17: A Little Out of Control

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CW: This episode contains brief mentions of the suicide of Christian Trask.

A PRODUCT OF THE WHISPERFORGE: SOUND & STORY, BROUGHT TO LIFE

[[Theme music: “Lakeside Path” by Blue Dot Sessions]]

KATE: Hello, and welcome to Remarkable Providences, the podcast about trials and timelines, contracts and confessions, and, of course, the Salem witch trials. I’m your tour guide, Kate Devorak. 

As Reverend John Higginson looked back on his involvement in the witch trials for John Hale’s 1697 account, he wrote that at the start, the crisis was, quote, “very small, and looked on at first as an ordinary case which had fallen out before at several times in other places, and would quickly be over.”  But that had been February. Now it was nearly May, and things had gotten a little out of control. If I can just step out for a sec, flip the ol tour guide chair around, and clean up the big picture. How long have we been at this, you and I? Roughly a season and a half. In the Salem witch trials timeline, we’re in the third week of April. From the first arrest to this episode, it’s been just under three months. Can you imagine how long these few months must have felt for the people of Salem, I ask, desperately trying not to date this podcast? In that time, two afflicted girls and three arrests turned into a county-wide affair, with thirteen arrests, three confessions, one dead baby, and over a dozen men and women claiming bewitchment in some form or another. This couldn’t stay contained in Salem for long. 

[[Music: Curious.]]

On April 20th, the magistrates returned to the Salem jail to further interrogate their two latest confessors- Abigail Hobbs and Mary Warren. Ok, Mary hadn’t exactly confessed to anything yet, she just teased a testimony between violent fits. But you know that Jonathan Hathorne was an optimist at heart. In his eyes, every testimony is just a confession waiting to get squeezed out! With a night in prison to gather her thoughts (and without the added pressure of a raucous courtroom), Mary was ready to talk. She explained that she had not known that the book she signed was the Devil’s book until after she made her mark, though she suspected that it was, quote, “no good book”. She said that on the night that she posted her note on the Village’s prayer board, the corporeal Elizabeth Proctor pulled her out of bed and told Mary that she was a witch. This was presumably to provide context for the next night, when Goody Proctor informed her that Mary, as well as Elizabeth’s teenage son John, would soon be brought to trial for witchcraft. Mary also mentioned that John Proctor Sr. had always been against posting requests for prayers, which makes me wonder why Mary thought doing that was a good idea in the first place. Mary’s not really a great planner. 

Mary had also been visited in the night by Giles Corey. Not the physical Giles, who was being held in a different room in the prison. This spectral Giles, who was definitely a witch and not a manifestation of her guilt and anxiety, predicted that the magistrates would bring in more people from the Village as witches, and that they would torment her. As proof, Mary described Giles’ outfit. The real Giles Corey was brought in, and wouldn’t you know it, he was wearing exactly what Mary said! For good measure, Mary fell into a fit, which by now she’d learned was the perfect exit strategy. 

Abigail Hobbs’ follow up testimony was slightly less helpful than Mary’s, though she too had been visited by witches. Judah White, a maid from Jersey whom Abigail knew in Maine, had appeared the day before with Sarah Good to warn Abigail not to testify before the magistrates. Of course, Abigail, never one to be told what to do, had readily confessed, though she left that bit out. Abigail felt it was important to note that, as though to add insult to injury, Judah was wearing the clothes that the Devil had promised her and never delivered. Abigail said that the Devil in the shape of a man brought her wooden figures in the likeness of three of the afflicted girls and bid her to harm them by sticking thorns into their respective poppets, which she did, very spooky. She also admitted to attending the witches’ ceremony in the parsonage pasture and partaking in the sacrament of red bread and wine. 

All in all, it was a disappointing morning for the assembled ministers and magistrates. While their confessors shed some light on how the witches went about their craft, they didn’t really have any new information. The best they had was John Proctor Jr, who would have been brought in eventually given that both parents were under suspicion, and a random maid who was now living somewhere in Boston. While the Judah White lead ultimately went nowhere, the detail that she was from Jersey may have shifted some focus to another Jerseyan in the community: Phillip English, a wealthy merchant and selectman of Salem Town.

[[Music: Quirky.]]

