growth. The Puritans were always prone to subject themselves to its influence; and New England, at the time to which we are referring, was a most fit and congenial theatre upon which to display its power. Cultivation had made but a slight encroachment on the wilderness. Wide, dark, unexplored forests covered the hills, hung over the lonely roads, and frowned upon the scattered settlements. Persons whose lives have been passed where the surface has long been opened, and the land generally cleared, little know the power of a primitive wilderness upon the mind. There is nothing more impressive than its sombre shadows and gloomy recesses. The solitary wanderer is ever and anon startled by the strange, mysterious sounds that issue from its hidden depths. The distant fall of an ancient and decayed trunk, or the tread of animals as they prowl over the mouldering branches with which the ground is strown; the fluttering of unseen birds brushing through the foliage, or the moaning of the wind sweeping over the topmost boughs,—these all tend to excite the imagination and solemnize the mind. But the stillness of a forest is more startling and awe-inspiring than its sounds. Its silence is so deep as itself to become audible to the inner soul. It is not surprising that wooded countries have been the fruitful fountains and nurseries of superstition.
"In such a place as this, at such an hour,
If ancestry can be in aught believed,
Descending spirits have conversed with man,
And told the secrets of the world unknown."
The forests which surrounded our ancestors were the abode of a mysterious race of men of strange demeanor and unascertained origin. The aspects they presented, the stories told of them, and every thing connected with them, served to awaken fear, bewilder the imagination, and aggravate the tendencies of the general condition of things to fanatical enthusiasm.
It was the common belief, sanctioned, as will appear in the course of this discussion, not by the clergy alone, but by the most learned scholars of that and the preceding ages, that the American Indians were the subjects and worshippers of the Devil, and their powwows, wizards.
In consequence of this opinion, the entire want of confidence and sympathy to which it gave rise, and the provocations naturally incident to two races of men, of dissimilar habits, feelings, and ideas, thrown into close proximity, a state of things was soon brought about which led to conflicts and wars of the most distressing and shocking character. A strongly rooted sentiment of hostility and horror became associated in the minds of the colonists with the name of Indian. There was scarcely a village where the marks of savage violence and cruelty could not be pointed out, or an individual whose family history did not contain some illustration of the stealth, the malice or the vengeance of the savage foe. In 1689, John Bishop, and Nicholas Reed a servant of Edward Putnam; and, in 1690, Godfrey Sheldon, were killed by Indians in Salem. In the year 1691, about six months previous to the commencement of the witchcraft delusion, the county of Essex was ordered to keep twenty-four scouts constantly in the field, to guard the frontiers against the savage enemy, and to give notice of his approach, then looked for every hour with the greatest alarm and apprehension.
Events soon justified the dread of Indian hostilities felt by the people of this neighborhood. Within six years after the witchcraft delusion, incursions of the savage foe took place at various points, carrying terror to all hearts. In August, 1696, they killed or took prisoners fifteen persons at Billerica, burning many houses. In October of the same year, they came upon Newbury, and carried off and tomahawked nine persons; all of whom perished, except a lad who survived his wounds. In 1698, they made a murderous and destructive assault upon Haverhill. The story of the capture, sufferings, and heroic achievements of Hannah Dustin, belongs to the history of this event. It stands by the side of the immortal deed of Judith, and has no other parallel in all the annals of female daring and prowess. On the 3d of July, 1706, a garrison was stormed at night in Dunstable; and Holyoke, a son of Edward Putnam, with three other soldiers, was killed. He was twenty-two years of age. In 1708, seven hundred Algonquin and St. Francis Indians, under the command of French officers, fell again upon Haverhill about break of day, on the 29th of August; consigned the town to conflagration and plunder; destroyed a large amount of property; massacred the minister Mr. Rolfe, the commander of the post Captain Wainwright, together with nearly forty others; and carried off many into captivity. On this occasion, a troop of horse and a foot company from Salem Village rushed to the rescue; the then minister of the parish, the Rev. Joseph Green, seized his gun and went with them. They pursued the flying Indians for some distance. So deeply were the people of Haverhill impressed by the valor and conduct of Mr. Green and his people, that they sent a letter of thanks, and desired him to come and preach to them. He complied with the invitation, spent a Sunday there, and thus gave them an opportunity to express personally their gratitude. On other occasions, he accompanied his people on similar expeditions.
These occurrences show that the fears and anxieties of the colonists in reference to Indian assaults were not without grounds at the period of the witchcraft delusion. They were, at that very time, hanging like a storm-cloud over their heads, soon to burst, and spread death and destruction among them.
There was but little communication between the several villages and settlements. To travel from Boston to Salem, for instance, which the ordinary means of conveyance enable us to do at present in less than an hour, was then the fatiguing, adventurous, and doubtful work of an entire day.
It was the darkest and most desponding period in the civil history of New England. The people, whose ruling passion then was, as it has ever since been, a love for constitutional rights, had, a few years before, been thrown into dismay by the loss of their charter, and, from that time, kept in a feverish state of anxiety respecting their future political destinies. In addition to all this, the whole sea-coast was exposed to danger: ruthless pirates were continually prowling along the shores. Commerce was nearly extinguished, and great losses had been experienced by men in business. A recent expedition against Canada had exposed the colonies to the vengeance of France.
The province was encumbered with oppressive taxes, and weighed down by a heavy debt. The sum assessed upon Salem to defray the expenses of the country at large, the year before the witchcraft prosecutions, was £1,346. 1s. Besides this, there were the town taxes. The whole amounted, no doubt, inclusive of the support of the ministry, to a weight of taxation, considering the greater value of money at that time, of which we have no experience, and can hardly form an adequate conception. The burden pressed directly upon the whole community. There were then no great private fortunes, no moneyed institutions, no considerable foreign commerce, few, if any, articles of luxury, and no large business-capitals to intercept and divert its pressure. It was borne to its whole extent by the unaided industry of a population of extremely moderate estates and very limited earnings, and almost crushed it to the earth.
The people were dissatisfied with the new charter. They were becoming the victims of political jealousies, discontent, and animosities. They had been agitated by great revolutions. They were surrounded by alarming indications of change, and their ears were constantly assailed by rumors of war. Their minds were startled and confounded by the prevalence of prophecies and forebodings of dark and dismal events. At this most unfortunate moment, and, as it were, to crown the whole and fill up the measure of their affliction and terror, it was their universal and sober belief, that the Evil One himself was, in a special manner, let loose, and permitted to descend upon them with unexampled fury.
The people of Salem participated in their full share of the gloom and despondency that pervaded the province, and, in addition to that, had their own peculiar troubles and distresses. Within a short time, the town had lost almost all its venerable fathers and leading citizens, the men whose councils had governed and whose wisdom had guided them from the first years of the settlement of the place. Only those who are intimately acquainted with the condition of a community of simple manners and primitive feelings, such as were the early New-England settlements, can have an adequate conception of the degree to which the people were attached to their patriarchs, the extent of their dependence upon them, and the amount of the loss when they were removed.
In
