RACHEL DYER.
Theearly history of New-England, or of Massachusetts Bay, rather; now one of the six New-England States of North America, and that on which the Plymouth settlers, or “Fathers” went ashore—the shipwrecked men of mighty age, abounds with proof that witchcraft was a familiar study, and that witches and wizards were believed in for a great while, among the most enlightened part of a large and well-educated religious population. The multitude of course had a like faith; for such authority governs the multitude every where, and at all times.
The belief was very general about a hundred years ago in every part of British America, was very common fifty years ago, when the revolutionary war broke out, and prevails now, even to this day in the wilder parts of the New-England territory, as well as in the new States which are springing up every where in the retreating shadow of the great western wilderness—a wood where half the men of Europe might easily hide from each other—and every where along the shores of the solitude, as if the new earth were full of the seed of empire, as if dominion were like fresh flowers or magnificent herbage, the spontaneous growth of a new soil wherever it is reached by the warm light or the cheerful rain of a new sky.
It is not confined however, nor was it a hundred and thirty five years ago, the particular period of our story, to the uneducated and barbarous, or to a portion of the white people of North-America, nor to the native Indians, a part of whose awful faith, a part of whose inherited religion it is to believe in a bad power, in witchcraft spells and sorcery. It may be met with wherever the Bible is much read in the spirit of the New-England Fathers. It was rooted in the very nature of those who were quite remarkable in the history of their age, for learning, for wisdom, for courage and for piety; of men who fled away from their fire-sides in Europe to the rocks of another world—where they buried themselves alive in search of truth.
We may smile now to hear witchcraft spoken seriously of; but we forget perhaps that a belief in it is like a belief in the after appearance of the dead among the blue waters, the green graves, the still starry atmosphere and the great shadowy woods of our earth; or like the beautiful deep instinct of our nature for worship,—older than the skies, it may be, universal as thought, and sure as the steadfast hope of immortality.
We may turn away with a sneer now from the devout believer in witches, wondering at the folly of them that have such faith, and quite persuading ourselves in our great wisdom, that all who have had it heretofore, however they may have been regarded by ages that have gone by, were not of a truth wise and great men; but we forget perhaps that we are told in the Book of Books, the Scriptures of Truth, about witches with power to raise the dead, about wizards and sorcerers that were able to strive with Jehovah’s anointed high priest before the misbelieving majesty of Egypt, with all his court and people gathered about his throne for proof, and of otherswho could look into futurity with power, interpret the vision of sleep, read the stars, bewitch and afflict whom they would, cast out devils and prophesy—false prophets were they called, not because that which they said was untrue, but because that which they said, whether true or untrue, was not from above—because the origin of their preternatural power was bad or untrue. And we forget moreover that laws were made about conjuration, spells and witchcraft by a body of British lawgivers, renowned for their sagacity, deep research, and grave thoughtful regard for truth, but a few years ago—the other day as it were—and that a multitude of superior men have recorded their belief in witchcraft—men of prodigious power—such men as the great and good Sir Matthew Hale, who gave judgment of death upon several witches and wizards, at a period when, if we may believe a tithe of what we hear every day of our lives, from the mouth of many a great lawyer, there was no lack of wit or wisdom, nor of knowledge or faithful enquiry; and such men too as the celebrated author of the Commentaries on the Laws of England, which are, “as every body knows, or should know, and a man must be exceedingly ignorant not to know” the pride of the British empire and a pillar of light for the sages of hereafter; and that within the last one hundred and fifty or two hundred years, a multitude of men and women have been tried and executed by authority of British law, in the heart of England, for having dealt in sorcery and witchcraft.
We may smile—we may sneer—but would such things have occurred in the British Parliament, or in the British courts of law, without some proof—whatever, it was—proof to the understandings of people, who in other matters are looked up to by the chief men of this age withabsolute awe—that creatures endowed with strange, if not with preternatural power, did inhabit our earth and were able to work mischief according to the popular ideas of witchcraft and sorcery?
We know little or nothing of the facts upon which their belief was founded. All that we know is but hearsay, tradition or conjecture. They who believed were eye-witnesses and ear witnesses of what they believed; we who disbelieve are neither. They who believed knew all that we know of the matter and much more; we who disbelieve are not only ignorant of the facts, but we are living afar off, in a remote age. Nevertheless, they believed in witchcraft, and we regard all who speak of it seriously, with contempt. How dare we! What right have we to say that witches and witchcraft are no more, that sorcery is done with forever, that miracles are never to be wrought again, or that Prophecy shall never be heard again by the people of God, uplifting her voice like a thousand echoes from the everlasting solitudes of the sea, or like uninterrupted heavy thunder breaking over the terrible and haughty nations of our earth?
