CHARLES WARREN, THE SHERIFF

I have seen twenty men hanged, hung myself

Two in this jail, with whom I talked the night

Before they had the rope, knotted behind

The ear to break the neck. These two I hanged,

One guilty and defiant, taking chops,

Four cups of coffee just an hour before

We swung him off; the other trembling, pale,

Protesting innocence, but guilty too —

Both wore the same look in the middle watch.

I tell you what it is: You take a steer,

And windlass him to where the butcher stands

With hammer ready for the blow and knife

To slit the throat after the hammer falls,

Well, there's a moment when the steer is standing

Head, neck strained side-ways, eyes rolled side-ways too,

Fixed, bright seen this way, but another way

A film seems spreading on them. That's the look.

They wear a corpse-like pallor, and their tongues

Are loose, sprawl in their mouths, lie paralyzed

Against their teeth, or fall back in their throats

Which make them cough and stop for words and close

Dry lips with little pops.

There's something else:

Their minds are out of them, like a rubber band

Stretched from the place it's pinned, about to break.

And all the time they try to draw it back,

And give it utterance with that sprawling tongue,

And lips too dry for words. They hold it tight

As a woman giving birth holds to the sheet

Tied to the bed's head, pulls the sheet to end

The agony and the reluctance of the child

That pauses, dreads to enter in this world.

So was it with Fred Taylor. But before

The high Court shook his hope, he talked to me

Freely and fully, saying many times

What could the world expect of him beside

Some violence or murder? He had borrowed

The books his lawyers used to fight for him,

And read for hours and days about heredity.

And in our talks he said: mix red and violet,

You have the color purple. Strike two notes,

You have a certain chord, and nature made me

By rules as mathematical as they use

In mixing drugs or gases. Then he'd say:

Look at this table, and he'd show to me

A diagram of chickens, how blue fowls

Come from a cross of black with one of white

With black splashed feathers. Look at the blues, he'd say.

They mate, and of four chickens, two are blue,

And one is black and one is white. These blues

Produce in that proportion. But the black

And white have chickens white and black, you see

In equal numbers. Do n't you see that I

Was caught in mathematics, jotted down

Upon a slate before I came to earth?

They could have picked my forbears; on a slate

Forecast my soul, its tendencies, if they

Had been that devilish. And so he talked.

Well, then he heard that Elenor Murray died,

And told me that her grandmother, that woman

Known for her queerness and her lively soul

To eighty years and more, was grandmother

To his father, and this Elenor Murray cousin

To his father. There you have it, he exclaimed,

She killed herself, and I know why, he said

She loved someone. This love is in our blood,

And overflows, or spurts between the logs

You dam it with, or fully stayed grows green

With summer scum, breeds frogs and spotted snakes.

He was a study and I studied him.

I'd sit beside his cell and read some words

From his confession, ask why did you this?

His crime was monstrous, but he won me over.

I wished to help the boy, for boy he was

Just nineteen, and I pitied him. At last

His story seemed as clear as when you see

The truth behind poor words that say as much

As words can say — you see, you get the truth

And know it, even if you never pass

The truth to others.

Lord! This girl he killed

Knew not the power she played with. Why she sat

Like a child upon the asp's nest picking flowers.

Or as a child will pet a mad dog. Look

You come into my life, what do you bring?

Why, everything that made your life, all pains,

All raptures, disappointments, wisdom learned

You bring to me. But do you show them, no!

You hide them maybe, some of them, and leave

Myself to learn you by the hardest means,

And bing! A something in you, or in me,

Out of a past explodes, or better still

Extends a claw from out the buttoned coat

And rips a face.

So this poor girl was killed,

And by an innocent coquetry evoked

The claw that tore her breast away.

One day

As I passed by his cell I stopped and sat.

What was the first thing entering in your mind

From which you trace your act? And he said: “Well

Almost from the beginning all my mind

Was on her from the moment I awaked

Until I slept, and often I awoke

At two or three o'clock with thoughts of her.

And through the day I thought of nothing else;

Sometimes I could not eat. At school my thought

Stretched out of me to her, could not be pulled

Back to the lesson. I could read a page

As it were Greek, not understand a word.

But just the moment I was with her then

My soul re-entered me, I was at peace,

And happy, oh so happy! In the days

When we were separated my unrest

Took this form: that I must be with her, or

If that could not be, then some other place

Was better than the place I was — I strained,

Lived in a constant strain, found no content

With anything or place, could find no peace

Except with her.”

“Right from the first I had

Two minds, two hearts concerning her, and one

Was confidence, and one was doubt, one love,

One hatred. And one purpose was to serve her,

Guard her and care for her, one said destroy,

Ruin or kill her. Sitting by her side,

Except as I shall say I loved her, trusted her,

Away from her, I doubted her and hated her.

