Today in Salem: Two men take their hats off as they enter the governor’s office. They’ve taken the entire day away from their farms to ride to Boston and back for this 5-minute conversation.
In the week since she was reprieved, they say, Rebecca Nurse’s specter has defiantly tormented the afflicted girls, gleeful that the governor was blind to the truth. The reprieve should be revoked, and these letters say why. The men unfold them on the desk, the paper crackling.
The governor skims the letters and thinks for a moment. He’s about to lead hundreds of militia into Maine to fight the French and Indians, and he’s too busy with preparations to be concerned with one case from an outlying village. Fine, yes. He revokes the reprieve and waves them away.
Today in Salem: The prison is dark and awash in the overwhelming smells of dung and filth. But while the other women lie in the dirty hay or lean against the cold walls, the flamboyant and rebellious Sarah Wilds manages to sashay even as she paces.
The beloved Rebecca Nurse has been reprieved. But Sarah has no illusions about her own fate. She is too pretty, too eager for love. She touches her neck, thinking about the noose that surely awaits her, and the silk scarf she’d worn many years ago. The judges had been so self-righteous about that scarf! But she’d confessed and accepted punishment for it, just as she had for other offenses, even fornication.
She turns and paces back to the other wall. It’s a rich irony, and a difficult choice. If she confesses to witchcraft, like her other sins, the judges will spare her life. If she doesn’t confess, if she clings to innocence, she will die.
Live with a lie? Or die professing innocence? She touches her neck again. She has always told the truth, even when she’s broken the law. And she would confess if she was guilty. But this time she’s innocent. It’s the truth.
Today in Salem: The sharp-tongued Susannah Martin rubs the inside corners of her eyes and breathes shakily. She’s hardly slept the last two nights.
This is the second time she’s been found guilty of witchcraft. But the first time – more than 20 years ago – the charges were dismissed. Couldn’t that happen again? Especially since Rebecca Nurse has been reprieved?
It’s been nine days since Susannah’s trial, and each day it’s more clear: The answer is no. She and Rebecca Nurse are the same age, but they couldn’t be more different. Where Rebecca is soft-spoken, Susannah is forthright and even rude. Rebecca’s long membership in the church is a rebuke to Susannah, who rarely goes. Rebecca is still cared for by a well-respected husband. Susannah is a widow.
Susannah has no regrets. She’d tried being a good Puritan, but it was like wearing a cap that was too tight. God has already ordained whether she is saved or damned, and nothing she says or does will make a difference. Why put on a show? Why constrict herself?
Today in Salem: The now-friendless Elizabeth How bunches her petticoats under her bruised knees and kneels to pray once again on the jail’s brick floor.
She’s been fasting and praying nearly every moment since she was condemned eight days ago. She knows she must die. God has ordained it. But she doesn’t know when, and the waters are rising fast around her. She has very little time to remove the stone in her heart, to prepare to meet God in peace.
So she prays to understand the judges, who were so quick to believe her accusers. Twelve people have testified on her behalf. How can the judges not see that she is innocent? Why hasn’t she been reprieved, like the beloved Rebecca Nurse?
She prays for the afflicted girls, who, for reasons she cannot begin to fathom, have turned on her so fiercely. Some of them are children, past the age of reason, but children nonetheless. Some are older, and seem to delight in their false accusations. Why? What has she done to wrong them?
Most of all, she prays for her neighbors, who’ve been so convinced for so long that she has hurt them. They are grieving for their young daughter, of course, and perhaps they are too afraid to blame God. But why her?
She cannot make sense of it. But she also cannot meet God with a hardened heart. So she stays on her bruised knees, hungry, seeking forgiveness.
Today in Salem: The beggar Sarah Good is holding her clay pipe close and peering into its bowl, turning it slowly. She’s had no tobacco for weeks, not so much as a fleck. She was hungry for it at first; hungrier than she was for food. But now she just misses its comfort.
She brings the bowl to her nose and inhales gently. The faint scent of tobacco is too wispy to fill her lungs, but it’s still there. She thinks about her life before prison. Was it really any better than this? Back then she’d had to beg for tobacco, never mind food, clothes, and sometimes even a place to sleep. And not just for herself, but her children, too.
Baby Mercy is gone now. But who will look out for Dorcas? She’s only 4 and in prison, too, having confessed to being a witch herself. Her father is a drunkard and a rogue, and once Sarah has met with the hangman, who will protect the girl from the same fate?
Sarah hits the pipe against the stone wall. She can barely bring herself to think about Rebecca Nurse’s reprieve. Rebecca has kin who are fighting for her. She has a long history with the church, and respect from her neighbors. Sarah has none of those things. She hits the pipe again, harder this time. It’s old, made of clay, and well used. But it doesn’t break. It never will.
Today in Salem: The Reverend Cotton Mather stands in the door of his Boston church and stares, unspeaking, at the charred ruins just one block away. It was midnight last night when a blazing fire had escaped from the hearth in a nearby tavern, burned through its wooden walls, then rode on glowing embers to some twenty other buildings nearby. Men shouted through the smoke and passed water in leather buckets from hand to hand, until finally, mercifully, the fire was gone.
