whittling, and the witnesses the same, and so was the prisoner. Well,
the fact is, there warn’t any interest in a murder trial then, because
the fellow was always brought in ‘not guilty,’ the jury expecting him to
do as much for them some time; and, although the evidence was straight
and square against this Spaniard, we knew we could not convict him
without seeming to be rather high-handed and sort of reflecting on every
gentleman in the community; for there warn’t any carriages and liveries
then, and so the only ‘style’ there was, was to keep your private
graveyard. But that woman seemed to have her heart set on hanging that
Spaniard; and you’d ought to have seen how she would glare on him a
minute, and then look up at me in her pleading way, and then turn and for
the next five minutes search the jury’s faces, and by and by drop her
face in her hands for just a little while as if she was most ready to
give up; but out she’d come again directly, and be as live and anxious as
ever. But when the jury announced the verdict–Not Guilty–and I told
the prisoner he was acquitted and free to go, that woman rose up till she
appeared to be as tall and grand as a seventy-four-gun ship, and says
she:
“‘Judge, do I understand you to say that this man is not guilty that
murdered my husband without any cause before my own eyes and my little
children’s, and that all has been done to him that ever justice and the
law can do?’
“‘The same,’ says I.
“And then what do you reckon she did? Why, she turned on that smirking
Spanish fool like a wildcat, and out with a ‘navy’ and shot him dead in
open court!”
“That was spirited, I am willing to admit.”
“Wasn’t it, though?” said the judge admiringly.
“I wouldn’t have missed it for anything. I adjourned court right on the
spot, and we put on our coats and went out and took up a collection for
her and her cubs, and sent them over the mountains to their friends.
Ah, she was a spirited wench!”
INFORMATION WANTED
“WASHINGTON, December 10, 1867.
“Could you give me any information respecting such islands, if any, as
the government is going to purchase?”
It is an uncle of mine that wants to know. He is an industrious man and
well disposed, and wants to make a living in an honest, humble way, but
more especially he wants to be quiet. He wishes to settle down, and be
quiet and unostentatious. He has been to the new island St. Thomas, but
he says he thinks things are unsettled there. He went there early with
an attache of the State Department, who was sent down with money to pay
for the island. My uncle had his money in the same box, and so when they
went ashore, getting a receipt, the sailors broke open the box and took
all the money, not making any distinction between government money, which
was legitimate money to be stolen, and my uncle’s, which was his own
private property, and should have been respected. But he came home and
got some more and went back. And then he took the fever. There are
seven kinds of fever down there, you know; and, as his blood was out of
order by reason of loss of sleep and general wear and tear of mind, he
failed to cure the first fever, and then somehow he got the other six.
He is not a kind of man that enjoys fevers, though he is well meaning and
always does what he thinks is right, and so he was a good deal annoyed
when it appeared he was going to die.
But he worried through, and got well and started a farm. He fenced it
in, and the next day that great storm came on and washed the most of it
over to Gibraltar, or around there somewhere. He only said, in his
patient way, that it was gone, and he wouldn’t bother about trying to
find out where it went to, though it was his opinion it went to