Every line in the sketch that I am now going to transcribe from my
original record, ought to be written in letters of blood. It presents
a complication of crimes as foul as human wickedness can perpetrate,
and a society of criminals whose breath would pollute the atmosphere
of Paradise. I shall be very particular in noticing every important
circumstance in this case, and in suppressing those feelings of
indignation, which at this distance of time and place, kindle in my
breast, when the gushing blood and dying image of the victim rise up
before my mind.
Fane was an Irish youth of about twenty, and had no relatives,
acquaintances, or friends in this country. For some petty crime he was
sent to the prison for three years. He was of a sprightly but harmless
turn of mind, and he did not at all times keep a prudent check upon
his vivacity; which was the cause of his suffering now and then the
lashes of that authority, which, always frowning itself, could not
endure the sight of a smile. But the greatest difficulty was, he could
not perform so much labor as was required of him, and what he _did_
perform was not always so good as was expected by his rulers. Why it
should be thought a crime for a man not to learn a trade, so as to do
a full day's work at it, in the brief space of three months, I am
unable to say; and why any one should expect from a learner the
perfection of a master, is equally strange. But none of these
considerations entered into the purposes of his superiors, and he was
consequently in perpetual punishment, either in the solitary cell, or
in carrying round the yard and shop a large block of wood chained to
his ancle.
In one or the other of these states of suffering, Fane spent much of
the short time of life allotted to him after he entered the prison.
About the time of his bloody catastrophe, he was associated with
Plumley and two brothers by the name of Higgins, who were quite as
much under the frown of authority as himself; and at this time they
were all in chains, but compelled to do their daily task on the loom.
Spending their nights in the same room, and being equally rash and
reckless, they formed a resolution to attempt an escape by forcing
their way, by means of some planks and a ladder, over the wall. This
was to be done early in the morning, as soon as they were let out of
the room. A more foolish plan could not have been laid, for, with the
means they used, no one could have made his way over the high walls of
the prison. Such, however, was their plan, and each one having his
particular part assigned him, they were determined to try to effect
their escape.
To this rash act, the injustice and inhumanity of their sufferings, no
doubt prompted them; and it is a truth which will one day be made
manifest, that most of the enormities committed by prisoners, have
sprung from the same source. Should prisoners be treated with proper
tenderness, instead of being tortured as they are, _thirty_
reformations would take place where _one_ does not now. I speak this
from observation and experience; and I am constrained to add, that
many of the keepers are as far from amiable and virtuous principles,
and from morality of conduct, as the prisoners. I allude not to the
keepers as a _body_, for I am happy to know that there are some of
them, who are, in every sense of the terms, _benevolent_, _upright_
and _gentlemanly_. These condemn the conduct of the others as
severely as I _can_, and they ought to be respected as redeeming
spirits amidst the fallen and depraved ones with whom they are under
the necessity of associating. Their number, however, is comparatively
small, and they do not generally stay long.
Before Fane and his party could make their rash attempt, they were
under the necessity of delivering themselves from their chains, which
was an easy task. While they were doing this in their room, the night
before the time fixed upon to escape, they made some noise with their
file, which drew some of the keepers to the window of their room to
listen. By this means they learned the whole plan--heard them talk it
over--knew it was to be the next morning as soon as the doors were
opened--knew all the steps in contemplation--knew that they had freed
themselves from their chains, and were in perfect readiness for the
morning. All this was known to the authority of the prison the night
before, as I was often told by several of the keepers, and
particularly by the deputy keeper, with whom I conversed freely and
fully on the subject.
And here I should like to submit the question, whether, with this
knowledge in his possession, the Warden acted right in letting these
four men out of their room? Ought he not to have kept them in till the
other prisoners had got to their work, and then told them that their
plan was known, and that it was too late to make the attempt? Had he
done this, he would have been commended, and one of the most unhappy
events would have been prevented. If it is a true principle of law,
that he, who not only does not _prevent_, but virtually affords
facilities for the commission of a _crime_, is in some degree guilty
of that crime, then I will leave the Warden of the prison to answer
for the death of Fane.
