 | Letters from New York |  |
LETTER XXXI.
To-day, I cannot write of beauty; for I am sad and
troubled. Heart, head, and conscience, are all in battle-array
against the savage customs of my time. By and by,
the law of love, like oil upon the waters, will calm my
though none the less deep or strong. But to-day, do not
ask me to love governor, sheriff or constable, or any man
who defends capital punishment. I ought to do it; for
genuine love enfolds even murderers with its blessing.
By to-morrow, I think I can remember them without bitterness;
but to-day, I cannot love them; on my soul, I cannot.
We were to have had an execution yesterday; but the
wretched prisoner avoided it by suicide. The gallows had
been erected for several hours, and with a cool refinement
of cruelty, was hoisted before the window of the condemned;
the hangman was all ready to cut the cord; marshals
paced back and forth, smoking and whistling; spectators
were waiting impatiently to see whether he would “die
game.” Printed circulars had been handed abroad to summon
the number of witnesses required by law: “You are
respectfully invited to witness the execution of John C.
Colt.” I trust some of them are preserved for museums.
Specimens should be kept, as relics of a barbarous age, for
succeeding generations to wonder at. They might be hung
up in a frame; and the portrait of a New Zealand Chief,
picking the bones of an enemy of his tribe, would be an appropriate
pendant.
This bloody insult was thrust into the hands of some
citizens, who carried hearts under their vests, and they
threw it in tattered fragments to the dogs and swine, as
more fitting witnesses than human beings. It was cheering
to those who have faith in human progress, to see how
many viewed the subject in this light. But as a general
thing, the very spirit of murder was rife among the dense
crowd, which thronged the place of execution. They were
swelling with revenge, and eager for blood. One man
came all the way from New Hampshire, on purpose to witness
the entertainment; thereby showing himself a likely
subject for the gallows, whoever he may be. Women deemed
tickets of admittance were denied them; and I think it
showed injudicious partiality; for many of them can be
taught murder by as short a lesson as any man, and sustain
it by arguments from Scripture, as ably as any theologian.
However, they were not admitted to this edifying exhibition
in the great school of public morals; and had only the
slim comfort of standing outside, in a keen November wind,
to catch the first toll of the bell, which would announce that
a human brother had been sent struggling into eternity by the
hand of violence. But while the multitude stood with open
watches, and strained ears to catch the sound, and the
marshals smoked and whistled, and the hangman walked
up and down, waiting for his prey, lo! word was brought
that the criminal was found dead in his bed! He had asked
one half hour alone to prepare his mind for departure; and
at the end of that brief interval, he was found with a dagger
thrust into his heart. The tidings were received with fierce
mutterings of disappointed rage. The throng beyond the
walls were furious to see him with their own eyes, to be
sure that he was dead. But when the welcome news met
my ear, a tremendous load was taken from my heart. I
had no chance to analyze right and wrong; for over all
thought and feeling flowed impulsive joy, that this “Christian”
community were cheated of a hanging. They who had
assembled to commit legalized murder, in cold blood, with
strange confusion of ideas, were unmindful of their own
guilt, while they talked of his suicide as a crime equal to
that for which he was condemned. I am willing to leave
it between him and his God. For myself, I would rather
have the burden of it on my own soul, than take the guilt
of those who would have executed a fellow-creature. He
was driven to a fearful extremity of agony and desperation.
He was precisely in the situation of a man on board a burning
ship, who being compelled to face death, jumps into the
thus drove him “to walk the plank,” made cool, deliberate
preparations to take life, and with inventive cruelty sought
to add every bitter drop that could be added to the dreadful
cup of vengeance.
To me, human life seems so sacred a thing, that its violent
termination always fills me with horror, whether perpetrated
by an individual or a crowd; whether done contrary
to law and custom, or according to law and custom.
Why John C. Colt should be condemned to an ignominious
death for an act of resentment altogether unpremeditated,
while men, who deliberately, and with malice aforethought,
go out to murder another for some insulting word, are
judges, and senators in the land, and favourite candidates for
the President's chair, is more than I can comprehend.
There is, to say the least, a strange inconsistency in our
customs.