Why should we not think as well of him who believes too much, as of him who believes too little? Of him whose faith, whatever it may be, is too large, as of him whose faith, whatever it may be, is too small? Of the good with a credulous temper, as of the great with a suspicious temper? Of the pure in heart, of the youthful, of the untried in the ways of the world, who put much faith in whatever they are told, too much it may be, as of them who being thoroughly tried in the ways of the world put no faith in what they hear, and little in what they see? Of the humble in spirit who believe,thoughthey do not perfectly understand, as of the haughty who will not believebecausethey do not perfectly understand?Of the poor child who thinks a juggler eats fire when he does not, as of the grown-up sage who thinks a juggler doesnotswallow a sword when hedoes? Of the believer in Crusoe, who sits poring over the story under a hedge, as of the unbeliever in Bruce who would not believe, so long as it was new, in the Tale of Abyssinia? Of those in short who are led astray by self-distrust, or innocence, or humility, as of them who are led astray by self-conceit, or corruption, or pride?
In other days, the Lion of the desert would not believe the horse when he came up out of the bleak north, and told a story of waters and seas that grew solid, quiet and smooth in the dead of winter. His majesty had never heard of such a thing before, and what his majesty had never heard of before could not be possible. The mighty lord of the Numedian desert could not believe—how could he?—in a cock-and-a-bull-story, about ice and snow; for to him they were both as a multitude of such things are to the philosophy of our age, out of the course of nature.
A solid sea and a fluid earth are alike to such as have no belief in what is new or contrary to that course of nature with which they are acquainted—whatever that may be. There is no such thing as proof to the over-wise or over mighty, save where by reason of what they already know, there is not much need of other proof.—They would not believe, though one should rise from the dead—they are too cautious by half; they are not satisfied with any sort of testimony; they dare not believe their own eyes—they do not indeed; for spectres when they appear to the eye of the philosopher now, are attributed altogether to a diseased organ.[3]They care not for the cloud of witnesses—they withdraw from the Bible, they scoff at history, and while they themselvesreject every kind of proof, whatever it may be, such proof as they would be satisfied with in a case of murder, were they to hear it as a jury—such proof as they would give judgment of death upon, without fear, proof under oath by men of high character and severe probity, eye-witnesses and ear-witnesses of what they swear to—they ridicule those who undertake to weigh it with care, and pursue with scorn or pity those who shiver through all their arteries at a story of the preternatural.
[3]As by the printer of Berlin. See also Beasley’s Search after Truth.
[3]As by the printer of Berlin. See also Beasley’s Search after Truth.
As if it were a mark of deplorable fatuity for a babe to believe now as a multitude of wise and great and gifted men have heretofore believed in every age of the world! As if to think it possible for such to have been right in their belief, were too absurd for excuse now—such men as the holy Greek, the upright immovable Socrates, who persuaded himself that he was watched over by a sort of household spirit; such men too as the “bald” Cæsar, and the rock-hearted Brutus, both of whom spite of their imperial nature and high place among the warlike and mighty of their age, believed in that, and shook before that which whether deceitful or not, substance or shadow, the very cowards of our day are too brave to be scared with, too full of courage to put their trust in—afraid as they are of that, which the Roman pair would have met with a stern smile and a free step; such men too of a later age, as the profound, wise and pure Sir Matthew Hale, who put many to death for witchcraft—so clear was the proof, and so clear the nature of the crime—while the nature of larceny, the nature of common theft was forever a mystery to him, if we may believe what we hear out of his own mouth; such men too as the celebrated Judge Blackstone, who after a thorough sifting of the law, says—“It seems to be most eligible to conclude that in general there has been such a thing as witchcraft, though we cannot give credit to any particularmodern instance of it;” such men too as Doctor Samuel Johnson, L. L. D. who saw through all the hypocricy and subterfuge of our day, when he said, speaking of a superstitious belief, that men who deny it by their words, confess it by their fears—nothing was ever so true! we who are most afraid, want courage to own it; such men too as the Lord Protector of England, while she was a commonwealth; and such as he, the Desolator—
“........... From whose reluctant hand,The thunder-bolt was wrung”—
“........... From whose reluctant hand,The thunder-bolt was wrung”—
“........... From whose reluctant hand,The thunder-bolt was wrung”—
“........... From whose reluctant hand,
The thunder-bolt was wrung”—
for they were both believers in what the very rabble of our earth deride now; such men, too, as the chief among poets—Byron—for he believed in the words of a poor old gypsey, and shook with fear, and faltered on the way to his bridal-chamber, when he thought of the prophecy she had uttered years and years before, in the morning of his haughty youth; such men too as the head lawgiver of our day, the High-Priest of Legislation, the great and good, the benevolent, the courageous Bentham, who to this hour is half afraid in the dark, and only able to satisfy himself about the folly of such fear, when his night-cap is off, by resorting with suitable gravity to his old refuge, the exhaustive mode of reasoning. If a ghost appear at all, argues he, it must appear either clothed or not clothed. But a ghost never appears not clothed, or naked; and if it appear clothed, we shall have not only the ghost of a human creature—which is bad enough; but the ghost of a particular kind of cloth of a particular fashion, the ghost of a pocket-handkerchief, or a night-cap—which is too bad.
