An Unspeakable Crime

by Theresa Lorella

  On October 1, 1792, the Harrison’s house girl Sally was working the house at Glentivar. If things had been more normal, she would have been in attendance upon Judith and Nancy Randolph. Much to her surprise, she was turned away, told that they did not need her. Sally reported that it was not her experience that the Harrisons or their guests ever did not need their house staff for extended periods of time and so she kept herself close, in case someone called her. From this position, hovering close by, Sally could see what she would later tell investigators. However, her testimony will never make it into the courtroom—we all know slaves cannot bear testimony against their masters. But they can in the press. We have worked with Miss Sally to make her story more cogent. We have printed it in its entirety:

  Eye Witness Account of Sally Adams, house girl to Mr. and Mrs. Randolph Harrison

  I’ve been working at the Glentivar plantation for half my life. My mother worked in the house and I started helping her out when I was about five or so. When I was nine, the master sold my mother at auction. He did it after she questioned the mistress about how to best store the linens. First, he punished her for talking back—she was lashed ten times—and then she was sold. Even though I was still young, I was told that it was then my responsibility to perform my mother’s tasks.

  There has always been suspicion against us slaves at Glentivar and the master and mistress are quick to assume the worst. Because they are not forgiving masters, I knew it made little sense for me to retire for the night even though Miss Judith and Miss Nancy told me I could. In my experience, there are always about five things that are needed from me after I have laid down my head for the night and the Harrisons are particular about us presenting Glentivar as an ideal to outsiders. Also, to be honest, I had always liked Miss Nancy and Mr. Richard when they visited—they were always respectful to the house help. I could tell that Miss Nancy was in more trouble than she let on and I thought I could help.

  Of course Miss Nancy was with child. I do not understand how that was in question. It seemed obvious, but it also seemed clear that everyone was doing his or her best to ignore that fact. We do that too, hide our pregnancies if there is a fear that the baby will be sold. It isn’t my place to say, but I felt sorry for Nancy. She was being controlled by Judith and Richard, who wouldn’t let anyone near her.

  Imagine, going into labor with no one being allowed near you and having to pretend it wasn’t happening!

  Well, I could see right away what the issue was once Miss Nancy began to have stomach pains. I often sit in a nook on the stairs outside of the room—normally Mr. and Mrs. Harrison’s room, but where the Randolphs slept that night—waiting to see if anyone will summon me. I sat there that night, completely out of sight since everyone upstairs had extinguished the candles despite the early hour. I couldn’t hear what was being said in Miss Nancy’s room, but I could hear Mr. Richard kept coming and going and he and Miss Nancy spoke in raised whispers behind the door. They sounded distressed. It was odd that Mr. Richard would be in Miss Nancy’s room alone. All the more odd considering what I believe was happening. Miss Judith stayed most resolutely on her side of the door.

  At one point Mr. Richard came back into the room where Miss Judith was sleeping and I could hear their brief conversation.

  “It’s done,” Mr. Richard said to his wife.

  “It’s not my problem,” Miss Judith responded. I don’t know if she sounded more angry or sad, but she did not sound pleased. “Do what you have to,” she said and I could see her shape as she turned over in her bed away from Mr. Richard.

  After that Mr. Richard went back into Miss Nancy’s room—I could hear the door gently close. He was in there for some time. When he emerged, he came towards my place in the nook, on his way towards the stairs. He didn’t have a candle and so he didn’t see me as I leaned back against the wall. He had a bundle in his hands—it looked like a collection of rags or clothing.

  Mr. Richard went down the stairs quietly, as if he was trying to stay quiet. I was torn whether to go to Miss Nancy or to follow Mr. Richard. Something was not right. Miss Nancy was completely quiet. Miss Judith seemed to be back to sleep, or pretending to be, anyway. I followed Mr. Richard. I know those stairs and I can walk them silently, avoiding every creak and groan.

