Four Men from Harvard
The Reverend Cotton Mather rode through Salem Village like a mighty king traveling over the lands in his realm, regally nodding his head at the townspeople as though they were his royal subjects. When he arrived at the Reverend Samuel Parris's house, he got down from his horse and, proudly holding his head high, greeted Parris, the village minister, and the two men who stood beside him: Dr. William Griggs, the local physician, and Reverend John Hale of nearby Beverly.
"How are the children today?" Mather brusquely demanded to know.
"I am afraid there has been no change, Reverend," Dr. Griggs replied solemnly. "The girls are still bewitched."
Mather gave the physician a withering glare, clearly indignant at the man's presumption of knowing what only an ordained minister could understand. Not yet thirty years of age, Cotton Mather, son of the esteemed Increase Mather, president of Harvard College, lacked the humility found in many of his fellow clergymen—men like Reverend Hale, for instance.
"Need I remind you, Doctor, that whether the children are bewitched or not is still to be determined," Mather snapped.
"The afflicted girls have named the witches that torment them," Reverend Parris informed the esteemed visitor.
The youngsters in question, Elizabeth Parris (Samuel's nine-year-old daughter) and Abigail Williams (his twelve-year-old niece), had been suffering from strange fits, the cause of which Dr. Griggs had yet to ascertain.
"There is more than one?" Mather asked with surprise.
"They cried out against both Sarah Good, a local beggar woman, and Sarah Osborne, who controls one hundred and fifty acres that belonged to her first husband," Parris replied.
"And Tituba," Griggs added.
Reverend Mather's interest was piqued by the unusual name.
"Who is this Tituba?"
"My slave," Parris answered uncomfortably, embarrassed that he might have unknowingly harbored a witch in his own home.
Reverend Parris, the former owner of a Caribbean sugar plantation, had brought Tituba and her husband, John Indian, to New England with him from Barbados after his business failed.
"Your slave. A heathen!" Mather exclaimed condescendingly. "I might have expected that. Has she been interrogated yet?"
"She has," answered Reverend Hale, who being past his fiftieth year was the oldest of the three clergymen present. "When questioned, Tituba confessed and named Goody Good and Goody Osborne as fellow witches."
"I wish to see both the afflicted girls and the accused women for myself," Mather announced officiously.
Parris nodded deferentially and led the renowned Boston minister to his daughter's room.
Cotton Mather, who four years earlier had written Memorable Providences, Relating to Witchcrafts and Possessions, was considered one of the leading authorities on witchcraft in the Massachusetts Bay Colony. His visit to Salem Village was not in an official capacity. He was there only to observe the situation in the hope of one day writing about it. However, once he was introduced into such a volatile situation, his hubris demanded he take an active role in the drama that was to follow.
* * *
One evening in mid-March in the year of our Lord sixteen hundred and ninety-two, barely a month after Reverend Samuel Parris's young daughter Betty began displaying the curious symptoms that caused such alarm in the village, Cotton Mather was sitting at the mahogany desk in his rented room reviewing his notes on Goody Good's and Goody Osborne's examinations, when he was interrupted by a loud knocking on the door.
"Come in," the minister called.
Reverend Hale entered, and Mather immediately noticed the troubled expression on the clergyman's face.
"Is something wrong, John?"
"I have just come from Samuel Parris's house. He tells me that Rebecca Nurse has been accused of witchcraft."
"Nurse? It seems to me that I have heard that name before."
"I am sure you have. Goody Nurse is a well-respected member of this community. Her husband, Francis, was a former constable, and Rebecca herself is known for her charitable deeds. Her piety is beyond question. She is also a devoted wife, mother and grandmother. I cannot believe she would harm those girls."
"Come, now, John," Mather admonished. "You do not think Satan's minions include only black slaves and indigent outcasts, do you? Martha Corey is neither slave nor beggar, and yet she has been branded a witch."
"And Rebecca Nurse brings the number to five," Hale added. "Five women accused of the crime of witchcraft on only the word of a group of hysterical children. Does that not worry you, Cotton? What if they are not telling us the truth?"
Mather, who firmly believed in witches and their evil influence, was disgusted by his colleague's weakening conviction.
"If you have no stomach for this business, John, perhaps you ought to return to Beverly."
Hale took no offence at the esteemed Boston minister's rebuke. His only concern was for the women, who might be innocent of the charges brought against them.
"Parris is overwhelmed by the whole affair," he contended, "and, frankly, I would sleep better at night if we had more concrete proof of the guilt of the accused. There are five women's lives at stake here, Cotton."
"Their lives are of no consequence. We are not doctors, we are men of God, and as such are in the business of saving souls."
When John Hale realized that Reverend Mather was unwavering in his faith in the girls' accusations and resolute in his desire to drive the devil out of Salem Village, he walked out into the night to search his own heart. As he gazed at the vast starry sky, he prayed to God for guidance. In his opinion neither the inexperienced, self-serving Parris nor the egotistical, fanatical Mather was up to the job of steering the good people of Salem Village through such troubled waters. If Salem was to weather the storm, Reverend Hale must keep his head.
