In the Condemned Cell.

Otago Witness, Issue 1832, 31 December 1886, Page 8

In the Condemned Cell.

AN EXTRACT FROM THE DIARY OF A GAOL CHAPLAIN.

By O.G.

(Specially written for the Witness JVew Fear JTumlur of 1887.)

• I have no hope. My life has been a longdrawn misery, and to-morrow the last scene of the horrid drama will have ended. I care not whether eternity will be what the parson tells me. I think lam mad sometimes The world ouraeß me for my crime, but I laugh at them, I have bad my revenge ;jthey cannot rob me of that, But what a revenge ! How the recollection of it torments me as I write this 1 All night long she has been here with me in my cell, pale, bleeding aa she waa that night ! I cannot shut out the vision from my eyea. If I close them it 1b before me still ; though I bury my face in the straw of my wretohed oouoh, it haunts me still. Though I rave and curae it in a delirium of wrath, it still cornea before me —horrible, distinot, and mocking me like a pale fiend. ' I shrank before it and shed bitter, scalding, helpless tears when my passion had prostrated me, and prayed to it to leave me and let me die in peace ; but it never left me — it bent over me and mocked my anguish, ' I have never slept since I oame here— aye, and for long before. Sleep I I know not what it is. To change a waking horror for haunting dreams, to be unconscious of outward things, — if this be sleep, I have slept ; but quiet, untroubled slumber I have never known. Dreams come to me, and all through the night I aot over again that deed of so long

'One thing in my dreatna puzzleß me. I know not What it is, but when my dream ends — when I feel the noose settling around my neck, as I Boon shall in reality— —then there is borne in on my mind Some thing — a mysterious vision of the future It is vague, indistinct, but terrible in the supreme. It comes upon me like the roar of a multitude of waters— like a perception of infinity, endlees, illimitable— like an eternal infinite agony weighing upon me. And yet these but hint at the reality. How I experience the feeling I do not know. It seems to appeal to no one sense ; but I have another faculty, a new perception, capable of more intense emotion, of tenfold keener feelings. When I wake there is lingering in my boul the recollection of a glimpse into eternity. ' But have I a soul ? Is there a God ? I remember being taught to believe that— taught by my mother. If it is true, then woe is me 1 lam lost ! lam told to repent — to believe in the Saviour's power to save, and all will be well. / cannot. lam animated by a perversity—an unconquerable perversity— that hastens me against my will to my doom, and imparts a grim pleasure in the horrid prospect. 'Last night I heard the church bells. I heard the steps of the people passing my cell. Then there came a silence, and I knew what was taking place within those churches. I can Bee the spires of two. Then there came into my mind a strange sense of freedom and a prompting to pray. For a moment the apeotre of my thoughts left me, and something whispered in sweet; words of peace that I might yet escape, that the doqraof Heaven were opened, and for the last time, to receive me if I would. I knew there was a last offering of salvation— that I might yet escape my impending doom, if I would, But I refused. Why, I do not know. It may have bean I feared to meet her there. A power I had conjured up by my own passions contended within me, and held me back. Then there came a vision to me. From a thick, heavy cloud & stream of light, pure and radiant, entered my cell. I looked along it, and the cloud opened, and I saw a gate bo beautiful I cannot describe it, and on either side was an angel beckoning me to enter, and a voice from within repeated the word * Choose !' Ob, if I had but prayed ! 'I gazed in apatby, knowing the fearful responsibility I incurred, yet making no effort to grasp the one last chance. The beam of light began to withdraw itself from me, and receded towards the gateway. The figureß at the sido grew fainter ; the gate slowly closed, and still I made no movement. I waa torn by an inward agony. The vision faded away, and I remained overcome with a lethargic oppression, gazing into the space it had occupied. Again the beam of light issued from the cloud: and this time I gßaw numbers of beautiful beings in its train, and they all beckoned me ; and again the voice urged me to choose. One effort would have been sufficient to throw off the languid bonds that held me. But that effort was not made. Again the vision grew indistinct; but it was arrested once, twice, three times as it faded, and each time I heard the word " Choose !" Then, in a moment, it was blotted out ; the cloud was dissipated and drifted away, and I felt I was lost. I know I am lost— irrecoverably lost now. For, as the vision faded, the spectre that has haunted me so long oame ba«k again, and will never leave me more ; and still I am terrified, overawed, by that vague something that visits me in my dreams, and forces upon me a foretaste of some dread hereafter.

' But all thia ia to no purpose. lamin my cell, and to-morrow morning shall leave it never to return, I have materials to write this last confession, and why I write I do not know ; but it will ocoupy me and distract my thoughts from that one object. Then to brace myself for the last aot, and then '

The above was written by an unhappy, guilty man in the condemned cell on the night before hia execution. It is disjointed and inooherent, as might be expected from one in hia awful position. It is an extract from his written confession, which is now in my possession, and from which I have chiefly drawn the materials for the composition of the following Btory. In my career as gaol chaplain I have encountered some of the very worst of humanity — men sunk so low that it is impossible to conceive of greater degradation. I remember scenes of the moat absorbing interest associated with some of these criminals, and scenes, too, that would harrow^the very soul of the reader, In a few years (D.V.) I intend publishing my experiences in a memoir, and in its pages will go into greater detail. But[in the present instance it ia unnecessary to oite any example of these peraonß or incidents, or to refer to them more fully than by stating that among the whole black liat I oan call to mind no character more unique in crime, that experienced a greater conflict of contending, contradictory emotions, or one whioh has caused me greater pain and perplexity, than that of the man whose words I have placed at the head of this chapter, There is one more word to say before proceeding, The;final catastrophe in which this Btory culminates (the crime for which the prisoner was condemned) ia bo fraught with horror, and may appear so causeless as to invite incredulity upon the surface, yet I assure thoße who may read this that it is but one of the many similar events that have gained Buoh prominence in our colonial history. Many who were at the time living in the vicinity of B can testify to its truth, for the crime muat remain vividly impressed upon the memory of all who dwelt anywhere within the wide radius horrified by it.