The court-house was crowded to its utmost capacity. Women as well as men
were there to hear the arguments in the case of the Commonwealth against
William Grant for the alleged murder of John Belt.
Grant was a young man of handsome exterior and pleasing manners. He sat
in the prisoner's box, and near him, closely veiled, was his beautiful
girlish wife, with her arm around a fine, manly boy, and her head bowed
upon his sunny curls.
Near the group were the surviving relatives of the dead man, consisting
of the wife, mother and daughter. Their faces were heavy and stolid, and
their whole appearance indicated not only the lower walks of life, but
the existence of evil passions and aggressive natures.
Belt had owned a small grocery some fifteen miles from town, in a wild
glen at the mouth of a shallow stream that flowed into the Kentucky
river. The region was for a long time sparsely settled; but the
establishing of a government distillery and a railroad station had led
to an increase of population, so that young Grant was induced to locate
there and open a shop for provisions and other supplies, that line of
business having been the one chosen from his boyhood.
From the first Belt, who was one of the few German settlers in that part
of the country, resented what he was pleased to call an encroachment
upon his trade, and lost no opportunity of showing his ill-feeling. He
was a heavy-set, sullen man of about forty-five years of age, and showed
a dogged spirit even to his customers. In vain Grant strove, first to
pay no attention to his enmity, and afterward to conciliate him. He
continued obstinate, and his family were not behind him in giving
insults and slights.
Time passed, and Grant prospered. He was obliging and agreeable, and
people naturally patronized his store, which he rendered as attractive
as his means and good taste would allow. His wife, too, charmed the
community by her simple, sweet ways; and motherly old ladies took
special interest in her and her babe.
Grant built a neat cottage, and this gave fresh offense. At last Belt,
who was a drinking man as well as surly, swore that he would take
Grant's life if the latter persisted in remaining there. His trade was
falling off, and Grant was the cause. Matters reached a climax then,
and Grant armed himself in case of a surprise.
One morning Belt was missing, and his family raised a hue and cry that
speedily brought a crowd about the house, just as Grant approached and
made the startling announcement that he had shot at a man the night
before, and was ready for such investigation as would be proper under
the circumstances. He stated that he had been aroused by a filing,
grating sound at his bedroom window, which was on the ground floor, and
that he sprang from his bed, threw open the front door, and fired upon
a figure that retreated rapidly and was soon lost in the darkness.
Upon this Grant was held in custody, while a party of men went in search
of Belt. Hours were spent in vain, when it was suggested that Belt's
dog, a vicious mongrel-cur, should be put upon the trail. Accordingly
the dog, which was usually seen at Belt's heels, was given the scent of
his master's coat, and started rapidly down the road, his nose to the
ground. The testimony as elicited at the trial showed that the brute had
bounded along to the Grant cottage, leaped upon the window sill, sniffed
eagerly about the spot, then ran down the path to a clump of bushes on
the river cliff. Here the creature stopped and set up a piteous howl.
The pursuing party hastened to the spot, and there lay the body of Belt,
who had fallen and died, as the autopsy revealed, of internal hemorrhage
produced by a pistol shot. As if to corroborate Grant's statement, a
chisel and a pistol were found in the grass under the window of his
bedroom.
Such was the history of the case. The absence of any testimony in behalf
of the prisoner beyond his own assertion, was painfully evident. His
wife supported him in the facts, but the law did not permit a wife to
testify in the husband's case, so this evidence was unavailable.
The natural sympathy which death awakens in the human breast,
especially a tragic one, had done its work even in the case of so
unpopular a man as Belt, and already he was considered a martyr.
The desperate lamentations and impoverished condition of his family
asserted their claims, and the time of trial found public opinion
greatly divided. The spark of envy in every community which had lain
dormant as long as the Grants were novelties, sprung into life at their
unwonted prosperity, and the gaily painted store and fanciful cottage
became eyesores to more than one. Various rumors, like uncanny spirits
of air, floated about till the prisoner felt himself sinking into an
abyss. Once down, there seemed no power ready to lift him up.
He employed several distinguished attorneys as counsel, and I, a
struggling young lawyer, whose ambition was to be worthy the mantle of
an illustrious father, was also retained. There was something about the
case that inspired me to the utmost of which I was capable. There was no
circumstantial evidence against the prisoner. He had frankly owned to
shooting the man. The issue rested upon his motive for the deed. What
was the provocation? True, Belt may have threatened his life; but Belt
was a drunkard, and who attached any importance to his words?
