the prairie two or three days after, and they brought some of the
clothes she had on. They was all covered with mud, and they passed ‘em
all around to the jury and the judge, just the same as they did the
paper. Of course, these did look pretty bad, and they made me feel kind
of faint, for I’d thought about her a good deal the last few days, and
dreamed about her almost every night, and sometimes I’d dream that
ever’thing was all right, and then wake up and remember just how ‘twas.
I don’t know which is worse: to dream that the thing was done and see it
all before you, just as if you were doin’ it all over again, and then
wake up and know it was a dream, and then know it was so, or to dream
that you’re livin’ together all right and are happy, and then wake up
and find that’s a dream, and you’re in jail for murder and can’t never
get out alive.
“Then they proved about how the poker just fit into the place in her
head, and how it was took back into the kitchen and put into the ashes
again, so ‘twouldn’t show, and how far I drove that day, and ever’
saloon I stopped into on the way, and just how much I drank, and
ever’thing I done, except the beefsteak I bought and that half peck of
potatoes that I gave away to the old lady. Then they proved all about my
runnin’ away, and where I’d been, and what I’d done, and my changin’ my
name, and the way I was caught.
“A good many times my lawyer objected to something that they tried to
prove, or to something that the other feller was sayin’, but ever’ time
the judge decided ‘gainst my lawyer, and he ‘most always seemed kind of
mad when my lawyer said anything. The other one was a good deal the
smartest; ever’one said he wanted to be a judge, and he took all the
murder cases he could get, and they called him the ‘hangin’ lawyer,’
because ever’one he had anything to do with got hung.
“There was always a big crowd in the court room ever’ day, and a lot of
people waitin’ outside to get in, and there was always some awfully nice
dressed ladies settin’ up there with the judge ever’ day, and they had a
sort of glass in their hands, and they’d hold it up in front of their
eyes and look at me through the glass just like the judge looked at the
paper.
“It took about two days for their side to call all the witnesses they
had, and finally their lawyer got up just as solemn and said that was
their case.
“Then the judge give them a few minutes recess for ever’body to walk
around a little, and ever’one looked at me, just as they’d done all the
time. When they come to order the judge told us to go on with our side.
My lawyer turned to me and said he didn’t see what use it was to prove
anything, and we might just as well let the case go the way it was. I
said I ought to go on the stand and tell about that paper, and how it
was nothin’ but the one that come around the beef, and he said they
wouldn’t believe me if I said it. And anyhow it wouldn’t make any
difference. If I once got on the stand they’d get me all mixed up and
the first thing I knew I’d tell ‘em all about ever’thing, and so far as
witnesses went he couldn’t find anyone to do me any good.
“I thought ‘twould look pretty bad not to give any evidence at all, and
he said he knew that but ‘twould look a mighty sight worse if we put any
in. So my lawyer got up and ever’one watched to see what he was goin’ to
do, and then he just said ‘May it please the court, we have concluded
not to put in any evidence.’ And ever’one commenced to whisper, and to
look at me, and to look ‘round, and the judge looked queer and kind of
satisfied, and said then if there was no evidence on our side they would
take a recess till mornin’ when they could argue the case. Of course,
after I went back to the cell and got to thinkin’ it over I could see
that it was all off more’n ever, but I didn’t see that the lawyer could
have done any different.”
* * * * *
Here Jim got up and went to the grating and called to the guard.
“I’m gettin’ a little tired and fagged out and it ain’t worth while to
go to bed. Won’t you just give me some more whiskey?”
The guard came up to the door. “Of course, you can have all the whiskey
you want,” he said. “Here’s a bottle I’ve just fetched up from the
office. You’d better drink that up and then I’ll get you some more.”
Jim took a long drink at the bottle, and then passed it to his friend.
Hank was glad to have something to help him through the ordeal, which
had been hard for him to bear.
Presently the guard came back to the grating and asked Jim what he
wanted for breakfast.
“It ain’t breakfast time yet, is it?” Jim gasped.
“No, but I’m going to the office after a while and I want to give the
order when I go. You’d better tell me now. You can have ‘most anything
you want. You can have ham and eggs, or bacon or steak, and tea or
coffee, and bread and butter and cakes; or all of ‘em—or anything else
you want.”
“Well, I guess you’d better bring me ham and eggs. I don’t seem to care
for steak, and I don’t think I want any coffee. I’d rather have a
cocktail. You’d better bring me plenty more whiskey too when you come.
