That the age of chivalry is gone, we are reminded some twenty times
in each day of our commonplace existence, Perhaps the changed tone of
society exhibits nowhere a more practical but less picturesque advantage
than in the fact that the “joust” of ancient times is now replaced by
the combat of the law court. Some may regret--we will not say if we are
not of the number--that the wigged Baron of the Exchequer is scarcely so
pleasing an arbiter as the Queen of Love and Beauty. Others may deem
the knotted subtleties of black-letter a sorry recompense for the “wild
crash and tumult of the fray.” The crier of the Common Pleas would
figure to little advantage beside the gorgeously clad Herald of the
Lists; nor are the artificial distinctions of service so imposing that
a patent of precedency could vie with the white cross on the shield of
a Crusader. Still, there are certain counterbalancing interests to be
considered; and it is possible that the veriest décrier of the law's
uncertainty “would rather stake life and fortune on the issue of a
'trial of law,' than on the thews and sinews of the doughtiest champion
that ever figured in an 'ordeal of battle.'”
In one respect there is a strong similarity between the two
institutions. Each, in its separate age, possessed the same sway and
influence over men's minds, investing with the deepest interest events
of which they were hitherto ignorant, and enlisting partisans of opinion
in cases where, individually, there was nothing at stake.
An important trial has all the high interest of a most exciting
narrative, whose catastrophe is yet to come, and where so many
influential agencies are in operation to mould it. The proofs
themselves, the veracity of witnesses, their self-possession and courage
under the racking torture of cross-examination, the ability and skill
of the advocate, the temper of the judge, his character of rashness
or patience, of doubt or decisiveness; and then, more vague than all
besides, the verdict of twelve perhaps rightly minded but as certainly
very ordinarily endowed men, on questions sometimes of the greatest
subtlety and obscurity. The sum of such conflicting currents makes up a
“cross sea,” where everything is possible, from the favoring tide that
leads to safety, to the swell and storm of utter shipwreck.
At the winter assizes of Galway, in the year 1802, all the deep
sympathies of a law-loving population were destined to be most heartily
engaged by the record of Darcy _versus_ Hickman, now removed by a change
of _venue_ for trial to that city. It needed not the unusual compliment
of Galway being selected as a likely spot for the due administration of
justice, to make the plaintiff somewhat popular on this occasion. The
reaction which for some time back had taken place in favor of the “real
gentry” had gone on gaining in strength, so that public opinion
was already inclining to the side of those who had earned a sort of
prescriptive right to public confidence. The claptraps of patriotism,
associated as they were often found to be with cruel treatment of
tenants and dependants, were contrasted with the independent bearing of
men who, rejecting dictation and spurning mob popularity, devoted the
best energies of mind and fortune to the interests of all belonging
to them. All the vindictiveness and rancor of a party press could not
obliterate these traits, and character sufficed to put down calumny.
Hickman O'Reilly, accompanied by the old doctor, had arrived in
Galway the evening before the trial, in all the pomp of a splendid
travelling-carriage, drawn by four posters. The whole of “Nolan's” Head
Inn had been already engaged for them and their party, who formed a
tolerably numerous suite of lawyers, solicitors, and clerks, together
with some private friends, curious to witness the proceedings.
In a very quiet but comfortable old inn called the “Devil and the Bag
of Nails,”--a corruption of the ancient Satyr and the Bacchanals,--Mr.
Bicknell had pitched his camp, having taken rooms for the Knight and
Forester, who were to arrive soon after him, but whose presence in
Ireland was not even suspected by the enemy.
There was a third individual who repaired to the West on this occasion,
but who studiously screened himself from observation, waiting patiently
for the issue of the combat to see on which side he should carry his
congratulation: need we say his name was Con Heffernan?
Bicknell had heard of certain threats of the opposite party, which,
while he did not communicate them to Darcy, were sufficient to give him
deep uneasiness, as they went so far as to menace a very severe reprisal
for these continued proceedings by a criminal action against Lionel
Darcy. Of what nature, and on what grounds sustained, he knew not; but
he was given to understand that if his principal would even now
submit to some final adjustment out of court, the Hickmans would treat
liberally with him, and, while abandoning these threatened proceedings
against young Darcy, show Bicknell all the grounds for such a procedure.
It was past midnight when Darcy and Forester arrived; but before
the Knight retired to rest he had learned all Bicknell's doubts and
scruples, and unhesitatingly decided on proceeding with his suit. He
felt that a compromise would now involve the honor of his son, of which
he had not the slightest dread of any investigation; and, however small
the prospect of success, the trial must take place to evidence his utter
disregard, his open defiance of this menace.
