John Armstrong Plays the FiddleJohn Armstrong Plays the Fiddle
So John played that and Mitch was rollin' from side to side in his chair and laughin' fit to kill. Then John said, "I s'pose you boys never seed no platform dancin'."We never had and wanted to know what it was. "Wal (swear word)," says John, "they put up a platform and one after another they get up on the platform and dance, and when they get real earnest they take their shoes off. Jim Tate who went out to Kansas was the best platform dancer we ever had around here. He came over one night to Old Uncle Billy Bralin's whar my uncle was a fiddlin'—the best fiddler they ever was here. And Jim heard him and got to jigglin' and finally he looked in the room and he says, 'Clar the cheers out, I'm goin' to take off my shoes and come down on her.' So they did, and while he was dancin' his foot went through one of the holes in the puncheon floor and skinned one of his shins. Up to then they had always called this piece 'Shoats in the Corn,' but after that they called it 'Skinnin' your Shins.' Go ahead, Vangy." Then he played "Skinnin' your Shins," and after that "Rocky Road to Jordan," "Way up to Tar Creek," "A Sly Wink at Me," "All a Time a Goin' with the High Toned Gals," and a lot more that I can't remember, and between every piece he'd tell a story.
Then John began to get tired, and it was about ten o'clock. So Vangy went home, and we all went to bed. And after Mitch and me got in bed, I heard him laughin' to himself, and I says, "What's the matter, Mitch?" And he says, "This is the funniest thing I ever see, I wouldn't have missed this for anything." Then we fell asleep.
The next mornin' Aunt Caroline had the wonderfulest breakfast you ever saw: waffles, honey, bacon, eggs, and John just et and talked and kept swearin'. And Aunt Caroline sat lookin' down at her plate eatin' and didn't say nothin'—just looked calm and happy.
John seemed to have some kind of business that mornin'. Anyway he went away for a bit and left us to ourselves lookin' about the place and goin' over some photographs Aunt Caroline had. By and by Vangy came in and John. And John got out the fiddle again, to play a piece he called "Injun Puddin'" and so the fun was startin' all over again. There was a knock at the door and Aunt Caroline went and opened it, and there stood my pa and Mr. Miller. "Well, you young pirates," said my pa, as he came in the room, "you're goin' down to see Tom Sawyer, are you, and run away from your home?"
"They got a job on the steamboat, Hard," said John. "You can't interfere with that, you know." And he laughed and swore.
"I'll get a switch to you, young man," my pa went on. "Mitchie, what makes you do this?" asked Mr. Miller. "It does beat the world. Your mother is worried almost to death."
Mitch looked down. I was still because I was scared. Pretty soon everything got jolly again. John fiddled some more. They all told stories, the funniest you ever heard, and everybody laughed. I saw Aunt Caroline smile clear across her face. Then we had a grand dinner. And when the train came in, my pa and Mr. Miller put us on and took us back to Petersburg.
Of course John Armstrong tricked us, but when did he do it—and how? I don't know.
CHAPTER XXI
Everything seemed changed now. My ma wasn't the same, the house wasn't the same; Myrtle was talkin' about girls and boys I didn't know. Maud Fisher had come back from Chicago where she had visited and Myrtle was goin' up the hill to see her. Maud lived in a great brick house that looked like a castle. Her pa was one of the richest men in town and they lived splendid.
And Mitch was changed too. We hadn't found the treasure; we had been cheated out of our trip to St. Louis, for they wouldn't let us go back to Havaner to get the boat; we hadn't seen Tom Sawyer. And Mr. Miller had told Mitch a lot of stories of Shakespeare and had set him to readin', and Mitch had read a lot of it, and told me about Hamlet who lost his father, and killed his step-father, and saw his mother drink poison; and had lost his girl too, and lost everything. And Mitch says, "Pa says that is about the way. This life is sorrow, you always lose, you never win, and if you do, it's worse'n if you lost; and you're just bein' put through a kind of schoolin' for somethin' else. For if you have trouble, then you are made wise and kind, maybe, or at least you can be; and so there's something after this life where you can use your mind as it has been made better by this life."
Well, you see, I couldn't believe this. How about John Armstrong and Col. Lambkin, and the captain?Warn't they happy? Wasn't my grandma happy and my grandpa? There must be a way. Some folks must have luck, even if others don't; so I did my best to cheer Mitch up.
But now we was separated a good deal. For to watch me, pa took me to his office where I had to sit all day mostly, and tell where he was, if I knew; and run errands, go over to the clerk's office for papers. And just now there was a good deal to do for court was comin' on, and they were getting ready to try Temple Scott for killin' Joe Rainey.
