The Traitor (Dixon, 1907)/Book 3/Chapter 7
WHEN the day of trial dawned, Stella had succeeded in securing the services of two of the greatest lawyers in America, Reverdy John son of Maryland, Attorney General in the Cabinet of President Taylor, and Henry Stanbery of Ohio.
Attorney General in the Cabinet of Andrew Johnson.
The Government was represented by the finest legal talent its vast resources and power could command.
For eleven days, before two presiding judges of the United States Circuit Court, the fierce battle of legal giants raged. The great lawyers for the defence fought every inch of ground with dogged tenacity.
Stella watched from day to day with breathless intensity as she sat by John Graham's side.
It soon became plain that the Court had constituted itself a partisan political tribunal for the purpose, not of administering justice, but of crushing the enemies of the party in power.
Every decision was against the prisoner, though, in deference to the distinguished character of the lawyers for the defence, they were allowed to argue each point. The profound and accurate learning with which they reviewed the Constitutional law of the Republic was a liberal education to the shallow little partisans who sat on the judge's bench before them. But their eloquence and learning fell on the ears of men whose decisions were already made.
In violation of the rights of the prisoner under the constitutions of the state and nation the indictment for murder was ordered to immediate trial.
From the moment the actual proceedings of the trial began, the Government had no delay or difficulty.
With sinking heart Stella saw the disgraceful travesty of justice draw each moment the cords of death closer about the form of the man she loved.
The jury corruptly chosen for this case marked the lowest tide mud to which the administration of justice ever sank in our history. A white freeman, a man of culture and heroic mould, whose fathers created the American Republic, was arraigned to plead for his life before a jury composed of one dirty, ignorant white scalawag and eleven coal-black Negroes! The white man was not made its foreman, a Negro teamster was chosen.
Steve Hoyle became at once the presiding genius of the prosecution. The court room was thronged with liars, perjurers and sycophants who hung about his fat figure with obsequious deference. Old Larkin, who came from the Capitol to assist the prosecution, sat constantly by Steve's side.
John Graham watched Steve with cold deadly hate, but he had warned his men under no conceivable circumstances to lift a hand in resistance either to constituted authority, or to give the traitor his deserts. A pall of helpless grief and fear hung over every decent white man who witnessed the High Court of Justice of the Anglo-Saxon race suddenly transformed into a Negro minstrel farce on which hung their liberty and life.
The star witness of the prosecution was Uncle Isaac A. Postle. He took his seat before the jury, grinning and nodding at two of his dusky friends among them with calm assurance.
Isaac was allowed to tell a marvellous rambling story of Ku Klux outrages—stories which he had heard from Larkin—about whose truth he could possibly know nothing. In vain the lawyers for the defence objected. The court overruled every objection and allowed the Apostle free scope to his vivid imagination.
Reverdy Johnson, the distinguished ex-Attorney General of the United States who stood before the judges protesting with dignity, bowed to the Bench and sat down in disgust with the quiet remark:
"We shall offer no further objection to anything that may be said in this Court."
He had scarcely taken his seat when Ackerman moved his chair behind him and began to whisper.
The District Attorney watched the detective in astonishment, while Hoyle and Larkin bent their heads together in excited conference.
Susie looked at Stella, smiled and blushed.
Isaac finally came to specific charges against John Graham.
"Now tell the court what you know about John Graham's connection with the murder of Judge Butler," said Steve, who was conducting his examination.
"Yassah, I knows all 'bout it, sah. Mr. John Graham de very man dat kill de jedge wid his own han'. I see 'im when he do it. Dey come slippin' up back er de house, an' creep in froo de winder while de odder folks wuz in de ballroom dancin'. Dey wuz eight un 'em—yassah. Dey slip up an' grab de jedge an' hol' 'im while Mr. John Graham stick a knife right in his heartyassah. I wuz lookin' right at 'im froo de winder when he done it. When he kill 'im, dey all mix up wid de odder Ku Kluxes what wuz dancin', an' go way ter-gedder."
"Take the witness," said Steve with a wave of his hand.
"How did you know it was Mr. Graham?" asked General Johnson.
"I seed 'im wid my own eyes."
"He wore a complete disguise, did he not?"
"Yassah, but I seed 'im all de same."
"You could see through the mask?"
"I seed 'im—I done tole ye!"
"Answer my question," sternly commanded the lawyer. "Could you see his face through the mask?"
"Nasah."
"Then how did you recognise him?"
"He tuck it off ter scratch his head, sah, an' I see his face. I knowed it wuz him all de time fo' I see his face."
Ackerman whispered to the lawyer.
