October 15--with gray clouds and a sharp, almost January wind that
herded the fallen leaves into piles and then scurried them in crisp
and windy gusts like flying birds here and there. And, in spite of the
sense of struggle and tragedy in the minds of many, with an electric
chair as the shadowy mental background to it all, a sense of holiday
or festival, with hundreds of farmers, woodsmen, traders, entering in
Fords and Buicks--farmer wives and husbands--daughters and sons--even
infants in arms. And then idling about the public square long before
the time for court to convene, or, as the hour neared, congregating
before the county jail in the hope of obtaining a glimpse of Clyde,
or before the courthouse door nearest the jail, which was to be the
one entrance to the courtroom for the public and Clyde, and from which
position they could see and assure entrance into the courtroom itself
when the time came. And a flock of pigeons parading rather dismally
along the cornices and gutters of the upper floor and roof of the
ancient court.
And with Mason and his staff--Burton Burleigh, Earl Newcomb,
Zillah Saunders, and a young Bridgeburg law graduate by the name
of Manigault--helping to arrange the order of evidence as well as
direct or instruct the various witnesses and venire-men who were
already collecting in the ante-chamber of the now almost nationally
known attorney for the people. And with cries outside of: "Peanuts!"
"Popcorn!" "Hot dogs!" "Get the story of Clyde Griffiths, with all the
letters of Roberta Alden. Only twenty-five cents!" (This being a set
of duplicate copies of Roberta's letters which had been stolen from
Mason's office by an intimate of Burton Burleigh's and by him sold
to a penny-dreadful publisher of Binghamton, who immediately issued
them in pamphlet form together with an outline of "the great plot" and
Roberta's and Clyde's pictures.)
And in the meantime, over in the reception or conference room of the
jail, Alvin Belknap and Reuben Jephson, side by side with Clyde, neatly
arrayed in the very suit he had sought to sink forever in the waters
of Lower Twelfth Lake. And with a new tie and shirt and shoes added in
order to present him in his Lycurgus best. Jephson, long and lean and
shabbily dressed as usual, but with all of that iron and power that
so impressed Clyde in every line of his figure and every movement or
gesture of his body. Belknap--looking like an Albany beau--the one on
whom was to fall the burden of the opening presentation of the case
as well as the cross-examining, now saying: "Now you're not going to
get frightened or show any evidence of nervousness at anything that
may be said or done at any time, are you, Clyde? We're to be with you,
you know, all through the trial. You sit right between us. And you're
going to smile and look unconcerned or interested, just as you wish,
but never fearful--but not too bold or gay, you know, so that they'd
feel that you're not taking this thing seriously. You understand--just
a pleasant, gentlemanly, and sympathetic manner all the time. And not
frightened. For that will be certain to do us and you great harm. Since
you're innocent, you have no real reason to be frightened--although
you're sorry, of course. You understand all that, I know, by now."
"Yes, sir, I understand," replied Clyde. "I will do just as you say.
Besides, I never struck her intentionally, and that's the truth. So
why should I be afraid?" And here he looked at Jephson, on whom, for
psychic reasons, he depended most. In fact the words he had just spoken
were the very words which Jephson had so drilled into him during the
two months just past. And catching the look, Jephson now drew closer
and fixing Clyde with his gimlet and yet encouraging and sustaining
blue eyes, began:
"You're not guilty! You're not guilty, Clyde, see? You understand that
fully by now, and you must always believe and remember that, because
it's true. You didn't intend to strike her, do you hear? You swear to
that. You have sworn it to me and Belknap here, and we believe you.
Now, it doesn't make the least bit of difference that because of the
circumstances surrounding all this we are not going to be able to make
the average jury see this or believe it just as you tell it. That's
neither here nor there. I've told you that before. You know what the
truth is--and so do we. _But_, in order to get justice for you, we've
had to get up something else--a dummy or substitute for the real fact,
which is that you didn't strike her intentionally, but which we cannot
hope to make them see without disguising it in some way. You get that,
don't you?"
