witnesses--four for Mason and seven for Clyde. One of the latter--
a Dr. A. K. Sword, of Rehobeth--chancing to be at Big Bittern on
the day that Roberta's body was returned to the boat-house, now
declared that he had seen and examined it there and that the
wounds, as they appeared then, did not seem to him as other than
such as might have been delivered by such a blow as Clyde admitted
to having struck accidentally, and that unquestionably Miss Alden
had been drowned while conscious--and not unconscious, as the state
would have the jury believe--a result which led Mason into an
inquiry concerning the gentleman's medical history, which, alas,
was not as impressive as it might have been. He had been graduated
from a second-rate medical school in Oklahoma and had practised in
a small town ever since. In addition to him--and entirely apart
from the crime with which Clyde was charged--there was Samuel
Yearsley, one of the farmers from around Gun Lodge, who, driving
over the road which Roberta's body had traveled in being removed
from Big Bittern to Gun Lodge, now earnestly swore that the road,
as he had noticed in driving over it that same morning, was quite
rough--making it possible for Belknap, who was examining him, to
indicate that this was at least anapproximate cause of the extra-
severity of the wounds upon Roberta's head and face. This bit of
testimony was later contradicted, however, by a rival witness for
Mason--the driver for Lutz Brothers, no less, who as earnestly swore
that he found no ruts or rough places whatsoever in the road. And
again there were Liggett and Whiggam to say that in so far as they
had been able to note or determine, Clyde's conduct in connection
with his technical efforts for Griffiths & Company had been
attentive, faithful and valuable. They had seen no official harm in
him. And then several other minor witnesses to say that in so far
as they had been able to observe his social comings and goings,
Clyde's conduct was most circumspect, ceremonious and guarded. He
had done no ill that they knew of. But, alas, as Mason in cross-
examining them was quick to point out, they had never heard of
Roberta Alden or her trouble or even of Clyde's social relationship
with her.
Finally many small and dangerous and difficult points having been
bridged or buttressed or fended against as well as each side could,
it became Belknap's duty to say his last word for Clyde. And to
this he gave an entire day, most carefully, and in the spirit of
his opening address, retracing and emphasizing every point which
tended to show how almost unconsciously, if not quite innocently,
Clyde had fallen into the relationship with Roberta which had ended
so disastrously for both. Mental and moral cowardice, as he now
reiterated, inflamed or at least operated on by various lacks in
Clyde's early life, plus new opportunities such as previously had
never appeared to be within his grasp, had affected his "perhaps
too pliable and sensual and impractical and dreamy mind." No
doubt he had not been fair to Miss Alden. No question as to that.
He had not. But on the other hand--and as had been most clearly
shown by the confession which the defense had elicited--he had not
proved ultimately so cruel or vile as the prosecution would have
the public and this honorable jury believe. Many men were far more
cruel in their love life than this young boy had ever dreamed of
being, and of course they were not necessarily hung for that. And
in passing technically on whether this boy had actually committed
the crime charged, it was incumbent upon this jury to see that no
generous impulse relating to what this poor girl might have
suffered in her love-relations with this youth be permitted to sway
them to the belief or decision that for that this youth had
committed the crime specifically stated in the indictment. Who
among both sexes were not cruel at times in their love life, the
one to the other?
And then a long and detailed indictment of the purely circumstantial
nature of the evidence--no single person having seen or heard
anything of the alleged crime itself, whereas Clyde himself had
explained most clearly how he came to find himself in the peculiar
situation in which he did find himself. And after that, a brushing
aside of the incident of the folder, as well as Clyde's not
remembering the price of the boat at Big Bittern, his stopping to
bury the tripod and his being so near Roberta and not aiding her, as
either being mere accidents of chance, or memory, or, in the case of
his failing to go to her rescue, of his being dazed, confused,
frightened--"hesitating fatally but not criminally at the one time
in his life when he should not have hesitated"--a really strong if
jesuitical plea which was not without its merits and its weight.
And then Mason, blazing with his conviction that Clyde was a
murderer of the coldest and blackest type, and spending an entire
day in riddling the "spider's tissue of lies and unsupported
statements" with which the defense was hoping to divert the minds
of the jury from the unbroken and unbreakable chain of amply
substantiated evidence wherewith the prosecution had proved this
"bearded man" to be the "red-handed murderer" that he was. And
with hours spent in retracing the statements of the various
witnesses. And other hours in denouncing Clyde, or re-telling the
bitter miseries of Roberta--so much so that the jury, as well as
the audience, was once more on the verge of tears. And with Clyde
deciding in his own mind as he sat between Belknap and Jephson,
that no jury such as this was likely to acquit him in the face of
evidence so artfully and movingly recapitulated.
