The Dawson news. (Dawson, Ga.) 1889-current, 1913-01-17
THE SENTENCE


(By James Blair HaITlS.)
The court room was not crowded.
Only few of the curious had gather
ed to hear sentence pronounced, be-
cause every one knew in advance
what the sentence was TO be. the
days of trial, made tedious with testi-
mony and the chickering's of opposing
counsel, left little doubt as TO the ul-
innate outcome in the minds OF those
who thronged the court room from
day to day. The jury's verdict OF
guilty left little ground for specu-
lation. for the crime was murder and
the judge was just.
The prisoner at the bar did not re-
ally hear his own doom pronounced,
although the haunting familiarity OF
the last phrase momentarily riveted
his attention. And may God have
mercy on your soul"-but why
should the judge ask of God, in be-
half of the soul, what he himself
would not grant in behalf of the
body? For bodily punishment-the
extinguishing of the vital flame
was to the mind of this malefac-
tor a far greater penalty than any to
be faced in the hopeless hereafter.
The murderer was fearing the pro-
cesses of known time much more
than the possibilities of unknown
eternity.
AT best, physical dissolution is a
fearsome thing. Cloak the fact as
we may, jest as we will at death be-
ing but a transient step into a
broader sphere of universal existence,
we can never fully hide from our
selves the grim tragedy which obtains
when human clay is freed from its
motive spark and returns again to
dust. John Raynor was thinking of
these things as the jailer led him
again to prison and this time to the
death cell Outwardly stolid, appar-
entity Indifferent to the fate society
had prescribed for him, his magma
ton was lighted with fires of indig-
nant hate. True, he had taken life,
which was wrong. But the proyoca-
ton had been great-and the act was
one of anguished frenzy, even then.
Now, with cool, thoughtful delibera-
ton, the machinery of society was
determined on his humiliation. In
fact, all necessary steps had been
taken in the premises save only the
actual deed itself. Still and profound
rage possessed the soul of RaynOr as
he reviewed over and over the cause,
the crime and it's inevitable conse-
quence. Not a CLEAN of hope shown
through the murky gloom of the
CHASTITY future. His lawyers had dis
covered no possible loop-hole for es-
cape from the laws well defined
clutches, and none better than he
knew the futility of asking a govern
er's pardon. 1t would be done, of
course, and equally of course refused.
Then
But RaynOr did not wish to think.
iOn-forgetfulness - peace-he
craved as one madly athirst Graves
the cooling drink from living springs.
Only to wander in twilight zones of
and indistinct glories,
to see again in waking moments what
his soul had often perceived in eX-
quisite dreams and to hear once more
the tunefulness of enhancing music
that had, somewhere in dim days long
past. harmonized with the symphony
Of his own soul; this did Raynor long
for with all the fervor left in his
anguished heart.
Unfortunately, however, men do
not forget at will. The demon men,
DRY stares at them from every direc-
ton; always bringing to mind those
things they yearn to forget. 1t was
so with Raynor. What his guards
said, and the sickening panorama OF
prison life that enveloped him and OF
which he formed a conspicuous part,
attracted from him barely casual no.
tice. He was living again i'll the past,
anacting and re-enacting the horrible
tragedy of his own life. He was not
a stole, and the wrongs of the past.
the terror of the present, and the
Overhanging penalty of the ominous
future lay heavily, clouding his mind
with unuttered dread. Nor did the
prisoner philosophize, for the logic
of his situation was patiently unan-
swera BILE, and no reason could alter
the course of circumstances, which
was drifting nearer and nearer to the
vaWning abysseS of an uncharted
eternity. Religious tenets he had
once held, but years of frank disre-
gard for their teaching had shattered
his faith. and he was unwilling to
grasp at the husks of Journalism while
aware shat no inner impulse pointed
the way Perhaps, in his shattered
mental condition Raynor would have
been able to judge as to what the inn
pulse meant, had it come.
At the beginning of a new day,
as the sun rose above the earth's east
ern rim, a life was closing inside the
grim walls of the old prison. Cur
rents of fluid fire overfowed the ar
teries of the body that had been hu-
man; almost instantly overpowering
and consuming in its greater fame
the smaller and less vital spark of
life. The machinery had worked per-
fectly, the electrocution was speedy.
and could have caused but brief, if
terrible pain. John Raynor was no
longer a murderer; in fact, was no
longer a human entity at all. The
sentence of the court had been exc
cuted.