University of Virginia Library

14. CHAPTER XIV.
THE TRIAL.

The days of Albert Corrinton's imprisonment
dragged heavily, notwithstanding his
determination to be patient and resigned, and
to make a wise use of the time which he was
destined to spend within the walls of the jail.

Corrinton was not a stoic. He did not
possess those powers of endurance which enable
a man to wait and wait, and still wait, for
expected relief without a murmur. Sometimes
he felt capable of suffering years of confinement,
ages of suspense, with patience: it was when
the noble philosophy of some great book, or the
mild, sweet words of encouragement which
came to him from Alice Silby, roused the energies
of his soul, and led him into the paths
of wisdom.

But when, day after day, and week after
week, he saw the dawn brighten on the walls
of his prison, and the noon advance, and the
dusky evening approach, and darkness gather,
and the long night come, his philosophy wore

itself away, and the bright hues of his hopeful
wisdom faded.

Corrinton was one of those men who require
action and change. Never, when a student,
had he been able to confine himself closely;
but powerful physical exercise was his recreation
after intense studies. Only those who
possess a similar temperament, and who have
been shut up with their own thoughts, — cast
into a den of lions, so to speak, — can appreciate
the fluctuating feelings, the impatience,
the alternating triumph and despair of which
the sanguine, energetic mind of Corrinton was
a victim.

Several times Alice Silby visited the prisoner,
accompanied on each occasion by her devoted
cousin Joseph. Never before had Corrinton
understood the beautiful, the sublime
character of that superior young girl. She
was always cheerful, always serene and self-possessed,
yet full of hope, and glowing with
sympathy. The severe discipline exercised by
her mother, which might have injured the dispositions
of many, had served to strengthen
her mind and form her character. Corrinton
regarded her with almost worshipful tenderness

and admiration, piously believing her the perfection
of her sex; and her presence within the
gloomy precincts of his prison was the greatest
happiness he enjoyed.

But the wheel of time moves continually.
The weariest hours pass — the longest days
are soon over. The term of Corrinton's imprisonment
previous to trial drew to a close;
and now, with the hope of a speedy deliverance
before him, he looked back calmly upon
the days he had passed in jail; saw how profitable,
after all, the time had proved to him, how
rich in wisdom; and he almost regretted that
he was to leave the sober walls so soon.

Corrinton had lain in jail four months. It
was a cold, stormy day in the autumn of the
year that he was at length brought before the
proper court to defend himself against the
charge of murder.

He was well aware of the danger of his position;
but putting firm confidence in the ability
of his counsel, he cheerfully faced the court
that was to decide his fate.

A sharp and biting wind made the day uncomfortable,
and a cold rain fell continually;
but notwithstanding the inclemency of the

weather, a mixed multitude, curious to see the
prisoner, and eager to gather all the details of
the trial, crowded into the court room, and
filled all the seats allotted to spectators at an
early hour.

But little difficulty was encountered in impanelling
a jury; all the preliminary steps
were taken with due deliberation; and the
prosecuting attorney arose to tell the court
how very clearly he was prepared to show that
the prisoner, and none but the prisoner, was
guilty of the crime of which he was accused.

During all this time, Albert Corrinton was
the principal object of attention. He had
come into the court room to find himself a
great curiosity. People remarked his manner,
his attire, his looks, even the style in which his
hair was dressed, and shrewdly predicted the
result of the trial.

The prisoner's appearance was not strikingly
singular. He was plainly dressed, and his
manner was easy, his eye serene, his expression
cheerful. Those who knew him, however, observed
that he was much paler and thinner
than before his imprisonment. Nobody thought
that he looked like a very wicked man; and

some who had come from afar to see him, expecting
to behold a villain of ferocious aspect,
were destined to suffer grievous disappointment.

Corrinton, I have said, was hopeful of a
speedy deliverance — of an honorable acquittal;
but when the skilful and ingenious government
attorney produced the powerful evidence
in favor of the prosecution, he felt a cold, heavy
cloud gathering about his heart. A sickness
came over him when, casting his eye upon the
gaping, eager crowd which filled the court
room, he perceived the horrid relish with which
the presumptive evidence of his guilt was
devoured.

“Good Heavens!” exclaimed Albert to Mr.
Marshal, one of his counsel, after the court
had adjourned that day; “even though I am
acquitted, every body will believe me guilty!
Would to God the real criminal could be
brought to light! I would rather be judged
guilty by the jury than by the world.”

