Chariot on the Mountain

by Jack Ford

  It was not a particularly large courtroom, nor was it especially ornate. But the layout and the gracious decor conveyed both the majesty of the law and the solemnity of what occurred inside those wainscoted and painted walls. A waist-high wooden balustrade cleaved the room nearly in half. In the rear section sat the wooden benches set aside for interested members of the public. The front section was dominated by the judge’s bench, an impressive raised, hand-carved wooden structure that stood sentinel over the entire chamber and announced clearly that its occupant was the ruler of this domain.

  Directly in front of the bench sat twelve cane chairs where jurors would reside for certain more substantial cases. To the left of the judge’s bench was a solid rectangular table where the court clerk worked, shepherding the array of case files that were scheduled for that day. Two small tables sat in the front section, reserved for the litigants and the occasional attorney.

  The buzzing and muttering inside the chamber came to an abrupt halt when a door behind the bench opened and a court attendant stepped out from within.

  “Silence!” the attendant commanded in a deep, thunderous tone. “All rise! The Circuit Superior Court of Law and Chancery for the County of Rappahannock is hereby in session! The Honorable Richard Field presiding!”

  The attendant stepped aside and allowed the judge to enter the room. After quickly taking his seat behind the bench, the judge took a moment to carefully arrange a collection of files and heavy leather-bound law books displayed on his desktop. He then looked up and, with a slight imperious wave of his hand, indicated that all should be seated.

  Judge Richard Field was a slender, wiry man in his forties, with a wispy receding hairline, a narrow face with sharp features, and deep-set, intelligent eyes. The scion of a prosperous family, he had, in a way, been born to the bench: both his father and his grandfather had sat as judges at some time in their careers, following Virginia’s long, well-entrenched tradition of handing down judgeships within the generations of a family. Studious, charming, and stern when necessary, he had a well-earned reputation as a precise, demanding, and fair jurist.

  Once all had been seated, he adjusted a pair of wire-rimmed glasses on the edge of his nose and peered out at the crowded room.

  “On behalf of Rappahannock County, I welcome you to this first day of the court session,” he announced somberly. “There is a great deal to be accomplished, so I will expect your complete cooperation. In a moment, the clerk”—he gestured toward the man perched at the table below and to the left of the bench—“shall call the role of cases scheduled for this morning. We will endeavor to resolve these matters as fairly and as expeditiously as possible.” He paused briefly. “This afternoon I shall commence a jury trial. The sheriff has summoned a number of freeholders, from whom we will select a panel to sit in judgment of the case. I suspect, seeing how many citizens are present today, that you are aware of this particular case and that many of you are present to witness these proceedings. I will admonish you now, as I will again later, that this is a court of law and I will expect all who have gathered here to act accordingly.”

  The judge took a moment to gaze pointedly out at the crowd, then adjusted his glasses and continued. “So, then, if I have made myself perfectly clear, we will proceed with the morning’s docket. Would the clerk please call the calendar?”

  CHAPTER 57

  IT WAS SHORTLY AFTER ONE O’CLOCK IN THE AFTERNOON WHEN THE circuit court reconvened. The morning docket—consisting mostly of claims for unpaid debts and land disputes—had been disposed of swiftly. Even many of the litigants had been anxious to resolve their cases quickly so they might be free to attend the afternoon trial. The chamber was packed, with many spectators having refused to leave during the lunch recess for fear of never regaining their seats.

  Moments before court was scheduled to resume, Kitty entered the courtroom, led by Zephania Turner and flanked by Mary and Fanny. She was dressed in a blue and yellow calico dress that reached nearly to the floor, with long sleeves, a high neck, and a cinched waist. Her long hair had been plaited and bound in a knot behind her head. Both Mary and Fanny were dressed in their best church clothes, dark and sober, with few frills.

  As Kitty walked down the center of the two rows of benches, she felt like she was running a gauntlet, flanked on both sides by nemeses, most of whom were merely curious or mildly unfriendly, while some others were openly hostile and eager to see her fail, thus preserving the balance of the strict echelons of their way of life. There was a smattering of hisses from the throng as she marched up the aisle, her head held high and her gaze straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge the acrimony as she entered the well of the court. I am free, she thought, summoning strength from the words. Then she repeated them to herself like a mantra. I am free. I have as much right to be in this courtroom as anyone else.

