valuable animals were drowned.[i.199] Their owner, Nathaniel Putnam,
brought an action; but he could not recover damages. The horses were
evidently trespassing, and the Court did not seem to regard Jacobs's
conduct as a heinous matter. It is not to be supposed, that Nathaniel
Putnam harbored sentiments of revenge or resentment for eighteen years,
or had any hand in prosecuting Jacobs in 1692. There is every
indication that he did not sympathize in the violent passions which
raged on that occasion, although he was much under the power of the
delusion. But the affair of drowning the horses was probably for a long
time a topic of gossip, and may have given to the author of the
catastrophe a notoriety which nearly cost him his life.
The account that has been given of the elements of the population of
the Salem Farms or Village, shows that, while there were the usual
varieties entering into the composition of all communities, it is
wholly inadmissible to suppose that the witchcraft delusion took place
there because it was the scene of greater ignorance or stupidity or
barbarism than prevailed elsewhere. This will be made more apparent
still by some general views of the state of society and manners. The
people of a remote age are in general only regarded as they are seen
through prominent occurrences and public movements. These constitute
the ordinary materials of history. Dynasties, reigns of kings, armies,
legislative proceedings, large ecclesiastical synods, dogmatic creeds,
and the like, are, as a general thing, about all we know of the past.
Por[i.200]traits of individuals appear here and there; but, separated
from the ordinary life of the times, they cannot be fairly or fully
appreciated. The public life of the past is but the outline, or, more
strictly speaking, the mere skeleton, of humanity. To fill up the
outline, to clothe the skeleton with elastic nerves and warm flesh, and
quicken it with a vital circulation, we must get at the domestic,
social, familiar, and ordinary experience of individuals and private
persons; we must obtain a view of the popular customs and the daily
routine of life. In this way only can history fulfil its office in
making the past present.
The people of the early colonial settlements had a private and interior
life, as much as we have now, and the people of all ages and countries
have had. It is common to regard them in no other light than as a
severe, sombre, and pleasure-abhorring generation. It was not so with
them altogether. They had the same nature that we have. It was not all
gloom and severity. They had their recreations, amusements, gayeties,
and frolics. Youth was as buoyant with hope and gladness, love as warm
and tender, mirth as natural to innocence, wit as sprightly, then as
now. There was as much poetry and romance: the merry laugh enlivened
the newly opened fields, and rang through the bordering woods as loud,
jocund, and unrestrained as in these older and more crowded
settlements. It is true that their theology was austere, and their
polity, in Church and State, stern; but, in their modes of life, there
were some features which[i.201] gave peculiar opportunity to exercise
and gratify a love of social excitement of a pleasurable kind. Let me
mention some of the customs having a tendency in this direction, that
prevailed in the early settlements of New England.
Whenever a young man had made his clearing in the forest, got out the
frame of his house, and selected a helpmeet to dwell with him in it,
there was "a raising." On an appointed day, the neighbors far and near
assembled; all together put their shoulders to the work; and, before
the shadows of night enveloped the scene, the house was up, and covered
from sill to ridgepole. The same was done if the house of a neighbor
had been destroyed by fire. In this case, often the timbers, joists,
and boards were contributed as well as the labor. These were made the
occasions of general merriment, in which all ages and both sexes
participated. Then there were the "huskings." After the barns were
filled with hay and grain, and the corn was ripe, at "harvest home,"
gatherings would be seen on the bright autumnal afternoons of
successive days, in the neighborhood of the different farmhouses. The
sheaves would be taken from the shocks and brought up from the fields,
the golden leaves and milky tassels stripped from the full ear, and the
crib filled to the brim. These were scenes of unalloyed enjoyment and
unrestrained gayety.
