ELECTION PETITIONS.
Another class of work which gave me much pleasure and interest was
that of election petitions. These came in such abundance that I had to
put on, as I thought, a prohibitory fee, which in reality increased
the volume of my labour.
One day Baron Martin asked me if I was coming to such and such an
election petition.
"No," I answered, "no; I have put a prohibitory fee on my services; I
can't be bothered with election petitions."
"How much have you put on?"
"Five hundred guineas, and two hundred a day."
The Baron laughed heartily. "A prohibitory fee! They must have you,
Hawkins--they must have you. Put on what you like; make it high
enough, and they'll have you all the more."
And I did. It turned out a very lucrative branch of my business, and
my electioneering expenses were a good investment. My experience at
Barnstaple, to be told hereafter, repaid the outlay, and no feature of
an election ever came before me but I recognized a family likeness.
Amongst the earliest was that of W.H. Smith, who had been returned for
Westminster. The petitioner endeavoured to unseat him on the ground of
bribery, alleged to have been committed in paying large sums of money
for exhibiting placards on behalf of the candidate. It was tried
before Baron Martin.
About the payments there was no element of extravagance, but there
were undoubtedly many cases of payment, and these were alleged to be
illegal.
Ballantine was my junior. One of the curious matters in the case was
that these payments had been principally made by, or under, the advice
of my old friend, whom I cannot mention too often, the Hon. Robert
Grimston.
Ballantine, as I thought, most injudiciously advised me not to call
"that old fool;" but believing in Grimston, and having charge of the
case, I resolved to call him. Baron Martin knew Grimston as well as I
did, and believed in him as much.
"Who is this?" asked the Judge.
"Another bill-sticker, my lord."
Grimston gave his evidence, and was severely cross-examined by my
friend, J. Fitzjames Stephen. He fully and satisfactorily explained
every one of the questioned items, evidently to the satisfaction of
Martin, who dismissed the petition, and thus Mr. Smith retained his
seat.
The learned Judge said, in giving judgment, that without Grimston's
evidence the seat would have been in great danger, but that he had put
an innocent colour on the whole case, and that, knowing him to be an
honourable man and incapable of saying anything but the truth, he had
implicitly trusted to every word he spoke.
Mr. Smith, whom I met some days after, said he was perfectly assured
that if I had not had the conduct of the case, and Grimston had not
been called, his seat would have been lost.
In the petition against Sir George Elliot for Durham there was nothing
of any importance in the case, except that Sir George gave a very
interesting history of his life.
He had been a poor boy who had worked in the cutting of the pit, lying
on his back and picking out from the roof overhead the coal which was
shovelled into the truck. From this humble position literally and
socially he had proceeded, first to his feet, and then step by step,
until, from one grade to another, he had amassed a large fortune, and
sufficient income to enable him to incur, not only the expenses of
an election and a seat in Parliament, but also those of a bitterly
hostile election petition, enormously extravagant in every way. I
succeeded in winning his case, and never was more proud of a victory.
It had lasted many days.
There is one matter almost of a historical character, which I mention
in order to do all the justice in my power to a man who, although
deserving of reprobation, is also entitled to admiration for the
chivalry of his true nature. I speak of it with some hesitation, and
therefore without the name. Those who are interested in his memory
will know to whom I allude, and possibly be grateful for the tribute
to his character, however much it may have been sullied by his
temporary absence of manly discretion.
He was charged with assaulting a young lady in a railway train between
Aldershot and Waterloo. There was much of the melodramatic in the
incidents, and much of the righteous indignation of the public before
trial. There was judgment and condemnation in every virtuous mind. The
assault alleged was doubtless of a most serious character, if proved.
I say nothing of what might have been proved or not proved; but,
speaking as an advocate, I will not hesitate to affirm that
cross-examination may sometimes save one person's character without in
the least affecting that of another.
But this was not to be. Whatever line of defence my experience might
have suggested, I was debarred by his express command from putting a
single question.
I say to his honour that, as a gentleman and a British officer, he
preferred to take to himself the ruin of his own character, the
forfeiture of his commission in the army, the loss of social status,
and _all_ that could make life worth having, to casting even a doubt
on the lady's veracity in the witness-box.
My instructions crippled me, but I obeyed my client, of course,
implicitly in the letter and the spirit, even though to some extent he
may have entailed upon himself more ignominy and greater severity of
punishment than I felt he deserved.