You know I hain’t slept any and I’m kind of nervous. I guess it’ll be
better if I don’t know much about it; don’t you?”
“Sure thing,” the guard answered back. “We’ve got some Scotch whiskey
over there that’s all right. I’ll bring you some of that. All the boys
takes that. I don’t think you’ll be troubled much after a good drink of
that Scotch. I guess you’d better hurry up a little bit with what you
want to say. I don’t like to hurry you any, but I’m afraid they’ll be
along with the breakfast after while, and they don’t allow any visitors
after that.”
The guard turned to leave, but before he had gone far, Jim called out,
“You’d better telephone over to the telegraph office, hadn’t you?
Somethin’ might have come maybe.”
“All right, I’ll do that,” the guard answered back, “and Jim, I guess
you might as well put on them new clothes before breakfast; they’ll look
better’n the old ones—to eat in.”
X
Jim drank the remnant of whiskey in the bottle he was holding, draining
it to the last drop. As he sat in his chair he leaned against the side
of the cell.
“My—how many bottles of this stuff I’ve drunk tonight. It’s a wonder I
ain’t dead already. I don’t believe I could keep up only I’ve got to
finish my story. But this cell begins to swim ‘round pretty lively; I
guess it ain’t goin’ to take much to finish me. Think a little of that
Scotch will just about do the job. I don’t care what anyone says, I’m
goin’ to get just as drunk as I can. I sha’n’t live to see what they say
in the newspapers and it won’t make any difference when I’m dead. I
don’t know as I ought to eat anything; it might kind of keep it from
actin’, but still I might as well. I guess the Scotch’ll do it all right
anyway.
“Well, there ain’t very much more to tell, and I guess you’re glad. It’s
been a tough night on you, poor feller. I hope no one’ll ever have to do
it for you. But, say—you’ve done me lots of good! I don’t know how I’d
put in the night, if you hadn’t come!
“Well—the last mornin’ they took me over to court, the room was jammed
more’n ever before, and a big crowd was waitin’ outside. I heard the
other lawyer say that the judge’s platform looked like a reception;
anyhow it was full of ladies with perfectly grand clothes, and most of
‘em would hold their glasses up to look at me. The other lawyer didn’t
say much in his first speech, only to tell how it was all done, and how
they had proved that everything happened in Cook County, and what a high
office the jury had.
“Then my lawyer talked for me. I didn’t really see how he could have
done any better and the papers all said he done fine. Of course there
wa’n’t much to say. I done it, and what more was there to it? And yet I
s’pose a lawyer is educated so he can talk all right on either side.
Well, my lawyer went on to make out that no one had seen it done, that
the evidence was all circumstantial, and no one ever ought to be hung on
circumstantial evidence. He went on to show how many mistakes had been
made on circumstantial evidence, and he told about a lot of cases. He
told the jury about one that I think happened in Vermont where two
farmers was seen goin’ out in the field. They hadn’t been very good
friends for a long time. Someone heard loud voices and knew they was
fightin’. Finally one of ‘em never come back and afterwards some bones
or somethin’ was found, that the doctors said was a farmer’s bones.
Well, they tried that farmer and found him guilty, and hung him. And
then years afterwards the other man come back. And he’d just wandered
off in a crazy fit. And after a while another doctor found out that them
bones was only sheep bones, and they’d hung an innocent man. He told a
lot of stories of that kind, and some of the jury seemed to cry when he
told ‘em, but I guess they was cryin’ for the Vermont man and not for
me.
“After my lawyer got through the other lawyer had one more chance, and
he was awful hard on me. He made out that I was the worst man that ever
lived. He claimed that I had made up my mind to kill her long ago, just
to get rid of her, and that I went ‘round to all the saloons that day
and drank just to get up my nerve. Then he claimed that I took a bottle
of whiskey home and drank it up and left the empty bottle on the table,
and I took that just to nerve me up. He made more out of the brown paper
than he did of anything else, and told how I burned all the rest of the
evidence but had forgot to burn this, and how I’d gone into the kitchen
and got the poker out of the stove and come back into the settin’-room
and killed her, and then took it back; and how cold-blooded I was to
take her, after I’d killed her, and go and dump her into that hole away
out on the prairie, and how I’d run away, and how that proved I’d killed
her, and then he compared me with all the murderers who ever lived since
Cain, ‘most, and showed how all of ‘em was better’n I was, and told the
jury that nobody in Chicago would be safe unless I was hung; and if they
done their duty and hung me there wouldn’t be any more killin’ in
Chicago after this. I can’t begin to tell you what all he said; but it
was awful! Once in a while when it was too bad, my lawyer would
interrupt, but the judge always decided against me and then the other
lawyer went on worse’n before. The papers next day told how fast I
changed color while he was talkin’, and what a great speech he made, and
they all said he ought to be a judge because he was so fearless.
