The Bay State Monthly, Volume 3, No. 6

by Various

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.