CHAPTER XI
The last day of Skinner's trial found Tessibel taking her lonely way toward town. She was going for Daddy Skinner—to bring him home to a shanty which she thought was clean, although the ragged curtain still flapped its tatters over a dirty window and the cobwebs hung listlessly from Daddy Skinner's unused net. But Tess had done her best, and her heart sang with delightful expectancy as she neared the dangerous open trestle which spanned the Hoghole gorge.
When she turned into town, her mind was at work with the thought of how she would bring Daddy triumphantly through the row of squatter huts, lead him even through the streets of Ithaca. Her vivid imagination played with the scene: Frederick the student would see her; he would know that together they had saved the dearest life ever given into the hands of a jury.
Up the snow-covered street, through Dewitt park, and Into the little lane she tramped. Here Tessibel halted. The court-room was so crowded that an overflow of men stood in the street with overcoats tightly buttoned, stood listening for the words that would satisfy their demands: Orn Skinner must die. A demonstration of joy ringing from the court made the child shiver—then smile. Not even the wicked jeering of Daddy's enemies could shake her faith in the student's word. Twelve jurors sat in their chairs, but a useless set of men, for a unanimous ban of death had been pronounced upon the fisherman before any one of the jury had taken the oath. Some of the evidence did not reach their ears for they were thinking of other things—the man of two humps was as far away from their homes or their hopes, as the rope that would end him.
During the trial the prisoner had remained silent in his chair, with a stolidity that aroused no sympathy for him. Not once was he seen to lift his eyes to the judge; and but once, when Tess was being maligned by Dominie Graves, did the bible-back rise and fall as if the heart beneath were beating wildly. Skinner had not been allowed to testify in his own defense, and, knowing the futility of it, he had not insisted upon speaking.
His attorney made a few feeble remarks which, because of the speaker's indifference and his disbelief in his client, fell without effect. The prosecuting attorney took but ten minutes to sum up the case, telling the jury that they knew their duty too well for him to attempt to instruct them. "But," said he, "I will add one word of your own convictions. These people have infested our beautiful city, sapping its life like a great pest. The law is nothing to them—human life less. There is one thing, gentlemen of the jury, of which they stand in awe, and it is in your hands to give them one more lesson. That one thing they fear is—the rope."
He sat down amid a dense silence. The judge spoke shortly and the twelve jurors filed out past the stooping prisoner, who seemed to care so little that he did not look upon them as they went.
Twenty minutes elapsed and the court officer announced in stentorian tones that the verdict had been reached. Solemnly the twelve men seated themselves whilst an expectant flutter passed over the room.
Then a voice droned:
"Prisoner, rise."
The lumbering form painfully raised its two humps.
"Prisoner, look upon the jury; jury, look upon the prisoner."
The grizzled head settled itself back between the two pulsing humps; the steady eyes under the shaggy brows looking out for the first time in two days upon the row of men who hated him—all popular citizens of Ithaca.
"Foreman, of the jury, have you found the prisoner innocent or guilty?"
A pause, a hush; then a deliberate:
"Guilty of murder in the first degree."
A little higher rose the bible-back of the fisherman, lower sunk the large head between the deformed shoulders, like the receding head of a turtle, hiding itself under its shell when an enemy draws near. Skinner still stood with hypnotized eyes fastened on the jury; one thought in his mind—Tess.
"Orn Skinner," began the judge, "is there any reason why the sentence of this court should not be pronounced upon you in accordance with the law?"
The fisherman turned his piercing eyes upon the judge, but attempted not to speak.
"Orn Skinner—"
The judge was interrupted, there was a disturbing commotion in the back of the court-room. He lifted his gavel for silence, his gaze falling upon a dripping, shivering, red-haired girl, who raised to his face a pair of copper-colored eyes in which shone a soul, the magnitude of which the judge could not fathom with all his dignity.
"Orn Skinner," he finished, turning again to the fisherman, "twelve men have found you guilty of murder in the first degree. The court, then, passes its sentence upon you: you are to hang by the neck until you are—dead."
The ponderous form of the doomed man straightened as though unafraid, whilst the commotion increased—Tess was madly tearing her way through detaining hands. Once free, she started up the aisle, the most ridiculous little figure ever seen in Ithaca. The red hair was in curls to the girl's hips—the young form covered with but a calico blouse confined about the waist by a piece of hemp rope. Four huge thorns held together the edges of a rent down the center of the skirt, which came just above the knees, Daddy Skinner's cowhide boots lifting themselves under the hem.
