RAY'S TRIAL AND ACQUITTAL.
Wednesday morning opened dark and lowering, but notwithstanding this,
so great was the interest taken in Ray Branford's trial, that the
large hall where the judge had decided to hold court was filled to
overflowing. Ray sat just within the bar with Mr. Eaton, his counsel,
and quite a company of other friends. All the gentlemen who had been
with him on Monday morning were there, and with them now were the
following ladies: Mrs. George Woodhull, Mrs. Berray, Mrs. Carleton,
Mrs. Bacon, Mrs. Gasque, and Miss Squire. Nearly one-half of that vast
audience also was made up of ladies, from the very first families of
Afton. Rumor had been busy all the day before with certain mysterious
suggestions that new and startling developments might be expected at
the trial, and this had been sufficient to bring them out in full force.
The judge sat behind his desk, dignified and thoughtful, as so
important a case demanded, while the little prosecuting attorney was
more at his ease than on the previous Monday, for there was associated
with him now another lawyer of considerably wider legal reputation.
At precisely nine o'clock the case of the State _vs._ Ray Branford was
called, and the clerk read again the indictment against the lad, and
announced the fact that to this charge the prisoner had pleaded "Not
Guilty."
The little attorney then arose, and in a piping voice and with a
pompous air proceeded to state what the prosecution hoped to prove, and
closed by calling Mr. Shephard, the proprietor of the robbed store, to
the witness stand.
He being duly sworn, testified that he had first discovered the
burglary on opening his store about six o'clock the Saturday morning
before, and that he had at once sent for Captain Gardiner, the chief of
the town police, who took the matter in charge. He then described the
way in which entrance to the store had been effected, and the kind and
amount of goods that had been stolen. He gave a detailed account also
of the search he and the police had made for traces of the burglars; of
their finding tracks at the rear of the store, a bit of cloth on the
edge of the opening in the partition, and later, the coat and tools
hidden away under a pile of lumber on the dock. He identified the coat
on the table before him as the one they had found, by the rent in its
back, of the exact size and shape of the pieces of cloth found on the
partition, and also by a place on the right side where the coat had
at some former time been torn and mended. He recognized the saw and
auger as the tools found with the coat by marks that he had put upon
them at the time they were found, and by the bits of wood of the same
kind as that of the partition, which were still clinging to them. On
his cross-examination he declared that he had no bias or ill-feeling
against the prisoner at the bar, and that he knew of no reason why the
prisoner should want to injure him. But he as well as others had seen
the prisoner on Friday evening wearing the coat that had been found,
and this, together with the fact that the prisoner was known to be
hanging around the wharf early the next morning without this coat, had
led him to have a warrant issued for his arrest. If the prisoner were
innocent, no one hoped more than he that the fact would come out at
this trial; on the other hand, if he were guilty, he desired that he
and his accomplices, if they could be found, might suffer the penalty
of the law. He simply asked that justice should be done.
Then Captain Gardiner, the chief of the police, took the stand. From
the outset it was evident to all that he, for some reason, held
firmly to the belief that Ray was guilty, and that he was determined
to convict him if that were possible. It may be that the severe
reprimand he had received on Monday afternoon from the town board for
his discourtesy to Mr. Carleton and General Squire the day before
had created this feeling; or, possibly, he may have felt that his
reputation as a skillful and successful officer would be damaged if the
boy were not convicted. At any rate, with bitter invective against Ray
and his earlier life, he went on to show that it was his own keenness
that had discovered the piece of cloth on the partition, the tracks at
the rear of the store, and the coat and tools under the lumber. It was,
moreover, his own alertness, that had detected Ray on Saturday morning
with another coat on, and prying around that very heap of lumber on the
docks. He, too, it was, that had noticed that Ray, as soon as he beheld
the piece of cloth that had been found, had abruptly left the store and
hurried off down the bay. The finding of the coat, to his mind, was
the last link necessary to prove that the boy must at least have been
in league with the other culprits. The idea that the boy could have
been there at the wharf all night without knowing that the burglary
was going on was to him simply absurd. In his eagerness to convict the
lad he even advanced theories respecting the robbery and the disposal
of the stolen goods which had no foundation in fact, and which Mr.
