ON THE DROP.

Patea Mail, Volume IX, Issue 1095, 5 October 1883, Page 4

ON THE DROP.

LITERATURE.

( Concluded .)

As the clock strikes eight, I hear footsteps in the corridor, and I know ■who approach. The iloor opens again ; and the governor, some officials, and one whose office is apparent, enter. Then as a hand is laid upon my shoulder, and the process of pinioning begins, I feel an almost uncontrollable impulse to rush away to defend myself, to die in action ; not tied, and standing still. But I am quickly pinioned, and just before wo start, I, in as calm a tone as I can assume, ask for a cup of coffee; this is brought, and I drink it eagerly, for I am parched with thirst. Then we set out. On the way I ask the governor why the authorities do not introduce death hy electricity instead of erecting all the paraphernalia of a scaffold, etc ? I point out, as a disinterested visitor might, the greater expense and trouble of the present system, Etnd had lime permitted, should probably have been engaged in a tough argument.

Now. we turn a corner, and I see our hideous destination ; the clergyman begins to read, and wo arrive at the foot of the scaffold. There, for some reason or other, a halt' is .made, and it seems to me, that the governor is unnecessarily delaying the execution. I, therefore, beg him to proceed with it at once, and not keep me waiting. He answers sharply that whatever delay takes place is necessary, hut as a ■ quarter past eight strikes, I fancy the grim old fellow actually sighs as I am told to ascend. On the top, looking down on the other side, I see a small knot of men, whom I presume to bo the reporters. I ask the governor if I may speak With them. He answers with a surprising degree of alacrity that I certainly may. Stepping to the front with a warder on each side of me, I solemnly declare my innocence, standing as I do with my hand on the gates of eternity. Then I turned to the little trapdoor which was to bo that gate to me. As I step on it a warder approaches with the cap. I cast one look round the yard on the curious gaze of the “ gentlemen of the Press,” and one look at my old fnend the chaplain ; but my last glance was on the bright bine of heaven. Then I am in darkness. Standing there after feeling the executioner’s' fingers on my neck I listen. All seems still. I have not heard him approach the bolt; perhaps he is there now with his hand on it. No : he is moving past me. What are they whispering about? And who has entered at the big gates which shut just then ? One of the prison purveyors I expect. ‘Ah ! he is at the bolt. I give one long deep breath, my knees unconsciously bend as I wait expecting every instant that - the drop will give. Then there is a rush of hurrying footsteps, a hoarse cry of “ Stop ! stop ! For God’s sake stop!’’ I am lifted off that horrible door, the rope and the cap are taken off, ami weak and fainting I lean half senseless in a warder’s arms.

The Governor comes up—“ Take him back to the cell and I am carrie 1 into the gaol, whoso portals I never expected to cross again alive. In the cell a tumbler of brandy and water is handed to me, and I am informed that a respite has arrived for me, but it is particularly impressed upon me that it is a respite and not a reprieve. It seemed that some fresh evidence had appeared (of what’ nature I was not informed) and the governor had been expecting it since Sunday, morning, which accounted for the various delays he had contrived. He declared afterwards that it arrived only in the nick of time ; but I do not believe the old fellow would have proceeded withthe execution, but would have stayed it, on his own responsibility; for the fresh facts which had come to light were a matter of common report on Sunday afternoon, and .although I was not aware a crowd of persons were anxiously inquiring on the Monday morning if a reprieve had arrived. The worthy governor, had . taken it on himself to telegraph . for instructions, bnt , redtapeisra; had almost fatally delayed them.

My story is almost over. At an official investigation held on Tuesday, evidence was brought to light which proved beyond the shadow of a doubt that I was guiltless, the account I gave of myself at the trial tallying in every particular with the newly discovered facts, and although I was not officially “ pardoned ” for some weeks, I was set at liberty on Wednesday. The news came down that evening, and the governdr politely offered mo his hospitality, for that night, I assured him laughingly, that I had experienced quite enough of it already, and did not actually crave for any more. Then shaking hands with the fine old fellow, and thanking him for his kindness, I stepped out into the open air—a free man. For hours I wandered through the gas-lit streets in the very ecstacy of delight. I took no heed of the fact that I was the owner of a magnificent property. I was co-heir with Ida of Sir James’s estate. This w.' s the fact that had told so much against me. Ida faded before the absorbing thought—l was free. Free ! I gazed up into God’s star-lit sky, and the feelings of my heart overflowed into my eyes. Lying for days with the black shadow of a disgraceful death hovering over me, I cowld hardly realise the new feeling several times. I feared I should wake up and find myself again in lhe gloomy cell, the warder’s eyes upon me. I do not pretend to say I do not fear death. I did ; bnt the bitterest part of it all was that I was to die as a common felon. Had I suffered as a martyr to my principles, I could have faced my fate with a tolerable amount of equanimity. The next day I rejoined Ida, and two years later we were married. I met with universal expressions of sympathy with ray unjust incarceration. My life

has passed smoothly and comfortably since, and, although beyond a severe shock to my nervous system, I have not suffered much from it, yet I can hardly think without a shudder of that awful moment when I stood “ On the Drop.” —Cecil W. Poole.