MY FRIEND THE SUICIDE.

North Otago Times, 6 August 1903, Page 1 (Supplement)

MY FRIEND THE SUICIDE.

Cemeteries hnva nlwaya lutd im attraction forme, .-■■ "Queer taste!" you may say. But lliej do not make mo sad, nor, strango to nay, are they associated with death.-. I sat in a sceliidfil nook in Wrecmvood Cemetery earfy in tlfo suninier of-1875; Hvm. ing came cr«bpin«'no almost I'iiforn Ikm w it, when, lising in lniste to (to luinij', I heard •some unintelligible woids nciir : by. ( .a'ud.' pocring thrMigli the shrubbery, I caught sight of, a. handsome, well-dressed innn of about thirty-live, . Ho was kneeling by a grave, bis bat was olf, and lie seemed to be praying. All "at once he sprang up drew a pietol from his pucket, and began examining it. Then 'looking down he said iuasofl, loiv ioice: ' 1 Dear heart 1 I am soon going to rest beside yon,"

I rushed up to him just as he was raising the weapon to bis head, and so staitled liim that the, pistol: glanced aside and was discbaiged against tho ground, "My friend," 1 exclaimed, " I have just come in time to saveyourlifo!" "You. littleknow what a worthless thing you hwa'saved,"; he muttered, "Thisis tlio second time I bave bert pi evented from obtaining the only peace that could be mine," lie said, sinking' dimii beside (lie giave. " Next time I will make death a sure tiling, No hand shall be raised to prevent it."

" But how do you know that you could tliHB gain peace ?" I 'said, gently, sitling down liim, How can wotellwhatisin store forus beyond thograve I" He seemed a little startled;, then he said: " Don't preach to me; dSatli means, dirt, dust, dissolution. I am already down in the dust, and my place Bhonld now be in tlio earth." ,

" If we could be sijre that death meant no morelhan this. I might not blame you; but, if you cut short a life (fiat was intended to continue, how can you tell but that iu some way yon will'be foiccd to tnkn it up again, perhaps under oven more trying cir cumatancca ?" " Out of the frying-pan into the tire,'so lo speak," aaid be. '"Bull don't brliovo in bell, unlt'BS it be. the one in which my mind now lives, and which I was trying my best to get out of."

" I presume 1 1 have beon a? despondent at times as yourself, bttt. have always come to the conclusion that tliis life, with all its misfortunes,'is preferable 'to■ tho' uncertainty awaiting one who, by bis owiiact, attempts to step out of it into another," " Have you ever thought of committing suicido?" he inquired, eagerly. " Yes, many times; who I.m not ?" I said.

He grasped niy hand warmly. "You aro just the friend I want. Now, if wo ean bring it about that the desiro for death shall come to us both at the same time, how pleasant it will be to step olf together! 1 have always dreaded the loneliness of dying. One needs a companion." Hardly able to repress a smile, I said: " I am older than you, and that 1 desire no longer comes upOn ino when .thinjpi go wrong.", " But older people I ban you have killed themselves," be e.xeln' " perhaps you may yet see the time •. i will be glad to go." "It is believed that all who take their own lives are insane," I argued; " there is a disgrace atlendunl upon such an action, too, though just, why tins is so 1 have always been at a loss to unrieistand. Still, I would uot havo tho world say that I had parted company , with my wits, or that, like a weakling, I did' not dare to live and face my destiny. !'

if we can bring it about that lite deiiru for death shall come to us both at tho same time, how pleasant it will be to step olf together! 1 have always dreaded the loneliness of dying. One needs a companion." Hardly able to repress a smile, I said: " I am older than you, and tlmt 1 desire no longer comes uptm mo when things go wrong. I ', " But older people limn you have killed themselves," ho exelu' " perhaps you may yet see the time •. i will bo glad to go." " It is believed that all who take their own lives arc insane," I argued; " there is a disgrace atleudunl upon such an action, too, though just why this is so 1 have always been at a loss to understand. Still, I would not havo tho world say that I had parted company, with my wits, or that, like a weakling, I dillhot dare to live and fuco my destiny. 1 ' " But," -said he, " if you kill yourself, it will bo your dcetiny, you know." " I Bee you are a sopliii-t and ut fatalist," I said, with a laugh. " lint let us be friends at all oventn, and promise me, since you want company when you make your exit, tliat you will not voluntarily step olf until I am ready to go with you," "I will make no rash promises, butain gla'l of a friend, and feci now like living a little longer. But sometime, when I haven't such a philosopher as yourself to talk with, the mood may take me again, and I shall end Tho heaitaoho and .the thousand natural shocks That fleeh is heir to." "Well," said I, ''perhaps it may sometimes ba A consummation Devoutly to be wished, liut it is growing dark now; let u.i go homo und be sonsiblo for to-nigl.tat li-ast " So w went back from the quiet city of the dead to tho great roaring city of the living. " I am at your mercy," ho raid, as we went along; "you have evidence enough against ino to semi me to the Tombs." •'Yes," i exclaimed, "what asenseloss law that adjudges guilty of crime a poor, tormented.despairing cicaturo who seeks release in den h! Anil yet our wise law insists flint insu nil e companies must. p\v tho full amni.ut of the policy to the friends of a suicide, oii the grounds I lint he is always insane, If such is tho case, why should not thi person who fails in his attempt be sent to au asylum for humane treatment,-instead of beingthrust'into'a prison as a wilful crim-

