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I have not been willing to suppress the utterance of its spontaneous sentiments. I cannot, even now, persuade myself to relinquish it, without expressing, once more, my deep conviction, that, since it respects nothing less than the union of the States, it is of most vital and essential importance to the public happiness. I profess, sir, in my career, hitherto, to have kept steadily in view the prosperity and honor of the whole country, and the preservation of our federal Union. It is to that Union we owe our safety at home, and our consideration and dignity abroad. It is to that Union that we are chiefly indebted for whatever makes us most proud of our country. That Union we reached only by the discipline of our virtues in the severe school of adversity. It had its origin in the necessities of disordered finance, prostrate commerce, and ruined credit. Under its benign influences, these great interests immediately awoke, as from the dead, and sprang forth with newness of life. Every year of its duration has teemed with fresh proofs of its utility and its blessings; and, although our territory has stretched out wider and wider, and our population spread farther and farther, they have not outrun its protection or its benefits. It has been to us all a copious fountain of national, social, and personal happiness. I have not allowed myself, sir, to look beyond the Union, to see what might lie hidden in the dark recess behind. I have not coolly weighed the chances of preserving liberty when the bonds that unite us together shall be broken asunder. I have not accustomed myself to hang over the precipice of disunion, to see whether, with my short

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sight, I can fathom the depth of the abyss below; nor could I regard him as a safe counsellor in the affairs of this government, whose thoughts should be mainly bent on considering, not how the Union should be best preserved, but how tolerable might be the condition of the people when it shall be broken up and destroyed. While the Union lasts, we have high, exciting, gratifying prospects spread out before us, for us and our children. Beyond that I seek not to penetrate the veil. God grant that, in my day, at least, that curtain may not rise. God grant, that on my vision never may be opened what lies behind. When my eyes shall be turned to behold, for the last time, the sun in heaven, may I not see him shining on the broken and dishonored fragments of a once glorious Union; on States dissevered, discordant, belligerent; on a land rent with civil feuds, or drenched, it may be, in fraternal blood! Let their last feeble and lingering glance, rather behold the gorgeous ensign of the republic, now known and honored throughout the earth, still full high advanced, its arms and trophies streaming in their original lustre, not a stripe erased or polluted, nor a single star obscured-bearing for its motto, no such miserable interrogatory, as What is all this worth? Nor those other words of delusion and folly, Liberty first, and Union afterwards-but every where, spread all over in characters of living light, blazing on all its ample folds, as they float over the sea and over the land, and in every wind under the whole heavens, that other sentiment, dear to every true American heart-Liberty and Union, | now and for ever, one and inseparable!

ARGUMENT IN KNAPP'S TRIAL.

The following argument was delivered by Mr. Webster, on the trial of John F. Knapp, for the murder of Joseph White, of Salem, in the county of Essex, Massachusetts; on the night of the sixth of April, 1830. *

which I am now attempting to perform. Hardly more than once or twice, has it happened to me to be concerned, on the side of the government, in any criminal prosecution whatever; and never, until the present occasion, in any case affecting life.

But I very much regret it should have been I AM little accustomed, gentlemen, to the part thought necessary to suggest to you, that I am

* Mr. White, a highly respectable and wealthy citizen of Salem, about eighty years of age, was found on the morning of the 7th of April, 1830, in his bed murdered, under such circumstances as to create a strong sensation in that town, and throughout the community.

Richard Crowninshield, George Crowninshield, Joseph J. Knapp, and John F. Knapp, were a few weeks after arrested on a charge of having perpetrated the murder, and committed for trial. Joseph J. Knapp, soon after, under the promise of favor from government, made a full confession of the crime, and the circumstances attending it. In a few days after this disclosure was made, Richard Crowninshield, who was supposed to have been the principal assassin, committed suicide.

the Legislature, for the trial of the prisoners at Salem, in July. At that time, John F. Knapp was indicted as principal in the murder, and George Crowninshield, and Joseph J. Knapp as accessories.

