"_Belfast, May 12, 1830._
"Dear Sir,--I have taken the pen at this time to address an utter
stranger, and, strange as it may seem to you, it is for the purpose of
requesting the loan of three hundred and fifty-dollars, for which I can
give you no security but my word, and in this case consider this to be
sufficient. My call for money at this time is pressing, or I would not
trouble you; but with that sum, I have the prospect of turning it to so
much advantage, as to be able to refund it with interest in the course
of six months. At all events, I think it will be for your interest to
comply with my request, and that immediately,--that is, not to put off
any longer than you receive this. Then set down and enclose me the money
with as much despatch as possible, for your own interest. This, Sir, is
my advice; and if you do not comply with it, the short period between
now and November will convince you that you have denied a request, the
granting of which will never injure you, the refusal of which will ruin
you. Are you surprised at this assertion--rest assured that I make it,
reserving to myself the reasons and a series of facts, which are founded
on such a bottom as will bid defiance to property or quality. It is
useless for me to enter into a discussion of facts which must inevitably
harrow up your soul. No, I will merely tell you that I am acquainted
with your brother Franklin, and also the business that he was
transacting for you on the 2d of April last; and that I think that you
was very extravagant in giving one thousand dollars to the person that
would execute the business for you. But you know best about that; you
see that such things will leak out. To conclude, Sir, I will inform you
that there is a gentleman of my acquaintance in Salem, that will observe
that you do not leave town before the first of June, giving you
sufficient time between now and then to comply with my request: and if I
do not receive a line from you, together with the above sum, before the
22d of this month, I shall wait upon you with an assistant. I have said
enough to convince you of my knowledge, and merely inform you that you
can, when you answer, be as brief as possible.
"Direct yours to
"CHARLES GRANT, Jr., of Prospect, Maine."
This letter was an unintelligible enigma to Captain Knapp; he knew no
man of the name of Charles Grant, Jr., and had no acquaintance at
Belfast, a town in Maine, two hundred miles distant from Salem. After
poring over it in vain, he handed it to his son, Nathaniel Phippen
Knapp, a young lawyer; to him also the letter was an inexplicable
riddle. The receiving of such a _threatening_ letter, at a time when so
many felt insecure, and were apprehensive of danger, demanded their
attention. Captain Knapp and his son Phippen, therefore, concluded to
ride to Wenham, seven miles distant, and show the letter to Captain
Knapp's other two sons, Joseph J. Knapp, Jr. and John Francis Knapp, who
were then residing at Wenham with Mrs. Beckford, the niece and late
house-keeper of Mr. White, and the mother of the wife of J.J. Knapp, Jr.
The latter perused the letter, told his father it "contained a devilish
lot of trash," and requested him to hand it to the Committee of
Vigilance. Captain Knapp, on his return to Salem that evening,
accordingly delivered the letter to the chairman of the Committee.
The next day J.J. Knapp, Jr. went to Salem, and requested one of his
friends to drop into the Salem post-office the two following
pseudonymous letters.
"_May 13, 1830._
"GENTLEMEN OF THE COMMITTEE OF VIGILANCE,--Hearing that you have taken
up four young men on suspicion of being concerned in the murder of Mr.
White, I think it time to inform you that Steven White came to me one
night and told me, if I would _remove_ the old gentleman, he would give
me five thousand dollars; he said he was afraid he would alter his will
if he lived any longer. I told him I would do it, but I was afeared to
go into the house, so he said he would go with me, that he would try to
get into the house in the evening and open the window, would then go
home and go to bed and meet me again about eleven. I found him, and we
both went into his chamber. I struck him on the head with a heavy piece
of lead, and then stabbed him with a dirk; he made the finishing strokes
with another. He promised to send me the money next evening, and has not
sent it yet which is the reason that I mention this.
"Yours, &c.,
"GRANT."
This letter was directed on the outside to the "Hon. Gideon Barstow,
Salem," and put into the post-office on Sunday evening, May 16, 1830.
"_Lynn, May 12, 1830._
"Mr. White will send the $5,000, or a part of it, before to-morrow
night, or suffer the painful consequences.
"N. CLAXTON, 4TH."
This letter was addressed to the "Hon. Stephen White, Salem, Mass.," and
was also put into the post-office in Salem on Sunday evening.
When Knapp delivered these letters to his friend, he said his father had
received an anonymous letter, and "What I want you for is to put these
in the post-office in order to nip this silly affair in the bud."
The Hon. Stephen White, mentioned in these letters, was a nephew of
Joseph White, and the legatee of the principal part of his large
property.
When the Committee of Vigilance read and considered the letter,
purporting to be signed by Charles Grant, Jr., which had been delivered
to them by Captain Knapp, they were impressed with the belief that it
contained a clew which might lead to important disclosures. As they had
spared no pains or expense in their investigations, they immediately
despatched a discreet messenger to Prospect, in Maine; he explained his
business confidentially to the postmaster there, deposited a letter
addressed to Charles Grant, Jr., and awaited the call of Grant to
receive it. He soon called for it, when an officer, stationed in the
house, stepped forward and arrested Grant. On examining him, it appeared
that his true name was Palmer, a young man of genteel appearance,
resident in the adjoining town of Belfast. He had been a convict in
Maine, and had served a term in the State's prison in that State.
Conscious that the circumstances justified the belief that he had had a
hand in the murder, he readily made known, while he protested his own
innocence, that he could unfold the whole mystery. He then disclosed
that he had been an associate of R. Crowninshield, Jr. and George
Crowninshield; had spent part of the winter at Danvers and Salem, under
the name of Carr; part of the time he had been their inmate, concealed
in their father's house in Danvers; that on the 2d of April he saw from
the windows of the house Frank Knapp and a young man named Allen ride up
to the house; that George walked away with Frank, and Richard with
Allen; that on their return, George told Richard that Frank wished them
to undertake to kill Mr. White, and that J.J. Knapp, Jr. would pay one
thousand dollars for the job. They proposed various modes of executing
it, and asked Palmer to be concerned, which he declined. George said the
house-keeper would be away at the time; that the object of Joseph J.
Knapp, Jr. was to destroy the will, because it gave most of the property
to Stephen White; that Joseph J. Knapp, Jr. was first to destroy the
will; that he could get from the house-keeper the keys of the iron chest
in which it was kept; that Frank called again the same day, in a
chaise, and rode away with Richard; and that on the night of the murder
Palmer stayed at the Half-way House, in Lynn.
