Naboth's Vineyard

by Melville Davisson Post

　　ONE HEARS a good deal about the sovereignty of the people in thisrepublic; and many persons imagine it a sort of fiction, and wonderwhere it lies, who are the guardians of it, and how they would exerciseit if the forms and agents of the law were removed. I am not one ofthose who speculate upon this mystery, for I have seen this primalultimate authority naked at its work. And, having seen it, I know howmighty and how dread a thing it is. And I know where it lies, and whoare the guardians of it, and how they exercise it when the need arises.

　　There was a great crowd, for the whole country was in the courtroom. Itwas a notorious trial.

　　Elihu Marsh had been shot down in his house. He had been found lying ina room, with a hole through his body that one could put his thumb in. Hewas an irascible old man, the last of his family, and so, lived alone.He had rich lands, but only a life estate in them, the remainder was tosome foreign heirs. A girl from a neighboring farm came now and then tobake and put his house in order, and he kept a farm hand about thepremises.

　　Nothing had been disturbed in the house when the neighbors found Marsh;no robbery had been attempted, for the man's money, a considerable sum,remained on him.

　　There was not much mystery about the thing, because the farm hand haddisappeared. This man was a stranger in the hills. He had come from overthe mountains some months before, and gone to work for Marsh. He was abig blond man, young and good looking; of better blood, one would say,than the average laborer. He gave his name as Taylor, but he was notcommunicative, and little else about him was known.

　　The country was raised, and this man was overtaken in the foothills ofthe mountains. He had his clothes tied into a bundle, and along-barreled fowling-piece on his shoulder. The story he told was thathe and Marsh had settled that morning, and he had left the house atnoon, but that he had forgotten his gun and had gone back for it; hadreached the house about four o'clock, gone into the kitchen, got his gundown from the dogwood forks over the chimney, and at once left thehouse. He had not seen Marsh, and did not know where he was.

　　He admitted that this gun had been loaded with a single huge leadbullet. He had so loaded it to kill a dog that sometimes approached thehouse, but not close enough to be reached with a load of shot. Heaffected surprise when it was pointed out that the gun had beendischarged. He said that he had not fired it, and had not, until then,noticed that it was empty. When asked why he had so suddenly determinedto leave the country, he was silent.

　　He was carried back and confined in the county jail, and now, he was ontrial at the September term of the circuit court.

　　The court sat early. Although the judge, Simon Kilrail, was a landownerand lived on his estate in the country some half dozen miles away, herode to the courthouse in the morning, and home at night, with his legalpapers in his saddle-pockets. It was only when the court sat that he wasa lawyer. At other times he harvested his hay and grazed his cattle, andtried to add to his lands like any other man in the hills, and he was ashard in a trade and as hungry for an acre as any.

　　It was the sign and insignia of distinction in Virginia to own land. Mr.Jefferson had annulled the titles that George the Third had granted, andthe land alone remained as a patent of nobility. The Judge wished to beone of these landed gentry, and he had gone a good way to accomplish it.But when the court convened he became a lawyer and sat upon the benchwith no heart in him, and a cruel tongue like the English judges.

　　I think everybody was at this trial. My Uncle Abner and the strange olddoctor, Storm, sat on a bench near the center aisle of the court-room,and I sat behind them, for I was a half-grown lad, and permitted towitness the terrors and severities of the law.

　　The prisoner was the center of interest. He sat with a stolidcountenance like a man careless of the issues of life. But not everybodywas concerned with him, for my Uncle Abner and Storm watched the girlwho had been accustomed to bake for Marsh and red up his house.

　　She was a beauty of her type; dark haired and dark eyed like a gypsy,and with an April nature of storm and sun. She sat among the witnesseswith a little handkerchief clutched in her hands. She was nervous to thepoint of hysteria, and I thought that was the reason the old doctorwatched her. She would be taken with a gust of tears, and then throw upher head with a fine defiance; and she kneaded and knotted and workedthe handkerchief in her fingers. It was a time of stress and manywitnesses were unnerved, and I think I should not have noticed this girlbut for the whispering of Storm and my Uncle Abner.

