During the week preceding the inquest, the Van Deust murder was the
constant theme of conversation through all the country-side; and when
the important day arrived upon which Squire Bodley proposed to begin
the official investigation into the affair, people came thronging into
Easthampton from all directions; on horseback, afoot, in old-fashioned
carryalls, and upon rough farm-wagons; as if every homestead within
ten or fifteen miles around had been emptied for the occasion. It was
not mere curiosity by which they were actuated, but an earnest and
widely-spread desire to aid in the discovery and procure the
punishment of the assassin; for in those days there was no community
on Long Island, as there has since appeared to be, in which murder
would be popularly winked at and condoned, and its perpetrators,
though known, permitted to go unscathed of justice.
Squire Bodley's office was a small, one-story building, without any
other partitions than a railing that shut in about one-third of it,
where his table customarily stood. The sign "Lumber" over its one
door, indicated that the worthy magistrate did not confine his
energies to his judicial duties. There were three windows--one
opposite the door and one in each end--of such a good convenient
height from the ground that a man standing outside could rest his
elbows on either of the sills, and witness comfortably all that
transpired within. Long before the hour for the commencement of the
proceedings, the space outside the railing was densely packed; the
lower halves of the windows were filled with elbows and heads; and as
many people as could find standing room within sight or hearing, upon
wagons drawn up near the windows and door, were already perched and
waiting, while many late comers wandered uneasily about, watching for
some one in the front racks to give out through sheer exhaustion, and
resign his advantageous place.
As a preliminary proceeding, the Squire had his sashes removed
entirely from their frames, and carried away to a place of safety; but
even yet the little room was oppressively hot and close. Then candles
had to be brought and lighted, for although it was midsummer, when the
days are long, this evening was cloudy, and but little of the dull
light could penetrate through the crowded windows. So it was that it
was almost seven o'clock when the Squire finally got himself seated at
his table, with three candles, pen, ink and paper before him, that he
might write down the evidence, and called the first witness.
That first witness was Lemuel Pawlett, who was somewhat abashed by his
position, and had a little difficulty, at first, in understanding that
he was required to give a circumstantial account of the finding of the
body of the murdered man, and what followed thereupon.
"Why, you know all about it, Squire, as well as I do. You were with
me. What's the use of telling you?"
"But I have to write down your statement, as your evidence, Lem, not
simply for my own knowledge, but for others, to promote the ends of
justice. Go ahead and tell your story as if you were telling it to
these people here, and never mind what I know about it."
"All right, Squire;" and Lem, turning his back upon the Squire, began
reciting the affair to the audience. "Him and I went up to Van Deust's
a week ago to-day--"
"Who do you mean by 'him?' Who accompanied you?"
"Why, you! You yourself, Squire, you know you did!"
But at length the little difficulty of starting him aright was
overcome, and then Lem went ahead, telling his story in a plain,
straightforward way, and the Squire duly wrote it all down.
Two neighbors corroborated Lem's narration of the finding of the
traces of the burglarious entry and the flight of the assassin.
Deacon Harkins volunteered testimony as to having overheard quarrels
and interchange of threats of violence between the Van Deust brothers
more than once. At this old Peter, who sat near the Squire, became
greatly excited. Springing to his feet, trembling with emotion, and
with his voice pitched to a high, unnatural key, he cried:
"Yes, it is true. I did threaten my brother--God forgive me!--more
than once. I was mean enough, cruel enough, wicked enough to say
harsh, spiteful things to wound that gentle soul; but I never meant
him harm. No. The One above, who reads all hearts, knows well that I
would rather my right hand withered, rather put it into the fire and
burn it off than raise it against Jacob's life. We wrangled sometimes,
as old men will--no, _he_ didn't, the fault was all mine. And oh, to
think that he is gone, without my being able to ask him to forgive
me!"
His voice broke, and he dropped exhausted upon a chair, letting his
face fall forward upon his arms, on the end of the Squire's table,
where he wept bitterly.
"Arthur Wiltsey!" called the Squire.
A stout, plainly dressed, and honest looking countryman took the
stand, and, having been sworn, testified:
"Last Thursday afternoon--"
"The day succeeding the discovery of the murder of Jacob Van Deust?"
interrupted Squire Bodley.
"Yes, sir. The day after the murder. I was passing through the neck of
woods on the lower end of my place--"
"How far is your place from the Van Deusts'?" asked the Squire.
"Why, you know, Squire, as well as I do! I bought the place off you."
