CHAPTER XLI.
Man, in his collective quality, is undoubtedly a gin-drinker, a lover of ardent spirits, a seeker of all that stimulates the palate, both mental and corporeal. The wholesome food of every-day life we soon learn to loathe, and even the excitement of the imagination by the mimic scene or tale of fictitious distress, is willingly cast away for the more potent taste of real sorrow and actual crime. How we flock to see the trial of any notorious criminal!--how eagerly we watch the workings of apprehension, and anguish on his countenance!--how critically we examine the gradations of emotion, and fear, and awe, and despair, as they move the stubborn features, or make the strong frame writhe! How we gloat upon the deadly anguish of a fellow-human heart through all the terrible scenes in the administration of justice, from the first examination of the captured criminal, to the last dread moment upon the fatal drop!
Is it then, indeed, that man loves to witness misery, that he enjoys the spectacle of agony in a creature like himself? No; no more than he enjoys pain in his own person when he drinks those burning things from which his infant lips would have drawn back, or eats those flaming condiments which set the palate in a blaze. Stimulus--it is all for stimulus! Stimulus that makes up one half of all the enjoyments of the passions, the great ingredient in strife and exertion, the incentive in the course of glory, the companion of ambition!
The criminal court at York was filled to the doors. The reporters for the London newspapers were all present, come down to the mart of excitement for the purpose of hawking it in retail over the whole country. Manifold were the lawyers present to hear what they justly expected would prove a curious case, and the rest of the place was occupied by a various multitude, not only from the city itself and the neighbouring county, but from various parts of England, and even from the capital. There was expectation in every countenance, and each little movement that took place in the court created not only a slight rustling murmur, and a motion of every head forward to see what was taking place, but also produced the palpitation of many a heart from mere eagerness and anxiety for the result. A great part of the crowd consisted, as is usually the case, of women, and a more than ordinary interest had been excited amongst the fairer and tenderer portion of the community, by the rumours which had been circulated regarding the prisoner Martin. He had become, as it were, the hero of the day; and his long evasion of the officers' pursuit, his sojourn on the moors, and his capture in attempting to escape from a distant cottage, had all been magnified, and made the theme of wonder and comment, so that more than one penny pamphlet, containing an account of "the adventures of Harry Martin," had been produced from the brains of several marvel-mongers in York. Then, again, there was the tale of his beautiful young wife and her mother having followed him to the place of his confinement; and a report was current that the old woman had been heard to say, on several occasions, that Harry was not guilty, and that it would prove so; which created a very general belief in his innocence amongst the many whose ignorance of all the mass of crime that exists in this world renders them ever ready to believe that those who boldly assume virtue, are virtuous.
The first cause that came on was one of no possible amusement to any but the parties concerned; one of those cases of horse-stealing or sheep-stealing, which sadly try the patience of an expecting auditory, when something more interesting, if not more important, is to follow immediately after. The counsel, however, on both sides, were brief, the jury themselves were impatient, and that trial was soon over; for it is no less true than strange, that even in courts of justice the accidental circumstances connected with any particular case make an immense difference in the portion of attention paid to the investigation thereof, though the crime and the punishment remain the same.
The judges of the land, indeed, generally hold, as far as is necessary, that calm and dignified impartiality which preserves the same estimation of all things submitted to their judgment, without any reference to aught but that which is brought before them. Such is not the case, however, either with juries or with the gentlemen of the bar, and any vulgar crime will be investigated, judged, and punished, with a rapidity truly surprising, when the same act, dignified by the situation of the parties, or brought into notice by something new and striking in the mode of its perpetration, will occupy a court for whole days, and call forth the most profound affections in the breasts of jurors, counsellors, and auditory.