"Did you tell Mr. Ackerman, Uncle Isaac, that, as you started to run away from the masqueraders that night, you saw John Graham at your gate—ran into him?"
"Nasah, I nebber say no sech thing!" Isaac shouted, glaring and shaking his head at Ackerman.
"Didn't you tell the same gentleman that later in the evening you saw John Graham seated on a rustic near the house watching it from the outside?"
"Nasah! dat I didn't!"
"Do you know that if you swear a lie"
"I ain't swar no lie!" Isaac interrupted with religious fervour. "I'se de Lord's Sanctified One, sah. I ain't done no sin since I got sanctification. Yassah, praise God!"
"Don't you know," repeated the lawyer, "that if you swear to a lie on that witness stand you can be sent to the penitentiary for perjury?"
"I knows dey ain't gwine sen' me dar—I knows dat," Isaac said with a grin, and his Negro acquaintances in the jury box laughed.
The lawyer changed his line of questions.
"You say you saw John Graham strike the death-blow?"
"Yassah, I see 'im wid dese very eyes."
"Were you close enough to hear what was said?"
"Yassah, I wuz right dar by de open winder."
"What did he say?"
"Des ez he raise de knife he say, "I got you now, you d Black Radical 'Publican!"
"You swear that you heard him say that he killed the Judge because he was a Republican?"
"Yassah! dat's what de Ku Kluxes kill 'em all fur, sah!"
Larkin shuffled uneasily, bent again in conference with Steve who rose immediately and asked for an adjournment of two hours.
When the Court reassembled and Isaac took his seat in the witness chair, Aunt Julie Ann's huge form suddenly appeared in the doorway with her hand resting confidingly on Alfred's arm. They walked inside the railing of the bar and took seats assigned to them behind John Graham's counsel. Aunt Julie Ann handed Ackerman a pair of Isaac's old shoes. He measured them quickly on a diagram which he drew from his pocket.
Isaac watched Aunt Julie Ann and Alfred with mouth opened in wonder, rage and growing fear.
He rose and bowed to the judges.
"I gotter ax de cote ter perteck me, gemmens," he said falteringly.
"What do you mean?" asked a judge.
"Dat nigger Alfred dar tryin' ter steal my wife from me, sah!"
Alfred grinned, and patted Aunt Julie Ann's hand and whispered: "Doan min' de low-live rascal, honey!"
"Yassah, an' my wife come here tryin' ter 'timidate me, sah. She jes fetch er par er my ole shoes inter dis cote. She's a cunjer 'oman, sah. I try ter sanctify her, but she won't stay sanctified. She got a kink er my hair las' night, and wrap it up in a piece er paper and put it under de cote house do' step, an' she say dat ef I walk over dat into dis house ter-day an' jestify ergin Marse John Graham she fling er spell over me. I ax de cote fer pertection, sah. I axes de Sheriff ter take dat bunch er hair from under dem steps fo' I say annuder word!"
"Silence, sir, and proceed with your testimony," said the Judge.
Aunt Julie Ann fanned her fat face, smiled at Stella and Susie and quietly slipped her hand in Alfred's.
Isaac dropped into his chair limp and crestfallen. In a sort of dazed trance he kept his eye fixed on Alfred's face grinning in triumph.
John's lawyer pounced on him in sudden sharp accents.
"Is this a pair of your shoes, Isaac?"
"Yassah," was the listless answer.
"You wore these shoes the night the Judge was killed, didn't you?"
"Yassah."
"You're sure of it?"
"Yassah. Dem's my ole ones. I got a new pair now."
The lawyer stepped close and in threatening tones asked:
"Will you explain to this Court what your shoes were doing making tracks in the soft mud of the underground passage from the family vault of the Graham house the night of this murder?"
Isaac's jaw dropped, he drew his red bandanna handkerchief and mopped his brow.
A hum of excitement ran over the court room, and an officer cried:
"Silence!"
Isaac continued to mop his brow and fumble at his handkerchief while he gazed at the lawyer in a helpless stupor.
"Answer my question, sir!" the towering figure thundered into his face.
"I doan know what yer means, sah," he faltered.
"Yes you do. There were nine other men with you. Who were they?"
"I dunno, sah!"
Larkin whispered excitedly to Steve, who shook his head and gazed at Isaac in amazement.
"Were they masked so that you couldn't see their faces?"
Isaac looked appealingly to the judges and whimpered:
"I doan know what dey er talkin' 'bout, sah."
"You must answer the questions," said the Judge.
The lawyer glared at Isaac whose shifting eyes sought Larkin.
"Think it over a minute, Isaac," the lawyer continued; "in the meantime examine that knife."
He drew from its case a long, keen hunting-knife, and handed it to the witness who was now trembling from head to foot.
