Chapter 13

Mr. Martin sat down amidst loud and prolonged applause.

This splendid argument, close, searching, irresistible, gave the _coup de grace_ to the crown case. The prisoners having called no evidence, according to honourable custom having almost the force of law, the prosecution was disentitled to any rejoinder. Nevertheless, the crown put up its ablest speaker--a man far surpassing in attainments as a lawyer and an orator both the Attorney and Solicitor-General--Mr. Ball, Q.C., to press against the accused that technical right which honourable usage reprehended as unfair! No doubt the crown authorities felt it was not a moment in which they could afford to be squeamish or scrupulous. The speeches of Mr. Sullivan and Mr. Martin had had a visible effect upon the jury--had, in fact, made shreds of the crown case; and so Mr. Ball was put up as the last hope of averting the "disaster" of a failure. He spoke with his accustomed ability and dignity, and made a powerful appeal in behalf of the crown. Then Mr. Justice Fitzgerald proceeded to charge the jury, which he did in his own peculiarly calm, precise, and perspicuous style. At the outset, referring to the protest of the accused against the conduct of the crown in the jury challenges, he administered a keen rebuke to the government officials. It was, he said, no doubt the strict legal _right_ of the crown to act as it had done; yet, considering that this was a case in which the accused was accorded no corresponding privilege, the exercise of that right in such a manner by the crown certainly was, in his, Mr. Justice Fitzgerald's estimation, _a subject for grave objection_.

Here there was what the newspaper reporters call "sensation in court." What! Had it come to this, that one of the chief institutions of the land--a very pillar of the crown and government--namely, _jury-packing_, was to be reflected upon from the bench itself. Monstrous!

The charge, though mild in language, was pretty sharp on the "criminality" of such conduct as was _imputed_ to the accused, yet certainly left some margin to the jury for the exercise of their opinion upon "the law and the facts."

At two o'clock in the afternoon the jury retired to consider their verdict, and as the judges at the same moment withdrew to their chamber, the pent-up feelings of the crowded audience instantly found vent in loud Babel-like expressions and interchange of comments on the charge, and conjectures as to the result. "Waiting for the verdict" is a scene that has often been described and painted. Everyone of course concluded that half-an-hour would in any case elapse before the anxiously watched jury-room door would open; but when the clock hands neared three, suspense intense and painful became more and more visible in every countenance. It seemed to be only now that men fully realized all that was at stake, all that was in peril, on this trial! _A conviction in this case rendered the national colour of Ireland for ever more an illegal and forbidden emblem_! A conviction in this case would degrade the symbol of nationality into a badge of faction! To every fevered anxious mind at this moment rose the troubled memories of gloomy times--the "dark and evil days" chronicled in that popular ballad, the music and words of which now seemed to haunt the watchers in the court:--

"Oh, Patrick, dear, and did you hear The news that's going round? The shamrock is by law forbid. To grow on Irish ground. No more St. Patrick's day we'll keep-- His colour can't be seen, For there's a bloody law again The Wearing of the Green."

But hark! There is a noise at the jury-room door! It opens--the jury enter the box. A murmur, swelling to almost a roar, from the crowded audience, is instantly followed by a deathlike stillness. The judges are called; but by this time it is noticed that the foreman has not the "issue-paper" ready to hand down; and a buzz goes round--"a question; a question!" It is even so. The foreman asks:--

Whether, if they believed the speech of Mr. Martin to be in itself seditious, should they come to the conclusion that the assemblage was seditious?

Mr. Justice Fitzgerald answers _in the negative_, and a thrill goes through the audience. Nor is this all. One of the jurors declares there is no chance whatever of their agreeing to a verdict! Almost a cheer breaks out. The judge, however, declares they must retire again; which the jury do, very reluctantly and doggedly; in a word, very unlike men likely to "persuade one another."

When the judges again leave the bench for their chamber, the crowd in court give way outright to joy. Every face is bright; every heart is light; jokes go round, and there is great "chaff" of the crown officials, and of the "polis," who, poor fellows, to tell the truth, seem to be as glad as the gladdest in the throng. Five o'clock arrives--half-past five--the jury must suavely be out soon now. At a quarter to six they come; and for an instant the joke is hushed, and cheeks suddenly grow pale with fear lest by any chance it might be evil news. But the faces of the jurymen tell plainly "no verdict." The judges again are seated. The usual questions in such cases: the usual answers. "No hope whatever of an agreement." Then after a reference to the Solicitor-General, who, in sepulchral tone, "supposes" there is "nothing for it" but to discharge the jury, his lordship declares the jury discharged.

Like a volley there burst a wild cheer, a shout, that shook the building! Again and again it was renewed; and, being caught up by the crowd outside, sent the tidings of victory with electrical rapidity through the city. Then there was a rush at Mr. Martin and Mr. Sullivan. The former especially was clasped, embraced, and borne about by the surging throng, wild with joy. It was with considerable difficulty any of the traversers could get away, so demonstrative was the multitude in the streets. Throughout the city the event was hailed with rejoicing, and the names of the jurymen, "good and bad" were vowed to perpetual benediction. For once, at least, justice had triumphed; or rather, injustice had been baulked. For once, at least, the people had won the day; and the British Government had received a signal overthrow in its endeavour to proscribe--

"THE WEARING OF THE GREEN."

* * * * *

For one of the actors in the above-described memorable scene, the victory purchased but a few hours safety. Next morning Mr. A.M. Sullivan was placed again at the bar to hear his sentence--that following upon the first of the prosecutions hurled against him (the _press_ prosecution), on which he had been found guilty. Again the court was crowded--this time with anxious faces, devoid of hope. It was a brief scene. Mr. Justice Fitzgerald announced the sentence--six months in Richmond Prison; and amidst a farewell demonstration that compelled the business of the court to be temporarily suspended, the officials led away in custody the only one of the prosecuted processionists who expiated by punishment his sympathy with the fate of the Martyred Three of Manchester.

END.

End of Project Gutenberg's The Wearing of the Green, by A.M. Sullivan