Morning came; and long before the judges took their seat, the court was
crowded in every part. The town was thronged with the equipages of the
neighboring gentry, all eager to witness the trial; while the country
people, always desirous of an exciting scene, thronged every avenue and
passage of the building, and even the wide area in front of it. Nothing
short of that passion for law and its interests, so inherent in an Irish
heart, could have held that vast multitude thus enchained; for the day
was one of terrific storm, the rain beating, the wind howling, and the
sea roaring as it swept into the bay and broke in showers of foam upon
the rocky shore. Each moment ran the rumor of some new disaster in the
town,--now it was a chimney fallen, now a roof blown in, now an entire
house, with all its inmates destroyed; fires, too, the invariable
accompaniment of hurricane, had broken out in various quarters, and
cries for help and screams of wretchedness were mingled with the wilder
uproar of the elements. Yet of that dense mob, few if any quitted their
places for these sights and sounds of woe. The whole interest lay within
that sombre building, and on the issue of an event of whose particulars
they knew absolutely nothing, and the details of which it was impossible
they could follow did they even hear them.
The ordinary precursors to the interest of these scenes are the chance
appearances of those who are to figure prominently in them; and such,
indeed, attracted far more of attention on this occasion than all the
startling accidents by fire and storm then happening on every side. Each
lawyer of celebrity on the circuit was speedily recognized, and greeted
by tokens of welcome or expressions of disfavor, as politics or party
inclined. The attorneys were treated with even greater familiarity,
themselves not disdaining to exchange a repartee as they passed, in
which combats, be it said, they were not always the victors. At last
came old Dr. Hickman, feebly crawling along, leaning one arm on his
son's, and the other on the stalwart support of Counsellor O'Halloran.
The already begun cheer for the popular “Counsellor” was checked by the
arrival of the sheriff, preceding and making way for the judges, whose
presence ever imposed a respectful demeanor. The buzz and hum of voices,
subdued for a moment, had again resumed its sway, when once more the
police exerted themselves to make a passage through the throng, calling
out, “Make way for the Attorney-General!” and a jovial, burly personage,
with a face redolent of convivial humor and rough merriment, came up,
rather dragging than linked with the thin, slight figure of Bicknell,
who with unwonted eagerness was whispering something in his ear.
“I'll do it with pleasure, Bicknell,” rejoined the full, mellow voice,
loud enough to be heard by those on either side; “I know the sheriff
very well, and he will take care to let him have a seat on the bench.
What's the name?”
“The Earl of Wallincourt,” whispered Bicknell, a little louder.
“That's enough; I'll not forget it” So saying, he released his grasp of
the little man, and pursued his vigorous course. In a few moments after,
Bicknell was seen accompanied by Forester alone; “the Knight” having
determined not to present himself till towards the close of the
proceedings, if even then.
The buzz and din incident to a tumultuous assembly had just subsided to
the decorous quietude of a Court of Justice, by the judges entering and
taking their seats, when, after a few words interchanged between the
Attorney-General and the sheriff, the latter courteously addressed Lord
Wallincourt, and made way for him to ascend the steps leading to
the bench. The incident was in itself too slight and unimportant for
mention, save that it speedily attracted the attention of O'Halloran,
whose quick glance at once recognized his ancient enemy. So sudden was
the shock, and so poignant did it seem, that he actually desisted from
the occupation he was engaged in of turning over his brief, and sat down
pale and trembling with passion.
“You are not ill?” asked O'Reilly, eagerly, for he had not remarked the
incident.
“Not ill,” rejoined O'Halloran, in a low, deep whisper; “but do you see
who is sitting next Judge Wallace, on the left of the bench?”
“Forester, I really believe,” exclaimed O'Reilly; for so separated were
the two “United” countries at that period that his accession to rank and
title was a circumstance of which neither O'Reilly nor his lawyer had
ever heard.
“We 'll change the _venue_ for him, too, before the day is over,” said
O'Halloran, with a savage leer. “Do not let him see that we notice him.”
