Chapter V: Varney, Thomas, ii. 306 (7)

At that time were prevalent, in rural neighborhoods, other recreations promotive of social hilarity to the[i.202] highest degree. As a wintry evening drew on, the wide, deep fireplace—equalling in width nearly the whole of one side of the room, and so deep that benches were permanently attached to the jambs, on which two or more could comfortably sit—was duly prepared. A huge log, of a diameter equal to that of "the mast of some great admiral," six feet perhaps in length, was worked in by handspikes to its place as the "back-log;" a smaller one, as "back-stick," placed over it; the great andirons duly adjusted, and the wood piled on artistically—for there was an art in building a wood-fire. The kindlings were placed on top of the whole; never by an experienced hand below. More than the light of day, from dazzling chandeliers or the magic tongues of flaming gas-burners, blazes through the halls of modern luxury and splendor; but the lights and shadows from a glowing, old-fashioned, New-England country fireplace created a scene as enlivening, exhilarating, and genial as has ever been witnessed, and cannot be surpassed. Assembled neighbors in a single evening accomplished what would have been the work of a family for months. The corn and the nuts were all shelled; the young birch was stripped down in thin strands, and brooms enough made for a year's service in house and barn; and various other useful offices rendered. The sound of busy hands and nimble fingers was lost in commingling happy voices. Fun and jest, joy and love, ruled the hour. The whole affair was followed by "Blind-man's Buff" or some[i.203] other sport. After the "old folks" had considerately retired, who knows but that the sons and daughters of Puritans sometimes wound up with a dance? There were sleigh-rides, and the woods rang with the happy laugh and jingling bells. The vehicles used on these occasions were, prior to 1700, more properly called "sleds." Our modern "sleigh" had not then been introduced. As the spring came on, logs would be hollowed or scooped out and placed near the feet of sugar maples, a slanting incision made a foot or two above them in the trunks of the trees, a slip of shingle inserted, and the delicious sap would trickle down into the troughs. When the proper time came, tents or booths made of evergreen boughs would be erected in the woods, great kettles hung over blazing fires, and a whole neighborhood camp out for several days and nights, until the work was accomplished, and the flavory syrup or solid cakes of sugar brought out.

These were some of the recreations of the country people in the early settlements of New England; continuing, perhaps, in frontier towns to this day. They constituted forms of enjoyment which cannot exist in cities or older communities; and possessed a charm, in the memory of all who ever participated in them, greater, far greater, than society in any later stage can possess.

The principal method of travelling in those days was on horseback. It afforded many special opportunities for social enjoyment. Women as well as men were trained to it. The people of the village were all[i.204] at home in the saddle. The daughters of Joseph Putnam, sisters of Israel, were celebrated as equestrians. Tradition relates adventurous feats of theirs in this line, equal to that which constitutes a part of the history of their famous brother. There were, perhaps, several games of skill or chance practised more or less, even in those days, in this neighborhood. The only one that seems to have been openly allowed, of which we have any evidence, was shovel-board. This game, now supposed to be out of use, is referred to by Shakespeare, and was quite common in England as well as in this country. A board about two and a half feet wide and twenty feet long was placed three feet above the floor, somewhat like a billiard-table, though not with so wide a surface, precisely level and perfectly smooth, covered with a sprinkling of fine sand. It was provided with weights or balls, called "pieces," flattened on one end. The game consisted in shoving them as far as possible, without going over the end. A trough surrounded the table to catch the pieces if they fell. Richard Grant White, from whom this account of the game has been derived, says that "it required great accuracy of eye, and steadiness of hand, much more than ten-pins." He states that, when a boy, he saw it played by "brawny" men, in Brooklyn, N.Y., and that the pieces then used were of brass. It is probable that the "pieces" used on Bridget Bishop's shovel-board were made of some heavy wood, as they were thrown into the fire for the purpose of destroying them. The fact that a game like this was suffered to[i.205] be openly played in Salem Village is quite remarkable, and shows that some license was left for such amusements.

The records and files of the local courts show, that, notwithstanding the austere gravity and strictness of manners and morals usually ascribed to our New-England ancestors, occasional irregularities occurred in the early settlements, which would be considered high misdemeanors in our day. The following deposition was given "on oath before the Court," Feb. 26, 1651. Edward Norris was the son of the minister of the First Church; had been for more than ten years, and continued to be for twenty years after, schoolmaster of the town; and, by his character as well as office, commanded the highest respect. John Kitchen, in 1655, was chosen "searcher and sealer of leather." Giles Corey had not yet purchased his farm, but lived on his town-lot, extending from Essex Street, near its western extremity, to the North River. They were severally persons of good estate.

"The Testimony of Giles Corey.—Mr. Edward Norris and I were going towards the brickkiln: John Kitchen, going with us, fell a nipping and pinching of us. And, when we came back again, John Kitchen struck up Mr. Edward Norris his heels and mine, and fell upon me, and catched me by the throat, and held me so long till he had almost stopped my breath. And I said unto John Kitchen, 'This is not good jesting.' And John Kitchen replied, 'This is nothing: I do owe you more than this of old: this is not half of that which you shall have afterwards.' After this,[i.206] he went into his house, and he took stinking water and threw upon us, and took me and thrust me out of doors, and I went my ways. And John Kitchen followed me half-way up the lane, or thereabouts. Perceiving him to follow me, I went to go over the rails. He took me again, and threw me down off the rails, and fell a beating of me until I was all bloody. And, Thomas Bishop being present, I desired him to bear witness of what he saw. Upon my words, he let me rise. As soon as I was up, he fell a beating of me again.

