THE TRIAL.
Tom turned his head away, and covered his face with his hands. This was
cruel. For the first time in his life, he was glad Bennie could not see
him. But he felt that it was necessary for him to say something, so he
stammered out,--
“Well, I was only just s’posin’, you know. Course, no honest fellow’d
do that; but if they’ll only get to work again, we won’t ask anybody
for any hunderd dollars. We’ll earn it.”
The beauty of the autumn day died slowly out, and the narrow crescent
of the new moon, hanging over the tops of the far western hills, shone
dimly through the purple haze. Sadly and with few words the two boys
went their homeward way. A great burden of regret and remorse rested
upon Tom’s heart, and the shadow of it fell upon the heart of his blind
brother.
Poor, poor Tom! He knew not what to do. He could never use the money
now for Bennie, and he would not use it for himself. It had occurred to
him once to take the money back to Pleadwell, and seek to be released
from his agreement. But a little thought had convinced him that this
would be useless; that the money would not be received; that, having
accepted a bribe, he had placed himself in the power of those who had
given it to him, and that any wavering on his part, much more any
violation of his agreement, would bring down vengeance and punishment
on himself, and trouble and disgrace on those who were dear to him.
“Oh, why,” he asked himself, in bitter thought, “why did I ever take
the money?”
Tom’s mother attributed his melancholy to lack of work and loss of
earnings. She knew how his heart was set on laying up money to send
Bennie away, and how impatient he became at any delay in the progress
of his scheme. So she talked to him very cheerfully, and made delicate
little dishes to tempt his appetite, and when the morning for the trial
came, and Tom started for the train to go to Wilkesbarre, dressed in
his best clothes, and with the hated hundred dollars burning in his
pocket, she kissed him good-by with a smile on her face. She bade him
many times to be very careful about the cars, and said to him, at
parting, “Whatever tha says to thee, lad, tell the truth; whatever tha
does to thee, tell the truth; fear to look no man i’ the eye; be good
an’ honest wi’ yoursel’, an’ coom back to Mommie an’ Bennie, when it’s
ower, hearty an’ weel.”
Sandy McCulloch went down with Tom on the train, and together they
walked from the station to the Court House. There were many people
standing about in the Court-House Square, and in the corridors of the
building, and the court-room itself was nearly full when Tom and Sandy
entered it. They found vacant places on one of the rear benches, but,
as the seats were all graded down on a sloping floor to the bar, they
could see without difficulty all that was being done.
Tom had never been in a court-room before, and he looked with much
interest at the judges on the bench, at the lawyers chatting pleasantly
in the bar, at the entry and departure of the grand jury, and at the
officious constables, each with his staff of office, who kept order in
the court-room.
There were some motions and arguments which Tom could not understand,
being made by the attorneys; the clerk read some lists in a weak voice,
and the time of the court was thus occupied until toward noon.
By and by there was a slight bustle at the side door, to the right of
the judges’ bench, and the sheriff and his deputy entered with Jack
Rennie.
Head and shoulders above those who accompanied him, his heavily bearded
face somewhat pale from confinement, and stooping rather more than
usual, he moved slowly across the crowded bar, in full view of all the
people in the room, to a seat by the side of his counsel.
The instant Tom’s eyes rested on him he recognized him as the man who
had threatened him at the breaker on the night of the fire. The buzz of
excitement, occasioned by the entrance of the prisoner, subsided, and
the voice of the presiding judge sounded distinctly through the room:
“Commonwealth against Jack Rennie. Arson. Are you ready for trial?”
“We are, your Honor,” replied the district attorney, rising to his feet
and advancing to the clerk’s desk.
“Very well,” said the judge. “Arraign the prisoner.”
Rennie was directed to stand up, and the district attorney read, in a
clear voice, the indictment, which charged that the defendant “did,
on the eighteenth day of November last passed, feloniously, wilfully
and maliciously set fire to, burn and consume, a certain building, to
wit: a coal-breaker, the same being the property of a certain body
corporate known by the style and title of ‘The Valley Coal Company;’
by reason of which setting fire to, burning and consuming, a certain
dwelling-house, also the property of the said Valley Coal Company, and
being within the curtilage of said coal-breaker, was also burned and
consumed; contrary to the form of the act of the General Assembly, in
such case made and provided, and against the peace and dignity of the
Commonwealth of Pennsylvania.”
