THE DEFENCE.
The defence was not badly sustained, especially by Layer himself. His chief point was that being accused of an overt act of treason in the county of Essex, if that accusation failed to be proved, whatever he had done elsewhere was irrelevant. Kettleby too addressed himself so clearly to this elucidation as to excite the chief judge to reprehensible pettishness. ‘You have mixed your discourse so,’ cried Pratt, ‘that nobody knows what to make of it!’ The counsel tried hard to prove that Layer had not even been where Lynch swore he had committed an act of treason. Mackreth, the host of the ‘Green Man,’ at Epping, his wife, and John Paulfreeman, their servant, swore positively that no one resembling Layer had ever been in that house. ‘But,’ said mine host, ‘there was the Duke of Grafton and Lord Halifax came to my house some time since. The Duke said to me, “Mackreth, you’re to be hanged.” “Hanged!” said I, “for what?” “You and your friend, Layer, are to be hanged!” Said I, “I never saw him in all my life.” He added, “They walked to and fro in the hall.” “What!” said they, “do you know nothing of this Layer?” “No!” said I, “I don’t, directly nor indirectly, as I hope to be saved.”’ This characteristic attempt by great personages to intimidate a witness failed.
STRANGE WITNESSES.
Great interest was next excited by the appearance of Lord North and Grey, a prisoner from the Tower. He had been captured in the Isle of Wight, in an attempt to escape to France. He served the Government rather than Layer, on whose part he was called. Lord North confessed that Lynch was twice at his house, in Essex; but was rather uncivilly got rid of the second time. Being pressed as to what passed between himself, Lynch, and Layer, he answered:—‘It is a little hard for a man of honour to betray conversation that passed over a bottle of wine, in discourse.’ Although he said he must submit if ordered to betray, he was not ordered; and he the more confidently added: ‘As to particular things, I don’t care to speak of them. I should be sorry to say it, when it was said in my company and under my roof.’ Having made this singular speech, Layer’s counsel rejoined with one as singular:—‘We won’t press it,’—as if my lord’s silence bore less peril to their client than his outspokenness would bear. At length, said Lord North and Grey, ‘I must, by your Lordship’s leave, if these gentlemen have no further to say to me, and your Lordships have no further commands, ask that I may return to my prison.’ Upon which, Mr. Hungerford, as if he were glad to be well rid of him, called out, ‘I hope you will make way there for Lord North and Grey through the crowd!’ It was a turbulent crowd, and given to ‘tumbling about’ such witnesses as happened to displease them. This was especially the case with Sir Dennis O’Carroll, one of many witnesses who swore to the rascal repute of Lynch and Plunket. ‘It’s a mighty bad character Plunket has,’ said the gallant knight, ‘I wouldn’t take his evidence to hang a dog!’ ‘And here he is,’ said Hungerford, ‘trying to hang a Protestant!’ Other witnesses spoke to the infamous life led by Mrs. Mason; others swore that the ‘Scheme’ was not in Layer’s handwriting, and Layer himself denounced it as a forgery. He and his counsel argued one after the other in his defence; he did not trust his case entirely to their idea of conducting it; and they seemed more pleased than troubled by his interference. His courage, without the slightest bravado, was beyond all praise. His course was rather to deny the alleged proof adduced on the trial than to deny acts which, he contended, were unproved.
THE VERDICT.
The Solicitor-General then, in a manner, rushed at him. When he had finished his long and blindly furious speech, Kettleby merely said in reply: ‘I shall not take up much of your Lordship’s time, especially since your Lordship and Court have been so long and so well entertained by Mr. Solicitor-General at least two hours, as I have observed by my watch, but it was impossible for me to think him tedious, though so late at night.’ Therewith, he seated himself; and a few persons having been called by the Crown in support of the honesty and virtue of some of its very questionable witnesses, the Lord Chief Justice summed up with a cruel sort of equity, and the verdict of Guilty, which followed from an unanimous jury, brought to an end a trial of eighteen hours’ duration.
LAYER’S DIGNITY.
Sentence was not pronounced till the 27th. The doomed man was brought from the Tower heavily ironed. The cruelty excited sympathy, but the Lord Chief Justice said he could not interfere. It was not lawful for a man to be ironed when on his trial, but this trial was over, and Mr. Layer was legally in chains. Pity, however, prevailed, and the prisoner was relieved of the burthen while he pleaded ably but vainly in arrest of judgment. He made no craven cry for mercy promising abundant loyalty in return, but he did not affect to look with indifference on death, and he certainly hoped that his life might be spared. Pratt, in passing sentence, smote Layer’s counsel as well as their client. ‘Your Counsel,’ he said, ‘have been permitted to say whatever they thought proper for your service; and I heartily wish I could say they had not exceeded, that they had not taken a greater liberty than they ought to have done.’ After this philippic, Pratt pointed out the happiness of England in possessing such a church, such a constitution, such laws, such lords and commons, and such a king and royal family. Not to enthusiastically worship these blessings was, in his eyes, inexplicable folly. To attempt to overthrow any of them was a criminal madness worthy of death; and he who had so dared must now die. Layer was accordingly condemned to be hanged, drawn, and quartered. ‘I will dare,’ said he, ‘to die like a gentleman and a Christian.’ Whereupon, he was again ironed, hurried into a coach, and driven off to the Tower.
THE JACOBITES IN MOURNING.
There was another Jacobite ‘wanted’ by the Government. This was Carte, the Nonjuror. The Government thought it worth while to offer a thousand pounds for the apprehension of this obnoxious clergyman, but as in the proclamation to that effect, he was described in exactly opposite terms to those by which he could possibly be recognised, Carte got off to France, where he lived under the name of Phillips, till in the next reign Queen Caroline kindly obtained permission for the Jacobite scholar to return to England. In the Mall, and at other public places, the authorised watchers of suspected persons were surprised to find several of the latter, in mourning. This was accounted for, when it was known that Princess Sobieska, the mother of her whom the Jacobites acknowledged as the true Queen of England,—the wife of the Chevalier—was dead. ‘Chevalier!’ said an enthusiastic handmaid to a distiller in Fleet Street, ‘I wish all the hairs on my head were so many dragoons, to fight for the Chevalier!’ That night she lay in Bridewell, and a day or two after, the poor handmaid was whipped,—into a more determined Jacobite than ever!