Eaton had the right to object to; but for reasons best known to himself
he allowed the captain to go on until his story was finished. Then
by a few well-directed words in the cross-examination, Mr. Eaton so
disconcerted the self-important official, that he became confused and
contradictory in his testimony, and finally retired from the stand
completely discomfited.
Several witnesses were now introduced to show that Ray had been in the
village the night of the burglary; that he wore the coat which had been
found under the lumber on the wharf, and that he was seen early the
next morning wearing another coat. Then Mr. George Woodhull was called
to the stand. He seemed somewhat surprised that the prosecution had
called him as a witness, but having been put under oath, he readily
admitted that Ray had not arrived at Long Point Farm on the previous
Saturday morning until nearly eight o'clock; that he came without the
coat he had worn away the evening before; and that he seemed in an
unusual thoughtful mood all the rest of the day, as though troubled
about something. But the first decided sensation of the trial came when
the coat which had been found was placed before him, and he was asked
if that, in his judgment, was Ray's coat.
"No, sir!" he promptly answered, "I do not think it is."
"Why not?" asked the little attorney, sharply.
"Because," replied Mr. Woodhull, deliberately, and in a voice that
penetrated every part of the court room, "Ray's coat had his name on
the back of the collar, and this has no name; then, this coat has some
time been torn on the right side and neatly mended, while Ray's coat,
when he left the farm on Friday night, had no such mark upon it."
This testimony made a pronounced impression upon the whole audience,
for it gave the first hint that had yet been received as to the line
of the defense. Up to that moment it had generally been believed that
no attempt would be made to show that the coat found was not Ray's; in
fact, it was generally supposed that this could not be denied, and that
the best the defense could do would be to prove that the boy had lost
it previous to the robbery. When, now, Mr. Woodhull so emphatically
denied the identity of the coat, the people in the audience looked at
each other in amazement, and the witnesses who had sworn so positively
just a few moments before that Ray had worn this identical coat now
looked as if it had just dawned upon them that there might be two coats
of the very same material.
The lawyer associated with the little attorney in the prosecution
also seemed to realize that the strongest link in the chain of
circumstantial evidence which had been woven around the prisoner was in
danger of being broken, for he turned abruptly to the witness, saying:
"That will do, sir."
Mr. Eaton sprang to his feet. "Wait a moment, sir," he said to Mr.
Woodhull. "I believe you are a witness for the prosecution, and as such
I have my right of cross-examination." As no one could deny this right,
he proceeded:
"You have stated, sir, that the boy, from his arrival home on Saturday,
until his arrest in the evening, seemed troubled about something. Do
you know any reason, apart from participating in this burglary, why he
should have seemed so?"
"I object to that question," cried the little attorney, struggling to
his feet.
"Your honor," said Mr. Eaton, "the prosecution has taken care to show
us that this lad was not himself on his return home; that for some
unknown reason he seemed troubled and agitated. Of course, their
inference is that he was guilty of the crime he now stands charged
with, and that this accounts for the strangeness in his appearance and
demeanor. I only wish to show that there was sufficient reason for this
behavior without any such supposition as that of his guilt."
"The objection is not sustained," said the judge; and Mr. Woodhull gave
his answer:
"I believe there was a threefold reason why the boy should have been
troubled. First of all, he was chagrined that I was obliged to do his
work that morning, a thing that had never happened before since he came
to Long Point Farm; again, he was troubled because he had lost his coat
in a way wholly unaccountable to himself or any one else; and, finally,
he had recognized the piece of cloth in Captain Gardiner's hand as
extremely like the material of which his lost coat was made. And as
his name was on his coat, he thought it more than probable, if it were
found about the wharf where he had last seen it, it might lead to his
arrest. And even if he were innocent, he had no desire to be arrested
for the crime, and have half of the town of Afton believe him guilty. I
don't wonder the boy was troubled. I should have been in his case."
"One more question, sir. You have employed the lad for some time; what
has been his character since he has been with you?"
"Unexceptionable; I do not know how any one could have done better.
Several times he has been trusted with sums of money twice the amount
of this theft, and under circumstances when he could, had he so chosen,
have run away with it beyond hope of recovery; but there has never
been any indication or act on his part that has led me for a moment to
distrust him," replied Mr. Woodhull, warmly and emphatically.
