Authors: Shelley Pearsall
Adapted from chapters 22 and 23
Characters
R
EBECCA
C
ARVER
(settler)
M
R.
A
UGUSTUS
R
OOT
(prosecuting lawyer)
M
R.
N
ICHOLS
(blacksmith)
J
UDGE
N
OBLE
R
EBECCA:
(to audience)
When the court resumed again in the late afternoon, a large bear of a man filled the entire witness chair. It was Blacksmith Nichols! In the settlement, the sight of him always frightened me near to death. His soot-black hands were the size of bear paws and his fierce eyes seemed to burn holes straight through your skin. But the lawyer, Augustus Root, didn't seem to feel any fear at all. After the blacksmith was sworn in, he strolled easily toward him.
M
R.
R
OOT:
(to blacksmith)
Tell us, Mr. Nichols, how you came to make the acquaintance of the Indian who is here today, the one who—
M
R.
N
ICHOLS:
(interrupting)
I made him a tomahawk.
M
R.
R
OOT:
A tomahawk.
M
R.
N
ICHOLS:
Yes, sir.
M
R.
R
OOT:
And why did you make a tomahawk for this particular Indian?
M
R.
N
ICHOLS:
(mockingly)
You seen many blacksmiths among the savages, Mr. Root?
M
R.
R
OOT:
No, of course not, you're right.
(shuffling through papers in his hands)
But could you perhaps
describe
the tomahawk you made for Indian John? Tell the jury well, exactly how it was made.
M
R.
N
ICHOLS:
(mockingly)
What a tomahawk is
made
of?
J
UDGE
N
OBLE:
(pounding gavel)
Let me remind everyone that this is a court of law, and all questions are to be answered to the best of one's ability. M
R.
R
OOT:
So, once again, Mr. Nichols—could you explain exactly how the tomahawk was made? For the jury please.
M
R.
N
ICHOLS:
It was a pipe tomahawk. Iron blade with a steel edge. For sharpness.
M
R.
R
OOT:
And you made only the blade, correct?
M
R.
N
ICHOLS:
Yes.
M
R.
R
OOT:
What about the haft—the handle? What did it look like?
M
R.
N
ICHOLS:
It was made out of wood.
M
R.
R
OOT:
Any decoration that you recall?
M
R.
N
ICHOLS:
Yes.
M
R.
R
OOT:
(rubs eyes wearily)
Could you perhaps describe the decoration?
M
R.
N
ICHOLS:
There was marks scorched all along the wood of the haft. Dark and light stripes.
M
R.
R
OOT:
Made by this Indian?
M
R.
N
ICHOLS:
(shrugs)
Made by some Indian, I don't know who.
M
R.
R
OOT:
Anything else? Any other decorations?
M
R.
N
ICHOLS:
One piece of trade silver in the shape of a diamond, set into the wood.
M
R.
R
OOT:
Mr. Nichols, do you think you would recognize the tomahawk you worked on, if it was shown to you again?
M
R.
N
ICHOLS:
Yes, I would.
(crosses his arms)
R
EBECCA:
(narrating to audience)
I watched as Augustus Root walked quickly to his chair to fetch something. Everyone around us stood up to see it, too. I knew by the whispering of the crowd that the tomahawk was the same one the blacksmith had described—the same one that had been found in the trapper's head. Some people in the crowd wanted to see Indian John hanged right then, and I was sick with fear about what would happen next. But even though the blacksmith claimed to remember Indian John's tomahawk, it turned out he didn't recognize several other tomahawks and hatchets he had made. After the other lawyer, Peter Kelley finished questioning him, Blacksmith Nichols stormed out of the trial, calling it a “court of fools.” The trial continued with the next witness, a settler named Ezra Phelps.
Adapted from chapter 25
Characters
R
EBECCA
C
ARVER
(settler)
J
OHN
A
MIK
(Chippewa Indian)
J
UDGE
N
OBLE
M
R.
A
UGUSTUS
R
OOT
(prosecuting lawyer)
M
R.
E
ZRA
P
HELPS
(witness)
M
R.
P
ETER
K
ELLEY
(defense lawyer)
R
EBECCA:
(to audience)
Up in the front, the next witness sunk down in the chair. He looked to be about my pa's age, but he was scrawnier. One of his thin shoulders stuck up higher than the other, which gave him a peculiar, crooked appearance.
J
OHN
A
MIK:
(to audience)
I stare at the man who sits in the talking chair. He is well known to me. Five summers ago, he came from a distant place to fish in our rivers and hunt in our woodlands and feed his children on that which was not given to him. When he talks, the crooked
gichi-mookomaan
speaks from three sides of his mouth at once.
Friend
, he calls us.
Friend.
But his words roll like logs in white
water—
didibin, didibin, didibin
, roll, roll, roll. His words roll with lies.
J
UDGE
N
OBLE:
(bangs gavel)
We will now hear the testimony of Mr. Ezra Phelps. Mr. Root, you may begin your questions.
M
R.
R
OOT:
Mr. Phelps, you and your family live on the other side of the Crooked River, am I right?
M
R.
P
HELPS:
(nods)
M
R.
