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FANNIE CRAWFORD MCCUE
MRS.





History of the McCue Case
Full Darticulars of the Crime,
Inquest, Trial and Convic-
tion With Argument
of Counsel.
EVAN R. CHESTERMAN, News Leader,
–AND –
JOE F. GEISINGER, Times-Dispatch.
(COPYRIGHT AppleD FOR)
THE WILLIAMS PRINTING CO.,
Richmond, Virginia,
1904,


THE McCUE MUDDEQ.
Crime, even in its mildest and most common form, smacks of the
abnormal and is therefore interesting to the student of human nature.
If the offence assumes the shape of murder, however humble may be
the victim of the assassin, public attention forthwith is irresistibly
drawn towards the violation of the law, and all good citizens unite in
demanding vengeance. And when the prey of the murderer is a
woman—a representative of the weaker sex which goes through life
with a tacit plea for help and protection—the whole populace rises up
as one man and clamors for the instant punishment of the slayer. The
higher the woman’s station in life, the louder are the murmurs of rage
and the more impatient of delay or legal quibbling is the proletariat.
It is on such occasions as these that an iron hand and prompt official
action are needed to suppress the red demon of mobocracy and the
frenzied wrath of “Judge Lynch.”
The City of Charlottesville, Va., heretofore placidly boasting the
honorable title of “The Athens of the South,” has just been through
one of these unusual ordeals, which sometimes are the sequels of
hideous crimes. But a few weeks ago one of her purest and noblest
daughters—a wife and mother who for 42 years had walked in the paths
of circumspection and virtue—was stricken down in her own home by
the fell blows of an assassin and left a mutilated corpse without so
much as a chance to point an accusing finger at the man who slew her.
How well Charlottesville has borne herself since the commission
of the appalling crime and how zealously and impartially the law has
worked to punish the guilty party, it remains for this brief sketch to
say. As these lines are penned there still remains to be written
another chapter of the tragic story—a chapter which will tell of pos-
sible action on the part of the Virginia Court of Appeals or of the
death of the supposed murderer on the gallows.
It was on the night of Sept. 4, 1904,-and about 9:30 o'clock—that
the drowsy University town was horrified to hear the first vague an-
nouncement of the fact that a frightful crime had been committed at
the home of James Samuel McCue, on Park street, the most beautiful
residential portion of the town. Rumor, always incoherent and inac-
curate in her first mad babblings, distorted the story into a dozen dif.
ferent forms. One report said that McCue himself had been killed;
another that it was his wife who was the victim of the assassin. A
third report had both the husband and wife dead, while still others

4.
told of a daring burglarly, wherein the thief, in his greed for booty,
had dyed his hands deep in human gore.
When the mist of conflicting statements, at midnight began to
clear away and the echoes of the town watchmen's alarming whistles
had died down into an ominous silence, there came the definite news
that it was Mrs. McCue and not her husband who had been murdered.
The latter, said those who had hurried to the neighborhood of the
crime, was still unconscious but had a chance to recover. Few, if any,
in that hour of excitement, ventured surmises as to the identity of the
woman's slayer. The most that any one could say was that the
criminal—“a dirty looking white man”—had come suddenly upon the
couple and almost without a moment’s warning had begun his diaboli-
cal work. It was announced, too, that when assistance came to the
house Mrs. McCue's corpse, almost nude, had been found in a
procelain tub in the bath room; that it was partially immersed and
that the hot water spigot of the tub was still running. Worse still,
the body was frightfully mutilated. The woman had been struck over
the right ear, which was nearly torn off; on the left side of the nose,
and on the back of the head. In her breast, just under the left collar-
bone, was a gaping gunshot wound, partially smoked by powder. It
subsequently developed also, that there were finger marks on the
throat, which plainly indicated that Mrs. McCue, in addition to being
bludgeoned and shot, had been choked by her slayer. As if to bear
silent but horrible testimony to the crime, a bloody baseball bat ap-
peared leaning against a wall in the bath room, while the shotgun
which dealt the fatal—and probably final—wound was found in the
hall a few feet away. The water in the tub was slightly discolored
by blood and the bath-room floor was considerably bespattered by water.
But it was not until the doctors had examined the body and had in-
serted their fingers into the gunshot wound that the flow of blood was
free.
Dr. Frank McCue, a brother-in-law of the murderer's victim, first
discovered the corpse. When he went into the bath-room shortly after
the alarm had been sounded, the warmth had hardly left the body, and
it was evident that Mrs. McCue had been dead only a few minutes.
But of this more anon.
SKETCH OF THE M’CUES.
The reader, before further familiarizing himself with the details
of the crime, may well imagine the sensation caused by the first news
of the murder. Even had J. Samuel McCue and his wife been the most
obscure of couples their case would have attracted widespread atten-
tion. But both the husband and wife were far from obscure—they
were, in fact, the most prominent and prosperous people in the town.
only four days before McCue had retired from the mayoralty of the
town, and he was known on all sides to be rich, thrifty and unceasingly

5
active as a business man. He is a grandson of the late Samuel O.
Moon, of Albemarle, and son of the late James C. and Sallie J. McCue
of the same county. He was reared on a farm and engaged in assisting
his father in a large farming and cattle business. He attended private
schools at home, later entering Pantops Academy, preparatory to an
academic and law course at the University of Virginia. McCue
located at Charlottesville in 1884 and practiced law successfully for
some time. He was mayor for two successive terms—1896-1900—and
declined renomination for a third consecutive term, but in 1902 again
ran for office and was elected. McCue stepped out of the executive
chair September 1, 1904. He had had enough of the office. For a man
of his financial ability there were other and easier ways of making
money. At the time of the murder, the ex-Mayor, who was about to re-
sume the practice of his profession, was regarded as one of Charlottes-
ville's wealthiest men. He owned much city real estate and valuable
mineral lands, which, however, now are involved in litigation. His
home is beautiful indeed, and would be regarded as luxurious in any
city. And the elegance and taste shown in the furnishings, bric-a-brac,
ornaments, etc., bear mute tribute to the domestic virtues of the
murdered woman.
Mrs. Fannie M. McCue (nee Crawford) was the daughter of the
late Dr. William M. Crawford and Rachel G. McChesney Crawford.
At the time of her death she was 42 years old. She was born at Mt.
Sidney, Augusta county, Va., where her father was one of the most
prominent physicians of that county, practicing for thirty-nine years,
until his death a few years ago. Mrs. McCue came from one of the
oldest and most prominent families of Virginia. She was married
to J. Samuel McCue nineteen years ago and had made her home in
Charlottesville all her married life.
She was a most estimable Christian lady and a member of the
Presbyterian church. In society and at the Virginia summer resorts
she was exceptionally popular. She was also a prominent member of
the Daughters of the Revolution.
She left four children—three sons, William, Samuel O. and Harry
W., and one lovely little daughter, Ruby. Her surviving brothers and
sisters are: Dr. Frank W. Crawford, of Mt. Sidney, Va.; Ernest B.
Crawford, a prominent attorney-at-law, of Harrisonburg, Va.; Edgar
A. Crawford, of Covington, Va., and James A. Crawford, of Harrison-
burg, Va. Her sisters are: Mrs. Ernest L. Briggs, of Atlanta, Ga., and
Miss Roberta M. Crawford, of Waynesboro, Va.
HUSBAND SUSPECTED.
The crime which resulted in the killing of Mrs. McCue was com-
mitted shortly after she and her husband had returned from the
Presbyterian church, and although the greatest confusion as to the
details of the murder at first prevailed, the town authorities were by

6
no means slow in reaching the house. By 10 o'clock the McCue resi.
dence was filled with physicians, lawyers and policemen, as well as
with relatives and neighbors. The alarm, strange to say, had been
sounded by the husband himself, who telephoned at least two people
and spoke to them in language somewhat like the following: “A
burglar has attacked me and I think has killed my wife.”
The ladies at the central telephone office, hearing the dreadful
message on the wires, notified the police, who in turn sounded their
Whistles. A few minutes later Park street, in the neighborhood of the
McCue home, was crowded with an excited throng.
Dr. Frank McCue was the first person to reach the house. He was
greeted near the door by his brother Sam, who had a slight wound on
his cheek, and a moment later the physician saw John Perry, Samuel
McCue’s negro houseboy.
To those who entered the house of the ex-Mayor that night it did
not seem that the husband was badly hurt, though he complained loudly
of his injuries. Nothing, however, could induce him to take opiates or
medicine of any sort. The accounts he gave of the affair were con-
fused and somewhat conflicting. All he could say was that he and his
wife, while undressing, had been attacked by a “dirty looking white
man,” and that he had been knocked senseless. He did not appear to
know whether his wife was dead or not. Several windows in the house
were found open—a fact indicating burglary in connection with the
crime.
Early in the morning of the day after the crime, a coroner's jury
over which Dr. W. D. Macon presided, was sworn in to investigate the
killing. This body, which at first sat at the McCue house behind closed
doors and subsequently in the city hall, was composed, for the most
part, of men living in the immediate neighborhood of the crime.
Long before the verdict of the coroner's jury had been handed in,
however, or even before the complete details of the murder became
known, Charlottsville's people began to think seriously about the
mystery and to realize that the circumstances connected with the
crime were even stranger than they had at first supposed. And when it
was announced that the house had not been plundered, some of the
more discerning ones gravely shook their heads. Robbery, at least,
was not the motive, they said.
The suggestion that the murderer was an enemy of the Mayor, or
of his brother, Police Justice E. O. McCue, seemed equally as un-
satisfactory. Vindictive men, who have a grievance against their fel-
low citizens, do not seek revenge against the wives of those they hate,
declared the knowing ones. Nor do burglars devote their time to
slaughtering women when they have vigorous, healthy men to contend
with, added the deep-seeing “Sherlocks.”
And then, all of a sudden, a terrible thought flashed through the
minds of many in the old University town—a thought which none at
JAMES SAMUEL McCUE.




9
first dared breathe aloud. J. Samuel McCue, be it remembered, was
rich and powerful that first week in September, 1904. By and by, how-
ever, intimate friends whispered confidentially together, and in the
hours that followed, the whisperings grew into murmurs and the
murmurs in turn grew into ugly mutterings. Twenty-four hours later
the finger of suspicion was covertly—and in some cases, boldly-
pointing at the husband of the ill-fated woman.
But it was yet too early to come out into the open and boldly brand
James Samuel McCue as a murderer. And morover, we mortals here
below are so constituted that we cannot help deriving the keenest
pleasure from semi-secretive gossip. How it delights us all to convey
that peculiar sort of censored information which always ends with the
words “But for goodness' sake don’t say I told you.”
As Charlottesville folks are just like everybody else—except per-
haps, a little bit more cordial and hospitable than the general run of
humanity—they now found a million things to say against J. Samuel
McCue. It was during this tense interim that many recalled the fact
that, though married, the ex-Mayor in the months before, had shown a
most abnormal, not to say indiscreet, fondness for the Daughters of
Eve. It was in this exciting interim, too, that those who never forget
a wrong, recalled the additional fact that McCue had a fiendish temper
and in business transactions was cold, cruel and exacting to the last
cent.
CORONER'S INQUEST.
The sudden suspicion of the public, however, may best be explained
by what was now happening at the coroner's inquest and what proved
to be the sequel of that body’s investigations.
As has already been said, the coroner's jury, presided over by Dr.
W. D. Macon, began its work at the McCue house. The public at
first was excluded from the hearing—a thing, by the way, which greatly
incensed the news-hungry public—but later on, when the sessions of
the court were held in the city hall, the doors were thrown open.
M’CUE's DEPOSITION.
As the man who has been convicted of the murder of Fannie Craw-
ford McCue did not testify in his own behalf when his case came up
for trial, the following deposition of J. Samuel McCue, made at the
inquest, will prove most interesting.
After the stenographer had typewritten the depositions of the
many witnesses, each deponent was allowed the privilege of correcting
mistakes appearing in the transcript and of amplifying his language.
McCue gave several hours to this work and studied his own evi-
dence with the utmost care. He made many interlineations and also

10
copied off and prepared anew five pages of questions and answers. His
handwriting, as it now appears on the amended depositions is firm and
legible.
In the first part of the deposition, as printed below, the corrections
or interlineations are indicated by the words appearing in parentheses.
That part of the evidence entirely rewritten appears under a separate
caption.
J. Samuel McCue, being duly sworn, testified as follows:
Q-By Commonwealth Attorney: Will you just tell the jury all you
know about this occurrence? A.— Mrs. McCue and I went to the Pres-
byterian church last night; got out about 9 o'clock, I suppose; we came
on back and walked along with several people. (Engaged in conversa-
tion with Edward Antrim and sister relative to cement steps, and Mrs.
Stevens, Sr., about Dr. Rogers's residence.) We walked with Marshall
Dinwiddie part of the way, and I remember he stopped near our gate
or a little beyond it. I asked him to come in, and he said he would
have to go on; that his wife was not well, I think. We came on up;
I think I found the front door unlocked. When we went to church we
left William here, he was reading at the bureau; I asked him if he did
not want to go to church; he said that he was going to pay a call;
he said when he left he would turn the gas down. It was turned down
when we came back. I picked up a paper, reading the last council
proceedings, and I think Mrs. McCue was undressing in the meantime.
She laid her clothes on a chair. I had gone over to my chiffonier and
took my coat off, and my collar and my neglige shirt; I was standing
at my buffet and I noticed some figure moving toward me; I think I
rushed over towards the gun which stands in the corner; we keep it
there, and that is about all I remember; I think I must have been un-
conscious after that. He and I had a tussle. I am pretty positive he
was a white man, a kind of dirty white man; I think his beard was out
a little.
Q–What kind of hat and clothing did he have on? A-I could not
say; my recollection is that his clothes were rather of a dark hue.
Q–Do you know which door he came through? A-I could not
say, my back must have been to the door.
HEARD SOMETHING CLICK.
Q–You heard no sound when he came in? A-It seems to me I
heard some sound of a click like.
Q–Do you know how long after this sound before he came in?
A.—I could not say.
J._Did he have anything in his hand? A.—Possibly he did, I
could not say.
Q–There was a baseball bat found in here; was that in here when
you left for church? A.-No, sir. (I think not; I am sure it was not.)
Q —When you came to, where did you find that baseball bat?
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DIAGRAM OF SECOND FLOOR OF THE • McCUE HOUSE.
































13
(Dr. McCue first called my attention to the bat.) A.—When I came to
it was in here somewhere, I think.
Q-When you last remember what was Mrs. McCue doing? A.—
She was over here at the bureau, and was undressing at my chiffonier.
Q–Is that where the rocker was that she laid out her clothes on?
(Indicates point where the rocker was setting.) A.—The rocker was
setting over here somewhere) (indicates position of rocker.) (i. e.
between bureau and wardrobe.)
Q–Was she standing or sitting down when the man came in 2 A.—
I could not say.
Q–You don't remember when she was attacked? A.-No, I must
have been unconscious. -
HE WAS DAZED.
Q–When you came to, what did you do? A.—I looked around
and I could not see good; I was dazed; everything misty before me;
I do not know how I got downstairs; whether I walked or fell down
the steps, I don't know which, and I think I called Frank the first
thing; called him up over the 'phone.
Q.-You went down the steps? A.—Yes, sir.
Q-Then what did you do? A.—I did not see Fanny, and I phoned
to Frank, and (to the officer) afterwards I phoned for Mr. T. J. Wil-
liams and Miss Lacy (and her mother) and told them to tell them to
come down here; that some one had knocked me down and probably
killed Mrs. McCue. I did not see her anywhere. (It looked smoky in
the hall.) Then I went and called the boy John. -
(When I called for the Williamses, central said they were engaged.
I told her to cut them off–something terrible had happened.)
Q.-How did he get out? A.—My recollection is that he came
right through the hall door (but I can’t say or be positive.)
Q-You had been downstairs and 'phoned? A-Yes, sir.
Q.--When you got John what did you say? A.—I told him some-
body had nearly killed me, and I was afraid that they had killed Mrs.
McCue, as I did not see her anywhere, or something of that kind.
Q-Did you know where she was then? A.—No.
Q–Who found her? A.—My recollection is not very distinct; I
believe my brother Frank found her.
Q–You say you do not know who found Mrs. McCue? A.—My
recollection is that Dr. McCue and Mr. Grady found her.
Q-Until Dr. McCue and Captain Grady found her you did not
know where she was, did you? A.-No, sir.
Q-Whereabouts were you hit? A.—I was struck (near right
cheek bone) around in the face and probably on the back of the head;
I got the principal lick on my right cheek bone.
Q-Were any teeth knocked out? A.-No, sir, I thought last night
there were, but there are not.

14
Q-Is that the pillow you laid on (indicates pillow offered in evi-
dence) º A-Yes, sir, I came and laid down afterwards.
Q-Have you used the bath-room to wash your hands or your face
in 2 A.—No, sir, I have not been in there (until after Dr. McCue and
some one else struck a light. I can't say definitely how far I went in.)
I was over in the room that they laid her in and put my arms around
her and hugged and kissed her. (Shortly after they laid her on the
bed. They had gone out.)
THE TORN SHIRT.
Q-Is this the same shirt you had on last night (he is shown
undershirt which has been offered in evidence) º A.—Yes, sir.
Q-Was that shirt torn in the scuffle with the man? A.—Yes, sir
(it must have been); it was all right when I put it on.
Q.-Is this the blood that came from your wounds? A.—Yes, and
I put my arms around her, you know.
Q-Was there any blood on your slippers or pants? A.—I don’t
know of any.
Q.-Are those the slippers you had on? A.—No; they are in the
wardrobe.
Q.-Would you mind giving them to Mr. Rogers? A.—No, sir (the
slippers are taken from the wardrobe and handed to Mr. Rogers.)
Q.-Were your pants torn? A.—No, sir.
Q.-They are the same one that you have on now? A.—Yes, sir.
Q.-What kind of case was the gun in 2 A.—My recollection is that
I just rushed to the corner and grabbed (for it) it up. I have two or
three guns, which I keep there at the end of the wardrobe.
Q.-You don’t keep them in a case? A.—Part of the time I do, and
part of the time I don’t.
Q.-You started towards the man and he knocked you down and
took it from you? A.—Yes. (My recollection is I started for the gun.)
Q.-How far were you from him? A.—About as far as Charlie
there (indicates by pointing to an occupant of the room.)
Q.-Where was Mrs. McCue? A.—She was over at the bureau as
well as I remember.
Q-Did she start towards you during the tussle? A.—No, sir, I
could not say; it was all done so quickly, you know.
Q-Did you see him coming from that room or this one (indicates
by pointing to rooms which connect with this) 2 A.—I could not say.
I was standing at my buffet (chiffonfer).
Q-Did he knock you down before you got the gun? A-I think
he must have struck me just as I grabbed the gun.
Q–You could not tell whether it was his fist or what he hit you
with? A.—I could not say, I just got a glimpse of him.
Q–The first glimpse you got of him was in the mirror? A-I.
could not say whether I saw him in the mirror or not.
15
Q–Did you have a tussle with him before you reached the gun?
A.—I think it was afterwards; it was done so quickly that I could not
say.
Q–Do you know how many chairs ordinarily stayed in here? A:-
There were probably two rockers and there have been some chairs
brought in here since (usually several chairs.)
REWRITTEN TESTIMONY.
All of the following was rewritten by the prisoner:
Q.-What did you say to Dr. McCue when you called him over the
phone? A.—My recollection is that I told him that I had been knocked
down and nearly killed and feared that some one had killed Fanny. The
hall seemed smoky—smoke principally in upper hall, I think.
Q-What is your habit and orders as to your guns being kept
loaded? A.—I don’t remember as to this. I do remember a year or so
ago there were several attempts made to break into the house and I
jumped up hastily and undertook to load one of the guns, maybe the
pumpgun, and in attempting to do so, it struck the gas pipe near the
bureau and shut the light off.
Q.-Where do you usually keep your loaded shells? A.—Usually
kept them in or about the wardrobe, but lately had no use for shells.
Q-Did you occupy your usual seat in the Presbyterian church
with Mrs. McCue on Sunday evening? A.—Yes, I did. Mrs. McCue
first in pew, Miss Mary McCue next to her and I in the end of the pew.
Q-Did you accompany Mrs. McCue from your house to the church
on Sunday evening? A.—We started together. I turned back to
answer a call (indicated); then after finishing I walked on up Park
street and went up as far as the corner of High street, not seeing
her, I turned back home and came back and asked William if his
mother was here. He remarked that he thought she had gone to
church. Then I went on back and found her at church. She and
cousin, Mary McCue, in our accustomed seat. After church I said,
“Fanny, I thought I would overtake you, but had been back to the
house, thinking I would find you there.” She said, “I walked along
with Uncle Marshall.”
Q.-Had services started when you reached the church? A.—I
could not say; the congregation was seated when I went in.
Q.-Was there any pistol or other weapon than the guns in this
room. A.—There were two guns in the room. I had two pistols—one
at the office and one here at the house. One usually kept in my chif-
fonier. I do not remember when I saw it last. I have not had any
use for it.
Q.-On your return from Washington on Sunday afternoon did you
expect to find Mrs. McCue at home? A.—Yes, I had left her here when
I went away. She spoke of going up to Will McCue's but I told her
that she had better remain here. My idea was that it was not well for
both of us to go away at the same time.


16
Q.-When did you find out she had been away? A.—William in-
formed me at the office when I got home. I think she and some lady
were talking in the library. I kept on up stairs and took a bath. I was
full of car smoke.
Q-When you entered your house on your return from Washington
believing Mrs. McCue and visitors to he in the library, did you speak
to Mrs. McCue before going upstairs? A.—No, I came through the
dining-room into hall, kept on upstairs and went immediately to the
bath-room. I met her in our chamber upstairs while I was dressing
after the bath.
Q.-Were there any unpleasant words between you and Mrs.
McCue on Sunday? A.—Not one word. She had reprimanded William
for allowing Willie Hurley and John to use her phaeton to go to Kes-
Wick.
DR. M'CUE’S TESTIMONY.
It is not within the scope of this hurried and unpretentious sketch
to detail all that happened at the inquest. Even while the coroner was
investigating the crime other and perhaps more important things were
occurring on the outside, and excitement was at fever heat.
Among the most important witnesses examined was Dr. Frank
McCue, brother of the ex-Mayor, and the man who first discovered the
corpse of Mrs. McCue. He said: -
“The first notice I got was through the telephone, about 9:30
—from 9:15 to 9:30, as well as I remember,” said the Doctor. “I
immediately dressed—that was 'phoned to me by my brother to
come to his house at once; that some one had knocked him down
and shot Fannie. I came immediately—within about ten or twelve
minutes. I came down to his house, entered the front door, and
met my brother, Sam, about half way down the front staircase. I
asked him where Fannie was. He stated to me he did not know, and I
passed him. He appeared fairly well. I did not stop long with him. I
came to the top of the staircase; found no light in the hall; took from
my pocket a box of matches; struck one in the hallway; then I walked
back in the narrow hall to the bath-room. In the meantime I observed
the fumes of smoke and detected the odor of powder.
“I entered the bath-room, of which the door was partially open,
struck a match, lit the gas jet just back of the door and glanced at the
tub, and she was lying upon her back, stretched out, with one limb
lying straight out; the other one drawn up—I would say the right
limb was straight out, the left limb flexed, with her arms lying partly
folded over her stomach, or a little above it, one just a little over the
other on her chest; her face was turned slightly from me. I observed
the small scar on the left side of her nose; then observed the bleeding
and bruised surface of the right ear. Her head was lying in a position

17
that I could see without moving her body; those wounds I observed. I
also found the water still running—hot water.
“The tub, as well as I remember, when I took her out was about
four to six inches from the top, the water still running when I took her
out. The first thing before moving her from the tub, I caught hold of
her—the arm that was highest on her chest—and observed her pulse.
She was pulseless.”
WHAT JOHN PERRY SAID.
Another witness, destined later on to play an important part in
the case was John Perry, the negro youth employed in the home of J.
Samuel McCue. “I did not see any of it,” said John, “I just tell What
I heard. I was asleep; at first the only thing I heard was Mrs. McCue
when she was hollering; I heard her when she run in the bath-room; I
ran to my window, but could not see anything; I heard somebody run
into the bath-room, and then I heard the gunshot. I was in my room;
the door was fastened between my room and the hall.
Q–You could hear her halloaing and crying? A.—Yes; she was
hollering, “Oh, Sam, he has killed me; I am dying, I am going to die,”
and then after I knew that it was not Mr. McCue in the hall, I heard
the man going down the front steps.
Q.-You say you heard her calling like she wanted Mr. McCue?
A.—Yes, sir, she said, “Oh, Sam, I am dying, he is going to kill me;
it was a pity for him to do me that way.”
Q-Pity for who to do her that way? A.—The robber.
Q.-How long after you heard the calling, before Mr. McCue un-
locked the door and called you out? A.—It could not have been over
three or four minutes when Mr. McCue come and let me out.
Q-Where was the gun with which she was shot? A.—On the left
hand side of the back hall door.
Q-Whose bat was that? A.—Little Harry's.
Q.-Where does it stay? A.—Been leaving it out at the woodpile.
Q–This bat had been lying out a while? A.—Yes, sir.
Q.--Where does that gun usually stay? A.—In Mr. McCue's room,
between the wardrobe and the wall.
Q-Did he keep it in a case? A –Yes, sir; in a cloth case.
Q–Did you hear anybody go down to the 'phone? A.—Yes, sir.
Mr. McCue had let me in when he went down to the phone.
Q.—Did you hear Mr. McCue call out anything to the man, say
anything? A.—No, sir.
Q.-Any fuss or scuffle? A.—No, sir.
Q–What did Mr. McCue have on? A.—He had slipped on his
pants; he had took off his shoes.
Q-Was he bleeding much? A.-No, sir; not very much. When I
went downstairs the window in the parlor was open and the dining-
room door was open and propped back with a chair.

18.
Q.-How did you leave the dining-room door when you locked up
the house? A.—It was locked.
Q-When did you first notice that chair against the door? A.—
When me and the police went to search in the house we went down
and three windows was open—one in the parlor and one in the dining-
room and one up here, and the dining-room door was open and propped
back with a chair. -
Q-You don’t know where that baseball bat was last night? A.—
When I went in the house it was setting at the head of the sofa. I
mean after the murder; I don’t know where it was before.
Q-Do you recollect where you met Dr. Frank McCue? A: I met
him coming up the steps. I was standing at the head of the steps. I
had done run down and opened the door and run back; I was going to
look for Miss Fannie. -
Q.-How often did you hear Mrs. McCue call? A.—She hollered a
right good while.
Q.—Did she say anything else but “Sam, he has killed me?” A.—
No, sir.
AN ACCUSING BROTHER.
On the night of Wednesday, September 7, came the climax of the
inquest and what may be regarded as one of the greatest sensations
connected with the whole dark, bloody tragedy. Ernest B. Crawford, a
handsome, sad-faced young lawyer of Harrisonburg, Va., and a brother
of the murdered woman, took the witness stand. He barely spoke above
a whisper and his voice was in a continuous tremble. With streaming
eyes, he said in response to questions of Commonwealth’s Attorney
Gilmer:
“I am a brother of Mrs. McCue and J. Samuel McCue is my brother-
in-law. I was a member of the McCue household from September, 1899,
to June, 1900, and then from August 15 of that same year—I had failed
on two of my tickets at the University; that is, I had to take specials,
and I came back a month before the session opened at the University
in order to work up the tickets. I was there from August 15, 1900,
until I graduated, about the 1st of July, 1901; the session closed in
June; but I remained here after the University closed to study for the
Supreme Court State bar examinations, which were held on July 4,
1901.
“As I just said, I boarded with Mrs. McCue and lived in their house-
hold almost continuously from September, 1899, until July 1901—you
might say two years, with a slight intermission between June, 1900,
and August of the same year. Before I went there I knew that the
relations between them were very unpleasant. My health was bad, and
I was advised to live out some distance from the University, so as
to have the walk and exercise. When this was suggested by my
physician, Mrs. McCue asked me to come to their house; that she

19
thought it would be a good walk, and again it would be a protection to
her, as I was the only brother she had near her.
“I knew before I went to board there that their relations were not
pleasant by any means, and after I had been there sometime, I saw
that it was the most unhappy household I had ever been in. Mr.
McCue's treatment of his wife was of the most cruel and inhuman
character; you would hardly think that a man of his education and
refinement and holding the position he did (mayor as he was at that
time) could treat his wife in the cruel and inhuman way that he did.
“While there I roomed in the room in which I understand her body
was carried after being removed from the bath tub (the room over
the back parlor, or what is now used as the pool room, I believe). Mr.
McCue and his wife occupied the room over the library, the front room
upstairs; my room was on the left hand, in the rear and across the hall
from their room. My room remained open a great deal of the time,
opened into the hall, and very often the door between my room and the
front room over the parlor was not closed; in other words, it was very
easy for me to hear everything that transpired in their room.
“I have heard Mr. McCue curse his wife and abuse and revile her
in the most brutal terms. She often appealed to me, but I was placed
in a very embarrassing position—while I was her brother and knew it
was my duty to protect her, I knew it was a family affair; I knew that
if I interfered it meant bloodshed; it was either my killing him, or his
killing me. It was a great effort for me to control my temper and I
would have left the home had it not been that she begged me to re-
main; that she told me that I was the only brother she had with her,
and that she felt it was my duty to remain with her, and, of course,
upon her insisting, it did not take a great deal to persuade me to stay,
as I felt that I ought to stay and protect her, although I could hardly
stand it at times.
THE OTHER WOMEN.
“When these disturbances took place they all arose from Mrs.
McCue's criticising his actions towards other women. I remember two
names especially in this connection. She would often come to my room
and talk about it. The children, when these spats would occur, would
come over into my room, crying; they felt, I suppose, that I was the
only one they could go to, and I did my best to comfort them. I did
my best to keep out of the quarrels. I think it was shortly after I got
there, Mrs. McCue came over into my room (they had a little quarrel
the night before.) I used one of these large chairs with the kind of
arm or board extending out on each side which I laid my law books
on to study in, and she came over and sat down in this chair and said
that her heart was so full that she felt that she wanted to open it and
give me an insight into it, and made me promise that I would never
divulge it. She did not want me to let Mr. McCue know that she told
20
me it; but now, of course, the circumstances differ; we want to throw
all the light we can on this matter; it is my duty; we want the plain
unvarnished truth in this case.
“She went on to tell me how when she was confined, when her
little girl, Ruby, was born, he was running to Richmond to see a Woman
there and left her at home in this condition. She went on further to
tell me how he had threatened her life, and he had told her that she
had to keep her mouth out of this thing, and how he had drawn a
pistol on her and how she had fied from her room into the room where
her son, William, was asleep and got in bed with her son, William, who
was asleep, and how he had followed her and pointed a pistol at her,
and how her son had gotten up and interfered.
“I remember, too, that while I was boarding there Mrs. McCue did
everything under the sun she could to make that home pleasant and at-
tractive. She was a beautiful housekeeper and kept an attractive
home; Mr. McCue provided well, kept a good table. She often re-
marked to me that the first years of her married life were very happy,
when she was living in a house between Mr. Hanckel's and Judge
Duke's; that then they were renting, but now they had their own home
and had everything to make them comfortable, and although she did
everything she could for her husband and children, she got only curses
and abuses.
“I remember that while I was there as a law student she came in
my room on one occasion, talking about her unhappy relations, and she
said that she just did not know what to do; that his conduct toward
her was such as to convince her that it would give him pleasure for her
to commit suicide, but she did not intend under any circumstances to
commit suicide, though she was almost driven to it at times; that she
did not know what course to pursue, whether to institute suit for
divorce, or whether she should remain there and face it. She asked my
advice about it—her argument was that, regardless of how innocent a
wife may be, it always placed her in a false light—that the wife was
always criticised, no matter whether she were in fault or not, and that
it would cause a blight upon her life and that of the children; that he
had a good deal of money, and that even if she got a divorce he would
get possession of the children, and she could not stand separation from
them.
ADVISED A DIWORCE.
“I advised her to get a divorce; I said, “Let criticism be what it
may, I would not stay with that man if you were to give me Charlottes-
ville.” She said she thought that was the best and safest course to
pursue, but she was determined to remain there. We knew all about
this matter. My father died in 1894; as well as I remember, this thing
was just getting well under way when he died. My mother died in
January, 1901—about seven years later. My eldest brother had been

C. W. ROGERS, CITY SERGEANT OF CHARLOTTESVILLE.


22
living in Dallas, Texas. He was too far to render us much assistance;
had a great deal of business there to look after, and did not get to
Virginia but once a year; he would come in the summer and spend
several weeks with us. We boys were then too young to interfere in
this matter—all of us. * * *
“We all anticipated this trouble. I had mentioned to them before
the relations between Mr. and Mrs. McCue while I lived there, and we
had discussed the best course to pursue. She had decided to face the
situation, but it was almost driving her insane. I told them after I
went back from here about these conditions, and also when they came
here on several occasions.
“We had always tried to treat Mr. McCue with the greatest con-
sideration—all of us. I don’t think there was one of us boys but what
would have gladly met him half way; we wanted to smooth this thing
over; we did not want any clash; we were not seeking notoriety of that
character. Mrs. McCue not only appealed to her own brothers, but ap-
pealed to his brothers. She laid the matter before them—this adulter-
ous life he was living. One of his brothers, as well as I remember it
was Edward, came down and had a talk with him.
“I remember that while I was living in that home, conditions were
about as bad as they ever get, and when I got a telephone message—it
came from my brother at Mount Sidney, I think—it was about 12
o'clock at night—saying that my sister at Charlottesville was dead; I
did not know whether it was Mrs. McCue that was dead or whether it
was my single sister who lives at Waynesboro; she had been visiting
here the week before and was in very bad health, and I did not know
whether she had left there or not. We keep in very close touch with
each other, but I did not know whether she had left here or not. I
immediately dressed and went to the telephone office and asked the
operator to connect me by long distance telephone with Charlottesville.
Just as she rang for Charlottesville, Charlottesville rang for Harrison-
burg; wanted to know if Ernest Crawford could be reached. Harrison-
burg told her that I was there and listening, and she said that J.
Samuel McCue requested her to say that Fanny died at 9:30. I said,
“Is that all?” She said, “Yes.”
Q.-About what hour was that? A.—I would suppose that it was
about 12 o'clock; I reckon it was quarter to 12 when I went thmy
room, and I suppose the message from Charlottesville was about 12:15.
I said, “Charlottesville is that all?” She said, “Yes.” I said, “Can't
you give me some of the particulars; can't you tell me how it occurred.”
She said that report had it that they had been to church and returned,
went up stairs to their bed-room and were preparing to retire, when
they heard a noise as though some one were in the house and Mr.
McCue went out in the hall with an air rifle to see what was the matter.
He was knocked senseless and the party went into the bed-room and
shot Mrs. McCue twice in the chest with the rifle. Well, I was so en-

23
raged that I turned away from the 'phone, hung up the receiver,
shocked, but not surprised, and said, "Damn that theory.” I said,
*That is a farce, that theory; no more than I have expected; my pre-
diction has come true.” ” * * -
Q–Please state if you met Mr. McCue; what passed between you,
and so on? A. When I got to the McCue house I did not go in to see
him until about 4 o’clock.
Q —were you asked to go? A.-No, sir, when I first got there, I
went into the nursery; Mrs. Anderson, I think it was, asked Mrs.
Griggs and myself if we did not want to go in to see Mr. McCue. Mrs.
Griggs said, “Yes,” I did not say anything; she went in; I wanted to
look around, I wanted to see if there was any evidence; but I did go
in about half past four; wanted to see him and see what marks he bore
of having been attacked. As soon as I went in the room he began
weeping, turned over on his left side, had been lying on his right;
I shook hands with him and said, “How are you?” He said, “I am
feeling very badly.” I said, “This is a horrible thing.” He said, “Yes,
it is a horrible thing,” and began weeping, but I did not shed a tear.
Q–Did he or not tell you how it happened? A.—As well as I re-
member—I do not remember exactly—he said that he was over in front
of the chiffonier, and I believe he said that he was undressing, and
the first thing he knew he saw a man. I said, “Do you know what kind
of a man it was 2" He said he didn’t know whether he was a white
man or negro. I said, “If we brought him before you could you
identify him?” He said, “No; he did not know what he looked like.”
Said he was struck, knocked senseless, and I said, “How long were
you unconscious?” “I said, “Two hours?” I remember remarking that.
He said, “About fifteen minutes, I believe.”
Q.-I believe you are a lawyer, are you not? A.—Yes, sir.
Q–I have heard it rumored—do you know of any contemplated
divorce proceedings between Mr. and Mrs. McCue some months ago?
A.—No, sir, I don’t know of any recent discussion of divorce proceed-
ings. -
Q-Do you know of any recent unpleasantness between them of
your own knowledge? A.—I believe not.
Q-Do you know whether Mr. McCue went to see her body while
it was in the house? A.—From what I understand he did not see her
body until it was taken down in the parlor and put in the casket.
A score or more of witnesses, whose names appear later in con-
nection with the trial, were examined at the inquest, but it was the
testimony of Ernest B. Crawford which threw the now febrile popula-
tion of Charlottesville into a ferment and undoubtedly influenced the
verdict of the coroner's jury.
At 3:30 o'clock on the afternoon of Thursday, September 8th, the
coroner's jury returned a verdict, which caused no surprise whatsoever.
It was as follows:

24
“The jurors sworn to enquire when, how and by what means the
said Fannie M. McCue came to her death upon their oaths do say that
the said Fannie M. McCue came to her death on the night of Sunday,
September 4, 1904, between the hours of 9 and 10, from a gunshot wound
in the chest, inflicted by a gun in the hands of J. Samuel McCue.
(Signed) W. D. MACON, M. D., Coroner,
W. H. WOOD,
C. G. MAPHIS,
C. W. HULFISH,
J. A. GILMORE,
C. G. SINCLAIR,
W. G. SALTSMAN.
ARREST OF THE EX-MAYOR.
The funeral of Mrs. McCue took place from the Presbyterian
church of Charlottesville at 1 o'clock on the afternoon of Tuesday,
September 6, and the sacred edifice was filled with a throng which
packed the building to its doors. In addition to the fact that the
murdered woman had scores of friends in the community in which she
lived, there undoubtedly was a large contingent whose curiosity
prompted them to attend the services.
And it goes without saying that hundreds of eyes were focussed on
the “bereaved husband,” who, by this time, was the subject of conver-
sation everywhere. McCue's demeanor on this occasion was absolutely
circumspect—that is to say, he seemed overwhelmed with grief and shed
copious tears. Well he may have been grieved, too, for a storm was
fast gathering over his devoted head and the hour was not far distant,
when he was to be brought to an awful realization of the crime.
The services were conducted by the Rev. Dr. Petrie, the pastor of
the deceased, and the following acted as pall-bearers: Daniel Harmon,
George Perkins, Judge J. M. White, James B. Wood, T. J. Williams,
Captain Micajah Woods, George Mason and Charles H. Moore.
Before the sun went down on that momentous day the grave had
covered all that was mortal of poor Fannie Crawford McCue in River-
view cemetery, and she had begun her last long sleep.
But her horrible death was not to go unavenged nor did the Char-
lottesville public purpose allowing the crime to pass into history with-
out at least a strenuous effort to bring the good woman’s assassin to
justice. On the day after the murder, detectives of the Baldwin agency
reached the University town and went straight to work on the case,
while on the following day the city offered a reward of $500 for the
arrest and conviction of Mrs. McCue's slayer. Stranger still, the ex-
Mayor himself, as an earnest of his profound grief, on Monday posted
a notice in which he said that he would give $1,000 for the arrest of the
murderer.
This notice, by the way, was sui generis. It read as follows:

25
“A reward of $1,000 will be paid for the arrest and
conviction of the person who made an attempt on my
life and murdered my wife at my home in Charlottes-
ville, on the night of September 4, 1904.
J. SAMUEL MPCUE.”
Here indeed was documentary evidence of the distress of the ex-
mayor, and as if that were not enough, he remarked to a friend Wed-
nesday morning: “I would give every cent I possess to have my wife
back or to know that she died a natural death.”
Unfortunately, however, for the husband of the murdered woman,
that capricious aggregation of souls known as the “general public” was
not in the least touched either by the ex-Mayor's offer of the reward
or by the verbal expressions of his grief. On the contrary, a strong
under current of deep indignation made itself felt in the town by Mon-
day night, and on the day following developed into an ocean of rage.
“Arrest McCue,” said scores and scores of people. “He is the one who
killed her,” cried others. “Hanging is too good for him,” remarked
many.
And so the rest-despising tongues went on and memories became
sharpened to the recollection of a thousand alleged mean things the
man had done. This citizen recalled the fact that McCue was a skin-
flint. That man said that he had known for months that the fellow was
a rake—a most unconscionable Don Juan. The gossiper on the street
corner above declared that he had long ago discovered that the McCue
household was a bristling nest of unhappiness. The busybody on the
corner below announced that the ex-Mayor had a temper well capable
of transforming him into a murderer. Moreover, those who hanker
after the salacious, somehow found out that Mrs. McCue, who had
been away from home on the day of the crime, reached her domicile
in time to discover a stray woman on the premises—a woman who had
absolutely no business there. Out of this beautiful bit of fiction—for
assuredly it appears to have been fiction—was woven a vigorous little
story of a feminine scolding and an embarrassed husband whose peni-
tence—or exposure—stung him into committing murder. A score of
other startling tales now popped up like fungi in the path of the
assassin, and ere verbosity had run its course, there appeared to be
a considerable sentiment in favor of making J. Samuel McCue the
stellar pendant in one of those now too popular Southern “functions”
known as “lynching bees.”
It is to be doubted seriously if there was at any time during the
excitement over the murder of Mrs. McCue anything like an organized
movement looking to mob rule, but people talked of a lynching all the
same, and the Governor of the State even felt constrained to make
inquiries about the situation. The fear of possible disorder was un-
doubtedly increased by the knowledge of the fact that the Charlottes.

