University of Virginia Library

13. CHAPTER XIII.
THE VERDICT.

Twelve men were seated
in a small, square chamber,
in a retired portion of a building,
exclusively devoted to
law, and so called justice, in
the thriving little town of
Bertram. A table, having on
it pens, ink and paper, stood
in the middle of the chamber;
and this table, and the benches
on which these twelve men
were, as we enter, seated,
comprised the only furniture
of the apartment. And these
twelve men, it needs no conjuror
to tell the reader, were
here assembled to decide the
fate of poor Arthur Warren.
We will premise that they
had been conducted hither by
the sheriff some half an hour
previous to our entrance.

“Well,” said one, “if we
stay here till doomsday, hang
me if I'll give in!”

“Well, Sam, you know it's
a hanging matter, any how—
so don't!” laughed another.

“I wonder,” said a third,
“there can be any disagreement;
for to my mind, it's as
clear as daylight that he killed
the man; and as long as he
don't choose to tell how he
killed him—why let him
swing, that's all.”

“So say I,” cried a fourth.

“Well, I was pretty much
of the same opinion,” put in a
fifth, “till Lawyer Gibbs
made his speech in favor of
the poor fellow—and that,
somehow, brought the thing
round in quite a different
light.”

“Dang it, but he's a smart
fellow!” rejoined another.

“Blarney,” said the one
whose remark we first recorded—“all
blarney!”

“Well, blarney or not,” returned
the other, “I saw the

tears running down your
cheeks while he was speaking.”

“Well, that's nothing, if
you did. Of course I pity the
old man; and when he went
on so about his family, of
course it touched me; but it
don't alter my opinion about
Arthur, now I've got where I
can think it all over.”

“O, of course,” chimed in
another, “these lawyers are
paid for their fine speeches,
and they always make 'em to
suit the side they're on. Now
if he had been employed on
the other side, he'd have piled
on the prisoner's guilt so thick,
that he'd have appeared like a
devil incarnate.”

“Well,” said one, who had
not before spoken, “for my
part, I really think the man
is innocent, for, from what I
know of his character, I do
believe, if he were guilty, he
would boldly proclaim it, let
the consequences be what
they would.”

“More fool he, then,” cried
another; “for if I were guilty
of killing a man, you may be
certain I'd wait for it to be
proven before I owned up.”

“Arthur Warren, and you,
sir, are very different persons,”
was the tart reply.

“Well, so I reckon.”

“Now if I were on a jury
in your case, with the same
facts against you, I would say
guilty, without leaving my
seat.”

“Thank you! and I say
ditto to you and Arthur War
ren also.”

And so they went on, these
twelve men, discussing the
matter for better than an hour,
and finding themselves at the
end of that time exactly
where they set out.

“Come, come, this will
never do!” rapped the foreman
on the table: “This hit
and fling is all nonsense: we
shall never come to an agreement
so.”

“No, nor any other way,”
replied a voice.

“Let's agree to disagree,”
suggested another.

“And stay here and starve,”
said a third. “O, I know the
old Judge well; I was on one
of his juries once before; he'll
not let us off, without a verdict,
till we've taken as many
days to consider the case as
he was trying it—I believe
that's his rule.”

“Hang him!” grumbled
one.

“No, hang the prisoner—
that'll do better,” was the rejoinder.

“How do we stand?” inquired
the foreman.

“Six and six, Colonel—
that is to say, if you are in
favor of an acquittal.”

“Well, I am.”

“What's to be done?—this
is dull business.”

“Let's hang ourselves, and
let the prisoner go,” laughed
one.

“If we only had a pack of
cards here now,” suggested
another.

“Hurrah! I've two—lucky
thought!” cried a third.

“Hurrah for us!” cried
half a dozen voices; and amid
hilarious tumult, the cards
were produced: and those
twelve men, assembled there
to decide the fate of poor Arthur,
soon became absorbed
in the to them more important
matters of Loo, Poker, and
All-Fours.

Oh! could he have seen
them there—seen how indifferent
they were concerning
his fate—his sensitive soul
would have been more harrowed,
perhaps, than at any
time during the painful trial.

After gambling some time;
for in those days, and that
portion of the country, men
seldom played cards without
betting something, just to
make the game interesting;
one of the party, struck with
a new idea, exclaimed, striking
the table with his clenched
hand:

“I have it! I have it! a
glorious plan, to get us out of
an ugly fix! Come, what do
you say, gentlemen? let us
have a game to decide the
verdict.”

“Capital! capital! hurrah!
hurrah!” cried half a dozen
of eager voices, clapping their
hands in glee. “A game to decide
the verdict! three cheers
for that idea!”

