Oneby spent the days before execution in fruitless efforts to get relations and friends to use their influence in obtaining him a pardon. But to the first he was so overbearing that they would not visit him in Newgate, and the latter, if he had any, would not stir a finger to help him. His last moments seem to have been spent between laughing at the broad jokes of his personal gaoler, who now never left him, one John Hooper, afterwards public executioner,[153] and fits of rage against those who had deserted him in his extremity. He was further exasperated by a letter from an undertaker in Drury Lane, who, having heard that the Major was to die on the following Monday, promised to perform the funeral “as cheap and in as decent a manner as any man alive.” Another cause of annoyance was the publication of a broad sheet, entitled ‘The Weight of Blood, or the Case of Major John Oneby,’ the writer of which had visited the prisoner, ostensibly to offer to suppress the publication, but really as an “interviewer” to obtain some additional facts for his catch-penny pamphlet. The Major was so indignant that he laid a trap for the author by inviting him to revisit Newgate, promising himself the pleasure of thrashing him when he appeared, but the man declined to be caught. On the Saturday night before execution Oneby, learning that a petition had been presented and rejected, prepared to die. He slept soundly till four in the morning, then calling for a glass of brandy and writing materials, he wrote his will. It was brief, and to the following effect: “Cousin Turvill, give Mr. Akerman, for the turnkey below stairs, half a guinea, and Jack Hooper who waits in my room five shillings. The poor devils have had a great deal of trouble with me since I have been here.” After this he begged to be left to sleep; but a friend called about seven, the Major cried feebly to his servant, “Philip, who is that?” and it was found that he was bleeding to death from a deep gash in his wrist. He was dead before a surgeon could be called in.