University of Virginia Library

1. CLINTON BRADSHAW. CHAPTER I.

Old Mr. Bradshaw, intended having a survey
made of the boundaries of the Purchase, as one of
his neighbours, who was a testy, litigious character,
seemed anxious to create a dispute on the subject,
alleging that Mr. Bradshaw's fence encroached
considerably on his property. Clinton had promised
his father that he would attend the survey,
and the day after the incidents recorded in the last
chapter, the old gentleman entered his son's office,
and told him the surveyers and neighbours were
to meet that day at the Purchase, and he had come
in for him.

“I must see Mr. Shaffer first, father,” said
Bradshaw, “concerning a case that may come up
in the criminal court, as the grand jury have
met.”

“I will wait here, then, till you return, my son.

Neighbour Styles talks a great deal touching that
boundary line; and I wish you to attend.”

Bradshaw found Mr. Shaffer in the criminal
court. The judge had just concluded his charge
to the grand jury, and they were retiring.

Bradshaw stated to Mr. Shaffer his father's wish,
and asked him, if he had learned any thing of Jane
Durham's case.

“You've put me on a strong scent, my young
friend,” said Shaffer. “I've been pumping Johnson
on the subject, and old Moll. It's a foul business,
I believe—but I'll manage it. You can go in
the country, and no fear for your fair client. Let
me see: this is Tuesday—nothing will be done in
her case this week. You had better go in the
country and take a little fresh air. You look thin,
my young friend.”

“I shall be in town,” said Bradshaw, “the day after
to-morrow. If you should have business at the
jail, Mr. Shaffer, do have some conversation with
Jane Durham.”

“It is my intention, my young friend—it is my
intention. Acting in my capacity, Mr. Bradshaw,
proceedings should not be had against so young and
interesting a woman, as you represent this one to
be, without due deliberation.”

“If any thing of importance against her should
turn up, Mr. Shaffer, in my absence, will you do
me the favour to inform me of the fact, by note?
Send it to Jackson's livery stable, with directions
to have it sent out to me immediately, and your order
will be obeyed.”

“I will, my young friend. You need have no

fear in the case. There has been foul play, and it
must be ferreted out. Mr. Bradshaw, you must
shake the dust of the city, and of your law books,
off of you, when you get into the country, and
give yourself an airing. You look thin, my young
friend, quite thin, and sallow. Too much study is
a mistaken notion, sir—entirely a mistaken notion.
The brain's like the body, sir: fatigue it, and it
cannot do as much work as when it was fresh; and
this is most particularly the case, if the body that
furnishes the brain with blood happens to be none
of the strongest.”

Bradshaw bid Shaffer “good morning,” and hurried
to his office. Writing on a card where he had
gone, and when he would return, he stuck it on his
door with wafers, and entered the chaise with his
father. In their way out, they drove by the jail,
where Bradshaw stopped a moment, informed Jane
Durham where he was going, and told her that
she had better speak freely of her case to Mr. Shaffer.

On Wednesday, the neighbours and surveyors
met, and, notwithstanding long rigmarole remarks
from farmer Styles, who was a bit of a scamp, the
surveying progressed rapidly. On Thursday and
Friday, however, it rained in torrents, and the party
did not go out. Saturday morning they commenced
again; when, near mid-day, as they were
running the line through a wood, a horseman came
bounding across one of Mr. Bradshaw's freshly
sowed fields, that was skirted by the wood, and
exclaimed, as soon as he got within hearing of Clinton
Bradshaw—

“Squire, there's one of your cases called up—a
gal for murder. She was in the bar when I left.
She begged and prayed so to see you, that I rode
in a great hurry. She said she would pay me. Do
you know if she has money, squire? Nancy said she
would pay if the gal didn't. Here's a writing the
gal sent you. She's mightily skeered.”

Bradshaw hastily snatched the note from the
constable, and read as follows, in a hand scarcely
legible—

“Mr. Bradshaw: They have me in court for the
murder. For mercy's sake, come to me.

Bradshaw started, in utter astonishment! He
could learn nothing from the officer, except that
she was arraigned for the murder, and she wanted
to see him.

