A Daughter of the Snows

by Jack London

  CHAPTER XXVIII

  Jacob Welse was given due respect when he arose at the convening of theminers' meeting and denounced the proceedings. While such meetings hadperformed a legitimate function in the past, he contended, when therewas no law in the land, that time was now beyond recall; for law wasnow established, and it was just law. The Queen's government had shownitself fit to cope with the situation, and for them to usurp its powerswas to step backward into the night out of which they had come.Further, no lighter word than "criminal" could characterize suchconduct. And yet further, he promised them, in set, sober terms, ifanything serious were the outcome, to take an active part in theprosecution of every one of them. At the conclusion of his speech hemade a motion to hold the prisoner for the territorial court and toadjourn, but was voted down without discussion.

  "Don't you see," St. Vincent said to Frona, "there is no hope?"

  "But there is. Listen!" And she swiftly outlined the plot of thenight before.

  He followed her in a half-hearted way, too crushed to partake of herenthusiasm. "It's madness to attempt it," he objected, when she haddone.

  "And it looks very much like hanging not to attempt it," she answered alittle spiritedly. "Surely you will make a fight?"

  "Surely," he replied, hollowly.

  The first witnesses were two Swedes, who told of the wash-tub incident,when Borg had given way to one of his fits of anger. Trivial as theincident was, in the light of subsequent events it at once becameserious. It opened the way for the imagination into a vast familiarfield. It was not so much what was said as what was left unsaid. Menborn of women, the rudest of them, knew life well enough to be aware ofits significance,--a vulgar common happening, capable of but oneinterpretation. Heads were wagged knowingly in the course of thetestimony, and whispered comments went the rounds.

  Half a dozen witnesses followed in rapid succession, all of whom hadclosely examined the scene of the crime and gone over the islandcarefully, and all of whom were agreed that there was not the slightesttrace to be found of the two men mentioned by the prisoner in hispreliminary statement.

  To Frona's surprise, Del Bishop went upon the stand. She knew hedisliked St. Vincent, but could not imagine any evidence he couldpossess which would bear upon the case.

  Being sworn, and age and nationality ascertained, Bill Brown asked himhis business.

  "Pocket-miner," he challenged back, sweeping the assemblage with anaggressive glance.

  Now, it happens that a very small class of men follow pocketing, andthat a very large class of men, miners, too, disbelieve utterly in anysuch method or obtaining gold.

  "Pocket-miner!" sneered a red-shirted, patriarchal-looking man, a manwho had washed his first pan in the Californian diggings in the earlyfifties.

  "Yep," Del affirmed.

  "Now, look here, young feller," his interlocutor continued, "d'ye meanto tell me you ever struck it in such-fangled way?"

  "Yep."

  "Don't believe it," with a contemptuous shrug.

  Del swallowed fast and raised his head with a jerk. "Mr. Chairman, Irise to make a statement. I won't interfere with the dignity of thecourt, but I just wish to simply and distinctly state that after themeeting's over I'm going to punch the head of every man that gets gay.Understand?"

  "You're out of order," the chairman replied, rapping the table with thecaulking-mallet.

  "And your head, too," Del cried, turning upon him. "Damn poor orderyou preserve. Pocketing's got nothing to do with this here trial, andwhy don't you shut such fool questions out? I'll take care of youafterwards, you potwolloper!"

  "You will, will you?" The chairman grew red in the face, dropped themallet, and sprang to his feet.

  Del stepped forward to meet him, but Bill Brown sprang in between andheld them apart.

  "Order, gentlemen, order," he begged. "This is no time for unseemlyexhibitions. And remember there are ladies present."

  The two men grunted and subsided, and Bill Brown asked, "Mr. Bishop, weunderstand that you are well acquainted with the prisoner. Will youplease tell the court what you know of his general character?"

  Del broadened into a smile. "Well, in the first place, he's anextremely quarrelsome disposition--"

  "Hold! I won't have it!" The prisoner was on his feet, trembling withanger. "You shall not swear my life away in such fashion! To bring amadman, whom I have only met once in my life, to testify as to mycharacter!"

  The pocket-miner turned to him. "So you don't know me, eh, Gregory St.Vincent?"

  "No," St. Vincent replied, coldly, "I do not know you, my man."

  "Don't you man me!" Del shouted, hotly.

