LXVIII.
MYSTERIES OF THE GRAND JURY.
SITTING ON A GRAND JURY.—HOW IT IS COMPOSED.—PECULIARITIES OF MODERN JUSTICE.—HOW TO SELECT BLOCKHEADS.—A DISHONEST BAGGAGE-MAN.—CHARITY AND MERCY.—AN AFFECTING INCIDENT.—SAVING A YOUTHFUL OFFENDER.—A GENEROUS WOMAN.—CURIOUS PHASES OF HUMAN NATURE.—CELT AND AFRICAN.—STORIES OF THE DETECTIVES.—A GARRULOUS IRISH WOMAN.—FAMILY TROUBLES.—THE HORSE AND CART STORY.—HOW A PRETTY WOMAN CAPTURED THE JURY.
It was the fortune or misfortune of the writer to be called to sit on the grand jury of the Court of General Sessions in New York, in the latter part of the year 1871. Like most of my fellow-men, I had no great fondness for jury duty, and made efforts to be released. I was politely informed that there was no escape, and that I had better do cheerfully what I could not avoid. And so I did it. I sat on that jury, or rather in a cane-seated chair in the jury-room, for fifty-eight days, some of them pretty long ones. It was my first experience of the sort, and I learned more about criminal matters than I had ever known before. A man who sits a month or two on a grand jury can have a reasonable excuse for accepting the doctrine of the total depravity of the human race, or, at all events, of a considerable portion of it.
GRAND AND PETIT JURIES.
What is the difference between a grand jury and a petit jury? To many persons, and probably to most, this question would be an insoluble riddle. Everybody who knows anything worth mentioning is aware that a petit jury, in a criminal court, consists of twelve men, who are sworn to well and truly judge of the guilt or innocence of the accused tried before them. They are to weigh the evidence given in open court in presence of the accused, and when they agree upona verdict, and are ready to return it, they stand and look upon the prisoner, who is instructed to stand and look upon them. To find a verdict, the twelve must be agreed; and thus it often happens that an obstinate man can “hang the jury,” and prevent the rendition of a verdict. Obstinacy may arise from various causes and motives, generally honest, but not always so. Sometimes the jury is equally divided in opinion—six men being of one mind, and six of another; sometimes a verdict is the result of a compromise, which includes a recommendation to mercy, or a verdict for a lower degree of criminality than is charged in the indictment. In civil suits, where a question of damages or compensation arises, the result is often obtained by taking the figures proposed by each man, adding them together, and dividing the amount by twelve. But in criminal cases no such system of average can be employed. Very often the persistence of a single juror will save an offender from immediate punishment, and allow him a new trial—which frequently means no new trial, but a discharge on his own recognizance. And sometimes the obstinate juror attributes to his comrades the inability to find a verdict. The story of a western juror is frequently used to point a moral or adorn a tale. “I was all right,” he says, “and we might have settled the thing straight off, if the other eleven hadn’t been the most pig-headed fellows you ever saw.”
DEFECTS OF JURY TRIALS.
One requirement of the practice in our courts is, that in a criminal case no member of a petit jury shall have formed an opinion as to the guilt or innocence of the accused. In cases that have not acquired notoriety, this does not materially interfere with the selection of a jury; but in a case that has attracted general attention, like that of Foster, or the assassins of President Lincoln, several days may be spent in finding twelve men without opinions. The rule was adopted long ago, when there was no general diffusion of knowledge, and when there was no daily chronicle of events accessible to everybody. On a matter of great importance and general newspaper discussion, it is next to impossible in these days that an intelligent man should have no knowledge or opinion;to demand an opinionless jury in such a case is practically to demand a jury of blockheads. It may well be doubted whether, in this country of electric telegraphs and lightning presses, the old practice is the best. The object of trials by jury is to protect the innocent and punish the guilty. I think I utter the sentiment of most thinking men, in saying that for my part I would rather, if wrongfully accused of a crime, be tried before twelve honest, intelligent men, who believed me guilty, but whose opinion could be changed by evidence, than before twelve ignorant men who had formed no opinion about me. But if I were guilty, and desired, as most criminals desire, to escape justice, I should clamor for a jury of such of my fellow-men as could not entertain an idea without having it thrust into their heads with an auger. Many a scoundrel has evaded his just deserts by means of a jury of “twelve good men and true,” whose intellects were hardly equal to those of an educated horse.
