Grace Marks
"I dare not think--I cannot pray;
To name the name of God were sin:
No grief of mine can wash away
The consciousness of guilt within.
The stain of blood is on my hand,
The curse of Cain is on my brow;--
I see that ghastly phantom stand
Between me and the sunshine now!
That mocking face still haunts my dreams,
That blood-shot eye that never sleeps,
In night and darkness--oh, it gleams,
Like red-hot steel--but never weeps!
And still it bends its burning gaze
On mine, till drops of terror start
From my hot brow, and hell's fierce blaze
Is kindled in my brain and heart.
I long for death, yet dare not die,
Though life is now a weary curse;
But oh, that dread eternity
May bring a punishment far worse!"
So much has been written about the city of Kingston, so lately the seat
of government, and so remarkable for its fortifications, and the
importance it ever must be to the colony as a military depot and
place of defence, that it is not my intention to enter into a minute
description of it here. I was greatly pleased, as I think every stranger
must be, with its general aspect, particularly as seen from the water,
in which respect it has a great advantage over Toronto. The number of
vessels lying at the different wharfs, and the constant arrival of noble
steamers both from the United States and the Upper and Lower Province,
give it a very business-like appearance. Yet, upon landing, you are
struck with the want of stir and bustle in the principal thoroughfares,
when contrasted with the size and magnitude of the streets.
The removal of the seat of government has checked the growth of Kingston
for a while; but you feel, while examining its commanding position, that
it must always be the key of the Upper Province, the great rallying
point in case of war or danger. The market house is a very fine
building, and the wants of the city could be supplied within its area,
were it three times the size that it is at present. The market is
decidedly one of the chief attractions of the place.
The streets are wide and well paved, and there are a great many fine
trees in and about Kingston, which give to it the appearance of a
European town. The houses are chiefly of brick and stone along the
public thoroughfares, and there are many neat private dwellings
inclosed in trim well-kept gardens. The road leading to the Provincial
Penitentiary runs parallel with the water, and forms a delightful drive.
It is about three years ago that I paid a visit with my husband to the
Penitentiary, and went over every part of it. I must own that I felt a
greater curiosity to see the convicts than the prison which contained
them, and my wishes were completely gratified, as my husband was
detained for several hours on business, and I had a long interval of
leisure to examine the workshops, where the convicts were employed at
their different trades, their sleeping cells, chapel, and places of
punishment. The silence system is maintained here, no conversation
being allowed between the prisoners. I was surprised at the neatness,
cleanliness, order, and regularity of all the arrangements in the vast
building, and still more astonished that forty or fifty strong active
looking men, unfettered, with the free use of their limbs, could be
controlled by one person, who sat on a tall chair as overseer of each
ward. In several instances, particularly in the tailoring and shoemaking
department, the overseers were small delicate-looking men; but such
is the force of habit, and the want of moral courage which generally
accompanies guilt, that a word or a look from these men was sufficient
to keep them at work.
The dress of the male convicts was warm and comfortable, though
certainly not very elegant, consisting (for it was late in the fall) of
a thick woollen jacket, one side of it being brown, the other yellow,
with trowsers to correspond, a shirt of coarse factory cotton, but very
clean, and good stout shoes, and warm knitted woollen socks. The letters
P.P. for "Provincial Penitentiary," are sewed in coloured cloth upon the
dark side of the jacket. Their hair is cut very short to the head, and
they wear a cloth cap of the same colours that compose their dress.
The cells are narrow, just wide enough to contain a small bed, a stool,
and a wash-bowl, and the prisoners are divided from each other by thick
stone walls. They are locked in every night at six o'clock, and their
cell is so constructed, that one of the keepers can always look in upon
the convict without his being aware of the scrutiny. The bedding was
scrupulously clean, and I saw a plain Bible in each cell.
There is a sort of machine resembling a stone coffin, in which mutinous
convicts are confined for a given time. They stand in an upright
position; and as there are air holes for breathing, the look and name of
the thing is more dreadful than the punishment, which cannot be the
least painful. I asked the gentleman who showed us over the building,
what country sent the most prisoners to the Penitentiary? He smiled,
and told me "guess." I did so, but was wrong.
"No," said he; "we have more French Canadians and men of colour. Then
Irish, English, and run-a-way loafers from the States. Of the Scotch we
have very few; but they are very bad--the most ungovernable, sullen, and
disobedient. When a Scotchman is bad enough to be brought here, he is
like Jeremiah's bad figs--only fit for the gallows."
