"afflicted children," as to their sanity and responsibility, there can
be no doubt that they were great actors. In mere jugglery and[ii.395]
sleight of hand, they bear no mean comparison with the workers of
wonders, in that line, of our own day. Long practice had given them
complete control over their countenances, intonations of voice, and the
entire muscular and nervous organization of their bodies; so that they
could at will, and on the instant, go into fits and convulsions, swoon
and fall to the floor, put their frames into strange contortions, bring
the blood to the face, and send it back again. They could be deadly
pale at one moment, at the next flushed; their hands would be clenched
and held together as with a vice; their limbs stiff and rigid or wholly
relaxed; their teeth would be set; they would go through the paroxysms
of choking and strangulation, and gasp for breath, bringing froth and
blood from the mouth; they would utter all sorts of screams in
unearthly tones; their eyes remain fixed, sometimes bereft of all light
and expression, cold and stony, and sometimes kindled into flames of
passion; they would pass into the state of somnambulism, without aim or
conscious direction in their movements, looking at some point, where
was no apparent object of vision, with a wild, unmeaning glare. There
are some indications that they had acquired the art of ventriloquism;
or they so wrought upon the imaginations of the beholders, that the
sounds of the motions and voices of invisible beings were believed to
be heard. They would start, tremble, and be pallid before apparitions,
seen, of course, only by themselves; but their acting was so perfect
that all present thought they saw them too. They would[ii.396] address
and hold colloquy with spectres and ghosts; and the responses of the
unseen beings would be audible to the fancy of the bewildered crowd.
They would follow with their eyes the airy visions, so that others
imagined they also beheld them. This was surely a high dramatic
achievement. Their representations of pain, and every form and all the
signs and marks of bodily suffering,—as in the case of Ann Putnam's
arm, and the indentations of teeth on the flesh in many
instances,—utterly deceived everybody; and there were men present who
could not easily have been imposed upon. The Attorney-general was a
barrister fresh from Inns of Court in London. Deodat Lawson had seen
something of the world; so had Joseph Herrick. Joseph Hutchinson was a
sharp, stern, and sceptical observer. John Putnam was a man of great
practical force and discrimination; so was his brother Nathaniel, and
others of the village. Besides, there were many from Boston and
elsewhere competent to detect a trick; but none could discover any
imposture in the girls. Sarah Nurse swore that she saw Goody Bibber
cheat in the matter of the pins; but Bibber did not belong to the
village, and was a bungling interloper. The accusing girls showed
extraordinary skill, ingenuity, and fancy in inventing the stories to
which they testified, and seemed to have been familiar with the imagery
which belonged to the literature of demonology. This has led some to
suppose that they must have had access to books treating the subject.
Our fathers abhorred, with a perfect hatred, all theatrical
exhibitions. It would[ii.397] have filled them with horror to propose
going to a play. But unwittingly, week after week, month in and month
out, ministers, deacons, brethren, and sisters of the church rushed to
Nathaniel Ingersoll's, to the village and town meeting-houses, and to
Thomas Beadle's Globe Tavern, and gazed with wonder, awe, and
admiration upon acting such as has seldom been surpassed on the boards
of any theatre, high or low, ancient or modern.
There is another aspect that perplexes and confounds the judgments of
all who read the story. It is this: As it is at present the universal
opinion that the whole of this witchcraft transaction was a delusion,
having no foundation whatever but in the imaginations and passions; and
as it is now certain, that all the accused, both the condemned and the
pardoned, were entirely innocent,—how can it be explained that so many
were led to confess themselves guilty? The answer to this question is
to be found in those general principles which have led the wisest
legislators and jurists to the conclusion, that, although on their face
and at first thought, they appear to be the very best kind of evidence,
yet, maturely considered, confessions made under the hope of a benefit,
and sometime even without the impulses of such a hope, are to be
received with great caution and wariness. Here were fifty-five persons,
who declared themselves guilty of a capital, nay, a diabolical crime,
of which we know they were innocent. It is probable that the motive of
self-preservation influenced most of them. An[ii.398] awful death was
in immediate prospect. There was no escape from the wiles of the
accusers. The delusion had obtained full possession of the people, the
jury, and the Court. By acknowledging a compact with Satan, they could
in a moment secure their lives and liberty. It was a position which
only the firmest minds could safely occupy. The principles and the
prowess of ordinary characters could not withstand the temptation and
the pressure. They yielded, and were saved from an impending and
terrible death.
