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1 George W. Hays, The Necessity for Capital Punishment 577 (1927)

handle is hein.death/necapu0001 and id is 1 raw text is: SCRIBNER'S VOL. LXXXI MAGAZINE '7UNE, 1927 The Necessity for Capital Punishment BY GEORGE W. HAYS Former Governor of Arkansas HE governor lived in x e x tan old-fashioned, large house built of dark-red brick. Its architecture was reminiscent of ante- bellum days. It would be perhaps pre- tentious to call it a mansion. It was just dawn time. The streets were gray in the filtering light. It was in- tensely still except for the twittering birds in the trees, arousing themselves to greet the sun. The rustle of their wings and the weak cheeping as they opened their eyes were distinctly audible. Down the empty street came footsteps, ringing loud and clear in the silence. A woman and a little boy appeared before the governor's house. The woman was typical of the country. Her face, tired and faded, bore a look of wild despera- tion. She was beyond social conven- tions. Her business had to do with life and death. And life and death do not wait on hours nor stated times. The woman had come to put in a last plea for her husband, who was to die at sunrise. When they wakened the governor he groaned in anguish of spirit. He would have given anything to have avoided the meeting. Nevertheless, he hurriedly dressed and went down-stairs. His wife had arrived on the scene before him. As the governor entered the room he noticed that she had given the little boy a piece of bread and butter and a glass of milk. He took a small delight in the kindly act, but as his eyes rested on the mother his heart sank and a pall of gloom enshrouded him. The woman ran over to the governor, imploring his mercy. The chief executive closed his eyes. He could not bear to look upon this woman in such a distressful con- dition. He felt her hot tears on his hands. He steeled himself against her cries and sobs. Suddenly the thought occurred to him with the force of an unexpected blow that he could transform this wretched, weeping woman into a being of joy and happiness. A word from him and the murderer would escape the chair. The little boy threw down the bread he had been munching, upset the glass of milk and, bursting into tears, ran to his mother. He was too young to understand the tragic situation, but he saw that his mother was suffering. I cannot, the chief executive man- aged to say. But you pardoned- and the wo- man mentioned the names of others the governor had saved from the death sen- tence. There was a note of anger in her voice. Desperately, she was playing her last poor card. Yes, the governor was considered by some to be perhaps too soft-hearted. Other men had he pardoned, and he would have been only too glad to commute the death penalty of this one if there were some legitimate reason to justify clem- ency. If only he could send the mother and little son away singing with joy. But alas, there was no justification. He had care- fully investigated the case. It was a cold- Copyrighted in 1927 in United States, Canada, and Great Britain by Charles Scribner's Sons. Printed in New York. All rights reserved. VOL. LXXXI.-42 NO. 6 577

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