But a grand jury encounters none of the difficulties that beset a petit jury. The law requires that it shall be composed of “intelligent citizens of good character,” who shall be qualified to serve as, and not exempt as, petit jurors. Their names are selected by lot, the same as employed for the selection of petit jurors, and each man selected is notified by the sheriff of the county. A grand jury is composed of sixteen as the minimum, and twenty-three as the maximum number. Twelve must concur to find a bill or to dismiss a complaint. No vote can be taken unless there are sixteen grand jurors present; whether there are sixteen or twenty-three present, or any number between the minimum and maximum, there must be, as before stated, twelve to concur in determining the ordering or rejection of an indictment. Other votes, such as for adjournment and the like, are taken by majorities, in the same way as in other deliberative bodies. The accused never appears before the grand jury, and only one witness can be called into the room at the same time. The district attorney may be present during an examination, and at the request of the foreman may conduct it, but he cannot be present when a vote is being taken.
ORIGIN OF THE GRAND JURY.
The grand jury is of Saxon origin, and its existence may be traced as far back as the tenth century. Its object is one of inquiry rather than of trial, and for this reason it is frequently called a “grand inquest.” Under the old practice the grand jury originated inquiry without the intervention of any public officer, and any citizen was at liberty to appear before it, state his own wrongs or the offences of others, or make complaints against public evils of any kind. It partook of the nature of a legislature or common council, to which any citizen may submit a petition. Any member of the grand jury who happened to know or learn of an infraction of the law could lay the matter before his associates for their action. I am informed by good legal authority that this is still the practice in England and in parts of the United States. But the practice of New York, so far as the city is concerned, has of late been for the grand jury to consider nothing that was not submitted to it by the district attorney, and for that official to submit nothing that had not reached him from a committing magistrate. There is both good and evil in the practice, and on the whole, much more evil than good. A great many offenders have gone unwhipped of justice in consequence of this system. Men who have just cause of complaint against other men high in power have sought in vain to bring their cases before a committing magistrate, for the reason that the latter was the friend or dependant of the accused, and would use his official position to protect him.
Several cases of this kind were brought to my notice while I was sitting on the grand jury. For example, a man one day came to me with a request that I would bring to the notice of the grand jury a certain case which he explained. I asked him why he did not go before a committing magistrate with it. “Why,” he replied, “because the committing magistrates are all friends of this man, and would do anything he wants. He can get any kind of ‘justice’ he desires, and nobody can do anything against him.” I am satisfied that his opinion of police magistrates in New York city was not altogether baseless, and, if I am not mistaken, other testimony could be foundto the same effect. With the reputation or lack of it that belongs to our local judiciary, it is eminently necessary that all grand juries should be clothed with the power that makes them grand in quests, and enables them to investigate any charge of wrong-doing without waiting for its submission by a police magistrate. I am satisfied that there are many scoundrels whose career of wickedness would be materially curtailed if they knew there was full opportunity for their accusers to go before a grand jury and furnish the proper information for a criminal indictment.
WHAT A GRAND JURY DOES.
The testimony before a grand jury is of anex partecharacter. Blackstone says, “They are only to hear evidence on behalf of the prosecution. For the finding of an indictment is only in the nature of an inquiry or accusation, which is afterwards to be tried and determined; and the grand jury are only to inquire upon their oaths whether there be sufficient cause to call upon the party to answer it. A grand jury, however, ought to be thoroughly persuaded of the truth of an indictment, so far as their evidence goes, and not to rest satisfied with remote probabilities—a doctrine that might be applied to very oppressive purposes.” The petit jury gives the accused the opportunity to sift theex parteevidence on which he has been indicted, and of explaining or contradicting it. The general rule for the guidance of a grand jury is, that they must be as well satisfied of the guilt of the accused, in order to find an indictment, as they would be to convict as petit jurors in case none of the evidence before them was explained or contradicted. It often happens that complaints are presented of an avaricious or malicious nature, or with some other motive than the proper enforcement of the law. Such cases require careful inquiry and cautious action.
