CHAPTER XXVIII.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

“Now Marcia, now call up to thy assistance,Thy wonted strength and constancy of mind;Thou can’st not put it to a greater trial.”Addison.

“Now Marcia, now call up to thy assistance,Thy wonted strength and constancy of mind;Thou can’st not put it to a greater trial.”Addison.

“Now Marcia, now call up to thy assistance,Thy wonted strength and constancy of mind;Thou can’st not put it to a greater trial.”Addison.

“Now Marcia, now call up to thy assistance,

Thy wonted strength and constancy of mind;

Thou can’st not put it to a greater trial.”

Addison.

Bench, bar, jury, witnesses and audience, were allastounded.astounded.The trial had been carried on in the most perfect good faith; and not a human being but the few who had felt the force of McBrain’s testimony, doubted of the death of the individual who now appeared alive, if not well, in open court. The reader can better imagine than we can describe, the effects of a resurrection so entirely unexpected.

When the confusion naturally produced by such a scene had a little subsided; when all had actually seen, and many had actually felt, the supposed murdered man, as if to assure themselves of his being really in the flesh, order was restored; and the court and bar began to reflect on the course next to be pursued.

“I suppose, Mr. District Attorney,” observed his honour, “there is no mistake in the person of this individual; but it were better if we had an affidavit or two. Will you walk this way, sir?”

A long, private conference, now took place between the public prosecutor and the judge. Each expressed his astonishment at the result, as well as some indignation at the deception which had been practised on the court. This indignation was a little mollified by the impression, now common to both, that MaryMonson was a person not exactly in her right mind. There was so much deception practised among persons accused of crimes, however, and in connection with this natural infirmity, that public functionaries like themselves were necessarily very cautious in admitting the plea. The most offensive part of the whole affair was the discredit brought on the justice of Duke’s! It was not in nature for these individuals to be insensible to the sort of disgrace the reappearance of Peter Goodwin entailed on the county and circuit; and there was a very natural desire to wipe off the stain. The conference lasted until the affidavits to establish the facts connected with Goodwin’s case were ready.

“Had these affidavits been presented earlier,” said his honour, as soon as the papers were read, “sentence would not have been pronounced. The case is novel, and I shall want a little time to reflect on the course I am to take. The sentence must be gotten rid of by some means or other; and it shall be my care to see it done. I hope, brother Dunscomb, the counsel for the accused have not been parties to this deception?”

“I am as much taken by surprise as your honour can possibly be,” returned the party addressed, with earnestness, “not having had the most remote suspicion of the existence of the man said to have been murdered; else would all the late proceedings have been spared. As to the course to be taken next, I would respectfully suggest that the Code be examined. It is an omnium gatherum; and must contain something to tell us how to undo all we have done.”

“It were better for all parties had they so been. There are still two indictments pending over Mary Monson; one for the arson, and the other for the murder of Dorothy Goodwin. Mr. District Attorney feels the necessity of trying these cases, or one of them at least, in vindication of the justice of the State and county; and I am inclined to think that, under all the circumstances, this course should be taken. I trust we shall have no more surprises,and that Dorothy Goodwin will be brought forward at once, if still living—time is precious.”

“Dorothy Goodwin is dead,” said Mary Monson, solemnly. “Poor woman! she was called away suddenly, and in hersins.sins.Little fear of her ever coming here to flout your justice.”

“It may be well to caution your client, Mr. Dunscomb, against hasty and indiscreet admissions. Let the accused be arraigned, and a jury be empannelled. Which case do you choose to move on, Mr. District Attorney?”

Dunscomb saw that his honour was offended, and much in earnest. He was offended himself, and half disposed to throw up his brief; but he felt for the situation of a lovely and defenceless woman. Then his doubts touching his client’s sanity began to take the character of certainty; and he saw how odious it would be to abandon one so afflicted in her emergency. He hinted his suspicion to the court; but was told that the fact, under all the circumstances of the case, was one properly for the jury. After reflection, the advocate determined not to desert his trust.

