Lincoln
covered himself with glory in the defense of his first murder case. He didn't
do so well in his second. The facts of the murder are set out in a news article
from the Illinois State Register:
Murder.—A
[ferr]yman named Neithamer, was murdered [illegible] (opposite Beardstown,) in
Schuyler County on the 17th inst. It appears that some [illegible] crew of the
steamboat Hero were at [illegible] when Neithamer entered with a segar in his
mouth. One of the crew of the name of Frame, told Neithamer not to smoke in his
face, when the latter replied, ‘he thought the country was free, and he would
smoke where he pleased.’ Frame then lifted his hand to knock the segar from
Neithamer’s mouth, when the latter also raised his for protection. Frame
unobserved, drew a long butcher knife from his side, and drove it to the hilt
in the breast of Neithamer, which killed him instantly. Frame was drunk.
I think the
moral of this story is “don't blow cigar smoke in a drunk sailor's face.”
William Fielding Fraim, sometimes known as Charlie Fraim, was promptly arrested
and indicted for murder. Venue was changed to Carthage, Illinois, and Fraim was
convicted as charged in a one-day trial. Lincoln tried to get the judgment
arrested on grounds that the indictment was "informal," or improperly
worded. That ploy had worked in Lincoln's first big criminal case, People v.
Cordell, but his plea fell on deaf ears this time.
Three weeks
after being found guilty of murder and sentenced to death, the sentence was
carried out in a field just outside Carthage. In the first quarter of the
twentieth century, Mrs. Eudocia Baldwin Marsh, an elderly citizen of Carthage,
wrote and published an essay describing her recollection of the execution. She
was seven years old when Fraim was hanged, and the event made a strong
impression on her. Here is her account of the execution:
In 1854
a new brick courthouse was built in the center of the public square at
Carthage. Soon after its completion a prisoner, Charlie Frame, charged with
murder, was brought from an adjoining county on a change of venue to Carthage
to stand his trial. This took place in May, and he was found guilty and
sentenced to be hanged. as I remember, two or three months later. The jail was
not yet built, so the condemned murderer was confined in the new courthouse, in
the southwest jury room. This was almost directly opposite our log schoolhouse.
Always at recess, and at the noon hour, when we were at play, Charlie sat at the
window and watched us. We would go near, fascinated by the thought of the awful
doom awaiting him. He frequently talked with us, always in a friendly, cheerful
way. He was full of pranks and would sometimes tempt the boys to come under his
window by throwing out nuts, candy or fruit. When they stooped to pick them up,
he would throw out a cup of water. This practical joking always kept the girls
too timid to try to get any of the dainties.
Charlie
was fettered by a chain about his ankles, fastened to a large iron ball, which
made a noise like thunder whenever he walked about the large, bare-floored
room. He was never alone, for either the sheriff or his deputy was always in
the room. They treated him with great kindness and leniency, however, for he was
a pleasant and engaging boy, a red-headed Irishman, only twenty-one years old.
He was full of the fun of his race, and continually teased his jailers and
joked with them. It was under the influence of liquor that he had given way to
anger and committed the crime for which he was required to forfeit his life.
On the
day of the execution, long before sunrise, we heard the rumble of heavy farm
wagons rolling into town from all directions. By sunrise the little town was
thronged with men, women and children, afoot, on horseback and in wagons. Some
came fifty miles, a few even a hundred, to witness the gruesome sight. School
dismissed for the day. At our home the morning hours dragged slowly by.
Everyone was too wrought up to work according to the usual ritual; Anne said
she felt choked. In order, I suppose, to relieve the nervous excitement, the
teacher, who was boarding at our house at the time,—Mr. French of the uncertain
temper—proposed that we have some music. Lowell Mason's “Book of Sacred Music”
was brought out, and we all joined in singing a number of hymns. Among others,
we sang “Ariel”—“Oh, could I sing the matchless worth.” Our voices rose high
and sweet, blending melodiously with the tones of the flute. The rhythm of the
stately music, and the ecstatic nature of the words almost lifted me out of
myself.
I'd soar
to touch the heavenly strings
And vie
with Gabriel while he sings
In notes
almost divine.
***
Well,
the delightful day will come
When my
dear Lord will bring me home.
I
wondered if, after they had taken poor Charlie Frame's life, he too would
“soar” and call this a “delightful day.” It was quite sure my baby brother and
Sister Alice were in that “home,” but I did not know whether poor Charlie's
kindness to us children would make him good enough to be taken to be with them.
After
dinner [we’d say “lunch” today], Father and my brothers saddled horses and made
ready to go. I asked them to take me, but they all said, “Do you suppose we'd
take a girl to a hanging? No, sir-ee; you stay at home with Mother like a good
girl.” However, soon after they left, Mother, Anne and Mr. French decided to
walk into town. To comfort me, they took me along. Mother and I went to call on
a friend living on the north side of the square, and Anne and Mr. French went
on a block or two farther to see some other friends.
While
Mother and her friend talked I strolled out on the deserted street. Presently a
man who frequently came to our house on business drove by. Seeing me alone, he
stopped his horse and asked, “Sis, would you like to ride out and see the
hanging?”
“Why,
yes,” I hesitated. “Would you take me?”
“Of
course,” he replied. “Jump in.”
Before I
had time to think of what I was doing, he had taken me by the hand, lifted me
to a seat by his side and was driving rapidly on the well-beaten way. The place
of execution was less than a mile away, southeast of town, and we soon reached
the edge of the crowd. From there, by slow degrees, he edged his light buggy
through the press of people and the jam of vehicles, to the very heart of it
all, to the piteous spectacle that had drawn together the vast throng.
Fortunately for my peace of mind, we were only in time to see a perfectly still
figure, whose face was covered by a black cap, and whose body was attired in a
blue jacket and white trousers. For, at one time in his short life, poor
Charlie had been a sailor. What a sight to take a seven-year-old girl to see!
But in justice to my escort, I must say that he was an ex-sheriff and probably
so inured to executions that he considered it no harm to gratify a child's curiosity.
We
remained but a moment, then again forced a way through the throng. Driving
rapidly back to town, my companion set me down where he had found me, and I
went timidly into the house. My absence had not been noted; Mother and her
friend were still talking. Neither
Father nor my brothers had seen me, so no one knew of my escapade. But I was
unhappy, weighed down by the remembrance of poor Charlie's limp body and
ashamed that I had gone without Mother's consent. After a time the burden grew
too heavy to bear, so I told Mother the whole story. Much to my surprise, she
was less vexed with me than with the man who took me. She was so shocked and
grieved that my childish eyes should have looked upon such a sight that I
assured her over and over again that “I would never do it again”—a promise that
has never proved difficult to keep.
Having, in
the line of duty, attended the executions of three men whom I have prosecuted,
I must say that I found the execution of William Fraim disturbing. The method
employed was an improvement over executions in Henry VIII’s England, where
commoners were drawn, quartered, disemboweled, decapitated, and their heads
stuck on a pole. Modern executions are conducted in a far more professional manner.
There’s not really a painless way to kill someone who doesn’t want to die, but modern
executions are carried out so as to minimize the pain as much as possible. They
are also reserved for only the most atrocious murders. When I was a prosecutor,
I would never have considered seeking the death penalty against William Fraim.
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