“Is it possible,” said Bradshaw, “that Shaffer
has done this?”

“Mr. Shaffer's not in town, sir,” said the officer.
“He got word, last Tuesday afternoon, that his
brother, who lives some fifty miles up the country,
was taken suddently sick. He posted right off to
see him, and left Mr. Scrags to attend to the state's
business. Scrags had the indictment found the
next day; and, this morning, he sent right over to
the jail for her, and said she must be tried, whether
or no, right off. The poor gal's frightened woful.
When they put her in the bar, she fainted. They
recovered her, read the indictment to her—she
pled `not guilty.' The Judge asked her if she
had a lawyer, and she said, you. I asked her
where you were, and she told me you was here.

She said she could git money to pay me, and I
bolted right off.”

Bradshaw told his father, he must leave him instantly,
and hurried to the stable for his horse.
He mounted, and rode rapidly to town, accompanied
by the officer, from whom he could learn nothing
more than what he had already communicated.
The first object that met Bradshaw's eye
as he hurried into court, was Jane Durham at the
bar, with her hair loose about her head, and her
eye fixed on the door with a vacant stare. After
a moment's bewilderment, she recognised Bradshaw,
and starting up, exclaimed, in accents that
went to the heart of every one present.

“Mr. Bradshaw, Oh! I am not guilty.”

She would have fallen prostrate on the floor, if
one of the officers of the court had not caught her.

“She's his Miss, I expect,” said one of the crowd
to another.

“Likely,” said the other, who was a frequenter
of such places as Dean's—“she feels bad for herself;
but if she killed a man who was just seeking
his pleasure, she deserves what she'll git.”

The Judge, in sharp accents, said to Bradshaw,
as he entered, “Mr. Bradshaw, the court have
waited for you, sir.”

Bradshaw told the court, “that he was entirely
taken by surprise, in the case—did not know that
there was even an indictment found, and from a
conversation with Mr. Shaffer, he—”

“May it please your honour,” exclaimed Scrags,
jumping up, and interrupting Bradshaw, “I stand
in the place of the state's attorney—this indictment

has been found, now, three days—the counsel
for the prisoner has never asked for a copy of
it, nor had any witnesses summoned; he knows the
law, sir.”

Bradshaw here rose to explain to the Judge
what had transpired between Mr. Shaffer and
himself, but the Judge interrupted him.

“Mr. Scrags acts for the state's attorney, Mr.
Bradshaw: he tells the court, this is the only indictment
that has been found—the court must
either go on with this case or adjourn. What witnesses
have you, sir?”

Bradshaw here spoke to Jane Durham, and requested
her to take a seat by him. She did so.
He asked her if she had any witnesses.

“None, whatever, sir—none, but God!”

“Is there any one, who, you have reason to believe,
would be of service to you? If there is, you
can make a deposition to that effect, and I can
have the case put off.”

“No, Mr. Bradshaw, I have none—not one—I
know not a soul, that I saw there, but old Moll,
and she's against me.”

“That you saw where?” asked Bradshaw.

“At a place they call Dean's.”

Bradshaw spoke to Mr. Scrags, and asked him
if he would not consent to have the case put off
till the return of Shaffer.

“Till the return of Shaffer! why, Mr. Bradshaw,
Mr. Shaffer deems me competent to attend
to this business, sir, or he would not have requested
me to do so.”

Bradshaw here addressed the court, told them

he was entirely taken by surprise, and wanted
time to prepare for trial, and arrange his thoughts
on the subject.

“Why, Mr. Bradshaw,” said the Judge, “if you
had any legal reason for continuing the case—the
court would grant it—but it seems the prisoner has
no witnesses—and a gentleman of your capacity
does not want any time to prepare on the testimony
of the state's witnesses—if you do, there will
be time enough to apply for it when you have
heard the testimony: you have no legal grounds
for a continuance, sir; and as there is no other
case that we could call up in its place, if the
state's attorney insists upon going on with this,
you have no alternative.”

