SENTENCED TO DEATH.

Thames Star, Volume IIII, Issue 1757, 20 August 1874, Page 3

SENTENCED TO DEATH.

r,-:.;; {BY N. W. SWAN..) : : f

;may God have mercy on your j soul," concluded the sentence of death; | solemnly-and impressively passed upon' Ifredericlc Kochby his Honour Sir Bed-; niond Barry, at Ararat, on Saturday, the; 18tK; of tTiily. T* 10 solemnity, was en^j hanced.bythe twilight that had gathered, Ly iihe hushed court, by the vague shadows thatwere creeping on the blank walls, but most of all enhanced to interiseness by the prisoner tipon whom the judicial prayer fell. He was a thin miserable man, with weak sandy hair, with a protruding brow, with tuch an utter indifference as,to his fate that looking at him this; solemnity became painful, and appeared to ro.coil from the spot where he stood back upon those assembled, carrying with it a kind Of indescribable feeling that gave it pathos. The defence was as miserably indifferent as was the prisoner,. and seemed, so to speak/to bo the feeble expression of himself.. Koch wasirritated by his guest tormenting one of his cats, and he threw a heavy hammer at him. There was nothing more to account for the deed, for the battered head, for the pick blows printed in blood and mud upon the coat, and for the wild: fury of the"moment that rendered the. deed possible. And the little meek miserable being stood throughout the trial with such a listless apathy of weariness upon him that one wondered what his thoughts were, and what he saw ■' in the ledge of the dock, or his thin fingers, to take his attention- from the facts that were being elicited with all the mercilessheis of truth. When the sentence fell dismally upon the spectators it had not reached the prisoner, judging by the childish manner in which ho was polishing the paint of the dock. Judging by the absence he wore while examining his dirty nails, and above all by the fretted wearisomentss that was in his face, he was more distant from the sentence than any one there. He looked up in a startled way when the warder tapped him on the shoulder, and he left, carrying with him that restraining influence which he unconsciously imparted, and so permitting a ligh of human feeling from the eager public, who had him in their curious contemplation from the beginning to the finish. The man was conveyed to his prison babbling about his garden at Beaufort, and asking to be released. .And in the prison, with its heavy atmosphere of silence and discipline, where the footfalls of the warder rang through the corridor, he was consigned to his cell, wondering at it all, and forgetfml of the sentence. The transient nature of emotions is simply a question of degree, but this creature so irresistibly reminded one of a somnambulist on a parapet that the thought bestowed an unusual chill, and, crystallised into a memory. When I law him again he was sitting in his cell, wearily turning, with calm, persistent patience, the volume of Baxter's Saints' Best. Continually nursing; one foot on the other, gazing on the fire, and faces, and figures, and battlements in the. embers, intent to watch the sparks as they rose, to listen to the steady walk of the warder as he punctuated the silence, childlessly interested, in the shape of the book which he turned and twisted —this was the prisoner ordered for execution. " Did he understand he was to be hanged?" "Oh yes, he knew he had to give his life; he was aware it was to be taken from him." " Did he fear death ? " " Mid curse," said the poof Teutonic driblet, unwitting of the pathos with which, hit broken English surrounded him. " I vould not ,want to be hanged, you see ; but dere is is no use in being afraid. If my Saviour let me live, un give me a bit of bread, I'm tankfull to him. If not ." another of his snappish weary sighs, and back to the faces in the embers. " Had ho ever been in prison before ? " " Once when he was a boy in Mecklenburgh-Schwerin he stole plums, with a companion, and spent a night, in the lock-up. The prison there was all dark nearly, but you could see the lindens and the green fields outsido, and the sun ; made the shadows that moved on the walls as the branches mQve4» you see, and when sunset came §iS struck through in red light; ,it was tretter there than here. Oh yes, much better. He was a boy there, and drove a cart for a inusicianer, and it was all happier." Then he fell back upon his vacant look, and weakly fait the shape of the tortured volume in his hands. While polishing the binding with his thumb, as he had polished the ledge of the dock in the monotonous patience that possessed him, Ul seemed to me that he got far away, near to the Elbe and the shining lakes he remembered there, and the big forests where the shadows trailed on the thick trees. " I have been 20 years liere 3 vanning and digging, and the most money ' Imadewas£l6o. What did I do with it? I lost it all^ I dreamed I lost it, un it come true.' With sudden intentness and a wan look of curious speculation., "Un I dreamed I was hanged, too; I hope hanging.won't cpme true.'' Shaking his head slowly and twisting his book, 1 f Banging is cruel, you see. I think hanging is cruel." "Did he remember '. his trial?"He shook his head, and listened to the warder's footsteps. 1 Then bringing himself back to the question

after a pause, in which were -present the crackling of the sparks and the subsidings of the fire, he grasped it apathetically, as a subject that was threadbare. " Well, yes, ho remembered that he was told God would rest him ; he thought so away, or he might have dreamed it. llest,"—he maundered or thinking aloud, changing the position of his feet, and relinquishing j the constant twisting of the book to stroke his knee and show a flit of satisfaction on.his ; .face—"rest is what I want; it's better; or my garden. Did they say rest at the"- trial ? I think they did.!' Thus; with that strange, stubborn patience, and with the stolid „unchangeableness of his gesture, with the dreary look and pinched irritation of it not moved by the silence that!was. so heavy, but a part of it, nor the concern and pain that were in the voices questioning him and far removed from him, he sat moveless but for the everlasting turning of the book and his everlasting watching of the embers and sparks. JJeturning to the position with much unwillingness, " But are you really aware that you will be hanged?" "Oh yes, I must give my life I suppose," and again back to the thoughts that were coming to him from the fire, and looking at it pleasurably, " I liked my cats un my trees ; and garden was my pleasure. I always grew enough potatoes and.'seed." This with an air of great satisfsbtion—" But they would come un take them, un walk on the beds instead of the walks." Looking along the edge of the book with one oye closed to sight its squareness, "Last season was bad for trees ;" then at his finger* to examine his nails, /' They used to knock me on'the face and call me a new shum, I tfnk rest is de bettar." So, hopelessly unappreciative .of his position, absolutely careless and listless, the man sat nursing his feet in turns. Stopping in his conversation to gather some fancy from the fire, to press the book i square and neat, to twist it and contemplate it awry, to brush some spot off Iris coat, to'muse at the silence, to listen to Ihe warder's footsteps, to think of nothing but his garden beds and plants growing wild, , he seemed the most miserable, weak; and j helpless specimen of the human family \ that has yet been sentenced to death in this colony of Victoria^—Australasian.