The first thing Hitt noticed was that John Crafton had been gussied up for his appearance. He was clean-shaven, and his hair had been greased into place. He was wearing leather pants and shined boots. But most glaring was the bright red handkerchief-sling in which he carried his right arm. In the highly unlikely event any of the jurors failed to notice it, as he took his seat and pulled the sling tight with his left hand he winced at the pain of the effort. Only when he placed his right hand on a Bible to take the oath did the steno man notice that Crafton’s right wrist also was wrapped in cotton.
Unlike the friendly support that had accompanied Silas Livergood to the witness stand, as Crafton walked forward the courtroom was completely silent.
Palmer led him through the necessaries of his testimony. He lived at home with his parents, Wiley and Agnes Crafton, and his now-deceased brother, Greek, about a mile north of Pleasant Plains in Sangamon County. Yes, he knew Peachy Quinn Harrison. He last saw his brother after breakfast on the sixteenth of July. He had gone into Pleasant Plains while his brother had started to Berlinsville, for reasons he had not mentioned. He had next seen him at Mr. Turley’s store, then soon afterward again at Short’s drugstore.
Mr. Palmer asked Crafton to “Begin at that point at which you went to the drugstore and tell what you went there for, when your brother came and what took place.” In Judge Rice’s courtroom, in fact in many of the courtrooms of that time, questions like this that allowed for an often long and rambling answer were permitted. Giving a witness the freedom to have his or her say was a tactic respected by both sides and rarely was interrupted. There were moments when it served the opposition, as a too comfortable witness sometimes added unnecessary details that proved to weaken his own side.
Crafton’s response was long and rich with those sort of details that must have sparked a storm in Lincoln’s mind. “I went there as my business was for money,” he began. “I called upon Mr. Short to know if any money had been left for me. He said not with him. He told me probably it was left with Mr. Hart, his partner.”
It occurred to Hitt that John Crafton had been well prepared for his testimony. Everyone in Springfield would know Short and Hart were partners; mentioning that was unnecessary.
Crafton continued, “I asked where Mr. Hart was. He said in town somewhere. I said no more to him. Yes, I says, I’ll wait for him here and I passed to the rear of the store and laid down on the counter.” Mr. Crafton left the stand and, taking a pointer in his left hand, described for the jury precisely where he had lain. “Here was the counter beginning at the door on the west side and running all the way back to the south end except for three or four feet probably. I lay here at the south end of the west counter with my head to the south...” Crafton was a bit awkward with his left hand; it appeared he was unused to the sling, as his right arm got in the way of his pointing.
Hitt glanced at Lincoln, who once again had his hands clasped in front of his mouth, taking in Crafton’s every word.
“When I went there nobody was in the drugstore but Short and Harrison. They were sitting right here on the west side of the drugstore near the front. When I went in and laid down I heard a noise at the door after I had lain there some minutes. I can’t cite how long. I raised my head and saw three men in a scuffle. I saw my brother was one and Short and Harrison were the others. I made a spring and got to them. I saw they were in a fight. They met me on the east side of the store about half way...” He slowly dragged the pointer along the diagram, and it was almost possible to see the brawlers moving toward the back of the store. “There I met them at the south end of the east counter. As I met them Mr. Short was pulling the boys backwards. He threw out his left hand and caught me. I told him to let him loose, that ‘Greek could whip him.’
“He said, ‘They shan’t fight.’ At that they all moved to the southwest on the west side.” As he moved the pointer it slipped slightly; he almost grabbed it with his wounded arm but caught himself. “Here was a counter and by that counter stood some boxes, two or three, two probably. Mr. Harrison being on the east of Greek and Greek on the west of him and Short on the south of the two and me to the south of Short, and we all made a move to the southwest where these boxes were. There my brother fell on those boxes and in this leaning position Mr. Short pushed him backwards over that counter.” He tapped the diagram several times to emphasize that position. “That’s where I suppose my brother received his stab. I didn’t see it. As Mr. Livergood interfered, Mr. Harrison sprang back a foot or two and made a motion to strike my brother again with the knife. Then I jumped over the counter (above it)... Mr. Short moved and I recovered. I jumped between Mr. Harrison and my brother. I threw my right arm to Harrison and he stuck me then with a knife and then jumped over here. I turned and in this position to catch him and he struck at me again. I saw he would use me up with the knife and I made to this east counter over here for the pound weights I knew were always there. As I started I met...” He mumbled a name that Hitt found entirely incomprehensible. As he had been taught, he left the space blank rather than guessing at it. He could almost hear the stern Mr. J. T. Ledbetter cautioning the class over and over. “Better to miss the stray word or name than pollute the transcript. Precision matters, my young friends, precision matters.”