At last the judge came. He came right in to see my pa. He lived way off in Jerseyville in a different county. I don't believe Mitch and me was ever any gladder to see each other than pa and the judge. They talked politics and cases and about makin' speeches to juries; and they agreed that when you get up to talk you don't know what you are goin' to say, but you get started and you know when you get the swing, and are really cuttin' ice. So the judge was invited to our house for dinner, and ma bought a new lamp for the center table on account of it; and Myrtle was all dressed up, and so was I. And ma put on a lot of airs, stretchin' things a lot about her folks and her do'n's in society and pa's wonderful speeches—some the judge hadn't heard. And pa told some stories that I had heard him tell before; and when the judge spoke, every one was quiet and scared like, even pa seemed a little embarrassed. The judge asked me if I was goin' to be a lawyer, and I said no, a steamboat captain. Then they all laughed and pa said: "There's a story about that that I'll tell you, judge." Then I blushed and Myrtle giggled and ma looked mad, because she was really ashamed of me.
And finally the court opened. I went up to see what it was like. There sat the judge on a high seat. And different lawyers would get up and say, "Docket number 8020" or somethin'. And the judge would turn over the leaves of a book and say, "Kellyvs.Graves," or somethin' and wait. Then the lawyer would say, "Default of Nora Kennedy" or somethin'. Then the judge would write, and so on. And my pa acted as if he didn't know the judge at all. He always said "your honor," and the judge didn't call him Hardy like he did at our house, but always Mr. Kirby. Nobody could tell they knew each other.
The town was chuck full of people. Watermelon rinds was all over the court house yard and there was lots of fights and men gettin' drunk; and after a few days, the court room was full of people watchin' the court proceedings. It was lots better than a theater, though not so good as a circus. I got hold of Mitch finally and he came and sat with me. He got interested after a while, and whatever he got interested in, he watched and liked better than anybody. But one day when we was there my pa got up and told the judge he was ready to try Temple Scott for killin' Joe Rainey. Then a little man, wearin' nose glasses, awful cunnin' lookin', with a soft voice, which he could make deep when he wanted to, said he was ready. He was Major Abbott, Temple Scott's lawyer. And so the case started.
It went on several days with lots of witnesses testifyin'—all the people who practiced "Pinafore" that night told about hearing the shots. And this little lawyer whose name was Major Abbott, as I said, asked every one, "How many shots did you hear?" Most of 'em said two; but some said they couldn't remember; and he made someof 'em say they heard three shots. They had found two bullets in Joe Rainey, and the point seemed to be that the other shot was fired by Joe Rainey; for pa said to me one day when we was walkin' home at noon that the defense was that Joe Rainey fired at Temple Scott first.
Major AbbottMajor Abbott
Then Major Abbott cross-questioned the witnesses about whether they saw Joe Rainey come into the house and go out just before he was killed. And most of 'em said yes. And then he tried to get 'em to say that they saw Joe Rainey go up-stairs and come down and go out; but none of 'em would say this. Then he'd ask 'em if they didn't hear Joe Rainey say, "Where's my pistol?" speakin' to his wife; and if she didn't say, "You can't have it," and take hold of him, and if he didn't pull away from her and go up-stairs and come down; and then if they didn't hear a shot as if it was fired from the porch followed by two shots. But he couldn't get the witnesses to say this, though he asked a lot of questions and worried 'em and tangled 'em about different things. And once in a while my pa would say, "I object, your honor." And the judge would say mostly "sustained," and Major Abbott would say, "Your honor will allow me an exception." "Let it be noted," said the judge, and so on.
All the time Mitch kept twistin' in his seat and sayin', "He's tryin' to get 'em to lie. That's what he's doin'."
Mrs. Rainey in CourtMrs. Rainey in Court
Mrs. Rainey was in the court, sittin' behind the railing. Temple Scott sat behind Major Abbott at the trial table. My pa was on the other side, and Sheriff Rutledge kept runnin' in and out, bringin' in witnesses. They had Temple Scott's pistol there with two chambers empty, and the bullets which had been taken out of Joe Rainey's body, the same size as in Temple Scott's pistol. And they had a statement which Joe Rainey had made just before he died in which he swore that he didn't have no pistol, that he came just inside the door, thinkin' he would go to bed and leave Temple Scott, and then he came right out in order to quiet him and tell him he didn't mean anything and was his friend.
"That's the truth," says Mitch, "and I'll bet on it." This statement of Joe Rainey said that they had been playing cards and was friendly till they got out on the street, when he asked Scott not to come around his house any more, that he liked him and could be friends with him, but he didn't want him to visit any more with Mrs. Rainey. Mitch says: "I heard pa and ma talk about this and they said Temple Scott wanted to marry Mrs. Rainey." Well, that seemed to kind of get in the case without anybody testifyin' to it, exactly. The court room seemed to breathe that idea, and on the streets it was talked.
Finally Major Abbott stated his side of the case, and he put Mrs. Rainey on the witness stand, and she said Joe Rainey had come in the house and asked for his pistol, that she took hold of him and said, "You mustn't get your pistol," that he tore away from her and went up-stairs; and came runnin' down, that he went out, that she heard a shot, and then later two shots of a different sound, that they all rushed to the door and found Joe Rainey lyin' on the porch floor bleedin' and unconscious.
