University of Virginia Library

9. CHAPTER IX.
TRIAL FOR LIFE.

It is sufficient to say, that a true bill was found against the prisoner for the
murder of John Spotswood, and as the evidence was pretty much the same
as detailed at both trials, we will not fatigue the reader with the long preliminaries
of the law's proverbial delay, but convey him at once to the court-room,
where Hall was put upon his final trial for life. Some time had intervened
since he was last presented to the reader—in that time a good deal of
alteration had taken place in his personal appearance. He was very well
dressed, but looked thin and pale. Never at any time robust, care, confinement,
and excessive wear and tear of mind and body, had reduced him
to great attenuation—his large whiskers, and the scar across his face,
made him look cadaverous, as he stood up to plead guilty or not guilty to
the charge—the latter of which he did in a deep, clear, manly voice, which
rung through the court-room with something of the assurance of innocence to
those who were interested in his fate. It was impossible for disinterested
strangers, or those who were no way pledged against him, to look upon that
intellectual forehead—clear sparkling eye—fine chiselled, and new wax-like
features—without being interested in his fate. Nevertheless, there was something
unnatural about his appearance—his eye was wild and bright, and his
mouth was compressed with a solemn compactness, such as often produces a
painful impression when looking at fine statuary. Those best acquainted
with him were struck with his appearance; and Moore, in the benevolence of
his heart, and shaken in his faith by the reputed unanswerable testimony
against him, moved round to where he saw old Dr. Evylin sitting, and asked
him if he did not think that there was a maniacal look about the prisoner's
eyes, which might account for the deed of guilt. The old man gazed long
and steadily at him, and then shook his head, and turning to Moore, whispered
to him, that “Hall was as innocent of the death of John Spotswood as he was,
who was more than a hundred miles distant.”

Over this court the Governor usually presided in person, but on the present
occasion, the chair was occupied by the venerable Commissary, the senior
counsellor, surrounded by his associates. No difficulty was made by Hall

whatever to empannelling the jury, notwithstanding the earnest remonstrances
of his counsel and the old Doctor, who came across the court-room and seated
himself near them.

The room was crowded to suffocation, and not a few of those present, ladies
of the first families of the Colony. Ellen Evylin was not there, she could
not trust herself, or rather her father would not trust her, but she had delegated
her zeal and interest in the issue of the cause to the keeping of her
venerable parent. She followed him to the gate issuing into the street, as he
was leaving home to come to the court-house, and hung upon his arm, and
charged and enjoined upon the old gentleman to leave nothing updone to make
Hall's innocence manifest. “Recollect father,” said she calling after him,
“that it is not enough merely to pronounce such a man not guilty, but he
must be raised above suspicion; and remember, too, that if it becomes necessary
to show Harry Lee in his true character, I must be summoned. Be sure
I will not shrink from the trial in such an extremity.”

All eyes were turned towards the prisoner, when he rose as before descrided
to respond to the challenge—seldom, or never before, had such a prisoner
stood within that bar. There had, it is true, been interesting trials; for the
old Roman at the head of the Colony had just hung in chains six pirates, who
had infested the coast during the previous years of his administration, and
who had been pursued and caught through his energy alone, but never had
there stood such a man charged with such an offence within that bar before.
There was a death-like stillness pervading the room, (after the crowd had
become once settled down,) showing the absorbing interest of the trial even
to the multitude. This multitude, however, was of a higher grade than usually
made up the throng of the court-house, for the tramontane army was to set
out as soon as the Governor was sufficiently resfored to himself to conduct it;
and most of the youthful chivalry of the Colony were present—the very men
who were soon to march across the great Apalachee.

Hall seemed to feel that far more than life was upon the issue of that trial.
It might have been seen in his countenance, that charaeter and standing in
society once gone, he would not value mere animal life at a “pin's fee.”

