From daylight the seats were taken in the galleries of the Court; the most distinguished of the neighboring gentry were all gathered there, while in the seats behind the bench were ranged several members of the peerage, who had travelled long distances to be present. To the left of the presiding judge sat Count Stephen, calm, stern, and motionless, as if on parade. If many of the ceremonials of the court and the general aspect of the assemblage were new and strange to his eyes, nothing in his bearing or manner bespoke surprise or astonishment. As little, too, did he seem aware of the gaze of that crowded assembly, who, until the interest of the trial called their attention away, never ceased to stare steadfastly at him.
At the corner of the gallery facing the jury-box D'Esmonde and Cahill were seated. The Abbé, dressed with peculiar care, and wearing the blue silk collar of an order over his white cravat, was recognized by the crowd beneath as a personage of rank and consideration, which, indeed, his exalted and handsome features appeared well to corroborate. He sustained the strong stare of the assemblage with a calm but haughty self-possession, like one well accustomed to the public eye, and who felt no shrinking from the gaze of a multitude. Already the rumor ran that he was an official high in the household of the Pope, and many strange conjectures were hazarded on the meaning of his presence at the trial.
To all the buzz of voices, and the swaying, surging motion of a vast crowd, there succeeded a dead silence and tranquillity, when the judges took their seats on the bench. The ordinary details were all gone through with accustomed formality, the jury sworn, and the indictment read aloud by the clerk of the crown, whose rapid enunciation and monotonous voice took nothing from the novelty of the statement that was yet to be made by counsel. At length Mr. Wallace rose, and now curiosity was excited to the utmost. In slow and measured phrase he began by bespeaking the patient and careful attention of the jury to the case before them. He told them that it was a rare event in the annals of criminal law to arraign one who was already gone before the greatest of all tribunals; but that such cases had occurred, and it was deemed of great importance, not alone to the cause of truth and justice, that these investigations should be made, but that a strong moral might be read, in the remarkable train of incidents by which these discoveries were elicited, and men were taught to see the hand of Providence in events which, to unthinking minds, had seemed purely accidental and fortuitous. After dwelling for some time on this theme, he went on to state the great difficulty and embarrassment of his own position, called upon as he was to arraign less the guilty man than his blameless and innocent descendants, and to ask for the penalties of the law on those who had not themselves transgressed it.
“I do not merely speak here,” said he, “of the open shame and disgrace the course of this trial will proclaim—I do not simply allude to the painful exposure you will be obliged to witness—I speak of the heavy condemnation with which the law of public opinion visits the family of a felon, making all contact with them a reproach, and denying them even its sympathy. These would be weighty considerations if the course of justice had not far higher and more important claims, not the least among which is the assertion to the world at large that guilt is never expiated without punishment, and that the law is inflexible in its denunciation of crime.”
He then entered upon a narrative of the case, beginning with an account of the Dalton family, and the marriage which connected them with the Godfreys. He described most minutely the traits of character which separated the two men and rendered them uncompanionable one to the other. Of Godfrey he spoke calmly and without exaggeration; but when his task concerned Peter Dalton, he drew the picture of a reckless, passionate, and unprincipled man, in the strongest colors, reminding the jury that it was all-important to carry with them through the case this view of his character, as explaining and even justifying many of the acts he was charged with. “You will,” said he, “perceive much to blame in him, but also much to pity, and even where you condemn deeply, you will deplore the unhappy combination of events which perverted what may have been a noble nature, and degraded by crime what was meant to have adorned virtue! From the evidence I shall produce before you will be seen the nature of the intimacy between these two men, so strikingly unlike in every trait of character, and although this be but the testimony of one who heard it himself from another, we shall find a strong corroboration of all in the consistency of the narrative and the occasional allusion to facts provable from other sources. We shall then show you how the inordinate demands of Dalton, stimulated by the necessity of his circumstances, led to a breach with his brother-in-law, and subsequently to his departure for the Continent; and, lastly, we mean to place before you the extraordinary revelation made to the witness Meekins, by his comrade William Noonan, who, while incriminating himself, exhibited Dalton as the contriver of the scheme by which the murder was effected.