The messenger, on obtaining this disclosure from Palmer, without delay
communicated it by mail to the Committee, and on the 26th of May, a
warrant was issued against Joseph J. Knapp, Jr. and John Francis Knapp,
and they were taken into custody at Wenham, where they were residing in
the family of Mrs. Beckford, mother of the wife of Joseph J. Knapp, Jr.
They were then imprisoned to await the arrival of Palmer, for their
examination.
The two Knapps were young shipmasters, of a respectable family.
Joseph J. Knapp, Jr., on the third day of his imprisonment, made a full
confession that he projected the murder. He knew that Mr. White had made
his will, and given to Mrs. Beckford a legacy of fifteen thousand
dollars; but if he died without leaving a will, he expected she would
inherit nearly two hundred thousand dollars. In February he made known
to his brother his desire to make way with Mr. White, intending first to
abstract and destroy the will. Frank agreed to employ an assassin, and
negotiated with R. Crowninshield, Jr., who agreed to do the deed for a
reward of one thousand dollars; Joseph agreed to pay that sum, and, as
he had access to the house at his pleasure, he was to unbar and unfasten
the back window, so that Crowninshield might gain easy entrance. Four
days before the murder, while they were deliberating on the mode of
compassing it, he went into Mr. White's chamber, and, finding the key in
the iron chest, unlocked it, took the will, put it in his chaise-box,
covered it with hay, carried it to Wenham, kept it till after the
murder, and then burned it. After securing the will, he gave notice to
Crowninshield that all was ready. In the evening of that day he had a
meeting with Crowninshield at the centre of the common, who showed him a
bludgeon and dagger, with which the murder was to be committed. Knapp
asked him if he meant to do it that night; Crowninshield said he thought
not, he did not feel like it; Knapp then went to Wenham. Knapp
ascertained on Sunday, the 4th of April, that Mr. White had gone to take
tea with a relative in Chestnut Street. Crowninshield intended to dirk
him on his way home in the evening, but Mr. White returned before dark.
It was next arranged for the night of the 6th, and Knapp was on some
pretext to prevail on Mrs. Beckford to visit her daughters at Wenham,
and to spend the night there. He said that, all preparations being thus
complete, Crowninshield and Frank met about ten o'clock in the evening
of the 6th, in Brown Street, which passes the rear of the garden of Mr.
White, and stood some time in a spot from which they could observe the
movements in the house, and perceive when Mr. White and his two servants
retired to bed. Crowninshield requested Frank to go home; he did so, but
soon returned to the same spot. Crowninshield, in the mean time, had
started and passed round through Newbury Street and Essex Street to the
front of the house, entered the postern gate, passed to the rear of the
house, placed a plank against the house, climbed to the window, opened
it, entered the house alone, passed up the staircase, opened the door of
the sleeping-chamber, approached the bedside, gave Mr. White a heavy and
mortal blow on the head with a bludgeon, and then with a dirk gave him
many stabs in his body. Crowninshield said, that, after he had "done for
the old man," he put his fingers on his pulse to make certain he was
dead. He then retired from the house, hurried back through Brown Street,
where he met Frank, waiting to learn the event. Crowninshield ran down
Howard Street, a solitary place, and hid the club under the steps of a
meeting-house. He then went home to Danvers.
Joseph confessed further that the account of the Wenham robbery, on the
27th of April, was a sheer fabrication. After the murder Crowninshield
went to Wenham in company with Frank to call for the one thousand
dollars. He was not able to pay the whole, but gave him one hundred
five-franc pieces. Crowninshield related to him the particulars of the
murder, told him where the club was hid, and said he was sorry Joseph
had not got the right will, for if he had known there was another, he
would have got it. Joseph sent Frank afterwards to find and destroy the
club, but he said he could not find it. When Joseph made the confession,
he told the place where the club was concealed, and it was there found;
it was heavy, made of hickory, twenty-two and a half inches long, of a
smooth surface and large oval head, loaded with lead, and of a form
adapted to give a mortal blow on the skull without breaking the skin;
the handle was suited for a firm grasp. Crowninshield said he turned it
in a lathe. Joseph admitted he wrote the two anonymous letters.
Crowninshield had hitherto maintained a stoical composure of feeling;
but when he was informed of Knapp's arrest, his knees smote beneath him,
the sweat started out on his stern and pallid face, and he subsided upon
his bunk.
Palmer was brought to Salem in irons on the 3d of June, and committed to
prison. Crowninshield saw him taken from the carriage. He was put in the
cell directly under that in which Crowninshield was kept. Several
members of the Committee entered Palmer's cell to talk with him; while
they were talking, they heard a loud whistle, and, on looking up, saw
that Crowninshield had picked away the mortar from the crevice between
the blocks of the granite floor of his cell. After the loud whistle, he
cried out, "Palmer! Palmer!" and soon let down a string, to which were
tied a pencil and a slip of paper. Two lines of poetry were written on
the paper, in order that, if Palmer was really there, he should make it
known by capping the verses. Palmer shrunk away into a corner, and was
soon transferred to another cell. He seemed to stand in awe of
Crowninshield.
On the 12th of June a quantity of stolen goods was found concealed in
the barn of Crowninshield, in consequence of information from Palmer.
Crowninshield, thus finding the proofs of his guilt and depravity
thicken, on the 15th of June committed suicide by hanging himself to the
bars of his cell with a handkerchief. He left letters to his father and
brother, expressing in general terms the viciousness of his life, and
his hopelessness of escape from punishment. When his associates in guilt
heard his fate, they said it was not unexpected by them, for they had
often heard him say he would never live to submit to an ignominious
punishment.
A special term of the Supreme Court was held at Salem on the 20th of
July, for the trial of the prisoners charged with the murder; it
continued in session till the 20th of August, with a few days'
intermission. An indictment for the murder was found against John
Francis Knapp, as principal, and Joseph J. Knapp, Jr. and George
Crowninshield, as accessories. Selman and Chase were discharged by the
Attorney-General.
The principal, John Francis Knapp, was first put on trial. As the law
then stood, an accessory in a murder could not be tried until a
principal had been convicted. He was defended by Messrs. Franklin Dexter
and William H. Gardiner, advocates of high reputation for ability and
eloquence; the trial was long and arduous, and the witnesses numerous.
