A long silence followed--a silence like that of death--at last Rachel
Dyer spoke:
George Burroughs--I understand thee now, said she, I understand it
all. Thee would have me confess that I deserve death--only that I may
live. Thee would have me acknowledge (for nothing else would do) that
I am a liar and a witch, and that I deserve to die--and all this for
what?--only that I may escape death for a few days. O George!
No, no--you mistake the matter. I would not have you confess that
you deserve death--I would only have you speak to them--God of the
faithful!--I cannot--I cannot urge this woman to betray her faith.
I understand thee, George. But if I were to do so, what should I gain
by it?
Gain by it, Rachel Dyer?
Why do thee drop my hand? why recoil at my touch now?
Gain by it! siezing both her hands with all his might, and speaking as
if he began to fear--not to hope--no, but to fear that she might be
over-persuaded--
Yea--what have I to gain by it?
Life. You escape death--a cruel ignominious death--a death, which it is
not for a woman to look at, but with horror.
Well George--
By death, you lose the opportunity of doing much good, of bringing
the wicked to justice, of aiding them that are now ready to die with
terror, of shielding the oppressed--
Well--
Well--and what more would you have? Is not this enough?
No, George.
Hear me out Rachel. Do not reprove me, do not turn away, till you have
heard me through. My duty is before me, a duty which must and shall be
done, though it break my heart. I am commanded to argue with you, and
to persuade you to live.
Commanded?--
What if you were to confess that you deserve death? What if you were
to own yourself a witch? I take your own view of the case.--I put the
query to you in a shape the least favorable to my purpose. What if you
were to do this; you would be guilty at the most but of a--of a--
Of untruth George.
And you would save your own life by such untruth, and the lives, it may
be, of a multitude more, and the life you know, of one that is very
dear to you.
Well----
No no--do not leave me in this way! Do not go till I--I beseech you to
hear me through--
I will--it grieves me, but I will.
Which is the greater sin--to die when you have it in your power to
escape death, if you will, by a word? or to speak a word of untruth to
save your life--
George Burroughs--I pray thee--suffer me to bid thee farewell.
No no, not yet. Hear me through--hear all I have to say. By this word
of untruth, you save your own life, and perhaps many other lives. You
punish the guilty. You have leisure to repent in this world of that
very untruth--if such untruth be sinful. You have an opportunity of
showing to the world and to them that you love, that you were innocent
of that wherewith you were charged. You may root up the error that
prevails now, and overthrow the destroyer, and hereafter obtain praise
for that very untruth, whereby you hinder the shedding of more innocent
blood; praise from every quarter of the earth, praise from every body;
from the people, the preachers, the jury, the elders--yea from the very
judges for having stayed them in their headlong career of guilt--
O George--
But if you die, and your death be sinful--and would it not be so, if
you were to die, where you might escape death?--you would have no
time to repent here, no opportunity, no leisure--you die in the very
perpetration of your guilt--
If it is guilt, I do--
And however innocent you may be of the crimes that are charged to you,
you have no opportunity of showing on this earth to them that love
you, that you are so. Yet more--the guilt of your death, if it be not
charged hereafter to you, will be charged, you may be sure, to the
wretched women that pursue you; and all who might be saved by you, will
have reason to lay their death at your door--
Well--
About life or death, you may not much care; but after death to be
regarded with scorn, or hatred or terror, by all that go by your grave,
my sister--how could you bear the idea of that? What say you--you
shudder--and yet if you die now, you must leave behind you a character
which cannot be cleared up, or which is not likely to be cleared up
on earth, however innocent you may be (as I have said before)--the
character of one, who being charged with witchcraft was convicted of
witchcraft and executed for a witchcraft. In a word--if you live, you
may live to wipe away the aspersion. If you die, it may adhere to you
and to yours--forever and ever. If you live, you may do much good on
earth, much to yourself and much to others, much even to the few that
are now thirsting for your life--you may make lighter the load of crime
which otherwise will weigh them down--you may do this and all this, if
you speak: But if you do not speak, you are guilty of your own death,
and of the deaths it may be of a multitude, here and hereafter.
