XXXII. THE TRIAL AND VERDICT--"NOT GUILTY."
"Thou stand'st here arraign'd, That with presumption impious and accurs'd, Thou hast usurp'd God's high prerogative, Making thy fellow mortal's life and death Wait on thy moody and diseased passions; That with a violent and untimely steel Hath set abroach the blood that should have ebbed In calm and natural current: to sum all In one wild name--a name the pale air freezes at, And every cheek of man sinks in with horror-- Thou art a cold and midnight murderer." --MILMAN'S "FAZIO."
Of all the restless people who found that night's hours agonisingfrom excess of anxiety, the poor father of the murdered man wasperhaps the most restless. He had slept but little since the blowhad fallen; his waking hours had been too full of agitated thought,which seemed to haunt and pursue him through his unquiet slumbers.
And this night of all others was the most sleepless. He turned overand over again in his mind the wonder if everything had been done,that could be done, to insure the conviction of Jem Wilson. Healmost regretted the haste with which he had urged forward theproceedings, and yet, until he had obtained vengeance, he felt as ifthere was no peace on earth for him (I don't know that he exactlyused the term vengeance in his thoughts; he spoke of justice, andprobably thought of his desired end as such); no peace, eitherbodily or mental, for he moved up and down his bedroom with therestless incessant tramp of a wild beast in a cage, and if hecompelled his aching limbs to cease for an instant, the twitchingswhich ensued almost amounted to convulsions, and he recommenced hiswalk as the lesser evil, and the more bearable fatigue.
With daylight increased power of action came; and he drove off toarouse his attorney, and worry him with further directions andinquiries; and when that was ended, he sat, watch in hand, until thecourts should be opened, and the trial begin.
What were all the living,--wife or daughters,--what were they incomparison with the dead, the murdered son who lay unburied still,in compliance with his father's earnest wish, and almost vowedpurpose, of having the slayer of his child sentenced to death,before he committed the body to the rest of the grave?
At nine o'clock they all met at their awful place of rendezvous.
The judge, the jury, the avenger of blood, the prisoner, thewitnesses--all were gathered together within the building. Andbesides these were many others, personally interested in some partof the proceedings, in which, however, they took no part; Job Legh,Ben Sturgis, and several others were there, amongst whom was CharleyJones.
Job Legh had carefully avoided any questioning from Mrs. Wilson thatmorning. Indeed, he had not been much in her company, for he hadrisen up early to go out once more to make inquiry for Mary; andwhen he could hear nothing of her, he had desperately resolved notto undeceive Mrs. Wilson, as sorrow never came too late; and if theblow were inevitable, it would be better to leave her in ignoranceof the impending evil as long as possible, She took her place in thewitness-room, worn and dispirited, but not anxious.
As Job struggled through the crowd into the body of the court, Mr.Bridgnorth's clerk beckoned to him.
"Here's a letter for you from our client!"
Job sickened as he took it. He did not know why, but he dreaded aconfession of guilt, which would be an overthrow of all hope.
The letter ran as follows:--
"DEAR FRIEND,--I thank you heartily for your goodness in finding mea lawyer, but lawyers can do no good to me, whatever they may do toother people. But I am not the less obliged to you, dear friend. Iforesee things will go against me--and no wonder. If I was ajuryman I should say the man was guilty as had as much evidencebrought against him as may be brought against me tomorrow. So it'sno blame to them if they do. But, Job Legh, I think I need not tellyou I am as guiltless in this matter as the babe unborn, although itis not in my power to prove it. If I did not believe that youthought me innocent, I could not write as I do now to tell you mywishes. You'll not forget they are the words of a man shortly todie. Dear friend, you must take care of my mother. Not in themoney way, for she will have enough for her and Aunt Alice; but youmust let her talk to you of me; and show her that (whatever othersmay do) you think I died innocent. I don't reckon she'll stay longbehind when we are all gone. Be tender with her, Job, for my sake;and if she is a bit fractious at times, remember what she has gonethrough. I know mother will never doubt me, God bless her.
"There is one other whom I fear I have loved too dearly; and yet,the loving her has made the happiness of my life. She will think Ihave murdered her lover: she will think I have caused the griefshe must be feeling. And she must go on thinking so. It is hardupon me to say this; but she MUST. It will be best for her, andthat's all I ought to think on. But, dear Job, you are a heartyfellow for your time of life, and may live many years to come; andperhaps you could tell her, when you felt sure you were drawing nearyour end, that I solemnly told you (as I do now) that I was innocentof this thing. You must not tell her for many years to come: butI cannot well bear to think on her living through a long life, andhating the thought of me as the murderer of him she loved, and dyingwith that hatred to me in her heart. It would hurt me sore in theother world to see the look of it in her face, as it would be, tillshe was told. I must not let myself think on how she must beviewing me now.