The prosecution now rested its case, and the defense began. The first
witness called was Ray himself. He promptly took the oath, and then,
in clear and distinct tones, told his story. He admitted that he wore
on Friday evening a coat of the same material as the one presented
there in the court room; "but," said he, "I can readily convince you
all that this is not the coat. As Mr. Woodhull has said, my coat had my
name on it, and was not mended on the right side, as this is. Again,
it does not fit me, as you see." And with a quick movement, he raised
the coat from the table, and slipped it on over the one he was already
wearing. Then, turning so that all could see how it hung in folds
about him, and holding up his hands, over which the coat sleeves fell,
completely hiding them, he asked, with a smile: "Did I look like that
when I entered the prayer room Friday evening, or even when I came
into your store, Mr. Shephard?" The effect of this object lesson was
irresistible, and a hearty laugh was heard all over the room.
He now, with the whole audience suddenly brought into sympathy with
him, went on with his story. He told how he had lost his coat, and
was obliged to go up to Mr. Carleton's with the old ragged one on
that he was seen wearing the next morning. He spoke in detail of his
coming down to his boat about midnight, and of his falling asleep in
his cuddy. "How I slept through the night without hearing anything of
the burglars, I can only explain," he said, "by stating that I was
very tired, and by the fact that they probably made as little noise
as possible. It was after six o'clock when I awoke, and I did look
around the pile of lumber, as Captain Gardiner has testified, but I was
looking for my lost coat. I also went up to the store when I heard the
commotion, and was there when the piece of cloth so like the material
of my coat was found. I admit I was frightened, for I thought the
robbers had perhaps found my coat and used it as a blind. This was what
troubled me; but I did not dread the arrest so much for myself, for I
knew I was innocent." Then, with some hesitation, "I did dread it,
however, because I knew a great many in Afton did not believe I was a
Christian, and would at once say I was a hypocrite, and thus I should
be made to dishonor Christ, or, at least, would become a stumbling
block in the way of some who might otherwise accept him, and I couldn't
bear that." And the boy burst into tears. Nor were his the only wet
eyes in that audience just then.
Amid an impressive silence, and without a question from the
prosecution, he was allowed to leave the stand, and Mr. Carleton took
his place. His testimony was brief, and simply corroborated Ray's,
so far as it related to his coming to the parsonage on Friday night
with the old ragged coat on, and his leaving the parsonage just before
midnight. Then a young lad named Will Adams, and as mischievous a scamp
as there was in town, was sworn, and with a rather sheepish look on his
face, he gave in his testimony:
"You see, last Friday night about half-past eight, I was down on the
wharf behind a pile of lumber smoking. I was ashamed to be seen with
my cigar, and that's the reason I went off down there. While I was
smoking away, Ray Branford there came down to the dock, and taking off
his coat, laid it on a pile of lumber while he stowed some bags of
grain into his boat. I don't know what possessed me,--just the fun of
the thing, I guess,--but when he got down into his boat to cover the
grain with a piece of canvas, I just reached up and took his coat, and
then ran noiselessly up into the lane way back of Shephard's store. I
just enjoyed Ray's poking round in the darkness after that coat, for
whenever it lightened I could catch a glimpse of him, and when he went
off in that old ragged one up to Mr. Carleton's, I laughed right out
aloud.
"I intended to put the coat back on the lumber, or into the boat, but
it began to sprinkle some then, and I was afraid it would get wet, so
I went up to Shephard's store to wait until Ray came back, and then I
was going to give it to him. Mr. Shephard will remember I was there
with that coat under my arm, for he spoke to me himself just before
he closed up. Well, when the store was closed Ray hadn't come, and
'twas raining so hard, I buttoned the coat under my jacket and scud
for home. I hung the coat up in my clothes press, thinking I'd give it
to Ray the next time he came up to town. I forgot all about it until
Sunday morning at the breakfast table, when I heard father saying
Ray's coat had been found, and he was in the lockup for stealing. I
thought first I'd tell them I had Ray's coat up stairs, but when he
and ma were so sure Ray was guilty, and called him such hard names,
I rather enjoyed the situation, and said nothing. Up at church and
Sunday-school I heard all the people talking the same way, and thinking
I'd produce a sensation in the court Monday morning I kept what I knew
to myself. But when Mr. Carleton on Sunday evening told the people
his morning sermon had no reference to Ray, for he then didn't even
know he was arrested, and that he had been down to the jail to see him
that afternoon, I concluded to tell him what I _knew_. So I went home
after the service, got the coat, and took it up to the parsonage and
gave it to Mr. Carleton. Here it is now." And taking a bundle from Mr.
