Commit me if you dare! You have made me counsel for the prisoner, and whatever may be the courtesy of the bar, whatever you may expect—and whatever may become of me—or of you—I shall not throw a chance away. He proceeded to review the whole of the evidence with a vigor and propriety which after a while rose up in judgment against him, as if it were supernatural; he then argued upon the nature of the crime—saying it was a charge easily made but hard to disprove, and that it would require one to be a witch to prove that she was not guilty of witchcraft—
Beware of that man, said the chief judge, with a mysterious look. Beware, I tell you; for whoever he may be, and whatever he may be, he will be sure to lead you astray, if you are not upon your guard.
Lo, the counsel for the prisoner! Lo the humanity of the law! cried Burroughs. Who could do more?—I appeal to you, ye men of Massachusetts-Bay—could the prosecutor himself—could anybody on earth—in aid of the prisoner at the bar?—Put upon your guard in that way, against the power and art of another—if you are not men of a marvellous courage indeed—of heroic probity—it would be impossible for him to convince you, however true were his argument, however conclusive his facts.
Very true, whispered the foreman of the jury, loud enough to be overheard by a judge, who rebuked him with great asperity.
Whatever I might say, therefore—however true it might be, and however wise, after that speech, you would not venture to heed me—you could not—such a thing were too much to hope for—unless you were indeed, every man of you, far, far superior to the race of men that are about and above you——
Talk of art, said the chief judge, in dismay. Talk of address after that! who ever heard of such art—who ever heard of such address before?
What a compliment for your understandings!—But I do not give up in despair—I shall say the little that I now have to say, and leave you to decide between us—if I prevail, you may have courage enough perhaps to acquit the prisoner, though you are sneered at by the judges.
He proceeded with fresh vigor, and concluded the work of the day with a speech that appears to have been regarded by the court and the people as above the ability of man. He spoke to the multitude, to the judges, to the bar, to the jury—man by man—saying to each with a voice and a power that are spoken of still by the posterity of them that were there.... You have heard the whole evidence—You—you alone, Sir, that I speak to now, are to decide upon the life or death of the prisoner. You alone, Sir! and mark me if ... though ... you are but one of the twelve who are to decide ... if you decide for death ... observe what I say ... if you so decide Sir, as one of the twelve ... when, if you knew that her life depended upon you alone, you would have decided otherwise, mark me ... her blood shall be upon your head ... her death at your door! ... at yours—and yours—and yours—though each of you be but one of the twelve.
Hear me. I address myself to you, John Peabody. Are you prepared to say—would you say—guilty, if her life depended upon you, and upon you alone?—if you were her only judge?—Think of your death-bed—of the Judge whom you are to meet hereafter, you that have so much need of mercy hereafter—ask yourselves what harm would follow her acquittal, even though she were guilty. Then ask yourself what would be your feelings if you should ever come to know that you have put her to death wrongfully.... So say I to you, Andrew Elliot.... Her life depends upon you—upon you alone! You are in fact her only judge—for you—or you—or you—or either of you may save her, and if you do not, her blood will be required hereafter at your hands—at the hands of each of you——I have done.