After leaving the prison, Robert had much to do. First, he walked to a nearby barracks, and found himself talking with an officer on duty, Captain Rogers, who he vaguely recognized from his previous travels to the area.

“Lieutenant Sanders summoned me here from St. Augustine to serve as the advocate in the Harrison DuPoint case,” Robert said.

“I see, you are the unfortunate soul who has to defend him,” Captain Rogers said after a short pause, trying to avoid saying something less respectful, Robert thought.

“It would be an easier task if there was someone to defend him from the threat of violence until the trial, at least,” Robert replied. “What is the point of trying to put someone on trial and obtaining defense if he doesn’t remain alive?”

“He’s in prison; he should be safe there,” Captain Rogers said.

“Well, I just walked from prison and he was all alone, with no one to guard him,” Robert said.

“He’s chained up and the prison is just unlocked for anyone and everyone to get there?” Captain Rogers asked dimly.

“Yes, that’s right,” Robert replied.

“What do you propose we do about it?” the on-duty captain asked.

“I would propose that at least a few soldiers be posted on duty outside the prison to let the local population know that we wish for all accused to survive to obtain a fair trial and whatever justice is owed to them,” Robert said.

“That would seem a reasonable concern,” the captain allowed.

“Is there any reason why this could not be done?” Robert said, expecting some bad news.

“As it happens, there is,” the captain said somewhat reluctantly. “The vast majority of our forces are on-duty at Ninety-Six, so we are only left with a limited amount of forces here. It is possible that the rebels will attack us here, and we would be in a tough spot.”

“I imagine that we will be in a tough spot if someone we have made a priority of defending finds himself lynched by a local mob,” Robert responded.

“That we would, and it might embolden the rebels further,” the captain answered.

“That is precisely my concern,” Robert answered.

“I will see to it that there are soldiers posted in front of the jail to demonstrate our commitment to the prisoner’s safety while the trial goes on,” the captain said.

“I appreciate it,” Robert said, tipping his cap, turning to conduct his other business.

Leaving the barracks, he saluted to the guard on duty and made his way around the main part of the town to the local courthouse, where he expected to be spending a lot of time, so he may as well find his way around now. He walked around the building, which was pretty well abandoned at the time, looking at the place where the audience would be, the judge, the jury box, and all. When he was leaving the courtroom itself he saw a clerk walking up to him, somewhat concerned.

“What is your business here?” the clerk demanded.

“I am Robert Woods, defense council for Harrison DuPont,” Robert said calmly.

“I see,” the clerk said, as if he had just swallowed a lemon.

“I was curious about something else,” Robert said.

“Ask away,” the clerk replied, wishing he had somewhere else to spend his time.

“Do you have any records relating to the DuPont case?” the clerk asked.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” the clerk said evasively.

“I am looking for one of two things,” Robert said. “Do you have information about the manumission of any of DuPont’s slaves, which should be on record, or any will from the late Mr. DuPont?”

“I do not have any information about that, but I will look it up,” the clerk said wearily.

“I would appreciate that,” Robert said. “I am aware that this city prides itself on its documentation.”

“I assure you if such documents exist that I will find them,” the clerk said.

Robert nodded and walked out of the courtroom. Having completed most of his business, he decided to ask a random man on the street where the late Mr. Dupont lived. He was pointed to a house nearby, and he walked around to see how close the houses were, how many people could have been potential eyewitnesses to the case, and how long it would have taken Harrison to find a doctor. This led him to start knocking on some doors, asking if anyone had seen the altercation between Harrison and his father. None of the people in any of the houses around showed any interest in talking to him. He asked another man on the street where the local doctor lived, and he was pointed to a modest house not too far away. He walked over and knocked on the door and an elderly black porter opened the door.

“My name is Robert Woods, is the doctor in?” Robert asked.

The porter nodded and let him in. “What sort of help would you be needing, sir?” he asked.

“I am here looking for information,” Robert replied.

The butler politely nodded and walked off to find his master, and it did not take too long for the doctor, himself a somewhat elderly man, to return.

“I am the doc, as everyone refers to me around here,” the doctor answered. “What sort of information were you looking for?”

“Do you remember a Harrison DuPont knocking on your door asking for help for his father?” Robert asked.

“Of course I remember it. It was only a few days ago. I’ll remember the frightened look on his face for as long as I live, which is not likely to be very long at any rate,” the doctor replied.

Robert thought to himself. “So Harrison appeared to be somewhat agitated when asking for your help?” he asked after a pause.

“Wouldn’t you?” the doctor answered, to which Robert could only nod his assent.

“What did you see when you got there?” Robert asked.

“We rushed out from here as fast as we could, and old James was on the ground, clutching at his chest, not breathing. I tried to do what I could for him, pressing his chest and all, but it wasn’t any use. He was gone,” the doctor replied.

