“Is that what happened, Hattie?” Sir Arthur whispered to me, a look of unexpected sympathy in his eyes.
“Yes, sir. That is what happened.”
“Inexcusable.” I agreed but kept any comments to myself.
During the man’s riveting account, I kept my head down and focused on taking my notes. Sir Arthur would not appreciate my showing the tumult I felt as I relived the riot through Mr. Johnson’s words. Nor would it do to notice the many eyes that strayed in my direction, as if my sling were a flag, when Mr. Johnson spoke of defenseless women being clubbed down in the grass. Walter and Sarah both watched me, concern on their faces, but I gave them no reason to suspect anything was wrong. Or at least that’s what I hoped.
When Mr. Johnson stepped down, Judge Miller announced that he would refuse to hear any other witnesses who might speak of the policemen’s conduct. Coxey, Browne, and Jones were on trial, not the Washington, D.C., Metropolitan Police Department.
That too is inexcusable, I thought, but again kept it to myself. And then a movement caught my eye.
“Daniel?”
“What was that, Hattie?” Sarah said, engrossed in the next witness’s story. I’d said it out loud? I hadn’t meant to. But it was too late. Sarah’s attention was fully on me. “What did you say about Daniel?”
“I was wondering why he didn’t come.”
“He wanted to avoid any misunderstandings. He doesn’t want anyone mistaking him for a Populist. So he thought it was better if he stayed away.”
“I see.”
And I had seen, literally. As I’d tried to keep my gaze from the witness box, I’d caught a glimpse of someone moving stealthily along the wall. He had only been in my sight for a few moments, but I couldn’t mistake him for anyone else. It was Daniel Clayworth.
Was that why he was sneaking along the wall, hoping not to be seen? Then why come at all? And why lie to your wife about it? Had he simply changed his mind? I hoped so.
The trial went on until finally the prosecutors delivered their summations. Assistant District Attorney Mullowney condemned Jacob Coxey as a self-aggrandizing hypocrite, citing that the leader of the Commonweal of Christ stayed at hotels while his “army” camped in the rough, that he secured the best legal representation for himself while supplying less competent representation for Browne and Jones.
District Attorney Birney was worse. During his speech, hoping to ridicule the idea that these men could possibly represent workingmen, he pointed toward Browne and said, “That man, a working man? A man who looks as though he never did a day’s work in his life! Save the world! A fakir, a charlatan, and a mountebank who dresses in ridiculous garments and exhibits himself to the curious multitudes at ten cents a head!”
And then Mr. Birney turned to Coxey. “The other man a laboring man! A wealthy man, who owns a stock farm and stone quarries, who admits that he has received all the money contributions for the movement bearing his name, and has never made an accounting.”
Little was said about the three men trespassing on the Capitol grass until Judge Miller gave the jury their instructions. “The people have the perfect right to ventilate their views, but they must do it in a proper way, and within the law.”
Marshal Browne took the opportunity to tell the court that he fully expected to be convicted on a technicality. “Christ was convicted on a technicality!”
And then the jury was dismissed. We waited but two hours before the jury returned a guilty verdict. The three men, free on bond, were to be sentenced later.
The verdict had not been a surprise, though I was dismayed nonetheless. Jacob Coxey, Marshal Browne, and their marching army simply wanted to give a speech, illuminating all the sorrow and suffering in this country. Despite all the rumors and fears, hundreds of men marched into the nation’s capital peaceably and, for all their efforts, were arrested for walking on the grass. But knowing men like Senator Smith, it didn’t come as a surprise. Like Daniel, the senator wanted to stay clear of the trial and any assumed association with “those indigent crack-brains.”
How quickly he forgot his visit to Coxey’s camp, I thought.
But what was a surprise were the mumblings, the complaints, and the criticisms I heard as I followed Sir Arthur and Walter out of the crowded courtroom. They weren’t only about the verdict. Everyone was talking about Jasper Neely and Annie’s deaths.
“Sure, Coxey trespassed, but did he kill one of his own?”
