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

by Arthur Cheney Train

Many pathetic and also amusing incidents occur upon these occasions. There is a true story of an incident which, however, did not occur in the General Sessions of New York County, where a prisoner who had been convicted was arraigned before the judge for sentence. This judge was an aged man with a great reputation for his bitter wit and sarcasm. The convict, who had been convicted of being a common gambler and who was described by the court officers as a "fly guy," appeared in a loudly checked yellow and black suit with a red necktie and a large paste diamond horseshoe pin. The judge from under his beetling eyebrows looked fiercely down upon him from the bench and remarked with intense scorn:

"I sentence you to pay a fine of fifty dollars——'

"That's all right, judge," interrupted the "fly guy" nonchalantly, thrusting his hand into his trousers. "Got it in my pants pocket."

"——And to three years and six months in State's prison," continued his Honor, with a slight twinkle in his eye. "Have you got THAT in your pants pocket?"

Recorder Smyth is said to have had a habit of entering the sentences which he proposed to inflict in a book which he kept for that purpose. He also generally made use of a regular set form of expression when imposing them. A miserable little defendant who was gifted with a greater fund of originality than of common-sense, had conceived the extraordinary idea of stealing a ship's anchor belonging to a company which owned a dock in the North River. For this purpose he procured a dray, drawn by six or eight horses, and a derrick, by means of which he hoisted the anchor in question upon the dray in the dead of night and, as might have been expected, succeeded in getting only about half way down the dock with it before he was apprehended by a watchman.

Naturally he had no adequate explanation to offer and promptly pleaded guilty. He was arraigned at the bar in company with several other defendants. Recorder Smyth, his mind still dwelling upon the words with which he had sentenced the latter, thus addressed the trembling miscreant:

"You have pleaded guilty to the crime of stealing a ship's anchor!"—then raising his voice he continued, with perfect solemnity: "The crime of stealing a ship's anchor is becoming entirely too prevalent! I sentence you to three years and a half in State's prison."

In contrast with those cheerful days on Manhattan, not much over a century and a half ago, when negroes were burnt to death in chains, and thieves branded in open court and then, tied bareback to the tail of a cart, whipped at every street corner from the City Hall to the Battery and return, the following incident may serve as a pleasant reminder of our progress in civilization:

A young Irishman of excellent address, and employed in a responsible position in an express company, appropriated, at the instigation of evil companions, some of the funds intrusted to his keeping. The larceny was detected, he was arrested and admitted his guilt. Meantime, some one had written to his parents in Ireland who lived in a remote parish in the humblest circumstances. The two old people sold their little cottage, as well as their pig and cow, and took steerage passage from Queenstown to New York. They arrived upon the day set for their son's sentence, entering the court-room as he was arraigned at the bar. A tearful recognition followed, and the prisoner, overwhelmed at this touching proof of his parents' love, begged the judge to listen to their supplication for mercy. Their simple story deeply affected the court, who discharged the defendant in their keeping, under his solemn promise to return with them to Ireland, there to honor and labor for them so long as they should live.