At the same moment that I was informed of the death of
the prisoner, I heard that the prison was on fire. It was
soon extinguished, but the remarkable coincidence added
not a little to the convulsive excitement of the hour. I
went with a friend to look at the beautiful spectacle; for it
was exceedingly beautiful. The fire had kindled at the
very top of the cupola, the wind was high, and the flames
rushed upward, as if the angry spirits below had escaped
on fiery wings. Heaven forgive the feelings that, for a
moment mingled with my admiration of that beautiful conflagration!
Society had kindled all around me a bad excitement,
and one of the infernal sparks fell into my own
heart. If this was the effect produced on me, who am by
nature tender-hearted, by principle opposed to all retaliation,
and by social position secluded from contact with
evil, what must it have been on the minds of rowdies and
desperadoes? The effect of executions on all brought
within their influence is evil, and nothing but evil. For a
corroding excitement, either of hope or fear. The stern
pride of the prisoner left little in his peculiar case to appeal
to the sympathies of society; yet the instincts of our common
nature rose up against the sanguinary spirit manifested
toward him. The public were, moreover, divided in opinion
with regard to the legal construction of his crime; and
in the keen discussion of legal distinctions, moral distinctions
became wofully confused. Each day, hope and fear
alternated; the natural effect of all this, was to have the
whole thing regarded as a game, in which the criminal
might, or might not, become the winner; and every experiment
of this kind shakes public respect for the laws, from
centre to circumference. Worse than all this was the horrible
amount of diabolical passion excited. The hearts of
men were filled with murder; they gloated over the thoughts
of vengeance, and were rabid to witness a fellow-creature's
agony. They complained loudly that he was not to be hung
high enough for the crowd to see him. “What a pity!”
exclaimed a woman, who stood near me, gazing at the
burning tower; “they will have to give him two hours more
to live.” “Would you feel so, if he were your son?” said
I. Her countenance changed instantly. She had not before
realized that every criminal was somebody's son.
As we walked homeward, we encountered a deputy
sheriff; not the most promising material, certainly, for
lessons on humanity; but to him we spoke of the crowd of
savage faces, and the tones of hatred, as obvious proofs of
the bad influence of capital punishment. “I know that,”
said he; “but I don't see how we could dispense with it.
Now suppose we had fifty murderers shut up in prison for
life, instead of hanging 'em; and suppose there should come
a revolution; what an awful thing it would be to have fifty
murderers inside the prison, to be let loose upon the community!”
“There is another side to that proposition,” we
hundred murderers outside the prison, each as dangerous
as would be the one inside.” He said perhaps it was so;
and went his way.
As for the punishment and the terror of such doings,
they fall most keenly on the best hearts in the community.
Thousands of men, as well as women, had broken and
startled sleep for several nights preceding that dreadful day.
Executions always excite a universal shudder among the
innocent, the humane, and the wise-hearted. It is the
voice of God, crying aloud within us against the wickedness
of this savage custom. Else why is it that the instinct
is so universal?
The last conversation I had with the late William Ladd
made a strong impression on my mind. While he was a
sea-captain, he occasionally visited Spain, and once witnessed
an execution there. He said that no man, however
low and despicable, would consent to perform the office of
hangman; and whoever should dare to suggest such a thing
to a decent man, would be likely to have his brains blown
out. This feeling was so strong, and so universal, that the
only way they could procure an executioner, was to offer
a condemned criminal his own life, if he would consent to
perform the vile and hateful office on another. Sometimes
executions were postponed for months, because there was
no condemned criminal to perform the office of hangman.
A fee was allotted by law to the wretch who did perform it,
but no one would run the risk of touching his polluted hand
by giving it to him; therefore, the priest threw the purse
as far as possible; the odious being ran to pick it up, and
hastened to escape from the shuddering execrations of all
who had known him as a hangman. Even the poor animal
that carried the criminal and his coffin in a cart to the foot
of the gallows, was an object of universal loathing. He
was cropped and marked, that he might be known as the
would use this beast, either for pleasure or labour; and the
peasants were so averse to having him pollute their fields
with his footsteps, that when he was seen approaching, the
boys hastened to open the gates, and drive him off with
hisses, sticks, and stones. Thus does the human heart
cry out aloud against this wicked practice!