•'Yes," i exclaimed, "what ascnseloss law thiit adjudges guilty of crime a poor, torinL'ntcfl.rlespairing cionturo who seeks release ir> den h! And yet our wise insists that insu nn o companies must. p\v tlio full amni.ut i>{ the policy to the friends of a suicide, oii I ho grounds I lint he is always insane, If such ia the case, why should not thn person who fails in his attempt bo Bent lo an asylum for humane trealimmt, instead of bc.iiig thrust'intu' ut prison as a wilful criminal i"

•'.You are right," he said;" the desiio for ih-ntli irt sometimes overpowering liut bo a giioil frienil to me, and I may never have a' return of the mania "

' Willi all my heait,' 1 I said, slinking hand, with him as we separated at the bridge. We had exchanged cards, and upon his I read tjho finJnu,, Dr. R. S. Burton. We often im'tjand,'; becoming;! better acquainted, .'my friend one day voluntarily gave in'o a sketch of the latter yean of his Ijfe, '• It is n<A #. long story,'' said lie," but it will showiyou how I hai pened to be in the condition in which you found mo at Greenwood, for several years I practised medicine in Mew York. My patients were of a well-to-do class; and I soon accumulated money. The only daughter of one of my patients had always been ah invalid. I succeeded in iostoring her to perfect health. How much her interest in me had to do with it I will not say, but I fell in love with her. Her mother was pleased with mo, and wo tvere married. Her fathor I had never known, He had died many years before. I continued my practice for a time, thougli.my wife was an heiress in iier own right. One child was born to us, but tlio little thing was weak, and died before it was a year old, The^mother suffered from a return of a former maladv, At length 1 gave up my practice and tiayelled with her! Bho could tako little pleasure from (ho clmnge, and did not regain her loat strength. She iliedwhile wo wero in Italy. A year ago I buried her where you found me in GreenWood;. Her niothisr, who had been a devoted friend to me, tiobnifollowcd her. . Since that time everything has boon going on from bad to worse. 1 tried to pick up niy practice again, but othor" physicians had stepprd in. anil 1 seemed to hsvo-lost favour. Most of Ihc pioperty which ray wife left is invested in real ''which j gives and liitlo return. I have no hebit for society,' but I do enjoy a quiet friendship like yours," " Well, cheor tip,' old fellow I You may' find life is worth-livingyet," 1 said, with other words of sympathy. Many wore tho outings that wo took together during the summer, but in: tlio fall I was called away froDi tho city: for Beverul weeks on business, and onm/returnwaa busy attendingto work which had falleu into ari care. • I beph to wonder why Dr, Burton had not been round ko'see mo, and on the tirst opportunity I Bought him at his room?, . I found them dosed and apparently doserted. I -made inquiries of Df James, a brothor physician; who said: • i ii "Haveyou hot lead the papers? Dr, Burton is dead," ,

'"Dead!" I exclaimed; "what was the cause of his death?" ■ ■

• Searching among tsome old papeis, the doctor fouodthe no.tlue, and: silently handed it to me; Tho body of my uulisppy friend had been found aver on'the extrefne west Bide of the city.N What he could havebeen doing no one,knew,i, He was; lying ..across the kerb--Btoni)in. the street,.- with a. still smoking revolver grasped whin' hand,' Through his right temple the blood was: pouring from • a; bullet hole. The officer who found him jsaid that there Was no'oneln sight';,and the'hands hiid no blood upon them/ He woVe lib overcoat', 1 noiliher was money or w&tch found upon him. . Had lie been murdered and rob tod? , Or li!)d h? killed himsclf? ; Nobody.know. ; His half-broihort whq took charge of the body, ridiculed thb idea : of: suicide.''Hiid I not known my frlehd's weakness, I should have felt that his brother 'knew moie about the affair than.he ohose • to tell. By law he became Div Burton's lieir to an estate of about sO,oOfldcl, The Ifrotlierj, however,' had alwajs been at vananoe. . jbiovet told ;\phaj. I knew of tbe. doctor's past life, or how I ftjund him at' Greenwood. What good could I do) "The inquest «as oyer,afid tbe.piatter was settled to the satisfaotiun of the public He rests at peace, with iijp young wife and phild by his Bias, and no word of nuqe shall cfet the 'reprosch of " suicide" tipon bis grave. ' ' - , fu' -(TheEnd.) !' » I V fonih).,- '■ 4 - 11, U Th^otoi 1 Mid he'd pu& toe on my fk"

