No. LXXXII.
Sentenced, on the last day of October, 1819, to be hung, on the 28th of January following, the Boorns were remanded to their prison, and put in irons.
From this period, their most authentic and interesting prison history is obtained, from the written statement of the clergyman, who appears to have performed his sacred functions, in regard to these men, with singular fidelity and propriety. This clergyman, the Rev. Lemuel Haynes, belonged to that class of human beings, commonly denominated colored people—a term, to which I have always sturdily objected, because drunkards, who are often a highly-colored people, may thus be confounded with temperate and respectable men of African descent.
[2]Mr. Haynes was, in part, of African parentage; and the author of the narrative, and occasional sermon, to which I have referred, at the commencement of these articles. There flourished, in this city, some five and thirty years ago, a number of very respectable, negro musicians, associated, as a band; and Major Russell, the editor of the Centinel, was in the habit of distinguishing the music, by the color of the performers. He frequently remarked, in his journal, that the “black music” was excellent. If this phraseology be allowable, I cannot deny, that the black, or colored, narrative of Mr. Haynes is very interesting; and that I have seldom read a black or colored discourse, with more satisfaction; and that I have read many a white one, with infinitely less.
Previously to their trial, and after the arrest of Stephen, the Rev. Mr. Haynes expressly states, that Jesse, having had an interview with Stephen, positively denied his own former statement, that Stephen had admitted he killed Colvin. These are the words of Mr. Haynes—“During the interval, the writer frequently visited them, in his official capacity; and did not discover any symptoms of compunction; but they persisted, in declaring their innocence, with appeals to Heaven. Stephen, at times, appeared absorbed in passion and impatience. One day, I introduced the example of Christ, under sufferings, as a pattern, worthy of imitation: he exclaimed—‘I am as innocent, as Jesus Christ!’ for which extravagant expression I reproved him: he replied—‘I don’t mean I am guiltless, as he was, I know I am a great sinner; but I am as innocent of killing Colvin, as he was.’”
The condition of the Boorns, immediately after sentence, cannot be more forcibly exhibited, than in the language of this worthy clergyman—“None can express the confusion and anguish, into which the prisoners were cast, on hearing their doom. They requested, by their counsel, liberty to speak, which was granted. In sighs and broken accents, they asserted their innocence. The convulsion of nature, attending Stephen, at last, was so great, as to render him unable to walk, and he was supported to the prison.”
Compassion was excited, in the hearts of some—doubts, peradventure, in the minds of others. A petition was presented to the General Assembly; and the punishment of Jesse was changed to imprisonment, for life. Ninety-seven deadly noes, against forty-two merciful ayes, decided the fate of Stephen.
On the 29th of October, 1819, Jesse bade Stephen a last farewell; and was transferred to the State prison, at Windsor.
“I visited him—Stephen”—says Mr. Haynes, “frequently, with sympathy and grief; and endeavored to turn his mind upon the things of another world; telling him, that, as all human means had failed, he must look to God, as the only way of deliverance. I advised him to read the Holy Scriptures; to which he consented, if he could be allowed a candle, as his cell was dark. This request was granted; and I often found him reading. He was at times calm, and again impatient.”
Upon another occasion, still nearer the day of the prisoner’s doom—“the last of earth”—Mr. Haynes remarks, that Stephen addressed him thus—“‘Mr. Haynes, I see no way but I must die: everything works against me; but I am an innocent man: this you will know, after I am dead.’ He burst into a flood of tears, and said—‘What will become of my poor wife and children; they are in needy circumstances; and I love them better than life itself.’—I told him, God would take care of them. He replied—‘I don’t want to die. I wish they would let me live, even in this situation, somewhat longer: perhaps something will take place, that will convince people I am innocent.’ I was about to leave the prison, when he said—‘will you pray with me?’—He arose with his heavy chains on his hands and legs, being also chained down to the floor, and stood on his feet, with deep and bitter sighings.”
On the 26th day of November, 1819—two brief months before the time, appointed, for the execution of Stephen Boorn, the following notice appeared in the Rutland Herald—“Murder.—Printers of Newspapers, throughout the United States, are desired to publish, that Stephen Boorn of Manchester, in Vermont, is sentenced to be executed for the murder of Russell Colvin, who has been absent about seven years. Any person, who can give information of said Colvin, may save the life of the innocent, by making immediate communication. Colvin is about five feet five inches high, light complexion, light hair, blue eyes, about forty years of age. Manchester, Vt., Nov. 26, 1819.”
This notice, published by request of the prisoner, was, doubtless, prepared, by one of his counsel:—by whomsoever prepared, it bears, in its very structure, unmistakable evidence of the writer’s entire confidence, in the innocency, of Stephen Boorn, of the murder of Russell Colvin. No man, who had a doubt upon his mind, could have put these words together, in the very places, where they stand. Had it been otherwise, some little hesitancy of expression—some conservative syllable—one little if, ex abundanti cautela, to shelter the writer from the charge of a most miserably weak and merciful credulity, would have characterized this last appeal—this short, shrill cry for mercy—as the work of a doubter, and a hireling.
There may have been a few, whose strong confidence, in the bloodguiltiness of Stephen Boorn, had become slightly paralyzed, by his entire and absolute retractation of all his confessions, made before trial. There may have been a few, who believe, that they, themselves, might have confessed, though innocent, in the same predicament—assured by the squires, the magnates of the village, whom they supposed powerful to save, that no doubt existed of their guilt—that they were gone geese—and who proffered an effort in their favor—to save them from the gallows—if they would confess the truth, which truth could, of course, be nothing, but their guilt. If they would confess a crime, though innocent, they might still live! If not, they must be deemed liars, and murderers, and die the death!
The prisoner, Stephen Boorn, even supposing him to be innocent, but of humble station in society, and of ordinary mental powers—oppressed by the chains he wore, and, more heavily, by the dread of death—clinging to life—not only because it is written, by the finger of God, in the members of man, that all a man hath will be given for his life—but because, as the statement of Mr. Haynes convincingly shows, poor degraded outcast as Stephen was, he was deeply and tenderly attached to his wife and children—might well fall under the temptation, so censurably spread before him.
There may have been a few, who were compelled to doubt, if Stephen were a murderer, upon hearing the simple narrative, spread through the village, by the worthy clergyman, of the fervent and awful declaration of Stephen Boorn, in a moment of deep and energetic misery—“I am as innocent of the murder of Russell Colvin, as Jesus Christ.”
But the strong current of popular indignation ran, overwhelmingly, against him. By a large number, the brief notice, published in the Rutland Herald, was, undoubtedly, accounted a mere personal, or professional attempt, to produce an impression of the murderer’s innocence, in the hope of commutation, or of pardon—and, with many, it certainly tended to confirm the prejudice against him. Days of unutterable anguish were succeeded, by nights of frightful slumber. The cell was feebly lighted, by the taper allowed him—with unpractised fingers, the prisoner turned over the pages of God’s holy word—but a kind, faithful guide was at his elbow—the voice of fervent prayer, amid the occasional clanking of the prisoner’s fetters, went up to that infallible ear, that is ever ready to hear.—The Judicial power had consigned this victim to the gallows—the general sense had decided, that Stephen Boorn ought not to live—to prepare him to die was the only remaining office, for the man of God.