18: The Boys Are Back in Town

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

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

KATE: Hello and welcome to Remarkable Providences, the podcast about ghosts and grudges, ministers and murder, and, of course, the Salem Witch Trials. I’m your tour guide, Kate Devorak.

[[Music: Peaceful.]]

If you were looking for a metaphor for the average Puritan’s unsettling ability to compartmentalize, look no further than the Salem Town meetinghouse. On Friday it was filled with the shrieks of the bewitched as they contorted and convulsed before a crowd so large they blocked the light from the windows, the rafters filled with invisible animals and the spirits of supposed God-fearing Puritans turned Satan-worshipping witches. But now it was Sunday, the Sabbath, and the building was quiet except for the sermon of Reverend John Higginson, the congregations’ heads bowed in prayer. As she sat in the meetinghouse, Susannah Sheldon was shaken from her meditation by the spector of Philip English climbing over the back of his pew. She saw him again on her way home, beckoning her to sign a book and accompanied by a black-haired man in a tall-crowned hat. The Devil, she thought. The Devil was recruiting. 

The week following the April 22nd examinations was really one for the fellas. Susannah Sheldon’s visions of Phillip English continued to plague her after the Sabbath, and Ann Putnam Jr. began to suffer at the hands of John Willard, a former sheriff’s deputy who had resigned his post when he began to suspect that more of the accused were innocent than not. Then there was the man in the tall-crowned hat. In the very first confession of the witch crisis, Tituba had described the leader of the coven as a man in black, something that likely invoked an image of a minister in the minds of the Puritans. This unholy reverend was also behind the Satanic witches’ Sabbaths that, according to the afflicted, took place in the parsonage pasture. Now, you would think that these signs would point to, perhaps, a shitty, petty minister who seemed hellbent on taking the Salem Villagers for all they were worth. Unfortunately, Samuel Parris had done his best to make himself essential to the Village congregation in these uncertain times. So who could it be? Ok, the answer should be obvious, I talked about it last episode, I just love the drama. The spector of George Burroughs had appeared to Ann Putnam Jr. before the last round of arrests, though his standing as a man of God shielded him from official complaint. But propriety could only protect him for so long. If George Burroughs was the ringleader, he needed to be stopped. 

On Saturday, April 30th, Jonathan Walcott and Thomas Putnam entered complaints against six new suspects: Dorcas Hoar and Sarah Morrell from Beverly, Lydia Dustin of Reading, Susanna Martin from Amesbury, Phillip English, and, since there was no use beating around the bush anymore, George Burroughs. John Willard was off the hook for now. 

It would take some time for the authorities to fetch Burroughs from Maine, so the rest would be rounded up for interrogation on Monday. The ladies, at least. As soon as he heard about his imminent arrest, Phillip English booked it to Boston to hide out with a business associate. Insert your own tasteless cowardly French joke here. 

[[Music: Somber.]]

Meanwhile, the marshal of New Hampshire, Jonathan Partridge, rode to Wells, Maine to apprehend Reverend Burroughs. According to lore, Burroughs was at dinner with his family when the authorities arrived. The men burst into his home without warning and nabbed him before he could finish eating. This story may be apocryphal, but it sure sounds like something the cops would do, and nonetheless captures the shock and confusion George must have felt upon learning that his former congregation wanted to try him for witchcraft. Of all the ways Burroughs probably imagined he’d go out, he couldn’t have expected this. 

As the only minister, and one of the only men, convicted and executed during the Salem witch crisis, George Burroughs is often elevated as a victim of note. He may not be as recognizable as, say, Rebecca Nurse or John Proctor–Burroughs doesn’t appear in The Crucible after all–but if you go on a tour in Salem, you’ll hear his name, if not the iconic story of his recitation of the Lord’s Prayer on the gallows. The Salem Witch History Museum (not to be confused with the Witch Museum, the Witch Dungeon Museum, or the Salem Wax Museum and Witch Village) covers him fairly extensively in their tour, which includes an incredible diorama of his arrest in Maine where he’s breaking out of handcuffs and throwing a dude across the village square due to his incredible strength. 

