He is very sorry
for this ebullition of passion; but they may be assured it was
called forth by the gross insult offered to all present. "Continue
the witnesses as fast as possible," he concludes, with a methodical
bow.
Mr. Monsel steps forward: he relates the fierce attempt made upon
his life; has no doubt the prisoner meant to kill him, and raise an
insurrection. "It is quite enough; Mr. Monsel may stand down,"
interposes Felsh, with an air of dignity.
Paul Vampton, an intelligent negro, next bears testimony. The
criminal at the bar (Paul does not believe he has a drop of negro
blood in his veins) more than once told him his wife and children
were sold from him, his rights stripped from him, the hopes of
gaining his freedom for ever gone. Having nothing to live for, he
coveted death, because it was more honourable to die in defence of
justice, than live the crawling slave of a tyrant's rule.
"I feel constrained to stop the case, gentlemen of the jury,"
interposes his honour, rising from his seat. "The evidence already
adduced is more than sufficient to establish the conviction."
A juror at Terrance M'Quade's right, touches that gentleman on the
shoulder: he had just cooled away into a nice sleep: "I think so,
too, yer 'oner," rejoins Terrance, in half bewilderment, starting
nervously and rubbing his eyes.
A few mumbled words from his honour serve as a charge to the jury.
They know the law, and have the evidence before them. "I see not,
gentlemen, how you can render a verdict other than guilty; but that,
let me here say, I shall leave to your more mature deliberation.
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