Archive for January, 2010

important issues of art

Sunday, January 31st, 2010

Old Bailey, the main courthouse in London, had never presented a show quite like the three trials that captivated England and much of the literary world in the spring of 1895. Celebrity, sex, witty dialogue, political intrigue, surprising twists, and important issues of art and morality adidas uk–is it any surprise that the trials of Oscar Wilde continue to fascinate one hundred years after the death of one of the world’s greatest authors and playwrights?

    The events that would bring Oscar Wilde to Old Bailey began four years earlier in the summer of 1891 when Wilde, then thirty-eight years old, met a promising twenty-two-year old poet named Lord Alfred Douglas (”Bosie”) at a tea party. The two became extremely close. Douglas took great pleasure in the interest shown in him by Wilde, already a major literary figure. Douglas called his elder companion “the most chivalrous friend in the world.” Wilde saw in Douglas not only a lively intellect, but a young man with an Adonis-like appearance. Wilde made no secret of his interest. Douglas later said, ” He was continually asking me to lunch and dine with him and sending me letters, notes, and telegrams.” He also showered Douglas with presents and wrote a sonnet for him. They stayed together in each other’s houses and in hotels, and went on trips together.

    The first serious problem for Wilde growing out of his relationship of Douglas came when Douglas, still a student in Oxford, gave an old suit to a down-and-out friend named Wood. Wood discovered in a pocket of the suit letters written by Wilde to his youthful friend. Wood extorted £35 from Wilde for return of most of the compromising letters. Wilde later described the money as a gift to enable Wood to start a new life in America. Two other would-be blackmailers were given smaller amounts of money after returning the remaining letters.

    Wilde’s downfall came not from blackmailers, however, but rather the father of Alfred Douglas, John Sholto Douglas, the Marquess of Queensberry. Queensberry was an arrogant, ill-tempered, eccentric and perhaps even mentally imbalanced Scottish nobleman best note for developing and promoting rules for amateur boxing (the “Queensberry rules”). Queensberry became concerned about his son’s relationship with “this man Wilde.” His concern was temporarily alleviated at the Cafe Royal in late 1892, when his son introduced him to the noted literary figure. Wilde charmed Queensberry over a long lunch with many cigars and liqueurs. By early 1894 Queensberry concluded the Wilde was most likely a homosexual and began demanding that his son stop seeing Wilde: “Your intimacy with this man Wilde must either cease or I will disown you and stop all money supplies,” Queensberry wrote in April. “I am not going to try an analyze this intimacy, and I make no charge; but to my mind to pose as a thing is as bad as to be it.” Douglas replied in a telegram: “What a funny little man you are.”

    Queensberry began taking increasingly desperate measures to end the relationship. He threatened restaurant and hotel managers with beatings if he ever discovered Wilde and his son together on their premises. In June of 1894 Queenberry, accompanied by a prize-fighter, showed up without warning at Wilde’s house in Chelsea. An angry conversation ensued, ending when Wilde ordered Queensberry to leave saying, “I do not know what the Queensberry rules are, but the Oscar Wilde rule is to shoot on sight.” Queensberry’s subsequent letters to his son, who he had already ceased to support, grew increasingly intemperate. “You reptile,” he wrote, “you are no son of mine and I never thought you were.” Douglas answered, “If O. W. was to prosecute you in the criminal courts for libel, you would get seven years’ penal servitude for your outrageous libels.”

    On February 14, 1895, Wilde’s new play The Importance of Being Earnest was set to open at the St. James Theatre. Wilde learned that Queensberry planned to disrupt the opening night’s performance and harangue the audience about Wilde’s alleged decadent lifestyle. Wilde arranged to have the theater surrounded by police. His plan blocked, Queenberry prowled about outside for three hours before finally leaving “chattering.”

    Four days later at the Albemarle Club–a club to which both Wilde and his wife belonged, Queensberry left a card with a porter. “Give that to Oscar Wilde,” he told the porter. On the card he had written: “To Oscar Wilde posing as a somdomite [sic].” Two weeks later Wilde showed up at the club and was handed the card with the offensive message. Returning that night to the Hotel Avondale, Wilde wrote to Douglas asking that he come and see him. “I don’t see anything now but a criminal prosecution,” Wilde wrote. “My whole life seems ruined by this man. The tower of ivory is assailed by the foul thing. On the sand is my life split. I don’t know what to do.”

    The next day, Wilde, Douglas, and another longtime friend named Robert Ross visited a solicitor, Travers Humphreys. Humphreys asked Wilde directly whether there was any truth to Queensberry’s allegation. Wilde said no. Humphreys applied for a warrant for Queensberry’s arrest. On March 2, Queensberry police arrested Queensberry and charged him with libel at the Vine Street police station.

    Travers Humphreys asked Edward Clarke, a towering figure in the London bar, to prosecute Wilde’s case. Before accepting the case, Clarke said to Wilde, “I can only accept this brief, Mr. Wilde, if you assure me on your honor as an English gentleman that there is not and never has been any foundation for the charges that are made against you.” Wilde answered that the charges were “absolutely false and groundless.” Wilde left Clarke’s office to join Douglas for a quick trip to the south of France before the trial.

    About a week before trial was set to began at Old Bailey, Wilde returned to London, where numerous close friends advised him to drop his libel suit. George Bernhard Shaw and Frank Harris, two well known friends of Wilde’s from the literary world, pleaded with Wilde to flee the country and continue his writing abroad, possibly in more tolerant France. Douglas, who was also present at the luncheon with Shaw and Harris, objected. “Your telling him to run away shows that you are no friend of Oscar’s,” Douglas said, rising from the table. “It is not friendly of you,” Wilde echoed as he departed the restaurant with his young friend.

    On April 3, 1895, the first trial of Oscar Wilde–with Wilde in this case cheering the prosecution–began at Old Bailey. Queensberry, wearing a blue hunting stock, stood alone, hat in hand, in front of the dock. Wilde, wearing a fashionable coat with a flower in his button-hole, chatted with his attorney. Meanwhile, in another room in the building, a group of young men–gathered by Queensberry to substantiate his charge–laughed and smoked cigarettes.

    Sir Edward Clarke delivered the prosecution’s opening statement. Clarke’s address impressed even Edward Carson, Queensberry’s attorney, who said “I never heard anything to equal it in all my life.” Clarke attempted to take some of the sting out of on key piece of evidence that Queensberry planned to introduce. He read one of Wilde’s letters to Douglas that might suggest to many readers the existence of a homosexual relationship. Clarke admitted that the letter “might appear extravagant to those in the habit of writing commercial correspondence,” but said it must be remembered that Oscar Wilde is a poet, and the letter should be read as “the expression of true poetic feeling, and with no relation whatever to the hateful and repulsive suggestions put to it in the plea in this case.”

    After brief testimony from Sidney Wright, the porter at the Albemarle Club, Wilde took the stand. He began by lying about his age, which he said was thirty-nine (he was actually forty-one). Under questioning by Clarke, Wilde, with easy assurance, described his earlier encounters with–and harassment by–Queensberry. To Clarke’s final question, “Is there any truth in any of these accusations [of Queensberry]?”, Wilde answered: “There is no truth whatever in any of them.”

    After lunch, Edward Carson–a rival of Wilde since their days together at Trinity College in Dublin–began his skillful cross-examination. The cross generally broke into two main parts: a literary part and a fact-oriented part focusing on Wilde’s past relationships. In the literary part of the examination, Carson asked Wilde about letters to Douglas and two of his own published works, The Portrait of Dorian Gray and Phrases and Philosophies for Use of the Young. Wilde defended the works against Carson’s suggestions that they were immoral or touched on homosexual themes. “There is no such thing as an immoral work,” Wilde asserted in Dorian Gray, rather “books are well written, or badly written.” “That expresses your view?” asked Carson, “a perverted novel might be a good book?” When Wilde replied, “I don’t know what you mean by a ‘perverted’ novel,” Carson said, “I will suggest Dorian Gray as open to the interpretation of being such a novel.” Wilde answered indignantly, “That could only be to brutes and illiterates. The views of Philistines on art are incalculably stupid.” Carson asked about a suggestive letter to Lord Douglas: “Was it an ordinary letter?” “Certainly not,” Wilde answered, “it was a beautiful letter.” “Apart from art?” Carson wondered. “I cannot answer any questions apart from Art,adidas shoes ” Wilde replied. And so it went. Wilde did his best to turn the proceedings into a joke with flippant answers. Always the artist, he seemed to be reaching for creative, witty answers, even if they contradicted earlier ones. Though immensely interesting reading, the literary part of Carson’s cross was not the most incriminating. Rather, one senses that Carson enjoyed toying with his old rival.

    When Carson began to ask Wilde about his relationships with named young men, Wilde became noticeably uncomfortable. The jury appeared astonished when Carson produced items ranging from fine clothes to silver-mounted walking sticks that Wilde admitted giving to his young companions. Suspiciously, the recipients of the gifts were not, in Carson’s words, “intellectual treats,” but newspaper peddlers, valets, or unemployed–in some cases barely literate. Wilde tried to explain: “I recognize no social distinctions at all of any kind, and to me youth, the mere fact of youth, is so wonderful that I would sooner talk to a young man for half-an-hour than be–well–cross-examined in court.” Soon after that confident response, Carson asked Wilde about a young man, sixteen when Wilde knew him, named Walter Grainger. Did Wilde kiss him? “Oh, dear no!” Wilde replied, “He was a peculiarly plain boy.” Carson zeroed in on his prey. Was that the reason he didn’t kiss him? Why then did he mention his ugliness? “Why, why, why, did you add that?” Carson demanded to know.

    That afternoon the prosecution closed its case without calling, as was widely expected, Lord Alfred Douglas as a witness. No testimony that Douglas might give, no matter how forceful, could save Wilde’s case.

    When Carson announced, in his opening speech in defense of Queensberry, that he intended to call to the witness box a procession of young men with whom Wilde had been sexually associated, the atmosphere in the courtroom became tense. Edward Clarke understood his client was in serious personal danger. An 1895 Act, the Criminal Law Amendment Act, had made it a crime for any person to commit an act of “gross indecency.” The Act had been interpreted to criminalize any form of sexual activity between members of the same sex.

    After trial that evening, Edward Clarke met with his famous client. “When I saw Mr. Wilde,” Clarke later recalled, “I told him it that it was almost impossible in view of all the circumstances to induce a jury to convict of a criminal offence a father who was endeavoring to save his son from what he believed to be an evil companionship.” Clarke urged Wilde to allow him to withdraw the prosecution and consent to a verdict regarding the charge of “posing.” Wilde agreed, and the next morning Clarke rose to announce the withdrawal of the libel prosecution.

    Queensberry’s solicitor, meanwhile, had forwarded to the Director of Public Prosecutions copies of statements by the young men they had planned to produce as witnesses. At 3:30 p.m., an inspector from Scotland Yard appeared before Magistrate John Bridge to request a warrant for the arrest of Oscar Wilde. Bridge adjourned the court for an hour and a half, apparently to give Wilde time to make his escape from England on the last train to the Continent.

    Wilde, however, had lapsed into “a pathetic state of indecision.” Meeting with Douglas and his old friend Robert Ross at the Cadogan Hotel, Wilde wavered back and forth between staying and fleeing until, he said, “The train has gone–it is too late.” When Wilde learned from a journalist calling at the hotel that a warrant had been issued, Wilde went “very gray in the face.” He sat quietly in his chair drinking glass after glass of hock and seltzer. Soon Wilde’s name was removed from the ads at playbills at the St. James Theatre, where The Importance of Being Earnest was still being performed.

    The first criminal trial of Oscar Wilde opened at Old Bailey on April 26, 1895. Wilde and Alfred Taylor, the procurer of young men for Wilde, faced twenty-five counts of gross indecencies and conspiracy to commit gross indecencies. A parade of young male witnesses for the prosecution testified regarding their roles in helping Wilde to act out his sexual fantasies. Although Wilde was not prosecuted for sodomy, there was little doubt by the end of the trial that he might have been. Almost all of them expressed shame and remorse over their own actions, and Wilde seemed to be left conflicted by their testimony. (Later Wilde compared his encounters with “feasting with panthers.” Wilde wrote that “the danger was half the excitement.”) On the fourth day of trial, Wilde took the stand. His arrogance of the first trial was gone. He answered questions quietly, denying all allegations of indecent behavior. The most memorable moment of the trial came in Wilde’s response to a question about the meaning of a phrase in a poem of Lord Alfred Douglas. Prosecutor Charles Gill asked, “What is ‘the Love that dare not speak its name’?” Wilde’s response drew a loud applause–and a few hisses:

    “The love that dare not speak its name” in this century is such a great affection of an elder for a younger man as there was between David and Jonathan, such as Plato made the very basis of his philosophy, and such as you find in the sonnets of Michelangelo and Shakespeare. It is that deep, spiritual affection that is as pure as it is perfect. It dictates and pervades great works of art like those of Shakespeare and Michelangelo, and those two letters of mine, such as they are. It is in this century misunderstood, so much misunderstood that it may be described as the “Love that dare not speak its name,” and on account of it I am placed where I am now. It is beautiful, it is fine, it is the noblest form of affection. There is nothing unnatural about it. It is intellectual, and it repeatedly exists between an elder and a younger man, when the elder man has intellect, and the younger man has all the joy, hope and glamour of life before him. That it should be so the world does not understand. The world mocks it and sometimes puts one in the pillory for it. Edward Clarke followed Wilde’s testimony with a powerful summation on behalf of his client. Clarke closed by asking the jury to “gratify those thousands of hopes that are hanging on your decision” and “clear from this fearful imputation one of our most renowned and accomplished men of letters of today and, in clearing him, clear society from a stain.” Clarke’s closing speech left Wilde in tears, and he scribbled out a note of thanks which he passed to his counsel. The jury deliberated for over three hours before concluding that they could not reach a verdict on most of the charges (the jury acquitted Wilde on charges relating to Frederick Atkins, one of the young men with whom he was accused of having engaged in a gross indecency.) On May 7, Wilde was released on bail to enjoy three weeks of freedom until the start of his second criminal trial.

    The Liberal government determined to go all-out to secure a conviction in Wilde’s second trial, even when people such as Queensberry’s attorney Edward Carson were urging, “Can you not let up on this fellow now?” There is much speculation about the government’s aggressive position on the Wilde case. Prime Minister Rosebery was suspected of having had a homosexual affair, when he was Foreign Minister, with Francis Douglas, another one of Queensberry’s good-looking sons. It was shortly after Francis Douglas was “killed in a hunting accident” (probably a suicide), that Queensberry went on the rampage against Oscar Wilde. There is plausible evidence in the form of ambiguous letters to conclude that Rosebery was threatened with exposure by Queensberry or others if he failed to aggressively prosecute Wilde. It is interesting to note that during the two months leading up to Wilde’s conviction, Rosebery suffered from serious depression and insomnia. After Wilde’s conviction, his heath suddenly improved.

    Wilde’s second prosecution was headed by England’s top prosecutor, Solicitor-General Frank Lockwood. Although the trial resembled in many way the first, the prosecution dropped its weakest witnesses and focused more heavily on its strongest. Lockwood had the last word in the trial, and used it to offer what Wilde described as an “appalling denunciation [of me]–like something out of Tacitus, like a passage in Dante, like one of Savonarola’s indictments of the Popes of Rome.” After over three hours of deliberation, the jury returned its verdict: guilty on all counts except those relating to Edward Shelley. Wilde swayed slightly in the dock; his face turned gray. Some in the courtroom shouted “Shame!” while expressed their approval of the verdict.

    The Wilde trials caused public attitudes toward homosexuals to become harsher and less tolerant. Whereas prior to the trials there was a certain pity for those who engaged in same-sex passion, after the trials homosexuals were seen more as a threat. The Wilde trials had other effects as well. They caused the public to begin to associate art and homo eroticism and to see effeminacy as a signal for homosexuality. Many same sex relationships seen as innocent before the Wilde trials became suspect after the trials. People with close same sex relationships grew anxious, concerned about doing anything that might suggest impropriety.

    Wilde served two years in prison, the last eighteen months being spent at Reading Gaol. He came out chastened and bankrupt, but not bitter. He told a friend that he “had gained much” in prison and was “ashamed on having led a life unworthy of an artist.” In his prison writing, De Profondis, Wilde says, ” I became a spendthrift of my genius and to waste an eternal youth gave me a curious joy.”

    After his release from Reading Gaol, Wilde traveled in Europe. He died on November 30, 1900 in Paris.

    “All trials are trials for one’s life, just as all sentences are sentences of death, and three times I have been tried. The first time I left the box to be arrested, the second time to be led back to the house of detention, and the third time to pass into prison for two years. Society as we have constituted it, will have no place for me, has none to offer; but Nature, whose sweet rains fall on just and unjust alike, will have clefts in the rocks where I may hide, and secret valleys in whose silence I may weep undisturbed. She will hang with stars so that I may walk abroad in the darkness without adidas trainers stumbling, and send the wind over my footprints so that none may track me to my hurt: she will cleanse me in great waters, and with bitter herbs make me whole.”

public’s fascination

Sunday, January 31st, 2010

 Lizzie Borden took an axe, and gave her mother forty whacks. When she saw what she had done, She gave her prada boots father forty-one.

    Actually, the Bordens received only 29 whacks, not the 81 suggested by the famous ditty, but the popularity of the above poem is a testament to the public’s fascination with the 1893 murder trial of Lizzie Borden. The source of that fascination might lie in the almost unimaginably brutal nature of the crime–given the sex, background, and age of the defendant–or in the jury’s acquittal of Lizzie in the face of prosecution evidence that most historians today find compelling.

    Background

    On a hot August 4, 1892 at 92 Second Street in Fall River, Massachusetts, Bridget (”Maggie”) Sullivan, the maid in the Borden family residence rested in her bed after having washed the outside windows. She heard the bell at City Hall ring and looked at her clock: it was eleven o’clock. A cry from Lizzie Borden, the younger of two Borden daughters broke the silence: “Maggie, come down! Come down quick; Father’s dead; somebody came in and killed him.” A half hour or so later, after the body–”hacked almost beyond recognition”–of Andrew Borden had been covered and the downstairs searched by police for evidence of an intruder, a neighbor who had come to comfort Lizzie, Adelaide Churchill, made a grisly discovery on the second floor of the Borden home: the body of Abby Borden, Lizzie’s step-mother. Investigators found Abby’s body cold, while Andrew’s had been discovered warm, indicating that Abby was killed earlier–probably at least ninety minutes earlier–than her husband.

    Under the headline “Shocking Crime: A Venerable Citizen and his Aged Wife Hacked to Pieces in their Home,” the Fall River Herald reported that news of the Borden murders “spread like wildfire and hundreds poured into Second Street…where for years Andrew J. Borden and his wife had lived in happiness.” The Herald reporter who visited the crime scene described the face of the dead man as “sickening”: “Over the left temple a wound six by four had been made as if it had been pounded with the dull edge of an axe. The left eye had been dug out and a cut extended the length of the nose. The face was hacked to pieced and the blood had covered the man’s shirt.” Despite the gore, “the room was in order and there were no signs of a scuffle of any kind.” Initial speculation as to the identity of the murderer, the Fall River Herald reported, centered on a “Portuguese laborer” who had visited the Borden home earlier in the morning and “asked for the wages due him,” only to be told by Andrew Borden that he had no money and “to call later.” The story added that medical evidence suggested that Abby Borden was killed “by a tall man, who struck the woman from behind.”

    Two days after the murder, papers began reporting evidence that thirty-three-year-old Lizzie Borden might have had something to do with her parents’ murders. Most significantly, Eli Bence, a clerk at S. R. Smith’s drug store in Fall River, told police that Lizzie visited the store the day before the murder and attempted to purchase prussic acid, a deadly poison. A story in the Boston Daily Globe reported rumors that “Lizzie and her stepmother never got along together peacefully, and that for a considerable time back they have not spoken,” but noted also that family members insisted relations between the two women were quite normal. The Boston Herald, meanwhile, viewed Lizzie as above suspicion: “From the consensus of opinion it can be said: In Lizzie Borden’s life there is not one unmaidenly nor a single deliberately unkind act.”

    Police came to the conclusion that the murders must have been committed by someone within the Borden home, but were puzzled by the lack of blood anywhere except on the bodies of the victims and their inability to uncover any obvious murder weapon. Increasingly, suspicion turned toward Lizzie, since her older sister, Emma, was out of the home at the time of the murders. Investigators found it odd that Lizzie knew so little of her mother’s whereabouts after 9 A.M. when, according to Lizzie, she had gone “upstairs to put shams on the pillows.” They also found unconvincing her story that, during the fifteen minutes in which Andrew Borden was murdered in the living room, Lizzie was out in the backyard barn “looking for irons” (lead sinkers) for an upcoming fishing excursion. The barn loft where she said she looked revealed no footprints on the dusty floor and the stifling heat in the loft seemed likely to discourage anyone from spending more than a few minutes searching for equipment that would not be used for days. Theories about a tall male intruder were reconsidered, and one “leading physician” explained that “hacking is almost a positive sign of a deed by a woman who is unconscious of what she is doing.”

    On August 9, an inquest into the Borden murders was held in the court room over police headquarters. Before criminal magistrate Josiah Blaisdell, District Attorney Hosea Knowlton questioned Lizzie Borden, Bridget Sullivan, household guest John Morse, and others. During her four hours examination, Lizzie gave confused and contradictory answers. Two days later, the inquest adjourned and Police Chief Hilliard arrested Lizzie Borden. The next day , Lizzie entered a plea of “Not Guilty” to the charges of murder and was transported by rail car to the jail in Taunton, eight miles to the north of Fall River. On August 22, Lizzie returned to a Fall River courtroom for her preliminary hearing, at the end of which Judge Josiah Blaisdell pronounced her “probably guilty” and ordered her to face a grand jury and possible charges for the murder of her parents. In November, the grand jury met. After first refusing to issue an indictment, the jury reconvened and heard new evidence from Alice Russell, a family friend who stayed with the two Borden sisters in the days following the murders. Russell told grand jurors that she had witnessed Lizzie Borden burning a blue dress in a kitchen fire allegedly because, as Lizzie explained her action, it was covered with “old paint.” Coupled with the earlier testimony from Bridget Sullivan that Lizzie was wearing a blue dress on the morning of the murders, the evidence was enough to convince grand jurors to indict Lizzie for the murders of her parents. (Russell’s testimony was also enough to convince the Borden sisters to sever all ties with their old friend forever.)

    The Trial

    The trial of Lizzie Borden opened on June 5, 1893 in the New Bedford Courthouse before a panel of three judges. A high-powered defense team, including Andrew Jennings and George Robinson (the former governor of Massachusetts), represented the defendant, while District Attorney Knowlton and Thomas Moody argued the case for the prosecution.

    Before a jury of twelve men, Moody opened the state’s case. When Moody carelessly threw Lizzie’s blue frock on the prosecution table during his speech, it revealed the skulls of Andrew and Abby Borden. The sight of her parents’ skulls, according to a newspaper account, caused Lizzie to fall “into a feint that lasted for several minutes, sending a thrill of excitement through awe-struck spectators and causing unfeigned embarrassment and discomfiture to penetrate the ranks of counsel.” For most of the two hours of Moody’s speech, Lizzie watched from behind a fan as the prosecutor described Lizzie has the only person having both the motive and opportunity to commit the double murders, and then pulled from a bag the head of the axe that he claimed Lizzie used to kill her parents.

    The first several witnesses for the state testified concerning events in and around the Borden home on the morning of August 4, 1892. The most important of these witnesses, twenty-six-year-old Bridget Sullivan, testified that Lizzie was the only person she saw in the home at the time her parents were murdered, though she provided some prada shoes consolation to the defense when she said that she had not witnessed, during her over two years of service to the family, signs of the rumored ugly relationship between Lizzie and her stepmother. “Everything was pleasant,” she said. “Lizzie and her mother always spoke to each other.” (Other prosecution witnesses disputed Sullivan’s assertion that all was fine between Lizzie and her stepmother. For example, Hannah H. Gifford, who made a garment for Lizzie a few months before the murders, described a conversation in which Lizzie called her stepmother “a mean good-for nothing thing” and said “I don’t have much to do with her; I stay in my room most of the time.”) Sullivan also testified that Andrew and Abby Borden experienced stomach pains on the day before the murder and told jurors that at the presumed time of Abby’s Borden she was washing outside windows. She testified that she opened the door for Andrew Borden after he returned home from his walk about town, and then described hearing Lizzie’s cry for help a few minutes after eleven o’clock.  Several witnesses described seeing Andrew Borden at various points in town in the two hours before he returned home to his death. Household guest John Morse, age sixty, described having breakfast in the Borden home on the morning of the murders and then leaving the house to perform chores.

    The next set of witnesses described events and conversations after discovery of the murders. Dr. Seabury Bowen, the Borden family physician summoned to the home by Lizzie in the late morning of August 4, recounted Lizzie’s story about looking for lead sinkers in the barn and her contention that her father’s troubles with his tenants probably had something to do with the murders. On cross-examination, Seabury agreed with the defense’s suggestion that the morphine he prescribed for Lizzie might account for some of the confused and contradictory testimony she gave at the inquest following the murders. Adelaide Churchill, a Borden neighbor and another important witness, remembered Lizzie wearing a light blue dress with a diamond figure on it, but did not recall seeing any blood spots it. John Fleet, the Assistant Marshal of Fall River, recalled his interview with Lizzie shortly after the murders. Lizzie corrected him, he testified, when he called Abby Borden her “mother.” “She was not my mother, sir,” Lizzie replied, “She was my stepmother: my mother died when I was a child.”

    The most compelling testimony came again from Alice Russell. Russell described a visit from Lizzie the night before the murders in which she announced that she would soon be going on a vacation and felt “that something is hanging over me–I cannot tell what it is.” Then, according to Russell, after describing her parents’ severe stomach sickness (which she attributed to bad “baker’s bread”), Lizzie revealed, “I feel afraid something is going to happen.” Explaining her feeling, Lizzie told Russell that “she wanted to go to sleep with one eye open half the time for fear somebody might burn the house down or hurt her father because he was so discourteous to people.”  Turning his questioning to the Sunday after the murders, District Attorney Moody asked Russell about the dress burning incident. Russell recounted that when she asked Lizzie what she was doing with the blue dress, she replied, “I am going to burn this old thing up; it is covered with paint.” On cross-examination, defense attorney George Robinson attempted through his questions to suggest that a guilty person seeking to destroy incriminating evidence would be unlikely to do it in so open a fashion as Lizzie allegedly did. Russell also recounted a conversation with Lizzie about a note, which according to Lizzie’s account, she received from a messenger on the morning of the murders summoning her to visit a sick friend. (Lizzie used the note to explain why she thought her mother had left the home and therefore didn’t think to look for her body after discovering her father’s. Despite a thorough search of the Borden home, the alleged note never was found.) Russell said she sarcastically suggested to Lizzie that her mother might have burned the note. Lizzie, according to Russell, replied, “Yes, she must have.”

    A newspaper account of the prosecution case likened it to “a pigeon shooting match in which District Attorney Moody kept flinging up the birds and defying his antagonist to hit them, while the ex-Governor (defense attorney Robinson) constantly fired and often, but by no mean always, wounded or brought them down. Robinson’s performance impressed reporters, with one writing that the ex-Governor “is certainly without equal in New York City as a cross-examiner.” Robinson seemed any to “turn more or less to his own account” nearly every government witness, according to one trial account.

    The defense made its case using, for the most part, the state’s own witnesses. “There has never been a trial so full of surprises,” wrote one reporter covering the trial, “with such marvelous contradictions given by witnesses called for a common purpose.” The defense kept hammering at the contradictory testimony of key prosecution witnesses. The defense also explored holes in the prosecution case: Where, the defense asked, is the handle that supposedly broke off from the axe head that the state hauled into court and claimed was part of the murder weapon? The state had no answer. The defense also exploited the government’s own timeline, which allowed from eight to thirteen minutes between Andrew Borden’s murder and Lizzie’s call to Bridget Sullivan, Robinson tried to suggest the difficulty of washing blood off one’s person, clothes, and murder weapon of blood, and then hiding the murder weapon, all within that short span of time.

    The decisive moment in the trial might have come when the three-judge panel ruled that Lizzie Borden’s inquest testimony, full of contradictions and implausible claims, could not be submitted into evidence by the prosecution. The judges concluded that Lizzie, at the time of the coroner’s inquest, was for all practical purposes a prisoner charged with two murders, and that her testimony at the inquest, made in the absence of her attorney, was not voluntary. Lizzie should have been warned, the judges said, that she had a right under the Fifth Amendment of the Constitution to remain silent. The judges rejected the state’s argument that Lizzie was only a suspect, not a prisoner, at the time of the inquest, and that anyway her statement should be admitted because it was in the nature of a denial rather than a confession.

    The prosecution rested its case on June 14 after one final defeat. The state wanted to have druggist Eli Bence recount for the jury his story of Lizzie Borden visiting a Fall River drug store on the day before the murders and asking for ten cents worth of prussic acid, a poison. With the jurors excused, each leaving the courtroom with a palm leaf fan and ice water, the state tried to establish through medical experts, druggists, furriers, and chemists, the qualities, properties, and uses of prussic acid. The judges, after listening to the state’s foundational case, concluded that the evidence should be excluded.

    The defense presented only a handful of witnesses. Charles Gifford and Uriah Kirby reported seeing a strange man near the Borden house around eleven o’clock on the night before the murders. Dr. Benjamin Handfy testified that he saw a pale-faced young man on the sidewalk near 92 Second Street around 10:30 on August 4. A plumber and a gas fitter testified that in the day or two before the murders they had been in the Borden’s barn loft, casting doubt on police assertions that Lizzie’s alibi was suspect because dust in the loft appeared undisturbed.

    Emma Borden, the older sister of Lizzie, was the defense’s most anticipated witness. Emma testified that Lizzie and her father enjoyed a good relationship. She told jurors that the gold ring found on the little finger of Andrew Borden’s body was given to him ten or fifteen years ago by Lizzie and he prized it highly. Emma also insisted that relations between Lizzie and her stepmother were cordial, even as she admitted to lingering resentment herself over the transfer by her father of a Fall River home (which Emma called “grandfather’s house”) to Abby and her sister. The defense had also hoped that Emma might testify that the Borden’s had a custom of disposing of remnants and pieces of dresses by burning, but the court ruled the evidence inadmissible.