The barrister who would conduct a trial for horse-stealing, with a light and flippant speech of five minutes, although by the sanguinary laws of old, the life of the prisoner was in as great danger as if he had committed murder, would become impressed by the deepest sense of his situation, and speak by the hour together, if some great man were slain by the hand of an inferior; and the slightest touch of romance will hold a court for hours over a trial for murder, which would hang a dozen men for simple forgery in an hour and a half; and yet the responsibility is the same--the life of a fellow-being is in both cases at stake.[[1]] Although, perhaps, it no longer happens that "Wretches hang, that jurymen may dine;" yet many a man has a cause affecting his life, or his happiness through life, tried with no slight inattention, because he has not committed some distinguished crime, or performed it in a remarkable manner.
At length, the expected moment came for the trial of Martin and his companions, and the prisoners were brought in and placed at the bar. All eyes were upon them, and certainly an awful moment must it be, when a man enters a crowded and expecting court, loaded with the charge of a heavy crime, waiting for the ordeal of a public trial, knowing that his fate for life or death is there to be sealed in a few short hours, and sees fixed upon him the thousand eyes of a multitude who have come there to pry into and enjoy all his emotions, to witness the terrible struggle, and mark how he bears his destiny. It must be a strong heart, or a hard one, that can endure that first look with calmness.
Very different from each other, in aspect and demeanour, were the four men who now advanced into the dock. Two of them hung their heads and looked down upon the ground; one of them gazed around with a faint and affected smile, nodding to some one that he saw in the crowd, and labouring painfully to appear at ease. Martin, on the contrary, came forward, looking straight before him, with his head erect, his broad chest expanded, and his step slow, but firm. His brow was somewhat knit and thoughtful, but his air was frank as usual, and after having gazed towards the bench and the barristers' table, he turned his eyes slowly to the right and left, scanning the eager faces of the crowd with an unquailing eye and an unchanging countenance. The clerk of the arraigns then read the indictment, charging the four prisoners with breaking into the house of Mr. Carr, at Yelverly, and stealing thence various sums of money, and articles of gold and silver, and he then asked the prisoners severally for their plea.
Contrary to the expectation of all present, while the three men who had seemed most cowed by the aspect of the court, pleaded "Not guilty," in a firm and distinct tone, and gave an immediate answer, Martin paused for a moment, ere he replied, as if he had some hesitation, and then answered likewise, but in a low voice, "Not guilty."
It may seem strange, it may be called unnatural, but I believe that, at that moment, there was in the heart of the bold and criminal man of whom I speak, a repugnance to tell a public falsehood, and to put in a plea that was not true. He would have given a great deal, as he stood there, to have been permitted to claim the old battle ordeal--ay, if there had been twenty champions against him; but with all his faults and crimes, he liked not to say he was not guilty, when he knew himself to be so.
The jury was then called over and sworn, no challenges being made, and after the usual formalities, the counsel for the crown addressed the court, with a due sense of the responsibility that rests upon him who undertakes the part of public accuser. Not one word did he say to display his own skill, or eloquence, to excite the passions of his auditory, or to prejudice the cause that was about to be tried. He mentioned the facts of the robbery, as they had taken place, the evidence by which he intended to prove those facts, the circumstances which he thought might justly fix the crime upon the prisoners at the bar, and then left it to the jury to decide whether they were guilty or not, according to the impression produced by the testimony about to be given before them.
After the conclusion of the counsel's speech, a momentary interruption of the proceedings took place, and a report ran round the court, that one of the principal witnesses had been taken suddenly ill. The judge and the counsel for the crown held some conversation together, the principal part of which was only heard by those near them; but at length the former said, distinctly--"I think that such is the best course to pursue. It does not much matter to you in what order the evidence is taken, and, probably, before we have proceeded far, the witness may be able to appear."
The counsel acquiesced in the judge's view, much to the relief of the spectators, who had become apprehensive that they might lose their amusement for the morning.