The Attorney General rose and stated the case of the crown plainly and
succinctly. He lamented that he was called upon by imperative duty to lend
his professional efforts to unfold a career of crime almost unexampled on this
side of the water, especially among that class which he had understood the
prisoner was so well calculated to adorn. He said he had heard of his elegant
accomplishments and brilliant abilities, and however much these were calculated
to add to our regrets that such a man should so demean himself, and
however much they might seize upon our sympathies, those in whose hands
was placed the administration of justice, were more bound than usual to prosecute
to the utmost extent of the law. He said that no one within the walls of
that court-room would rejoice more sincerely that he would, if it should turn
out differently from what he supposed; but he expected to prove that the
prisoner had landed at Yorktown, with some Scoteh Irish emigrants sometimes
before; that immediately upon his arrival, he had, with other accomplices, taken
the usual means of burglars to spy out the condition of the wealthiest houses
in the neighborhood; that in the night time, and during a thunder-storm, he
had found his way into the Governor's country house, with his features secured
behind a mask, as well as his two associates, one a male and the other a female.
He was not, he said, absolutely certain that he could prove this link in the
chain of testimony by admissible evidence, because the reconnoitre had been
undertaken when all the white family were from home. However, from this
point, he said the chain of testimony was unbroken—that he had soon after
the mask adventure presented himself to the Governor, as a young man
anxious for employment—that His Excellency had him then examined by the

Reverend Gentleman then presiding over the court, and finding him competent,
had out of the abundance of his benevolence and kind-heartedness, for which
he was well known by all present, given him the employment—that he had
most shamefully abused the trust reposed in him by his patron—first, in presenting
himself under a false name; and, secondly, in using that name to
obtain moneys to which he had no earthly claim, and for which he would have
been indicted as a swindler, had not the minor offence been swallowed up in
the monstrous one with he now stood charged. That he had gone on from
step to step, until he had wound up his career of guilt, by murdering the son of
his benefactor and patron, if, indeed, the prisoner himself knew who it really
was that he had slain. He thought it would appear in evidence, that he harbored
deadly malignity against one of the most honorable and respectable
young men in the colony, who slept in the same room on the night of the
murder, and who was at that very time in pursuit of the prisoner. That the
young gentleman in question, Henry Lee, Esq., had lent the deceased his
cloak, and that in the dark he had been murdered, in mistake for Mr. Lee;
that the prisoner had fled as soon as the dark deed had been perpetrated, and
when apprehended, was making his way with the utmost expedition towards
the frontier, and had actually left the military road and taken to the woods,
until he supposed himself out of the reach of pursuit; that upon his arrest,
he had manifested unequivocal symptoms of guilt, and, moreover, that the
blood of his victim was still reeking from his clothes and person.

He concluded by assuring the court and jury, that in all his professional
experience, he had never been able to present to that court or any other, such
an unbroken chain of circumstantial evidence. That though he was not
seen in the actual moment of committing the offence, that he would be able to
trace him in a career of crime, from the first moment of landing to that of
his arrest. That the motive was apparent—the usual steps of criminal
graduation were also present, so that the enlightened jury, would feel at no
loss to trace in their own minds the whole criminal process, by which this
most gifted but criminal individual had reduced himself to his present state of
degradation.

The first witness called on the part of the crown was Kit Carter. He was
proceeding to relate the adventure of the mask, as he had heard it on his return
to Temple Farm on the night of the adventure, but he was stopped by
the counsel for the prisoner, and told that he must relate no hearsay evidence.

Hall exclaimed in a loud clear voice, “Let him go on. I was one of those
masked visitors!” His counsel assured him that he would throw up the case,
unless he entrusted the whole management to him.

Carter then went on to relate what is already well known to the reader,
about Hall's introduction as Tutor—his conduct while acting as such, and his
general deportment so far as he had observed it. His evidence upon the
whole was rather unfavorable to the prisoner.

Moore was next called to the stand, and he related pretty much the same
story with the exception of his conduct in prison, and their private intercourse,
which had made a rather more favorable impression than the prisoner's conduct
had done upon the previous witness. The facts were mostly the same—
the general impressions more favorable.

