by Jack Ford
“But, Your Honor . . . ,” Strother stammered angrily.
Judge Field raised his hand again to silence both of the bickering lawyers. “Mr. Turner,” he said, “I understand your position. But are we not here precisely to resolve that question? Must we—this jury and the court—not first resolve the issue of whether she is, in fact and in law, free before we can proceed to even contemplate her claims against the defendant? Because if the determination is that she is not free, at least not according to the precepts of Virginia law, then you must agree that she has no right to offer testimony and that her claims against Mr. Maddox must accordingly fail. On the other hand, if she is deemed to be free, then these complaints can move forward. Is that not a correct statement of the applicable law?”
“That would most certainly be true if the fact of her freedom was, indeed, an issue. But I would contend that we have delivered proof beyond any measure that she is, both in fact and in law, free,” Turner said. “And if the court were to uphold Mr. Strother’s objection, Your Honor would be creating an insurmountable paradox. Miss Kitty would not be allowed to testify until there was a verdict rendered. However, once that verdict is rendered—and if it is in her favor and she is deemed to be free—it would be too late for her to testify since the case would be concluded. So she would then be denied the rights of a free person to offer testimony in support of her claims. A distasteful and troubling paradox, indeed!” exclaimed Turner angrily.
Kitty leaned forward, her hands placed palms down on the counsel table, and rocked slightly as she listened intently to the arguments, confusion etched across her face. She had spent hours with Zephania Turner preparing for her testimony. He had painstakingly guided her through the questions he would ask her and how she should phrase her answers. They had even rehearsed the scornful and hostile cross-examination she could expect from Strother. She had felt completely confident and had been anxiously looking forward to taking the witness stand. But now, suddenly, her testimony had been thrown into turmoil. Her head swiveled as she shifted her gaze from Turner to Strother and now to Judge Field. The look of calm confidence in her eyes had been replaced by a mask of bewilderment. What is happening? she thought frantically. Why are they arguing about me testifying? How could they not allow me to tell my story?
Judge Field remained thoughtfully quiet for a few long minutes, leaning back in his chair, his fingers steepled before his face. The only sound in the courtroom was the soft, anxious murmuring of those seated in the audience who now clearly understood what a pivotal moment this had become in the trial. Finally, the judge shifted forward and began to speak decisively to Turner.
“I do fully understand your position and your dilemma, Mr. Turner,” he said. “And I am not without sympathy for your legal conundrum. But I nevertheless find myself bound by the strictures of the law. Until there is a binding determination that the plaintiff is, in fact, free, she cannot be allowed to offer any testimony in a court of law. And the unfortunate circumstance for you is that such a determination will not—and cannot—take place until this jury has reached its conclusions concerning the facts in dispute in this matter. And perhaps the paramount fact in dispute is whether the plaintiff is free or remains a slave. It may be, as you proclaim, a distressing paradox, but it is nonetheless what the law dictates. Therefore, I will uphold Mr. Strother’s objection and rule that the plaintiff may not offer testimony in this matter. You have been allowed to offer the testimony of other relevant witnesses, and that will have to suffice.”
The soft murmuring in the courtroom gave way to a smattering of cheers and applause. Judge Field slammed his gavel on the bench and glared out at those gathered in the chamber.
“Silence!” he exclaimed. “I will have silence in this court, or you will be forcibly removed!”
When the noise swiftly died down, the judge turned again to Turner.
“So, then, Mr. Turner, do you have any other witnesses to present?” the judge asked.
“No, Your Honor,” Turner replied, the bitter disappointment obvious in his tone. He then slumped into his seat.
“In that case—” the judge began, but he was interrupted by a sudden movement.
Kitty had risen from her seat and now stood erect, her head held high. She began to speak, surprising all in the courtroom.
“Your Honor,” she said, her voice soft but defiant, “with due respect to you, I must tell you that the law is wrong. I do have a voice. I have a name. I have a family. I have a God-given soul. And whether the law or anyone else in this courtroom agrees or not, I know that I am free!”
