University of Virginia Library

12. CHAPTER XII.

Several days had elapsed after the supernatural
visitation of Ellingbourne to the horror-stricken view
of his slayer, before the latter could summon sufficient
energy to venture again into the crowded
thoroughfare of the great city.

The trial of the culprit for the attempted robbery
of Lord Templeton, was announced for an early
day, and it therefore became necessary for Clifton,
who was the principal witness, to rouse himself from
the mental stupor which succeeded the first convulsive
agitation of his overwrought system, and prepare
to pass through the trying ordeal of a rigid cross
examination, confronted by that array of official dignitaries,
which renders an English judicial tribunal
so imposing to the eye of a stranger.

The London daily press—ever eager to minister to
the public taste for the marvellous, had dilated with

great apparent satisfaction on the chivalrous conduct
of our hero, who, according to their statements,
performed feats of personal prowess, which
would have eclipsed the fame of Goliath of Gath, in
the palmy days of his strength.

Add to this, the audacious nature of the attack—
the desperate attempt of the criminal on Clifton's
life—the elevated rank of the noble prosecutor—
the romantic rescue of the young ladies—and the
mystery which was supposed to envelope our hero,
from his name being withheld—all of which were
duly chronicled and commented on; and we need
not be surprised that he should, as the day of trial
approached, experience a degree of excitement unknown
to the mass of residents of the great metropolis,—who,
intent on their multitudinous pursuits,—
scarcely paused to mark either the advent, progress,
or consummation of criminal proceedings of a far
more extraordinary description.

True there are, in London, as in all overgrown
communities, a sufficient number of individuals
who, from various causes, are prone to linger around
the precincts of the criminal courts, and who appear
to enjoy the uncertainty and hazard which surround
the accused. To these may be added the unemployed
mechanic, who is fain to while away an idle
hour in listening to the eloquence of the learned
counsel, or the wisdom of the equally learned judge—
the traveller, who desires to become acquainted with
the forms of judicial tribunals in a strange land—

and the scattered troop of idlers who, having no precise
object in view, happen to have their attention
arrested while passing by the court-room—and it
will readily be inferred, that a large auditory is frequently
congregated, without the concurrence of extraordinary
circumstances.

At length the eventful day arrived, and a large
crowd were assembled in the immediate vicinity of
the hall in which the criminal was to encounter the
ordeal of a public trial. Here and there might be
seen groups of loiterers, who were discussing the probabilities
of guilt or innocence—of condemnation or
acquittal—while others were dwelling on topics of
more immediate personal interest—or occupied in
the laudable object of settling the affairs of the
nation.

Equality, if not liberty, was, for the time being,
conspicuous, for the millionaire was elbowed by the
footman, and the scion of nobility relinquished the
trottoir to his tailor's shop boy.

“Mr. Jones,” remarked a brawny, and rather
negligently than ill-dressed mechanic to his neighbour,
“do you think the fellow what's accused of
robbery by Lord Templeton will have a fair trial?”

“I mis-doubt it confoundedly. The aristocracy
have too much power over men as good as good
as themselves, to give a poor devil fair play for his
life.”

“But you forget, Thomson, that the jury are composed
of men like ourselves, and they certainly

won't be unjust and condemn an innocent man.
If the fellow is really guilty, then hang him, say I,
for if he's permitted to go at large, he, and such as
he, may knock you or me down in the streets, next,
without our being able to obtain redress.”

The speaker was also a mechanic, whose shrewd
and good-humoured countenance was both English
and pleasing—which some persons may consider
as incompatible. His dress was of rather coarse materials,
but neat and becoming; and there was that
undefinable display of manly, yet modest independence
in his manner, which would at once convince
the beholder, that he was in the presence of one
whose industry, sobriety, and moral habits insured to
their possessor a comfortable subsistence for himself
and family.

