Continued:

"MY DEAR OLD FRIEND:--Do let me know through the channel I have prescribed. Also, let my poor wife know what is the prospect, and she can give me to understand. Tell her to be careful, for they are going to have her sworn; and that is one reason why they have cut her off from me—is for the purpose of setting her against me if they can, and take advantage of her weak mind. Caution her to be on her watch, and not to talk any on the subject, and not to suffer them to question her, and if they try, let her answer be this, "to let that be done on the trial," and stop there. Don’t forget to tell her, if you please. Try to write her a letter in by the lawyers at court, if you cannot get them in by Hoyt, but you can. Get him also to take mine, and I will pay him for you. Tell my wife to give him something, but be sure to do the main thing—to put aside that evidence by hook or by crook. Were you here and suffering as I do now,, I would go to death almost, to rescue you. You cannot begin to think how bad it is. I can’t tell myself. I have said enough for you to understand...."

These communications were signed, with rueful humor, "The Old Horse In the Stable."

Carawan had written to his unknown friend "You understand me." Lest others lack understanding, prosecuting counsel stood ready to interpret. Plainly, it was urged, Carawan wanted the damaging evidence of his grand-nephew removed—by bribery or, failing that, by a more violent method. "...boys that would do thus and thus,....by hook or by crook....." The prosecution closed that same evidence, and on the following day, November 26, the defense announced that it would impeach the testimony of Carawan Sawyer.

Several persons said that Sawyer had told different and less damaging stories about Carawan at the time of the murder, and that during the early days of the trial Sawyer boasted in his cups of money he would make. Only six witnesses spoke for the defense, and in the afternoon David M. Carter delivered the opening argument for the prosecution.

An adjournment until Monday, November 28, and Satterthwaite addressed the jury, though he was ill and sometimes wavered on his feet. He was followed by Stevenson for the state, then by Rodman for the defense. On Tuesday Bryan closed the argument for the prisoner, and that afternoon Warren made the final speech to the jury.

Much had been made by the defense of the fact that only circumstantial evidence had been brought against Carawan, and Warren commented upon this argument with harsh irony.

"We have heard enough eloquence and rhetoric," he said, "and rhetoric and eloquence enough to acquit the prisoner at the bar, if rhetoric and eloquence could avail him. We would suppose that not George W. Carawan, but the state’s counsel, the witnesses for the prosecution, and the people of Hyde , were on trial here for high crimes and misdemeanors.... But the evidence in this case discloses a murder as foul and atrocious as can be found in the history of crime."

He then proceeded to notice the slurs cast by the defense counsel on circumstantial evidence, both generally and in its specific presentation against Carawan. His remarks were long held in North Carolina to be the classic upholding of that sort of evidence.

"What is circumstantial?" he asked. "It is the evidence of facts, which, according to the course of human experience, usually, and almost invariably accompany an act....If a man commits theft, he does it not in the presence of his fellows. If he commits arson, or burglary, or robbery, he takes no witness with him to testify to the act. If he commits murder, if he coolly and deliberately plots the crime of blood, he seeks to perpetrate the crime where no eye can see him, and where no human sagacity can follow his footsteps. How can he be detected, or brought to answer to justice and the violated law, except by administering the rules of circumstantial evidence?"

This argument he re-enforce by reading largely from books of high legal authority, and by reviewing much of the testimony, especially sworn accounts of Carawan’s hints about enmity and violence toward Lassiter.

"I trust," he finished, " that you will so perform your duty, as to satisfy both your own consciences and the claims of public justice."

It was now half-past six. Judge Bailey made a brief charge to the jury. He turned his attention to Carawan Sawyer’s story and the attacks made upon it by the defense. "You will not convict, gentlemen of the jury, on the testimony of a single tainted witness," he said. "If the matter goes only to his discredit, to his bad character—if his statements out of doors differ from his statements on the stand, the jury will consider the testimony, and give it that weight which it deserves. But if on the stand, in questions pertinent to the issue, he should deny a particular thing, or say that he did not remember when he did remember, and the denial is corrupt, then the witness is guilty of perjury, and the rule is that you must set the whole aside."

These words were sweet in the ears of Carawan’s attorneys, and sweetest of all in the ears of Carawan himself. After the jury commenced its deliberations, he went under guard to supper. Elatedly he told his wife, "The jury will acquit me and I will go to Hyde County tomorrow morning on the steamboat."

