Warning Out
The tension between those who believe the poor should pull themselves up “by their own bootstraps” and those who believe the country should lend a hand is always argued and never resolved. It is one difference between political parties. It guides legislation. The question of what to do about the most vulnerable among us is older than our country.
The first law to address the plight of the poor was passed in Plymouth Colony in 1692. Far from creating a social safety net, the law was referred to as “warning-out.” If you could not pay your way, you were asked to leave the town.
The colonists feared strangers and any who “have lately come here to reside and not been duly admitted.” The key words were “duly admitted.” To be duly admitted, a stranger was required to demonstrate sound economic circumstances or familial connections with settled members of the community. Sound economic circumstances were possession of coin of the realm, a marketable skill, or tillable land. If they could not demonstrate one of these, they were warned out.
The practice persisted as the colonies became the United States. Town selectmen were empowered to give formal notice to those who did not own land or have sufficient funds to leave or be jailed: “April 4, 1783, To the Constable: In the name of the government and the people you are hereby required forthwith to warn Jacob Benton & Hannah his wife, to depart out of this town immediately and no longer make it their residence under the pains that will follow.”
It sounds harsh, and yet, underlying the seemingly heartless law, was an organizing principle more deeply communal than any we hold today. The principle was: “[E]very member of the community is answerable for the good conduct, the well-being, and the damage done by every other member.” The whole community was responsible to feed the hungry, house the homeless, pay damages for the lawbreaker, and answer for the behavior of the sinner. Settlement Laws, including warning-out—were enacted to minimize so enormous a burden.
These early colonists were carving community out of wilderness. They were taxed for roads, school, church, and minister. They were attempting literally to build the elements of a civilized life. They feared anyone who, rather than contributing, might become a “public charge” and create a “burden likely to be too great for us to bear.” Anyone who wished to settle in a Massachusetts town or village had to be “duly admitted” in hope that any who “might be burdensome” would be identified and refused admittance.
Fornication
The stranger—the landless resident—was one potential financial threat; another was the fornicator. In 1761, the Berkshires were considered sufficiently settled and civilized to have a shiretown—a county seat with a court. The civil court was called the Court of Common Pleas, and criminal court was the Court of General Sessions.
The first case heard in the Court of General Sessions on September 1, 1761 was that of “Susannah York of Sheffield who confesses herself guilty of the crime of fornication on the ninth day of April Anno Domini 1760 and the court having considered of her offense ordered that she pay as a fine to the King the sum of 13/4 and she paid the costs accordingly.”
The value of the fine exacted—13 shillings 4 pence—was equal to the value of two deer skins—not an insignificant sum.
In every court session there was at least one fornication case. Only women came forward and admitted to the act—no men. The explanation was simple: A fornicator was “a single woman who was begotten of a Bastard Child born of her body.” The pregnant spinster or the resulting child was positive proof of guilt.
The community’s interest was not in the act but the offspring. If the father could be found, he was ordered to support mother and child and “pay the sum of 200 pounds in lawful money to save and spare the town from any charge that might hereafter arise by reason of said child being born.” Prosecution of fornication cases had more to do with money than morality.
The 18th-century Berkshires were a series of small communities: knots of 138 families, or fewer, living in wide clearings in the woods connected by narrow dirt roads. They were vulnerable. Fatherless children were a potential financial burden on the community. The court was making sure that the responsible party paid, thus “easing of the towns where bastards are born [the cost] of the child and the education thereof.” In fact premarital sex was encouraged to be certain the couple was fertile.
Servitude
In 1762, Sarah Joyner of Egremont “was brought to answer” a charge of fornication. She could not pay the fine, and no family member came to her aid. Unable to pay, she was ordered to “stand committed till that sentence be performed.” [Stay in jail until she could pay the fine.]
In such a case, anyone could come forward and pay the fine. By virtue of payment, Sarah was bonded (indentured) to that person until she repaid the debt. As long as she could not pay, she was bound to work it off. In the 18th century, giving birth to a fatherless child was one possible road to slavery.
The St. John family came to Stockbridge in 1769. They were landowners and members of the Congregational Church. They were respectable and welcome until Anna St. John was widowed and left with seven children. She had a meager inheritance of 290 pounds in real property and 100 pounds in personal property—approximately $17,600 today. The fortunes of the family went steadily downhill. Anna returned to her parents in Sharon, Conn., but they would not accept seven children. The youngest went with Anna and at least three, including daughter Martha, were left behind.
Martha, alone and without protection, wandered into Lenox and into debt. It was 1787. With no way to repay, it was “voted that Martha St. John be put up at Publick Vendue [public auction] and sold to the person who bids her off [buys her].”
The bidder paid her debt and by virtue of that payment, St. John was bonded to the purchaser until she repaid him. Unfortunately, the one who bought her also determined when she was paid in full. Unless she found a protector, a husband, or an avenue back to court for an independent determination, her owner might decide repayment was equal to her lifetime.
Theodore Sedgwick represented Mum Bett and won her freedom in 1781. Six years later, Martha was purchased by Azariah Egleston Esq. That year Mum Bett’s liberator sat on a town committee with Martha’s purchaser. No one remarked on anything strange.