We pass over the preliminary proceedings. A jury was empannelled with very little difficulty; not a challenge having been made. It was composed, in part, of those who had been in the box on the late occasion; and, in part, of new men. There was an air of earnestness and business about them all, that Timms did not like; but it was too late to raise objections. To own the truth, the senior counsel cared much less than before for the result; feeling satisfied that his contemplated application at Albany would meet with consideration. It is true, Mary Monson was no anti-renter. She could not come forward with her demand for mercy with hands dyed in the blood of an officer of that public which lives under the deception of fancying it rules the land; murderers who added to their crimes the hateful and pestilent fraud of attempting to cloak robbery in the garb of righteous liberty; nor could she come sustained by numbers around theballot-box, and bully the executive into acts which the reason and conscience of every honest man condemn; but Dunscomb believed that she might come with the plea of a being visited by the power of her Creator, in constituting her as she was, a woman not morally accountable for her acts.

All the leading facts, as shown on the former trial, were shown on this. When the country practitioners were called on to give their opinions concerning the effect of the blow, they necessarily became subject to the cross-examination of the counsel for the prisoner, who did not spare them.

“Were you examined, sir, in the late trial of Mary Monson, for the murder of Peter Goodwin?” demanded Dunscomb of the first of these modern Galens who was put on the stand.

“I was, sir.”

“What did you say on that occasion”—looking at his notes of the other trial, “touching the sex of the persons to whom those skeletons were thought to have belonged?”

“I said Ibelieved—notknew, butbelieved, they were the remains of Peter and Dorothy Goodwin.”

“Did you not use stronger language than that?”

“Not that I remember—I may have done so; but I do not remember it.”

“Did you not say you had ‘no doubt’ that those were the remains of Peter and Dorothy Goodwin?”

“I may have said as much as that. Now you mention the words, I believe I did.”

“Do you think so now?”

“Certainly not. I cannot think so, after what I have seen.”

“Do you know Peter Goodwin, personally?”

“Very well. I have practised many years in this neighbourhood.”

“Whom, then, do you say that this unfortunate man here, whom we see alive, though a driveller, really is?”

“Peter Goodwin—he who was thought to have beenmurdered.murdered.We are all liable to mistakes.”

“You have testified in chief that, in your judgment, the two persons, of whom we have the remains here in court, were stunned at least, if not absolutely killed, by the blow that you think fractured each of their skulls. Now, I would ask if you think the prisoner at the bar possesses the physical force necessary to enable her to strike such a blow?”

“That would depend on the instrument she used. A human skull may be fractured easily enough, by a moderate blow struck by a heavy instrument.”

“What sort of instrument, for instance?”

“A sword—a bar of iron—or anything that has weight and force.”

“Do you believe those fractures were given by the same blow?”

“I do. By one and the same blow.”

“Do you think Mary Monson possesses the strength necessary to cause those two fractures at a single blow?”

Witness had no opinion on the subject.

“Are the fractures material?”

“Certainly—and must have required a heavy blow to produce them.”

This was all that could be got from either of the witnesses on that material point. As respected McBrain, he was subsequently examined in reference to the same facts. Dunscomb made good use of this witness, who now commanded the respect of all present. In the first place, he was adroitly offered to the jury, as the professional man who had, from the first, given it as his opinion that both the skeletons were those of females; and this in the face of all the collected wisdom of Duke’s county; an opinion that was now rendered so probable as almost to amount to certainty. He (Dunscomb) believed most firmly that the remainswere those of Dorothy Goodwin and the German woman who was missing.

“Have you examined those skeletons, Dr. McBrain?” Dunscombasked.asked.

“I have, sir; and carefully, since the late trial.”

“How do you think the persons to whom they belonged came to their deaths?”

“I find fractures in the skulls of both. If they lie now as they did when the remains were found, (a fact that had been proved by several witnesses,) I am of opinion that a single blow inflicted the injuries on both; it may be, that blow was not sufficient to produce death; but it must have produced a stupor, or insensibility, which would prevent the parties from seeking refuge against the effects of the flames——”

“Is the learned witness brought here to sum up the cause?” demanded Williams, with one of those demoniacal sneers of his, by means of which he sometimes carried off a verdict. “I wish to know, that I may take notes of the course of his argument.”