The two witnesses first called were the female servants of Mr. Carr, who, together with the labourers who had come to the rescue of the inhabitants of Yelverly, proved the facts of the robbery, but could say nothing to fix the guilt upon either of the prisoners in the dock. The housemaid, indeed, dealt a little in the marvellous, and though her fellow-servant had declared that she was asleep the whole time, vowed that she had seen one of the robbers, and that he was at least six inches taller than any of the prisoners; which called from the prisoner's counsel the significant remark, that the maid's testimony would go far to fix the burglary upon the Irish Giant. He declined to cross-examine her, however, saying, with a nod and a shrewd look to the jury, that her evidence was very well as it was, and would be received for as much as it was worth--but no more. Some of the prisoners smiled, but Harry Martin still remained grave, and thoughtful. His brow, indeed, gathered into a stern frown when the name of the next witness was pronounced, and Frederick, Count Lieberg, was called into court.
The foreign appellation, and the rank of the witness, caused a movement of curiosity amongst the spectators, and a slight murmur, in the midst of which, Lieberg advanced, and took his place in the witness-box, with that sort of calm and impressive demeanour, which bespeaks both attention and belief--very often, alas! where neither is due; for those who have been accustomed to frequent senates and courts, must have observed how much attention an empty speech will gain from an attractive tone and manner; and how readily a falsehood is believed, when the face of the teller bears the appearance of a firm conviction. Let the reader be sure that the lie is as much in the manner as the words, and that its success depends more upon the former than the latter.
Lieberg's handsome face, too, and fine person, the accurate taste of his dress, and his military carriage, all struck the spectators, and the court, and prepared them to give full credit to every word that he uttered. The judge alone, long accustomed to remark the slightest changes of the human countenance--whose memory was, in short, a dictionary of looks--remarked a something when the eye of the witness lighted on the prisoner Martin, which made him say to himself--"There is hatred there." It was no permanent expression, but one that passed like a gleam of lightning, over his face, and was gone--a flash of the eye, a sudden convulsive curl of the lip, a momentary contraction of the brow, and then all was calm again.
After stating who and what he was, and that he had visited the house of Mr. Carr for the purpose of hiring some shooting in the neighbourhood, Lieberg went on to give, in a clear and perspicuous manner, and, as usual, without the slightest foreign accent in the world, his account of all that occurred on the night of the robbery. Nor was that account far different from the truth, for Lieberg well knew that truth is always more convincing than falsehood, and, consequently, he contented himself with as little of the latter ingredient in his story as was possible, consistent with his purposes. The only part, then, of his statement which was calculated to deceive, was that he had been roused out of his sleep by a scream, and was issuing forth from his room to see what it was, when he received a blow on the head, which stunned him for a few minutes. He next proceeded to say, that on recovering his senses, he found himself bound, and, looking through his half-closed eyes, saw two men in his chamber, rifling his trunks and dressing-case. They remained there, he continued, for some time, talking aloud, and then went away, leaving him still tied.
"Have you seen either of those men since?" demanded the examining counsel.
"I have," replied Lieberg, firmly. "I see one of them now,"--and he fixed his eyes upon Harry Martin, with a stern look.
The judge smiled, as he saw the direction of his glance; but the counsel bade the witness point out the man, if he still saw him in court. Lieberg immediately held out his hand towards Martin, saying--"Of the four prisoners in the dock, the one upon the extreme right, I can swear to, as one of those whom I saw in my room that night." As he spoke, he bent his eyes full upon Martin's face, and the prisoner returned his stare, with a look as proud and powerful as his own; and again a murmur ran through the court, as the spectators remarked the glances which those two men interchanged.
"Do you see in the court the second man who was in your room?" demanded the counsel.
"I think that the other prisoner, at the further end of the dock, is he," said Lieberg; "but I cannot swear to him."
After a few more questions, the examination in chief was ended, and Count Lieberg was turned over to the hands of the prisoners' counsel, who proceeded to cross-examine him at length.
