“I wanted to see you,” said Peace after a few moments, to unburden my mind to you. I know I am about to die, and I want to take from my conscience some things which weigh heavy upon it, but before I begin I want to ask you—do you believe I am anxious to speak the truth, and nothing but the truth?” He paused for a minute, and Mr. Littlewood also waited.
Peace then resumed: “I know, sir, I am about to meet my God. I know that He will hear all that I now say in my cell, and that He will require me to give an account not only of what I have done, but of what I am now telling you. Do you believe me?”
Mr. Littlewood intimated that he would, but Peace did not seem satisfied with this, and pressing his face as close to the grating as he could, he said earnestly, “I do assure you, sir, I want to utter nothing but the truth and the whole truth in everything I say.”
The convict paused again, and repeated the question in a firmer tone, as if he was determined not to proceed until he was assured that Mr. Littlewood had thorough confidence that he desired to speak the truth.
Mr. Littlewood looked at him carefully, observed his manner very closely, and states that from his experience as a prison chaplain in Wakefield, having had to do with criminals of the deepest dye for many years, his own conviction was that the convict really was in earnest, and as sincere as any man could be.
Peace waited during all this trying time until Mr. Littlewood at last said, “Yes, Peace, I believe you are sincere, and desire to speak the truth. No matter how bad you are or have been, I cannot conceive it possible that any human being in your terrible position could deliberately lie and confirm those lies, knowing that your Creator and Judge is conscious of all you say, and that you will have to give an account of all you utter.”
Peace seemed relieved at what Mr. Littlewood said, and after waiting a little he said, “You know, sir, I have nothing to gain and nothing to lose in my present position. I know I shall be hanged next Tuesday. I desire to be hanged. I do not want to linger out my life in penal servitude. I would rather end my days on Tuesday than have that dreadful looking forward to all those years, but I do want as far as I can to atone in some measure for the past by telling all I know to some one in whom I have confidence,” and he added, looking up earnestly into Mr. Littlewood’s eyes, “I have perfect confidence in you.”
Proceeding, Peace said, “I am exceeding grieved and repentant for all my past life, and if I could only undo anything I have done, or make amends for it in any possible way I would”—and he spoke very firmly, “I would suffer my body as I now stand to be cut in pieces inch by inch.” He then turned again to Mr. Littlewood, evidently to see what effect his words had upon him, and as the rev. gentleman made no response he asked him again, sharply and firmly, but yet somewhat pleadingly, “Do you really think, sir, I am speaking the truth?”
Mr. Littlewood again assured him that he believed him, and then Peace continued, in lower and mournful tones: “I feel, sir,” and he raised his hands wearily, “I feel, sir, that I am too bad either to live or to die, and having this feeling I cannot think that either you or anyone else will believe me, and that is the reason why I ask you so much to try and be assured that you do not think I am telling lies. I call my God to witness that all I am saying and wish to say shall be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.”
Mr. Littlewood says that at this moment Peace talked with all the earnestness of a judge, and repeated these words with a deliberate solemnity which greatly impressed him. As he spoke he turned not only to Mr. Littlewood, but motioned also towards the warders, as if he were invoking God in the presence of them as witnesses. He was not at all excited, but spoke most rationally and coherently.