Killed Strangely: The Death of Rebecca Cornell

INTRODUCTION

SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 8, 1673, was a fine winter day. From the west window of her room, Rebecca Cornell could observe the bare branches of the trees in her orchard. Beyond them lay the frigid water of Narragansett Bay, where screeching seagulls skimmed the surface and the sun’s rays bounced from whitecap to whitecap. The seventy-three-year-old widow had felt poorly that morning, but the soothing warmth from a cheerful fire restored her sense of wellbeing and by noon she was something better. Indeed, by late afternoon she might have been found relaxing in her usual chair, puffing away on a clay pipe. She remained in her chamber as candlelight replaced sunlight and five o’clock came and went. Sometime after dark, however, that same fire, now churlishly malevolent, claimed Rebecca Cornell’s life after burning her to a cole. Morning brought snow and a hastily convened coroner’s inquest that pronounced Rebecca’s death an Unhappie Accident.¹ Her family, presumably stunned by the tragedy, laid her to rest beside her late husband on Monday, February 10. Less than two weeks later, Rebecca Cornell’s son, Thomas, was arrested for the murder of his mother.

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Thomas Cornell may have killed his mother. On the other hand, it is possible he did not. Either way, the Cornell case is surely one of early New England’s darker moments—and doubly so. The nature of Rebecca Cornell’s death was ominous to begin with, and the events surrounding the incident have languished in the shadows of historical obscurity. This is unfortunate since it is a compelling tale, one that begs to be told not only because of our fascination with violence at a distance, but because it involves complex historical issues about which there is rarely enough evidence to permit critical analysis. If, on one level, the trial of Thomas Cornell may be read as an exposé, the depositions also expose features of seventeenth-century family and community dynamics usually shielded from scholarly view. As a result, the surviving evidence propels the significance of the Cornell case far beyond the immediate event.

The documents reveal the distance between the New England family of historical imagination and the realities of seventeenth-century domestic life. Instead of the harmony and respect that sermon literature, laws, and a hierarchical/patriarchal society attempted to impose, evidence illustrates filial insolence, generational conflict, disrespect toward the elderly, power plays between mother-in-law and daughter-in-law, adult dependence on (and resentment of) aging parents who clung to purse strings, sibling rivalry over inherited property, and discord between stepmother and stepchildren.

If all this appears uncomfortably familiar to modern readers, it is also true that historians have only recently—and reluctantly—read such tensions backward into seventeenth-century New England. This is especially true when, as in this case, domestic disharmony slips over into domestic abuse. It is one thing to record friction between parents and children over the disposition of property; it is quite another to demonstrate hostility severe enough to degenerate into physical aggression. The Cornell case may not be early New England writ large, but this particular microcosm does illustrate the human frustrations, family fault lines, and personal frailties that rarely surface in nonjudicial seventeenth-century documents.

It is because of such evidentiary gaps that the extent to which seventeenth-century families enjoyed harmonious relations remains unclear. The dearth of assault cases and the sparse references to parental or spousal mistreatment may bear little relationship to the incidence of such hostility. It is impossible to know whether the small number of prosecutions is indicative of a large number of peaceable kingdoms or a high threshold of toleration for abusive behavior. By their very nature, criminal trial papers always illustrate exceptional, even aberrational, examples of human behavior. And because an alleged lapse of prescriptive conduct is involved, the legal process demands that participants (other than the defendant) resolve, on the most elementary level, matters of right and wrong. In so doing, those who testify and sit in judgment reveal community standards as well as the elasticity of such ground rules. More concretely, through open testimony, a trial airs the values and expectations of a society as codified by its legal system. Criminal proceedings may emphasize wrongdoing, but societal norms play the more important role, by crouching in the background, waiting to pounce on the evil that men do.

An application of such premises to the Cornell case suggests that by clearly delineating unacceptable behavior, trial testimony simultaneously refined and demonstrated the boundaries of permissible behavior at that time and place. Friends and neighbors defined those perimeters by tolerating, mediating, and only belatedly exposing the relationship between mother and son. To condone matricide was unthinkable. Yet the reluctance of townspeople to intervene at any stage prior to Rebecca Cornell’s death (as disclosed by the depositions) reveals that the community gave Thomas Cornell considerable leeway in dealing with his mother—even to the point of abuse. Neighbors may have disapproved, but they did not intrude.