　　The trial went forward, and it became certain that the prisoner wouldhang. His stubborn refusal to give any reason for his hurried departurehad but one meaning, and the circumstantial evidence was conclusive. Themotive, only, remained in doubt, and the Judge had charged on this withso many cases in point, and with so heavy a hand, that any virtue in itwas removed. The Judge was hard against this man, and indeed there waslittle sympathy anywhere, for it was a foul killing-the victim an oldman and no hot blood to excuse it.

　　In all trials of great public interest, where the evidences of guiltoverwhelmingly assemble against a prisoner, there comes a moment whenall the people in the court-room, as one man, and without a sign of thecommon purpose, agree upon a verdict; there is no outward or visibleevidence of this decision, but one feels it, and it is a moment of thetensest stress.

　　The trial of Taylor had reached this point, and there lay a moment ofdeep silence, when this girl sitting among the witnesses suddenly burstinto a very hysteria of tears. She stood up shaking with sobs, her voicechoking in her throat, and the tears gushing through her fingers.

　　What she said was not heard at the time by the audience in thecourtroom, but it brought the Judge to his feet and the jury crowdingabout her, and it broke down the silence of the prisoner, and threw himinto a perfect fury of denials. We could hear his voice rise above theconfusion, and we could see him struggling to get to the girl and stopher. But what she said was presently known to everybody, for it wastaken down and signed; and it put the case against Taylor, to use alawyer's term, out of court.

　　The girl had killed Marsh herself. And this was the manner and thereason of it: She and Taylor were sweethearts and were to be married.But they had quarreled the night before Marsh's death and the followingmorning Taylor had left the country. The point of the quarrel was someremark that Marsh had made to Taylor touching the girl's reputation. Shehad come to the house in the afternoon, and finding her lover gone, andmaddened at the sight of the one who had robbed her of him, had takenthe gun down from the chimney and killed Marsh. She had then put the gunback into its place and left the house. This was about two o'clock inthe afternoon, and about an hour before Taylor returned for his gun.

　　There was a great veer of public feeling with a profound sense of havingcome at last upon the truth, for the story not only fitted to thecircumstantial evidence against Taylor, but it fitted also to his storyand it disclosed the motive for the killing. It explained, too, why hehad refused to give the reason for his disappearance. That Taylor deniedwhat the girl said and tried to stop her in her declaration, meantnothing except that the prisoner was a man, and would not have the womanhe loved make such a sacrifice for him.

　　I cannot give all the forms of legal procedure with which the closinghours of the court were taken up, but nothing happened to shake thegirl's confession. Whatever the law required was speedily got ready, andshe was remanded to the care of the sheriff in order that she might comebefore the court in the morning.

　　Taylor was not released, but was also held in custody, although the caseagainst him seemed utterly broken down. The Judge refused to permit theprisoner's counsel to take a verdict. He said that he would withdraw ajuror and continue the case. But he seemed unwilling to release anyclutch of the law until some one was punished for this crime.

　　It was on our way, and we rode out with the Judge that night. He talkedwith Abner and Storm about the pastures and the price of cattle, but notabout the trial, as I hoped he would do, except once only, and then itwas to inquire why the prosecuting attorney had not called either ofthem as witnesses, since they were the first to find Marsh, and Stormhad been among the doctors who examined him. And Storm had explained howhe had mortally offended the prosecutor in his canvass, by his remarkthat only a gentleman should hold office. He did but quote Mr. Hamilton,Storm said, but the man had received it as a deadly insult, and therebyproved the truth of Mr. Hamilton's expression. Storm added. And Abnersaid that as no circumstance about Marsh's death was questioned, andothers arriving about the same time had been called, the prosecutordoubtless considered further testimony unnecessary.

