Again And Again The Priest Repeated Them, The
Third Time With A Louder Voice Than Ever; The Signal Was Then Given To The
Executioner.
The iron collar was adjusted to the neck of the victim, and
fastened under the chin.
The athletic negro in blue, standing behind the
post, took the handle of the screw and turned it deliberately. After a few
turns, the criminal gave a sudden shrug of the shoulders; another turn of
the screw, and a shudder ran over his whole frame, his eyes rolled wildly,
his hands, still tied with the rope, were convulsively jerked upward, and
then dropped back to their place motionless forever. The priest advanced
and turned the peak of the white cap over the face to hide it from the
sight of the multitude.
I had never seen, and never intended to see an execution, but the
strangeness of this manner of inflicting death, and the desire to witness
the behavior of an assembly of the people of Cuba on such an occasion, had
overcome my previous determination. The horror of the spectacle now caused
me to regret that I made one of a crowd drawn to look at it by an idle
curiosity.
The negro in blue then stepped forward and felt the limbs of the dead man
one by one, to ascertain whether life were wholly extinct, and then
returning to the screw, gave it two or three turns more, as if to make his
work sure. In the mean time my attention was attracted by a sound like
that of a light buffet and a whimpering voice near me. I looked, and two
men were standing by me, with a little white boy at their side, and a
black boy of nearly the same age before them, holding his hat in his hand,
and crying. They were endeavoring to direct his attention to what they
considered the wholesome spectacle before him. "_Mira, mira, no te harda
dano_"[6] said the men, but the boy steadily refused to look in that
direction, though he was evidently terrified by some threat of punishment
and his eyes filled with tears. Finding him obstinate, they desisted from
their purpose, and I was quite edified to see the little fellow continue
to look away from the spectacle which attracted all other eyes but his.
The white boy now came forward, touched the hat of the little black, and
goodnaturedly saying "_pontelo, pontelo_"[7] made him put it on his head.
The crowd now began to disperse, and in twenty minutes the place was
nearly solitary, except the sentinels pacing backward and forward. Two
hours afterward the sentinels were pacing there yet, and the dead man, in
his white dress and iron collar, was still in his seat on the platform.
It is generally the natives of Africa by whom these murders are
committed; the negroes born in the country are of a more yielding temper.
They have better learned the art of avoiding punishment, and submit to it
more patiently when inflicted, having understood from their birth that it
is one of the conditions of their existence.
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