The trial at the Old Bailey of Mr. Simple Simonman for highway robbery
with violence--Mr. Alibi introduces himself to Mr. Bumpkin.
I next saw Mr. Bumpkin wandering about the precincts of that Grand
Institution, the Old Bailey, on a drizzly morning about the middle of
February, 187--, waiting to go before the Grand Jury. As the famous
prison in Scotland was called the "Heart of Midlothian" so the Old Bailey
may be considered the Heart of Civilization. Its commanding situation,
in the very centre of a commercial population, entitles it to this
distinction; for nothing is supposed to have so civilizing an influence
as Commerce. I was always impressed with its beautiful and picturesque
appearance, especially on a fine summer morning, during its sittings,
when the sun was pouring its brightest beams on its lively portals. What
a charming picture was presented to your view, when the gates being open,
the range of sheds on the left met the eye, especially the centre one
where the gallows is kept packed up for future use. The gallows on the
one side might be seen and the stately carriages of my Lord Mayor and
Sheriffs on the other! Gorgeous coachmen and footmen in resplendent
liveries; magnificent civic dignitaries in elaborate liveries too, rich
with gold and bright with colour, stepping forth from their carriages,
amid loud cries of "Make way!" holding in their white-gloved hands large
bouquets of the loveliest flowers, emblems of--what?
Crime truly has its magnificent accompaniments, and if it does not dress
itself, as of old, in the rich costumes of a Turpin or a Duval, it is not
without its beautiful surroundings. Here, where the channels and gutters
of crime converge, is built, in the centre of the greatest commercial
city in the world, the Bailey. Mr. Bumpkin wandered about for hours
through a reeking unsavoury crowd of thieves and thieves' companions,
idlers of every type of blackguardism, ruffians of every degree of
criminality; boys and girls receiving their finishing lessons in crime
under the dock, as they used to do only a few years ago under the
gallows. The public street is given over to the enemies of Society; and
Civilisation looks on without a shudder or regret, as though crime were a
necessity, and the Old Bailey, in the heart of London, no disgrace.
And a little dirty, greasy hatted, black whiskered man, after pushing
hither and thither through this pestiferous crowd as though he had
business with everybody, but did not exactly know what it was, at length
approached Mr. Bumpkin; and after standing a few minutes by his side
eyeing him with keen hungry looks, began that interesting conversation
about the weather which seems always so universally acceptable. Mr.
Bumpkin was tired. He had been wandering for hours in the street, and
was wondering when he should be called before the Grand Jury. Mr. Alibi,
that was the dark gentleman's name, knew all about Mr. Bumpkin's case,
his condition of mind, and his impatience; and he said deferentially:
"You are waiting to go before the Grand Jury, I suppose, sir?"
"I be," answered Bumpkin.
"Where's your policeman?" enquired Alibi.
"I doant know," said Bumpkin.
"What's his number?"
"Sev'n hunderd and sev'nty."
"O, I know," said Alibi; "why not let me get you before the Grand Jury at
once, instead of waiting about here all day, and perhaps to-morrow and
the next day, and the day after that; besides, the sooner you go before
the Grand Jury, the sooner your case will come on; that stands to common
sense, I think."
"So ur do," answered the farmer.
"You will be here a month if you don't look out. Have you got any
counsel or solicitor?"
"Noa, I beant; my case be that plaain, it spaks for itself."
"Ah!" said Mr. Alibi; "they won't always let a case speak for
itself--they very often stop it--but if you can get a counsel for
nothing, why not have one; that stands to reason, I think?"
"For nothing? well that be the fust time I ever eeard o' a loryer as
chape as thic."
How it could pay was the wonder to Mr. Bumpkin. And what a strange
delusion it must seem to the mind of the general reader! But wait,
gentle peruser of this history, you shall see this strange sight.
"If you like to have a counsel and a lawyer to conduct your case, sir, it
shall not cost you a farthing, I give you my word of honour! What do you
think of that?"
What could Mr. Bumpkin think of that? What a pity that he had not met
this gentleman before! Probably he would have brought several actions if
he had; for if you could work the machinery of the law for nothing, you
would always stand to win.
