STRANGE TALES OF THE GALLOWS
At the eastern end of the main street of the village the bridge across
the Susquehanna River commands a view for a short distance up and down
the stream, far enough toward the north to glimpse its source in Otsego
Lake, while to the south Fernleigh House appears, high amid the trees on
the western bank, and the drifting current below is lost in foliage.
Nearer at hand, as seen from the south side of the bridge, Riverbrink
claims the eastern shore. Here stands a solemn-visaged house that looks
down upon the scene of one of the most extraordinary dramas ever enacted
beneath the gallows-tree.
[Illustration: RIVERBRINK]
In the summer of 1805, on the flat a little below the place where the
house now stands, the gibbet was erected for a public execution. The
condemned man was Stephen Arnold, whose crime was committed in
Burlington, in this county, during the previous winter. Arnold was a
school teacher, and having no children of his own, had taken into his
home Betsey Van Amburgh, a child six years of age. An ungovernable
temper added a kind of ferocious zeal to the duty of educating this
child, for it was her inability to pronounce the word "gig" according
to his directions that brought the teacher to the gallows. Betsey
insisted on pronouncing the word as "jig," and declared that she could
not do otherwise. Whereupon Arnold took her out of the house into the
severely cold evening air, and there whipped her naked body until he
himself became cold. He then took her indoors to make her pronounce the
word correctly, which she failed to do; and again she was taken out and
whipped in the same manner. This act of brutality he repeated seven
times, declaring that he "had as lieve whip her to death as not." The
poor child languished four days, and expired.
Arnold's trial was held in June, in Cooperstown. He was speedily
convicted of murder, and sentenced to die.
The date fixed for the execution, Friday, July 19, 1805, was a gala day
in Cooperstown. The infamy of Arnold's crime had stirred public
indignation throughout this section of the State, and the prospect of
witnessing his execution had been eagerly anticipated, through motives
ranging from morbid curiosity to a stern sense of duty, in the most
distant hamlets of the region. By seven o'clock in the morning on the
day fixed for the hanging the main street of Cooperstown was filled with
people who had travelled from so great a distance that not one in twenty
was known to any of the villagers. The concourse increased until shortly
after noon, when, in the village which normally contained about five
hundred people, the crowd included about eight thousand.
The first centre of interest was the county courthouse and jail which
stood at the then western limits of the village, on the southeast corner
of Main and Pioneer streets. The door of the jail was on the Pioneer
street side of the building, and across the way were the stocks and
whipping-post. These rude symbols of justice might well be a terror to
evil doers. A sample of the punishment meted out to petty offenders is
found in the record that in 1791 a local physician was put in the stocks
for having mixed an emetic with the beverage drunk at a ball given at
the Red Lion Inn; and four years later a man was flogged at the
whipping-post, for stealing some pieces of ribbon. Both culprits were
also banished from the village, apropos of which form of punishment
Fenimore Cooper at a later day was moved to remark, "It is to be
regretted that it has fallen into disuse."
The crowds that gathered to witness the hanging of Stephen Arnold filled
the street in the neighborhood of the jail until the prisoner was
brought forth at noon, when some remained to watch the parade, while
others hurried on to the place of execution to secure good points of
view for the spectacle. A procession was formed in front of the court
house under the direction of the sheriff. The ministers of religion and
other gentlemen, preceded by the sheriff on horseback, moved with
funeral music after the prisoner, who was carried on a wagon and guarded
by a battalion of light infantry and a company of artillery. In this
array the procession moved solemnly down the main street and across the
bridge to the place of execution on the east bank of the river. There
stood the gallows; at its foot was a coffin.
The condemned man was assisted to a seat upon his coffin. About him
gathered the parsons, the representatives of the law, and the soldiery.
There was no house on the bank of the river at that time, and the
thousands of spectators were massed in the natural amphitheatre which
rises, and then rose uninterrupted, toward the east, from the shore of
the Susquehanna.
