The remainder of the trial consisted of the testimony of eleven
witnesses--four for Mason and seven for Clyde. One of the latter--a Dr.
A. K. Sword, of Rehobeth--chancing to be at Big Bittern on the day that
Roberta's body was returned to the boat-house, now declared that he had
seen and examined it there and that the wounds, as they appeared then,
did not seem to him as other than such as might have been delivered
by such a blow as Clyde admitted to having struck accidentally, and
that unquestionably Miss Alden had been drowned while conscious--and
not unconscious, as the state would have the jury believe--a result
which led Mason into an inquiry concerning the gentleman's medical
history, which, alas, was not as impressive as it might have been.
He had been graduated from a second-rate medical school in Oklahoma
and had practised in a small town ever since. In addition to him--and
entirely apart from the crime with which Clyde was charged--there was
Samuel Yearsley, one of the farmers from around Gun Lodge, who, driving
over the road which Roberta's body had traveled in being removed from
Big Bittern to Gun Lodge, now earnestly swore that the road, as he had
noticed in driving over it that same morning, was quite rough--making
it possible for Belknap, who was examining him, to indicate that
this was at least an approximate cause of the extra-severity of the
wounds upon Roberta's head and face. This bit of testimony was later
contradicted, however, by a rival witness for Mason--the driver for
Lutz Brothers, no less, who as earnestly swore that he found no ruts
or rough places whatsoever in the road. And again there were Liggett
and Whiggam to say that in so far as they had been able to note or
determine, Clyde's conduct in connection with his technical efforts for
Griffiths & Company had been attentive, faithful and valuable. They had
seen no official harm in him. And then several other minor witnesses
to say that in so far as they had been able to observe his social
comings and goings, Clyde's conduct was most circumspect, ceremonious
and guarded. He had done no ill that they knew of. But, alas, as Mason
in cross-examining them was quick to point out, they had never heard
of Roberta Alden or her trouble or even of Clyde's social relationship
with her.
Finally many small and dangerous and difficult points having been
bridged or buttressed or fended against as well as each side could, it
became Belknap's duty to say his last word for Clyde. And to this he
gave an entire day, most carefully, and in the spirit of his opening
address, retracing and emphasizing every point which tended to show
how, almost unconsciously, if not quite innocently, Clyde had fallen
into the relationship with Roberta which had ended so disastrously
for both. Mental and moral cowardice, as he now reiterated, inflamed
or at least operated on by various lacks in Clyde's early life, plus
new opportunities such as previously had never appeared to be within
his grasp, had affected his "_perhaps too pliable and sensual and
impractical and dreaming mind_." No doubt he had not been fair to Miss
Alden. No question as to that. He had not. But on the other hand--and
as had been most clearly shown by the confession which the defense
had elicited--he had not proved ultimately so cruel or vile as the
prosecution would have the public and this honorable jury believe. Many
men were far more cruel in their love life than this young boy had
ever dreamed of being, and, of course, they were not necessarily hung
for that. And in passing technically on whether this boy had actually
committed the crime charged, it was incumbent upon this jury to see
that no generous impulse relating to what this poor girl might have
suffered in her love-relations with this youth be permitted to sway
them to the belief or decision that for that this youth had committed
the crime specifically stated in the indictment. Who among both sexes
were not cruel at times in their love life, the one to the other?
And then a long and detailed indictment of the purely circumstantial
nature of the evidence--no single person having seen or heard anything
of the alleged crime itself, whereas Clyde himself had explained most
clearly how he came to find himself in the peculiar situation in which
he did find himself. And after that, a brushing aside of the incident
of the folder, as well as Clyde's not remembering the price of the
boat at Big Bittern, his stopping to bury the tripod and his being so
near Roberta and not aiding her, as either being mere accidents of
chance, or memory, or, in the case of his failing to go to her rescue,
of his being dazed, confused, frightened--"hesitating fatally but
not criminally at the one time in his life when he should not have
hesitated"--a really strong if jesuitical plea which was not without
its merits and its weight.