On account of the death of Chief Justice Parker, which occurred on the 26th of July, the Court adjourned to Tues. day, the 3d day of August, when it proceeded in the trial of John F. Knapp. Joseph J. Knapp, being called upon, refused to testify, and the pledge of the government was withdrawn.

At the request of the prosecuting officers of the government, Mr. Webster appeared as counsel and assisted in the

trial.

Mr. Dexter addressed the jury on behalf of the prisoner,

A special session of the Supreme Court was ordered by and was succeeded by Mr. Webster.

brought here to "hurry you against the law, and beyond the evidence." I hope I have too much regard for justice, and too much respect for my own character, to attempt either; and were I to make such attempt, I am sure, that in this court, nothing can be carried against the law, and that gentlemen, intelligent and just as you are, are not, by any power, to be hurried beyond the evidence. Though I could well have wished to shun this occasion, I have not felt at liberty to withhold my professional assistance, when it is supposed that I might be in some degree useful, in investigating and discovering the truth, respecting this most extraordinary murder. It has seemed to be a duty, incumbent on me, as on every other citizen, to do my best, and my utmost, to bring to light the perpetrators of this crime. Against the prisoner at the bar, as an individual, I cannot have the slightest prejudice. I would not do him the smallest injury or injustice. But I do not affect to be indifferent to the discovery, and the punishment of this deep guilt. I cheerfully share in the opprobrium, how much soever it may be, which is cast on those who feel and manifest an anxious concern that all who had a part in planning, or a hand in executing this deed of midnight assassination, may be brought to answer for their enormous crime, at the bar of public justice. Gentlemen, it is a most extraordinary case. In some respects, it has hardly a precedent any where; certainly none in our New England history. This bloody drama exhibited no suddenly excited ungovernable rage. The actors in it were not surprised by any lionlike temptation springing upon their virtue, and overcoming it, before resistance could begin. Nor did they do the deed to glut savage vengeance, or satiate long settled and deadly hate. It was a cool, calculating, money-making murder. It was all "hire and salary, not revenge." It was the weighing of money against life; the counting out of so many pieces of silver, against so many ounces of blood.

An aged man, without an enemy in the world, in his own house, and in his own bed, is made the victim of a butcherly murder, for mere pay. Truly, here is a new lesson for painters and poets. Whoever shall hereafter draw the portrait of murder, if he will show it as it has been exhibited in an example, where such example was last to have been looked for, in the very bosom of our New England society, let him not give it the grim visage of Moloch, the brow knitted by revenge, the face black with settled hate, and the blood-shot eye emitting livid fires of malice. Let him draw, rather, a decorous, smoothfaced, bloodless demon; a picture in repose, rather than in action; not so much an example of human nature, in its depravity, and in its paroxysms of crime, as an infernal nature, a fiend, in the ordinary display and development of his character.

The deed was executed with a degree of selfpossession and steadiness, equal to the wickedness with which it was planned. The circum

stances, now clearly in evidence, spread out the whole scene before us. Deep sleep had fallen on the destined victim, and on all beneath his roof. A healthful old man, to whom sleep was sweet, the first sound slumbers of the night held him in their soft but strong embrace. The assassin enters, through the window already prepared, into an unoccupied apartment. With noiseless foot he paces the lonely hall, half lighted by the moon; he winds up the ascent of the stairs, and reaches the door of the chamber. Of this, he moves the lock, by soft and continued pressure, till it turns on its hinges without noise; and he enters, and beholds his victim before him. The room was uncommonly open to the admission of light. The face of the innocent sleeper was turned from the murderer, and the beams of the moon, resting on the gray locks of his aged temple, showed him where to strike. The fatal blow is given! and the victim passes, without a struggle or a motion, from the repose of sleep to the repose of death! It is the assassin's purpose to make sure work; and he yet plies the dagger, though it was obvious that life had been destroyed by the blow of the bludgeon. He even raises the aged arm, that he may not fail in his aim at the heart, and replaces it again over the wounds of the poniard! To finish the picture, he explores the wrist for the pulse! He feels for it, and ascertains that it beats no longer! It is accomplished. The deed is done. He retreats, retraces his steps to the window, passes out through it as he came in, and escapes. He has done the murder-no eye has seen him, no ear has heard him. The secret is his own, and it is safe!