  Sam Maddox and his lawyer, Moffet Strother, were already seated at one of the tables. Maddox, looking relaxed, was dressed in a gray wool formal coat, with a lighter gray cravat tied around the neck of his white shirt. He was smiling broadly and gesturing pleasantly in the direction of several supporters seated in the front row.

  Moffet Strother, despite his obvious attempt to look professional in a new jacket and waistcoat, nevertheless appeared as rumpled and disheveled as if he had just been awakened from a night of sleeping in a barn.

  Strother ignored Kitty as she passed by the table, but Maddox made a pronounced show of standing and bowing slightly in her direction, while offering an amiable smile and a polite nod of the head to Mary and Fanny. Turner ushered Kitty to her seat at the counsel table, while Mary and Fanny took seats directly behind her.

  A moment later, the door to the judge’s chamber opened, and the court attendant appeared and announced in a commanding voice that the court was once again in session and all should rise. Judge Field stepped out from the anteroom and took his seat behind the bench.

  The judge took a moment to survey the courtroom, using the silence and the strength of his magisterial glare to reinforce the notion that he was completely in charge. Satisfied, he gestured for all to be seated. He then nodded toward the two lawyers.

  “Gentlemen,” the judge said, “are we prepared to proceed with the trial of this matter?”

  Turner, dressed impeccably, gracefully rose from his seat, while Strother scrambled from his, struggling to free his bulk from the chair and nearly knocking his file from the tabletop. Turner spoke first.

  “We are, indeed, prepared to proceed on behalf of the plaintiff,” he responded formally, directing a slight bow to the bench.

  “Your Honor,” Strother said, “we are also prepared to proceed on behalf of Mr. Maddox.”

  “Very well,” said Judge Field. “We shall summon the prospective jurors.”

  The judge inclined his head toward Sheriff Walden, who was sitting alongside the court clerk. The sheriff stood immediately and marched briskly down the aisle toward a small room in the hall just outside the courtroom. He returned a moment later, leading a group of twenty men, all looking uncertain and uncomfortable. As the sheriff led them into the well of the court, Judge Field spoke.

  “Gentlemen, I would ask that the first twelve of you take a seat in the jury area,” he said, gesturing with his hand toward the twelve seats in front of the bench. “I would request that the remainder of you sit in the available seats that we have set up nearby,” he added, pointing to a row of chairs in the front section of the courtroom, right behind the counsel tables.

  Kitty gazed curiously at the twelve potential jurors sitting in the jury area. The men—all white—were of various ages: four young men were in their twenties, six seemed middle aged, and two men, by virtue of their difficulty walking and their stooped and frail physiques, appeared to be quite old. The younger men were dressed in work clothes, while the older men had apparently dressed for the event and were in their best go-to-church-meeting attire. All seemed ill at ease, their anxious gazes dancing frenetically from the judge t
o Kitty and Maddox and their lawyers, then to those spectators gathered on the benches, and finally back to Judge Field.

  “Gentlemen,” the judge said to them once they had settled into their seats, “you have been summoned, as freeholders of this county, to possibly sit as jurors in this matter. As I believe Sheriff Walden indicated to you when he delivered your summons, it is expected that this trial may take two days to complete, and we would require your presence for that time. Now,” he continued, sounding like a courteous professor lecturing to a class, “I want to take a moment to thank you for taking the time from your lives to fulfill your duty as citizens and join us here today. Our great Constitution guarantees all of us a trial by jury—a jury of our peers— and that is only possible when citizens like yourselves are willing to embrace your civic responsibility. So, thank you once again.”

  Although some of the men in the jury area glanced briefly in Kitty’s direction, none of them actually made eye contact with her. Well, thought Kitty ironically, the Constitution might talk about a jury of your peers, but I’m right sure these men don’t look like any peers of mine.