At that time were prevalent, in rural neighborhoods, other recreations
promotive of social hilarity to the[i.202] highest degree. As a wintry
evening drew on, the wide, deep fireplace—equalling in width nearly the
whole of one side of the room, and so deep that benches were
permanently attached to the jambs, on which two or more could
comfortably sit—was duly prepared. A huge log, of a diameter equal to
that of "the mast of some great admiral," six feet perhaps in length,
was worked in by handspikes to its place as the "back-log;" a smaller
one, as "back-stick," placed over it; the great andirons duly adjusted,
and the wood piled on artistically—for there was an art in building a
wood-fire. The kindlings were placed on top of the whole; never by an
experienced hand below. More than the light of day, from dazzling
chandeliers or the magic tongues of flaming gas-burners, blazes through
the halls of modern luxury and splendor; but the lights and shadows
from a glowing, old-fashioned, New-England country fireplace created a
scene as enlivening, exhilarating, and genial as has ever been
witnessed, and cannot be surpassed. Assembled neighbors in a single
evening accomplished what would have been the work of a family for
months. The corn and the nuts were all shelled; the young birch was
stripped down in thin strands, and brooms enough made for a year's
service in house and barn; and various other useful offices rendered.
The sound of busy hands and nimble fingers was lost in commingling
happy voices. Fun and jest, joy and love, ruled the hour. The whole
affair was followed by "Blind-man's Buff" or some[i.203] other sport.
After the "old folks" had considerately retired, who knows but that the
sons and daughters of Puritans sometimes wound up with a dance? There
were sleigh-rides, and the woods rang with the happy laugh and jingling
bells. The vehicles used on these occasions were, prior to 1700, more
properly called "sleds." Our modern "sleigh" had not then been
introduced. As the spring came on, logs would be hollowed or scooped
out and placed near the feet of sugar maples, a slanting incision made
a foot or two above them in the trunks of the trees, a slip of shingle
inserted, and the delicious sap would trickle down into the troughs.
When the proper time came, tents or booths made of evergreen boughs
would be erected in the woods, great kettles hung over blazing fires,
and a whole neighborhood camp out for several days and nights, until
the work was accomplished, and the flavory syrup or solid cakes of
sugar brought out.
These were some of the recreations of the country people in the early
settlements of New England; continuing, perhaps, in frontier towns to
this day. They constituted forms of enjoyment which cannot exist in
cities or older communities; and possessed a charm, in the memory of
all who ever participated in them, greater, far greater, than society
in any later stage can possess.
The principal method of travelling in those days was on horseback. It
afforded many special opportunities for social enjoyment. Women as well
as men were trained to it. The people of the village were all[i.204] at
home in the saddle. The daughters of Joseph Putnam, sisters of Israel,
were celebrated as equestrians. Tradition relates adventurous feats of
theirs in this line, equal to that which constitutes a part of the
history of their famous brother. There were, perhaps, several games of
skill or chance practised more or less, even in those days, in this
neighborhood. The only one that seems to have been openly allowed, of
which we have any evidence, was shovel-board. This game, now supposed
to be out of use, is referred to by Shakespeare, and was quite common
in England as well as in this country. A board about two and a half
feet wide and twenty feet long was placed three feet above the floor,
somewhat like a billiard-table, though not with so wide a surface,
precisely level and perfectly smooth, covered with a sprinkling of fine
sand. It was provided with weights or balls, called "pieces," flattened
on one end. The game consisted in shoving them as far as possible,
without going over the end. A trough surrounded the table to catch the
pieces if they fell. Richard Grant White, from whom this account of the
game has been derived, says that "it required great accuracy of eye,
and steadiness of hand, much more than ten-pins." He states that, when
a boy, he saw it played by "brawny" men, in Brooklyn, N.Y., and that
the pieces then used were of brass. It is probable that the "pieces"
used on Bridget Bishop's shovel-board were made of some heavy wood, as
they were thrown into the fire for the purpose of destroying them. The
fact that a game like this was suffered to[i.205] be openly played in
Salem Village is quite remarkable, and shows that some license was left
for such amusements.
