_The humour of the Irish Bench--A circus at Bombay--Mr. Justice
Lawson--The theft of a pig--“Reasonably suspected”--A prima facie case
for the prosecution--The defence--The judge’s charge--The scope of a
judge’s duties in Ireland--Collaring a prisoner--A gross contempt of
court--How the contempt was purged--The riotous city--The reporter as
a war correspondent--“Good mixed shooting”--The tram-car driver
cautioned--The “loot” mistaken for a violin--The arrest in the
cemetery--Pommelling a policeman--A treat not to be shared--A case of
discipline--The German infantry--A real grievance--“Palmam qui meruit
ferat.”_
THERE is plenty of light as well as gloom to be found in the law
courts, especially in Ireland. Until recently, the Irish Bench included
many humorists. Perhaps the last of the race was Mr. Baron Dowse.
Reporters were constantly giving me accounts of the brilliant sallies of
this judge; but I must confess it seemed to me that most of the examples
which I heard were susceptible of being regarded as evidence of the
judge’s good memory rather than of his original powers.
Upon one occasion, he complained of the misprints in newspapers, and
stated that some time before, he had made the quotation in court,
“Better fifty years of Europe than a cycle of Cathay,” but the report of
the case in the newspaper attributed to him the statement, “Better fifty
years of Europe than a circus at Bombay.”
He omitted giving the name of the paper that had so ill-treated him
and Lord Tennyson. He had not been a judge for fifteen years without
becoming acquainted with the rudiments of story-telling.
*****
Mr. Justice Lawson was another Irish judge with a strong vein of humour
which he sometimes repressed, for I do not think that he took any great
pleasure in listening to that hearty, spontaneous, and genial outburst
of laughter that greets every attempt at humour on the part of a judge.
It is a nasty thing to say, but I do believe that he now and again
doubted the sincerity of the appreciation of even the junior counsel.
A reporter who was present at one Cork Assizes when Lawson was at his
best, told me a story of his charge to a jury which conveys a very good
idea of what his style of humour was.
A man was indicted for stealing a pig--an animal common in some parts
of Ireland. He was found driving it along, with no more than the normal
amount of difficulty which such an operation involves; and on being
spoken to by the sergeant of constabulary, he stated that he had bought
the pig in a neighbouring town, and that he had paid a certain specified
sum for it. On the same evening, however, a report reached the police
barrack that a pig, the description of which corresponded with the
recollection which the sergeant retained of the one which he had seen
some hours before, had been stolen from its home in the neighbourhood.
The owner was brought face to face with the animal that the sergeant had
met, and it was identified as the one that had been stolen. The man in
whose possession the pig was found was again very frank in stating where
he had bought it; but his second account of the transaction was not
on all fours with his first, and the person from whom he said he had
purchased it, denied all knowledge of the sale--in fact, he was able to
show that he was at Waterford at the time he was alleged to be disposing
of it.
All these facts were clearly proved; and no attempt was made to
controvert them in the defence. The counsel for the prisoner admitted
that the police had a good _prima facie_ case for the arrest of his
client; there were, undoubtedly, some grounds for suspecting that
the animal had disappeared from the custody of its owner through the
instrumentality of the prisoner; but he felt sure that when the jury
had heard the witnesses for the defence, they would admit that it was
utterly impossible to conceive the notion that he had had anything
whatever to do with the matter.
The parish priest was the first witness called, and he stated that he
had known the prisoner for several years, and had always regarded him as
a thrifty, sober, hard-working man, adding that he was most regular in
his attendance to his religious duties. Then the episcopal clergyman
was examined, and stated that the prisoner was an excellent father and
a capital gardener; he also knew something about the care of poultry.
Several of the prisoner’s neighbours testified to his respectability
and his readiness to oblige them, even at considerable personal
inconvenience.
After the usual speeches, the judge summed up as follows:--
“Gentlemen of the jury, you have heard the evidence in the case, and
it’s not for me to say that any of it is false. The police sergeant met
the prisoner driving the stolen pig, and the prisoner gave two different
accounts as to how it had come into his possession, but neither of these
accounts could be said to have a particle of truth in it. On the other
hand, however, you have heard the evidence of the two clergymen, to whom
the prisoner was well known. Nothing could be more satisfactory than
the character they gave him. Then you heard the evidence given by the
neighbours of the prisoner, and I’m sure you’ll agree with me that
nothing could be more gratifying than the way they all spoke of his
neighbourly qualities. Now, gentlemen, although no attempt whatever has
been made by the defence to meet the evidence given for the prosecution,
yet I feel it necessary to say that it is utterly impossible that you
should ignore the testimony given as to the character of the prisoner
by so many witnesses of unimpeachable integrity; therefore, gentlemen,
I think that the only conclusion you can come to is that the pig was
stolen by the prisoner and that he is the most amiable man in the County
Cork.”
*****
Mr. Justice Lawson used to boast that he was the only judge on the
Bench who had ever arrested a man with his own hand. The circumstances
connected with this remarkable incident were related to me by a reporter
who was present in the court when the judge made the arrest.
