We’re almost to Halloween, and we’re almost to election day, and today I’ve got some thoughts that actually tie into both. This post was sparked by a Facebook post a friend shared talking about how “History has never been kind to women especially those who are alone and those perceived as different.”
A few days ago, I was chatting online with my siblings, and the question of our witch heritage came up. This is something that I had long thought I fully understood: one of my ancestors was Giles Corey, who was famous for refusing to plead guilty or not guilty as he was being tortured in Salem. A plea one way or the other would forfeit the right of his children to inherit anything. Refusing to plead, however, avoided this pitfall. To try to force him to plead, they placed more and more rocks on his chest, a practice called “pressing.” His last words? “More weight.”
I can’t remember where I first heard the story that we were related to him, but I’d never questioned it. It was just a part of my heritage that I thought I knew well. My brother had somehow missed the memo on all of this Salem heritage, and so he asked exactly how we were related to Giles. As a card-carrying librarian, I have a very hard time ignoring a question. And besides, it would be cool to know the exact connection.
After diving into FamilySearch, I came to the alarming realization that I couldn’t find any actual link to Corey at all in my family history. This isn’t to say we aren’t related–just that I couldn’t find the direct link. (My grandmother did a ton of family history, and I don’t have her records handy, so there might be something I’m missing.)
Was I related to any of the Salem witches at all? I could find links to a number of them that were spouses of my ancestors, but none by blood. Until I came to (ironically) the line of Lucinda Blood on my father’s side. There, I found Ann Foster, my father’s mother’s father’s mother’s father’s mother’s father’s father’s father’s mother’s mother’s mother. (That’s my 10th great grandmother, for those of you playing along at home.)
Ann was 75 years old and had been a widow for seven years when 12 year-old Ann Putnam and 17 year-old Mary Walcott accused her of cursing them with an inexplicable fever. She was promptly arrested and imprisoned, five months into what has since become widely known as the Salem Witch Trials. What exactly happened next is somewhat debated. The facts state she was questioned over the course of 4 days, during which time she confessed to being a witch, claiming she’d been visited by the devil in the shape of a bird, could curse people simply by looking at them, had ridden to Salem on a stick (broom), and knew there were 305 witches total in the area.
The facts also state that her daughter and granddaughter were both accused, and they both accused her of having been a witch.
Then again, it’s also a matter of court record that she vehemently denied her daughter was a witch, doing her best to try to exonerate her. In the end, what you believe about her basically comes down to what you choose to believe. Personally, as I read through all the transcripts and records, I see a group of powerful people pressuring an old woman to confess to outlandish things in order to get guilty verdicts for as many people as possible. People who saw what they wanted to saw, and then did whatever they could to confirm it. Ann was deeply religious, based on her statements, and I believe she suffered from an overly guilty conscience (not that abnormal for her time and place.)
Did Ann confess because she thought it might help her daughter and granddaughter? Did they accuse her because she asked them to, believing this same? Or did she really think she’d done something wrong in her life? Something that caused all this evil to happen to her and her family?
In the end, there’s no way to know for certain, and that brings me to my ultimate point. To me, Ann represents all of us. Accused and accuser. Guiltless and guilty. Victim and criminal. There is a deep-seated tendency of our country (and the world in general) to look for evil where there is none. To accuse those who are different and try to blame them for anything and everything bad that happens to us.
The ultimate root cause of what happened to Ann (and by Ann) was fear. Fear of others. Fear of ourselves. There are people on the left and right who are viewing the other side through this warped mirror of fear, and that makes people make awful decisions.
The things we’re going through today aren’t that different than what we went through more than 300 years ago. I’m not sure that’s a consolation, though it’s encouraging to realize life goes on, no matter what.
Well, at least for some people it does . . . Sometimes it’s really hard to find a silver lining, folks. I think that’s all I’ve got in me today.