As these confessions had a decisive effect in precipitating the public
mind into the depths of its delusion, gave a fatal power to the
accusers, and carried the proceedings to the horrible extremities which
have concentrated upon them the attention of the world, they assume an
importance in the history of the affair that demands a full and
thorough exposition. At the examination of Ann Foster, at Salem
Village, on the 15th of July, 1692, the following confession was,
"after a while," extorted from her. It was undoubtedly the result of
the overwhelming effect of the horrors of her condition upon a
distressed and half-crazed mind. It shows the staple materials of which
confessions were made, and the forms of absurd superstition with which
the imaginations of people were then filled:—
The Devil appeared to her in the shape of a bird at several times,—such
a bird as she never saw the like before; and she had had this gift
(viz., of striking the afflicted down with her eye) ever since. Being
asked why she thought that bird was the Devil, she answered, because he
came[ii.399] white and vanished away black; and that the Devil told her
she should have this gift, and that she must believe him, and told her
she should have prosperity: and she said that he had appeared to her
three times, and always as a bird, and the last time about half a year
since, and sat upon a table,—had two legs and great eyes, and that it
was the second time of his appearance that he promised her prosperity.
She further stated, that it was Goody Carrier that made her a witch.
She told her, that, if she would not be a witch, the Devil would tear
her to pieces, and carry her away,—at which time she promised to serve
the Devil; that she was at the meeting of the witches at Salem Village;
that Goody Carrier came, and told her of the meeting, and would have
her go: so they got upon sticks, and went said journey, and, being
there, did see Mr. Burroughs, the minister, who spake to them all; that
there were then twenty-five persons met together; that she tied a knot
in a rag, and threw it into the fire to hurt Timothy Swan, and that she
did hurt the rest that complained of her by squeezing puppets like
them, and so almost choked them; that she and Martha Carrier did both
ride on a stick or pole when they went to the witch-meeting at Salem
Village, and that the stick broke as they were carried in the air above
the tops of the trees, and they fell: but she did hang fast about the
neck of Goody Carrier, and they were presently at the village; that she
had heard some of the witches say that there were three hundred and
five in the whole country, and that they would ruin that place, the
village; that there were also present at that meeting two men besides
Mr. Burroughs, the minister, and one of them had gray hair; and that
the discourse among the witches at the meeting in Salem Village was,
that they would afflict there to set up the Devil's kingdom. [ii.400]
The confession of which the foregoing is the substance appears to have
been drawn out at four several examinations on different days, during
which she was induced by the influences around her to make her
testimony more and more extravagant at each successive examination. Her
daughter, Mary Lacy, called Goody Lacy, was brought up on the charge of
witchcraft at the same time; and, upon finding the mother confessing,
she saw that her only safety was in confessing also. When confronted,
the daughter cried out to the mother, "We have forsaken Jesus Christ,
and the Devil hath got hold of us. How shall we get clear of this Evil
One?" She proceeded to say that she had accompanied her mother and
Goody Carrier, all three riding together on the pole, to Salem Village.
She then made the following statement: "About three or four years ago,
she saw Mistress Bradbury, Goody Howe, and Goody Nurse baptized by the
old Serpent at Newbury Falls; that he dipped their heads in the water,
and then said they were his, and he had power over them; that there
were six baptized at that time, who were some of the chief or higher
powers, and that there might be near about a hundred in company at that
time." It being asked her "after what manner she went to Newbury
Falls," she answered, "the Devil carried her in his arms." She said,
that, "if she did take a rag, and roll it up together, and imagine it
to represent such and such a person, then that, whatsoever she did to
that rag so rolled up, the person represented thereby would be[ii.401]
in like manner afflicted." Her daughter, also named Mary Lacy, followed
the example of her mother and grandmother, and made confession.
An examination of the confessions shows, that, when accused persons
made up their minds to confess, they saw, that, to make their safety
secure, it was necessary to go the whole length of the popular
superstition and fanaticism. In many instances, they appear to have
fabricated their stories with much ingenuity and tact, making them
tally with the statements of the accusers, adding points and items that
gave an air of truthfulness, and falling in with current notions and
fancies. They were undoubtedly under training by the girls, and were
provided with the materials of their testimony. Their depositions are
valuable, inasmuch as they enable us to collect about the whole of the
notions then prevalent on the subject. If, in delivering their
evidences, any prompting was needed, the accusers were at their elbows,
and helped them along in their stories. If, in any particular, they
were in danger of contradicting themselves or others, they were checked
or diverted. In one case, a confessing witch was damaging her own
testimony, whereupon one of the afflicted cried out that she saw the
shapes or apparitions of other witches interfering with her utterance.