"O," said Mr. Alibi, "here is seven hundred and seventy! This gentleman
wants a counsel, and I've been telling him he can have one, and it won't
cost him anything."
"That's right enough," said the Policeman; "but it ain't nothin' to do
with me!"
"Just step this way, sir, we'll soon have this case on," said Alibi; and
he led the way to the back room of a public-house, which seemed to be
used as a "hedge" lawyer's office.
"Med I mak so bold, sir; be thee a loryer?"
"No," answered Alibi, "I am clerk to Mr. Deadandgone."
"And don't Mr. Deadandam charge nothin'?"
"O dear, no!"
What a very nice man Mr. Deadandam must be!
"You see," said Alibi, "the Crown pays us!"
"The Crown!"
And here Mr. Alibi slipped a crown-piece into the artfully extended palm
of the policeman, who said:
"It ain't nothin' to do wi' me; but the gentleman's quite right, the
Crown pays." And he dropped the money into his leather purse, which he
rolled up carefully and placed in his pocket.
"You see," said Alibi, "I act as the Public Prosecutor, who can't be
expected to do everything--you can't grind all the wheat in the country
in one mill, that stands to common sense."
"That be right, that's werry good,"
"And," continued Mr. Alibi, "the Government allows two guineas for
counsel, a guinea for the solicitor, and so on, and the witnesses, don't
you see?"
"Zactly!" said Bumpkin.
"And that's quite enough," continued Alibi; "we don't want anything from
the prosecutor--that's right, policeman!"
"It ain't nothink to do wi' me," said the policeman; "but what this 'ere
gentleman says is the law."
"There," said Alibi, "I told you so."
"I spose," said the policeman, "you don't want me, gentlemen; it ain't
nothink to do with me?"
"Oh, no, Leary," replied Alibi; "we don't want you; the case is pretty
straight, I suppose."
"Oh, yes, sir; I expects it'll be a plea of guilty. There ain't no
defence, not as I'm aware of."
"Oh," said Alibi, "that's all right--keep your witnesses together,
Leary--don't be out of the way."
"No, sir," says Leary; "I thinks I knows my dooty."
And with this he slouched out of the room, and went and refreshed himself
at the bar.
In two or three minutes the policeman returned, and was in the act of
drawing the back of his hand across his mouth, when Alibi said:
"Yes?"
"Beg pardin, sir; but there's another gentleman wants to see you--I
thinks he wants you to defend ---; but it ain't nothink to do wi' me,
sir."
"Very good," answered Alibi, "very good; now let me see--"
"You got the Baker's case?" said Leary.
"Yes," said Alibi; "O, yes--embezzlement."
Everything was thus far satisfactorily settled, and Mr. Bumpkin's
interests duly represented by Mr. Deadandgone, an eminent practitioner.
No doubt the services of competent counsel would be procured, and the
case fully presented to the consideration of an intelligent jury.
Who shall say after this that the Old Bailey is _not_ the Heart of
Civilization?
I pass over the preliminary canter of Mr. Bumpkin before the Grand Jury;
the decision of that judicial body, the finding of the true bill, the
return of the said bill in Court, the bringing up of the prisoner for
arraignment, and the fixing of the case to be taken first on Thursday in
deference to the wishes of Mr. Nimble. I pass by all those preliminary
proceedings which I have before attempted to describe, and which, if I
might employ a racing simile, might be compared to the saddling of Mr.
Bumpkin in the paddock, where, unquestionably, he was first favourite for
the coming race, to be ridden by that excellent jockey, Alibi; and come
at once to the great and memorable trial of Regina on the prosecution of
Thomas Bumpkin against Simon Simpleman for highway robbery with violence.
As the prisoner entered the dock there was a look of unaffected innocence
in his appearance that seemed to make an impression on the learned Judge,
Mr. Justice Technical, a recently appointed Chancery barrister. I may be
allowed to mention that his Lordship had never had any experience in
Criminal Courts whatever: so he brought to the discharge of his important
duty a thoroughly unprejudiced and impartial mind. He did not suspect
that a man was guilty because he was charged: and the respectable and
harmless manner of the accused was not interpreted by his Lordship as a
piece of consummate acting, as it would be by some Judges who have seen
much of the world as it is exhibited in Criminal Courts.