But at the dances when I saw her smile

Up at another man, the storming blood

Roared in my brain for wondering about

The words they said. He might be holding her

Too close to him; or as I watched I saw

His knee indent her skirt between her knees,

That might be when she smiled. Then going home

I'd ask her what he said. She'd only smile

And keep a silence that I could not open

With any pry of questions.”

“Well, we quarreled,

About this boy she danced with. So I said:

I'll leave her, never see her, I'll go find

Another girl, forget her. Sunday next

I saw her driving with this fellow. I

Was walking in the road, they passed me laughing,

She turned about and waved her hand at me.

That night I lay awake and tossed and thought:

Where are they now? What are they doing now?

He's kissing her upon the lips I've kissed,

Or worse, perhaps, I have been fooled, she lies

Within his arms and gives him what for love

I never asked her, never dared to ask.”

This brought Fred Taylor's story to the murder,

In point of madness, anyway. Some business

Broke in our visit here. Another time

I sat with him and questioned him again

About the night he killed her.

“Well,” he said,

“I told you that we quarreled. So I fought

To free myself of thought of her — no use.

I tried another girl, it would n't work.

For at the dance I took this girl to, I

Saw Gertrude with this fellow, and the madness

Came over me in blackness, hurricanes,

Until I found myself in front of her,

Where she was seated, asking for a dance.

She smiled and rose and danced with me. And then

As the dance ended, May I come to see you,

I'm sorry for my words, came from my tongue,

In spite of will. She laughed and said to me:

‘ If you'll behave yourself.’”

“I went to see her,

But came away more wretched than I went.

She seemed to have sweet secrets, in her silence

And eyes too calm the secrets hid themselves.

At first I could not summon up the strength

To ask her questions, but at last I did.

And then she only shook her head and laughed,

And spoke of something else. She had a way

Of mixing up the subjects, till my mind

Forgot the very thing I wished to know,

Or dulled its edges so, if I remembered

I could not ask it so to bring the answer

I wished from her. I came away so weak

I scarce could walk, fell into sleep at once,

But woke at three o'clock, and could not sleep.”

“Before this quarrel we had been engaged

And at this evening's end I brought it up:

‘ What shall we do? Are you engaged to me?

Will you renew it?’ And she said to me:

‘ We still are young, it's better to be free.

Let's play and dance. Be gay, for if you will

I'll go with you, but when you're gloomy, dear,

You are not company for a girl.’”

“Dear me!

Here was I five feet nine, and could have crushed

Her little body with my giant arms.

And yet in strength that counts, the mind that moves

The body, but much more can move itself,

And other minds, she was a spirit power,

And I but just a derrick slowly swung

By an engine smaller, noisy with its chug,

And cloudy with its smoke bituminous.

That night, however, she engaged to go

To dance with me a week hence. But meanwhile

The hellish thing comes, on the morning after.

Thus chum of mine, who testified, John Luce

Came to me with the story that this man

That Gertrude danced with, told him — O my God —

That Gertrude hinted she would come across,

Give him the final bliss. That was the proof

They brought out in the trial, as you know.

The fellow said it, damn him — whether she

Made such a promise, who knows? Would to God

I knew before you hang me. There I stood

And heard this story, felt my arteries

Lock as you'd let canal gates down, my heart

Beat for deliverance from the bolted streams.

That night I could not sleep, but found a book,

Just think of this for fate! Under my eyes

There comes an ancient story out of Egypt:

Thyamis fearing he would die and lose

The lovely Chariclea, strikes her dead,

Then kills himself, some thousands of years ago.

It's all forgotten now, I say to self,

Who cares, what matters it, the thing was done

And served its end. The story stuck with me.

But the next night and the next night I stole out

To spy on Gertrude, by the path in the grass

Lay for long hours. And on the third night saw

At half-past eight or nine this fellow come

And take her walking in the darkness — where?

I could have touched them as they walked the path,

But could not follow for the moon which rose.

Besides I lost them.”

“Well, the time approached

Of the dance, and still I brooded, then resolved.

My hatred now was level with the cauldron,

With bubbles crackling. So the spade I took,

Hidden beneath the seat may show forethought,

They caught the jury with that argument,

And forethought does it show, but who made me

To have such forethought?”

“Then I called for her

And took her to the dance. I was most gay,

Because the load was lifted from my mind,

And I had found relief. And so we danced.

And she danced with this fellow. I was calm,

Believed somehow he had not had her yet.

And if his knee touched hers — why let it go.

Nothing beyond shall happen, even this

Shall not be any more.”

“We started home.

Before we reached that clump of woods I asked her

If she would marry me. She laughed at me.

I asked her if she loved that other man.

She said you are a silly boy, and laughed.

And then I asked her if she'd marry me,

And if she would not, why she would not do it.

We came up to the woods and she was silent,

I could not make her speak. I stopped the horse.

