 | CHAPTER XIV. The forsaken |  |
14. CHAPTER XIV.
You must rise and be hanged, master Barnardine.
Measure for Measure.
The day fixed for the execution of Gordon and Miriam
having arrived, a large concourse of people assembled,
at an early hour, to witness the awful scene.
The gallows was erected upon a common, a short distance
from Westchester village, and every tree in its
vicinity was bending with anxious spectators. Human
nature, however sublimated, possesses the power of
extracting a horrid sense of enjoyment from scenes too
appalling to contemplate in solitude. Few who join
the crowd to behold a public execution, could bear to
be the solitary witness of the violent death of a fellow
being, and yet, if the bustle and circumstance of the
world be around us, we become philosophical, and
calmly count the struggles it requires to force an immortal
soul from its tenement of clay to the presence
of its Creator.
The street in front of the prison was crowded, and
as every one was anxious to get the first look, it was
with difficulty that the guard could keep the passage open
to the door. A short thickset man, whose bushy beard
gave him the appearance of a Jew in mourning, made
repeated attempts to get as near as practicable, but was
constantly repulsed by the guard, which he bore with
dogged perseverance, until he reached the station he
and he hung down his head as if wishing to avoid observation,
but kept his eyes riveted towards the door,
from which no remark of the crowd could divert them.
The impatience of the crowd increased as the hour
approached for the appearance of the condemned, and
there were those whose curiosity was excited to such a
degree, that they begrudged the few fleeting moments
of preparation allowed to those who were to suffer.
We revert with horror to the cruel pastime of the Romans,
who condemned the gladiator to death for the
amusement of the multitude. We recoil from the
bloody sacrifices that bigotry has required, under the
mask of religion, from the commencement of the annals
of the world to the present hour, and we shudder
at the hellish delight experienced by the child of the
forest, while dancing like a fiend around the fire that
consumes his foe. The philanthropist recalls these
appalling scenes, and rejoices at the melioration of
mankind; but has that savage feeling yet been rooted
from the human heart, or does it only slumber from
the want of stimulus to awaken it? Behold the crowds
that constantly flock to every public execution, as to a
place of recreation, and notwithstanding the boasted
improvement that has taken place, we are irresistibly
led to the conclusion, that the important change is of
as little moment as the migrations of the honest vicar
of Wakefield, from the blue bed to the brown.
At length the prison door was unbarred, and Foster
appeared with Alice and M`Crea, who had just taken
a final leave of the unhappy Miriam. The outward
signs of grief had subsided, but the heart was inwardly
bleeding, as they took their station beside the person
above described, who no sooner recognised Alice than
he stepped back to make room for the mourner.
The doors were again thrown open and the prisoners
came forth, Paul walking with a firm and steady step.
His ruddy features were somewhat bleached by
gray eyes was still undiminished. He was clad in
white, a cap was on his head, his hands were bound
behind him, and the halter was about his neck. Miriam
had been subjected to similar treatment, and she was
dressed in white also. Her step was faltering, her eyes
cast down, and red, and her countenance was as pale
as death, but calm and resigned. She was supported
by one of the officers of justice, who appeared more
affected by the melancholy duty he had to perform,
than the unfortunate being he assisted. When they
arrived in front of the spot where Alice stood, the
heart-broken woman sobbed aloud, and called upon
her child by name. The eyes of all were directed towards
her, and Paul as he turned caught a glimpse of
the rugged figure standing beside her, and a gleam of
recognition crossed his pallid countenance, as he beheld
his friend Nicholas, the quondam host of the
Crooked Billet. Nicholas raised his shaggy eyebrows,
as his eyes met those of Gordon, and they gazed on
each other for a moment in silence, but their looks
were pregnant with meaning.
“Have I any friends here to see me die?” demanded
Paul, in a subdued tone.
“More than one,” responded Nicholas, but in such
a guarded manner, that even those who stood next to
him knew not from whom the answer proceeded.
“Then I shall die,” replied Paul, “as the upright
man dieth, surrounded by his friends.”
“Even so must you die,” was the answer returned,
but Nicholas looked not towards him as he spoke, and
Paul had turned his face in an opposite direction. He
then bent his head in token of farewell, his features resumed
their former sternness, and he firmly moved
forward towards the cart prepared to receive him, and
in his passage he recognised several of his lawless
companions mingling in the crowd. Miriam followed
closely behind him, and as they advanced, Alice rushed
“O! God, you will not murder my child. Monsters,
she is innocent, and you lead the lamb to slaughter.”