The _locale_ was the court-house of an assize town in the South of
Ireland. For several days the Crown had failed to obtain a conviction,
although in the majority of the cases the evidence was practically
conclusive; and as each prisoner was either sent back or set free, the
crowds of sympathisers made an uproar that all the ushers in attendance
were powerless to suppress. On the fourth day the judge, at the opening
of the court, called for the County Inspector of Constabulary, and, when
the officer was brought from the billiard-room of the club, and bustled
in, all sabre and salute, the judge, in his quiet way, remarked to him,
“I’m sorry for troubling you, sir, but I just wished to say that as the
court has been turned into a bear-garden for some hours during the past
three days, I intend to hold you responsible for the maintenance of
perfect order to-day. Your duty is to arrest every man, woman, or child
that makes any demonstration of satisfaction or dissatisfaction at the
result of the hearing of a case, and to put them in the dock, and give
evidence as to their contempt of court. I’ll deal with them after that.”
The officer went down, and orders were given to his men, of whom
there were about fifty in the court, to arrest any one expressing his
feelings. The first prisoner to be tried was a man named O’Halloran, and
his case excited a great deal of interest. The court was crowded to a
point of suffocation while the judge was summing up, which he did with a
directness that left nothing to be desired. In five minutes the jury
had returned a verdict of “Not Guilty.” At that instant a wild “Hurroo!”
rang through the court. It came from a youth who had climbed a pillar at
a distance of about a yard from the Bench. In a moment the judge had put
out his hand and grasped the fellow by the collar; and then, of course,
the policemen crushed through the crowd, and about a dozen of them
seized the prehensible legs of the prisoner Stylites.
“One of you will be ample,” said the judge. “Don’t pull the boy to
pieces; let him down gently.”
This operation was carried out, and the excitable youth was placed in
the dock, whence the prisoner just tried had stepped.
“Now,” said the judge, “I’m going to make an example of you. You heard
what I said to the Inspector of Constabulary, and yet I arrested you
with my own hand in the very act of committing a gross contempt of
court. I’ll make an example of you for the benefit of others. What’s
your name?”
“O’Halloran, yer honour,” said the trembling youth.
“Isn’t that the name of the prisoner who has just been tried?” said the
judge.
“It is, my lord,” replied the registrar.
“Is the last prisoner any relation of yours?” the judge asked of the
youth in the dock.
“He’s me brother, yer honour,” was the reply.
“Release the boy, and go on with the business of the court,” said the
judge.
*****
I chanced to be in Belfast at the time of the riots in 1886, and my
experience of the incidents of every day and every night led me to
believe that British troops have been engaged in some campaigns that
were a good deal less risky to war correspondents than the riots were
to the local newspaper reporters. Six of them were more or less severely
wounded in the course of a week. I found it necessary, more than once,
to go through the localities of the disturbances, and I must confess
that I was always glad when I found myself out of the line of fire. I am
strongly of the opinion that the reporters should have been paid at the
ratio of war correspondents at that time. When they engaged themselves
they could not have contemplated the possibility of being forced daily
for several weeks to stand up before a fusilade of stones weighing a
pound or so each, and Martini-Henry bullets, with an occasional iron
“nut” thrown in to make up weight, as it were. In the words of the
estate agents’ advertisements, there was a great deal of “good mixed
shooting” in the streets almost nightly for a month.
Several ludicrous incidents took place while the town was crowded with
constabulary who had been brought hastily from the country districts. A
reporter told me that he was the witness of an earnest remonstrance on
the part of a young policeman with a tram-car driver, whom he advised to
take his “waggon” down some of the side streets, in order to escape
the angry crowd that had assembled farther up the road. Upon another
occasion, a grocer’s shop had been looted by the mob at night, and a
man had been fortunate enough to secure a fine ham which he was
endeavouring, but with very partial success, to secrete beneath his
coat. A whole ham takes a good deal of secreting. The police had orders
to clear the street, and they were endeavouring to obey these orders.
The man with the ham received a push on his shoulder, and the policeman
by whom it was dealt, shouted out in a fine, rich Southern brogue
(abhorred in Belfast), “Git along wid ye, now thin, you and yer violin.
Is this any toime for ye to be after lookin’ to foind an awjence? Ye’ll
get that violin broke, so ye will.”
The man was only too glad to hurry on with his “Strad.” of fifteen
pounds’ weight, mild-cured. He did not wait to explain that there is a
difference between the viol and “loot.”
*****
One of the country policemen made an arrest of a man whom he saw in the
act of throwing a stone, and the next day he gave his evidence at the
Police Court very clearly. He had ascertained that the scene of the
arrest was York Street, and he said so; but the street is about a mile
long, and the magistrate wished to know at what part of it the incident
had occurred.
“It was just outside the cimitery, yer wash’p,” replied the man.
“The cemetery?” said the magistrate. “But there’s no cemetery in York
Street.”
“Oh, yes, yer wash’p--there’s a foine cimitery there,” said the
policeman. “It was was just outside the cimitery I arrested the
prisoner.”
“It’s the first I’ve heard of a cemetery in that neighbourhood,” said
the Bench. “Don’t you think the constable is mistaken, sergeant?”