26
Ville militia at the time was out of town attending the Manassas
maneuvers. Not once did anything even approximating disorder occur,
but certain it is that the dilatory tactics of the coroner's jury irritated
the people as red pepper on a sore, and had not the verdict of the body
been anticipated, there is no telling what might have happened.
Relief came to the situation—but not to the ex-Mayor—on the
afternoon of Wednesday, September 7, when J. Samuel McCue, at the
instance of Commonwealth’s Attorney Gilmer, was arrested at his
Park street home and conveyed to the city jail. This action preceded
the Verdict of the coroner's jury, which was brought in the next day,
but it created no surprise, and the crowd which saw the prisoner
enter the jail was a comparatively small one. McCue, himself, took his
arrest philosophically and was most courteous to the officers who served
the warrant on him. He must have known, hours before this, that he
would be called upon to answer many questions—questions which to
this very day have never been answered.
To guard against any possible attempt on the part of a mob to
hang the remarkable prisoner, the jail in which he was placed, was
carefully guarded Wednesday night and for some days thereafter. At
least 20 special constables remained in the prison the first night, and
their orders were to shoot in case of the slightest infraction of the law.
Within the jail walls were all kinds of firearms, and every entrance to
the place was guarded by pickets. But neither the constabaulary nor
the “ordnance” was called into action—the arrest of the prosperous
lawyer appeared to be quite enough balsam for the aggrieved Charlottes-
ville populace.
McCue, from the very first, protested his innocence-in fact, played
the part of an injured innocent—but beyond this he did not have much
to say. He is not a man who allows his mouth to trip him into in-
discretions—or rather the newspaper men who tried to interview him
don’t think so.
It pretty soon became known that the prisoner was to have as his
senior counsel, Daniel Harmon, a famous lawyer of Charlottesville, G.
B. Sinclair and George Walker of the same town, and John L. Lee, of
Lynchburg. The latter, who is widely known throughout the state, is
regarded as one of the finest criminal lawyers Virginia ever pro-
duced. -
The people of Albemarle, realizing that the accused was to have as
his defenders, some of the best lawyers in the commonwealth, de-
termined that the prosecution's interests should likewise be well looked
after. All recognized the fact that Mr. Gilmer was pretty well able to
take care of himself before a jury when the odds were one to one
against him, but not when he was to be opposed by four active, ag-
gressive lawyers, to say nothing of the able young Edward O. McCue,
the prisoner's brother, who also acted as one of the ex-Mayor's counsel.
A petition, signed by hundreds of people, was finally presented to

27
Captain Micajah Woods, the distinguished prosecuting attorney of Albe-
marle county, urging him to lend a hand in the effort to convict McCue.
This Captain Woods was very loath to do, as he had known and liked
the accused for years. Moreover he had refused an enticing retainer
from the Crawford family who besought him to aid the prosecution.
So great was the pressure brought to bear on Captain Woods that he
finally consented to appear for the State, but on condition that he was
to receive absolutely no fee. Meanwhile Captain R. S. Ker, the vigor-
ous young Commonwealth’s Attorney of Augusta county had been em-
ployed by the Crawfords to represent the family of the murdered
Woman.
A few hours after McCue's arrest, it became known that he would
waive the usual preliminary examination in the Mayor's court and
allow his case to go direct to the grand jury. That body, which met
September 19, was by no means slow in finding a true bill against the
ex-Mayor, but on the following day, when the case was called in the
Corporation Court, the prosecution struck a snag. The prisoner's
lawyers moved to quash the indictment on the ground that Henry L.
Lyman, one of the members of the grand jury, was a non-resident of
the city. Judge Morris said he would take time to consider and ad-
journed court. Subsequently the technical point concerning Mr.
Lyman's residence was referred for decision as a matter of fact to a
petit jury. This body decided that the grand juror was a legal resident
of Charlottesville, and so the motion to quash the indictment was over-
ruled. Counsel for both sides then agreed that further proceedings be
deferred until the following Tuesday, September 27. On that occasion
the ex-Mayor was formally arraigned, and in response to the usual
questions by the court entered a plea of “not guilty.” The Judge there-
upon fixed Tuesday, October 18, as the day for the beginning of the
trial, and realizing the difficulty of procuring a jury from the men of
Charlottesville, ordered that a venire of fifty be summoned from the
City of Petersburg.
GOSSIPS HAVE ANOTHER FLING.
It may not be amiss at this point to refer to certain additional
rumors which by now were current in Charlottesville, as they subse-
quently had an important bearing on the case. One report said that
detectives who talked with John Perry, McCue's house boy, had found
that the negro had lied unhesitatingly at the coroner's inquest. This
boy John Perry, declared the wiseacres, was a Munchausen of Mun-
chausens. His statement that he heard Mrs. McCue say “Sam, Sam, he
is killing me,” was a cunning fabrication, declared the know-it-alls, and
was superinduced by fear of the ex-Mayor. “John Perry will tell a
different story at the trial,” sagely said the local prophets.
And these same Albemarle soothsayers insisted that William
McCue, the 17-year-old son of the accused, knew far more than he had

28
told the coroner's jury, and that at the proper time he would describe
awful quarrels which occurred between his parents, and would reveal
things which would necessarily hang his father. Nay more, he might
even tell of an awful “spat” which marked that Sunday evening of
September 4.
Sweetest and more succulent of all the morsels served up by the
ever-loquacious gossips, were their persistent assertions that there was
a “woman in the case”—in fact several of them; and that ere the
lawyers got through with the trial, Charlottesville would be feasting
on a delicious menu of scandal, served rare and full of spice. Every-
body asked everybody else who were the “ladies” involved, and every-
body pretended to his neighbor that he had all the inside particulars
but dared not even whisper them. Merrily, cheerily, exuberantly and
persistently did tongues male—and, alas, perhaps female—wag over
this possible feature of the case. “Who’s the Richmond woman con-
cerned?” eagerly queried Tom. “She’s a Charlottesville person,”
chirped back knowing Dick, whereas the sapient Harry, who bobbed
up about this time, insisted that both were off the track—that the
“daughter of delight” in question lived in Washington.
To this very hour, if you drift into the “woman” side of the
MuCue case—beg pardon, the alleged woman side—you can command
almost as large an audience as a free-silver spellbinder. But all this is
another story and “not for publication.”
SOME GREWSOME EXHIBITS.
Among the grew some but important bits of evidence found on the
day after the murder, was a small piece of cloth from McCue's under-
shirt, which was picked up under the tub in the bath-room. This frag-
ment apparently fitted the shirt the accused wore when he was seen
shortly after the crime, and therefore was put carefully away as one of
the exhibits in the case. The shirt itself was also handed over to the
authorities, as it had on it certain blood stains which were regarded as
very suspicious. It will be remembered that when the ex-Mayor testi-
fied at the inquest, he explained that shortly after his wife's corpse had
been taken from the bath-room and laid out on the bed in an adjoining
room, he went into the room and, putting his arms around his dead
wife, hugged and kissed her.
The nightrobe worn by Mrs. McCue at the time of the crime was
also preserved. It was torn on the breast above the hole where the
charge of shot entered, and was slightly rent in the back. When sub-
sequently displayed in court, the gown was hideously discolored by
blood—in fact, hardly a square inch of it was free from discoloration.
It is altogether probable that these stains were made while the corpse
was being prepared for burial, as the discharge of blood before death
was not great.
Last of all, among the exhibits taken in charge by the authorities,

29
were the “pump gun” which had given Mrs. McCue her death wound,
and the small baseball bat which had served the purpose of a bludgeon.
FOXY ROGERS TO THE FRONT.
After the arraignment of the ex-Mayor and the judge's announce-
ment that a venire of fifty was to be summoned from Petersburg, City
Sergeant Clifford W. Rogers became a very important character, as it.
devolved upon this genial soul to corral the citizens from whom a jury
was to be drawn. In sooth, Mr. Rogers, like Byron, awoke to find
himself famous, or more accurately speaking, to find himself one of the
most dreaded men in the State. The news that he was to swoop down
on the Cockade City filled the men of that town with consternation,
for the prospect of service on a jury in the McCue case was a thing
which none relished, and which filled the breasts of many with actual
dread. All foresaw that the trial was to be a long-drawn-out affair
of the most harrowing sort, and that the unfortunates selected for jury
service would be virtual prisoners for days and days.
The Charlottesville City Sergeant, a huge, amiable man, with a
beetling brown mustache and a perpetual twinkle in his eye, never
quite lets his sense of the humorous escape him. He realized, as soon
as he got his orders from the court, that he had some hard work before
him, and that whithersoever he went, his presence was going to cause
consternation and a mighty scurrying of men. But, in the language
of the Honorable Jeremiah M. Rusk, Mr. Rogers “seen his duty, and he
done it.” Poor soul, in the first stages of his merry manhunting
schemes, he did not realize that ere his work was ended he would be
sleep-hungry, weary and travel worn, and that fate had destined him to
ride many a tiresome mile at the Commonwealth’s expense.
Mr. Rogers knows how to be a sphinx when occasion requires. He
kept his plans about the Petersburg visit to himself, and discreetly
abstained from having a herald to trumpet his approach. Like a
thief in the night, he stole upon the Cockade City a day or two before
the trial. Procuring the assistance of some of the local officials, he
then proceeded to do business and to begin the first of his famous
man hunts. So cunning, so shrewd, so swift, and so sly were his move-
ments that the newspapers throughout the State forth with dubbed Mr.
Rogers “Foxy”—a soubriquet which to this hour clings to him like a
sheep burr.
The itinerant City Sergeant was very simple in his jury seeking
modus operandi. He would merely get the local official to introduce
him to a man, and then say: “I want you to attend the McCue trial in
Charlottesville on such and such a day.” No need to kick, to demur,
to make excuses, to plead business, to foam at the mouth, to swear or
to threaten. “Foxy” Rogers had one invariable reply. That reply told
the hour for the train to start.
Here is a list of the unhappy souls captured in Petersburg by the

30
Charlottesville Sergeant: A. W. Bryant, J. Westmore Brown, George H.
Brown, Harry Beasley, Frank K. Clements, J. T. Collins, Isaac
Cohen, Shelton Chieves, E. L. DeJarnette, R. E. L. Hargrave, F. M.
Hobbs, M. C. Jackson, W. Comer Jones, A. S. Johnson, W. Henry Kevan,
W. W. Presson, T. F. Parsons, J. J. Pulley, S. W. Price, James B.
Prentis, LeRoy Roper, Robert E. Rose, S. D. Rodgers, A. J. Saunders,
J. Robert Sutherland, W. B. Spiers, A. F. Shortt, Jr., J. Y. Stockdell,
Robert B. Stiles, G. L. Trockmorton, A. E. Traylor, J. L. Watson, James
H. Wells, James Weddell, W. L. Zimmer, Jr., J. W. Cocks, J. L.
Howerton, J. P. Hoy, J. R. Jolly, R. E. Lunsford, T. Stanley Beckwith,
E. A. Hartley, T. J. Jefferson, A. L. Davis, R. M. Young, H. J. O’Neil,
J. K. Pannill, S. P. Mitchell, James M. McIlwaine, R. M. Craddock.

BEGINNING OF THE TRIAL.
At 25 minutes to 10 o'clock, on the morning of Tuesday, October
18, 1904, the doors of the Charlottesville Corporation Court were
opened, and almost immediately a great crowd rushed in. In the very
front of the procession were half a dozen or more ladies, who subse-
quently occupied prominent seats in the gallery. Later on many more
came in. Five policemen were on hand to preserve order and to
guard all the exits. From the first the best of order prevailed, though
the court-room was utterly unable to accommodate all those who de-
sired to see the proceedings. It was well understood that Judge Morris
would allow no disorder and no demonstrations, and the public acted
accordingly.
Clerk Richard W. Duke, an immaculate spectacled man, with iron-
gray hair and well-combed moutache, was one of the first court officials
to arrive. After he had gotten the policemen to suppress two or three
smokers, he mounted his desk beside the judge's bench and prepared
for business.
Judge Morris ascended the bench at three minutes after 10 o'clock,
and his presence almost immediately put a quietus on the buzz of con-
versation. A second later the Petersburg venire of melancholy, home-
sick men filed into court and were conducted into a separate room.
Then the deep-toned tolling of the court bell rang out on the clear
autumn air and told Charlottesville that the McCue trial was on. By
this time the court-room, galleries, aisles and reserved spaces were
packed and jammed.
William McCue, the 17-year-old son of the accused, entered a few
minutes after Judge Morris. He is a handsome, frank-looking, unos-
tentatious lad. City Sergeant Rogers, evidently embarrassed and just
a little excited, opened court. His stalwart form loomed up from a
bunch of reporters, to whom he had surrendered his box-like desk.
A momentary lull followed the opening of court, a period of breath-
less suspense. Then came the pathos of the scene, the entry of the
accused with his little daughter, Ruby. McCue was taken from the
prison by Jailer Martin. The ex-Mayor was fautlessly dressed and ap-
parently cool. In his lap sat little Ruby, sobbing and weeping as if
her heart would break. Her father, without the quiver of a muscle in
his face, seemed more concerned about the pretty, tender child than
about his own fate. He kissed the little red-eyed bairn repeatedly.
Ruby wore a becoming black hat and a pink frock. She is probably
thirteen years old, and unmistakably pretty. One could not help
loving such a child. -

32
A MISSING WITNESS.
Captain Micajah Woods announced that the Commonwealth was
ready with one exception, W. O. Durrette, an important witness, said
to be at the St. Louis Fair. (Durrette, who is a cousin of the accused,
was last heard from at Ronceverte, W. Va., declared Frank Durrette,
his brother, who was in the court-room.) Commonwealth's Attorney
Gilmer said that an inquiry into the absence of the witness was abso-
lutely necessary; that W. O. Durrette knew he was wanted, and had
attended the coroner's inquest. -
Mr. Gilmer suggested that proceedings be stopped until this point
was cleared up. This suggestion was prompted by the inability of
Durrette's brother, Frank, to say when the absentee would return.
Accordingly, Frank Durrette was taken from the court-room into an-
other part of the building and quizzed at leisure by Mr. Gilmer.
BROTHER KISSES PRISONER.
While all were awaiting the reappearance of the Commonwealth's
Attorney and Durrette, William McCue, of Greenwood, Va., brother of
the accused, went behind the railing where the prisoner was seated
and kissed him twice on the cheek. E. O. McCue, another brother of
the accused, occupied a seat near Dan Harmon, chief counsel for the
ex-Mayor. The other lawyers present were: For the defense—John L.
Lee, Lynchburg; George E. Walker and G. Burnley Sinclair, of Char-
lottesville. For the prosecution, Commonwealth’s Attorney Frank Gil-
mer, Captain Micajah Woods, Commonwealth’s Attorney of Albemarle,
and Captain R. S. Ker, the Commonwealth’s Attorney of Augusta
county.
After a conference of twenty minutes, Captain Woods and Mr.
Gilmer returned. Captain Woods announced that telegrams had been
sent the absent witness, and that efforts had also been made to reach
him by long distance telephone. Judge Morris asked if the prosecution
wanted a continuance.
Captain Woods replied: “We expected to be ready. The summons
was issued ten days ago, but witness went to St. Louis, and, returning,
stopped at Ronceverte, where he is now buying cattle. We ask on be-
half of the Commonwealth an opportunity to get the witness here.
His evidence is most important.”
“What present disposition of the case do you wish made,” asked
the judge.
Captain Woods replied: “We are hoping every minute to get infor-
mation, to hear from the witness. If necessary, we will send a man
to Ronceverte to make inquiries.”
Mr. Lee asked what was the nature of absentee's testimony. He
said the defense was willing to make any reasonable concessions, and
that it would allow the prosecution to use Durrette’s evidence before
the coroner's jury, if necessary, until the difficulty could be tided over.

33
Captain Woods replied: “We are not prepared to say we can go
ahead. We want to hear from the witness, or at least to confer. It is
a matter of great importance.”
It should here be explained to the readers that the absent Mr. Dur-
rette, besides being a first cousin of the accused, is the man who found
a piece of McCue's undershirt in the bath-room where the corpse of
Mrs McCue was discovered.
Mr. Gilmer, after considerable delay and impatient waiting on the
part of the crowd, said the prosecution was momentarily expecting to
hear from the witness at Ronceverte. He sugested a brief recess.
Judge Morris urged the lawyers to go ahead With the Selection of a
jury. Mr. Gilmer again suggested a recess at least until 1:30 P. M.
This was finally agreed upon. The judge, before adjourning court,
cautioned the veniremen against talking concerning the case. “You
know what you are here for, gentlemen,” said he, “and I shall expect
you to conduct yourselves properly.”
If there were any dramatic incidents in the beginning of the McCue
trial, they assuredly were not of the spectacular order. McCue came
into the court-room quietly. Many were several minutes in spying
him. When the ex-Mayor’s advent was first noted people saw behind
the bar a fatherly looking man, about forty-five years old, holding in
his lap a pitiful, sobbing little girl, who looked as if her heart would
break. The scene was such as might have been pictured in the glow
of any fireside. Nothing on the part of the man indicated uneasiness,
care or declining health.
And again the spectators were struck with the strangeness of this
same Janus-like McCue when they saw him leave court after the tribunal
had adjourned for a recess. No shadow of shame was on his face.
Square of shoulders, deep of chest, flat-backed and erect, like some
soldier with an honorable record, he sauntered back to prison between
his jailer and a policeman.
Although fully 500 eager eyes were following his every movement,
he paused several times to address various acquaintances. Verily, the
accused murderer wasn't one-half so embarrassed as many who watched
him from the court green.
AFTERNOON SESSION.
At 1:15 o'clock, a quarter of an hour before the time for the trial
to begin again, the court-room was packed. The space reserved for
negroes was jammed. Many hoary-headed “uncles” could be seen look-
ing down from the gallery. Two venerable colored “sisters” were also
sitting sphinx-like in the Afro-American crowd. And there were a
score or more of ladies, mostly matronly-looking women.
letting nothing escape them, these Argus-eyed dames.
Venireman J. L. Howerton was excused. His brother was to be
tried at Lawrenceville, Va., that Very day on the charge of feloniously
They were

34
shooting one Barrow. Venireman J. H. Wells, who had recently under-
gone an operation for his eyes, was also able to beg off.
During the early session of the court several dogs got into the
building, and as a logical consequence, also got into a scrap. The
judge announced from the bench that all dog owners must be excluded
unless they could manage their tail-wagging quadruped friends.
Judge Morris was not a minute behind in aescending the bench,
and a second later the court bell again tolled ominously. Then the
accused entered with a white rose in his hand and looking as jaunty
as any man in the building. Little Ruby and a younger brother ap-
peared an instant later. The tiny girl had changed her frock since
morning. She now wore blue and white. Her brother, a healthy-
looking lad, hardly more than eight or nine, wore a sailor suit. He
sat in his father's lap.
At 2 o’clock not a lawyer on either side had appeared, nor was
any explanation made to the crowd, which was feverish in its restless-
ness. The veniremen, too, were beginning to realize that they would
not get home that night, as the train left at 4 o’clock. No one seemed
to know what the hitch was. Jailer Martin and a policeman sat be-
hind the prisoner, and several of the ex-Mayor's brothers were with
him. Counting the accused, there are seven McCue brothers.
Ernest Crawford, brother of the murdered woman, occupied a chair
not far behind the MCues.
The assembled crowd had a rather tiresome wait after court re-
convened.
The attorneys all appeared at 2:15 o'clock, when the judge said:
“Gentlemen, are you ready for the Commonwealth?’”
“Yes,” was the reply.
“Gentlemen, are you ready for the prisoner?”
“Yes,” was the reply.
SUCCEEDED IN GETTING NINE.
The veniremen were called and the work of selecting a jury began.
None of the expected dullness attended this proceeding. Fresh interest
greeted each venireman as he came forward. To each the judge pro-
pounded the usual question, resulting in the following interesting re-
sults. James McIlwaine, to his own regret, had formed no opinion,
accepted by the court. S. P. Mitchell, formed and expressed opinion,
disqualified. J. K. Pennill: could not convict for murder on circum-
stantial evidence, no matter how strong, disqualified. Defense ob-
jected on the grounds that a witness who would hesitate to “the last
ditch” to take a man’s life was pre-eminently the juryman contem-
plated by the law. The court remarked casually that such a man
would indeed, hesitate to the last ditch; in fact, the proposed juror
would never get across the ditch. The man was ordered to stand
aside. The defense noted an exception. A. L. Davis, prejudiced by

35
newspaper reports, disqualified. T. Stanley Beckwith: wouldn't con-
vict on circumstantial evidence, disqualified. Exception noted by de-
fense. R. E. Lunsford: wouldn’t convict on circumstantial evidence,
disqualified. Exception noted. J. R. Jolly, same as above; J. W.
Cocke, same as Jolly; W. L. Zimmer Jr., same as Cocke. J. D. Hoy
has already decided the case in his own mind, opinion fixed and un-
shakable, disqualified. James Weddell declared bluntly that he had an
opinion that the prisoner was guilty, but professed his ability to go
into the case and render impartial verdict, according to the evidence.
The court thought Weddell a competent juror, but under objections
from the defense, ordered him to stand aside. J. L. Watson, unchange-
able opinion already formed, disqualified. James H. Willis, excused.
A. E. Taylor, opinion of case formed and expressed, disqualified.
G. L. Throckmorton, same as Taylor; J. Y. Stockdell had formed
opinion from newspaper reports, but could go on the stand and decide
the same according to the law and the evidence. Opinion too vague to
require evidence from Commonwealth to remove it, could give fair and
impartial trial. Mr. Stockdell was subjected to a severe cross exami-
nation at the hands of Mr. Lee, and was at times badly involved in his
replies. The young man made it clear, however, that a consciousness
of his duty to serve, if not disqualified, was the only thing that caused
him to risk having imposed upon him so disagreeable a task as would
be involved in an acceptance by the court. He was accepted, however,
the defense entering an exception. A. F. Short, Jr., had formed and
expressed unalterable opinion, disqualified. W. B. Spiers, no opinion,
accepted. J. Robert Sutherland, could not convict on circumstantial
evidence, disqualified. A. J. Saunders had a hypothetical opinion based
on reports published in newspapers; could give prisoner a fair and
impartial trial; accepted. S. D. Rogers, excused. Robert E. Rose
could not convict on circumstantial evidence, disqualified. Leroy Roper,
same as Rose. James B. Prentis had formed no opinion, accepted.
S. B. Price could not convict on circumstantial evidence, disqualified.
J. J. Pulley biased by newspapers reports, disqualified. T. F. Parsons,
no objections, accepted. R. M. Young, opinion made up, disqualified.
W. W. Presson, could not go into case with presumption that prisoner
was innocent, but could give fair trial, disqualified, although court re-
garded him as competent witness. W. H. Kevan could not convict on
circumstantial evidence, disqualified. A. S. Johnson had formed no
opinion, accepted. W. Comer Jones, same as Kevan. M. C. Jakson,
opinion fixed, disqualified.
F. M. Hobbs, same as Jones. R. E. L. Hargrave, had formed ten-
tative opinion, but could give fair and impartial trial, accepted. Shel-
ton DeJarnette, had opinion, but could give fair trial, accepted. Upon
his subsequent declaration, however, that opinion was very decided,
was disqualified. J. T. Collins, opposed to capital punishment, dis-
qualified. Frank Clements, opinion fixed and unchangeable, disquali-
36
fied. Harry Beazley, would not convict on circumstantial evidence,
disqualified. George H. Brown, opinion of case very decided, dis-
qualified. J. Westmore Brown, same as above. A. W. Bryant, opinion
already formed, biased by reports, disqualified. E. A. Hartley, excused,
T. J. Jefferson, excused. J. L. Howerton, excused. Robert B. Stills,
excused. Isaac Cohen, had formed and expressed very decided opinion
of case, disqualified. R. M. Craddock, same as Cohen. Shelton Chieves,
no opinion as to merits of case, accepted.
The net result of this day's work was the procuring of nine
prospective jurors. The trial would be at a standstill until seven more
could be gotten. The City Sergeant was directed to proceed at once to
Richmond and summon fifty men.
Meanwhile the court adjourned until Thursday morning at 10
o'clock. The process of selecting the jurymen was of more than ordi-
nary interest, in that it disclosed the trend of mind of fifty clear-
headed business men of the city of Petersburg. Nearly every man
had formed an opinion, and the opinion was that McCue was guilty.
It was a curious sight to see one after another of the men state their
conscientious scruples against circumstantial evidence. Once, when a
venireman under examination declared it to be his opinion that the
prisoner was guilty, McCue smiled broadly.
“FOXY” AFTER A SECOND VENIR.E.
Of course the judge's command that “Foxy” Rogers go forth and
capture another bunch of fifty men, created the greatest possible ex-
citement and uneasiness in Richmond. By this time, the telegraph
wires had told the public throughout the borders of the State that the
work of getting a jury to try McCue would be no easy thing, and every
community began to feel apprehensive lest it should be the next stop-
ping place of the redoubtable “Foxy.”
Mr. Rogers lost no time in getting to Richmond, and although a
full description of the human sunbeam had already been wired ahead
of him by the reporters, the City Sergeant quickly began his work of
pouncing upon his prey in the capital city. About 1 o'clock Wednesday
afternoon, Charlottesville began to hear of what its cunning official was
doing in Richmond. The long-distance telephone brought the first
news. Man after man who h been captured rang up Judge Morris
and made desperate efforts to beg off. So thick and fast came the
messages that “His Honor” later on deemed it the part of prudence
and comfort to leave the city for a few hours.
Here is the result of “Foxy’s” visitation—the list of the wretched
citizens captured by the cheery legal ogre: A. E. Heinrich, W. C. Lefe-
bvre, S. B. Adkins, Richard Gwathmey, Burnett Lewis, E. H. Spence,
L. W. Glazebrook, A. L. Thaw, T. M. Hundley, W. P. (“Dutch”) Leaman,
S. H. Cottrell, J. Fred. Jurgens, Jacob Meyer, George Long, James R.
Sheppard, R. L. Peters, W. S. Costello, P. J. Berry, R. W. Jones, W. G.


37
Neal, T. Francis Green, R. B. Walthall, Charles Beufort, Lewis Held,
J. C. Boothe, J. E. Etcheson, Jr., R. S. Christian, J. C. Freeman, O. W.
G. Saunders, W. S. Tanner, R. L. Barnes, J. B. Allen, Ben. T. Crump,
G. A. Lyons, J. W. Bossieux, W. F. Newton, W. F. Jenkins, C. B. Cary,
R. B. McCurdy, Moses May, B. H. Carow, Victor Williams, Dr. Jud. B.
wood, W. P. Glenn, Chris. Evenson, J. Fred. Kohler, L. C. Younger,
E. C. Mayo and Sam Cohen.
---
COURT-HOUSE IN WEHICH MCCUE WAS TRIED.
Some of these gentlemen, at the last minute, managed to escape
the clutches of the irrepressible “Foxy” by offering valid excuses which
rescued them from jury service. But the great bulk of the captives
left Richmond at 10:45 o'clock on the night of October 19th, and reached
Charlottesville somewhere near daybreak—a tired and drowsy set.
Once in the clutches of the City Sergeant the veniremen made the best
of a bad bargain and managed to extract a great deal of fun out of the
nocturnal trip to the University town.
The Charlottesville public, although it was now perfectly orderly
and conducted itself with strict propriety, was nevertheless no little
disgruntled by the delays necessitated in procuring a jury. The truth
is, the people of the town—as well as those all through Virginia—were
eaten up with curiosity, and the very natural desire to know what was
going to happen–whether the accused would plead insanity; whether
the case would unearth any scandals; whether Willie McCue would
tell a tale that would convict his father, and whether the negro John






38
Perry's testimony would add a nail to the gallows which seemed over-
hanging the ex-Mayor.
ACCUSED QUOTES SCRIPTURE IN PRIVATE LETTER.
In the course of the day there were one or two positive, determi-
nable developments and a hundred vague and indefinite rumors of a
character similar to those that cluster like flies around anything the
least bit mysterious or strange. Among the former the discovery of a
letter written by McCue on September 20th to W. Sam Burnley, a popu-
lar Charlottesville lawyer, was by far the most interesting.
The attorneys exhibited no small reluctance in permitting its pub-
lication, but finally gave it to the world with the express proviso that
it would go forth to stand for what it is worth on its face, unhampered
by any prompting editorial advice or comment by newspaper writers.
The actions of the prisoner, said Mr. Harmon, had invariably been
subjected to criticism, no matter what those actions might have been.
If McCue entered the court-room smiling, the audience glared; if he
came in weeping, the whisper of horse play went around; if he kissed
his child, he was declared to be trying to arouse sympathy; if he failed
to kiss it, he was pictured as an unfeeling and unnatural father; hence
there was to be no comment on the letter.
The rather unusual communication appeared on Wednesday after-
noon in the local paper, The Progress, which, by the way, made an
exceptionally record in giving its readers all the details of the case.
Here is the letter:
“Your letter of several days since was received, and I should have
answered ere this, but my poor heart has been too severely crushed and
my spirits too severely depressed. In fact, I have been dazed. My
irreparable loss in the death of my darling wife was sorrow sufficient,
much less this awful persecution that is being heaped upon me.
“‘If God be for us, who can be against us?' I must desist, how-
ever, lest I murmur. ‘For whom the Lord loveth. He chastenth, and
scourgeth every son whom He receiveth.” “If ye endure chastening,
God dealeth with you as sons; for what son is he whom the Lord
chasteneth not?’ ‘I know whom I have believed, and I am persuaded
that He is able to keep that which I have committed to Him against
that day.” “And we know that all things work together for good to
them that love God—and He knows that I love Him better than I do
my uneventful existence. My dear boy, can it be that we have been
striving too much for the perishable and not sufficiently for the im-
perishable? If so, let us each see that we make no mistake in the
future.
“‘What shall it profit a man if he gain the whole world and lose
his own soul, or what shall a man give in exchange for his soul?”
“You and I, old fellow, have had some serious moments and talks
39
together, for all of which I am truly thankful. I would they had been
more frequent.
“God be with you till we meet again.”
Lead, kindly light, amid the encircling gloom;
Lead, thou, me on;
The night is dark, and I am far from home;
Lead, thou, me on ;
Keep thou my feet,
I do not ask to see the distant scene;
One step’s enough for me.
So long Thy power hath blessed me,
Sure it still, will lead me on
O'er moor and fen; o'er crag and torrent,
Till the night is gone,
And with the morn those angel faces smile,
which I have loved long since and lost awhile.
“These, I infer, are the dear ones who have preceded us, and are
interceding for and beckoning us on, and somehow in faith's sweet
vision I can discern the silver lining, and when I am released and
my innocence vindicated, how dearly I shall praise Him. So pray for
me and my dear little motherless ones, my brother in Christ, as I shall
pray for you.
“I had one of the purest and best mothers that ever existed, and
so was my dear and darling wife. They are pleading right earnestly
for me now; how faithfully I must strive to meet and dwell with them
again; I do so dearly love and cherish their sacred memories.
“Improve the present, dear boy, do your very best for your faithful,
dutiful wife. She is a good, honest woman, I have seen it plainly
written on her face; and she is the mother of your darling children,
which means so much.
“I enclose you the statement as requested. I remain your sincere
friend and brother in Christ.
“(Signed) J. SAMUEL McCUE.”
Widespread discussion at this time was also being given to the
financial condition of the prisoner. A prominent young lawyer declared
that MCue owed him a good deal of money, and that suits involving
about $10,000 would be instituted against him at the next term of the
court. The ex-Mayor, he believed, owed a total approximating, or per-
haps, exceeding $50,000.
It was also reported that one or two or more of the Charlottesville
banks held paper against McCue, signed by his wife. The amounts
mentioned ran into the thousands. Other instances were cited and the
affairs of the prisoner in general were said to be in such shape that
he would probably file a general deed of assignment after the criminal
trial.


40
SECOND DAY OF THE TRIAL.
Despite the fact that the Commonwealth, by the eve of Thursday,
October 20th, had dropped another $500 in its efforts to procure a fair
trial for J. Samuel McCue, the State still lacked four men to complete
the panel from which the jury was to be drawn.
The Richmond venire produced only three prospective jurors—Dr.
Jud. B. Wood, A. E. Heinrich and John A. Traylor.
If the accused did not writhe under the answers of many of the
veniremen, it is solely because he had schooled his nerves to the steely
state and his heart to adamantine hardness.
Nearly every man of the Richmond contingent said he had formed
a fixed, immutable opinion about the case. It was on the lips of
several to blurt out the fact that they regarded the prisoner as guilty.
With admirable discretion and unmistakable firmness Judge Morris
checked every tendency on the part of the veniremen to depart from
categorical answers to his questions. But he could not prevent the
Richmonders from saying that their opinions, formed from newspaper
reports and friendly discussions, were unalterably biased and utterly
beyond the reach of any evidence which might be produced.
McCue, during the wearisome ordeal, which lasted nearly two
hours, looked bored. At first he followed the questions and answers
with interest, but by and by his violet blue eyes—handsome eyes they
are—began to rove restlessly towards the gallery.
Dr. Jud. B. Wood, when examined on his voir dire, created an
excellent impression. He was as candid and frank as a man could be.
He admitted having an opinion, but was positive it could be changed.
Indeed, he intimated that no sensible man could read newspapers and
not at least form a transitory opinion. Dr. Wood took pains to say he
did not hanker after jury service, but that he had no idea of
dodging the duties of citizenship, and, by the way, here’s a funny thing
about the retired dentist. Some time about the year 1895 he took the
law course at Richmond College, with such men as Joseph T. Lawless
and Samuel Regester. So interested was the doctor in the law that he
even persuaded his wife to study Minor’s Institutes with him, and the
two had jolly good domestic times discussing executory limitations and
writs of fieri facias. Dr. Wood never went to the bar after he com-
pleted his course at college. -
Judge Morris, from the bench, complimented the dentist for the
way he answered the questions propounded. The defense, however, by
its line of questions, showed a decided objection to Dr. Wood.
Messrs. Traylor and Heinrich, like Dr. Wood, manifested no pur-
pose to dodge service. They seemed almost willing victims.
A somewhat dramatic incident—in fact, the only incident approach-
ing the dramatic—during to-day’s session of the court, occurred just
41
before the tribunal ended its session. T. F. Parsons, one of the Peters-
burgers selected for the panel from which the jury is to be drawn, arose,
and, in substance, spoke earnestly and rather pathetically, as follows:
“Your honor, isn't there something you can do to relieve us. Some
of us have pressing business at home. This thing is awful. It looks to
me, from what is going on, that this trial is going to last three weeks.
We are dreadfully inconvenienced.”
The judge, who, with all his firmness, can be as gentle as a woman,
informed the dolorous Petersburger in a kindly way that he realized
the position of the jury, but that he could do nothing to relieve the
quasi prisoners. He told the prospective jurors, however, that they
could write to their families, provided they did not in any way discuss
the case. -
The first Richmonder called to answer on his voir dire was J. M.
Bossieux. He had formed a decided opinion. It was substantial. Re-
jected.
Charles Davenport came next. Had formed an opinion, a very de-
cided one; couldn’t disabuse his mind. Rejected.
W. P. (“Dutch”) Leaman: Formed an opinion from newspapers;
no evidence whatever could change it. Rejected.
S. H. Cottrell: Had an opinion; could not dismiss it under any
circumstances. Rejected.
J. S. Jurgens: Had formed an opinion; couldn't dismiss it. Re-
jected.
Jacob Meyer: Had formed an opinion from papers and conversa-
tion; was biased. Rejected.
George Sorg: Had formed opinion from papers; couldn't dismiss
it. Rejected. -
James R. Sheppard: Had an opinion; very decided; only very
strong evidence would change it. Rejected.
R. L. Peters: Had an opinion from coroner's inquest evidence;
couldn’t dismiss it. Rejected.
W. S. Constable: Had an opinion. It was “pretty firmly biased.”
Felt biased. Rejected.
Wirt Allen: Had an opinion; could not give fair trial. Rejected.
Richard W. Jones: Formed an opinion; was biased. Rejected.
W. Greanor Neal: Had an opinion; mind not “open.” Rejected.
T. Francis Green: Had an opinion; could not dismiss it. Rejected.
R. B. Walthall: Had an opinion; couldn't give fair trial; biased.
Rejected.
Louis Held: Missing; sent doctor's certificate.
J. C. Booth: Had an opinion from reading papers; couldn’t change
it. Rejected.
Robert S. Christian: Formed an opinion; was biased. Rejected.
P. J. Berry: Had formed an opinion ; was biased. Rejected.
A. B. Bigelow: Had an opinion, very positive one. Rejected.

42
J. C. Freeman: Had an opinion; biased. Rejected.
R. L. Vaughan: Had opinion; biased. Rejected.
J. E. Allen: Had opinion; biased. Rejected.
Benjamin T. Crump: Had opinion; mind fixed. Rejected.
G. A. Lyon: Had opinion; couldn’t give fair trial. Rejected.
W. F. Newton: Formed an opinion; hadn't expressed it; could
unbias his mind and give fair trial.
Question by defense: Have you read papers?
“Yes; right much.”
“Is your opinion decided ?”
“Yes; rather. Would go on jury with it. All would depend on
evidence to change it.” Rejected.
Richard Gwathmey: “Had formed opinion; couldn’t possibly dis-
miss it. Rejected.
W. F. Jenkins: Had formed opinion; couldn’t go into trial with
open mind; opinion decided. Rejected.
S. B. Adkins: Had formed opinion; could not give fair trial. Re-
jected.
C. Fred. Kohler: Had formed opinion; very decided. Rejected.
C. B. Cary: Had formed opinion and “argued” case with friends:
couldn’t change. Rejected.
R. B. McCurdy: Had formed opinion from newspapers; couldn’t
give fair trial. Rejected.
Moses May: Had an opinion; was biased. Rejected.
B. H. Carow: Had formed opinion; couldn’t give fair trial. Re-
jected.
E. H. Spence: Had opinion; would take strong evidence to change;
was biased. Rejected.
A. E. Heinrich: No opinion formed; could give fair trial. Defense
didn't object to him. Accepted.
L. W. Glazebrook: Had opinion; strongly prejudiced. Rejected.
A. L. Thaw: Had opinion; was biased. Rejected.
T. M. Hundley: Had opinion; couldn’t dismiss it. Rejected.
Victor Williams: Had opinion; could not give fair trial. Rejected.
Dr. Jud. B. Wood: Had opinion from newspapers, but could give
fair trial, and had no objection to capital punishment. “Sorry to an-
swer so. Couldn’t help it.”
“You are doing the manly thing,” said the judge.
“I have expressed an opinion, too, said Mr. Wood.
Question by defense: “Did the newspaper reports cause a decided
opinion?”
“Unfortunately, I have read a little law, and know all newspaper
matter is not evidence. My opinion is strong. I would, however, con-
sider the evidence offered in trial and decide on that. I have charac-

43
ter enough to do it. I have an opinion, however. I don’t feel biased.
Can easily be changed.” - -
Question by defense: “You go on the jury with an opinion—would
it require evidence to remove it?”
“It would.”
By judge: “Could you dismiss your previous opinion and decide
according to the evidence?”
Answer: “I could.” Accepted by court. Defense noted an excep-
tion to court's ruling.
W. P. Glenn: Had formed opinion; biased. Rejected.
Chris. Evenson: Had an opinion; couldn’t give fair trial. Rejected.
E. C. Mayo: Missing.
& º - º
PRISONER RETURNING TO JAIL A A DAY IN COURT.
John A. Traylor: Partial opinion from accounts in papers; could
dismiss opinion.Z. No objection to capital punishment. Accepted.
C. G. Brown: Had opinion; could not give fair trial. Rejected.
George Kefauver: Had opinion; was biased. Rejected.
W. S. Tanner; Missing.
L. C. Younger: Missing, contributing member military; exempt.
J. C. White: Had opinion; couldn’t give fair trial. Rejected.
Here the venire became exhausted and the judge said:
“I’d like to have consultation with counsel for both sides.”
This was done.
The spectators then waited to hear an announcement of the result




44
of the conference, but none came. All realized that something myste-
rious was a-foot, but nobody’s curiosity was satisfied. -
“Foxy” Rogers was to go on another mysterious man hunt, but this
time his destination was to be kept a strict secret. Court adjourned
until Saturday, October 22d.
THIRD EXPEDITION OF THE MAN-HUNT.
As Friday, October 21st, marked a day made notable by a third of
“Foxy” Rogers’s man hunts, and court was not in session, Charlottes-
ville had to content itself with gossip about the case and with specu-
lations as to where the City Sergeant had gone. By noon it leaked out
that his destination was the good old town of Fredericksburg, which,
it was confidently expected, would produce the required jurors. Mean-
while, those who could hardly suppress their omnivorous curiosity
for news in connection with the case, were pleased to note a recru-
descence of the whispers about McCue's alleged relations with women.
The morsel now presented by the scandal-mongers told of certain letters
which had been sent the prisoner while he “languished” in jail, and
which, it was said, were decidedly saccharine in their literary flavor.
The prison officials who had opened these communications revealed just
enough to whet the appetites of those who revel in “small talk,” and
when asked if the missive were genuinely affectionate, merely shook
their heads and looked owlish.
Meanwhile the pursuer of veniremen was getting in some swift
strokes. Before Friday's autumnal sun had ducked under the horizon
for a night's rest, Mr. Rogers had come, seen and conquered the fol-
lowing Fredericksburg citizens: H. F. Crismond, S. B. Quinn, Law-
rence Perry, Nelson Decker, J. W. Masters, Oscar Genther, George A.
Walker, K. Nelson Goolrick, Hansford Wallace, R. Lee Stoffregen,
Robert L. Wood, George W. Shepherd, Jr., J. McCalla Boulware, W.
Thomas Jones, Samuel H. Beale, E. A. Solan, Clarence R. Howard,
W. A. Bell, Frank K. Tyler, S. E. Foster, Joseph H. Davis, William H.
Rice, D. William Scott, H. Lewis Wallace, Luther Tyler, J. Wilmore
Cox, John W. Allison, Jr., E. W. Jones, Benjamin W. Rosebro, S. E.
Eastburn, Samuel Spicer, H. Wallace Carner, William L. Watson, Ash-
ton Dodd, J. Warren Sullinger, Joseph M. Goldsmith, Theodore M.
Bradley, L. E. Layton, John T. Goolrick, Jr., P. H. Ball, Mason H.
Willis, and F. L. W. Green.

45
FREDERICKSBURG VENIREMEN A DSAPPOINTMENT.
If States had been capable of human emotions, this grand old Com-
monwealth would surely have been disgusted at what happened in the
Corporation Court of Charlottesville on Saturday, October 22d. De-
spite all the money Virginia had spent, two men were still lacking to
complete the panel of sixteen from which the jury to try J. Samuel
McCue was to be drawn. At one time, before the day ended, it looked
as if the Fredericksburg veniremen would produce the four much-
needed men in a jiffy, but the unexpected occurred at the last minute
and knocked things into a cocked hat.
R. E. L. Hargrave, a Petersburger, previously selected for the panel,
had to be excused on account of sickness. Then Mr. Goolrick, of Fred-
ericksburg, who had been declared qualified, bobbed serenely up when
everything was moving beautifully, and expressed some doubt as to
whether he had actually been a legal resident of Virginia for the last
two years. During part of this time he was abroad, whither he had
gone with the intention of locating permanently. While absent, how-
ever, Mr. Goolrick still regarded himself as a Virginia citzen, but the
point was too delicate to justify Judge Morris in taking any chances.
He excused Mr. Goolrick from jury service.
This left the panel five men short, and though the venire was raked
with an inquisitorial fine-tooth comb, the questions were in vain. Only
three were landed from the venire–S. B. Quinn, Jr., Nelson Decker
and Samuel H. Beale.
Judge Morris worked like a galley slave to save the Common-
wealth further expense in summoning another venire. He permitted
the Fredericksburgers to appear in court only one at a time, and those
examined were kept apart from the crowd waiting to be questioned.
It was, alas, a hopeless job. To no purpose whatever did the judge
pump and catechize the Spotsylvanians. It did no good. Some even
yelled out their most emphatic opinions concerning the prisoner's guilt
—showing semi-humorous symptoms of human nature which caused
the spectators and even the accused to laugh audibly.
Hopes were high at the start, but gradually sank. The second
man and the fourth were accepted, and then the trouble began. Here
in detail is the result of the examination:
H. F. Crismond: Had formed and frequently expressed opinion,
which he was afraid he couldn't dismiss from mind. Disqualified.
S. B. Quinn, Jr.: No opinion of case; could give fair and impartial
trial; defense made no objection. Accepted as juror.
Lawrence Perry: Had formed and expressed opinion, based on
newspaper reports; could lay this opinion aside, but would not convict
on circunmstantial evidence. Disqualified,
46
Nelson Decker: Had neither formed nor expressed opinion. Ac-
cepted as competent juror.
Oscar Genther: Had formed and expressed opinion, which could not
be dismissed from mind. Disqualified.
George Walker: No opinion of case, but under no conditions would
he convict on circumstantial evidence. Disqualified.
K. Nelson Goolrick: Had formed, but not expressed opinion, based
on newspaper reports; could dismiss opinion and give prisoner pre-
sumption of innocence until he was proven guilty. Accepted as juror.
Hansford Wallace: Had very decided opinion. Disqualified.
R. Lee Staffregon: Had formed and expressed opinion, which would
bias mind. Disqualified.
Robert L. Wood: Had formed and expressed very decided opinion.
Disqualified.
J. McCalla Boulware: No opinion, but was opposed to capital pun-
ishment. Disqualified.
Thomas Jones: Thought everybody more or less had opinion of
case; had one himself; couldn’t feel sure that he could dismiss it from
mind. Disqualified.
Samuel Beale: No opinion; could give fair and impartial trial; no
objection to capital punishment. Accepted.
This completed the panel, and it looked as if the finish had been
reached. But one of the Petersburg men—R. E. L. Hargrave—was sick
and was allowed to go home. Attorneys representing both sides agreed
to this. Another prospective juror—Mr. Spiers—had cholera morbus,
but thought he could hold up under the strain. The work of selecting
a man to fill the vacancy caused by the departure of Mr. Hargrave
was begun. The list of Fredericksburg men was taken up again.
E. A. Salan: Had already formed an opinion which he could not
dismiss from his mind. Disqualified.
Clarence R. Howard: No opinion, but would not convict on circum-
stantial evidence. Disqualified.
Frank Tyler: Would not convict on circumstantial evidence unless
convinced beyond the peradventure of a doubt. Law contemplates con-
viction when every “reasonable” doubt has been removed. Tyler was
rejected by the court. Defense noted an exception.
S. E. Foster: No opinion; opposed to death penalty. Disqualified.
William Rice: Had formed and expressed opinion, which he could
not dismiss from mind. Disqualified.
William Scott: Opinion already formed; would bias mind. Dis-
qualified.
J. Wilmore Cox: Had opinion “in a sense”; very doubtful if he
could enter case with open mind. Disqualified.
Luther Tyler: Opinion formed and expressed; would not convict on
circumstantial evidence. Disqualified.
At this juncture K. Nelson Goolrick, who had been accepted, arose




47
to explain his doubts about his competency as a juror, on account of his
former abesnce from the State. The court finally ordered Mr. Goolrick
to stand aside, and his name was stricken off. This left two men, in-
stead of one, yet to be procured. The examination proceeded:
John W. Allison, Jr.: No opinion; could give fair and impartial
trial, but would not find death penalty on circumstantial evidence.
Disqualified.
E. W. Jones: Opinion formed and expressed; had “special interest
in the female”; rejected without further ado; enigmatic remark of
Jones was taken to mean that he sympathized deeply with Mrs. McCue.
S. E. Eastburn: Opinion based on newspaper reports, could be dis-
missed from mind; could give fair and impartial trial. Defense cross-
questioned Mr. Eastburn and noted exception when court declared him
to be competent juror; prosecution preferred that he be excused. Was
ordered to stand aside.
Samuel Spicer: Had been a resident of Fredericksburg but six
months. Disqualified.
Wallace Carner: Had already formed opinion, which could not be
dismissed from mind. Disqualified.
Ashton Dodd: No opinion; could give fair and impartial trial;
opposed to capital punishment. Disqualified.
Warren Sullinger: Had formed very decided opinion. Disqualified.
Joseph M. Goldsmith: Couldn’t be suppressed for a minute; be-
lieved prisoner was guilty or knew persons who committed murder.
Court sent Goldsmith away in a hurry.
L. E. Layton: Could not dismiss opinion already formed. Dis-
qualified.
John T. Goolrick: Had been resident of Virginia but one year.
Disqualified.
T. M. Bradley: Opinion already formed and expressed; could dis-
miss tentative opinion and give fair trial, but was opposed to capital
punishment. Disqualified.
P. H. Ball: Not a resident of Fredericksburg for a full year. Dis-
qualified.
Mason H. Willis: Had opinion; believed prisoner guilty. Dis-
qualified.
F. L. W. Green: Opinion already formed; could not be dismissed
from mind.
J. W. Masters: Not absolutely sure that he could dismiss from mind
opinion already existing. Disqualified.
W. A. Bell: Opinion formed and expressed; could not be dismissed
from mind. Disqualified.
Joseph H. Davis: Had opinion based on newspaper accounts; could
dismiss opinion and give accused fair trial; would not convict on cir-
cumstantial evidence. Disqualified. -
48
William L. Watson: Had opinion which he was afraid would
prejudice mind. Disqualified.
The list was exhausted. The court was at a standstill once more.
Judge Morris again expressed the opinion that Mr. Eastburn was a
competent juror, but did not press the point. He announced that he
would send his sergeant out again in search of jurors. Court was ad-
journed until Monday afternoon at 12:30 o'clock.
Judge Morris impressed upon the jurymen the necessity of extreme
care in not discussing the case or reading anything bearing upon it.
Mr. Harmon, one of the attorneys for the defense, said he understood
somebody had, with the evident intention of trying to influence the
jury, discussed the case and expressed his opinion of it when some of
the veniremen were standing near. He understood, however, that the
gentlemen had not overheard the remark. He desired merely that the
court point out the gravity of the offense.
DANIEL HARMON.
Judge Morris declared that a man who would attempt to tamper
with a jury in this case was not only doing a thing that was not decent,
but was guilty of contempt of court. He announced for the benefit of
the assemblage that he would inflict harsh punishment upon any man
found guilty of such an offense.
FOURTH VENIRE FROM FAUQUIER.
The upshot of Saturday's dreary, disappointing business was that
“Foxy” Rogers had to make his fourth and last man-hunt. This time,



