Wilmington journal., 1875-08-13
7 paid the penalty for my supposed of
| fopca on the spOt

7 paid the penalty for my supposed Of
| Tense on the spot.
| It was not sympathy for me that ac-
tuated my pr Gector. His heart was
! as hard as his office; but he represen-
| ted the majesty of the law, and took a
| sort of grim pride in the position.
/ AS much r1nder the glance of his eye
as before the muzzle of his pistol, the
cowardly clamorers drew back. Per
haps they were not suf ciently numer-
GUS to feel the full effect of that mys-
terious reflex influence which makes a
crowd OF men so much worse and at
times SO much better than any of them
singly.
At the end OF some months my trial
came. It could have but one result.
Circumstances too plainly declared my
guilt. I alone knew they lied.
The absence of the jury was brief.
To their verdict paid but little heed.
It was a single hideous word; but l
had long ant 'cipated it, and 1T made
no impression.
As little impression was made by
the words of the Judge which followed
is; and his solemn Invocation that God
might have that mercy upon me which
man was too just to vouchsafe, sound
ed like the holiowest of hollow mock
cries.
It may be hard for the condemlned
criminal to meet death 1T Is still harder
for him who is innocent. The one,
when the first shock is over, acquiesces
in his doom and gives himself to repen-
tance; the heart of the other, filled
| with rebellion against mans injustice,
| can scarce bring itself to ask pardon
| of God.
[ had gradually overcome this feel
ing, in spite of the good clergyman S
| irritating efforts, which were mainly
| directed towards extracting confess
| sion, without which he assured me he
! had no hope to offer.
! On the morning OF the day fixed for
! execution I felt immeasuEably resign
ed. had so long stood face TO face
| with death; had so accustomed myself
| to look upon it rs merely momentary
pang, that 1 no longer felt solicitous,
save that my memory should one day
be vindicated.
She for whom / had gone to prepare
u home had already found one IL
| heaven. The tidings of my calamity
|
| all the world believed me innocent
and she had died with prayer upor
her lips that the truth yet might be
brought to light.
All this l had heard, and it had
sOOthed as with sweet-lncense my
troubled spirit. Death, however I'M
welcome It's shape, was low portal
beyond which I could see one angel
waiting to receive me.
l heard the sound of approaching
footsteps and nerved myself to the ex-
pected summons. The door of my
cell opened, and the Sheriff and his
attendants entered. He had in his
| hand a paper. It was doubtless my
death warrant. He began to read it.
My thoughts were busy elsewhere.
| The words "full and free pardon,
| We're the first to strike my preoccupled
| senses. They afflicted the bystand
ers more than myself. Yet, SO it was,
I was pardoned for an offense [ had
never committed.
The real culprit, it is needless to
| say, was none other than he who had
| sought and abused my hospitality. He
| had been mortally wounded i'll recent
| etfray in distant city, but had lived
! long enough to make disclosure.
which had been laid before the Gov
ernor barely in time to save me from
shameful death. and condemn me- tx
q cheerless and burdensome life.
This is ny experience. My iudg
ment as yours in the case before US
leads to but one conclusion; that Of the
prisoners guilt! but not less contiden
and apparently unerring was the judg
ment that falsely produced my owl
conviction
We no longer importuned our fellow
juror, but patiently awaited our dis
charge on the ground Of our inability
to agree, which came at last.
The prisoner was tried and convict
ed at subsequent term, and at the
last moment confessed his crime OIL
| the scaffold.