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HE MINUTE HAND on my watch indicates 5:44 a. m. I am standing in a direct line with the chair.

My gaze is directed to the left side of the room and down a short, narrow, heavily-walled corridor that forms the communication between the condemned cells and the execution chamber. There are a number of guards standing quietly about, and on my right, back of a rope stretched across the room, sit the witnesses.

There is a tension in the very air of the chamber. Absolute quiet prevails. A few seconds pass, eternally long they are.

Then comes a sound—a muffled "Good-by, all." The sound reaches the ears of the witnesses, and involuntarily they straighten up on their stools; there is some scuffling of feet, and one witness, possibly a trifle more nervous than the rest, clears his throat. Everyone is now keenly alert.

I hear the chant of the priest—the response of the condemned man—the low, quavering and broken response, "Have mercy on me."

The little procession now enters the corridor. I see the condemned man—stocking-footed, and with his right trouser leg flapping, grimly ludicrous, for it has been slit up to the knee in order to facilitate the application of the leg electrode. He is between the deputy warden and his assistant, each supporting an arm as they slowly enter the death chamber.

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At the sight of the fateful and fatal chair, the condemned man involuntarily shrinks back, but the guards are prepared for this, and their hold becomes a little firmer. There is no halt in their step, and but five paces away, inanimate, portentous and ominous—the chair!

After the first sight—after that sharp, quivering intake of breath—the gaze of the condemned man shifts about the room. His expression haunts one. You feel that it is both all-seeing and unseeing. The fear of death—a definite emotion—is here portrayed in a fashion that but few have beheld. There is utter finality in that look.

His eyes rest upon you. You feel that he sees you, but that you are simply one of the images in the general make-up of the last picture that is conveyed to his brain. There is no recognition in the glance—just a vague, hopeless and apparently vacant stare, but one which you feel discerns the sharp outlines of the persons and objects in the room, without recognizing features or details.

To me, that quick survey of his surroundings, that final glance of the unfortunate being on the very threshold of his meeting with his God, is the most harrowing of all the gruesome details connected with the administration of man-made Law's decree.

My watch indicates 5:45 a.m. The condemned man is seated in the Chair. The guards work quickly, two at either side and one at the head of the Chair, The arm straps are buckled fast, the leg straps next, then the face strap, which has an opening for the chin, and the upper part of which mercifully blindfolds the eyes.

The cap, a soft, pliable thing made of a fine copper mesh and lined with sponge, which has been moistened in salt water, is placed upon the head and molded to fit its contour. To a binding-post on the cap is adjusted the heavy wire that conveys the terrific current from the dynamo in a distant part 109