University of Illinois - Illio Yearbook (Urbana Champaign, IL)

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No. 301, roused the occupant, and reached my hand through the grated door for that of George Baker, and told him that under the law he was as free as I, that he who had been legally dead for years was alive again, and that I would come up for him at ten o ' clock the next morning. What he said in his low, steady voice was ample compensation. The warden seemed as glad as we were. He promised that Baker should have on his new suit of clothes by the hour I had named, and by the appointed time I had the pardon and was on hand to get my man. We walked out into the free air to- gether. He had not been in the open air, except to cross the narrow prison yard in the lock -step, for more than eight years. As we walked down the street he said the trees, and the horses and the people looked small. We came to a tobacco store, and his look showed that it was too much for him. Would you like a cigar ? Well, I guess so, he said, and the way he lighted and smoked it proved that he had guessed correctly. He found a boarding place and remained in the city a couple of weeks. His ap- pearance improved every day. He had his photograph taken, and a copy lies upon my table as I tell the story. He talked of the future, saying he should look about and find a place to do something. He even had ambition to become a physician, and thought that perhaps his early knowledge of drugs, and his study through his prison life, might make it possible. He went away without knowing where. I could not bear to see him go, for it seemed to me that the conditions were heavy enough to bear any man down. f ex- acted a promise that he should write me each year, on the anniversary of his release, and tell me what he was doing. He went; and he kept his promise for several years, quite as long and with as much regularity as one could expect. He changed his name and got into medical practice. Occasionally he sent me a paper containing a reference to himself. For aught I knew he was bearing a man ' s part in the world. But the world is busy ; no one holds very fast to the incidents of the past. He had about gone out of my life, and knowledge of him had practically ended. Just about fifteen years after all this I was taking lunch at the home of the Pres- ident of one of the largest and strongest of our universities. In the midst of the pleasant hour it strangely came to me that the adjacent city was the one from which I had last heard of my old friend. I tried to think of his new name, but it had al- most faded out of recollection. The conversation lost interest for me ; I felt that I must recall that name. As we rose from the table I went aside to look out of the window and shake up my mental resources. The shake up brought it back ; it was Roberts, -Henry Roberts. Turning to the company I said, Mr. President, do you remember of hearing of a Dr. Henry Roberts in the city? Oh, yes, he said, he is well known, lives on a main street on the way to your hotel. What is his stand- ing? It is good, in a moderate way. He is a rather quiet man, doing his share of business and stands all right. Well, I have just thought of him. He is an old friend of mine, and I want to see him. Won ' t you be good enough to telephone him, and say that an old friend will call about three o ' clock if he will be at home? Shall I tell him who it is? No, I will give him a surprise. Directly the Pres- ident told me that Dr. Roberts would be at home at three o ' clock and glad to see me. At about the appointed time I stopped in front of a well-appointed residence in a good district. In the main office there were a half a dozen waiting their turn for medical advice. Handing my card to the attendant, I asked her to give it to Dr. 0 a solemn and great fraternity. — C. R. Rounds. 9

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He said that some ten years before, one winter night, the overland mail and express coach came to the post office a couple of hours late, and the driver reported that, three miles out, he had been held up by masked men who robbed the passen- gers and rifled the mail pouches. The next day the prisoner and two others were- arrested for this crime and an investigation was held before a local magistrate, who found no cause for holding the prisoners, and they were discharged. Nothing more was done for three months. In the meantime government officers were active in the matter, and the express company offered a reward of $5,000 for evidence which would result in conviction for the crime. They were then indicted and tried, but the trial resulted in a disagreement by the jury. They were tried a second time with the same result. The venue was then changed to another judicial district, and they were taken five hundred miles over the mountains and tried a third time, now among strangers. After being out thirty-six hours the jury convicted two of them and dis- agreed as to the third. The two convicted were, under the severe statute of the United States against the robbing of the mails, sentenced to prison for life. The story was told with full circumstantiality and a ready understanding of legal principles and judicial proceedings relating to the matter. All questions were an- swered in a consistent and convincing way. The man insisted that he had been the victim of systematic perjury to gain the approval of the United States Department of Justice, and obtain the reward offered by the express company. I found myself thinking it might be so, and thinking also that such a man had been sufficiently pun- ished for the crime charged against him even if there was no doubt about his having committed it. Before we were half way through, my mind was made up that it was safe enough for me to help him if the things he had said and which could be verified proved to be true. The man in stripes had gained possession of a free man. I wrote the judges who had tried the case, the district attorneys who had prose- cuted it, and each of the jurors who had part in it. The judges thought, as judges must think, that enough had been proved to warrant the submission of the case to the jury, and that the finding of the jury was sufficient ; but they also thought that the ends of justice had been satisfied, and were not opposed to the granting of a pardon. The prosecuting attorneys of course thought there was no doubt of the guilt of the prisoner. The jurors had mixed feelings and stood ready to sign an ap- plication for clemency. Every fact that any of them mentioned was wholly in ac- cord with what the prisoner had said. I cut corners and went directly to President Arthur and told him the story. I said that if I had to fight the Department of Justice at every step, and submit to all the delays the people over there usually imposed, I had no time to prosecute an ap- plication for a pardon. If the case appealed to the President, and he would intimate to the Attorney General that it was time to call off the dogs, I would be glad to put the matter in proper form for action. The President said it seemed to him a proper case for a pardon, and unless something new developed there would not be many obstacles in my path. The formal steps were taken, and a few weeks later, one dark, rainy and muddy evening this telegram came : Washington, D. C, November 18, 1884. Pardon for George Baker mailed you today. The President has directed that it be sent to you to deliver. Fred J. Phillips, Secretary to the President. Putting on my hat and overcoat I pushed through the wet and slush out to the County Penitentiary. All cells had been locked for the night, but I was taken to He knew the taverns well in every town. — Click Mathkws.

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Roberts at once and say that I could not wait long. I did not have to. The Doctor did not come out to meet me before the crowd, but he excused his patient at once and I passed into the back office. He was as glad to see me as on the stormy night when I carried the message of life and hope to him at the Albany Penitentiary. He had married: he had children; and he had gathered some property. In him and his surroundings there was proof enough that what had been done for him was more than justified. In half an hour, as I rose to go, he held my hand a long time, and seemed to have something to say which did not come easily. At last he said, You won ' t say anything about my old trouble here, will you? Not for a world; I am yours to the core; keep your face to the sunlight and never fear. I was sure you would say so, but I wanted to hear you say it. And I went out of his home with a light heart because something had kept me from turning down his first letter. Was he guilty? I do not know. He said he was not. All the surrounding cir- cumstances were as consistent with innocence as with guilt. His later life sustained his claim. I believe him. A. S. Draper. PRESIDENT S OFFICE ' A member of the ram family. — Ethekton. 10