49
as on the occasion immediately preceding, he slipped off unobserved,
and it was hours and hours before it was learned that he had gone to
Warrenton, Fauquier county, for his prey.
It was considerably after 2 o’clock in the afternoon of Monday,
October 24th, before the court was back at work again. Vexatious de-
lays had hampered the trial at every step, and it was with no great
surprise that the patiently waiting crowd learned that another hitch
held the court in check. The City Sergeant had experienced difficulty
in capturing the Warrenton venire, and had been unable to catch the
early train to Charlottesville. There was nothing to do but wait, and
the opening—originally set for 12:30 o'clock—was postponed for about
two hours.
At last the machinery was set in motion once more, and it looked as
if something would be done. The appearance in the court-room of Mr.
Daniel Harmon, chief counsel for the accused, added further to the
belief that the case would now be pushed on with vigor. Mr. Harmon
had been ailing for several days, and only a few hours before had been
reported seriously ill. He looked pale and weak, but the fact that he
was out again restored confidence among the spectators.
The work of examining the venire began at once. City Sergeant
Rogers called the names:
W. G. Fewell: No opinion; could give fair and impartial trial.
Accepted.
D. T. Ollinger: Opinion formed and expressed; could not dismiss it
from his mind. Disqualified.
I. E. Holmes: No opinion; didn't know much about case; hadn't
studied up on it; could give fair trial. Accepted.
This completed the panel, and a sigh of relief went up from every
quarter of the courthouse. Counsel for the defense then asked for the
privilege of retiring a few moments. Judge Morris said he would give
them any reasonable amount of time. Mr. Lee thought ten or fifteen
minutes would do, and when the court assented, he left the room ac-
companied by Mr. Harmon, Mr. Walker, Mr. Sinclair and Mr. Edward
O. McCue. -
A full list of those summoned from the Fauquier town is as fol-
lows: W. G. Fewell, D. T. Ollinger, L. E. Holmes, C. D. Henson, S. P.
White, K. E. Murfee, C. B. Calohan, Edward Sims, Dr. R. O. St. Clair,
W. H. Blythe, John T. Browner, B. B. Jeffries, W. T. Willis, A. E.
Walker, William Martin, George Mauyett, Albert Whillen, H. T. Bur-
gess, Walter Goldthorpe, John A. Coons, Robert Fisher, W. H. Camp-
bell, B. E. Maddux, J. P. Stone, A. K. Kennedy, W. H. Chatterbuck, W.
H. Risdon, F. D. Gaskins, F. R. Hodgin.
Within a few moments after 3 o'clock the attorneys were back in
the room. The defense at once exercised the peremptory right and
struck four names from the panel. Those directed to stand aside were

50
J. M. McIlwaine, of Petersburg; A. E. Heinrich, of Richmond; Dr. Jud.
B. Wood, of Richmond; Samuel Beale, of Fredericksburg.
The remaining twelve who constituted the jury were as follows:
J. Y. STOCKDELL, Petersburg, SHELTON CHIEVES, Petersburg,
Hardware Merchant. Peanut Factory.
W. B. SPIERS, Petersburg, JOHN A. TRAYLOR, Richmond,
Engine man. Not engaged in business at present.
A. J. SAUNDERS, Petersburg, S. B. QUINN, Fredericksburg,
Merchant. Bookkeeper.
JAS. B. PRENTIS, Petersburg, NELSON DECKER, Fredericksburg
Manager Tobacco Factory. Agricultural Implements.
T. F. PARSONS, Petersburg, W. G. FEWELL, Warrenton,
Wholesale Feed Dealer. Bookkeeper.
A. S. JOHNSON, Petersburg, L. E. HOLMES, Warrenton,
Merchant. Farmer.
MR. HARMON'S RETIREMENT.
The jurymen stood while the oath was read and then each kissed
the Bible as it was passed from hand to hand. The solemnity of the
next few moments was impressive. In a halting voice the deputy
clerk read the long and terrible indictment of McCue. The jury stood,
the prisoner sat staring and ill at ease. The ordeal would have caused
a shudder to a man less self-contained than he. McCue drew deep,
long breaths, and his eyes contained no smile. A moment later, the
trial was on or at least there were indications of a beginning.
Dr. Frank McCue was called, and at once took the stand. The ab-
sence of Mr. Harmon caused a pause. Rogers, the peripatetic sergeant,
grabbed his satchel, his hat and his stick and strolled out. McCue
gazed fixedly at his brother, and then allowed his eyes to roam about
the place.
Mr. Lee left to inquire into the absence of the senior counsel.
It was a dramatic moment when Mr. Gilmer arose and asked that
the clerk bring into the court-room the baseball bat, the murderous
gun, the night-gown worn by the victim and the bloody shirt of McCue.
Mr. Duke left at once and returned shortly with the bat wrapped
in a newspaper and tied with a red string. He went out again almost
immediately and after a while brought in the other articles.
The court waited impatiently, Mr. Harmon had not returned, and
whispers speeding from lip to lip, declared that he had suffered a
collapse. At last there was a stir in the door-way, and Mr. Lee ap-
peared, followed by one or two of his associates. The senior counsel
was not of the party.
“It is with great regret,” he said slowly and carefully, “that we
inform the court of the serious illness of Mr. Harmon, of which we
have just been accurately informed. I cannot attempt to speak with
technical precision, but I understand from the physicians who have
51
made a careful examination of Mr. Harmon's blood, that he is in a
very anaemic condition.”
Mr. Lee went on to say that, having relied largely upon Mr. Har-
mon, who was the first lawyer engaged to defend McCue, his associates
did not feel that they were prepared to go on with the case without
him. He was ready to place physicians upon the stand and let them
testify. From conversations with the attorneys on the other side, he
understood that the Commonwealth lawyers desired a consultation
and a recess until the following morning. Mr. Lee realized the em:
barrassment a delay at this time would cause to everybody. He said
nobody regretted it more than the defense, which was ready with its
case and anxious to proceed.
J. T.INSLEY COLEMAN.
Captain Woods, of the prosecution, extended his heartfelt sympa-
thy to Mr. Harmon, but regretted that the information of his illness
had not been stated before. He hoped that after a conference, the
defense might be able to appear in court the next morning, and express
its willingness to go on.
Arising to reply to Mr. Woods, Mr. Sinclair, of the defense, stated
that a consultation with such an end in view, would be useless. He



52
said flatly that it would be impossible to go on with the trial the next
day.
The expert testimony of Dr. Browning closed the day. He con-
firmed what Mr. Lee had said. Mr. Harmon was in an exceedingly
anaemic condition. He had suffered a collapse a few days before, and
had since been under the constant eye of his physicians. Not satisfied
with his own examination, Dr. Browning had called in Dr. Barringer,
of the faculty of the University, and Dr. Davis, the eminent pathologist.
Both had confirmed his worst fears. If. Mr. Harmon’s condition grew
much worse, he would be suffering from pernicious anaemia, a very
grave disease. There was no organic trouble. What the attorney
needed was rest and quiet, so that his system might be built up.
“Mr. Harmon,” said the physician,” in effect, “is more grieved
than any one else at this delay. He is begging and pleading to be
allowed to go on. At the very start, he said to me, you must not stop
me from this case. I want to go on. But I have now told him that he
cannot go on with my consent. He needs fresh air; the vitiated atmos-
phere of this court-room is hardly fit for a snake to breathe.”
“Will you please inform the court when we were told of Mr. Har-
mon’s real condition,” said Mr. Lee.
The court assured Mr. Lee that it was satisfied with his personal
statement, but the attorney said he wished not only the court, but he
entire audience to have this assurance.
“Mr. Harmon did not know it himself until three-quarters of an
hour ago,” said Dr. Browning. “We have worked until the last mo-
ment to pull him through, and we have not succeeded. Mr. Lee has
just been informed that Mr. Harmon will endanger his life if he at-
tempts to go on with the case.
Mr. Ker arose to reiterate the desire of the Commonwealth for a
conference, and Judge Morris said that the matter ought to be very
gravely considered before a final decision was reached. He ordered a
recess until Tuesday morning at 10 o’clock.

HEADING OF EVIDENCE BEGUN AT LAST.
Promptly at 10 o’clock the next morning, Tuesday, October 25th,
the court reassembled, and Mr. Lee at once arose and announced that
since the afternoon before, the defense had determined not to ask for
a postponement. It had been developed that Mr. Harmon would not be
able to appear at the next term of the court, or at any early subsequent
term. The defense, he said, realized the embarrassment of the court,
and, though it felt itself sorely handicapped by the necessary absence
of the senior counsel, it had determined to push on with the trial. Mr.
J. Tinsley Coleman, of Lynchburg, had been engaged to take the sick
attorney's place, and would arrive that evening. The examination could
go on at once.
The court expressed its sincere regret at the painful illness of Mr.
Harmon, but was gratified that there was to be no delay.
The trial proper opened with the testimony of Dr. F. C. McCue, a
brother of the accused. Dr. McCue elaborated his statement made at
the coroner's inquest and already quoted, but with the exception of
one or two minor discrepancies, the account he gave the jury was prac-
tically the same as what he had said before. Speaking of the position
of Mrs. McCue in the bath tub, Dr. McCue said the running water had
reached the wound, which was an inch or an inch and a half below the
collarbone. The woman’s head was entirely above the water. There
was no flow of blood from the gunshot wound. So far as witness could
see there was no discoloration of the water. Witness was present at
examination of the body, but did not know how long this was after the
corpse had been stretched upon the bed. To the best knowledge of the
physician no blood had come from the gunshot wound up to the time
of his examination. Dr. Early introduced his finger into the cavity,
and it was then that the blood for the first time gushed forth, staining
the body, the gown and the bed clothes.
Dr. McCue stated that his brother on the night of the tragedy wore
an undershirt, a pair of dark trousers and slippers.
“When was this shirt removed, Doctor?” asked Captain Woods.
"While the final examination was in progress,” said the witness.
The shirt was held up to view. There were blood-stains upon it.
Witness identified the shirt. He asked some one for this garment on
the night of the murder.
“I went to the clothes basket and got the shirt,” said Dr. McCue.
Proceeding, the witness stated that so far as he could remember
there were some blood-stains on McCue's shirt when he got it out of the
clothes basket. Witness explained that his brother's face was bleeding,

54
and that he assumed that the blood on the shirt had come from the
wound. The shirt, the witness thought, was dry when he first touched it.
Captain Woods again brought out the fact that there was no dis-
charge of blood from Mrs. McCue's body until the final examination.
“And it was while this examination was in progress that your
brother took off his shirt, was it not, Doctor?” asked Captain Woods.
“No, sir,” said the witness. “He took off his shirt later. It was done
after the undertakers had finished their work.” The baseball bat was
held up and identified. Witness said he was sitting by a sofa holding
his brother’s hand when his attention was first called to the bat.
The gun was next produced and witness stated where he had first
seen it, and what became of it on the night of the murder. John Perry,
a domestic in the house of McCue, a small negro boy, had thrown the
gun open and a discharged cartridge dropped out. When witness went
to house followed closely by Captain Grady, Perry and McCue were the
only persons in the house—alive. Dr. McCue said he did not call for
police assistance; he did not observe clocks and note the time. In a
very short time after the arrival of witness at the house people began
to assemble.
The body was taken from the bath-tub and laid upon a rug. The
accused was standing just outside the bath-room door. Witness thought
his brother had stepped inside the room and looked down at the corpse.
So far as Dr. McCue knew the husband had not touched the body. On
the way to the house witness did not stop to give the alarm to anybody.
The gown worn by Mrs. McCue was unrolled—a blood-stained thing.
Dr. McCue would not attempt to assert positively that it was the same.
He knew that after the final examination of the body the gown became
stained all over with blood.
Dr. McCue said he had been the physician of the McCue household
for several years. On the night of the murder his brother was suffer-
ing. He offered his assistance—a hypodermic injection—but the ac-
cused declined the service, saying he thought he could “pull through
all right.” -
“When I arrived at the house,” said Dr. McCue, “my brother ap-
peared to be dazed. He appeared dazed for a day or two afterwards.
As well as I can remember, the first thing he said was: “Go hunt for
Fannie.” While I was standing off the staircase I could hear the water
in the bath tub running. My brother told me to look for his wife, but
did not say where she was. He said nothing to indicate that he knew
whether she was alive or dead.”
The cross-examination began. Under Mr. Lee's questioning witness
repeated the telephone message he had gotten from Sam McCue on the
night of the murder. The words that came to the physician over the
wire were these:
“Come down here, Frank, right quick. There is somebody in the
house. He has knocked me senseless and probably shot Fannie.”
55
*Did you stop at any house on your Way to the house of your
brother?” asked Mr. Lee. “No, sir.”
*Did you enter any yard?” “No, sir.”
*Did you speak to any one?” “No, sir.” -
“When you arrived at the house, was the door locked ” “No, sir;
it was swinging open.” -
“Where was your brother?” “Standing upon the stairway, holding
his head with one hand and his side with another. He appeared dazed.
There was a wound upon his face. The blood trickled from it down
upon his shirt.” -
“Where was the negro boy, John Perry?” “He ascended the stair-
way by my side.”
E. O. McCUE.
According to Dr. McCue, he and Drs. Easley and Venable made a
careful examination of the bath-room. The gas in the room was burn-
ing, but the three held lighted matches and crawled around on their
knees inspecting every inch of the bath-room floor. They were search-
ing for signs of a struggle.
“Did you see any part or parcel of an undershirt in the bath-room?”
asked Mr. Lee. “No, sir.”
*Could a scrap from an undershirt or any other piece of cloth have
escaped you in your examination of the room shortly after you found
the body?” “I don't think so, sir.”
The bloody shirt began to figure in the case again. Mr. Lee



56
brought out the fact that the Doctor had asked somebody, either the
accused himself or somebody else, for the shirt. He was told that he
would find it in the basket that usually held the soiled clothes. He
went there and got it. It was buried under some other clothes. Wit-
ness said he did not remember whom he asked for the shirt. He had
been directed by the Commonwealth’s attorney to get the garment
and give it to the undertaker.
“Now, Doctor,” said Mr. Lee, leaning forward, “whether you asked
your brother or somebody else for the shirt, was there any effort to
conceal it?” “None in the least, sir.”
“Is it not a fact, Doctor, that friends were gathering at the house,
and that the torn condition of the undershirt exposed Mr. McCue's
person, and made it improper for him to appear before his friends?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And he took off the shirt, threw it into the clothes basket and put
on another, did he not?” “Yes, sir.”
The line of questioning that was interjected here clearly revealed
the intention of the defense to prove if possible that McCue had been
rendered senseless by a blow from some heavy instrument, possibly a
sand-bag. The physician said the wound on his brother's face could
have been caused by a sand-bag. The accused could have been knocked
senseless with such an instrument and the outward evidences of the
blow could yet have been very slight. Unconsciousness from such a
weapon would probably result from the concussion or the reaction.
“Was your brother’s nose bleeding?” asked Mr. Lee. “I did not
notice it at first,” said Dr. McCue, “but later I saw that his nose
was bleeding.”
“Did you infer this from the blood on his face or did you actually
see the blood coming from his nostrils?” “I saw the blood oozing from
his nose.” -
“Would not this have been the natural and probable result of an
injury to his head—from a sand-bag blow * “Yes, sir. We usually
expect to find something like that.”
DR. VENABLE ON THE STAND.
When Dr. McCue stood aside Dr. C. S. Venable took the stand. On
the night of the murder he went to the McCue house, arriving there a
half hour or more after the murder.
According to the witness, there were a great many people moving
about in the house when he arrived. He went to the bath-room and
found the floor and the rug wet. Witness went from the bath-room to
the front room in which Sam, the accused, was stretched out on a
lounge. There were several people in the room. Dr. Venable expressed
his sympathy for the prostrate man.
“I held Mr. McCue's hand and asked him how it had happened.
He said it was done so quickly that he did not know. A man, he
57
thought, had rushed in from little Ruby's room. While I was standing
there Mr. McCue asked: ‘Is she dead?" His brother bent over him and
said: ‘Yes, Sam, she is dead.” Mr. McCue said: ‘Oh, my God!’”
“Doctor,” said Mr. Woods, “you were holding his hand. Did his
pulse quicken or did he show any signs of surprise?” “No, sir. His
face remained unchanged. No tremor went through him. There was
no manifestation of excitement or grief or sorrow.”
The expert testimony of Dr. Venable concerning the injury McCue
sustained on the night of the murder was of the very liveliest interest.
He said it was an abrasion, apparently caused by a glancing blow. He
belittled the wound, and said it was about the same as the injury of a
child which had fallen down and skinned its knee. Witness had never
seen a sand-bag blow, but he understood that it was possible to deliver
such a blow on the hair and leave no mark. Susequently—the next
day, perhaps—there would be a knot. Witness had examined McCue
the next day and found no such knot.
“What would have been the after effects of a sand-bag blow on the
face under the eye, on the spot where the prisoner was injured?”
“There would have been an enormous swelling, the skin would have
been black, the eye nearly closed, and the bone underneath probably
fractured.”
“The bone would probably have been fractured,” you say?” “Yes,
if the blow was sufficient to cause insensibility.”
“Please explain, doctor?” “It is very difficult to cause insensibility
by a blow on the face. To do so the blow must be a very heavy one.
“Did you examine Mr. McCue carefully—his jawbone, his mouth,
and his head—on the next day?” “Yes, sir.”
"Did you discover any such effects as you believe would follow a
sand-bag blow heavy enough to produce insensibility?” “No, sir.”
In the testimony that followed, Dr. Venable described the condition
of Mrs. McCue's body when it was discovered, referring in detail to the
Various wounds discovered. He confirmed what Mr. McCue had Said
about the gown and the time it became blood-stained.
On the next day Dr. Venable said he made a second examination
of the body and then discovered two things overlooked the night before.
One of Mrs. McCue's fingernails had been broken on her throat were
the prints of fingers. A left hand had clasped her throat. There were
four marks on the right side of her neck and One on the other. The
second the third fingers were most plainly outlined on the skin. The
traces of the others were less clear and distinct.
"Could these bruises have been made after death—in the handling
of the body?” “No, sir.”
“Why not?” “A bruise is a collection of blood under the skin.
After death there is no blood circulating and none can gather.”
"Please give your expert opinion as to when these marks upon
Mrs. McCue's throat were made.” “Before her death.”


58
“Which of the wounds on her body caused her death?”
“The gun-
shot Wound.”
“How long could she have lived after receiving such a wound?”
“The heart action would have ceased after one or two beats. Death
would have been practically instantaneous.”
The prosecution endeavored to get the witness to tell where Mrs.
McCue must have been—in or out of the tub—when she was shot.
Every attempt met with an objection from the defense. Captain
Woods finally said: “Would it have been possible for a person shot in
the way you have described to get into the bath tub and assume the
position in which Mrs. MCue was found? .
“I think not, sir,” said the
witness.
“Will you please take this shirt, worn by Mr. McCue, doctor, and
point out in detail what you see upon it?”
The physician laid the garment across his knee and called the at-
tention of the jury to blood-stains on the front–faded spots and stains
evidently washed with water on the wristbands; blood on the back of
the collar, not washed; three bloodmarks further down on the back, not
washed, and faded, washed stains on the right side below the shoulder-
blade. Several of the jurymen examined the shirt themselves.
At the opening of the cross-examination, Mr. Lee brought clearly
before the court and the jury that in referring to the blood-stains as
being “washed” and “unwashed,” Dr. Venable did not mean to convey
the idea that some of them had been scrubbed, but simply that they had
come in contact with water, or with some damp substance. The attor-
ney asked the physician to take the shirt again and describe the loca-
tion of each of the so-called washed and unwashed spots. There were
eight of the former and eleven of the latter. Mr. Lee arose and walked
over to the witness chair and held up one end of the shirt while the
witness held the other. The Lynchburger pointed to a “washed” blood
spot and to one “unwashed.” Then he pointed to three spots together
Two of them appeared unwashed and one of them washed. They were
within one inch and a quarter of each other. Dr. Venable was unwill-
ing to say positively that the faint spot near the other two was washed;
he rather thought it was not. Mr. Lee questioned him closely. He
finally asked the physician to show him a washed spot, about which
he had no doubt. Mr. Lee then handed the shirt to the jury to decide
for itself. The gentlemen looked at the spot pointed out by Dr. Ven-
able, as washed, and then at the other spot claimed by Mr. Lee to have
been washed, and yet within an inch and a quarter of two unwashed
spots.
This interesting little incident over, the cross-questioning began.
Dr. Venable was asked to give an account of the search made in the
bath-room on the night of the murder. Witness said he did not get
down on his knees. Dr. McCue and Dr. Early were with him. They
were hunting for blood-stains, and they used in addition to the gas,
59
matches and a candle. Personally he did not look under the bath tub.
but some of the others might have done so. He did not see a piece of
shirt on the floor, but in spite of the efforts of Mr. Lee would not say
that he would have had to see the scrap if it had been there.
Taking up the record in the coroner's inquest, Mr. Lee read a
statement from Dr. Venable to the effect that Mrs. McCue, after being
injured, might have stepped over into the bath tub. The witness said
he could not remember saying this. She might have fallen over into
the tub, but could not have stepped over. Mr. Lee called attention to
the fact that Dr. Venable had signed a certified copy of his testimony
at the inquest.
CAPTAIN MICAJAH WOODS.
The last important statement made by Dr. Venable was his de-
scription of the broken finger nail. It was on Mrs. McCue's left hand.
The tip had been broken off and torn back.
COURT WENT IN A BODY TO PRISONER'S HOUSE.
The third and last witness of the day was Mr. C. L. Demott, a civil
engineer, who, with elaborate detail, made the jury familiar with the
plan of the McCue house.
At this point the court adjourned to the McCue residence itself,
where the jurymen went thoroughly over the premises. McCue accom-
panied the party. For the most part, he was absolutely calm and un-
affected—the most unconcerned man in the little crowd. During a



60
portion of the time he was in the house in which his wife had so
recently given up her life he walked around with his hat tilted back
on his head and his hands plunged deep into his pockets. On his way
back to the court-room he walked along unmoved by the curious gaze
of the people who lined the sidewalks or peered from nearby door-
ways. Suddenly he turned, walked across the roadway and up the
steps of a residence on the front porch of which were seated several
people. He shook hands with two of them. They were Mus. F. T.
Walker and her daughter.
MARSHALL DIN WIDDIE'S TESTIMONY.
The session of the following day, Wednesday, October 26th, opened
with the testimony of Mr. Marshall Dinwiddie, who married an aunt
of the accused. The witness was fifty-eight years of age, and since the
murder had been occupying the McCue house. He began with a state-
ment of what he knew of the actual happenings on the night of the
homicide:
“On my way to church,” said he, “when I got near Dr. Nelson's, I
saw Mrs. McCue cross the street in front of me, going over to the street
leading to the Presbyterian church. Near the Baptist church she met
a negro man, whom she stopped, and to whom she said something. I
spoke to her, and had passed by a few steps when she called me and
said she would go along with me. We went on to the church together.
Mrs. McCue Went to her seat and I to mine. The service had not
begun when we entered. The pastor of the church is Dr. Petrie. When
I met Mrs. McCue near Dr. Nelson's, it was a few moments of 8 o’clock.
Shortly after we arrived at the church, Sam McCue came in and took
a seat in the pew with Mrs. McCue. I heard that Miss Mary McCue
was in the same pew. After the service I did not see Mr. or Mrs.
McCue until they turned into Park street on the way home. I do not
know which left the church first.
“When I got down into Park street, near E. O. McCue's house—I
wanted to see Mr. and Mrs. McCue—and I stopped to look for them. I
saw them turn around into Park street and I went along leisurely to
Sam McCue's gate and waited for them. They explained their delay
by saying they had met and talked with somebody who walked very
slowly. Both invited me very cordially to enter, but I did not do so.
I left them at the gate.
“The service at Dr. Petrie’s house usually lasts about an hour.
I am not sure, but I think, it was about 9:05 P. M. when I was on Park
street. I did not tarry at the house over a few moments. After ask-
ing about the children and telling Sam about the death of one of our
relatives, I left and went home-and went to bed. I was awakened by a
negro–about 11 o'clock that night—and then learned for the first time
of the murder. It took us about a half hour to reach the house. I
61
found Mrs. McCue dead and Mr. McCue lying on the lounge. He said
he was suffering from a blow on the head.”
“Now, Mr. Dinwiddie,” said Captain Woods, “please state as near
as you can remember, exactly what the prisoner said to you about the
homicide.” “Mr. McCue told me a man had rushed into the room,
knocked him senseless and shot his wife. He said he was standing
before the chiffonier. He was farther from the door than his wife.
A man had come in. Mrs. McCue, I suppose, had run out, and Sam had
been knocked senseless. He told me he tried to reach his gun, and
had gotten it partly out of the case when the man took it away from
him.” -
“Did you observe the condition of Mr. McCue?” “He said he was
suffering from a blow on the head, and I noticed an abrasion on his
cheek.”
“Did you make any examination of the wound?” “I did not.”
“Did Mr. McCue appear to you rational or irrational?” “Rational.”
“How long did you stay at the house?” “Until 6 A. M. the next day.
I went home and came back about two hours later.”
“Did Mr. McCue between 11:30 P. M.–the time you arrived—and
6 A. M.–the time you left—see the body of his wife?” “Not to my
knowledge.”
“Please repeat anything you said to him about this matter.”
“While the body was being dressed I asked Mr. McCue if he wanted
to see it. He said he preferred to remember his wife as she had lived.
When the body was in the coffin I went to him again. This time he
went to see the body and saw it several times after that.”
“When was the body placed in the casket?” “On Monday after-
noon.” -
“Between the time you arrived at the house Sunday night, then,
and Monday afternoon, when the body was placed in the casket, the
accused did not see his wife?” “Not to my knowledge.”
“Where was the body when you reached the house?” asked Mr. Lee.
“In the boys' room.”
“It had been taken there and laid out on the bed?” “I under-
Stand so.” -
“Did you at any time assist in handling the body?” “Not until
after the examination.”
“What was the condition of the bed clothes? Was there any blood
present?” “A great deal. The bed clothes were saturated and the
night-gown was in the same condition.”
“You handled the body, you say?” “Yes, sir.”
“Did you get any blood on your hands?” “A great deal.”
“Now, tell us anything you know about the undershirt Mr. McCue
wore.” “I was told that the officers wanted the night-gown and the
undershirt. Dr. McCue went into his brother's room and handed it
to me.” -

62
“Were your hands bloody?” “Yes, sir.”
“You had not washed them yet?” “No, sir.”
“What else happened?” “Mr. Biery, the undertaker, took the shirt
and the night gown and wrapped them up.”
“The night gown, I understood you to say was bloody and wet?”
“Very much so.”
“And Mr. Biery wrapped it up in the same package with the shirt?”
“So I understand.”
McCue wept bitterly when the witness told of the visit of the ac-
cused to the coffin of his dead Wife.
“What was the character of Mr. McCue's emotion?” asked Mr. Lee.
“There was nothing unusual about it. He acted much as any other
man in his position would have done.”
J. L. LEE.
Mr. Lee relinquished the witness and Captain Woods developed
the fact that Mr. Dinwiddie, with his bloody hands, had not fingered
the shirt, but had merely held it an instant and passed it on to Biery,
who rolled it up on the spot.
WHAT CHARLES SKINNER HEARD.
A negro, Charles Skinner, next took the stand. On the night of
the murder witness occupied a small servants’ house to the rear of the
Moran home, where he was employed. This servants’ house is quite
near the McCue place. The windows in Skinner room were up, and
he was lying on the bed. Here is what he heard and saw:


63
“On that Sunday night I was up in my room lying down on the
bed reading the paper. I didn't have anything on but a night shirt.
I heard crying and screaming, but went on reading. I heard more
crying and screaming again, and went over to my little window and
looked out. I didn't pay much attention to it. I thought somebody
was just carryin' on. Then I found out that the crying and screaming
was at Mr. McCue's. I thought somebody was dead or sick. I laid on
the bed again and started reading. Then I heard a shot and I got up.
I called to James Lewis, a colored boy, who was talking to Mr. Moran’s
servant girl. I put on my pants and shoes and coat and hat and went
down. I saw two men coming up the lane, and they went into Mr.
McCue's back gate. I went into the yard with them and asked them
what had happened. They told me (the court held up a warning
finger), and I said: ‘Let me get out,’ and I went out. I woke up Mr.
and Mrs. Moran. They were in the other side of the house—the side
next to Irvine’s.” -
“How long did you hear the crying?” “For three minutes, or five,
or maybe more.”
“Was it the voice of a woman or a man?” “A woman, I think.”
“Did you hear the voice of a man?” “No, sir.”
“Did the crying come from the bath-room?” “I didn’t know where
the bath-room was. I don’t know what part of the house the crying
and screaming came from. I just heard the crying and the screaming.”
“Did you hear any crying after the shot?” “The crying and scream-
ing stopped. I went down and then heard some more crying-heavy,
coarse crying, like a man.”
“Did you see any light in the house?” “I think I saw a dim light
in one room in the front part of Mr. McCue's house.”
“What sort of night was it?” “Very dark and rather warm.”
“Could you see the rear of the house?” “It was very dark, but I
could see the rear of the house.”
“After the shot, did you see anybody run out from the rear of the
house?” “I did not.”
“Did the two men have any weapons?” “It was very dark, and I
couldn’t see. From what they said they might have had some.”
DR. EARLY IN THE WITNESS CHAIR.
Dr. J. E. Early, a physician, who had gone to the McCue house on
the night of the murder, next took the stand.
Dr. Early said he observed a slight abrasion on the cheek of McCue
on the night of the crime, but did not make a careful examination until
the next day. The contusion was very slight. A careful examination
of his head showed no bruise, abrasion or other evidence of injury.
The wound on the face was comparable to that of a child who had
fallen and skinned his knee in a sand-heap. There was no bruise or
discoloration and very little swelling. It was in the boys' room that

64
the witness first saw the body of Mrs. McCue. The corpse was then
stretched upon the bed. Witness examined the body for the coroner's
jury. He gave an account of the wounds already explained. Death
was caused by the gunshot wound. There was scarcely any blood on
the body or the gown from the gunshot wound. There was a little
blood on the collar from one of the wounds. A second and later
examination was made by Drs. Early and Venable at the suggestion of
Commonwealth’s Attorney Gilmer. Upon this occasion Dr. Early intro-
duced his finger into the cavity to ascertain the direction taken by the
load. It was then that the blood gushed forth. In the opinion of the
physician the abrasion on McCue's face could not have produced in-
sensibility. He had found nothing at all on the head of the prisoner
indicating that a blow had been struck on any other place. A blow
from a sand-bag or any other instrument would have left some trace,
he thought.
Dr. Early then referred to the finger-marks on the throat of Mrs.
McCue. He said she had the appearance of having been choked by a
left hand. The physician noticed the marks on the night of the mur-
der, but did not pay much attention to them. The next day they were
much more distinct.
“Doctor,” asked Captain Woods, “what would have been the effects
of a heavy blow from any instrument on the face below the eye?”
“Swelling, laceration, and discoloration, and possibly a fractured bone.”
“Did you observe any of these effects upon Mr. McCue?” “No, sir.
There was very little swelling and no discoloration.”
Captain Woods held up the bat.
“Could the injury upon Mr. McCue's face have been inflicted with
a weapon such as this?” he asked. “It could not.”
“Please State whether or not Mrs. McCue’s death must have been
instantaneous after receiving a wound such as you have described.”
“Practically instantaneous; she may have taken one or two breaths.”
“Did she have the power of locomotion?” “I think she must have
dropped in her tracks.”
“How far off was the gun when fired?” “Not over two feet.”
“Do you know if Mr. McCue's nose was bleeding on the night of the
murder?” “I did not see any blood on his nose.”
“Could the injury upon Mrs. McCue's ear have been made with this
bat?” “It could.”
The bloody shirt was dragged out and handed to the witness, with
the direction that he point out the washed and unwashed stains. The
witness called attention to the wristbands, which he said had come in
contact with water. A small sensation was caused when, after a cur-
sory examination, he said he did not think any of the other spots at all
had been discolored by water. -
This was a sweeping indictment of what Dr. Venable had said
Tuesday. Mr. Lee shook his foot and smiled appreciatively. The
65
crowd stirred with interest, and had to be rapped to order. The witness
examined the shirt carefully, but did not change his ºpinion ºf the
spots. He said that so far as he could observe the shirt was in the
same condition in which it had appeared at the inquest, where he
had first seen it.
The cross-examination at once clinched the important statement
about the bloody shirt and Dr. Early deliberately and carefully con-
firmed what he had said before. The spots on the wrist-bands had
come in contact with water. The other blood spots had not been dis-
colored by water. This was the expert opinion of the physician.
FRANK GILMER.
Reference was then made to the search in the bath-room, and Mr.
Lee attempted to prove here also that the tell-tale scrap of shirt could
not have been in the room. -
Dr. Early stated, however, that he had not examined the wet floor
carefully or looked under the tub. He was looking for blood spots,
and might have overlooked the scrap. He was not prepared to say
that the others had not made a more careful examination of the room
than he had.
Then came the downfall of the witness—utter, awful, complete.
His testimony with reference to the effects of a heavy blow upon the
head by a sand-bag or any other instrument had carried great weight
as confirming what Dr. Venable said yesterday. Commonwealth stock
was soaring high.



66
The slump came when Mr. Lee took up a stenographic report of
the inquest. He read aloud the following question and answer from
the testimony of Dr. Early: ,
Q.-Just describe the character of the wounds you find on Mr. Sam
McCue this morning and the effect these wounds would have?” “A.—
I can find no wound, except a slight wound in the cheek and a slight
contusion. I can find no wound on the head. The only conclusion I
can come to is that he must have been struck with a sand-bag to have
produced unconsciousness; if he had been struck on the head with a
hard instrument it would have produced a wound and a contusion.
The only conclusion I can come to is that he must have been struck
with a sand-bag or some instrument of that character to have pro-
duced unconsciousness without causing a wound.”
Mr. Lee leaned forward and looked closely at the witness. “Did
you say that, Dr. Early?” he asked, “Yes, sir.”
“Do you say so now?” “No, sir.”
“Why not?” “Because I don't believe it now.”
The attorneys for the defense smiled and the crowd tittered. The
court rapped for order.
“I don’t believe McCue was ever rendered unconscious at all,” said
the witness. “I may have thought then that a blow from a sand-bag
might have left no mark, but since thinking of it, I do not believe it
could. There would have to be some contusion.”
- “You believe there would have to be some contusion, Dr. Early?”
asked Mr. Lee. “Yes, sir.”
“Then listen to this, Dr. Early. I quote again from your testimony
at the coroner’s inquest: “Dr. Early: I agree with Dr. Venable that
you might hit a man on the back of the head with a soft instrument
and produce unconsciousness without a contusion.”
“Now, Dr. Early, didn’t you say that, didn’t you receive for cor-
rection a copy of your testimony at the inquest, didn't you read it care-
fully, and didn’t you sign it?”
The witness was painfully embarrassed. For a full moment he sat
and no sound came from his lips. Finally Judge Morris leaned for-
ward:
“The question is very plain, Dr. Early. Did you or did you not
make this statement and afterwards sign it?” “I did.”
“Dr. Early,” said Mr. Lee, you say now that a blow from a sand-
bag would cause some hours later a swelling or a bump. Will you
please tell the jury what is a bump?” “A contusion.”
CITY ENGINEER DEMOTT.
Mr. C. L. DeMott now took the stand. He is the civil engineer who
was examined the day before. He stated that at the direction of Mr.
Gilmer he visited the house of McCue, turned on the hot water spigot


67
and took an account of the time necessary to fill the tub. This is the
spigot found running when Mrs. McCue's body was found in the tub.
The engineer stated that it took twenty-five minutes and fifteen
seconds for the water to fill the tub up to the overflow point. During
this time there were three partial stoppages, when the Water ran at
about half of its usual capacity. These stoppages were caused by a
partial draught on the pipe from another portion of the house. The
periods during which they continued were as follows: First, ten sec-
onds; second, twenty seconds; third, ten seconds. Deducting one-half
of these forty seconds to compensate for the partial stoppages, the acº
tual length of time elapsed in filling the tub with the Spigot running
at its full capacity was twenty-four minutes and fifty-five seconds.
When the water in the tub was up to the overflow point, the tub was
two-thirds or three-quarters full. There were about six cubic feet of
water in it, or about forty-five gallons. There are about eight pounds
of water to a gallon. The weight of the human body is practically
the same as that of water. Supposing a body, weighing about 115
pounds—Mrs. McCue's weight—to have been entirely submerged in
the tub, it would have displaced fourteen and a half gallons of water,
and the tub would have been filled in sixteen and two-thirds minutes.
UNDERTAKER BLERY'S PART IN THE AFFAIR.
The next witness was Mr. Biery, the undertaker present at the
McCue house on the night of the murder. He reached the house be-
tween 10 and 11 P. M., and took charge of the body. Witness looked
at the bloody shirt and identified it as the one handed to him by Mr.
Dinwiddie.
“What did you do with the shirt?” “I laid it on the foot of the
bed.”
“Was there any blood on the bed” “No, I laid it on the floor–
the wood.”
“What did you do with it?” “I wrapped it up myself.”
“How?” “In a newspaper—two or three thicknesses of newspaper.”
“Was it with the gown?” “No, sir, it was in a bundle by itself.”
“Well, what else did you do?” “I took the shirt to my office and
locked it up until the next day. Mr. Gilmer and Mr. Rogers sent for it,
and I gave it to them.”
“Was there any blood on your hands when you received the shirt
from Mr. Dinwiddie?” “No, sir; when I am at work on a body I
always use water, and my rule is to wash my hands.”
“Had you washed your hands this time?” asked a juryman. “Yes,
Sir.”
“Are you sure of that?” “Yes, sir.”
In response to inquiries by Captain Woods the undertaker said
that while washing the body on the night of the murder he had noticed
the finger marks on the throat of the dead woman. These marks were
plainer the next day. Witness said that he had seen nothing of McCue

68
while he was handling the body. The first time he saw the prisoner
beside the body was when the corpse lay in the casket the next day.
The cross-examination of the witness provoked frequent laughter
from the crowd, and many sharp raps from the bench. Biery is a
foreigner, whose English is primitive, and whose grasp of questions is
none too ready. Some of his replies were novel.
“How long does it take you to embalm a body, Mr. Biery?” asked
Mr. Lee. “Sometimes longer than another time.”
“How is that?” asked Mr. Lee. “Well, sometimes I sit down and
rest.”
“Did you do that this time?” “I couldn't say.”
The voluble undertaker exhibited an amazing disregard for con-
Ventions, inquest evidence, and previous statements by himself.
POLICEMAN GRADY EXPLAINS THINGS.
For the next hour the court was busy with the testimony of E. C.
Grady, the police officer, whose name has figured rather prominently
in the case. Grady was in the chief's office. The 'phone bell rang and
he answered it. He was told that a robber was in the house of Sam
McCue. He dropped the receiver and dashed out.
“Whose voice was it you heard over the 'phone?” asked Mr. Lee,
some time later. “I think it was Mr. J. Samuel McCue's,” Grady said,
“but I am not sure, for I did not wait to find out.”
“When I got into the house,” continued the witness, “I saw Mr.
McCue. He was holding his head with one hand and his side with the
other. He said somebody had killed his wife, and nearly killed him.
He said his side hurt him worse than his head. He thought his as:
sailant was still in the house. I called for a lantern and had nearly
every lamp in the house lighted. I made a careful search and even
went to the furnace-room under the house. When I went to the bath-
room, the body had been taken out of the tub and placed on the rug.
I think the negro boy John Perry, was out getting lamps. Dr. McCue
was in the bath-room. Mr. Sam McCue came to the door and Dr. McCue
told him his wife was dead. He said: ‘Oh, my God, my Maker, who
could have had enough against me to kill my wife and treat me as
they have done.’ He seemed about to sink and went away. We found
the gun standing in the corner, near the bath-room door. The negro
boy broke it and an exploded cartridge fell out. I asked him if there
were any other loads in it, and he said there were not. I did not ex-
amine the gun myself. The boy said it was Mr. McCue's gun.”
“Was anybody—a man or a woman—with Mr. McCue, when he was
first told that his wife was dead?” “No, sir; there was nobody there
but Dr. McCue, Mr. McCue, the colored boy and myself.”
The accused, said Grady, was rational, but very much excited and
apparently in great pain. He told witness about the attack. He said
he was in his bed-chamber, when he heard a rattle at the door. He

69
wheeled around, looked, and saw a tall, dirty-looking white man. The
fellow had the appearance of a railroad hand-greasy and dirt-bedaubed.
The time was so brief that he (McCue) could not observe him closely.
He reached for the gun in the corner, but the man was on him before
he could use it. There was a sharp tussie, and then McCue didn’t
know anything.
“In your examination of the house, what conditions did you ob-
serve?” “A window in the parlor was open, and two windows up-stairs
were open. The door to the rear had been opened. The negro boy told
me he had locked it the night before.”
In the first stages of the cross-examination Mr. Lee referred to the
open windows and drew from the witness the statement that there was
nothing in any of them—flower pots or other obstructions—that would
prevent a man from going through. A window in little Ruby's room
opened upon the roof of a back porch, beside which grew a locust tree
that could be easily reached. A similar condition existed in the
front. One of the front windows was open. From it a man could have
stepped upon the roof of the front porch and reached a tree at the
other end. There was thus at each end of the house, front and rear,
a tree which might have assisted an intruder in reaching the ground.
Besides these avenues of escape there were others. A man might have
gone down the front stairway and out of the front door or through the
parlor window, which was found open, or he might have gone down a
back stairway that leads into the yard.
W. O. DURRETTE PUTS IN HIS APPEARANCE.
A little stir went around when William O. Durrette, whilom absent
witness, was called. The young man walked in and took the stand.
On Monday, the day after the killing of Mrs. McCue, the witness
was at the house of Mr. McCue. Captain Woods handed him the much
discussed scrap of shirt. He recognized it.
“It was between 12 and 1 o'clock,” he said. “I found this scrap
of goods in the bath-room, behind the door, just in front of the tub.
I took it at once to the coroner, who was then holding an inquest in the
house. I made my statement to him then. The scrap was lying be-
tween the door and the bath tub. Part of it was under the door, which
was swinging open. The piece was lying about eight inches from the
head of the bath tub.”
Mr. Durette looked again at the scrap and said that to the best of
his knowledge its condition was the same as when he found it.
Under the cross-questioning of Mr. Lee the witness said the cloth
as it lay upon the floor was perfectly visible to the eye. Anybody in
the room conducting a search for blood spots would necessarily have
seen it. Neither Dr. McCue, Dr. Venable nor Dr. Early had found it
when they inspected the place the night before. Durrette found it the
next day shortly after noon. -

70
“Why did you go into the bath-room?” “To wash my hands.”
“A number of people had been in and out, had they not?”
“Yes, sir. I had been in before, myself.”
EXPERTS TESTIFY.
The chair was next occupied by Mr. Fontaine A. Eddins.
Witness said that for many years he had been connected with
Wood's clothing store. He examined and sold gauze shirts. He was
handed the bloody shirt worn by McCue and the scrap found in the
bath-room. He scrutinized them carefully. The jury gazed intently
at him and the crowd bent forward eagerly. Presently he turned
around.
“I cannot tell by the fitting,” he said, “whether this piece was torn
from the shirt. The chain stitch and this thread that is hanging to
this little piece has been torn from back in here (indicating) and is
absent from this and the same spool of thread that comes through one
piece matches the other—you see this little thread hanging down, which
forms this chain stitch, which comes around this neck—that seems
the same to me.”
Mr. Eddins stretched the shirt upon a table and fitted the scrap in
the torn position. The jurymen then went forward and looked for
themselves. When they returned to their seats the examination of the
witness was resumed. The upshot of the thing was, that Mr. Eddins
was unwilling to say that the scrap was or was not a piece of the
shirt. The texture was the same, but on account of the shrunken condi-
tion of the old shirt he could not say that a piece measuring just 2 3-4
inches—the length of the piece found in the bath-room—was missing
from it.
M. Kaufmann, another clothier, took the stand. He, too, examined
the shirt and the scrap of cloth. The defense noted an exception to
this line of evidence on the ground that it did not come within the
bounds of expert testimony. The court overruled the exception. Mr.
Kaufmann proceeded with his scrutiny of the shirt.
“I should say that the piece fits it exactly,” he declared, finally."
“The stitch and the texture are the same.”
The witness plunged into a technical explanation. He was more
positive than Mr. Eddins, that the scrap and the shirt were the same.
The last witness of the day was Mr. R. W. Covington, whose testi-
mony was unimportant.
Just before the adjournment of the court, Judge Morris, at the
request of counsel on both sides, asked that all ladies stay away from
the courthouse on the following day.
OPENING OF ANOTHER DAY.
By 10 o'clock the next morning, Thursday, October 27th, the court-
house was filled again with an eager, anxious crowd. Dr. E. O. McCue
and the negro, Charles Skinner, were recalled for a moment, and then
71
an aged lady, Mrs. Sue B. Antrim, took the stand. She said she was
in the church on the night of September 4th, when Mrs. McCue came in.
Shortly afterwards Mr. McCue entered and took a seat in the Same pew.
His cousin was between him and his wife. When the service was over
Mrs. Antrim and her daughter started home. Mr. and Mrs. McCue
walked immediately behind. They engaged in no conversation with
each other. Near the Baptist church Mrs. Antrim's daughter turned,
and, recognizing Mr. McCue, stopped to thank him for some improve-
ments he had made. The four then walked along together. Mr. McCue
chatted a good deal. When Mrs. Walker reached home her daughter
invited Mrs. McCue to come in for a while. It was still early. Mrs.
McCue said: “Thank you; I can’t come in to-night.”
G. B. SINCLAIR.
“Did you notice anything unusual in the conduct of Mrs. McCue
that night?” “I thought she was unusually quiet.”
“How far did you walk with Mr. and Mrs. McCue, Mrs. Antrimº”
asked Mr. Lee. “About a square.”
“How long did it take?” “Not more than three minutes.”
“And during that time your daughter was thanking Mr. McCue?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And Mrs. McCue said nothing?” “No, sir.”
“Did you say anything to her or to Mr. McCue?” “I did not.”
“Then you were about as quiet as Mrs. McCue was, were you not?”
“Yes, sir.”
W. D. Stevens, an insurance and financial agent, took the stand.