“Courage! courage!” said Mr. Marshal.
“It takes time for all things.”

The trial lasted three days. No new facts
were brought to light by the prosecution, but

the talented district attorney and his assistant
had the credit of arranging and producing the
testimony against the prisoner in the most
striking and foreible manner. The principal
points proved were, —

1. The enmity existing between the prisoner
and the deceased. On this point, several witnesses
of respectability and veracity gave in
positive evidence. Corrinton had been heard
to declare his hatred of the deceased on frequent
occasions.

2. On the evening of the murder, the prisoner,
when informed of the abusive language
deceased had made use of touching him, had
declared that “Appleton Brance should suffer
for it,” and that “he would endure no more
insult from the scoundrel.” It was clearly
shown that the prisoner then went to his office,
and, a few minutes afterward, rode off in the
direction of Craw's Corners, whither Appleton
had gone.

3. Several witnesses testified to having seen
the prisoner and deceased together, both at the
Corners and on the road, late in the evening.
Joseph Sorrel's evidence and Corrinton's own
admission proved conclusively that he had

accompanied Appleton nearly to the spot
where the murder took place.

4. The identity of the pistol found near the
scene of the tragedy, as Corrinton's property,
was clearly proved. This was considered one
of the strongest points in the evidence.

Other details of smaller importance were
elicited by the prosecution, all leading to the
conclusion the government counsel desired to
establish in the minds of the jury.

To this dark and imposing array of circumstantial
evidence, the counsel for the prisoner
had but a meagre body of testimony to oppose.
It was shown that, as Corrinton had always
been accustomed to leave the door of his office
open and his pistols hanging in his office, one
of these weapons might have been stolen by
the villain who perpetrated the deed. No one
of the witnesses who had testified to seeing
Corrinton and Appleton together on the evening
of the murder, remembered any violent
language used by either; on the contrary, it
was shown that the prisoner accosted the
other in a gentlemanly manner, and appeared
afterwards to be conversing with him soberly
and cordially. Men of the first respectability

testified to the good character which the prisoner
had sustained since his residence in Verfield,
and witnesses produced in towns where
he had formerly resided gave in evidence to
the same effect.

In summing up, the counsel for the prosecution
had argued what was termed the “utter
absurdity of supposing that any other man
than the prisoner could have committed the
murder;” in reply to which, Mr. Marshal, in
his eloquent concluding argument, cited numerous
authentic cases, illustrative of the fallacy
of presumptive evidence.

“Nobody,” said Mr. Marshal, with impressive
earnestness, “can conscientiously assert
that it is impossible that another man committed
this crime of which the prisoner is accused.
In the case I have just quoted, in
which an innocent man was convicted, sentenced,
and executed, on the charge of a crime
of which another man afterwards confessed
himself guilty, the evidence against the unhappy
victim was much stronger than in this instance.
Now, consider the straightforward,
manly, frank account of his last interview with
the deceased, made by the prisoner immediately

after the murder was known, and reproduced
without contradiction or variation, both at the
inquest and on the occasion of his legal examination.
He accosted the deceased, whom
he met at Craw's Corners, and in a firm, but
quiet, sober manner, addressed him on the
subject of their differences. The former invited
him to ride along the road with him,
as he did not wish that others should hear their
conversation; and when asked if he had made
use of the insulting language which had been
reported to the prisoner, he replied, `I can't
say I used those precise terms, but I believe I
said something to that effect;' and added, that
it was in consequence of remarks Dr. Corrinton
had made touching him, that he had taken
the liberty of expressing his feelings in such a
public manner. This was followed by mutual
admissions of impulsiveness and passionate
haste on both sides, and something like a
reconciliation.