Every one save him whom she loved was unseen by Tess, and everything unheard save the terrible sentence of death.
The pain-puckered wrinkles settled out of the wan little face; a smile brightened the brown eyes and dimpled the tender twitching mouth, altering the woful expression—for what was the mandate of an earthly judge compared to the majestic promise of Heaven? the student had said—but her smiling eyes fell for a moment on those of Frederick Graves. The boy partly rose but sank back again, white to the ears, a picture of mental suffering. Here through the silence came a shock to the citizens of Ithaca. Sweet as a spring bird carolling its love song rose Tessibel's beautiful voice:
"Rescue the perishin'
Care for the dyin'."
On and on up the aisle toward Daddy Skinner, forgetting or not knowing that she was desecrating the dignity of the honorable judge upon the bench, Tessibel clattered. Still no hand stayed her progress. Daddy Skinner was standing outside the railing, close to his attorney, guarded by a deputy. His fierce eyes turned at the sound of her voice, and the sight of his beloved snapped them shut like a vise.
The old beard, now shaggy and unkempt, trembled, whilst a parched tongue licked over the lips.
The long arms of the humpback slowly rose, and Tessibel sang herself into the throbbing bosom of her father.
The prisoner's great horny hand descended upon the curly head and for a moment the fingers of the girl tried to pry the wrinkled eyelids open. Her singing ceased, and she spoke—no great orator ever had a more intense audience.
"It air—it air Tess, Daddy Skinner, did ye think that her—had forgot—and Goddy?"
Everyone in the room heard the musical voice.
"The jedge didn't know," Tess went on, "that God promised that ye was to come home with Tessibel." And then, loosening herself from the trembling fingers, Tess leaned toward the judge, a wealth of hair falling over each shoulder.
"Did ye, kind, good man?"
His Honor, fascinated by the sight, bent toward her to make sure of her words.
"I air Daddy's brat," she urged with a smile, "and Goddy in the sky said as how Daddy Skinner would come home with Tessibel ... He air to go with me, ain't he?"
Her voice, raised in sudden entreaty, the long eyes filled with an anguished anxiety, sent a pang of pity unknown before through the heart of the judge.
The audience rose as one man—only a swish and another dead silence.
"Ye air to come, Daddy Skinner," and without waiting for any further consent she took her father's hand and drew him slowly through the aisle up which she had so lately sung her way.
A man stepped into her path from among the spectators. Tess glanced up, and saw before her the lowering face of Dominie Graves. From every other soul in that room she had been given the bible-backed prisoner, for the majesty of human law had been forgotten in the appeal to the higher one.
"Stop," shouted the pastor, determined to see the sentence of the court carried out. He had placed himself directly in the squatter-girl's path, and, turning toward the jury, flashed indignant eyes upon them.
"Have you all gone mad?" he demanded. "Are you going to allow a murderer to escape from your hands?"
For one instant the condemned giant and the man of God scanned each other's faces with intensity. There was dumb pleading in the one gaze, and hard supremacy in the other. A spasmodic tremor ran over the spectators—Tess had struck a note of tragedy in the affair which had been overlooked by the thoughtless throng.
The judge, startled, spoke confusedly,
"Of course, of course," said he, "such a thing as this—"
"Would make our city the laughing-stock of the state," put in Graves, his interruption of the judge passing unheeded. "Skinner, you know you can't leave this court with that girl—"
Here a small boy broke in:
"She's the girl that twiggled her fingers at the minister."
Dominie Graves hushed the speaker with a wave of his hand, and went on:
"You have committed a murder, Skinner, and have been condemned to die by hanging."
His voice was low and vibrant.
"And there's no escape for you, Skinner," he finished.
As his voice died away, Ithaca received another impetus to curiosity and interest. A tall man in the back row rose and came forward.
"Mr. Graves," said the stranger solemnly, "you say that this man is to hang for murder. I say that he shall be given another chance for his life, and that he shall not hang if I can prevent it."
Deforrest Young, the noted professor of law from the University, was looking at Graves. A frown gathered on the broad brow of the minister, and every one gasped as the professor took Tessibel's hands in his.
"My child," and he bent lower that she might hear, for her bowed head was the only evidence of her grief, "Your prayers have accomplished more than you think. Keep on praying and pray hard, and the next time you come here you shall take home—your Daddy Skinner."