  The judge paused briefly, glanced around the courtroom once again to ensure that all were paying attention, and then continued. “Now, in a moment we will begin the process of selecting the jury that will hear this case—only twelve of you will be asked to serve—but before we begin, I want to offer a few additional thoughts about your presence here,” he said. “I realize that this case, by its unusual nature, has garnered a significant amount of interest, but I want you to be assured that this case will be handled no differently from any other. My charge as a judge—the oath I have taken—is to guarantee that justice is done in this courtroom, and that fairness is extended equally to the poor and the rich.” He shifted his gaze from the prospective jurors to the gathered spectators. “And I fully intend to uphold that charge. And,” he added firmly, “I shall not tolerate any outbursts or expressions of emotion or opinion from anyone in this courtroom. I hope I have made myself perfectly clear.”

  A number of the spectators shifted uneasily in their seats, but no one spoke.

  “Well, then,” the judge continued, “before we begin to select the jurors, I want to advise you of the nature of the complaint in the case.”

  The judge nodded in the direction of the court clerk, who immediately picked up a document and handed it up to the bench. After grasping the paper, the judge began to read from it.

  “The plaintiff, Kitty, a Negro woman who claims to be free, makes complaint against the defendant, Samuel Maddox, that she was illegally assaulted and harmed by the said defendant, and that she, together with her three children—Eliza Jane, Mary, and Arthur—were kidnapped and illegally held in captivity by said defendant, and she therefore sues for such injuries and claims damages in the amount of one thousand dollars.”

  Judge Field slowly and deliberately placed the document down on the bench and looked toward the potential jurors. “Now that you are advised of the nature of this case, it is incumbent upon me to pose a number of questions to you to determine your suitability to act as jurors in this matter. I will admonish you that it is necessary for you to be completely truthful in your responses to me. Now, let us proceed.”

  CHAPTER 58

  IT HAD TAKEN NEARLY AN HOUR FOR THE JURY TO BE SELECTED. THREE prospective jurors were dismissed by the judge when they expressed—quite forcefully—their opinions that a Negro, free or not, should never have the right to sue a white person. One juror was excused when he claimed that his back ailed him so much that he was unable to sit for any extended period of time. One of the elderly jury candidates was excused because he could barely hear. And a final prospective juror was excused when he proclaimed that Sam Maddox—who, in his words, is “that scoundrel Sam Maddox”—owed him money. That assertion generated a chorus of laughter in the courtroom and a roguish smile and a genial wave from Maddox.

  Eventually, the judge decided, with the acquiescence of the two lawyers, on a jury panel of twelve men. The members were mostly farmers, with the exception of one carpenter and one tradesman. And nine of the twelve were slave owners, ranging from as few as a single slave owned to as many as fifteen. After swearing an oath “to do justice,” the jurors took their seats.

  Judge Field cleared his throat and looked austerely first at the twelve jurors and then at the spectators. “We are now ready to proceed. I will remind all of you once again that you are to remain silent throughout these proceedings. If you are not capable of that, I will have you escorted from the courtroom by the sheriff.” He turned toward the lawyers. “Now,” he said, “Counselors, I would invite you to provide your opening statements.”

  Zephania Turner rose from his seat, bowed slightly to the judge, tugged on his waistcoat, and turned toward the jury.

  “Gentlemen,” Turner began solemnly, “a moment ago you each placed your hand on a Bible and swore to do justice in this matter. And that is precisely what we shall be asking of you. Justice,” he repeated, drawing the word out slowly, as he scanned the panel, making eye contact with each juror. “It’s an interesting concept. Because true justice—the kind that I seek on behalf of Miss Kitty—has no concern for a person’s financial status. It has no concern for a person’s ancestry.”

  Turner paused dramatically for a beat and then continued. “And it has no concern for a person’s skin color. Justice—true justice—is, indeed, blind to all these things. If you look at the statue of Lady Justice right there on Judge Field’s bench,” he said, pointing to a cast silver statue that was perched to the left of the judge, “y’all will notice that as she holds the balancing scales of justice in her one hand and a law book in the other, her eyes are covered by a blindfold. She does not need to see who stands before her in order to render a fair decision, because justice is, indeed, blind.”

