Chapter VIII. The Trial.

On the morning of the trial the intense interest felt in it was shown in the crowds that filled every available space in the courthouse, and thronged all the approaches to it. The benches set apart for magistrates were filled with the Justices of the county, among whom Captain Lewis had for many years been the reigning spirit, while the space available for the public was packed as densely as it could contain with a motley throng of wild-looking countrymen, whose sympathies were far more with the dock than with the representatives of law and authority on the bench.

A large additional force of police had been drafted into the district, as it was feared that a rescue might be attempted; and an unusual number of the guardians of the peace were posted at different points in the building.

Mrs Dillon had resolved that nothing would prevent her from being near her husband when passing through the dreadful ordeal. She had taken the advice of her lawyer, as to whether it would be wise, and he had strongly advised her to be present. He knew enough of human nature, and of the susceptibilities of jurymen, to know what an adjunct to the eloquence of counsel there might be in a fair face saddened by the sight of her husband in peril, and he had learned how, after the first indignant burst of anger against her husband, public feeling had been leaning to the distressed wife and children of the accused, and how the faithful devotion of a lovely woman prompting her for weeks past to unceasing efforts in trying to hunt up evidence, and doing everything that could possibly tend to save her husband had fanned the general sympathy. It was therefore with his approval and advice that, taking little Elsie with her, she was present. And he had even gone to the pains of quietly arranging through the court officials that they should have seats in such a position as to be in full view of the jury.

The Courthouse was a quaint old building. On one side was a great blank wall up to which in terraces ascended the seats giving acommodation not only to the jury, but to the magistrates and other county dignitaries and their friends who usually attended the sittings of assize. On the other side were two or three rows ef similar seats usually occupied by witnesses and their friends or others personally interested in the trial proceeding, two or three small windows a little higher up than the back sitters looking out on the huge brick wall of the neighbouring gaol and throwing a ‘dim religious light’ over the proceedings.

Between these terraced seats, in the body of the court, was located the machinery of Justice; the Judge's bench, canopied and curtained; the tables for the clerk of the court and the bar; the dock; with a seething mass of people in the background, kept without the sacred precincts by a line of policemen with fixed bayonets.

On the entrance of the prisoner between two warders he was marched into the dock and his handcuffs removed. Taking his place in the front of the dock, a constable with fixed bayonet on either side of him, his eyes wandered round the crowded building as if in quest of someone that he expected to see, and when at last they rested on the little group, a faint smile flitted over his pale face.

As her eyes met her father's, little Elsie clasped her hands together, her face aglow for a moment with delight; while pale and unmoved her mother returned his look with an intensity of yearning affection that told how her whole soul was absorbed in the peril in which her beloved husband was placed.

The grand jury had found a ‘true bill’ against the prisoner, and some time was spent in the formality of empanelling the jury and the arraignment.

Then the counsel for the prosecution proceeded to open the case, detailing the evidence he was about to lead.

The first witness called was Porter, the bailiff, who was in the company of the ill-fated gentleman at the time of the murder. After narrating the circumstances of the murder, he was asked if he identified the prisoner as the man who had committed the crime; he replied that to the best of his knowledge and belief he was the man. In cross-examination by the counsel for the defence he declined to swear positively that Dillon was the man. He had known Dillon well for many years, but the night was very dark and the man who committed the murder was disguised. He had a dark felt hat drawn over his face, and a long dark-coloured overcoat which was closely buttoned over the chin. Had seen but a small portion of the man's face; it was not sufficient to enable him to positively identify him as the prisoner at the bar.

Being pressed by counsel he admitted that he was not positive as to the identity of prisoner, and he would not have suspected him at all had it not been for the threats which Dillon had used to Captain Lewis in the office on the previous day. Was positive as to the hour at which the murder was committed; had struck a match and looked at page 18 his watch but a short time before reaching the turn of the road where the murder occurred, and knew that it was exactly half-past eleven.

The next witness was the pawnbroker, Robson, who deposed to the pawning of the articles on the night in question by the prisoner at the bar. Had a slight knowledge of Dillon before that occasion. Prisoner was partially disguised and endeavoured to evade the witness' observation. It was before eleven o'clock, a circumstance which he knew from the fact that he always closed his establishment at eleven.

