Appomattox Saga Omnibus 2: Three Books In One (Appomatox Saga)

by Gilbert, Morris

THE VERDICT

  Gaines Franklin DeQuincy chewed slowly on the stub of his cigar as he stared out the window at the long icicles that hung along the eaves of the courthouse. The icicles glittered like diamonds in the morning sunlight, but the lawyer felt there was something sinister and ominous in their pristine beauty. He rolled the cigar around in his catfish-shaped mouth, thinking, Pretty enough, but they look like knives. One of them could pierce a man to the heart.

  DeQuincy was a startling combination of cynic and romantic. He kept the romantic side of his nature carefully hidden, however, so that his friends—and his enemies—would have been startled to discover any trace of it in his makeup.

  Pretty as a picture, those icicles. But it’s a cold sort of beauty—like some women I’ve known. A bitter memory lifted like a specter out of his past and threw a fleeting shadow across his mind, and he abruptly tossed his cigar into the brass spittoon with an angry gesture.

  He wheeled away from the window, turning to face Clay Rocklin and Mrs. Susanna Rocklin, wishing he’d never allowed himself to get involved with Burke Rocklin’s trial. He’d accepted the case only after a persistent pleading on the part of Thomas Rocklin “I’m not a miracle worker, Mr. Rocklin. Chances are fifty to one against acquittal.”

  Now DeQuincy knew that the two in front of him were expecting exactly that—some sort of legal legerdemain—to set Burke Rocklin free.

  Susanna’s eyes were fixed on DeQuincy. It was the third day of the court-martial, and no visitors were permitted except as witnesses. She’d studied the lawyer each day and had been unimpressed by his appearance. DeQuincy was less than average height and not at all impressive. He wore a scruffy brown beard that covered the lower part of his face, and the only noticeable facet of his appearance was a pair of sharp brown eyes that missed nothing. His uniform was wrinkled, and traces of his breakfast were evident on the lapels of his coat. He spoke in a rather bored tone of voice, and Susanna had no way of knowing that in a courtroom he could lift that voice into a bellow that would rattle the rafters!

  “You’re not optimistic, are you, Major DeQuincy?” she asked.

  The lawyer shot her a sudden glance. “No, Mrs. Rocklin. I am not.” He pulled a fresh cigar from his pocket, bit off the end, and spit it into the cuspidor. Pulling out a match, he struck it on the surface of the desk, leaving a fresh scarred track on the walnut surface. He got the cigar going, sending clouds of lavender smoke into the air, then tossed the match on the floor. Only then did he put his sharp eyes on the two of them, saying, “It’s not a case any lawyer would be hopeful about.”

  Clay was wearing a fresh uniform and looked very distinguished. “What’s going on, Major?” He shook his broad shoulders in a gesture of impatience. “Are the officers prejudiced against my brother?”

  “Why, certainly!” DeQuincy stared at Clay as if he had said something rather stupid. “Didn’t you know they would be?”

  “I thought a prisoner was supposed to get a fair trial.” His lips drew together into an angry line. “It can’t be very fair if the jury’s already made up its mind!”

  DeQuincy’s crooked lips twisted into a wry grin. “Captain Rocklin, you don’t spend a lot of time in courtrooms, do you?”

  “No, I don’t!”

  “Well, if you did, you’d know that ninety-nine juries out of a hundred have their minds made up about their vote before they’re even picked. And in this case, that fact is all but guaranteed.”

  “Why is that, Major?” Susanna asked quietly.

  DeQuincy removed the cigar from his lips, examined it, then replaced it. “Because your son was wearing a Federal uniform.” He shrugged. “No matter what other facts may be involved, they’re sure about that fact, and nothing’s going to get it out of their minds.”

  “I see.” Susanna sat there quietly, and DeQuincy admired her calmness. He’d never seen a woman who had her strength, and he wished he had better hopes to offer her.

  “Don’t give up,” he grunted. “It’s never over until the verdict is in.”

  “When will that be, Major?”

  DeQuincy looked down at the fresh scar on the desk thoughtfully. Tracing it with his forefinger, he said, “I think tomorrow.”

  “So soon?” Clay blinked in surprise. “But they haven’t heard our witnesses.”