  He went out through the back door, a slave entrance. My feeling that something was wrong grew at that moment. Nice as Mr. Richard may be, I had never known a single white person to use anything that belonged to the slaves. Just outside of that door is the shingle pile. We use it for burning. We also put our garbage there if it will burn, bit it’s mostly for kindling. I saw Mr. Richard stop at the pile, bend over, and deposit something on the ground. I was standing near the back door. There was no way for me to get closer without being noticed. Once Mr. Richard turned around to come back into the house, I had to turn around and make myself scarce. I was so sure that something bad and wrong had happened that I knew I had best keep out of it if I wanted to save my skin. I went to bed and tried to sleep. I didn’t even care if anyone summoned me, which did not happen. That night, everyone slept through the night as if it were the most normal night in the house’s history.

  I regret not going out to the pile that night after Mr. Richard returned inside, but I hardly saw how I could without drawing attention to myself. It is not my business what the master or his guests had done. But, not being able to sleep, I was up at first light and my morning duties managed to take me out to the shingle pile just after dawn. I made to appear that I was depositing household garbage into the pile, but it was difficult to move all the shingles as if that were a normal thing to do all for the sake of finding a mystery bundle. It was made all the more difficult by the appearance of Mr. Richard out back, claiming he needed air.

  I went back into the house, but only after I saw very clearly that there were traces of blood on a piece of wood sticking out from the bottom of the shingle pile. I didn’t have a chance to go back out until after the Randolphs left and by then an autumn rain had come and washed the pile clean.

  ******

  And there you have it, good citizens of Virginia. Richard Randolph’s attorneys can poke holes in the testimony of the witnesses by saying that no one saw Richard go up and down the Glentivar stairs in the middle of the night, but the truth is there was at least one soul to witness that very action. Those same eyes and ears discerned that something strange was happening in the vicinity of Miss Nancy Randolph’s room that night. What kind of justice is it that such testimony—the very missing testimony needed to convict on this heinous crime—won’t be heard in that courtroom? While the jury may not hear it, you be the judge.

  ******

  Henry threw the paper across his study. It was only eight in the morning, but he ordered Thomas to bring him a glass of whisky. “Make it generous,” he demanded. Could there have been worse timing for this story to appear? The prosecution had so far presented a relatively uninspiring case, and the court was in recess for a few days. Henry had wanted the justices of the jury to be at home thinking of all the holes in the Commonwealth’s case he had so meticulously pointed out thus far in cross-examination. He and his co-counsel had already worked on their closing statement and were prepared to argue that nobody who took the stand against Richard Randolph could point to seeing anything of any suspicion at all on the night in question. Nobody could point to seeing any evidence of a dead child, or even of childbirth, which in Henry’s mind’s eye was a rather messy endeavor, hard to miss.

  But now there was this, sitting center stage in the county’s main newspaper. Every man in the county would be reading this story at the same time as Patrick Henry, and a good number of ladies as well. Included in those numbers would be the nine members of the jury against Richard Randolph.

  It wasn’t perfect for the prosecution: Sally Adams could not testify in court and so the justices could not technically let this story influence them. There were also problems with the story attorneys as adept as Henry and Marshall c
ould argue against. Namely, Miss Adams continuously pointed out that there was no light, no way of seeing exactly what was going on. Nor was she in the room with Nancy and Richard so she really had no idea what was going on in there. It was odd how Judith reportedly reacted—although Henry knew from experience that Judith was strange when it came to her sister and husband. Still, it would be very unusual to sleep through the birth of a child just a few feet away. It was more unusual that nobody else seemed to know that a birth was happening. Even the house girl, despite her story, could not say that she actually saw or even heard anything definitive that night.

  And, more than anything, it was bad for Sally’s story that she didn’t actually see anything in that pile the next morning. By her own account, she saw Richard return to the house, and she was up and outside before him. She didn’t give him much time to hide anything unless she meant to imply that he got up again in the night. Thank God she hadn’t thought to make that leap, thought Henry. His argument: She saw nothing the next morning because there was nothing. But there was blood. Apparently there was blood all over Glentivar.