Now, when I say “Jersey”, I don’t mean New York’s rambunctious neighbor, but the state’s namesake, the English Channel island. Located near the coast of Normandy, France, Jersey is a self-governing state held by the Crown of England with a long and complicated history of being stuck culturally and governmentally between two feuding nations like a tub of Beanie Babies in a messy 1990s divorce. Paradoxically, Phillip English was likely regarded by a good number of his neighbors as both suspiciously French and too English. In the late 17th century, though largely Protestant and loyal to the English king, most Jersians spoke French as a first language, and Phillip was known to keep his business records in French. He was part of a wave of Jersey immigrants to the colony, who tended to live close together in Salem Town, which of course made the Puritans uneasy. While the Jerseyans were Protestants, they were Anglicans, which, as we know, were too close to Catholics for Puritan tastes. They largely supported the king, who the Puritans also didn’t like for a number of reasons that I’ll get into later. Apparently, Jerseyans were also fond of suing for debt, which their Puritan neighbors found off-putting. Granted, the Putnams also seemed to like suing for debt, as evidenced by their previous legal skirmishes with George Burroughs, but they were god-fearing swamp farmers, not Francophonic crown-lickers, so I guess that means they’re cool. On top of all that, with the current war between France and England waging on two continents, the Puritans may have had doubts about where exactly their Jersey neighbors’ loyalties lay. And in 1692, under any kind of suspicion was the last place you’d want to be.  

Meanwhile in Topsfield, with her stepdaughter in jail, Deliverance Hobbs finally had a moment to herself. Unfortunately, that time was full of witches. Sarah Wildes returned, and a new spector reared its head–Mercy Lewis. A twist! Actually, if you think about it, this accusation makes a bit of sense. Not only did Deliverance probably remember Mercy from her time in Maine, which was apparently a breeding ground for witches, but Mercy helped put Abigail in prison. If Mary Warren could be successfully courted by the dark side, who’s to say another afflicted girl couldn’t be? Despite this very fair point, Mercy wouldn’t be brought to court anytime soon. Deliverance wouldn’t be so fortunate. According to Abigail Williams, when Goody Hobbs was supposedly being tormented, her spector appeared in the parsonage to urge Abigail to join her in signing the Devil’s book. So much for that alibi, Deliverance.

The witches were going hog wild under the full moon, I guess, because Ann Putnam Jr. was also visited by a new spector that night. “Here is a minister come! Are ministers witches too?” she cried. This witch in minister’s robes pressured Ann to sign the Devil’s book, but she resisted. Then he revealed his true identity. Before you get too excited, it wasn’t Samuel Parris. I don’t know why it could ever be Samuel Parris, but sometimes you’ve gotta have a little hope. No, it was the Putnam clan’s old nemesis, Reverend George Burroughs. Of course Ann didn’t recognize him right away; he had been ousted from his position in the Village when she was four years old. Now his spirit came all the way from the Maine frontier to give her some important information. Burroughs’ spector, master of discretion, ran down a list of all his misdeeds. He had murdered his first two wives, as several people in the Village suspected. It was he, not Tituba, who killed Deodat Lawson’s wife and child. He was the one who made Abigail Hobbs a witch. He had also bewitched several soldiers in the frontier. Could he be the man dressed as a minister that Tituba had described as the leader of the coven? No, obviously not, but the pieces were conveniently falling into place for the Putnams. Mercy Lewis, who had actually served in Burroughs’ home in Maine, did not see her former master that night. She was visited by the specter of another George, Salem farmer George Jacobs, Sr. He urged her to sign the Devil’s book, then beat her with his cane while declaring that he had murdered his first wife. Which I would think is not the best thing to confess while you hit a girl who could get you thrown in jail, but you do you, spector-George. 

[[Music: Dramatic.]]

The next morning, four men from the Village, including Thomas and John Putnam Jr., rode to Salem to submit complaints against a new batch of suspects. From Topsfield, Sarah Wildes, Deliverance and William Hobbs, Nehemiah Abbot Jr., and Rebecca Nurse’s other sister, Mary Esty, were issued warrants. Phillip English’s wife, Mary, was to be brought in from Salem Town, and from the Village, Mary Black, a woman enslaved by Nathaniel Putnam, and Edward and Sarah Bishop were to be arrested. “Huh,” you might be saying to yourself, “there sure are a lot of Topsfield folks in there. Why is Topsfield so popular all of a sudden?” Why indeed, attentive audience member! 