His brother Joseph, who had made a full confession, on the government's
promise of impunity if he would in good faith testify the truth, was
brought into court, called to the stand as a witness, but declined to
testify. To convict the prisoner, it was necessary for the government to
prove that he was _present_, actually or constructively, as an aider or
abettor in the murder. The evidence was strong that there was a
conspiracy to commit the murder, that the prisoner was one of the
conspirators, that at the time of the murder he was in Brown Street at
the rear of Mr. White's garden, and the jury were satisfied that he was
in that place to aid and abet in the murder, ready to afford assistance,
if necessary. He was convicted.
Joseph J. Knapp, Jr. was afterwards tried as an accessory before the
fact, and convicted.
George Crowninshield proved an _alibi_, and was discharged.
The execution of John Francis Knapp and Joseph J. Knapp, Jr. closed the
tragedy.
If Joseph, after turning State's evidence, had not changed his mind,
neither he nor his brother, nor any of the conspirators, could have been
convicted; if he had testified, and disclosed the whole truth, it would
have appeared that John Francis Knapp was in Brown Street, not to render
assistance to the assassin; but that Crowninshield, when he started to
commit the murder, requested Frank to go home and go to bed; that Frank
did go home, retire to bed, soon after arose, secretly left his father's
house, and hastened to Brown Street, to await the coming out of the
assassin, in order to learn whether the deed was accomplished, and all
the particulars. If Frank had not been convicted as principal, none of
the accessories could by law have been convicted. Joseph would not have
been even tried, for the government stipulated, that, if he would be a
witness for the State, he should go clear.
The whole history of this occurrence is of romantic interest. The murder
itself, the _corpus delicti_, was strange; planned with deliberation and
sagacity, and executed with firmness and vigor. While conjecture was
baffled in ascertaining either the motive or the perpetrator, it was
certain that the assassin had acted upon design, and not at random. He
must have had knowledge of the house, for the window had been unfastened
from within. He had entered stealthily, threaded his way in silence
through the apartments, corridors, and staircases, and coolly given the
mortal blow. To make assurance doubly sure, he inflicted many fatal
stabs, "the least a death to nature," and stayed not his hand till he
had deliberately felt the pulse of his victim, to make certain that life
was extinct.
It was strange that Crowninshield, the real assassin, should have been
indicted and arrested on the testimony of Hatch, who was himself in
prison, in a distant part of the State, at the time of the murder, and
had no actual knowledge on the subject.
It was very strange that J.J. Knapp, Jr. should have been the instrument
of bringing to light the mystery of the whole murderous conspiracy; for
when he received from the hand of his father the threatening letter of
Palmer, consciousness of guilt so confounded his faculties, that,
instead of destroying it, he stupidly handed it back and requested his
father to deliver it to the Committee of Vigilance.
It was strange that the murder should have been committed on a mistake
in law. Joseph, some time previous to the murder, had made inquiry how
Mr. White's estate would be distributed in case he died without a will,
and had been erroneously told that Mrs. Beckford, his mother-in-law, the
sole issue and representative of a deceased sister of Mr. White, would
inherit half of the estate, and that the four children and
representatives of a deceased brother of Mr. White, of whom the Hon.
Stephen White was one, would inherit the other half. Joseph had
privately read the will, and knew that Mr. White had bequeathed to Mrs.
Beckford much less than half.
It was strange that the murder should have been committed on a mistake
in fact also. Joseph furtively abstracted _a_ will, and expected Mr.
White would die intestate; but, after the decease, _the_ will, the
_last_ will, was found by his heirs in its proper place; and it could
never have been known, or conjectured, without the aid of Joseph's
confession, that he had made either of those blunders.
Finally, it was a strange fact that Knapp should, on the night following
the murder, have watched with the mangled corpse, and at the funeral
followed the hearse as one of the chief mourners, without betraying on
either occasion the slightest emotion which could awaken a suspicion of
his guilt.
* * * * *
The following note was prefixed to this argument in the former
edition:--
Mr. White, a highly respectable and wealthy citizen of Salem, about
eighty years of age, was found, on the morning of the 7th of April,
1830, in his bed, murdered, under such circumstances as to create a
strong sensation in that town and throughout the community.
Richard Crowninshield, George Crowninshield, Joseph J. Knapp, and John
F. Knapp were, a few weeks after, arrested on a charge of having
perpetrated the murder, and committed for trial. Joseph J. Knapp, soon
after, under the promise of favor from government, made a full
confession of the crime and the circumstances attending it. In a few
days after this disclosure was made, Richard Crowninshield, who was
supposed to have been the principal assassin, committed suicide.
A special session of the Supreme Court was ordered by the legislature,
for the trial of the prisoners, at Salem, in July. At that time, John F.
Knapp was indicted as principal in the murder, and George Crowninshield
and Joseph J. Knapp as accessories.
On account of the death of Chief Justice Parker, which occurred on the
26th of July, the court adjourned to Tuesday, the third day of August,
when it proceeded in the trial of John F. Knapp. Joseph J. Knapp, being
called upon, refused to testify, and the pledge of the government was
withdrawn.
At the request of the prosecuting officers of the government, Mr.
Webster appeared as counsel, and assisted in the trial.
Mr. Franklin Dexter addressed the jury on behalf of the prisoner, and
was succeeded by Mr. Webster in the following speech.]
I am little accustomed, Gentlemen, to the part which I am now attempting
to perform. Hardly more than once or twice has it happened to me to be
concerned on the side of the government in any criminal prosecution
whatever; and never, until the present occasion, in any case affecting
life.
But I very much regret that it should have been thought necessary to
suggest to you that I am brought here to "hurry you against the law and
beyond the evidence." I hope I have too much regard for justice, and too
much respect for my own character, to attempt either; and were I to make
such attempt, I am sure that in this court nothing can be carried
against the law, and that gentlemen, intelligent and just as you are,
are not, by any power, to be hurried beyond the evidence. Though I could
well have wished to shun this occasion, I have not felt at liberty to
withhold my professional assistance, when it is supposed that I may be
in some degree useful in investigating and discovering the truth
respecting this most extraordinary murder. It has seemed to be a duty
incumbent on me, as on every other citizen, to do my best and my utmost
to bring to light the perpetrators of this crime. Against the prisoner
at the bar, as an individual, I cannot have the slightest prejudice. I
would not do him the smallest injury or injustice. But I do not affect
to be indifferent to the discovery and the punishment of this deep
guilt. I cheerfully share in the opprobrium, how great soever it may be,
which is cast on those who feel and manifest an anxious concern that all
who had a part in planning, or a hand in executing, this deed of
midnight assassination, may be brought to answer for their enormous
crime at the bar of public justice.