In cross-examination, witness said that it was not an unusual thing for persons pawning articles to endeavour to evade observation and conceal their identity. Had not thought it singular that prisoner gave the name of ‘Johnston.’ Prisoner evinced no agitation on the occasion, such as might have been expected in a man about to commit a murder. The counsel for the defence admitted that his client was the person that pawned the articles on the night in question.

The driver of the night up-mail to Dublin deposed that prisoner had taken passage on the coach on the top of Knockmore hill. He was sitting on the side of the road at the milestone, and rose up as the coach approached. It was half-past eleven at the time of the coach reaching Knockmore hill.

In cross-examination witness expressed himself positive as to the hour; knew the time he had got the mails from the post office and knew the hour at which he reached Knockmore Hill. It could not have been a quarter past eleven; it could not have been a quarter to twelve; he knew this from the fact that—as seen in his way-bill—he had kept time punctually at every stage all along the road that night.

He could swear positively that it was at half-past eleven the prisoner had joined the coach. Prisoner was not excited on joining the coach; he had no firearms; he could not have been running; he was sitting on the roadside when first seen by witness in the light of the lamps of the coach. Had spoken with him and received the fare before prisoner got into the coach. Was positive that he showed no symptoms of agitation such as might be expected in a man who had just committed the crime of murder. Had the appearance of a man who had been sitting for some time waiting for the coach.

On the conclusion of the case for the crown, the counsel for the defence arose. He said he did not intend to call any witnesses, as unfortunately the only witness who could give any material testimony as to the proceedings of his client on that unhappy night, and his objects in being abroad from his home, was prevented by the law from giving evidence. Gentlemen of the jury could see that that witness was in court, and they could perhaps realise her feelings when obliged to listen to the proceedings intended to wind this net of blood-guiltiness around and around her husband, while she, who knew the whole of the circumstances was prevented from offoring a word of explanation.

That explanation counsel then proceeded to give—the threatened eviction, the visit to London, the incidents in the pawn office and on Knockmore hill, characterising the evidence of the pawnbroker and the coachman as perfectly truthful. He related graphically how it gradually dawned on the mind of his client that he was suspected, and how on learning that he was charged with the crime he hastened back from London by the most rapid ronte and means of conveyance he could find. ‘Gentlemen of the jury,’ he said, ‘why did my client rush back to the scene of this cruel murder if he was guilty? what object could he have had? He was virtually out of the reach of the law; in a few hours he might have been in a foreign land and beyond pursuit. Even if there had been any conceivable reason for a man of his character and position committing such a crime, what reason can suggest itself for his hastening back to give himself up to justice?’

Counsel then dwelt on the question of time; on the positive knowledge of the witness Porter as to the moment at which the crime was committed, and the equally positive knowledge of the coachman that at that same moment the prisoner presented himself at his coach on Knockmore Hill, two or three miles away from the scene of the murder, and the total absence of any signs of agitation in the prisoner. He admitted that circumstances pointed suspiciously towards his client, but showed that every one of those circumstances was consistent with the statement of the prisoner about his proceedings that night, and the three or four days and nights succeeding. If everything else was consistent with his guilt, the distinct and evidently truthful statements of Porter and the coachman, with regard to the time of the crime and of the presence of prisoner on Knockmore Hill, could not fail to throw more than a doubt on the possibility of his connection with the offence, and he reminded them that it was their duty to give his client the benefit of the doubt.

In a peroration of great eloquence he referred to the blameless character which his client had ever maintained, and the high respect in which he stood throughout the whole of the district; to the powerful influences of domestic ties, which must have restrained him under any circumstances from involving his family in disgrace and ruin.

He asked them to think of the strain that had already been put on the feelings of those who were near and dear to him, and of the terrible stigma that his condemnation and ignominious death would attach to his innocent children, who did not, and could not, page 19 realise their position, or the danger that was hanging over their beloved parent's head, and concluded by expressing his own absolute belief that his client, however circumstances Conspired against him, was entirely innocent of the dreadful crime that had been undoubtedly committed.

In summing up the judge explained the nature and limits of circumstantial evidence, and reviewed the evidence in detail. Re-ferring to the question of time, on which the learned counsel for the defence had so largely relied, he asked them to not attach too much importance to the point which the learned counsel had so ably and eloquently raised. It was true that the witness, Porter, was very positive as to the crime having been committed at a specific moment, and that the coachman was equally positive as to the presence of the prisoner on Knockmore Hill at the same hour some two miles away.