  “No, but they’re officers, and they don’t have the freedom of civilians,” DeQuincy stated. “They can be pulled out at any moment and sent to the Western theater or to some other spot. I’ve done all I know to slow things down, but I’m guessing they’ll end it tomorrow.” He looked up as a sergeant opened the door and informed him that the court-martial was about to resume. “Now you two will have to keep your temper,” he warned. “Some of the members of the court are antagonistic. Don’t let them make you mad. That’s what they want. No matter what happens, just tell the truth as calmly as you can.”

  Grabbing his briefcase, he left, slamming the door behind him.

  Clay stared moodily at the door, then shook his head. “He’s not my idea of a great lawyer.”

  Susanna shook her head. “He doesn’t look like much, but he’s a fighter, Clay. That’s what we need for Burke.”

  Clay nodded slowly. “That’s what father said.” He noted the lines of fatigue on his mother’s face and put his hand on her arm. “Hard to believe when everything’s going against you, isn’t it?”

  “Anyone can believe when things are right,” Susanna said. “Faith is for when things are all wrong.” She smiled slightly, adding, “I’ve been thinking of Abraham. Remember how his one dream in life was to have a son? And then when he had Isaac, God told him to take the boy and sacrifice him?”

  “Pretty stiff test, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes. All he ever wanted, and God told him to let it go.” Susanna’s eyes grew somber, and she fell silent. The two of them sat there as time passed, and finally she whispered, “I wonder where your father is.”

  Clay knew her thoughts, for he had been wondering the same thing. It had occurred to him that his father might have fallen ill on the way to Pennsylvania—that he might be lying unconscious somewhere and would never bring the woman to testify.

  “I don’t know, Mother, but he’s doing his best. I know that!”

  They sat there in the small room, helpless and totally cut off from what was happening down the hall. Their hopes were in the scrubby hands of Gaines DeQuincy—insofar as human help was concerned—and they both felt, as they sat facing their fears, that those hands seemed to be very unlikely security.

  DeQuincy stared at the officers seated at the long table. They were the enemy! He always thought of the jury as the enemy, even more so than the prosecuting attorney.

  “You know the prosecuting attorney is going to go for your throat,” he often told young lawyers. “You can handle that. But the jury, they’re the ones who can send your man to the gallows! So you fight them—but you smile and never treat them rough. Find out who’s on your side and who’s out to kill your man. Then you work on them!”

  He stared at the five officers, then glanced down at the single page in front of him. He always drew up a chart showing the jury. In this case it was very simple. He had put the members of the court-martial into two categories: friends and enemies. Next to each of the names, he had written a description and some comments:

  FRIENDS

  Captain Maynard Wells. Age 25. Good combat record. Sense of humor. Listens to everything. Hard—but fair. Will vote to acquit if he has a chance.

  Lieutenant Powell Carleton. Age 21. Feels out of place with senior officers. Afraid to ask questions because of his youth. (Smile at him often, give him confidence!) Seems meek, but will not kill my man unless he has to. Will acquit if evidence gives him a chance.

  ENEMIES

  Major Carl Lentz. Age 50. Lost an arm at Malvern Hill. Hates Yankees. Would be fair in most circumstances, but he will never be able to forget the charges against Rocklin. At best, a “maybe.”

  Major D. L.
Patterson. Age 62. Too old for a combat officer. Has his commission as reward for political favors. Not a bad man, but a political animal. Will not dare set Rocklin free for fear people will say he’s not a thorough patriot. Will vote to kill my man, no matter what I do or what evidence is produced! Will vote guilty.

  Colonel Ransome Hill. Age 55. Never saw a finer looking man—except for General Lee! Tremendous field commander. Will make general sooner or later. But has lost his only two sons in the war, one at Seven Pines and one at Fredericksburg. Lives for nothing but to kill Yankees. He is fair enough as ranking officer of the court, but his eyes are cold when he looks at Burke Rocklin. Will vote guilty.

  DeQuincy ran his eyes over the list. Three to two—at best! he thought.

  “Not very good odds, eh, Major?” Burke Rocklin murmured.