    Summing up for the defense, A. V. Jennings argued “there is not one particle of direct evidence in this case from beginning to end against Lizzie A. Borden. There is not a spot of blood, there is not a weapon that they have connected with her in any way, shape or fashion.” Following Jennings, Governor Robinson, in his closing speech for the defense, insisted that the crime must have been committed by a maniac or a devil–not by someone with the respectable background of his client. He said the state had failed to meet its burden of proving guilt beyond a reasonable doubt, and that it was physically impossible for Lizzie, without the help of a confederate, to have committed the crime within the timeline suggested by the prosecution. Robinson ridiculed the theory that Lizzie might have avoided getting blood spots on her clothes by killing her parents while “stark naked,” and argued that the murders might well have been committed by an intruder who passed out of the house undetected.

    After Hosiah Knowlton’s able summing up of the prosecution’s evidence, Justice Dewey charged the jury. According to one newspaper report, had the judge “been the senior counsel for the defense, making the closing plea in behalf of the defendant, he could not have more absolutely pointed out the folly of depending upon circumstantial evidence alone.” It was, the newspaper said, a “remarkable” charge–”a plea for the innocent.” Justice Dewey told jurors they should take into account Lizzie’s exceptional Christian character, which entitled her to every inference in her favor.

    The jury deliberated an hour and a half before returning with its verdict. The clerk asked the foreman of the jury, “What is your verdict?” “Not guilty,” the foreman replied simply. Lizzie let out a yell, sank into her chair, rested her hands on a courtroom rail, put her face in her hands, and then let out a second cry of joy. Soon, Emma, her counsel, and courtroom spectators were rushing to congratulate Lizzie. She hid her face in her sister’s arms and announced, “Now take me home. I want to go to the old place and go at once tonight.”

    Aftermath

    Papers generally praised the jury’s verdict. The New York Times, for example, editorialized: “It will be a certain relief to every right-minded man or woman who has followed the case to learn that the jury at New Bedford has not only acquitted Miss Lizzie Borden of the atrocious crime with which she was charged, but has done so with a promptness that was very significant. The Times added that it considered the verdict “a condemnation of the police authorities of Fall River who secured the indictment and have conducted the trial.” Not stopping there, the Times editorialist blasted the “vanity of ignorant and untrained men charged with the detection of crime” in smaller cities–the police in Fall River, the editorial concluded, are “the usual inept and stupid and muddle-headed sort that such towns manage to get for themselves.”

    It is probably fair to say that, however likely it might be that Lizzie did murder her parents, the prosecution failed to meet its burden of proving guilt beyond a reasonable doubt. The state’s case rested largely on the argument that it was impossible for anyone else to have committed the crime. For the Borden jury that, and a few other suspicious actions on Lizzie’s part (such as burning a dress), turned out not to be enough for a conviction. Had the defendant been a male, some speculate, the jury might have been more inclined to convict. One of the defense’s great advantages was that most persons in 1893 found it hard to believe that a woman of Lizzie’s background could have pulled off such brutal killings.

    After the trial, Lizzie Borden returned to Fall River where she and her sister Emma purchased an impressive home on “the Hill” which they called “Maplecroft.” Lizzie took an interest in theatre, frequently attending plays and often associating with actors, artists, prada and “bohemian types.” Emma moved out of Maplecroft in 1905. Lizzie continued to live in Maplecroft until her death at age 67 in 1927. She was buried by the graves of her parents in Fall River’s Oak Grove Cemetery.

enforce the law against

Sunday, January 31st, 2010

The Old West’s most famous gun battle lasted all of about thirty seconds, but it left three men dead, three other men shot, and enough questions to occupy historians for more than a century. The dunk sb high gunfight also led to criminal charges being filed against the three Earp brothers (Wyatt, Virgil, and Morgan) and Doc Holliday who, near the O. K. Corral on October 26, 1881, decided to enforce the law against four notorious “cowboys.” The hearing that followed the shoot-out considered the question of whether the Earps and Hollidays killed out of a justifiable fear for their own lives or simply to rid themselves of troublemakers and personal enemies. After listening to weeks of testimony, Judge Spicer gave his answer–but whether his answer was the right one remained a subject of considerable debate long after the silver mines that gave birth to Tombstone, Arizona had vanished.

    Background

    In 1877, in the dry washes of the San Pedro Valley at the foot of the Huachuca Mountains in southern Arizona about thirty miles from the Mexican border, a prospector discovered an outcropping of high grade silver. Soon that same summer another prospector named Ed Schieffelin would venture into the same hot, dry Apache country after being warned by a soldier, “The only rock you’ll find out there will be your own tombstone!” Schieffelin found more than that–though the warning he received would inspire the naming of a town laid out less than two years later near his silver strike.

    Tombstone grew from 40 cabins, and a population of 100, when it was organized in March of 1879 to more than 7,000 two years later. By late 1881, the classic boomtown had more saloons, more gambling houses, and a larger “boothill” and “red light” district than any town in the southwest.

    Tombstone was wild even by the standards of the wild West. Horse rustlers and bandits plagued the town. Shootings were frighteningly commonplace. George Parsons, a Tombstone resident who kept a detailed diary in the town’s early years, complained of the “hard crowd.” He wrote that “killing such men” would be like killing “wild animals.” Parsons opined, “The law must be carried out by the citizens, or should be, when it fails in its performance as it has lately done.”

    Into this anarchic environment came the Earp brothers. Wyatt Earp arrived in late 1879 after serving for four years as a lawman in Dodge City, Kansas. Coming into town with Wyatt were his brothers James and Virgil. Morgan, the youngest of the Earp brothers, reached Tombstone the following summer. (Another man whose name would come to be associated with the Earps, Doc Holliday, pulled into town a few months after Morgan.)

    Like so many other Tombstone residents, the Earps saw money to be made in the boomtown. They staked mining claims. Wyatt acquired a 25% interest in a faro game at the Oriental Saloon in return for providing the saloon’s security. James took a job as a faro dealer and bartender, while Virgil and Morgan found employment guarding stagecoach shipments for Wells Fargo. Virgil also worked as deputy U. S. marshal and about a half year after his arrival, Wyatt began serving as a deputy sheriff for Pima County.

    In 1881 in the area around Tombstone, “cowboys” was a pejorative term used to describe a rootless group of roughnecks, many from Texas, who rustled horses and sometimes engaged in other forms of lawbreaking. George Parson wrote in his diary, “A cowboy is a rustler at times, and a rustler is a synonym for desperado–bandit, outlaw, and horse thief.” The San Francisco Examiner editorialized, “Cowboys [are] the most reckless class of outlaws in that wild country…infinitely worse than the ordinary robber.”

    Historians generally consider the men killed in the O.K. Corral gunfight, the Billy Clanton and Tom and Frank McLaury, to be Cowboys. Among the Cowboys, the Clanton family stood out. Clantons rustled cattle, making raids on both sides of the border, and the Cowboys used Old Man Clanton’s ranch a center for their illegal business operations. The McLaurys worked closely with rustlers, either purchasing stolen stock or serving as “fences of the frontier.”

    Events Leading to the Shoot-Out

    The Earps and Cowboys began their confrontational relationship in the summer of 1880 when deputy marshal Virgil Earp asked Wyatt and Morgan to hunt down the horse thieves who had stolen six mules from a nearby Army outpost.  Following a tip, Wyatt and Morgan discovered the stolen mules at the McLaury ranch with their “US” brand changed to “D8.” Frank McLaury reacted angrily to the Earp’s intervention in the case, considering them to be acting as “citizens” rather than as lawmen, and warned them to stay clear of his ranch and his operations.

    On October 28, 1880, a more serious crime took place. When Marshal Frank White tried to disarm Curly Brocius, a notorious Cowboy, Brocius’s gun fired a bullet (whether intentionally or accidentally was a matter of dispute), fatally wounding White. The Tombstone town council appointed Virgil Earp as acting marshal. After losing an election for town marshal the following November, Virgil resumed his prior position as deputy U. S. marshal.

    Meanwhile, a rivalry began brewing between Wyatt Earp, a friend of Tombstone’s commercial interests, and Johnny Behan, a man more popular among the town’s less respectable elements. Adding heat to the rivalry was that both men competed for the affections of the same pretty woman, Josephine Marcus. (Josephine, after living for a time with Behan, would eventually be won over by Wyatt Earp, and the two would marry in 1888 and live together for almost fifty years.) Earp and Behan both sought appointment from Arizona’s governor as sheriff. Earp dropped his candidacy after it became apparent that Governor Fremont favored Behan and (Earp claimed) Behan promised to appoint Wyatt as undersheriff–a promise, it turned out, that Behan would not keep.

    On March 15, 1881, outlaws stormed the Tombstone-Benson stagecoach, making off $26,000 and killing the driver and a passenger on the coach. Two posses headed out after the outlaw band, one led by Virgil Earp and including Wyatt and Morgan, as well as Bat Masterson and Doc Holliday. The other posses was led by Sheriff Behan. The Earp posse managed to track down one member of the gang, who confessed to holding horses while the holdup took place, and turned the man over to the Behan posse. The man would not remain in custody long, as he soon “escaped” from an unlocked jail house door. The Earps suspected that Behan might have been complicit in the escape, and became further irritated when the sheriff refused to pay the Earps for their posse work.

    Wyatt Earp’s determination to get the job of sheriff from Behan led him to strike a deal with Ike Clanton. Earp promised to get the $6000 in reward money offered by Wells Fargo for arrest of the ambushers of its stagecoach if he would–secretly–provide him with information that would lead to the capture of the criminals. Earp reasoned that if he could pull off arrests in this closely followed case, his popularity would soar and his prospects for becoming sheriff greatly increased. Clanton agreed to the deal, but the bargain would never come to fruition as the Cowboys responsible for the crime all were killed in a New Mexico gunfight before Clanton could spring a trap for Earp.

    October 25-26, 1881

    Ike Clanton and Tom McLaury arrived in Tombstone in the evening of October 25, 1881, carrying a wagon load of beef. Around midnight, Clanton showed up at the Alhambra Saloon for a meal, where he encountered Doc Holliday. Clanton, worried about being revealed to his fellow Cowboys as a snitch, might have planned to meet Holliday as part of Wyatt’s plan to calm his fears that Earp would spill the beans about their secret deal. That, at least, is one theory suggested by some historians. Another theory is that the Holliday-Clanton meeting was set up by Earp to keep Clanton in line because the promise of possible reward money was no longer present to keep a lid on his activities. Holliday was a tough character, very capable of making a convincing threat.

    Soon the meeting between Clanton and Holliday degenerated into a series of taunts and insults. Morgan Earp, who provided security at the Alhambra, intervened to get both men to leave the saloon. On the street, Clanton ran into Wyatt Earp, who he told–according to Earp–he would like to see for “a man for man” in the morning. Clanton then found his way into an all-night poker game at the Occidental Saloon, where other players included Johnny Behan, Virgil Earp, and Tom McLaury. After the game, Clanton–still simmering–threatened a fight with Holliday.

    After a few hours sleep, the Earp brothers awoke to hear reports that Clanton had continued to threaten the Earps and Holliday through the morning. Virgil and Morgan found him near Allen Street. Virgil grabbed Clanton’s rifle and used his own revolver to club Clanton to the ground. The two Earps dragged Clanton into a Tombstone courtroom and charged him with violating a town ordinance that prohibited the carrying of firearms in public places. Wyatt Earp, arriving at the courtroom to help, took to badgering Clanton, calling him a “damned dirty cow thief” and expressing a willingness to fight him “anywhere on earth.” Clanton responded in kind, telling him that “Fight is my racket.” After paying $25, Clanton was allowed to leave without his rifle.

    Wyatt Earp ran into Tom McLaury just as he left the courthouse. Still in bad temper, Earp pulled out his revolver and whacked McLaury on the head and shoulder, sending him spilling into the street.

    A showdown was coming. Billy Clanton and Frank McLaury arrived in town just as emotions ran at their highest. Learning of their brothers’ ungentle treatment by the Earps, the two new arrivals headed for a local gun shop, where they loaded bullets into their gun belts. From the gun shop, the two headed to the O. K. Corral, where they met their brothers and discussed their next step. They then moved to a vacant lot next to Fly’s rooming house on Fremont Street.

    Sheriff Behan, alerted to the developing trouble, found the McLaury brothers and tried to convince Frank to nike sb dunks surrender his weapon. McLaury refused, saying he would only turn over his gun if “those other people [the Earps and Holliday] were disarmed.” Behan patted down Ike Clanton, finding no weapon; while Tom McLaury opened his coat to show that he was unarmed. Behan made no attempt to disarm Billy Clanton, who told the sheriff he was on his way out of town. After about twenty minutes of vainly trying to get Frank McLaury to give up his gun, the sheriff left.

    The three Earp brothers and Doc Holliday began a walk down Fremont Street, where they understood their adversaries to be waiting. Johnny Behan met them near a butcher shop and tried to persuade them not to continue. “For God’s sake, don’t go down there or you will get murdered,” Behan warned. When they ignored him, Behan yelled the contradictory words, “I have disarmed them all.” Still, the Earps and Hollidays continued their march.

    When the Earp-Holliday party came within about ten feet of the Clantons and McLaurys they stopped. Virgil Earp raised the walking stick in his right hand and shouted, in one version of the story, “Boys, throw up your hands, I want your guns.”  Seconds later, shots rang out, first from the Earp party. After a few seconds, in the words of Wyatt, the shooting “became general.” Within thirty seconds, it was over. Frank McLaury lay fatally wounded with a bullet through his head on Fremont Street. Billy Clanton, hit in the chest, was dying in the vacant lot.  Tom McLaury lay mortally wounded with a load of Doc Holliday’s buckshot. Ike Clanton managed to escape into Fly’s house. Holliday, Virgil, and Morgan, all were injured, with hip, leg, and shoulder wounds, respectively. Among the gunfighters, only Wyatt Earp remained unharmed.

    Prosecution of the Earps and Holliday

    A shaken Sheriff Behan made an aborted attempt to arrest Wyatt Earp and Doc Holliday, after Morgan and Virgil were taken away by wagon for treatment. “Wyatt, I’m arresting you for murder,” Behan announced. Wyatt, taken momentarily aback, replied, “I won’t be arrested,” and accused Behan of misleading him into thinking the Clantons and McLaurys were all unarmed. Other citizens came up to defend Earp. One insisted, “He done just right in killing them, and the people will uphold them.” Behan decided not to make any arrests–at least for the present time.

    The shoot-out was the talk of the town. The Tombstone Nugget ran a story noting that “The 26th of October, 1881, will always be marked as one of the crimson days in the annals of Tombstone, a day when blood flowed as water, and human life was held as a shuttlecock.” Citizens seemed divided on whether the Earps acted appropriately in firing so quickly. Many residents asked why Doc Holliday, a hothead with an ax to grind, was deputized by Earp to assist in the disarming of the Clantons and McLaurys. A funeral for the slain men showed deep sympathy for the slain men, with three hundred people joining a procession to Boot Hill, and an estimated crowd of more than 2,000 others watching form Tombstone’s dusty sidewalks.

    Two days after the shoot-out, Coroner Henry Matthews opened a formal inquest. The coroner presented nine witnesses before his jury, including Behan and Ike Clanton, as well as some more-or-less neutral witnesses. After listening to the conflicting stories and numerous accounts of previous trouble between the feuding parties, the Coroner issued an unhelpful verdict–neither condemning or exonerating the shootings–that left legal matters in limbo: “William Clanton, Frank and Thomas McLaury, came to their deaths in the town of Tombstone on October 26, 1881, from the effects of pistol and gunshot wounds inflicted by Virgil Earp, Morgan Earp, Wyatt Earp, and one–Holliday, commonly called ‘Doc Holliday’.”

    The day after Coroner Matthews announced his verdict, Ike Clanton filed first-degree murder charges against the Earps and Holliday. Sheriff Behan, who might have been expected to file the charges, seemed content to let Clanton take the initiative, leaving him to the job of testifying against the Earps. The case was scheduled for a preliminary hearing before Justice of the Peace Wells W. Spicer. (Wells Spicer rose to national prominence in 1874-76 when he defended John D. Lee–who he argued became a scapegoat for Brigham Young and Church elders–in the “Mountain Meadows Massacre” trial, a case growing out of the slaughter by Mormons disguised as Paiute Indians of over a hundred men, women and children as they traveled by wagons across southern Utah.)

    Spicer’s job was to determine whether the evidence indicated “sufficient cause to believe the defendants guilty” of the crime of murder. Oftentimes, preliminary hearings are rather perfunctory affairs, as defendants concede the inevitability of a full trial (and want not to expose their full hand to the prosecution early in the game) and prosecutors present only enough testimony to meet the legal standard. Not so in this case, however. The defense believed that Judge Spicer, a member of the Tombstone establishment that might be expected to be sympathetic to the Earps, presented a better hope for their freedom than a jury of twelve men selected at random. The preliminary hearing thus took on the appearance of a regular criminal trial, with thirty witnesses and full cross-examination by attorneys for both sides. It would become the longest preliminary hearing in Arizona history, lasting nearly one month.

    Thomas Fitch ably represented the Earps. Fitch had impressive credentials. He was a former state legislator from California, former U. S. congressman from Nevada, former general counsel for the Church of Latter Day Saints in Utah, and a close friend of Arizona’s governor. As a trial lawyer, Fitch had a well-deserved reputation as a master strategist.

    The prosecution team suffered from including members with rather different goals. Prosecutor Lyttleton Price, appointed by the governor, was suspect in the eyes of Clanton-McLaury sympathizers because of his ties to Tombstone’s establishment. Ben Goodrich, Ike Clanton’s personal lawyer, clearly did not receive the same suspicion, yet understood–as did Price–the benefits of not presenting the prosecution case in its most extreme form. Will McLaury (brother of the Tom and Frank), however, arrived from Texas to join the prosecution team sharing no interest in anything but an all-out attack on the defendants.

    Testimony in the hearing began behind closed doors–at the request of the defense–on October 31, 1881. Coroner Matthews opened testimony for the prosecution by stating the dead men were killed by “gunshot or pistol wounds,” and that Tom McLaury’s wounds indicated that he had been killed by a shotgun rather than a revolver.

    The next day the prosecution sent to the stand its first witness offered to prove its central argument: the slain men were killed before they had time to surrender their weapons. Billy Allen told the court that he told when he informed Frank McLaury that his brother Tom “had been hit on the head by Wyatt Earp,” he appeared shock and said, “I will get the boys out of town.” Later, as a witness to the gunfight, Allen heard one of the Earps say, “You sons-of-bitches, you have been looking for a fight!” and the same time Virgil Earp ordered the Clantons and McLaurys to “Throw up your hands!” Allen said the Earp party began firing just as William Clanton said, “I ain’t got no arms.” On cross-examination, Thomas Fitch bombarded Allen with questions about his shady past: Hadn’t he been indicted for larceny in Colorado? Didn’t he flee to Tombstone to avoid prosecution? Hadn’t he used an alias? Allen exercised his constitutional right to refuse to answer, but his credibility was severely damaged.

    On the third day of the trial, Sheriff Johnny Behan testified that he learning about the fast-brewing trouble in his town while sitting in a barber chair. “I asked the barber to hurry up and get through,” Behan said, “as I intended to go out and disarm and arrest the parties.” Behan testified that he demanded at least four times that Frank McLaury turn over his gun, but repeatedly met with McLaury’s objection that he would do so only when the Earps were also disarmed. Behan said his efforts to disarm McLaury were interrupted when he spotting the Earps and Holliday marching down Fremont Street. Behan told the Earps he had been “down there for the purpose of arresting and disarming the Clantons and McLaurys,” and ordered the Earps to stop. “I’m the Sheriff of the county and am not going to allow any trouble if I can help it,” Behan claimed to have said. Behan testified that the Earps continued down Fremont Street undaunted, as he followed behind urging them to reconsider. When the Earps arrived at the spot where their adversaries had gathered, Behan heard Wyatt say, “You sons of bitches have been looking for a fight and now you can have it” about the same time Virgil ordered, “Throw up your hands.” The shooting commenced instantly, Behan testified, with–he thought, although “I will not say for certain”–the first shot being fired at Billy Clanton by Doc Holliday.

    In his cross-examination of Sheriff Behan, Thomas Fitch tried to establish possible bias and tried to point out problems with his description of the gunfight. Possible bias, Fitch suggested, came from Behan’s competition with Wyatt for the position as sheriff.  (He resisted the temptation to ask Behan about the love triangle that included him, Wyatt, and Josephine Marcus.) Fitch’s main focus with respect to Behan’s description of the shooting concerned his testimony that the first shot probably came from a “nickel-plated pistol” in Holliday’s hand. How is that possible, Fitch wondered, when so many other witnesses identified Holliday as having a shotgun? Did he drop the pistol and grab a shotgun, all in the space of a few seconds? Most effectively, perhaps, Fitch questioned Behan about his visit to the injured Virgil Earp on the night of the gunfight, in which he reportedly assured Earp, “You did perfectly right.”

    Other prosecution witnesses offered testimony suggesting that the shooting of the McLaurys and Clanton was premeditated. Martha King told the court that, standing near a butcher shop on Fremont Street, she heard one of the Earps (she was not sure which one) tell Holliday, “Let them have it.” Holliday, she testified, answered, “All right.” Wesley Fuller testified that the shooting began before the Clantons and McLaurys had a chance to respond to the demand that they disarm. Fuller said that Billy Clanton had thrown up his hands and was shouting “Don’t shoot me!” as the bullets began flying. On cross-examination, however, Fuller’s credibility was damaged when he admitted to having told a friend that he meant “to cinch Holliday” with his testimony.

    In the middle of the prosecution case, Judge Spicer, to the surprise of the defendants, revoked Wyatt Earp’s and Doc Holliday’s bail, and on November 7 committed them to the county jail. Will McLaury was overjoyed at the decision of Spicer to grant his motion, boasting that “Everybody wanted to see me and shake my hands” upon hearing that “the murderers were in jail.”

    Brought from jail to Spicer’s court the next morning, Earp and Holliday listened as prosecution witness Billy “the Kid” Claiborne testified that their party “had their six-shooters in their hands” well before they reached the lot where the Clantons and McLaurys had gathered. The witness provided a detailed description of the gunfight that suggested premeditation on the part of the Earp party. Claiborne said he heard Virgil shout “you can have it [the fight they had been looking for]” even before he told them to “throw up” their hands. He claimed “Morgan Earp shoved his pistol up close” to Bill Clanton “and fired.” Cross-examination of Claiborne raised doubts about his assertion that the Earps had guns in hand as they headed down Fremont Street and left Claiborne silent when asked whether he was at present under bail for his role in “a killing scrape” in Charleston.

    Ike Clanton probably never should have been called as a witness by the prosecution, but he was. In Clanton’s recounting of the gunfight, his brother was gunned down by Morgan Earp as “his hands were thrown up about even with the level of his head.” Split seconds later, Ike took Wyatt Earp’s pistol-holding hand with “my left hand and grabbed him around the shoulder with my right hand…and pushed him around the corner,” allowing Ike to duck into the safety of the photograph gallery. Clanton said the trouble started the night before when Holliday interrupted his meal and began calling him “a son-of-a-bitch of a cowboy” and challenging him to a gunfight. Morgan soon arrived, Clanton testified, and told me “to be heeled when I came back on the street.” Later, he said, Virgil Earp buffaloed him and then Wyatt stuck a cocked pistol at him during his arrest. In short, Clanton painted the picture of a group of out-of-control men anxious for a fight–without offering any real explanation for their animosity toward him.

    In his cross-examination of Clanton, Fitch forced Ike to admit that he had carried a Winchester rifle around Tombstone on the morning of the gunfight, and made clear he was no less anxious–if not more so–than Holliday or the Earps for a showdown. Most significantly, the defense bore down on a probable motivation for Clanton’s anger: his fear that the secret deal he had made with Wyatt Earp to turn in the men responsible for the stagecoach robbery would be revealed to his Cowboy friends. Clanton’s answers badly damaged the prosecution case, as Ike offered incredible testimony suggesting that the Earps were behind the stagecoach robbery (Doc Holliday told him, he said, that he shot the stagecoach driver “through the heart”) and offering the theory that the killing of the Clantons and McLaurys was an attempt to keep them from bringing charges. The prosecution offered four additional witnesses after Clanton, and then rested its case.

    The Defense

    On November 16, 1881, the defense opened its case by calling to the stand Wyatt Earp. In Earp’s case, the defense took advantage of an Arizona law permitting defendants in preliminary hearings to avoid cross-examination by offering a narrative statement. Earp chose to read an account of events that almost certainly was prepared with the assistance of his attorney. Earp told the court that the October gunfight “originated” with the feud between the Earps and McLaury’s that had begun that spring when the Earps attempted to retrieve stolen mules from McLaury’s farm. According to Earp, the McLaury’s had been waiting for a chance to get even ever since, and he recounted several threats he received from McLaury as evidence. Wyatt forcefully denied any involvement with the stagecoach robbery and murder. Clanton’s accusation was “a tissue of lies from beginning to end.”

    Earp portrayed the October 26 shoot-out as the unfortunate result of Behan’s deceiving them into thinking that he had disarmed the Clantons and McLaurys. Only when he and the rest of his party came within close range of the men did they realize that McLaury and Clanton had six-shooters “in plain sight.” He testified that the shooting began when, in response to Virgil’s demand that they disarm, “Billy and Frank reached for their guns.” Earp claimed to have, along with Billy Clanton, fired one of the first two shots of the gunfight–his striking “the belly” of Frank McLaury who, Earp said, “had the reputation of being a good shot.” Tom McLaury, another victim of the shoot-out, might have been unarmed, Earp admitted, but nothing at the time “led me even to suspect his being unarmed.” In sum, Earp offered a compelling story of self-defense: lawmen enforcing the law (carrying guns violated a Tombstone ordinance) being forced to make the tough split-second decision to fire before it was too late to save themselves.

    Three days after Wyatt testified, his brother Virgil took the stand–or, more precisely, the court came to his bedside in the Cosmopolitan Hotel, where he lay recovering from his gunshot wound. In his somewhat disjointed testimony, Virgil recounted his futile efforts to calm down an irate Ike Clanton the night before the shoot-out. He testified that the following morning a man warned him that Clanton had threatened to “kill me on sight.” Another man named “Sills” told him he had overheard the Clantons and McLaurys talking, and one of them had said of the Earps: “We will kill them all!” Hearing that the Clantons and McLaurys had gathered at the O.K. Corral, he determined to let them be “as long as they stayed in the corral,” but disarm and arrest them “if they cam on the street.” When they moved out on to Fremont Street, Virgil said, his brothers and the Holliday, who he deputized, made their fateful march leading to the gunfight. Virgil insisted that Frank and Billy “drew their six-shooters and commenced to cock them” as soon as he gave them the order to disarm. Two shots, one from Billy Clanton and the other–most likely–from Wyatt, went off in quick succession and then the shooting became “general.”

    Other witnesses, including the H. F. Sills alluded to by Virgil Earp in his testimony, testified about overheard threats against the Earps. Ned Boyle reported that Ike Clanton told him on the morning of the shoot-out that “as soon as the Earps and Doc Holliday showed themselves on the street, the ball would open.” Rezin Campbell testified that he heard Ike warn Wyatt that “Fight is my racket, and all I want is four feet of ground.”

    Other witnesses further weakened the prosecution’s already eroding case. Winfield Williams testified that he heard Sheriff Johnny Behan, at Virgil’s house on the night after the gunfight, tell Earp, “You did perfectly right.” Hotel owner Albert Billicke told the court that shortly before the gunfight he saw Tom McLaury leave a butcher shop on Fremont Street with what could only be a gun protruding from his pants pocket. Annie Bourland, who witnessed the shoot-out, said that she did not see any of the Clantons or McLaurys throw up their hands in a gesture of surrender before the shooting commenced.

    Testimony in the hearing ended on November 29. After listening to thirty witnesses, it was time for Judge Spicer to make his decision.

    Decision and Aftermath

    Judge Spicer’s decision was a near total victory for the defense: there would be no criminal trial of the Earps or of Holliday. Although he considered Virgil’s decision to request the assistance of his brothers and Doc Holliday in disarming the Clantons and McLaurys “an injudicious and censurable act”, it failed to rise to the level of a criminal offense. “I can attach no criminality to his unwise act,” the judge announced. Spicer said that much of the blame for the gunfight must rest with Ike Clanton and the deceased men for failing to heed Sheriff Behan’s request that they give up their arms. For McLaury to insist that the Earps be disarmed before he is, Spicer said, “is a proposition both monstrous and startling.” Chief of Police Earp and his assistants had every “right and duty” to be armed when they approached “men whom they believed to be armed and contemplating resistance.” The “tragic results” of the Clantons and McLaurys actions were largely their own fault. “I cannot resist the conclusion that the defendants were fully justified in committing these homicides,” Spicer concluded. “There being no sufficient cause” to believe the defendants guilty of murder, “I order them to be released.”

    As might be expected in a town where an establishment camp and a rougher-edged crowd battled over everything, the reaction to Judge Spicer’s decision was divided. While the Tombstone Epitaph had nothing but praise for Spicer, the Tombstone Nugget called his decision contemptible. Angry elements of the Cowboy faction plotted revenge, and then carried it out. Two weeks after Spicer’s controversial decision, Pro-Earp Mayor John Clum leaped out of a stagecoach to escape bandits attempting to assassinate him. Two more weeks later, Virgil Earp was ambushed by several men–probably including Ike Clanton–as he walked home from a saloon at night. Two loads of buckshot left his arm virtually immobile for the rest of his life. (Clanton faced charges for the attempted murder, but the charges were dismissed for lack of evidence.) In March, 1882, a final act of revenge took the life of Morgan Earp. A bullet fired through the window of a pool hall struck Morgan in his abdomen and then passed through his spinal column. He lived for about another hour, telling his friends before he died only, “I have played my last game of pool.”