Gentlemen, it is a most extraordinary case. In some respects, it has
hardly a precedent anywhere; certainly none in our New England history.
This bloody drama exhibited no suddenly excited, ungovernable rage. The
actors in it were not surprised by any lion-like temptation springing
upon their virtue, and overcoming it, before resistance could begin. Nor
did they do the deed to glut savage vengeance, or satiate long-settled
and deadly hate. It was a cool, calculating, money-making murder. It was
all "hire and salary, not revenge." It was the weighing of money against
life; the counting out of so many pieces of silver against so many
ounces of blood.
An aged man, without an enemy in the world, in his own house, and in his
own bed, is made the victim of a butcherly murder, for mere pay. Truly,
here is a new lesson for painters and poets. Whoever shall hereafter
draw the portrait of murder, if he will show it as it has been
exhibited, where such example was last to have been looked for, in the
very bosom of our New England society, let him not give it the grim
visage of Moloch, the brow knitted by revenge, the face black with
settled hate, and the bloodshot eye emitting livid fires of malice. Let
him draw, rather, a decorous, smooth-faced, bloodless demon; a picture
in repose, rather than in action; not so much an example of human nature
in its depravity, and in its paroxysms of crime, as an infernal being, a
fiend, in the ordinary display and development of his character.
The deed was executed with a degree of self-possession and steadiness
equal to the wickedness with which it was planned. The circumstances now
clearly in evidence spread out the whole scene before us. Deep sleep had
fallen on the destined victim, and on all beneath his roof. A healthful
old man, to whom sleep was sweet, the first sound slumbers of the night
held him in their soft but strong embrace. The assassin enters, through
the window already prepared, into an unoccupied apartment. With
noiseless foot he paces the lonely hall, half lighted by the moon; he
winds up the ascent of the stairs, and reaches the door of the chamber.
Of this, he moves the lock, by soft and continued pressure, till it
turns on its hinges without noise; and he enters, and beholds his victim
before him. The room is uncommonly open to the admission of light. The
face of the innocent sleeper is turned from the murderer, and the beams
of the moon, resting on the gray locks of his aged temple, show him
where to strike. The fatal blow is given! and the victim passes, without
a struggle or a motion, from the repose of sleep to the repose of death!
It is the assassin's purpose to make sure work; and he plies the dagger,
though it is obvious that life has been destroyed by the blow of the
bludgeon. He even raises the aged arm, that he may not fail in his aim
at the heart, and replaces it again over the wounds of the poniard! To
finish the picture, he explores the wrist for the pulse! He feels for
it, and ascertains that it beats no longer! It is accomplished. The deed
is done. He retreats, retraces his steps to the window, passes out
through it as he came in, and escapes. He has done the murder. No eye
has seen him, no ear has heard him. The secret is his own, and it is
safe!
Ah! Gentlemen, that was a dreadful mistake. Such a secret can be safe
nowhere. The whole creation of God has neither nook nor corner where the
guilty can bestow it, and say it is safe. Not to speak of that eye which
pierces through all disguises, and beholds every thing as in the
splendor of noon, such secrets of guilt are never safe from detection,
even by men. True it is, generally speaking, that "murder will out."
True it is, that Providence hath so ordained, and doth so govern things,
that those who break the great law of Heaven by shedding man's blood
seldom succeed in avoiding discovery. Especially, in a case exciting so
much attention as this, discovery must come, and will come, sooner or
later. A thousand eyes turn at once to explore every man, every thing,
every circumstance, connected with the time and place; a thousand ears
catch every whisper; a thousand excited minds intensely dwell on the
scene, shedding all their light, and ready to kindle the slightest
circumstance into a blaze of discovery. Meantime the guilty soul cannot
keep its own secret. It is false to itself; or rather it feels an
irresistible impulse of conscience to be true to itself. It labors under
its guilty possession, and knows not what to do with it. The human heart
was not made for the residence of such an inhabitant. It finds itself
preyed on by a torment, which it dares not acknowledge to God or man. A
vulture is devouring it, and it can ask no sympathy or assistance,
either from heaven or earth. The secret which the murderer possesses
soon comes to possess him; and, like the evil spirits of which we read,
it overcomes him, and leads him whithersoever it will. He feels it
beating at his heart, rising to his throat, and demanding disclosure. He
thinks the whole world sees it in his face, reads it in his eyes, and
almost hears its workings in the very silence of his thoughts. It has
become his master. It betrays his discretion, it breaks down his
courage, it conquers his prudence. When suspicions from without begin to
embarrass him, and the net of circumstance to entangle him, the fatal
secret struggles with still greater violence to burst forth. It must be
confessed, it will be confessed; there is no refuge from confession but
suicide, and suicide is confession.
Much has been said, on this occasion, of the excitement which has
existed, and still exists, and of the extraordinary measures taken to
discover and punish the guilty. No doubt there has been, and is, much
excitement, and strange indeed it would be had it been otherwise. Should
not all the peaceable and well-disposed naturally feel concerned, and
naturally exert themselves to bring to punishment the authors of this
secret assassination? Was it a thing to be slept upon or forgotten? Did
you, Gentlemen, sleep quite as quietly in your beds after this murder as
before? Was it not a case for rewards, for meetings, for committees, for
the united efforts of all the good, to find out a band of murderous
conspirators, of midnight ruffians, and to bring them to the bar of
justice and law? If this be excitement, is it an unnatural or an
improper excitement?
It seems to me, Gentlemen, that there are appearances of another
feeling, of a very different nature and character; not very extensive, I
would hope, but still there is too much evidence of its existence. Such
is human nature, that some persons lose their abhorrence of crime in
their admiration of its magnificent exhibitions. Ordinary vice is
reprobated by them, but extraordinary guilt, exquisite wickedness, the
high flights and poetry of crime, seize on the imagination, and lead
them to forget the depths of the guilt, in admiration of the excellence
of the performance, or the unequalled atrocity of the purpose. There are
those in our day who have made great use of this infirmity of our
nature, and by means of it done infinite injury to the cause of good
morals. They have affected not only the taste, but I fear also the
principles, of the young, the heedless, and the imaginative, by the
exhibition of interesting and beautiful monsters. They render depravity
attractive, sometimes by the polish of its manners, and sometimes by its
very extravagance; and study to show off crime under all the advantages
of cleverness and dexterity. Gentlemen, this is an extraordinary murder,
but it is still a murder. We are not to lose ourselves in wonder at its
origin, or in gazing on its cool and skilful execution. We are to detect
and to punish it; and while we proceed with caution against the
prisoner, and are to be sure that we do not visit on his head the
offences of others, we are yet to consider that we are dealing with a
case of most atrocious crime, which has not the slightest circumstance
about it to soften its enormity. It is murder; deliberate, concerted,
malicious murder.