　　The Judge nodded, and the conversation turned to other questions. At thegate, after the common formal courtesy of the country, the Judge askedus to ride in, and, to my astonishment, Abner and Storm accepted hisinvitation. I could see that the man was surprised, and I thoughtannoyed, but he took us into his library.

　　I could not understand why Abner and Storm had stopped here, until Iremembered how from the first they had been considering the girl, and itoccurred to me that they thus sought the Judge in the hope of gettingsome word to him in her favor. A great sentiment had leaped up for thisgirl. She had made a staggering sacrifice, and with a headlong courage,and it was like these men to help her if they could.

　　And it was to speak of the woman that they came, but not in her favor.And while Simon Kilrail listened, they told this extraordinary story:They had been of the opinion that Taylor was not guilty when the trialbegan, but they had suffered it to proceed in order to see what mightdevelop. The reason was that there were certain circumstantialevidences, overlooked by the prosecutor, indicating the guilt of thewoman and the innocence of Taylor. When Storm examined the body of Marshhe discovered that the man had been killed by poison, and was dead whenthe bullet was fired into his body. This meant that the shooting was afabricated evidence to direct suspicion against Taylor. The woman hadbaked for Marsh on this morning, and the poison was in the bread whichhe had eaten at noon.

　　Abner was going on to explain something further, when a servant enteredand asked the Judge what time it was. The man had been greatlyimpressed, and he now sat in a profound reflection. He took his watchout of his pocket and held it in his hand, then he seemed to realize thequestion and replied that his watch had run down. Abner gave the hour,and said that perhaps his key would wind the watch. The Judge gave it tohim, and he wound it and laid it on the table. Storm observed my Unclewith, what I thought, a curious interest, but the Judge paid noattention. He was deep in his reflection and oblivious to everything.Finally he roused himself and made his comment.

　　"This clears the matter up," he said. "The woman killed Marsh from themotive which she gave in her confession, and she created this falseevidence against Taylor because he had abandoned her. She therebyavenged herself desperately in two directions....It would be like awoman to do this, and then regret it and confess."

　　He then asked my uncle if he had anything further to tell him, andalthough I was sure that Abner was going on to say something furtherwhen the servant entered, he replied now that he had not, and asked forthe horses. The Judge went out to have the horses brought, arid weremained in silence. My uncle was calm, as with some consuming idea, butStorm was as nervous as a cat. He was out of his chair when the door wasclosed, and hopping about the room looking at the law books standing onthe shelves in their leather covers. Suddenly he stopped and plucked outa little volume. He whipped through it with his forefinger, smothered agreat oath, and shot it into his pocket, then he crooked his finger tomy uncle, and they talked together in a recess of the window until theJudge returned.

　　We rode away. I was sure that they intended to say something to theJudge in the woman's favor, for, guilty or not, it was a fine thing shehad done to stand up and confess. But something in the interview hadchanged their purpose. Perhaps when they had heard the Judge's commentthey saw it would be of no use. They talked closely together as theyrode, but they kept before me and I could not hear. It was of the womanthey spoke, however, for I caught a fragment.

　　"But where is the motive?" said Storm.

　　And my uncle answered, "In the twenty-first chapter of the Book ofKings."

　　We were early at the county seat, and it was a good thing for us,because the court-room was crowded to the doors. My uncle had got a bigrecord book out of the county clerk's office as he came in, and I wasglad of it, for he gave it to me to sit on, and it raised me up so Icould see. Storm was there, too, and, in fact, every man of any standingin the county.

　　The sheriff opened the court, the prisoners were brought in, and theJudge took his seat on the bench. He looked haggard like a man who hadnot slept, as, in fact, one could hardly have done who had so cruel aduty before him. Here was every human feeling pressing to save a woman,and the law to hang her. But for all his hag-ridden face, when he cameto act, the man was adamant.