  Henry sighed. It would be a double whisky day.

  “I need another drink,” Henry demanded of Thomas, who was still standing nearby. When the man returned with the drink, Henry stayed him a moment. “Tom, tell me. What do you know about Sally Adams or any of the Glentivar folks?”

  Thomas looked like he was about to say something but then stopped himself. Henry sighed again. This system of owning these people was not one that worked well at all. There was no use in power when your own people were too afraid to tell you the truth. Really, the new American legal system was comprised of great ideals but its application needed to be administered more equally. Henry, a slave owner, didn’t understand the legal fiction that his bondsmen were not fully human. That was a convenience that seemed suspect. It was perhaps even more suspect that men smart enough to know the distinction still held other men in captivity. This was a conundrum that plagued Henry’s conscious if he let it. Like many of his peers, he found it easier to not let it enter his mind often.

  “Tom, you know that this is not a trick question. You won’t get in any trouble for what you tell me. In fact, in this situation, I invite you to tell me the most vile, accusatory facts or gossip you know about Glentivar.” This was true and Thomas seemed to know it.

  “Well, sir, if I may so, Mr. and Mrs. Harrison are known to be unkind to their people. There are stories about beatings and rapes and other abuses, sir. A few of the slaves have even tried to cause public problems for Mr. Harrison, petitioning that he hasn’t done his duty by his slaves. They have been brave in that respect, sir.”

  “Brave, Tom?”

  “Well, yes, sir. It doesn’t do a slave much good to complain about being treated badly. It usually means that the bad treatment gets worse, or they sell the troublemaker to a plantation down in Georgia or someplace where the days are longer and the work is harder. Dead hard, sir. That’s what I mean by brave.”

  “So the Glentivar folks are known for publically trying to draw attention to Harrison?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And Sally Adams?”

  "I know little, sir other than that her mama they sold her mama to one of the nastiest Down South traders a few years ago. They say she ended up in Louisiana. No one heard from her ever again. I suppose they wouldn’t have anyway, sir, but the presumption was that things were very, very bad for the mother. If I may be perfectly honest, sir, well, it was something we were all talking about."

  “So why then would she go to the trouble of publically accusing the Harrisons and their guests of fornication and infanticide?”

  “Maybe she’s one of the brave ones, sir.” Thomas shrugged and Henry nodded that he could leave. This information was exactly what he needed. Sally may just be one of many of the Glentivar household who was trying to discredit Harrison and his kin to draw public attention to his overall bad running of Glentivar. She would now likely find herself in the line of fire with the entire Randolph family. Brave indeed. Or, perhaps her bravery resulted from the fact that she was telling the truth. Perhaps the girl, having everything to lose, simply wanted to do the right thing.

  Henry put his hands in his hands, leaned against his desk breathed deeply. Damn the Randolphs.

  ******

  “It isn’t that bad, Patrick,” John Marshall put his hand on Henry’s shoulder. Marshall had come to Henry’s home that afternoon to continue preparing their case. “We can handle this, just as you said. She saw nothing. She’s unreliable because she may have her own motive. And, lest we forget, she cannot testify. This doesn’t go in front of the justices. It’s just fine.” He was talking to Henry now in that same tone he had used to calm down Nancy Randolph.

  “I am not a hysterical woman, John. You know as well as I that this is terrible.”

  “But she can’t testify, Patrick. We’ll think of something.”

  “John, the jury is sitting in their respective parlors talking about this right now. They know they have to forget it for the courtroom, but how can we ever un-ring this bell? If you were sitting in justice on this case and a house girl with everything to lose spoke out against you, don’t you think that would stick in your mind even if you knew you shouldn’t consider it?”

  “No, Patrick, I would separate it in my brain and think only on the facts presented. That is what would be asked of me as a judge.”

