The crowd in and about the court-room was so great that it was with
difficulty Trescot found for Constance a seat at the front. He then
entered within the rail, spoke a word or two to the general, shook hands
with Greyhurst and others, sat down, and looked about him.
The room was large and full of people, some of whom he knew, and many,
both men and women, of all classes, whom he did not know, from the town
and the surrounding country. He arranged his papers and waited. A single
case preceded his own. It was soon over, and the crier called the case
of Elise Baptiste and others _versus_ Rufus Hood.
The judge said: “The case will now proceed.”
Greyhurst, handsome, soldierly, erect, and clad in Confederate gray, a
rose in his coat, stood up and said: “May it please your honor, I appear
for the plaintiffs.” Trescot stated that he appeared for the defendant,
and regretted that circumstances left him alone in the conduct of the
case.
A jury was impaneled. To four jurors Greyhurst objected. Trescot
challenged no one, and contented himself with asking each juror if he
could decide the case without fear or favor.
The jurors were in place and a deepening stillness fell upon an audience
full of interest. As Constance, eager and anxious, looked at the slight
figure and refined face of her husband, he seemed, as she thought, to be
conscious of her anxiety, and, turning, smiled assurance of the
confidence he felt.
Greyhurst opened the case. “May it please your honor and the gentlemen
of the jury. It is plain from this great audience that this is a case
which excites the interest of every one in this community. It should do
so. A writ of ejectment has been served upon Rufus Hood to test his
right to lands at the bend of the river.
“Mr. Hood lays claim to certain—I might say uncertain—acres, a part of
the large estate known as the Baptiste tract, and held under an
indisputable French title, for which I shall produce the original grant.
“No one can define the limits of the defendant’s claim. The defendant
will assert that it began inland somewhere and extended to low water.”
Where, he asked, did it begin—at what points? He went on to speak of the
erosion of the water-front, and of this as the reason why a man already
rich was eager to put forward a claim which had no foundation. He was
confident that no credible evidence could be produced to uphold the
defendant’s pretension.
The direct evidence of ownership by the Baptistes would not keep him
long. It would consist merely in the production and proof of the
original grant, and of the wills required to prove the present
ownership. It was simple. The defendant had no deeds to put in evidence,
no proof of undisputed possession, no real knowledge of such bounding
monuments as could be sworn to. He was very cool and impressive as he
spoke, and dwelt at length upon the unfairness of the defendant’s claim,
characterizing it as an attempt to inflict injury on impoverished and
unfortunate people.
The original French grant was produced and submitted to the court and
the jury. The wills proving title by descent were exhibited, and
Trescot, admitting their validity, offered no objections. All the
evidence for the plaintiffs was before the court, although the details
occupied considerable time, and Greyhurst sat down, stating that the
plaintiff rested the case.
Trescot rose, cast a smiling glance at Constance, and went on to state
his case. He had declined to question the validity of the grant or the
wills. He accepted both for his client. He wished neither to delay nor
to obstruct. His business was to prove that forty years ago the holder
of the Baptiste grant had sold to James Hood, the father of his client,
a certain tract of land, for which a deed had been given. He would deal
frankly with the matter. The war and the great cotton fire had destroyed
the records and also the deeds and surveys once in possession of Mr.
Hood’s former agent, General Averill. Even the tax receipts were gone.
He would prove, however, that such a deed had existed, that a survey had
been made. He would produce the surveyor’s notes, giving the bounds, and
prove by his widow his handwriting; and also would produce a plot of the
survey appended to the notes.
This survey set forth that from an oak at one time on the bluff the line
ran due east sixty-seven perches, more or less, to a tree, a certain
live-oak; thence north one hundred perches to a third tree, a walnut;
and west again sixty-seven perches to an oak on the bluff. A line
carried south between the two trees originally on the bluff completed
the original bounds of the tract. Observe, he said, that this left the
Baptistes in possession of a tract between Mr. Hood’s land and the
river, partly bluff and partly the shore below.