On the Street It Was TalkedOn the Street It Was Talked
And my pa cross-questioned her and she rared up and said that Joe Rainey had brought Temple Scott to her house in the first place and introduced him and wanted him to come, and had him to meals, and that this talk of her carin' for Temple Scott was a base slander and the work of mean enemies. And that no gentleman would hint of such a thing. And as far as her testifyin' at all in the case, she wanted to see justice done, and to do it she went through this disagreeable experience, which was enough to kill anybody. Finally pa asked: "Where is Joe Rainey's pistol?" And she got mad and said, "I don't know where it is—nobody knows."
"Nobody knows," my pa asked quiet like.
"Nobody that I know of," she answered.
"Oh," said my pa.
Then Major Abbott sneered: "You got what you didn't want then." And the judge said: "Gentlemen, you must be courteous to each other. There has been entirely too much personalities in this case and it must stop."
Major Abbott got up to argue. The judge says: "There's nothing before the court, Major Abbott. Proceed with the case."
And Major Abbott said again: "Your honor will allow me an exception."
"Let it be noted," said the judge, and so on.
Other witnesses testified for Temple Scott and it all came to the same thing. There was three shots, and some testified that Joe Rainey had threatened Temple Scott. So pa made these witnesses or most of 'em say that they had been threatened too by Joe Rainey, and didn't believe he meant it, and that they warn't afraid of him. Finally Major Abbott got up and said: "We had a witness who saw Joe Rainey's pistol lying by the side of the porch, where it had evidently fallen out of his hand. But he has disappeared and we can't find where he is. With that out of the case, the defense rests."
Mitch began to get more and more nervous and to kind of talk to himself.
Then the judge asked, "Major Abbott, did you subpoena this witness?"
"No," said Major Abbott. "We should have done so, I confess, and I intended to. But I talked to him, he seemed entirely willing to testify; nevertheless I intended to subpoena him the first of the month and got ready to do so, and found that he had disappeared."
"What's his name?" said my pa real quick.
"His name," said Major Abbott in a deep voice and very calm, "is Harold Carman." That was the man who was takin' the part of one of the sailors in "Pinafore"; and sure enough he had disappeared and no one knew where.
So Major Abbott sat down in a satisfied way. Mitch says, "Why don't Temple Scott go on and tell that Joe Rainey shot at him?" "He don't have to," says I; "pa says no man has to testify against hisself, and you can't criticize him for it."
"Against hisself," said Mitch. "Why if he, Joe Rainey, shot at him first, he'd be testifyin' for hisself, and not against hisself. He darn't testify," says Mitch. "It's a lie. Joe Rainey didn't shoot at him. I can just see right through this case."
I believed Mitch, for besides everything else, he was the smartest boy I ever knew.
Then the judge asked pa—"Any rebuttal?" And pa says, "Just a few things, your honor, but it's now ten minutes to twelve, and near adjournin' time, and if your honor will indulge me, I'd like to have court adjourn now till one o'clock."
So the court said very well, and Sheriff Rutledge adjourned the court, and all the people began to go out.
And then I see for the first time that mornin' that Mr. Miller was in the court room. He rose up as my pa came down the aisle and spoke to him, and they walked away together and up the hill, goin' home together with Mitch and me follerin'. When we got to our house pa says, "I'm goin' up to Mr. Miller's for dinner, you tell your ma." And they all went away together, Mr. Miller, my pa, and Mitch.
CHAPTER XXII
I got back to the court room about ten minutes to one and only a few was there. It was awful interestin' now, and I couldn't keep away or hardly wait for the next thing. Pretty soon Mitch came in and set by me. His hair was combed slick, and he acted terribly quiet. Then the judge came and my pa and court was opened. Pretty soon Mr. Miller came in and sat with Mitch and me and after a while Mrs. Miller, who hadn't been there before, and my ma was with her. The court room was so full you couldn't breathe.
Then my pa got up and began to talk and he said he had some evidence which was competent, but needed to be explained first to the judge, and he thought they'd better go into the judge's room and talk about it first. So the judge, my pa, and Major Abbott went to the judge's room and closed the door, and the jury just waited and the audience began to whisper and I looked across the room and saw John Armstrong. Everybody was there except grandpa and grandma, Willie Wallace, my uncle and maybe a few others.
After a while the judge, my pa and Major Abbott came out of the judge's room. The judge got on the bench and said, "You may proceed, Mr. States Attorney."
My pa turned around and looked down in the audience, and said in a loud voice, "Mitchell Miller, take the witness stand, please."
I was knocked over. Here was Tom Sawyer right over again. Mitch was goin' to testify. What on earth did he know? He'd never told me a word.
Mitch was dreadful pale, and so was Mr. Miller. But Mr. Miller says, "Come on, my boy, and may God help you."
So they got up, and Mr. Miller walked with Mitch inside the railin' and stood there, very sad, until Mitch took the witness chair, then he walked back and sat down inside the railing.
All the jury was craning their necks now and the court room was so still that the tickin' of the clock was scary.
It seemed as Mitch was only twelve, they had to ask him about whether he knew what he was doin'. So my pa began this a way, after Mitch was sworn.
"What is your name?"
"Mitchell Miller."
"How old are you?"
"Twelve years old."
"Do you understand the obligations of an oath?"
"I do, sir."
"What are they?"
"They are to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth."
"And if you don't tell the truth, what will happen to you?"