McBrain drew back, shocked and offended. He was naturally diffident, as his friend used to admit, in everything but wives; and as regarded them “he had the impudence of the devil. Ned would never give up the trade until he had married a dozen, if the law would see him out in it. He ought to have been a follower of the great Mahomet, who made it a point to take a new wife at almost every new moon!” The judge did not like this sneer of Williams; and this so much the less, because, in common with all around him, he had imbibed a profound respect for the knowledge of the witness. It is true, he was very much afraid of the man, and dreaded his influence at the polls; but he really had too much conscience to submit to everything. A judge may yet have a conscience—if the Code will let him.

“This is very irregular, Mr. Williams, not to say improper,” his honour mildly remarked. “The witness has said no morethan he has a right to say; and the court must see him protected. Proceed with your testimony, sir.”

“I have little more to say, if it please the court,” resumed McBrain, too much dashed to regain his self-possession in a moment. As this was all Williams wanted, he permitted him to proceed in his own way; and all the doctor had to say was soon told to the jury. The counsel for the prosecution manifested great tact in not cross-examining the witness at all. In a subsequent stage of the trial, Williams had the impudence to insinuate to the jury that they did not attach sufficient importance to his testimony, to subject him to this very customary ordeal.

But the turning point of this trial, as it had been that of the case which preceded it, was the evidence connected with the piece of money. As the existence of the notch was now generally known, it was easy enough to recognise the coin that had been found in Mary Monson’s purse; thus depriving the accused of one of her simplest and best means of demonstrating the ignorance of the witnesses. The notch, however, was Mrs. Burton’s great mark, under favour of which her very material testimony was now given as it had been before.

Dunscomb was on the point of commencing the cross-examination, when the clear melodious voice of Mary Monson herself was heard for the first time since the commencement of the trial.

“Is it permitted tometo question this witness?” demanded the prisoner.

“Certainly,” answered the judge. “It is the right of every one who is arraigned by the country. Askanyquestion that you please.”

This was a somewhat liberal decision as to the right of cross-examining; and the accused put on it a construction almost as broad as the privilege. As for the witness, it was very apparent she had little taste for the scrutiny that she probably foresaw she was about to undergo; and her countenance, attitude, and answers,each and all betrayed how much distaste she had for the whole procedure. As permission was obtained, however, the prisoner did not hesitate to proceed.

“Mrs. Burton,” said Mary Monson, adopting, as well as she knew how, the manner of the gentlemen of the bar, “I wish you to tell the court and jurywhenyou first saw the notched piece of money?”

“When I first saw it? I saw it first, when aunt Dolly first showed it to me,” answered the witness.

Most persons would have been dissatisfied with this answer, and would probably have caused the question to be repeated in some other form; but Mary Monson seemed content, and went on putting her questions, just as if she had obtained answers to meet her views.

“Did you examine it well?”

“As well as I desired to. There was nothing to prevent it.”

“Did you know it immediately, on seeing it in my purse?”

“Certainly—as soon as I saw the notch.”

“Did Mrs. Goodwin point out the notch to you, or did you point out the notch to her?”

“She pointed it out to me; she feared that the notch might lessen the value of the coin.”

“All this I have heard before; but I now ask you, Mrs. Burton, in the name of that Being whose eye is everywhere, did you not yourself put that piece of money in my purse, when it was passing from hand to hand, and take out of it the piece without a notch? Answer me, as you have a regard for your soul?”

Such a question was altogether out of the rules regulating the queries that may be put to witnesses, an answer in the affirmative going directly to criminate the respondent; but the earnest manner, solemn tones, and, we may add, illuminated countenance of Mary Monson, so far imposed on the woman, that she quite lost sight of her rights, if she ever knew them. What is much moreremarkable, neither of the counsel for the prosecution interposed an objection. The District Attorney was willing that justice should have its way; and Williams began to think it might be prudent to manifest less anxiety for a conviction than he had done in the case in which the party murdered had been resuscitated. The judge was entranced by the prisoner’s manner.

“I believe I have as much regard for my soul as any of the neighbours have for theirs,” answered Mrs. Burton, sullenly.

“Let us learn that in your reply—Did you, or did you not, change those pieces of gold?”

“Perhaps I might—It’s hard to say, when so much was said and done.”

“How came you with the other piece, with which to make the exchange? Answer, Sarah Burton, as you fear God?”

