The Works of Robert G. Ingersoll Volume X Part 19

Mr. Ker. As Mr. Merrick will have to answer, he simply wants to know the page.

Mr. Ingersoll. If Mr. Merrick wants to know the page he shall have the page, or anybody that wishes to answer. If counsel had simply asked me for the page, without getting up in such a solemn manner, I would have told him.

On page 1406, Mr. Moore says that he went to Dorsey and got the money, and that then Dorsey requested him to telegraph to The Dalles, and that he did not see Dorsey after he got the answer to his dispatch, I think, for two or three days. He reached Washington, he says, about the 11th.

On page 1372, he speaks of telegraphing to The Dalles by instructions from Dorsey.

Now, gentlemen, I am going to call your attention for a little while to another witness, Mr. Rerdell. And in the commencement, I need not refresh your minds with regard to the part he has played. I need not, in the first instance, tell you about his affidavit of June, 1881, nor his affidavit of July 13, 1882, nor his pencil memorandum, nor his Chico letter, nor his offer to pack the jury on behalf of the Government, nor the signals he had agreed upon, nor the reports he made from day to day, nor the affidavit of September that he made for the Government, nor of November nor of February. All these things you remember and remember perfectly. I will speak of them as I reach them, but I want you to keep in your minds who he is.

I need not call any names. Epithets would glance from his reputation like bird-shot from the turret of a monitor. The worst thing I can say about him is to call him Mr. Rerdell. All epithets become meaningless in comparison. The worst thing I can say after that would have the taint of flattery in it. You will remember when En.o.barbus was speaking to Agrippa about Caesar, he says, "Would you praise Caesar, say Caesar. Go no further." And I can say, "If you wish to abuse this witness, say Mr.

Rerdell. Go no further." That is as far as I shall go.

You will remember that Mr. Rerdell was in the employ of Stephen W.

Dorsey, and had been for several years. He does not pretend that he was ever badly used; he does not say before you that Mr. Dorsey ever did to him an unkind act, ever said an unkind word. In all the record of the years that he was with him he finds no page blotted with an unjust act, not one. He has no complaint to make. Under those circ.u.mstances he voluntarily goes to see a man by the name of Clayton, I think an ex-Senator from Arkansas, known to him at that time to be an enemy of Stephen W. Dorsey, an enemy of his employer, an enemy of his friend--his friend, whose bread this witness had eaten for years, whose roof had protected him, who had trusted and treated him like a human being. Yet he goes to this man Clayton, and he says, in substance, "I want to sell out my friend to the Government." He was not actuated exactly by patriotism, although he says he was. The promptings of virtue may have started him, but after he got started he said to himself, "I do not see that it hurts virtue to be rewarded." So he said, "I want some pay for this; I want a steamboat route reinstated; I want the Jennings claim allowed. Of course I am disinterested in what I am doing, but I might as well have something, if it is going." "What else do you want?" The disinterested patriot suggested that he would like to have a clerkship for his father-in-law. "Anything else?" If you will read his letter of July 5, 1882, which I will read to you before I get through, you will see that he says, "If I had remained with the Government I have every reason to believe I would have had a good position by this time." So he must have demanded a clerkship for himself--good, honest man. At that time he did not know, but swore it afterwards and swore it here upon the stand, that Dorsey had never done anything wrong; and yet he was willing to sell him to the Government, believing that he had never done anything wrong. So he went and saw the Postmaster-General. The Postmaster-General did not appear to take any great interest in the matter. He turned him over to the Attorney-General. He showed the Postmaster-General what he had, and read him, I believe, or showed him some memoranda. Then he went and saw the Attorney-General. The Postmaster-General did not seem to give him encouragement. Then when he went to see MacVeagh he took with him a letter-book--I do not know but more than one--but we will say a letter-book. Now, what was in that letter-book? And, gentlemen, the only way to find whether a man tells the truth is to take all the circ.u.mstances into consideration. What did he want to do? What was his object? And what were the means at his command? For instance, it is said that a man left his house with the intention of murdering another, and that he had on his table a loaded revolver, and also had on his table a small walking-stick, and he took with him the walking-stick. You would say he did not intend to commit the murder; that if he had so intended he would have taken the deadly weapon. In other words, you must believe that men, acting for the accomplishment of a certain object, use the natural means within their power.