Unlike Rebecca Nurse and John Proctor, the details of Burroughs’ early life are a bit fuzzy. We’re not exactly sure where or when he was born. Conflicting accounts put his birth year sometime between 1650 and 1652. He may have been from a coastal town outside of Plymouth, though another source claims he was born somewhere in Virginia, and another says England. Who’s to say? He was raised in Roxbury, Massachusetts by his mother after his father returned to England. George graduated from Harvard in 1670, and married his first wife, Hannah Fisher, by 1673. By the mid-70s, the Burroughs had moved to Casco, Maine, where George served as the community’s minister. In return, he was granted 200 acres of primo stolen land near the central settlement. The English communities in the frontier suffered major losses during King Philip's War, and by April 1676, Casco was all but ashes. The family fled to Falmouth, Maine with their fellow refugees… until that settlement was also abandoned after a Wabanaki attack in August, during which Mercy Lewis’ grandparents and several other family members were killed. Once Falmouth fell, the Burroughs again relocated to Salisbury, Massachusetts, where they likely crossed paths with Ann Putnam Sr’s family, the Carrs. George served as minister there briefly after the town's previous minister died, though due to his involvement in an earlier Salisburian scandal, Burroughs couldn’t hold that position for long.

Then the Salem villagers came a’knockin. 

As you may remember from the first episode of this series, George Burroughs’ appointment followed the rather awkward departure of James Bailey. While the Village parsonage was being built, Burroughs and his family were put up by John Putnam Sr. and his wife. Hannah Burroughs died in the fall of 1681, and George borrowed money from John Putnam in order to cover the costs of her funeral. George’s failure to repay this debt would result in his arrest at the behest of the Putnams after leaving his post in 1683. Between these events, Burroughs married his second wife, Sarah Ruck Hathorne, the widow of John Hathorne’s younger brother. George seems to have been biding his time in Essex county until it was safe enough to return to the Maine settlements, seeing as he never strove for ordination or a permanent position in Salem Village, and he never bought any land. The infighting in the Village and their reluctance to pay his salary drove him out just in time for him to return to Falmouth, where he would have crossed paths with Mercy Lewis and the Hobbs family. The comfortable conditions for the colonists in Maine did not last long, however, and the Burroughs family moved south to Wells just before much of the Casco Bay area was reclaimed by the Wabanaki. Soon after, Sarah Burroughs died, and her body was sent back to Salem for burial. Soon after that, George married Mary, his third and final wife. Burroughs seemed content to settle in Wells as minister for as long as he could. And that’s where the Salem Villagers found him. 

The two main takeaways I have about George Burroughs, based on the recollections of his neighbors are that he was very strong and he was a total dick. Of course, we’re only seeing snapshots of George Burroughs’ life and behavior through court depositions. While it’s a bit unfair to judge him based on the worst things his neighbors had to report about him over the last decade of his life, I think there’s some validity in trying to sort of parse the allegations of magic from what sounds a whole lot like spousal abuse. 

From what I can gather from his physical descriptions, I’d call him small, yet ripped. A short king, if you will. The afflicted mostly describe him as small, black haired, and, in some cases, ugly, because what’s the point of being bewitched if you can’t roast grown men? And he was preternaturally strong. It’s almost like a Jean Valjean deal where it becomes one of his defining traits. One time, he lifted a full barrel of either cider or molasses out of a canoe and carried it to shore single-handedly. It was said that he could lift and fire a musket with one hand. Wooooah witchcraft. 

Now, about that alleged spousal abuse. In her earliest visions of Burroughs, Ann Putnam Jr. claimed that the ghosts of his first two wives told her they had been murdered. This probably comes from some well known gossip surrounding the minister’s home life. Cotton Mather, Burroughs’ colleague and fellow Harvard alum, who would later deem him the “King of Hell”, wrote that Burroughs, quote, “had been infamous for the barbarous usage of his two successive wives all the country over.” The Putnams commented that when he and Hannah lived with them, he was very sharp with his wife, though she was always dutiful to him. An old neighbor in Falmouth recounted an instance where Burroughs kept Hannah standing in a doorway, berating her until she passed out. According to neighbors, George and Sarah had many fallings out, and she was known to be afraid of him. I’m sure John Hathorne was thrilled by this, because as you know, the only acceptable time to abuse women is in the courtroom. 

