An American Tragedy

particular one that I knew of."
"I see. And after you suggested it, it was she that said that you had better
get some folders or maps, wasn't it?"
"Yes, sir."
"And then it was that you went downstairs and got them?"
"Yes, sir."
"At the Renfrew House in Utica?"
"Yes, sir."
"Not anywhere else by any chance?"
"No, sir."
"And afterwards, in looking over those maps, you saw Grass Lake and Big
Bittern and decided to go up that way. Was that the way of it?"
"Yes, we did," lied Clyde, most nervously, wishing now that he had not
testified that it was in the Renfrew House that he had secured the folders.
There might be some trap here again.
"You and Miss Alden?"
"Yes, sir."
"And you picked on Grass Lake as being the best because it was the
cheapest. Wasn't that the way of it?"
"Yes, sir. That was the way."
"I see. And now do you remember these?" he added, reaching over and
taking from his table a series of folders all properly identified as part and
parcel of the contents of Clyde's bag at Bear Lake at the time he was arrested
and which he now placed in Clyde's hands. "Look them over. Are those the
folders I found in your bag at Bear Lake?"
"Well, they look like the ones I had there."
"Are these the ones you found in the rack at the Renfrew House and took
upstairs to show Miss Alden?"
Not a little terrified by the care with which this matter of folders was now
being gone into by Mason, Clyde opened them and turned them over. Even
now, because the label of the Lycurgus House ("Compliments of Lycurgus
House, Lycurgus, N. Y.") was stamped in red very much like the printed red

---

lettering on the rest of the folder, he failed to notice it at first. He turned and
turned them over, and then having decided that there was no trap here,
replied:
"Yes, I think these are the ones."
"Well, now," went on Mason, slyly, "in which one of these was it that you
found that notice of Grass Lake Inn and the rate they charged up there? Wasn't
it in this one?" And here he returned the identical stamped folder, on one
page of which—and the same indicated by Mason's left forefinger—was the
exact notice to which Clyde had called Roberta's attention. Also in the center
was a map showing the Indian Chain together with Twelfth, Big Bittern, and
Grass Lakes, as well as many others, and at the bottom of this map a road
plainly indicated as leading from Grass Lake and Gun Lodge south past the
southern end of Big Bittern to Three Mile Bay. Now seeing this after so long
a time again, he suddenly decided that it must be his knowledge of this road
that Mason was seeking to establish, and a little quivery and creepy now, he
replied: "Yes, it may be the one. It looks like it. I guess it is, maybe."
"Don't you know that it is?" insisted Mason, darkly and dourly. "Can't you
tell from reading that item there whether it is or not?"
"Well, it looks like it," replied Clyde, evasively after examining the item
which had inclined him toward Grass Lake in the first place. "I suppose
maybe it is."
"You suppose! You suppose! Getting a little more cautious now that we're
getting down to something practical. Well, just look at that map there again
and tell me what you see. Tell me if you don't see a road marked as leading
south from Grass Lake."
"Yes," replied Clyde, a little sullenly and bitterly after a time, so flayed
and bruised was he by this man who was so determined to harry him to his
grave. He fingered the map and pretended to look as directed, but was seeing
only all that he had seen long before there in Lycurgus, so shortly before he
departed for Fonda to meet Roberta. And now here it was being used against
him.
"And where does it run, please? Do you mind telling the jury where it runs
—from where to where?"
And Clyde, nervous and fearful and physically very much reduced, now
replied: "Well, it runs from Grass Lake to Three Mile Bay."
"And to what or near what other places in between?" continued Mason,
looking over his shoulder.

