The Last words and dying confession of the three pirates, who were executed this day, (May 9th, 1800.)

LAST DYING WORDS, CONFESSION, &c.

Joseph Baker, alias Boulanger, on the day before his exit, dictated to a French gentleman, of this city, a letter to his Brother, with injunctions to send it forward immediately after his execution; which we have faithfully translated from the original.

COPY.

Philadelphia, May 8th, 1800.

DEAR BROTHER,

I hasten to make known to you my situation, for the last time, and about eighteen hours before my death.

Having committed an action against the com∣mandments of God, and the laws of civil society, I send you this, in order to keep you at a distance from the like misfortune, and that you should acquaint my father, brothers and sisters of my death, without telling them the cause of it: I trust that they will pray for me on earth, as I hope to pray for them in heaven. I have complied, in every thing, with the rules of our religion, and bid you a last adieu,—hoping that my poor family, and all my friends, may enjoy eternal life: so no more from your unfortunate brother, who is only thinking on God.

JOSEPH BOULANGER.

To Mons. Pierre Boulanger, in Cap∣tain Destmonville's Company of Volun∣teers, Canada.

The same day, Joseph Berrouse dictated the follow∣ing letter to his Uncle, in Paris:

COPY:

Philadelphia, 8th May, 1800.

MY DEAR UNCLE,

I write you these lines, at this time, which is likely (by an accident which has befallen me) to be the last day of my life.

Wishing to support that unfortunate Republic, and seeking to return to my own country, I was induced to commit an action, contrary to the laws of God, and of civilized nations—which hath shortened my days.

I pray you, my dear uncle, not to forget to make known my unfortunate lot, to my relations and guardians, that they may take possession of my property. I hope they will not forget me in their prayers—that they will cause mass to be said, and give something to the poor, for me.—Make my re∣spects to all my dear relations, and salute my dear cousins, for me. I am sorry that I have made no will, but hope that you will agree together.

I am your unfortunate and dear Nephew, Joseph Berrouse, Cadet.

To Mons. Depuis le Jeune, Saddler and Coach-maker, Fauxbour, St. Ger∣main, Paris.

These three unfortunate young men were attended, from the time they received their sentence, to the day of their execution, by clergymen of different persuasions, and they employed themselves almost unremittedly in acts of devotion; and appeared truly penitent, and anxious to obtain favour from an offended God, through the merits of Jesus Christ.

Peter La Croix, shortly before his execution, gave the following account of his life.

"I was born in Flanders; my parents gave me a good edu∣cation; and my mother, particularly, never failed to give the best admonitions; but, unfortunately, I did not comply with them; on the contrary, I followed my own wicked inclinations. I was only a boy when I went to sea, and I engaged at last in the Low-Dutch, or Holland service; but, not liking this, I went over to England. I soon returned from thence to Hol∣land; and; in order not to be brought to punishment as a de∣serter, I changed my name, and called myself Peter Peterson. My restless spirit soon drove me away from Holland again; and I wandered from one place to another.

"During the whole time, after I had left my parents, I led a very ungodly life. I had not, nor did I care, for any good book; and, particularly, I never read in that book, which is now my only consolation,—the Bible.

"God and Eternity were only my sport. I was a true blas∣phemer; and I now recollect, with horror, that I actually lifted up my fist against the Almighty; and, in the tumult of my passion challenged his vengeance.

"I could say a great deal about the dreadful murder on board of the Eliza, but I think it unnecessary: This one circum∣stance I cannot, however, conceal, that I never actually kil∣led one myself of those who were murdered: But this does not excuse me, because I could have saved their lives: Yet, though it was in my power, as I did not prevent the murder, but, on the contrary, sided with those who perpetrated it, I have certainly deserved death, and shortly shall justly suffer what my actions merit."

To the above, we have to add, that the name of La Croix was no more his real name than that of Peterson; and he certainly had his reasons why he changed his name the se∣cond time—reasons which were obviously not founded on his good behaviour.

He disclosed his real name to one of the ministers, who visited him: but begged that it might be kept a secret, as he did not wish to expose his relations to that disgrace which the publicity of his unhappy end undoubtedly would.

According to his account, he is of a respectable family; and his mother, brethren, and sisters were yet alive, as far as he knew.

The author of this short account did not see the prisoner until sentence had been passed on him; and, therefore, can

only relate what situation he found him in, during that short space of time.

The unhappy man was, in those days, as much as appeared, quiet, and perfectly resigned. His chief occupation was the study of the Scriptures; and, in these, the Old. Testament as well as the New, he was surprisingly versed. He made many sensible and striking remarks upon some texts, which might otherwise be accounted difficult; and it appeared, plainly, that he understood what he read. It was a great advantage to him, that, in his early days, he had been well acquainted with the Bible; for, although he afterwards reviled the same, and even scoffed at it, yet, at the hour of death, it was his only refuge; and this, without a doubt, because the blessed recollection of what it had been to him in his youth, encouraged him there∣to. He confessed that he never had cared for the Scriptures since his infancy, until he was confined in the cell of the Philadelphia Prison. In this distress, he knew of no other remedy to allay his apprehensions. He read, and the more he read, the more he wished to read; and he must really have been very industrious, in this his employment, or else it would have been impossible, that, in so short a time, he should have become so well acquainted with this book, as he really was.

