THE SCAFFOLD.
Oh! judge none lost, but wait and see,
With hopeful pity, not disdain;
The depth of the abyss may be
The measure of the height of pain.—Household Words.
When Valentine's little family circle received information of the verdict that laid low their last hopes, Phædra met the misfortune with that sad resignation which we often see in those whom either time or sorrow has aged, and which we are apt to think owes its calmness as much to the exhausted energies of the sufferer as to any higher cause. Fannie heard the issue of the trial with wild grief, and a day and night of illness intervened before she could go and see the condemned.
The conviction of Valentine was immediately followed by the arraignment of Governor. The trial of the latter was even shorter than that of the former had been. He was ably defended by the counsel employed by his master; but nothing could have saved him. And the jury, without leaving their seats, brought in their verdict of "Guilty." His sentence followed immediately. It was, however, pitiable to observe that the poor wretch did not understand one-half of what had been done or said during the whole course of his trial. And when he was conducted back to the prison, and locked in with Valentine, he said to the latter:
"Well, Walley, ole marse up dere on de bench put a black nightcap on his head, an' said somethin' 'r other 'bout hangin'; but I reckon he only did it to scare me, 'cause I saw by his face how his heart was a softening all de time."
After his condemnation to death, Valentine's friends were more devoted to him than ever. Day and night, one or more of the brethren of the church was with him. And one sister, especially, who was known by the name of "Sister Dely," divided her attentions between him and his little family, who equally, or more, needed comfort. Again the papers were filled with descriptions of this "extraordinary boy," as Valentine was called. Interviews held with him by clergymen were reported at length. His likeness was taken in prison, and wood-cutted in a pamphlet report of his trial. In a word, the unhappy young man became for a while a local notoriety. And this was ascribable, not to the nature of the catastrophe, which, unfortunately, was but too common in that section of country, but to the individuality and character of the condemned.
And another circumstance connected with this tragedy was so strange that I must not omit to record it. A rumor got out that old Portiphar had betrayed Valentine into the hands of the law, and that a number of negroes in secret meeting had sworn the death of the traitor whenever and wherever either one of them could take him. This matter was carefully investigated by those most interested; but though they could obtain no sort of satisfactory information, yet their suspicions, instead of being dissipated, were so strongly confirmed, that it was deemed advisable for the officers who had arrested Valentine to come out under oath with the declaration that Portiphar had not by the remotest hint put them upon the track, but that the discovery of the fugitive under the disguise of female apparel had been entirely accidental.
This declaration, duly sworn to and attested, was embodied in a short address to be read to the negroes, printed on handbills, and posted and distributed all over the city and surrounding country. And for some little time this was supposed to be quite sufficient to allay excitement and insure security. But in a day or two it became evident, in some way, that the negroes did not believe the sworn statement of the police officers. And as it was thought best to get rid of unsafe property, Portiphar, who had lurked in concealment for some weeks, was sold by his master to a New Orleans trader, and the neighborhood breathed freely again.
The petition to the Executive for the pardon of Valentine, got up under the auspices of Oswald Waring's widow, failed of success, as every one had predicted that it must. And when this last little glimmering light of earthly hope went down, Valentine sedulously addressed himself to preparation for eternity.
It was piteous to observe Governor at this time. Any one, to have seen him, must have perceived at once that he was no subject for capital punishment. But no one, except his master and Valentine, was the least interested in him. Alas! poor wretch, he was not even interested in himself! When the refusal of the Executive to pardon Valentine had been received, it was affecting to see the efforts of Governor to console what he supposed to be the disappointment of his fellow-prisoner.
"Don't you mind, Walley! Dey's only doin' dis to scare we! Sho! dey's no more gwine to hang we, nor dey's gwine to heave so much money in de fire! Sho! we's too walable. I heern de gemmen all say what fine, walable men we was—'specially me! Sho! dere's muscle for you!" said Governor, drawing himself up, jerking forward both arms with a strong impetus, and then clapping his hands upon his nether limbs.
