A Photographer's Story.

Western Star, Issue 1385, 31 August 1889, Page 1 (Supplement)

A Photographer's Story.

I am a photographer; and, taken altogether, have been as successful in my vocation as most men, for I have managed to lay by a tidy little sum for my old age, which always gives a man a feeling of security. Besides this, I have seen many interesting scenes in different countries, having been, when a youtig man, connected with several illustrated papers in the capacity of an artist. The railways, of late years, have employed many of us in connection with their books on summer travel. It was on one of these trips that the events in the story which I am about to relate occured. I was returning from a journey through the mountainous region in which the H. andL. railway runs, and had taken a large numbsjl oi photographs for the company. The sun had dipped below the western l|>rizon, and the stars glimmered in the heavens like beacons of hope. I had intended to reaoh home that evening, but had missed the train, and was obliged to walk two miles to the nearest hotel. In what seemed to me a short time, for lam fond of a walk under the broad canopy of heaven with only my thoughts for company, I reached the hostelry, and after carefully attending to the valise whrch contained my negatives, retired for the night, and was soon fas<; asleep. I awoke early in the and was soon in the street. .*$ was the Fourth of July, and the streets of the city of Wellington were thronged with people. Evnrybody seemed to breathe the air of ipdependence and freedom, which on this.day always inspires in the mind of an A aerican. The city had appropriated qh te a respectable sum for the day, and y<j£mg and old alike were participating || its enjoyment. • It was a&w day. The sun shone in regal splendoji, and although quite warm, a gentle breeM like some angel of mercy, sprang up ajlf fanned the faces of the multitude. M ten o'clock the grand procession, eomioaed of civil and military companies, nffrcked down the principal street. As the parade passed I deoided to photograpn it, and hastened to the hotel for my camera. I was delayed somewhat in obtaining it, and was obliged to set it up in a more obscure place than I desired ; but I was determined to make an exposure, and so, waiting for a favourable opportunity, I drew the slide and sprang the trap. I then carried my box to the hotel, where I remained until afternoon, and then returned home. , Tue next <wo weeks were spent in developing w% plates and placing them in envelopes prepared for the purpose. For Borne time I had made it a rule to enclose each plate exposed in taeso wrappers, marked with the date, time of exposure, briliianoy of the sun, and the size of the stop used. This aided me in my work, and could be referred to at any subsequent time. The plate on which I had photographed the scene inWeliington came up readily, and, when printed, made a good picture. The marching men in their fine costumes stood out in bold relief against the background of a white wooden block, while the lights and shades blended with each other as perfectly as one could desire, but the scene in the foreground especially drew my attention. It was the figure of a man dressed in ragged clothes, handing something to an old woman, and came direotly in front of the camera, showing his features plainly. His hair was long, and protruded from beneath the rim of an old felt bat. -His features were plain, but the expression was strong and kindly, although there seemed to be a sad look about them. Tn short, you might look at his clothes aril declare him a beggar, but to look at his|ice was to call him a gentleman. [ After fiuiajring the picture I laid it away amongJftber samples, and for five months nevfMuad occasion to look at it.

One morniujm was sitting in my studio reading the nferniug paper, when my eye fell upon the tut of a man who was being tried for his me in a neighbouring city. The face seeif.ed familiar, and I tried to remember wlAre I had seen.it, Like a flash it came fipon me ; the face in the paper .vas thf one I had photographed five months ifefore. I became interested, and eagerly read the acoont of the murder, and the evidence against the | prisoner. It was plainly circumstantial, but so strong that it seemed conclusive; that the man was guilty. A farmer wasjat work in his barn among the horseß an<) cattle, when someone had Btolen up behind and struck him a terrible blow on the back of the head. No motive, except robbery, could be found for the deed, and suspicion at once fell upon a tramp who ln,d been seen about the town a few days previous to the murder. He was arrested >n a village some miles off, lodged in jail, and was now undergoing trial. Furthermore, the paper stated that the proseoution had nearly closed, and the defence would soon open.

The next sentence startled me : ' The coroner's jury find that the man was murdured between the hours of 9 and 10 a. m. on the morning of the Fourth of July.' I threw the paper down and went to an old closet where I kept my plates, and had no difficulty in finding the one I was seeking. Looking at the writing on the envelope, I read : 1 Date, Ju}y 4, 78. 'Time, 9. 51) a. m. ' Sun, brigiit sunlight. ' Stop, .Nc| 4, instantaneous.' There coulij be no doubt in my mind that the murfiar was committed at nearly the time I hsa. taken the photograph in Wallington, aad consequently the crime could not have been perpetrated by the man held, provided the face in the photograph and that of the prisoner were identical. I compared the two prints, and the more I examined them the more satisfied I became that they were one and the same. 1 decided to go to L the next day. That night I could not sleep, thinking of the-murder trial, and of the fate of the prisoner, so sure had I become of the man's innocence. In the morning I took the train and soon reached the city. Proceeding directly to the court-house, I found the prosecution closed, aud the defence opened. The prisoner sat at the bar, the same sad look upon his face that I had noticed in ttie photograph. Now that I saw him face to I was doubly sure that I was right in my conjecture, but I was bound to be certain of my position before making my evidence known.

