Achsah (Alice) Young ,of Windsor, Connecticut was the fist to be hung as a Witch in America. Her crime was that of using foreign herbs to cure her neighbors.
(copyright 1985)
It is always the morning of my execution...I know they will come for me
today. Last night the jailer, pulling up his trousers sneered, "Perhaps
you will fancy the pole they give you in the morning more than mine,
stubborn bitch."
I think he liked it better when I had strength and spirit enough to
fight him. He is too stupid to lie just to torment me. I will welcome
death, though the dying scares me...I was a healer~how long ago?
Oh gods, I can not think straight anymore! And I know their gross insults
to my body will never mend. The pain is constant, and they have sworn me
that I will go to the fire consciousand aware. My goddess I am sick to
my very soul with shame. At last I gave them screaming what they wanted.
Mouthed any obscenity they asked. I told them what they told me to say.
My sanity remains only because your names go with me to the pyre, and the
grave beyond, and only there.
O Beloved, if I could only see you one last time, that your clean
spirit's fire could rid me of this filth and fear...The crowd gathers now,
I hear them outside, laughing, festive~ gods grant I will be entertaining
enough. I wonder if these pious souls who in the past have asked my help,
will mourn me?
Well I shall be glad to quit this stinking cell. The rats grow bolder as
I decline. O Mother give me strength! I hear the guards outside. "What?"
I taunt, "three of you all for one small half-starved wench? Indeed terrible I
must be!" They have the grace to look ashamed, the youngest one grown pale
and horrified at the sight of me. I delivered his wife a fine, strong son
not many weeks ago, but I dare not ask how the child fares. "Nay, you must
carry me or drag me my fine bravos, these ruined feet will never bear my
weight again.
I fear I danced to long with your good priest in his fine Spanish boots."
They haul me to my feet, and the pain...I will not scream again for
their amusement! I must go naked then, to my death before these fools. I
would not have them see me so, who danced naked for the goddess graceful
and free on winged feet, without a trace of shame.
Their avaricious eyes defile me, as their twisted priests defiled my
body's temple...There are many strangers here in the square. Churchmen and
villagers from all the country round. I am to be a marvelous, far-felt lesson, I see.
They bind me to their stake, too tight, more agony. The splintering pole
claws my raw back. My shoulders, wrenched and cramping, the rough rope
burning my wrists. My legs will not support me, and I sag in my bonds, and I fill
with terror as a pitcher with muddy water...A priest approaches...oh
goddess,must I suffer them even now? The crowd protests the cup in his hand.
He exhorts them gently: his sect bears mercy to all, malice towards none,
and might not even I be saved at the bitter end?
I don't know this one. I fight to raise my head, to spit in his face for
one last shred of defiance...Mother of All...no! Not you...here! How have
you come beloved? To trade your green robes for their black? Your antlered
crown for their cross! Surely I dream.....But now I smell your clean scent
and your dear presence cloaks me in peace. Rage fires in your eyes,
but your pure love sustains me, strengthens me, and
warms me. You brush the hair back from my face.
The cup you hold gently to my bruised lips, I gave you at our handfasting.
Softly you whisper, "Drink deep of salvation my dear love." And your
voice, harsh with unshed tears rips at my soul, and my own tears begin. And
fully do I drink of your deep eyes, and the chalice. The taste of the flying
herbs burst upon my tongue. Belladonna, Acronite, dark sweet dreams...
They are coming now with the fire. Almost you linger too long. Haunted
eyes on mine, but a sleep steals over me. I see you melt safely into the
throng. I am drifting now...
I hear my Mother singing far away. Strange, she has been dead these many
years. The pain is gone. I am a little girl again. I am safe. My Mother
is calling me, and I run gladly into her arms...
But in the room I have left behind someone has been careless with the
supper. Mother they must turn the spit faster, for I can smell the
roasting meat burning, and the dinner guests are shouting.....I wake in a
cold sweat, and can not drink from the glass you bring me.