CHAPTER IV.THE TRIAL.Tom turned his head away, and covered his face with his hands. This was cruel. For the first time in his life, he was glad Bennie could not see him. But he felt that it was necessary for him to say something, so he stammered out,—“Well, I was only just s’posin’, you know. Course, no honest fellow’d do that; but if they’ll only get to work again, we won’t ask anybody for any hunderd dollars. We’ll earn it.”The beauty of the autumn day died slowly out, and the narrow crescent of the new moon, hanging over the tops of the far western hills, shone dimly through the purple haze. Sadly and with few words the two boys went their homeward way. A great burden of regret and remorserested upon Tom’s heart, and the shadow of it fell upon the heart of his blind brother.Poor, poor Tom! He knew not what to do. He could never use the money now for Bennie, and he would not use it for himself. It had occurred to him once to take the money back to Pleadwell, and seek to be released from his agreement. But a little thought had convinced him that this would be useless; that the money would not be received; that, having accepted a bribe, he had placed himself in the power of those who had given it to him, and that any wavering on his part, much more any violation of his agreement, would bring down vengeance and punishment on himself, and trouble and disgrace on those who were dear to him.“Oh, why,” he asked himself, in bitter thought, “why did I ever take the money?”Tom’s mother attributed his melancholy to lack of work and loss of earnings. She knew how his heart was set on laying up money to send Bennie away, and how impatient he became at any delay in the progressof his scheme. So she talked to him very cheerfully, and made delicate little dishes to tempt his appetite, and when the morning for the trial came, and Tom started for the train to go to Wilkesbarre, dressed in his best clothes, and with the hated hundred dollars burning in his pocket, she kissed him good-by with a smile on her face. She bade him many times to be very careful about the cars, and said to him, at parting, “Whatever tha says to thee, lad, tell the truth; whatever tha does to thee, tell the truth; fear to look no man i’ the eye; be good an’ honest wi’ yoursel’, an’ coom back to Mommie an’ Bennie, when it’s ower, hearty an’ weel.”Sandy McCulloch went down with Tom on the train, and together they walked from the station to the Court House. There were many people standing about in the Court-House Square, and in the corridors of the building, and the court-room itself was nearly full when Tom and Sandy entered it. They found vacant places on one of the rear benches, but, as the seats were all graded down on a sloping floor tothe bar, they could see without difficulty all that was being done.Tom had never been in a court-room before, and he looked with much interest at the judges on the bench, at the lawyers chatting pleasantly in the bar, at the entry and departure of the grand jury, and at the officious constables, each with his staff of office, who kept order in the court-room.There were some motions and arguments which Tom could not understand, being made by the attorneys; the clerk read some lists in a weak voice, and the time of the court was thus occupied until toward noon.By and by there was a slight bustle at the side door, to the right of the judges’ bench, and the sheriff and his deputy entered with Jack Rennie.Head and shoulders above those who accompanied him, his heavily bearded face somewhat pale from confinement, and stooping rather more than usual, he moved slowly across the crowded bar, in full view of all the people in the room, to a seat by the side of his counsel.The instant Tom’s eyes rested on him he recognized him as the man who had threatened him at the breaker on the night of the fire. The buzz of excitement, occasioned by the entrance of the prisoner, subsided, and the voice of the presiding judge sounded distinctly through the room:“Commonwealth against Jack Rennie. Arson. Are you ready for trial?”“We are, your Honor,” replied the district attorney, rising to his feet and advancing to the clerk’s desk.