"Sho! You think dey's gwine to let all dat here go to loss? Ef it were only whippin' now, dey might do it! but making all dis here muscle dead? Sho! what de use o' dead nigger? What good dat do? Sho!"
And, with this strong expletive of contempt, Governor sat down. Strange and sad as was the fact, this poor, stupid creature was thoroughly persuaded that his own and Valentine's life were perfectly safe. He knew that, living, he himself was worth at least twelve or fifteen hundred dollars, for he had more than once heard himself so appraised; and that, dead, he was worth just so much less than nothing as the cost of his burial would be. And from these facts he drew the inference that he was far too valuable to be executed. And he persisted in looking upon the whole train of events, comprising his arrest, imprisonment, trial and condemnation, with all the pageantry of court-room, judges, lawyers, juries and officers, only as a solemn show, got up to frighten him and his fellow prisoner. Nothing could disabuse him of this illusion; for, if once any idea got fixed in his poor, thick head, it was just impossible to dislodge it. In vain Valentine endeavored to enlighten him as to his true position; Governor would reply, with a compassionate look:
"Oh, sho! you's scared, Walley! you's scared! Tell me! I knows better! Dey's not such fools as to hang we! ca'se what would be de use, you know! Sho!"
The Methodist preacher exhorted and prayed with Governor, to as little purpose. He could not be made to believe in the fact of his fast-approaching death.
"Oh, sho, Walley! I doesn't say nuffin' 't all afore dem, 'cause you see 'taint right to give de back answer to de ministers; but dey's league 'long o' de oders, Walley! Dey's league 'long o' de oders. Can't scare dis chile wid no sich! Tell you, Walley, dead nigger ain't no use, but dead expense! So what de use o' hanging of him? Sho!"
This interjection usually finished the argument.
The day of execution approached. Valentine divided his time between preparation for death, interviews with his family and friends, and the composition of an address that he wished to deliver upon the scaffold. This address embodied a great portion of Valentine's life—experiences, as they are already known to the reader. When it was finished in manuscript, it was submitted to the perusal of the attendant clergymen. Some among them warmly approved the address, and declared it to be the most eloquent appeal they had ever met. Others reserved their opinion for the time, and afterward asserted that it was the most powerful sermon that they had ever seen or heard.
The day before the execution came. And now I must inform you that it is to "Sister Dely" I am indebted for the report of the scenes that occurred in her presence in the condemned cell that day. Dely had obtained leave from her mistress, Mrs. Hewitt, to go to the prison, to take leave of her Valentine.
It was about ten o'clock, on Thursday, the 23d of December, when she reached the city. All the town was preparing for Christmas. When she entered the condemned cell, she found no one there except the two prisoners. There were two cot bedsteads at opposite sides of the cell, and one small iron stove against the wall, between the beds, and directly opposite the door by which she entered.
On her right hand, as she came in, sat Governor upon his cot, watching, with lazy interest, the employment of his fellow-prisoner, which, in sooth, was strange enough for one of his position.
Valentine was standing at the little table, and engaged in ironing out a cravat, while on the cot near him lay spread out a shirt just ironed, a satin vest, newly pressed, and a full suit of black broadcloth, well brushed.
And Dely knew at a glance that the poor fellow, true to his habits of neatness to the last, was preparing to present a proper appearance upon the scaffold.
"Was there no one to do that for you, Valentine?" said Dely, after her first greeting.
"No, child, there was not. Mother and poor Fannie are in too much trouble to think of such a thing."
"I would have done it for you, Valentine."
"No matter, child; it is done now," said the young man, laying the folded cravat upon the cot, and then turning around and sitting down by the side of Dely.
"I wish, Delia, that you would try to open the eyes of Governor to the realities of his position. Poor fellow! he is fully persuaded that to-morrow, instead of being executed, we shall be set at liberty."
