The Murder of Jim Fisk for the Love of Josie Mansfield by H. W. Brands Page A

mortal wound upon Colonel Fisk. Then to make sure, he fired a second shot. The first shot was embedded in his bowels, and he died the following day.
    “Now, gentlemen, if that is true, if these facts are proven in evidence, if he did lie in wait for Colonel Fisk and shot, and that was a mortal wound, and he died, I shall ask you, as good men, to render a verdict of premeditated murder against this prisoner, and let him take the consequences of his crime. If, on the other hand, there is any evidence produced by him which relieves him from this responsibility, then it will be for you to listen to him, hear it, give it such consideration as it shall be entitled to, and, if he is not guilty, so pronounce and let him go free. If, again, it turns out that the evidence we present is true, then under all the considerations which operate upon man, you are bound to pronounce him guilty and let the law of God and man take its course.”

Garvin’s dramatic statement catches New York off guard , coming as it does at the end of seven dreary days of jury selection, during which the city’s attention has wandered. But in signaling that the real business of the trial is beginning, it revives interest in the case. The next day a huge crowd clamors to enter the courtroom. A brigade of police and a special posse of citizens summoned by Judge Ingraham are required to keep order on the street outside the court and to make sure that room is saved inside for those conducting the trial.
    A rail separates the principals and the jury from the lucky members of the general public who manage to gain admittance. Ned Stokes’s father and brother have come. So have several mysterious, or at any rate unidentified, young ladies who appear to have a special interest in the case. Do they know Stokes? Personally? Others in the audience point at them and whisper.
    The background buzzing diminishes as counsel Beach and Fullerton enter, escorting two women wearing black dresses and full veils over their faces. From their apparel, sobs, and general demeanor the audience surmises that these are the widow of the victim and her friend from Boston. Someone suggests that one or both of the women will testify; the audience quietly but emphatically debates the likelihood of such an event.
    Ned Stokes enters, immediately shifting the undercurrent of conversation in a different direction. He tries to appear unconcerned but has difficulty carrying it off. He has visibly aged since last seen in public, on the day of the murder; his black hair is streaked with silver, his face is drawn and pale, his eye lacks its former luster. He seems fully aware of the gravity of his situation: that this trial is for his life.
    Judge Ingraham scowls as he takes the bench. He glares at the audience to warn against any outbursts of emotion. He frowns at the opposing legal teams to let the district attorney and the high-priced counsel know that this is his court, where his rules apply.
    The prosecution calls its first witness. Charles Hill identifies himself as a lumber dealer in West Troy who travels to New York frequently on business. He was a guest at the Grand Central Hotel on January 6. “I went into the hotel a little before four o’clock and went up to the second floor by the front elevator,” he says. “While standing there I heard the report of a pistol. First I could not say exactly where it proceeded from, but a second followed in quick succession, and appeared to come from the hall on the second side of the elevator. I went to the other side and saw a man standing on the left of the hall; I saw that man make a motion of his hand, turn and come toward me; as he passed I asked what was up and he said there was a man shot. I went on to the stairs and saw a man whom I recognized as Colonel Fisk down, I think, upon the platform of the stairs, leaning on the rail. At that instant someone said, ‘There is the man that shot him,’ and I immediately followed after him. I returned