Newspaper Accounts
First account of murder Chronicle and Gazette August 2, 1843
Second account of murder Chronicle and Gazette August 2, 1843
Grace Marks
''The details were sensational: Grace Marks was uncommonly pretty and also extremely young; Kinnear's housekeeper, Nancy Montgomery, had previously given birth to an illegitimate child and was Thomas Kinnear's mistress; at her autopsy she was found to be pregnant. Grace and her fellow servant James McDermott had run away to the United States together and were assumed by the press to be lovers. The combination of sex, violence and the deplorable insubordination of the lower classes was most attractive to the journalists of the day.'' Margaret Atwood
Transcript of Grace Marks' confession, James McDermott Trial, Grace Marks' trial, and James McDermott Confession
markstrialtranscript.pdf | |
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Highlights:
- "I promised to keep the secret." Grace Marks, confession, p. 8
- "Mr. Kinnear left for the city on Thursday afternoon, the 27th July, about 3 o'clock, on horseback. McDermott, after Mr. Kinnear was gone, said to me it was a good job he was gone, he would kill Nancy that night; I persuaded him not to do so that night; he had made me promise to assist him, and I agreed to do so" Grace Mars, confession p.8-9
- "....he said, the way he intended to kill Nancy was, to knock her on the head with the axe, and then strangle her; -- and shoot Kinnear with the double-barreled gun." Grace Mars, confession, p. 9
- "He said damn her, is that what she is at, I'll kill her before morning." Grace Marks, confession, p. 9
- "I said, said McDermott, for God's sake don't kill her in the room, you'll make the floor all bloody." Grace Marks, confession, p. 9
- "Grace you promised to help me, come and open the trap-door and I'll throw her down the cellar, I refused to do so being frightened." Grace Marks, confession, p. 9
- The female prisoner is rather good-looking than otherwise, she appears totally uneducated and her countenance is devoid of expression." Trial of James McDermott, p. 13
- "Francis Boyd, Esq.-- Remembered Mr. Newton calling upon him on Sunday afternoon; went with him to Mr. Kinnear's: found the rooms all upside down; discovered blood on the kitchen floor near the hall." Trial James McDermott, p. 13
- "Jonathan Jefferson, Butcher-- Called at Mr. Kinnear's on Saturday morning to leave meat, as usual. Mr. Kinnear or the housekeeper used always to give witness orders. On this occasion, Grace Marks came to him, at the kitchen door. She never used to give orders. She told him she did not want any meat for this week. Witness asked for MR. Kinnear. She told him he was in town. Asked, also, for housekeeper. Said she did not know where she was; but, no matter, they wanted no meat. They always took meat on Saturday, heretofore." Trial of James McDermott, p.16
- "James Walsh--was at Mr. Kinnear's on Friday, from three o'clock, till half-past ten at night, playing his fife, at the request of the housekeeper. Mr. Kinnear, he understood, was gone to the city. Nancy and he wanted the prisoner and Grace Marks to dance." Trial of James McDermott, p. 16
- "George Kinsmith, High Bailiff of the City of Toronto discovered Grace dressing, and the prisoner asleep in an adjoining room." Trial of James McDermott, p. 17
- "James Newton bore testimony to the prisoner's good behavior, and that he never heard Mr. Kinnear complain of her." Trial of Grace Marks, p. 19
- "The defense set up was that McDermott threatened to take her life...." Trial of Grace Marks, p.19
- "She and the Housekeeper used often to quarrel, and she told me she was determined if I would assist her, she would poison both the Housekeeper and Mr. Kinnear by mixing poison with the porridge." James McDermott Confession, p. 20
- "Grace Marks told me a few days before Mr. Kinnear went to town, that the Housekeeper had given her warning to leave and she told me, now McDermott, I am not going to leave in this way; let us poison Mr. Kinnear and Nancy." James McDermott Confession, p. 20
- "She said she was a warned to leave, and she supposed she should not get wages, and she was determined to pay herself after Mr. Kinnear was gone to the city..." James McDermott Confession, p. 20
- "I will not say how Mr. Kinnear and Nancy Montgomery were killed, but I should not have done it, if I had not been urged to do so by Grace Marks." James McDermott Confession, p. 21
- "At ten o'clock in the morning, the prisoner said his confession of yesterday was true, and he wished further to state, that when the housekeeper was thrown down the cellar, after being knocked down, Grace Marks followed him into the cellar, and brought a piece of white cloth with her; he held the housekeeper's hands, she being then insensible, and Grace Marks tied the cloth tight round her neck and strangled her: he had nothing more to say." p. 21
Letter Concerning Thomas Kinear's Murder
Toronto (City), August 11, 1843
Dear Sir
From a long and happy acquaintance with Mr. Thomas Kinnear, and being his professional friend in this Colony I feel obliged to (?) upon to me a most painful task and one would that no cause existed for - but my duty to you and his other relatives renders it unavoidable to me & I trust that He on whom all may lean for support in the hour of deep distress & afflictions may sustain his aged and affectionate Mother and his other relatives under the (trying tidings?) of which this is the harbinger. I need hardly tell you poor Thomas Kinnear is now no more. He died on the 29th July & by the hand of ruffian murderers. An ungrateful & wretched villian of a Servant man named James McDermott perpetrated the foul deed on the evening of the day above. The details are too horrible, too painful to the feelings of humanity to ... upon, & too dreadful for his surviving relatives to listen to, alas it must be disclosed sooner or later. The brief outline is that he (TK) had been at this place for two days (on business?) and it was expected on his return he (would) bring (home) money with him. He had three servants the man McDermott & woman calling herself Grace Marks (both of whom were only three weeks in his employment) and an old faithful housekeeper named Nancy Montgomery all of whom he left at his farm. On his return home he (missed?) his housekeeper Nancy and enquired where she was gone to. The other two pretended she was gone to a neighbour at a distance to visit a person very ill. He seems then to have thought little about it & spoke about getting his tea & was in the (meantime? ) reclining on a sofa with a book - it seems McDermott called him from the Hall and poor fellow he came to the Hall with the book in hand and the ruffian instantly discharged a gun at him & shot him dead upon the spot. He seems to have spoken only in a dying groan of oh, oh & have (pressed? ) the book to his bleeding bosom & expired. The wretch shortly after took the book and placed in a small (apartment? ) in the cellar and he & the servant Grace Marks (... ) (... ) the night stole as many clothes and light articles (...) (...) as they could conveniently take in a one horse carriage & took poor
Kinnear’s horse & carriage & the above property and absconded to (the?) United States on Sunday following (being?) the next day the house was found vacant and suspicion was awakened & search made & the body found in the cellar. No tidings were to be had of any of the servants but doubts were entertained (as) to the fate of Nancy. (Strict?) search was made but in vain. On Monday further search was made & by accident a tub in the cellar was overturned and beneath it & as it were (...) it was found the body of the murdered Nancy Montgomery.