An interested observer who looked down upon the assemblage from the high
western bank of the river has recorded a vivid impression of the beauty
of the scene and the picturesque and emotional qualities of the
occasion.[93] Looking back toward the village, and then sweeping with a
glance the north and east, his eye caught the roofs of buildings covered
with spectators, windows crowded with faces, every surrounding point of
view occupied. The natural amphitheatre across the river was "filled
with all classes and gradations of citizens, from the opulent landlord
to the humble laborer. Blooming nymphs were there and jolly swains,
delicate ladies and spruce gentlemen, fond mothers and affectionate
sisters, prattling children and hoary sages, servile slaves and
imperious masters." In the elevated background of the landscape
carriages appeared filled with people. It was a warm July day, brilliant
with sunshine, and splendid in the greenery of summer foliage. The
throngs of spectators, tier upon tier, as it were, presented a
kaleidoscopic effect of movement and color, in the undulating appearance
of silks and muslins of different hues, as the eye traversed the
multitude; in the swaying and bobbing of hundreds of umbrellas and
parasols of various colors; in the vibration of thousands of fans in
playful mediation, while the death-struggle of a man upon the gallows
was eagerly awaited. In the foreground, on the bank of the Susquehanna,
the gibbet, with the solemn group about it, relieved only by flashes of
color in the military uniforms, and by the gleam of swords and bayonets,
fascinated every eye.
A great silence fell upon the multitude when the preliminaries to the
execution began with a prayer offered by the Rev. Mr. Williams of
Worcester. The Rev. Isaac Lewis, pastor of the Presbyterian church in
Cooperstown, then stood forth to deliver the sermon. Few preachers, even
in the largest centres of life, have occasion to address congregations
numbered by thousands. What an opportunity was here given to an obscure
country parson, when he faced an audience of some eight thousand people!
Mr. Lewis preached upon the subject of the Penitent Thief, taking as his
text the forty-second and forty-third verses of the twenty-third chapter
of St. Luke: "And he said unto Jesus, Lord, remember me when thou comest
into Thy Kingdom. And Jesus said unto him, Verily I say unto thee, Today
shalt thou be with me in Paradise." Nothing is recorded of the sermon
beyond that it was "a pathetic, concise, and excellently adapted
discourse." Elder Vining closed the religious exercises by a solemn
appeal to the throne of grace for mercy and forgiveness, as well for the
vast auditory as for the prisoner.
The condemned man seemed deeply affected, and perfectly resigned to the
justice of his fate. His penitence was manifest, and drew forth tears of
sympathy from the spectators. After the exercises the prisoner seated
himself on the coffin for a short space, when he was informed that if
he wished to say anything to the people he might now have opportunity.
He arose and addressed a few words to the surrounding multitude,
earnestly urging them to be warned by his fatal example to place a
strict guard upon their passions, the fatal indulgence of which had
brought him to the shameful condition in which they beheld him,
notwithstanding he never intended to commit murder. He concluded his
address with these words: "It appears to me that if you will not take
warning at this affecting scene, you would not be warned though one
should arise from the dead."
At the conclusion of this speech the sheriff stepped forward and made
ready for the hanging, finally adjusting the fatal cord, except for
fastening it to the beam of the gallows.
Near by was a palsied crone, so eager to witness the hanging that she
had been carried to the scene in her rocking-chair, which was placed
upon an improvised platform. Here she had rocked to and fro in her chair
during the whole proceeding, until, when the hangman made ready his
noose, the old hag rocked with such nervous violence that she toppled
over backward, chair and all, her neck being broken by the fall.
The prisoner remained apparently absorbed in meditation which was
entirely abstracted from terrestrial objects. The thousands of
spectators waited in silent and gloomy suspense for the final
catastrophe. The sheriff stood forth and addressed to the condemned man
a few remarks pertinent to the occasion.
Having carried the proceedings to this crucial point, the sheriff,
Solomon Martin, then changed his role, and produced from his pocket a
letter from his excellency Morgan Lewis, Governor of the State of New
York, containing directions for a respite of the execution until further
orders, and announcing that a reprieve, in due form, would soon be
forwarded.
It was now long after noon, and the sheriff, having received this letter
at nine o'clock in the morning, had kept it in his pocket during the
entire proceedings, "conceiving it improper to divulge the respite until
the crisis." The sheriff had acted with the advice of a few others who
were let into the secret. Even the attending ministers of religion were
uninformed of the respite until it was dramatically produced upon the
stage. The thing, in fact, outdid all stagecraft, for while it is quite
consistent with the traditions of theatrical art that an execution
should be stayed at the critical moment by the appearance of a furiously
galloping horseman waving a reprieve above his head, probably never
elsewhere in the history of the drama or in the annals of the law has
the official document been produced at the gallows, after the adjustment
of the fatal noose, from the pocket of the hangman!