Many ladies of rank were ushered in by the Sheriff, all looking as
smiling and happy as if they were about to witness the performance of
some celebrated actress for the first time; they had fans and
opera-glasses, and as they took their places in the boxes allotted to
rank and fashion, there was quite a pleasant sensation produced in Court,
and they attracted more notice for the time being than the prisoners
themselves.
Now these ladies were not there to witness the first piece, the mere
trial of Simpleman for highway robbery, although the sentence might
include the necessary brutality of flogging. The afterpiece was what
they had come to see--namely, a fearful tragedy, in which two men at
least were sure of being sentenced to death. This is the nearest
approach to shedding human blood which ladies can now witness in this
country; for I do not regard pigeon slaughtering, brutal and bloodthirsty
as it is, as comparable to the sentencing of a fellow-creature to be
strangled. And no one can blame ladies of rank if they slake their
thirst for horrors in the only way the law now leaves open to them. The
Beauty of Spain is better provided for. What a blessed thing is
humanity!
It is due to Mr. Newboy, the counsel for the prosecution in the great
case of _Regina_ v. _Simpleman_, to say that he had only lately been
called to the Bar, and only "_instructed_," as the prisoner was placed in
the dock. Consequently, he had not had time to read his brief. I do not
know that that was a disadvantage, inasmuch as the brief consisted in
what purported to be a copy of the depositions so illegibly scrawled that
it would have required the most intense study to make out the meaning of
a single line.
Mr. Newboy was by no means devoid of ability; but no amount of ability
would give a man a knowledge of the facts of a case which were never
communicated to him. In its simplicity the prosecution was beautifully
commonplace, and five minutes' consideration would have been sufficient
to enable counsel to master the details and be prepared to meet the
defence. Alas, for the lack of those five minutes! The more Mr. Newboy
looked at the writing (?) the more confused he got. All he could make
out was his own name, and _Reg._ v. _Somebody_ on the back.
Now it happened that Mr. Alibi saw the difficulty in which Mr. Newboy
was, and knowing that his, Alibi's, clerk, was not remarkable for
penmanship, handed to the learned counsel at the last moment, when the
last juryman was being bawled at with the "well and truly try," a copy of
the depositions.
The first name at the top of the first page which caught the eye of the
learned counsel, was that of the prisoner; for the depositions commence
in such a way as to show the name of the prisoner in close proximity to,
if not among the names of witnesses.
So Mr. Newboy, in his confusion, taking the name of the prisoner as his
first witness, shouted out in a bold voice, to give himself courage,
"_Simon Simpleman_."
"'Ere!" answered the prisoner.
The learned Judge was a little astonished; and, although, he had got his
criminal law up with remarkable rapidity, his lordship knew well enough
that you cannot call the prisoner as a witness either for or against
himself. Mr. Newboy perceived his mistake and apologised. The laugh, of
course, went round against him; and when it got to Mr. Nimble, that merry
gentleman slid it into the jury-box with a turn of his eyes and a twist
of his mouth. The counsel for the prosecution being by this time pretty
considerably confused, and not being able to make out the name of a
single witness on the depositions (there were only two) called out, "The
Prosecutor."
"Here, I be," said a voice from the crowd in a tone which provoked more
laughter, all of which was turned into the jury-box by Mr. Nimble. "Here
I be" struggled manfully with all his might and main to push through the
miscellaneous crowd of all sorts and conditions that hemmed him in. All
the arrangements at the Old Bailey, like the arrangements at most Courts,
are expressly devised for the inconvenience of those who have business
there.
All eyes were turned towards "_Here I be_," as, after much pushing and
struggling as though he were in a football match, he was thrust headlong
forward by three policemen and the crier into the body of the Court.
There he stood utterly confounded by the treatment he had undergone and
the sight that presented itself to his astonished gaze. Opera-glasses
were turned on him from the boxes, the gentlemen on the grand tier
strained their necks in order to catch a glimpse of him; the pit, filled
for the most part with young barristers, was in suppressed ecstasies;
while the gallery, packed to the utmost limit of its capacity, broke out
into unrestrained laughter. I say, unrestrained; but as the Press truly
observed in the evening papers, "it was immediately suppressed by the
Usher."
