Chapter XXI

A long silence followed--a silence like that of death--at last Rachel Dyer spoke:

George Burroughs--I understand thee now, said she, I understand it all. Thee would have me confess that I deserve death--only that I may live. Thee would have me acknowledge (for nothing else would do) that I am a liar and a witch, and that I deserve to die--and all this for what?--only that I may escape death for a few days. O George!

No, no--you mistake the matter. I would not have you confess that you deserve death--I would only have you speak to them--God of the faithful!--I cannot--I cannot urge this woman to betray her faith.

I understand thee, George. But if I were to do so, what should I gain by it?

Gain by it, Rachel Dyer?

Why do thee drop my hand? why recoil at my touch now?

Gain by it! siezing both her hands with all his might, and speaking as if he began to fear--not to hope--no, but to fear that she might be over-persuaded--

Yea--what have I to gain by it?

Life. You escape death--a cruel ignominious death--a death, which it is not for a woman to look at, but with horror.

Well George--

By death, you lose the opportunity of doing much good, of bringing the wicked to justice, of aiding them that are now ready to die with terror, of shielding the oppressed--

Well--

Well--and what more would you have? Is not this enough?

No, George.

Hear me out Rachel. Do not reprove me, do not turn away, till you have heard me through. My duty is before me, a duty which must and shall be done, though it break my heart. I am commanded to argue with you, and to persuade you to live.

Commanded?--

What if you were to confess that you deserve death? What if you were to own yourself a witch? I take your own view of the case.--I put the query to you in a shape the least favorable to my purpose. What if you were to do this; you would be guilty at the most but of a--of a--

Of untruth George.

And you would save your own life by such untruth, and the lives, it may be, of a multitude more, and the life you know, of one that is very dear to you.

Well----

No no--do not leave me in this way! Do not go till I--I beseech you to hear me through--

I will--it grieves me, but I will.

Which is the greater sin--to die when you have it in your power to escape death, if you will, by a word? or to speak a word of untruth to save your life--

George Burroughs--I pray thee--suffer me to bid thee farewell.

No no, not yet. Hear me through--hear all I have to say. By this word of untruth, you save your own life, and perhaps many other lives. You punish the guilty. You have leisure to repent in this world of that very untruth--if such untruth be sinful. You have an opportunity of showing to the world and to them that you love, that you were innocent of that wherewith you were charged. You may root up the error that prevails now, and overthrow the destroyer, and hereafter obtain praise for that very untruth, whereby you hinder the shedding of more innocent blood; praise from every quarter of the earth, praise from every body; from the people, the preachers, the jury, the elders--yea from the very judges for having stayed them in their headlong career of guilt--

O George--

But if you die, and your death be sinful--and would it not be so, if you were to die, where you might escape death?--you would have no time to repent here, no opportunity, no leisure--you die in the very perpetration of your guilt--

If it is guilt, I do--

And however innocent you may be of the crimes that are charged to you, you have no opportunity of showing on this earth to them that love you, that you are so. Yet more--the guilt of your death, if it be not charged hereafter to you, will be charged, you may be sure, to the wretched women that pursue you; and all who might be saved by you, will have reason to lay their death at your door--

Well--

About life or death, you may not much care; but after death to be regarded with scorn, or hatred or terror, by all that go by your grave, my sister--how could you bear the idea of that? What say you--you shudder--and yet if you die now, you must leave behind you a character which cannot be cleared up, or which is not likely to be cleared up on earth, however innocent you may be (as I have said before)--the character of one, who being charged with witchcraft was convicted of witchcraft and executed for a witchcraft. In a word--if you live, you may live to wipe away the aspersion. If you die, it may adhere to you and to yours--forever and ever. If you live, you may do much good on earth, much to yourself and much to others, much even to the few that are now thirsting for your life--you may make lighter the load of crime which otherwise will weigh them down--you may do this and all this, if you speak: But if you do not speak, you are guilty of your own death, and of the deaths it may be of a multitude, here and hereafter.

Now hear _me_. I do not know whether all this is done to try my truth or my courage, but this I know--I will not leave thee in doubt concerning either. Look at me

There----

Thee would have me confess?