The records and files of the local courts show, that, notwithstanding
the austere gravity and strictness of manners and morals usually
ascribed to our New-England ancestors, occasional irregularities
occurred in the early settlements, which would be considered high
misdemeanors in our day. The following deposition was given "on oath
before the Court," Feb. 26, 1651. Edward Norris was the son of the
minister of the First Church; had been for more than ten years, and
continued to be for twenty years after, schoolmaster of the town; and,
by his character as well as office, commanded the highest respect. John
Kitchen, in 1655, was chosen "searcher and sealer of leather." Giles
Corey had not yet purchased his farm, but lived on his town-lot,
extending from Essex Street, near its western extremity, to the North
River. They were severally persons of good estate.
"The Testimony of Giles Corey.—Mr. Edward Norris and I were going
towards the brickkiln: John Kitchen, going with us, fell a nipping and
pinching of us. And, when we came back again, John Kitchen struck up
Mr. Edward Norris his heels and mine, and fell upon me, and catched me
by the throat, and held me so long till he had almost stopped my
breath. And I said unto John Kitchen, 'This is not good jesting.' And
John Kitchen replied, 'This is nothing: I do owe you more than this of
old: this is not half of that which you shall have afterwards.' After
this,[i.206] he went into his house, and he took stinking water and
threw upon us, and took me and thrust me out of doors, and I went my
ways. And John Kitchen followed me half-way up the lane, or
thereabouts. Perceiving him to follow me, I went to go over the rails.
He took me again, and threw me down off the rails, and fell a beating
of me until I was all bloody. And, Thomas Bishop being present, I
desired him to bear witness of what he saw. Upon my words, he let me
rise. As soon as I was up, he fell a beating of me again.
"Testified on oath before the Court, 26th Feb., 1651.
"Henry Bartholomew, _Clerk_."
This was indeed an extraordinary outburst of lawless violence, and
gives a singular insight of the state of society. Such an occurrence in
our day would create astonishment. The organized power of the community
to suppress vicious and rude passions was probably never brought to
bear with greater rigidness than in our Puritan villages; but it did
not fully accomplish its end. Behind and beneath the solemn and formal
exterior, there was, after all, perhaps as much irregularity of life as
now. The nature of man had not been subdued. The people had their
quarrels and fights, and their frolics and merriments, in defiance of
the restraints of authority. Violations of local and general laws were
not infrequent; and flowed, as ever since, from intemperance, in as
large a measure. Kitchen, in this instance, acted as if under the
influence of liquor. His behavior, in tripping up the heels and
throwing dirty water upon the person of the school[i.207]master of the
town, the dignity of whose social position is indicated by the title of
"Mr.;" and in giving to Corey such a persistent and gratuitous
pommelling,—bears the aspect of a drunken delirium. The latter seems
not to have supposed, for some time, that he was in earnest, but to
have looked upon his conduct as rough play, which was carried rather
too far. Poor Corey was often getting before the town Court as accused
or accuser. He was, to the end, the victim of ill-usage, either given
or taken. Though not a bad-natured man, he was almost always in
trouble. The tenor of his long life was as eccentric and unruly as the
manner of his death was strange and horrible.
There was what may be called an institution in the rural parishes of
the early times, still existing to some extent perhaps in country
places, which must not be omitted in an enumeration of controlling
influences. The people lived on farms, at some distance from each
other, and almost all at great distances from the meeting-house. Local
and parental authority, church discipline, public opinion, enforced
attendance upon the regular religious services. Fashion, habit, and
choice concurred in bringing all to meeting on the Lord's Day. It was
impossible for many to return home during the intermission between the
services of the forenoon and afternoon. The effect was, that the whole
community were thrown and kept together every week for several hours,
during which they could not avoid social intercourse. It was a more
effective institution than the town-meeting; for it occurred oftener,
and[i.208] included women and children. In pleasant weather, they would
perhaps gather together in knots at eligible places, or stroll off in
companies to the shades of the neighboring woods. In bad weather, they
would remain in the meeting-house, or congregate at Deacon Ingersoll's
ordinary, or in the great rooms of his dwelling-house. As a whole, this
practice must have produced important results upon the character of the
people. In the absence of newspapers, or of much intercourse with
remote places, the day was made the occasion for hearing and telling
all the news. It provided for the circulation of ideas, good and bad.