She had been strangled a bandage was tightly & strongly tied on her neck & in that manner the unfortunate woman was murdered but the guilty parties were promptly followed & apprehended & are now in jail here and will shortly be tried for their diabolical deeds. The woman Grace Marks declares she knew nothing of the murder of the housekeeper, but she saw and heard the murder of Mr. Kinnear, & that McDermott shot him in hopes of getting some money. I send a newspaper herewith in which some of the particulars are therein. I have given directions that an inventory be taken of all the property and effects and examined myself minutely, for a will among his papers. The only document of the kind found is a draft of a deed a copy of which I herewith enclose. It will be desirable that some person should administer to his Estate or that some of his relatives should come out and look after in the meantime. I shall keep watch on it and endeavour to keep every article forthcoming. The Coroner is at present in charge and he is acting under my advice. I shall be happy to be useful in any way in my power to the relatives of one to whom I was so much attached & whom I so much respected as my worthy but departed friend Thomas Kinnear. I (intended) to have been brief & await your reply but I have perhaps indulged in expressions natural if not necessary. Deeply sympathising with his afflicted relatives and endeared friends, I remain
P.S. I saw among the papers of your deceased relative a letter which he received from his mother & as recent a date as July 1 st.
http://history.rhpl.richmondhill.on.ca/details.asp?ID=3168565
Dear Sir
From a long and happy acquaintance with Mr. Thomas Kinnear, and being his professional friend in this Colony I feel obliged to (?) upon to me a most painful task and one would that no cause existed for - but my duty to you and his other relatives renders it unavoidable to me & I trust that He on whom all may lean for support in the hour of deep distress & afflictions may sustain his aged and affectionate Mother and his other relatives under the (trying tidings?) of which this is the harbinger. I need hardly tell you poor Thomas Kinnear is now no more. He died on the 29th July & by the hand of ruffian murderers. An ungrateful & wretched villian of a Servant man named James McDermott perpetrated the foul deed on the evening of the day above. The details are too horrible, too painful to the feelings of humanity to ... upon, & too dreadful for his surviving relatives to listen to, alas it must be disclosed sooner or later. The brief outline is that he (TK) had been at this place for two days (on business?) and it was expected on his return he (would) bring (home) money with him. He had three servants the man McDermott & woman calling herself Grace Marks (both of whom were only three weeks in his employment) and an old faithful housekeeper named Nancy Montgomery all of whom he left at his farm. On his return home he (missed?) his housekeeper Nancy and enquired where she was gone to. The other two pretended she was gone to a neighbour at a distance to visit a person very ill. He seems then to have thought little about it & spoke about getting his tea & was in the (meantime? ) reclining on a sofa with a book - it seems McDermott called him from the Hall and poor fellow he came to the Hall with the book in hand and the ruffian instantly discharged a gun at him & shot him dead upon the spot. He seems to have spoken only in a dying groan of oh, oh & have (pressed? ) the book to his bleeding bosom & expired. The wretch shortly after took the book and placed in a small (apartment? ) in the cellar and he & the servant Grace Marks (... ) (... ) the night stole as many clothes and light articles (...) (...) as they could conveniently take in a one horse carriage & took poor
Kinnear’s horse & carriage & the above property and absconded to (the?) United States on Sunday following (being?) the next day the house was found vacant and suspicion was awakened & search made & the body found in the cellar. No tidings were to be had of any of the servants but doubts were entertained (as) to the fate of Nancy. (Strict?) search was made but in vain. On Monday further search was made & by accident a tub in the cellar was overturned and beneath it & as it were (...) it was found the body of the murdered Nancy Montgomery.
She had been strangled a bandage was tightly & strongly tied on her neck & in that manner the unfortunate woman was murdered but the guilty parties were promptly followed & apprehended & are now in jail here and will shortly be tried for their diabolical deeds. The woman Grace Marks declares she knew nothing of the murder of the housekeeper, but she saw and heard the murder of Mr. Kinnear, & that McDermott shot him in hopes of getting some money. I send a newspaper herewith in which some of the particulars are therein. I have given directions that an inventory be taken of all the property and effects and examined myself minutely, for a will among his papers. The only document of the kind found is a draft of a deed a copy of which I herewith enclose. It will be desirable that some person should administer to his Estate or that some of his relatives should come out and look after in the meantime. I shall keep watch on it and endeavour to keep every article forthcoming. The Coroner is at present in charge and he is acting under my advice. I shall be happy to be useful in any way in my power to the relatives of one to whom I was so much attached & whom I so much respected as my worthy but departed friend Thomas Kinnear. I (intended) to have been brief & await your reply but I have perhaps indulged in expressions natural if not necessary. Deeply sympathising with his afflicted relatives and endeared friends, I remain
P.S. I saw among the papers of your deceased relative a letter which he received from his mother & as recent a date as July 1 st.
http://history.rhpl.richmondhill.on.ca/details.asp?ID=3168565
From "The Liberal", August 4, 1955.
William Harrison, local historian, recalls in his writings of July 30, 1908, the 60th anniversary of the historic tragedy, the Kinnear murder, which took place near Richmond Hill in 1843.
He begins his story, “It may not therefore be out of place though late in my life’s history, to give a plain, and I trust, an unassuming account of this terrible tragedy in a rural home.
Authors living far from the scene and its surroundings have written on this tragic event and to make their efforts more attractive to their readers have drawn on lively imagination until to a minimum of fact they have supplied a maximum of fiction. The object of this sketch will be to endeavour to present the event as it occurred and the characteristics of the parties concerned in its history as they were understood by those living at the time.
Perhaps it will be as well to premise that the writer’s father and his family came to this locality in the spring of 1842 and settled about two miles north of Richmond Hill on a farm nearly opposite the Kinnear estate, Yonge Street, only between us. As neighbors we were on friendly terms and daily intercourse. At the time a lad of nine years of age the faces of the murders and their unfortunate victims were all familiar to me.
Captain Kinnear who purchased the farm in the township of Vaughan on account of the country air, and country surroundings, was a gentleman of reputed wealth, of aristocratic bearing, pleasant and kind to all around him. This, however, did not prevent him from looking well after his own, for the writer has often seen the Captain standing under his verandah, with a spy-glass to his eye, watching us boys (a part of the juvenile depravity of that day) to see if we were trespassing in a small orchard he owned just south of ours.
Hannah Montgomery, known to us as “Nancy”, Mr. Kinnear’s housekeeper, was of medium height, a well built, happy-tempered woman, who was always cheerful and very neighborly. When water failed at her house, she would often come to our home for a supply. On one occasion without the least idea of his compliance, Nancy jokingly bantered our hired man, Joe, to give her a lift across the road, then knee deep in mud. Without the least hesitation Joe, who was a modern Hercules in build and in strength, took her up on one of his brawny arms, her full pail in the other hand, carried them across Yonge St., and set her down at her master’s gate. Nancy thanked him and went home laughing.
McDermot was a man of very different temperament. He was morose and churlish. There was very little to admire in his character. Of his earlier history, very little is known, save that he came of respectable parents, had been a wild and restless youth, had joined the army in the old country, had deserted his regiment, escaped and came as an emigrant to Canada.
McDermot was a smart young fellow, so lithe that he would run along the top of a zig-zag fence like a squirrel, or leap over a five barred gate, rather than open or climb it. Had he not made himself so conspicuous a figure in the calendar of crime, he might have been prominent in an Athletic Association. He enlisted in Captain Kinnear's domestic service as stable boy. Through his own efforts he was subsequently promoted by the Government to a more established position.
Of McDermot's moral standing among us, there is but little to say. Perhaps his best-known characteristic was his utter disregard for the truth. Of Grace Marks, the last comer to the Kinnear home, McDermot’s companion in crime, but little was known. She was there only a few months, a girl of about 18 years of age, an immigrant from Ireland. She was engaged as housework assistant to Nancy Montgomery. Grace was of a lively disposition and pleasant manners and may have been an object of jealousy to Nancy. Over Grace, McDermot seemed to have had a baneful influence from the first week of her arrive at the Kinnear homestead. There is plenty of room for the supposition that instead of her being the instigator and promoter for the terrible deeds committed, she was but his unfortunate dupe in the whole dreadful business. There certainly did not appear to be anything in the girl’s personality that would be likely to develop into an embodiment of concentrated iniquity that McDermot tried to make her out to have been, if he ever uttered on half of the statements attributed to him in his confession. His disregard for truth was well-known. Like Topsy of a later date he thought it his duty to “fess something,” so in the hope of saving his own neck, he fessed much that never happened to which writers of fertile imagination, pandering to the public taste for exciting literature have added conversations between the guilty pair that bear the impress of incredibility from beginning to end.
http://history.rhpl.richmondhill.on.ca/essay.asp?id=398
William Harrison, local historian, recalls in his writings of July 30, 1908, the 60th anniversary of the historic tragedy, the Kinnear murder, which took place near Richmond Hill in 1843.
He begins his story, “It may not therefore be out of place though late in my life’s history, to give a plain, and I trust, an unassuming account of this terrible tragedy in a rural home.