---

"Gun Lodge. That's all."
"What about Big Bittern? Doesn't it run near that when it gets to the south
of it?"
"Yes, sir, it does here."
"Ever notice or study that map before you went to Grass Lake from Utica?"
persisted Mason, tensely and, forcefully.
"No, sir—I did not."
"Never knew the road was on there?"
"Well, I may have seen it," replied Clyde, "but if so I didn't pay any
attention to it."
"And, of course, by no possible chance could you have seen or studied this
folder and that road before you left Utica?"
"No, sir. I never saw it before."
"I see. You're absolutely positive as to that?"
"Yes, sir. I am."
"Well then, explain to me, or to this jury, if you can, and under your solemn
oath which you respect so much, how it comes that this particular folder
chances to be marked, 'Compliments of the Lycurgus House, Lycurgus, N. Y.'"
And here he folded the folder and presenting the back, showed Clyde the thin
red stamp in between the other red lettering. And Clyde, noting it, gazed as
one in a trance. His ultra-pale face now blanched gray again, his long thin
fingers opened and shut, the red and swollen and weary lids of his eyes
blinked and blinked to break the strain of the damning fact before him.
"I don't know," he said, a little weakly, after a time. "It must have been in
the Renfrew House rack."
"Oh, must it? And if I bring two witnesses here to swear that on July third
—three days before you left Lycurgus for Fonda—you were seen by them to
enter the Lycurgus House and take four or five folders from the rack there,
will you still say that it 'musta been in the rack at the Renfrew House' on July
sixth?" As he said this, Mason paused and looked triumphantly about as much
as to say: There, answer that if you can! and Clyde, shaken and stiff and
breathless for the time being was compelled to wait at least fifteen seconds
before he was able sufficiently to control his nerves and voice in order to
reply: "Well, it musta been. I didn't get it in Lycurgus."
"Very good. But in the meantime we'll just let these gentlemen here look at
this," and he now turned the folder over to the foreman of the jury, who in

---

turn passed it to the juryman next to him, and so on, the while a distinct
whisper and buzz passed over the entire courtroom.
And when they had concluded—and much to the surprise of the audience,
which was expecting more and more attacks and exposures, almost without
cessation—Mason turned and explained: "That's all." And at once many of
the spectators in the room beginning to whisper: "Trapped! Trapped!" And
Justice Oberwaltzer at once announcing that because of the lateness of the
hour, and in the face of a number of additional witnesses for the defense, as
well as a few in rebuttal for the prosecution, he would prefer it if the work
for the day ended here. And both Belknap and Mason gladly agreeing. And
Clyde—the doors of the courtroom being stoutly locked until he should be in
his cell across the way—being descended upon by Kraut and Sissel and by
them led through and down the very door and stairs which for days he had
been looking at and pondering about. And once he was gone, Belknap and
Jephson looking at each other but not saying anything until once more safely
locked in their own office, when Belknap began with: "… not carried off
with enough of an air. The best possible defense but not enough courage. It
just isn't in him, that's all." And Jephson, flinging himself heavily into a chair,
his overcoat and hat still on, and saying: "No, that's the real trouble, no
doubt. It musta been that he really did kill her. But I suppose we can't give up
the ship now. He did almost better than I expected, at that." And Belknap
adding: "Well, I'll do my final best and damnedest in my summing up, and
that's all I can do." And Jephson replying, a little wearily: "That's right,
Alvin, it's mostly up to you now, I'm sorry. But in the meantime, I think I'll go
around to the jail and try and hearten 'im up a bit. It won't do to let him look
too winged or lame tomorrow. He has to sit up and make the jury feel that he,
himself, feels that he isn't guilty whatever they think." And rising he shoved
his hands in the side pockets of his long coat and proceeded through the
winter's dark and cold of the dreary town to see Clyde.

---

26
Chapter
The remainder of the trial consisted of the testimony of eleven witnesses—
four for Mason and seven for Clyde. One of the latter— a Dr. A. K. Sword,
of Rehobeth—chancing to be at Big Bittern on the day that Roberta's body
was returned to the boat-house, now declared that he had seen and examined
it there and that the wounds, as they appeared then, did not seem to him as
other than such as might have been delivered by such a blow as Clyde
admitted to having struck accidentally, and that unquestionably Miss Alden
had been drowned while conscious—and not unconscious, as the state would
have the jury believe—a result which led Mason into an inquiry concerning
the gentleman's medical history, which, alas, was not as impressive as it
might have been. He had been graduated from a second-rate medical school
in Oklahoma and had practised in a small town ever since. In addition to him
—and entirely apart from the crime with which Clyde was charged—there
was Samuel Yearsley, one of the farmers from around Gun Lodge, who,
driving over the road which Roberta's body had traveled in being removed
from Big Bittern to Gun Lodge, now earnestly swore that the road, as he had
noticed in driving over it that same morning, was quite rough—making it
possible for Belknap, who was examining him, to indicate that this was at
least anapproximate cause of the extra-severity of the wounds upon Roberta's
head and face. This bit of testimony was later contradicted, however, by a
rival witness for Mason—the driver for Lutz Brothers, no less, who as
earnestly swore that he found no ruts or rough places whatsoever in the road.
And again there were Liggett and Whiggam to say that in so far as they had
been able to note or determine, Clyde's conduct in connection with his
technical efforts for Griffiths & Company had been attentive, faithful and
valuable. They had seen no official harm in him. And then several other
minor witnesses to say that in so far as they had been able to observe his
social comings and goings, Clyde's conduct was most circumspect,
ceremonious and guarded. He had done no ill that they knew of. But, alas, as
Mason in cross-examining them was quick to point out, they had never heard