Mr. Moodie's bailiffs had taken down a young fellow, about twenty years
of age, who had been convicted at the assizes for stealing curious coins
from a person who had brought them out to this country as old family
relics. The evidence was more circumstantial than positive, and many
persons believed the lad innocent.
He had kept up his spirits bravely on the voyage, and was treated with
great kindness by the men who had him in custody; but when once within
the massy walls of the huge building, his courage seemed to forsake him
all at once. We passed him as he sat on the bench, while the barber was
cutting his hair and shaving off his whiskers. His handsome suit had
been removed--he was in the party-coloured dress before described. There
was in his face an expression of great anguish, and tears were rolling
in quick succession down his cheeks. Poor fellow! I should hardly have
known him again, so completely was he humbled by his present position.
Mr. M---y told me that they had some men in the Penitentiary who had
returned three different times to it, and had grown so attached to their
prison that they preferred being there, well clothed and well fed, to
gaining a precarious living elsewhere.
Executions in Canada are so rare, even for murder, that many atrocious
criminals are found within these walls--men and women--who could not
possibly have escaped the gallows in England.
At twelve o'clock I followed Mr. M--- to the great hall, to see the
prisoners dine. The meal consisted of excellent soups, with a portion
of the meat which had been boiled in it, potatoes, and brown bread, all
very clean and good of their kind. I took a plate of the soup and a
piece of the bread, and enjoyed both greatly.
I could not help thinking, while watching these men in their comfortable
dresses, taking their wholesome, well-cooked meal, how much better they
were fed and lodged than thousands of honest industrious men, who had
to maintain large families upon a crust of bread, in the great
manufacturing cities at home.
Most of these men had very bad countenances, and I never felt so much
convinced of the truth of phrenology as while looking at their heads.
The extraordinary formation, or rather mal-formation, of some of them,
led me to think that their possessors were hardly accountable for their
actions. One man in particular, who had committed a very atrocious
murder, and was confined for life, had a most singular head, such as
one, indeed, as I never before saw on a human body. It was immensely
large at the base, and appeared perfectly round, while at the crown
it rose to a point like a sugar-loaf. He was of a dull, drab-coloured
complexion, with large prominent eyes of a pale green colour;
his expression, the most repulsively cruel and sinister. The eye
involuntarily singled him out among all his comrades, as something too
terrible to escape observation.
Among such a number of men, 448, who were there present, I was surprised
at seeing so few with red or fair hair. I noticed this to my companion.
He had never observed it before, but said it was strange. The convicts
were mostly of a dull grey complexion, large eyed, stolid looking men,
or with very black hair, and heavy black brows.
I could only account for this circumstance from the fact, that though
fair-haired people are often violently passionate and easily excited,
their anger is sudden and quick, never premeditated, but generally the
work of the moment. Like straw on a fire, it kindles into a fierce
blaze, but it is over in an instant. They seldom retain it, or bear
malice. Not so the dull, putty-coloured, sluggish man. He is slow to
act, but he broods over a supposed affront or injury, and never forgets
it. He plans the moment of retaliation, and stabs his enemy when least
prepared. There were many stolid, heavy-looking men in that prison--many
with black, jealous, fiery-looking eyes, in whose gloomy depths
suspicion and revenge seemed to lurk. Even to look at these men as they
passed on, seemed to arouse their vindictive feelings, and they scowled
disdainfully upon us as they walked on to their respective places.
There was one man among these dark, fierce-looking criminals, who, from
his proud carriage and bearing, particularly arrested my attention. I
pointed him out to Mr. ---. "That man has the appearance of an educated
person. He looks as if he had been a gentleman."
"You are right," was his reply. "He was a gentleman, the son of a
district judge, and brought up to the law. A clever man too; but these
walls do not contain a worse in every respect. He was put in here for
arson, and an attempt to murder. Many a poor man has been hung with half
his guilt."
"There are two men near him," I said, "who have not the appearance of
criminals at all. What have they done?"
"They are not felons, but two soldiers put in here for a week for
disorderly conduct."
"What a shame," I cried, "to degrade them in this manner! What good can
it do?"
"Oh," said he, laughing; "it will make them desert to the States the
moment they get out."
"And those two little boys; what are they here for?"
"For murder!" whispered he.
I almost sprang from my seat; it appeared too dreadful to be true.