Authors living far from the scene and its surroundings have written on this tragic event and to make their efforts more attractive to their readers have drawn on lively imagination until to a minimum of fact they have supplied a maximum of fiction. The object of this sketch will be to endeavour to present the event as it occurred and the characteristics of the parties concerned in its history as they were understood by those living at the time.
Perhaps it will be as well to premise that the writer’s father and his family came to this locality in the spring of 1842 and settled about two miles north of Richmond Hill on a farm nearly opposite the Kinnear estate, Yonge Street, only between us. As neighbors we were on friendly terms and daily intercourse. At the time a lad of nine years of age the faces of the murders and their unfortunate victims were all familiar to me.
Captain Kinnear who purchased the farm in the township of Vaughan on account of the country air, and country surroundings, was a gentleman of reputed wealth, of aristocratic bearing, pleasant and kind to all around him. This, however, did not prevent him from looking well after his own, for the writer has often seen the Captain standing under his verandah, with a spy-glass to his eye, watching us boys (a part of the juvenile depravity of that day) to see if we were trespassing in a small orchard he owned just south of ours.
Hannah Montgomery, known to us as “Nancy”, Mr. Kinnear’s housekeeper, was of medium height, a well built, happy-tempered woman, who was always cheerful and very neighborly. When water failed at her house, she would often come to our home for a supply. On one occasion without the least idea of his compliance, Nancy jokingly bantered our hired man, Joe, to give her a lift across the road, then knee deep in mud. Without the least hesitation Joe, who was a modern Hercules in build and in strength, took her up on one of his brawny arms, her full pail in the other hand, carried them across Yonge St., and set her down at her master’s gate. Nancy thanked him and went home laughing.
McDermot was a man of very different temperament. He was morose and churlish. There was very little to admire in his character. Of his earlier history, very little is known, save that he came of respectable parents, had been a wild and restless youth, had joined the army in the old country, had deserted his regiment, escaped and came as an emigrant to Canada.
McDermot was a smart young fellow, so lithe that he would run along the top of a zig-zag fence like a squirrel, or leap over a five barred gate, rather than open or climb it. Had he not made himself so conspicuous a figure in the calendar of crime, he might have been prominent in an Athletic Association. He enlisted in Captain Kinnear's domestic service as stable boy. Through his own efforts he was subsequently promoted by the Government to a more established position.
Of McDermot's moral standing among us, there is but little to say. Perhaps his best-known characteristic was his utter disregard for the truth. Of Grace Marks, the last comer to the Kinnear home, McDermot’s companion in crime, but little was known. She was there only a few months, a girl of about 18 years of age, an immigrant from Ireland. She was engaged as housework assistant to Nancy Montgomery. Grace was of a lively disposition and pleasant manners and may have been an object of jealousy to Nancy. Over Grace, McDermot seemed to have had a baneful influence from the first week of her arrive at the Kinnear homestead. There is plenty of room for the supposition that instead of her being the instigator and promoter for the terrible deeds committed, she was but his unfortunate dupe in the whole dreadful business. There certainly did not appear to be anything in the girl’s personality that would be likely to develop into an embodiment of concentrated iniquity that McDermot tried to make her out to have been, if he ever uttered on half of the statements attributed to him in his confession. His disregard for truth was well-known. Like Topsy of a later date he thought it his duty to “fess something,” so in the hope of saving his own neck, he fessed much that never happened to which writers of fertile imagination, pandering to the public taste for exciting literature have added conversations between the guilty pair that bear the impress of incredibility from beginning to end.
http://history.rhpl.richmondhill.on.ca/essay.asp?id=398
The Story of Grace Marks as told by Mrs. Moodie in Life in the Clearings versus the Bush
Mrs. Moodie is one of our primary sources on Grace Marks. Even so, she continues the sensationalism of the story. Still, she is one of the sources that remain, and one of Margaret Atwood's primary inspirations.
Note: while Moodie refers to Nancy as Hannah, some sources, including one of the letter writers above list Nancy's given name as Hannah, though they refer to her as Nancy. Some newspaper accounts also call her Ann.
Note: while Moodie refers to Nancy as Hannah, some sources, including one of the letter writers above list Nancy's given name as Hannah, though they refer to her as Nancy. Some newspaper accounts also call her Ann.
About eight or nine years ago--I write from memory, and am not very certain as to dates--a young Irish emigrant girl was hired into the service of Captain Kinnaird, an officer on half-pay, who had purchased a farm about thirty miles in the rear of Toronto; but the name of the township, and the county in which it was situated, I have forgotten; but this is of little consequence to my narrative. Both circumstances could be easily ascertained by the curious. The captain had been living for some time on very intimate terms with his housekeeper, a handsome young woman of the name of Hannah Montgomery, who had been his servant of all work. Her familiarity with her master, who, it appears, was a very fine looking, gentlemanly person, had rendered her very impatient of her former menial employments, and she soon became virtually the mistress of the house. Grace Marks was hired to wait upon her, and perform all the coarse drudgery that Hannah considered herself too fine a lady to do.
While Hannah occupied the parlour with her master, and sat at his table, her insolent airs of superiority aroused the jealousy and envy of Grace Marks, and the man-servant, MacDermot; who considered themselves quite superior to their self-elected mistress. MacDermot was the son of respectable parents; but from being a wild, ungovernable boy, he became a bad, vicious man, and early abandoned the parental roof to enlist for a soldier. He was soon tired of his new profession, and, deserting from his regiment, escaped detection, and emigrated to Canada. Having no means of his own, he was glad to engage with Captain Kinnaird as his servant, to whom his character and previous habits were unknown.
These circumstances, together with what follows, were drawn from his confession, made to Mr. Mac--ie, who had conducted his defence, the night previous to his execution. Perhaps it will be better to make him the narrator of his own story.
"Grace Marks was hired by Captain Kinnaird to wait upon his housekeeper, a few days after I entered his service. She was a pretty girl, and very smart about her work, but of a silent, sullen temper. It was very difficult to know when she was pleased. Her age did not exceed seventeen years. After the work of the day was over, she and I generally were left to ourselves in the kitchen, Hannah being entirely taken up with her master. Grace was very jealous of the difference made between her and the house-keeper, whom she hated, and to whom she was often very insolent and saucy. Her whole conversation to me was on this subject. 'What is she better than us?' she would say, 'that she is to be treated like a lady, and eat and drink of the best. She is not better born than we are, or better educated. I will not stay here to be domineered over by her. Either she or I must soon leave this.' Every little complaint Hannah made of me, was repeated to me with cruel exaggerations, till my dander was up, and I began to regard the unfortunate woman as our common enemy. The good looks of Grace had interested me in her cause; and though there was something about the girl that I could not exactly like, I had been a very lawless, dissipated fellow, and if a woman was young and pretty, I cared very little about her character. Grace was sullen and proud, and not very easily won over to my purpose; but in order to win her liking, if possible, I gave a ready ear to all her discontented repinings.
"One day Captain Kinnaird went to Toronto, to draw his half-year's pay, and left word with Hannah that he would be back by noon the next day. She had made some complaint against us to him, and he had promised to pay us off on his return. This had come to the ears of Grace, and her hatred to the housekeeper was increased to a tenfold degree. I take heaven to witness, that I had no designs against the life of the unfortunate woman when my master left the house.
"Hannah went out in the afternoon, to visit some friends she had in the neighbourhood, and left Grace and I alone together. This was an opportunity too good to be lost, and, instead of minding our work, we got recapitulating our fancied wrongs over some of the captain's whisky. I urged my suit to Grace; but she would not think of anything, or listen to anything, but the insults and injuries she had received from Hannah, and her burning thirst for revenge. 'Dear me,' said I, half in jest, 'if you hate her so much as all that, say but the word, and I will soon rid you of her for ever.'
"I had not the least idea that she would take me at my word. Her eyes flashed with a horrible light. 'You dare not do it!' she replied, with a scornful toss of her head.
"'Dare not do what?'
"'Kill that woman for me!' she whispered.