Whatever the name, “...he asked if I was hurt. I replied, ‘My God! I am ruined!’ I got to where the weights ought to have been, they were not there and I put my hands on the scales and threw them at Harrison. He was hollering, ‘Jesus Christ! Have I got no friends here!’ As I threw the scales I stumbled against a chair or stool. I picked it up and threw it at him and then turned around and threw two glasses at him. One of them I broke, the other I did not.”
Palmer finally spoke up, asking, “Had you seen your brother from the time you left him until you saw him engaged in the fight?” His intent was clear: in his opening statement, Lincoln had claimed the Crafton brothers and Livergood had set out that morning to attack Harrison. Palmer was making it clear no such plan was afoot. This was a matter of circumstance.
Crafton made that point, replying, “I saw him at Turley’s store, but I didn’t speak to him.” Then he repeated that, “I was in a hurry and didn’t speak to him. I went out and left Mr. Harrison in the room after the fight. That is the last I saw of him. I had a pretty bad cut on the right arm in the muscle...” He made a show of attempting to raise his right arm but managed barely more than a few inches. “I have not got the use of it yet. The last I saw of my brother was on the boxes. As I turned I suppose he got up. I saw him next at Dr. Million’s. He was then lying on the right side on the floor. I only just passed through the house then. I went to Dr. Million’s office and laid down in the shade.” John Crafton paused here and looked down at the planked floor for several seconds. When he looked up again, he did so with tears in his eyes. “I never saw my brother again, sir.” In the gallery some minor stirring served mostly to call attention to the utter silence. A chair squeaked. A boot thumped on the floorboard.
After clearing the emotion out of his throat, Mr. Palmer continued, trying to disrupt Lincoln and Logan’s attack before it might be mounted, “When you first saw Harrison and your brother and Short, in what position were they?”
“I think they were all right together. I think my brother was nearest the door. The first sight I got of him they had hold of each other. Mr. Short had my brother right by the right arm and Harrison by the left arm and Harrison and my brother were face-to-face. Short was to the right of my brother and to the left of Harrison.”
“Did you take hold of either?” Did you make it an unfair fight was what he meant.
“No, sir. I got hold of Mr. Short by the left arm, by the left hand in his hand and my right arm about there...” he said, indicating his upper arm. By this time in most trials Hitt should have settled into what Mr. Ledbetter had referred to as his “work sense,” in which he became little more than an empty vessel for the words to pass through, from the witness to the paper. In that state he wrote down his marks without conscious thought, and having as much meaning as a stab. But it was odd, in this case he was completely unable to reach that place; instead he listened hard as he worked, visualizing each description, intentionally ignoring the hems and haws and backtracks to get it right. To his surprise, he found himself caught up in the case. “...I caught him, him holding onto the boys with that arm.”
“Did you do anything as you were coming back?”
“I don’t think I did anything. I can’t tell what I was doing. I was not pushing or pulling that I know of. We all made the move together. How it was done I can’t tell. I saw the knife in Mr. Harrison’s hand—saw it after he had cut him. I observed before he left the room that my brother was down and that he was hurt but didn’t know that he was cut. He had his knee on one box and his arm on another box, one box leaning on the other, his knee on the lower and his elbow on the higher.” Crafton again made a feeble effort to illustrate his point, but the sling prevented him from raising his arm.
