When you think of early colonial settlers, you probably picture prim, pious folks who spent more time in church than in revelry. Yet, beneath that austere veneer lay a world of bizarre, lewd, and downright shocking incidents—each met with swift, often brutal Puritan justice. Below are 10 strange examples of colonial justice that prove the New World could be as wild as any modern headline.
10 Strange Examples of Colonial Justice
10 Edward Palmer And The Boston Stocks
In the fledgling towns of colonial America, law required each settlement to maintain facilities for restraining the most disorderly citizens, lest the community face fines. Early Boston imported heavy iron bilboes—essentially iron bars with shackles—to immobilize offenders by their feet, a punishment designed for public shame.
Bilboes, however, were costly; iron was a prized commodity, and colonial treasuries were tight. While iron prices surged, wood was abundant and cheap. The city council decided to replace the expensive bilboes with wooden stocks, commissioning carpenter Edward Palmer in 1636 to construct the new device.
Palmer’s bill for the work outraged the magistrates, leading them to accuse him of extortion. He was found guilty, fined £5, and—ironically—ordered to spend an hour perched in the very stocks he had just built.
9 Captain Thomas Kemble’s Lewd Kiss
Thomas Kemble, a prosperous merchant who shipped household goods into Massachusetts and exported lumber back to England, was a man of considerable standing. In the 1650s, after a three‑year business stint, he returned home on a Sunday, only to greet his wife with a kiss at the doorstep.
The Puritan courts deemed this display “lewd and unseemly,” especially because it occurred on the Sabbath, compounding the offense. Kemble was sentenced to two hours in the public stocks for his indiscreet affection.
Even single men faced strict regulations on courtship. In many towns they required special permission to reside, and any unauthorized cohabitation could result in weekly fines, underscoring how closely the Puritans policed personal conduct.
8 Captain John Underhill’s Banishment
John Underhill, whose family once plotted against the English queen, fled to the Netherlands before immigrating to the American colonies in the 1620s. He quickly rose in Massachusetts Bay, training the militia and holding influential posts.
Underhill’s downfall began when he supported a controversial reverend deemed heretical by mainstream Puritans. After the reverend’s expulsion, Underhill was stripped of his offices and accused of adultery, leading to his excommunication from both church and community.
In 1640, Underhill begged for reinstatement, escorted by the governor into the meetinghouse. He publicly confessed a litany of sins—adultery, pride, contempt, and more—claiming divine visions tormented him. Though his confession secured his return to the congregation, the community demanded he also acknowledge a six‑month courtship that had resulted in adultery, which the aggrieved husband eventually forgave.
7 Dishonoring The Sabbath
Colonial records brim with cases of citizens caught “dishonoring” the Sabbath. Activities as innocuous as picking apples, catching eels, or even tucking an old hat into a shoe—intended to protect a laborer’s foot—were deemed work on holy day and punishable.
One couple faced trial for simply sitting beneath an apple tree on the Lord’s Day. Others were fined for washing clothes, driving oxen, or raking hay. In 1658, James Watt was publicly shamed for drafting a business note after sunset, the court asserting he had not waited long enough.
Various colonies enforced harsh penalties: Vermont limited Sabbath violations to a ten‑strike whipping; New Haven prescribed death for profane language on Sunday. Even well‑meaning citizens sometimes fell afoul—one Maine man was fined for “unseemly walking” until he proved he was racing to rescue a drowning swimmer. In another oddity, Norwich resident Samuel Sabin turned himself in after a night visit, tormented by guilt over possibly breaking Sabbath law.
6 William And Dorcas Hoar
In Beverly, Massachusetts, 33‑year‑old William Hoar drew authorities’ attention in 1662 for hosting a modest Christmas gathering with alcohol. While the incident itself is sparsely documented, the Hoar family’s reputation for defying local leadership grew legendary.
The Hoars despised their minister, often breaking into his residence to pilfer belongings. In 1678, Dorcas Hoar was arrested for heading a burglary ring that included her daughters as apprentices. Though records of the stolen goods are vague, the scandal cemented their notoriety.
By 1680, William oversaw the town meetinghouse, while Dorcas increasingly embraced a witch‑like persona. Documents from 1689 describe her as dressed like a witch; by 1692, William’s mysterious death sparked rumors. When his death investigation was halted—thanks to Dorcas’s fervent protest—she was swept into the Salem witch trials. Her self‑proclaimed fortune‑telling and palm‑reading were used as evidence, leading to her September hanging for witchcraft, not for her husband’s demise.
5 The Puritans vs. Mary Dyer And The Quakers
Many who fled to the colonies seeking religious liberty wanted it solely for themselves. When the Quakers arrived, Puritan leaders in Boston swiftly rejected them, imposing fines on any vessel that brought the dissenters ashore. In some cases, captains were forced to return the Quakers to England.
