Memoirs of the Jacobites of 1715 and 1745. Volume III.

by Mrs. A. T. Thomson

Then the head keeper of Newgate was called, and he produced the books belonging to the gaol, wherein were the names of Charles Radcliffe, and other rebels, who had been condemned, and were respited several times. This gentleman said, that the books produced then in Court were in the same condition that he found them: but as to the person of the prisoner he knew nothing, his confinement having taken place several years before he belonged to the gaol.

Abraham Mosely, a servant of the head keeper, was then called, but he was not sworn; another gentleman was afterwards brought to the bar; as the book was handed to him to be sworn, Mr. Radcliffe, looking earnestly at him, inquired what book it was that he was going to be sworn upon: the officer answered it was the New Testament. Mr. Radcliffe replied, "He is no Christian, and believes neither in God nor devil." The evidence of this witness, whose name is suppressed, was, however, received, and it seems not to have been inconsistent with his alleged character. It was the disclosure of a confidential conversation on the part of Mr. Radcliffe, who had imparted to the witness in what manner he had escaped from Newgate in 1715. The witness was asked whether the prisoner was drunk when he made this confession: he answered that he was. Then being asked if he were drunk himself, he replied that he never got drunk; upon which Mr. Radcliffe said hastily, that "some people would get drunk if at free cost."

The prisoner examining no witnesses, the Chief Justice summed up the case, and in ten or fifteen minutes the jury, who had retired, brought in a verdict of guilty. A Rule was then made for the proper writ for the execution of the prisoner, on the eighth of December, and he was remanded to the Tower. When informed by the Court of the time fixed for his doom, Mr. Radcliffe said he wished they had given him a longer time, that so he might have been able to acquaint some people in France, and that his brother, the Earl of Morton, and he might "have set out on their journey together."

The unhappy Mr. Radcliffe returned to his prison. Much has been written of the arrogance and intemperance of his conduct and language, but much must be allowed for the subservience of the contemporary writers, as well as for the irritated feelings of the man. Considering himself as a nobleman, and meeting with disrespect, and, perhaps, harsh usage, a quick temper was aggravated almost to madness. To his inferiors the passion and pride of his character were so offensive that the warders of the Tower could be scarcely induced to give him their attendance; and this inconvenience was the more severely felt as a man named McDermont, who had been his equerry for twenty-three years, was sent to Newgate on the very day when Mr. Radcliffe entered the Tower.

At the hour of his last earthly trial, this man, whose eventful and singular life was brought to a close at the age of fifty-three, redeemed the errors of the last few weeks of anguish, and of bitter disappointment. He submitted calmly to his doom. The sullen sorrow, and the intolerable haughtiness of his manner, were exchanged for a composure, solemn and affecting, and for a courtesy which well became the brother of Lord Derwentwater.

Between eight and nine on the morning of the eighth of December, the Sheriff, driving in a mourning coach to the east gate of the Tower, demanded the prisoner. The gate was opened, and in about ten minutes a landau, in which Mr. Radcliffe was seated, drove out at the east gate, towards Little Tower Hill. He was accompanied by the Under-Sheriffs, and by the officers of the Tower: the landau was surrounded by a party of Foot Guards, with their bayonets fixed. The street was lined with horse soldiers, from the iron gate of the Tower, to the scaffold, which was encompassed also with horse soldiers. At the foot of the stairs of the scaffold a booth was erected, for the reception of the prisoner.

Like Lord Balmerino, Mr. Radcliffe wore his regimentals, which were those of the French army; and consisted of a scarlet coat, with gold buttons, the sleeves faced with black velvet; a scarlet waistcoat, trimmed with gold lace; and white silk stockings. His hat was encircled with a white feather.

As the prisoner alighted from the landau, he saw some of his friends standing near the booth; he paid his compliments to them with the grace of a well-bred man; and, smiling, asked of the sheriffs, who had preceded him in the mourning-coach, "if he was to enter the booth?" He was answered in the affirmative. "It is well," he replied; and he went in, and there passed about ten minutes in his devotions.

The scaffold had been provided early that morning with a block, covered with black, a cushion, and two sacks of sawdust; and the coffin of the unhappy prisoner, also covered with black, was placed on the stage.

Mr. Radcliffe ascended the scaffold with great calmness, and asked for the executioner. "I am but a poor man," said the unfortunate man, "but there are ten guineas for you: if I had more, I would give it you; do your execution so as to put me to the least possible misery." He then kneeled down, and folding his hands, uttered a short prayer. He arose, and was then assisted by two of the warders in the last preparations for his doom, taking off his coat and waistcoat, and substituting for his wig a white cap. Having taken a respectful leave of the sheriffs, he was about to kneel down, when it was discovered that it would be necessary to tuck back the collar of his shirt. That office was performed by the executioner. Then, after saying a short prayer, and crossing himself several times, he laid his head upon the block. In less than half a minute afterwards, he gave the signal, by spreading out his hands: his head was severed at one blow, and the body fell upon the scaffold. The executioner, searching his pockets, found in them a silver crucifix, his beads, and half-a-guinea. No friend attended the man who had been so long exiled from his own country, on the scaffold; but four undertakers' men stood, with a piece of red cloth, to receive the head of the ill-fated Charles Radcliffe. His body, being wrapt in a blanket, was put into the coffin, with his head, and conveyed to the Nag's Head, in Gray's Inn Lane, and thence, in the dead of the night, to Mr. Walmsbey's, North Street, Red Lion Square, whence it was removed to be interred in the church-yard of St. Giles's-in-the-Fields, where a neglected stone alone marks his burial-place. The following is the inscription on the coffin:—"Carolus Radcliffe, comes de Derwentwater, decollatus, die 8vo. Decembris, 1746, ætatis 53." To this were added the words, so appropriate to the close of an adventurous life, "Requiescat in pace."