“Here’s the correct form for a deed of trust on real property,” he said, pointing to the page. “And here,” he went on, spreading out a scribbled half-sheet of paper, “are the names to be put in, and a description of the property involved. Date it as of this day, and have it ready for me as soon as possible.”
The Squire sat down at his own larger desk, and drew out a sheaf of papers. Almost at once a rugged-looking old gentleman entered and engaged him in conversation. Jason, meanwhile, carefully copied the deed:
This Indenture, made on the fourth day of April of 1833, between Henry Piggott of the County of Forseby and State of Alabama on the first part, and Charles Martin of the County of Foresby and State of Alabama on the second part, and Ezra Deaver of the County of Foresby and State of Alabama on the third part: Witnesseth, that whereas the said Henry Piggott is justly indebted to the said Ezra Deaver in the sum of two hundred and fifty dollars (5250.00) as on reference to a certain bond or note, bearing even date with these presents, will more fully and at large appear; and whereas the said Henry Piggott is honestly desirous to secure the payment of said debt: Now therefore. . . .
“Stop there, Jason, and step this way,” Squire Colquitt told him suddenly, and Jason laid down his pen, rose, and approached the desk.
“Allow me, Major Westall, to present my young clerk, Mr. Jason Morgan,” said the Squire in his formal manner of introduction. “Mr. Morgan, I take leave to present you to Major Gilbert Westall, who has made possible the town of Moshawnee.” “Yours to command, Major Westall,” said Jason respectfully. The Major gave Jason a calculating look out of deep-set, beady black eyes in a seamed square face. There was something military in the coat the Major wore, of dark blue cloth with brass buttons, and something military, too, in the square set of his broad old shoulders. He put out a big gaunt hand with freckle-like blotches on its back, to grip Jason’s.
“Young sir, my friend here has told me of how you saved him night before last,” he said. “Handsomely done, permit me to say.” The wise old eyes narrowed a trifle. “Now, is it a lawyer you wish to be ? You have more the look of a soldier.”
“No recruiting in my office, Major Westall,” laughed Squire Colquitt. “In due time, I dare say that young Jason will find his way into the militia; and in case of need, he’ll take his place on any firing line. But at present, the law is his study; and he has shown an intelligent interest in our case with Mr. Asper Enderby.”
Major Westall’s strong face grew grim and dark. “Enderby!” he growled, fierce as an old bear. “Were I but a few years younger—”
“Gently, gently,” the Squire pleaded. “The law will take care of Mr. Enderby and his claims. Trust me for that.”
“I do trust you for that,” the Major assured Colquitt. “Now, if you have finished with me, I’ll go on, and meet you at court.” He nodded to Jason. “You, too, young sir. I will wait to hear golden opinions of the progress you make.”
Heavily he tramped out. Jason returned to his writing of the deed. Carefully he set down a description of a tract of land involved in the case, and wound up:
... In testimony whereof, the said parties to these presents do hereunto set their hands and seals, the date first above written.
There was a ponderous eloquence to all this legal language, Jason decided; but it was as exact as it was pretentious. It had to be.
“Have you done with that, boy?” asked the Squire. “Then make me a fair copy of this will Major Westall desires me to draw for him.”
Jason took Squire Colquitt’s scribbled rough draft, spread out a fresh sheet of paper, and began:
I, Gilbert Westall, of the County of Foresby and the State of Alabama, being of sound mind and memory but considering the uncertainty of my earthly existence, do make and declare this my last Will and Testament, in manner and form following, that is to say . . .
As Jason proceeded to set down bequests to Major Westall’s children, grandchildren, nieces, and nephews, other visitors arrived to speak to the Squire. Jason half-heard discussion of suits to be tried that week in court at Moshawnee—damage, theft, trespass, clarification of property lines, settlement of claims. “Finished here, sir,” said Jason at last.
“And in good time, Jason,” replied Squire Colquitt. “It’s twenty minutes past nine, and we have just time to walk to court.”