I would.

Thee would have Elizabeth confess?

I would.

Do thee mean to confess.

I--I!--

Ah George--

I cannot Rachel--I dare not--I am a preacher of the word of truth. But you may--what is there to hinder you?

Thee will not?

No.

Nor will I.

Just what I expected--give me your hand--what I have said to you, I have been constrained to say, for it is a part of my faith Rachel, that as we believe, so are we to be judged: and that therefore, had you believed it to be right for you to confess and live, it would have been right, before the Lord.--But whether you do or do not, Elizabeth may.

True--if she can be persuaded to think as thee would have her think, she may. I shall not seek to dissuade her--but as for me, I have put my life into the hands of our Father. I shall obey him, and trust to the inward prompting of that which upholds me and cheers me now--even now, George, when, but for His Holy Spirit, I should feel as I never felt before, since I came into the world--altogether alone.

Will you advise with her, and seek to persuade her?

No.

Cruel woman!

Cruel--no no George, no no. Would that be doing as I would be done by? Is it for me to urge a beloved sister to do what I would not do--even to save my life?

I feel the rebuke--

George, I must leave thee--I hear footsteps. Farewell--

So soon--so very soon! Say to her, I beseech you--say to her as you have said to me, that she _may_ confess if she will; that we have been together, and that we have both agreed in the opinion that she had better confess and throw herself on the mercy of her judges, till the fury of the storm hath passed over.--It will soon have passed over, I am sure now--

No George, no; but I will say this. I will say to her--

Go on--go on, I beseech you--

--I will say to her--Elizabeth, my dear Sister; go down upon thy knees and pray to the Lord to be nigh to thee, and give thee strength, and to lead thee in the path which is best for his glory; and after that, if thee should feel free to preserve thy life by such means--being on the guard against the love of life, and the fear of death--the Tempter of souls, and the weapons of the flesh--it will be thy duty so to preserve it.

Burroughs groaned aloud--but he could prevail no further. Enough, said he, at last: write as much on this paper, and let me carry it with me.

Carry it with thee--what do thee mean?

I hardly know what I mean; I would see her and urge her to live, but when I consider what must follow, though I have permission to see her, my heart fails me.

Thee is to meet her with me, I suppose?

No, I believe not--

How--alone?--

No no--not alone, said the jailor, whom they supposed to be outside of the door, till he spoke.

More of the tender mercies of the law! They would entrap thee George--

And you too Rachel, if it lay in their power--

Give me that book--it is the Bible that I gave thee, is it not?

It is--

It belonged to my mother. I will write what I have to say in the blank leaf.

She did so; and giving it into the hands of the Jailor she said to him--I would have her abide on earth--my dear, _dear_ sister!--I would pray to her to live and be happy, _if she can_; for she--O she will have much to make life dear to her, even though she be left alone by the way-side for a little time--what disturbs thee George?----

I am afraid of this man. He will betray us--

No--no--we have nothing to fear--

Nothing to fear, when he must have been at our elbow and overheard everything we have whispered to each other.

Look at him George, and thee will be satisfied.

Burroughs looked up, and saw by the vacant gravity of his hard visage, that the man had not understood a syllable to their prejudice.

But Elizabeth--I would have her continue on earth, I say--I would--if so it may please our Father above; but I am in great fear, and I would have thee tell her so, after she has read what I have written there in that book. _She_ will have sympathy, whatever may occur to us--true sympathy, unmixed with fear; but as for me, I have no such hope--and why should I wrestle with my duty--I--who have no desire to see the light of another day?

None Rachel?

None--but for the sake of Mary Elizabeth Dyer--and so--and so George, we are to part now--and there--therefore--the sooner we part, the better. Her voice died away in a low deeply-drawn heavy breathing.

Even so dear--even so, my beloved sister--

George--

Nay, nay--why leave me at all?--why not abide here? Why may we not die together?

George, I say--

Well--what-say?

Suffer me to kiss thee--my brother--before we part....

He made no reply, but he gasped for breath and shook all over, and stretched out his arms with a giddy convulsive motion toward her.

