“WHY do you make this confession of your guilt?”
“Because my soul has been in hellfire ever since!”
Such was the bitter wail of anguish, of soul torment, that fell from the lips of a murderer who had escaped detection, but who voluntarily gave himself up to the authorities in the hope that confession of his crime and expiation of his guilt would relieve his sin-burdened conscience, and free him from blood-guiltiness before God.
Had it this effect? For a brief moment he felt relieved, but, shortly afterward, what he termed “hell-fire” again took possession of him with more than its former violence. He had vainly thought that, in the confession he made to man, relief from the intolerable load would follow, but, alas! he was mistaken.
He had not learned that all sin is against God, and neither confession or reparation on our part can make atonement for our sin. Whatever the nature and character of our sin, it is ever true, “I have sinned against heaven,” “I have done this evil in thy sight,” for it is God who said, “Thou shalt not kill,” and this sin, as all sin, is sin against God. “Against thee, thee only, have I sinned,” David said in like case.
Finding that the confession of guilt availed not for relief, he fondly hoped that after his trial and condemnation then all would be well. Vain hope!
He was removed from Chicago to Philadelphia, tried, and condemned. To his great disappointment the rest of conscience he looked for did not come; there was a passing sense of relief when the sentence of death was pronounced, a sort of feeling that all that he could do had been done, and he now hoped his sin would fade from memory and conscience. But “hell-fire” was not quenched in his bosom, he became conscious that he needed forgiveness from God, and that the life he had voluntarily yielded up to undergo the capital sentence of the law still had, sin attached to it, which his death would not remove.
In reply to a friendly offer to bring his case before the authorities, and get him reprieved on the ground of insanity, he said that he was never more sane in his life, and it was not death that troubled him, but how to face God with such a crime and such a life as his.
From an account written by him the night before his execution we learn that he was of English parentage; his father dying early, left his mother a widow. From his earliest days he had been a source of sorrow to her. Choosing evil companions he quickly fell into their ways, spite of the entreaties and rebukes of his mother. He “stood in the way of sinners, and walked in the counsel of the ungodly,” until he committed acts rendering him amenable to arrest and imprisonment, so he fled to America. There he continued his evil courses, and companioned with others of like depraved and dissolute habits.
Having spent a day in debauchery, lie strolled out with a companion along the banks of the Schuylkill River. A quarrel arose, and drawing his knife he stabbed his comrade in the heart. The blow was fatal, instant death ensued. Sobered by the awful deed, he threw his companion’s body into the river and fled.
Several days afterward the murdered man’s body was seen floating down the river, but no clue could be found to the murderer. Six months later the murderer delivered himself up to the authorities in Chicago, telling them who he was, and what he had done, and that he knew it would take him to the scaffold, but in this way he hoped to atone for his crime and find rest for his soul, adding that “hell-fire” had been “in his soul ever since,” and he could endure the torment no longer.
The sequel you already know, how vainly his way of escape from a tormenting conscience failed, how neither the confession nor the death sentence blotted out the dark past.
What a pitiable object! condemned to die by his fellow-man; every beat of his heart telling him that the moment was quickly nearing when time should be exchanged for eternity. What a prospect as he contemplated the reality of “hell-fire,” with its undying worm already gnawing at his vitals!
Picture him, reader, alone in his cell, afraid to meet God, and knowing no way of escape.
What of thyself? Ah, you say, I have never committed murder. Perhaps not, but are your sins forgiven? Are you cleansed by the precious blood of Christ? If not, however respectable outwardly, however law abiding, it is a most serious consideration that you are traveling to the same hell as the condemned felon. If not by the law of man, you are by the law of God “condemned already,” and every step leads you to the dismal abode where harlots and murderers, liars and thieves are in blackness of darkness. Think of the society you will be in forever and ever, of the great white throne, and the lake of fire!
Your sin is not that of murder, but you have sinned―for all have sinned―therefore you have sinned, and apart from the atoning work of Christ there is neither forgiveness, peace, nor salvation for you.
