* * * * *
[We need not illustrate the force, or point the moral of the following
sketch from the last number of _Blackwood's Magazine_. The parents of the
writer were of "a serious cast," and attached to evangelical tenets, which
he soon imbibed, together with an occasional tendency to gloom and nervous
irritability.]
About the year 1790, at the Assizes for the county of which the town of
C----r is the county town, was tried and convicted a wretch guilty of one
of the most horrible murders upon record. He was a young man, probably (for
he knew not his own years) of about twenty-two years of age. One of those
wandering and unsettled creatures, who seem to be driven from place to
place, they know not why. Without home; without name; without companion;
without sympathy; without sense. Hearthless, friendless, idealess, almost
soulless! and so ignorant, as not even to seem to know whether he had ever
heard of a Redeemer, or seen his written word. It was on a stormy
Christmas eve, when he begged shelter in the hut of an old man, whose
office it was to regulate the transit of conveyances upon the road of a
great mining establishment in the neighbourhood. The old man had received
him, and shared with him his humble cheer and his humble bed; for on that
night the wind blew and the sleet drove, after a manner that would have
made it a crime to have turned a stranger dog to the door. The next day
the poor old creature was found dead in his hut--his brains beaten out
with an old iron implement which he used--and his little furniture rifled,
and in confusion. The wretch had murdered him for the supposed hoard of a
few shillings. The snow, from which he afforded his murderer shelter, had
drifted in at the door, which the miscreant, when he fled, had left open,
and was frozen red with the blood of his victim. But it betrayed a
footstep hard frozen in the snow, and blood--and the nails of the
murderer's shoe were counted, even as his days were soon to be. He was
taken a few days after with a handkerchief of the old man upon his neck.
So blind is blood-guiltiness.
Up to the hour of condemnation, he remained reckless as the
wind--unrepenting as the flint--venomous as the blind-worm. With that deep
and horrible cunning which is so often united to unprincipled ignorance,
he had almost involved in his fate another vagrant with whom he had
chanced to consort, and to whom he had disposed of some of the
blood-bought spoils. The circumstantial evidence was so involved and
interwoven, that the jury, after long and obvious hesitation as to the
latter, found both guilty; and the terrible sentence of death, within
forty-eight hours, was passed upon both. The culprit bore it without much
outward emotion; but when taken from the dock, his companion, infuriated
by despair and grief, found means to level a violent blow at the head of
his miserable and selfish betrayer, which long deprived the wretch of
sense and motion, and, for some time, was thought to have anticipated the
executioner. Would it had done so! But let me do my duty as I ought--let
me repress the horror which one scene of this dreadful drama never fails
to throw over my spirit--that I may tell my story as a man--and my
confession at least be clear. When the felon awoke out of the deathlike
trance into which this assault had thrown him, his hardihood was gone; and
he was reconveyed to the cell, in which he was destined agonizingly to
struggle out his last hideous and distorted hours, in a state of abject
horror which cannot be described. He who felt nothing--knew nothing--had
now his eyes opened with terrible clearness to one object--the livid
phantasma of a strangling death. All the rest was convulsive despair and
darkness. Thought shudders at it--but let me go on,
[He visits the murderer in prison, accompanied by the clergyman.]
I undertook to pass with the murderer--his LAST NIGHT--_such_ a last!--
but let me compose myself.
* * * * *
It was about the hour of ten, on a gusty and somewhat raw evening of
September, that I was locked up alone with the murderer. It was the
evening of the Sabbath. Some rain had fallen, and the sun had not been
long set without doors; but for the last hour and a half the dungeon had
been dark, and illuminated only by a single taper. The clergyman of the
prison, and some of my religious friends, had sat with us until the hour
of locking-up, when, at the suggestion of the gaoler, they departed. I
must confess their "good night," and the sound of the heavy door, which
the gaoler locked after him, when he went to accompany them to the
outer-gate of the gaol, sounded heavily on my heart. I felt a sudden shrink
within me, as their steps quickly ceased to be heard upon the stone
stairs--and when the distant prison door was finally closed, I watched the
last echo. I had for a moment forgotten my companion.
