THE IRISHMAN'S ROPE

“But the punctum is: he is going to die. I read at the same time: This will be and this has been; I observe with horror an anterior future of which death is the stake.”- Roland Barthes, Camera Lucida 1981

   With no chance of reprieve for either Teed or Dunning, I’d like to call nine year old Charles Teed back to the stand one last time. Out of the mouths of babes….

Charles Teed sworn.

By Mr. Price:

Q. Where was Dunning when Jack went out with the gun?

1. He was eating breakfast, he got up soon, and went out, and cut wood by the door a quarter of an hour, then went down to the barn to cut straw for his horses.

Q. Where did you first see Jack when he returned?

1. He was in the middle of the meadow, he came directly to the house, and had two pieces of a gun in his hand, and said, that he broke it over a stump; he then put them behind the door.

Cross by the District Attorney:

Q. Did you ever hear anything about Jack killing Mr. Jennings?

1. On Sunday, Lewis, Mr. Dunning’s little boy, told me that he guessed that Jack came there to kill old Dickey. 

On Monday “old Dickey” was dead.     

    The execution of James Teed and David Dunning began with a prayer at 9:00 am Friday, April 16, 1819. The clergy, constables and Orange County Sheriff gathered on the courthouse steps in Goshen. The weather was perfect.  Ainzi Ball was named officer of the day; an honor he took very seriously. He paced back and forth, counting heads, making sure everyone was there. Jack Penney, as usual, was the last to arrive. Sheriff Moses Burnett looked to Ainzi Ball and he nodded, assuring the Sheriff that all his men were gathered in place. That was just the beginning of the festivities. 

   West Point sent a contingent of light horse cavalry and four companies of infantrymen in full dress uniform; hats blocked, boots shined, horses brushed. The officer’s gleaming sabers clanked and rattled as the assembled military men swarmed the Goshen square. Ainzi Ball tried to wrangle them in, but in the end, the procession seemed to find a natural order all on it’s own. A bugle sounded, echoing through the Goshen square, at 10:45 am. 

    With the sound of the bugle, a lone drummer began a slow roll, as if he’d been rehearsing for this moment all his life. The condemned appeared in the blinding sunlight on cue, exiting the gaol’s front door, shackled hand and foot, dressed in loose, white muslin burial shrouds. With the Sheriff on Teed’s left side and Ball on Dunning’s right, they led the shackled men carefully down the steps. There were two wagons, led by jittery teams of black horses, sporting tall, feathered halter plumes. The second wagon contained two simple, rough-hewn, white pine coffins; roped, and secured to the sides. The smell of fresh pine sap from the newly milled boards drifted up the steps. The Rev.s Fisk and Cadle were already seated in the back of the first wagon; eyes closed, heads bowed, lips moving in silent prayer, clutching their bibles tightly to their chests.

      The wait was finally over for the thousands of spectators who had streamed into Goshen over the previous week. Crowds lined both sides of the street as the procession slowly got under way. Dogs, excited by all the commotion, bowed, stretched, skirting through the crowd, barking at the horses, and sidling up to the soldiers for a scratch behind the ear. If it wasn’t for the coffins and shackled men, anyone could’ve mistaken this for a patriotic holiday celebration. American flags fluttered in the breeze, as men, women and children, dressed in their “go to meeting” finest, waited eagerly for the parade to begin. When the bell at St Paul’s Episcopal tolled for the eleventh time, the Army drummer suddenly stopped.

     Heads automatically turned towards the steeple with a hush, letting the sound echo across the valley. The drummer then resumed his somber beat, while other drummers farther back in the regiment, now joined in. Bayonets fixed, muskets shouldered, the soldiers snapped to attention, leading the column towards the orchard. Then came the mounted cavalry; boots, swords and brass buttons gleaming, which was followed by the wagons and a long line of elected officials, marching slowly towards the muddy field. Finally the condemned, comically perched on their own coffins, rode to their executions. 

    As soon as the last wagon rattled past, the crowd broke apart, rushing for hitched horses and buggy rigs, quickly falling in behind the officials, extending the parade by a mile. Hundreds……thousands, of citizens, shared in a communal feeling of exalted self-importance, reveling in the collective obligation to shame. As the parade progressed, all smiled and waved to each other, self-appointed dignitaries tasked with the ultimate redress of state-sanctioned killing of the alien organisms….two (or at least one) of their very own.