Sharyn McCrumb - The Ballad of Tom Dooley

“As I turned to go, he asked if he could have more paper to write down his thoughts, and from that I surmised that he intended upon making a last speech from the gallows. ‘Keep the pencil,’ I told him, ‘and I will instruct the jailer to bring you paper.’ He thanked me again, and then, in a soft voice, muffled, I thought, with unshed tears, he said, ‘I don’t suppose they would let me see Ann again-one last time?’

“I hesitated-not because there was any chance of it, but only because I was trying to decide how best to soften the blow of refusal. ‘She is another man’s wife, Tom,’ I reminded him, as gently as I could.

“He smiled at that, and then he said, ‘We have belonged to one another all our lives, and nothing either one of us ever did with anybody else amounted to a hill of beans.’

“I looked away. ‘Shall I tell her that, then?’

“He shook his head. ‘She knows.’”

I told Captain Allison that I had read an account of the hanging in the Salisbury Watchman. “May the first. May Day. There’s a sad irony in that. A day when maypoles should be garlanded with flowers, but instead in Iredell County they erected a pole and suspended a man from it until he died. Strictly speaking, both customs are barbaric, but I prefer the former.”

“Well, we both saw worse in the War, Governor.”

“That’s so. I fought up in Virginia at Malvern Hill-that was like a thousand hangings all at once. But at least there is some dignity to a battlefield death. People don’t crowd around to watch a man die, and cheer for his passing.”

“Not everyone cheered, Governor, but there were too many that did. I only went because I thought it was my duty to attend. I found it difficult to sleep that night after my interview with Dula in his cell, and after a restless night, I went along to the jail again about seven to see the prisoner one last time, in case he had changed his mind about that confession.

“The jailer took me along to his cell. ‘He paced near the whole night, Captain,’ he told me. ‘He was like a caged bear, lumbering to the length of that chain on his leg, back and forth, back and forth across the floor. I looked in on him towards daybreak, and he had stretched out on his cot with his eyes closed, but I don’t think he was sleeping. I took him in his breakfast, and told him there were preachers a-waiting to see him, and he allowed as how I could send them in.’”

“He found the Lord at the end? That eases my mind, Captain Allison-though I never thought to see it happen.”

“I had the honor of seeing him baptized by the Methodist minister. Once the prayers were concluded, I was able to speak to him privately. ‘This is a fine thing you have done, Tom,’ I told him. ‘It will be of great consolation to your mother and sister to know that you sought salvation at the last.’ He gave me a grim smile. ‘I don’t reckon my mother sets much store by the promises of preachers, Captain. But the baptism was free, and it seemed like a chance worth taking. I would like to believe there is a heaven. It’s the only hope I have of ever seeing Ann again.’

“I thought of his confession, resting still in my pocket. ‘But if she has done the murder, and if she dies unrepentant and unconfessed of the crime, then she will not go to heaven.’

“He smiled again. ‘Why, she’ll have to, Captain. It won’t be heaven without her.’”

Richard Allison and I passed the next few moments in silence, while I lit a cigar, and thought about what he had said. I was trying to pity the prisoner, but that sentiment kept getting mixed up with something very like envy. I revered my Harriette, and stood in awe of her piety and her devotion to our boys, but all the same… I wished I loved anything or anybody as much as that raw mountain boy loved Ann Melton.

Finally I said, “I suppose there was a carnival atmosphere in Statesville on gallows day?”

Captain Allison nodded. “Well before noon the crowds began to gather. The sheriff had called out guards to keep order, and the saloons were closed so that drunkenness should not make matters worse. People must have traveled forty miles to come-rustic-looking hill folk, sun-bronzed and chewing cuds of tobacco.”

“Yes, I came from those hills, Captain. Those are my people, and you should not be deceived by their outward appearance. They are the salt of the earth.”

“Begging your pardon, Governor. I spoke as I found. Some of the ruffians I encountered were soldiers who had served with Dula in the 42nd. They seemed to think that he was a desperate character, and they meant to see with what bravado he would meet his death. And I was dismayed to see how many women had come to see the execution.”

I smiled. “Dula was-what? Twenty-three? Tall and wiry, with a head of thick dark curls. I reckon if we had female juries he might have gone free on the strength of that.”

“That’s true enough.” Captain Allison sighed. “Unjust, but true. Beauty absolves a great many sins. Since juries are comprised of men, I think Ann Melton might well have prevailed even without her lover’s confession.”

“We shall not risk it, though. When Mrs. Melton comes to trial in the fall term of Superior Court, we must offer Dula’s confession in to evidence, and request a dismissal of the charges. He wanted to save her, and I think we must allow him to do it.”

“She isn’t worth it, Governor, though I shouldn’t say such a thing of a client. Still, it’s the truth. She is a vain and proud woman, who thinks she is worth any sacrifice a man may make on the altar of her beauty. And I firmly believe that she killed that girl, even if we never find out the reason why. She ought not to be saved.”

“No. But neither should poor Tom have died in vain. Try to look at it that way. You were with him to the end, Captain?”

“Yes, and no one ever more heartily wished themselves elsewhere than I did that day. They took him out of his cell about half past twelve, and Sheriff Wasson and some deputies led him out to the town square. They had a cart waiting there to convey him to the place of execution. They meant to hang him from the back of it, too, of course.”

“Yes, it is a distressing sight, watching a man ride off to his death in a cart, sitting upon the very coffin in which his body shall rest in an hour’s time. His coffin was with him, I suppose?”

“Yes. He sat upon it. But at least his sister was permitted to ride in the cart with him, and, perhaps for her sake, he smiled and spoke calmly to her as the procession went along. His sister and her husband had brought the coffin with them from Wilkes County-a heartbreaking errand for the poor young woman, but at least he had someone to claim his body. I was seated next to the minister, keeping my balance in the cart as best I could, but we were engulfed by the multitude of spectators-black folk and white, men and women, even children, and I cannot imagine what their parents were thinking to allow them to attend such a spectacle. There were people in carriages, on horseback, or simply walking in the throng alongside the cart-a sea of eager, cruel faces. I hope never to see the like again. Tom seemed oblivious to all these strangers, though. He kept talking about how he had been saved, and assuring his sister that he would see her in heaven. He seemed more concerned for her peace of mind than for his own fate.”

“Did you have far to go?”

“No. Only to that open field beside the train depot, but the accompanying crowds so impeded our progress that it took us nearly half an hour to get there. There were even more people waiting around the gallows-and some enterprising young boys had climbed in to the trees surrounding the field, in hopes of getting a better view of the proceedings. It was barbaric. I shouldn’t like to die in the midst of all that.”