When I turned round, he was sitting on the side of his low pallet, towards
the head of it, supporting his head by his elbow against the wall,
apparently in a state of half stupor. He was motionless, excepting a sort
of convulsive movement, between sprawling and clutching of the fingers of
the right hand, which was extended on his knee. His shrunk cheeks
exhibited a deadly ashen paleness, with a slight tinge of yellow, the
effect of confinement. His eyes were glossy and sunken, and seemed in part
to have lost the power of gazing. They were turned with an unmeaning and
vacant stare upon the window, where the last red streak of day was faintly
visible, which they seemed vainly endeavouring to watch. The sense of my
own situation now recoiled strongly upon me; and the sight of the wretch
sitting stiffened in quiet agony, (for it was no better,) affected me with
a faint sickness. I felt that an effort was necessary, and, with some
difficulty, addressed a few cheering and consolatory phrases to the
miserable creature I had undertaken to support. My words might not--but I
fear my _tone_ was too much in unison with his feelings, such as they were.
His answer was a few inarticulate mutterings, between which, the spasmodic
twitching of his fingers became more apparent than before. A noise at the
door seemed decidedly to rouse him; and as he turned his head with a
sudden effort, I felt relieved to see the gaoler enter. He was used to
such scenes; and with an air of commiseration, but in a tone which lacked
none of the firmness with which he habitually spoke, he asked the unhappy
man some question of his welfare, and seemed satisfied with the head-shake
and inarticulately muttered replies of the again drooping wretch, as if
they were expected, and of course. Having directed the turnkey to place
some wine and slight refreshments on the table, and to trim the light, he
told me in a whisper, that my friends would be at the prison, with the
clergyman, at the hour of six; and bidding the miserable convict and
myself, after a cheering word or two, "good night," he departed--the door
was closed--and the murderer and I were finally left together.
It was now past the hour of ten o'clock; and it became my solemn duty to
take heed, that the last few hours of the dying sinner passed not, without
such comfort to his struggling soul as human help might hold out. After
reading to him some passages of the gospel, the most apposite to his
trying state, and some desultory and unconnected conversation--for the
poor creature, at times seemed to be unable, under his load of horror, to
keep his ideas connected further than as they dwelt upon his own nearing
and unavoidable execution--I prevailed upon him to join in prayer. He at
this time appeared to be either so much exhausted, or labouring under so
much lassitude from fear and want of rest, that I found it necessary to
take his arm and turn him upon his knees by the pallet-side. The hour was
an awful one. No sound was heard save an occasional ejaculation between a
sigh and a smothered groan from the wretched felon. The candle burned
dimly; and as I turned I saw, though I scarcely noticed it at the moment,
a dim insect of the moth species, fluttering hurriedly round it, the sound
of whose wings mournfully filled up the pauses of myself and my companion.
When the nerves are strained to their uttermost, by such trifling
circumstances are we affected. Here (thought I) there has been no light,
at such an hour, for many years; and yet here is one whose office it seems
to be to watch it! My spirit felt the necessity of some exertion; and with
an energy, for which a few moments before I had hardly dared to hope, I
poured out my soul in prayer. I besought mercy upon the blood-stained
creature who was grovelling beside me--I asked that repentance and peace
might be vouchsafed him--I begged, for our Redeemer's sake, that his last
moments might know that untasted rapture of sin forgiven, and a cleansed
soul, which faith alone can bring to fallen man--I conjured him to help
and aid me to call upon the name of Christ; and I bade him put off life
and forget it, and to trust in that name alone--I interceded that his
latter agony might be soothed, and that the leave-taking of body and soul
might be in quietness and peace. But he shook and shivered, and nature
clung to the miserable straw of existence which yet floated upon the wide
and dismal current of oblivion, and he groaned heavily and muttered, "No,
no, no!" as if the very idea of death was unbearable, even for a moment;
and "to die," even to him that must, were a thing impossible, and not to
be thought of or named. And as I wrestled with the adversary that had
dominion over him, he buried his shrunk and convulsed features in the
covering of his miserable pallet; while his fingers twisted and writhed
about, like so many scotched snakes, and his low, sick moans, made the
very dungeon darker.
When I lifted him from his kneeling position, he obeyed my movement like a
tired child, and again sat on the low pallet, in a state of motionless and
unresisting torpor. The damp sweat stood on my own forehead, though not so
cold as on his; and I poured myself out a small portion of wine, to ward
off the exhaustion which I began to feel unusually strong upon me. I
prevailed upon the poor wretch to swallow a little with me; and, as I
broke a bit of bread, I thought, and spoke to him, of that last repast of
Him who came to call sinners to repentance; and methought his eye grew
lighter than it was. The sinking frame, exhausted and worn down by anxiety,
confinement, and the poor allowance of a felon's gaol, drew a short
respite from the cordial; and he listened to my words with something of
self-collectedness--albeit slight tremblings might still be seen to run
along his nerves at intervals; and his features collapsed, ever and anon,
into that momentary vacuity of wildness which the touch of despair never
fails to give. I endeavoured to improve the occasion. I exhorted him, for
his soul's sake, and the relief of that which needed it too much, to make
a full and unreserved confession, not only to God, who needed it not, but
to man, who did. I besought him, for the good of all, and as he valued his
soul's health, to detail the particulars of his crime, but _his eye fell_.