72
On the night of the tragedy he was going home from church, and had
just passed the jail, when he saw Mr. and Mrs. McCue. The street
was narrow. Witness had his wife upon his arm. In passing, Mr.
McCue walked ahead of his wife. Whether they continued to walk in
this way afterwards, witness was not able to say. The two couples
spoke and were soon out of sight of each other. That was all.
“Did anything in the manner or voice of Mrs. McCue attract your
attention?” asked Captain Woods. “It struck me that her voice was
depressed,” said the witness.
Mr. Lee noted an exception to both question and answer. Then he
took the witness in hand.
“Did you know Mrs. McCue at all?” he asked. “No sir.”
“Had you ever heard her voice before?” “No sir. But you can
tell when a person is depressed whether you have ever seen her before
or not. Excuse me, sir, excuse me.”
“Then you think that the fact of Mrs. McCue's politely speaking to
you, a stranger, was an evidence of depression?” “Yes, sir.”
The name of Mr. W. J. Keller, who lives next to McCue's house, on
Park street, was next called. He was on his lawn on the
night of the murder, walking with his wife. During the even-
ing Mr. Keller had been absent from his home for a time.
He was across the street at a friend's. They were seated in
the hall with the front door open. At twenty minutes to 9 Mr. Keller
left and went home, and for a short time sat in his own hall, near the
front door. Afterwards he joined his wife upon the lawn. The wit-
ness did not see Mr. and Mrs. McCue return home from church. He
heard no shot and no screams, nor did he see anybody go from the
house. Once only was there anything unusual in the direction of
McCue's house. While Mr. Keller was walking on his lawn, and shortly
before he had learned of the murder, somebody ran up the lane between
McCue's and Moran's. At the same time a voice called out: “O Charlie.”
When Mr. Keller had completed his testimony, Mr. Randolph Page,
one of the young men encountered by Grady in his hurried trip to the
scene of the murder, took the stand. Mr. Page said he met Mr. Charlie
Duke, son of the clerk of the court, in front of Moran's, on the night of
the murder. Mr. Duke had a double-barreled shotgun in a case. They
turned back with the officer and stood in the street just opposite McCue's
house, while Mr. Percy Payne went up the lane to the rear of the resi-
dence. The witness heard no noise in the house and saw nobody go
into McCue's house ahead of Grady.
WHAT THE TELEPHONE GIRLS SAID.
Miss Virginia Bragg took the stand. The young lady is a telephone
operator. On the night of the murder she received a call from the
McCue house. The voice of Mr. McCue asked for connection with the
house of Mrs. T. J. Williams. The 'phone of Mrs. Williams was busy,


73
and the operator informed McCue of that fact. The voice at the other
end said: “Oh, don't tell me it is busy, central. Somebody is in the
house and has shot, and, I think, has killed my wife.”
“I took down the connection,” continued the operator, “and gave
Mr. McCue the number wanted. I heard him tell Mrs. Williams that a
burglar was in his house; had hurt him, and probably killed Fannie.
He rang off, and presently Mrs. Williams called me and asked if I
heard that. I told her I had. She asked me if I had called anybody
else, and suggested that I do so. I phoned to police headquarters. I
do not know who answered the 'phone. I told them to send at once to
Mr. McCue's house. I did not say what was the matter.
Under the close questioning of Captain Woods, Miss Bragg said
that to the best of her knowledge Mr. McCue did not call up his
brother, Dr. McCue, police headquarters, or anybody else. She left the
room for about three minutes, during which time Miss Buisick had
charge of the board. But so far as the witness was concerned, she had
heard McCue's voice but once that night, and that was when he talked
to Mrs. Williams. The startling announcement she caught over the
wires excited her somewhat, but not to such an extent that she was not
willing to rely upon her memory. She declined, however, to say posi-
tively that Mr. McCue did not call anybody else or that she might not
have connected the 'phones of Sam McCue and Frank McCue and for-
gotten it. To the best of her recollection nothing of this sort had
occurred. Mr. Lee brought out another fact
“When Mr. McCue called you up. what did he say? Did he ask
for Mrs. Williams?” “No, sir. He said: “Give me some one.’ I asked
him whom he wanted, and then he said: ‘Give me Mrs. T. J. Williams's
residence.’”
“How would you have connected the 'phones of Mr. Sam McCue
and Dr. Frank McCue?” “I would have passed the cord from my
board to that of Miss Buisick.”
“And you might have done this mechanically, without noticing it
at the time?” “Yes, sir.”
“But you simply don't remember doing so?” “Yes, sir.”
The other operator, Miss Buisick, took the stand. She operated
the board through which a message from Sam McCue's to Frank
McCue's must have passed. In other words, Sam McCue's 'phone was
on Miss Bragg's board and Frank McCue's on Miss Buisick’s.
The witness stated positively that she had received no message
from Mr. Sam McCue on the night of the murder. Neither had she
connected the 'phones of the brothers. She was absolutely sure of this.
She admitted that out of a possible fifty messages between 6 P. M. and
10 P. M. that night she remembered but one, and that among the other
forty-nine might have been one from Mr. Sam McCue to his brother.
But both the young ladies had heard what Mr. McCue told Mrs. Wil-
liams. Miss Buisick said, with confidence in herself, that she would

74
certainly have remembered any communication Mr. McCue may have
had with his brother or anybody else during the ten or fifteen minutes
preceding the message to Mrs. Williams or following it. She was quite
sure nothing of this sort had happened.
The lengthy testimony of Mr. George L. Moran was chiefly inter-
esting from the account of the tragedy given by the accused to the
witness. McCue had told Mr. Moran that he was standing in his bed-
room when he heard a click at the door. He turned and saw a man
entering the room. McCue went at once to the chiffonier where he
usually kept his pistol. The weapon had been removed. The accused
said he reached for his gun, which was in the corner. Before he could
use it the man struck him, and he knew no more.
Mr. Moran was in the room when the body was embalmed. He
saw nothing of the bloody shirt. To the best of his knowledge and
belief, McCue did not see the body of his wife. The husband seemed
to the witness perfectly rational.
City Sergeant Rogers, who said he had received the bloody shirt
from Biery, the undertaker, took the stand. The shirt and the gown
were wrapped separately. The sergeant took the two bundles to the
residence of McCue where the coroner's jury was sitting. For a short
time afterwards Mr. Rogers kept the grew some objects in his house;
then turned them over to the clerk. The shirt and the gown were
always separately wrapped. They were never together in the same
parcel. The Sergeant also took charge of the scrap of gauze. It was
delivered to him by Mr. William Durrette, who found it in the bath-
room. The gown and the shirt were given to Mr. Rogers by the under-
taker on the morning after the murder.
According to the City Sergeant, the only inmates of the T. J. Wil-
liams house to which McCue had 'phoned for assistance were a man
over seventy years of age, his wife and his two daughters—Mrs. Hilde-
brand and Mrs. Munson.
STILL ANOTHER ACCOUNT.
The last witness of the morning was Judge R. T. W. Duke. The
residence of Judge Duke is on Park street, diagonally across from that
of the accused. As soon as he heard of the murder Judge Duke rushed
to the home of his friend. There were several people in the house. He
went at once to the room in which Mr.McCue was lying stretched upon
the sofa. To the witness, McCue gave an account of the assault. He
said he had heard a noise in the passage and rushed out and grappled
with a man. Succeeding in breaking away he went back into the room
and got his gun. When he went back with the gun the man struck
him, and he knew no more.
“Mr. McCue appeared perfectly rational to me. He was certainly
excited to some extent, but I don’t believe he was as excited as I was
myself. He began to talk to me about Dr. Petrie's sermon that he had

75
heard that night. I thought that under the circumstances this was
rather peculiar, though we frequently discussed such matters. Mr.
McCue had on an undershirt. I did not notice it particularly, but my
attention was attracted to some blood on one of the wrist-bands. I
tried to get him to take some morphine, but he wouldn’t do it. He
told us to 'Go and look after my poor wife.’ This led me to suspect
that Mrs. McCue was not dead. I rushed into the boys' room. The
body was streched upon the bed with a covering over it. I lifted the
cover. One look was sufficient. I went back to where Mr. McCue was
lying.”
In the afternoon Mr. J. S. White, a young Charlottesville 1awyer,
took the stand. He was requested by Captain Woods to repeat in
detail any conversation he might have had with McCue since his in-
carceration.
“I went to the cell of Mr. McCue,” said Mr. White, “to see him
about a matter of business. I expressed my regret at bothering him
with such a matter at such a time. This was between the fifteenth
and twentieth of September. Mr. McCue said he was innocent, and
was being persecuted. Later on he said: “For four or five years my life
has been a perfect hell. That woman is the most jealous woman I
have ever known.' I understood that he was referring to his wife.
He told me he had come to the bar in 1881, and had scuffled hard to
build up a practice and provide for his family and make his home life
happy. After that he went hard to business matters. Mr. McCue ap-
peared very much grieved. I do not think he made any affectionate
reference to his wife, but I could not be positive. I do not remember
any.”
A negro named William Hurley, employed by McCue chiefly to look
after his horses, followed Mr. White to the stand. At the time of the
murder William had for two weeks been doing some hauling for McCue.
“When I got to Mr. McCue's house on the night of the murder,”
said the negro, “I went up the back way and went straight to Mr.
McCue's room and walked in. I was pretty much filled up with sorrow
and couldn’t say much, but I asked him what on earth was the matter.
He said something, but I didn’t just understand what it was. Then
Mr. Mason told me I had better leave. I started for the door, and Mr.
McCue called me back and told me: ‘Will, take care of everything and
look after the children when they come.’ Then I went out.”
“Some time later in the day (Monday) I saw Mr. McCue again. In
the conversation he had with me then he said he wanted me to stay on
the place and take care of things. He told me somebody had come in
his house and killed his wife and nearly killed him. He said he didn’t
know his wife was dead until he come to and found her. He said he
was standing before the mirror taking out his shirt buttons when he
saw a man pass by the door. He couldn’t see him very good, but
thought he was a greasy, dirty-looking white man. Mr. McCue said

76
he grabbed his gun and slipped a couple of shells in. When he stepped
toward the door he was struck. He said his wife was in the bath
room part of the house. He didn't tell me where he had been hit. He
had a bandage on his face.”
“Did Mr. McCue ever say anything to you about his wife—whether
she was jealous or not?” “Yes, sir. You see I has had troubles around
home myself, and Mr. McCue was my counsel, and I guess that's the
way the subject arose. It seems he said to me once: ‘Will, my old
woman is jealous of me sometimes, too.”
“Did he ever say how this jealousy affected his pleasure and happi-
ness in life?” “Seems to me,” said the witness in effect, “that he said
he sometimes didn’t have so much pleasure because of it.”
MISS CRAWFORD’S TESTIMONY.
Every eye was fixed upon the entrance. The name, Miss Bertie
Crawford, called as that of the next witnss for the Commonwealth, sent
a thrill through the audience. The figure of a pale, slight woman,
dressed in deep black, entered. She was leaning on the arm of young
Ernest Crawford.
The sister of the murdered woman took the stand. She was agi-
tated and at times could scarcely speak. The court gave her the utmost
consideration, and preserved absolute silence while she was testifying.
Captain Woods asked her to tell the jury anything she knew as to the
relations between McCue and his wife and of the prisoner's treatment
of Mrs. McCue. “His treatment,” she said, in effect, “was not that of a
husband to a wife. He was frequently very unkind. My last visit to
my sister's home in Charlottesville was in August. I spent twelve days
there a week before her death. When I arrived my sister was in a very
nervous condition. Shortly after I got there she told me Sam had
come home. That night at the supper table he asked for Fannie. I
told him she was not feeling well and would not eat anything. Later
on I persuaded her to go down to the front porch. Sam was in a chair
on the pavement in front of the steps. It was the first time he had
seen his wife since he got back, and he knew she was sick, because I
had told him. He didn’t even notice her. She asked him how he felt
and remarked that he hadn’t told her anything about his trip. All he
said was: ‘It is not necessary for you to know anything about my trip.’”
The voice of the witness faltered, and fell so low that the silent strain-
ing crowd could scarcely catch a word.
“After a day or two,” continued Miss Crawford, “Sam went off
again and stayed several days; when he returned, his wife asked him at
the dinner table if he had seen anybody she knew. He said he had not.
He didn’t say anything else. He was very inconsiderate of his wife.
While he was away, she got one letter from him. I do not know what
was in it. My sister was very indignant when she received it.”
Another physician, Dr. Hugh T. Nelson, followed Miss Crawford.
77
He went thoroughly into the subject of wounds from instruments, rang-
ing from fists to bullets. He had seen sand-bags, but had never seen
an injury resulting from one. He thought, however, that a sand-bag
blow sufficient to produce unconsciousness would cause a contusion and
probably some swelling. Other effects—vomiting and nose-bleeding-
would be likely to follow, but not necessarily. The defense drew from
Dr. Nelson the statement that a man could be knocked senseless with a
long and flat and soft instrument, and yet bear upon his head no lump.
When Dr. Nelson said he had not read up on sand-bag wounds
and was not an expert on the subject, the defense endeavored to have
his entire testimony stricken out. The court overruled the motion,
and an exception was noted. Judge Morris said the testimony of the
physician could remain, as the statement of a medical expert, and that
what he said as to sand-bags would stand for what it was worth.
CAPTAIN R. S. KER.
The jailer who has kept constant watch over McCue since his in-
carceration, took the stand. He gave his name as Nat. R. Martin, his
age as twenty-eight, and his residence the jail.
The testimony that followed bordered closely on the sensational.
Martin said that on the Sunday evening before the grand jury met he
Was in the jail and overheard a conversation between McCue and his
son, William. The prisoner turned to his son and said: “You know it
is not so about what Ernest Crawford said about my drawing a pistol
On your mother,” and the son said that “you did,” and “that she ran in

78
the room and got in the bed with me, and asked me not to let you shoot
her.”
“We object to that,” said Mr. Lee, “for this reason, that a state-
ment made to the accused in his presence and undenied by him is
evidence against him, but a statement made to him and denied by him
is not evidence against him, and we ask the court to exclude the testi-
mony.”
“I think it will have to go in, sir,” said Judge Morris.
“Very well, sir, we except.”
"Now go on and state what else passed in that conversation right
after that,” said Captain Woods to the witness.
“And then he said”—began Martin.
‘Who Said?”
“Mr. McCue. How could I draw a pistol on her and threaten to
shoot her when she had the pistol in her hand? and he said”–
“Who Said?”
“His boy asked him: ‘Why did she run in there and get in bed?
“Willie McCue then asked, what?”
“Why she ran in there and got in bed with him, if she had the
pistol.”
“We except to that question and answer,” declared Mr. Lee, “on
the ground that it is an admission against the accused of an accusation
made against him by a third person, which he then and there denied.”
“There is nothing to show that he denied it,” said Captain Woods.
“The witness said he denied it,” interposed Mr. Coleman.
“The testimony speaks for itself, gentlemen,” said Judge Morris.
“What else did he say in that conversation?” asked Captain Woods.
“Mr. McCue asked his son Willie what the fuss was about,” and he
said, “About that woman,” and he asked him, “What woman,” and he
said, “He did not know what woman.” -
“The son said he did not know what woman?”
“Yes, sir.”
“We except to that last question and answer, also,” said Mr. Lee.
“Very well,” was the brief response of Judge Morris.
On cross-examination, Martin gave the names of those he thought
were present during this conversation. They were, to the best of his
recollection, Mr. William McCue, Mr. John L. McCue, Mr. Sinclair, Mr.
Edward O. McCue and Mrs. Dinwiddie. He was doubtful about some
of them. The court asked the stenographers for a copy of Martin’s
testimony for further consideration.
WILLIE MCCUE ON STAND.
About twenty minutes of 5 o'clock Willie McCue, the eldest son of
the accused, went on the stand. A description of the remarkable scene
in the courthouse while the boy was testifying is given elsewhere.
After the first two or three questions the Commonwealth announced









79
that it had been taken by surprise, and that it would treat young Mc-
Cue as an adverse witness. Captain Woods then began the cross-
examination.
“State whether or not, prior to the murder of your mother, your
father and mother had had frequent and violent quarrels?” “No, sir.”
“Didn’t you state to Mr. Ernest Crawford, your uncle, and Mr.
Albert Baldwin, on the porch, on Tuesday morning after your mother
was killed, that they had had, before the killing, many quarrels and
bad quarrels?” “No, sir.”
“You deny that you told them that?” “Yes, sir, emphatically.”
“Didn't you also, in that same conversation, tell these gentlemen
that they were mad with each other at the supper table?” “No, sir;
I did not.”
“You deny that?” “Yes, sir, emphatically.”
“And that you got up and went out from the supper table on to the
porch?” “I did not leave the dining-room while they were in there.”
“Didn’t you tell those gentlemen that you did so, though?” I did
not.”
“And didn’t you also tell those gentlemen that your father followed
you out there, and that he was in a great rage, and that he walked up
and down the porch and remarked: ‘I will be damned if I will put up
with this another day,’ walking backwards and forwards?” “He came
to me and reprimanded me for 1etting the negro take his driving
horse and phaeton to Keswick, and he was lecturing me, but he didn’t
even refer to her.”
“You deny having told these gentlemen that?” “Yes, sir, I do.”
“Didn't you, at the Gleason Hotel, after that, and in the presence
of Mr. William G. Baldwin and Mr. Albert Baldwin, and also in the
presence of Mr. Ernest Crawford, your uncle, make the same state-
ment, not once, but repeatedly?” “No, sir; I did not. I never made
such a statement.”
“Didn't you tell them—that is, the two—Mr. Baldwin and Mr.
Ernest Crawford—that as soon as you heard of the killing of your
mother, you knew your father had killed her?” “No, sir; I didn’t tell
them that. He made that statement himself.”
“You deny that?” “Yes, sir.”
“Didn't you make an appointment with Mr. Baldwin, one or both
of them, and with Mr. Ernest Crawford, your uncle, to take John
Perry to the wine cellar, the night after the funeral, I think it was,
and didn’t you have, then and there, at the wine cellar, pretty much
the same conversation, telling them the same thing over again?” “No,
sir; I never told them the same thing.”
“Didn’t you take John Perry down to the wine cellar that night?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Were you not with your uncle, at that time frequently and with
the Baldwins, and telling them at various times of the bad treatment

80
of your father towards your mother * “No, sir; I never told them once
of my father's bad treatment towards my mother. I never have, and I
want to tell you now that Mr. Ernest Crawford, my uncle, has tried his
best, in every way, shape and form to get John Perry to say, ‘Oh, my
God, you are killing me.’ He tried his best to get him to say that, and
John stuck to this statement, ‘Oh, my God, Sam, they are killing me.”
He stuck to that statement through and through.”
“Didn't you take from John Perry yourself a statement and bring
it to these gentlemen, exactly to the contrary?” “I asked John about
it, and he gave that statement, and then denied it emphatically.”
“He gave you this statement, then, which is in writing?” “Yes, sir.”
“Is that your handwriting?” “That is mine.”
“Did you deliver that paper to Mr. Baldwin, as the statement made
by John Perry to you?” “I took that and read it over, and Mr. Bald-
win took it from my hands.” -
“You delivered it to him º' “I did not deliver it.”
“He took it from your hands?” “Yes, sir.”
“It was a statement which you took down, and as having been
made by John Perry?” “I took it down. I said: ‘John, are you telling
me the truth?' I went back after that paper had been gotten, and I
said: ‘John, are you telling the truth?’ and he said: ‘No, sir; I am not;
I can tell but one tale, and tell the truth.’”
“Didn’t John Perry tell you that he had testified before the coro-
ner's inquest that he heard a voice say: 'Sam, he is killing me,’ and
that he was afraid to tell the truth then, but this was really the true
fact of the case that you have in this paper, and that he was afraid to
tell it before those gentlemen?” “I do not understand your question.”
“Didn’t John Perry tell you that he testified before the coroner's
inquest, and that he hadn't told the truth; that he was afraid to tell
the truth; didn’t he tell you that?” “He said to me—he made that state-
ment to me, and then he said to me—I came back to him and said:
‘John, are you telling the truth here?' and he said: ‘No, I am not,’ and
he said at the time: “Those gentlemen have tried to persuade me to
tell something I don’t know. I have made a written statement, but I
deny it right now and here.” That is what he said to me at the stable.”
“He was referring to this statement you wrote down and took to
the Baldwins?” “Yes, sir; but I never took that statement to the
Baldwins.”
“Didn't you no longer than yesterday and the day before tell Mr.
Ernest Crawford that when you came on the stand you were going to
tell exactly the truth, and tell what you had told him about this whole
matter?” “I didn't tell him so. I told him what I was going to say
would be nothing but the truth, and that is what I have told—”
“Didn't you tell him, not once, but repeatedly in the last few days,
that you were not telling counsel on the other side, or anybody, about
what you were going to say when you came on the witness stand, but


81
that when you came on the witness stand you were going to stick to the
truth and tell the same thing you had told him all along?” “I told him
I was going to stick to the truth, and that is what I have done.”
“Didn't you also tell him that you stood by the statements you had
made, and that they were true, and that when you came on the stand
you didn't care whom it hurt, you were going to tell the truth?” “I told
him I had not made any statement to anybody, and was not going to
make any to him. He tried his best to get a statement out of me, and
I wouldn't give it to him; he has tried it repeatedly, but he has never
gotten a statement, and has tried it in the last few days.”
“During the time, or for the first few days after the killing of
your mother, were you not frequently in conference with the Baldwins,
giving them all the assistance you could, and telling them that your
father had killed your mother, and that you wanted all the facts to
come out?” “I think Mr. Baldwin and Mr. Crawford were generally
coming to me; I wasn’t going to them.” -
“But you were with them. Where did you meet them frequently?
Didn't you meet them at the Gleason Hotel frequently?” “I went to
the Gleason Hotel at their request.”
“And you conferred with them?” “Yes, sir.”
“And you made arrangements with John Perry to come to the wine
cellar, and have an interview at night?” “No, sir; I did not; they made
it themselves.”
“Didn’t you tell Mr. Albert Baldwin and Mr. Ernest Crawford that
your father and mother had had a violent quarrel, and that she ran
into your room before this killing, of course, and jumped into the bed
with you, and that your father followed her with a pistol, into your
room, and pointed the pistol at her bosom?” “No, sir; I never made
such a statement to anybody.”
“Didn't you also say that she got over behind you, and asked you
to protect her, and that your father threatened you with the pistol
then?” “No, sir, I did not.”
“You deny that?” “I deny it emphatically.”
“That was on Tuesday night when you were with Mr. Baldwin and
Mr. Crawford at the wine cellar. Now, didn't you go down there with
John Perry?” “Yes, sir, I did.”
“You took him there?” “I did not take him there.”
“How did he get there?” “He went of his own accord.”
“He went with you?” “No, sir.”
“Didn't you arrange how he was to get there so as not to be ob-
served, isn’t that a fact?” “I didn’t arrange so he could get there, s
as not to be observed, not at all.” -
“It was on your request and suggestion, that he did go there.” “l
told him that Mr. Baldwin wanted to see him and myself at the wine
cellar.”
>






82
“You went together, then?” “No, sir.”
“How far did you go apart?” “He came down through the lot, I
suppose, and I went up town and went to the drugstore and stayed
there a good while.”
“And then you all met at the wine cellar?” “Yes, sir.”
“Didn’t you see Mr. Julian Paoli at the drugstore on Main street?
Didn’t you tell him that you were in a terrible fix, and you did not
know what to do; that if you told the truth it would hang your father,
and people would always point to you as the man who had been in-
strumental or was the cause of hanging your father?” “No, sir; I did
not make such a statement to him.”
“You deny that?” “I deny that I ever made a statement—that my
statement would hang my father; I never did.”
“Do you deny having any talk with him?” “He said: ‘William, I
sympathize with you greatly’; that way, and he went on to say, talking
about this thing, he said to me at the time, and he said the first thing
that Mr. Link thought of, ‘What would William think of this?’ or some-
thing to that effect.”
“Didn't he tell you he sympathized with you greatly, and advised
you, as your mother was dead, or v, as killed, to tell the truth about it,
no matter what the consequence was? Didn’t he tell you that?” “Yes,
sir; he did.”
“Didn’t you also tell Mr. W. G. Baldwin that you had seen as many
as fourteen letters, written by women, to your father?” “No, sir; I
did not.”
“Is it not a fact, or did you not within a few days—within three
or four or five days after the murder—go to your father’s office and get
Some letters from that office and deliver them or take them to Mr.
Baldwin?” “Mr. Baldwin asked me if I knew of certain letters, and I
told him yes, and I went and got the letters for him, and handed them
to him and the letters were nothing but business letters, strictly.”
“You took the letters to them?” “Yes, sir; I handed them to them,
in the presence of Mr. E. B. Sinclair.”
“Was that before or after your father’s arrest?” “I couldn’t say.”
“Was it before?” “I don’t know. I cannot say exactly.”
At this point in the testimony of Willie McCue a recess was taken
until the next morning at 10 o’clock.
EXAMINATION CONTINUED.
When court reassembled on Friday, October 28th, the examination
of Willie McCue was temporarily suspended, and Mrs. Nellie Hinton
Massie, who lives on Park street, oposite the residence of the accused,
took the stand. She said she was seated on the front porch with her
husband about 9 o'clock on the night of the murder. After a few


83
moments, Mr. and Mrs. McCue came down the street (from church)
and paused for a moment at their gate in conversation with Mr. Din-
widdie. The latter declined an invitation to enter, and soon went
away. Mr. and Mrs. McCue went into the house and closed the door
behind them. The witness remarked to her husband, “How early Mr.
and Mrs. McCue are retiring.” Mr. Massie responded: “Yes, that’s the
way men succeed in life.” I was not feeling well, and it was chilly,
and I went in the house and began reading. My husband stayed on
the outside. He had been sick and was in the habit of taking a walk
every evening. I heard a conversation on the outside, and after a
while went out. My husband persuaded me to go over to McCue's for
a moment. I saw Mr. McCue and asked him what on earth had hap-
pened. He said: “A burglar has shot and killed Fannie. I heard a
noise and went to get my gun. But the burglar shot and killed Fan-
nie, and made his escape.” I said, “Mr. McCue, are you sure she is
dead,” and he said, “Yes, she is dead.” I told him I wouldn’t go up to
see her then, because I couldn’t do any good, and I wanted to remember
her as I saw her alive. I noticed Mr. McCue had a wound on his face—
a scratch that might have come from a finger nail or a hair-brush or
anything sharp. It was just a scratch. I did not see any blood coming
from it. I asked Mr. McCue how he got hurt. He said: “The rascal
must have shot me, too.” Then Mr. McCue walked up and down the
hall, very excited and nervous. In a short while, Willie McCue, his
son, came in. Mr. McCue said: “Willie, your mother has been shot
and killed by a burglar.” Willie pulled off his coat and hat and began
to cry. He started up the steps, but fell before he reached the top.
Owing to the illness of Mr. Massie, who was summoned by the de-
fense, he could not appear in court, and the attorneys for both sides
permitted him to convey his testimony through his wife. Mrs. Massie
repeated what her husband had told her, and then presented a written
statement signed by him.
The paper read as follows:
Charlottesville, Va.,
Thursday, October 20, 1904.
Robert H. Wood, Esq., Attorney-at-Law:
My Dear Bob, On night of murder of Mrs. Fannie
McCue, of September 4, 1904, I saw Dr. McCue go in
Sam's house, and five or ten minutes later, I saw a boy
or lad pass out of the lane, down South Park street,
to the city, I thought like William McCue (white hat
and dark clothes). I also saw same time, four boys at
the mail-box, talking and smoking. I do not know the
names of the young boys. Yours truly,
F. A. MASSIE.
The next-door neighbor of McCue, Mr. F. B. Moran, who, at the

84
time of the murder occupied his residence, Comyn Hall, followed Mr.
Massie to the stand, and then the name of Willie McCue was called
again.
The boy arose from a seat near his father, and walked from behind
the stand. Captain Woods resumed his cross-examination, which was
in progress when the session came to an end the day before.
After referring back to the testimony of the son of the accused at
the inquest, Captain Woods proceeded with the line of questioning he
began Thursday. Mr. Lee objected to the first of these questions, and
noted an exception against each one that followed. He stated no rea-
son, though he said later, that he objected on the ground that the ques-
tions were improper and illegal at that time. The exception was over-
ruled. The examination continued with frequent interruptions from
the defense.
“Did you not, on Tuesday evening, after the funeral, visit Link and
Company’s drug store?” “I did.”
“Did you have a conversation with Mr. Julian Paoliº” “I did.”
“Did he not take hold of your hand, express deep sympathy; did
you not say: “I suppose you know how I stand in this matter?” and did
you not tell him you had ‘sided with your mother?’” “I did not.”
“Did not Mr. Paoli reply: ‘William, your mother is dead. I would
not make a fight on my father, but I would tell the truth and let it fall
where it would,” and did you not answer: ‘If I tell the truth and my
father is hung, people will point at me and say my evidence hung my
father,” and did not Mr. Paoli say: ‘That is not proven yet, but that
they had better say that than say you have perjured ourself.’ Did not
this conversation occur between you and Mr. Paoliº” “No, sir.”
“What did occur?” “I admit that Mr. Paoli said: ‘Old man, I
sympathize with you, and you have my deepest sympathy.' That is all
he said. I deny everything else.”
“Do you deny that you said that when you went to Harrisonburg,
your mother asked you to hide your father's pistol, and that while you
were away your father sent you a letter giving you hell’ about that
pistol?” “I do deny it. I got a letter asking me for the pistol. He
was going to West Virginia and wanted it. He never gave me hell’ in
my life in any way, shape or form.”
“Did you not tell Ernest Crawford that your father and mother
had lived like cats and dogs, and that your home had been like a hell
on earth?” “I did not. I never said such a thing.”
“Did you not tell Albert Baldwin that you had seen your father in
the jail, and that he had tried to make you deny anything about his
chasing your mother with a pistol?” “I did not. I deny that state-
ment.”
A squabble arose here; the court sustained an objection by the de-
fense, and the Commonwealth had to go back and lay the ground for
the last question. The effect upon the answer itself was nothing. The
85
boy flatly denied any conversation with his father in the jail about his
mother's flight from a pistol. This was a contradiction of what the
jailer, Martin, said.
“Didn't you tell Mr. Albert Baldwin that your father had told you
to forget about the pistol and your mother's flight to your room?
Didn't you say he had asked you to forget it?” “I did not. I deny it
emphatically.”
Captain Woods brought out the fact that the witness had lived in
the house of his father until he went to West Virgina.
“Who went with you to Ronceverte, W. Va. ?” “Will McCue.”
“Who is he?” “My uncle.”
“Who was with you?” “My sister and two brothers.”
J. H. MORRIS, COURT STENOGRAPHER.
“With whom did you stay?” “Mr. Newton Dixon.”
“Is he a relative of your father or mother?” “No, sir; he is a
relative of my uncle by marriage.”
“Where did you take the train?” “At Basic City.”
“When did you get to Ronceverte?” “About 11 P. M.”
“How long did you stay?” “Three weeks, lacking one day.”
“What are you driving at, Mr. Woods?” asked Mr. Lee.
“I wish to point out where the witness has been and under whose
influence he has been since the murder.”
The court admitted the evidence.
“I want to say right here,” said the witness, “that Mr. Will McCue
had nothing to do with our going away. We asked him to send us


86
somewhere to avoid the worry of people's meeting us. We didn’t know
we had been summoned until we got back.”
The examination by Mr. Lee began.
“What were the relations between your father and mother?” he
asked. “They were generally cordial. Of course, they had some fam-
ily spats about little things. These differences were never serious. My
father gave my mother every indulgence. He gave her everything she
wanted. She went to the springs, when she wished; she had a horse
and carriage of her own.”
The remainder of the examination chiefly concerned the arrival
of McCue on the afternoon of the murder. He said his father and
mother came into the supper table together. They were perfectly cor-
dial. There was nothing at all unusual, except the reprimand his
father and mother had given him and the negro boy for driving the
phaeton around. When Mrs. McCue started out to go to church, her
husband immediately arose and followed. The witness expected to go
out himself, and not having a key opened the latch of the door, so that
he could open it from the outside. He turned the lights in the house
very low. He did not notice whether the parlor window was open or
closed. -
Is it not a fact,” asked Mr. Lee, “that whenever your father left
the house, even between meals, he always kissed his children and his
wife good-bye?” “He always did.” -
“William, you were much devoted to your mother, were you not?”
“Yes, sir.”
“When you drove your mother to the station on the Friday before
the murder,” asked Captain Woods, “wasn’t she weeping?” “Not to
my knowledge. I kissed her good-bye, got in the phaeton, and went
away at once.”
“Did you not tell Mr. Ernest Crawford and Mr. Albert Baldwin
that your mother was weeping on that occasion ?” “No, sir; I did not
say anything like it.”
“Didn't you tell both the Baldwins and the Crawfords that your
mother was very jealous of your father?” “I did not.”
“Didn’t you tell them that your mother asked you to watch the
women who went to your father's office; that she had reason to believe
he was meeting women there?” “I did not.” -
“Do you remember that on the Sunday after the murder you went
to church with Miss Gertrude Irvine and that you took dinner at Mr.
Irvine's?” “Yes, sir.”
“Do you remember telling Miss Irvine that your family was very
reticent, and didn’t tell what happened in its midst, and that you
dreaded going upon the witness stand, and would rather die than tell
what you knew?” “I told her I had been worried very much by people,
and dreaded going on the witness stand. I didn’t say anything about
dying.”

87
“Do you remember telling this young lady that when you went up
stairs that night your first impulse was to take the gun that had killed
your mother and kill yourself with it; that you would have done so,
but your mother had made you promise two weeks before that if any-
thing happened to her you would take care of the children?” “I don’t
remember anything about that.”
“Didn't you tell Mr. Baldwin that as soon as you heard your
mother was dead that you knew your father had killed her?” “I deny
that emphatically.”
“Just before the funeral, did you enter the room and stand beside
the casket and in the presence of W. G. Baldwin say that it was the
first time you had ever seen a peaceful look on her face. “I did not.”
IMPEACHMENT OF WILLIE MCCUE.
The name of Miss Gertrude Irvine was called. Objection to any
statement from her was made by the defense. The objection was over-
ruled, but the court took occasion to make it plain to the jury that
the testimony could not be used against the accused, but could figure
only in the impeachment of Willie McCue. The young lady was in-
vited to tell what the boy had said to her:
“He said he dreaded going on the witness stand, and would rather
die than tell some of the things he would have to tell. He said his
family was a very reticent one, and didn’t ever tell anything that
happened in the house.”
This was the extent of Miss Irvine's testimony. Mr. Julian Paoli
took the stand. He conducts a drugstore. Witness had known Willie
McCue for many years.
“On the afternoon after the funeral,” he said, “Willie came into the
store. I took his hand and sympathized with him. He said: “Do you
know what position I have taken?' I told him I did not, and he said:
‘I have sided with my mother.' I said: ‘William, your mother is dead;
your father is living; I should not make any fight on my father, but
when I went upon the witness stand, I would tell the truth regardless
of where it fell.” To this he said: ‘If I tell the truth and my father is
hung, people will point at me and say my evidence hung my father.’
I told him that hadn’t been proven yet, but that I didn’t believe they
would. I told him it was hard, but it would be worse if, after swearing
to tell the truth, he got upon the stand and perjured himself.”
The objection of the defense were again overruled and the im-
peachment proceeding continued with the introduction of A. H. Bald-
win, a detective.
“I met Willie McCue,” said the witness, “on the night I arrived
here–Monday night. The next morning I had an interview with him
on the side porch of the McCue house. Ernest Crawford was present.
Willie McCue told me he was placed in a very bad position. He said
he was going to come right out with the truth—that he had seen and

88
heard so much at home that he couldn't help believing his father had
Committed the murder.”
“He referred to some of the quarrels his parents had. On one
night his mother had rushed into his (Willie's) room and taken refuge
in bed with him. Mr. McCue followed her with a revolver and threat-
ened to shoot Willie when he interfered. Besides telling me this, Willie
McCue said his mother had asked him to watch his father's office, be-
cause she suspected he was meeting women there. He also told me
that his father and mother were mad at the supper table on the night
of the murder. He said his father had come out on the porch and said:
‘I am damned tired of this, and I won’t stand it any longer.” Willie
McCue did not say that his father was talking about Mrs. McCue or
anybody else.”
“Did he tell you anything about driving his mother to the station
on the Friday before the murder?” “He said he had driven his mother
to the station; that she was crying all the way, and that he had to go
in and get the ticket himself and persuade her to go to Red Hill. I
asked him why he wanted her to go away. He said he wanted to get
her to Red Hill, because she was worrying a great deal about the ac-
tions of his father.”
“How often did you see Willie McCue, and at whose instance were
the interviews held 2* “I saw him one Tuesday evening at the Gleason.”
“What happened there?” “We talked in general about the case.
We (Crawford and Baldwin) asked Willie McCue if he could get John
Perry away from the house. He agreed to bring John Perry to the
wine cellar, back of the residence of Mr. McCue, at 9 o'clock Tuesday
night. We met there at that time. Perry came with Willie McCue.
We sat on the ground. Willie McCue said he would get a statement
from Perry the following morning. I heard him say to the colored
boy: “John, that is not what you told me this morning.” The next
morning Willie McCue, according to agreement, came to the Gleason
and gave me a statement dictated to him by John Perry.”
“Is this the paper?” asked Captain Woods, handing him the sheet.
“Yes, sir.”
“Here is a certain entry on the back of this paper. Did Willie Mc-
Cue say anything to you about that?” “He said he had taken the state-
ment in his house, but was afraid he would get caught. He had turned
the paper over and dated it Charlottesville and started it “My dear,’ as
if he had been writing the letter. He did this to keep from being
detected if anybody came in. They would think he was simply writing
a letter.”
“Did Willie McCue say anything to you about the murder?” “He
said two or three times that he believed his father had killed his
mother.”
The place of Baldwin was taken by Charles H. Duke, son of the
clerk of the court. The boy is sixteen years of age. It was he who,

89
with Randolph Page, met Grady when the officer was dashing in the
direction of the McCue house. -
“I met Randolph Page,” he said, “in front of Moran's. We walked
a little way and then we met Mr. Grady. I was carrying my shotgun.
He asked me if I had any cartridges in it, and I told him yes. I gave
the gun to Mr. Percy Payne, and then we went on back with them. I
didn't hear any sound and I didn't see anybody. I did not see Dr. F. C.
McCue on the street or anywhere else. Randolph Page and I went
over and stood on the other side of the street. I was afraid we would
get shot. I don't know whether any of Grady's crowd went up the
lane or not.”
The second of the Baldwin brothers—W. G. Baldwin, the head of
the agency—took the stand.
He reiterated what Albert Baldwin had said about his connection
with the case.
“Did you talk with the prisoner about the murder?” “Yes, sir.”
“When?” “Monday afternoon.”
“What did he say?” “He told me he was standing near his chif-
fonier when he saw a negro or a dirty white man enter. He reached
for his gun, but before he could use it, was struck on the face. I think
he said he thought he was also struck on the back of the head. He
said he was knocked senseless. I said: ‘Then you didn’t know your
wife was dead?’ and he said, ‘No, not until my brother found her in
the bath-room and told me.”
“When did you meet William McCue?” “My first conversation
with William McCue was on Tuesday, on the porch of the McCue house.
Albert Baldwin and Ernest Crawford were also there. I had six, eight
or a dozen conversations with the boy, and cannot repeat them. I
think the first thing he said was that John Perry, the colored boy, had
told him he heard Mrs. McCue in the bath-room and heard two blows.
I asked Willie McCue the straight question, if he thought his father
had killed his mother, and he said: ‘Yes.' I met Willie McCue a num-
ber of times after that at the Gleason Hotel. Several times he came
there and asked for me. He said that once his father and mother had
had some trouble, and that his mother had run into his room and got-
ten into bed with him. His father followed her into the room and
pointed a pistol at her, and then turned it on his (Willie McCue) when
he tried to interfere. Willie McCue also told me that one day his
father, in a great rage, ran out on the porch and said: “I’ll be damned
if I stand this any longer.” Willie McCue said further that there had
been a good deal of trouble in the family over “females.” He said he
had intercepted about fourteen letters written by women to his father,
and that he had kept a record of his father’s trips to Washington and
other places. I think he said there were fourteen or sixteen of these
trips. I asked him if he had the letters, and he said he did,”

90
“Did you enter the room in which Mrs. McCue was lying in the
casket?” “Yes, sir.”
“Under what circumstances?” “Willie McCue invited me in.”
“Did he say anything?” “He looked down at his mother, and he
said: ‘That's the first peaceful look I have seen on mother's face for
several years.”
As soon as Mr. Baldwin left the stand, Mr. Edgar A. Crawford, one
of the brothers of the murdered woman, was called. He gave his age
as twenty-five, his residence as Covington. He was asked at once
about Willie McCue.
“About 3 P. M., Monday, September 5th, he said, “I saw my brother
Ernest and Willie McCue talking. I walked up to them and heard
Willie tell about the time his mother fled at the point of the pistol
from his father.” -
“Did he say anything else about the relations between his father
and mother?” “Yes,” I said: ' william, according to this, your house
has not been a happy one,” and he said: “It has not. For the past four
or five years, my home has been a perfect hell on earth. My mother
and father live like cats and dogs.”
The City Coroner, W. D. Macon, followed young Crawford. He
conducted the inquest over the remains of Mrs. McCue. The witness
was in the house on the night of the murder; the next morning he
observed the open window in little Ruby’s room.
“There were cobwebs in the window,” said the Coroner, signifi-
cantly, “and a fern dish was on the sill.”
“Did you see Mr. McCue on the night of the murder?” “Yes; I
shook hands with him and expressed sympathy, and probably he made
some reply. That is all. He appeared rational, but I didn’t have much
opportunity of observing him. I saw him again the next morning, and
thought he was rational then.”
Mr. Lee promptly counteracted any effect the cobweb statement
might have had. The coroner said the fern dish was quite small, but
had a growing plant in it. He didn't know when it was put there. It
might have been laid in the window after the murder.
“If the fern dish had not been there, could a man have gone
through the window without striking the cobwebs?” asked Mr. Lee.
“I think he could.” -
W. W. Brand said he was working in the house of Mr. McCue last
summer. Brand said he did not know how to set certain tiles, and
Mrs. McCue came in to help him. Her husband passed through the
room and she asked him about the materials. “He spoke very rough
and bitter to her,” said Brand, “and looked like he could have killed
her in a second.”
The defense objected, but was overruled. Mr. Lee noted an ex-
ception,
91
ERNEST CRAWFORD TESTIFIES.
The appearance of Ernest Crawford, another brother of Mrs. McCue,
caused almost as great a sensation as did that of Willie McCue. The
young man is twenty-eight years of age, and a resident of Harrisonburg.
Mr. Crawford corroborated what his brother and the two Bald-
wins had said concerning statements made to them by the son of the
accused. With reference to the relations existing between McCue and
his wife he repeated, though not in so great detail, what has already
been quoted from his testimony at the Coroner's inquest. He made this
additional statement: “One violent quarrel arose over the fact that Mr.
McCue had gone down the pasture lot. It happened that a certain
woman, a resident of Charlottesville, was in the pasture lot at the same
time. At another time, I heard my sister call his attention to the
fact, that she had been to his office and caught him in compromising
positions; once his door was locked and she could not get in. He
came to the door, looking very sheepish,” is the way she expressed it.
There was another woman in the room with him, and the door was
locked.”
ERNEST CRAWFORD.
Mr. Crawford was subjected to a very severe cross-examination at
the hands of Mr. Lee. The attorney held him up to ridicule, because
he had not interfered when McCue cursed and abused his sister. The
young man explained that he was ill for many months, and that it
would have been absolute folly for him—a physical weakling—to have




92
had a personal encounter with such a “magnificent specimen of fighting
humanity” as McCue. He said it would have meant only resort to
weapons other than fists, and that bloodshed would have resulted.
This, he wished above all things, to avoid.
“But during all these months, you stayed in the house and ac-
cepted the hospitality of the man who brutally cursed and abused your
sister?” “I paid for everything I got.”
“How much did you pay?” “Fifteen dollars a month.”
“You say that you were a student at the University during this
time?” “Yes, sir.”
“And that your sense of duty compelled you, during this time, to re-
main at the house of Mr. McCue and ‘protect' or ‘console your sister?”
“Yes, sir.” -
“When you had gotten through with your University course and
didn’t need to stay here any longer, your sense of duty did not compel
you to remain by your sister's side, did it?” “Gentlemen of the jury,”
said young Crawford, “I had worked and had come here with just
enough money to take me through the University. When I got through,
I had to go. There was no option for me. I had to get out and scuffle
for bread, and I did it.”
“Yes, sir; my physical condition made it pleasant for me to take
a drive. Frequently I used Mr. McCue's horses. Sometimes he said
they needed exercise, and asked me to give it to them.” -
“Did you not for nearly two years wear his watch?” “I did.”
“And did you not sometimes also wear his clothes?” Mr. Lee gave
this question a peculiar intonation that caused a ripple of laughter in
the crowd. “No, gentlemen of the jury,” said the witness, “I did not
Wear his clothes.”
“Do you remember Mr. Raines?” “Yes, sir.”
“Did you not tell Mr. Raines that if you were married and had as
happy a home as Sam McCue, you would be perfectly content?” “I al-
ways regarded Sam McCue as one of the best business men I had ever
met. He had a beautiful home, horses and carriages and money. If I
had been as prosperous as he, I would have been content.”
“Did you not say his home was happy?” “Gentlemen of the
jury, his home was not happy.”
“Do you know Mr. Burke, of Harrisonburg, and Mr. Deckert, of
Charlottesville?” “Yes; Mr. Burke and I have our offices together.”
“Did you not tell him McCue had a happy home, and did you not
praise McCue to him?” “I did not praise McCue as a model of mo-
rality. I did say he was one of the most prosperous and successful men
I had ever met.”
“Did you not this morning try to persuade Mr. Burke to view your
remark to him in the light in which you now explain it?” “I had a
conversation with Mr. Burke, but I did not try to influence him about
anything.”