In the judgment of the sheriff it appeared that since the order for a
respite had arrived too late to forestall the gathering of great
multitudes to witness the hanging, it was equally clear that it had come
too early to be made public at once without causing unnecessary
disappointment to thousands who were still enjoying the ecstasies of
anticipation. So he carried out the original programme to the letter,
going through with all the preliminaries and forms of the execution,
stopping short only of the actual hanging.
When the sheriff made his amazing announcement from the scaffold, the
prisoner swooned, and the whole scene was changed. The prisoner was
reconducted to the jail with the same pomp and bravery of troops and
music that had brought him to the scaffold. The spectators slowly
dispersed, and before sunset the village assumed its accustomed
tranquility.
The next issue of _The Otsego Herald_ asserted that "the proceedings of
the day were opened, progressed, and closed in a manner which reflected
honor on the judiciary, the executive, the clergy, the military, and the
citizens of the county."
Arnold was never hanged. The State legislature commuted his sentence to
imprisonment for life.
Another story of the gallows belongs to a later period. On Friday,
August 24, 1827, the hanging of a man named Strang was witnessed in
Albany by about thirty thousand spectators. Judging from contemporary
accounts, the circumstances of the execution were not edifying. "We are
more than ever convinced," said the _Albany Gazette_, "of the bad effect
of public executions. Scenes of the most disgraceful drunkenness,
gambling, profanity, and almost all kinds of debauchery, were exhibited
in the vicinity of the gallows, and even at the time the culprit was
suffering. We do most sincerely hope that some law may be enacted
requiring that executions shall be performed in private." The _Albany
Argus_ was more hopeful of some moral benefit from the execution.
"Whilst we may question the utility," it said, "of such spectacles,
tending as they do in general, to gratify a morbid curiosity, and to
excite a sympathy for the criminal rather than an abhorrence, and
consequently a prevention of crime; we trust none who were witnesses of
the scene, will forget that this ignominious death was the consequence
of an indulgence of vicious courses and criminal passions."
Preliminary to the hanging there was the usual speech from the gallows.
Addressing the multitude the condemned murderer said he hoped his
execution would lead them to reflect upon the effects of sin and lust,
and induce them to avoid those acts for which he was about to suffer a
painful and ignominious death.
Among the spectators at this hanging was Levi Kelley of Cooperstown,
who, in order to witness the spectacle, had covered a distance of 75
miles, drawn by his favorite team of black horses, a noble span, of
which he was very proud. Kelley was much depressed in spirit by the
dreadful scene at the gallows, and to a friend who accompanied him on
the homeward journey remarked that no one who had ever witnessed such a
melancholy spectacle could ever be guilty of the crime of murder.
In Christ churchyard in Cooperstown, near the southern border of the
burial ground, and about twenty paces from River Street, stands a
tombstone which commemorates a former resident of the village, and is
unusual for the precision of terms in which it records the date of his
decease; for there is inscribed not merely the day, but the very hour,
of death. The inscription reads:
IN MEMORY OF
ABRAHAM SPAFARD
WHO DIED
AT 8 O'CLOCK P. M.
3D. SEPT. 1827
IN THE 49TH YEAR OF
HIS AGE.
THE TRUMP SHALL SOUND
AND THE DEAD SHALL BE RAISED.
The passer-by who suspects a concealed significance in this desire to
emphasize the exact hour of Abraham Spafard's death is not mistaken.
Abraham Spafard was murdered, shot to the heart by Levi Kelley, and died
almost instantly, at 8 o'clock in the evening, September 3, 1827, just
ten days after Kelley had witnessed the hanging in Albany.
The murderer is buried in the same churchyard with his victim. For
Kelley, on the maternal side, was a connection of the Cooper family.
During his imprisonment before and after the trial he was frequently
visited at the jail by Mrs. George Pomeroy, daughter of William Cooper,
a lady noted for her many works of Christian charity, and after Kelley
had paid the penalty of his crime, she brought it about that his body
was interred in the Cooper plot in Christ churchyard, although no stone
was ever raised to mark the place of his burial, and the exact spot is
now unknown.