  But St. Vincent ignored him, turning to the crowd.

  "I never saw the fellow but once before, and then for a few briefmoments in Dawson."

  "You'll remember before I'm done," Del sneered; "so hold your hush andlet me say my little say. I come into the country with him way back in'84."

  St. Vincent regarded him with sudden interest.

  "Yep, Mr. Gregory St. Vincent. I see you begin to recollect. Isported whiskers and my name was Brown, Joe Brown, in them days."

  He grinned vindictively, and the correspondent seemed to lose allinterest.

  "Is it true, Gregory?" Frona whispered.

  "I begin to recognize," he muttered, slowly. "I don't know . . . no,folly! The man must have died."

  "You say in '84, Mr. Bishop?" Bill Brown prompted.

  "Yep, in '84. He was a newspaper-man, bound round the world by way ofAlaska and Siberia. I'd run away from a whaler at Sitka,--that squaresit with Brown,--and I engaged with him for forty a month and found.Well, he quarrelled with me--"

  A snicker, beginning from nowhere in particular, but passing on fromman to man and swelling in volume, greeted this statement. Even Fronaand Del himself were forced to smile, and the only sober face was theprisoner's.

  "But he quarrelled with Old Andy at Dyea, and with Chief George of theChilcoots, and the Factor at Pelly, and so on down the line. He got usinto no end of trouble, and 'specially woman-trouble. He was alwaysmonkeying around--"

  "Mr. Chairman, I object." Frona stood up, her face quite calm andblood under control. "There is no necessity for bringing in the amoursof Mr. St. Vincent. They have no bearing whatsoever upon the case;and, further, none of the men of this meeting are clean enough to beprompted by the right motive in conducting such an inquiry. So Idemand that the prosecution at least confine itself to relevanttestimony."

  Bill Brown came up smugly complacent and smiling. "Mr. Chairman, wewillingly accede to the request made by the defence. Whatever we havebrought out has been relevant and material. Whatever we intend tobring out shall be relevant and material. Mr. Bishop is our starwitness, and his testimony is to the point. It must be taken intoconsideration that we nave no direct evidence as to the murder of JohnBorg. We can bring no eye-witnesses into court. Whatever we have iscircumstantial. It is incumbent upon us to show cause. To show causeit is necessary to go into the character of the accused. This weintend to do. We intend to show his adulterous and lustful nature,which has culminated in a dastardly deed and jeopardized his neck. Weintend to show that the truth is not in him; that he is a liar beyondprice; that no word he may speak upon the stand need be accepted by ajury of his peers. We intend to show all this, and to weave ittogether, thread by thread, till we have a rope long enough and strongenough to hang him with before the day is done. So I respectfullysubmit, Mr. Chairman, that the witness be allowed to proceed."

  The chairman decided against Frona, and her appeal to the meeting wasvoted down. Bill Brown nodded to Del to resume.

  "As I was saying, he got us into no end of trouble. Now, I've beenmixed up with water all my life,--never can get away from it, itseems,--and the more I'm mixed the less I know about it. St. Vincentknew this, too, and him a clever hand at the paddle; yet he left me torun the Box Canyon alone while he walked around. Result: I was turnedover, lost
half the outfit and all the tobacco, and then he put theblame on me besides. Right after that he got tangled up with the LakeLe Barge Sticks, and both of us came near croaking."

  "And why was that?" Bill Brown interjected.

  "All along of a pretty squaw that looked too kindly at him. After wegot clear, I lectured him on women in general and squaws in particular,and he promised to behave. Then we had a hot time with the LittleSalmons. He was cuter this time, and I didn't know for keeps, but Iguessed. He said it was the medicine man who got horstile; butnothing'll stir up a medicine man quicker'n women, and the factspointed that way. When I talked it over with him in a fatherly way hegot wrathy, and I had to take him out on the bank and give him athreshing. Then he got sulky, and didn't brighten up till we ran intothe mouth of the Reindeer River, where a camp of Siwashes were fishingsalmon. But he had it in for me all the time, only I didn't knowit,--was ready any time to give me the double cross.

