said he, "not the prison, but the gallows,--if I cannot have liberty, give me death,--I would rather die than go back to prison for six months."

It is said that adversity is woman's hour--that female loveliness shines brightest in the dark. I have no doubt that this is always the case; in the present instance I know it was. G.o.dfrey had a wife, and the best man on earth never deserved a better one. With a fort.i.tude that affliction could not for a moment weaken, she hung around his sorrows, and flew with angel swiftness to relieve his burdened soul.

She went to the governor and obtained a short reprieve for her condemned husband; and his counsel interposed and obtained for him another trial.

He was now remanded to the prison to wait a year before the court was to meet and give him a re-hearing. I have no doubt that he would have chosen death rather than this, had not the seraph tenderness of his wife thrown a charm around his being.

During this year he experienced the same vexations that had attended him before his trial. And the tiger hearts of his keepers even improved on their former cruelty, and created in his mind the spectre which haunted his midnight hours, and painted before his terrified imagination his lifeless body quivering under the dissecting knife.--They also most basely and falsely threw out to him insinuations against the purity of his wife. And as if impatient for his blood, they contrived to shed some of it before hand, as a kind of first fruits to their unholy thirst for vengeance. This was done by provoking him into a rage, and then falling upon him with a sharp sword and forcing the edge of it by repeated blows against his hand, with which he aimed to defend himself, and of which he then lost the use.

At length the year rolled away, and he was placed again at the bar of his country, to answer to a charge which involved his life. The same n.o.ble spirits continued his counsel; but the verdict was given against him, and sentence of death was again p.r.o.nounced. Unwilling to abandon him yet, his counsel obtained for him another hearing, at another court which was to sit in one year from that time, and till then he was obliged to return to the bosom of his tormentors.

During this year he found one friend in Mr. Adams, his keeper. This man had the milk of human kindness in his breast, and he treated his prisoner in such a manner as to obtain his warmest grat.i.tude, and deserve the respect of all mankind. During this year, few incidents transpired worthy of notice. G.o.dfrey had a good room, and was allowed a few tools with which he manufactured some toys, the sale of which gave him the means of supplying himself with such little articles of comfort as his situation required. This was the last year of his life.

At the session of the court he was again convicted, and the sentence of death was soon after executed upon him.

Previous to his execution he dictated a brief history of his life, and his dying speech, which were printed and read with great avidity. In his dying speech, he makes a solemn and earnest request, that his remains may be permitted to rest in peace, and not be disturbed by those "human vultures," who were anxious to do to his body what they could not do to his soul. He had no fear of death, but he shuddered at the thought of being dissected by the doctors. But those who had no feelings of compa.s.sion for him while he was living, disregarded his dying request, and his bones were afterwards found bleaching in the storms of heaven, on a lonely spot where they had been thrown to avoid detection.

His wife was with him during his last hours. He evinced no dread in view of death, but with a composure almost super-human, he watched the approach of the dreadful hour which was to release him from earth, and as he firmly believed, introduce him to the joys of heaven. He was treated very kindly by his humane keeper, of whom he speaks in the highest terms in his last words. He received the different clergymen with respect and affection, as they called to see him, and was fully prepared, in his own mind, to leave the world. The morning of the fatal day witnessed his parting with his wife, till they shall meet in heaven. She entered his room--closely folded in each other's arms, they seated themselves on the side of his bed, their tears mingling as they fell, and neither of them able to speak a word. Their eyes were rivetted on each other, and the expression of their looks might have pierced a heart of marble. Lost in the dreadful reality of his doom, they were insensible of the pa.s.sing minutes, till the rattling of the keys awoke them from their awful reverie, and signified that the last moment had come, and that they must part. She tore away from his clasping embrace--sighs were her only sounds, and her tears fell on the cold stone floor of his prison as she with slow--reluctant--and hesitating step, pa.s.sed away from the object of her tenderest love.

His eyes followed her till she was far out of the room and out of his sight. Then wiping his eyes, he said to his companions--"It is all over--you will see no more tears from me. This is what I have long dreaded; it is now past, and I shall die like a man."

He attended to the religious services with much propriety. After he arrived on the gallows, he informed the concourse of people around him that he had prepared his Farewell Speech which was in print, and that they might obtain and read it. When the chaplain made the last prayer, he knelt on the scaffold. After this, taking leave of his attendants, and casting a calm look on the throng by which he was surrounded, then on the near and more distant hills, and lastly on the clear blue heavens, he told the officer that he was ready.--The cap was then drawn--the scaffold was dropped--and his sufferings were ended.