The sergeant put a few questions to the witness, and asked him how he
knew that the place was a cemetery.
“Why, how would anybody know a cimitery except by the tombstones?” said
the witness. “I didn’t go for to dig up a corp or two, but there was the
foinest array of tombstones I ever clapt oyes on.”
“It’s the stonecutter’s yard the man means,” came a voice from the body
of the court; and in another moment there was a roar of laughter from
all present.
The arrest had been made outside a stonecutter’s railed yard, and the
strange policeman had taken the numerous specimens of the proprietor’s
craft, which were standing around in various stages of progress, for the
_bona fide_ furnishing of a graveyard.
He was scarcely to be blamed for his error.
*****
I believe that it was during these riots the story originated--it is now
pretty well known, I think--of the man who had caught a policeman, and
was holding his head down while he battered him, when a brother rowdy
rushed up, crying,--
“Who have you there, Bill?”
“A policeman.”
“Hold on, and let me have a thump at him.”
“Git along out of this, and find a policeman for yourself!”
*****
Having referred to the Royal Irish Constabulary, I may not perhaps
be regarded as more than usually discursive if I add my expression of
admiration for this splendid Force to the many pages of commendation
which it has received from time to time from those whose opinion carries
weight with it--which mine does not. The men are the flower of the
people of Ireland. They have a _sense_ of discipline--it has not to
be impressed upon them by an occasional “fortnight’s C.B.” Upon one
occasion, I was the witness of the extent to which this innate sense of
discipline will stretch without the breaking strain being reached. One
of the most distinguished officers in the Force was parading about one
hundred men armed with the usual carbine--the handiest of weapons--and
with swords fixed. He was mounted on a charger with some blood in
it--you would not find the same man astride of anything else--and for
several days it had been looking down the muzzles of the rifles of a
couple of regiments of autumn manoeuvrers who had been engaged in a sham
fight in the Park; but it had never shown the least uneasiness, even
when the Field Artillery set about the congenial task of annihilating a
skeleton enemy. It stood patiently while the constabulary “ported,”
“carried,” and “shouldered”; but so soon as the order to “present” was
given, a gleam of sunlight glanced down the long line of fixed swords,
and that twinkle was just what an Irish charger, born and bred among the
fogs of the Atlantic seaboard, could not stand. It whirled round, and
went at full gallop across the springy turf, then suddenly stopped,
sending its rider about twenty yards ahead upon his hands and knees.
After this feat, it allowed itself to be quietly captured by the mounted
orderly who had galloped after it. The orderly dismounted from his
horse, and passed it on to the officer, who galloped back to the long
line of men standing at the “present” just as they had been before
he had left them so hurriedly. They received the order to “shoulder”
without emotion, and then the parade went on as if nothing had happened.
Subsequently, the officer remounted his own charger--which had been led
up, and had offered an ample apology--and in course of time he again
gave the order to “present.” The horse’s ears went back, but it did not
move a hoof. After the “shoulder” and “port” the officer made the men
“charge swords,” and did not halt them until they were within a yard of
the horse’s head. The manouvre had no effect upon the animal.
I could not help contrasting the discipline shown by the Irish
Constabulary upon this occasion with the bearing of a company of a
regiment of German Infantry, who were being paraded in the Thiergarten
at Berlin, when I was riding there one day. The captain and lieutenant
had strolled away from the men, leaving them standing, not “at ease,”
but at “attention”--I think the officers were making sure that the
carriage of the Crown Prince was not coming in their direction. But
before two minutes had passed the men were standing as easy as could
well be, chatting together, and suggesting that the officers were
awaiting the approach of certain young ladies, about whose personal
traits and whose profession they were by no means reticent. Of course,
when the officers turned, the men stood at “attention”; but I trotted on
to where I lived In Den Zelten, feeling that there was but little sense
of discipline in the German Army--so readily does a young man arrive
at a grossly erroneous conclusion through generalising from a single
instance.
*****
It is difficult to understand how it comes that the splendid services
of the Royal Irish Constabulary have not been recognised by the State.
I have known officers who served on the staff during the Egyptian
campaign, but who confessed to me that they never heard a shot fired
except for saluting purposes, and yet they wore three decorations
for this campaign. Surely those Irish Constabulary officers, who have
discharged the most perilous duties from time to time, as well as
daily duties requiring the exercise of tact, discretion, judgment, and
patience, are at least as deserving of a medal as those soldiers who
obtained the maximum of reward at the minimum of risk in Egypt, South
Africa, or Ashantee. The decoration of the Volunteers was a graceful
recognition of the spirit that binds together these citizen soldiers.
Surely the services of some members of the Irish Constabulary should be
similarly recognised. This is a genuine Irish grievance, and it is one
that could be redressed much more easily than the majority of the ills
that the Irish people are heir to. A vote for a thousand pounds would
purchase the requisite number of medals or stars or crosses--perhaps
all three might be provided out of such a fund--for those members of the
Force who have distinguished themselves. The right adjudication of
the rewards presents no difficulty, owing to the “record” system which
prevails in the Force.