THE ASSIZES.
On a certain day in the month of July our lady the Queen, probably
clad in ermine, and wearing on her head that gorgeous specimen of the
jeweller's art which, when not in use, may be viewed at the Tower of
London for the absurdly moderate sum of sixpence--our lady the Queen,
I say, was reminded by her faithful Chancellor that various prisoners
were awaiting trial in different parts of England and Wales, and among
other places in Mynyddshire.
Whereupon her Majesty, with that constant attention to the welfare of
her people which befits a sovereign, at once sat down and wrote, or
possibly only signed, a stately document requiring and empowering Sir
Daniel Buller, Knight, one of the judges of her High Court; Sir John
Wiseman, Knight, another of the aforesaid judges; Walter Reynold
Davies, Esquire, one of her counsel learned in the law; Joseph Robert
Pollington, Esquire, another of her counsel learned in the law; and
Henry Jones, Esquire, yet a further specimen of her counsel learned in
the law, to proceed to Mynyddshire, and there and then open the gaols
and try such prisoners as were inside them.
In a similar and not less elaborate document she thoughtfully went on
to provide for their hearing and deciding, at the same time, any
disputes over civil matters which might possibly have arisen among the
population of that remote locality since it was last honoured by the
presence of such bright visitants. This considerate act on her
Majesty's part was, of course, intended to save her emissaries a
second journey. Even a monarch, in the administration of justice, need
not be above killing two birds with one stone.
In proceeding to Mynyddshire, however, a very invidious distinction
was drawn between the gentlemen named in the Royal Commission. The two
first named, simply because they were knights and judges, went down
in state, were met at the station by the high-sheriff of the county,
and escorted by twenty javelin-men in gay attire to the comfortable
lodgings prepared for them. The other three, for no other earthly
reason than because their position was less exalted, had to get down
as best they might, scramble into cabs with their portmanteaus, and
put up at a common hotel. How true is the venerable saying, 'To him
that hath shall be given, and from him that hath not shall be taken
away even that which he hath'!
Having thus got an unfair start, the two judges preserved it to the
end. They tried all the cases themselves, and their unfortunate
colleagues had to be content with what crumbs they could pick up by
appearing in court as common advocates.
The Southern Circuit has long been popular with judges. There is a
great difference in circuits. The two northern ones, with their vast
populations and immense amount of work, are the bugbear of the puisne
judge. The scenery of some of the other circuits is flat, and there is
not much amusement going on in the assize towns. But the Southern
combines several advantages. It is far from heavy as regards work,
the country in many parts is beautiful, and the train-service between
the county towns is fairly good.
For these reasons the old stagers on the Bench are in the habit of
trying to get the Southern Circuit. On the present occasion they had
been successful. Sir Daniel Buller and Sir John Wiseman may not have
been extremely popular with the Bar, but they were very popular with
each other. They came down to Abertaff feeling in good form, Sir John
to preside over the civil court, and Sir Daniel to mete out justice to
the inmates of the county gaol.
Not for many years had there been such excitement at assize time in
the city. This excitement was due to two causes--the javelin-men and
the society murder.
Javelin-men are dying out. In former times, when the office of sheriff
was a mark of high social dignity, and before the new-fangled post of
lord-lieutenant had usurped so much of its splendour, the shrievalty
was an epoch in a county gentleman's career. It was considered almost
worth being ruined for. A heavy mortgage was not grudged as a
consequence of the lavish splendour with which the office was
surrounded. In those days javelin-men were a reality. Clad in
semi-military uniforms modelled on the master's family livery, and
armed with weapons of an extinct fashion, they simulated the state of
vice-royalty. Many a German princelet has enjoyed a less imposing
body-guard than an English sheriff of the olden time.
But the railways have killed all that. Everyone now seeks distinction
in the Metropolis. County society has become a byword for the
old-fashioned and the humdrum, for bad living, bad manners, and bad
taste. No one would now dream of embarrassing his estate to secure a
merely local renown. Hence the decay of the shrievalty. The modern
high-sheriff looks upon his obligatory office as a duty rather than an
honour. He contents himself with the cheap services of the county
police force for his retinue, and foregoes the expensive luxury of the
javelin-men.