Henry Lee was then called on to give his testimony. There was a general
restlessness in the crowd, and a disposition to get nearer and hear better, as
this witness was called. It was known that he would bear hard upon the
prisoner, and would give nearly the whole of Hall's history since he landed
in the country. Nor was this anxiety to hear him, confined to the rude and
the vulgar—the mutual acquaintances of the parties, were also curious to
hear him relate all the circumstances of their quarrel, for it was generally
reported that they had quarrelled. Moore suspected that the quarrel had proceeded

to blows, and he knew that there was a deadly enmity on the part of
Lee, at least.

The witness stated that on a recent visit to Temple Farm, he found the prisoner
acting as Tutor to the Governor's youngest son, and occasionally as his
draftsman and private secretary. That he was surprised to find that he was
of the same name with a young relation of his in Scotland, to whom he had
but recently written—preceding his visit, that one morning he had expressed
this surprise to the prisoner, when he immediately stated that he was the
very man himself; that he stated to the prisoner that he had written
such letters, but he the prisoner, said he had never received them, which
seemed reasonable, as there was scarcely time for those letters to have
arrived out before the prisoner at the bar must have set sail: that he,
(Lee,) was taken by surprise by the prisoner's statement, but backed as he
was by Governor Spotswood, had yielded to his ready assent; that he had
stated to the prisoner the fact, that he had fallen heir to a snug little property
here, and that he, (Lee,) had surrendered into his hands part of the available
funds of said estate, without any other voucher or guarantee than the prisoner's
note of hand—that money however, had since been repaid by Mr.
Bernard Moore. He stated farther, that he had very soon after forming an
acquaintance with the prisoner, and after having admitted his claims to relationship,
began to suspect him—he did not exactly know why, unless it had
been the impression made by his general deportment; that they had several
unpleasant altercations before the witness left Temple Farm; that the prisoner
had never taken any steps to prove his identity—that he could show no
letters from any one, either credentials of character or letters of credit—and
moreover could show no letters from his venerable relation deceased, although
there were several found among her papers from Henry Hall—the individual
whom the prisoner pretended to be. The prisoner evaded this by saying that
he would be able to show them when the remainder of his baggage arrived,
but so far as he knew, to this day no such letters had ever arrived. He stated
that he had lately received answers to those very letters which he had written
to Mr. Henry Hall, in Scotland, purporting to be written by Mr. Hall, then in
Scotland, so that there were two Henry Halls, if the prisoner at the bar established
his claims to the name.

As to the murder, he stated that he had pursued the prisoner, after he had
been liberated by Mr. Moore, and must by some accident or other, have passed
him on the road, as he was on his return to the capital, when he stopped for
the night at the stockade where the deed was committed. He said he had
not seen the prisoner on the night of the murder at all, and was entirely
unconscious that they had slept in the same room, until the investigation of
the next morning had convinced him of the fact. He said he had lent Capt.
Spotswood a cloak usually worn by himself, at the request of the Captain,
who stated that he had lent his own to a boy who accompanied him, and who
had none. Who that boy was, and whence he had come and whither gone,
he could form no idea. All search for him had proved fruitless, although
troopers had been despatched along both ends of the road at day-light.

He described the position in which the body lay when found at daylight,
as well as that occupied by the prisoner during the night—and stated
that the prisoner had escaped before any one was stirring—that there were
distinct foot-prints in blood on the puncheous of the floor, and on the ground
leading to the gate of the stockade—and that these when measured, corresponded
exactly with the size and shape of the prisoner's shoes—and, moreover,
that when the shoes were taken off to be compared with the foot-prints,
blood was still distinctly visible, having deeply stained the leather beneath the
mud; that his face and person were also stained with blood, and that he had
offered no explanation whatever of all these suspicious circumstances when
arrested, except that he had left the block-house about an hour before day