Now, what did he have in that letter-book? He swears now that in that letter-book there was a copy of a letter from Stephen W. Dorsey to James W. Bosler; that the original letter was written by Stephen W. Dorsey.

That press-copy, of course, would show that the original letter was in the handwriting of S. W. Dorsey. What does he swear was in that letter?

He swears that Dorsey made a proposition to Bosler to go into the business; told him the profits, and told him that he had to give thirty-three and one-third per cent, to T. J. B.; that he had already paid him, I think, twenty thousand dollars, and had more to pay him.

According to the testimony of Mr. Rerdell, that was in the letter-book that he took to Mr. MacVeagh. Now, recollect that. Why did he not show it? He had forgotten it. He showed him what he had. Recollect now, that he had a tabular statement. I think the letter showed so much money to T. J. B., and the tabular statement thirty-three and one-third per cent, to T. J. B. He had that tabular statement, and that was in Dorsey's handwriting. He says he had it. Well, after that, the Attorney-General must have told him, "That is not enough; I want some more." "Well," he says, "I can let you have some more." "What more can you let us have?"

Well, then he told him about the red books; I do not know that he said they were red, but he told him about the books and that those books were in New York, and he would go over there and get them; that he was going to steal them; he says he went over to get them, and afterwards admitted, I believe that lie was stealing them.

Now, we must remember the position Rerdell was in. He had been to Clayton, to the Postmaster-General in company with Mr. Woodward, and to the Attorney-General in company with Mr. Woodward, and yet there was not enough. Well, it was all he had. What more could he do? He suddenly found himself caught in his own trap. He had furnished enough to trouble him, but not enough to convict Dorsey, and not enough to be promised immunity. Now, what had he to do? He did exactly as he did with Mr.

Woodward in September, when he made that affidavit, and when Woodward said it was not enough; he said, "Very well, I will make another," the same as he did when he made the affidavit of seventy pages in November and found it was a little weak. He made another, and he would have made them right along. He had a factory running night and day. Now, he tells you that while he was talking with MacVeagh, just towards the last of the conversation, the idea flashed into his brain that he might save Dorsey too. Don't you remember that testimony? And as quick as he thought of that, he agreed to go to New York and steal the books. The very last thing that MacVeagh said to him, according to MacVeagh's testimony, and I believe according to his own, was to be sure and get the books; that they were all important. So he went, as he claims. Now, did it occur to him that he would save Dorsey in that way? Did he think of saving Dorsey by going and getting these books? That was the last thing, and he was going to get the books to be used as evidence against Dorsey.

In a few days he says he started for New York, and the question arises, why did Rerdell go to New York at all? Why did he want to see that the books were in New York? Why did he pretend that he had any more evidence unless he had it? You see you have got to get at the philosophy of this man; you have got to find what actuated him; and although in many respects he is abnormal, unnatural, monstrous, and morally deformed, still it may be that we can find the philosophy upon which he acted. Why did he say he was going to New York? Because the Attorney-General told him--he must have told him--that the evidence he then had was not sufficient. Rerdell could not break down right there and say, "That is all I have got." That would give up the fight; that would tell him that he had endeavored to sell out his friend and n.o.body would buy the evidence; that would tell him that he had tried this and had failed; that he had simply succeeded in showing his own treachery without involving his friend. He could not stop there. You must recollect the evidence he had, and the evidence he wanted.