"So God bless you, Job Legh; and no more from yours to command,
"JAMES WILSON."
Job turned the letter over and over when he had read it; sigheddeeply; and then wrapping it carefully up in a bit of newspaper hehad about him, he put it in his waistcoat pocket, and went off tothe door of the witness-room to ask if Mary Barton was there.
As the door opened he saw her sitting within, against a table onwhich her folded arms were resting, and her head was hidden withinthem. It was an attitude of hopelessness, and would have served tostrike Job dumb in sickness of heart, even without the sound of Mrs.Wilson's voice in passionate sobbing, and sore lamentations, whichtold him as well as words could do (for she was not within view ofthe door, and he did not care to go in), that she was at any ratepartially undeceived as to the hopes he had given her last night.
Sorrowfully did Job return into the body of the court; neither Mrs.Wilson nor Mary having seen him as he had stood at the witness-roomdoor.
As soon as he could bring his distracted thoughts to bear upon thepresent scene, he perceived that the trial of James Wilson for themurder of Henry Carson was just commencing. The clerk was gabblingover the indictment, and in a minute or two there was the accustomedquestion, "How say you, Guilty or Not Guilty?"
Although but one answer was expected,--was customary in allcases,--there was a pause of dead silence, an interval of solemnityeven in this hackneyed part of the proceeding; while the prisoner atthe bar stood with compressed lips, looking at the judge with hisoutward eyes, but with far other and different scenes presented tohis mental vision a sort of rapid recapitulation of hislife,--remembrances of his childhood,--his father (so proud of him,his first-born child),--his sweet little playfellow, Mary,--hishopes, his love, his despair,--yet still, yet ever and ever, hislove,--the blank, wide world it had been without her love,--hismother,--his childless mother,--but not long to be so,--not long tobe away from all she loved,--nor during that time to be oppressedwith doubt as to his innocence, sure and secure of her darling'sheart;--he started from his instant's pause, and said in a low firmvoice
"Not guilty, my lord."
The circumstances of the murder, the discovery of the body, thecauses of suspicion against Jem, were as well known to most of theaudience as they are to you, so there was some little buzz ofconversation going on among the people while the leading counsel forthe prosecution made his very effective speech.
"That's Mr. Carson, the father, sitting behind Serjeant Wilkinson!"
"What a noble-looking old man he is! so stern and inflexible, withsuch classical features! Does he not remi
nd you of some of thebusts of Jupiter?"
"I am more interested by watching the prisoner. Criminals alwaysinterest me. I try to trace in the features common to humanity someexpression of the crimes by which they have distinguished themselvesfrom their kind. I have seen a good number of murderers in my day,but I have seldom seen one with such marks of Cain on hiscountenance as the man at the bar."
"Well, I am no physiognomist, but I don't think his face strikes meas bad. It certainly is gloomy and depressed, and not unnaturallyso, considering his situation."
"Only look at his low, resolute brow, his downcast eye, his whitecompressed lips. He never looks up,--just watch him."
"His forehead is not so low if he had that mass of black hairremoved, and is very square, which some people say is a good sign.If others are to be influenced by such trifles as you are, it wouldhave been much better if the prison barber had cut his hair a littleprevious to the trial; and as for downcast eye, and compressed lip,it is all part and parcel of his inward agitation just now; nothingto do with character, my good fellow."
Poor Jem! His raven hair (his mother's pride, and so often fondlycaressed by her fingers), was that, too, to have its influenceagainst him?
The witnesses were called. At first they consisted principally ofpolicemen; who, being much accustomed to giving evidence, knew whatwere the material points they were called on to prove, and did notlose the time of the court in listening to anything unnecessary.
"Clear as day against the prisoner," whispered one attorney's clerkto another.
"Black as night, you mean," replied his friend; and they bothsmiled.
"Jane Wilson! who's she? some relation, I suppose, from the name."
"The mother,--she that is to prove the gun part of the case."
"Oh, ay--I remember! Rather hard on her, too, I think."
