THE MONUMENT AND HOMESTEAD OF REBECCA NURSE.
By Elizabeth Porter Gould.
Perhaps the greatest incentive to ideal living in a changing world is the firmly held conviction that truth will finally vindicate itself. When this vindication is made apparent, as in the case of Rebecca Nurse, one of the most striking martyrs of the Salem witchcraft days of 1692, the cause of human progress seems assured. For it is thus seen that truth has within itself a living seed which in its development is destined to become man's guide to further knowledge and growth. This idea was impressed upon me anew as I stood before the granite monument, some eight and a half feet high, erected this past summer in Danvers,—originally Salem,—to the memory of Mrs. Rebecca Nurse, by her descendants. A carpet of green grass surrounded it, and a circle of nearly twenty pine trees guarded it as sentinels. The pines were singing their summer requiem as I read on the front of the monument these words:—
REBECCA NURSE,
YARMOUTH, ENGLAND,
1621.
SALEM, MASS.,
1692.
O Christian martyr, who for Truth could die
When all about thee owned the hideous lie,
The world, redeemed from Superstition's sway,
Is breathing freer for thy sake to-day.
I lingered a moment over these fitting lines of Whittier, whose charming home, "Oak Knoll," a short distance off, had just given me a restful pleasure. Then I walked around to the other side of the monument, where I read, with mingled feelings, the following words:—
Accused of witchcraft
She declared,
"I am innocent, and God will
clear my innocency."
Once acquitted yet falsely
condemned, she suffered
death July 19, 1692.
In loving memory of her
Christian character,
even then truly attested by
forty of her neighbors,
this monument is erected.
These last lines reminded me of the fact that the paper with its forty signatures, testifying to the forty years' acquaintance of the good character of Rebecca Nurse, was still in existence. Alas! why couldn't such a testimony of neighbors and friends have saved her? But it was not so to be. The government of the colony, the influence of the magistracy, and public opinion elsewhere, overpowered all friendly and family help; and on the 19th July, 1692, at the advanced age of seventy-one years, Rebecca Nurse was hung on Gallows hill.
As I left the monument, which is in the old family burying-ground, and wandered up the time-honored lane towards the homestead where she was living when arrested, the March before, my thoughts would go back to those dreadful days. I thought of this venerable mother's surprise and wonder, as she learned of the several distinct indictments against her, four of which, for having practised "certain detestable acts called witchcraft" upon Ann Putnam, Mary Walcot, Elizabeth Hubbard, and Abigail Williams, were still to be found in the Salem records. I thought of the feelings of this old and feeble woman as she was borne to the Salem jail, then a month later sent off, with other prisoners, to the jail in Boston (then a whole day's journey), to be sent back to Salem for her final doom. I pictured her on trial, when, in the presence of her accusers, the "afflicted girls," and the assembled crowd, she constantly declared her innocence ("I am innocent, and God will clear my innocency"), and showed a remarkable power in refuting the questions of the magistrate. I thought of her Christian faith and courage, when, upon seeing all the assembly, and even the magistrate, putting faith in the "afflicted girls'" diabolical tantrums (what else can I call them?) as there enacted, and now preserved in the records of the trial, she calmiy said, "I have got nobody to look to but God." I again pictured her, as, just before the horrors of execution, she was taken from the prison to the meeting-house, by the sheriff and his men, to receive before a great crowd of spectators the added disgrace of excommunication from the Church.
But I could picture no more. My heart rebelled. And as I had now reached the old homestead on the hill I paused a moment, before entering, to rest under the shade of the trees and to enjoy the extensive views of the surrounding country. This comforted my troubled feelings, and suggested the thought that in the fourteen years that Rebecca Nurse had lived there she must have often come under the shade of the trees, perhaps after hours of hard work and care, to commune alone with her God. How could I help thinking so when there came up before me her answer to the magistrate's question, "Have you familiarity with these spirits?"—"No, I have none but with God alone." Surely, to one who knew Him as she did, who in calm strength could declare her innocence when many around her, as innocent as she, were frightened into doubt and denial, the quiet and rest of nature must have been a necessary means of courage and strength.
Then what did not the old house, with its sloping roof, tell me, as it still stood where Townsend Bishop had built it in 1636, upon receiving a grant of three hundred acres? Yes, this old "Bishop's mansion," as the deed calls it, had felt the joys and sorrows of our common human life for almost two hundred and fifty years. It had known the friends whom Townsend Bishop, as one of the accomplished men of Salem village, had gathered about him in the few years that he had lived there. It must have heard some of Hugh Peters' interesting experiences, since, as pastor of the First Church those very years (1636-1641), he was a frequent visitor. Why couldn't one think that Roger Williams had often come to compare notes on house-building, since he owned the "old witch house" (still standing on the corner of Essex and North streets) at the same time that Mr. Bishop was building his house? It certainly was a pleasure to remember that Governor Endicott once owned and lived on this farm. He bought it in 1648, for one hundred and sixty pounds, of Henry Checkering, to whom Mr. Bishop had sold it seven years before.