Delia turned her eyes in wonder toward Governor, who sat upon the side of his cot, smiling and shaking his head in the most incredulous manner. Delia shrank from the task that Valentine would have imposed upon her, and only said:
"We will pray for him, Brother Valentine. Governor, won't you kneel down with us, and pray for yourself?"
Governor said that, as praying could not do anybody any harm, he reckoned he would, to please Dely, though he did not see the use of it.
They all knelt, and this humble handmaid of the Lord, who was peculiarly gifted in prayer, offered up a fervent petition in behalf of the prisoners, and especially for Governor.
They had just risen from their knees, when the door of the cell was opened, and the jailer entered, accompanied by another official, who nodded to the inmates, and then, beckoning to Valentine, requested him to step forward.
Valentine obeyed, and the man, drawing a measuring-line from his pocket, told him to stand up straight. Valentine drew himself up with as much composure as ever he had shown when, in his earlier days, he was getting himself fitted for a Sunday suit of clothes. The operator proceeded to measure his subject across the shoulders. And when this was done, he stopped, drew a paper and pencil from his pocket, and, leaning on Valentine's late ironing table, put down some figures. Then he took the line again, and carefully measured him from the crown of his head to the heels of his shoes, and made a second note.
Then telling Valentine that he was done with him, he beckoned to Governor, who had been looking on with open-mouthed amazement, and who now came forward, and braced himself up with the utmost alacrity and cheerfulness. Indeed, he was smiling from ear to ear, as he exclaimed, triumphantly:
"Tell you all so! We ain't had no winter clothes guv us yet, and dey's done sent de tailor to fit us!"
The operator with the line, on hearing this, dropped his measure, and, with emotions divided between astonishment and compassion, gazed at the poor wretch, who remained smiling in delight. No one else spoke, and, after a moment, the official picked up his line and resumed his work.
"Wen'll de clothes be ready for me?" inquired Governor, with great interest.
"I am not taking your size for clothes," answered the operator, gravely.
"No! What den?" inquired Governor, in astonishment, but without the least suspicion of the truth.
"Don't you know?"
"No! I doesn't! What is it?"
"Well, you know, at least, that you are to die to-morrow. And I am measuring you for your coffin."
Governor made no reply, neither did the smile pass at once from his face. He no longer refused to believe in his approaching fate, but the idea was very slow in penetrating his brain.
The carpenter, having now completed his errand, left the cell in company with the turnkey. Governor went and resumed his seat upon the side of his cot, and remained perfectly silent, only not as cheerful as he had been, and occasionally putting up his hand and rubbing his head, and seeming to ponder. At last he said, dubiously, however:
"Brother Walley, honey, I'se beginnin' to be 'fraid, arter all, dat dey tends for to hang us, sure 'nough! Dey wouldn't carry de nonsense dis far 'out dey did, would dey? 'Sides which, dey wouldn't go to de 'xpense o' coffins, would dey?"
"No, Governor," said Valentine, going over and sitting down beside him, and taking his hand and continuing: "Governor, by this hour to-morrow you and I will be over all our earthly troubles."
Slowly, slowly the truth was making its way to Governor's consciousness. His face clouded over, but he seemed to grow more stupid every instant. To all Valentine's speeches he answered never one word, not seeming to hear or to understand them.
Dely could not bear this. Bursting into tears, she went and dropped upon her knees before Governor, and took his two hands in hers, and wept over them, and begged and prayed him, for his soul's sake, to listen to her words. Governor was only a recent acquaintance; he was not, as Valentine was, an old friend; yet it almost broke her gentle heart to see him thus—so stolid, so unconscious, so insensible.
They were interrupted again, this time by a clergyman and one other gentleman, a member of the church.
Dely was now obliged to return home. She took an affectionate leave of Valentine and of Governor, telling them that she should pray for them constantly, and that she should be on her knees, praying for them, in their last hour of trial.