A tacit acknowledgment of the demoralizing influence of
executions is generally made, in the fact that they are forbidden
to be public, as formerly. The scene is now in a
prison yard, instead of open fields, and no spectators are
admitted but officers of the law, and those especially invited.
Yet a favourite argument in favour of capital punishment
has been the terror that the spectacle inspires in the breast
of evil doers. I trust the two or three hundred, singled
out from the mass of New-York population, by particular
invitation, especially the judges and civil officers, will feel
the full weight of the compliment. During the French
Revolution, public executions seemed too slow, and Fouquier
proposed to put the guillotine under cover, where
batches of a hundred might be despatched with few spectators.
“Wilt thou demoralize the guillotine?” asked Callot,
reproachfully.
That bloody guillotine was an instrument of law, as well
as our gallows; and what, in the name of all that is villanous,
has not been established by law? Nations, clans,
and classes, engaged in fierce struggles of selfishness and
hatred, made laws to strengthen each other's power, and
revenge each other's aggressions. By slow degrees, always
timidly and reluctantly, society emerges out of the barbarisms
with which it thus became entangled. It is but a
short time ago that men were hung in this country for stealing.
The last human brother who suffered under this law,
in Massachusetts, was so wretchedly poor, that when he
hung on the gallows his rags fluttered in the wind. What
him and those who hung him? Yet, it was according
to law; and men cried out as vociferously then as they
now do, that it was not safe to have the law changed. Judge
McKean, governor of Pennsylvania, was strongly opposed
to the abolition of death for stealing, and the disuse of the
pillory and whipping-post. He was a very humane man,
but had the common fear of changing old customs. “It
will not do to abolish these salutary restraints,” said the old
gentleman; “it will break up the foundations of society.”
Those relics of barbarism were banished long ago; but the
foundations of society are in nowise injured thereby.
The testimony from all parts of the world is invariable
and conclusive, that crime diminishes in proportion to the
mildness of the laws. The real danger is in having laws
on the statute-book at variance with universal instincts of
the human heart, and thus tempting men to continual evasion.
The evasion, even of a bad law, is attended with
many mischievous results; its abolition is always safe.
In looking at Capital Punishment in its practical bearings
on the operation of justice, an observing mind is at once
struck with the extreme uncertainty attending it. The
balance swings hither and thither, and settles, as it were,
by chance. The strong instincts of the heart teach juries
extreme reluctance to convict for capital offences. They
will avail themselves of every loophole in the evidence, to
avoid the bloody responsibility imposed upon them. In
this way, undoubted criminals escape all punishment, until
society becomes alarmed for its own safety, and insists that
the next victim shall be sacrificed. It was the misfortune
of John C. Colt to be arrested at the time when the popular
wave of indignation had been swelling higher and higher,
in consequence of the impunity with which Robinson,
White, and Jewell, had escaped. The wrath and jealousy
which they had excited was visited upon him, and his
scale now turns the other way; and the next offender will
probably receive very lenient treatment, though he should
not have half so many extenuating circumstances in his
favour.
Another thought which forces itself upon the mind in
consideration of this subject is the danger of convicting the
innocent. Murder is a crime which must of course be
committed in secret, and therefore the proof must be mainly
circumstantial. This kind of evidence is in its nature so
precarious, that men have learned great timidity in trusting
to it. In Scotland, it led to so many terrible mistakes, that
they long ago refused to convict any man of a capital
offence, upon circumstantial evidence.
A few years ago, a poor German came to New-York,
and took lodgings, where he was allowed to do his cooking
in the same room with the family. The husband and wife
lived in a perpetual quarrel. One day, the German came
into the kitchen with a clasp knife and a pan of potatoes,
and began to pare them for his dinner. The quarrelsome
couple were in a more violent altercation than usual; but
he sat with his back toward them, and being ignorant of
their language, felt in no danger of being involved in their
disputes. But the woman, with a sudden and unexpected
movement, snatched the knife from his hand, and plunged
it in her husband's heart. She had sufficient presence of
mind to rush into the street, and scream murder. The poor
foreigner, in the meanwhile, seeing the wounded man reel,
sprang forward to catch him in his arms, and drew out the
knife. People from the street crowded in, and found him
with the dying man in his arms, the knife in his hand, and
blood upon his clothes. The wicked woman swore, in the
most positive terms, that he had been fighting with her
husband, and had stabbed him with a knife he always carried.