“Ay, ay,” was the answer, “if he's guilty, he
must swing, I s'pose—but somehow I can't believe
it yet. Mr. Pennifeather, the attorney that speaks
at our meetings, says, that he'll lay a wager that the
man that's taken up is innocent, and the man that's
going to swear against him is one of the gang. Because,
says Mr. Pennifeather—says he—if the witness
is an honest man why didn't he tell his name?
Depend on't, Mr. Jones, the real rascal will go clear
and the innocent man be jerk'd up. These lords
and dukes never miss when they aim at a poor
man.”

“Well, well,” was the reply, “let's wait and see.
If the man is not guilty, I don't believe an honest

jury or upright judge, will wish to condemn him.
For my part, I can't think of any motive they can
have to do so. Remember, we must have charity
for the judge and jury, as well as the prisoner.”

The further conversation of these individuals was
prevented by the annunciation which ran through
the crowd, that the doors of the court room were
opened.

Those interested from any cause in the trial
pressed forward in the van to procure an eligible
situation for listening to its details—while those accidentally
placed in advance did not fail to defend
their position, although totally indifferent to the fate
of the accused. The little bickerings thus created
served to elicit the notice of the peace officers in
attendance,—who in humble imitation of their
betters in high places took summary measures to
crush rebellion against authority in its incipient
stages. Such of the crowd as desired admittance
were at length seated, while those whose curiosity
was satisfied with a view of the officials of all grades
as they passed, wended their way in pursuit of new
objects of interest.

And now the judges appeared in their robes of
office—the counsel for the crown and the advocate
of the accused entered with their briefs—Lord
Templeton and Clifton were seated within the bar—
the crier recited his usual monotonous harangue—
the prisoner, pinioned and guarded by the officers
of justice, was placed in the dock—the jury were

duly impannelled, and all the usual preliminaries
gone through. After the arraignment of the accused,
who answered to the name of Abel Watson,
the counsel for the crown arose, and the low hum
which was before audible throughout the room was
instantly hushed into profound silence.

With great dignity of manner the learned gentleman
addressed the court.

“My lord, and you gentlemen of the jury: I rise
to discharge a painful, but imperative public duty.
No one who is acquainted with the natural impulses
of my heart, will discredit me when I assert that I
always commence the trial of a capital offence,
burthened and oppressed with the magnitude of the
stake to the unfortunate culprit, and fearfully conscious
of the awful responsibility it is my official duty
to assume. But, gentlemen of the jury, if on the
one hand the fate of the prisoner—hanging as it
were by a thread—should warn us against admitting
into our bosom that prejudice, or delusion
which may operate to produce unjust conviction;
an equal regard for the obligations imposed on us as
members of society, should prevent the sway of that
hesitation or weakness, which sends forth the hardened
criminal to renew his depredations on the lives
and property of virtuous citizens: thus rendering
the innocent the prey of the guilty, and reversing
the laws that protect every well-regulated community.
The charge which I am prepared to substantiate
against the prisoner at the bar is that

of highway robbery, committed under peculiarly aggravated
circumstances, on a distinguished member
of the peerage, whose elevated mind and pure
morality give lustre to his station, and make him
the favourite of his tenantry, and the idol of a
select social circle.

“Fortunately for Lord Templeton and his accomplished
daughters, their defender, who is a distinguished
American, heard their cries, and courageously
and successfully attacked the robbers—
pinning the prisoner at the bar to the earth; and
although dangerously wounded, retaining his grasp
until aided by the noble Lord and others, who opportunely
arrived at the spot.

“If, gentlemen of the jury, I shall prove these facts
to your satisfaction, there can be no alternative: a
verdict of guilty, is as inevitable as it is just.”

While the counsel for the crown was opening the
case, the censorious Mr. Thomson remarked to his
friend Jones:

“Do you hear how he praises Lord Templeton,
by calling him a distinguished member of the peerage?
This is a trap to catch flats in. I think for
my part that the fellow in the dock looks as honest
as my Lord Templeton.

“If I didn't know either of them, I should full as
soon secure my pocket-book in a crowd if he came
too near, as I would if the prisoner drew up along
side.”

“Well, well,” replied Jones, “there's no accounting

for difference of opinion. I thought the prisoner
had as hang-dog and cut-throat a look as I ever
saw. Why, certainly Thomson, you must be
joking, when you compare his scowling and
savage face to the open countenance of Lord
Templeton. But see, that nobleman is about
being sworn.”

