Putnam, and Jonathan, son of John Putnam, for the arrest of "Rebecca,
wife of Francis Nurse;" and the next morning, at eight o'clock, she was
brought to the house of Nathaniel Ingersoll, in the custody of George
Herrick, the marshal of Essex. There were several distinct indictments,
four of which, for having practised "certain detestable arts called
witchcraft" upon Ann Putnam, Mary Walcot, Elizabeth Hubbard, and
Abigail Williams, are preserved. The examination took place forthwith
at the meeting-house. The age, character, connections, and appearance
of the prisoner, made the occasion one of the extremest interest.
Hathorne, the magistrate, began the proceedings by addressing one of
the afflicted:[ii.61] "What do you say? Have you seen this woman hurt
you?" The answer was, "Yes, she beat me this morning." Hathorne,
addressing another of the afflicted, said, "Abigail, have you been hurt
by this woman?" Abigail answered, "Yes." At that point, Ann Putnam fell
into a grievous fit, and, while in her spasms, cried out that it was
Rebecca Nurse who was thus afflicting her. As soon as Ann's fit was
over, and order restored, Hathorne said, "Goody Nurse, here are two,
Ann Putnam the child, and Abigail Williams, complain of your hurting
them. What do you say to it?" The prisoner replied, "I can say, before
my eternal Father, I am innocent, and God will clear my innocency."
Hathorne, apparently touched for the moment by her language and
bearing, said, "Here is never a one in the assembly but desires it;
but, if you be guilty, pray God discover you." Henry Kenney rose up
from the body of the assembly to speak. Hathorne permitted the
interruption, and said, "Goodman Kenney, what do you say?" Then Kenney
complained of the prisoner, "and further said, since this Nurse came
into the house, he was seized twice with an amazed condition."
Hathorne, addressing the prisoner, said, "Not only these, but the wife
of Mr. Thomas Putnam, accuseth you by credible information, and that
both of tempting her to iniquity and of greatly hurting her." The
prisoner again affirmed her innocence, and said, in answer to the
charge of having hurt these persons, that "she had not been able to get
out of doors these eight or nine days."[ii.62] Hathorne then called
upon Edward Putnam, who, as the record says, "gave in his relate,"
which undoubtedly was a statement of his having seen the afflicted in
their sufferings, and heard them accuse Rebecca Nurse as their
tormentor. Hathorne said, "Is this true, Goody Nurse?" She denied that
she had ever hurt them or any one else in her life. Hathorne repeated,
"You see these accuse you: is it true?" She answered, "No." He again
put the question, "Are you an innocent person relating to this
witchcraft?" It seems, from his manner, that he was beginning really to
doubt whether she might not be innocent; and perhaps the feeling of the
multitude was yielding in her favor.
Here Thomas Putnam's wife cried out, "Did you not bring the black man
with you? Did you not bid me tempt God, and die? How oft have you eat
and drank your own damnation?" This sudden outbreak, from such a
source, accompanied with the wild and apparently supernatural energy
and uncontrollable vehemence with which the words were uttered, roused
the multitude to the utmost pitch of horror; and the prisoner seems to
have been shocked at the dreadful exhibition of madness in the woman
and in the assembly. Releasing her hands from confinement, she spread
them out towards heaven, and exclaimed, "O Lord, help me!" Instantly,
the whole company of the afflicted children "were grievously vexed."
After a while, the tumult subsided, and Hathorne again addressed her,
"Do you not see what a solemn condition[ii.63] these are in? When your
hands are loosed, the persons are afflicted." Then Mary Walcot and
Elizabeth Hubbard came forward, and accused her. Hathorne again
addressed her, "Here are these two grown persons now accuse. What say
you? Do not you see these afflicted persons, and hear them accuse you?"
She answered, "The Lord knows I have not hurt them. I am an innocent
person." Hathorne continued, "It is very awful to all to see these
agonies, and you, an old professor, thus charged with contracting with
the Devil by the effects of it, and yet to see you stand with dry eyes
where there are so many wet." She answered, "You do not know my heart."
