Slave’s Punishments

Keira E

What were some misdemeanors committed in Colonial Williamsburg?

Some common ones were missing church, stealing, gossiping, trespassing, swearing, and public drunkenness. 

Misdemeanors in Colonial Williamsburg

Keira E. 

What were some common misdemeanors committed in Williamsburg?

There were many, many crimes that would be punished by something other than death. Some of the most common ones were missing church, stealing, gossiping, trespassing, swearing, and public drunkenness. 

Rachel M. 2015

In Colonial America, punishment would be based on your race, gender, and class. Punishments were given for three reasons: to attempt to ensure the hierarchy that was in place at this time, to function as a deterrent, and to keep the community balanced. If offenders weren’t punished, the settlers thought that they wouldn’t learn their lesson, and they would continue to disrupt the community. If punishments weren’t given out, then it would have been more complicated to keep order in the colony. Although these laws and punishments were unfair, they did stimulate productivity and keep the town in order.

Lock, Stock, and Barrel

by

Aidhan Farley Astrachan

My name is John Bentley. I work in a small gun shop with my brother, James. We both make and fix guns. I don’t really know who my family is. All I know is that I was born in 1652 in Jamestown, Virginia, and my brother was the only other family member that stayed with me. When I was born, my father was not there. I don’t really know where he went. My mother died because of a sickness. I am now 23 years old and my brother is 31 years old.

As I woke up this morning, I could hear a loud banging. I knew that that was my brother trying to fix the musket that we have been working on for three months. I basically gave up on trying to fix it, but it seems as if my brother has not given up. I didn’t want to get out of my little wooden bed. It was nice and cozy under my heavy woolen blanket, but I knew my brother would get angry if I stayed in bed too long. So I reached for my baggy, white, linen shirt and my grey wool breeches. My feet were cold on the wood floor. I pulled on long dark woolen socks. I could see out my little window, there was frost on the ground, so I grabbed my black leather doublet. I pulled on my black leather boots and walked outside. I saw my brother out on the field, trying to fire the musket that we were fixing. The musket still needed some work. When we first got the musket, it was crooked and couldn’t shoot any bullets. Now, three months later, the gun was not crooked, but it still couldn’t shoot bullets. I saw and heard my brother being very angry with himself, and the gun. He was mad at himself that he couldn’t fix the gun, but he was also mad at the gun because it wouldn’t shoot the bullet. These past months, we have been hard at work and we have not gotten much money. We still do live a happy life. We have enough food to feed our bodies, we have clean water, and our work is not too hard. My brother came back into the shop.

“Good Morning” I said.

“Mornin’” My brother said.

“How’d you sleep?” I asked.

“Fine,” he said. “And you?”

“Also fine,” I responded.  “How’s the gun?”

“Doesn’t shoot any bullets. It’s gettin’ really annoying.”

“Can we fix it?” I asked.

“I don’t know. Can we?” He asked sarcastically.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s just that you kind of gave up on fixing the gun!” My brother told me.

“I guess you’re right. I only gave up on the gun cause I didn’t think it was possible that we could fix it.”

“Well, I think that it is possible that we can fix it!” My brother started raising his voice.

“Alright. You don’t have to raise your voice. I just woke up. From now on, I will help you try and fix the gun.” I told my brother.

“Thank you. I’m sorry I raised my voice. Would you like some breakfast?”

“Yes please. I’m starving”  I said.

“There’s porridge in the pot.”

“What, no coffee.”

“No money for coffee. Coffee’s too expensive.”

“Any raisins?”

“No raisins for you.”

“Fine. Let me know when you fix that gun.”

“Any ideas, smart ass?”

“Check the lock. It seems like you have an ignition problem. I think we need to replace the flint. We’re not getting the appropriate spark.”

“Why didn’t I think of that?” James replaces the flint. “Anything else?”

“I know you straightened the barrel, so that should be OK. Check out the stock. It’s a beauty. Carved curly maple.”

“You can do the honors. Let’s go outside and take a shot.”

BANG!

“Lock, stock, and barrel, Baby! Can I go back to bed now?”

Kiki K.

2015

Almost everyone in the world has a house. Houses are a very important place in your life. They keep you safe, they store food, they are a place where you feel safe. While you probably only know about houses built based on your culture or location, there are many, many other houses with different traits. In colonial America, houses were very different. Not only did one’s house provide homes for people, it also reflected on one’s social status. Just like nowadays, houses were different in every culture. There are many different features and techniques from the different perspectives that took place in colonial America. For example, African house materials were different than the materials used for New English houses. Also, wealthier people or English people had nicer houses. They looked less massive in size and more elegant. This is just a fraction of all the information on architecture in the 17th century.

