I suppose I should be grateful they didn’t manacle me, David thought, as they marched him across the square from the lockup and into the courthouse. It was a nice day, already shaping up to be hot. They said there had been a big fight down around Slaughter’s Mountain on August 9. That was pretty damned close to Culpeper. The word was that Stonewall Jackson had whipped Johnny Pope’s army yet again, and now they were moving north. Jed would be with them; it would be good to see the boy again. Have to tell him about shipping the broken sword and the Bible to Sam, David thought. It was damned strange. Half the time he was living in the South and disbarred from communicating with the North. He could write to Jed but not to Andrew or Sam. When the Federals occupied the town he was disbarred from any contact with Jed, but it was perfectly all right to send letters to his brother and to Andrew, serving with Grant in Tennessee. No damned sense to any of it, he thought, so no point in trying to make sense of it.
The courthouse stood on the corner of West and David Streets, a blend of the Georgian and Classical Revival styles of architecture. There had been talk of building a cupola on top of it before the war but that had been set aside until better times. His escort led him inside. David was surprised to find that he did not feel nervous, not anything. This whole trial business was something he could not bring himself to take seriously. It was like taking part in some child’s play-game. You did it only to indulge the child, as David was doing this now only to indulge the military. Surely to God they did not think to hang a man for doing what he had done?
There were seats in rows inside the courtroom, but no audience, unless you counted a couple of stone-faced infantry privates with rifles grounded at the door. David sat down next to Major Darby and looked up at the bench. What would be in the minds of the men who sat there? What would his fate mean to them? On the right of David’s place was another table, at which sat Edward Maxwell. He glowered as David’s eyes met his: he looked intense and angry.
‘That’s the prosecutor,’ Darby said. ‘Captain Maxwell.’
‘I know him,’ David said. ‘He hates my guts.’
Darby looked startled. ‘You should have told me,’ he said.
‘Would it have made any difference?’
‘I don’t know,’ Darby answered. ‘Probably not. But we could have tried.’
‘No matter.’
At ten o’clock precisely they were called to attention as the three judges came into the room. The first was an old man who wore the insignia of a brigadier-general. The other two were wearing the full-dress uniform of majors in the Federal cavalry.
The general, as president of the court, read out the charges, nodded, and then turned towards Edward Maxwell.
‘Captain Maxwell,’ he said. ‘You may proceed.’
‘Sir,’ Maxwell got to his feet. He walked over to stand below the podium, stroking his beard reflectively. When he looked at David his eyes were vindictive.
‘In times of war,’ he began, ‘the most dangerous animal is not the enemy, for we know the enemy and can see him. No, gentlemen! I put it to you that in times of war, the most dangerous animal is the man who will betray his country: for money, for pride, for glory or for all three. It is such a man who appears before this court today. It is my intention to demonstrate that he had knowingly, willingly and persistently aided and abetted the cause of the Confederacy!’
The pattern was plain to see, he told the court. Here is a man with a son serving the Confederate cause. Here is a man who converts his home, at his own expense, into a hospital for Confederate wounded. A man who allows Confederate troops to requisition every horse he owns without payment. A man who will strike a Federal officer and speak treasonably against the Union.
‘Yet he asks us to believe that he is neither for the Confederacy or for the Union. He claims neutrality!’ Maxwell’s scorn was vast. ‘I ask you, gentlemen, whether the actions I have described are the actions of a neutral? And I put it to you, gentlemen, that they are not, most emphatically not! I even go so far as to state categorically that no man can remain neutral in times such as these. And that the accused, David Strong, is not neutral and never has been!’
‘Yes, Major Darby?’ General Moore said.
‘Gentlemen,’ Darby said. ‘It is the intention of the defense to show that Mr. Strong is a good and loyal citizen of the United States, and that the actions of which he stands accused were not occasioned by any desire to aid the cause of the Confederacy.’
‘Very well, Major Darby,’ General Moore said.
‘Will the court permit the calling of witnesses to David Strong’s character?’
‘Captain Maxwell?’
‘The prosecution would object strongly to such witnesses being called before this court, sir!’ Maxwell said, getting to his feet again. ‘For how would we be able to ascertain the loyalties of the witnesses without prior examination?’
General Moore consulted in an almost silent whisper with Major Alley and Major Carlson. Then he nodded.
‘Objection sustained. No character witnesses, Major Darby.’
‘Then I call to the stand the defendant, David Strong.’
David went to the stand and was sworn. He looked at Maxwell. He looks damned confident, he thought. Knows he can razzle-dazzle Darby and probably the old general too. Maxwell was an actor, albeit a bad one. The legal profession seemed to attract a lot of those.
‘Do you deny that you have a son serving in the Confederate cause, Mr. Strong?’ Darby asked.
‘No, sir. But I also have a son serving on the staff of General Grant, in Tennessee.’
‘Then you would have much to lose whatever your sympathies?’
‘A man with a son on both sides can hardly win.’
‘True.’ Major Darby glanced meaningfully at General Moore. ‘And is it also true that you converted the barns and stables of your farm into a hospital?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And you used your own money?’
‘Yes I did.’
‘Will you kindly tell the court why?’
‘I did it because there were men lying in the streets dying,’ David answered. ‘Fearfully wounded men who needed medication, surgery, a decent place to die.’
‘Confederate wounded, Mr. Strong?’
‘Aye, Confederate,’ David said. ‘But it wouldn’t have made any difference what the color of their uniforms was. I’d have done it anyway.’
‘To what use is that hospital at present being put?’
‘It is being used for Federal wounded.’
‘Very good,’ Darby said, again looking at the old general. ‘Now, what about the horses, Mr. Strong? Is it true you gave horses to the Confederate Army and asked no payment for them?’