I recalled many other things, that summer day, concerning this ancient place. Shall I not tell them? While the Governor lived on it he continued his good work for the general opening of the country around about. Among other things he laid out the road that passes its entrance-gate to-day.
Here his son John brought his youthful Boston bride, and gave to her the place as a "marriage-gift." Then, some years later, she, the widow of John, having become the bride of a Mr. James Allen, gave it to him as a "marriage-gift;" and upon her death, in 1673, he became the possessor. Five years later he sold it to Francis Nurse, the husband of Rebecca, for four hundred pounds. Mr. Nurse was an early settler of Salem, a "tray-maker," whose articles were much used. He was a man of good judgment, and respected by his neighbors. He was then fifty-eight years of age, and his wife fifty-seven. They had four sons and four daughters. The peculiar terms of the purchase had always seemed interesting to me; for the purchase-money of four hundred pounds was not required to be paid until the expiration of twenty-one years. In the meantime a moderate rent of seven pounds a year for the first twelve years, and ten pounds for each of the remaining nine years, was determined upon. Suitable men were appointed to estimate the value of what Mr. Nurse should add to the estate while living upon it, by clearing meadows, erecting buildings, or making other improvements. This value over one hundred and fifty pounds was to be paid to him. These various sums, if paid over to Mr. Allen before the twenty-one years had expired, would make a proportionate part of the farm at Mr. Nurse's disposal.
The low rent and the industrious, frugal habits of Mr. Nurse and his family, added to the fact that not a dollar was required to be paid down at first, led to the making of such good improvements that before half the time had elapsed a value was created large enough to pay the whole four hundred pounds to Mr. Allen. When Mr. Nurse thus became owner of this estate he gave to his children, who had already good homes within its boundaries, the larger half of the farm, while he reserved for himself the homestead and the rest of the land. By the deeds he gave them, they were required to maintain a roadway to connect with the old homestead and with the homes of each other.
While the different members of the Nurse family were thus working hard for the money to buy the place there was hanging over its owner the shadow of litigation for its possession. But this was Mr. Allen's affair, not theirs, so they went on their way in peace. Indeed, it has been thought that their steady success in life was one cause of their future trouble. They became objects of envy to those restless ones less favored. And so, when the opportunity came to merely whisper a name for the "afflicted girls" to take up, Rebecca Nurse's fate was in the hands of an enemy. A striking example of the innocent suffering for the guilty. Does not vicarious suffering seem to be an important factor in the development of the race? Two years after, this faithful wife and mother had been led from her peaceful home to suffer the agonies of prisons, trials, and hanging. When the children had all married, the father gave up the homestead to his son Samuel, and divided his remaining property among his sons and daughters. He died soon after, in 1695. He was a kind, true father, whose requests after death were heeded. This homestead was in the Nurse name as late as 1784, when it was owned by a great-grandson of Rebecca. He sold it to Phineas Putnam, a descendant of old Nathaniel Putnam, who, in the hour of need, wrote the paper for the forty signatures above mentioned. The estate descended to the great-grandson of Phineas, Orin Putnam, who, in 1836, married the daughter of Allen Nurse. And thus a direct descendant of Rebecca Nurse was again placed to preside over the ancestral farm, and to their descendants it belongs to-day.
After thus thinking over this interesting history of the old place, as I reclined under the shade of its trees, I was better prepared to enjoy the kind hospitality which it then offered me. I felt a peculiar pleasure in stepping into the same little front porch which Townsend Bishop had built so many years ago. And upon ascending the stairs I found myself lingering a while by the old original balusters, the building of which Roger Williams had perhaps viewed with interest. Upon reaching the attic it was a pleasure, indeed, to see in this new world the frame-work of a house which for two hundred and fifty years had stood so well the test of nature in all her moods. No saw was used in shaping those oaken timbers. They knew only the broad-axe. From this attic I descended to the sitting-room, to spend a while under the same low beams which had greeted the first visitors of the house. Here I imagined the Nurse family living in quiet and peace. Here I pictured the son Samuel, as, later, he wondered over and over again how he could remove the reproach which was on his mother's name. And I thought that to him his descendants owed much, for it was mainly to his pleadings that the General Court exonerated her in 1710, and the Church in 1712.
While sitting there I learned of some alterations which had been made from time to time: how the front of the house, before which the old roadway used to be, had been widened by extending the western end beyond the porch.
As I came out of the house upon the green grass around it, I enjoyed again the grand outlook over the surrounding country,—the same which in the days of agony had strengthened human souls,—and then walked down the hill, by the family burying-ground, out through the entrance-gate into Collins street, the public thoroughfare.
I left the monument and its interesting associations that August day of 1885 (it was dedicated only the July 30 before) with the feeling that as the present descendants of Rebecca Nurse owe much to her son Samuel, so their future descendants will be indebted to them for the appropriate manner in which they have still further striven to vindicate before the world the innocence of a much-wronged ancestor.