WHEN the case of the Commonwealth versus Caleb Trench was called, it
was found necessary to convene the court in the old criminal court-room
in the northeast corner of the quadrangle. The room from which Yarnall
had been shot, known as Criminal Court Number One, was too open to
the square, and too conveniently located as a storm center. The old
court-room facing northeast was smaller, and so poorly lighted that
dull mornings it was necessary to burn lights on the judge’s desk and
at the recorder’s table. It opened on the inner court, and the only
thing seen from the window was the tree of heaven, which was turning a
dingy yellow and dropping its frond-like leaves into the court below.
During half the trial Aaron Todd’s son and another youngster sat in
this tree and peered in the windows, the room being too crowded for
admittance; but when Miss Royall testified even the windows were so
stuffed with humanity that the two in the tree saw nothing, and roosted
in disappointment.
In the quadrangle before the court-house, and in a hollow square around
it, were the troops, through the whole trial, and after a while one
got used to the rattle of their guns as they changed at noon. Men
fought for places in the court-room, and the whole left-hand side was
packed solid with young and pretty women. The figure of Caleb Trench,
since his famous Cresset speech, had loomed large on the horizon, and
the account of the frustrated lynching added a thrilling touch of
romance. Besides, Jacob Eaton was to testify against him, and that
alone would have drawn an audience. The thrill of danger, the clash
of the sentry’s rifle in the quadrangle, the constant dread of riots,
added a piquancy to the situation that was like a dash of fine old
wine in a _ragout_. The room was packed to suffocation, and reporters
for distant newspapers crowded the reporters’ table, for the case was
likely to be of national interest. The doors and the corridors were
thronged, and a long line waited admission on the staircase. Some
failed to get in the first or the second day, and being desperate
stayed all night outside, and so were admitted on the third day.
Judge Hollis had charge of the defense, and it was expected that he
would ask a change of venue, but he did not. Instead he tried to get a
jury, using all his privileges to challenge. It was almost impossible
to get an unbiased juror and, at the end of a week, he had exhausted
two panels and was on another. On the fifteenth day he got a jury
and the public drew breath. Judge Ladd was on the bench,--a fair but
choleric man, and known to be rather unfavorable to the prisoner.
Bail had been absolutely refused, and Caleb Trench shared the fate of
the other prisoners in the jail, except, indeed, that he was doubly
watched, for the tide of men’s passions rose and fell. He had been
almost a popular idol; he was, therefore, doubly likely to be a popular
victim, and Aylett went far and wide declaring that he believed the
shot was intended for him, and that Yarnall had suddenly passed between
him and the window at the fateful moment.
On the other hand Jacob Eaton spoke freely of Jean Bartlett and her
child. The scandal traveled like a fire in prairie grass, and Jean,
who had been in life the Shameful Thing of Paradise Ridge, became
now a persecuted martyr, and Trench the monster who had ruined her
life. The fact that he had taken the child, instead of being in his
favor, recoiled strongly against him. He was watched as he sat in the
prisoners’ dock, and every expression of his stern and homely face was
noted; the slight awkwardness of his tall figure seemed more visible,
and men were even startled by his eyes. It may be added that the women
found them most interesting, especially when that sudden light flashed
into them that had cowed so many of the weaker brethren. Like all
strong, blunt men, Caleb had made his enemies, and now, in the hour of
his need, they multiplied like flies. Misfortune breeds such insects as
readily as swamplands breed mosquitoes.
“I’d be ashamed to say I knew that shyster,” one of the Eaton faction
said in the crowded court-room at noon recess, and Dr. Cheyney heard
him.
The old man snorted. “I’m almighty glad he don’t know you,” he said
dryly.
The next day they began to take testimony. Juniper, the one person who
had been in the court-room at the time of the assassination, could not
be called at once, as he was still in the hospital, but he had made
a deposition that he did not know who fired the shots, that his back
was turned and that when he heard the reports he ran. This impossible
statement could not be shaken even by threats. Later, he would go
on the stand, but Judge Hollis had given up hope of the truth; he
believed, at heart, that Juniper was crazed with fright. Had he been
hired to fire the shots? The judge could not believe it, for he felt
tolerably certain that Juniper would have hit nothing.
The general belief outside, however, was that Caleb had used his
opportunity well and threatened or bribed the negro into making
his remarkable affidavit. In fact, Caleb was himself profoundly
puzzled, yet the testimony of Eaton, given clearly and apparently
dispassionately, was damaging. He had been in Colonel Coad’s office,
he was coming along the upper corridor, heard the shots and ran to the
court-room, reaching the door immediately before Sergeant O’More of
the police; both men met Caleb Trench coming out of the room, and on
the floor, by the window, was the revolver. No one else was in sight.
Juniper’s flight had been made at the first shot, and seven minutes
only had elapsed before any one could reach the court-room. Caleb
Trench had been seen to enter the building at twenty-five minutes to
one o’clock, and his time up to the assassination was unaccounted for.
He said that he had been in the basement of the building, but his
statement did not give any legitimate reason for the length of time
between his entrance and his appearance in the court-room. It took,
in reality, just two minutes to reach the court-room from the lower
door by the staircase. Trench made no explanation of the use of that
twenty-five minutes, even to his counsel. Judge Hollis stormed and grew
angry, but Caleb pointed out the fact that the pistol was not his, and
he could prove it; this made the judge’s language absolutely profane.
The obstinacy of the prisoner resulted in a distinct collapse at that
point in the trial; it was evident that the time must be accounted for,
since the circumstantial evidence was strong.
