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Deputy Governor William Jones, one of the magistrates in the special court, “had devoted considerable time and energy to reading legal manuals and theological works that discussed the issues involved in witchcraft cases,” despite having no formal legal training, which was typical of magistrates (88). The author notes that the death penalty was not taken lightly; even in cases where magistrates believed the guilt of the accused, without clear, concrete evidence, the preference was to sentence the accused to something short of the death penalty. Public opinion, however, was another matter, and the public “often considered the evidence presented in court to be clearly damning and felt betrayed if the accused was acquitted” (89).
After careful study of both precedent and legal philosophy, Jones wrote a seven-point memorandum outlining the grounds for examining a witch; if any one of the conditions were met, it would be grounds for examination, but not conviction. By the grounds outlined in the memorandum, all of the accused had been rightfully detained.
There was some debate as to whether or not Goody Clawson and Goody Disborough satisfied the sixth requirement, that the suspected have “the Devil’s mark,” or witch’s teat, a small abnormality that was thought to allow demons to feed on blood from the accused. While the women who examined Goody Disborough did believe she had such a mark, those who examined Goody Clawson felt that she had nothing abnormal on her body. However, “it was easier said than done to establish whether a marking or growth was natural or supernatural” (94). Accordingly, on a third examination, there were some who felt Goody Clawson did, in fact, bear an abnormality.
Proving that someone was a witch was another matter, and there were three common categories of evidence that were not considered to be sufficient. First, using “red-hot iron and scalding water” and throwing the accused bound into the water were considered to be outdated methods (96). Second, “the testimony of a wizard who pretends to show the face of the witch to the party afflicted in a glass,” as such testimony could be a lie (99). Third, “[i]f after curses and threats mischief follow or if a sick person likely to die take it on his death that such a one has bewitched him,” this would be cause for inquiry, but not for conviction (100).
Two proofs were considered to be sufficient for conviction: first, a confession from the accused; second, “the testimony of two witnesses of good and honest report” showing that “the party accused hath made a league with the Devil or 2nd hath done some known practices of witchcraft” (102). Arguments were supported with Biblical passages, and, as the author notes, the “law’s wording reflected a theological perspective, treating the crime as a form of heresy in which the offender forsook Christianity” (102). Yet, “[m]ost witnesses in witch trials were preoccupied with practical issues,” rather than spiritual or theological ones, and “ordinary folk continued to focus on witchcraft as a practical menace, not as a spiritual betrayal” (103). Further, there had previously been cases of coerced confessions; Jones and the other magistrates “would have to take great care that their statements were completely voluntary” (104).
As Kate was the sole witness for many of the accusations, this made things difficult, particularly as many in Stamford doubted Kate’s afflictions. Some felt, for example, that she may have been incriminating Goody Clawson and Goody Disborough for the sake of the Wescots, and Jones may have noticed that Kate did not mention anything about the Devil until after the two ministers had visited her, suggesting they may have planted the idea in her mind, if even accidentally. More promising were the marks found on Goody Disborough’s body, though no one had seen Mercy put them to use.
One other possibility was to show that the accused was known to practice witchcraft. New Englanders distinguished between harmful and beneficial occult powers, and often called upon people known as “cunning folk” to help them in times of need. If “the accused had a history of using occult means to tell fortunes or heal the sick,” this may warrant conviction “not because they considered these activities objectionable but because they showed that the defendant did indeed have occult powers” (107).
The trial of Elizabeth Clawson and Mercy Disborough began on 14 September 1692 in Fairfield. Despite that the grand jurymen had ruled that there was enough evidence to move forward with a trial for Mary Staples and Mary and Hannah Harvey, the magistrates disagreed and dismissed their cases. However, there was no such disagreement regarding Goody Clawson and Goody Disborough, so a separate trial jury was sworn in for their joint trial.
The author notes that there is no record of what the courtroom was like—e.g., if it was calm and reserved, or wild and rambunctious (as it was in Salem), or even if Katherine Branch gave her own testimony or had it read for her.
The jurymen were reminded that they must consider the specific charges: “familiarity with Satan, the grand enemy of God and man” (111). As stated earlier, this was a point of difference between the law and the instincts of the public: “The witnesses focused on who had a motive to inflict occult harm on the victims, not how the harm was inflicted or whether the Devil was involved,” and “[n]ot all of the jurymen were convinced that the two women were guilty of witchcraft” (112-13). As a result, the jurymen were unable to reach a clear verdict; this was problematic for a number of reasons, but not least of all that the magistrates could not stay in Fairfield indefinitely.
The magistrates had several options at their disposal; in order to buy time and avoid interference, they deferred to the Connecticut representative assembly for assistance, assuming (correctly) that the representatives would insist “that the special court must itself take responsibility for ensuring that the cases were resolved in a timely and judicious fashion” (114). In the meantime, though, the special court had also chosen to seek help from Connecticut’s ministers, who, unlike the magistrates, were “trained for their vocation either at Harvard College in Cambridge, Massachusetts, or at one of England’s universities; there they acquired extensive learning and the specific knowledge with which to make sense of cases involving preternatural phenomena” (115).
