The Life and Crimes of Matthew Hopkins

In the long, blood-soaked history of Europe’s witch hunts, few names curdle the stomach quite like Matthew Hopkins. Active for barely three years, Hopkins sent more people to their deaths for witchcraft than any other individual in England. He did it without legal training, without official appointment, and without mercy.

His story is not just one of cruelty, it is the story of a society primed to believe, eager to accuse, and willing to pay for blood. Hopkins did not invent England’s fear of witches. He simply learned how to weaponise it.
What follows is a detailed account of his rise, his methods, his victims, and the slow unravelling that ended his brief but devastating reign.
Dark Times, Dark Beliefs
Seventeenth century England was already terrified before Hopkins arrived;
- the nation was tearing itself apart in civil war
- crops failed
- plague flared
- villages were hollowed out by poverty and suspicion
- old certainties collapsed as king fought parliament and neighbour turned on neighbour
In times like these, people looked for invisible enemies.

Witchcraft had long been illegal, but belief in it intensified after the publication of Daemonologie, written by James I himself. The book described witches as real, organised servants of Satan who could curse livestock, kill children, and summon storms. When a king says such things, they stick.
Most English villagers already believed magic worked. People believed cunning folk healed with charms, midwives were feared and respected while old women living alone were convenient targets when something went wrong.
All Hopkins needed was opportunity.

The Making of a Witchfinder
Matthew Hopkins was born around 1620, the son of a Puritan minister. Little is known of his early life, but by the early 1640s he was living in Manningtree, Essex. He was young, intense, and hungry for authority.

According to his own account, Hopkins overheard a group of women confessing to witchcraft. Whether this ever happened is doubtful. What matters is that he used it to justify his calling. He styled himself “Witchfinder General,” a title with no legal standing but wielded immense psychological power.

Hopkins partnered with John Stearne, an older man with a talent for intimidation. Together they presented themselves as experts, claiming special knowledge of Satan’s tricks and the secret signs by which witches could be exposed.
They charged fees and the fees were not modest. Entire villages paid to have Hopkins arrive, investigate, and purge.
Fear, once monetised, spreads fast.

How Hopkins Hunted
Hopkins’ methods were designed to break bodies and minds without technically breaking the law.
Sleep Deprivation
Suspects were kept awake for days, sometimes more than a week. Guards were paid to prod them whenever their eyes closed. Hallucinations followed. Confessions came easily once reality dissolved.
Watching
The accused were forced to sit upright while observers stared, waiting for a familiar spirit to appear. A twitch, a muttered word, even a rat passing by could be claimed as proof.

Pricking
Hopkins used a special blade to stab suspected “witch marks” such as moles or scars. If the spot did not bleed or the victim did not cry out, it was declared a devil’s teat. Many prickers used retractable blades. Hopkins denied this, but the results speak for themselves.
Swimming
Victims were bound and thrown into water. Floating meant guilt while sinking meant innocence and often death by drowning. Either way, the accused rarely survived.
Hopkins insisted he did not torture. This was a lie told with clean hands because he ensured others did the dirty work.

Was Hopkins Working for Money, God, or Both?
Hopkins claimed divine motivation, presenting himself as a soldier in God’s war against Satan.

But money followed him everywhere and it showed. He now dressed in clothing that reflected his grand title of Witchfinder General and carried an impressive looking staff like an emblem of his self-proclaimed high office.
Villages paid for his travel, his lodging, his food, and his services. The more witches he found, the more valuable he became. His income far exceeded that of most clergymen. At a time when England starved, Hopkins prospered.

It is impossible to separate belief from profit. He likely believed in witches but he also liked being paid a lot to find them. These two perspectives to the task in hand fed each other well.

Victims and Atrocities
Between 1644 and 1647, Hopkins’ campaigns swept through Essex, Suffolk, Norfolk, and Cambridgeshire. Over one hundred people were executed, most by hanging.
Many were elderly women, some were men, a few were children.

One woman confessed after four days without sleep, claiming she had sex with the Devil, who appeared as a dog with glowing eyes and cold flesh. Another described her familiars in loving detail, not because they were real, but because Hopkins had told her exactly what to say.
Once accused, there was no escape. Neighbours testified to grudges years old: A cow that died ten winters ago became evidence, a stillborn child was proof of malice.
Executions were held in public. Some broke their necks quickly and were considered fortunate but most strangled slowly, in an agonising and prolonged death. Bodies jerked and twisted at the rope’s end in what must have seemed an eternity for the poor unfortunates.
Hopkins, however, did not even attend every hanging. He didn’t need to, his work was done once the confession was signed and the money collected.

Doubt, Resistance, and Collapse
By 1646, cracks appeared.
Some communities refused to pay. Others questioned his methods. A few brave voices argued that innocent blood was being spilled. Legal authorities began to push back, uneasy with Hopkins’ lack of official sanction.
Pamphlets circulated attacking witchfinders as frauds. The public mood shifted from fear to fatigue.

In reply, Hopkins published his own pamphlet, The Discovery of Witches, to defend himself. The publication sets out how witchcraft was identified and prosecuted during the English Civil War. Written in a tone of stern self-justification, it defends his methods as Witchfinder General and presents them as lawful, godly, and necessary for the protection of society. The work blends legal argument, biblical citation, and lurid anecdote, offering a chilling insight into the fear and superstition that fuelled England’s great witch-hunts.
Sadly for Hopkins, penning The Discovery of Witches did little good to reclaim his previous lofty position and financial success.
Without money or authority, his power evaporated.

Death of the Witchfinder
Matthew Hopkins died in 1647, likely of tuberculosis. He was about 27 years old.

There is a popular myth that he was accused of witchcraft and subjected to his own swimming test. This is almost certainly untrue, but the story persists because people want justice to look poetic.
His death was quiet, with no trial and no rope. Just a young man fading away while the country moved on.

Aftermath and Legacy
Hopkins’ career left a scar on English law and memory. After his death, witch trials declined sharply. His excesses became a warning about what happens when fear replaces evidence.
Centuries later, his name still appears in books, films, and horror culture, most notably in the 1968 movie, Witchfinder General.

The Witchfinder General movie, directed by Michael Reeves, is a grim and unsettling portrait of the English Civil War’s darkest superstitions. Vincent Price gives a chilling performance as Matthew Hopkins. Shot in stark rural landscapes, the film strips away any romance from the period, showing how cruelty thrives when authority goes unchecked. It remains one of British cinema’s most disturbing and powerful historical horrors.
To this day, Matthew Hopkins remains a symbol of cruelty justified by righteousness.
Matthew Hopkins did not need claws, horns, or spells. He needed only a frightened society and the confidence to tell it who to blame.
And to its shame, England listened.
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© Colin Lawson Books