Carleton's hands, he opened it, and held up a coat before the eyes
of all. "You see, here is Ray's name, just as he said, and here is
his handkerchief in the pocket with his name on it. There, Ray," he
continued, throwing the coat into its owner's arms, "had I known what
trouble I was going to make you, I'd never have taken it at all." And
without waiting to see whether the lawyers desired to question him or
not, he marched down from the witness stand, and sat down upon the
nearest bench with the air of one who knew he had created the greatest
sensation of the trial.
Mr. Shephard was recalled to the stand, and readily admitted that he
had seen the Adams boy in his store Friday night with a coat under
his arm. "My mistake," he said, in a manner that indicated his great
sorrow, "has been that I did not stop to think there might be two
coats of the same material. I am really sorry I caused the prisoner's
arrest; this will be a lesson to me always." And when dismissed from
the witness box, he went around to Ray's seat, and shook hands with
him, saying in a tone audible to half the audience at least, "My lad,
forgive my hasty judgment."
"We have one other witness, your honor," said Mr. Eaton, and called
William S. Simmons. A man from the extreme back part of the hall worked
his way down to the witness stand. He was wet, and covered with mud,
and had the appearance of one who had come far and fast. He being
sworn, stated:
"My name is William S. Simmons. I am by profession a detective, and
am connected with the city force in P----. I was called here Monday
morning to investigate this robbery by the _defense_. An unusual
circumstance, I assure you. But Mr. Shephard afforded me every
opportunity to examine his premises, and I soon became satisfied that
the theory of my worthy friend, the chief of your police here, could
not be sustained. The piece of cloth found on the edge of the opening
had been to my mind attached there when the burglar crawled out of, and
not in through that hole. Then, too, but one track went from the rear
of the building down to the wharf, and that returned again, as if the
robber had gone down to the pile of lumber simply to hide the coat he
had discovered to be torn, and the tools with it. Possibly he may have
intended to sink them off the dock, but was interrupted or alarmed in
some way, and so hastily placed them under the lumber, intending to
remove them later. No goods were carried away by boat, but they were
put through the hole in the partition into the empty store. Then the
front door of that store was opened, and the goods were carried away by
wagon, while the door was fastened to its place, and the tracks made
at the rear of the store for a blind. It is no wonder that this lad
slept on all night without knowing of the robbery, for only one of the
burglars came anywhere near him, and he only for a brief moment."
"How do you know your theory is any more correct than Captain
Gardiner's?" asked the little attorney, with a sneer, in the
cross-examination.
"Well," replied the detective, quietly, "my main reason for believing
I am correct, is that for two days I have been following the real
burglars, and about nine o'clock to-day I bagged them, and the stolen
goods, over beyond Holly Mountain. By hard riding I got them into the
lockup fifteen minutes ago, and then came over here."
"We rest the case here, your honor," said Mr. Eaton.
The two lawyers on the prosecution consulted briefly with each other,
and then the little attorney announced: "In the light of the facts
presented by the defense, we submit the case without argument."
Mr. Eaton rose to his feet. "I desire, your honor, to briefly sum up
the facts we have presented, in the interest of my client. He is a
poor lad, whose reputation and character are his only possessions.
For three days he has been branded as a thief; for three days nearly
this whole town has been ready to pronounce him guilty, untried and
uncondemned; yea, when, as it now so overwhelmingly appears, he was
entirely innocent of the crime with which he has been charged. In
justice to him I ask that I may briefly sum up the case."
"We shall be glad to have the counsel do this, your honor," said the
little attorney, bowing courteously toward Mr. Eaton.
"The court consents," the judge replied, smiling blandly.
With a bow of gracious acknowledgment to his brother attorney, and to
the court, Mr. Eaton began a speech, which for eloquence and pathos
had never been equaled in the town of Alton. With that rare felicity
of language which had already rendered him famous, he began with Ray's
humble attempt to make something of himself. He sketched rapidly the
boy's progress until he had reached a position of trust with his
employer, and had gained the confidence of many more. He described the
boy as he left Long Point Farm on that Friday night for Afton. All grew
hushed. Even the heaving breath of the vast audience was still, as he
told of the scene in the prayer room, when the lad had talked with God.