"Testified on oath before the Court, 26th Feb., 1651.

"Henry Bartholomew, _Clerk_."

This was indeed an extraordinary outburst of lawless violence, and gives a singular insight of the state of society. Such an occurrence in our day would create astonishment. The organized power of the community to suppress vicious and rude passions was probably never brought to bear with greater rigidness than in our Puritan villages; but it did not fully accomplish its end. Behind and beneath the solemn and formal exterior, there was, after all, perhaps as much irregularity of life as now. The nature of man had not been subdued. The people had their quarrels and fights, and their frolics and merriments, in defiance of the restraints of authority. Violations of local and general laws were not infrequent; and flowed, as ever since, from intemperance, in as large a measure. Kitchen, in this instance, acted as if under the influence of liquor. His behavior, in tripping up the heels and throwing dirty water upon the person of the school[i.207]master of the town, the dignity of whose social position is indicated by the title of "Mr.;" and in giving to Corey such a persistent and gratuitous pommelling,—bears the aspect of a drunken delirium. The latter seems not to have supposed, for some time, that he was in earnest, but to have looked upon his conduct as rough play, which was carried rather too far. Poor Corey was often getting before the town Court as accused or accuser. He was, to the end, the victim of ill-usage, either given or taken. Though not a bad-natured man, he was almost always in trouble. The tenor of his long life was as eccentric and unruly as the manner of his death was strange and horrible.

There was what may be called an institution in the rural parishes of the early times, still existing to some extent perhaps in country places, which must not be omitted in an enumeration of controlling influences. The people lived on farms, at some distance from each other, and almost all at great distances from the meeting-house. Local and parental authority, church discipline, public opinion, enforced attendance upon the regular religious services. Fashion, habit, and choice concurred in bringing all to meeting on the Lord's Day. It was impossible for many to return home during the intermission between the services of the forenoon and afternoon. The effect was, that the whole community were thrown and kept together every week for several hours, during which they could not avoid social intercourse. It was a more effective institution than the town-meeting; for it occurred oftener, and[i.208] included women and children. In pleasant weather, they would perhaps gather together in knots at eligible places, or stroll off in companies to the shades of the neighboring woods. In bad weather, they would remain in the meeting-house, or congregate at Deacon Ingersoll's ordinary, or in the great rooms of his dwelling-house. As a whole, this practice must have produced important results upon the character of the people. In the absence of newspapers, or of much intercourse with remote places, the day was made the occasion for hearing and telling all the news. It provided for the circulation of ideas, good and bad. It widened the sphere of influence of the wiser and better sort, and gave opportunity for mischievous people to do much harm. It was a sort of central bazaar, open every week, where all the varieties of local gossip could be interchanged and circulated far and wide. Of the aggregate character of the effects thus produced, I do not propose to strike the balance. It was undoubtedly an effective instrumentality in moulding the population of the country, developing the elements of society, quickening and rendering more vigorous the action of the people in masses, and elucidating the phenomena of their history. It answers my purpose, at present, to suggest, that, if any popular delusion or fanaticism arose, the means of giving it a rapid diffusion, and of intensifying its power, were in this way provided.

In the early settlement of the country, the pursuit of game in the forests, rivers, and lakes, was necessary as a means of subsistence, and has always been im[i.209]portant in that view. A war against beasts and birds of prey was also required to be incessantly kept up. The methods adopted for these ends were various and ingenious, often requiring courage and skill, and in most instances conducted in companies. Deer and moose were sometimes caged by surrounding them, or trapped; but the gun was chiefly relied upon in their pursuit. There were various methods for catching the smaller animals. One of the sports of boyhood was to spring the rabbits or hares. A sapling, or young tree, was bent down and fastened to a stick slid into notches cut in trees, on each side of the path of the animal. The rabbit is wont to race through the woods at great speed, and along established tracks, which, particularly after snow has fallen, are clearly traceable. To the cross-stick, thus placed above the path, one end of a strong horse-hair was tied. The other end was in a slip-knot, with a noose just large enough, and hanging at the height, to receive the head of the rabbit. Not seeing the noose, and rushing along the path, the rabbit would jerk the cross-stick out of the notches. The tree would bound back to its original upright direction, and the rabbit remain swinging aloft, until, at the break of day, the boys would rejoice in the success of their stratagem. Pigeons in clouds frequented the country in their seasons, and acres upon acres of the forests bowed beneath their weight. They were taken by nets, dozens at a time, or brought down in great numbers by shot-guns. The marshalled hosts of wild geese made their noisy flights over the land in the[i.210] spring and fall, traversing a space spanning the continent north and south. They were brought down by the gun, on the wing, or surprised while resting in their long route or stopped by storms, around secluded ponds or swamps. Ducks and other aquatic birds were abundant on the rivers and marshes, and pursued in canoes along the bays and seashores. Salt-water fish were within reach in the neighboring ocean; while an unfailing supply of fresh-water fish was yielded by Wenham Lake, Wilkins's Pond, and the running streams.