“Very well,” said the judge. “Arraign the prisoner.”Rennie was directed to stand up, and the district attorney read, in a clear voice, the indictment, which charged that the defendant “did, on the eighteenth day of November last passed, feloniously, wilfully and maliciously set fire to, burn and consume, a certain building, to wit: a coal-breaker, the same being the property of a certain body corporate known by the style and title of ‘The Valley Coal Company;’ by reason of which setting fire to, burningand consuming, a certain dwelling-house, also the property of the said Valley Coal Company, and being within the curtilage of said coal-breaker, was also burned and consumed; contrary to the form of the act of the General Assembly, in such case made and provided, and against the peace and dignity of the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania.”Rennie stood, listening intently to the reading of the indictment. When the question was put:“What say you,—guilty, or not guilty?” he replied, in a deep, chest voice,—“If I be guilty, ye ha’ but to prove it.”“Make your plea, sir!” said the judge severely. “Guilty, or not guilty?”“Then I’ll plead no’ guilty. No mon’s guilty till he’s proved guilty.”Rennie resumed his seat, and the court was soon afterward adjourned for the noon recess.In the afternoon the selecting of jurors in the case against Rennie began.The first one called was a miner. One could tell that by the blue powder-markson his face, and that he was of Irish nativity could be detected by the rich brogue that escaped his lips. He was “passed” by the Commonwealth, and the clerk of the court recited the formula:“Juror, look upon the prisoner. Prisoner, look upon the juror. What say you,—challenge, or no challenge?”“Swear the juror to ‘true answers make,’” said Attorney Pleadwell.The man was sworn.“Where do you live?” inquired the lawyer.“Up on Shanty Hill, sorr.”“That’s definite. Anywhere near this breaker that was burned?”“Oh, the matther of a mile belike, barrin’ the time it’d take ye to walk to the track beyant.”“What’s your occupation?”“Occupation, is it? Yis, sorr; as good a charracter as anny”—“Oh, I mean what do you work at?”“I’m a miner, sorr.”“Where do you work?”“Faith, I worked for the Valley BreakerCoal Company this tin years come next St. Patrick’s day, may it plase the coort, an’ bad ’cess to the man that burnt it, I say, an’”—“Challenge!” interrupted Attorney Pleadwell, sharply.A tipstaff hurried the challenged man from the witness-box, in a state of helpless bewilderment as to what it all meant, and another juror was called, a small, wiry man, chewing on a mouthful of tobacco. He was sworn on hisvoir dire, and the district attorney asked him,—“Do you belong to an organization known as the Molly Maguires?”“No, sir!” quickly responded the man, before Pleadwell could interpose an objection to the question.The district attorney looked at the witness sharply for a moment, then consulted with Attorney Summons, who sat by his side as private counsel for the prosecution. They believed that the man had sworn falsely, in order to get on the jury in behalf of the defendant, and he was directed to stand aside.The next juror called was a farmer from a remote part of the county, who had heard nothing about the fire until he arrived in town, and who displayed no prejudices. He was accepted by both sides as the first juror in the case.So the selection went on, slowly and tediously, enlivened at times by an amusing candidate for the jury-box, or a tilt between counsel; and long before the “twelve good men and true” had all been selected and sworn, the early autumn night had fallen, and the flaring gas-jets lighted up the space about the bench and bar, leaving the remote corners of the court-room in uncertain shadow.At six o’clock court was adjourned until the following morning, and Tom went, with Sandy McCulloch, to a small hotel on the outskirts of the city, where arrangements had been made to accommodate witnesses for the defence. Notwithstanding his anxiety of mind, Tom was hungry, and he ate a hearty supper and went early to bed.But he could not sleep. The excitementof the day had left his brain in a whirl, and he tossed restlessly about, going over in his mind what had already occurred, and thinking with grave apprehension of what to-morrow might bring forth. Through it all he still repeated one resolve: that whatever came he would not lie.With this unsatisfactory compromise with his conscience on his mind, he fell at last into a troubled sleep.When court was opened on the following morning, the court-room was more densely crowded with idle men than it had been on the previous day. The case against Rennie was taken up without delay. The district attorney made the opening address on behalf of the Commonwealth, doing little more than to outline the evidence to be presented by the prosecution.The first witness called was