One cause of the prosecution—indeed, the only cause—lay in a certain kind of hostility which existed between the village and the hill. It was a sort of “town and gown” feeling, which was not confined to the village, but spread over the country, and particularly Gaspereaux. It was this feeling which brought the villagers at the present time to the court of Rhadamanthus. Still there was not so much partisanship on this occasion as there would have been if the dispute had been directly between the village and the hill; for Captain Corbet was the one who was prosecuted, and Captain Corbet happened to be a great favorite in the village. The villagers present were therefore very uncertain in their sympathies; they wished the hill to be beaten, but they didn’t want Captain Corbet to suffer. The loss of the Antelope, which seemed by this time far gone to destruction, excited additional sympathy; and as his venerable form appeared, a murmur of friendly feeling went round, and a score of horny hands were stretched out to grasp his.
The suit against Captain Corbet was for the recovery of damages incurred by the illegal, violent, malicious, injurious, felonious, dishonest, malignant, mischievous, wanton, secret, forcible, burglarious, and criminal removal of a portion of the stone wall surrounding the potato field of the prosecutor, whereby the said prosecutor had sustained grievous harm and loss. The prosecutor, in setting forth his grievances, stated that it might have been made a criminal action, but out of kindness to Captain Corbet he had decided to make it a civil one, and merely wished to have the losses which he had suffered made good.
The bill of damages was a very heavy one, amounting to no less a sum than five hundred dollars—an amount which poor Captain Corbet could never have paid, and which was perfectly preposterous. The knowledge of this excited a fresh demonstration of feeling in favor of the venerable defendant; and, at length, even before the trial had fairly begun, there was not a villager present who was not heart and soul in favor of Captain Corbet.
The prosecutor brought forward testimony to prove damages. His sole testimony consisted of one witness, who was known by the name of Old Zeke—a poor worthless character, whose life vibrated between begging and getting drunk. He swore that on a certain day he happened to be down by the creek, and saw a horse in the field where the fence had been removed.
Mr. Long proceeded to examine this witness. Mr. Long had a singularly keen and acute mind, and the witness was nothing in his hands. Old Zeke in a few minutes became so confused that he could not testify to anything. He said first that the day was Tuesday, then Wednesday, then Thursday, then he wouldn’t be sure but that it might be Friday, then Saturday, and at length he wouldn’t swear but that it might have been Sunday. Finally, he said that he wouldn’t swear to the day at all. After this, he was so pressed by Mr. Long, that he thought that the horse might have been a cow; and then he said he wouldn’t swear that it wasn’t a sheep, or a goat, or a dog. Finally, Mr. Long asked him on his oath if he would swear that it wasn’t a rat, and Old Zeke wouldn’t swear that it wasn’t, a rat.
Old Zeke’s total discomfiture, however, was nothing to Mr. Long. It was mere child’s play. He longed to close with a worthier antagonist—with the prosecutor himself. The prosecutor swore that cattle had got into his potato field, and had done damage which he had estimated at over five hundred dollars.
Mr. Long now proceeded to grapple with the prosecutor.
Could he prove damages to the extent of five hundred dollars? He could, all? And how? Could he prove that any cattle had got in? Had he himself seen any cattle? No. No? Who, then, had seen them? Old Zeke. Old Zeke? Very good.
Would the prosecutor be kind enough to state which of the cattle that Old Zeke had seen had done the damage? Was it Old Zeke’s rat!
At this a roar of laughter arose from the spectators, who were now in the highest state of excitement.