"Yes, sir," replied Clyde, always over-awed and intrigued by this man.
"And for that reason, as I've so often told you, we've invented this
other story about a change of heart. It's not quite true as to time,
but it is true that you did experience a change of heart there in the
boat. And that's our justification. But they'd never believe that
under all of the peculiar circumstances, so we're merely going to move
that change of heart up a little, see? Make it before you ever went
into that boat at all. And while we know it isn't true that way, still
neither is the charge that you intentionally struck her true, and
they're not going to electrocute you for something that isn't true--not
with my consent, at least." He looked into Clyde's eyes for a moment
more, and then added: "It's this way, Clyde. It's like having to pay
for potatoes, or for suits of clothes, with corn or beans instead of
money, when you have money to pay with but when, because of the crazy
notions on the part of some one, they won't believe that the money you
have is genuine. So you've got to use the potatoes or beans. And beans
is what we're going to give 'em. But the justification is that you're
not guilty. You're not guilty. You've sworn to me that you didn't
intend to strike her there at the last, whatever you might have been
provoked to do at first. And that's enough for me. You're not guilty."
And here, firmly and convincingly, which was the illusion in regard to
his own attitude which he was determined to convey to Clyde, he laid
hold of his coat lapels, and after looking fixedly into his somewhat
strained and now nervous brown eyes, added: "And now, whenever you
get to feeling weak or nervous, or if, when you go on the stand,
you think Mason is getting the best of you, I want you to remember
this--just say to yourself--'I'm not guilty! I'm not guilty! And they
can't fairly convict me unless I really am.' And if that don't pull
you together, look at me. I'll be right there. All you have to do, if
you feel yourself getting rattled, is to look at me--right into my
eyes, just as I'm looking at you now--and then you'll know that I'm
wanting you to brace up and do what I'm telling you to do now--swear to
the things that we are asking you to swear to, however they may look
like lies, and however you may feel about them. I'm not going to have
you convicted for something you didn't do, just because you can't be
allowed to swear to what is the truth--not if I can help it. And now
that's all."
And here he slapped him genially and heartily on the back, while Clyde,
strangely heartened, felt, for the time being at least, that certainly
he could do as he was told, and would.
And then Jephson, taking out his watch and looking first at Belknap,
then out of the nearest window through which were to be seen the
already assembled crowds--one about the courthouse steps; a second,
including newspapermen and women, newspaper photographers and artists,
gathered closely before the jail walk, and eagerly waiting to "snap"
Clyde or any one connected with this case--went calmly on with:
"Well, it's about time, I guess. Looks as though all Cataraqui would
like to get inside. We're going to have quite an audience." And turning
to Clyde once more, he added: "Now, you don't want to let those people
disturb you, Clyde. They're nothing but a lot of country people come to
town to see a show."
And then the two of them, Belknap and Jephson, going out. And Kraut
and Sissell coming in to take personal charge of Clyde, while the two
lawyers, passing amid whispers, crossed over to the court building in
the square of brown grass beyond.
And after them, and in less than five minutes, and preceded by Slack
and Sissell and followed by Kraut and Swenk--yet protected on either
side by two extra deputies in case there should be an outbreak or
demonstration of any kind--Clyde himself, attempting to look as
jaunty and nonchalant as possible, yet because of the many rough and
strange faces about him--men in heavy raccoon coats and caps, and with
thick whiskers, or in worn and faded and nondescript clothes such as
characterized many of the farmers of this region, accompanied by their
wives and children, and all staring so strangely and curiously--he felt
not a little nervous, as though at any moment there might be a revolver
shot, or some one might leap at him with a knife--the deputies with
their hands on their guns lending not a little to the reality of his
mood. Yet only cries of: "Here he comes! Here he comes!" "There he is!"
"Would you believe that he could do a thing like that?"
And then the cameras clicking and whirring and his two protectors
shouldering closer and closer to him while he shrank down within
himself mentally.