ntuwrim i It w»j early in the seventies, und a party of three of us were seated around a table in a corner of a German, beer-garden just outride Chicago, and close to the shores of tin lake. A fourth Et!2Mmari..waß not. far away, He was our'comrade Baraton, and ho was otherwise engaged than we. yjor while we were wooing our pipes' and 'glasses lie was paying earnest mid eager court to'ai lively and pretty a lass as you would like to see at the end of a day's march'. ■ ! ' Presently Barston and his sweetheart'leffc; and.in about half-an-hour's time lie returned, having safely seen Miss Warner to within hail of her home, We had a few inore glasses of be«r, and then adjourned to our lodgings. It waa gettingon for noon the.pent day, and we were all ousy packing up our goods and chattels, ready to cross the plains, when we heard'an uproar in'thO street, and then shouts for Barskori. We all wentdown in # body to ascertain the cause of tlie row, It was soon told in a dozen different keys, and in as many diverging ways. But.it all came to the same thing. The story was this s' After Barston had left Polly Cheadle at her parents' door, and turned back to rejoin us, she had remembered a message that her father bad given her for him; ana she had hurried after liini with the intention of delivering the message, and, of course going through the process of saying "good night" a second time. She bad never returned,, but her body had beon found in the morning in a potato patch about half a mile away from the house, 'flu Condition and position of the body of the luckless girl told its own talo. She bad been first seized and thrown down, then had been cruelly outraged, and then suffocated, in order that her assstilant might never be known, • • " ■

But the : scoundrel had, as most of these scoundrels usually do, made a mistake; It was impossible, as long as he had to cross soft ground, for him to conceal his identity from pursuers. For his left, leg was clubfooted, and left such an imprint as could not possibly bo mistaken for that of Rny other man than Squab-footed Jim. ■ Hence, when those peculiar marks,were found imprinted in the soft, ground, the words "Squabfooted Jim" passed rapidly from lip to lip,. and one and all made haste in the direction of the hut which was known to be occupied by the suspected nfan. He was not there, and'his mother declared that lie had nob been there for several days, But the denial availed not, A minute search was at once instituted. The hut was rummaged, and so were all the sheds, i 4c., around it, while a party of men beat tlit surrounding woods, For hours was the search maintained, but without avail, until someone said, "Why don't you look down the well?"

This well was situated about a quarber-of-mile.from the house, bad not been used for years, and was covered with boards. A raiiid investigation and inspection of these revealed the fact that they had recently beau shifted,' for the loose' dirt, instead of litying,on them in one uniform thickness, lay only in patches. To remove the boards was but the work of an instant, and then a score of hands seized the windlass and began to haul up the chain. ' ~ 1 ■

Sure enough-ib ws heavy; there was somethingmore than, a bucket of water at the bucket end of the chain without a doubt, and the drum wont .round with a rattle. Presently above the brickwork loomed out the head and shoulders of squab-footed Jim, his face absolutely whk with fear, and in a few seconds a score of hands had seized him and he was. laying upon his Hack on the sward, bound and helpless. Hurriedly a court was constituted, and the miserable wretch'put upon his trial.' But he saved all unnecessary trouble in the way of proving his guilt by confessing it, and this only left his accuser s and judge* to decide upon his fate. It was soon settleda flogging, and then to be bricked-up in the well, just out'of reach of the water, and there left to perish of thirst and starvation. ' . . ;

Very methodically was the whole matter cone about. A "chair" was rigged, into which the negro, after the dogging, was strapped, and then lowered half-way down the shaft, Next the well was bricked over, with the exception of a few inches in the centre, and then, a guard being left to see that the' neighbouring .negroes did not release him, the culprit was left to die: Arid die, of course, he did. For no qhiojjicialty informed the authorities of what had'been done, and the said authorities hud too'much sympathy with the lynchers to interfere upon behalf of the lynched. And,'so far as I am aware, the stone has never been removed from the top of tho well as yet.