Early in the session of the grand jury of which I was an integral part, a complaint was made against a baggage agent of a steamboat company for taking money for extra baggage, and neglecting to pay it over to the authorized agent of the company. At its commencement the case appeared reasonably clear, but a suspicion arose that the complaint was malicious,and more evidence was called for. Each additional witness confirmed the suspicion, and it finally came out that the principal accuser had long desired the situation of the accused, and had been appointed to it after the removal of the latter. Here was a motive in which malice and avarice were evidently the principal elements, and when the matter was put to a vote the jury promptly dismissed the bill. The testimony of the complainant was not fully sustained by that of the other witnesses; and even had there been no display of malice, the evidence was not sufficient to secure conviction before a petit jury.
SECRETS OF THE JURY ROOM.
I wish to remark,en passant, that where I mention cases that were before us, without giving names and localities, I shall purposely, in most instances, change the story in such a way that the outside public cannot trace it, even with a careful research into the records of the police or other courts. My brother jurors will recognize each case described, but the veil of secrecy thrown around the grand jury room will not permit me to be rigidly precise. Great injustice might be done, in many instances, by a complete revelation, and therefore the reader must be left in the dark to a certain extent. He may look upon the cases I give him as exact parallels, and nothing more. When I say a man was charged with stealing a horse, you may know that he was charged with stealing something, but whether horse, cow, or cooking-stove, it is not necessary to explain in describing the work of the jury. And with this apology for harmless but very necessary fiction, I proceed.
It is not at all times proper to dismiss a complaint when caused by malice. One day a man came before us, who swore that another man had swindled a large establishment out of considerable money; he did not make the complaint on behalf of the parties defrauded, but in the interests of justice. His malice was evident; he made no attempt at concealing it; but he sustained his testimony with documentary evidence and the sworn statements of other witnesses. The jury doubted about the propriety of ordering an indictmentunder the circumstances; some of them argued, that had no quarrel occurred between the parties, the case would have slumbered, and therefore the complaint should be dismissed. There was such a divergence of opinion that the district attorney was called to tell us what to do. We explained, through our foreman, the nature of the case. The district attorney, who is at all times the legal adviser and instructor of the grand jury, listened, and then said, substantially,—
A SYMPATHETIC COMPLAINANT.
“Where you find that a complainant is acting through malicious motives, and there are no other witnesses, or, if any, that they do not substantiate the complaint, you had better dismiss it. But where the complaint, however maliciously made, is shown by other evidence than that of the complainant to be true, you must order an indictment.”
And consequently we ordered an indictment against the alleged swindler.
Not many days after we were convened, a case that touched the heart of every man in the room was brought before us. A young girl had been accused of theft; a few dollars in money had been stolen; it was found in her possession, and she had made partial confession. The complainant was a woman, and the accused had been in her employ. When the case was called, the woman entered the jury-room, and was sworn by the foreman. She took the chair assigned to witnesses, and the foreman questioned her.
“Did you lose some money?”
“Yes, sir.”
“When did you lose it?”
“On the first day of December?”
“Who took it?”
“The girl named in the complaint.”
“How do you know she took it?”
“I found it in her possession, and she confessed taking it.”
“That will do; you can go.”
But the woman kept her seat, and moved her hands uneasily. “You can go,” said the foreman again; but shedid not start. A juror sitting near the door rose to show her out, and as he did so the woman said,—
A PLEA FOR MERCY.
“I do not wish to press the complaint. I want to withdraw it, and have the girl released.”
“Why so?” asked the foreman.
