Speaker 1: Hooch by William Sandford. I had committed murder in a
terrible fit of rage. I had killed my friend Jim McCarthy.
I was going to be hung at sunrise. There was
no hope. I must die. Slowly, the great steel doors
swung open, and four guards entered my cell. One of
them stepped a little in advance of the others come
he said that was all. I rose tottering from my bench.
I must die. I must leave the sunlight of the
earth behind me. I had committed murder. I was led
through the cold, bleak prison corridors and out into the
lighted courtyard, where a number of people were gathered, prison
officials and a few newspaper men. The scaffold stood before me,
and with tottering legs, I was assisted to the top.
A black cap, a horrible thing spelling death, was fitted
over my head and drawn tight about my neck. All
was still about me. No one spoke. I felt the
noose placed about my neck. The cold sweat broke out
over my body. I could scarcely stand death. Death. I
was to know the feeling of that terrible rope. In
a few moments, ready, said a sharp voice, I felt
the earth slip from under me, and I shot into space.
A feeling of suffocation, indescribably terrible, enveloped me, and a
million sparks of fire seemed dancing before my eyes, though
I could not see. I tried to scream, but could
make no sound. Then something seemed to burst. My lungs
were free. I gave a terrible cry. A voice from
above came sharply down to me, What the devil's the
matter with you? Bill? The ship gave a lurch and
brought me wide awake. In the dim light of the cabin,
I saw Jim McCarthy's face peering at me from the
bunk above. Jim, I said, wiping my sweat soaked face
with the sheet. If you fill me up on any
more of your home made hooch, I will kill you.
The end of Hooch.