There are a few brilliant exceptions, however. The present sheriff of
Mynyddshire was one. In the first place, he was master of what in the
country is regarded as a colossal fortune. In the second place, he
was the founder of his family. Money, therefore, was not an object to
Mr. Simon Reynolds. Glory was. His office gave him just the chance he
wanted, and he revived its mediæval honours with a willing hand.
Two-and-twenty men, counting the buglers, in gorgeous clothing of pink
and yellow hue, accordingly gladdened the eyes of the Abertaffians as
they paraded the streets and hung about the court-house. Each man of
the rank and file carried a weapon the like of which had not often
been looked upon. It resembled an axe with an exaggerated handle, only
the back of the blade was prolonged into a formidable spike, while the
handle extended beyond into a species of spear-point. Armed with these
truly terrific weapons, Mr. Reynolds's faithful henchmen might well
strike awe into the heart of the boldest boy in Abertaff. It was felt
that they were the principal feature of the assize. The judges, by
common consent, took a secondary place. Their robes were fine, no
doubt, but their rather ill-fitting wigs formed a poor substitute for
the gleaming steel of their rivals. The sober charms of justice
cannot successfully compete with the dazzling splendour of arms.
As for the high-sheriff himself, in his black velvet coat and frilled
shirt-front, he was a very inferior attraction, while his chaplain
was simply nowhere. He had his innings for one brief hour in the
cathedral, where the judges were compelled to sit as meekly as so many
jurymen under a lengthy summing-up; but after that one bright flash he
sank into insignificance, and dragged out the remainder of the assize
like the stick of a burnt-out rocket, unpitied by all.
Yet even the javelin-men were cast into the shade by the other great
feature of the assize week. The crime of murder remains, after all is
said and done, the one thing which most fascinates the public mind.
And when to murder is added mystery, and when that mystery centres
round the figure of a woman, and when that woman is young and
beautiful, and in a social position which does away with the presence
of squalid details or coarse motives, the public may be pardoned if
they take the very fullest interest in her fate.
Indeed, the case of 'The Queen against Owen,' to give it its legal
designation, was of more than local interest. The whole kingdom was
excited about the position of the unhappy girl who lay in one of the
cells of Abertaff Gaol. Every eye was watching eagerly for the
unfolding of the tragic drama in which she was about to play the
leading part. All the great London dailies had their representatives
down at the assize town to gather every detail of the forthcoming
trial. Already the names of the counsel on both sides were being wired
from one end of the country to the other, while in Mynyddshire and in
the county town itself the excitement was so great that not the
smallest attention was bestowed on any other case that was to come
before the courts.
Even the judges themselves were infected with the excitement all
around them. Mr. Justice Buller had read the depositions taken before
the magistrates prior to leaving town. He had discussed little else
with his brother Wiseman in the train. In all their experience, they
agreed, they had never met with a case so clear upon the evidence, and
yet so unsatisfactory to the mind.
In the presence of the sheriff, of course, the subject was dropped.
Nor could it be resumed after dinner. Later on the judge of the
criminal court sat down to make notes for his charge to the grand jury
on the morrow. In this he dealt with several other serious cases that
appeared in the calendar. But his gravest attention was devoted to the
one that dwarfed all the others. This disposed of, he soon retired to
rest.
The formal business of opening the assizes had been gone through on
the afternoon the judges arrived. Sir Daniel Buller had been trumpeted
off to the Court-house, and had sat with as much patience as he could
command--and that was not a great deal--while a rather short-sighted
and very fidgety clerk of arraigns, afflicted, moreover, with a severe
cough, stumbled his way through the important documents already
described. This proceeding was necessary in order to inform the loyal
inhabitants of Mynyddshire, chiefly represented by errand-boys and
loafers from the neighbouring taps, who their red-robed visitors
really were, and what they had come to do.
On the following morning, therefore, the judges were free to proceed
to work. They drove down to the court at half-past ten, accompanied
by the swelling Reynolds and the visibly crestfallen chaplain, and
escorted by the inevitable javelin-men, who swarmed about the place
all day under the pretext of keeping order.
Sir John Wiseman went quietly off to his own court, and began at once
at the unexciting work of trying whether the drippings from a
wholesale piano warehouseman's spout had or had not damaged the hats
in a neighbouring hat store, and, if so, whether the wholesale piano
warehouseman was to blame, and if to blame, how much he ought to pay
to the aggrieved hatter. Two of the gentlemen so unfairly deprived of
seats upon the bench were engaged in this important case, and it
occupied more than half the day.