Then both were silent, as one of the officers of the court usheredMrs. Wilson into the witness-box. I have often called her "the oldwoman," and "an old woman," because, in truth, her appearance was somuch beyond her years, which could not be many above fifty. Butpartly owing to her accident in early life, which left a stamp ofpain upon her face, partly owing to her anxious temper, partly toher sorrows, and partly to her limping gait, she always gave me theidea of age. But now she might have seemed more than seventy; herlines were so set and deep, her features so sharpened, and her walkso feeble. She was trying to check her sobs into composure, and(unconsciously) was striving to behave as she thought would bestplease her poor boy, whom she knew she had often grieved by heruncontrolled impatience. He had buried his face in his arms, whichrested on the front of the dock (an attitude he retained during thegreater part of his trial, and which prejudiced many against him).
The counsel began the examination.
"Your name is Jane Wilson, I believe?"
"Yes, sir."
"The mother of the prisoner at the bar?"
"Yes, sir," with quivering voice, ready to break out into weeping,but earning respect by the strong effort at self-control, prompted,as I have said before, by her earnest wish to please her son by herbehaviour.
The barrister now proceeded to the important part of theexamination, tending to prove that the gun found on the scene of themurder was the prisoner's. She had committed herself so fully tothe policeman, that she could not well retract; so without muchdelay in bringing the question round to the desired point, the gunwas produced in court, and the inquiry made--
"That gun belongs to your son, does it not?"
She clenched the sides of the witness-box in her efforts to make herparched tongue utter words. At last she moaned forth--
"Oh! Jem, Jem! what mun I say?"
Every one bent forward to hear the prisoner's answer; although, infact, it was of little importance to the issue of the trial. Helifted up his head; and with a face brimming full of pity for hismother, yet resolved into endurance, said--
"Tell the truth, mother!"
And so she did, with the fidelity of a little child. Every one feltthat she did; and the little colloquy between mother and son didthem some slight service in the opinion of the audience. But theawful judge sat unmoved; and the jurymen changed not a muscle oftheir countenances; while the counsel for the prosecution wenttriumphantly through this part of the case, including the fact ofJem's absence from home on the night of the murder, and bringingevery admission to bear right against the prisoner.
It was over. She was told to go down. But she could no longercompel her mother's heart to keep silence, and suddenly turningtowards the judge (with whom she imagined the verdict to rest), shethus addressed him with her choking voice--
"And now, sir, I've telled you the truth, and the whole truth, as hebid me; but don't you let what I have said go for to hang him; oh,my lord judge, take my word for it, he's as innocent as the child ashas yet to be born. For sure, I, who am his mother, and have nursedhim on my knee, and been gladdened by the sight of him every daysince, ought to know him better than yon pack of fellows"(indicating the jury, while she strove against her heart to renderher words distinct and clear for her dear son's sake), "who, I'll gobail, never saw him before this morning in all their born days. Mylord judge, he's so good I often wondered what harm there was inhim; many is the time when I've been fretted (for I'm frabbit enoughat times), when I've scold't myself, and said: 'You ungratefulthing, the Lord God has given you Jem, and isn't that blessingenough for you?' But He has seen fit to punish me. If Jem is--ifJem is--taken from me, I shall be a childless woman; and very poor,having nought left to love on earth, and I cannot say 'His will bedone.' I cannot, my lord judge, oh, I cannot."
While sobbing out these words she was led away by the officers ofthe court, but tenderly, and reverently, with the respect whichgreat sorrow commands.
The stream of evidence went on and on, gathering fresh force fromevery witness who was examined, and threatening to overwhelm poorJem. Already they had proved that the gun was his, that he had beenheard not many days before the commission of the deed to threatenthe deceased; indeed, that the police had, at that time, beenobliged to interfere, to prevent some probable act of violence. Itonly remained to bring forward a sufficient motive for the threatand the murder. The clue to this had been furnished by thepoliceman, who had overheard Jem's angry language to Mr. Carson andhis report in the first instance had occasioned the sub-poena toMary.
And now she was to be called on to bear witness. The court was bythis time almost as full as it could hold; but fresh attempts werebeing made to squeeze in at all the entrances, for many were anxiousto see and hear this part of the trial.
Old Mr. Carson felt an additional beat at his heart at the thoughtof seeing the fatal Helen, the cause of all,--a kind of interest andyet repugnance, for was not she beloved by the dead; nay, perhaps,in her way, loving and mourning for the same being that he himselfwas so bitterly grieving over? And yet he felt as if he abhorredher and her rumoured loveliness, as if she were the curse againsthim; and he grew jealous of the love with which she had inspired hisson, and would fain have deprived her of even her natural right ofsorrowing over her lover's untimely end: for you see it was afixed idea in the minds of all, that the handsome, bright, gay, richyoung gentleman must have been beloved in preference to the serious,almost stern-looking smith, who had to toil for his daily bread.