Mr. Scrags arose, and said he must insist upon
going on with the case. “It is a very plain
one, I assure your honour,” said he; “the prisoner
is indicted in the first degree.”

The court ordered the jury to be sworn. Bradshaw
did not challenge any of the panel, but sat
anxiously conversing with Jane Durham.

After the jury were sworn, Scrags arose and
stated to them that the young woman, Jane Durham,
was indicted for an offence which involved
her life; and that he would prove, by three witnesses,
that, on the evening of —, at a ball, at
Dean's, a house of notorious character, the prisoner
at the bar quarrelled with a man named Israel
Carpenter, a stranger, whom she had allured to the
place, and struck him several blows over the head
with a large club, and stabbed him repeatedly—of
which wounds he died. The speaker here went

into a disquisition on the enormity of the offence,
and the necessity of making an example of some
one, in those times of frequent crime.

The first person called to the stand was old Moll.
She appeared sober, and in a reckless, impudent
manner, stated that she was at Dean's ball, and
saw Jane Durham. “That very 'oman,” said she,
pointing to her, “hit the man, with a club, over
the head; and stab him with a dirk she snatched
out of somebody's hand.”

While Moll was giving in her testimony, Bradshaw
observed Fritz in the crowd, and called him.
He conversed with him several minutes, when Fritz
left the court. As Fritz left, old Job, the jailer,
entered, puffing and blowing, with his daughter
Lucy by his side. Bradshaw spoke apart with
Job, while Jane Durham, imploringly, beckoned
Lucy to her. Jane was seated at the trial table,
beside Bradshaw, and poor Lucy hesitated to enter
the railing, when Nancy, who came in at this moment,—she
had been going in and out all the time,
—took her by the hand, and led her to Jane Durham.

“Take a seat by the poor thing,” whispered
Nancy, “and comfort her.”

“Oh! Lucy! Lucy! won't you stay with me till
it is all over,” asked Jane Durham of the jailer's
daughter; and she threw her arms round her neck,
while such heavy sobs, which she in vain tried
to suppress, broke from her bosom, that the Judge
said they had better conduct the prisoner to the
window, a moment and throw it open. Old Moll
was ordered to take a seat. Nancy and Lucy

supported Jane Durham to the window. The apple
woman then made her way through the crowd,
and soon returned with a glass of wine and water,
which she insisted upon Jane Durham's drinking.

“Don't be cast down, dear,” said she, “don't be
cast down, it may turn out better than ye think.”
Nancy wished to comfort her, but she felt there
was little ground. Lucy stood by her side, holding
one of Jane's hands in both of hers; which she
patted with her own, with a quick, unconscious
motion, while the tears rolled down her cheeks.

Bradshaw said not a word to any one, but
walked up and down the space between the seats
of the lawyers and the little box, in which the prisoner
generally sat, with so dark a brow that no
one interrupted him. He spoke a few moments
with Job, and while conversing with him, he met
the gaze of Johnson, the watchman, who turned
away his head the moment he caught Bradshaw's
eye.

The court now ordered the case to be resumed.
Jane Durham, much more composed, took her seat
by Bradshaw, with Lucy by her side. Old Moll
went through her testimony. “Have you any
questions to ask this witness, Mr. Bradshaw?”
asked Scrags.

“None, sir,” replied Bradshaw.

“Bradshaw is conducting his case very strangely,”
whispered one of the old practitioners to another;
“why don't he have the witnesses examined apart?
I suspect that it is so bad a case that he dares not
cross-examine. The girl don't look like a murderess.

I would cross-examine if I were her counsel.”

“Call your next witness, Mr. Scrags,” said
Bradshaw.

“Henry Adams!” called out Scrags.

Jane Durham started up like a deer, when the
ball of the hunter enters its heart, and looked
wildly round. Her bonnet had been taken off at
the window, by Lucy; and the start, and an ashy
paleness that accompanied it, were observed by all.
Lucy spoke gently to her; and, as if unconsciously,
she resumed her seat, pale as marble, and as statue-like.