“The prisoner states that he rode home with
the deceased, bidding him good night only a
few rods from the avenue leading to Mr.
Brance's house, and galloping off immediately
in the direction of the village; that he heard a

sound like a report of a gun, and that, as he
was riding fast, he concluded he might have
been deceived, and thought nothing of it; and
that he then proceeded directly to the tavern,
and thence to his office, where he was found by
Solomon Brown. The pistol he missed that
evening; it was taken from his office during
his absence, and without his knowledge. He
declares that he never meditated using any violence,
and that his threat that `Appleton should
suffer' was hasty, meaning only that he would
confront him, and perhaps retaliate. Nothing
can be more revolting than to suppose that he
deliberately, and in cold blood, armed himself,
and followed the deceased with the intention
of taking his life. You must allow, then, that
the prisoner's account of his proceedings that
night is even more probable than the hypothesis
of the murder. But granting that it is only
barely possible that the account is correct,
humanity, the notorious fallacy of presumptive
evidence, every thing, calls upon you to give
the prisoner the benefit of that possibility. To
pronounce a man guilty of a crime which must
devote him to everlasting infamy and an ignominious
death, something more is required than
the possibility or probability of his guilt. You
must be convinced beyond the shadow of a
doubt of the utter impossibility that the crime
can have been committed by any other person.
Are you, gentlemen of the jury, thoroughly
convinced in this instance? Are you sure that
the deceased was not slain by some villain,
who for revenge, or for money, lay in wait for
him, having first entered the prisoner's office
and taken possession of a weapon suited to his
murderous purpose? Can you conscientiously
say that such a thing is not possible? I appeal
to you as men, each of whom is liable at any
time to be placed in the position of my client,
to acknowledge that there is a possibility of his
innocence, and to give him the benefit of that
possibility. But something tells me that I need
not urge this point with a humane, benevolent,
truth-seeking jury. The fate of an innocent
man, prosecuted for a crime at which he shudders,
is in your hands. I cannot for an instant
believe that you will bring him in guilty: the
evidence is altogether insufficient to give repose
to your consciences, if in future years you have
to reflect upon the doom of a man unjustly
convicted; and, in your public capacity, you
will manifest that regard for justice and humanity
for which, as private citizens, you have
always been distinguished. But what I ask is
this: Let your verdict be prompt, that the
world may see that you do not for an instant
doubt the innocence of my client. You understand
what a dark stain this accusation, and
the ingenuity of the opposing counsel, must
leave upon the character of a worthy, upright
citizen. Do not let this misfortune prove his
utter ruin. He has suffered much already;
you will not allow the imputation of guilt to
rest upon him forever, and load him with lasting
misery. It rests with you, gentlemen of
the jury, to make the only atonement in the
power of the court for the agony he has suffered.
Then let your verdict of acquittal be
given with such promptitude and decision that
no stain shall rest on the character of a man
who values honor more than life, and dreads
infamy more than death.”

This speech of the prisoner's counsel, of
which we have given but an imperfect, disconnected
sketch, was listened to with intense interest
and breathless attention. But the friends
of the prisoner, the prisoner himself, were

evidently not wholly satisfied with the defence.
It was doubtless expected that Mr. Marshal
would surmount all difficulties, annihilate the
strength of circumstantial evidence against the
prisoner, and make his innocence appear clear
as day.

When the speaker took his seat not a murmur
was heard, and the silence was broken
only by a restless movement of the spectators.
Corrinton, pale and anxious, cast a glance
around him. He saw the eyes of a speechless
multitude fixed upon him, and he could detect
more curiosity than sympathy in the general
aspect of the crowd. He saw his friends turn
pale, and looks of doubt and suspicion met his
gaze on every side. With a pang, he turned
to read again the countenances of the jury.
From them he could glean no sympathy or
hope; and in vain he looked for favor in the
calm, serious aspect of the judge. When Mr.
Marshal approached him he smiled sadly, and
giving his hand a grateful pressure, thanked
him for having done for him all any mortal
could have done, in the face of such opposition.
At this moment, a veil was withdrawn from the
face of one of the female spectators. With a

rapturous thrill, Albert beheld the lovely features
of Alice Silby, whom he had not recognized
before. Her serene, hopeful eyes were
upon him; her beautiful face, beaming with
sympathy, smiled encouragement, and confidence,
and love; and Corrinton was happy.

The judge's charge was an able effort, clear,
concise, and free from prejudice. Having examined
the grounds on which the prosecution
was based, reviewed the arguments of the
opposing counsel, and explained some points
of law, he concluded with the impressive injunction,
that if the evidence had failed to
convince the jury, beyond any doubt, of the
guilt of the prisoner, they would not bring him
in guilty.

The jury went out, and the anxiety of the
spectators to hear the verdict chained every individual
to his seat; but as they did not agree
immediately, the court adjourned.

Corrinton exchanged a parting glance with
Alice, as the spectators passed out of the court
room; and the prisoner was taken back to
his cell.