Now hear _me_. I do not know whether all this is done to try my
truth or my courage, but this I know--I will not leave thee in doubt
concerning either. Look at me
There----
Thee would have me confess?
I would.
Thee would have Elizabeth confess?
I would.
Do thee mean to confess.
I--I!--
Ah George--
I cannot Rachel--I dare not--I am a preacher of the word of truth. But
you may--what is there to hinder you?
Thee will not?
No.
Nor will I.
Just what I expected--give me your hand--what I have said to you, I
have been constrained to say, for it is a part of my faith Rachel, that
as we believe, so are we to be judged: and that therefore, had you
believed it to be right for you to confess and live, it would have been
right, before the Lord.--But whether you do or do not, Elizabeth may.
True--if she can be persuaded to think as thee would have her think,
she may. I shall not seek to dissuade her--but as for me, I have put my
life into the hands of our Father. I shall obey him, and trust to the
inward prompting of that which upholds me and cheers me now--even now,
George, when, but for His Holy Spirit, I should feel as I never felt
before, since I came into the world--altogether alone.
Will you advise with her, and seek to persuade her?
No.
Cruel woman!
Cruel--no no George, no no. Would that be doing as I would be done by?
Is it for me to urge a beloved sister to do what I would not do--even
to save my life?
I feel the rebuke--
George, I must leave thee--I hear footsteps. Farewell--
So soon--so very soon! Say to her, I beseech you--say to her as you
have said to me, that she _may_ confess if she will; that we have been
together, and that we have both agreed in the opinion that she had
better confess and throw herself on the mercy of her judges, till the
fury of the storm hath passed over.--It will soon have passed over, I
am sure now--
No George, no; but I will say this. I will say to her--
Go on--go on, I beseech you--
--I will say to her--Elizabeth, my dear Sister; go down upon thy knees
and pray to the Lord to be nigh to thee, and give thee strength, and to
lead thee in the path which is best for his glory; and after that, if
thee should feel free to preserve thy life by such means--being on the
guard against the love of life, and the fear of death--the Tempter of
souls, and the weapons of the flesh--it will be thy duty so to preserve
it.
Burroughs groaned aloud--but he could prevail no further. Enough, said
he, at last: write as much on this paper, and let me carry it with me.
Carry it with thee--what do thee mean?
I hardly know what I mean; I would see her and urge her to live, but
when I consider what must follow, though I have permission to see her,
my heart fails me.
Thee is to meet her with me, I suppose?
No, I believe not--
How--alone?--
No no--not alone, said the jailor, whom they supposed to be outside of
the door, till he spoke.
More of the tender mercies of the law! They would entrap thee George--
And you too Rachel, if it lay in their power--
Give me that book--it is the Bible that I gave thee, is it not?
It is--
It belonged to my mother. I will write what I have to say in the blank
leaf.
She did so; and giving it into the hands of the Jailor she said to
him--I would have her abide on earth--my dear, _dear_ sister!--I would
pray to her to live and be happy, _if she can_; for she--O she will
have much to make life dear to her, even though she be left alone by
the way-side for a little time--what disturbs thee George?----
I am afraid of this man. He will betray us--
No--no--we have nothing to fear--
Nothing to fear, when he must have been at our elbow and overheard
everything we have whispered to each other.
Look at him George, and thee will be satisfied.
Burroughs looked up, and saw by the vacant gravity of his hard visage,
that the man had not understood a syllable to their prejudice.
But Elizabeth--I would have her continue on earth, I say--I would--if
so it may please our Father above; but I am in great fear, and I would
have thee tell her so, after she has read what I have written there in
that book. _She_ will have sympathy, whatever may occur to us--true
sympathy, unmixed with fear; but as for me, I have no such hope--and
why should I wrestle with my duty--I--who have no desire to see the
light of another day?
None Rachel?
