The Execution
When the sun rose on the morning of April 13, 1824, the peace and quiet of Puritan Falls was shattered by the sound of Abigail Dobson's woeful screams. People in a three-block radius around the Dobson mansion were awakened from their sleep, and early risers were startled by the young woman's shrieks.
Justice Sewell, a retired Boston harbormaster, who lived across the street, was the first to arrive at the wealthy shipbuilder's house.
"Miss Dobson?" he called as he followed the sound of the girl's voice. "Is everything all right? Are you injured?"
"Oh, Mr. Sewell, thank God you've come!" Abigail tearfully exclaimed from the second-floor landing of the staircase. "Please help me. Someone has broken in and attacked my father. He needs a doctor right away."
When Justice crossed the threshold into the shipbuilder's bedroom and saw the blood-soaked figure on the bed, however, he knew that Zachariah Dobson was beyond needing the attention of a physician. Other neighbors soon began coming to the house. Justice left the distraught Abigail in the care of the minister and his wife while he went to summon the authorities.
Although the doctor was later called to examine the body, the police had already ascertained the cause of death: multiple stab wounds to the chest. This determination required no great investigative skills since the killer left the murder weapon lying on victim's bed.
Once it was officially determined that a crime had been committed, the police cleared the area of spectators, which by that time numbered more than a dozen. Curious and well-meaning friends and neighbors were sent home, but they got only as far as the front yard where they gathered in groups to discuss the murder.
Even Abigail, who had lived at the house with her father all her life, was told to leave the premises. Elliott Dobson, her father's younger brother, who worked as a clerk at the customs house in nearby Salem, took his niece back to his home where she could grieve in private.
"Who could have done such a terrible thing?" Elliott's wife asked when she was told of her brother-in-law's death.
Abigail turned her head and wept. There was only one person she could think of who would want to see her father dead: Matthew English, the young man she wanted to marry, the man her father had forbidden her to see.
* * *
Zachariah Dobson's funeral was understandably a solemn occasion. Abigail, draped head to toe in black mourning attire, arrived at the cemetery on her uncle's arm. She had always been close to Elliott, much closer, in fact, than she had been to her own father, who had spent most of his time overseeing his thriving business interests. Her father's death brought her even closer to her uncle.
The grieving daughter was not surprised to find her father's attorney, Edison Byrd, and his son, Lemuel, the town's prosecutor, among the mourners. Old Zachariah had been lifelong friends with Edison. So close was the relationship between the Byrds and the Dobsons that Zachariah assumed his daughter would one day marry the young prosecutor. Unfortunately, the father had not counted on Matthew English, a common fisherman, winning his young daughter's affections.
Seeing her uncle at Abigail's right side, Lemuel Byrd took his position at her left, as though he were publicly staking his claim to her hand. Although she had no desire to encourage him, the young woman was too upset over her recent loss to object.
Just moments after the minister opened his Bible and began reading a comforting passage in hopes of consoling the assembled mourners, the low rumble of whispers spread through the crowd as they noticed a late arrival to the service. Abigail, wondering what all the commotion was about, turned in the direction of the people's stares. Wearing his best but still shabby suit and holding his hat respectfully in his hand, was Matthew English.
Abigail's pulse quickened as it always did at the sight of the handsome fisherman.
"What the hell is he doing here?" Lemuel swore under his breath.
"Now, now," Elliott Dobson cautioned the jealous prosecutor. "This is a funeral. You don't want to make a scene."
"If it weren't for him, there would be no funeral," Lemuel stressed.
"You don't know that," Abigail cried, jumping to the defense of the man she loved. "The police haven't determined who the killer is yet."
After the crowd settled down, the minister continued reading from his Bible. When Lemuel spied the fisherman inching his way toward Abigail, he possessively tightened his grip on her arm. Matthew had not seen the woman he loved since before her father was murdered. Worried about how she was faring through the trying ordeal, he stood behind her throughout the remainder of the funeral, offering his silent support.
Although Abigail longed to turn and throw herself in the fisherman's muscular arms and weep on his broad shoulders, decorum prohibited her from doing so in public. Still, her senses were heightened to the point that she could almost hear his breathing and his heartbeat. She could also sense the tension in the man beside her since Lemuel was barely able to contain his seething jealousy and anger.
When the service came to an end, the mourners lined up to offer a few final words of consolation to the Dobson family before heading home. The prosecutor tried to steer Abigail away from Matthew, but the young lady refused to budge.
She cleverly turned to the man on her other side and said, "Uncle, I'll be ready to leave in a few minutes, but first I'd like to have a word with Mr. English."
Elliott reluctantly nodded his approval and gave an unspoken signal to Lemuel.
"All right, dear," he replied to his niece. "I'll wait for you by the carriage."