Today, I am at my shop. My friend Nina and I own bakery in Williamsburg. We sell all kinds of pastries like fruit pies, cakes, breads, and tarts. Every day, so many different people come in our shop and purchase our goods. Nina works the money, while I make everything that we sell in the kitchen. Our shop is a small one, filled to the brim with baked goods. It’s always warm, because the oven heats the small space. Our bakery is known for its delicious pastries, but we also make our own root beer, and ginger ale. The room always smells delicious because of this. We recently acquired a young apprentice, who works with us every day, and we teach her what to do. This morning, an old woman came in, and asked the new apprentice how much a small cake was. The apprentice, not knowing what she was doing, answered

“One dollar,” and didn’t think to check what the actual price was. As the woman was walking out, I asked if she had paid already, and she said,

“Yes the young lady over there told me it was one dollar.” I let the woman leave with her cake, and then proceeded to yell at the apprentice.

“Please don’t charge one dollar when something’s 4 dollars!”

I fired the apprentice at once, and got back to business. After that, business was small, because the whole town had heard about what happened.

At around dinner time. I walked into the kitchen, and fixed myself some bread. Because I am middle class, and not gentry, I don’t have very much food at dinner. That’s okay though because if we have extra pastries that don’t get sold by the end of the day, I eat some of them. Nina stays late at the bakery to close up the shop and clean, but I leave right before supper so I can enjoy the meal with my family. Nina calls me “lazy” because of this, but I just want to enjoy a meal with my family! She wouldn’t get it though because she doesn’t have kids. She suffered a miscarriage a couple months ago.

One night, as I was about to start heading home, I sat down, and looked out the window at the children playing games in the field. I thought about my children at home. Two girls and one boy. My son was diagnosed with typhoid fever. The apothecary thinks that he drank some bad water. Every day when I get home he’s in bed, not getting any better, and all I can hope is that he will live. I still have to work, to make money for my family, but it’s hard because I have to care for him too. He’s my only son, and I love him very much.

Virginia Grate Hopes plantation 

Do you know anything about enslaved Africans and if they were ever blamed for being a witch? There were no African-American witches around here. Here in Virginia, there was a white witch of Pungo. That was Grace Sherwood. Here there was only white witchcraft which was basically small cases of witchcraft, and Grace was the only serious witch that ever lived here. But, with white witchcraft you were usually only banished or forced to pay a fine. It was not as common as up north like in Massachusetts where you see a witch craze happening. There’s a lot of debate about whether witchcraft had actually been practiced or if there was just a disease outbreak. Most people who believed in witches believed in superstitions. Most of the cases here in Virginia were more in the late 1600s. Do you know anything about the punishments they might have had for witches if they were accused of witchcraft? Here it would only be a fine or banishment, unless you were Grace Sherwood. Sometimes they might put the witch through the thing where you put your head and arms through the holes. We heard about people having their ears nailed to the wall. That’s only for perjury, which is if you lie on trial. Most witches will have to deal with that up north. Do you know about male witches, were there any? There were male witches, but most people being burned to the stake were women. Some books say only women can be witches. Before the book came out, both men and women were being accused of witchcraft. The men who wrote the book wanted the male witches to end so that all witches would be female. It was a very hard time to live in for a woman.

Isabella Marcellino                                                                                        12/5/25

Humanities

The Numbers in my Head

When I wake up I see the cradle where my baby Abitha sleeps rocking a bit back and forth. Two seconds later there is a big scream. “Shhhhhhhh!” I whisper to her, and pull the covers filled with straw off of me so I go rock the cradle back and forth so she can get back to sleep. I try my best to hear the crinkle of the straw over the sound of the crying baby. I check off “cradle time #1” in my head. I have a bad habit of doing math in my head and counting how many times I do different actions. Of course, it isn’t like the math that the higher classes are taught, but I can count to 70, and I’m very proud of it. Anyway, I had talked to my husband, John, about my math problem. I had heard stories of similar women who turned out to be possessed by demons. He said that he was worried for me because no woman should think about math at any time when she should be thinking about her children. This made me very upset, but I tried to hide it because I knew he could hurt me if he wanted to. He is very strong and likes to use his anger on other people. He works as a gunsmith and goes out hunting very often. I have learned to never speak to someone about my personal thoughts ever again.