The prosecution endeavored to show that Grant, wearied with the enmity
of Belt, and wishing to be rid of him, had enticed him away on the night
of the killing, and shot him in cold blood. True, a chisel and pistol
had been found, but how easy for the prisoner to have placed them
there to carry out his plans! The dead man was proved to be a harmless
character, though of intemperate habits and rough ways. His antipathy to
Grant was only natural, since the latter had, by ingratiating manners,
flashy advertising dodges, and a few modern tricks of trade, ruined the
business of the old-fashioned, plain-sailing German.
In the hands of such skillful manipulators the case grew blacker and
blacker, and the face of my client reflected the anguish he saw his
wife enduring, and he powerless to comfort. He saw his beautiful,
idolized boy the son of a convict, and all that had made life worth the
living shattered to the dust. Closer and closer the meshes were weaving
about him. The jurors sat with fixed gaze as one by one the speeches
were ended. At length the honorable counsel for the prosecution
concluded a powerful argument, and I saw in the faces of the twelve
men that it had told.
There was but one point left for me to make, and I wondered that my
distinguished brethren had passed it by. They had dwelt upon the youth
and good standing of the prisoner, and the uncalled-for persecution he
had suffered. They pictured in graphic words the midnight attempt upon
his life at his own house. A man's house is his castle, and he has the
supreme right to defend both it and himself. They appealed to the
sympathies of the jurors in behalf of the young, helpless wife and
innocent child. Still there was wanting the one link in the chain of
positive evidence. Sympathy was well enough. The twelve sworn men
required proof. How was it to be shown them?
I was young, and I felt all the nervousness attendant upon a maiden
effort, but my heart was in the work and I launched forth. Nature had
given me a good voice, and I felt a certain power as I spoke. But
I had not the egotism to suppose that I could compete with the learned
gentlemen who had preceded me unless I could make a decided hit in
summing up the testimony. This I did. When I came to the hitherto
unnoticed dog, I dwelt there with a tenacity that was determined to
convince. I portrayed the well-known fidelity of the dog. No matter what
the master, whether fortune's pampered darling, or a beastly denizen of
the gutter, his dog was always his friend. Be he kind and gentle, or
cruel and pitiless, still his dog crouches in loving submission. And the
animal, whether a high-bred, glossy-coated favorite, with golden collar
and silken leash, for whom hundreds had been paid, or an ill-favored,
ungainly brute picked up from nowhere and as thankful for a kick as for
a crust, was loyal with a fidelity that puts to shame man's boasted
friendship.
This man's dog had loved him. Drunk or sober, kind or cruel, his dog was
not content out of his presence. Why was he not with the man on this
fatal night? Because Belt had chained him in order to follow out his
vengeance untraced. The master knew the sagacity of his dog. He wanted
no companion on his midnight stroll. And when, restless and uneasy, the
dog was let loose and shown the garment of his master, what did he do?
He dashed away, nose to earth, in eager, loving pursuit, along the
road to Grant's cottage. There he sniffs the ground, where undoubtedly
the familiar scent lay, jumps upon the window-ledge with his fore paws,
whimpers, starts away, and follows the trail down the path to the
beloved body now cold in death.
What proof more convincing than that Belt had been there? How improbable
the trumped-up story that Grant could decoy from his home his bitterest
enemy, especially at the midnight hour! A loaded pistol and a chisel
were found under the window. It had been alleged that Grant placed them
there for his own base purposes. But admitting that man could deceive,
the dog would not. Canine instinct could not lie. Every man who knew the
nature of the animal must feel convinced that Belt's dog would never
have gone to that window except in honest pursuit of his master.
I felt that my speech had told, and as I sat down there was a stir in
the vast crowd. My client's face was flushed, and the wife's somber veil
was thrown back, revealing her large eyes lustrous with hope.
The Commonwealth's attorney occupied the floor for an hour, during which
he ridiculed what he termed the schoolboy tales from his youthful
opponent. But when the jury retired I felt that my influence was still
uppermost. The suspense was trying, but it did not last long. They
reported in a very short time, and the verdict, announced in a clear
ringing voice, was "Not guilty!"
Grant sprang forward as his friends pressed near and seized my hand in
a vise-like grip. Loud cheers rent the air, for again the fickle public
had veered around, the crowd surged to and fro, women wept, and the
fervent "Thank God!" that broke from the pallid lips of the young wife
rang in my ears for many a day.
The foreman of the jury, a plain, intelligent farmer, drew me aside and
said, "That dog done the business! There was no gittin' around that!
I've got a dog myself."
Grant was forced to begin life anew, for his counsels' fees about
consumed his little savings, but he remained at his post honest and
industrious, and is one of the leading men in the now populous section.