Hitherto the effect of the trial had equalled Mr. Carson's mostsanguine hopes, and a severe look of satisfaction came over the faceof the avenger,--over that countenance whence the smile haddeparted, never more to return.
All eyes were directed to the door through which the witnessesentered. Even Jem looked up to catch one glimpse before he hid hisface from her look of aversion. The officer had gone to fetch her.
She was in exactly the same attitude as when Job Legh had seen hertwo hours before through the half-open door. Not a finger hadmoved. The officer summoned her, but she did not stir. She was sostill, he thought she had fallen asleep, and he stepped forward andtouche
d her. She started up in an instant, and followed him with akind of rushing rapid motion into the court, into the witness-box.
And amid all that sea of faces, misty and swimming before her eyes,she saw but two clear bright spots, distinct and fixed: the judge,who might have to condemn; and the prisoner, who might have to die.
The mellow sunlight streamed down that high window on her head, andfell on the rich treasure of her golden hair, stuffed away in massesunder her little bonnet-cap; and in those warm beams the motes keptdancing up and down. The wind had changed--had changed almost assoon as she had given up her watching; the wind had changed, and sheheeded it not.
Many who were looking for mere flesh and blood beauty, merecolouring, were disappointed; for her face was deadly white, andalmost set in its expression, while a mournful bewildered soullooked out of the depths of those soft, deep, grey eyes. But othersrecognised a higher and a stranger kind of beauty; one that wouldkeep its hold on the memory for many after years.
I was not there myself; but one who was, told me that her look, andindeed her whole face, was more like the well-known engraving fromGuido's picture of "Beatrice Cenci" than anything else he could giveme an idea of. He added, that her countenance haunted him, like theremembrance of some wild sad melody, heard in childhood; that itwould perpetually recur with its mute imploring agony.
With all the court reeling before her (always save and except thoseawful two), she heard a voice speak, and answered the simple inquiry(something about her name) mechanically, as if in a dream. So shewent on for two or three more questions, with a strange wonder inher brain, at the reality of the terrible circumstances in which shewas placed.
Suddenly she was roused, she knew not how or by what. She wasconscious that all was real, that hundreds were looking at her, thattrue-sounding words were being extracted from her; that that figure,so bowed down, with the face concealed with both hands, was reallyJem. Her face flushed scarlet, and then, paler than before. But indread of herself, with the tremendous secret imprisoned within her,she exerted every power she had to keep in the full understanding ofwhat was going on, of what she was asked, and of what she answered.With all her faculties preternaturally alive and sensitive, sheheard the next question from the pert young barrister, who wasdelighted to have the examination of this witness.
"And pray, may I ask, which was the favoured lover? You say youknew both these young men. Which was the favoured lover? Which didyou prefer?"
And who was he, the questioner, that he should dare so lightly toask of her heart's secrets? That he should dare to ask her to tell,before that multitude assembled there, what woman usually whisperswith blushes and tears, and many hesitations, to one ear alone?
So, for an instant, a look of indignation contracted Mary's brow, asshe steadily met the eyes of the impertinent counsellor. But, inthat instant, she saw the hands removed from a face beyond, behind;and a countenance revealed of such intense love and woe,--such adeprecating dread of her answer; and suddenly her resolution wastaken. The present was everything; the future, that vast shroud, itwas maddening to think upon but NOW she might own her fault, butNOW she might even own her love. Now, when the beloved stood thus,abhorred of men, there would be no feminine shame to stand betweenher and her avowal. So she also turned towards the judge, partly tomark that her answer was not given to the monkeyfied man whoquestioned her, and likewise that the face might be averted from,and her eyes not gaze upon, the form that contracted with the dreadof the words he anticipated.
"He asks me which of them two I liked best. Perhaps I liked Mr.Harry Carson once--I don't know--I've forgotten; but I loved JamesWilson, that's now on trial, above what tongue can tell--above allelse on earth put together; and I love him now better than ever,though he has never known a word of it till this minute. For yousee, sir, mother died before I was thirteen, before I could knowright from wrong about some things; and I was giddy and vain, andready to listen to any praise of my good looks; and this poor youngMr. Carson fell in with me, and told me he loved me; and I wasfoolish enough to think he meant me marriage: a mother is apitiful loss to a girl, sir: and so I used to fancy I could liketo be a lady, and rich, and never know want any more. I never foundout how dearly I loved another till one day, when James Wilson askedme to marry him, and I was very hard and sharp in my answer (forindeed, sir, I'd a deal to bear just then), and he took me at myword and left me; and from that day to this I've never spoken a wordto him, or set eyes on him; though I'd fain have done so, to try andshow him we had both been too hasty; for he'd not been gone out ofmy sight above a minute before I knew I loved--far above my life,"said she, dropping her voice as she came to this second confessionof the strength of her attachment. "But, if the gentleman asks mewhich I loved the best, I make answer, I was flattered by Mr.Carson, and pleased with his flattery; but James Wilson, I--"
She covered her face with her hands, to hide the burning scarletblushes, which even dyed her fingers.