Hathorne, "You would do well, if you are guilty, to confess, and give
glory to God."—"I am as clear as the child unborn." Hathorne continued,
"What uncertainty there may be in apparitions, I know not: yet this
with me strikes hard upon you, that you are, at this very present,
charged with familiar spirits,—this is your bodily person they speak
to; they say now they see these familiar spirits come to your bodily
person. Now, what do you say to that?"—"I have none, sir."—"If you
have, confess, and give glory to God. I pray God clear you, if you be
innocent, and, if you are guilty, discover you; and therefore give me
an upright answer. Have you any familiarity with these spirits?"—"No: I
have none but with God alone." It looks as if again the magistrate
began to open his mind to a fair view of the case. He seems to have
sought satisfaction in reference to all the charges[ii.64] that had
been made against her. She was suffering from infirmities of body, the
result not only of age, but of the burdens of life often pressing down
the physical frame, particularly of those who have borne large families
of children. The magistrate had heard some malignant gossip of this
kind, and he asked, "How came you sick? for there is an odd discourse
of that in the mouths of many." She replied that she suffered from
weakness of stomach. He inquired, more specifically, "Have you no
wounds?" Her answer was, that her ailments and weaknesses, all her
bodily infirmities, were the natural effects of what she had
experienced in a long life. "I have none but old age."—"You do know
whether you are guilty, and have familiarity with the Devil; and now,
when you are here present, to see such a thing as these testify,—a
black man whispering in your ear, and birds about you,—what do you say
to it?"—"It is all false: I am clear."—"Possibly, you may apprehend you
are no witch; but have you not been led aside by temptations that
way?"—"I have not." At this point, it almost seems that Hathorne was
yielding to the moral effect of the evidence she bore in her deportment
and language, the impress of conscious innocence in her countenance,
and the manifestation of true Christian purity and integrity in her
whole manner and bearing. Instead of pressing her with further
interrogatories, he gave way to an expression, in the form of a
soliloquy or ejaculation, "What a sad thing is it, that a church-member
here, and now another of Salem,[ii.65] should thus be accused and
charged!" Upon hearing this rather ambiguous expression of the
magistrate, Mrs. Pope fell into a grievous fit.
Mrs. Pope was the wife of Joseph Pope, living with his mother, the
widow Gertrude Pope, on the farm shown on the map. She had followed up
the meetings of the circle, been a constant witness of the sufferings
of the "afflicted children," and attended all the public examinations,
until her nervous system was excited beyond restraint, and for a while
she went into fits and her imagination was bewildered. She acted with
the accusers, and participated in their sufferings. On some occasions,
her conduct was wild and extravagant to the highest degree. At the
examination of Martha Corey, she was conspicuous for the violence of
her actions. In the midst of the proceedings, and in the presence of
the magistrates and hundreds of people, she threw her muff at the
prisoner; and, that missing, pulled off her shoe, and, more successful
this time, hit her square on the head. Hers seems, however, to have
been a case of mere delusion, amounting to temporary insanity. That it
was not deliberate and cold-blooded imposture is rendered probable by
the fact, that she was rescued from the hallucination, and, with her
husband, among the foremost to deplore and denounce the whole affair.
But, when a woman of her position acted in this manner, on such an
occasion, and then went into convulsions, and the whole company of
afflicted persons joined in, the confusion, tumult, and frightfulness
of[ii.66] the scene can hardly be imagined, certainly it cannot be
described in words.
Quiet being restored, Hathorne proceeded: "Tell us, have you not had
visible appearances, more than what is common in nature?"—"I have none,
nor never had in my life."—"Do you think these suffer voluntary or
involuntary?"—"I cannot tell."—"That is strange: every one can
judge."—"I must be silent."—"They accuse you of hurting them; and, if
you think it is not unwillingly, but by design, you must look upon them
as murderers."—"I cannot tell what to think of it." This answer was
considered as very aspersive in its bearing upon the witnesses, and she
was charged with having called them murderers. Being hard of hearing,
she did not always take in the whole import of questions put to her.