“Because,”—and her voice began to choke,—“because the girl is young, and I do not wish to ruin her. Somebody else urged her to steal the money, and I think she will do better in future. If I send her to prison she may become a professional thief, but if I give her a chance she will be a good girl. She is an orphan and has no friends, and I want to be her friend. I know she is guilty, but I want to be merciful, and I beg you to be merciful, gentlemen.”
Half her utterance was drowned with tears, which flowed rapidly down her face. The foreman told her to step outside and he would call her again in a few moments, and inform her of the result of her eloquent appeal. “Be merciful, gentlemen,” were her last words as she closed the door.
It was voted to dismiss the complaint; and when the foreman called her to the room, told her of the result of the vote, and commended her for her kindness of heart, her tears flowed afresh, and she thanked us through broken sobs. I know that in that room more eyes than hers were wet—eyes not accustomed to tears.
But soon a discussion arose as to the propriety of our action. When the grand jury was impanelled, the following oath was administered to the foreman:—
“You —— ——, as foreman of this grand inquest, shall diligently inquire, and true presentment make, of all such matters and things as shall be given you in charge; the counsel for the people of this state, your fellows, and your own, you shall keep secret; you shall present no one from envy, hatred, or malice; nor shall you leave any one unpresented through fear, favor, affection, or hope of reward; but you shall present all things truly as they come to your knowledge, according to your understanding. So help you God!”
NATURE OF A JURYMAN’S OATH.
And to the other members the following oath was administered:—
“The same oath which your foreman has taken on his part, you, and each of you, shall well and truly observe and keep on your part. So help you God!”
Some of the jurors thought we had no right, under our oath, to show favor, no matter how strong might be the appeal to our sympathies. Every man in the room wished to be lenient, but at the same time, above all other things, wished to do his duty. The discussion resulted in our sending for the district attorney and asking his advice.
REFORMING YOUNG OFFENDERS.
After hearing the case, he said there was a difference of opinion as to the power of a grand jury. “You can undoubtedly,” he continued, “exercise your discretion in certain cases, and act as you think is for the best interests of society. It is both right and proper that the grand jury, and also the district attorney, should be clothed with a discretionary power, as it frequently happens that they can do more good by exercising it than by following the strict letter of the law. I will give you an illustration: Some years ago, the case of a young man charged with embezzlement was placed in my hands to prosecute. His employer was determined to push the case; he was rather ugly about it, and there seemed no other course than to prosecute. The young man was out on bail, and came to me to beg to be let off. He said he was guilty, and should so plead; that he had an invalid sister, and with the utmost economy on his small salary he was unable to support himself. He knew that this was no excuse for his theft, but he took the money under great temptation, and did not realize the enormity of his offence until after he had committed it. ‘You can send me to the penitentiary,’ he said, ‘and nobody can blame you; but you will ruin me for life, and bring disgrace upon my parents and sister, who do not know that I am charged with crime. If I can be released and the matter hushed up, I will faithfully promise to do better in future, and I think this will be a life-long lesson to me.’ He pleaded so earnestly that I promised to do what I could forhim. I sent for his accuser, and urged him to withdraw the charge. At first he refused, but I laid the case before him in such a light that he at last consented. And I then urged him to take the young man back and give him a new trial, and after much talk I succeeded. The complaint was withdrawn, the young man was restored to his position; in a little time his salary was increased; by and by the firm dissolved in consequence of the death of one of its members; the young man went to another house, proved himself worthy of confidence, and to-day he is a member of that house, and as honorable and upright as any business man in New York. He has never forgotten, and never will forget, that lesson. If he had gone to the penitentiary, his worst fears would have been realized. When an offender is young, the offence is a first one, and the offender appears penitent, it is entirely proper for you to exercise leniency by dismissing the complaint; and in the case now before you, gentlemen, you have been entirely right in your action.”
As the district attorney ended his remarks, there was a round of applause, in which I am very certain every member of the jury participated. Those who had been most doubtful of the propriety of our action were heartily glad that their doubts were not well founded.
