At the close of a gloomy day, in the last month of the year, the old gentleman seated himself upon a sofa, and prepared to take his evening nap, attended only by a black boy of the name of Diamond. The evening was tempestuous; and between the pauses of the storm, the inmates of the apartment listened once or twice, as they thought they heard approaching footsteps; but the wind shook the ill secured shutters with such violence as to drown all other sounds, until at length they supposed that it was nothing but fancy, or the hollow moaning of the blast.
Giles Blizard was at that period of life when to many the pleasures and luxuries of this world seem sweeter from the certainty that they are drawing near their close, for often, very often, is it that—
“Aged men, full loth and slow,
The vanities of life forego;
And count their youthful follies o’er,
Till mem’ry lends her light no more.”
Thoughts similar to these might float through the brain of the old gentleman, for Giles Blizard was a lover of conviviality, and many a festive scene had those old walls witnessed; but the hands of an antique clock, painted in various devices, pointed to the hour of midnight, and once more adjusting his head, the planter sank to sleep.
The two slaves, the intended murderers, who, through a crack in the shutter, had been watching the movement of their master and his youthful attendant, perceiving by his unaltered position and deep breathing that he slept, and having full proof of the other’s being in that oblivious state from the sound of his nasal organs, quietly took off the shutter, and entered the apartment, armed with a blunderbuss. Placing their hands upon the shoulders of the old gentleman, and holding the deadly weapon to his ear, they demanded where he kept his cash. In vain their victim prayed for mercy—in vain solicited the boon of one short hour to collect his scattered thoughts; the murderers were not to be turned from their fell purpose; the finger was pressed upon the fatal trigger, and the deed was done; the soul of Giles Blizard winged its way to the vast shores of eternity, and the sofa where he laid him down in full confidence of safety was covered with his brains, and blood, and silver hairs.
Shocking as it is to humanity to relate, one of the criminals was the natural son of the old man, who, although he was not the actual murderer, was the instigator of the dreadful act; for when, at his master’s earnest prayer for mercy, the black man seemed to relent, Geoffry (the name of Mr. Blizard’s coloured son) told him to do it at once, and make sure of it, or else he would himself. After the perpetration of this atrocious crime, the murderers placed the blunderbuss upon a table, close to the side of their victim, with a glass of brandy and water near it, supposing that, when discovered, it would be surmised that it was an act of self-destruction; but murder is an offence “that’s rank, it smells to heaven,” and, in most instances, the slayer is discovered. The boy, who really slept upon the entrance of the men, was awakened by the noise; but perceiving the blunderbuss, and hearing the conversation which ensued between his master and his murderers, he became alarmed, and, to ensure his own safety, counterfeited sleep. Upon the morrow’s dawn he hastened to relate the circumstance, and by these means the offenders were brought to justice. They were carried before a magistrate, and condemned to suffer death by decapitation on the following day, which was Christmas-day; but Mr. Rose, the then marshal, got it postponed until the day after, thinking that a greater number of spectators would be present, to whom it would act as a warning. The culprits were taken down to a spot where such scenes were generally performed, and which still goes by the name of Gallows Bay, and there, after being blindfolded, they were bound to the upright post of the gallows, their right hands first struck off, and then their heads. The heads, after being dipped in pitch, were stuck upon spikes, and the hands nailed under them, while their bodies were carried down to the water’s edge, and there burned in a lime-kiln. This, I think, was the last time decapitation was practised in Antigua, although in former years that mode of execution was very frequent; it may be said, perhaps, that it is more dreadful to the sight than pain to the culprit, for a skilful executioner at one stroke would sever the head from the body; but I must say I am very happy that now no whitened skull or distorted features are likely to meet my sight in an evening walk.
The next most remarkable murder committed in Antigua was one in which a young man of good extraction was the unfortunate victim. About the year 1800, Mr. Adam Ogilvie, son to Sir John Ogilvie, arrived in Antigua, to take charge of his father’s property in that island. Young Ogilvie was in the spring of life, for he had not numbered more than twenty years, and all things glittered around him, and presented to his eye a fair and pleasing prospect. But, alas! for man “nought ministers delight but what the glowing passions can engage;” drawn by that alluring goddess, Pleasure, who hides beneath a smiling mask her haggard and distorted visage, Mr. Ogilvie was led into a train of debauchery, and, among other excesses, formed an illicit connexion with a female named Molly belonging to the property. To this female might justly be applied the hackneyed sentence, “Frailty, thy name is woman!” for during this intercourse with her master, she proved enceinte by one of the servants, a boy of the name of “Martin;” and fearing a disclosure of her infamy, and not willing to give up her favoured suitor, she, in conjunction with him and two other slaves upon the property, planned the murder of her unfortunate master. During the residence of Mr. Ogilvie upon the estate, he thought proper to have some of the negroes punished for various offences committed by them, among whom were the accomplices of Martin and Molly, and this was one cause of their so readily joining them in their diabolical scheme.
On the night chosen for the execution of their design, Mr. Ogilvie retired early to-bed, and soon tasted that sweet restorer—balmy sleep. His murderers, after waiting a sufficient time to assure themselves of the fact, proceeded in a body to his apartment, attended by the wicked, heartless Molly, bearing a candle and lanthorn in her hand, for the purpose of giving light to the men while in performance of their demoniacal office of strangling Mr. Ogilvie. Upon gaining the bedside of their sleeping victim, who, unconscious of his fate, perhaps some
“Fantastic measure trod o’er fairy fields,”
or else dreamt of health, long life and honours, all alas! fated to exist but in the brain—the murderous party sprang upon him, and as a refinement in cruelty, awoke him, and with many imprecations, informed him that for his ill conduct, they were come for the purpose of taking his life. Death is common to all; but then to die by violent hands in the midst of health and vigour; to be so rudely awakened from an earthly slumber, so soon to be consigned to that last long sleep, which all must do,