The Prisoner at the Bar: Sidelights on the Administration of Criminal Justice

by Arthur Cheney Train

"I served three years in Charlestown for larceny, and was discharged two months ago."

"Is that all?"

"O God! Isn't that enough?" suddenly groaned the prisoner, breaking down completely. "No, sir, it isn't all! It's always been the same old story! Concord, Joliet, Elmira, Springfield, Sing Sing, Charlestown—Yes, six times. Twelve years!—I'm a jail bird!"

Before rendering a verdict the members of almost every jury take the opportunity in the jury-room to stretch their legs and satisfy their craving to smoke. Juries rarely return in less time than it takes to burn a cigar. While this may torture the prisoner it would seem a fairly earned perquisite on the part of his judges. Some jurors are instinctively, and a few are actually lawyers. These rarely add much to the general usefulness of the panel. Jurymen not infrequently seize the opportunity to display their oratorical ability, since their audience cannot get away and must perforce hear them out. The writer recalls one instance where in a well-known extortion case an enthusiastic talesman made a digest of the speeches of counsel for the defence and for the prosecution and then prepared a long harangue of his own which he committed to memory. When the jury were safely locked into their council chamber this self-sacrificing gentleman arose and began, "In this case the defence claims, thus and so." After he had repeated practically in toto the argument of the defence he got his second wind and continued, "On the other hand, the People assert, thus and so." At the end of about an hour he had reached his own humble views of the case, which he expanded at great length, ending with a peroration in which the great American eagle could be heard screaming all the way into the court-room. The jury, probably out of sheer fatigue, took but a single vote and found the defendant guilty. The orator to this day claims that he "did it."

While the deliberations of the jury are theoretically secret, the rooms in which they are confined are often so located with reference to corridors, retiring rooms, etc., that officers on duty, turnkeys, and other persons are occasionally made involuntary eavesdroppers. It is said that in other and more barbarous times interested parties would lurk near by in order to get an idea of how the wind was blowing. There is a story for which the writer assumes no responsibility that ten or fifteen years ago a noted prosecutor was accustomed to follow the jury out, climb upon a ladder, and listen at the transom to their arguments and comments; and there is also a report, which perhaps is but a fable, that there was a knot-hole in the jury-room of the old "Brownstone" building from which the plug was regularly removed to allow of similar surreptitious observations. The rumors which come from the direction of the jury-room are quite as apt to be incorrect as accurate, and neither prosecutor nor prisoner really knows what is the result of the jury's deliberations until the foreman's word ends the suspense.

Many strange and amusing stories are told of how certain historic verdicts in criminal cases were reached. Perhaps the most famous is that of the trial of the first indictment which followed the robbery of the Manhattan Bank. The case was tried before Judge Cowing in the General Sessions, and after a speedy, but conclusive, trial the jury retired. A vote, which was immediately taken, showed that they stood eleven to one for conviction. The twelfth juror was obstinate and no progress whatever was made by the others. The situation remained unchanged during the night and up to twelve o'clock of the next day, which happened to be a Saturday. At that hour Judge Cowing sent word that he was going downtown and would not return until two o'clock. In some way the jury got the idea that the judge intended to lock them up until Monday if they did not agree. They accordingly asked for five minutes more before the judge left the building. This was granted and at the end of that time they announced that they had agreed. Into court they filed.

"Have you agreed upon a verdict?" asked the clerk.

"We have," replied the foreman.

"How say you? Do you find the defendant guilty or not guilty?"

"Not guilty," answered the foreman defiantly. The defendant, who was as guilty a man as ever was brought to the bar of justice, almost collapsed from astonishment, and the judge gave the jury a frank piece of his mind in no uncertain language. Rather than suffer any further inconvenience this high-minded jury had simply faced about and voted to acquit.