Lord Templeton stated briefly the circumstances
connected with the attempt at robbery, and was dismissed
from the stand without cross-examination.
As Clifton ascended the witnesses' stand, a decidedly
favourable impression was made by his lofty
brow, intellectual eye, and graceful carriage; but
the difficult Mr. Thomson was not among the
number of his admirers.

“He's too prim by half,” was his exclamation;
“I shouldn't wonder if he was a genteel roadster.”

The testimony of Clifton corroborated that of
Lord Templeton in all essential particulars; but as
the reader is already apprised of the main features
of the transaction, it is unnecessary to enter into
farther detail.

When his direct testimony was concluded, the
counsel for the prisoner proceeded to the cross-eamination.

“Pray sir,” said he to Clifton, “can you state
under the solemnity of an oath, that the prisoner
might not, like yourself, have been attracted to the
spot by the cries of the assailed party? And can

you swear that the pistol was not discharged before
he came up?”

“There is certainly a bare possibility that such
was the case, but my impressions are, that he is the
individual who first discharged fire arms.”

“We want facts, not impressions. I will thank
you to confine your answers to the point. Was not
the confusion great, and might not a robber have
discharged the pistol and retreated, and the prisoner
have appeared on the spot, during the time between
the discharge of the weapon and your attack on
the prisoner?”

“Such might have been the case, although the
movement must have been performed with great
rapidity. My reason for stating my impression as
to the identity of the prisoner is, that he is about the
size of the person who discharged the first weapon.”

“Did I not understand you to state that the night
was very dark? How then could you distinguish
the height of the individual who fired?”

“By the flash of his weapon, which exposed the
outline of his person.”

“So, sir, I am to understand that in a dark night,
with no other light than the flash of a pistol, you
could at several yards distance so far identify the
prisoner, as to be willing to swear away his life?”

“My reply is, that I found the prisoner by the
side of the coach, certainly not in the attitude or
position of a defender of the assailed party—that
after I felled him to the earth he gave no explanation

which led me to believe him innocent—and I
have no reason to doubt his participation in the
robbery.”

“Most persons,” replied the foiled counsel, “would,
like my client, have been silent after being stunned
by a blow which levelled them with the earth; and
afterwards confronted by a posse whose looks and
actions condemned them in advance. But, sir, one
more question. Are you a native of this country?”

“No, sir: my birth-place is the city of New-York.”

“Have you parents residing there?”

“My parents are long since dead.”

“How long?”

“It is many years since they died.”

“Will the court be good enough to note the witness's
answer? he states that his parents are many
years dead.”

Here the evidence for the prosecution closed.
The counsel for the prisoner, in opening the defence,
briefly adverted to the lonely and unprotected condition
of his client, who found himself unexpectedly
charged with a crime at which his soul revolted.
He described the accused as an honest, sea-faring
man, whose calling and humble station in life prevented
him from bringing into requisition the influence
of friends, or that evidence of former good character
which so frequently shielded the innocent,
and not unfrequently rescued the guilty from merited
punishment.

In addition to the innate justice of his cause, he
was prepared to impeach the testimony of the witness,
Clifton, and to show that he could not be relied on
for the conviction of the prisoner for a capital offence.

The learned gentleman stated his solemn conviction
that the appearance of his client on the scene
of the attempted robbery was caused by the outcries
of the assailed party, and that his intentions were
to aid Lord Templeton, in which he was foiled by
the violent assault of Mr. Clifton.

“But,” said he, “even the last witness, anxious
as you perceive he is to establish this charge, states
that he cannot say with certainly that the prisoner
was not in the act of rescuing instead of assailing
the noble lord and his family. The circumstance of
finding a discharged pistol near his person, is by no
means inconsistent with his innocence, as the robber
would naturally have been standing at the door of
the carriage, while the darkness of the night gave
him an opportunity of escaping unobserved after the
unsuccessful attempt at assassination. Thus, gentlemen
of the jury, you will perceive that a conviction,
under all the circumstances of this case, would
be a fearful precedent to establish, while the blood
of my client would be demanded at your hands.”