    The death of Morgan and the wounding of Virgil sent Wyatt Earp off on what would become known as his “Vendetta Ride.” Wyatt tracked down and mercilessly killed Frank Stilwell, one of the suspects in his brother’s slaying. With a murder warrant out for his arrest, Wyatt found in a Dragoon Mountains camp another suspect in Morgan’s shooting, “Indian Charlie,” and killed him as well. A third suspect, Curly Bill Brocius, also met his death at Wyatt’s hands, having been found by Earp with a group of Cowboys in a clearing near Iron Springs.

    Earp fled to New Mexico with a small group of his supporters, and from there traveled with Doc Holliday to Colorado. Arizona officials requested that Earp and Holliday be extradited to their state to face charges, but Colorado Governor Frederick Pitkin denied the request.

    Within a few years, silver production in Tombstone mines dropped sharply, and the boomtown lost its boom. It seemed headed toward ghost town status, but continuing interest in the famous shoot-out of 1881 brought in enough tourists to keep the old town alive.

    Wyatt Earp married Josephine Marcus in 1887. The two would adventure widely together for many decades,nike sb from San Francisco to Idaho to El Paso to Alaska. Earp refereed heavyweight boxing matches, mined for gold, sold real estate, raised race horses, and ran saloons and gambling halls. Earp died in January 1929 at age eighty

rights convention in Syracuse

Sunday, January 31st, 2010

“Susan B. Anthony is not on trial; the United States is on trial.”–Matilda Joslyn Gage     More than any other woman of her generation, Susan B. Anthony saw that all of the legal disabilities faced by American nike dunks women owed their existence to the simple fact that women lacked the vote.  When Anthony, at age 32, attended her first woman’s rights convention in Syracuse in 1852, she declared “that the right which woman needed above every other, the one indeed which would secure to her all the others, was the right of suffrage.”  Anthony spent the next fifty-plus years of her life fighting for the right to vote. She would work tirelessly: giving speeches, petitioning Congress and state legislatures, publishing a feminist newspaper–all for a cause that would not succeed until the ratification of the Nineteenth Amendment fourteen years after her death in 1906.

    She would, however, once have the satisfaction of seeing her completed ballot drop through the opening of a ballot box.  It happened in Rochester, New York on November 5, 1872, and the event–and the trial for illegal voting that followed–would create an opportunity for Anthony to spread her arguments for women suffrage to a wider audience than ever before.

    The Vote

    Anthony had been planning to vote long before 1872.  She would later state that “I have been resolved for three years to vote at the first election when I had been home for thirty days before.” (New York law required legal voters to reside for the thirty days prior to the election in the district where they offered their vote.)  Anthony had taken the position–and argued it wherever she could–that the recently adopted Fourteenth Amendment gave women the constitutional right to vote in federal elections. The Amendment said that “all persons born and naturalized in the United States…are citizens of the United States,” and as citizens were entitled to the “privileges” of citizens of the United States.  To Anthony’s way of thinking, those privileges certainly included the right to vote.

    On November 1, 1872, Anthony and her three sisters entered a voter registration office set up in a barbershop.  The four Anthony women were part of a group of fifty women Anthony had organized to register in her home town of Rochester.  As they entered the barbershop, the women saw stationed in the office three young men serving as registrars.  Anthony walked directly to the election inspectors and, as one of the inspectors would later testify, “demanded that we register them as voters.”

    The election inspectors refused Anthony’s request, but she persisted, quoting the Fourteenth Amendment’s citizenship provision and the article from the New York Constitution pertaining to voting, which contained no sex qualification.  The registers remained unmoved.  Finally, according to one published account, Anthony gave the men an argument that she thought might catch their attention: “If you refuse us our rights as citizens, I will bring charges against you in Criminal Court and I will sue each of you personally for large, exemplary damages!” She added, “I know I can win.  I have Judge Selden as a lawyer. There is any amount of money to back me, and if I have to, I will push to the ‘last ditch’ in both courts.”

    The stunned inspectors discussed the situation.  They sought the advice of the Supervisor of elections, Daniel Warner, who, according to thirty-three-year-old election inspector E. T. Marsh, suggested that they allow the women to take the oath of registry.  “Young men,” Marsh quoted Warner as saying, “do you know the penalty of law if you refuse to register these names?” Registering the women, the registrars were advised, “would put the entire onus of the affair on them.”  Following Warner’s advice, the three inspectors voted to allow Anthony and her three sisters were registered to vote in Rochester’s eighth ward.  Testifying later about the registration process, Anthony remembered “it was a full hour” of debate “between the supervisors, the inspectors, and myself.” In all, fourteen Rochester women successfully registered that day, leading to calls in one city paper for the arrest of the voting inspectors who complied with the women’s demand.  The Rochester Union and Advertiser editorialized in its November 4 edition: “Citizenship no more carries the right to vote that it carries the power to fly to the moon…If these women in the Eighth Ward offer to vote, they should be challenged, and if they take the oaths and the Inspectors receive and deposit their ballots, they should all be prosecuted to the full extent of the law.”

    Soon after the polls opened at the West End News Depot on Election Day, November 5, Anthony and seven or eight other women cast their ballots.  Inspectors voted two to one to accept Anthony’s vote, and her folded ballot was deposited in a ballot box by one of the inspectors. Inspector E. T. Marsh testified later as to feeling caught between a rock and a hard place: “Decide which way we might, we were liable to prosecution. We were expected…to make an infallible decision, inside of two days, of a question in which some of the best minds of the country are divided.” Seven or eight more women of Rochester successfully voted in the afternoon.  Anthony’s vote went to U. S. Grant and other Republicans, based on that party’s promise to give the demands of women a respectful hearing.  Later that day, Anthony would write of her accomplishment to her close friend and fellow suffragist, Elizabeth Cady Stanton:

    Dear Mrs Stanton

    Well I have been & gone & done it!!–positively voted the Republican ticket–strait this a.m. at 7 Oclock–& swore my vote in at that–was registered on Friday….then on Sunday others some 20 or thirty other women tried to register, but all save two were refused….Amy Post was rejected & she will immediately bring action for that….& Hon Henry R. Selden will be our Counsel–he has read up the law & all of our arguments & is satisfied that we our right & ditto the Old Judge Selden–his elder brother.  So we are in for a fine agitation in Rochester on the question–I hope the morning’s telegrams will tell of many women all over the country trying to vote–It is splendid that without any concert of action so many should have moved here so impromptu–

    The Democratic paper is out against us strong & that scared the Dem’s on the registry board–How I wish you were here to write up the funny things said & done….When the Democrat said my vote should not go in the box–one Republican said to the other–What do you say Marsh?–I say put it in!–So do I said Jones–and “we’ll fight it out on this line if it takes all winter”….If only now–all the women suffrage women would work to this end of enforcing the existing constitution–supremacy of national law over state law–what strides we might make this winter–But I’m awful tired–for five days I have been on the constant run–but to splendid purpose–So all right–I hope you voted too.

    Affectionately,

    Susan B. Anthony

    Arrest and Indictment

    The votes of Susan Anthony and other Rochester women was a major topic of conversation in the days that followed.  In a November 11 letter to Sarah Huntington, Anthony wrote: “Our papers are discussing pro & con everyday.”  Anthony occupied much of her time meeting with lawyers to discuss a planned lawsuit by some of the women whose efforts to register or vote were rejected.

    Meanwhile, a Rochester salt manufacturer and Democratic poll watcher named Sylvester Lewis filed a complaint charging Anthony with casting an illegal vote.  Lewis had challenged both Anthony’s registration and her subsequent vote.  United States Commissioner William C. Storrs acted upon Lewis’s complaint by issuing a warrant for Anthony’s arrest on November 14.  The warrant charged Anthony with voting in a federal election “without having a lawful right to vote and in violation of section 19 of an act of Congress” enacted in 1870, commonly called The Enforcement Act.  The Enforcement Act carried a maximum penalty of $500 or three years imprisonment.

    The actual arrest of Anthony was delayed for four days to allow time for Storrs to discuss the possible prosecution with the U. S. Attorney for the Northern District of New York.  On November 18, a United States deputy marshal showed up at the Anthony home on Madison Street in Rochester, where he was greeted by one of Susan’s sisters.  At the request of the deputy, Anthony’s sister summoned Susan to the parlor.  Susan Anthony had been expecting her visitor.  As Anthony would later tell audiences, she had previously received word from Commissioner Storrs “to call at his office.”  Anthony’s response was characteristically plainspoken: “I sent word to him that I had no social acquaintance with him and didn’t wish to call on him.”

    At the May meeting of the National Women’s Suffrage Association, Anthony described what happened when the deputy marshal, “a young man in beaver hat and kid gloves (paid for by taxes gathered from women),” came to see her:

    He sat down.  He said it was pleasant weather.  He hemmed and hawed and finally said Mr. Storrs wanted to see me….”what for?” I asked.  “To arrest you.” said he.  “Is that the way you arrest men?” “No.”  Then I demanded that I should be arrested properly.  [According to another account, Anthony at this point held out her wrists and demanded to be handcuffed.] My sister desiring to go with me he proposed that he should go ahead and I follow with her.  This I refused, and he had to go with me.  In the [horse-drawn] car he took out his pocketbook to pay fare.  I asked if he did that in his official capacity.  He said yes; he was obliged to pay the fare of any criminal he arrested.  Well, that was the first cents worth I ever had from Uncle Sam.

    Anthony was escorted to the office of Commissioner Storrs, described by Anthony as “the same dingy little room where, in the olden days, fugitive slaves were examined and returned to their masters.”  Upon arriving, Anthony was surprised to learn that among those arrested for their activities on November 5 were not only the fourteen other women voters, but also the ballot inspectors who had authorized their votes.

    Anthony’s lawyers refused to enter a plea at the time of her arrest, and Storrs scheduled a preliminary examination for November 29.  At the hearing on the 29th, complainant Sylvestor Lewis and Eighth Ward Inspectors appeared as the chief witnesses against Anthony.  Anthony was questioned at the hearing by one of her lawyers, John Van Voorhis.  Van Voorhis tried to establish through his questions that Anthony believed that she had a legal right to vote and therefore had not violated the 1870 Enforcement Act, which prohibited only willful and knowing illegal votes.  Anthony testified that she had sought legal advice from Judge Henry R. Selden prior to casting her vote, but that Selden said “he had not studied the question.”  Van Voorhis asked: “Did you have any doubt yourself of your right to vote?”  Anthony replied, “Not a particle.”  Storrs adjourned the case to December 23.

    After listening to legal arguments in December, Commissioner Storrs concluded that Anthony probably violated the law.  When Anthony–alone among those charged with Election Day offenses–refused bail, Storrs ordered her held in the custody of a deputy marshal until the grand jury had a chance to meet in January and consider issuing an indictment.  Anthony saw the commissioner’s decision as a ticket to Supreme Court review, and began making plans with her lawyers to file a petition for a writ of habeas corpus.  In a December 26 letter, Anthony wrote confidently, “We shall be rescued from the Marshall hands on a Writ of Habeas Corpus–& case carried to the Supreme Court of the U. S.–the speediest process of getting there.”  Already letters were coming in with contributions to her “Defense Fund.”  She was anxious to put the money to use.

    By early January, Anthony was already trying to make political hay out of her arrest.  She sent off “hundreds of papers” concerning her arrest to suffragist friends and politicians.  She still, however, found her situation difficult to comprehend: “I never dreamed of the U. S. officers prosecuting me for voting–thought only that if I was refused I should bring action against the inspectors– But “Uncle Sam” waxes wroth with holy indignation at such violation of his laws!!”

    Anthony’s attorney, Henry Selden asked a U. S. District Judge in Albany, Nathan Hall, to issue a writ of habeas corpus ordering the release of Anthony from the marshal’s custody. Hall denied Selden’s request and said he would “allow defendant to go to the Supreme Court of the United States.”  The judge then raised Anthony’s bail from $500 to $1000. Anthony again refused to pay.  Selden, however, decided to pay Anthony’s bail with money from his own bank account.  In the courtroom hallway following the hearing Anthony’s other lawyer, John Van Voorhis, told Anthony that Selden’s decision to pay her bail meant “you’ve lost your chance to get your case before the Supreme Court.”  Shaken by the news, Anthony confronted her lawyer, demanding that he explain why he paid her bail.  “I could not see a lady I respected put in jail,” Selden answered.

    A disappointed Anthony still had a trial to face.  On January 24, 1873, a grand jury of twenty men returned an indictment against Anthony charging her with “knowingly, wrongfully, and unlawfully” voting for a member of Congress “without having a lawful right to vote,….the said Susan B. Anthony being then and there a person of the female sex.”  The trial was set for May.

    On the Stump

    Anthony saw the four months until her trial as an opportunity to educate the citizens of Rochester and surrounding counties on the issue of women suffrage.  She took to the stump, speaking in town after town on the topic, “Is it a Crime for a Citizen of the United States to Vote?”

    By mid-May, Anthony’s exhausting lecture tour had taken her to every one of the twenty-nine post-office districts in Monroe County.  To many in her audience, Anthony was the picture of “sophisticated refinement and sincerity.”  The fifty-two-year-old suffragist delivered her earnest speeches dressed in a gray silk dress a white lace collar.  Her smoothed hair was twisted neatly into a tight knot.  She would look at her audience, ranging from a few dozen to over a hundred persons, and begin:

    Friends and Fellow-citizens: I stand before you to-night, under indictment for the alleged crime of having voted at the last Presidential election, without having a lawful right to vote. It shall be my work this evening to prove to you that in thus voting, I not only committed no crime, but, instead, simply exercised my citizen’s right, guaranteed to me and all United States citizens by the National Constitution, beyond the power of any State to deny.

    In her address, Anthony quoted the Declaration of Independence, the U. S. Constitution, the New York Constitution, James Madison, Thomas Paine, the Supreme Court, and several of the leading Radical Republican senators of the day to support her contention that women had a legal right as citizens to vote.  She argued that natural law, as well as a proper interpretation of the Civil War Amendments, gave women the power to vote, as in this passage suggesting that women, having been in a state of servitude, were enfranchised by the recently enacted Fifteenth Amendment extending the vote to ex-slaves:

    And yet one more authority; that of Thomas Paine, than whom not one of the Revolutionary patriots more ably vindicated the principles upon which our government is founded:

    “The right of voting for representatives is the primary right by which other rights are protected. To take away this right is to reduce man to a state of slavery; for slavery consists in being subject to the will of another; and he that has not a vote in the election of representatives is in this case….”

    Is anything further needed to prove woman’s condition of servitude sufficiently orthodox to entitle her to the guaranties of the fifteenth amendment? Is there a man who will not agree with me, that to talk of freedom without the ballot, is mockery–is slavery–to the women of this Republic, precisely as New England’s orator Wendell Phillips, at the close of the late war, declared it to be to the newly emancipated black men?

    Anthony ended her hour-long lectures nike sb dunks by frankly attempting to influence potential jurors to vindicate her in her upcoming trial:

    We appeal to the women everywhere to exercise their too long neglected “citizen’s right to vote.” We appeal to the inspectors of elections everywhere to receive the votes of all United States citizens as it is their duty to do. We appeal to United States commissioners and marshals to arrest the inspectors who reject the names and votes of United States citizens, as it is their duty to do, and leave those alone who, like our eighth ward inspectors, perform their duties faithfully and well.

    We ask the juries to fail to return verdicts of “guilty” against honest, law-abiding, tax-paying United States citizens for offering their votes at our elections. Or against intelligent, worthy young men, inspectors of elections, for receiving and counting such citizens votes.

    We ask the judges to render true and unprejudiced opinions of the law, and wherever there is room for a doubt to give its benefit on the side of liberty and equal rights to women, remembering that “the true rule of interpretation under our national constitution, especially since its amendments, is that anything for human rights is constitutional, everything against human right unconstitutional.”

    And it is on this line that we propose to fight our battle for the ballot-all peaceably, but nevertheless persistently through to complete triumph, when all United States citizens shall be recognized as equals before the law.

    Anthony’s lecture tour plainly worried her prosecutor, U. S. Attorney Richard Crowley. In a letter to Senator Benjamin F. Butler, Anthony wrote, “I have just closed a canvass of this county–from which my jurors are to be drawn–and I rather guess the U. S. District Attorney–who is very bitter–will hardly find twelve men so ignorant on the citizen’s rights–as to agree on a verdict of Guilty.”  In May, however, Crowley convinced Judge Ward Hunt (the recently appointed justice of the U. S. Supreme Court who would hear Anthony’s case) that Anthony had prejudiced potential jurors, and Hunt agreed to move the trial out of Monroe County to Canandaigua in Ontario County.  Hunt set a new opening date for the trial of June 17.

    Anthony responded to the judge’s move by immediately launching a lecture tour in Ontario County.  Anthony spoke for twenty-one days in a row, finally concluding her tour in Canandaigua, the county seat, on the night before the opening of her trial.

    The Trial

    Going into the June trial, Anthony and her lawyers were somewhat less optimistic about the outcome than they had been a few months before.  In April, the U. S. Supreme Court handed down its first two major interpretations of the recently enacted Civil War Amendments, rejected the claimed violations in both cases and construing key provisions narrowly.  Of special concern to Anthony was the Court’s decision in Bradwell vs. Illinois, where the Court had narrowly interpreted the Fourteenth Amendment’s equal protection clause to uphold a state law that prohibited women from becoming lawyers.  In an April 27 letter, Anthony anxiously sought out Benjamin Butler’s views of the decision, noting that “The whole Democratic press is jubilant over this infamous interpretation of the amendments.”

    Even without the Supreme Court’s narrow interpretation of the amendments, many observers expressed skepticism about the strength of Anthony’s case.  An editorial in the New York Times concluded:

    “Miss Anthony is not in the remotest degree likely to gain her case, nor if it were ever so desirable that women should vote, would hers be a good case.  When so important a change in our Constitution as she proposes is made, it will be done openly and unmistakably, and not left to the subtle interpretation of a clause adopted for a wholly different purpose.”

    In a lengthy response to the Times editorial, Elizabeth Cady Stanton quoted Judge Selden as confidently telling Anthony, “there is law enough not only to protect you in the exercise of your right to vote, but to enfranchise every woman in the land.”

    On June 17, 1873, Anthony, wearing a new bonnet faced with blue silk and draped with a veil, walked up the steps of the Canandaigua courthouse on the opening day of her trial.  The second-floor courtroom was filled to capacity.  The spectators included a former president, Millard Fillmore, who had traveled over from Buffalo, where he practiced law.  Judge Ward Hunt sat behind the bench, looking stolid in his black broadcloth and neck wound in a white neckcloth.  Anthony described Hunt as “a small-brained, pale-faced, prim-looking man, enveloped in a faultless black suit and a snowy white tie.”

    Richard Crowley made the opening statement for the prosecution:

    We think, on the part of the Government, that there is no question about it either one way or the other, neither a question of fact, nor a question of law, and that whatever Miss Anthony’s intentions may have been-whether they were good or otherwise-she did not have a right to vote upon that question, and if she did vote without having a lawful right to vote, then there is no question but what she is guilty of violating a law of the United States in that behalf enacted by the Congress of the United States.

    The prosecution’s chief witness was Beverly W. Jones, a twenty-five-year-old inspector of elections.   Jones testified that he witnessed Anthony cast a ballot on November 5 in Rochester’s Eighth Ward.  Jones added he accepted Anthony’s completed ballot and placed it a ballot box.  On cross-examination, Selden asked Jones if he had also been present when Anthony registered four days earlier, and whether objections to Anthony’s registration had not been considered and rejected at that time.  Jones agreed that was the case, and that Anthony’s name had been added to the voting rolls.

    The main factual argument that the defense hoped to present was that Anthony reasonably believed that she was entitled to vote, and therefore could not be guilty of the crime of “knowingly” casting an illegal vote.  To support this argument, Henry Selden called himself as a witness to testify:

    Before the last election, Miss Anthony called upon me for advice, upon the question whether she was or was not a legal voter. I examined the question, and gave her my opinion, unhesitatingly, that the laws and Constitution of the United States, authorized her to vote, as well as they authorize any man to vote.

    Selden then called Anthony as a witness, so she might testify as to her vote and her state of mind on Election Day.  District Attorney Crowley objected: “She is not a competent as a witness on her own behalf.”  Judge Hunt sustained the objection, barring Anthony from taking the stand.  The defense rested.

    The prosecution called to the stand John Pound, an Assistant United States Attorney who had attended a January examination in which Anthony testified about her registration and vote.  Pound testified that Anthony testified at that time that she did not consult Selden until after registering to vote.  Selden, after conferring with Anthony, agreed that their meeting took place immediately after her registration, rather than before as his own testimony had suggested.  On cross-examination, Pound admitted that Anthony had testified at her examination that she had “not a particle” of doubt about her right as a citizen to vote.  With Pound’s dismissal from the stand, the evidence closed and the legal arguments began.

    Selden opened his three-hour-long argument for Anthony by stressing that she was prosecuted purely on account of her gender:

    If the same act had been done by her brother under the same circumstances, the act would have been not only innocent, but honorable and laudable; but having been done by a woman it is said to be a crime. The crime therefore consists not in the act done, but in the simple fact that the person doing it was a woman and not a man, I believe this is the first instance in which a woman has been arraigned in a criminal court, merely on account of her sex….

    Selden stressed that the vote was essential to women receiving fair treatment from legislatures: “Much has been done, but much more remains to be done by women. If they had possessed the elective franchise, the reforms which have cost them a quarter of a century of labor would have been accomplished in a year.”

    Central to Selden’s argument that Anthony cast a legal vote was the recently enacted Fourteenth Amendment:

    It will be seen, therefore, that the whole subject, as to what should constitute the “privileges and immunities” of the citizen being left to the States, no question, such as we now present, could have arisen under the original constitution of the United States. But now, by the fourteenth amendment, the United States have not only declared what constitutes citizenship, both in the United States and in the several States, securing the rights of citizens to “all persons born or naturalized in the United States;” but have absolutely prohibited the States from making or enforcing ” any law which shall abridge the privileges or immunities of citizens of the United States.”  By virtue of this provision, I insist that the act of Miss Anthony in voting was lawful.

    Finally, Selden insisted that even if the Fourteenth Amendment did not make Anthony’s vote legal, she could not be prosecuted because she acted in the good faith belief that her vote was legal:

    Miss Anthony believed, and was advised that she had a right to vote. She may also have been advised, as was clearly the fact, that the question as to her right could not be brought before the courts for trial, without her voting or offering to vote, and if either was criminal, the one was as much so as the other. Therefore she stands now arraigned as a criminal, for taking the only steps by which it was possible to bring the great constitutional question as to her right, before the tribunals of the country for adjudication. If for thus acting, in the most perfect good faith, with motives as pure and impulses as noble as any which can find place in your honor’s breast in the administration of justice, she is by the laws of her country to be condemned as a criminal, she must abide the consequences. Her condemnation, however, under such circumstances, would only add another most weighty reason to those which I have already advanced, to show that women need the aid of the ballot for their protection.

    After District Attorney Crowley offered his two-hour response for the prosecution, Judge Hunt drew from his pocket a paper and began reading an opinion that he had apparently prepared before the trial started.  Hunt declared, “The Fourteenth Amendment gives no right to a woman to vote, and the voting by Miss Anthony was in violation of the law.”  The judge rejected Anthony’s argument that her good faith precluded a finding that she “knowingly” cast an illegal vote: “Assuming that Miss Anthony believed she had a right to vote, that fact constitutes no defense if in truth she had not the right. She voluntarily gave a vote which was illegal, and thus is subject to the penalty of the law.”  Hunt that surprised Anthony and her attorney by directing a verdict of guilty: “Upon this evidence I suppose there is no question for the jury and that the jury should be directed to find a verdict of guilty.”

    In her diary that night Anthony would angrily describe the trial as “the greatest judicial outrage history has ever recorded! We were convicted before we had a hearing and the trial was a mere farce.”  During the entire trial, as Henry Selden pointed out,  “No juror spoke a word during the trial, from the time they were impaneled to the time they were discharged.”  Had the jurors had an opportunity to speak, there is reason to believe that Anthony would not have been convicted.  A newspaper quoted one juror as saying, “Could I have spoken, I should have answered ‘not guilty,’ and the men in the jury box would have sustained me.”

    Sentencing

    The next day Selden argued for a new trial on the ground that Anthony’s constitutional right to a trial by jury had been violated.  Judge Hunt promptly denied the motion.  Then, before sentencing, Hunt asked, “Has the prisoner anything to say why sentence shall not be pronounced?”  The exchange that followed stunned the crowd in the Canandaigua courthouse:

    “Yes, your honor, I have many things to say; for in your ordered verdict of guilty, you have trampled under foot every vital principle of our government. My natural rights, my civil rights, my political rights, my judicial rights, are all alike ignored. Robbed of the fundamental privilege of citizenship, I am degraded from the status of a citizen to that of a subject; and not only myself individually, but all of my sex, are, by your honor’s verdict, doomed to political subjection under this, so-called, form of government.”

    Judge Hunt interrupted, “The Court cannot listen to a rehearsal of arguments the prisoner’s counsel has already consumed three hours in presenting.”

    But Anthony would not be deterred.  She continued, “May it please your honor, I am not arguing the question, but simply stating the reasons why sentence cannot, in justice, be pronounced against me. Your denial of my citizen’s right to vote, is the denial of my right of consent as one of the governed, the denial of my right of representation as one of the taxed, the denial of my right to a trial by a jury of my peers as an offender against law, therefore, the denial of my sacred rights to life, liberty, property and-”

    “The Court cannot allow the prisoner to go on.”

    “But your honor will not deny me this one and only poor privilege of protest against this high-handed outrage upon my citizen’s rights. May it please the Court to remember that since the day of my arrest last November, this is the first time that either myself or any person of my disfranchised class has been allowed a word of defense before judge or jury-”

    “The prisoner must sit down-the Court cannot allow it.”

    “All of my prosecutors, from the eighth ward corner grocery politician, who entered the compliant, to the United States Marshal, Commissioner, District Attorney, District Judge, your honor on the bench, not one is my peer, but each and all are my political sovereigns; and had your honor submitted my case to the jury, as was clearly your duty, even then I should have had just cause of protest, for not one of those men was my peer; but, native or foreign born, white or black, rich or poor, educated or ignorant, awake or asleep, sober or drunk, each and every man of them was my political superior; hence, in no sense, my peer. Even, under such circumstances, a commoner of England, tried before a jury of Lords, would have far less cause to complain than should I, a woman, tried before a jury of men. Even my counsel, the Hon. Henry R. Selden, who has argued my cause so ably, so earnestly, so unanswerably before your honor, is my political sovereign. Precisely as no disfranchised person is entitled to sit upon a jury, and no woman is entitled to the franchise, so, none but a regularly admitted lawyer is allowed to practice in the courts, and no woman can gain admission to the bar-hence, jury, judge, counsel, must all be of the superior class.

    “The Court must insist-the prisoner has been tried according to the established forms of law.”

    “Yes, your honor, but by forms of law all made by men, interpreted by men, administered by men, in favor of men, and against women; and hence, your honor’s ordered verdict of guilty; against a United States citizen for the exercise of “that citizen’s right to vote,” simply because that citizen was a woman and not a man. But, yesterday, the same man made forms of law, declared it a crime punishable with $1,000 fine and six months imprisonment, for you, or me, or you of us, to give a cup of cold water, a crust of bread, or a night’s shelter to a panting fugitive as he was tracking his way to Canada. And every man or woman in whose veins coursed a drop of human sympathy violated that wicked law, reckless of consequences, and was justified in so doing. As then, the slaves who got their freedom must take it over, or under, or through the unjust forms of law, precisely so, now, must women, to get their right to a voice in this government, take it; and I have taken mine, and mean to take it at every possible opportunity.”

    “The Court orders the prisoner to sit down. It will not allow another word.”

    “When I was brought before your honor for trial, I hoped for a broad and liberal interpretation of the Constitution and its recent amendments, that should declare…equality of rights the national guarantee to all persons born or naturalized in the United States. But failing to get this justice-failing, even, to get a trial by a jury not of my peers-I ask not leniency at your hands-but rather the full rigors of the law–”

    “The Court must insist-”

    Finally, Anthony sat down, only to be immediately ordered by Judge Hunt to rise again.  Hunt pronounced sentence: “The sentence of the Court is that you pay a fine of one hundred dollars and the costs of the prosecution.”

    Anthony protested. “May it please your honor, I shall never pay a dollar of your unjust penalty. All the stock in trade I possess is a $10,000 debt, incurred by publishing my paper- The Revolution -four years ago, the sole object of which was to educate all women to do precisely as I have done, rebel against your manmade, unjust, unconstitutional forms of law, that tax, fine, imprison and hang women, while they deny them the right of representation in the government; and I shall work on with might and main to pay every dollar of that honest debt, but not a penny shall go to this unjust claim. And I shall earnestly and persistently continue to urge all women to the practical recognition of the old revolutionary maxim, that “Resistance to tyranny is obedience to God.”

    Judge Hunt, in a move calculated to preclude any appeal to a higher court, ended the trial by announcing, “Madam, the Court will not order you committed until the fine is paid.”

    Epilogue

    True to her word, Anthony never paid a penny of her fine.  Her petition to Congress to remit the fine was never acted upon, but no serious effort was ever made by the government to collect.

    Anthony tried to turn her trial and conviction into political gains for the women suffrage movement.  She ordered 3,000 copies of the trial proceedings printed and distributed them to political activists, politicians, and libraries.  In the eyes of some, the trial had elevated Anthony to the status of the martyr, while for others the effect may have been to diminish her status to that of a common criminal.  Many in the press, however, saw Anthony as the ultimate victor.  One New York paper observed, “If it is a mere question of who got the best of it, Miss Anthony is still ahead.  She has voted and the American constitution has sb dunks survived the shock.  Fining her one hundred dollars does not rule out the fact that…women voted, and went home, and the world jogged on as before.”

removing a president

Sunday, January 31st, 2010

 In May, 1868, the Senate came within a single vote of taking the unprecedented step of removing a president from nike air force office. Although the impeachment trial of Andrew Johnson was ostensibly about a violation of the Tenure of Office Act, it was about much more than that. Also on trial in 1868 were Johnson’s lenient policies towards Reconstruction and his vetoes of the Freedmen’s Bureau Act and the Civil Rights Act. The trial was, above all else, a political trial.

    Andrew Johnson was a lifelong Democrat and slave owner who won a place alongside Abraham Lincoln on the 1864 Republican ticket in order to gain the support of pro-war Democrats. Johnson was fiercely pro-Union and had come to national prominence when, as a Senator from the important border state of Tennessee, he denounced secession as “treason.”

    On April 11, 1865, Abraham Lincoln gave his last major address. Lincoln congratulated Lee on his surrender, announced that his cabinet was united on a policy of reconstructing the Union, and expressed the hope that the states of the confederacy would extend the vote to literate negroes and those who served as Union soldiers. Then came the tragic events at the Ford Theater.

    When Andrew Johnson became president after the assassination of Abraham Lincoln, some of the Republicans in Congress most opposed to what they saw as the too-lenient policies of Lincoln toward reconstruction saw Johnson’s ascension as a hopeful sign. One of the radical Republicans of the Senate, Benjamin Wade, expressed his support: “Johnson, we have faith in you. By the gods, there will be no more trouble in running the government.” Less than three years later, Wade would cast a vote to convict Johnson in the impeachment trial that nearly made him the next president of the United States.

    There were two contending theories in post-war Washington concerning reconstruction. One theory argued that the states of the United States are indestructible by the acts of their own people and state sovereignty cannot be forfeited to the national government. Under this theory, the only task for the federal government was to suppress the insurrection, replace its leaders, and provide an opportunity for free government to re-emerge. Rehabilitation of the state was a job for the state itself. The other theory of reconstruction argued that the Civil War was a struggle between two governments, and that the southern territory was conquered land, without internal borders– much less places with a right to statehood. Under this theory, the federal government might rule this territory as it pleases, admitting places as states under whatever rules it might prescribe.

    Andrew Johnson was a proponent of the first, more lenient theory, while the radical Republicans who would so nearly remove him from office were advocates of the second theory. The most radical of the radical Republicans, men like Thaddeus Stevens and Charles Sumner, believed also in the full political equality of the freed slaves. They believed that black men must be given equal rights to vote, hold office, own land, and enter into contracts, and until southern states made such promises in their laws they had no right to claim membership in the Union. (Republicans also had more practical reasons to worry about Johnson’s lenient reconstruction policy: the congressmen elected by white southerners were certain to be overwhelmingly Democrats, reducing if not eliminating the Republican majorities in both houses.)

    The first serious conflict over the course of reconstruction concerned the plan drafted by the Johnson Administration for North Carolina. The plan called for residents to elect delegates to a state convention that would frame a new state constitution. The cabinet split 4 to 3 in favor of allowing black residents to vote, but Johnson sided with those who would restrict voters to those qualified to vote under state law at the time of North Carolina’s secession– whites only. Secretary of War Edwin Stanton reported that “the opposition of the President to throwing the franchise open to the colored people appeared to be fixed.”

    In January, 1866, Senator Lyman Trumbull introduced two bills. One would enlarge the powers of the Freedmen’s Bureau while the other would extend basic civil rights to negro citizens. Andrew Johnson surprised many who believed he would postpone confrontation with the radical Republicans by vetoing both bills. Congress was unable to override the Freedmen’s Bureau veto, but succeeded in overriding the Civil Rights Act veto on a Senate vote of 33 to 15. Except for veto overrides on two minor pieces of legislation, one in the Pierce and one in the Tyler administrations, it was the first successful override in the nation’s history and portended serious trouble for the President and his reconstruction policies. By February of 1866, the radicals viewed Johnson as “an outlaw undeserving of quarter.”

    A summer massacre in New Orleans further fueled the growing animosity between Johnson and the Republican Congress. A mob, including members of the Louisiana police, fired upon whites and blacks gathering for a Republican-backed convention that would frame a new state government. Forty were killed and over one hundred wounded. Only after the killing was over did U. S. troops arrive to place the city under martial law. Republicans angrily denounced Johnson for not anticipating trouble and protecting convention delegates and supporters. Impeachment talk began to swirl around Washington. Complaints against Johnson included his public drunkenness, generous use of the pardon power, and even suggestions that he was a principal in the Lincoln assassination plot.

    Johnson, for his part, answered denunciation with denunciation. In a series of combative speeches in cities such as Cleveland and St. Louis, the President lashed out at his congressional critics as “traitors.” He accused ultra-radicals Thaddeus Stevens, Wendell Phillips, and Charles Sumner of comparing themselves to “the Savior.” Johnson’s intemperate speeches would later become the basis for articles of impeachment.

    In the spring of 1867, the new Congress passed over Johnson’s veto a second Freedmen’s Bureau bill and proposed to the states a Fourteenth Amendment to the U. S. Constitution. (The Fourteenth Amendment is best known today for its requirement that states guarantee equal protection and due process of law, but the most controversial provisions of the time concerned the conditions precedent that imposed on states for readmission to the Union.) Johnson announced his opposition to the Fourteenth Amendment and campaigned for its defeat. The Reconstruction Act of 1867, also passed over a presidential veto, wiped out the “pretended state governments” of the ten excluded states and divided them into five military districts, each commanded by an officer of the army. To escape military rule, states were required to assent to the Fourteenth Amendment, frame a new constitution with delegates chosen without regard to color, and submit the new constitution to the Congress for examination. Johnson’s message vetoing the Reconstruction Act was angry and accusatory, calling the act “a bill of attainder against nine millions people at once” and suggesting that it reduced southerners to “the most abject and degrading slavery.” Impeachment efforts in the House intensified, but the doubtfulness of conviction in the Senate, due in part to the knowledge that removal of Johnson would elevate to the presidency the less than universally popular Ben Wade, President Pro Tempore of the Senate, convinced many in the House to hold their fire. Representative Blaine spoke for a number of conservative Republicans when he said he “would rather have the President than the shallywags of Ben Wade.”

    The issue that finally turned the tide in favor of impeachment concerned Johnson’s alleged violation of the Tenure of Office Act. The Tenure of Office Act, passed in 1867 over yet another presidential veto, prohibited the President from removing from office, without the concurrence of the Senate, those officials whose appointment required Senate approval. The Act was passed primarily to preserve in office as Secretary of War Edwin Stanton, a holdover from the Lincoln Administration, whom the radical Republicans regarded “as their trusty outpost in the camp of the enemy.” Although Stanton for many months largely acquiesced in Johnson’s reconstruction policies, by June of 1867, his opposition was out in the open. By July, Johnson was close to convinced that Stanton must go, Tenure of Office Act or no Tenure of Office Act. The final straw appears to have been the revelation on August 5, 1867, during an ongoing trial of Lincoln assassination conspirator John Surratt that Stanton two years earlier had deliberately air force 1 shoes withheld from Johnson a petition from five members of the military commission that convicted Mary Surratt urging that her death sentence be commuted to imprisonment. Stanton, Johnson believed, had hood-winked him into signing the death warrant of a woman who he most likely would have spared. That day Johnson sent Secretary Stanton the following message: “Sir: Public consideration of high character constrain me to say that your resignation as Secretary of War will be accepted.” Stanton answered “that public considerations of a high character…constrain me not to resign.” The Tenure of Office Act allowed the President to “suspend” an officer when the Congress was out of session, as it was at the time, so the President responded by suspending Stanton and replacing him with war hero Ulysses S. Grant.

    In January of 1868 the returning Senate took up the issue of Johnson’s suspension of Secretary Stanton, and voted 35 to 6 not to concur in the action. On January 14, a triumphant Stanton marched to his old office in the War Building as the President considered his next move.  Johnson was anxious to challenge the constitutionality of the Tenure of Office Act in court, but to do so he would have to replace Stanton and defy the Senate. This he did on February 21, 1868, naming as the new Secretary of War Major General Lorenzo Thomas. When Stanton notified his Capitol Hill allies of the presidential order to vacate his office, he received from Senator Sumner a one-word telegram: “Stick.” Impeachment in the House for violation of the Tenure of Office Act and other “high crimes and misdemeanors” was by now inevitable. On February 24, the House voted to adopt an Impeachment Resolution by a vote of 126 to 47. Five days later, formal articles of impeachment were adopted by the House.

    On March 30, 1868, Benjamin Butler rose before Chief Justice Salmon Chase and fifty-four senators to deliver the opening argument for the House Managers in the impeachment trial of Salmon Chase. Historians such as David Dewitt have been struck by the improbability of the scene: “The ponderous two-handed engine of impeachment, designed to be kept in cryptic darkness until some crisis of the nation’s life cried out for interposition, was being dragged into open day to crush a formidable political antagonist a few months before the appointed time when the people might get rid of him altogether.” Butler’s three-hour opening argument was “a lawyer’s plea with a dash of the demagogue.” He contemptuously dismissed arguments that the Tenure of Office Act didn’t cover Stanton, read parts of Johnson’s 1866 speeches that were the basis of the tenth article of impeachment, and referred to the President as “accidental Chief” and “the elect of an assassin.”

    House Managers proceeded to introduce documentary evidence and witness testimony supporting the eleven various articles of impeachment. Two witnesses described the confrontation between Edwin Stanton and Lorenzon Thomas in the War Office on the day of Stanton’s firing, February 22. One witness brought on torrents of laughter by his description of his meeting with Thomas in the East Room of the White House when he told Thomas “that the eyes of Delaware were upon him.” Several witnesses testified as to details concerning speeches by the President delivered in Cleveland and St. Louis in September of 1866. On Thursday, April 9, the Managers closed their case. Many observers concluded that the testimony added little to the Manager’s case, and may have actually hurt their case by emphasizing the President’s isolation and powerlessness in the face of a hostile Congress.

    The opening argument for the President was delivered by Benjamin Curtis, a former justice of the Supreme Court best known for his dissent in the famous Dred Scott case. Curtis argued that Stanton was not covered by the Tenure of Office Act because the “term” of Lincoln ended with his death, that the President did not in fact violate the Act because he did not succeed in removing Stanton from office, and that the Act itself unconstitutionally infringed upon the powers of the President. As for the article based on Johnson’s 1866 speeches, Curtis said “The House of Representatives has erected itself into a school of manners…and they desire the judgment of this body whether the President has not been guilty of indecorum.” Curtis argued that conviction based on the tenth article of impeachment would violate the free speech clause of the First Amendment.

    Counsel for the President called only two witnesses of real consequence. Lorenzo Thomas, Johnson’s would-be Secretary of War, was sworn in as a witness for the President and examined by Attorney General Stanbery concerning his encounters with Stanton. According to Thomas’s testimony, the two were surprisingly cordial after Stanton had Thomas arrested, at one point sharing a bottle of whiskey together. Secretary Welles was called for the purpose of testifying to the fact that the Cabinet had advised Johnson that the Tenure of Office Act was unconstitutional, and that Secretaries Seward and Stanton had agreed to prepare a draft of a veto message. Benjamin Curtis argued that the testimony was relevant because an article of impeachment charged the President with “intending” to violate the Constitution, and that Welles’s testimony tended to show that the President honestly believed the law to be unconstitutional. Over the House Managers’ objection, Chief Justice Chase ruled the evidence admissible, but was overruled by the Senate 29 to 20, and the testimony was not allowed.

    Final arguments in the impeachment trial stretched from April 22 to May 6, with the Managers speaking for six days and counsel for the President speaking for five days. Arguments ranged from the technical to the hyperbolic. Manager Thaddeus Stevens railed against the “wretched man, standing at bay, surrounded by a cordon of living men, each with the axe of an executioner uplifted for his just punishment.” Manager John Bingham brought the crowded galleries to its feet with his thunderous closing:

    “May God forbid that the future historian shall record of this day’s proceedings, that by reason of the failure of the legislative power of the people to triumph over the usurpations of an apostate President, the fabric of American empire fell and perished from the earth!…I ask you to consider that we stand this day pleading for the violated majesty of the law, by the graves of half a million of martyred hero-patriots who made death beautiful by the sacrifice of themselves for their country, the Constitution and the laws, and who, by their sublime example, have taught us all to obey the law; that none are above the law;… and that position, however high, patronage, however powerful, cannot be permitted to shelter crime to the peril of the republic.”

    William Groesbeck’s peroration for the President offered a spirited defense of Johnson’s view of reconstruction: “He was eager for pacification. He thought that the war was ended. It seemed so. The drums were all silent; the arsenals were all shut; the roar of the cannon had died away to the last reverberations; the army was disbanded; not a single enemy confronted us in the field. Ah, he was too eager, too forgiving, too kind. The hand of reconciliation was stretched out to him and he took it. It may be that he should have put it away, but was it a crime to take it? Kindness, forgiveness a crime? Kindness a crime? Kindness is statesmanship. Kindness is the high statesmanship of heaven itself. The thunders of Sinai do but terrify and distract; alone they accomplish little; it is the kindness of Calvary that subdues and pacifies.”

    William Everts contended in his closing argument for the President that violation of the Tenure of Office Act did not rise to the level of an impeachable offense:

    “They wish to know whether the President has betrayed our liberties or our possessions to a foreign state. They wish to know whether he has delivered up a fortress or surrendered a fleet. They wish to know whether he has made merchandise of the public trust and turned the authority to private gain. And when informed that none of these things are charges, imputed, or even declaimed about, they yet seek further information and are told that he has removed a member of his cabinet.”

    Finally, Attorney General Henry Stanbery’s closing for the President compared conviction to a despicable crime:

    “But if, Senators, as I cannot believe, but as has been boldly said with almost official sanction, your votes have been canvassed and the doom of the President is sealed, then let that judgment not be pronounced in this Senate Chamber; not here, where our Camillus in the hour of our greatest peril, single-handed, met and baffled the enemies of the Republic; not here, where he stood faithful among the faithless; not here, where he fought the good fight for the Union and the Constitution; not in this Chamber, whose walls echo with that clarion voice that, in the days of our greatest danger, carried hope and comfort to many a desponding heart, strong as an army with banners. No, not here. Seek out rather the darkest and gloomiest chamber in the subterranean recesses of this Capitol, where the cheerful light of day never enters. There erect the altar and immolate the victim.”

    Outwardly, House Managers were confident. Benjamin Butler told a Republican audience on May 4 that “The removal of the great obstruction is certain. Wade and prosperity are sure to come with the apple blossoms.” Privately, they were less optimistic. In the week before the vote, much money was being bet by professional gamblers on the outcome of the trial, and the odds favored acquittal. On May 11, from 11 am to midnight, senators debated the merits of the case behind closed doors. The best chance for conviction seemed to rest with the eleventh article that charged the President with attempting to prevent Stanton from resuming his office after the Senate disapproved his suspension. It was obvious that the vote would be very close, depending upon the decisions of two or three undecided Senators. No Senator’s vote was more critical than that of Edmund Ross of Kansas, who remained stubbornly silent throughout the trial and discussions.

    At noon on May 16, 1868, the High Court of Impeachment was called to order by Chief Justice Chase. The galleries were packed and the House of Representatives was present en mass. A motion was made and adopted to vote first on the eleventh article. The Chief Justice said, “Call the roll.” Historian David Dewitt described the tension as the roll call reaches the name of Senator Ross:

    “Twenty-four ‘Guilties’ have been pronounced and ten more certain are to come. Willey is almost sure and that will make thirty-five. Thirty-six votes are needed, and with this one vote the grand consummation is attained, Johnson is out and Wade in his place. It is a singular fact that not one of the actors in that high scene was sure in his own mind how his one senator was going to vote, except, perhaps, himself. ‘Mr. Senator Ross, how say you?’ the voice of the Chief Justice rings out over the solemn silence. ‘Is the respondent, Andrew Johnson, guilty or not guilty of a high misdemeanor as charged in this article?’ The Chief Justice bends forward, intense anxiety furrowing his brow. The seated associates of the senator on his feet fix upon him their united gaze. The representatives of the people of the United States watch every movement of his features. The whole audience listens for the coming answer as it would have listened for the crack of doom. And the answer comes, full, distinct, definite, unhesitating air force one shoes and unmistakable. The words ‘Not Guilty’ sweep over the assembly, and, as one man, the hearers fling themselves back into their seats; the strain snaps; the contest ends; impeachment is blown into the air.”

the long nightmare

Sunday, January 31st, 2010

 For President Abraham Lincoln, things looked brighter on Friday, April 14, 1865 than they had for a long time. Five days earlier timberland shoes, General Robert E. Lee effectively ended the long nightmare of the Civil War by surrendering the Army of Northern Virginia, and just the previous day, the city of Washington celebrated the war’s end by illuminating every one of its public building with candles. Candles also burned in most private homes, causing a city paper to describe the nation’s capital as “all ablaze with glory.” The President decided he could finally afford an evening of relaxation: he would attend a performance of Our American Cousin at Ford’s Theatre in downtown Washington.

    About eight-thirty, the President and Mrs. Lincoln, accompanied by Major Henry Rathbone and his date, Clara Harris, arrived in a carriage at Ford’s Theatre on Tenth Street. As the presidential party entered theatre, the play was stopped and the band struck up “Hail to the Chief.” The audience stood to give the President a rousing standing ovation.

    The presidential party took their seats in a specially-prepared box on the left side of the stage. During the second scene of the third act of the play, John Wilkes Booth, a southern-sympathizing actor, climbed the stairs to the mezzanine. He showed a card to Lincoln’s valet-footman and was allowed entry through a lobby door leading to the presidential box. Reaching the box, Booth pushed open the door. The President sat in his armchair, one hand on the railing and the other holding to the side a flag that decorated the box, in order to gain a better view of a person in the orchestra. From a distance of about four feet behind Lincoln, Booth fired a bullet into the President’s brain as he shouted “Revenge for the South!” (according to one witness) or “Freedom!” (according to another). Major Rathbone sprang up to grab the assassin, but Booth wrested himself away after slashing the general with a large knife. Booth rushed to the front of the box as Rathbone reached for him again, catching some of his clothes as Booth leapt over the railing. Rathbone’s grab was enough to cause Booth to fall roughly on the stage below, where he fractured the fibula in his left leg.

    Rising from the stage, Booth shouted “Sic semper tyrannus!” and ran across the stage and toward the back of theatre. Ed Spangler, a Ford’s theater stagehand, opened a rear door as Booth rushed out to a horse being held for him by Joseph Burroughs (better known as “Peanuts”). Booth mounted the horse and swept rapidly down an alley, then to the left toward F Street–and disappeared into the Washington darkness.

    About 10:15, the same time as Booth fired his fatal shot, two men well known to Booth, Lewis Powell and David Herold, approached the Washington home of Secretary of State William Seward, where the Secretary lay bedridden from a recent carriage accident. Powell knocked on the door of Seward’s home as Herold waited outside with his horse. Powell told the servant who answered the door, William Bell, that he had a prescription for Secretary Seward from his doctor. Over Bell’s objections, Powell began walking up the steps toward the Secretary’s room. One of the Secretary’s sons, Frederick Seward, confronted Powell. Seward told Powell he would take the medicine, but Powell insisted on seeing the Secretary. When Seward continued to refuse him entry to the bedroom, Powell clubbed him violently with his revolver (fracturing Seward’s head so severely that he would remain in a coma for sixty days), then slashed the Secretary’s bodyguard, George Robinson, in the forehead with a bowie knife. Finally reaching the Secretary in his bed, Powell–shouting, “I’m mad, I’m mad!”–stabbed him several times before he could be pulled off by Robinson and two other men. Powell raced down the stairs and out the door to his bay mare.

    Sometime after 10:30, Booth approached the Navy Yard bridge leading over the Potomac to Maryland. Questioned by the sentry guarding the bridge about his purposes, Booth said he was “going home” to his residence “close to Beantown.” The sentry allowed Booth to pass. Five to ten minutes later a second rider, David Herold, approached the bridge. Herold told the sentry his name was “Smith” and had been “in bad company” and wanted to get home to White Plains. The sentry decided to let Herold pass. Shortly thereafter, Booth and Herold met up.

    Booth and Herold arrived around midnight in Surrattsville, where they proceeded to a home and tavern kept by John Lloyd. Herold burst into Lloyd’s home shouting, “Lloyd, for God’s sake, make haste and get those things!” Lloyd, without replying, turned to get two carbines that had been delivered three days earlier by Mary Surratt, owner of the tavern. Herold took the carbines and a bottle of whiskey. He gave the whiskey bottle to Booth, who drank from it while sitting on his horse. In less than five minutes, they were off again, heading south.

    Meanwhile, in Washington, the President lay dying in a private home across the street from Ford’s Theater. Without ever regaining consciousness, he would live for seven more hours.

    INVESTIGATION AND ARRESTS

    Less than six hours after the attack, investigators–under the direction of Secretary of War Edwin Stanton–already began to focus on the 541 High Street home of Mary Surratt, a house where Booth was known to have stayed during his frequent visits to Washington. Rousing Surratt from bed about four in the morning, investigators questioned her about Booth’s whereabouts. When the investigators left, Surratt exclaimed to her daughter (according to Louis Weichmann, a boarder in Surratt’s house), “Anna, come what will, I am resigned. I think J. Wilkes Booth was only an instrument in the hands of the Almighty to punish this proud and licentious people.”

    On April 17, shortly after eleven at night, a team of military investigators again arrived at the Surratt home to interview her and other residents about the assassination. While they were doing so, Lewis Powell, carrying a pick-axe, knocked on the door. Powell–at the unlikely late-night hour–claimed to have been hired to dig a gutter. Mary Surratt refused to back up his story. Surratt told investigators, “Before God, sir, I do not know this man, and have never seen him, and I did not hire him to dig a gutter for me.” While in the Surratt home, investigators uncovered various pieces of incriminating evidence, including a picture of John Wilkes Booth hidden behind another picture on a mantelpiece. Facing arrest, Surratt asked a minute to kneel and pray. Surratt and Powell were taken into custody, where William Bell, Secretary’s Seward’s servant, identified Powell as the man who had stabbed the Secretary.

    The investigation, directed by Lafayette Baker of the National Detective Police, produced three more arrests on the 17th. Investigators picked up Edman Spangler after gathering reports from theater-goers and nearby residents that Booth had yelled for Spangler in the hours before the assassination and that Spangler had told a theater worker who witnessed Booth’s escape, “Don’t say which way he went.”

    Samuel Arnold was arrested at Fortress Monroe in Maryland. Investigators determined Arnold to be the author, “Sam,” of a vaguely incriminating letter found in a search of a trunk in Booth’s hotel room following the assassination. In his March 27 letter to Booth, Arnold wrote, “You know full well that the G[overnmen]t suspicions something is going on” and that “therefore the undertaking is becoming more complicated.” He declared, however, that initially “None, no not one, were more in favor of the enterprise than myself.”

    Arnold’s arrest proved especially helpful because he identified a number of individuals he said had met in March to plan the kidnapping of the President. According to Arnold, at a meeting at the Lichau House on Pennsylvania Avenue in March, seven men developed a plan to abduct Lincoln at a theatre, take him to Richmond, and hold him there until the Union agreed to release Confederate prisoners. Arnold said his part was to have been “to catch the President when he was thrown out of the box at theatre.” In addition to himself and Booth, Arnold told investigators that men at the meeting included Michael O’Laughlen, George Atzerodt, John Surratt, a man with the alias of “Moseby,” and another small man whose name he did not know.

    Two of the men identified by Arnold as part of the original kidnapping plan soon were in custody. One, Michael O’Laughlen, voluntarily surrendered himself in Baltimore. O’Laughlen, wearing black clothes and a slouch hat and claiming to be a lawyer, had allegedly entered the home of the Secretary of War, Edwin Stanton, on the night before the assassination and inquired about the Secretary’s whereabouts. At the time of the attacks the next night, however, O’Laughlen was not fulfilling his suspected assignment of assassinating Stanton, but was instead drinking at the Rullman’s Hotel.

    George Atzerodt’s arrest came on April 20 at the home of his cousin in Germantown, Maryland. Atzerodt had aroused suspicion by asking a bartender on the day of the assassination at the Kirkwood Hotel in Washington about the Vice President Andrew Johnson’s whereabouts. (The Vice President had taken a room at the hotel.) The day after Lincoln’s assassination, a hotel employee contacted authorities concerning a “suspicious-looking man” in “a gray coat” who had been seen around the Kirkwood. John Lee, a member of the military police force, visited the hotel on April 15 and conducted a search of Atzerodt’s room. The search revealed that the bed had not been slept in the previous night. Lee discovered under a pillow a loaded revolver, a large bowie knife, a map of Virginia, three handkerchiefs, and a bank book of John Wilkes Booth.

    Meanwhile, efforts to apprehend Lincoln’s assassin continued. Military investigators tracking Booth’s escape route south through Maryland reached the farm of Dr. Samuel Mudd home on April 18. Mudd admitted that two men on horseback arrived at his home about four o’clock on the morning of April 15. The men, it turned out, were John Wilkes Booth–in severe pain with his fractured leg–and David Herold. Mudd said that he welcomed the men into his house, placed Booth on his sofa for an examination, then carried him upstairs to a bed where he dressed the limb. After daybreak, Mudd helped construct a pair of crude crutches for Booth and tried, unsuccessfully, to secure a carriage for his two visitors. Booth (after having shaved off his mustache in Mudd’s home) and Herold left later on the fifteenth. Mudd told investigator Alexander Lovett that the man whose leg he fixed “was a stranger to him.” He also misled Lovett about Booth’s escape route, telling the investigator that the two men had headed south, when they actually had departed to the east.

    Lovett returned to the Mudd home three days later to conduct a search of Mudd’s home. When Lovett told of his intentions, Mudd’s wife, Sarah, brought down from upstairs a boot that had been cut off the visitor’s leg three days earlier. Lovett turned down the top of the left-foot riding boot and “saw the name J Wilkes written in it.” Mudd told Lovett that he had not noticed the writing. Shown a photo of Booth, Mudd still claimed not to recognize him–despite evidence gathered from other area residents that Mudd and Booth had been seen together the previous November. Mudd became the seventh conspirator to be arrested.

    Near the banks of the Rappahannock River in Virginia, investigators closed in on their prey on April 26. Everton Conger and two other investigators pulled Willie Jett out of a bed in a hotel in Bowling Green to demand, “Where are the two men who came with you across the river?” Jett knew that Conger meant Booth and Herold. When Jett had talked with the two conspirators they had made no effort to hide their identity. Herold had boldly declared, “We are the assassinators of the President. Yonder is J. Wilkes Booth, the man who killed Lincoln.” Jett told Conger that the men they sought “are on the road to Port Royal” at the home of “Mr. Garrett’s.”

    Reaching Garrett’s farm, the government party ordered an old man, Garrett, out of his home and asked, “Where are the two men who stopped here at your house?” “Gone to the woods,” Garrett answered. Unsatisfied with Garrett’s response, Conger told one of his men, “Bring me a lariat rope here, and I will put that man up to the top of one of those locust trees.” One of his sons broke in, “Don’t hurt the old man; he is scared; I will tell you where the men are–…in the barn.”

    Finding the suspects to be in the Garrett barn, Conger gave Booth and Herold five minutes to get out or, he said, he would set fire to it. Booth responded, “Let us have a little time to consider it.” After some discussion in the barn, Booth proposed that if the capturing party were withdrawn “one hundred yards from the door, I will come out and fight you.” When his proposal–and a second one for a withdrawal to fifty yards–was rejected, Booth said in a theatrical voice, “Well, my brave boys, prepare a stretcher for me.” As Conger ordered pine boughs placed against the barn to start a fire, Booth announced, “There’s a man who wants to come out.” After being called “a damned coward” by his partner, David Herold stepped out of the door of the barn and into the hands of his capturers.

    Conger lit the fire minutes later. With flames rising around him, Booth, carrying a carbine, started toward the door of the barn. A shot rang out from the gun of Sergeant Boston Corbett. Booth fell. Soldiers carried Booth out on the grass. Booth turned to Conger and said, “Tell mother I die for my country.” Moved into Garrett’s house, Booth revived somewhat. Repeatedly he begged of his captors, “Kill me, kill me.” Booth again weakened. Two or three hours after being shot, he died.

    One suspected conspirator would elude investigators for more than a year and would not stand trial with the other eight: John Surratt, Jr., the son of Mary Surratt. Surratt fled to Canada after the assassination. In September, Surratt traveled to England and later to Rome. Finally arrested in Egypt on November 27, 1866, Surratt was brought back to the United States for trial in a civilian court in 1867.

    TRIAL BEFORE A MILITARY COMMISSION

    The Decision to Try the Conspirators Before a Military Commission

    Secretary of War Edwin Stanton favored a quick military trial and execution. According to Secretary of Navy Gideon Welles, who favored trial in a civilian court, Stanton “said it was intention that the criminals should be tried and executed before President Lincoln was buried.” (Lincoln was buried on May 4, before the start of the conspiracy trial.) Edward Bates, Lincoln’s former attorney general, was among those objecting to a military trial, believing such an approach to be unconstitutional. Understanding the use of a military commission to try civilians to be controversial, President Johnson requested Attorney General James Speed to prepare an opinion on the legality of such a trial. Not surprisingly, Speed concluded in his opinion that use of a military court would be proper. Speed reasoned that an attack on the commander-in-chief before the full cessation of the rebellion constituted an act of war against the United States, making the War Department the appropriate body to control the proceedings.

    While debates continued in the Johnson Administration as to how to proceed with the alleged conspirators, the prisoners were kept under close wraps at two locations. Mary Surratt and Dr. Samuel Mudd first were jailed at the Old Capitol Prison, while the other six were imprisoned on the ironclad vessels Montauk and Saugus. Later, as their trial date approached, authorities confined prisoners to separate cells in the Old Arsenal Penitentiary. The male prisoners were shackled to balls and chains, with their hands held in place by an inflexible iron bar. Most strikingly, from the time of their arrest until midway through their trial, all the prisoners–under orders from Secretary Stanton–were forced to wear canvas hoods that covered the entire head and face.

    On May 1, 1865, President Johnson issued an order that the alleged conspirators be tried before a nine-person military commission. Some, such as former Attorney General Bates, complained bitterly: “If the offenders are done to death by that tribunal, however truly guilty, they will pass for martyrs with half the world.”

    The Military Commission convened for the first time on May 8 in a newly-created courtroom on the third floor of the Old Arsenal Penitentiary in Washington. The voting members of the Commission were Generals David Hunter (first officer), August Kautz, Albion Howe, James Ekin, David Clendenin, Lewis Wallace, Robert Foster, T. M. Harris, and Colonel C. H Tomkins. John A. Bingham (later an influential member of Congress) and H. L. Burnett served on the Commission as Special Judge Advocates.

    On the evening of May 9, General John Hantranft visited each prisoner’s cell to read the charges and specifications against them. Hantranft later wrote: “I had the hood [of each prisoner] removed, entered the cell alone with a lantern, delivered the copy, and allowed them time to read it, and in several instances, by request read the copy to them, before replacing the hood.”

    Testimony began in the Lincoln assassination conspiracy trial on May 12, just three days after the prisoners were first asked if they would like to have legal counsel. The rules of the Commission made the position of the defendants even more grave: conviction could come on a simple majority vote and a majority of two-thirds could impose the death sentence. Over the course of the next seven weeks, the Commission would hear from 361 witnesses. As the witnesses paraded to the stand, spectators lucky enough to get admission passes from Major General Hunter would move in and out of the nonchalant atmosphere of the courtroom.

    Confederate Terrorism on Trial

    The War Department saw the trial as an opportunity to prosecute not only the eight charged conspirators, but also the already-dead Booth, Jefferson Davis, and the Confederate Secret Service. Prosecutors suggested that as the war turned in favor of the federal government, the Confederacy became increasingly willing to support dubious enterprises that would have been rejected under less desperate circumstances. Witnesses told of Confederate plots to destroy public buildings, burn steamboats, poison the public water supply of New York City, offer commissions to raiders of northern cities, mine a federal prison, starve Union prisoners-of-war, and even mount a biological attack.

    The Confederate Congress appropriated five million dollars to support a clandestine campaign of subversion in February, 1864. Two months later, Jefferson Davis appointed Jacob Thompson (Secretary of Interior in the Buchanan Administration) and Clement Clay (a former United States Senator from Alabama) to head the operation. Both men would spend, along with a dozen or more other Confederates, most of the duration of the war in Canada coordinating and funding terrorism, according to over a dozen prosecution witnesses.

    One of the most frightening plots–called by Special Judge Advocate (prosecutor) John A. Bingham “an infamous and fiendish project of importing pestilence”–hatched by the Confederate Secret Service working out of Canada may have caused 2,000 military and civilian deaths. The attack, according to witness Godfrey Hyams, came in the form of clothing “carefully infected in Bermuda with yellow fever, smallpox, and other contagious diseases.” Some of the infected goods were to be placed in a valise intended for presentation to President Lincoln, while others were to be given or sold to Union troops. Hyams testified that the Confederate Government timberland boots appropriated $200,000 for carrying out the attack, and that he was promised at least $60,000 (but received only $100) for his role in distributing nine trunks of the infected goods. Hyams said that the operation’s mastermind, Dr. Luke P. Blackburn, who he met in Halifax, told him that trunk “Big Number 2″ “will kill them at sixty yards distance.” Hyams testified that he refused to deliver an infected trunk “as a donation to President Lincoln,” but did place the others in channels of distribution near concentrations of Union soldiers. For his work, Hyams testified, he received congratulations from Clement Clay. Some of the infected goods were auctioned near a Union base of operations by Newbern, North Carolina shortly before nearly 2,000 citizens and soldiers died there during a yellow fever outbreak. Bingham attributed the epidemic to the Confederate plot, not knowing (as was discovered in 1901) that mosquitoes–not people–cause yellow fever.

    The Assassination Conspiracy’s Link to the Canadian Clique and Jefferson Davis

    The prosecution offered evidence to show that the conspiracy against Abraham Lincoln and other high government officials began sometime after the battle at Gettysburg–probably in the summer of 1864. Witness Sanford Conover reported Confederate Secret Service head Jacob Thompson as identifying the goal of the conspiracy as to “leave the government entirely without a head” by killing not only Lincoln, but also Vice President Johnson, Secretary of War Stanton, Secretary of State Seward, and General Grant. Conover, a former employee of the Rebel war Department, quoted Thompson as saying there was “no provision in the Constitution of the United States by which, if these men were removed, they could elect another President.”

    Henry Van Steinacker, a Union soldier convicted of desertion, testified that while on a long horse ride in Virginia with John Wilkes Booth in late summer of 1863 Booth opined, “Old Abe must go up the spout [be killed], and the Confederacy will gain its independence.” (Steinacker, whose real name was Hans Von Winklestein, was released from prison shortly after his testimony, causing some to question his credibility.) Several witnesses testified that by the fall of 1864 a proposal to assassinate or abduct Union leaders, presumably made by Booth, was under active review by Confederate officials in both Canada and Richmond. Witnesses told of frequently seeing Thompson and Clement Clay in Montreal in the company of of conspirators John Wilkes Booth, John Surratt, and Lewis Powell.

    Richard Montgomery, a Union double agent in Canada, reported Thompson as saying in January 1865 that it would be a “blessing” to “rid the world” of Lincoln, Johnson, and Grant. Montgomery testified that Thompson revealed that a “proposition” had been made by a group of “bold, daring men” to do just that.

    Samuel Chester testified that beginning in November 1864 Booth tried to recruit his participation in a plot to abduct Lincoln and take him to Richmond, where he would be held until he could be exchanged for Confederate prisoners-of-war. Initially, it seems, the proposal (either to abduct or assassinate Lincoln) was rejected in Richmond, as Montgomery quotes Montreal clique member Beverly Tucker as complaining that it was “too bad that they boys had not been allowed to act when they wanted to.”

    Henry Finegas testified as to overhearing a conversation, made in “a low tone of voice” in Montreal in mid-February between Confederate clique members George Sanders and William Cleary:

    Sanders: If the boys only have luck, Lincoln won’t trouble us much longer.

    Cleary: Is everything going well?

    Sanders: Oh, yes. Booth is bossing the job.

    Key government witness Louis Weichmann– a boarder at Mary Surratt’s and a friend of Booth, Powell, and other conspirators–testified that on March 27, 1865 John Surratt visited Richmond and conferred with Confederate Attorney General Judah Benjamin and President Jefferson Davis. Surratt returned from Richmond to Washington, before heading north out of the Capital on April 3. On April 6, John Surratt arrived in Montreal carrying with him–according to the prosecution’s theory–final approval for Booth’s assassination attempt. Sanford Conover, a former employee of the Rebel War Department, testified that he was present at a meeting in the Montreal hotel room of Jacob Thompson when dispatches brought by Surratt from Richmond, including a letter in cipher from Jefferson Davis, were discussed. According to Conover’s testimony–strongly attacked by latter-day supporters of Davis–”Thompson laid his hand [on the dispatches from Richmond] and said, “This makes the thing all right.” A Canadian banker testified that Jacob Thompson withdrew $184,000 from the over $600,000 in his private Montreal account on April 6. Special Judge Advocate John Bingham, in his summation for the government, found the evidence against Jefferson Davis damning:

    What more is wanting? Surely no word further need be spoken to show that John Wilkes Booth was in this conspiracy; that John Surratt was in this conspiracy; and that Jefferson Davis and his several agents named, in Canada, were in this conspiracy….Whatever may be the conviction of others, my own conviction is that Jefferson Davis is as clearly proven guilty of this conspiracy as John Wilkes Booth, by whose hand Jefferson Davis inflicted the mortal wound on Abraham Lincoln.

    Bingham found further confirmation of Davis’s guilt in a letter of October 13, 1864, discovered in the possession of Booth after the assassination of Lincoln. The ciphered letter, which notified Booth that “their friends would be set to work as he had directed,” was proven to have been typed on a cipher machine recovered from a room in Davis’s State Department in Richmond. Finally, Bingham found incriminating Davis’s reaction in North Carolina upon learning of the President’s assassination: “If it were to be done at all, it were better that it were well done.”

    Evidence Concerning the Eight Prisoners

    As each of the eight defendants played different roles in the assassination conspiracy, the evidence of guilt varied as well. The connection of Lewis Powell and David Herold to the conspiracy was clear almost beyond question, while the case against others–notably Dr. Samuel Mudd and Mary Surratt–was considerably more circumstantial.

    Many trial observers found Lewis Powell, the handsome young defendant who maintained a posture of studied indifference to the proceedings, to be the most intriguing of the prisoners. The case against Powell was overwhelming. Even Lewis Powell’s attorney, William Doster, recognized his complicity in the plot was beyond question. Identified as Seward’s attacker by Seward’s servant, found with blood on his shirt and the initials of John Wilkes Booth in his boots, and identified by Louis Weichmann as the man who called himself “Wood” and who–claiming to be a Baptist preacher and wearing a large false mustache– frequently called at Mary Surratt’s home, where he would sometimes engage in two or three hour private conversations with Booth and John Surratt, Doster was left to argue that Powell’s life should be spared because he suffered from a fanaticism that bordered on insanity. “I say he is the fanatic, and not the hired tool,” Doster told the Commission. “He lives in that land of imagination where it seems to him legions of southern soldiers wait to crown him as their chief commander.” Doster said that when he asked Powell why he did it, he replied, simply, “I believed it was my duty.” Doster described Powell as an innocent farmboy turned assassin by circumstances beyond his control: “We know now that slavery made him immoral, that war made him a murderer, and that necessity, revenge, and delusion made him an assassin.” Doster ended his remarkably eloquent plea for Powell’s life by asking the Commission to “Let him live, if not for his sake, for our own.”

    David Herold’s position was equally precarious. Apprehended with the President’s assassin and having bragged about the crime–telling one prosecution witness, Willie Jett, as he crossed the Rappahannock, “We are the assassinators of the President”–Herold’s attorney, Frederick Stone, placed whatever slender hopes for saving Herold’s life on his client’s simple-mindedness and youth. One defense witness called Herold “a light and trifling boy” who was “easily influenced,” while a second said of Herold:”In mind, I consider him about eleven years of age.” Stone argued to the Commission that Herold “was only wax in the hands of a man like Booth.”

    Unlike Lewis and Herold, the guilt of Ford’s Theatre stagehand Edman Spangler was not beyond question, but prosecutors presented several witnesses who testified that Spangler played a critical–although minor–role in Booth’s escape from theatre. Joseph Burroughs, better known as “Peanuts,” a Ford’s employee given the duty of guarding the stage-door during plays, testified that between nine and ten o’clock on the night of the assassination Spangler “told me to hold [Booth's] horse.” Burroughs told the Commission that when he replied that “I had to go in to attend my door” Spangler said he should hold the horse anyway and “if there was any thing wrong to lay the blame on him.” Other witnesses reported seeing Booth around seven-thirty that evening, standing at the back door of theatre and holding his horse and calling for “Ned” Spangler. John Sleichmann, a property man for theatre, testified that he saw Booth enter the back door of theatre and ask Spangler, “Ned, you’ll help me all you can, won’t you?” According to Sleichmann, Spangler replied, “Oh, yes.” Joseph Stewart, a theatergoer with a front orchestra street who ran after Booth across the stage yelling, “Stop that man!,” testified that he was “satisfied” that Spangler was the person he saw near the rear door who was in a position to block Booth’s exit if he had been so inclined. Finally, John Miles, a Ford’s employee, testified when he asked Spangler who it was he saw holding Booth’s horse before his escape, Spangler replied, “Hush, don’t say anything about it.” Spangler’s defense attorney, Thomas Ewing, argued that while the prosecution evidence might suggest Spangler agreed to assist Booth on April 14, it failed to prove that Spangler was aware of Booth’s guilty purposes in requesting his assistance.

    A letter from Samuel Arnold to Booth, dated March 27, 1865, and found in Booth’s possession after the assassination provided compelling evidence that Arnold had willingly agreed to participate in the original plan to kidnap Lincoln and take him to Richmond. In his letter, Arnold wrote that “None, no, not one were more in favor of the enterprise than myself.” Arnold’s attorney, Walter Cox, argued that Arnold “backed out from this insane scheme of capture” and it was “abandoned somewhere about the middle of March.” Arnold, he argued, left Washington for Maryland about March 20 and that there “is no evidence that connects” Arnold with the “dreadful conspiracy” of assassination. Cox told the Commission that Arnold’s participation in the “mere unacted, still scheme” of abduction was “wholly different from the offense described in the charge.”

    Michael O’Laughlen, who boarded at the same home in Washington as Arnold, might qualify as the most forgotten of the eight conspirators on trial. The key evidence against O’Laughlen also links him to Booth’s abandoned plan to abduct Lincoln. On March 13, Booth sent to O’Laughlen, then in Baltimore, a telegram from Washington: “Don’t fear to neglect your business. You better come at once.” Twelve days later, Booth sent another telegram to O’Laughlen: “Get word to Sam. Come on, with or without him, Wednesday morning. We sell that day for sure. Don’t fail.” Prosecutors suggested that the “business” referred to in Booth’s telegraph was the kidnapping of Lincoln and that the “Sam” referred to in the second dispatch was Samuel Arnold. Bernard Early, an acquaintance of O’Laughlen’s, testified that he rode into Washington with O’Laughlen from Baltimore on the day before the assassination. Early said that the next day he waited with O’Laughlen at the National Hotel, where Booth had taken a room, for forty-five minutes before sending “up some cards to Mr. Booth’s room for O’Laughlen” and leaving. Most incriminating, perhaps, was the testimony of Major Kilburn Knox, who testified that about ten-thirty on the night of April 13 O’Laughlin, wearing black clothes and a slouch hat, entered the home of Secretary of War Edwin Stanton and inquired of the Secretary’s whereabouts. Knox said that O’Laughlen remained in the hall for a few minutes before being asked to leave. Two other witnesses also reported seeing O’Laughlen at the Secretary’s home. Defense attorney Walter Cox argued that the prosecution witnesses were mistaken, and that on the night in question O’Laughlen innocently strolled the streets of the nation’s capital enjoying the “night of illumination,” the celebration of the Union victory that saw every public building in Washington lit with candles.  Cox also argued that the evidence showed persuasively that O’Laughlen did nothing to further the assassination on the night of the fourteenth, which he spent drinking at Lichau House before departing for Baltimore the next day.

    The prosecution argued that after the kidnapping plan changed to one of assassination, Booth assigned George Atzerodt the job of killing Vice-President Andrew Johnson. Colonel W. R. Nevins testified that on April 12 at the Kirkwood Hotel in Washington, Atzerodt asked him where he might find Vice President Johnson. Police investigator John Lee testified that he searched Atzerodt’s room at the Kirkwood (the same hotel that the Vice President was then staying at) on the day after Lincoln’s assassination and discovered under a loaded revolver, a bowie knife, a map of Virginia, three handkerchiefs, and a bank book of John Wilkes Booth. The prosecution also showed that Atzerodt had met frequently with Booth in front of the Pennsylvania House in Washington. John Fletcher, an employee of J. Naylor’s livery stable testified that on April 14 Atzerodt showed up at the stable with co-defendant David Herold, bringing with them a dark-bay mare. Another witness told of Atzerodt’s late night check-in (after midnight) on the night of Lincoln’s assassination at the Pennsylvania House, his leaving again and returning around two, and then his checking out of the hotel between five and six in the morning.

    George Atzerodt’s attorney, Captain William E. Doster, argued that his client’s cowardice made it unlikely that he played any significant role in the assassination conspiracy. “I intend to show,” Doster told the Commission, “that this man is a constitutional coward; that if he had been assigned the duty of assassinating the Vice President, he could never have done it; and that, from his known cowardice, Booth probably did not assign to him any such duty.” Doster presented defense witnesses who described Atzerodt as a “notorious coward”and as a man “remarkable for his cowardice.”

    President Andrew Johnson considered Mary Surratt the keeper of “the nest that hatched the egg.” Numerous witnesses reported Booth, Herold, Powell and other conspirators as frequent visitors to Surratt’s boarding house in Washington. Evidence of association with conspirators would, of course, not by itself sustain a conviction. Prosecutors produced witnesses who showed convincingly that Surratt lied when she told authorities, when asked if she knew Lewis Powell, “Before God, sir, I do not know this man.” The most incriminating evidence against Surratt came, however, from two witnesses, Louis Weichmann and John Lloyd. Weichmann, a boarder in Surratt’s home, testified that Booth gave him $10 on the Tuesday before the assassination which he was to use to hire a buggy to take Surratt to her tavern in Surrattsville to collect–according to Surratt–a small debt. Weichmann also told the Commission that on the day of the assassination, Mary Surratt sent Weichmann to hire a buggy for another two-hour ride to Surrattsville. Surratt and Weichmann arrived sometime after four at Surratt’s tavern. According to Weichmann, Surratt went inside while Weichmann waited outside or spent time in the bar. Surratt remained inside about two hours. Between six and six-thirty, shortly before the began their return trip to Washington, Weichmann saw Surratt speaking privately in the parlor of the tavern with John Wilkes Booth. At nine o’clock, Weichmann saw Booth again when he came to the Surratt home for a last time. After the visit, according to Weichmann, Surratt’s demeanor changed–she became “very nervous, agitated and restless.”

    The most damning evidence of all against Surratt came from Surrattsville tavern keeper John Lloyd. Lloyd told the Commission that five to six weeks before the assassination John Surratt, David Herold, and George Atzerodt came to Surrattsville to drop off at his tavern two carbines and ammunition. Lloyd testified that three days before the assassination, Mary Surratt told him that “the shooting irons” left at his place by the men weeks ago would be needed soon. Then on the day of the assassination, Surratt again brought up the subject, according to Lloyd:

    On the 14th of April I went to Marlboro to attend a trial there; and in the evening, when I got home, which I should judge was about 5 o’clock, I found Mrs. Surratt there. She met me out by the wood-pile as I drove in with some fish and oysters in my buggy. She told me to have those shooting-irons ready that night, there would be some parties who would call for them. She gave me something wrapped in a piece of paper, which I took up stairs, and found to be a field-glass. She told me to get two bottles of whisky ready, and that these things were to be called for that night.

    Surratt’s attorney, Frederick Aiken, argued that Lloyd’s evidence should be disbelieved because he was “a man addicted to the excessive use of intoxicating liquors” and was motivated to “exculpate himself by placing blame” on Mary Surratt.

    The prosecution based its case against Dr. Samuel Mudd on the testimony of several witnesses that suggested a much closer relationship between the doctor and John Wilkes Booth–and other conspirators– than Mudd would admit. Several witnesses testified that they saw Mudd with John Wilkes Booth on November 13, 1864 in Maryland. Witnesses said that Mudd during that November visit helped Booth buy a horse–a horse that he most likely used in his flight from Ford’s theatre. Louis Weichmann testified that in late December he was walking with John Surratt near the National Hotel in Washington when Mudd, walking with Booth, called out “Surratt! Surratt!” According to Weichmann, the three men later excused themselves for private conversation over what Mudd claimed to be Booth’s interest in purchasing real estate in Maryland. Attorney Marcus Norton testified that in early March, when he was in Washington to argue a case before the Supreme Court, a man he now recognized as Mudd excitedly burst into his room at the National Hotel. Norton said the man apologized for his entry, saying that he thought the room belonged to a man named “Booth”–who actually had rented the room directly above Norton’s. A minister, William Evans, testified that he saw Mudd go into the home of Mary Surratt in early March of 1865. The evidence concerning Booth’s prior dealings with Booth strongly suggested that Mudd lied to investigators when he denied having recognized Booth when he treated his broken leg on April 15. Alexander Lovett told the Commission that Mudd appeared suspicious from the start of his investigation: “When we first asked Dr. Mudd whether two strangers had been there, he seemed very much excited, and got pale as a sheet of paper and blue about his lips, like a man frightened at something he had done.”

    Prosecutors also produced witnesses who testified concerning certain statements Mudd allegedly made about President Lincoln and the federal government. Daniel Thomas testified that he heard Mudd state in early 1865–whether jokingly or not, he couldn’t tell–that “the President, Cabinet, and other Union men” would “be killed in six or seven weeks.” Mary Simms, a former slave of Mudd’s, testified that during the war Mudd complained that Lincoln “stole [into office] at night, dressed in women’s clothes” and if “he had come in right, they would have killed him.” Another slave, Milo Gardiner, testified that he overheard a friend of Mudd’s, Benjamin Gardiner, tell Mudd that “Lincoln was a goddamned old son of a bitch and ought have been dead long ago” and that Mudd replied “that was much of his mind.”

    Mudd’s attorney, Thomas Ewing, argued that Mudd’s only prior encounter with Booth had been the one in November and that all the later alleged meetings were fabrications of prosecution witnesses. Ewing contended that it was no crime to fix a broken leg, even if it were the leg of a presidential assassin and even if the doctor knew it was the leg of a presidential assassin. Ewing argued that the prosecution must prove more: that Mudd actually furthered the conspiracy in some way. Prosecutors responded by arguing that the evidence showed more than the defense admitted. They contended that Mudd furthered the conspiracy by, for example, pointing out to Herold the route that he and Booth should take upon leaving his farm.

    SENTENCES AND EXECUTIONS

    On June 29, 1865, the Military Commission met in secret session to begin its review of the evidence in the seven-week long trial. A guilty verdict could come with a majority vote of the nine-member commission; death sentences required the votes of six members. The next day, it reached its verdicts. The Commission found each of the prisoners guilty of at least one of the conspiracy charges. Four of the prisoners (Mary Surratt, Lewis Powell, George Atzerodt, and David Herold) were sentenced “to be hanged by the neck until he [or she] be dead.” Samuel Arnold, Dr. Samuel Mudd and Michael O’Laughlen were sentenced to “hard labor for life, at such place at the President shall direct.” Edman Spangler received a six-year sentence.

    The Commission forwarded its sentences and the trial record to President Johnson for his review. Five of the nine Commission members, in the transmitted record, recommended to the President–because of “her sex and age”–that he reduce Mary Surratt’s punishment to life in prison. On July 5, Johnson approved all of the Commission’s sentences, including the death sentence for Surratt.

    The next day General Hartrandft informed the prisoners of their sentences. He told the four condemned prisoners that they would hang the next day.

    Surratt’s lawyers mounted a frantic effort to save their client’s life, hurriedly preparing a petition for habeas corpus that evening. The next morning, Surratt’s attorneys succeeded in convincing Judge Wylie of the Supreme Court of the District of Columbia to issue the requested writ. President Johnson quashed the effort to save Surratt from an afternoon hanging when he issued an order suspending the writ of habeas corpus “in cases such as this.”

    Shortly after one-thirty on the afternoon of July 7, 1865, the trap of the gallows installed in the courtyard of the Old Arsenal Building was sprung, and the four condemned prisoners fell to their deaths. Reporters covering the event reported that the last words from the gallows stand came from George Atzerodt who said, just before he fell, “May we meet in another world.”

    EPILOGUE AND THE CONSPIRACY AS NOW UNDERSTOOD

    In the summer of 1867, John Surratt, having been captured in Egypt, faced trial in a civilian court for having participated in a conspiracy to assassinate the president. The jury was unable to reach a verdict, with eight jurors voting “not guilty” and four voting “guilty.” In August, 1867, Surratt was released from prison. Three years later he began a public lecture tour describing his association with the conspirators and proclaiming his innocence.

    Military personnel escorted Dr. Samuel Mudd, Michael O’Laughlen, Edman Spangler and Samuel Arnold to Fort Jefferson in Dry Tortugas, Florida. Two years later, a yellow fever epidemic swept the prison, killing O’Laughlen and the prison’s doctor, among many others. Upon the death of the prison doctor, Mudd assumed duty as chief medical officer at the prison. On March 1, 1869, Mudd and the other three imprisoned conspirators received an eleventh-hour presidential pardon from President Johnson.

    The last surviving convicted conspirator was Samuel Arnold, who died in 1906 after writing a detailed confession of his role in the conspiracy to kidnap President Lincoln.

    Over the years, critics have attacked the verdicts, sentences, and procedures of the 1865 Military Commission. These critics have called the sentences unduly harsh, and criticized the rule allowing the death penalty to be imposed with a two-thirds vote of Commission members. The hanging of Mary Surratt, the first woman ever executed by the United States, has been a particular focus of criticism. Critics also have complained about the standard of proof, the lack of opportunity for defense counsel to adequately prepare for the trial, the withholding of potentially exculpatory evidence, and the Commission’s rule forbidding the prisoners from testifying on their own behalf. The critics have a point: The 1865 trial of the Lincoln conspirators did fall short of commonly accepted norms of procedure and the verdicts–by modern standards–seem harsh.

    There does seem little question, however, that four of the convicted conspirators participated–in ways either large or small–in Booth’s plan to assassinate key federal officials. Lewis Powell clearly attempted to stab to death Secretary Seward. David Herold, Dr. Samuel Mudd, and Edman Spangler aided Booth’s escape from Washington. Herold and Mudd provided aid to Booth with full knowledge of his crime–and Spangler most likely did as well.

    The four other convicted conspirators–and Jefferson Davis–undoubtedly supported at least Booth’s original plan, to kidnap Lincoln and take him to Richmond. George Atzerodt, in a confession made shortly before he was hanged, admitted to have willingly agreed to play an important role in the planned abduction, but claimed not to have supported the assassination–and to have first heard of the plan to assassinate Lincoln just two hours before Booth fired his fatal shot. Arnold also admitted his initial willingmess to participate in the kidnap plot. The evidence with respect to O’Laughlen’s and Mary Surratt’s complicity in the scheme is only slightly less compelling. Recent scholarship has strengthened the already strong evidence that approval for the kidnapping came directly from Jefferson Davis. William Tidwell’s Come Retribution: The Confederate Secret Service and the Assassination of Lincoln shows that large numbers of Confederate troops had massed in March of 1865 in the northern neck of Virginia along what must have been a planned route to take Lincoln to Richmond. Apart from a planned abduction of Lincoln, there was no plausible strategic reason for their placement in that area.

    The prosecution fairly can be faulted for intentionally obscuring the fact that there were two conspiracies involving Lincoln in 1865: the original abduction plan, developed in the fall of 1864 and supported by all eight conspirators and top Confederate leadership, and Booth’s assassination plan, conceived only after the original plan fell through when Lincoln cancelled plans to attend a play at the Campbell Hosptial on the outskirts of Washington on March 17. (The plan had been to intercept the President’s carriage as it returned from the matinee performance.)

    After the failure of the March 17 plot, and abandonment as infeasible of another plot to kidnap Lincoln at Ford’s theatre, Booth’s thoughts turned to assassination. Shooting Lincoln seems to have been on Booth’s mind by April 7 when, after some hard drinking with his friend Samuel Chester in New York, Booth slammed the table and said, “What a splendid chance I had to kill the President on the fourth of March!” Booth’s April 7 visit to New York was one of several in the weeks leading up to the assassination, leading some historians to speculate that New York was the location of his Confederate Secret Service control–possibly Confederate underground insider Roderick Watson. George Atzerodt’s confession revealed that Booth learned during his last New York visit of a plot by his Confederate associates to kill the President by blowing up the Executive Mansion: “Booth said he had met a party in New York who would get the prest. [president] certain. They were going to mine the end of the pres. [president's] House. They knew an entrance to accomplish it through.” The dispatch from Richmond that reached Montreal on April 6, carried by John Surratt and Sarah Slater, most likely authorized activation of the bombing plot. The capture of the Confederate explosives expert assigned the task of planting the bombs the Executive Mansion, Thomas Harney, on April 10 must have prompted Booth to begin planning his own attempt on Lincoln’s life. By April 11, his mind was made up. After to listening to Lincoln speak from the balcony of the Executive Mansion on his plans for reconstruction, Booth–according to Thomas Eckert who interviewed Powell in prison–turned to Lewis Powell and said, “That is the last speech he will ever make!” By April 13, Booth was casing both Ford’s Theatre and Grover’s National Theatre, anticipating that the President would soon take a night out–his last.

    At Garrett’s farm, Colonel Everton Conger found on the body of John Wilkes Booth a small red book, which Booth kept as a diary. In an entry written sometime between the assassination and his capture, Booth wrote: “For six months we had worked to capture, but our cause being almost lost, something decisive and great must be done. But its timberland failure was owing to others, who did not strike for their country with a heart.” The prosecution did not introduce Booth’s diary into evidence in the 1865 trial. In 1867, it turned up in a forgotten War Department file with eighteen pages missing.

following trials which

Sunday, January 31st, 2010

A framed photograph of the scene depicted on this homepage, the execution of thirty-eight Sioux on December 26, 1862, used to fascinate me when, as a boy in Mankato, Minnesota, I would visit the Blue Earth County Historical Museum. Apart from its macabre appeal, the picture impressed me because it captured the most famous event in the history of my hometown (easily surpassing in significance the death there of an ghd uk obscure Vice President who died while changing trains on his way to the Black Hills). The hanging, following trials which condemned over three hundred participants in the 1862 Dakota Conflict, stands as the largest mass execution in American history. Only the unpopular intervention of President Lincoln saved 265 other Dakota and mixed-bloods from the fate met by the less fortunate thirty-eight. The mass hanging was the concluding scene in the opening chapter of a story of the American-Sioux conflict that would not end until the Seventh Calvary completed its massacre at Wounded Knee, South Dakota, on December 29, 1890.

    In 1862 the Sioux Nation stretched from the Big Woods of Minnesota to the Rocky Mountains. There were seven Sioux tribes, including three western tribes, collectively called the Lakota, and four eastern tribes living in Minnesota and the eastern Dakotas called the Dakota. About 7,000 members of the four Dakota tribes lived on a reservation bordering what was in 1862 the frontier, the Minnesota River in southwestern Minnesota. The Dakota Conflict (or Dakota War or Sioux Uprising) involved primarily the two southernmost Dakota tribes, the Mdewakantons and Wahpekutes. Tribes consisted of bands, each with a leader or chief. The Mdewakantons, for example, were divided into nine bands. A majority of the 4,000 members of the two northern tribes, the Sissetons and the Wahpetons, were opposed to the fighting. A large number of Sissetons and Wahpetons had been converted both to farming and Christianity, and had both moral objections and strong reasons of self-interest for keeping peace with the whites. In addition to pure-blood Indians, there were many so-called mixed-bloods, the products of relationships between Indians and settlers. A majority of mixed-bloods sided with whites or avoided participation in the Conflict altogether.

    A decade before the Dakota Conflict, the Minnesota Territory, stretching from the upper Mississippi to the Missouri River, was still mostly Indian country. The conifer forest and lakes of Northern Minnesota belonged to the Ojibway (or Chippewa), while the deciduous forests and prairie of southern Minnesota was shared by the Dakota and a much smaller number of Winnebago. In 1851, however, the Dakota by treaty agreed to give up most of southern Minnesota. The land was ceded to the United States in return for two twenty-mile wide by seventy-mile long reservations along the Minnesota River and annuity payments totaling $1.4 million dollars over a fifty-year period. Seven years later, in exchange for increased annuity payments, the Dakota ceded about half of their reservation land.

    The causes of the Dakota Conflict are many and complex. The treaties of 1851 and 1858 contributed to tensions by undermining the Dakota culture and the power of chieftains, concentrating malcontents, and leading to a corrupt system of Indian agents and traders. Annuity payments reduced the once proud Dakota to the status of dependents. They reduced the power of chiefs because annuity payments were made directly to individuals rather than through tribal structures. They created bitterness because licensed traders sold goods to Indians at 100% to 400% profit and frequently took “claims” for money from individual Dakota paid out of tribal funds. No effective means of legal recourse was available to wronged Dakota, leading some Dakota to talk of another option open to them: robbery and violence. The fact that the Dakota people were squeezed into a small fraction of their former lands made it easy, according to Minnesota historian William Folwell, “for malcontents to assemble frequently to growl and fret together over grievances.”

    Annuity payments for the Dakota were late in the summer of 1862. An August 4,1862 confrontation between soldiers and braves at the Upper Agency at Yellow Medicine led to a decision to distribute provisions on credit to avoid violence. At the Lower Agency at Redwood, however, things were handled differently. At an August 15, 1862 meeting attended by Dakota representatives, Indian Agent Thomas Galbraith, and representatives of the traders, the traders resisted pleas to distribute provisions held in agency warehouses to starving Dakota until the annuity payments finally arrived. Trader Andrew Myrick summarized his position in the bluntest possible manner: “So far as I am concerned, if they are hungry, let them eat grass.” Unbeknownst to those gathered at the Lower Agency, the long delayed 1862 annuity payments were already on their way to the Minnesota frontier. On August 16, a keg with $71,000 worth of gold coins reached St. Paul. The next day the keg was sent to Fort Ridgely for distribution to the Dakota. It arrived a few hours too late to prevent an unprecedented outbreak of violence.

    On Sunday, August 17, four Dakota from a breakaway band of young malcontents were on a hunting trip when they came across some eggs in a hen’s nest along the fence line of a settler’s homestead. When one of the four took the eggs, another of the group warned him that the eggs belonged to a white man. The first young man became angry, dashed the eggs to the ground, and accused the other of being afraid of white men, even though half-starved. Apparently to disprove the accusation of cowardice, the other Dakota said that to show he was not afraid of white men he would go the house and shoot the owner. He challenged the others to join him. Minutes later three white men, a white woman, and a fifteen-year old white girl lay dead.

    Big Eagle, a Dakota Chief, recounted what happened after the young men reached Chief Shakopee’s camp late on the night of August 17:

    The tale told by the young men created the greatest excitement. Everybody was waked up and heard it. Shakopee took the young men to Little Crow’s house (two miles above the agency), and he sat up in bed and listened to their story. He said war was now declared. Blood had been shed, the payment would be stopped, and the whites would take a dreadful vengeance because women had been killed. Wabasha, Wacouta, myself and others still talked for peace, but nobody would listen to us, and soon the cry was “Kill the whites and kill all these cut-hairs who will not join us.” A council was held and war was declared. Parties formed and dashed away in the darkness to kill settlers. The women began to run bullets and the men to clean their guns….

    At this time my village was up on Crow creek, near Little Crow’s. I did not have a very large band — not more than thirty or forty fighting men. Most of them were not for the war at first, but nearly all got into it at last. A great many members of the other bands were like my men; they took no part in the first movements, but afterward did. The next morning, when the force started down to attack the agency, I went along…. The killing was nearly all done when I got there. Little Crow was on the ground directing operations. I saw all the dead bodies at the agency. Mr. Andrew Myrick, a trader, with an Indian wife, had refused some hungry Indians credit a short time before when they asked him for provisions. He said to them; “Go and eat grass.” Now he was lying on the ground dead, with his mouth stuffed full of grass, and the Indians were saying tauntingly: “Myrick is eating grass himself.” When I returned to my village that day I found that many of my band had changed their minds about the war, and wanted to go into it. All the other villagers were the same way.

    Events moved quickly. Forty-four Americans were killed and another ten captured in the first full day of fighting in and around the Lower Agency at Redwood. Nearly two hundred additional whites died over the next few days as Dakota massacred farm families and attacked Fort Ridgely and the town of New Ulm. Panicking settlers fled eastward from twenty-three counties, leaving the southwestern Minnesota frontier largely depopulated except for the barricaded fortifications at Fort Ridgely and New Ulm. On August 23, a second Dakota attack on New Ulm left most of  ghd straighteners the town burned to the ground, and 2,000 refugees, mostly women, children, and wounded men, set off in wagons and on foot for Mankato, thirty miles away. On August 26, three days after Governor Alexander Ramsey appointed Colonel Henry Sibley, a former governor, to command American forces that would attempt to suppress the uprising, Sibley advanced from the east with 1,400 soldiers toward Fort Ridgely. The next day, Sibley and his men succeeded in lifting the Dakota siege at Fort Ridgely, and the second phase of the Dakota Conflict– an organized American military effort to defeat and punish the Sioux– began.

    The Dakota offensive continued to achieve success through early September. At dawn on September 2 at Birch Coulee Creek, Dakota warriors attacked a 170-man party of soldiers sent out to bury the bodies of settlers, killing twenty soldiers and ninety horses. Other Dakota attacks were made at Acton, Hutchinson, and Fort Abercrombie. Little Crow is generally acknowledged to have been the leader of the warring Dakota, but Chiefs Mankato, Big Eagle, Shakopee and others played significant leadership roles.

    By mid-September, the initiative had shifted to the American forces. On September 23, in the decisive Battle of Wood Lake, 700 to 1,200 Dakota warriors were forced to withdraw after suffering heavy casualties. Meanwhile, divisions among Dakota on the war increased. To the north, chiefs of the Upper Agency Sisseton and Wahpeton continued to oppose the fighting. Chiefs Red Iron and Standing Buffalo threatened to fire upon any of Little Crow’s followers that entered their territory. During the Wood Lake Battle, “friendlies” (Dakota opposed to the war) were able to seize control of white captives and bring them into their own camp. In late September, the friendlies released 269 white prisoners to the control of Colonel Sibley. Penned in to the north and south, facing severe food shortages and declining morale, many Dakota warriors chose to surrender. Together with those taken captive, the ranks of Dakota prisoners soon swelled to 1,250. A decision had to be made soon what to do with them.

    On September 28, 1862, Colonel Sibley appointed a five-member military commission to “try summarily” Dakota and mixed-bloods for “murder and other outrages” committed against Americans. Whether Sibley had authority to appoint such a commission is a matter of substantial dispute. The commission was convened immediately, meeting in La Bathe’s log kitchen near Camp Release. Sixteen trials were conducted the first day, convicting and sentencing to death ten prisoners and acquitting another six. Over the six weeks that followed, the military court would try a total of 393 cases, convicting 323 and sentencing 303 to death by hanging. Reverend Stephen Riggs, a man who spoke Dakota and was not unsympathetic to their plight, reportedly served as a virtual grand jury, gathering evidence and witnesses.

    The trials were quick affairs, getting quicker as they progressed. The commission heard nearly forty cases on November 3, the last day it met. The commission believed that mere participation in a battle justified a death sentence, so in the many cases, perhaps two-thirds of the total, where the prisoner admitted firing shots it proceeded to a guilty verdict in a matter of a few minutes. Somewhat more deliberation was required for trials in which the charge was the murder or rape of settlers, because admissions were much rarer in these cases. After the defendant gave whatever response he cared to make to the charge, prosecution witnesses were called. Where prosecution witnesses contradicted the testimony of the defendant, the commission almost invariably found the prisoner to be guilty. The best witnesses for the prosecution turned out to be some of the accused. A mixed-blood named Godfrey, or Otakle, who was the first prisoner tried, gave evidence in fifty-five cases and was described by Recorder Isaac Heard as “the greatest institution of the commission.” With his “melodious voice” and “remarkable memory” he seemed to Heard” specifically designed as an instrument of justice.”

    Critics have challenged the fairness of the trials. In addition to raising concerns about the sufficiency of the evidence supporting convictions and the rapidity of trials, critics have charged commission members of harboring prejudice against the defendants. the critics may have a point. The commission members, though men of integrity, were also military men whose troops had recently been under attack by the very men whose cases they were judging. Critics of the trials also have argued that the commission was wrong to treat the defendants as common criminals rather than as the legitimate belligerents of a sovereign power. Finally, they have suggested that the trials should have been conducted in state courts using normal rules of criminal procedure rather than by military commission.

    Colonel Sibley may well have viewed summary trials by a commission as necessary to avoid vigilante justice by angry mobs of Minnesotans. As it was, the 303 condemned prisoners were attacked in New Ulm on November 9 as they being transported to Mankato to await their execution. Another planned attack of the prison camp by several hundred armed local citizens on December 4 was foiled by soldiers guarding the Dakota prisoners.

    The final decision on whether to go ahead with the planned mass execution of the 303 Dakota and mixed-bloods rested with President Lincoln. General John Pope, having been sent to Minnesota after his defeat at Bull Run, campaigned by telegraph for the speedy execution of all the condemned. Virtually all of the editorial writers, politicians, and citizens of Minnesota agreed with Pope. One of the few who did not was Henry Whipple, the Episcopal Bishop of Minnesota. Whipple traveled to Washington to meet with Lincoln and discuss the causes of the Dakota Conflict. By Lincoln’s own account, the visit impressed him deeply and he pledged to reform Indian affairs. Lincoln knew well that the lust for Dakota blood could not be ignored; to prevent any executions from going forward might well have condemned all 303 to death at mob hands. Lincoln asked two clerks to go through the commission’s trial records and identify those prisoners convicted of raping women or children. They found only two [cases 2 and 4]. Lincoln then asked his clerks to search the records a second time and identify those convicted of participating in the massacres of settlers. This time the clerks came up with the thirty-nine names included in Lincoln’s handwritten order of execution written on December 6, 1862.

    In Mankato, at ten o’clock on December 26, thirty-eight (one person was reprieved between the date of Lincoln’s order and the execution) prisoners wearing white muslin coverings and singing Dakota death songs were led to gallows in a circular scaffold and took the places assigned to them on the platform. Ropes were placed around each of the thirty-eight necks. At the signal of three drumbeats, a single blow from an ax cut the rope that held the platform and the prisoners (except for one whose rope had broke, and who consequently had to be restrung) fell to their deaths. A loud cheer went up from the thousands of spectators gathered to witness the event. The bodies were buried in a mass grave on the edge of town. Soon area doctors, including one named Mayo, arrived to collect cadavers for their medical research.

    In April, 1863, Congress enacted a law providing for the forcible removal from Minnesota of all Sioux. Most Dakota, after suffering through a harsh Minnesota winter at a Fort Snelling encampment, moved to South Dakota. Prisoners previously held at Mankato were transported on the steamboat “Favorite” down the Mississippi to Camp McClellan, near Davenport, Iowa.

    On March 22, 1866, President Andrew Johnson ordered the release of the 177 surviving prisoners. They were moved to the Santee Reservation near Niobrara, Nebraska.

    Little Crow was not among the Dakota tried by the military commission. He, along with 150 or so of his followers, fled to present-day North Dakota and Canada. In June 1863, Little Crow returned to Minnesota on a horse-stealing foray. On July 3, a farmer shot Little Crow while the Dakota chief picked berries with his son near Hutchinson. The farmer received a $500 reward from the state.

    The Sioux Wars went on for many years. A military ghd hair straighteners expedition carried the fighting into the Dakota Territory in 1863 and 1864. As the frontier moved westward, new fighting erupted. Finally, in 1890 at Wounded Knee, the generation of warfare that began at Acton, Minnesota in August of 1862 came to an end.

Brown in the fall

Sunday, January 31st, 2010

 The arrest, trial, and execution of John Brown in the fall of 1859 came at a critical moment in United State history.  According to historian David S. Reynolds in his recent biography, John Brown,gucci bags Abolitionist: The Man Who Killed Slavery, Sparked the Civil War, and Seeded Civil Rights (2005), Brown’s actions and statements following his failed attempt to begin a slave insurrection near Harper’s Ferry, Virginia so polarized northern and southern opinion on the slavery issue as to ensure Abraham Lincoln’s election and cause the Civil War to occur perhaps two decades earlier than it might have otherwise. Reynolds is quick to point out that not only was Brown “right” on slavery and other racial issues of his day, but that his conduct–in causing the Civil War to begin in 1861 rather than, say, 1881–potentially saved hundreds of thousands of lives that could have been lost in a war fought in a time of much greater population and more deadly weaponry and, at the same time, might well have spared an entire generation of African-Americans the humiliating experience of human bondage.

    John Brown was born into a family of slavery-hating devout Calvinists on May 9, 1800 in Torrington, Connecticut. At age five, Brown moved with his parents and three siblings to a log house in a frontier township in Ohio’s Western Reserve, a region where native Americans vastly outnumbered the small population of whites. Unlike most other settlers, the Browns showed no indication of feelings of racial superiority, and young John Brown soon had native friends and took to wearing buckskin, a material generally worn only by the Indians.

    While on a long cattle drive into Michigan in 1812, Brown became friends with a slave boy at house where he lodged. There Brown witnessed his friend suffer beatings with household tools and being made to sleep, wearing only rags, in the cold. Brown later described this experience as transforming him into “a most determined Abolitionist.”

    By age sixteen, the second driving force in Brown’s life would be in place: He announced his acceptance of Christ in a small schoolhouse and declared his goal of committing the Bible’s “entire contents” to memory. The next year, Brown would offer his first direct aid to a fugitive slave, hiding him in the family cabin. Soon Brown and his father, Owen Brown, became active participants in the Underground Railroad.

    Brown became the patriarch of a family that was large, familiar with tragedy, committed to abolitionism, and almost unique in its willingness to “live with black people and to die for them.” Over two decades, Brown fathered twenty children with two wives. His first wife died while giving birth to one of the twenty in 1832. Nine of the children succumbed to childhood diseases or accidents. Three sons died in Brown’s private fight against slavery. Only eight (four by his first wife, and four by the steady and stoical Mary Day, who he married in 1833) outlived their father. Brown’s parenting included tough discipline (his ledger, for example, specified eight lashes with a beech switch “for telling a lie”–but Brown sometimes asked his sons to administer most of the punishment on himself), and promotion of self-reliance and Christian values including, especially, compassion for the elderly, the unfortunate, and animals.

    The Radicalization of John Brown

    Brown’s efforts to secure racial justice were numerous and diverse. He promoted a school for blacks. He insisted that his two hired black employees be allowed to sit in his pew at his Congregational Church–an unprecedented demand that led to his expulsion from the church. He became a stationmaster in the Underground Railroad, constructing a hiding place in his barn and taking fugitive slaves on nocturnal rides north to the next station.

    While he endured a series of financial failures in Ohio and Massachusetts, and dealt with his family tragedies, Brown’s thoughts increasingly turned to developing new strategies to combat slavery. He took inspiration from two African-Americans who played key roles in the fight for racial justice. He admired Nat Turner, the Virginia slave who, in 1831, led a bloody armed rebellion against plantation owners that left 55 white southerners dead. He also held in high esteem Cinque, the leader of a successful 1837 revolt on the Spanish slave schooner The Amistad– a ship that eventually found its way to the United States and became the focus of an intense legal battle that culminated in a Supreme Court decision granting the would-be slaves their freedom. Most abolitionists tended to be pacifists, but Brown accepted–and later, embraced–violence as necessary.

    In November 1837 a proslavery mob destroyed the presses of an antislavery newspaper near St. Louis and murdered its editor, Elijah P. Lovejoy. Brown expressed outrage. At an antislavery meeting in Ohio called to protest the murder, Brown suddenly stood up, raised his right hand, and announced, “Here, before God, in the presence of these witnesses, from this time, I consecrate my life to the destruction of slavery!”

    Brown first revealed his plans to incite a slave insurrection in the South to Frederick Douglass when the famous African-American abolitionist visited his Springfield, Massachusetts home in November 1847. Pointing to the Appalachian Mountains in Virginia on a large map on his table, Brown told Douglass that God placed them there “to aid in the emancipation of your race” and they were “full of good hiding places, where a large number of men could be concealed and baffle and elude pursuit for a long time.” He confided that he hoped to invade with “twenty-five picked men” who would sneak on to plantations, liberate slaves, and then retreat with them to the protection of the mountains, eventually forming a black colony there. These invasions, he said, would also have the effect of energizing additional abolitionist activity in the North.

    A few years later, after Brown moved to a farm in North Elba, New York (near Lake Placid) to live in the largely black community established at that scenic location, he began to focus his thoughts on the federal arsenal at Harper’s Ferry. His daughter, Sarah, recalled Brown drawing sketches of forts that he hoped to build for protection in hills surrounding the Virginia town. By 1854, Brown was actively recruiting men to participate in his planned attack on Harper’s Ferry.

    It would be five more years, however, before Brown could put his plan into action. In the meantime, he became drawn into the drama that was unfolding in the Kansas Territory. In 1854, the infamous Kansas-Nebraska Act opened the western territories to slavery. The next year, Brown followed three of his sons to Kansas, hoping to do whatever he could to prevent the state from falling into the slavery column. Both sides dug in for a titanic struggle on the slavery question. Southerners, including many slave owners in neighboring Missouri, believed that if Kansas went for slavery, other western territories–in a sort of domino effect–would do likewise. They pledged to drive antislavery settlers out of Kansas. Northerners saw the battle as equally important. Antislavery activists headed west and began establishing camps in the territory.

    They found anarchic conditions. Violence, primary directed at antislavery settlers by border ruffians from Missouri, meant more than law–and the law was hard to determine, what with two competing territorial legislatures enacting contradictory legislation. Vote fraud was rampant. Missourian General B. F. Stringfellow urged his fellow proslavery supporters, “To those who have qualms about violating laws, I say the time has come when such impositions must be disregarded…I advise you, one and all, to enter every election district in Kansas…and vote at the point of the bowie-knife and revolver.” The ruffians, having organized a bogus legislature, pushed through legislation imposing years in prison for publishing or even possessing an abolitionist publication and promising the death penalty for anyone urging slaves to revolt. Killings occurred with distressing frequency. A visiting woman from Boston wrote from Kansas that to the proslavery men “to shoot a man is not much more than to shoot a buck.”

    Events of the first half of 1856 radicalized Brown and pointed him toward the incident that changed the terms of the national debate over slavery and remains controversial to this day: the slaughter of proslavery settlers near Pottawatomie, Kansas on May 24, 1856. The first disturbing news of the year came from Washington, when President Franklin Pierce announced his support for the corrupt proslavery legislature in Kansas and proclaimed opposition to it treasonable. (Pierce’s action led to the formation of the antislavery Republican Party the following month.) In April, Brown’s outspoken attacks on the proslavery legislature led a proslavery judge to issue warrants for the arrest of him and his sons. On May 21, 751 border ruffians and southerners, waving banners proclaiming the supremacy of the white race, swept down on the antislavery town of Lawrence, ransacking the presses of two antislavery presses and burning and looting homes and businesses. Following news of the fall of Lawrence, a friend described Brown as “wild and frenzied.” The next day, May 22, South Carolina Senator Preston Brooks took his gold-topped cane and, on the floor of the U. S. Senate, clubbed senseless Massachusetts Senator Charles Sumner after he delivered a abolitionist speech, “The Crime Against Kansas.” When Brown received word of the caning in Washington, according to his son Jason, “it seemed to be the finishing, decisive touch.” Brown told his supporters, “I am entirely tired of hearing that word ‘caution.’ It is nothing but the word of cowardice.”

    The details of the murders by Brown’s band at Pottawatomie are well known. Brown and six others set out from Ottawa Creek on May 23 with rifles, revolvers, and swords heading toward proslavery territory. Around ten o’clock the following night Brown’s men, announcing they were from the Northern Army, broke into the home of proslavery activist James Doyle. Doyle and his two older sons were led into the woods near the cabin and hacked to death. The group then headed to the cabin of Allen Wilkinson, a proslavery district attorney. Wilkinson met the same end as the Doyles. A short time later, the fifth and final victim, William Sherman, was taken and killed. Brown directed the killings; he did not, it seems, participate in them. Afterward, he remained unapologetic. “God is my judge,” he said. “It was absolutely necessary as a measure of self-defense, and for the defense of others.” Pottawatomie changed the way southerners viewed northern abolitionists. No longer did they see them all as toothless pushovers–they began to see them as radical and potentially dangerous.

    Over the next two years, Brown–now a nationally known figure–would divide his time between the efforts to secure free state status for Kansas and planning for his invasion at Harper’s Ferry. Part of that period was spent in the Northeast, meeting abolitionists to raise money for his antislavery ventures. His most important financial backers, including a group of men who would become known as “The Secret Six,” were connected in varying degrees to the Transcendentalist Movement (centered in Concord, Massachusetts and often associated with Ralph Waldo Emerson and Henry David Thoreau) that viewed slavery as an unmixed evil and placed duty to conscience above obedience to the positive law. For another part of those two years, Brown was back near the frontier engaging in a frontal attack on slavery and seeking recruits for his future attack on Harper’s Ferry. By the end of 1857, ten key members of the group that would mount the attack had joined Brown.

    Together with his supporters, Brown drafted his utopian “Provisional Constitution and Ordinances for the People of the United States,” a document intended to reform the existing flawed proslavery Constitution in what Brown hoped would a better society built on the concept of racial equality. Brown presented his constitution to an antislavery convention of African-Americans in Chatham, Ontario in May 1858. The convention approved the constitution and elected several blacks to official positions in the provisional government. The convention itself was extraordinary. As historian David Reynolds noted, “It was organized by a white man, attended largely by blacks, and designed to raise a black army to trigger an African American revolution that would wipe out slavery.”

    In June 1858, with rumors swirling of his plans to raise an army to end slavery (based primarily on leaks by Hugh Forbes, a British native that Brown had tried to recruit), Brown again headed west. He found the situation in Kansas much improved, with antislavery settlers now vastly outnumbering the proslavery settlers, and the territory (despite the best efforts of the federal government, which offered fast-track statehood and more territory if settlers approved a proslavery constitution) headed in the direction of free state status. The national political climate was also changing, as that month Abraham Lincoln declared in a speech in Illinois, “A house divided against itself cannot stand. I believe this government cannot endure, permanently half slave and half free.”

    On the night of December 20, 1858, Brown engaged in a memorable raid that panicked slave-owners and transformed him, in the minds of many influential northern supporters, into the practical man of action needed to bring a swift end to the evil institution of slavery. Brown rode with twenty of his men into Verona County, Missouri, where they forcibly liberated twelve slaves from two farms and begin leading them on a successful 82-day, one thousand mile winter journey to freedom in Canada. The slave liberation prompted Gerrit Smith, one member of the Secret Six, to say, “I was once doubtful in my own mind as to Captain Brown’s course. I now approve of it heartily.”

    The Attack at Harper’s Ferry

    Brown began focusing on final preparations for the Harper’s Ferry assault, raising additional men and money, and securing necessary weapons. Brown was getting anxious. “Talk! talk! talk!” he complained at a meeting in Boston. “That will never free the slaves. What is needed is action-action.”

    John Brown finally put his grand plan into action on July 3, 1859, when he and three other men scouted the federal arsenal at Harper’s Ferry, a town nestled on a peninsula amid the high banks that surrounded the confluence of the Shenandoah and Potomac rivers. The town manufactured more weapons than any other place in the South, and almost 200,000 weapons were stored in the United States Armory located there. Brown’s plan was to take the arsenal, arm freed slaves in the vicinity, and then retreat to the mountains where they could mount additional raids to free more slaves.

    The next day, Brown headed across the Potomac to Maryland, where he began looking for an off-the-beaten-track place to house and train his soldiers for the raid on Harper’s Ferry. He eventually found a farm (”the Kennedy Farm”) five miles from Harper’s Ferry, set well back from any road, which he rented for $35. Over the next two months Brown’s additional recruits, both whites and blacks, arrived at the Kennedy Farm. The men at the farm prepared rifles, studied military strategies, and relaxed in song or games of checkers and cards.

    On October 15, Brown announced to his twenty-one recruits that the revolution would begin the next night. In the morning, following a religious service, Brown read his proposed provisional constitution and assigned tasks for his men. Eighteen men would directly participate in the raid on the arsenal, including the cutting of telegraph wires, securing of bridges, and taking of hostages. Three other men would serve as sentinels and carry stolen weapons to a schoolhouse near Harper’s Ferry for distribution to the freed slaves. Brown told his men to use violence only as a last resort: “Consider that the lives of others are as dear to them a yours are to you.” At eight o’clock, Brown told his forces, “Men, get your arms; we will proceed to the Ferry.”

    The early stages of Brown’s plan went well. Wires were cut and bridges taken without bloodshed. Brown, announcing his intention “to free all the negroes in this state,” seized the night watchman at the federal armory. Brown’s men took the arsenal and captured hostages. Brown began waiting for news of his raid to reach local slaves, who he expected would then rebel against their white masters. Six men sent to the countryside by Brown to get the liberation process going and to give each freed slave a pike, either for defensive purposes or to guard white slave owners so as to prevent their escape.

    Unfortunately for Brown, the freed slaves did not respond as he had hoped. The surprising events left some confused, thinking they were about to be sold South rather than expected to become troops in a liberating army. Others refused to take pikes and hid. Most seemed unable to comprehend the notion that a white man would come to aid them in a fight against their own white masters.

    Brown ignored warnings from his other officers to escape while the escaping was still good. He still held out hope that “the bees would begin to swarm” and his revolution succeed. Meanwhile, local townspeople had begun taking up arms to fight the invaders. Worse yet, an eastbound train, temporarily halted by Brown’s men (after the unfortunate shooting of a black baggage handler), was allowed to proceed. The conductor stopped the train at the next station to the east and wired the master of transportation in Baltimore that “150 Abolitionists” had taken Harper’s Ferry intent on freeing slaves. A short time later, the president of the Baltimore & Ohio Rail Road telegraphed President Buchanan and Governor Wise of Virginia to inform them of the crisis at the Ferry.

    After noon or so on October 17, escape from Harper’s Ferry became impossible. Citizen soldiers and two militia companies from nearby Charles Town moved toward the federal arsenal. They retook bridges and swept into town. The first of Brown’s men to die was Dangerfield Newby, a black recruit guarding a bridge who had hoped to free his enslaved wife thirty miles south of the Ferry. After Newby fell to gunfire, angry citizens desecrated his body and shoved it into a gutter, where it was eaten by roving hogs. Other deaths soon followed as Brown remained holed up with his more than thirty hostages in the armory.

    As the situation continued to deteriorate, Brown and his men moved with eleven of their key hostages to the fire-engine house, a brick building that became know as John Brown’s Fort, the site of his gucci sunglasses last stand. Hundreds of hostile townspeople–enraged over the killing of their mayor and another prominent citizen–and twelve militia companies soon surrounded the engine-house. Brown’s men fired out through lashed-open double doors, but kept taking bullets. One fatally wounded Brown’s son, Oliver as he aimed his rifle out the cracked doors. At 11 p.m., a company of marines commanded by Colonel Robert E. Lee arrived at Harper’s Ferry.

    At dawn on October 18, a lieutenant chosen by Lee approached the engine-house and delivered to Brown Lee’s formal demand for surrender. When Brown rejected the offer, marines stormed the engine-house, battering it with sledge hammers. In the battle that ensued, Brown was stabbed, but not fatally. Many of his men, however, died by either gunfire or bayonets. The eleven hostages were liberated, and Brown and four of his surviving men taken prisoner. Brown was carried to the armory, where a group of reporters and politicians, including Virginia’s Governor Henry Wise and two U. S. senators, questioned him. He told his interviewers that he came to Virginia at the prompting of “my Maker” and his only objective was “to free the slaves.” Asked how he felt about the failure of freed slaves to enthusiastically embrace his liberation, Brown said, “Yes. I have been disappointed.” After the interview, Governor Wise, while abhorring Brown’s views, pronounced him “the gamest man I ever saw.”

    The Trial of John Brown

    The greatest effects of John Brown’s life come from how he acted and what he said after his arrest. A person who might have been a footnote in history became, for many northerners, a saintly martyr who helped persuade millions that eradication of slavery throughout the land was the only answer to the divisions in America.

    Brown and his fellow prisoners were transported eight miles to Charles Town, were they arraigned on three state charges: treason against Virginia, inciting slaves to rebellion, and murder. After hearing the charges, Brown rose to say, “If you want my blood, you can have it any moment, without this mockery of a trial.” The presiding judge, unmoved, set October 26 as the day for the trial to open–with Brown to be tried before his compatriots.

    In the North, only–at first–did the Transcendalists rally to Brown’s defense. Henry David Thoreau delivered to a Concord audience his “A Plea for Captain John Brown” in which he praised Brown as “a man of ideas and principles.” Thoreau boldy described Brown and Christ as “two ends of a chain which I rejoice to know is without links.”

    On the morning of October 26, as armed guards and cannons surrounded the courthouse in Charles Town, Brown’s trial began with the return of the Grand Jury’s indictment. The injured Brown, except when forced to rise, lay on a cot. He asked for a delay in his trial. His motion was denied. To the charges against him, he pled “not guilty.”

    Northern reporters covering Brown’s trial noted its farcical aspects. The nearly 600 spectators who crowded the courtroom continuously opened peanuts and chestnuts, then tossed the shells on the floor so that crunched noisily when anyone walked on them. Other onlookers spat tobacco juice, smoked cigars, or hurled occasional insults in the direction of the defendant. A long-haired militiaman assigned to security marched around shouting at unruly spectators. Charles Harding, the prosecutor, relaxed with his feet on a table. He would doze off from time to time, awakening in one instance to call out for tobacco. When he showed up up the second day of trial with a bruised face, he told curious reporters that the injuries resulted from a fight the night before with a “blind nigger.” Eventually, Harding’s obvious alcohol impairment convinced Judge Andrew Parker to replace him with a new prosecutor, the more dignified Andrew Hunter. Brown,meanwhile, spent most of the trial lying on his back.

    There was considerable speculation that Brown would plead insanity. His defense attorneys had begun marshalling evidence to support such a theory. Ohio abolitionists pushed the idea, hoping that evidence of insanity would lighten his sentence, even if it failed to gain an outright acquittal. Brown, however, would have no part of it. He called the insanity plea a “pretext” and said, “If I am insane, of course, I should I know more than all the rest of the world. But I do not think so.” He rejected “any attempt to interfere in my behalf on that score.” (In fact, the best evidence is that Brown did not suffer from insanity, as he showed none of its classic symptoms–swings of mood, delusions, disengagement, inability to sleep or concentrate.)

    Testimony began with the prosecution presenting witnesses that laid out for the jurors the events of October 16 to 18. Conductor Phelps, for example, described how Brown’s men stopped his train and, with rifles pointing at him, ordered to back the train away from the bridge. He also told the jurors how his black baggage handler came running to him yelling, “Captain, I am shot” as blood flowed from under his left nipple. He recalled being approached by Brown (described by his men as “Captain Smith”) who assured him his life was not in danger: “My head for it, you will not be hurt.” Phelps, who later returned to Harper’s Ferry for the interview with Brown that included Governor Wise and others, also described Brown’s planned slave revolution, as Brown had outlined them immediately after his capture in the engine-house.

    Prosecution witness–and hostage–Colonel Lewis W. Washington, who also recounted Brown’s post-arrest interview, told jurors in his cross-examination by defense attorney Lawson Botts that Brown had treated hostages respectfully. Washington testified that prisoners “were allowed to go out and assure their families of their safety” and that Brown told him that he would be treated well. He also stated that Brown “gave frequent orders not to fire on unarmed citizens.” Washington said that Brown complained of the “bad faith” shown to his men who had walked with a flag of truce, but that he had not “uttered any vindictiveness against the people.” Bott’s cross revealed the basic defense strategy: faced with obvious criminality, prove that Brown’s intentions through it all were never malicious–and hope that the sentence would not be the ultimate punishment that everyone in Virginia seemed to predicting that it would be.

    Perhaps the most damaging prosecution witness was slave owner and hostage John Allstadt, who described being awakened in his Virginia farmhouse by armed men telling him, “Get up quick, or we will burn you up.” The men told Allstadt that they intended to “free the country of slavery” and, to help get that process going, would take him and his seven slaves (who had been armed with pikes) to Harper’s Ferry. Allstadt told jurors that the antislavery men drove him in a wagon to the federal Armory, where he met John Brown. He described Brown’s activities in the engine-house after he was surrounded by Lee’s marines. Brown, Allstadt said, carried a cocked rifle and squatted near the front door, firing at the marines. “My opinion is,” he said of the fatal wounding of one soldier, “that he killed that marine.” On cross-examination, however, Allstadt conceded that he could not say for certain whose shot it was that killed the marine and that there was much confusion and excitement at the time. He also admitted that Brown expressed deep regret upon hearing the news that one of his men had shot the unarmed and popular mayor of Harper’s Ferry.

    The defense chose to open its case with another of Brown’s hostages, Joseph A. Brewer. Brewer painted Brown as a principled and considerate captor. He testified that Brown allowed hostages to “shelter themselves as they could.” Remarkably, Brewer, after being allowed by Brown to leave so that he might carry a wounded citizen into the town hotel for treatment, returned–as he promised–to his hostage status in the engine-house. Brewer confirmed earlier testimony concerning Brown’s displeasure at the wounding of one of his men carrying the flag of truce. The shooting prompted Brown to warn that he had the power to destroy the place “in half an hour”–but then he quickly reassured his hostages that he had no intention of doing so.

    Lead prosecutor Andrew Hunter, a dominating presence in the Charles Town courtroom, interrupted defense attorney Thomas Green’s examination of yet another witness describing Brown’s pleas not to shoot citizens unless in self-defense. Hunter objected that testimony had “no more to do with this case than the dead languages.” Judge Parker, probably sensing that the defense would prove unavailing anyway, allowed the defense to continue to present evidence of Brown’s forbearance.

    The most dramatic moment in the trial came during the testimony of militiaman Henry Hunter, who led the capture, shooting, and desecration of William Thompson, one of Brown’s closest friends. Hunter told jurors that as they cornered Thompson in a hotel, the hotelkeeper’s daughter pleaded with him to spare his life and let justice take its course. Hunter replied, “Mr. Beckham’s life is worth ten thousand of these vile abolitionists.” Thompson answered, “You may take my life, but 80,000 will arise up to avenge me, and carry out my purpose of giving liberty to the slaves.” Unmoved, Hunter dragged Thompson to a railroad bridge to serve as a rifle target. Hunter insisted “I have no regrets” about the brutal killing, having just witnessed his uncle and “the best friend I ever had” shot by one of Brown’s men.

    Angered by the callousness of Hunter, Brown rose to his feet. “May it please the Court,” he said, “I discover that, notwithstanding all the assurances I have received of a fair trial, nothing like a fair trial is given me.” Brown complained that subpoenas had not been delivered to persons he had hoped would testify in his behalf. He demanded that the trial be deferred until the arrival of counsel “in whom I feel I can rely.” The sixty gold dollars in his pocket at the time of his arrest had been stolen, he said, and “I have not a dime” to fund the defense. After registering his objections, Brown laid down “drew a blanket over him and closed his eyes.”

    Following Brown’s interruption and the immediate withdrawl from the case of defense attorneys Botts and Green, twenty-one year old George Hoyt, a young Boston lawyer actually sent to scout out escape possibilities (he concluded that escape was hopeless) rather than materially aid in the defense, stood to announce it would be “ridiculous” for him to carry on the defense of Brown without a continuation of the case, as he had not read the indictment, had not discussed defense strategy with his client or other lawyers, and had “no knowledge of the criminal code of Virginia.” Parker granted a one day adjournment, allowing time for two more defense attorneys, Samuel Chilton and Hiram Griswold, to arrive in Charles Town.

    The defense continued to draw its witnesses from unlikely sources, such as a Maryland volunteer company commanded by Captain Simms. Simms joined the parade of defense witnesses who described Brown’s generous treatment of prisoners even in the face of provocation. Like many witnesses, Simms was quick to insist he had no sympathy Brown’s goals, even while he admired his bravery and integrity. Simms claimed he appeared as a defense witness “with pleasure” because he did not want it said by “northern men” that “southern men were unwilling to appear as witnessses in behalf of one whose principles they abhorred.”

    Closing arguments began on Monday, October 30 in a packed courtroom. Hiram Griswold spoke for the defense. Griswold argued that “no man is guilty of treason unless he be a citizen of the state against which the treason so alleged has been committed”–and that Brown, a citizen of New York, could not therefore commit treason against Virginia. As for the charge of inciting a slave revolt, Griswold insisted “there is a manifest distinction” between trying to free slaves, which Brown admittedly did, and inciting them “to rebellion and insurrection,” which includes “riot, robbery, murder, and arson.” Brown’s goal, Griswold told the jury, was to liberate slaves, not kill slaveowners or inflict mayhem. Finally, Griswold conceded, as he must, that citizens were shot during the Harper’s Ferry incident. To call these shootings “murders,” however, as the state sought to do, was to confuse common criminal conduct with the unfortunate but sometime necessary consequences of a military battle. The deaths, Griswold contended, were not “murders” within the meaning of Virginia law.

    Andrew Hunter, in his closing argument for the prosecution, said the Brown had “come into the bosom of the Commonwealth with the deadly purpose of applying the torch to our buildings and shedding the blood of our citizens.” Hunter argued that no matter whether Brown’s conduct was seen as “tragical or farcical,” it was “not alone for the purpose of carrying off slaves.” Brown’s “Provisional Constitution” showed that he had grander plans–and that his plans mad him “clearly guilty of treason.” There was, Hunter argued, “too much method in Brown’s madness” for him to avoid the full legal consequences of his actions. “When you put pikes in the hands of slaves and have their masters captive,” you cannot then claim to be merely liberating negroes and not inciting a slave rebellion. Finally, Hunter told the jury, it is irrelevant under the law whether Brown himself intended to take life. When one perpetrates a felony and deaths result, that is murder under the law whether the defendant wished those deaths to occur or not. If Brown had his way, Hunter contended, Virginia would have become another Haiti (the site of a bloody slave insurrection). “You have nothing to do” with the question of mercy, Hunter told the jury in closing. “If justice requires you by your verdict to take his life,…send him before the Maker who will settle the question for ever and ever.” Brown listened to Hunter’s crescendoing voice lying on his back with his eyes closed.

    Just forty-five minutes after being sent out to deliberate, the jury returned with their verdict. Spectators, filling nearly every square foot of the courtroom, silently and anxiously craned their necks to observe the closing scene. According to a reporter, “the only calm and unruffled countenance” was “Old John Brown.” The Clerk of Court asked, “Gentlemen of the jury, what say you, is the prisoner at the bar, John Brown, guilty or not guilty?” The foreman replied with a single word: “Guilty.”

    Sentencing took place on November 2, 1859. After overruling defense objections to the verdict, Judge Parker asked Brown if he had anything he wished to say before being sentenced. Brown immediately rose and in a clear, distinct voice delivered one of the most memorable courtroom speeches ever by a defendant in a criminal case. Ralph Waldo Emerson would later call it, along with the Gettysburg Address, one of the two greatest American speeches. Brown said:

    [T]he New Testament teaches me that all things whatsoever I would that men should do to me, I should do even so to them….I have endeavored to act on that instruction. I am yet too young to understand that God is any respecter of persons. I believe that to have interfered, as I have done,…in behalf of His despised poor, is no wrong, but right. Now, if it is deemed necessary that I should forfeit my life for the furtherance of the ends of justice, and mingle my blood farther with the blood of my children and the blood of millions in this slave country whose rights are disregarded by wicked, cruel, and unjust enactments, I say let it be done.”

    Judge Parker listened silently to Brown’s speech. Then he sentenced him to be publicly hanged on December 2. When Parker pronounced his sentence, one man in the crowd clapped.

    Trial Aftermath

    Brown’s remarkable performance in prison and in the courtroom changed perceptions of Harper’s Ferry in both the North and the South. Abolitionists came to see Brown as an heroic–but, for most, still flawed–figure. Southerners, on the other hand, while recognizing Brown’s bravery, increasingly saw him as a dangerous and black-hearted villain. Many in the South began to link Brown to what they called the “Black Republican” Party of the North–and for these proslavery voices, the consequences of a possible Republican victory the next year became so unimaginably bad that talk of secession began to be heard. On the floor of the U. S. Senate, Senator Jefferson Davis, later President of the Confederacy, said that William Seward, one of the leading contenders for the 1860 Republican presidential nomination, should have been hanged along with John Brown: “We have been invaded, and that invasion, and the facts connected with it, show Mr. Seward to be a traitor, and deserving of the gallows.”

    Efforts by Southerners to tar William Seward to Harper’s Ferry made him, too, a casualty of Brown’s attempted insurrection. As Seward’s political fortunes sank, those of another Republican would rise. John Brown’s actions in 1859 secured for Abraham Lincoln the party’s nomination for President in 1860.

    Brown might have ended up as but a footnote in history but for the efforts of Transcendalists, especially Ralph Waldo Emerson, to turn him into a larger-than-life figure. In 1859, few people in America had as much cultural clout as the eloquent abolitionist lecturer of Boston. Emerson’s lecture, “Courage,” delivered in the Music Hall in Boston on November 8, six days after Brown’s sentence of death, began to turn the tide of northern public opinion in Brown’s favor. Emerson said of Brown: “That new saint, than whom none purer or mor brave was ever led by love of men into conflict and death,–the new saint awaiting his martyrdom, and who, if he shall suffer, will make the gallows glorious like the cross.” Emerson’s “glorious gallows” speech polarized opinion, inspiring Brown’s admirers and outraging his opponents.

    As interest in his fate continued to swell, John Brown awaited execution in a Charles Town jail. He discouraged rescue efforts, and focused instead on furthering his abolitionist crusade through interviews with reporters and writing letters. As a Calvinist, Brown calmly accepted his fate as predetermined by God.

    On December 1, the day before his scheduled execution, Brown met with his wife, Mary Day Brown, who had made the long and risky trek south from the family farm in North Elba, New York. They hugged for several minutes without saying a word. When words came, he told Mary, “We must all bear it in the best manner we can. I believe it is for the best.”

    The next day dawned fair and mild. Charles Town readied itself for Brown’s execution. Workers finished a six-foot-high, twelve by sixteen foot scaffold, with a trapdoor on hinges to open as the rope was cut, on a field at the southeast edge of town. Thomas (later “Stonewall”) Jackson, from VMI, was in town to command cadets to guard the site. Major General Robert E. Lee posted soldiers at bridges and along area rivers. Canons were aimed at the prison and soldiers lined up to surround the scaffold. Outsiders, except for a small number of reporters, were denied entry to the town.

    Around 11 o’clock Brown, with his arms tied behind his back with rope and wearing a black coat and trousers, white socks, and red slippers, was led from his prison cell to a furniture wagon. As two white horses pulled the wagon to the execution site, Brown observed to the jailer who guarded him, “This is beautiful country.” Once on the scaffold, a white hood was pulled over his head. Brown told the captain heading the execution team, “Do not keep me needlessly waiting.” It would be, however, ten minutes more before the sheriff finally cut the rope holding the trapdoor with his hatchet and Brown fell, snapping his spinal column. For five minutes his “body jerked and quivered,” according to a reporter at the scene. Colonel John Preston of the Virginia Military Institute announced, as the body at last hung relaxed, “So perish all such enemies of Virginia!” A young volunteer in the Virginia Greys watched the scene with what he later said was “unlimited, undeniable contempt” for the “traitor and terrorizer.” The young volunteer’s name was John Wilkes Booth.

    The coffin carrying Brown arrived back in North Elba five days later. The following day, December 8, 1859, as family friend Lyman Epps (part African American, part Native American) sang “Blow Ye Trumpet, Blow!,” John Brown’s body was lowered into a grave gucci shoes about fifty feet from his family house. It still lies mouldering there today. His soul marched on, however, inspiring Union troops in the Civil War that finally would bring an end to the evil he fought to his death.

the fledgling abolitionist

Sunday, January 31st, 2010

  The improbable voyage of the schooner Amistad and the court proceedings and diplomatic maneuverings that resulted from ugg shoes that voyage form one of the most significant stories of the nineteenth century. When Steven Spielberg chose the Amistad case as the subject of his 1997 feature film, he finally brought it the attention the case had long deserved, but never received. The Amistad case energized the fledgling abolitionist movement and intensified conflict over slavery, prompted a former President to go before the Supreme Court and condemn the policies of a present Administration, soured diplomatic relations between the United States and Spain for a generation, and created a wave of interest in sending Christian missionaries to Africa.

    Two sea captains, Peletiah Fordham and Henry Green, were shooting birds among the dunes at the eastern tip of Long Island on the morning of August 26, 1839, when they were startled to encounter four black men wearing only blankets. Once the blacks were assured through sign language that they were not in slaveholding country, they led Fordham and Green to a point in the dunes where they could see a black schooner, flagless with its sails in tatters, sitting at anchor a mile or so from the beach. Another smaller boat was on the beach, guarded by more black men, many of whom were wearing necklaces and bracelets of gold doubloons. One of the black men, who appeared to be the leader of the group, told Fordham and Green that there were two trunks full of gold aboard the schooner, and that they would be given to whoever outfitted them with provisions and helped them sail back to their African homeland. Green suggested that if they got the trunks he would help them return to Africa.

    Green’s and Fordham’s dreams of riches were interrupted by a brig of the U. S. Coast Guard, the Washington, which intercepted the rowboat as it made its way back to the schooner. The commander of the brig, Lieutenant Thomas Gedney, boarded the schooner and ordered, at gunpoint, all hands below the deck. Two Spaniards emerged from below. One was old, bearded, and sobbing. The other was a man in his mid-twenties. Jose Ruiz, the younger man, spoke English and eagerly began to tell the tale of mutiny, blood, deceit, and desperation aboard the Amistad.

    The schooner had left Havana on June 28, bound for Puerto Principe, a Cuban coastal town. Aboard the Amistad were five whites, a mulatto cook, a black cabin boy, and fifty-three slaves. Ruiz had bought forty-nine adult male slaves at the Havana market. The older, bearded white, Pedro Montes, had bought four child slaves, including three girls. On the fourth night at sea, the slaves managed to free themselves from their irons. In the ensuing struggle, the Africans killed the captain, Ramon Ferrer, and a mulatto cook. (According to the story later told by the Africans, the mulatto cook had told the slaves that they would be chopped to pieces and salted as meat for the Spaniards when the ship arrived at its destination.) Two crewman abandoned ship in the stern boat. Montes and Ruiz were spared, apparently because their help was thought necessary in steering the ship to Africa. Montes sailed toward Africa, but slowly and only during the day. At night, he reversed course and headed due west, hoping to landfall in the southern United States. After six weeks of zig-zagging at sea, the Amistad arrived in New York.

    (What Ruiz did not say was that the slaves were recently brought from Africa and brought to Cuba in direct contravention of an 1817 treaty between Spain and Britain prohibiting the importation of slaves to Spanish colonies. Using falsified passports, corrupt officials, and nighttime landings, slave traders often were successful in eluding the British ships that patrolled waters in an effort to enforce the importation ban.)

    As Ruiz told his story, an athletic-looking black man, naked except for a gold necklace, suddenly appeared from below and leaped off the boat. The Washington gave chase, but the man was a strong swimmer, constantly diving as the ship neared. Tiring, the man took off his necklace, letting it–to the dismay of Gedney–fall to the bottom of the sea. Finally, crew members recaptured the black man, later known as Cinque, and put him into chains. The Amistad was towed to New London, Connecticut, where its arrival would dominate the news for weeks to come.

    The United States Attorney for Connecticut, William S. Holabird, ordered a judicial hearing on the Washington. It was unclear to Holabird, as it was to many, whether a crime had been committed, who had committed it, or whether U. S. courts even had jurisdiction. There was also the matter of salvage rights, which were claimed by Gedney and the Washington crew. The Amistad’s cargo of wine, saddles, gold, and silk was worth an estimated $40,000 in 1839 dollars, and the slaves had a market value of at least half that much.

    The district judge for Connecticut was Andrew T. Judson, an appointee of then President Martin Van Buren. Judson was not likely to sympathize with the Africans, having six years earlier prosecuted a Connecticut schoolmistress for establishing a school for Negroes that Judson claimed violated a state law against encouraging black migration. (When the jury was unable to reach a verdict in the case, a mob set fire to the schoolmistress’s house.)

    On August 29, 1839, three days after the schooner’s discovery, Judge Judson opened a hearing on complaints of murder and piracy filed by Montes and Ruiz. Thirty-nine Africans (of the forty-three who had survived the weeks at sea) were present, including Cinque, who appeared wearing a red flannel shirt, white duck pants, and manacles. He appeared calm and mute, occasionally making a motion with his hand to his throat to suggest a hanging.

    The three principal witnesses at the hearing were the first mate of the Washington and Montes and Ruiz. The first mate described what happened when the Amistad was first boarded. Montes and Ruiz described the mutiny and subsequent weeks at sea. Ruiz testified:

    I took an oar and tried to quell the mutiny. I cried ‘No! No!.’ I then heard one of the crew cry murder. I then heard the captain order the cabin boy to go below and get some bread to throw among the negroes, hoping to pacify them. I did not see the captain killed.

    Montes added his description of events on the fourth night at sea:

    Between three and four was awakened by a noise which was caused by blows to the mulatto cook. I went on deck and they attacked me. I seized a stick and a knife with a view to defend myself….At this time [Cinque] wounded me on the head severely with one of the sugar knives, also on the arm. I then ran below and stowed myself between two barrels, wrapped up in a sail. [Cinque] rushed after me and attempted to kill me, but was prevented by the interference of another man….I was then taken on deck and tied to the hand of Ruiz.

    After listening to the testimony, Judge Judson referred the case for trial in Circuit Court, where in 1839 all federal criminal trials were held, and ordered the Africans put into custody at the county jail in New Haven. The Amistads became a huge attraction. As many as 5,000 people a day visited the jail. The jailer charged one New York shilling (about twelve cents) for close looks at the captives. The Africans also attracted scientific interest. A phrenologist examined the captives and took life masks which were later put on public display. The New Haven jail was relatively loose. Jailers took the children, robust and full of hilarity, on wagon rides. The adults were allowed daily exercise on New Haven’s green, where their cavorting, somersaults, and acrobatic leaps surprised residents unaccustomed to such public displays of exuberance.

    For most New Englanders the Amistads were a curiosity. For a small, but growing, group of abolitionists, however, they were a cause and an opportunity. Abolitionist leader Lewis Tappan described the capture of the Africans as a providential occurrence that might allow the heart of the nation to be touched through the power of sympathy. The Amistad Committee was quickly formed and soon the group had enlisted legal help, including that of Roger Baldwin, who would later become the governor of Connecticut.

    Spain, meanwhile, pressed the United States to return the schooner to its Cuban owners, concede that the U. S. courts had no jurisdiction over Spanish subjects, and return the Amistads to Havana. The Van Buren Administration was anxious to comply with the Spanish demands, but there was this matter of due process of law. The Administration, through District Attorney Holabird, crafted legal arguments that it hoped would produce the results sought by Spain.

    On September 14, 1939, the Amistads ugg australia were sent by canal boat and stage to Hartford for their trial in the Circuit courtroom of Judge Smith Thompson, who also served (as was then the custom for Circuit Court judges) as a justice on the United States Supreme Court. Holabird asked the court to turn all the prisoners over to the President and to let him decide this matter that bore heavily on the relations between great powers. Baldwin, for the defense, argued that no power on earth has the right to reduce [the Africans] to slavery and the United States should never stoop so low as to become a slave-catcher for foreign slave-holders. Judge Thompson preferred to evade the larger debate over abolition and rested his decision on jurisdictional grounds. He decided after three days of argument that because the alleged mutiny and murders occurred in international waters and did not involve U.. S. citizens, the court had no jurisdiction to consider the criminal charges. Were the slaves property? That was a matter, Judge Thompson ruled, that had to be decided first in the district court. Thompson ruled that the Africans, although no longer considered prisoners, should be detained until the district court could decide whether they were property and–if they were property–who owned them.

    The defense devoted considerable time to the task of trying to locate someone familiar with the language spoken by the Africans. Dr. Josiah Gibbs, a Yale philologist, and a clergyman who trained the deaf and dumb examined the Africans. They concluded that the Amistads were Mende, from a region south of Freetown in what is now Sierra Leone. Gibbs learned to count in Mende, then wandered up and down the waterfronts of New York counting in Mende, looking for signs of recognition among the Africans he encountered. Finally his efforts were successful, and a Mende speaker, James Covey, was brought to New Haven.

    The full story of the Africans’ adventures began to come out. The Amistad captives had first met at a slave factory in Lomboko after having been kidnapped by African slavers. They along with about 600 other Africans were loaded aboard the Portugeese ship Tecora and taken via the infamous Middle Passage across the Atlantic. The slaves were kept naked, flogged for not eating, and chained in a half-lying position. Many died and sea and were tossed overboard. Landing at night in Havana, they were taken to the barracoon, or slave market where ten days later they were bought by Ruiz and Montes. On the fourth night of the Amistad’s voyage, Cinque used a nail to break the chain that fastened all the slaves to the wall, and the mutiny began.

    Life in Connecticut for the Amistads began to take on a semblance of normalcy. For two to five hours a day they were instructed in English and theology by students of the Yale Divinity school. Bonds between some of the Africans and their teachers began to develop. Still, it was a trying time for many of the Amistads, experiencing their first harsh weather, exposed to new diseases, and the length of their separation from their homeland growing with no end in sight. Tu-a became the first African to die in New Haven, occasioning a raucous funeral that raised many New Englanders’ eyebrows.

    The Amistad civil trial began on November 19, 1839 in Hartford. After two days of testimony, the trial was adjourned until January 7, 1840. In the New Haven harbor was the naval schooner Grampus, sent there by President Van Buren to sail the Amistads back to Cuba should the court rule, as expected, in the government’s favor. Van Buren’s secret orders provided that the Africans were to be rushed immediately to the ship and placed in irons before an appeal could be filed, and that the Grampus should sail for Havana unless an appeal shall actually have been interposed.

    Baldwin and the Amistads’ lawyers produced several witnesses to support their claim that the Africans were illegally imported from Africa and were therefore the property of no one. Dr. Gibbs, as a linguistics expert, testified that the Amistads spoke Mende, not Spanish. Cinque and Grabeau, another of the Africans, recounted (through James Covey, their interpreter) the story of their capture, voyage across the Atlantic, sale in Havana, mutiny, and eventual arrival in Long Island. Spectators reportedly listened to Cinque with breathless attention. The New Haven Herald reported that he manifested a high degree of sagacity, of keenness, and decision. Sullivan Haley testified that Ruiz, now back in Cuba, had admitted that the captives were not legal slaves. Francis Bacon, a local resident who had visited the west African coast in the summer of 1839 described how Lomboko was frequented by Cuban traders and how the slave trade was the universal business of the country. (The slave factory at Lomboko, incidentally, had been raided by the British one month before the trial, an all slaves held there had been liberated.) Baldwin also introduced the deposition of Dr. Richard Madden, an abolitionist and the British anti-slavery commissioner in Cuba. He described how Cuban authorities winked at the slave trade in return for $10 to $15 a slave, used fraudulent documents to deceive inspectors, and would without hesitation kill the Amistad blacks should they be returned to Cuba. (After giving his deposition, Madden returned to London where, in an audience with Queen Victoria, he explained the facts surrounding the Amistad Affair.)

    District Attorney Holabird introduced statements from the Spanish consul urging that the Amistads be returned to Spain and presented testimony and depositions of crew members of the Washington describing their discovery and capture of the Amistad , while Gedney’s counsel tried to establish that Cinque was himself a slave trader.

    Judge Judson announced his decision on January 13, 1840, after a weekend of deliberation. He ruled that the Amistad captives were born free and kidnapped in violation of international law. They had mutinied, he said, out of a desire of winning their liberty and of returning to their families and kindred. He ordered that the Amistads be delivered to President Van Buren for transport back to Africa. He ended his opinion with the observation, Cinque and Grabeau shall not sigh for Africa in vain. Bloody as may be their hands, they shall yet embrace their kindred. The Grampus sailed out of New Haven harbor without its black passengers. Van Buren was described as greatly dissatisfied.

    The Administration appealed Judson’s decision, but it was affirmed by Circuit Judge Thompson. The Administration again appealed, this time to the United States Supreme Court, where five of the nine justices were southerners who either owned or had owned slaves.

    After an appeal was made to the Supreme Court, Lewis Tappan visited John Quincy Adams at his home in Massachusetts in an effort to persuade Old Man Eloquent to argue the Africans case in Washington. Former President Adams, then 74 and a member of Congress, at first resisted, pleading age and infirmity. But Adams believed firmly in the rightness of the cause, and eventually agreed to join Baldwin in arguments before the Court. By the blessing of God, I will argue the case before the Supreme Court, Adams was quoted as saying. That October, 1840 date he wrote in his diary: I implore the mercy of God to control my temper, to enlighten my soul, and to give me utterance, that I may prove myself in every respect equal to the task.

    The next month Adams stopped by Westville, near New Haven, to visit his clients. He found them all in a thirty-foot-by- twenty-foot room, taken up almost entirely by thirty-six cots. Adams shook hands with Cinque and Grabeau, telling them God willing, we will make you free. Later, Adams would receive touching letters from two of the younger Africans, Ka-le and Kin-na.

    On Monday, February 22, 1841, arguments began in the Supreme Court’s crowded chamber in the U.S. Capitol.(Among those in attendance was Francis Scott Key, author of the Star Spangled Banner and now an attorney, who approached Adams and offered his advice on the case.) Attorney General Henry Gilpin, arguing for the government, told the Court that it should not go behind the Amistad’s papers and make inquiry as to their accuracy, but should accept them on their face in order to show proper respect for another sovereign nation. Roger Baldwin followed Gipin, making many of the same arguments that been persuasive in the district and circuit courts. John Quincy Adams began his argument on February 24th. He did not disappoint. He argued that if the President had the power to send the Africans to Cuba, he would equally as well have the power to seize forty Americans and send them overseas for trial. He argued that Spain was asking the President to first turn man-robber,…next turn jailer,… and lastly turn catchpole and convey them to Havana, to appease the vengeance of the African slave-traders of the barracoons. He attacked the President for his ordering a naval vessel to stand ready in New Haven harbor, he attacked a southern intellectual’s defense of slavery, and he quoted the Declaration of Independence: The moment you come to the Declaration of Independence, that every man has a right to life and liberty, an inalienable right, this case is decided. I ask nothing more in behalf of these unfortunate men than this Declaration.

    Adams ended his Supreme Court argument on a personal, reflective note:

    May it please your Honors: On the 7th of February, 1804, now more than thirty-seven years past, my name was entered, and yet stands recorded, on both the rolls, as one of the Attorneys and Counselors of this Court. Five years later, in February and March, 1809, I appeared for the last time before this Court, in defense of the cause of justice, and of important rights, in which many of my fellow-citizens had property to a large amount at stake. Very shortly afterwards, I was called to the discharge of other duties–first in distant lands, and in later years, within our own country, but in different departments of her Government. Little did I imagine that I should ever again be required to claim the right of appearing in the capacity of an office of this Court; yet such has been the dictate of my destiny–and I appear again to plead the cause of justice and now of liberty and life, in behalf of many of my fellow men, before the same Court, which in a former age, I had addressed in support of rights of property. I stand again, I trust for the last time, before the same Court–hic caestus, artemque repono. I stand before the same Court, but not before the same judges–nor aided by the same associates–nor resisted by the same opponents. As I cast my eyes along those seats of honor and of public trust, now occupied y you, they seek in vain for one of those honored and honorable persons whose indulgence listened then to my voice. Marshall–Cushing–Chase–Washington–Johnson–Livingston–Todd– Where are they? . . . Where is the marshal–where are t he criers of the Court? Alas! where is one of the very judges of the Court, arbiters of life and death, before whom I commenced this anxious argument, even now prematurely closed? Where are they all? Gone! Gone! All gone!– Gone from the services which, in their day and generation, they faithfully rendered to their country. . . . In taking, then, my final leave of this Bar, and of this Honorable Court, I can only ejaculate a fervent petition to Heaven, that every member of it may go to his final account with as little of earthly frailty to answer for as those illustrious dead, and that you may, every one, after the close of a long and virtuous career in this world, be received at the portals of the next with the approving sentence, ‘Well done, good and faithful servant; enter thou into the joy of they Lord.’

    On March 9, 1841, the Supreme Court announced its decision. Justice Story, speaking for the Court, said that the Amistads were kidnapped Africans, who by the laws of Spain itself were entitled to their freedom. As justification for the Court’s decision, Justice Story relied largely on the narrower arguments of Roger Baldwin, rather than the interesting remarks of John Quincy Adams. The Africans were free: they could stay or they could return to Africa. (The decision was, of course, by no means a repudiation of slavery, and clearly implied that if the Amistads had been brought from Africa prior to the 1820 treaty banning importation of slaves, they would have been considered property of Ruiz and Montes and been returned to Cuba.)

    Reactions to the decision varied. Adams wrote that he was filled with great joy. The Amistads were described as ecstatic. Lewis Tappan and other evangelical abolitionists saw an opportunity for the Amistads to become the key to an effort to bring Christianity to black Africa. The Spanish government angered and somewhat mystified by the Court’s action, began a long series of unsuccessful diplomatic efforts to obtain indemnification for loss of the Amistad and the cargo.

    Efforts began to raise the money necessary to transport the Amistads back to their Mende homeland. Some local residents complained when the need for money caused some of the Africans to begin to charge for jumping, talking, and singing. Cinque asked $3 for a song. The Amistad Committee put together a sort of traveling show, holding church meetings in which the Africans would describe their homes and their kidnapping, sing native songs, and read from the Bible. Cinque quickly developed a reputation as a powerful orator.

    The Amistads, strangers in a strange land, were not without their problems. One of the Amistads, Fon-ne, drowned in a pond, an apparent suicide. Grabeau was the victim of an assault. Others were the victims of racial taunts. Cinque was involved in a brawl with some local rowdies. It was, everyone recognized, time to go. Tappan redoubled efforts to recruit missionaries to accompany the Africans back to Sierra Leone.

    In November, 1841, the ship Gentleman was chartered for $1840 to carry the Africans back to Freetown, where the Governor of Sierra Leone said the group would be met and guided on a four day journey to Mendeland. After a moving and tearful round of goodbyes, the thirty-five surviving Africans of the Amistad and four American missionaries boarded the Gentleman, bound for West Africa. (Only one African, Sarah, would ever return to America. She attended Oberlin College.)

    After fifty days at sea, the Gentleman put down anchor in Freetown harbor. It didn’t take long for the missionaries to realize they had their work cut out for them. After disembarking, some of the Africans began to strip and engage in heathenish dancing. British missionaries in Freetown told the Americans that their plan to establish a mission in Mendeland was folly. Soon the missionaries wrote letters complaining of their Amistad students: some fell back to their licentious habits, some disappeared, some were just trouble. Others, such as Kin-na, were clearly torn by the pull of two different worlds, becoming an ordained minister but practicing polygamy. The missionaries also contended with rats (Brother Raymond killed 164 in a single day), the 175 annual inches of rain, malaria and yellow fever (black vomit.) One by one, the missionaries died and were replaced by others. With the new arrivals, the character of the mission might also change. Tolerance might turn to hell-fire and ex-communication.

    The last of the Amistad Africans to have contact with the mission was Cinque. In 1879, old and emaciated, he stumbled into the mission to die and was buried among the graves of the American missionaries.     Although every American President from the time of the Amistad decision of the Supreme Court until 1860 urged that Spain be compensated, efforts to appropriate funds for such a purpose were consistently stymied in the House. John Quincy Adams led the opposition to compensation ugg boots efforts until his death in 1847, calling the proposal a robbery of the people of the United States. With the election of Abraham Lincoln in 1860, Spain’s efforts came to an end.

Justice of the United States

Sunday, January 31st, 2010

Never has an American trial produced such an impressive set of key players:

    the defendant– Aaron Burr, founding father, ugg australia Vice President, and slayer of Alexander Hamilton in their famous duel three years earlier;
    the trial judge–John Marshall, Chief Justice of the United States Supreme Court (and the most important justice in history);
    the force behind the prosecution–Thomas Jefferson, author of the Declaration of Independence and president of the United States;
    defense attorneys–Edmund Randolph and Luther Martin, both delegates to the Constitutional Convention and among the most prominent men of the day;
    prosecutors– Charles Lee, former Attorney General, and William Wirt, future presidential candidate.

    The high-stakes treason trial of Aaron Burr came at an unstable time, both in Europe and in America. The American and French revolutions worried traditional European powers, Great Britain and Spain, who were determined to keep the radical new doctrine from undermining the power of their royalty. Meanwhile, Napoleon’s empire-building produced sustained military conflict on the Continent.

    The United States seemed on the verge of a war with Spain, even as the Administration struggled to preserve neutrality. Americans west of the Alleghenies rejoiced in President Jefferson’s acquisition of the Louisiana Territory, but boundary disputes and Spanish prohibitions on Louisiana residents’ entry into Nueva Espana created resentment and threats of reprisal. The Viceroy of Mexico, allied generally with western Indians, sent troops to the Sabine River to protect the Spanish frontier from invasion by United States citizens. Most Westerners saw Spain as tyrannical and viewed Texas and Florida as a rightful part of the United States. Many of these same Westerners expressed a willingness to take Spanish territory by force. Meanwhile, Spain also worried about the designs of residents of its own dominion (especially Mexico), recognizing that the unprivileged masses had grown resentful of Spanish authority.

    The Burr Conspiracy

    In this troubled time, the end of President Jefferson’s first term, Aaron Burr stepped down from the Vice Presidency, and began preparations for a military expedition that was either– depending upon whose views one solicited–treasonous or patriotic. At its core, however, the Burr Conspiracy clearly was about conquest and adventure.

    The Burr Conspiracy had its origins in a series of discussions over the winter of 1804-05 between Burr and his longstanding friend, General James Wilkinson. The two served together in the Quebec campaign of 1775-76. Over the years they often corresponded in a cipher invented by Wilkinson. Wilkinson was an intriguer of the first-order who had formerly been the head of a party in the West that favored a separation of the western states from the Atlantic states.

    Burr left Washington for a tour of the West in March of 1805. His first stop was in Philadelphia, where he met with Anthony Merry, the British Minister to the United States. Merry reported details of his conversation in a letter to London:

    “I am encouraged to report to your Lordship the substance of some secret communications which [Burr] has sought to make to me since he has been out of office…Mr. Burr has mentioned to me that the inhabitants of Louisiana [the lands recently purchased from France] seem determined to render themselves independent of the United States and the execution of their design is only delayed by the difficulty of obtaining previously an assurance of protection and assistance from some foreign power….It is clear that Mr. Burr means to endeavor to be the instrument for effecting such a connection….He pointed out the great commercial advantage which his Majesty’s dominions in general would derive from furnishing almost exclusively (as they might through Canada and New Orleans) the inhabitants of so extensive a territory….Mr. Burr observed it would be too dangerous and even premature to disclose to me at present the full extent and detail of the plan he had formed….In regard to military aid, he said, two or three frigates and the same number of smaller vessels to be stationed at the mouth of the Mississippi to prevent its being blockaded by such force as the United States could send, and to keep open the communications with the sea would be the whole that would be wanted; and in respect to money the loan of about one hundred thousand pounds would, he conceived, be sufficient for the immediate purposes of the enterprise.”

    On April 29, 1805, Burr reached Pittsburgh, where he planned to meet with General Wilkinson, the new Governor of the just-organized Louisiana Territory. But Wilkinson had been delayed, so Burr left a letter for him and set off down the Ohio River in a specially-prepared boat (called by Burr his “ark”).

    In early May, Burr reached Blennerhassett’s Island, a three-hundred acre piece of land in the river. The island belonged to an Irish gentleman named Harman Blennerhassett. Blennerhassett invited Burr to dinner. The conversation that ensued–lasting until eleven o’clock in the evening–would forever link Blennerhassett’s Island with the Burr Conspiracy. The precise nature of the plans discussed over dinner is not known, but some inkling may be gleaned from a letter sent by Blennerhassett later that year to Burr:

    “I should be honored in being associated with you, in any contemplated enterprise you would permit me to participate in….Viewing the probability of a rupture with Spain,…I am disposed, in the confidential spirit of this letter, to offer you and my friends’ and my own services in any contemplated measures in which you may embark.”

    Continuing down the river, Burr met with others who would later be connected with his conspiracy. In Cincinnati, Burr visited with his friend, former Ohio Senator Jonathan Dayton, later indicted with Burr for treason. Burr left his “ark” in Louisville to travel overland to Nashville, where he received a very enthusiastic welcome of dinners and balls from the local population. In Nashville, Burr stayed as the guest of General Andrew Jackson. After resuming his river voyage, Burr finally met General Wilkinson at Fort Massac. (Wilkinson would later describe his conversations with Burr as perfectly legitimate, but there is strong suspicion that this opportunity was used to detail plans for Burr’s western aggression.) Wilkinson provided Burr with “an elegant barge, sails, colors, ten oars, with a sergeant and ten able, faithful hands,” as well as a letter of introduction to friends in New Orleans, Burr’s ultimate destination.

    Burr loved New Orleans enough to want to settle there, he said, “were it not for [his daughter] Theodosia and her boy.” He used his time in New Orleans to gauge public opinion concerning Mexico and to discuss possible enterprises with persons sympathetic to a Mexican insurrection. Burr’s principal contact in New Orleans, wealthy merchant and political leader Daniel Clark, promised $50,000 in support of Burr’s projects and subsequently traveled to Mexico to gather information on the strength of Spanish fortresses and the attitudes of the people to Spanish control. Clark told at least one witness that he “might be a duke” in the new empire that would rise after the Burr expedition’s conquest.

    Burr left New Orleans in late July of 1805, beginning a four-month tour that included another meeting with General Wilkinson in St. Louis. It was at this time, according to Wilkinson’s later and probably self-serving report, that he said he began to suspect Burr of treasonous intentions. He quoted Burr as denouncing “the imbecility of the Government” and that “the people of the western country were ready for revolt.” Wilkinson claimed to have responded to Burr’s interpretation of western sentiments, “Surely, no person was ever more mistaken! The western people disaffected to the Government? They are bigoted to Jefferson and democracy?”

    Burr’s long western sojourn finally ended with his arrival back in Washington in October. Over the winter of 1806-06, Burr met frequently with disaffected military leaders such as Commodore Truxton and General Eaton, urging that he join in his western adventure. He sent letters to supporters he had identified on his western trip and enlisted the full support of his beloved daughter Theodosia.

    In mid-summer, Burr (and Theodosia and her young child) set off again for western lands. Burr continued to sound out potential backers for his military expedition. In western Pennsylvania, hoping to enlist the support of influential Colonel Morgan and his two sons, Burr made the fatal mistake of expressing plans which his host found shocking. Morgan wrote a letter to President Jefferson summarizing his conversation with Burr, setting in motion the Administration effort that would eventually put an end to Burr’s dreams and lead to his arrest and trial. Morgan would later provide testimony of his conversation with Burr at his 1807 trial:
After dinner I spoke of our fine country. I observed that when I first went there, there was not a single family between the Allegheny mountains and the Ohio; and that by and by we should have congress sitting in this neighborhood or at Pittsburg. We were allowed to sport these things over a glass of wine: “No, never,” said Colonel Burr, “for in less than five years you will be totally divided from the Atlantic states.” The colonel entered into some arguments to prove why it would and must be so….He said that our taxes were very heavy, and demanded why we should pay them to the Atlantic parts of the country?….I began to think that all was not right. He said that with two hundred men he could drive congress, with the president at its head, into the river Potomac, or that it might be done; and he said with five hundred men he could take possession of New York….

    By the end of August, Burr was back on Blennerhasset’s Island making final preparations for his expedition. He contracted to purchase fifteen boats capable of carrying 500 men, and a large keel boat for transporting provisions. He made orders for huge quantities of pork, corn meal, flour, and whiskey. Later, in Nashville, in contracted for six more boats, giving $4,000 to Andrew Jackson to pay for them.

    Burr also bought a 300,000-acre tract of land on the Washita River, an area known as the Bastrop land. In his efforts to recruit volunteers for the expedition, Burr promised them a share Washita tract.

    The Conspiracy Defeated

    By this time, if not earlier, General Wilkinson had decided to abandon the Conspiracy. When, in early October, a ciphered letter sent by Burr and borne by his trusted aide Samuel Swarthout reached Wilkinson in New Orleans, Wilkinson determined to squash Burr’s plans. He rushed troops the Mississippi Valley and ordered troops in New Orleans to be on alert for an attack. Burr’s ciphered letter (decoded by Wilkinson), together with one from co-conspirator Senator Dayton, he sent to President Jefferson. The letter, which some consider to be the most important evidence of a Burr Conspiracy, read:

    I have obtained funds, and have actually commenced the enterprise. Detachments from different points under different pretenses will rendezvous on the Ohio, 1st November– everything internal and external favors views–protection of England is secured. T[ruxton] is gone to Jamaica to arrange with the admiral on that station, and will meet at the Mississippi– England—Navy of the United States are ready to join, and final orders are given to my friends and followers–it will be a host of choice spirits. Wilkinson shall be second to Burr only–Wilkinson shall dictate the rank and promotion of his officers. Burr will proceed westward 1st August, never to return: with him go his daughter–the husband will follow in October with a corps of worthies. Send forthwith an intelligent and confidential friend with whom Burr may confer. He shall return immediately with further interesting details–this is essential to concert and harmony of the movement…. [T]he project is brought to the point so long desired: Burr guarantees the result with his life and honor–the lives, the honor and fortunes of hundreds, the best blood of our country. Burr’s plan of operations is to move rapidly from the falls on the 15th of November, with the first five hundred or one thousand men, in light boats now constructing for that purpose–to be at Natchez between the 5th and 15th of December–then to meet Wilkinson–then to determine whether it will be expedient in the first instance to seize on or pass by Baton Rouge. On receipt of this send Burr an answer–draw on Burr for all expenses, &c. The people of the country to which we are going are prepared to receive us–their agents now with Burr say that if we will protect their religion, and will not subject them to a foreign power, that in three weeks all will be settled.
   
    The gods invite to glory and fortune–it remains to be seen whether we deserve the boon…. –29th July.

    President Jefferson responded to Wilkinson’s letter by signing a proclamation stating that “sundry persons…are conspiring…to…set on foot…a military expedition against the dominions of Spain.” He urged all military and other government officials to devoted their attentions to “searching out and bringing to condign punishment all persons engaged or concerned in such enterprise.”

    The president sent west a confidential agent, a State Department clerk named Graham, to investigate the Burr plot. Graham, deceiving Harman Blennerhassett into believing he was a fellow conspirator, uncovered important details concerning Burr’s plans. Graham then proceeded to the Ohio capitol of Chillicothe, where he convinced the Governor to order out the militia to seize the boats Burr had ordered for his expedition. On December 9, 1806, just two days after the first four of the fifteen boats Burr purchased arrived, with two key Burr confederates and thirty men at Blennerhassett Island, the militia seized the remaining eleven boats, still in storage at Marietta, Ohio. The boats had been scheduled to be delivered to Blennerhassett the next day.

    Word of the boat seizure reached the Burr confederates within hours after it took place. Plans were made for a hasty departure from the island. About midnight of December 9, four boats pushed off and began heading down the Ohio. The next morning the militia reached Blennerhassett Island only to find it empty. Perhaps out of frustration, they destroyed the fine furniture, vases, and art of Blennerhassett’s mansion, fired rifle balls through his painted ceilings, and drank the whiskey stored ugg boots sale in his cellar.

    Burr was in Nashville when he learned that federal authorities were out to crush his plans. On November 22, he beat a hurried retreat down the Cumberland River. All the Burr detachments met up at the Falls of the Ohio. Addressing his recruits, Burr told them that he had intended at this point to describe their specific objective, but circumstances had caused him to defer doing so. Instead, the flotilla would head down the Mississippi, where Burr–still ignorant of Wilkinson’s betrayal–expected military backing. Only upon reaching Bayou Pierre, thirty miles above Natchez, did Burr learn that Wilkinson had turned from co-conspirator into his pursuer. Burr wrote a public letter declaring the innocence of his intentions: “If the alarm which has been excited should not be appeased by this declaration, I invite my fellow citizens to visit me at this place, and to receive from me, in person, such further explanations as may be necessary to their satisfaction, presuming that when my views are understood, they will receive the countenance of all good men.”

    A militia detachment of thirty men caught up with Burr when he and his expedition of between sixty and hundred men were camped across from Natchez, on the west bank of the Mississippi. Burr was handed letter from the Governor of Mississippi demanding his surrender. Burr responded to the letter by denouncing Wilkinson whose “perfidious conduct” had “completely frustrated” his “projects.”

    The next day Burr met with the Governor who convinced him to surrender and allow himself to be conducted to the nearby town of Washington. A grand jury, after listening to evidence against Burr, declared Burr “not guilty of any crime or misdemeanor against the United States.” The jury went on to condemn the arrest, suggesting that it had given cause to “the enemies of our glorious Constitution to rejoice.” Burr demanded and received his release. He disguised himself as a boatman and disappeared into the wilderness on the eastern side of the Mississippi.

    Once additional information about Burr’s activities became known, a new warrant was issued for his arrest. Arrest finally came in mid-February on the Tombigbee River, in present day Alabama. Burr was taken to Fort Stoddart for two weeks, then conducted by a nine-man military guard on a one-thousand mile horseback trip to Richmond, where he would stand trial for treason.

    The Trial

    On March 26, 1807, Burr arrived in Richmond, Virginia and lodged, under guard, in the Eagle Hotel. Four days later he was brought to another room in the hotel for an examination before the judge who would conduct his trial. The judge was none other than the Chief Justice of the United States, John Marshall.

    The examination began with District Attorney George Hay (the son-in-law of future President James Monroe) supporting the government’s motion for commitment on charges of treason and “high misdemeanors.” Hay argued that the evidence showed that Burr intended to take New Orleans by force and make it the capitol of his new western empire. Replying for Burr, Defense Attorney Edmund Randolph (former Attorney General and Secretary of State under President Washington) argued that Burr committed no overt act of treason. Burr also addressed the Court. He offered an innocent interpretation of his own actions and emphasized his acquittal by a grand jury in the Mississippi Territory. He complained bitterly about his recent treatment, telling Marshall he had been denied the use of ink and paper–not even permitted to write to his daughter.

    On April 1, Chief Justice Marshall delivered his opinion on the government’s motion. Marshall concluded that the prosecution failed to produce sufficient evidence of treason. He scheduled Burr for trial on the high misdemeanor charge and set bail at $10,000. Marshall’s refusal to insert the treason charge enraged President Jefferson, who suspected that the Chief Justice’s judgment was warped in favor of Burr by his own dislike of Jefferson and the course of his Administration.

    Jefferson took it as a personal mission to secure Burr’s conviction. He had printed circulars sent out throughout the western country asking “every good citizen to step forward, and communicate to the government any information he may possess.” He dispatched a deputy marshal to take depositions near Blennerhassett Island. Secretary of State James Madison wrote Andrew Jackson, requesting that he help gather depositions from around Tennessee that might help convict Burr. Meanwhile in New Orleans, Wilkinson sent out numerous agents to collect whatever evidence they could.

    Jefferson’s own view of Burr’s actions is best revealed in his letters of 1807. He saw that Burr’s “first enterprise was to have been the seizure of New Orleans” which would “place him at the door of Mexico.” His plan, according to Jefferson, included “separating the western states from us, of adding Mexico to them, and of placing himself at their head.” “Burr’s conspiracy” was, Jefferson concluded, “one of the most flagitious of which history will ever furnish an example.” According to Jefferson, Burr abandoned his original plan to separate the western states from the Union only because “he very early saw that the fidelity of the western country was not to be shaken.” As a result, “he turned himself wholly to Mexico.”

    Shortly after noon on May 22, 1807, the trial of Aaron Burr opened in Richmond. On the bench sat Chief Justice Marshall and Virginia District Judge Cyrus Griffin. Surrounding Burr was his team of defense lawyers including Edmund Randolph, John Wickham, Benjamin Botts, Charles Lee, and Luther Martin, a former Maryland delegate to the Constitutional Convention often called the “Thersites of the law.” (In addition, Burr himself would play a major role in the trial, cross-examining most of the prosecution’s witnesses himself.) The cast for the prosecution included George Hay, Caesar Rodney, William Wirt, and Alexander McCrae.

    While a grand jury awaited the arrival of General Wilkinson from New Orleans, Chief Justice Marshall considered both prosecution and defense motions.

    The prosecution, noting that “the evidence is different now,” again moved for commitment of Burr on the charge of treason. The defense countered, arguing that to establish the crime of treason the prosecution must prove that an overt act of treason had been committed by the defendant in a war and that, under the Constitution, the overt act must be testified to by two witnesses and must have occurred in the district of the trial. When Marshall sided with the defense’s narrow interpretation of treason, the prosecution knew it had its back to the wall.

    Marshall also weighed a defense motion for a subpoena duces tecum to be directed to the President, requiring that he turn over certain letters from Wilkinson that might be helpful to the defense. Luther Martin, arguing for his motion, declared:

    “The President has undertaken to prejudge my client by declaring ‘of his guilt there can be no doubt.’ He has assumed the knowledge of the Supreme Being himself, and pretended to search the heart of my highly respected friend. He has proclaimed him a traitor….He has let slip the dogs of war, the hell-hounds of prosecution, to hunt down my friend. And would this President of the United States, who has raised all this absurd clamor, pretend to keep back the papers which are wanted for this trial, where life itself is at stake? It is a sacred principle, that in all such cases, the accused has the right to all the evidence which is necessary for his case.”

    On June 13, Marshall ruled that a subpoena to the President might issue. While Marshall recognized that urgent circumstances might prevent the President from complying with the subpoena, the court, he said, had “no choice” but to issue it.

    Jefferson never turned over the requested letters. Marshall, having no real alternative, quietly let the matter drop. Jefferson stated his position on the matter in a letter to George Hay:

    “The leading feature of our Constitution is the independence of the Legislative, Executive, and Judiciary of each other; and none are more jealous of this than the Judiciary. But would the Executive be independent of the Judiciary if he were subject to the commands of the latter, and to imprisonment for disobedience; if the smaller courts could bandy him from pillar to post, keep him constantly trudging from north to south and east to west, and withdraw him entirely from his executive duties?”

    On June 15, General Wilkinson–described by the defense as “the alpha and omega of the present prosecution”–arrived in Richmond to appear before the grand jury. Author Washington Irving, a trial spectator, watched as Wilkinson “strutted into court” and “stood for a moment swelling like a turkey-cock.” According to Irving, Burr “turned his head, looked him full in the face with one of his piercing regards, swept his eye over the whole person from head to foot, as if to scan his dimensions, and then coolly resume his former position.”

    Wilkinson’s testimony had its intended effect. On June 24, the grand jury reported indictments against Burr for treason and high misdemeanor. Two days later, Burr pleaded not guilty to the charges, and the court adjourned until August 3.

    A few days before testimony against him was to begin, Burr wrote to his daughter Theodosia, urging her not to attend the trial:

    “I may be immured in dungeons, chained, murdered in legal form, but I cannot be humiliated or disgraced. If absent you will suffer great solicitude. In my presence you will feel none, whatever may be the malice or the power of my enemies, and in both they abound.”

    The Hall of the Virginia House of Delegates, the site of the trial, was filled to capacity for opening of the prosecution case in the Burr trial. Prosecutor George Hay told the jury of twelve men that the evidence would show that Burr had a “treasonable design” and that he assembled men for the purpose of furthering his treasonous aim.

    The prosecution called its first witness, General William Eaton. Eaton testified to a conversation that he had in Washington with Burr during the winter of 1805-6:

    I listened to Colonel Burr’s mode of indemnity; and as I had by this time begun to suspect that the military expedition he had on foot was unlawful, I permitted him to believe myself resigned to his influence that I might understand the extent and motive of his arrangements. Colonel Burr now laid open his project of revolutionizing the territory west of the Allegheny, establishing an independent empire there; New Orleans to be the capital, and he himself to be the chief; organizing a military force on the waters of the Mississippi, and carrying conquest to Mexico.

    Other prosecution witnesses testified as to Burr’s ambitious plans. Commodore Truxton said Burr “intended to attack Vera Cruz and Mexico, give liberty to an enslaved world, and establish an independent Government in Mexico.” Harman Blennerhassett’s gardener, Peter Taylor, described for the jury a conversation he had with Blennerhassett:

    [H]e made a sudden pause, and said, “I will tell you what, Peter, we are going to take Mexico, one of the finest and richest places in the whole world.” He said that Colonel Burr would be the king of Mexico, and Mrs Alston, daughter of Colonel Burr, was to be the queen of Mexico whenever Colonel Burr died. He said that Colonel Burr had made fortunes for many in his time, but none for himself; but now he was going to make something for himself.

    Taylor also described Blennerhasset’s answer to his question of how he might control his recruits:

    I then asked him what was to become of the men who were going to settle the lands he talk about. Were they to stop at the Red river, or to go on? He said, “Oh, by God, I tell you, Peter, every man that will not conform to order and discipline I will stab; you’ll see how I’ll fix them;” that when he got them far enough down the river, if they did not conform to order and discipline, he swore by God he’d stab them. I was astonished. I told him I was no soldier, and could not fight. He said it made no odds; he did not want me to fight; he wanted me to go and live with Mrs. Blennerhassett and the children, either at Natchez or some other place, while he went on the expedition. I talked to him again, and told him the people had got it into their heads that he wanted to divide the Union. He said Colonel Burr and he could not do it themselves; all they could do was to tell the people the consequence of it.

    Taylor, as well as several other witnesses, were called to testify concerning events in December of 1806 at Blennerhassett’s Island–the prosecution’s one overt act of treason on which it pinned its case. District Attorney Hay questioned William Love about what he saw on the night of December 10:

    Mr. Hay– How many boats were at the island?
    Love– Four.
    Mr. Hay–How many men?
    Love– I cannot tell you, but I suppose about betwixt twenty and twenty-five belonging to Colonel Tyler’s boats. When I arrived on the island, Blennerhassett met me.
    Mr. Hay– Did you see any arms?
    Love– I saw the men and rifles. I know that Mr. Blennerhassett took away with him one brace of horse pistols, a brace of pocket pistols, and a dirk. Some fuses were put in the boat, but not more than three or four, all belonging to him.
    Mr. Hay– And what arms had Tyler’s men?
    Love– Pistols, dirks and rifles, they brought there, but all were not armed with rifles. I know not whether they were armed with different things.

    On August 20, Burr interrupted the prosecution’s case to ask the court to arrest further prosecution testimony on the ground that the evidence “utterly failed to prove any overt act of war had been committed” and that he was shown to have been one hundred miles distant from Blennerhassett’s Island at the time the overt act charged was shown to have taken place. Several days of argument on Burr’s motion followed. Chief Justice Marshall offered his praise for the lawyers who participated, saying that they presented their arguments with “a degree of eloquence seldom displayed on any occasion.” It took Marshall three hours to read his lengthy opinion. When he had finished, he had swept away the prosecution’s case. Marshall ruled that Burr could not be found to have committed treason based on the events at Blennerhassett’s Island: “If those who perpetrated the fact be not traitors, he who advised them [Burr] cannot be a traitor.” Marshall stated that we would exclude testimony “relative to the conduct or declarations of the prisoner elsewhere and subsequent to the transaction on Blennerhassett’s Island.”

    Marshall’s decision ended the prosecution’s case and on September 1, the case was sent to the jury. They had little choice. Nonetheless, the jury hinted that they might have decided the case differently, but for the court’s instructions: “We of the jury say that Aaron Burr is not proved to be guilty under this indictment by any evidence submitted to us. We therefore find him not guilty.”

    Trial Aftermath

    President Jefferson fumed over Marshall’s ruling. He said “It now appears we have no law but the will of the judge.” He contemplated responses ranging from proposing a constitutional amendment limiting the power of the judiciary to asking Congress to impeach the Chief Justice. In a letter to General Wilkinson, Jefferson wrote:

    The scenes which have been acted at Richmond are such as have never been exhibited in any country, where all regard to public character has not yet been thrown off. They are equivalent to a proclamation of impunity to every traitorous combination which may be formed to destroy the Union.”

    Burr, despite his acquittal, stood disgraced. Although he would live another twenty-nine years, he would never again be a significant player in American public life. In 1808, he sailed for Europe, where he would remain for four years. The death of his beloved daughter Theodosia, lost at sea while sailing to meet her father in New York upon his return, seemed to end whatever spark remained within him. Years later, when he ugg sale heard news of the Texas Revolution, Burr exclaimed to a friend with satisfaction: “There! You see? I was right! I was only thirty years too soon. What was treason in me thirty years ago, is patriotism now.”