"Yes," he continued. "That child to the right is in for shooting his
sister. The other, to the left, for killing a boy of his own age with
a hoe, and burying him under the roots of a fallen tree. Both of these
boys come from the neighbourhood of Peterboro'. Your district, by the
bye, sends fewer convicts to the Penitentiary than any part of the
Upper Province."
It was with great pleasure I heard him say this. During a residence of
thirteen years at Belleville, there has not been one execution. The
county of Hastings is still unstained with the blood of a criminal.
There is so little robbery committed in this part of the country, that
the thought of thieves or housebreakers never for a moment disturbs our
rest. This is not the case in Hamilton and Toronto, where daring acts of
housebreaking are of frequent occurrence.
The constant influx of runaway slaves from the States has added greatly
to the criminal lists on the frontier. The addition of these people to
our population is not much to be coveted. The slave, from his previous
habits and education, does not always make a good citizen. During the
last assizes at Cobourg, a black man and his wife were condemned to be
hung for a most horrible murder, and their son, a young man of twenty
years of age, offered the sheriff to hang his own father and mother for
a new suit of clothes. Those who laud the black man, and place him above
the white, let them produce in the whole annals of human crime a more
atrocious one than this! Yet _it was not a hanging matter_.
I heard a gentleman exclaim with honest indignation, when this anecdote
was told in his hearing--"If a man were wanting to hang that monster, I
would do it myself."
But leaving the male convicts, I must now introduce my reader to the
female inmates of this house of woe and crime. At the time of my visit,
there were only forty women in the Penitentiary. This speaks much for
the superior moral training of the feebler sex. My chief object in
visiting their department was to look at the celebrated murderess,
Grace Marks, of whom I had heard a great deal, not only from the public
papers, but from the gentleman who defended her upon her trial, and
whose able pleading saved her from the gallows, on which her wretched
accomplice closed his guilty career.
As many of my English readers may never have heard even the name of this
remarkable criminal, it may not be uninteresting to them to give a brief
sketch of the events which placed her here.
About eight or nine years ago--I write from memory, and am not very
certain as to dates--a young Irish emigrant girl was hired into the
service of Captain Kinnaird, an officer on half-pay, who had purchased
a farm about thirty miles in the rear of Toronto; but the name of the
township, and the county in which it was situated, I have forgotten; but
this is of little consequence to my narrative. Both circumstances could
be easily ascertained by the curious. The captain had been living for
some time on very intimate terms with his housekeeper, a handsome young
woman of the name of Hannah Montgomery, who had been his servant of all
work. Her familiarity with her master, who, it appears, was a very fine
looking, gentlemanly person, had rendered her very impatient of her
former menial employments, and she soon became virtually the mistress of
the house. Grace Marks was hired to wait upon her, and perform all the
coarse drudgery that Hannah considered herself too fine a lady to do.
While Hannah occupied the parlour with her master, and sat at his table,
her insolent airs of superiority aroused the jealousy and envy of Grace
Marks, and the man-servant, MacDermot; who considered themselves quite
superior to their self-elected mistress. MacDermot was the son of
respectable parents; but from being a wild, ungovernable boy, he became
a bad, vicious man, and early abandoned the parental roof to enlist for
a soldier. He was soon tired of his new profession, and, deserting from
his regiment, escaped detection, and emigrated to Canada. Having no
means of his own, he was glad to engage with Captain Kinnaird as his
servant, to whom his character and previous habits were unknown.
These circumstances, together with what follows, were drawn from his
confession, made to Mr. Mac--ie, who had conducted his defence, the
night previous to his execution. Perhaps it will be better to make him
the narrator of his own story.
"Grace Marks was hired by Captain Kinnaird to wait upon his housekeeper,
a few days after I entered his service. She was a pretty girl, and
very smart about her work, but of a silent, sullen temper. It was very
difficult to know when she was pleased. Her age did not exceed seventeen
years. After the work of the day was over, she and I generally were left
to ourselves in the kitchen, Hannah being entirely taken up with her
master. Grace was very jealous of the difference made between her
and the house-keeper, whom she hated, and to whom she was often very
insolent and saucy. Her whole conversation to me was on this subject.
'What is she better than us?' she would say, 'that she is to be treated
like a lady, and eat and drink of the best. She is not better born than
we are, or better educated. I will not stay here to be domineered over
by her. Either she or I must soon leave this.' Every little complaint
Hannah made of me, was repeated to me with cruel exaggerations, till my
dander was up, and I began to regard the unfortunate woman as our common
enemy. The good looks of Grace had interested me in her cause; and
though there was something about the girl that I could not exactly like,
I had been a very lawless, dissipated fellow, and if a woman was young
and pretty, I cared very little about her character. Grace was sullen
and proud, and not very easily won over to my purpose; but in order to
win her liking, if possible, I gave a ready ear to all her discontented
repinings.
