He was the very antithesis of his lively successor, Marwood, whose manner is brisk, cheery, and self-reliant. Calcraft, on the contrary, was morose, and as close as an oyster.
Chudley offered no resistance to the process of pinioning, which was performed with the hangman’s usual skill.
A leathern belt, about an inch wide, was buckled round the culprit’s waist, and to this his wrists were fastened down by small but stoutly-made straps.
His arms were fastened just above the elbows, and drawn back as far as it was possible to do so without giving him unnecessary pain, and then connected with the belt round the body.
The procession to the gallows was then formed. It consisted of the chaplain, the governor, the under-sheriff, and another gentleman whose name did not transpire.
When the prisoner appeared on the scaffold there was a low murmur like the moaning of the sea from the immense crowd assembled in front of and around the gallows.
Chudley was deathly pale. A glance at his face showed that he was suffering intense agony, and it was only by the exercise of a powerful control that he was able to bear up and meet his fate with anything like fortitude.
He took a hasty glance at the upturned sea of faces before him.
He then gave a piercing look at the uprights and cross beam, and pendant rope now swinging lightly in the morning breeze.
The sight of the ghastly engine of death seemed to unman him.