The ministers delivered their report on 17 October, offering several distinct recommendations. The first was a condemnation of ducking as a method of determining whether or not one was a witch. The second was that “unusual excrescences found upon [the accused’s] bodies ought not to be allowed as evidence against them without the approbation of some able physicians”; in other words, without an examination by a male doctor, rather than a woman (116). Third, the ministers expressed suspicion of Kate’s testimony, stating that they “cannot think her a sufficient witness” (117). Lastly, the ministers suggested that the “strange accidents” ascribed to the women were “uncertain grounds” for conviction (117): “The ministers did not reject the possibility that Elizabeth Clawson and Mercy Disborough were witches, but they did repudiate the evidence before the court as a sound basis for conviction” (118).
The court reconvened on 28 October. Mercy Disborough was found guilty by the jurymen. William Jones reminded them of the narrow definition of the charges and asked them to rethink their verdict; however, the jurymen did not alter their stance, and, as a result, Mercy Disborough was sentenced to death by hanging. Goody Clawson, on the other hand, was declared not guilty by the jurymen, which was a relief to the magistrates; without the Devil’s mark, there was no clear evidence for conviction, so a guilty verdict would have had to have been overturned.
Following the verdict, “a group of Mercy Disborough’s supporters submitted a petition pointing out that one of the original jurors […] had failed to attend the second session in October because he was away on business”; these supporters argued that the “substitution was illegal” (122). Six months later, in May 1693, the General Court sided with the petitioners, going so far as to argue that “[i]n convicting a murderer without due process […] those responsible were themselves guilty of murder” (124). They stayed Mercy’s execution until the evidence could be reexamined, and ultimately acquitted her.
There is no record of what happened to Mercy Disborough following her acquittal and release. The author notes that it is possible she was simply allowed to live her life, or that her husband came to her aid, but it is also possible that she was harassed, that her husband blamed her for any ensuing troubles, or even worse, that the townspeople had decided to take matters into their own hands: “The law was only one way of dealing with a witch” (125).
The final two chapters focus on the trial itself, from two perspectives. Chapter 5, as Chapter 3 also did, emphasizes the logistical and philosophical concerns of the magistrates, this time through the perspective of William Jones. One important distinction between the modern era and Stamford of 1692 is our expectations of expertise; one might be surprised to learn, as is reinforced throughout the text, that the men responsible for overseeing the proceedings were simply men of stature, not people who had studied the law extensively, or even at all. William Jones, for example, had no legal training, yet was responsible, along with the other magistrates, for overseeing a trial that could very well lead to an execution (and nearly did). While we see the effort Jones put into researching and learning legal precedent, the author also frequently reiterates the insecurity and uncertainty Jones felt regarding his interpretations of the documents he read. Further, while one might commend Jones for reaching out to those who might have a better understanding of the legal precedent, he and the other magistrates ultimately, and inexplicably, disregard their recommendations.
Godbeer further undermines the modern, common understanding of irrationality by presenting a more nuanced version of the clergy and religion more broadly; that is, it’s easy to point at the religious roots of the Salem panic, but the reality is more complicated. First, in contrast with the lack of formal training held by the magistrates, the clergy were often highly educated for the era; Stamford, for example, had no local physician, but did have an Oxford-educated minister in John Bishop, and when William Jones needed interpretive assistance, he sought it from Connecticut’s ministers, not lawmakers, as they were the learned ones. Second, while the townspeople were, generally, religious people, the subject of witchcraft was a bit of a gray area: many people sought assistance from “cunning folk” who were known to have occult powers, and such people were not targeted unless they were believed to have used their powers for evil, rather than good—in other words, it was the intent, rather than the practice, that drew the ire of the public. Lastly, to that end, the aims of the trials differed, as well; whereas the state was concerned with the theological implications of the practice of witchcraft, the average person was concerned with the practical and personal result, seeking restitution more as one would as a victim of theft or assault than as a victim of the supernatural.
One further stated aim of the author is to tell the stories of the women who were accused, so it is further interesting to note how little we seem to have of their lives outside of the trial, or even during the trial itself. Godbeer notes, for example, that we have no account of Elizabeth Clawson or Mercy Disborough during the hearings—no discussion of how they comported themselves or what they had to say. Further, though Mercy Disborough arguably experienced the greatest injustice, we have no account of her following her eventual acquittal—did she live out her days in peace? Did her husband stand by her? Did an angry mob arrange for her demise, as had happened in other instances?
This, of course, reflects the low value placed on women’s lives at the time, but it also reiterates a sentiment expressed earlier in the text: that it wasn’t uncommon for magistrates to acquit defendants in court while still expressing the belief that they were, in fact, up to no good, suggesting that the recordkeepers at the time were only concerned with the trial, not the person.
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