---

of Roberta Alden or her trouble or even of Clyde's social relationship with
her.
Finally many small and dangerous and difficult points having been bridged
or buttressed or fended against as well as each side could, it became
Belknap's duty to say his last word for Clyde. And to this he gave an entire
day, most carefully, and in the spirit of his opening address, retracing and
emphasizing every point which tended to show how almost unconsciously, if
not quite innocently, Clyde had fallen into the relationship with Roberta
which had ended so disastrously for both. Mental and moral cowardice, as
he now reiterated, inflamed or at least operated on by various lacks in
Clyde's early life, plus new opportunities such as previously had never
appeared to be within his grasp, had affected his "perhaps too pliable and
sensual and impractical and dreamy mind." No doubt he had not been fair to
Miss Alden. No question as to that. He had not. But on the other hand—and
as had been most clearly shown by the confession which the defense had
elicited—he had not proved ultimately so cruel or vile as the prosecution
would have the public and this honorable jury believe. Many men were far
more cruel in their love life than this young boy had ever dreamed of being,
and of course they were not necessarily hung for that. And in passing
technically on whether this boy had actually committed the crime charged, it
was incumbent upon this jury to see that no generous impulse relating to what
this poor girl might have suffered in her love-relations with this youth be
permitted to sway them to the belief or decision that for that this youth had
committed the crime specifically stated in the indictment. Who among both
sexes were not cruel at times in their love life, the one to the other?
And then a long and detailed indictment of the purely circumstantial nature
of the evidence—no single person having seen or heard anything of the
alleged crime itself, whereas Clyde himself had explained most clearly how
he came to find himself in the peculiar situation in which he did find himself.
And after that, a brushing aside of the incident of the folder, as well as
Clyde's not remembering the price of the boat at Big Bittern, his stopping to
bury the tripod and his being so near Roberta and not aiding her, as either
being mere accidents of chance, or memory, or, in the case of his failing to go
to her rescue, of his being dazed, confused, frightened—"hesitating fatally but
not criminally at the one time in his life when he should not have hesitated"—
a really strong if jesuitical plea which was not without its merits and its
weight.

---

And then Mason, blazing with his conviction that Clyde was a murderer of
the coldest and blackest type, and spending an entire day in riddling the
"spider's tissue of lies and unsupported statements" with which the defense
was hoping to divert the minds of the jury from the unbroken and unbreakable
chain of amply substantiated evidence wherewith the prosecution had proved
this "bearded man" to be the "red-handed murderer" that he was. And with
hours spent in retracing the statements of the various witnesses. And other
hours in denouncing Clyde, or re-telling the bitter miseries of Roberta—so
much so that the jury, as well as the audience, was once more on the verge of
tears. And with Clyde deciding in his own mind as he sat between Belknap
and Jephson, that no jury such as this was likely to acquit him in the face of
evidence so artfully and movingly recapitulated.
And then Oberwaltzer from his high seat finally instructing the jury:
"Gentlemen—all evidence is, in a strict sense, more or less circumstantial,
whether consisting of facts which permit the inference of guilt or whether
given by an eyewitness. The testimony of an eyewitness is, of course, based
upon circumstances.
"If any of the material facts of the case are at variance with the probability
of guilt, it will be the duty of you gentlemen to give the defendant the benefit
of the doubt raised.
"And it must be remembered that evidence is not to be discredited or
decried because it is circumstantial. It may often be more reliable evidence
than direct evidence.
"Much has been said here concerning motive and its importance in this
case, but you are to remember that proof of motive is by no means
indispensable or essential to conviction. While a motive may be shown as
a circumstance to aid in fixing a crime, yet the people are not required to
prove a motive.
"If the jury finds that Roberta Alden accidentally or involuntarily fell out
of the boat and that the defendant made no attempt to rescue her, that does not
make the defendant guilty and the jury must find the defendant 'not guilty.' On
the other hand, if the jury finds that the defendant in any way, intentionally,
there and then brought about or contributed to that fatal accident, either by a
blow or otherwise, it must find the defendant guilty.
"While I do not say that you must agree upon your verdict, I would suggest
that you ought not, any of you, place your minds in a position which will not
yield if after careful deliberation you find you are wrong."