Rev Cotton Mather had despaired of the church, built of wood and only one street away from the fire. So he’d risen early this morning, forgoing his usual bread and cheese, and hurried to the church, prepared for destruction. But, except for a sharp smell that permeates the walls, the benches, and even the pulpit, it’s been spared.
What does it mean? Cotton pauses and says a silent prayer of gratitude for God’s protection. But still he wonders. Why would God allow a fire to burn so closely to the church, and yet not harm it? Is it a warning? What evil is creeping toward him and his flock?
Cotton looks to the sky, where ashes float like soft gray snow, swirling as the air is stirred. He can taste them, feel them in his throat, his eyes, his nostrils. He turns away and enters the church. The ashes will be gone by Sabbath day, he’s certain. But the acrid smell will stay.
WHO was Cotton Mather?
The Reverend Cotton Mather was 29 at the time of the trials, and one of the most conservative and influential Puritan ministers in colonial America. He’s remembered today for setting the extreme moral tone of Puritan New England, for his prolific writing (more than 450 books and pamphlets), and for his scholarship in science. He’s also known for his involvement in the events surrounding the Salem Witchcraft Trials.
Cotton Mather circa 1700
Little is written about Cotton Mather’s severe stutter as a child and young man, and although he claimed to have been cured, it’s more likely that he learned to mask it. In public he was a careful and deliberative speaker. When not in the pulpit, he was quiet, which only added to his reputation of arrogance. Regardless, his speech defect might be one reason he was such a prolific writer. It could also explain his deep interest in science as an alternative career to the ministry.
Three years before the Trials, when he was 26, Mather published a book about several afflicted children who were bewitched by a local washerwoman. Mather himself had been deeply involved with the families, observing and recording the children’s activities, and played a role in the washerwoman’s ultimate hanging. Some say the book helped lay the groundwork for the Salem Witchcraft Trials.
Mather was highly influential in the ministry, offered conflicting and calamitous advice about using specters as evidence, and publicized (and even celebrated) the trials as they were happening. He witnessed at least 5 hangings, calling one accused woman a ”rampant hag,” and an accused minister a “puny man.“ Later he congratulated the Chief Justice for “extinguishing as wonderful a piece of devilism as has been seen in the world.”
Cotton Mather never expressed remorse or regret for his role in the witchcraft hysteria. In fact, for several years after the trials, he continued to defend them and seemed to hold out a hope for their return.
In a more scholarly vein, he went on to make legitimate contributions to the sciences of plant hybridization and disease inoculation, and became a fellow of the Royal Society of London. He promoted Newtonian science in America, and wrote extensively to unify the fields of science, philosophy, and religion.
Cotton Mather died 36 years after the trials. He was twice widowed, and only two of his 15 children outlived him. His grave can be found in the Copp’s Hill Burying Ground in Boston. Case files: Cotton Mather
Today in Salem: The smells of animal sweat and leather cling to a group of men as they tie up their horses. They’d left Salem at daybreak and ridden hard to get to Boston by this afternoon, stopping only twice to water the horses and eat. With no time to waste, the men have come straight to the Governor himself: Will he reprieve Rebecca Nurse from execution?
A clerk waves the men in and tells them to be quick about it. Governor Phips has more pressing matters to attend to, he says, and nods his head toward another room, where the Governor’s council is debating how to pay for the wars in Maine. Soldiers, sailors, garrisons – all of them cost money, and unless these men have extra coins in their pockets, they’d best speak quickly.
Three documents, one request
The men step into Phips’s office and get straight to the point, unrolling three documents on the Governor’s desk.
First, the petition, signed by 39 of Rebecca Nurse’s family and neighbors, including seven members of the powerful Putnam family, several prominent merchants, even two people who’d testified against Rebecca and have since changed their minds. It’s meant nothing to the Salem magistrates and the high court. But perhaps it will influence the Governor.
Second, a statement from Rebecca’s jury foreman, explaining why the jury had changed their verdict from Not Guilty to Guilty, and the question about what Rebecca meant by saying that two fellow prisoners (who were also confessed witches) were “one of us.”
Third, they present a letter from Rebecca Nurse herself, explaining that when she said “one of us” she meant the two women were fellow prisoners, not witches, and her remark shouldn’t count as evidence against her. “And I being something hard of hearing, and full of grief, none informing me how the court took up my words, and therefore had not opportunity to declare what I intended,” she wrote.
The Governor taps his fingers as they describe how prayerful Rebecca is, how caring for the poor, and how deeply she is loved and respected. Will Phips grant her a reprieve so she can appeal the verdict?
Yes, he says. Yes, yes. He asks the clerk to scribble a few lines, then signs it quickly. “Now if that’s all,” he says, and strides out the door and toward the other room, without finishing the sentence.