As they walked toward the main street, Jason was amazed to see the stir and bustle. Wagons lined the sides of the street, people thronged the footpaths before the houses. Somewhere a soap peddler cried his wares. Across the open square sounded the nimble scrape of a fiddle and, looking that way, Jason saw a crowd gathered around a black bear. Standing upright, the big beast gravely and clumsily danced.
“Court week’s the busiest time of the year,” the Squire told him. “More so, even than it used to be in Georgia where you came from. Here we are, in this tavern where you see the sign ‘American House.’ ”
In front of the broad porch of the tavern were hitched saddle horses and riding mules, so many and so close together that their flanks nudged each other. Inside, the big common room of the tavern had been arranged for court sessions. Benches were set one behind another, and in one end of the room a table did duty for the judge’s desk. Two rows of chairs had been placed in readiness for a jury.
People crowded the room, sitting on the benches, lounging against the walls, or standing in chattering groups. Squire Colquitt was met with a chorus of greetings, and he introduced Jason to one after another of the lawyers who rode the circuit. Embarrassed for his shabby clothes, Jason tried to fix their names in his memory—Lassiter, Benton, McCall, Frye, Aber- shaw. The hubbub died suddenly as a loud, clapping noise rang out.
A pudgy little man with long gray-brown hair had signaled by rapping the judge’s table with an iron-knobbed staff. All faced toward him. Several who had kept on their hats took them off, and those who sat on the benches rose to their feet. A tall, gaunt old man whose white hair was cut to stand up stiffly in front and make a queue behind, appeared and sat behind the table.
“That’s Judge Hemphill,” said Colquitt to Jason.
To the end of the table at Judge Hemphill’s right walked a clerk, setting down an inkstand, a big ledger-like book, and a stack of papers.
“Oyez! Oyez! Oyez!” shrilled the pudgy one with the staff. “All manner of persons that will sue or complain, or have anything to do in this Honorable Circuit Court, opened and held here this day, for the County of Foresby, draw near and give your attendance and you shall be heard; for this Honorable Court is now sitting for the dispatch of such matters. God save the State of Alabama and this Honorable Court!”
The crier subsided, and the clerk then faced the crowded room.
“Oyez! Oyez! Oyez!” he boomed out. “All justices of the peace, sheriffs, coroners, and other officers, who have any inquisitions or recognizances, whereby you have let any persons to bail, or taken any examinations, or other things, since the last term on this Honorable Court, holden for this county, come forward and make a true return thereof that this Honorable Court may proceed thereon.”
After that, there was a seemingly interminable calling of names for those who had been summoned to serve as jurors. Finally the judge spoke softly to his clerk, who read from the book:
“Asper Enderby versus the town of Moshawnee.”
“What say the attorneys for the parties in this case?” asked Judge Hemphill.
“The defendant is ready for trial, your Honor,” said Colquitt at once, and Major Westall walked close up behind him.
“And the plaintiff?” prompted the judge.
A man walked toward the table. He was as tall as Jason, and gracefully built, with a long-nosed, handsome face and wavy dark hair. One hand, behind his back, grasped the tail of the fine green coat he wore.
“That’s Milo Kinstrey,” mumbled Major Westall to Jason.
“If the court please,” said Squire Kinstrey, with smooth deference, “comes now the plaintiff to plead
for a continuance until the fall term of this court. We lack a witness whose testimony is vital to our case.”
“Try the case now!” spoke up Major Westall from behind Colquitt, and Judge Hemphill picked up a gavel and rapped the table with it. Squire Colquitt turned and motioned for the Major to be silent.
“Who is this witness,” Judge Hemphill asked Kinstrey, “and what is the nature of his evidence?”
“If the court please, this is a matter concerning the right of the town of Moshawnee, or the lack of that right, to build a courthouse on the tract of land known as the public square,” Kinstrey replied.
“A courthouse is needed here,” put in Colquitt, and Judge Hemphill nodded in agreement.
“But we, the plaintiff, deny that right, on the grounds that a grave will be disturbed by such building of a courthouse at such place,” went on Kinstrey. “A document providing for the grave’s freedom from disturbance was drawn up, signed, and witnessed. As witness to the signatures appears the name of one Samuel Leslie, at the time of signing an Indian agent in the service of the United States government. He is not here present, and we ask for the continuance that he may be brought to swear to the matter before this court.”