* * *
April brought with it the first taste of spring and the hint of new life to Salem Village, but the hysteria that had begun in the coldest days of winter persisted. The number of people imprisoned on charges of witchcraft had grown considerably. Upstanding citizens such as John and Elizabeth Proctor, Rebecca Nurse's sisters, Sarah Cloyce and Mary Easty, and even four-year-old Dorcas Good were accused of dealing with the devil.
Reverend Hale, whose dissatisfaction with the proceedings increased with each new arrest, had his faith in the prosecution of the accused witches shaken even further when Ann Putnam cried out against former Salem Village minister, George Burroughs.
"How can you believe these ridiculous charges?" he asked Cotton Mather. "Burroughs is a fellow minister."
"But he was never ordained," the arrogant cleric protested.
"He is a man of God nevertheless. Do no tell me you believe he can do God's work and Satan's bidding at the same time."
"All mortal men are susceptible to temptation and sin, including men of the cloth. I would imagine a Puritan minister—even one who was not ordained—would be quite a feather in the devil's cap."
Hale read something in Mather's countenance that greatly disturbed him. He suspected the minister from Boston was secretly pleased at Reverend Burroughs' downfall.
Despite Mather's reputation and high-placed family connections, Hale stood his ground.
"I do not believe these charges. Furthermore, I am beginning to wonder if any of those who were accused are guilty of witchcraft."
Cotton Mather stared at the minister from Beverly, freezing Hale with an icy glare.
"It is said the devil finds his greatest allies in those who doubt his influence. In your attempts to be compassionate, John, be careful you do not fall into his trap."
* * *
In his humble home in Wells, Maine, the Reverend George Burroughs sat down to dinner with his family. The minister who had been toiling in his garden had worked up a good appetite. He was enjoying his meal when suddenly the dog's bark alerted him to the presence of strangers. When the second born of Burroughs's five children answered the door, a deputation of armed men barged into the small house.
"George Burroughs, formerly the minister of the Salem Village meetinghouse?" one of the men demanded to know.
"Yes."
Two muscular men grabbed the reverend by the arms and lifted him off his chair.
"I have a warrant for your arrest on the charge of witchcraft."
"Are you mad?" Burroughs shouted over the sound of his children's wails. "I am no witch! I am a man of God!"
Despite the minister's fierce denial of the accusations, he was taken back to Salem to face the charges brought against him.
* * *
In early June Reverend John Hale's worst fear became reality: Bridget Bishop was hanged for being a witch. It was the first execution, but it would not be the last.
While he did not like to pass judgment on his fellow clergymen, Hale was frustrated by the obvious lack of leadership and Christian charity Parris and Mather displayed. The former had been swept up in the mounting hysteria that was enveloping Salem, and the latter was seemingly intent on waging a private war with Satan and had chosen Salem as his battleground.
Although Judge Nathaniel Saltonstall resigned from the court because he was displeased with the proceedings—clearly a sign that he did not agree with Bridget Bishop's sentence—suspicion spread through Salem and the surrounding towns and the arrests continued.
Throughout the summer the curse cast on Salem Village festered. In July Sarah Good, Elizabeth Howe, Sarah Wilds, Susannah Martin and Rebecca Nurse were hanged on Gallows Hill, and then in the beginning of August, George Burroughs was brought to trial.
The testimony against the forty-two-year-old minister was damning. Abigail Hobbs, a woman whose sanity was often questioned, claimed that Burroughs's spirit had given her magical dolls, and Mercy Lewis swore that he had encouraged her to sign the devil's book. However, the most damaging testimony against the village's former minister was by a handful of confessed witches who identified him as the head of all the witches in Salem.
Still, Burroughs was not without his supporters. Despite the danger to themselves, thirty-two of the village's most respected citizens signed a petition attesting to his innocence, and one of his accusers even recanted her accusation as groundless and made out of fear. But it was of no use. Burroughs was found guilty and sentenced to death.
* * *
George Burroughs sat in the dank, fetid Salem Gaol, praying he could be reunited with his family yet knowing it was unlikely he would ever return to Maine. His reverie was interrupted by the arrival of Reverend John Hale.
Hale looked haggard, as though he had not known a good night's sleep in many weeks.
"I understand you spoke on my behalf," the condemned man declared. "For that I thank you."
The older minister was devastated by the suffering of those being held in the gaol.
"I wish I could do more. I would like nothing better than to bring an end to all this madness, yet I fear it is like a fire that burns out of control. I have appealed to Parris and Mather, but they are deaf to my arguments."
Burroughs, who had tried to fight the bitterness he felt toward the people of Salem and the members of the court, conjectured, "Parris is either a fool or a coward who lacks the spine to go against the tide of popular opinion. And as for Cotton Mather, he is hell-bent on making a name for himself so that he will no longer be eclipsed by his famous father."
Then Burroughs sensed Reverend Hale's pain at his failure to curtail the witch-hunt, and his features softened with compassion.
"You must not let this insanity break your spirit. You are a good minister and a good man, John."
