The convict, Lopez, dressed in black, with a loose cloak covering his shoulders, was on horseback, attended by two priests, also mounted, one at each side of him. He wore a hat of large dimensions turned up in the front, and his demeanour was the same as at his trial—firm, collected, and calm. Arrived at the foot of the scaffold he dismounted with ease, and throwing a rapid glance, first at the vast crowd and then at the _garrotte_ itself, he ascended the flight of steps leading to it. The two priests followed but did not speak to him, his wish being that they should not. He then, without flurry or agitation, took off his hat and cloak, and handed them to the assistant executioner, to whom he said something. He wished to address the people, but was prevented by the officer commanding the Spanish troops. He bowed obedience, and instantly took his seat upon the stool under the clasp. His arms were then bound with cords, and the iron collar passed through the stake and placed upon his throat. This scene had a strong effect upon the multitude: the quiet but determined self-possession of the man, his extraordinary resolution, devoid of any bravado, was enough to check any indecent ebullition of patriotism; but the sight of that terrible collar seemed to awaken feelings, and to call forth that sympathy which, a few moments before, was nowhere to be found. Women who, to their shame be it told, waved their handkerchiefs with joy upon his arrival at the scaffold, now might be seen covering their eyes to hide from their view the horrid sight, or to wipe away the tears that traced their cheeks. All was now in readiness: the executioner stood behind, holding the screw with both hands; at each side was a confessor, and behind one was the assistant executioner, with a square piece of cloth in his hand; one of the priests read from a book, while the other held the hand of Lopez. This ceremony occupied but a few moments; and when the priest had finished reading he stooped down to kiss the cheek of the ill-fated Lopez. He then closed the book; the man behind him threw the cloth over the culprit’s face; the executioner turned the screw—and Lopez was dead! The two priests hurried down the steps, and, in their confusion and fright, ran headlong under the horses of the cavalry which were posted round the scaffold. One of them, a corpulent man—as indeed most priests are—was dreadfully lacerated, but the other escaped uninjured. During the entire of this scene the vast crowd preserved the most profound silence; but the sight they had just witnessed was succeeded by another of a more disgusting nature. The assistant executioner removed the cloth from the face of the dead man: it was perfectly black; the eyeballs were forced from their sockets; the throat was pressed quite flat, and the mouth, with the tongue hanging down on the chin, was dragged under the right ear.