The Land Claim/Chapter 4
CHAPTER IV.
THE EXAMINATION.
When Allen, who was the accuser of Newcome, was asked if there were any other witnesses to appear at the preliminary trial of the man, he was forced, very much against his own feelings, to name Alicia Newcome as the only person who could, to his certain knowledge, give important evidence in the case. There were others, no doubt, who knew of the hostile feelings of the prisoner toward the murdered man, and himself also; and such persons were publicly asked to come forward and give in their evidence. As for the prisoner's daughter, it seemed cruel to oblige her to testify against her own father, and that she might not be too much alarmed at the summons, he proposed to go first and break the news to her.
The cabin of Thomas Newcome stood in the center of a clearing, on the sloping face of the bluff, overlooking the Iowa side of the river, and affording a glorious view up and down the Missouri for miles. The little square patch of cleared ground was walled about on three sides by thick woods, which living wall was everywhere festooned with wild grape-vines diffusing a delicious perfume. Below the house, along the path to the river, were clumps of wild plum-trees and gooseberry bushes, mixed with raspberry and elder, the fruit already defined in shape, and promising an abundant harvest.
The cabin's young mistress was busy preparing the midday meal, yet making frequent pauses in her work to stand in the little rustic porch shading the door, and gaze at the shining river, the exquisite blue of the sky, the luxuriant foliage of the spring—bursting out in song every now and then, as she thought what a glorious thing it is to live in such a world.
As Allen approached the house he caught the sound of the birdlike singing, and it almost paralyzed his limbs; for how could he so soon change that happy music to cries of anguish? He knew she was flitting back and forth, and round and about, for he could notice the changes in the sound of her voice as she did so. Just as he reached the porch, she had flitted to the door for another glance at the beautiful May landscape and smiling heavens, her flaxen curls prettily disordered by exercise, and such roses blushing on her cheeks as only blossom Out of English complexions, or our.Jew England ones.
But the roses faded, and the gay carol died on her lips, at the sight of her visitor. Involuntarily she stretched out her hands, as if to beg of him not to tell the news he brought. Allen took them in his own very tenderly, and led her into the house, where he ceived the table already spread for dinner, in the center of which was a dish of delicious-looking strawberries.
"Ah," said he, making a poor attempt at a smile, "I hope you will allow me a dish of this beautiful fruit, though I have come uninvited."
"But he did not release the little hands that they might serve him; he only looked anxiously in the changing countenance, with a weakness at his heart which he could not overcome.
And Alicia herself, between embarrassment at his singular manner and a conviction of some impending calamity, was unable to extricate her hands from his grasp, or to ask for an explanation of his visit. How long Allen would have remained tongue-tied on the subject he had come about is uncertain, had he not caught the sound of excited voices approaching, and felt the necessity of breaking the news before they should reach the house.
"Poor little girl!" he hurriedly whispered, "I have bad news for you. Your father is under arrest—"
The sentence remained unfinished, for he felt her hands drawn suddenly out of his, as she sunk fainting at his feet.
He had laid her on her father's bunk, and was endeavoring to restore her to consciousness, when the constable made his appearance, attended informally by two citizens of Fairview. The constable, who was a tender-hearted man in his rough way, was very much impressed in this instance with the unpleasantness of his duty.
"So she tuk it hard, did she, poor thing! I'm glad I didn't see her faint away. Never could bear to have women folks mixed up in sich scrapes; they allus take on so, a man feels mighty bad to see 'em."
Allen made no reply. He was thinking of the part he must act in this sorrowful business, and feeling beforehand how that young creature would hate him as her father's' accuser, and what desolation he should be instrumental in bringing upon her.
"Why, she's nothing but a child," remarked another man, peering over the constable's shoulders. "I wonder if she's all the housekeeper Newcome had—the old wretch!"
"I don't see where she got her beauty from," was the comment of the third person; "she's mighty pretty, that's certain."
"Sit down, gentlemen, if you please," said Allen, a little impatiently; "you keep the fresh air from her."
"She's a-comin' to now," observed the constable, as he walked to the porch and sat down on the steps.
The other men had less delicacy, and hung about, as near as they felt it safe, in the neighborhood of the reviving girl. Allen wanted to thrash them; but restrained his indignation by silence. Carefully as a woman he arranged and composed the disordered dress, watching for the first convulsive signs of recovery, which were heralded by frequent faint moanings.
"Oh, my father!" at last broke from the pale lips. Several times was the expression repeated ere she opened her eyes, to find herself watched and tended in such a strange way by all those unknown men. The sight of these new faces seemed to impart resolution and strength. She instantly raised herself to a sitting posture and restrained her moans, though the tears now rolled over her pale cheeks in a shower.
