The Real America in Romance, Volume 6 | Page 6

death! That is what you want, wretch!" she screamed
in her shrill voice.
"Peace, dame; be still!"
"I will not be silent. She is a hussy. John Stevens, I defy your wife," she
added as her eyes lighted on Stevens who was near. "I told no
falsehood on her. Go to your friend Hugh Price, and if he will speak the
truth, he will say I spoke no falsehood."
Again Stevens was seen talking with the sheriff; but he shook his head
with the inexorable:
"The judgment of the court--the judgment of the court."
Stevens turned away with a look of disappointment on his face. The
sight of him seemed to increase the anger of Ann Linkon, and she
railed and struggled until, exhausted, she panted for breath. The sheriff
fanned her with his hat until she had partially cooled; but as soon as she
regained her breath, she began again:
"It's a merry sight to you all to watch an old woman. Verily, I wish
Satan would rend you limb from limb, all of ye."
"Go to! hold your peace, Ann!" said the sheriff.
"I will not," she screamed, the froth appearing upon her lips.

"Then you shall be plunged hot."
"I care not."
"It may be your death."
"That's what ye want."
"We don't."
"Ye lie, ye wretch!"
"Ann, I will duck you the full sentence if you don't hold your peace."
"You are a wretch!" she screamed.
The sheriff at this moment motioned the crowd to stand back and gave
the signal to his two assistants, who went to the other end of the pole
and seized the rope dangling there.
"You are a white-livered wretch!" the scold again yelled. At this
moment she went soaring off into the air. A piercing shriek came from
her lips as she found herself swinging out over the pond. "I'll scratch
your eyes out!"
"Let her down," commanded the sheriff, and the men holding the rope
allowed it to slip through their hands, and the woman in the chair
darted down toward the water.
"I said it, as I say it yet; she's a hussy! she's a hussy!" shrieked the
woman, whose vocabulary was insufficient for her rage. The chair
rapidly descended until it struck the water with a splash, pushing the
waves on either side and letting the scold down, down into the cold
liquid. She gave utterance to a yell when she found the water coming
up over her breast, almost taking her breath.
She was drawn all dripping from the pond and elevated high in the air
so everybody could see her. A wild yell went up from the crowd, and
an impudent urchin cried:

"Ann Linkon, how like you your bath?"
"I'll scratch your eyes out!" she shrieked, then again began to denounce
her prosecutor as she once more descended, repeating, "She's a hussy!"
Down, down she went into the water, until it came to her chin, causing
her to utter another shriek. Again she was lifted high in the air. The
sheriff, who was superintending the enforcement of the sentence,
turned to his assistants and said:
"You do not dip her under; let the stool go lower."
As Ann Linkon descended for the last time, she seemed to gather up all
her energies and, in a voice overflowing with hate, shrieked:
"It's true! She is a hussy!"
Plunging down, down, down, until ducking-stool and occupant were
completely buried beneath the water, sank the victim, and on the air
came a gurgling sound: "She's a hussy!" The sheriff's assistants gave
the rope a sudden pull, and in an instant the choking, strangling
creature soared up in the air, gasping for breath with the water running
in streams from her garments. She made several efforts to speak, but in
vain. Her mouth, nostrils, eyes and ears were full of water, and she
could only gasp. Poor Ann Linkon was humiliated and crushed. A
ducking was a light punishment, yet the disgrace which attached to it
was sufficient to break the spirit of one possessing any pride. The
sheriff turned to his assistants and said:
"Put her on shore."
The people gave way, and the stool swung round on the pivot and was
lowered to the sands. The sport was over, and the cavaliers began to
jest and laugh over the scene, which, to them, had been one of
amusement. Hugh and Roger once more retired to talk of politics, and
the Dame Woodley, turning to Sarah Drummond, asked if she thought
public morals had been improved by such a disgraceful scene. But few
expressions of sympathy were offered to the coughing, shivering,

dripping woman, who sat silently in the chair upon the sands. She was
meek enough now when the guards came to unbuckle the straps and
free her. Even