There was a little pause; still, though her speech might inspirepity for the prisoner, it only strengthened the supposition of hisguilt.
Presently the counsellor went on with his examination.
"But you have seen young Mr. Carson since your rejection of theprisoner?"
"Yes, often."
"You have spoken to him, I conclude, at these times."
"Only once, to call speaking."
"And what was the substance of your conversation? Did you tell himyou found you preferred his rival?"
"No, sir. I don't think as I've done wrong in saying, now as thingsstand, what my feelings are; but I never would be so bold as to tellone young man I cared for another. I never named Jem's name to Mr.Carson. Never."
"Then what did you say when you had this final conversation with Mr.Carson? You can give me the substance of it, if you don't rememberthe words."
"I'll try, sir; but I'm not very clear. I told him I could not lovehim, and wished to have nothing more to do with him. He did hisbest to over-persuade me, but I kept steady, and at last I ran off."
"And you never spoke to him again?"
"Never!"
"Now, young woman, remember you are upon your oath. Did you evertell the prisoner at the bar of Mr. Henry Carson's attentions toyou? of your acquaintance, in short? Did you ever try to excite hisjealousy by boasting of a lover so far above you in station?"
"Never. I never did," said she, in so firm and distinct a manner asto leave no doubt.
"Were you aware that he knew of Mr. Henry Carson's regard for you?Remember you are on your oath!"
"Never, sir. I was not aware until I heard of the quarrel betweenthem, and what Jem had said to the policeman, and that was after themurder. To this day I can't make out who told Jem. O sir, may notI go down?"
For she felt the sense, the composure, the very bodily strengthwhich she had compelled to her aid for a time, suddenly giving way,and was conscious that she was losing all command over herself.There was no occasion to detain her longer; she had done her part.She might go down. The evidence was still stronger against theprisoner; but now he stood erect and firm, with self-respect in hisattitude, and a look of determination on his face, which almost madeit appear noble. Yet he seemed lost in thought.
Job Legh had all this time been trying to soothe and comfort Mrs.Wilson, who would first be in the court, in order to see herdarling, and then, when her sobs became irrepressible, had to be ledout into the open air, and sat there weeping, on the steps of thecourt-house. Who would have taken charge of Mary, on her releasefrom the witness-box, I do not know, if Mrs. Sturgis, the boatman'swife, had not been there, brought by her interest in Mary, towardswhom she now pressed, in order to urge her to leave the scene of thetrial.
"No! no!" said Mary, to this proposition. "I must be here. I mustwatch that they don't hang him, you know I must."
"Oh! they'll not hang him! never fear! Besides, the wind haschanged, and that's in his favour. Come away. You're so hot, andfirst white and
then red; I'm sure you're ill. Just come away."
"Oh! I don't know about anything but that I must stay," repliedMary, in a strange hurried manner, catching hold of some rails as ifshe feared some bodily force would be employed to remove her. SoMrs. Sturgis just waited patiently by her, every now and thenpeeping among the congregation of heads in the body of the court, tosee if her husband were still there. And there he always was to beseen, looking and listening with all his might. His wife felt easythat he would not be wanting her at home until the trial was ended.
Mary never let go her clutched hold on the rails. She wanted themto steady her, in that heaving, whirling court. She thought thefeeling of something hard compressed within her hand would help herto listen, for it was such pain, such weary pain in her head, tostrive to attend to what was being said. They were all at sea,sailing away on billowy waves, and every one speaking at once, andno one heeding her father, who was calling on them to be silent, andlisten to him. Then again, for a brief second, the court stoodstill, and she could see the judge, sitting up there like an idol,with his trappings, so rigid and stiff; and Jem, opposite, lookingat her, as if to say, Am I to die for what you know your--. Thenshe checked herself, and by a great struggle brought herself roundto an instant's sanity. But the round of thought never stood still;and off she went again; and every time her power of strugglingagainst the growing delirium grew fainter and fainter. She mutteredlow to herself, but no one heard her except her neighbour, Mrs.Sturgis; all were too closely attending to the case for theprosecution, which was now being wound up.
