As the trial of Mr. Byng has ingrossed a great deal of our conversation for some months past, it may not be amiss to give a summary view of this pamphlet, which relates a number of curious anecdotes of this unhappy gentleman, who has at length paid the forfeit of his life, and fallen a sacrifice to the justice of his country.3

On Thursday the 27th of January, when the Admiral was sent for on board the St. George to receive his sentence, he declared to some of his friends, that he expected to be reprimanded, and that he possibly might be cashiered.4

Soon after he had got on board, and was in the cabin upon the quarter-deck, a member of the Court-Martial came out, and told one of his relations, he had the court’s leave to inform him, they had found the admiral capitally guilty; in order that he might prepare him to receive the sentence. The gentleman went up to him immediately; but was so surprised, he could not tell how to inform him. The admiral observing his countenance, said to him, “What is the matter? Have they broke me?” The gentleman hesitating in his reply, with some confusion of countenance, he added, “Well, I understand—If nothing but my blood will satisfy, let them take it.” Immediately after this, he was sent for into court, where he continued to be the only man that did not appear moved, while his sentence was reading by the judge-advocate; and went ashore afterwards with the same air and composure that he came on board.

A gentleman afterwards endeavoured to give him consolation, by representing to him, that a “sentence without guilt could be no stain,” and that there was a great probability of a pardon.” He replied, “What will that signify to me? What satisfaction can I receive from the liberty to crawl a few years longer on the earth, with the infamous load of a pardon on my back? I despise life on such terms, and would rather have them take it.”5

Some days after the sentence was passed, he was conveyed on board the Monarque, and confined to the captain’s cabbin upon the quarter-deck. And as soon as the warrant for his death arrived at Portsmouth, all his friends who came to see him, were obliged to leave him before it was dark, and go on shore. An additional number of marine officers and marines were ordered on board that ship, and centinels were diligently placed with directions to call aloud to each other, “all is well,” every five minutes in the night: this circumstance almost totally depriving the admiral of sleep, because the centinels were mostly close to him where he lay, made him frequently say, “I did hope for leave to sleep, and apprehend I might be sufficiently guarded and taken care of, without so frequent a repetition of this noisy ceremony close to my ear.”

At length the lieutenants of the ship had orders to watch in the great cabbin, relieving each other every four hours, as is customary at sea; so that there was always one of them in the cabin with him day and night, and the order to the centinels for calling out every five minutes, was then omitted.

When captain Montague waited upon him, to inform him the warrant from the Admiralty was come, he received the news with the same cool composure, that he had received the sentence.

The same gentleman waited upon him again, on the twenty seventh of February, being the day before that which was appointed for his execution, and, in admiral Boscawen’s name, acquainted him that a respite was arrived for fourteen days. He composedly desired his compliments to admiral Boscawen, with thanks for his intelligence, without appearing in the smallest degree elevated, or even pleased beyond his usual. His friends, on that occasion, represented to him what had passed in the house of commons, and congratulated him on the certainty of an honourable pardon, which they imagined must follow.6

He was not much elated with this, but his behaviour was uniformly composed to the last. Divine service was performed for him every morning, and the rest of the day he spent in chearful conversation, and the adjustment of family affairs.7

On Saturday the 12th of March, in the evening, when his friends were going on shore as usual, he took leave of his two nephews in a tender manner, and desired they would not come on board to him again, lest any immoderate grief in them should soften him.

On Sunday morning Captain Montague, having received a warrant from Admiral Boscawen for his execution the next day, gave it to the marshal to read to him; which he calmly heard read over, and then remarked, with some warmth, that the place appointed by the warrant was upon the forecastle. “Is not this,” said he, addressing himself to his friends, “putting me upon the footing of a common seaman, condemned to be shot? Is not this an indignation to my birth, to my family, and to my rank in the service? I think I have not been treated like an officer in any instance since I was disgraced, except in that of being ordered to be shot.” He appeared much disturbed at this circumstance, but on the remonstrances of his friends, he again composed himself and appeared in a little time perfectly calm.8

In the forenoon he heard prayers read by the chaplain of the Monarque, and received the sacrament in a very decent devout manner, with some of his relations and friends.

