Tales of witches and magic in early Connecticut

NORTH CANAAN — Women who did not conform to contemporary gender roles were likely to be considered witches in Colonial New England, according to Peter Vermilyea. The author of “Wicked Litchfield” and a teacher at Housatonic Valley Regional High School, he spoke to the Exchange Club and Salisbury Rotary Club at Geer Village on Tuesday evening, Jan. 16.

Vermilyea said there are four documented cases of “witches” in Litchfield County in the mid 18th century.

“Well, three and a half,” he added. The case of the Terryville witch is sketchy in terms of documentation.

Women who were poor, had no children or a significantly smaller number of children than the Colonial norm, practiced herbal medicine and were viewed not as agents of the Devil but more as nuisances were likely to be considered witches.

In the 1600s, an accusation of witchcraft was far more serious, and likely to result in execution or banishment.

But by the middle of the 18th century the fear of the supernatural had abated somewhat.

There are no names or witnesses in the Terryville case, Vermilyea said. The unnamed woman was thought to be a member of the Albany Circle of Witches. 

She disappeared when the town announced plans to start prosecuting witches.

The three other cases are well-documented. Moll Cramer of Woodbury was married to blacksmith Adam Cramer. They had a son, Adam Jr.

The senior Cramer angered Moll in some way, and “then everything went wrong.”

The townspeople became afraid of Moll and the business suffered. Finally, Adam Sr. threw Moll out.

She moved to a shack on Grassy Hill with her son and survived by begging — a subtle form of extortion since nobody wanted to get on her bad side.

Adam Sr. remarried and moved to Vermont. Moll Cramer disappeared.

The whole story is included in an 1824 history of the town.

Another woman with a similar name, Molly Fisher, lived in Kent. In sharp contrast to the Woodbury case, Fisher was well-regarded in the town.

“She was beautiful and never married,” Vermilyea said. “Today we would call her a drifter.”

Fisher had “an uncanny skill with herbs” and had “a knack for showing up when she was needed.”

The “Molly Fisher rock” in Kent was a popular destination. The rock has markings on it considered to be of supernatural origin and meaning — although there was another story that the markings were a map to the hidden treasure of the pirate Captain Kidd, Fisher’s supposed husband.

(That Kidd died in 1701, before Fisher was born, did not deter treasure hunters.)

A Mrs. Filley in Winchester was a more malevolent figure. A neighbor borrowed a loom, and was supposed to return it at a specified date and time. 

When the loom was not returned on time, it suddenly stopped working. Later, it started working by itself.

Between that and another story told by a man walking home from a visit to a brothel of a ghost dog, Mrs. Filley’s reputation was secured.

Vermilyea said that the fear of witchcraft in the early Colonial era was a product of the Puritan religious mind combined with the very real fear of the unknown.

The Puritans, trying to establish model Christian communities in an unforgiving wilderness, “believed Satan would infiltrate their perfect communities.”

Roughly a century later, the atmosphere of fear had dissipated greatly.

But the superstition was ingrained, albeit with less dramatic and violent consequences.

“Whether or not they were witches matters less than if their neighbors thought they were witches.”