[figure description] Page 147.[end figure description]

Punctual to the hour, the court assembled, and along with it, even a
greater crewd of anxious spectators than had attended on the previous day.
This was partly occasioned by the previous appointment of this very day,
for the meeting of the young gentry at the capital in order to make arrangements
for the immediate marching of the tramontane expedition. But even
the great enterprise itself, was forgotten in the intense interest manifested by
all classes in the trial going on.

The prisoner was again placed at the bar. The court in their judical
wigs and robes, and the jury in the box. Old Dr. Evylin and Bernard
Moore sat together in melancholy silence—the excitement produced by their
exertions in behalf of the prisoner as long as it could avail anything, served to
stimulate them, but now it had died away and left them sad and dispirited,
and with a gloomy foreboding as to the fate of the unfortunate young man.
Except these, there was a very general feeling of indignation against him.
Amidst all these discouraging circumstances, the counsel for the prisoner
rose and commenced a most labored and ingenious defence. He argued that
there was not one particle of positive testimony against the prisoner, and
none that would not equally lie against the very witnesses who had most
strongly testified against him. Indeed, he said there was more impelling
motives urging Mr. Lee himself to the deed than him, not that be would insinuate
so foul a charge against that gentleman—he only pointed the minds of
the jury to the possibilities of the case—aye, and to the probabilities—in order
to show that the matter was still shrouded in the profoundest mystery—that
one of the persons in that room was as liable to have done it as another—that
no more probable motives for the diabolical deed had been traced to the prisoner
than to any of the others.

Indeed, that a motive might be imagined on the part of one of the witnesses,
but none in the world on that of the prisoner. As to the miserable story
about his mistaking young Spotswood for Lee, it was not worth one moment's
consideration. Could the prisoner, who was in the habit of daily association
with the two gentlemen, mistake the arms of a Ranger, constantly worn by
John Spotswood, and with which the deed was done—as well as mistake his
gold laced uniform? It was in evidence that the deceased had been throttled
by a powerful adversary—could the prisoner have approached him in such an
attitude, without discovering who it really was, if he had been laboring under
a mistake—and above all, could that feeble and almost consumptive figure
grapple in the death struggle with such a man as Spotswood was known to
be—nearly, if not entirely restored to health?—it was absurd and ridiculous.

“I say then, again,” continued he, “that there is just as much evidence
that Lee committed the murder as that Hall committed it. If it is a groundless
assumption in the one case, it was in the other also. I see the Attorney
General smile; but, sir, let me suppose a case which I think quite as probable
as the one he has made out. It is known that there was a deadly enmity
existing between the prisoner and Mr. Lee—they were rivals—the former,
whatever he was in reality, supposed to be the successful one. They meet
in a dark room at a frontier settlement, the latter finds an opportunity of
throwing the odium of the blackest offence known to our laws upon his rival.
Circumstances so turn out that the prisoner from his position in that room
must be suspected, let who may have committed the deed. Now, is this hypothetical
case more improbable than that made out by the Attorney General?
I merely make it—not to cast suspicion upon the young gentleman who has

[figure description] Page 148.[end figure description]

been the principal witness in this case, but to show that the matter is still
so much involved in obscurity, that it is capable of being laid at this, and that
man's skirts. This it could not be, if the evidence was sufficient to warrant
conviction.” He went into a long legal discussion to show that the law
compelled the jury to acquit the prisoner, when there were grounds of reasonable
doubt, and that there was ground in this case, and they were therefore
bound to give the prisoner the benefit of those doubts; and finally wound
up by a manly and thrilling appeal to the feelings of the jury.

Several times during the delivery of this speech, of which we have merely
given a rude synopsis—the prisoner caught his counsel by the coat tail and
tugged at it, as if he would have him desist; at which the legal gentleman
would turn round, almost in a passion, and beg in a whispered voice not to
be interrupted. So troublesome did his client become at last, that he was compelled
to request Mr. Moore to set by him, and prevent the unreasonable interruption.

The Attorney General then summed up in behalf of the crown. He linked
together most ably all the circumstances which we have already detailed to
the reader, from the landing of the prisoner to the night of the murder, not
forgetting the prisoner's admission as to the mask scene at Temple Farm.
He did not for a moment contend that he had murdered young Spotswood
knowingly, but that he had perpetrated a cold-blooded and deliberate murder,
and it made no difference in the eye of the law, that the object or the party
had been changed in the meantime or mistaken. He laid down the law and
called upon the court to bear him out in it, that the crime was precisely the
same. He even went farther, and contended that if the blow had been felonionsly
aimed at his victim's dog or his horse, and had killed him instead, the
law still held him guilty, not only of the homicide, but of the malice prepense.
He lamented that he was called upon to perform so irksome a task as the
prosecution of one, who, from the testimony, was so well calculated to adorn
the highest circles in the land; but at the same time contended that exactly in
proportion as he was pre-eminent for abilities, or distinguished for accomplishments,
were the court and the jury bound to protect their fellow-subjects from
such dangerous weapons in such unprincipled hands. He knew, said he, the
ingenuity and the eloquence of his legal adversary, and that he would attempt
to excite the sympathies of the jury in behalf of the friendless and accomplished
stranger; but he advised them to turn their sympathies into another
channel—to look at the cold corpse of his noble and gifted victim, cut off in
the first bloom of youth, without a moment's preparation, with all his sins
upon his head; and then to turn their eyes to the distinguished family, and
listen there to the wailing and weeping which ascended constantly to heaven
from that bereaved house. He concluded by a judicious and high wrought
invocation in behalf of the injured laws of the country, and called upon the
jury to pronounce that verdict of condemnation which he could see public
opinion had already awarded to him, and which he solemnly believed he so well
merited.

This speech had considerable effect in rather confirming, than changing the
opinions of the court and jury, and indeed of the public generally, for there
were scarcely two opinions in the court-house, as to his guilt or innocence.

The lawyers having concluded on both sides, that awful moment of suspense
arrived, when the court paused, previous to summing up the evidence
and charging the jury.

It fell to the lot of the Reverend Commissary to perform this unpleasant
duty from which, however, whatever might have been his feelings, he did not
shrink. He summed up the testimony in the most lucid manner, and charged
the jury to suffer no ingenuity of the prisoner's counsel, nor affecting appeals
to their sympathies, to swerve them from the strong and irrefutable

[figure description] Page 149.[end figure description]

circumstances of the case, and from performing their duty to the crown and the
country, however disagreeable.

The jury brought in a verdict of “guilty of wilful murder,” without leaving
the box; and as was usual in Virginia, the prisoner was immediately arraigned
to receive sentence. A death-like silence reigned throughout the crowded
court-room, when he was asked if he had aught to say, why sentence should
not be pronounced against him. He clapped his hand to his forehead for a
moment, ere he arose to his feet. He stood at length in the full dignity of his
height, and in one moment had thrown all agitation to the winds. There
was something attractive about the man, even to that indignant court and
audience—the deathly paleness of his visage—his bright, but serene eye,
and that solemn voice, when it first thrilled high over the heads of the people—
altogether, had no ordinary fascination in them.

Every eye was bent upon the prisoner, and every car strained, as he
exclaimed, “Have I anything to say, why sentence of death should not be
pronounced upon me? I have not—too much has been said already; but I
call the court and these good people to witness that it was not with my consent
or approbation. God is my witness, that I crave not the poor boon of mere
animal life, when it has been stripped of all that distinguishes it from grovelling
natures. By the strangest concurrence of circumstances that, I solemnly
believe, ever befel an individual before, I have been stripped, one by one, of the
ties which bound me to life—the sweet charities—the domestic affections—
the warm friendships—the noble aims—the bright aspirations—the daring
enterprises—have all been struck down. Every fibre of my heart has been
rudely torn asunder, and trampled upon by this cruel array of circumstances.
Why should I desire to live longer, when in living thus long I have met
nothing but disaster. I shudder with superstitious dread when I look back to
the days of my young and bright hopes, and see how they have been fulfilled.
Oh! those gorgeous dreams of youth are but too bitter delusions? Who could
have foreseen then that the brilliant promise of such a sunrise, would so soon
set in utter darkness. 'Tis not that I fear death; on the contrary, I court it, in
an honorable field—but my whole mental organization shrinks from the
reproach and the odium which has already been, and will still more be cast
upon my memory. Great God! the wildest fears of my diseased imagination
during the delirium of fever, never dared approach the gibbet—neither
sleeping or waking have I thought such a thing within the range of possibility.
But to live, after what has passed, is even worse than a disgraceful
death. One is a short and sudden pang, and the fitful and feverish dream of
life is o'er—its painful illusions, its hollow friendships, and its fleeting and
deceitful pleasures; but the other is a living and breathing death—a walking
target for the shafts of slander and calumny. What man is there within this
vast throng, reared at the feet of a sweet and angel mother, to all the softest
and tenderest sympathies of a gentle nature, (here he dashed a tear hastily
from his eyes, and proceeded,) and all the instincts of the gentleman—who
could have the stamp of Cain officially branded upon his forehead, and then
walk the earth, as God created it, with his face towards Heaven. Oh, it is
too much! This seat of the passions and affections which throbs so tumultuously
within me, will surely burst the barriers of its prison, before the final
seal is put to this legal wrong. Not that I would insinuate aught against
the purity or impartiality of court or jury, both have done every thing that
the poor means within their reach permitted. The offended majesty of the
laws, according to ils forms, demand my death, and most willingly is life
offered up to those bald and barren forms.

“But be assured that the death of the victim will only keep up the cruel
mistake for a brief while; the time will surely come, when the real murderer
of the Governor's son will stand revealed to the world. For a while, the

[figure description] Page 150.[end figure description]

unfortunate train of circumstances which compassed me about on that fatal
night, must appear stronger than the poor, tame truth. No one who has
lived long in this world of cheating and deception, but must have discovered
that truth generally lies far beneath the surface in the ordinary current of its
affairs. I shall not undertake the now useless task of showing where the
really wonderful body of circumstantial evidence brought to bear against me
fails, and where a single link of the real truth would point the whole in
another direction, because, as I have already intimated, the truth would appear
almost ridiculous, when brought into comparison with the splendid logical
conclusions of the Attorney General. Sufficient for me here, in the presence
of this court and this good people, to call Heaven to witness my entire innocence.
I am not only innocent of the special crime laid to my charge, but
may the lightning of Heaven strike me dead where I stand, if such a conception
as murder ever entered my heart. I cannot realize it—I cannot
imagine how any one could commit a murder; and yet I am convicted by
the laws of my country, after a patient and laborious investigation, of that
crime—of the foullest crime known to those laws. It all seems to me, even
now, like some fearful dream! That I, whose whole soul has been fired
almost from infancy with longing aspirations after some legitimate means to
benefit my fellow-men—that I, who have aimed at and struggled after unattainable
perfection, whose ambition soared to none but lofty eminences, and
to whom, for a long time, the honest and every day occupations of men appeared
poor, and tame, and mean—should at last fall to such a degradation—so low
as this. Oh! 'tis overwhelming. It is hard to die a violent death at all
times, doubtless; but it is doubly hard to fall thus, with the unjust execrations
of all men ringing in my ears. But surveying the whole ground as impartially
and as calmly as I can, I can see no false step of mine since I arrived in
the Colony, by which I could have avoided my present position. I have done
and suffered every thing which a mere human agent could do, and I leave the
result in the hands of that righteous Judge to whose decrees I bow with resignation.

“Now, with my hopes blasted—my aspirations crushed—all the sweet
charities of life trampled upon and outraged—my affections blighted—no,
thank God, they are enshrined beyond the reach of evil—.”

At this point, there was great confusion near the door, and the officers in
vain endeavored to keep silence. At first, some supposed a rescue was to
be attempted; and the court directed the sheriff to the prisoner, who had
sat down and was calmly waiting with others to see what had produced the
disturbance. Presently a servant of Dr. Evylin was seen foreing his way
among the crowd, holding a letter as a sort of passport for his intrusion.
Some one seeing the superscription plucked it from his hand, and conveyed
it at once to the old man. He tore it open and read it hastily—great drops
of perspiration still standing upon his brow and lip from the painful excitement
of the trial; but he had no sooner ran his eye along the lines, than
his eyes brightened, and the whole man was instantly transformed. He
sprang upon one of the benches with the activity of a boy, and leaning his
chin upon the bannister surrounding the platform on which the court sat,
motioned to the judge that he had something to communicate. That venerable
functionary moved his chair, so as to bring his ear near enough to hear,
alone, what the old Doctor had to say. The first words whispered by the
latter startled him, and they were instantly engaged in the most earnest conversation—
a few moments after which, he took the letter handed by the
Doctor, and read it himself. He consulted a few moments with his colleagues,
and then rose—standing, however, many minutes, before the confusion
incident to so unusual an interruption could be subdued. He stated to
the lawyers, on both sides, that a most providential revelation had come to

[figure description] Page 151.[end figure description]

light—that he held in his hand a note from a lady, who could have no motive
in deceiving them, stating that a most important witness had that moment
arrived in the capital—one who was present at the murder, and had seen the
very act committed. “Of course,” said the old man, “no mere forms of law,
to whatever lengths we may have gone, can prevent us from retracing our
steps, if we have unknowingly done injustice. The note does not state who
the witness is who saw the murder committed—but I presume from the
eagerness with which the writer demands that her witness may be heard,
that some other person must have committed it than the prisoner at the bar.
God grant that it may be so—for though still a human being has done the
foul deed, it would be difficult to find within the Colony one to whom it would
attach with the same moral turpitude as the prisoner; and let me add, as a
necessary consequence, that my joy at the prospect of his deliverance is proportionably
great. I would not willingly have condemned such a man to a
felon's death.”

The eager crowd was now busy with the startling news. Groups were
gathering here and there, wondering who the witness could be, and the
prisoner was heard to exclaim, “My God, I thank thee.”

Bernard Moore grasped his hand cordially, and congratulated him upon his
prospect of deliverance. Hall motioned for him to be seated beside him, and
then said in a low tone, “Moore, should I live a hundred years, I will never
forget that you dared befriend a stranger, when the whole current of public
opinion was setting strong against him. Any man may have mere physical
courage, but that is what I call true moral courage; and the good old Doctor
stood by me manfully to the last, and he would have followed me to the
gibbet, if all the world hooted at him. Such are the materials, Moore, of
which true friendships are formed. A man passes through the trials of life,
and they all drop off but one or two—those that are left are the ones to cling
to. In a few days, perhaps, should I ride through those streets in my carriage,
how vastly enthusiastic this now indignant mob will be. They would shout
long life to Harry Hall! But listen—they already shout something; what
is it?

Moore pushed his way to the door and looked down Gloucester street, and
saw the Governor's carriage approaching the Capitol, surrounded by the mob,
endeavoring to see some one inside, but apparently without success, for the
old guard rode in front and rear, and kept them at a respectful distance.

Arriving at the Capitol green, the Governor first descended, clad in deep
mourning, and much bowed down with grief since we last presented him to
the reader—then came Ellen Evylin—and lastly an Indian girl, whom the
reader has already devined to be Wingina. She had doffed her male garments
and now appeared uncommonly well dressed, for she had been furnished
from Ellen's own wardrobe, and dressed out by her own hands for the
occasion.

The Governor did not take his seat upon the bench, or rather with the
court, but sat apart with the two females. Hall's lawyer now approached and
conversed earnestly with them for a few moments in an under tone. He was
apparently remonstrating with Ellen about something and did not prevail
until her father joined them. She then gave way, and placing her hand in
her father's, walked with him to the witness stand.

After being sworn, she stated that during the morning a strange looking
Indian, very much wearied and worn, rode into her father's grounds and
demanded instant speech of him, and upon being informed that he was gone
to the court-house and could not be disturbed on any account, he wrung his
hands and appeared greatly distressed. Supposing that some one was very
ill and that my father's professional services were required, I begged him to
make his wants known to me. I was very much surprised at his calling me

[figure description] Page 152.[end figure description]

by name and demanding that we must be alone—for the servants were standing
around—before he could communicate his errand. At first I refused
this, as there is more or less suspicion attaches to the race, but I was then
informed that the business was urgent and connected with the trial then
going on at the court house.

I hesitated no longer, but led the witness into the house. The head was
then uncovered, and she announced herself to me as Wingina, the sister of
the Interpreter—that she was present at the murder and had stolen away
from her brother and his friends, and been on horseback almost constantly
for three days and good part of the nights. I immediately despatched a note
to my father, and sat about preparing her to appear here. The rest, she can
tell, herself, better than I can.

Such was about the amount of her testimony, condensed into a small compass.
During the whole of its delivery she never once cast her eyes towards
the prisoner. Not so with him, however—his eye was rivetted upon her face.
He leaned forward with the most intense interest, as if he would gladly hear
his name, and fame vindicated by such lips. He had not manifested such an
interest in any part of the trial, and seemed disappointed when she moved
away and was led out to the carriage by her father.