a civil engineer, who presented a map showing the plan, location and surroundings of the burned breaker. Following him came two witnesses who detailed the progress of the fire as they had seen it, one of them being the watchman at the breaker, and the otherthe occupant of the dwelling-house which had been burned.A third witness testified to having seen Rennie at the fire shortly after it broke out, but did not know how long he had been there, nor where he came from; and still another swore that he had seen the defendant in a drinking-saloon in town, about half an hour before he heard the alarm of fire, and had noticed that he went away, in the direction of the breaker, in company with “Silent Mike.”Then came a witness who gave his name as Lewis G. Travers; a slightly built, but muscular man, of middle age, with sharp eyes and quiet manner.“What is your occupation?” inquired the district attorney, after the man had been sworn.“I am a detective.”“Do you know Jack Rennie, the defendant?”“I do.”“Where did you last see him?”“At a meeting, in Carbondale, of certain members of the order of Molly Maguires.”“Are you a member of that order?”“I have been.”“Will you relate the circumstances attending your connection with it?”The stillness in the court-room was marvellous. On many an expectant face were mingled expressions of hate and fear, as the witness, with calm deliberation, related the thrilling story of how he had worked as a common laborer in the mines, in order to gain a standing with the lawless miners, and of how he had then been admitted to the order of Molly Maguires, and had taken part in their deliberations.As a member of the executive board, he had been present, he said, at a secret meeting held in Carbondale, at which, on account of the outspoken denunciation of the order, and the prompt dismissal of men belonging to it, by the owners of the Valley Breaker, it was resolved to visit them with vengeance, in the shape of fire; that Jack Rennie was selected to carry out the resolution, and that Rennie, being present, had registered a solemn oath to do the bidding of the order.This was the substance of his testimony, and though the cross-examination, by Pleadwell, was sharp, rigid and severe, the effect of the evidence could not be broken.At this point the Commonwealth rested. The case against Rennie had assumed a serious phase. Unless he could produce some strong evidence in his favor, his conviction was almost assured.Pleadwell rose to open the case for the defence. After some general remarks on the unfairness of the prosecution, and the weakness of the detective’s story, he declared that they should prove, in behalf of the defendant, that he was not at or near the breaker until after the fire was well under way, and that the saving of a large portion of the company’s loose property from destruction was due to his brave and energetic efforts.“Furthermore,” continued Pleadwell, earnestly, “we shall present to the court and jury a most irreproachable witness, who will testify to you that he was present and saw this fire kindled, and that the man who kindled it wasnotJack Rennie.”There was a buzz of excitement in the court-room as Pleadwell resumed his seat; and Tom’s heart beat loudly as he understood the significance of the lawyer’s last statement. He felt, more than ever, the wrong, the disgrace, the self-humiliation to which he should stoop, by giving his testimony in support of so monstrous a lie.But what could he do? The strain on his mind was terrible. He felt an almost irresistible desire to cry out, there, in the crowded court-room, that he had yielded to temptation for the sake of blind Bennie; that he had seen the folly and the wickedness, and known the awful misery of it already; that the money that bought him was like rags in his sight; and that his own guilt and cowardice should save this criminal no longer from the punishment which his crime deserved.By a strong effort, he repressed his emotion, and sat, with face flushed and pallid by turns, waiting for the time when his wretched bargain should be fulfilled.The first witness called on the part ofthe defence was Michael Carolan, better known as “Silent Mike.”He testified that Rennie came down from Scranton with him and a body of strikers on the morning of November 18; that they ate supper with Carolan’s married sister, who lived in the village, just beyond the burned breaker; that they spent the evening at a miners’ mass-meeting in town, and afterwards called at a drinking-saloon; and that they were on the way back to his sister’s house, for the night, when they heard the cry of “Fire!”