During our session there were several cases in which the accusers wished to withdraw the complaints. Where the reason for the withdrawal was the youth and penitence of the accused, the request was generally granted. In one case a family quarrel had gone before a magistrate while the temper of all parties concerned was at fever-heat; passion had subsided in the time required to bring the case to the grand jury, and the complainant was anxious to make terms of peace with his antagonist. There was another pleasant little affair, in which a nose had been bitten off in a discussion that evidently had whiskey in it. The biter was the cousin of the bitten, and on account of the relationship the latter wished to be mild. His cousin was not a professional biter, and should he go to prison it would not restore the central ornament of thecomplainant’s face. The offender had promised not to do so again; and besides, he had not bitten off much of the nose, any way. The appeal was heard, and the complaint against the mordacious relative was dismissed. As he had been a month in prison, it is to be hoped that he took solemn warning, and will hereafter confine his dental exercise to the ordinary articles of diet.
WITHDRAWING COMPLAINTS.
In some instances the complainant wished to withdraw the charge, for the reason that he had already lost time in making the prosecution, and did not wish to lose more. Sometimes, in cases of robbery, the friends of the accused had offered to restore the stolen property on condition that there should be no prosecution, and very naturally the complainant was willing to make such a compromise. But it was out of his power to do so after having once made his complaint before the magistrate, and his appeal to the grand jury was generally of no avail. The well-being of society, in cases of professional thieves and the like, was held to be paramount to the desires of complainants, and if the testimony was clear there was no delay in ordering indictments. In one instance a man who had been robbed, in a house whose character was not at all doubtful, asked to withdraw the complaint because he had already lost too much time in following it. He did not think the accused was either young or penitent, but he could not afford the time he was devoting to the case. He had evidently been instructed what to do, as his testimony before the grand jury was quite different from that in his complaint sworn to before the magistrate. In his complaint he said he knew that the prisoner took the money, but when in our presence he was uncertain on the subject. He didn’t know, couldn’t tell, didn’t remember, was excited at the time, and so on, until we found that he was determined to say and know nothing. As there were no other witnesses, we were forced to dismiss the charge, though morally convinced of the guilt of the accused. The complainant had determined to have the case abandoned, and as the prejudices of the nineteenth century are opposed to the use of the rack and thumb-screwsin the grand jury room, we had no means of compelling the witness to adhere to his original story. Mind you, he had not varied it so as to make him liable to the charge of perjury, in one case or the other; he had only substituted uncertainty for certainty.
Another instance of the withdrawal of a complaint through motives of kindness, was in the case of a woman who had lost a few articles from her room while her door was left open. The thieves were some young boys, whose parents were respectable; and as soon as the theft was traced to the culprits, the property was at once returned. “I don’t want to make felons of them,” said the woman; “I think they took the things out of a spirit of mischief, and that they will be good boys in future. The mother of one of them has talked to me about it, and I have promised to withdraw the charge.” Her appeal was earnest, and before its close it was eloquent. When she left the room it was voted to dismiss the case. The foreman then sent for her, told her that she had displayed much kindness of heart; that the jury appreciated her motives, and had complied with her request. Her thanks, like those of the woman mentioned heretofore, were given through tears, and she rushed outside to congratulate the anxious mother of the boy whom she had released.
CURIOUS PHASES OF HUMAN NATURE.
Many phases of human nature can be studied in the grand jury room. The hatred which the natives of green Erin bear towards our citizens of African descent is frequently seen where the accused is of negro blood, and the witness is of the race that boasts the Blarney Stone, and grows indignant at mention of Boyne water. Given such a case, and the chances are more than even that the witness will tell a story in which indictment is the primary, and truth the secondary consideration. If you have two or more witnesses of the loquacious nationality, and take the pains to question them closely, you will be likely to find a conspicuous inharmony in their testimony. They seem to consider themselves called to “swear agin’ the nagur,” and they generally do it. And it is possible that, with the case reversed,—an accused Celt and a testifyingEthiopian,—the evidence might be equally energetic. But, for some reason, we did not have a fair opportunity to settle this momentous question, and I must therefore leave it for the consideration of some grand jury of the future.