But it was unnecessary to tell them as men of the world how liable men are to mistakes on such a subject; and how from the variation in the time-keeping qualities of watches no absolute certainty could attach to opinions of this nature. The learned counsel for the defence, who, he was bound to say, had done all that great ability and skill in pleading, and his well-known eloquence, were able to do for the case of his unhappy client, had not seen fit to adduce evidence to show what time, whether that of Dublin or that of the Western portion of Ireland, is observed on the coach on which are carried the Royal mails, nor yet did he choose to elicit from the witness, Porter, to what time his watch was adjusted. He, the Judge, was bound to admit that the learned counsel, from his well-known faithfulness and zeal in behalf of his clients, had not acciden-tally overlooked the importance of this element in the question, and in consequence he, the learned judge, felt warranted in advising gentlemen of the jury to not attach much importance to the question of twenty minutes or half an hour in relation to the precise time of the committal of this most heinous crime, especially if in their judg-ment other circumstances combined in pointing to the prisoner as the man who had committed the offence.

‘With regard tothe ingenious explanation,’ said the learned judge, ‘which has been given to counsel, and which that learned gentleman has so eloquently stated to you, as to the cause of the prisoner's hasty and somewhat furtive flight from the district, but in support of which I need not say to you, no evidence whatever has been adduced, it is for you to judge of the probabilities of the story. Men do not usually seek to conceal their movements without some reasonable object to be served, and it is difficult to assign any adequate reason for the secrecy and apparent disguise in which the prisoner involved his movements. As to what motive may have induced the prisoner to return to Ireland, it is not necessary that you should satisfy yourselves. We frequently see men when under a feeling of remorse doing things which do not seem to commend themselves to right reason, if self preservation is the object, and whatever may have been the motive, it cannot in any way be regarded as invalidating the force of the testimony, which otherwise may seem to you to connect the prisoner with the crime with which he is charged. In conclusion I would warn you to not be influenced by any consideration of what may be the effect of your verdict on the friends or family of the accused. You are in a judicial position and are bound by your oath to act judicially and without being influenced by feeling or sentiment. Crimes such as that with which the prisoner is charged leave widows and orphans whose Bad and undeserved position should appeal much more to the humane feelings than the case of the family of the murderer. These are matters that should not enter into your consideration of the line of duty, and your duty is simply to give a true verdict according to the evidence.’

The jury retired to consider their verdict. The judge leaned back in his chair, and the court lapsed into a condition of wearied wake-fulneess, exhausted with the prolonged atteution that had been given to a case in the issues of which the minds of all had been wrapped up, but still keenly anxious for the result now on the eve of being known. Two or three candles on the judge's bench and a few scattered through the building gave a dim and dreary aspect to the scene, in which absolute silence reigned, except for the suppressed whisper which occasionally passed between members of the bar, or the opening and shutting of a door as some of the messengers passed in or out of the court.

The prisoner had been standing with his hands on the front of the bar since early morning, except for the short recess during which the judge had retired in the middle of the day for refreshment. His attention had keenly followed the witnesses in their evidence and the counsel in their pleadings, and now and then his eyes had turned away to the two weary watchers, whose eyes had scarcely been lifted off him throughout the proceedings. There they were, and there they had sat the livelong day, Elsie's bright and merry face now pale and weary and drawn, a counterpart, on a diminished scale, of the pale and anxious face of her mother.

Dillon now had leisure to turn his looks to the two who, of all on earth, were the most keenly alive to the painfulness of his position. There was an exchange of wearied smiles between the husband and his wife and child, and long and tenderly they looked on one another, their looks conveying an expression of anxious and unspeakable love. Many'in the dim and silent court-house noted the page 20 interchanges of sympathy, and more than one eye moistened at the scene.

But at last there was a rustle of aroused attention, and every eye in court was fixed on the door of the jury-room, which slowly opened and the jurors filed into their places in the box.

‘Gentlemen,’ said the clerk of the court, ‘answer to your names;’ and the roll of jurors was called.

‘Gentlemen, are you agreed upon your verdict ?’

‘We are,’ in a subdued and hardly audible voice; while every head was stretched forward to catch the words.

‘How, say you, gentlemen, that the prisoner at the bar is guilty or not guilty ?’

‘Guilty!’