A Shot in the Moonlight, page 10
Hermann, the second-born and barely seventeen when his father defended their home, was called to testify. He wasn’t home when the white men came to his house. He was sleeping at his paternal grandmother’s about a half mile down the road. But he heard the gunfire that night and broke for home.
“When you got there, who did you find there?” Grider asked the boy.
“Nobody but the children and Mammy,” Hermann said.
“Did you see any men there when you got there?”
“No, sir.”
“Did you see your father?”
“No, sir.”
“Did you stay there until morning?”
“Yes, sir,” Hermann said, “and I got up, and I went looking for Pappy, and I couldn’t find him anywhere. And I went upstairs to where Pappy was shot and I saw some blood on the floor.”
Hermann told the jury that in the morning three men came by the house, including Bill King and John King, whom he recognized. He said that he did a thorough inspection of the inside of the house and found three bullets on the floor downstairs, and showed the bullets to the Kings. This evidence alone might have suggested that the men who claimed they had fired only at the upstairs window were lying.
“Mammy found one, too,” Hermann said, “and gave it to Mr. King.”
“Where was that one picked up?”
“Upstairs.”
Hermann said that he, too, saw bullet holes in the north door, and that those holes hadn’t been there the day before.
On cross-examination, Finn asked Hermann if he had picked the bullets up in front of the men who were there. Hermann said he found two before anyone arrived but picked up the third in front of Bill King and John King. Finn asked what he did with the bullets.
“I believe I give them to Claud Hackney and Bill King,” Hermann said. “I give one to Claud, and Bill King took the other.”
“You gave Claud one and Bill King two?” Finn asked.
“No, sir,” Hermann said. “I had one and lost it.”
“How old are you?”
“I don’t know exactly just how old I am,” Hermann said.
“About how old?”
“I reckon I am about fourteen,” Hermann said. “Somewhere along there.”
“Did your mother and father tell you how old you were?”
“Yes, sir,” Hermann said, “but it has been so long.”
All over Kentucky, men chose sides. Among them was Colonel William C. P. Breckinridge. His name was known across the state. He had power and clout and a distinguished heritage. His grandfather was John Breckinridge, a U.S. senator and cabinet minister. His cousin John C. Breckinridge served as vice president under James Buchanan and later ran for president. His father was a prominent minister and state superintendent for public instruction and a leader of the Union during the Civil War. Unlike his father and two brothers, William C. P. Breckinridge supported the Confederacy and rose to the rank of colonel in the Ninth Kentucky Cavalry. He rode with Morgan’s Men on their Christmas raid in 1862. After the war, he practiced law and wrote editorials for the Lexington Observer and Reporter for a few years and became known for his then-progressive stance on racial issues. He was a sought-after speaker, and he later took over editorials for the Lexington Morning Herald, where he regularly pushed egalitarian ideas on race. His caustic column on the Dinning trial was remarkable, and several newspapers republished it.
“Some months ago ‘an eminently respectable young gentleman,’ in company with other ’eminently respectable gentlemen,’ went to the house of a Negro man at midnight, and the Negro, in defense of his home, his family and himself, killed that ’eminently respectable young gentleman,’ and the other ’eminently respectable gentlemen’ in that community desired to hang that Negro for his lawful defense of his home. The Negro has been indicted, and is now on trial at Franklin. The Governor has sent parts of two companies to see that he is not hanged first and then tried.
“The officer in command asked that those attending the trial might be disarmed; the presiding judge refused to permit this; the prediction has been made that the Negro will be shot either in the courtroom or in going to or from the court. The Judge is Judge Reeves—one of the ablest and best Circuit Judges in the state. The grounds of his decision have not been given by authority. If this Negro should be killed by some one who would otherwise have been disarmed it would stick to this Judge closer and more fatally than the fabled shirt.
“It is an unseemly spectacle—the military guarding a prisoner under trial in a court of justice; it is a disgrace to Kentucky and to that county. But every sensible man knows that this Negro would be lynched if it were not for this guard; that if it were withdrawn he would be taken out of the custody of the officers of the law at once and hanged for an act that every brave man approves.
“In this county there has been a succession of really brave Jailers, and no man has been taken out of this jail by a mob for a generation or more. All this would be the history of all the counties if the Jailers had been brave officers and fit to hold their places.”
As risky as it was, Grider then called Eva Dinning, George and Mollie’s fifth, who was all of twelve years old. He spoke to her gently, starting with easy questions. Four men from the Conn family sat still in the hot courtroom, listening closely.
