I was not there at the end, and I expected to know no more about it than what was reported in the Salisbury Watchman a week thereafter. But some time later I chanced to run in to my former co-counsel, the Iredell County attorney Captain Richard Allison, in the courthouse in Charlotte. He was there on another matter, but, upon seeing me, he delayed his departure for home in order to spend an hour with me, so that I might hear how it all ended in the Dula case, for he had indeed been there.
We repaired to a quiet corner, where we could sit undisturbed and talk without being overheard. After we got the initial pleasantries out of the way, Allison turned somber. “I was there, Governor,” he said. “The man died bravely. I thought it my duty to see it through.”
I sighed. “I wish we could have saved him. Did you speak to him before the end?”
“I did, yes. He sent for me. I never thought he would, for the jailers were saying how indifferent he was to his impending execution. He laughed and joked about the fact that he was to die the next day, and he refused the offers of ministers who would have offered him spiritual solace. His sister Eliza and her new husband made the journey from Wilkes County to Statesville with a wagon, in order to take the body back home for burial after the hanging. She brought him a note from their mother, imploring him to confess the truth of what happened, so that she could cease to be tormented by doubts and questions, but his only response to this was to ask that his sister and brother-in-law be allowed to see him.”
“I don’t suppose the jailers agreed to that?”
Captain Allison shook his head. “They had every reason not to trust Tom Dula. Even when he was locked in his cell, they kept him shackled to the wall on a length of chain. He did not mean to die if he could help it.”
“One can hardly blame him for that.”
“No, I suppose not. That night the jailer took him his supper, and he ate heartily as if he had another twenty years to live instead of only that many hours. But as the jailer got up to leave, he noticed that one of the links on the prisoner’s shackles was loose. He called at once for another guard to help him, and together they examined the chain. When they saw that the link had been filed through, they knew that the prisoner had somehow got a weapon in his cell, so they began to search.”
“Did they find it?”
“A piece of window glass. He had concealed it in his bed. The jailer told me that he scowled fiercely at them when they found it, but by the time they started to remedy the damage to the chain, his mood had turned sardonic again. He told them the chain had been severed so for some weeks. But he must have realized that their finding the break had ended his last chance to escape before the execution the next day, and at last he accepted the fact that he was going to die. When at last the jailer turned to leave, Dula asked that I be summoned to meet with him as soon as possible.”
I considered that, momentarily stung that he had not asked for me instead. Pride is the besetting sin of the public man. “I suppose that was because he knew that you lived in Statesville? No doubt I would have been hard to locate, being down here in Charlotte, and time was short.”
“I expect that was the way of it, Governor,” said Captain Allison. “They sent a man to fetch me, and he found me at dinner, but I came away as soon as I could, and made my way to the jail. They led me to his cell-and they made sure to tell me about that filed chain, so that I’d be on my guard against any move he might make against me-but I think by then he had given up hope. He sat there on his cot, shoulders slumped, staring at the floor. He did not even look up when I came in. I hoped that he was praying.”
“I doubt it.”
“No. Perhaps not. I said, ‘Well, Tom. I have come. If there’s anything I can do to ease your mind, you can depend upon me to do it.’ He looked up at me then, and there was nothing of the joker about him anymore. His face was ashen and haggard with worry. I only hoped that he would recover his bravado before the execution. As a soldier, he would not wish to be dragged to the gallows begging for his life.”
I shuddered. “There are some things that put dying in the shade.”
“Yes. To die like a slaughtered hog would be no end for a brave soldier, no matter what his crimes were. But I was no minister, so I knew he had not called for me to hear tales about repentance and salvation. I warned him, ‘There is nothing more that I can do for you under the law. You would be better off making your peace with God, than by trying to struggle any more against the decree of the state.’
“He nodded. Then he picked up a length of the chain that shackled him to the wall, and let it fall again. ‘They told you about this, then? Well, I had to try. I reckon I am bound to die, Captain Allison. So there is something I need to leave with you. But first I must have your word-on your sacred honor-that you will keep secret what I am about to give you while there is still breath in my body.’
“I put my hand on his shoulder, to reassure him, I suppose, and I told him upon my obligation as his attorney that it was my duty to do his bidding, within the limits of the law. ‘And if it is your dying wish, then I am honor bound as a gentleman to do as you ask, so long as no other person is harmed by your request.’ He smiled then, and for an instant there, he seemed to get back a bit of his boldness. ‘It won’t harm nobody, Captain. Just the other way around. I aim to save a life.’
“He asked me if I had a bit of paper on me. I fished about in my jacket pockets and finally found a rumpled scrap of notepaper, and a stub of pencil, which I handed over to him. He slipped down off the cot and smoothed out the bit of paper on the floor. While I stood there watching, he grasped the pencil, curling all his fingers around the haft. He set his face in a frown of concentration, with the tip of his tongue tucked in to the corner of his mouth-for all the world, the way a child does when it is just learning penmanship. I felt a stab of pity for him then, for he wasn’t much more than a boy himself-or he might have been, if the War had not come.”
I had lost as much as anybody in that war-a seat in the United States Senate, and the chance to someday be President-but every time I passed a cemetery, or spied a woman in widow’s weeds, or met a one-legged man hobbling along on a crutch, I was humbled by the thought that my sacrifice was mere vanity compared to theirs. We lost so much in that infernal war. So much. “Do you think that the War made Tom Dula into a killer, Captain?”
Allison shook his head. “The man was a drummer in the 42nd North Carolina-just a music maker, nothing more. And the records say that he spent half the War on sick call. Indeed, I am still not convinced-well, you must let me finish my tale, Governor. Dula passed a few minutes laboriously carving words on to that scrap of paper, and when he had completed it to his satisfaction, he handed it up to me. ‘Not until I am dead, mind,’ he warned me as he gave it to me, and I had to promise once again to honor his wish. Only then would he allow me to read what he had written.
“It was the simplest of documents. Only a few short words, but it said everything. He had written: ‘Statement of Thomas C. Dula-I declare that I am the only person that had any hand in the murder of Laura Foster. April 30, 1868.’ I read it through twice. My first feeling upon seeing those words was one of relief that we were not sending an innocent man to the gallows through any lack of skill as attorneys. But a moment later I found to my dismay that I did not believe him. I thought that statement was designed to set people’s minds at rest-but also to effect the release of the other defendant. He could not save his own life, but it was within his power to save hers.
“He had clambered back up on the cot now, straightening out the heavy chain that bound him fast. He was watching me closely as I read his confession. I slipped the document into my pocket, and fixed him with a stern gaze. ‘Is this the truth, Tom Dula? Do you swear to it?’