The Dock and the Scaffold, by 
Unknown 
 
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Title: The Dock and the Scaffold 
Author: Unknown 
Release Date: July 20, 2004 [eBook #12961] 
Language: English 
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 
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THE DOCK AND THE SCAFFOLD 
The Manchester Tragedy and the Cruise of the Jacknell 
 
[Illustration: THE "ERIN'S HOPE" SALUTING THE GREEN FLAG.] 
 
"GOD SAVE IRELAND." 
"Far dearer the grave or the prison Illum'd by one patriot's name, Than 
the trophies of all who have risen On liberty's ruins to fame." 
MOORE 
 
The 23rd day of November, 1867, witnessed a strange and memorable 
scene in the great English city of Manchester. Long ere the grey 
winter's morning struggled in through the crisp frosty air--long ere the 
first gleam of the coming day dulled the glare of the flaming gas jets, 
the streets of the Lancashire capital were all astir with bustling crowds, 
and the silence of the night was broken by the ceaseless footfalls and 
the voices of hurrying throngs. Through the long, dim streets, and past 
the tall rows of silent houses, the full tide of life eddied and poured in 
rapid current; stout burghers, closely muffled and staff in hand; 
children grown prematurely old, with the hard marks of vice already 
branded on their features; young girls with flaunting ribbons and bold, 
flushed faces; pale-faced operatives, and strong men whose brawny 
limbs told of the Titanic labours of the foundry; the clerk from his desk; 
the shopkeeper from his store; the withered crone, and the careless 
navvy, swayed and struggled through the living mass; and with them 
trooped the legions of want, and vice, and ignorance, that burrow and
fester in the foetid lanes and purlieus of the large British cities: from 
the dark alleys where misery and degradation for ever dwell, and from 
reeking cellars and nameless haunts, where the twin demons of alcohol 
and crime rule supreme; from the gin-palace, and the beer-shop, and the 
midnight haunts of the tramp and the burglar, they came in all their 
repulsiveness and debasement, with the rags of wretchedness upon their 
backs, and the cries of profanity and obscenity upon their lips. Forward 
they rushed in a surging flood through many a street and byway, until 
where the narrowing thoroughfares open into the space surrounding the 
New Bailey Prison, in that suburb of the great city known as the 
Borough of Salford, they found their further progress arrested. Between 
them and the massive prison walls rose piles of heavy barricading, and 
the intervening space was black with a dense body of men, all of whom 
faced the gloomy building beyond, and each of whom carried a special 
constable's baton in his hand. The long railway bridge running close by 
was occupied by a detachment of infantry, and from the parapet of the 
frowning walls the muzzle of cannon, trained on the space below, 
might be dimly discerned in the darkness. But the crowd paid little 
attention to these extraordinary appearances; their eyes were riveted on 
the black projection which jutted from the prison wall, and which, 
shrouded in dark drapery, loomed with ghastly significance through the 
haze. Rising above the scaffold, which replaced a portion of the prison 
wall, the outlines of a gibbet were descried; and from the cross-beam 
there hung three ropes, terminating in nooses, just perceptible above the 
upper edge of the curtain which extended thence to the ground. The 
grim excrescence seemed to possess a horrible fascination for the 
multitude. Those in position to see it best stirred not from their post, 
but faced the fatal cross-tree, the motionless ropes, the empty platform, 
with an untiring, insatiable gaze, that seemed pregnant with some 
terrible meaning, while the mob behind them struggled, and pushed, 
and raved, and fought; and the haggard hundreds of gaunt, diseased, 
stricken wretches, that vainly contested with the stronger types of 
ruffianism for a place, loaded the air with their blasphemies and 
imprecations. The day broke slowly and doubtfully upon the scene; a 
dense yellow, murky fog floated round the spot, wrapping in its opaque 
folds the hideous gallows and the frowning mass of masonry behind. 
An hour passed, and then a hoarse murmur swelled upwards    
    
		
	
	
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