When visited, he complained of nothing more than of the hardness of his heart. This he looked upon as the severest judgment of God, which the Lord had inflicted upon him for his enormous iniquities. He acknowledged how great the difference was between the faith of the head and of the heart: He complained that the latter remained so strange to him. He prayed frequently; yet, according to his own declaration, altho' the words proceeded from his mouth, his heart and sentiments had no share therein. He believed in Jesus as his Saviour; but this belief made no impression upon his heart. He shewed great concern, lest the Lord should re∣ject him, and that he would hardly accept of a sinner like him. His approaching end, did not, according to his ac∣knowledgment, occasion in him any fear. He confessed that he had perfectly deserved this punishment; but, that the judgment of God, and of eternity, were dreadful to him: That the recollection of his sins, and the damnation which he had deserved, were the gnawing worm of his heart.

In this sorry and dreadful situation of mind, he was found constantly, until about three days before his execution: when beamed a small glimpse of grace upon his darkened soul. A very applicable German Hymn was read to him, which drew the first tears from his eyes, and his heart was conside∣rably releaved by it. From that moment, he began to be

more easy. He now perused the Scriptures with more sen∣sation: Reading Luke 11, 1, 12, he exclaimed: "Now this must be true, what Jesus has said, for be never spoke an un∣truth; and so the Almighty God will, for all, hear my prayers." And here-his-eyes were bathed in tears.

The above-mentioned Hymn gave great consolation to him; he read it himself, and he caused it to be read to him repeatedly.

On the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 morning of his life, when he was visited, and asked how it was now with him? his answer was, "Oh, it is better,—much better with me. I had a very good night; I have prayed the whole night. The Lord Jesus ordered me to watch and pray! No sleep came into my Eyes, and I feel now much easier."

Particularly important it was to him, that which he had read that morning in Harvey's Meditations on the Night, where he introduces a Latin Motto on a Sun-dial. The translation of which is, "On this moment depends an eternity." Each moment; said he, is now, for certain, to me, an eternity; and, for that reason, I like to do nothing better than praying:

During this conversation, a woman came in, who said that she was his mother. He looked at her without the least emotion; and only said, "no,—no,—that is not my mother. I know that my mother could not be in Philadelphia." It is said that the woman, herself, afterwards, acknowledged her error.

As one of those, who visited him took his leave, (bursting into tears) he said, "Ah! I hope and I believe we shall see one another again in bliss with the Lord. Farewell—farewell, and thanks for your kindness."

He had given to the same person, the evening before, a Letter, with a request to forward the same to his brother, and to desire him to inform his mother of his fate; at least, of his death. Here follows the translation of the letter, which was written in the Low-Dutch language.

Philadelphia, 28th Germinal, 8th year of the French Republic.

DEAR BROTHER,

THIS is the last letter which you will receive from me; and I hope that the great and Almighty God, will let you come to a better end than that which I am come to: Because I forsook the Al∣mighty

God, my latter end is truly unfortunate. I hope you will take this to heart, and, with your whole soul, cleave to God, who can deliver us from evil. Dear brother, I write this in chains and fetters, about twenty hours before my death, in hopes that you will take the same to heart, and trust in him, whom I had forsaken,—but on whom I now place my only hopes, and confide in his unmerited mercy. I hope that you will remem∣ber me with brotherly love. I herewith conclude, recommending you, as likewise my poor soul, into the hands of the God of my fathers, and wish you an eternal good night. And, as I hope to obtain the grace of God, I recommend you into the hands of my Saviour, Jesus Christ; and I now go to eternal rest—Amen.—Greet all friends and ac∣quaintances in the name of the Lord my God, and your God—Amen.

Your servant and brother, to eternity, PETER LA CROIX.

Reader! The crimes of these young men were the great∣est that can be committed in civil society—and highly aggra∣vated by many attrocious circumstances. Although they have not furnished the world with a particular account of their past lives, it is almost certain, that, though young men, they had pursued a dissolute and abandoned course,—regardless of God, before whom they are now to be judged—and who, in his all-wise Providence, stopped them in their vicious career.

Murder is a crime of so deep a dye, that it seldom or ne∣ver escapes a temporal punishment;—though God, in his in∣finite mercy, may grant repentance, and, thereby, the unhappy perpetrator may not be finally shut out from eternal hap∣piness.

How much reason had these persons to rejoice, that they were brought to a city, where the consolation of the gospel were held out to them, by pious divines;—that they were not snatched into eternity, from their wicked courses, in a moment, without time or opportunity to reflect on, and re∣pent, of their mispent life, and the disregard they had paid to the commandments of God, or the laws of man.

It is sincerely hoped, that their untimely fate may be a warning to all young men, to forsake the paths of vice, and to remember their Creator in the days of their youth—to gain a living by honest industry, rather than by violence upon the persons or property of others, in whatever stations they are alloted to,—whether by Land or Sea.

They were taken from the cells about 11 o'clock, dressed, in white, in one cart, accompanied by two clergymen, to Market-street wharf, where they were put on beard a boat, and conveyed to the place of execution, on the Island, op∣posite Dock-street, and guarded by the marshall, sheriff and other peace-officers. They continued in prayer until near twelve o'clock; when the executioner performed his last office to them, and they were launched into eternity, in the view of an immense concourse of spectators, who crouded the wharfs and the shipping. They made no other speech, than begging the world to forgive them, as they forgave every person in it.

Captain Wheland was present, with whom they shook hands, as they did with each other, previous to the last mo∣ments of their existence.