No. L.
I sincerely hope, that Daniel H. Pearson, now in prison, under suspicion of having murdered his wife and twin daughters, at Wilmington, in this Commonwealth, in the month of April last, may be proved to be an innocent man. For, should he be convicted, he will certainly be sentenced to be hung; and it is quite probable, that Governor Briggs, and his iron-hearted Council may do, as they recently did, in the case of poor Washington Goode, a most unfortunate man, who, unhappily, committed a most infernal murder, of which, after an impartial trial, he was duly convicted. Will it be believed, in this age of improved contrivances, moral and physical, that the Governor and Council of our Commonwealth have actually refused, to rush between the sentence and the execution, and save this egregious scoundrel from the gallows! They have solemnly decided, not to interfere with the operation of that ancient law of this Commonwealth, which decrees, that he, who kills his fellow man, with malice prepense, shall be hanged, by the neck, till he is dead!
It really seems to me, that the time has arrived when Massachusetts should be governed, by some compassionate person, who will prove himself, upon such unpleasant occasions, the murderer’s friend. I am not unapprized of the fact, that there is a strong opposition to these opinions, among the wisest and best men in the community; and that, irrespectively of the operation of the lex talionis upon the murderer, his death is accounted necessary, in terrorem, for the rest of mankind; as Cicero has said—“ut pœna ad paucos, metus ad omnes perveniat”—that the punishment may reach the few, and fear the many. But Cicero was a heathen. There are also some individuals, having very little of that contempt for old wives’ tales, which characterizes those profound thinkers, our interesting fellow-citizens of the Liberty Party, and who still venture, in these enlightened days, to cite the word of God—WHOSO SHEDDETH MAN’S BLOOD, BY MAN SHALL HIS BLOOD BE SHED. In the present condition of society, when there are so very few of us, who do not feel, that we are wise above what is written, this precept, delivered by God Almighty, to Noah, appears exceedingly preposterous, greatly resembling some of those blue laws, which were in operation, in the olden time, in a sister state. What was Noah to Jeremy Bentham! Although I am pained to confess the shortcomings of Jeremy; for, though he did much to meliorate the severity of the British penal code, he went not, by any means, to those happy lengths, which we approve, in shielding the unfortunate murderer from the halter.
There was a very amiable, old gentleman in England, who lived, through the times of Charles I., both Cromwells, and Charles II. He was reputed so wise, and learned, and just, and pious, that his judgment was highly prized, by all men. He was esteemed the greatest lawyer and the most upright, in all England; so much so, that, in 1671, he was created Lord Chief Justice of the realm. I desire to reason impartially, upon this subject, and therefore admit, that this great and good man, Sir Matthew Hale, believed death to be a very just punishment, for certain crimes, inferior to murder. Although Sir Matthew’s crude notions are rapidly going out of fashion, it is but fair, to transcribe his words—“When offences grow enormous, frequent, and dangerous to a kingdom or state, destructive or highly pernicious to civil societies, and to the great insecurity and danger of the kingdom or its inhabitants, severe punishment and even death itself is necessary to be annexed to laws, in many cases, by the prudence of lawgivers.” In all candor, we must admit, that Sir Matthew Hale was notoriously the very reverse of a sanguinary Judge. But Sir Matthew’s days were the days of small things. We cannot sufficiently bless the Great Disposer of human affairs, for raising up the foolish, as He has done, in these latter days, and in such great numbers withal, to confound the wise. It is now no longer necessary, as of old, to pursue a particular course of study, to qualify mankind, for the work of legislation, or the practice of law, or physic, or the exposition of the more subtle points of religion, or ethics, or political economy.
This truly is an age of intuition. He, who learns, or half learns, one profession, is, instanter, competent to perform the duties of all. It is a heavenly stream of universal light and power, somewhat analogous to the miraculous gift of tongues. Nothing, in this connection, is more remarkable, than the rapid turgescence of every man’s confidence, in his own abilities, upon the slightest encouragement, from his neighbor. There has been scarcely a blacksmith in New England, since the remarkable and merited success of Elihu Burritt, who, if you ask his opinion of the efficacy of pennyroyal for the stomach-ache, will not, with your permission, of course, prescribe for any acute or chronic complaint, with which you are afflicted. Tailors, in full measure, nine to a man, will readily solve you a point of theology, which would have been fearfully approached, by Tillotston or Horne. And, upon this solemn subject of capital punishment, there is scarcely a man-midwife in the land, who is not ready, with his instruments, to deliver the community of all their scruples at once.
