The ways of the hour

by James Fenimore Cooper

On this occasion the District Attorney was very cautious, but he showed the cloven foot. He paid a passing tribute to the god of Numbers, worshipped before the hierarchy of votes. “Gentlemen,” he continued, “like myself, you are plain, unpretending citizens. Neither you, nor your wives and daughters, speak in foreign tongues, or play on foreign instruments of music. We have been brought up in republican simplicity, [God bless it! say we, could we ever meet with it,] and lay no claims to superiority of any sort. Our place is in the body of the nation, and there we are content to remain. We shall pay no respect to dress, accomplishments, foreign languages, or foreign music; but, the evidence sustaining us, will show the world that the law frowns as well on the great as on the little; on the pretending, as well as on the unpretending.”

As these grandiose sentiments were uttered, several of the jurors half rose from their seats, in the eagerness to hear, and looks of approbation passed from eye to eye. This was accepted as good republican doctrine; no one there seeing, or feeling, as taste and truth would have shown, that the real pretension was on the side of an exaggerated self-esteem, that prompted to resistance ere resistance was necessary, under the influence of, perhaps, the lowest passion of human nature—we allude to envy. With a little more in the same vein, the District Attorney concluded his opening.

The great coolness, not to say indifference, with which Mary Monson listened to this speech, was the subject of general comment among the members of the bar. At times she had been attentive, occasionally betraying surprise; then indignation would just gleam in her remarkable eye; but, on the whole, an uncommon calmness reigned in her demeanour. She had prepared tablets for notes; and twice she wrote in them as the District Attorney proceeded. This was when he adverted to her past life, and when he commented on the Dutch coin. While he was speaking of castes, flattering one set under the veil of pretending humility, and undermining their opposites, a look of quiet contempt was apparent in every feature of her very expressive face.

“If it please the court,” said Dunscomb, rising in his deliberate way, “before the prosecution proceeds with its witnesses, I could wish to appeal to the courtesy of the gentlemen on the other side for a list of their names.”

“I believe we are not bound to furnish any such list,” answered Williams, quickly.

“Perhaps not bound exactly in law; but, it strikes me, bound in justice. This is a trial for a life; the proceedings are instituted by the State. The object is justice, not vengeance—the protection of society, through the agency of an impartial, though stern justice. The State cannot wish to effect anything by surprise. We are accused of murder and arson, with no other notice of what is to be shown, or how anything is to be shown, than what is contained in the bill or complaint. Any one can see how important it may be to us, to be apprised of the names of the witnesses a little in advance, that we may inquire into character and note probabilities. I do not insist on any right; but I ask a favour that humanity sanctions.”

“If it please the court,” said Williams, “we have an important trust. I will here say that I impute nothing improper to either of the prisoner’s counsel; but it is my duty to suggest the necessity of our being cautious. A great deal of money has been expended already in this case; and there is always danger of witnesses being bought off. On behalf of my client, I protest against the demand’s being complied with.”

“The court has no objection to the course asked by the prisoner’s counsel,” observed the judge, “but cannot direct it. The State can never wish its officers to be harsh or exacting; but it is their duty to be prudent. Mr. District Attorney, are you ready with your evidence? Time is precious, sir.”

The testimony for the prosecution was now offered. We shall merely advert to most of it, reserving our details for those witnesses on whom the cause might be said to turn. Two very decent-looking and well-behaved men, farmers who resided in the vicinity of Biberry, were put on the stand to establish the leading heads of the case. They had known Peter and Dorothy Goodwin; had often stopped at the house; and were familiarly acquainted with the old couple, as neighbours. “Remembered[“Remembered] the fire—was present at it, towards its close. Saw the prisoner there; saw her descend, by a ladder; and assisted in saving her effects. Several trunks, carpet-bags, bandboxes, writing-desks, musical instruments, &c. &c. All were saved. “It seemed to them that they had been placed near the windows, in a way to be handy.” After the fire, had never seen or heard anything of the old man and his wife, unless two skeletons that had been found were their skeletons. Supposed them to be the skeletons of Peter Goodwin and his wife”—Here the remains were for the first time on that trial exposed to view. “Those are the same skeletons, should say—had no doubt of it; they are about the size of the old couple. The husband was short; the wife tall. Little or no difference in their height. Had never seen the stocking or the gold; but had heard a good deal of talk of them, having lived near neighbours to the Goodwins five-and-twenty years.”

Dunscomb conducted the cross-examination. He was close, discriminating, and judicious. Separating the hearsay and gossip from the facts known, he at once threw the former to the winds, as matter not to be received by the jury. We shall give a few of his questions and their answers that have a bearing on the more material points of the trial.