As you may remember, Topsfield is located just north of Salem Village, and is probably best known today for its county fair, which has been held annually since 1818. It’s a great fair, you should check it out if you’re there in the fall! As I’ve mentioned before, much of Rebecca Nurse’s family relocated to Topsfield in the mid-1600s, and some Villagers belonged to the Topsfield congregation. To me, the reason for the Topsfield accusations is twofold. On the one hand, there seems to be a kind of domino effect: once one person from a particular town was arrested (in this case, Abigail Hobbs), the magistrates, fueled in no small part by local suspicions and gossip, were determined to root out all supposed witches in that area. I also think it was a logical jump for the Salem accusers and their allies, given that they would be more familiar with the people of Topsfield than they would with folks in, say, Boston. Remember how there were supposed to be all those witches in Boston that nobody bothered following up on? It seems like the ministers and magistrates just put that one on the back burner in lieu of some more conveniently located suspects. 

Then there’s the land. The spread of the witch trials from Salem largely has to do with long standing boundary disputes. In 1692, both Salem Village and Topsfield were primarily farming communities, which meant that land was the main source of a family’s power and wealth. In addition to being white, male, and a full member of a Puritan congregation, owning land was what gave you the right to vote and hold an elected position. Land grants weren’t always clear however, so the exact boundaries of a family’s property were often in question. Colonization is a messy, inexact process, as most crimes are. This was doubly true for the more rural areas of the Massachusetts Bay Colony, and Salem Village in particular had been fighting for years with the neighboring communities of Topsfield, Andover, and Wenham to firmly establish themselves. In Topsfield’s case, this was due to the overlapping of land grants made by their parent town of Ipswich versus those drafted by Salem Town. Of course, you know everyone’s favorite family was involved. Some of the land that John Putnam Sr. had been allotted when he first settled in the Village was challenged by his neighbors, who claimed it was on the Topsfield side of the town border, and therefore under Topsfield jurisdiction. This came to a head in 1682, when three men from Topsfield–Jacob Towne, John How, and Thomas Baker–met with the Putnams to settle a dispute concerning the clearing of some trees from the land John claimed over the town line. This particular disagreement would not be settled until after the witch trials, and you know the Putnams were all bitter about it. That may have something to do with the arrests of three of Jacob Towne’s sisters. Just some food for thought. In addition to filing the complaints, Thomas Putnam also wrote to magistrates Hathorne and Corwin to warn them about matters, quote, “high and dreadful.” While he didn’t give any specifics, he was probably referring to his daughter’s purported visions of George Burroughs. An official accusation against a man of God was apparently something you need to ease everybody into. In the meantime, the rest of the new suspects were rounded up to stand trial on April 22nd. 

According to family lore, the constables did not come for Mary English until eleven o’clock at night, when she and Phillip were in bed. The arresting officers burst into their bedroom, read Mary the warrant, and ordered her to come with them. She refused to get up. The officers apparently thought that was fair enough, and left, placing a man by the front door to stand guard. When they returned in the morning, Mary still refused to go, as it was not her “usual hour” to wake up. That hour came, at which time Mrs. English finally got out of bed, dressed, had breakfast with her family, spoke with their servants, and then allowed the officers to take her away. That’s what being rich and white gets you in America.

Time out for a second, gang. It’s about this point when things really start spiraling out of control and the courts and prisons get packed with suspects. Because of the uptick in numbers, there is just no way that I will be able to cover every examination in detail. Firstly because, as meticulous as the Puritans were with their recordkeeping, some of the full transcripts have been lost in the past 300 years. Secondly, the trials also have a tendency to get repetitive and, in my frank opinion, a bit boring. Not to say that an individual’s life or death struggle is a snooze fest, but sometimes when you’ve read one transcript, you’ve read a dozen, and there is still so much to get through. So from here on out, I’ll be picking and choosing which cases to focus on at any given point, making sure to cover key moments and people of interest. I just don’t want anybody to think I’m forgetting their great-great-great-grandmother or anything. And, hey, if there’s a particular examination or person you’re dying to hear about, shoot me an e-mail, and I’ll see what I can do about covering them in a mini-episode or the like! Cool? Cool. 

[[Music: Mysterious.]]

