Above
the common ruck, in windows hired for the occasion, the fashionable world,
exuding patronage and perfume, sat waiting for the dreary procession to
pass. In the windows opposite where I found standing room a party from the
West End made much talk and laughter. In the group I recognized Antoinette
Westerleigh, Sir James Craven, and Topham Beauclerc.

"Slitterkins! I couldn't get a seat at Westminster Hall this morning for
love or money," pouted Mistress Westerleigh. "'Tis pity you men can't find
room for a poor girl to see the show."

"Egad, there might as well have been no rebellion at all," said Beauclerc
dryly. "Still, you can go to see their heads chopped off. 'Twill be some
compensation."

"I suppose you'll go, Selwyn," said Craven to that gentleman, who with
Volney had just joined the group.

"I suppose so, and to make amends I'll go to see them sewn on again,"
returned Selwyn.

"I hear you want the High Steward's wand for a memento," said Beauclerc.

"Not I," returned Selwyn. "I did, but egad! he behaved so like an attorney
the first day and so like a pettifogger the second that I wouldn't take
the wand to light my fire with."

"Here they come, sink me!" cried Craven, and craned forward to get a first
glimpse of the wretched prisoners.

First came four wagon-loads of the wounded, huddled together thick as
shrimps, their pallid faces and forlorn appearance a mute cry for
sympathy. The mob roared like wild beasts, poured out maledictions on
their unkempt heads, hurled stones and sticks at them amid furious din and
clamour. At times it seemed as if the prisoners would be torn from the
hands of their guard by the excited mob. Scarce any name was found too
vile with which to execrate these unfortunate gentlemen who had been
guilty of no crime but excessive loyalty.

Some of the captives were destined for the New Prison in Southwark, others
for Newgate, and a few for the Marshalsea. Those of the prisoners who were
able to walk were handcuffed together in couples, with the exception of a
few of the officers who rode on horseback bound hand and foot. Among the
horsemen I easily recognized Malcolm Macleod, who sat erect, dour,
scornful, his strong face set like a vise, looking neither to the right
nor the left. Another batch of foot prisoners followed. Several of the
poor fellows were known to me, including Leath, Chadwick, and the lawyer
Morgan. My roving eye fell on Creagh and Captain Roy shackled together