The murder occurred in the house of Levi Kelley, in which Abraham
Spafard lived as tenant in Pierstown, about three miles north of
Cooperstown. Kelley was noted for his furious outbursts of temper, while
Spafard was of an amiable and peaceable disposition. Kelley violently
attacked a lame boy who was employed about the place, and when Spafard
interposed, Kelley's anger turned against Spafard, so that a struggle
ensued. The evidence at the trial showed that Spafard struck no blow and
committed no violence, using no more force than was necessary for his
defence. He besought Kelley to desist, and at last, unclenching Kelley's
hands from his throat, Spafard retired quietly into the house. Kelley
then ran for his gun, and following Spafard into his room, shot him to
the heart. Kelley's own wife, as well as the members of Spafard's
family, were the terrified witnesses of the murder.
Kelley's trial, which was held in Cooperstown, began on the twenty-first
of November, and was concluded on the next day. The judge in the case
was the Hon. Samuel Nelson, afterward associate justice of the Supreme
Court of the United States. In passing sentence Judge Nelson addressed
to the prisoner a homily which created a deep impression upon the
crowded court room.
The execution of Levi Kelley was attended by an immense concourse of
people. The hanging of a murderer was still regarded by many, in that
day, not only as fit method of punishment, but as offering a spectacle
of great moral and educational value. It was at once a deterrent from
crime and a vindication of the majesty of the law. When the day set for
the execution of Kelley was come, there was many a home in which the
father of the family announced at breakfast that the children must be
duly washed and dressed in Sabbath array, to accompany him, as in duty
bound, to the solemn spectacle. Nor were all attracted to the dreadful
scene by a sense of duty only, perhaps, at a period when public shows
were few.
The gibbet was erected, amid the December snow, at a point about four
hundred feet south of the site occupied by the present High School, very
near, if not in the midst of, what is now Chestnut Street. Christmas Day
was followed by a thaw, and on Friday, the day set for the execution, a
torrent of rain fell during the morning hours. Yet before noon the
village was thronged with a multitude of men, women and children, keenly
anticipating the gruesome tragedy, until more than four thousand people
were gathered about the gallows.
The court-house and jail stood then not far from their present site. The
procession from the jail to the place of execution was conducted with
much military pomp. Two marshals, each mounted on a prancing steed, led
a troop of cavalry, a corps of artillery, and four companies of
infantry. This formidable array of forces, drawn up in a hollow square
at the jail, having enclosed within its ranks the condemned man and the
attending ministers of the Gospel, moved solemnly to the place of
execution. The prisoner, apparently in a feeble state of health, lay
upon a bed in a sleigh drawn by his favorite black horses, the same that
he had driven to Albany to witness the execution of Strang. The
ministers of religion, the Rev. Mr. Potter and the Rev. John Smith,
pastor of the Presbyterian church, rode in state in the two sleighs that
followed.
Near the gallows there had been erected for the accommodation of
spectators a staging one hundred feet in length and twelve feet in
depth, the front being elevated six feet and the rear eight feet from
the ground. From this structure about six hundred people commanded an
excellent view of the gibbet, while some three thousand others, lacking
this advantage, jostled each other, craning their necks, and standing on
tiptoe, to see what was going forward.
The procession from the jail had arrived upon the grounds, and the
solemnities were about to commence, when the staging suddenly gave way
and fell with a tremendous crash. The spectators upon it were plunged
into a confused heap, struggling for freedom amid the broken timbers.
The shrieks and groans that arose from the scrimmage terrified the
assemblage, and the wild rush of anxious friends and relatives toward
the scene of accident resulted almost in a riot. When order had been in
some measure restored the work of rescue began. Between twenty and
thirty persons were drawn forth from the wreckage severely injured.
Elisha C. Tracy, an engraver, was found to be dead, the upper part of
his face being crushed inward to the depth of more than an inch. Daniel
Williams, an elderly man resident at Richfield, had a leg and arm
broken, and died a few hours later. The dead and wounded were carried
from the field, and some of the spectators, having had enough of
tragedy, withdrew.