Today in Salem: It’s Communion Sunday. The tavern owner has filled the communion cup with wine, and now it’s being passed from person to person as they each take a sip and consider. Five women have been found guilty of witchcraft this week, and each of them is condemned to death. Is it wrong to pray for their souls? Are they truly beyond redemption?
The smell of wine is overwhelming in the heat as the minister leads them in the Lord’s Prayer.
Thy will be done.
A long pause follows the final Amen, and the minister looks triumphant and grief-stricken at the same time when the elders stand and ask the congregation a single question:
Should the once-beloved Rebecca Nurse be excommunicated?
It’s a sad but quick vote. Rebecca has been a full member of the church for 20 years, much loved and well-respected. But now they know: Her kind words and good deeds were a facade. Just as the single communion cup has been shared by all, their vote is unanimous: Yes.
In the afternoon, the warden escorts Rebecca from the jail to the meeting house. She is frail and exhausted, but stands tall as the Reverend reads a list of her sins, then declares, in the name of Christ, that she is spiritually unclean and will be severed from the church. Amen.
Today in Salem: The healer Ann Pudeator is incredulous, standing in the tavern where a crowd has gathered to watch the judges question her. It’s the second time they’ve dragged her in for a hearing, and another step toward a life-or-death trial if she can’t answer their questions.
This time the judges want to know about the mysterious healing ointments the Constable has found in her house. There are more than a nurse or midwife needs. What exactly are they?
Ann waits a few seconds before answering. They’re not ointments, she says. It’s just grease, for making soap.
Now it’s the judges turn to be disbelieving. Grease? In numerous jars, all partly filled, when one jar would hold all of it? And why were the jars found throughout her house? Ann is adamant that it’s just grease for soap, but she’s vague about the jars.
Mysterious jars of ointment aren’t enough to hold her, so the judges turn to the usual 3 categories of evidence: afflicted girls (yes, they’ve seen her specter), disgruntled neighbors (the Constable, whose sister-in-law died mysteriously under Ann’s care), and accusations from confessed witches (the on-again off-again Mary Warren is now clinging to her confession and points to Ann).
Three kinds of evidence, three accusations, plus the mysterious ointments. The judges send Ann to jail to wait for trial.
This week, five women were tried in court, found guilty, and sentenced to be hanged. But it raises questions. The three unsavory women – the beggar, the rebel, and the seductress – have no family or friends to speak of, and no one to defend them. But the two more acceptable women – the friend and the saint – have nearly 60 people vouching for them. How is it that all five were so quickly condemned? Would anything make a difference?
An important thread is becoming clear: Resistance is growing. While they’re still in the minority, more and more people are signing petitions, writing letters, and offering testimony in defense of the accused.
Just as important, more people are beginning to question the system. A deputy and a judge have quit in protest. One prominent Puritan minister has asked the judges to slow down, stop assuming guilt, and keep the afflicted girls quiet. As a group, the Puritan ministers have asked the court to stop using visions of specters as evidence (the biggest reason people are being accused, arrested, and now convicted). Even a Baptist minister has written two petitions to condemn using spectral evidence. (The Governor had him arrested for his Baptist impudence).
Unfortunately, the one man who can stop it all — the Governor — is bored by the trials and would rather be fighting the frontier wars. So he’s delegated the situation to his Chief Justice, who’s delighting in his power and crusading to roust and destroy every witch in Massachusetts. Now more than 70 people are in prison, four people are dead, and five more are condemned. Can anyone stop him?
WHO’S BEEN TRIED AND SENTENCED TO HANG:
The beggar Sarah Good – a vagrant who smokes a pipe and has a terrible temper. Sarah has been in prison with her 4-year-old daughter, Dorcas Good, and a 6-month-old baby, who died while there.
The neighborly Elizabeth How – A friendly and pleasant woman who, nonetheless, is bitterly suspected by a family who’s 10-year-old daughter accused her, then died — two years ago. More than a dozen people have testified or deposed in her defense.
The rebellious Susannah Martin – a mean, pole cat who a prominent minister called one of the most “impudent, scurrilous, wicked creatures in the world.”
The beloved Rebecca Nurse – a 70-year-old grandmother who is well-loved throughout the community. 39 people signed a petition on her behalf, attesting to her upstanding character.
The flamboyant Sarah Wilds – an aging, glamorous woman who was whipped for fornication as a young woman, brought to court for wearing fancy clothes, and now is suspected of bewitching a man into marrying her.
WHO’S BEEN HANGED FOR WITCHCRAFT:
The unruly Bridget Bishop was hanged on June 10. Bridget Bishop was an unpopular and outspoken woman, and the first to be executed. A large crowd attended her hanging.
WHO’S DIED IN PRISON:
The baby Mercy Good (the beggar Sarah Good’s 6-month-old baby) died on May 26, probably of malnutrition.
The sickly Sarah Osborne died on May 10, probably of typhus. She was a scandal-ridden woman who’d married her servant and was trying to take her sons’ inheritance.
The fortuneteller Roger Toothaker died on June 16 of “natural causes,” according to the coroner’s jury.