John Palmer told Judge Rice he was done with his questions. The judge looked at the defense table and pointed: your turn. Slowly, as if burdened by thought, Abe Lincoln rose. Among his peers, Lincoln was considered quite skilled at cross-examination. He was known for never asking a question without a direct purpose, although often that purpose would not become clear till much later, and for having the rare ability among lawyers to stop a witness when he had what he wanted, rather than enjoying the sound of his own brilliance so much that he asked more than necessary. He greeted the witness, whom he appeared to know, perhaps having become acquainted while Greek was learning in his office. “Mr. Crafton, John,” he began, “had you been at Short and Hart’s store any but the one time that morning?”
“No, sir, only that one time. I had not been in before. I went there to inquire if some money had been left for me. I expected Bob Irwin, Robert Irwin, would leave it for me.” Irwin? Hitt wondered, might that be the missing name? He took pride in leaving few spaces in his transcript.
“Short told you none was left for you?”
Crafton considered this, perhaps more than necessary for such a simple question. Hitt guessed he had been forewarned that Lincoln was skilled at laying traps for witnesses and was turning this one over. “It might have been Mr. Hart,” he said, adjusting his earlier testimony. “I took my position on the counter and stopped for Mr. Hart. I saw nothing then until hearing the noise. I raised up and saw the three together.”
Lincoln’s voice had a heavy tone to it. “About that time did you hear either of the parties say anything?”
“No, sir, I think not. I don’t think there was a word spoken. I spoke the first word, I think.”
Lincoln looked puzzled, and asked, “You can’t remember Harrison saying to your brother that he would not fight or didn’t want to fight?”
“No, sir,” Crafton said firmly, shaking his head, “I don’t remember any such thing. I think I said the first thing spoken in the room. I told Mr. Short to let them loose, that Greek could whip him.”
Having the benefit of John Crafton’s earlier testimony at the Grand Jury proceedings allowed Lincoln to bring attention to small inconsistencies. “You did not add that Greek should whip him?”
“No, sir,” Crafton replied, far more certain than he might have been, Hitt thought. “But I told him he could whip him.” Hitt made a mark at the sign for “could,” reminding him to underline it later, a good steno man’s way of pointing out emphasis.
Having made his point, Lincoln moved along. “Did you see anything about the beginning or for a little while of Harrison holding onto one of the counters?”
“No, sir. He had passed almost to the end of the counter when I got to him, the south end of the east counter. It is only about halfway across the room. It don’t go down and join... The opening is by reason of the eastern counter being there. I don’t know what it is for. I saw them first at the door and when I got to them they were near the end of the counter. They were not at the west counter then. I did not see anybody holding on.”
The timing and the movements, the west, the east, front and back, seemed to become a jumble. But Livergood had so clearly described Harrison holding onto the counter that Lincoln pressed the witness. “Were they so far from the counter as to leave no question about it in your mind?”
John Crafton admitted, “I suppose if a man had tried he could have reached the counter from where they were. I don’t know whether that eastern counter extends down exactly half way, but it is about half way. I got up about that point of time and made the remark I told you of and got hold of Short’s left hand and arm.”
“And then you pulled on him, rather to pull him out of the fight?”
“I could not say whether I pulled him or not. I caught his arm and told him to let them loose. I held on until he pushed me backwards over this south counter. The whole bunch of us moved to the southwest. Quinn came east and he was pushing west.”
Lincoln asked questions to confirm the movements in a professorial manner; inquisitive rather than challenging. “You moved along rather in a row and you came to the boxes before Greek?”
“No. I think Greek fell about the time I leaned over this counter, pushed by Short. About that time I saw him fall.”
“Tilting on the boxes?”
“Yes. The boxes were not very high.”
Lincoln turned and glanced at Logan, as if trying to clarify something in his own mind. “The amount of falling then, was coming against the box with his legs? The balance was lost? He didn’t fall flat?”
“No, sir, not flat.”
A look of confusion crossed his face. “Then it was a sort of tilting?”
“I could not tell whether it was a tilting or pushing or falling. His knee, I think, was on one box and his elbow on another with his back against the counter that was higher than the boxes.”
Hitt found it difficult to discern Lincoln’s purpose in making this so important. It was said he picked his spots carefully, ignoring the fluff and bringing pressure to bear on the weakest points. But where was that point in this questioning? Still, Lincoln focused on it. “You were not interfered with by the boxes?”