The witness trembled like an aspen-leaf. So remarkable was the scene, that no one thought of interfering; but the judge, the bar, and the jury, seemed equally willing to leave the two females to themselves, as the most efficient means of extorting the truth. Mary Monson’s colour heightened; her mien and countenance grew, as it were, with the occasion; while Sarah Burton’s became paler and paler, as each question was put, and the reply pressed.

“I can have money, I hope, as well as other folks,” answered the witness.

“That is no reply. How came you with the piece of gold that is notched, that you could exchange it for the piece which was not notched, and which was the one really found in my purse? Answer me that, Sarah Burton; here, where we both stand in the presence of our great Creator?”

“There’s no need of your pressing a body so awfully—I don’t believe it’s law.”

“I repeat the question—or I will answer it for you. When you fired the house——”

The woman screamed, and raised her hands in natural horror

“I never set the house on fire,” she cried—“It took from the stove-pipe in the garret, where it had taken twice before.”

“How can you knowthat, unless you saw it?—How see it, unless present?”

“I wasnotthere, and did not see it; but I know the garret had caught twice before from that cook-stove-pipe. Aunt Dolly was very wrong to neglect it as she did.”

“And the blows on the head—who struck those blows, Sarah Burton?”

“How can I tell? I wasn’t there—no one but a fool could believeyouhave strength to do it.”

“How, then,wasit done? Speak—I see it in your mind?”

“I saw the ploughshare lying on the heads of the skeletons; and I saw Moses Steen throw it off, in the confusion of first raking the embers. Moses will be likely to remember it, if sent for, and questioned.”

Here was a most important fact elicited under the impulse of self-justification; and a corresponding expression of surprise, passed in a murmur, through the audience. The eye of Mary Monson kindled with triumph; and she continued with renewed powers of command over the will and conscience of the witness.

“This is well, Sarah Burton—it is right, and what you ought to say. You think that the fire was accidental, and that the fractured skulls came from the fall of the plough?”

“I do. I know that the plough stood in the garret, directly over the bed, and the stove-pipe passed quite near it. There was an elbow in that pipe, and the danger was at that elbow.”

“This is well; and the eye above looks on you with less displeasure, Sarah Burton”—as this was said, the witness turned her looks timidly upwards, as if to assure herself of the fact—“Speak holy truth, and it will soon become benignant and forgiving. Now tell me how you came by the stocking and its contents?”

“The stocking!” said the witness, starting, and turning white as a sheet. “Who says I took the stocking?”

“I do. I know it by that secret intelligence which has been given me to discover truth. Speak, then, Sarah, and tell the court and jury the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.”

“Nobody saw me take it; and nobody can say I took it.”

“Therein you are mistaken. Youwereseen to take it. I saw it, for one; but there was another who saw it, with its motive, whose eye is ever on us. Speak, then, Sarah, and keep nothing back.”

“I meant no harm, if I did take it. There was so many folks about, I was afraid that some stranger might lay hands on it. That’s all.”

“You were seen to unlock the drawers, as you stood alone near the bureau, in the confusion and excitement of the finding of the skeletons. You did it stealthily, Sarah Burton.”

“I was afraid some one might snatch the stocking from me. I always meant to give it up, as soon as the law said to whom it belongs. Davis wants it, but I’m not sure it is his.”

“What key did you use? Keep nothing back.”

“One of my own. My keys unlocked many of aunt Dolly’s drawers. She knew it, and never found any fault with it. Why should she? Her keys unlockedmine!”

“Another word—where is that stocking, and where are its contents?”

“Both are safe in the third drawer of my own bureau, and here is the key,” taking one from her bosom. “I put them there for security, as no one opens that drawer but myself.”

Timms took the key from the unresisting hand of the woman, and followed by Williams, Davis, and one or two more, he left the court-house. At that instant, Sarah Burton fainted. In the confusion of removing her into another room, Mary Monson resumed her seat.

“Mr. District Attorney, it can hardly be your intention to press this indictment any further?” observed the judge, wiping his eyes, and much delighted with the unexpected termination of the affair.

The functionary addressed was glad enough to be rid of his unwelcome office, and at once signified his willingness to enter anolle prosequi, by an application to the bench, in the case of the arson, and to submit to an acquittal in that now being traversed. After a brief charge from the judge, the jury gave a verdict of acquittal, without leaving the box; and just as this was done, Timms and his companions returned, bringing with them the much-talked-of stocking.