The minister found Valentine well prepared to meet his doom. But when he turned his attention to the other condemned man, he found, to his dismay, that he could not make the slightest impression upon Governor. The unhappy creature no longer doubted what his doom would be; but, as I said before, the truth very slowly entered his mind; and, alas! as it entered it seemed to press him down, and down, into deeper and more hopeless apathy, until at last he sat there silent, senseless, crushed. They could not pray with him; they could only pray for him.
The next day, Christmas Eve, dawned brightly for almost all the world—darkly enough for the condemned.
An early hour of the morning had been appointed for the farewell interview between the prisoners and their families. Such partings are always distressing beyond conception, and I shrink from the pain of saying much about them.
Governor had but few friends, his fellow-slaves, who came over very early in the morning to take leave of him, and who, finding him so apathetic, went away comforted, with the belief "that Governor did not seem to mind it."
His miserable wife came alone, to drop weeping at his feet, and implore his dying forgiveness for the part she had had in bringing him to this awful pass.
Governor, partially aroused from his torpor, awoke sufficiently to put his arm around her shoulders, and say:
"Don't cry, chile; I doesn't bear you no malice. You couldn't help it, chile, no more 'an I could; things was too much for us bofe. Don't cry; I loves you same as ever."
This gentleness almost broke the penitent woman's heart, and she went away weeping bitterly, wringing her hands and wishing most sincerely it were possible for her, the most guilty one, to die in her husband's stead. After this visit Governor sank into a still deeper stupor of despair, from which nothing had power to arouse him.
Directly after this followed the last interview between Valentine and his little family.
Phædra and Fannie came in, accompanied by old Elisha, who carried little Coralie in his arms. I cannot describe the anguish of this parting.
Phædra perhaps bore it best of all, with a strange hopeless fortitude that reminded one of Governor's stolidity, only saying that though life was sorrowful even at its happiest, it was, thank Heaven! short at its longest; and that she should not be many days behind her son.
But Fannie was wild with sorrow, and utterly inconsolable. When the moment of final separation arrived, she fainted, and was borne from the cell, as one dead, in the arms of the old preacher. Phædra followed, leading little Coralie.
The execution was to be a public one. And the authorities published a card in the daily papers, formally inviting the masters of the city and the surrounding country to give their slaves a holiday upon this day, to enable the latter to attend the execution of Valentine and Governor. And as the morning advanced toward noon so numerous was the multitude of negroes that gathered in from all parts of the country, and so great was the excitement that prevailed among them, that the powers saw the mistake they had made by issuing this general invitation, and felt great alarm as to the result.
The marshal called upon the militia and the city guards to turn out and muster around the scaffold to insure the safe custody of the prisoners and the execution of the sentence.
The scaffold was erected upon a gentle elevation, on the west suburb of the city. A crowd of many thousands, each moment augmented, was gathered upon the ground. But the two companies of militia made a way through this forest of human beings, and formed around the foot of the scaffold.
It was about eleven o'clock that the prisoners were placed in a close van, in company with the marshal and a clergyman, and escorted by a detachment of the city guards, were driven to the place of execution. The presence of the guards was needed to force a passage through the compact and highly-excited crowd. The prison van was kept carefully closed, and the condemned with their attendants remained invisible until the procession had passed safely through that stormy sea of human beings and gained the security of the hollow square formed by the bayonets of the militia around the scaffold.
The van drew up at the foot of the steps leading to the platform. The police officer that stood behind the vehicle jumped down and opened the door, and handed out the prisoners, who were followed closely by the marshal and the clergyman.
The marshal immediately took charge of Governor, to lead him up the stairs.
The clergyman drew Valentine's arm within his own, to follow.
And the police officer was joined by the deputy marshal, who brought up the rear.
And so the sad procession ascended those fatal stairs—Governor in a deep stupor, or looking as if he did not understand what all this pageant meant; Valentine with grave composure, as if he felt the awful solemnity of the moment, and was prepared to meet it. The scaffold was very high, and was reached by a flight of more than twenty steps.