She denied that she said she thought them murderers; all she said, and
that she stood to to the last, was that she could not tell what to make
of their conduct. Finally, Hathorne put this question, and called for
an answer, "Do you think these suffer against their wills or not?" She
answered, "I do not think these suffer against their wills." To this
point she was not afraid or unwilling to go, in giving an opinion of
the conduct of the accusing girls. Infirm, half deaf, cross-questioned,
circumvented, surrounded with folly, uproar, and outrage, as she was,
they could not intimidate her to say less, or entrap her to say more.
Then another line of criminating questions was started by the
magistrate: "Why did you never visit[ii.67] these afflicted
persons?"—"Because I was afraid I should have fits too." On every
motion of her body, "fits followed upon the complainants, abundantly
and very frequently." As soon as order was again restored, Hathorne,
being, as he always was, wholly convinced of the reality of the
sufferings of the "afflicted children," addressed her thus, "Is it not
an unaccountable case, that, when you are examined, these persons are
afflicted?" Seeing that he and the whole assembly put faith in the
accusers, her only reply was, "I have got nobody to look to but God."
As she uttered these words, she naturally attempted to raise her hands,
whereupon "the afflicted persons were seized with violent fits of
torture." After silence was again restored, the magistrate pressed his
questions still closer. "Do you believe these afflicted persons are
bewitched?" She answered, "I do think they are." It will be noticed
that there was this difference between Rebecca Nurse and Martha Corey:
The latter was an utter heretic on the point of the popular faith
respecting witchcraft; she did not believe that there were any witches,
and she looked upon the declarations and actions of the "afflicted
children" as the ravings of "distracted persons." The former seems to
have held the opinions of the day, and had no disbelief in witchcraft:
she was willing to admit that the children were bewitched; but she knew
her own innocence, and nothing could move her from the consciousness of
it. Mr. Hathorne continued, "When this witchcraft came upon the stage,
there was no suspicion[ii.68] of Tituba, Mr. Parris's Indian woman. She
professed much love to that child,—Betty Parris; but it was her
apparition did the mischief: and why should not you also be guilty, for
your apparition doth hurt also?" Her answer was, "Would you have me
belie myself?" Weary, probably, of the protracted proceedings, her head
drooped on one side; and forthwith the necks of the afflicted children
were bent in the same way. This new demonstration of the diabolical
power that proceeded from her filled the house with increased awe, and
spread horrible conviction of her guilt through all minds. Elizabeth
Hubbard's neck was fixed in that direction, and could not be moved.
Abigail Williams cried out, "Set up Goody Nurse's head, the maid's neck
will be broke." Whereupon, some persons held the prisoner's head up,
and "Aaron Way observed that Betty Hubbard's was immediately righted."
To consummate the effect of the whole proceeding, Mr. Parris, by
direction of the magistrates, "read what he had in characters taken
from Mr. Thomas Putnam's wife in her fits." We shall come to the matter
thus introduced by Mr. Parris, at a future stage of the story. It is
sufficient here to say, that it contained the most positive and minute
declarations that the apparition of Rebecca Nurse had appeared to her,
on several occasions, and horribly tortured her. After hearing Parris's
statement, Hathorne asked the prisoner, "What do you think of this?"
Her reply was, "I cannot help it: the Devil may appear in my shape." It
may be mentioned, that Mrs. Ann Putnam was present during this[ii.69]
examination, and, in the course of it, went into the most dreadful
bodily agony, charging it on Rebecca Nurse. Her sufferings were so
violent, and held on so long, that the magistrates gave permission to
her husband to carry her out of the meeting-house, to free her from the
malignant presence of the prisoner. The record of the examination
closes thus:—
"Salem Village, March 24th, 1691/2.—The Reverend Mr. Samuel Parris,
being desired to take in writing the examination of Rebecca Nurse, hath
returned it as aforesaid.