"One day Captain Kinnaird went to Toronto, to draw his half-year's pay,
and left word with Hannah that he would be back by noon the next day.
She had made some complaint against us to him, and he had promised to
pay us off on his return. This had come to the ears of Grace, and her
hatred to the housekeeper was increased to a tenfold degree. I take
heaven to witness, that I had no designs against the life of the
unfortunate woman when my master left the house.
"Hannah went out in the afternoon, to visit some friends she had in
the neighbourhood, and left Grace and I alone together. This was an
opportunity too good to be lost, and, instead of minding our work, we
got recapitulating our fancied wrongs over some of the captain's whisky.
I urged my suit to Grace; but she would not think of anything, or listen
to anything, but the insults and injuries she had received from Hannah,
and her burning thirst for revenge. 'Dear me,' said I, half in jest, 'if
you hate her so much as all that, say but the word, and I will soon rid
you of her for ever.'
"I had not the least idea that she would take me at my word. Her eyes
flashed with a horrible light. 'You dare not do it!' she replied, with a
scornful toss of her head.
"'Dare not do what?'
"'Kill that woman for me!' she whispered.
"'You don't know what I dare, or what I dar'n't do!' said I, drawing
a little back from her. 'If you will promise to run off with me
afterwards, I will see what I can do with her.'
"'I'll do anything you like; but you must first kill her.'
"'You are not in earnest, Grace?'
"'I mean what I say!'
"'How shall we be able to accomplish it? She is away now, and she may
not return before her master comes back.'
"'Never doubt her. She will be back to see after the house, and that we
are in no mischief.'
"'She sleeps with you?'
"'Not always. She will to-night.'
"'I will wait till you are asleep, and then I will kill her with a blow
of the axe on the head. It will be over in a minute. Which side of the
bed does she lie on?'
"'She always sleeps on the side nearest the wall and she bolts the door
the last thing before she puts out the light. But I will manage both
these difficulties for you. I will pretend to have the toothache very
bad, and will ask to sleep next the wall to-night. She is kind to the
sick, and will not refuse me; and after she is asleep, I will steal out
at the foot of the bed, and unbolt the door. If you are true to your
promise, you need not fear that I shall neglect mine.'
"I looked at her with astonishment. 'Good God!' thought I, 'can this be
a woman? A pretty, soft-looking woman too--and a mere girl! What a heart
she must have!' I felt equally tempted to tell her she was a devil, and
that I would have nothing to do with such a horrible piece of business;
but she looked so handsome, that somehow or another I yielded to the
temptation, though it was not without a struggle; for conscience loudly
warned me not to injure one who had never injured me.
"Hannah came home to supper, and she was unusually agreeable, and took
her tea with us in the kitchen, and laughed and chatted as merrily as
possible. And Grace, in order to hide the wicked thoughts working in her
mind, was very pleasant too, and they went laughing to bed, as if they
were the best friends in the world.
"I sat by the kitchen fire after they were gone, with the axe between my
knees, trying to harden my heart to commit the murder; but for a long
time I could not bring myself to do it. I thought over all my past
life. I had been a bad, disobedient son--a dishonest, wicked man; but
I had never shed blood. I had often felt sorry for the error of my
ways, and had even vowed amendment, and prayed God to forgive me, and
make a better man of me for the time to come. And now, here I was,
at the instigation of a young girl, contemplating the death of a
fellow-creature, with whom I had been laughing and talking on apparently
friendly terms a few minutes ago. Oh, it was dreadful, too dreadful to
be true! and then I prayed God to remove the temptation from me, and to
convince me of my sin. 'Ah, but,' whispered the devil, 'Grace Marks will
laugh at you. She will twit you with your want of resolution, and say
that she is the better man of the two.'
"I sprang up, and hastened at their door, which opened into the kitchen.
