The Graysons: A Story of IllinoisEggleston, Edward
General
The Graysons: A Story of Illinois
Eggleston, Edward
Illinois -- Fiction; Lincoln, Abraham, 1809-1865 -- Fiction; Presidents -- United States -- Fiction
The words appeared to be wrung from him by some internal agony too
strong for him to master; they were the involuntary result of the
breaking down of his forces under prolonged suffering and terror,
culminating in the slow torture inflicted by his cross-examination. A
minute later, when his spasm of irresolution had passed off, he would
have retracted his confession if he could. But the sheriff's deputy,
with the assistance of a constable, was already leading him through the
swaying crowd in the aisle, while many people got up and stood on the
benches to watch the exit of the new prisoner. When at length Sovine had
disappeared out of the door the spectators turned and looked at Tom,
sitting yet in the dock, but with the certainty of speedy release before
him. The whole result of Lincoln's masterful stroke was now for the
first time realized, and the excitement bade fair to break over bounds.
McCord doubled himself up once or twice in the effort to repress his
feelings out of respect for the court, but his emotions were too much
for him; his big fist, grasping his ragged hat, appeared above his head.
"Goshamity! Hooray!" he burst out with a stentorian voice, stamping his
foot as he waved his hat.
At this the whole court-roomful of people burst into cheers, laughter,
cries, and waving of hats and handkerchiefs, in spite of the sheriff's
sharp rapping and shouts of "Order in court!" And when at length the
people were quieted a little, Mrs. Grayson spoke up, with a choking
voice:
"Jedge, ain't you a-goin' to let him go now?"
There was a new movement of feeling, and the judge called out, "Sheriff,
order in court!" But his voice was husky and tremulous. He took off his
spectacles to wipe them, and he looked out of the window behind him,
and put his handkerchief first to one eye, then to the other, before he
put his glasses back.
"May it please the court," said the tall lawyer, who had remained
standing, waiting for the tempest to subside, and who now spoke in a
subdued voice, "I move your Honor, that the jury be instructed to render
a verdict of 'Not guilty.'" The judge turned to the prosecuting
attorney.
"I don't think, your Honor," stammered Allen, "that I ought to object to
the motion of my learned brother, under the peculiar circumstances of
this case."
"I don't think you ought," said the judge, promptly, and he proceeded to
give the jury instructions to render the desired verdict. As soon as the
jury, nothing loath, had gone through the formality of a verdict, the
sheriff came and opened the door of the box to allow Tom to come out.
"O Tom! they are letting you out," cried Janet, running forward to meet
him as he came from the dock. She had not quite understood the drift of
these last proceedings until this moment.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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