The condemned
man and his escort had gone on before, and waited at the place
where we disembarked, in order to walk the latter part of the way
to the place of execution, a kilometer or so distant. The
execution had to take place at a cross-roads, and there was only
one in the neighbourhood--namely, at Ejdsvaag, nearly seven miles
away from where the murder was committed. The bailiff headed the
procession, then came the soldiers, then the condemned man, with
the Dean on one side and my father on the other, then Jacobsen and
my tutor, with me between them, then some more people, followed by
more soldiers. We walked cautiously along the slippery road. The
clergyman talked constantly to the condemned man, who was now very
pale. His eyes had grown gentle and weary and he said very little.
My mother, who had been very kind to him, and whom he had thanked
for all she had done, had sent him a bottle of wine to keep up his
strength. The first time that my tutor offered him some, he looked
at the clergyman as though asking if there were anything sinful in
accepting it. My father quoted St. Paul's advice to Timothy, and
instantly he drank off a long draught.
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