"Let us go and see the poor fellow," said Trueman; "it is but a morning's ride. If he is really so near his end it would be cruel to refuse him." "Not I, truly," said Fantom; "he deserves nothing at my hands but the halter he is likely to meet with. Such port is not to be had for money! and the spoons—part of my new dozen!" "As to the wine," said Trueman, "I am afraid you must give that up, but the only way to get any tidings of the spoons is to go and hear what he has to say; I have no doubt but he will make such a confession as may be very useful to others, which, you know, is one grand advantage of punishments; and, besides, we may afford him some little comfort." "As to comfort, he deserves none from me," said Fantom; "and as to his confessions, they can be of no use to me, but as they give me a chance of getting my spoons; so I do not much care if I do take a ride with you."
When they came to the prison, Mr. Trueman's tender heart sunk within him. He deplored the corrupt nature of man, which makes such rigorous confinement indispensably needful, not merely for the punishment of the offender, but for the safety of society. Fantom, from mere trick and habit, was just preparing a speech on benevolence, and the cruelty of imprisonment; for he had a set of sentiments collected from the new philosophy which he always kept by him. The naming a man in power brought out the ready cut and dried phrase against oppression. The idea of rank included every vice, that of poverty every virtue; and he was furnished with all the invectives against the cruelty of laws, punishments, and prisons, which the new lexicon has produced. But his mechanical benevolence was suddenly checked; the recollection of his old port and his new spoons cooled his ardor, and he went on without saying a word.
When they reached the cell where the unhappy William was confined, they stopped at the door. The poor wretch had thrown himself on the ground, as well as his chains would permit. He groaned piteously, and was so swallowed up with a sense of his own miseries, that he neither heard the door open nor saw the gentlemen. He was attempting to pray, but in an agony which made his words hardly intelligible. Thus much they could make out—"God be merciful to me a sinner, the chief of sinners!" then, suddenly attempting to start up, but prevented by his irons, he roared out, "O, God! thou canst not be merciful to me, for I have denied thee; I have ridiculed my Saviour who died for me; I have broken his laws; I have derided his word; I have resisted his Spirit; I have laughed at that heaven which is shut against me; I have denied the truth of those torments which await me. To-morrow! to-morrow! O for a longer space for repentance! O for a short reprieve from hell!"
Mr. Trueman wept so loud that it drew the attention of the criminal, who now lifted up his eyes, and cast on his late master a look so dreadful that Fantom wished for a moment that he had given up all hope of the spoons, rather than have exposed himself to such a scene. At length the poor wretch said, in a low voice that would have melted a heart of stone, "O, sir, are you there? I did indeed wish to see you before my dreadful sentence is put in execution. O, sir, to-morrow! to-morrow! But I have a confession to make to you." This revived Mr. Fantom, who again ventured to glance a hope at the spoons. "Sir," said William, "I could not die without making my confession." "Ay, and restitution, too, I hope," replied Fantom. "Where are my spoons?" "Sir, they are gone with the rest of my wretched booty. But oh, sir! those spoons make so petty an article in my black account, that I hardly think of them. Murder! sir—murder is the crime for which I am justly doomed to die. O, sir, who can abide the anger of an offended God? Who can dwell with everlasting burnings?" As this was a question which even a philosopher could not answer, Mr. Fantom was going to steal off, especially as he now gave up all hope of the spoons; but William called him back: "Stay, sir, I conjure you, as you will answer it at the bar of God. You must hear the sins of which you have been the occasion. You are the cause of my being about to suffer a shameful death. Yes, sir, you made me a drunkard, a thief, and a murderer." "How dare you, William," cried Mr. Fantom, with great emotion, "accuse me of being the cause of such horrid crimes?" "Sir," answered the criminal, "from you I learned the principles which lead to those crimes. By the grace of God I should never have fallen into sins deserving of the gallows, if I had not overheard you say there was no hereafter, no judgment, no future reckoning. O, sir, there is a hell, dreadful, inconceivable, eternal!" Here, through the excess of anguish, the poor fellow fainted away. Mr. Fantom, who did not at all relish this scene, said to his friend, "Well, sir, we will go, if you please, for you see there is nothing to be done."