"'You don't know what I dare, or what I dar'n't do!' said I, drawing a little back from her. 'If you will promise to run off with me afterwards, I will see what I can do with her.'
"'I'll do anything you like; but you must first kill her.'
"'You are not in earnest, Grace?'
"'I mean what I say!'
"'How shall we be able to accomplish it? She is away now, and she may not return before her master comes back.'
"'Never doubt her. She will be back to see after the house, and that we are in no mischief.'
"'She sleeps with you?'
"'Not always. She will to-night.'
"'I will wait till you are asleep, and then I will kill her with a blow of the axe on the head. It will be over in a minute. Which side of the bed does she lie on?'
"'She always sleeps on the side nearest the wall and she bolts the door the last thing before she puts out the light. But I will manage both these difficulties for you. I will pretend to have the toothache very bad, and will ask to sleep next the wall to-night. She is kind to the sick, and will not refuse me; and after she is asleep, I will steal out at the foot of the bed, and unbolt the door. If you are true to your promise, you need not fear that I shall neglect mine.'
"I looked at her with astonishment. 'Good God!' thought I, 'can this be a woman? A pretty, soft-looking woman too--and a mere girl! What a heart she must have!' I felt equally tempted to tell her she was a devil, and that I would have nothing to do with such a horrible piece of business; but she looked so handsome, that somehow or another I yielded to the temptation, though it was not without a struggle; for conscience loudly warned me not to injure one who had never injured me.
"Hannah came home to supper, and she was unusually agreeable, and took her tea with us in the kitchen, and laughed and chatted as merrily as possible. And Grace, in order to hide the wicked thoughts working in her mind, was very pleasant too, and they went laughing to bed, as if they were the best friends in the world.
"I sat by the kitchen fire after they were gone, with the axe between my knees, trying to harden my heart to commit the murder; but for a long time I could not bring myself to do it. I thought over all my past life. I had been a bad, disobedient son--a dishonest, wicked man; but I had never shed blood. I had often felt sorry for the error of my ways, and had even vowed amendment, and prayed God to forgive me, and make a better man of me for the time to come. And now, here I was, at the instigation of a young girl, contemplating the death of a fellow-creature, with whom I had been laughing and talking on apparently friendly terms a few minutes ago. Oh, it was dreadful, too dreadful to be true! and then I prayed God to remove the temptation from me, and to convince me of my sin. 'Ah, but,' whispered the devil, 'Grace Marks will laugh at you. She will twit you with your want of resolution, and say that she is the better man of the two.'
"I sprang up, and hastened at their door, which opened into the kitchen. All was still. I tried the door;--for the damnation of my soul, it was open. I had no need of a candle, the moon was at full; there was no curtain to their window, and it shone directly upon the bed, and I could see their features as plainly as by the light of day. Grace was either sleeping, or pretending to sleep--I think the latter, for there was a sort of fiendish smile upon her lips. The housekeeper had yielded to her request, and was lying with her head out over the bed-clothes, in the best possible manner for receiving a death-blow upon her temples. She had a sad, troubled look upon her handsome face; and once she moved her hand, and said 'Oh dear!' I wondered whether she was dreaming of any danger to herself and the man she loved. I raised the axe to give the death-blow, but my arm seemed held back by an invisible hand. It was the hand of God. I turned away from the bed, and left the room; I could not do it. I sat down by the embers of the fire, and cursed my own folly. I made a second attempt--a third--and fourth; yes, even to a ninth--and my purpose was each time defeated. God seemed to fight for the poor creature; and the last time I left the room I swore, with a great oath, that if she did not die till I killed her, she might live on till the day of judgment. I threw the axe on to the wood heap in the shed, and went to bed, and soon fell fast asleep.
"In the morning, I was coming into the kitchen to light the fire, and met Grace Marks with the pails in her hand, going out to milk the cows. As she passed me, she gave me a poke with the pail in the ribs, and whispered with a sneer, 'Arn't you a coward!'
"As she uttered those words, the devil, against whom I had fought all night, entered into my heart, and transformed me into a demon. All feelings of remorse and mercy forsook me from that instant, and darker and deeper plans of murder and theft flashed through my brain. 'Go and milk the cows,' said I with a bitter laugh, 'and you shall soon see whether I am the coward you take me for.' She went out to milk, and I went in to murder the unsuspicious housekeeper.
"I found her at the sink in the kitchen, washing her face in a tin basin. I had the fatal axe in my hand, and without pausing for an instant to change my mind--for had I stopped to think, she would have been living to this day I struck her a heavy blow on the back of the head with my axe. She fell to the ground at my feet without uttering a word; and, opening the trap-door that led from the kitchen into a cellar where we kept potatoes and other stores, I hurled her down, closed the door, and wiped away the perspiration that was streaming down my face. I then looked at the axe and laughed. 'Yes; I have tasted blood now, and this murder will not be the last. Grace Marks, you have raised the devil--take care of yourself now!'
"She came in with her pails, looking as innocent and demure as the milk they contained. She turned pale when her eye met mine. I have no doubt but that I Iooked the fiend her taunt had made me.
"'Where's Hannah?' she asked, in a faint voice.
"'Dead,' said I. 'What! are you turned coward now?'
"'Macdermot, you look dreadful. I am afraid of you, not of her.'
"'Aha, my girl! you should have thought of that before. The hound that laps blood once will lap again. You have taught me how to kill, and I don't care who, or how many I kill now. When Kinnaird comes home I will put a ball through his brain, and send him to keep company below with the housekeeper.'
"She put down the pails,--she sprang towards me, and, clinging to my arm, exclaimed in frantic tones--
"'You won't kill him?'
"'By ---, I will! why should he escape more than Hannah? And hark you, girl, if you dare to breathe a word to any one of my intention, or tell to any one, by word or sign, what I have done, I'll kill you!'
"She trembled like a leaf. Yes, that young demon trembled. 'Don't kill me,' she whined, 'don't kill me, Macdermot! I swear that I will not betray you; and oh, don't kill him!'
"'And why the devil do you want me to spare him?'
"'He is so handsome!'
"'Pshaw!'
"'So good-natured!'
"'Especially to you. Come, Grace; no nonsense. If I had thought that you were jealous of your master and Hannah, I would have been the last man on earth to have killed her. You belong to me now; and though I believe that the devil has given me a bad bargain in you, yet, such as you are, I will stand by you. And now, strike a light and follow me into the cellar. You must help me to put Hannah out of sight.'
"She never shed a tear, but she looked dogged and sullen, and did as I bid her.
"That cellar presented a dreadful spectacle. I can hardly bear to recall it now; but then, when my hands were still red with her blood, it was doubly terrible. Hannah Montgomery was not dead, as I had thought; the blow had only stunned her. She had partially recovered her senses, and was kneeling on one knee as we descended the ladder with the light. I don't know if she heard us, for she must have been blinded with the blood that was flowing down her face; but she certainly heard us, and raised her clasped hands, as if to implore mercy.
"I turned to Grace. The expression of her livid face was even more dreadful than that of the unfortunate woman. She uttered no cry, but she put her hand to her head, and said,--
"'God has damned me for this.'
"'Then you have nothing more to fear,' says I. 'Give me that handkerchief off your neck.' She gave it without a word. I threw myself upon the body of the housekeeper,--and planting my knee on her breast, I tied the handkerchief round her throat in a single tie, giving Grace one end to hold, while I drew the other tight enough to finish my terrible work. Her eyes literally started from her head, she gave one groan, and all was over. I then cut the body in four pieces, and turned a large washtub over them.
"'Now, Grace, you may come up and get my breakfast.'
"Yes, Mr. M---. You will not perhaps believe me, yet I assure you that we went upstairs and ate a good breakfast; and I laughed with Grace at the consternation the captain would be in when he found that Hannah was absent.