None--but for the sake of Mary Elizabeth Dyer--and so--and so George,
we are to part now--and there--therefore--the sooner we part, the
better. Her voice died away in a low deeply-drawn heavy breathing.
Even so dear--even so, my beloved sister--
George--
Nay, nay--why leave me at all?--why not abide here? Why may we not die
together?
George, I say--
Well--what-say?
Suffer me to kiss thee--my brother--before we part....
He made no reply, but he gasped for breath and shook all over, and
stretched out his arms with a giddy convulsive motion toward her.
--Before we part forever George--dear George, putting her hand
affectionately upon his shoulder and looking him steadily in the face.
We are now very near to the threshold of death, and I do believe--I
do--though I would not have said as much an hour ago, for the wealth
of all this world ... nay, not even to save my life ... no ... nor my
sister’s life ... nor thy life ... that I shall die the happier and the
better for having kissed thee ... my brother.
Still he spoke not ... he had no tongue for speech. The dreadful truth
broke upon him all at once now, a truth which penetrated his heart
like an arrow ... and he strove to throw his arms about her; to draw
her up to his bosom--but the chains that he wore prevented him, and
so he leaned his head upon her shoulder ... and kissed her cheek, and
then lifted himself up, and held her with one arm to his heart, and
kissed her forehead and her eyes and her mouth, in a holy transport of
affection.
Dear George ... I am happy now ... very, very happy now, said the poor
girl, shutting her eyes and letting two or three large tears fall upon
his locked hands, which were held by her as if ... as if ... while her
mouth was pressed to them with a dreadful earnestness, her power to
let them drop was no more. And then she appeared to recollect herself,
and her strength appeared to come back to her, and she rose up and
set her lips to his forehead with a smile, that was remembered by the
rough jailor to his dying day, so piteous and so death-like was it, and
said to Burroughs, in her mild quiet way--her mouth trembling and her
large tears dropping at every word--very, very happy now, and all ready
for death. I would say more ... much more if I might, for I have not
said the half I had to say. Thee will see her ... I shall not see her
again....
How--
Not if thee should prevail with her to stay, George. It would be of no
use--it would only grieve her, and it might unsettle us both--
What can I say to you?
Nothing--Thee will see her; and thee will take her to thy heart as thee
did me, and she will be happy--very happy--even as I am now.
Father--Father! O, why was I not prepared for this! Do thou stay
me--do thou support me--it is more than I can bear! cried Burroughs,
turning away from the admirable creature who stood before him trying
to bear up without his aid, though she shook from head to foot with
uncontrollable emotion.
Thee’s very near and very dear to Mary Elizabeth Dyer; and she--she
will be happy--she cannot be otherwise, alive or dead--for all that
know her, pity her and love her----
And so do all that know you--
No, no, George, love and pity are not for such as I--such pity I mean,
or such love as we need here--_need_ I say, whatever we may pretend,
whatever the multitude may suppose, and however ill we may be fitted
for inspiring it--I--I--
Her voice faltered, she grew very pale, and caught by the frame of the
door--
--There may be love, George, there may be pity, there may be some hope
on earth for a beautiful witch ... with golden hair ... with large blue
eyes ... and a sweet mouth ... but for a ... for a ... for a freckled
witch ... with red hair and a hump on her back--what hope is there,
what hope on this side of the grave?
She tried to smile when she said this ... but she could not, and the
preacher saw and the jailor saw that her heart was broken.
Before the former could reply, and before the latter could stay her,
she was gone.
The rest of the story is soon told. The preacher saw Elizabeth and
tried to prevail with her, but he could not. She had all the courage
of her sister, and would not live by untruth. And yet she escaped, for
she was very ill, and before she recovered, the fearful infatuation
was over, the people had waked up, the judges and the preachers of the
Lord; and the chief-judge, Sewall had publicly read a recantation for
the part he had played in the terrible drama. But she saw her brave
sister no more; she saw Burroughs no more--he was put to death on the
afternoon of the morrow, behaving with high and steady courage to the
last--praying for all and forgiving all, and predicting in a voice like
that of one crying in the wilderness, a speedy overthrow to the belief
in witchcraft--a prophecy that came to be fulfilled before the season
had gone by, and his last words were--“Father forgive them, for they
know not what they do!”