--Before we part forever George--dear George, putting her hand affectionately upon his shoulder and looking him steadily in the face. We are now very near to the threshold of death, and I do believe--I do--though I would not have said as much an hour ago, for the wealth of all this world ... nay, not even to save my life ... no ... nor my sister’s life ... nor thy life ... that I shall die the happier and the better for having kissed thee ... my brother.

Still he spoke not ... he had no tongue for speech. The dreadful truth broke upon him all at once now, a truth which penetrated his heart like an arrow ... and he strove to throw his arms about her; to draw her up to his bosom--but the chains that he wore prevented him, and so he leaned his head upon her shoulder ... and kissed her cheek, and then lifted himself up, and held her with one arm to his heart, and kissed her forehead and her eyes and her mouth, in a holy transport of affection.

Dear George ... I am happy now ... very, very happy now, said the poor girl, shutting her eyes and letting two or three large tears fall upon his locked hands, which were held by her as if ... as if ... while her mouth was pressed to them with a dreadful earnestness, her power to let them drop was no more. And then she appeared to recollect herself, and her strength appeared to come back to her, and she rose up and set her lips to his forehead with a smile, that was remembered by the rough jailor to his dying day, so piteous and so death-like was it, and said to Burroughs, in her mild quiet way--her mouth trembling and her large tears dropping at every word--very, very happy now, and all ready for death. I would say more ... much more if I might, for I have not said the half I had to say. Thee will see her ... I shall not see her again....

How--

Not if thee should prevail with her to stay, George. It would be of no use--it would only grieve her, and it might unsettle us both--

What can I say to you?

Nothing--Thee will see her; and thee will take her to thy heart as thee did me, and she will be happy--very happy--even as I am now.

Father--Father! O, why was I not prepared for this! Do thou stay me--do thou support me--it is more than I can bear! cried Burroughs, turning away from the admirable creature who stood before him trying to bear up without his aid, though she shook from head to foot with uncontrollable emotion.

Thee’s very near and very dear to Mary Elizabeth Dyer; and she--she will be happy--she cannot be otherwise, alive or dead--for all that know her, pity her and love her----

And so do all that know you--

No, no, George, love and pity are not for such as I--such pity I mean, or such love as we need here--_need_ I say, whatever we may pretend, whatever the multitude may suppose, and however ill we may be fitted for inspiring it--I--I--

Her voice faltered, she grew very pale, and caught by the frame of the door--

--There may be love, George, there may be pity, there may be some hope on earth for a beautiful witch ... with golden hair ... with large blue eyes ... and a sweet mouth ... but for a ... for a ... for a freckled witch ... with red hair and a hump on her back--what hope is there, what hope on this side of the grave?

She tried to smile when she said this ... but she could not, and the preacher saw and the jailor saw that her heart was broken.

Before the former could reply, and before the latter could stay her, she was gone.

The rest of the story is soon told. The preacher saw Elizabeth and tried to prevail with her, but he could not. She had all the courage of her sister, and would not live by untruth. And yet she escaped, for she was very ill, and before she recovered, the fearful infatuation was over, the people had waked up, the judges and the preachers of the Lord; and the chief-judge, Sewall had publicly read a recantation for the part he had played in the terrible drama. But she saw her brave sister no more; she saw Burroughs no more--he was put to death on the afternoon of the morrow, behaving with high and steady courage to the last--praying for all and forgiving all, and predicting in a voice like that of one crying in the wilderness, a speedy overthrow to the belief in witchcraft--a prophecy that came to be fulfilled before the season had gone by, and his last words were--“Father forgive them, for they know not what they do!”

Being dead, a messenger of the court was ordered away to apprise Rachel Dyer that on the morrow at the same hour, and at the same place, her life would be required of her.

She was reading the Bible when he appeared, and when he delivered the message, the book fell out of her lap and she sat as if stupified for a minute or more; but she did not speak, and so he withdrew, saying to her as he went away, that he should be with her early in the morning.