Rennie stood, listening intently to the reading of the indictment. When
the question was put:
“What say you,--guilty, or not guilty?” he replied, in a deep, chest
voice,--
“If I be guilty, ye ha’ but to prove it.”
“Make your plea, sir!” said the judge severely. “Guilty, or not guilty?”
“Then I’ll plead no’ guilty. No mon’s guilty till he’s proved guilty.”
Rennie resumed his seat, and the court was soon afterward adjourned for
the noon recess.
In the afternoon the selecting of jurors in the case against Rennie
began.
The first one called was a miner. One could tell that by the blue
powder-marks on his face, and that he was of Irish nativity could be
detected by the rich brogue that escaped his lips. He was “passed” by
the Commonwealth, and the clerk of the court recited the formula:
“Juror, look upon the prisoner. Prisoner, look upon the juror. What say
you,--challenge, or no challenge?”
“Swear the juror to ‘true answers make,’” said Attorney Pleadwell.
The man was sworn.
“Where do you live?” inquired the lawyer.
“Up on Shanty Hill, sorr.”
“That’s definite. Anywhere near this breaker that was burned?”
“Oh, the matther of a mile belike, barrin’ the time it’d take ye to
walk to the track beyant.”
“What’s your occupation?”
“Occupation, is it? Yis, sorr; as good a char_rac_ter as anny”--
“Oh, I mean what do you work at?”
“I’m a miner, sorr.”
“Where do you work?”
“Faith, I worked for the Valley Breaker Coal Company this tin years
come next St. Patrick’s day, may it plase the coort, an’ bad ’cess to
the man that burnt it, I say, an’”--
“Challenge!” interrupted Attorney Pleadwell, sharply.
A tipstaff hurried the challenged man from the witness-box, in a state
of helpless bewilderment as to what it all meant, and another juror was
called, a small, wiry man, chewing on a mouthful of tobacco. He was
sworn on his _voir dire_, and the district attorney asked him,--
“Do you belong to an organization known as the Molly Maguires?”
“No, sir!” quickly responded the man, before Pleadwell could interpose
an objection to the question.
The district attorney looked at the witness sharply for a moment, then
consulted with Attorney Summons, who sat by his side as private counsel
for the prosecution. They believed that the man had sworn falsely,
in order to get on the jury in behalf of the defendant, and he was
directed to stand aside.
The next juror called was a farmer from a remote part of the county,
who had heard nothing about the fire until he arrived in town, and who
displayed no prejudices. He was accepted by both sides as the first
juror in the case.
So the selection went on, slowly and tediously, enlivened at times by
an amusing candidate for the jury-box, or a tilt between counsel; and
long before the “twelve good men and true” had all been selected and
sworn, the early autumn night had fallen, and the flaring gas-jets
lighted up the space about the bench and bar, leaving the remote
corners of the court-room in uncertain shadow.
At six o’clock court was adjourned until the following morning, and Tom
went, with Sandy McCulloch, to a small hotel on the outskirts of the
city, where arrangements had been made to accommodate witnesses for the
defence. Notwithstanding his anxiety of mind, Tom was hungry, and he
ate a hearty supper and went early to bed.
But he could not sleep. The excitement of the day had left his brain
in a whirl, and he tossed restlessly about, going over in his mind
what had already occurred, and thinking with grave apprehension of
what to-morrow might bring forth. Through it all he still repeated one
resolve: that whatever came he would not lie.
With this unsatisfactory compromise with his conscience on his mind, he
fell at last into a troubled sleep.
When court was opened on the following morning, the court-room was more
densely crowded with idle men than it had been on the previous day. The
case against Rennie was taken up without delay. The district attorney
made the opening address on behalf of the Commonwealth, doing little
more than to outline the evidence to be presented by the prosecution.
The first witness called was a civil engineer, who presented a map
showing the plan, location and surroundings of the burned breaker.
Following him came two witnesses who detailed the progress of the fire
as they had seen it, one of them being the watchman at the breaker, and
the other the occupant of the dwelling-house which had been burned.