‘I had no choice in the matter,’ David replied. ‘The horses were commandeered. There was never any question of payment.’
‘Surely they offered you government scrip?’
‘That they did, and I told them what they could do with it!’
‘You mean because Confederate scrip is worthless?’
‘I mean because all government scrip is worthless, regardless of which government issues it!’ David growled. Darby blinked and looked uneasy for a moment. Then he moved on quickly to his next point, informing the court that it was a matter of record that the Federal Army had been purchasing horses from Washington Farm for many years.
‘Now, Mr. Strong, to the most serious charge of which you stand accused. Did you or did you not strike a Federal officer and utter treasonable remarks?’
‘I struck that man,’ David said. ‘And I admit it. But would this court perhaps accept that a man may strike another for reasons which have nothing to do with his loyalty to one cause or another?’
He looked up at General Moore. The old soldier nodded him to continue.
‘As for speaking treason, gentlemen, was it treason to say what was no more or less than the plain truth? If this court, or any court, believes Order Number Eleven and honorable order for an army to issue and calls it treason if decent people speak against it, then I, for one, am with Patrick Henry!’ David declared. ‘If this be treason, make the most of it!’
He turned to face the three soldiers on the podium as he spoke and he saw that his words had made a good impression on them. They’ll be fair, he decided. He turned to see Edward Maxwell coming across the well of the court towards him, smiling.
‘You ask this court to believe you have acted disinterestedly in all these matters,’ Maxwell said. ‘Is that correct?’
‘It is indeed.’
‘And you are a loyal citizen.’
‘I am!’ David said, his head coming up, anger in his eyes.
‘Then you will not refuse,’ Maxwell said, springing his trap, ‘to swear the oath of allegiance to the flag of the United States of America?’
‘I do not give allegiance to pieces of bunting!’ David snapped, angered by the way Maxwell had maneuvered him. ‘My allegiances have always been the same: to honor, to duty, to my family and to the land upon which I live!’
‘You refuse to take the oath?’ Maxwell said.
‘If you mean that I must choose, sir, then I refuse!’ David answered. ‘As I would refuse to take an oath of allegiance to the Confederate flag!’
‘You are not a Quaker, Mr. Strong?’
‘You know very well that I am not!’
‘Then there is no choice. You take the oath or this court must surely conclude that you are guilty of the charges brought against you.’
‘I would like to ask permission to address the court,’ David said, holding his temper on a short rein. Maxwell watched him, black hatred in his eyes. I’ve got you, they said.
‘Major Darby? Captain Maxwell?’
Both advocates nodded; permission was granted for David to speak.
‘Gentlemen,’ he began slowly. ‘My America is a free country. It gives me, by right, freedom of speech, freedom of belief. In my America a man may decline to accept dogma as fact. I do not believe, because I am told that I must, that the Federal cause is the only just one. Nor do I believe, by the same token and for the same reasons, that the Confederacy is utterly wrong. I do not believe that this war, or any war, is a just war simply because I am told to do so. I hate war. That is why I have not taken sides, and that is why I will not! That is all. Thank you, gentlemen.’
General Moore coughed and looked at the two majors sitting alongside him. David looked at their eyes. What were they thinking?
‘This court is much impressed by your remarks, Mr. Strong,’ General Moore said. ‘No one here would contest your hatred of war nor your perfect right to believe whatever you wish to believe. But hating the war does not end it, sir. And those of us who wage it must perforce protect ourselves against anyone who might wish to vitiate our efforts.’ He paused and fiddled with his spectacle case. It was a gaudy little thing made of pink felt, with orange and yellow flowers on it. Probably a present from one of his grandchildren, David thought. ‘There is no time for us to consider philosophical arguments,’ Moore continued, ‘even if this court were qualified to do so. So we must apply simpler tests. It does not seem unreasonable to this court that the oath of allegiance be used to establish a man’s sympathies, Mr. Strong. Not his beliefs, sir, for those are, and remain, his own. However, this court must insist: take the oath, or take the consequences!’
‘With the greatest respect, General,’ David said. ‘I say be damned to your court!’
Anger flooded across General Moore’s face. David glanced at Edward Maxwell and saw his eyes blaze with triumph. Major Darby looked dismayed, like a man who was expecting the worst and has had it happen to him.
‘The court notes your remarks, Mr. Strong,’ General Moore said coldly. ‘It will now retire to consider its verdict.’
David looked at the clock on the wall as the three officers went out. A quarter of twelve. The room was silent except for the clock’s sonorous tick, the occasional shuffle of a sentry’s foot, Darby’s discreet cough. The lawyer looked as though he wanted to say something to David but could not find the words to say it with.
David felt cold, lost, separated from reality. Where was Sam? Where was Andrew? Why hadn’t they come? He wasn’t being fair, he knew. They probably hadn’t even received his letters yet. Everything had happened so fast, so fast.
He closed his mind. There was no use hoping, thinking, wishing. He had said what he wanted to say. The thing was out of his hands now.
‘How long is this likely to take?’ he whispered to Darby.
‘I don’t know, Mr. Strong,’ Darby replied. ‘Not long, usually.’
‘Good.’
‘Did you … have to speak so bluntly?’
‘Yes,’ David said. ‘I believe I did.’
As he said the words, the door into the courtroom opened and the orderly sergeant shouted ‘Attention!’ Everyone stood as the three officers took their places at the bench.
‘The prisoner will remain standing,’ Major Carlson announced and sat down. David looked at the faces of the three men. Their expressions revealed nothing. He waited. He felt perspiration soaking his shirt, the throb of dread rising in his belly.