"Before Peter Van Stolz, Esq., R.M., Gonjana, a Tambookie Kaffir,
charged with stealing one sheep, the property of his master, Charles
Suffield, farmer," scribbles the reporter of the _Doppersdorp Flag_, who
indeed is proprietor, editor, reporter, and comp., all rolled into one.
The Doppersdorp Court-house is a large and spacious room. The "bench"
is represented by a green baize-covered table upon a raised dais, a
similar table beneath providing accommodation for the clerk. In front
of this again, and facing the bench, a couple of rows of desks
accommodate the men of law and their clients, and a few forms, the usual
contingent of loungers behind. The witness-box stands on the left of
the Bench, and on the right the dock. This latter is now occupied by a
thick-set, forbidding-looking Kaffir, clad in a pair of ragged moleskins
and a very dirty shirt.
Roden Musgrave, who occupies the clerk's table, is reading out the legal
rigmarole which constitutes the indictment. This is interpreted in few
words to the prisoner by a native constable standing beside the dock.
Asked to plead Guilty or Not Guilty, he merely shrugs his shoulders, and
says he doesn't know anything about the matter.
"Enter it as a plea of Not Guilty, Mr Musgrave," says the magistrate,
in an undertone. Then aloud, "Does any one appear for him? Has he got
a lawyer, Jan?"
Jan Kat, the native constable aforesaid, puts the question. The
prisoner answers voluminously, and gazes towards the door.
"He says he has, sir. Mr Darrell appears for him."
"Then why isn't Mr Darrell here?" says the Bench shortly. "Call the
prosecutor."
The latter steps into the witness-box--a tall, fair-bearded man with a
pleasant face. He deposes that his name is Charles Suffield, that he is
a farmer residing at Quaggasfontein in that district--all of which every
one there present knows as well as he does--that the prisoner is in his
service as herd--which they do not know--and then there is an
interruption, as a black-coated individual with a bundle of blue papers
and a portentous-looking law book or two, bustles into the front row of
desks and announces that he is instructed to appear for the accused.
Mr Van Stolz, the Resident Magistrate, is the most genial and
kind-hearted of men, but he is touchy on one point--a sense of the
respect due to the dignity of his court. And rightly so, bearing in
mind the casual, happy-go-lucky, let-things-slide tendency of the
dwellers in Doppersdorp, and like places.
"The case has already begun, Mr Darrell," he says shortly. "Did you
instruct the prisoner to plead guilty?"