When the Verdict not Guilty was, the honoured Court was pleased to object against it, saying to them, that they think they let slip the words, which the Prisoner at the Bar spake against her self, which were spoken in reply to Goodwife Hobbs and her Daughter, who had been faulty in setting their hands to the Devils Book, as they have confessed formerly; the words were “What do these persons give in Evidence against me now, they used to come among us.” After the honoured Court had manifested their dissatisfaction of the Verdict, several of the Jury declared themselves desirous to go out again, and thereupon the honoured Court gave leave; but when we came to consider of the Case, I could not tell how to take her words, as an Evidence against her, till she had a further opportunity to put her Sense upon them, if she would take it; and then going into Court, I mentioned the words aforesaid, which by one of the Court were affirmed to have been spoken by her, she being then at the Bar, but made no reply, nor interpretation of them; whereupon these words were to me a principal Evidence against her.
Thomas Fisk
Rebecca herself dictated a statement to clear up the misunderstanding:
These presents do humbly shew, to the honoured Court and Jury, that I being informed, that the Jury brought me in Guilty, upon my saying that Goodwife Hobbs and her Daughter were of our Company; but I intended no otherways, then as they were Prisoners with us, and therefore did then, and yet do judge them not legal Evidence against their fellow Prisoners. 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, when I said they were of our Company.
Rebecka Nurse.
The packet probably also included the statement from two of Rebecca’s daughters, Rebecca Preston and Mary Tarbell, offering to testify about the supposed witch-mark. This impressive collection of all the testimonials in Rebecca’s favor, the petition, the juror’s explanation that matched Rebecca’s own—surely the governor would see reason.
As Rebecca’s statement was dated July 4, the family must have taken the papers to Boston soon afterward. The legislature recessed on July 5 until October, but Phips was still in town to meet with his Council of Assistants (which included John Hathorne and Jonathan Corwin, who were also justices of the Court of Oyer and Terminer). Fortunately Phips had not yet returned to the frontier to oversee defenses. There was no point in approaching the lieutenant governor, William Stoughton, the rigid chief justice on the court that had found Rebecca guilty and, therefore, was unlikely to change his mind. July 6 was Harvard’s commencement, a day when everyone and his uncle seemed to crowd into Cambridge for the ceremonies and festivities. On July 7 Phips commissioned Anthony Checkley as the new King’s attorney to replace Thomas Newton, now secretary of New Hampshire. (Newton’s leaving appears to be for professional advancement rather than for any disagreement with the court’s method of dealing with spectral evidence.) Then, on July 8, Phips announced that he would soon return to Maine.
So the Nurse kin, led by Francis, presented their petition and paperwork on Rebecca’s behalf for the governor to consider during the first week of July before his return to the frontier war.
William Phips had grown up at the edge of English settlement in Maine, apprenticed as a ship carpenter, progressed to owning and captaining his own trading vessels, and, full of ambition, moved to Boston, where he married another Maine native, Mary Spencer, who, some hinted, taught him to read. Phips gambled on a sunken treasure expedition that failed, narrowly escaped mutiny from his piratical crew, got backing from King Charles II himself, failed once more, started a third expedition backed by various London merchants, and then finally succeeded beyond expectation. London balladeers made songs about his triumph, and the new king, James II (whose treasury was enriched by the crown’s share of the recovered treasure) knighted the New Englander. Now Sir William Phips, he was nevertheless more at home among seafaring men and soldiers than he was with politicians. His working relationship with William Stoughton was decidedly uneasy.
The preponderance of favorable documents along with whatever they were able to say in person to Phips at last convinced the governor that the second verdict was based on faulty information. Phips issued a reprieve, and the Nurse family, enormously relieved after months of worry and days of desperation, returned home from Boston in triumph.