In view of this melancholy history, the mind will naturally inquire, what good reason had Rodgers and F*** for entering that complaint which led to such direful results? what had G.o.dfrey done? Is it a crime deserving of punishment for a man to say, "I have done more than I meant to," when he had done his full task, and done it well?

especially after he explained by saying, "I have wove more than I thought I had"? Is this a crime? Was it right to treat a prisoner, who had always behaved well, in such a manner as this? What excuse is there for those who reported him? Let me, in concluding this sketch, hold up to the notice of all men,--saints and sinners, bond and free, the man who, in his testimony on the trial, said,--"I advised Mr.

Rodgers to report him, and wrote the report. I had understood that there was a combination among the prisoners, not to weave over a certain quant.i.ty."

ROWLEY.

This was an old man of near eighty. He had been worth a great fortune, and was then in possession of property to the amount of about twenty thousand dollars. In the prison he found no indulgence for age, no compa.s.sion for the sick, no pity for the suffering, and he was scarcely in it before he was put in punishment. There was at that time a guard named French, who had been a soldier at Burlington, and who said that he had been employed by Rowley, when he was not on army duty, to cut corn stalks, and that he had cheated him out of his pay.

This he reported to the prisoners and keepers; and now he thought he should have a good opportunity to be revenged. Accordingly he kept him in the solitary cell, and wearing a block and chain, most of the time.

The old man could not look, speak, or walk, but French would report him; and so well was it understood that he was suffering for this old grudge, that when any one saw him going to the cell, the remark was immediately made--"Rowley is paying French for the stalks."

The punishment thus begun, was carried on during the five years of his sentence. He was the common mark for every little stripling, who wished to get into the graces of his superiors, by doing some deed of cruelty; and I presume he was in punishment three years out of the five to which he was sentenced. No allowance was made for his years--his want of sight--or his infirmities; he was in the power of man, an unsocial crabbed old creature it is true, but _still_ a human being, and ent.i.tled to the _common mercy_ of a state prison. But the "_stalks_" were always green on the memory of his keepers, and they could not endure to see him out of the cell. He lived, however, in spite of them, to see the end of his sentence and to return to his family, where he soon after died.

Much as French and others are to be blamed for their conduct towards this man, the _burden_ of condemnation rests on those, who were bound by the oath of their office, to protect the prisoners from "cruelty and inhumanity" in the guard. Ought such personal feelings to be indulged towards a prostrate victim? Can that man be worthy of any office, who can stoop to such criminal meanness? I am told that French has since become a christian, and I sincerely hope he has; for I am well persuaded that it will require many years time, and many a bitter tear, to purify his conscience from the iniquity of the "_corn stalks_."

COLLIER.

This man entered the prison under the influence of a cold which he had taken in gaol. He was in the bloom of youth, and as bright as young men in general. Not feeling well, he did not always do so much work as was required of him, and consequently soon began to feel that he was in a prison. The iron storm of punishment began to beat upon him, and he was so affected by it, that he lost the use of his limbs in a great measure, of his speech for some time, and finally of his reason. The treatment he received would make the records of the inquisition blush.

Starvation, chains, and the cold cell were the only mercies he experienced. At a certain time when he was unable to speak, as he was sitting in the cook-room, the Warden entered, and declared that he would make him speak or kill him. To effect this, he took him by the hair of his head, and dragged him round the room, pulling and jerking him with all his might, and crying all the time, "speak or I'll kill you!"--Reader, have you ever read Howard's Prisons of Europe? It was in _Europe_ that _he_ found so much misery and cruelty; but this is in _America_. Yet here, see that Warden of a prison, dragging a prisoner by the hair of his head, and declaring his intention to kill him if he did not speak. Inhuman man! where is your heart, if you have any? Will G.o.d suffer you to go unpunished for thus trampling on His authority, and abusing your fellow man?

After exhausting all his strength, the Warden gave up, without either making him speak, or killing him. Every prisoner's heart burned within him, when he saw what this poor unfortunate man was suffering, and what might become his own doom. I wonder that every one of them did not spring forward, and rescue the sufferer from the wicked hands of that heartless tyrant. I wonder that the earth which bore up the lion-hearted despot, did not open and destroy him. But this is not the end of Collier's sufferings from the same man.

Reduced by disease, and unable to be in the yard, the doctor ordered him to be put into the hospital, and properly attended to. While he was there, the Warden went up to see him. Unkind visit! for he took with him a horsewhip, and before he left him, he used it with l.u.s.ty arm about his naked back, until he was quite exhausted, and till demons might have trembled at the superior depravity and heartlessness of man. This visit was repeated _once_, and perhaps twice, and the same medicine administered.