“It would be manifestly impossible, in a case like this, when from the very outset the greatest secrecy was observed and over whose mystery years have accumulated clouds of difficulty, to afford that clear and precise line of evidence which in a recent event might naturally be looked for. But you will learn enough, and more than enough, to satisfy your minds on every point Meekins shall be subjected to any cross-examination my learned brother may desire, and I only ask for him so much of your confidence as a plain unvarying statement warrants. He is a stranger in this country; and although it has been rumored, from his resemblance to a man formerly known here, that he has been recognized, we shall show you that for upwards of thirty years he has been in foreign countries, and while he understands that his parents were originally from the south of Ireland, he believes himself to have been born in America. These facts will at once disabuse your minds of the suspicion that he can have been actuated by any malicious or revengeful feelings towards the Daltons. We shall, also, show that the most strenuous efforts have been made to suppress his testimony; and while it may be painful to exhibit one charged with the administration of justice as having plotted to subvert or distort it, we shall produce on the witness-table the individual who himself made these very overtures of corruption.”
A long and minute narrative followed—every step of the conspiracy was detailed—from the first communication of Dalton with Noonan, to the fatal moment of the murder. Noonan's own subsequent confession to Meekins was then related, and lastly the singular accident by which Meekins came in contact with the Abbé d'Esmonde, and was led to a revelation of the whole occurrence. The lawyer at last sat down, and as he did so, a low murmuring sound ran through the crowded assemblage, whose mournful cadence bespoke the painful acquiescence in the statement they had heard. More than one eager and sympathizing look was turned to where the old Count sat; but his calm, stern features were passive and immovable as ever; and although he listened with attention to the address of the advocate, not a semblance of emotion could be detected in his manner.
Meekins was now called to the witness-box, and as he made his way through the crowd, and ascended the table, the most intense curiosity to see him was displayed. Well dressed, and with a manner of decent and respectful quietude, he slowly mounted the stairs, and saluted the bench and jury. Although an old man, he was hale and stout-looking, his massive broad forehead and clear gray eye showing a character of temperament well able to offer resistance to time.
There was an apparent frankness and simplicity about him that favorably impressed the court, and he gave his evidence with that blended confidence and caution which never fails to have its effect on a jury. He owned, too, that he once speculated on using the secret for his own advantage, and extorting a considerable sum from old Dalton's fears, but that on second thoughts he had decided on abandoning this notion, and resolved to let the mystery die with him. The accidental circumstance of meeting with the Abbé D'Esmonde, at Venice, changed this determination, and it was while under the religious teachings of this good priest that he came to the conviction of his sad duty. His evidence occupied several hours, and it was late in the afternoon when the cross-examination began.
Nothing within the reach of a crafty lawyer was left undone. All that practised skill and penetration could accomplish was exhibited, but the testimony was unshaken in every important point; and save when pushing the witness as to his own early life and habits, not a single admission could be extorted to his discredit. But even here his careless easy manner rescued him; and when he alleged that he never very well knew where he was born, or who were his parents, nor had he any very great misgivings about having served on board a slaver, and “even worse,” the jury only smiled at what seemed the frank indifference of an old sailor. Noonan had given him a few scraps of Mr. Dalton's writing. He had lost most of them, he said; but of those which remained, although unsigned, the authenticity was easily established. Old Peter's handwriting was familiar to many, and several witnesses swore to their being genuine. In other respects, they were of little importance. One alone bore any real significance, and it was the concluding passage of a letter, and ran thus: “So that if I 'm driven to it at last, Godfrey himself is more to blame than me.” Vague as this menacing sentence was, it bore too home upon the allegations of the witness not to produce a strong effect, nor could any dexterity of the counsel succeed in obliterating its impression.