So on the morrow, when the people had gathered together before the jail, and prepared for the coming forth of Rachel Dyer, the High-Sheriff was called upon to wake her, that she might be ready for death; she being asleep the man said. So the High-Sheriff went up and spoke to her as she lay upon the bed; with a smile about her mouth and her arm over a large book ... but she made no reply. The bed was drawn forth to the light--the book removed (it was the Bible) and she was lifted up and carried out into the cool morning air. She was dead.

HISTORICAL FACTS.

That the reader may not be led to suppose the book he has just gone through with, a sheer fabrication, the author has thought it adviseable to give a few of the many facts upon which the tale is founded, in the very language of history.

The true name of Mr. Paris was Samuel, instead of Matthew, and he spelt it with two r’s; that of his child was Elizabeth and that of her cousin, Abigail Williams. With these corrections to prepare the reader for what is to follow, we may now go to the historical records alluded to.

And first--_Of the manner in which the accused were treated on their examination, and of the methods employed to make them confess._

John Proctor, who was executed for witchcraft, gives the following account of the procedure had with his family, in a letter to Mr. Cotton Mather, Mr. Moody, Mr. Willard, and others.

“_Reverend Gentlemen_,--The innocency of our case, with the enmity of our accusers and our judges and jury, whom nothing but our innocent blood will serve, having condemned us already before our trials, being so much incensed and enraged against us by the devil, makes us bold to beg and implore your favourable assistance of this our humble petition to his excellency, that if it be possible our innocent blood may be spared, which undoubtedly otherwise will be shed, if the Lord doth not mercifully step in; the magistrates, ministers, juries, and all the people in general, being so much enraged and incensed against us by the delusion of the devil, which we can term no other, by reason we know in our own consciences we are all innocent persons. Here are five persons who have lately confessed themselves to be witches, and do accuse some of us of being along with them at a sacrament, since we were committed into close prison, which we know to be lies. Two of the five are (Carrier’s sons) young men, who would not confess any thing till they tied them neck and heels, till the blood was ready to come out of their noses; and it is credibly believed and reported this was the occasion of making them confess what they never did, by reason they said one had been a witch a month, and another five weeks, and that their mother had made them so, who has been confined here this nine weeks. _My son William Proctor, when he was examined, because he would not confess that he was guilty, when he was innocent, they tied him neck and heels till the blood gushed out at his nose, and would have kept him so twenty-four hours, if one, more merciful than the rest, had not taken pity on him, and caused him to be unbound._ These actions are very like the popish cruelties. They have already undone us in our estates, and that will not serve their turns without our innocent blood. If it cannot be granted that we have our trials at Boston, we humbly beg that you would endeavor to have these magistrates changed, and others in their rooms; begging also and beseeching you would be pleased to be here, if not all, some of you, at our trials, hoping thereby you may be the means of saving the shedding of innocent blood. Desiring your prayers to the Lord in our behalf, we rest your poor afflicted servants,

JOHN PROCTOR, &c.

Jonathan Cary, whose wife was under the charge, but escaped, has left a very affecting narrative of her trial, and of the behavior of the judges.

“Being brought before the justices, her chief accusers were two girls. My wife declared to the justices, that she never had any knowledge of them before that day. She was forced to stand with her arms stretched out. I requested that I might hold one of her hands, but it was denied me; then she desired me to wipe the tears from her eyes, and the sweat from her face, which I did; then she desired that she might lean herself on me, saying she should faint.