And then Oberwaltzer from his high seat finally instructing the
jury: "Gentlemen--all evidence is, in a strict sense, more or less
circumstantial, whether consisting of facts which permit the
inference of guilt or whether given by an eyewitness. The
testimony of an eyewitness is, of course, based upon circumstances.
"If any of the material facts of the case are at variance with the
probability of guilt, it will be the duty of you gentlemen to give
the defendant the benefit of the doubt raised.
"And it must be remembered that evidence is not to be discredited
or decried because it is circumstantial. It may often be more
reliable evidence than direct evidence.
"Much has been said here concerning motive and its importance in
this case, but you are to remember that proof of motive is by no
means indispensable or essential to conviction. While a motive may
be shown as a CIRCUMSTANCE to aid in FIXING a crime, yet the people
are not required to prove a motive.
"If the jury finds that Roberta Alden accidentally or involuntarily
fell out of the boat and that the defendant made no attempt to
rescue her, that does not make the defendant guilty and the jury
must find the defendant 'not guilty.' On the other hand, if the
jury finds that the defendant in any way, intentionally, there and
then brought about or contributed to that fatal accident, either by
a blow or otherwise, it must find the defendant guilty.
"While I do not say that you must agree upon your verdict, I would
suggest that you ought not, any of you, place your minds in a
position which will not yield if after careful deliberation you
find you are wrong."
So, Justice Oberwaltzer--solemnly and didactically from his high
seat to the jury.
And then, that point having been reached, the jury rising and
filing from the room at five in the afternoon. And Clyde
immediately thereafter being removed to his cell before the
audience proper was allowed to leave the building. There was
constant fear on the part of the sheriff that he might be attacked.
And after that five long hours in which he waited, walking to and
fro, to and fro, in his cell, or pretending to read or rest, the
while Kraut or Sissel, tipped by various representatives of the
press for information as to how Clyde "took it" at this time, slyly
and silently remained as near as possible to watch.
And in the meantime Justice Oberwaltzer and Mason and Belknap and
Jephson, with their attendants and friends, in various rooms of the
Bridgeburg Central Hotel, dining and then waiting impatiently, with
the aid of a few drinks, for the jury to agree, and wishing and
hoping that the verdict would be reached soon, whatever it might
be.
And in the meantime the twelve men--farmers, clerks and storekeepers,
re-canvassing for their own mental satisfaction the fine points made
by Mason and Belknap and Jephson. Yet out of the whole twelve but
one man--Samuel Upham, a druggist--(politically opposed to Mason and
taken with the personality of Jephson)--sympathizing with Belknap
and Jephson. And so pretending that he had doubts as to the
completeness of Mason's proof until at last after five ballots were
taken he was threatened with exposure and the public rage and
obloquy which was sure to follow in case the jury was hung. "We'll
fix you. You won't get by with this without the public knowing
exactly where you stand." Whereupon, having a satisfactory drug
business in North Mansfield, he at once decided that it was best to
pocket this opposition to Mason and agree.
Then four hollow knocks on the door leading from the jury room to
the courtroom. It was the foreman of the jury, Foster Lund, a
dealer in cement, lime and stone. His great fist was knocking.
And at that the hundreds who had crowded into the hot stuffy
courtroom after dinner though many had not even left--stirred from
the half stupor into which they had fallen. "What's that? What's
happened? Is the jury ready to report? What's the verdict?" And
men and women and children starting up to draw nearer the excluding
rail. And the two deputies on guard before the jury door beginning
to call. "All right! All right! As soon as the judge comes."
