Execution Day

James Dowland stepped out of his cell into the inner courtyard of Newgate prison. A shaft of light from a skylight above hit him in the eye, causing artifacts of purple to bloom across his field of vision. The under-sheriff roughly grabbed his hands to inspect his handcuffs. Satisfied that they were securely fastened, he led James and another condemned man through a door and down a narrow corridor to the chaplain’s office. There they found the clergyman sat at his desk, reading a bible against the slanting light from the window. He looked up with a placid expression and gestured for them to sit.



He addressed James first. “You have committed crimes against God and your fellow man and will meet your maker today. For the salvation of your eternal soul, I will now hear your final confession.



In a halting tone, James recited the words he had been given to rehearse by the chaplain himself the night before: “I have lived a sinful life and I am being justly punished for my actions. I stole a loaf of bread and I’m sorry for it. I beg the lord for mercy and the salvation of my soul.”



The chaplain nodded and turned to the man sitting next to James; this was James’s first opportunity to get a good look at the other prisoner. Tall and strong-featured, he gave the impression of someone who would have once been vigorous and well-built in his prime. That time had evidently passed. Now he presented a wasted figure - bearded, dressed in tattered cambric and wretchedly thin. Still, his eyes flashed with a peculiar energy.



“I did the deed and I’ll be hung for it.” he responded.



“Did what, Neal?”



“Murder.”



“And are you penitent, Neal? Have you renounced your sinful ways?”



Neal shrugged.



The chaplain regarded him for a moment. When this was met with silence, he sighed and nodded over the prisoners’ shoulders. “Come on with you” barked the under-sheriff and tugged on their chains. They proceeded to the outer prison courtyard and emerged from the depths of Newgate under a pristine blue sky.



James, who had not been outside of the prison for close to three months, winced as his eyes adapted to the light. In the distance the bells of Holy Sepulchre church were audible. They approached the Yeoman of the Halter: with practiced efficiency he tied a slipknot around each prisoner’s neck and coiled the excess rope around their midriffs, after which he nodded with satisfaction at his work. The under-sheriff then gestured to the coffins and told the condemned men to sit.



After conferring with the under-sheriff, the City Marshall sounded the order for the procession to set out. The gates of the prison slowly creaked open and the sounds of the baying crowds spilled in as they emerged onto Old Bailey Street. The people of London were massed along the roadside to see the condemned men as they passed. James, overwhelmed by the noise, bowed his head and prayed under his breath.



“Don’t look so frightened.” Neal shouted in his ear.



“What?”



“It’s not proper for a man to cringe. Die a good death.”



Neal was staring at James with a stern expression. James nodded and looked ahead.



“Did I hear you right in there?” Neal asked after a pause.



“What?”, responded James.



“Your confession”.



“What about it”?



“You’re here because you nicked a loaf of bread?”



James shrugged.



“Your life’s not worth a whole lot to you, is it?” Neal asked, screwing up his face. “A poxy loaf of bread - sure that’s not worth the rope you’ll be hanging from”.



James felt an anger rise in him. “I’m sorry” he responded. “I didn’t realise I was speaking to a man of wealth. Tell me, do all nobility go about in rags like you?”



“I’m not wearing me good clothes to the scaffold”, Neal replied. “Sure the hangman will only rob them when the deed is done. And anyway, I never said I was a rich man.”



“So how much is your life worth to you?”



“About two grand” he responded matter-of-factly. “Enough for me family to get to America, have a fresh start”.



“Smart plan. But you weren’t smart enough to avoid getting collared, were you?”



“Actually I turned meself in”.



“Guilt too much to bear?”



“Can’t say I felt much guilt to be honest. It was me landlord I killed and Lord knows the world’s got enough of them. The house was a horrible auld kip and all - dredged right out of the swamps of East Ham. Mouldy floorboards, peeling wallpaper - you know the type of place. But I was skint so me family and I made that our unhappy home after we moved here from Dublin.”



“Sounds like a dump alright”.



“Funny thing is the landlord was a posh fella - had the air of good money gone bad. Fancy suits, jewellery, the lot. I don’t know how he came into ownership of a load of shabby slums in the docklands. The funny thing is, even though he was a man of means, he always came around in person to collect the rents. First Tuesday of every month he’d be on your doorstep with his hand out and a slimy grin on his face. And he’d make a point of counting the money and taking it down in a little black notebook.



“He didn’t use a collection agent?”



