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.