The witness took the hint, pretended to have lost the power of
expressing herself, and was removed from the stand.
In some cases, the confessing witches showed great adroitness, and
knowledge of human nature. When[ii.402] a leading minister was visiting
them in the prison, one of them cried out as he passed her cell,
calling him by name, "Oh! I remember a text you preached on in England,
twenty years since, from these words: 'Your sin will find you out;' for
I find it to be true in my own case." This skilful compliment, showing
the power of his preaching making an impression which time could not
efface, was no doubt flattering to the good man, and secured for her
his favorable influence.
Justice requires that their own explanation of the influences which led
them to confess should not be withheld.
The following declaration of six women belonging to Andover is
accompanied by a paper signed by more than fifty of the most
respectable inhabitants of that town, testifying to their good
character, in which it is said that "by their sober, godly, and
exemplary conversation, they have obtained a good report in the place,
where they have been well esteemed and approved in the church of which
they are members:"—
"We whose names are underwritten, inhabitants of Andover, when as that
horrible and tremendous judgment, beginning at Salem Village, in the
year 1692, by some called witchcraft, first breaking forth at Mr.
Parris's house, several young persons, being seemingly afflicted, did
accuse several persons for afflicting them; and many there believing it
so to be, we being informed, that, if a person was sick, the afflicted
person could tell what or who was the cause of that sickness: John
Ballard of Andover, his wife being[ii.403] sick at the same time, he,
either from himself, or by the advice of others, fetched two of the
persons called the afflicted persons from Salem Village to Andover,
which was the beginning of that dreadful calamity that befell us in
Andover, believing the said accusations to be true, sent for the said
persons to come together to the meeting-house in Andover, the afflicted
persons being there. After Mr. Barnard had been at prayer, we were
blindfolded, and our hands were laid upon the afflicted persons, they
being in their fits, and falling into their fits at our coming into
their presence, as they said: and some led us, and laid our hands upon
them; and then they said they were well, and that we were guilty of
afflicting them. Whereupon we were all seized as prisoners, by a
warrant from the justice of the peace, and forthwith carried to Salem;
and by reason of that sudden surprisal, we knowing ourselves altogether
innocent of that crime, we were all exceedingly astonished and amazed,
and consternated and affrighted, even out of our reason; and our
nearest and dearest relations, seeing us in that dreadful condition,
and knowing our great danger, apprehended there was no other way to
save our lives, as the case was then circumstanced, but by our
confessing ourselves to be such and such persons as the afflicted
represented us to be, they, out of tenderness and pity, persuaded us to
confess what we did confess. And, indeed, that confession that it is
said we made was no other than what was suggested to us by some
gentlemen, they telling us that we were witches, and they knew it, and
we knew it, which made us think that it was so; and, our
understandings, our reason, our faculties almost gone, we were not
capable of judging of our condition; as also the hard measures they
used with us rendered us incapable of making our defence, but said any
thing, and[ii.404] every thing which they desired, and most of what we
said was but in effect a consenting to what they said. Some time after,
when we were better composed, they telling us what we had confessed, we
did profess that we were innocent and ignorant of such things; and we
hearing that Samuel Wardwell had renounced his confession, and was
quickly after condemned and executed, some of us were told we were
going after Wardwell.
"Mary Osgood.
Mary Tyler.
Deliverance Dane.
Abigail Barker.
Sarah Wilson.
Hannah Tyler."
The means employed, and the influences brought to bear upon persons
accused, were, in many cases, such as wholly to overpower them, and to
relieve their confessions, to a great extent, of a criminal character.