“It took the crowd some time to quiet down after he got through and then
the judge asked the jury to stand up, and they stood up, and he read a
lot of stuff to ‘em, tellin’ ‘em about the case. ‘Most all that he read
was ‘gainst me. Sometimes I thought he was readin’ one on my side, and
he told ‘em how sure they must be before they could convict, and then
he’d wind up by sayin’ they must be sure it was done in Cook County. Of
course there never was any doubt but what it all happened in Cook
County. When the judge got through ‘twas most night, and he told the
bailiff to take charge of the jury, so he took ‘em and the clothes and
the brown paper with the blood out in the jury room, and they
han’-cuffed me and took me back to my cell.
“I don’t believe I ever put in any night that was quite so hard on me—
exceptin’ mebbe the night I done it—as that one when the jury was out. I
guess ever’one thought they wouldn’t stay long. I couldn’t see that any
of ‘em ever looked at me once as if they cared whether I lived or died.
I don’t believe that they really thought I was a man like them; anyhow
ever’-one thought they would sentence me to hang in just a few minutes.
I s’posed myself that they’d be in before supper. My lawyer come over to
the jail with me, because he knew how I felt. And anyhow he was ‘most as
nervous as I was. After a while they brought me in my supper, and the
lawyer went out to get his. Then the guard told me the jury had gone to
supper, and he guessed there was some hitch about it, though ever’one
thought the jury wouldn’t be out long. After a while the lawyer came
back, and he stayed and talked to me until nine or ten o’clock, and the
jury didn’t come in, so he went to see what was the matter, and come
back and said he couldn’t find out anything, only that they hadn’t
agreed.
“Well, he stayed till twelve o’clock, and then the judge went home, and
we knew they wa’n’t goin’ to come in till mornin’. I couldn’t sleep that
night, but walked back and forth in the cell a good bit of the time. You
see it wa’n’t this cell. The one I had then was a little bigger. I’d lay
down once in a while, and sometimes I’d smoke a cigar that the guard
gave me. Anyhow I couldn’t really sleep, and was mighty glad when
daylight come. In the mornin’, kind of early, I heard that jury had
agreed and I knew that ‘twas bad for me. The best that could happen
would be a disagreement. I hadn’t allowed myself to have much hope any
of the time, but I knew that now it was all off.
“Still I waited and didn’t quite give up till they took me back to the
courtroom. Then when ever’one had got their places the jury come in,
lookin’ awful solemn, and the judge looked sober and fierce-like, and he
said, ‘Gentlemen of the Jury, have you agreed on your verdict?’ And the
foreman got up and said, ‘We have.’ Then the judge told the foreman to
give the verdict to the clerk. He walked over to the row of chairs and
the man at the end of the bottom row reached out his hand and gave the
paper to him. The people in the room was still as death. Then the clerk
read, ‘We, the jury, find the defendant guilty, and sentence him to
death.’ I set with my head down, lookin’ at the paper; I expected it,
and made up my mind not to move. Ever’one in the courtroom sort of give
a sigh. I never looked up, and I don’t believe I moved. The papers next
day said I was brazen and had no feelin’, even when the jury sentenced
me to death.
“The judge was the first one to speak. He turned to the jury and thanked
‘em for their patriotism and devotion, and the great courage they’d
shown by their verdict. He said they’d done their duty well and could
now go back to their homes contented and happy. And he says: ‘Mr.
Sheriff, remove the prisoner from the room.’ Of course, I hadn’t
expected nothin’, and still I wa’n’t quite sure—the same as now, when I
think mebbe the governor’ll change his mind. But when the verdict was
read and they said it was death, somehow I felt kind of dazed. I don’t
really remember their puttin’ the han’-cuffs on me, and takin’ me back
to jail. I don’t remember the crowd in the courtroom, or much of
anything until I was locked up again, and then my lawyer come and said
he would make a motion for a new trial, and not to give up hope. My
lawyer told me that the reason they was out so long was one man stuck
out for sendin’ me to the penitentiary for life instead of hangin’ me.