He would produce a witness who assisted the surveyor, and prove that the
said surveyor had with him as a guide a deed or paper defining the
bounds, and that the witness saw him consult the said paper. He would
prove what no doubt opposing counsel would admit,—indeed had
admitted,—the erosion of the bluff. He would prove, past dispute, the
present existence of the two trees marking the eastern line of the
survey, and thus show that lines drawn due westward from said trees the
number of perches stated in the survey would carry his client’s claim
far out beyond the present low-water mark.
The great storm and flood of seven years before had carried away the
projecting headland, had taken the Baptiste shore, their upland on the
bluff, Mr. Hood’s front, and his western boundary trees. All of the
Baptiste land had gone and a part of Mr. Hood’s. He trusted that he had
made it entirely clear.
Greyhurst at first assumed an attitude of careless inattention, but as
Trescot went on he began to listen intently, and to take notes.
The fact of Averill’s being no longer of counsel in the case left
Trescot free to use his evidence as he could not otherwise have done. He
felt that the affection and respect with which the general was regarded
by all men were sure to give great weight to what he would say, and
enabled Trescot to do without some other and feebler witnesses. As the
general, when called, took his oath, Greyhurst said to Colonel Dudley,
who sat beside him: “A fortunate illness that, and not very lasting.”
“You do not mean, sir, that General Averill—”
“Oh, no,” said Greyhurst, interrupting him; “of course not.”
Dudley was silent.
“Were you,” asked Trescot, “Mr. Hood’s agent?”
“Yes, I was from the year 1852. I am not now.”
“Did you at any time hold for the defendant a deed for land on the bluff
at the bend of the river?”
“I did—both a deed and the survey, made by one Hazewell.”
After further questions he went on to say that, to the best of his
remembrance, this deed described the holding as extending westward to
land retained by the Baptistes on the bluff. He had paid taxes on the
land, but the receipts and his own books had been burned during his
absence in the war. He also bore witness to the erosion of the bend.
Greyhurst cross-examined him with extreme courtesy on his failure to
remember accurately the terms of the deed.
At last he asked, “What taxes have been paid on this land by you since
the war?”
“None; the property was in dispute, and, as the jury knows, taxes may
run on unpaid for years without finally affecting the title. That means
nothing.”
“Pardon me,” said Greyhurst; “but I object to the witness instructing
the jury. It is facts, not opinions, we want.”
The general smiled and was dismissed, when Trescot, interposing, said,
“Did the Baptistes, at any time since the war, pay taxes?”
Greyhurst objected, but not in time to prevent the witness from saying,
“They did not.”
Mrs. Hazewell, the widow of the surveyor, and now brought from Indiana,
produced a book containing, with other matters, a statement of the
boundaries and area of a survey, made by her husband, of land on the
Baptiste property for James Hood in October, 1830. With it was a neat
plot of the property, indicating certain trees as monuments at the
corners. There was also a memorandum of receipt of payment for the work.
She identified the book and swore to the handwriting as that of her
husband. So carefully had Trescot guarded his witnesses that the utmost
surprise was created as the case went on. The book and plot were
submitted to the jury, and although the witness was sharply
cross-examined, her evidence was not shaken. As the young lawyer
developed his case, and it was seen how the dates as given by the
witnesses coincided, the elder members of the bar began to listen with
growing interest, and to exchange glances of surprise, or whispers of
astonishment, that Greyhurst should have ventured to try the case at
all.
Several persons swore to the fact of the great flood, and the amount of
erosion of the bluffs; and a map showing these changes was also put in
evidence. This was not disputed.
To the evident amazement of Greyhurst, the next witness called was
Thomas Coffin. After the usual preliminaries, Trescot asked:
“What do you know of the survey of this tract on the bluff?”
“I helped my father. He was a chain-bearer, and blazed the bounds.”
“How old were you at that time?”
“Well, it’s forty years ago. I am fifty-eight now, come February. I was
eighteen years old. That was in October, 1830.”
“How were you employed in the survey?”
“I helped; I carried the ax.”
“Can you swear to the trees marking the eastward bound? Those which were
blazed?”
“I can.”
“How do you know them?”
