WHEN the day of trial dawned, Stella had succeeded in securing the services of two of the greatest lawyers in America, Reverdy Johnson of Maryland, Attorney General in the Cabinet of President Taylor, and Henry Stanbery of Ohio, Attorney General in the Cabinet of Andrew Johnson.

The Government was represented by the finest legal talent its vast resources and power could command.

For eleven days, before two presiding judges of the United States Circuit Court, the fierce battle of legal giants raged. The great lawyers for the defence fought every inch of ground with dogged tenacity.

Stella watched from day to day with breathless intensity as she sat by John Graham’s side.

It soon became plain that the Court had constituted itself a partisan political tribunal for the purpose, not of administering justice, but of crushing the enemies of the party in power.

Every decision was against the prisoner, though, in deference to the distinguished character of the lawyers for the defence, they were allowed to argue each point. The profound and accurate learning with which they reviewed the Constitutional law of the Republic was a liberal education to the shallow little partisans who sat on the judge’s bench before them. But their eloquence and learning fell on the ears of men whose decisions were already made.

In violation of the rights of the prisoner under the constitutions of the state and nation the indictment for murder was ordered to immediate trial.

From the moment the actual proceedings of the trial began, the Government had no delay or difficulty.

With sinking heart Stella saw the disgraceful travesty of justice draw each moment the cords of death closer about the form of the man she loved.

The jury corruptly chosen for this case marked the lowest tide mud to which the administration of justice ever sank in our history. A white freeman, a man of culture and heroic mould, whose fathers created the American Republic, was arraigned to plead for his life before a jury composed of one dirty, ignorant white scalawag and eleven coal-black Negroes! The white man was not made its foreman, a Negro teamster was chosen.

Steve Hoyle became at once the presiding genius of the prosecution. The court room was thronged with liars, perjurers and sycophants who hung about his fat figure with obsequious deference. Old Larkin, who came from the Capitol to assist the prosecution, sat constantly by Steve’s side.

John Graham watched Steve with cold deadly hate, but he had warned his men under no conceivable circumstances to lift a hand in resistance either to constituted authority, or to give the traitor his deserts. A pall of helpless grief and fear hung over every decent white man who witnessed the High Court of Justice of the Anglo-Saxon race suddenly transformed into a Negro minstrel farce on which hung their liberty and life.
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The star witness of the prosecution was Uncle Isaac A. Postle. He took his seat before the jury, grinning and nodding at two of his dusky friends among them with calm assurance.

Isaac was allowed to tell a marvellous rambling story of Ku Klux outrages—stories which he had heard from Larkin—about whose truth he could possibly know nothing. In vain the lawyers for the defence objected. The court overruled every objection and allowed the Apostle free scope to his vivid imagination.

Reverdy Johnson, the distinguished ex-Attorney General of the United States who stood before the judges protesting with dignity, bowed to the Bench and sat down in disgust with the quiet remark:

“We shall offer no further objection to anything that may be said in this Court.”

He had scarcely taken his seat when Ackerman moved his chair behind him and began to whisper.

The District Attorney watched the detective in astonishment, while Hoyle and Larkin bent their heads together in excited conference.

Susie looked at Stella, smiled and blushed.

Isaac finally came to specific charges against John Graham.

“Now tell the court what you know about John Graham’s connection with the murder of Judge Butler,” said Steve, who was conducting his examination.

“Yassah, I knows all ’bout it, sah. Mr. John Graham de very man dat kill de jedge wid his own han’. I see ’im when he do it. Dey come slippin’ up back er de house, an’ creep in froo de winder while de odder folks wuz in de ballroom dancin’. Dey wuz eight un ’em—yassah. Dey slip up an’ grab de jedge an’ hol’ ’im while Mr. John Graham stick a knife right in his heart——yassah. I wuz lookin’ right at ’im froo de winder when he done it. When he kill ’im, dey all mix up wid de odder Ku Kluxes what wuz dancin’, an’ go way ter-gedder.”

“Take the witness,” said Steve with a wave of his hand.

“How did you know it was Mr. Graham?” asked General Johnson.

“I seed ’im wid my own eyes.”

“He wore a complete disguise, did he not?”

“Yassah, but I seed ’im all de same.”

“You could see through the mask?”

“I seed ’im—I done tole ye!”

“Answer my question,” sternly commanded the lawyer. “Could you see his face through the mask?”

“Nasah.”

“Then how did you recognise him?”

“He tuck it off ter scratch his head, sah, an’ I see his face. I knowed it wuz him all de time fo’ I see his face.”

Ackerman whispered to the lawyer.

“Did you tell Mr. Ackerman, Uncle Isaac, that, as you started to run away from the masqueraders that night, you saw John Graham at your gate—ran into him?”

“Nasah, I nebber say no sech thing!” Isaac shouted, glaring and shaking his head at Ackerman.

“Didn’t you tell the same gentleman that later in the evening you saw John Graham seated on a rustic near the house watching it from the outside?”

“Nasah! dat I didn’t!”

“Do you know that if you swear a lie——”

“I ain’t swar no lie!” Isaac interrupted with religious fervour. “I’se de Lord’s Sanctified One, sah. I ain’t done no sin since I got sanctification. Yassah, praise God!”

“Don’t you know,” repeated the lawyer, “that if you swear to a lie on that witness stand you can be sent to the penitentiary for perjury?”

“I knows dey ain’t gwine sen’ me dar—I knows dat,” Isaac said with a grin, and his Negro acquaintances in the jury box laughed.

The lawyer changed his line of questions. “You say you saw John Graham strike the death-blow?”

“Yassah, I see ’im wid dese very eyes.”

“Were you close enough to hear what was said?”

“Yassah, I wuz right dar by de open winder.”

“What did he say?”

“Des ez he raise de knife he say, ‘I got you now, you d—— Black Radical ‘Publican!’”

“You swear that you heard him say that he killed the Judge because he was a Republican?”

“Yassah! dat’s what de Ku Kluxes kill ’em all fur, sah!”

Larkin shuffled uneasily, bent again in conference with Steve who rose immediately and asked for an adjournment of two hours.

When the Court reassembled and Isaac took his seat in the witness chair, Aunt Julie Ann’s huge form suddenly appeared in the doorway with her hand resting confidingly on Alfred’s arm. They walked inside the railing of the bar and took seats assigned to them behind John Graham’s counsel. Aunt Julie Ann handed Ackerman a pair of Isaac’s old shoes. He measured them quickly on a diagram which he drew from his pocket.

Isaac watched Aunt Julie Ann and Alfred with mouth opened in wonder, rage and growing fear.

He rose and bowed to the judges.

“I gotter ax de cote ter perteck me, gemmens,” he said falteringly.

“What do you mean?” asked a judge.

“Dat nigger Alfred dar tryin’ ter steal my wife from me, sah!”

Alfred grinned, and patted Aunt Julie Ann’s hand and whispered: “Doan min’ de low-live rascal, honey!”

“Yassah, an’ my wife come here tryin’ ter timidate me, sah. She jes fetch er par er my ole shoes inter dis cote. She’s a cunjer &lsquo............