Imagine it's late in the day in September 1692 and you're approaching the gate of the

prison in Ipswich, about 25 miles north of Boston.

The iron bars, cast long shadows are the dusty jail yard as you look for your friend

in Giles' quarry. A few days ago his wife Martha was convicted of witchcraft and sentenced

to die. Giles was indicted for witchcraft too, but when the judge asked him whether he

would agree to a jury trial he refused to answer. The move was unusual and it meant his

trial could not legally proceed, but now he could face a worse fate.

Hearing through the bars you spot Giles walking alone with his head down.

Giles looks up and walks toward the gate, the chains around his wrists clinking.

You really didn't need to come all this way?

Of course I did. One of my oldest friends. How's Martha holding up?

How do you think? You shake your head and sympathy.

Giles, I heard what you did. Refusing to answer the judge's question. I'm sure you think

your clever avoiding trial on a technicality, but refusing to cooperate, it's suicidal.

You know what they'll do to punish you. It's barbaric.

Giles smiles bitterly. Why should I cooperate? If I'm tried I will face the same accusers

who condemned Martha. I'll be convicted and sentenced to die. Just like she was.

If you stand trial, you still have a chance. If you stay silent, you will surely die.

Be realistic. I don't have a chance. This court is a sham.

You grip the iron bars and frustration.

You are the most obstinate man I have ever known. But this is a bridge too far.

For once, can you put your principles aside and think about saving your life?

...