Celia, a Slave Read online

  Thus on the eve of Celia’s trial, the reverberations of an increasingly violent struggle over slavery in Kansas had disrupted the public tranquility in Missouri and threatened with discord the state’s basic political, legal, and social institutions. Armed vigilantes held sway in many counties, physically intimidating anyone who voiced antislavery opinions. The state’s leading politicians were locked in a struggle for a United States Senate seat, with Atchinson’s forces determined to use the Kansas issue and an impassioned defense of slavery to retain it. The state’s proslavery press was filled with intemperate editorials denouncing abolitionists as an immediate threat to the expansion of slavery into Kansas and to the continued existence of slavery in Missouri. The northern press periodically carried items on the turmoil within the state, a fact of which Missourians were painfully aware, and many resented. A rejoinder by a proslavery Missouri editor was typical. Abolitionists, he wrote, should leave the South alone. They should instead respect the federal law and Constitution, both of which recognized and protected slavery. Northern citizens should see that federal fugitive slave laws were faithfully carried out, rather than opposed by bayonet, as was the case in Boston.24Under such circumstances the slavery debates, which threatened so alarmingly the domestic tranquility of both Missouri and the nation, were inevitably a part of the backdrop to Celia’s trial, scheduled for October 9, 1855.

  Chapter Five

  THE TRIAL

  TO Judge William Augustus Hall fell the lot of presiding over Celia’s trial. Born in Portland, Maine, in 1815, Hall had moved as a child to a small northern Virginia town on the Potomac River. He spent the remainder of his boyhood in Harper’s Ferry before departing for Yale. After college, in 1840 Hall accompanied his father’s family on yet another move, this time to Randolph County, Missouri. There he studied law and was admitted to the bar in 1841. He opened a practice in Huntsville, which he later moved to Fayette. The young and ambitious attorney quickly entered the ranks of those active in Democratic party politics. In 1847 the party rewarded his efforts by nominating him for a circuit court judgeship. Hall won the election and held the position until the outbreak of the Civil War. A Benton Democrat, Hall had strong Unionist sentiments and in 1861 abandoned the bench to accept a congressional seat left vacant by the expulsion of Confederate supporter John B. Clark.1

  Hall’s Unionist sentiments carried significant implications for Celia’s trial, for under Missouri law slaves accused of capital crimes were entitled to a court-appointed attorney. A judge’s views about slavery, an issue at that moment the subject of such furious debate among Missourians, could, in fact, be crucial. A judge with proslavery sympathies, one supportive of the stance of Atchinson, Shannon, and others on the issues of Kansas and slavery, might have selected a defense attorney who shared his political convictions. Under such conditions, Celia would have been given a perfunctory defense, convicted, and executed.

  While Hall’s views about slavery are unknown, his Unionist leanings, coupled with the fact that he held an elected position, indicate that in the summer of 1855 he would have been keenly aware of the slavery issue and its significance to both Missouri and the nation. Hall also probably understood that the trial held at least some potential to contribute to the ongoing national debate over slavery. The abolitionist press was full of tales of the brutality of slaveholders, and was particularly fond of stories that involved the sexual abuse of female slaves by their masters. Handled badly, Celia’s trial could provide additional grist for the propaganda mill of the northern abolitionists, become yet another sensational tale of the brutal exploitation of a young, innocent, helpless slave girl. Given the indisputable facts of the case, unless delicately directed the trial might lead to the charge that the southern legal structure ignored the humanity of the slave and condoned such sexual abuse and exploitation. Indeed, the Liberator, William Lloyd Garrison’s paper, did carry an account of Newsom’s death at Celia’s hands. Ironically, and fortunately for Hall, the Liberator’s account was penned by a local correspondent who accepted the early reports of Newsom’s death, and repeated the supposition that Celia had acted without motive. Significantly, the Liberator reported the story in an occasional feature entitled “Catalogue of Southern Crimes and Horrors.”2 Had the Liberator known of the motive for Celia’s actions, her trial almost certainly would have received more attention from that paper. Had that happened, because the abolitionist press followed the standard journalistic practice of reporting items gleaned from other papers, Celia’s story would have received attention in even more abolitionist papers.