But as soon as this reversal was known—or at the moment Phips signed the order, as the afflicted later claimed—the interested parties panicked. Certainly, the startling news threatened Ann and Annie Putnam, as their testimony had branded Rebecca as their great enemy. Fear of a freed witch returning to exact revenge and that their own testimony was now in doubt must have terrified them. As the accused so well knew, not being believed held deadly consequences. Even if they were fully convinced, as they may have been, that what they said was true, a warning voice in the back of the head must have sounded. Repercussions that could befall them—from neighbors; from the courts; from God Himself, who despised liars, considering them heirs of the Devil, Prince of Lies. To them the Nurse woman had to be guilty; the Putnams’ fears had to be real and based on reality.
All of the afflicted witnesses fell into seizures severe enough that “some Salem Gentlemen” hastened to Phips and persuaded him to rescind the order.
It took most of a day to reach Boston. Who were those unnamed “Salem Gentlemen?” Thomas Putnam and his supporters seem likely candidates as do the local magistrates sitting on the Court of Oyer and Terminer who had ordered the second session after the original guilty verdict. As representatives for Salem in the General Court, Hathorne and Corwin would be in Boston. As Assistants, they would have the governor’s ear. Perhaps Thomas Putnam—if it were he—contacted them once he hastened to Boston, and they arranged an interview with Governor Phips, no doubt letting him know their strong views on what was occurring.
Did Rebecca ever go free? Even for a short time to see her loved ones in her own home? Or did the second order arrive so quickly that it dashed all hope of that before the jailer could release her? So close, so close—and still that door slammed shut.
On Tuesday, July 12, Stoughton signed another death warrant:
To George Corwine Gent. High Sheriff of the County of Essex Greeting
Whereas Sarah Good Wife of William Good of Salem Villiage Rebecka Nurse wife of Francis Nurse of Salem Villiage Susanna Martin of Amesbury Widow Elizabeth How wife of James How of Ipswich Sarah Wild Wife of John Wild of Topsfield all of the County of Essex in thier Majesties’ Province of the Massachusets Bay in New England Att A Court of Oyer & Terminer held . . . On the 29th day of June last were Severaly Arraigned On Severall Indictments for the horrible Crime of Witchcraft by them practised & Comitted On Severall persons . . . they were Each of them found & brought in Guilty by the Jury that passed On them according to thier respective Indictments and Sentence of death did then pass upon them as the Law directs . . .
[Sheriff George Corwin was therefore commanded] in thier Majesties’ Names . . . upon Tuesday Next being the 19th day of . . . July between the houres of Eight & twelve in the forenoon the Same day you Safely conduct the sd Sarah Good Rebecka Nurse Susanna Martin Elizabeth How & Sarah Wild from thier Majesties’ Goal in Salem aforesd to the place of Execucion & There Cause them & Every of them to be hanged by the Necks untill they be dead . . . Given under my hand & Seale at Boston the 12th day of July in the fourth yeare of the Reign of Our Soveraign Lord & Lady Wm & Mary King & Queen &c
Anno Dom. 1692 Wm Stoughton
Learning that the death warrant had been formally issued would have eased only some of Ann Putnam’s anxieties, for the plague of witches had now spread to Andover. The conspiracy was growing, despite her family’s valiant efforts.
A rider leading another horse arrived in Ann’s dooryard one day around this time to respectfully ask Mr. Putnam whether he would allow his daughter to use her spectral sight to reveal who tormented the wife of his master, Joseph Ballard, a constable in An
dover. Might the girls do for Andover what they had done at Will’s Hill?
So Annie and Mercy Lewis rode off to Andover. They later returned to recount how tortured the feverish Goodwife Elizabeth Ballard was and who she said she saw lurking at her bedside.
The girls saw specters too: of elderly Ann Foster, her daughter and granddaughter, as well as Mary Bradbury, whose material body was locked in Salem jail. The latter was no surprise to Ann or most of her Carr relatives; Bradbury’s specter had been going after Timothy Swan in Andover for some weeks already along with specters of old Ann Foster and her kin.
On this spectral evidence and for Goody Ballard’s sake, Ann Foster was under arrest and in Salem Village for questioning by Friday, July 15.