“It may be that the defendant will recognize the validity of the signature of the witness,” suggested the judge.
“May we see the document?” asked Colquitt.
“If the court please,” said Kinstrey once more, “the plaintiff, with respect, declines to offer the document for examination until such time as it may be admitted to evidence before a jury.”
“Trickery!” growled Major Westall, loud enough to call for another warning rap from the judge’s gavel.
“What says the attorney for the defendant?” asked the judge.
“Without seeing the document, we cannot pass on the validity of the signature,” insisted Colquitt.
“Then,” said Judge Hemphill tonelessly, “this court orders that the case of Enderby versus the town of Moshawnee be continued for trial to the fall term of circuit court in Foresby County.” He waited while the clerk wrote it down. “What is the next case?”
Other lawyers pushed forward to represent other clients. Jason watched, for the first time in his life, the empaneling of a jury.
There was a tremendous lot of detail to be observed with the utmost care, he thought, if you were trying even the most minor of cases at law. And all that detail was necessary. Men made mistakes in everything they did; but law and its courts must try to avoid as many mistakes as possible.
It was exciting to hear the attorneys argue. Once, as Jason thought, rival representatives in a case quarreled so hotly over a point of law that they seemed ready to come to blows. But, when court adjourned for noon dinner, Jason saw the same two lawyers who had disputed sitting down together at a table and laughing over their plates of smoking beef.
“There was nothing personal in their argument with each other,” Colquitt explained. “It’s the two parties involved in the suit who are angry, and the lawyers represent them and their difference of opinion. But you can hardly make a true active enemy of your fellow-lawyer. Who knows ? Later on, you and he may be associates to represent the same side of a future case.”
Kinstrey lounged over to meet Colquitt as court prepared to resume its session in the afternoon. Seen close at hand, he was handsome and young—no more than thirty-two or thirty-three— and he moved with a grace that Jason could not but envy. His strong features gave him a look of assurance, and his green eyes were brilliant. With one long white hand he swept back the hair from his broad forehead.
“Is this the young man who is reading law with you, Squire Colquitt?” inquired Kinstrey, looking with an air of good- humored interest at Jason.
“Mr. Morgan, Squire Kinstrey.” Colquitt made the introduction.
Kinstrey’s hand gripped Jason’s. It was a long hand, and its fingers were steely strong.
“The state is growing up, now that hopeful youngsters begin reading law here,” went on Kinstrey. “Mr. Morgan, most of those you see here come from elsewhere, already educated at the law—or they think they are, which amounts to something like the same thing. Squire Colquitt, for instance, is a Virginian. He came from Richmond. I am a Marylander. And Judge Hemphill is a Georgian.”
“And so am I a Georgian, sir,” Jason told him.
“But as a lawyer you look to an Alabama office for training and guidance,” reminded Kinstrey. “Good, good.”
He strolled away. His words had been kind, but they had been spoken with a superior air. Jason did not like Kinstrey’s manner just then, nor, as Jason judged, did Colquitt.
More cases followed in court. Jason drank them in, word by word, and listened with special rapt attention to the reading from law books to clarify and explain certain points of evidence and argument. At last, as the afternoon sun dropped down, the judge nodded to the clerk, who in turn made a gesture to the crier. That pudgy little official rose importantly, and thumped with his iron-headed staff.
“Oyez! Oyez! Oyez!” he proclaimed. “All manner of persons that have appeared here this day, and who have any further business in this Honorable Court, let them depart hence, and give their attendance at nine-thirty o’clock tomorrow morning, and they shall be heard. God save the State of Alabama and this Honorable Court!”
The judge rose and departed. The crowd flowed out of the packed room.
Squire Colquitt and Jason walked home. Betsy met them at the door, full of questions about the legal matters that had been brought to trial. She spoke, Jason thought, with more than ordinary understanding of the law.
“You sound like a lawyer, yourself, Betsy,” he told her at last.
“If I were a man, I’d be a lawyer,” she vowed at once. “Uncle Henry likes to tell about trials and how to win them, and I like to hear him.”
