Being seized with the fever for modern improvement, the legislature of a certain state in the South some years ago voted for the installation of the electric chair. At the same time the lawgivers tacked on a provision to the effect that no newspaper might publish the details of an electrocution but, on the contrary, should go no farther than to state that on such a date, at such and such an hour, the execution of the law was carried out upon the body of John Doe or Richard Roe, as the case might be, the purpose of this being to invest the entire proceeding with a mystery in the minds of those individuals most likely to come within the scope of its operations.
The first candidate for these lethal attentions in a remote county chanced to be a large, brawny negro. In passing sentence upon him the judge followed, in the main, the old and time-honored formula, merely altering it somewhat to conform to the new conditions. After reviewing the crime and the trial, His Honor spoke substantially as follows:
“It is the duty, therefore, of this court to charge that the warden of the state penitentiary shall closely hold you in confinement until the twenty-first day of August, next, when between the hours of sunrise and sunset he shall put you to death by the electric chair—and may God have mercy on your soul! Mr. Sheriff, remove the prisoner.”
The sheriff took the condemned man away. Overnight, pending his removal to the place of execution, he was lodged in his old cell in the county jail. He sent a message to the commonwealth’s attorney who had prosecuted him, asking that he might see that official immediately. The commonwealth’s attorney went to the jail. The doomed darky was sitting on his cot with his face in his hands rocking himself back and forth while the tears trickled through his fingers.
“Mr. Corbett,” he said, “I craves to ax a dyin’ favor of you, please suh?”
“Well, Jake,” said the attorney, “I’d do anything in my power, almost, to ease your mind. But if you are after a pardon or a reprieve I can’t see my way clear to helping you. You killed that man in cold blood and you had a fair trial and you’ve got to die and, what’s more, you’ve got to die on the date this judge has named.”
“ ’Tain’t dat, suh,” bewailed Jake, “I ain’t got no quarrel wid de date. I kin git all my worldly affairs settled up ’twixt now an’ den an’ mek my peace wid de Lawd, lakwise. But, Mr. Corbett,”—and here his voice broke sharply—“I p’intedly does hate to be settin’ in dat dere cheer f’um sunrise plum’ till sunset.”
§ 101 The Perils of Pranking
There was a homicide trial going on in the mountains of West Virginia. A lanky native took the stand to testify to the good character and peaceful disposition of the prisoner at the bar. When he had given the accused a glowing testimonial the prosecuting attorney took him in hand for cross-examination.
“Look here,” he demanded: “isn’t that the mark of an old knife cut you’ve got across the lobe of your left ear?”