It is the dawn of another day. The Aurora, rising rose-coloured from
the waves of a West Indian sea, flings its sweetest smile athwart the
savannas of Texas.
Almost on the same instant that the rosy light kisses the white
sand-dunes of the Mexican Gulf, does it salute the flag on Fort Inge,
nearly a hundred leagues distant: since there is just this much of an
upward inclination between the coast at Matagorda and the spurs of the
Guadalupe mountains, near which stand this frontier post.
The Aurora has just lighted up the flag, that at the same time flouting
out from its staff spreads its broad field of red, white, and blue to
the gentle zephyrs of the morning.
Perhaps never since that staff went up, has the star-spangled banner
waved over a scene of more intense interest than is expected to occur on
this very day.
Even at the early hour of dawn, the spectacle may be said to have
commenced. Along with the first rays of the Aurora, horsemen may be
seen approaching the military post from all quarters of the compass.
They ride up in squads of two, three, or half a dozen; dismount as they
arrive; fasten their horses to the stockade fences, or picket them upon
the open prairie.
This done, they gather into groups on the parade-ground; stand
conversing or stray down to the village; all, at one time or another,
taking a turn into the tavern, and paying their respects to Boniface
behind the bar.
The men thus assembling are of many distinct types and nationalities.
Almost every country in Europe has furnished its quota; though the
majority are of that stalwart race whose ancestors expelled the Indians
from the "Bloody Ground;" built log cabins on the sites of their
wigwams; and spent the remainder of their lives in felling the forests
of the Mississippi. Some of them have been brought up to the
cultivation of corn; others understand better the culture of cotton;
while a large number, from homes further south, have migrated into Texas
to speculate in the growth and manufacture of sugar and tobacco.
Most are planters by calling and inclination; though there are graziers
and cattle-dealers, hunters and horse-dealers, storekeepers, and traders
of other kinds--not a few of them traffickers in human flesh!
There are lawyers, land-surveyors, and land-speculators, and other
speculators of no proclaimed calling--adventurers ready to take a hand
in whatever may turn up--whether it be the branding of cattle, a scout
against Comanches, or a spell of filibustering across the Rio Grande.
Their costumes are as varied as their callings. They have been already
described: for the men now gathering around Fort Inge are the same we
have seen before assembled in the courtyard of Casa del Corvo--the same
with an augmentation of numbers.
The present assemblage differs in another respect from that composing
the expedition of searchers. It is graced by the presence of women--the
wives, sisters, and daughters of the men. Some are on horseback; and
remain in the saddle--their curtained cotton-bonnets shading their fair
faces from the glare of the sun; others are still more commodiously
placed for the spectacle--seated under white waggon-tilts, or beneath
the more elegant coverings of "carrioles" and "Jerseys."
There is a spectacle--at least there is one looked for. It is a trial
long talked of in the Settlement.
Superfluous to say that it is the trial of Maurice Gerald--known as
_Maurice the mustanger_.
Equally idle to add, that it is for the murder of Henry Poindexter.
It is not the high nature of the offence that has attracted such a
crowd, nor yet the characters of either the accused or his victim--
neither much known in the neighbourhood.
The same Court--it is the Supreme Court of the district, Uvalde--has
been in session there before--has tried all sorts of cases, and all
kinds of men--thieves, swindlers, homicides, and even murderers--with
scarce fourscore people caring to be spectators of the trial, or staying
to hear the sentence!
It is not this which has brought so many settlers together; but a series
of strange circumstances, mysterious and melodramatic; which seem in
some way to be connected with the crime, and have been for days the sole
talk of the Settlement.
It is not necessary to name these circumstances: they are already known.
All present at Fort Inge have come there anticipating: that the trial
about to take place will throw light on the strange problem that has
hitherto defied solution.
Of course there are some who, independent of this, have a feeling of
interest in the fate of the prisoner. There are others inspired with a
still sadder interest--friends and relatives of the man _supposed to
have been_ murdered: for it must be remembered, that there is yet no
evidence of the actuality of the crime.
But there is little doubt entertained of it. Several circumstances--
independent of each other--have united to confirm it; and all believe
that the foul deed has been done--as firmly as if they had been
eye-witnesses of the act.
They only wait to be told the details; to learn the how, and the when,
and the wherefore.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Ten o'clock, and the Court is in session.
There is not much change in the composition of the crowd; only that a
sprinkling of military uniforms has become mixed with the more sober
dresses of the citizens. The soldiers of the garrison have been
dismissed from morning parade; and, free to take their recreation for
the day, have sought it among the ranks of the civilian spectators.
There stand they side by side--soldiers and citizens--dragoons,
riflemen, infantry, and artillery, interspersed among planters, hunters,
horse-dealers, and desperate adventurers, having just heard the "Oyez!"
of the Court crier--grotesquely pronounced "O yes!"--determined to stand
there till they hear the last solemn formulary from the lips of the
judge: "May God have mercy on your soul!"
There is scarce one present who does not expect ere night to listen to
this terrible final phrase, spoken from under the shadow of that sable
cap, that denotes the death doom of a fellow creature.
There may be only a few who wish it. But there are many who feel
certain, that the trial will end in a conviction; and that ere the sun
has set, the soul of Maurice Gerald will go back to its God!
------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Court is in session.
You have before your mind's eye a large hall, with a raised dais at one
side; a space enclosed between panelled partitions; a table inside it;
and on its edge a box-like structure, resembling the rostrum of a
lecture-room, or the reading-desk in a church.
You see judges in ermine robes; barristers in wigs of grey, and gowns of
black, with solicitors attending on them; clerks, ushers, and reporters;
blue policemen with bright buttons standing here and there; and at the
back a sea of heads and faces, not always kempt or clean.