The ceremonies of the execution then proceeded, although amid an
atmosphere of intense nervous excitement. The condemned man was taken
from his sleigh, and, because of his illness, required assistance in
ascending the gallows. As he stood there, the centre of all eyes, he
seemed a different man from the passionate murderer of Abraham Spafard.
Weak and sick, he looked down upon the multitude assembled to see him
die. His look was one of regretful sympathy because of the unexpected
accident rather than of fear of his own impending fate. "Who are killed;
and how many are injured?" he inquired.
The rope was noosed about Kelley's neck. The Presbyterian minister
stepped forward, and commended the convict's soul to the mercy of God in
a prayer in which Kelley, with bowed head, seemed to participate. Then
the drop fell. After a few twitchings of the limbs, the body quivered,
and hung still. The show was over. The crowd dispersed.
The effect of this exhibition was to give voice to a growing sentiment
against public hangings. The next issue of the _Freeman's Journal_
protested against such spectacles as demoralizing, and suggested a
movement in the State legislature to amend the law. Kelley's was in
fact the last public hanging in Cooperstown.
The execution of Levi Kelley, with its unexpected accompanying
catastrophe, was long the talk of the neighborhood. It was commemorated
by Isaac Squire, an Otsego rhymester, in some verses that are of curious
interest as a survival of the old ballad form in which events were wont
to be celebrated. Many years afterward there were those who recalled
that the doleful lines were committed to memory by some of the village
children, and sung to a droning tune:
LINES ON THE EXECUTION OF LEVI KELLEY.
Part First
In eighteen hundred twenty seven
Poor Kelley broke the law of Heaven;
He murdered his poor tenant there,
Who took his place to work on share.
'Twas early on a Monday night
This horrid scene was brought to light;
He seized his loaded gun in hand,
And with malicious fury ran,
And when about four feet apart,
Alas! he shot him to the heart.
The expiring words, we understand,
Were, "O Lord, I'm a dying man!"
They quickly ran him to relieve,
But death could grant him no reprieve;
He expired almost instantly,
In his affrighted family.
Kelley's indicted for the crime;
Confined in prison for a time;
A murderer here can take no rest,
While guilt lies heavy on his breast.
November on the twenty-first,
For murder of a fellow dust,
He was arraigned before the bar,
And tried by his country there.
Full testimony did appear
That when the Jury came to hear
In verdict they were soon agreed
That he was guilty of this deed.
And in their verdict they did bring
That cause of death was found in him;
The Judge his sentence did declare,
And thus declared him guilty there:
"Your time is set, O do remember,
The twenty-eighth of December,
Between the hours of twelve and three,
Be launched into eternity.
"Your time is short on earth to stay;
Prepare for death without delay;
Though you no pity showed at all,
May God have mercy on your soul."
Part Second.
December on the twenty-eighth
Did Levi Kelley meet his fate;
This awful scene I now relate
Caused thousands there to fear and quake.
Though wet and rainy was the day,
The people thronged from every way;
With anxious thought each came to see
The unhappy fate of poor Kelley.
The day was come, the time drew near,
When the poor prisoner must appear;
The officers they did prepare,
And round him formed a hollow square,
That they with safety might convey
Him to the place of destiny;
The music made a solemn sound
While they marched slowly to the ground.
A scaffold was erected there,
And hundreds on it did repair,
That all thereon might plainly see
The unhappy fate of poor Kelley.
Before they bid this scene adieu,
An awful sight appeared in view.
See, hundreds with the scaffold fall!
And some to rise no more at all
Till the great day when all shall rise,
To their great joy or sad surprise,
And hear their sentence "Doomed to Hell,"
Or, "With the saints in glory dwell."
The wounded here in numbers lie,
And loud for help now some do cry
While others are too faint to speak,
And some in death's cold arms asleep.
The cry was heard once and again
That "Hundreds now we fear are slain!"
But God in this distressing hour
Revives again each withering flower.
Poor Kelley, in this trying time,
Was executed for his crime.
He hung an awful sight to see;
May this a solemn warning be.
A word to such, before we close,
That love the way poor Kelley chose;
Their vicious ways if you attend
Will bring you to some awful end.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 93: _Otsego Herald_, July 19, 1805.]