Not only does the evidence in this case bridge the gap between prescriptive literature and reality, it also offers new insights into seventeenth-century legal culture, a curious amalgam of medieval and modern ideas. The Cornells lived in an Anglo-American colony where both liberty of conscience and supernatural visions were firmly recognized in law. Thus, one of the most revealing features of this story is the way ancient folklore and superstitions seamlessly merged with modern legal institutions to enforce a particular vision of the world. Court papers illustrate how Rhode Islanders reconciled aspects of common law with the invisible world of God, ghosts, and the Devil in order to uphold justice—as they perceived it. Richly detailed, the evidence leaves no doubt that communal efforts dictated the outcome of this case. On one level, this study enhances our understanding of hotly debated issues relating to juries, evidence, and attorneys; on another, it attempts to forge an alliance between legal and social history by concentrating on a widely shared legal culture as well as on elite legal institutions in a transitional period.

The latter years of the seventeenth century saw legal, social, and religious shuffling on all fronts. New Englanders wrestled with procedural matters such as defendants’ rights, the allocation of power between bench and jury, and the personal knowledge that jurors brought to deliberation. In a short time, the invisible world would square off against the Enlightenment and both Increase and Cotton Mather would have second thoughts about spectral evidence, but for the Cornell case legal niceties pertaining to visions and victims remained undisturbed. During these decades, households underwent a transition as demographic trends contributed to an increasing number of second marriages, stepchildren, and three-generation families. That same demography was intimately connected to religious upheaval since the children of the founding generation showed less inclination than their parents to live a godly life.

This brings us to Thomas Cornell. If, in fact, Cornell murdered his mother, it is the only fully recorded case of matricide in colonial America. But whether or not he was guilty of homicide is less the focus of this narrative than is the confluence of events surrounding the tragedy and the ways in which family, community, and authorities responded to Rebecca Cornell’s life and death. Both chronologically and thematically, the story concentrates on the society in which this grim episode played out. Rebecca Cornell’s death was an event of cataclysmic proportions, affecting not only her family and community, but neighboring towns as well. Relationships among people both before and after the incident, attitudes of friends and family, and what was said and not said for the official record simultaneously shed light on the immediate event and the larger Anglo-American world in which the episode occurred.

The first settlers of Rhode Island were Puritans. They were not the best sort of Puritans, perhaps, but they were Puritans nonetheless. Although they clung to a few doctrinal points that unsettled their more orthodox brethren in the adjacent colonies, they still drew on a common English heritage. What this means, of course, is that Rhode Islanders lived in a contradictory world that was at once integrated and fragmented. When pieced together, the historical shards of this case form a multipeopled composition in which characters with shared expectations and understandings merge into a socially coordinated whole. When that human aggregate is splintered, however, each individual is reduced to an isolated component of the cohesive cluster we label family or community. Viewed from this narrower perspective, each personal story discloses the competing beliefs that merge in a single person to produce an identity consistent with time and place, yet at odds with those whose belief systems reflect, in kaleidoscopic fashion, different images. The Cornell case is the story of individual impressions, and it is the story of community worldview.

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The most important source for this narrative is an extraordinary collection of depositions that survive only because the Rhode Island General Assembly (in an attempt to create an official memory) in 1673 ordered that they be recorded and preserved. Two dozen in number, the statements range in length from a paragraph or two to the equivalent of a full modern small-print book page. They represent a cross section of the Portsmouth, Rhode Island, community: family and friends of Rebecca Cornell, servants, and colleagues of Thomas Cornell who served with him on committees or in the General Assembly. Plymouth Colony residents also had something pertinent to say. Even Rebecca’s ghost testified through her brother, John Briggs. In addition to the depositions, reports from two coroner’s juries survive, as well as lists of inquest jurors, grand jurors, and trial jurors, and records of the continuing dispute between members of Thomas Cornell’s family. Diaries, letters, deeds, and wills add to the document pile. Town meetings set the scene, but genealogical background provides a human dimension to the case and indicates how networks based on religion, class, and gender operated to affect the outcome.