Between 1656 and 1661, roughly forty Quakers resisted Puritan oppression, setting up meetings, delivering speeches, and repeatedly returning after arrests. Mary Dyer, who first arrived in Massachusetts in 1633 with her husband, embraced Quakerism on a return trip to England and felt called to spread the faith.
After being jailed alongside two fellow Quakers, Dyer was released to Rhode Island, only to return to Massachusetts to visit imprisoned comrades. In 1659, she was again arrested and sentenced to hang with two friends; the two were executed, while Dyer received a last‑minute pardon. Defiantly, she refused to descend from the gallows until the law against Quakers changed—an appeal that fell on deaf ears. She was later arrested again, offered freedom if she renounced her beliefs, and steadfastly refused. Eventually, she was hanged on Boston Commons and buried in an unmarked grave. Her martyrdom prompted King Charles II to ban Quaker executions.
4 The Obligation To Arms
Early American law generally mandated that every male over sixteen keep a firearm. While some ethnic groups or those deemed untrustworthy received exemptions, the expectation was universal: men should carry a gun at all times.
In 1619, Virginia enacted a statute requiring citizens to attend church on the Sabbath armed; failure incurred a three‑shilling fine. By 1643, Connecticut demanded attendance with “a musket, pistol, or some piece, with powder and shot.” Massachusetts Bay mirrored these statutes, aiming to protect towns from attacks.
These regulations extended to public meetings: Rhode Island fined any attendee without a weapon five shillings; early Plymouth laws required at least one charge per firearm, later raising the standard to six charges by 1657.
Travel also demanded armament. In the 1630s, Rhode Island required anyone traveling more than three kilometers (two miles) from town to carry a gun or face a fine. Maryland’s vague law prohibited anyone from being “any considerable distance from home” without a ready‑to‑fire weapon. Such pervasive arm‑bearing policies illustrate the colonies’ perpetual vigilance.
3 Dorothy Talby’s Orders From God
In December 1638, Dorothy Talby became one of the earliest women executed by court order in the colonies. Initially a devout figure, neighbors began noting signs of mental instability. In 1637, she was chained to a post as punishment for abusing her husband; continued misconduct led to excommunication and whipping.
In December 1636, the Talbys baptized a daughter named Difficulty. Overwhelmed, Dorothy claimed a divine voice commanded her to kill the infant to spare the child future misery. She obeyed, breaking the baby’s neck, and never denied the act, insisting it was God’s will.
When she refused to plead, judges threatened pressing death; she requested beheading instead. Yet, under English law, she was sentenced to hang. She fought the executioners the entire way. Later, Nathaniel Hawthorne portrayed her as a wronged wife, while Oliver Wendell Holmes argued she suffered untreated mental illness.
2 Mary Latham And James Britton
In 1640s Massachusetts, 18‑year‑old Mary Latham faced heartbreak after a suitor rejected her. She vowed to marry the next man who approached, soon wed a man three times her age. Later, she encountered James Britton, a charming yet notorious womanizer.
During a social gathering, Mary and James slipped away to the woods, where numerous partygoers observed them engaging in intercourse. Authorities in Weymouth arrested the pair, both confessing to the affair.
The case escalated to Boston courts, but only a single witness could testify to the actual act, complicating sentencing. Nonetheless, their confessions invoked Leviticus 20:10, which deemed adultery a capital offense. On March 21, 1644, both delivered speeches warning of sexual immorality before being hanged. While adultery rarely earned death, Mary’s multiple confessions hardened the judges’ resolve.
1 Thomas Morton, Merrymount, And The Maypole
In 1624, Thomas Morton crossed the Atlantic, backed by a Crown‑sponsored trading firm. Settling first in Quincy, Massachusetts, he later split from partner Captain Wollaston after discovering Wollaston’s sale of indentured servants to Southern tobacco plantations.
Disgusted by Puritan rigidity, Morton rallied the remaining servants, declaring a new settlement—Merrymount—where he styled himself as “host.” The community thrived, partly due to trade with nearby Algonquin peoples, granting them comforts the starving Puritans lacked.
To attract Algonquin women, Morton organized a raucous celebration featuring alcohol, music, dancing, and a towering maypole. The Puritans, led by Myles Standish, stormed the revelry, arresting Morton while the drunk crowd offered no resistance.
Morton, leveraging high‑ranking English contacts, was exiled to the Isles of Shoals, later rescued en route to England. Upon return, a plague decimated his Algonquin allies, and his own people fled. The Puritans seized the chance, arresting Morton again, expelling him, and razing Merrymount.
Back in England, Morton sought revenge, eventually securing the revocation of the Massachusetts Bay Colony charter. Yet, the English Civil War drained Crown resources, preventing enforcement. Morton returned to Plymouth alone, was briefly imprisoned as an agitator, granted clemency, and spent his remaining years in Maine, dying in 1647. Merrymount’s remnants later became Wollaston, home to Anne Hutchinson and, eventually, John Hancock.