“Saw father blaze them. He made two blazes—one on the west side and one
on the east. He always did that. He was a mighty careful man.”
“Did he blaze only with the ax?”
“No; he burned the blaze, too, with a hot crowbar. I made the fire.”
Showing him the surveyor’s plot, Trescot asked:
“Do you understand this map?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Could you say where on it the trees would be you have spoken of—those
on the inland side? Look at it carefully; take your time.”
After a little hesitation, during which the stillness of the crowded
room deepened, he replied, pointing:
“Yes, sir,—there and there.”
“Here are two pins; put them in at the places.” He did so, and the plot
of the survey was submitted to the jury.
“How do you know the trees are those said to have been blazed?”
“I cut them down yesterday, both of them,—those I showed you—me and
another man cut them down. Mr. Douglas, he was there. I sawed them
through and found the blazes. But before they was felled I knew them by
the sinking in of the bark over the blazes.”
“Where are the trees?”
“The blazed parts—that’s the sections with the bark off—is in a wagon
back of the court.”
“I shall ask your honor,” said Trescot, “to have them brought in, or, as
they are heavy, that the jury shall go out and examine them.”
Greyhurst rose to object that there was no proof of these being the
trees in question. Being overruled, the jury went out, inspected the
sections, and returned to their seats.
With this unlooked-for evidence the interest became intense, while
Constance watched steadily the face of her husband.
“That is all,” said Trescot to Coffin.
“One moment,” said Greyhurst. “I prefer, if counsel does not object, to
cross-examine the witness after all the defendant’s evidence is
concluded.”
Trescot said, “Although this is unusual, I shall urge no objection.”
Peter Douglas, the county surveyor, was next called. He had been present
when the trees were felled and sawed. He had himself driven with the
sections to the court-house. He swore that the survey shown him gave
correctly the distance between the two trees marking the eastern bound,
and that lines carried west as required on the survey shown him would
now end far out in the river.
Greyhurst’s cross-questioning of the county surveyor was brief, and
served only to make that official angry and to weaken the plaintiffs’
case.
As link on link was added to the chain of evidence, murmurs of surprise
ran through the audience; for Greyhurst had talked confidently of the
utter weakness of the defendant’s case.
Trescot bowed to the Judge, and then said: “I have done. My witnesses
are in your hands, Mr. Greyhurst.”
Coffin was recalled for cross-examination. Greyhurst, unprepared for the
ability with which evidence had been collected and guarded, was, as
usual, annoyed and even angered.
“Your name is Thomas Coffin?”
“Yes, that’s my name.”
“What’s your business?”
“I cut and haul wood; been lumbering ’most all my life.”
“You must have a good memory.”
“I always did have.”
“Then perhaps you remember who paid you to find trees you saw in a big
wood when you were a boy.”
Trescot was on his feet in a moment. “I protest, your honor, against the
form of the question—against a grave insinuation.”
The judge suggested that counsel put the question differently.
Greyhurst then asked: “How did you happen to inform Mr. Trescot as to
these very convenient trees?”
“Because I wanted to.”
“Did he on this occasion pay you, or make any promise of pay, if you
would find these much-needed trees?”
“He didn’t make any promise, and he didn’t pay me.”
Greyhurst smiled and went on. “Did Mr. Trescot send any one to you about
these boundaries?”
“No, he didn’t.”
“Now, take care,” said Greyhurst, advancing. He towered above the small,
lean woodman. “You have sworn to tell the truth and the whole truth. Did
not Mrs. Trescot come to your house in the peanut-patch?”
“She did.”
“What day?”
“I ain’t sure of the day. Guess you know.”
“I want an answer—not insolence. Was it on the sixth of June?”
“Yes, I reckon it was.”
At this bringing of his wife into the case Trescot was, for the moment,
annoyed; and then, catching a look from Constance, was strangely set at
ease. She was evidently undisturbed. In the court-room almost motionless
attention told how increasingly deep was the concern with which the
audience watched the unexpected developments of the case.
“Now, take care,” said Greyhurst. “What did Mrs. Trescot say to you? I
want all of it. What did she say first?”
“I won’t tell you.”