And then a flight of five brown stone steps leading up to an old
courthouse door. And beyond that, an inner flight of steps to a large,
long, brown, high-ceilinged chamber, in which, to the right and left,
and in the rear facing east, were tall, thin, round-topped windows,
fitted with thin panes, admitting a flood of light. And at the west
end, a raised platform, with a highly ornamental, dark brown carved
bench upon it. And behind it, a portrait--and on either side, north
and south, and at the rear, benches and benches in rows--each tier
higher than the other, and all crowded with people, the space behind
them packed with standing bodies, and all apparently, as he entered,
leaning and craning and examining him with sharp keen eyes, while there
went about a conversational buzz or brrh. He could hear a general
sssss--pppp--as he approached and passed through a gate to an open
space beyond it, wherein, as he could see, were Belknap and Jephson at
a table, and between them a vacant chair for him. And he could see and
feel the eyes and faces on which he was not quite willing to look.
But directly before him, at another table in the same square, but
more directly below the raised platform at the west end, as he could
see now, were Mason and several men whom he seemed to recollect--Earl
Newcomb and Burton Burleigh and yet another man whom he had never seen
before, all four turning and gazing at him as he came.
And about this inner group, an outer circle of men and women writers
and sketch artists.
And then, after a time, recalling Belknap's advice, he managed to
straighten up and with an air of studied ease and courage--which was
belied to a certain extent by his strained, pale face and somewhat hazy
stare--look at the writers and artists who were either studying or
sketching him, and even to whisper: "Quite a full house, eh?" But just
then, and before he could say anything more, a resounding whack, whack,
from somewhere. And then a voice: "Order in the Court! His Honor, the
Court! Everybody please rise!" And as suddenly the whispering and
stirring audience growing completely silent. And then, through a door
to the south of the dais, a large, urbane and florid and smooth-faced
man, who, in an ample black gown, walked swiftly to the large chair
immediately behind the desk, and after looking steadily upon all before
him, but without appearing to see any one of them, seated himself.
Whereupon every one assembled in the courtroom sat down.
And then to the left, yet below the judge, at a smaller desk, a smaller
and older individual standing and calling, "Oyez! Oyez! All persons
having business before the honorable, the Supreme Court of the State of
New York, County of Cataraqui, draw near and give attention. This court
is now in session!"
And after that this same individual again rising and beginning: "The
State of New York against Clyde Griffiths." Then Mason, rising and
standing before his table, at once announced: "The People are ready."
Whereupon Belknap arose, and in a courtly and affable manner, stated:
"The defendant is ready."
Then the same clerk reached into a square box that was before him, and
drawing forth a piece of paper, called "Simeon Dinsmore," whereupon
a little, hunched and brown-suited man, with claw-like hands, and a
ferret-like face, immediately scuttled to the jury box and was seated.
And once there he was approached by Mason, who, in a brisk manner--his
flat-nosed face looking most aggressive and his strong voice reaching
to the uttermost corners of the court, began to inquire as to his age,
his business, whether he was single or married, how many children he
had, whether he believed or did not believe in capital punishment. The
latter question as Clyde at once noted seemed to stir in him something
akin to resentment or suppressed emotion of some kind, for at once and
with emphasis, he answered: "I most certainly do--for some people"--a
reply which caused Mason to smile slightly and Jephson to turn and look
toward Belknap, who mumbled sarcastically: "And they talk about the
possibility of a fair trial here." But at the same time Mason feeling
that this very honest, if all too convinced farmer, was a little too
emphatic in his beliefs, saying: "With the consent of the Court, the
People will excuse the talesman." And Belknap, after an inquiring
glance from the Judge, nodding his agreement, at which the prospective
juror was excused.
And the clerk, immediately drawing out of the box a second slip of
paper, and then calling: "Dudley Sheerline!" Whereupon, a thin, tall
man of between thirty-eight and forty, neatly dressed and somewhat
meticulous and cautious in his manner, approached and took his place in
the box. And Mason once more began to question him as he had the other.