  In addition to having to consider how slavery’s foes might possibly employ Celia’s trial in their behalf, Judge Hall also had to determine to what extent it presented him with a potential political dilemma. Proslavery Missourians would expect to see Celia hang; those less supportive of the institution would expect the court to treat her fairly, or at least in accordance with the law. His political experience, and the fact that his central Missouri constituency contained both Benton and Atchinson supporters, no doubt alerted Hall to the possible political implications of Celia’s trial. Given the impact of the slavery issue upon Missouri’s politics at the time, he probably hoped for the trial to be conducted as expeditiously and decorously as possible, in a manner that ran the least risk of arousing the ire of either camp.

  If these considerations weighed upon Circuit Court Judge William Hall as the court’s fall term approached, he could have made no more appropriate choice of defense attorney for Celia than John Jameson. Hall needed a capable attorney, one of considerable standing in the community. He needed an attorney with proven political sensibilities, one who had not participated significantly in the slavery debates. In short, he needed an attorney who could be depended upon to give Celia a credible defense, one whose presence would make it difficult for slavery’s critics to label the trial a farce or sham, and one who would not arouse the emotions of Missouri’s more militant proslavery faction in the process. Measured against these criteria, John Jameson emerged as the superior candidate for the assignment of defending Celia.

  Jameson occupied a unique position in Fulton and Callaway County at the time of Celia’s trial. The record indicates that although he was a respected figure, he remained a public personage of Falstaffian overtones. For more than three decades he had been a community leader, yet his accomplishments appear to be those of the likable man, the hail-fellow-well-met, rather than those of the truly exceptional individual. There was a discernible gap between his aspirations and his accomplishments, an almost comic aspect to his career that bespoke not so much ineptitude but rather a lack of ambition, a complacency indicative of a ready willingness to be satisfied with comforts and honors easily obtained.

  This pattern emerged early in Jameson’s career and at times seemed determined by circumstances beyond his control. For example, soon after his first term in the Missouri legislature the Black Hawk War presented Jameson with an opportunity to enhance his political fortunes through military service. As a captain in the militia he led one of two area companies during the hostilities. Jameson’s company departed Fulton on July 1, 1832, for a six-week tour of duty. The company spent the entire tour stationed at Fort Pike on the Des Moines River and never engaged the enemy, thus depriving Jameson of the opportunity to earn the politically desirable label of Indian fighter. Other lost opportunities, however, resulted more directly from Jameson’s personal failings. As a legislator in the Missouri House, Jameson was not noted for his originality. More significant, perhaps, was his reputation for failing to master the details of legislative service. He was, in the opinion of his contemporaries, “by no means a thorough parliamentarian.” His elevation to the speakership, which he occupied for the 1834-36 term, reflected the judgment of members of both parties that, though Jameson might not be among the body’s keenest intellects or its most diligent students of the legislative process, he was nevertheless a fair man, one of “judgement and integrity.” Competent, likable, and n
ot overly ambitious, he was the perfect compromise candidate.3

