PEINE FORTE ET DURE.
The heavy oaken door swung on its rusty iron hinges with many a squeak.
I stood up, half dazzled by the sudden inrush of light. This time it was
the Sheriff and his constables to greet me, together with a half score
of guards to block the way. Ere I could make a move, had I desired to, I
was overwhelmed by the men who crowded about me, while two of them
quickly passed a rope around my chest, binding my arms fast to my sides.
As I stood thus, the Sheriff drew from his jacket a document with its
dangling seal. Was I never to have an end of parchment, I thought.
“Whereas, you, Captain Edward Amherst”--he began.
“Enough,” I interrupted. “It suffices that I must die. Let it be, if it
must, I pray, without having to listen to more words. I’m not afraid,
though it is a mean end for one who has served his King and his country
ever faithfully. If I could but stand before you--aye, before you
all--with my good sword in hand, I would have a different answer for
you. Nor would I deem the odds too great. Such a death, borne down by
weight of numbers, might be counted an honor by a soldier. But a
dangling rope, in the hands of country bumpkins----”
“Ha, a rope,” repeated the Sheriff. “You have not heard, then?”
“What!” I cried. “Has the Judge allowed me to be shot?”
“Nay; not that, Master Captain,” answered the Sheriff. “You will see in
good time, though. Meanwhile the law must take its course, and I am
constrained, by it, to read this death warrant.”
“Have I not had enough of warrants of late?” I asked, but he paid no
heed to me, and proceeded to read the dull legal terms.
Meanwhile many thoughts filled my mind. If I was not to be hanged,
perhaps the awful torture of being burned at the stake awaited me. If
so, I must make new plans, and act quickly.
All the while the Sheriff was reading from the parchment. He stumbled
over the law terms, and the Latin vexed him sorely. Then he came to the
decree that I must die “peine forte et dure,” and, as I had small stock
of Latin, I wondered what I was to meet with.
At length there was an end to the reading. The guards advanced. I saw,
among them, several who had served under me, yet never a one gave me a
glance that was not tempered with fear or distrust. Some of them began
to pull the rope tight about my arms, and this act quickened me to take
some steps for escape.
So I pretended that the cords cut into my flesh, and my sudden start, as
if in pain, caused them to cease their efforts, leaving me a little room
to move my muscles, which was what I wanted. When I had the chance I
strained at the ropes, and I felt them stretch a trifle. I knew then,
that the matter of bursting my bonds was a thing somewhat within my
power.
But that was the smallest part of the problem. I was a long way from
freedom yet.
On that morning it seemed as if the sun had never shone so brightly, nor
had the sky been so blue, nor the birds so sweetly tuneful. I do not
know why I noticed such things, for it was not usual to me. Perhaps the
shadow of death made the brightness of life seem greater.
They started off at a brisk pace, with me in the centre of the throng,
and one man holding the ropes that passed about my arms. As we reached
the foot of Witch Hill I looked up the slope, expecting to see the grim
gallows crowning the summit. Then I recalled the Sheriff’s words that
none was to be provided. A murmur swelled upward from the crowd, and the
people pushed this way and that, trying to get a view of me, as I have
seen country boys do at a London fair.
We came, at last, to the place set for the execution. The crowd parted,
and moved back, at the orders of the Sheriff, forming a living circle.
Then, for the first time, I saw the machine of death.
For a time I could not fathom its nature. It was of wood, the uprights
and cross pieces being of heavy oaken beams. There were four posts, or
uprights, and, on these appeared to slide, like the wooden covering on
the hay ricks in the fields, a flat bed of hewn boards, as large,
perhaps, as the top of the table at the inn. Out of this bed extended a
long pole, threaded round and round with a screw thread. This screw
passed through one of the cross pieces above. A long handle, extending
either way through the spiral post, out beyond the machine, completed
the instrument.
Like a flash in the pan, the truth came upon me.
I was to be crushed to death!
