“My only possible objection would be to being hanged in the air. But you’re not likely to heed that,” was the flippant answer.
Lord Henry leaned forward again. “Let me beg you, sir, in your own interests to be serious,” he admonished the prisoner.
“I confess the occasion, my lord. For if you are to sit in judgment upon my piracy, I could not desire a more experienced judge of the matter on sea or land than Sir John Killigrew.”
“I am glad to deserve your approval,” Sir John replied tartly. “Piracy,” he added, “is but the least of the counts against you.”
Sir Oliver’s brows went up, and he stared at the row of solemn faces.
“As God’s my life, then, your other counts must needs be sound—or else, if there be any justice in your methods, you are like to be disappointed of your hopes of seeing me swing. Proceed, sirs, to the other counts. I vow you become more interesting than I could have hoped.”
“Can you deny the piracy?” quoth Lord Henry.
“Deny it? No. But I deny your jurisdiction in the matter, or that of any English court, since I have committed no piracy in English waters.”
Lord Henry admits that the answer silenced and bewildered him, being utterly unexpected. Yet what the prisoner urged was a truth so obvious that it was difficult to apprehend how his lordship had come to overlook it. I rather fear that despite his judicial office, jurisprudence was not a strong point with his lordship. But Sir John, less perspicuous or less scrupulous in the matter, had his retort ready.
“Did you not come to Arwenack and forcibly carry off thence....”