And then she sat down.
CHAPTER 64
KITTY’S SHOCKING SPEECH CAST A HEAVY, FOREBODING SILENCE OVER the entire courtroom. No one dared to speak as all eyes focused on Judge Field, awaiting his reaction to this stunning challenge to his authority. The judge was still as a marble statue, his face an impenetrable mask, his stony gaze fixed on Kitty. She returned his stare, her eyes tranquil rather than angry, her demeanor calm, her head still held high. Finally, after a barely perceptible nod, Judge Field turned away from Kitty toward the jurors.
“Gentlemen, I hereby instruct you that you shall give no consideration whatsoever to the comments just offered by the plaintiff,” the judge said. “Only testimony that has been provided by a witness under oath, and been subject to cross-examination by the adversary, may be considered by you in your deliberations. Do you understand?”
Each of the jurors inclined his head, indicating that they did, in fact, understand the judge’s instructions.
“Mr. Turner,” the judge said sternly, shifting his gaze to the lawyer, “I will ask you to instruct your client, in no uncertain terms, that she shall not speak again in this courtroom, unless it is to respond to a question from me.”
“Yes, Your Honor,” Turner answered contritely.
“Mr. Turner, do you then rest your case on behalf of the plaintiff?” the judge asked.
“Yes, Your Honor,” Turner said, rising from his seat. “We have completed our presentation.”
“Mr. Strother, do you intend to call any witnesses to testify on behalf of the defendant?” the judge asked.
“Yes, Your Honor. If it please the court, I would request that the clerk call the defendant himself, Mr. Sam Maddox, to provide testimony,” Strother said somewhat officiously.
Maddox rose from his position at the counsel table and strode confidently to the witness chair. After being sworn in by the clerk, he sat, crossed his legs indolently, nodded in the direction of the jurors, and turned back expectantly toward Strother.
“Mr. Maddox,” Strother began, “you are the defendant in this matter, are you not?”
“I am,” said Maddox.
“You have been a resident of Rappahannock County your entire life, is that correct?”
“That is correct.”
“Am I also correct that the late Samuel Maddox was your uncle?”
“Yes, he was.”
“Could you describe your relationship with your uncle, before his passing, to the court and the jury?”
Maddox twisted in his chair so that he was now facing the jurors, flashed an engaging smile, and began to speak. “My uncle Samuel and I had been quite close all my life. More of a father-son relationship, I would say, than one of an uncle and nephew. And that continued until his untimely death.”
“Had you ever discussed with him his expectations concerning his estate upon his death?”
“Many times,” said Maddox. “He made it clear to me that he was concerned that Aunt Mary would not be capable of doin’ all that would be necessary to continue to run the farm. So he said that it was his intention to leave me in a position to join in making whatever decisions needed to be made. He was actually quite insistent about that.”
“Is it, then, your understanding that the terms and conditions of his will reflect that concern and provide for your role in managing the estate, along with your aunt Mary?”
“Yes, that is,
indeed, my understanding.”
“And did you fully intend to engage in that role?”
“Yes, I did.” He paused and shot a glance at Mary. “At least until my Aunt Mary made it clear that, despite my uncle’s wishes, she did not intend to allow me to participate.”
“Did you quarrel with her about that?”
“Yes, sir, I’m sorry to say we did.”
“About what in particular?”
“Mostly about the slaves.”
“Why did you quarrel about the slaves?”
“Well,” said Maddox, now looking directly at the jurors, “she just didn’t know how to manage ’em right.”
“Can you provide the court and the jury with an example?” asked Strother.
“Sure. Perfect example’s how she handled that one”—he pointed to Kitty—“runnin’ away. Fortunately, the sheriff here caught her and brung her back. Now we all know the law says you gotta whip a runaway. And you gotta do it in public. To send a message to the rest of ’em so no one else gets the idea to run. But she refused to whip her. Didn’t do nothin’ about it. So, what kinda message does that send?”