"I'll be punished."
"How?"
"By prison."
"What else?"
"By God."
"You believe in God, do you, Mitchie?" asked my pa in a quieter voice.
"I do," said Mitch.
"And a hereafter."
"I do."
"And that you'll be punished in the hereafter if you don't tell the truth?"
"That's leading, your honor," interrupted Major Abbott.
"Yes," said the judge.
"Very well," said my pa.
"What else will happen to you if you don't tell the truth, Mitchell?"
"I'll be punished in the hereafter."
"Cross-examine," said my pa.
Then Major Abbott began in kind of a sneerin' voice.
"So you think you'll be punished in the hereafter?"
"Yes, sir."
"Why?"
"Why wouldn't I be for swearin' a man's life away?"
"For swearin' a man's life away," repeated Major Abbott, kind of stunned.
"That's what I'm obliged to do," said Mitch.
"Well, one thing at a time, my boy," said the Major, a little friendlier. "Tell me now who told you about the obligations of an oath."
"I've read about it," said Mitch.
"Where?"
"In Blackstone's Commentaries."
"Where did you ever hear of Blackstone's Commentaries?"
"First out at Old Salem, where Linkern lived."
The jury sat up straighter than ever.
"Who told you?"
"An old man."
"What's his name?"
"I don't know."
"When was that?"
"This summer, about a month ago."
"Well, did you ever read Blackstone's Commentaries?"
"Yes, sir, some."
"Where?"
"In Mr. Kirby's office."
"The States Attorney?"
"Yes, sir."
"When?"
"Since that old man told me."
"How did he happen to be talking about Blackstone's Commentaries?"
"He told me that Linkern found Blackstone's Commentaries in a barl."
There was a titter in the court room.
"Did you believe him?"
"Yes, sir."
"What were you doin' out there?"
"Diggin' for treasure."
"Oh, like Tom Sawyer?"
"Yes, sir."
"And so now you're testifyin' like Tom Sawyer?"
"Yes, sir."
"Don't you dream a good deal, my boy?"
"I don't know. I think a lot."
"You think, eh? What about, for instance?"
"Everything."
"Well, tell me a few things you think about."
"The world, life, books, Shakespeare."
"Shakespeare?"
"Yes, sir."
"I suppose you've heard your father talk Shakespeare?"
"Yes, sir."
"And so you think of that?"
"I've read lots of it, too."
"Shakespeare?"
"Yes, sir."
"Uh, huh! Can you tell me the name of the play where there is a fencer?"
"'Hamlet.'"
"'Hamlet'?"
"Yes, sir. I've committed to memory the speech of the ghost."
"Well, this isn't a theater, Mitchell, so you don't need to recite."
"No, sir."
"But now tell me, has your father talked to you?"
"Yes, sir."
"Did you get from him this idea that you would be punished in the hereafter if you didn't tell the truth?"
"Yes, and not exactly either. I believe that."
"Did he talk to you to-day?"
"Yes, sir."
"What did he say?"
"He told me to do my duty, that doing my duty was more'n findin' treasure; that Linkern did his duty; that this was Linkern's county right here, and that no boy who was raised here in this town could fail to do his duty without insultin' the memory of Linkern."
"How did he come to say all that to you?"
"Because I'd stood this as long as I could. I've been in trouble about this all summer, I really started out tosee Tom Sawyer, partly to get away from this, and I was troubled most of the time. And I sat here in the court room and heard the witnesses. And at noon to-day I told my pa what I knew, and he prayed with me, and told me I had to testify and that I must tell the truth, and if I didn't I'd be punished, and even if I kept still, I'd be punished and here I am."
"So here you are. Well, now to return a little, don't you have all kinds of visions and dreams, Mitchie?"
"I do."
"Wait," says my pa, "that don't go to the witness' right to testify, but only whether he's to be believed after he does testify."
"Yes," said the judge.
Then Major Abbott took another exception. There were some more questions, and finally the judge said Mitch could tell his story. So my pa settled down to business, and the jury waited anxious like. And this is the way it went.
"Where were you on the night Joe Rainey was killed?"
"Up in a tree in his yard."
"What were you doin' there?"
"Listenin' to the music."
"Were you alone?"
"Yes, sir."
"You chum with my boy, don't you?"
"Yes, sir."
"Do you know where he was that night?"
"Out to his grandpa's."
"How did you happen to be in that yard?"
"I was lonesome and I wanted to hear the music."
"Well, you go on now in your own way and tell what you saw and heard."
"I was lookin' from the tree through the window into the room. I could see all of you. You was singin' the 'Merry, Merry Maiden.' Just then two men came up the sidewalk. I got back of some thick limbs, limbs thick with leaves, for fear they'd see me and say something and do something. Pretty soon I saw it was Joe Rainey and Temple Scott."
"What were they saying to each other?"
