The Child of Waterloo, or, The Horrors of the Battle-Field — page 293: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

290 THE CHILD OF WATERLOO. not spenk himself-—he could not utter a sound—his tongue clove unto his mouth, and he could not say one word to him. He lay motionless—no sound was heard, save those made by the workmen, and the solemn sound of St. Paul’s Cathedral clock, and some of the neighboring church clocks which came at that dead hour of the night with awful distinctness upon his ear. Little did he do, save count the hours and the quarters as they chimed, and think how fast life was fleeting from him. The hours came and went with frightful rapidity, and he found morning dawned long before he would have believed half the night could have been passed; but he had counted the chimes and the strokes, and he knew it was now past five. He yet lay on his pallet; he seemed to have no strength left, not even to rise. Could death be so near at hand—could he going todie? Yes, it was too certain; there were all the busy preparations being made for his execution. The noise of the workmen proceeded as their labors neared their termination. The morning, too, was cold and wet, the rain fell heavily, and London was enveloped in misty gloom. The authorities in the prison now came and went: doors were opened and shut, and at length the chaplain and governor again entered the cell to see the wretched mab. ‘« What can be done for you, Sternholde ?” inquired the gov- ernor. ‘‘ Save me,” said Sternholde. ‘‘Nay, I cannot do that; no earthly power that can do so will be exerted for you. Let me beg of you to employ your last mo- ments in endeavoring to make your peace with Heaven.” ‘‘The moments are few and short,” said the chaplain; ‘‘ make the most of them, and beseech the throne of mercy for pardon; do not die in this horrible state—seek mercy where mercy can be shown.” ‘*-You shall not frighten me,” exclaimed Sternholde, ‘by all your preparations, by all your jugglery. 1 will have nothing to do with you; I will not acquiesce in one single act that goes to- ward aiding in my own death.” The governor and chaplain exchanged looks, and then quitted the cell. The time passed by, and soon came the sheriffs and all the officers connected with the occasion. A breakfast was provided in the press-room; but all that Sternholde could take was a cup of tea, and so great was his agony that he bit a piece out of the cup. The ceremony of pinioning was about to be performed, and the irons knocked off, but the moment they made the attempt to place the rope round his arms and hands, he threw himself on them, exclaiming, as he struggled with them,— ‘‘T will not die this death; you shall not drag me to the scaf- fold; I will not tamely submit.” However, the men secured him, for his strength was too far goue to be able to maintain any struggle with them; but he re- fused to stand; he could hardly do so, and he trembled exces- sively at the near approach of death, and talked incoherently and rapidly; but he was scarcely audible, comicbooks. com