The trial.
Who shall describe the feelings of joy which animated the breast of Mr.
Bumpkin when at last, with the suddenness of lightning, Mr. Prigg's clerk
flashed into his little parlour the intelligence, "Case in paper; be at
Court by ten o'clock; Bail Court." Such was the telegram which Mr.
Bumpkin got his landlady to read on that pleasant evening towards the end
of July. The far-seeing Prigg was right. It would come on about the end
of July. That is what he had predicted. But it would not have been safe
for Mr. Bumpkin to be away from town for a single day. It might have
been in the paper at any moment; and here it was, just as he was
beginning to get tired of "Camden Town and the whole thing."
Mr. Bumpkin put on a clean shirt, with a good stiff high collar, which he
had reserved from Mrs. Bumpkin's wash; for, in his opinion, there was no
stiffening in the London starch, and no getting up like Mrs. Bumpkin's.
He put on his best neckerchief, and a bran new waistcoat which he had
bought for Sundays six years ago at the market town. He put on his drab
coat with the long tails, which he had worn on the day of his marriage,
and had kept for his best ever since; he put on his velvety looking
corduroy trowsers and his best lace-up watertight boots; and then, after
a good breakfast, put on his white beaver hat, took his ash-stick, and
got into a Westminster 'Bus. What a beautiful morning it was! Just the
morning for a law suit! Down he got at Palace Yard, walked towards the
spacious door of the old hall, entered its shadowy precincts, and then,
in my dream, I lost sight of him as he mingled with the crowd. But I saw
some few moments after in the Bail Court enter, amidst profound silence
and with impressive dignity, Mr. Justice Stedfast. Let me here inform
the reader that if by any chance, say by settlement, postponement or
otherwise, the first case in the list "goes off," as it is called (from
its bearing a striking resemblance to the unexpected going off of a gun),
and the parties in the next case, taken by surprise, are not there at the
moment, that case goes off by being struck out; and very often the next
and the next, and so on to the end of the list. Parties therefore should
be ready, so as to prevent a waste of time. The time of the Court is not
to be wasted by parties not being ready. Now, strangely enough, this is
what happened in the case of _Bumpkin_ v. _Snooks_. Being number eight,
no one thought it would be reached; and the leading counsel, and also the
junior counsel being engaged elsewhere; and Mr. Prigg and Mr. Prigg's
clerk not having arrived; and Mr. Bumpkin not knowing his way; at five
minutes after the sitting of the Court, so expeditious are our legal
proceedings, the celebrated case was actually reached, and this is what
took place:
"Are the parties ready?" inquired his Lordship.
Mr. Ricochet, Q.C., who appeared with Mr. Weasel for the defendant, said
he was ready for the defendant.
"Call the plaintiff!" said a voice.
Loud cries for Bumpkin, who was just pushing his way down the passage
outside.
"Does anyone answer?" asked his lordship; "do you know if any gentleman
is instructed, Mr. Ricochet?"
"I am not aware, my lud."
"Stand up and be sworn, gentlemen," says the associate. Up stood the
jury; and in less than half a minute they found a verdict for the
defendant, counterclaim being abandoned, just as Mr. Bumpkin had pushed
into Court. And judgment is given.
The business having been thus got through, the Court rose and went away.
And then came in both counsel and Mr. Prigg and Horatio; and great
complaints were made of everybody except the Judge, who couldn't help it.
But our administration of justice is not so inelastic that it cannot
adapt itself to a set of circumstances such as these. It was only to
make a few more affidavits, and to appear before his lordship by counsel,
and state the facts in a calm and respectful manner, to obtain the
necessary rectification of the matter. All was explained and all
forgiven. _Bumpkin_ v. _Snooks_ was to be restored to the paper upon
payment of the costs of the day--a trifling matter, amounting only to
about eighteen pounds seventeen shillings. But a severe admonition from
the Bench accompanied this act of grace: "The Court cannot be kept
waiting," said his lordship; "and it is necessary that all suitors should
know that if they are not here when their cases are called on they will
be struck out, or the party to the cause who is here will be entitled to
a verdict, if the defendant; or to try his case in the other's absence,
if he be the plaintiff. It was idle to suppose that parties could not be
there in time: it was their business to be there."