“Not one word was uttered about the dead man or woman.”
“What is this country coming to? A woman is drowned, a man is stabbed in broad daylight, and no one cares. But heaven forbid you walk on the grass!”
“Maybe one of the police killed that man. That’s why the judge wouldn’t hear anything more about the riot.”
“No one in the Commonweal killed Jasper or drowned that woman. They are innocent, I swear to you.”
The last voice was familiar. I stopped and looked around me. A few feet away, surrounded by journalists and other spectators, was Billy McBain.
I started toward the group surrounding Billy, when Lieutenant Whittmeyer stepped out of the crowd directly in front of me.
“Staying out of my investigations, right, Miss Davish?” he said, a smirk on his face, as if daring me to ignore his warnings.
“Yes, I have no desire to cross you, Lieutenant.”
“Good, just checking.” The man slipped back into the crowd. I shuddered. Never having to speak to him again was reason enough to stay out of his investigation.
But that didn’t mean I couldn’t listen like everyone else, I thought, as I proceeded again toward Billy McBain. I was surprised to see Senator Abbott, his planter’s hat tipped back on his forehead, standing next to Billy.
“But, Billy,” one the reporters said, “how can you be so sure? Neely was one of you. And he was witness to the prostitute’s drowning. Don’t you think that’s quite a coincidence?”
“First, Jasper arrived after the girl drowned in the carp pond. I’ve always been clear on that. And second, as you say, he was one of us. You’ve heard Jasper preach. You’ve heard Marshal Browne preach. You know what General Coxey stands for. Our march was inspired by the soul of Christ to cast the light on the plight of the unemployed worker, to gain support for the Good Roads project. No one supported this goal more than Jasper Neely. Why would General Coxey or Marshal Browne have any cause to kill him?”
I wondered that as well. But did Mr. McBain know about the secret meetings Jasper Neely conducted the morning of the march? The morning he died? And one of them being with the man standing next to him?
“But what if they argued about the best way to accomplish their goal?” one of the journalists asked. “Look at what happened between Browne and the Great Unknown.”
“But they didn’t,” Billy McBain said. “I spoke to Jasper myself a little while before they found him dead. He was more enthusiastic, more confident about the success of the Good Roads project then I’d ever seen him. Do you think he’d be that exuberant if he was at odds with the general?”
The reporters grumbled and shook their heads.
“But what about someone else in the camp?” someone else shouted.
“We’re brothers. We bonded like only those who have marched halfway across this country for a cause could. I can’t believe anyone in the Commonweal of Christ could’ve done this.” Senator Abbott leaned over and whispered something in Billy McBain’s ear. “That’s all I have to say.”
“Then who did?” someone shouted, as McBain, with Senator Abbott at his side, tried to push his way through the crowd.
That’s what I’d like to know, I thought as I watched Billy McBain disappear among the multitude outside the courthouse.
“Miss Davish!”
With Billy McBain gone, as one, the reporters swiveled on their heels and turned on me. With notebooks and pencils held high, they vied for a spot closest to me. As I stepped back to put distance between us, they moved in closer. Soon
I was surrounded by reporters shouting their questions at me.
“Do you have anything to add to what Mr. McBain said?”
“Have you had any further contact with Coxey, Browne, or the other Coxeyites?”
“I saw you talking to Lieutenant Whittmeyer; are you helping in the investigations?”
“No, no, and no!” I said, before they could ask me another question. Heaven forbid the reporters insinuate that I was in any way aiding Lieutenant Whittmeyer in his investigation. One word of such an accusation in the newspaper, whether true or not, and the detective would probably arrest me.
“Leave Miss Davish alone.” Walter, having finally pushed through the mob around me, put his arm around my shoulder. “Isn’t Coxey’s story enough?”
“No,” one of the reporters said. “That’s old news.”
“Just ignore them,” Walter whispered to me.
As he steered me away from the reporters, one shouted, “But surely, Miss Davish, you know something you can tell us about Jasper Neely’s murder or Annie Wilcox’s drowning?”