Being dead, a messenger of the court was ordered away to apprise Rachel
Dyer that on the morrow at the same hour, and at the same place, her
life would be required of her.
She was reading the Bible when he appeared, and when he delivered the
message, the book fell out of her lap and she sat as if stupified for
a minute or more; but she did not speak, and so he withdrew, saying to
her as he went away, that he should be with her early in the morning.
So on the morrow, when the people had gathered together before
the jail, and prepared for the coming forth of Rachel Dyer, the
High-Sheriff was called upon to wake her, that she might be ready for
death; she being asleep the man said. So the High-Sheriff went up and
spoke to her as she lay upon the bed; with a smile about her mouth and
her arm over a large book ... but she made no reply. The bed was drawn
forth to the light--the book removed (it was the Bible) and she was
lifted up and carried out into the cool morning air. She was dead.
HISTORICAL FACTS.
That the reader may not be led to suppose the book he has just gone
through with, a sheer fabrication, the author has thought it adviseable
to give a few of the many facts upon which the tale is founded, in the
very language of history.
The true name of Mr. Paris was Samuel, instead of Matthew, and he
spelt it with two r’s; that of his child was Elizabeth and that of her
cousin, Abigail Williams. With these corrections to prepare the reader
for what is to follow, we may now go to the historical records alluded
to.
And first--_Of the manner in which the accused were treated on their
examination, and of the methods employed to make them confess._
John Proctor, who was executed for witchcraft, gives the following
account of the procedure had with his family, in a letter to Mr. Cotton
Mather, Mr. Moody, Mr. Willard, and others.
“_Reverend Gentlemen_,--The innocency of our case, with the enmity of
our accusers and our judges and jury, whom nothing but our innocent
blood will serve, having condemned us already before our trials, being
so much incensed and enraged against us by the devil, makes us bold to
beg and implore your favourable assistance of this our humble petition
to his excellency, that if it be possible our innocent blood may be
spared, which undoubtedly otherwise will be shed, if the Lord doth
not mercifully step in; the magistrates, ministers, juries, and all
the people in general, being so much enraged and incensed against us
by the delusion of the devil, which we can term no other, by reason
we know in our own consciences we are all innocent persons. Here are
five persons who have lately confessed themselves to be witches, and
do accuse some of us of being along with them at a sacrament, since
we were committed into close prison, which we know to be lies. Two
of the five are (Carrier’s sons) young men, who would not confess
any thing till they tied them neck and heels, till the blood was
ready to come out of their noses; and it is credibly believed and
reported this was the occasion of making them confess what they never
did, by reason they said one had been a witch a month, and another
five weeks, and that their mother had made them so, who has been
confined here this nine weeks. _My son William Proctor, when he was
examined, because he would not confess that he was guilty, when he was
innocent, they tied him neck and heels till the blood gushed out at
his nose, and would have kept him so twenty-four hours, if one, more
merciful than the rest, had not taken pity on him, and caused him to
be unbound._ These actions are very like the popish cruelties. They
have already undone us in our estates, and that will not serve their
turns without our innocent blood. If it cannot be granted that we have
our trials at Boston, we humbly beg that you would endeavor to have
these magistrates changed, and others in their rooms; begging also
and beseeching you would be pleased to be here, if not all, some of
you, at our trials, hoping thereby you may be the means of saving the
shedding of innocent blood. Desiring your prayers to the Lord in our
behalf, we rest your poor afflicted servants,
JOHN PROCTOR, &c.
Jonathan Cary, whose wife was under the charge, but escaped, has left
a very affecting narrative of her trial, and of the behavior of the
judges.
“Being brought before the justices, her chief accusers were two girls.