I try to get the numbers out of my head and go downstairs to say hello to my children. Ester just turned seven and Isaac is almost four. I give them pastries for breakfast as I do every day. Since we don’t have the money to educate them properly, they are homeschooled. I do most of the teachings and since I am smarter than most women, I hope to pass down much knowledge to both of them. My husband does not know about this, and would not be proud, but I know that both of my children will be grateful of their knowledge someday. After breakfast, the children go outside and my dear friend Verity comes over for some tea. Most people can only have a limited supply of water and would never waste it on tea, but I love tea more than anything else, and my children have started to like it as well.

“Have you heard? There has been a report of a witch in this town, they made a woman lose her baby.” Verity says.

“Oh my, is that so? I thought witches were made up people.” I say in wonder.

“Oh, no! They are real for sure. Her baby was gone and there’s no question about it. I heard people say they saw the witch fall into a pond and not drown. They were positive they saw her use magic”

“What is the name of this witch?”

“I’m quite sure her name is Grace Sherwood, have you heard of her?”

“Grace Sherwood is my neighbor! She was always a bit strange.”

“Oh my, you must not speak bad of her or else she could kill you.”

“I must tell my husband right away when he gets home.”

Once Verity was gone, I started to get very worried. I decided to check on my children to make sure they were okay. When I called them to come inside for supper and they came running inside the house, my mind was racing with math and I was non-controllingly counting the number of steps my son took as he ran. I ran upstairs and held my head in my hands, rubbing my fingers against my skull, trying to get the numbers out of my head. After about 20 seconds, (Oh no, I did it again) everything came together. I had been cursed by the evil witch, Grace Sherwood. There was no question about it.

“I’m home!” I heard John scream from downstairs as he slammed the door. I ran downstairs and tried my best to put on a smile and say hello. After the air in the room was warm again and John had settled himself in a chair, I told him about Grace and how she had bewitched me. I was about to bring up the numbers in my head, but I realized that John would have gotten angry. I made something up and said that I saw her dancing around in the fields in men’s clothing. I made this up based on another story Verity told me about a man who claimed he saw Grace Sherwood dancing around with no clothing on at all.

John stared at me after I told him my made-up story. “We will report this and make sure that Grace Sherwood is killed at once!” I nod my head and watch his fleshy hand covered in red cuts bang the table.

John suggested that we spread the rumors about Grace Sherwood to everyone in Williamsburg so that everyone knows about her and they will know to stay away. More rumors about her went around, and she started becoming extremely popular. One man said his eldest son had died because of her.

Though I felt safer from her now, the numbers in my head would not go away and I felt like I was going insane. I was taking less care of my children, becoming quieter around my dearest friends, and afraid to talk to my husband. Some nights I would sit in the corner of my room weeping and rocking myself to go back to sleep. One night rocking hadn’t worked, so I lit a candle and decided to count the number of nails on the wall. If I couldn’t get away from math, I could bring it to me and then overpower it.

It was no use. I kept on crying and almost woke up John. I got a needle from my sewing kit, a cloak to keep me warm, a candle to find my way, and my sturdiest shoes. I walked outside into the pitch black night, only able to see up to four footsteps in front of me. (Uh oh, more math) I ran as fast as I could toward the direction I knew was Grace Sherwood’s house. The rough pebble-filled paths were crunching under my feet. When I got there I looked around to make sure everyone was asleep. The candles were out, and when I opened the door to step inside, I almost tripped on a small body laying down in the middle of the indoor kitchen. A few seconds later the body turned over, and I look to see that I had almost tripped on a little boy. He must be the son or Grace Sherwood. My, does he have the face of a pig. I chuckle to myself as I look around for Grace herself. I turn around and see a shiny knife in the kitchen. I look from the knife to the boy. Should I kill him?

I shake my head. No, he may be the son of a monster, but he may not be a witch as well. Perhaps she is keeping the poor child captive. I walk away as fast as I can before I get tempted. Besides, I’m not here to kill her family members, I’m here for Grace’s final test. I had spoken to a witch expert about Grace and he said that one of the most common ways to identify a witch is to find if they have black spots on them. Black spots are marks of the devil, and anyone who has one is a witch. He said to test the black spots, you must poke them with a needle, and if the spot doesn’t bleed, the person is a witch.

After the longest five minutes and 46 seconds in my life, I finally found Grace lying in her bed, sleeping soundly. She didn’t really seem like a witch at all in that moment. I had imagined claws and five extra arms coming out of her head. Well, I thought, Now I can make sure she really is a witch and send her to jail. I thought about how my life was going to be so much happier with her in jail, getting punished as she deserved it, and possibly killed. She was a monster and she didn’t deserve to live happily any longer. Everyone wanted her in jail for a while, but with this proof, She would be send straight off to jail.