"Be comforted. Miss Newcome," said Allen; "your father is well and safe for the present. Providence may show some way of clearing him yet; at all events, it is too early to despair."
The constable, coming in to inquire if she was better, overheard the latter part of this attempt at consolation.
"La! yes, Miss. It isn't half the men as is accused that gets anything proven agin 'em. Like as not this may turn out to be accital shooting at the worst."
"Is it true, then, that my father killed some one?" cried Alicia, a composure almost frightful in one so young settling upon her face.
"Why," she continued, addressing Allen, "you are alive! and—and—who then was killed?"
"My friend. Dr. Edwards, was shot," replied Allen, gloomily as a vivid recollection of the occurrences of the morning returned to him.
Alicia made no reply, the occasional convulsive movements of her face alone indicating her increased agitation. Seeing that the strangers were evidently waiting for something which she did not comprehend to transpire, she whispered to Allen, who still maintained his seat beside her, to know the occasion of their presence. Allen beckoned the constable.
"This gentleman," said he, "will explain what is necessary for you to do."
"My dear Miss," began the constable, embarrassed, "it is very unpleasant of course for a daughter to give evidence agin her own father, an' I hope you may not have much to give that will go agin him; for your sake I hope it. But law and justice make it necessary for you to say what you know about this affair, before the Judge, today."
Alicia had listened silently to every word uttered by the officer of the law, as if she might discover some comfort in them for her heavy trouble; but when she found that they only showed her the influence which she could and must use in fixing her father's guilt, her despair quite overcame her fortitude, and she broke out into piteous sobbing, and, cries of, "Oh, my father! oh, my father!" Tears came into the eyes of all present.
"I guess," said the constable, "as the examination don't come off till three o'clock this afternoon, we'd better go home now, and send some of the women-folks to comfort her. 'Pears she'll cry herself sick at this rate."
"Miss Newcome, I am obliged to return to the village now to attend to the affairs connected with my friend's death," said Allen, with an effort, forcing himself to speak. "Shall I send some one to you?"
"Oh, no! oh, no! I do not wish to see any one, unless I could see my father," she added, looking inquiringly toward the constable.
"Must say no to that, young lady, though I am real sorry, but you can not see your father 'fore the examination," answered the officer.
"Shall I come for you this afternoon?" asked Allen, thinking that, friendless as she seemed, she might accept this service even from him, who stood to her in the light of an enemy.
"No, oh, no! I will come by myself to the village. But where shall I find him?" she asked.
"Waal, he will be at the Judge's house, I reckon, 'cause we hain't got a court-house in Fairview yet," answered the constable. "I'll bring down my light wagon for you, at the right time; so, don't trouble yourself about nothing, only to get over feelin' so bad. Mebbe there ain't no use of it, after all."
With this consoling remark the officer left the house, beckoning his two attendents after him, who came rather reluctantly, as they perceived that Allen still lingered, and they had "come to see it out."
"I wish to assure you, Miss Newcome, that I did not violate my promise this morning, and that I would have done much to have prevented this catastrophe, for your father's sake and yours, as well as my poor friend's."
"Oh, dear me! I can not thank you for that, Mr. Allen, for it only makes my father's case so much the worse."
"Remember one thing, poor child, your father's guilt is not yet proven or known. You can be as guarded as you choose, in your evidence; and now I must leave you to compose your mind for the trial. Try and think of every thing that will go in your father's favor."
"Thank you for that," cried the grateful girl, as Allen turned rapidly away to overtake the constable.
So deeply rooted in her mind had been the apprehension of some violence on the part of her father, that Alicia had scarcely questioned the truth of the charge preferred against him; in fact, she did not expect his acquittal, and hence the vehemence of her grief. But she was too young, and knew too little about the nature of evidence to realize that her own testimony would do more to commit him than that of any one else not a positive witness of the crime. The circumstances of the murder being all unknown to her, she naturally looked for the convincing proofs to come from some one concerned in the affray. Therefore, in thinking over what she might have to say, she had almost persuaded herself that she could soften the weight of any but positive evidence against him; and remembering that Allen had said her father's guilt was "not yet proven," she took a little comfort from this small ground of hope, and prepared with some courage for the trial.
That apartment in the Judge's house temporarily converted into a court-room, by three o'clock was filled almost to suffocation with the people of Fairview and vicinity. In the center was a rude table, on which reposed the body of the murdered man, it having been examined by a surgeon, and the ball extracted from the deadly wound. On one side of the table stood the prisoner, and on the other his accuser, while a few feet distant sat the Judge, and near him, counsel for both sides.
When Alicia entered the court-room, it was observed that the prisoner started violently, and that his brow contracted into a sullen gloom. The murmur that arose upon her appearance soon subsided, and an anxious silence prevailed in the assembly, while the proper officers proceeded to open court.