Was Thomas Cornell guilty? One reading of the evidence allows us to absolve Thomas Cornell of stabbing his mother and burning her body. Another suggests that Rebecca may have committed suicide or that someone else murdered her. Or her death may even have been accidental. To be sure, the scenario described in the depositions of friends and family indicates a troubled household, but not necessarily one in which antagonism would inevitably erupt into violence. Lingering discomfort with the verdict resulted in two subsequent trials for the same crime: both Thomas Cornell’s wife and his Indian servant, Wickhopash, were arrested and tried for Rebecca Cornell’s murder in the years following 1673, a surprising sequence of events given the decisive nature of the original verdict. The willingness of participants to revisit the incident also tells us something about their outlook on the world.

But the story is far more than a who-done-it. Most intriguing from a historical standpoint are the records that highlight intrafamily discord and demonstrate how this small community responded (or failed to respond) to Rebecca’s fears and complaints. Furthermore, they show how religion, politics, and gender controlled the story line. In short, despite Thomas Cornell’s personal standing in this patriarchal, deferential society, it was the power of the invisible world, the strength of Quaker authority, and the force of female voices that ultimately weighted the scales of justice. And as fact blended with hearsay and hearsay melted into lore, these multilayered forces intertwined with the legal culture of early modern Anglo-America.

But how to tell the tale? The sequence of events is great drama, but it is not the whole story, and it need not be told chronologically. Rebecca Cornell’s death and her son’s trial are the starting points for a more ambitious attempt to unravel the nature of late-seventeenth-century New England. Since Thomas’s alleged culpability is inextricably linked to his relationship with his family as well as to the external social forces that shaped his life, these developments take center stage as the story twists and turns. In each of these settings, the context of his life becomes pretext for a crime.

Readers looking for a thesis, an answer, a satisfactory conclusion to the main event will be disappointed, since the Rashomon qualities of this case preclude any easy solution. Capitalizing on the ambiguities created by the evidence, the book offers alternative story lines that lead to Rebecca Cornell’s untimely demise. As a result, the reader is asked to consider the same evidence more than once, but from different perspectives. The discussion implicitly suggests that historians always make choices as they construct narratives and that there are usually valid alternatives to whatever interpretation is presented as truth. But, having prodded the reader toward ambivalence, fairness demands an explanation and justification of the verdict by returning Thomas Cornell to the world in which he lived and the people with whom he rubbed elbows. Clearly, Cornell’s trial was inseparable from the social permutations and legal culture in which it took place. In another time, another venue, the sequence of events might have been different. On second thought, if Rebecca’s ghost continued to keep her vigil, perhaps not. It cannot be entirely coincidental that the sign outside the Portsmouth, Rhode Island, Baptist Church on February 8, 1998 (the three hundred twenty-fifth anniversary of her death) informed the public that A Man Is What His Mother Makes Him.

1

A DEATH IN THE FAMILY

THOMAS CORNELL WAS forty-six years old in February 1673; by seventeenth-century norms he was already well advanced in life. Nothing is known of his appearance, but if he observed contemporary style he would have been clean shaven with shoulder-length (or slightly shorter) hair. If he resembled many of his male descendants, he would have had a pronounced nose and dark eyes. Given his status in the community, he may have followed the latest London fashions, although unlike the best sort—William Coddington, for example—he probably did not count a wig among his possessions.¹ Cornell, his seventy-three-year-old mother Rebecca, wife Sarah, four sons from a previous marriage, and two daughters from his current marriage lived in the reasonably large (albeit crowded) home owned by the widowed Rebecca in Portsmouth, Rhode Island, not far from the Newport border to the south. One male servant and a male lodger completed this very extended household. Under such circumstances, privacy certainly eluded all but the most persevering, and it is a tribute to Thomas and Sarah that they were expecting their third child.²