“At this time,” continued Carolan, “Jack and me were together at the crossin’ on Railroad Street, maybe a quarter of a mile away from the breaker, an’ whin we heard the alarm, we looked up the track an’ saw the blaze, an’ Jack says, says he, ‘Mike, the breaker’s a-fire,’ an’ I says, says I, ‘It is, sure;’ an’ with that we both ran up the track toward the fire.“Whin we were most there we met Sandy McCulloch comin’ from the hill beyant, an’ me an’ him an’ Jack wint an’ shoved out the cars from the loadin’-placethat we could get at; an’ thin we wint to help with the furniture at the dwellin’-house, an’ we saved ivery thing we could.”Silent Mike had done well. Few people had ever before heard so many words come in succession from his lips, and he told his story with such impressive earnestness that it was easy to believe that he spoke the truth. Indeed, there was very little in his account of the occurrence that was not strictly in accordance with the facts. He had simply omitted to state that he and Rennie had gone, first, up to the breaker and kindled the blaze, and then returned, hastily, to the crossing where they certainly were when the first cry of “Fire!” was heard.Rennie’s case was looking up. There was a recess for dinner, and, when court was re-opened, Sandy McCulloch was put on the witness-stand.He was just getting into bed, he said, when he heard the cry of “Fire!” He looked out and saw that the breaker was burning, and, hurrying on his clothes, he ran down the hill.“When I cam’ to the fit o’ the hill,” he continued, in answer to Pleadwell’s question, “I heard some’at behin’ me, an’ I lookit aroun’, an’ there I see Jack the Giant an’ Silent Mike a-speedin’ up the track toward the breaker.“The fire was a-burnin’ up brisk by then, an’ me an’ Jack an’ Mike, we went an’ pushit some cars out fra the loadin’-place, down the track; an’ then we savit a bit fra the dwellin’-house, an’ a bit fra the engine-room, an’ a bit here an’ there, as we could; an’ Jack, he workit like a’ possessed, he did, sir; sure he did.”“What were you doing up so late at night?” was the first question put to Sandy on cross-examination.“Well, you see, sir, a bit o’ a lad that works i’ the mines wi’ us, he had lost his brither i’ the slope the day, he had; an’ I gied him a promise to help seek him oot gin he cam’ i’ the evenin’ to say as the lad was no’ foond; an’ I was a-waitin’ up for him, min’ ye.”“Well, did the lad come?” inquired Lawyer Summons, somewhat sarcastically.“He did that, an’ he tellit me as how he’d foond the brither, an’ leadit him hame, an’ would na want me; an’ I said ‘good-nicht’ till the lad, an’ started to bed, an’ the clock struckit eleven.”“Who was the lad that came to your house?”“Tom Taylor, sir.”Rennie started in his seat as the name was spoken, and the blood mounted into his pale forehead as he gazed intently at the witness.“Did the boy go in the direction of the breaker from your house?” questioned Summons.“He did, sir.”“How long was it after he left you that you heard the cry of fire?”“Well, maybe the time o’ ten minutes.”“Could the boy have got beyond the breaker?”“He must ’a’, sir, he must ’a’; the grass was na growin’ under his feet goin’ doon the hill.”“Do you think Tom Taylor fired that breaker?”Sandy stared for a moment in blank amazement.“Why, the guid Lord bless ye, mon! be ye daft? There ain’t a better boy i’ the roun’ warl’n Tom Taylor!” and Sandy broke into a hearty laugh at the very idea of Tom doing any thing wrong.But Tom, who sat back in his seat and heard it all, was suddenly startled with the sense of a new danger. Supposeheshould be charged with setting fire to the breaker? And suppose Rennie and Carolan should go upon the witness-stand and swear that they saw him running away from the newly kindled blaze, as, indeed, they might and not lie, either,—how could he prove his innocence? Yet he was about to swear Jack Rennie into freedom, knowing him to be guilty of the crime with which he was charged, and, what was still more despicable, he was about to do it for money.Looked upon in this light, the thing that Tom had promised to do rose very black and ugly in his sight; and the poor delusion that he should tell no lie was swept, like a clinging cobweb, from his mind.It was while his heart was still throbbing violently under the excitement of this last thought and fear, that he heard some one call,—“Thomas Taylor!”“Here, sir,” responded Tom.“Take the witness-stand.”
