The Soldier Who Missed: Why Seattle Is Rooting for a Court-Martialed Hero

The element of justice in the sentence passed by the court-martial upon Sergeant Mason has been more than overbalanced by the element of unmerited severity. The result is that public indignation is making him a hero. The circumstances of his case are so peculiar that they are pretty sure to be misjudged on one side or the other. His crime in attempting homicide cannot be explained away by the fact that the man at whom he aimed was deserving of instant death.

All the arguments which urged patience and submission to the slow justice of the law, in that era which followed the assassination of the President, combine to prove Mason guilty of a great offense. Not even the act of Gaiteau could justify a private individual in taking it upon himself to become the wretch's executioner. But there was something more than this in Mason's act. He was a soldier, bound by solemn oath to duty and obedience. It was not his part to question the orders he received, or even to reason about them at all. If the private soldier assumes the right of private judgment with reference to the orders of his commander, if he is for a moment to consider whether he ought to obey or not, he is a mutineer—guilty of the worst breach of military law which he can commit.

Once admit the slightest assertion of this principle, and the soldier is transformed into a rioter; the army into a mob, furnished with deadly weapons; and law and order are at an end. Sergeant Mason, then, was technically guilty upon these two serious charges. But guilt is one thing and punishment another. It is a perfectly well known fact that certain crimes recognized by the law are so consonant with the sense of individual justice that conviction of the offender by a jury is impossible.

When a man slays the destroyer of his family honor, his fellows applaud and pronounce 'not guilty,' though there may have been twenty witnesses of the deed. Each feels that it is no more than he would have done himself if similarly placed. There is a strong analogy between such a case and that of Mason. The universal exclamation was, 'What a pity he missed him.' Leaving out of the question the reflection upon us as a nation, every man was satisfied that Gaiteau ought to have short shrift, and that whoever killed him would be as little to blame as if he had shot down a mad dog instead.

Some allowance must be made for this sentiment, because it was universal. Mason shared with others the excitement of the hour. The same considerations which would have impelled thousands of others to the same act, had they had the same opportunity, overcame in his weak mind the restraints of morality and of his duty as a soldier. This is not only an explanation, it is at least a partial extenuation. He did a wrong and should be punished; there were mitigating circumstances, and the severity of the punishment should have been determined accordingly.

From this view of the case which, whatever strict law and logic may say, is and has been the popular one, the sentence of dismissal from the army and confinement at hard labor for eight years is not only excessive, but is cruelly unjust. It is computed by the old ratio of an eye for an eye. It is a judgment in cold blood upon a passionate act of a patriot when passion had full sway.

But there is something more than this. Many comparisons have been drawn between the treatment of Gaiteau and that of Mason, but the really striking one passes almost unnoticed. The latter had at least as good a defense on the ground of insanity as the former. Everything goes to show that he is a man of inconsiderable mental power. His act of itself classifies him naturally with the 'cranks.' His treatment of all who interested themselves in him, his rude repulse of the physicians who came to examine him, his dogged resolution to court the worst that might befall him, are indications of unsound mind too strong to be disregarded. Yet it does not appear that any expert testimony was called in his defense, or that his mental condition received any consideration whatever upon the trial.

This is in such painful contrast to the trial of Gaiteau that it is little wonder it has evoked a storm of indignation. Very probably, were an examination to be had by a competent medical commission, Sergeant Mason would be laid an inmate of an asylum instead of a penitentiary. For these reasons the sentence of the court-martial is indubitably harsh, and the resentment of the people is justified.

The severity of the judges is having the precisely opposite effect of making friends for Mason everywhere. Petitions for his pardon pour in by the dozen, subscriptions are started in his behalf, and not improbable his sentence will bring him far more fortune than his hasty shot. Sergeant Mason, a soldier dismissed for cause, would have quickly passed out of the public memory; Sergeant Mason, a convict for an act of which many people quietly approve, is a hero to be honored and a sufferer to be succored.