Thus much for authority: and here, but for one little circumstance we should take up our narrative, and pursue it without turning to the right or the left, until we came to the sorrowful issue; but as we may have hereand there a reader, in this unbelieving age, who has no regard for authority, nor much respect for the wisdom of our ancestors, what if we try to put the whole argument into a more conclusive shape? It may require but a few pages, and a few pages may go far to allay the wrath of modern philosophy. If we throw aside the privilege of authorship, and speak, not as a multitude but as one of the true faith, our argument would stand thus:
In a word, whatever the philosophy of our age may say, I cannot look upon witchcraft and sorcery as the unbeliever does. I know enough what the fashion is now; but I cannot believe, I do not believe that we know much more of the matter than our great progenitors did; or that we are much wiser than a multitude who have been for ages, and are now, renowned for their wisdom; or that we are much more pious than our noble fathers were, who died in their belief—diedfortheir belief, I should say, and are a proverb to this hour on account of their piety. Nor can I persuade myself that such facts would be met with in grave undoubted history, if they were untrue, as are to be met with in every page of that which concerns the period of our story; facts which go to prove not only that a fixed belief in witchcraft prevailed throughout Europe as well as America, and among those with whom there was no lack of probity or good sense, or knowledge, it would appear; but that hundreds of poor creatures were tried for witchcraft under the authority of British law, and put to death, under the authority of British law, (and several after confession) for the practice of witchcraft and sorcery.
May it not be worth our while therefore, to speak seriously and reverently of our mighty forefathers? to bear in mind that the proof which they offer is affirmative and positive, while that which we rely upon, is negative—a matter of theory? to keep in view, moreover,that if a body of witnesses of equal worth were equally divided, one half saying that on such a day and hour, at such a place, when they were all together, such or such a thing, preternatural or not, mysterious or not, occurred; while the other half say positively, man for man, that so far as they heard or saw, or know or believe, no such thing did occur, at such a time or place, or at any other time or place, whatsoever—still, even here, though you may believe both parties, though you may give entire credit to the words of each, you may be justified, in a variety of cases, in acting upon the testimony of the former in preference to that of the latter. And why? Because the contradictory words of both may not be so contradictory as they appear—not so contradictory as to neutralize each other on every hypothesis; but may be reconcilable to the supposition that such or such a fact, however positively denied by one party, and however mysterious it may seem, really did occur: and this while they are not reconcilable to the supposition that such or such a fact really didnotoccur.—It being much more easy to overlook that which is, than to see that which is not; much more easy tonotsee a shadow that falls upon our pathway, than to see a shadow where indeed there is no shadow; much more easy tonothear a real voice, than to hearnovoice.
If the multitude of trustworthy and superior men, therefore, who testify to the facts which are embodied in the following narrative, and which may appear incredible to the wise of our day, or out of the course of nature to the philosophy of our day, like ice or snow to the Lord of the Desert; if they were positively contradicted step by step, throughout, by another like multitude of trustworthy and superior men—still, though the two parties were alike numerous and alike worthy of credit, and although you might believe the story of each,and every word of it, and give no preference to either:—Still I say, you might be justified in supposing that after all, the facts which the former testify to really did occur. And why? Becausethoughboth speak true, that hypothesis may still be supported; whileifboth speak true, the contrary hypothesis cannot be supported. Facts may occur without being heard or seen by the whole of a party who are together at the time they occur: but how are they to be seen or heard, if they do not occur at all?
I have put a much stronger case than that on which the truth of the following story is made to depend; for no such contradiction occurs here, no such positive testimony, no such array of multitude against multitude of the same worth, or the same age, or the same people. On the affirmative side are a host here—a host of respectable witnesses, not a few of whom sealed their testimony with their blood; on the negative, hardly one either of a good or a bad character. What appears on the negative side is not by facts, but by theory. It is not positive but conjectural. The negative witnesses are of our age and of our people; the affirmative were of another age and of another people. The former too, it should be remarked were not only not present, but they were not born—they were not alive, when the matters which they deny the truth of, took place—if they ever took place at all. Now, if oaths are to be answered by conjecture, bloodshed by a sneer, absolute martyrdom by hypothesis, much grave testimony of the great and the pious, by a speculative argument, a brief syllogism, or a joke—of what use are the rules by which our trust in what we hear is regulated? our faith whatever it may be, and whether it concern this world or the next, and whether it be of the past, the present or the future? Are we to believe only so far as we may touch and see for ourselves?What is the groundwork of true knowledge? where the spirit of true philosophy? Whither should we go for proof; and of what avail is the truth which we are hoarding up, the truth which we are extracting year after year by laborious investigation, or fearful experiment? If we do not believe those who go up to the altar and make oath before the Everlasting God, not as men do now, one after another, but nation by nation, to that which is very new to us, or wonderful, why should posterity believe us when we testify to that which hereafter may be very new to them or very wonderful? Is every day to be like every other day, every age like every other age in the Diary of the Universe? Earthquake, war and revolution—the overthrow of States and of empires, are they to be repeated forever, lest men should not believe the stories that are told of them?