---

So, Justice Oberwaltzer—solemnly and didactically from his high seat to
the jury.
And then, that point having been reached, the jury rising and filing from the
room at five in the afternoon. And Clyde immediately thereafter being
removed to his cell before the audience proper was allowed to leave the
building. There was constant fear on the part of the sheriff that he might be
attacked. And after that five long hours in which he waited, walking to and
fro, to and fro, in his cell, or pretending to read or rest, the while Kraut or
Sissel, tipped by various representatives of the press for information as to
how Clyde "took it" at this time, slyly and silently remained as near as
possible to watch.
And in the meantime Justice Oberwaltzer and Mason and Belknap and
Jephson, with their attendants and friends, in various rooms of the
Bridgeburg Central Hotel, dining and then waiting impatiently, with the aid of
a few drinks, for the jury to agree, and wishing and hoping that the verdict
would be reached soon, whatever it might be.
And in the meantime the twelve men—farmers, clerks and storekeepers,
re-canvassing for their own mental satisfaction the fine points made by
Mason and Belknap and Jephson. Yet out of the whole twelve but one man—
Samuel Upham, a druggist—(politically opposed to Mason and taken with
the personality of Jephson)—sympathizing with Belknap and Jephson. And
so pretending that he had doubts as to the completeness of Mason's proof
until at last after five ballots were taken he was threatened with exposure and
the public rage and obloquy which was sure to follow in case the jury was
hung. "We'll fix you. You won't get by with this without the public knowing
exactly where you stand." Whereupon, having a satisfactory drug business in
North Mansfield, he at once decided that it was best to pocket this opposition
to Mason and agree.
Then four hollow knocks on the door leading from the jury room to the
courtroom. It was the foreman of the jury, Foster Lund, a dealer in cement,
lime and stone. His great fist was knocking. And at that the hundreds who had
crowded into the hot stuffy courtroom after dinner though many had not even
left—stirred from the half stupor into which they had fallen. "What's that?
What's happened? Is the jury ready to report? What's the verdict?" And men
and women and children starting up to draw nearer the excluding rail. And
the two deputies on guard before the jury door beginning to call. "All right!
All right! As soon as the judge comes." And then other deputies hurrying to

---

the prison over the way in order that the sheriff might be notified and Clyde
brought over— and to the Bridgeburg Central Hotel to summon Oberwaltzer
and all the others. And then Clyde, in a half stupor or daze from sheer
loneliness and killing suspense, being manacled to Kraut and led over
between Slack, Sissel and others. And Oberwaltzer, Mason, Belknap and
Jephson and the entire company of newspaper writers, artists, photographers
and others entering and taking the places that they had occupied all these long
weeks. And Clyde winking and blinking as he was seated behind Belknap
and Jephson now—not with them, for as stoutly manacled as he was to Kraut,
he was compelled to sit by him. And then Oberwaltzer on the bench and the
clerk in his place, the jury room door being opened and the twelve men filing
solemnly in—quaint and varied figures in angular and for the most part much-
worn suits of the ready-made variety. And as they did so, seating themselves
in the jury box, only to rise again at the command of the clerk, who began:
"Gentlemen of the jury, have you agreed on a verdict?"—yet without one of
them glancing in the direction of either Belknap or Jephson or Clyde, which
Belknap at once interpreted as fatal.
"It's all off," he whispered to Jephson. "Against us. I can tell." And then
Lund announcing: "We have. We find the defendant guilty of murder in the
first degree." And Clyde, entirely dazed and yet trying to keep his poise and
remain serene, gazing straight before him toward the jury and beyond, and
with scarcely a blink of the eye. For had he not, in his cell the night before,
been told by Jephson, who had found him deeply depressed, that the verdict
in this trial, assuming that it proved to be unfavorable, was of no
consequence. The trial from start to finish had been unfair. Prejudice and bias
had governed its every step. Such bullying and browbeating and innuendo as
Mason had indulged in before the jury would never pass as fair or adequate
in any higher court. And a new trial—on appeal—would certainly be granted
—although by whom such an appeal was to be conducted he was not now
prepared to discuss.
And now, recalling that, Clyde saying to himself that it did not so much
matter perhaps, after all. It could not, really—or could it? Yet think what
these words meant in case he could not get a new trial! Death! That is what it
would mean if this were final—and perhaps it was final. And then to sit in
that chair he had seen in his mind's eye for so long—these many days and
nights when he could not force his mind to drive it away. Here it was again
before him—that dreadful, ghastly chair—only closer and larger than ever

