The Diary of Prudence Peabody, Essay Example

The following narrative was written on July 24, 1692, while sitting in a filthy jail cell waiting to be hung by the neck until I am dead at Gallows Hill in the village of Salem, Commonwealth of Massachusetts. What was my crime, you might ask? The same as Sarah Good, Rebecca Nurse, Elizabeth Howe, Sarah Wildes, and Susannah Martin, all of whom were executed a mere five days ago for practicing witchcraft. Let me say that I am totally innocent of all the charges levied against me by the black-robed judges of Salem. But I am not alone in being charged with the practice of witchcraft. Three other innocent women are also being held awaiting their fate at Gallow’s Hill.

As to my personal history, I was born in 1652 in the city of London where I lived with my God-fearing Catholic parents and three younger siblings. My childhood was nothing out of the ordinary, nor was my upbringing as a strict Catholic in a household that attended church regularly. Before arriving in the village of Salem some three years ago aboard the HMS Purity out of Portsmouth, England, I had never even encountered the word “witchcraft” and knew absolutely nothing about it. My father did not allow any books in his house except for the Holy Bible and a few books of catechism which I studied under his watchful and protective eyes. My mother doted upon her children and obeyed the orders of her husband without question. However, I myself found life at home tedious and unrewarding, so once I had saved enough money for the trip to America, I bid farewell to England and never looked back.

My first port of call once arriving in America was the city of Boston, where I found a position as a tavern maid. Here I remained for several months until deciding to leave the squalor and destitution of Boston and head for greener pastures somewhere in the wilds of Massachusetts. After walking some distance, I was provided with transportation by a kindly farmer who told me that Salem was a good place to settle down. So, I took his advice and found some lodging in a boarding house run by a woman who called herself Martha Perkins.

Mistress Perkins almost immediately took a disliking for me and accused me of stealing food from her kitchen. I of course did nothing of the sort because I was brought up to believe that theft is a mortal sin against God and His holy commandments. A short time later, several village girls befriended me and invited me to join them at church on Sunday. This continued for awhile until one day, the father of one of the girls confronted me on the street and accused me of bewitching his young daughter Priscilla. Once again, I knew nothing of what he was saying and simply walked away.

About one week later, I happened to meet a woman who was visiting a friend in the room directly across from mine at the boarding house–her name was Sarah Wildes who like myself was from England and had a reputation as a non-conformist, especially related to Puritanism. Sarah had lived in Salem for quite sometime with her husband Ephraim, a Salem constable and town treasurer with close connections to the judges that condemned me to death. Sarah told me during one of our clandestine meetings that she had been publicly whipped for fornication in 1649, and (how ridiculous!) for wearing a silk scarf in public in 1663. Her relationship with her in-laws was precarious to say the least; in fact, it was so precarious that her ex-sister-in-law began spreading rumors in Salem that she was a witch.

Then, after the rumors had spread significantly throughout the village of Salem, Sarah Wildes was arrested and jailed for practicing witchcraft without any evidence against her whatsoever. Since everyone in Salem knew that Sarah and I were friends, I assumed that it was only a matter of time before I too would be accused of practicing the Black Arts. This assumption turned out to be quite accurate, for one night, a knock came to my door at the boarding house, and upon opening the door, I beheld three men standing in the threshold. After asking me if I was Prudence Peabody, the tallest one announced that the husband of Sarah Wildes had accused me of witchcraft. Obviously, his word was as good as gold, for within a few moments, my hands were bound with a length of rope and I was led out of the boarding house and into the darkness of Salem.

Like so many other accused witches, my trial was short and to be point and although there existed no solid evidence to support the idea that I myself am a witch, the judges nonetheless convicted me. Since I am a woman, I have under Puritan law no rights whatsoever and must always follow the dictates of the village elders who for the most part, are ignorant of the true nature of the world that surrounds them.

As I mentioned at the beginning of this diary narrative, Sarah Good, Rebecca Nurse, Elizabeth Howe, Sarah Wildes, and Susannah Martin were executed for practicing witchcraft less than a week past. Unfortunately, they were not the first Salem women to be hanged for allegedly conspiring with the Devil. The first was Bridget Bishop who was hanged at Gallow’s Hill in June of this year. Although I did not personally know Mistress Bishop, I was told by some reliable sources that shall remain anonymous that Bishop was charged but not convicted of practicing witchcraft some ten years hence. But this did not prevent the Puritans of Salem from pointing their fingers at Mistress Bishop as a witch.

I was also told that because Mistress Bishop’s house was in deplorable condition, it was necessary to reinforce the walls of her house by adding some support in the cellar, where workers discovered some figures of some type hidden in cubbyholes. A few of these figures which I assume were dolls, had silver pins stuck in their bodies. Thus, for the judges of Salem, this was sufficient evidence that Mistress Bishop was a practicing witch. For myself, I cannot say whether any of which I have just spoken of is true and factual.

Many times over the last several weeks, I have attempted all in vain to ascertain why all of this witch activity is occurring in the little village of Salem. Is there a so-called Master of the Black Arts living in Salem under the guise of a leading constable or magistrate? As a matter of fact, some have suggested that this Master is none other than Mr. George Burroughs who serves as a minister for one of Salem’s churches. One reason I assume for this allegation against Mr. Burroughs is because of his questionable behavior outside of the church in relation to his three wives, all of whom are now dead and buried in the Salem churchyard. It was also brought to my attention by Mistress Wildes that Mr. Burroughs had a keen interest in the occult and often boasted while under the influence of drink that he possessed certain powers as a warlock or a male witch. Once again, whether these allegations are true is something that I cannot comment on because of the lack of knowing.

I must also mention my own personal beliefs on why the little village of Salem, Massachusetts, has experienced a rash of witchcraft-related activities within the last several months. It seems to me that the Puritan fathers of Salem are caught up in some sort of religious fervor that compels them to seek out those who do not share their Puritan ideals and tenets. In other words, they are seeking non-conformists like Bridget Bishop who allegedly operated a tavern on the outskirts of Salem, Rebecca Nurse who defied all of the conventions of Puritanism, and Sarah Wildes who once confessed to me that she had several 15th century books on the Black Arts but burned them out of fear of having the books discovered inside of her modest home. I should also note that some of the young girls that accused Rebecca Nurse and others of placing an enchantment upon them were only seeking recognition and favors from their elders which might explain why, as Sarah once related, that they pretended to be possessed by the Devil and his hordes of dark angels.

As I sit here in my jail cell waiting to be hung by the neck until I am dead at Gallow’s Hill, a strange sense of calm and relief has taken over my body and mind, almost as if God Himself is attempting to comfort me in my desperate hour of need. But no matter, I know that within a few hours or perhaps a few short minutes that my cell door will swing open and I will be led barefoot with a noose around my neck to the pathway that leads to the top of Gallow’s Hill. Although I am completely innocent of all the charges levied against me by the black-robed judges of Salem, perhaps this is God’s way of punishing me for some past digressions or, and I say this with much reluctance, I have been singled out among all of the citizens of Salem as a way of demonstrating the power of religious prejudice and the long-held traditional system of patriarchy.