Justice Hathorn replied, she had strength enough to torment those persons, and she should have strength enough to stand. I speaking something against their cruel proceedings, they commanded me to be silent, or else I should be turned out of the room. The Indian before mentioned was also brought in, to be one of her accusers: being come in, he now (when before the justices) fell down and tumbled about like a hog, but said nothing. The justices asked the girls who afflicted the Indian; they answered she, (meaning my wife) and that she now lay upon him; the justices ordered her to touch him, in order to his cure, but her head must be turned another way, lest, instead of curing, she should make him worse, by her looking on him, her hand being guided to take hold of his; but the Indian took hold of her hand, and pulled her down on the floor, in a barbarous manner; then his hand was taken off, and her hand put on his, and the cure was quickly wrought. I, being extremely troubled at their inhuman dealings, uttered a hasty speech, _That God would take vengeance on them, and desired that God would deliver us out of the hands of unmerciful men._ Then her mittimus was writ. I did with difficulty and chagrin obtain the liberty of a room, but no beds in it; if there had been, could have taken but little rest that night. She was committed to Boston prison; but I obtained a habeas corpus to remove her to Cambridge prison, which is in our county of Middlesex. Having been there one night, next morning the jailer put irons on her legs (having received such a command;) the weight of them was about eight pounds; these irons and her other afflictions soon brought her into convulsion fits, so that I thought she would have died that night. I sent to entreat that the irons might be taken off; but all entreaties were in vain, if it would have saved her life, so that in this condition she must continue. The trials at Salem coming on, I went thither, to see how things were managed; and finding that the spectre evidence was there received, together with idle, if not malicious stories, against people’s lives, I did easily perceive which way the rest would go; for the same evidence that served for one, would serve for all the rest. I acquainted her with her danger; and that if she were carried to Salem to be tried, I feared she would never return. I did my utmost that she might have her trial in our own county, I with several others petitioning the judge for it, and were put in hopes for it; but I soon saw so much, that I understood thereby it was not intended, which put me upon consulting the means of her escape; which through the goodness of God was effected, and she got to Rhode-Island, but soon found herself not safe when there, by reason of the pursuit after her; from thence she went to New-York, along with some others that had escaped their cruel hands.

Of the trial of “good-wife Proctor,” the following interpretation was had.

“About this time, besides the experiment of the afflicted falling at the sight, &c. they put the accused upon saying the Lord’s prayer, which one among them performed, except in that petition, _deliver us from evil_, she expressed it thus, _deliver us from_ all _evil_: this was looked upon as if she prayed against what she was now justly under, and being put upon it again, and repeating those words, _hallowed be thy name_, she expressed it, _hollowed be thy name_: this was counted a depraving the words, as signifying to make void, and so a curse rather than a prayer: upon the whole it was concluded that she also could not say it, &c. Proceeding in this work of examination and commitment, many were sent to prison.

“In August, 1697, the superior court sat at Hartford, in the colony of Connecticut, where one mistress Benom was tried for witchcraft. She had been accused by some children that pretended to the spectral sight: they searched her several times for teats; they tried the experiment of casting her into the water, and after this she was excommunicated by the minister of Wallinsford. Upon her trial nothing material appeared against her, save spectre evidence. She was acquitted, as also her daughter, a girl of twelve or thirteen years old, who had been likewise accused; but upon renewed complaints against them, they both flew into New-York government.

Second--_Of the Confessions_.--The following is a letter written by six of the confessing witches, by which it may be understood in some degree how they came to accuse themselves.

“We, whose names are under written, inhabitants of Andover, when as that horrible and tremendous judgment beginning at Salem Village, in the year 1692, (by some called witchcraft) first breaking forth at Mr. Parris’s house, several young persons being seemingly afflicted, did accuse several persons for afflicting them, and many there believing it so to be; we being informed that if a person were sick, the afflicted person could tell what or who was the cause of that sickness: Joseph Ballard of Andover (his wife being sick at the same time) he either from himself, or by the advice of others, fetched two of the persons, called the afflicted persons, from Salem Village to Andover: which was the beginning of that dreadful calamity that befel us in Andover. And the authority in Andover, believing the said accusations to be true, sent for the said persons to come together to the meeting-house in Andover (the afflicted persons being there.) After Mr. Barnard had been at prayer, we were blindfolded, and our hands were laid upon the afflicted persons, they being in their fits, and falling into their fits at our coming into their presence [as they said] and some led us and laid our hands upon them, and then they said they were well, and that we were guilty of afflicting of them whereupon we were all seized as prisoners, by a warrant from a justice of the peace, and forthwith carried to Salem. And by reason of that sudden surprisal, we knowing ourselves altogether innocent of that crime, we were all exceedingly astonished and amazed, and affrighted even out of our reason; and our nearest and dearest relations, seeing us in that dreadful condition, and knowing our great danger, apprehending that there was no other way to save our lives, as the case was then circumstanced, but by our confessing ourselves to be such and such persons, as the afflicted represented us to be, they out of tender love and pity persuaded us to confess what we did confess. And indeed that confession, that it is said we made, was no other than what was suggested to us by some gentlemen; they telling us, that we were witches, and they knew it, and we knew it, and they knew that we knew it, which made us think that it was so; and our understanding, our reason and our faculties almost gone, we were not capable of judging our condition; as also the hard measures they used with us rendered us uncapable of making our defence; but said anything which they desired: and most of what we said was but in effect a consenting to what they said. Sometime after, when we were better composed, they telling of us what we had confessed, we did profess that we were innocent, and ignorant of such things. And we hearing that Samuel Wardwell had renounced his confession, and quickly after was condemned and executed, some of us were told that we were going after Wardwell.

