The ways of the hour

by James Fenimore Cooper

“Are you ready, gentlemen?”

“I believe we are, your honour; though the prisoner has not yet been arraigned.”

“Mr. District Attorney, we will proceed.”

As the sheriff now left the room, in person, rather an unusual thing in bringing a prisoner into court, expectation was at its height. In the midst of a breathing silence, the door swung round—court-room doors are now made to swing like turnpikes, in order to prevent noise—and Mr. Gott entered, followed by Mary Monson, Anna, Sarah, Marie Moulin, and the two young men. The kind-hearted wife of the sheriff was already in the room, and, by means of a constable, had managed to keep seats reserved for those who might attend the prisoner. To these seats the party now retired, with the exception of Marie Moulin, who attended her mistress within the bar.

Every observer was struck with the unexpected air, manner, and attire of the prisoner. Dunscomb saw, at a glance, that her appearance had made a most favourable impression. This was something, and he hoped it might counteract much of the manœuvring of Davis and Williams. The judge, in particular, a kind-hearted and very well meaning man, was taken altogether by surprise. There is nothing in which there is more freemasonry than in the secret symptoms of social castes. Each individual is more or less of a judge of these matters, up to the level of his own associations, while all beyond is mystery. It happened that the judge, now about to try Mary Monson, belonged to an old, historical, New York family, a thing of rather rare occurrence in the great movements of the times, and he possessed an hereditary tact in discerning persons of his own habits of life. Almost at a glance, he perceived that the prisoner had the air, manners, countenance and finesse, of one accustomed, from infancy, to good company. The reader may smile at this, but he must pardon us if we say the smile will betray ignorance, rather than denote the philosophy that he may fancy controls his opinions. Dunscomb was much gratified when the judge rather earnestly interposed against the act of the sheriff, who was about to place the prisoner at the bar in the little barricaded space allotted to the use of ordinary criminals, directing him to—

“Give the prisoner a chair within the bar, Mr. Sheriff. Gentlemen, be so good as to make room, that the accused may sit near her counsel. Mr. Attorney, let the prisoner be arraigned, as soon as she has rested from the fatigue and agitation of appearing here.”

This ceremony, now little more than a blank form, was soon ended, and the plea of “not guilty” was entered. The next step was to empannel the jury, a task of infinite difficulty, and one that has got to be so much an out-work, in the proceedings in criminal cases, as almost to baffle the powers of the law. It is no unusual thing for the time of the court to be occupied a week or two, in this preliminary proceeding, until the evil has got to be so crying as to induce the executive to recommend that the legislature may devise some mode of relief. One of the most besetting vices of all American legislation, in those cases in which abuses are not the offspring of party, is a false philanthropy, in which the wicked and evil doer has been protected at the expense of the upright and obedient. The abuse just mentioned is one of those in which the bottom has been reached somewhat sooner than common; but, it is hazarding little to predict, that more than half which has been done within the last few years, under the guise of liberty and philanthropy, will have to be undone, ere the citizen will be left to the quiet enjoyment of his rights, or can receive the just protection of the laws.

One of the common-sense and real improvements of the day, is to swear the jurors, in all the causes that are to be tried, by one process. This is a saving of time; and though the ceremony might be, and ought to be made, much more solemn and impressive than it is, as by causing all other business to cease, and to make every one present rise, and stand in reverential silence, while the name of the God of heaven and earth is invoked, still it is a great improvement on the ancient mode, and has reason to sustain it. It gives us pleasure to note such circumstances in the “ways of the hour,” whenever a sense of right can induce one who loathes the flattery of the people quite as much as he loathes that of princes, and flattery of all sorts, to say aught in favour of what has been done, or is yet doing around him.

The clerk called the name of Jonas Wattles, the first juror drawn. This man was a respectable mechanic, of no great force in the way of mind, but meaning well, and reputed honest. Timms gave the senior counsel a look, which the other understood to mean, “he may do.” No objection being made on account of the state, Jonas Wattles took his seat in the jury-box, which was thought great good luck for a capital case.

“Ira Trueman,” cried the clerk.