increasing annoyance. At last he motioned for William Alexander to come forward and take the list of persons to be reexamined. Judge Donnell looked out toward the gallery. “The witnesses are reminded that they are still sworn. They may now exit the court.”
Gabriel Presnell gathered up the little band of folk from the mountain wilderness and marched them out into the hall to await their turn on the witness stand.
Over the hum of murmurs from the gallery I heard the upraised voice of Nicholas Woodfin. “They have not been sequestered!”He stood up, waving a hand in protest. “Your Honor, the witnesses were not sequestered last evening.”
He was right. In trials, those who will testify in the proceedings are kept separate from their fellow witnesses so that they may not compare their stories, and thus, wittingly or not, influence one another’s account of the events in question. On Wednesday night before the trial began, the witnesses were indeed kept apart according to procedure, but last night no one bothered about them. We thought they were finished, that the trial was over. We thought the jury had only to deliberate for the evening and then return in the morning to deliver their verdict. Instead the twelve jurors had come back demanding another round of testimony from the witnesses, except that now this jury would be hearing people who had been at liberty to compare notes, to exchange their impressions of the case—in short, witnesses whose recollections were now tainted by the opinions of their fellows. I wondered what Judge Donnell would do about this breach of custom. Suppose a witness’s new and altered version of the circumstances affected the verdict?
We waited in silent consternation while the old judge considered the matter. Nothing about this trial was going to be easy for any of us. An unlikely defendant, an unheard-of crime, an inexperienced attorney, and now obstacles strewn in the path of a swift resolution. Henceforth no doubt the very name of Morganton would cause the judge to shudder. At last, having contemplated all the possible ramifications of the extraordinary request, Mr. Donnell turned to me for the first time during the proceedings. “Clerk of court,” he said, nodding for me to come forward, “what say you in this matter?”
I stood up. “Well, sir,” I said faintly, “I have not seen it done before, but there is nothing in the law books specifically prohibiting the reexamination of witnesses. They have been sworn.”
Mr. Donnell’s eyes narrowed. “So they have.” He leaned forward, addressing his remarks to the two attorneys. “I will permit this, gentlemen.”
Woodfin paled. “But, Your Honor, the witnesses may have conferred—”
“They have been sworn, counselor. They have taken God’s oath to tell the truth, and we must assume that they will continue to tell the truth as they see it. As they now recall it.” His tone brooked no argument, but even so Mr. Woodfin remained standing for a moment or two longer, wide-eyed and gasping, as if he were casting about for some straw of legal redress. It was one of the very few times during the course of the trial that I saw him look around for his cocounsel Thomas Wilson, but that worthy gentleman offered him no help; he merely shook his head as if to say that the point was lost, and that no good could come of arguing about it.
Judge Donnell turned to the prosecutor. “Mr. Alexander,” he said, “you may begin, sir.”
He consulted the list and nodded to the bailiff. “The state calls Miss Nancy Wilson to the stand.”
In the short interval during which we awaited the arrival of Nancy Wilson, I had time to scan the crowd, and I noticed that Miss Mary Erwin was not present among the spectators. Perhaps she had seen her fill of legal chess games on the preceding day, or more likely, she had anticipated an unfavorable verdict, rather than the unexpected continuation of the trial that took us all by surprise.
Nancy Wilson entered the courtroom for her second turn on the witness stand looking uneasy. Wearing the same black dress as yesterday but not the same confident demeanor, she kept close to the bailiff’s side, making her way through the spectators with a worried frown, as if she were wondering what the jurors wanted from her now.
When the preliminaries were settled, William Alexander approached the witness with a perfunctory smile intended to calm her fears. “The jurors would like to hear your testimony again, Miss Wilson. Let us begin