At this every junior barrister nodded approvingly, and the usher called
silence.
Of course, the cause could not be in the paper again for some time: they
must suit Mr. Ricochet's convenience now: and accordingly another period
of waiting had to be endured. Mr. Bumpkin was almost distracted, but his
peace of mind was restored by the worthy Prigg, who persuaded him that a
most laudable piece of good fortune had been brought about by his
intervention; and that was the preventing the wily Snooks from keeping
the verdict he had snatched.
What a small thing will sometimes comfort us!
Mr. Bumpkin was, indeed, a lucky man; for if his case had not been in the
paper when at last it was, it would have "gone over the Long Vacation."
At length I saw Mr. Justice Pangloss, the eminent Chancery Judge, take
his seat in the Bail Court. He was an immense case lawyer. He knew
cases that had been tried in the reigns of the Edwards and Henries. A
pig case could not, therefore, come amiss.
A case lawyer is like Moses and Sons; he can fit anybody, from Chang down
to a midget. But there is sometimes an inconvenience in trying to fit an
old precedent on to new circumstances: and I am not unfrequently reminded
of the boy whose corduroy trousers were of the exact length, and looked
tolerable in front; but if you went round they stuck out a good deal on
the other side. He might grow to them, no doubt, but it is a clumsy mode
of tailoring after all.
Now Mr. Bumpkin, of course, could not be sure that his case was "coming
on." All he knew was, that he must avoid Snooks' snatching another
verdict. He had been to great expense, and a commission had actually
been issued to take Joe's evidence while his regiment was detained at
Malta. Mr. Prigg had taken the plaintiff into a crowd, and there had
left him early in the morning.
Mr. Bumpkin's appearance even in the densest crowd was attractive, to say
the least: and many and various were the observations from time to time
made by the vulgar roughs around as to his personal appearance. His
shirtcollar was greatly praised, so was the beauty of his waistcoat:
while I heard one gentleman make an enquiry which showed he was desirous
of ascertaining what was the name of the distinguished firm which had the
honour of supplying him with hats. One said it was Heath, he could tell
by the brim; another that it was Cole, he went by the polish; and the
particular curl of the brim, which no other hatter had ever succeeded in
producing. While another gentleman with one eye and half a nose
protested that it was one of Lincoln and Bennett's patent dynamite
resisters on an entirely new principle.
The subject of all these remarks listened as one in doubt as to whether
they were levelled at him or in any other direction. He glanced at the
many eyes turned upon him, and heard the laughter that succeeded every
new witticism. His uncertainty as to whether he was "the party eamed
at," heightened the amusement of the wits.
Now came a bolder and less mistakable allusion to his personal
appearance:
"I should like Gladstone to see that, Jem; talk about a collar! the Grand
Old Man's nowhere--he'd better take to turndowns after this."
"Yes," replied the gentleman addressed; "I think this would settle
him--is he liberal or tory, I wonder?"
"Tory, you're sure--wotes for the Squoire, I'll warrant. A small loaf
and a big jail."
Mr. Bumpkin turned his eyes first towards one speaker and then towards
another without moving his head, as he thought:
"Danged if I doan't bleeve thee means I." But he wisely said nothing.
"I say," said another, "I wonder if pigeon's milk is good for the
complexion."
"No," said Jem, "it makes your nose red, and makes the hair sprout out of
the top of it."
Here was a laugh all round, which made the Usher call out silence; and
the Judge said he would have the Court cleared if order was not
preserved. Then there was a loud shouting all over the Court for "Thomas
Bumpkin!"
"Here I be!" said Bumpkin, amid more laughter--and especially of the wits
around him. Then a great bustling and hustling, and pushing and
struggling took place.
"Danged if that beant my case," said Mr. Bumpkin; "but it ain't my
counsellor."
"Make way for the plaintiff," shouted the Usher; "stand on one
side--don't crowd up this passage. This way, sir, make haste; the
Court's waiting for you, why do you keep the Court waiting in this way?"
"I was just going to strike your case out," said the Judge, "the public
time can't be wasted in this way."