Ah! gentlemen, that was a dreadful mistake." Such a secret can be safe nowhere. The whole creation of God has neither nook nor corner, where the guilty can bestow it, and say it is safe. Not to speak of that eye which glances through all disguises, and beholds every thing, as in the splendor of noon,-such secrets of guilt are never safe from detection, even by men. True it is, generally speaking, that "murder will out." True it is, that Providence hath so ordained, and doth so govern things, that those who break the great law of heaven, by shedding man's blood, seldom succeed in avoiding discovery. Especially, in a case exciting so much attention as this, discovery must come, and will come, sooner or later. A thousand eyes turn at once to explore every man, every thing, every circumstance, connected with the time and place; a thousand ears catch every whisper; a thousand excited minds intensely dwell on the scene, shedding all their light, and ready to kindle the slightest circumstance into a blaze of discovery. Meantime, the guilty soul cannot keep its own secret. It is false to itself; or rather it feels an irresistible impulse of conscience to be true to itself. It labors under its guilty possession, and knows not what to do with it. The human heart was not made for the residence of such an inhabitant. It finds itself preyed on by a torment, which it dares

not acknowledge to God nor man. A vulture is devouring it, and it can ask no sympathy or assistance, either from heaven or earth. The secret which the murderer possesses soon comes to possess him; and, like the evil spirits of which we read, it overcomes him, and leads him whithersoever it will. He feels it beating at his heart, rising to his throat, and demanding disclosure. He thinks the whole world sees it in his face, reads it in his eyes, and almost hears its workings in the very silence of his thoughts. It has become his master. It betrays his discretion, it breaks down his courage, it conquers his prudence. When suspicions, from without, begin to embarrass him, and the net of circumstance to entangle him, the fatal secret struggles with still greater violence to burst forth. It must be confessed, it will be confessed, there is no refuge from confession but suicide, and suicide is confession.

lose ourselves in wonder at its origin, or in gazing on its cool and skilful execution. We are to detect and to punish it; and, while we proceed with caution against the prisoner, and are to be sure that we do not visit on his head the offences of others, we are yet to consider that we are dealing with a case of most atrocious crime, which has not the slightest circumstance about it to soften its enormity. It is murder, deliberate, concerted, malicious murder.

Although the interest in this case may have diminished by the repeated investigation of the facts, still, the additional labor which it imposes upon all concerned is not to be regretted, if it should result in removing all doubts of the guilt of the prisoner.

distinct bearing on the trial, cannot be passed over without some notice.

The learned counsel for the prisoner has said truly that it is your individual duty to judge the prisoner,-that it is your individual duty to determine his guilt or innocence-and that you Much has been said, on this occasion, of the are to weigh the testimony with candor and excitement which has existed, and still exists, fairness. But much at the same time has been and of the extraordinary measures taken to dis-said, which, although it would seem to have no cover and punish the guilty. No doubt there has been, and is, much excitement, and strange indeed were it, had it been otherwise. Should not all the peaceable and well disposed naturally feel concerned, and naturally exert themselves to bring to punishment the authors of this secret assassination? Was it a thing to be slept upon or forgotten? Did you, gentlemen, sleep quite as quietly in your beds after this murder as before? Was it not a case for rewards, for meetings, for committees, for the united efforts of all the good, to find out a band of murderous conspirators, of midnight ruffians, and to bring them to the bar of justice and law? If this be excitement, is it an unnatural, or an improper excitement?