While these brief words were interchanged, the business of the court
was opened, and, some routine matters over, the record of Darcy _versus_
Hickman called on. After this, the names of the special jury list were
recited, and the invariable scene of dispute and wrangling incident
to their choice followed. In law, as in war, the combat opens by a
skirmish; a single cannon-shot, or a leading question, if thrown out, is
meant rather to ascertain “the range” than with any positive intention
of damage; but gradually the light troops fall back, forces concentrate,
and a mighty movement is made. In the present instance the preliminaries
were unusually long, the plaintiff's counsel not only stating all the
grounds of the present suit, but recapitulating, with painful accuracy,
the reasons for the change of _venue_, and reviewing and of course
rebutting by anticipation every possible or impossible objection
that might be made by his learned friend on “the other side.” For our
purpose, it is enough if we condense the matter into a single statement,
that the action was to show that Hickman, in purchasing portions of the
Darcy estate, was and must have been aware that the Knight of Gwynne's
signature appended to the deed of sale was a forgery, and that he
never had concurred in, nor was even cognizant of, this disposal of his
property. A single case was selected to establish this fact, on which,
if proved, further proceedings in Equity would be founded.
The plaintiff's case opened by an examination of a number of witnesses,
old tenants of the Darcy property. These were not only called to prove
the value of their holdings, as being very far above the price alleged
to have been paid by Hickman, but also that they themselves were in
total ignorance that the estate had been conveyed away to another
proprietor, and never knew till the flight and death of Gleeson took
place, that for many years previous they had ceased to be tenants of
Maurice Darcy, to become those of Dr. Hickman.
The examination and cross-examination of these witnesses presented all
the varying and changeful fortunes ever observable in such scenes.
At one moment some obdurate old farmer resisting, with ludicrous
pertinacity, all the efforts of the examining counsel to elicit the very
testimony he himself wished to give; at another, the native humor of
the peasant was seen baffling and foiling all the trained skill and
practised dexterity of the pleader. Many a merry burst of laughter, many
a jest that set the court in a roar, were exchanged. It was in Ireland,
remember; but still the business of the day advanced, and a great
weight of evidence was adduced, which, however suggestive to common
intelligence, went legally only so far as to show that the tenantry
were, almost to a man, of an opinion which, whether well founded or not
in reason, turned out to be incorrect.
Darcy's counsel, a man of quickness and intelligence, made a very able
speech, summing up the evidence, and commenting on every leading portion
of it. He dwelt powerfully on the fact that at the time of this alleged
sale the Knight, so far from being a distressed and embarrassed man, and
consequently likely to effect a sale at a great loss, was, in reality,
in possession of a princely fortune, his debts few and insignificant,
and his income far above any possible expenditure. If he studiously
avoided adverting to Gleeson's perfidy, as solely in fault, he assumed
to himself credit for the forbearance, alleging that less scrupulous
advisers might have gone perhaps further, and inferred connivance in a
case so dubious and dark. “My client, however,” said he, “gave me but
one instruction in this cause, and it was this: 'If the law of the land,
justly administered, as I believe it will be, restores to me my own, I
shall be grateful; but if the pursuit of what I feel my right involve
the risk of reflecting on one honest man's fame, or imputing falsely
aught of dishonor to an unblemished reputation, I tell you frankly, I
don't think a verdict so obtained can carry with it anything but shame
and disgrace.”
With these words he sat down, amid a murmur of approving voices;
for there were many there who knew the Knight by reputation, if not
personally, and were aware how well such a speech accorded with every
feature of his character.
There was a brief delay as he resumed his seat. It was already late, the
court had been obliged to be lighted up a considerable time previous,
and the question of an adjournmeut was now discussed. The probable
length of O'Halloran's reply would best guide the decision, and the
Chief Baron asked if the learned counsel's statement were likely to be
long.
“Yes, my Lord,” replied he; “it is not a case to be dismissed briefly,
and I have many witnesses to call.”
Another brief discussion took place on the bench, and the Chief Baron
announced that as there were many important causes still standing over
for trial, they should best consult public convenience by proceeding,
and that, after a few moments devoted to refreshment, the case should go
on.
The judges retired, and many of the leading counsel took the same
opportunity to recruit strength exhausted by several hours of severe
toil. The Hickmans and O'Halloran never quitted their places; a decanter
of sherry and a sandwich from the hotel were served where they sat,
but the old man took nothing. The interest of the scene appeared too
absorbing to admit of even a sense of hunger or weariness, and he sat
with his hands folded, and his eyes mechanically fixed upon the now
empty jury-box; for there, the whole day, were his looks riveted, to
read, if he might, the varying emotions in the faces of those who held
so much of his fortune in their keeping.