"They was walkin' arm in arm, friendly like. And I heard Joe Rainey say: 'I've always been a good friend of yours, Temp, and I want to be still. But you mustn't come to my house any more, especially when I'm not there. You know why, and I want you to promise.' Then Mr. Scott said, 'You're always bringin' that up, why do you? It gets me mad.' Then Joe Rainey says, 'My wife don't want you around, as far as that goes.' And Temp said, 'You don't know what you're talkin' about.' And Joe Rainey says, 'I do, and I'll go in and get her now and she'll come out here and say to you just what I say.' 'No,' says Temp, 'you'll make her say it; she must say it of her own free will.' They began to quarrel then."
"Don't say quarrel, tell us what they said."
"Well, Temp said, 'You're a liar, and nobody believes what you say.' And Joe Rainey said, 'You're another liar, and if you didn't have a pistol on you, I'd take it out of you right now. I'm goin' in for my wife.' Then he tore away from Mr. Scott and went into the house, but came right out again, and Mr. Scott began to shoot at Joe Rainey, and he fell down on the porch."
"Then what happened?"
"Then everybody in the room screamed. And somebodycame out and some others and picked up Joe Rainey and carried him into the house."
"What did you do?"
"I still stayed in the tree."
"What for?"
"Well, I was kind of scared—then I wanted to see what they did with Joe Rainey. I thought they might take him into the room where they had been singin' and I could see him."
"Did you?"
"No, sir."
"Then what happened?"
"Well, while I was waiting, about ten minutes maybe, I heard some one coming from the back of the house. It was a woman."
"What did she do?"
"She came up by the porch, knelt down kind of and ran back to the rear of the house."
"What did you do then?"
"I waited a few minutes then I got down out of the tree and went over to the porch and picked up what the woman had left there."
"What was it?"
"A pistol."
"Have you got the pistol?"
"Yes, sir."
"Will you hand it to me?"
"Yes, sir."
Mitch took a pistol out of his pocket and handed it to my pa.
Then Mrs. Rainey, who was still sittin' in the court room, fainted dead away. And some women and a doctor came up and carried her out. Temple Scott waswhite as death, and was leanin' his head on his hand and lookin' down.
And then my pa went on.
"Where has this pistol been since that night?"
"Buried."
"Where?"
"In Montgomery's woods."
"How?"
"In a cigar box."
"Why did you bury it?"
"So it wouldn't rust—so as to hide it."
"Do you know who the woman was who put the pistol there?"
"Yes, sir."
"Who?"
"Mrs. Rainey."
"Then what did you do?"
"I still stayed in the tree."
"Did anything else happen?"
"Yes, sir."
"What?"
"In just a few minutes after Mrs. Rainey came out and left the pistol, some men came out, one of 'em was Harold Carman, and they started to look right by the edge of the porch. And one man says, 'Where is it?' and another says, 'I don't see it,' and another says, 'Is this the place?' And so they looked all around and then went back into the house."
"Then what did you do?"
"I waited until everything was all right, then I climbed down out of the tree, and got the pistol, and ran. And so I kept the pistol for a few days; but I got worried havin' it around, so I put it in acigar box and went out to Montgomery's woods and buried it."
"And is this pistol you produced here, the same pistol you picked up, and buried?"
"Yes."
"That's all," said my pa.
Then the judge said, "We'll suspend here for a little while." Mitch started to leave the witness chair, but the judge said, "No, you must stay where you are. You stand by him, Mr. Sheriff."
Then there was a kind of noise of the people in the room changin' their seats and talkin'. And the word went around that Mrs. Rainey had died.
CHAPTER XXIII
That's what had happened. She had died. Her heart went back on her. But my pa said they kept it away from the jury. And Mitch kept sittin' there lookin' pretty tired. The jury wasn't allowed to leave; but just sat there. And they passed 'em water. And the judge had gone out, probably to see Mrs. Rainey. My pa went too, and Major Abbott. Then they all came back together, and the judge got on the bench, and said to go on.
Major Abbott stood up and took off his nose glasses and began to kind of shake 'em with his hand, and he looked at Mitch, and Mitch looked at him, kind of scared, I thought. And then Major Abbott began.
"When did you first tell this story you've just told here?"
"Never before," says Mitch.
"Did you talk to the State's Attorney about it?"
"Yes, sir."
"When?"
"This noon."
"Then you did tell it before you told it here."
"Yes, sir."
"What made you say you'd never told it before, Mitchie?"
"I thought you meant in any court."
"Did you tell it to any one before you told it to the State's Attorney?"
"Yes, sir."
"Who?"
"My pa."
"When?"
Major Abbott Cross-examining MitchMajor Abbott Cross-examining Mitch
"This morning."
"Uh, huh. And did you tell it to any one else?'
"No, sir."
"At no time?"
"No, sir."
"At no time between the night that Joe Rainey was killed and until you told your father this morning?"
"No, sir."
"Why did you keep it to yourself?"
"For a lot of reasons."
"Didn't you know it was your duty under the law to tell what you claimed to know?"
"I kind of thought so."
"So then you were neglecting your duty and knew that you were?"
"Maybe so."
"And didn't you know that when a case is tried, the witnesses for one side are all heard together, and then the witnesses for the other?"
"Well, I know that now."
"And that it's the exception for a witness to be heard after one side of the case, the side he belongs to, has closed its testimony?"
"I know that now."