All was still. I tried the door;--for the damnation of my soul, it was
open. I had no need of a candle, the moon was at full; there was no
curtain to their window, and it shone directly upon the bed, and I could
see their features as plainly as by the light of day. Grace was either
sleeping, or pretending to sleep--I think the latter, for there was a
sort of fiendish smile upon her lips. The housekeeper had yielded to her
request, and was lying with her head out over the bed-clothes, in the
best possible manner for receiving a death-blow upon her temples. She
had a sad, troubled look upon her handsome face; and once she moved her
hand, and said 'Oh dear!' I wondered whether she was dreaming of any
danger to herself and the man she loved. I raised the axe to give the
death-blow, but my arm seemed held back by an invisible hand. It was the
hand of God. I turned away from the bed, and left the room; I could not
do it. I sat down by the embers of the fire, and cursed my own folly.
I made a second attempt--a third--and fourth; yes, even to a ninth--and
my purpose was each time defeated. God seemed to fight for the poor
creature; and the last time I left the room I swore, with a great oath,
that if she did not die till I killed her, she might live on till the
day of judgment. I threw the axe on to the wood heap in the shed, and
went to bed, and soon fell fast asleep.
"In the morning, I was coming into the kitchen to light the fire, and
met Grace Marks with the pails in her hand, going out to milk the cows.
As she passed me, she gave me a poke with the pail in the ribs, and
whispered with a sneer, 'Arn't you a coward!'
"As she uttered those words, the devil, against whom I had fought all
night, entered into my heart, and transformed me into a demon. All
feelings of remorse and mercy forsook me from that instant, and darker
and deeper plans of murder and theft flashed through my brain. 'Go and
milk the cows,' said I with a bitter laugh, 'and you shall soon see
whether I am the coward you take me for.' She went out to milk, and I
went in to murder the unsuspicious housekeeper.
"I found her at the sink in the kitchen, washing her face in a tin
basin. I had the fatal axe in my hand, and without pausing for an
instant to change my mind--for had I stopped to think, she would have
been living to this day I struck her a heavy blow on the back of the
head with my axe. She fell to the ground at my feet without uttering a
word; and, opening the trap-door that led from the kitchen into a cellar
where we kept potatoes and other stores, I hurled her down, closed the
door, and wiped away the perspiration that was streaming down my face.
I then looked at the axe and laughed. 'Yes; I have tasted blood now,
and this murder will not be the last. Grace Marks, you have raised the
devil--take care of yourself now!'
"She came in with her pails, looking as innocent and demure as the milk
they contained. She turned pale when her eye met mine. I have no doubt
but that I Iooked the fiend her taunt had made me.
"'Where's Hannah?' she asked, in a faint voice.
"'Dead,' said I. 'What! are you turned coward now?'
"'Macdermot, you look dreadful. I am afraid of you, not of her.'
"'Aha, my girl! you should have thought of that before. The hound that
laps blood once will lap again. You have taught me how to kill, and I
don't care who, or how many I kill now. When Kinnaird comes home I will
put a ball through his brain, and send him to keep company below with
the housekeeper.'
"She put down the pails,--she sprang towards me, and, clinging to my
arm, exclaimed in frantic tones--
"'You won't kill him?'
"'By ---, I will! why should he escape more than Hannah? And hark you,
girl, if you dare to breathe a word to any one of my intention, or tell
to any one, by word or sign, what I have done, I'll kill you!'
"She trembled like a leaf. Yes, that young demon trembled. 'Don't kill
me,' she whined, 'don't kill me, Macdermot! I swear that I will not
betray you; and oh, don't kill him!'
"'And why the devil do you want me to spare him?'
"'He is so handsome!'
"'Pshaw!'
"'So good-natured!'
"'Especially to you. Come, Grace; no nonsense. If I had thought that you
were jealous of your master and Hannah, I would have been the last man
on earth to have killed her. You belong to me now; and though I believe
that the devil has given me a bad bargain in you, yet, such as you are,
I will stand by you. And now, strike a light and follow me into the
cellar. You must help me to put Hannah out of sight.'
"She never shed a tear, but she looked dogged and sullen, and did as I
bid her.
"That cellar presented a dreadful spectacle. I can hardly bear to recall
it now; but then, when my hands were still red with her blood, it was
doubly terrible. Hannah Montgomery was not dead, as I had thought; the
blow had only stunned her. She had partially recovered her senses, and
was kneeling on one knee as we descended the ladder with the light. I
don't know if she heard us, for she must have been blinded with the
blood that was flowing down her face; but she certainly heard us, and
raised her clasped hands, as if to implore mercy.
"I turned to Grace. The expression of her livid face was even more
dreadful than that of the unfortunate woman. She uttered no cry, but she
put her hand to her head, and said,--
"'God has damned me for this.'