Tom turned his head away, and covered his face with his hands. This was cruel. For the first time in his life, he was glad Bennie could not see him. But he felt that it was necessary for him to say something, so he stammered out,—
“Well, I was only just s’posin’, you know. Course, no honest fellow’d do that; but if they’ll only get to work again, we won’t ask anybody for any hunderd dollars. We’ll earn it.”
The beauty of the autumn day died slowly out, and the narrow crescent of the new moon, hanging over the tops of the far western hills, shone dimly through the purple haze. Sadly and with few words the two boys went their homeward way. A great burden of regret and remorserested upon Tom’s heart, and the shadow of it fell upon the heart of his blind brother.
Poor, poor Tom! He knew not what to do. He could never use the money now for Bennie, and he would not use it for himself. It had occurred to him once to take the money back to Pleadwell, and seek to be released from his agreement. But a little thought had convinced him that this would be useless; that the money would not be received; that, having accepted a bribe, he had placed himself in the power of those who had given it to him, and that any wavering on his part, much more any violation of his agreement, would bring down vengeance and punishment on himself, and trouble and disgrace on those who were dear to him.
“Oh, why,” he asked himself, in bitter thought, “why did I ever take the money?”
Tom’s mother attributed his melancholy to lack of work and loss of earnings. She knew how his heart was set on laying up money to send Bennie away, and how impatient he became at any delay in the progressof his scheme. So she talked to him very cheerfully, and made delicate little dishes to tempt his appetite, and when the morning for the trial came, and Tom started for the train to go to Wilkesbarre, dressed in his best clothes, and with the hated hundred dollars burning in his pocket, she kissed him good-by with a smile on her face. She bade him many times to be very careful about the cars, and said to him, at parting, “Whatever tha says to thee, lad, tell the truth; whatever tha does to thee, tell the truth; fear to look no man i’ the eye; be good an’ honest wi’ yoursel’, an’ coom back to Mommie an’ Bennie, when it’s ower, hearty an’ weel.”
Sandy McCulloch went down with Tom on the train, and together they walked from the station to the Court House. There were many people standing about in the Court-House Square, and in the corridors of the building, and the court-room itself was nearly full when Tom and Sandy entered it. They found vacant places on one of the rear benches, but, as the seats were all graded down on a sloping floor tothe bar, they could see without difficulty all that was being done.
Tom had never been in a court-room before, and he looked with much interest at the judges on the bench, at the lawyers chatting pleasantly in the bar, at the entry and departure of the grand jury, and at the officious constables, each with his staff of office, who kept order in the court-room.
There were some motions and arguments which Tom could not understand, being made by the attorneys; the clerk read some lists in a weak voice, and the time of the court was thus occupied until toward noon.
By and by there was a slight bustle at the side door, to the right of the judges’ bench, and the sheriff and his deputy entered with Jack Rennie.
Head and shoulders above those who accompanied him, his heavily bearded face somewhat pale from confinement, and stooping rather more than usual, he moved slowly across the crowded bar, in full view of all the people in the room, to a seat by the side of his counsel.
The instant Tom’s eyes rested on him he recognized him as the man who had threatened him at the breaker on the night of the fire. The buzz of excitement, occasioned by the entrance of the prisoner, subsided, and the voice of the presiding judge sounded distinctly through the room:
“Commonwealth against Jack Rennie. Arson. Are you ready for trial?”
“We are, your Honor,” replied the district attorney, rising to his feet and advancing to the clerk’s desk.
“Very well,” said the judge. “Arraign the prisoner.”
Rennie was directed to stand up, and the district attorney read, in a clear voice, the indictment, which charged that the defendant “did, on the eighteenth day of November last passed, feloniously, wilfully and maliciously set fire to, burn and consume, a certain building, to wit: a coal-breaker, the same being the property of a certain body corporate known by the style and title of ‘The Valley Coal Company;’ by reason of which setting fire to, burningand consuming, a certain dwelling-house, also the property of the said Valley Coal Company, and being within the curtilage of said coal-breaker, was also burned and consumed; contrary to the form of the act of the General Assembly, in such case made and provided, and against the peace and dignity of the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania.”