You observe, moreover, a certain subdued look on the countenances of the
spectators--not so much an air of decorum, as a fear of infringing the
regulations of the Court.
You must get all this out of your mind, if you wish to form an idea of a
Court of justice on the frontiers of Texas--as unlike its homonym in
England as a bond of guerillas to a brigade of Guardsmen.
There is no court-house, although there is a sort of public room used
for this and other purposes. But the day promises to be hot, and the
Court has decided to _sit under a tree_!
And under a tree has it established itself--a gigantic live-oak,
festooned with Spanish moss--standing by the edge of the parade-ground,
and extending its shadow afar over the verdant prairie.
A large deal table is placed underneath, with half a score of
skin-bottomed chairs set around it, and on its top a few scattered
sheets of foolscap paper, an inkstand with goose-quill pens, a
well-thumbed law-book or two, a blown-glass decanter containing
peach-brandy, a couple of common tumblers, a box of Havannah cigars, and
another of lucifer-matches.
Behind these _paraphernalia_ sits the judge, not only un-robed in
ermine, but actually un-coated--the temperature of the day having
decided him to try the case in his _shirt-sleeves_!
Instead of a wig, he wears his Panama hat, set slouchingly over one
cheek, to balance the half-smoked, half-chewed Havannah projecting from
the other.
The remaining chairs are occupied by men whose costume gives no
indication of their calling.
There are lawyers among them--attorneys, and _counsellors_, there
called--with no difference either in social or legal status; the sheriff
and his "deputy"; the military commandant of the fort; the chaplain; the
doctor; several officers; with one or two men of undeclared occupations.
A little apart are twelve individuals grouped together; about half of
them seated on a rough slab bench, the other half "squatted" or
reclining along the grass.
It is the _jury_--an "institution" as germane to Texas as to England;
and in Texas ten times more true to its trust; scorning to submit to the
dictation of the judge--in England but too freely admitted.
Around the Texan judge and jury--close pressing upon the precincts of
the Court--is a crowd that may well be called nondescript. Buckskin
hunting-shirts; blanket-coats--even under the oppressive heat; frocks of
"copperas stripe" and Kentucky jeans; blouses of white linen, or
sky-blue _cottonade_; shirts of red flannel or unbleached "domestic";
dragoon, rifle, infantry, and artillery uniforms, blend and mingle in
that motley assemblage.
Here and there is seen a more regular costume--one more native to the
country--the _jaqueta_ and _calzoneros_ of the Mexican, with the broad
_sombrero_ shading his swarthy face of _picaresque_ expression.
Time was--and that not very long ago--when men assembled in this same
spot would all have been so attired.
But then there was no jury of twelve, and the judge--_Juez de Letras_--
was a far more important personage, with death in his nod, and pardon
easily obtained by those who could put _onzas_ in his pocket.
With all its rude irregularity--despite the absence of effete forms--of
white ermine, and black silk--of uniformed _alguazils_, or
bright-buttoned policemen--despite the presence of men that, to the
civilised eye, may appear uncouth--even savage I hesitate not to say,
that among these red flannel-shirts and coats of Kentucky jean, the
innocent man is as safe--ay far safer--to obtain justice, and the guilty
to get punished, than amidst the formalities and hair-splitting
chicaneries of our so-called civilisation.
Do not mistake those men assembled under the Texan tree--however rough
their exterior may seem to your hypercritical eye--do not mistake them
for a mob of your own "masses," brutalised from their very birth by the
curse of over-taxation. Do not mistake them, either, for things like
yourselves--filled to the throat with a spirit of flunkeyism--would that
it choked you!--scorning all that is grand and progressive--revering
only the effete, the superficial, and the selfish.
I am talking to you, my middle-class friend, who fancy yourself a
_citizen_ of this our English country. A citizen, forsooth; without
even the first and scantiest right of citizenship--that of choosing your
parliamentary representative.
You fancy you _have_ this right. I have scarce patience to tell you,
you are mistaken.
Ay, grandly mistaken, when you imagine yourself standing on the same
political platform with those quasi-rude frontiersmen of Texas.
Nothing of the kind. _They_ are "sovereign citizens"--the peers of your
superiors, or of those who assume so to call themselves, and whose
assumption you are base enough to permit without struggle--almost
without protest!
------------------------------------------------------------------------
In most assemblies the inner circle is the more select. The gem is to
be found in the centre at Port Inge.
In that now mustered the order is reversed. Outside is the elegance.
The fair feminine forms, bedecked in their best dresses, stand up in
spring waggons, or sit in more elegant equipages, sufficiently elevated
to see over the heads of the male spectators.
It is not upon the judge that their eyes are bent, or only at intervals.
The glances are given to a group of three men, placed near the jury,
and not very far from the stem of the tree. One is seated, and two
standing. The former is the prisoner at the bar; the latter the
sheriff's officers in charge of him.
It was originally intended to try several other men for the murder;
Miguel Diaz and his associates, as also Phelim O'Neal.
But in the course of a preliminary investigation the Mexican mustanger
succeeded in proving an _alibi_, as did also his trio of companions.
All four have been consequently discharged.
They acknowledged having disguised themselves as Indians: for the fact
being proved home to them, they could not do less.
But they pretended it to have been a joke--a _travestie_; and as there
was proof of the others being at home--and Diaz dead drunk--on the night
of Henry Poindexter's disappearance, their statement satisfied those who
had been entrusted with the inquiry.
As to the Connemara man, it was not thought necessary to put him upon
trial. If an accomplice, he could only have acted at the instigation of
his master; and he might prove more serviceable in the witness-box than
in the dock.
Before the bar, then--if we may be permitted the figure of speech--there
stands but one prisoner, Maurice Gerald--known to those gazing upon him
as _Maurice the mustanger_.