Multigenerational families such as the Cornells were rare in colonial America, particularly among the more affluent, who seemed to prefer independent households. Where three generations coresided, however, a parent (or parents) were likely to have taken in a married daughter or son whose spouse had died. Such was the case with the Cornells. Thomas had been left a widower with young children, and he may have chosen to alleviate the burdens of childcare by remaining with his mother until he could install a second wife. Or there may have been financial pressures compelling him to accept Rebecca’s on-site presence in exchange for the more comfortable lifestyle her home provided. Either way, the middle-aged Thomas Cornell was still dependent on his mother, and this relationship must have sorely tested his psychological comfort level.³

Male-headed households were the rule in the patriarchal and hierarchical communities that dotted seventeenth-century New England. Yet Rebecca Cornell owned this particular homestead and showed no signs of relinquishing her authority. Prevailing wisdom held that men—particularly middle-aged married men—governed their dependents, especially women. Yet Rebecca was Thomas’s mother, and he was dependent on her. How could he govern her? Yet, how could he not govern her? His very masculinity and social standing were at stake.

On any given day, Thomas Cornell might have been found attending to some of the never-ending chores that running a farm entailed. Outdoor work consumed less time in February, of course. A deep blanket of snow protected his fields from wind erosion or sudden thaw, but, still, paths required shoveling to provide access to the fallen tree limbs that were the family’s main source of firewood. A few dry days would have allowed Cornell—or his servant—to chop the limbs where they had dropped, but more likely the cold wet weather forced him to drag heavy branches to a sheltered lean-to where a sharp axe stood ready to cut and split the wood. Cornell’s grazing cattle could forage on their own, but a conscientious farmer and herdsman frequently checked on his stock when it was pastured at a distance.⁴ Sarah’s tasks included milking the cows inside the barn, but Thomas was responsible for repairing the barn roof each time winter tore off a shingle.

All this was cold work, even if the prodigious number of Rhode Island sheep (Cornell’s among them) alleviated the chill by keeping their owners supplied with woolen clothing. A linen shirt, loose knee-length waistcoat, and breeches allowed the maneuverability required for these chores, and a cloak or coat provided an extra layer of warmth. By 1673, the tall-crowned hats of the 1650s and 1660s had given way to a flatter top, but Cornell’s hat would still have had a brim, and he might even have worn an undercap. Knitted wool hose, leather knee-length jack boots, and leather gloves made him all but impervious to the elements.⁵

The 100-acre Cornell grant stretched from Narragansett Bay eastward to the main road that ran north-south along the western side of Aquidneck Island. It is possible that a late-nineteenth-century photograph purporting to show the original Cornell homestead does, in fact, portray the wood frame house in which Rebecca Cornell died.⁶ This two-story home, which was eventually consumed by fire at the end of the nineteenth century, was in keeping with seventeenth-century Rhode Island architecture, even if it did not follow the distinctive stone end design for which Rhode Island was famous.⁷ The extremely small glass window panes (twelve over twelve) also hint that the Cornell house in the picture had a seventeenth-century origin. And even if the windows in the photograph were not original (earlier ones may have been leaded casement with small diamondshaped panes), sash windows were already popular by the turn of the eighteenth century.⁸ Six windows across on the second floor east side, five across on the first (because of the front door), the number of windows in the photograph suggests a fairly large house—which in turn reflects the prosperity of its owner. A roomy interior entryway welcomed people into the Cornell home.

Without a floor plan we can only guess how many rooms surrounded the central chimney (probably made of stone), but it is certain that the most dramatic feature of Rebecca’s first-floor chamber would have been the large walk-in fireplace. The afternoon sun poured into her room from a westerly facing window, and two doors provided access: one on the south wall leading to the outside and another on the north wall leading to a common room or kitchen where the family congregated for meals. The wall between these two interior rooms gave the appearance of being a perticion of bords, but since that wall contained the chimney, it was far thicker than such a description implies.⁹ Seventeenth-century Rhode Island chimneys were so deep, in fact, that they could accommodate a stairway along one side, an architectural feature that was usually positioned just inside the front door to provide an entryway and access to the second floor.