For this session local justice John Higginson Jr. joined Gedney, Hathorne, and Corwin on the bench. Higginson, son and namesake of Salem’s senior minister, was also brother to Ann Dolliver, who was currently jailed on suspicion of witchcraft. If any suspects hoped that Higginson’s presence would change the other justices’ minds, they would be disappointed.
Elizabeth Hubbard and Mary Walcott were especially tortured during this hearing, and Goody Foster confessed, verifying the accusers’ fears to the court. The old woman described how the Devil had come to her six months earlier as a strange, big-eyed bird that “came white & vanished away black.” It promised prosperity, which the Devil never delivered, and she had had the gift “of striking the aflicted downe wth her eye ever since.” But it was Martha Carrier who persuaded her to hurt these afflicted people.
Over the next few days she claimed her devilish service was six years, then two—but still blamed Goody Carrier. The witches’ purpose in afflicting the Village folk was part of their plan “to set up the Divills Kingdome,” she said, and then signed her confession with a mark. Her story kept changing, but because she did not try to deny her confession, the magistrates believed her.
But her confession did not prevent her relatives’ specters from assaulting the languishing Goody Ballard as well as Timothy Swan. Swan, from a large, raucous family farming in Haverhill across the Merrimack from Andover, was found guilty of siring Elizabeth Emerson’s first child, the infant she said was the result of rape, though the court did not believe that part of the story. This was the same Elizabeth Emerson presently in Boston prison awaiting execution for the infanticide of the twins she bore a few years later.
____________________
Francis Nurse has not attended Sabbath services in Salem Village for months now. Not only was the twitching of the afflicted distracting, but their yelping also drowned out the prayers and sermons—which may have been a blessing, because, when they did shut up, Reverend Parris was bound to be gabbling claptrap that made the suspects seem guilty of witchcraft. Even Rebecca. Even my Rebecca, he thinks.
All that and those furtive sidelong glances from his neighbors when they thought he didn’t notice—it was only a matter of time before all the Nurses are accused. It is simpler to keep heading north to Topsfield come Sunday. Then they can be with their kin, the families of Rebecca’s accused imprisoned sisters. And Topsfield’s minister, Reverend Capen, was willing to believe the accusations might be mistaken.
That man still has his wits about him.
Francis is profoundly tired but cannot sleep.
If he sleeps, then he dreams, and he has woken too many times as he reaches across the bed and finds . . . emptiness. Rebecca has been imprisoned for months, and yet encountering her palpable absence still frightens him. All those petitioners, all those papers, all the trips to Boston—and still this emptiness gnaws at him. Sometimes he feels as though his heart has been ripped out.
And then he thinks, As God sees fit.
The rest of the diminished household are quiet behind their bed-curtains, but Francis needs air even if it is night. He steps outside the front door and away from the quiet house into the sweltering night.
There—over the fields he and his sons have worked so long to own and cultivate—rising in the constellation of Aquarius floats the full moon. Capped by an icy white crescent, most of it is shadowed by a rust color, like dried blood, nearly eclipsed.
Francis sees this with a farmer’s eye.
This cosmic “miracle” is not unexpected, having been forecast in the year’s almanac. When he first read about it the previous winter it seemed a wonder. Now, it seems an omen—even if it is natural. He watches the moon in the vast stillness. He listens to the dry rustle of his corn—the fields need rain but no rain falls—and the shrill song of night insects.
He turns back into the house and locks the door.
A little light flickers from the hearth. He finds the Bible box and reaches in for Tully’s Almanac. Leaning close to the hearth’s embers, he finds the pages for July 17 and on eclipses.
Considering its placement in the sky, this total eclipse of the moon “may presage the Death of Aged persons, as well as persons of Quality.”
Or presage the deaths of God’s own saints, he thinks.
He grips the almanac. On Tuesday next his wife of forty-four years will hang.