“No, sir, I think not. These boxes were right in that corner and this counter running that way.” His attempt to make it clear served only to further confuse the issue. “You see, I was south of all of them all the time and of course I would strike this counter and Greek would strike this one, the west one. I would get on this counter and he more westward. I was working more south than he was.”
The line of Lincoln’s questioning suddenly became clear. John Crafton was claiming that his brother had been sliced as he fell onto the boxes, not while he was holding and punching Harrison. According to his testimony, Harrison was not defending himself, he was the attacker. Greek was going down when he was struck.
That statement had to be countered before it was allowed to sink in and do damage to the defense. Lincoln then asked casually, but in a firm tone that landed somewhere between a question and a statement, “So you did not see the knife when the blow was given?”
“I did not see the knife go into him.”
Lincoln hesitated for a moment, looking down at his table as if to examine a document that was not there. And nodding. The silence was powerful, leaving John Crafton’s admission to float slowly through the courtroom: he did not see the cutting. He was not an eyewitness. He did not know, really, whether Greek had been stabbed standing up holding Harrison or while falling over the boxes.
Finally, Lincoln resumed. “When you first saw the tussle in what way did Quinn and your brother have hold of each other?”
“Well, sir, I could not state exactly for the reason that all three were close together, but I think my brother has his left arm over Quinn’s right one. His right one was held by Short.”
“You have said Quinn and Greek were face-to-face?”
“They were when I got to them. As I said, they were face-to-face from the time I got to them. They were face-to-face I think all the time.”
Lincoln looked puzzled. After seeming to attempt to figure out this dance in his head, he finally came out from behind his table, hands clasped behind him, his gaze still down. Suddenly he loosened his hands and raised his right index finger, as if the thought had just occurred to him. “Did you see either of them strike at the other with his fist?”
Hitt covered a smile with his palm. A professional steno man never displays emotion. He certainly made no pretense to know the law, but even during the brief time he had worked in the courts he had learned the prime rule of cross-examination: never ask a question to which you did not already know the answer. Here was Lincoln demonstrating the proper use of it: there had been ample testimony on this point already; the only blow had been struck by Greek Crafton.
“I think I did,” Crafton said, slightly raising his right hand. “I think with this hand. If you will give me a couple of men, I’ll show you how it was.”
Lincoln turned to face the prosecutor, saying, “I don’t know whether it will do to risk myself, but I’ll go in if Mr. Palmer will.”
John Palmer accepted the challenge. “Am I to do the striking?”
“I’ll make myself Greek,” John Crafton said, missing entirely the sadness of that statement. But others in the courtroom caught it. Unable to use his wounded right arm in this demonstration, John Crafton reached up with his left arm and put that hand on Lincoln’s shoulder, turning him to face the jury. He placed Palmer at his side, holding one arm. Then he stepped behind Lincoln, almost hidden from the jury’s sight by Lincoln’s bulk, and wrapped an arm around his body. “They were just this way and I saw Greek make a motion, but whether he hit him or not I could not say. That’s the only lick I saw struck.”
Lincoln freed himself and faced the witness. “I suppose when you told Short to let him alone, that Greek could whip him, that you had the ordinary meaning and wanted Greek to whip him?”
“I thought after they got into the fight that Greek could whip him.”
“And you wanted him to?” There, there it was, Hitt knew. There was Lincoln throwing the shadow of doubt over Crafton’s testimony. Reminding the jurors where his loyalty lay that day, and this day.
“Well... I certainly did.”
That was Lincoln’s final question. John Crafton walked out of the courtroom, the only sound the thump of his boots. As he went through the door, two other young men went with him, one of them throwing his arm around Crafton’s shoulders. The prosecution called Daniel Harnett, still another young man of the town. All of them had grown up together and formed their allegiances. Harnett was smaller than the rest of them, but broad shouldered. A pair of black braces, crossing in front of his chest, held up new deerskin trousers. He took the oath and told the jury he lived at Pleasant Plains and he saw Greek Crafton and Quinn Harrison there on the morning of July 16. “I saw them after they were through with the fight. They were in the drugstore when I saw them. I had seen Greek Crafton before. I hadn’t seen Quinn Harrison before.”