It was soon arranged that
the two best players, one on
either side, should play a
single game of “all-fours,” or
as it is frequently termed
“seven up,” and whichever
party won, that party should
be privileged to decide the
verdict. The players selected
were Colonel Parker, the foreman
of the jury, who was in
favor of the acquittal of the
prisoner—and one Samuel
Page on the opposite side, and
of course in favor of his conviction.
The rest of the number
divided off, five against
five, and each party placed
itself behind its respective
champion, to watch the progress
of the game with all the
eagerness with which men regard
a contest in which they
are deeply concerned.

“May heaven aid the right!”
said one, and the game began.

“High and game!” exclaimed
the Colonel, at the
close of the first hand.

“Low and Jack!” cried his
opponent—“two and two.”

The cards were again shuffled
and dealt.

“Low and game to your
high,” said the Colonel, as the
last card of the second hand
was played.

“Hurrah for the Colonel!”
cried his party. “One ahead;
four to three.”

“Go it, Sam; it's your
deal,” was the opposite rejoinder.

The cards were again shuffled
and dealt, and a jack was
turned by the dealer.

“Good for our side!” cried
one of the party for conviction;
“we'll win yet; even up.”

“I beg,” cried the Colonel.

“Take one,” said Page;
“and that makes you five to
my four.”

The third hand was played.

“Game!” cried the Colonel.

“High and low!” cried
Page.

“Six and six!” shouted the
excited by-standers.

The fourth and last hand
was dealt out by the Colonel
amid breathless silence; for
all were now too intensely excited
to speak; and something
like awe stole over the company,
as they saw the game,
so equal, and so near a close,
with the life of a fellow being
depending on the result.

The last card was dealt, and
the trump turned. It was the
ten-spot of diamonds. Page
looked at his hand, and a
gleam of triumph shot athwart
his face.

“The game is mine!” he
cried. “I ask one; you cannot
give of course; and the aces
of the three remaining suits I
hold in my hand;” and he
exposed them on the table.

“There is only one chance
for us, Colonel,” exclaimed
one of his party; “you must
run the cards, and all will
depend upon your turning a
Jack.”

“If the man is innocent,
let heaven send a Jack!” said
Page.

“Five to one it don't!”
cried one on the same side.

“I'll take that bet,” said one
of the opposition; and the
deal was delayed till the stakes
were put up.

“Hold on one minute, Colonel!
there's another bet pending.
There, all right.”

The Colonel dealt three
cards each, and in a deep, solemn
tone, said:

“Are you ready, gentlemen?”

“Ready!” was the answer;
and all eyes were fixed intently
upon the pack.

Colonel Parker's face grew
deadly pale, and his hand
trembled with strange emotion,
as he carefully lifted the
deciding card. On that stamped
pasteboard hung the fate of
many human beings; the face
of that would bring great happiness
or utter misery. For
a moment or two he held it inverted,
in a horizontal position,
and then slowly turned
it over. As he did so, a cloud,
which had obscured the rays
of the setting sun, passed, and
a flood of bright light poured
in at the window, and streamed
upon the hand, and upon
the card, a golden glory. A westruck,
the by-standers gazed
upon that card, and upon one
another, pale and silent, with
the dying sunlight bathing
them in a flood of golden light.
They fancied they saw something
more than chance in the
decision evoked; they felt that

the hand of God was among
them.

That card was the Jack of
Spades![1]

Slowly—with solemn tread,
one after another, single file;
tramp, tramp, tramp; those
twelve men entered the court-room,
and took their places in
the jury-box, just as the last
golden rays of the sinking sun
streamed in at the windows.
A strange kind of thrill, something
like awe, pervaded every
breast. No one who beheld
the sober faces of that jury,
dreamed that they had been
gambling for a verdict.

“Gentlemen of the Jury,”
inquired the Judge, in a tone
of thrilling solemnity, “are
you agreed upon a verdict?”

“We are,” replied Colonel
Parker, the foreman.

“Then, gentlemen of the
Jury, you will arise and fix
your eyes upon the prisoner;
and prisoner at the bar, you
will arise and fix your eyes
upon the jury.”

Arthur stood up, pale, haggard,
and with lips compressed,
and faced the jury
with an unquailing eye; and
Marian half rose from her
seat, with one hand clasped
upon her heart, and her veil
thrown back to get her breath,
for her respiration came with
the labored difficulty of the
first stages of suffocation.
Every eye was now turned
upon the jury—it was an awful
moment.

“Gentlemen of the Jury,”
pursued the learned Judge,
“you will now answer—do
you find the prisoner guilty or
not guilty?”

“Not guilty.”

There was a low, half-smothered
shriek, and Marian Waldegrave
sunk senseless to the
ground, overcome with joy;
while Arthur reeled and fell
into his father's arms, and the
shouts of the spectators shook
the building.

A few minutes later Arthur
was borne in triumph from the
court-room, amid loud cheers
and tumultuous excitement.