The impression, against their wishes, was produced
upon the audience by Jane Durham's manner,
that she was guilty. Adams had one of his hands in a
sling; and he limped considerably, as he approached
the witness stand. With a fiendish smile he looked
first at Bradshaw, and then at Jane Durham, before
he faced the jury.

Adams related, with regard to the murder, just
what Scrags had said he could prove. Bradshaw,
when Adams had gone through his examination in
chief, said he had no question to ask.

The court, as well as the bar, was surprised at
his conduct; but he seemed not to notice it, and
spoke to no one around him.

The physicians, who examined the dead body,
gave in their testimony; they stated, that there
were two wounds on the head of the deceased,
either of which would have caused death: both
fractured his skull terribly.

“I have but one more witness to examine, may

it please your honour,” said Scrags, rubbing his
hands; “call Johnson, the watchman, Mr. Clerk, if
you please.”

Johnson, as he passed Scrags, whispered, “Don't
you think it will do without my testimony?”

“Oh, no!” said Scrags, “we must clinch the nail.”

Johnson took his station on the stand, and braced
himself against the railing.

He stated, that hearing an uproar at the Dean's
ball-room, as he went his rounds, he entered to
quiet it, and there saw Jane Durham, &c.—swearing
almost with verbal exactness, to what the
other witnesses had sworn.

“Shall Johnson quit the stand, Mr. Bradshaw,”
asked Scraggs, exultingly, “or have you any questions,
sir?”

“No, questions sir,” said Bradshaw.

“Have you any witnesses, sir?”

“Yes, sir; I believe I will examine you first, Mr.
Scrags.”

“Examine me, sir!” exclaimed Scrags. “Why,
Mr. Bradshaw, I know nothing of this business.
What do I know?”

“I want your answers, under oath, Mr. Scrags.”

“May it please your honour,” said Scrags, addressing
the court, “I know nothing in the world
of this business. Is it proper to examine me, who
officiates here for the state's attorney?”

“Certainly it is,” said the judge; “the state's
attorney might be himself examined, and I see
not why you may not be examined, Mr. Scrags.
If an illegal question is put to you, you need not
answer it. Be sworn, sir.”

Scrags was accordingly sworn; his manner was

very much confused. As he took the stand, he
threw a furtive glance on Johnson and Adams,
while they, evidently with the greatest anxiety,
were observing him.

“Mr. Scrags, when did Johnson first speak to
you about this case?” asked Bradshaw.

“He spoke to me about it last week, sir.”

“When did he give you a deed of his house
and lot, sir?”

Scrags started, and looked at Johnson, while
Johnson as intently looked at him.

“Speak out, sir,” said Bradshaw, in a commanding
tone.

“This morning,” muttered Scrags.

“He gave you a deed of his house and lot this
morning! For what professional service was that
deed given?”

Scrags hesitated a long time. He then turned
to the court, and said it was for professional advice—and
he was bound not to expose the business
of his clients.

“Sit down, Mr. Scrags,” said Bradshaw.—
“Johnson, take the stand a moment.”

Johnson, with a countenance as full of terror
as it ever had been of audacity, took the stand.
There was a breathless silence in the court room,
which had now become crowded, the report having
gone through the city, that a trial for murder was
going on.

“Don't criminate yourself, Johnson,” said
Scrags, to the watchman, as the latter passed near
him, in a voice which was meant to be a whisper,
but which burst out in a tone loud enough to be

heard over the whole court, in spite of himself.
Every one looked astonished. The judge, in expectation
of some startling development, said nothing.
Bradshaw began by asking Johnson questions
concerning the murder. In his answers, the
watchman contradicted himself at every step—
his perjury was apparent to all—big drops stood
upon his forehead,—while in the very height of
this mental torture, Bradshaw changed the nature
of his questions, and asked him—

“How many blows did you strike the man under
the lamp?”

“What man?”

“Carpenter, the dead man, whom you accuse
this young woman of murdering—out with it—I
know it all, Johnson, as well as Mr. Scrags.”

“Then, Scrags is an infernal scoundrel if he
told you!” exclaimed Johnson, hardly knowing
what he said.