Once Abigail was alone with Matthew, the urge to touch him was overpowering, so she discreetly slipped her hand in his.
"I miss you," she announced in a strained voice.
"I miss you, too," he replied, his ruggedly handsome features softening as he smiled. "I wanted so desperately to see you, but your Aunt Flo told me you were in mourning and that my presence was not wanted."
"I'm sorry. With no children of their own, my aunt and uncle have always been extremely overprotective toward me."
"You have that affect on people. I want nothing more in life than to love and take care of you."
Abigail's heart raced. In the past, whenever Matthew spoke of the future, she had always been anxious about her father's disapproval. Now there was no longer an impediment to their marriage. What Abigail failed to realize, however, was that a growing number of people suspected the young fisherman was responsible for Zachariah Dobson's murder.
* * *
Once the wealthy shipbuilder was in his grave, the police intensified their efforts to find his killer. Oleg Grundy, Puritan Falls' chief of police himself, a long-time friend of the deceased's family, went to Elliott Dobson's house to question Abigail. The girl assured the chief that she had no knowledge of the crime. She had been out visiting a sick friend in Copperwell the previous afternoon. After she returned home, she went directly up to her room and took a long nap. When she woke up, she had a light supper and then went to the library where she read for several hours before retiring for the evening. The following morning, upon noticing that her father had not come down for breakfast, she went upstairs to his room and found him dead in his bed.
"I'm sorry I can't be of any more help," Abigail apologized.
"That's quite all right, Miss Dobson," Oleg assured her. "We already have a good idea who the killer is, but we want to make sure we're not overlooking anything."
"And who do you think murdered my father?"
Chief Grundy turned away from the alarmed look in the young woman's eyes.
"I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to say, but I'm fairly confident an arrest will be made shortly."
Shortly proved to be the following day. Abigail received news of the arrest from her aunt.
"Oh, my poor sweet child!" Flo Dobson exclaimed dramatically. "The police have apprehended the awful fiend who murdered your father."
"Who?"
"That no-good fisherman, Matthew English, that's who. And can you believe the gall of that blackguard? He actually showed up here after the murder, asking to speak to you."
Abigail did not reply, for she had fainted upon hearing of Matthew's arrest.
* * *
The trial was a speedy one by today's standards. This is understandable since there were no expert witnesses trying to explain psychological conditions or presenting technical forensic testimony to a jury made up of bewildered laymen. The case against Matthew was purely circumstantial, the main circumstance being that he had the strongest motive to murder Zachariah Dobson: with the father out of the way, Matthew was free to marry the daughter and gain a fortune in the process. Love and greed were most compelling motives.
Lemuel Byrd prosecuted the case with unabashed fervor. He, more than anyone else in Puritan Falls, wanted to see justice done, especially since he had the most to lose if the defendant went free. Should the accused fisherman hang for the crime, Lemuel was confident Abigail would eventually agree to marry him.
Elliott Dobson and his wife forbade their niece to attend the trial. Every day when her husband left for the courthouse, Aunt Flo stayed home to keep watch over Abigail.
"I don't know why so much time and money are being wasted on a trial," Mrs. Dobson commented. "There's no doubt in anyone's mind that the man is guilty."
"Matthew wouldn't hurt anyone," Abigail cried, coming to her beloved's defense. "He's kind and gentle and ...."
Abigail stopped trying to persuade the older woman when she noticed her words were falling on deaf ears. Her aunt had already concluded that the fisherman was guilty and considered her niece's arguments nothing more than the result of a foolish infatuation.
The twelve men who sat on the jury in the case of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts vs. Matthew English agreed with Aunt Flo. After less than two hours of deliberations, they returned a verdict of guilty. Their unanimous decision was a surprise to no one except Abigail Dobson.
How could they have found Matthew guilty? she wondered. There were no witnesses, no evidence of any kind.
The answer was a simple one. The jury believed Matthew was the killer because he was the only one who had a motive.
* * *
The next several days were excruciatingly painful ones for Abigail. Not only was she strictly forbidden to visit the condemned man in his jail cell, but she also had to listen to the thud, thud, thud of the hammer on nails as the scaffold was built for the gallows. Retribution was swift in Puritan Falls in 1824. Once a sentence was passed, it was usually carried out within a fortnight.
On the day before the scheduled execution, however, Abigail was finally given permission to speak to Matthew. Despite her intentions to remain strong, she immediately burst into tears when she saw her beloved behind bars.
"There now," he crooned, "don't cry. I want to take the vision of your smiling face with me when I die."
His words only served to elicit more tears.
"They can't execute you!"
"I don't mind dying, my love, just as long as I know you believe that I'm innocent. You do, don't you?"