The guards thrust her back; she rushed forward a second
time, and threw her arms around the feeble frame
of Miriam. “Spare her life; O! spare her, or you
must answer to God for the shedding of innocent
blood. She is innocent, I say, as innocent as the
saints in heaven, of murder; then why drag her to
death!”
The guard attempted to tear them asunder, rather
rudely, for Alice in her agony clasped the poor girl so
firmly, that considerable force was required to separate
them.
“Do not injure my poor mother,” said Miriam.
“Respect her feelings, though you spare not mine.”
“We must do our duty,” was the reply, and Alice
was driven back to the crowd.
“If you are not merciless,” she cried, “let me embrace
my child once again before you murder her.”
“Lead on; the time has already expired,” said
Foster, and they advanced slowly.
“If you would have the prayers of a broken-hearted
mother,” continued Alice, “grant me but one kiss, and
I will yield her to your bloody justice.” They still advanced,
and she fell on her knees. “I beseech you,
let me but touch her hand—her garment—and I will
yield her up without a murmur. Hear me, as you
would have God hear you in your extremest need. I
ask but to touch my child—to have one look from her
before she dies—and can you deny a broken-hearted
mother even this!” Still they moved on.
“Farewell, mother,” sighed Miriam. “Let us
hope to meet in a better world, for we meet no more
in this.”
“My child, my child!”
Mercy was deaf to the petition of Alice, but as it fell
soul, and awakened recollections far more painful than
the remembrance of the offences for which he was
about to suffer, for his villany had occasioned the misery
that he witnessed. He shuddered at every word
that passed the lips of Alice, as she continued her petition
`for one kiss,' until they reached the cart, when
they were placed in it, and the procession slowly moved
on towards the gallows, while Alice and M`Crea followed
with the rest of the crowd.
As the procession moved, Nicholas hurried on and
stationed himself as near the gallows as the guards
would permit, and near him stood the dwindled figure
of Ephraim Horn, with spectacles on nose, and elongated
to his utmost altitude, in order to have a full view
of the coming scene. At a short distance from Ephraim
stood the corporal, and beside him the false Delilah
of the hapless Gordon. As Nicholas cast his lowering
eyes upon the company he was in, the corporal made
an attempt to renew their former intimacy, but mine
host eyed him sternly from head to foot, and turning
away, muttered something like the Devil's benediction.
The corporal retreated a few paces, and did not make
a second attempt to attract the notice of the once jovial
host of the Crooked Billet. He spoke to Mistress
Haines, but she was engrossed with her own reflections,
and her eyes were riveted on the spectacle before
her. He then turned to Ephraim, but as the spirit
had not yet moved the man of primitive manners to
pay the promised reward for the conviction of Gordon,
he also turned a deaf ear to the salutation of the corporal,
and would not suffer even a violent tug at his
skirts to attract his attention. He seemed as though
his mind were wholly engrossed in moralizing on the
awful scene, though he found it impossible to disengage
it from the idea of five pounds sterling money, the
amount of Drone's demand. This is not strange, as
we occasionally meet with men who can get their whole
corporal, however, was one of those who are not to be
put off with a slight rebuff, and as the first tug at the
Quaker's skirts was unnoticed, he tried a second, which
brought forth an ejaculation from the spirit of Ephraim.
“Verily, it is an awful thing to meet Death and all
his terrors, when one is unprepared!” But as this had
no bearing upon the corporal's five pounds, he responded—
“And, verily, it is an awful thing to meet a creditor,
when one is unprepared!” This was spoken in a tone
loud enough to excite the attention of all around, but
Ephraim, and as the corporal was a persevering man,
he tried a third and a fourth tug, until the stitches in
Ephraim's skirts began to crack, when it appeared that
he had not entirely lost the sense of hearing, for he
turned hastily upon the corporal, and exclaimed—
“Verily, friend, I believe thou art picking my
pocket, and unless thou dost desist, I shall be compelled
to hand thee over to justice.”
“Bear witness,” cried the corporal, “he charges
me with picking his pocket, and he shall either prove
his words, or learn what it is to slander the character
of one who has served his country.”
“I did not charge thee, friend, with picking my
pocket,” replied Ephraim; “I mere expressed an opinion
that thou wast doing it, and if I am in error, pray
what dost thou mean by tugging thus at my coat?”
“I would have five pounds hard money, fairly earned,”
replied the corporal.
“O! the power of Mammon!” exclaimed Ephraim.
“Canst thou thirst for the vanities of this world at such
a time as this?”
“To be sure I can,” replied the other, “and hunger
after them too.”
“Reflect upon the evanescent condition of thy mortal
state.”
“I do, and therefore want my five pounds to sustain
it.”
“Remember, friend, that thou hast at this present
speaking a coat of mine upon thy back, which I consider
a fair and legal setoff against thy demand of five
pounds.”
