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. Don'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 wouldn'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 don'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:"