I started taking her clothes off carefully trying not to wake her up while checking her over until I found a black spot. I know there has to be one here! I’m positive she is a witch! I look at her skin carefully, smooth in some places and bumpy red in others. When I was about to give up I see a big black spot on Grace Sherwood’s arm. It is big and exactly the way the witch expert described it. I take out the needle from my small bag and hold it right over the black spot. I close my eyes as the needle goes into the flesh and I pull it out right away. I check for any blood, but there is none. I close my eyes again. She is a witch. I am in the house of a witch. If she wakes up, she will surely kill me. I get up quickly to leave before she wakes up, (which I am surprised she has not already. Perhaps it is witch magic keeping her asleep.) I turn around to leave when I hear a crackle of laughter. I turn around to see Grace’s vicious face with fangs laughing at me. I start to hear myself scream. The laugh is like nothing I have heard before. I run out of the house and turn around to see her following me. I open the door and trip down the front steps, face first into the gravel.

I open my eyes breathing as hard as I can and pull off my covers to get up and go shush my baby back to sleep. The numbers are still there.

The Apothecary

Mika Foguel

Quotation:

“You don’t desecrate the dead because if you desecrate the body it can’t be resurrected.”

Summary of Quote:

You couldn’t treat dead bodies with disrespect because then they believed they wouldn’t go to heaven.

Doctors weren’t allowed to use cadavers

Your ideas:

It was disrespectful for doctors to desecrate dead bodies. That was because Christians believed in heaven and hell and if doctors used your dead body for medical purposes it could change which way they were going. Which proves if they desecrated a body it was believed they wouldn’t go to heaven. Also dead bodies were sacred in the colonial ages. The gentry class was more important than the lower class in religion even in the afterlife they were put in a grave safely. Religion was very important in medicine because it limited their choices because if they couldn’t practice on dead bodies they were able to make more mistakes. If they had practised on dead bodies they could have cured illnesses faster and protect others from dying.      

Rachel M.

2015

Juvenile Delinquency

Source: Sifakis, Carl. “Juvenile Delinquency.” Encyclopedia of American Crime, Second Edition. Facts On File, 2000. American History Online. Web. 13 Oct. 2015. <http://online.infobase.com/HRC/LearningCenter/Details/2?articleId=200370>. URL:http://online.infobase.com/HRC/LearningCenter/Details/2?articleId=200370

Quote:

In one sense, juvenile delinquency was not a problem in early colonial times. Until the Revolution settlers in this land lived under English common law, which held that juvenile offenders from the age of seven were accountable for their acts and could face the same penalties imposed on adults for various offenses. While a judge had discretion to determine the culpability of children between seven and 14 years of age, there were numerous executions of children as young as one eight-year-old hanged for burning a barn with “malice, revenge, craft and cunning.” One well-known case was that of 12-year-old Hannah Ocuish, hanged for the murder of a six-year-old child. A contemporary account, which in tone approved of the execution, did comment that “she said very little and appeared greatly afraid, and seemed to want somebody to help her.” Protests that she was too young to die drew very little public support.

Paraphrase:

-seven year olds faced the same penalties as adults

-adults didn’t understand child development kids could be hung

-the community wouldn’t fight for charges to be dropped

-some people protested but it didn’t work -juvenile delinquency wasn’t always a problem

-Hannah Ocuish was hung at twelve

-Hannah was a murderer

My Ideas:

This shows that the people in Colonial America didn’t understand that children’s minds aren’t fully developed. This is why I think they shouldn’t have to face adult charges. There was no distinction between boy and man, or girl and woman. They were all seen as little adults. The Englishmen thought people would learn right and wrong from punishment. But the punishment they chose was often harsh and brutal. Hangings happened often, and children could be hung as young as eight. If the solution to children misbehaving is to kill them, I don’t think that’s a good practice. Killing someone is a big deal. You are taking the life away of someone who could have grown up to be a wonderful, smart, and kind human being. What’s really upsetting is that your family wouldn’t fight for you. Neighbors and relatives that you’ve known you all your life are too afraid to fight for you. Hannah Ocuish was twelve when she was hung. She was hung because she murdered a six year old. She had so much ahead of her, so many more years to live. What made her want to kill that child? Was her family life unstable? I wonder why so many children were hung. What did they do, and why? They must have been angry to do things like burning down a barn.