"Did you ever see that knife before?"
Isaac hesitated and finally answered:
"Yassah, I sold it ter Mr. Ackerman."
"Where did you get it?"
Larkin suddenly cleared his throat with a deep guttural sound like the growl of an infuriated animal.
The lawyer looked at him with annoyance and the officer again shouted:
"Silence!"
"I foun' it, sah," he answered evasively.
"Now, Isaac, you want to be very careful how you answer my next question."
The lawyer took the knife from the Negro's hand and felt of its point.
"You will notice that a tiny piece is broken off the tip of this blade. I hold in my hand the little bit of steel which exactly fits there. It was found embedded in a bone in Judge Butler's body. This is the knife that struck the death-blow. Did you own that knife the night of the murder? Answer me!"
Isaac fumbled his handkerchief again and looked about the room helplessly.
Larkin rose carelessly and started from the court room. Ackerman, watching him keenly, sprang to his side.
"Don't leave, Larkin, we want you as a witness in a moment," he whispered.
"I'll return immediately," the Carpetbagger replied, increasing his haste.
"Wait!" Ackerman commanded.
Larkin quickened his pace and the detective seized his arm.
The Carpetbagger threw him off with sudden fury and plunged toward the door.
With the spring of a tiger, Ackerman leaped on him. A brief fierce fight, and he was dragged panting back before the astonished Court, while every man in the room sprang to his feet and pressed around the struggling men.
"What's the meaning of this disorder?" thundered the presiding Judge.
"With apologies to the Court for the interruption I beg leave to present the murderer of Judge Butler—I ask a warrant for his arrest," Ackerman demanded.
A wave of horror swept the crowd of Larkin's friends.
"The man is a crazy liar, your Honours," protested Larkin. "And he has proven himself a renegade and a scoundrel in this court room to-day. I protest against this outrage."
"I'll prove my charge to the Court—every link in the chain of evidence is now complete," was the cool answer.
With the court room in an uproar, Larkin was arrested and placed between Ackerman and a deputy, and the trial resumed.
A brief conference between the District Attorney and Isaac preceded the first question asked by John's counsel after the disturbance.
"Now, Isaac," the lawyer began suavely, "the District Attorney has just promised to spare your life on condition that you tell us the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth—let's have it."
"Yassah," the Apostle responded in humble accents. "Mr. Larkin, he tell me ter say what I did, sah."
Larkin's head dropped and his keen eyes furtively sought the door.
"Who gave you that knife?"
A moment of breathless suspense rippled the crowded court room and every head was bent forward.
"Mr. Larkin gimme de knife! We'se been powful good friends, sah. I show him de undergroun' way fum de tomb inter de house. I'se de only black man dat know it—my daddy help dig it—yassah. Mr. Larkin de fust man I ebber tell dat I know 'bout it. He say he want ter beat de Ku Kluxes. He say he make 'em smoke dat night, an' he git eight men an' dress up jes lak 'em, an' I show him de way ter git in froo de panel in de hall. He fool me. I didn't know he gwine ter kill de jedge, sah, er I wouldn't er let 'em in, nosah. I doan' believe in killin' nobody. He tell me ter git outen de county an' I stay till de soldiers come back. Yassah, an' dat's de whole troof!"
Ackerman motioned the sergeant, a pair of handcuffs clicked on Larkin's wrists, and the great white head sank on his breast.
Stella gazed at his pathetic figure with a strange feeling of pity and wonder, while her hand sought John Graham's and pressed it tenderly.
The count of murder was dropped, but the charge of conspiracy was pressed with merciless ferocity. A procession of hired liars ascended the witness stand and in rapid succession perjured themselves by swearing that they had recognised the prisoner on various raids made by the Klan in the county.
The jury was out fifteen minutes.
When they returned John Graham, in whose veins flowed the blood of a race of world-conquering men, entitled to a trial by a jury of his peers, rose with quiet dignity and heard the verdict of his condemnation fall from the thick protruding lips of a flat-nosed Negro:
"We finds de prisoner guilty!"
"So say you all gentlemen?" asked the clerk.
And in response each black spindle-shanked juror shambled to his feet and answered:
"Guilty!"
The last name called was the little white Scalawag's, whose weak voice squeaked an echo:
"Guilty."
The Judge imposed a fine of one thousand dollars and sentenced John Graham to five years imprisonment at hard labour in the United States penitentiary at Albany, New York.
A low moan from Stella, and her head sank in voiceless anguish.
To the brave and the proud there are visions darker than death.
John Graham saw this as he was led from the court room back to jail—the vision of the hideous leprous shame of a convict's suit of stripes!