  Jameson’s congressional service did nothing to reverse his reputation as an affable, competent man. People of Callaway County judged his congressional career as “in no sense brilliant,” noting, however, that “he made a fair member, and proved a strong advocate of Western interests.” His congressional record confirms that judgment. He was responsible for no major legislation and in floor debates championed efforts to strengthen the army’s ability to control potential Indian threats to western settlers, an echo of his experience in the Black Hawk War. An ardent expansionist, Jameson vigorously defended President James K. Polk’s foreign policy and the resulting war with Mexico. Yet he always couched his support in patriotic terms, without any defense of slavery or appeals for continued opportunities for the institution to expand. In one of his most notable speeches on the House floor—a biting, sarcastic attack—he ridiculed the young Illinois Whig representative Abraham Lincoln for his “Spot Resolution” and his continued opposition to the war, noting that Whig “patriots” from Lincoln’s district had fought and died at Buena Vista. His support of the Mexican War resulted in Benton bitterly denouncing Jameson in 1849. The acrimonious debates over Mexico within Missouri’s Democratic party between Benton and anti-Benton forces may have contributed to Jameson’s decision not to stand for reelection in 1848. Jameson’s congressional career was appropriately summarized in an assessment rendered by Callaway citizens within thirty years of his death: “Captain Jameson exercised considerable influence in Congress by his pleasant and affable demeanor, and by the good, practical sense which he exhibited on all occasions; but his want of application and study prevented him from obtaining a national reputation.”4

  Jameson’s legal accomplishments and reputation closely paralleled his political achievements, for similar reasons. According to those who knew him: “As a lawyer he was not profound.” Jameson’s lack of profundity, at least in part, resulted from his “reluctance to labor and research” which “made it necessary for him to have a law partner.” Although he was clearly no legal scholar, Jameson’s contemporaries nevertheless admired him for his courtroom skills. “As a jury advocate,” they judged, “he was not excelled by anyone in central Missouri, and by few, if any, in the State.” His powers as a trial lawyer resulted in part from his ability to present his case forcefully and dramatically, and in part from a flair for the cross-examination of opposing witnesses. His greatest gift as a courtroom performer, however, lay not in his presentation skills, but in his almost uncanny ability to read a jury. “He was,” again according to some who knew him, “an excellent judge of men, and seemed to divine, almost at a glance, what particular line of argument would reach and influence each juror; in fact, he could almost read by intuition the thoughts of each juror on the panel.”5

  More than an aversion to work, however pronounced, contributed to Jameson’s failure to achieve a national reputation in either politics or law, or to become a significant figure in Missouri’s political and legal circles. By all accounts Jameson was a genial fellow who enjoyed the male camaraderie of antebellum politics, an essential element of which was an indulgence in a variety of alcoholic beverages. He was evidently a willing participant in such rituals and throughout much of his political career, if not afterwards, evidenced a fondness for distilled spirits that eroded his professional and political reputation. On occasions “he would imbibe a little too freely, producing a slight unsteadiness in his walk, which he seemed to apprehend would be noticed.” Jameson fully understood the social behavior and value systems of his male constituents, however, and possessed the grace and wit to devise an acceptable, if rather transparent, excuse for his occasional stagger. To avert questions about his balance, Jameson would tie a silk handkerchief about his knee and complain of rheumatism. Should his complaints elicit an expression of sympathy, Jameson would reply: “It is immaterial.” Jameson employed this tactic frequently enough to acquire for himself the sobriquet “Immaterial John.”6

  William Hall’s choice of John Jameson as Celia’s court-appointed defense attorney seemed a savvy political move, if not a stroke of genius. Critics could not charge that Celia had been denied adequate representation. Jameson had practiced law in the community for three decades and had a reputation as an excellent trial lawyer. He was a respected citizen, a successful man, a three-term member of Congress, former speaker of the Missouri state legislature. He had never become involved in the heated slavery debates, not even as a member of Congress at a time which presented ample opportunity to do so. Nor had he, so far as the record indicates, become involved in the past summer’s rancorous debates over slavery within Missouri. He was himself a slaveowner, yet there is no record to indicate that he was anything other than the “good” master, a proposition that his recent interest in the ministry would support. Nor is there any indication that he was a fire-eating southerner, determined to see the spread of slavery into the western territories regardless of the consequences to the Union. While he had acquired a reputation as a bit of a tippler during his active political career, there is no evidence that alcohol abuse rendered him incompetent, or, for that matter, that he had continued drinking after leaving politics. In fact, there seemed to be every reason for Judge Hall to suppose that John Jameson would give Celia a good, sound, if predictable and unimaginative, defense.

