Augusta, Mississippi, October 29th, 1857.
Mrs. Rebecca Copeland:
My dear Mother—It is with painful feelings indeed, that I attempt writing to you on the present occasion. I take this opportunity, knowing at the same time, that it is the last one of the kind which I shall ever be permitted to enjoy while here on earth. It is long and much that I have suffered while in prison since my first confinement in Mobile county, and yet it seems as though nothing will pay the debt but my life. I have had my trial and was convicted upon a charge of murder, and I have received the awful sentence of death. The sheriff told me to-day, that to-morrow at 2 o’clock I will be hanged, according to the order of court. Oh, my dear mother, what an awful sound is this to reach your ear. Oh, would it could be otherwise; but you are aware that I justly merit the sentence. You are knowing to my being a bad man; and dear mother, had you given me the proper advice when young, I would now perhaps be doing well. It is often I have meditated on this subject since my confinement in prison, and often have I recollected my good old father’s advice when I was young, and repented a thousand times over, with sorrow and regret, that I have failed to receive it as good, benevolent advice. If such a course I had taken, I have no doubt, but what I would be doing well at this time. But it is too late now to talk of things past and gone. The time has come when I shall have to take my departure from this world, and it pains my heart, to know that I have to leave you and my brothers and sisters; and much am I mortified to think how distantly you have treated me while here in prison. Not the first time have you been to see me; but I can freely excuse you for all this, and I do hope you will prepare to meet Jesus in Heaven.
Dear Mother, long has the time been that life was not any satisfaction to me. I am now in the dungeon with the cold and icy bands clasped around me, and cold as clay. Much have I suffered, but after two o’clock to-morrow, my troubles will all be over, or worse than they are at present. This I am not able to tell. I have been preparing to meet my God, praying diligently for mercy and for the pardon of my sins, but I do not know whether my prayers have been heard or not.—The Scriptures say “that the spirit of the Lord shall not always strive with man,” and again say: “he that calls upon the Lord in the last hours shall be saved.” If so, I feel some spark of hope, but I tell you this hope is hanging upon a slender thread.
Dear Mother, it makes the tears trickle down my cold checks to have to pen this statement to you. Dear Mother, I have to close this letter. My heart is overflowed already, so when you receive this, you can keep it as a memorial, and remember that poor Jim is no more on earth; that he has bid you a long farewell.
Dear Mother, it appears as though my heart will break at the very thought of this. Oh, could I but see you once more before my death, it would give my aching heart some relief; but we have to part without this pleasure.
Now my good old Mother, I bid you a long farewell, forever and forever.
JAMES COPELAND.
MYSTIC ALPHABET
Used by the Copeland and Wages Clan, in their secret correspondence and documents.