Let us see what he had. Mr. Bliss says, "Why did he say the books were in New York? Why did he not say they were in Washington?" That would not have given him time, gentlemen. He would have been told, "Go and get them." Then he could not have produced them. Consequently he put them in the possession of somebody else, so that if he failed to get them, then he could say that the other man destroyed them or had hid them; he could have said, "I have done my best; they did exist, but they have been destroyed, or they have been hidden, or they have been put out of the way." He wanted time, and knowing that no such books existed, he could not say, "I have them in Washington," because then he could give no excuse for their non-production. He must state it in such a way that he could reasonably fail; that is to say, that he could give a reason for his failure. He could not say, "I have them in my house," because he would have been told to go and get them. So he put them in the possession of another man, so that, failing to get them, as fail he must, he could give a reasonable excuse for the failure.

Why did he go to New York? I will tell you what my philosophy is: He found that the Government did not wish to purchase the evidence that he had. He found that, in the judgment of the expert of the Department of Justice, it was not sufficient. The next thing was to retrace his steps.

He did not want to jump off of one boat into the sea and find no other boat to rescue him. He said: "I have been too hasty; I will go to New York." Why? To find out whether Dorsey had heard of this or not. That is what he went there for. The inferior man always imagines that the superior knows what he is doing, and knows what he has done. He found that he was about to fail with the Government, and then the important question to him was: Has Dorsey found this out? Can I go back to Dorsey? Or must I go on and be cast away by him and be refused by the Government?

Now let me call another thing to your minds. I will come to it again, but it forces itself upon me at this place, and it seems to me it ought to be absolutely conclusive.

He swears that on the day after he went to MacVeagh with that letter-book, in looking it over he found the press-copy of the original letter that Dorsey wrote to Bosler on the 13th of July, 1879. says that the next day he found that copy in that copy-book. Why did he not steal the book? Conscientious scruples, gentlemen! You see he was going to New York to steal another. Why not steal one that he already had possession of? And how much better that book would have been than the other that he was going to get. This was a copy of a letter in Dorsey's handwriting, in which he admitted that he had paid twenty thousand dollars to T. J.

B., and was going to pay him some more, while that book in New York was not in Dorsey's handwriting--admitting, for the sake of the argument, that there was a book--but was in the handwriting of Donnelly or Rerdell. See? And right there he had the evidence, absolutely conclusive, in the handwriting of S. W. Dorsey himself, and he did not even keep it, he did not even steal it, but he gave it back and went to New York to steal a book that Dorsey did not write. He threw away primary evidence to get secondary evidence. He threw away that which would have convicted Dorsey beyond a doubt, which would have made him a welcome recruit to the Government. He threw that away and went to New York to get another, a line of which Dorsey never wrote; and then he would have to establish, after he got that book, that "William Smith"

stood for Thomas J. Brady; he would have to prove after they got that book that "John Smith" or "Samuel Jones" stood for Turner. Now, gentlemen, do you believe that that man, with his ideas of honor, with the kind of a conscience he has in his bosom, with the copy of a letter in Dorsey's handwriting in his possession admitting that Dorsey gave twenty thousand dollars to T. J. B., would give that up and then go to the city of New York to steal a book not in Dorsey's handwriting, and that did not prove that Dorsey had ever paid a cent to Thomas J. Brady, in which there was one charge to "William Smith," and that would have to be eked out by the testimony of Rerdell himself, when he had right there in his own grasp and clutch the press-copy of the original letter written by Dorsey himself? Do you believe it? There is not a man on that jury believes it; there is not a lawyer prosecuting this case who believes it.

What else did he have? He had a letter that he himself, as he claims, wrote to Bosler on the 22d of May, 1880, after he, Rerdell, had been summoned to appear before a committee of Congress. He had, he says, those three sheets.

What else did he have the morning after he was talking with MacVeagh? He had the tabular statement in the handwriting of Stephen W. Dorsey, and over the Brady column, "T. J. B., thirty-three and one-third per cent."