It required months completely to elucidate the whole affair; but so much is already known, and this part of our subject being virtually disposed of, we may as well make a short summary of the facts, as they were already in proof, or as they have since come to light.

The fire was accidental, as has been recently ascertained by circumstances it is unnecessary to relate. Goodwin had left his wife, the night before the accident, and she had taken the German woman to sleep with her. As the garret-floor above this pair was consumed, the plough fell, its share inflicting the blow which stunned them, if it did not inflict even a greater injury. That part of the house was first consumed, and the skeletons were found, as has been related, side by side. In the confusion of the scene, Sarah Burton had little difficulty in opening the drawer, and removing the stocking. She fancied herself unseen; but Mary Monson observed the movement, though she had then no idea what was abstracted. The unfortunate delinquent maintains that her intention, at the time, was good; or, that her sole object was to secure the gold; but, is obliged to confess that the possession of the treasure gradually excited her cupidity, until she began to hope that this hoard might eventually become herown. The guilty soonest suspect guilt. As to “the pure, all things are pure,” so it is with the innocent, who are the least inclined to suspect others of wicked actions. Thus was it with Mrs. Burton. In the commission of a great wrong herself, she had little difficulty in supposing that Mary Monson was the sort of person that rumour made her out to be. She saw no great harm, then, in giving a shove to the descending culprit. When looking into the stocking, she had seen, and put in her own pocket, the notched piece, as a curiosity, there being nothing more unusual in the guilty thus incurring unnecessary risks, than there is in the moth’s temerity in fluttering around the candle. When the purse of Mary Monson was examined, as usually happens on such occasions, we had almost said asalwayshappens, in the management of cases that are subsequently to form a part of the justice of the land, much less attention was paid to the care of that purse than ought to have been bestowed on it. Profiting by the neglect, Sarah Burton exchanged the notched coin for the perfect piece, unobserved, as she again fancied; but once more the watchful eye of Mary Monson was on her. The first time the woman was observed by the last, it was accidentally; but suspicion once aroused, it was natural enough to keep a look-out on the suspected party. The act was seen, and at the moment that the accused thought happy, the circumstance was brought to bear on the trial. Sarah Burton maintains that, at first, her sole intention was to exchange the imperfect for the perfect coin; and that she was induced to swear to the piece subsequently produced, as that found on Mary Monson’s person, as a literal fact, ignorant of what might be its consequences. Though the devil doubtless leads us on, step by step, deeper and deeper, into crime and sin, it is probable that, in this particular, the guilty woman applied a flattering unction to her conscience, that the truth would have destroyed.

Great was the wonder, and numberless were the paragraphsthat this unexpected issue of the “great Biberry murders” produced. As respects the last, anything that will fill a column is a god-send, and the falsehood has even a value that is not to be found in the truth, as its contradiction will help along quite as much as the original statements. If the public could only be brought to see what a different thing publicity becomes in the hands of those who turn it toprofit, from what it is thought to be, by those who fancy it is merely a mode of circulating facts, a great step towards a much-needed reformation would be taken, by confining the last within their natural limits.

Mary Monson’s name passed from one end of the Union to the other, and thousands heard and read of this extraordinary woman, who never had the smallest clue to her real character or subsequent history. How few reflected on the defects of the system that condemned her to the gallows on insufficient testimony; or, under another phase of prejudice, might have acquitted her when guilty! The random decisions of the juries, usually well-meaning, but so rarely discriminating, or as intelligent as they ought to be, attract very little attention beyond the bar; and even the members of that often strike a balance in error, with which they learn to be content; gaining in one cause as much as they lose in another.