A third witness testified to having seen Rennie at the fire shortly
after it broke out, but did not know how long he had been there, nor
where he came from; and still another swore that he had seen the
defendant in a drinking-saloon in town, about half an hour before he
heard the alarm of fire, and had noticed that he went away, in the
direction of the breaker, in company with “Silent Mike.”
Then came a witness who gave his name as Lewis G. Travers; a slightly
built, but muscular man, of middle age, with sharp eyes and quiet
manner.
“What is your occupation?” inquired the district attorney, after the
man had been sworn.
“I am a detective.”
“Do you know Jack Rennie, the defendant?”
“I do.”
“Where did you last see him?”
“At a meeting, in Carbondale, of certain members of the order of Molly
Maguires.”
“Are you a member of that order?”
“I have been.”
“Will you relate the circumstances attending your connection with it?”
The stillness in the court-room was marvellous. On many an expectant
face were mingled expressions of hate and fear, as the witness, with
calm deliberation, related the thrilling story of how he had worked as
a common laborer in the mines, in order to gain a standing with the
lawless miners, and of how he had then been admitted to the order of
Molly Maguires, and had taken part in their deliberations.
As a member of the executive board, he had been present, he said,
at a secret meeting held in Carbondale, at which, on account of the
outspoken denunciation of the order, and the prompt dismissal of men
belonging to it, by the owners of the Valley Breaker, it was resolved
to visit them with vengeance, in the shape of fire; that Jack Rennie
was selected to carry out the resolution, and that Rennie, being
present, had registered a solemn oath to do the bidding of the order.
This was the substance of his testimony, and though the
cross-examination, by Pleadwell, was sharp, rigid and severe, the
effect of the evidence could not be broken.
At this point the Commonwealth rested. The case against Rennie had
assumed a serious phase. Unless he could produce some strong evidence
in his favor, his conviction was almost assured.
Pleadwell rose to open the case for the defence. After some general
remarks on the unfairness of the prosecution, and the weakness of the
detective’s story, he declared that they should prove, in behalf of
the defendant, that he was not at or near the breaker until after the
fire was well under way, and that the saving of a large portion of the
company’s loose property from destruction was due to his brave and
energetic efforts.
“Furthermore,” continued Pleadwell, earnestly, “we shall present to the
court and jury a most irreproachable witness, who will testify to you
that he was present and saw this fire kindled, and that the man who
kindled it was _not_ Jack Rennie.”
There was a buzz of excitement in the court-room as Pleadwell resumed
his seat; and Tom’s heart beat loudly as he understood the significance
of the lawyer’s last statement. He felt, more than ever, the wrong, the
disgrace, the self-humiliation to which he should stoop, by giving his
testimony in support of so monstrous a lie.
But what could he do? The strain on his mind was terrible. He felt
an almost irresistible desire to cry out, there, in the crowded
court-room, that he had yielded to temptation for the sake of blind
Bennie; that he had seen the folly and the wickedness, and known the
awful misery of it already; that the money that bought him was like
rags in his sight; and that his own guilt and cowardice should save
this criminal no longer from the punishment which his crime deserved.
By a strong effort, he repressed his emotion, and sat, with face
flushed and pallid by turns, waiting for the time when his wretched
bargain should be fulfilled.
The first witness called on the part of the defence was Michael
Carolan, better known as “Silent Mike.”
He testified that Rennie came down from Scranton with him and a body
of strikers on the morning of November 18; that they ate supper with
Carolan’s married sister, who lived in the village, just beyond the
burned breaker; that they spent the evening at a miners’ mass-meeting
in town, and afterwards called at a drinking-saloon; and that they were
on the way back to his sister’s house, for the night, when they heard
the cry of “Fire!”
“At this time,” continued Carolan, “Jack and me were together at the
crossin’ on Railroad Street, maybe a quarter of a mile away from the
breaker, an’ whin we heard the alarm, we looked up the track an’ saw
the blaze, an’ Jack says, says he, ‘Mike, the breaker’s a-fire,’ an’
I says, says I, ‘It is, sure;’ an’ with that we both ran up the track
toward the fire.
