New Hampshire Statesman

From the Milledgeville Recorder
AFFECTING SENTENCE.
The following affecting sentence was passed by Judge Longstreet on John M. Williams, convicted of the murder of his wife, at the late Superior Court in Jones county which has been furnished for publication by the Judge, at the solicitation of the Bar and a number of citizens who attended the trial.
JOHN M. WILLIAMS,
When I heard the history of your case from the lips of those who testified on your trial, I thought it was such an one as would reconcile me to the painful task I am now about to perform. But all the disgust and horror which I then felt at the enormity of your crime, have now given way to a succession of kind but conflicting emotions, that almost overpower me; and I meet you upon this occasion, no better prepared to pronounce, than you are to hear the awful sentence, which awaits you. But it is in vain to shrink from a duty which the law compels me to perform.
Hear me then for a few moments, and forgive me for prolonging your suspense while I once more rehearse the sad story of your guilt. Believe, the piteous tale is not again repeated to shoot another pang into your agonized bosom. I would not wantonly sport with your feelings, nor mock your calamity. It is directed to the throng which presses around you, to witness our last sad interview. By them it will long be remembered, and may hallow the rude and turbulent passions that would hurry them into crime, when the stern mandate of the law would be forgotten. Perhaps, too, it may touch some tender cord of your own heart that remains yet unbroken, and awaken you to such a sense of your perilous situation, as will induce you to make a successful appeal to that Being, who alone can snatch you from the ruin which threatens you.
It appears that, some years since, you wooed and won the heart of an amiable lovely, affectionate and fatherless female; you led her to the altar, and there in the presence of that being, before whom you must shortly appear—you interchanged with her the vows of perpetual love and fidelity. She kept her vow—amidst the severest trials she did not forget it. The marks of your brutal violence disclosed your cruelty to the world, before her own lips whispered it to her nearest friend. When her wounds awakened the sympathies of the only male connection she had on earth and forced him to step forward in her defence—she interceded in your behalf quelled the rage of her defender, palliated the offence of her husband, forgave him, and, with manifestations of unabated love, again received him to her bosom. With each revolving month your cruelties were repeated; as often as they were repeated, so often were they forgiven. At length your conduct assumed a more alarming character, and she foresaw the fell purpose you have now executed. She appealed to the laws of her country to avert the ruin which menaced her—but, ere she could experience their efficacy, one kind word from you dissipated all her fears; she again relented, withdrew her complaint—again forgave and again received you to her embrace. All this could not melt your locked and frozen heart—it served only to embolden you in iniquity. Her friends expostulated with you—she besought you; and her mother, trembling under the weight of years implored you to deal more kindly with her daughter. That mother addressed herself to your feelings in language that I should have thought even a demon could not resist. When she repeated it here, the sternest heart in this vast multitude could not withhold from her the tribute of a tear. Behold said she, I am a weak and aged woman—I can neither protect nor defend my child—her father is dead—if you discard her where is she to seek protection? This eloquent appeal could not find its way to your heart.
Your inhuman treatment continued, and was borne by your companion with unexampled fortitude for more than five years; during which period she presented you four children. It was the ninth day of the age of the youngest, and when its mother had not yet left the room of her confinement, you selected to execute your hellish purpose. Then, when she clasped to her bosom her helpless innocent, with this instrument, (a knife) still covered with her blood, you commenced the work of death. Nay, her life was not sufficient to appease your vengeance; her mangled corpse gave unequivocal proofs that many of her wounds could have been inflicted to try the strength of her nerves. The keen edge of the knife made her forget her infant and her weakness; she fled; you pursued her and dealt to her a blow that arrested her feeble flight; you then dropped the knife, went to your trunk, and drew from it this instrument, of keener edge, (a razor,) and with it you severed her head from her body. For all this, what is your defence! A plea that would deprive her of all that she has left behind her,—her reputation. Happily for her memory, this lies beyond the reach of your vengeance. Your efforts to tarnish it have only given to it additional lustre. If there was one in the vast assembly who witnessed your trial, that harbored for a moment a suspicion dishonorable to her, his conscience now rebukes him for his credulity. After five months' preparation; after having all her nearest friends before you; after producing the inmates of your family, you have not been able to extort from one a single word that could alarm even jealousy itself. All attest that she was constant, artless, meek, submissive and kind. Oh! she would have been a prize to any man but you; had you permitted her to live, she would have been a blessing to your children. Poor helpless orphans, what is now to be their destiny? who is left to watch over their darling intellect; to chasten their morals, to lead them to virtue's shrine? Father of Mercy! be thou their protector, guardian, and friend.—Spirit of their murdered mother! hover over and direct them through the dangerous and devious windings of life.
Williams, I have now faintly sketched the picture of your guilt. If it be not faithful to the original, it is only because the colouring is not deep enough. With all this weight of sin upon your head, you have but twenty days to live. The hour is at hand, when you must leave us, and hasten into the presence of a Being whose frown is far more dreadful than the sentence which now consigns you to the tomb. Are you prepared for the interview—or have you wrought yourself into the belief that there is no futurity? and will you rest satisfied in this belief until you are roused from your torpor, by the signal for your appearance at the bar of the Most High? Ah, sir, you are risking too much upon your opinion Should you err in this particular, the anguish which now rends your bosom is peace when compared to the misery which awaits you. When you reflect that the wisest, ablest and best of men are against you, does it not sometimes occur to you, that you may be in error? When you open the sacred volume, are you not startled with the thought, that it may be true? If it be, how dreadful are its denunciations. But amidst its thunders, it breathes a whisper of consolation, even to the most hardened offender.
Yes, Williams, even you, all bloody as you are, may be yet within the reach of its kind promises Fly, then, I beseech you, to the last stay of the sinner's hope for a happy eternity. You have nothing to bind you to this life;— there is not a being upon earth whom you can call your friend—not one who would dare to acknowledge you as a friend. You have arrested the throbbings of the only bosom that could now beat in unison with your own—you have silenced the only lips that could speak a word of consolation to your drooping spirits. But there is an all-ruling Power above who may not forsake you, when your kinsmen and countrymen disown you. While the light of life yet gleams upon your short and dreary path to the grave, catch the fleeting moment to bespeak the intercession of that Redeemer whose power is equal to your necessities. He may yet wash out the foul stain that renders you loathsome to the world, and raise you to the mansions of bliss, where you may again be greeted, and once more be forgiven, by the kind companion of your bosom.
Hear now the sentence of the law, and then farewell forever.
You, John M. Williams, will be reconducted to the place from whence you came, where you will be kept in close custody until Friday, the 17th day of November next, when you will be taken to some convenient place of execution, and there between the hours of ten in the forenoon, and two in the afternoon, you will be suspended by the neck until you are dead. And may the Lord have mercy upon your soul!
[Williams has since been executed agreeably to the sentence.]