"And you waited until this case was practically over and then offered yourself?"
"Yes, sir."
"You were never subpœnaed?"
"Not in this case."
"What case were you subpœnaed in?"
"Doc Lyon."
"Did you testify?"
"No, sir."
"Why?"
"He killed hisself."
"And that let you out?"
"Yes, sir."
"You've been reading a book called 'Tom Sawyer,' haven't you?"
"Yes, sir."
"And he testified in a case and made a sensation?"
"Yes, sir."
"And you're makin' a sensation?"
"I suppose so."
"Just like Tom Sawyer?"
"Yes, sir."
"And you like it, don't you, Mitchie?"
"No, sir—I hate it."
"You're playin' the same part Tom Sawyer played?"
"I don't know."
"Did you hate it when you hid the pistol and didn't tell any one?"
"Yes, sir."
"And did you hate it up to the time you told your father?"
"Yes, sir."
"And you hate it now?"
"Yes, sir—but it's my duty."
Major Scott said to the judge, "I move to strike out those words 'but it's my duty.'" The judge said, "stricken out," then Major Abbott said:
"Just answer my question and don't volunteer anything. Now, Mitchie, isn't it true that you have been digging for treasure this summer like Tom Sawyer in the woods hereabouts, and at Old Salem?"
"Yes, sir."
"And you expected to find it?"
"Yes, sir, and we did."
"You did?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well, tell me."
"We found more'n $2,000 in Old Man Bender's cellar, after his house burned down."
"You're pretty rich, then?"
"No, the law took it away from us. It cheated to the county."
The audience broke into a laugh and the Sheriff called for order. Major Abbott resumed.
"But after that you went on hunting for treasure, you and the son of the State's Attorney?"
"Yes, sir."
"Have you ever heard that this is a community where some people have visions?"
The judge said: "That's not proper, Major Abbott." And Major Abbott said: "I thought the remark not out of form, considering that the son of the distinguished State's Attorney has illusions too."
My pa said: "This is a good place to wake up, as you'll find." And Major Abbott said: "When is waking up time?"
My pa says, "Now."
Then the people laughed and the jury and the Sheriff rapped for order again.
"Well," said Major Abbott, "did you ever deceive anybody, Mitchie?"
Mitchie tugged with his hands, and said, "Yes, sir."
"You ran away to Havana and deceived your father, didn't you?"
"Yes, sir."
"You told him you were going out to a farm to see your chum?"
"Yes, sir—and I did."
"But you were really on your way to Havana to run away to St. Louis, and see Tom Sawyer?"
"Yes, sir."
"So you did deceive your father?"
"Lookin' at it that way, I did."
"And don't you know that there is and never was such a boy as Tom Sawyer?"
"I know there is."
"How do you know that?"
"I got a letter from him."
"How do you know he wrote it?"
"It was signed with his name."
"Don't you think somebody might deceive you by signing his name to a letter?"
"Maybe."
"You never saw Tom Sawyer and never saw him write?"
"No, sir."
"And isn't it true that you don't know a thing about it?"
"I can't believe anybody would sign his name to a letter. Besides I wrote him one and it reached him, because this letter was his answer."
"And are these your reasons for believing that Tom Sawyer lives and wrote to you?"
"Yes, sir."
"Do you ever have dreams, Mitchie?"
"Lots."
"Didn't you dream about being up in this tree?"
"No, sir."
"Do you sometimes see dreams when you're not asleep—when it's day?"
"Sometimes."
"Didn't you pass the house of Joe Rainey the next morning after he was killed?"
"I believe I did."
"And wasn't it then that you picked up this pistol?"
"No, sir."
"Did you know what it means, if it was true, to see a pistol put down by a woman by this porch?"
"I think so."
"Tell me."
"Well, I thought it meant that somebody wanted to make it appear that Joe Rainey had it."
"Well, then you knew it was your duty as a good boy to tell the authorities—to tell the State's Attorney?"
"Yes, sir, I know it now."
"Didn't you know it then?"
"In a kind of way, but I was so taken up with the treasure and going to see Tom Sawyer; and I had been subpœnaed in the Doc Lyon case and I was afraid I would be subpœnaed in this case and kept here so I couldn't go away."
"Your father is a preacher, isn't he?"
"Yes, sir."
"And you have been raised to tell the truth and do your duty?"
"Yes, sir—but the flesh is weak."
"And the flesh pots are tempting," said Major Abbott right quick, "and you love treasure and love to live over the life of Tom Sawyer, a boy who never lived?"
"I can't answer that."
"Why?"
"Well, I love treasure, that is I love to find it—but I'm not livin' over Tom Sawyer's life any more than is natural."
"But it is true that you deceived your father, it is true you ran away, it is true you meant to run away from the court—all this is true?"
"Yes, sir."
"And then all of a sudden you got this idea of duty?"
"Yes, sir—by reading 'Hamlet.'"
"'Hamlet'?"
"Yes, sir, he kept foolin' with his duty, and it taught me not to."
"Did your father tell you to say that?"
"No, sir."
"I thought the great example of Lincoln had influenced you?"
"It did."
