Autobiography of a Female Slave

by Martha Griffith Browne

Two of them I particularly noticed, as I sat in the prisoner's dock, awaiting the "coming up of my case." One of them the Court frequently addressed as Mr. Spear, and a very pointless spear he seemed;—a little, short, chunky man, with yellow, stiff, bristling hair, that stood out very straight, as if to declare its independence of the brain, and away it went on its owner's well-defined principle of "going it on your own hook." He had a little snub of a nose that possessed the good taste to turn away in disgust from its neighbor, a tobacco-stained mouth of no particular dimensions, and, I should judge from the sneer of the said nose, of no very pleasant odor; little, hard, flinty, grizzly-gray eyes, that seemed to wink as though they were afraid of seeing the truth. Altogether, it was the most disagreeably-comic phiz that I remember ever to have seen. To complete the ludicrous picture, he was a self-sufficient body, quite elate at the idea of speaking "in public on the stage." His speech was made up of the frequent repetition of "my client claims" so and so, and "may it please your Honor," and "I'll call the attention of the Court to the fact," and such like phrases, but whether his client was guilty of the charge set forth in the indictment, he neither proved nor disproved.

The other individual whom I remarked, was a great, fat, flabby man, whose flesh (like that of a rhinoceros) hung loosely on the bones. He seemed to consider personal ease, rather than taste, in the arrangement of his toilet; for he appeared in the presence of the court in a pair of half-worn slippers, stockings "down-gyved," a shirt-bosom much spotted with tobacco-juice, and a neck-cloth loosely adjusted about his red, beefish throat. His little watery blue eye reminded me forcibly of skimmed milk; whilst his big nose, as red as a peony, told the story that he was no advocate of the Maine liquor law, and that he had "voted for license."

He was said, by some of the bystanders, to have made an excellent speech adverse to his client, and in favor of the side against which he was employed.

"Hurrah for litigation," said an animadverter who stood in proximity to me. After awhile, and in due course of docket, my case came up.

"Has she no counsel?" asked the judge.

After a moment's pause, some one answered, "No; she has none."

I felt a chill gathering at my heart, for there was a slight movement in the crowd; and, upon looking round, I discovered Mr. Trueman making his way through the audience. After a few words with several members of the bar and the judge, he was duly sworn in, and introduced to the Court as Mr. Trueman, a lawyer from Massachusetts, who desired to be admitted as a practitioner at this bar. Thus duly qualified, he volunteered his services in my defence. The look which I gave him came directly from my overflowing heart, and I am sure spoke my thanks more effectual than words could have done. But he gave me no other recognition than a faint smile.

As the case began, my attention was arrested. The jury was selected without difficulty; for, as none of the panel had heard of the case, the counsel waived the privilege of challenging. After the reading of the indictment, setting forth formally "an assault upon Mr. Monkton, with intent to kill, by one Ann, slave of William Summerville," the Commonwealth's attorney introduced Mr. Monkton himself as the only witness in the case.

In a very minute and evidently pre-arranged story, he proceeded to detail the circumstances of a violent and deadly assault, which seemed to impress the jury greatly to my prejudice. When he had concluded, the prosecutor remarked that he had no further evidence, and proposed to submit the case, without argument, to the jury, as Mr. Trueman had no witnesses in my favor. To this proposal, however, Mr. Trueman would not accede; and so the prosecutor briefly argued upon the testimony and the law applicable to it. Then Mr. Trueman rose, and a thrill seemed to run through the audience as his tall, commanding form stood proud and erect, his mild saint-like eyes glowing with a fire that I had never seen before. He began by endeavoring to disabuse the minds of the jury of the very natural ill-feeling they might entertain against a slave, supposed to have made an attack upon the life of a white man; reviewed at length the distinctions which are believed, at the South, to exist between the two races; and dwelt especially upon those oppressive enactments which virtually place the life of a slave at the mercy of even the basest of the white complexion. Passing from these general observations, he examined, with scrutiny the prepared story of Mr. Monkton, showing it to be a vile fabrication of defeated malice, flatly contradictory in essential particulars, and utterly unworthy of reliance under the wise maxim of the law, that "being false in one thing, it was false in all." In conclusion, he made a stirring appeal to the jury, exhorting them to rescue this feeble woman from the foul machinations which had been invented for her ruin; to rebuke, by their righteous verdict, this swift and perjured witness; and to vindicate before the world the honor of their dear old Commonwealth, which was no less threatened by this ignominious proceeding than the safety of his poor and innocent client.

The officers of the Court could scarcely repress the applause which succeeded this appeal.