While the noise and hubbub which characterize a court at such intervals
was at its highest, a report was circulated that increased in no small
degree the excitement of the scene, and gave a character of intense
anxiety to an assemblage so lately broken up by varied and dissimilar
passions. It was this: a large vessel had struck on a reef in the bay,
and the sea was now breaking over her. She had been seen from an early
hour endeavoring to beat to the southward; but the wind had drawn more
to the westward as the storm increased, and a strong shore current had
also drawn her on land. In a last endeavor to clear the headlands of
Clare, she missed stays, and being struck by a heavy sea, her rudder was
carried away. Totally unmanageable now, she was drifted along, till
she struck on a most dangerous reef about a mile from shore. Signals of
distress were seen at her masthead, but no boat could venture out.
The storm was already a hurricane, and even in the very harbor two
fishing-boats had sunk.
As the dreadful tidings flew from mouth to mouth, a terrible
confirmation was heard in the booming of guns of distress, which at
brief intervals sounded amid the crashing of the storm.
It was at this moment of intense excitement that the crier proclaimed
silence for the approaching entry of the judges. If the din of human
voices became hushed and low, the deafening thunder of the elements
seemed to increase, and the roaring of the enraged sea appeared to fill
the very atmosphere.
As the judges resumed their seats, and the vast crowd ceased to stir or
speak, O'Halloran arose. His voice was singularly low and quiet; but yet
every word he uttered was distinctly heard through all the clamor of the
storm.
“My Lords,” said he, “before entering upon my client's case, I would
bespeak the kind indulgence of the court in respect to a matter purely
personal to myself. Your Lordships are too well aware that I should
insist upon it, that in a cause where the weightiest interests of
property are engaged, the mind of the advocate should be disembarrassed
and free,--not only free as regards the exercise of whatever knowledge
and skill he may possess, not merely free from the supposition of any
individual hazard the honest discharge of his duty might incur, but
free from the greater thraldom of disturbed and irritated emotions,
originating in the deepest sense of wounded honor.
“Far be it from me, my Lords, long used in the practice of these courts,
and long intimate with the righteous principle on which the laws are
administered in them, to utter a syllable that in the remotest degree
might seem to impugn the justice of the bench; but, a mere frail and
erring creature, with feelings common to all around me, I wish to
protest against continuing my client's case while your Lordships' bench
is occupied by one who, in my person, has grossly outraged the sanctity
of the law. Yes, my Lords,” said he, raising his voice, till the
deep tones swelled and floated through the vast space, “as the humble
advocate of a cause, I now proclaim that in addressing that bench, I
am incapable to render justice to the case before me, so long as I see
associated with your Lordships a man more worthy to figure in the dock
than to take his seat among the ermined judges of the land. A moment
more, my Lords. I am ready to make oath that the individual on your
Lordships' left is Richard Forester, commonly called the Honorable
Richard Forester;--how suitable the designation, your Lordships shall
soon hear--”
“I beg to interrupt my learned friend,” interposed the Attorney-General,
rising. “He is totally in error; and I would wish to save him from the
embarrassment of misdescription. The gentleman he alludes to is the Earl
of Wallincourt, a peer of the realm.”
“Proceed with your client's case, Mr. O'Halloran,” said the Chief
Baron, who saw that to discuss the question further was now irrelevant.
O'Halloran sat down, overwhelmed with rage; a whispered communication
from behind told him that the Attorney-General was correct, and that
Forester was removed beyond the reach of his vengeance. After a few
moments he rallied, and again rose. Turning slowly over the pages of a
voluminous brief, he stood waiting, with practised art, till expectancy
had hushed each murmur around, when suddenly the crier called, “Way,
there,--make way for the High Sheriff!” and that functionary, with a
manner of excessive agitation, leaned over the bar, and addressed the
bench. “My Lords, I most humbly entreat your Lordships' forgiveness for
thus interrupting the business of the court; but the extreme emergency
will, I hope, pardon the indecorum. A large vessel has struck on the
rocks in the bay: each moment it is expected she must go to pieces. A
panic seems to prevail among even our hardy fishermen; and my humble
request is, that if there be any individual in this crowded assembly
possessing naval knowledge, or any experience in calamities of this
nature, he will aid us by his advice and co-operation.”