"During the morning a pedlar called, who travelled the country with second-hand articles of clothing, taking farm produce in exchange for his wares. I bought of him two good linen-breasted shirts, which had been stolen from some gentleman by his housekeeper. While I was chatting with the pedlar, I remarked that Grace had left the house, and I saw her through the kitchen-window talking to a young lad by the well, who often came across to borrow an old gun from my master to shoot ducks. I called to her to come in, which she appeared to me to do very reluctantly. I felt that I was in her power, and I was horribly afraid of her betraying me in order to save her own and the captain's life. I now hated her from my very soul, and could have killed her without the least pity or remorse.
"'What do you want, Macdermot!' she said sullenly.
"'I want you. I dare not trust you out of my sight. I know what you are,--you are plotting mischief against me; but if you betray me I will be revenged; if I have to follow you to--for that purpose.'
"'Why do you doubt my word, Macdermot? Do you think I want to hang myself?'
"'No, not yourself, but me. You are too bad to be trusted. What were you saying just now to that boy?'
"'I told him that the captain was not at home, and I dared not lend him the gun.'
"'You were right. The gun will be wanted at home.'.
"She shuddered and turned away. It seems that she had had enough of blood, and shewed some feeling at last. I kept my eye upon her, and would not suffer her for a moment out of my sight.
"At noon the captain drove into the yard, and I went out to take the horse. Before he had time to alight, he asked for Hannah. I told him that she was out, that she went off the day before, and had not returned, but that we expected her in every minute.
"He was very much annoyed, and said that she had no business to leave the house during his absence,--that he would give her a good rating when she came home.
"Grace asked if she should get his breakfast?
"He said, 'He wanted none. He would wait till Hannah came back, and then he would take a cup of coffee.'
"He then went into the parlour; and throwing himself down upon the sofa, commenced reading a magazine he had brought with him from Toronto.
"'I thought he would miss the young lady,' said Grace. 'He has no idea how close she is to him at this moment. I wonder why I could not make him as good a cup of coffee as Hannah. I have often made it for him when he did not know it. But what is sweet from her hand, would be poison from mine. But I have had my revenge!'
"Dinner time came, and out came the captain to the kitchen, book in hand.
"'Isn't Hannah back yet?'
"'No,--Sir.'
"'It's strange. Which way did she go?'
"'She did not tell us where she was going; but said that, as you were out, it would be a good opportunity of visiting an old friend.'
"'When did she say she would be back?'
"'We expected her last night,' said Grace.
"'Something must have happened to the girl, Macdermot,' turning to me. 'Put the saddle on my riding horse. I will go among the neighbours, and inquire if they have seen her.'
"Grace exchanged glances with me.
"'Will you not stay till after dinner, Sir?'
"'I don't care,' he cried impatiently, 'a --- for dinner. I feel too uneasy about the girl to eat. Macdermot, be quick and saddle Charley; and you, Grace, come and tell me when he is at the door.'
"He went back into the parlour, and put on his riding-coat; and I went into the harness-house, not to obey his orders, but to plan his destruction.
"I perceived that it was more difficult to conceal a murder than I had imagined; that the inquiries he was about to make would arouse suspicion among the neighbours, and finally lead to a discovery. The only way to prevent this was to murder him, take what money he had brought with him from Toronto, and be off with Grace to the States. Whatever repugnance I might have felt at the commission of this fresh crime, was drowned in the selfish necessity of self-preservation. My plans were soon matured, and I hastened to put them in a proper train.
"I first loaded the old duck gun with ball, and, putting it behind the door of the harness-house, I went into the parlour. I found the captain lyinig on the sofa reading, his hat and gloves beside him on the table. He started up as I entered.
"'Is the horse ready?'
"'Not yet, Sir. Some person has been in during the night, and cut your new English saddle almost to pieces. I wish you would step out and look at it. I cannot put it on Charley in its present state.'
"'Don't bother me, he cried angrily; 'it is in your charge,--you are answerable for that. Who the devil would think it worth their while to break into the harness house to cut a saddle, when they could have carried it off entirely? Let me have none of your tricks, Sir! You must have done it yourself!'
"'That is not very likely, Captain Kinnaird. At any rate, it would be a satisfaction to me if you would come and look at it.'
"'I'm in too great a hurry. Put on the old one.'
"I still held the door in my hand. 'It's only a step from here to the harness-house.'
"He rose reluctantly, and followed me into the kitchen. The harness-house formed part of a lean-to off the kitchen, and you went down two steps into it. He went on before me, and as he descended the steps, I clutched the gun I had left behind the door, took my aim between his shoulders, and shot him through the heart. He staggered forward and fell, exclaiming as he did so, 'O God, I am shot!'
"In a few minutes he was lying in the cellar, beside our other victim. Very little blood flowed from the wound; he bled internally. He had on a very fine shirt; and after rifling his person, and possessing myself of his pocketbook, I took off his shirt, and put on the one I had bought of the pedlar."
"Then," cried Mr. Mac--ie, to whom this confession was made, "that was how the pedlar was supposed to have had a hand in the murder. That circumstance confused the evidence, and nearly saved your life."
"It was just as I have told you," said Macdermot.
"And tell me, Macdermot, the reason of another circumstance that puzzled the whole court. How came that magazine, which was found in the housekeeper's bed saturated with blood, in that place, and so far from the spot where the murder was committed?"
"That, too, is easily explained, though it was such a riddle to you gentlemen of the law. When the captain came out to look at the saddle, he had the book open in his hand. When he was shot, he clapped the book to his breast with both his hands. Almost all the blood that flowed from it was caught in that book. It required some force on my part to take it from his grasp after he was dead. Not knowing what to do with it, I flung it into the housekeeper's bed. While I harnessed the riding-horse into his new buggy, Grace collected all the valuables in the house. You know, Sir, that we got safe on board the steamer at Toronto; but, owing to an unfortunate delay, we were apprehended, sent to jail, and condemned to die.
"Grace, you tell me, has been reprieved, and her sentence commuted into confinement in the Penitentiary for life. This seems very unjust to me, for she is certainly more criminal than I am. If she had not instigated me to commit the murder, it never would have been done. But the priest tells me that I shall not be hung, and not to make myself uneasy on that score."
"Macdermot," said Mr. Mac--ie, "it is useless to flatter you with false hopes. You will suffer the execution of your sentence to-morrow, at eight o'clock, in front of the jail. I have seen the order sent by the governor to the sheriff, and that was my reason for visiting you to-night. I was not satisfied in my own mind of your guilt. What you have told me has greatly relieved my mind; and I must add, if ever man deserved his sentence, you do yours."
"When this unhappy man was really convinced that I was in earnest--that he must pay with his life the penalty of his crime," continued Mr. Mac--ie, "his abject cowardice and the mental agonies he endured were too terrible to witness. He dashed himself on the floor of his cell, and shrieked and raved like a maniac, declaring that he could not, and would not die; that the law had no right to murder a man's soul as well as his body, by giving him no time for repentance; that if he was hung like a dog, Grace Marks, in justice, ought to share his fate. Finding that all I could say to him had no effect in producing a better frame of mind I called in the chaplain, and left the sinner to his fate.
"A few months ago I visited the Penitentiary; and as my pleading had been the means of saving Grace from the same doom, I naturally felt interested in her present state. I was permitted to see and speak to her; and Mrs. M---, I never shall forget the painful feelings I experienced during this interview. She had been five years in the Penitentiary, but still retained a remarkably youthful appearance. The sullen assurance that had formerly marked her countenance, had given place to a sad and humbled expression.
She had lost much of her former good looks, and seldom raised her eyes from the ground.
"'Well, Grace,' I said, 'how is it with you now?'
"'Bad enough, Sir,' she answered, with a sigh; 'I ought to feel grateful to you for all the trouble you took on my account. I thought you my friend then, but you were the worst enemy I ever had in my life.'
"'How is that, Grace?'