There was a strong disposition in the people assembled at Biberry, on the occasion of the trial, to make a public spectacle of Mary Monson. The right to do this, with all things in heaven and earth, seems to belong to “republican simplicity,” which is beginning to rule the land with a rod of iron. Unfortunately for this feeling, the subject of momentary sympathy was not a person likely to allow such a license. She did not believe, because she had endured one set of atrocious wrongs, that she was bound to submit to as many more as gaping vulgarity might see fit to inflict. She sought the protection of good Mrs. Gott and her gaol, some forms being necessary before the sentence of deathcould be legally gotten rid of. In vain were the windows again crowded, with the virtuous wish of seeing how Mary Monsonlooked, now she was acquitted, just as they had been previously thronged in order to ascertain how she looked when there was a chance of her being condemned to the gallows. The most extraordinary part of the affair, was the circumstance that the harp became popular; the very sentiment, act, or thing that, in one condition of the common mind, is about to be ‘cut down and cast into the fire,’ becoming in another, all that is noble, commendable, or desirable. The crowd about the windows of the gaol, for the first few hours after the acquittal, was dying to hear the prisoner sing and play, and would gladly have tolerated the harp and a ‘foreign tongue’ to be thus gratified.

But Mary Monson was safe from all intrusion, under the locks of the delighted Mrs. Gott. This kind-hearted person kissed her prisoner, over and over again, when she admitted her within the gallery, and then she went outside, and assured several of the more respectable persons in the crowd how thoroughly she had been persuaded, from the first, of the innocence of her friend. The circumstances of this important trial rendered Mrs. Gott a very distinguished person herself, in that crowd, and never was a woman happier than she while delivering her sentiments on the recent events.

“It’s altogether the most foolish trial we have ever had in Duke’s, though they tell me foolish trials are getting to be only too common,” said the kind-hearted wife of the sheriff, addressing half-a-dozen of the more respectable of the crowd. “It gave me a big fright, I willown.own.When Gott was elected sheriff, I did hope he would escape all executions but debtexecutions.executions.The more he has ofthem, the better. It’s bad enough to escort thieves to Sing-Sing; but the gallows is a poor trade for a decent man to meddle with. Then, to have the very first sentence, one against Mary Monson, who is as much above such a punishmentas virtue is above vice. When I heard those dreadful words, I felt as if a cord was round my own neck. But I had faith to the last; Mary has always told me that she should be acquitted, and here it has all come true, at last.”

“Do you know, Mrs. Gott,” said one of her friends, “it is reported that this woman—or lady, I suppose one mustnowcall her—has been in the habit of quitting the gaol whenever she saw fit.”

“Hu-s-h, neighbor Brookes; there is no need of alarming the county! I believe you are right; though it was all done without my knowledge, or it never would have been permitted. It only shows the power of money. The locks are as good as any in the State; yet Mary certainly did find means, unbeknown to me, to open them. It can’t be called breaking gaol, since she always came back! I had a good fright the first time I heard of it, but use reconciles us to all things. I never let Gott into the secret, though he’s responsible, as he calls it, for all his prisoners.”

“Well, when a matter turns out happily, it does no good to be harping on it always.”

Mrs. Gott assented, and in this case, as in a hundred others, the end was made to justify the means. But Mary Monson was felt to be an exception to all rules, and there was no longer any disposition to cavil at any of her proceedings. Her innocence had been established so very triumphantly, that every person regarded her vagaries and strange conduct with indulgence.

At that very moment, when Mrs. Gott was haranguing her neighbours at the door of the gaol, Dunscomb was closeted with Michael Millington at the Inn; the young man having returned at hot-speed only as the court adjourned. He had been successful, notwithstanding his original disappointment, and had ascertained all about the hitherto mysterious prisoner of the Biberry gaol. Mary Monson was, as Dunscomb suspected, Mildred Millingtonby birth—Mad. de Larocheforte by marriage—and she was the grand-daughter of the very woman to whom he had been betrothed in youth. Her insanity was not distinctly recognised, perhaps could not have been legally established, though it was strongly suspected by many who knew her intimately, and was a source of great uneasiness with all who felt an interest in her welfare. Her marriage was unhappy, and it was supposed she had taken up her abode in the cottage of the Goodwins to avoid her husband. The command of money gave her a power to do very much as she pleased, and, though the breath of calumny had never yet blown its withering blast on her name, she erred in many things that are duties as grave as that of being chaste. The laws came in aid of her whims and caprices. There is no mode by which an errant wife can be made to perform her duties in boldly experimenting New York, though she can claim a support and protection from her husband. The ‘cup and saucer’ law comes in aid of this power, and the men who cannot keep their wives in the chains of Hymen in virtue of the affections, may just as well submit, with a grace, to be the victims of an ill-judging and most treacherous regard for the rights of what are called the weaker sex.

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