The counsel for the prisoner had avoided much cross-examination,reserving to himself the right of calling the witnesses forwardagain; for he had received so little, and such vague instructions,and understood that so much depended on the evidence of one who wasnot forthcoming, that in fact he had little hope of establishinganything like a show of a defence, and contented himself withwatching the case, and lying in wait for any legal objections thatmight offer themselves. He lay back on the seat, occasionallytaking a pinch of snuff in a manner intended to be contemptuous; nowand then elevating his eyebrows, and sometimes exchanging a littlenote with Mr. Bridgnorth behind him. The attorney had far moreinterest in the case than the barrister, to which he was perhapsexcited by his poor old friend Job Legh; who had edged and wedgedhimself through the crowd close to Mr. Bridgnorth's elbow, sentthither by Ben Sturgis, to whom he had been "introduced" by CharleyJones, and who had accounted for Mary's disappearance on thepreceding day, and spoken of their chase, their fears, their hopes.
All this was told in a few words to Mr. Bridgnorth--so few, thatthey gave him but a confused idea, that time was of value; and thishe named to his counsel, who now rose to speak for the defence.
Job Legh looked about for Mary, now he had gained, and given, someidea of the position of things. At last he saw her, standing by adecent-looking woman, looking flushed and anxious, and moving herlips incessantly, as if eagerly talking; her eyes never resting onany object, but wandering about as if in search of something. Jobthought it was for him she was seeking, and he struggled to getround to her. When he had succeeded, she took no notice of him,although he spoke to her, but still kept looking round and round inthe same wild, restless manner. He tried to hear the low quickmutterings of her voice, as he caught the repetition of the samewords over and over again.
"I must not go mad. I must not, indeed. They say people tell thetruth when they're mad; but I don't. I was always a liar. I was,indeed; but I'm not mad. I must not go mad. I must not, indeed."
Suddenly she seemed to become aware how earnestly Job was listening(with mournful attention) to her words, and turning sharp round uponhim, with upbraiding for his eavesdropping on her lips, she caughtsight of something,--or some one,--who even in that state, had powerto arrest her attention and throwing up her arms with wild energy,she shrieked aloud--
"O Jem! Jem! you're saved; and I AM mad" and was instantly seizedwith convulsions. With much commiseration she was taken out ofcourt, while the attention of many was diverted from her, by thefierce energy with which a sailor forced his way over rails andseats, against turnkeys and policemen. The officers of the courtopposed this forcible manner of entrance, but they could hardlyinduce the offender to adopt any quieter way of attaining hisobject, and telling his tale in the witness-box, the legitimateplace. For Will had dwelt so impatiently on the danger in which hisabsence would place his cousin, that even yet he seemed to fear thathe might see the prisoner carried off, and hung, before he couldpour out the narrative which would exculpate him. As for Job Legh,his feelings were all but uncontrollable; as you may judge by theindifference with which he saw Mary borne, stiff and convulsed, outof the court, in the charge of the kind Mrs. Sturgis, who, you willremember, was an utter stranger to him.
"She'll keep! I'll not trouble myself about her," said he tohimself, as he wrote with trembling hands a little note ofinformation to Mr. Bridgnorth, who had conjectured, when Will hadfirst disturbed the awful tranquillity of the life-and-death court,that the witness had arrived (better late than never) on whoseevidence rested all the slight chance yet remaining to Jem Wilson ofescaping death. During the commotion in the court, among all thecries and commands, the dismay and the directions, consequent uponWill's entrance, and poor Mary's fearful attack of illness, Mr.Bridgnorth had kept his lawyer-like presence of mind; and longbefore Job Legh's almost illegible note was poked at him, he hadrecapitulated the facts on which Will had to give evidence, and themanner in which he had been pursued, after his ship had taken herleave of the land.
The barrister who defended Jem took new heart when he was put inpossession of these striking points to be adduced, not so much outof earnestness to save the prisoner, of whose innocence he was stilldoubtful, as because he saw the opportunities for the display offorensic eloquence which were presented by the facts; "a gallant tarbrought back from the pathless ocean by a girl's noble daring," "thedangers of too hastily judging from circumstantial evidence," etc.etc.; while the counsellor for the prosecution prepared himself byfolding his arms, elevating his eyebrows, and putting his lips inthe form in which they might best whistle down the wind suchevidence as might be produced by a suborned witness, who dared toperjure himself. For, of course, it is etiquette to suppose thatsuch evidence as may be given against the opinion which lawyers arepaid to uphold, is anything but based on truth; and "perjury,""conspiracy," and "peril of your immortal soul," are lightexpressions to throw at the heads of those who may prove (not thespeaker, there would then be some excuse for the hasty words ofpersonal anger, but) the hirer of the speaker to be wrong, ormistaken.