93
“Didn't you also approach Mr. Deckert, and didn't he say: ‘Look
here, Crawford, you can’t work any such game as that on me?” “No,
sir.”
The cross-questioning proceeded a few steps farther in this strain,
and then the defense attempted to introduce a lot of letters from Mc-
Cue to his wife, written during the period covered by the testimony of
young Crawford. They were ruled out by the court. The defense noted
an exception, and had included in the Stenographic report the dates of
the letters. The letters were all written in 1900, as follows: July 25th,
July 25th, July 30th, July 31st, July 11th, July 19th, July 14th, July
19th, July 14th, July 2tóh, July 13th, January – July 16th.
A few moments later a batch of letters written by Mrs. McCue to
her husband, while either one or the other was out of town, was intro-
duced.
The prosecution objected, but the court held that the letters written
by Mrs. McCue were admissible as evidence. The matter was deferred
until the next morning, in order to give the attorneys for the Common-
wealth an opportunity of examining the contents of the packet. The
letters cover the period from July, 1899, to August, 1901.
The day closed with the introduction by Mr. Lee of a letter written
July 8, 1904, by Crawford to his sister. In this letter he referred to
“Sam,” and sent his regards to “your better half.”
LETTERS READ IN COURT.
The examination of young Crawford was resumed when court got
down to work again the next day. The prosecution announced that
after a careful consideration of the matter, it had decided to withdraw
any objection to the admission of the letters of Mrs. McCue to her hus-
band, and furthermore expressed willingness to permit without con-
troversy the introduction of the letters of the prisoner himself. Judge
Morris stated from the bench that an investigation of authorities had
led him to a similar conclusion. The letters of the wife were ad-
missible, and those of the husband, since they constituted part of a
chain of correspondence, were also proper as evidence.
Upon this ruling of the court Mr. Lee handed to young Crawford
a batch of the letters written by his sister. They covered the period
from 1899 to 1901. The young man identified the handwriting. Prep-
aration was then made to read the letters in open court. Judge Morris
suggested that in the interests of delicacy and out of regard for the
McCue family, only such portions of the correspondence as bore di-
rectly upon the issues, be made public. The defense indicated that
this would be an impossible task. The letters were to prove the exact
relationship existing between the prisoner and his wife. It was the
tone of the entire correspondence, rather than an isolated paragraph or
two that would best establish this proof. The court withdrew its sug-
gestion, but it was agreed on all sides that if the letters touched upon

94
any matters that should not be exposed to the gaze of the crowd, these
portions should not be read, but if they bore in any way upon the case,
would be handed to the jury for perusal.
The reading of the letters of Mr. McCue then began. Mr. Walker,
one of the attorneys for the defense, undertook the task of laying them
before the court. As he began the first one, dated July 10, 1900, and
addressed to “My Darling Sweetheart,” McCue broke down and wept.
The warmest affection was breathed in every line. The wife had gone
to Harrisonburg, and to her husband she wrote: “If you were only here
I should be perfectly happy. I love you more than I have ever done in
my life.” A tender reference to the children closed the epistle, which
ended “With a heart full of love for your dear self, your loving wife,
Fannie.”
The accused was bending over and constantly shedding tears. The
next letter was addressed to “My Darling Sweetheart,” and the next to
“My Darling Sam.” All three were loving and affectionate. They re-
ferred delightfully to letters—“love letters”—the absent wife had re-
ceived from her husband. She spoke of sitting up after bed-time to
answer them. “I will go away oftener so you will appreciate me more,”
she said. “All join in love and a kiss to you.” “It is sweet and
thoughtful of you to write when you are so busy.” “Write often; send
me another sweet letter.” “Take care of yourself and get all the rest
you can.”
Letter followed letter, and in each occurred this same line of deep,
warm, wifely affection. Mrs. McCue frequently deplored the fact that
her husband could not leave the hot town and dusty office and join her
at the resort–Rawley Springs. In every letter there was a “kiss for
you and dear little Sam.” They were signed almost invariably, “Yours,
lovingly, Fannie.” Here are a few paragraphs from the correspondence:
October 30, 1900: “When are you coming over; please write soon;
take good care of everything; my dearest love to you, Sam, Harry and
Ruby.”
October 31, 1900: “My best love and a kiss for yourself, the little
boys and Ruby.”
January, 1900: “I am anxious to hear from you. * * * You
may expect me home Tuesday. With love and a kiss for you all.
Yours lovingly, Fannie.”
July, 1899: “It is too late or I would write more. Yours devotedly,
Hannie.”
May 17, 1900, dated at Charlottesville: “Your letter just received,
and I will answer it at once. Nothing of interest has happened since
you left. I have missed you terribly, and will be delighted to see you
back again, though I don’t wish to hurry you back, for you rarely have
a nice trip. With a heart full of love. Yours devotedly, Fannie.”
July 18, 1900, at Rawley Springs: “Love to one and all. Yours
lovingly, Fannie.”

95
*July 6, 1899, at Batesville: “We were glad to hear from you and
Sam this evening. We know you are lovely. * * * You and Wil-
liam must be sure to come. * * * With much love. Yours de-
votedly, Fannie.”
July 17, 1899, Greene county: “We will see you all soon.
With much love. Yours fondly, Fannie.”
August, 1901, at Atlantic City: “I have just time to get a letter to
you. * * * I surely wished for you last night. * * * The bath-
ing has been fine every time I went in to-day. It was warm and nice.
* * * I have put off thinking you would come. * * Much love.”
July, 1899: This letter was not read, but was turned over to the
jury.
October, 1900, at Mt. Sidney: “I have thought of you often to-day.
* * * Take good care of Sam and Ruby. * * * With much love.
Yours devotedly, Fannie.”
This concluded the batch of letters from Mrs. McCue to her hus-
band. Mr. Crawford was called back to the stand. He was handed
another packet. They were the letters from McCue to his wife, written
in reply to those already read. The witness identified the handwriting,
and Mr. Walker began to read again. -
Throughout these letters there ran the same strain that distin-
guished the others. Much of it was gossip and references to house-
hold affairs; much tender solicitude for the comfort and safety of the
absent wife.They were addressed to “My Dear Little Sweetheart.” “My
Dear Little Darling.” “My Dearest Wife,” and so on. The following
excerpts will give an idea of the tone of this side of the correspondence:
July 11, 1900: “Do you realize this is our baby’s birthday? He
asked me for a watermelon for dinner, and I shall have to get out and
find one. * * * I hope you and dear little Ruby are pleasantly
situated, and will enjoy every moment of your stay. * * * I have
just gotten back from dinner, and the way little Harry enjoyed his
watermelon was a caution. He’s the sweetest little fellow in exist-
ence. * * * With a heart full of love, devotedly yours.”
July 18, 1900: “I am so glad, dear Fannie, to hear that you are en-
joying yourself. * * * I am in the little hall writing on my lap
while my office is being dusted. * * * I am reading ‘David Harum’
in the morning, and think it will be great. Good-bye, my dear little
darling; we miss you all terribly.* * * Come home by Sunday, if
possible.”
January 26, 1900: “We are getting along poorly without you. * *
Be careful not to expose yourself and suffer a relapse. * * * We
miss you so much. * * * With a heart full of love. Devotedly
yours.”
July 25, 1900: “Send a big kiss to you all. * * * We miss you
mightily, but do as you deem best. * * * I am going to take a
little rest soon. We will try to go together. * * * Good-bye, dar-
:: :: *k
96
ling. God bless and improve you and send you back a new woman.
Don't send any more notes, but letters. You have plenty of time. Your
old sweetheart.” - -
July 13, 1900: “I wrote to you Wednesday and Thursday. * * *
I got me a dozen bottles of beer, but don’t think I'll be able to finish
them. * * * With a heart full of love for you, one and all, and a
big kiss for your sweet self, your old husband.”
“P. S.–How I wish we could afford to go away for a moath together.
We will be too old soon.”
- GEORGE L. HART, COURT STENOGRAPHER.
July 24, 1900: “Don’t you worry about anything, but take it easy.
It is very lonely here, but I know you need the rest. Kiss the babies
for me. Our garden is looking so pretty. Good-bye. God bless and
improve you. With a heart full of love and a dozen kisses Yours
lovingly.”
July 19, 1900: “Am happy to know all are well and improving.
* * * The dear little boys are very good and seem to be enjoying
themselves. * * * Hope you will be greatly benefited. How I wish
I were there. * * * God has surely been good to us. * * *
Good-bye. God bless and improve you all is the prayer of your old, old
sweetheart. We all miss you so much.”
July 30, 1900: “I did not get a letter from you this morning, and
am disappointed. * * * Do hope you will be much improved. Will
try to meet you at Mt. Sidney, and spend the night there and bring
you all back in the morning. * * * Well, how is my little peach.

97
She will come back as fat as a pig, I know. Good-bye, darling. Wish
I could see you this morning, but it will not be long now.”
July 26, 1900: “Your sweet, welcome letter received, and repeatedly
read why so depresed, darling. God knows how much I love you.
Cheer up. I was depressed last night, too, and wanted to go to the
prayer-meeting, but had to stay at home and take care of the little totS.
May we live to bring them up in the heritance and admonition of the
Lord & 4 + Harry is the sweetest thing on earth. * * * Cheer
up, darling. * * * Remember me kindly to Ernest. * * * Write
me a long, bright, cheerful letter. * * * Good-bye, darling. Yours
only in life and after death. With a heart full of love, J. Samuel.”
July 23, 1900: “I do not want to hurry you back, but heaven only
knows how much I miss you. How dependent we are upon those we
love. * * * Good-bye, my dear little woman. Write me a sweet
letter each day.”
July 14, 1900: “You cannot imagine what a great source of pleasure
your sweet letter was to me. It carried me back to the days when we
were just sweethearts. * * * I do hate to stay here to-morrow
alone, but we have too much to leave in the care of negroes. * * *
Good-bye, my dear little darling. God bless and watch over and pro-
tect you. Don’t fail to write to me every day, including Sunday.”
July 16, 1900: “I am disappointed that I did not receive a letter
from you this A. M. * * * Write me all the news. I am taking
care of the dear little boys. They are so sweet. We surely missed
you all yesterday.”
July 15, 1900: “We still miss you all terribly to-day; think I will
have to run over and take a peep at you all before long. * * * Don’t
fail to write me every day.”
As soon as the reading of the letters was completed, Mr. Crawford
left the stand. City Sergeant Rogers was called. He was asked about
the condition of the open window in Ruby’s room. Like the Coroner,
he had observed the fern dish on the sill. This was on the morning
after the homicide–Monday, September 5th. The Sergeant said he had
seen the fern dish removed and had noticed a rim or mark on the sill
indicating that the pot had been there some time.
“Do you know whether it was there the night before—when you
went to the house after the murder?” “My recollection is that it was
there that night, but I can’t be positive.”
“Did you notice any cobwebs?” “Yes, sir; at the bottom and on
the side of the Window.”
“This was the morning of the homicide?” “Yes, sir.”
“Was there anything on the cobwebs?” “Dust.”
In the course of the morning the Commonwealth had introduced
three witnesses, J. R. Tilly, City Sergeant of Roanoke; James McPhaul,
Chief of the Fire Department, of Roanoke, and J. M. Ledy, Police


98
Sergeant of Lynchburg, all three of whom gave the highest character
to the two Baldwins who testified against Willie McCue.
At noon the Commonwealth announced that it was through with
its case. The defense was allowed the afternoon for preparation, and
the court adjourned until Monday morning at 10 o’clock.
LETTER WHITTEN BY WILLIE MCCUE.
Contrary to general expectation, the defense did not begin its case
promptly upon the opening of court on Monday morning. The prose-
cution found at the last moment that it was not yet through. Several
new witnesses were examined.
Dr. J. W. Mallett, professor of Chemistry at the University of Vir-
ginia, took the stand. At the request of Commonwealth’s Attorney
Gilmer, Dr. Mallett had examined the blood-stained bat, with which
McCue once said he had been struck, and which was claimed by the
prosecution to have been a weapon used by the prisoner against his
wife.
There was some question as to the character of the stains upon the
stick. Dr. Mallett said the stains were certainly of blood, and that the
blood was not chicken blood, as was at one time suggested. Dr. Mallett
could not, however, say with positiveness whether or not the blood was
that of the human body. It was of the class to which human blood be-
longed—mammalian blood. Dr. Mallett explained the chemical pro-
cess of the examination he had made, and then left the stand without
being cross-questioned.
Willie McCue was called again to identify the following letter,
which explains itself. It was addressed to the boy's aunt, Mrs. Sallie
Griggs, of Athens, Ga.;
“Charlottesville, Va., September 17, 1904.
“Dear Aunt Sallie:
“I received your kind and affectionate letter a few
minutes ago, and will answer now, as I am afraid I
will forget it.
“We are now at home with Aunt Sammie (Mrs. Mar-
shall Dinwiddie) and Uncle Marshall Dinwiddie, who
are very kind and good to us; but I come home and
miss my dear mother, whom I put before my God, and
who I miss many times in the day.
“Aunt Sallie, I am fighting one of the greatest battles
now. I am among all my father's people, and they, of
course, wonder why I took such a step in this case.
But I am going to do what I think is right in God's
call, in spite of any human being living.
“I never will be in worse trouble than this. I can-
not sleep, and when I go to bed and wake up with the
99
same trouble, I feel as though I cannot stand it. I
have got only one thing to live for now-my little
sister—who is dearer to me than ever before. * * *
“Your affectionate nephew,
“J. WILLIAM MoCUE.”
Still another witness was introduced by the Commonwealth. Mr.
John A. Gilmore, of the Gilmore Furniture Company, took the stand.
He stated that on the forenoon of the day after the murder he and two
others, all members of the coroner's jury, made an inspection of the
roof of the back porch, which led from the open window in Ruby's
room. The porch showed no signs of any one's having passed over it.
“Did you observe the condition of the window itself?' "Yes. There
was a flower-pot in the window and an unbroken cobweb on one side.”
Following Mr. Gilmore, Mr. C. G. Sinclair, also one of the coroner's
jury, was called to the stand. His testimony was practically the same
as that of the other. -
The sixty-year-old janitor of the City Hall, George Thomas, was
called. He had seen a good deal of Mr. and Mrs. McCue while the
former had been Mayor and had his office in the town hall.
“I didn't hear anything between them until last May, I think it
was,” said the darkey. “Mrs. McCue was in a buggy near the drug-
store. Presently Mr. McCue came up with a grip in his hand. He had
been out of town a week, I think. When she saw him she said: ‘Mr.
McCue. He might have spoken, but I didn’t hear him, and he went
straight on without stopping and went into his office. When he came
out in about ten or fifteen minutes Mrs. McCue was still there. She
said: ‘Mr. McCue, are you going home with me?” He said: ‘No,' and
then she drove away.”
On cross-examination, Mr. Lee brought out the fact that Thomas
could not swear that Mr. and Mrs. McCue had not already met. In fact,
the wife might have just driven her husband from the station for all
he knew, to the contrary. Captain Woods at once retorted by eliciting
from the witness the statement that Mrs. McCue had come to the City
Hall and inquired of him (Thomas) where Mr. McCue was.
“What was Mr. McCue's manner toward his wife?”
The defense objected, was overruled, and noted an exception.
“I thought it was rather cool for a man who had not seen his wife
for a Week.” -

100
DEFENSE BEGINS CASE.
After a brief consultation, the Commonwealth rested its case, re-
serving the right to introduce Albert Baldwin again as soon as he got
back to the city. The defense then began. Mr. Lee recalled young
Crawford and questioned him closely about a remark he let fall sev-
eral years ago concerning the conditions in the McCue household. It
was at a party at the residence of a certain Mrs. Moore. Crawford
was then a University student. He was accompanied to the residence
by L. G. Waller, also a student.
“Is it not a fact,” asked Mr. Lee, “that in the course of the even-
ing at Mrs. Moore's, the young people began to talk about happy mar-
riages and honeymoons?” “I think they did.”
“Is it not a fact that you said: ‘Why, my sister and Sam McCue
have been married fourteen years, and their honeymoon is not over
yet?’” “It is not a fact.”
“And you deny making this statement in the presence of Mr. Wal-
1er and Miss Woods?” “I do emphatically deny it.”
The name of Mr. Waller was called. A young man detached him-
self from the crowd and walked forward. He remembered the party at
the Moore house. He also recalled the discussion of the subject of
marriage and honeymoons. He had heard young Crawford refer to
the McCue home as that of the ideal home.
At this point the defense introduced the insurance policies to
which reference had been made several days before. They showed
that McCue carried a total of about $83,000 upon his life, and that his
wife was made in nearly every case the beneficiary.
At about 12:30 o'clock the court adjourned to the residence of Dr.
Frank C. McCue, where the jury heard the testimony of the physician’s
sick wife. What she had to say concerned the telephone message,
which the operators do not remember and which the prosecution claims
was never sent, but which Dr. McCue claims to have received on the
night of the murder. According to Mrs. McCue, hor husband had un-
dressed, and she was preparing to retire, when the telephone bell
rang. She heard it distinctly. It was between 9:15 and 9:30 of the
night of Sunday, September 4th. Her husband went down and she
heard him say: “All right,” in answer to the call. In a moment or
two he returned and told her there was trouble at the residence of Sam
McCue. He asked for his pistol, but the hostler had it. He then
dressed quickly, took his emergency grip, and left.
The court, after receiving the testimony of Mrs. McCue, went to
the residence of the accused. A peremptory order had been given that
the public should not attend and should not follow the jury through
the streets. Only the court attendants, the jury, the judge, the attor-
neys, the accused and his family and the newspaper men were allowed

101.
to go along. At the scene of the murder the jurymen walked around
the house and observed the location of the trees near the porch and
reflected upon the likelihood of a man’s ability to clamber up or down
them. No questions were asked and no comment was made.
The first witness of the afternoon was Mr. Webb Raines, a Rich-
mond stenographer, who was with young Crawford several years ago
at the University of Virginia. Mr. Raines is the young man to whom
the brother of the dead woman is said to have made the remark about
McCue's “happy” home. He confirmed the statement, and said young
Crawford had on several occasions referred to the happiness of McCue
and his family. The witness did not understand Crawford to be speak-
ing simply of the prisoner's prosperity and success in life. As in the
case of Mr. Waller, Mr. Lee brought out the declaration that he had
had no conversation with the attorneys for the defense, and that nobody
had spoken to him about the matter. -
JURY ON THE COURT GREEN.
As soon as Mr. Raines left the stand, Mr. Burke, of Harrisonburg,
was called. The young man has a joint office with young Crawford.
"On several occasions,” he declared, “Mr. Crawford has said to me
that Mr. McCue was very prosperous, and that eVery young man en-
gaging in business might pattern after him. I don't think he ever
said anything about domestic relations at all.”
There was a slight pause, and then Mr. Lee announced that he
had been taken by surprise, and that he desired to treat the witness as
an adverse witness.



102
In the course of the cross-examination that followed Mr. Burke
flatly denied that he had ever said Mr. Crawford had spoken to him
of McCue's happy home life. He admitted that he was surprised at
what Crawford had revealed at the coroner's inquest, but said his sur-
prise did not result from anything Crawford had previously said to
him about the matter, but simply because his associate had not con-
fided in him. The witness also admitted that he had had a talk with
Crawford since he arrived in Charlottesville, but said he approached
Crawford himself, shook hands with him, and inquired after his health.
“Mr. Crawford asked me what I was doing here, and I told him.
He then asked me if he had ever said anything to me about the domes-
tic affairs of the McCue home. I told him he had not.”
“Is it not a fact,” asked Mr. Lee, “that Mr. Deckert, who was pres-
ent at the time, said: ‘Look here, Crawford, you can’t mould my testi-
mony; you may mould Burke's, but if you do he is not the sort of
man I take him for’?” “If Mr. Deckert said such a thing I did not
hear him,” said Mr. Burke. “If he had said such a thing and I had
heard it, Mr. Deckert would have had a little private discussion with
me.”
When the next witness was called a young lady arose from within
the bar and Walked forward. She was Miss Addie Moore, a School
teacher of Rappahannock county, at whose house Crawford is said to
have let drop the remark about “honeymoons.” Miss Moore recalled
the incident distinctly.
“We began to talk about marriages and honeymoons,” said the
young lady, blushing furiously. “Mr. Crawford said that if he ever
got married he wanted to lead a life like that of his sister and her hus-
band, Mr. McCue. He said they had been married fourteen years, and
that their honeymoon was not yet over.”
“You have no doubt about this?” asked Mr. Lee. “Not the least
in the World.”
The testimony now veered off in another direction. Witness after
witness came forward to tell what they had observed of the relations
between the accused and his dead wife. Six of these Witnesses
appeared and each one declared that the utmost cordiality and good-will
existed between the man and wife. The witnesses were a negro named
Frank Minor, who for nine and a half years was butler and man-about-
the-house at McCue's; Mrs. Martha Hanger, who had spent about five
days at the McCue house several years ago; Miss Lucy Taylor, a seam-
stress, who, at odd times during the past eight years, had worked in
the McCue house; Mrs. E. O. McCue, sister-in-law of the accused, who
said she was intimate with the murdered woman; Officer Grady, who
said he had had frequent opportunities of observing the conduct of the
husband and wife, and Mrs. M. H. Crawford, of Staunton, who had
known the couple for many years.
The testimony of Miss Willie Irving, aged fourteen, was practi.
103
cally a repetition of what Mrs. Frank C. McCue had previously stated
with reference to the telephone message to her husband, the brother
of the accused.
JOHN PERRY'S STATEMENT.
On Wednesday the defense continued and completed its case. Police
Officer Grady took the stand again for a few moments, and then the
testimony of several of the McCue brothers was heard. Mr. Charles
McCue was questioned about the conversation said by Jailer Martin to
have occurred between Sam McCue and his son, William, in the cell of
the prison. The alleged conversation concerned the flight of Mrs.
McCue from a pistol brandished by her husband. Martin had given
the names of three of the brothers, Mrs. Dinwiddie and some others as
those present during the talk between the father and son.
Flat denial of the assertion of the jailer was made by the several
witnesses. Charles McCue said he had visited his brother in the cell,
which he thought was about 8 or 10 by 12 feet, and had been there in
company with the others. If there had been any such conversation
while he was in the cell he would have been compelled to hear it. He
had heard nothing of it at all. Mr. John L. McCue, another brother,
made a statement to the same effect. A third brother, William, re-
iterated what the others had said. There was no cross-examination of
these witnesses.
The name of Mr. Charles Moore, whose occupation was “nothing
in particular,” was called. The witness said he had had more or less
opportunity of seeing Mr. and Mrs. McCue together, and he had never
observed anything to cause him to suspect that they were not upon the
most cordial terms.
About 10:40 o’clock Mr. Lee announced that the defense would rest
its case. A ripple of interest stirred the court-room. McCue, the
prisoner, was not to testify in his own behalf. The defense reserved
the right to introduce later one other witness, who had not yet arrived.
This was Deckert, whose name figured in the impeachment of Ernest
Crawford. With the exception of this single witness, the defense was
through.
The prosecution recalled Albert Baldwin, who has just gotten back
to town. Baldwin denied flatly the statement of Willie McCue that
Ernest Crawford had suggested to him (Baldwin) the use of money
in getting a statement from the negro boy (John Perry).
“Mr. Crawford never said any such thing,” said Baldwin, smiling.
“The only mention I ever heard of money in this entire case was made
by Willie McCue.”
A brief consultation by the attorneys for the prosecution followed.
When the court got back down to work again something happened. It
caused a smile to arise to the surface of the inscrutable Commonwealth
side. In a small way it was a notable thing. Neither side seemed

104
anxious to risk putting Perry, the negro boy, on the stand. The case
had finished without him. Now Mr. Traylor, the Richmond juryman,
arose from his seat, and, declaring that he and his associates desired
to “get at the facts in this case,” asked that the court do what neither
the Commonwealth nor the defense had ventured—call John Perry. The
court promptly did it. Another juror said he wanted James Lewis, the
colored man who was, in the words of Skinner, “talkin' to Mr. Moran's
servant girl” on the night of the murder next door. The court sent
out for Jim, too. - -
Perry was the court's witness, and the court examined him, and
then turned him over to each side for cross-examination. In response
to the question of Judge Morris, the boy gave this account of what
happened in the McCue house on the night of the murder:
“Well, I was in bed, at first asleep, and didn’t hear Mr. and Mrs.
McCue when they came. When I first heard anything I heard Mrs.
McCue crying, and the words: 'Sam, come and help me; he is killing
me,” or ‘He is going to kill me,’ and ‘It is too bad for him to do me this
way.' I never did hear Mr. McCue's voice at all. That minute I ran to
try and push the door open to get in the house, but couldn’t, and then
went and loaded the gun, and then ran to try to knock the door open,
and couldn’t push the door open at all. Then she didn’t holler very
long, and soon after she hollered: “Sam, he is killing me,” or ‘He is
going to kill me,’ it sounded like a gun either went off in the bath-
room or in the hall between the hath-room and Mrs. McCue's room.”
“What did you do when you heard the gun go off?” “I didn’t do
anything, then, after I heard the gun go off, no more than set my gun
down and stay at the door. Then I heard a man run in the bath-room,
and heard him when he came out, and then he went back in there
again, and then went out and went down the front steps.”
“When did you first see Mr. McCue that night, and how?” “When
I first seen Mr. McCue he came to my room and opened the door, and
says: ‘Oh, John, I am in the worst trouble I have ever been in in my
life. A burglar has been here, knocked me senseless, and left me lying
on the floor, and I think he has injured my wife.’”
The cross-examination by the defense was brief. The fur began to
fly a moment later when, after an impatient wait, Captain Woods landed
on Perry. He drew out the statements that the boy had been employed
by McCue for a month previous to the murder, and that he still lived
at the house. Perry also admitted that he regularly carried meals to
McCue at the jail. Whenever he went into the cell, however, he was
accompanied by the jailer. After this preliminary laying of the
ground, Captain Woods got down to business.
“Don’t you remember seeing Mr. Baldwin on Tuesday before the
funeral?” “Yes, sir.”
“Didn’t he call you out of Mr. McCue's room and take you into your
room; didn't you go with him?” “Yes, sir.”





105 -
*Didn't Mr. Albert Baldwin come in?” “Yes, sir."
*Didn't Mr. W. G. Baldwin talk to you about the murder?" "Yes,
“Didn't you tell him that you were in your room and that you
heard two licks struck; that you heard Mrs. McCue gurgle as if she
were choking; that you heard the shot, and that then McCue opened
your door and said: ‘John, go down and open the front door, somebody
has nearly killed Miss Fannie.” Didn't you tell Mr. Baldwin this?"
“No, sir.”
“Didn't you say that you heard Mrs. McCue in the bath-room say:
Sam, why do you treat me so; what have I ever done to you? Didn't
you say you had then heard her say, ‘I will never do so again.’”
Objection was made to this question, but the court admitted it for
the purpose of impeaching the witness.
“Naw, sir; I didn't say that,” declared the negro.
“And you deny that you ever made these statements to Mr. W. G.
Baldwin and Mr. Albert Baldwin?” “Yes, sir.”
In the course of what followed Perry made like denials of similar
statements said to have been made to others.
“Didn't you tell Sallie Austin and Carrie Perry that you had heard
Mrs. McCue say: ‘Sam, don’t kill me; don’t kill me; I am going to die
sir.
anyhow?’” “Naw, sir; I didn't tole them that.”
“Don’t you remember having gone to the wine cellar and having
met Mr. Ernest Crawford and Mr. Albert Baldwin there?” John stuck
his hand against his mouth. “I went near the wine cellar,” he mum-
bled, “and saw them.”
“You recollect this talk?” “Yes, sir.”
“Now, didn’t you have a talk with Mr. Willie McCue the next
morning?” “Yes, sir.”
“Didn't he write down what you said?” “Naw, sir. I didn’t see
him have no paper.”
“Didn't he say: “Now, John, I want you to tell me the truth"?”
“Yes, sir.”
The paper, in the handwriting of Willie McCue, who had said the
statement was dictated to him by Perry, and afterwards denied by the
negro, was read to the Witness.
“Did you say that to Willie McCue,” asked Captain Woods. “Naw,
sir; he must have thought that up himself. I didn't say it to him,
because it isn’t so. I didn’t hear anything like that.”
“Then if Willie McCue wrote this down, he wrote something that
wasn’t true, did he?” “Yes, sir.”
IMPEACHMENT OF PERRY.
A few more questions were hurled at John by each side, and then
the negro boy retired. W. G. Baldwin, the detective chief, was at once
placed upon the stand. He said he saw Perry about noon on the day
106
of the funeral. The detective asked him about the case, and warned
him to keep his mouth shut to outsiders.
“He told me,” said Baldwin, “that he heard Mrs. McCue first at the
bath-room door. Then he heard her say: ‘Sam, why do you treat me
so; what have I ever done to you?' Then he heard her say: “I will
never do it again.” A moment or two later he heard the shot and then
he said Mr. McCue opened the door and told him to go down and open
the front door: that somebody had probably killed Miss Fannie.”
As soon as the chief left the stand his brother, Albert Baldwin,
was called. He was present at the interview with Perry. He repeated
practically what the other had said. According to both of the wit-
nesses, the negro had said that after he was awakened by the crying
and failed to get through the locked door, he went to the window and
listened. Perry denied that he went to the window.
“I asked him,” said the younger Baldwin, “how long it was before
Mr. McCue would let him into the hall. He said it was four or five
minutes.”
The negro woman, Susan Austin, mentioned above as having re-
ceived certain confidences from Perry, took the stand. She is a ser-
vant at the home of Judge Lyons. The woman said she met John
Perry about 8 P. M. of Tuesday, the day of the funeral. She was stand-
ing at the gate of Judge Lyons's residence when Perry came by. He
had been to the residence of Mrs. Dinwiddie.
“Well, what did he say to you?” asked Captain Woods. “John said
he was asleep when he heard a scream. He got up, but couldn’t open
the door. Then he went back and laid down on the Side of the bed.
Then he heard another scream. He didn’t say anything about the
window. John told me he heard Mrs. McCue say, ‘Sam, Sam, you are
killing me; I am going to die, anyhow.’”
“You are quite certain about that?” “Yes, sir.”
“And Carrie Perry was with you when he told you this?” “Yes,
sir.”
“Call Carrie Perry,” said Captain Woods without more ado.
Carrie entered. She wore a gorgeous blue veil. She declared she
was sixteen years old. She talked Yankee. She said exactly what
Susan had said about John Perry.
At this juncture the defense stated its objection to the entire line
of examination just concluded. The court overruled the objection and
the defense noted an exception. The court then expressly instructed the
jury not to consider this testimony as evidence against the accused, but
simply as introduced for the purpose of impeaching a witness. A simi-
lar objection and ruling was made in reference to the statement of
Perry written down by Willie McCue. Captain Woods desired to read
this statement to the jury and the court permitted him to do so. The
statement was in the handwriting of Willie McCue and was acknowl-


107
edged by him. In the light of what Perry said this statement assumed
an added importance. It reads as follows:
“I said, John, now I want you to tell me just what
you heard. The first thing he said was: ‘You know last
night I was afraid to tell those gentlemen on Mr. Mc-
Cue. I heard him slap her first, because I got up and
put my head out of the window; then it sounded like
he was hitting her and thumping. Then I heard him
choke her, and heard her like she was strangled; she
said: Sam, you ought not to treat me like this; I will
promise not to do it again.’”
James Lewis, whose presence had been desired by one of the jury-
men, was questioned by the court. He said that on the night of the
murder he was in McCue's yard, seated in the kitchen door. He heard
crying, but it sounded far off, and he didn’t pay much attention to it.
Then he heard a shot. A moment or two later Charles Skinner came
down and began to talk.
“Did you hear anything after Skinner came down?” asked a jury-
man. “No, sir.”
Skinner, it will be recalled, said some days ago that after he came
down stairs he heard “coarse” crying “like a man.”
The last witness was Mr. W. L. Deckert, of Harrisonburg. He was
summoned in connection with the impeachment of Ernest Crawford,
He said he was present in Harrisonburg when Burke, the witness of
Monday, expressed surprise at what Crawford had said about the do-
mestic relations of McCue and his wife. He said Mr. Burke had re-
marked in his presence and hearing that what Crawford had said at
the inquest was entirely different from what he had previously stated.
“I heard Mr. Burke say,” went on Mr. Deckert, “that Mr. Craw-
ford had frequently told him that his brother-in-law was a fine man,
whom anybody might admire.”
“Did you and Mr. Burke have any conversation with Mr. Crawford
about this matter?” asked Mr. Lee, “Mr. Crawford met us, spoke and
then asked us what we knew about the case. I told him what I had
heard Burke say. He then explained to the effect that any remark he
had made about Mr. McCue referred simply to his fine equipages and
general prosperity. I told Mr. Crawford that nothing he could possibly
say could influence me in any way, since all I had to do was to repeat
what I heard Burke say. When I made this statement Mr. Crawford
declared: “Well, if you fellows are going to say anything like that I
shall have to anticipate your testimony by explaining to the jury what
I meant by my reference to Mr. McCue.’”
“He said he would anticipate the testimony, did he?” asked Mr.
Lee. “Anticipate is the word he used, sir,” replied the witness.
Both sides were now through, and announcement was made to this
108
effect. Thereupon Judge Morris, bringing his gave down with a re.
sounding whack, declared that the evidence in the McCue case was
closed. Court then adjourned until the following morning at 10 o’clock.
THE INSTRUCTIONS.
After a long conference, consuming the earlier hours of Wednesday
night, November 26, Judge Morris agreed upon the instructions which
were read to the jury when court opened on the following morning.
The instructions were as follows:
The court instructs the jury that in all criminal prosecutions a
man has a right to be confronted with his accuser and the witnesses
against him, and no statement made by any witness or other person,
elsewhere than in the court and in the presence of the accused, consti-
tutes evidence against him. The sole purpose for which evidence, if
any such statement is admitted, or for which it can be used, is to
enable the jury to judge whether or not the witness is entitled to credit.
The court instructs the jury that the law presumes every person
charged wih crime to be innocent until his guilt is established by the
Commonwealth beyond a reasonable doubt, and this presumption of in-
nocence goes with the accused through the entire case and applies at
every stage thereof; and if, after having heard all of the evidence in
this case, the jury have a reasonable doubt of the guilt of the accused
upon the whole case, or as to any fact essential to prove the charge
made against him in the indictment, it is their duty to give the
prisoner the benefit of the doubt and find him not guilty.
The court further instructs the jury that upon the trial of this
case, if a reasonable doubt of any fact necessary to establish the guilt
of accused as charged in the indictment be raised by the evidence or
lack of evidence, such doubt is decisive and the jury must acquit the
accused, since a verdict of “not guilty” means no more than that the
guilt of the accused has not been established in the precise, specific
and narrow form prescribed by law. -
The court instructs the jury that when upon a charge of murder
the evidence is wholly circumstantial, as is the case here, the absence
of all evidence of an inducing cause or motive to commit the offense
charged affords of itself a strong presumption of innocence.
The court instructs the jury that murder by poison, lying in wait,
imprisonment, starving or any wilful deliberate and premeditated kill-
ing or in the commission of, or attempt to commit, arson, rape, robbery
or burglary is murder of the first degree. All other murder is murder
of the second degree.
The court instructs the jury that in the application of circumstan-
tial evidence to the determination of the case the utmost caution and
vigilance should be used. Such evidence is always insufficient where,

109
assuming all to be true which the evidence tends to prove, some other
reasonable hypothesis may still be true, for it is the actual exclusion
of every other reasonable hypothesis which invests mere circumstances
with the force of truth. Where the evidence leaves it indifferent as to
which of several hypotheses is true or establishes only some finite prob-
ability of one hypothesis, such cannot amount to proof, however great
the probability may be.
And the court further instructs the jury that all the evidence in
this case which tends to establish that the accused is guilty of the crime
with which he is charged, is circumstantial and not positive in this
Therefore, although the jury may believe from the evidence in this
case that there is a strong probability that the accused is guilty of the
offense charged in the indictment, still, if upon the whole evidence,
there is any other reasonable hypothesis consistent with innocence,
they cannot find the accused guilty, and this is true, although it may
appear from the evidence that the probabilities of his guilt are greater
than the probabilities of his innocence.
The court instructs the jury that even if they are satisfied from the
evidence beyond a reasonable doubt that the accused took the life of
the deceased, then the jury are instructed that the law presumes prima
facie that such killing was murder of the second degree, and the bur-
den rests upon the Commonwealth to elevate the offense to murder in
the first degree, by proving beyond a reasonable doubt all the elements
of that crime as defined by another instruction.
The court instructs the jury that even though they may believe
from the evidence that the witnesses, William McCue and John Perry,
may have made statements in conflict with or in contradiction of the
evidence given by them on the witness stand, in considering the guilt
or innocence of the accused, of the crime with which he is charged, the
jury are not at liberty to take into consideration any such contradictory
or conflicting statements of the said witnesses or either of them, but
must consider the case of the accused as if such statements had never
been made, except that they may consider such statements for the sole
purpose of determining whether £aid witnesses, or either of them, are
worthy of belief. -
The court instructs the jury that a reasonable doubt is such a doubt
as may be honestly and reasonably entertained as to any substantial and
material fact essential to prove the offense charged. Reasinable doubt
must be based upon the evidence, or that suggested by the evidence or
which grows out of the evidence itself. It must not be arbitrary doubt,
without evidence to sustain it. It must be serious and substantial in
Order to warrant an acquittal. It must be a doubt of material fact or
facts necessary for the jury to believe to find a verdict of conviction,
and not of immaterial and non-essential circumstances. -
The court further instructs the jury that circumstantial evidence
is ſegal and competent in criminal cases, and if it is of such a character




110
as to exclude every reasonable hypothesis other than the defendant is
entitled to the same weight as direct testimony.
The court further instructs the jury that a mortal wound, given with
a deadly weapon, in the previous possession of the slayer, without any
provocation, or even with slight provocation, is prima facie wilful, de-
liberate and premediated killing, and throws upon the prisoner the
necessity of showing extenuating circumstances.
The court further instructs the jury that to constitute a wilful, de-
liberate and premeditated killing, it is not necessary the intention to
kill should exist any particular length of time prior to the actual killing.
It is only necessary that such intention should come into existence for
the first time at the time of killing, or any time previously.
The court further instructs the jury that the rule of law is that a
man shall be taken to intend that which he does or which is the neces-
sary consequence of his act. -
The court instructs the jury, as a matter of law, that in considering
the case the jury are not to go beyond the evidence to hunt up
doubts, nor must they entertain such doubts as are merely chimerical
or conjectural. A doubt to justify an acquittal, must be reasonable
doubt, and it must arise from a car did and impartial investigation of
all the evidence in the case; and unless it is such that the same kind
of doubt reposed in the graver transaction of life, would cause
a reasonable and prudent man to hesitate and pause, it is sufficient to
authorize a verdict of not guilty. If, after considering all the evidence,
you can say that you have an abiding conviction of the truth of the
charge, you are satisfied beyond a reasonable doubt on the other hand,
*the jury must not go beyond the evidence to hunt up inferences of
guilt. - -
The court instructs the jury that whoever kills a human being
with malice aforethought, is guilty of murder; that a murder which is
perpetrated by a person lying in wait or any other kind of wilful, delib-
erate and premeditated killing is murder in the first degree.
The court instructs the jury that on a charge of murder malice is
presumed from the fact of killing. When the killing is proved and is
unaccompanied with circumstances of palliation, the burden of dis-
proving malice is thrown upon the accused. -
The court instructs the jury that murder is distinguished by the
law of Virginia as murder in the first degree and murder in the second
degree.
The court further instructs the jury that every homicide in Vir-
ginia is presumed in law to be murder in the second degree. In order
to elevate the offense to murder in the first degree the burden of proof
is upon the Commonwealth, and to reduce the offense to manslaughter,
the burden of proof is upon the prisoner.
The court further instructs the jury that whenever the killing is
wilful, deliberate and premeditated the law infers malice from this fact.
111
The courts instructs the jury that the credulity of witnesses is a
question exclusively for the jury, and the law is that where a number
of witnesses testify directly opposite to each other the jury is not bound
to regard the weight of the evidence as equally balanced; the jury have
the right to determine from the appearance of the witnesses on the
stand, their manner of testifying and their apparent candor and fair-
ness, their apparent intelligence or lack of intelligence and from all the
other surrounding circumstances appearing at the trial which witnesses
are more worthy of credit and to give credit accordingly.
The court further instructs the jury that in determining the weight
to be given the testimony of different witnesses in any case the jury
are authorized to consider the relationship of the witnesses to the par-
ties, if the same is proved; their interests if any in the result of this
case; their temper, feeling or bias, if any, has been shown; their de-
meanor whilst testifying; their apparent intelligence and their means
of information, and to give such credit to the testimony of such wit-
nesses as under all the circumstances such witness seem to be entitled.
The jury are finally instructed that the instructions given are all
the instructions of the court, and thust be considered as a whole.
The court instructs the jury that all statements which they may be-
lieve from the evidence were made by J. William McCue, the son of the
accused, or John Perry to other persons not in the presence of the
accused can only be considered by the jury for the purpose of dis-
crediting the said William McCue and the said John Perry, and the
jury are instructed that such statements shall not be considered by
them as evidence against the accused, but only for the purpose above
stated, and said statements should, in considering the question of the
guilt or innocence of the accused be wholly disregarded by the jury
and treated as if they had never been made.
The court instructs the jury that where evidence is adduced of any
statement of the accused, such statement must be considered as a
whole. A part of it cannot be considered and a part rejected. The
jury must consider all or none; and if the prosecutor uses the
declaration of the prisoner, he must take the whole together, and can-
not select one part and leave another.
The court instructs the jury that if, upon the whole evidence in the
case, there is any reasonable hypothesis consistent with the innocence
of the accused, they must find him not guilty. The court instructs
the jury that the failure of the evidence to disclose any other criminal
agent than the accused, is not a circumstance which may be considered
by the jury in determining whether or not he was guilty of the crime
Where with he is charged. The prisoner is presumed to be innocent
until his guilt is established, and he is not to be prejudiced by the in-
ability of the Commonwealth to point any other criminal agent nor is
he called upon to vindicate his own innocence by naming the guilty
perSOn.


112
The court instructs the jury that, upon the trial of a criminal case
by a jury, the law contemplates the concurrence of twelve minds in the
conclusion of guilt before a conviction can be had. Each individual
juror must be satisfied beyond a reasonable doubt of the defendant’s
guilt, before he can under his oath, consent to a verdict of guilty. Each
juror should feel the responsibility resting upon him as a member of
the jury, and should realize that his own mind must be convinced be:
yond a reasonable doubt of the defendant's guilt before he can consent
to a verdict of guilty. Therefore, if any individual member of the
jury, after having duly considered all of the evidence in this case, and
after consultation with his fellow-jurors, should entertain such reason-
able doubt of the defendant’s guilt, as is set forth in certain instructions
in this case, it is his duty not to surrender his own convictions simply
because the balance of the jury entertain different convictions. The
court instructs the jury that upon the trial of a criminal case by a jury
the law contemplates a concurrence of twelve minds in the conclusion
of guilt before a conviction can be had. Not only is this true with re-
spect to the guilt of the accused, but it is likewise true with respect to
the degree of the crime. Therefore, although the jury may believe from
the evidence that the accused is guilty of the killing of the deceased,
still, if any individual member of the jury, after having duly considered
all of the evidence in this case, and after a consultation with his fel-
low-jurors, should entertain a reasonable doubt as to the degree of
guilt of the accused, it is his duty not to surrender his own convictions
as to such degree of guilt simply because the balance of the jury enter-
tain convictions with respect to such degree.




THE CASE ARGUED.
CAPTAIN WOODS BEGINS THE ARGUMENTS.
The argument of the case began immediately upon the conclusion
of the reading of the instructions by the judge. Captain Micajah
Woods, of the prosecution, arose to make the opening speech. The
court-room was filled, the crowd very attentive.
The first sentences of his speech were devoted by Captain Woods to
a personal statement of his attitude in the case. He referred to McCue
as a former friend whom he had supported, and for whom he had
worked in the days gone by. He expressed his sorrow at being com-
pelled to do so, but he believed that duty forced him to appear as the
prosecutor of this friend. He received no fee; he experienced no
pleasure. -
“Would to God,” he declared, impressively, “that the evidence had
left some escape for the prisoner. The people of this grand Common-
wealth desire no innocent man to suffer. However damnable the crime
may be, the man accused of it is entitled to all the safeguards of the
law. I would rather have my tongue cleave to my mouth or my right
arm wither in its socket than think that anything I had said unjustly
or unfairly resulted in the conviction of this prisoner. With the dis-
tinguished gentlemen who represent the other side, I beg you to give to
him the full benefit of any doubt. It is for you to decide, and the eyes
of the State are upon you.”
Captain Woods soon completed the preliminary statement with
which he had opened and went on to point out the indisputable facts in
connection with the case. He referred to the condition of the night on
which Fannie McCue met her death. The air was warm and balmy.
Windows were open and neighbors sat upon many nearby porches.
Not a house was closed. It was on this night that the wife gave her
blood—a wife beaten, choked and then shot. The weapons were both
found upon the premises—a bat and a gun.
The various theories suggested in connection with the murder were
discussed by Captain Woods. He ridiculed the possibility that a bur-
glar seeking booty should wait in a house until the master and mis-
tress returned; should then, all unarmed, walk into a lighted room and
attack the man and woman; should finally have killed the wife and
injured the husband, and then have left without touching a thing in
the house.
If not a burglar, was it, then, a man seeking vengeance and thirst-
ing for the life of one or both? Is it within the bounds of reason to

114
suppose that such a man, with murder stirring his breast, would trust
to a possible discovery of weapons upon the premises he invaded? Is
it likely that he would have made his attack in a lighted room, when,
by delaying until the couple had retired, a few shots, a few blows,
might have done the bloody work without danger to the assailant? If
he were seeking the life of the wife, would he wait and attack her in
the presence of a strong and able-bodied husband? If he sought the
life of the husband, would he kill the wife, and, when he had the man
entirely in his grasp, leave him to live?
Reference was next made by Captain Woods to the domestic rela-
tnons existing between McCue and his wife. He treated the testimony
of Ernest and Miss Bertie Crawford in extenso. . He reread a large
portion of it, and emphasized every statement the two made about the
turmoil reigning in the home of the accused. The speaker went on to
refer to the letters read in court and to remark upon the love and ten-
derness breathed in every line. No member of the jury, no attorney
within the bar, no auditor, had failed to be affected by the epistles.
“But, gentlemen of the jury,” cried Captain Woods, “you must not
fail to recall one thing. Those letters were written several years ago.
There were a number of them in 1899 and 1900, and but one—gentle-
men, observe this, but one—in 1901. Not a letter after this date has
been introduced. Were there any to introduce? I do not know. If
there were any they offered the best opportunitly for showing to you
gentlemen what were the relations between this man and his wife.
Gentlemen, where are they? Not a letter has been introduced since
1901. They were proper as evidence. If there were letters why were
they kept back.”
Captain Woods dwelt at length upon the domestic conditions reign-
ing in the McCue household and reverted to the statements of witnesses
to substantiate his declaration that the prisoner was a brutal and un-
kind husband. He went thoroughly over what young Crawford and
his sister had said, and also referred to the statements of Mr. Bland,
the negro janitor, Thomas, and others. Finally he reached the testi-
mony of Mr. White, who conversed with McCue in the cell. Here
Captain Woods was stern and terrible in his denunciation of the ac-
cussed.
CALLED HER ‘‘THAT Wom AN.”
“Gentlemen,” he said, “ this loving wife, this mother of his chil-
dren and mistress of his home, had gone to the bourne from which no
traveler returns. Her spirit had winged its way to a celestial home.
Her body was cold and still in death. And what did he do? Did he
strike down the one that spoke slightingly of her? Did he refer to her
with tenderness and love? No, gentlemen of the jury, he called her
‘that woman,” and he called her jealous? Gentlemen, he said, that for
four or five years his life had been a perfect hell!’”