The Salem Town meeting house was once again packed on the morning of April 22. I imagine the examinations were now pulling audiences from several surrounding towns, with folks from Topsfield perhaps travelling nearly ten miles to see their neighbors stand trial in Salem. In one of their only attempts at halfway decent detective work, the magistrates decided to bring in the accused one by one unannounced to see if the afflicted could recognize their tormentors by sight alone, and unsurprisingly, the two girls asked to name the first suspect were conveniently unable to speak in her presence. Ann Putnam Jr. quickly swooped in to save face, as did John Indian, to identify the woman before them as Deliverance Hobbs. Great job, everyone. Hathorne first pressed Deliverance on her previous afflictions, which she described as “sundry sights”, including dogs, cats, birds, and the spectors of Sarah Wildes and Mercy Lewis. Since Goody Hobbs claimed that only Sarah had actively harmed her, and seeing as Mercy was still suffering and therefore hadn’t made a deal with the Devil to ease her pain, the magistrates seemed ready to show her some… mercy. Mercy’s spector was not mentioned again. Instead, focus shifted to Deliverance’s apparent switch to the dark side. Between the chaotic fits of the afflicted and Hathorne’s insistence that she confess her sins before the court, Deliverance’s resolve quickly broke. She admitted that Goody Wildes had brought her a book, and that she had signed it. Sarah Osbourne and the tall, dark man in the high-crowned hat also came to her, bringing her images representing the afflicted. She explained that she stuck pins in these images to harm their real life counterparts. Hathorne asked Goody Hobbs if she had been injured at all the day before. She replied that she had felt a sudden pain in her side and something in her eye. This matched with the testimony of Benjamin Hutchinson, who claimed he hit a spector in the side and eye with his sword at Ingersoll’s. I’m guessing Deliverance heard that bit of gossip at some point after her arrest and wanted to give Hathorne something to run with, but maybe it was one hell of a coincidence. Either way, the magistrates were off to a strong start. 

The magistrates’ test definitely threw the afflicted off their game, for when Nehemiah Abbot Jr. was brought in, Ann was the only one who could identify him. Since two of her family members had filed the complaints against him, it makes sense that Ann would have his name at the ready. It’s little wonder that the afflicted were so uncertain about him, given that from what I can tell, Nehemiah was never officially named by any of the victims before his arrest, and to this point, male spectors were few and far between. Nehemiah proclaimed his innocence, and for once, Hathorne and Corwin seemed to give him benefit of the doubt. They asked the afflicted again if they were sure that Nehemiah was one of their tormentors. The response was mixed. Some of the afflicted asserted that he was, while others seemed unable to speak. Others were unsure, but said that Nehemiah was very much like the specter who harmed them. When Hathorne asked Ann how she knew his name, she said that while Nehemiah’s spirit never told her himself, the other witches had mentioned his name in passing. Witches love to tell their targets who they are. She threw in a fit for good measure, but the magistrates weren’t fully convinced. They decided to send Nehemiah out and circle back to him later. After his wife’s confession, William Hobbs stood little chance of getting out of his interrogation unscathed. All but one of the afflicted readily identified him. The surviving account of William’s examination is badly torn, but you can still make out the crux of Hathorne’s case. Despite William’s assertion of his innocence, Hathorne had Abigail and Deliverance’s confessions, plus the fits of the afflicted on his side. How could William say that he wasn’t hurting the afflicted when they convulsed whenever he looked at them? Explain that, William! He couldn’t to the satisfaction of the magistrates, so he would be joining his wife and daughter in prison. Hooray, Hobbs family reunion!  

Next, Sarah Wildes was brought into the meetinghouse. Since her spector had been bouncing around for awhile, all of the bewitched convulsed at the sight of her. Even Goody Bibber, team player as always, fell into a fit, though she had never been visited by Goody Wildes. Sarah denied any involvement with this chaotic display, but her words were nothing compared to the clear evidence before the crowd’s eyes. Between the convulsions of the bewitched and testimony from Sarah’s neighbors (who had suspected she was a witch for some time), Goody Wildes would stay in custody. 

Both Edward and Sarah Bishop were to be kept for further trial, which was to be expected, given Edward’s previous vocal disdain for the afflicted, and the couples reputation to be… let’s say difficult. They owned an unlicensed tavern at the edge of the Village, and were known to get into intense squabbles with their neighbors. Sarah had previously been accused of witchcraft by Goody Christian Trask, who, after a rapid mental health decline, committed suicide by stabbing herself in the neck with sewing scissors. I’m guessing that’s something the Villagers wouldn’t have forgotten. It’s also interesting to note that while the couple had no direct relation to Bridget Bishop, they were kin to another suspect: Goody Wildes was Sarah’s stepmother. I do kinda hope John Indian had a chance to shine during the examination of the man who beat him twice earlier that month, though. John can have a little bit of schadenfreude, as a treat. 

