A great stillness came over the crowd. Scarce a sound was heard, and even the notes of the birds seemed hushed. I waited, breathless, almost. Then, from out of the centre of silence, came a voice.
“Turn!” cried the Sheriff.
“Turn!” echoed Sir George.
Then the heavy planks above me, forced down by the movement of the screw, began descending. Slowly, as do bearers at the bier of death, the men walked around and around, pushing, with their breasts, against the cross-bar.
Nearer and nearer came the weight that was soon to crush me. I must act with speed now. I would give them time to make one more turn, I thought. There. It was made.
Now the time had come!
I commended my soul to God, as did Samson in the days of old, when he pulled the great pillars of the temple from their base. I strained at my rope bonds. The half cut cords held for a moment, and they bit into my flesh when I pulled on them, weak as I had deemed them. Again I put my strength into my muscles, until the blood seemed like to spurt from my finger tips.
Suddenly the bonds gave, bursting with a sound like a pistol with a little load in it, and my arms were free. There was a great shout from the multitude.
“The strength of Goliath is in him!” cried an old man in the front rank. “Satan is beside him, witch that he is, giving him the great power.”