“Your coat be d—d,” cried the corporal, “you
have already been paid two prices for it, with the usual
allowance for staytape and buckram. But a word in
your ear, old broadbrim. If I cannot get my five
pounds out of your pocket, burn me if I do not take it
out of your hide.”
“Verily, I cannot give ear unto thee now, for my
spirit is otherwise engaged.” Ephraim endeavoured
to move out of his way, but Drone stuck close to his
skirts, vociferating for his five pounds, and boasting of
the magnanimous part he had played in the apprehension
of Paul.
The cart containing the prisoners now drove under
the gallows, and an address to the Dispenser of all
good was made by an aged man who officiated on the
occasion. The prayer being closed, he sung a hymn,
in which he was joined by those immediately around
the gallows. The clear full voice of Nicholas was
heard above the rest, and his head was now elevated,
and his rugged features exposed. Madge also joined
the chant, but her head was bent down on her breast,
and her voice was tremulous and almost inaudible.
Among the crowd, the reckless companions of Gordon
were seen moving to and fro; he recognised them as
they passed, but from the armed force on the ground,
he was aware that any attempt at rescue would be
fruitless.
Alice Grey looked on in despair; the hood of her
cloak hanging on her shoulders, her head bare, and
her eyes riveted upon the faded form of Miriam, whose
pallid face was raised towards heaven. The hymn
being finished, the executioner demanded of Paul
shook his head, signifying that he did not, and the executioner
proceeded in his duty. He secured the rope
around the beam of the gallows, adjusted the knot, and
drew the white cap over the eyes of the criminal.
“Why am I to be hoodwinked?” demanded Paul.
“Raise the cap from my eyes, that I may look upon
the world as long as I remain in it.”
“It is the custom,” said the executioner.
“To live blindly, but not to die blindly,” replied
Paul. “This holy man has been labouring to open
my eyes, and you would foolishly close them. Come,
let me die with my eyes open.”
Miriam turned her face with horror from the appalling
ceremony, and Gordon stood erect in the cart,
while all eyes were directed towards him in fearful expectation,
and a dead silence prevailed throughout the
concourse. The silence was broken by the sound of
a bugle, which was succeeded by a press in the crowd
towards the gallows. Paul recognised the familiar
notes of his own bugle, he saw the movement in the
crowd, and a momentary hope arose that his companions
would yet attempt to save him. It was, however,
but a fleeting hope, for the next instant he heard the
voices of the guards commanding the crowd to stand
back, and the heavy tread of the mass receding. Order
was again restored.
Miriam's terrors had nearly deprived her of every faculty,
physical and mental. Her eyes were vacant and
tearless, her cheeks ashy pale, and her lips as colourless
as her cheeks. She trembled in every joint; every
muscle was relaxed, and her languid head fell upon
the bosom of the executioner. As he gazed upon her,
a tear dropped from his glazed eyeballs upon the death-like
cheek of the law's victim. It was but a momentary
gush of feeling, and his pulse again beat as temperately
as ever, as he proposed the usual question, whether
she forgave him.
“You have never wronged me,” she faintly replied,
“then what have I to forgive?”
“He would be forgiven the wrong he is about to do,”
replied Gordon; “and as it will be too late to ask the
question after it is done, he prudently takes time by
the forelock.”
“Let him rest satisfied, I shall carry no animosity
to the grave.”
He now systematically adjusted the knot, cast the
cord over the gallows, and ascended the ladder to
fasten it, while Foster supported her. Alice stood gazing
at the fearful preparation, stupified with horror.
All her faculties seemed to have abandoned her. She
watched every act that was done with painful intensity,
but neither attempted to speak nor move. Her lips
quivered, she gasped for breath, and big drops of perspiration
stood upon her forehead as the executioner
secured the rope around the beam. The feelings of
the frantic mother were wrought to a crisis; human
nature could bear no more; she rushed forward a few
steps, uttered a frantic shriek, and fell to the ground.
Miriam recognised her as she fell, and exclaimed, in
an agony of grief—
“Mother, mother! why are you here!”
“My child! O! spare my child!
“Away, and let me die. Farewell! and may heaven
support you in this affliction. Mother, beloved, farewell!”
Her voice was inarticulate, and scarcely audible,
and as she concluded, her head sunk upon Foster's
bosom.
Corporal Drone, and some of the by-standers, advanced
to administer relief to Alice, while one of the
officers demanded of the executioner, who had paused
in the administration of his duty, whether all was ready,
to which Foster replied that she had fainted, and was
still unconscious of what was passing.