“May it please the court,” said Bradshaw,
rising, “the business of to-day may well astonish.
I was ignorant when I entered the court of much
of what I have since learned—though I was satisfied
that this young woman was innocent. Johnson
murdered the man Carpenter—he suborned
these two witnesses, old Moll and Adams—and
he bribed Mr. Scrags to bring the case on in the
absence of Mr. Shaffer. This I shall prove by
the testimony of Joseph Presley, the jailer, and
the reverend Mr. Norris, the chaplain of the prison,
and by the testimony of an individual at the
jail, who overheard a conversation between old
Moll and Johnson the day old Moll appeared before

Squire Bailley. And, by two whom I expect
here momently, I will show that Johnson,
not only by his own confession, but by the evidence
of others, is the murderer—others, who saw
him do the deed. Mr. Clerk, please to swear Mr.
Presley. Job, tell the jury what you know concerning
this business.”

“Why, do you see, gentlemen and the court,”
said Job, “I'll jist tell all I know about it in my
own way, if you'll let me. When this poor girl was
brought to jail, I didn't think her guilty, nor did
Squire Bradshaw. Old Moll treated her so bad in
jail, that I know she had a spite agin her. Mr.
Scrags came over to the jail, and had a talk with
Moll—and you know I couldn't refuse him, because
he wanted to see her as a lawyer. But I
kept my eye on him—and him and Johnson came
there one day, and asked to see Adams—so I told
'em I would bring him out into a room—the room's
got a thin petition, though it seems thick—and
you can see through it in two places, from the
room that jines it, that's dark. Well, I jist took
Adams into that room—they said they wanted to see
him alone—so I left 'em alone. But I told Parson
Norris the circumstance—and I told him, according
to human natur, them men was plotting villanny—because
Adams had been so hurt by Squire
Bradshaw when the squire saved the gal, Jane Durham,
from him, that he could scarcely move in his
cell; and when I told him that Johnson and Scrags
wanted to see him, though it pained him every step
he took, he went to the room. Well, the Parson
and I went into the room that jines—and we heard

them talking—Johnson said, after a good deal of
talk round, that they might accuse him of killing
the man—for he had knocked him over the head
hard enough, and, says he to Scrags, if you'll have
the indictment found agin this girl, Jane Durham,
I'll be a witness against her, and so will Adams.
She's a thing that has no friends,” said Johnson—
his very words, (here Jane Durham held down her
head, and wept as though her heart would break,)
and we can fix it without any fuss—`yes,' said
Adams `I hate her as I do h—ll—I'll swear to any
thing; and, as she was at the ball, we can easily
make it out, if we git old Moll to help, for Johnson
knows that I know he did for the dead man, and
so does old Moll. But I won't work for nothing,'
said he: `you must promise to git me a pardon—and
if you can't do that, you must bring me tools when I
git well, that I can cut out.' They promised to do
so—and then Johnson promised Scrags, if he would
promise to do the business, to give him a deed of
his house and lot.”

The Reverend Mr. Norris corroborated Job's
testimony. The person who overheard the conversation
between old Moll and Johnson in the jail,
stated, that he was standing at his cell door, next
to a cell in which old Moll was confined, when Job,
the jailer, came there with Johnson, and took old
Moll out of her cell into the passage, and left Moll
and Johnson together, and went to the cells in the
other end of the passage: he could see as well as
hear them, through the hole in his door. When
Job was out of hearing, the witness stated, Johnson
asked old Moll if she would go to Squire Bailley,

and swear against the girl, according to her promise.
She hesitated, and said, “You killed the
man, and you must pay me high for it.” He said,
he would pay her what he promised; and when
Job came to them, they all went away together.
Bradshaw here said, with the permission of the
court, he would ask Adams and old Moll some
questions. Adams was called to the stand; but he
refused to move a step, and told the court and jury
they might all go to hell. Old Moll was called up.
She tossed her head, faced Bradshaw, and asked
him—when his trial was to come on, for trying to
murder a man in her house. She broke forth
with the vilest abuse of him and Jane Durham.
The court ordered her to be taken away.