Allen was first examined, and related the interview with the prisoner as it occurred, as also the circumstances of the death of Edwards; forbearing to refer to the warning given him previously by the prisoner's daughter. Other persons testified to a knowledge of the dispute concerning the boundary of the Newcome claim; and also that the prisoner had often, spoken very angrily about the owners of the adjoining claim.
Alicia Newcome was then sworn. People murmured as they observed how pale and frightened she looked, and saw the entreating glances she cast upon her father. They also noticed that he kept his eyes constantly averted. The witness testified, in a voice hardly audible from agitation, that her father had spoken very excitedly on the subject of the dispute the night previous; that he had said he would pull up the stakes of the other claimants; that he had even threatened to shoot them—the claimants. Also, that he was a man of irritable temper, and sometimes threatened her; and she raised her voice a little as she added, of her own accord, "but he never struck me when he has threatened, and so I do not think his anger is of a dangerous kind."
There was some cross-questioning, and inquiries into the nature of the wound, from which it appeared that, the extracted ball fitted the prisoner's gun and also that the gun when taken was empty, and had been recently fired.
Counsel for defense, reminded the first witness that he had stated that there were two shots fired almost simultaneously. "Did witness see who fired either of them?"
"No."
"Was there any apparent difference in the nearness of the reports?"
"Now that I am reminded of it, I think I noticed a difference at the time."
"Which shot was it, first or last, that took effect on Dr. Edwards?"
"I could not say. I had heard both before he fell."
Counsel for prosecution then desired to know what direction the prisoner took when he left witness; and in what position the murdered man stood in reference to that direction.
Witness "could not answer positively. In the excitement of the moment did not notice more than that the prisoner went into the woods behind us; but whether to the right or left, could not say."
The surgeon then uncovered the body, and demonstrated that the ball must have come from the left of where the deceased was standing at the time; and also that it had been fired from a lower point of ground, as the appearance of the wound indicated.
While the body was uncovered there was a strong sensation in the room; and it was noticed and commented upon that the prisoner showed no emotion at the sight, but rather seemed curious to observe the correctness of the surgeon's observations.
Upon the testimony offered, the Judge felt compelled to commit the prisoner for further trial, and to await the impaneling of the Grand Jury. The crowd, who had been waiting in suppressed wrath to obtain this sanction to their already settled convictions, now began to mutter threats, and to talk about "stringing him up," "putting him in the Missouri," and the like methods of executing hasty justice; none of which threats seemed to alarm the prisoner, who, during the whole examination, had been calm, though sullen; and had only said in reply to a question from the, Judge as to what defense he could make, that he "had not killed Edwards; that there was somebody in the woods besides him."
The sheriff, constable and a few others quietly surrounded the prisoner, and the Judge requested the crowd to disperse peaceabl3, as the law was amply able to take care of offenders; and that they must show respect for it by keeping it themselves; counsel to which they reluctantly yielded, after some mutterings.
Then came a scene which. tried the nerves of the spectators. The poor unhappy daughter, who felt that she had done her father so miserable's service, was waiting for the opportunity to beg his forgiveness before leaving him to loneliness and imprisonment. Throwing herself on the floor, she bowed her head on his knees, and gave way to sobs that wrenched her delicate frame with their violence.
"Oh, my father! would I had died before I spoke such words as I did. If they kill you, they shall kill me, too;- for what have I to live for, without mother or father? Oh heaven-! how terrible it-is!"
To these piteous lamentations the offended father turned an indifferent ear. " She could cry and lament, now that she had done what she could to deprive herself -of a father; but she must not expect pity from one she had not pitied; " and, finally, he expressed himself weary of her complaints, and, rising, left her fainting on the floor.
It would have been well for Thomas Newcome if he had shown some compasion for his suffering daughter-the impression of his cruel nature gaining more ground among—those who witnesssed this exhibition of it from this one circumstance, than from the accredited fact of the shooting an enemy. But there was pity for her in other hearts, if not in his. The constable's wife had lingered behind to offer sympathy and protection; and now, when she beheld the misery and helplessness of the poor child, her woman's heart bled for her.
"The poor, dear young thing! She shall not be motherless, nor yet fatherless; for I will be a mother to her, and my husband shall protect her as a daughter."
Mrs. Wyman spoke with that inspiration of eloquence which genuine feeling imparts to even the humblest language; and from that moment Silas Wyman's wife took a high rank in the esteem of all present-a rank which she continued to hold by after deeds of goodness; for the friendless and homeless girl was taken immediately to her home and heart, and cherished and nourished through a lingering illness which had nearly cost her life.