Bumpkin scrambled along through the crowd, and was hustled into the
witness-box. The Judge put up his eye-glass, and looked at the plaintiff
as though he was hardly fit to bring an action in a Superior Court. Up
went the book into his hand. "Take the book in your right hand. Kiss
the book; now attend and speak up--speak up so that those gentlemen may
hear."
"Why weren't you here before?" asked the Judge.
"I wur, my lord?"
"Didn't you hear your learned counsel opening your case?"
"I didn't know it wur my case," said Bumpkin, amid roars of laughter.
"I don't wonder at that," said Mr. Ricochet, looking at the jury.
"Now then," said the Judge.
"And now, then," said Mr. Silverspoon; for neither of his own counsel was
able to be present.
"You are a farmer, I believe?"
"I be."
"On the 29th of May, 18--; did the defendant come to your farm?"
"Ur did."
"Did he buy a pig?"
"Ur did not; but ur said he'd be d---d if ur wouldn't 'ave un."
"And did he come and take it away?"
"Ur did; pulled un slick out of the sty; and when I tried to stop un in
the Lane, took un by main force?"
Mr. Silverspoon sat down.
"What was the age of this pig, Mr. Bumpkin," enquired the Judge.
"He wur ten weeks old, your lord."
"Isn't there a calf case, Mr. Ricochet, very similar to this?"
"Yes, my lord."
"I think," said Mr. Justice Pangloss, "it was tried in the reign of James
the First."
Mr. Ricochet, who knew nothing of the calf case, except what his Lordship
had told him, said he believed it was.
"If this was anything," continued Mr. Ricochet, "upon the plaintiff's own
showing it was a felony, and the plaintiff should have prosecuted the
defendant criminally before having recourse to his civil remedy; that is
laid down in the sheep case reported in Walker's Trumpery Cases."
"What volume of the Trumpery Cases is that, Mr. Ricochet?"
"Six hundred and fifty, my lud."
His Lordship writes it down. "Page?" says his lordship.
"Nineteen hundred and ninety-five, my lud; about the middle of the book."
Judge calls to the Usher to bring the six hundred and fiftieth volume of
Walker's Trumpery Cases.
"But there's a case before that," said his lordship. "There's a case, if
I recollect rightly, about the time of Julius Caesar--the donkey case."
"It's on all fours with this," said Mr. Ricochet.
"What do you say, Mr. Silverspoon?"
Then Mr. Silverspoon proceeded to show that none of those cases was on
all fours with the present case; and a long and interesting argument
followed between the Bench and the Bar. And it was said by those who
were most competent to judge, that Mr. Silverspoon quite distinguished
himself for the wonderful erudition he displayed in his knowledge of the
donkey case, and several other cases of four-footed beasts that were
called to his attention by Mr. Justice Pangloss. A perfect menagerie was
"adduced." Mr. Bumpkin meanwhile wondering where he was, and what on
earth they had all got to do with the plain fact of Snooks taking his pig
without paying for it.
At length, after four hours had been consumed in these learned
disquisitions, Mr. Justice Pangloss, reviewing the judgments of the
various eminent lawyers who had presided over the respective cases in the
several reigns, and after quoting many observations of those eminent
jurists, said that in order to save time he would hold, for the purposes
of to-day, that Mr. Bumpkin was entitled to bring his action: but, of
course, he would reserve the point; he was by no means clear; he
considered himself bound by authority; and as the point was extremely
important, and left undecided after no less than twelve hundred years of
argument on the one side and the other, he thought it ought to be
solemnly settled. An unsettled state of the law was a very bad thing in
his lordship's opinion; especially in these modern times, when it
appeared to him that the public were clamouring for further reform, and a
still further simplification of legal procedure.
This suited Mr. Ricochet exactly; he could not be said now to have lost
his case, even if the jury should find against him. But he had yet to
cut up Bumpkin in cross-examination. The old trial was brought up
against the plaintiff; and every thing that could tend to discredit him
was asked. Mr. Ricochet, indeed, seemed to think that the art of
cross-examination consisted in bullying a witness, and asking all sorts
of questions tending to cast reflections upon his character. He was
especially great in insinuating perjury; knowing that that is always open
to a counsel who has no other defence.