In the meantime, Clyde, in spite of both Belknap's and Jephson's
preliminary precautions, was already feeling stiff and chill and
bloodless. For, decidedly, as he could feel, this audience was
inimical. And amid this closely pressing throng, as he now thought,
with an additional chill, there must be the father and mother, perhaps
also the sisters and brothers, of Roberta, and all looking at him, and
hoping with all their hearts, as the newspapers during the weeks past
informed him, that he would be made to suffer for this.
And again, all those people of Lycurgus and Twelfth Lake, no one of
whom had troubled to communicate with him in any way, assuming him
to be absolutely guilty, of course--were any of those here? Jill
or Gertrude or Tracy Trumbull, for instance? Or Wynette Phant or
her brother? She had been at that camp at Bear Lake the day he was
arrested. His mind ran over all the social personages whom he had
encountered during the last year and who would now see him as he
was--poor and commonplace and deserted, and on trial for such a crime
as this. And after all his bluffing about his rich connections here and
in the west. For now, of course, they would believe him as terrible
as his original plot, without knowing or caring about his side of
the story--his moods and fears--that predicament that he was in with
Roberta--his love for Sondra and all that she had meant to him. They
wouldn't understand that, and he was not going to be allowed to tell
anything in regard to it, even if he were so minded.
And yet, because of the advice of Belknap and Jephson, he must sit up
and smile, or at least look pleasant and meet the gaze of every one
boldly and directly. And in consequence, turning, and for the moment
feeling absolutely transfixed. For there--God, what a resemblance!--to
the left of him on one of those wall benches, was a woman or girl who
appeared to be the living image of Roberta! It was that sister of
hers--Emily--of whom she had often spoken--but oh, what a shock! His
heart almost stopped. It might even be Roberta! And transfixing him
with what ghostly, and yet real, and savage and accusing eyes! And
next to her another girl, looking something like her, too--and next to
her that old man, Roberta's father--that wrinkled old man whom he had
encountered that day he had called at his farm door for information,
now looking at him almost savagely, a gray and weary look that said so
plainly: "You murderer! You murderer!" And beside him a mild and small
and ill-looking woman of about fifty, veiled and very shrunken and
sunken-eyed, who at his glance dropped her own eyes and turned away, as
if stricken with a great pain, not hate. Her mother--no doubt of it.
Oh, what a situation was this! How unthinkably miserable! His heart
fluttered. His hands trembled.
So now to stay himself, he looked down, first at the hands of Belknap
and Jephson on the table before him, since each was toying with a
pencil poised above the pad of paper before them, as they gazed at
Mason and whoever was in the jury box before him--a foolish-looking fat
man now. What a difference between Jephson's and Belknap's hands--the
latter so short and soft and white, the former's so long and brown
and knotty and bony. And Belknap's pleasant and agreeable manner here
in court--his voice--"I think I will ask the juror to step down"--as
opposed to Mason's revolver-like "Excused!" or Jephson's slow and yet
powerful, though whispered, "Better let him go, Alvin. Nothing in him
for us." And then all at once Jephson saying to him: "Sit up! Sit up!
Look around! Don't sag down like that. Look people in the eye. Smile
naturally, Clyde, if you're going to smile at all. Just look 'em in the
eye. They're not going to hurt you. They're just a lot of farmers out
sight-seeing."
But Clyde, noting at once that several reporters and artists were
studying and then sketching or writing of him, now flushed hotly and
weakly, for he could feel their eager eyes and their eager words
as clearly as he could hear their scratching pens. And all for the
papers--his blanching face and trembling hands--they would have that
down--and his mother in Denver and everybody else there in Lycurgus
would see and read--how he had looked at the Aldens and they had looked
at him and then he had looked away again. Still--still--he must get
himself better in hand--sit up once more and look about--or Jephson
would be disgusted with him. And so once more he did his best to crush
down his fear, to raise his eyes and then turn slightly and look about.