"Upon hearing the aforesaid, and seeing what we then did see, together
with the charges of the persons then present, we committed Rebecca
Nurse, the wife of Francis Nurse of Salem Village, unto Her Majesty's
jail in Salem, as _per mittimus_ then given out, in order to further
examination."
signatures
The presence of Ann Putnam, the mother, on this occasion; the statement
from her, read by Mr. Parris; and the terrible sufferings she
exhibited, produced, no doubt, a deep effect upon the magistrates and
all present. Her social position and personal appearance undoubtedly
contributed to heighten it. For two months, her house had been the
constant scene of the extraordinary actings of the circle of girls of
which her daughter and maid-servant were the leading spirits.[ii.70]
Her mind had been absorbed in the mysteries of spiritualism. The
marvels of necromancy and magic had been kept perpetually before it.
She had been living in the invisible world, with a constant sense of
supernaturalism surrounding her. Unconsciously, perhaps, the passions,
prejudices, irritations, and animosities, to which she had been
subject, became mixed with the vagaries of an excited imagination; and,
laid open to the inroads of delusion as her mind had long been by
perpetual tamperings with spiritual ideas and phantoms, she may have
lost the balance of reason and sanity. This, added to a morbid
sensibility, probably gave a deep intensity to her voice, action, and
countenance. The effect upon the excited multitude must have been very
great. Although she lived to realize the utter falseness of all her
statements, her monstrous fictions were felt by her, at the time, to be
a reality.
In concluding his report of this examination, Mr. Parris says, "By
reason of great noises by the afflicted and many speakers, many things
are pretermitted." He was probably quite willing to avoid telling the
whole story of the disgraceful and shocking scenes enacted in the
meeting-house that day. Deodat Lawson was present during the earlier
part of the proceedings. He says that Mr. Hale began with prayer; that
the prisoner "pleaded her innocency with earnestness;" that, at the
opening, some of the girls, Mary Walcot among them, declared that the
prisoner had never hurt them. Presently, however, Mary Walcot screamed
out that she was bitten, and charged[ii.71] it upon Rebecca Nurse. The
marks of teeth were produced on her wrist. Lawson says, "It was so
disposed that I had not leisure to attend the whole time of
examination." The meaning is, I suppose, that he desired to withdraw
into the neighboring fields to con over his manuscript, and make
himself more able to perform with effect the part he was to act that
afternoon. "There was once," he says, "such an hideous screech and
noise (which I heard as I walked at a little distance from the
meeting-house) as did amaze me; and some that were within told me the
whole assembly was struck with consternation, and they were afraid that
those that sat next to them were under the influence of witchcraft."
The whole congregation was in an uproar, every one afflicted by and
affrighting every other, amid a universal outcry of terror and horror.
As it was a part of the policy of the managers of the business to
utterly overwhelm the influence of all natural sentiment in the
community, they coupled with this proceeding against a venerable and
infirm great-grandmother, another of the same kind against a little
child. Immediately after the examination of Rebecca Nurse was
concluded, Dorcas, a daughter of Sarah Good, was brought before the
magistrates. She was between four and five years old. Lawson says, "The
child looked hale and well as other children." A warrant had been
issued for her apprehension, the day before, on complaint of Edward and
Jonathan Putnam. Herrick the marshal, who was a man that magnified his
office, and of much personal pride, did[ii.72] not, perhaps, fancy the
idea of bringing up such a little prisoner; and he deputized the
operation to Samuel Braybrook, who, the next morning, made return, in
due form, that "he had taken the body of Dorcas Good," and sent her to
the house of Nathaniel Ingersoll, where she was in custody. It seems
that Braybrook did not like the job, and passed the handling of the
child over to still another. Whoever performed the service probably
brought her in his arms, or on a pillion. The little thing could not
have walked the distance from Benjamin Putnam's farm. When led in to be
examined, Ann Putnam, Mary Walcot, and Mercy Lewis, all charged her
with biting, pinching, and almost choking them. The two former went
through their usual evolutions in the presence of the awe and terror
stricken magistrates and multitude. They showed the marks of her little
teeth on their arms; and the pins with which she pricked them were
found on their bodies, precisely where, in their shrieks, they had
averred that she was piercing them. The evidence was considered
overwhelming; and Dorcas was, _per mittimus_, committed to the jail,
where she joined her mother. By the bill of the Boston jailer, it
appears that they both were confined there: as they were too poor to
provide for themselves, "the country" was charged with ten shillings
for "two blankets for Sarah Good's child." The mother, we know, was
kept in chains; the child was probably chained too. Extraordinary
fastenings, as has been stated, were thought necessary to hold a
witch.[ii.73]
There was no longer any doubt, in the mass of the community, that the
Devil had effected a lodgement at Salem Village. Church-members,
persons of all social positions, of the highest repute and profession
of piety, eminent for visible manifestations of devotion, and of every
age, had joined his standard, and become his active allies and
confederates.
