingham, Suffolk, England, where Danforth was baptized in 1623. The section where the Salem refugees lived is still known as Salem End.

*This line has been edited from the original post. Based on several 19th-century authors, I had written: “Rev. Samuel Parris was in charge of the interrogations that day, and Danforth recorded the session.” After Marilynne K. Roach commented, and I replied back, I went back to the books and revised my thinking. See Comments, below, for more details.

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

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

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

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

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

The Life of Parris

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

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

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

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

The Qualities of a Servant

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

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

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

Tribulations and Trials

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

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

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

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

Story with No Ending

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

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

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

Sources

Previously posted on my Genealogy Ink website.

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

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

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

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

Of English traditions

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

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

Being a Puritan

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

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

Individual details

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

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

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

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

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

Salem witch trials
Gov. William Phips

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

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

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

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

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

History matters

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

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

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

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

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

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Proctor’s Ledge, Salem

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

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

A Discovery of Witches

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Parsonage

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

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

Addition and Demolition

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

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

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

Righting a Wrong

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

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

Recovering the Past

1681 Salem Village parsonage site

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

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

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

Originally published on my Genealogy Ink website 31 May 2015.