115
McCue was straining forward in his chair. His eyes were fixed
intently upon Captain Woods. He moved uneasily from place to place
on the chair.
As soon as he had treated this phase of the case—the relations be:
tween McCue and his wife—with adequate fullness, Captain Woods
went on to touch upon other matters. He went carefully over the
ground again, and indicated what he called straws that pointed to the
character of the relations between McCue and his wife. Looked upon
as isolated facts, they meant little; reckoned in connection with what
had gone before and what came after, they meant much. Among these
straws were a half-dozen little incidents—the failure of McCue to walk
to church that night with his wife; their attitude toward each other
afterwards; the depression of Mrs. McCue while on her way back home
and other things.
After this Captain Woods went on to picture the happenings on the
night of the homicide. He pointed to the husband and the wife enter-
ing the house together. It was the last time she was seen alive. He
colled attention to the significance of the interval between the time
McCue and his wife entered the house and the time his brother, the
physician, was seen to enter. What did it not mean to the woman?
It meant life itself. And what of her husband?
“There under the roof with his wife he was her sole protector and
guardian. He must be held responsible for her safety. Gentlemen,
unless he was senseless from a blow, unless his physical condition was
such that he could not go to her aid; gentlemen, unless body and mind
were alike insensible, then he murdered her himself as certain as the
sun rose or God created the earth.” -
The words of Charles Skinner were read to the jury, Captain
Woods used them to draw vividly the picture of the wife sobbing, beg-
ging for her life. The negro boy had heard her for several moments as
she moaned in agony of body and mind.
Is it conceivable that a burglar would linger over his victim in this
way, torture her, and risk detection and the recovery of the man said
to have been insensible upon the floor? No. A husband in the privacy
of his own home was inflamed with wrath. To him had come the
thought that he could now rid himself of this woman who had by her
jealousy made his “life a hell.” He had struck her—cruelly struck her.
His murderous fingers had closed about her tender throat. Leisurely
he went about his task. She pleaded for mercy, but in vain. With a
fell purpose still unsubdued he followed her to her hiding place and
then shot her down. The gun was his own. Loaded or unloded when
he picked it up it was his and he had fired it.
But this was not all. The testimony had shown that the brother
of the accused had gone to the house and had been there several mo-
ments before the police officers arrived. Why was there no hue and
cry? Why this secrecy if those in the house were guiltless of any

116
crime? The neighbors were upon their porches. The night was warm
and the windows were open.
A single outcry for help would have brought a dozen strong arms
to the rescue. The first instinct of human nature, if innocence were
there, would have been to cry down the felon; to summon the friends,
who would gladly have come to their aid.
“What it done?” asked Captain Woods, in effect. “No! I tell you,
gentlemen, that to me this is the strongest and most remarkable fea-
ture of this case if the accused is not guilty. I tell you—it is my duty
to tell you, and I do not care where the blow will fall—that if he had
been innocent that night the threat of cannon or the stare of death
itself could not have stopped him from crying aloud to those who
would help him find the murderer of his wife. If his brother, when
he arrived, had not believed that the prisoner at this bar had stained
his hands with the blood of his own wife, you could not have stopped
him from alarming the neighbors.”
Dropping this phase of the case, Captain Woods reiterated the
statement that if McCue were not senseless on the night of the murder,
he must be held responsible before God and man for the safety of his
wife. But was his condition so serious? He was not too senseless to
send a telephone message to his brother and another to the house of a
man who lived nearly half a mile away. There was no outcry. Dr.
McCue, his brother, went down the street without calling upon a soul.
Why was it thus? Had he received some intimation over the 'phone
of the facts in the case, or, knowing the relations between McCue and
his wife, did he anticipate some such trouble? The police were not
notified. The brothers met silently in the death house and gave to no
one the word that a murder had been done. Even John Perry, their
tool had been struck dumb.
“But wait. Through a telephone girl the police had been notified.
Grady at the head of his men burst into the house and took them by
surprise. ‘The cat was out of the bag.” The scheming and preparation
was stopped half-finished. In his confusion the murderer told a half
dozen different tales. His brother tried to make him go upstairs be-
fore he talked too much.” -
Captain Woods read seven different accounts given by the prisoner
of the occurrences in the house on the night of the murder.
“An innocent man,” declared the speaker, “would at once have
stated the truth—the plain, unvarnished tale—and this would have
been his story from first to last. He would have needed no prepa-
rations.”
“Now, gentlemen of the jury,” said Captain Woods in conclusion,
“I think in justice to the accused and taxing your patience, also, that I
have given this case a fair opening. The issues of life and death are
involved here. Here was one of the noble women of the Common-
wealth, entitled to the shield of every honest hand and every gallant

117
heart; she had been taken rudely and foully by practically an assassin's
hand, not only taken with a sudden blow, which would have sent her
to her God, without any of those horrible features of Suffering and
the horrid anticipation, but as a feline catches and nurses the poor
helpless mouse in its claws, she was played with about the throat, she
was struck about the head; she was then after an interval, shot with
her husband's gun.
“Murder at best, is bad, is foul, but this was most foul, strange
and unnatural, and I but voice the feeling that must stir in every
honest bosom; I but voice the feeling of every citizen of this Common-
wealth when I say that with such circumstances as these pointing with
all the concentrated rage, towards the prisoner of the bar, that you
cannot escape your duty.
“The great public of Virginia ask for nothing but justice; they ask
that you take this case and conscientiously consider every question and
every point pertaining to it. It is the highest function and the gravest
duty of your life. The great Commonwealth that we love, with our
brave people, ask in no spirit of vengeance for one of its citizen’s blood,
but it asks that murder shall be punished. The great King of kings
upon the tablets, which have come to us from remote ages, from Mt.
Sinai, wrote in living words: ‘Thou shalt not murder; thou shalt do no
murder'; and all that is asked of you, gentlemen, is, without prejudice
against the accused, without bias, one way or the other, to hold in
your consciences and in your minds the scales of justice.
“Figure and think and as sensible men passing upon one, perhaps
the gravest of all subjects that your mind was ever drawn to, if you
shall reach a conclusion in your minds, beyond a reasonable doubt, that
this accused is guilty, I say to you in behalf of the women of this
Commonwealth, one of whom has been stricken and murdered, I say to
you in behalf of the men of this State, who shiver with horror at such
an outrage; I say to you in behalf of humanity itself, that he deserves
the highest and most condign punishment that human hands can inflict.
“I am about to leave this case in your hands, and I feel deeply the
responsibility; I feel for each one of you. I have felt this strain be-
- yond measure; I feel almost that something has gone out of my very
life in the management of this case, and yet, I have been taught, and I
have tried to act in my life that when a duty was imposed upon me.
and that when I undertook to perform it, I did so fearlessly and boldly
and broadly and freely in the presence of man and God. Gentlemen,
all that we ask is justice in behalf of the people, and I trust that, when
you retire and have given consideration to all the eloquence and all the
views that will be presented to you, you will remember that facts
are stronger than theories; that justice is stronger than mercy, and,
that, though the heavens fall, you should do your duty. I trust that
you may be blessed by God in your deliberations, and that when you
bring in your verdict, your conscience will say ‘faithful, and that
118 -
when you all go to meet your God and give a last account of your
works that God will say: “Well done, faithful and true.’ Gentlemen, I
thank you.”
SPEECH OF MER. SINCLAIR.
On the night of Wednesday, November 26, the first speech for the
defense was made by Mr. G. Burnley Sinclair. The court-room was
Crowded to Suffocation.
To the court and the jury Mr. Sinclair made the usual pleasant
references, and then plunged straight into an argument from the view-
point of the instructions, which he discussed in extenso. He then pro-
ceeded to give his attention to the evidence. He declared that the
defense was prepared to prove that the Commonwealth, with all its
effort and all the money it had spent, had succeeded in establishing
but one indisputable fact—that on the night of September 4th Fannie
Crawford McCue, wife of the prisoner, was brutally murdered in her
own home. Beyond this the Commonwealth had not gone.
“We are willing to admit,” said Mr. Sinclair, “that there are
circumstances which point to Mr. McCue, but at the same time these
circumstances are entirely consistent with his innocence.”
Proceeding, the attorney for the defense outlined the case of the
prosecution, declaring that it based its contention mainly upon three
points: The bad relations existing between the man and wife, the con-
ditions at the house pointing to the husband, and the contradictory
statements of the accused. The motive was found in the alleged bad
relations. Whether or not the Commonwealth had established this
motive, the jury would have to decide. Mr. Sinclair said, in passing,
that even bad relations did not presuppose murder, and that even a
blow was not always followed by a homicide.
The testimony of the Commonwealth was then taken up and dis-
cussed, point by point, by Mr. Sinclair. The speaker ridiculed what
Captain Woods had called “straws,” the little incidents in the recent
life of McCue and his wife held to indicate the Strained character of
the relations between the two.
Brand, Thomas, Stevens and many others came in for a few flings.
It was to Ernest Crawford, however, that Mr. Sinclair gave the lion’s
share of his attention. He made a terrific assault upon the young
man, and laughed at his testimony as a whole, laying particular em-
phasis upon what he considered the absurdity of the statement that a
man of McCue's standing should “go down in the pasture lot” or that
a woman of Mrs. McCue's standing would, in the presence of a third
person, charge her husband with doing such a thing; in fact, Mr. Sin-
clair said that the Commonwealth had utterly and ignominiously
failed to besmirch the character of the accused.
“Not a breath nor a word has been brought against him,” he de-
clared. “In spite of the announcement of the Commonwealth that all























119
ladies should stay away from a recent session, nothing was done—and
Mr. McCue's character stands here to-day immaculate and spotless as
ever. This investigation has served only to show how spotless and
immaculate it is. We must be fair, gentlemen; fair and honest.”
For the next ten or fifteen minutes Mr. Sinclair devoted his atten-
tion to the alleged bad relations existing between the accused and his
dead wife. He declared that here again the Commonwealth had failed.
The speaker cited first the letters of the man and wife, and then the
testimony of a half dozen or more witnesses, all of whom had declared
that they had never observed anything but the utmost cordiality be-
tween the two. The attorney laid strong emphasis upon the life insur-
ance carried by the defendant for the benefit of his wife. This insur-
ance amounted to $70,000 or more, and Mr. Sinclair figured roughly
that it cost the grasping, money-loving McCue $2,500 a year or possibly
as much as $10 a day to maintain this insurance.
“And yet,” cried Mr. Sinclair, “this is the man the Commonwealth
claims was on bad terms with his wife, and actually killed her.”
The Commonwealth, the attorney understood, was laying great
stress upon the varying statements of the accused in reference to the
murder. Mr. Sinclair admitted that their statements did vary, or,
rather, that a series of witnesses had declared that the accounts were
different, but in all of these statements the defense lawyer saw the
one prominent distinguishing feature—that he (McCue) had been at-
tacked, and that his wife had probably been killed.
The variations were minor in their character, and might be ac-
counted for by the fallibility of human understanding. No two people
looked at the same thing with the same eyes; no two heard with the
same ears. What one took to mean one thing, another took to mean
something else. But suppose the prisoner, nervous and excited though
he was, had given to each the same story, what would have been the
effect? Would not the Commonwealth have declared at once that he
had a stereotyped lie ready for everybody? Would not every action
of McCue, whatever it was, be distorted and twisted entirely beyond
recognition?
“Gentlemen,” said Mr. Sinclair, solemnly, “Gentlemen, there is
something behind this case, some mystery that we do not understand.”
A rapid survey of the remaining points in the case was given by
Mr. Sinclair. He referred to the effort of the Commonwealth to dis-
credit the testimony of its own witness, Dr. Frank C. McCue, by de-
claring that, contrary to what he had said, he had reached the resi-
dence several minutes before Grady and the police officers. The prose-
cution, in substantiating this point, had referred to the written testi-
mony of Mr. Massie, who, it was asserted, had said that he saw Dr.
McCue enter the house, and five or ten minutes later saw Grady go in.
Mr. Sinclair picked up the record and read from the testimony of

120
Mr. Massie. The witness did say that he saw Mr. McCue enter the
house, but here is what followed: “Five or ten minutes later, I saw
a boy or lad run fast out of the lane.”
Grady is anything but a boy or a lad, and he wasn’t running out
the lane.
The bloody shirt received its full meed of attention. A rather
dramatic incident developed in this connection.
“The Commonwealth has spoken of fairness,” said Mr. Sinclair.
“Let us have fairness, then. I have nothing to say against Mr. Massie,
but the Commonwealth has laid great stress upon these statements of
Mrs. Massie, that when she first saw Mr. McCue on the night of the
murder, he had the sleeves of his shirt rolled above his elbows. The
Commonwealth, in other words, has tried to hint that it was a bloody
butcher who stood there, or that the sleeves had been rolled up to
conceal the blood and water on them, but what the Commonwealth
has failed to do is to indicate to the jury the length of the sleeves of
the shirt. Now look.” Mr. Sinclair moved quickly forward and picked
up the shirt.
He held the sleeve against his own. It came an inch or two below
the elbow. Allowing for the greatest muscularity of McCue and for the
loss of length in stretching, the sleeve would probably have come to
the elbow on the prisoner.
With reference to the scrap of gauze found in the bath-room, Mr.
Sinclair said it might or might not have been a piece of the shirt worn
by the accused. The gentlemen who had searched the room on the
night of the murder had failed to see it. The next day it had been
found laying up on the floor. But what of it? Suppose it had been
there, and suppose it was in reality a portion of the garment worn by
McCue? It was in evidence that the prisoner had visited the bath-
room on the night of the murder; that he had seen his dead wife lying
upon the floor; that inexpressibly shocked, he had exclaimed: “Oh,
my God! my darling wife!”
At this time, according to the witness Grady, his shirt was torn,
and, in fact, a piece of it was hanging on by a mere shred. In con-
clusion, Mr. Sinclair touched upon other points, including the so-called
mysterious telephone message. Then he drifted into a lengthy discus-
Sion of the nature of circumstantial evidence. He related cases in
which innocent men had been imprisoned and even hanged on such
evidence. He quoted the instructions of the court.
He referred to the argument of Captain Woods against the theory
of a burglary. He admitted that it sounded unusual, but crime, he
said, is never logical. It was certainly no less unreasonable to say
that on a Sunday night when his neighbors were passing before his
door, J. Samuel McCue slew his own wife.
The attorney also recalled the statement of Dr. Nelson, that a

121
man knocked senseless from a blow with a soft weapon would proba-
bly suffer nausea and nose bleeding, and then laid stress upon the
fact that when the accused was first seen on the stair he had one hand
to his head and one to his breast.
The last words of Mr. Sinclair were a warning to the jury of the
responsibility resting upon them. -
SPEECH OF CAPT. R. S. K.E.R.
The attendance in the courthouse on Thursday showed no diminu-
tion. If there was any difference at all over that of the preceding day,
public interest in the case appeared greater than ever. Captain R. S.
Ker, of Staunton, continued the argument for the prosecution. He
said in part:
“In endeavoring, gentlemen of the jury, to be of assistance to you
in arriving at a true and just determination of the issue between the
Commonwealth and this prisoner at the bar, I shall seek to consume
as little of your time as possible, at the same time directing your at-
tention to such points in the evidence in this case and the law appli-
cable to it, as I feel may be of assistance to you in the discharge of
your duty.
“The full and able and convincing argument of my associate who
has preceded me has lessened the burden of my duty very materially.
Notwithstanding that, gentlemen of the jury, I feel it my duty, as far
as in me lies, to assist you, not by any charm of rhetoric, not by any
spell of oratory, were it in my power to charm you thus, but by reason
of the fact that you are endeavoring to direct your attention to evi-
dence in this case, for by that evidence, and that alone, you are to de-
termine what your verdict shall be.
“You are selected, gentlemen, as the triers of this case, not because
you are learned in the law, or gifted in any special metaphysical
powers to discriminate between ‘hypotheses and reasonable doubts,’
but because you are men of experience in the affairs of humankind;
because you belong to the great body politic of this Commonwealth;
because you, as citizens, are endowed with that same reason, that same
common sense, that same human experience which leads you to judge
the affairs and actions of your fellow-men. And in considering this
case, gentlemen, it is not what I may say to you of our opinions or our
beliefs. It is not what my learned friends on the other side may say
as to their opinions and beliefs that you are to Weigh determining
this case, but what you have heard from the mouths of witnesses. By
that, and that alone, you are to determine the guilt or the innocence
of the prisoner at the bar. By that, and that alone, you are to say
whether you have the abiding conviction or not of his guilt, and by
that, and that alone, you are to put your finger upon and give a rea-
son for any doubt that may exist in your minds. It is easy, by beau-
tiful theories and castles in the air, for the eloquent tongues of counsel

122
on the other side to suggest doubts to the jury. But the doubts you
are to consider, the only doubts you are to consider, are not those
suggested by counsel in argument, are not those things that might
have been, but those things that are detailed to you by the witnesses
and not by the counsel.
“The able counsel for the prisoner who preceded me in the argu-
men of this case,” continued Captain Ker, “has told you, gentlemen
of the jury, has taken for the keynote of his argument the fact that
although there are circumstances of suspicion pointing towards the
accused, yet there is such reasonable doubt as would entitle him to an
acquittal. As I have already said to you, in considering this case, you
are expected to apply to it not any special metaphysical learning, but
simply the common sense and every-day experience and reason, based
upon that common sense and every-day experience, that will lead
you gentlemen to determine in your minds whether this prisoner is
guilty or whether he is innocent. It may be that after certain trials
you, like myself, have heard jurors who sat in the cases say, ‘we all
believe that man guilty, we are all satisfied about it, but we didn’t
think the evidence showed it.”
“Gentlemen of the jury, if a juror, after his examination by a
court, goes into the jury box with a mind free and clear of all feeling
as to whether the accused be guilty or innocent, and he hears only
the evidence as detailed to him by witnesses and legitimate argument
of counsel and the instructions of court, and then he feels, and is sat-
isfied, that the accused is guilty, that is all the law requires.
“The law does not ask and demand of you any infallibility. It
doesn’t require of you that you should be transported, because you
happen to be trying a case, to some high plane away above your fellow-
mortals, and that you exercise the acumen not common to everyday
man.”
Captain Ker declared that it is idle for any jury to say that it be-
lieves a prisoner guilty, but that the evidence did not prove it.
“I ask you if the evidence in this case does not satisfy you beyond
any doubt that the prisoner here is responsible for the foul murder
of Fannie McCue,” said the lawyer.
“Let us see what this evidence does show. It is true that the
accused occupied a prominent place in this community, that his family
was one of social prominence, and that it could not afford to drag the
skeleton out of the closet and exhibit it on the streets and in public
places. Pride and business considerations would have prevented this.
I challenge your everyday, common sense to say if it is not the ‘little
straws,” in cases like this, which show the way the wind blows. It
would not be proper to convict the accused upon the evidence of a
single witness, but it is impossible that all of the witnesses could have
been mistaken when they testified to the strained relations between the

123
accused and his wife. Was not that boy right, when, looking upon
his dead mother, he said, ‘this is the most peaceful look I have seen
on her face for years?” The evidence shows that for years this man
had been caring less and less for the tender, true and loving woman
who was his wife, and that he had become less and less concerned
about the marriage relations. Leading such a life, a man becomes
more and more indifferent. It is not a sudden wrenching apart of the
ties which bind their hearts together. It is gradual, it takes some time
for either the man or the woman to reach the point when he or she
is ready to declare that his or her life is a “hell on earth.” This was
the case in this unhappy home.
“I take issue with the counsel on the other side when they say
that there must be a motive for every crime before it can be pun-
ished. It is not necessary—it is not law and not common sense— to
prove a motive before you can punish a man known to be guilty.
“Let us see if the Statment of the accused that his life was a “hell
on earth’ was meant to refer to his early struggles. It was during the
last few years that his life had been filled with misery. Unless you
think that John S. White, his friend and fellow-practitioner, was man-
ufacturing evidence, you are bound to believe that the accused referred
to his wife as ‘that woman,’ and then added that she was ‘the most
jealous creature he had ever known.' I do not pretend to say that
at times the tender clinging love of the wife did not bring to the
memory of the husband a recollection of his marriage vows and awake
in his breast feelings of tenderness; I do not pretend to say that there
was always wrangling and dissension. The love of the woman was
bound to awake at times, but the returns are clearly proven to have
been strained and unhappy. It is a little significant that the only peo-
ple who passed Mrs. McCue as she went to church that fateful night
noticed her sadness.
“Let us see what happened at that house on the night of the
tragedy. The accused says he was knocked senseless by a little scratch
on the face, by some nameless instrument, introduced by the ingenuity
of the counsel, which produced a concussion of the brain, but no con-
tusion on the surface. What witness tells you that this could be done?
Dr. C. S. Venable says it can’t be done, Dr. H. T. Nelson says it is
impossible, and Dr. J. E. Early says the same thing. Who says it was
possible. Only the counsel for the defense. -
“Take the statements of the accused. Counsel for the defense say
that varying statements show the truth. This is correct as to differ-
ent witnesses testifying about the same matter, but not as to one wit-
ness speaking of the same transaction. That is the only thing he
sticks to. He knows that he must not know what had happened if he
is to escape the responsibility.
“Was it burglary? What strange character of robber was this
124
who, considerately refused to allow his victims to go quietly to sleep
and then “burgle” at his leisure, but rushed into a lighted room and
attacked the woman and the man? Gentlemen, can you believe it?
A few moments later the man and the woman would have been asleep,
and the night prowler would have had the house for his own. Yet
he did not wait. And then, after he had knocked the man senseless
and killed the woman—when the latter was dead and out of the way
and he might have killed the former if he had wished—after he had
done all of this, gentlemen, he quietly left the house, disturbing noth-
ing, and the only effect of his visit was the death of this poor woman!
Gentlemen, is it reasonable; do you believe it?
“Was it a man seeking revenge? Would such a man if he sought
the life of the woman, attack her in the presence of her husband?
Would he go to the house relying upon weapons he expected to find on
the premises? If he sought the blood of the man himself, would he
rush at him unarmed, would he knock him senseless, and then when,
with a gun in his hands, he had his enemy at his mercy, leave him to
live while he slew his unoffending wife? Is it reasonable, gentlemen?
Do you believe it?
“Was he a burglar scared off before he could gather his booty or a
murderer who had not time to complete his crime? If this had been
true, the weapons would have been flung hastily aside But were they?
No! the bat that bruised the tender flesh of the woman was standing
carefully placed near the mantel; the gun that had torn her breast
was even as carefully placed in a corner of the hall. Is it reasonable,
gentlemen? Do you believe it?”
The utter lack of hue and cry was made the basis for a terrific
argument by Captain Ker. He pictured the two brothers in the house
covering up the tracks of a brutal, horrible crime. Where a single
cry might have summoned help from a half dozen nearby homes, they
and the negro boy who assisted them were mute. At last the police
arrived, but unexpectedly. They had been summoned, but by whom?
Not by the man whose wife lay dead. Not by his brother then in the
house. The alarm was given by a telephone girl, who acted upon the
suggestion of an outsider. Then and there only the police walked in.
“Gentlemen,” said Captain Ker, impressively, “when Grady reached
that house something had been done—something we do not know.
But this much we do know: The people there—the husband, the brother,
or the servant—somebody there knew that Mrs. McCue had breathed
her last—somebody there knew that a murder had been done. The
body had been lifted from the tub and stretched upon the rug, where
Grady first saw it All of this had been done, all of this was known,
and yet, gentlemen, they never lifted a voice or raised a finger to
alarm the public, the officials, or the neighbors.”
In conclusion, Captain Ker summarized the entire case, and made

125
a plea for the conviction of a man the Commonwealth had proven
to be guilty of the murder of his own wife. He was eloquent and
earnest, and where he treated of some of the arguments of the other
side, sarcastic. He said in part: -
“Now, gentlemen of the jury, I have endeavored fairly and fully
and frankly to discuss this evidence before you; and have certainly
done it without any feeling towards the accused, whom I did not
know, and as to whom I could have no bias one way or the other. I
have simply, in my humble way, and to the best of my ability, tried
to aid you in collating and reasoning out this evidence, and applying
the law thereto, so that you may arrive at a just and fair verdict be-
tween the Commonwealth and this accused; because, gentlemen of the
jury, the Commonwealth does not want anything else.
“It is no pleasure to the old mother Commonwealth to punish
one of her children; it is no pleasure to the Commonwealth that one
of her sons should err and fall and deserve the condemnation of her
laws. And, gentlemen, the Commonwealth is not some mythical be-
ing; the common weal is the Commonwealth, the common good is the
Commonwealth, the great body of the good, law-abiding, constitute
the Commonwealth, and it is not simply some phrase or figurative
being that is used to represent the other side as against the prisoner;
you and your fellow-citizens all through the length and breadth of this
State constitute, when taken collectively as a mass, the Commonwealth,
and it is no pleasure or advantage to you to punish any innocent man.
“But, gentlemen, the Commonwealth does require, and the common
weal does require, that where any man, be he high or low; be he
prince or pauper, dares offend against her laws, that he should receive
the punishment of the law. And it makes no difference to the great
body of the people whether you are now trying a man who is able,
as my friend on the other side said, to pay out $2,500 or $3,000 a year
in life insurance premiums or were passing upon the case of the veri-
est pauper and beggar that ever stood before a jury; the law requires
that the same even-handed justice should be meted out to one as to
the other. And the individual offender against the law is a small
matter, an infinitesimal matter as compared with the preservation of
the peace and the liberty and the lives under the law of all the good
people of this Commonwealth.
“And, gentlemen of the jury, as a matter of fact, the tragic death
of Mrs. Fannie M. McCue, touching and pitiful and heartrending though
it was, making every true man and true woman shudder with the
horror and dreadfulness of it, though it did, is a small matter when
compared with the safety and the lives and the honor and the integ-
rity of the thousands of beautiful homes that are scattered throughout
this State, from the mountain tops to the seashore. That is the ultimate
end of the law.
º


126
“After this man has been meted out his punishment in payment
for his crime, that is not all that the law asks as the effect of the
punishment for crime, but it is that the sanctity of the law may be
established and maintained; that the peace and dignity of the Com-
monwealth may be upheld; that all persons, whoever they may be,
may always know that, in this Commonwealth at least, law and order
will be maintained, and that the offender against her laws will be
punished, irrespective of what his social position may be; irrespective
of what his financial ability may be; irrespective of what his family
influence may be, and that the same law will be measured out to him
as is measured out to the humblest, lowliest, simplest and plainest
citizen. That is all the Commonwealth asks of you, gentlemen of the
jury.
“My friend on the other side, who preceded me, has held up before
you your “awful responsibility,” as he termed it. It seemed to me—
and I don’t want to do him any injustice—that he was attempting to
scare vou gentlemen with ghºsts. I don’t think it is necessary for me
to tell you twelve men, good and true, who have been tested and
accepted and found competent to sit upon this jury and determine
this case, of your responsibility. I am certain from the earnest, hon-
est, careful and painstaking attention you have paid to every detail
of this case, that you yourselves realize your responsibility; but I
am also certain that as true men of Virginia, you cannot be fright-
ened from your duty by the nursery scare that ‘the gobelins will git
you if you don’t look out.’ I am sure the picture he held up of this
man's ghost haunting you in after life is not enough to deter you,
and never was enough to deter Virginians from doing their duty in
whatever station of life and in whatever emergency they were called
upon to perform it. I do not believe you can be frightened by such a
picture as that. I believe you are going to consider this case and do
as the court tells you—if from that evidence you are satisfied beyond
a reasonable doubt that this man is guilty, you are going to say so.
That, gentlemen, will satisfy every demand of the Commonwealth,
and that is all the Commonwealth asks you to do. I thank you, gen-
tlemen.”
|SPEECH OF MP. COLEMAN.
The remainder of the day was consumed by the speech of Mr.
J. Tinsley Coleman, of Lynchburg, associate counse for the defense.
In opening Mr. Coleman called attention to the fact that all of
Charlottesville could not furnish a jury competent to try the accused.
It was admitted by the community itself that the people of Albemarle,
swept by their own feelings, could not sit in judgment upon the al-
leged murderer. And yet this community had been present by proxy
in the person of Captain Micajah Woods. Himself open to all of the
influences that had moved the people, he nevertheless appeared in the

127
front rank of the prosecutors. How he could claim to possess a ju-
dicial mind, how he could profess to reason with the caution and de-
liberation of a juryman, Mr. Coleman could not understand.
The defense, declared its attorney, demanded a fair trial—not
simply an honest trial, but a trial in which the accused would get the
benefit of every doubt. The jurymen should not steel their hearts
against the representatives of the defense on the ground that it was
a mere lawyer's plea. He declared that the gentlemen of the opposing
side had been chary of the instructions. Captain Woods had quoted
not a one. Captain Ker had referred to but one, or a portion of one.
The representatives of the Commonwealth had declared that the jury
were to try the case according to the evidence, and according to that
alone.
“Gentlemen of the jury,” said Mr. Coleman, “do you recall the
oath you took? It was this: That you would consider the law and the
evidence and make true deliverance thereof, so help you God.
“Gentlemen, before taking your seats in that jury box, you purged
your souls with a solemn oath. You have to consider, gentlemen, not
only the evidence, but also the law. We have a right to demand, and
we do, with no disrespect, demand that these instructions of His
Honor be read in connection with your contemplation of the testi-
mony of the witnesses who have appeared in this case.”
Dropping this legal aspect of the case, Mr. Coleman entered into
the argument of the evidence itself. He referred first to the motive
the Commonwealth had endeavored to establish—the bad relations
between the accused and his wife—and declared that it had not only
failed to accomplish this purpose, but that if it had the alleged
motive would have been insufficient. He referred to the testimony
of Ernest Crawford. Admitting and passing over the excuses the
boy had made for not interfering with the brutality of his brother-in-
law, the statements of Crawford to others, his glorification of McCue,
and the testimony of the witnesses themselves, there was still left
in the minds of the jury at least a doubt of the truth of all the young
man had said. This doubt, and Mr. Coleman said he would produce
the law, would cause the entire testimony to be disregarded.
The importance of the letters of the man and wife was emphasized
by Mr. Coleman. He referred to them as a voice from the grave that
could not be gainsaid. He admitted that a man and wife might be
upon bad terms and still in public conduct themselves most properly.
But here were letters written in the privacy of the closet. There was
no prying public eye to guard the lip and stay the hasty hand. Here
the heart only spoke freely.
“I need not repeat to you, gentlemen,” said Mr. Coleman, “what
was in those letters. You heard them. You know what they are. You
know how impossible it is to get around them. They were written

128
several years ago. When those letters were penned there was no
coldness between these two people. * * * And is there any evidence
that since that time these strange and terrible relations have sprung
up? Let us see.”
Mr. Coleman made a rapid survey of the testimony of the witnesses
of the Commonwealth—Miss Crawford, Mr. Brand, the negro Hurley,
the colored janitor of the town hall. He analyzed the various state-
ments of these people and others, and declared that they were indeed
“straws,” the veriest of chaff, that were not worth the breath they
took for utterance. He ridiculed the Commonwealth that had intro-
duced a negro janitor as an arbiter elegantiarum, who was to tell the
people of Charlottesville, the people who lived within the shadow of
Monticello, how a white man should treat his wife. The witnesses of
the defense fared better at the hands of the vigorous attorney. He
called attention to the testimony of the servant and the seamstress,
who had never in all their connection with the family seen a sign of
aught that was anything but loving and kind; he dwelt upon the fact
that the man and the wife were frequently in each other's company;
he declared that the matter of insurance, despite the slighting words
of the Commonwealth, was no joking matter. -
“But, genlemen of the jury,” he finally said, “suppose these things
had been true; suppose he had, in fact, forgotten his marriage vows.
Who are we that we should judge him—we whose virtue may be a
deficiency of temptation, whose honor may be an accident, and whose
prosperity in time may be a sarcasm? Is this the motive they would
prove? Admitting everything they say, and we deny it, does this
furnish ground for charging this accused with a bloody crime? Does
every man who has ceased to love his wife murder her? Do we not
daily transact business with people we hate and despise? Do we kill
them ’’
“We claim, gentlemen,” he said, “that if the theory of burglary
is improbable, the theory that this man McCue selected that hour and
that time to shoot his own wife in his own house, in a populous part
of the town, where the streets were lighted and the house itself was
lighted, when people were passing along the sidewalk; we claim that
this is more wildly improbable than the theory of burglary or any
other theory that the ingeunity of the human mind can devise.
CoLEMAN's VIEW OF BURGLARY THEORY.
“Now, let us see about this theory of burglary, cried down by the
other side. The house was open. This is admitted. Mr. McCue had
been out of town, and he came back unexpectedly. The family went
to church. It was Sunday night. The house was left entirely alone.
Suppose a man had set out that night to commit a robbery. No house
in Charlottesville would have been more inviting. It was the house

129
of a well-to-do man. There would be no difficulty of getting into it.
We all know that. The owner of the house was supposed to be away.
The wife and children had gone out. What was easier? -
“Suppose a man had gone into that house, and while he was there,
Mr. McCue and his wife came in through the front door. In a residence
of that size he could easily have concealed himself. It is in evidence
that the plug was in the bath tub and the hot water was running. The
couple went to the bed chamber and began to disrobe. Mrs. McCue
had been away. What was more natural than that she should wish
to take a bath, that she turned on the hot water. Now, suppose a
man in that house had seen her in the bath tub or in the room.
What infernal and unmentionable scheme might not have entered his
head? -
“Gentlemen, this is no idle vagary; in my city a short while ago,
a white woman was assaulted, not at night, in some obscure section,
but in the broad open light of day, and in one of the populous sections
of the town.”
The speaker went on to elaborate upon the probability or the
improbability of the theory of burglary. He supposed the burglar
sneaking through the house, coming suddenly upon the man and wife
in the lighted bed chamber; observing the start of the husband as
the strange face peering through the door showed in the looking-
glass. Thinking himself recognized, he had done that which would
have come naturally to any marauder, who, caught in another's bed
chamber, would have met just fate, had he been shot down—he had
attacked the man and “put him out of commission.” Then, with his
work unfinished, he turned upon the woman, who had seen him, and
forever closed her lips.
“Whether this is true or not, gentlemen,” declared Mr. Coleman,
“I do not know. It is the statement that has been consistently made
by this accused. I repeat that I do not know whether this supposition
is true to the facts or not, but neither, gentlemen, do you; I have seen
no evidence to discredit it, neither have you. If it sounds improbable,
it is certainly not less improbable to think that McCue killed his own
wife. Do you think it is more probable that McCue killed his own
wife, than that a burglar killed her If you do, why? According
to the testimony of Mr. Dinwiddie, they were on the best of terms that
night. There was no reason for it. It is impossible to conceive it.
We have heard much of the varying statements of the accused. It is
impossible that some of these variations sprang up in the minds of
those who testified here? But suppose it had been said here that he
told throughout a straight story, would it not at once have been de-
clared a stereotyped untruth?’”
“We have also heard that there was no outcry, and the inference
has been made that this man McCue killed his wife and then tried to
conceal his crime. And yet, what have we in the evidence? Miss
Bragg, telephone operator, says here that Mr. McCue broke in sud-

130
denly and asked her for somebody.' When she asked him whom he
wanted he gave the first name that flashed into his head, ‘Mr. Wil.
liams.”
“She told him the 'phone of Mr. Williams was busy. Now, mark
you, gentlemen, what he said: ‘Oh, central, do not tell me it is busy:
somebody is in my house; has shot me and probably killed my wife!”
Gentlemen of the jury, was that the way to conceal a crime? It has
been said that the police learned by accident and arrived in time to “let
the cat out of the bag. But did this accused not himself tell the girl,
who in turn notified the police? It is true he did not rush into the
streets and cry for help. He had another way. He used the telephone.
“A great deal has been said here,” continued Mr. Coleman, in
effect, “about the bloody shirt. Gentlemen, it is in evidence that the
wound of Mrs. McCue was almost bloodless until she was turned over
and the cavity was opened. It has been also said by my friend Ker
that she could not, from the nature of the wound, have been shot
while she was in the bath tub. Then, where was she shot?
“They do not know, but this we do know. There was no blood
in the chamber and none in the hall. While Mrs. McCue lay upon
her back no blood came from the wound. If she had been picked up
and carried to the bath tub after she was shot, the clothes of the man
who carried her would have been saturated with blood. Upon this
shirt you see only a few spots. Where did they come from? They
came, gentlemen of the jury, from the bloody fingers of the undertaker,
Biery, who admitted that the shirt was handed to him.”
Emphasis was also laid by Mr. Coleman upon the fact that there
had been no effort to conceal the shirt. He referred to the scrap of
gauze and declared that nobody could say positively that it was part
of the shirt; that it could not have been in the bath-room on the night
of the murder, since none of the searchers had found it; that nobody
knew how it got there the next day, or would ever know. He then
proceeded to attack the Commonwealth for bringing into its argument
references to testimony that the court had expressly declared should
be used only for the purpose of impeaching witnesses, and should not
be considered as evidence against the accused.
Mr. Coleman said he had endeavored to point out what the Com-
monwealth had upndertaken to prove, and what it had ignominiously
failed to prove. He would now touch lightly upon a few other matters
and would then attempt to apply the law, to which, as he said before,
the Commonwealth had paid but slight attention. He referred with
amazement to the statement of Captain Woods that unless he was
senseless, McCue must be held responsible for the murder of his wife,
because he was in the house on the night of the tragedy. This, the
speaker declared, was not the law. -
Before he proceeded further in this connection Mr. Coleman re-
ferred to a matter he had overlooked in the afternoon. This was the
conversation in the jail between John S. White and the accused. After

131
calling attention to the fallibility of human nature and the inability
of the most careful always to report accurately, he analyzed the con-
versation itself. As for the “hell on earth,” he declared that the con-
viction was in the mind of the witness that there was nothing to indi-
cate and no reason to believe that McCue referred to the domestic
affairs of his own home. The speaker also combatted the Supposition
that any odium was attached to the epithet, “that woman,” with which
McCue is said to have referred to his wife.
During the next three-quarters of an hour Mr. Coleman discussed
and elucidated the instructions of the court. He took them up, one by
one, and went over each carefully and thoroughly, dwelling upon those
dealing with circumstantial evidence and reasonable doubt. When
he had gotten through, he went back to the evidence and declared that
the arguments of the prosecution applied with equal force in favor
of the accused. He thought that a man like McCue, of high social
standing and no inconsiderable business position, should, in his own
house, surrounded by his neighbors, murder his own wife, was incon-
ceivable.
In conclusion, Mr. Coleman made a brief but earnest appeal for his
client, declaring that the jury would not seek its decision in the head-
long passions of an infuriated crowd, but would determine the case
according to the law and the evidence.
MR. LEE'S ARGUMENT FOR THE ACCUSED.
The chill, damp air that swept down from the mountains and added
discomfort to the gloom of a sunless day could not restrain the crowd
that trudged forth on Friday morning, November 4th, eager to hear
what was expected to be, and what, in fact, later proved, a magnificent
speech by the leader of the defense. When “Jack” Lee arose to be-
gin his argument, the court-room was worse crowded than it had been
at any previous time during the trial.
It should be understood at the outset that much of the rhetorical
beauty of Mr. Lee's speech, as it appears here, has been lost in the
process of “condensation,” and that the same may be said of the force
of his powerful argument. But the reader, at least, may gain a good
idea of the splendid oratorical effort from the following:
“If Your Honor please, and gentlemen of the jury,” said Mr. Lee,
“the longer I live and the more nearly I approach the last stage of
human existence the more I feel myself impelled to believe in a des–
tiny over which we poor mortals have but little, if any, control. It
sometimes seems to me that the moving finger of destiny writes, and
having writ, moves on, and that all our power cannot lure it back.
As we move through the serious ways of life, how uncertain, gentle-
men, are our footsteps. As we come to the cross-roads, without sign-
board to indicate whither they lead, what is it but fatality or destiny
that makes us choose the one or the other way. Between vice and mis-
fortune there is a difference, but it is an underlying difference in many
132
cases. It does not always appear upon the surface, to be read of all
men. The results of the two are frequently identical, and it is ex-
tremely difficult to determine in many cases which has led to a given
result. Now, gentlemen, When I say that to you, men of maturity and
judgment, I feel confident that you cannot fail to apprehend my mean-
ing.
“How many men on this jury, in the days that you have put
behind you forever, and which you can never recall, have found your-
selves placed in most embarrassing and awkward positions—positions
repulsive to every fibre of your mind and your being—and yet you
couldn’t help it. You had done no wrong, your conscience spoke to
you in no disapproving voice, but you felt that in the eyes of society
you had been condemned. Isn’t that true, gentlmen? Isn’t it true?
“And haven’t you found this to follow upon the heels of that con-
dition: The very instant that evil is spoken of you, the very instant
that some malignant tongue sends forth a rumor, whether true or
untrue, of your misconduct, haven’t you found more people ready to
believe it than disbelieve it?
“Honor bright, hasn’t that been the experience of every man on
this jury? And so far as you have been able to determine, has it
not been the experience of every man whom you have had opportuni-
ties of observing in that respect? The greatest of all writers of the
English language has epitomized that truth. He has told you that ‘the
evil that men do lives after them; the good is oft interred with their
bones.’ Why the Almighty in His infinite wisdom, who created us, as
we are told, in His own image, should have so constructed the
human heart and human mind that it is ever ready to believe evil,
only God Himself in His wisdom knows.
“You may live a long life, dotted here and there and all along the
line with noble deeds, but unless that life has been lived in the full
glare of the public like that of a statesman, or a mighty general, or
a great orator, you die and only your immediate circle of friends know
of the beauty of your life. But as you struggle and totter along that
road that leads from the cradle to the grave, if you slip but once, if
you once stain your good name, generations to come after you will re-
member it and speak of it.
“And, strange to say, sad to say, when the voice of calumny has
touched you, when the scandalous tongue has blackened your fair
name, it is not only your enemies who profess to believe it, but fre-
quently it is the friend whom you have nurtured in prosperity, gentle-
men, in the day of your prosperity.
“But happy is the man who, in the hour of adversity, in the hour
of public condemnation, undeserved, let it be, can reach outside of his
own family and put his hand on one man who believes in him and
who loves him and who stands by him. And it is that position, gentle-


133
men, it is that condition that makes the position of my client here
pitiable in my eyes. And if you are honest men—as I believe you are,
as I know you want to be—it will make it pitiable in your eyes and
will appeal to your sense of honor and your sense of right.
“Gentlemen of the jury, this is no ordinary case. It is an indict-
ment to which I am now addressing myself—a man charged with wife
murder—but it is extraordinary in this, that from the very time when
that charge was made public the men who should have been the pris-
oner's friends, and some of whom have told you they were his friends
for twenty long years, unwilling to await the developments of a fair
trial, to harbor in their hearts one instant that charity which is com-
mended to us by God above, deserted him.
“Put your hand on your hearts, gentlemen, and tell me, you who
read the newspapers, is there likeness of any sort between publications
of the public press and the evidence you have heard in this case.
ACCUSED CONDEMINED IN ADVANCE.
“Gentlemen of the jury, yours is a hard task, harder than that
which has been imposed upon me and my colleagues. Ordinarily a
man comes into court presumed to be innocent, but this man before
trial, before the testimony was heard in his case, was led into this
court before you already condemned, and you knew it. Many of you
on that jury, in your integrity and candor, were fair enough when you
took the oath, to say that you had read newspaper articles, that you
had read accounts of this transaction and that to a great extent your
minds had been interested and you had formed opinions based upon
these accounts. And yet you stated, and I have no doubt truthfully,
that you could put these reports out of your mind and give this ac-
cused a fair and impartial trial. But, gentlemen of the jury, guard
yourselves. If ever there was a time in the lives of you men when you
needed God Almighty's guidance and divine protection, it is to-day. I
know that you know that the people of this State, never having heard
the testimony which you have heard, and deciding upon scandalous
publicity, from one end of the land to the other, are expecting a con-
viction at your hands. I am not here to deal in milk and cider talk.
You know as well as I know, that if you acquit this man you will re-
ceive at the hands of those who haven’t heard the evidence the
fiercest criticism, and I have no doubt you very properly fear and dread
it. But think of your responsibility, gentlemen. A man’s life, his rep-
utation, his character, the lives of his little children are being weighed
in the balance here. You know What it means.”
After a vigorous condemnation of the newspapers, Mr. Lee threw
out a few words for the benefit of the attorneys on the other side. He
spoke highly of Mr. Gilmer, but declared that the environment in which
he moved, prevented him from approaching the argument without a
biased mind. Of Captain Ker he also had much that was good to say.

