"Oh, sho, Walley! I doesn't say nuffin' 't all afore dem, 'cause you see 'taint right to give de back answer to de ministers; but dey's league 'long o' de oders, Walley! Dey's league 'long o' de oders. Can't scare dis chile wid no sich! Tell you, Walley, dead nigger ain't no use, but dead expense! So what de use o' hanging of him? Sho!"
This interjection usually finished the argument.
The day of execution approached. Valentine divided his time between preparation for death, interviews with his family and friends, and the composition of an address that he wished to deliver upon the scaffold. This address embodied a great portion of Valentine's life—experiences, as they are already known to the reader. When it was finished in manuscript, it was submitted to the perusal of the attendant clergymen. Some among them warmly approved the address, and declared it to be the most eloquent appeal they had ever met. Others reserved their opinion for the time, and afterward asserted that it was the most powerful sermon that they had ever seen or heard.
The day before the execution came. And now I must inform you that it is to "Sister Dely" I am indebted for the report of the scenes that occurred in her presence in the condemned cell that day. Dely had obtained leave from her mistress, Mrs. Hewitt, to go to the prison, to take leave of her Valentine.
It was about ten o'clock, on Thursday, the 23d of December, when she reached the city. All the town was preparing for Christmas. When she entered the condemned cell, she found no one there except the two prisoners. There were two cot bedsteads at opposite sides of the cell, and one small iron stove against the wall, between the beds, and directly opposite the door by which she entered.
On her right hand, as she came in, sat Governor upon his cot, watching, with lazy interest, the employment of his fellow-prisoner, which, in sooth, was strange enough for one of his position.
Valentine was standing at the little table, and engaged in ironing out a cravat, while on the cot near him lay spread out a shirt just ironed, a satin vest, newly pressed, and a full suit of black broadcloth, well brushed.
And Dely knew at a glance that the poor fellow, true to his habits of neatness to the last, was preparing to present a proper appearance upon the scaffold.
"Was there no one to do that for you, Valentine?" said Dely, after her first greeting.
"No, child, there was not. Mother and poor Fannie are in too much trouble to think of such a thing."