Although the interest of this case may have diminished by the repeated
investigation of the facts; still, the additional labor which it imposes
upon all concerned is not to be regretted, if it should result in
removing all doubts of the guilt of the prisoner.
The learned counsel for the prisoner has said truly, that it is your
individual duty to judge the prisoner; that it is your individual duty
to determine his guilt or innocence; and that you are to weigh the
testimony with candor and fairness. But much at the same time has been
said, which, although it would seem to have no distinct bearing on the
trial, cannot be passed over without some notice.
A tone of complaint so peculiar has been indulged, as would almost lead
us to doubt whether the prisoner at the bar, or the managers of this
prosecution, are now on trial. Great pains have been taken to complain
of the manner of the prosecution. We hear of getting up a case; of
setting in motion trains of machinery; of foul testimony; of
combinations to overwhelm the prisoner; of private prosecutors; that the
prisoner is hunted, persecuted, driven to his trial; that everybody is
against him; and various other complaints, as if those who would bring
to punishment the authors of this murder were almost as bad as they who
committed it.
In the course of my whole life, I have never heard before so much said
about the particular counsel who happen to be employed; as if it were
extraordinary that other counsel than the usual officers of the
government should assist in the management of a case on the part of the
government. In one of the last criminal trials in this county, that of
Jackman for the "Goodridge robbery" (so called), I remember that the
learned head of the Suffolk Bar, Mr. Prescott, came down in aid of the
officers of the government. This was regarded as neither strange nor
improper. The counsel for the prisoner, in that case, contented
themselves with answering his arguments, as far as they were able,
instead of carping at his presence.
Complaint is made that rewards were offered, in this case, and
temptations held out to obtain testimony. Are not rewards always
offered, when great and secret offences are committed? Rewards were
offered in the case to which I have alluded; and every other means taken
to discover the offenders, that ingenuity or the most persevering
vigilance could suggest. The learned counsel have suffered their zeal to
lead them into a strain of complaint at the manner in which the
perpetrators of this crime were detected, almost indicating that they
regard it as a positive injury to them to have found out their guilt.
Since no man witnessed it, since they do not now confess it, attempts to
discover it are half esteemed as officious intermeddling and impertinent
inquiry.
It is said, that here even a Committee of Vigilance was appointed. This
is a subject of reiterated remark. This committee are pointed at, as
though they had been officiously intermeddling with the administration
of justice. They are said to have been "laboring for months" against the
prisoner. Gentlemen, what must we do in such a case? Are people to be
dumb and still, through fear of overdoing? Is it come to this, that an
effort cannot be made, a hand cannot be lifted, to discover the guilty,
without its being said there is a combination to overwhelm innocence?
Has the community lost all moral sense? Certainly, a community that
would not be roused to action upon an occasion such as this was, a
community which should not deny sleep to their eyes, and slumber to
their eyelids, till they had exhausted all the means of discovery and
detection, must indeed be lost to all moral sense, and would scarcely
deserve protection from the laws. The learned counsel have endeavored to
persuade you, that there exists a prejudice against the persons accused
of this murder. They would have you understand that it is not confined
to this vicinity alone; but that even the legislature have caught this
spirit. That through the procurement of the gentleman here styled
private prosecutor, who is a member of the Senate, a special session of
this court was appointed for the trial of these offenders. That the
ordinary movements of the wheels of justice were too slow for the
purposes devised. But does not everybody see and know, that it was
matter of absolute necessity to have a special session of the court?
When or how could the prisoners have been tried without a special
session? In the ordinary arrangement of the courts, but one week in a
year is allotted for the whole court to sit in this county. In the trial
of all capital offences a majority of the court, at least, is required
to be present. In the trial of the present case alone, three weeks have
already been taken up. Without such special session, then, three years
would not have been sufficient for the purpose. It is answer sufficient
to all complaints on this subject to say, that the law was drawn by the
late Chief Justice himself,[1] to enable the court to accomplish its
duties, and to afford the persons accused an opportunity for trial
without delay.
Again, it is said that it was not thought of making Francis Knapp, the
prisoner at the bar, a PRINCIPAL till after the death of Richard
Crowninshield, Jr.; that the present indictment is an after-thought;
that "testimony was got up" for the occasion. It is not so. There is no
authority for this suggestion. The case of the Knapps had not then been
before the grand jury. The officers of the government did not know what
the testimony would be against them. They could not, therefore, have
determined what course they should pursue. They intended to arraign all
as principals who should appear to have been principals, and all as
accessories who should appear to have been accessories. All this could
be known only when the evidence should be produced.
But the learned counsel for the defendant take a somewhat loftier flight
still. They are more concerned, they assure us, for the law itself, than
even for their client. Your decision in this case, they say, will stand
as a precedent. Gentlemen, we hope it will. We hope it will be a
precedent both of candor and intelligence, of fairness and of firmness;
a precedent of good sense and honest purpose pursuing their
investigation discreetly, rejecting loose generalities, exploring all
the circumstances, weighing each, in search of truth, and embracing and
declaring the truth when found.
It is said, that "laws are made, not for the punishment of the guilty,
but for the protection of the innocent." This is not quite accurate,
perhaps, but if so, we hope they will be so administered as to give that
protection. But who are the innocent whom the law would protect?
Gentlemen, Joseph White was innocent. They are innocent who, having
lived in the fear of God through the day, wish to sleep in his peace
through the night, in their own beds. The law is established that those
who live quietly may sleep quietly; that they who do no harm may feel
none. The gentleman can think of none that are innocent except the
prisoner at the bar, not yet convicted. Is a proved conspirator to
murder innocent? Are the Crowninshields and the Knapps innocent? What is
innocence? How deep stained with blood, how reckless in crime, how deep
in depravity may it be, and yet retain innocence? The law is made, if we
would speak with entire accuracy, to protect the innocent by punishing
the guilty. But there are those innocent out of a court, as well as in;
innocent citizens not suspected of crime, as well as innocent prisoners
at the bar. The criminal law is not founded in a principle of vengeance.