THE DETECTIVE’S STORY.
The detective officer shines brilliantly before the grand jury. There was, now and then, a man of this profession who was quiet and unpretending, but he formed an exception to the rule. The detective had generally done wonderful things in the discovery of crimes already committed, or in the prevention of crimes contemplated or progressing. Some detectives told their stories with admirable directness, while others were evidently desirous of giving condensed histories of their professional careers. “Did you arrest John Jones?” asks the foreman when a detective is called in. “Yes, sir,” is the reply. “Why did you arrest him?” “Because I heard he had robbed Brown’s store.” “Did you find anything in his possession?” “Yes, sir.” “What did you find?” “The articles named in the complaint.” “That will do, officer; you can go;” and the officer bows, and departs.
This is all that the jury wants to know from the officer in regard to the performance of John Jones, who is charged, on complaint of Brown, with burglary in the first degree. But the probabilities are two to one that when the foreman asks, “Did you arrest John Jones?” the officer will say, “I was walking along Broadway, and saw Brown, who looked as if he had been robbed. I went to his store, and saw the mark of a chisel near the lock, and asked Brown if he had lost anything. Brown told me he had, but did not know who had robbed him. I looked at the chisel-mark, and thought it was Jones’s work. Then I went down Canal Street, and saw Jones standing talking with two men, one of whom I remembered seeing seven years ago at the California State Prison, when I took the great stage-robber Smith up there for robbing the Petaluma mail, and frightening a lady passenger so that she died next week, and left two girls, three boys, and one husband, who felt so bad about it that he got married before the month was out. Jones looked so innocent that I knew he was guilty;and so I followed him all the afternoon, and arrested him when I saw him go into a house on the Bowery. I searched the house, and found Brown’s goods concealed where it was not likely anybody could find them; and there was a lot of other goods that I recognized as coming from a store on Broadway, that was robbed six weeks before.” And so he goes on, in a way calculated to impress his hearers with the belief that he is a man of genius, and perfectly at home among thieves. He knows all the movements of the gentry that one does not like to be intimate with, and when he finishes his narrative, you contemplate him (to use the language of a certain celebrated orator about another) as the East Indian contemplates his favorite idol: you know that he is ugly, but you feel that he is great. The story of a detective will frequently convey the idea that the movements and actions of professional thieves can be studied, like those of the robin or the beaver; and I have sometimes thought that the burglar and pickpocket should occupy places in natural history along with the birds, beasts, and reptiles that inhabit the earth and make things lively. One officer, who was a witness in several cases, was a favorite with the jury, for the reason that he always gave his testimony in the clearest and most direct manner. I doubt if he used a dozen superfluous words in any instance, and I could almost say that he did not use a dozen of them all together. His statements were short, sharp, and decisive; and it is my impression that he is far more efficient in the service than some of his professional brethren who would occupy fifteen minutes in telling a story that he could give in sixty seconds, and have time to spare.
PECULIARITIES OF WITNESSES.
THE BRICK AND BROOMSTICK.
It is amusing to note the difference in the manner of witnesses. There are some who cannot tell a direct story, no matter how strongly they are urged to do so; and there are others who could not be otherwise than brief. Some of this difference is due to nationality. German and Irish were generally more loquacious than American and English. But it was not all a matter of nationality, as there were instances of extreme discursiveness on the part of the last-mentioned,while some of the former were brief almost to taciturnity. And in regard to sex, I must aver that the more talkative of our witnesses belonged to the gentler half of humanity. A lady of Baxter Street was one day testifying about a debate between herself and a neighbor: a brick and a broomstick had been used in the fray, and the head of the witness had been slightly scarified by the corner of the brick. It was a simple affair,—words and blows, and only two or three blows, at that,—but the unhappy victim could not be induced to tell her story without narrating the whole history of the bellicose Bridget, whose hand had hurled the missile. Frequently the foreman stopped her narrative, and told her to cut it short; she would take breath in the pause, and then, with a preliminary “I’ll tell all about it, yer honor,” she would start again with the rapidity of a carrier-pigeon. We soon found it was of no use to attempt to restrain her, and so we listened as patiently as possible to the conclusion of her story. There was a sigh of relief around the jury-room when she retired, and I could not help thinking that the blow which she averred made her “sinseless and spacheless” for two hours was, to a great extent, justifiable.
