When the court was opened that morning, at the usual hour, and the
expectant multitude rushed, scrambled, and tumbled in, to fight first
for front places and then for any place at all; the lawyers--who had
entered by the judge's private stairway--were already seated inside
the railing, chatting and laughing with cheerful indifference; the
prisoner, looking worn and haggard, was seated in his place, and the
two drowsy jurymen were already commencing to yawn.
The defence began the presentation of its evidence immediately. Mary
Wallace was recalled to the stand to testify that when her lover was
leaving her on the evening of the night of the murder he told her that
he was going back to New Haven in Mr. Hollis's sloop. But the
prosecuting attorney objected, and the court ruled that the prisoner's
statements at that time were not admissible. Mr. Hollis, of New Haven,
bore witness that Dorn had come over from New Haven with him that
evening, had said that he might not return that night, and did not
return to the beach at the appointed hour to accompany him back.
Altogether, Mr. Hollis's evidence was rather injurious than otherwise,
and the prosecuting attorney looked pleased as he made a note of it.
Lem Pawlett was called to testify that the tracks left by the murderer
in the soft earth of Mr. Van Deust's garden were those of a man
wearing high-heeled, fashionable boots or shoes, and having much
smaller feet than Dorn Hackett; but as he had taken no measurements of
them, and only judged from memory, and didn't know the size of Dorn's
feet, and was, as he readily admitted, a friend of the prisoner, the
prosecuting attorney in cross-examination made it to be inferred from
his manner, that there was no doubt in his mind that the witness was
deliberately perjuring himself in the hope of helping the case of the
accused. And at least five of the jury responsively looked as if that
was the way they felt about it.
Then witnesses were put forward as sea-faring experts to prove that on
the night of the murder there was almost a dead calm on the water,
such as would have made it impossible for a sail-boat to go from
Napeague Inlet to New Haven in the time that it was claimed by the
prosecution Dorn had gone. But when the prosecuting-attorney got to
bullying and confusing them in cross-examination, he made them say
that they could not really swear whether the calm was that night, or
the night before, or the night after, or two or three nights distant
either way; and one of them even admitted that perhaps it might have
blown a gale on that particular night, for all he was now prepared to
make oath to about it. Simple-minded people, who do not know how much
more lawyers bark than bite, when going through the ordeal of
cross-examination are apt to feel much as the toad proverbially does
when he finds himself under the harrow.
Things were going swimmingly for the prosecution. The defence was forced
to fall back upon its last and always weakest intrenchment--proof of
previous good character and reputation. A few persons were found to
swear that they had known Dorn Hackett from his boyhood, and had
always considered him honest, industrious, truthful and kind-hearted,
and they were confident that such was his general reputation. Uncle
Thatcher was one of those witnesses, at his own request, and the
prosecuting attorney, who had, in some mysterious way, learned much
more than he should have been permitted to know about the witnesses
for the defence, asked him sneeringly:
"Did not this excellent young man, about three years ago, perpetrate
an unprovoked and brutal assault on your son?"
"No, sir," replied, the old man sternly. "He thrashed him, as he
deserved, for a contemptible action."
But all those witnesses to good character had to admit that they had
known nothing of Dorn for three years past, during which time he had
been away from the village--whaling, it was said, but for all they
knew to the contrary he might have been living the most vicious and
ill-regulated life in some big city. Then a stronger witness in that
direction took the stand, Mr. Merriwether, of New Haven, owner of the
schooner of which Dorn was master, and he could, and did, swear
positively that he knew Dorn had been on a three years' whaling
voyage, had since been steadily in his employ, and was in all respects
moral, sober, and an entirely trustworthy young man of irreproachable
character. The prosecuting attorney seeing that this witness was one
who could not be easily bluffed or confused, contented himself with
asking:
"You are his employer, are you not?"
"Yes, sir."
"And interested in getting him back to work for you, as you deem him a
good sailor?"
"Yes, sir. But--"
"Never mind. That will do, sir. I am through with this witness." And
the prosecutor sat down, looking with a scornful smile toward the
jury, as if he would have said to them confidentially: "You see this
man cares nothing whether the prisoner is guilty, or not, of all the
crimes forbidden by the Decalogue, if he only serves him well."
In those days, a person accused was not permitted to go upon the stand
in his own behalf and give his testimony, under the sanctity of an
oath, as is now allowed him by the law. Then, he might be granted the
privilege of making his statement, but it would be merely a statement,
and the prosecution was very careful always, when a prisoner thus
spoke for himself, to impress upon the jury that his unsworn
affirmation of innocence was of no value whatever, when weighed in the
balance against other men's affidavits. Stress would be laid upon the
time and knowledge the accused had had to enable his preparation of
his own version of the affair, and undue prominence and importance
given to the fact that he could not be cross-examined. In this way an
artful prosecutor could generally neutralize all good effect the
accused might otherwise produce, if not, indeed, make the poor
wretch's asseverations of innocence absolutely harmful to him, by
stirring up the suspicion, antagonism, and secret consciousness of
infallibility in the minds of the jury, who resent attempts to deceive
them.