What more did that man have? He had the balance-sheets made out, as he swears, by Donnelly, of those books. Were the balance-sheets just as good as the books?

Now, just think what he had, according to his own testimony: A copy of the original letter, written by Dorsey to Bosler, in which he admitted his guilt; a copy of the tabular statement, written by Dorsey, in which he put down thirty-three and one-third per cent, to T. J. B. What more?

Copy of the letter that he had written to Bosler on the 22d of May, 1880. He had all that, and he must have had this memorandum, though I will show you that he had not, and I think I will show you when he made it. And yet he was going to New York to get some more evidence. He was going to steal another book in New York that would simply create a suspicion, while he gave up a book that was absolute certainty. That is the theory. But they say, "Oh, he did not do that quite." What did he do? He went and had that copied. He swears that he had copied that letter of May 13, 1879, that Dorsey wrote to Bosler, in which he admitted that he gave twenty thousand dollars to Brady. Now, a copy would not show in whose handwriting the press-copy was, would it? That is a very important point. Who copied it? I think he said Miss Nettie L. White copied it. We never hear of Miss Nettie L. White again, though.

These gentlemen admit that you are not to believe Mr. Rerdell on any point that is not corroborated, and when he swears that Miss Nettie L.

White copied the letter you are not bound to believe there was such a letter unless they bring Miss White or account for her absence. They did not bring her. That is an extremely important point in their case, infinitely more important than whether the red books ever existed. Did Dorsey write a letter to Bosler in which he admitted his guilt? This man says that he had complete and perfect evidence of it in his own hand; that he gave that up; that he had that copied by Miss White. And they did not bring Miss White. Certainly he had no scruples about tearing it out. He says he tore out his letter to Bosler of the 22d of May, 1880.

He had no scruples about that. He did not refuse to keep the book because it touched his honor, because in a day or two he was going to steal another not half as good as that one, not one-tenth part as good.

Just think. He gave up evidence that was absolute and complete, and went to steal evidence that was secondary and of the poorest character. You do not believe it. He would have kept that book if he had kept any. If he was going to steal any evidence, and had the best, he would have kept it. The trouble was that there was no such letter in that book. There was his letter of May 22, 1880; no doubt about that; and that man tore it out, and then he made up one in his own mind, and had it of that date; that is all.

So he went to New York, and he swears that he went right up to the Albemarle Hotel; that it was early in the morning; that Dorsey was not then up; and that he had a conversation with Dorsey, in which Dorsey charged him with having had something to do with the Government, with having gone over to the Government. Dorsey had heard that there was something going on about that time, and I suppose he asked Mr. Rerdell about it. Rerdell denied it; said there was no truth in it; that nothing of the kind, character, or sort had ever happened.

Now let us just see whether I can demonstrate to you that Rerdell, in the conversation he had with Dorsey at the Albemarle Hotel, denied that he had gone over to the Government, or that he had done anything that was not perfectly honest, straightforward, and upright. I refer to it now, although I may come to it again.

And, gentlemen, I am sorry for you; I pity every one of you, that you have to hear all that has to be said in this case. But you must put yourselves, for the moment, in our places. You must remember that these defendants have borne this agony, have been roofed and surrounded with disorder for two years. You must remember that the agents of the Government have pursued them, they have watched over them and spied them night and day. You must remember that they have been slandered for years in the public press, although the tone of the public press is now changing, and changing in such a marked degree that one of the attorneys here for the prosecution claimed that we had bought up the correspondents. When you take into consideration what my clients have suffered, the position they are now in, fighting this great and powerful Government, I know you will excuse us for inflicting upon you every thought and every argument that we think may be for our defence.

I am doing for my clients what I would do for you, or any of you, if you were defendants, and I am doing for them what I would want them to do for me were I a defendant and they my counsel.

Now I am going to demonstrate this. When Mr. Rerdell got to Jersey City he telegraphed back, according to the evidence of Mr. Dorsey:

Up to this moment I have been faithful to every trust.