Another garrulous witness was a German who had suffered robbery. He persisted in addressing the foreman as “shudge” and the rest of the assemblage as “gentlemens on the jury.” Twice, when interrupted and told to be brief, he complied by beginning his statement anew, with more minuteness of detail; and at last the foreman found his patience exhausted, and told the witness, “The jury has no time to listen to your stories.” “O shudge,” said the man, in a tone that evinced the most deeply wounded honor, “I don’t not come here to tells you stories; I tells you only the truth.” The polite foreman apologized for the unintentional affront, and compromised the matter by inducing the victim to answer a few questions, and leave his story to be told in court. His evidence was conclusive, and an indictment was promptly ordered against the party named in the complaint.
FAMILY JARS IN COURT.
Frequently there were cases that attested the worthlessnessand depravity of certain members of the human race, and their despicable treatment of relatives and friends. It is an unpleasant spectacle to see wives giving evidence to send their husbands to prison, brothers testifying against their brothers, and sometimes (though none were called before us) fathers testifying against their sons. There was one instance wherein a man testified to a forgery of his signature, committed by a member of his family. He stated that it was a struggle between duty and a respect for the family name for him to come before the jury; “and I only determined to come here,” said he, “when I found all attempts to reform this man had failed. I have paid his debts repeatedly, have twice started him in business, and have several times paid checks on which he forged my signature, rather than expose him. I have tried to reason with him, and hoped he would do better; he shows no sign of repentance, and has told others that, out of regard to the family, I shall not dare to prosecute him. I feel that I should do wrong if I allowed him to run longer, and painful as it is, I must do my duty.”
Here was a man of sensibility compelled by the conduct of a near relative to appear in court as a prosecutor. It is to be hoped that the culprit will learn a wholesome lesson from his imprisonment; but if his nature is as depraved as represented, the probabilities are, that when he comes out from his term of involuntary labor, he will not be greatly improved.
One day a woman came to testify against her husband for striking her on the head with a piece of iron, which she produced from her pocket. The iron—a stove-hook—had been broken by the force of the blow, and yet the woman was there, with no evidence of having suffered more than a temporary stunning and bleeding. She began her story in a tone of firmness and determination, but gradually melted until her voice was choking and her eyes were tearful. “Do you want to press this complaint against your husband?” the foreman asked. “Yes, sir, I must,” she answered, after a pause. “We have been married ten years, and they have been ten years of quarrels. He beats me often; he drives me out at night;he starves me, and is all the time cruel. He takes the money I earn, and spends it, and I cannot live with him any longer. I have had him before the magistrate several times, and he promises to do better; but when he is let off, he is as bad as ever. He will not leave me, nor let me leave him, and we shall have no peace till he is in prison, or one of us is dead.”
A SKILFUL FRAUD.
One of the most artistic frauds that ever came to my knowledge was developed before the jury. A man had loaned some money, and taken the mortgage of a tract of land as security on the note. Before loaning it he submitted the title to his lawyer, who informed him that it was correct; and consequently the bargain was closed. The note fell due, and went to protest; the lawyer had, in the mean time, moved from the city, and the other parties were not to be found. The land which was mortgaged lay in New Jersey, and the holder of the note took the necessary steps to foreclose. A professional searcher of titles went to the township mentioned in the papers, and found that there was no such land in existence.