Abigail looked into those pale blue eyes that had haunted so many of her dreams and replied with complete sincerity, "Yes. I believe you are innocent. I know you didn't kill my father. That makes this execution even more abominable, for not only will an innocent man be wrongfully punished, but also a guilty man will escape justice."
Matthew reached his calloused hand through the bars of his cell and gently wiped a tear from Abigail's cheek.
"I don't believe anyone ever escapes justice, my dearest. It just takes time to catch up with some people."
Still, justice, whether quick or slow, was no comfort to a woman who was about to lose the man she loved.
Besides, this hanging won't bring my father back.
* * *
No sun shone brightly on the morning of the execution. Instead, slate gray clouds cast an ominous gloom over Puritan Falls, an atmosphere more suitable to such a grim occasion. Though her aunt and uncle strongly objected to her attending the hanging, Abigail stubbornly insisted on going. It would, after all, be the last time she could lay eyes on Matthew English this side of heaven.
Despite the threatening weather, a large crowd of spectators gathered around the gallows, which had been constructed on the Common, across from the courthouse.
Are people really that starved for entertainment that they venture out on such a dismal day to see a young man hang? Abigail wondered sorrowfully. Wouldn't they prefer to stay at home and read a good book?
With the danger of an imminent downpour, the hangman hurried with his preparations. He made sure the rope was secure, the noose properly knotted and the trap door operational.
"It looks like everything is in working order," prosecutor Lemuel Byrd said as he took his place beside Abigail.
Uncle Elliott, who was again on the right side of his niece, commented, "Thank God it will all be over soon. Once the killer has been punished, we can all get on with our lives."
"Please!" Abigail cried. "Will the both of you stop talking about Matthew as though he actually murdered my father!"
"My dear, this isn't a lynching! English was tried in a proper court of law and found guilty by a jury of his peers," the prosecutor insisted, "and now justice will prevail."
Lemuel, like Matthew, is certain justice will punish the guilty, Abigail thought with desperation. Yet why does that same entity turn her blind eye on the wrongful death of the innocent? Where is the justice for Matthew English?
Only moments after that thought echoed through Abigail's head, Chief Grundy led his prisoner out of the jail. Although Matthew's hands were cuffed, there were no chains on his feet. Even if he were foolish enough to try to escape, he wouldn't get far in the crowded street.
As the condemned fisherman climbed up the seven steps of the gallows, he craned his neck, searching for one friendly face in the sea of many who were eager to see him hang. When his eyes made contact with Abigail's, he smiled. Even though her face was stained with tears and her eyes were red from lack of sleep, she never looked more beautiful to him.
Abigail was deaf and blind to everything around her. Her eyes saw only the face of the man she loved, and her ears were closed to the cries from the crowd that demanded his death. Her eyes remained on Matthew as the noose was slipped over his head, only averting her gaze when the executioner placed a burlap sack over his face. Abigail then lowered her head and cried, knowing she would never look upon his handsome features again.
"Let me take you home, my dear," Uncle Elliott said softly.
"No, I'll take her," Lemuel quickly offered.
Abigail was unable to answer. Although she couldn't watch the scene playing out on the scaffold in front of the courthouse, she knew what was happening. The executioner was tightening the knot of the noose around Matthew's neck.
The minister, the same one who had spoken at her father's graveside, began to pray.
"Our father who art in heaven hallowed be thy name."
Abigail trembled and began murmuring her own prayer, which she repeated over and over again, like a mantra.
"... For thine is the kingdom and the power and the glory forever. Amen."
When the minister concluded his prayer, the executioner reached for the lever that opened the trap door beneath the prisoner. Immediately, the metal hinges squeaked, and Matthew fell through the opening. There were intakes of breath as the body jerked from the end of the rope and a few sobs when it finally became still.
After the doctor examined the body and declared the prisoner dead, the executioner removed the noose from around Matthew's neck and took the burlap sack off his head.
Suddenly, there were several shouts and startled exclamations.
"What is the meaning of this?" the executioner yelled.
Abigail could not stop herself. She raised her head and looked at the body.
It wasn't Matthew's!
The face beneath the burlap sack was that of the real killer, the man who murdered Zachariah Dobson in hopes of gaining control of his fortune: his younger brother, Elliott Dobson.
At the shock of seeing her uncle dead, Abigail swooned, but the strong arms of the man beside her caught her before she fell to the ground. When she recovered, she looked up into the eyes she feared she would never see again, into the face of the man she loved, an innocent man whom Lady Justice, despite her blindness, had absolved of any wrongdoing.
"Justice may be blind," Abigail said as she rested her head on Matthew's broad shoulders and felt his strong arms encircle her waist, "but I'm glad she has a heart."
Salem tried his hand at being a fisherman. He gave it up when an angry pelican tried to bite him in two.