They were scarcely responsible moral agents. In the month of October,
Increase Mather came to Salem, to confer with the confessing witches in
prison. The result of his examinations is preserved in a document of
which he is supposed to have been the author. The following extracts
afford some explanation of the whole subject:—
"Goodwife Tyler did say, that, when she was first apprehended, she had
no fears upon her, and did think that nothing could have made her
confess against herself. But since, she had found, to her great grief,
that she had wronged the truth, and falsely accused herself. She said
that, when she was brought to Salem, her brother Bridges rode with her;
and that, all along the way from Andover to Salem,[ii.405] her brother
kept telling her that she must needs be a witch, since the afflicted
accused her, and at her touch were raised out of their fits, and urging
her to confess herself a witch. She as constantly told him that she was
no witch, that she knew nothing of witchcraft, and begged him not to
urge her to confess. However, when she came to Salem, she was carried
to a room, where her brother on one side, and Mr. John Emerson on the
other side, did tell her that she was certainly a witch, and that she
saw the Devil before her eyes at that time (and, accordingly, the said
Emerson would attempt with his hand to beat him away from her eyes);
and they so urged her to confess, that she wished herself in any
dungeon, rather than be so treated. Mr. Emerson told her, once and
again, 'Well, I see you will not confess! Well, I will now leave you;
and then you are undone, body and soul, for ever.' Her brother urged
her to confess, and told her that, in so doing, she could not lie: to
which she answered, 'Good brother, do not say so; for I shall lie if I
confess, and then who shall answer unto God for my lie?' He still
asserted it, and said that God would not suffer so many good men to be
in such an error about it, and that she would be hanged if she did not
confess; and continued so long and so violently to urge and press her
to confess, that she thought, verily, that her life would have gone
from her, and became so terrified in her mind that she owned, at
length, almost any thing that they propounded to her; that she had
wronged her conscience in so doing; she was guilty of a great sin in
belying of herself, and desired to mourn for it so long as she lived.
This she said, and a great deal more of the like nature; and all with
such affection, sorrow, relenting, grief, and mourning, as that it
exceeds any pen to describe and express the same."[ii.406]
"Goodwife Wilson said that she was in the dark as to some things in her
confession. Yet she asserted that, knowingly, she never had familiarity
with the Devil; that, knowingly, she never consented to the afflicting
of any person, &c. However, she said that truly she was in the dark as
to the matter of her being a witch. And being asked how she was in the
dark, she replied, that the afflicted persons crying out of her as
afflicting them made her fearful of herself; and that was all that made
her say that she was in the dark."
"Goodwife Bridges said that she had confessed against herself things
which were all utterly false; and that she was brought to her
confession by being told that she certainly was a witch, and so made to
believe it,—though she had no other grounds so to believe."
Some explanation of the details which those, prevailed upon to confess,
put into their testimony, and which seemed, at the time, to establish
and demonstrate the truth of their statements, is afforded by what Mary
Osgood is reported, by Increase Mather, to have said to him on this
occasion:—
"Being asked why she prefixed a time, and spake of her being baptized,
&c., about twelve years since, she replied and said, that, when she had
owned the thing, they asked the time, to which she answered that she
knew not the time. But, being told that she did know the time, and must
tell the time, and the like, she considered that about twelve years
before (when she had her last child) she had a fit of sickness, and was
melancholy; and so thought that that time might be as proper a time to
mention as any, and accordingly did prefix the said time. Being asked
about[ii.407] the cat, in the shape of which she had confessed that the
Devil had appeared to her, &c., she replied, that, being told that the
Devil had appeared to her, and must needs appear to her, &c. (she being
a witch), she at length did own that the Devil had appeared to her;
and, being pressed to say in what creature's shape he appeared, she at
length did say that it was in the shape of a cat. Remembering that,
some time before her being apprehended, as she went out at her door,
she saw a cat, &c.; not as though she any whit suspected the said cat
to be the Devil, in the day of it, but because some creature she must
mention, and this came into her mind at that time."
This poor woman, as well as several others, besides Goodwife Tyler, who
denied and renounced their confessions, manifested, as Dr. Mather
affirms, the utmost horror and anguish at the thought that they could
have been so wicked as to have belied themselves, and brought injury
upon others by so doing. They "bewailed and lamented their accusing of
others, about whom they never knew any evil" in their lives. They
proved the sincerity of their repentance by abandoning and denouncing
their confessions, and thus offering their lives as a sacrifice to
atone for their falsehood. They were then awaiting their trial; and
there seemed no escape from the awful fate which had befallen all
persons brought to trial before, and who had not confessed or had
withdrawn their confession. Fortunately for them, the Court did not
meet again in 1692; and they were acquitted at the regular session, in
the January following.[ii.408]
In one of Calef's tracts, he sums up his views, on the subject of the
confessions, as follows:—
"Besides the powerful argument of life (and freedom from hardships, not
only promised, but also performed to all that owned their guilt), there
are numerous instances of the tedious examinations before private
persons, many hours together; they all that time urging them to confess
(and taking turns to persuade them), till the accused were wearied out
by being forced to stand so long, or for want of sleep, &c., and so
brought to give assent to what they said; they asking them, 'Were you
at such a witch meeting?' or, 'Have you signed the Devil's book?' &c.