When the prisoners and their escort gained the platform they stood in full view of every individual of that vast concourse of people. Their appearance was hailed by acclamation from the multitude below, and huzzas of encouragement or defiance, shouts of derision and cries of sympathy were mingled in one indistinguishable mêlée of noise.
The prisoners were not prematurely clad in the habiliments of the grave, as is usual upon such occasions, but were attired in ordinary citizen's dress.
Governor wore his best Sunday suit of "pepper and salt" casinet, and looked a huge, shapeless figure of a negro, in which the sooty skin could scarcely be distinguished from the sooty clothes.
Valentine looked very well, though pale and worn. He wore a suit of black broadcloth, with a white cravat and gloves, and his natural ringlets were arranged with that habitual regard to order and neatness which was with him a second nature.
Valentine held in his hands the manuscript address that he wished to make to the assembly. He had been promised by the authorities an opportunity of delivering this address, before the parting prayers should be said. He stood now with his copy in his hand, only waiting for the noise to subside before his commencing. Governor stood by his side, in stolid insensibility.
But Valentine had been deceived to the last moment. He was not to be permitted to deliver his address; the authorities feared too much its exciting effect upon the tumultuous assembly below. The marshal had received his instructions, and had given private orders to his deputy and assistants.
Valentine was still letting his eyes rove over the "multitudinous sea" of heads, waiting for a calm in which he might be heard, when his eye fell upon Major Hewitt, who had been absent all day at the capital, and had but just returned from his last fruitless attempt to move the Executive in behalf of the condemned, and who, without leaving his saddle, had ridden up at once to the scene of execution. He could not penetrate the crowd, but remained on horseback on its outskirts. At the same moment the figure of Major Hewitt caught the eye of Governor, and roused him from the torpor of despair into which he had fallen—roused him to an agony of entreaty, and, stretching out his arms to his master, he cried, with a loud voice that thrilled to the hearts of all present:
"Oh, marster! I allus looked up to you as if you were my father and my God! Save me now! save me from under the gallows! Oh, marster——"
Major Hewitt turned precipitately and galloped away from the scene.
The condemned were not aware that they stood upon the fatal trapdoor. They did not notice, either, that, at a signal from the marshal, the attending clergyman stepped aside and the deputy and assistants gathered in a little group behind. Governor still had his arms extended in wild entreaty after his flying master, and Valentine was still waiting for silence, when suddenly, in the twinkling of an eye, their arms were bound, the cords slipped over their heads, the caps drawn over their eyes, the spring of the bolt touched, and, without one instant's warning, or one word of prayer or benediction, they fell, and swung beneath sky and earth.
"In the name of Heaven! why have you done this thing?" asked the terribly-shocked minister, who was altogether unprepared for the suddenness of the execution.
"In another five minutes an attempt would have been made at rescue," answered that official.
This tragedy spoiled the Christmas festivities of many more than were immediately connected with the sufferers. If the reader cares to follow the sad fortunes of the survivors, I have only to tell them that Phædra outlived her son but one short month; and Mrs. Waring kindly took Fannie and her child away from the scene and associations of their calamity, to her own quiet and beautiful country home in East Feliciana. Major Hewitt is a "sadder," and, let us hope, "a wiser man," since he no longer closes his ears to the complaints of his suffering people.
One word more. The tragic story in which I have endeavored to interest you is, in all its essential features, strictly true. Not that I mean to say that in all the scenes word followed word precisely in the order here set down, though generally the language used has been faithful to the letter, and always to the spirit of the facts. Valentine and Governor lived, suffered, sinned, and finally together died, for the causes and in the manner related. My means of minute information were very good. The tragedy occurred but a few years ago, in a neighborhood with which I am familiar. It excited at the time great local interest, but never probably got beyond "mere mention" in any but the local papers. In relating it I have delivered "a round, unvarnished tale," and have not colored the truth with any adventitious hue of fancy. The subject was too sacred, in its dark sorrow, for such trifling. Only, for the sake of some survivors, a change of names and a slight change of localities has been deemed proper.