"Sir," replied Mr. Trueman, mournfully, "you may go if you please, but I shall stay, for I see there is a great deal to be done." "What!" rejoined the other, "do you think it possible his life can be saved?" "No, indeed," said Trueman, "but I hope it possible his soul may be saved!" "I do not understand these things," said Fantom, making toward the door. "Nor I, neither," said Trueman, "but as a fellow-sinner, I am bound to do what I can for this poor man. Do you go home, Mr. Fantom, and finish your treatise on universal benevolence, and the blessed effects of philosophy; and, hark ye, be sure you let the frontispiece of your book represent William on the gibbet; that will be what our minister calls a practical illustration. You know I hate theories; this is realizing; this is philosophy made easy to the meanest capacity. This is the precious fruit which grows on that darling tree, so many slips of which have been transplanted from that land of liberty of which it is the native, but which, with all your digging, planting, watering, dunging, and dressing, will, I trust, never thrive in this blessed land of ours."
Mr. Fantom sneaked off to finish his work at home, and Mr. Trueman staid to finish his in the prison. He passed the night with the wretched convict; he prayed with him and for him, and read to him the penitential psalms, and some portions of the gospel. But he was too humble and too prudent a man to venture out of his depth by arguments and consolations which he was not warranted to use; this he left for the clergyman—but he pressed on William the great duty of making the only amends now in his power to those whom he had led astray. They then drew up the following paper, which Mr. Trueman got printed, and gave away at the place of execution:
THE LAST WORDS, CONFESSION, AND DYING SPEECH OF WILLIAM WILSON, WHO WAS EXECUTED AT CHELMSFORD, FOR MURDER.
"I was bred up in the fear of God, and lived with credit in many sober families, in which I was a faithful servant; but being tempted by a little higher wages, I left a good place to go and live with Mr. Fantom, who, however, made good none of his fine promises, but proved a hard master. Full of fine words and charitable speeches in favor of the poor; but apt to oppress, overwork, and underpay them. In his service I was not allowed time to go to church. This troubled me at first, till I overheard my master say, that going to church was a superstitious prejudice, and only meant for the vulgar. Upon this I resolved to go no more, for I thought there could not be two religions, one for the master and one for the servant. Finding my master never prayed, I, too, left off praying; this gave Satan great power over me, so that I from that time fell into almost every sin. I was very uneasy at first, and my conscience gave me no rest; but I was soon reconciled by overhearing my master and another gentleman say, that death was only an eternal sleep, and hell and judgment were but an invention of priests to keep the poor in order. I mention this as a warning to all masters and mistresses to take care what they converse about while servants are waiting at table. They can not tell how many souls they have sent to perdition with such loose talk. The crime for which I die is the natural consequence of the principles I learned of my master. A rich man, indeed, who throws off religion, may escape the gallows, because want does not drive him to commit those crimes which lead to it; but what shall restrain a needy man, who has been taught that there is no dreadful reckoning? Honesty is but a dream without the awful sanctions of heaven and hell. Virtue is but a shadow, if it be stripped of the terrors and promises of the gospel. Morality is but an empty name, if it be destitute of the principle and power of Christianity. O, my dear fellow servants! take warning by my sad fate; never be tempted away from a sober service for the sake of a little more wages; never venture your immortal souls to houses where God is not feared. And now hear me, O my God! though I have blasphemed thee! Forgive me, O my Saviour! though I have denied thee! O Lord, most holy! O God, most mighty! deliver me from the bitter pains of eternal death, and receive my soul, for His sake who died for sinners.
"William Wilson."
Mr. Trueman would never leave this poor penitent till he was launched into eternity, but he attended him with the minister in the cart. This pious clergyman never cared to say what he thought of William's state. When Mr. Trueman ventured to mention his hope, that though his penitence was late, yet it was sincere, and spoke of the dying thief on the cross as a ground of encouragement, the minister with a very serious look, made this answer: "Sir, that instance is too often brought forward on occasions to which it does not apply: I do not choose to say any thing to your application of it in the present case, but I will answer you in the words of a good man speaking of the penitent thief: 'There is one such instance given that nobody might despair, and there is but one, that nobody might presume.'"