Mr. Bumpkin climbed into the witness-box (as though he were going up a
rick), which was situated between the Judge and the jury. His appearance
again provoked a titter through the Court; but it was not loud enough to
call for any further measure of suppression than the usual "Si--lence!"
loudly articulated in two widely separated syllables by the crier, who
had no sooner pronounced it than he turned his face from the learned
Judge and pressed his hand tightly against his mouth, straining his eyes
as if he had swallowed a crown-piece. Mr. Bumpkin wore his long drab
frock overcoat, with the waist high up and its large flaps; his hell-fire
waistcoat, his trousers of corduroy, and his shirt-collar, got up
expressly for the occasion as though he had been a prime minister. The
ends of his neckerchief bore no inconsiderable likeness to two well-grown
carrots. In his two hands he carefully nursed his large-brimmed
well-shaped white beaver hat; a useful article to hold in one's hands
when there is any danger of nervousness, for nothing is so hard to get
rid of as one's hands. I am not sure that Mr. Bumpkin was nervous. He
was a brave self-contained man, who had fought the world and conquered.
His maxim was, "right is right," and "wrong is no man's right." He was
of the upright and down-straight character, and didn't care "for all the
counsellors in the kingdom." And why should he? His cause was good, his
conscience clear, and the story he had to tell plain and
"straightforrard" as himself. No wonder then that his face beamed with a
good old country smile, such as he would wear at an exhibition where he
could show the largest "turmut as ever wur growed." That was the sort of
smile he turned upon the audience. And as the audience looked at the
"turmut," it felt that it was indeed the most extraordinary specimen of
field culture it had ever beheld, and worthy of the first prize.
"What is your name?" inquired Mr. Newboy; "I mustn't lead."
"Bumpkin, and I bearned asheamed on 'im," answered the bold farmer.
"Never mind whether you are ashamed or not," interposed Mr. Nimble; "just
answer the question."
"You must answer," remarked the learned Judge, "not make a speech."
"Zackly, sir," said Bumpkin, pulling at his hair.
Another titter. The jury titter and hold down their heads. Evidently
there's fun in the case.
Then Mr. Newboy questioned him about the occurrence; asked him if he
recollected such a day, and where he had been, and where he was going,
and a variety of other questions; the answer to every one of which
provoked fresh laughter; until, after much floundering on the part of
both himself and Mr. Newboy, as though they were engaged in a wrestling
match, he was asked by the learned Judge "to tell them exactly what
happened. Let him tell his own story," said the Judge.
"Ha!" said everybody; "now we shall hear something!"
"I wur a gwine," began Bumpkin, "hoame--"
"That's not evidence," said Mr. Nimble.
"How so?" asks the Judge.
"It doesn't matter where he was going to, my lord, but where he was!"
"Well, that is so," says the Judge; "you mustn't tell us, Mr. Bumpkin,
whither you were going, but where you were!"
Bumpkin scratched his head; there were too many where's for him.
"Can't yon tell us," says Mr. Newboy, "where you were?"
"Where I were?" says Bumpkin.
A roar of laughter greeted this statement. Mr. Nimble turning it into
the jury-box like a flood.
"I wur in Lunnun--"
"Yes--yes," says his counsel; "but what locality?"
You might just as well have put him under a mangle, as to try to get
evidence out of him like that.
"Look," says the Judge, "attend to me; if you go on like that, you will
not be allowed your expenses."
"What took place?" asks his counsel; "can't you tell us, man?"
"Why the thief cotch--"
"I object," says Mr. Nimble; "you mustn't call him a thief; it is for the
jury, my lord, to determine that."
"That is so," says my lord; "you mustn't call him a thief, Mr. Bumpkin."
"Beg pardon, your lord; but ur stole my watch."
"No--no," says Mr. Newboy; "took your watch."
"An if ur took un, ur stole un, I allows," says Bumpkin; "for I never gin
it to un."
There was so much laughter that for some time nothing further was said;
but every audience knows better than to check the source of merriment by
a continued uproar; so it waited for another supply.