Bradshaw here arose to request an order of the
court for the arrest of Scrags, but, on looking round
the room, he discovered that worthy had gone. A
warrant was issued for him.

The jury by acclamation acquitted Jane Durham;
and the court ordered the sheriff to take
Johnson and old Moll, and keep them in close custody.
It was now almost dark, and the court adjourned.
Bradshaw told Jane Durham, who sat
as if in a trance, that she was at liberty, and he
would order a hack, if she wished, and take her
to her house. But she said she would rather go to
the jail with Lucy, upon which the kind-hearted
jailer's daughter was insisting.

“Wait till the crowd pass out,” said Bradshaw,
“and I'll order a hack, and go with you.”

Mean while, as the shades of night gathered in,
old Job, with several constables, left the court-house

for the jail, with Adams, Johnson, and old Moll in
custody. A great and incensed crowd, which had
been gathering all the afternoon, and which a large
city so soon furnishes, on any excitement, and of
various materials, followed after the constables and
their charges, hooting, hallooing, and, occasionally,
throwing missiles at the prisoners. Old Job, fearing
a rescue, or that some of them might be hurt,
or escape in the crowd, proposed that they should
return to the court house, and wait till the crowd
had gone. At this, Johnson, who hoped there
would be some chance of escaping, taunted him
with cowardice; and, as the constables proposed
going on, Job said no more. The jail, as our readers
are aware, was (and is) in the outskirts of the
city: the nearest way that led to it, was across a
common, in which direction the constables conducted
the prisoners—the crowd following close at their
heels.

“We had better take the round-about way,
through the streets,” said Job.

“Don't bother yourself, old turnkey,” replied
one of the constables; “we have the charge of 'em
to the jail, and I'll warrant they get there: all you
have to do, is to see they don't get out after you've
turned the key on 'em.”

“Well,” replied Job, “it's your business to get
'em there—that's a fact; but if I know any thing
about human natur, we'll have a fuss on the common,
or my name's not Job Presley—we'll have
some bones broke—now mind it.”

On they went, notwithstanding Job's admonition.
It was almost dark, when they reached the common;

the crowd still pressing on them, their violence
increasing with the darkness.

“Boys,” said Job to the prisoners, “I'll tell you one
thing, in the beginning—I've got two pistols loaded
to the top, and if any one of you tries to get off,
I'll shoot him down—now mind me.”

On the common, there were many loose-stones,
and the bones of animals, whose bodies had been
dragged there when the city was smaller. The
crowd here made furious demonstrations, not of
rescuing the prisoners, but of committing a violent
assault upon them. Job was well known in the city,
and every moment some one would call out to him,
from the crowd, “To clear out, that they'd do for
the villains.” “Job, we'll save you the trouble of
locking them up, my old boy.” “Yes, we'll put
them into the canal.”

“No, boys, you can't do that,” said Job, turning
round to the crowd, in answer to the last remark.
“He who's born to be hung will never be drowned.”

“Ha! ha! hurra for old Job Presley!” shouted a
hundred voices.

Such is the nature of a mob, that this little jest
of Job appeased the most of them,—and seeming
disposed to await the tardier visitation of justice
on the prisoners, they followed to the jail, cracking
jokes with Job, who kept them in good nature, till
the gate closed upon himself and the prisoners. He
then, through the bars, thanked them for their company,
the safe escort they furnished, and bade them
good night, telling them he would always rather
lock them out than in; at which they gave three
cheers for old Job Presley—bade him take good

care of the prisoners, and dispersed in the greatest
good nature, laughing heartily, as they went on
their way.[1]

“That's just the way with human natur,” said
Job, in great glee.

“Human devil!” exclaimed one of the constables.
“I thought you said there'd be bones broken
crossing over the common.”

“Bones broken!” exclaimed Job, in high disdain;
“and so there was bones broken! Warn't
them old bones, on the common, broken at a furious
rate? Don't you know, according to law,
there's two mistructions (constructions) upon every
thing? Yes! and there'd been heads broken, too,
if it hadn't been for me; but you didn't care, I suppose,
as you couldn't ha' lost any brains, no how.”