Rensselaer Journal, Volume 10, Number 42, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 28 March 1901 — THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY

BY RODRIGUES OTTOLENGUI,

Author of “An Artist In Crime,” “A Conflict of Evidence,” “A Modern Wizard,” “Final Proof,” Etc. Copvrtyht, 18S6, by G. P. Put/ruwn'H Soru. AU rights reserved.

(CONTINUED.] “He would have had he dared, jbut he was a coward aud afraid to rouse me too far. Some men bluntly tell a woman: ‘I have grown tired of you. All Is over between us. Goodby.’ These are brutes, but they are not cowards. My lover was a cunning schemer, and he plotted to make me sb disgusted with him that I* should myself sever -our acquaintance. In this he succeeded. He told me tales that made me look upon him with loathing, so that I grew to hate myself for having loVed him. Was'not that the cruelty of a demon ?" ‘"fell me something of these dreadful (tales if you can remember any." “Remember any! I have forgotten ■one. They have been the specters of my sleepless nights and the terrors of my drunken sleep a thousand times. He told me how he loved to see suffering, how he would visit slaughter pens to hear the poor animals shriek in death. He claimed that once he had a boy’s finger off with a hatchset for the fujp of seeing it Jump from the forctfof tin- blow. Many, many other stories of the- kind I vtas forc’ed to hear, but there is one which I have Jived over in hundreds 'of dreadful dreams. There was once a murder trial which was the gnat sensation of the time. He was then only 12 years of age. Bear that in mind. He read all the accounts-of the trial and gloated over the horrible details. The man was convicted and hanged, and he tried to see the execution, but in that he was thwarted. But his lust for blood was bound I o be appeased. “One day he,summoned some schoolmates, all youngeir than himself, and took them down iinto the cellar of his house, locking the door that none might leave. Here Jie showed them a poor little harmless monkey which he charged with having killed its mate. Then he proclaimed himself judge, appointed a boy to be district attorney and another to be the lawyer for the monkey. Thex>thers were formed into .a jury. The boys, looking upon the i proceeding as sport, entered into the spirit of the play, and a form of trial was enacted, the verdict being against tthe poor anirhal. The judge imme--dlately sentenced it to be hanged. At ■this the boys thought that the play was over and wished to’leave the celilar, but this cruel (lev'll refused to ♦open the door for them, and, he being Harger and wtronger than the others, tthey were all afraid tc» insist, but hud-

dlod together, with affrighted faces, looking on At what followed. Next this self appointed judge declared himself to be the sheriff and forthwith procetslml with the execution of the sentence.” “You (Io not mea.n”— tried Mr. Mitchel and then stopped, in horror at the thought. I “Yes; he hanged that, poor little defenseless monkey: Imjnged that animal, which so resembled a human being; hanged it in sport and laughed at its death struggles. And that boy grew to be a man, and that man, God pity ipe, was the father of my child!” She had risen up cfn her elbow as !<*e reached the climaV of her tale and with a bitterness which told of tthe torture that this One thought had' lhetiß to her for so maiuy years. Now iShe fell back exhausted and then gave a Jew cry of pain blood gushed forth from her moutbi. Mr. Mitchel