Dorn was duly warned of this, yet he persisted in demanding to be
allowed to tell his own story, and the court granted him permission to
do so. He told it simply, clearly, and truthfully, as he had told it
before to Lem, to Mary, to his lawyer, and to the magistrate who
committed him, but he made no new converts to his innocence
now--unless it might have been the clear-sighted and experienced old
judge on the bench, who believed that he heard the ring of truth in
the young man's voice, and saw honesty in his frank, manly face.
But at the conclusion of the statement, as Dorn left the stand and
returned to his seat by his counsel, the prosecuting attorney silently
held aloft before the jury the marked and identified handkerchief,
and that action was more conclusive in its effect upon their minds
than all that the prisoner had said. Looking upon their faces, the
lawyer for the defence murmured to himself, "We are lost!"
As the day wore on Lem Pawlett was in agony, for his witness did not
appear. It made him dizzy and sick to see one witness after another
leaving the stand in such rapid succession, for he did not know how
soon the supply of them would run out, and the weak defence be
compelled to close before the one upon whom all depended should make
his appearance. "Why had he not come? The boat was due many hours ago,
and had not yet arrived! Becalmed, doubtless, on this one day of all
the days in the year. Perhaps he might not be aboard. He might be
sick. What if he should be a cunning villain, the real criminal, for
all his smooth exterior, who had purposely given that handkerchief to
Dorn to cast the guilt apparently on him? He smiled when it was
mentioned. And now he might be flying far away." These thoughts almost
maddened Lem. Bitterly he reproached himself that he had not staid in
New York and kept his witness under his eye until the last moment, and
brought him along by force, if necessary. Again and again he was
tempted to make his way to Mr. Dunn, and urge him to fight the day
through by all means; but each time he remembered what Mr. Holden had
said the prisoner's counsel must be, and refrained. Parched with
thirst, and blazing with fever, yet with a cold perspiration breaking
out all over him, poor Lem could hardly understand half that was going
on. But when Dorn's lawyer arose and said, "May it please the court,
the defence rests," the words came to his ears like a clap of thunder.
It seemed to him that that was the last moment of grace, and he
staggered to his feet, trying to say something; to cry a halt; to
appeal to the judge for time; to do, he did not know what. But his
tongue clave to the roof of his mouth, and a deputy sheriff, seeing
him standing there, waving his arms and looking as if he was about to
speak, shouted at him with such an awful voice, "Silence in the
court," that he sank down, stunned and speechless in his place, as
helpless as he had been in that awful dream of the night before.
The prosecuting attorney began summing up to the jury. If he was
forcible in the opening, he was terrible now. Of course he assumed
that a clear case had been made out, as prosecutors always do; that
"there was no moral doubt of the guilt of the accused, any more than
if the jury had actually beheld him battering in the skull of his aged
victim, wiping the dripping blood from his hands upon the raiment of
the corpse, and clutching the gold, for lust of which he had done this
hideous deed." [Five of the jury looked as if they quite agreed with
him; three others glanced timidly and furtively at the faces of the
five, as if to read there what they too should think about it; the
sleepy men were very wide awake now, having had a good nap while the
evidence as to character was being introduced; and the deaf man had
both hands up to his ears to enable him to hear better, for if there
is anything that country people do love, it is a good strong speech.]
In the midst of one of his most vigorous declamatory efforts the eye
of the prosecutor caught sight of the judge, who was sitting with
upraised gavel and a look as if he was only waiting for the end of a
sentence to arrest his progress. The speaker stopped, and the judge,
laying down his gavel, held up a note and said:
"I am in receipt of a communication which is, if written in good
faith--that is, by the person whose name is signed to it--of so very
important a character, and has such a decided bearing upon the
interests of justice in this case, that I feel it would be in the
highest degree unwise to ignore it. I will therefore ask the
prosecuting attorney to have the kindness to at least postpone for a
short time the continuation of his address to the jury. The court will
now take a recess for half an hour."
The densely packed and excited audience hardly waited the conclusion
of the sheriff's formal repetition of the formal order of the court,
to break out into a loud murmur of exclamations, conjecture, and
discussion as to what the important communication might be. The judge,
upon rising from his seat, made a sign to the prosecuting attorney and
the counsel for the defence to accompany him to his room, and the trio
went out by the private door, which they closed behind them.
"What is it, Lem? What do you suppose they are going to do now?" Ruth
asked anxiously of the young man, who sat in a semi-inanimate
condition at her side, and who actually had not heard a word of what
the judge had said. He started from his dream, into which reality had
again plunged him, and replied miserably:
"I don't know. Hang him, I suppose."
"Don't talk nonsense, Lem. What's the matter with you? Wake up. Didn't
you hear what the judge said about his receiving an important
communication that had a decided bearing, and all that?"
"Did he?"
"Yes, 'a decided bearing upon the interests of justice in this case.'
Those were his very words; and he held up a letter."
"Then it's all right now, Ruth! All right at last! He has come! He has
come!"
"Who has come?"
"The man who will save Dorn Hackett."