It seems a little strange to some people that a prosecuting attorney
should so hungrily devote himself to the conviction of an accused
person, even when, as is sometimes beyond question, he feels in his
heart that the individual against whom he is exerting all the force of
his trained legal ingenuity, eloquence, and mental power is, in fact,
guiltless of the crime alleged against him. If his gains depended upon
his success in obtaining a conviction, many who are accustomed to look
upon pecuniary interest as a sufficient excuse for almost anything not
absolutely prohibited by law, would understand him better. But such is
not the case. His salary is the same, whether he succeeds in hanging a
guiltless unfortunate or not. Success, in many cases, may help him to
re-election: but that is not always a serious consideration. Why,
then, when he cannot convict by clear proof of guilt, does he call to
his aid the technicalities of law, the power of precedent, and all
that may enable him to even prevent the prisoner accomplishing that
herculean task--the proving of his innocence? Simply because of the
development in him--and the conscious possession of the widest license
in its exercise--of the hunting instinct that is inherent in all
carnivorous animals, man included. He hunts the accused down to
death, with not even the cannibal's excuse of wishing to eat him, but
that he may have the joy of triumph in the achievement, and that his
reputation as a hunter may be enhanced,--as some men used to kill
buffaloes on the plains, as long as there were any, simply for the
sake of the killing. In other circumstances and relations of life he
may be gentle and kind-hearted; but put him in the chase, and he knows
no pity. Perhaps there are times when, after a conviction, he secretly
says to himself:
"Thank God it was the jury's work, not mine! I did not convict him!"
But he deceives himself. The average juryman, even one who is without
prejudice and means to do rightly, is but a tool of the most cunning
and able of the two lawyers pitted against each other before him. Some
drops of the innocent blood the jury sheds must cling to the hands of
the prosecutor.
When the court resumed its session, after the brief recess, another
person sat within the railing among the lawyers, a little elderly
gentleman, at sight of whom Lem Pawlett almost wept for joy, and the
prisoner's heart felt a thrill of hope.
Dorn's counsel formally announced to the court that since the closing
of the defence new and most important evidence, completely
demonstrating the innocence of the prisoner at the bar, had been put
in his possession, and he asked that the court grant permission for
the reopening of the defence and the admission of this testimony.
The prosecuting attorney argued long and earnestly against the
introduction of any further evidence at the present stage of the
proceedings. In view of the high character and standing in the
profession of the proposed witness, who had been made known to him in
the judge's private room, and with whose reputation he was well
acquainted, he did not dare to cast a shadow of suspicion upon the
proposed evidence as manufactured and unworthy of belief or
consideration. Evading that issue, he confined himself to opposing as
informal, irregular, and liable to be viewed as a dangerous and evil
precedent, the reopening of the case. Even if improperly convicted for
lack of this evidence, the prisoner, he argued, would still have his
relief in a new trial, which the Court of Appeals would be sure to
grant if the new testimony was indeed material.
Mr. Dunn made a strong plea for the accused against the injustice of
condemning an innocent man to await in prison, under the shadow of a
sentence of death, and in an agony of suspense, the slow action of the
Court of Appeals, rather than disturb the mere formality of a trial.
Finally, the judge ruled--as he had intended to before either of the
lawyers said a word--that the new evidence should be admitted.
The little elderly gentleman, responding promptly to the crier's call
for "Pelatiah Holden," took the stand, was sworn, and testified:
"My name is Pelatiah Holden; I reside in New York, and am a lawyer by
profession. I have been the legal adviser of the brothers Peter and
Jacob Van Deust in certain money matters; and, upon business connected
with their affairs, visited their house on the evening of the 19th of
July, coming from New York by boat to Sag Harbor and thence riding
over on horseback."
"That was the night upon which Jacob Van Deust was murdered, was it
not?" the prisoner's counsel interposed.
"To the best of my present information and belief the murder was
perpetrated on the night of the 19th, or morning of the 20th."
"Yes, sir. Proceed, sir."