  "Now, there's no denying he's got a taking way with women. All he hasto do is to whistle 'em up like dogs. Most remarkable faculty, that.There was the wickedest, prettiest squaw among the Reindeers. Neversaw her beat, excepting Bella. Well, I guess he whistled her up, forhe delayed in the camp longer than was necessary. Being partial towomen--"

  "That will do, Mr. Bishop," interrupted the chairman, who, fromprofitless watching of Frona's immobile face, had turned to her hand,the nervous twitching and clinching of which revealed what her face hadhidden. "That will do, Mr. Bishop. I think we have had enough ofsquaws."

  "Pray do not temper the testimony," Frona chirruped, sweetly. "Itseems very important."

  "Do you know what I am going to say next?" Del demanded hotly of thechairman. "You don't, eh? Then shut up. I'm running this particularsideshow."

  Bill Brown sprang in to avert hostilities, but the chairman restrainedhimself, and Bishop went on.

  "I'd been done with the whole shooting-match, squaws and all, if youhadn't broke me off. Well, as I said, he had it in for me, and thefirst thing I didn't know, he'd hit me on the head with a rifle-stock,bundled the squaw into the canoe, and pulled out. You all know whatthe Yukon country was in '84. And there I was, without an outfit, leftalone, a thousand miles from anywhere. I got out all right, thoughthere's no need of telling how, and so did he. You've all heard of hisadventures in Siberia. Well," with an impressive pause, "I happen toknow a thing or two myself."

  He shoved a hand into the big pocket of his mackinaw jacket and pulledout a dingy leather-bound volume of venerable appearance.

  "I got this from Pete Whipple's old woman,--Whipple of Eldorado. Itconcerns her grand-uncle or great-grand-uncle, I don't know which; andif there's anybody here can read Russian, why, it'll go into thedetails of that Siberian trip. But as there's no one here that can--"

  "Courbertin! He can read it!" some one called in the crowd.

  A way was made for the Frenchman forthwith, and he was pushed andshoved, protestingly, to the front.

  "Savve the lingo?" Del demanded.

  "Yes; but so poorly, so miserable," Courbertin demurred. "It is a longtime. I forget."

  "Go ahead. We won't criticise."

  "No, but--"

  "Go ahead!" the chairman commanded.

  Del thrust the book into his hands, opened at the yellow title-page."I've been itching to get my paws on some buck like you for months andmonths," he assured him, gleefully. "And now I've got you, you can'tshake me, Charley. So fire away."

  Courbertin began hesitatingly: "'_The Journal of Father Yakontsk,Comprising an Account in Brief of his Life in the Benedictine Monasteryat Obidorsky, and in Full of his Marvellous Adventures in East Siberiaamong the Deer Men_.'"

  The baron looked up for instructions.

  "Tell us when it was printed," Del ordered him.

  "In Warsaw, 1807."

  The pocket-miner turned triumphantly to the room. "Did you hear that?Just keep track of it. 1807, remember!"

  The baron took up the opening paragraph. "'_It was because ofTamerlane_,'" he commenced, unconsciously putting his translation intoa construction with which he was already familiar.

  At his first words Frona turned white, and she remained whitethroughout the reading. Once she stole a glance at her father, and wasglad that he was looking straight before him, for she did not feel ableto meet his gaze just them. On the other hand, though she knew St.Vincent was eying her narrowly, she took no notice of him, and all hecould see was a white face devoid of expression.

  "'_When Tamerlane swept with fire and sword over Eastern Asia_,'"Courbertin read slowly, "'_states were disrupted, cities overthrown,and tribes scattered like--like star-dust. A vast people was hurledbroadcast over the land. Fleeing before the conquerors_,'--no,no,--'_before the mad lust of the conquerors, these refugees swung farinto Siberia, circling, circling to the north and east and fringing therim of the polar basin with a spray of Mongol tribes_.'"

  "Skip a few pages," Bill Brown advised, "and read here and there. Wehaven't got all night."

  Courbertin complied. "'_The coast people are Eskimo stock, merry ofnature and not offensive. They call themselves the Oukilion, or theSea Men. From them I bought dogs and food. But they are subject tothe Chow Chuen, who live in the interior and are known as the Deer Men.The Chow Chuen are a fierce and savage race. When I left the coastthey fell upon me, took from me my goods, and made me a slave_.'" Heran over a few pages. "'_I worked my way to a seat among the head men,but I was no nearer my freedom. My wisdom was of too great value tothem for me to depart. . . Old Pi-Une was a great chief, and it wasdecreed that I should marry his daughter Ilswunga. Ilswunga was afilthy creature. She would not bathe, and her ways were not good . . .I did marry Ilswunga, but she was a wife to me only in name. Then didshe complain to her father, the old Pi-Une, and he was very wroth. Anddissension was sown among the tribes; but in the end I became mightierthan ever, what of my cunning and resource; and Ilswunga made no morecomplaint, for I taught her games with cards which she might play byherself, and other things_.'"

