At fifteen minutes before the awful hour of eight, the under-sheriffs arrived at the prison, preceded by their tipstaffs, and were conducted by Mr. Wontner to the press-room. At the end of this gloomy apartment was observed, sitting at a long table which was strewed with pieces of paper and books, the ill-fated Hunton; immediately opposite sat his “friend,” Mr. S. Moline. Hunton, turning his head, and observing the group of officers as they entered the room said, “I pray thee stop a minute; I’ll not be long.” He then concluded reading, in a distinct voice, the prayer he had composed in the night; it was couched in the most impressive and devout language that can be imagined. In it he expressed his dependence on the merits of Jesus Christ, and a hope, that when the spirit was separated from the body, it would join the angelic host above, in singing praises to the Son of God, and to the Almighty. Hunton had a very peculiar kind of voice, somewhat shrill and effeminate; he, however, spoke with firmness. There was nothing in his manner to condemn, but it showed a perfect self-possession. Mr. Moline, when the unhappy man had done reading, bowed his head, and responded, “Amen!” Hunton then arose, and folding up the paper in a hurried manner said, “I am quite ready now.” Mr. Wontner approached him, and said he might remain seated for a short time longer; when he thanked the worthy governor, and resumed his seat at the table, and occupied his time by perusing some religious work before him. During this time John James, aged nineteen, who was condemned for a burglary in the house of Mr. Witham, the barrister, in Boswell-court, and two others were brought into the room attended by the Reverend Ordinary.
The wretched Hunton, during the pinioning of his fellow-convicts, conducted himself with the greatest calmness and devotion. He repeatedly addressed those who were to suffer with him, urging them to repentance.
All having, at last, been properly secured, it only remained for the unfortunate Hunton to undergo the same ordeal as his fellow-sufferers. The unhappy man was indulging in a sort of reverie, when Mr. Wontner tapped him upon the shoulder. He instantly stood up, and deliberately took a white stock from his neck, and approached the officers; he stood firmly, and when the man was in the act of tying his wrists he said, “Oh, dear, is there any necessity to tie the cord so fast?” The officer made no reply; upon which Hunton said, “Well, well, thou knowest best.” He again complained of the cord being too tight about his arms, which was slackened a little, and the unhappy man said, “Thank thee, thank thee.” After he had been thus secured, he said, “Wilt thou allow me to wear my gloves?” “Yes, certainly, sir,” was the reply, and with some difficulty he put them on, and still kept the prayer addressed to his wife in his hand. All being now in readiness, the mournful procession moved towards the scaffold.
Before Hunton left the room, he said to Mr. Moline, “Thou will not leave me, friend?” “No,” said Mr. Moline, “I will see thee to the scaffold.” Mr. Moline then supported the unhappy man along the passage to the lobby at the foot of the scaffold, where he sat down by the side of his friend, still holding the prayer to his breast.
Hunton was the last who was summoned by the officers. Upon his name being pronounced, he turned round, and delivering the prayer to Mr. Moline, each shook the other’s hand, and kissed lips, the unhappy man observing, “You may say I am quite happy and comfortable—fare thee well.” He then quickly ascended the steps with the same unshaken firmness and deliberation which had marked his conduct throughout the trying period. He took his station under the fatal beam, and requested that a blue handkerchief, to which he seemed fondly attached, might be fastened over his eyes, which was accordingly done.
The preparations of the hangman for the deaths of these unhappy men being completed, the Reverend Mr. Cotton commenced reading a portion of the burial-service, and at a given signal the drop fell, and the four unfortunate beings were suspended. A loud shriek from some persons in the crowd followed the close of the melancholy scene.
The sufferings of the unhappy men were but brief. The rope by which Hunton suffered was longer than the rest, on account of his remarkably low stature; it soon reached its full tension, and he appeared to die instantly.
After the bodies had remained suspended for an hour, they were cut down and removed into the interior of the jail, preparatory to their interment.
The unfortunate Hunton, it appears, commenced business at Yarmouth, as a slop-seller; and having been exceedingly prosperous, he opened a concern of some magnitude at Bury St. Edmunds, Suffolk: and also engaged in business as a sugar-baker in the metropolis. He had previously married a lady, a member of the society of Friends, to which sect it will be perceived that he also belonged, and was supposed to be possessed of property to the amount of 30,000l. Relinquishing these concerns he entered into partnership with Messrs. Dickson and Company, of Ironmonger-lane, who soon discovered that he was engaged to no small extent in speculations on the Stock Exchange, in which, as it turned out, he was particularly unsuccessful. A dissolution of partnership was the consequence, and then the unhappy man, driven to want and despair, committed those frauds which cost him his life. Up to the time of his absenting himself from London, he had a large establishment at Leytonstone, in Essex, where he was always looked upon as an eccentric, but highly honourable and respectable person. The appearance and demeanour of the unhappy man, at the time of his apprehension, were such as to excite the greatest commiseration among those who saw him. Although it would appear that the forgeries of which he had been guilty were of no trifling extent, at that period one hundred sovereigns only were found in his possession.