The Elk County advocate. [volume] (Ridgway, Pa.) 1868-1883, 1877-09-20
LIVES THAT ARE HOPELESS.

ltrom the Detroit free Press
Over the grim stone walls of the
women's ward at the Detroit house of
correction Chambers woodbine, and
birds have been there and built their
nests. Under the iron cornice the spar
rows are rearing their young and chatter
ing to each other all day long. 1t is
pleasant to see those cold walls thus
covered, and yet one sighs at the remem-
brance that the ward holds some of the
saddest hearts in the world. The other
day, as our reporter entered the women's
ward, the first person he saw was Orilla
Smith, woman some thirty years of
age, who has already served eleven years
of a life sentence. She and her hus-
band were sent to jackson for life for at
tempting to poison his father, or rather
for poisoning him with intent to kill.
The dose was not successfully admins
tered, and the victim was the witness
who sent him to prison. Three or four
years ago the husband was pardoned out
to die, but the air of liberty revived him,
and he mastered the disease that had
brought him near deaths door. A year
or two ago he was married again, and all
these facts are known to the wife, who
PAGES up and down the corridor, and
weepingly asks:
"Have not suffered enough9 Have
1 not been here lifetime?"
She was transferred from jackson two
OF three years ago, and at present is an
assistant in her ward. Men have con-
sldered the life sentence too severe, and
as she has been immured eleven long
years, and her husband is free, her
friends have hopes that she will be par
doned within another year. The tor
lures OF conscience and the pangs of sor-
row have made her look like one of sixty
years. If set free tomorrow, she would
shrink from the public like frightened
child, and the merry shouts of happy
children would fall upon her sore heart
like clods on a coffin. 1t was not SO
hard to bear until she began to hope.
For years her face was pale and resolute,
and the flash of her eyes proved that she
had determined to live on, and make no
sign while waiting for death. Now that
there is hope, she trembles like leaf
when a strange step sounds on the stairs.
Hope and despair fill her heart by turns,
and she is fast wearing away. Yet her
cell is one of the cosiest on the corridor.
Sitting at mending table at the head
OF the laundry room was Rosa
Schweistahl, n woman now sixty-fve
years old. She was convicted of hus-
band-poisoning, and the sentence was for
life. Ten long years have rolled away
since the prison door first shut behind
her, and she will not have to stay another
ten. Gray-haired and trembling, she
knows that death will soon come to set
her free. There are tears in her eyes as
she looks up, but no ray of hope flashes
across her face at the sound of the new
footstep. She is not hoping for pardon
If one were granted to her she might
not be able to find kith OF kin to give
her corner until her hours were nums
bered. 1t would give her liberty and
sunshine and new scenes, but what are
those privileges worth to trembling
and penniless old woman, who might die
by the roadside before her pardon was
week old? There is more sympathy for
her because she is so old. She pleaded
guilty when arraigned for trial, and she
neither defended nor protested. Ten
dreary, dismal, slow-passing years have
been tolled off on Times far-sounding
bell, and her sentence is not ended
only nearer the last day. Her heart has
been pierced again and again by the
stngs of conscience, and many night,
when deep silence reigned throughout
the corridor, the sentinel has caught her
whispered words
God has forgiven me, but man will
not %
The end may not come this year nor
next, but is not far away. Some morn
ing when her cell door is thrown open
G will +n ell
will call her name, and bend over her,
and then the word will pass through the
prison that "grandma is dead.
Less than year ago Julia Cargin was a
contented wife and happy mother, hav-
ing all the comforts of a home and as
clear conscience as any other woman in
the land. Yesterday, when our reporter
saw her in the sewing room at the house
of correction, her face was haggard, her
eyes sunken, her hair turning gray, and
her forty years of life seemed to have
doubled in few brief months. She
came to Michigan with her husband to
visit friend named Smith. The home
of the Smiths was not pleasant. While
she had considerable property in her
own name, he had none, and was not
anxious to accumulate any.
Mrs. Smith had been thinking of Sc
curing divorce, ond had brooded over
her situation until it seemed far worse
than it really was. Soon after the
Cargins arrived, Smith and his wife had
some hard words, and as he left the
house the wife cried out
&C would to God that he was out OF
the world %
Before she had time to retract or re-
pent, the Cargins offered to put he1
husband out of the way. If, before the
awful crime was actually committed, the
wife repented in the least, she gave hel
victim no warning. In the dead OF
night she crept away from his side and
retreated to distant room, and the
Cragins crept in and murdered him as he
slept. Only wife with the heart of a
fiend or the mind of lunatic could have
drawn away in the darkness, and lis
tened to the murderous blows, and
waited to be told that her husband was
dead. They carried the body to the
barn, along with the bedding, scraped
the stains from the floor and walls, and
then set fire to the barn to burn up all
evidence. The plan, however, was moi
successful. The flames were subduec
by the neighbors before they had de,
stroyed the fatal proofs, and arrest, tria,
and sentence followed. The Cargins
were sent for life, the husband going tc
Jackson. Mrs. Smith, who only helped
to plan, was given a sentence of fiftee1
years. Both women were sentenced a
the same time and arrived at the prison