I believe Rerdell swears that he did not send that. He had a memorandum-book which he took out of his pocket. I think a leaf was torn from it, and he ran his pencil through this line on the page on which he had taken a copy of this dispatch, "Up to this moment I have been faithful to every trust," and says he did not send it. Why did he put his pencil through that? Because that line would not agree with the testimony he had given upon the stand. "Up to this moment I have been faithful to every trust" was in that dispatch. I want to ask you if you believe that Rerdell could have sent that dispatch to a man to whom he had admitted that very morning that he had gone over to the Government?

Do you believe it? How perfectly natural it would have been for him to send a dispatch from Jersey City that harmonized and accorded with his denial of that morning.

Just look at that [handing the paper to the foreman of the jury.]

Just read it. I want the jury to look at it. He rubbed it out of his memorandum-book. When? At the time? No, sir; when he found that he wanted something to harmonize with his evidence here. Even he had not the brazen effrontery to swear that he had told Dorsey that very morning that he (Rerdell) had gone over to the Government, and then that very afternoon to telegraph him--Up to this moment I have been faithful to every trust.

Why, in comparison with that cheek bra.s.s is a liquid. What is the next sentence?

The affidavit story is a lie.

Why did he leave that in? Because technically that was true. He had not then made an affidavit, and there is nothing so pleases a man who has made up his mind to tell a lie as to have mixed with the mortar of that lie one hair of truth. It is delightful to smell the perfume of a fact in the h.e.l.l-broth of his perjury. Just look at that. These two things show that he had not admitted to Dorsey that he had told the Government anything against Dorsey. He wanted Dorsey to understand that he, Rerdell, had not communicated with the Government. Now, if you admit his evidence to be true, at the time he sent that dispatch he had the stolen book under his arm, and you, gentlemen of the jury, are asked to believe a man who would do that thing. I would not. I would not convict the meanest, lowest wretch that ever crawled between heaven and earth upon such testimony. Never. Neither can you do it. A verdict must rest upon a fact. The fact must rest upon the testimony of a witness. That witness must be, or seem to be, an honest man. And unless a verdict is based upon the bed-rock of honesty, it is infinitely rotten, and the jury that will give a verdict not based upon honesty is corrupt.

Mr Crane (foreman of the jury.) I notice that this dispatch seems to have been written with different pencils at different times.

Mr Ingersoll--Up to this moment I have been faithful to every trust--Is written very dimly.

The affidavit story is a lie, but confidence between us is gone--Is in still a different hand.

I resign my position and will turn everything over to any one you designate--Is still another hand. Three hands, three pencils, in the one memorandum. These papers have been manufactured, and when the Government said, "This is not enough," another paragraph has been added.

How hard it is to perpetrate a piece of rascality and do it well. There are an infinite number of things in this universe, and everything that is in it is related to everything else; and when you get a falsehood in it that does not belong to the family, it has not the family likeness; and when anybody sees it who is acquainted with the family, he says, "That is an adopted young one."

Mr. Rerdell now says, I believe, that he did not send that line, "Up to this moment," &c. Dorsey swears that he did. Rerdell then produces this book and this paper which I have shown to you.

Now, let us follow Mr. Rerdell from the Albemarle Hotel.

I will show that he crosses himself on almost every fact that he endeavors to swear to. He swears that he went to Dorsey's; that from Dorsey's he went immediately to Tor-rey's office; that he then went and got lunch and then went to Jersey City. He also swears that he got his breakfast before he went to Dorsey's. In the next examination he swears that he got his breakfast after he went to Dorsey's, and after he got the book he went to Jersey City, first walking up and down Broadway for about an hour. He had forgotten about the lunch. There is nothing in it but a ma.s.s of contradiction. He swears that he went down to Torrey's office. Why did he not make it earlier, as soon as he got off the boat?