MARY OSGOOD,
MARY TILER,
DELIV. DANE,
ABIGAIL BARKER,
SARAH WILSON,
HANNAH TILER.”

“It may here be further added, concerning those that did confess, that besides that powerful argument, of life (and freedom from hardships, not only promised, but also performed to all that owned their guilt) there are numerous instances, too many to be here inserted, of the tedious examinations before private persons, many hours together; they all that time urging them to confess (and taking turns to persuade them) till the accused were wearied out by being forced to stand so long or for want of sleep, &c. and so brought to give an assent to what they said; they then asking them, Were you at such a witch meeting? or, Have you signed the devil’s book? &c. Upon their replying, Yes, the whole was drawn into form, as their confession.

“But that which did mightily further such confessions was, their nearest relations urging them to it. These, seeing no other way of escape for them, thought it the best advice that could be given; hence it was that the husbands of some, by counsel often urging, and utmost earnestness, and children upon their knees intreating, have at length prevailed with them to say they were guilty.

Third--_Of the character of Burroughs_;--about which there has been from that day to this, a great difference of opinion. His readiness to forgive.

“Margaret Jacobs being one that had confessed her own guilt, and testified against her grandfather Jacobs, Mr. Burroughs and John Willard, she the day before execution came to Mr. Burroughs, acknowledging that she had belied them, and begged Mr. Burroughs’s forgiveness; who not only forgave her, but also prayed with and for her.

Apparitions at the trial.--

“Accordingly several of the bewitched had given in their testimony, that they had been troubled with the apparitions of two women, who said they were G. B.’s two wives; and that he had been the death of them; and that the magistrates must be told of it, before whom, if B. upon his trial denied it, they did not know but that they should appear again in the court. Now G. B. had been infamous, for the barbarous usage of his two successive wives, all the country over. Moreover, it was testified the spectre of G. B. threatening the sufferers, told them he had killed [besides others] Mrs. Lawson and her daughter Ann. And it was noted, that these were the virtuous wife and daughter of one, at whom this G. B. might have a prejudice, for being serviceable at Salem Village, from whence himself had in ill terms removed some years before; and that when they died, which was long since, there were some odd circumstances about them, which made some of the attendants there suspect something of witchcraft, though none imagined from what quarter it should come.

“Well, G. B. being now upon his trial, one of the bewitched persons was cast into horror at the ghosts of B.’s two deceased wives, then appearing before him, and crying for vengeance against him. Hereupon several of the bewitched persons were successively called in, who all, not knowing what the former had seen and said, concurred in their horror of the apparition, which they affirmed that he had before. But he, though much appalled, utterly denied that he discerned any thing of it, nor was it any part of his conviction.

His bodily strength.--

“A famous divine recites this among the convictions of a witch; the testimony of the party bewitched, whether pining or dying; together with the joint oaths of sufficient persons, that have seen certain prodigious pranks, or feats, wrought by the party accused. Now God had been pleased so to leave G. B. that he had ensnared himself, by several instances, which he had formerly given, of a preternatural strength; and which were now produced against him. He was a very puny man yet he had often done things beyond the strength of a giant. A gun of about seven feet barrel, and so heavy that strong men could not steadily hold it out, with both hands; there were several testimonies given in by persons of credit and honour, that he made nothing of taking up such a gun behind the lock with but one hand, and holding it out, like a pistol, at arm’s end. G. B. in his vindication was so foolish as to say, that an Indian was there, and held it out, at the same time; whereas, none of the spectators ever saw any such Indian; but they supposed the black man (as the witches call the devil, and they generally say he resembles an Indian) might give him that assistance. There was evidence likewise brought in, that he made nothing of taking up whole barrels filled with molasses, or cider, in very disadvantageous postures, and carrying them off, through the most difficult places, out of a canoe to the shore.