But in doing so, there next to the wall, and to one side of that tall
window, and just as he had feared, was Tracy Trumbull, who evidently
because of the law interest or his curiosity and what not--no pity or
sympathy for him, surely--had come up for this day anyhow, and was
looking, not at him for the moment, thank goodness, but at Mason,
who was asking the fat man some questions. And next to him Eddie
Sells, with nearsighted eyes equipped with thick lenses of great
distance-power, and looking in Clyde's direction, yet without seeing
him apparently, for he gave no sign. Oh, how trying all this!
And five rows from them again, in another direction, Mr. and Mrs.
Gilpin, whom Mason had found, of course. And what would they testify
to now? His calling on Roberta in her room there? And how secret it
had all been? That would be bad, of course. And of all people, Mr. and
Mrs. George Newton! What were they going to put them on the stand for?
To tell about Roberta's life before she got to going with him, maybe?
And that Grace Marr, whom he had seen often but met only once out there
on Crum Lake, and whom Roberta had not liked any more. What would she
have to say? She could tell how he had met Roberta, of course, but
what else? And then--but, no, it could not be--and yet--yet, it was,
too--surely--that Orrin Short, of whom he had asked concerning Glenn.
Gee!--he was going to tell about that now, maybe--no doubt of it. How
people seemed to remember things--more than ever he would have dreamed
they would have.
And again, this side of that third window from the front, but beyond
that dreaded group of the Aldens, that very large and whiskered man who
looked something like an old-time Quaker turned bandit--Heit was his
name. He had met him at Three Mile Bay, and again on that day on which
he had been taken up to Big Bittern against his will. Oh, yes, the
coroner he was. And beside him, that innkeeper up there who had made
him sign the register that day. And next to him the boathouse-keeper
who had rented him the boat. And next to him, that tall, lank guide
who had driven him and Roberta over from Gun Lodge, a brown and wiry
and loutish man who seemed to pierce him now with small, deep-set,
animal-like eyes, and who most certainly was going to testify to all
the details of that ride from Gun Lodge. Would his nervousness on that
day, and his foolish qualms, be as clearly remembered by him as they
were now by himself? And if so, how would that affect his plea of a
change of heart? Would he not better talk all that over again with
Jephson?
But this man Mason! How hard he was! How energetic! And how he must
have worked to get all of these people here to testify against him! And
now here he was, exclaiming as he chanced to look at him, and as he
had in at least the last dozen cases (yet with no perceptible result
in so far as the jury box was concerned), "Acceptable to the People!"
But, invariably, whenever he had done so, Jephson had merely turned
slightly, but without looking, and had said: "Nothing in him for us,
Alvin. As set as a bone." And then Belknap, courteous and bland, had
challenged for cause and usually succeeded in having his challenge
sustained.
But then at last, and oh, how agreeably, the clerk of the court
announcing in a clear, thin, rasping and aged voice, a recess until two
P. M. And Jephson smilingly turning to Clyde with: "Well, Clyde, that's
the first round--not so very much to it, do you think? And not very
hard either, is it? Better go over there and get a good meal, though.
It'll be just as long and dull this afternoon."
And in the meantime, Kraut and Sissell, together with the extra
deputies, pushing close and surrounding him. And then the crowding and
swarming and exclaiming: "There he is! There he is! Here he comes!
Here! Here!" And a large and meaty female pushing as close as possible
and staring directly into his face, exclaiming as she did so: "Let
me see him! I just want to get a good look at you, young man. I have
two daughters of my own." But without one of all those of Lycurgus or
Twelfth Lake whom he had recognized in the public benches, coming near
him. And no glimpse of Sondra anywhere, of course. For as both Belknap
and Jephson had repeatedly assured him, she would not appear. Her name
was not even to be mentioned, if possible. The Griffiths, as well as
the Finchleys, were opposed.