"You must confine yourself," says the Judge, "to telling us what took
place."
"I'll spak truth and sheam t' devil," says Bumpkin.
"Now go on," says Newboy.
"The thief stole my watch, and that be t' plain English on 't."
"I shall have to commit you to prison," says the Judge, "if you go on
like that; remember you are upon your oath, and it's a very serious
thing--serious for you and serious for the young man at the bar."
At these touching words, the young man at the bar burst out crying, said
"he was a respectable man, and it was all got up against him;" whereupon
Mr. Nimble said "he must be quiet, and that his lordship and the
gentlemen in the box would take care of him and not allow him to be
trampled on."
"You are liable," said the Judge, "to be prosecuted for perjury if you do
not tell the truth."
"Well, then, your lord, if a man maun goo to prison for losin' his watch,
I'll goo that's all; but that ere man stole un."
Mr. Newboy: "He took it, did he?"
"I object," said Mr. Nimble; "that is a leading question."
"Yes," said the Judge; "I think that is rather leading," Mr. Newboy; "you
may vary the form though, and ask him whether the prisoner stole it."
"Really, my lord," said Mr. Nimble, "that, with very great respect, is as
leading as the other form."
"Not quite, I think, Mr. Nimble. You see in the other form, you make a
positive assertion that he did steal it; in this, you merely ask the
question."
And I saw that this was a very keen and subtle distinction, such as could
only be drawn by a Chancery Judge.
"Would it not be better, my lord, if he told us what took place?"
"That is what he is doing," said the Judge; "go on, witness."
"I say as 'ow thic feller comed out and hugged up aginst I and took 't
watch and runned away. I arter'd him, and met him coomin' along wi' it
in 's pocket; what can be plaainer an thic?"
There was great laughter as Mr. Bumpkin shook his head at the learned
counsel for the defence, and thumped one hand upon the ledge in front of
him.
"That will do," said Mr. Newboy, sitting down triumphantly.
Then the counsel for the defence arose, and a titter again went round the
Court, and there was a very audible adjustment of persons in preparation
for the treat that was to come.
"May the prisoner have a seat, my lord?"
"Oh, certainly," said his lordship; "let an easy-chair be brought
immediately."
"Now then, Mr. Bumpkin, or whatever your name is, don't lounge on the
desk like that, but just stand up and attend to me. Stand up, sir, and
answer my questions," says Mr. Nimble.
"I be standin' oop," said Bumpkin, "and I can answer thee; ax away."
"Just attend," said the Judge. "You must not go on like that. You are
here to answer questions and not to make speeches. If you wish those
gentlemen to believe you, you must conduct yourself in a proper manner.
Remember this is a serious charge, and you are upon your oath."
Poor Bumpkin! Never was there a more friendless position than that of
Ignorance in the witness-box.
"Just attend!" repeated Mr. Nimble; this was a favourite expression of
his.
"How may aliases have you?"
"Ow many who?" asked Bumpkin. (Roars of laughter.)
"How many different names?"
"Naames! why I s'pose I got two, like moast people."
"How many more?"
"None as iver I knowed of."
"Wait a bit, we shall see. Now, sir, will you swear you have never gone
by the name of Pumpkin?"
Loud laughter, in which the learned judge tried not to join.
"Never!"
"Do you swear it?"
"I do."
"My lord, would you kindly let me see the depositions. Now look here,
sir, is that your signature?"
"I ain't much of a scollard."
"No; but you can make a cross, I suppose."
"Ay, I can make a cross, or zummut in imitation as well as any man."
"Look at that, is that your cross?"
"It look like un."
"Now then, sir; when you were before the Lord Mayor, I ask you, upon your
oath, did you not give the name of Pumpkin?"
"Noa, I din't!"
"Was this read over to you, and were you asked if it was correct?"
"It med be."
"Med be; but wasn't it? You know it was, or, don't you?"
Bumpkin seemed spiked, so silent; seemed on fire, so red.
"Well, we know it was so. Now, my lord, I call your lordship's attention
to this remarkable fact; here in the depositions he calls himself
Pumpkin."