A few of the jurors nodded in agreement.
“So, then,” Maddox continued, “I knew the farm was havin’ money troubles, so we needed to sell off some of the slaves. Made sense to get rid of this one”—he gestured toward Kitty—“since there was no doubt she was a troublemaker. But again, Aunt Mary refused, claimin’ she was in charge and would make all the decisions.”
“What did you decide to do about this problem?”
“I talked to you, and we agreed that we needed to take the whole thing to court. Get a judge to force her to follow Uncle Samuel’s wishes.” He offered a frustrated shrug. “But after you served the court papers on her, she up an’ ran. Took the slave woman and her children an’ ran off to Pennsylvania.”
“What did you do after your aunt absconded with your slaves?”
“Chased after ’em. Same as anyone woulda done if someone stole your property.”
“Did you eventually find them?”
Maddox nodded. “Took some doin’, but we finally tracked her down. They was hidin’ out on a farm on Bear Mountain in Pennsylvania.”
“You said ‘we’ finally found them. Were you being assisted by someone?”
“Yep. Hired a group of slave catchers who knew what they were doin’ and where we should be lookin’.”
“Would you now describe to the court and the jury what happened when you finally tracked down your slaves?” Strother asked.
Again, Maddox shifted in his seat to face the jurors. “We got to the farm late at night. They was all sleepin’. The owner—a black man—came out an’ told us where they were. We went inside, gathered ’em all up, put ’em in a wagon, an’ hightailed it back to Virginia, where they all belonged.”
“Can you tell us what happened when you returned?”
“My aunt and Miss Fanny Withers decided that they’d take the law into their own hands,” he answered, anger creeping into his voice. “They rode to my place and stole them slaves right out from under me. Took ’em back to the Withers place. That’s where I found ’em all.”
“What happened then?” asked Strother.
“Sheriff showed up, and he decided to take the slaves back to the jail for safekeepin’ until we all figured it out. Then, next thing I know, I’m bein’ sued by her—by a slave,” he said, pointing again at Kitty. “Y’all believe that?” he added, looking at the jurors. “White man being sued by a slave—”
“Mr. Maddox,” Judge Field interrupted forcefully. “Please refrain from offering comments and your opinions to the jury, and limit yourself solely to answering the questions posed to you by your counsel. Do you understand?”
Maddox glared at the judge for an instant before he responded. “Yes, sir,” he answered sullenly.
“Mr. Strother, please continue,” said the judge.
“Just a few final questions,” said Strother. “Since you returned with your slaves, has your aunt allowed you to participate in the running of the farm, as your uncle wished?”
“No, sir.”
“Have you been allowed to dispose of your property—those slaves—to raise funds for the operation of the farm?”
“No, sir, I have not.” He shot another hard look at Kitty. “They been livin’ in the county jail since the sheriff took ’em. Sheriff said he’d release ’em to me pendin’ the trial if I posted a thousand-dollar bond to insure that I’d not sell ’em and I’d keep ’em here till then. But I ain’t got that kinda money lyin’ round. So, that’s where they been.”
“And, finally, is it your belief, based upon your understanding of the law, that you were entirely within your rights to travel to Pennsylvania and retrieve your stolen slaves?”
“Yes, sir, I was,” Maddox answered adamantly.
“Thank you, Mr. Maddox.” Strother turned to the judge. “Your Honor, I have completed my examination of my client.”
Judge Field nodded to Strother and turned to Zephania Turner. “Mr. Turner, you may commence your examination of the witness,” he said.
CHAPTER 65
AN EXPECTANT HUSH SETTLED OVER THE COURTROOM AS TURNER rose from his chair and paced a moment in front of the jurors, a pensive, somewhat puzzled look on his face. Maddox crossed and then recrossed his legs haughtily as he fixed the lawyer with an arrogant glare.