If only I did, I thought, keeping my head down and my back to them. If only I did.
CHAPTER 26
“So how was the trial?” Daniel Clayworth took a sip of his red wine, as the footman placed a tray of fillet of beef with mushrooms in front of me. Having little appetite, I waved him away.
Why would you need to ask? I wondered. You were there.
To escape the press of the reporters after General Coxey and Marshal Browne were convicted at police court, Sarah had invited us to ride in her Victoria and join her for dinner. I’d wanted nothing more than to go back to my room at the Smith home and type the notes I’d taken this morning at the Treasury. But she’d insisted. She and Walter had chatted about the trial while I’d watched the city go by, yet again ruminating on the same unanswered questions. Who killed Jasper Neely? Who left Annie Wilcox to drown? Was Billy McBain sincere in his belief that no one in Coxey’s Army had been involved? If only I could . . . I’d stopped the thought right there. Lieutenant Whittmeyer had been abundantly clear that I was not to question anyone, look for anything, or to appear in any way to be seeking out Jasper Neely’s killer.
And he’s right, I’d thought. It has nothing to do with me.
After almost a half hour drive, we’d arrived at one of the fashionable four-story redbrick row houses a few blocks from Dupont Circle, a wide circular thoroughfare transected by four avenues and encircling a park lavishly ornamented with flowering trees, exotic flowers, and a statue of Rear Admiral Samuel Du Pont at its center. Dinner was waiting.
“The trial was very exciting,” Sarah said. “I’m disappointed that they found the men guilty, but of course it was expected. A little ridiculous but expected.”
“The men violated the law and were found guilty.”
“Of what, treading on the grass?” She rolled her eyes before she too took a drink from her wineglass.
“They didn’t have to come to Washington and break the law.”
“How else would they be heard? What about their cause?”
“As John Sherman put it the other day from the Senate floor, ‘Nobody is denied the right to petition.’ Whatever they might think, whatever causes they stand for, whatever hardships they may have suffered, any member of the Senate would offer the petition. It’s their right and Coxey knew that.” She rolled her eyes again.
“Yes, Daniel dear, but—”
“What I found ridiculous,” Walter said, interrupting his sister in an attempt to defuse the argument brewing between husband and wife, “was how the judge refused to consider the police’s misconduct. Jones and Browne were both in custody when they started clubbing innocent people.” Walter gazed at me sympathetically.
“The judge was only doing his job,” Daniel said. “Coxey, Browne, and Jones were on trial, not the Washington Metropolitan Police.”
That’s exactly what the judge had said. How would Daniel know that? How would he know that Lottie Fox hadn’t been on trial as well? Unless he was there. Or did he know of the police superintendent’s proclivity for Lottie Fox’s charms?
“But Hattie was seriously hurt, Daniel,” Sarah said. “It’s not right that the police can do such a thing and not suffer consequences. It makes one feel in danger from the very people who are supposed to enforce the law, not break it.”
“I’m truly sorry for what happened to you, Hattie,” Daniel said. “I do hope you are feeling well again.”
“I’m fine.”
Stifling a laugh, Walter nearly spit out the bite of beef he had put in his mouth and then began choking from the attempt. How many times had he heard me say those words when we both knew them to be untrue? So many it had become a jest between us.
“Walter, are you all right?” Sarah said.
He held up his hand to ease her concern. “I’m fine,” he finally said. If he hadn’t had me worried as well that he was choking, I would have laughed. Instead I gave him a shake of my head.
“And to answer you, Daniel, Hattie’s arm is healing nicely, if she doesn’t do anything foolish, like take her sling off to type.” He mockingly wagged his finger at me. We both smiled.
“I’m glad you are both well,” Daniel said, unaware of any humor in the situation. “And I want to assure you both that justice will be done. Even now, in the House, we are debating resolutions calling for a congressional investigation into whether the police used excessive force.”
“Well, I for one am glad to hear it,” Sarah said. “As justice was certainly not done today.”