He died in Egypt, never having been reinstated in the British army.
I knew but little of him until this catastrophe occurred; but the
manliness of his defence showed him to be naturally a man of honour,
who, having been guilty of serious misconduct, did all he could to
amend the wrong he had done; and so he won my sympathy in his sad
misfortune and misery.
In the days when burglary was punished with death, there was very
seldom any remission, I was in court one day at Guildford, when a
respectably-dressed man in a velveteen suit of a yellowy green colour
and pearl buttons came up to me. He looked like one of Lord Onslow's
gamekeepers. I knew nothing of him, but seemed to recognize his
features as those of one I had seen before. When he came in front of
my seat he grinned with immense satisfaction, and said,--
"Can I get you anything, Mr. Orkins?"
I could not understand the man's meaning.
"No, thank you," I said. "What do you mean?"
"Don't you recollect, sir, you defended me at Kingston for a burglary
charge, and got me off., Mr. Orkins, in flyin' colours?"
I recollected. He seemed to have the flying colours on his lips. "Very
well," I said; "I hope you will never want defending again."
"No, sir; never."
"That's right."
"Would a _teapot_ be of any use to you, Mr. Orkins?"
"A teapot!"
"Yes, sir, or a few silver spoons--anything you like to name, Mr.
Orkins."
I begged him to leave the court.
"Mr. Orkins, I will; but I am grateful for your gettin' me off that
job, and if a piece o' plate will be any good, I'll guarantee it's
good old family stuff as'll fetch you a lot o' money some day."
I again told him to go, and, disappointed at my not accepting things
of greater value, he said,--
"Sir, will a sack o' taters be of any service to you?"
This sort of gratitude was not uncommon in those days. I told the
story to Mr. Justice Wightman, and he said,--
"Oh, that's nothing to what happened to the Common Serjeant of London.
He had sent to him once a Christmas hamper containing a hare, a brace
and a half of pheasants, three ducks, and a couple of fowls, which _he
accepted_."
I sometimes won a jury over by a little good-natured banter, and often
annoyed Chief Justice Campbell when I woke him up with laughter. And
yet he liked me, for although often annoyed, he was never really
angry. He used to crouch his head down over his two forearms and go to
sleep, or pretend to, by way of showing it did not matter what I said
to the jury. I dare say it was disrespectful, but I could not help on
these occasions quietly pointing across my shoulder at him with my
thumb, and that was enough. The jury roared, and Campbell looked up,--
"What's the joke, Mr. Hawkins?"
"Nothing, my lord; I was only saying I was quite sure your lordship
would tell the jury exactly what I was saying."
"Go on, Mr. Hawkins--"
Then he turned to his clerk and said,--
"I shall catch him one of these days. Confine yourself to the issue,
Mr. Hawkins."
"If your lordship pleases," said I, and went on.
The eccentricities of Judges would form a laughable chapter. Some of
them were overwhelmed with the importance of their position; none were
ever modest enough to perceive their own small individuality amidst
their judicial environments; and this thought reminds me of an
occurrence at Liverpool Assizes, when Huddlestone and Manisty, the two
Judges on circuit, dined as usual with the Lord Mayor. The Queen's
health was proposed, of course, and Manisty, with his innate good
breeding, stood up to drink it, whereupon his august brother Judge
pulled him violently by his sleeve, saying, "Sit down, Manisty, you
damned fool! _we_ are the Queen!"
I was addressing a jury for the plaintiff in a breach of promise
case, and as the defendant had not appeared in the witness-box, I
inadvertently called attention to an elderly well-dressed gentleman
in blue frock-coat and brass buttons--a man, apparently, of good
position. The jury looked at him and then at one another as I said
how shameful it was for a gentleman to brazen it out in the way the
defendant did--ashamed to go into the witness-box, but not ashamed to
sit in court.
Here the gentleman rose in a great rage amidst the laughter of the
audience, in which even the ushers and javelin-men joined, to say
nothing of the Judge himself, and shouted with angry vociferation,--
"Mr. Hawkins, I am _not_ the defendant in this case, Sir ----"
"I am very sorry for you," I replied; "but no one said you were."
There was another outburst, and the poor gentleman gesticulated, if
possible, more vehemently than before.
"I am not the def--"
"Nobody would have supposed you were, sir, if you had not taken so
much trouble to deny it. The jury, however, will now judge of it."
"I am a married man, sir."
"So much the worse," said I.