Surprisingly, the record of Mary English’s examination has been lost to time. Unsurprisingly, she was held for further trial. It’s cool, we still have two more Marys to get through.

Mary Esty, middle sister of Rebecca Nurse and Sarah Cloyse, was not immediately identified by her supposed victims. Many were struck silent, though others were eventually able to recognize her. As in Rebecca’s examination, the afflicted were affected by every turn of Mary’s head, and clench of her hands. Mary refused to confess to witchcraft, no matter how forcefully Hathorne pressed her for answers. She would join her sisters in the Salem jail. 

[[Music: Tense.]]

Mary Black was one of the three women of color brought to trial during the witch crisis, and, like Tituba, we can only speculate about her life and origins. According to the arrest warrant, she was enslaved by Nathaniel Putnam, who likely purchased her in Salem or Boston. We can tell by her Puritan-given name that she was of African descent, and since she was not mentioned by any of the afflicted before her arrest, I’m guessing that was the reason she was brought in. Like Tituba, she was paraded before the white Puritans as the trope of the mysterious foreigner, assumed to have a hand in witchcraft simply because she didn’t look like them. 

Mary proved a frustrating witness for the magistrates, answering most of Hathorne’s questions with “I cannot tell” or “I do not know”, though she was adamant that she never harmed any of the afflicted. Thinking back to Deliverance’s professed use of poppets, Hathorne asked Mary, quote, “Do you prick sticks?” Evidently confused by this incredibly vague question, Mary replied that she did use a pin to fasten her neck cloth. Hathorne asked her to show him, and when she stuck the pin into the fabric, the girls went wild. Abigail Williams felt a piercing pain in her stomach, Mercy Lewis felt it in her foot, and Mary Walcott, self-harm extraordinaire, bled from her arm. After this display, the magistrates decided that Mary would be held for trial, though she’d never get one. Likely due to time constraints and seeing as Mary’s trial would be seen as low priority (since there was nothing to be gained from Mary’s conviction), her case would never be heard before the official court. But without a male advocate or financial means of her own, Mary would sit in prison until January of 1693.

[[Music: Chaos escalates.]]

By the time the magistrates got back to Nehemiah Abbott Jr, the spectators in and out of the meetinghouse had blocked the windows so much that the proceedings were forced to move outdoors so there would be enough light for the afflicted to make a positive ID. In the end, though the afflicted said that Nehemiah looked very much like the spector they had seen before, they couldn’t say for sure, and for once, that was good enough for the magistrates. In a shocking twist, Nehemiah was free to go. After a busy day, the accused were brought to the Salem jail and the magistrates and ministers dined at the Ingersoll Ordinary. The county’s budget paid sixteen shillings for the meal, which the Ingersolls gladly pocketed. Just a fun tidbit, since I haven’t mentioned lately how capitalism thrives from suffering. I’m not sure if Thomas Putnam followed up with the magistrates in regards to his vague letter over dinner. Publicly, at least, there was no mention yet of George Burroughs’ witchy exploits. The afflicted would later say that while the crowd gathered at the Salem meetinghouse, the witches’ coven met again in the pasture behind the Village parsonage, called to order by reverend Burroughs. Drums beat and trumpets blared as the witches prepared for all out war. 

Over a hundred miles away, the actual George Burroughs was living in blissful ignorance of the gossip in his former post. I imagine him in his cabin, perhaps thinking up a new sermon, too concerned by the war waging in the woods around him to give a thought to the storm building in the supposedly more civilized south. There’s no way he could have guessed, but by the end of the month, George Burroughs would be back in Salem. By the end of the summer, he’d be dead.

[[Music: Outro]]

Remarkable Providences was written, researched, and performed by me, Kate Devorak. It was produced by Dan Manning, and recorded at my home in beautiful Jersey City, NJ. Consulting production provided by Mischa Stanton. Our music is from Blue Dot Sessions.

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Thanks for listening, and remember: the Devil’s in the details.