She was bareheaded, and her hair was gathered in a knot at the back.

Her gown, of a thick woollen stuff, fit closely to her person, as if it had been made on purpose for the punishment she had been adjudged to receive.

She was talking in a loud voice and gesticulating angrily with her head, for her arms were confined.
"I will give ye a piece of my mind," she declared to her guards.
"Hold your peace, Ann!" cried the eldest of the guards.
"Hold my peace! Verily, I will, not hold my peace about such a hussy as Dorothe Stevens.

That I, a Christian and Puritan, should be ducked for slandering one so foul as she! I choke at the thought." "Marry! I wish you were silent." "Silent, Joshua Chard, silent, indeed! Think ye that the fear of all the water in James River will awe me to silence ?" "No, by the mass, it will not," answered his companion.
"Lawrence Evans, unholy papist, do not touch me!" "I am not a papist." "Come, Ann Linkon, let us have this execution done with," put in Joshua, dragging the woman along.
The scene was now ridiculous enough to excite the laughter of even the gravest Puritans.

The pond and ducking-stool were in sight, and Ann Linkon, with a persistence and strength that was marvellous, began to pull back, and when she had set her heels firmly in the ground it required the united strength of both guards to move her.
"I won't go! I won't be ducked! I won't! I won't!" she screamed at the top of her voice.
"Nay, Ann, bright flower of loveliness, you shall have a soft seat." "Shame on you, Joshua, to drag an old woman like me by the arm." "Marry! I am not dragging you, dame Linkon.