XXII. — THE TRIAL.
“A great crowd assembled on the day of the trial. Judge Conway had vacated the bench, as personally interested, and the judge from a neighboring circuit had taken his place.
“Below the seat of the judge sat the jury. Outside the railing, the spectators were crowded so closely that it was with difficulty the sheriff made a passage for my entrance.
“To one resolution I had adhered in spite of the remonstrances of all my friends,—to employ no counsel. In this determination nothing could shake me. A disdainful pride sustained me, mingled with bitter obstinacy. If I, the representative of one of the oldest and most honorable families in the county of Dinwiddie was to be branded as a murderer,—if my past life, my family and personal character, did not refute the charge,—if I was to be dragged to death on suspicion, gibbeted as a murderer, because some felon had stolen my pocket-knife, and committed a crime with it,—then I would go to my death unmoved. I would disdain to frame explanations; let the law murder me if it would; no glib counsel should save my life by technicalities; I would be vindicated by God and my past life, or would die.
“Such was my state of mind, and such the origin of my refusal to employ counsel. When the court now assigned me counsel, I rose and forbade them to appear for me. In the midst of a stormy scene, and with the prosecuting attorney sitting dumb in his chair, resolved to take no part in the trial, the witnesses appeared upon the stand, and, rather by sufferance than the judge’s consent, the jury proceeded to interrogate them.
“The circumstances which I have detailed to you were all proved in the clearest manner; the altercation in the clerk’s office on the day of the murder; my long enmity against him, dating back more than twenty years; the fact that I had followed him out of the village just at dusk on the fatal night; and the discovery of my knife in the tall grass by the roadside near the body.
“I had summoned no witnesses, but some appeared of their own accord, and gave important testimony. Many neighbors testified that my enmity toward George Conway had almost entirely disappeared in the lapse of years, and that I had spoken of him, upon more than one occasion, with great kindness. The clerk of the county described the scene in his office, stating that the affair had appeared to him a mere interchange of curt words, without exhibition of the least malice on my part. The most important witness, however, was a poor man, living in the neighborhood, who made oath that he had been riding toward the court-house on the evening of the murder; had passed Mr. Conway, and, riding on farther, came in sight of me, and he had, before reaching me, seen me turn into the by-road which led toward my own residence. I could not have committed the murder, he added, for Mr. Conway had time to pass the spot where his body was found before I could have ridden back to the highroad and caught up with him.
“Unfortunately, the witness who gave this testimony bore a very indifferent character, and I could see that more than one of the jurors suspected that he was perjuring himself.
“Another ugly-looking circumstance also intervened to neutralize the favorable impression thus made. From the irregular mode of proceeding, the fatal knife had not been exhibited in court. Suddenly, a juror called for it, and it could nowhere be found! The sheriff swore that he had left it in the clerk’s office, where he supposed it to be entirely safe. Upon searching for it, however, in the drawer where he had deposited it, the weapon was missing.
“When that fact was stated, I saw a curious expression pass over the faces of more than one of the jury. They evidently suspected foul play.
“‘Was the door of the office locked?’ asked one of them.
“‘Yes, sir,’ was the reply.
“‘Were the windows secured?’
“‘By shutters with bolts.’
“‘Are all the bolts on the windows of this building firm?’
“‘I think so, sir.’
“‘There is one, that is not!’ said the juror.
“And he pointed to a long iron bolt on one of the windows, which bore evident traces of having been rent from its socket.
“The sheriff looked in amazement in the direction indicated.
“‘You are right, sir!’ he said; ‘some one has entered the court-house by breaking open the shutter, and stolen that knife from the clerk’s office, which is never locked.’
“A meaning silence followed the words. It was not difficult to understand it. The jury looked at each other, and in their glances I could read this—‘Mr. Davenant is on trial for his life. He or his friends suborn testimony to prove an alibi on the night of the murder, and not content with that, they hire a burglar to enter the court-house and steal the knife which proves his connection with the deed—that it may not appear in evidence against him.’
“The evidence closed. I had not uttered a word. I had sworn in my heart that I would not stir a finger in the matter—but now, stung beyond endurance, I rose and addressed the jury in impassioned words. ‘Their verdict,’ I told them, ‘was of little importance if I was to lose the respect of my fellow-citizens. I had made no effort to shape their decision, but now on the brink, it might be of a felon’s grave, I would utter my dying words. I would confine myself to protesting before God, and on my honor, that I had long since forgiven George Conway the wrongs done me—that the scene on the day of his murder was the result of momentary irritability, caused by business annoyances, and not malice—that I had forgotten it in an hour—returned directly to my own house—and only heard of the murder on the day after its commission. As to the knife—I had been suspected if not charged with having had the weapon stolen. Well! my answer to that was to declare that, to the best of my knowledge and belief, the murder was committed with my own knife! More than that. A witness had sworn that he saw me turn into the road to my own residence, at such a distance behind George Conway that I could not have rejoined him before he had passed the fatal spot. The witness was mistaken. There was time. By riding across the angle through the thicket, I could easily have rejoined him!
“‘And now, gentlemen,’ I said, ‘I have done. I have left you no ground to charge me with suborning testimony—with having the evidence of my crime stolen—with plotting in darkness, to hide my crime and blind your eyes in determining my guilt or innocence. That knife was mine, I repeat. It was possible for me to rejoin Mr. Conway, and do him to death by a blow with it. Now, retire, gentlemen! Bring in your verdict! Thank God! no taint of real dishonor will rest upon a Davenant, and I can appear before my Maker as I stand here to-day—innocent!’
“Ten minutes afterward the jury had retired, with every mark of agitation upon their faces. The great concourse of spectators seemed moved almost beyond control.
“Suddenly the crowd opened, I saw my wife hastening through the space thus made—a living wall on each side—and in an instant she had thrown herself into my arms, with a low cry which brought tears to the roughest faces of the auditory. I placed my arm around her, remonstrated with her for this ill-advised proceeding, and was trying to soothe her, when she hastily gave me a letter. A strange man had brought it an hour before, she said—it was marked ‘In haste—this will save Mr. Davenant’s life.’ She had mounted her riding horse, and brought it at full speed in person, without waiting to question the stranger, who had at once disappeared.
“I opened the letter—glanced at its contents—at the same instant the jury made their appearance—and the clerk said:—
“‘Gentlemen of the jury, have you agreed upon a verdict?’
“‘We have, sir,’ said the foreman.
“‘What is it?’
“‘Not guilty!’
“The court-house rang with applause. The crowd rushed toward me to shake me by the hand and congratulate me. Suddenly, in the midst of the tumult, I heard the furious words:—
“‘Murderer! you have escaped, but I brand you before God and man as the murderer of my brother!’
“It was Judge Conway, who, mounted upon a bench, with glaring eyes, foaming lips, teeth clenched, in a wild fury, shook his arm at me, and denounced me as a convict before God, if not before man.”