A faint stir in the hall told of astonishment.
Trescot instantly understood that Coffin was naturally unwilling to
confess that he had shot at him. It was this which stopped him.
“Pardon me, Mr. Greyhurst,” he said. “I think I can assist your
cross-examination. I am desirous that the witness conceal nothing.”
“I do not ask your assistance, Mr. Trescot. When I want a junior counsel
you shall have your chance.”
“Very good,” returned Trescot, and sat down.
“Come, now,” said Greyhurst, “I want an answer. What did Mrs. Trescot
say to you, and what did you say to her?”
“I reckon you got my answer.”
“Do you know what will happen if you do not reply as you are sworn to
do?”
“I do. I’ll go to jail.”
“Did any one tell you not to answer?”
“Yes,” and Coffin grinned.
“Indeed! Who was it?”
“Thomas Coffin.” The audience laughed.
As Greyhurst turned to address the judge, Trescot rose again. “May I ask
your honor if the witness is bound to state what would tend to criminate
him? I know and comprehend his difficulty. It has no direct connection
with the case. If the learned counsel will ask my witness what passed in
relation to the boundary trees, and leave Mrs. Trescot out of the
matter, he will attain his end, and I shall be grateful.”
He was most unwilling that his wife should be known to have tried to
secure him from the anger of Coffin. He knew what these people, or many
of them, would think. He was smiling and courteous as he spoke of his
wife, and a murmur of approbation was audible.
“Perhaps,” said Greyhurst, “Mr. Trescot may like to conduct both sides
of this case. May it please your honor, I accept this suggestion, and
for the present we will leave Mrs. Trescot out of the matter.
“Now, Coffin, what did you say to the lady about the bounds?”
Coffin’s face cleared. “There wasn’t a word said of those trees or this
claim until Mrs. Trescot was going away, and then I told her to tell Mr.
Trescot I knew about them trees—and I did.”
Greyhurst was disappointed. He said: “Your honor, when I call witnesses
in rebuttal I shall deal further with this mystery. That will do, my
man.”
“I am nobody’s man but my own. Why don’t you ask me what you said to me
about Mr. Trescot the week before I told about the trees?”
The counsel within the rail smiled; the audience tittered; and Greyhurst
said angrily: “You may go, do you hear?”
Coffin turned to Trescot. “Do you want me any more?”
“No; certainly not.”
So long as Greyhurst felt his case to be a good one, his very able mind
acted well; but in the presence of impending defeat he became irritable,
and lost the tranquillity which is needful for quick and perfect use of
the mental mechanism.
He had been surprised by the evidence of Coffin. The secret had been
well kept, and now he feared that his case was lost. He stated to the
court that he was through with the defendant’s witnesses, and at noon
the court adjourned to meet at one-and-a-half o’clock.
No trial in years had so interested St. Ann. It was a rich Northern man
against poor Southern people who were desperately battling for valuable
land. It involved well-known questions of technical interest; erosion of
river-frontage, lumber interests, and the value of old blazes as
evidence—all these were familiarly discussed as the audience came out;
but above all was the excitement caused by Coffin’s refusal to speak
freely of what Mrs. Trescot had said.
The lawyers saw which way the case was going, and several of them
congratulated Trescot as he joined his wife. They stayed to lunch with
the Averills in place of going home. Mrs. Trescot was in high spirits.
Her husband’s success satisfied her pride. The dramatic character of the
trial, and, above all, Coffin’s refusal to commit himself, and his
pleasure in baffling Greyhurst, interested and amused her, so that
altogether the trial was to her both novel and entertaining.
The general was as well pleased. Trescot had justified his opinion both
of the young lawyer’s legal mind and of his readiness and coolness. He
said, turning to Trescot as they smoked alone after the meal:
“If I know Greyhurst, he will lose his head as he loses his case. He
_will_ lose it, too; I kept my eye on the jury; but what he will do in
summing up will be sure to be unpleasant. You will have no opportunity
to answer, and I am sorry for that. He seems to have the skill of the
devil in breeding anger. And I very deeply regret that I am not actively
in this case.”