At dinner he was chearful as usual, very politely helped his friends, and drank their healths, but did not sit long at table. He continued uneasy about the place of execution: and perceiving his friends avoided the subject, “I like to talk upon the subject,” said he, “It is not to be supposed I do not think of it; why then should it be more improper to talk of it?”

He frequently observed how the wind was, and wished it might continue westerly long enough for the members of his court-martial, who were upon the point of sailing, to be present at the time the sentence passed upon him was put in execution.

About six he ordered tea, as usual, for himself and his company; and remarking that his friends took notice of his easy manner and conversation, he declared it to be owing to his having no remorse for any transaction in his public character; however he might be subject to private and personal frailties. He pleased himself with hopes that the world would not consider him as the mean despicable coward his enemies had represented him, as the court-martial had acquitted him of every thing ignominious.9

In the evening his friends, desirous to be with him a little longer for the last night than had been permitted before, sent to admiral Boscawen, requesting that indulgence; which was granted for as long as they pleased; but he himself desired they would not exceed the hour of eight, being then about seven. He then ordered a small bowl of punch to be made; helped every one, and taking his own glass with a little punch in it, “My friends,” said he, “here is all your healths, and God bless you all: I am pleased to find that I have some friends still, notwithstanding my misfortunes”; When he had drank, and set his glass down, he added, “I am to die to-morrow; and as my country requires my blood, I am ready to resign it, though I do not as yet know what my crime is.” He wished his judges had been more explicit in justice to all future officers, fearing that no admiral will be wiser from the sentence passed on him; he added, that he was supposed not to have assisted the van; but he insisted upon the merit of relieving the three disabled ships, which were indeed fired upon, but it does not appear that a single man was killed on board of them, when the enemy passed. “There is,” said the admiral, “but one witness who says they received damage at that time. May not that one witness be mistaken, who was on board the ship considerably the farthest removed from the enemy of the three, and who had dropt there out of her station, by being disabled before? And why did the enemy bear away from these ships if it was not because my division was under sail close after them, in a regular line of battle?”1

The time appointed for his friends to go ashore drawing near, he got up and withdrew into the state-room with one of them at a time; and thanking each in a very pathetic manner for their acts of friendship and services, he embraced them in order to take a last farewell. But they intreating leave to pay their last respects and services to him in the morning, he consented. One of them observing the admiral softened into tears upon the occasion, said to him, “Pray, Sir, don’t suffer yourself to be discomposed.” He replied, “I have not a heart of stone: I am a man, and must feel at parting with my friends; but you will not see me discomposed to-morrow.” Hereupon his friends went on shore, and one of them waited on admiral Boscawen to beg that the place of execution might be changed from the forecastle to the quarter deck; which was done accordingly.2

It is remarkable, that the officers, when at twelve at night, and at four in the morning, were delivered from watching in his cabbin, when they went to shew that he was in the state-room to their succession, each time found him in a profound sleep. He arose, according to his custom, exactly in the morning somewhat about five: and seeing the Marshal, about six, “Well,” said he, “Marshal, I think I have beat you at rising this morning.” Soon after, when he was shifting,3 as he did every morning betimes, “Here,” said he to the valet, “take these sleeve-buttons, and wear them for my sake; yours will do to be buried with.” Having directed that he should be put into his coffin with his cloaths as he died; recollecting himself, he added, “But hold—— as these buttons are gold, my giving them to you may be doubted, and you may be drawn into a scrape.”

He spent a considerable part of the morning in the state-room by himself; then came out, and sat down with the Marshal, and breakfasted composedly, as usual. His dress was a plain cloth suit, a light gray mixture, such as he had always wore after he received his order of suspension in Gibraltar-bay; having stripped off his uniform, which he immediately threw into the sea, as soon as he had read that order.