We found out that he used to be a switchman. I s’pose he knew what a
hard life I had and wanted to make some allowances. The State’s Attorney
said he’d been bribed, and the newspapers had lots to say about
investigatin’ the case, but there wa’n’t nothin’ done about it. But I
s’pose mebbe it had some effect on the next case.
“There wa’n’t nothin’ more done for two or three days. I just stayed in
my cell and didn’t feel much like talkin’ with anyone. Then my lawyer
come over and said the motion for a new trial would be heard next day.
In the mornin’ they han’cuffed me and took me back as usual. There was a
lot of people in the courtroom, though not so many as before. My lawyer
had a lot of books, and he talked a long while about the case, and told
the judge he ought to give me a new trial on account of all the mistakes
that was made before. And after he got done the judge said he’d thought
of this case a great deal both by day and by night, and he’d tried to
find a way not to sentence me to death, but he couldn’t do it, and the
motion would be overruled. Then he said, ‘Jackson, stand up.’ Of course
I got up, because he told me to. Then he looked at me awful savage and
solemn and said, ‘Have you got anything to say why sentence should not
be passed on you?’ and I said ‘No!’ Then he talked for a long time about
how awful bad I was, and what a warnin’ I ought to be to ever’body else;
and then he sentenced me to be removed to the county-jail and on Friday,
the thirteenth day of this month—that’s today—to be hanged by the neck
till dead, and then he said, ‘May God have mercy on your soul!’ After
that he said, ‘Mr. Sheriff, remove the prisoner. Mr. Clerk, call the
next case.’ And they han’-cuffed me and brought me back.
“I don’t know why the judge said, ‘May God have mercy on your soul!’ I
guess it was only a kind of form that they have to go through, and I
don’t think he meant it, or even thought anything about it. If he had, I
don’t see how he really could ask God to have mercy on me unless he
could have mercy himself. The judge didn’t have to hang me unless he
wanted to.
“Well, the lawyer come in and told me he ought to appeal the case to the
Supreme Court, but it would cost one hundred dollars for a record, and
he didn’t know where to get the money. I told him I didn’t know either.
Of course I hadn’t any and told him he might just as well let it go;
that I didn’t s’pose it would do any good anyhow. But he said he’d see
if he could find the money somehow and the next day he come in and said
he was goin’ to give half out of his own pocket, and he’d seen another
feller that didn’t want his name mentioned and that thought a man
oughtn’t to be hung without a chance; he was goin’ to give the other
half. Of course I felt better then, but still I thought there wa’n’t
much chance, for ever’body was against me, but my lawyer told me there
was a lot of mistakes and errors in the trial and I ought to win.
“Well, he worked on the record and finally got it finished, a great big
kind of book that told all about the case. It was only finished a week
ago, and I s’posed anyone could take his case to the Supreme Court if he
had the money; but my lawyer said no, he couldn’t, or rather he said
yes, anyone could take his case to the Supreme Court, but in a case like
mine, where I was to be hung I’d be dead before the Supreme Court ever
decided it, or even before it was tried. Then he said the only way would
be if some of the judges looked at the record and made an order that I
shouldn’t be hung until after they’d tried the case, but he told me it
didn’t make any difference how many mistakes the judge had made, or how
many errors there was, they wouldn’t make any order unless they believed
I hadn’t done it. He said that if it had been a dispute about a horse or
a cow, or a hundred dollars, I’d have a right to go to the Supreme
Court, and if the judges found any mistakes in the trial I’d have
another chance. But it wa’n’t so when I was tried for my life.
“Well, when he’d explained this I felt sure ‘twas all off, and I told
him so, but he said he was goin’ to make the best fight he could and not
give up till the end. He said he had a lot at stake himself, though not
so much as I had. So he took the record and went to the judges of the
Supreme Court and they looked it over, and said mebbe the judge that
tried me did make some mistakes, and mebbe I didn’t have a fair trial,
but it looked as if I was guilty and they wouldn’t make any order. So my
case never got into the Supreme Court after all and the hundred dollars
was wasted.
“Well, when my lawyer told me, of course I felt blue. I’d built some on
this, and it begun to look pretty bad. It seemed as if things was comin’
along mighty fast, and it looked as if the bobbin was ‘most wound up.
When you know you’re going to die in a week the time don’t seem long. Of
course if a feller’s real sick, and gets run down and discouraged, and
hasn’t got much grip on things, he may not feel so very bad about dyin’,
for he’s ‘most dead anyway, but when a feller’s strong, and in good
health, and he knows he’s got to die in a week, it’s a different thing.
