Today in Salem: Wet, exhausted, and muddy, the minister George Burroughs arrived in Salem last night and was immediately brought to a private room in a local tavern. He’s a prisoner, yes, but he’s also a man of God, so he’ll stay here, away from the filthy jails and apart from the other prisoners.
After two days of riding through drenching rain, wind, and lightning strikes, Burroughs slept without moving all last night and most of today. Now he’s ravenous when the tavern owner’s wife brings him boiled cod, bread, and butter; the same supper that she and her husband are eating.
Burroughs is swiping the last smear of butter from his plate when a visitor knocks. The man takes his hat off and looks at the floor, shifting from foot to foot, then finally looks up at Burroughs.
”Is it true then?” His voice shakes. He’s just had a vociferous debate with a militia leader from Maine, who knows how Burroughs has protected and fought for his flock in the face of relentless Indian attacks. The military man is rock solid sure that Burroughs is innocent, and has challenged this man to see for himself.
The man just keeps turning his hat in his hands, nervous but not going anywhere. Rev Burroughs sets his mouth and stares back, unflinching. He is a minister, not an oddity, and will not speak to such disrespect. Later the unsettled man will remember this one-sided conversation, and the strange visions it conjures up that night in the darkness.
Today in Salem: The constable is choking on the acrid smell of burning wood, squinting his eyes in the stinging smoke, and pulling hard on the reins to keep his horse under control. The other horses are rearing in all directions, and the constable’s men are holding on tight. A shrieking bolt of lightning has struck a nearby tree with impossible precision, and now an entire stand of trees is on fire. In the chaos, the prisoner George Burroughs struggles with his own horse, but stays close.
The lawmen have been galloping through thunder & driving rain since dawn, bringing the accused Reverend Burroughs to Salem. They’d burst into his home last night and arrested him in the middle of supper, with his eight children watching. They’d left this morning with only two days to make a three-day ride, and there’s no time to spare. Until now, even the powerful storm hasn’t slowed them down.
Now the constable can hardly see past the fog, heavy rain, and falling branches, and he’s shocked when he realizes that George Burroughs is still with them. Burroughs has his own horse, and there was every opportunity to break free and escape. Why hasn’t he fled? At first the constable is impressed with his prisoner’s integrity. But he quickly remembers that this is no ordinary prisoner. Burroughs has been accused of witchcraft. But that’s not the end of it. He’s accused of partnering with the Devil to lead the witches in an organized attack on the church.
There’s only one explanation to the constable: The Devil – the Prince of the Air – must have sent the storm to wrench Burroughs free. But the Devil has failed. He cannot stop the men of God.
A petition signed by 39 people attesting to Rebecca Nurse’s good character.
Today in Salem: The cruel judge John Hathorne rubs the thick paper between his thumb and forefinger. This is no accident. The man who has written it, with such a deliberate hand, is married to Hathorne’s sister. He’s also from the richest family in the Village, a position that the judge respects, and one that made for a good match for his sister.
Now the man has handed the document, a petition, to Hathorne, and asked for his consideration. 39 people have signed it, attesting to Rebecca Nurse’s good Christian character. She is 70 years old and frail, and has been in jail for more than a month. Now, at the behest of her worried husband, the judge’s brother-in-law has sent it to some of the more influential families.
“We have knowne her for many years and Acording to our observation her Life and conversation was Acording to her profession and we never had Any cause or grounds to suspect her of Any such thing as she is nowe Acused of.”
Most of the signatures are those of married couples, the men signing for themselves and for their wives. There are tavern owners, a prominent landowner, and the grandson of a governor. Most interesting are the signatures from Putnams and Porters, who are usually feuding and rarely agree on anything.
The judge floats the paper onto his desk and turns away. He’ll consider it.
LEARN MORE: Why couldn’t the women sign their own names? Was illiteracy common?
50 years before the Salem Witchcraft Trials, Massachusetts passed a law requiring that children be taught to read and write. In some ways, this literacy law was born of fear and resolution. Not long before that, the Mayflower had arrived, with half of its passengers dying within the first year. It took life-saving help from indigenous people, not to mention more immigrants, for the colony to take root and begin to grow.
For that to continue, the Puritans believed that its men needed to be able to read and understand the laws. And everyone, especially children, needed to be able to read the Bible. So the Puritan leaders mandated that all heads of households teach their dependents — apprentices and servants as well as their own children — to read English or pay a fine.
Many parents were half-hearted in their efforts, though, so another law was passed, requiring that towns with 50 or more families hire a schoolmaster. But many towns were reluctant, and for some, the fines were cheaper than the cost of a school. In Salem, the Town complied (it already had a fine school for boys heading into the ministry). But the agricultural Village didn’t.
Even if a school did exist, parents weren’t required to send their children. When they did, the kids that did go were typically free, white boys. Families couldn’t or wouldn’t spare the labor of slaves or indentured servants. And girls, who would never be leaders in the community or church, weren’t expected to need much education. They sometimes learned to read the Bible, but rarely to write.
In the existing documents from the Salem Witchcraft Trials, men often signed their names, and women usually made marks. This is why, as in the petition for Rebecca Nurse, the women’s ”signatures” are in their husbands’ handwriting.
Pages from “The New England Primer,” published around 1690, just before the Salem Witchcraft Trials. This reading book was in use for 150 years, and is where the prayer “Now I lay me down to sleep” first appears.