  "Is that enough?" Courbertin asked.

  "Yes, that will do," Bill Brown answered. "But one moment. Pleasestate again the date of publication."

  "1807, in Warsaw."

  "Hold on, baron," Del Bishop spoke up. "Now that you're on the stand,I've got a question or so to slap into you." He turned to thecourt-room. "Gentlemen, you've all heard somewhat of the prisoner'sexperiences in Siberia. You've caught on to the remarkable samenessbetween them and those published by Father Yakontsk nearly a hundredyears ago. And you have concluded that there's been some wholesalecribbing somewhere. I propose to show you that it's more thancribbing. The prisoner gave me the shake on the Reindeer River in '88.Fall of '88 he was at St. Michael's on his way to Siberia. '89 and '90he was, by his talk, cutting up antics in Siberia. '91 he come back tothe world, working the conquering-hero graft in 'Frisco. Now let's seeif the Frenchman can make us wise.

  "You were in Japan?" he asked.

  Courbertin, who had followed the dates, made a quick calculation, andcould but illy conceal his surprise. He looked appealingly to Frona,but she did not help him. "Yes," he said, finally.

  "And you met the prisoner there?"

  "Yes."

  "What year was it?"

  There was a general craning forward to catch the answer.

  "1889," and it came unwillingly.

  "Now, how can that be, baron?" Del asked in a wheedling tone. "Theprisoner was in Siberia at that time."

  Courbertin shrugged his shoulders that it was no concern of his, andcame off the stand. An impromptu recess was taken by the court-roomfor several minutes, wherein there was much whispering and shaking ofheads.

  "It is all a lie." St. Vincent leaned close to Frona's ear, but shedid not hear.

  "Appearances are against me, but I can explain it all."

  But she did not move a muscle, and he was called to the stand by thechairman. She turned to her father, and the tear
s rushed up into hereyes when he rested his hand on hers.

  "Do you care to pull out?" he asked after a momentary hesitation.

  She shook her head, and St. Vincent began to speak. It was the samestory he had told her, though told now a little more fully, and innowise did it conflict with the evidence of La Flitche and John. Heacknowledged the wash-tub incident, caused, he explained, by an act ofsimple courtesy on his part and by John Borg's unreasoning anger. Heacknowledged that Bella had been killed by his own pistol, but statedthat the pistol had been borrowed by Borg several days previously andnot returned. Concerning Bella's accusation he could say nothing. Hecould not see why she should die with a lie on her lips. He had neverin the slightest way incurred her displeasure, so even revenge couldnot be advanced. It was inexplicable. As for the testimony of Bishop,he did not care to discuss it. It was a tissue of falsehood cunninglyinterwoven with truth. It was true the man had gone into Alaska withhim in 1888, but his version of the things which happened there wasmaliciously untrue. Regarding the baron, there was a slight mistake inthe dates, that was all.

  In questioning him. Bill Brown brought out one little surprise. Fromthe prisoner's story, he had made a hard fight against the twomysterious men. "If," Brown asked, "such were the case, how can youexplain away the fact that you came out of the struggle unmarked? Onexamination of the body of John Borg, many bruises and contusions werenoticeable. How is it, if you put up such a stiff fight, that youescaped being battered?"

  St. Vincent did not know, though he confessed to feeling stiff and soreall over. And it did not matter, anyway. He had killed neither Borgnor his wife, that much he did know.

  Frona prefaced her argument to the meeting with a pithy discourse onthe sacredness of human life, the weaknesses and dangers ofcircumstantial evidence, and the rights of the accused wherever doubtarose. Then she plunged into the evidence, stripping off thesuperfluous and striving to confine herself to facts. In the firstplace, she denied that a motive for the deed had been shown. As itwas, the introduction of such evidence was an insult to theirintelligence, and she had sufficient faith in their manhood andperspicacity to know that such puerility would not sway them in theverdict they were to give.