R
OOT:
And you have lived there for about five years?
M
R.
P
HELPS:
(nods)
Got ten acres in corn.
M
R.
R
OOT:
And you found the dead trapper? Correct?
M
R.
P
HELPS:
Yessir. Me and my son Asa done found that dead trapper one morning at the edge of one of our cornfields.
M
R.
R
OOT:
What morning was it?
M
R.
P
HELPS:
(thinking)
Well now, let's see if I can recollect, it was sometime about the end of March. A Tuesday morning, I believe, because my wife was
washing clothes outside and she mostly does the washing on Tuesdays.
M
R.
R
OOT:
Could you describe what you and your son saw?
M
R.
P
HELPS:
Well now, Judge …
(looks at judge)
I don't want to frighten all them women and children setting out there. It weren't a pretty sight that I saw.
J
UDGE
N
OBLE:
The courtroom will bear that in mind. Continue.
M
R.
P
HELPS:
Well, the body was lying facedown in the snow. The tomahawk was stuck there in its head.
Jest like, you know—well, I'm real sorry for describing this, but, well, it had cleaved off part of the scalp, and from what we could see, it tore out a narrow piece of the poor man's skull. Me and my son nearly keeled over sick at the sight.
M
R.
R
OOT:
Did you know who the murderer was?
M
R.
P
HELPS:
Yessir, I did, right away.
M
R.
R
OOT:
How did you know?
M
R.
P
HELPS:
The tomahawk. Once I saw that tomahawk, I knowed.
M
R.
R
OOT:
And who did that tomahawk belong to?
M
R.
P
HELPS:
(points at John Amik)
That Indian right there. He always wore it stuck in a red sash around his waist. I seen it a hundred times if I seen it once.
M
R.
R
OOT:
Did you see anything else?
M
R.
P
HELPS:
Well, we seen tracks in the snow all around the body. Lotsa tracks, like it weren't just one Indian who had set upon him with the tomahawk.
M
R.
R
OOT:
Who did the tracks belong to? Do you know?
M
R.
P
HELPS:
Yessir. It weren't no trick to figure out whose tracks they was. There was three sets—two full-grown and one young. Since we knowed the tomahawk belonged to him
(points at John Amik)
and we knowed he always traveled with two other Indians, then we knowed exactly whose tracks they was. Weren't no trick to figure out he was the one who kilt the trapper.
M
R.
R
OOT:
(to the judge)
No more questions.
J
UDGE
N
OBLE:
Mr. Kelley, any questions?
M
R.
K
ELLEY:
(stands up)
Just two. How deep was the snow?
M
R.
P
HELPS:
(confused)
Snow?
M
R.
K
ELLEY:
You said there was snow. How deep was it?
M
R.
P
HELPS:
Well now, I don't recollect things like that. It was more'n three months ago. It was winter, we always have snow. Maybe it was six or eight inches
deep. Maybe ten. Don't see what the snow has got to do with nothing.
M
R.
K
ELLEY:
You said you saw tracks in the snow. Could you describe them for us, Mr. Phelps?
M
R.
P
HELPS:
Well now, I think most folks 'round here has seen moccasin tracks before, ain't they? Just picture a bunch of Indian tracks made in the snow.
M
R.
K
ELLEY:
But I'm not sure I know what moccasin prints look like. Could you describe exactly what you saw?
M
R.
P
HELPS:
(mockingly)
You daft or what? It's just a soft print, like a foot, only without toes—like a skinny footprint without toes.
(grinning)
Anything else 'bout Indians you want to know, Mr. Lawyer?
M
R.
K
ELLEY:
Just one more thing. Were you wearing boots that morning when you found the trapper? Do you recall?
M
R.
P
HELPS:
Well, we warn't tiptoeing around barefoot, I can tell you that.
M
R.
K
ELLEY:
So … if you were wearing boots, why were the Indians wearing moccasins in the snow?
M
R.
P
HELPS:
What?
M
R.
K
ELLEY:
I was just wondering why you saw moccasin prints, Mr. Phelps. Don't you think the Indians would have been wearing snowshoes? Isn't that what they wear in the winter months?
M
R.
P
HELPS:
(confused)
I ain't sure … perhaps…. I think maybe they was snowshoes … yes, I reckon they was—
M
R.
K
ELLEY:
But you said you saw moccasin prints, didn't you? A skinny footprint without toes? That's what you said.
M
R.
P
HELPS:
Now that I think about it, I'm sure they was snowshoe marks.
M
R.
K
ELLEY:
(angrily)
Why don't you tell the jury the truth? Tell them that you saw
one
set of snowshoes in the snow, Mr. Phelps.
One
set of prints, not a whole band of Indians.
One
Indian.
M
R.
P
HELPS:
(yelling)
I tol’ you everything I know.
J
UDGE
N
OBLE:
(bangs gavel)
You've had your chance with this witness, Mr. Kelley. Return to your seat and leave the witness well enough alone.
M
R.
P
HELPS:
(shouting at audience)
Me and my family don't have nothing 'gainst Indians, long as they stay in their place. And no matter what that Indian lawyer says, we done told you the gospel truth.