It does not punish that it may inflict suffering. The humanity of the
law feels and regrets every pain it causes, every hour of restraint it
imposes, and more deeply still every life it forfeits. But it uses evil
as the means of preventing greater evil. It seeks to deter from crime by
the example of punishment. This is its true, and only true main object.
It restrains the liberty of the few offenders, that the many who do not
offend may enjoy their liberty. It takes the life of the murderer, that
other murders may not be committed. The law might open the jails, and at
once set free all persons accused of offences, and it ought to do so if
it could be made certain that no other offences would hereafter be
committed, because it punishes, not to satisfy any desire to inflict
pain, but simply to prevent the repetition of crimes. When the guilty,
therefore, are not punished, the law has so far failed of its purpose;
the safety of the innocent is so far endangered. Every unpunished
murder takes away something from the security of every man's life.
Whenever a jury, through whimsical and ill-founded scruples, suffer the
guilty to escape, they make themselves answerable for the augmented
danger of the innocent.
We wish nothing to be strained against this defendant. Why, then, all
this alarm? Why all this complaint against the manner in which the crime
is discovered? The prisoner's counsel catch at supposed flaws of
evidence, or bad character of witnesses, without meeting the case. Do
they mean to deny the conspiracy? Do they mean to deny that the two
Crowninshields and the two Knapps were conspirators? Why do they rail
against Palmer, while they do not disprove, and hardly dispute, the
truth of any one fact sworn to by him? Instead of this, it is made
matter of sentimentality that Palmer has been prevailed upon to betray
his bosom companions and to violate the sanctity of friendship. Again I
ask, Why do they not meet the case? If the fact is out, why not meet it?
Do they mean to deny that Captain White is dead? One would have almost
supposed even that, from some remarks that have been made. Do they mean
to deny the conspiracy? Or, admitting a conspiracy, do they mean to deny
only that Frank Knapp, the prisoner at the bar, was abetting in the
murder, being present, and so deny that he was a principal? If a
conspiracy is proved, it bears closely upon every subsequent subject of
inquiry. Why do they not come to the fact? Here the defence is wholly
indistinct. The counsel neither take the ground, nor abandon it. They
neither fly, nor light. They hover. But they must come to a closer mode
of contest. They must meet the facts, and either deny or admit them. Had
the prisoner at the bar, then, a knowledge of this conspiracy or not?
This is the question. Instead of laying out their strength in
complaining of the _manner_ in which the deed is discovered, of the
extraordinary pains taken to bring the prisoner's guilt to light, would
it not be better to show there was no guilt? Would it not be better to
show his innocence? They say, and they complain, that the community feel
a great desire that he should be punished for his crimes. Would it not
be better to convince you that he has committed no crime?
Gentlemen, let us now come to the case. Your first inquiry, on the
evidence, will be, Was Captain White murdered in pursuance of a
conspiracy, and was the defendant one of this conspiracy? If so, the
second inquiry is, Was he so connected with the murder itself as that he
is liable to be convicted as a _principal_? The defendant is indicted as
a _principal_. If not guilty _as such_, you cannot convict him. The
indictment contains three distinct classes of counts. In the first, he
is charged as having done the deed with his own hand; in the second, as
an aider and abettor to Richard Crowninshield, Jr., who did the deed; in
the third, as an aider and abettor to some person unknown. If you
believe him guilty on either of these counts, or in either of these
ways, you must convict him.
It may be proper to say, as a preliminary remark, that there are two
extraordinary circumstances attending this trial. One is, that Richard
Crowninshield, Jr., the supposed immediate perpetrator of the murder,
since his arrest, has committed suicide. He has gone to answer before a
tribunal of perfect infallibility. The other is, that Joseph Knapp, the
supposed originator and planner of the murder, having once made a full
disclosure of the facts, under a promise of indemnity, is, nevertheless,
not now a witness. Notwithstanding his disclosure and his promise of
indemnity, he now refuses to testify. He chooses to return to his
original state, and now stands answerable himself, when the time shall
come for his trial. These circumstances it is fit you should remember,
in your investigation of the case.
Your decision may affect more than the life of this defendant. If he be
not convicted as principal, no one can be. Nor can any one be convicted
of a participation in the crime as accessory. The Knapps and George
Crowninshield will be again on the community. This shows the importance
of the duty you have to perform, and serves to remind you of the care
and wisdom necessary to be exercised in its performance. But certainly
these considerations do not render the prisoner's guilt any clearer, nor
enhance the weight of the evidence against him. No one desires you to
regard consequences in that light. No one wishes any thing to be
strained, or too far pressed against the prisoner. Still, it is fit you
should see the full importance of the duty which devolves upon you.
And now, Gentlemen, in examining this evidence, let us begin at the
beginning, and see first what we know independent of the disputed
testimony. This is a case of circumstantial evidence. And these
circumstances, we think, are full and satisfactory. The case mainly
depends upon them, and it is common that offences of this kind must be
proved in this way. Midnight assassins take no witnesses. The evidence
of the facts relied on has been somewhat sneeringly denominated, by the
learned counsel, "circumstantial stuff," but it is not such stuff as
dreams are made of. Why does he not rend this stuff? Why does he not
scatter it to the winds? He dismisses it a little too summarily. It
shall be my business to examine this stuff, and try its cohesion.
The letter from Palmer at Belfast, is that no more than flimsy stuff?
The fabricated letters from Knapp to the committee and to Mr. White, are
they nothing but stuff?
The circumstance, that the house-keeper was away at the time the murder
was committed, as it was agreed she would be, is that, too, a useless
piece of the same stuff?
The facts, that the key of the chamber door was taken out and secreted;
that the window was unbarred and unbolted; are these to be so slightly
and so easily disposed of?
It is necessary, Gentlemen, to settle now, at the commencement, the
great question of a conspiracy. If there was none, or the defendant was
not a party, then there is no evidence here to convict him. If there was
a conspiracy, and he is proved to have been a party, then these two
facts have a strong bearing on others, and all the great points of
inquiry. The defendant's counsel take no distinct ground, as I have
already said, on this point, either to admit or to deny. They choose to
confine themselves to a hypothetical mode of speech. They say, supposing
there was a conspiracy, _non sequitur_ that the prisoner is guilty as
principal. Be it so. But still, if there was a conspiracy, and if he was
a conspirator, and helped to plan the murder, this may shed much light
on the evidence which goes to charge him with the execution of that
plan.
