VII To a Higher Tribunal
Counsel for the prisoner sits down overcome by his own evocation of emotion. The more somnolent jurors scowl at him. He has made them uncomfortable. The court, now having control of the matter, hastens the adjournment.
“Gentlemen, you will find the prisoner not guilty of assaulting an officer. It is not fully proven. As to the charge of larceny, if you find that he took the watch out of the possession of the prosecutor, as he seems to think, he is guilty, and I instruct you to find him so. Otherwise, acquit him. If you are in doubt, acquit him. You have been told that there is no evidence of the larceny. That is for you, not counsel, to say.”
The jury, thinking from this that it is not much of a case, consult a moment, and are ready with their verdict—while the court taps the bench impatiently with the gilt menu. The crier asks for the verdict:
“Gentlemen of the jury, how say you? Is the prisoner at the bar guilty or not guilty?”
“Guilty, with a recommendation to the mercy of the court,” answers the foreman, yawning.
John Forrest rises to his feet, not knowing, in his confusion, what he ought to do.
“If the court pleases,” he begins, “I had expected another verdict. But since—”
“Your duty is done, sir,” smiles the chilly court, “and well done. I congratulate you, sir.” Then he turns to the jury. “Gentlemen, I cannot pass your recommendation to mercy lightly. I shall not forget it. It is better that ten guilty men escape than that one suffer innocently. I am now in a trifle of a hurry. I shall suspend sentence until I can think your recommendation well over. Crier, adjourn the court.”
The district attorney had his golf.
The judge had his witty dinner.
The recommendation to mercy was forgotten.
The sentence of the court was never passed.
A higher tribunal claimed jurisdiction.
Christof Nielsen died in his cell.
John Hall sent this note to the judge on the same day:
“My watch was in the pocket of my Sunday vest. I forgot to change it on Monday. Have that young man set free. I am sorry.”
“Let him be discharged as soon as possible,” said the righteous judge to the district attorney, flinging the note on his desk.
But death is swifter than justice when her wheels turn backward.