---

before—there in the very center of the space between himself and Justice
Oberwaltzer. He could see it plainly now— squarish, heavy-armed, heavy-
backed, some straps at the top and sides. God! Supposing no one would help
him now! Even the Griffiths might not be willing to pay out any more money!
Think of that! The Court of Appeals to which Jephson and Belknap had
referred might not be willing to help him either. And then these words would
be final. They would! They would! God! His jaws moved slightly, then set—
because at the moment he became conscious that they were moving. Besides,
at that moment Belknap was rising and asking for an individual poll of the
jury, while Jephson leaned over and whispered: "Don't worry about it. It isn't
final. We'll get a reversal as sure as anything." Yet as each of the jurors was
saying: "Yes"—Clyde was listening to them, not to Jephson. Why should each
one say that with so much emphasis? Was there not one who felt that he might
not have done as Mason had said—struck her intentionally? Was there not
one who even half-believed in that change of heart which Belknap and
Jephson had insisted that he had experienced? He looked at them all—little
and big. They were like a blackish-brown group of wooden toys with
creamish-brown or old ivory faces and hands. Then he thought of his mother.
She would hear of this now, for here were all these newspaper writers and
artists and photographers assembled to hear this. And what would the
Griffiths—his uncle and Gilbert—think now? And Sondra! Sondra! Not a
word from her. And through all this he had been openly testifying, as Belknap
and Jcphson had agreed that he must do—to the compelling and directing
power of his passion for her— the real reason for all this! But not a word.
And she would not send him any word now, of course—she who had been
going to marry him and give him everything!
But in the meantime the crowd about him silent although—or perhaps
because—intensely satisfied. The little devil hadn't "gotten by." He hadn't
fooled the twelve sane men of this county with all that bunk about a change of
heart. What rot! While Jephson sat and stared, and Belknap, his strong face
written all over with contempt and defiance, making his motions. And Mason
and Burleigh and Newcomb and Redmond thinly repressing their intense
satisfaction behind masks preternaturally severe, the while Belknap
continued with a request that the sentence be put off until the following
Friday—a week hence, when he could more conveniently attend, but with
Justice Oberwaltzer replying that he thought not—unless some good reason
could be shown. But on the morrow, if counsel desired, he would listen to an

---

argument. If it were satisfactory he would delay sentence—otherwise,
pronounce it the following Monday.
Yet, even so, Clyde was not concerned with this argument at the moment.
He was thinking of his mother and what she would think— feel. He had been
writing her so regularly, insisting always that he was innocent and that she
must not believe all, or even a part, of what she read an the newspapers. He
was going to be acquitted sure. He was going to go on the stand and testify
for himself. But now… now… oh, he needed her now—so much. Quite every
one, as it seemed now, had forsaken him. He was terribly, terribly alone. And
he must send her some word quickly. He must. He must. And then asking
Jephson for a piece of paper and a pencil, he wrote: "Mrs. Asa Griffiths,
care of Star of Hope Mission, Denver, Colorado. Dear mother—I am
convicted—Clyde." And then handing that to Jephson, he asked him,
nervously and weakly, if he would see that it was sent right away. "Right
away, son, sure," replied Jephson, touched by his looks, and waving to a
press boy who was near gave it to him together with the money.
And then, while this was going on, all the public exits being locked until
Clyde, accompanied by Sissel and Kraut, had been ushered through the
familiar side entrance through which he had hoped to escape. And while all
the press and the public and the still-remaining jury gazing, for even yet they
had not seen enough of Clyde but must stare into his face to see how he was
taking it. And because of the local feeling against him, Justice Oberwaltzer,
at Slack's request, holding court un-adjourned until word was brought that
Clyde was once more locked in his cell, whereupon the doors were re-
opened. And then the crowd surging out but only to wait at the courtroom
door in order to glimpse, as he passed out, Mason, who now, of all the
figures in this case, was the true hero— the nemesis of Clyde—the avenger
of Roberta. That he not appearing at first but instead Jephson and Belknap
together, and not so much depressed as solemn, defiant—Jephson in