The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 249: what you’re looking at

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

rr - 236 consigned the despatch to his pocket. On re- turning to the drawing-room, his countenance remaining as composed as before, afforded not the least indication of the nature of the official docu- ment which he had received—while etiquette for- bade even the under-sheriffs to venture an inquiry upon the point. “I understood you on Saturday,” said the sheriff, addressing himeelf to the governor, “that there was no person then engaged to officiate as the funotionary of the law.” “* And such is still the case, sir,” replied the go- vernor. “I believed that some criminal within the walls would have accepted the post of Public Exe- cutioner: bat only a few minutes before your arrival the tarnkeys assured me that not a single soul would undertake the office.” “Then a proclamation must be made to the mul- titude outside the prison,” said the sheriff. “I will proceed to fulfil that duty at once.” Accordingly, followed by the under-sheriffs and the governor, the high civic fanctionary repaired to the debtor’s door; and ascending the steps of the gallows, he mounted the platform. A dead allence fell upon the congregated mass of people, the murmuring of their myriad voices suddenly ceasing, and the oscillation of the liviag waves sub- siding into acalm. Every eye was fixed with an expression of curiosity and suspense upon the sheriff, as he proceeded to make the proclamation, which was to the effect that an individual was re- quired to undertake the office of Pablic Execu- tioner, and that should such volunteering individual have in any way rendered himself amenable or ob- noxious to the law, he (the sheriff) was empowered to offer him a free pardon for his offences. Scarcely were the words spoken, when a loud voice exclaimed, “I accept the proposition f°—and the savage-looking black fellow already mentioned, jamped upon the barrier and sorambied up to the platform of the gallows. “ Hooray!” shouted the multitudes, which for a moment had feared that they were to be baulked of the spectacle they had crowded thither to behold. Nor less were the aristocratic exquisites at the two windows opposite, rejoiced to find that the drama would proceed without the interruption that had for an instant appeared to threaten ite tragic development. The sheriff descended from the scaffold and re- entered the prison, followed by the under-sheriffs, the governor, and the. volanteer hangman: and, the clock having now struck eight, they all pro- ceeded to the condemned oell, where Dysart and the ohapiain were together. The criminal, fully satisfied that his reprieve was in the sheriff’s pocket, presented an aspect of firmness and bowed courteously to the civic autho- sities. These functionaries remained in the pas- sage outside the door of the oell which was now left open; and the sheriff, addressing himself to the chaplain, sald, “I wish to speak to you a moment.” The Ordinary hastened out of the cell; and as the shoriff drew him aside a little way down the corridor, Dysart perceived that he drew forth from his pocket a despatch of the invariable official shape and bearing a large seal. “That is my reprieve [” thought Dysart: and the -6=Erl el THE MYSTERIES OF THE COUBT. fiood of life circulated with a more rapid fiow in his veins. “Beg pardon, sir,” said the volanteer hangman, producing his whipeord to pinion the criminal’s arms: then, as he drew the criminal gently aside towards the farther extremity of the cell, he hastily whispered “You've nothing to fear, Mr. Dysart. ThesherifPhas got your reprieve—axd I have seen I dad The criminal had recoiled loathingly from the first touch of the hangman—and the more £0 on account of his repulsive look, for the fellow’s face was black as that of a negro: but the voice in- stantaneously sounded familiar to Dysart’s car— and surveying the wretch’s countenance attentively, he recognised through the soot and grime that covered it, the features of Daniel Coffin ! Glancing towards the door, and observing that no one was noticing him particularly at the instant, Dysart gave the Hangman a nod of recognition : then, in a scarcely audible tone, he said, * You have positively seen the reprieve ?” “I saw the sheriff show it to the under-sheriffs, and even heard him read the private instructions on the margin,” returned Coffin, in an equally low voice, as he pinioned the arms of the criminal. “And those instructions—what are they?” de- manded Dysart, with nervous impatience. “That the reprieve is not to be produced till the moment the drop is ready to fall,” responded the Hangman. “So you needn’t be alarmed, sir: and in a quarter of an hour you will find yourself safe and sound back in this cell again.” “You are a good fellow, Coffin, for being anxious thus to reassure me,” said Dysart, trembling some- what with excitement, but not from actual fear. ‘‘ You've always behaved like a gentleman to me, sir,” replied the Hangman: “ and I should have been sorry indeed to tuck you up. But now's the time to move for’ard.” Having thus spoken in a burried whisper, the Hangman signified aloud to the governor tbat everything was ready: and the procession wes formed. The chaplain and sheriff, who had re- mained outside together conversing in the passage, went first. Then came Dysart, with his arms pinioned, and closely followed by the Hangman,— the governor, under-sheriffs, aldermen, and a few of the zaol officials bringing up the rear. Along two or three stone passages did the mournful procession advance: and now the tolling of St. Sepulchre’s bell became more and more plainly audible to the ear. Again did a sudden terror strike to the very heart’s core of the criminal. Heavens! if the reprieve—the assurances that had hitherto sustained him—the promise of life, par- don, and liberty,—O God! if all these were but the delusions of his brain—the phantoms of his owa imagination! That knell which rang so ominously —the solemn tread of the procession through the vaulted passages—the murmuring of the multitudes without—and now the deep voice of the chapiaia commencing the service for the dead,—Oh! what could all this mean ?—what did it signify? Where- fore this tremendous parade—this pomp and dis- play of death iteelf—if all were to end in a com tinuance of life? And that chaplain’s voice—did it breathe an accent of hope? Oh! no—no: it was profound—solemno—even sepulchral, as if warn- ing him in unmistakable tones that this was indeed GOnMGoOO SS CO