No. LXXX.
At this period, about seven years after the disappearance of Russell Colvin, a lad, walking near the house of Barney Boorn, was attracted, by the movements of a dog, that seemed to have discovered some object of interest, near the stump of an ancient tree, upon the banks of the Battenkill river. This stump was about sixty rods from the hole, in which, upon the suggestion of the ghost, the uncle of the Boorns, and his curious neighbors had sought for the body of Colvin. The lad examined the stump, and discovered the cavity to be filled with bones!
Had the magnetic been then in operation, the tidings could not have been telegraphed more speedily. The affair was definitively settled—the bones of Colvin were discovered; and the ghost appeared to have been only sixty rods out of the way, after all. Murder will find a tongue. Manchester found thousands. The village was on fire. Young men and maidens, old men and children came forth, to gaze upon the bones of the murdered Colvin; and to praise the Lord, for this providential discovery! Whatever the value of it might be—the merit seemed clearly to belong, in equal moieties, to the dog and the ghost.
How prone we are—the children of this generation—to reason upon the philosophy, before we weigh the fish! This was a case, if there ever was a case, for the recognition of the principle, cuique in sua arte credendum est. Accordingly the medical magi of Manchester and of its highly excited neighborhood were summoned, to sit in judgment, upon these bones. The question was not—“can these dry bones live?”—but are they the bones of the murdered Colvin? One, thoughtful practitioner believed there was a previous question, entitled to some little consideration—are these bones the bones of a man, or of a beast? Never were scruples more entirely out of place. Imagine the indignation of the good people of Manchester, at the bare suggestion, that they had wasted so much excellent sympathy, upon the bones, peradventure, of a horse or a heifer!
The doubter, as might have been expected, stood alone: but he sturdily persisted. The regular faculty, with the eyes of their well-persuaded patients riveted, encouragingly, upon theirs, expressed their clear conviction, that the bones were human bones, and, if human bones, whose—aye whose—but the murdered Colvin’s! This gave universal satisfaction, of course.
It was evident, that some of these bones had been broken and pounded—the quantity was small, for an entire skeleton—some few bones had been found, beneath a barn, belonging to the father of the Boorns, which had been, previously, consumed by fire—and some persons may have supposed, that the murderers, having deposited the dead body there, had destroyed the barn, to conceal their crime—and, finding a part of the body unconsumed, after the conflagration, had deposited that part, in the hollow stump, to be disposed of, at some future moment of convenience.
A very plausible theory, beyond all doubt. But the doubting doctor continued to turn over these bones, with an air of provoking unbelief; now and then, perhaps, holding aloft, in significant silence, the fragment of a cranium, of remarkably sheepish proportions.
This was not to be endured. Anatomical knowledge appears not to have made uncommon strides, in that region, in 1819; for, when it was finally decided to compare these bones with those of the human body, there actually seems to have been nothing in that region, which would serve the purpose of the faculty, but the leg of a citizen, long before amputated, and committed to the earth. I will here adopt the words of the Rev. Mr. Haynes—“A Mr. Salisbury, about four years ago, had his leg amputated, which was buried, at the distance of four or five miles. The limb was dug up, and, by comparing, it was universally determined that the bones were not human.” This was a severe disappointment, undoubtedly; but not absolutely total: for two nails, or something, in the image thereof, were found, amid the mass, which nails, says Mr. Haynes, “were human, and so appeared to all beholders.”
Let us now turn to the murderers, or rather to Jesse, for Stephen was two hundred miles away, entirely unsuspicious of the gathering cloud, which was destined, ere long, to burst upon his devoted head.
When the discovery of these bones had excited the feelings and suspicions of the people, to the utmost, it was deemed proper to take Jesse into custody. An examination took place, on Tuesday, May 27, 1819, and continued, till the following Saturday. This examination was conducted, in the meeting-house, as it appears, from the testimony of Truman Hill, upon the subsequent trial; who says of Jesse, that—“when the knife was presented to him, in the meeting-house, and also when the hat was presented to him, his feelings were such, as to oblige him to take hold of the pew, to steady himself—he appeared to be much agitated—I asked him what was the matter—he answered there was matter enough—I asked him to state—he said he feared, that Stephen had killed Colvin—that he never believed so, till the spring or winter, when he went into William Boorn’s shop, where were William and Stephen Boorn—at which time he gained a knowledge of the manner of Colvin’s death; and that he thought he knew, within a few rods, where Colvin was buried.”
Such was the evidence of Truman Hill, upon the trial; and he related the facts, very naturally, at the time, to his neighbors. The statement was considered, by the community, as tantamount to a confession. At this time, the examination of Jesse Boorn had nearly closed—no ground for detention appeared against him—the bones, discovered in the stump, were acknowledged to have belonged to some brute animal—it was the general opinion, that Jesse should be released; when this declaration of his to Truman Hill, turned the tide of popular sentiment entirely; and Jesse Boorn was remanded to prison.