His lordship looks carefully at the depositions and says that certainly
is so.
Mr. Newboy rises and says he understands that it may be a mistake of the
clerk's.
Judge: "How can you say that, Mr. Newboy, when it's in his affidavit?"
(Clerk of Arraigns whispers to his lordship.) "I mean in his
depositions, as I am told they are called in this Court; these are read
over to him by the clerk, and he is asked if they are correct." Shakes
his head.
(So they began to try the prisoner, not so much on the merits of the case
as on the merits of the magistrate's clerk.)
"You certainly said your name was Pumpkin," said the Judge, "and what is
more you swore to it."
("They've got the round square at work," muttered a voice in the
gallery.)
Mr. Nimble: "Now just attend; have you ever gone so far as to say that
this case did not refer to you because your name was not Bumpkin?"
The witness hesitates, then says "he b'leeves not."
"Let those two gentlemen, Mr. Crackcrib and Mr. Centrebit, step forward."
There was a bustle in Court, and then, with grinning faces, up stepped
the two men who had visited Mr. Bumpkin at the "Goose" some days before.
"Have you ever seen these gentlemen before?" asks the learned counsel.
The gentlemen alluded to looked up as if they had practised it together,
and both grinned. How can Mr. Bumpkin's confusion be described? His
under jaw fell, and his head drooped; he was like one caught in a net
looking at the fowler.
The question was repeated, and Mr. Bumpkin wiped his face and returned
his handkerchief into the depths of his hat, into which he would have
liked to plunge also.
Question repeated in a tone that conveyed the impression that witness was
one of the biggest scoundrels in the Heart of Civilization.
"You must really answer," says the Judge.
"They be put on, your lordship."
"No, no," says the counsel, "you mustn't say that, I'll have an answer.
Have you seen them before?"
"Yes," muttered the prosecutor.
"Let them go out of Court. Now then," says the counsel, extending his
right hand and his forefinger and leaning towards the witness,
"have--you--not--told--them--that--this case was nothing to do with you
as your name wasn't Bumpkin?"
"My lord," says the witness.
"No, no; you must answer."
The witness stood confounded.
"You decline to answer," says the counsel. "Very well; now then, let me
see if you will decline to answer this. When you were robbed, as you
say, was anybody with you?"
"Be I obligated to answer, my lord?"
"I think you must answer," said his lordship.
"There wur."
"Who was it?"
"A companion, I s'poase."
"Yes, but who was he? what was his name?"
No answer.
"You'd rather not answer; very well. Where does he live?"
"I doant know. Westmunster, I believe."
"Is he here?"
"Not as I knows on."
("What a lark this is," chuckled the Don, as he sat in the corner of the
gallery peeping from behind the front row.)
"Did he see the watch taken?"
"He did, leastways I s'poase so."
"And has never appeared as a witness?"
"How is that?" asks his lordship.
"He axed me, m'lud, not to say as 'ow he wur in it."
Judge shakes his head. Counsel for the prisoner shakes his head at the
jury, and the jury shake their heads at one another.
Now in the front row of the gallery sat five young men in the undress
uniform of the hussars: they were Joe and his brother recruits come to
hear the famous trial. At this moment Mr. Bumpkin in sheer despair
lifted his eyes in the direction of the gallery and immediately caught
sight of his old servant. He gave a nod of recognition as if he were the
only friend left in the wide world of that Court of Justice.
"Never mind your friends in the gallery," said Mr. Nimble; "I dare say
you have plenty of them about; now attend to this question:"--Yes, and a
nice question it was, considering the tone and manner with which it was
asked. "At the moment when you were being robbed, as you say, did a
young woman with a baby in her arms come up?"
The witness's attention was again distracted, but this time by no such
pleasing object as on the former occasion. He was dumbfoundered; a
sparrow facing an owl could hardly be in a greater state of nervousness
and discomfiture: for down in the well of the Court, a place where he had
never once cast his eyes till now, with a broad grin on his coarse
features, and a look of malignant triumph, sat the _fiendlike Snooks_!
His mouth was wide open, and Bumpkin found himself looking down into it
as though it had been a saw-pit. By his side sat Locust taking notes of
the cross-examination.