The counsel here called James Lloyd to the stand.

“Mr. Lloyd,” said he, “do you know Sydney
Clifton, the witness who last testified?”

The witness, who was dressed in the garb of a

seaman, and apparently about thirty years of age,
replied in the affirmative.

“How long have you known him, and where?”

“It is several years since I have known him by
sight. I was formerly before the mast in a ship belonging
to Howard, De Lyle & Co., for whom Mr.
Clifton was clerk.”

“Do you know whether he has parents now living?”

“His father was the cartman of Howard, De
Lyle & Co., and I saw him about six months since
in New-York.”

“Can you be mistaken as to his person?”

“No. I know him perfectly well.”

The testimony of this witness created a marked
sensation throughout the auditory, who were evidently
unprepared for an impeachment of the veracity of
one whose appearance and manner had left a favourable
impression.

“Do you hear that, Jones?” triumphantly asked
his captious associate. “Didn't I tell you that black
coated, demure looking young man was not the
thing?”

The pride of opinion had caused the speaker to
elevate his voice, which aroused the ire of one
“clothed in a little brief authority.” “Silence!”
he shouted with no little asperity, which prevented
the reply of the good-humoured Jones. The counsel
for the crown now recalled Clifton, who explained
the apparent discrepancy of his testimony with

that of the last witness, by stating that the person
alluded to was his foster-father, whose name he
had assumed at the period of his adoption.

This being perfectly satisfactory to the learned
gentleman, he turned him over to the tender mercies
of his opponent, who appeared any thing but
gratified at the explanation. Having learned from
the counsel for the crown, in casual conversation,
that our hero had represented his parents as deceased,
he had with much labour and exertion found
among the crowd of American shipping a seaman
who knew Clifton and asserted positively that his
parents were living. Upon this foundation he had
in his own mind reared a tower of strength in defence
of the prisoner, and the overthrow of his fair
fabric caused visible irritation.

Affecting to doubt the truth of Clifton's reply,
which he termed an artful expedient to cloak untruth,
the counsel, with an intimidating look and
manner, inquired:

“If you are not the son of Mr. Clifton senior,
perhaps you will favour the court and jury with the
name of your real father.”

To this unexpected question the embarrassed
witness hesitated to reply; which the examining
counsel perceiving—reiterated his inquiry with renewed
emphasis.

“My dear sir, the question is very simple. Have
you not yet learned the name of your father? I
know it is said, `that it is a wise child that knows

its father;' but we will not demand the proofs of
legitimacy, but take your word for the fact.”

The few moments thus occupied served to reassure
Clifton, and he perceived the necessity of immediately
answering the question.

“My delay,” he said, “to answer your question,
was not from any particular objection to its import,
but rather arose from a doubt whether you had a
right to enforce a reply. To prevent cavil, however,
I will state that the name of my father was
Glenthorne.”

“Well well, my learned young gentleman, this
is pretty fair considering that you were about throwing
yourself back on your reserved rights. You
would make a shrewd lawyer. Pray, sir, what
might be your method of procuring a livelihood?”

“Neither by defending wretches from the legitimate
consequences of their crimes, nor occupying my
time in the enjoyment of wealth wrung from the
hard-earned substance of honest industry.”

“This, sir, is rather caustic for a tyro. May it
please the court to instruct this obstinate witness in
his duty? Perhaps a mittimus for contempt might
improve his manners.”

“I'll not trouble the court to entertain the question.
My present visit to London is not connected with
any business, and I am at present unoccupied.”

Just at this moment a little sallow personage with
green spectacles and a nasal organ which protruded
itself forward in a remarkable manner, as if it was

originally formed to nose out hidden mysteries,
bustled through the crowd until he reached the
counsel for the prisoner.

Placing himself by his side he whispered rather
audibly in his ear: “Ask him when his father died,
and what was his christian name.”

With this advice he turned from the counsel and
earnestly gazed in Clifton's face, as if life and death
awaited the reply.

