With these words he sat down, amid a murmur of approving voices; for there were many there who knew the Knight by reputation, if not personally, and were aware how well such a speech accorded with every feature of his character.
There was a brief delay as he resumed his seat. It was already late, the court had been obliged to be lighted up a considerable time previous, and the question of an adjournmeut was now discussed. The probable length of O'Halloran's reply would best guide the decision, and the Chief Baron asked if the learned counsel's statement were likely to be long.
“Yes, my Lord,” replied he; “it is not a case to be dismissed briefly, and I have many witnesses to call.”
Another brief discussion took place on the bench, and the Chief Baron announced that as there were many important causes still standing over for trial, they should best consult public convenience by proceeding, and that, after a few moments devoted to refreshment, the case should go on.
The judges retired, and many of the leading counsel took the same opportunity to recruit strength exhausted by several hours of severe toil. The Hickmans and O'Halloran never quitted their places; a decanter of sherry and a sandwich from the hotel were served where they sat, but the old man took nothing. The interest of the scene appeared too absorbing to admit of even a sense of hunger or weariness, and he sat with his hands folded, and his eyes mechanically fixed upon the now empty jury-box; for there, the whole day, were his looks riveted, to read, if he might, the varying emotions in the faces of those who held so much of his fortune in their keeping.
While the noise and hubbub which characterize a court at such intervals was at its highest, a report was circulated that increased in no small degree the excitement of the scene, and gave a character of intense anxiety to an assemblage so lately broken up by varied and dissimilar passions. It was this: a large vessel had struck on a reef in the bay, and the sea was now breaking over her. She had been seen from an early hour endeavoring to beat to the southward; but the wind had drawn more to the westward as the storm increased, and a strong shore current had also drawn her on land. In a last endeavor to clear the headlands of Clare, she missed stays, and being struck by a heavy sea, her rudder was carried away. Totally unmanageable now, she was drifted along, till she struck on a most dangerous reef about a mile from shore. Signals of distress were seen at her masthead, but no boat could venture out. The storm was already a hurricane, and even in the very harbor two fishing-boats had sunk.
As the dreadful tidings flew from mouth to mouth, a terrible confirmation was heard in the booming of guns of distress, which at brief intervals sounded amid the crashing of the storm.
It was at this moment of intense excitement that the crier proclaimed silence for the approaching entry of the judges. If the din of human voices became hushed and low, the deafening thunder of the elements seemed to increase, and the roaring of the enraged sea appeared to fill the very atmosphere.
As the judges resumed their seats, and the vast crowd ceased to stir or speak, O'Halloran arose. His voice was singularly low and quiet; but yet every word he uttered was distinctly heard through all the clamor of the storm.
“My Lords,” said he, “before entering upon my client's case, I would bespeak the kind indulgence of the court in respect to a matter purely personal to myself. Your Lordships are too well aware that I should insist upon it, that in a cause where the weightiest interests of property are engaged, the mind of the advocate should be disembarrassed and free,—not only free as regards the exercise of whatever knowledge and skill he may possess, not merely free from the supposition of any individual hazard the honest discharge of his duty might incur, but free from the greater thraldom of disturbed and irritated emotions, originating in the deepest sense of wounded honor.