Rennie stood, listening intently to the reading of the indictment. When the question was put:
“What say you,—guilty, or not guilty?” he replied, in a deep, chest voice,—
“If I be guilty, ye ha’ but to prove it.”
“Make your plea, sir!” said the judge severely. “Guilty, or not guilty?”
“Then I’ll plead no’ guilty. No mon’s guilty till he’s proved guilty.”
Rennie resumed his seat, and the court was soon afterward adjourned for the noon recess.
In the afternoon the selecting of jurors in the case against Rennie began.
The first one called was a miner. One could tell that by the blue powder-markson his face, and that he was of Irish nativity could be detected by the rich brogue that escaped his lips. He was “passed” by the Commonwealth, and the clerk of the court recited the formula:
“Juror, look upon the prisoner. Prisoner, look upon the juror. What say you,—challenge, or no challenge?”
“Swear the juror to ‘true answers make,’” said Attorney Pleadwell.
The man was sworn.
“Where do you live?” inquired the lawyer.
“Up on Shanty Hill, sorr.”
“That’s definite. Anywhere near this breaker that was burned?”
“Oh, the matther of a mile belike, barrin’ the time it’d take ye to walk to the track beyant.”
“What’s your occupation?”
“Occupation, is it? Yis, sorr; as good a charracter as anny”—
“Oh, I mean what do you work at?”
“I’m a miner, sorr.”
“Where do you work?”
“Faith, I worked for the Valley BreakerCoal Company this tin years come next St. Patrick’s day, may it plase the coort, an’ bad ’cess to the man that burnt it, I say, an’”—
“Challenge!” interrupted Attorney Pleadwell, sharply.
A tipstaff hurried the challenged man from the witness-box, in a state of helpless bewilderment as to what it all meant, and another juror was called, a small, wiry man, chewing on a mouthful of tobacco. He was sworn on hisvoir dire, and the district attorney asked him,—
“Do you belong to an organization known as the Molly Maguires?”
“No, sir!” quickly responded the man, before Pleadwell could interpose an objection to the question.
The district attorney looked at the witness sharply for a moment, then consulted with Attorney Summons, who sat by his side as private counsel for the prosecution. They believed that the man had sworn falsely, in order to get on the jury in behalf of the defendant, and he was directed to stand aside.
The next juror called was a farmer from a remote part of the county, who had heard nothing about the fire until he arrived in town, and who displayed no prejudices. He was accepted by both sides as the first juror in the case.
So the selection went on, slowly and tediously, enlivened at times by an amusing candidate for the jury-box, or a tilt between counsel; and long before the “twelve good men and true” had all been selected and sworn, the early autumn night had fallen, and the flaring gas-jets lighted up the space about the bench and bar, leaving the remote corners of the court-room in uncertain shadow.
At six o’clock court was adjourned until the following morning, and Tom went, with Sandy McCulloch, to a small hotel on the outskirts of the city, where arrangements had been made to accommodate witnesses for the defence. Notwithstanding his anxiety of mind, Tom was hungry, and he ate a hearty supper and went early to bed.
But he could not sleep. The excitementof the day had left his brain in a whirl, and he tossed restlessly about, going over in his mind what had already occurred, and thinking with grave apprehension of what to-morrow might bring forth. Through it all he still repeated one resolve: that whatever came he would not lie.
With this unsatisfactory compromise with his conscience on his mind, he fell at last into a troubled sleep.
When court was opened on the following morning, the court-room was more densely crowded with idle men than it had been on the previous day. The case against Rennie was taken up without delay. The district attorney made the opening address on behalf of the Commonwealth, doing little more than to outline the evidence to be presented by the prosecution.
The first witness called was a civil engineer, who presented a map showing the plan, location and surroundings of the burned breaker. Following him came two witnesses who detailed the progress of the fire as they had seen it, one of them being the watchman at the breaker, and the otherthe occupant of the dwelling-house which had been burned.