It seems to me, gentlemen, that there are appearances of another feeling, of a very different nature and character, not very extensive I would hope, but still there is too much evidence of its existence. Such is human nature, that some persons lose their abhorrence of crime, in their admiration of its magnificent exhibitions. Ordinary vice is reprobated by them, but extraordinary guilt, exquisite wickedness, the high flights and poetry of crime, seize on the imagination, and lead them to forget the depths of the guilt, in admiration of the excellence of the performance, or the unequalled atrocity of the purpose. There are those in our day, who have made great use of this infirmity of our nature; and by means of it done infinite injury to the cause of good morals. They have affected not only the taste, but I fear also the principles, of the young, the heedless, and the imaginative, by the exhibition of interesting and beautiful monsters. They render depravity attractive, sometimes by the polish of its manners, and sometimes by its very extravagance; and study to show off crime under all the advantages of cleverness and dexterity. Gentlemen, this is an extraordinary murder-but it is still a murder. We are not to VOL. II.-26

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A tone of complaint so peculiar has been indulged, as would almost lead us to doubt whether the prisoner at the bar or the managers of this prosecution are now on trial. Great pains have been taken to complain of the manner of the prosecution. We hear of getting up a case;of setting in motion trains of machinery ;-of foul testimony;—of combinations to overwhelm the prisoner;-of private prosecutors ;-that the prisoner is hunted, persecuted, driven to his trial;-that every body is against him;-and various other complaints, as if those who would bring to punishment the authors of this murder were almost as bad as they who committed it.

In the course of my whole life, I have never heard before so much said about the particular counsel who happen to be employed; as if it were extraordinary that other counsel than the usual officers of the government should be assisting in the conducting of a case on the part of the government, In one of the last capital trials in this county, that of Jackman for "the Goodridge robbery" (so called), I remember that the learned head of the Suffolk bar, Mr. Prescott, came down in aid of the officers of the government. This was regarded as neither strange nor improper. The counsel for the prisoner in that case contented themselves with answering his arguments, as far as they were able, instead of carping at his presence.

Complaint is made that rewards were offered in this case, and temptations held out to obtain testimony. Are not rewards always offered when great and secret offences are committed? Rewards were offered in the case to which I have alluded, and every other means taken to discover the offenders, that ingenuity or the most persevering vigilance could suggest. The learned counsel have suffered their zeal to lead them into a strain of complaint at the manner in which the perpetrators of this crime were

detected, almost indicating that they regard it as a positive injury to them to have found out their guilt. Since no man witnessed it, since they do not now confess it, attempts to discover it are half esteemed as officious intermeddling and impertinent inquiry.

them. They could not, therefore, have determined what course they should pursue. They intended to arraign all as principals, who should appear to have been principals; and all as accessories, who should appear to have been aocessories. All this could be known only when the evidence should be produced.

But the learned counsel for the defendant take a somewhat loftier flight still. They are

self, than even for their client. Your decision, in this case, they say, will stand as a precedent Gentlemen, we hope it will. We hope it will be a precedent, both of candor and intelligence, of fairness and of firmness; a precedent of good sense and honest purpose, pursuing their inves tigation discreetly, rejecting loose generalities, exploring all the circumstances, weighing each, n search of truth, and embracing and declaring the truth, when found.