My wife declared to the justices, that she never had any knowledge of
them before that day. She was forced to stand with her arms stretched
out. I requested that I might hold one of her hands, but it was denied
me; then she desired me to wipe the tears from her eyes, and the
sweat from her face, which I did; then she desired that she might lean
herself on me, saying she should faint.
Justice Hathorn replied, she had strength enough to torment those
persons, and she should have strength enough to stand. I speaking
something against their cruel proceedings, they commanded me to be
silent, or else I should be turned out of the room. The Indian before
mentioned was also brought in, to be one of her accusers: being come
in, he now (when before the justices) fell down and tumbled about like
a hog, but said nothing. The justices asked the girls who afflicted
the Indian; they answered she, (meaning my wife) and that she now lay
upon him; the justices ordered her to touch him, in order to his cure,
but her head must be turned another way, lest, instead of curing, she
should make him worse, by her looking on him, her hand being guided to
take hold of his; but the Indian took hold of her hand, and pulled her
down on the floor, in a barbarous manner; then his hand was taken off,
and her hand put on his, and the cure was quickly wrought. I, being
extremely troubled at their inhuman dealings, uttered a hasty speech,
_That God would take vengeance on them, and desired that God would
deliver us out of the hands of unmerciful men._ Then her mittimus
was writ. I did with difficulty and chagrin obtain the liberty of
a room, but no beds in it; if there had been, could have taken but
little rest that night. She was committed to Boston prison; but I
obtained a habeas corpus to remove her to Cambridge prison, which is
in our county of Middlesex. Having been there one night, next morning
the jailer put irons on her legs (having received such a command;)
the weight of them was about eight pounds; these irons and her other
afflictions soon brought her into convulsion fits, so that I thought
she would have died that night. I sent to entreat that the irons might
be taken off; but all entreaties were in vain, if it would have saved
her life, so that in this condition she must continue. The trials
at Salem coming on, I went thither, to see how things were managed;
and finding that the spectre evidence was there received, together
with idle, if not malicious stories, against people’s lives, I did
easily perceive which way the rest would go; for the same evidence
that served for one, would serve for all the rest. I acquainted her
with her danger; and that if she were carried to Salem to be tried,
I feared she would never return. I did my utmost that she might have
her trial in our own county, I with several others petitioning the
judge for it, and were put in hopes for it; but I soon saw so much,
that I understood thereby it was not intended, which put me upon
consulting the means of her escape; which through the goodness of God
was effected, and she got to Rhode-Island, but soon found herself not
safe when there, by reason of the pursuit after her; from thence she
went to New-York, along with some others that had escaped their cruel
hands.
Of the trial of “good-wife Proctor,” the following interpretation was
had.
“About this time, besides the experiment of the afflicted falling at
the sight, &c. they put the accused upon saying the Lord’s prayer,
which one among them performed, except in that petition, _deliver
us from evil_, she expressed it thus, _deliver us from_ all _evil_:
this was looked upon as if she prayed against what she was now justly
under, and being put upon it again, and repeating those words,
_hallowed be thy name_, she expressed it, _hollowed be thy name_: this
was counted a depraving the words, as signifying to make void, and so
a curse rather than a prayer: upon the whole it was concluded that she
also could not say it, &c. Proceeding in this work of examination and
commitment, many were sent to prison.
“In August, 1697, the superior court sat at Hartford, in the colony
of Connecticut, where one mistress Benom was tried for witchcraft.
She had been accused by some children that pretended to the spectral
sight: they searched her several times for teats; they tried the
experiment of casting her into the water, and after this she was
excommunicated by the minister of Wallinsford. Upon her trial
nothing material appeared against her, save spectre evidence. She
was acquitted, as also her daughter, a girl of twelve or thirteen
years old, who had been likewise accused; but upon renewed complaints
against them, they both flew into New-York government.
Second--_Of the Confessions_.--The following is a letter written by six
of the confessing witches, by which it may be understood in some degree
how they came to accuse themselves.