“They broke the law, Sarah,” Daniel said, annoyed.
“A woman drowned and a man was murdered. That’s horrible. That’s breaking the law. General Coxey walked on the grass, Daniel. The grass!”
“Have you ever heard of the National Bank of the Potomac, Daniel?” I asked, hoping to change the subject again. My arm was beginning to ache, and I was losing patience with Daniel’s heavy-handed opinions about Coxey.
“Yes, in fact, I have. Why do you ask?”
“Simeon Harper, the journalist Sir Arthur knows, is investigating the bank. Do you know why that would be?”
“Not particularly.” Daniel took another sip of his wine. “What was he investigating?”
“Mr. Harper mentioned the bank may have redeemed their federal notes for gold before the Sherman Silver Purchase Act was repealed.”
Daniel set down his wine. “You know of the Sherman Purchase Act?” He sounded more astonished than I cared for.
“Miss Davish is full of surprises,” Walter said, smiling at me. “Though I’m not surprised she knows about the Sherman Purchase Act. She enjoys reading the newspapers, don’t you, Hattie?”
“Of course. How else does one know what is going on in the world?” I said. Sarah laughed nervously. “Why do you laugh, Sarah?”
“Because to quote a man I met at a dinner party not too long ago, ‘Women don’t need to know what is going on in the world. That is what men are for.’ ”
Walter chuckled, assuming his sister was joking, but Daniel Clayworth wasn’t smiling.
“I would agree with that,” Daniel said. “News, politics, and business affairs all needlessly confuse women. Why distract them from what they really need to know?”
Walter’s mouth gaped open in astonishment. I was glad he disagreed. And then I noticed Sarah’s cheeks burning red. She had either drunk too much wine or wholeheartedly disagreed too. She opened her mouth to speak.
To defuse the moment and change the subject yet again, I said, “Could you explain to me then, Congressman, why Mr. Harper would find fault in what the National Bank of the Potomac did?”
“What? Oh, yes, of course, Hattie. If you are as well read as you seem, then you know that the U.S. Treasury was almost depleted of its gold reserves because banks and individuals, having purchased federal notes, redeemed them for gold instead of silver before Congress could stop them and repeal the Sherman Purchase Act.”
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p; “Yes, but if hundreds, if not thousands, were doing this, why would one bank be suspect?”
“If I’m correct, it would be in the timing.”
“Timing?” Walter asked, finding interest in the subject. Sarah tried to stifle a yawn.
“Few banks, let alone individuals, knew the dire straits the Treasury was in. But there were a few, with what some would call ‘inside’ knowledge of the fact, which should have stopped their demand for gold. But since they continued to demand gold for their notes, some considered it traitorous.”
“Could that be what the National Bank of the Potomac did?”
“Absolutely, as the president of the bank was the son of a senator who was on the Senate Finance Committee.”
“But you’re not going to say who?” Sarah asked, suddenly interested.
“No, it is not my place to name the alleged traitor. There was a call for an investigation at the time, but the senator in question was . . . is powerful enough to persuade his colleagues to stop any debate, let alone an investigation.”
“But why would Simeon Harper investigate this now?” Walter asked. “They repealed the Sherman Purchase Act last year.”
“Last October, to be exact,” Daniel said. “I have no idea why he would want to drag this all up again. This country has enough problems.”
“Yes, isn’t that what Mr. Coxey and his army were marching for in the first place? To shine light on so many of the problems workingmen are facing?” Sarah said. She wouldn’t leave it alone.
Having warmed to his subject, Daniel frowned again. He obviously didn’t approve of Coxey’s Army or Sarah’s obvious sympathy for them.
I’m grateful Walter doesn’t mind me stating my opinions, I thought.
“At least that’s what they say,” Daniel said. “I personally think, by them coming here, they merely distracted us from getting any real work done.”
“Could Harper’s investigation into the National Bank of the Potomac be connected to Coxey’s appearance in town?” Walter said, still wanting an answer or at least a consensus on his question.
A March to Remember Page 21