The senior judge warmly approved the humane suggestion of the sheriff;
and several persons were seen now forcing their way through the dense
mass,--the far greater part, be it owned, more excited by curiosity than
stimulated by any hope of rendering efficient service. Notwithstanding
Bicknell's repeated entreaties, and remembrances of his late severe
illness, Forester also quitted the court, and accompanied the sheriff
to the beach. And now O'Halloran, whose impatience during this interval
displayed little sympathy with the sad occasion of the interruption,
asked, in a manner almost querulous, if their Lordships were ready to
hear him? The court assented, and he began. Without once adverting to
the subject on which he so lately addressed them, he opened his case by
a species of narrative of the whole legal contest which for some time
back had been maintained between the opposite parties in the present
suit. Nothing could be more calm or more dispassionate than the estimate
he formed of such struggles; neither inclining the balance to one party
nor the other, but weighing with impartiality all the reasons that might
prompt men on one side to continue a course of legal investigations,
and the painful necessity on the other to provide a series of defences,
costly, onerous, and harassing. “I have only to point out to the court
the defendant in this action, to show how severe such a duty may become.
Here, my Lords, beside me, site the gentleman, bowed down with more
years than are allotted to humanity generally. Look upon him, and say if
it be not difficult to determine what course to follow,--the abandonment
of a just right, or its maintenance, at the cost of rendering the
few last years--why do I say years?--days, hours, of a life careworn,
distracted, and miserable!”
Dwelling long enough on this theme to interest without wearying the
jury, he adroitly addressed himself to the case of those who, by a
system of litigious persecution, would seek to obtain by menace what
they must despair of by law. Beginning by vague and wide generalities,
he gradually accumulated a mass of allegations and inferences, which
concentrating to a point, he suddenly checked himself, and said: “Now,
my Lords, it may be supposed that I will imitate the delicate reserve of
my learned friend opposite, and while filling your minds with dark and
mysterious suspicions, profess a perfect ignorance of all intention to
apply them. But I will not do this: I will be candid and free-spoken;
nay, more, my Lords, I will finish what my learned friend has left
incomplete; and I will proclaim to the court, and this jury, what he
wished, but did not dare, to say,--that we, the defendants in this
action, were not only cognizant of a forgery, but were associated in the
act! There it is, my Lords; and I accept my learned friend's bland smile
as the warm acknowledgment of the truth of my assertion. My learned
friend is obliged to me. I see that he cannot conceal his joy at the
inaptitude of my avowal. But we have a case, my Lords, that can happily
dispense with the dexterity of an advocate, and make its truth felt,
even through means as unskilful as mine. They disclaimed, it is
true,--they disclaimed in words the wish to make this inference; but
even take their disclaimer as such, and what is it? An avowal of their
weakness, an open expression of the poverty of their proofs. Yes, my
Lords, their disclaimers were like the ominous sounds which break from
time to time upon our ear,--but signal-guns of distress. Like that fated
vessel, whose sad destiny is perhaps this moment accomplishing, they
have been storm-tossed and cast away,--their proud ensign torn, and
their rudder gone, but, unlike her, they cannot brave their fate without
seeking to involve others in the calamity.”
A terrible gust of wind, so sudden and violent as to be like a
thunderclap, now struck the building; and with one tremendous crash
the great window of the court-house was driven in, and scattered in
fragments of glass and timber throughout the court. A scene of the
wildest confusion ensued, for almost immediately the lights became
extinguished, and from the dark abyss arose a terrible chaos of voices
in every agony of fear and suffering. Some announced that the roof
was giving way and was about to crush them; others, in all the bodily
torture of severe wounds, cried for help.
It was nearly an hour before the court could resume its sitting, which
at length was done in one of the adjoining courts, the usual scene
of the criminal trials. Here, now, lights were procured, and after a
considerable delay the cause proceeded. If the various events of the
night, added to the fatigue of the day, had impressed both the bench
and the jury with signs of greatest exhaustion, O'Halloran showed no
evidence of abated vigor. On the contrary, like one whose vengeance had
been thwarted by opposing accident, he exhibited a species of impatient
ardor to resume his work of defamation. With a brief apology for any
want of due coherence in an argument so frequently interrupted, he
launched out into the most ferocious attack upon the plaintiff in
the suit; and while repudiating the affected reserve of the opposite
counsel, boldly proclaimed that they would not imitate it; nay, further,
that they were only awaiting the sure verdict in their favor, to
commence a criminal action against the parties for the very crime they
dared to insinuate against them.
“I shall now call my witnesses, my Lord; and if the Grand Cross of
the Bath, which this day's paper tells me is to be conferred upon the
plaintiff, be not meant, like the brand which foreign justice impresses
on its felons, as a mark of ignominy, I am at a loss to understand how
it has descended on this man. Call Nathaniel Leery.”
