Belmont chronicle. [volume] (St. Clairsville, Ohio) 1855-1973, 1883-09-27
The Burden Of Guilt.
BY MARK TWAIN.

Do you remember when Jimmy Finn,
the town drunkard, was burned to death
in the calaboOse? The calaboose victim
was not a citizen; he was a stranger a
harmless whisky-sodden tramp. l knew
more about his case than anybody else;
knew too much of it in that bygone day
to relish speaking Of it. That tramp
was wandering about the streets one
chilly evening with pipe in his mouth
and begging for amatch. He got neither
matches nor courtesy; on the contrary; a
troop Of bad little boys followed him
around and amused themselves with nag
ging and annoying him; l assisted. But
at last some appeal which the wayfarer
made for forbearance, accompanying it
with pathetic reference to his fOrlorn
and friendless condition, touched such a
sense Of shame and remnant of right feel
ing as were left in me, and l went away
and got some matches and then hied ME
home and to bed, heavily weighed as to
conscience and unbuoyant in spirit. An
hour or two afterward the man was ar
rested and locked up in the calaboose by
the Marshal-large name for constable
but that was his title.
At 2 in the morning the church bells
rang for fire, and everybody turned out, of
course-I with the rest. The tramp had
used his matches disastrously; had set his
straw bed on fire and the oaken sheathing
Of the room had caught. When l reach
ed the ground, two hundred men, women
and children stood naSsed together trans
fixed with horror, and staring at the gra-
ted windows of the Jail. Behind the iron
bars and, tugging frantically at them and
screaming for help, stood the tramp. He
seemed like black object against sun.
so white and intense was the light at his
back.
The Marshal could not be found, and he
had the only key. A battering ram was
quickly improvised, and the thunder of itg
blows upon the door had so encouraging a
sound that the spectators broke into wild
cheering, and believed the merciful bat
tie won. But 1t was not so. The timbers
were too strong; they did not yield. 1t
was said that the mans death grip still
held on to the bars when he was dead,
and that in this position the fires wrapped
him about and consumed him. As to this
| do not know. What was seen after |
recognized the face that was pleading
through the bars was seen by others and
not by me.
l saw that face, so situated, every
night for a long time afterward; and be-
heved myself as guilty Of the mans death
as If l had given him the matches pur-
posely that he might burn himself up
with them. l had no doubt that | should
be hanged if my connection with this
tragedy were found out. The happenings
and the impressions of that time are
burned into my memory, and the study
of them entertains as much now as they
distressed me then. If anybody spoke Of
that grizzly matter was all ears in a mo-
ment, and alert to hear what was said, for
L was always dreading and expecting to
find out that | was suspected; and so fine
and 80 delicate was the PERCEPTION Of my
guilty conscience that it often detected
suspicion in the most purposeless remarks,
and in looks, gestures glances of the eye
which had no significance, but which |
sent me shivering away in a panic of
fright. just the same. And how sick il |
made me when somebody dropped, how
ever carelessly and barren of intent, the
remark that murder will out For a |
boy of tenyears was carrying a pretty |
cargo
AL tIlo IIlllel was DleSSe'lly lOIBeIJIlR |
one thing-thC fact that was an inveter-
ate talker in my sleep. But one night |
awoke and found my bedmate-my
younger brother-sitting up in bed con-
templating me by the light of the moon
said:
What is the matterY
You talk so much, can't sleep"
l came to 4 sitting posture in an IN
slant, with my kidneys in my throat and
my hair on end.
What did sayp Quick, out with 1t.
What did | say?"
Nothing much"
Its liel You know everything"
Everything about what? ?"
You know well enough about what"
about what? l don't know what