Truman Hill was the jailer; or, in his own conservative phraseology, he “kept the keys of the prison.” Jailers are rather apt to look upon their prisoners, as great curiosities, in proportion to the crimes, with which they are charged, and themselves as showmen. Most men are sufficiently willing to be distinguished, for something or other:—to see Jesse Boorn—to catechise the wretched man—to set before him the fear of death, and the hope of pardon—to beg him to confess—nothing but the truth, of course—these were privileges—favors—and Truman Hill had the power of granting them. Thus he says—he “let in” Mr. Johnson; and, when Mr. Johnson came out, he went in himself, and found Jesse “in great agitation”—and then he, himself, urged Jesse to confess—the truth of course—if he said anything—assuring him, that every falsehood he told, would sink him deeper in trouble. It must have been evident to the mind of Jesse, that a confession of the murder would be particularly agreeable to the public, and that a continued protestation of his innocence would disappoint the reasonable expectations of his fellow-citizens.
Jesse confessed to Judge Skinner, that Stephen had, probably, buried Colvin’s body in the mountain; and that the knife, found with the button, in the hole, indicated to his uncle by the ghost, was, doubtless, Colvin’s; for he had often seen Colvin’s mother use it, to cut her tobacco. Judge Skinner and Jesse took an edifying walk up the mountain, in search of the body—they did not find it, which is very surprising.
About the middle of the month of May, 1819, Mr. Orange Clark, a neighbor of Stephen Boorn, in the town of Denmark, some two hundred miles from Manchester, entered his dwelling, in the evening. He took a chair, and commenced a friendly conversation with Stephen and his wife—for Stephen had married a wife—the sharer of all his sorrows—his joys, probably, were few, and far between, and not worth the partition. Shortly after, a Mr. Hooper, another neighbor, dropped in. He had scarcely taken his seat, before another entered the apartment, Mr. Sylvester, the innkeeper, who, upon some grave testimony, then recently imported into Denmark, had arrived at the solemn conclusion, that there was something rotten there.
Stephen and his helpmate were, doubtless, somewhat surprised, at this unusual gathering, in their humble dwelling. Their surprise was greatly increased, of course, by the appearance, almost immediately after, of Messieurs Anderson and Raymond, worthy men of Manchester. If the ghost of Russell Colvin had stalked in, after them, Stephen Boorn could not have been more astonished, than he was, when he beheld, closing up the rear of all this goodly company—no less a personage, than Captain Truman Hill, the jailer of Manchester—the gentleman, I mean, who “kept the keys of the prison.”
To Stephen there must have been something not wholly incomprehensible in this. His ill-starred partner was not long left in doubt. The very glances of the party were of evil omen. Their business was soon declared. The gentleman, that kept the keys, kept also the handcuffs. They were speedily produced. Stephen Boorn must go back to the place, from whence he came—and from thence—so opined the men, women and children of Manchester—to the place of execution. But, when the process commenced, of putting the irons upon that wretched man—the poor woman—the wife of his bosom—for he had a bosom, and a human heart therein, full of tenderness, as the sequel will demonstrate, for her; however inconceivable to the gentleman, that “kept the keys”—and to those learned judges, who, in the very teeth, and in utter contempt, of the law, so clearly laid down by Sir Matthew Hale, of glorious memory, would have hanged this miserable man, but for the signal Providence of Almighty God—this poor woman was completely overwhelmed with agony.
The estimate of many things, in this nether world, is a vastly relative affair. That, which would be in excellent taste, among a people, without refinement, however moral, will frequently appear to the enlightened portion of mankind, as absolutely barbarous.
The idea of allaying the anguish of a wife, produced by the forcible removal of her husband, in chains, on a charge of murder, by making her presents, hurries one’s imagination to the land of the Hottentots, or of the Caffres; where the loss of a child is sometimes forgotten, in the contemplation of a few glass beads—and no consolation proves so effectual for the loss of wife, as a nail or a hatchet.
And yet it is impossible—and it ought to be—to read the short and simple statement of that good man, the Rev. Mr. Haynes, without emotion—“The surprise and distress of Mrs. Boorn, on this occasion, are not easily described: they excited the compassion of those, who came to take away her husband; and they made her some presents.”
“The prisoner,” continues Mr. Haynes, “was put in irons, and brought to Manchester, on the 15th of May. He peremptorily asserted his innocence, and declared he knew nothing about the murder of his brother-in-law. The prisoners were kept apart, for a time. They were afterwards confined in one room. Stephen denied the evidence, brought against him by Jesse, and treated him with severity.”
These men, imprisoned in May, 1819, were not tried, until October of that year. The evidence, upon which they were convicted of murder, in the first degree, lies now before me, certified up to the General Assembly of the State of Vermont, upon their request, by Judge Dudley Chace, Nov. 11, 1819. Let us now turn from on dits, and dreams, and ghosts, and doubtful relics, to the duly certified testimony, upon which these men were sentenced to be hung.