light. When asked why he had stolen off without seeing any one, and without
even thanking the woman who had furnished him with his supper, he acknowledged
that he had done so to avoid observation. The prisoner, he said, wore
no weapons about him when arrested. The dagger with which the deed was
done belonged to the deceased, and was so driven in when the fatal wound
was inflicted, as could only have been conveniently done from the side on
which the prisoner lay. Such was about the sum and substance of Lee's
testimony, elicited by the questions of the Attorney General. He was then
turned over to the prisoner's counsel, who proceeded to cross-question him
very minutely, not, however, by any prompting from Hall, who now sat with
a solemn serenity upon his features, and scarcely taking an ordinary interest
in the details of the evidence. Occasionally he would start as some answer
of the witness seemed to surprise him, but speedily relapsed again into his
former mood. He declined prompting his counsel altogether in his cross-examination
of Lee, and that gentleman was compelled to call Dr. Evylia
and Moore, each side of him, in order to learn more accurately the various
relations of the parties touched upon by the witness. Moore very soon discovered
that this was a conjunction by no means propitious to the objects in
view by the Attorney, and he wrote as much on a slip of paper; soon after
which, he whispered to the old Doctor, who retired for a while. When he was
gone, the cross-examination commenced.

Question. Did you form a bad opinion of the prisoner upon your first acquaintance?

Answer. I cannot say that I formed any very definite opinion of him. He
occupied at that time very little of my thoughts. I thought him rather out
of place in the society in which I found him.

Question. Did you, Mr. Lee, see anything wrong in the prisoner, until
you discovered him to be your rival for the favor of a very estimable young
lady, to whom it is generally understood you were paying your address?

[Lee curled his lips with high disdain, and at first seemed to think of declining
a reply, but the counsel insisted upon an answer.]

Answer. However presumptuous I might have thought the prisoner, I
scarcely esteemed him a very formidable rival, if one at all.

Question. Will you tell the court and jury in what way he was presumptuous?

Answer. By intruding himself into society where he had no claims whatever.
It is not usual, I believe, for tutors to associate on terms of equality
with the female members of his employer's family, and more especially when
that employer occupies the exalted station of Governor of the Colony.

Question. Was it, Mr. Lee, so much the prisoner's forcing himself into
the society of the ladies of the Governor's immediate family, which gave you
offence, as into that of the young lady before alluded to?

[The witness refused to answer, until ordered to do so by the court.]

Answer. It was not.

Question. Did his presence seem offensive to that lady?

Answer. Not until after I had informed her of the ungrateful return
which the prisoner made of her kindness, by representing her as having
sought him.

Question. Was there not a quarrel between the prisoner and yourself
which grew out of that very representation which you made to the lady?

Answer. He was rather insolent to me, Sir, and I threatened to chastiso
him, and perhaps in the heat of anger, I made a pass at him with my sword.

Question. What did the prisoner do then—did he tamely submit?

Answer. By an accidental and fortunate use of his walking cane he disarmed
me for the moment.

Question. For the moment, Mr. Lee! Were you not completely at his
mercy, and did he not act with the greatest magnanimity towards you?

Answer. I was perhaps somewhat in his power; but the matter was adjourned,
not concluded.

Question. Well, Sir, the prisoner seems to have been victorious in war—
who triumphed in love?

The witness appealed to the court for protection against the trifling and
impertinence of counsel.

The counsel hereupon stated that he considered it a very important question—that
he wished to show by it, that the witness had every earthly reason
for cherishing deadly hostility against the prisoner, having been triumphed over
by him in two most tender points.

The court ruled, that if within the witness's knowledge, he must answer
the question.

Answer. I know nothing as to the result of the prisoner's love affairs, if
he had any.

Question. Has not your own terminated disastrously, since the prisoner's
acquaintance with the lady?

Answer. It has, Sir.

Here there was a general titter throughout the courtroom.

Many other questions were put to this witness and answered, but mostly
touching points already made known to the reader, we shall therefore intermit
them and pass on to the next, who was Mr. McDonald, a man originally from
Scotland, and who now lived in the neighborhood of the deceased lady who
had willed her property to Henry Hall. He was asked if he knew the individual
to whom that property was intended to be given? He said, he had
known him almost from his infancy! He was then asked to look upon the
prisoner, and say whether he was the individual named Henry Hall?

“There was an intense interest manifested to hear the old man's reply, as
he turned his head and gazed long and searchingly at the prisoner. Once or
twice he turned his head away as if satisfied, and then turned his eyes upon
him again, evidently baffled and perplexed.

The Attorney-General put the queston to him again: “Is this man—the
prisoner at the bar—the Mr. Henry Hall you knew in Scotland?”