"Will you swear that?" was asked at almost every answer; sometimes
prefaced by the warning, "Be careful, sir--be careful." If he could get
hold of anything against a witness's character, be it ever so small, and
at ever so remote a distance in the man's life, he brought it out; and
being a Queen's Counsel he did not always receive the reproofs that would
have crushed a stuff gownsman into respectable behaviour.
"Were you charged with assaulting a female in the public streets, sir?"
"No, I worn't."
"Be careful, sir--she may be in Court."
"Let her come forward then," said the courageous Silverspoon, who was by
no means wanting in tact.
"Will you be quiet, sir," retorted Ricochet. "Now Mr. Bumpkin, or
whatever your name is, will you swear she did not accuse you of
assaulting her?"
"She coomed oop, and it's my belief she wur in the robbery."
"Bravo Bumpkin!" said one of the men who had chaffed him. And the jury
looked at one another in a manner that showed approval.
"Will you swear, sir, you have never been in trouble?"
"I donnow what thee means."
"Be careful, sir; you know what I mean perfectly well."
Then Locust whispers to him, and he says:
"O, you frequent Music Halls, don't you?"
"Donnow what thee means," says Bumpkin.
"O, you don't, don't you; will you swear that?"
"I wool."
"Be careful, sir. Were you at the Canterbury Hall with two women, who
passed as the Countess and Lady Flora?"
"It be a lie!"
And thus every form of torture was ruthlessly employed, till Mr. Bumpkin
broke down under it, and cried like a child in the witness-box. This
awakened sympathy for him. There had been much humour and much laughter;
and Mr. Ricochet having no knowledge of human nature, was not aware how
closely allied are laughter and tears; that in proportion as the jury had
laughed at the expense of Mr. Bumpkin they would sympathize with his
unhappy position.
"I've worked hard," said he, "for sixty year, and let any man come
forrard and say I've wronged man, ooman, or child!"
That was a point for Bumpkin. Every one said, "Poor old man!" and even
his Lordship, who was supposed to have no feeling, was quite sympathetic.
Only Mr. Ricochet was obtuse. He had no heart, and very little skill, or
he would have managed his case more adroitly. "Badgering" is not much
use if you have no better mode of winning your case.
"Stand down, Mr. Bumpkin," said his counsel, as Mr. Ricochet resumed his
seat amid the suppressed hisses of the gallery.
"Joseph Wurzel," said Mr. Silverspoon.
Joe appeared in the uniform of the Hussars. And he wore a medal too.
Mr. Ricochet had no sympathy with heroes any more than he had with men of
letters, artists, or any other class of talent. He was a dry,
uncompromising, blunt, unfeeling lawyer, looking at justice as a
thimblerig looks at his pea; lift which thimble you may, he will take
care the pea shall not be found if he can help it. He smiled a grim,
inhuman smile at Bumpkin's tears, and muttered that he was an "unmanly
milksop."
Joe gave his evidence briefly and without hesitation. Everyone could see
he was speaking the truth; everybody but Mr. Ricochet, who commenced his
cross-examination by telling him to be careful, and that he was upon his
oath.
"Be careful, sir;" he repeated.
Joe looked.
"You are on your oath, sir." Joe faced him.
"You deserted your master, did you?"
"No," said Joe; "I aint no deserter?"
"But you enlisted."
"I don't know as that's desertion," said Joe; "and I'm here to speak for
him now; and I give my evidence at Malta, too."
"Do you swear that, sir?" enquired Mr. Ricochet. "Were you not with your
master when the young woman accused him of assaulting her?"
"I was not."
"Why did you enlist, then?" enquired Mr. Ricochet.
"Cause I choose to," said Joe.
"Now, sir, upon your oath; I ask you, did you not enlist because of this
charge?"
"No; I never heard on it till arter I was listed."
"When did you hear of it?"
"At the trial at the Old Bailey."
"O," said the learned Q.C.; "wait a minute, you were there, were you?
Were you there as a witness?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because I warnt."
"Will you swear that?" asked Ricochet, amid roars of laughter.
"What were you there for?"
"To hear the trial!"
"And you were not called?"