“Is it your professional opinion that he died of natural causes?” Robert asked.

“I’m sure he and Harrison were in a pretty intense argument,” the doctor said. “But I agree, the death would not be foul play. He had no mark on him, there had been no bruises or abrasions or anything of that nature. He had just dropped dead of apoplexy and his days were up.”

“Would you be willing to speak about this matter in court?” Robert asked.

“I would indeed,” the doctor said. “I’m surprised I wasn’t asked before.”

“I just got here today, from Saint Augustine,” Robert said.

“They had to get an attorney all the way from there?” the doctor asked.

“I was told by the officer who fetched me that no local advocates were willing to take the case,” Robert answered.

“That seems likely. Any time there’s a bit of a contretemps between a white man and a black man, the only sort of deliberation most of the people here want to make is how long of a rope to hang him by,” the doctor answered.

“I can understand that many people would feel that defending a black person on such a charge, regardless of the facts of the case, would be detrimental their career in the law or to any sort of political ambitions they might have,” Robert answered.

“That’s pretty likely,” the doctor agreed.

“What makes you willing to take that risk as a witness,” Robert asked.

“I didn’t see the altercation and I won’t speak on that. I will limit my testimony to what I saw, and that is the state of Jimmie as he was dying,” the doctor answered.

“That is fair enough,” Robert allowed. “Are you aware if their arguing was a common thing?”

“Jimmie was an argumentative soul in general. He was not an ungenerous person, and he seldom resorted to violence, but he was a bit of a hothead and most of the people he had to deal with had been in arguments with him about something. If it wasn’t about politics or about his thoughts on some theological or intellectual matter, he would argue about the weather, about the price of any services you did for him and terms of repayment. Some people were just born to argue and he was like that. His boy, Harrison, seems to have taken at least a little bit after him and would give as good as he got, which meant that the rows could get long if he was doing something that his father questioned,” the doctor answered.

“Are you willing to discuss this sort of thing as well?” Robert asked.

“I’m not sure how it would help,” the doctor answered.

“This sort of propensity evidence can be a bit difficult to parse, but if it was common for Mr. Dupont to be an argumentative person and that his arguments with Harrison were viewed as being like father, like son, evidence of a willingness to debate or disagree but without violence, then we are not dealing with a case of malice aforethought, but of accident or mischance,” Robert replied.

“You really think that the people around here are going to be thinking about mischance or the accident that a black person could speed their way to the great beyond? Such an accident is not likely to be tolerated,” the doctor said.

“You’re probably right,” Robert said. “But we’re not just trying to convince the jury, who has responsibility over findings of fact, but also the judge, who is responsible for findings of law.”

“Most of our judges are just as racist, if not more so, than the average people around here,” the doctor said. “They just hide it better, with a veneer of refinement that exceeds the crudeness of the average person.”

“That’s probably true,” Robert agreed. “But we have to hope that there is at least some shred of justice to be found.”

“I hope, for your sake, that you’re right,” the doctor said.

Sensing his interview had come to a natural end, Robert parted from the doctor with a promise to call him as a witness, and then departed the residence. He found that the small size of Charleston’s major area was much to his liking, as his own inn, where he had often stayed in his trips here, was only a couple of blocks away. He walked to the inn and went inside.

“You come back for some more business?” the innkeeper said to him, recognizing a repeat customer.

“I was summoned here by the crown on legal business,” Robert replied.

“Are you telling me that you’re the one they brought to defend that darkie?” the innkeeper replied. Robert allowed that this was the case.

“How long will you be staying?” the innkeeper asked.

“Just as long as the trial, and then I plan on returning home to Florida,” Robert answered.

“How do you feel about Galvez? He’s taken over Pensacola, you know,” the innkeeper answered.

“I hope never to meet the man personally,” Robert answered. “We’re still pretty safe on the Atlantic side, but the loss of West Florida will certainly be painful to His Majesty’s government, I’m sure.”

“I’ve got your usual room ready,” the innkeeper replied. “We haven’t had many people in town over the past few months, so business has been slow.”

“That’s a shame, I know how much you like being able to pick up on the news from travelers in the know,” Robert answered.

“I don’t suppose that you have much news to share yourself,” the innkeeper asked.

“I don’t have much news to share at all,” Robert answered.

“That’s a pity,” the innkeeper replied.

“What’s the special of the day? I’ve been walking around conducting my rounds, and I have to admit I’m pretty hungry,” Robert asked.

“Today we have some chicken and rice soup, with the rice courtesy of some local plantations,” the innkeeper said.

“That sounds very appealing, I’ll try to have a couple of bowls before I settle in for the evening,” Robert answered. And so he did.