"So are you, George," Hale said wearily. "But in these troubled times, I fear it is not enough to be a good man."
After visiting the condemned minister in Salem Gaol, Reverend Hale returned to his own farm in neighboring Beverly. His wife, Sarah Noyes Hale, welcomed him home.
"It appears you have not been sleeping well," she observed with concern and inquired as to his wellbeing.
"I am greatly troubled," he confessed. "I just visited George Burroughs in the gaol."
Sarah commiserated with her husband's suffering.
"Do the judges still refuse to listen to reason?" she asked.
"Both the magistrates and my fellow clerics turn a deaf ear to my pleas."
"I just cannot believe that a man of God is to hang as a witch!"
"I cannot believe anyone is being hanged as a witch," John declared. "When I was a boy of twelve, I watched the execution of Margaret Jones. Like the adults in attendance, I was sure the old midwife was in league with Satan. Even when the girls cried out against Tituba, Goody Good and Goody Osborne, I did not doubt their claims. But then the accusations snowballed."
Hale rose, paced the floor and wrung his hands in consternation.
"How can one man convince so many misguided people of the truth?"
"You must not blame yourself, John," his wife said. "The members of the court sincerely believe they are doing battle with the devil."
"I tell you, Sarah, the devil is at work in Salem! He speaks through the mouths of those who accuse their neighbors unjustly!"
* * *
On the morning of August 19, the people of Salem Village and Salem Town met at Gallows Hill to view yet another public execution. Among those being hanged were John Proctor, whose wife Elizabeth had been spared hanging by her pregnancy, the elderly George Jacobs, John Willard, Martha Carrier and the former minister from Salem Village, George Burroughs.
As the convicted minister stood on the gallows awaiting his execution, he looked to the heavens and began reciting the Lord's Prayer. Upon his completion, the spectators, deeply impressed by his flawless recital, called for his pardon since it was a long-held belief that a witch could not say the prayer without error.
Hope sprang up in Reverend Hale's heart.
"Release him," he shouted. "He is no witch."
When it looked as though George Burroughs would be freed, a man on horseback objected. It was none other than Cotton Mather who decided to attend the hanging even though he had been absent at the previous executions.
"Do not let this witch's clever tricks fool you," the Boston minister cried out. "Let us not forget that the devil has often been transformed into an Angel of Light."
After being admonished by Cotton Mather, the crowd fell silent. Reverend Hale looked into Burroughs's eyes; neither man looked away until Burroughs was swinging at the end of the rope.
With the execution over, the people of Salem turned away. Reverend Hale watched their faces as they passed by him. He saw uncertainty, grief and, most of all, fear. As the corpses of Proctor, Jacobs, Willard and Carrier were being cut down and unceremoniously thrown into a common, unmarked grave, the three ministers surrounded the body of George Burroughs, which was still hanging at the end of a rope.
We are four graduates of Harvard, Hale mused. All four ministers, ranging in age from twenty-nine to fifty-six. We all swore to carry out God's work on earth, yet one of us, perhaps the most pious and God-fearing of us all, lies dead and maligned, a victim of ignorance and fear. How could God allow this?
As Reverend John Hale watched the sheriff's men cut Burroughs down, he experienced his first serious crisis of faith. Had the devil taken hold of Salem? Was he more powerful than God? Did God even exist, or had Hale's whole life been built on a lie?
Samuel Parris was the first to walk away, soon followed by Cotton Mather, who mounted his horse and once again rode through Salem like a monarch, regally acknowledging his subjects with a nod of his head.
With the gravediggers waiting at a respectful distance, Reverend John Hale knelt over the open grave and said a prayer for the souls of the five executed witches. Then he rose and left Gallows Hill behind him. His head hanging down in dejection, he took no notice of the farmers and their families who silently returned to the fields.
As he approached the center of town, Hale continued to question his faith.
How can a loving, merciful God turn a blind eye to what is happening in Salem? Is Cotton Mather right when he claims the presence of so many witches is God's punishment for the Puritans' eroding religious observance? But those executed as witches were not evil; they did not worship Satan. They were ordinary God-fearing men and women, no more in league with the devil than their neighbors who witnessed their hanging. And what of me? What of my training as a minister? Has it all been nothing but an exercise in futility?
Anxious to go home to Beverly, he saddled his horse and headed north. Hale was halfway home when he heard the steady, rhythmic clop-clop-clop of another horse behind him. It could not be Cotton Mather, he figured, since Mather would head south to Boston. As the unknown horseman came abreast of him, Hale turned, and a chill raced down his spine. There was no one there!
The clop-clop-clop slowed and a ghostly voice whispered, "You are a good man, John."
Then the galloping sound accelerated as though the unseen rider was eager to return to his family in Maine.
Hale, his faith restored and his heart lightened at the irrefutable proof of life everlasting, smiled, and replied, "So are you, George. So are you."
Image in top left corner is of an exhibit at the Salem Witch Museum depicting the hanging of George Burroughs.
Salem briefly attended Harvard but left when they wouldn't make him the school mascot.
