“Let the witness proceed without interruption,” demanded the public prosecutor. At this the boy continued:
“I saw them pass into the lighted chantry, and, being barefooted, I reached the place without noise and looked in. That man was there.” He pointed one of his manacled hands at Bame. “The other man was reading a paper. He was behind the tomb, close by the lighted candles. They said nothing for a few moments, and then the prisoner drew a sword as though to kill the other man.”
“What!” exclaimed the prosecutor. The exclamation aroused the judge from a revery that was more pleasant than listening to the rambling account of a witness. The witness repeated: “The prisoner drew his sword.”
“Where was this?” asked the judge.
“In the chantry of the church of St. Olave.”
“Ah,” said the judge sternly; for as a high churchman he looked unfavorably upon the dissenters, and never let a complaint against them grow stale for lack of investigation. “See to it, Mr. Attorney, that if the prisoner escapes this trial, that he be brought here again for drawing a weapon in the church.”
“We object,” said Bame’s counsel, rising, “to further remarks of this character. They are prejudicial to the prisoner. The jury should not be impressed with the idea that my client is guilty of other crimes. He is on trial for the burglary of the church, not for an affray for which excommunication and the loss of his ears is the penalty. It is too much the habit of juries to find a man guilty upon the general principle that he is an unfit member of society, and therefore a fit subject for judicial murder.”
“Hold!” thundered the judge, his ears tingling with the remarks, and noticing how every whisper had been stilled by the barrister’s bold speech. “Your interest in your client is carrying you beyond the limits allowed here for argument. Sit down, or you will provoke more than a reprimand. Let the witness proceed.”
The barrister knew the rigorous character of the judge, and saw something more than a serene judicial expression on his pale face. The barrister interpreted it as a fine for himself, if he continued his remarks, and at the close of the trial a charge to the jury which would be virtually a command to convict. Realizing that his fervor had carried him beyond the bounds of discretion, but unable to formulate an apology for remarks which he knew were justifiable, he reseated himself amid the murmurs of the audience. These murmurs were of approval of the stand he had taken against the court, and he felt that the jurors were with the masses from which they came.
“Well, what was done when Bame drew his sword?”