“We, whose names are under written, 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 were sick,
the afflicted person could tell what or who was the cause of that
sickness: Joseph Ballard of Andover (his wife being 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
befel us in Andover. And the authority 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 of them
whereupon we were all seized as prisoners, by a warrant from a 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 affrighted
even out of our reason; and our nearest and dearest relations,
seeing us in that dreadful condition, and knowing our great danger,
apprehending that 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 tender love 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, and they knew that
we knew it, which made us think that it was so; and our understanding,
our reason and our faculties almost gone, we were not capable of
judging our condition; as also the hard measures they used with us
rendered us uncapable of making our defence; but said anything which
they desired: and most of what we said was but in effect a consenting
to what they said. Sometime after, when we were better composed, they
telling of 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 quickly after was condemned
and executed, some of us were told that we were going after Wardwell.
MARY OSGOOD,
MARY TILER,
DELIV. DANE,
ABIGAIL BARKER,
SARAH WILSON,
HANNAH TILER.”
“It may here be further added, concerning those that did confess, that
besides that powerful argument, of life (and freedom from hardships,
not only promised, but also performed to all that owned their guilt)
there are numerous instances, too many to be here inserted, 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 an
assent to what they said; they then 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.
“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.
Third--_Of the character of Burroughs_;--about which there has been
from that day to this, a great difference of opinion. His readiness to
forgive.
“Margaret Jacobs being one that had confessed her own guilt, and
testified against her grandfather Jacobs, Mr. Burroughs and John
Willard, she the day before execution came to Mr. Burroughs,
acknowledging that she had belied them, and begged Mr. Burroughs’s
forgiveness; who not only forgave her, but also prayed with and for
her.
Apparitions at the trial.--
“Accordingly several of the bewitched had given in their testimony,
that they had been troubled with the apparitions of two women, who
said they were G. B.’s two wives; and that he had been the death of
them; and that the magistrates must be told of it, before whom, if
B. upon his trial denied it, they did not know but that they should
appear again in the court. Now G. B. had been infamous, for the
barbarous usage of his two successive wives, all the country over.
Moreover, it was testified the spectre of G. B. threatening the
sufferers, told them he had killed [besides others] Mrs. Lawson and
her daughter Ann. And it was noted, that these were the virtuous wife
and daughter of one, at whom this G. B. might have a prejudice, for
being serviceable at Salem Village, from whence himself had in ill
terms removed some years before; and that when they died, which was
long since, there were some odd circumstances about them, which made
some of the attendants there suspect something of witchcraft, though
none imagined from what quarter it should come.
“Well, G. B. being now upon his trial, one of the bewitched persons
was cast into horror at the ghosts of B.’s two deceased wives, then
appearing before him, and crying for vengeance against him. Hereupon
several of the bewitched persons were successively called in, who all,
not knowing what the former had seen and said, concurred in their
horror of the apparition, which they affirmed that he had before. But
he, though much appalled, utterly denied that he discerned any thing
of it, nor was it any part of his conviction.
His bodily strength.--
“A famous divine recites this among the convictions of a witch; the
testimony of the party bewitched, whether pining or dying; together
with the joint oaths of sufficient persons, that have seen certain
prodigious pranks, or feats, wrought by the party accused. Now God
had been pleased so to leave G. B. that he had ensnared himself, by
several instances, which he had formerly given, of a preternatural
strength; and which were now produced against him. He was a very puny
man yet he had often done things beyond the strength of a giant. A gun
of about seven feet barrel, and so heavy that strong men could not
steadily hold it out, with both hands; there were several testimonies
given in by persons of credit and honour, that he made nothing of
taking up such a gun behind the lock with but one hand, and holding
it out, like a pistol, at arm’s end. G. B. in his vindication was
so foolish as to say, that an Indian was there, and held it out, at
the same time; whereas, none of the spectators ever saw any such
Indian; but they supposed the black man (as the witches call the
devil, and they generally say he resembles an Indian) might give him
that assistance. There was evidence likewise brought in, that he made
nothing of taking up whole barrels filled with molasses, or cider, in
very disadvantageous postures, and carrying them off, through the most
difficult places, out of a canoe to the shore.