The bear was a formidable prowler around the settlements, killing young cattle, making havoc in the sheepfold, and depredating upon the barn and farm yard. He was a dangerous antagonist, of immense strength in his arms and claws. Sometimes he was reached effectually by the gun, but the trap was mainly relied upon to secure him. His skin made him a valuable prize, and he supplied other beneficial uses. The earliest and rudest method of trapping a bear was as follows: A place was selected in the woods, where two large fallen and mouldering trees were side by side within two or three feet of each other. The space between them would be roofed over by throwing branches and boughs across them, and closed up at one end. The other end would be left open. A gun was placed inside, heavily loaded, the muzzle towards the open end; to the trigger a cord was fastened running along by the barrel of the gun, passing over a cross-bar, and hanging down directly before the muzzle, baited with a piece of fresh meat. The bear,[i.211] ranging in the woods at night, would be attracted by the smell of meat, and come snuffing around. At the open end, he would see the bait, rush in, seize it between his jaws, pull the cord, discharge the gun, and his head and breast be torn to pieces. The men engaged in the enterprise would remain awake in some neighboring house, waiting and listening, with the extremest interest, for the report of the gun to announce their success. At the break of day, they would gather to the spot, and participate in the profit of the capture. After a while, iron or steel traps were introduced. They would be skilfully baited and set, and fastened to a tree by a chain. The whole was covered over with light soil and leaves. The bear would make for the bait. The weight of his paw would spring the trap. The iron-teeth would hold him fast till the morning. In his suffering and exasperation, it would require considerable effort to despatch him. In catching bears, as well as foxes, much skill and art were needed. They were each very wary and cautious; and, where iron was used in the traps, some scent was necessary to disguise the smell of the metal. All appearance of having been disturbed had to be removed from the ground. Trapping became quite a science, and was a pursuit of much importance.

Wolves were perhaps the most destructive of the beasts of prey. Although not so large or strong as bears, they were far more fierce and rapacious. Bears could be tamed, but wolves not. Bears were not dangerous, unless provoked, or suffering from hunger, or[i.212] alarmed for the safety of their young. It was thought that kind treatment would awaken strong attachment in them, but wolves were always snarling and ferocious. They roamed mostly in packs, and would kill sheep, lambs, and poultry long after hunger was appeased. The farmers regarded them as their great enemy. A long and deep trench would be dug, lined with slippery logs, from which the bark had been taken, standing upright, and touching each other. The trench was covered by a slight framework, upon which leaves and dirt were scattered, to make the surface appear like the surrounding territory. Some savory bait would be placed over it. The wolves, rushing on, would break through. Not being able to ascend the sides, they would be found alive, the next morning, at the bottom. These were called "wolf-pits." It was no easy matter to dispose of or despatch the furious animals, and the wolf-pits were often the scenes of much excitement. There was another class of animals,—divided into different species, mostly according to their size,—smaller but fiercer than wolves, of extraordinary strength and activity, called wild-cats, catamounts, or loup-cerviers, pronounced by the farmers lucifees. These were only taken by the gun. It was considered a useful public service, and no inconsiderable feat, to kill them.

Some of the laborious employments, at that time, were especially promotive of social influence; for instance, the making and mending highways. This was secured by a tax, annually levied in town-meeting. The work was placed under the care and direction of[i.213] surveyors, annually chosen. A small part of this tax, however, was paid in money. Most of it was "worked out." At convenient seasons, when there was a respite from the ordinary farm work, the men of a neighborhood would come together, in greater or less numbers, at a designated time and place, with their oxen and implements. Working in unison, they would work merrily and with energy; and, as the tough roots and deeply bedded rocks gave way to the pickaxe, crowbar, and chain, and rough places became smooth, the wilderness would echo back their voices of gratulation, and a spirit of animating rivalry stimulate their toils. Many other operations were carried on, such as getting up hay from the salt-marshes and building stone-walls, by neighbors working in companies.

Particular circumstances in the history of the population of Salem Village contributed to keep up a condition of general intelligence, which served, to some degree, as a substitute for an organized system of education. Indeed, any thing like regular schools was rendered impossible by the then-existing circumstances. Clearings had made a very inconsiderable encroachment on the wilderness. There were here and there farmhouses, with deep forests between. It was long before easily traversable roads could be made. A schoolhouse placed permanently on any particular spot would be within the reach of but very few. Farmers most competent to the work, who had enjoyed the advantages of some degree of education, and could manage to set apart any time for the pur[i.214]pose, were, in some instances, prevailed upon to receive such children as were within reaching distance as pupils in their own houses, to be instructed by them at stated times and for a limited period. Daniel Andrew rendered this service occasionally. At one period, we find them practising the plan of a movable school and schoolmaster. He would be stationed in the houses of particular persons, with whom the arrangement could be made, a month at a time, in the different quarters of the village, from Will's Hill to Bass River. Of course, there was a great lack of elementary education. For a considerable time, it was reduced to a very low point; and there were heads of families,—men who had good farms, and possessed the confidence and respect of their neighbors,—who appear not to have been able to write.