On Clifton's stating that his name was Rupert
Glenthorne, and that he died about the year 18—,
the sallow querist snapped his fingers with no little
gusto, saying, “I thought so—I thought so—I knew
there could not be any mistake.” Thus saying, he
drew from his pocket a thick memorandum book,
and exhibited to the gratified view of the irritated
counsel the record of Glenthorne's crime and suicide,
among a list of all the malefactors whose histories
had been chronicled during the previous thirty years.

“Perhaps, my pugnacious gentleman, you will
have no objection to state, of what disease your father
died? I do not expect you to speak from personal
knowledge, but from what you learned was the
cause of his death.” Here the court interposed its
authority, informing Clifton that he was not compelled
to answer the question. Rising with great
gravity and dignity, our hero stated, that he should
waive the question of right, and briefly reply to the
counsel's interrogatory.

“As it is not in evidence,” he said, “that I have

either inherited the virtues or the vices of my parents,
the reply which the counsel attempts to extort, although
highly improper, will neither be evaded nor
declined. It is my misfortune to be the offspring of
a parent, whose passions or whose vices brought infamy
on his name, which resulted in the commission
of suicide.

“What concatenation of circumstances led to this
act—whether it was the consequence of rashness or
innate depravity, are questions to which I have no
means of furnishing a reply. Of his guilt or innocence
of the crimes laid to his charge I am equally
ignorant, and as he has long since appeared before
that tribunal from whose righteous judgment, neither
the arts of pettifoggers nor their browbeating of witnesses,
can snatch the guilty, I shall not volunteer
either to be his defender or accuser.”

It should have been before remarked, that on the
name of Glenthorne being mentioned by Clifton, the
prisoner appeared much agitated, but attributing it
to a sudden pain in his side, it elicited, at the time,
little notice.

After the pause which succeeded our hero's reply
had passed, a juror rose and stated, that his associates
had deputed him to request the counsel for both
the crown and the accused, to omit summing up, if
consistent with their views; and although the counsel
for the prisoner was reluctant to commit the fate
of his client to the jury under the affecting appeal to
their sympathies which Clifton had just concluded,
yet a refusal would have been equally dangerous,

and he therefore united with his opponent in committing
the cause to the charge of the judge. After
a brief but impartial statement of the case by the
court, the jury returned a verdict of Guilty, without
leaving their seats.

As the crowd was retiring, a diminutive Frenchman
said to his companion, “Pauvre diable, he
is condemn because he is pauvre diable. If he is
rish, he no hand! Dat is Anglais justice. It is
not so in La Belle France!”

“If you say that again I'll knock you down, you
d—d parlevoo! You lie if you say we have no
justice in England,” roared a voice in the crowd.
It was our testy friend Thomson, who refused to
permit his own sentiments to be echoed by a Frenchman.
As Clifton proceeded towards his residence,
he was overtaken by the little man of the nose, who,
pulling off his hat and bowing to the very ground,
begged pardon for the liberty he had taken in introducing
himself.

“My name,” said he, “is Marlow—Job Marlow,
at your service. I am now preparing, and have
nearly ready for the press, an interesting work, embracing
the history of the lives and exploits of the
celebrated personages whose peccadillos have rendered
them obnoxious to the arbitrary codes of laws
which govern modern society; and being anxious to
place your father's history by the side of the most
distinguished characters of that class, I take the
liberty of soliciting your address, that I may here-after

have the pleasure of learning the particulars
from an authentic source.”

Clifton's first impulse was to kick the intruder into
the gutter for his untimely insolence, but as the
little querist proceeded, his earnest and deferential
manner convinced him that he was an original, and
he therefore contented himself with bidding him
“begone,” in so stern a voice, that the interrogator
started back some paces, exclaiming,

“Devilish odd! Must be unused to civilized society.”
Here he leaned forward, until his body
formed a right angle with his legs—his coat flaps
extending in a horizontal position—his nose greatly
in advance of the rest of his face—and his spectacles
on the very tip of their supporter. “Very odd,
indeed! might treat a man civilly who desired to immortalize
his ancestors.”