XXI.
THE CHAIN OF EVIDENCE.
"At the sight of that terrible object" continued General Davenant, "Istaggered back, and nearly fell. I could not believe my eyes--neverthought of denying the ownership of the fearful witness,--I could onlygaze at it, with a wild horror creeping over me, and then all theseterrible emotions were too much for me.
"I took two steps toward the grave, reached out with a shudder tograsp the knife whose clots of blood seemed to burn themselves into mybrain--then vertigo seized me, and letting my head fall, I fainted.
"When I regained my senses, I was in my carriage, supported by the armsof my wife, and rolling up the avenue to my own house.
"Opposite me, in the carriage, little Charley, who, dimly realizedapparently that some trouble had come to me, was crying bitterly, and arough personage was endeavoring to quiet his sobbing.
"The personage in question was a constable. When I fainted at thegrave, my friends had caught me in their arms--protested with burningindignation that the charge against me was a base calumny--and themagistrate who was summoned by Judge Conway to arrest me, had declinedto do more than direct a constable to escort me home, and see that I didnot attempt to escape.
"That was kind. I was a murderer, and my proper place a jail. Why should_I_ be more favored than some poor common man charged with that crime?Had such a person been confronted with such a charge, supported bysuch damning evidence as the bloody knife, would any ceremony have beenobserved? 'To jail!' all would have cried, 'No bail for the murderer!'And why should the rich Mr. Davenant be treated with more consideration?
"On the day after my arrest--I spare you all the harrowing scenes, mypoor wife's agony, and every thing, colonel--on the day after, I gotinto my carriage, and went and demanded to be confined in jail. It wasthe first time a Davenant had ever been _in jail_--but I went thitherwithout hesitation, if not without a shudder. No sooner had I taken thisstep than the whole country seemed to have left their homes to visit mein my prison. On the evening of the scene at the grave, twenty personshad called at the 'Pines,' to express their sympathy and indignationat the charge against me. Now, when the iron door of the law had closedupon me, and I was a real prisoner, the visitors came in throngs withoutnumber. One and all, they treated the charge as the mere result of JudgeConway's fury--some laughed at, others denounced it as an attempt toentrap and destroy me--all were certain that an investigation would atonce demonstrate my innocence, and restore me to liberty and honor.
"Alas! I could only thank my friends, and reply that I hoped that suchwould be the result. But when they had left me alone, I fell into fitsof the deepest dejection.
"What proofs could I give that I was innocent? There was a terriblearray of circumstances, on the contrary, to support the hypothesis ofmy guilt--much more than I have mentioned, colonel. I had visited thecourthouse on the same day with poor George Conway, and for the firsttime in twenty years had exchanged words with him. And the words wereunfriendly. We had both been in the clerk's office of the county, whenthat gentleman asked me some common-place question--in what year sucha person had died, and his will had been recorded, I think. I replied,mentioning a year. The clerk shook his head, declaring that it must havebeen later, and appealed to poor George Conway, who agreed with him,adding, 'Mr. Davenant is certainly in the wrong.' I was much annoyedthat day--made some curt reply--poor George made a similar rejoinder,and some harsh, almost insulting words, passed between us. The affairwent no further, however. I left the clerk's office, and having attendedto the business which brought me, left the court-house about dusk. AsI mounted my horse, I saw poor George Conway riding out of the place. Ifollowed slowly, not wishing to come up with him, turning into a by-roadwhich led toward my own house--and knew nothing of the murder until itwas bruited abroad on the next day.
"That is much like the special pleading of a criminal--is it not,colonel? If I had really murdered the poor man, would not this be mymethod of explaining every thing? You see, I do not deny what severalwitnesses could prove; the fact that I quarreled with Conway, came tohigh words, uttered insults, exhibited anger, followed him from thecourt-house at dusk--I acknowledge all that, but add, that I struck intoa by-road and went home! That sounds suspicious, I assure you, even tomyself, to-day. Imagine the effect it promised to have then, when Iwas a man charged with murder--who would naturally try to frame such astatement as would clear him--and when a large portion of the communitywere excited and indignant at the murder.
"Such had been the truly unfortunate scene in the clerk's office,--thefatality which made me follow the man going to his death, and my knownenmity of long standing, supported the hypothesis of my guilt. There wasanother, and even more fatal circumstance still,--the discovery of theknife with which George Conway had been slain. That knife was my own;it was one of peculiar shape, with a handle of tortoise-shell, and Ihad often used it in presence of my friends and others. A dozen personscould make oath to it as my property; but it was not needed; the sceneat the grave made that useless. I evidently did not deny the ownershipof the weapon which had been used in the commission of the murder. Atthe very sight of it, on the contrary, in the hands of the brother of myvictim, I had turned pale and fainted!
"This was the condition of things when the special term of the court,held expressly to try me, commenced at Dinwiddie."