"'Oh, Sir, it would have been better for me to have died with Macdermot than to have suffered for years, as I have done, the torments of the damned. Oh, Sir, my misery is too great for words to describe! I would gladly submit to the most painful death, if I thought that it would put an end to the pangs I daily endure. But though I have repented of my wickedness with bitter tears, it has pleased God that I should never again know a moment's peace. Since I helped Macdermot to strangle Hannah Montgomery, her terrible face and those horrible bloodshot eyes have never left me for a moment. They glare upon me by night and day, and when I close my eyes in despair, I see them looking into my soul--it is impossible to shut them out. If I am at work, in a few minutes that dreadful head is in my lap. If I look up to get rid of it, I see it in the far corner of the room. At dinner, it is in my plate, or grinning between the persons who sit opposite to me at table. Every object that meets my sight takes the same dreadful form; and at night--at night--in the silence and loneliness of my cell, those blazing eyes make my prison as light as day. No, not as day--they have a terribly hot glare, that has not the appearance of anything in this world. And when I sleep,--that face just hovers above my own, its eyes just opposite to mine; so that when I awake with a shriek of agony, I find them there. Oh! this is hell, Sir--these are the torments of the damned! Were I in that fiery place, my punishment could not be greater than this.'
"The poor creature turned away, and I left her, for who could say a word of comfort to such grief? it was a matter solely between her own conscience and God."
Having heard this terrible narrative, I was very anxious to behold this unhappy victim of remorse. She passed me on the stairs as I proceeded to the part of the building where the women were kept; but on perceiving a stranger, she turned her head away, so that I could not get a glimpse of her face.
Having made known my wishes to the matron, she very kindly called her in to perform some trifling duty in the ward, so that I might have an opportunity of seeing her. She is a middle-sized woman, with a slight graceful figure. There is an air of hopeless melancholy in her face which is very painful to contemplate. Her complexion is fair, and must, before the touch of hopeless sorrow paled it, have been very brilliant. Her eyes are a bright blue, her hair auburn, and her face would be rather handsome were it not for the long curved chin, which gives, as it always does to most persons who have this facial defect, a cunning, cruel expression.
Grace Marks glances at you with a sidelong stealthy look; her eye never meets yours, and after a furtive regard, it invariably bends its gaze upon the ground. She looks like a person rather above her humble station, and her conduct during her stay in the Penitentiary was so unexceptionable, that a petition was signed by all the influential gentlemen in Kingston, which released her from her long imprisonment. She entered the service of the governor of the Penitentiary, but the fearful hauntings of her brain have terminated in madness. She is now in the asylum at Toronto; and as I mean to visit it when there, I may chance to see this remarkable criminal again. Let us hope that all her previous guilt may be attributed to the incipient workings of this frightful malady.
Mrs. Moodie's entire text is available through Project Gutenberg.
While Hannah occupied the parlour with her master, and sat at his table, her insolent airs of superiority aroused the jealousy and envy of Grace Marks, and the man-servant, MacDermot; who considered themselves quite superior to their self-elected mistress. MacDermot was the son of respectable parents; but from being a wild, ungovernable boy, he became a bad, vicious man, and early abandoned the parental roof to enlist for a soldier. He was soon tired of his new profession, and, deserting from his regiment, escaped detection, and emigrated to Canada. Having no means of his own, he was glad to engage with Captain Kinnaird as his servant, to whom his character and previous habits were unknown.
These circumstances, together with what follows, were drawn from his confession, made to Mr. Mac--ie, who had conducted his defence, the night previous to his execution. Perhaps it will be better to make him the narrator of his own story.
"Grace Marks was hired by Captain Kinnaird to wait upon his housekeeper, a few days after I entered his service. She was a pretty girl, and very smart about her work, but of a silent, sullen temper. It was very difficult to know when she was pleased. Her age did not exceed seventeen years. After the work of the day was over, she and I generally were left to ourselves in the kitchen, Hannah being entirely taken up with her master. Grace was very jealous of the difference made between her and the house-keeper, whom she hated, and to whom she was often very insolent and saucy. Her whole conversation to me was on this subject. 'What is she better than us?' she would say, 'that she is to be treated like a lady, and eat and drink of the best. She is not better born than we are, or better educated. I will not stay here to be domineered over by her. Either she or I must soon leave this.' Every little complaint Hannah made of me, was repeated to me with cruel exaggerations, till my dander was up, and I began to regard the unfortunate woman as our common enemy. The good looks of Grace had interested me in her cause; and though there was something about the girl that I could not exactly like, I had been a very lawless, dissipated fellow, and if a woman was young and pretty, I cared very little about her character. Grace was sullen and proud, and not very easily won over to my purpose; but in order to win her liking, if possible, I gave a ready ear to all her discontented repinings.
"One day Captain Kinnaird went to Toronto, to draw his half-year's pay, and left word with Hannah that he would be back by noon the next day. She had made some complaint against us to him, and he had promised to pay us off on his return. This had come to the ears of Grace, and her hatred to the housekeeper was increased to a tenfold degree. I take heaven to witness, that I had no designs against the life of the unfortunate woman when my master left the house.
"Hannah went out in the afternoon, to visit some friends she had in the neighbourhood, and left Grace and I alone together. This was an opportunity too good to be lost, and, instead of minding our work, we got recapitulating our fancied wrongs over some of the captain's whisky. I urged my suit to Grace; but she would not think of anything, or listen to anything, but the insults and injuries she had received from Hannah, and her burning thirst for revenge. 'Dear me,' said I, half in jest, 'if you hate her so much as all that, say but the word, and I will soon rid you of her for ever.'
"I had not the least idea that she would take me at my word. Her eyes flashed with a horrible light. 'You dare not do it!' she replied, with a scornful toss of her head.
"'Dare not do what?'
"'Kill that woman for me!' she whispered.
"'You don't know what I dare, or what I dar'n't do!' said I, drawing a little back from her. 'If you will promise to run off with me afterwards, I will see what I can do with her.'
"'I'll do anything you like; but you must first kill her.'
"'You are not in earnest, Grace?'
"'I mean what I say!'
"'How shall we be able to accomplish it? She is away now, and she may not return before her master comes back.'
"'Never doubt her. She will be back to see after the house, and that we are in no mischief.'
"'She sleeps with you?'
"'Not always. She will to-night.'
"'I will wait till you are asleep, and then I will kill her with a blow of the axe on the head. It will be over in a minute. Which side of the bed does she lie on?'
"'She always sleeps on the side nearest the wall and she bolts the door the last thing before she puts out the light. But I will manage both these difficulties for you. I will pretend to have the toothache very bad, and will ask to sleep next the wall to-night. She is kind to the sick, and will not refuse me; and after she is asleep, I will steal out at the foot of the bed, and unbolt the door. If you are true to your promise, you need not fear that I shall neglect mine.'
"I looked at her with astonishment. 'Good God!' thought I, 'can this be a woman? A pretty, soft-looking woman too--and a mere girl! What a heart she must have!' I felt equally tempted to tell her she was a devil, and that I would have nothing to do with such a horrible piece of business; but she looked so handsome, that somehow or another I yielded to the temptation, though it was not without a struggle; for conscience loudly warned me not to injure one who had never injured me.
"Hannah came home to supper, and she was unusually agreeable, and took her tea with us in the kitchen, and laughed and chatted as merrily as possible. And Grace, in order to hide the wicked thoughts working in her mind, was very pleasant too, and they went laughing to bed, as if they were the best friends in the world.
"I sat by the kitchen fire after they were gone, with the axe between my knees, trying to harden my heart to commit the murder; but for a long time I could not bring myself to do it. I thought over all my past life. I had been a bad, disobedient son--a dishonest, wicked man; but I had never shed blood. I had often felt sorry for the error of my ways, and had even vowed amendment, and prayed God to forgive me, and make a better man of me for the time to come. And now, here I was, at the instigation of a young girl, contemplating the death of a fellow-creature, with whom I had been laughing and talking on apparently friendly terms a few minutes ago. Oh, it was dreadful, too dreadful to be true! and then I prayed God to remove the temptation from me, and to convince me of my sin. 'Ah, but,' whispered the devil, 'Grace Marks will laugh at you. She will twit you with your want of resolution, and say that she is the better man of the two.'