　　He ordered the confession read, and directed the girl to stand up.Taylor tried again to protest, but he was forced down into his chair.The girl stood up bravely, but she was white as plaster, and her eyesdilated. She was asked if she still adhered to the confession andunderstood the consequences of it, and, although she trembled from headto toe, she spoke out distinctly. There was a moment of silence and theJudge was about to speak, when another voice filled the court-room. Iturned about on my book to find my head against my Uncle Abner's legs.

　　"I challenge the confession!" he said.

　　The whole court-room moved. Every eye was on the two tragic figuresstanding up: the slim, pale girl and the big, somber figure of my uncle.The Judge was astounded.

　　"On what ground?" he said.

　　"On the ground," replied my uncle, "that the confession is a lie!"

　　One could have heard a pin fall anywhere in the whole room. The girlcaught her breath in a little gasp, and the prisoner, Taylor, half roseand then sat down as though his knees were too weak to bear him. TheJudge's mouth opened, but for a moment or two he did not speak, and Icould understand his amazement. Here was Abner assailing a confessionwhich he himself had supported before the Judge, and speaking for theinnocence of a woman whom he himself had shown to be guilty and takingone position privately, and another publicly. What did the man mean? AndI was not surprised that the Judge's voice was stem when he spoke.

　　"This is irregular," he said. "It may be that this woman lulled Marsh,or it may be that Taylor killed him, and there is some collusion betweenthese persons, as you appear to suggest. And you may know something tothrow light on the matter, or you may not. However that may be, this isnot the time for me to hear you. You will have ample opportunity tospeak when I come to try the case."

　　"But you will never try this case!" said Abner.

　　I cannot undertake to describe the desperate interest that lay on thepeople in the courtroom. They were breathlessly silent; one could hearthe voices from the village outside, and the sounds of men and horsesthat came up through the open windows. No one knew what hidden thingAbner drove at. But he was a man who meant what he said, and the peopleknew it.

　　The Judge turned on him with a terrible face.

　　"What do you mean?" he said.

　　"I mean," replied Abner, and it was in his deep, hard voice, "that youmust come down from the bench."

　　The Judge was in a heat of fury.

　　"You are in contempt," he roared. "I order your arrest. Sheriff!" hecalled.

　　But Abner did not move. He looked the man calmly in the face.

　　"You threaten me," he said, "but God Almighty threatens you." And heturned about to the audience. "The authority of the law," he said, "isin the hands of the electors of this county. Will they stand up?"

　　I shall never forget what happened then, for I have never in my lifeseen anything so deliberate and impressive. Slowly, in silence, andwithout passion, as though they were in a church of God, men began toget up in the courtroom.

　　Randolph was the first. He was a justice of the peace, vain and pompous,proud of the abilities of an ancestry that he did not inherit. And hissuperficialities were the annoyance of my Uncle Abner's life. Butwhatever I may have to say of him hereafter I want to say this thing ofhim here, that his bigotry and his vanities were builded on thefoundations of a man. He stood up as though he stood alone, with noglance about him to see what other men would do, and he faced the Judgecalmly above his great black stock. And I learned then that a man may bea blusterer and a lion.

　　Hiram Arnold got up, and Rockford, and Armstrong, and Alkire, andCoopman, and Monroe, and Elnathan Stone, and my father, Lewis, andDayton and Ward, and Madison from beyond the mountains. And it seemed tome that the very hills and valleys were standing up.

　　It was a strange and instructive thing to see. The loudmouthed and thereckless were in that courtroom, men who would have shouted in apolitical convention, or run howling with a mob, but they were not thepersons who stood up when Abner called upon the authority of the peopleto appear. Men rose whom one would not have looked to see-theblacksmith, the saddler, and old Asa Divers. And I saw that law andorder and all the structure that civilization had builded up, rested onthe sense of justice that certain men carried in their breasts, and thatthose who possessed it not, in the crisis of necessity, did not count.