It is a terrible engine, a cross-examination, in the hands of one who knows how to wield it properly. It is a sort of mental torture, for the purpose of making a witness confess the truth, but which, like the rack and the thumb-screw, has as often brought forth falsehood, as that which is sought to be elicited; and yet it is impossible, perhaps, to do without it. The proud spirit of Lieberg writhed within him at all that he was obliged to endure, during his cross-examination, but with the wonderful command which he possessed over himself, he covered, for a long time, all his feelings with an exterior of cold composure; revenging himself, from time to time, upon the counsel, by a bitter sneer, which made the court smile, though his own lip remained unmoved and stern.
He was made to go over and over again the exact position in which he stood, when he received the blow that stunned him; and a number of questions were asked which seemed directed to puzzle the witness, more than to accomplish any other object; and then the counsel demanded, suddenly, whether he were not actually up, and at the door of his room, when he heard the scream he had mentioned?
"I have already said," replied Lieberg, "that it woke me from my sleep; and I must appeal to the court, whether this course of examination is to be persisted in?"
The judge, however, did not see that the question was at all objectionable, and the counsel had the pleasure of finding that he had irritated the witness. He then went on to ask him, by what signs and external marks it was that he recognised the prisoner; and he made him acknowledge that the faces of the men he had seen were covered with a black crape, and their figures enveloped in smock frocks.
"How was it, then," the counsel asked, "that the Count recognised one of them so rapidly?--was it by his feet, which might have appeared from under the smock frock--or was it by his hands?"
Lieberg replied that it was by his general appearance; and, knowing that his visit to the prisoner's cell might, sooner or later, be made a subject of discussion, he determined, with his usual decision of character, to touch upon it at once himself.
"I remember him," he said, "by his general appearance, and also by another indication. I have told the court that I heard him speak for some time----"
"But," exclaimed the counsel, interrupting him, and evidently prepared for what was to follow, by some intimation from Martin himself--"but you have not heard him speak in this court; and I will now ask you, Count Lieberg, upon your oath--remember, you are upon your oath, sir--whether you did not visit this prisoner in York Castle, for the purpose of entering into a compromise with him, which would have nullified your evidence here this day?"
The counsel for the crown here interfered, and the court declared that the question could not be so put in such a shape, though the counsel for the prisoner asserted that it was necessary for his defence. The very discussion, however, produced what the keen lawyer desired--namely, a doubt in the minds of the jury; and Lieberg's eye gathered, in a moment, from the countenances around him, that an advantage had been gained by his adversary. He decided at once upon his line of conduct, and, bowing to the court, said, with a degree of rapidity which rendered it difficult to stop him--"The question has been asked, and I am not only willing, but desirous, of answering it at once. It is very easy for a hireling advocate, by base insinuations, to affect the character of a witness, but the stain must not rest upon my honour. I did visit the prisoner the night before last; but it was, as I explained to those who gave me admission, for the purpose of hearing him speak in common conversation, with a view to make myself quite sure of his identity. He threatened me, it is true, if I gave evidence against him, and----"
But the court again interfered, in a peremptory tone, signifying distinctly, that neither the counsel nor the witness could be allowed to go on in the course which they were following, and Lieberg's cross-examination was soon after terminated, the barrister who conducted it being satisfied with the impression which he had produced, and which remained unfavourable to Count Lieberg; for suspicion is one of those evil weeds which, when once planted, can by no possibility be eradicated from the soil in which they have taken root.