134
It was when he reached the name of Captain Woods, the leader of the
prosecution, that Mr. Lee threw aside all restraint, and became scath-
ing in his speech.
“Some day,” said Lee, “the same public that for months unenlight-
ened as to the facts in this case, have been clamoring for conviction,
may, like the fickle winds of heaven, veer around. My friend will
then find that over rough swamps and meadows he has been chasing
the everlasting Will-o'-the-wisp-public sentiment and public approval.
At times you may think you have got it and can keep it, but, gentle-
men of the jury, it has got to come to you; you cannot run it down.”
Having, as he said, prepared the jury for the argument of the case
itself, Mr. Lee now proceeded to take up the law, as set forth in the
instructions, and the evidence, as included in the testimony of the
witnesses. He referred to circumstantial evidence as a chain which
was as strong as its weakest link, and which is utterly destroyed
when a single link is shattered. The defense he claimed to have
broken, not the weakest link, but the strongest. There was one link
so fragile that it broke of its own weight.
This link the attorney declared to be the puerile effort of the
Commonwealth to establish bad relations between the man and wife.
The gentlemen of the prosecution had introduced evidence that
was ridiculous; that could not even be called decent “straws.” And
yet these gentlemen thought that this evidence was terrific and con-
vincing.
“It simply shows, gentlemen of the jury,” declared the speaker,
“how the spiders of venom have woven cobwebs about their usually
strong and clear intellects.” - -
The testimony of the various Commonwealth witnesses bearing
upon the alleged bad relations existing between the accused and his
wife was taken up by Mr. Lee and dissected.
He gathered the bits on his fingers and blew them away, declared
that they were the veriest chaff.
Like those of his associates who had preceded him, he called the
attention of the jury to the oaths by which they had sworn to try the
accused, according, not only to the evidence, but also the law.
The law he declared to be embodied in the instructions.
Under the heat of the argument, the gentlemen of the prosecution
had done a thing absolutely contrary to this law. They had dragged
in the evidence used to impeach Willie McCue and John Perry—evi-
dence that the court had distinctly stated should not be used against
the accused. The alleged statements of the two witnesses had been
detailed to the jury. How many of these statements had in reality been
made, Mr. Lee declared that God in heaven only knew. But whether
they were true or not, they had nothing to do with the case.
“For God's sake, gentlemen, when you retire to your room give

135
as a square deal. The only possible effect of this evidence would be
to put Willie McCue and John Perry out of the case entirely.
“It can be used for no other purpose. And, gentlemen, when these
two witnesses are put out of the case, does not the Commonwealth
find itself with nothing left? His honor has told you that you must
not consider this testimony as affecting the decision for or against
this accused. Can you do it. Have you the sense and the brains to
keep them separate? It will not be easy, gentlemen. Could I do it
myself? Thank God I am not called upon to do it. . It is you, gentle-
men, upon whom the responsibility lies. Be careful, gentlemen, for
God’s sake be careful.”
THE PRISONER'S WARYING STATEMENTS.
Somewhere in the beginning, Mr. Lee had asserted that the defense
could shatter the strongest link in the chain of circumstantial evidence,
on which the Commonwealth hung its case. The speaker now went
back to this point and resumed the argument from this direction.
The “life-long friend of the accused,” the leader of the prosecution,
pausing significantly in his speech, had declared that if nothing else
had been established by the Commonwealth, one thing alone would
be sufficient to convict the prisoner–the varying accounts he gave of
what had occurred in the house on the night of the murder.
What followed developed into one of the most dramatic incidents
of the entire trial. Mr. Lee referred to the likelihood that there was
as much variation in the impressions gathered by the witnesses as
there was in what the prisoner said. He discussed the alleged varia-
tions, and declared that they were so slight as to amount to nothing.
But what he said here was preliminary to what the speaker was
holding in reserve. He suddenly reached for a Bible and held it in
his hand. He leaned forward and looked into the faces of the jury-
men.
“Gentlemen,” he asked in effect, “what was the most important
event in all the history of the world. Was it not the scene enacted
upon Calvary, when Jesus Christ, the Saviour of mankind, gave up
his life for humanity? I speak reverently, gentlemen; I trust that you
will receive what I say with reverence for this Holy Book, upon which
you have already taken your oath. The life or the liberty of a man
is at stake, and only in this crisis do I venture to use the inspired
words themselves to save him.”
Not a sound disturbed the silence in the court-room while Mr. Lee
began to turn from place to place in the Bible he held. Speculation
was rife as to what he would do.
Finally he began to speak again, and then it became clear to the
audience what was coming. The attorney for the defense was about
to show that the inspired servants of the Christ himself had given
varying accounts not of an ordinary occurrence, upon which nothing
depended, but of the greatest, the grandest, the most significant event

136
the world was ever to see—the crucifixion of their Lord and Master
Upon these writers lay the responsibility of the transmitting to pos-
terity the record of this glorious scene. They were there in the
shadow of the cross, they saw and then they wrote. Each saw what
the other did; each read the inscription on the cross written in three
languages; before the eyes of each passed the incidents of that mar-
velous day. And yet what had they written? No two of them agreed.
The differences were radical. Not even the inscription above the head
of the Saviour had been read alike by these inspired men.
It was a bold stroke and it was powerful in its effect. Mr. Lee
read the sacred words aloud to the jury. As he went along he pointed
out the variance in the accounts given.
“And now gentlemen of the jury,” was all the comment the at-
torney made when he was through, “are you prepared to say that the
main facts of the crucifixion did not occur because four different ac-
counts of it written by the saints themselves differ, and differ radi-
cally. Again, gentlemen, I speak with deep reverence. But, gentlemen,
I ask you: Are you prepared to say this thing?”
A moment later Mr. Lee had left this point and was delving again
into the evidence itself. He referred now to the occurrences in the
house on the night of the murder. He said he would deal with the
jury with perfect frankness. Did the statement of McCue sound im:
probable? He admitted it. Under the same circumstances would he,
Lee, the attorney, act as McCue had done? He doubted it. But Sam
McCue was one man, and John L. Lee was another. No two men, no
two faces, no two expressions, no two voices are alike. As men differ
physically so do they differ mentally. What one will do in a given con-
dition the other Will not do.
“God knows, gentlemen, what I should have done myself, had I
found my house full of gunpowder and my dear wife missing. I am
told that one of you gentlemen is an engineer. He knows, and you all
know, that in moments of frightful mental excitement a man does not
act rationally. He does not stop to reason, gentlemen. He does not
stop to consider whether or not he is doing what another would do
under the circumstances. He acts at once and acts impulsively.”
Mr. Lee went on to discuss the question of probability and improba-
bility along the line already covered by his associates. He referred
to the argument of the prosecution concerning the lack of hue and cry.
He declared that the accused had acted naturally in going at once to
his telephone and calling for help. The office was connected with a
hundred homes; had McCue gotten into his yard and squalled until his
lungs gave way, he could not have published more broadly to the
world the fact that a man had entered his home and stricken down
his wife. The speaker thanked God that the innocent telephone girls
had not allowed themselves to be swept away on the wave of public
sentiment that had submerged the counsel for the prosecution. The
Commonwealth had tried by invective and insinuation to say that the
137
police had learned of the murder by accident, and that they arrived
unexpectedly upon the scene when the accused was trying to cover up
the tracks of his crime. And yet what were the facts? The man had
gone to his telephone and had done the most natural thing he could
have done, called in his brother, who was a physician. But he had
done more. He had broken in on the central office and had cried des-
perately: “Give me somebody; a burglar is in my house; he has
knocked me senseless and probably killed my wife.” Did he whisper
this over the 'phone to some accessory? No. He cried aloud. He told
the girl who could at once alarm the entire town, and it was this
girl who had been told by McCue himself, who informed the police.
Yet it had been argued that the police learned by accident, that this
man was seeking to cover up his guilt.
“And now, gentlemen of the jury,” said Mr. Lee, in conclusion,
“let me say this to you: I have always made it a rule in cases of this
character to make absolutely no appeal to the emotions of the gentle-
men who do me the honor of listening. I am not here to deal with
your emotions, but with your reason and your intellect, and in closing
this case I do want to say this: You have been in this town and at this
court-house long enough to realize that you are under pressure. The
pressure of the population of this town, strange to say, is being brought
to bear upon you.
“You can feel it in the very atmosphere. You know full well that
there exists that which we call public sentiment. Why, it is the most
subtle thing on earth—as subtle as electricity. You cannot see it in
the atmosphere, but it is there. You cannot touch it and you cannot
hear it, but it is in the atmosphere you breathe just as electricity is.
You are going to be controlled by that to some extent, I know. All
of us are. If I were on that jury, I believe I would be controlled by
it to some extent. But I am afraid it may have some effect upon you.
All I want to do is this, to offer you as against this public sentiment
the sweet face of that little girl.”
(Here Mr. Lee turned and pointed to tearful little Ruby McCue.)
“There is,” added the speaker, “nothing on earth that can get all
the good out of the heart of a man like the hand of a little girl. I
offer it as an offset to this public sentiment.
“And now, gentlemen of the jury, all we want you to do is give us
a fair and honest trial—to treat us justly and to treat us fairly. Let
love and tenderness be coupled with right and justice, and so shall
you become channels of the divine seal of God’s eternal love.”
SPEECH OF MIR. GILMER.
The expectations of those who had looked for a verdict as early
as Friday evening were doomed to disappointment. The final speech
was begun by Mr. Gilmer, but at the expiration of the three-hour ses-
sion he was not more than two-thirds finished.
In this first portion of his argument the Commonwealth’s Attorney


138
said nothing particularly new or startling. He went again over the
ground already covered by both his associates and then devoted con-
siderable attention to the instructions, each of which, whether offered
by the prosecution or the defense, he read and explained. Mr. Gilmer
Was unsparing in his denunciation of the prisoner, at whom he fre-
quently pointed an accusing finger. -
“I get ten dollars for all I have done,” he declared. “I have
known the prisoner for years, gentlemen. He has been my friend.
I am here to protect him, as much as I am to prosecute. I have worked
for months to find some extenuating circumstances, but I have not been
able to do so. I have prayed that his able and eloquent representatives
produce here something to establish his innocence beyond a doubt.
They have not done so; circumstances do not lie. I am going to show
you that it was this man, who chased his wife to the bath-room and
then shot her down. He never had time to be unconscious. The bloody
marks upon his shirt and the various stories he has given, prove his
guilt. From Cain to Sam McCue, no murderer has been able to hide
his act. God wrote it there on the bloody shirt, in the lack of time
to be unconscious and in the confused explanations he made.”
AN EXCITING INCIDENT.
But it was not the speech of Gilmer, or even the speech of Lee,
that proved the sensation of the hour. An incident so brief as to
be almost insignificant, but so pregnant with possibilities as to be posi-
tively stunning, nearly swept the crowd off its feet. It came before
the afternoon session had gotten well under way.
Smarting under the stinging words Lee, the prisoner’s chief coun-
sel, had hurled at him during the morning, Captain Micajah Woods
suddenly arose and walked forward. He was manifestly laboring under
suppressed excitement and anger of no small degree, but he held him-
self carefully in check. All eyes were fixed upon him. The great
crowd, realizing a crisis, held its breath in anticipation. When the
words finally came they were as cool and as calm, as cutting and as
courteous as ever.
Captain Woods stood facing the jury. “May it please the Court,”
he said, “and you, gentlemen of the jury, with the gracious consent
of the gentlemen on the other side and of the Commonwealth’s Attor-
ney, I should like to make one statement not pertaining to the merits
of this case. In view of the attack, which may not have been so in-
tended, but which seemed to me as an ungenerous attack upon me
by the distinguished gentleman who has made so able a speech, I
desire to say that I refused a large fee in this case to prosecute—”
Within a moment there was as near an approach to an uproar inside
the bar as could be imagined in a court presided over by a judge of the
character of Morris. Mr. Lee wheeled around in his seat. Mr. Coleman
sprang to his feet. “We object to that,” cried both in the same breath.
139
“We object, and we ask that this jury be now discharged in view of
that statement, and that this prisoner be discharged.”
Here was a situation, indeed; was McCue, the alleged murderer, to
walk forth free because of this?
It dawned upon the crowd suddenly that this actually was the
demand being made and a hush of apprehension fell over the court-
room. Meanwhile Captain Woods was still on his feet endeavoring to
Speak.
“Just a moment,” he said, but Lee was back at him in a flash.
“Not one,” the Lynchburger declared. “Not a single moment. May
it please this court, we have objected to the statement of the counsel,
and we have demanded the discharge of the jury and the prisoner.
Mr. Stenographer, please note every word.”
“I wish it also noted,” exclaimed Captain Woods, “that I was not
allowed to make any further remark touching this matter.”
The associates of Captain Woods held a quick whispered conver-
sation with him and he finally sat down. As he did so, Lee spoke
again.
“If Captain Woods wants to make another speech and will let me
answer it, he is welcome to do so,” he said.
The court rapped furiously for order, and finally announced that
it found no difficulty in overruling the motion to discharge the jury.
The defense promptly noted an exception. The incident was closed,
was begun, and over in a flash. The crowd, under the firm hand of
the court, made absolutely no display of sentiment.
After this little digression, Mr. Gilmer took up his speech, and for
the next three hours had undisputed control of the floor of the court-
house. It was growing dark when the sharp rap of the judge’s gavel
caused the flow of words to stop. The speaker announced that he
needed an hour or two more to conclude. The court then adjourned
until the next morning at 10 o’clock.

THE LAST DAY.
-
The last day of the trial broke clear and bright and warm and the
court-room audience that under the clouds of the morning previous
had been sympathetically depressed and subdued, was now as cheery
as the weather. This fact along with one other attracted no little
attention and in the light of what came later, caused much sober reflec-
tion upon the unaccountability of human nature in general, and
of juries and court spectators in particular. The atmosphere
of the room gave absolutely no hint of the heartrending scenes
about to be enacted. While the crowd sat and chatted away the mo-
ments preceding the opening of the sensation, the jurymen walked in,
blithe and cheerful, several of them wearing roses upon the lapels of
their coats. A man stepped forward and handed to the presiding judge
a fragrant nosegay of choice fall blossoms. Men and women laughed
and talked unceasingly, filling the place with a babble of good-natured,
unconcerned voices. It was a strange sight—this sunny eve of a sun-
less and joyless hour. Equally without explanation is the fact that at
this supreme and critical moment the crowd, while overflowing the
restricted space allotted to the public, was, perhaps, a fifth smaller
than it had been on the afternoon previous, when one of the attorneys
was making a very indifferent and totally unexciting speech.
McCue entered upon time, holding in his hand a Bible. His face
carried no suggestion of unusual mental strain. Now, as throughout .
the trial, the prisoner’s was the calmest figure in the room. He re-
sumed his old seat and at once began to take notice of things around
him. He whispered to his attorneys, glanced up at the left gallery,
peered into the faces of those who crowded into the benches below. All
of his children, including little Ruby McCue, accompanied him. Once
during the early part of the day the accused leaned back and motioned
to a constable seated behind him. The officer leaned forward. McCue
held the open Bible in his hand and his finger pointed to these words
in the Gospel of John:
“If ye shall ask anything in my name, I will do it.”
A buzz of interest followed Mr. Gilmer, the Commonwealth’s At-
torney, into the room. On the preceding day Mr. Gilmer had begun
the concluding argument. His effort had been anything but brilliant.
Many had yawned disgustedly and walked out while he was still speak-
ing. A batch of anxious and half-mad Albemarle folk waited curiously
to see what he would do now. The lawyer walked busily up to the bar
and distributed a handful of foolscap he carried. His remark that he

141
never felt better in his life provoked a laugh from the audience and a
nºumber of the jurymen. Then he began, and within an hour had made
one of the most remarkable speeches ever heard in a Virginia court-
house. Gilmer weak was now Gilmer strong and terrible. Homely
his words certainly were, but above all things did they ring with
honesty and earnestness. At one moment the Commonwealth’s At-
torney seized the bloody shirt and the stained night gown and shook
them in the very face of the accused—shook them and as he did so
cried out the word “murderer.” This climax was the most dramatic
of the entire trial. It is a fact that the jury were in reality influenced
not at all by any of the arguments, but it is an additional fact which
these writers have from the lips of a juryman himself that the latter
portion of Gilmer's speech appealed to them as no other speech of
counsel did.
In his opening remarks Mr. Gilmer declared that since the preced-
ing day he had been considering the evidence with a view to condensing
his speech. He had indicated that it would take him an hour and a
half to conclude; he now promised that within an hour, if not less, he
would submit the case to the jury. The speaker took out his watch.
The hands stood at a quarter after 10 o’clock. Mr. Gilmer handed the
timepiece to his associate, Captain Woods, and asked that if he be still
speaking an hour later he be called down.
After this little explanation, Mr. Gilmer went on to discuss the
case on its merits. He denied that the Commonwealth had sought to
blacken the name of Dr. Frank McCue. All the Commonwealth had
done was to bring out the indisputable fact that the physician was at
his brother's house at least ten minutes before Grady arrived. Then
he went on to lay down three propositions, which he declared pointed
clearly to the prisoner as the murderer of his wife. These three points
were the fact that McCue was not and could not have been unconscious;
the tell-tale blood marks on the shirt, and finally the conflicting state-
ments of the accused.
A mathematical demonstration was made by Mr. Gilmer. He re-
ferred to the fact that the witnesses of the defense itself stated that
the murder had been committed some time between 9:15 and 9:30
P. M. The speaker gave the prisoner the benefit of the doubt, and sup-
posed that the crime had been committed at 9:30 o'clock. Thereafter,
he proceeded to show that at 9:30 P. M. McCue and his wife were on
the street and engaged in conversation with Mr. Dinwiddie and others,
which could not have taken less than eight minutes. This brought the
time to 9:13 P. M. At that hour the man and wife were at the gate
bidding adieu to Mr. Dinwiddie. They went in, opened the house and
proceeded to the bed-chamber. It was in evidence that Mrs. McCue was
one of the best-dressed women in Charlottesville; it was also in evi-
dence that she had disrobed and donned her night-gown when she


142
was killed. She wore her Sunday clothes. It was reasonable to sup-
pose that she was careful in laying them away. She had partially un-
loosed her hair. Ten minutes, the attorney declared, was a reasonable
estimate for the time necessary to complete these duties. This brought
the time up to 9:23. P. M. Between that time and the utmost limit
given by the defense for the moment of the crime there was an interval
of about seven minutes. Into this brief space many things had to be
crowded. The woman was attacked, beaten, choked; she was chased
from the bed-chamber to the bath-room; she was shot; the plug was
put into the bath-tub and the hot water was turned on; the prisoner
went through the tedious process of establishing telephone communi-
cation with his brother.
“Gentlemen,” declared Mr. Gilmer, solemnly, “think of it. All of
this was done in seven minutes. Was there any time to be unconsci-
ous? Was there? Gentlemen of the jury, he was not unconscious.
Gentlemen, this man murdered his own wife; he is the man!”
The Commonwealth’s attorney, with growing eloquence, went on
to discuss the various theories of the murder advanced by the defense.
His argument here was along the line of that of his associates, who
had preceded him. He ridiculed the theory of a burglar, who would
go so far as to kill the wife and knock the husband senseless, and
then walk out of the house, leaving everything untouched—a burglar
who could open a half dozen windows and doors before he left. He
likewise belittled the suggestion about a man seeking vengeance on
either the husband or the wife, or both.
“If it had been a robber, Mr. Gilmer declared, why did he go in
where the husband was when the light was burning; why take the
time to set away the bat after he had used it; why did he take time
to place the gun so carefully away, unless it was to him a thing of
value; why did he leave without taking one thing of value? It is
absurd and ridiculous. But, in addition, the burglar that you hear so
much about goes downstairs, raises several Windows without displacing
the curtains, raises the windows without removing any bolts or breaking
any bolts or breaking any fastenings. You can’t believe it. It is too
unreasonable. The shirt is torn. Would the robber, think you, have
had a tussle with so strong a man as the accused. The torn shirt shows
a woman’s hand. -
“Then, gentlemen,” he cried, “if it could be none of these, who
was it? Who was the man who killed this woman? Gentlemen, it
Was Sam McCue.” -
WAVED BLOODY GARMENTS.
The bloody shirt and the night-gown were now held up by Mr.
Gilmer. He pointed to the blood spots on the former. He showed
where the sleeves had been washed, and he called attention to the
fact that there was not a stain upon the cloth below the point to
which the trousers reached. The tell-tale spots on the back were also

143
pointed out, as was the tear in the front. A man would have ripped
the entire shirt off in a scuffle; this little tear was where the weak, but
desperate, hand of a woman had fallen. The night gown was taken
through the same process. The rents in it were exposed and were de-
clared by the speaker to be the work of the raging husband.
Finally Mr. Gilmer made another test of the length of the sleeves,
designed to offset the Wednesday night test by Mr. Sinclair, of the de
fense. The speaker called to Woods, a deputy sergeant, and asked him
to pull off his coat. Woods removed a variety of weapons from his
person and then walked forward in his shirt sleeves. Gilmer laid
the sleeve against his muscular arm. It came nearly to the wrist.
Following up this line of argument, Mr. Gilmer made a number
of other strong points. He emphasized the fact that three different
kinds of weapons were at different times claimed to be used by this
remarkable burglar. He asked if it was conceivable that the marauder
had first struck McCue a love-lick with the bat and then whacked him
with a sand-bag. He declared that if it had been a mere burglar in the
room the woman, when she saw her husband struck down, would
have rushed into the streets and cried for help.
A moment or two after 11 o’clock, Mr. Gilmer reminded himself
of his promise. With a few words more he concluded. His peroration
was a pathetic appeal for justice—an appeal spoken in a tremulous,
almost a tragic, whisper. At last, the speaker paused, and with a
final hurried glance at his watch, announced that he was done. He
leaned far over the bar.
“Gentlemen,” he declared, “the case is with you. Gentlemen,”
and his voice sank low and weak, “I ask it in sorrow and in tears. I
ask that you do now find this prisoner guilty of murder in the first
degree.”
THE WERDICT.
A hush fell over the courthouse. Several of the relatives of the ac-
cused began to weep. A juryman twirled his moustache abstractedly.
Two others sat with hands over their eyes, while another fingered the
indictment, and one or two of his fellows sought solace in the water
cup. The judge, leaning across the bench, ordered that the left gallery
be cleared at once. At his word men and women scrambled through the
small doorway. It took a moment or two for them all to leave. When
the last had disappeared the jury arose to retire to the room above.
It was then eleven minutes after 11 o'clock. The twelve filed slowly
out of the room. At 11:13 the door closed upon them. The delibera-
tion over the verdict had begun.
For twenty minutes, that to many seemed longer than twenty
years, the crowd sat still and waited. Gilmer crossed his hands and
was silent. Lee sat in his favorite attitude, shaking his foot, but
presently sprang up and joined his associates, who conversed first
earnestly among themselves, and then with the judge, who left the

144
bench. McCue, in his chair, leaned his head upon his right hand. He
was the calmest of all, the one apparently the most unconcerned. For
the most part during the absence of the jury the prisoner chatted
vigorously with an aged lady, Mrs. Lauve, who sat on his left. Now
and then he would shake the Bible nervously at her as if to impress
a point in conversation.
The granite hardness of McCue found no counterpart among those
gathered near him. The very lawyers and court spectators were more
shaken than he. Little Ruby, who had throughout the trial failed to
understand what it all meant, laughed a while and then suddenly burst
into tears. The other children were also much agitated. Mrs. Din-
widdie and several of the ladies present sat with handkerchiefs to their
eyes. The brothers of the prisoner leaned their heads upon folded arms
and waited anxiously for the issue.
The laggard moments were cruelly slow to move along. The sus-
pense was growing unbearable, when a sudden thrill shot over the entire
room. A door creaked above. The judge stepped quickly to his desk
and brought the gavel down with a sharp rap. A juror appeared in
the lower doorway, and then, one by one, the entire twelve came in.
Twelve faces were never more carefully scanned; twelve faces were
never more utterly baffling. It was 11 : 34 when the men came back.
They had been away twenty-one minutes. Everybody knew some de-
cision had been reached, but none could tell what it was. The twelve
names were called aloud, and then:
“Are you ready with your verdict, gentlemen of the jury?” asked
the judge.
“We are,” promptly responded Shelton Chieves, the foreman.
“Gentlemen of the jury, what is your verdict?”
Through the awful stillness came a voice, and these were the
Words:
“We, the jury, find the defendant guilty, as charged in the within
indictment, of murder in the first degree.”
The silence was frightful. The terrified face of little Ruby McCue
blotted out half the remainder of the audience. Nearly one thousand
people, tense, strained, eager, sat without a sound, scarcely a breath.
Willie McCue, whose desperate effort to save his father from the
gallows had failed, shook like an aspen, and then broke utterly down.
The boy sobbed aloud in his agony. The ashen faces of his little
brothers and the other members of his family showed all around him.
At the command of the clerk of the court, McCue stood up, and the
verdict was read to him. Like an arrow, he stood there, with the sun-
light streaming across him. Not a muscle in his face twitched when
the solemn words were pronounced. Clerk Richard W. Duke, who
had been a deacon in the same church with the accused, and whose
very soul had been wrung by the trial, faltered, and almost fell; the
murderer was absolutely unmoved.

145
In a moment McCue was back in his seat. Again that silence, more
awful than death itself. Then from his seat arose the stunned coun-
sel for the defense, and asked for a half hour's conference. The court
granted the request, and the gentlemen, including E. O. McCue, a
brother of the convicted man, left. The jurymen were thanked by
the judge and permitted to go outside. For precautionary reasons,
which proved to be not unfounded, they were held together for an
hour longer.
For the next three-quarters of an hour McCue, surrounded by his
weeping relatives, sat within the bar and awaited the return of the
lawyers; at times he read a few verses of the Bible. It was a scene
that the most hardy could not long resist. A portion of the audience
left, but the majority stayed and gazed upon the sorrow of the family.
Many an eye filled and many a heart stood still with pity. Members
of the jury wept, and strong men, who had no love for the prisoner,
bowed low in sympathy. Until his little girl moved impulsively for-
ward and climbed upon his knee, McCue sat tearless, the only unmoved
figure in the entire crowd. When the stained and sweet face of the
child was lifted to his, the man broke down. He caught the girl
jealously to him, and then, reaching forth with his other hand, lifted
his smaller son up and kissed him.
The three sat together, with arms entwined, gazing at each other
out of dull, hopeless eyes. All were weeping now. Men turned away.
The pathetic sight was too much for the most callous.
One of the most heartrending sights of the day was the figure of
a brother of the prisoner after the verdict was read. He leaned upon a
chair, staring vacantly into space. He saw nothing that went on
around him. He did not move forward to his brother’s side. He stood
there for a long time gazing ahead of him. The lines upon his face, the
look in his eyes, haunted a hundred men after they left the court-
house.
JURY READ NEWSPAPERS.
It was a long wait until the court bell was rung again. At 12:07
P. M. the attorneys came slowly back. The court-room was quickly
crowded again. All eyes were now turned upon Mr. Coleman, who
stood upon the floor. His words were clear and distinct.
“May it please the court,” he said, “we ask that this verdict be
set aside. We ask it for several reasons, which I will enumerate. We
ask it because the verdict is contrary to the law and the evidence,
because of erroneous rulings of the court, as we think, during the
progress of the trial, in respect to the admissibility of evidence, and
in respect to questions which were permitted to be asked, as the steno-
graphic notes will show. We cannot point them out just now. We ask
it also because of the misdirections by the court in the instructions
given to the jury, because of the refusal on the part of the court to
give certain instructions asked for in behalf of the accused and re-

- 146
fused by the court, and because of amendments made by the court
in certain instructions asked for by the accused, which the court
gave only after being amended.
“There is still another ground upon which we will ask the court
to set aside this verdict. We are not prepared at this time to argue
the matter, nor are we prepared with our proof. In fact, we are not
sure that the ground will be good, but we shall also ask, after having
a little further time to consider, that the verdict be set aside because
the jury were permitted during the progress of the trial to read news-
papers and did read them.
“We also ask that the verdict be set aside, and a new trial granted
upon the ground that the court refused to discharge the jury from
the further consideration of the case, in view of the statement made
by Captain Woods in the court-room yesterday afternoon in respect to
his having refused a retainer in this case.”
The attorney sat down.
Judge Morris singled out the charge against the jurymen for im-
mediate consideration, and placed each of the twelve men upon the
witness stand. The examination resulted in the following statements,
which, in view of the present proceeding before the Supreme Court,
are important.
J. Y. Stockdell, hardware merchant, had read the papers and fre-
quently seen headlines over reports of the trial; had also glanced
at the reviews of the cross-examination; decision in no way influenced
by anything he saw in papers.
T. F. Parsons, wholesale feed dealer; had read several papers;
in doing so, was compelled to see headlines over reports of trial; read
part of Mr. Lee's speech as quoted; nothing in papers influenced
decision in case. -
John A. Traylor, of Richmond, had read papers, but nothing about
case; tried prisoner at bar according to the law and the evidence; had
hoped and prayed that defense would bring in some evidence to prove
the innocence of the accused; had seen papers, but had not influenced
him in any way.
W. B. Spiers, engineer; had seen papers, but had read nothing
about trial; not influenced in any way.
A. J. Saunders, merchant; had read nothing relating to trial; had
seen headlines; no influence on him.
James B. Prentiss, manager; had read nothing relating to trial;
no influence on him. -
A. S. Johnson, merchant; had read nothing relating to trial and
had not even seen headlines; no influence.
Shelton Chieves, manufacturer; read home papers; not influenced
in any Way.
S. E. Quinn, bookkeeper; had read absolutely nothing relating to
the trial.

147
Nelson C. Decker, merchant; had scanned newspapers, but read
nothing about trial. -
W. G. Fewell, bookkeeper; had not read a single word.
L. E. Holmes, farmer; had not read anything.
At the conclusion of the examination of the jurymen, the court
agreed upon Wednesday, November 9th, at noon, as the time for hearing
arguments on the motions of the defense for a new trial.
The session of the court was now at an end. The last moment
had arrived. McCue arose to bid farewell to his family. The little
sobbing group pressed convulsively around him as if to shield him from
the three deputies who stood ready to lead him away. McCue kissed
his relatives tenderly and prepared to leave. He leaned his head upon
the shoulder of his aunt, Mrs. Marshall Dinwiddie, and wept. -
But one man out of the entire crowd went forward and shook the
murderer by the hand. This was John A. Traylor, the Richmond mem-
ber of the jury. Tears stood in his eyes as he walked up to the
prisoner he had just condemned to die. One or two of the other
jurymen tried to call him away, but he pressed on. His hand was out-
stretched. He expressed his sorrow at what he had felt it his duty to
do.
“A great injustice has been done,” said the prisoner, looking
calmly at him.
“I have done my duty as I saw it,” replied Mr. Traylor, who then
shook hands with one or two others in the group and passed out of the
building.
After a moment or two, McCue continued his progress to the door.
He was surrounded by the guards. On the outside, a great crowd had
gathered to watch him leave the courthouse. He came out presently,
pale and red-eyed, but firm of tread. He went slowly down the steps,
and then began his walk to the jail. On each side of the prisoner
walked one of his little boys. Willie McCue was also in the sad
party.
McCue strode steadily on until he was within three feet of the
jail yard gate. Here he stopped for a moment. He spoke to his
brother and let his eyes rest upon the scenes around him. Then he
bent and kissed his children. “Good-bye, my baby,” he said to little
Harry, the smallest of the four. The jailer stood with the gate swing-
ing wide. McCue stepped suddenly forward and entered. The ponder-
ous door swung to, and a bolt was shot. The murderer was back in
his prison. The silent little crowd that had followed in his foot-
steps for a few seconds gazed blankly at the closed door. Then, silent
still, it turned and moved slowly back to the courthouse.

148
THE SENTENCE.
From one end of Virginia to the other news of the verdict traveled
with lightning speed, and, wherever it reached, created a long and
lasting sensation. The feeling of approval was general, but was tem-
pered with a profound pity for the suffering family of the convicted
murderer, and more particularly for his children. Here and there
could be found a man, or, more likely, an impressionable woman or
child, who was sorry for McCue's own sake; in a great many cases
hard thinking and sensible men honestly and frankly expressed the
opinion that the evidence, as it appeared before the jury, was not
sufficient to warrant the verdict. But even these men, even these
emotional women and children, seemed not for a moment to doubt
that McCue was guilty. They hesitated and shuddered at the pros-
pect of seeing a strong man annihilated; the real and final explanation
of this hesitation can probably be found in the uncertainty of circum-
stantial evidence itself and in an unwillingness to crush out a life
where there is no positive and irrefutable evidence of guilt. This,
however, is an extreme to which the law, as is elsewhere pointed out,
does not reach. As for the vast majority of the people of Virginia,
they believed the prisoner guilty, and were satisfied that he should
give his blood for that of his murdered wife.
During the interval between the day on which the trial ended
and that on which the sentence was passed, speculation was rife as to
the outcome of the proceedings for a new hearing of the case.
There was really little cause for this doubt and perplexity, but
it existed nevertheless. The court had in reality already passed upon
every point embodied in the motion, except one, and had in a way taken
even that one under consideration.
To those familiar with the facts, it was, therefore, no surprise
when on Wednesday, November 9th, Judge Morris overruled the de-
fonse and declined to grant a new trial.
There was no argument of the motions. The vexed question of the
reading of newspapers by the jurymen was the issue upon which the
proceeding turned. The defense offered as part of the record a file
of The Times-Dispatch, from October 18th to November 5th, inclusive;
of the News Leader, from October 18th to November 4th, inclusive, and
of the Charlottesville Progress, from October 18th to November 4th, in-
clusive. The two deputies who had charge of the jury during the
trial were examined, and then the matter was submitted to the court.
The ruling of Judge Morris may be summarized as follows:
Because of erroneous rulings of the court during the progress of
the trial in respect to questions which were permitted to be asked, and
such as were not permitted to be asked: The court has received no
new light that would cause it to alter its previous rulings on this
point.
149 -
Because of the misdirections by the court in the instructions given
to the jury, etc.: The court labored to avoid any mistake in this mat-
ter, and believes there was none. If any mistake was made, the
superior court will have to find it out.
Because of the amendments made by the court in certain instrug-
tions asked for by the accused: In reference to this motion the court
repeats its statement made in connection with the motion immediately
preceding. -
Because of the statement made by Captain Woods in the court-room
in respect to his having refused a retainer in this case: The court
could not set aside the verdict on this ground. It was, in fact, at a
loss to comprehend the precise reasons of the gentlemen of the defense
for the motion. The court understood that the statement was made
with the consent of both sides. In the opinion of the court, Captain
Woods had not proceeded to the point where his remarks could have
had any possible effect upon the jury.
Because the jurymen were permitted during the progress of the
trial to read newspapers, and did read them: The court confesses that
this is the only ground that caused it any trouble. In reviewing it,
the court had to take into consideration the testimony of the jurymen
themselves. It had not been shown that any of them were influenced
in any way by what they may have seen or read in the newspapers.
The court, therefore, overruled this motion also.
A last effort was made by the defense, but this, too, failed. Mr.
Coleman arose and made a motion for an arrest of judgment. He
did this on the ground that the verdict of the jury was insufficient to
support a judgment for murder in the first degree. The jury had
found the prisoner “guilty of murder in the first degree.” The indict-
ment was simply for murder. Under it a conviction might have been
had for murder in the first or second degree, or for manslaughter,
voluntary or involuntary. The speaker laid great stress upon the
language “guilty as charged” and declared that the prisoner was
charged simply with murder. It would be an error for His Honor to
assume the responsibility of determining the degree of guilt; he could
not undertake to say of what the jury had found the prisoner guilty.
The court was of the opinion that the latter part of the verdict
showed clearly the degree of the murder of which the jury had found
the prisoner guilty. In the opinion of the court the language of the
verdict was sufficient. The court thereupon overruled this motion
also. The defense noted an exception.
It remained now only for the court to pass sentence upon the
prisoner. The moment had arrived with undue abruptness, and it
caught many unawares. The people at large had expected a long and
windy argument of the motions for a new trial. There was none, and
the court suddenly faced the task of pronouncing the doom of the
man within the bar.
The relatives of McCue had left the room. Little Ruby, who had


150
been present a moment before, had gone with the others. Men and
women blessed the forethought that spared her the horror of what
was to come, but in that very blessing lay a curse for the agony she
had been allowed to suffer for so many days. McCue was almost
alone. The judge looked fixedly at him. Morris, stern and uncom-
promising to the end, was trembling now. His voice quivered.
“J. Samuel McCue,” he declared, slowly and solemnly, “stand up.”
The prisoner arose from his chair and took a step forward. Not
a sound disturbed the quiet of the little room—a quiet that in its awful
intensity recalled the scenes of the memorable Saturday previous.
“Have you anything to say, J. Samuel McCue, why the court should
not now proceed to pass sentence upon you?”
Every ear was strained. Would the murderer speak, or would he
stand in silence while he was condemned to die? He did not hesitate.
He had evidently thought long over what he would say at this su-
preme moment. His face was pale; his lips trembled piteously, but
the words came distinctly, so that every man could hear:
“Yes, sir. I have to say that I am as thoroughly innocent of
this offense as any other man in this courthouse, and that I hope
some day I will have an opportunity to vindicate my innocence.”
“The point of your guilt or innocence,” declared the court, “is a
matter that was left to the jury. This court, thank God, did not have
to pass upon it. The jury have decided, after a fair and impartial
trial, that you were guilty of the offense, and it only remains for me
to pass the sentence of the law, which is that you be taken to the
county jail of Albemarle county, which is also used as the city jail
of Charlottesville, and be therein confined in solitary confinement until
the 20th day of January next; that on that day, between the hours
of sunrise and sunset, you be taken from your place of confinement
to some place within the enclosure of the said jail, and there be hanged
by the neck until you are dead. And may God have mercy on your
Soul.”
The trial was over. McCue sat down, and in a moment more the
session of the court was at an end. Judge Morris, still much affected,
left the stand. He approached the prisoner. For the first time since
the trial began, he shook hands with the murderer, and expressed his
sorrow at what must be. During the few moments that followed
McCue, surrounded by the attorneys, stood and conversed with the
judge, chiefly concerning the privileges that would be allowed to him
in prison. Then he left the room and joined his relatives on the out-
side. A crowd of silent and subdued people watched him as he moved
off in the direction of the jail.
After he reached the jail two newspaper men sent their cards to
the cell, inviting the solitary man to make any statement he desired
to the public. He retained the cards, and returned his thanks for the
opportunity offered, but declared that, under the circumstances, he did
not care at that time to say anything for publication.

ATTOpNEYS IN THE CASE
MICAJAH WOODS.
Captain Micajah Woods, who led the superb fight for the prose-
cution, is a native of this State, having been born in Albemarle county,
at “Holkham,” the 17th of May, 1844. His father, Dr. John Rodes
Woods, was for many years considered the leading authority upon
stock raising in Virginia, and his mother was Miss Sabina Lewis
Stuart Creigh. On both sides of his family he is descended from
Scotch-Irish ancestry.
His early education was obtained at the Lewisburg Academy, the
Military School of Charlottesville, taught by Col. John Bowie Strange,
and at the Bloomfield Academy, taught by Messrs. Brown and Tebbs.
In 1861 he entered the University of Virginia, and, like many of the
other young men of the South, was soon a member of the Confederate
army. He first served when barely 17 years of age as volunteer aide
on the staff of General John B. Floyd, in the West Virginia campaign
of 1861, and then in 1862 as a private in the Albemarle Light Horse
Company, in the Second Regiment, Virginia Cavalry, and afterwards
was first lieutenant in the Virginia State line.
At the close of the war he returned to the University, where he
studied in the academic department for one year, and then read
law, being graduated in 1868 with the degree of Bachelor of Law.
He immediately opened an office for the practice of his profession in
Charlottesville, and in 1870 was elected Commonwealth Attorney for
that county, which position he has filled for thirty-four years, without
having had opposition for the nomination since 1873; and at the
November, 1903, election he was chosen to the said office for another
term of four years, commencing January 1st, 1904.
In 1872 Captain Woods was made a member of the Board of Visi-
tors of the University of Virginia, a position which he held for four
years, having been at the time of his appointment the youngest mem-
ber of that Board ever selected. In politics he is a Democrat. He has
been chairman of the Democratic party of Albemarle county for several
years, and as elector represented the Seventh Congressional District
of Virginia; and also was a member of the Presidential Electoral Board
in 1888, which cast the vote of Virginia for Cleveland for President.
Captain Woods is known all over Virginia as the peer of any lawyer
in the State. And the part he has played in the McCue case, it is
conceded on all sides, has added materially to his already abundant
laurels,

152
RICHARD S. K.E.R. *
Richard S. Ker, of Staunton, Commonwealth’s Attorney of Augusta
county and associate counsel for the prosecution, was born in Staunton
in 1866. His early education was obtained at the Staunton Public
Schools and at the Staunton Military Academy. Afterward Mr. Ker
entered Washington & Lee University, and after completing his aca-
demic course at that institution, taught school in Botetourt county,
Va., and at Humboldt, Tenn. He was a law student of the University
of Virginia for two sessions, completing his course in 1888. He has
been in active practice in Staunton since his graduation.
Mr. Ker is serving his second term as prosecuting attorney of Au-
gusta county. He was elected in 1898 and re-elected in 1903. Mr. Ker
has been a member of the law firm of Ker and Kerr since January,
1897.
In May, 1889, Mr. Ker married Miss Jessie S. McNeill, of Staunton.
He is the father of three boys.
Of all the famous attorneys connected with the McCue case, Mr.
Ker is one of the very best. He has a fine reputation in Staunton,
Augusta county and the State. One of the most noted cases in Vir-
ginia—that against Kennedy for train wrecking—was conducted by
him for the Commonwealth, and the accused was convicted.
FRANK GILMER.
Frank Gilmer, Commonwealth’s Attorney of Charlottesville, was
born January 29, 1857, at Buckeyeland, Albemarle county. He is a
great-grandson of Dr. George Gilmer, of Penn Park, who was family
physician of Thomas Jefferson.
Dr. Gilmer's eldest daughter married William Wirt, Attorney-
General of the United States. One of his sons, a great uncle of Mr.
Frank Gilmer, Mr. Francis Walker Gilmer, was the first law professor
at the University of Virginia, and was sent abroad by Mr. Jefferson
to select the first corps of professors at the University. He died soon
after taking the University law chair.
Governor Thomas Walker Gilmer, of Virginia, was an uncle of the
chief prosecuting attorney. The latter’s parents were George C. and
Mildred Wirt Gilmer, the mother, nee Duke, being a sister of the late
Col. R. T. W. Duke, who was for a number of years Commonwealth’s
attorney of Albemarle.
Mr. Gilmer was educated in private schools at his birthplace, at
Major Jones’ School, Charlottesville, and at Richmond College. From
1871 to 1872 he was at Hampden-Sidney. He studied law at the Uni-
versity of Virginia one session after leaving Hampden-Sidney and
took a summer course for one term. During this time he was clerk in
the University postoffice in order to obtain funds to pay his way
through college. -
In 1881 Mr. Gilmer began the practice of law. He has been Com-
153
monwealth’s Attorney of Charlottesville since 1888, and his present
term does not expire until January 1st, 1906.
Mr. Gilmer married March 17, 1886, Miss Rebecca Singleton Haskel,
of Columbia, S. C. He is the father of two boys. He is a man
whose natural cordiality of manners wins him friends on every side,
and it can truthfully be said that his record in the McCue case has
greatly enhanced his popularity.
JOHN L. L.E.E.
John L. Lee, of Lynchburg, chief counsel for J. Samuel McCue,
after the withdrawal of Mr. Harmon, was born in 1861, in New Or-
leans, La. His early education was obtained at Sewanee when he was
ten years cla. When thirteen he went to Germany and spent three
years abroad.
When Mr. Lee returned to this country he went to Amherst
county. After preparing for the University at the Kennon High School,
at Amherst, he entered the law school of the University of Virginia.
He began the practice of law in Amherst when only twenty-two years
old.
Then at the tender age of twenty-three he became Commonwealth's
Attorney of Amherst county, and held the office eight years, resigning
before the expiration of his second term to practice law in Lynchburg.
He formed a partnership nine years ago with Mr. Howard, the firm
name being Lee and Howard.
Twenty years ago Mr. Lee married Miss Mary Walker, of Amherst
county. He has one son and one daughter. -
Among the number of important cases with which Mr. Lee has
been connected was the contest of Mrs. Anna Fletcher Williams's will,
involving a half million dollars. Another was the recent George M.
Jones will case in Lynchburg, involving $200,000. Mr. Lee succeeded
with his associate, Mr. J. Tinsley Coleman, who was associated with
the subject of this sketch in the McCue case, in getting $50,000 for a
public library for the city of Lynchburg and the payment of counsel
fees and costs. - -
Mr. Lee was counsel for Aylett Ashby, charged with the murder
of Mr. Marye in Newport News, and won his case. He is at present
counsel for Charles S. Forbes, of Buckingham county, charged with
the burning of his father's house, and procured the continuance of the
latter case, so he might defend J. Samuel McCue.
DANIEL HARMON.
Daniel Harmon was born in 1859 at Alexandria, Va., and was
brought by his parents, Mr. Daniel Harmon and Mrs. Mary Elizabeth
Harmon, nee Wood, to Charlottesville, about a year later. He attended
the school then conducted in this city by Major Horace Jones and















154
Armistead Gordon, now of Staunton. He then went to the University
of Virginia and entered the law school, graduating in 1882.
- Mr. Harmon went West, and not until 1884 did he begin the prac-
tice of his profession. Three times Mr. Harmon has been appointed a
member of the Board of Visitors of the University—once each º
Governor O'Ferrall, Governor Tyler, and Governor Montague. He is
a man of Splendid mental ability, strong in debate, quick at repartee
and of undoubted strength of character. -
Mr. Harmon has been connected with many important cases since
entering the legal profession, the most famous of which was that
tried about a year ago, when a famous Virginia beauty procured a
divorce from her Boston husband.
The enforced retirement of Mr. Harmon from the McCue case
When the trial was about to begin created a sensation. It was gen-
erally conceded at the time that he was more familiar with the details
of the case than any attorney on the field.
G. BURNLEY SINCLAIR.
G. Burnley Sinclair, associate counsel for the defense, was born at
Meadow Creek, Albemarle county, in April, 1870. His parents moved
to Charlottesville in 1875.
Mr. Sinclair received his early education at the Charlottesville
High School Academy, of this city. After graduating, in 1889, he
studied at the University of Virginia, one year and then decided to
enter upon a business career, and went to Princeton, W. Va. He be-
came, in turn, stenographer, court reporter, and bank cashier.
In 1899 Mr. Sinclair determined to study law, and entered the
Southwestern University, in Tennessee, and completed the course,
taking the Bachelor of Law degree. He then returned to Charlottes-
ville and took the summer law course at the University under Pro-
fessors Lile and Graves, and began the practice of his profession in
partnership with Mr. George Walker.
While living in Princeton Mr. Sinclair married Miss Nita McNutt,
daughter of Dr. Robert B. McNutt. They have no children.
Mr. Sinclair is an officer of the Charlottesville B. P. O. Elks, and
a director in several corporations in which he is interested.
GEORGE EDWARD WALKER.
George Edward Walker, one of the attorneys for the defense, is
thirty years old. He was born in Charlottesville on October 20, 1874.
His parents are Mr. J. Frost Walker and Mrs. Nannie V. Walker,
both of whom are now living at Columbia, S. C.
Mr. Walker was reared in Columbia, and attended the schools of
that city. He came to Charlottesville in 1889 to attend Major Horace
Jones's school. After three sessions at that institution, he entered
the University of Virginia academic department in the fall of 1892,

155
and continued his course for two years. He then took a year's course
in the University Law School.
After leaving the University Mr. Walker studied law in Mr. John,
B. Moon's office until 1897, when he began practice. In 1901 he entered
partnership with Mr. G. Burnley Sinclair, and has, with his partner,
enjoyed a very lucrative practice. He was a member of the City
Council which went out of office last September. He is chairman of
the City Democratic Committee, -
In November, 1897, Mr. Walker married Miss Annie Watson, of
Charlottesville. He has one child–George E. Walker, Jr.
Mr. Walker is a member of several secret societies, notably the
Elks, of which he is treasurer. He is a man of great popularity, of
excellent talents, and a decided credit to the Albemarle and Charlottes-
ville bar.
J. T.INSLEY COLEMAN.
Mr. J. H. Coleman was born in Nelson county in the year 1858, and
is consequently forty-six years of age. He received his academic
education at the Norwood High School, which was at one time amongst
the most flourishing high-grade schools in Virginia, and at the Vir-
ginia. Polytechnic Institute. After Mr. Coleman was married, he took
the law course at the University of Virginia, and received his degree
in one year. Mr. Coleman began the practice of law in Nelson county
in the year 1881, and in 1882 formed a co-partnership with his present
partner, Mr. George E. Caskie. Mr. Coleman continued to practice
law in Nelson county until the year 1894, and while there practicing
represented his county for one session as a member of the House of
Delegates. In 1894 the firm of Caskie & Coleman removed to and
began practicing law in the city of Lynchburg, where they have estab-
lished not only a fine practice, but a high standing in every particular.