“Then my lawyer said there was only one thing left, and that was to go
to the gov’nor. He said he knew the gov’nor pretty well and he was goin’
to try. He thought mebbe he’d change the sentence to imprisonment for
life. When I first come to jail I said I’d rather be hung than to be
sent up for life, and I stuck to it even when the jury brought in their
verdict, but when it was only a week away I begun to feel different, and
I didn’t want to die, leastwise I didn’t want to get hung. So I told him
all the people I knew, though I didn’t think they’d help me, for the
world seemed to be against me, and the papers kept tellin’ what a good
thing it was to hang me, and how the State’s Attorney and the jury and
the judge had been awful brave to do it so quick. But I couldn’t see
where there was any bravery in it. I didn’t have no friends. It might
have been right, but I can’t see where the brave part come in.
“But every day the lawyer said he thought the gov’nor would do
somethin’, and finally he got all the names he could to the petition,
and I guess it wa’n’t very many, only the people that sign all the
petitions because they don’t believe in hangin’; and day before
yesterday, he went down to Springfield to see the gov’nor.
“Well, I waited all day yesterday. I didn’t go out of the cell for
exercise because I couldn’t do anything and I didn’t want ‘em to see how
nervous I was. But I tell you it’s ticklish business waitin’ all day
when you’re goin’ to be hung in the mornin’ unless somethin’ happens. I
kep’ askin’ the guard what time ‘twas, and when I heard anyone comin’ up
this way I looked to see if it wa’n’t a despatch, and I couldn’t set
down or lay down, or do anything ‘cept drink whiskey. I hain’t really
been sober and clear-headed since yesterday noon, in fact, I guess if I
had been, I wouldn’t kep’ you here all night like this. I didn’t hardly
eat a thing, either, all day, and I asked the guard about it a good many
times, and he felt kind of sorry for me but didn’t give me much
encouragement. You see they’ve had a guard right here in front of the
door all the time, day and night, for two weeks. That’s called the death
watch, and they set here to see that I don’t kill myself, though I can’t
see why that would make any great difference so long as I’ve got to die
anyhow.
“Well, ‘long toward night the guard came and brought me that new suit of
clothes over on the bed, and I guess I’ve got to put ‘em on pretty
quick. Of course, the guard’s been as nice as he could be. He didn’t
tell me what they’s for, but I knew all the same. I know they don’t hang
nobody in their old clothes. I s’pose there’ll be a good many people
there, judges and doctors and ministers and lawyers, and the newspapers,
and the friends of the sheriff, and politicians, and all, and of course
it wouldn’t look right to have me hung up there before ‘em all in my old
clothes,—it would be about like wearin’ old duds to a party or to
church—so I’ve got to put on them new ones. They’re pretty good, and
they look as if they’re all wool, don’t you think?
“Well, a little while after they brought me the clothes, I seen the
guard come up with a telegram in his hand. I could see in his face it
wa’n’t no use, so of course I wa’n’t quite so nervous when I read it.
But I opened it to make sure. The lawyer said that the gov’nor wouldn’t
do nothin’. Then, of course, ‘twas all off. Still he said he’d go back
about midnight. I don’t know whether he meant it, or said it to brace me
up a little and kind of let me down easier.
“Of course, the gov’nor could wake up in the night and do it, if he
wanted to, and I s’pose such things has been done. I’ve read ‘bout ‘em
stoppin’ it after a man got up on the scaffold. You remember about the
gov’nor of Ohio, don’t you? He come here to Chicago to some convention,
and a man was to be hung in Columbus that day, and the gov’nor forgot it
till just about the time, and then he tried for almost an hour to get
the penitentiary on the long distance telephone, and he finally got ‘em
just as the man was goin’ up on the scaffold. Such things has happened,
but of course, I don’t s’pose they’ll happen to me. I never had much
luck in anything, and I guess I’ll be hung all right.
“It seems queer, don’t it, how I’m talkin’ to you here, and the guard
out there, and ever’body good to me, and in just a little while they’re
goin’ to take me out there and hang me! I don’t believe I could do it,
even if I was a sheriff and got ten thousand dollars a year for it, but
I s’pose it has to be done.
“Well, now I guess I’ve told you all about how ever’thing happened and
you und’stand how it was. I s’pose you think I’m bad, and I don’t want
to excuse myself too much, or make out I’m any saint. I know I never
was, but you see how a feller gets into them things when he ain’t much
different from ever’body else. I know I don’t like crime, and I don’t
believe the other does. I just got into a sort of a mill and here I am
right close up to that noose.