The public prosecutor, Colonel Coad, was pressing in, scoring point
by point, and Judge Hollis fought and sparred and gave way, inwardly
swearing because he had to do so. Meanwhile, the prisoner was serene;
he took notes and tried to help his counsel, but he showed no signs
of trepidation and he would not admit any use for that time in the
basement of the court-house. Judge Hollis could not, therefore, put him
on the stand on his own behalf, and the old man grew purple with wrath.
“Look here, Mr. Trench,” he said, with bitter formality, “what damned
crotchet have you got in your head? What fool thing were you doing?
Working a penny-in-the-slot machine in the basement? Out with it, or I
walk out of this case.”
“And leave me to the tender mercies of my enemies,” said Caleb quietly;
“no, Judge, not yet! I can’t see my way clear to tell you.”
“Then I’m darned if I see mine to defend you!” snapped the judge.
They were in the prisoner’s cell at the jail, and Caleb got up and
went to the little barred window which overlooked the dreary courtyard
where the prisoners were exercising. After a moment, when he seemed
to mechanically count the blades of grass between the flagstones, he
turned. The judge was watching him, his hat on like a snuffer, as
usual, and his hands in pockets.
“Judge Hollis,” said Caleb quietly, “if I told you where I was, another
witness would have to be called, and neither you nor I would wish to
call that witness.”
The judge looked at him steadily; Caleb returned the look as steadily,
and there was a heavy silence.
“By the Lord Harry!” said the judge at last, “I believe you’d let ’em
hang you rather than give in a hair’s breadth.”
Then Caleb smiled his rare sweet smile.
The second long week of the trial wore to its close, and the web of
circumstantial evidence was clinging fast about the prisoner. Witnesses
had testified to his character and against it. The name of Jean
Bartlett ran around the court, and some men testified to a belief that
Caleb was the father of the child he had befriended. Judge Hollis did
not attempt to have the testimony ruled out; he let it go in, sitting
back with folded arms and a grim smile. He cross-examined Jacob Eaton
twice, but made nothing of it. Jacob was an excellent witness, and
he showed no passion, even when witnesses described the duel and his
conduct to show his motive in attacking Trench.
Sunday night Judge Hollis received a telephone message from Colonel
Royall, and, after his early supper, the judge ordered around his
rockaway and drove over, with Lysander beside him to hold the reins.
He found Mrs. Eaton in the drawing-room with Diana, and was coldly
received by Jacob’s mother; she resented any attempt to line up forces
against her son, and she regarded the defender of Caleb Trench as an
enemy to society. The judge bowed before her grimly.
“I thought you were in the city, madam,” he remarked.
Mrs. Eaton threw up her hands. “With that mob loose, and the soldiers?
My dear Judge! I wouldn’t stay for a million, and I’m a poor woman.
Good gracious, think of it! It’s just as I’ve always said,--you go on
letting in the shiploads of anarchists and we’ll all be murdered in our
beds.”
“Madam,” said the judge grimly, “the only thing I ever let in is the
cat. Sarah and the niggers look after the front door.”
Mrs. Eaton raised her eyebrows. “I can’t understand you,” she said,
with distant politeness; “I refer to immigration.”
“And I refer to immoderation, madam,” snapped the judge.
Diana intervened. “Pa wants you,” she said sweetly, and went with him
across the hall to the library. At the door she paused. “Judge Hollis,”
she said, “does the trial hinge on the question of the time in the
basement--before--before Mr. Trench went up-stairs?”
The judge scowled. “It does,” said he flatly, “and Caleb’s a fool.”
Diana smiled faintly; she looked unusually lovely and very grave.
“Judge,” she said, “no matter what pa says, I’ll do it all; he’s
demurred,” and with this enigmatical sentence she thrust the judge
inside the door and closed it.
Monday the court met at noon and the throng was greater than ever.
Report had it that the case was going to the jury, and men had slept
on benches in the square. The morning papers reprinted Caleb’s famous
speech at Cresset’s and the account of the stand he had made in the
face of the would-be lynching party. Fed with this fuel, party feeling
ran high; besides, the Yarnall faction was deeply stirred. It seemed as
if this change in events had swept away the chance of punishment for
Jacob Eaton, who was figuring largely and conspicuously in this trial
and who had caught the public eye. Moreover, he had been industrious
in circulating the scandalous tale of Jean Bartlett. The court-room
buzzed. Three times Judge Ladd rapped for order and finally threatened
to clear the court-room. This was the day that the crowd in the windows
shut off all view for those in the tree of heaven. It was a hot autumn
day and the air was heavy. Stout men like Judge Hollis looked purple,
and even Caleb flushed under the strain.
Colonel Coad cross-examined two witnesses in a lengthy fashion that
threatened to exhaust even the patience of the court, and Judge Hollis
was on his feet every few minutes with objections. The judge was out
of temper, nervous and snappy, yet triumph glowed in his eyes, for he
scented battle and victory at last.
The dreary day wore to an uneventful end, and there was almost a sob of
disappointment in the packed and sweltering mass of humanity. One woman
fainted and the bailiffs had to bring ice-water. Outside, the rifles
rattled as the guards changed.
At five o’clock, just before the belated adjournment hour, Judge Hollis
rose and asked the clerk to call a new witness for the defense. There
was a languid stir of interest, the judge looked irate, the jurors
shifted wearily in their chairs. The clerk called the witness.
“Diana Royall.”
The sensation was immense; the court-room hummed, the weariest juror
turned and looked down the crowded room. Very slowly a way was made
to the witness-stand, and a tall slight figure in white, with a broad
straw hat and a light veil, came quietly forward.
Caleb Trench turned deadly white.
In a stillness so intense that every man seemed to hear only his own
heart beat, the clerk administered the oath and the new witness went on
the stand.