Today in Salem: Just as there can be too much of a good thing, the people of Salem are beginning to think there’s too much of a bad thing. Of the 16 people who’ve been condemned, 8 are now squeezed into an ox cart, packed so tightly that they can only stand, not sit.
8 people, 8 nooses, 8 ladders.
This is the fourth hanging the crowd has witnessed, and the people are restive and unsure. So when the pious Mary Esty says an affectionate goodbye to her husband and children, nearly everyone begins to cry. Most of her children are grown, but her 14-year-old son is there, looking manly, breathing heavily and standing tall next to his father.
Next to her, the fortuneteller Samuel Wardwell tries to say he’s innocent, but he chokes on the executioner’s pipe smoke before he can finish.
The know-it-all Gospel Woman Martha Corey, with her husband Giles pressed to death only 3 days ago, is suddenly pitiable as she pleads her innocence once more, then prays sincerely.
The others – the fainting shrew Alice Parker, the widow Mary Parker, the nurse Ann Pudeator, the ornery Wilmot Redd, and the elderly beggar Margaret Scott – have scarcely finished their last words when the executioner pushes the ladders out from each one, all 8, until they’ve stopped kicking and are swinging slowly, lifeless.
“What a sad thing it is,” says the minister, “to see eight firebrands of Hell hanging there.”
Today in Salem: The Sheriff pounds on the door of the stubborn Giles Corey’s son-in-law. Now that Corey has been executed, and wife Martha is condemned to die, the Sheriff is to seize everything they owned and sell it for the benefit of the King. But the Sheriff is more interested in quick money, so he gives the son-in-law a choice: surrender the goods, or pay the Sheriff a hefty sum in cold hard cash. The son-in-law chooses to pay, and spends the next few days dredging up the money.
Today in Salem: The gospel woman Martha Corey has turned her back on Rev Samuel Parris and the church elders he’s come with. I have nothing to say to you, she announces, and steps closer to the prison’s stone wall.
She is offended, morally offended, by their visit. Never mind that she has been convicted of witchcraft and sentenced to hang. She is a Gospel Woman, and an innocent one at that. Their entreaties and prayers are meaningless to her.
Her hand grows softer, though, and her shoulders slump when Rev Parris tells her she’s been excommunicated. It’s the first time she’s been quiet.
Tonight, Rev Parris opens the church record book and writes about Martha’s role in the church.
11 September. Lords day. Sister Martha Corey taken into the Church 27 April 1690. was after Examination upon suspicion of Witchcraft. 21 March 1691-2 committed to Prison for that Fact, & was condemned to the Gallows for the same yesterday: And was this day in Publick by a general consent voted to be excommunicated out of the Church; & Lt. Nathanael Putnam, & the 2 Deacons chosen to signify to her, with the Pastor the mind of the Church herein.
Accordingly this 14 Septr 1692 The 3. aforcsd Brethren went with the Pastor to her in Salem Prison, whom we found very obdurate justifying her self, & condemning all that had done any thing to her just discovery, or condemnation. Whereupon after a little discourse (for her imperiousness would not suffer much) & after Prayer, (which she was willing to decline) the dreadful sentence of Excommunication was pronounced against her.
In court, the ill-tempered Wilmott Redd is standing defiantly in front of the judges. She is well-known for wishing that bloody cleavers be found in the cradles of other people’s children, and for selling milk that quickly turns so moldy that it looks like blue wool. Her curses are also legendary: Five years ago she’d cursed a neighbor, saying she wouldn’t “mingere or carcare” (relieve herself or empty her bowels) ever again. Sure enough, the neighbor had suffered a “dry bellyache” for months. Combined with the usual swooning of the afflicted girls, no one is surprised when the judges find Wilmott guilty of witchcraft.
In the second trial of the day, the fortuneteller Samuel Wardwell defends his reputation of predicting the future. He’s spent years embracing and crowing about his talents; but now it works against him. Witness after witness describes his foretellings: falling from a horse, a gunshot wound, unrequited love, and the birth to one woman of five daughters followed by one son. He also has a knack for knowing the secrets of the past, and has bragged that he can call cattle to him. An afternoon in court can’t undo years and years of boasting about his abilities. The judges pronounce him guilty of witchcraft. He will hang.
Today in Salem: The jail keeper clenches his jaw and closes his eyes as the fire in the hearth gutters and flares. It’s nighttime, cool with an early autumn breeze, and while normally it would be a pleasant enough evening, the jail keeper is too distracted to notice.