Lieberg left the witness-box with a frowning brow, but took a place in the court to see the rest of the proceedings. At the next name that was called, there were two hearts that beat in the court--that of the prisoner, and that of Count Lieberg; but it was the heart of the latter which throbbed most violently when the crier pronounced the words--"Helen Barham!" He looked round the people, and thought it strange to see the indifference upon the faces of all; for so intense were his own sensations, that he forgot the crowd were not aware who Helen Barham was, and that the name, for aught they knew, might appertain to some inferior person in the household of Mr. Carr. When she appeared, however, and lifted her veil, her extraordinary loveliness produced at first a dead silence, and then a low murmur of admiration. Helen's cheek, which was unusually pale when she entered, grew crimson as she saw the multitude of eyes upon her, and read in every look the effect of her beauty upon the crowd. To one, feeling as she did, that admiration was a very painful part of a situation already too terrible. She turned pale again--she turned red--she felt as if she should faint; and, while in this state, an old mumbling officer of the court put a book into her hand, ran over indistinctly some words she did not hear, and then added, in a louder tone--"Kiss the book!" Helen obeyed mechanically; and, after a short pause, to allow her to recover herself, her examination began. The counsel for the crown addressed her in a softened voice; and while she spoke in answer to his questions, and detailed all that had occurred on the night of the robbery, the prisoner, Martin, never took his eyes from her face. At the same time, the dark light of Lieberg's--if I may use a term which seems a contradiction--poured upon her countenance unceasingly. It seemed as if he were trying to intimidate her by that stern fixed gaze; but Helen had now regained her composure, and proceeded unwavering, with her soft musical voice, in a tone low indeed, but so clear, that each word was heard by every ear. There was no backwardness no hesitation; and there was not a heart in that hall which did not feel she was uttering the simple, undisguised truth. She told how she had been awakened; how she had seen the face of one of the robbers; how she had uttered an involuntary cry; how he had rushed towards her, with the intention of burying her testimony against him in the silence of the grave, and how he had spared her.
She paused for a moment, while a tear or two ran over her cheek, and hers were not the only eyes in the court that shed bright drops.
She then went on to tell all that had occurred afterwards, till the period when she was left alone in Sheffield; and then the counsel took a grave, and somewhat sterner tone with her, saying--"Miss Barham, I feel deeply for your situation, after the promise that you have made, for the purpose of saving your life; but before I propose to you the question which I am about to ask, I beg to remind you, first, that no promise, exacted under fear of death, can be held binding for one moment; secondly, that you have a duty to your God and country to perform--to the laws, and to society in general, which duty must be accomplished unflinchingly; and I now ask you, by that duty, however much pain it may give you--Do you, or do you not, see in this court the man whose face you beheld on the night in question?"
Helen paused, and there was a dead silence through the whole hall.
"I will not prevaricate in the least," she replied, in a voice still firm, though her face was very pale, "and I know fully what I expose myself to; but I will not answer, in any way, a question which endangers the life of a man who spared mine when my death would have ensured his safety. I will not say, whether I do see him or do not see him, and I will bear no testimony against him whatsoever."
Again there was a profound silence in the court; and then the counsel expostulated, and the judge, in a mild but serious manner, brought forward every argument which could be adduced, to persuade Helen Barham to answer the question asked her; but nothing moved her, and when he added a threat of using the authority with which he was invested for punishing contempt of the court, she replied in a mild and humble, but still a firm tone--"I came hither, my lord, with a full knowledge of what you might be obliged to do; and I have only to beseech you, in consideration of the circumstances in which I am placed, to deal with me as leniently as possible, believing that it is a firm belief I should be committing a great crime, were I to act otherwise, that makes me maintain a silence which, whatever it may be called, does not border in the slightest degree upon contempt."
The good judge looked down, evidently distressed and puzzled how to act. But the counsel for the crown--resolved at all events to gain some admission which might prove the fact he wanted to establish--demanded, somewhat suddenly--"Is it your final determination, Miss Barham, not to point out in this court the man whose face you saw on the night in question?"
"I did not say he was in the court," replied Helen, who had studiously kept her eyes turned from the dock ever since she entered--"I know not whether he is in the court or not. I merely said that I would not answer any question on the subject. If it were to affect my life itself I would make the same reply, for that life which he spared he has every right to require again, if by the sacrifice of it his own can be shielded."