　　Father Donovan stood up; he had a little flock beyond the valley river,and he was as poor, and almost as humble as his Master, but he was notafraid; and Bronson, who preached Calvin, and Adam Rider, who traveled aMethodist circuit.

　　No one of them believed in what the other taught; but they all believedin justice, and when the line was drawn, there was but one side for themall.

　　The last man up was Nathaniel Davisson, but the reason was that he wasvery old, and he had to wait for his sons to help him. He had been timeand again in the Assembly of Virginia, at a time when only a gentlemanand landowner could sit there. He was a just man, and honorable andunafraid.

　　The Judge, his face purple, made a desperate effort to enforce hisauthority. He pounded on his desk and ordered the sheriff to clear thecourtroom. But the sheriff remained standing apart. He did not lack forcourage, and I think he would have faced the people if his duty had beenthat way. His attitude was firm, and one could mark no uncertainty uponhim, but he took no step to obey what the Judge commanded.

　　The Judge cried out at him in a terrible voice.

　　"I am the representative of the law here. Go on!"

　　The sheriff was a plain man, and unacquainted with the nice expressionsof Mr. Jefferson, but his answer could not have been better if thatgentleman had written it out for him.

　　"I would obey the representative of the law," he said, "if I were not inthe presence of the law itself!"

　　The Judge rose. "This is revolution," he said; "I will send to theGovernor for the militia."

　　It was Nathaniel Davisson who spoke then. He was very old and thetremors of dissolution were on him, but his voice was steady.

　　"Sit down, your Honor," he said, "there is no revolution here, and youdo not require troops to support your authority. We are here to supportit if it ought to be lawfully enforced. But the people have elevated youto the Bench because they believed in your integrity, and if they havebeen mistaken they would know it." He paused, as though to collect hisstrength, and then went on. "The presumptions of right are all with yourHonor. You administer the law upon our authority and we stand behindyou. Be assured that we will not suffer our authority to be insulted inyour person." His voice grew deep and resolute. "It is a grave thing tocall us up against you, and not lightly, nor for a trivial reason shallmy man dare to do it." Then he turned about. "Now, Abner," he said,"what is this thing?"

　　Young as I was, I felt that the old man spoke for the people standing inthe courtroom, with their voice and their authority, and I began to fearthat the measure which my uncle had taken was high handed. But he stoodthere like the shadow of a great rock.

　　"I charge him," he said, "with the murder of Elihu Marsh! And I callupon him to vacate the Bench."

　　When I think about this extraordinary event now, I wonder at thecalmness with which Simon Kilrail met this blow, until I reflect that hehad seen it on its way, and had got ready to meet it. But even with thatpreparation, it took a man of iron nerve to face an assault like thatand keep every muscle in its place. He had tried violence and had failedwith it, and he had recourse now to the attitudes and mannerisms of ajudicial dignity. He sat with his elbows on the table, and his clenchedfingers propping up his jaw. He looked coldly at Abner, but he did notspeak, and there was silence until Nathaniel Davisson spoke for him. Hisface and his voice were like iron.

　　"No, Abner," he said, "he shall not vacate the Bench for that, nor uponthe accusation of any man. We will have your proofs, if you please."

　　The Judge turned his cold face from Abner to Nathaniel Davisson, andthen he looked over the men standing in the courtroom.

　　"I am not going to remain here," he said, "to be tried by a mob, uponthe viva voce indictment of a bystander. You may nullify your court, ifyou like, and suspend the forms of law for yourselves, but you cannotnullify the constitution of Virginia, nor suspend my right as a citizenof that commonwealth.

　　"And now," he said, rising, "if you will kindly make way, I will vacatethis courtroom, which your violence has converted into a chamber ofsedition."

　　The man spoke in a cold, even voice, and I thought he had presented adifficulty that could not be met. How could these men before himunderstand to keep the peace of this frontier, and force its lawlesselements to submit to the forms of law for trial, and deny any letter ofthose formalities to this man? Was the grand jury, and the formalindictment, and all the right and privilege of an orderly procedure forone, and not for another?

