Rebecca Nurse, Salem

Turning off Pine Street in Danvers, I follow a quiet laneway lined with tall trees whose branches arch overhead, forming a green tunnel. Dappled sunlight filters through the leaves, and the warmth of the sun drifts down, creating a serene, almost reverent atmosphere. It’s my lucky day that the  is open on one of those rare occasions, giving me the chance to step inside and see Rebecca’s home. This respected, pious woman spent her days caring for her large family, only to find herself caught in the crosshairs of the witchcraft hysteria after being accused by a 12-year-old girl.

The home is a classic colonial saltbox with a steeply sloping roof and red clapboard exterior, typical of 17th-century New England life. Inside, it is furnished with period pieces. At the rear of the house, in a field at the bottom of the hill, are the Nurse family burial grounds, and at the centre is a monument dedicated to Rebecca Nurse, since her burial spot remains unknown. 

But who was Rebecca Nurse, and why is she an important symbol today? Standing here at her homestead, it’s easy to imagine her as a respected, virtuous woman whose wrongful execution stands as a powerful reminder of the dangers of mass hysteria and injustice.

Before I explore the tragedy of her final days, it’s worth stepping back to see who Rebecca Nurse (née Towne) was and how she lived. Born in 1621 in England, she emigrated with her family as a child to the Massachusetts Bay Colony, settling in Salem Village (now Danvers). She grew up in a deeply religious Puritan community and married Francis Nurse in 1645, with whom she raised eight children. In their late 50s, Francis and Rebecca entered into a lease-to-own agreement for a 300-acre farm. This was a highly risky endeavour, but they were encouraged by the prospect of purchasing the farm after 20 years. Together with their children, they worked tirelessly to improve the land, cultivating crops and building their homestead. Their efforts paid off, and in 1699, the property was purchased outright.

The Nurses’ rising success, contrasted with that of Thomas and Ann (Carr) Putnam, a prominent family whose fortune and influence were waning, seems to have sparked long-standing land disputes between the families. This may help explain how the Putnams’ 12-year-old daughter, Ann, who likely had little personal familiarity with Rebecca, was influenced to accuse her of witchcraft, claiming to have seen Rebecca’s spectre tormenting her.

The accusation rocked the community. Rebecca was admired for her wisdom, integrity, and calm presence, often helping to settle disputes among neighbours. Her reputation was so strong that 39 residents signed a petition attesting to her good character, a risky act that could have made them targets, too.

Unfortunately, that was not enough. Despite being 71 years old, partially deaf, and physically frail, Rebecca was arrested in June 1692 on charges of witchcraft. The “afflicted” girls—Ann Putnam, Abigail Williams, and Mary Walcott—claimed they were tormented by her spectre, and soon others began accusing her of some wrongdoing that they said had caused their afflictions. As the courtroom became a stage of fear and theatrics, she repeatedly claimed her innocence. Confined in the harsh conditions of the jail and excommunicated from her church, Rebecca awaited her fate, and on 19 July, she was convicted and hanged, alongside Sarah Good, Elizabeth Howe, Susannah Martin and Sarah Wildes.

How was it possible for a woman of such deep faith, respected in the community for her piety and generosity, to find herself in such a predicament? Her death was a profound loss to her family. Nineteen years later, her conviction was reversed, and compensation was paid to the family for her wrongful death. Another year later, the church lifted the excommunication placed upon her, restoring her reputation in the community. 

As I leave the homestead, I feel a deep sorrow, thinking of the courage she must have had to stay true to herself by refusing to admit to witchcraft to save her life. Yet fear and confusion must have also gripped her, aware that her own community had turned against her, that innocence offered no protection, and that she faced death not for any crime, but because of the delusions and hysteria of the time.