“You’d figure he would, right? At the time I put it down to him being the fastidious type. That and him enjoying lording it over the peasants. I was sorry to find out the real reason. One time when I opened the door to him, me wife was standing in the corridor behind me. He immediately gives her a sly good look up and down and he says to me: ‘You know, we might be able to come to some arrangement if you want a reduction in the rent’.



“I wanted to punch him right there but I restrained meself. You realise what the dirty ault git was suggesting! I held me tongue, but for the sake of me family’s dignity I needed to get out of there. So I started hatching a plan.”



“A few days later, I paid a young lad up the road to lift the notebook from him. The little scamp pulled if off and it only cost me a farthing! There were loads of transactions in there alright, but they were all small - a farthing here, threepenny there. It seemed that he was giving a ‘reduction’ to a fair few of his tenants. Even so, when you totted it all up it still came to about two thousand. Plenty enough to get me and me family out of that kip.



“Next time he comes around I ask him if we can discuss the ‘arrangement’ he’d mentioned before. Of course he’s amenable so I tell him he can come back later that evening for his ‘payment’. In the meantime I pack me wife and kids off to stay at an inn over in Bermondsey. I don’t tell them what it’s about of course; just that it’s important she’s out of the house.”



8 o’clock comes around and sure enough he’s on me doorstep again. I show him up to the bedroom and as soon as he steps inside I crack him over the head. I clamp me hand over his mouth and he starts squirming so I give him a good dig to the stomach to knock the wind out of him. Finally, once he’s calmed down, I hold the notebook up to his face.



He recognises it immediately. “There’s money”, he said.



“Where?” says I.



“‘In a trunk, under my bed’. It didn’t take long to get his address out of him. Afterwards I tie him up good and proper and stuffed a load of bed linen in his mouth to stop him screaming (I’m a docker by trade so handy enough with knots). Then I made my way over to his gaff in Shoreditch. Very nice townhouse I might say - four-storey-over-basement jobby. Thanks be to God, there was nobody inside. I went upstairs and sure enough there was a suitcase under his bed. A big hefty yoke - heavier than two thousand had any right to be I reckoned.



“Was it inside?”



Neal smiled conspiratorially and looked about him. The noise from the crowd was sufficient that nothing they said was audible to the men escorting the cart. Still, he leaned in close to James so he wouldn’t be overheard.



“It was thousands. I’d never seen a 10 pound note but here there were stacks of them! Too much for me to stuff in me pockets so I carted the whole suitcase off with me. It was almost midnight by the time I got back. I found him there, still lying and squirming on the floor, and I plonked the suitcase down in front of him.”



“‘There’s more than two thousand here’, I says.”



“The old man nodded.”



“I pull the bedsheet from his mouth and ask him how much.”



“‘About twenty thousand’ he says. I couldn’t believe me ears! See it dawned on me why the figures were so low in the little notebook he was keeping. It wasn’t just because he was fooling around with his tenants’s wives (though he was doing that too). He was knocking a zero off every transaction because he didn’t want anyone to know how much he was worth!”



“I was minted. But before I could start celebrating, I needed to sort himself out. The landlord was pleading now, swearing blind he wouldn’t tell anyone if I let him go. And I really thought about it. But in the end it had to be done; the money decided it. I think he read the decision in me expression because he started to squirm at that point. In the end I finished him off with a mallet to make it quick, like a pig in the slaughterhouse.



“But they’ll take the money back”.



“I gave the money back”, said Neal, louder this time so the Marshall could hear. He smiled and winked at James. “All two thousand. Even handed them the notebook to prove it”. He started to cackle. “Of course, I took a trip over to Bermondsey before turning meself in. A man needs to say goodbye to his family”.



James was dumbfounded. “Where are they now?” he asked.



“Oh, somewhere in the mid-Atlantic I’d imagine.” Neal seemed to consider something. “You know, I was telling the truth when I said I’ve no guilt. Still, it stays with you, killing a man. It wasn’t a good death at all - whimpering like a kicked dog. Make sure you don’t go like that - die a good death. Speaking of which...”



Neal nodded up ahead, where the gallows were coming into view. As the cart approached the scaffold, a few thoughts were turning over in James’s mind. He thought in particular about what it meant to die a good death, whether he had given his life for a pittance. The cart drew to a halt under the gallows and the executioner approached. He unwound the rope from around the condemned men’s waists and tied them to the scaffold, and then drew on the ropes to bring the men to their feet. The City Marshall gave the order and the cart slowly began moving from beneath their feet. James sensed a sudden drop and a pain like he had never felt before, and slowly the world faded from before his eyes.