University of Virginia Library

CHAPTER VII.

THE QUICK OR THE DEAD.

THE BATTLE OF HIS LIFE.

One of the pathetic and regretable features of the trial was the connection
with it of William McCue, the seventeen-year-old son of the accused.

He was relied upon to some extent to confirm the testimony of Ernest
Crawford, a brother of his mother, and that of Miss Bertie Crawford,
a sister of his mother, that the McCues were latterly not a happy couple,
but lived "like cats and dogs," and to prove that a violent quarrel took
place at the supper table two hours and a half before the murder.

Young McCue in physical appearance is a blend of the two families
whose blood is mingled in his veins, and in face has the winning expression
of a woman. One would say he is more Crawford than McCue,
although in self-possession he has the almost stoic nerve of his father.
He has written that he loved his mother better than his God, but those
who watched him in court and out could not decide whether he had a
similar strong affection for his father. The writer of this sat within two
feet of young McCue as the boy stood just outside of the bar when his
father stood for the first time to hear the reading of the awful charge
contained in the indictment, and if any strong emotion struggled for expression
it was repressed masterfully. There was not a movement of
lip or eyelid or change of color to say what the heart felt.

For a time it looked as if his testimony would be adverse to his
father, and so well satisfied were the lawyers for the prosecution that
he was summoned as a witness for the Commonwealth. According to
sworn testimony he had made to at least four witnesses statements that
indicated belief in his father's responsibility for the crime of September
4th.

Detective Alfred Baldwin, of Bluefield, W. Va., testified that he arrived
in Charlottesville on the day after the murder and went to work

to discover the criminal. He met Willie McCue that night, but the first
interview occurred the following morning.

Ernest Crawford was with them at McCue's home. They talked half
an hour on the porch. Willie McCue said he thought he was in a bad
position, but added: "I can't help it. I am going to come right out
with the truth. I have seen and heard so much I can't help thinking
my father killed my mother."

He couldn't help it. They had had a quarrel one night, and his mother
ran into his room; father was following her with revolver; when Will
interfered his father threatened to kill him. His mother was jealous;
suspected intimacy with other women. McCue threatened Will about
carrying news of these incidents to his mother. That Sunday evening
Willie's father and mother were "mad." Willie judged this from their
appearance when Willie couldn't find his father's paper just after supper.
His father seemed very incensed, and said: "I am d—d tired of
this thing. I'll not put up with it another day."

Witness did not know to what the remark quoted had reference.

The prisoner's son told the detective that when he carried his mother
to the station she was crying on the way. He had to buy the ticket.
Will wanted his mother to go to Red Hill, as she had something on her
mind and was worrying about the behavior of his father. He thought
the trip would afford her relief. (This was the visit to Red Hill from
which Mrs. McCue returned, probably unexpectedly to her husband, a
few hours before her death.)

To continue the quotation from Mr. Baldwin's testimony:

The witness (Albert Baldwin) said young McCue interviewed him
three distinct times, possibly more than that, within the first week he
was at the Gleason Hotel. "Monday Crawford asked Willie to meet us
Tuesday; that is, after the funeral. Willie came at 4 o'clock, and said his
delay was because he had to slip out of the house." On this occasion at
the Gleason all three talked "in general" on the case. Willie was asked
if he could get John Perry away from the house. (Perry is the stable
boy who was in the room in the rear of the bath-room at the time the
murder occurred, and is generally believed to have been the only person,
except husband and wife, in the house when Mrs. McCue received her
death wound.) "We arranged the wine-cellar meeting." Willie agreed
to it. (The wine cellar is immediately back of McCue's residence, about
300 yards.) Crawford and Witness Baldwin went to the wine cellar;
Willie and John Perry, the negro, came up.

Willie said he would get a statement from Perry the following morning.
He also said: "John, that is not what you told me this morning."
Willie told witness he would talk to Perry next morning and bring it to
Baldwin at the Gleason Hotel. He brought a written statement next day

of what he said Perry told him. (Here witness identified paper shown
him by Capt. Woods, for prosecution.)

Witness said paper was handed him in presence of Ernest Crawford.
McCue, in handing over the paper, said: "Here is that statement I got
from John Perry."

"I asked what was the meaning of the writing on the back. Willie
said the words `My dear' were written at the head of the paper so that
if any of the family came in he could say he was writing to a friend."

"In the presence of Mr. Crawford and my brother he said three or
four times that he believed his father had killed his mother."

Detective W. G. Baldwin deposed that Willie McCue said in his presence
and that of his brother that he believed his father killed his
mother. It was hard for him to go against his father, but he couldn't
help believe it.

Mr. N. R. Martin, the jailer, said that he was present at a conversation
between the prisoner and his son Willie. It was on the Sunday
evening before the accused was indicted by the grand jury. Several of
the brothers of the accused were present. The accused turned to his
son and said: "You know what Crawford said about my drawing a
pistol on your mother is not true?"