"Have you read 'Hamlet'?"
"Yes, sir, I have."
"Did he live, too?"
"Yes, sir—everybody lives that was ever wrote about."
And so Major Abbott kept cross-questioning Mitch until Mitch's mouth got dry and he had to have a glass of water. They handed it to him, and Major Abbott stood there like a hunter trappin' an animal. He was so cool and insultin' and kept comin' right after Mitch. Then he began again:
"Did you ever hear of Lincoln running away?"
"No, sir."
"Or deceiving his father?"
"No, sir."
"Or his mother?"
"His mother was dead."
"Or neglecting his duty in any way?"
"No, sir, that's the reason his example is so good."
"Well, why didn't you follow it from the beginning?"
"I told you why—I don't pretend to be good like Linkern."
"You don't?"
"No, sir, sometimes I think I'm very bad."
"Don't you think you're very bad right now to come here and tell such a story as this, after the State has closed its case, after all these weeks?"
"No, sir."
"And you knew, too, Mitchie, that it was common talk here that Joe Rainey tried to kill Temple Scott and shot at him first?"
"Yes, sir."
"And all the time you were keeping this to yourself for the sake of treasure, and in order to have your own way, and run off?"
"Yes, sir."
"And you knew that your chum's father was elected here to enforce the law, and that the guilty should be punished—all this you knew?"
"Yes, sir."
"And yet you did all that you did—all that you have told?"
"Yes, sir."
Well, then Major Abbott took another turn. He asked Mitch about the tree, whether it was a cherry tree or an oak tree, and Mitch didn't know. And he asked him how high up he was, and what the light was, and whether anybody passing couldn't see him in the tree; and how tall the woman was that put the pistol there, and how she was dressed; and where Temple Scott and Joe Rainey was when he first saw them, and if he knew Harold Carman, and what the names of the other peoplewere who came out; and what he did the day before, and the week before, and the week after; and whether he didn't fight and whip Kit O'Brien, and everything you ever heard of from the time Mitch was a baby. It took all the afternoon. And when Mitch got off the witness stand he was kind of weak, and his pa went up to him and led him out, and then they locked up the jury to keep 'em from hearin' anything. And the case went over till the next morning.
And the next mornin' we was all down there as before. When court took up, Major Abbott and my pa and the judge went into the judge's room and nobody knew what was said, the same as before, and when they came out, Major Abbott said:
"Your honor, such unusual things have been done in this case that I am compelled to do some myself. I shall call the defendant to the witness stand." So he called Temple Scott and he went up and was questioned. He went on to say that Joe Rainey called him an awful name, and said, "I'll kill you, and I'll get my pistol." That Joe Rainey went in the house and came out and fired, and that he fired then, and that he saw Joe Rainey's pistol fall out of his hand right down by the porch somewheres; that then he gave himself up, and that's all he knew.
My pa cross-questioned him awful hard for about an hour, and asked him how he happened to have a pistol on him. He said he was afraid of Joe Rainey on account of the threats. And then my pa asked him why he didn't tell his story in the first place, and not wait till Mitch testified; and he said he didn't have to, the law didn't require him to. And so it went, and at last he got off the stand, and the case was closed. Then the speechesbegan. My pa talked calm like, reviewin' the evidence and so forth. And then Major Abbott got up and put a glass of water on the table and wiped his glasses off and said, "May it please your honor," and began.
He said it was a privilege to be here in the community that Lincoln had hallowed, and to stand in the very room he had stood in so many times, pleading for right and justice, and to plead for right and justice too. And that all his client wanted was justice; that he, as a defending lawyer, was as much sworn to support the law as the State's Attorney, and he wanted to see it enforced, and meant to have it enforced. And with the help of the court and the jury, it would be enforced; and his client who had been greatly wronged and barely escaped with his life would be freed, and could go back to his family, and be a respected member of the community.
Then after takin' up the case about the threats and everything, he began on Mitch.
"Think of it, gentlemen," he said, "here is a boy who waits until the case is closed, and we have a right to think that all they can bring against my client has been brought, and then this boy turns up to swear away his life. Let us be charitable, but let us be just. I must do my duty and to do it, I must speak. Here is a boy who confesses that he never told a word about what he saw until yesterday. He confesses that he kept it to himself in order that he might hunt treasure and run away from the orders of this court; he confesses that he has deceived his father, that he has been truant and bad. Yes, and above all, gentlemen, he confesses he has dreams and sees visions. He believes that a book, a story, is true; that its characters are real; that a boy named Tom Sawyer really lives; and he ran away to seehim; and yet they ask you to believe such a boy in the face of this evidence. Why, you wouldn't convict a yellow dog on such testimony—you are men who know boys and know life and its affairs, and you know this story is the result of a pure dream. I'll be charitable; the boy is dreaming; he is a dreamy boy, an imaginative boy, a wonderful boy—but he is not to be believed. He never saw this at all. He was never in that tree. The chances are he picked up this pistol the next morning after passing there—after those people had come out and searched for the pistol—who had heard three shots, one of one report, and two of a different report. Why they didn't find the pistol, God only knows; and the witness who could testify to it is gone and here we are. And if you ask who the other witnesses are, I confess I don't know. We could have found their names if we could have talked with Harold Carman; but he's gone. And here we are, yes, in the community of Lincoln, but in a community where cowardly people and bad people live, like other communities. I say this because these other people, whoever they are, should have come forward and made themselves known. It would have been gracious if some people had come forward to tell the truth and save; and not leave it to a boy, and him alone, to come forward, and condemn and seek to destroy."