Palmer let him tell his story. Neither Logan nor Lincoln saw a reason to object to any part of it. “Well, sir, I saw after the affray commenced. I went down to the drugstore from Mr. Turley’s store and I saw Harrison strike once with a knife. The lick was towards John Crafton. That didn’t hit him though, I think. That was the only lick I saw him strike. I saw John throw a pair of scales. I saw Greek. I didn’t see him do anything.” He hesitated here, seeing it again in his memory, but only now understanding the toll. When he started again, his voice was slower, more reflective. “He was lying on his side, I think right against a box. When I first saw Greek, Harrison was a few steps east of Greek, about as far from here to where Mr. Broadwell is sitting...”
As he had been taught to do, Hitt made a quick approximation of the distance, being quite careful not to be too specific: eight to ten feet he estimated.
“...he was facing north. Greek was west of him. John Crafton was facing Quinn.”
“Did you observe any marks on Greek’s person?”
“No, sir, not at that time. I can’t say I observed anything peculiar in his appearance, but I didn’t see him very plain. I was noticing John and Harrison. They were in the affray.”
“How long did Greek remain?”
“A very short time, afore he retired out of the room.”
That was it for Palmer’s questions. This time Logan stood for the defense. “Mr. Harnett, did you hear anything said between the parties while the fight was going on?”
Harnett nodded as he responded, “I heard Quinn say something. I think he said, ‘My God! Have I no friends here!’ I think those were the words he used. I think that was after John had thrown the scales at him, likely he had thrown a stool and the scales too.”
Logan cut down any remaining value his testimony might have had with his final question. “You didn’t see a scuffle going on in which Greek was engaged?”
“No, sir,” Harnett said.
“That’s all,” Logan told Judge Rice. Harnett was dismissed. Palmer’s next witness was Frederick Henry, a tall and gangly young man who ambled pleasantly to the witness chair, a broad smile in place. Palmer led him to the crux of his testimony, the actions of the fourth of July, the morning of the picnic and almost two weeks before the deadly encounter. While listening to his story, it was difficult for the spectators not to think how well the day had started out, until it made its turn. “I first saw Quinn Harrison at his father’s house. He and I were together going in a buggy to a picnic at Clary’s Grove. We met Greek and John Crafton about a mile and a half or two miles from Pleasant Plains.”
“What took place?”
“We stopped and talked with the boys a few moments and Quinn Harrison inquired where his brother Peter was, and Greek Crafton said he was down in the wagon getting some ladies to go to the picnic. Then Mr. Crafton said, ‘I understand you have been giving Peter a lecture about the company he has been keeping heretofore?’ Mr. Harrison did not know but he had said something about it. Mr. Crafton then said at some convenient time they would settle it. Harrison said, ‘It didn’t make a damned bit of difference to him whether he settled or not...’” For Hitt, the most challenging part of getting it down right was knowing when and where to put quotation marks. It often was difficult to determine if a witness was actually quoting someone or just putting their words into his or her own thoughts. Mr. Ledbetter had offered only little guidance on the issue, pointing out that “said” does not always mean the words were actually said. Mr. Ledbetter’s best advice was that care should be taken not to put unspoken words in anyone’s mouth. It was impossible from the context to know if these were Quinn Harrison’s direct words. Hitt put down the quotation marks, but did not feel confident doing it.
“...Mr. Crafton then retired a few steps and pulled off his coat and said, ‘We can settle it now.’”
A direct quote. Hitt wrote down his marks, feeling better. “Then Mr. Harrison said he didn’t want to fight. I told them ‘They couldn’t fight there.’ Harrison said ‘He couldn’t fight’ or ‘Didn’t want to fight,’ or something like that. Crafton then said if he ever cast any reflections on his character he would whip him. Harrison said, ‘You d—d son of a b—h. I’ll shoot you and pay for you.’ Crafton then made an exertion, I believe, to get into the buggy and I pushed him out. He picked up a clod of dirt and threw it at Harrison and struck me in place of Harrison. He then made another attempt to get into the buggy. I pushed him out and started on with the buggy. Crafton said something again after I started on. Harrison then caught the lines and stopped the buggy to get out, and he says, ‘D—n you, if you ever lay hands on me I’ll shoot you,’ or ‘I’ll kill you,’ or something of that kind. That was all that occurred there.”