Thank God, you need not be lost forever. There is salvation even for you, for God is not willing that any should perish, and yearns with the same tender pity and compassion over you that He did over the poor, miserable inmate of the jail in Philadelphia.
Cowper wrote, “God moves in a mysterious way, His wonders to perform,” and nothing is more wonderful than the various links in the chain of blessing by which souls are reached.
There was one eye resting on the occupant of that solitary cell with its wretched inmate. That eye had traced every step on his downward road, and in pitying love followed him, and in an unlooked-for way magnified in him the grace and compassion of a Saviour God.
Years before, another poor murderer had been visited in the condemned cell with the salvation of God. His name was Daniel Mann. A deeply interesting account of the way God reached him is to be found in a small book called, “All Account of the Lord’s Dealings with tilt Convict Daniel Mann,” written by Mr. Paul Loizeaux, who was the means of his conversion, and spent the night before the execution in the cell with the prisoner.
This little book has been greatly blessed of God to the salvation of many souls, among them a wealthy gentleman in Philadelphia. Desiring to spread far and wide the book which had been such help to him, he paid for a special edition of twenty-five thousand to be scattered broadcast through the United States. A thousand of them he reserved for himself.
In the same city lived an old soldier who had been converted to God, and whose delight was to speak of the Saviour to any who would listen. He could not preach, had no means to buy books, but, through the kindness of the gentleman who had got blessing through reading “Daniel Mann” he was supplied by him with as many copies as he could carry. Sallying forth, he took his stand close to a seat in one of the squares which abound in Philadelphia, and spent one Lord’s Day afternoon in distributing copies to the passers-by. Among the recipients was a lady who carried it home, read it, and was so blessed by the reading of it that she felt she must pass it on to someone else.
Her thoughts turned to the poor criminal whose case was exciting great sympathy, and she determined early on Monday morning to carry it to the prison. The result is best told in the words of the murderer, taken from the account he wrote before he was executed: ―
“There were piles of publications on the table, but when I saw the title ‘The Lord’s Dealings with the Convict Daniel Mann’ my attention was drawn as to none before. I took to it at once, I read, and by the time I had read the first three pages the awful load was off my soul. I saw Jesus Christ hanging on the cross for me, for all my sins, and I was out of my misery, and I go peacefully to meet God!”
The sentence of the law was executed, but instead of descending into hell-fire, lie ascended to the same Paradise where the convicted thief found himself with his Saviour the Lord Jesus Christ after he had expired on Calvary.
They both looked away from self, turned to the One upon whom God had laid man’s iniquity, and found peace, salvation, and glory.
There is no other way of salvation; to the cross you must turn if you would know your sins forgiven and heaven secured. A spotless Victim has taken the guilty sinner’s place. Sin is put away, atoned for: but only thus. Reparation, restitution, and reformation avail nothing; salvation is alone in Jesus.
Surely this narrative has a voice to every sin-burdened conscience. It tells the poor convicted sinner that the cross is the only way of peace, the only way by which guilt can be canceled.
It reminds us that there are none too bad for God to save, none beyond the reach of mercy.
Has not this narrative also a voice to writers and distributers of gospel books? What a cheer and encouragement to all such to hear of results like this.
Then what an investment for the Lord’s stewards who have means! How in this way sower and reaper will rejoice together. P. J. L. wrote “Daniel Mann”; a wealthy Philadelphian paid for a large edition; an old soldier distributed them; a passing lady receives one, is blessed, carries it to the jail, and the murderer who had given himself up because “hell-fire” was in his bosom, passes peacefully from the place of execution to the Paradise of God through reading it.
The salvation of this poor criminal should be a cheer to mothers, and an incentive to them to pray for their prodigal sons, for the murderer tells us that his mother was a Christian, and he hated her piety when a youth. We must connect the first link in the chain of blessing which reached him with the teachings, example, and petitions of his prayerful, widowed mother. Both redeemed by the same precious blood, both indebted to Jesus for their salvation, what a joy, in a coming day, when she discovers sowing in tears has resulted in reaping with joy.
“‘Twas the same grace which spread the feast
That sweetly forced me in,
Else I had still refused to taste
And perished in my sin.”
H. N.