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‘ THE
September
I glance at my watch. It is seven minutes of
ten so so-
I take a long breath and I feel easier. I
begin to talk with a man beside me. Some
one says that, after all, the hanging will not
take place till half-past ten. The Warden, it
is suggested, may have put it off in the hope
of a reprieve at the last moment. I notice
that all the windows in the room are closed. I
go out for fresh air, and with several others
I stand at the head of the iron staircase.
Beyond stretch the prison-buildings of rough
brick, with frail-looking iron balconies and
staircases. I catch a curiously mingled sug-
gestion of antique grandeur, of rough construc-
tion, and of whitewash. The whole prison
seems to be at peace. A guard far below is
leaning against the wall, seemingly without
care so so
The Hanging
‘. grow used to the situation. For a
few minutes we talk about Wilkins.
One of the guards begins to describe hangings
that have taken place here in his time. I wish
that he would speak of something else. That
line is coming back, “ For they ’re hanging
Danny Deever in the morning.” I wonder
what Wilkins is doing at this moment and
how he is feeling. Some one is telling a funny
Story. We all listen and laugh. We are a very
friendly group. That young man whose pink
face was turning blue is leaning against the
railing. His face is less blue now. But I can
see that he wishes it were over.
At last the word comes that we are to go in.
When we reach the room where those thick
ropes are hanging we find that the iron doors
have been opened. Slowly we follow the
guard. Just behind one of the doors we see
a coffin, covered with a black cloth. We group
ourselves around the slim green scaffold. That
pink-faced young man is becoming blue again-
From the narrow door behind the scaffold
Warden Hoyle appears. He is less erect and
1658 ruddy. He starts to walk uP the Steps
Of the scaffold. Behind him come two Pl‘l“t5’
one in middle life, the other young. in 13?
black cassocks and white lace surPliCe5- Ea“ ,
Carries a prayer-book in his hand. One is
reading aloud. Now the other reads aloud.
Behind them walks a dignified old man, with
‘<1 deep-lined, smooth face and white hall‘.
Wearing a gray suit. He is SUPPOI1’-ing a thm
little man, with a spare figure, dressed in black.
l=l7Fl
One Hundred Eighty-one
without necktie or collar, and with a face like
yellow wax. The old man is not the next
friend, he is a professional hangman. The
little man is moving his lips. As he mounts the
scaffold I see that his arms are pinioned. He
looks meek. He reminds me of a frightened
canary. He is responding to the prayers of the
priests. They are reciting names of saints.
“Pray for me,” the little man keeps repeat-
ing. As he steps on the scaffold he looks at the
dangling rope, at the face of the Warden, at
the crowd. The white-haired man remains at
his side. The older of the two priests stands
in the center, with the other priest at his
right. Each priest clutches the railing with
one hand, holding his book in the other.
“ Holy Mary-”
“ Pray for me.”
“ Holy Mother of God-”
“ Pray for me.”
The old man binds a narrow black belt across
the little man’s ankles. He puts the noose
over the head. He draws it around the neck
into a thick knot at the base of the skull.
“ Saint Gabriel-”
“ Pray for me.”
The old man starts to press a black hood over
the head. It catches at the nose. He pulls it
down firmly. It hangs loose about the neck.
(1 “ All ye holy angels and archangels-”
The response comes from under the hood,
“ Pray for me.”
The old man is raising his hand. The trap
falls, swings out and catches. The little black
figure is frantically dangling, with the hood
leaning to one side. The old man seizes the rope
and holds it tightly. The figure does not stir.
And Afterwards
(FWD young men run forward. One quickly
C9’ opens the vest and tears the white shirt
over the heart. The ends of two rubber tubes
he puts into his ears. He listens for the heart-
beat. The other young man snatches a pencil
from his vest-pocket. He sees that it has a
broken point. Impatiently he throws it on the
ground. He snatches another pencil and begins
to write.
“ Saint Peter-”
“ Pray for him.”
“ Saint Paul-”
“ Pray for him.” ‘
The men on the scaffold, with the exception
of the priests, are coming down the narrow
steps so- so-