She sat all quiet, I could see her face

Under the brilliance of the moon. I saw

A thin smile on her face — and then I struck her,

And from the floor grabbed up the iron wrench,

And struck her, took her out and laid her down,

And did what was too horrible, they say,

To do and keep my life. To finish up

I reached back for the iron wrench, first felt

Her breast to find her heart, no use of wrench,

She was already dead. I took the spade,

Scraped off the leaves between two trees and dug,

And buried her and said:‘ My Chariclea

No man shall have you.’ Then I drove till morning,

And after some days reached Missouri, where

They caught me.”

So Fred Taylor told me all,

Filled in the full confession that he made,

And which they used in court, with looks and words,

Scarce to be reproduced; but to the last

He said the mathematics of his birth

Accounted for his deed.

Is it not true?

If you resolved the question that the jury

Resolved, did he know right from wrong, did he

Know what he did, the jury answered truly

To give the rope to him. Or if you say

These mathematics may be true, and still

A man like that is better out of way,

And saying so become the very spirit,

And reason which slew Gertrude, disregarding

The devil of heredity which clutched him,

As he put by the reason we obey,

It may be well enough, I do not know.

Now for last night before this morning fixed

To swing him off. His lawyers went to see

The governor to win reprieval, perhaps

A commutation. I could see his eyes

Had two lights in them; one was like a lantern

With the globe greased, which showed he could not see

Himself in death tomorrow — what is that

In the soul that cannot see itself in death?

No to-morrow, continuation, the wall, the end!

And yet this very smear upon the globe

Was death's half fleshless hand which rubbed across

His senses and his hope. The other light

Was weirdly bright for terror, expectation

Of good news from the governor.

For his lawyers

Were in these hours petitioning. He would ask:

“No news? No word? What is the time?” His tongue

Would fall back in his throat, we saw the strain

Of his stretched soul. He'd sit upon his couch

Hands clasped, head down. Arise and hold the bars,

Himself fling on the couch face down and shake.

But when he heard the hammers ring that nail

The scaffold into shape, he whirled around

Like a rat in a cage. And when the sand bag fell,

That tested out the rope, a muffled thug,

And the rope creaked, he started up and moaned

“You're getting ready,” and his body shivered,

His white hands could not hold the bars, he reeled

And fell upon the couch again.

Suppose

There was no whiskey and no morphia,

Except for what the parsons think fit use,

A poor weak fellow — not a Socrates —

Must march the gallows, walk with every nerve

Up-bristled like a hair in fright. This night

Was much too horrible for me. At last

I had the doctor dope him unaware,

And for a time he slept.

But when the dawn

Looked through the little windows near the ceiling

Cob-webbed and grimed, with light like sanded water,

And echoes started in the corridors

Of feet and objects moved, then all at once

He sprang up from his sleep, and gave a groan,

Half yell, that shook us all.

A clergyman

Came soon to pray with him, and he grew calmer,

And said: “O pray for her, but pray for me

That I may see her, when this riddle-world

No longer stands between us, slipped from her

And soon from me.”

For breakfast he took coffee,

A piece of toast, no more. The sickening hour

Approaches — he is sitting on his couch,

Bent over, head in hands, dazed, or in prayer.

My deputy reads the warrant — while I stand

At one side so to hear, but not to see.

And then my clerk comes quickly through the door

That opens from the office in the jail;

Runs up the iron steps, all out of breath,

And almost shouts: “The governor telephones

To stop; the sentence is commuted.” Then

I grew as weak as the culprit — took the warrant,

And stepped up to the cell's door, coughed, inhaled,

And after getting breath I said: “Good news,

The governor has saved you.”

Then he laughed,

Half fell against the bars, and like a rag

Sank in a heap.

I do n't know to this day

What moved the governor. For crazy men

Are hanged sometimes. To-day he leaves the jail.

We take him where the criminal insane

Are housed at our expense.

So Merival heard the sheriff. As he knew

The governor's mind, and how the governor

Gave heed to public thought, or what is deemed

The public thought, what's printed in the press,

He wondered at the governor. For no crime

Had stirred the county like this crime. And if

A jury and the courts adjudged this boy

Of nineteen in his mind, what was the right

Of interference by the governor?

So Merival was puzzled. They were chums,

The governor and Merival in old days.

Had known club-life together, ate and drank

Together in the days when Merival

Came to Chicago living down the hurt

He took from her who left him. In those days

The governor was struggling, Merival

Had helped with friends and purse — and later helped

The governor's ambition from the time

He went to congress. So the two were friends

With memories and secrets for the stuff

Of friendship, glad renewal of the surge

Of lasting friendship when they met.

And now

He sensed a secret, meant to bring it forth.

And telegraphed the governor, who said:

“I'll see you in Chicago.” Merival

Went up to see the governor and talk.

They had not met for months for leisured talk.

And now the governor said: “I'll tell you all,

And make it like a drama. I'll bring in

My wife who figured in this murder case.

It was this way: It's nearly one o'clock,

I'm back from hearing lawyers plead. I wish

To make this vivid so you'll get my mind.

I tell you what I said to her. It's this:”