With the creak of a doomed ship, the door to the final hallway opens. Though both walls are the mottled iron bars of filled cells, the corridor is completely silent but for the light tap of well-worn boots and the screams of the crows beyond the far door.
  One life for thousands. Though many would have gone to war instead, the trade was made. One to death row, thousands free. Highwayman, murderers and robbers alike watch in silence, paying a final respect.
  The last door opens silently, making way for the wall of noise on the other side. The hangman straightens, tucking the rag in a back pocket. The hinges are oiled, the noose tied. There is little grief in the audience, but the moistened eyes are caught with a last, comforting glance.
  Long drop, short stop. The body is cut loose to land in the open coffin below, black as the tar that seals it.
  No chances are taken, and snide remarks are not the sole accompaniment to the cask as it is passed to kin to be taken to it's final resting place.
                                                                ***
  The sea is crossed, and twenty feet from the shore line, knee-deep in warm water, the burial is made. Few attend, and only the officer sent to make sure stands out, standing stiffly at attention. As the few disperse, a homing pigeon soars above the last few rays of sunlight, receding across a lonely grave, in its talons a simple message.
  Gone for good.