Wingina was now called to the witness stand and closely questioned as to
her belief in a future state of rewards and punishments, and her knowledge
as to the nature of an oath. The court were satisfied on both points, and
ordered her to be sworn, The first part of her testimony related to the interview
with John Spotswood, on the night he left the city under the trees of
the avenue in front of the Palace, and their having been watched by some one.
She then went on to detail circumstances sufficiently well known to the reader;
many of which, however, were drawn from her with great reluctance
on her part. It was almost impossible to understand her testimony, or why
Chunoluskie should watch her and young Spotswood; and why she should
fly with him, unless she told all, and that all, neither age nor sex ever deters
lawyers from obtaining; and they succeded on the present occasion in worming
from the witness the whole story of her shame and ruin. Woman
like, however, she took the whole blame upon herself, and almost wholly
exonerated her deceased lover; for whose memory she wept bitterly many
times during the delivery of her evidence. Having revealed all this part of
her sad tale, she arrived in her narrative to the fatal night at the stockade.
She confirmed what had already been stated by one of the witnesses, that
she had not slept in the place assigned to her by Capt. Spotswood, but had
risen in the night and laid herself down across the door of the apartment
where the young gentleman and their servants slept. That sometime after
midnight as she supposed, she was awakened by the grasp of a powerful hand
upon her throat and another over her mouth—that she was held in this posture
by a young Indian whom she named, (and who was well known as one of
Mr. Boyle's disciples, and who had for a long time been paying unsuccessful
court to Wingina,) that while she was thus held her brother repeatedly flourished
a drawn dagger over her, plainly imitating that if she raised her voice or
her hands, he would strike her dead—that the young Indian mentioned held
her firmly, while Chunoluskie examined the sleepers. She stated that he
was at first baffled by Spotswood's having slept in Lee's cloak, but that he
was not long in ascertaining the one he sought; which he had no sooner
done, than he seized him by the throat and stabbed him at the same moment;
that he had also attempted to scalp him, but the convulsive efforts of his victim
hurried them off. She stated that the area of the stockade was filled with young
Indians, many of whom she had seen about the College and knew. After the
murder was completed, she said some one of them were for setting fire to the
premises, but her brother, who appeared to be in command, would not

[figure description] Page 153.[end figure description]

permit it, as he said it would put the Governer too soon upon his trail, and
before he had done other work which was before them. She said she was
placed on a horse before her brother, and the whole of them set off at full
speed for Germana, where they arrived the next night, only pausing once to
refresh themselves and their horses.

She said the military discipline of the stockade at the latter place, though superior
to that of the first mentioned, was by no means active and vigilant—that
the Indians dismounted in the forest, when they came in sight, and approached
stealthily on foot, that her brother sprang upon the sentinel on duty and dispatched
him, (as he had previously done Captain Spotswood,) without the
slightest alarm being communicated to the garrison; that the whole band,
except, the one who held her, then rushed in and slaughtered the sleeping
soldiers and inmates, with the exeception of a single person—a young lady,
whom they carried off, as they said, to supply her place, as a wife, to the young
chief for whom her brother had intended her. This was about the amount
of her testimony, except that she had made her escape while they caroused
on a certain night, and that she had left the young lady still their prisoner.
When asked why did she not assist her to escape, she said she looked so
delicate, she knew it would be impossible for her to escape their pursuers, that
she had taken one of their horses, and rode for life and death to communicate
the tidings—thinking that the surest way to afford her relief. That she had
heard, when she approached the city, of the trial going on, and for some time
her whole attention had been absorbed by the act of injustice which she
feared would be perpetrated. The Governor and the prisoner were much
affected by the appalling news just detailed. The trial itself, and all interest
attached to it, seemed swallowed up by the startling account of the massacre.

The court consulted together for a few moments, and after calling the Attorney
General into their councils, ordered the prisoner set at liberty. His
appearance on the green seemed to revive the public interest in him for a
while, and the mob set up a shout of triumph. Poor Hall had almost forgotten
already that he was lately all but a convicted murderer, so greatly was he
suffering for the death of his friend, Humphrey Elliot, and the captivity of his
daughter.