With patient kindness the judge turned to the dock, and counselled him, even now, late as it was, to select some one among the learned members of the Bar, whose guidance would materially serve his interests, and save him from the many embarrassments his own unassisted efforts would produce.
“I thank you, my Lord, for your consideration,” replied he, calmly, “but if I be innocent of this crime, I stand in need of no skill to defend me. If guilty, I do not deserve it.”
“Were guilt and innocence always easy of detection,” said the judge, “your remark might have some show of reason; but such is rarely the case, and once more I would entreat you to intrust your cause to some one conversant with our forms and acquainted with our duties.”
“I am not guilty, my Lord,” replied Roland, boldly, “nor do I fear that any artifice can make me appear such. I will not have counsel.”
The Attorney-General here in a low voice addressed the Bench, and suggested that although the prisoner might not himself select a defender, yet the interests of justice generally requiring that the witnesses should be cross-examined, it would be well if the Court would appoint some one to that duty.
The judge repeated the suggestion aloud, adding his perfect concurrence in its nature, and inviting the learned Bar to lend a volunteer in the cause; when a voice called out, “I will willingly accept the office, my Lord, with your permission.”
“Very well, Mr. Clare Jones,” replied the judge; and that gentleman, of whom we have so long lost sight, advanced to the front of the bar, beside the dock.
Cashel, during this scene, appeared like one totally uninterested in all that was going forward; nor did he even turn his head towards where his self-appointed advocate was standing. As the names of the jury were called over, Jones closely scrutinized each individual, keenly inquiring from what part of the county he came—whether he had resided as a tenant on the Cashel estate—and if he had, on any occasion, expressed himself strongly on the guilt or innocence of the accused. To all these details Roland listened with an interest the novelty suggested, but, it was plain to see, without any particle of that feeling which his own position might have called for. The jury were at length impanelled, and the trial began.
Few, even among the most accomplished weavers of narrative, can equal the skill with which a clever lawyer details the story of a criminal trial. The orderly sequence in which the facts occur; the neat equipoise in which matters are weighed; the rigid insistence upon some points, the insinuated probabilities and the likelihood of others,—are all arranged and combined with a masterly power that more discursive fancies would fail in.
Events and incidents that to common intelligence appear to have no bearing on the case, arise, like unexpected witnesses, at intervals, to corroborate this, or to insinuate that. Time, place, distance, locality, the laws of light and sound, the phenomena of science, are all invoked, not with the abstruse pedantry of a bookworm, but with the ready-witted acuteness of one who has studied mankind in the party-colored page of real life.