And then other deputies hurrying to the prison over the way in
order that the sheriff might be notified and Clyde brought over--
and to the Bridgeburg Central Hotel to summon Oberwaltzer and all
the others. And then Clyde, in a half stupor or daze from sheer
loneliness and killing suspense, being manacled to Kraut and led
over between Slack, Sissel and others. And Oberwaltzer, Mason,
Belknap and Jephson and the entire company of newspaper writers,
artists, photographers and others entering and taking the places
that they had occupied all these long weeks. And Clyde winking and
blinking as he was seated behind Belknap and Jephson now--not with
them, for as stoutly manacled as he was to Kraut, he was compelled
to sit by him. And then Oberwaltzer on the bench and the clerk in
his place, the jury room door being opened and the twelve men
filing solemnly in--quaint and varied figures in angular and for
the most part much-worn suits of the ready-made variety. And as
they did so, seating themselves in the jury box, only to rise again
at the command of the clerk, who began: "Gentlemen of the jury,
have you agreed on a verdict?"--yet without one of them glancing in
the direction of either Belknap or Jephson or Clyde, which Belknap
at once interpreted as fatal.
"It's all off," he whispered to Jephson. "Against us. I can
tell." And then Lund announcing: "We have. We find the defendant
guilty of murder in the first degree." And Clyde, entirely dazed
and yet trying to keep his poise and remain serene, gazing straight
before him toward the jury and beyond, and with scarcely a blink of
the eye. For had he not, in his cell the night before, been told
by Jephson, who had found him deeply depressed, that the verdict in
this trial, assuming that it proved to be unfavorable, was of no
consequence. The trial from start to finish had been unfair.
Prejudice and bias had governed its every step. Such bullying and
browbeating and innuendo as Mason had indulged in before the jury
would never pass as fair or adequate in any higher court. And a
new trial--on appeal--would certainly be granted--although by whom
such an appeal was to be conducted he was not now prepared to
discuss.
And now, recalling that, Clyde saying to himself that it did not so
much matter perhaps, after all. It could not, really--or could it?
Yet think what these words meant in case he could not get a new
trial! Death! That is what it would mean if this were final--and
perhaps it was final. And then to sit in that chair he had seen in
his mind's eye for so long--these many days and nights when he
could not force his mind to drive it away. Here it was again
before him--that dreadful, ghastly chair--only closer and larger
than ever before--there in the very center of the space between
himself and Justice Oberwaltzer. He could see it plainly now--
squarish, heavy-armed, heavy-backed, some straps at the top and
sides. God! Supposing no one would help him now! Even the
Griffiths might not be willing to pay out any more money! Think of
that! The Court of Appeals to which Jephson and Belknap had
referred might not be willing to help him either. And then these
words would be final. They would! They would! God! His jaws
moved slightly, then set--because at the moment he became conscious
that they were moving. Besides, at that moment Belknap was rising
and asking for an individual poll of the jury, while Jephson leaned
over and whispered: "Don't worry about it. It isn't final. We'll
get a reversal as sure as anything." Yet as each of the jurors was
saying: "Yes"--Clyde was listening to them, not to Jephson. Why
should each one say that with so much emphasis? Was there not one
who felt that he might not have done as Mason had said--struck her
intentionally? Was there not one who even half-believed in that
change of heart which Belknap and Jephson had insisted that he had
experienced? He looked at them all--little and big. They were
like a blackish-brown group of wooden toys with creamish-brown or
old ivory faces and hands. Then he thought of his mother. She
would hear of this now, for here were all these newspaper writers
and artists and photographers assembled to hear this. And what
would the Griffiths--his uncle and Gilbert--think now? And Sondra!
Sondra! Not a word from her. And through all this he had been
openly testifying, as Belknap and Jcphson had agreed that he must
do--to the compelling and directing power of his passion for her--
the real reason for all this! But not a word. And she would not
send him any word now, of course--she who had been going to marry
him and give him everything!
But in the meantime the crowd about him silent although--or perhaps
because--intensely satisfied. The little devil hadn't "gotten by."
He hadn't fooled the twelve sane men of this county with all that
bunk about a change of heart. What rot! While Jephson sat and
stared, and Belknap, his strong face written all over with contempt
and defiance, making his motions. And Mason and Burleigh and
Newcomb and Redmond thinly repressing their intense satisfaction
behind masks preternaturally severe, the while Belknap continued
with a request that the sentence be put off until the following
Friday--a week hence, when he could more conveniently attend, but
with Justice Oberwaltzer replying that he thought not--unless some
good reason could be shown. But on the morrow, if counsel desired,
he would listen to an argument. If it were satisfactory he would
delay sentence--otherwise, pronounce it the following Monday.
Yet, even so, Clyde was not concerned with this argument at the
moment. He was thinking of his mother and what she would think--
feel. He had been writing her so regularly, insisting always that
he was innocent and that she must not believe all, or even a part,
of what she read an the newspapers. He was going to be acquitted
sure. He was going to go on the stand and testify for himself.
