The last night of his existence was passed by the Duke of Northumberland in a most miserable manner. Alternately buoyed up by hope, and depressed by fear, he could neither calm his agitation, nor decide upon any line of conduct. Allowed, as a matter of indulgence, to remain within the large room, he occupied himself in putting the finishing touches to a carving on the wall, which he had commenced on this first imprisonment, and had wrought at at intervals. This curious sculpture may still be seen on the right hand of the fire-place of the mess-room in the Beauchamp Tower, and contains his cognisance, a bear and lion supporting a ragged staff surrounded by a border of roses, acorns, and flowers intermingled with foliage.
Northumberland was employed upon the third line of the quatrain below his name, which remains unfinished to the present day, when he was interrupted by the entrance of a priest, sent to him by Gardiner. The holy man found him in no very favorable frame of mind, but succeeded after some time in awakening him to a due sense of his awful situation. The duke then made a full confession of his guilt, and received his shrift. At daybreak, the priest departed, with a promise to attend him to the place of execution.
Much tranquillised, the duke now prepared himself for his last trial. He pondered over what he should say on the scaffold, and nerved himself to meet his fate, whatever it might be. The Duke of Warwick was then introduced to him to receive his blessing, and to take an everlasting farewell. After he had received the duke’s embrace, the earl observed, “Would I could change places with you, father. I would say that on the scaffold which would shake the bigot Mary on the throne.”
The duke then partook of some refreshment, and wrapped himself in a loose robe of grain-coloured damask. At eight o’clock, the sheriffs of London arrived at the Bulwark Gate, and demanded the body of the prisoner. Upon this, the lieutenant, accompanied by four warders, proceeded to the Beauchamp Tower, and informed the duke that all was in readiness.
“I am ready, too,” replied Northumberland, once more embracing his son, whose firmness did not desert him at this trying juncture. And he followed the lieutenant to the Green. Here they found the priest, and a band of halberdiers waiting to escort him to the scaffold. Among the bystanders stood Simon Renard, who immediately advanced towards him.
“How fares your grace?” he asked.
“Well enough, sir, I thank you,” answered the duke, bowing. “I shall be better anon.”
The train then set forward, passing through lines of spectators, until it reached the Middle Tower, where it halted, to allow the lieutenant to deliver the prisoner to the sheriffs and their officers. This ceremony over, it again set forward, and passed through the Bulwark Gate.
Prepared as the duke was for some extraordinary sight, he was yet taken completely by surprise. The whole area of Tower Hill seemed literally paved with human heads. A line of scaffoldings was erected on the brink of the moat, and every seat in them was occupied. Never before had so vast an assemblage been collected in the same place. The whole of the western ramparts of the fortress—the roof and battlements of the White Tower—every point from which a view of the spectacle could be obtained, was thronged. On the duke’s appearance, a murmur of satisfaction pervaded the immense host, and he then felt that even if the queen’s pardon should arrive, his personal safety was more than questionable.
Preceded by a band of arquebusiers, armed with calivers, and attended by the sheriffs, the priest, and Simon Renard, Northumberland marched slowly forward. At length, he reached the scaffold. It was surrounded by seats, set aside for persons of distinction; and among its occupants were many of his former friends and allies. Avoiding their gaze, the duke mounted the scaffold with a firm foot; but the sight of the vast concourse from this elevated point almost unmanned him. As he looked around, another murmur arose, and the mob undulated like the ocean. Near the block stood Mauger, leaning on his axe; his features concealed by a hideous black mask. On the duke’s appearance, he fell on his knees, and, according to custom, demanded forgiveness, which was granted. Throwing aside his robe, the duke then advanced to the side of the scaffold, and leaning over the eastern rail, thus addressed the assemblage:
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