"I remained with the Van Deust brothers, taking supper with them,
receiving their signatures to some papers, and holding a consultation
with them in regard to the investment of certain monies belonging to
them jointly, until, as nearly as I can now remember, about fifteen
minutes before nine o'clock in the evening. They pressed me to remain
all night, which I declined to do, as I had business of importance to
attend to in New York, for other clients, and was desirous of
returning as speedily as possible to the city. When I took my
departure Jacob Van Deust accompanied me to where my horse was hitched
in the lane, and we stood there talking a few minutes. There was no
wind stirring, and the mosquitoes annoyed me very much. In switching
them from the back of my neck with my handkerchief I dropped it
accidentally, and the horse chanced to step upon it, trampling it into
the dirt of the lane. Seeing that it had been rendered unfit for
present use, Mr. Jacob Van Deust was kind enough to offer me the loan
of a clean one which he had in his pocket, and I thankfully accepted
it. I mounted my horse, said good-by, and set out upon a new road that
Mr. Van Deust--the younger brother, I mean--had recommended to me as
shortening considerably the distance I had to travel.
"I had ridden, as nearly as I can judge, about a mile, or perhaps only
seven-eighths of a mile, when, in passing through a cutting that
depressed the roadway to a depth of nine or ten feet below the surface
of the ground on either side, I found, lying upon the ground and
groaning, a young man."
"Do you recognize that man among those here present?"
"I do, sir. It was the prisoner at the bar. He informed me that having
been unacquainted with the existence of that new road, he had just
sustained a severe fall into it. His injuries seemed to corroborate
his statement, at least so far as the severity of his fall was
concerned. His scalp was badly cut in at least two places, and he was
bleeding profusely.
"When I assisted him to rise he found that one of his ankles--the
left, I believe--was so seriously sprained that he could not bear to
rest his weight upon it, and could not walk a step without assistance.
I used the clean handkerchief which was in my possession, together
with one he had, to bind up his head and stanch the flow of blood,
after which I supported him to the beach, where he hoped, he said, to
find a small vessel to take him to New Haven, where he resided. But he
was only able to move very slowly, and when we arrived at the water's
edge no vessel was in sight. While we were debating what was best to
be done with him, under the circumstances, a small fishing-boat came
within a short distance of the shore, and the person directing its
movements responded to his call. He offered the person in the
boat--who appeared to be an old man, accompanied by a boy--the sum of
ten dollars to take him over to New Haven, which offer was accepted. I
assisted him to enter the boat, and, when it had sailed away returned
to where I had left my horse tied to tree, remounted him, and
prosecuted my journey homeward."
During the giving of this evidence, a stillness prevailed in the
court-room as if the speaker had been alone, and when his voice ceased
there was such an enormous sigh from the crowded audience as if all
were at once exhaling the pent-up breath they had not dared to free
before for fear of losing a word of what he said. Five jurymen and the
prosecuting attorney looked equally disgusted.
"At what hour that night did you last see the prisoner?" asked Mr.
Dunn.
"At twenty-seven minutes past ten o'clock."
"In a small boat, sailing from the shore?"
"Yes, sir. Very slowly, however, as there was very little wind."
"From your knowledge of his condition at that time, do you believe it
would have been possible for him to have returned that night to Mr.
Van Deust's, entered that house, perpetrated the murder with which he
is charged and made his escape?"
"No, sir. He was very weak from loss of blood, and I know, from
personal examination, that his ankle was so severely sprained that it
would have been a physical impossibility for him to have done what you
said."
"Ah! you say that you examined his ankle. Did you notice at the time
what kind of shoes he wore?"
"I did. He had on the low, broad, soft shoes, with hardly any heels,
which sailors customarily wear."
"That is enough, sir. Thank you. Take the witness," said Mr. Dunn,
with an air of triumph, to the prosecuting attorney.
That official did not seem to care about taking the witness. He knew
that it was a master in the art of cross-examination who was thus
lightly turned over to him, and had no hope of entrapping him or
shaking his testimony. Still, he had to make some show.
Indifferently he asked: "Of course you have no idea of who the old man
in the boat was?"
"To the best of my information and belief, his name was Jabez Sanborn.
I asked him and that was what he told me."
Jabez Sanborn! Why, everybody around Sag Harbor knew about him; a shy
old man, reputed a miser, who lived with a lad, his grandson, in a hut
in the woods and was known to be addicted to wandering all along the
coast at night, in a little fishing-smack, on errands best known to
himself. Yes, the most likely man in the world to be met under just
such circumstances was old Jabez Sanborn. And the least likely man to
hear that a murder trial was going on in which he might be an
important witness--or perhaps to care if he had heard it--was also old
Jabez Sanborn. The prosecuting attorney felt that he had not drawn a
trump that time at least. While he cast about mentally for something
else that he might ask the witness, with at least the minimum of harm
to his side of the case, a startling diversion occurred to interrupt
the proceedings.
