Thus nearly a month went by. The condemned men had been sent on board
various ships for safe keeping, there to remain until the day they were
doomed to die. On the 13th of January, early in the morning, they were
brought on board the _Culloden_, heavily handcuffed, and looking the
picture of misery and despair. At the same time boats from every ship
in the fleet came alongside to witness the execution.
The wretched men, still with their irons on, were now conducted to the
upper deck. Ropes were rove through the main, fore, and
mizzen-yard-arms. The whole eight were thus standing, with the
chaplains by their sides, giving them the last consolations of religion,
when our captain appeared with a paper in his hand. It was a pardon for
the three youngest. The other five looked up with imploring glances,
and an expression of hope lighted up their countenances, but there was
no pardon for them. The three having been led on one side by the
marines who had them in charge, the preparations for the execution of
the other five were continued. They were shortly finished. The gun,
the signal for their execution, was fired, and in another instant they
were all run up in sight of the whole fleet, and of the crews of the
boats who were compelled to witness their punishment. It was an awful
sight. I felt that but for God's great mercy I might have been among
the hapless men who were struggling now in mid air. I sickened as I
gazed at them, and hid my eyes with my hands, as did many another
stout-hearted fellow.
After a time they were lowered down. The doctor pronounced them dead,
and they were placed in shells and taken on shore to be buried. The
ropes were unrove, the hands were piped down, and the boats returned to
their respective ships. The fearful drama was over.