But it had a rather poor audience. The crowd had rushed into the other
court, where the gentlemen of the grand jury were answering to their
names as often as the infirmities of the clerk of arraigns would allow
them to discover whom he was calling. As soon as the necessary
twenty-three were sworn, Mr. Justice Buller began his charge.
After a few civil remarks on the state of the county as regarded crime
generally, and brief references to some of the other cases, he came to
the all-absorbing topic. And now the reporters, who had sat listlessly
under the infliction of the previous remarks, woke to sudden life, and
every word of his lordship was caught and taken down as eagerly as if
it had dropped from the lips of Shakespeare.
And this is what he said:
'And now I come to what is by far the gravest case in the
calendar--one of the gravest cases that has ever come before me in my
judicial experience. The prisoner, Eleanor Owen, is accused of the
most serious crime, short of treason, known to our law. Gentlemen, it
is not for you to try whether she is guilty. You have to hear the
witnesses who will be sent in before you on behalf of the Crown, and
if you are satisfied that they are speaking the truth, and the effect
of their evidence on your minds is such as, if uncontradicted, to
raise a fair presumption of the prisoner's guilt, then it is your duty
to find a true bill against her. From the depositions taken by the
magistrates, which have been put before me, I do not anticipate that
you will have much hesitation in coming to your decision. The case is
entirely one of what is called circumstantial evidence, as such cases
most generally are, and must be from the nature of things. Doubtless
there are difficulties in the case--many and grave difficulties--with
which it will be the duty of this tribunal to deal when the prisoner
comes, if she does come, before us. The fact that the prisoner is
charged with the deliberate murder of her friend--I may almost say her
benefactress--with whom she had been living on terms of intimacy for a
considerable time, and for no motive that has yet been suggested
except a low and mercenary one, is calculated to arouse a natural
repulsion in the mind, and to indispose it to believe that the charge
is well-founded. But, gentlemen, these things, as they come before
you, are matters of evidence. If the witnesses you are about to hear
satisfy you that there is a _primâ facie_ case made out against
Eleanor Owen, that there are grounds for suspicion which she ought
fairly to be called upon to answer and explain away if she can, then
it is your duty not to hesitate, but to bring in a true bill for
murder. And I must tell you, gentlemen, that so far as my reading of
the depositions has guided me, this is not a case in which the crime
admits of being reduced to any lesser charge. There are none of the
elements present which may, and often do, justify a jury in reducing
the charge of murder to that of manslaughter. There is no question, so
far as I have been able to discover, of sudden provocation, of
accident, or anything of that sort. Whoever committed this crime must,
if you believe the evidence, have done so knowingly, designedly, and
with premeditation, and therefore your finding, if you find against
the prisoner must be one of wilful murder. Gentlemen, I leave you to
your deliberations.'
With these words his Lordship dismissed the grand jury; and the
barristers, in their wigs and gowns, some of them with briefs and a
good many with none, came streaming into the well of the court,
filling up the seats specially reserved for them, and overflowing into
those occupied by their colleagues of the 'lower branch.' It seems
rather hard on the Bar that some mysterious rule of etiquette, which
they themselves probably do not understand, should forbid them to
enter the assize court till this particular stage in the proceedings.
Or can it be that this rule had its origin in the wisdom of their
remote predecessors, devising artful means to escape the infliction
of a tedious charge without appearing disrespectful to the Bench?
A lull followed. The judge, accustomed to have the eyes of men upon
him, calmly betook himself to letter-writing. The high-sheriff, not
so accustomed, fidgeted in his seat, looked round and counted the
javelin-men in court, wondered how long the grand jury would be, and
remembered, let us hope with remorse, the time when he was a grand
juryman himself and wasted the time of the county by unnecessary
questions to the witnesses. The fact is that the grand jury is played
out. Everything for which they originally existed is now done by
somebody else. Every case that comes before them now has already been
investigated once by the committing magistrates. Their duty is simply
to accuse the prisoner, nothing more; and it would be quite sufficient
if they would just read the depositions and sign the indictment. But
man, brief man, placed on a grand jury, and shut into a room without
the interference of a legal authority, delights to show himself off by
vain and superfluous inquiry. And hence it was that more than half an
hour elapsed before the foreman was seen returning into the court with
a trumpery indictment for larceny.
