Adventures with the Connaught Rangers, 1809-1814

by William Grattan

It was three o’clock before I lay down to rest, but I slept little. The din of hammers and the creaking of waggons put sleep out of the question. I took up a volume of Gil Blas and attempted to read and laugh, but in vain: I could do neither the one nor the other—the garrotte was still in perspective, and nothing could banish it from my thoughts. At length the stillness which prevailed terribly told that all was prepared, and I went once more to the spot. I found it deserted by the workmen, who had done their part, and these preparations now wanted nothing to complete them but the presence of the man who was to die by the pressure of the clasp, which hung from a beam of wood placed in the centre of the platform.

I have before described the height and dimensions of this platform; at each side of it was a flight of four steps—one for the criminal, the other for the two executioners. In the centre was a beam, to which was attached a chair or stool; through the beam a clasp was introduced, and behind was a screw, or sort of vice, which at one turn crushes the neck. Having so far satisfied my curiosity, I once more returned to my post, and waited with impatience for the coming of the hour destined for the arrival of the priest. So early as ten o’clock the square was thronged with Spanish troops, and the platform upon which the scaffold stood surrounded by a strong guard. Vast multitudes already began to congregate towards the spot, in order to take possession of the places they had paid for, or to secure those which would give them an opportunity of witnessing the execution. All business was at a standstill, and every idea, except that connected with the coming event, seemed to be extinct. By mid-day the square, the market-sheds in its centre, and the houses which formed it, were filled nearly to suffocation; and the other streets leading from the prison to the Plaza were thronged with people of all ranks. At length the shouts raised in the streets nearest the prison announced the removal of the criminal, and the huzzas from that quarter were rapidly taken up as they passed onward towards the square: they increased by degrees, and, like a vast torrent which is formed by tributary streams, each stream contributed its quota to the current, until at length it reached the vast vortex, the Plaza Mayor. At this place the shouts were so deafening that for some minutes it was impossible to ask a question, much less hear one. At length the head of the cavalcade was in sight, and a death-like silence followed the tumult that had preceded it. The soldiers stationed in the square, as also those that surrounded the platform, resumed their firelocks; the words “Las armas a l’ombro” was quickly obeyed, and the entire procession was soon within the precincts of the Plaza.

The convict, Lopez, dressed in black, with a loose cloak covering his shoulders, was on horseback, attended by two priests, also mounted, one at each side of him. He wore a hat of large dimensions turned up in the front, and his demeanour was the same as at his trial—firm, collected, and calm. Arrived at the foot of the scaffold he dismounted with ease, and throwing a rapid glance, first at the vast crowd and then at the garrotte itself, he ascended the flight of steps leading to it. The two priests followed but did not speak to him, his wish being that they should not. He then, without flurry or agitation, took off his hat and cloak, and handed them to the assistant executioner, to whom he said something. He wished to address the people, but was prevented by the officer commanding the Spanish troops. He bowed obedience, and instantly took his seat upon the stool under the clasp. His arms were then bound with cords, and the iron collar passed through the stake and placed upon his throat. This scene had a strong effect upon the multitude: the quiet but determined self-possession of the man, his extraordinary resolution, devoid of any bravado, was enough to check any indecent ebullition of patriotism; but the sight of that terrible collar seemed to awaken feelings, and to call forth that sympathy which, a few moments before, was nowhere to be found. Women who, to their shame be it told, waved their handkerchiefs with joy upon his arrival at the scaffold, now might be seen covering their eyes to hide from their view the horrid sight, or to wipe away the tears that traced their cheeks.

All was now in readiness: the executioner stood behind, holding the screw with both hands; at each side was a confessor, and behind one was the assistant executioner, with a square piece of cloth in his hand; one of the priests read from a book, while the other held the hand of Lopez. This ceremony occupied but a few moments; and when the priest had finished reading he stooped down to kiss the cheek of the ill-fated Lopez. He then closed the book; the man behind him threw the cloth over the culprit’s face; the executioner turned the screw—and Lopez was dead! The two priests hurried down the steps, and, in their confusion and fright, ran headlong under the horses of the cavalry which were posted round the scaffold. One of them, a corpulent man—as indeed most priests are—was dreadfully lacerated, but the other escaped uninjured.

During the entire of this scene the vast crowd preserved the most profound silence; but the sight they had just witnessed was succeeded by another of a more disgusting nature. The assistant executioner removed the cloth from the face of the dead man: it was perfectly black; the eyeballs were forced from their sockets; the throat was pressed quite flat, and the mouth, with the tongue hanging down on the chin, was dragged under the right ear.

The troops then defiled out of the square, the multitude dispersed, and by six o’clock in the evening not more than twenty persons were near the scaffold upon which the dead priest was still bound. The body was at length put into a cart, the platform was removed, and the spot which so short a time before was the theatre of this tragedy now bore no evidence of the horrid scene that had been acted upon it.

CHAPTER XXIII

Arrests at Madrid—Advantages of speaking French—Seizure of Don Saturio de Padilla by the police—The author effects his liberation—A bull day at Madrid—Private theatricals—French and English soldiers—Blowing up the Retiro—Retreat from Madrid—A pig hunt.

The execution of the priest Lopez, narrated in the last chapter, was followed by many arrests. In eight days no fewer than one hundred and forty-nine persons were thrown into prison; some on good grounds, others on trivial circumstances, and many on the charge alone of having held employment under the late government. The consequence of this ill-judged severity was that all those who escaped arrest in the first burst of tyranny practised by the local authorities fled from Madrid, and scarcely a family was to be found who had not to lament the loss of some individual belonging to it, either by flight or imprisonment. Had the siege of Burgos been successful, and the French troops driven to Pampeluna, which would have been the natural result, a tragical scene would have been enacted, not only at Madrid, but throughout the whole of Spain. Yet all the time nothing but forgiveness for the past and promises for the future were to be heard of—except the daily and nightly imprisonments that took place!

Two evenings after the execution of Lopez I met a number of Spaniards at the house of my padron, Don Miguel de Inza, who had himself been an engineer in the employment of the late King Charles IV.; different topics, as a matter of course, were discussed—the sieges of Rodrigo and Badajoz, the battle of Salamanca, and the triumphant entry of our troops into the capital of Spain. Most of the party seemed well inclined towards us, and towards the king we proclaimed, Ferdinand VII.; but there was little confidence amongst the party themselves, and there was some who would, if they dared, have spoken in favour of the French.