And then Mason, blazing with his conviction that Clyde was a murderer
of the coldest and blackest type, and spending an entire day in
riddling the "spider's tissue of lies and unsupported statements" with
which the defense was hoping to divert the minds of the jury from
the unbroken and unbreakable chain of amply substantiated evidence
wherewith the prosecution had proved this "bearded man" to be the
"red-handed murderer" that he was. And with hours spent in retracing
the statements of the various witnesses. And other hours in denouncing
Clyde, or re-telling the bitter miseries of Roberta--so much so that
the jury, as well as the audience, was once more on the verge of tears.
And with Clyde deciding in his own mind, as he sat between Belknap and
Jephson, that no jury such as this was likely to acquit him in the face
of evidence so artfully and movingly recapitulated.
And then Oberwaltzer from his high seat finally instructing the
jury: "Gentlemen--all evidence is, in a strict sense, more or less
circumstantial, whether consisting of facts which permit the inference
of guilt or whether given by an eyewitness. The testimony of an
eyewitness is, of course, based upon circumstances.
"If any of the material facts of the case are at variance with the
probability of guilt, it will be the duty of you gentlemen to give the
defendant the benefit of the doubt raised.
"And it must be remembered that evidence is not to be discredited or
decried because it is circumstantial. It may often be more reliable
evidence than direct evidence.
"Much has been said here concerning motive and its importance in this
case, but you are to remember that proof of motive is by no means
indispensable or essential to conviction. While a motive may be shown
as a _circumstance_ to aid in _fixing_ a crime, yet the people are not
required to prove a motive.
"If the jury finds that Roberta Alden accidentally or involuntarily
fell out of the boat and that the defendant made no attempt to rescue
her, that does not make the defendant guilty and the jury must find the
defendant 'not guilty.' On the other hand, if the jury finds that the
defendant in any way, intentionally, there and then brought about or
contributed to that fatal accident, either by a blow or otherwise, it
must find the defendant guilty.
"While I do not say that you must agree upon your verdict, I would
suggest that you ought not, any of you, place your minds in a position
which will not yield if after careful deliberation you find you are
wrong."
So Justice Oberwaltzer--solemnly and didactically from his high seat to
the jury.
And then, that point having been reached, the jury rising and filing
from the room at five in the afternoon. And Clyde immediately
thereafter being removed to his cell before the audience proper was
allowed to leave the building. There was constant fear on the part of
the sheriff that he might be attacked. And after that five long hours
in which he waited, walking to and fro, to and fro, in his cell, or
pretending to read or rest, the while Kraut or Sissell, tipped by
various representatives of the press for information as to how Clyde
"took it" at this time, slyly and silently remained as near as possible
to watch.
And in the meantime Justice Oberwaltzer and Mason and Belknap and
Jephson, with their attendants and friends, in various rooms of the
Bridgeburg Central Hotel, dining and then waiting impatiently, with the
aid of a few drinks, for the jury to agree, and wishing and hoping that
the verdict would be reached soon, whatever it might be.
And in the meantime the twelve men--farmers, clerks, and storekeepers,
re-canvassing for their own mental satisfaction the fine points made
by Mason and Belknap and Jephson. Yet out of the whole twelve but
one man--Samuel Upham, a druggist--(politically opposed to Mason and
taken with the personality of Jephson)--sympathizing with Belknap and
Jephson. And so pretending that he had doubts as to the completeness
of Mason's proof until at last after five ballots were taken he was
threatened with exposure and the public rage and obloquy which was
sure to follow in case the jury was hung. "We'll fix you. You won't
get by with this without the public knowing exactly where you stand."
Whereupon, having a satisfactory drug business in North Mansfield, he
at once decided that it was best to pocket this opposition to Mason and
agree.
Then four hollow knocks on the door leading from the jury room to the
court room. It was the foreman of the jury, Foster Lund, a dealer
in cement, lime and stone. His great fist was knocking. And at that
the hundreds who had crowded into the hot stuffy court room after
dinner--though many had not even left--stirred from the half stupor
into which they had fallen. "What's that? What's happened? Is the jury
ready to report? What's the verdict?" And men and women and children
starting up to draw nearer the excluding rail. And the two deputies on
guard before the jury door beginning to call, "All right! All right!