"I sprang up, and hastened at their door, which opened into the kitchen. All was still. I tried the door;--for the damnation of my soul, it was open. I had no need of a candle, the moon was at full; there was no curtain to their window, and it shone directly upon the bed, and I could see their features as plainly as by the light of day. Grace was either sleeping, or pretending to sleep--I think the latter, for there was a sort of fiendish smile upon her lips. The housekeeper had yielded to her request, and was lying with her head out over the bed-clothes, in the best possible manner for receiving a death-blow upon her temples. She had a sad, troubled look upon her handsome face; and once she moved her hand, and said 'Oh dear!' I wondered whether she was dreaming of any danger to herself and the man she loved. I raised the axe to give the death-blow, but my arm seemed held back by an invisible hand. It was the hand of God. I turned away from the bed, and left the room; I could not do it. I sat down by the embers of the fire, and cursed my own folly. I made a second attempt--a third--and fourth; yes, even to a ninth--and my purpose was each time defeated. God seemed to fight for the poor creature; and the last time I left the room I swore, with a great oath, that if she did not die till I killed her, she might live on till the day of judgment. I threw the axe on to the wood heap in the shed, and went to bed, and soon fell fast asleep.
"In the morning, I was coming into the kitchen to light the fire, and met Grace Marks with the pails in her hand, going out to milk the cows. As she passed me, she gave me a poke with the pail in the ribs, and whispered with a sneer, 'Arn't you a coward!'
"As she uttered those words, the devil, against whom I had fought all night, entered into my heart, and transformed me into a demon. All feelings of remorse and mercy forsook me from that instant, and darker and deeper plans of murder and theft flashed through my brain. 'Go and milk the cows,' said I with a bitter laugh, 'and you shall soon see whether I am the coward you take me for.' She went out to milk, and I went in to murder the unsuspicious housekeeper.
"I found her at the sink in the kitchen, washing her face in a tin basin. I had the fatal axe in my hand, and without pausing for an instant to change my mind--for had I stopped to think, she would have been living to this day I struck her a heavy blow on the back of the head with my axe. She fell to the ground at my feet without uttering a word; and, opening the trap-door that led from the kitchen into a cellar where we kept potatoes and other stores, I hurled her down, closed the door, and wiped away the perspiration that was streaming down my face. I then looked at the axe and laughed. 'Yes; I have tasted blood now, and this murder will not be the last. Grace Marks, you have raised the devil--take care of yourself now!'
"She came in with her pails, looking as innocent and demure as the milk they contained. She turned pale when her eye met mine. I have no doubt but that I Iooked the fiend her taunt had made me.
"'Where's Hannah?' she asked, in a faint voice.
"'Dead,' said I. 'What! are you turned coward now?'
"'Macdermot, you look dreadful. I am afraid of you, not of her.'
"'Aha, my girl! you should have thought of that before. The hound that laps blood once will lap again. You have taught me how to kill, and I don't care who, or how many I kill now. When Kinnaird comes home I will put a ball through his brain, and send him to keep company below with the housekeeper.'
"She put down the pails,--she sprang towards me, and, clinging to my arm, exclaimed in frantic tones--
"'You won't kill him?'
"'By ---, I will! why should he escape more than Hannah? And hark you, girl, if you dare to breathe a word to any one of my intention, or tell to any one, by word or sign, what I have done, I'll kill you!'
"She trembled like a leaf. Yes, that young demon trembled. 'Don't kill me,' she whined, 'don't kill me, Macdermot! I swear that I will not betray you; and oh, don't kill him!'
"'And why the devil do you want me to spare him?'
"'He is so handsome!'
"'Pshaw!'
"'So good-natured!'
"'Especially to you. Come, Grace; no nonsense. If I had thought that you were jealous of your master and Hannah, I would have been the last man on earth to have killed her. You belong to me now; and though I believe that the devil has given me a bad bargain in you, yet, such as you are, I will stand by you. And now, strike a light and follow me into the cellar. You must help me to put Hannah out of sight.'
"She never shed a tear, but she looked dogged and sullen, and did as I bid her.
"That cellar presented a dreadful spectacle. I can hardly bear to recall it now; but then, when my hands were still red with her blood, it was doubly terrible. Hannah Montgomery was not dead, as I had thought; the blow had only stunned her. She had partially recovered her senses, and was kneeling on one knee as we descended the ladder with the light. I don't know if she heard us, for she must have been blinded with the blood that was flowing down her face; but she certainly heard us, and raised her clasped hands, as if to implore mercy.
"I turned to Grace. The expression of her livid face was even more dreadful than that of the unfortunate woman. She uttered no cry, but she put her hand to her head, and said,--
"'God has damned me for this.'
"'Then you have nothing more to fear,' says I. 'Give me that handkerchief off your neck.' She gave it without a word. I threw myself upon the body of the housekeeper,--and planting my knee on her breast, I tied the handkerchief round her throat in a single tie, giving Grace one end to hold, while I drew the other tight enough to finish my terrible work. Her eyes literally started from her head, she gave one groan, and all was over. I then cut the body in four pieces, and turned a large washtub over them.
"'Now, Grace, you may come up and get my breakfast.'
"Yes, Mr. M---. You will not perhaps believe me, yet I assure you that we went upstairs and ate a good breakfast; and I laughed with Grace at the consternation the captain would be in when he found that Hannah was absent.
"During the morning a pedlar called, who travelled the country with second-hand articles of clothing, taking farm produce in exchange for his wares. I bought of him two good linen-breasted shirts, which had been stolen from some gentleman by his housekeeper. While I was chatting with the pedlar, I remarked that Grace had left the house, and I saw her through the kitchen-window talking to a young lad by the well, who often came across to borrow an old gun from my master to shoot ducks. I called to her to come in, which she appeared to me to do very reluctantly. I felt that I was in her power, and I was horribly afraid of her betraying me in order to save her own and the captain's life. I now hated her from my very soul, and could have killed her without the least pity or remorse.
"'What do you want, Macdermot!' she said sullenly.
"'I want you. I dare not trust you out of my sight. I know what you are,--you are plotting mischief against me; but if you betray me I will be revenged; if I have to follow you to--for that purpose.'
"'Why do you doubt my word, Macdermot? Do you think I want to hang myself?'
"'No, not yourself, but me. You are too bad to be trusted. What were you saying just now to that boy?'
"'I told him that the captain was not at home, and I dared not lend him the gun.'
"'You were right. The gun will be wanted at home.'.
"She shuddered and turned away. It seems that she had had enough of blood, and shewed some feeling at last. I kept my eye upon her, and would not suffer her for a moment out of my sight.
"At noon the captain drove into the yard, and I went out to take the horse. Before he had time to alight, he asked for Hannah. I told him that she was out, that she went off the day before, and had not returned, but that we expected her in every minute.
"He was very much annoyed, and said that she had no business to leave the house during his absence,--that he would give her a good rating when she came home.
"Grace asked if she should get his breakfast?
"He said, 'He wanted none. He would wait till Hannah came back, and then he would take a cup of coffee.'
"He then went into the parlour; and throwing himself down upon the sofa, commenced reading a magazine he had brought with him from Toronto.
"'I thought he would miss the young lady,' said Grace. 'He has no idea how close she is to him at this moment. I wonder why I could not make him as good a cup of coffee as Hannah. I have often made it for him when he did not know it. But what is sweet from her hand, would be poison from mine. But I have had my revenge!'
"Dinner time came, and out came the captain to the kitchen, book in hand.
"'Isn't Hannah back yet?'
"'No,--Sir.'
"'It's strange. Which way did she go?'
"'She did not tell us where she was going; but said that, as you were out, it would be a good opportunity of visiting an old friend.'
"'When did she say she would be back?'
"'We expected her last night,' said Grace.
"'Something must have happened to the girl, Macdermot,' turning to me. 'Put the saddle on my riding horse. I will go among the neighbours, and inquire if they have seen her.'
"Grace exchanged glances with me.
"'Will you not stay till after dinner, Sir?'