It is difficult, however, to come to a definite estimate on this subject, as the singular fact is discovered, that some persons, who could write, occasionally preferred to "make their mark." Ann Putnam, in executing her will, made her mark; but her confession, with her own proper written signature, is spread out in the Church-book. Francis Nurse very frequently used his peculiar mark, representing, perhaps, some implement of his original mechanical trade; but, on other occasions, he wrote out his name in a good, round hand. The same was the case with Bray Wilkins. We can hardly reach any decisive conclusions as to the intelligence or education of the people of that day from their handwriting, or construction of sentences, much[i.215] less from their spelling. Their forms of speech were very different from ours in many respects. What, at first view, we might be apt to call errors of ignorance, were perhaps conformity to good usage at the time. Their use of verbs is different from ours, particularly in the subjunctive mood, and in conjugation generally. They did not follow our rule in reference to number. When the nominative was a plural noun, or several nouns, they often employ the connected verb in the singular number, and _vice versâ_. They were inclined to make construction conform to the sense, rather than to the letter. It is not certain that their usage, in this particular, is wholly indefensible. Cicero, in his fifth oration against Verres, couples _rem_ with _futurum_. This was looked upon by some editors as an error, and they altered the text accordingly; but Aulus Gelius, in his "Attic Nights," maintains that it is the true reading, and, in view of the sense of the passage, a legitimate and elegant use of language. He cites instances, in Latin and Greek authors of the highest standard, of a similar usage.

Nothing, or scarcely any thing, can be inferred from spelling. It was wholly unsettled among the best-educated men, and in the practice of the same person. In Winthrop's "Journal," he spells the name of his distinguished friend—the governor of both Massachusetts and Connecticut—sometimes Haynes, and sometimes Haines. The _r_ is generally dropped from his own signature, or, if not intentionally dropped, is quite lost in one or the other of the contiguous let[i.216]ters. It is a curious circumstance, that the name "Winthrop" is spelled differently by our governor, his wife, and his son, the governor of Connecticut; each varying from either of the other two. George Burroughs, a graduate of Harvard College, wrote his own name sometimes with, and sometimes without, the _s_. In our General-court records, the name of the first Captain Davenport is spelled in at least four different ways. The Putnams sometimes wrote their name Putman. The name of the Nurses was often written Nourse, and sometimes Nurs.

Unable to come to any reliable conclusions in reference to the general intelligence of the people of Salem Village from their orthography, etymology, syntax, or chirography, compared with their contemporaries, I can only say, that, in examining the records and papers which have come down to us, the wonder to me is that they expressed themselves so well. I do not hesitate to say, that, in the various controversies in which they were involved, prior to and immediately after the witchcraft delusion, there is a pervading appearance of uncommon appreciation of the questions at issue, and substantial evidence that there was a solid substratum of good sense among them.

Their manners appear to have been remarkably courteous and respectful, showing the effect still remaining upon their style of intercourse and personal bearing, of the society and example of the great number of eminent, enlightened, and accomplished men and families that had resided or mingled with them during all[i.217] the early period of their history. In their deportment to each other, there was that sort of decorum which indicates good breeding. They paid honor to gray hairs, and assigned to age the first rank in seating the congregation,—a matter to which, before the introduction of pews as a particular property, they gave the greatest consideration. The "seating" was to continue for a year; and a committee of persons who would command the greatest confidence was regularly appointed to report on the delicate and difficult subject. Their report, signed by them severally, was entered in full in the parish record-book. The invariable rule was, first, age; then, office; last, rates. The chief seats were given to old men and women of respectable characters, without regard to their circumstances in life or position in society. Then came the families of the minister and deacons, the parish committee and clerk, the constable of the village, magistrates, and military officers. These were preferred, because all offices were then honorable, and held, if they were called to them, by the principal people. Last came rates,—that is, property. The richest man in the parish, if not holding office, or old enough to be counted among the aged, would take his place with the residue of the congregation. The manner in which parents were spoken of on all occasions is quite observable, not only in written documents, but ordinary conversation,—always with tender respectfulness. In almost all cases, the expressions used are "my honored father" or "my honored mother," and this by per[i.218]sons in the humblest and most inferior positions in life. The terms "Goodman" and "Goodwife" were applied to the heads of families. The latter word was abbreviated to "Goody," but not at all, as our dictionaries have it, as a "low term of civility." It was applied to the most honored matrons, such as the wife of Deacon Ingersoll. It was a term of respect; conveying, perhaps, an affectionate sentiment, but not in the slightest degree disrespectful, derogatory, or belittling. Surely no better terms were ever used to characterize a worthy person. "Goodman" comprehends all that can be ascribed to a citizen of mature years in the way of commendation; and the whole catalogue of pretentious titles ever given by flatterers or courtiers to a married lady cannot, all combined, convey a higher encomium than the term "Goodwife." How much more expressive, courteous to the persons to whom they are applied, and consistent with the self-respect of the person using them, than "Mr." and "Mrs."! A more than questionable taste and a foolish pride have led us to adopt these terms because they were originally applicable to the gentry or to magistrates, and to abandon the good old words which had a meaning truly polite to others, and not degrading to ourselves!

A patriarchal authority and dignity was recognized in families. The oldest member was often called, by way of distinction, "Landlord," merely on account of his seniority, without reference particularly to the extent of his domain or the value of his acres. After[i.219] the death of Thomas Putnam, in 1686, his brother Nathaniel had the title; after him, the surviving brother, Captain John; after him, it fell to the next generation, and Benjamin, a son of Nathaniel, became "Landlord Putnam." It was so with other families.