For his life, he said, he said he could not tell, “at times when he looked at
him, he thought it was, and then again when he moved his head, he thought
it was not. He is certainly very much like, if it is not the man himself.”
He said further, that he had not seen him for some years, and in a young man,
doubtless great changes might have taken place.

Lee was confounded—he now sat near the Attorney-General, and consulted
with him anxiously,—he had supposed that McDonald would not hesitate, and
that Hall would stand forth before all men, not only a convicted murderer, but
one who had run a long career of deception and guilt. He had no doubt of
McDonald's honesty, from the Attorney-General's character of him, and he
was utterly at a loss to account for his hesitation.

General Clayton next asked the witness, “if Mr. Hall, when he knew him
had that large scar across his face.”

“No; he had not.”

“Was the color of the hair and eyes the same?”

“Yes; precisely.”

“Did Mr. Hall, when you knew him, wear whiskers?”

“No; he did not.”

“Did the height of the two correspond exactly?”

“No; the prisoner was taller by several inches, but then he might have
grown that much.”

“Were they about the same weight?”

“No; this gentleman is broader in his shoulders, and a larger frame.”

“Then, except the hair and eyes, they were totally dissimilar?”

“He could not say what it was about this man that reminded him of the one
he had known, but there was something—whether it was in the features, or
the expression, he could not tell, but still he would not swear that this was not
Mr. Hall.”

There was a grim smile of some sort of gratification playing about the
corners of the prisoner's mouth during the whole of this examination. He
looked straight at the witness, and his eye never quailed for an instant. It was
the only time during the whole trial that he conferred with his lawyer, and
seemed to take an interest in what was going on.

The witness being now turned over to the prisoner's counsel, several
questions were asked which evidently came from the prisoner himself.

“Did you not know of Henry Hall's having met with an accident—a fall
from his horse—by which one of his arms was dislocated?”

“Yes; I remember it well.”

“Is not the mansion house of the Hall's, one of peculiar structure, one that
a man would not easily learn from mere description?”

“It is very peculiar, and it would be almost impossible for one to learn its
localities from paper.”

“Was there not a picture of a celebrated battle hung just between the
windows of the gallery facing to the east?”

“There was.”

“Had not the frame of that picture been penetrated by a ball from a pistol
discharged by accident from the hands of this young man himself?”

“I must believe it to be so, for no one could well know those things but
himself.”

The witness sat down. His testimony had evidently a little shaken that
fickle thing, popular opinion, and in a much greater degree re-assured the old
Doctor and Moore, and such other friends of the unfortunate prisoner at the
bar, as dared to adhere to him

The witnesses of the stockade were now called in—the woman who had
waited upon the prisoner—the soldier who had seen him on the fatal night as
well as those who arrested him. By these pretty much the same testimony
was given as had been already given by Lee, or else made known to the reader
at previous investigations. Very few were called in on the part of the prisoner,
few indeed knew him, except those who had already testified against him,
Old Doctor Evylin, was the chief one relied upon.

He stated, “that he had known the prisoner almost from the moment of his
landing in the country—that he had felt great interest in him from the very
first—partly, he supposed, from the circumstances of his being an elegant
scholar, and a polished gentleman in every respect, and from his friendless
condition when he had made his acquaintance. He saw from the first, that
he was in a false position—that his circumstances at some period of his life
must have been far higher. He drew this opinion, from certain habits of
thought as well as actions, from deep and inherent tastes, not as he believed,
the growth ever of one generation. He expressed the opinion unhesitatingly,
when questioned—that the prisoner himself, was not only a gentleman of the
highest toned feelings and instincts, but that his fathers before him had been,
and that he was utterly incapable of a mean or dishonorable action, much
more of a cold blooded and deliberate murder. There was a general smile
throughout the court-house, at the old Doctor's warmth of feeling, more than
at his thorough and inbred aristocratic notions. The evidence having been
all gone through on both sides, and it now being quite dark, the court was
adjourned until the next day at 10 o'clock, and the jury handed over to the
care of the Sheriff. The remainder of the proceedings, will be treated of in
the next chapter.