Willie said: "Yes it is; you know she ran and got in my bed and
asked me to defend her."

Mr. McCue said: "Didn't Mrs. McCue have the pistol?"

Willie replied: "How could she have had the pistol when she ran
and got in bed with me?"

The prisoner then asked: "What was the fuss about?" Willie said
that it was about "that woman," but Willie did not know which woman
was meant.

The witness said that three brothers of the accused were in the jail
at the time. (These afterwards contradicted his evidence.)

Mr. Edgar A. Crawford testified:

"I heard Willie say that on a certain occasion his father had drawn
a pistol on his mother, she had run to him, and that when he started to
protect his mother his father had pointed the pistol at him. I said:
`Willie, your home was not then a happy one?'

"He said: `No; for the past three or four years it has been a perfect
hell on earth. My father and mothed lived like cats and dogs.' "

Miss Gertrude Irving, who lives near the University of Virginia, testified
that Willie McCue went home with her from church on the Sunday
after the tragedy, and told her he dreaded the witness stand, as he
would rather die than tell some things he would have to disclose. His
family, he said, had always been very reticent as to certain things.

C. Julian Paoli, druggist, with Charles R. Link & Co., next witness:
Has known Willie McCue since 1899; knows him very well. Willie cameto
Link's store Tuesday after his mother's funeral, about 5 P. M. Willie
came in behind counter. Witness expressed sympathy. Will said: "Do
you know what position I have taken?" Witness said, "No." Will said:
"Well, I have sided with my mother, against my father."

Witness advised Willie to tell the truth, as a witness, regardless of
consequences. Will said: "Then people will say that my evidence hung
my father."

Witness urged Willie not to perjure himself, remarking that possibly
his father would not be convicted.

A letter written by Willie McCue certainly seems in direct line with
his alleged utterances to the persons whose testimony is set out above.
The admission of the letter was strongly resisted by the defense. Captain
Micajah Woods, of the prosecution, insisted that it was relevant to
show the influences under which Willie had been. The Court admitted
the letter, after it had been identified by its author as one he had written
to a sister of his mother, Mrs. E. L. Greaves, of Athens, Ga. The
letter follows:

The evidence of William McCue is given quite fully, as it contributes
something to the story, and especially as that course is a measure of
fairness which is gladly accorded him:

"I am the oldest son of the accused. I was on Main street on the
night of the tragedy. Mother went to Red Hill Friday and father went
on the C. & O. train east Saturday morning. Mother returned Sunday
evening at 5 o'clock. I met her.

"At 6 o'clock, an hour later, my father returned. Father went in the
house from the rear. I was at home all the time my parents were absent.
My brothers were at Mr. Browning's. My sister Ruby left with
my mother, but remained at Red Hill. Father wrote me that he would
return home Saturday or Sunday.

"John Perry occupied the room over the kitchen. The door between
his room and the main house was always locked. It was locked that
night. Father had three guns. Generally he kept two in his room,
by the side of the wardrobe."

Here the witness identified the gun shown him.

THE WEAPONS USED BY MURDERER.

"The guns were sometimes loaded and sometimes unloaded. I can't
say whether that gun was loaded that night or not.

(Here he examined the base-ball bat.)

"The base-ball bat generally stayed in the yard. I can't say where it
was that night. The last time I saw it, it was in the garden. It belonged
to my little brother. Cartridges laid all around the house. We
had no special place for them. Some were in the wardrobe, some were
in the hall, and some in my room.

"Mother was in the library when father came home. Mrs. C. G. Maphis
was with her. At the supper table, we talked over matters generally.
Mother reprimanded me for letting negroes drive our horses to Keswick.
We all left supper table together.

Here the Commonwealth laid ground for an impeachment of the
witness.

Did you not tell Ernest Crawford and Mr. Albert Baldwin that your
mother and father had frequently quarreled and that they quarreled on
the night of the tragedy at the supper table?" inquired Captain Woods.

"I did not," replied the witness.

"Did you not repeat this in the presence of Mr. Ernest Crawford and
of Mr. W. G. Baldwin and Mr. Albert Baldwin at the Gleason Hotel?"

"I did not."

"Did you not repeat this at the wine cellar before the same men, and
did you not bring John Perry to the wine cellar?"

"I did not."

"Did you no longer than yesterday tell Ernest Crawford you would
tell the jury exactly what you had told him all along?"

"I told him I would tell the truth."

"Did you not say to the Baldwins at the Gleason Hotel that you
knew your father killed your mother?"

"I did not. I went there twice at their request."

"Did you not get this statement (showing him a letter) from Perry
and did he not say to you in the presence of Mr. Crawford that he had
not told the truth before the coroner's jury; that he was afraid the
accused would kill him?"

"I did not. This statement of Perry is in my handwriting. I gave
it to Mr. Baldwin. Perry said he had told the truth before the coroner's
jury."