“Mr. Maddox,” Turner began, “I must admit to being puzzled by much of your testimony, and I’m hopeful that you can help me to understand your position concerning these allegations against you.”
“Glad to oblige,” Maddox replied smugly.
“The will—which was proved and admitted here in the county—is the only document that reflects your Uncle Samuel’s wishes, is it not?”
“I believe so.”
“And other than your own interpretation of the language in the will, no one has ever declared that the terms of the will provide anything other than that Mistress Maddox—and Mistress Maddox alone—shall be entitled to all rights to the entire estate. Is that not correct?”
“Well, my lawyer thinks it says I got rights, too.”
“Ah,” Turner said. “I see. So you and the lawyer you’re paying to represent you agree with your interpretation. Anyone else?”
“Well, you looked at it... ,” Maddox blurted out testily but then caught himself and stopped.
“Well, then,” Turner said with a half smile, “as long as you’ve brought it up, is it not correct that you came to me to review the terms of the will, and once I assured you that the language clearly provided for Mistress Maddox only to inherit the estate, you stormed out quite angrily?”
“Don’t remember the details,” Maddox muttered sullenly.
“So, based upon nothing more than your own opinion, and that of Mr. Strother, you decided that it would be legally allowable for you to pursue Mistress Maddox and Miss Kitty into the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania?”
“That’s right,” Maddox sneered. “And you should know that the law gives me permission to chase after my slaves, seize them, and bring them back—wherever they run to.”
“What law would that be, Mr. Maddox?”
“The Fugitive Slave Act,” answered Maddox self-assuredly.
“And do you claim to know the provisions of that law?”
“I do.”
“And do you further claim that the provisions of that law allow you to do what you did in this instance—travel to Pennsylvania, seize persons who claim to be free, physically assault them, and forcibly return them to Virginia?”
“I do,” Maddox insisted.
Zephania Turner returned to his table, picked up a document, and handed it to the court clerk.
“Your Honor,” he said, “anticipating that the defendant might make such a preposterous claim, I have delivered herewith to the court clerk a copy of the Fugitive Slave Act, legislation enacted by the Congress of the United States in seventeen ninety-th
ree. I would request that the court enter this document into the court record to serve as evidence in this matter.”
The court clerk handed the sheaf of papers up to the judge. After briefly reviewing the document, the judge handed it back.
“The document is, in fact, a valid copy of the Fugitive Slave Act of seventeen ninety-three—and I might note that I am quite familiar with its terms—and it shall be entered into the record,” said Judge Field. “You may continue with your examination of the witness, Mr. Turner.”
“My thanks to the court,” Turner said with a slight bow. “Now, then, Mr. Maddox, would it surprise you, given your self-professed knowledge of this statute, if I told you that you are completely wrong—that the law does not allow you to seize someone who claims to be free and essentially kidnap them?”
“Always heard that you could,” Maddox said. “Anyway, don’t make no difference how I get ’em back if it’s my property.”
“Makes no difference how you get them back?” Turner exclaimed incredulously. “Makes no difference what the law demands? Is that what you’re saying to this court?”
Maddox flashed a questioning look toward Strother, seeking some help out of this predicament, but his lawyer averted his eyes, focusing on papers he was shuffling on his table.
“Mr. Maddox? Is that what you are saying?” Turner repeated.
“All I’m sayin’ is I did what any white man would do. I went lookin’ to get back my property. Property that’d been stolen from me!” Maddox declared angrily.
Turner grabbed a copy of the statute from his table and brandished it in the air.
“This law—which you claim you relied upon—says quite clearly that a person may pursue a slave into another jurisdiction, but that if that slave claims to be free, that slave must be taken before a court before they can be removed from that jurisdiction, and that the court will determine if the slave can be removed.” Turner paused. “Did you take Miss Kitty before a court for a determination of her claim, as the law requires, before you beat her, tied her up, and kidnapped her?” Turner demanded, his voice now soaring in anger.