It widened the sphere of influence of the wiser and better sort, and
gave opportunity for mischievous people to do much harm. It was a sort
of central bazaar, open every week, where all the varieties of local
gossip could be interchanged and circulated far and wide. Of the
aggregate character of the effects thus produced, I do not propose to
strike the balance. It was undoubtedly an effective instrumentality in
moulding the population of the country, developing the elements of
society, quickening and rendering more vigorous the action of the
people in masses, and elucidating the phenomena of their history. It
answers my purpose, at present, to suggest, that, if any popular
delusion or fanaticism arose, the means of giving it a rapid diffusion,
and of intensifying its power, were in this way provided.
In the early settlement of the country, the pursuit of game in the
forests, rivers, and lakes, was necessary as a means of subsistence,
and has always been im[i.209]portant in that view. A war against beasts
and birds of prey was also required to be incessantly kept up. The
methods adopted for these ends were various and ingenious, often
requiring courage and skill, and in most instances conducted in
companies. Deer and moose were sometimes caged by surrounding them, or
trapped; but the gun was chiefly relied upon in their pursuit. There
were various methods for catching the smaller animals. One of the
sports of boyhood was to spring the rabbits or hares. A sapling, or
young tree, was bent down and fastened to a stick slid into notches cut
in trees, on each side of the path of the animal. The rabbit is wont to
race through the woods at great speed, and along established tracks,
which, particularly after snow has fallen, are clearly traceable. To
the cross-stick, thus placed above the path, one end of a strong
horse-hair was tied. The other end was in a slip-knot, with a noose
just large enough, and hanging at the height, to receive the head of
the rabbit. Not seeing the noose, and rushing along the path, the
rabbit would jerk the cross-stick out of the notches. The tree would
bound back to its original upright direction, and the rabbit remain
swinging aloft, until, at the break of day, the boys would rejoice in
the success of their stratagem. Pigeons in clouds frequented the
country in their seasons, and acres upon acres of the forests bowed
beneath their weight. They were taken by nets, dozens at a time, or
brought down in great numbers by shot-guns. The marshalled hosts of
wild geese made their noisy flights over the land in the[i.210] spring
and fall, traversing a space spanning the continent north and south.
They were brought down by the gun, on the wing, or surprised while
resting in their long route or stopped by storms, around secluded ponds
or swamps. Ducks and other aquatic birds were abundant on the rivers
and marshes, and pursued in canoes along the bays and seashores.
Salt-water fish were within reach in the neighboring ocean; while an
unfailing supply of fresh-water fish was yielded by Wenham Lake,
Wilkins's Pond, and the running streams.
The bear was a formidable prowler around the settlements, killing young
cattle, making havoc in the sheepfold, and depredating upon the barn
and farm yard. He was a dangerous antagonist, of immense strength in
his arms and claws. Sometimes he was reached effectually by the gun,
but the trap was mainly relied upon to secure him. His skin made him a
valuable prize, and he supplied other beneficial uses. The earliest and
rudest method of trapping a bear was as follows: A place was selected
in the woods, where two large fallen and mouldering trees were side by
side within two or three feet of each other. The space between them
would be roofed over by throwing branches and boughs across them, and
closed up at one end. The other end would be left open. A gun was
placed inside, heavily loaded, the muzzle towards the open end; to the
trigger a cord was fastened running along by the barrel of the gun,
passing over a cross-bar, and hanging down directly before the muzzle,
baited with a piece of fresh meat. The bear,[i.211] ranging in the
woods at night, would be attracted by the smell of meat, and come
snuffing around. At the open end, he would see the bait, rush in, seize
it between his jaws, pull the cord, discharge the gun, and his head and
breast be torn to pieces. The men engaged in the enterprise would
remain awake in some neighboring house, waiting and listening, with the
extremest interest, for the report of the gun to announce their
success. At the break of day, they would gather to the spot, and
participate in the profit of the capture. After a while, iron or steel
traps were introduced. They would be skilfully baited and set, and
fastened to a tree by a chain. The whole was covered over with light
soil and leaves. The bear would make for the bait. The weight of his
paw would spring the trap. The iron-teeth would hold him fast till the
morning. In his suffering and exasperation, it would require
considerable effort to despatch him. In catching bears, as well as
foxes, much skill and art were needed. They were each very wary and
cautious; and, where iron was used in the traps, some scent was
necessary to disguise the smell of the metal. All appearance of having
been disturbed had to be removed from the ground. Trapping became quite
a science, and was a pursuit of much importance.