But when once Will had attained his end, and felt that his tale, orpart of a tale, would be heard by judge and jury; when once he sawJem standing safe and well before him (even though he saw him paleand careworn at the felons' bar), his courage took the shape ofpresence of mind, and he awaited the examination with a calm,unflinching intelligence, which dictated the clearest and mostpertinent answers. He told the story you know so well: how hisleave of absence being nearly expired, he had resolved to fulfil hispromise, and go to see an uncle residing in the Isle of Man; how hismoney (sailor-like) was all expended in Manchester, and how,consequently, it had been necessary for him to walk to Liverpool,which he had accordingly done on the very night of the murder,accompanied as far as Hollins Green by his friend and cousin, theprisoner at the bar. He was clear and distinct in everycorroborative circumstance, and gave a short account of the singularway in which he had been recalled from his outward-bound voyage, andthe terrible anxiety he had felt, as the pilot-boat had struggledhome against the wind. The jury felt that their opinion (so nearlydecided half-an-hour ago) was shaken and disturbed in a veryuncomfortable and perplexing way, and were almost grateful to thecounsel for the prosecution, when he got up, with a brow of thunder,to demolish the evidence, which was so bewildering when taken inconnection with everything previously adduced. But if such, withoutlooking to the conseque
nces, was the first impulsive feeling of someamong the jury, how shall I describe the vehemence of passion whichpossessed the mind of poor Mr. Carson, as he saw the effect of theyoung sailor's statement? It never shook his belief in Jem's guiltin the least, that attempt at an alibi; his hatred, his longing forvengeance, having once defined an object to itself, could no morebear to be frustrated and disappointed than the beast of prey cansubmit to have his victim taken from his hungry jaws. No morelikeness to the calm stern power of Jupiter was there in that whiteeager face, almost distorted by its fell anxiety of expression.
The counsel to whom etiquette assigned the cross-examination ofWill, caught the look on Mr. Carson's face, and in his desire tofurther the intense wish there manifested, he over-shot his markeven in his first insulting question--
"And now, my man, you've told the court a very good and veryconvincing story; no reasonable man ought to doubt the unstainedinnocence of your relation at the bar. Still there is onecircumstance you have forgotten to name; and I feel that without ityour evidence is rather incomplete. Will you have the kindness toinform the gentlemen of the jury what has been your charge forrepeating this very plausible story? How much good coin of HerMajesty's realm have you received, or are you to receive, forwalking up from the docks, or some less credible place, and utteringthe tale you have just now repeated,--very much to the credit ofyour instructor, I must say? Remember, sir, you are upon oath."
It took Will a minute to extract the meaning from the garb ofunaccustomed words in which it was invested, and during this time helooked a little confused. But the instant the truth flashed uponhim he fixed his bright clear eyes, flaming with indignation, uponthe counsellor, whose look fell at last before that sternunflinching gaze. Then, and not till then, Will made answer--
"Will you tell the judge and jury how much money you've been paidfor your impudence towards one who has told God's blessed truth, andwho would scorn to tell a lie, or blackguard any one, for thebiggest fee as ever lawyer got for doing dirty work? Will you tell,sir?--But I'm ready, my lord judge, to take my oath as many times asyour lordship or the jury would like, to testify to things havinghappened just as I said. There's O'Brien, the pilot, in court now.Would somebody with a wig on please to ask him how much he can sayfor me?"
It was a good idea, and caught at by the counsel for the defence.O'Brien gave just such testimony as was required to clear Will fromall suspicion. He had witnessed the pursuit, he had heard theconversation which took place between the boat and the ship; he hadgiven Will a homeward passage in his boat. And the character of anaccredited pilot, appointed by the Trinity House, was known to beabove suspicion.