But an hour passed, and the judge summoned jury, attorneys, and defendant back to the courtroom. He announced that some of the language of his charge might have been misunderstood. He had not intended a flat instruction to disregard Sawyer’s testimony, but only a rehearsal of the defense’s claims concerning it.

"The prisoner’s counsel claim that they have a right to have the testimony of this witness set aside by a stubborn rule of the law," he clarified his earlier remarks and sent the jury back to its room to make up its own mind.

Carawan’s spirits sank.
"I shall be condemned tomorrow," he told his wife, "and then they will fasten me up in this place, and you will never be permitted to see me again until I am taken out to be hung."

He asked, and received, permission for his wife and children to spend the night with him in the jail. His wife achieved a make-shift bed for the three little boys. Carawan paced the floor of his dungeon, talking to her on a variety of subjects not subsequently revealed.

In the morning he shaved, and ate the sort of hearty breakfast generally assigned by journalists to persons already condemned. Then he sat down and wrote something on a slip of paper. He handed his spectacles and the inkstand to Mary Carawan.
"Put them away," he directed her, "and be careful not to spill the ink."

She saw the note, folded small, between his fingers. He many have meant for her to take it,, too, but did not put it in her hand. It was never seen again. Deputy Sheriff Joseph J. Hinton came to lead him to court.

"Goodbye," he called to other prisoners. You will never see me again." He also shook the hand of the jailer’s wife and turned to leave. He shed a few tears, but dried them before he entered the courtroom.

At 8:30 the jury appeared. Judge Bailey came in shortly after. Carawan sat down behind his attorneys. Not far away Mrs. Carawan took her place, the boys beside her, and began to sob. Solicitor Stevenson and Edward Warren also entered and stood in front of the judge’s bench.
"Have you agreed upon a verdict?" the clerk, Mr. Jollie, asked the jury.
"We have," they replied.
"Who shall say for you?" asked Jollie.
Benjamin Patrick, the foreman, rose. Jollie faced the prisoner.
"George Washington Carawan, hold up you right hand," he ordered.
Carawan got to his feet, lifting his hand. He fixed his brilliant eyes upon Patrick.
"Look upon the prisoner, you that have been sworn," Jollie was saying to the jury. "What say you—is he guilty of the felony whereof he stands indicted, or not guilty?"

"Guilty," said Patrick, meeting Carawan’s stare.
Carawan sat down, bent forward, and whispered to his lawyers. Bryan rose and asked that the jury be polled. Jollie called the jurors by name.

"Guilty or not guilty?" he asked each in turn; and each replied, "Guilty." Carawan gazed from juror to juror. As the last of them spoke, he began to unbutton his vest. Jollie swiftly entered the verdict in his records, and spoke once more:

"Gentlemen of the jury, hearken to your verdict as the court has recorded it. You say that
George Washington Carawan is guilty of the felony and murder whereof he stands indicted. So say you all."
Judge Bailey then said, "Gentlemen of the jury, you are discharged. The court will take a recess of one hour."

Carawan sprang erect again. From inside his shirt he snatched a single-barreled pistol---how he had managed to get possession of it in jail, nobody has ever explained. Aiming at Warren, he fired. The courtroom rang with the explosion, and Warren fell sprawling but struggled up again.

Carawan, meanwhile, had drawn another pistol. Hinton, the deputy, sprang to grapple with him. Powerfully Carawan dragged himself free, pushed the muzzle against his own head behind the ear, and again touched trigger. Abruptly he collapsed into his chair, his right arm hanging over the railing and his head sagging forward upon his chest. Blood crimsoned his face and his open shirt front.

Judge Bailey had left the bench. Everyone was shouting and milling. Warren seemed the calmest person there, save only for the silent, slack figure in the prisoner’s box. To anxious questions, Warren replied that he was unhurt. The bullet had struck a locket that he wore under his clothes and had glanced away, tearing the stiff padding in his lapel.

Examination proved that Carawan’s brain had been pierced from side to side, the bullet lodging just above his left eye. He had died as instantly, perhaps, as had Clement Lassiter. His face, when the blood was sponged from it, seemed quiet and peaceful.

He was buried, appropriately enough, on the spot where once a gallows had stood near the Beaufort County almshouse. Later his relatives brought the body to Rose Bay, where neighbors protested against it burial there. The final grave was dug at Juniper Bay, some miles distant.

The story was told for years that his unquiet spirit walked the shore at that point, and within recent times there were not wanting those who said the believed it.