Old Peter Van Deust, who had been sitting near the prosecuting
attorney and directly in front of the witness, suddenly sprang to his
feet, walked up to Mr. Holden, clutched with trembling fingers the
seal that dangled from his watchguard and, after examining it a
moment, cried shrilly:
"It's all a lie! All a cunningly made up story! He is an accomplice of
the assassin! This was Jacob's seal. I'll swear to it!"
Almost everybody had jumped up in the excitement of this interruption,
even the sedate judge was standing, leaning over his desk to get a
better view of what was going on before him but below his range of
vision, and there was a deafening chorus of exclamations from all
sides; but above all arose the sharp voice of Peter Van Deust, crying:
"Arrest him! arrest him! I demand the arrest of this man as an
accomplice!"
The only tranquil person in the assemblage was Mr. Pelatiah Holden. He
was surprised at his client's outbreak, but only for a moment. Then,
blandly saying to the almost mad old man who stood before him, shaking
a long, lean finger in his face, "Mr. Peter Van Deust, you seem to be
excited."
He very calmly drew his watch from his fob-pocket and with the seal
attached to it, passed it up to the judge. The seal was a heavy,
square onyx, with a foul anchor engraved on one side.
"I'd swear to it among a thousand," shrieked old Peter. "It belonged
to my father when he was in the navy. He left it to brother Jacob. It
was stolen by the thief who murdered him."
The judge rapped his gavel until order was restored in the court-room,
and old Peter had been fairly dragged down into a seat by the
prosecuting attorney, who was nearest him--after which, addressing the
witness, he asked:
"How did this seal come into your possession, Mr. Holden?"
"Very simply, your Honor. But before I relate how, permit me to
request your Honor to issue strict injunctions to the officers at the
door to permit no exit from this court-room or communication by those
within to persons on the outside."
The judge was evidently surprised, but his respect for the well-known
and honored Mr. Holden was sufficient to induce him to comply with the
request without asking its reasons. When the necessary instructions
had been issued to the court officers, Mr. Holden resumed:
"About three weeks ago, while I was taking lunch one afternoon at
Windust's--a very popular and well conducted restaurant on Park Row,
New York--a young man came to the box in which I was seated and
offered this seal for sale. I am, as a rule, averse to the purchase of
personal property from unknown persons and in an irregular way, but
this young man told a melancholy story of his present need for money
for the sake of a widowed mother and sister, said that the seal had
belonged to his father who was a naval officer and asked for the
article a price that was at least its full value. That influenced me
to purchase it. I reflected that if it had been stolen it would have
been, in all probability, offered at a cheap price to effect ready
disposal of it, whereas if he really needed money, as he said, for his
mother and sister and the thing honestly belonged to him, he would
naturally try to get as much as he could. So I gave him seventeen
dollars for it and have since worn it."
"What," asked the judge, "was your reason for requesting the careful
tyling of the doors before making that statement, Mr. Holden?"
"Because I recognized to-day, in the court-yard without, as I was
entering this building, the young man from whom I purchased this
seal."
"You believe so!"
"I am certain of it. If your Honor will permit an officer to accompany
me, I believe that I will be able to bring him before you in a few
moments. When I saw him he was seated at the root of an elm tree near
the door, and alone."
An officer was directed to accompany Mr. Holden and they went out
together by the private staircase. The curious throng in the
court-room, unwilling to lose a single incident of the eventful drama
unfolding itself before them, struggled hard to get out and follow the
officer and his guide, but were not allowed to do so, and returned to
their seats with a sense of injury. Everybody was intensely excited.
The prosecuting attorney leaning over the judge's bench held a long
and earnest conversation with him. The prisoner and his counsel
whispered together. The jury jabbered to each other so that even the
idiotic-looking one among them seemed to awake to an interest in the
proceedings.
Suddenly the little door behind the judge was flung open, and Mr.
Holden entered, followed by the officer and a third person--a young
man, attired in a flashy sort of vulgar fashion, and wearing a dyed
mustache and goatee. Many audible exclamations of astonishment were
uttered among the audience, numbers of whom recognized this new actor
thus brought upon the scene.
"That, your honor," said Mr. Holden, "is the young man who sold to me
the seal which you now have before you."