  And, on the other hand, in dealing with the particular points at issue,she denied that any intimacy had been shown to have existed betweenBella and St. Vincent; and she denied, further, that it had been shownthat any intimacy had been attempted on the part of St. Vincent.Viewed honestly, the wash-tub incident--the only evidence broughtforward--was a laughable little affair, portraying how the simplecourtesy of a gentleman might be misunderstood by a mad boor of ahusband. She left it to their common sense; they were not fools.

  They had striven to prove the prisoner bad-tempered. She did not needto prove anything of the sort concerning John Borg. They all knew histerrible fits of anger; they all knew that his temper was proverbial inthe community; that it had prevented him having friends and had madehim many enemies. Was it not very probable, therefore, that the maskedmen were two such enemies? As to what particular motive actuated thesetwo men, she could not say; but it rested with them, the judges, toknow whether in all Alaska there were or were not two men whom JohnBorg could have given cause sufficient for them to take his life.

  Witness had testified that no traces had been found of these two men;but the witness had not testified that no traces had been found of St.Vincent, Pierre La Flitche, or John the Swede. And there was no needfor them so to testify. Everybody knew that no foot-marks were leftwhen St. Vincent ran up the trail, and when he came back with LaFlitche and the other man. Everybody knew the condition of the trail,that it was a hard-packed groove in the ground, on which a softmoccasin could leave no impression; and that had the ice not gone downthe river, no traces would have been left by the murderers in passingfrom and to the mainland.

  At this juncture La Flitche nodded his head in approbation, and shewent on.

  Capital had been made out of the blood on St. Vincent's hands. If theychose to examine the moccasins at that moment on the feet of Mr. LaFlitche, they would also find blood. That did not argue that Mr. LaFlitche had been a party to the shedding of the blood.

  Mr. Brown had drawn attention to the fact that the prisoner had notbeen bruised or marked in the savage encounter which had taken place.She thanked him for having done so. John Borg's body showed that ithad been roughly used. He was a larger, stronger, heavier man than St.Vincent. If, as charged, St. Vincent had committed the murder, andnecessarily, therefore, engaged in a struggle severe enough to bruiseJohn Borg, how was it that he had come out unharmed? That was a pointworthy of consideration.

  Another one was, why did he run down the trail? It was inconceivable,if he had committed the murder, that he should, without dressing orpreparation for escape, run towards the other cabins. It was, however,easily conceivable that he should take up the pursuit of the realmurderers, and in the darkness--exhausted, breathless, and certainlysomewhat excited--run blindly down the trail.

  Her summing up was a strong piece of synthesis; and when she had done,the meeting applauded her roundly. But she was angry and hurt, for sheknew the demonstration was for her sex rather than for her cause andthe work she had done.

  Bill Brown, somewhat of a shyster, and his ear ever cocked to thecrowd, was not above taking advantage when opportunity offered, andwhen it did not offer, to dogmatize artfully. In this his native humorwas a strong factor, and when he had finished with the mysteriousmasked men they were as exploded sun-myths,--which phrase he promptlyapplied to them.

  They could not have got off the island. The condition of the ice forthe three or four hours preceding the break-up would not have permittedit. The prisoner had implicated none of the residents of the island,while every one of them, with the exception of the prisoner, had beenaccounted for elsewhere. Possibly the prisoner was excited when he randown the trail into the arms of La Flitche and John the Swede. Oneshould have thought, however, that he had grown used to such things inSiberia. But that was immaterial; the facts were that he wasundoubtedly in an abnormal state of excitement, that he washysterically excited, and that a murderer under such circumstanceswould take little account of where he ran. Such things had happenedbefore. Many a man had butted into his own retribution.

  In the matter of the relations of Borg, Bella, and St. Vincent, he madea strong appeal to the instinctive prejudices of his listeners, and forthe time being abandoned matter-of-fact reasoning for all-potentsentimental platitudes. He granted that circumstantial evidence neverproved anything absolutely. It was not necessary it should. Beyondthe shadow of a reasonable doubt was all that was required. That thishad been done, he went on to review the testimony.

  "And, finally," he said, "you can't get around Bella's last words. Weknow nothing of our own direct knowledge. We've been feeling around inthe dark, clutching at little things, and trying to figure it all out.But, gentlemen," he paused to search the faces of his listeners, "Bellaknew the truth. Hers is no circumstantial evidence. With quick,anguished breath, and life-blood ebbing from her, and eyeballs glazing,she spoke the truth. With dark night coming on, and the death-rattlein her throat, she raised herself weakly and pointed a shaking fingerat the accused, thus, and she said, 'Him, him, him. St. Vincha, him doit.'"