Map showing the 100-acre Cornell homestead on Aquidneck Island. The tract bordered Narragansett Bay just north of the line dividing Portsmouth from Newport. Adapted from John Cornell, Genealogy of the Cornell Family (New York, 1902).

A first-floor room with southern and western exposures and a glowing hearth would have made Rebecca Cornell as comfortable as one could be during February in Rhode Island. There is no evidence that she shared this chamber with anyone, despite the abundance of people in the household. Her son and daughter-in-law must have been assigned less spacious accommodations. Indeed, Henry Straite, a lodger in the Cornell household, suggested that the common room served a double purpose as both kitchen and Mr Thomas Cornells roome.¹⁰ The children probably slept upstairs.

Rebecca’s bed occupied the eastern side of her chamber. The bedstead was canopied and surrounded with a valance and curtains, the heavy fabric acting as a buffer between cold drafts and sleeping woman. If winter refused to remain outside altogether, it barely made its presence known within the room. The bed curtains would have been the most opulent display of textiles in the house, since window curtains and floor coverings were rarely found in seventeenth-century rooms. They are likely to have been green, the most sought-after color for bedhangings, although red and blue were nearly as popular in fashion-conscious homes. Rebecca’s material comfort also would have been enhanced by a matching rug blanket and her regular linens: pillows, cases, sheets, and blankets. The great bed was one of the most valued household objects at this time, and its possession said much about household hierarchy. A chair, placed comfortably close to the fireplace, was among the few additional articles of furniture in the room, although there may have been a spinning wheel where Rebecca produced yarn to knit or sell. A basin and candlestick would have sat on a small table somewhere within easy reach. Her chamber pot would have been discreetly unobtrusive under the bed, but readily accessible in case of need. Perhaps the walls of the room were painted; if so, they would have been red or decorated with marbling. Perhaps they were simply plastered. In either case, by seventeenth-century standards, the Cornell family lived well.¹¹

Built by Stephen Mumford, a member of the second inquest jury in the Cornell case, this house is typical of late-seventeenth-century Rhode Island design. The floor plan of the house, originally constructed with one room on either side of the central chimney, would have been similar to that of the Cornell house. The Newport Historical Society, Newport, Rhode Island.

Indeed, they lived very well. Rebecca’s great chest stood alongside a new bench in the new roome of the house, an addition built prior to 1664. Perhaps a wedding gift crafted in Essex, England, the oak chest would have been one of a few prized possessions to have made the Atlantic crossing. Or it may have been produced locally by one of a growing number of skilled New England artisans. The chest would have had ornate carving on its front panels and perhaps even on its sides, a plain lid, and four short square legs. A locked drawer might have housed Rebecca’s good linen suit and her wedding petticoat, a half-century old in 1673.

Also in the new room, perhaps, was Rebecca’s great silver boule. Of English or New England origin, it probably rested on the shelf of a simple cupboard, along with her other silver valuables: a dram cup, two delicately etched wine cups with handles, and spoons. Rebecca Cornell’s two gilt spoons, covered with a thin layer of gold, would have been displayed there as well, a reminder of special occasions past, present, and future.¹² It is likely that Thomas’s rapier hung on the wall of the new room, to be taken down for militia exercises or worn if he rode more than a few miles away from areas settled by the English. The town provided swords and muskets for the protection of each inhabitant, and, although these weapons had a purpose, Thomas’s rapier could have been a symbolic legacy from his father as well; Thomas Sr. had been elected a militia ensign in 1644.¹³

Whatever the name given to the room on the other side of the chimney wall—fire room, great room, keeping room, common room, hall, or kitchen—it contained the hearth where meals were cooked, bread baked, water heated, and clothes dried. Lamps added light to this room, along with smells, smoke, and drippings from burning tallow. Thomas’s two young daughters played here, while their older stepbrothers teased them, exchanged stories, or competed at backgammon. A cupboard containing everyday eating utensils and table linens must have stood on one wall, not too far from the long trestle table at which the family took meals. Just as the master bed and chamber were rife with symbolism, so too was this great room the scene of rituals designed to reinforce status and hierarchy. The head of the household sat at one end of the