bell of Newgate began to toll, and was answered by another bell from St. Sepulchre’s. The great door of the Stone Hall was thrown open, and the sheriffs, preceded by the javelin-men, entered the room. They were followed by Jonathan, who carried a stout stick under his arm, and planted himself near the stone. Not a word was uttered by the assemblage; but a hush of expectation reigned throughout.
Another door was next opened, and, preceded by the ordinary, with the sacred volume in his hand, the prisoner entered the room. Though encumbered by his irons, his step was firm, and his demeanour dignified. His countenance was pale as death, but not a muscle quivered; nor did he betray the slightest appearance of fear. On the contrary, it was impossible to look at him without perceiving that his resolution was unshaken.
Advancing with a slow firm step to the stone-block he placed his left foot upon it, drew himself up to his full height, and fixed a look so stern upon Jonathan, that the thief-taker quailed before it.
Jack Sheppard's irons knocked off in the Stone Hall at Newgate
The black, meantime, began to ply his hammer, and speedily unriveted the chains. The first stroke appeared to arouse all the vindictive passions of Jonathan. Fixing a ferocious and exulting look upon Jack Sheppard, he exclaimed.
“At length, my vengeance is complete.”
“Wretch!” cried Jack, raising his hand in a menacing manner, “your triumph will be short-lived. Before a year has expired, you will share the same fate.”
“If I do, I care not,” rejoined Wild; “I shall have lived to see you hanged.”
“O Jack, dear, dear Jack!” cried Mrs. Marvel, who was now quite dissolved in tears, “I shall never survive this scene.”
“Hold your tongue, hussy!” cried her husband gruffly. “Women ought never to show themselves on these occasions, unless they can behave themselves properly.”
“Farewell, Jack,” cried twenty voices.
Sheppard looked round, and exchanged kindly glances with several of those who addressed him.
“My limbs feel so light, now that my irons are removed,” he observed with a smile, “that I am half inclined to dance.”
“You’ll dance upon nothing, presently,” rejoined Jonathan, brutally.
“Farewell for ever,” said Jack, extending his hand to Mrs. Marvel.
“Farewell!” blubbered the executioner’s wife, pressing his hand to her lips. “Here are a pair of gloves and a nosegay for you. Oh dear! — oh dear! Be careful of him,” she added to her husband, “and get it over quickly, or never expect to see me again.”
“Peace, fool!” cried Marvel, angrily. “Do you think I don’t know my own business?”
Austin and Langley then advanced to the prisoner, and, twinning their arms round his, led him down to the Lodge, whither he was followed by the sheriffs, the ordinary, Wild, and the other officials.
Meantime, every preparation had been made outside for his departure. At the end of two long lines of foot-guards stood the cart with a powerful black horse harnessed to it. At the head of the cart was placed the coffin. On the right were several mounted grenadiers: on the left, some half dozen javelin-men. Soldiers were stationed at different points of the street to keep off the mob, and others were riding backwards and forwards to maintain an open space for the passage of the procession.
The assemblage which was gathered together was almost countless. Every house-top, every window, every wall, every projection, had its occupants. The wall of St. Sepulchre’s church was covered — so was the tower. The concourse extended along Giltspur Street as far as Smithfield. No one was allowed to pass along Newgate Street, which was barricaded and protected by a strong constabulary force.
The first person who issued from the Lodge was Mr. Marvel, who proceeded to the cart, and took his seat upon the coffin. The hangman is always an object of peculiar detestation to the mob, a tremendous hooting hailed his appearance, and both staves and swords were required to preserve order.
A deep silence, however, now prevailed, broken only by the tolling of the bells of Newgate and St. Sepulchre’s. The mighty concourse became for a moment still. Suddenly, such a shout as has seldom smitten human ears rent the air. “He comes!” cried a thousand voices, and the shout ascended to Smithfield, descended to Snow Hill, and told those who were assembled on Holborn Hill that Sheppard had left the prison.
Between the two officers, with their arms linked in his, Jack Sheppard was conducted to the cart. He looked around, and as he heard that deafening shout — as he felt the influence of those thousand eyes fixed upon him — as he listened to the cheers, all his misgivings — if he had any — vanished, and he felt more as if he were marching to a triumph, than proceeding to a shameful death.
Jack had no sooner taken his place in the cart, than he was followed by the ordinary, who seated himself beside him, and, opening the book of prayer, began to read aloud. Excited by the scene, Jack, however, could pay little attention to the good man’s discourse, and was lost in a whirl of tumultuous emotions.
The calvacade was now put slowly in motion. The horse-soldiers wheeled round and cleared a path: the foot closed in upon the cart. Then came the javelin-men, walking four abreast, and lastly, a long line of constables, marching in the same order.
The procession had just got into line of march, when a dreadful groan, mixed with yells, hootings, and execrations, was heard. This was occasioned by Jonathan Wild, who was seen to mount his horse and join the train. Jonathan, however, paid no sort of attention to this demonstration of hatred. He had buckled on his hanger, and had two brace of pistols in his belt, as well as others in this holsters.
By this time, the procession had reached the west end of the wall of St. Sepulchre’s church, where, in compliance with an old custom, it halted. By the will of Mr. Robert Dow, merchant tailor, it was appointed that the sexton of St. Sepulchre’s should pronounce a solemn exhortation upon every criminal on his way to Tyburn, for which office he was to receive a small stipend. As soon as the cavalcade stopped, the sexton advanced, and, ringing a handbell, pronounced the following admonition.
“All good people pray heartily unto God for this poor sinner, who is now going to take his death, for whom this great bell doth toll.
“You who are condemned to die, repent with lamentable tears. Ask mercy of the Lord for the salvation of your own soul, through the merits of the death and passion of Jesus Christ, who now sits at the right hand of God, to make intercession for you, if you penitently return to him. The Lord have mercy upon you!”
This ceremony concluded, the calvacade was again put in motion.
Slowly descending Snow Hill, the train passed on its way, attended by the same stunning vociferations, cheers, yells, and outcries, which had accompanied it on starting from Newgate. The guards had great difficulty in preserving a clear passage without resorting to severe measures, for the tide, which poured upon them behind, around, in front, and at all sides, was almost irresistible. The houses on Snow Hill were thronged, like those in Old Bailey. Every window, from the groundfloor to the garret had its occupant, and the roofs were covered with spectators. Words of encouragement and sympathy were addressed to Jack, who, as he looked around, beheld many a friendly glance fixed upon him.
In
