IN WHICH IT IS SHOWN THAT, IN A TRIAL, COUNSEL MAY ASK ONE QUESTION TOO MANY
When the Court met, at which the trial of Jacquelin’s suit against Hiram Still was set, all other matters, even politics, were driven from mind.
It will not be needful to go in detail into the trial of the case. The examination of the plaintiffs’ witnesses occupied two days. In the contest the defendant, to use the phraseology of another arena, was acknowledged to have “drawn first blood.” On the morning of the trial the two sides, with their counsel, witnesses, and friends, thronged the court-house. The counsel, an imposing array, were ranged along the bar, fronting the bench and the jury-box which was off to one side, and in which sat seven solemn-looking negroes and five scarcely less solemn white men. Major Welch sat beside Mr. Bagby, and during a part of the time Mrs. Welch and Ruth had chairs behind them. By the time they were all settled it was announced that the Judge was coming.
It had been the practice in the County, when the Judge entered, for the Bar to rise and remain standing until he had mounted the bench, bowed to them, and taken his seat, when they bowed and resumed their places. It was a custom brought from the Supreme Court, before which Mr. Bagby, General Legaie, and others of that bar had practised in old times.
Now, when the Judge entered he was announced by Sherwood, the Sheriff, and came in preceded by Leech and McRaffle. And not a man rose. The Judge walked up the steps to his arm-chair, faced the crowd, and for a second stood still, as if waiting. Not a lawyer stirred, and the Judge took his seat. A half scowl was on his brow, but he banished it and ordered Court to be opened. The case was called, the parties announced themselves ready, the jury was impanelled, and the trial was begun. General Legaie was to open the case. It was the custom for a chair to be placed inside the bar, just at the feet of the jurors. This chair was usually occupied by one of the older members of the bar. And as the General had been growing a little deaf, he had been taking it of late. He had prepared himself with great care, and was dressed with the utmost scrupulousness—a black frock coat, white trousers, a high stock, and immaculate linen—and when the case was called he stood up. He presented a striking figure. The gravity of the occasion spoke in every line of his weather-beaten, high-bred face. To his mind it was not a mere question of title to property he was to argue; it was the question between the old and the new—it was a civilization that was on trial. He took the papers in his hand, glanced with some curiosity along the lines of the jury, and faced the judge.
“If the Court please——” he began, in a calm, well-modulated voice that brought an instant hush over the whole court-room.
His words appeared to wake the judge from a lethargy. He, however, took no notice whatever of the General, but addressed the sheriff.
“Put that man behind the bar.”
The Sheriff was mystified, and looked first around him and then at the judge, in a puzzled way, to see whom he referred to.
“Suh?”