"'Then you have nothing more to fear,' says I. 'Give me that handkerchief
off your neck.' She gave it without a word. I threw myself upon the body
of the housekeeper,--and planting my knee on her breast, I tied the
handkerchief round her throat in a single tie, giving Grace one end to
hold, while I drew the other tight enough to finish my terrible work.
Her eyes literally started from her head, she gave one groan, and all
was over. I then cut the body in four pieces, and turned a large washtub
over them.
"'Now, Grace, you may come up and get my breakfast.'
"Yes, Mr. M---. You will not perhaps believe me, yet I assure you that
we went upstairs and ate a good breakfast; and I laughed with Grace at
the consternation the captain would be in when he found that Hannah was
absent.
"During the morning a pedlar called, who travelled the country with
second-hand articles of clothing, taking farm produce in exchange for
his wares. I bought of him two good linen-breasted shirts, which had
been stolen from some gentleman by his housekeeper. While I was chatting
with the pedlar, I remarked that Grace had left the house, and I saw her
through the kitchen-window talking to a young lad by the well, who often
came across to borrow an old gun from my master to shoot ducks. I called
to her to come in, which she appeared to me to do very reluctantly. I
felt that I was in her power, and I was horribly afraid of her betraying
me in order to save her own and the captain's life. I now hated her from
my very soul, and could have killed her without the least pity or
remorse.
"'What do you want, Macdermot!' she said sullenly.
"'I want you. I dare not trust you out of my sight. I know what you
are,--you are plotting mischief against me; but if you betray me I will
be revenged; if I have to follow you to--for that purpose.'
"'Why do you doubt my word, Macdermot? Do you think I want to hang
myself?'
"'No, not yourself, but me. You are too bad to be trusted. What were you
saying just now to that boy?'
"'I told him that the captain was not at home, and I dared not lend him
the gun.'
"'You were right. The gun will be wanted at home.'.
"She shuddered and turned away. It seems that she had had enough of
blood, and shewed some feeling at last. I kept my eye upon her, and
would not suffer her for a moment out of my sight.
"At noon the captain drove into the yard, and I went out to take the
horse. Before he had time to alight, he asked for Hannah. I told him
that she was out, that she went off the day before, and had not
returned, but that we expected her in every minute.
"He was very much annoyed, and said that she had no business to leave
the house during his absence,--that he would give her a good rating when
she came home.
"Grace asked if she should get his breakfast?
"He said, 'He wanted none. He would wait till Hannah came back, and
then he would take a cup of coffee.'
"He then went into the parlour; and throwing himself down upon the sofa,
commenced reading a magazine he had brought with him from Toronto.
"'I thought he would miss the young lady,' said Grace. 'He has no idea
how close she is to him at this moment. I wonder why I could not make
him as good a cup of coffee as Hannah. I have often made it for him when
he did not know it. But what is sweet from her hand, would be poison
from mine. But I have had my revenge!'
"Dinner time came, and out came the captain to the kitchen, book in
hand.
"'Isn't Hannah back yet?'
"'No,--Sir.'
"'It's strange. Which way did she go?'
"'She did not tell us where she was going; but said that, as you were
out, it would be a good opportunity of visiting an old friend.'
"'When did she say she would be back?'
"'We expected her last night,' said Grace.
"'Something must have happened to the girl, Macdermot,' turning to me.
'Put the saddle on my riding horse. I will go among the neighbours, and
inquire if they have seen her.'
"Grace exchanged glances with me.
"'Will you not stay till after dinner, Sir?'
"'I don't care,' he cried impatiently, 'a --- for dinner. I feel too
uneasy about the girl to eat. Macdermot, be quick and saddle Charley;
and you, Grace, come and tell me when he is at the door.'
"He went back into the parlour, and put on his riding-coat; and I went
into the harness-house, not to obey his orders, but to plan his
destruction.
"I perceived that it was more difficult to conceal a murder than I had
imagined; that the inquiries he was about to make would arouse suspicion
among the neighbours, and finally lead to a discovery. The only way to
prevent this was to murder him, take what money he had brought with him
from Toronto, and be off with Grace to the States. Whatever repugnance
I might have felt at the commission of this fresh crime, was drowned in
the selfish necessity of self-preservation. My plans were soon matured,
and I hastened to put them in a proper train.
"I first loaded the old duck gun with ball, and, putting it behind the
door of the harness-house, I went into the parlour. I found the captain
lyinig on the sofa reading, his hat and gloves beside him on the table.