Wolves were perhaps the most destructive of the beasts of prey.
Although not so large or strong as bears, they were far more fierce and
rapacious. Bears could be tamed, but wolves not. Bears were not
dangerous, unless provoked, or suffering from hunger, or[i.212] alarmed
for the safety of their young. It was thought that kind treatment would
awaken strong attachment in them, but wolves were always snarling and
ferocious. They roamed mostly in packs, and would kill sheep, lambs,
and poultry long after hunger was appeased. The farmers regarded them
as their great enemy. A long and deep trench would be dug, lined with
slippery logs, from which the bark had been taken, standing upright,
and touching each other. The trench was covered by a slight framework,
upon which leaves and dirt were scattered, to make the surface appear
like the surrounding territory. Some savory bait would be placed over
it. The wolves, rushing on, would break through. Not being able to
ascend the sides, they would be found alive, the next morning, at the
bottom. These were called "wolf-pits." It was no easy matter to dispose
of or despatch the furious animals, and the wolf-pits were often the
scenes of much excitement. There was another class of animals,—divided
into different species, mostly according to their size,—smaller but
fiercer than wolves, of extraordinary strength and activity, called
wild-cats, catamounts, or loup-cerviers, pronounced by the farmers
lucifees. These were only taken by the gun. It was considered a useful
public service, and no inconsiderable feat, to kill them.
Some of the laborious employments, at that time, were especially
promotive of social influence; for instance, the making and mending
highways. This was secured by a tax, annually levied in town-meeting.
The work was placed under the care and direction of[i.213] surveyors,
annually chosen. A small part of this tax, however, was paid in money.
Most of it was "worked out." At convenient seasons, when there was a
respite from the ordinary farm work, the men of a neighborhood would
come together, in greater or less numbers, at a designated time and
place, with their oxen and implements. Working in unison, they would
work merrily and with energy; and, as the tough roots and deeply bedded
rocks gave way to the pickaxe, crowbar, and chain, and rough places
became smooth, the wilderness would echo back their voices of
gratulation, and a spirit of animating rivalry stimulate their toils.
Many other operations were carried on, such as getting up hay from the
salt-marshes and building stone-walls, by neighbors working in
companies.
Particular circumstances in the history of the population of Salem
Village contributed to keep up a condition of general intelligence,
which served, to some degree, as a substitute for an organized system
of education. Indeed, any thing like regular schools was rendered
impossible by the then-existing circumstances. Clearings had made a
very inconsiderable encroachment on the wilderness. There were here and
there farmhouses, with deep forests between. It was long before easily
traversable roads could be made. A schoolhouse placed permanently on
any particular spot would be within the reach of but very few. Farmers
most competent to the work, who had enjoyed the advantages of some
degree of education, and could manage to set apart any time for the
pur[i.214]pose, were, in some instances, prevailed upon to receive such
children as were within reaching distance as pupils in their own
houses, to be instructed by them at stated times and for a limited
period. Daniel Andrew rendered this service occasionally. At one
period, we find them practising the plan of a movable school and
schoolmaster. He would be stationed in the houses of particular
persons, with whom the arrangement could be made, a month at a time, in
the different quarters of the village, from Will's Hill to Bass River.
Of course, there was a great lack of elementary education. For a
considerable time, it was reduced to a very low point; and there were
heads of families,—men who had good farms, and possessed the confidence
and respect of their neighbors,—who appear not to have been able to
write.