Hitt was careful with his quote marks. This was a direct threat to life and woe would be the steno man who didn’t put them down exactly as they were said, including the proper punctuation!
Palmer asked in his matter-of-fact way, “Do you recollect the precise language used by Harrison when he called Crafton a son of a b—h?”
This was another issue entirely. How to include bawdy language? Ledbetter said it was completely up to the predilections of each reporter, but preached the virtues of clean language. Personally, he had explained, he did not blush when such words were spoken in an open courtroom, but professionally he preferred to replace middle letters with dashes. Hitt had adopted that usage, and had encountered no objections to that decision. Fred Henry was given to such colorful language. “I am not certain,” he replied, “whether he said to him ‘You d—d spreckled-faced son of a b—h,’ but he had something connected with it. I wouldn’t be positive as to the words. Then I drove off and left Crafton standing.”
Palmer set the stage for him, asking, “Did you see them together again that day?”
“Yes. They met once that day after that on the grounds at the picnic. Crafton came up and offered to make peace with Harrison. As near as I recollect, I could not tell his language exactly, but it was Crafton offered to make up the fuss, the dispute, and Harrison said he had nothing to make up. Crafton said he had cast some reflections on his parents by calling him a son of a b—h. Harrison said he did not mean to go further than himself. Nothing more took place.”
Hitt glanced at Lincoln, who uncharacteristically was writing a note. His hand scrawled rapidly across a sheet of paper. Henry’s seemingly easy testimony carried great danger to the defense. If the men had parted so well there was no case for Harrison to be afraid, no reason to arm himself.
Palmer asked his witness a final question. “At what time of day did you see John Crafton?”
“It was about eight or nine o’clock along in the morning. I would not be positive as to the time I saw the boys together at Clary’s Grove, but it was the after-past of the day. It was about the middle or past the middle of the day. I think it was shortly before I started home. I have no distinct recollection as to the time of day.”
As Palmer sat down, Lincoln stood up, ready to repair the damage that had been done. The afternoon heat had been growing in the courtroom, so as Lincoln got up he removed his jacket and placed it over the back of his chair. “Mr. Henry, did Quinn at the place where you first met Greek or at Clary’s Grove in your hearing tell Greek that all he wanted of him was to let him alone, or anything of that import?”
Henry had the odd habit of holding his nose between his thumb and forefinger as he ruminated. “I could not make any positive statement,” he finally decided. “It runs in my mind that there was something of the kind said. It runs in my mind that he said it either to me after we went away or he said it to Greek.” As he continued, he gained more confidence in his own confusion. “I am not certain whether it was said to Greek or me. I could not make a definite statement. Since the question was asked I remember something of the kind being said. I could not remember whether it was said while he was standing there or while we were going home.”
Lincoln made it easier for him. “Do you remember his saying at any time that he didn’t want to fight?”
Henry remembered that. He nodded vigorously, glad to have a strong answer. “He said so I believe there when Greek wanted to fight him. I told him, ‘We can’t have any fighting here.’”
Lincoln nodded his approval. A good answer. He asked a final question, Hitt suspected, more to plant a thought in the jury’s mind than needing the response. “Did you hear him say at any time that he, Quinn, was not able to fight Greek?”
“I don’t remember that I did.”
Lincoln told Judge Rice, “I’ve got no more questions” and turned to return to his seat. Henry grabbed his nose one last time as he looked at the judge, who dismissed him from the stand.
Hitt had never been in a courtroom that held the heat quite as well as this one. The windows of the courtroom were opened their full length to let the day inside and catch whatever breezes might sweep through, but the heat was just pouring in. He had taken to mopping his brow regularly. Judge Rice noticed him doing so and asked after his well-being. “I’m fine, your honor. Thank you,” he replied.
Judge Rice asked the bailiff to draw the shades, hoping to cut down on the direct sunlight. And then he decided, “Tell you what people. Let’s take a little break right here. Why don’t you all go ’head and get yourself something to cool down, and we’ll see you back here in twenty minutes.” He punctuated that with a single sharp blow of his gavel, and left the stand.