THE TRIAL.
Justice was now to be administered, and Rodney was brought into
the crowded court-room for trial. The officer led him to the
prisoner's narrow dock, an enclosed bench, at each end of which
sat a constable, with a long staff in his hand. There were five
or six other prisoners sitting in the dock with him. Next to him
was a woman, her garments ragged, her hair matted, and her face
red and bloated. Next to her sat a squalid negro, who seemed
totally indifferent to the scenes that were passing around him.
On the other side of him was a young man, apparently about
twenty years old, of thin, spare form, with a red flush at
intervals coloring his cheek, and a hollow cough that sounded
like an echo from the grave. He was evidently in a deep
consumption, and had been already several months in prison. And
he leaned his head upon the railing, as though he would hide
himself from every eye. He had been tried a few days before, for
having been associated with others in a burglary, and found
guilty, and he was now present to hear his sentence.
After the formal opening of the court, this young man was the
first called upon, and, with trembling limbs, he rose to hear
the sentence of the judge. After some remarks upon the enormity
of his crime, and the clear evidence upon which he had been
convicted, the judge sentenced him to five years' imprisonment
in the penitentiary. When those words, _five years_, reached
him, he dropped back upon the seat, as if struck with a bullet,
and then raising his face to the judge, with an expression of
profound anguish, said, "Half the time would be more than
enough, your honor; I shall be in the grave before one year is
past."
The case of the negro-man was immediately called up, but Rodney
heard nothing of it. He hid his face in his hands, and wept. A
sense of his terrible position flashed upon him, and he could
not keep back his tears, or stifle his sobs. He wept aloud, and
_felt_, though he might not see, that all eyes were turned upon
him. His whole frame shook with the anguish of his soul.
Presently a hand was laid upon his, and a head was bent over the
bar near him, and a voice addressed him kindly: "Be calm, my
boy; there is no good in crying; who is your counsel?"
Rodney looked up, and saw a young man, well dressed, and with an
affable and winning countenance, standing before him. His face
looked kind and benevolent, at least in Rodney's eyes, for he
had spoken to him gently and encouragingly.
He replied to his question, "I have no counsel, sir; I have no
money."
"Well, I will try what I can do for you," said the young
lawyer. "Come out here, and sit by me, and tell me what you are
here for."
He led him out of the disgraceful dock, gave him a seat directly
in front of the jury, sat down beside him, and asked him to tell
him the truth about all the circumstances that led to his
imprisonment and trial. Rodney told him truly all that happened
from the time of his running away to his arrest. He told him,
too, who he was, and who were his relatives in the neighborhood
of Philadelphia. He had never spoken of these before.
"Well," said the lawyer, "I don't see that they can bring
anything out to hurt you, if that is the true statement of the
case. And now, my boy, you may cry as much as you wish."
Rodney looked up, surprised, wondering what on earth he wanted
him to cry for. He thought afterwards that the advice was
probably given that his weeping might affect the sympathies of
the jury, before whose eyes he was sitting. But he could
scarcely have shed a tear then if his liberty had depended upon
it. He felt as though he had a friend, and his consciousness of
innocence of any violation of human law, and his confidence that
his new friend could show that he was guiltless, set his
perturbed heart at rest, and he felt sure that he should be
acquitted.
When the court adjourned, the lawyer took out a card, and,
giving it to Rodney, said, "If your case should be called up
before I get here this afternoon, just tell them that I am your
counsel, and they will put it off till I come. Here is my name."
There was but one word on the card, and Rodney kept it long as a
grateful memento of the disinterested kindness that had been
shown him in the hour of his bitter trial. The name on the card
was
+-----------------------+
| |
| WATMOUGH.[A] |
| |
+-----------------------+
[A] This is not a fictitious but the real name of the
gentleman whose kindness it commemorates.
That young lawyer never knew the gratitude with which his name
was remembered for long, long years, and the thrill of emotion
which its utterance always excited in the heart of that
befriended boy. An act of kindness is never lost, and many a one
which the benefactor may have forgotten, has won for him the
prayers and blessings of a grateful heart.
During the recess, Rodney was conducted across Independence-square
to the old Walnut-street prison. He ate his scanty prison dinner
that day with a light and hopeful heart; and though he trembled at
the idea of the coming trial, yet he did not for a moment doubt
that the result must be his acquittal. He believed that the law was
framed to punish the guilty, and to do justice to the innocent; and
he could scarcely conceive that the guiltless could be made to
suffer by its administration.
Immediately after the opening of the court, in the afternoon,
the case was called up. The woman in whose house the robbery was
committed, and one other, were witnesses; but not one word was
said by either, in any way implicating Rodney in the robbery,
beyond the fact that he had come to the house in company with
the robber.
His friend made a very brief speech, demanding his acquittal;
the judge said a few words to the jury, who consulted together
for a moment, when the foreman arose, and pronounced the happy
words, "_Not Guilty_."
And now the tears again rained down the cheeks of Rodney, as he
came out of the infamous dock,--but they were tears of joy.
A few kind questions were asked him by the judge; and a small
sum of money, contributed by him and by several of the members
of the bar, furnished Rodney the means of returning to his
friends.