As soon as the judge comes." And then other deputies hurrying to the
prison over the way in order that the sheriff might be notified and
Clyde brought over--and to the Bridgeburg Central Hotel to summon
Oberwaltzer and all the others. And then Clyde, in a half stupor or
daze from sheer loneliness and killing suspense, being manacled to
Kraut and led over between Slack, Sissell and others. And Oberwaltzer,
Mason, Belknap and Jephson and the entire company of newspaper writers,
artists, photographers and others entering and taking the places that
they had occupied all these long weeks. And Clyde winking and blinking
as he was seated behind Belknap and Jephson now--not with them, for as
stoutly manacled as he was to Kraut, he was compelled to sit by him.
And then Oberwaltzer on the bench and the clerk in his place, the jury
room door being opened and the twelve men filing solemnly in--quaint
and varied figures in angular and for the most part much-worn suits of
the ready-made variety. And as they did so, seating themselves in the
jury box, only to rise again at the command of the clerk, who began:
"Gentlemen of the jury, have you agreed on a verdict?"--yet without
one of them glancing in the direction of either Belknap or Jephson or
Clyde, which Belknap at once interpreted as fatal.
"It's all off," he whispered to Jephson. "Against us. I can tell."
And then Lund announcing: "We have. We find the defendant guilty of
murder in the first degree." And Clyde, entirely dazed and yet trying
to keep his poise and remain serene, gazing straight before him toward
the jury and beyond, and with scarcely a blink of the eye. For had he
not, in his cell the night before, been told by Jephson, who had found
him deeply depressed, that the verdict in this trial, assuming that it
proved to be unfavorable, was of no consequence. The trial from start
to finish had been unfair. Prejudice and bias had governed its every
step. Such bullying and browbeating and innuendo as Mason had indulged
in before the jury would never pass as fair or adequate in any higher
court. And a new trial--on appeal--would certainly be granted--although
by whom such an appeal was to be conducted he was not now prepared to
discuss.
And now, recalling that, Clyde saying to himself that it did not so
much matter perhaps, after all. It could not, really--or could it? Yet
think what these words meant in case he could not get a new trial!
Death! That is what it would mean if this were final--and perhaps it
was final. And then to sit in that chair he had seen in his mind's eye
for so long--these many days and nights when he could not force his
mind to drive it away. Here it was again before him--that dreadful,
ghastly chair--only closer and larger than ever before--there in the
very center of the space between himself and Justice Oberwaltzer. He
could see it plainly now--squarish, heavy-armed, heavy-backed, some
straps at the top and sides. God! Supposing no one would help him now!
Even the Griffiths might not be willing to pay out any more money!
Think of that! The Court of Appeals to which Jephson and Belknap had
referred might not be willing to help him either. And then these words
would be final. They would! They would! God! His jaws moved slightly,
then set--because at the moment he became conscious that they were
moving. Besides, at that moment Belknap was rising and asking for an
individual poll of the jury, while Jephson leaned over and whispered:
"Don't worry about it. It isn't final. We'll get a reversal as sure
as anything." Yet as each of the jurors was saying: "Yes"--Clyde was
listening to them, not to Jephson. Why should each one say that with
so much emphasis? Was there not one who felt that he might not have
done as Mason had said--struck her intentionally? Was there not one who
even half-believed in that change of heart which Belknap and Jephson
had insisted that he had experienced? He looked at them all--little
and big. They were like a blackish-brown group of wooden toys with
creamish-brown or old ivory faces and hands. Then he thought of his
mother. She would hear of this now, for here were all these newspaper
writers and artists and photographers assembled to hear this. And what
would the Griffiths--his uncle and Gilbert--think now? And Sondra!
Sondra! Not a word from her. And through all this he had been openly
testifying, as Belknap and Jephson had agreed that he must do--to the
compelling and directing power of his passion for her--the real reason
for all this! But not a word. And she would not send him any word now,
of course--she who had been going to marry him and give him everything!
But in the meantime the crowd about him silent although--or perhaps
because--intensely satisfied. The little devil hadn't "gotten by."