But now... now... oh, he needed her now--so much. Quite
every one, as it seemed now, had forsaken him. He was terribly,
terribly alone. And he must send her some word quickly. He must.
He must. And then asking Jephson for a piece of paper and a
pencil, he wrote: "Mrs. Asa Griffiths, care of Star of Hope
Mission, Denver, Colorado. Dear mother--I am convicted--Clyde."
And then handing that to Jephson, he asked him, nervously and
weakly, if he would see that it was sent right away. "Right away,
son, sure," replied Jephson, touched by his looks, and waving to a
press boy who was near gave it to him together with the money.
And then, while this was going on, all the public exits being
locked until Clyde, accompanied by Sissel and Kraut, had been
ushered through the familiar side entrance through which he had
hoped to escape. And while all the press and the public and the
still-remaining jury gazing, for even yet they had not seen enough
of Clyde but must stare into his face to see how he was taking it.
And because of the local feeling against him, Justice Oberwaltzer,
at Slack's request, holding court un-adjourned until word was
brought that Clyde was once more locked in his cell, whereupon the
doors were re-opened. And then the crowd surging out but only to
wait at the courtroom door in order to glimpse, as he passed out,
Mason, who now, of all the figures in this case, was the true hero--
the nemesis of Clyde--the avenger of Roberta. That he not
appearing at first but instead Jephson and Belknap together, and
not so much depressed as solemn, defiant--Jephson in particular,
looking unconquerably contemptuous. Then some one calling: "Well,
you didn't get him off just the same," and Jephson replying, with a
shrug of his shoulders, "Not yet, but this county isn't all of the
law either." Then Mason, immediately afterward--a heavy, baggy
overcoat thrown over his shoulder, his worn soft hat pulled low
over his eyes--and followed by Burleigh, Heit, Newcomb and others
as a royal train--while he walked in the manner of one entirely
oblivious of the meaning or compliment of this waiting throng. For
was he not now a victor and an elected judge! And as instantly
being set upon by a circling, huzzahing mass--the while a score of
those nearest sought to seize him by the hand or place a grateful
pat upon his arm or shoulder. "Hurrah for Orville!" "Good for
you, Judge!" (his new or fast-approaching title). "By God!
Orville Mason, you deserve the thanks of this county!" "Hy-oh!
Heigh! Heigh!" "Three cheers for Orville Mason!" And with that
the crowd bursting into three resounding huzzahs--which Clyde in
his cell could clearly hear and at the same time sense the meaning
of.
They were cheering Mason for convicting him. In that large crowd
out there there was not one who did not believe him totally and
completely guilty. Roberta--her letters--her determination to make
him marry her--her giant fear of exposure--had dragged him down to
this. To conviction. To death, maybe. Away from all he had
longed for--away from all he had dreamed he might possess. And
Sondra! Sondra! Not a word! Not a word! And so now, fearing
that Kraut or Sissel or some one might be watching (ready to report
even now his every gesture), and not willing to show after all how
totally collapsed and despondent he really was, he sat down and
taking up a magazine pretended to read, the while he looked far,
far beyond it to other scenes--his mother--his brother and sisters--
the Griffiths--all he had known. But finding these unsubstantiated
mind visions a little too much, he finally got up and throwing
off his clothes climbed into his iron cot.
"Convicted! Convicted!" And that meant that he must die! God!
But how blessed to be able to conceal his face upon a pillow and
not let any one see--however accurately they might guess!
Chapter 27
The dreary aftermath of a great contest and a great failure, with
the general public from coast to coast--in view of this stern local
interpretation of the tragedy--firmly convinced that Clyde was
guilty and, as heralded by the newspapers everywhere, that he had
been properly convicted. The pathos of that poor little murdered
country girl! Her sad letters! How she must have suffered! That
weak defense! Even the Griffiths of Denver were so shaken by the
evidence as the trial had progressed that they scarcely dared read
the papers openly--one to the other--but, for the most part, read
of it separately and alone, whispering together afterwards of the
damning, awful deluge of circumstantial evidence. Yet, after
reading Belknap's speech and Clyde's own testimony, this little
family group that had struggled along together for so long coming
to believe in their own son and brother in spite of all they had
previously read against him. And because of this--during the trial
as well as afterwards--writing him cheerful and hopeful letters,
based frequently on letters from him in which he insisted over and
over again that he was not guilty. Yet once convicted, and out of
the depths of his despair wiring his mother as he did--and the
papers confirming it--absolute consternation in the Griffiths
family. For was not this proof? Or, was it? All the papers
seemed to think so. And they rushed reporters to Mrs. Griffiths,
who, together with her little brood, had sought refuge from the
unbearable publicity in a remote part of Denver entirely removed
from the mission world. A venal moving-van company had revealed
her address.