We mean to make out the conspiracy; and that the defendant was a party
to it; and then to draw all just inferences from these facts.
Let me ask your attention, then, in the first place, to those
appearances, on the morning after the murder, which have a tendency to
show that it was done in pursuance of a preconcerted plan of operation.
What are they? A man was found murdered in his bed. No stranger had done
the deed, no one unacquainted with the house had done it. It was
apparent that somebody within had opened, and that somebody without had
entered. There had obviously and certainly been concert and
co-operation. The inmates of the house were not alarmed when the murder
was perpetrated. The assassin had entered without any riot or any
violence. He had found the way prepared before him. The house had been
previously opened. The window was unbarred from within, and its
fastening unscrewed. There was a lock on the door of the chamber in
which Mr. White slept, but the key was gone. It had been taken away and
secreted. The footsteps of the murderer were visible, out-doors, tending
toward the window. The plank by which he entered the window still
remained. The road he pursued had been thus prepared for him. The victim
was slain, and the murderer had escaped. Every thing indicated that
somebody within had co-operated with somebody without. Every thing
proclaimed that some of the inmates, or somebody having access to the
house, had had a hand in the murder. On the face of the circumstances,
it was apparent, therefore, that this was a premeditated, concerted
murder; that there had been a conspiracy to commit it. Who, then, were
the conspirators? If not now found out, we are still groping in the
dark, and the whole tragedy is still a mystery.
If the Knapps and the Crowninshields were not the conspirators in this
murder, then there is a whole set of conspirators not yet discovered.
Because, independent of the testimony of Palmer and Leighton,
independent of all disputed evidence, we know, from uncontroverted
facts, that this murder was, and must have been, the result of concert
and co-operation between two or more. We know it was not done without
plan and deliberation; we see, that whoever entered the house, to strike
the blow, was favored and aided by some one who had been previously in
the house, without suspicion, and who had prepared the way. This is
concert, this is co-operation, this is conspiracy. If the Knapps and the
Crowninshields, then, were not the conspirators, who were? Joseph Knapp
had a motive to desire the death of Mr. White, and that motive has been
shown.
He was connected by marriage with the family of Mr. White. His wife was
the daughter of Mrs. Beckford, who was the only child of a sister of the
deceased. The deceased was more than eighty years old, and had no
children. His only heirs were nephews and nieces. He was supposed to be
possessed of a very large fortune, which would have descended, by law,
to his several nephews and nieces in equal shares; or, if there was a
will, then according to the will. But as he had but two branches of
heirs, the children of his brother, Henry White, and of Mrs. Beckford,
each of these branches, according to the common idea, would have shared
one half of his property.
This popular idea is not legally correct. But it is common, and very
probably was entertained by the parties. According to this idea, Mrs.
Beckford, on Mr. White's death without a will, would have been entitled
to one half of his ample fortune; and Joseph Knapp had married one of
her three children. There was a will, and this will gave the bulk of the
property to others; and we learn from Palmer that one part of the design
was to destroy the will before the murder was committed. There had been
a previous will, and that previous will was known or believed to have
been more favorable than the other to the Beckford family. So that, by
destroying the last will, and destroying the life of the testator at the
same time, either the first and more favorable will would be set up, or
the deceased would have no will, which would be, as was supposed, still
more favorable. But the conspirators not having succeeded in obtaining
and destroying the last will, though they accomplished the murder, that
will being found in existence and safe, and that will bequeathing the
mass of the property to others, it seemed at the time impossible for
Joseph Knapp, as for any one else, indeed, but the principal devisee, to
have any motive which should lead to the murder. The key which unlocks
the whole mystery is the knowledge of the intention of the conspirators
to steal the will. This is derived from Palmer, and it explains all. It
solves the whole marvel. It shows the motive which actuated those,
against whom there is much evidence, but who, without the knowledge of
this intention, were not seen to have had a motive. This intention is
proved, as I have said, by Palmer; and it is so congruous with all the
rest of the case, it agrees so well with all facts and circumstances,
that no man could well withhold his belief, though the facts were stated
by a still less credible witness. If one desirous of opening a lock
turns over and tries a bunch of keys till he finds one that will open
it, he naturally supposes he has found _the_ key of _that_ lock. So, in
explaining circumstances of evidence which are apparently irreconcilable
or unaccountable, if a fact be suggested which at once accounts for all,
and reconciles all, by whomsoever it may be stated, it is still
difficult not to believe that such fact is the true fact belonging to
the case. In this respect, Palmer's testimony is singularly confirmed.
If it were false, his ingenuity could not furnish us such clear
exposition of strange appearing circumstances. Some truth not before
known can alone do that.
When we look back, then, to the state of things immediately on the
discovery of the murder, we see that suspicion would naturally turn at
once, not to the heirs at law, but to those principally benefited by the
will. They, and they alone, would be supposed or seem to have a direct
object for wishing Mr. White's life to be terminated. And, strange as it
may seem, we find counsel now insisting, that, if no apology, it is yet
mitigation of the atrocity of the Knapps' conduct in attempting to
charge this foul murder on Mr. White, the nephew and principal devisee,
that public suspicion was already so directed! As if assassination of
character were excusable in proportion as circumstances may render it
easy. Their endeavors, when they knew they were suspected themselves, to
fix the charge on others, by foul means and by falsehood, are fair and
strong proof of their own guilt. But more of that hereafter.
The counsel say that they might safely admit that Richard Crowninshield,
Jr. was the perpetrator of this murder.
But how could they safely admit that? If that were admitted, every thing
else would follow. For why should Richard Crowninshield, Jr. kill Mr.
White? He was not his heir, nor his devisee; nor was he his enemy. What
could be his motive? If Richard Crowninshield, Jr. killed Mr. White, he
did it at some one's procurement who himself had a motive. And who,
having any motive, is shown to have had any intercourse with Richard
Crowninshield, Jr., but Joseph Knapp, and this principally through the
agency of the prisoner at the bar? It is the infirmity, the distressing
difficulty of the prisoner's case, that his counsel cannot and dare not
admit what they yet cannot disprove, and what all must believe. He who
believes, on this evidence, that Richard Crowninshield, Jr. was the
immediate murderer, cannot doubt that both the Knapps were conspirators
in that murder. The counsel, therefore, are wrong, I think, in saying
they might safely admit this. The admission of so important and so
connected a fact would render it impossible to contend further against
the proof of the entire conspiracy, as we state it.