In the morning, they were let out, and they went forward like madmen
to their fatal project. A lad of about seventeen was on the wall as
guard. Prepared for the event, he watched them as they advanced with
their plank, and placed it against the wall, but made no attempt to
fire. The first that went up were the Higginses and Plumley; Fane was
in another part of the yard after a small ladder, which he broke in
removing it from its place. Finding that the ladder was broken, and
that their other means were insufficient, they retired from the wall,
abandoned the attempt, and went behind the chapel. No shot was
discharged at either of _them_; but when Fane, who had not yet been at
the wall, ran up that way, before he got within three rods of it, the
guard levelled his musket at his head, as deliberately as if he were
going to shoot at game, and dropped him lifeless on the ground. The
ball passed through his temple, and a buck shot through his cheek; the
blood gushed out of his head in a large stream, and ran down on the
ground nearly a rod.
It has always appeared strange to me, that the guard did not fire on
one of the others, but reserved his death-shot for Fane. He was asked
this question once, and also why he fired _at all_, and his answer
was, that Fane was throwing stones at him, one of which, he said, hit
him on the cheek. This however, was not true: I saw Fane from the time
he came out of his room till he fell dead, and I saw him throw
nothing. Indeed he _could not_ have thrown any thing, for as he lay in
death, he had firmly clenched in one hand, the chain which he had cut
from his leg, and in the other, the knife which he had used as a saw
in cutting it. These I saw in his hands the minute he fell, and I know
that, with them, he could not have thrown a stone or any thing else.
But if Fane's throwing a stone at him was crime enough to deserve
death, why did he not deal out the same punishment to Higgins? He had
the same provocation from him that he pretended to have had from Fane,
for Higgins threw a club at him, after he had shot his friend, which,
if it had hit him, would have killed him; but he sent no shot at
_him_. The fact is, Fane was an Irishman, and there was no friend to
look after him, but the others had relatives near; and _if it was
determined that one of them should be killed to impress a dread on the
rest_, Fane was the _pre-determined_ victim. I do not say that such
_was_ the case, but if it was not, I should like to know why they were
let out of the room, when their plot was so well known? and, also, why
Fane, who was the least outrageous of the four, should have been shot,
and no attempt made on any of the others?
After he had committed this bloody crime, the guard began to be
alarmed, and thought of going off. That his conscience thundered, I
have no doubt; and that the sentiment of guilt which pierced his soul,
should array the gallows before him, was what might have been
expected. He was, however, consoled by his superiors, and the
coroner's verdict, that Fane came to his death in consequence of the
guard's doing his duty, calmed him completely, in respect to his
_legal_ apprehensions.
I have no disposition to censure the verdict of the jury of inquest;
they no doubt acted conscientiously. Still, I doubt very much whether
it was the _duty_ of the guard to _kill_ Patrick Fane. If it _was_, on
what account? Was there any danger of his escaping? No; this was not
pretended. Was the guard in any danger of personal violence? No. The
story of stones being thrown at him is destitute of all proof but the
guard's own assertion, and is confuted by a hundred eye witnesses.
What, then, rendered it his duty to kill his prisoner? It was _not_
his duty; neither the law nor the facts in the case made it so; and a
justification of that deathly act, can be found in no established
principle of jurisprudence, or of moral conduct. If he had fired
towards him merely to _alarm_ him, or if he had wounded him slightly
in his legs, he might have been excused; but to deal in death at once,
and that without any just cause, is a crime for which we shall seek in
vain for either excuse or extenuation.