“Yea, there were two testimonies, that G. B. with only putting the fore-finger of his right hand into the muzzle of a heavy gun, a fowling piece of about six or seven feet barrel, lifted up the gun, and held it out at arm’s end; a gun which the deponents, though strong men, could not with both hands lift up, and hold out at the butt-end, as is usual. Indeed one of these witnesses was over-persuaded by some persons to be out of the way upon G. B.’s trial; but he came afterwards, with sorrow for his withdrawing, and gave in his testimony.

His death.--

“Mr. Burroughs was carried in a cart with the others, through the streets of Salem to execution. When he was upon the ladder, he made a speech for the clearing of his innocency, with such solemn and serious expressions, as were to the admiration of all present: his prayer [which he concluded by repeating the Lord’s prayer] was so well worded, and uttered with such composedness, and such [at least seeming] fervency of spirit, as was very affecting, and drew tears from many, so that it seemed to some that the spectators would hinder the execution. The accusers said the Black Man stood and dictated to him. As soon as he was turned off, Mr. Cotton Mather, being mounted upon a horse, addressed himself to the people, partly to declare that he [Burroughs] was no ordained minister, and partly to possess the people of his guilt, saying that the devil has often been transformed into an angel of light; and this somewhat appeased the people, and the executions went on.

Fourth--_A trial at length_. Indictment of Elizabeth How.

ESSEX ss.

_Anno Regni Regis & Reginæ Willielmi & Mariæ, nunc Angliæ, &c, quarto_----

The jurors for our sovereign lord and lady the king and queen present, that Elizabeth How, wife of James How, of Ipswich, in the county of Essex, the thirty-first day of May, in the fourth year of the reign of our sovereign lord and lady William and Mary, by the grace of God, of England, Scotland, France and Ireland, king and queen, defenders of the faith, &c. and divers other days and times, as well before as after, certain destestable arts, called witchcrafts and sorceries, wickedly and feloniously hath used, practised and exercised, at and within the township of Salem, in, upon and against one Mary Wolcott, of Salem Village, in the county aforesaid, single woman; by which said wicked arts the said Mary Wolcott, the said thirty-first day of May, in the fourth year above-said, and divers other days and times, as well before as after, was and is tortured, afflicted, pined, consumed, wasted and tormented; and also for sundry other acts of witchcrafts, by said Elizabeth How committed and done before and since that time, against the peace of our sovereign lord and lady, the king and queen, and against the form of the statute in that case made and provided.

_Witnesses_--Mary Wolcott, Ann Putman, Abigail Williams, Samuel Pearly, and his wife Ruth, Joseph Andrews, and wife Sarah, John Sherrin, Joseph Safford, Francis Lane, Lydia Foster, Isaac Cummins, jr·

Fifth--_Recantation of the chief judge and the jurors._--A general fast was appointed by the following proclamation, after the accusers had become so bold as to accuse even the wife of Gov. Phips.--

_By the honourable the lieutenant governor, council and assembly of his majesty’s province of the Massachusetts-Bay, in general court assembled._

Whereas the anger of God is not yet turned away, but his hand is still stretched out against his people in manifold judgments, particularly in drawing out to such a length the troubles of Europe, by a perplexing war; and more especially respecting ourselves in this province, in that God is pleased still to go on in diminishing our substance, cutting short our harvest, blasting our most promising undertakings more ways than one, unsettling us, and by his more immediate hand snatching away many out of our embraces by sudden and violent deaths, even at this time when the sword is devouring so many both at home and abroad, and that after many days of public and solemn addressing him: and although, considering the many sins prevailing in the midst of us, we cannot but wonder at the patience and mercy moderating these rebukes, yet we cannot but also fear that there is something still wanting to accompany our supplications; and doubtless there are some particular sins, which God is angry with _our Israel_ for, that have not been duly seen and repented by us, about which God expects to be sought, if ever he turn again our captivity:

Wherefore it is commanded and appointed, that Thursday, the fourteenth of January next, be observed as a day of prayer, with fasting, throughout this province; strictly forbidding all servile labour thereon; that so all God’s people may offer up fervent supplications unto him, for the preservation and prosperity of his majesty’s royal person and government, and success to attend his affairs both at home and abroad; that all iniquity may be put away, which hath stirred God’s holy jealousy against this land; that he would shew us what we know not, and help us wherein we have done amiss to do so no more; and especially that whatever mistakes on either hand have been fallen into, either by the body of this people, or any orders of men, referring to the late tragedy, raised among us by Satan and his instruments, through the awful judgment of God, he would humble us therefor, and pardon all the errors of his servants and people, that desire to love his name; that he would remove the rod of the wicked from off the lot of the righteous; that he would bring in the American heathen, and cause them to hear and obey his voice.

Given at Boston, December 12, 1696, in the eighth year of his Majesty’s reign.

ISAAC ADDINGTON, _Secretary_.

“Upon the day of the fast, in the full assembly at the south meeting-house in Boston, one of the honorable judges, [the chief justice Sewall] who had sat in judicature in Salem, delivered in a paper, and while it was in reading stood up; but the copy being not to be obtained at present, it can only be reported by memory to this effect, viz. It was to desire the prayers of God’s people for him and his; and that God having visited his family, &c, he was apprehensive that he might have fallen into some errors in the matters at Salem, and pray that the guilt of such miscarriages may not be imputed either to the country in general, or to him or his family in particular.

“Some, that had been of several juries, have given forth a paper, signed with their own hands, in these words:

“We, whose names are under written, being in the year 1692 called to serve as jurors in court at Salem on trial of many, who were by some suspected guilty of doing acts of witchcraft upon the bodies of sundry persons:

“We confess that we ourselves were not capable to understand, nor able to withstand, the mysterious delusions of the powers of darkness, and prince of the air; but were, for want of knowledge in ourselves, and better information from others, prevailed with to take up with such evidence against the accused, as, on further consideration and better information, we justly fear was insufficient for the touching the lives of any, (_Deut._ xvii. 8) whereby we fear we have been instrumental with others, though ignorantly and unwittingly, to bring upon ourselves and this people of the Lord the guilt of innocent blood; which sin the Lord saith, in scripture, he would not pardon, (_2 Kings_, xxiv. 4) that is, we suppose, in regard of his temporal judgments. We do therefore hereby signify to all in general (and to the surviving sufferers in special) our deep sense of, and sorrow for, our errors, in acting on such evidence to the condemning of any person; and do hereby declare, that we justly fear that we were sadly deluded and mistaken; for which we are much disquieted and distressed in our minds; and do therefore humbly beg forgiveness, first of God for Christ’s sake, for this our error; and pray that God would not impute the guilt of it to ourselves, nor others; and we also pray that we may be considered candidly and aright, by the living sufferers, as being then under the power of a strong and general delusion, utterly unacquainted with, and not experienced in matters of that nature.

“We do heartily ask forgiveness of you all, whom we have justly offended; and do declare, according to our present minds, we would none of us do such things again on such grounds for the whole world; praying you to accept of this in way of satisfaction for our offence, and that you would bless the inheritance of the Lord, that he may be entreated for the land.

Foreman, Thomas Fisk,
William Fisk,
John Bacheler,
Thomas Fisk, jr,
John Dane,
Joseph Evelith,
Th. Pearly, sen,
John Peabody,
Thomas Perkins,
Samuel Sayer,
Andrew Eliot,
H. Herrick, sen.”

Transcriber's Notes:

Italics are shown thus: _sloping_.

Variations in spelling and hyphenation are retained.

Perceived typographical errors have been changed.