The unfortunate German knew too little English to
was dragged off to prison, and the true state of the case
was made known through an interpreter; but it was not believed.
Circumstantial evidence was exceedingly strong
against the accused, and the real criminal swore unhesitatingly
that she saw him commit the murder. He was executed,
notwithstanding the most persevering efforts of his
lawyer, John Anthon, Esq., whose convictions of the man's
innocence were so painfully strong, that from that day to
this, he has refused to have any connection with a capital
case. Some years after this tragic event, the woman died,
and, on her death-bed, confessed her agency in the diabolical
transaction; but her poor victim could receive no benefit
from this tardy repentance; society had wantonly thrown
away its power to atone for the grievous wrong.
Many of my readers will doubtless recollect the tragical
fate of Burton, in Missouri, on which a novel was founded,
which still circulates in the libraries. A young lady, belonging
to a genteel and very proud family, in Missouri,
was beloved by a young man named Burton; but unfortunately,
her affections were fixed on another less worthy.
He left her with a tarnished reputation. She was by nature
energetic and high-spirited, her family were proud, and
she lived in the midst of a society which considered revenge
a virtue, and named it honour. Misled by this false
popular sentiment, and her own excited feelings, she resolved
to repay her lover's treachery with death. But she
kept her secret so well, that no one suspected her purpose,
though she purchased pistols, and practised with them daily.
Mr. Burton gave evidence of his strong attachment by renewing
his attentions when the world looked most coldly
upon her. His generous kindness won her bleeding heart,
but the softening influence of love did not lead her to forego
the dreadful purpose she had formed. She watched for a
favourable opportunity, and shot her betrayer, when no one
excited the suspicion of Burton, and he induced her to
confess to him the whole transaction. It was obvious
enough that suspicion would naturally fasten upon him,
the well-known lover of her who had been so deeply injured.
He was arrested, but succeeded in persuading her
that he was in no danger. Circumstantial evidence was
fearfully against him, and he soon saw that his chance was
doubtful; but with affectionate magnaminity, he concealed
this from her. He was convicted and condemned. A short
time before the execution, he endeavoured to cut his throat;
but his life was saved, for the cruel purpose of taking it
away according to the cold-blooded barbarism of the law.
Pale and wounded, he was hoisted to the gallows before
the gaze of a Christian community.
The guilty cause of all this was almost frantic, when she
found that he had thus sacrificed himself to save her. She
immediately published the whole history of her wrongs,
and her revenge. Her keen sense of wounded honour was
in accordance with public sentiment, her wrongs excited
indignation and compassion, and the knowledge that an innocent
and magnanimous man had been so brutally treated,
excited a general revulsion of popular feeling. No one
wished for another victim, and she was left unpunished,
save by the dreadful records of her memory.
Few know how numerous are the cases where it has subsequently
been discovered that the innocent suffered instead
of the guilty. Yet one such case in an age is surely
enough to make legislators pause before they cast a vote
against the abolition of Capital Punishment.
But many say, “the Old Testament requires blood for
blood.” So it requires that a woman should be put to
death for adultery; and men for doing work on the Sabbath;
and children for cursing their parents; and “If an
ox were to push with his horn, in time past, and it hath
but that he hath killed a man or a woman, the ox shall be
stoned, and his owner also shall be put to death.” The
commands given to the Jews, in the old dispensation, do
not form the basis of any legal code in Christendom. They
could not from the basis of any civilized code. If one command
is binding on our consciences, all are binding; for
they all rest on the same authority. They who feel bound
to advocate capital punishment for murder, on account of
the law given to Moses, ought, for the same reason, to insist
that children should be executed for striking or cursing
their parents.
“It was said by them of old time, an eye for an eye, and
a tooth for a tooth; but I say unto you resist not evil.”
If our “eyes were lifted up,” we should see, not Moses and
Elias, but Jesus only.
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