“I used to read in books how our fathers persecuted mankind. But I never appreciated it. I read it, but it did not burn itself into my soul. I did not really appreciate the infamies that have been committed in the name of religion, until I saw the iron arguments that Christians used. I saw the Thumb-screw—two little pieces of iron, armed on the inner surface with protuberances, to prevent their slipping; through each end a screw uniting the two pieces. And when some person denied the efficacy of baptism or her guilt of witchcraft, then they put his thumb between these pieces of iron and in the name of love and forgiveness, began to screw these pieces together. When this was done most men said “I will confess!” Probably I should have done the same and I would have said: “Stop! I will admit that there is one god or a million, one hell or a billion; suit yourselves; but stop!”— “But there was now and then a person who would not swerve the breadth of a hair. Heroism did not excite the respect of our fathers. The person who would not confess or recant was not forgiven. They screwed the thumb-screws down to the last pang, and then threw their victim into some dungeon, where, in the throbbing silence and darkness, he might suffer the agonies of the fabled damned. This was done in the name of love—in the name of mercy—in the name of the compassionate Christ! “I saw, too, what they called the Collar of Torture. Imagine a circle of iron, and on the inside a hundred points almost as sharp as needles. This argument was fastened about the throat of the sufferer. Then he could not walk, nor sit down, nor stir without the neck being punctured by these points. In a little while the throat would begin to swell, and suffocation would end the agonies. “I saw another instrument, called the Scavenger’s Daughter. Think of a pair of shears with handles, not only where they now are, but at the points as well, and just above the pivot that unites the blades, a circle of iron. In the upper handles the hands would be placed; in the lower the feet; and through the iron ring, at the center, the head of the victim would be forced. In this condition, he would be thrown prone upon the earth, and the strain on the muscles produced such agony that insanity would in pity end his pain.” “I saw the Rack. This was a box like the bed of a wagon, with a windlass at each end, with levers, and ratchets to prevent slipping; over each windlass went chains; some were fastened to the ankles of the sufferer; others to his wrists. And then priests, clergymen, divines, saints, began turning these windlasses, and kept turning until the ankles, the knees, the hips, the shoulders, the elbows, the wrists of the victim were all dislocated, and the sufferer was wet with the sweat of agony. And they had standing by a physician to feel his pulse. What for? To save his life? Yes. In mercy? No; simply that they might rack him once again.