"Never mind about what I know. Tell us what you know. How far is your
place from the Van Deusts'?"
"About a mile and a half."
"Very well. About a mile and a half. Go on."
"When near a path that makes a short cut to the Babylon road, I found
these things. They were lying among some huckleberry bushes, and the
white bag was the first thing that caught my eye. Afterwards I saw the
other."
As he spoke he drew from his pocket and deposited upon the Squire's
table, two objects: an old worn-out sheepskin wallet, and an empty
canvas bag about nine inches long by three in width, and tied around
with a bit of fishing line.
"The bit of string," continued the witness, "was a few feet away from
the other things; but I judged it might belong to them, and fetched it
along."
"Have you ever seen these things before, Mr. Van Deust?" asked Squire
Bodley.
The old man who, buried in his freshly-awakened grief and remorse, had
paid no attention to what was going on until he was called by name,
looked up dazedly. The Squire pushed before him the objects found by
the witness. He looked at them for a few moments, silently and without
moving, as if fascinated by them; then slowly reached out his
trembling hands, and took them up.
"Yes," he said, with an effort, after having carefully examined them,
"I recognize them. They belonged to my brother Jacob--his wallet and
coin bag. And I know that the wallet, at least, was in his possession
the day before he was found dead."
Absolute stillness reigned in the dense crowd from the commencement of
Farmer Wiltsey's testimony until the conclusion of Peter Van Deust's
identification of his brother's property; and then such a buzz of
exclamations, and remarks, and conjectures broke out that the Squire
was compelled to rap vigorously on his table, and call "Order!" and
"Silence!" more than once before he could proceed with the business.
But there was little more to be offered.
One man thought he had heard a horse galloping down the Babylon road
about one o'clock on the morning of the discovery of the murder, but
he did not know if anybody was on the horse, and was not even positive
that it was a horse he heard; it might have been a cow. So his
evidence went for nothing.
Peter Van Deust testified, very briefly, that the last time he saw his
brother alive was about half-past nine o'clock on the night of his
death. An old gentleman, a friend from New York--their lawyer in
fact--had visited them in the afternoon on business, and had gone away
a little while after supper. Then they sat up somewhat later than
usual, talking over what they would do with their lower farm, which
would be left without a tenant when the Richards family moved away. He
had looked at the clock when he went to bed, and knew it was half-past
nine. Jacob was then in his usual health and spirits, except that he
complained a little of a slight cough, and it was the witness's
impression that his brother, after going to bed, had called old Betsy
to prepare him something to alleviate that. But he was not very sure
about that, as he was almost asleep at the time, and had not thought
to speak to Betsy about it since.
Squire Bodley hesitated as to whether he should press any inquiry
about the friend from New York, and cast an inquiring look at a
stranger who sat near him. But the stranger, who seemed to understand
perfectly what he would have asked, made a slight negative sign. Still
the Squire was not satisfied and, leaning over to him, whispered:
"That New Yorker must have been there nearer the time of the murder
than anybody else outside the family; most likely knew the old man had
money in the house, and just where it was kept; may have laid around
until all was quiet, and then gone back to--"
"It's quite possible he did," interrupted the stranger, in a tone
audible only to the Squire, "and I'm not losing sight of it; but it
won't do to bring out too much on the inquest. He might get wind of
the suspicion against him and skip. Never show your hand if you want
to win."
"All right," assented the Squire, doubtfully, "if you say so."
"Oh, yes, it's all right. Keep it shady, and I promise you the man
from New York will be turned up in good time."
Peter Van Deust's evidence was closed.
Black Betsy was the last witness. She said that on the night of the
murder, at about half-past ten o'clock, Jacob called her up to prepare
him something for his cough. She was lying down at the time, but not
asleep, as rheumatism mostly troubled her a good deal in the early
part of the night, and went to him as soon as he called. Having made
for him a cough mixture of honey, vinegar, and rum, she gave it to
him; he bade her good-night, and she went back to bed. Being asked how
she knew it was half-past ten when he called her, she said that she
knew it by the line of the full moonshine on her floor, and was
positive that she could not have been more than ten minutes wrong at
farthest. After returning to her bed the rheumatism kept her awake
about an hour, she supposed, or maybe an hour and a half. Then she
dropped asleep, and did not awake until called up by Squire Bodley and
Mr. Pawlett. Her hearing, she affirmed, was very good, and she was
sure that from the time she gave Jacob his medicine until she went to
sleep there were no unusual noises about the house.