“What is your father’s name?” Grider asked.
“George Dinning,” the girl said.
“Were you at your father’s house the night that Mr. Conn got hurt there?”
“Yes,” she said.
“How old are you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who was at your father’s house that night but the family?”
“Nobody but me and Mammy and Pappy and the babies.”
“How many children were there?”
“There was one sick and the babies and me.”
“Which one was sick?”
“Viola was sick.”
“Where were you sleeping that night?”
“Upstairs,” she said.
“Where was your father and mother sleeping?”
“Downstairs.”
“Did you hear any noise downstairs that night?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What was the first thing you heard?” Grider asked.
“I heard someone call Pappy, and he asked who it was. And they said, ‘Friends.’ And they said, ‘George, you get out, and don’t you stop in fifty miles.’ And the man said Pappy had been stealing, and Pappy said he could prove he hadn’t. And then a man at the back door knocked on the door and said, ‘Shut up, or I will tear your damn shack down!’ And then I heard the shooting.”
“When they said, ‘Tear your damn shack down!’—then you heard the shot?” Grider asked.
“Yes, sir,” Eva said. “And my father started upstairs and I heard another shot.”
“You say your father started upstairs?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you heard another shot?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did you see your father come up into the room where you were?”
“Yes, sir, and he stood right at the foot of my bed.”
“Was your bed near the window?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Anybody sleeping in that room besides you?”
“Me and my sister.”
“After your father came upstairs, what happened then?” Grider asked.
“Pappy shot, and then they began to shoot fast and a bullet came through my hair,” Eva said.
“They began to shoot fast after your father shot?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You felt a bullet go through your hair?”
“Yes, sir,” Eva said. “The bullets just came through my hair and Pappy went downstairs.”
“What did your pappy do when the shooting quit?”
“He went downstairs and went out.”
“Did you get up and go down or stay up there?”
“I stayed up there until daylight, and then I got down.”
Her father wasn’t downstairs, just her mother and the babies. She told Grider that John and Bill King and John Webb came by the next morning. And that later John Bloodworth and Gib Hackney came.
Grider tried to ask about them being forced out of their home that evening, but Finn continued to object, saying that was irrelevant, had nothing to do with the crime of which George Dinning was accused. But Grider wanted the fundamentals on the record.
“What time in the evening did you leave?” he asked.
“Sundown,” Eva said.
“When you left, who went with you?” Grider said.
“Objection!” Finn said.
“Withdrawn,” Grider said. “Did anybody else leave when you did?”
“Objection!” Finn said.
“Withdrawn,” Grider said. “When did your mother leave?”
“At sundown,” Eva said.
“At the same time you did?” Grider asked.
“Yes, sir,” Eva said.
“When did your little brothers and sisters leave?”
“Same time.”
“Did you all carry away anything with you when you left?” Grider asked.
“Objection!” Finn said.
“Withdrawn,” Grider said. “Where was your mother next day?”
“In Tennessee,” Eva said.
“Did your mother go back to that house after that?”
“No, sir,” the little girl said. “Didn’t let her go back.”
“Whose house did she go to?”
“Aunt Dixie’s,” Eva said. “Our cousins.”
When it was time to cross-examine Eva Dinning, G. T. Finn was rough, and direct. He tested every memory. He challenged the little girl on minor inaccuracies. Where was the bed positioned? Who was sleeping where?
“Now, you didn’t get up and go downstairs till the next morning?”
“No, sir.”
“You stayed in the room upstairs all night?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Your two little sisters stayed there all night with you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Which way was the head of that bed?”
“Towards you.”
“Foot of the bed towards you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“The side of the bed was next to the window?”
“It was next to the wall.”
“One side of the bed was next to the wall?”
“Yes, sir.”
“It didn’t go as far down as the window?”
“No, sir.”
“On which side of the bed were you?”
“In front.”
On and on it went, the rapid back-and-forth, with Finn changing subjects and chronology often.
“That was winter time?”
“No, sir. It was warm.”
“You didn’t get up at all?”
“No, sir.”
“Not until morning?”
“No, sir.”
“When the shooting was going on did you raise up in bed?”
“I raised up.”
“Just as you raised up a bullet brushed through your hair?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How many bullets?”
“About a dozen came through my hair.”
Finn pounced.
“You was not in front of the window, were you?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” Eva said. “The bed was in front of the window.”
“You have just said to me that the head of the bed didn’t come as far as the window,” Finn said.
“No, sir,” the girl said. “I was setting facing the window, just under the window.”
