Robert Penn Warren
THE DEATH OF ISHAM
(NOTE:
This is an episode from a long poem,
Brother to Dragons.
The
speakers in this section are the author of the poem, who serves as a kind
of interlocutor throughout, Isham Lewis (a nephew of Thomas Jeffer–
son), and one of Andrew Jackson's riflemen. I sham had been involved by
his older brother Lilburn in a tragic and brutal experience, and had then
been persuaded by Lilburn into a suicide agreement. But as the brothers
stood over the grave of their mother, each with a weapon aimed at the
other's breast, Lilburn tricked Isham into firing first, and fell dying
across the grave. Isham lost his nerve and fled into the wilderness, but
was captured, tried, and condemned to be hanged. The scene of the
event is near Smithland, in Livingston County, Kentucky, a few miles
up-river from Paducah. The time is from the summer of
1812
up to the
Battle of New Orleans.)
R.P.W.:
The day drew on, and his appetite, no doubt,
Declined, and hog and hominy had lost
Their pristine savor, like the 'Bible's salt.
The day drew on, drew near, but never came.
The dawn broke fair to make the holiday,
But sport was lacking-sing or drink or fight,
But ne'er a rope to stretch: "Aw, hell, git home."
Yes, the rope swings idle, for Isham's up and gone.
But the Commonwealth, aroused, will not be balked.
Far off in Frankfort,
in
the Capitol,
Old Shelby dipped his quill and wrote it fair,
The big reward, five hundred dollars, gold,
For Isham, quick or dead. That ought to fetch him.
But didn't. He's long gone, he's made his tracks
Down Mississippi or the Arkansas.
He didn't break that jail to mope and tarry,
For Little Ishey had a prejudice
Against all hemp and hanging and bad dreams.
So busted jail-