XXII.
THE TRIAL.
"A great crowd assembled on the day of the trial. Judge Conway hadvacated the bench, as personally interested, and the judge from aneighboring circuit had taken his place.
"Below the seat of the judge sat the jury. Outside the railing, thespectators were crowded so closely that it was with difficulty thesheriff made a passage for my entrance.
"To one resolution I had adhered in spite of the remonstrances of allmy friends,--to employ no counsel. In this determination nothingcould shake me. A disdainful pride sustained me, mingled with bitterobstinacy. If I, the representative of one of the oldest and mosthonorable families in the county of Dinwiddie was to be branded as amurderer,--if my past life, my family and personal character, didnot 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 itwould; no glib counsel should save my life by technicalities; I would bevindicated by God and my past life, or would die.
"Such was my state of mind, and such the origin of my refusal to employcounsel. When the court now assigned me counsel, I rose and forbadethem to appear for me. In the midst of a stormy scene, and with theprosecuting attorney sitting dumb in his chair, resolved to take nopart in the trial, the witnesses appeared upon the stand, and, rather bysufferance than the judge's consent, the jury proceeded to interrogatethem.
"The circumstances which I have detailed to you were all proved in theclearest manner; the altercation in the clerk's office on the day of themurder; 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 onthe fatal night; and the discovery of my knife in the tall grass by theroadside near the body.
"I had summoned no witnesses, but some appeared of their own accord, andgave important testimony. Many neighbors testified that my enmity towardGeorge Conway had almost entirely disappeared in the lapse of years,and that I had spoken of him, upon more than one occasion, with greatkindness. The clerk of the county described the scene in his office,stating that the affair had appeared to him a mere interchange of curtwords, without exhibition of the least malice on my part. The mostimportant witness, however, was a poor man, living in the neighborhood,who made oath that he had been riding toward the court-house on theevening of the murder; had passed Mr. Conway, and, riding on farther,came in sight of me, and he had, before reaching me, seen me turninto the by-road which led toward my own residence. I could not havecommitted the murder, he added, for Mr. Conway had time to pass the spotwhere his b
ody was found before I could have ridden back to the highroadand caught up with him.
"Unfortunately, the witness who gave this testimony bore a veryindifferent character, and I could see that more than one of the jurorssuspected that he was perjuring himself.
"Another ugly-looking circumstance also intervened to neutralize thefavorable impression thus made. From the irregular mode of proceeding,the fatal knife had not been exhibited in court. Suddenly, a jurorcalled for it, and it could nowhere be found! The sheriff swore that hehad left it in the clerk's office, where he supposed it to be entirelysafe. Upon searching for it, however, in the drawer where he haddeposited it, the weapon was missing.
"When that fact was stated, I saw a curious expression pass over thefaces 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 boreevident 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-houseby breaking open the shutter, and stolen that knife from the clerk'soffice, which is never locked.'
"A meaning silence followed the words. It was not difficult tounderstand it. The jury looked at each other, and in their glancesI could read this--'Mr. Davenant is on trial for his life. He or hisfriends 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-houseand steal the knife which proves his connection with the deed--that itmay not appear in evidence against him.'
"The evidence closed. I had not uttered a word. I had sworn in my heartthat I would not stir a finger in the matter--but now, stung beyondendurance, I rose and addressed the jury in impassioned words. 'Theirverdict,' I told them, 'was of little importance if I was to lose therespect of my fellow-citizens. I had made no effort to shape theirdecision, but now on the brink, it might be of a felon's grave, I wouldutter my dying words. I would confine myself to protesting before God,and on my honor, that I had long since forgiven George Conway the wrongsdone me--that the scene on the day of his murder was the resultof momentary irritability, caused by business annoyances, and notmalice--that I had forgotten it in an hour--returned directly to my ownhouse--and only heard of the murder on the day after its commission. Asto the knife--I had been suspected if not charged with having had theweapon stolen. Well! my answer to that was to declare that, to thebest of my knowledge and belief, _the murder was committed with my ownknife!_ More than that. A witness had sworn that he saw me turn into theroad to my own residence, at such a distance behind George Conway thatI could not have rejoined him before he had passed the fatal spot.The witness was mistaken. There was time. _By riding across the anglethrough the thicket, I could easily have rejoined him_!
"'And now, gentlemen,' I said, 'I have done. I have left you no groundto charge me with suborning testimony--with having the evidence of mycrime stolen--with plotting in darkness, to hide my crime and blindyour eyes in determining my guilt or innocence. That knife was mine, Irepeat. It was possible for me to rejoin Mr. Conway, and do him to deathby a blow with it. Now, retire, gentlemen! Bring in your verdict! ThankGod! no taint of real dishonor will rest upon a Davenant, and I canappear before my Maker as I stand here to-day--innocent!'