The liberal and judicious policy, before described, of giving estates to children on their marriage, with the maintenance of parental authority in the household, produced the desired effect upon the character of the people. It was almost a matter of course, that, on reaching mature years, young men and women would own the covenant, and become members of the church. The general tone of society was undoubtedly favorable to the moral and religious welfare of the younger portion of the community. Some exceptions occurred, but few in number. One case, however, in which there was a flagrant violation of filial duty, may not be omitted in this connection; for it belongs to the public history of the country.

John Porter, Jr., the eldest son of the founder of that most respectable family, about thirty years of age, appears to have been a very wicked and incorrigible person. His abusive treatment of his parents reached a point where it became necessary, in the last resort, to appeal to the protection of the law. After various proceedings, he was finally sentenced to stand on the ladder of the gallows with a rope around his neck for an hour; to be severely whipped; committed to the House of Correction; kept closely at work on[i.220] prison diet, not to be released until so ordered by the Court of Assistants or the General Court; and to pay "a fine to the country of two hundred pounds." It is stated, that, if the mother of the culprit "had not been overmoved by her tender affections to forbear appearing against him, the Court must necessarily have proceeded with him as a capital offender, according to our law being grounded upon and expressed in the Word of God, in Deut. xxi. 18 to 21. See Capital Laws, p. 9, § 14." Some time afterward, the General Court, upon his petition, granted him a release from imprisonment, on condition of his immediate departure from this jurisdiction; first giving a bond of two hundred pounds not to return without leave of the General Court or Court of Assistants.

In 1664, four commissioners, Colonel Richard Nichols, Sir Robert Carr, George Cartwright, and Samuel Maverick, Esqs., were sent over by Charles II. "to hear and determine complaints and appeals in all causes, as well military as criminal and civil." There had always been a powerful influence at work in the English Court adverse to New England. It had been thus far successfully baffled by the admirable diplomacy of the colonial government and agents. All conflicts of authority had been prevented from coming to a head by a skilful policy of "protracting and avoiding." But the restoration of the Stuarts boded no good to the liberties of the colonies; and the arrival of these commissioners with their sweeping authority was regarded as designed to deal the long-deferred[i.221] fatal blow at chartered rights. They began with a high hand. The General Court did not quail before them, but stood ready to take advantage of the first false step of the commissioners; and they did not have long to wait.

Porter had taken refuge in Rhode Island. When the commissioners visited that colony, he appealed to them for redress against the Massachusetts General Court. They were inconsiderate enough to espouse his cause, and issued a proclamation giving him protection to return to Boston to have his case tried before them. The General Court at once took issue with them, and changed their attitude from the defensive to the offensive; denounced their proceedings; spread upon the official records a full account, in the plainest language, of Porter's outrages upon his parents, exhibiting it in details that could not but shock every sentiment of humanity and decency; holding up the commissioners as the abettors and protectors of criminality of the deepest dye; and planting themselves fair and square against them on the merits of Porter's case. The commissioners tried to explain and extricate themselves; but they could not escape from the toils in which, through rashness, they had become entangled. The General Court made a public declaration charging the commissioners with "obstructing the sentence of justice passed against that notorious offender," and with sheltering and countenancing "his rebellion against his natural parents;" with violating a court of justice, discharging a whole[i.222] country "from their oaths whereby they had sworn obedience to His Majesty's authority according to the Constitution of his Royal Charter;" and with attempting to overthrow the rights of the colony under the charter by bringing in a military force to overawe and suppress the civil authorities. They denounced them as guilty of a perversion of their trust, and as having committed a breach upon the dignity of the crown, by pursuing a course "derogatory to His Majesty's authority here established," and "repugnant to His Majesty's princely and gracious intention in betrusting them with such a commission." The Court held the vantage-ground, and the commissioners were unable to dislodge them. The end of the matter was, that the power of the commissioners was completely broken down. They ingloriously gave up the contest, and went home to England.

The instance of John Porter, Jr., to which such extraordinary publicity and prominence were given by the circumstances now related, does not bear against what I have said of the general prevalence, in the rural community of Salem Village, of parental authority and filial duty, as he was early withdrawn from it to pursuits that led him into totally different spheres of life. He had been engaged in trade, and exposed to vicious influences in foreign ports. In voyages to "Barbadoes, and so for England, he had prodigally wasted and riotously expended about four hundred pounds." Besides this, he had run himself, by his vicious courses, into debts which his father had to pay[i.223] in order to release him from prison abroad. He came back the desperate character described by the General Court. His punishment was severe, but absolutely necessary, in the judgment of the whole community, for the safety of his parents and the preservation of domestic and public order.

Although living in humble dwellings on plain fare, working with their hands for daily bread, clad in rude garments, and practising a frugal economy, there was a certain style of things about the people I am describing unlike what is ordinarily associated with our ideas of them. The men wore swords or rapiers as a part of their daily apparel. Their wives had domestic servants. Every farmer had his hired laborers, and many of them had slaves. The relation of servitude, however, differed from that on Southern plantations in many respects. The slaves, without any formal manumission, easily obtained their freedom, and often became landholders. The courteous decorum acquired from the example of the eminent men among the first planters long continued to mark the manners of this people; and its vestiges remain to the present day. It strikingly appeared in the latter half of the last and the earlier period of this century in the persons of Judge Samuel Houlton, Colonel Israel Hutchinson, General Moses Porter, and the late Judge Samuel Putnam.