"Did you not tell Mr. Julian Paoli that you were in a terrible fix;
that if you told the truth you would hang your father, and people
would always point to you as having hung your father?"

"I did not. I talked to Mr. Paoli and he advised me to tell the truth."

The witness said that John Perry took meals daily to the jail for the
accused. He works at the McCue house.

"On Sunday evening, father and mother were at the door going to
church. In about five minutes, father came back to the house and
asked where mother was. I told him she had gone to church. He then
followed her. I was near the City Hall when I heard of the tragedy
and went home at once."

"I did take letters from father's office after his arrest and give them
to Detective Baldwin. They were purely business letters."

"Didn't you tell the Crawfords and Baldwins that your mother was
very jealous?"

"No, sir."

"Didn't you tell them that your mother told you to watch women
going to your father's office; that she had reason to suspect meetings
there?"

"I deny it emphatically."

Defense objected to this question and answer, but the Court overruled
the objection, saying the question was designed to impeach the
witness.

"Do you remember going from church, the Sunday after your mother
was killed, with Miss Gertrude Irvine and taking dinner there?"

"Yes."

"Do you remember telling her, in speaking of the tragedy, that your
people were very reticent about speaking of what happened in the
family, that you dreaded going on the witness stand."

"No, sir, I did not, I told her people were worrying me with questions."

"Didn't you say that on hearing of the tragedy you thought of killing
yourself but you remembered your mother's telling you to look after the
children in case anything happened."

The objection to this question by the defence was sustained.

"In a talk at Gleason Hotel with W. G. and Albert Baldwin did you
tell them that on hearing of the killing you knew your father had
murdered your mother?"

"I deny that emphatically."

The witness here was excused.

The witness was then recalled: "Do you remember going with Mr.
Baldwin into the room where the body of your mother was?"

"I did not."

"Do you remember stating to him then that this was the first peaceful
look you had seen on her face for years?"

"I never said it."

A correspondent describes the scene during young McCue's ordeal:

William McCue, the 17-year-old son of the accused, was the central
figure in the drama. Lawyers, judge, jury, and even the prisoner,
dwindled into utter insignificance in comparison with the lad's mighty
effort to save his father from the gallows.

With eyes moistened by excess of emotion and his whole frame in a
quiver, the usually sturdy boy sat in the witness chair like a hunted
animal at bay, and, despite a cannonade of embarrassing questions,
swore that his poor, dead mother had received naught but kindness at
the hands of the stoical prisoner at the bar.

In vain did Captain Micajah Woods, the prosecution's great engine of
strength and aggressiveness, seek to daunt the lad with a maze of
almost bewildering questions broadly hinting at a sudden somersaulting
of the young witness's opinions.

In vain did the stern attorney, grown gray in the wiles and subtleties
of the law, strive to make William McCue break down and indirectly
declare his father a murderer.

Verily, it was a case of the quick or the dead! And the quick was
the winner. Mayhap the memory of the unhappy woman, upon whose
grave the flowers hardly yet have withered, still touched the heart of
the son, who was wildly hysterical on the night she perished by an

assassin's hand. And mayhap he will never forget the wretched but
tender little woman who once ran to him, then a mere stripling, for
protection from her husband. But the living are ever stronger than
the dead; the present than the absent. Not ten feet from the witness
chair where young William sat gleamed the metallic blue eyes of his
father, boring into the very heart of the son like an augur of steel.
Those cold blue eyes have subdued others. Yesterday they subdued
young William McCue.

There was at least one surprised man in the court-room when the boy
witness, summoned by the prosecution in confidence and almost in
triumph, veered quickly around as a witness for the defense. That one
surprised individual was Captain Micajah Woods. Almost at the very
outset the lawyer openly admitted his amazement and announced that
he would avail himself of the privilege of questioning the son as a
witness for the accused. To this the lawyers for the defense agreed.
Then came the interrogatory bombardment, charged with the lyddite
of sarcasm and the dynamite of unbelief. Captain Woods, in a word,
hurled at the witness a rapid series of questions based on alleged statements
William McCue had made to his mother's brother, Ernest Crawford.
These statements all put the witness in the position of suspecting
the guilt of his father, and of openly seeking to work the destruction
of the accused. Indeed the witness, though he doggedly denied almost
everything, unhesitatingly admitted that he had talked with his uncle
and with detectives about the case; that shortly after the murder he
attempted to get McCue's negro stable boy to confess that he had lied
at the coroner's inquest. But the witness firmly, emphatically, almost
indignantly denied that he had ever hinted at unpleasant relations existing
between his father and mother. Nothing could shake him on this
point; nothing could jolt his memory into recollecting a single instance
where the bitter waters of domestic discord had muddled the fountains
of Mr. and Mrs. J. Samuel McCue's matrimonial bliss. The one predominating,
oft-repeated, crescendo note of young McCue's testimony
was the expression: "No, I deny it emphatically."