The Devil’s Footprint

The Day the Devil Took a Flying Leap

In the autumn of 1740, the Devil was quite comfortable in Ipswich, Massachusetts. For years, Satan had made a home in the bellcot atop the old wooden meetinghouse on Town Hill. It was a fine place to live, high above the congregation, with an excellent view of the town and its inhabitants. From this lofty perch, the Adversary could watch the respectable people of Ipswich go about their business, listen to their prayers, and take particular pleasure in knowing how often their private behavior differed from their public piety.

And what a delightful collection of sinners they were! There were merchants who cheated their customers, neighbors who gossiped about one another, and churchgoers who nodded solemnly through sermons while thinking about anything but God. The Devil had grown rather fond of Ipswich. It was a respectable town, full of respectable people doing occasionally unrespectable things. Best of all, nobody seemed particularly interested in changing.

Then George Whitefield arrived.

On Tuesday, September 30, 1740, the young English preacher came to Ipswich with a reputation for fiery sermons and a voice powerful enough to make sinners tremble. Word of his arrival had spread throughout the countryside, and people came from miles around to hear him. They came on foot. They came on horseback. They came in wagons. Farmers, merchants, laborers, and their families crowded onto Town Hill until thousands had gathered around the old meetinghouse.

From the bellcot, the Devil watched with growing interest. What a marvelous crowd! Surely there would be enough wickedness among so many people to keep Satan entertained for weeks. But there was a problem. There were far too many people to fit inside the meetinghouse. Instead of gathering beneath its familiar roof, the congregation spread across Meetinghouse Green. Whitefield took his place outdoors, standing where the great crowd could see and hear him.

The Devil was not pleased. For years, Satan had enjoyed a comfortable view of the congregation from above. Now the entire gathering had abandoned the building, leaving the Adversary perched in the bellcot with nothing to do but listen. And listen they did.

Whitefield began to preach. At first, Lucifer was unconcerned. The Devil had heard hundreds of sermons condemning sin, warning against temptation, and promising eternal punishment. Most had accomplished very little. Why should this one be any different? But Whitefield was unlike the preachers Ipswich had heard before.

His voice thundered across the Green. He warned of sin and damnation, called the wicked to repentance, and condemned Satan with such passion that the crowd began to weep and cry out. The Devil frowned. Whitefield grew louder. The Devil covered their ears. Whitefield continued. Satan shifted uncomfortably in the bellcot. Surely this fellow would run out of breath eventually.

He did not.

The preacher's words rolled across Town Hill like thunder, shaking the confidence of sinners and stirring the hearts of the faithful. Every warning about wickedness seemed aimed directly at the Devil's comfortable little arrangement in Ipswich. Lucifer had endured years of sermons, but this was becoming intolerable. It was bad enough that Whitefield had drawn the entire congregation outdoors. Now the man was convincing people to give up their wicked ways! What would become of Ipswich if everyone suddenly started behaving themselves?

The Devil leaned out of the bellcot and glared down at the preacher. Whitefield raised his voice again. That was quite enough.

With a furious howl, Satan scrambled out of the bellcot and down the steep roof of the meetinghouse. Horns gleamed in the autumn sunlight, a long tail lashed behind, and cloven hooves struck the wooden shingles as the Devil descended. The crowd gasped. The Devil leaped from the roof, landed upon the Green, and charged straight toward Whitefield. But the preacher did not run. Whitefield stood his ground, Bible in hand, and continued preaching.

The Devil lunged. Whitefield pushed back. And there, before the astonished people of Ipswich, the young preacher and the Adversary began to wrestle. They shoved and struggled across the Green, kicking up dirt and grass as the Devil clawed and struck at Whitefield. But the preacher would not yield. Every attack was met with another thunderous condemnation, every wicked threat answered with the Holy Word.

The Devil had never encountered anything quite so irritating. Satan had spent centuries tempting mortals, spreading wickedness, and terrifying the faithful. Yet here was a young preacher, scarcely concerned for his own safety, shouting scripture directly into the face of the Prince of Darkness. And in front of thousands of people! This would never do.

The Devil tried to seize Whitefield. Whitefield threw the Devil back. They grappled across the grass and stumbled over the rocky ground, neither willing to surrender. Then, with a tremendous leap, Satan sprang onto the meetinghouse roof, seeking the safety of the bellcot. Whitefield followed. Up the steep wooden roof they scrambled, the Devil clawing for a foothold while the preacher continued shouting scripture. Below them, the people of Ipswich watched in horror as the struggle climbed higher and higher.

At last, they reached the bellcot. There, above the great gathering on Meetinghouse Green, the Devil turned for one final confrontation. Lucifer bared their teeth, stamped a cloven hoof, and prepared to send the troublesome preacher tumbling to the ground. But Whitefield was not finished. Drawing a mighty breath, the preacher delivered a final condemnation so fierce that the very bell seemed to tremble.

The Devil staggered. Whitefield shouted again. And with one tremendous shove, the preacher sent Satan flying off the meetinghouse. Out into the autumn air sailed the Devil, horns first and tail flailing, twisting and tumbling toward the rocky ledge below. The congregation watched in horrified silence. At the last possible moment, Lucifer managed to turn in midair and land upon a single cloven hoof.

CRASH!

The impact shook Town Hill. Sparks flew. Smoke billowed. The solid granite split beneath the force of the landing, and the Devil's hoof sank deep into the rock. For one dreadful moment, Satan stood perfectly still, staring down at the stone. Then came a howl of fury loud enough to wake the dead.

The Devil pulled their hoof free, leaving a deep impression in the granite, and bounded down the hill in a series of enormous leaps. Over fences, through fields, and away from the meetinghouse fled the Adversary, disappearing into the countryside without so much as a backward glance. The Prince of Darkness had been driven out of Ipswich by a preacher with a Bible and an extraordinarily loud voice. And the Devil was not about to return for another sermon.

The people of Ipswich gathered around the rocky ledge. There, pressed deep into the solid stone, was the unmistakable mark of a cloven hoof. They stared. They whispered. They shook their heads. The Devil had come to church and left in quite a hurry.

Years passed, and the old wooden meetinghouse disappeared. Other churches rose upon Town Hill, and generations of Ipswich residents came and went. But the mark remained. Even when fire destroyed the church in 1965, the footprint survived. And there it remains today, on the rocky ledge beside First Church in Ipswich, a reminder of the September morning when George Whitefield preached so fiercely that the Devil took a flying leap out of town.

Satan has never returned to reclaim that comfortable place in the bellcot. Of course, whether the Devil has stayed entirely out of Ipswich is another question. After all, the Adversary always did have a particular fondness for respectable people with a few secrets to hide.