It is said that here even a committee of vigilance was appointed. This is a subject of reiterated remark. This committee are pointed at, as though they had been officiously intermed-more concerned, they assure us, for the law itdling with the administration of justice. They are said to have been "laboring for months against the prisoner. Gentlemen, what must we do in such a case? Are people to be dumb and still, through fear of overdoing? Is it come to this, that an effort cannot be made, a hand cannot be lifted to discover the guilty, without its being said there is a combination to over whelm innocence? Has the community lost all moral sense? Certainly a community that would not be roused to action upon an occasion such as this was, a community which should not deny sleep to their eyes, and slumber to their eyelids, till they had exhausted all the means of discovery and detection, must indeed be lost to all moral sense, and would scarcely deserve protection from the laws. The learned counsel have endeavored to persuade you that there exists a prejudice against the persons accused of this murder. They would have you understand that it is not confined to this vicinity alone; but that even the legislature have caught this spirit. That through the procurement of the gentleman here styled private prosecutor, who is a member of the Senate, a special session of this court was appointed for the trial of these offenders. That the ordinary movements of the wheels of justice were too slow for the purposes devised. But does not every body see and know that it was matter of absolute necessity to have a special session of the court? When or how could the prisoners have been tried without a special session? In the ordinary arrangement of the courts, but one week in a year is allotted for the whole court to sit in this county. In the trial of all capital offences, a majority of the court at least are required to be present. In the trial of the present case alone, three weeks have already been taken up. Without such special session, then, three years would not have been sufficient for the purpose. It is answer sufficient to all complaints on this subject, to say that the law was drawn by the late chief justice himself, to enable the court to accomplish its duties, and to afford the persons accused an opportunity for trial without delay.

Again, it is said, that it was not thought of making Francis Knapp, the prisoner at the bar, 8 PRINCIPAL till after the death of Richard Crowinshield, jun.; that the present indictment is an afterthought-that "testimony was got up" for the occasion. It is not so. There is no authority for this suggestion. The case of the Knapps had not then been before the grand jury. The officers of the government did not know what the testimony would be against

It is said, that "laws are made, not for the punishment of the guilty, but for the protection of the innocent." This is not quite accurate perhaps, but if so, we hope they will be so administered as to give that protection. But who are the innocent, whom the law would protect? Gentlemen, Joseph White was innocent. They are innocent who having lived in the fear of God, through the day, wish to sleep in his peace through the night, in their own beds. The law is established, that those who live quietly may sleep quietly; that they who do no harm, may feel none. The gentleman can think of none that are innocent, except the prisoner at the bar, not yet convicted. Is a proved conspirator to murder, innocent? Are the Crowninshields and the Knapps, innocent? What is innocence? How deep stained with blood,-how reckless in crime,-how deep in depravity, may it be, and yet remain innocence? The law is made, if we should speak with entire accuracy, to protect the innocent, by punishing the guilty. But there are those innocent, out of court as well as in ;-innocent citizens not suspected of crime, as well as innocent prisoners at the bar.

The criminal law is not founded in a principle of vengeance. It does not punish that it may inflict suffering. The humanity of the law feels and regrets every pain it causes, every hour of restraint it imposes, and more deeply still, every life it forfeits. But it uses evil, as the means of preventing greater evil. It seeks to deter from crime, by the example of punishment. This is its true, and only true main object. It restrains the liberty of the few offenders, that the many who do not offend, may enjoy their own liberty. It forfeits the life of the murderer, that other murders may not be committed. The law might open the jails, and at once set free all persons accused of offences, and it ought to do so, if it could be made certain that no other offences would hereafter be committed. Because it punishes, not to satisfy any desire to inflict pain, but simply to prevent the repetition of crimes. When the guilty, therefore, are not punished, the law has, so far failed of its purpose; the

safety of the innocent is, so far, endangered. | an aider and abettor to some person unknown. Every unpunished murder takes away some- If you believe him guilty on either of these thing from the security of every man's life. counts, or in either of these ways, you must And whenever a jury, through whimsical and convict him. ill-founded scruples, suffer the guilty to escape, they make themselves answerable for the aug-mark, that there are two extraordinary circummented danger of the innocent.

It may be proper to say, as a preliminary re

stances attending this trial. One is, that Richard Crowninshield, jr., the supposed immediate perpetrator of the murder, since his arrest, has committed suicide. He has gone to answer before a tribunal of perfect infallibility. The other is, that Joseph Knapp, the supposed origin and planner of the murder, having once made a full disclosure of the facts, under a promise of indemnity, is, nevertheless, not now a witness. Notwithstanding his disclosure, and his promise of indemnity, he now refuses to testify. He chooses to return to his original state, and now stands answerable himself, when the time shall come for his trial. These circumstances it is fit you should remember, in your investigation of the case.