“Yea, there were two testimonies, that G. B. with only putting the
fore-finger of his right hand into the muzzle of a heavy gun, a
fowling piece of about six or seven feet barrel, lifted up the gun,
and held it out at arm’s end; a gun which the deponents, though strong
men, could not with both hands lift up, and hold out at the butt-end,
as is usual. Indeed one of these witnesses was over-persuaded by
some persons to be out of the way upon G. B.’s trial; but he came
afterwards, with sorrow for his withdrawing, and gave in his testimony.
His death.--
“Mr. Burroughs was carried in a cart with the others, through the
streets of Salem to execution. When he was upon the ladder, he made
a speech for the clearing of his innocency, with such solemn and
serious expressions, as were to the admiration of all present: his
prayer [which he concluded by repeating the Lord’s prayer] was so
well worded, and uttered with such composedness, and such [at least
seeming] fervency of spirit, as was very affecting, and drew tears
from many, so that it seemed to some that the spectators would hinder
the execution. The accusers said the Black Man stood and dictated to
him. As soon as he was turned off, Mr. Cotton Mather, being mounted
upon a horse, addressed himself to the people, partly to declare that
he [Burroughs] was no ordained minister, and partly to possess the
people of his guilt, saying that the devil has often been transformed
into an angel of light; and this somewhat appeased the people, and the
executions went on.
Fourth--_A trial at length_. Indictment of Elizabeth How.
ESSEX ss.
_Anno Regni Regis & Reginæ Willielmi & Mariæ, nunc Angliæ, &c,
quarto_----
The jurors for our sovereign lord and lady the king and queen present,
that Elizabeth How, wife of James How, of Ipswich, in the county of
Essex, the thirty-first day of May, in the fourth year of the reign
of our sovereign lord and lady William and Mary, by the grace of God,
of England, Scotland, France and Ireland, king and queen, defenders
of the faith, &c. and divers other days and times, as well before as
after, certain destestable arts, called witchcrafts and sorceries,
wickedly and feloniously hath used, practised and exercised, at and
within the township of Salem, in, upon and against one Mary Wolcott,
of Salem Village, in the county aforesaid, single woman; by which said
wicked arts the said Mary Wolcott, the said thirty-first day of May,
in the fourth year above-said, and divers other days and times, as
well before as after, was and is tortured, afflicted, pined, consumed,
wasted and tormented; and also for sundry other acts of witchcrafts,
by said Elizabeth How committed and done before and since that time,
against the peace of our sovereign lord and lady, the king and queen,
and against the form of the statute in that case made and provided.
_Witnesses_--Mary Wolcott, Ann Putman, Abigail Williams, Samuel
Pearly, and his wife Ruth, Joseph Andrews, and wife Sarah, John
Sherrin, Joseph Safford, Francis Lane, Lydia Foster, Isaac Cummins, jr·
Fifth--_Recantation of the chief judge and the jurors._--A general fast
was appointed by the following proclamation, after the accusers had
become so bold as to accuse even the wife of Gov. Phips.--
_By the honourable the lieutenant governor, council and assembly of
his majesty’s province of the Massachusetts-Bay, in general court
assembled._
Whereas the anger of God is not yet turned away, but his hand is
still stretched out against his people in manifold judgments,
particularly in drawing out to such a length the troubles of Europe,
by a perplexing war; and more especially respecting ourselves in this
province, in that God is pleased still to go on in diminishing our
substance, cutting short our harvest, blasting our most promising
undertakings more ways than one, unsettling us, and by his more
immediate hand snatching away many out of our embraces by sudden and
violent deaths, even at this time when the sword is devouring so many
both at home and abroad, and that after many days of public and solemn
addressing him: and although, considering the many sins prevailing
in the midst of us, we cannot but wonder at the patience and mercy
moderating these rebukes, yet we cannot but also fear that there is
something still wanting to accompany our supplications; and doubtless
there are some particular sins, which God is angry with _our Israel_
for, that have not been duly seen and repented by us, about which God
expects to be sought, if ever he turn again our captivity:
Wherefore it is commanded and appointed, that Thursday, the fourteenth
of January next, be observed as a day of prayer, with fasting,
throughout this province; strictly forbidding all servile labour
thereon; that so all God’s people may offer up fervent supplications
unto him, for the preservation and prosperity of his majesty’s royal
person and government, and success to attend his affairs both at home
and abroad; that all iniquity may be put away, which hath stirred
God’s holy jealousy against this land; that he would shew us what
we know not, and help us wherein we have done amiss to do so no
more; and especially that whatever mistakes on either hand have been
fallen into, either by the body of this people, or any orders of
men, referring to the late tragedy, raised among us by Satan and his
instruments, through the awful judgment of God, he would humble us
therefor, and pardon all the errors of his servants and people, that
desire to love his name; that he would remove the rod of the wicked
from off the lot of the righteous; that he would bring in the American
heathen, and cause them to hear and obey his voice.
