This was the third time I had seen Dr Griggs at Gallows Hill. How many more times would we come here? I did not know. In the cart were four men and one woman, trying to hide their fear. George Jacobs, a grandfather in his late seventies, was lame, illiterate, but he was still powerful in voice and in body weight.

‘I’ll stand in the truth of Christ. I have been falsely accused.’

I felt for him. It was very hot even though the sun had begun to sink over the horizon. I felt the heat more being clad in black clothes. But why should I complain? The look on Robert Proctor’s face was a look that said, ‘I am not ready to die.’ Robert Williard was calm.

George Burroughs, I couldn’t bear to look at him. He was a man of God, yet he was here to be hanged. Knowing I had to speak to him, I moved slowly towards George.

‘George, this is a great miscarriage of justice.’ We eyed each other.

‘Samuel, the sheriff came for me in Maine and took me off before I had finished my meal. I didn’t know what was going on. You know it is ten years since I was a pastor here. I left because of the disputes between families. Now I am back here to be hanged.’

‘Do you hear them, George? They are weeping for you. You are remembered by some.’

‘Aye, I hear them.’

He started to recite the Lord’s Prayer in his strong voice, completing it without error. The spectators were deeply impressed by this feat and called out loudly, ‘Pardon this man. Pardon this man.’

I wondered would people weep for me if I were facing death. Would they shout for my pardon? I looked at him. He was the same height as Dr Griggs with the same black hair but George was physically powerful. That he, at forty years, should end his life like this.

‘George, will you repent?’

‘Samuel, I have nothing to repent. I have committed no crime. The tales, spread by young girls that I murdered my two first wives, are lies. I am innocent.’

My eyes were downcast. All the accused except one so far had not pleaded guilty but innocent. They were proud of their names. Why would George be different? It was no use telling him confessing meant his life. He was more interested in his heavenly life.

He started to walk up the ladder where a noose from the oak’s branch waited for his neck.

‘Pardon this man,’ I said. ‘Take the noose from his neck. You all know him to be a good man.’

A powerful voice punctured the air. Seated on a shiny black steed was Cotton Mather, who had come all the way from Boston to witness the hangings. Was he here for research into witchcraft for another book of his?

‘Do not weep for this sinner. He is not a Reverend for he has never been ordained.’

I whispered to Dr Griggs, ‘Thank the Lord that I am ordained.’

‘You think you see a good man,’ the young Mather continued. ‘Remember that the Devil portrays himself as innocence but George Burroughs is anything but innocent. He murdered his first two wives He is a heinous sinner and deserves to hang.’

Everybody looked to Cotton on his horse. When they looked back to Burroughs, the sheriff had kicked away the ladder, Burroughs was already dangling. For one terrible moment, I thought the branch would break off with his bulk. He was in his morning clothes. They had fetched him at breakfast. I watched in fascinated terror. The sheriff cut Burroughs down and roughly dragged Burroughs to a shallow grave of four feet deep behind a rock. The birds would be circling above by the night. You could cut asunder the air with a scythe.

The air was split with Martha Carrier’s voice. She was next.

‘I am wronged. It is a shameful thing that you should mind these folks that are out of their wits.’

‘She is innocent; she is innocent,’ and then silence.

How can silence be so deafening?

Dr Griggs and I looked at each other in despair and anguish. His mouth twitched violently. How many more would there be? A hot sun bore down on us as all the bodies were buried.

I tuned round and saw a spot on the horizon. It was a horse with a figure on it. Then it turned and rode away. I could tell by the figure’s stance that it was a side-saddle on which she rode. It was Abigail.