"'I don't care,' he cried impatiently, 'a --- for dinner. I feel too uneasy about the girl to eat. Macdermot, be quick and saddle Charley; and you, Grace, come and tell me when he is at the door.'
"He went back into the parlour, and put on his riding-coat; and I went into the harness-house, not to obey his orders, but to plan his destruction.
"I perceived that it was more difficult to conceal a murder than I had imagined; that the inquiries he was about to make would arouse suspicion among the neighbours, and finally lead to a discovery. The only way to prevent this was to murder him, take what money he had brought with him from Toronto, and be off with Grace to the States. Whatever repugnance I might have felt at the commission of this fresh crime, was drowned in the selfish necessity of self-preservation. My plans were soon matured, and I hastened to put them in a proper train.
"I first loaded the old duck gun with ball, and, putting it behind the door of the harness-house, I went into the parlour. I found the captain lyinig on the sofa reading, his hat and gloves beside him on the table. He started up as I entered.
"'Is the horse ready?'
"'Not yet, Sir. Some person has been in during the night, and cut your new English saddle almost to pieces. I wish you would step out and look at it. I cannot put it on Charley in its present state.'
"'Don't bother me, he cried angrily; 'it is in your charge,--you are answerable for that. Who the devil would think it worth their while to break into the harness house to cut a saddle, when they could have carried it off entirely? Let me have none of your tricks, Sir! You must have done it yourself!'
"'That is not very likely, Captain Kinnaird. At any rate, it would be a satisfaction to me if you would come and look at it.'
"'I'm in too great a hurry. Put on the old one.'
"I still held the door in my hand. 'It's only a step from here to the harness-house.'
"He rose reluctantly, and followed me into the kitchen. The harness-house formed part of a lean-to off the kitchen, and you went down two steps into it. He went on before me, and as he descended the steps, I clutched the gun I had left behind the door, took my aim between his shoulders, and shot him through the heart. He staggered forward and fell, exclaiming as he did so, 'O God, I am shot!'
"In a few minutes he was lying in the cellar, beside our other victim. Very little blood flowed from the wound; he bled internally. He had on a very fine shirt; and after rifling his person, and possessing myself of his pocketbook, I took off his shirt, and put on the one I had bought of the pedlar."
"Then," cried Mr. Mac--ie, to whom this confession was made, "that was how the pedlar was supposed to have had a hand in the murder. That circumstance confused the evidence, and nearly saved your life."
"It was just as I have told you," said Macdermot.
"And tell me, Macdermot, the reason of another circumstance that puzzled the whole court. How came that magazine, which was found in the housekeeper's bed saturated with blood, in that place, and so far from the spot where the murder was committed?"
"That, too, is easily explained, though it was such a riddle to you gentlemen of the law. When the captain came out to look at the saddle, he had the book open in his hand. When he was shot, he clapped the book to his breast with both his hands. Almost all the blood that flowed from it was caught in that book. It required some force on my part to take it from his grasp after he was dead. Not knowing what to do with it, I flung it into the housekeeper's bed. While I harnessed the riding-horse into his new buggy, Grace collected all the valuables in the house. You know, Sir, that we got safe on board the steamer at Toronto; but, owing to an unfortunate delay, we were apprehended, sent to jail, and condemned to die.
"Grace, you tell me, has been reprieved, and her sentence commuted into confinement in the Penitentiary for life. This seems very unjust to me, for she is certainly more criminal than I am. If she had not instigated me to commit the murder, it never would have been done. But the priest tells me that I shall not be hung, and not to make myself uneasy on that score."
"Macdermot," said Mr. Mac--ie, "it is useless to flatter you with false hopes. You will suffer the execution of your sentence to-morrow, at eight o'clock, in front of the jail. I have seen the order sent by the governor to the sheriff, and that was my reason for visiting you to-night. I was not satisfied in my own mind of your guilt. What you have told me has greatly relieved my mind; and I must add, if ever man deserved his sentence, you do yours."
"When this unhappy man was really convinced that I was in earnest--that he must pay with his life the penalty of his crime," continued Mr. Mac--ie, "his abject cowardice and the mental agonies he endured were too terrible to witness. He dashed himself on the floor of his cell, and shrieked and raved like a maniac, declaring that he could not, and would not die; that the law had no right to murder a man's soul as well as his body, by giving him no time for repentance; that if he was hung like a dog, Grace Marks, in justice, ought to share his fate. Finding that all I could say to him had no effect in producing a better frame of mind I called in the chaplain, and left the sinner to his fate.
"A few months ago I visited the Penitentiary; and as my pleading had been the means of saving Grace from the same doom, I naturally felt interested in her present state. I was permitted to see and speak to her; and Mrs. M---, I never shall forget the painful feelings I experienced during this interview. She had been five years in the Penitentiary, but still retained a remarkably youthful appearance. The sullen assurance that had formerly marked her countenance, had given place to a sad and humbled expression.
She had lost much of her former good looks, and seldom raised her eyes from the ground.
"'Well, Grace,' I said, 'how is it with you now?'
"'Bad enough, Sir,' she answered, with a sigh; 'I ought to feel grateful to you for all the trouble you took on my account. I thought you my friend then, but you were the worst enemy I ever had in my life.'
"'How is that, Grace?'
"'Oh, Sir, it would have been better for me to have died with Macdermot than to have suffered for years, as I have done, the torments of the damned. Oh, Sir, my misery is too great for words to describe! I would gladly submit to the most painful death, if I thought that it would put an end to the pangs I daily endure. But though I have repented of my wickedness with bitter tears, it has pleased God that I should never again know a moment's peace. Since I helped Macdermot to strangle Hannah Montgomery, her terrible face and those horrible bloodshot eyes have never left me for a moment. They glare upon me by night and day, and when I close my eyes in despair, I see them looking into my soul--it is impossible to shut them out. If I am at work, in a few minutes that dreadful head is in my lap. If I look up to get rid of it, I see it in the far corner of the room. At dinner, it is in my plate, or grinning between the persons who sit opposite to me at table. Every object that meets my sight takes the same dreadful form; and at night--at night--in the silence and loneliness of my cell, those blazing eyes make my prison as light as day. No, not as day--they have a terribly hot glare, that has not the appearance of anything in this world. And when I sleep,--that face just hovers above my own, its eyes just opposite to mine; so that when I awake with a shriek of agony, I find them there. Oh! this is hell, Sir--these are the torments of the damned! Were I in that fiery place, my punishment could not be greater than this.'
"The poor creature turned away, and I left her, for who could say a word of comfort to such grief? it was a matter solely between her own conscience and God."
Having heard this terrible narrative, I was very anxious to behold this unhappy victim of remorse. She passed me on the stairs as I proceeded to the part of the building where the women were kept; but on perceiving a stranger, she turned her head away, so that I could not get a glimpse of her face.
Having made known my wishes to the matron, she very kindly called her in to perform some trifling duty in the ward, so that I might have an opportunity of seeing her. She is a middle-sized woman, with a slight graceful figure. There is an air of hopeless melancholy in her face which is very painful to contemplate. Her complexion is fair, and must, before the touch of hopeless sorrow paled it, have been very brilliant. Her eyes are a bright blue, her hair auburn, and her face would be rather handsome were it not for the long curved chin, which gives, as it always does to most persons who have this facial defect, a cunning, cruel expression.
Grace Marks glances at you with a sidelong stealthy look; her eye never meets yours, and after a furtive regard, it invariably bends its gaze upon the ground. She looks like a person rather above her humble station, and her conduct during her stay in the Penitentiary was so unexceptionable, that a petition was signed by all the influential gentlemen in Kingston, which released her from her long imprisonment. She entered the service of the governor of the Penitentiary, but the fearful hauntings of her brain have terminated in madness. She is now in the asylum at Toronto; and as I mean to visit it when there, I may chance to see this remarkable criminal again. Let us hope that all her previous guilt may be attributed to the incipient workings of this frightful malady.
Mrs. Moodie's entire text is available through Project Gutenberg.