I do not, however, mean to deal too severely with this young and
inexperienced guard; he was under authority, and he had orders to
obey. But I mean to exhort those who gave him such orders to settle
the case with their consciences, that they may die in peace. He has
suffered much since that fatal morning, and for many years his
countenance denoted that all was not peace within. I pity him, and
most sincerely do I hope, that no other promising young man will ever
listen to the voice of the aged, and do that which will bring the
blood of a fellow being on his soul.
After the alarm was over, Plumley and the Higginses were committed to
the solitary cells, and Fane was left weltering in his blood till
afternoon, in full view of all the prisoners, and of the hundreds of
citizens who came in to see him.
About this time, preparations began to be made to bury him. A
principal officer in the place told the carpenter to make a box of
rough boards not regarding the shape at all. "Don't," said he, "make a
coffin, but a _box_, and bury him in his clothes, just as he is." The
carpenter, however, took it upon himself to make a coffin, and to make
a very good one.
During the afternoon, a very remarkable alteration was made in the
funeral preparations. Instead of burying him in his clothes, as was
directed, he was dragged on the ground like a dead dog, round to the
other side of the chapel, and there stripped, laid on a board, and
washed all over with brine; his head cleaned, and his hair combed, and
then wrapped up in a clean sheet. This was paying his remains a degree
of respect which was never paid to a prisoner before, and the inquiry
was very naturally made--"What does it mean?" Some thought that the
hearts of the keepers began to relent, and that this was a sign of a
troubled conscience. Others thought _differently_, but it remained for
time to explain the mystery.
The burying place is in the yard of the prison, and close by the
building in which the prisoners sleep. There Fane was buried in the
neat and clean style described above. Those who buried him, thought
that his body _might_ be taken up and given to the doctors for
dissection, and to be _certain_, they marked the grave in such a way
that it could not be disturbed without their knowing it.
The next morning the grave was examined, but no alteration had taken
place; but the second morning, the grave was found to have been
opened, and the news went through the prison like a flash of
lightning. "What! is it not enough to murder him, must his body be
disturbed and given to the doctors?" was the indignant and wrathful
expression of every tongue. The whole prison was in a blaze, and the
united demand of the prisoners for an explanation was not trifled
with. At noon the principal officers came into the dining room, when
all the prisoners were assembled for dinner, and each of them made a
speech, touching the subject of the violated grave; and it is due to
them both, to give the reader their speeches unaltered, that he may
judge of their guilt or innocence from their own words.
The Warden said, that a suspicion appeared to exist, that Fane's body
had been taken away, but he thought without foundation. The grave did
not appear to him to have been touched. At any rate, if the body was
gone, _he_ knew nothing of it, and he did not think that any of the
keepers or guard did. He could not see how it could be dug up, and the
prisoners not hear it, as the grave was so near them. But if that
_could_ be done, he thought it could have been taken out of the yard
but by one of two ways, and if it went through either of these, the
noise of the great gates must have been heard. His opinion was, that
his body was still in the grave; but if it had been taken away, _he_
knew nothing about it, and he did not think that any of the rest of
the keepers did.
This was the poorest speech I ever heard that man make, and his
appearance told too plainly to be misunderstood, that from some cause
or other, his mind was troubled. I do not mean to say that he removed
the body himself, but when you hear the other speech, you will know
that the prisoners had reason to suspect something.
The Superintendent said: "I clear nobody. That grave has been
disturbed, and the body has evidently been removed. I did not once
dream of such a thing; if I had had the least suspicion of it, I would
have placed a guard there. It was his sacred bed till the morning of
the resurrection, and no one had any right to disturb him. I don't
know what to think, but I know that there is guilt somewhere, and, as
the Superintendent of the prison, I will spend five hundred dollars
but that I will find something about it."
This satisfied the prisoners of the innocence of the Superintendent,
but not of the Warden. They retired to work fully convinced that the
Warden knew about the removal of the body, and that conviction has not
been worn off, but confirmed by after reflection. The reasons for
supposing that the Warden was knowing to the disinterment of Fane's
body, I shall now state, leaving the reader to judge of their force.
