Seeing that the counsel for the prosecution had not elicited the testimony he promised, respecting the attempted subornation of Meekins, the defence rashly adventured upon that dangerous ground, and too late discovered his error, for the witness detailed various conversations between Grounsell and himself, and gave with terrible effect a scene that he swore had occurred between young Dalton and him in the jail. It was in vain to remind the jury that he who alone could refute this evidence was stretched on a bed of sickness. The effect was already made.
When questioned as to the reasons Dalton might have had for conspiring against his brother-in-law, he confessed that Noonan only knew that Godfrey had refused him all assistance, and that he believed that after his death he, Dalton, would inherit the property. His own impression was, however, that it was more vengeance than anything else. The Daltons were living in great poverty abroad; there was scarcely a privation which they had not experienced; and the embittering stings of their misery were adduced as the mainspring of old Peter's guilt. This allusion to the private life of the Dalton family was eagerly seized on by Mr. Wallace, who now “begged to ascertain certain facts on a subject which, but for his learned brother's initiative, he would have shrunk from exhibiting in open court.” Meekins could, of course, but give such details as he had learned from Noonan, but they all described a life of suffering and meanness,—their contrivances and their straits; their frequent change of place, as debt accumulated over them; their borrowings and their bills; and, lastly, the boastful pretexts they constantly brought forward on the rank of their uncle, Count Dalton, as a guarantee of their solvency and respectability. So unexpected was the transition to the mention of this name, that the whole assembly suddenly turned their eyes to where the old General sat, mute and stern; but the look he returned might well have abashed them, so haughty and daring was its insolence.
Apparently to show the knowledge possessed by the witness on matters of private detail,—but, in reality, to afford an occasion for dilating on a painful subject,—the whole history of the family was raked up, and all the sad story of Nelly's toil and Kate's menial duties paraded in open court, wound up, at last, with what was called young Frank's enlistment “as a common soldier of the Austrian army.”
The greater interests of the trial were all forgotten in these materials for gossip, and the curiosity of the listeners was excited to its highest pitch when he came to tell of that mingled misery and ambition, that pride of name, and shameless disregard of duty, which he described as characterizing them; nor was the craving appetite for scandal half appeased when the court interrupted the examination, and declared that it was irrelevant and purposeless.
Meekins at last descended from the table, and Michel Lenahan was called up. The important fact he had so resolutely sworn to some weeks before he had already shown a disinclination to confirm, and all that he could now be brought to admit was, that he had believed Meekins was his old acquaintance, Black Sam; but the years that had elapsed since he saw him before, change of dress, and the effect of time on each of them, might well shake a better memory than his own.
“Jimmy Morris might know him again, my Lord,” said he, “for he never forgot anybody,——but he is n't to the fore.”
“I have the happiness to say that he is,” said Hipeley. “He has arrived from Cove, here, this morning. Call James Morris, crier;” and soon after, a very diminutive old man, with a contracted leg, mounted the table. He was speedily sworn, and his examination commenced. After a few questions as to his trade,—he was a tailor,—and where he had lived latterly, he was asked whether he remembered, amongst his former acquaintance, a certain bailiff on the Corrig-O'Neal estate, commonly called Black Sam?
“By coorse I do,” said he; “he was always making mischief between Mr. Godfrey and ould Peter.”
“You have not been asked that question, sir.” interposed Wallace.
“No, but he shall be by-and-by,” cried Hipsley. “Tell me, now, what kind of a man was this same Black Sam?”