The effect of these two examinations was unquestionably very great in
spreading consternation and bewilderment far and wide; but they were
only the prelude to the work, to that end, arranged for the day. The
public mind was worked to red heat, and now was the moment to strike
the blow that would fix an impression deep and irremovable upon it. It
was Thursday, Lecture-day; and the public services usual on the
occasion were to be held at the meeting-house.
Deodat Lawson had arrived at the village on the 19th of March, and
lodged at Deacon Ingersoll's. The fact at once became known; and Mary
Walcot immediately went to the deacon's to see him. She had a fit on
the spot, which filled Lawson with amazement and horror. His turn of
mind led him to be interested in such an excitement; and he had become
additionally and specially exercised by learning that the afflicted
persons had intimated that the deaths of his wife and daughter, which
occurred during his ministry at the village, had been brought about by
the diabolical agency of the persons then beginning to be unmasked, and
brought to justice. He was prepared to listen to the hints thus thrown
out, and was ready to push[ii.74] the prosecutions on with an
earnestness in which resentment and rage were mingled with the blindest
credulity. After Mary Walcot had given him a specimen of what the girls
were suffering, he walked over, early in the evening, to Mr. Parris's
house; and there Abigail Williams went into the craziest
manifestations, throwing firebrands about the house in the presence of
her uncle, rushing to the back of the chimney as though she would fly
up through its wide flue, and performing many wonderful works. The next
day being Sunday, he preached; and the services were interrupted, in
the manner already described, by the outbreaks of the afflicted, under
diabolic influence. The next day, he attended the examination of Martha
Corey. On Wednesday, the 23d, he went up to Thomas Putnam's, as he
says, "on purpose to see his wife." He "found her lying on the bed,
having had a sore fit a little before: her husband and she both desired
me to pray with her while she was sensible, which I did, though the
apparition said I should not go to prayer. At the first beginning, she
attended; but, after a little time, was taken with a fit, yet continued
silent, and seemed to be asleep." She had represented herself as being
in conflict with the shape, or spectre, of a witch, which, she told
Lawson, said he should not pray on the occasion. But he courageously
ventured on the work. At the conclusion of the prayer, "her husband,
going to her, found her in a fit. He took her off the bed to sit her on
his knees; but at first she was so stiff she could not be bended, but
she after[ii.75]wards sat down." Then she went into that state of
supernatural vision and exaltation in which she was accustomed to utter
the wildest strains, in fervid, extravagant, but solemn and melancholy,
rhapsodies: she disputed with the spectre about a text of Scripture,
and then poured forth the most terrible denunciations upon it for
tormenting and tempting her. She was evidently a very intellectual and
imaginative woman, and was perfectly versed in all the imagery and
lofty diction supplied by the prophetic and poetic parts of Scripture.
Again she was seized with a terrible fit, that lasted "near half an
hour." At times, her mouth was drawn on one side and her body strained.
At last she broke forth, and succeeded, after many violent struggles
against the spectre and many convulsions of her frame, in saying what
part of the Bible Lawson was to read aloud, in order to relieve her.
"It is," she said, "the third chapter of the Revelation."—"I did," says
Lawson, "something scruple the reading it." He was loath to be engaged
in an affair of that kind in which the Devil was an actor. At length he
overcame his scruples, and the effect was decisive. "Before I had near
read through the first verse, she opened her eyes, and was well."
Bewildered and amazed, he went back to Parris's house, and they talked
over the awful manifestations of Satan's power. The next morning, he
attended the examination of Rebecca Nurse, retiring from it, at an
early hour, to complete his preparation for the service that had been
arranged for him that afternoon.[ii.76]