The wise forethought of the company in London, at the outset of its operations, in providing for all that was needful to the establishment and welfare of the[i.224] colony, has already been described. It was most strikingly illustrated in the careful selection of the first emigrants. Men were sought out who were experienced and skilful in the various mechanic arts. In the early population of Salem Farms, every species of handicraft was represented. When the number was less than a hundred householders, there were weavers, spinners, potters, joiners, housewrights, wheelwrights, brickmakers and masons, blacksmiths, coopers, painters, tailors, cordwainers, glovers, tanners, millers, maltsters, skinners, sawyers, tray-makers, and dish-turners. Every absolute want was provided for. These trades and callings were carried on in connection with agricultural employments, and their continuance kept carefully in view by the heads of the principal families. John Putnam not only gave large farms to each of his sons, but he trained them severally to some mechanical art. One was a weaver, another a bricklayer, &c. The farmer was also a mechanic, and every description of useful labor held in equal honor.

Another marked feature of this people was their military spirit. They were kept in a state of universal and thorough organization to protect themselves from Indian hostilities, or to respond, on any occasion, at a moment's warning, to the call of the country. The sentinel at the watch-house was ever on the alert. Authority was early obtained from the General Court to form a foot company. All adults of every description, including men much beyond middle life,—every[i.225] one, in fact, who could carry a musket, belonged to it. Its officers were the fathers of the village. Every title of rank, from corporal to captain, once obtained, was worn ever after through life. Jonathan Walcot, a citizen of the highest respectability, who had married as a second wife Deliverance a daughter of Thomas Putnam, and was one of the deacons of the parish, was its captain. Nathaniel Ingersoll, the other deacon, is spoken of from time to time as corporal, then sergeant, and finally lieutenant. He served with that commission till late in life, and was always, after attaining that rank, known as either Lieutenant or Deacon Ingersoll. The eldest son of Thomas Putnam, a leading member of the church, a man of large property, and the clerk of the parish, was one of the sergeants, always known as such. In our narrative, with which he will be found in most unfortunate connection, I shall speak of him by that title. It will distinguish him from his father. This "company" had frequent drills, probably from the first, in the field left by will afterwards for that purpose by Nathaniel Ingersoll. Often, no doubt, it paraded on the open grounds around the meeting-house, or in the fields of Joseph Hutchinson after the harvest had been gathered. It marched and countermarched along the neighboring roads. It was almost as much thought of as the "church," officered by the same persons, and composed of the same men. It was a common practice, at the close of a parade, before "breaking line," for the captain to give notices of prayer, church,[i.226] or parish meetings. Such men as Richard Leach, Thomas Fuller, and Nathaniel Putnam, esteemed it an honor to bear titles in this company; and held them ever after through life with pride, whether corporal, sergeant, lieutenant, or captain.

A company of troopers was early formed, made up from the village and neighboring settlements. In the colonial records, under date of Oct. 8, 1662, we find the following: "Mr. George Corwin for captain, Mr. Thomas Putnam for lieutenant, Mr. Walter Price for cornet, being presented to this Court as so chosen by the troopers of Salem, Lynn, &c., the Court allows and approves thereof." The inventory of Captain Corwin, before cited, indicates the stylish uniform he wore as captain of the troopers. Each of the officers was a wealthy man; and it cannot be doubted that a parade of the company was a dashing affair. The lapse of time having thinned their ranks and removed their officers, a vigorous and successful attempt was made in October, 1678, to revive the company. Thirty-six men, belonging, as they say, "to the reserve of Salem old troop," and very desirous "of being serviceable to God and the country," petition the General Court to re-organize them as a troop of horse, and to issue the necessary commissions. They request the appointment of William Brown, Jr., as captain, and Corporal John Putnam as lieutenant. The petition was granted, and the commissions issued. Among the signers of this petition are Anthony Needham, Peter and Ezekiel Cheever, Thomas Flint,[i.227] Thomas and Benjamin Wilkins, Thomas and Jacob Fuller, John Procter, William Osborne, Thomas Putnam, Jr., and others of the Farms. The officers named were men of property and energy; and the company of troopers was kept up ever afterwards, until all danger from Indians or other foes had passed away.