At nine, when his friends came on board, being informed that the quarter-deck was now the place appointed for his execution, in consideration of his rank, he was greatly pleased at it. He then spoke about an erasement in his will, which he had recollected; mentioning the sheet, the number of the line from the top, and the words erased. He then thought proper to sign a paper, specifying this particular, and those of his friends were witnesses to it. This done, the morning-service was performed by the chaplain of the Monarque, and the rest of the morning he spent in walking across the cabin, and conversing sometimes with one friend and sometimes with another.4

He seemed resolved to receive his death uncovered, but by the remonstrances of his friends, he was at last prevailed upon to have a bandage over his eyes, and to make a signal by dropping a handkerchief, though with very great reluctance: “If it must be so,” said he, “and you insist, it must be so.”5

The marines were all drawn up under arms, upon the poop, along the gangways in the waist, and on one side of the quarter-deck. On the other side of the quarter-deck was thrown a heap of saw-dust, and a cushion placed upon it; and in the middle, upon the gratings, a platoon, consisting of nine marines, to whom he made a present of ten guineas, were drawn up in three lines, three in each: the two foremost lines intended to fire, had their bayonets fixed, as is customary on such occasions.

The captains of all the ships in Portsmouth harbour, and at Spithead, were ordered to attend with their boats; but lay a-breast upon their oars, without coming on board, to avoid the inconvenience of so great a crowd as that would have occasioned.

The admiral, about eleven, as he walked about the cabbin, observing the crowd of boats out of one of the side cabbin-windows, took his spying-glass and viewed several of them; and perceiving many boats from the shore, as well as the ship-boats, and the decks, shrouds, and yards of all the ships that lay near, covered with men, said he, “Curiosity is strong— it draws a great number of people together—but their curiosity will be disappointed:—where they are, they may hear, but they cannot see.”

Perceiving the Marshal had his uniform and sword on, speaking softly to one of his friends, “Do you observe,” said he, “how well dressed the marshal is?” the gentleman expressing his pleasure at seeing the admiral so composed, “I find,” said Mr. Byng, “Innocence is the best foundation for firmness of mind.”6

After that he walked about in the cabbin for some time; inquired what time it would be high-water; remarked that the tide would not suit to carry his body ashore after dark, expressed some apprehensions, that his body might be insulted going ashore in the day, on account of the prejudices of the people: but on being assured that no such spirit was remaining among the people at Portsmouth, he appeared very well satisfied on that head. Then taking a paper out of his pocket, he addressed himself to the marshal as follows: “Sir, these are my thoughts on this occasion: I shall give them to you, that you may authenticate them, and prevent any thing spurious being published, that might tend to defame me. I have given a copy to one of my relations.”

The paper was wrote in his own hand, and contained as follows:

Soon after he had spoke, an officer came to the cabin door, and in a low voice informed one of his friends the hour of twelve was drawing near. He overhearing replied, “It is very well”; and retired into the state-room for about three minutes. In the mean time the cabin doors were thrown open, and the admiral opening the state-room door came out with a stately pace and composed countenance: he made a bow to his friends in the cabin, and speaking to the marshal, “Come along,” said he, “my friend”; and walking out upon the quarter-deck. Then turning to the marshal, with an easy bow, he gave him the paper containing as above, saying, “Remember, Sir, what I have told you relating to this paper”; and went to the cushion and kneeled down. One of his friends attended him to the cushion, and offered to tie the bandage over his eyes; but having a white handkerchief ready folded in his hand, he replied, with a smile on his countenance, “I am obliged to you, Sir,—I thank God, I can do it myself—I think I can—I am sure I can”; and tied it behind his head himself. Then taking the gentleman by the hand, “God bless you, my friend,” says he, “don’t stay longer here; they may shoot you.” The marines, in the mean time, advanced about two paces, and, as soon as the gentleman retired, presented their pieces; the first line kneeling, their bayonets about half a yard from his breast; the second stooping, and close to the first; the third line standing upright, were appointed a reserve, in case any life should remain after the two first had fired. The admiral continued upon his knees something more than a minute, appearing very composed, and to be making an ejaculation; and then dropped his handkerchief, the signal agreed upon. The platoon immediately fired; one missed, four passed through different parts of his breast, and one through his heart, and he sunk down motionless, gently falling on his side, as if still studious to preserve decency and dignity in his fall.7

The spectators acknowledged his behaviour to be composed and intrepid: it is a remarkable circumstance that the Ramillies broke from her moorings much about the time of execution; which superstitious minds have interpreted various ways.

As soon as his body was cold, it was put into his coffin, and sent on shore to the dock-yard in the evening; from whence it has been since removed to the family burying place at South-hill in Bedfordshire. On his coffin was the following plain inscription: