The court assembled in the town of Dorchester, and the notorious
Jeffries, with his gross, ferocious face, took his place upon the
bench. Several trials for treason were entered into in the morning,
and dispatched with terrible rapidity. Death! Death! Death was the
news brought to the prison every hour; and each man awaited his doom
as his character permitted.
The court was crowded to suffocation; and most of the magistrates of
the county were assembled near the bench. There were several clergymen
among them; but one, in particular, seemed much interested in the
course of the proceedings. He was a stout, tall, portly man, of the
middle age, with bright, twinkling eyes, and a smooth, rosy
countenance. He moved frequently on his seat; often looked toward the
dock and the jury, and sometimes cast his eyes with an inquisitive
glance at the paper of notes which lay before the judge, from whom he
was not very far distant.
At length the case of Ralph Woodhall was called on; and, before the
prisoner was brought into the dock, the good clergyman I have
mentioned approached the judge, and was seen to whisper to him with a
paper in his hand. Jeffries turned round, bent his beetle brows upon
him, and surveyed him from head to foot.
"I thought it was some Presbyterian knave," he said, aloud, "and not a
clergyman of the establishment. What do you come here for, sirrah?
Like a straw witness, to bring off the guilty?"
"No, faith, my lord," replied Doctor M'Feely, with a laugh, and
perfectly undismayed by the menacing aspect of the judge, "I came
according to my duty, as a magistrate, and, moreover, to get your
advice about this little bit of a paper; and perhaps to drink a bottle
with you--or maybe two--after you have done the hanging and
quartering, if you should be good-humored enough to ask me to dinner.
We have drank a bottle together before now at the Miter, when you were
a little man and I not much bigger: I paid for it, too, by the same
token--But what am I to do with this paper?"
"It's not evidence, knave," thundered Jeffries, unable to restrain
himself under the half-suppressed merriment of the court. "Is the
witness forthcoming? Is he dead? Is he buried? Is he gone to the devil
by your ghostly counsels? It is not evidence, sir. Take it away, and
yourself too, for fear I have the gown stripped off your back. You
shall not long disgrace the bench."
"Faith, my lord, if I do, I am not the only one," replied Doctor
M'Feely, walking away; but, ere he had taken many steps, pushing a
path through his fellow-magistrates, Jeffries recollected himself a
little, and called out aloud, "Here, fellow--you parson!--give me the
paper. Let me look at it."
Doctor M'Feely seemed to be suddenly stricken with a fit of deafness,
and walked on deliberately; but those whom he was passing at the
moment heard him say, as if to himself, "Don't I know better? He's
just in a humor to tear every thing to pieces--why not this? No, no, I
know what I will do;" and, getting into the court below, he forced his
way to a spot just behind Mr. Danes, and spoke to him in a whisper
over his shoulder. Mr. Danes in turn whispered to an elderly counselor
before him, who turned round his grave, hard-lined face, and said,
"Good! We will use it in some way, if need be. The very tendency will
have its effect upon the jury."
Doctor M'Feely remained standing where he was during the whole of the
events which succeeded, although his fat sides suffered severely from
the pressure of the crowd.
The little incident of the sparring between the parson and the judge
had withdrawn the attention of the spectators from the dock, and when
heads were turned round and eyes bent in that direction, Ralph
Woodhall was seen standing between two jailers. Every one knows the
impression produced by a fine person and dignified bearing, even upon
a court of justice; and, as the young gentleman stood there, his
handsome face, athletic form, and calm, resolute demeanor, had no
slight influence in his favor. He fixed his eyes for a moment or
two upon the judge, and then let them run round the court. There
was no loved face to greet him--no look of encouragement for his
support--nothing but a sea of unknown, indifferent faces gazing at him
as an object of curiosity.
Some forms were gone through, and then at once the counsel for the
prisoner rose. Jeffries would fain have refused to listen to him at
that stage of the proceedings; but he insisted, and the harsh judge
knew his man too well--his firmness, his quiet, persevering courage,
and his profound knowledge of law to resist too far. He was permitted
to speak, and at once took an objection to the competence of the
court. He pointed out that the venue had not been changed, and that
the case ought to be tried in Norfolk. It required but little argument
to show that the law of the land was entirely on his side; and that
argument was placed in the plainest and briefest form.
Jeffries was furious. He looked over his desk to a little man sitting
near his feet, and asked him a question. The reply was in a very low
and humble tone; but it stirred up the wrath of the judge still
higher. His face became actually purple, and he poured forth upon the
poor man's head a torrent of invective, of which the words "knave,
villain, and pitiful impostor" were the lightest ornaments. A vast
string of very blasphemous oaths was added; and then, having thus
vented his first fury, he consulted for a few moments with the counsel
for the crown, whom he beckoned up; and then, raising his great coarse
voice as if addressing the whole court, he said, "Look you here now!