The interval had been usefully employed by the clerk of arraigns in
compiling a petty jury, something in this fashion:
The Clerk of Arraigns (_taking up a ticket, rather larger than a
visiting-card, from a heap before him_): 'John Henry Mullerall!' (_To
his clerk, a humble person in plebeian attire, who is popularly
believed to know a great deal more about the procedure than the judge
and the whole court put together_): 'Did he answer?' (_The clerk
hasn't heard him._) 'John--Henry' (_very loudly_) 'Mull---- Oh! I see
it's Muggle'--(_at the top of his voice_) 'Mugglewrath!' (_testily_)
'Are you there?'
John Henry Mugglewrath (_from a seat close by_): 'Here!'
The Clerk of Arraigns: 'Oh! there you are. Why _don't_ you gentlemen
answer when you hear your names? Go into the box, please.'
After about ten minutes of this sort of thing, twelve respectable
inhabitants of Mynyddshire were collected in the jury-box. Then they
all had to stand up while their names were read over a second time.
Then the clerk of arraigns counted his tickets to make sure he had
used up twelve, while his clerk counted the jurymen to see that they
came to the same number. Then all was ready to begin.
Meanwhile, those gentlemen at the counsel's table who rejoiced in
the possession of briefs made a great show of reading them, and
making copious notes and interlineations with pencils of different
colours--red, blue, and black. The public were greatly impressed as
they watched these young giants of intellect at their work. There they
were, mastering the most knotty points with ease, and constructing
ingenious arguments, doubtless, as they went along. One gentleman
excited the greatest interest, and quite threw his brethren into
the shade, by pushing aside his brief and drawing towards him one
of the loose sheets of foolscap which the kind forethought of
the authorities had provided, and beginning to write on it in an
abstracted manner. The onlookers deemed him to be wrestling with an
opinion on some weighty question bristling with legal difficulties.
They little guessed that he was addressing congratulations to a maiden
aunt on the occasion of her approaching birthday.
But what really occupied the minds of the spectators, and kept their
lips moving in subdued conversation, was the ending of the judge's
charge.
'He has made up his mind that she is guilty,' whispered Mr. Jenkins,
the stationer from Queen Street, who had come to the court in the
capacity of a common juryman, but had not been among the names first
selected.
'And I don't wonder at it,' replied his neighbour, a farmer from near
Porthstone, who had been summoned in the same way. 'A bad lot, I'll be
bound. Wouldn't say nothing when her was before the magistrates. That
looks bad, don't it?'
'Silence!' bawled a javelin-man just behind them, a rebuke which the
worthy farmer at first thought was meant for himself. But the word
was repeated instantly by other javelin-men, and then he perceived
that the grand jury had at last achieved a stroke of work, and that
the satellites of justice were merely drawing attention to that fact
in their usual impressive manner.
The clerk of arraigns now received the document, and proceeded to
expound its contents in this manner:
'Gentlemen of the Grand Jury, you find a'--here he stopped and
turned it over to read what was on the back, a task which occupied
several seconds; but he completed the sentence as if no break had
occurred--'true bill against'--another pause, he was looking for the
name concealed amid the mazes of technical phraseology. This time the
foreman rashly attempted to help him out by murmuring, 'Joseph Hall.'
The clerk of arraigns turned round and glared at him, then resumed his
investigation, and finally brought out the name in a tone of triumph,
as of one who gloried in overcoming obstacles, and was not to be
baffled by any indictment in the power of man to draw--'Joseph Hall,
for stealing a coat of the value of thirty shillings; also for
receiving the same, knowing it to be stolen.'
He then turned again, and bestowed an impatient nod on the waiting
foreman, who withdrew, a crushed and miserable man.
'Put up Joseph Hall,' was the next command.
The governor of the gaol leant forward and repeated the order to a
warder, who had already heard it perfectly and dived below, apparently
through the solid floor of the court. The next moment Mr. Hall
appeared, with easy nonchalance, and leant forward in a graceful
attitude on the bar of the dock, while the clerk of arraigns proceeded
to acquaint him with the crime of which he was accused.
