he not? He had not gone to her rescue when he might
have. He had wished her dead and afterwards had not
been sorry. In the blow that had brought about the upsetting
of the boat had been some anger. Also in the mood that
had not permitted him to strike. The facts that he had been
influenced by the beauty and position of Miss X to the
plotting of this deed, and, after his evil relations with
Roberta, that she had been determined he should marry
her, far from being points in extenuation of his actions, were
really further evidence of his general earthly sin and guilt.
Before the Lord then he had sinned in many ways. In those
dark days, alas, as Mr. McMillan saw it, he was little more
than a compound of selfishness and unhallowed desire and
fornication against the evil of which Paul had thundered. It
had endured to the end and had not changed—until he had
been taken by the law. He had not repented—not even
there at Bear Lake where he had time for thought. And
besides, had he not, from the beginning to end, bolstered it
with false and evil pretenses? Verily.
On the other hand, no doubt if he were sent to the chair
now in the face of his first—and yet so clear manifestation
of contrition—when now, for the first time he was beginning
to grasp the enormity of his offense—it would be but to
compound crime with crime—the state in this instance
being the aggressor. For, like the warden and many others,
McMillan was against capital punishment—preferring to
compel the wrong-doer to serve the state in some way. But,
none-the-less, he felt himself compelled to acknowledge,
Clyde was far from innocent. Think as he would—and
however much spiritually he desired to absolve him, was he
not actually guilty?
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1173
In vain it was that McMillan now pointed out to Clyde that
his awakened moral and spiritual understanding more
perfectly and beautifully fitted him for life and action than
ever before. He was alone. He had no one who believed in
him. No one. He had no one, whom, in any of his troubled
and tortured actions before that crime saw anything but the
darkest guilt apparently. And yet—and yet—(and this
despite Sondra and the Reverend McMillan and all the
world for that matter, Mason, the jury at Bridgeburg, the
Court of Appeals at Albany, if it should decide to confirm the
jury at Bridgeburg), he had a feeling in his heart that he was
not as guilty as they all seemed to think. After all they had
not been tortured as he had by Roberta with her
determination that he marry her and thus ruin his whole life.
They had not burned with that unquenchable passion for
the Sondra of his beautiful dream as he had. They had not
been harassed, tortured, mocked by the ill-fate of his early
life and training, forced to sing and pray on the streets as
he had in such a degrading way, when his whole heart and
soul cried out for better things. How could they judge him,
these people, all or any one of them, even his own mother,
when they did not know what his own mental, physical and
spiritual suffering had been? And as he lived through it
again in his thoughts at this moment the sting and mental
poison of it was as real to him as ever. Even in the face of
all the facts and as much as every one felt him to be guilty,
there was something so deep within him that seemed to cry
out against it that, even now, at times, it startled him. Still—
there was the Reverend McMillan—he was a very fair and
just and merciful man. Surely he saw all this from a higher
light and better viewpoint than his own. While at times he
felt strongly that he was innocent, at others he felt that he
must be guilty.
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1174
Oh, these evasive and tangled and torturesome thoughts!!
Would he never be able—quite—to get the whole thing
straightened out in his own mind?
So Clyde not being able to take advantage truly of either
the tenderness and faith and devotion of so good and pure
a soul as the Reverend McMillan or the all merciful and all
powerful God of whom here he stood as the ambassador.
What was he to do, really? How pray, resignedly,
unreservedly, faithfully? And in that mood—and because of
the urge of the Reverend Duncan, who was convinced by
Clyde’s confession that he must have been completely
infused with the spirit of God, once more thumbing through
the various passages and chapters pointed out to him—
reading and re-reading the Psalms most familiar to him,
seeking from their inspiration to catch the necessary
contrition—which once caught would give him that peace
and strength which in those long and dreary hours he so
much desired. Yet never quite catching it.
Parallel with all this, four more months passed. And at the
end of that time—in January, 19—, the Court of Appeals
finding (Fulham, Jr., reviewing the evidence as offered by
Belknap and Jephson)—with Kincaid, Briggs, Truman and
Dobshutter concurring, that Clyde was guilty as decided by
the Cataraqui County jury and sentencing him to die at
some time within the week beginning February 28th or six
weeks later—and saying in conclusion:
“We are mindful that this is a case of circumstantial
evidence and that the only eyewitness denies that death
was the result of crime. But in obedience to the most
exacting requirements of that manner of proof, the counsel
for the people, with very unusual thoroughness and ability
has investigated and presented evidence of a great number
An American Tragedy
1175
of circumstances for the purpose of truly solving the
question of the defendant’s guilt or innocence.
“We might think that the proof of some of these facts
standing by themselves was subject to doubt by reason of
unsatisfactory or contradictory evidence, and that other
occurrences might be so explained or interpreted as to be
reconcilable with innocence. The defense—and very ably—
sought to enforce this view.
“But taken all together and considered as a connected
whole, they make such convincing proof of guilt that we are
not able to escape from its force by any justifiable process
of reasoning and we are compelled to say that not only is
the verdict not opposed to the weight of evidence, and to
the proper inference to be drawn from it, but that it is
abundantly justified thereby. Decision of the lower court
unanimously confirmed.”
On hearing this, McMillan, who was in Syracuse at the time,
hurrying to Clyde in the hope that before the news was
conveyed officially, he should be there to encourage him
spiritually, since, only with the aid of the Lord, as he saw it—
the eternal and ever present help in trouble—would Clyde
be able to endure so heavy a blow. And finding him—for
which he was most deeply grateful—wholly unaware of
what had occurred, since no news of any kind was
conveyed to any condemned man until the warrant for his
execution had arrived.
After a most tender and spiritual conversation—in which he
quoted from Matthew, Paul and John as to the
unimportance of this world—the true reality and joy of the
next—Clyde was compelled to learn from McMillan that the
decision of the court had gone against him. And that though
McMillan talked of an appeal to the Governor which he—
and some others whom he was sure to be able to influence
An American Tragedy
1176
would make—unless the Governor chose to act, within six
weeks, as Clyde knew, he would be compelled to die. And
then, once the force of that fact had finally burst on him—
and while McMillan talked on about faith and the refuge
which the mercy and wisdom of God provided—Clyde,
standing before him with more courage and character
showing in his face and eyes than at any time previously in
his brief and eager career.
“So they decided against me. Now I will have to go through
that door after all,—like all those others. They’ll draw the
curtains for me, too. Into that other room—then back across
the passage—saying good-bye as I go, like those others. I
will not be here any more.” He seemed to be going over
each step in his mind—each step with which he was so
familiar, only now, for the first time, he was living it for
himself. Now, in the face of this dread news, which
somehow was as fascinating as it was terrible, feeling not
as distrait or weak as at first he had imagined he would be.
Rather, to his astonishment, considering all his previous
terror in regard to this, thinking of what he would do, what
he would say, in an outwardly calm way.
Would he repeat prayers read to him by the Reverend