He started up as I entered.
"'Is the horse ready?'
"'Not yet, Sir. Some person has been in during the night, and cut your
new English saddle almost to pieces. I wish you would step out and look
at it. I cannot put it on Charley in its present state.'
"'Don't bother me, he cried angrily; 'it is in your charge,--you are
answerable for that. Who the devil would think it worth their while
to break into the harness house to cut a saddle, when they could have
carried it off entirely? Let me have none of your tricks, Sir! You must
have done it yourself!'
"'That is not very likely, Captain Kinnaird. At any rate, it would be a
satisfaction to me if you would come and look at it.'
"'I'm in too great a hurry. Put on the old one.'
"I still held the door in my hand. 'It's only a step from here to the
harness-house.'
"He rose reluctantly, and followed me into the kitchen. The
harness-house formed part of a lean-to off the kitchen, and you went
down two steps into it. He went on before me, and as he descended the
steps, I clutched the gun I had left behind the door, took my aim
between his shoulders, and shot him through the heart. He staggered
forward and fell, exclaiming as he did so, 'O God, I am shot!'
"In a few minutes he was lying in the cellar, beside our other victim.
Very little blood flowed from the wound; he bled internally. He had on a
very fine shirt; and after rifling his person, and possessing myself of
his pocketbook, I took off his shirt, and put on the one I had bought of
the pedlar."
"Then," cried Mr. Mac--ie, to whom this confession was made, "that was
how the pedlar was supposed to have had a hand in the murder. That
circumstance confused the evidence, and nearly saved your life."
"It was just as I have told you," said Macdermot.
"And tell me, Macdermot, the reason of another circumstance that puzzled
the whole court. How came that magazine, which was found in the
housekeeper's bed saturated with blood, in that place, and so far from
the spot where the murder was committed?"
"That, too, is easily explained, though it was such a riddle to you
gentlemen of the law. When the captain came out to look at the saddle,
he had the book open in his hand. When he was shot, he clapped the book
to his breast with both his hands. Almost all the blood that flowed from
it was caught in that book. It required some force on my part to take it
from his grasp after he was dead. Not knowing what to do with it, I
flung it into the housekeeper's bed. While I harnessed the riding-horse
into his new buggy, Grace collected all the valuables in the house. You
know, Sir, that we got safe on board the steamer at Toronto; but, owing
to an unfortunate delay, we were apprehended, sent to jail, and
condemned to die.
"Grace, you tell me, has been reprieved, and her sentence commuted into
confinement in the Penitentiary for life. This seems very unjust to me,
for she is certainly more criminal than I am. If she had not instigated
me to commit the murder, it never would have been done. But the priest
tells me that I shall not be hung, and not to make myself uneasy on that
score."
"Macdermot," said Mr. Mac--ie, "it is useless to flatter you with false
hopes. You will suffer the execution of your sentence to-morrow, at
eight o'clock, in front of the jail. I have seen the order sent by the
governor to the sheriff, and that was my reason for visiting you
to-night. I was not satisfied in my own mind of your guilt. What you
have told me has greatly relieved my mind; and I must add, if ever man
deserved his sentence, you do yours."
"When this unhappy man was really convinced that I was in earnest--that
he must pay with his life the penalty of his crime," continued Mr.
Mac--ie, "his abject cowardice and the mental agonies he endured were
too terrible to witness. He dashed himself on the floor of his cell, and
shrieked and raved like a maniac, declaring that he could not, and would
not die; that the law had no right to murder a man's soul as well as his
body, by giving him no time for repentance; that if he was hung like a
dog, Grace Marks, in justice, ought to share his fate. Finding that all
I could say to him had no effect in producing a better frame of mind I
called in the chaplain, and left the sinner to his fate.
"A few months ago I visited the Penitentiary; and as my pleading had
been the means of saving Grace from the same doom, I naturally felt
interested in her present state. I was permitted to see and speak to her;
and Mrs. M---, I never shall forget the painful feelings I experienced
during this interview. She had been five years in the Penitentiary, but
still retained a remarkably youthful appearance. The sullen assurance
that had formerly marked her countenance, had given place to a sad and
humbled expression. She had lost much of her former good looks, and
seldom raised her eyes from the ground.
"'Well, Grace,' I said, 'how is it with you now?'
"'Bad enough, Sir,' she answered, with a sigh; 'I ought to feel grateful
to you for all the trouble you took on my account. I thought you my
friend then, but you were the worst enemy I ever had in my life.'