( 12 )
July 19 to 31, 1692
Ann and Thomas Putnam wait by the roadside west of Salem’s Town Bridge for the procession to arrive. She holds her husband’s arm. Annie and the servant Mercy, quiet and composed—for now at least—sit on the grass in the shade of the wagon. A few other families from the Village have gathered at the base of the hill. Where is the sense in going all the way into town—events will come to them.
Except for the occasional burst of nervous laughter, conversations are subdued. Ann can hear the ripping sound as their horse tears at the grass and weeds within his reach. Some of the other men greet Tom, hailing him respectfully—as they ought, considering all the work he has done for the community and how many of their lazy carcasses he has employed.
Workmen near the base of the hill bend under the already hot sun and dig. The sharp shush of their iron spades cut the shallow earth and make muffled thuds when a blade hits rock. Bedrock lies close under the surface of this hill and shoulders out of the dry grass. The men must dig a larger grave for this execution than they did for Bridget Bishop, now half forgotten. The diggers sweat, but imbibing at the tavern seems hours distant.
Today five will hang.
The oppressive day grows hotter. The hangman, pipe clenched in his teeth and a line of smoke trailing him, arrives with his ropes and sets about arranging them on the gallows.
Eventually, from the distance, Ann and the rest of those waiting hear a crowd approaching from town. The diggers hurry to finish their work.
On the far side of the tidal inlet a churning clot of people on foot and on horseback heaves into view as it follows a cart near the head of the procession. The crowd’s murmur increases as the parade advances down the slope until the mass of people and horses narrows to cross the causeway and clump across the bridge. For a solemn occasion the crowd nevertheless sounds nearly festive at the prospect of what will happen. The workmen scramble from the completed grave and drift aside, as there is no profit in being recognized. The sheriff and his men urge their mounts up the steep turn-off from road to rocky pasture, and the cart’s wheels screech on the sharp slope. This official part of the procession arranges itself along the level ground as the followers vie for a view of the gallows. The crowd seems more edgy, the officers more wary, than they had been at the Bishop hanging, for a rumor is circulating throughout the region that the Devil himself will attempt to rescue his own.
Thomas lifts Ann down from the wagon and they walk up the slope to find a vantage point. Annie and the maid move off to stand with the other afflicted witnesses, as is their right. The prisoners’ cart lurches toward the gallows, and there, among the other condemned Ann sees the Nurse woman, that self-righteous hag, brought to earthly justice at last, though not yet before the final judgment of God.
Rebecca Nurse, Ann’s idea of a supposedly powerful sorceress, droops against the
side of the cart. She prays silently, as she has been praying through much of the restless night past. Not far from the more eager folk, her family stands grimly with the kindred of the other women to be hanged: Susannah Martin, Sarah Good, Sarah Wildes, and Elizabeth How.
The deputies support the shackled women, stiff from the jolting ride, down from the cart. Rebecca looks around to see where her children are—to look once more on Francis. She picks them out at the margin of the seething mass and thinks she recognizes some of How’s family as well.
Does Sarah Good have anyone here? she wonders. And what will happen to young Dorothy, discarded in Boston jail? That father of hers seems of no more help to the child than he’s been to his wife.
The sheriff reads out the warrant for the execution of the five. A minister or two step forward to offer prayers, for hope that these souls of the condemned be not utterly lost. The soon-to-be executed make their own defiant statements, praying that God will reveal their innocence.
Some listeners snort in derision.
The long confinement and blistering summer heat have weakened nRebecca. Nevertheless, when it is her turn, she is resolved to face the Almighty with a clear conscience. This means dying in a spirit of Christian charity, offering forgiveness toward one’s enemies rather than exiting this life in a fury of resentment. Her voice falters, but she is equally determined to speak the truth about herself and prays that God will prove to these people that she has never allied herself to Satan.
Reverend Noyes begins talking again. Rebecca hears only some of his words as he raises his voice to urge Sarah Good to confess for the good of her soul.
Exasperated at Good’s stubborn refusal, Noyes declares, “You are a witch. You know you are a witch.”
Six Women of Salem Page 32