It is very observable how the military spirit with which this rural community was so early imbued has descended through all generations. Israel Putnam, the famous Revolutionary hero, a son of Joseph who was a younger brother of Sergeant Thomas and Deacon Edward Putnam, was born in the village. His brother David, much older than himself, who flourished in the period anterior to the Revolution, was a celebrated cavalry officer. Colonel Timothy Pickering used to mention, among the recollections of his boyhood, that David Putnam "rode the best horse in the province." General Rufus Putnam, a grandson of Deacon Edward, was a distinguished brigadier in the army of the Revolution. There are few officers of that army whose names are more honored than his by encomiums from the pen of Washington: and praise from him was praise indeed, for it was, like all his other judgments, the result of careful and discriminating observation. In a letter to the President of Congress, dated "At camp above Trenton Falls, Dec. 20, 1776," he speaks of the fact, that, owing to a neglect on the part of the Government to place the Engineer Department upon a proper footing, "Colo[i.228]nel Putnam, who was at the head of it, has quitted, and taken a regiment in the State of Massachusetts." He expresses the opinion, that Putnam's qualifications as a military engineer were superior to those of any other man within his knowledge, far superior to those of the foreign officers whom he had seen. In a letter to the same, dated "Pompton Plains," July 12, 1777, speaking of General Schuyler's army, he says, "Colonel Putnam, I imagine, will be with him before this, as his regiment is a part of Nixon's Brigade, who will answer every purpose he can possibly have for an engineer at this crisis." The high opinion of Washington took effect in his promotion as brigadier-general. At the end of the war, he returned to civil life, but was soon called back and re-commissioned as brigadier-general. Washington felt the need of him. In a letter to General Knox, Secretary of War, dated Aug. 13, 1792, he says, "General Putnam merits thanks, in my opinion, for his plan, and the sentiments he has delivered on what he conceives to be a proper mode of carrying on the war against the hostile nations of Indians; and I wish he would continue to furnish them without reserve in future." During Washington's administration of the government under the Constitution, Rufus Putnam held the office of Surveyor-General of the United States. In addition to his military reputation, he will be for ever memorable as the first settler of Marietta, and founder of the State of Ohio.

Israel Hutchinson was born in 1727. In 1757 he[i.229] was one of a scouting-party under the command of his neighbor, Captain Israel Herrick, that penetrated through the wilderness in Maine in perilous Indian warfare. He fought at Ticonderoga and Lake George, and was with Wolfe when he scaled the Heights of Abraham. On the morning of the 19th of April, 1775, he led a company of minute-men, who met and fought the British in their bloody retreat from Lexington. He was prominently concerned during the siege of Boston; and, on its evacuation, took command at Fort Hill. He was afterwards in command at Forts Lee and Washington. Throughout the war, he, like both the Putnams, had the confidence of his commander-in-chief. For twenty-one years, he was elected to one or the other branch of the Legislature, or to the Council. He was distinguished for the courtesy of his manners and the dignity of his address. Colonel Enoch Putnam was also at the battle of Lexington, and served with honor through the Revolutionary War, as did also Captain Jeremiah Putnam, both of them descendants of John. Captain Samuel Flint was among the bravest of the brave at Lexington, exciting universal admiration by his intrepidity; and fell at the head of his company at Stillwater, Oct. 7, 1777.

Intelligence of the marching of the British towards Lexington, on the 19th of April, 1775, reached the lower part of Danvers about nine o'clock that morning. With a rapidity that is perfectly marvellous, when we consider the distances from each other over which the[i.230] inhabitants were scattered, five companies, fully organized and equipped,—each of them containing men of the village,—rushed to the field in time to meet the retreating enemy at West Cambridge. It was a rally and a march without precedent, and never yet surpassed. The day was extremely sultry for the season; and the distance traversed by many of the men from the village, before they got into that fight, could not have been less than twenty miles. Seven belonging to Danvers companies were killed, and others wounded. A larger offering was made that day at the baptismal sacrifice to American liberty by Danvers than by any other town except Lexington; and no town represented in the scene was more remote. Of the men who fell on this occasion, the following appear to have been of the village: Samuel Cook, Benjamin Daland, and Perley Putnam,—the last a descendant of John. Their bodies were brought home, and buried with appropriate honors; two companies from Salem, and military detachments from Newburyport, Amesbury, and Salisbury participating in the ceremonies, and giving the soldier's tribute to their glory, by volleys over their closing graves.

Moses Porter, when eighteen years of age, attracted attention by his heroic courage and indomitable pluck at Bunker Hill. He was in an artillery company, and would not quit his gun when almost every other man had fallen. His country never allowed him to quit it afterwards. From that day, he bore a commission in the army of the United States. He was retained on[i.231] every peace establishment, always in the artillery, and at the head of that arm of the service for a great length of time, and until the day of his death. He was in the battle of Brandywine, and wounded in a subsequent fight on the banks of the Delaware. He was with Wayne in his campaign against the Western Indians, and won his share of the glory that crowned it in the final bloody and decisive conflict. He was at the head of the artillery when the war of 1812 took place, in active service on the Niagara frontier, and on the 10th of September, 1813, brevetted "for distinguished services." He commanded at Norfolk, in Virginia, in 1814, and received great credit for the ability and vigilance with which he held that most vital point of the coast defence. At successive periods after the war, he was at the head of each of the geographical military divisions of the country. He died at Cambridge, Mass., in 1822, while in command of the Eastern Department, near the scene of his youthful glory, forty-seven years before. No man who fought at Bunker Hill remained so long a soldier of the United States. No man had so extended a record, and it was bright with honor from the beginning to the end. His pre-eminent reputation, as a disciplinarian and artillerist of the highest class, was uniformly maintained. He added to the sterner qualities required by professional duty a polished urbanity of manners, and a dignified and commanding aspect and bearing. His ashes rest beneath the sod of his ancestral acres in Salem Village.[i.232]