　　It was Nathaniel Davisson who met this dangerous problem.

　　"We are not concerned," he said, "at this moment with your rights as acitizen; the rights of private citizenship are inviolate, and theyremain to you, when you return to it. But you are not a private citizen.You are our agent. We have selected you to administer the law for us,and your right to act has been challenged. Well, as the authority behindyou, we appear and would know the reason."

　　The Judge retained his imperturbable calm.

　　"Do you hold me a prisoner here?" he said.

　　"We hold you an official in your office," replied Davisson, "not only dowe refuse to permit you to leave the courtroom, but we refuse to permityou to leave the Bench. This court shall remain as we have set it upuntil it is our will to readjust it. And it shall not be changed at thepleasure or demand of any man but by us only, and for a sufficient causeshown to us."

　　And again I was anxious for my uncle, for I saw how grave a thing it wasto interfere with the authority of the people as manifested in the formsand agencies of the law. Abner must be very sure of the ground underhim.

　　And he was sure. He spoke now, with no introductory expressions, butdirectly and in the simplest words.

　　"These two persons," he said, indicating Taylor and the girl, "have eachbeen willing to die in order to save the other. Neither is guilty ofthis crime. Taylor has kept silent, and the girl has lied, to the sameend. This is the truth: There was a lovers' quarrel, and Taylor left thecountry precisely as he told us, except the motive, which he would nottell lest the girl be involved. And the woman, to save him, confesses toa crime that she did not commit.

　　"Who did commit it?" He paused and included Storm with a gesture. "Wesuspected this woman because Marsh had been killed by poison in hisbread, and afterwards mutilated with a shot. Yesterday we rode out withthe Judge to put those facts before him." Again he paused. "An incidentoccurring in that interview indicated that we were wrong; a secondincident assured us, and still later, a third convinced us. Theseincidents were, first, that the Judge's watch had run down; second, thatwe found in his library a book with all the leaves in it uncut, exceptat one certain page; and, third, that we found in the county clerk'soffice an unindexed record in an old deed book." There was deep quietand he went on:

　　"In addition to the theory of Taylor's guilt or this woman's, there wasstill a third; but it had only a single incident to support it, and wefeared to suggest it until the others had been explained. This theorywas that some one, to benefit by Marsh's death, had planned to kill himin such a manner as to throw suspicion on this woman who baked hisbread, and finding Taylor gone, and the gun above the mantel, yielded toan afterthought to create a further false evidence. It was overdone!

　　"The trigger guard of the gun in the recoil caught in the chain of theassassin's watch and jerked it out of his pocket; he replaced the watch,but not the key which fell to the floor, and which I picked up besidethe body of the dead man."

　　Abner turned toward the judge.

　　"And so," he said, "I charge Simon Kilrail with this murder; because thekey winds his watch; because the record in the old deed book is aconveyance by the heirs of Marsh's lands to him at the life tenant'sdeath; and because the book we found in his library is a book on poisonswith the leaves uncut, except at the very page describing that identicalpoison with which Elihu Marsh was murdered."

　　The strained silence that followed Abner's words was broken by a voicethat thundered in the courtroom. It was Randolph's.

　　"Come down!" he said.

　　And this time Nathaniel Davisson was silent.

　　The Judge got slowly on his feet, a resolution was forming in his face,and it advanced swiftly.

　　"I will give you my answer in a moment," he said.

　　Then he turned about and went into his room behind the Bench. There wasbut one door, and that opening into the court, and the people waited.

　　The windows were open and we could see the green fields, and the sun,and the far-off mountains, and the peace and quiet and serenity ofautumn entered. The Judge did not appear. Presently there was the soundof a shot from behind the closed door. The sheriff threw it open, andupon the floor, sprawling in a smear of blood, lay Simon Kilrail, with adueling pistol in his hand.