Tied up like a bundle of faggots, and placed on the bed-plate, the
boards above me, urged down by the screw turned by the long handle,
would force out my life, as is the breath from a newly fledged bird, in
the hand of a school boy. No wonder the Sheriff held his peace, when I
asked if I was not to hang. A more horrible death could scarce be
devised, for the torture of the Indians hardly passed it. Yet an
Englishman planned it; an Englishman was to suffer by it. Well had Sir
George said I would pay for the blow I gave him.
Oh! But I longed for a few minutes, with a sword in my hand, to spend
with my lord.
It was time for the next move, now that I, the chief personage in what
was about to happen, had arrived. The tumult, of which there had been
much, had grown less. Partly because the Sheriff had moved most of the
crowd back, and partly because all desired to see and hear what would
come next.
My mind had become dazed. Where now was my plan of escape? Before I knew
what was going on, two stout men advanced, and, by walking in a circle,
they turned the cross bar, which worked the screw, and so raised the
movable bed-plate. This made a space, so that my body could be put in
the press. The great affair creaked and groaned, as if in mortal agony,
and I could not help shuddering, as I thought of what little chance I
would have beneath the oak beams.
Then I started. It was but a faint hope that came to me, yet it was a
chance to escape death. It was a desperate move, but then I was in dire
straits.
At a signal from the Sheriff, half a dozen men sprang forward and seized
me. They lifted me clear from the ground, and carried me like a child to
the machine. Then they stretched out my legs, and thrust them beneath
the bed-plate. Under went my body next, verily, as if I had been but a
bag of apples in the cider press.
I was pushed along over the rough planks, and then something happened.
The Sheriff, to better see that all was carried out according to his
wishes, had come close to me. He even placed his hand on my shoulder, to
help thrust me in.
As he did so my boot top caught his sword hilt, half drawing the steel
from the scabbard, as my body went forward. The keen edge of the weapon
was uppermost, and, as I was pulled and hauled to the centre of the bed,
the rope which bound my arms was drawn over the sword’s sharp blade. The
steel bit deep into the hemp, but not all the way through by a good way.
However, as I felt the rope being cut, I knew that, by using only my
ordinary strength, I could burst my bonds. I swelled my muscles only a
little, and with that I felt the cords give a trifle.
All was now in readiness. I might, then, have burst the rope, slipped
from the press, and tried to cut a way thorough the crowd. But I saw
there were many men armed, and they looked as if anxious to see me die,
so I resolved to try what I could do by another means.
The Sheriff stepped back, all unaware of the good office his sword had
done for me. At a sign from him, two men, stronger than those who had
been at the cross-bar, emerged from the crowd, and took their places to
twist down on the big screw. They stripped off their upper garments, and
I saw the play of their muscles beneath the skin, like little waves on a
stream.
My eyes could not take in all of the scene, of which I was the centre,
but I caught a glimpse of Sir George moving about. Once he looked full
at me, twirling his moustache with one hand, while the other rested on
his sword hilt. Seeing me watching him, he came a little nearer and
called out softly in French:
“What think you now, Monsieur Captain? Wilt wed Lucille?” And his voice
was mocking.
“Come, my lord,” I answered, banteringly, “accept her love from me. I
know you have none for yourself.”
His face turned black, and there came a gleam into his eyes.
“Give her my truest love, I pray you; when you find her,” I added, as a
sort of afterthought.
“Find her? What mean you?” he asked eagerly. “Know you whither she----?”
Then he stopped, biting his lips in confusion, for he feared he had
betrayed himself. My heart gave a bound at that, for, though I knew
naught of Lucille, my words having been spoken by chance, yet it seemed
she had gone away.
If she had, it meant that she cared little for her wifely duties, and
that Sir George had not succeeded in winning back her affection, if,
indeed, he had ever had it.
But even that was like to avail me little now, unless I could escape.
A great stillness came over the crowd. Scarce a sound was heard, and
even the notes of the birds seemed hushed. I waited, breathless, almost.
Then, from out of the centre of silence, came a voice.
“Turn!” cried the Sheriff.
“Turn!” echoed Sir George.
Then the heavy planks above me, forced down by the movement of the
screw, began descending. Slowly, as do bearers at the bier of death, the
men walked around and around, pushing, with their breasts, against the
cross-bar.