A third witness testified to having seen Rennie at the fire shortly after it broke out, but did not know how long he had been there, nor where he came from; and still another swore that he had seen the defendant in a drinking-saloon in town, about half an hour before he heard the alarm of fire, and had noticed that he went away, in the direction of the breaker, in company with “Silent Mike.”
Then came a witness who gave his name as Lewis G. Travers; a slightly built, but muscular man, of middle age, with sharp eyes and quiet manner.
“What is your occupation?” inquired the district attorney, after the man had been sworn.
“I am a detective.”
“Do you know Jack Rennie, the defendant?”
“I do.”
“Where did you last see him?”
“At a meeting, in Carbondale, of certain members of the order of Molly Maguires.”
“Are you a member of that order?”
“I have been.”
“Will you relate the circumstances attending your connection with it?”
The stillness in the court-room was marvellous. On many an expectant face were mingled expressions of hate and fear, as the witness, with calm deliberation, related the thrilling story of how he had worked as a common laborer in the mines, in order to gain a standing with the lawless miners, and of how he had then been admitted to the order of Molly Maguires, and had taken part in their deliberations.
As a member of the executive board, he had been present, he said, at a secret meeting held in Carbondale, at which, on account of the outspoken denunciation of the order, and the prompt dismissal of men belonging to it, by the owners of the Valley Breaker, it was resolved to visit them with vengeance, in the shape of fire; that Jack Rennie was selected to carry out the resolution, and that Rennie, being present, had registered a solemn oath to do the bidding of the order.
This was the substance of his testimony, and though the cross-examination, by Pleadwell, was sharp, rigid and severe, the effect of the evidence could not be broken.
At this point the Commonwealth rested. The case against Rennie had assumed a serious phase. Unless he could produce some strong evidence in his favor, his conviction was almost assured.
Pleadwell rose to open the case for the defence. After some general remarks on the unfairness of the prosecution, and the weakness of the detective’s story, he declared that they should prove, in behalf of the defendant, that he was not at or near the breaker until after the fire was well under way, and that the saving of a large portion of the company’s loose property from destruction was due to his brave and energetic efforts.
“Furthermore,” continued Pleadwell, earnestly, “we shall present to the court and jury a most irreproachable witness, who will testify to you that he was present and saw this fire kindled, and that the man who kindled it wasnotJack Rennie.”
There was a buzz of excitement in the court-room as Pleadwell resumed his seat; and Tom’s heart beat loudly as he understood the significance of the lawyer’s last statement. He felt, more than ever, the wrong, the disgrace, the self-humiliation to which he should stoop, by giving his testimony in support of so monstrous a lie.
But what could he do? The strain on his mind was terrible. He felt an almost irresistible desire to cry out, there, in the crowded court-room, that he had yielded to temptation for the sake of blind Bennie; that he had seen the folly and the wickedness, and known the awful misery of it already; that the money that bought him was like rags in his sight; and that his own guilt and cowardice should save this criminal no longer from the punishment which his crime deserved.
By a strong effort, he repressed his emotion, and sat, with face flushed and pallid by turns, waiting for the time when his wretched bargain should be fulfilled.
The first witness called on the part ofthe defence was Michael Carolan, better known as “Silent Mike.”
He testified that Rennie came down from Scranton with him and a body of strikers on the morning of November 18; that they ate supper with Carolan’s married sister, who lived in the village, just beyond the burned breaker; that they spent the evening at a miners’ mass-meeting in town, and afterwards called at a drinking-saloon; and that they were on the way back to his sister’s house, for the night, when they heard the cry of “Fire!”
“At this time,” continued Carolan, “Jack and me were together at the crossin’ on Railroad Street, maybe a quarter of a mile away from the breaker, an’ whin we heard the alarm, we looked up the track an’ saw the blaze, an’ Jack says, says he, ‘Mike, the breaker’s a-fire,’ an’ I says, says I, ‘It is, sure;’ an’ with that we both ran up the track toward the fire.