"No."
"And do you mean on your oath, sir, to say that you had enlisted at that
time."
"Now look at that," said Joe; "the Sergeant there enlisted me, and he
knows."
"I suppose you had seen your master's watch many times?"
"I'd seen it," said Joe.
"And did not give evidence!"
"No; I warnt called, and know'd nothing about it."
"You've been paid for coming here, I suppose?"
"Not a farden, and wouldn't take un; he bin a good maister to me as ever
lived."
"And you left him. Now then, sir, be careful; do you swear you heard
Bumpkin say Snooks should not have the pig?"
"I do."
"Have you been speaking to anyone about this case before to-day?"
Joe thought a bit.
"Be careful, sir, I warn you," says Ricochet.
"Yes," said Joe; "I have."
"I thought so. When? To whom?"
And here an air of triumph lit up the features of Mr. Ricochet.
"Afore I comed here."
"When! let's have it?"
"Outside the Court."
"To Bumpkin?"
"No; to that there Locust; he axed un--"
"Never mind what he axed you;" said Ricochet, whose idea of humour
consisted in the repetition of an illiterate observation; and he sat
down--as well he might--after such an exhibition of the art of advocacy.
But on re-examination, it turned out that Mr. Locust had put several
questions to Joe with a view of securing his evidence himself at a
reasonable remuneration, and of contradicting Mr. Bumpkin.
This caused the jury to look at one another with grave faces and shake
their heads.
Mr. Ricochet began and continued his speech in the same common-place
style as his cross-examination; abusing everyone on the other side,
especially that respectable solicitor, Mr. Prigg; and endeavouring to
undo his own bad performance with the witness by a worse speech to the
jury. What he was going to show, and what he was going to prove, was
wonderful; everybody who had been called was guilty of perjury; everybody
he was going to call would be a paragon of all the virtues. He
expatiated upon the great common sense of the jury (as though they were
fools), relied on their sound judgment and denounced the conduct of Mr.
Bumpkin in the witness-box as a piece of artful acting, intended to
appeal to the weakness of the jury. But all was useless. Snooks made a
sorry figure in the box. He was too emphatic, too positive, too abusive.
Mr. Ricochet could not get over his own cross-examination. The
ridiculous counterclaim with its pettifogging innuendoes vanished before
that common sense of the jury to which Mr. Ricochet so dryly appealed.
The edifice erected by the modern pleader's subtle craftiness was
unsubstantial as the icy patterns on the window-pane, which a single
breath can dissipate. And yet these ingenious contrivances were
sufficient to give an unimportant case an appearance of substantiality
which it otherwise would not have possessed.
The jury, after a most elaborate charge from Mr. Justice Pangloss, who
went through the cases of the last 900 years in the most careful manner,
returned a verdict for the plaintiff with twenty-five pounds damages.
The learned Judge did not give judgment, inasmuch as there were points of
law to be argued. Mr. Bumpkin, although he had won his case so far as
the verdict was concerned, did not look by any means triumphant. He had
undergone so much anxiety and misery, that he felt more like a man who
had escaped a great danger than one who had accomplished a great
achievement.
Snooks' mouth, during the badgering of the witnesses, which was intended
for cross-examination was quite a study for an artist or a physiologist.
When he thought a witness was going to be caught, the orifice took the
form of a gothic window in a ruinous condition. When he imagined the
witness had slipped out of the trap laid for him, it stretched
horizontally, and resembled a baker's oven. He was of too coarse a
nature to suspect that his own counsel had damaged his case, and believed
the result of the trial to have been due to the plaintiff's "snivelling."
He left the Court with a melancholy downcast look, and his only chance of
happiness hereafter in this life seemed now to be in proportion to his
power of making Mr. Bumpkin miserable. Mr. Locust was not behind in his
advice on their future course; and, after joining his client in the hall,
at once pointed out the utterly absurd conclusion at which the jury had
arrived; declared that there must be friends of the plaintiff among them,
and that Mr. Ricochet would take the earliest opportunity of moving for a
new trial; a piece of information which quite lit up the coarse features
of his client, as a breath of air will bring a passing glow to the
mouldering embers of an ash-heap on a dark night.