Nearer and nearer came the weight that was soon to crush me. I must act
with speed now. I would give them time to make one more turn, I thought.
There. It was made.
Now the time had come!
I commended my soul to God, as did Samson in the days of old, when he
pulled the great pillars of the temple from their base. I strained at my
rope bonds. The half cut cords held for a moment, and they bit into my
flesh when I pulled on them, weak as I had deemed them. Again I put my
strength into my muscles, until the blood seemed like to spurt from my
finger tips.
Suddenly the bonds gave, bursting with a sound like a pistol with a
little load in it, and my arms were free. There was a great shout from
the multitude.
“The strength of Goliath is in him!” cried an old man in the front rank.
“Satan is beside him, witch that he is, giving him the great power.”
[Illustration: “I PRESSED UPWARDS WITH MY ARMS AGAINST THE BOARDS.“]
The men at the ends of the bar had not stopped. The planks were coming
nearer to my chest. I raised my hands and grasped the edges of the
descending platform of wood above me. I drew up my knees, so that they,
also, touched the planks.
I was now in the position of one lying on his back, holding up a weight
that rested on his uplifted hands and bended knees. The men turning,
noting my movements, had paused a moment, but, at a word from the
Sheriff, they pushed the harder.
Down came the planks, farther, but more slowly. Then I did that which I
count as the greatest feat of strength I ever did.
I pressed upward with my arms, and as the wood above me still came down,
I could feel it nip my knees. The bones in my legs were of solid stuff,
and I knew they could stand much pressure. The course of the descending
platform was now stayed, and the men at the heavy press tugged and
pushed at the cross-bar, without avail, for nearly a minute.
“Push harder!” cried Sir George, stepping out from the crowd. “Are you
babes, to let him prevail against you? Have you no strength?”
Thus urged, the sturdy men braced their feet in the earth, and bore hard
against the bar. I summoned what I thought must be all my energy, and
pressed upward with my arms against the boards. I could hear a small
cracking sound, as when a tree in the forest feels the axes that have
eaten into its heart, and it begins to sway earthward. The men at the
bar were joined by others, and they pushed with all their might, but
could not stir the screw.
I shut my eyes, breathed the name of Lucille--aye, though I had no
right--and then, with an effort that brought beads of water to my brow,
I pushed upward--upward--upward.
Never before nor since had I known such power as I possessed then. The
veins on my arms were like to burst, and stood out under the skin as do
welts on a lashed horse. My muscles seemed as if they would tear from
their fastenings. My hands had no feeling; my knees were numb. Round
went my head dizzily, and it was as if the world was dropping away from
beneath me. All about was blackness, and I could not see the weight that
was crushing me.
I heard the shouts of the Sheriff and Sir George, urging the men at the
bar to turn, and the men strove mightily. The cross piece trembled with
their efforts.
I had scarce another bit of strength left, but still I would not let
them get the mastery, and I kept pushing upward. The darkness left me,
in its place a great light seeming to shine.
“Lord of Hosts,” I prayed, “let me be the victor.”
I felt the solid planks give. They cracked and splintered, a little at
first, as when a wedge first cleaves an entrance. I could not breathe.
But, with fiercely beating heart, I heard the sound of rending wood, and
it mingled in my ears with the roar of the blood surging through my
head. My knees seemed crushed. My arms like two stone pillars.
Then, while all the crowd looked on in wonder, I did that, which, though
I boast not of, no other man in the Colony could have done and lived
after.
I broke the ponderous planks across the middle, as a boy might splinter
a shingle across his knee.
Right through they cracked, where the big wooden screw was set in, and
so heavy was the strain I had put upon them, the pieces flew high in the
air.
A great peace came over me, and I sank back on the rough wooden bed. I
knew naught, save that I heard a loud shout go up, and many murmurs were
heard on all sides.
Suddenly it was dark again, and my ears were filled with the noise of
the sea dashing on the rocks. But above that I heard the people cry:
“He has broken the press with his witch strength! Saw ever man the
like?”