Then he drew an awful picture of the gallows and the penitentiary, and said, "Think of it. To be choked to death on the gallows. To be for years behind prison bars; or to go home to your old father and mother and be blessed, and be a blessing and get back your good name."
The jury cried, everybody nearly cried—everybodybut Mitch who was sittin' by me. Mitch says: "He's the dandiest liar I ever heard. I almost admire him."
Then my pa got up and of all the speeches you ever heard! The shivers just ran up and down my back. And in about five minutes he had that jury so you could knock their eyes off with a stick. He had 'em right in his hand. And he said:
"You dare to disbelieve this boy—you dare to! What does it mean? Harold Carman ran away. But where are the others? Echo answers where. Major Abbott stands up here and says that he doesn't know their names, that if Harold Carman hadn't gone away, he'd know their names, and he gets before the jury, as if he were testifying, the fact that Harold Carman is away and what he would say if he were here. He slips that in; and it's improper and he knows it. He may be a good lawyer, and he is, but he isn't a witness in this case. And suppose you accept his word and this story—what do you say? You say that in this community—call it the community of Lincoln or of the devil, there are people so low, so murderous in their hearts, that they will allow a fellow being to be prosecuted and never come forward to tell what they know, which if they told it, would clear Temple Scott before this jury on the spot. And that isn't all, if you accept this story, you say that I haven't done my duty; you say that the man you elected to enforce the law will use his power to pervert the law; will fail to get all the facts before the jury. Because you couldn't imagine that there are such witnesses who came out looking for a pistol and I wouldn't have heard it and known about it. And if I did, and didn't get them, I wouldn't be fit to be your State's Attorney, or to hold any position oftrust whatever. Where is Harold Carman? It doesn't make any difference where he is. Where are the others? They're not in this town or any other town. They're not any more in being than Tom Sawyer; but they are unlike Tom Sawyer, for as a piece of fiction he is real; and as fiction, these people are unreal and don't convince."
And then my pa said: "Now, let's take up the pistol. Both sides here, everybody agrees the pistol was there. The dispute is how it got there. Consider this: Why would they come out and begin to look for a pistol? Who told them to? Who told them to look by the porch? How did they know before they got there where to look first? You've seen this pistol here—it's Joe Rainey's pistol—and here is something my astute friend overlooked; one of the cartridges is out—the rest are there—one is clear out, not shot, exploded, with the shell left, but clear out. How did that happen? Do you believe Mitchie Miller did that? Are you going to ascribe to him such devilish cunning as that? No, gentlemen, the hand that placed that pistol by the porch slipped the cartridge out first. The hand that placed that pistol there depended upon the story of three shots being fired, and in the insanity of the moment, slipped out a cartridge; and for a very good reason. It couldn't be fired at such a time. There were only two shots, according to the fair weight of the evidence; there were two bullets found in Joe Rainey's body; and those two bullets were fired by the hand of Temple Scott."
As my pa said this, his voice rose up so you could hear him all over town. John Armstrong said you could have heard him clear to Oakford. The audience just shivered when pa said this.
"Let me go on," said pa. "Let us assume Joe Rainey comes in and runs up-stairs for his pistol and goes out. Well, they pick him up on the porch and no pistol is on him. Then they come out and look, but find no pistol. What would they have done? There would have been talk so loud about that missing pistol that even Major Abbott could have heard it—clear over to Jerseyville. Why was nothing said? Because the hand that put that pistol there, the woman that put it there was terrified. She was afraid that some one had seen her put it there; she knew some one picked it up that she didn't want to have pick it up—she was afraid it would turn up against her in the wrong hands. And she and this crowd—whoever they were—if there was one, were afraid to go on with the evidence they had started to manufacture. And this testimony of Mitchie Miller is every word true. You saw his face, you heard him, you know he wouldn't lie—and as for having visions—if he dreamed this, he would be fit for an asylum, and every one of you could see it—and he would be in an asylum."
Than pa just lit into Temple Scott. He said he was a coward, and he said when Joe Rainey asked him not to come to his house any more, it was his business to stay away. And that for himself he meant to stop lawlessness in the town. He intended to do his duty so fully that people would be afraid to break the law and take life. And then he said he had done his duty, and now the jury had to do theirs, and he left the case with them.
And then the judge read a lot of instructions to the jury and Sheriff Rutledge took 'em and locked 'em up and we sat and waited. They was out all that day and all that night and all the next day. And we waited.And finally toward evening they came in and told the judge they couldn't agree. It seems, so pa said, two of the jurors was for hangin' and five for the penitentiary, and five for acquittal. So they was discharged. Temple Scott was held to the next term of court for another trial, and court adjourned.