Adapted from chapters 26, 27, and 28
Characters
R
EBECCA
C
ARVER
(settler)
M
R.
P
ETER
K
ELLEY
(defense lawyer)
R
EVEREND
D
OAN
(witness)
M
R.
A
UGUSTUS
R
OOT
(prosecuting lawyer)
J
UDGE
N
OBLE
J
OHN
A
MIK
(Chippewa Indian)
R
EBECCA:
(to audience)
After Ezra Phelps left the stand, Mr. Root called on his next witness. This witness was a worthless trapper named Mr. Granger who had been friends with the murdered man. He claimed to have found a feather near the body of his friend, and he said it was proof that John Amik had committed the crime. But I knew that he was lying. He had taken that feather from John Amik one afternoon while he was visiting our cabin. Only me and my sister Laura couldn't say a word about what we knew, for fear of our pa. It was up to Peter Kelley to prove that the evidence was
wrong. After Mr. Granger finished testifying and sat down, Peter Kelley walked to the front of the room. You could have heard the trees growing, it was so still.
M
R.
K
ELLEY:
Your Honor, I would like to call Reverend
Doan to the stand.
(Reverend Doan makes his way slowly to the front.)
M
R.
K
ELLEY:
Good afternoon, Reverend Doan. You are a man of the cloth, correct?
R
EVEREND
D
OAN:
I am.
M
R.
K
ELLEY:
I have only a few questions for you, Reverend Doan. Since you are a religious man, I was wondering whether or not you are inclined to gamble from time to time?
R
EVEREND
D
OAN:
Gamble? Certainly not.
M
R.
K
ELLEY:
Do you play cards?
R
EVEREND
D
OAN:
No, I do not.
M
R.
K
ELLEY:
But if one of your congregation were to find a deck of cards in your possession—just imagine for a moment that they did—would they be right, because of those cards they found, to accuse you of being a gambler?
R
EVEREND
D
OAN:
(indignantly)
Certainly not. I'm not a gambler, and I don't play cards!
M
R.
K
ELLEY:
But if they only believe what is right in front of their eyes—then, if they found the deck of cards in your coat, wouldn't they think you were a—
M
R.
R
OOT:
(outraged and yelling)
Stop this theatrical exhibition right this minute, Your Honor. This has
nothing whatsoever to do with the Indian's trial. Nothing whatsoever.
(stamps foot)
J
UDGE
N
OBLE:
(sternly)
Mr. Kelley, do you have any more questions for the minister which are
pertinent
to this case?
M
R.
K
ELLEY:
No, Your Honor.
J
UDGE
N
OBLE:
(to Mr. Root)
And you?
M
R.
R
OOT:
Absolutely none.
J
UDGE
N
OBLE:
The reverend is dismissed. You've made your point about the evidence, Mr. Kelley. Proceed quickly with your last witness.
M
R.
K
ELLEY:
My last witness is the Indian known as Indian John.
(John Amik walks to the front.)
J
OHN
A
MIK:
(to audience)
I am taken to the talking chair and my hand is placed on the white man's spirit book. The white man speaks loudly and holds my other hand in the air, but he does not offer any tobacco to the spirits in the book. I tell the white chief and his twelve strangers that my name is Amik. My people are Ojibbeways, and my father is Chief Ajijaak. My words are not the songs of a bird, I tell them, my words are the truth.
M
R.
K
ELLEY:
(to audience)
You have heard that the man who stands accused is called by the Indian name Amik.
(points to Indian John)
He has a wife and two children, and travels with a small band of Ojibbeways. Amik has been accused of murdering
the trapper George Gibbs in March of this year. He's been held captive since the end of April inside this cabin, cruelly chained in the loft above our heads. But, as you will hear, this Indian has never once harmed or murdered a white man. He is not guilty of breaking even the window glass of a white man's house. In his own words, he will describe for the jury what happened in the month of March, three months ago.
J
OHN
A
MIK:
Ten Claws, Se Mo, and I set our traps on the Old River of Many Fish in the third moon—the moon of crust on snow. The cold and bitter water made our six hands slow, but we worked and dreamed of the soft fur pelts that beaver and raccoon would give to us as they had many times before. In two days’ time we returned to the Old River of Many Fish to check our traps. We walked forward and back, forward and back—sweeping our hands through the cold melting water. We searched for our snares beneath the young trees— but all of our traps were gone.
M
R.
K
ELLEY:
Where do you think those traps went?
J
OHN
A
MIK:
The white trapper who sat in the talking chair, and the one who is dead, hunted where they had no right to hunt. They followed our trail, stole our pelts, and placed their own traps on the Old River of Many Fish, the river which was left to us by our ancestors many strings of lives ago. We were angry, angry as the serpents which thrash in the earth below us, but I did not raise up my
hatchet against the white men. It was Ten Claws who was too much mad, who crept out in the darkness of the night and took his tomahawk with him. It was Ten Claws who would not listen. I am a friend of Ten Claws and I am a friend of the
gichi- okomaan
and I would not raise up my hatchet against one or the other. I did not kill the white man.