One more case—not of an accused one, but of a chief accuser, Ann Putnam, the younger—merits careful attention. She was only twelve years old in 1692; but was the eldest child in a family of at least nine children, both of whose parents died while they were all young; and this eldest continued to live at the homestead, caring for the younger ones, during many years. In August, 1706, fourteen years subsequent to the scenes in which she was eminently conspicuous, she made the following confession before the church, and thereupon was admitted to membership in it.

In that confession she speaks very pointedly of herself as having been used as an instrument. Any mortal may perhaps properly do so in relation to each and every act performed. But her history induces inquiry whether Ann was not very strictly an instrument; whether her own will, or whether some other intelligent being’s will, used her lips when they put forth accusations of witchcraft. The latter may have been possible; for once, while we were in conversation with a lady who applied disparaging remarks to particular gentleman who was a prominent medium, we, in reply, expressed our belief that the doings which annoyed her were not the man’s voluntary acts, and also that his consciousness that such deeds were alleged by truthful and trustworthy persons to have actually been performed through his physical organism made the acts even more grievous to him than to any one of his acquaintances. She doubted, while we maintained, the possibility of one’s mortal form being thus subjected to a will outside of itself. Not many minutes had elapsed—not much argument having been presented on either side—before her own lips were set in use for putting forth a warm defense of Victoria C. Woodhull, a person upon whom our colloquist looked, and of whom she was accustomed to speak, with very decided disapprobation. She was a conscious listener to the words that rolled from her own lips, and experience taught her that our defense of the censured man might be admissible; for, in spite of herself, her own lips were made to bless whom her sentiments were inclining her to curse. Baalam could not curse whom his Lord did not. That lady is a conscious medium—conscious that her physical organs, without her consent, and in spite of her resistance, are sometimes temporarily borrowed and used by an intelligence outside of herself. As such she is representative of many others. Of course, in these days, she is so informed as to see that actions and words of spirits are imputed to her as being her own because performed by use of her organs, while they are, in fact, no more hers than are the acts and utterances of her neighbors. But we doubt much whether any one in 1692 or 1706 had attained to knowledge that some human forms could be thus filchable and usable; no ground had then been discovered on which one could stand and credibly say, “Though my own lips spake thus and so, another’s will put forth the utterances in spite of me.” Firm ground for that has now been found; it is not a new formation, but existed, though then unknown, in 1692. Ann Putnam’s form may have been used by another’s will in each and all of her imputed accusations for witchcraft, and she, as far as then concerned, have been absolutely a will-less instrument.

There are other classes of mediums. We call to mind at this instant four ladies, all of them respectable and excellent, whom we know and have known for years, whose lips often give utterance to facts, opinions, and beliefs while the ladies are absolutely unconscious; and sayings then which seem to be theirs are often wide at variance with what either their knowledge or their sense of right and truth would permit their own wills to announce. These are unconscious mediums; not responsible for, because absolutely ignorant of, what their physical forms are being made to say and do. These persons are representatives of a large class of good mediums.

One phrase in Ann Putnam’s confession indicates to us that she probably belonged to the mediumistic class here presented. She had been, years before, as she says, an instrument not only ignorant, but unwitting. In childhood, Ann was brightest among the bright; and, in the absence of evidence to the contrary, it is fair to presume that when reaching the age of twenty-six she was an intelligent woman, capable of knowing the fair import of any statements to which she gave deliberate and solemn assent. We apprehend that her confession was drawn up very carefully, and in consultation with her intelligent and excellent pastor, Rev. Mr. Green; also that every word of it was carefully weighed. She seems then to have been stretching forth a hand soliciting acceptance and friendly grasp by representatives of some whose blood had been shed because of accusations from her lips; and we feel forced to presume that then she was in mental and affectional moods which would make it her duty and her choice to take upon herself all the blame for her share in the witchcraft transactions which facts and truth could possibly permit. Her confession is special. It all pertains to her instrumental share in accusing innocent persons of what was then deemed grievous crime, and thus in bringing them to death upon the gallows. Her declaration is as distinct as words can make it, that the doings through her were “not out of any anger, malice, or ill-will to any person” on her part; and this renders Upham’s supposition, that family, neighborhood, and sectional quarrels, disputes, rivalries, &c., were motives in her, very improbable.

Also her statement is very distinct, that whatever she did in that respect was done, so far as she was concerned, both “ignorantly and unwittingly.” We are aware that those two words are sometimes used synonymously, or very nearly so. But when the first occurs in a carefully constructed sentence, the other, if added, should be deemed to have been inserted for the special purpose of expressing something beyond what the first usually imports. The whole had not been told when she had said she acted ignorantly. To express the remainder, she added—unwittingly. When that word was thus applied, she cannot fairly be supposed to have meant less than that she acted unknowingly—that is, without either knowledge or consciousness that she did thus act. An unwitting instrument—an instrument not knowing that it was being used—enfolds within itself a silent but most potent plea for the world’s lenient regards. When consciousness has taken no cognizance of acts performed by the tongue or the hand,—when memory can find no record of them, compunction cannot gnaw deeply, nor conscience be a stern accuser. Often conscience may be at peace, and God may approve, where man blames. Testimony from without may force mental conviction that one’s lips and limbs must have been used in doing excessive harm, though consciousness of the fact be entirely wanting. Conviction even thus generated will naturally and almost necessarily create apprehension that the world is regarding the owner of those lips and limbs as having been guilty of very great crimes. That apprehension may create sadness over all one’s subsequent days. Public opinion bridles the tongue then; for a denial of guilt, however honest and true, can receive no credence where external senses have perceived knowledge to the contrary. Ann’s relations to society may necessarily have been saddening during many years, even though she of herself had done nothing offensive either to her own conscience or to God.

Imagination can scarcely picture the sadness which must have come upon the accusing girls when, a year or two later, public opinion and favor, which at first buoyed them up and favored such use of their organisms as has been depicted, began to turn against them and to brand them as murderers of the innocent and good. We have no means to trace many of them through their subsequent years. Could we do it, we should expect to find them weighed down, depressed, and made forlorn by the great change of estimation in which the doings were afterward held, in which they had appeared to be prominent and most disastrous actors. Few of them probably had inherent stamina enough to enable them to stand erect, and move about firmly poised, under the burdens of obloquy, pity, hatred, resentment, &c., which the wounded hearts of the families of murdered ones would lay upon these seeming authors of their losses.

It is pleasant to find that the sensitive and bright Ann Putnam, as prominent as any one in the band of accusers, survived such pressure, continued long to care for her orphaned little brothers and sisters, and, after the first and most crushing effects of the change in public opinion had been endured for a dozen years or more, held out her hand in friendly beckoning to those who had most seeming cause to blame her, and who perhaps in turn had imposed her heaviest burdens, and seeking to thus open the way for her unopposed admission to the church, and to fellowship with the kindred and friends of those whom her tongue had been used to defame and bring to ignominious death. Her life experiences were hard, but perhaps fruitful of good to man beyond what words can express. Possibly it is her blessed privilege now to see that her form was used as an instrument for effecting Christendom’s emancipation from monstrous error, and putting an effectual stop to executions for witchcraft everywhere.