Upon their replying 'Yes,' the whole was drawn into form, as their
confession."
This accounts for the similarity of construction and substance of the
confessions generally.
Calef remarks:—
"But that which did mightily further such confessions was their nearest
relations urging them to it. These, seeing no other way of escape for
them, thought it the best advice that could be given; hence it was,
that the husbands of some, by counsel, often urging, and utmost
earnestness, and children upon their knees intreating, have at length
prevailed with them to say they were guilty."
One of the most painful things in the whole affair was, that the
absolute conviction of the guilt of the persons accused, pervading the
community, took full effect upon the minds of many relatives and
friends. They did not consider it as a matter of the least possible
doubt. They therefore looked upon it as wicked[ii.409] obstinacy not to
confess, and, in this sense, an additional and most conclusive evidence
of a mind alienated from truth and wholly given over to Satan. This
turned natural love and previous friendships into resentment,
indignation, and abhorrence, which left the unhappy prisoners in a
condition where only the most wonderful clearness of conviction and
strength of character could hold them up. And, in many cases where they
yielded, it was not from unworthy fear, or for self-preservation, but
because their judgment was overthrown, and their minds in complete
subjection and prostration.
There can, indeed, hardly be a doubt, that, in some instances, the
confessing persons really believed themselves guilty. To explain this,
we must look into the secret chambers of the human soul; we must read
the history of the imagination, and consider its power over the
understanding. We must transport ourselves to the dungeon, and think of
its dark and awful walls, its dreary hours, its tedious loneliness, its
heavy and benumbing fetters and chains, its scanty fare, and all its
dismal and painful circumstances. We must reflect upon their influence
over a terrified and agitated, an injured and broken spirit. We must
think of the situation of the poor prisoner, cut off from hope; hearing
from all quarters, and at all times, morning, noon, and night, that
there is no doubt of his guilt; surrounded and overwhelmed by
accusations and evidence, gradually but insensibly mingling and
confounding the visions and vagaries of his troubled[ii.410] dreams
with the reveries of his waking hours, until his reason becomes
obscured, his recollections are thrown into derangement, his mind loses
the power of distinguishing between what is perpetually told him by
others and what belongs to the suggestions of his own memory: his
imagination at last gains complete ascendency over his other faculties,
and he believes and declares himself guilty of crimes of which he is as
innocent as the child unborn. The history of the transaction we have
been considering, affords a clear illustration of the truth and
reasonableness of this explanation.
The facility with which persons can be persuaded, by perpetually
assailing them with accusations of the truth of a charge, in reality
not true, even when it is made against themselves, has been frequently
noticed. Addison, in one of the numbers of his "Spectator," speaks of
it in connection with our present subject: "When an old woman," says
he, "begins to dote, and grow chargeable to a parish, she is generally
turned into a witch, and fills the whole country with extravagant
fancies, imaginary distempers, and terrifying dreams. In the mean time,
the poor wretch that is the innocent occasion of so many evils begins
to be frighted at herself, and sometimes confesses secret commerces and
familiarities that her imagination forms in a delirious old age. This
frequently cuts off charity from the greatest objects of compassion,
and inspires people with a malevolence towards those poor, decrepit
parts of our species[ii.411] in whom human nature is defaced by
infirmity and dotage."
This passage is important, in addition to the bearing it has upon the
point we have been considering, as describing the state of opinion and
feeling in England twenty years after the folly had been exploded here.
In another number of the same series of essays, he bears evidence, that
the superstitions which here came to a head in 1692 had long been
prevalent in the mother-country: "Our forefathers looked upon nature
with more reverence and horror before the world was enlightened by
learning and philosophy, and loved to astonish themselves with the
apprehensions of witchcraft, prodigies, charms, and enchantments. There
was not a village in England that had not a ghost in it; the
churchyards were all haunted; every large common had a circle of
fairies belonging to it; and there was scarce a shepherd to be met with
who had not seen a spirit." These fancies still linger in the minds of
some in the Old World and in the New.