And as for what passed between husband and wife—what tender things were said—what prayers for faith—on the eve of the day of Life or Death: of Honour or of Shame; shall they, too, be written on a page which is open to every curious eye and to every mocking eye?
CHAPTER XII
THE TRIAL
It is a most terrible thing for a man of sensibility to stand in the dock of the Old Bailey before the awful array of Judges, Lord Mayor, Sheriffs and Aldermen. I know very well that most of the hardened wretches that stand there have no sense of terror and little of anxiety. For them the Judge is like that fabled Sister who cuts the thread of life: they have come to the end of their rope: their time is up: they are fatalists in a stupid way: the sentence is passed: they bear no malice against the informer: the game has been played according to the rules—what more can a man desire? Tyburn awaits them. And afterwards? They neither know nor do they care.
Early on the morning of the trial, Mr. Dewberry came to see me. He was cheerful, and rubbed his hands with great satisfaction. 'The case,' he said, 'is complete. Never was a case more complete or more astonishing as you shall see.' He would not explain further: he said that walls, even in Newgate, have ears: that I must rely upon his word. 'Sir,' he said, 'so much I will explain because it may give you ease. Never has a man gone forth to be tried for his life, with a greater confidence in the result than you ought to have. And, with that assurance enter the Court with a light heart.'
They knocked off my irons before going into Court. Thus relieved, I was marched along a dismal passage, leading from the prison to the Old Bailey. The Court was crowded, not so much out of compliment to me, but because it was bruited abroad among the rogues of St. Giles's that two of their body were that day about to achieve greatness. They were, truly: but not in the way that was expected. The crowd, in fact, consisted chiefly of pickpockets and thieves, with their ladies. And the heroes of the day were the Bishop and the Captain.
At first, a prisoner entering the court, sees nothing. When the mist before his eyes clears away he observes the jury being sworn in—one after the other, they lift the great chained Bible and kiss its leathern cover, black with ten thousand kisses, and take their seats: he observes the counsel arranging their papers: the officers of the court standing about and the crowd in the gallery and about the doors: the box for the witnesses—my heart sank when I saw sitting together my four enemies, looking calm and assured, as if there was no doubt possible as to the results. Nay, the Captain seemed unable to repress or to conceal the pride he felt in imagination, at thinking of the figure he should cut. Mr. Ramage, my own witness, I saw modestly sitting in a corner. Tom Shirley, another witness for me, if he would prove of any use, was also there. As I entered the dock Mr. Probus turned and his lips moved as if he was speaking to Tom. I could not hear what he said, but I knew it, without the necessity of ears. He said, 'Sir, I saw you in Newgate three weeks ago. Your friend might have saved his life, had he accepted my offer. It is now too late.' Then he turned his hatchet face to me and grinned. Well—he grins no longer. Under the Dock stood Alice, and with her, closely veiled, Jenny herself. They took my hands: Alice held the right and Jenny the left. 'Courage, my dear,' said Alice. 'It will soon be over now.' 'It is all over already,' whispered Jenny. 'There is such evidence as will astonish you—and the whole world.' She kissed my hand and dropped a tear upon it. I was to learn afterwards what she meant, and what were her own sacrifices and perils in bringing forward this evidence.
Then Mr. Dewberry came bustling up. 'That is your lawyer, Mr. Caterham, King's Counsel, now arranging his papers. I was with him yesterday. He will make a great case—a very great case—out of this. The attorney arranges it all and the higher branch gets the credit of it all. Never mind. That is your Junior, behind, Mr. Stanton. There's a head for you: there's an eye. I can always tell what they think of the case by the way they arrange their papers. The Counsel in front of him is Serjeant Cosins, King's Counsel, an able man—oh, yes—an able man: he conducts the prosecution. We shall open his eyes presently. He thinks he has got an ordinary case to conduct. He will see. He will see.'
Then the Judges came in: the Lord Mayor, Mr. Justice Parker, the Aldermen, the Recorder, and the Sheriffs. The Lord Mayor sat in the middle under the great sword of Justice: but the case was conducted by Mr. Justice Parker, who sat on his right hand. I looked along the row of faces on the Bench. They all seemed white, cold, stern, hard and unforgiving. Despite assurances, my heart sank low.