Witches, Alcohol and More

As Peter Vermilyea tells us, his latest book, “Wicked Litchfield County,” reveals the darker side of human nature. These stories are about a number of inglorious, or sometimes just eccentric, characters who once troubled the landscape of this generally amiable corner of Connecticut.

Which, of course, makes for good reading.

Vermilyea — who lives in Litchfield and teaches history at Housatonic Valley Regional High School and Western Connecticut State University — starts with witches. Seventeenth-century Puritans lived hard lives. Very hard. This was a hostile and baffling wilderness. So when things went bad, or went unexplained, such as the strange markings on a rock in Kent, or cream refusing to become butter, or a horse shedding its shoes repeatedly, or illness of epidemic proportion striking a whole town, a witch was suspected — usually some odd woman, one who might dabble in alternative medicine and who did not adhere to the cultural norms of a very religious Christian community. Satan must be afoot to explain the inexplicable or threatening.

By the mid-18th century, however, executions and other punishments for witchcraft were off the books. Ostracism, however, remained. But economic matters seemed more pressing by this time. Great Britain limited the gold and silver that could move from the motherland to the colonies, so coins were scarce. Colonists tried wampum, with scant success, tobacco in Virginia, and corn in Massachusetts as currency. Connecticut started printing its own paper currency in 1704, and counterfeiting was not far behind, led by a number of colorful characters in spite of punishments such as branding with a large C and pillorying. This was, in Vermilyea’s words, “a golden age of counterfeiting.”

Of course, law and order kept up with punishments such as whipping, branding and hanging for offenses ranging from arson and murder, sometimes on a massive and bloody scale, to treason and counterfeiting. Occasionally, a convict was scared straight by a mock execution: The miserable character stood on the gallows with a rope around his neck for an hour or more, and was then subsequently released for a good public whipping.

By the end of the 18th century, it was clear to a number of upright citizens that alcohol was a menace to society. Hard cider, with a low alcohol level, came on the scene early and men, women and children imbibed, early and often. Vermilyea quotes one observer who noted that, “It was not thought possible for the average workman to keep his health without a very considerable amount of rum or cider to restore the vitality consumed in his physical work; the non-laboring class also assumed that it could not live through a Litchfield winter without a large consumption of stimulants.” 

Members of the clergy imbibed, and so did members of the congregation. Sabbaday houses — those little shelters for families to take a rest and a midday meal during the day-long Sunday services — were often stocked with beer and cider, Vermilyea tells us. And it was impossible to draw volunteers for community efforts without providing each a tot or two of rum. 

Temperance followed, of course, led by women, conservative churchmen and others. But the 18th Amendment passed without support from Rhode Island and Connecticut.

There is a fascinating chapter on the unhappy history of slavery in Connecticut, another on military malfeasance and also on the powerful mark of religion on individuals and on government.

This is a fast and entertaining read by a fellow with an eye for good stories.

Peter Vermilyea will speak at the Douglas Library in North Canaan on Friday, Sept. 23, at 7 p.m.; Oblong Books & Music in Millerton on Saturday, Sept. 24, at 3 p.m.; and the Scoville Memorial Library in Salisbury on Saturday, Oct. 22, at 4 p.m.