Just yesterday, the 77-year-old Mary Bradbury was found guilty and condemned for witchcraft. But she is distinguished, and her husband’s family is connected to English royalty. Given her station, she was allowed to roam freely during the day, as long as she returned by night. Now it’s obvious she isn’t coming back. She’s escaped, disappeared, vanished like smoke from a fire.
Dorcas Hoar grasps at straws
In a basement cell, the fortuneteller and now shorn Dorcas Hoar cries and rubs her hand over her nearly shaved head. Lying is a terrible sin, and God will surely punish her for it. But confession is the only way she herself can escape the noose. So she asks to see the judges, and tells them that she does, indeed, practice witchcraft. What’s more, she can identify other witches. I can help you, she cries.
Her performance is less than convincing, though, and the judges leave her in her cell, condemned as before.
A list is finalized
In his rooms, Chief Justice Stoughton signs the death warrants for all six of the women tried this week: the gospel woman Martha Corey, the pious Mary Esty, the shrew Alice Parker, the nurse Ann Pudeator, the fortuneteller Dorcas Hoar, and the elderly and distinguished Mary Bradbury.
Today in Salem: The cantankerous Giles Corey is pounding his fist on the jail keeper’s table. He’s ripped his will into the smallest shreds that his calloused hands can, and now, with the help of the Justice of the Peace, he’s making a new one. “Being under great troubles & affliction,” Giles begins, and goes on to proclaim:
To the son-in-law who testified against Giles and his wife Martha: NOTHING.
To another son-in-law, who called Martha a witch: NOTHING.
To Martha herself, his gospel woman wife: NOTHING. The jail keeper sits up at that. She’s been in jail for over a month now, which doesn’t bode well. Does Giles think she won’t survive? Or is she a thorn in his side that he wants to remove?
Everything – every shilling, acre, and cow – is to go to his other two sons-in-law, share and share alike, for “considerations mee at ye present Espetially moveing.”
Meanwhile, Susannah Sheldon joins the ranks of the afflicted girls when, during Sunday meeting, she sees the specter of a wealthy merchant, Philip English, crawl over a pew to torment her.
WHO was Susannah Sheldon?
Susannah Sheldon’s mark
Susannah was an 18yo traumatized refugee of the Indian Wars in Maine. Her 24yo brother was killed in an Indian attack, and her 10yo brother died of “distraction.” Only four months before she made her first accusation, her father died of an infected wound that he’d received in Maine, and the family farm was taken. Her mother, fours sisters, and brother were reduced to poverty. Her first accusations were against the wealthiest family in Salem. Her visions were among the most disturbing.
Susannah moved to Providence, Rhode Island before the trials were over. According to local records, she was summoned before the Providence City Council two years later. We don’t know why she was summoned, but she was referred to as a person “of Evill repute” and may have been indigent at the time. Some records indicate that she died 4 years after the Trials ended.
Of the people Susannah accused and/or testified against, 15 were hanged. Her legal case files are here.
Today in Salem: Rev Parris’s dog is under the table, resting his head on his front paws and lying on Parris’s feet. The dog is the only spot of calm in the room, though, as Parris tries to transcribe the court’s proceedings.
It’s impossible, though. Parris’s own niece, Abigail Williams, is shrieking and convulsing and crying so dramatically that Parris can’t concentrate. She’s 11 years old, and yet somehow she’s louder than the teenage girls. The only person who’s even louder is the slave John Indian. Yesterday the schoolmaster had threatened him fiercely, and John had promised that his fits wouldn’t happen again. But now he’s back, more forcefully than before, and it takes 4 men to control him.
The harsh John Proctor was arrested yesterday during his wife’s examination, and less than 24 hours later the magistrates have brought him here for his own. But he’s hardly spoken when John Indian shouts that Proctor’s specter is on the dog’s back. The girls contort and gasp, pointing as the specter moves from the dog to the magistrate’s lap.
The judges have barely questioned Proctor, but they don’t need to. His specter is obviously tormenting people, right here and now. They send him back to jail to wait for a trial.
By now the Salem jail is so crowded that several prisoners are sent to Boston. Among them: the gospel woman Martha Corey. Her husband, the cantankerous Giles Corey, promises to visit her next week. And he will, but not in the way he thinks.
LEARN MORE: Why did Rev Parris have a dog with him in court? Did people in early colonial America have pets?