When the great war for the suppression of the Southern Rebellion came on, and the life of the Union was at stake, the same old spirit was found unabated. A descendant of the family of Raymonds, emulating the example of his ancestors, rallied his company to the front. At the end of the war, Lieutenant-Colonel John W. Raymond brought back, in command, the remnant of his veteran regiment, with its tattered banners; two of his predecessors in that commission having fallen in battle. The youthful patriot, William Lowell Putnam, who fell at Ball's Bluff on the 21st of October, 1861, was a direct descendant of Nathaniel Putnam. It is an interesting circumstance, that the names of men who trained in the foot company and with the troopers on the fields and roads about the village meeting-house two hundred years ago have re-appeared in the persons of their descendants, in the highest lines of service and with unsurpassed distinction, in the three great wars of America,—Major-General Israel, and Brigadier-General Rufus, Putnam, in the War of the Revolution; Brigadier-General Moses Porter, in the War of 1812; and Major-General Granville M. Dodge, in the War of the Rebellion. The last-named is a descendant of a hero of the Narragansett fight, and was born and educated in Salem Village.

Several lawsuits, particularly in land cases, have been referred to. They indicate, perhaps, to some extent the ingredients that aggravated the terrible scenes we are preparing to contemplate. They served to keep up the general intelligence of the community[i.233] through a period necessarily destitute of such means of information as we enjoy. Attendance upon courts of law, serving on juries, having to give testimony at trials, are indeed in themselves no unimportant part in the education of a people. Principles and questions of great moment are forced upon general attention, and become topics of discussion in places of gathering and at private firesides. Of this material of intelligence, the people of the village had their full share. It was their fate to have their minds, and more or less their passions, stirred up by special local controversies thrust upon them. As a religious society, they had difficult points of disagreement with the mother-church, and the town of Salem. While they were supporting a minister and trying to build a meeting-house for themselves, attempts were made to tax them to support the minister and build a new meeting-house in the town. There was a natural reluctance to part with them, and it was long before an arrangement could be made. The great distance of many of the farmers from the town prevented their exercising what they deemed their rightful influence in municipal affairs. They felt, that, in many respects, their interests were not identical, and in some absolutely at variance. These topics were much discussed, and with considerable feeling at times on both sides. The papers which remain relating to the subject show that the farmers understood it in all its bearings, and maintained their cause with clearness of perception and forcibleness of argument and expression. At one time, they were[i.234] very desirous to be set off as a distinct town, but this could not be allowed; and, finally, a sort of compromise was effected. A partial separation—a semi-municipality—was agreed upon. Salem Village was the result.

In 1670, a petition, with twenty signers, was presented to the town to be set off as a parish, and be allowed to provide a minister for themselves. In March, 1672, the town granted the request; and, in October following, the General Court approved of the project, and gave it legal effect. The line agreed upon by the town and the village is substantially defined by the vote of the former, which was as follows: "All farmers that now are, or hereafter shall be, willing to join together for providing a minister among themselves, whose habitations are above Ipswich Highway, from the horse bridge to the wooden bridge, at the hither end of Mr. Endicott's Plain, and from thence on a west line, shall have liberty to have a minister by themselves; and when they shall provide and pay him in a maintenance, that then they shall be discharged from their part of Salem ministers' maintenance," &c. The "horse bridge" was across Bass River. The "wooden bridge" was at the head of Cow-House or Endicott River. Ipswich highway runs along from one of these points to the other. The south line, beyond the wooden bridge, is seen on the map. All to the north of this line, and of Ipswich highway between the bridges, to the bounds of Beverly and Wenham on the east; Topsfield, Rowley Village,—since Boxford,[i.235] and Andover on the north; and Reading and Lynn on the west,—was the Village. Middleton, incorporated afterwards, absorbed a large part of its western portion; but, at the time of the witchcraft delusion, the Village was bounded as above described, and as in the map. There was a specific arrangement fixing the point of time when the farmers were to become exempt from all charges in aid of the mother-church; that is, as soon as they had provided for the support of a minister and the erection of a meeting-house of their own. It was further stipulated, that the villagers should not form a church until a minister was ordained; and that they should not settle a minister permanently without the approval of the old church, and its consent to proceed to an ordination. This latter restriction was perhaps the cause of all the subsequent troubles.

Owing, as has been stated in another connection, to erroneous notions about the topography of the country; the incompetency perhaps, in some cases, of surveyors; and the want of due care in the General Court and the towns to have boundaries clearly defined,—uncertainties and conflicting claims arose in various portions of the colony, but nowhere to a greater extent than here. The village became involved in controversies about boundaries with each one of its neighbors; producing, at times, much exasperation. The documents drawn forth on these questions, as they appear in the record-book of the village, are written with ability, and show that there were men among them who knew how to express and enforce their[i.236] views. The plain, lucid, well-considered style of Nathaniel Ingersoll's depositions on the court-files, in numerous cases, render it not improbable that his pen was put in requisition. Sergeant Thomas Putnam, the parish recorder, as he was sometimes entitled, was a good writer. His chirography, although not handsome, is singularly uniform, full, open, and clear, so easily legible that it is a refreshment to meet with it; and his sentences are well-constructed, simple, condensed, and to the purpose. His words do their office in conveying his meaning. No public body ever had a better clerk. Somehow or other, he and others, brought up in the woods, had contrived to acquire considerable efficiency in the use of the pen. Perhaps, a few who, like him, had parents able to afford it, had been sent to Ipswich or Charlestown to enjoy the privilege of what Cotton Mather calls "the Cheverian education."