March 6, 2016: For more than a year in the late 17th century, a small village in colonial Massachusetts was the scene of a series of trials and executions of people accused of witchcraft. Nige Tassell explores how group hysteria gave rise to a horror that shocked the world.
The heat is stifling on this July day in 1692, as five dishevelled and bound women are paraded on a wooden cart through the streets of Salem village in the colony of Massachusetts Bay. As the cart bumps its way towards a hill on the outskirts, the five contemplate their mortality. Within minutes theyâ€™re led, hoods drawn over their heads, towards a rudimentary set of gallows, and their imminent executions.
These five women â€“ Sarah Good, Elizabeth Howe, Susannah Martin, Rebecca Nurse and Sarah Wildes â€“ were the among the first to be tried and found guilty of witchcraft during a bleak nine-month period of New England history simply recalled as the Salem Witch Trials.
As the innocent women approached the gallows, in the last moments of their lives, they continued to protest their innocence. Revd Nicholas Noyes, one of the local clergymen who had vigorously pursued the prosecutions, was the particular focus of Sarah Goodâ€™s anger: â€œYou are a liar. I am no more a witch than you are a wizard. And if you take away my life, God will give you blood to drink.â€
One of the girls afflicted by witchcraft, Mary Walcott, gives ‘evidence’ at a trial. Engraving, dated 1876. (Universal History Archive/UIG via Getty Images)
Good had been among the first local women to be arrested, after several young girls from the village had experienced mysterious afflictions the previous February. One bitterly cold evening, Betty Parris and Abigail Williams â€“ the daughter and niece of the local puritan minister Samuel Parris â€“ began displaying disturbing behaviour described as being â€œbeyond the power of epileptic fits or natural disease to effectâ€.
They screamed, made unearthly sounds, suffered convulsions and violently threw objects, and themselves, around their homes. When asked who it was that had afflicted them, they named Good â€“ a homeless woman who had fallen destitute after denying the inheritance of her wealthy fatherâ€™s estate â€“ as one of the three culprits. The girlsâ€™ accusation was that Good had performed witchcraft on them.
The other two accused and arrested at the same time were Sarah Osborne and Tituba, the Parrisâ€™s black slave. Both, like Good, were viewed as outcasts by the local community; Tituba for her race and Osborne for the shedding of any religious beliefs she might once have held.
They were soft, obvious targets for a mistrustful, God-fearing populace living along strictly defined lines. When it came to religion, Salem Village was as devout as any other settlement in the area; one visitor observed that the residents of New England could â€œneither drive a bargain, nor make a jest, without a text of Scripture at the end of itâ€.
Indeed, as Stacy Schiff explains in The Witches, her freshly published history of the witch trials, â€œIt would have been difficult to find more than a few souls to whom the supernatural was not eminently real, part and parcel of the culture, as was the devil himselfâ€.
A 1682 engraving of Tituba, performing spells in front of children. (from A Popular History of the United States)
While puritanism in New England demanded rigidly defined behaviour (hymns were the only permissible music, while childrenâ€™s toys were outlawed), the colonyâ€™s geographical isolation increased the insularity of these communities. Hemmed in by the ocean to the east and by an untamed wilderness to the west, settlers were completely disconnected from both the mother country on the other side of the Atlantic and the remainder of the American continent.
And insularity bred paranoia, as Schiff sharply explains. â€œIn isolated settlements, in dim, smoky, firelit homes, New Englanders lived very much in the dark, where one listens more acutely, feels more passionately, imagines most vividly, where the sacred and the occult thrive.â€
These five executions were not the first in New England for the crime of witchcraft. Between 1647 and 1688, 12 women had been sentenced to death for making covenants with the devil.
But the particular brand of paranoia that was rife in Salem Village â€“ fed by a rivalry with neighbouring Salem Town, ongoing family feuds and attacks by Native Americans â€“ developed into mass hysteria. A flurry of accusations from girls with afflictions similar to those of Betty Parris and Abigail Williams resulted in an avalanche of arrests and prosecutions.
The testimony of Abigal Williams against George Jacobs Jr. (Massachusetts Historical Society)
Warrants were issued by the dozen, sometimes for the arrest of the most unlikely suspects. Among those detained in March 1692 were Martha Corey and Rebecca Nurse, upstanding members of the local churches in Salem Village and Salem Town respectively. Corey, a woman who, in her own words, â€œhad made a profession of Christ and rejoiced to go and hear the word of Godâ€, had drawn the attention of the prosecutors by offering the opinion that the accusers were just â€œpoor, distracted childrenâ€.
The hysteria gripping Salem â€“ a settlement resonating with the incessant sound of accusation and counter-accusation â€“ showed that no-one was exempt from suspicion. Even Sarah Goodâ€™s four-year-old daughter Dorothy was arrested and interrogated by the magistrates.
By the end of May, more than 60 people were in custody; the vast majority were women, but a handful of men were also detained. On 2 June, the specially convened Court of Oyer and Terminer (â€˜oyerâ€™ meaning â€˜to hearâ€™, â€˜terminerâ€™ meaning â€˜to decideâ€™) sat for the first time, presided over by William Stoughton, the newly appointed lieutenant governor of the Province of Massachusetts Bay. As chief justice, Stoughton believed that spectral evidence presented to the court â€“ that is, evidence gathered from dreams and visions â€“ would form a central plank of the prosecutions. At the same time, the accused would be denied legal representation.