The Pilgrims on the Mayflower brought with them two dogs: a mastiff and an English spaniel, who not only survived the journey, but feasted during the first Thanksgiving. But they probably weren’t coddled the way pets are today. Still, Massachusetts published the first laws in America preventing cruelty toward animals, saying that “No man shall exercise any Tirranny or Crueltie towards any bruite Creature which are usuallie kept for man’s use.”
The mastiff continued to be the most popular dog during colonial times. Often, the family dog was tied up outside a front door and used as a guard dog. But many family dogs were treated more companionably and went everywhere with their owners, even to church.
Cats also arrived on the Mayflower (and every ship thereafter), and were expected to earn their keep by hunting pests and vermin. They came and went as they liked and were treated more like working animals than pets. Today, cats are the second most popular pet in the United States … behind dogs, with mastiffs being the 33rd most popular breed.
Today in Salem: Martha Corey is scooping salve from a wooden jar when the Constable knocks. It’s time. She rubs the salve on her wrist, where it’s been itching since last night. It can’t be nerves. She is a Gospel Woman, and would never do these things they’ve accused her of.
The Meeting house is packed with spectators when the Constable brings her in to face the magistrates, who go straight to the first piece of damning evidence. Two men had visited Martha last week to see whether she and her specter were wearing the same clothes. How did she know about it before they’d even arrived?
Giles crosses his arms and squints. He’s been curious about the same thing. So when Martha says Giles himself had told her, he immediately speaks from the crowd to deny it. More questions and more nervous answers follow until Martha contradicts herself, and the judges are satisfied that they’ve proved the first point.
On to the next piece of evidence: Yesterday, after services, when she was walking toward her husband Giles: His son-in-law heard her say that neither the afflicted girls nor the Devil could stand before her and that she would open the eyes of the magistrates to the truth.
At the mention of “stand before her” the afflicted girls fall, literally unable to stand. Still, Martha denies saying it, and even when several other people say they’d overheard her, she still denies it.
It’s obvious that she’s lying, and the judges decide to move on to the next and most damning charge: Her specter is tormenting the afflicted girls. Even now, when Martha clenches her hands, the girls clench theirs to the point of bruising. When she shifts her feet, the girls stomp loudly. When she bites her lip, they bite their own, hard. The cruel magistrate hammers and hammers, with the afflicted girls shouting their own answers: Did Martha’s specter bring a yellow bird to the services yesterday? Has she brought the Devil’s book for the girls to sign? Is the Devil whispering in her ear right his very minute? No, no, and no Martha says, but the judges again believe she’s lying, and send her to jail for a later trial.
Today in Salem: It’s the Sabbath, and the men’s side of the Meeting House is quietly agog. Women are strictly not allowed to speak in church. And yet here is 11-year-old Abigail Williams, standing up and demanding that the minister state which Scripture he’s using.
If it’s possible to be frightened and angry at the same time, Mrs. Parris is it. Abigail has been living with the Parris family for some time now, and her public afflictions have only grown worse. Now Mrs. Parris, sitting on the bench behind her, touches Abigail’s shoulder until she quiets.
The calm is momentary, though, and soon Abigail cries out at the specter of the gospel woman Martha Corey, flying to a beam above their heads then sitting next to a yellow bird. Yellow is the Devil’s color, so it’s even more alarming when the invisible bird flies off the beam and perches defiantly on the preacher’s hat.
Abigail and her afflicted friends continue talking and seeing specters throughout the services, and all through it the gospel woman Martha Corey sits with her back straight and eyes forward.
Finally, mercifully, the services come to an end. Standing to leave and walking toward Giles, Martha can no longer stay quiet. She knows she’s appearing before the Magistrates tomorrow, and of course everything that has happened today will be thrown at her.
She is a Gospel Woman, she says to Giles, and would never do anything like this. These ridiculous girls can’t possibly win tomorrow. Even the Devil himself cannot win. Martha is a Gospel Woman, and she will open the eyes of the Ministers and Magistrates to the truth.
Today in Salem: The minister brings the candle closer and asks the teenage girl to show him her wrist. There, in the flickering light, he can see fresh teeth marks. Now he motions to Nathaniel Ingersoll, the tavern’s owner, to come look.
Ingersoll leans down so close that the minister has to pull the candle back. But they agree: she’s been bitten, just now when she’d screamed. It’s Mary Walcott’s first spectral injury, and now she joins her friends in being afflicted. She is 17, the militia captain’s daughter, and cousin to the girls’ leader Ann Putnam.