"'How is that, Grace?'
"'Oh, Sir, it would have been better for me to have died with Macdermot
than to have suffered for years, as I have done, the torments of the
damned. Oh, Sir, my misery is too great for words to describe! I would
gladly submit to the most painful death, if I thought that it would put
an end to the pangs I daily endure. But though I have repented of my
wickedness with bitter tears, it has pleased God that I should never
again know a moment's peace. Since I helped Macdermot to strangle Hannah
Montgomery, her terrible face and those horrible bloodshot eyes have
never left me for a moment. They glare upon me by night and day, and
when I close my eyes in despair, I see them looking into my soul--it is
impossible to shut them out. If I am at work, in a few minutes that
dreadful head is in my lap. If I look up to get rid of it, I see it in
the far corner of the room. At dinner, it is in my plate, or grinning
between the persons who sit opposite to me at table. Every object that
meets my sight takes the same dreadful form; and at night--at night--in
the silence and loneliness of my cell, those blazing eyes make my prison
as light as day. No, not as day--they have a terribly hot glare, that
has not the appearance of anything in this world. And when I sleep,--that
face just hovers above my own, its eyes just opposite to mine; so
that when I awake with a shriek of agony, I find them there. Oh! this is
hell, Sir--these are the torments of the damned! Were I in that fiery
place, my punishment could not be greater than this.'
"The poor creature turned away, and I left her, for who could say a
word of comfort to such grief? it was a matter solely between her own
conscience and God."
Having heard this terrible narrative, I was very anxious to behold this
unhappy victim of remorse. She passed me on the stairs as I proceeded to
the part of the building where the women were kept; but on perceiving a
stranger, she turned her head away, so that I could not get a glimpse of
her face.
Having made known my wishes to the matron, she very kindly called her
in to perform some trifling duty in the ward, so that I might have an
opportunity of seeing her. She is a middle-sized woman, with a slight
graceful figure. There is an air of hopeless melancholy in her face
which is very painful to contemplate. Her complexion is fair, and must,
before the touch of hopeless sorrow paled it, have been very brilliant.
Her eyes are a bright blue, her hair auburn, and her face would be
rather handsome were it not for the long curved chin, which gives, as
it always does to most persons who have this facial defect, a cunning,
cruel expression.
Grace Marks glances at you with a sidelong stealthy look; her eye never
meets yours, and after a furtive regard, it invariably bends its
gaze upon the ground. She looks like a person rather above her humble
station, and her conduct during her stay in the Penitentiary was so
unexceptionable, that a petition was signed by all the influential
gentlemen in Kingston, which released her from her long imprisonment.
She entered the service of the governor of the Penitentiary, but the
fearful hauntings of her brain have terminated in madness. She is now
in the asylum at Toronto; and as I mean to visit it when there, I may
chance to see this remarkable criminal again. Let us hope that all her
previous guilt may be attributed to the incipient workings of this
frightful malady.
To The Wind.
"Stern spirit of air, wild voice of the sky!
Thy shout rends the heavens, and earth trembles with dread;
In hoarse hollow murmurs the billows reply,
And ocean is roused in his cavernous bed.
"On thy broad rushing pinions destruction rides free,
Unfettered they sweep the wide deserts of air;
The hurricane bursts over mountain and sea,
And havoc and death mark thy track with despair.
"When the thunder lies cradled within its dark cloud,
And earth and her tribes crouch in silence and dread,
Thy voice shakes the forest, the tall oak is bowed,
That for ages had shook at the tempest its head.
"When the Lord bowed the heavens, and came down in his might,
Sublimely around were the elements cast;
At his feet lay the dense rolling shadows of night,
But the power of Omnipotence rode on the blast.
"From the whirlwind he spake, when man wrung with pain,
In the strength of his anguish dare challenge his God;
'Mid its thunders he told him his reasoning was vain,
Till he bowed to correction, and kiss'd the just rod.
"When call'd by the voice of the prophet of old,
In the 'valley of bones,' to breathe over the dead;
Like the sands of the sea, could their number be told,
They started to life when the mandate had sped.
"Those chill mouldering ashes thy summons could bind,
And the dark icy slumbers of ages gave way;
The spirit of life took the wings of the wind,
Rekindling the souls of the children of clay.
"Shrill trumpet of God! I shrink at thy blast,
That shakes the firm hills to their centre with dread,
And have thought in that conflict--earth's saddest and last--
That thy deep chilling sigh will awaken the dead!"