Trials would regularly descend into hysteria. (MPI/Getty Images)
Two days before the court convened, a puritan minister from Boston named Cotton MatherÂ wrote to one of the judges expressing his concern over the admissibility of such evidence. A prolific pamphleteer railing against the spread of witchcraft (or â€œmolestations from the invisible worldâ€), Mather was nonetheless keen for due diligence to occur inside the courtroom. â€œDo not lay more stress on pure spectral evidence than it will bear,â€ he cautioned.
The first case brought before the grand jury was that of Bridget Bishop, a woman around the age of 60 who faced a plethora of accusations: that she could pass through doors and windows without opening them; that she had made holes in the road suddenly open up, into which carts would fall before the holes would instantly disappear; that she had summoned a â€œblack pigâ€ with the body of a monkey and the feet of a cockerel. A large proportion of the case against Bishop also focused on her lifestyle, especially her rumoured promiscuity and un-puritan ways. Tried and found guilty within the course of a single day, Bishop was hanged a week later on 10 June, the first execution of the trials.
All gallows day
After Bishopâ€™s execution â€“ and the courtâ€™s endorsement of the indictments against Rebecca Nurse and John Willard, a local constable who, doubting the allegations, refused to bring the accused to court â€“ the grand jury adjourned for almost three weeks. They did so in order to gather the observations of the colonyâ€™s most senior ministers, to hear their reflections â€œupon the state of things as they then stoodâ€.
The eight-point response, penned by Cotton Mather, advised prudence when it came to procedure, cautioning that hastiness shouldnâ€™t overwhelm lawfulness. However, the subtlety of the ministersâ€™ response was largely sidelined by the grand jury, who drew their energy from one particular concluding line from Mather: â€œwe cannot but humbly recommend unto the government, the speedy and vigorous prosecution of such as have rendered themselves obnoxious.â€ In possession of such a mandate, the trials moved up a gear.
In early July, Sarah Good and her four co-accused were tried and found guilty of bewitchment, making that journey to the gallows on that wooden cart a few days later. The indictments then came thick and fast.
Martha Corey, seen in a print from c1880, was imprisoned, tried and executed during the Salem Witch Trials. Her husband was also put to death. (The Print Collector/Print Collector/Getty Images)
Another five were executed exactly a month later on 19 August, four of whom were men. One of them, George Burroughs, protested his innocence as the noose was readied. He is recorded to have recited a prayer â€œuttered with such composedness as such fervency of spirit [that it] drew tears from many, so that it seemed to some that the spectators would hinder the executionâ€. Only the intervention of Cotton Mather â€“ who appeased the crowd with the observation that â€œthe devil had often been transformed into the Angel of Lightâ€ â€“ ensured that the hangings continued as scheduled.
In mid-September, a further group went to the gallows â€“ â€œEight Firebrands of Hellâ€ in the words of Rev Noyes. Three days earlier, the death of another of the accused had occurred. Giles Corey, the husband of Martha Corey, refused to enter a plea and was subjected to a particularly gruesome form of torture where the accused is crushed under heavy stones until they either respond or die â€“Â a tactic known as ‘peine forte et dure’, (â€˜until he either answered or diedâ€™). Corey still refused to offer a plea and paid with his life.
Examination of a Witch by Thomas Matteson, 1853. (Collection of the Peabody Essex Museum)
By now, seven months on from the arrest of Sarah Good, the hysteria was decelerating. Having initially set up the Court of Oyer and Terminer, Governor William Phips â€“ having returned from fighting in King Philipâ€™s War in Maine â€“ voiced concerns about â€œwhat danger some of [his] innocent subjects might be exposed toâ€ and dissolved the court, in the process pardoning those remaining in custody.
Not that the prosecutions were concluded even then. Fresh witchcraft cases continued to come before the new Superior Court of Judicature that, while again presided over by William Stoughton, was ordered not to accept spectral evidence. Even when the court ordered further executions, Phips wisely issued pardons to those convicted.
Shame the Devil
The Salem Witch Trials offered a salutary lesson not only to the colony of Massachusetts Bay but also to the new nation that would be forged in the following century. Through the loss of 20 lives, the episode continues to warn of the dangers of insularity and isolationism, of intolerance, of religious extremism.
The less-than-thorough procedures of the Salem courtroom also prompted tighter, more rational legal processes that would later be enshrined in the US Constitution.
Still from a Bristol Old Vic production of Arthur Miller’s The Crucible, 1954. (Photo by Thurston Hopkins/Picture Post/Getty Images)
Of course, remembering the events of 1692 can still act as a brake when contemporary events take a sinister downturn. This was no more notable than when playwright Arthur Miller chose to dramatise the trials in his 1953 play The Crucible. An allegory of the intolerant McCarthyism discolouring the nation at the time â€“ Miller would himself be called before the Committee on Un-American Activities three years later â€“ the parallels were undeniable.
Despite its power as a cautionary tale, Salem remains an enigma that continues to fascinate and beguile more than three centuries later. â€œThe irresistible locked-room mystery of the matter is what keeps us coming back to it,â€ concludes Stacy Schiff.
â€œIn 300 years, we have not adequately penetrated nine months of Massachusetts history. If we knew more about Salem, we might attend to it less.â€