“Whin we were most there we met Sandy McCulloch comin’ from the hill
beyant, an’ me an’ him an’ Jack wint an’ shoved out the cars from the
loadin’-place that we could get at; an’ thin we wint to help with the
furniture at the dwellin’-house, an’ we saved ivery thing we could.”
Silent Mike had done well. Few people had ever before heard so many
words come in succession from his lips, and he told his story with such
impressive earnestness that it was easy to believe that he spoke the
truth. Indeed, there was very little in his account of the occurrence
that was not strictly in accordance with the facts. He had simply
omitted to state that he and Rennie had gone, first, up to the breaker
and kindled the blaze, and then returned, hastily, to the crossing
where they certainly were when the first cry of “Fire!” was heard.
Rennie’s case was looking up. There was a recess for dinner, and, when
court was re-opened, Sandy McCulloch was put on the witness-stand.
He was just getting into bed, he said, when he heard the cry of “Fire!”
He looked out and saw that the breaker was burning, and, hurrying on
his clothes, he ran down the hill.
“When I cam’ to the fit o’ the hill,” he continued, in answer to
Pleadwell’s question, “I heard some’at behin’ me, an’ I lookit aroun’,
an’ there I see Jack the Giant an’ Silent Mike a-speedin’ up the track
toward the breaker.
“The fire was a-burnin’ up brisk by then, an’ me an’ Jack an’ Mike, we
went an’ pushit some cars out fra the loadin’-place, down the track;
an’ then we savit a bit fra the dwellin’-house, an’ a bit fra the
engine-room, an’ a bit here an’ there, as we could; an’ Jack, he workit
like a’ possessed, he did, sir; sure he did.”
“What were you doing up so late at night?” was the first question put
to Sandy on cross-examination.
“Well, you see, sir, a bit o’ a lad that works i’ the mines wi’ us, he
had lost his brither i’ the slope the day, he had; an’ I gied him a
promise to help seek him oot gin he cam’ i’ the evenin’ to say as the
lad was no’ foond; an’ I was a-waitin’ up for him, min’ ye.”
“Well, did the lad come?” inquired Lawyer Summons, somewhat
sarcastically.
“He did that, an’ he tellit me as how he’d foond the brither, an’
leadit him hame, an’ would na want me; an’ I said ‘good-nicht’ till the
lad, an’ started to bed, an’ the clock struckit eleven.”
“Who was the lad that came to your house?”
“Tom Taylor, sir.”
Rennie started in his seat as the name was spoken, and the blood
mounted into his pale forehead as he gazed intently at the witness.
“Did the boy go in the direction of the breaker from your house?”
questioned Summons.
“He did, sir.”
“How long was it after he left you that you heard the cry of fire?”
“Well, maybe the time o’ ten minutes.”
“Could the boy have got beyond the breaker?”
“He must ’a’, sir, he must ’a’; the grass was na growin’ under his feet
goin’ doon the hill.”
“Do you think Tom Taylor fired that breaker?”
Sandy stared for a moment in blank amazement.
“Why, the guid Lord bless ye, mon! be ye daft? There ain’t a better boy
i’ the roun’ warl’n Tom Taylor!” and Sandy broke into a hearty laugh at
the very idea of Tom doing any thing wrong.
But Tom, who sat back in his seat and heard it all, was suddenly
startled with the sense of a new danger. Suppose _he_ should be charged
with setting fire to the breaker? And suppose Rennie and Carolan
should go upon the witness-stand and swear that they saw him running
away from the newly kindled blaze, as, indeed, they might and not lie,
either,--how could he prove his innocence? Yet he was about to swear
Jack Rennie into freedom, knowing him to be guilty of the crime with
which he was charged, and, what was still more despicable, he was about
to do it for money.
Looked upon in this light, the thing that Tom had promised to do rose
very black and ugly in his sight; and the poor delusion that he should
tell no lie was swept, like a clinging cobweb, from his mind.
It was while his heart was still throbbing violently under the
excitement of this last thought and fear, that he heard some one call,--
“Thomas Taylor!”
“Here, sir,” responded Tom.
“Take the witness-stand.”