What, then, was this conspiracy? J.J. Knapp, Jr., desirous of destroying
the will, and of taking the life of the deceased, hired a ruffian, who,
with the aid of other ruffians, was to enter the house, and murder him
in his bed.
As far back as January this conspiracy began. Endicott testifies to a
conversation with J.J. Knapp at that time, in which Knapp told him that
Captain White had made a will, and given the principal part of his
property to Stephen White. When asked how he knew, he said, "Black and
white don't lie." When asked if the will was not locked up, he said,
"There is such a thing as two keys to the same lock." And speaking of
the then late illness of Captain White, he said, that Stephen White
would not have been sent for if _he_ had been there.
Hence it appears, that as early as January Knapp had a knowledge of the
will, and that he had access to it by means of false keys. This
knowledge of the will, and an intent to destroy it, appear also from
Palmer's testimony, a fact disclosed to him by the other conspirators.
He says that he was informed of this by the Crowninshields on the 2d of
April. But then it is said, that Palmer is not to be credited; that by
his own confession he is a felon; that he has been in the State prison
in Maine; and, above all, that he was intimately associated with these
conspirators themselves. Let us admit these facts. Let us admit him to
be as bad as they would represent him to be; still, in law, he is a
competent witness. How else are the secret designs of the wicked to be
proved, but by their wicked companions, to whom they have disclosed
them? The government does not select its witnesses. The conspirators
themselves have chosen Palmer. He was the confidant of the prisoners.
The fact, however, does not depend on his testimony alone. It is
corroborated by other proof; and, taken in connection with the other
circumstances, it has strong probability. In regard to the testimony of
Palmer, generally, it may be said that it is less contradicted, in all
parts of it, either by himself or others, than that of any other
material witness, and that every thing he has told is corroborated by
other evidence, so far as it is susceptible of confirmation. An attempt
has been made to impair his testimony, as to his being at the Half-way
House on the night of the murder; you have seen with what success. Mr.
Babb is called to contradict him. You have seen how little he knows, and
even that not certainly; for he himself is proved to have been in an
error by supposing Palmer to have been at the Half-way House on the
evening of the 9th of April. At that time he is proved to have been at
Dustin's, in Danvers. If, then, Palmer, bad as he is, has disclosed the
secrets of the conspiracy, and has told the truth, there is no reason
why it should not be believed. Truth is truth, come whence it may.
The facts show that this murder had been long in agitation; that it was
not a new proposition on the 2d of April; that it had been contemplated
for five or six weeks. Richard Crowninshield was at Wenham in the latter
part of March, as testified by Starrett. Frank Knapp was at Danvers in
the latter part of February, as testified by Allen. Richard
Crowninshield inquired whether Captain Knapp was about home, when at
Wenham. The probability is, that they would open the case to Palmer as a
new project. There are other circumstances that show it to have been
some weeks in agitation. Palmer's testimony as to the transaction on the
2d of April is corroborated by Allen, and by Osborn's books. He says
that Frank Knapp came there in the afternoon, and again in the evening.
So the book shows. He says that Captain White had gone out to his farm
on that day. So others prove. How could this fact, or these facts, have
been known to Palmer, unless Frank Knapp had brought the knowledge? And
was it not the special object of this visit to give information of this
fact, that they might meet him and execute their purpose on his return
from his farm? The letter of Palmer, written at Belfast, bears intrinsic
marks of genuineness. It was mailed at Belfast, May 13th. It states
facts that he could not have known, unless his testimony be true. This
letter was not an after-thought; it is a genuine narrative. In fact, it
says, "I know the business your brother Frank was transacting on the 2d
of April." How could he have possibly known this, unless he had been
there? The "one thousand dollars that was to be paid,"--where could he
have obtained this knowledge? The testimony of Endicott, of Palmer, and
these facts, are to be taken together; and they most clearly show that
the death of Captain White was caused by somebody interested in putting
an end to his life.
As to the testimony of Leighton, as far as manner of testifying goes, he
is a bad witness; but it does not follow from this that he is not to be
believed. There are some strange things about him. It is strange, that
he should make up a story against Captain Knapp, the person with whom he
lived; that he never voluntarily told any thing: all that he has said
was screwed out of him. But the story could not have been invented by
him; his character for truth is unimpeached; and he intimated to another
witness, soon after the murder happened, that he knew something he
should not tell. There is not the least contradiction in his testimony,
though he gives a poor account of withholding it. He says that he was
extremely _bothered_ by those who questioned him. In the main story that
he relates, he is entirely consistent with himself. Some things are for
him, and some against him. Examine the intrinsic probability of what he
says. See if some allowance is not to be made for him, on account of
his ignorance of things of this kind. It is said to be extraordinary,
that he should have heard just so much of the conversation, and no more;
that he should have heard just what was necessary to be proved, and
nothing else. Admit that this is extraordinary; still, this does not
prove it untrue. It is extraordinary that you twelve gentlemen should be
called upon, out of all the men in the county, to decide this case; no
one could have foretold this three weeks since. It is extraordinary that
the first clew to this conspiracy should have been derived from
information given by the father of the prisoner at the bar. And in every
case that comes to trial there are many things extraordinary. The murder
itself is a most extraordinary one; but still we do not doubt its
reality.
It is argued, that this conversation between Joseph and Frank could not
have been as Leighton has testified, because they had been together for
several hours before; this subject must have been uppermost in their
minds, whereas this appears to have been the commencement of their
conversation upon it. Now this depends altogether upon the tone and
manner of the expression; upon the particular word in the sentence which
was emphatically spoken. If he had said, "When did you _see_ Dick,
Frank?" this would not seem to be the beginning of the conversation.
With what emphasis it was uttered, it is not possible to learn; and
therefore nothing can be made of this argument. If this boy's testimony
stood alone, it should be received with caution. And the same may be
said of the testimony of Palmer. But they do not stand alone. They
furnish a clew to numerous other circumstances, which, when known,
mutually confirm what would have been received with caution without such
corroboration. How could Leighton have made up this conversation? "When
did you see Dick?" "I saw him this morning." "When is he going to kill
the old man?" "I don't know." "Tell him, if he don't do it soon, I won't
pay him." Here is a vast amount in few words. Had he wit enough to
invent this? There is nothing so powerful as truth; and often nothing so
strange. It is not ever suggested that the story was made for him. There
is nothing so extraordinary in the whole matter, as it would have been
for this ignorant country boy to invent this story.