"Ten minutes afterward the jury had retired, with every mark ofagitation upon their faces. The great concourse of spectators seemedmoved almost beyond control.
"Suddenly the crowd opened, I saw my wife hastening through the spacethus made--a living wall on each side--and in an instant she had thrownherself into my arms, with a low cry which brought tears to the roughestfaces of the auditory. I placed my arm around her, remonstrated with herfor this ill-advised proceeding, and was trying to soothe her, when shehastily 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 inperson, without waiting to question the stranger, who had at oncedisappeared.
"I opened the letter--glanced at its contents--at the same instant thejury 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 toshake me by the hand and congratulate me. Suddenly, in the midst of thetumult, I heard the furious words:--
"'Murderer! you have escaped, but I brand you before God and man as themurderer 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, anddenounced me as a convict before God, if not before man."
XXIII.
WHAT THE LETTER CONTAINED.
General Davenant was silent for a moment. The deep voice, so longresounding in my ears, made the silence oppressive.
"Now you know, my dear colonel," he suddenly added, "why my son can notform an alliance with a daughter of Judge Conway."
I bowed my head. The whole mystery was patent before me.
"The family opposition is mutual," said General Davenant, with a proudsmile; "he objects because he believes that I murdered his brother--andI object because he believes it! He insulted me, outraged me--at thegrave, in the court-house, in public, as in private; and I could notthink of beseeching his honor to give his consent to the marriage of hisdaughter with the son of an 'escaped murderer.'"
The old soldier uttered these words with gloomy bitterness; but in amoment he had regained his coolness.
"That was the end of the affair," he said. "I went home, accompanied bya _cortege_ of friends who seemed never weary of congratulating me;and on the next day, I wrote a mortal defiance to Judge Conway, which Iplaced in the hands of a friend to convey to him. An hour afterward, Ihad mounted my horse, ridden rapidly, caught up with this friend on hisway to Five Forks, and had taken from him the challenge, which I tore topieces. You will probably comprehend the motive which compelled me todo this. It was not repugnance to the modern form of single combat, Iam sorry to say. Old as I was, I had still the ancient hallucination onthat subject. I did not then know that duels were mere comedies--child'splay; that one infantry skirmish results in the shedding of more bloodthan all the affairs of a generation. The motive that induced me towithdraw my challenge, was one which you will probably understand. Thepale face of the dead George Conway had risen up before me--I knewhis brother's deep love for him--that he regarded me as the dead man'smurderer; and I no longer writhed under that public insult in thecourt-house, or, at least controlled myself. 'Let him go on his way,poor, stricken heart!' I said with deep pity; 'I forgive him, and willnot avenge that affront to me!'
"Such is my history, colonel. It is sad, you see. I have related itto explain what has come to your knowledge--the bitter hostility whichJudge Conway indulges toward me, and his frowns at the very name ofDavenant. These events occurred more than ten years ago. During all thattime, he has been laboring under the belief that I am really guilty ofhis brother's blood. See where my 'high pride' has conducted me,"said General Davenant, with a smile of inexpressible melancholy andbitterness. "I was proud and disdainful on the day of my trial--I wouldnot use the common weapons of defence--I risked my life by refusingcounsel, and acknowledging the ownership of that knife. Pride, hauteur,a sort of disdain at refuting a charge of base dishonor--that was mysentiment then, and I remain as haughty to-day! I am a Davenant--I wasfound 'not guilty'--why go and tell Judge Conway the contents of thatl
etter received in the court-house?"
"The contents of the letter, general?"
"Yes, colonel."
"What did it contain?--I beg you to tell me!"
"The confession of the murderer of George Conway!"
XXIV.
"BLOOD."
General Davenant had scarcely uttered the words which I have justrecorded, when rapid firing was heard in the woods, a quarter of amile from his head-quarters; and a moment afterward a courier came at agallop, bearing a dispatch.
"My horse!" came in the brief tone of command.
And General Davenant tore open the dispatch, which he read attentively.
"The enemy are advancing to attack me," he said; "this note was writtenten minutes since. The attack has commenced. Will you go and see it,colonel?"
"Willingly."
General Davenant ordered another horse, as my own was useless; wemounted and rode at full speed through the woods; in five minutes wewere at the scene of action.
A heavy assault was in progress. The enemy had massed a large force infront of the hastily erected earth-works, and were endeavoring, by adetermined charge, to carry them.
General Davenant was everywhere amid the fight, the guiding anddirecting head, and beside him I saw distinctly in the starlight, thebrave figure of little Charley, who had started from his couch, buckledon a huge sword, and was now galloping to and fro, cheering on the menas gallantly as his father. It was an inspiring sight to see that childin his little braided jacket, with his jaunty cap balanced gallantlyon his auburn curls--to see his rosy cheeks, his smiling lips, and hissmall hand flourishing that tremendous sabre, as he galloped gaily amidthe fire.
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