We wish nothing to be strained against this defendant. Why then all this alarm? Why all this complaint against the manner in which the crime is discovered? The prisoner's counsel catch at supposed flaws of evidence, or bad character of witnesses, without meeting the case. Do they mean to deny the conspiracy? Do they mean to deny that the two Crowninshields and the two Knapps were conspirators? Why do they rail against Palmer, while they do not disprove, and hardly dispute the truth of any one fact sworn to by him? Instead of this, it is made matter of sentimentality, that Palmer has been prevailed upon to betray his bosom companions, and to violate the sanctity of friendship: again, I ask, why do they not meet the Your decision may affect more than the life case? If the fact is out, why not meet it? Do of this defendant. If he be not convicted as they mean to deny that Capt. White is dead? | principal, no one can be. Nor can any one be One should have almost supposed even that, convicted of a participation in the crime as acfrom some remarks that have been made. Do cessory. The Knapps and George Crowninthey mean to deny the conspiracy? Or, admit-shield will be again on the community. This ting a conspiracy, do they mean to deny only, shows the importance of the duty you have to that Frank Knapp, the prisoner at the bar, was perform-and to remind you of the degree of abetting in the murder, being present, and so care and wisdom necessary to be exercised in deny that he was a principal? If a conspiracy its performance. But certainly these consideris proved, it bears closely upon every subsequent ations do not render the prisoner's guilt any subject of inquiry. Why don't they come to clearer, nor enhance the weight of the evidence the fact? Here the defence is wholly indistinct. against him. No one desires you to regard conThe counsel neither take the ground nor aban- sequences in that light. No one wishes any don it. They neither fly, nor light. They thing to be strained, or too far pressed against hover. But they must come to a closer mode the prisoner. Still it is fit you should see the of contest. They must meet the facts, and full importance of the duty devolved upon you. either deny or admit them. Had the prisoner And now, gentlemen, in examining this eviat the bar, then, a knowledge of this conspiracy dence, let us begin at the beginning, and see or not? This is the question. Instead of lay-first what we know independent of the disputed ing out their strength in complaining of the testimony. This is a case of circumstantial evimanner in which the deed is discovered,-of dence. And these circumstances, we think, are the extraordinary pains taken to bring the pris- full and satisfactory. The case mainly depends oner's guilt to light; would it not be better to upon them, and it is common, that offences of show there was no guilt? Would it not be bet- this kind, must be proved in this way. Midter to show his innocence? They say, and they night assassins take no witnesses. The evidence complain, that the community feel a great de- of the facts relied on has been, somewhat sneersire that he should be punished for his crimes; ingly, denominated by the learned counsel, "cir-would it not be better to convince you that cumstantial stuff," but, it is not such stuff as he has committed no crime? dreams are made of. Why does he not rend this stuff? Why does he not tear it away, with the crush of his hand? He dismisses it, a little too summarily. It shall be my business to examine this stuff, and try its cohesion.

Gentlemen, let us now come to the case. Your first inquiry, on the evidence, will be, was Capt. White murdered in pursuance of a conspiracy, and was the defendant one of this conspiracy? If so, the second inquiry is, was he so connected with the murder itself as that he is liable to be convicted as a principal? The defendant is indicted as a principal. If not guilty as such, you cannot convict him. The indictment contains three distinct classes of counts. In the first, he is charged as having done the deed, with his own hand;-in the second, as an aider and abettor to Richard Crowninshield, jr. who did the deed; in the third, as

The letter from Palmer at Belfast, is that no more than flimsy stuff?

The fabricated letters, from Knapp to the committee, and Mr. White, are they nothing but stuff?

The circumstance, that the housekeeper was away at the time the murder was committed, as it was agreed she would be, is that, too, a useless piece of the same stuff?

The facts that the key of the chamber door was taken out and secreted; that the window

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