Across the street at the parsonage, Rev Parris and his wife are looking at each other with fresh alarm as their niece, the 11-year-old tomboy Abigail Williams, flaps her arms furiously and shouts “whish, whish, whish,” as if she’s flying through the house. She screams at the specter of the beloved Rebecca Nurse, then flings herself into the fireplace and throws burning sticks into the room.
Meanwhile, after days of accusations against the gospel woman Martha Corey, the magistrates order the sheriff to bring her to Ingersoll’s Ordinary for a hearing in two days. This will be the second time the Village has gathered to examine an accused witch.
WHO was Nathaniel Ingersoll?
Age about 60. One of two deacons in the church, and a Lieutenant in the militia. Nathaniel was known to be unfailingly honest, fair, and generous. He donated land for the Meeting House. After his father’s death, Nathaniel, 11, went to live with his father’s friend Governor Endecott on a 300-acre country estate, where he apprenticed for several years. There he learned to run his own farm and home, and when he was only 19 he married a young woman and moved on to his own land. The Ingersolls had one daughter, who died young. But their neighbor had several sons, and offered to let the Ingersolls adopt one of them and raise him as their own.
The Endecott Pear Tree is America’s oldest cultivated tree, planted between 1632-1649.
The Ingersoll Ordinary is still standing, though much of the building has been renovated or added to since. The original part of the building was built around 1670. Case files: Nathaniel Ingersoll
Side note: Governor John Endecott was the longest-serving Governor of Massachusetts Bay Colony: he was the 1st, 10th, 13th, 15th, and 17th governor. He planted a pear tree sometime between 1632 and 1649, which is still standing. It’s America’s oldest cultivated tree.
WHO was Mary Walcott?
Age 17, she was one of the “core accusers.” Compared to the others, she was unusual in that she had a stable home life. She was not a servant, nor an orphan, and hadn’t been traumatized by the wars in Maine.
She was, however, cousin to Ann Putnam, the girls’ leader. Ann was 12, and her family servant was 18. Mary, age 17, undoubtedly spent a good amount of time with them, and witnessed or heard about their torments.
Mary may have been the first girl to fake affliction. In mid-March, when only one hearing had taken place, a minister was invited to Salem Village to witness the afflictions for himself. One of the first people he met was Mary Walcott, who, during a pleasant conversation, suddenly screamed that she’d been bitten by a specter. Sure enough, the minister could see teeth marks on Mary’s arm.
After the trials, Mary married twice and had at least 10 known children. She died in her mid-70s.
Side notes: Mary’s father was the captain of the village militia. Her aunt was the neighbor who’d suggested a witch-cake to Tituba. Case files: Mary Walcott
Today in Salem: The cantankerous Giles Corey drags his sleeve across his mouth and wipes the cider away. Martha calls herself a Gospel Woman, he says, but he knows things about her that would fix her business. The men around him guffaw. That woman needs to be taken down a peg or two, they all agree.
“And what about you, Giles?” the tavern owner says, and clanks a metal plate of bread and butter on the table. “What’s your business?”
The laughter is more tentative this time, but Nathaniel Ingersoll, the owner, gives a genuine smile. He’s among the most respected men in the Village, and possibly the most well-liked. He’s been running this tavern for years, and if the meeting house is the spirit of the Village, his tavern is the heartbeat. He can say what he will, and no man will hold it against him.
That includes Giles, who just waves Nathaniel away and tucks into his bread. The other men have stopped drinking, though. One of them picks at his finger as if he’s removing a splinter. Another looks off to the side and cranes his neck. They know Giles’ reputation: the thieving, the vindictive behavior toward his neighbors, the way he beat a servant so severely that he died. Still, like his wife, Giles is a full member of the church, and as long as no one brings it up, the past can remain the past. God’s grace can be a mystery, and who are they to question it?
WHO was Nathaniel Ingersoll?
The Ingersoll Ordinary is still standing, The original part of this building was constructed in 1670.
One of two deacons in the church, and a Lieutenant in the militia. Nathaniel was known to be unfailingly honest, fair, and generous. He donated land for the Meeting House. After his father’s death, Nathaniel, 11, went to live with his father’s friend Governor Endecott on a 300-acre country estate, where he apprenticed for several years. There he learned to run his own farm and home, and when he was only 19 he married a young woman and moved on to his own land. The Ingersolls had one daughter, who died young. But their neighbor had several sons, and offered to let the Ingersolls adopt one of them and raise him as their own.
The Ingersoll Ordinary is still standing, though much of the building has been renovated or added to since. The original part of the building was built around 1670. Case files: Nathaniel Ingersoll
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