Alice Lake

My daughter-in-law did an ancestry search and found the following record of my great (x10) grandmother Alice:

Mrs. Alice Lake. Born about 1610 Childwell, Riverpool, Lancester, England. Died June 05, 1648 in Dorcester Massachusetts.

In about 1651, near modern-day Boston, Alice Lake, a mother of five, lost her baby to death. After her baby died, she imagined she saw the baby. Because of that, she was accused and convicted of being a witch, and she was executed. The claim in the town of Dorchester, MA, was that the devil was coming to her in the form of her deceased, beloved child. Records are scant, but they show she had an opportunity to recant her story on the day of her execution and possibly to save her life. She did not recant her story, but she said she knew why God was punishing her: She had engaged in sex prior to marriage, become pregnant, and attempted a self-abortion. She was ruled by two strong, womanly pulls -- guilt and grief.

In the early part of the 20th century, Alice had a descendant who was a medical doctor who spent many years researching her story and trying to track her descendants. This man described Alice's story best:

"Here is a penitent, broken hearted, submissive woman, laying bare the greatest secret of her bosom, asking forgiveness; yet the damnable tactics of the fanatical Christian Church string her up like a miserable tramp."

There is a site on the 'net that considers the sexual implications of the "witch charges." It is not a site intended for children, but in light of that fact that Alice Lake confessed sexual "crimes" in what may have been a confession attempting to save her life, the point of view of the article is worth considering.

I spent the better part of six months trying to figure out Alice's story, and in the end I had no definite answers. The records of her trial are lost; Alice can be seen only in traces and reflections. There is no known record of her from when she still lived. The first the records to show she lived was after she was dead, when the townsmen were trying to figure out what to do with Alice's children since she was dead and her husband had fled. Like most of the women accused of witchcraft, Alice was not well off financially; in today's world, she and her husband would be described as "poor, working class." She was a married woman with at least five children, all presumably fathered by her only known husband, Henry Lake. In 1651, those children would have been a girl about ten, a boy about seven, a boy about five, a child about three who likely was a boy, and an infant. Alice's year of birth is unknown, but because of the ages of her children, she was likely about 30. Like most working class women of the time, she would have worked from sun up till sun down, and likely even after sun down by the light of the hearth fire and by the light of candles she had likely made. She had no conveniences and two little children who would still have been soiling themselves. If she had siblings, parents, or other relatives where she was living, no researcher to date has found them. She carried with her the Puritanical guilt of having had sexual intercourse before marriage, a guilt further complicated because she became pregnant before marriage. Then her youngest baby died.

After her baby died, she told people she saw the baby. Maybe she did. Others who have not been judged insane or witches have claimed to see dead people: Look at the Christian religion. Or, maybe she grieved so much that her mind allowed her to imagine that she saw her baby to ease her grief. Or, maybe she knew she did not see her baby, but claimed she did so as to have something to hold onto. As painful as the death of a loved one is, most recognize a mother's loss of her baby as a special loss. In Alice's case, that grief was compounded because -- while she had lost her youngest baby to a death she did not want -- she knew she had attempted to cause death to one of her other children by attempting an abortion. [From the earliest comment about this self-attempted abortion, it appears she did not succeed with the abortion.]

The Reverend John Hale had been a young boy when Alice was executed. He went on to graduate from Harvard and became a minister. He supported the witch trials until the witch hunters came after his pregnant wife, the last woman accused of witchcraft in Salem in Nov. 1692. The Rev. Hale wrote the following (about Alice?) in 1697:

Another that suffered on that account some time after was a Dorchester Woman. And upon the day of her Execution Mr. Thompson Minister at Brantry, and J.P. her former Master took pains with her to bring her to repentance. And she utterly denyed her guilt of Witchcraft; yet justifyed God for bringing her to that punishment: For she had when a single woman played the harlot, and being with Child used means to destroy the fruit of her body to conceal her sin & shame, and although she did not effect it, yet she was a Murderer in the sight of God for her endeavours, and showed great penitency for that sin; but owned nothing of the crime laid to her charge.

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And the voices that brought this sort of thing to happen back then are still with us today. Of course, not every community church is this fanatical, nor is this level of fanaticism anything but a shrill voice of a small minority. But, I am led to wonder about the people then, who rallied and supported the church in the witch-hunts of the day. Who attended the executions and threw stones. Were they driven of their own fear and hatred to burn somebody alive? Or were they led to it by the authoritarians of the church who used this tactic to bolster their power and authority? Did the men who carried out these abominations truly believe in it? Were they revelling in their power? What about the local politicians who allowed it and accepted the bolstering of their own authority by it? Are we any different today? The loud voice of the fanatical minority is always there to be used by the power-hungry, to influence the indifferent and the frightened, and would gladly sacrifice pawns of today in their quest for more power. Toys and fashion change with time, but does human nature?

In Loving Memory of Alice, I swear to always question the voice of authority, to deny the shrill voice of the puritanical fanatic, and to look more sharply at who's doing the pointing than who's being pointed at.