  DeQuincy turned, startled, to find his client staring at the sheet. He quickly wadded it up, saying, “Just a game I play, Burke. Doesn’t mean a thing.”

  And then he looked up as Colonel Hill said, “The court will hear Captain Clay Rocklin.”

  When Clay entered, he turned and gave Burke an encouraging smile, then took the oath in a firm voice and sat down.

  “Captain Rocklin,” Colonel Hill said promptly, “please tell this court how you identified the body that was buried under the name of Burke Rocklin.”

  DeQuincy had heard the story several times and saw that the captain made a good impression on the two younger members of the court. When he was finished, Major Patterson demanded, “How could you have made such an error, Captain? After all, it was, supposedly, the body of your only brother!”

  “Sir, the man I identified was practically destroyed from the waist up,” Clay said evenly, staring at the major. “But he was wearing my brother’s uniform, and he had my brother’s ring on his finger.”

  Captain Wells, the young captain, asked with some sympathy, “Captain, did anyone else identify the body?”

  “Yes, sir, my son Denton, an officer in the Army of Northern Virginia.”

  Score one for the home team! DeQuincy said to himself with satisfaction. We’ve got Captain Wells on our side for sure. Now—give it to them again, Captain Rocklin!

  “Now, Captain Rocklin,” Major Lentz piped up. His face was red, and he had the air of a drinking man. “You found your brother in Libby Prison, I believe. What was his condition?”

  “Very poor,” Clay said instantly. “He seemed unlikely to live.”

  “Are you a physician, Captain?” This from the prosecuting attorney, a lean captain of thirty named George Willing.

  “No, sir,” Clay said evenly. “I am not, but Kermit Maxwell is. I believe he’s already been before this court?”

  The question brought a flush to Willing’s cheeks. He had tried hard to shake Maxwell’s testimony, to prove that Burke Rocklin had been faking his illness. But the old man had stopped him with a withering look and a few acid words. Willing said quickly, “Just answer the question, Captain!”

  “No, sir, I’m not a physician.”

  The court asked Clay many questions, mostly concerning the matter of the defendant’s loss of memory. Clay answered briefly and was not afraid to admit that it was a difficult thing to describe.

  The youngest member of the court, Lieutenant Powell Carleton, finally asked, “Captain, you were convinced that the defendant was telling the truth. What made you so certain?”

  Clay gave the young man a thin smile. “Two things. One, my brother was never an actor. If he was putting on an act, he’d changed completely. And secondly, I tried him out.”

  “Tried him out?” Colonel Lentz asked. He leaned forward, about to put his elbows on the table, then realized that one sleeve was empty. He sat back a little embarrassed, asking, “How did you do that?”

  “I’d mention things that never happened as if they had happened,” Clay said at once. “I’d say, ‘We lost that gray stallion you liked so much,’ when there’d been no stallion. He never remembered those things. And sometimes I’d drop things he ought never to have forgotten, and he almost always remembered them.”

  “What sort of things, Captain Rocklin?” Lentz demanded.

  “My brother could always name the presidents of the United States with the dates they served. I’d say, ‘Now when was it that Madison was in office?’ and he’d always know. Once when I did that, he stared at me and asked, ‘How did I know that?’”

  Lentz was intrigued by this, and for some time drew Clay out. Finally he nodded, saying, “Thank you, Captain,” and leaned back.

  George Willing knew that he’d lost points and set out to prove that such things meant nothing. Finally Clay was dismissed, and DeQuincy whispered, “That didn’t hurt us any!”

  “Send in Mrs. Susanna Rocklin,” Colonel Hill said, and they all rose when Susanna came in. She took the oath in a quiet voice, then sat down.

  “Mrs. Rocklin, please tell the court of the ‘recovery’ of the defendant.” The slight difference of tone on the word recovery was noticeable to everyone in the room. It was almost tangible evidence that the colonel did not accept that “recovery” as real.

  Susanna heard the tone and understood it very well, but let nothing show in her face. She spoke quietly for ten minutes, then waited for the challenge she was certain would come.

  And so it did, from the prosecuting attorney. “Mrs. Rocklin, you love your son, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Of course.” Captain Willing nodded. “And I’m sure that we all honor you for it. You’d be an unnatural mother if you didn’t!”

