I am a traitor. I have violated an oath that was as solemn and
binding as any ever taken by man on earth.

I have trampled under my feet the sacred trust of a loving
people, and have betrayed secrets which were dearer to them
than life itself.

For this offence, regarded the world over as the most
detestable of horrors, I shall be slain.

Those who shall be detailed to escort my foul body to its
grave are required to walk backwards with heads averted.

On to-morrow night, the time of my burial, the clouds should
gather thick about the queenly moon to hide my funeral
procession from her view, for fear that she might refuse to
longer reign over a land capable of producing such a wretch as
I.

In the bottom of some old forsaken well, so reads _our_ law, I
shall be buried, face downward, without a coffin; and my body,
lying thus, will be transfixed with a wooden stave.

Fifty feet from the well into which my body is lowered, a
red flag is to be hoisted and kept floating there for time
unending, to warn all generations of men to come not near the
air polluted by the rotting carcass of a vile traitor.

Such is my fate. I seek not to shun it. I have walked into
odium with every sense alert, fully conscious of every step