That dark enemy, who takes care to leave in the heart just hope enough to
keep despair alive, tongue-tied him; and he would not--even now--at the
eleventh hour--give up the vain imagination, that the case of his
companion might yet be confounded with his, to the escape of both--and
vain it was. It had not been felt advisable, so far as to make him
acquainted with the truth, that this had already been sifted and decided;
and I judged this to be the time. Again and again I urged confession upon
him. I put it to him that this act of justice might now be done for its
own sake, and for that of the cleansing from spot of his stained spirit. I
told him, finally, that it could no longer prejudice him in this world,
where his fate was written and sealed, for that his companion _was
reprieved_. I knew not what I did. Whether the tone of my voice, untutored
in such business, had raised a momentary hope, I know not--but the
revulsion was dreadful. He stared with a vacant look of sudden horror--a
look which those who never saw cannot conceive, and which--(the
remembrance is enough)--I hope never to see again--and twisting round,
rolled upon his pallet with a stifled moan that seemed tearing him in
pieces. As he lay, moaning and writhing backwards and forwards, the
convulsions of his legs, the twisting of his fingers, and the shiverings
that ran through his frame were terrible.
To attempt to rouse him seemed only to increase their violence--as if the
very sound of the human voice was, under his dreadful circumstances,
intolerable, as renewing the sense of reality to a reason already clouding,
and upon the verge of temporary deliquium. He was the picture of despair.
As he turned his face to one side, I saw that a few, but very few hot
tears had been forced from his glassy and blood-shot eyes; and in his
writhings he had scratched one cheek against his iron bedstead, the red
discoloration of which contrasted sadly with the deathly pallidness of hue,
which his visage now showed: during his struggles, one shoe had come off,
and lay unheeded on the damp stone-floor. The demon was triumphant within
him; and when he groaned, the sound seemed scarcely that of a human being,
so much had horror changed it. I kneeled over him--but in vain. He heard
nothing--he felt nothing--he knew nothing, but that extremity of
prostration to which a moment's respite would be Dives' drop of water--and
yet in such circumstances, any thing but a mercy. He could not bear, for a
moment, to think upon his own death--a moment's respite would only have
added new strength to the agony--He might _be_ dead; but could not "--die;"
and in the storm of my agitation and pity, I prayed to the Almighty to
relieve him at once from sufferings which seemed too horrible even to be
contemplated.
How long this tempest of despair continued, I do not know. All that I can
recall is, that after almost losing my own recollection under the
agitation of the scene, I suddenly perceived that his moans were less loud
and continuous, and that I ventured to look at him, which I had not done
for some space. Nature had become exhausted, and he was sinking gradually
into a stupor, which seemed something between sleep and fainting. This
relief did not continue long--and as soon as I saw him begin to revive
again to a sense of his situation, I made a strong effort, and lifting him
up, seated him again on the pallet, and, pouring out a small quantity of
wine, gave it him to drink, not without a forlorn hope that even wine
might be permitted to afford him some little strength to bear what
remained of his misery, and collect his ideas for his last hour. After a
long pause of returning recollection, the poor creature, got down a little
of the cordial and as I sat by him and supported him, I began to hope that
his spirits calmed. He held the glass and sipped occasionally, and
appeared in some sort to listen, and to answer to the words of consolation
I felt collected enough to offer. At this moment the low and distant sound
of a clock was heard, distinctly striking one. The ear of despair is
quick;--and as he heard it, he shuddered, and in spite of a strong effort
to suppress his emotion, the glass had nearly fallen from his hand. A severe
nervous restlessness now rapidly grew upon him, and he eagerly drank up
one or two small portions of wine, with which I supplied him. His fate was
now evidently brought one degree nearer to him. He kept his gaze intently
and unceasingly turned to the window of the dungeon. His muttered replies
were incoherent, or unintelligible, and his sunk and weakened eye strained
painfully on the grated window, as if he momentarily expected to see the
first streak of the dawn of that morning, which to him was to be night.
His nervous agitation gradually became horrible, and his motions stronger.