  With Bill Brown's finger still boring into him, St. Vincent struggledto his feet. His face looked old and gray, and he looked about himspeechlessly. "Funk! Funk!" was whispered back and forth, and not sosoftly but what he heard. He moistened his lips repeatedly, and histongue fought for articulation. "It is as I have said," he succeeded,finally. "I did not do it. Before God, I did not do it!" He staredfixedly at John the Swede, waiting the while on his laggard thought."I . . . I did not do it . . . I did not . . . I . . . I did not."

  He seemed to have become lost in some supreme meditation wherein Johnthe Swede figured largely, and as Frona caught him by the hand andpulled him gently down, some man cried out, "Secr
et ballot!"

  But Bill Brown was on his feet at once. "No! I say no! An openballot! We are men, and as men are not afraid to put ourselves onrecord."

  A chorus of approval greeted him, and the open ballot began. Man afterman, called upon by name, spoke the one word, "Guilty."

  Baron Courbertin came forward and whispered to Frona. She nodded herhead and smiled, and he edged his way back, taking up a position by thedoor. He voted "Not guilty" when his turn came, as did Frona and JacobWelse. Pierre La Flitche wavered a moment, looking keenly at Frona andSt. Vincent, then spoke up, clear and flute-like, "Guilty."

  As the chairman arose, Jacob Welse casually walked over to the oppositeside of the table and stood with his back to the stove. Courbertin,who had missed nothing, pulled a pickle-keg out from the wall andstepped upon it.

  The chairman cleared his throat and rapped for order. "Gentlemen," heannounced, "the prisoner--"

  "Hands up!" Jacob Welse commanded peremptorily, and a fraction of asecond after him came the shrill "Hands up, gentlemen!" of Courbertin.

  Front and rear they commanded the crowd with their revolvers. Everyhand was in the air, the chairman's having gone up still grasping themallet. There was no disturbance. Each stood or sat in the sameposture as when the command went forth. Their eyes, playing here andthere among the central figures, always returned to Jacob Welse.

  St. Vincent sat as one dumfounded. Frona thrust a revolver into hishand, but his limp fingers refused to close on it.

  "Come, Gregory," she entreated. "Quick! Corliss is waiting with thecanoe. Come!"

  She shook him, and he managed to grip the weapon. Then she pulled andtugged, as when awakening a heavy sleeper, till he was on his feet.But his face was livid, his eyes like a somnambulist's, and he wasafflicted as with a palsy. Still holding him, she took a step backwardfor him to come on. He ventured it with a shaking knee. There was nosound save the heavy breathing of many men. A man coughed slightly andcleared his throat. It was disquieting, and all eyes centred upon himrebukingly. The man became embarrassed, and shifted his weightuneasily to the other leg. Then the heavy breathing settled down again.

  St. Vincent took another step, but his fingers relaxed and the revolverfell with a loud noise to the floor. He made no effort to recover it.Frona stooped hurriedly, but Pierre La Flitche had set his foot uponit. She looked up and saw his hands above his head and his eyes fixedabsently on Jacob Welse. She pushed at his leg, and the muscles weretense and hard, giving the lie to the indifference on his face. St.Vincent looked down helplessly, as though he could not understand.

  But this delay drew the attention of Jacob Welse, and, as he tried tomake out the cause, the chairman found his chance. Without crooking,his right arm swept out and down, the heavy caulking-mallet leapingfrom his hand. It spanned the short distance and smote Jacob Welsebelow the ear. His revolver went off as he fell, and John the Swedegrunted and clapped a hand to his thigh.

  Simultaneous with this the baron was overcome. Del Bishop, with handsstill above his head and eyes fixed innocently before him, had simplykicked the pickle-keg out from under the Frenchman and brought him tothe floor. His bullet, however, sped harmlessly through the roof. LaFlitche seized Frona in his arms. St. Vincent, suddenly awakening,sprang for the door, but was tripped up by the breed's ready foot.

  The chairman pounded the table with his fist and concluded his brokensentence, "Gentlemen, the prisoner is found guilty as charged."