Such was the conduct of the Warden, of whom the laws of the prison say, that "with the powers entrusted to him it cannot be necessary for him to _strike_ his prisoners; much less can it answer any _good_ purpose for him to give his command in a threatening tone, or accompanied with oaths; but he shall give his commands with _kindness_ and dignity, and enforce them with prompt.i.tude and firmness."--"_He shall never strike a prisoner_ except in self-defence, or in defence of those a.s.sisting him in the discharge of his duty." With this part of the laws of the prison before us, no comment on the acts of the Warden, in the cases cited above, is necessary.

After wading through seas of affliction--after losing his reason--after he had outlived the ability of his destroyers to torment him further, he went home to his mother, a fair specimen of the Warden's mercy.--His ruined form is before me--I see his vacant look--I hear his unmeaning words--my soul sickens--my nerve trembles--I can neither think nor write.

PERRY.

This man had led a very wicked life, and as the fruit of his sins, a very unpleasant disease kept frequently reminding him that the pleasures of sin are a lasting bitter.--With this complaint he was often confined to his room. At length it was conjectured that he was not so sick as he pretended, and a resolution was formed that he should go into the shop and do his work like the other prisoners. To this, however, he objected, declaring that he was sick, and not able to be in the shop. But when the king commands, he must be obeyed; and so a course of preparations was made to make Perry well and get him out to work.

In the first place, a long board was provided, with straps to fasten it on his back, by lashing the sides around his arms, and neck, and body. This being properly adjusted, a rope was fastened round under his arms, and he was drawn up by it as if under a gallows, so as to just permit his toes to touch the ground. This was done in the yard, before all the prisoners, and keepers, and spectators from without; and it was repeated every day for as much as a week. After he had hung there a suitable time, he was let down, and being unable to stand, he would fall directly to the ground. Then the keepers would throw whole buckets of water on him, drawn cold from the cistern. Often would they dash these directly in his face. After this, they would hang him up again, so that the medicine of the rope, the board, and the bucket, had a fair opportunity to exert their sanative properties. The patient lived through it, and so did St. John live through the boiling oil, but the strength of human nature is no excuse for those who delight in cruelty. The man who maliciously gives me poison is a murderer, though my const.i.tution is proof against it; and the fact that Perry outlived this process, is no evidence that he was not sick.

I have not the least sympathy for this man on account of what he suffered from his disease. I am glad that providence has appended to the impure gratification of sensual desires, some dreadful recoil of suffering; that when the loveliness of virtue cannot charm, the deformity and wretchedness of vice may appeal. But I have copied this sketch from my memorandum, to shew how men in office can descend to what would degrade a savage. If Perry was as bad as sin itself, no one had any right to torture him. I have copied it also as a specimen of what _many_ sick men have had to endure.

ROBBINS.

There was among the keepers a man who cherished some feelings, which accorded very illy with his christian profession. In his very countenance there was a something which indicated the peculiar quality of his soul. Resentment, jealousy, cruelty, and suspicion, like so many infernal spirits, kennelled in his eyes, and growled through his snarling voice. This human shape had,--unfortunately for her--a wife who was a weaver; and he brought some yarn into the prison to have it warped for her. Robbins was at this time the warper, and the unlucky task of warping for this lady, fell to him. He performed the duty a.s.signed him with his usual correctness, and the warp was sent out to Mrs. ----, to be woven.

In beaming it on her loom, she broke and tangled the warp to such a degree, that she could not weave it; and then said that it was spoiled in warping. This was enough for her husband; he had long had a spite against Robbins, and now he had a fine opportunity to glut his pious vengeance. Accordingly he wrote a complaint to the Warden, covering the whole warp which his wife had spoiled, and many other crimes, which were not of any consequence alone, but which added to the great one of the warp, made it look quite black. This report, drawing an appendix of consequential _et ceteras_, as long as the pen with which they were written, was sent to the proper officer, and Robbins was doomed to lie fourteen days and nights in a solitary cell, and live on four ounces of bread for each twenty-four hours. What makes this treatment of a helpless prisoner the more abominable is, that Robbins was always known to do his work in the best manner possible. No comment is necessary; and I leave that gentleman's conscience tangled in that warp, till he makes rest.i.tution to abused humanity.

P. FANE.

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 circ.u.mstance 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 s.p.a.ce 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 b.l.o.o.d.y catastrophe, he was a.s.sociated 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 a.s.signed 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 a.s.sociating. 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 pa.s.sed 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 b.l.o.o.d.y 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 dest.i.tute of all proof but the guard's own a.s.sertion, 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 princ.i.p.al 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.