SIDELIGHTS ON THE CASE.
That most peculiar and always investigative body, known as
“the general public,” has somehow taken it into its eccentric head that
the reporters who wrote about the McCue murder trial at the expense
of so much labor and perspiration, suppressed certain spicy portions
of the evidence which came before the jury.
In a word, some people confess that the facts developed were
nothing like so “Frenchy” as they had hoped.
Nothing is further from the truth than this belief about suppressed
information. The newspaper men, one and all, printed everything
they could find out about the case, and kept back nothing. Even the
street rumors—and there were hundreds of them—were given due
space and retailed at length, though they, of course, appeared in a
garb of rhetorical euphony and euphemy.
True it is that the newspapers did not mention every feminine
name which was rolled upon the tongue of the scandal. Had this
been done, the cheery pop of the double-barrelled shot gun would oft-
times have been heard on the streets of Charlottesville during the
trial, and many a journalist would forever have laid aside his grimy
note-book and pencil.
Ex-Mayor McCue, according to popular report, did not believe in
allowing one woman to enjoy all of his attentions. He was as “incon-
stant as the moon, which monthly changes in her circled orb.” And,
what is more, if town-talk be true, he didn’t clamp the ice-tongs of his
affection on any one style or type of beauty. From the feminine
standpoint, he was always open to conviction. Oh! he could be happy
with either were t'other dear charmer away.
Many persons knew all these things about the ex-Mayor months
ago, and we could call the names of several who more than once ad-
monished him about his rakish proclivities.
But Mr. McCue was “sot” in his ways, and, to the very end, we
find him whizzing away to Washington on mysterious—and (to his
wife) unexplained—errands. Certain it is that the ex-Mayor did not
go to the national capital for the purpose of reading the books in the
Congressional Library, or of seeing how Uncle Sam made his money.
In the first place, he never read much; and in the second place, he
made his own money, and lots of it. According to the tales one hears,
the prisoner had a sort of Midas-like touch which, if it did not trans-
form everything into gold, at least produced a multiplicity of green-
backs.

157
The belief that the papers published “expurgated” reports about
the case is probably due to the fact that on one occasion Judge Morris
warned the feminine spectators at the trial that if they weren't careful
they might hear something they ought not to hear. This hint was
sufficient to keep the petticoated “rubberers” out of the court next
day, but it may reasonably be supposed that it likewise kept them
at the keyhole of expectancy. -
Judge Morris, in sounding the warning, perhaps supposed that
the accused would go on the witness stand, or that an attempt would
be made to produce evidence showing the ex-Mayor's questionable
escapades with the “eternal feminine.” It must be remembered in
this connection that the court, of course, does not know what line
of attack or defense lawyers intend following, unless they see fit so
to inform it.
Almost to the very end, McCue's legal representatives were in
doubt as to whether they should put the accused on the stand or not.
The prisoner himself—who, in point of timidity and self-effacement,
is no modest shrinking violet—was eager to testify. They say he was
hungry to tell how the villain still pursued him and how “a dirty look-
ing white man” smote his cheek, and thereby made him see obfuscat-
ing stars for hours after the crime. But the lawyers for the defense
weren’t taking any chances. -
There are hundreds now who sagely insist that the witness stand
might have saved the accused. Ex post facto Solomons can always
be found. The woods are full of 'em. Meanwhile, however, those who
possess the rare virtue of understanding their own business better
than that of other people may rest assured that the ex-Mayor's lawyers
did the right thing in muzzling their client.
Had he gone into the witness chair, the life story pulled out of him
by Captain Micajah Woods perchance would have made the confessions
and reminiscences in the Pepys Diary read like mere dull census
statistics. It was through the medium of McCue as a witness—and
probably that medium alone—that the “Frenchy” features (if any
there actually were) could have been injected into the trial. People
should remember that the doctrine of “irrelevant evidence” has ex-
cluded enough good, juicy testimony from murder trials to form the
material for 80,000 or 90,000 “realistic” novels such as the pious Count
Tolstoy writes.
Finally the inquisitive public is asked to accept the following as the
truth:
First. The reporters suppressed nothing in connection with the
case save the names of a few women who were mentioned in connec-
tion with the prisoner, and who may, perhaps, have been utterly
innocent of any wrong-doing.
Second. About the worst—or most significant—thing that leaked

158
out during the trial was Ernest Crawford's allusion to the prisoner's
meeting a certain “Charlottesville lady on the pasture lot.” Unfortu-
nately for the benefit of posterity, Mr. Crawford failed to mention
why such a trysting place was selected. The witness, however, had
a certain satirical ring in his voice when he delivered this statement,
which clearly indicated that the meeting was not one to which public
scrutiny at the time was invited.
It is true that Lawyer G. B. Sinclair, of the ex-Mayor's counsel,
declared in his speech that J. Samuel McCue's character, even in the
searchlight of universal scrutiny, stood out immaculate. But probably
he forgot about the pasture lot. Or maybe he knew that this grassy
bit of real estate was beyond the reach of municipal illumination or
inquisitorial X-rays.
Ever since the trial a hideous report about Mrs. McCue's physical
condition at the time of the murder has been going the rounds and
gossips have distorted the rumor into a shocking tale. All this is
mere bosh. Mrs. McCue was in good health on the day she died—
that is, as good health as she usually enjoyed. Her condition was not
such as to merit unusual attention, nor was she expecting a repeti-
tion of the maternal ordeals which four times had already fallen to
her lot. Had there been any grounds whatsoever for the reports now
current, the facts undoubtedly would come out in evidence. It is well
to let “bad-enough” alone, and not make the prisoner's disgrace
heavier than it now is.
The reporters have also been the butts of some mild, but by no
means disagreeable, facetiousness, because, forsooth, they described
the prisoner as handsome. Journalistic methods, it is true, are ex-
tremely liberal in bestowing good looks on persons appearing in the
criminal courts, but it requires no hyperbole to say that J. Samuel
McCue is good looking. And why not give the most unfortunate their
due?
Of course, those who saw the prisoner for the first time were
prompt in declaring that they recognized in him a villain of the
deepest die, but such vaunted powers of perception hardly hold water.
Persons who looked on the ex-Mayor day after day—and who struggled
to free their minds from prejudice—beheld in the accused a man whose
personal appearance was far above the average.
Then, too, clean shirts and laundered collars have made many an
Apollo Belvidere, even though the great and only original Apollo wears
no collar or shirt at all, and is even shy of trousers.
McCue at all times was noticeably neat during the trial. He
generally wore a well-fitting dark gray suit, a high turn-down collar
and a small black cravat. An Elks' pin invariably adorned the lapel
159
of his coat. He always appeared without a vest, but wore a belt to
make up for the deficiency. His razors did good work during the
pendency of the case. He must have shaved every day. Certainly his
face, barring his beetling brown moustache, was as smooth as a button.
The prisoner has been regarded as a marvel of nerve and self-
complacency. Certainly he is complacent enough for all practical pur-
poses, but his nerve is more or less an uncertain quantity. He always
had it with him during the most trying periods, and yet he wept over
his own letters—those in which he deluged his wife with expressions
of tender regard. And, although he did not uncover his head when he
entered the room in which the attack on Mrs. McCue was probably
begun, he wept bitterly when court was held in the home of his brother.
Dr. Frank McCue. His tears, however, were of the April shower sort.
They always seemed to do him good—to make him brighter and chirpier
afterwards. This probably shows that he is of a mercurial tempera-
ment. McCue was at his worst during the awful interim when the
jury was out. It was then that the iron of anguish and the fiends of
scorching apprehension seemed to sear his very soul. No one could
help pitying him then. But when the twelve men returned, and he
stood up to hear his fate, he was himself again. That was the time
others became lachrymose and the ex-Mayor dry-eyed. -
During the McCue trial certain “ancient inhabitants” were heard
to remark, that the case of Charlottesville's ex-mayor fails to break
the Virginia record as to the number of venires required to furnish a
jury. These same time-honored authorities declared that the Jeter
Phillips case also necessitated the summoning of four venires.
Here are the facts of the Phillips case as gleaned from a pamphlet
on the crime, which was published in 1868: The corpse of the murdered
woman was found on the farm of Mr. Drinker, in Henrico county, on
the last day of February, 1867. James Jeter Phillips, who was an ex-
Confederate soldier, was arrested June 13, 1867. Thus it will be seen
that the crime for many weeks was veiled in mystery—a fact perhaps
due to the cunning of the accused, who masqueraded as a bachelor.
The preliminary examination began June 19 and the examination
before the County Court on July 2, 1867. The tribunal, as then
constituted, was composed of Presiding Justice George D. Pleasants
and Associate Justices W. H. Yeatman, J. F. Childrey, John E. Friend
and Thomas L. Pleasants. This court sent the prisoner on for trial
to the next term of the Circuit Court of Henrico. Phillips was ar-
raigned October 30, 1867.
The pamphlet, after describing certain dilatory movements on the
part of the lawyers, rather obscurely says: “Then began the arduous
labor of selecting a jury. At the outstart, the defense moved to quash
the venire, but the court overruled the motion. Day after day was
spent in the effort to procure a panel till the 2nd of November.”



160
In other words, it took but three days to get a jury. The McCue
case began October 18, but it was not until October 25 that the taking
of evidence began. From this it would appear that James Samuel
has the better of James Jeter on the venire question.
“On the nineteenth day,” says the Phillips pamphlet, “the jury
were discharged, they having found it utterly impossible to agree
upon a verdict.” The verdict in the McCue case was brought in
November 9, after the trial had lasted twenty-one days.
The second trial of Phillips began June 15, 1868. “It was found
impossible,” according to the pamphlet, “to procure a jury from the
county of Henrico, and the sheriff, by order of the court, summoned
twenty-five talesmen each from Alexandria and Charlottesville.” From
these, on June 23, the jury was selected. The case went to the jury
on the seventeenth day of the trial, and on July 10, 1868–a Friday—
Phillips was sentenced to die. The condemned man’s lawyers carried
the case to the Court of Appeals, but a writ of error was refused.
Phillips was hanged July 22, 1870.
And while gossiping thus about the murderers of Virginia women,
it may not be amiss to remind the public that poor Fanny Lillian Madi-
son was murdered March 13, 1885, at the Old Reservoir in Richmond,
by Thomas J. Cluverius, a young lawyer. The prisoner was first sen-
tenced to be hanged November 20, 1885, and was re-sentenced De-
cember 10, 1886. A reprieve from General Fitzhugh Lee, then governor
of the State, staved off the day of execution until January 14, 1887.
In the first trial the work of selecting a jury began May 5, and
was completed May 11. Cluverius, in his pamphlet, says: “When
completed, the jury consisted of six from the city of Richmond and
six from the city of Alexandria. The excited state of public feeling
can be seen in the fact that after extraordinary effort to secure a jury
from a city of 70,000 inhabitants, the panel had to be completed from
another city.”
As most people dote on coincidences, the following are offered
in connection with the murders mentioned in the foregoing paragraphs:
Two of the three supposed murderers were lawyers, and the Christian
names of two were James. But neither Phillips nor McCue appears
to have liked the name James. The former was known as “Jeter
Phillips” and the latter signs himself “J Samuel McCue.” Of the
three ill-fated women, two bore the Christian name Fannie. Miss
Madison, however, was generally spoken of as Lillian. She was the
first cousin of her slayer.
THE QUICK OR THE DEAD.
On Friday, October 28, the day after Willie McCue had testified
in behalf of his father, “E. R. C.,” staff correspondent of the Richmond

16.1
News Leader, published the following under the caption, “Case of ‘The
Quick or the Dead’ with the Son:
“CHARLottesville, VA., Oct. 28.-Like a thief in the night came
yesterday one of the crises in the McCue murder case.
“It arrived almost before the most astute expected it, but was
none the less sensational on that account.
“Nor was it a fast-flying sensation—a sudden, transitory surprise.
This climax in the now famous trial was a long drawn out, nerve-
racking situation.
“William McCue, the 17-year-old son of the accused, was the central
figure in the drama. Lawyers, judge, jury, and even the prisoner,
dwindled into utter insignificance in comparison with the lad’s mighty
effort to save his father from the gallows.
“With his eyes moistened by excess of emotion and his whole frame
in a quiver, the usually sturdy boy sat in the witness chair like a
hunted animal at bay, and, despite a cannonade of embarrassing ques-
tions, swore that his poor, dead mother had received naught but kind-
ness at the hands of the stoical prisoner at the bar.
“In vain did Captain Micajah Woods, the prosecution's great engine
of strength and aggressiveness, seek to daunt the lad with a maze of
almost bewildering questions, broadly hinting at a sudden somer-
saulting of the young witness's opinions.
“In vain did the stern attorney, grown gray in the wiles and
subtleties of the law, strive to make William McCue break down
and indirectly declare his father a murderer.
“Verily , it was a case of the quick or the dead! And the quick
was the winner. Mayhap the memory of the unhappy woman, upon
whose grave the flowers hardly yet have withered, still touched the
heart of the son, who was wildly hysterical on the night she perished
by an assassin's hand. And mayhap he will never forget the wretched
but tender little woman who once ran to him, then a mere stripling,
for protection from her husband. But the living are ever stronger than
the dead; the present than the absent. Not ten feet from the witness
chair where young William sat gleamed the metallic blue eyes of his
father, boring into the very heart of the son like an augur of steel.
Those cold blue eyes have subdued others. Yesterday they subdued
young William McCue.
“There was at least one surprised man in the court-room when
the boy witness, summoned by the prosecution in confidence and
almost in triumph, veered quickly around as a witness for the de-
fense. That one surprised individual was Captain Micajah Woods.
Almost at the very outset the lawyer openly admitted his amazement,
and announced that he would avail himself of the privilege of ques-
tioning the son as a witness for the accused. To this the lawyers for
the defense agreed. Then came the interrogatory bombardment,
162
charged With the lyddite of sarcasm and the dynamite of unbelief.
Captain Woods, in a word, hurled at the witness a rapid series of
questions based on the alleged statements William McCue had made
to his mother's brother, Ernest Crawford. These statements all put
the witness in the position of suspecting the guilt of his father, and
of openly seeking to work the destruction of the accused. Indeed,
the witness, though he doggedly denied almost everything, unhesi-
tating admitted that he had talked with his uncle and with detectives
about the case; that shortly after the murder he attempted to get
McCue's negro stable boy to confess that he had lied at the coroner's
inquest. But the witness firmly, emphatically, almost indignantly, de-
nied that he had ever hinted at unpleasant relations existing between
his father and mother. Nothing could shake him on this point; noth-
ing could jolt his memory into recollecting a single instance where
the bitter waters of domestic discord had muddled the fountains of
Mr. and Mrs. J. Samuel McCue's matrimonial bliss. The one pre-
dominating, oft-repeated, crescendo note of young McCue's testimony
was the expression: ‘No, I deny it emphatically.”
“The pearl-gray haze of twilight had almost fallen over the court-
room before the ordeal of the prisoner's son was ended for the day.
But, as I understood it, his troubles not yet are ended. Even while
he talked, while he denied, while he indignantly protested, Judge
Morris adjourned court. It may be that Willie McCue will return to
the witness chair to-day. Certainly it would seem that the Common-
wealth has not yet gotten through with him.
“Another witness, the negro, William Hurley, although he told of
things most important, was in direct contrast with William McCue,
and, though he spoke in dead earnestness and profound seriousness,
he once or twice had Uncle Remus beaten to a pulp in the matter of
genuine humor.
“William, who has been employed by Samuel McCue for years, and
who does odd jobs about the place, evidently loves the accused, and
is loyal to him. But by the analogies he drew yesterday he put him-
self entirely on a level with the ex-Mayor. For instance, William said
that the reason the prisoner had talked to him of Mrs. McCue's jealousy
was because he, too, had ‘had a little trouble around his house.” Mr.
McCue’s ‘old woman,” like the consort of the very human William, had
allowed her love to grow monopolistic in its tendencies.
“And even after the ex-Mayor landed in jail, William's ability at
drawing analogies did not cease. When McCue, who was visited in
prison by the faithful negro, told William he was innocent and that
he soon would be free, William was tenderly sympathetic. In a spirit
of the sincerest kindness, he replied that he assuredly did hate to
observe his boss in trouble; that it hurt him to see a man of McCue's
high standing in a cell—that he himself had been in that very same
place, and knew what it was.




163
MR. AND MERS. MARSHALL DISAGREE.
A story of the murder of Mrs. McCue, which found its way into the
public prints two days after the trial of the ex-Mayor began, involves
a man at one time suspected of the crime, whose escape from arrest and
possible summary punishment was almost by accident. He was at
church at the time of the murder, yet going to church was not one of
his strong habits. There is a woman, also, indirectly involved in
this story of the early suspect, but of that later.
It will be recalled that J. Samuel McCue, in his first statement
of how the tragedy occurred, and in his testimony before the coroner's
jury, gave a somewhat detailed and minute description of the man
who assaulted him and later killed his wife. It is true that in his
first statement he said that he saw this “dirty-looking white man”
in the mirror as he (McCue) stood in front of the chiffonier, and that
the assailant entered by the hall door or from the room known as
“Ruby’s room”; but when a member of the coroner's jury, following
the evidence of McCue, stood in front of the chiffonier and could not
possibly see either door, McCue recalled that he did not see the man
enter the door, but heard a “click” and looked around and saw him in
the dim light.
The description given by Mr. McCue of the assailant dovetailed
beautifully into the personal appearance and clothing of a certain man
in Albemarle county, known to have a grudge against McCue and to
have no great liking for Police Justice McCue, who had more than once
been obliged to fine him pretty heavily for “celebrating.” This man
was Lester Marshall, who lives at Earleysville, Albemarle county, but
who frequently came to Charlottesville during the trial. His wife,
who is now suing for divorce, is a resident of Charlottesville.
Suspicion naturally pointed to Marshall. Since no burglary had
been committed, there was no other reasonable motive for such a crime
than vengeance against Mr. McCue. There were, of course, some draw-
backs even to this theory, such as entering the house apparently un-
armed, but there had to be some theory and some murderer, and Mar-
shall might just as well furnish both as any one else. He was a man
known to be unfriendly to both ex-Mayor McCue and his brother, the
police justice. Some man on the night of the murder, and a few min-
utes after its commission, had knocked at the door of the home of E.
O. McCue, and without waiting for an answer had run off in the direc-
tion of the scene of the murder. Here was the making of a plot to mur-
der both the McCues. The description given by McCue pointed towards
Marshall as the chief conspirator in the plot.
Officers were sent in a hurry and on a hot trail after Marshall
that night. They found him at the home of his mother, with whom he
attended church that evening. The alibi was flawless, and the officers
returned the next morning to find that the people of Charlottesville

164
were hinting broadly that the murder had been committed by the
husband.
Marshall believes, as do many others, that had he been in Char-
lottesville on the night of the murder he would have been arrested,
identified and promptly hanged.
E. O. McCue, the police justice, believed firmly at the time that
Marshall committed the crime, and it was possibly at his suggestion
that the officers went to Earleysville to look for Marshall. It was
certainly a “beautiful” clue and one that merited a thorough investiga-
tion. Later on it developed, according to the evidence before the
coroner's jury, that Dr. Frank C. McCue was probably the man who
had knocked at E. O. McCue's door on his way to answer the hurried
'phone call of the brother in trouble. Dr. McCue said he did not stop
on his way to the home of J. Samuel McCue, but in his nervous and
excited condition it is possible that he did so without realizing the
fact.
When the foregoing facts were published in connection with
Lester Marshall, the Charlottesville Progress added the following:
“But while Lester Marshall may entertain a feeling of bitter re-
sentment against the prisoner at the bar, certainly his wife, if rumor
for the thousandth time is not wrong, does not share in that feeling.
She is said to have been for many years a warm friend of McCue
and to sympathize deeply with him now in his present trouble. There
are some people in this city who even go so far as to say that she was
the person who took the letter to Jailer Dudley this week, and who
asked him to see to it that it was given directly to the prisoner. But
whether that is true or not, the letter itself, to quote one who saw it,
was ‘hot stuff.' It declared, among other things, in substance, that the
writer had always loved the accused, and always would love him, and
more to the same effect.”
wrote, HIM on BUSINEsłs.
On the following Saturday the Progress printed this card from
Mrs. Marshall:
“Editor Progress:
“I wish to correct the mistake that was printed in yesterday's
paper. As for my writing Mr. J. Samuel McCue a love letter or being
a warm friend of his, that is false. I think I can give good account
of who started this rumor. I certainly did send Mr. McCue a business
letter concerning some business matters. I tried to get to see him,
but could not get in, and I am ashamed to think my name was so
badly used. Thanking you for your kindness,
“Respectfully,
“MRS, LESTER MARSHALL.”
This card was brought to the Progress office in person by Mrs.
165
Marshall, who was decidedly nervous, but apparently not angry, when
she saw the editor. A denial of so serious a report, however—coming
as it did from a woman—was worthy of fuller explanation than that
embodied in the card.
Several reporters, more than anxious to correct any supposed in-
justice that had been done one of the weaker sex, determined to go
to the Marshall home, on the Courthouse square, for further particulars.
They were met at the door by a woman not yet 22 years old. The face
that greeted the reporters at the threshold was refined, pretty and as
gentle in its aspect as one could find in any home. Three little chil-
dren—mere babes and untidy babes at that—stood at the woman's
feet. Two are Mrs. Marshall’s children; the third is a child of a rela-
tive. A woman about 50–mother of the unfortunate victim of scandal,
sat toiling away at a sewing machine. The house was humble, but
clean and comfortable.
Mrs. Marshall, who is a brunette of medium height, with slightly
arched eyebrows, almost suggestive of artificiality in their beauty,
and a good complexion, seemed glad to explain things when the re-
porters told their mission. “I have been done a great injustice by
MRS LESTER MARSHALL.
all this talk,” said she, “and I know who is at the bottom of it. The
offender is my husband. He is seeking to ruin my reputation. So far
from my being in love with Mr. McCue, I have never written to him
but once in my life. That is the letter referred to in the papers. I

166
gave it to one of the jail officials for delivery. It had reference to a
watch of mine which the prisoner has. I had borrowed money from
Mr. McCue to pay a fine imposed in the police court on my husband—
who is a drunkard. As security I gave Mr. McCue the watch.
"How absurd and unjust it is to injure my reputation by cruel
reports,” added Mrs. Marshall, “when I have just been in Charlottes.
ville one week, after a three-week's trip to Orange county.
“And the idea of my being in love with Mr. McCue, I hardly
know him, except in a business way. He collected Some rents on
property belonging to my mother and was our lawyer. Indeed he was
to have represented me in my suit against my husband, but his arrest
prevented his acting.”
“Did your husband ever accuse you of any improper conduct or
show any jealousy?” asked one of the reporters.
“No,” was the reply, “not once did he accuse me of such a thing
to my face, though he seems to do it now. But he drinks. Our mar-
ried life has been most unhappy. Mr. Larshall, when intoxicated, is
awfully abusive and very combative. Several times he has threatened
to kill me and my mother. Time and again I lave paid the fines im-
posed upon him in the police court. Long have I kept silent and
borne these things patiently, but the officers here can tell you what
kind of a man my husband is.
“While we were living in Richmond,” added Mrs. Marshall, “he
struck me on the head with a pitcher and injured me frightfully. The
case was up before Justice Crutchfield on January 18, 1902–my birth-
day, that’s how I remember it—and I begged him off.”
Here Mrs. Marshall turned her cheek towards the shy reporters and
showed a scar which, although it does not disfigure her now, must
have been the result of a serious wound.
Mrs. Marshall further explained that while in the Capital City
she boarded in a “most respectable house” in Seventeenth street. Her
husband worked at Hetzer & Ganzert's paint establishment.
Shortly after the Richmond police court episode Mrs. Marshall re-
turned to Charlottesville. Her mother to procure funds for this pur-
pose got Samuel McCue to advance her some money on her rents and
McCue gave a small check for the desired sum.
Mrs. Marshall modestely refused to state the grounds on which she
sued her husband for divorce. She referred the reporter to the papers
in the case, which are now of record in the clerk's office at Charlottes-
ville. She said, however, that she wanted the custody of the children
and that her husband was making no defense against her suit.
Before her marriage Mrs. Marshall was Miss Hattie Davis Pratt, of
Orange county. She married Marshall when she was 17 years old and
against the wishes of her parents. Next January she will be 22. Do-
mestic troubles of the most aggravated sort, as well as the burdens of
motherhood, have not marred the unmistakable comeliness of this




167
young woman. When the reporters saw her she was almost beautiful,
despite the fact that she had been taken unawares and had no oppor-
tunity to change her wrapper for more becoming attire. Her hands,
however, were adorned by rings and her speech was couched in reason-
ably grammatical language. She and her mother support themselves
by doing fancy work and sewing. In the conversation here quoted she
appeared perfectly calm, and though resentful towards her husband,
seemed to accept the ugly rumors as the result of unfortunate circum-
stances. -
Such is the story of Mrs. Marshall, but unfortunately it has a
puzzling and doubt-creating sequel. To begin with, McCue while in
jail before the trial undoubtedly got a very affectionate letter, signed
“H.” In fact, he is said to have gotton two letters. And both were
written in a woman’s hand.
Here is a true copy of one of the missives: “Dear Friend—I do not
wish to worry you, as I know you have worry's enough, but I do think
you aught to send me my watch as it is all I have to pay Mr. Harmon
to get me free from the treacherous man I have. Now if you wont send
it to me, send me word how much you want me to pay you. I have the
little picture of you and it all the comfort I can get is to look at it
and something else you understand that is so much like you. Oh if I
could see you just 10 minutes what a pleasure it would be to me. Send
me an answer by — as I will get it all right. Just write to me
and no one will see it and I will burn it up soon as I read it. God
bless you my Dear, I will live in hopes of seeing you some day. I pray
for you every night and shall do so. L- left town I have been
away over a month, answer it please and let me know. Just always
remember I am your true friend until death.
(Signed) H.”
Cannt half write answer tomorrow.—H.
It is not for the writers of this sketch to guess who “H” is, or
even to say that the letter was penned by any other hand than that of
some very sly wag. Certainly it is rather a clever letter. And senti-
mental people may even find it sweet.
AN ANGRY HUSBAND’s REJoſNDER.
Now, just one more chapter to the Marshall side of the McCue
case. Here is what Lester Marshall said about the matter to two re-
porters:
“Sam McCue cheated me out of my wife and ruined my home. Now
he wants to put a rope around my neck.”
But form no quick inferences, reader. This Marshall phase of
the McCue case has baffled all the reporters and has kept everybody
guessing. Even what follows in the succeeding paragraphs will prove
astounding.
168
To begin at the beginning, Marshall and his wife have been leading
no turtle-dove existence. Their billing and cooing, during the last
twelvemonth has been nothing if not intermittent. The wife says
the man drinks and that he is abusive and immoral.
Lester Marshall’s rejoinders to all such allegations were equally
as uncomplimentary, when he talked with the reporters. And on Octo-
ber 23 he was irritated because it had leaked out that Mrs. Marshall
had written a letter to J. Samuel McCue and had had it sent to the
prison. -
The “injured husband” alleged that he and his wife had for months
before been on bad terms and that he separated from her some weeks
before the murder. During this period they held little, if any, com-
munication with each other, until Saturday, Sept. 3, the day before the
murder, when Marshall, to his surprise, received a letter from his wife
urging him to come back to Charlottesville the following Monday.
Subsequently, when the husband asked his wife why she wrote to him,
Mrs. Marshall explained it was because he was, for a few hours after
the killing of Mrs. McCue, suspected of the crime and that she desired
him to return and clear himself.
“How was it, then, that you wrote to me before the crime?” asked
Marshall.
Now the wife had entered vigorous denials of the charge that she
ever said anything about Marshall’s clearing himself of suspicion. In
fact, she had branded every assertion of the husband as the product of
a fluent, ever-ready Ananias whose prevaricating powers work over-
time.
The interview with Mrs. Marshall, which has already been referred
to and which sprayed Mr. Marshall with all the tabasco sauce an angry
woman’s tongue can sprinkle, stung the husband to the quick. It was
apropos of these charges that Lester Marshall used the language about
McCue's ruining his home. “Yes,” said he, “she has a slick tongue and
she is plausible. But I understand her. Yesterday I was offered $500
to leave the State. I won’t mention names. There is a conspiracy
against me. She and McCue wanted me to come back from Earleysville
in time to get my head into the noose after the murder was committed.
It was a trap for me. The first thing McCue said after the murder was
that I had committed it. Only a few days before the crime, his brother,
Police-Justice E. O. McCue, had put me under a heavy bond for drinking
and for disorderly conduct.
“Sam McCue was on hand that day—the court was held in my
house, too—and he urged his brother to put it to me.
“Sam McCue wouldn’t even let me speak to my wife on that occa-
sion. He had long been well acquainted with my wife. She always
had plenty of money and she craved fine clothes. I have heard her talk
of what she would do if she were Mrs. McCue. I have heard her say
she would wear different clothes from those Mrs. McCue wore—that



169
she would travel around and have a good time instead of staying at
home. We lived in one of McCue's houses for six months. He let my
wife have the rent free—at least, I never gave her any money to pay it.
What could I do to prevent all this? He was rich and influential. I
was a poor working man. Although she says in the papers that I never
showed symptoms of jealousy, over and over again. I upbraided her
about McCue. She sought every opportunity to see him.
And right here,” added the husband, “I want to deny another thing
Hattie, my wife, said. She told you I was not making any defense to
the divorce suit; that she would claim the custody of the two children.
Above all things, correct this. I shall file a cross bill and will ask the
court to give me the oldest child. It is mine by rights.” " º:
Here Mr. Marshall launched forth certain sweeping charges which
need not be mentioned.
“But let me make a still further answer to those newspaper
charges,” added the husband, whose wrath had now reached the incan-
descent stage. “I want to show you what sort of a smooth-tongued
woman Hattie is. She told you her maiden name was Hattie Davis.
In reality it is Hattie Davis Pratt. She told you, too, that she had cut
loose from me weeks ago. Well, read these letters and see. Observe
how they have been trying to get me back.”
And the epistles, which are not models in spelling and which
show some contempt for syntax, certainly did bear out Marshall’s asser-
tion. They are affectionate and gossipy and very “feminine” in their
tone. One says that Mrs. Marshall, on a certain date, appeared in a new
hat, which won many compliments for her, but that she didn't care
much for compliments.
The following references to McCue, however, are the most interest-
ing things in the letters. The first is from a communication dated
Barboursville, Sept. 9: “Oh! Lester, I heard this A. M. that Mr. McCue
was in jail. Of course we don’t get any papers at all, but I feel sorry
for any one in trouble as God says we must not rejoice at ane another's
downfalls, and I do most earnestly believe that if we try to serve God
we will prosper.”
Here’s a bit from a second letter also dated Barboursville and
written Sept. 13–"It is just awful about Mr. McCue, but men who ac
that way, cannot expect any more than they deserve.” -
This epistle was signed “Your loving little Hattie.”
Realizing the serious nature of Mr. Marshall’s charges, the report-
ers repeatedly asked the husband if he really thought his wife had any
connection with the crime. “Didn’t she leave here on the Wednesday
after the Sunday Mrs. McCue was killed? retorted the husband? Didn’t
she stay away three weeks? If you doubt me, go over and ask her
where she was that Sunday night. I’ll go with you.”
But the proposition was not accepted. A few hours later, the
reporters did call to see the magnetic, but apparently vacillating Mrs.


170
Marshall. She said she didn't want to talk—and then, like all of her
kind-proceeded to do that very thing. “I deny everything Lester says,”
declared Mrs. Marshall, “and I am not surpised at what he told you.
It is like him. Even now I have somebody investigating that second
letter sent to Mr. McCue at the jail. It wasn't mine-I say it positively.
Where was I on the night of the crime? Why, I had been awfully sick;
had had three doctors. They were talking of taking me to the hospital.
I had just been able to come down stairs that Sunday when Mrs. McCue
was killed. But I won't talk. No, I won't talk.
"At least answer one question,” the reporters begged: “It is hard for
us to make out whether you are still on good terms with your husband
or not. How do you stand now? The letters he showed us indicate
that you still have a fondness for him.”
“Yes, I know you have seen those letters,” said Mrs. Marshall, after
a moment's hesitation. “To tell the truth. Lester has been to see me
to-day.”
Great was the amazement of the reporters at this statement. But
they were still destined to receive another shock for a second later the
wife added:
“Lester is in this house right now—in the next room to us.”
"WHAT” chorused the interviewers—“in this house right now!!
Well, by all means bring him in and let him repeat his charges before
your face.” -
“I will if he'll come,” said the black-eyed one, triumphantly. “I’ll
go right after him.”
And so Mrs. Marshall did. But she returned a moment later and
smilingly said: “Mr. Marshall doesn’t care to see you now. He'll see
you to-morrow.”
But Lester Marshall never again bothered himself with newspaper
men after this incident!
Such is the complicated story of these two Marshalls—the hand-
some wife and the frank-looking but enigmatical young husband, who
is, by vocation, a contracting painter. He assuredly does not look
like a murderer, nor does his attractive—and evidently irressisti-
ble—Wife look like a murderess.
Whether the two have any actual connection with the McCue case
it cannot be said. Neither testified at the trial. -
As this sketch is about to go to press there comes the announce:
ment that counsel for the prisoner have prepared forty-five bills of
exception and that the condemned man will make a desperate fight
for his life in the highest tribunal of this Commonwealth.
What the appellate court will do none can say. The ways of the
bench and the bar sometimes are mysterious to the laity.
But assuredly no man, however unlettered in the law, can fail to

171
know that McCue has enjoyed the fairest of trials in the Corporation
Court of Charlottesville, and that the young judge who presided in his
case has faced his duty fearlessly, and honorably.
Indeed, the crime of the unhappy ex-Mayor, though hideous it
may be, at least has shown Virginia that in George Watts Morris the
Commonwealth has a son who would be an ornament to the judiciary
of any land. It is the unexpected which often produces great men; it
is the unexpected which, under the most trying circumstances, has
made Judge Morris stand forth before the public eye as a splendid
specimen of the citizens whom the Old Dominion has placed upon her
bench.
It is all a mistake to suppose that the twelve fine men who tried
McCue were utterly miserable during the whole of the time that they
were sitting in the case. True, they did their duty as citizens at the
cost of great inconvenience and personal sacrifice, and there must have
been moments when nostalgia, made them wretched, but all the same
they managed to hold up well. For twelve or thirteen days they were
virtual prisoners at the Colonial Hotel or in the court-room, and
during this period there was not a minute when they were free from
the surveillance of a sergeant. The dozen, at all times, had to keep
close together—eat together, sleep together and walk together. Verily
their position was like that of the valet and his lord in a certain comic
opera, which makes the pair say:
“Heel and toe, away we go;
We're always seen together.
Heel and toe, away we go,
We never mind the Weather.”
This condition, however, so far as physical activity was concerned,
at least departed from analogy to the operatic pair on one occasion
when a certain juror's feet hurt him and he could not go the gait of
his eleven associates. After buying a new pair of shoes to meet the
exigencies of the case, he finally decided that walking was out of the
question with him, and so he called a halt on the whole jury.
It was amazing, in the early stages of the trial, to note the Ameri-
can “assimilating” process working on these twelve men—some old,
some young, some sedate, and some unmistakably merry. The hetero-
geneous soon developed into the homogeneous and the closest con-
fidence and sympathy quickly followed. Twenty-four hours after the
jury had been selected, the twelve men became well acquainted, if not
intimate. And by that time, too, each understood and respected the
whims and idiosyncrasies of the other.
From the very first John Y. Stockdell assumed the position of chief

172
joker for the party and never for a minute did he let up in his fun-
making save on that last awful day when the verdict came. The victim
of Mr. Stockdell's waggish proclivities usually was W. B. Spiers, as
genial a soul as one can find in a day's search. Mr. Spiers, who continu-
ally wore one of those “smiles that won’t come off,” was everywhere
known as “Sunny Jim,” and “Woozy.” How he got the latter sobriquet
none can say, though the radiance of his shrewd face certainly sug-
gested Sunshine.
Shelton Chieves, who ultimately was elected foreman of the jury,
was unvaryingly stern, dignified, and serious. One can see character
written in every line of his face. Though many years his junior,
Nelson Decker is much the same type. He followed the case with
deadly earnestness, and took copious notes.
While comparisons in the matter of “personal pulchritude” are
usually odious, we cannot resist saying that the two best looking men
on the jury were James B. Prentis, of Petersburg, and John A. Traylor,
of Richmond. The former, though still far from being old, has a gray
mustache, which makes his handsome face most attractive. Mr. Tray-
lor was everywhere known in Charlottesville as the religious man of
the jury. It was he who led the body in prayer after the twelve men
retired to decide upon the verdict.
T. F. Parsons and A. J. Saunders, both of Petersburg, are
specimens of brisk, energetic, quick-witted business men who get at the
gist of things in a hurry. A. S. Johnson is one of the long-headed,
quiet, listening sort, while S. B. Quinn and W. G. Fewell, both book-
keepers, exhibited that patience and pertinacity which is born or their
vocations. L. E. Holmes, the young Fauquier farmer, despite the close
confinement to which he was subjected, never showed signs of weari-
ness, never looked anything but cheery, and never lost the rose color
from his cheeks.
That the jury in the McCue case exercised the soundest judgment,
and the utmost care, and that the twelve men left everything to their
consciences, none can deny. They did their work well—they discharged
their duty as they saw it
Here is the “little bill” which the Commonwealth must pay for
allowing J. Samuel McCue all the rights and privileges to which he was
entitled under the law. -
Fauquier venire, $312.28; Fredericksburg venire, $401.60; Rich-
mond venire, $438.44; Petersburg venire, $497.20. Total cost of venires,
$1,549.52. Jury, total mileage and attendance, $321.20. Witnesses for
Commonwealth—$100, estimated. Guards at jail—Estimated at $150.
Commonwealth’s attorney’s fee, $10. Fee for clerk of corporation court,
$2.50. Board bill for jurors, about $150. Total expense, $2,283.22.
That there were some pleasant sides to the McCue case—or rather

173
ramifications growing out of the tragedy—cannot be denied. The trial
brought together scores of people who quickly became friends—people
who left their wonted abodes reluctantly, but who, in turn left Char-
lottesville with a distinct feeling of sadness at the idea of parting from
those with whom they had been so intimately associated for nearly a
month.
To begin with, the Charlottesville householders opened their doors
to strangers and offered them “all the comforts of home.” And those
who were not householders saw to it that the “thirsty” went not with
thirst unsaked and that visiting microbes were quickly routed with
the smoke of the best cigars.
At the Colonial Hotel, where the eggs on toast are a menuistic
poem and where the bill-of-fare French, however untranslatable, always
stands for something good, a select little company gathered to await
the jury's verdict. In the party were many lawyers and a bevy of
grass-widowered newspaper men, stenographers and others, who,
though working like slaves, always managed to find some cloud with a
silver lining.
The McCue case was spendidly reported. Among those who had a
hand in telling the world of the crime and trial were H. J. Mock,
Associated Press representative from Washington, D. C.; R. D. Steuart,
of the Baltimore Sun; and J. H. Lindsay, of the Charlottesville Progress.
The latter no sooner saw his territory invaded by foreign reporters
than he hurried to get a corkscrew, a box of Havanas, and such other
“paraphernalia” as men regard essential to their creature comfort. And
Mr. Lindsay’s “paraphernalia.” never got worn out or exhausted, nor
did he for a single minute resign his position as host.
And speaking of newspaper men recalls the following paragraph,
which appeared in a Richmond paper in connection with some side-
lights on the journalists:
“It would be treason to the reportorial gathering now here to omit
the names of the two court stenographers, George L. Hart and J. H.
Morris, of Roanoke, who are swift enough even to “take” a woman.
Morris and Hart are partners in business, but they are as widely
different in temperament, appearance and general bearing as a Shang
hai rooster is from a canary bird. Hart, who is vice-president of the
Roanoke Board of Aldermen, is the soul of dignity and is Chester-
fieldian in his polish of manner. Morris, though equally as courteous,
is a roaring, rollicking, approachable chap with a kindly heart the size
of a Jackson watermelon and a head that bulges with the best of sense.
Although the respective make-ups of these two men are as far apart
as the antipodes, they have one point in common—their exceptional
cleverness and sociability. As stenographers they can’t be beaten for
speed. Nothing rattles them in a court-room and if they merely look
at a typewriter the machine gets into action. As a general thing their
daily output in the McCue case is about 180 pages of 260 words each.
174
Morris and Hart know not the word procrastination. Each day's work
must be transcribed before the next begins.”
Last, but not least among those whose names long will linger pleas-
antly in the memories of the men associated with the McCue trial, is
Richard W. Duke, clerk of the Corporation Court of Charlottesville.
Like “Foxy” Rogers and J. H. Lindsay, Mr. Duke took it upon himself
to “mother” the visiting lawyers and journalists. Many were the bot-
tles of soothing syrup he gave the strangers and multitudinous were the
favors which marked his hospitality. Mr. Duke, in addition to his
gentle manners and his unfailing cordiality, is above all things a Vir-
ginian—an ex-Confederate Virginian and a gentleman true. To this
hour he cannot speak of the McCue case without letting his emotions
get the better of him, and several times in court he broke down com-
pletely. But “the bravest are the tenderest,” and so he has nothing to
be ashamed of. Moreover, he has added many an agreeable moment to
the hours of those who met him during the trial.
And now the task of those who so hurriedly have prepared this
little sketch is done. The writers have made no attempt to be literary
or ornate in their style. They merely have sought to answer on their
voir dires—to tell the truth and to prove themselves unbiased. Above
all things they have tried not to be didactic. It has not been their
purpose to scold or censure or criticize. They were, at most, but
“lookers-on in Vienna,” when the scenes here described were enacted.
They went to Charlottesville unprejudiced; they returned home sad-
dened, and full of sympathy for many.
Whatever may be the popular belief as to the prisoner’s “legal”
guilt—and we fancy there is still some contrariety of opinion on this
subject—it, at least, is charitable for all to hope that something, how-
ever strange, startling, unnatural and seemingly impossible, may yet
intervene to show that James Samuel McCue is an innocent man.
And last of all, even though the law must be allowed to take its
course—even though there be not one spark of pity left for the man
who, according to the jury, is the murderer of Mrs. Fannie Crawford
McCue, a moral duty yet remains for the general public. That duty is
one which looks to the future and will not end for decades. It is to
comfort and support and help the four motherless children who call
the prisoner father—to lend them a helping hand in years to come; to
walk kindly with them on the shores of that Lethe which brings peace
with forgetfulness. And even the sternest, most rigorous, and most
uncompromising should not forget the words, which though used in
another connection, so well might be applied here:
“He prayeth best who loveth best
All things both great and small;
For the dear God who loveth us,
He made and loveth all.”



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