Stirring Appeal
February 27, 1897
Summary
A lawyer’s skill in a Texas murder trial rightfully releases the accused as not guilty.
Transcription
A reporter of the New Orleans Picayune, furnishes the following story of a Texas murder trial, as related by a prominent lawyer from that state:
The prisoner was on trial for his life. The evidence had all been heard. The state attorney had just taken his seat after a most incisive presentation of the evidence, wherein he demonstrated the utter failure of the prisoner’s theory of self-defense.
The counsel for the prisoner was a stranger, known only by reputation to the judge and bar; and that reputation was one of great ability, perfect integrity, and a marvelous knack of “snatching verdicts” each time by some new turn. This gaunt, yet graceful, gray-headed man arose, seemingly without looking at the jury though each man felt he was under the power of that wide-open eye. After bowing to the judge and saying a few almost inaudible words of courtesy to his honor, he turned to the prisoner and said:
“You must die John-die by hanging. It will be no fault of yours, by no fault of the judge or his jury, or of the good people of the county; neither will it be any fault of the law. The law of Texas is alright, though its machinery may sometimes expose perjury can’t always prevent the false swearing of witnesses. Judges and juries have not the power, though they sometimes exercise the authority of Almighty God. They couldn’t look down into the souls of the witnesses and see malice, hate, and private purpose that colored and twisted the facts.
“We can’t help it now. You must die as you have lived, like a brave man. I don’t need to tell you that. The woman who bore you, three months before you saw the light of heaven, carried in her arms from one of the bloodiest fields of the late war the bleeding, senseless form if your father, while shot and shell still shrieked and groans of the dying filled the air
“And your father, whose maimed body we laid to rest last week, was not matched in all this land. These trusted you, and their blood can betray no trust. The only message he sent you was, ‘Tell him we believe him.’ We will have you beside them. In a few days, this old white head will be laid next to you. Ill not be ashamed to be buried soon beside you, John. You are so like the other John, that I see the visions of happy boyhood while gazing into the same true eyes- confused with these is the pride I have taken in my friend’ boy.
“After we lay these bodies in the church-yard over the mountain, we’ll appeal this case. We’ll try it all over again up yonder.”
Then, in a few of the boldest and grandest figures, he sketched his idea of a trial before the Great White Throne, where, as he said, “in that glorious presence the false witness is dumb and the inerrant Judge need not the aid of counsels or of juries.” Then he pictured the eagerness with which the mother, and the calm confidence with which the father, awaiting heaven’s verdict, - the quick rush, the entrancing, soul satisfying embrace of both at the words. ‘Not guilty.’” Then, taking up both hands of the prisoner, he looked down in his face for a moment steadily, then, bowing forward with a mother-like tenderness, kissed him twice on the forehead, saying in a whisper audible to all: “We can wait for that! So, good-by, John, my boy.”
Bowing respectfully to the judge he took his seat, still holding one of the prisoner’s hands.
The district attorney, who through all this sat with his back half turned to the speaker and the jury, nervously and excitedly chewing his toothpick and crossing and recrossing his legs, began to reply, which quickly ended after a good look at the jurors’ faces in a stammering request to them to do their duty.
The judge’s charge was scattering. He seemed to scarcely know what he said. The jury did not hear him. Not the slightest incident occurred to break the spell. They went out, returned, and in a very few moments the verdict “Not guilty” was recorded.
The prisoner was on trial for his life. The evidence had all been heard. The state attorney had just taken his seat after a most incisive presentation of the evidence, wherein he demonstrated the utter failure of the prisoner’s theory of self-defense.
The counsel for the prisoner was a stranger, known only by reputation to the judge and bar; and that reputation was one of great ability, perfect integrity, and a marvelous knack of “snatching verdicts” each time by some new turn. This gaunt, yet graceful, gray-headed man arose, seemingly without looking at the jury though each man felt he was under the power of that wide-open eye. After bowing to the judge and saying a few almost inaudible words of courtesy to his honor, he turned to the prisoner and said:
“You must die John-die by hanging. It will be no fault of yours, by no fault of the judge or his jury, or of the good people of the county; neither will it be any fault of the law. The law of Texas is alright, though its machinery may sometimes expose perjury can’t always prevent the false swearing of witnesses. Judges and juries have not the power, though they sometimes exercise the authority of Almighty God. They couldn’t look down into the souls of the witnesses and see malice, hate, and private purpose that colored and twisted the facts.
“We can’t help it now. You must die as you have lived, like a brave man. I don’t need to tell you that. The woman who bore you, three months before you saw the light of heaven, carried in her arms from one of the bloodiest fields of the late war the bleeding, senseless form if your father, while shot and shell still shrieked and groans of the dying filled the air
“And your father, whose maimed body we laid to rest last week, was not matched in all this land. These trusted you, and their blood can betray no trust. The only message he sent you was, ‘Tell him we believe him.’ We will have you beside them. In a few days, this old white head will be laid next to you. Ill not be ashamed to be buried soon beside you, John. You are so like the other John, that I see the visions of happy boyhood while gazing into the same true eyes- confused with these is the pride I have taken in my friend’ boy.
“After we lay these bodies in the church-yard over the mountain, we’ll appeal this case. We’ll try it all over again up yonder.”
Then, in a few of the boldest and grandest figures, he sketched his idea of a trial before the Great White Throne, where, as he said, “in that glorious presence the false witness is dumb and the inerrant Judge need not the aid of counsels or of juries.” Then he pictured the eagerness with which the mother, and the calm confidence with which the father, awaiting heaven’s verdict, - the quick rush, the entrancing, soul satisfying embrace of both at the words. ‘Not guilty.’” Then, taking up both hands of the prisoner, he looked down in his face for a moment steadily, then, bowing forward with a mother-like tenderness, kissed him twice on the forehead, saying in a whisper audible to all: “We can wait for that! So, good-by, John, my boy.”
Bowing respectfully to the judge he took his seat, still holding one of the prisoner’s hands.
The district attorney, who through all this sat with his back half turned to the speaker and the jury, nervously and excitedly chewing his toothpick and crossing and recrossing his legs, began to reply, which quickly ended after a good look at the jurors’ faces in a stammering request to them to do their duty.
The judge’s charge was scattering. He seemed to scarcely know what he said. The jury did not hear him. Not the slightest incident occurred to break the spell. They went out, returned, and in a very few moments the verdict “Not guilty” was recorded.
About this article
Source
Location on Page
Upper Left Quadrant
Topic
Contributed By
Brian Schrott
Citation
“Stirring Appeal,” Black Virginia: The Richmond Planet, 1894-1909, accessed May 12, 2025, https://blackvirginia.richmond.edu/items/show/1131.