"I fear," said the judge, "that the dignity of the court must be vindicated. Miss Barham, I warn you, that if you still refuse to give evidence, I must commit you for contempt, as the most lenient method of dealing with you."
Helen bowed her beautiful head, replying, in a low tone--"I know it, my lord."
"Let the warrant be made out," said the judge; "and let the witness be removed in custody."
As he saw Helen quitting the witness-box in charge of the officers of the court, Harry Martin took a quick step forward to the front of the dock, as if about to speak, but at that moment a warning voice was heard amongst the crowd, exclaiming--"Harry!"
His eyes ran rapidly round to that side of the court, and he saw his wife with her two hands clasped, gazing with a look of agony in his face. He instantly cast down his eyes again, and drew slightly back, while one of his companions in captivity whispered--"Well, that girl is a diamond!"
In the meanwhile, a pause had taken place in the court; and the judge, anxious to get rid of the impression which Helen's conduct had produced upon himself as well as others, directed the next witness to be called. The name of Mr. Carr was accordingly pronounced, the counsel at the same time asking some one who stood near if that gentleman were well enough to appear. Ere an answer could be given, however, Mr. Carr himself was supported into the witness-box, and was accommodated with a seat. He was deadly pale, and shook very much, as if affected by cold or fear; and he gave his evidence in so low a tone, that the examining barrister was more than once obliged to bid him raise his voice. He, as the rest of the witnesses had done, detailed all that he knew of the robbery, but as his room was the one which had been the most completely rifled, he appeared to have seen more of the actual robbers than any one else. There were four of them, he said, and he had had a good opportunity of marking them well while they tied him to the bed-posts, and stripped his chamber of all that was valuable in it. He had not seen their faces, it is true, but nevertheless, from their general appearance, he could swear to them anywhere.
Towards this part of Mr. Carr's evidence, he seemed to become heated by the thought of the property he had lost, and he spoke much louder and quicker than before, but just then there was a little bustle and confusion on the opposite side of the court, and Mr. Carr raised his eyes. What he saw there no one knew, but his voice fell, and his countenance changed; and when the counsel told him to point out the persons who had robbed him, if he saw them in the court, Mr. Carr gazed into the dock with a vacant look, and shook his head, saying--"I do not think any of those are the men. The three on this side, indeed, might be amongst them, but that man beyond "--and he pointed to the prisoner Martin--"was certainly not one."
A murmur of surprise, and it must be said of indignation, took place at the counsel's table, for lawyers are not easily deceived in such matters, and there was not one man there who was not perfectly convinced that the prisoners at the bar were the persons who had committed the robbery, and, moreover, that Mr. Carr knew it to be so. The examining counsel made one more effort, by asking Mr. Carr how he happened to be so sure in the case of Martin.
"Because," replied Mr. Carr, "none of the housebreakers were so tall and powerful."
"And yet," said the barrister, turning round to his brethren, "two of the other prisoners are taller than he is. My lord, I think it is inexpedient, after what we have heard, to call any further witnesses."
"I think so too," said the judge; "but I shall let the case go to the jury."
The prisoners declined making any defence, and the judge remarked it was scarcely necessary for him to sum up the evidence, adding--"A more disgraceful case I have never had the misfortune to see tried." The jury, without quitting the box, returned a verdict of "Not Guilty."
The judge then addressed the prisoners, saying--"A jury of your country has acquitted you of a great crime, and I will not take upon myself to make any observation tending to impugn the only verdict it could return under the circumstances; but, at the sane time, you will feel that there are facts connected with this trial which give it a peculiar character, and that the same are never likely to occur again. If, then, either or any of you have hitherto led a vicious or criminal life, let the danger you have now run be a warning to you.--I do not think, sir," he continued, addressing the leading counsel for the crown, "that after what has taken place, we can deal very severely with Miss Barham. Let it be notified to her, that upon due petition the court will order her discharge;" and he turned, to his paper to see what was the next case set down for trial.