Exhibiting no surprise at this piece of information, which,
considering he had been lying under the accusation for two months, was
perhaps hardly to be wondered at, Mr. Hall in emphatic tones
pronounced himself innocent.
'What?' said the clerk of arraigns, stretching anxiously forward.
Mr. Hall repeated his sentiments.
'What does he say?' exclaimed the clerk of arraigns, appealing to the
court generally for assistance.
The response was a loud but confused roar of voices from the Junior
Bar, out of which the only clear sound that penetrated to the
unfortunate man's brain was the word 'guilty.'
'He says he's guilty!' he remarked to his clerk, in what he intended
for an aside, but which was perfectly audible over the whole building.
At this point the judge, becoming impatient, leant over and tapped the
clerk of arraigns on the shoulder. He turned round.
'He pleads guilty, my lord,' he said, thinking that the judge wished
for information.
'No, he doesn't, Mr. Hughes. He said "Not guilty,"' answered the
judge.
Mr. Hughes was nearly beside himself by this time. Leaning forward in
the direction of the prisoner, he shouted fiercely:
'What _do_ you say? Are you guilty or not?'
'No,' came in tones loud enough for him to hear at last.
'Then _why_ can't you speak distinctly? The names you are about to
hear called are those of the jurors who are to try you if you have
any objection to them or any of them you shall make it as they come to
the book to be sworn and before they are sworn and you shall be heard.
John Henry Mugglewrath, stand up.'
And, leaving this overwhelming communication to gradually make itself
clear to the prisoner's mind, the clerk of arraigns went on swearing
in the jury as hard as he could go, with the assistance of the judge's
clerk (who recited the oath) and his own clerk (who handed the
Testament, as it is called, though really containing only the works of
the four Evangelists). It need scarcely be observed that the jurors
never came to the book at all. The book came to them.
A rather flighty young counsel, who seemed to consider the whole thing
somewhat in the light of a joke, or a species of amateur theatricals
on a large scale, having presented the case for the prosecution, Mr.
Hall was called upon for his defence.
It then came out that the poor man, than whom no more honest creature
ever walked the earth, had been made the victim of a truly diabolical
hoax. He was sitting reading the newspaper in a public-house, the
Three Hens--he had not even been drinking, mind, simply reading the
newspaper--when a perfect stranger, whom he had never seen before nor
since, but whom he should know anywhere, came in, with an overcoat
(the one produced in court) over his arm. The stranger, with a craft
for which an innocent being like Mr. Hall was no match, began by
offering refreshments. These consumed, he asked Mr. Hall to do him the
favour of pawning his overcoat for him. Mr. Hall naturally put the
question, Why didn't he pawn it himself? The stranger replied that he
was unfamiliar with pawnshops, that he doubted his ability to make a
good bargain, and that he was willing to pay his new acquaintance a
commission on the proceeds. This last offer Mr. Hall had magnanimously
refused, but out of mere good-nature he went forth to do the
stranger's bidding. The pawnbroker, however, with a distrust in human
nature which stamped him as having an evil mind, called in a passing
policeman, and gave this victim of his own kindly disposition into
custody. The sequel was inevitable. The constable was led by the
unsuspicious Hall to the bar of the Three Hens, but the mysterious
stranger had gone and left no trace. Poor, humble, with nothing
but his good character to rely on, Mr. Hall now cast himself with
confidence on the discernment of the gentlemen before him.
The gentlemen had made up their minds already. But they could not give
their verdict till the judge had had his turn. Mr. Justice Buller set
to and occupied exactly fourteen minutes in telling the jury that
there was not much evidence of stealing, but there was strong evidence
of the receiving. The jury then occupied exactly fourteen seconds in
deciding that the prisoner was guilty of stealing.
It then transpired that this was not the first time Mr. Hall had been
the victim of appearances. His trusting nature had led him on six
previous occasions to incur the censure of the law. He was, therefore,
now bidden to take up his abode where no such temptations could assail
him for the next five years.
By this time several other bills had come in from the grand jury, and
it had become apparent that the all-absorbing murder would not be
tried that day. The audience gradually drifted off, and the remainder
of the day's performance took place before a half-empty house.