He seemed not to have resolution enough to rise from his seat and go to
the window, and yet to have an over-powering wish or impulse to do so. The
lowest sound startled him--but with this terrible irritation, his muscular
power, before debilitated, seemed to revive, and his action, which was
drooping and languid, became quick and angular. I began to be seized with
an undefined sense of fear and alarm. In vain I combated it; it grew upon
me; and I had almost risen from my seat to try to make myself heard, and
obtain, if possible, assistance. The loneliness of the gaol, however,
rendered this, even, if attempted, almost desperate--the sense of duty,
the dread of ridicule, came across me, and chained me to my seat by the
miserable criminal, whose state was becoming every minute more dreadful
and extraordinary.
* * * * *
Exhausted by the wearing excitement and anxiety of my situation, I had for
a moment sunk into that confused absence of mind with which those who have
been in similar circumstances cannot be unacquainted, when my miserable
companion, with a convulsive shudder, grasped my arm suddenly. I was for a
few seconds unaware of the cause of this emotion and movement, when a low,
indistinct sound caught my ear. It was the rumbling of a cart, mingled
with two or three suppressed voices; and the cart appeared to be leaving
the gate of the dismal building in which we were. It rolled slowly and
heavily as if cumbrously laden, under the paved gateway; and after a few
minutes, all was silent. The agonized wretch understood its import better
than I did. A gust of the wildest despair came suddenly over him. He
clutched with his hands whatever met his grasp. His knees worked. His
frame became agitated with one continued movement, swaying backwards and
forwards, almost to falling;--and his inarticulate complaints became
terrific. I attempted to steady him by an exertion of strength--I spoke
kindly to him, but he writhed in my grasp like an adder, and as an adder
was deaf; grief and fear had horrible possession. Myself, almost in a
state of desperation--for the sight was pitiful. I at last endeavoured to
awe him into a momentary quiescence, and strongly bade him at last to _die
like a man_; but the word "Death" had to him only the effect it may be
supposed to have upon a mere animal nature and understanding--how could it
have any other? He tried to bear it, and could not, and uttering a stifled
noise, between a yell and a moan, he grasped his own neck; his face
assumed a dark red colour, and he fell into a state of stifled convulsion.
* * * * *
When despair had wrought with him, I lifted him with difficulty from the
floor on which he had fallen. His relaxed features had the hue of death,
and his parched lips, from a livid blue, became of an ashy whiteness. In
appearance he was dying; and in the agitation of the moment I poured a
considerable portion of the wine which had been left with us into a glass,
and, after wetting his temples, held it to his lips. He made an effort to
swallow, and again revived to consciousness; and holding the vessel firmly
in his hands, got down with difficulty and at intervals, the entire
draught. When he found it totally exhausted, the glass fell from his hands;
but he seized and held one of mine with a grasp so firm and iron-like that
the contrast startled me. He seemed to be involved in a confused whirl of
sensations. He stared round the cell with a wildness of purpose that was
appalling; and after a time, I began to see with deep remorse, that the
wine I had unguardedly given was, as is always the case, adding keenness
to his agony and strength to his despair. He half rose once or twice and
listened; all was silent--when, after the pause of a minute or two, a
sudden fit of desperation seemed to seize upon him. He rushed to the
window, and hurriedly surveying the grates, wrenched at them with a
strength demoniac and superhuman, till the iron bars shook in their
embedments.
From this period my recollections are vague and indistinct. I remember
strongly remonstrating with the poor creature, and being pushed away by
hands which were now bleeding profusely with the intense efforts of his
awful delirium. I remember attempting to stop him, and hanging upon him,
until the insane wretch clutched me by the throat, and a struggle ensued,
during which I suppose I must at length have fainted or become insensible;
for the contest was long, and while consciousness remained, terrible and
appalling. My fainting, I presume, saved my life, for the felon was in
that state of maniacal desperation which nothing but a perfect
unresistingness could have evaded.
After this, the first sensation I can recall is that of awakening out of
that state of stupor into which exhaustion and agitation had thrown me.
Shall I ever forget it? The anxiety of some of my friends had brought them
early to the gaol; and the unusual noises which had been heard by some of
its miserable inmates occasioned, I believe, the door of the cell in which
we were, to be unlocked before the intended hour. Keenly do I recollect
the struggling again into painful consciousness, the sudden sense of
cheering daylight, the sound of friendly voices, the changed room, and the
strange looks of all around me. The passage was terrible to me; but I had
yet more to undergo. I was recovered just in time to witness the poor
wretch, whose prop and consolation I had undertaken to be, carried,
exhausted and in nerveless horror, to the ignominious tree--his head
drooping on his breast, his eyes opening mechanically at intervals, and
only kept from fainting and utter insensibility by the unused and fresh
morning air, which breathed in his face, as if in cruel mockery. I looked
once, but looked no more.--* * * *
* * * * *