He hadn't fooled the twelve sane men of this county with all that
bunk about a change of heart. What rot! While Jephson sat and stared,
and Belknap, his strong face written all over with contempt and
defiance, making his motions. And Mason and Burleigh and Newcomb and
Redmond thinly repressing their intense satisfaction behind masks
preternaturally severe, the while Belknap continued with a request
that the sentence be put off until the following Friday--a week hence,
when he could more conveniently attend, but with Justice Oberwaltzer
replying that he thought not--unless some good reason could be shown.
But on the morrow, if counsel desired, he would listen to an argument.
If it were satisfactory he would delay sentence--otherwise, pronounce
it the following Monday.
Yet, even so, Clyde was not concerned with this argument at the moment.
He was thinking of his mother and what she would think--feel. He had
been writing her so regularly, insisting always that he was innocent
and that she must not believe all, or even a part, of what she read in
the newspapers. He was going to be acquitted sure. He was going to go
on the stand and testify for himself. But now ... now ... oh, he needed
her now--so much. Quite every one, as it seemed now, had forsaken
him. He was terribly, terribly alone. And he must send her some word
quickly. He must. He must. And then asking Jephson for a piece of paper
and a pencil, he wrote: "Mrs. Asa Griffiths, care of Star of Hope
Mission, Denver, Colorado. Dear mother--I am convicted--Clyde." And
then handing that to Jephson, he asked him, nervously and weakly, if he
would see that it was sent right away. "Right away, son, sure," replied
Jephson, touched by his looks, and waving to a press boy who was near
gave it to him together with the money.
And then, while this was going on, all the public exits being locked
until Clyde, accompanied by Sissell and Kraut, had been ushered through
the familiar side entrance through which he had hoped to escape. And
with all the press and the public and the still-remaining jury gazing,
for even yet they had not seen enough of Clyde but must stare into his
face to see how he was taking it. And because of the local feeling
against him, Justice Oberwaltzer, at Slack's request, holding court
un-adjourned until word was brought that Clyde was once more locked
in his cell, whereupon the doors were re-opened. And then the crowd
surging out but only to wait at the courtroom door in order to glimpse,
as he passed out, Mason, who now, of all the figures in this case, was
the true hero--the nemesis of Clyde--the avenger of Roberta. But he not
appearing at first but instead Jephson and Belknap together, and not
so much depressed as solemn, defiant--Jephson, in particular, looking
unconquerably contemptuous. Then some one calling: "Well, you didn't
get him off just the same," and Jephson replying, with a shrug of his
shoulders, "Not yet, but this county isn't all of the law either." Then
Mason, immediately afterward--a heavy, baggy overcoat thrown over his
shoulder, his worn soft hat pulled low over his eyes--and followed by
Burleigh, Heit, Newcomb and others as a royal train--while he walked in
the manner of one entirely oblivious of the meaning or compliment of
this waiting throng. For was he not now a victor and an elected judge!
And as instantly being set upon by a circling, huzzahing mass--the
while a score of those nearest sought to seize him by the hand or place
a grateful pat upon his arm or shoulder. "Hurrah for Orville!" "Good
for you, judge!" (his new or fast-approaching title). "By God! Orville
Mason, you deserve the thanks of this county!" "Hy-oh! Heigh! Heigh!"
"Three cheers for Orville Mason!" And with that the crowd bursting into
three resounding huzzahs--which Clyde in his cell could clearly hear
and at the same time sense the meaning of.
They were cheering Mason for convicting him. In that large crowd out
there there was not one who did not believe him totally and completely
guilty. Roberta--her letters--her determination to make him marry
her--her giant fear of exposure--had dragged him down to this. To
conviction. To death, maybe. Away from all he had longed for--away
from all he had dreamed he might possess. And Sondra! Sondra! Not a
word! Not a word! And so now, fearing that Kraut or Sissell or some
one might be watching (ready to report even now his every gesture),
and not willing to show after all how totally collapsed and despondent
he really was, he sat down and taking up a magazine pretended to read,
the while he looked far, far beyond it to other scenes--his mother--his
brother and sisters--the Griffiths--all he had known. But finding these
unsubstantiated mind visions a little too much, he finally got up and
throwing off his clothes climbed into his iron cot.
"Convicted! Convicted!" And that meant that he must die! God! But how
blessed to be able to conceal his face upon a pillow and not let any
one see--however accurately they might guess!