  Hall’s actions also indicate that the judge was well aware of Jameson’s potential liabilities, especially his aversion to legal research, and that the judge went to some lengths to counter them. Although he was not compelled to do so, Judge Hall appointed two attorneys to aid Jameson with Celia’s defense. Whether he did so at Jameson’s request or of his own accord, we do not know. The fact that he made the appointments, however, again underscores the probability that Hall wished the trial procedures to be perceived as correct and fair, insofar as the laws of Missouri allowed.

  The two additional attorneys appointed were clearly subordinate to Jameson. Neither possessed outstanding legal credentials, although both would have appeared to their contemporaries as thoroughly competent. The two possessed strikingly similar family backgrounds and professional credentials. Nathan Chapman Kouns was twenty-two years of age in 1855, the son of one of Fulton’s most prominent citizens. His father, Nathan Kouns, had moved from Virginia to Missouri, and in 1855 was the town’s most respected physician. Like Robert Newsom and John Jameson, the elder Kouns had prospered in Callaway County; in 1850 he owned real estate valued at $7,000. By that date Kouns also had acquired four slaves, two females, ages twenty-three and eighteen, and two children, a girl seven and a boy two. Active in community affairs, he was a founding member of Fulton’s Masonic lodge. He was married and had five children: four boys and a daughter named Margaret, who was twenty-three years old at the time of the trial, roughly the age of Celia and her father’s adult female slaves. Nathan Chapman, the eldest son, was educated at home by tutors, then attended St. Charles College, from which he graduated in 1852. He returned to Fulton where he read law for three years, perhaps under Jameson, although the law office in which he studied is not recorded. He was admitted to the Missouri bar in 1855. Thus, at the time of Celia’s trial, Kouns was essentially without trial experience, although better educated than many of his fellow attorneys. In all probability, he continued to live at his father’s home.7

  The second appointee, a bit older and better educated, was hardly more experienced. In 1855 Isaac M. Boulware was a fledgling lawyer, twenty-six years of age, and like Kouns, “a representative of one of the oldest and best families in the county.” His father was Theodorick Boulware, who had established Fulton’s original Baptist church and the family’s reputation, wealth, and social position. A Baptist minister of Irish heritage, Theodorick left his native Virginia for Kentucky, then moved to Callaway County in 1827. The elder Boulware had labored at a frantic pace, farming, teaching school, and ministering to several of the county’s Baptist churches. Theodorick’s energy and relentle
ss determination to succeed did not go unrewarded. By 1850, when Theodorick was sixty-nine, he had acquired a small fortune—real estate valued at more than $8,000, large herds of livestock, and more than a dozen slaves. He had become the patriarch of one of Callaway County’s wealthiest families.8

  The last of eight children, Isaac was perfectly positioned within the family to take full advantage of his father’s hardwon wealth. The young Boulware attended Transylvania University in Lexington, Kentucky, then one of the South’s most respected institutions. Upon his graduation Isaac returned to Fulton, where he read law under a Judge Ansell. After this initial legal training he once more journeyed to Lexington, where he enrolled in Transylvania’s school of law. He graduated in 1854 and returned to his Fulton home, thus becoming one of the state’s few lawyers who held a professional degree. He was admitted to the Missouri bar a year later, within months of his court-ordered assignment to Celia’s case. Given the family background and legal training of Boulware and Kouns, it appears obvious that Judge Hall assigned the bright, well-educated, if inexperienced, young lawyers to aid Jameson with the detailed legal research the older man dreaded. Their impeccable family credentials would have blunted potential criticism of their assignment to the case. Though both came from slaveholding families, because of their youth they had not become publicly identified with the slavery controversy. Thus, they seemed perfect candidates for their positions.9