Some Distinguished Victims of the ScaffoldBleackley, Horace
History
Some Distinguished Victims of the Scaffold
Bleackley, Horace
Criminals -- Great Britain; Executions and executioners; Trials -- Great Britain
Presently the black clouds that have been slowly unfurling their
shadows across the August sky burst in a peal of thunder, and the
tempest rushes through the air. Amidst the flashes of lightning, a
fierce rainstorm hurls itself to earth. For a moment the bloody work
must pause, since it is impossible to stand against the blinding
torrents. Half an hour passes. Then the deluge ceases as suddenly as it
arose. Hastily the Sheriff gives his orders, and soon expert hands have
arranged the ropes around the necks of the three rain-soaked wretches
in the cart. Swiftly the second tumbril, in which the sick man is lying
prostrate, backs to the coach where sits the penitent housebreaker, and
he is summoned to the gallows. In a few moments the halters are placed
upon their heads, while the contrite thief entreats the multitude to
take warning from his fate. At last, when all is ready, they call upon
Mr Ryland. Springing lightly down the steps, he mounts the cart, and
stands beside his two fellow-sufferers--a brave, graceful gentleman in
black, quiet and unflinching. Strange contrast indeed to the swooning
creature on the floor, or to the noisy burglar, who shrieks to heaven,
wringing his hands. Ordinary Villette comes forward, pressing his
holy attentions upon the unhappy artist, who listens to him calmly
and respectfully, while close at hand his wretched companions pray
long and loud. Suddenly there is a shrill, wailing sound, rising and
falling in equal cadence with the see-saw rhythm of a hymn, “The
Sinner’s Lamentation,” which four terror-stricken creatures, with their
heads thrown back, bellow loudly to the skies. And all this time,
firm, motionless, inscrutable, bearing even the greatest ignominy--the
contact of these foul ones--without a tremor, Wynne Ryland stands
silent, waiting for the last cruel moment. Swiftly it comes. His face
is covered, the hangman lashes his horse, the foothold sweeps from
beneath, and he passes into oblivion. To the other five who sway in the
air at his elbow (save one) death also is merciful.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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