George also seems to have trust issues. One report claimed that he and Hannah had fought because she wouldn’t write out a pledge swearing never to reveal his secrets, which is a huge red flag both as a witch and an abuser. He also allegedly forbade Sarah from writing to her father unless he read and approved the letters first. Once while strawberry picking, Sarah was talking about George while walking alone with her brother, but when they caught up with Burroughs, he scolded Sarah for what she said about him. “My God makes known your thoughts to me,” he said. Apparently, he’d also told Hannah that he knew what she said when he was absent. The Puritans may call that witchcraft, I call it Lifetime Movie evil husband shit.

[[Music: Dramatic.]]

Emerson W. Baker calls Burroughs “the perfect witch” due to his position in society, personal experiences, and suspicious behavior. As Samuel Parris was fond of pointing out in his sermons, God’s army of light was constantly challenged by Satan’s army of darkness, and though God would ultimately be victorious, Satan was still a formidable foe. If the Puritan ministers were to guide their congregations towards God’s goodness, it tracks that the Devil would use a minister to lead an unholy flock. Unlike his contemporaries, Burroughs was never ordained, and thus denied the authority to baptize and distribute communion. In the visions of the afflicted, he was able to provide the unholy versions of the sacraments. Burroughs was also rumored not to take communion himself, and some alleged that none but his eldest child was baptized. In fact, five of his children were baptized at that point, but the suspicion stands. Of the Village’s former ministers, Burroughs was the best candidate for sacrifice. Bayley was too far removed, and too closely linked to the Putnams, being brother-in-law to both Ann and Thomas Putnam, respectively. Deodat Lawson was at worst ineffectual, and the Village was stuck with Parris at this point, for better or for worse (definitely worse). 

Like John Proctor, Giles Cory, and George Jacobs, Burroughs allegedly had a history of violence and mistreatment of women. A charge of witchcraft isn’t the same as one for spousal abuse or ill treatment of servants, but the results are basically equitable, and this form of justice may have been extra incentive for the female afflicted. Then there were his ties to the Maine frontier. How had Burroughs managed to survive in the frontier when so many God-fearing Puritans (including the families of some of the afflicted) had been slaughtered or driven out by fury and flame? 

Does any of this make him a witch? Absolutely not. Does it make him an asshole? Yeah, I’d feel ok calling him an asshole. Never meet your heroes, kids. And so George Burroughs once again returned to Salem Village, this time in chains, riding through the streets while Samuel Parris looked on, probably now VERY grateful for his alliance with the Putnams. I imagine this whole scene set to a somber rendition of “The Boys Are Back in Town”.

Meanwhile, Thomas and John Putnam Jr. filed complaints against Bethia Carter, her daughter, also named Bethia, and Ann Sears of Woburn, as well as Lydia Dustin’s daughter, Sarah, all of whom would be examined with Burroughs. No records of these examinations exist, but we know all but Bethia Jr. were held for trial. Shocking, I know. 

[[Music: Mysterious.]]

Since this was a higher profile case, Hathorne and Corwin were joined by two governor’s assistants from Boston- William Stoughton and Samuel Sewall. The afflicted, of course, began convulsing once Burroughs was led into the meetinghouse, and throughout as their testimonies were read to the court. They and other “sober witnesses” attested to Burroughs’ strength and cruelty, as well as his past hints at supernatural power. Mercy Lewis recounted how that morning, the minister’s spector whisked her away to the top of a mountain, and, like Satan tempted Christ, he offered her all the kingdoms of the earth if she would sign the Devil’s book. Ann Putnam Jr. and Susanna Sheldon told of their visions of Burroughs’ dead wives. 

