SEVERAL years ago a murder was committed in Bristol, or its vicinity, and a man named George Groves was arrested on suspicion of being the chief actor in the bloody tragedy. For this offence he was tried, convicted, and sentenced to be hung. From facts elicited at his trial, and confirmed by his own confession subsequently, he appears to have been one of the most infamous characters of the time. Commencing, while young, with stealing small articles of little value, he passed rapidly through the different grades of crime, until he reached this, the highest offence known to the law.
A few days before his execution, a pious minister of Bristol, having acquainted himself with the history of the unfortunate man, resolved to make an effort to lead him to repentance and salvation.
It was near the close of about the third day before the execution, when he presented himself at the door of the prison, and asked permission to spend the night with George Groves. He was well known to the jailer, for it was his custom frequently to visit the inmates of the prison, and pour into their wounded hearts the oil and wine of the Gospel. Put the keeper hesitated.
“Are you acquainted with the character of the prisoner?” asked he in astonishment.
“I am,” replied the minister.
“Then, sir, I hope you do not think of trusting yourself alone with him. He is the most desperate villain that has entered these walls for years. He has already made an attempt to take the life of the person who has the charge of him. I would advise you, therefore, to dispatch your business with him as speedily as possible, and retire with myself.”
“If this be your only objection,” the minister replied, “I prefer to remain. I do not fear the result. It is a duty I owe to God as His servant, and to the soul of this poor man. He who delivered Daniel out of the mouths of lions is able to deliver me out of his hands.”
“Well, sir, if that be your determination, you shall be gratified; but, I assure you, it is a perilous undertaking.”
So saying, the jailer led the way. Passing through several huge iron doors, each one of which was carefully secured after them, they reached a long, narrow passage, facing which on either side were the cells of the prisoners. Before one of these cells they stopped. The doors of the cell were thrown open, and the jailer, followed by the minister, entered. Grove was seated on the margin of his cot, with a long, loose chain suspended from every limb. The light of day, which at best shone but dimly into the narrow apartment, had now almost forsaken it; but enough remained to discover to the minister the stern, demon-like expression that sat upon his countenance, as he looked up from beneath a pair of dark, heavy eyebrows, and a low, receding forehead; the latter almost hid by a mass of disordered hair. After an exchange of salutations, the minister, without stating the object of his visit, seated himself near the prisoner. The jailer bade them good evening, and retired.
The minister and the murderer are now alone. The minds of both are filled with deep and anxious thoughts; but, oh, how different are the subjects that occupy their minds! An angel from heaven, and a devil from hell, could not present a more striking contrast.
Groves listened attentively to every sound, and almost counted the receding footsteps of the jailer, as he passed along the narrow passage. At length his practiced ear caught the low rumbling of the outer door, as it echoed and re-echoed among the prison walls; then, springing from his seat, like a lion on his prey, he seized the minister by the throat.
“Ha! ha! ha! ha!” said he, in fiendish triumph, “I have you in my power, and I’ll murder you! Come to guard me, aye? you shall suffer for your folly. You can’t hang me twice. I have but one life, and, that’s but a day!” and the grasp of the strong man grew tighter and tighter.
The good man made no effort to release himself, for he knew that a stronger arm than that of Groves was underneath him.
“Groves,” said he, scarcely able to speak, “Groves, hear me for a moment. I have an important message for you. I have not come to guard you; I come to you in love.”
“Love!” quickly exclaimed the other; “‘tis a lie, you do not love me.”
“Yes, Groves, I love you, your soul, your poor soul,” said the minister, in a voice of love and tenderness.
“What! love me! George Groves, the thief, the robber, the murderer! No, no, it cannot be. I hate all men, and all men hate me. Love,” he continued, that word sounds strangely in my ears. But
I remember now. ‘Twas my mother. My mother loved me, —oh, my mother! I remember when I sat upon her knee; she called me her own clear boy, her idol, and her hope. And, when at last she called me to her dying bed, and pressed me to her bosom, I felt the warm tears failing on my cheek, and I knew she loved me. But, since that hour, the world has hated me, pursued me, and, before the week is gone, will have deprived me of the right to breathe the free air of heaven.”
ML 04/22/1906