Behind them were massed their retainers. Bannermen carried tattered triangular flags, and coolies bore aloft enormous umbrellas--two to each official--whereon were painted in bright colours a quaint design of dragons and griffins. Each mandarin was also accompanied by a sword-bearer, a pipe-bearer, and a domestic to whose care was confided a black-lacquered box containing the areca-nut and betel-leaf of his master. They formed a dirty, motley crowd, without order or cohesion--clad in shabby, tattered scarlet uniforms; and they laughed, chatted or squabbled, one with the other, like a pack of old fishwives. They subsided into comparative silence, however, on the appearance of Captain Plessier, our commander, who occupied the place of honour, a little in advance of the two judges. The prisoners were now brought into the enclosure, under the escort of a few _linh-le_ (soldiers of the mandarin guard), whose dirty green uniforms and still dirtier rifles and accoutrements were certain proofs of their slovenly and undisciplined habits. Behind the little procession formed by the condemned men stalked the executioner, a tall native dressed in a red embroidered vest and black silk pantaloons. Upon his shoulder he carried a heavy curved sword, about 3 feet long, and a good deal broader at the end than near the handle. The five rebels, their hands tied behind them, walked to their death without any tremor or hesitation. Chatting together merrily, they threw curious glances at their surroundings, and expectorated from time to time, with evident unconcern, the red juice of the betel-leaf they were chewing. They were lined up, separated about four paces one from the other, on the opposite side of the square occupied by the authorities, and facing them. As each of the prisoners reached the place assigned to him, a native soldier unbuttoned and turned back the collar of the rebel's vest; then, one after the other, they knelt upon the grass, taking every care that their position should be as comfortable as the circumstances would allow. The sentence having been read aloud to the assembled natives, the executioner, after thrusting his finger into his mouth, traced a wet line of red betel juice across the back of the neck of the first of his victims, about half an inch above the last big vertebra. Stepping back a pace, he swung aloft his heavy sword with both hands. It poised a second in the air; there was a glitter in the bright sunlight as it descended; then a swishing sound and a dull thud. The head of the first rebel, detached with a single blow, fell on the ground and rolled once over. From the severed neck a rich red stream shot out quite 6 feet over the grass; the body rocked once and subsided gently. Bending over it, the executioner touched the open arteries, and smeared a little of the warm blood over his own lips as a charm against any evil influence from the spirit of the departed.