“Whin we were most there we met Sandy McCulloch comin’ from the hill beyant, an’ me an’ him an’ Jack wint an’ shoved out the cars from the loadin’-placethat we could get at; an’ thin we wint to help with the furniture at the dwellin’-house, an’ we saved ivery thing we could.”
Silent Mike had done well. Few people had ever before heard so many words come in succession from his lips, and he told his story with such impressive earnestness that it was easy to believe that he spoke the truth. Indeed, there was very little in his account of the occurrence that was not strictly in accordance with the facts. He had simply omitted to state that he and Rennie had gone, first, up to the breaker and kindled the blaze, and then returned, hastily, to the crossing where they certainly were when the first cry of “Fire!” was heard.
Rennie’s case was looking up. There was a recess for dinner, and, when court was re-opened, Sandy McCulloch was put on the witness-stand.
He was just getting into bed, he said, when he heard the cry of “Fire!” He looked out and saw that the breaker was burning, and, hurrying on his clothes, he ran down the hill.
“When I cam’ to the fit o’ the hill,” he continued, in answer to Pleadwell’s question, “I heard some’at behin’ me, an’ I lookit aroun’, an’ there I see Jack the Giant an’ Silent Mike a-speedin’ up the track toward the breaker.
“The fire was a-burnin’ up brisk by then, an’ me an’ Jack an’ Mike, we went an’ pushit some cars out fra the loadin’-place, down the track; an’ then we savit a bit fra the dwellin’-house, an’ a bit fra the engine-room, an’ a bit here an’ there, as we could; an’ Jack, he workit like a’ possessed, he did, sir; sure he did.”
“What were you doing up so late at night?” was the first question put to Sandy on cross-examination.
“Well, you see, sir, a bit o’ a lad that works i’ the mines wi’ us, he had lost his brither i’ the slope the day, he had; an’ I gied him a promise to help seek him oot gin he cam’ i’ the evenin’ to say as the lad was no’ foond; an’ I was a-waitin’ up for him, min’ ye.”
“Well, did the lad come?” inquired Lawyer Summons, somewhat sarcastically.
“He did that, an’ he tellit me as how he’d foond the brither, an’ leadit him hame, an’ would na want me; an’ I said ‘good-nicht’ till the lad, an’ started to bed, an’ the clock struckit eleven.”
“Who was the lad that came to your house?”
“Tom Taylor, sir.”
Rennie started in his seat as the name was spoken, and the blood mounted into his pale forehead as he gazed intently at the witness.
“Did the boy go in the direction of the breaker from your house?” questioned Summons.
“He did, sir.”
“How long was it after he left you that you heard the cry of fire?”
“Well, maybe the time o’ ten minutes.”
“Could the boy have got beyond the breaker?”
“He must ’a’, sir, he must ’a’; the grass was na growin’ under his feet goin’ doon the hill.”
“Do you think Tom Taylor fired that breaker?”
Sandy stared for a moment in blank amazement.
“Why, the guid Lord bless ye, mon! be ye daft? There ain’t a better boy i’ the roun’ warl’n Tom Taylor!” and Sandy broke into a hearty laugh at the very idea of Tom doing any thing wrong.
But Tom, who sat back in his seat and heard it all, was suddenly startled with the sense of a new danger. Supposeheshould be charged with setting fire to the breaker? And suppose Rennie and Carolan should go upon the witness-stand and swear that they saw him running away from the newly kindled blaze, as, indeed, they might and not lie, either,—how could he prove his innocence? Yet he was about to swear Jack Rennie into freedom, knowing him to be guilty of the crime with which he was charged, and, what was still more despicable, he was about to do it for money.
Looked upon in this light, the thing that Tom had promised to do rose very black and ugly in his sight; and the poor delusion that he should tell no lie was swept, like a clinging cobweb, from his mind.
It was while his heart was still throbbing violently under the excitement of this last thought and fear, that he heard some one call,—
“Thomas Taylor!”
“Here, sir,” responded Tom.
“Take the witness-stand.”