La Motte, who attended him, said fervently:  “It is no longer time to think of this.  Let us prepare your coming before God.”

“Is there no cushion or stool to kneel upon?” said Barneveld, looking around him.

The provost said he would send for one, but the old man knelt at once on the bare planks.  His servant, who waited upon him as calmly and composedly as if he had been serving him at dinner, held him by the arm.  It was remarked that neither master nor man, true stoics and Hollanders both, shed a single tear upon the scaffold.

La Motte prayed for a quarter of an hour, the Advocate remaining on his knees.

He then rose and said to John Franken, “See that he does not come near me,” pointing to the executioner who stood in the background grasping his long double-handed sword.  Barneveld then rapidly unbuttoned his doublet with his own hands and the valet helped him off with it.  “Make haste! make haste!” said his master.

The statesman then came forward and said in a loud, firm voice to the people: 

“Men, do not believe that I am a traitor to the country.  I have ever acted uprightly and loyally as a good patriot, and as such I shall die.”

The crowd was perfectly silent.

He then took his cap from John Franken, drew it over his eyes, and went forward towards the sand, saying: 

“Christ shall be my guide.  O Lord, my heavenly Father, receive my spirit.”

As he was about to kneel with his face to the south, the provost said: 

“My lord will be pleased to move to the other side, not where the sun is in his face.”

He knelt accordingly with his face towards his own house.  The servant took farewell of him, and Barneveld said to the executioner: 

“Be quick about it.  Be quick.”

The executioner then struck his head off at a single blow.

Many persons from the crowd now sprang, in spite of all opposition, upon the scaffold and dipped their handkerchiefs in his blood, cut wet splinters from the boards, or grubbed up the sand that was steeped in it; driving many bargains afterwards for these relics to be treasured, with various feelings of sorrow, joy, glutted or expiated vengeance.

It has been recorded, and has been constantly repeated to this day, that the Stadholder, whose windows exactly faced the scaffold, looked out upon the execution with a spy-glass; saying as he did so: 

“See the old scoundrel, how he trembles!  He is afraid of the stroke.”

But this is calumny.  Colonel Hauterive declared that he was with Maurice in his cabinet during the whole period of the execution, that by order of the Prince all the windows and shutters were kept closed, that no person wearing his livery was allowed to be abroad, that he anxiously received messages as to the proceedings, and heard of the final catastrophe with sorrowful emotion.

It must be admitted, however, that the letter which Maurice wrote on the same morning to his cousin William Lewis does not show much pathos.