The examination of the witnesses was in perfect keeping with the
infamous scurrility of the speech, and the testimony elicited went
to prove everything the advocate desired. Though exposed by
cross-examination, and their perjury proved, O'Halloran kept a perpetual
recapitulation of their assertions before the jury, and so artfully
that few, save the practised minds of a legal auditory, could have
distinguished in that confused web of truth and falsehood.
The business proceeded with difficulty; for, added to the uproar of the
storm, was a continued tumult of voices in the outer hall of the court,
and where now several sailors, saved from the wreck, had been brought
for shelter. By frequent loud cries from this quarter the court
was interrupted, and more than once its proceedings completely
arrested,--inconveniences which the judges submitted to with the most
tolerant patience,--when at length a loud murmur arose, which gradually
swelling louder and louder, all respect for the sacred precincts of the
judgment-seat seemed lost in the wild tumult. In a tone of sharp reproof
the Chief Baron called on the sheriff to allay the uproar, and if
necessary, to clear the hall. The order was scarcely given, when one
deafening shout was raised from the street, and, soon caught up, echoed
by a thousand voices, while shrill cries of “He has saved them! he has
saved them!” rent the air.
“What means this, Mr. Sheriff?”
“It is my Lord Wallincourt, my Lord, who has just rescued from the wreck
three men who persisted in being lost together rather than separate.
Hitherto only one man was taken at each trip of the boat; but this young
nobleman offered a thousand pounds to the crew who would accompany him,
and it appears they have succeeded.”
“Really, my Lords,” said O'Halloran, who had heard the honorable mention
of a hated name, “I must abandon my client's cause. These interruptions,
which I conclude your influence is powerless to remove, have so
interfered with the line of defence I had laid down for adoption, and
have so confused the order of the proofs I had prepared, that I
should but injure, and not serve, my respected client by continuing to
represent his interests.”
A bland assurance from the court that order should be rigidly enforced,
and a pressing remonstrance from O'Reilly, overcame a resolve scarcely
maturely taken, and he consented to go on.
“We will now, my Lords,” said he, “call a very material witness,--a
respectable tenant on the property,--who will prove that on a day in
November, antecedent to Gleeson's death, he had a conversation with the
Knight of Gwynne--Really, my Lords, I cannot proceed; this is no longer
a court of justice.”
The remainder of his words were lost in an uproar like that of the sea
itself; and, like that element, the great mass swelled forward, and a
rush of people from the outer hall bore into the court, till seats and
barriers gave way before that overwhelming throng.
For some minutes the scene was one of almost personal conflict. The mob,
driven forward by those behind, were obliged to endure a buffeting by
the more recognized possessors of the place; nor was it till police and
military had lent their aid that the court was again restored to quiet,
while several of the rioters were led off in custody.
“Who are these men, and to what purpose are they here?” said the Chief
Baron, as Bicknell officiously exerted himself to make way for some
persons behind.
“I come to tender my evidence in this cause,” said a deep, solemn
voice, as a man advanced to the witness-table, displaying to the amazed
assembly a bold, intrepid countenance, on which streaks of blue and
yellow color were fantastically mingled, like the war-paint of a savage.
“Who are you, sir?” rejoined O'Halloran, with his habitual scowl.
“My name is Bagenal Daly. I believe their Lordships are not ignorant
of my rank and station; and this gentleman at my side is also here to
afford his testimony. This, my Lords, is Thomas Gleeson!”
One cry of amazement rang through the assembly, through which a wild
shriek pierced with a clear and terrible distinctness; and now the
attention was suddenly turned towards old Hickman, who had fallen
forward senseless on the table.
“My client is very ill,--he is dangerously ill. My Lord, I beg to
suggest an adjournment of the cause,” said O'Halloran; while O'Reilly,
with a face like death, continued to whisper eagerly in his ear. “I
appeal to the plaintiff himself, if he be here, and is not devoid of the
feelings attributed to him, and I ask that the cause may be adjourned.”
“It is not a case in which the defendant's illness can be made use of
to press such a demand,” said one of the judges, mildly; “but if the
opposite party consent--”
“He is worse, my Lord.”
“I say, if the opposite party--”
“He is dead!” said O'Halloran, solemnly; and letting go the lifeless
hand, it fell with a heavy bang upon the table.
“Take your verdict,” said O'Halloran, with the look of a demon; and,
bursting his way through the crowd, disappeared.