“And so do I,” Jason agreed.
After supper, Betsy lighted a lamp in the sitting room. Squire Colquitt walked to where Jason gazed at the shelves of books.
“You like to read, you tell me,” said the Squire. “Very well, help yourself. What’s your pleasure? Poetry? There’s Byron, and yonder is Scott. Or would you like a romance by Cooper, perhaps?”
“Sir, I have it in mind that I’d better read law.”
“Ha!” chuckled Colquitt, and nodded his approval. “Well said, Jason. But my law books are out in the office. Here, light the lantern and go there to choose. Bring back your finding.”
Jason sought the office and returned with a bulky volume. Squire Colquitt took it from him.
“Statutes of Alabama,” he read the title from the calf-bound back. “You want to inform yourself of the laws governing this state.”
“It’s a right big book, sir. I wonder if I can ever learn everything that’s in it.”
“Egad, you’d better learn everything that’s in it if you want to practice law in this state. Start now.”
Jason occupied himself with the Alabama statutes until his eyes swam. Seeking his little sleeping chamber, he dreamed of trying a case before Judge Hemphill, with Squire Milo Kinstrey as his opponent.
5 A Gun for the Jury
At eight o’clock next MORNING, SQUIRE COLQUITT brought Jason to the biggest store in Moshawnee. It was owned by a sturdy man with a round face and sidewhiskers.
“This is Mr. Morgan, Mr. Parham,” Colquitt greeted the merchant. “He wants to buy some clothes.” Pausing, Colquitt looked at Mr. Parham. “You don’t seem so cheerful this morning, Leslie.”
“That case about Brundage is coming up this week,” replied Parham.
Looking and listening, Jason reflected that Parham’s face was one that by nature would be smiling; but now, as Colquitt had said, it was shadowed with stern gloom.
“It’s Brundage that’s being tried, not you,” Colquitt said. “See if you can fit out young Jason, now.”
Jason chose a dark coat with tails, gray trousers with straps to loop under his insteps, and some white shirts with bro
ad collars. Colquitt helped him pick out two cravats, dark red and black, and took money from his pockets to pay.
“That will be an interesting case for you to hear,” commented the Squire as he walked back to Jason with the packages. “Brundage is a trifling, quarreling fellow who makes out by trapping a few furs each year. He made a fuss in Parham’s store, got ordered out, and came back with a rifle and tried to shoot Leslie.”
“Will he be sent to jail ?” asked Jason.
“I think so, but he’s got a smart lawyer. Milo Kinstrey.”
Jason dressed in his new garments, and both Betsy and Purney cried out in admiration of his appearance.
“You look like a lawyer already,” commented Squire Colquitt as they walked to court.
That day and the next, Jason attended sessions of the court, and between times copied documents for Squire Colquitt. He began to gain familiarity with legal phrases in the drawing up of deeds, contracts, formal charges, and answers.
On Thursday of court week, a morning visitor to Squire Colquitt’s of&ce laid claim to the two horses that Jason had captured from the men who had tried to rob and kill Squire Colquitt. This man, a planter from a neighboring plantation, offered positive proof that they were his animals and had recently vanished from his stables.
“I want to reward you for getting them back for me,” he told Jason.
“I ask nothing of that sort,” Jason began, but the planter gestured his protest aside.
“No, no, I insist. I’d feel wrong if I didn’t show my appreciation.”
“The gentleman’s right, Jason,” put in Squire Colquitt.
Thus persuaded, Jason accepted the sum of thirty dollars in silver, the largest amount of money he had ever possessed. With part of it he bought himself a fine black hat with a broad brim, to set off his new suit.
Friday and Saturday of court week were given over to the trial of criminal cases. The solicitor for the circuit, Rinehart Parks, prosecuted these for the state. Most of them were minor matters, concerning petty thefts, disturbances of the peace, and appeals from the sentences of the justice courts; but the trial of the trapper Brundage for attempting to shoot Mr. Parham, the merchant, attracted special attention.
Manly Wade Wellman - Novel 1956 Page 3