  Henry shook his head in bewilderment; Marshall was being serious. “John, you have greatness ahead of you still if you can truly find such a level of dispassion and logic even when faced with something so sensational.”

  Marshall smiled. “I don’t know about greatness. But I have faith in the legal system we have set up in this new country of ours, Patrick. If I didn’t know any better, I would think you did as well. I would even think that the great Patrick Henry has a strong sense that the truth will triumph in the courtroom.” He patted Henry on the arm companionably. “My good man, the legal system is on our side and you know it. That is a powerful ally.”

  After Marshall had packed up and left for the night Henry called for another stiff one. Apparently it was actually a three-drink kind of day. He so wanted to believe Marshall’s enthusiastic words. He might even say the same thing in a different case, but this one was something different “It’s going to be a long night, Tom.” He, for one, would spend the night thinking about the Glentivar slave girl. Forget whether she could truly reach the jury—what if she was telling the truth? It hadn’t escaped Henry’s notice that neither he nor Marshall had raised that question the one to the other. It would seem that neither must have wanted to know the answer at this point. Now they were stuck with their client and if he was guilty, it was best his attorneys didn’t know; they were ethically barred from arguing his innocence if he admitted guilt to counsel. Not being able to make an innocence argument stunted an attorney’s ability to assist their client, Henry mused as he sipped his drink.

  “Tom,” Henry asked as the young man cleaned up another round of glasses. “You mentioned that Sally was brave.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  "That goes without saying. But do you think she is telling the truth?”

  “The truth, sir? Well, I don’t know why she would lie with so much to lose. But whether or not she is telling the truth remains to be seen, I suppose.” Henry smiled. It was a shame that Thomas couldn’t become a member of the bar. That answer was every bit as lawyerly as anything John Marshall had said.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “MAY I COME IN?” James Smith peaked his head around the door of the small office space that Henry and Marshall had been using the past few weeks as their headquarters at the Cumberland County courthouse. Both attorneys had been silent, reviewing their notes from the last day’s testimony. Henry had just been about to comment on the prosecution’s sloppy handling of this case so far (mostly to make himself feel better than to pass judgment on the other side) and he sat up at atten
tion when the young man entered the room.

  “Please, Mr. Smith,” Marshall indicated to an empty chair next to him, across from Henry. “Have a seat.” Smith nodded his thanks and sat down. He smiled and said nothing. It was as if the young prosecutor felt he was gracing them with his presence. Henry did not think excessive pride was a great virtue, but he also did not feel as if he and John Marshall were your typical legal team. He did not want younger attorneys to pander to him, but the prosecutor’s attitude was far too condescending for the situation.

  “Can we help you, Mr. Smith,” Henry finally said when it became clear that Smith would not speak first. Part of Henry wanted to wait it out and make the young man sweat, but time was short and Henry wanted to get back to thinking about how much smarter he felt he was than the prosecution.

  “Yes, or rather, perhaps I can help you, Mr. Henry, Mr. Marshall.”

  Henry rolled his eyes. The quota for politeness had suddenly run out. “Mr. Smith, we are busy here taking apart your case. Would you kindly let us know why you are bothering us, absent a simple attempt to divert us from listing the holes in the Commonwealth’s position?”

  Smith maintained a steady smile on his face but his ears turned a rather impressive shade of crimson. Good, thought Henry. He should leave us alone.

  “Hilarious, Mr. Henry,” Smith smirked. “You are always very amusing.”

  Henry presumed the young man was likely some sort of Federalist; that would account for his lack of dignity. “It will be even more amusing when we present our position to the jury and receive an innocent verdict. We can save our merriment for then.” Marshall made a strange sound at that. It was the sound of a laugh, quickly caught and turned into a false cough. Well, thought Henry, the great legal mind has a sense of humor, or at least little tolerance for uninvited puffery and gloating.

  “Mr. Henry, you realize that I represent the Commonwealth of Virginia. I will not be insulted.”