Then, with sudden transition, he pictured the boy's arrest, and his
Sunday in the lockup, while all Afton gave him no word of cheer, no
look of sympathy, no thought of his innocence. In scathing language he
showed their want of charity for the lad, their willingness to misjudge
his noblest efforts and purest motives, their eagerness to condemn him
unheard.
Never had the citizens of Afton received such a stinging rebuke; and,
what was more, there were but very few in that vast audience who did
not feel it was deserved. None turned from the speaker, lest they
should find the eyes of the others fixed in condemnation upon them.
Not one thought of judging others, for a still, small voice within was
saying, "Thou art the man." When Mr. Eaton had ended, the judge himself
wiped the tears from his eyes, and said, huskily: "The prisoner is
discharged for lack of evidence to sustain the indictment." Then he
hurried down to the bar, and shook hands warmly with the acquitted boy.
Others crowded around, either assuring Ray they never really thought he
was guilty, or else confessing their error and asking his forgiveness.
In the midst of all this confusion General Squire called out: "The
judge, lawyers, witnesses, and friends of Mr. Branford are all invited
to my house to dinner. Carriages are now at the door; please hasten
out to them." And in spite of protests and excuses, they were all
carried off to the Squire mansion, where they found an elaborate dinner
awaiting them.
But in the midst of all this ovation, a feeling of sorrow would
now and then come to Ray's heart, overshadowing, in a measure, his
happiness; for even then he was aware of what all Afton soon knew, that
the burglars at the lockup were his own brothers. He had recognized the
coat as soon as he had seen it in the court room as belonging to one
of his brothers; and when the detective announced their capture, he
had felt, notwithstanding his own triumphant acquittal, that his heart
would sink in very shame. This was the revelation Betsy Branford had
made when she called on Mr. Carleton; but, to shield her, the detective
had been put upon the stand, and through his skillful capture of the
real offenders, he was able to give in his testimony as though it
emanated from himself alone.
The next Friday evening, as Ray sat in Mr. Carleton's study, he
suddenly asked:
"Mr. Carleton, why do you suppose God allowed my arrest to take place?
What object could he have had in it? And what is the lesson I am to
learn?"
Mr. Carleton smiled. "I am quite sure," he said, "we may not know _all_
of God's purpose, but some of it we may know. How about your relation
to the Saviour?"
Ray answered, quickly: "He sustained me in the greatest trial of my
life, and I never loved him or felt his nearness as I do now."
"How about the people of Afton?" asked Mr. Carleton.
"Well," said Ray, a little mischievously, "I guess, after listening to
Mr. Eaton, they have learned the lesson that 'love worketh no ill.'"
"They certainly ought," said Mr. Carleton; "and yet I do not think that
either of the things you have suggested constitute God's chief purpose
in this trial." Then, as though it had nothing to do with the subject,
he asked: "What kind of weather had we been having, Ray, previous to
the thunder storm of a week ago?"
"Why," said Ray, in surprise, "it had been for a week cloudy and misty,
and nasty and sticky--regular dog-day weather."
"What cleared it away?" inquired Mr. Carleton.
"The thunder shower," answered the boy. "It was a terrific one; but
when it was over, the sky was clear, the sun shone out, the air was
purified, and everything seemed to be wonderfully refreshed."
"Exactly," continued Mr. Carleton; "and it illustrates, I believe, what
God in this great trial of yours has done for you. Clouds of memory had
hung over you from the hour of your conversion--the memory of your past
life, of your evil companions, of your old associations. There were
many who could not forget them nor overlook them. Then God sent this
great trial of your life. It was bitter while it lasted. It aroused the
animosity of some; it turned aside for a time the friendship of others,
and seemed at one time as though it would overwhelm you. But now that
it is over, those clouds of memory have dispersed: there is clear sky
above your head. I doubt if in your social relations to the people of
Afton, or your Christian relations to the members of the First Church,
you will ever again hear any allusion to your old life, or ever again
have your Christian faith spoken lightly of."
And he never did.