"What are you looking at, Mr. Bumpkin?" inquired the learned counsel.
Mr. Bumpkin started.
"What are you looking at?"
"I wur lookin' doun thic there hole in thic feller's head," answered
Bumpkin.
Such a roar of laughter followed this speech as is seldom heard even in a
breach of promise case, where the most touching pathos often causes the
greatest amusement to the audience.
"What a lark!" said Harry.
"As good as a play," responded Dick.
"I be sorry for the old chap," said Joe; "they be givin' it to un pooty
stiff."
"Now attend," said the counsel, "and never mind the hole. Did a young
woman with a baby come up?"
"To the best o' my b'leef."
"Don't say to the best of your belief; did she or not?"
"He can only speak to the best of his belief," said the Judge.
("There's the round square," whispered O'Rapley.)
"Did she come up then to the best of your belief?"
"Yes."
"And--did--she--accuse--you--to the best of your belief of assaulting
her?"
"I be a married man," answered the witness. (Great laughter.)
"Yes, we know all about you; we'll see who you are presently. Did she
accuse you, and did you run away?"
"I runned arter thic feller."
"No, no; did she accuse you?"
"She might."
The learned counsel then sat down with the quickest motion imaginable,
and then the policeman gave his evidence as to taking the man into
custody; and produced the huge watch. Mr. Bumpkin was recalled and asked
how long he had had it, and where he bought it; the only answers to which
were that he had had it five years, and bought it of a man in the market;
did not know who he was or where he came from; all which answers looked
very black against Mr. Bumpkin. Then the policeman was asked to answer
this question--yes or no. "Did he know the prisoner?" He said "No."
Mr. Nimble said to the jury, "Here was a man dressing himself up as an
old man from the country (laughter) prowling about the streets of London
in company with an associate whose name he dared not mention, and who
probably was well-known to the police; here was this countryman actually
accused of committing an assault in the public streets on a young woman
with a baby in her arms: he runs away as hard as his legs will carry him
and meets a man who is actually wearing the watch that this Bumpkin or
Pumpkin charges him with stealing. He, the learned counsel, would call
witness after witness to speak to the character of his client, who was an
engraver (I believe he was an engraver of bank notes); he would call
witness after witness who would tell them how long they had known him,
and how long he had had the watch; and, curiously enough, such curious
things did sometimes almost providentially take place in a Court of
Justice, he would call the very man that poor Mr. Simpleman had purchased
it of five years ago, when he was almost, as you might say, in the first
happy blush of boyhood (that 'blush of boyhood' went down with many of
the jury who were fond of pathos); let the jury only fancy! but really
would it be safe--really would it be safe, let him ask them upon their
consciences, which in after life, perhaps years to come, when their heads
were on their pillows, and their hands upon their hearts, (here several
of the jury audibly sniffed), would those consciences upbraid, or would
those consciences approve them for their work to-day? would it be safe to
convict after the exhibition the prosecutor had made of himself in that
box, where, he ventured to say, Bumpkin stood self-condemned before that
intelligent jury."
Here the intelligent jury turned towards one another, and after a moment
or two announced, through their foreman (who was a general-dealer in old
metal, in a dark street over the water), that if they heard a witness or
two to the young man's character that would be enough for them.
Witnesses, therefore, were called to character, and the young man was
promptly acquitted, the jury appending to their verdict that he left the
Court without a stain upon his character.
"Bean't I 'lowed to call witnesses to charickter?" asks the Prosecutor.
"Oh, no," replied Mr. Nimble; "we know your character pretty well."
"What's that?" inquired the Judge.
"He wants to know, my lord," says Mr. Nimble, laughing, "if he may call
witnesses to character!"
"Oh dear, no," says the Judge; "you were not being tried."
Now many persons might have been of a different opinion from his lordship
on this point. Snooks for one, I think; for he gave a great loud vulgar
haw! haw! haw! and said, "I could ha' gien him a charakter."
"Si-lence!" said the Usher.
"May the prisoner have his watch, my lord?" asks Mr. Nimble.
"O, yes," said his lordship, "to be sure. Give the prisoner his watch."
"_His_ watch," groaned a voice.