See what law is, and how carefully it protects the subject! There
stands a murderer--a man who should not be suffered to cumber the
face of earth one hour longer than needful--a bad fellow--always
a bad fellow from his cradle--and yet some of the officers of the
crown--drunken knaves, I warrant--having neglected, or, perhaps, been
bribed--to neglect their duty in a matter of mere form--a thing of no
moment--this fellow thinks that he will protract his life for some
miserable months to come. He must be a cowardly villain, to wish to
live on in a prison--"
"I wish a fair trial, by a just judge," said Ralph, in a firm, loud
tone, which startled even Jeffries.
"Hold your tongue, knave!" cried the judge; "we will fit you. You
shall be disappointed of your fine project. You may gain a few hours,
but no more. You shall be hanged before I quit Dorchester, if I live.
See here, now, what a fellow this is! There are no less than three
charges against this man. One for murder--cold-blooded, premeditated
murder--one under the statute regarding conformity--and one for high
treason. The indictment is ready; but he must have a copy, and time to
read it. Oh, yes, he shall have a copy--but we will fit him." Then,
leaning forward a little, he looked full at Ralph's counsel, and said
bitterly, "You have gained so much for your man, sir, and you shall
not say I overstepped the law. Oh no, sir! You strive to withdraw him
from justice, but you sha'n't succeed."
"You mistake, my lord," replied the counsel, "I have no intention of
charging you with overstepping the law; and still more do you mistake
in supposing that I wished to withdraw this honorable and noble-minded
young man from fair trial and justice. Had I done so, I should have
taken another course. As the venue is laid in Dorsetshire, and the
indictment, on its very face, alleges the crime charged to have been
committed in Norfolk, I should have suffered the trial to proceed to a
verdict, and then pointed out the flaw in the indictment; but, in
consultation with this honorable and very high-spirited gentleman last
night, I agreed, at his suggestion, to raise the objection at once, in
order to show that he shrunk not from a fair trial, but only claimed
the same rights as other British subjects."
"Silence, sir, silence! Sit down this instant!" exclaimed Jeffries.
"Jailer, remove the prisoner, and keep him in safe custody. Call on
another."
Several persons left the court from the outskirts of the crowd, and
Doctor M'Feely elbowed his way out with difficulty, taking the paper
he had brought in his pocket. Tidings of what had occurred spread to
various houses in the vicinity--to the great inn, and to the temporary
dwelling of Hortensia Danvers; and various were the feelings which the
intelligence that Ralph Woodhall's trial for murder had been put off,
on account of an error in the indictment, excited in the bosoms of the
many persons interested.
Lord Woodhall received the news with stern bitterness, and said
little, but remained gloomy, dark, and silent till Robert Woodhall
joined him with a very cheerful face.
"Well, what think you of this?" said the old lord; "you seem gay,
young man."
"Because every thing is going well, my lord," replied Robert
Woodhall; "we have ten times the chances of getting a verdict against
him, as things stand at present, on the charge of high treason, than
we should have upon the charge of murder. Armitage says that he would
most certainly have been acquitted--that poor Henry's letter would be
quite sufficient. I told you how refractory the jury were last night,
and those who know them say that at least five of them would have held
out for acquittal, even if they had died of starvation. It not being a
state case, the jury was badly struck; but upon the charge of treason
Armitage declares he is perfectly certain. Armitage says they are
condemning every body, and when once they have got a taste of blood,
they will go on."
"It vexes me," said the old lord, with a dissatisfied look. "He should
be hanged for Henry's death, and nothing else. A gross and culpable
act of negligence has been committed; and the clerk, or whoever he is,
should be discharged and punished."
"Counselor Armitage declares it is very well as it is," says Robert;
adding, with a laugh, "He vows that he saw the flaw, and would not
notice it, because he knew we should fail of conviction; but I don't
believe he did see it, or even looked at the indictment. The charge of
treason, however, will succeed, depend upon it; and if it should not,
by any chance, we have still another left to go upon with a better
chance of success."
Lord Woodhall, however, was still dissatisfied, and would not be
convinced that it made no difference whether Ralph Woodhall was
condemned for another offense or for the murder of his son. He drew a
distinction, which Robert Woodhall, only anxious to destroy an enemy,
could not at all perceive. Knowing how impossible it was to move him
in any opinion which he had once taken up, he at length left him, but
did not even ask to see Margaret, for he knew there was little to be
hoped from an interview at that moment.