1834 episode 6 “Execution”
The pressure on my throat is becoming unbearable, I gag and choke as the executioner rotates the garroting screw behind my head another full turn. Perched on my little wooden stool with my back to the garroting post and my hands bound behind it, I shiver and shake and kick my legs uncontrollably.
Glancing frantically to my right, I am shocked by the sight of Siss’ reddened face and the wild-eyed look of terror she is throwing my way. Beyond Siss, Emma is thrashing about wildly and making the most ungodly sounds.
Our execution began about 5 minutes ago. After being paraded naked in coffle before the assembled camp, we were forced to mount the platform and were bound to our respective garroting posts.
Perched nervously on the small wooden seats attached to each post, and breathing heavily and fidgeting … we listened to the reading of our sentences, surveyed the spellbound faces of the prisoners and guards assembled to watch us die, and subconsciously tried to keep our thighs and knees together.
The garroting began slowly and methodically. First the screw behind Emma’s head was turned one full turn, tightening the leather garroting strap around her neck …next came Siss, followed by me.
Then the executioner returned to Emma’s post to spin the bar that turns the screw another full turn, causing her to gasp, squirm and thrust her legs out. Siss cried out as the bar and screw tightened the noose around her neck, twisting and nearly falling from her perch. My second twist made me gag and gasp for air, pull up my knees up and thrash about wildly with both legs.
Now as the noose is tightened with a third turn of the bar, all three of us are in constant motion as we twist and squirm and flail helplessly about.
My mind wanders, thinking back to that dreadful moment, when the three of us clung to each other on the cliff overlooking the sea, debating whether to jump or surrender as the snarling dogs and their handlers closed in on us.
We might have jumped had it not been for the rodent-face, who approached us with hands outstretched and mouthing calming words. Slowly and skillfully he coaxed us back from the edge of the , his precipice works mingling with the roar of the surf hitting the rocks below. We weren’t ready to die; we wanted to live.
What kind of power does he hold over us? Why did we listen to him? It’s clear he played both sides in this deadly game, but we all fell for it.
Within minutes they pounced on us, threw us to the ground and beat us mercilessly. Then they dragged us to our feet, bound our hands tightly behind our backs, and marched us ignominiously back to camp.
All the way, they laughed and crowed about how our execution before the assembled camp would be the highlight of the coming day.
As we stumbled through the camp gates, surrounded by our triumphant captors, the prisoners lined the way. Catcalls and cheers greeted us as we were herded nakedly past our jostling, laughing onlookers.
We were driven to the empty stable on the other side of the compound, which was often used for interrogation and torture. There they planned to extract from us the names of any co-conspirators in our escape attempt.
With wrists and ankles bound, we were quickly suspended above the dirt floor, our feet a foot or two off the ground. The guards immediately began to taunt us. Grabbing our rumps and roughly fondling our exposed womenhood. We struggled, but could do nothing but hang there helplessly, twisting in circles above the ground as the abuse continued.
After a few minutes, which seemed more like hours, they tired of the torment and left the three of us alone to hang like hogs in a smokehouse. Already exhausted from the chase and the long trek back to the compound, we hung there for hours, our joints stretching and muscles cramping.
Eventually the guards returned, bursting through the door with whips in hand. “Tell us who helped you escape. Your fates are already sealed; you have no reason to protect anyone. Why die alone when they are guilty too?” the one in charge shouted into our faces as the others circled around us and unfurled their long leather whips.
Before we could even try to answer, the sting of the lash began to rain down on us, without mercy, cutting into our defenseless naked bodies, causing us to jump and grunt and cry out with each stroke.
Almost in unison, we all began screaming the names of any and every person we had spoken to for the past few days … anything to stop the terrible whipping.
After we had each received at least 30 lashes, he raised his hand, signaling for the whipping to cease, and simply said, “Thank You Ladies, for your cooperation” and left the stable along with the guards. Who knows how many innocents would later be questioned and tortured on account of us?
The tightening of the garroting strap around my neck suddenly brings me back to the present. I can feel the blood pounding through the veins my neck. The bones and sinews in my neck constricting under the crushing strain.
The executioner now has taken his place behind Emma for the fourth time. He twists the garroting screw and I hear the snap of bone in her neck. She lets out an anguished howl, before her head slumps forward and her body convulses and twitches in its final death throes. There is a murmur of approval from the assembled spectators.
He moves behind Siss, and applies the fourth twist. Her body bucks and her legs shoot out. She manages to take one last ragged breath before her contorted face relaxes, her tongue protruding from her mouth and the sound of death rattling in her crushed throat.
My turn now. I brace myself. Oh the pain! I see streaks of light pass before my eyes, my head pounds, and I twist and thrash vainly until blackness descends.
So sad. What began as an adventure in London between two love struck friends ends tragically on an execution platform at the far end of the world.
fini