Because he did not have any key to the office. It would not do to swear that he broke into the office and that n.o.body ever heard of it, and so he had to put the time after the office would naturally be open. Well, now we have got him as far as the office. He swears that he went in there and saw Mr. Torrey. After chatting a little with Torrey, and telling him the object of his visit, Torrey took him into the next room and took these books from a shelf or desk, or something of that kind, and handed them both to him, and he looked them over at his leisure, while Mr. Torrey went back to his business. He finally took the journal and left the ledger. Why did he leave the ledger? I will tell you after a while. Every lie, as well as every truth, has its philosophy. He took the journal and came along out with it under his arm, not wrapped up, not concealed. Then he had another chat with Torrey about the weather or something, and then he went on. Why did he swear that he had a conversation with Torrey in that office? I will tell you. When he was giving that testimony, Torrey was in mid-ocean, between New York and Liverpool. I guess Mr. Rerdell had heard that the man was away. He thought he would be absolutely and perfectly safe, and so he said he had a conversation with Torrey. The moment he repeated that conversation with Torrey, I said, "Where is Torrey?" We telegraphed to New York and we found that Torrey had left for the old country. We sent a cablegram to Queenstown and we intercepted him. I think he staid a day in the old country, and took the next ship and came back, arriving here in time to swear that Rerdell never visited that office, that he never had that conversation with him, and that he never got that book from that office; more than that, that that book never was in that office. Who are you going to believe, Torrey or Rerdell?

Another man was there on that very day, Mr. Mullins. He never had any recollection of seeing Rerdell until he saw him here. All the books were kept in the safe except the books that Torrey had in his desk. No such books were in the safe and no such books were in Torrey's desk.

Gentlemen, no such books existed, and I will demonstrate it to you before I get through. No doubt the man had some little expense-books of his own. He has widened them, he has lengthened them, he has thickened them, he has colored them. He has refreshed other people. When the Government tells a man, "You have got an office, haven't you?" "Yes."

"Well, we want you to remember this." Then he is refreshed on the subject. The words the Government speaks are rain and dew and sunlight upon the dry gra.s.s of his memory and it springs up green. He says he has been refreshed. Before I get through I will show you that these things were proved only by gentlemen who had been refreshed.

Now, why did Rerdell say he took the journal and left the ledger? I will tell you. There is more in the shirt theory than you would think. He had a shirt in a paper, folded up just once over the bosom. Unexpectedly lie met Mr. James on the train. He was very much surprised to meet him, because James swears he was very much surprised to meet Rerdell. James knew that he had gone over to New York to get those books, and he asked him, "Did you get the books?" Rerdell had that beggarly little package.

He could not call that "books," because it was not large enough, and so he had to say he had a book. That was the reason he said journal and not ledger. He had too small a package for "books," and consequently he told James he had the "book," and he is sticking to it; only one book.

Another reason: He said to James, and it was very smart of him, "I don't want to show you what I have got in this package, because there is a fellow looking," and so the shirt, in unconscious innocence, reposed unseen. Who was the fellow who was looking? Chase Andrews. You recollect him. He came into the depot at Jersey City at the time Rerdell was writing this virtuous dispatch, this certificate of his honor and of his faithfulness. He shook hands with Rerdell. Rerdell said he had a carpet-sack, but it was not big enough to get one of these books in. He wanted the jury to think it was a pretty big book. He hated to lose a chance of adding to the size of the book, and so he swore that it was too big to put in the carpet-sack. If he had only had sense enough to put it in the carpet-sack, and let it alone, we never could have proven anything about it by Chase Andrews. Andrews would not have sworn that he looked through the carpet-sack. But Rerdell in his anxiety to have that book a big book said he could not get it into the carpet-sack, and consequently must have held it in his hand. Chase Andrews saw him in the depot at Jersey City, and rode in the next seat in the Pullman car from Jersey City to Washington, and Rerdell had no book. Who will you believe, Chase Andrews or Mr. Rerdell?