“We are nearly an hour over the time appointed for
her death,” continued the other.
“It would be unchristianlike to take her life while
in this state,” observed Foster.
“Then wait until she revives.”
“That will be at the day of judgment,” added Gordon,
eyeing the motionless and relaxed form of the
hapless girl, as she was supported in the arms of the
jailor.
Some confusion and uproar now took place in the
crowd, and immediately after a man appeared on horseback,
bareheaded, his hair flying loosely, and his shirt
open. He dashed through the crowd like a madman,
heedless of whom he trampled on; his horse was in a
foam, and he rode to the foot of the gallows, in spite
of the resistance of the guards, who attempted to thrust
him back. He checked his horse, and casting a look
of distraction towards the gallows, exclaimed—
“She is reprieved, she is reprieved! but, merciful
heaven! I am too late!” Saying which, he fell exhausted
from his seat to the earth.
“What is the meaning of this interruption?” demanded
one of the officers.
“It is Jurian Hartfield,” replied Foster, “who went
to Lancaster to solicit a reprieve from the executive
council.”
“And has he been successful?”
“It would appear so.”
“Where is she?” exclaimed Jurian, as they raised
him from the ground. “She is reprieved, I tell you,
and you commit murder in the eye of man, if you touch
her life. But, O! I am too late! Ten minutes sooner,
and I should have saved her! But, O God, I am too
late!”
“Be composed; you are not too late,” replied Foster,
and Jurian gazed at him vacantly. “Be satisfied;
you are not too late.”
“Heaven is merciful! But where is she!”
“Here, unharmed.”
“That form so like to death, with all the fearful preparation
for death already done!—Can it be possible
that thou art saved at such a time, my Miriam!”
He hurried to the cart, and threw his arms passionately
around the insensible form of the poor girl, and
Foster, released from his burden, removed the cord
from her neck.
“Look up, my Miriam; open thy eyes again, fear
not, for thy friends are with you. Look up, look up;
thou art saved, Miriam—I have succeeded. Dost thou
not hear me?—Thou art saved.”
“The dead do not hear,” said Gordon.
“The dead!—It cannot be! Awake, thou injured
one. Speak to me. Move but thy hand—give any
sign that life is not yet extinct.”
“The dead can make no sign,” continued the other.
“Fiend in the shape of man, what meanest thou?”
“I said, I should not die alone,” replied Gordon,
“and you see my words are verified.”
“Dead!—she is not dead. O no, I feel her warm
breath upon my cheek, and her heart still beats, though
faintly. Wretch, that savage triumph will be denied
you. Look, Foster, she revives; her eyes art partly
open—and here, feel her hand; it still glows with the
warmth of life, and does not feel as the touch of one
that's dead.”
Foster took her hand and pressed it in his own for a
moment, and as he relinquished it, it fell languidly by
her side, and he was silent.
“Why do you not speak?” continued Jurian. “Is
not the warmth of life there? She has only swooned
from terror. That was not the touch of death. Speak,
Foster, speak.”
“There is no hope,” said Foster. “She is dead.”
“Dead! It cannot be that she is dead!” he exclaimed,
in a tone of bitter anguish.
“She is dead!” shrieked Alice, catching the words
an agony of mind little short of madness.
“Yes, she is dead,” repeated Gordon, “and I do
not die alone.”
“Is this a time to triumph?”
“Remember, sir,” he continued, addressing Jurian,
“there was a way to have saved her, but you refused,
and took your own course. Behold her now.”
Jurian frantically called upon the name of Miriam,
and being satisfied that the vital spark was extinct, he
burst into an agony of tears. The body was taken from
his arms by Foster, and removed to the spot where
Alice and M`Crea were standing, and a vehicle being
procured, Jurian and his parents left the scene of death,
bearing the remains of Miriam with them.
Gordon now stood alone in the cart. A breathless
silence prevailed throughout the crowd, and the hymn
again ascended.
“Gordon, you forgive me?” said the executioner.
“I do.”
He then waved his hand—the cart moved, and as
the criminal felt it receding, he sprang into eternity, and
a shriek of horror arose from the crowd.
Nicholas watched the body until it ceased to struggle.
A few moments and all was over—when the shrill
notes of a bugle were heard, and he hastily disappeared,
and others, who had been hovering closely around
the gallows, followed him. Madge also withdrew as
soon as she beheld the consummation of her treachery,
and the concourse slowly dispersed, each to his worldly
avocation, and the revolting exhibition, which the
law allows under the name of a salutary warning, was
only remembered as a holyday recreation. They had
witnessed the violent death of a human being, and
found it no such awful matter as imagination had pictured.
| CHAPTER XIV. The forsaken | |