And now this American witness to the rule of God upon earth,
sitting in a chair in her shabby, nondescript apartment, hard-
pressed for the very means to sustain herself--degraded by the
milling forces of life and the fell and brutal blows of chance--yet
serene in her trust--and declaring: "I cannot think this morning.
I seem numb and things look strange to me. My boy found guilty of
murder! But I am his mother and I am not convinced of his guilt by
any means! He has written me that he is not guilty and I believe
him. And to whom should he turn with the truth and for trust if
not to me? But there is He who sees all things and who knows."
At the same time there was so much in the long stream of evidence,
as well as Clyde's first folly in Kansas City, that had caused her
to wonder--and fear. Why was he unable to explain that folder?
Why couldn't he have gone to the girl's aid when he could swim so
well? And why did he proceed so swiftly to the mysterious Miss X--
whoever she was? Oh, surely, surely, surely, she was not going to
be compelled, in spite of all her faith, to believe that her
eldest--the most ambitious and hopeful, if restless, of all of her
children, was guilty of such a crime! No! She could not doubt
him--even now. Under the merciful direction of a living God, was
it not evil in a mother to believe evil of a child, however dread
his erring ways might seem? In the silence of the different rooms
of the mission, before she had been compelled to remove from there
because of curious and troublesome visitors, had she not stood many
times in the center of one of those miserable rooms while sweeping
and dusting, free from the eye of any observer--her head thrown
back, her eyes closed, her strong, brown face molded in homely and
yet convinced and earnest lines--a figure out of the early Biblical
days of her six-thousand-year-old world--and earnestly directing
her thoughts to that imaginary throne which she saw as occupied by
the living, giant mind and body of the living God--her Creator.
And praying by the quarter and the half hour that she be given
strength and understanding and guidance to know of her son's
innocence or guilt--and if innocent that this searing burden of
suffering be lifted from him and her and all those dear to him and
her--or if guilty, she be shown how to do--how to endure the while
he be shown how to wash from his immortal soul forever the horror
of the thing he had done--make himself once more, if possible,
white before the Lord.
"Thou art mighty, O God, and there is none beside Thee. Behold, to
Thee all things are possible. In Thy favor is Life. Have mercy, O
God. Though his sins be as scarlet, make him white as snow.
Though they be red like crimson, make them as wool."
Yet in her then--and as she prayed--was the wisdom of Eve in regard
to the daughters of Eve. That girl whom Clyde was alleged to have
slain--what about her? Had she not sinned too? And was she not
older than Clyde? The papers said so. Examining the letters, line
by line, she was moved by their pathos and was intensely and
pathetically grieved for the misery that had befallen the Aldens.
Nevertheless, as a mother and woman full of the wisdom of ancient
Eve, she saw how Roberta herself must have consented--how the lure
of her must have aided in the weakening and the betrayal of her
son. A strong, good girl would not have consented--could not have.
How many confessions about this same thing had she not heard in the
mission and at street meetings? And might it not be said in
Clyde's favor--as in the very beginning of life in the Garden of
Eden--"the woman tempted me"?
Truly--and because of that--
"His mercy endureth forever," she quoted. And if His mercy
endureth--must that of Clyde's mother be less?
"If ye have faith, so much as the grain of a mustard seed," she
quoted to herself--and now, in the face of these importuning
reporters added: "Did my son kill her? That is the question.
Nothing else matters in the eyes of our Maker," and she looked at
the sophisticated, callous youths with the look of one who was sure
that her God would make them understand. And even so they were
impressed by her profound sincerity and faith. "Whether or not the
jury has found him guilty or innocent is neither here nor there in
the eyes of Him who holds the stars in the hollow of His hand. The
jury's finding is of men. It is of the earth's earthy. I have
read his lawyer's plea. My son himself has told me in his letters
that he is not guilty. I believe my son. I am convinced that he
is innocent."
And Asa in another corner of the room, saying little. Because of
his lack of comprehension of the actualities as well as his lack of
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