Silas accompanied the condemned men to Tyburn, and saw the gallows for the first time. He tells us that he went not without much shame and fear, because he clearly perceived the greater part of the spectators considered him as one of the sufferers. Lancaster, on arriving at the fatal tree, lifted up his eyes thereto, and said, “Blessed be God,” then prayed extemporary in a very excellent manner, and the others behaved with great discretion. Lancaster was friendless, and no one came forward to give the body interment; so the “surgeon’s mob” secured it, and carried it over to Paddington for dissection. Scarcely had it disappeared before a party of sailors came on the scene and demanded what had become of it. They followed the “surgeon’s mob,” recovered the body, and carried it in state through Islington and Hounsditch till they were tired. Then they dropped it upon the first doorstep. The story ends most dramatically, and Told declares that an old woman, disturbed by the uproar, came down and recognized in John Lancaster’s corpse the body of her own son.
After this first visit Told went regularly to Newgate. He describes the place, twenty-one years later, but still remembered vividly, as “such an emblem of the infernal pit as he never saw before.” However, he struggled bravely on, having a constant pressure upon his mind “to stand up for God in the midst of them,” and praying much “for wisdom and fortitude.” He preached as often as he was permitted to both felons and debtors. But for the first few years, when attending the malefactors, he met with so many repulses from the keeper and ordinary, as well as from the prisoners themselves, that he was often greatly discouraged. “But notwithstanding I more vehemently pressed through all,” becoming the more resolute and “taking no denial.” His most bitter opponent, as was not unnatural, was the ordinary, Mr. Taylor, who would constantly station himself on Sunday mornings a few doors from Newgate, and wait there patiently for a couple of hours or more to obstruct his entrance, at the same time forbidding the turnkeys to give him admittance. Told’s persistence generally got him through, so that most Sunday mornings he had an opportunity of preaching on the debtors’ side to a congregation of forty or more. His influence among the debtors was so great that they readily formed themselves, at his request, into a society or organization, bound by rules and regulations to strict religious observances. In this he was ably seconded by the “circumspection” of two or three prisoners who highly approved of his proposals, and exercised a close watch on the others, whom they would not “suffer to live in any outward sin.” For a considerable time the debtors paid regular attention to his preachings and the meetings of the society. After some time, however, the ordinary “raised a great tumult,” and managed ever after to shut Silas Told out from that side of the prison.
Told was not to be repressed entirely. In spite of all opposition, he still visited the felons, among whom there was a blessed work, especially among the condemned malefactors. He frequently preached during the space which intervened between sentence and execution; he constantly visited the sick in all parts of the prison, which he tells us he had “reason to believe was made a blessing to many of their souls.” His zeal was so great that he spared no pains to do all the good in his power, “embracing every opportunity, both in hearing and speaking, so that in process of time he preached in every prison, as well as in every workhouse, in and about London, and frequently travelled to almost every town within twelve miles of the metropolis.”
Silas Told has left us several of his personal experiences in attending upon the condemned. One of the most interesting cases is that of Mary Edmonson, who was convicted of murdering her aunt, on slight evidence, and whose guilt seems doubtful. When the time of her departure for Tyburn approached, Silas begged the sheriff to let him visit her as soon as possible. The sheriff asked him if he was a clergyman. “No, sir,” replied Told. “Are you a Dissenting minister?” “I answered him ‘No.’ ” “What are you then?” he went on. Silas replied that he was one who preached the gospel, and who wished to be the means of bringing the prisoner to confession. The sheriff then bade Told seize hold of his bridle-rein, and go by his side to the place of execution; although he cautioned him against the attempt, there being a riotous mob all along the streets, who were fiercely incensed against the poor condemned woman. “As we were proceeding on the road,”—let Silas tell his own story,—“the sheriff’s horse being close to the cart, I looked at her from under the horse’s bridle, and said, ‘My dear, look to Jesus.’ This salutary advice quickened her spirit, insomuch that although she did not look about her before, yet she turned herself round to me and joyfully answered, ‘Sir, I bless God I can look to Jesus for my comfort!’ This produced a pleasant smile on her countenance, which when the sons of violence perceived, they d—d her in a shameful manner; this was accompanied with a vengeful shout, ‘See how bold she is! See how the ---- laughs!’
“At length we came to the gallows, where many officers were stationed on horseback, besides numbers more on foot, furnished with constables’ staves. When the cart was backed under the gallows, a very corpulent man trod on my foot with such weight that I really thought he had taken it quite off; however, the sheriff soon cleared the way, and formed an arrangement of constables round the cart, then directed some of them to put me into it, in order that I might be of all the service to the malefactor which lay in my power; the sheriff himself standing behind the cart, the better to avail himself of my discourses with her. When she was tied up I began to address her nearly in the same words I did at the Peacock, pressing upon her an acknowledgment of the murder in the most solemn manner, but she declared her innocence in the presence of the sheriff. I then interrogated her. ‘Did you not commit the fact? Had you no concern therein? Were you not interested in the murder?’ She answered, ‘I am as clear of the whole affair as I was the day my mother brought me into the world.’ The sheriff on hearing these words shed plenty of tears, and said, ‘Good God! it is a second Coleman’s case!’ This circumstance likewise brought tears from many persons who heard her. When I was getting out of the cart the executioner put the handkerchief over her eyes, but she quickly moved it away, and, addressing herself to the multitude, begged them to pray that God would bring to light, when she was departed, the cause of the assassination, saying she had no doubt but the prayers of such persons would be heard; but repeated her innocence, solemnly declaring that she was as ignorant of the crime for which she was going to suffer as at the day of her birth; and added also, ‘I do not lay anything to the charge of my Maker, He has an undoubted right to take me out of this world as seemeth Him good; and although I am clear of this murder, yet I have sinned against Him in many various instances; but I bless God He hath forgiven me all my sins.’ Her kinsman then came up into the cart, and would fain have saluted her; but she mildly turned her face aside, strongly suspecting him to be the assassin.
“After her kinsman had gone out of the cart, the executioner a second time was putting the handkerchief over her face, when she again turned it aside, looking at the sheriff, and saying, ‘I think it cruel that none is suffered to pray by me.’ The sheriff then desired me, for God’s sake, to go a second time into the cart and render my prayers with her, which when finished, she began to pray extempore, and in a most excellent manner. When she had concluded her prayer, the executioner performed his part, and being turned off, her body dropped against my right shoulder, nor did she once struggle or move, but was as still as if she had hung for three hours.”