foot soldiers were placed between the King's
Bench and Blackman-street. The Bow-street
officers were in two ranks from the inner prison
gate to the keeper's house, and the procession
passed between them. There were fifty Bow-
street runners on the scaffold. The roofs of the
neighbouring houses were crowded, as well as
the adjoining windows and fields. The ghastly
procession commenced exactly at half-past eight.
The sledge bore two prisoners at a time. First,
Macnamara and Graham; then, Wratten and
Broughton; then, Wood and Francis—all
composed, and most of them smiling.

Colonel Despard came last and alone. He
looked well, and stepped into the cart with
quiet indifference. On either side of him sat
executioners with naked cutlasses. The bell
then began to toll. The seven coffins were
placed side by side on the ground near the
ominous sack of sawdust. One by one the
prisoners ascended, and had each his cord
fastened round his neck. Macnamara, who
had been recently married, bowed to the
sympathising people, and then prayed aloud.
Graham looked pale and ghastly, and was silent.
Wratten came up firm. Broughton smiled
as he ran gaily up the stairs; but when the
rope was put on, he smiled no more, but turned
pale, and prayed earnestly. Francis, a tall,
nandsome fellow, was perfectly composed.

Colonel Despard ascended the scaffold with
great firmness; his countenance underwent not
the slightest change while the awful
ceremony of fastening the rope round his neck, and
placing the cap on his head, was performing.
He even assisted the executioner in adjusting
the rope, and was very particular in placing the
noose under his left ear. He looked at the
multitude assembled with perfect calmness.
The clergyman, who ascended the scaffold after
the prisoners were tied up, spoke to him a few
words as he passed; the colonel bowed, and
thanked him. The ceremony of fastening up the
prisoners being finished, the colonel advanced
as near as he could to the edge of the scaffold,
and made the following speech to the multitude:

"Fellow Citizens,

"I come here, as you see, after having
served my country—faithfully, honourably,
and usefully served it—for thirty years and
upwards, to suffer death upon a scaffold for
a crime of which I protest I am not guilty.
I solemnly declare that I am no more guilty of
it than any of you who may be now hearing
me. But though his Majesty's ministers know
as well as I do that I am not guilty, yet
they avail themselves of a legal pretext to
destroy a man, because he has been a friend
to truth, to liberty, and justice—" [There
was a considerable huzza from part of the
populace the nearest to him, but who, from the
height of the scaffold from the ground, could
not, for a certainty, distinctly hear what was
said. The colonel proceeded.]— "because
he has been a friend to the poor and
distressed. But, citizens, I hope and trust,
notwithstanding my fate, and the fate of those
who no doubt will soon follow me, that the
principles of freedom, of humanity, and of
justice, will finally triumph over falsehood,
tyranny, and delusion, and every principle
hostile to the interests of the human race.
And now, having said this, I have little more
to add—" [The colonel's voice seemed to
falter here. He paused a moment as if he
had meant to say something more, but had
forgotten it.] He then concluded in the
following manner:—" I have little more to add,
except to wish you all health, happiness, and
freedom, which I have endeavoured, as far as
was in my power, to procure for you, and for
mankind in general."

The colonel spoke in a firm and audible tone
of voice, but left off sooner than was expected.
There was no public expression, either of
approbation or disapprobation, when he had
concluded his address.

As soon as the colonel had ceased speaking,
the clergyman prayed with five of the prisoners.
Macnamara talked earnestly with the clergyman
of his own persuasion. Despard
surveyed the populace, and made a short answer,
which was not distinctly heard, to some few
words addressed to him by Francis, who was
next him. The clergyman now shook hands
with each of them. Colonel Despard bowed,
and seemed to thank him as he shook hands
with him.

The caps were then drawn, and some of the
prisoners uttered a last prayer. At seven minutes
before nine, the platform dropped, and seven dead
men swung in the air. The colonel opened and
clenched his hands twice; that was all. The
rest died instantly, all but Broughton and
Francis, who struggled for a few moments until
the executioners pulled their legs.

In about half an hour the seven bodies were
cut down, Colonel Despard's first. The bodies
were then one by one partly stripped, placed
upon sawdust, and the heads severed upon the
block by surgeons engaged for the purpose.
An executioner then lifted each head by the
hair, and carrying it alternately to the right and
left parapet, shouted to the people:

"This is the head of a traitor!" and so
on, head after head. There was some hooting
and hissing during the performance of this
brutal mediæval ceremony, more especially when
Despard's head was exhibited. The bodies were
then placed in the shells, and delivered to friends
for interment. The people took off their hats
when the bleeding heads were raised up, but
there was no disturbance. Many people fainted
in the crowd. The government, apprehending
a riot, had sent rockets to the governor of
the prison to signal for more troops if more
should be required.

The body of Colonel Despard, having lain,
at Mount-row, opposite the Asylum, was taken
away on the 1st of March, by his friends,
with a hearse and three mourning coaches,
and interred near the north door of St. Paul's
Cathedral, St. Pauls-churchyard. The crowd