“I think you said your bed was down here in the southeast corner of the room,” he said.
“It was,” she said.
“And didn’t come out as far as the window?”
“No, sir.”
“You were sitting in front of the window?”
“Yes, sir,” Eva said. “I was facing the window.”
“Where was the foot of your bed?”
“Setting right close to the window.”
“You just said that the foot of your bed was down here!”
“Yes, sir.”
“You say the head of your bed is in front of the window?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you just said the head of your bed didn’t reach as far up as the window?”
“No, sir.”
“The foot was away from the window?”
“Yes, sir,” Eva said. “The head of the bed was in front of the window.”
“Was the head of your bed or the foot of your bed closest to the window?”
“No, sir.”
“Was the foot of your bed close to the window?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Which was the closest?”
“Foot of my bed.”
“You say that just as your father was going up the steps a shot was fired?” Finn asked.
“Yes, sir,” Eva said.
“Well, go ahead,” Finn said.
“I was asleep and the dog barked,” Eva said, “and somebody came and knocked on the door and says, ‘George, I will give you ten days to get away from here and don’t you stop within fifty miles of here.’ And Pappy said he hasn’t been doing any stealing and could prove it, and a man at the back door fired, and Pappy started up the steps and they fired, and Pappy came upstairs to the window at my bed and shot, and then they shot fast, and the bullets came through my hair.”
“You were upstairs in bed?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Your father was downstairs?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You knew he was on the steps when the shot fired?”
“Yes, sir,” Eva said. “I heard him walking.”
“You could tell where he was by the way he walked?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You heard all those statements and you remember every word of it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You were not excited?”
“No, sir.”
“You didn’t get excited that night?”
“No, sir.”
“You didn’t get excited when the bullets whistled through your hair, did you?”
“No, sir.”
“About a dozen went through your hair you said?”
“Yes, sir.”
He was toying with her now.
“What time next morning did you go down?” Finn asked.
“Daylight,” Eva said.
“Who did you say were there?”
“Mr. King and his son, and Mr. John Webb.”
“Do you know them?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Are you positive about that?” he said.
“No, sir.”
“Are you certain they were there when you went down the next morning?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Was Claud Hackney the first person there?”
“No, sir,” Eva said. “Mr. Hackney and his son, and Arch Campbell.”
“Were they the first ones there?”
“Yes, sir. I believe they were that morning.”
“Mr. King was the first one there?”
“Mr. King came before any of them.”
“Before Mr. Hackney?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Mr. Hackney was there when you got up?”
“Yes, sir,” Eva said. “He was there when I got up.”
“Mr. King came before you got up?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You were downstairs in the house before day?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You say your father got shot upstairs?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Whereabouts?”
“In the window.”
“Did he get shot in the head?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Got shot in the head and arm upstairs?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Where was he when he got shot?”
“At my bed.”
“Had he gotten to the window?”
“No, sir.”
“Had not quite gotten to the window?”
“No, sir.”
“He got shot in the head before he opened the window?”
“No, sir,” Eva said. “After he had opened the window. The window was open that day.”
“The window was open that night when you went to bed?”
“Yes, sir.”
The banter went on like this for a long while. Finn was savage, challenging every answer.
“Was the shutter closed?” he asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Not open?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Wasn’t that a cold night in January?”
“No, sir,” Eva said. “It was warm.”
“Was it August,” he asked.
“No, sir,” she said. “It was warm inside in January.”
He challenged the girl on what she heard, asking again and again if she could repeat the dialogue from that night more than five months ago. But she answered.
“Did they say there had been a lot of meat houses broken into in the neighborhood?” Finn asked.
“I never heard it,” Eva said.
“Did you hear anything said about smokehouses?”
“No, sir.”
“About meat having been stolen?”
“No, sir,” she said. “I never heard it.”
“How were those shots fired?” he asked, out of the blue.
“There was about three shots fired, and Pappy came upstairs,” Eva said. “There was three fired at the back door and Pappy came up and shot.”
“There were three shots fired at the back door downstairs before your pappy came upstairs and shot?” Finn asked.
“Yes, sir,” Eva said.
“And then there was a lot of shooting?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Was that all the shooting before he came upstairs?”
“Yes, sir,” Eva said. “Before pappy shot upstairs.”
Chapter 9
Son of the South
In Louisville, Colonel Bennett H. Young was paying close attention to the trial through the city’s daily newspapers, in which he was frequently lauded for this or that. He read the papers every day and the coverage of Dinning’s trial was front-page news in all of them.