  “He’s out to get her,” DeQuincy whispered to Burke.

  “Can’t you stop him?” Burke demanded.

  “Stop him?” DeQuincy turned his sharp black eyes on Burke with amazement. “Bless you, no! I hope he chops her to ribbons!” When he saw the look of indignation that leaped into Burke’s eyes, he grabbed Burke’s arm, saying, “He’s a hothead, and he’s not learned that you don’t attack a woman in court—especially not the mother of a soldier in the Army of Northern Virginia! Let him go! He’ll be more help to us than ten witnesses.”

  For the next twenty minutes, Captain Willing questioned Susanna over and over again about the details of what he termed “the alleged recovery.” At one point he grew so abusive that Colonel Hill looked at the defense lawyer in disgust, asking, “Major DeQuincy, don’t you object to the fashion in which Captain Willing is treating your witness?”

  “No, sir,” DeQuincy said smoothly. “The captain has no facts, so he’s doing all he knows how—he’s abusing a helpless woman.” DeQuincy enjoyed the sudden reddening of his opponent’s face, adding, “I’m sure the gentlemen on the court understand what Captain Willing is doing.”

  Willing was filled with wrath. “Mrs. Rocklin, you love your son, and you would do anything to save his life. Isn’t that true?” he shouted.

  “No, sir,” Susanna answered. “It is not true!” Her eyes were bright, and when Willing stopped in shocked surprise, she said, “I took an oath to tell the truth. That oath was to God, and I would not lie to save my son’s life!”

  “I suppose you’d let him hang?” Willing sneered.

  Susanna faced him squarely. “Many mothers have given their sons for the Confederacy, Captain Willing. I love God, and my son would despise me if I denied my faith to save his life. Isn’t that right, son?”

  Burke said clearly, “Yes!”

  At once Colonel Hill said, “You will not speak to the defendant, Mrs. Rocklin. And you, Mr. Rocklin, will have your turn to speak! Now are there any more questions from you gentlemen for Mrs. Rocklin?”

  “Mrs. Rocklin,” Lieutenant Carleton asked in a subdued tone, “I believe you have relatives who are in the Union Army?”

  “Yes, Lieutenant,” Susanna said, nodding. “My husband’s brother Mr. Stephen Rocklin has a son in the Army of the Potomac—Colonel Gideon Rocklin. The colonel has two sons in the Union Army.”

  “Well, do you think it possible,
since some of your family are in the Union, that your son Burke might have sympathies with the North?”

  “No, sir, I cannot think so. My son took an oath to the Confederate States. He was not always a good son, but he was never a liar.”

  Lieutenant Carleton seemed to find this answer sufficient. “I have no more questions, Colonel Hill.”

  As soon as Susanna left the room, Colonel Hill asked, “Major DeQuincy, do you have other witnesses?”

  “Yes, sir, I have one. I call Burke Rocklin.”

  DeQuincy stood up but moved to the side of the room so that the court had a clear view of the defendant. “Mr. Rocklin, will you please relate your experience to this court. Begin with the Battle of Second Manassas.”

  Burke nodded and began at once to tell his story. He spoke of the battle but said, “I was struck down on the battlefield and have no memory of anything that took place between that time and the time I woke up in the Armory Square Hospital in Washington.”

  “Now please tell the court of your time in that hospital,” DeQuincy said.

  Burke spoke carefully, omitting no detail, explaining all he experienced, including the time he’d spent at the Swenson farm.

  He makes a fine witness, DeQuincy thought, but wait until Willing gets at him!

  Finally Burke finished, and DeQuincy thought quickly. Ordinarily he would have drawn the witness out, but he knew nothing could improve on what Burke had said, nor the manner in which he had said it.

  “Gentlemen, I have nothing to add to my client’s statement. Captain Willing, your witness.”

  Willing leaped up, and for the next two hours he slashed at Burke’s testimony. Burke kept his head, never losing his temper, and DeQuincy knew it was better for him to stay out of it.

  Finally Willing said, “So we have your word, Mr. Rocklin, that all of this happened?”

  “Yes, sir.”