The whole document was purely a myth. The boundaries described could not be found, and had no existence any more than if they had been located in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. The grantor named in the original deed had been dead ten years at the time when the document was dated, and the whole business was a conspiracy, in which the lawyer had betrayed his client. One of the conspirators had turned state’s evidence, and came before us. His position was not particularly comfortable, and he grew restive under the questions showered upon him. Little by little the truth was drawn from him, and he practically confessed to having been the originator of the fraud, ten years ago. The papers were evidently prepared with care, and had an appearance of genuineness enough to deceive any man who was not suspicious of wrong, and had relied upon his lawyer to protect his rights.
A case that was at the same time amusing and saddening, was that of a woman, the widow of a laborer, whose horse and cart had been stolen. She was the complainant and principal witness against the thief, who was promptly indicted. Shestated that she had recovered the cart, but had not been able to find the horse. The morning after the indictment had been ordered, we were surprised to see her waiting outside the grand jury room. A juror asked her what she wanted, and she replied that she came for her horse.
“I WANT MY HORSE.”
She was sent to the court-room, where, I believe, the thief was speedily tried and convicted. But day after day she came to the grand jury room, and patiently waited outside for the return of her horse. Each morning some one would explain to her that we could do nothing, and she would then go away. But the next morning she would be there as usual, and for nearly a month she continued her patient but hopeless watching. Sometimes she would come twice in the same day, and, when accosted, her answer was always the same, “I want my horse.” At first her visits were subjects of merriment, but it was very soon discovered that her mind could not be altogether clear; and our merriment was changed to pity, and our jests to words of sympathy for her loss.
Most of the witnesses were of the unattractive lot, and as their stories were much alike, the business became a little dull after the first week or two. Robberies and fights, and fights and robberies, were narrated until the atmosphere became charged with them. It was the same story, or the same stories with slight variation, and we used to wish for a little variety. And it was astonishing how the advent of a pretty woman used to refresh the wearied jurors, but they were not often allowed that luxury.
A PRETTY WOMAN AS WITNESS.
One afternoon we came to a case of robbery, and the name of the first witness had a feminine sound as the clerk read it. Jurors had been sitting, not quite at their ease, listening to the testimony of men and women whose stories were as devoid of sentiment as the certificate of a steamboat inspector, and whose forms and faces were as unattractive as a dredging machine. When the witness was called in this case, the jurors listlessly raised their eyebrows, and out of deference to their acquired habit, turned their eyes towards the door. She came; we saw; she conquered. She was pretty; shewas finely attired; her demeanor was full of modesty, and, at the same time, of self-possession. As she walked forward to the foreman’s place, to be sworn, there was a general straightening of everybody around the room. Chairs were drawn nearer to the table, young jurors stroked their mustaches, and old ones passed their hands over their bald crowns, to be sure that no cobwebs lay there. Collars and neckties were examined, to ascertain ifen règle, and when the lady walked to the witness chair, the double line of heads was as straight and attentive as though just from the discipline of a Russian drill-master. When the foreman questioned her, she answered in a voice as silvery as a chime of tea bells, and it seemed very unfortunate for all her listeners that her story was brief. Not a word that she spoke was lost to any of the forty ears that were inclined towards her, and when she turned upon us a pair of bewitching eyes (I forget their color), there could be no doubt that the unwashed and unlettered burglar against whom she complained deserved the severest penalty of the law. As she left the room, her silken dress rustling like the leaves of autumn in a gentle breeze, we regretted that she could not longer remain; and when the door closed, an impressible juror sitting near it moved a bill of indictment, which would have been carried without opposition, had there been no necessity for another witness to complete the chain of evidence. The officer who captured the thief and recovered the property was then called; but he was a commonplace fellow, and we only listened to his story in the cause of justice. Compared with the lady who preceded him, he was as a marine turtle to a gazelle, or as a mud-scow to a yacht, and we were heartily glad when he was through with his testimony. If burglars would be free, they should never be caught robbing a pretty woman who can go before a grand jury. That fellow received the heaviest sentence allowed by the law, asshewent before the petit jury, and told her story under the eye of the judge.