“I shall reply beforehand to his summing up, general. I think I know
what he will say. It will be a personal attack on Mr. Hood’s harshness.
I have my answer, as you are aware. For the rest, I am not easily
stirred. What he can do in examining witnesses in rebuttal I do not
know. How can he damage us? If Coffin were the worst of men, he is so
sustained by facts and by the surveyor’s evidence that to prove he never
before in his life had told the truth would not help the case.”
“I do not know. This suit means much to Greyhurst. He will go to all
lengths. He is angry. I saw that. He is a proud, over-sensitive man who
makes no allowance for the feelings of others, and desires to have his
own attentively considered. Now he is hard hit, and, by Jove! do you
know, I think he will call Mrs. Trescot.”
“Oh, hardly.”
“Yes; he is puzzled, and thinks there is something he may use in what
Coffin concealed. I was not at all surprised when you told me of the
attempt to kill you. I had fully warned you. Of course Coffin was not
fool enough to answer and confess an attempt to murder. His feud was
over, and Mrs. Trescot had won him, as she does all of us. But what a
strange business! I don’t wonder the audience was curious. Before we
return, let me once more prepare you for some such insolence from
Greyhurst as will force you into the quarrel he is sure to seek if he
fail in his case.”
“I shall try to keep my head. But Mrs. Trescot, general,—that may be
difficult. She will refuse to betray Coffin.”
“Let us hope Greyhurst will not call her; but in any case he will try to
be courteous,—indeed, he is sure to be, unless that infernal temper of
his gets the better of him. You never can calculate upon what he will
do. He is as impulsive as a child, and as dangerous as a wild animal.”
This summary of his antagonist’s character, and his own knowledge of his
wife’s nature, left the young man more than a little uneasy.
When Greyhurst left the court, he went alone to a tavern near by for his
midday meal, and drank just enough to supply him with the
self-confidence which alcohol gives. He was, as a rule, sober.
So far the Yankee lawyer, as he knew, had made out an impregnable case.
The chance for a compromise had rested on the presumed weakness of the
defendant’s title. It was now most unlikely that, with a strong case,
Hood would consent to that which he had refused when his title appeared
to be weak. Greyhurst reflected with more comfort that his power over
juries had won for him victories when all seemed lost. In fact, he was
more an advocate than a lawyer. He was less well satisfied when he
considered what might be his future in case of failure. He had debts,
and some which were embarrassing; but he owned land beyond the bend
which was rising in value. He was competent enough to have had more
business, but his insecure temper handicapped a man who should otherwise
have done far better. Just now, as he sat alone, the explanatory ghosts
of past failures possessed the hour, and haunted him as he went moodily
back to the court-house.
Trescot, walking on alone with his wife, said to her: “I am sorry,
Constance; but Averill thinks you will be called as a witness. Greyhurst
is puzzled and thinks there is something which Coffin concealed, and
which is of moment to his case. He is vexed and has the hope that he can
show by you that some improper influence was brought to bear on Coffin.
It is very absurd; but I see that he may put you and me in a
disagreeable situation. You will be called, I fear.”
“I shall not like that”; and still, she admitted to herself that the
thought of a contest with Greyhurst strangely pleased her.
It by no means pleased her husband, who walked on in silence, and then
at last said: “Try not to make this man angry. Be very quiet and cool.”
“But, George,” she continued, “I really cannot betray Coffin’s
confidence. He never meant me to make public that he wished—that he
tried to kill you; and he was so simple about it, and so frank! And
then, if I speak out and tell the whole story, it will look as if you
sent me because you were afraid. Oh, I can’t do it!”
“I hate it. But you will have to speak out.”
“Who on earth can make me?”
“The judge.”
“What you call contempt of court?”
“Yes; contempt of court.”
“George, they will never do here as they might do at home. Only do not
let that man annoy you. You shall see that I am able to take care of
your wife.”
They were late and he had to leave her. He was still troubled. Not so
the woman. As she made her way through the crowd she was sorry not to
have been able to dress for the occasion. A gentleman, recognizing her,
gave up to her a seat on the front bench.