Mr. Carson sank back on his seat in sickening despair. He knewenough of courts to be aware of the extreme unwillingness of juriesto convict, even where the evidence is most clear, when the penaltyof such conviction is death. At the period of the trial mostcondemnatory to the prisoner, he had repeated this fact to himself,in order to damp his too certain expectation for a conviction. Nowit needed not repetition, for it forced itself upon hisconsciousness, and he seemed to KNOW, even before the jury retiredto consult, that by some trick, some negligence, some miserablehocus-pocus, the murderer of his child, his darling, his Absalom,who had never rebelled--the slayer of his unburied boy would slipthrough the fangs of justice, and walk free and unscathed over thatearth where his son would never more be seen.
It was even so. The prisoner hid his face once more to shield theexpression of an emotion he could not control, from the notice ofthe over-curious; Job Legh ceased his eager talking to Mr.Bridgnorth; Charley looked grave and earnest; for the jury filed oneby one back into their box, and the question was asked to which suchan awful answer might be given.
The verdict they had come to was unsatisfactory to themselves atlast; neither being convinced of his innocence, nor yet quitewilling to believe him guilty in the teeth of the alibi. But thepunishment that awaited him, if guilty, was so terrible, and sounnatural a sentence for man to pronounce on man, that the knowledgeof it had weighed down the scale on the side of innocence, and "NotGuilty" was the verdict that thrilled through the breathless court.
One moment of silence, and then the murmurs rose, as the verdict wasdiscussed by all with lowered voice. Jem stood motionless, his headbowed; poor fellow, he was stunned with the rapid career of eventsduring the last few hours.
He had assumed his place at the bar with little or no expectation ofan acquittal; and with scarcely any desire for life, in thecomplication of occurrences tending to strengthen the idea of Mary'smore than indifference to him; she had loved another, and in hermind Jem believed that he himself must be regarded as the murdererof him she loved. And suddenly, athwart this gloom which made lifeseem such a blank expanse of desolation, there flashed the exquisitedelight of hearing Mary's avowal of love, making the future allglorious, if a future in this world he might hope to have. He couldnot dwell on anything but her words, telling of her passionate love;all else was indistinct, nor could he strive to make it otherwise.She loved him.
And life, now full of tender images, suddenly bright with allexquisite promises, hung on a breath, the slenderest gossamerchance. He tried to think that the knowledge of her love wouldsoothe him even in his dying hours; but the phantoms of what lifewith her might be would obtrude, and made him almost gasp and reelunder the uncertainty he was enduring. Will's appearance had onlyadded to the intensity of this suspense.
The full meaning of the verdict could not at once penetrate hisbrain. He stood dizzy and motionless. Some one pulled his coat.He turned, and saw Job Legh, the tears stealing down his brownfurrowed cheeks, while he tried in vain to command voice enough tospeak. He kept shaking Jem by the hand, as the best and necessaryexpression of his feeling.
"Here, make yourself scarce! I should think you'd be glad to getout of that!" exclaimed the gaoler, as he brought up another lividprisoner, from out whose eyes came the anxiety which he would notallow any other feature to display.
Job Legh pressed out of court, and Jem followed unreasoningly.
The crowd made way, and kept their garments tight about them, as Jempassed, for about him there still hung the taint of the murderer.
He was in the open air, and free once more! Although many looked onhim with suspicion, faithful friends closed round him; his arm wasunresistingly pumped up and down by his cousin and Job; when one wastired, the other took up the wholesome exercise, while Ben Sturgiswas working off his interest in the scene by scolding Charley forwalking on his head round and round Mary's sweetheart, for asweetheart he was now satisfactorily ascertained to be, in spite ofher assertion to the contrary. And all this time Jem himself feltbewildered and dazzled; he would have given anything for an hour'suninterrupted thought on the occurrences of the past week, and thenew visions raised up during the morning; ay, even though thattranquil hour were to be passed in the hermitage of his quiet prisoncell. The first question sobbed out by his choking voice, oppressedwith emotion, was--
"Where is she?"
They led him to the room where his mother sat. They had told her ofher son's acquittal, and now she was laughing, and crying, andtalking, and giving way to all those feelings which she hadrestrained with such effort during the last few days. They broughther son to her, and she threw herself upon his neck, weeping there.He returned her embrace, but looked around, beyond. Excepting hismother, there was no one in the room but the friends who had enteredwith him.
"Eh, lad!" she said, when she found voice to speak. "See what it isto have behaved thysel! I could put in a good word for thee, andthe jury could na go and hang thee in the face of th' character Igave thee. Was na it a good thing they did na keep me fromLiverpool? But I would come; I knew I could do thee good, blessthee, my lad. But thou'rt very white, and all of a tremble."
He kissed her again and again, but looking round as if searching forsome one he could not find, the first words he uttered were still--
"Where is she?"
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