“I do not see, gentlemen, that you can challenge for cause,” observed his Honour—“unless you have further facts.”
“Perhaps we have, sir,” answered Williams. “You were saying, Mr. Trueman, that you met David Johnson as you were going from the inn to the court-house—Did I understand you correctly?”
“Just so, ’Squire. I had been having a long talk with Peter Titus”—one of Williams’s most active and confidential agents—“when Johnson came up. Johnson says, says he, ‘a pleasant day, gentlemen—I’m glad to see you both out; for the faces of old friends is getting scarce——’”[scarce——’”]
“I see no objection to the juror’s being received,” Williams carelessly remarked; satisfied that Titus had not neglected his duty in that long talk.
“Yes, he is as good a juror as Duke’s can furnish,” observed Timms, perfectly sure Johnson had turned to account the advantage of having the last word. Trueman was accordingly admitted to the box, as the second man of the twelve. The two managers of this cause were both right. Titus had crammed his old acquaintance Trueman with all that was circulating to the prejudice of the prisoner; expressing surprise when he had said all he had to say, at hearing that his friend was on the pannel. “Well,” said Titus, as Johnson approached, “if questioned, you’ll remember I said I didn’t dream of your being a juryman—but, just as like as not, you’ll not be drawn for the case at all.” On the other hand, Johnson was quite eloquent and pathetic in giving his old acquaintance the history of Mary Monson’s case, whom he pronounced “a most injured and parsecuted woman.” Trueman, a shrewd, managing fellow in general, fancied himself just as impartial and fit to try the cause, after he had heard the stories of the two men, as he had ever been; but in this he was mistaken. It requires an unusually clear head, exceedingly high principles, and a great knowledge of men, to maintain perfect impartiality in these cases; and certainly Trueman was not the man to boast of all these rare qualities. In general, the last word tells; but it sometimes happens that first impressions become difficult to eradicate. Such was the fact in the present instance; Trueman taking his seat in the jury-box with an exceedingly strong bias against the accused.
We are aware that these are not the colours in which it is the fashion to delineate the venerable and much vaunted institution of the jury; certainly a most efficient agent in curtailing the power of a prince; but just as certainly a most irresponsible, vague, and quite often an unprincipled means of administering the law, when men are not urged to the desire of doing right by political pressure from without, and are left to the perverse and free workings of a very evil nature. We represent things as we believe them to exist, knowing that scarce a case of magnitude occurs in which the ministers of corruption are not at work among the jurors, or a verdict rendered in which the fingers of the Father of Lies might not be traced, were the veil removed, and the facts exposed to the light of day. It is true, that in trials for life, the persecution of the prisoner rarely takes so direct a form as has been represented in the case of Mary Monson; but the press and the tongue do an incalculable amount of evil, even in such cases; all the ancient safeguards of the law having been either directly removed by ill-considered legislation, or rendered dead-letters by the “ways of the hour.”
It was regarded as exceedingly good progress to get two jurors into the box, in a capital case, in the first half-hour. His Honour had evidently resigned himself to a twenty-four hours’ job; and great was his satisfaction when he saw Wattles and Trueman safely seated on their hard and uncomfortable seats; for it would almost seem that discomfort has been brought into the court-houses as a sort of auxiliary to the old practice of starving a jury into a verdict.
Whether it was owing to a suspicion, on the part of Timms, of the truth in regard to his being over-reached in the case of Trueman, or to some other cause, he raised no objections to either of the six jurors next called. His moderation was imitated by Williams. Then followed two peremptory challenges; one in behalf of the prisoner, and one in behalf of the people, as it is termed. This was getting on so much better than everybody expected, that all were in good humour; and it is not exceeding the truth if we add, in a slight degree more disposed to view the prisoner and her case with favour. On such trifles do human decisions very often depend.
All this time, fully an hour, did Mary Monson sit in resigned submission to her fate, composed, attentive, and singularly lady-like. The spectators were greatly divided in their private speculations on her guilt or innocence. Some saw in her quiet manner, curious interest in the proceedings, and unchanging colour, proofs not only of a hardened conscience, but of an experience in scenes similar to that in which she was now engaged; overlooking all the probabilities, to indulge in conjectures so severe against one so young.
“Well, gentlemen,” cried the judge, “time is precious. Let us proceed.”