  He paused again for a moment, appearing to be deep in thought. “Despite the attention that this case has received,” he continued, “this is not a terribly complicated issue for you to resolve. In fact, it’s quite simple. For most of her life, Miss Kitty was a slave. She belonged to Samuel and Mary Maddox, whom many of you are acquainted with. When Samuel passed, his will very clearly left all his possessions and property to his wife, Mary. You will hear from Mary that, on his deathbed, this good and God-fearing man had a last request. He asked that Miss Kitty and her children should be set free. And Mary honored that request, as any good Christian would.”

  Turner stepped back and pointed a finger at Sam Maddox. “But Sam Maddox insisted on attempting to dishonor his uncle’s last wish, making a baseless claim to the ownership of Kitty and the children, and threatening to sell them immediately”—he arched an eyebrow sinisterly—“to satisfy his extensive debts. So Mary was forced, in order to honor her pledge to her dying husband, to flee from Sam’s treacherous clutches. She and Kitty and the children engaged in a perilous journey to Pennsylvania, where she signed a deed of manumission, freeing them, as she had promised.”

  Turner took a deep, theatrical breath. “But this man,” he said, pointing again to Sam Maddox, “would not let his dead uncle’s spirit rest easily. He engaged a band of armed criminal ruffians, pursued Mary and Kitty into Pennsylvania and, in the dead of night, engaged in a cowardly deed, forcing his way into the home of another and inflicting a terrible beating upon this young woman.” He pointed now to Kitty. “And then he forcibly transported her and her children—all of whom were now legally free persons—to Virginia, where he kept them bound and chained under inhuman conditions.”

  The lawyer shook his head sadly, his face a mask of disdain. “When we have completed the testimony in this case, I will have the opportunity to speak to you again. Until that time, I will implore you to remember the court’s charge to you—to do justice. Justice that is not reserved just for white folks. But justice that we as a nation, and as a commonwealth, have guaranteed to all our free citizens, regardless of their color.” He took a few seconds to scan the faces of each of
the jurors. “Thank you, gentlemen,” he concluded soberly.

  Kitty offered Turner a slight smile and nodded thankfully as he walked back to the counsel table. It was the first time that she had heard her story told publicly, and she was impressed by Turner’s performance. She had watched the jurors carefully, looking for some sign of sympathy or understanding, but all twelve had remained stoic, devoid of any response or any gestures that might have revealed their reactions to Turner’s entreaties.

  As Turner took his seat, Strother rose and walked toward the jurors. The comparison between the two lawyers was stark. If Turner, in all his personal elegance and sartorial finery, was a show horse, then Strother, in his wrinkled, ill-fitting garb and shambling presence, was something akin to a plow horse. But it was instantly apparent that mere looks could be deceiving. He quite clearly knew his audience and began to play to them immediately.

  “Gentlemen,” he began, shaking his head in bewilderment, “y’all are probably wonderin’ what in the world we all are doin’ here. I know I am. Why are we takin’ up the precious time of this here court to let a slave, a slave, for goodness’ sakes,” he said, his voice rising as he contemptuously spit out the word slave, “accuse a white man of some such nonsense that you just heard about from Mr. Turner. Let me tell you what y’all need to know and what y’all will hear in this trial.”

  He turned and jabbed his finger accusingly toward Kitty, who met his glare with a calm, confident look, her hands folded before her on the table. “She’s a slave. Always has been and still is. Mistress Maddox—and I mean no disrespect to her and the memory of her deceased husband—but Mistress Maddox did not have any legal right to steal her away under cover of darkness. No legal right to spirit her away to some other jurisdiction.” He paused for a second. “Someplace that has no respect for us and our way of life,” he added disdainfully. “The last will and testament of Samuel Maddox gave his nephew—whom he loved like a son—the title to those slaves. So Sam Maddox simply did what any law-abiding citizen would do. What each of you would do. He attempted to recover his property that was stolen—yes, stolen!—from him. You cannot, and should not, hold a man somehow responsible in a court of law for attempting to recover property that belonged to him in the first place.”