Given at Boston, December 12, 1696, in the eighth year of his
Majesty’s reign.
ISAAC ADDINGTON, _Secretary_.
“Upon the day of the fast, in the full assembly at the south
meeting-house in Boston, one of the honorable judges, [the chief
justice Sewall] who had sat in judicature in Salem, delivered in a
paper, and while it was in reading stood up; but the copy being not
to be obtained at present, it can only be reported by memory to this
effect, viz. It was to desire the prayers of God’s people for him and
his; and that God having visited his family, &c, he was apprehensive
that he might have fallen into some errors in the matters at Salem,
and pray that the guilt of such miscarriages may not be imputed either
to the country in general, or to him or his family in particular.
“Some, that had been of several juries, have given forth a paper,
signed with their own hands, in these words:
“We, whose names are under written, being in the year 1692 called to
serve as jurors in court at Salem on trial of many, who were by some
suspected guilty of doing acts of witchcraft upon the bodies of sundry
persons:
“We confess that we ourselves were not capable to understand, nor able
to withstand, the mysterious delusions of the powers of darkness,
and prince of the air; but were, for want of knowledge in ourselves,
and better information from others, prevailed with to take up with
such evidence against the accused, as, on further consideration and
better information, we justly fear was insufficient for the touching
the lives of any, (_Deut._ xvii. 8) whereby we fear we have been
instrumental with others, though ignorantly and unwittingly, to bring
upon ourselves and this people of the Lord the guilt of innocent
blood; which sin the Lord saith, in scripture, he would not pardon,
(_2 Kings_, xxiv. 4) that is, we suppose, in regard of his temporal
judgments. We do therefore hereby signify to all in general (and to
the surviving sufferers in special) our deep sense of, and sorrow
for, our errors, in acting on such evidence to the condemning of any
person; and do hereby declare, that we justly fear that we were sadly
deluded and mistaken; for which we are much disquieted and distressed
in our minds; and do therefore humbly beg forgiveness, first of
God for Christ’s sake, for this our error; and pray that God would
not impute the guilt of it to ourselves, nor others; and we also
pray that we may be considered candidly and aright, by the living
sufferers, as being then under the power of a strong and general
delusion, utterly unacquainted with, and not experienced in matters of
that nature.
“We do heartily ask forgiveness of you all, whom we have justly
offended; and do declare, according to our present minds, we would
none of us do such things again on such grounds for the whole world;
praying you to accept of this in way of satisfaction for our offence,
and that you would bless the inheritance of the Lord, that he may be
entreated for the land.
Foreman, Thomas Fisk,
William Fisk,
John Bacheler,
Thomas Fisk, jr,
John Dane,
Joseph Evelith,
Th. Pearly, sen,
John Peabody,
Thomas Perkins,
Samuel Sayer,
Andrew Eliot,
H. Herrick, sen.”
Transcriber's Notes:
Italics are shown thus: _sloping_.
Variations in spelling and hyphenation are retained.
Perceived typographical errors have been changed.