1. The Warden had a son at that time studying in the medical college
at Hanover, only fourteen miles distant from the prison.
2. He ordered the body to be washed in brine, and laid out in a clean
sheet, a mark of respect not granted to other prisoners.
3. The body _was_ taken away, and it could not have been removed
without the knowledge of the guard, who was on duty that night; for he
passed directly by the grave every hour and a half all night, and sat
so near it at all the other times, that he could hear a nut shell fall
on it. It was then impossible for the body to be taken away without
his knowledge; it could not have been stolen away by any one in the
short time of an hour and a half, nor could the grave have been opened
and closed without giving alarm.
And it was equally impossible for _one_ of the guard to know this, and
be accessary to it, without letting others into the secret, for one
was on duty only an hour and a half, when he was relieved by another.
Nor could _all_ the guard have combined in this without the knowledge
of the deputy keeper, for the keys were all in his care. Nor would any
of the keepers or guard have dared to commit such an act, without the
Warden's instructions. Without his knowledge this could not.
4. The Warden's _guilty_ appearance; his effort to make it appear that
the grave had not been touched; and if it had been, that _he_ and all
the _keepers_ and _guard_ were innocent.
5. The fact that nothing was ever done by him to find the body--no
reward offered by him--no stir of any kind--but the business was
hushed up, and the prisoners not allowed to speak of it to their
friends, or mention it in any of their letters.
6. It became after a few years an undisputed report, that the Warden
permitted the body to be removed for the benefit of his son; and the
manner of the removal, and the persons engaged in it, were the
subjects of frequent conversation.
Such are the reasons for believing that the Warden was the principal
agent in the removal of the body. It is not my office to render
verdict on the evidence adduced, but I may be permitted to say that
_if_ he was guilty, he was not fit for his office. The crime,
according to the laws of that state, is severely punished; and
aggravated as it was, if _he_ was guilty, imprisonment for life would
not have been too great a penalty. He was an officer of high trust,
and he could not have been guilty of that crime without connecting it
with perjury and burglary. And if to these be added the crime of being
accessary to his death I would ask what can be wanting to cap the
climax of his iniquity?
I do not say that any of these sins belong to him. He _may_ be
innocent, notwithstanding all these appearances and I could wish that
he were. There is darkness around the subject, too much for him if he
is not guilty, but not enough if he is. One thing is certain, it will
be known at some future day; and if he should finally have to plead
guilty before his God, his punishment will not linger then, though he
may escape it here. He had taken an oath to enforce the laws, and
abide by them himself, and in particular to treat his prisoners
tenderly and humanely; and if instead of doing so, he broke them, and
became the destroyer of life, and the disturber of the repose of the
dead, I envy him not his peace of mind in this world, nor his doom in
the next.
The Higginses and Plumley were confined in the solitary cells on bread
and water for thirty days, a punishment by many degrees more painful
than death. This was the second time that Plumley had endured that
punishment, and this laid the foundation for that disease which
carried him down a neglected and suffering victim to the grave. The
Higginses served their time out and were discharged.
Various reports were circulated about the guard who shot Fane. He left
that part of the country in a few years, and went to the West, where,
it was reported, he gave himself up to drinking, and became deranged.
For the truth of these reports I shall not vouch, though I firmly
believe them, and I am well assured that he never can think of PATRICK
FANE without remorse.
It escaped my recollection in the proper place, that one of the
prisoners was looking out of his cell window near the grave the night
that Fane's body was taken, and saw the deputy Warden so distinctly as
to be able to describe his dress and appearance, which he did in _his_
presence, before all the officers and prisoners. The deputy noticed
how particular the description was, and said, with a blushing
smile--"He has described me exactly." No doubt he felt the force of
his conduct, and conscience evidently was accusing him. This is
another evidence that the body was taken by permission of the
officers, and with their assistance.