hastily wasnea mis away ana was glad to see that no more followed the first flow. He poured out some whisky, this time not mixing it with water, and made her swallow it. She lay still for some time, gazing stolidly up with her sightless eyes, but presently made ! a sign that she'wished to speak again. Mr. Mitchel tried to dissuade her, fearing a fatal result if she should further uxert herself, but she insisted upon I having her will, so lie stooped over i her, bidding her to speak low, that she ' might not tire nerself unnecessarily. “All right,” she said, almost in a whisper. “I’ll go easy. But I ain’t finished yet You said you was Jim’s friend. Well, I’m dreadful afraid for him.” She had now relapsed into her coarser manner of speech. “Why need you fear for him?” asked Mr. Mitchel. “Jim can take care of himself.” “Yes; Jim’s clever, and it’ll be a fly cop as’ll take him. But they all get pinched some day. I shouldn’t mind if it was only for a burglary or something like that, but I think of that monkey, and when I dream of it often iia monkey changes, and it’s Jim is banging there—my Jim, my own boy, hanging by the neck! Oh, no, no! God in heaven, if there is one, hear a poor dying woman’s prayer and don’t let my boy come to that! Save him, save him!” “Come, come! This is merely a nightmare. You have nothing of that sort to fear. Why should you think of such a dreadful thing?” “Ah, I’ve thought of it and thought of it many’s the long night through! I’ve worked it all out, so natural that sometimes I think it’s fate and must come true.” “But why?” “Listen! Suppose Jim was ever to find out who his father is. He’s alive yet and lives in this town. I know, because I seen him myself not a month ago. He’s the same beast he always was, too, ’cause I seen him look about sly like, and when he thought nobody wa§; watching he kicked a little child that was lying on the pavement, and when it screamed he laughed aud walked away. Now, suppose my Jim had seen that and had known the man for his father. Do you know what? Jim would have been at his throat like a tiger and would have strangled him to death. Wouldn’t it be awful for my Jim to hang for killing a beast like his father?” “Ah, but he does not know who his father is;' does he?” “Now we come to it. Now you’ll see why I’ve told you all this yarn. Jim don’t know now; leastways I’ve never told him. But there’s papers as would tell him if he found them after I'm gone, papers I ought to have burnt long ago, but I never had the heart. I’ve lit a fire special to do It. Then I would think I’d Just read them over once more, and in the end I’d tie them .up and put them away again.” “And where are these papers?” “I-’JI tell you, I want you to take them, .to keep them away from Jim and yet L? keep them for Jim too.” “How do you mean for Jim?” a “Why, don'J- you see, if the worst come to worst, xvhy, you could maybe show them papers' .to the judge and tell him as how Jim eouJdn’t help it; that he w r as a born, criminal and that the very man he killed brought him into the world -with the brand <>f Cain on him. That would count, wouldn’t It? It ought to, don’t you think? No judge would have the heart to hang my Jim after that, would he? No! The papers ’ll save him! The papers ’ll save him! You take the papers, there in that old box on the shelf there. Jim thinks it’s my workbox, ’cause there’s needles and thread on top. But the papers is on the all right. You find them, don’t you? You've got them all right? You’ll Veep them to save Jim with, won’t you? I’m dying, and you wouldn’t betray an old woman like me, would you? You’ll—look —out—for Jim?” Mr. Mitchell had gone to the shelf and opened the box, and as she heard Rim rummaging through the miscellaneous lot of trash her anxiety had grown so that she had raised herself up in bed and, forgetful of her blindness, was gazing toward him, while her words flowed fast and feverishly until at last she was forced to stop because of another gush of blood from her mouth. Mr. Mitchel had just found the papers when he heard her groan as she -sank back on the cot. One glance showed him that she was now in a desperate condition, and, thrusting the packet into his breast pocket, he hastened to her assistance. At this opportune moment the door burst open, and Preacher Jim rushed in, followed by the doctor, “Is she alive?” cried Preacher Jim, rushing up and falling to his knees beside his mother. “My God, where does all that blood come from?” “She has been doing very well until just a moment ago,” said Mr. Mitchel, “when this hemorrhage came on.” Then, rising, he addressed the doctor. “She tells me, doctor, that she became suddenly blind and fell on the stairs. She thinks she has injured herself internally and stated that she had a flow of blood from the mouth before her son and myself came in. I fear this is a serious case.” o “I will examine and see,” said the doctor. “But first we must stop this

blood.” He prepared some medicine, which he poured into the- woman’s mouth, and in a few minutes she was comparatively at ease again, the hemorrhage having been controlled. Then the doctor proceeded to make a thorough examination. “I am afraid that a rib is broken,” said lie, "and that it impinges on the lung, or else that there is a ruptured vessel. My. advice is that she be removed to the hospital as soon,as possible.” “If you would prefer,” said Mr. Mitchel, speaking to Preacher Jim, who was now r standing by, gazing at his mother, wjth jaws firmly set and all the muscles of his body at a tension, “I will have your mother taken to my house, where no expense shall be spared in the endeavor to save her life. What do you say?” BE CONTINUED.]

“That man, God pity me, was the father of my child!”