This, certainly, is a blessed condition of things, for which we cannot be sufficiently thankful.
That we may do abundant justice to our opponents, I propose to offer, in this place, a quotation from the Edinburgh Review, vol. 86, p. 216. The article is entitled—“What is to be done with our criminals?” The passage runs thus—“Another circumstance, which renders legislation on this subject peculiarly difficult, is the lamentably perverted sentimentality, which is extensively diffusing itself among the people, and which may soon render it problematical, whether any penal code, really calculated to answer its objects, can be devised; a sentimentality, which weeps over the criminal, and has no tears to spare for the miseries he has caused—which transforms the felon into an object of interest and sympathy, and forgets the innocent sufferers from his cruelty or perfidy. So far as pity for the criminal is consistent with a more comprehensive compassion for those he has wronged, and is limited by the necessity of obtaining them redress and providing for the safety of society—so far as it prompts to a desire to see the statute-book cleared of every needless severity, and that no punishments shall be inflicted for punishment’s sake it is laudable.
“But we must, with regret, profess our belief, that it has often far transcended these limits; and has exhibited itself in forms and modes, which, if permitted to dictate the tone of our criminal legislation, would tend to the rapid increase of crime. The people in question belong to a class, always numerous, who are led by the imagination, and not by their reason—by emotion rather than reflection. They see the felon in chains, and they are dissolved in commiseration; they do not stop to realize all the miseries, which have at last made him miserable—perhaps, in the present apathy of his conscience, much less miserable than many of those whom he has injured.”
This is from an article, ably written, of some fifty-eight pages, published in 1847. I give it a place here, lest I should be suspected of suppressing all arguments, on the other side.
The idea of hanging a murderer, by form of law, instead of placing him for a few years, in some anxious seat, the treadmill or the state prison, where he might be converted perhaps—cutting him off, in the midst of his days, without time allowed for repentance, is a terrible thing. I am perfectly aware, that it will be replied—this is the very thing which he did for his wretched victim.
We are told, that the highest penalty known to the law is demanded. All that a man hath will he give for his life; and we are opposed, in our humane endeavors, by the scriptural edict referred to already. It is averred to be an all-important object in capital punishment, to operate upon the fears of others, ut metus, as we said before, ad omnes perveniat, which would be less likely to be the case, if the halter were abolished. It is true, that, while there is life, there is hope—hope of pardon; hope even of a natural and less horrible death; a fond, fearful hope of cutting the keeper’s throat, and escaping from thraldom! How truly the poor murderer deserves our compassion!
What a revolting spectacle this hanging is! Here, however, I confess, the answer is complete—nobody, but the functionaries, is suffered to see it. It is much less of an entertainment, than it was, in the days of George Selwyn, who was in the habit of feeing the keeper of Newgate, for due notice of every execution, and a reservation of the best seat, nearest the gallows. It has been said, that hanging has become more unpopular, since it ceased to be a public amusement. It may be so—I rather doubt it.
In former times, there were very few inexpensive public amusements, in Boston, beside the Thursday lectures; and a hanging has always been highly attractive, in town and country. I well remember, not very many years ago, while riding into the city, in my chaise, having been compelled to halt, and remain at rest, for twenty minutes, in Washington, near Pleasant Street, while the immense mass of men, women and children rushed by, on their way to the execution of an Irishman, which took place at the gallows, near the grave-yard, on the Neck. The prisoner was in an open barouche, dressed in a blue coat and gilt buttons, white waistcoat, drab breeches, and white top boots, and his hair was powdered. He was accompanied by Mr. Larrassy, the Catholic priest, and the physician of the prison.
During the afternoon of July 30, 1794, on the morning of which day the great fire occurred in Boston, three pirates, brought home in irons, on board the brig Betsey, Captain Saunders, belonging to Daniel Sargent, were hung on the Common; and three governors, sitting in their chairs, would not have drawn half the concourse, then and there assembled.