The defence was weak in every particular, the prisoner's story being ursubstamiated by any witness. He was a stranger and a tramp. He was seen about Moulton only the day before the murder, and could not prove his whereabouts on that day. Indeed,it appeared that he had no case at all on which he could base the slightest hopes of acquittal, and the only thiug that seemed in his favour was the skill of the lawyer, who handled his esse remarkably well. His examination of the man was most satisfactory to me, the design being to obtain from the prisoner every movement he had made on that fatal day, hoping, as the papers printed it, that it might stimulate the memory of someone who saw the prisoner then. ' On what day did you leave Moulton ?' questioned the lawyer. ' On the day previous to the murder, at about nine o'clock in ttu forenoon,' was the answer. ' For what purpose ? ' ' To obtain work.' 1 Did you seek employment while in Moulton ?' ' I did.' ' With what success ? ' ' I found a few days' work there, and got my board and a very little money. It was in hope of obtaining steady employment that I went to Wellington.' 1 When you arrived there where did you spend the night ? ' ' In an old barn that stands alone in a field as you enter the city from the south road. I noticed it as 1 passed, and thought it a good place for a night's lodgings.' ' How long have you been a tramp ?' queried the lawyer. Here the sad look came over the trarxp's face more strongly than I had noticed) it before. ' For eight years,' he answered, ' since my wife died. At the time of her death I was employed by the railway, but disheartned by this event, I left and sought work at some other place, but could not fiud it. Since then I have become what I now am, a tramp ; bus, before Heaven, lam innocent of the crime with which I am charged.' He said this in so straightforward a manner as to elicit the sympathy of judge and spectators alike. ' Did you try to obtain work in Wellington? '

" I did, but not on the Fourth of July, the shops and places of business being closed.'

' Proceed and tell the court how you passed the day.'

'lawoke early in the morning; the sun was shining brightly, and having no board bill to settle, I proceeded down the road to the city ; it was about six o'clock, jl should think, and a large number of people were in the gstreets. I wandered about until eight o'clock, when I entered a cheap restaurant and got a bit to eat. I passed the time until nine o'clock in the main street. It was about this time the grand procession came along, and I watched it until it passed, and then entered the park and remained there upon one of the seats for about half an hour. Becoming tirej, I again went into the street and met the parade as it came down Lincoln Street. I watched it five or ten minutes, when I was touched upon che arm by an old beggar woman, who asked me for a few cents. Poor as I was (tor I had but half a dollar left since breakfast had robbed me of a quarter), and being moved by the woman's story of poverty, I handed her a dime, and she went her way. If the old woman could be found I am sure my story would be proved true, and perhaps my lifa saved. From ten o'clock, for it was about this lime that I stood at the 'corner with the beggar woman, I passed my time upon the street, and went back to my barn early in the afternoon. I did not go out again till the next morning, wkea I found work, and was doing well until arrested for the crime with which I am charged.' The prosecuting lawyer cross-examined him, but failed to elict any new facts, or to break down his testimony in the least. The prisoner's lawyer then arose and said, ' In the absence of witness—'

My t'me had come, and I sprang to my feet, and in a clear voice said, ' I am a witness for the defence.' Had a peal of thunder, bursting from a clear sky, filled the room, it could not have caused more surprise to the prisoner and his lawyer. They looked as they felt, startled in the extreme, while a murmur ran through the crowd of spectators, tor it had been published time and again that no one could be found to testify in the prisoner's behalf. I strode through the main aisle of the room to the witness-box, and as I passed the dock, I impulsively held out my hand, and the prisoner grasped it fervently. Wnat was it that passed between us ? It was like an electric shock, he told me afterwards, but I have always believed it was . the thrill of hope, which at that moment filled my mind, conveyed along nis strained nerves to his brain. I went into the box and told all I knew with regard to the case. How I had been in Wellington, on the Fourth, and had seen the parade ; how I had photographed it; the position I had occupied and the time I sprang the shutter, all of which tallied exactly with the prisoner's story.

' But,' said the prosecuting lawyer, ' what bearing has this on the case ? ' ' Wait and you will see,' I replied, and drawing from my pocket the photograph, I held it up before the court. ' This,' I said, 'is what I obtained with my camera. In the foreground of this picture, in full view, is the face and figure of the prisoner at the bar. He occupies a position which he has described to you. The old beggar woman is there, and her hand is held to receive something from him. Upon the envelope which contained the plate from which this photograph was taken are these words and figures,' and I read the time, length of exposure, the date, and the size of the stop. ' If the crime was committed,' I continued, ' between the hours of nine and ten, it must have been by some other hand than that of the prisoner in the dock.' A murmur of applause again ran for a moment through the whole court, but was promptly silenced by the judge, who said, ' Let me see the picture.' He examined it closely aud said : " It certainly bears a striking resemblance to the prisoner, andj strongly corroborates jug story,'

The jury all closeiy inspected it and one of them asked if it could not be enlarged. I answered in the affirmative and the court adjourned for a week to give time for the work. By then it was finished, and I carried it into the court-room. This time there was no hesitation, for on 6 and all pronounced it to be a correct portrait of the prisoner, and it is needles to say that he was acquitted. The real murderer, I believe, was never found.