Side note: there are a lot of ghosts in the afflicteds’ visions, and I feel like we don’t talk enough about the ghosts. To be clear, ghosts are not the same as spectors. When I talk about a witch’s spector, it’s like an astral projection deal. A spector is the shape and essence of a witch, whereas a ghost is the manifestation of a deceased person’s soul. In some cases at least. The Puritans’ idea of a ghost is a bit different from the modern concept. The 17th century explanation for ghosts falls into one of two categories: either the spirit is the soul of the dead which, by the will of God, appears to right a wrong or settle unfinished business, or it’s just a demon. Legitimate ghosts always came with a specific request or purpose, whereas demons appeared to cause chaos or tempt the living. The ghost sightings, along with the other more fleshed-out visions claimed by some of the afflicted, signal a shift in the utilization of the accusers. It’s one thing for the bewitched to see spectors and familiars, but for them to claim insight into the invisible world is something else. They cease to be victims in this case, and instead take the role of mediums and interpreters of the spirit realm, which sounds an awful lot like witchcraft to me. This will be used as a criticism of the trials later on, but for now it seems like everybody was more or less on board with the ghosts. The magistrates were also willing to let certain inconsistencies fall by the wayside. While Ann said that the wives had been stabbed and strangled, Susanna claimed they were smothered to death. 

Burroughs was quote, “amazed” at the sight, but didn’t understand it. Because it’s wackadoodle. He pointed out that the afflicted could never quite name him in their accusations, but the magistrates countered that this was probably due to the Devil stopping their tongues. With the overwhelming “evidence” against him, Burroughs had no hope of escaping a full trial. He would be held with the rest. 

[[Music: Escalating.]]

Now at this point, with the examination of a minister and over a dozen others waiting in prison, something more would need to be done. Unfortunately, for reasons I’ll get into next time, the best the leaders of the colony could do was hold the suspects until a higher authority could approve a formal trial setting. This wouldn’t stop them from arresting more folks, though. The only way to stop a witch who acts almost exclusively through astral projection is to lock em up, I guess. On May 10th, arrest warrants were filed for George Jacobs Sr., whose spector was fond of beating the afflicted with his canes, his granddaughter, Margaret, and John Willard to stand trial that day. Willard, however, fled his home before the constables arrived. The last batch of accused, including George Burroughs, was transferred to Boston to await further trial. 

Also on May 10th, the Boston prison reported the first casualty of the witch trials. Sarah Osbourne had died, according to the warden, of “jail fever”, which is a thing you can catch if you’re an older woman with pre-existing conditions held in prison for over two months. She left a bill for her confinement, which her family would be expected to pay when they came to claim her body. Sarah Osbourne is not included in the official Salem memorial, nor are any of the other falsely accused who died in prison. I think that’s a real shame. Sarah Osbourne died as a direct result of the witch crisis. She may not have been officially tried and executed, but she suffered the same humiliation, pain, and dehumanization as those who were, and I think that’s worth remembering. 

Her fellow prisoners could only hope and pray that they would not meet the same fate as Goody Osborne before they could have their day in court. Luckily for them, I suppose, they would not be waiting much longer. Four days after George Burroughs was transferred to the Boston prison, an old colleague of his also arrived in the city. After years of petitioning the Crown in England, Increase Mather was back in Boston with a new charter, which reestablished the colony’s government, and a new governor, Sir William Phips. The missing pieces were finally coming together. 

At last, the witch trials could officially begin. 

[[Music: Outro]]

Remarkable Providences was written, researched, and performed by me, Kate Devorak. It was produced by Dan Manning, and recorded my home in beautiful Jersey City, NJ. Music from Blue Dot Sessions. Follow us on Twitter @RemarkablePod and everywhere else @RemarkableProvidences. For transcripts (like this one) and links to everything, visit http://whisperforge.org/remarkableprovidences. If you like the show, rate and review, or just tell your friends about it, that really helps us out. This show is made possible by our wonderful patrons. If you’d like to join them, visit our Patreon. 

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