LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume VIII, Issue 872, 11 April 1877, Page 3

LITERATURE.

A STRANGE WITNESS. { Continued) ‘ And now, Sir President and honourable court and gentlemen of the jury, you know all. God Almighty is ray witness that I have spoken the truth. It has been a most fatal atfair to me throughout. 1 killed Joseph Spienger iu self-defence ; I repeat it. Yet his death lies heavy at my heart. I could almost wish it had been the other way, and he had stabbed me. As my evil t tar will have it, that stranger, who could testify in my favour, has not been found. He has disappeared, without leaving a trace behind. 1 can, then, only once more solemnly appeal to the Almighty Creator of the world to be my witness, 1 have been brought up religiously, gentlemen of the jury. I would never take the name of the Lord in vain. Believe me, then, gentlemen, I implore you believe that I speak the truth. May God guide you ! ’ Here the prisoner, who had spoken throughout in a calm, firm, clear voice, broke down, and sank back on his seat.

Although his statement had appeared clear and consistent in every part, and the manner of his delivery had, in its very sim plicity, borne the impress of truth upon it, yet it was evident that it had not carried conviction to the minds of even the audience in court, and still less to the jury and the judges, * Conrad Tuchmann,’ said the president, it is not my wish to weaken the impression which your statement may have made upon the jux-y, I will add that it agrees in d tail with everything you have said before the examining criminal judge in the preliminary proceedings. I will not even call it simply plausible, lest I should thereby injure your case and weaken the force of the defence which your counsel will, iu due time, plead before the court and jury. Nay, I will even go so far as to admit that there is no inherently wild improbability iu any part of it. But after making this large measure of concession, I deem it still my imperative duty to point out to you certain weak and doubtful parts of your statement, and to ask you to explain them if you can. First and foremost, I have to inquire of you how it happens that you profess to know nothing whatever of the deceased Sprenger except that his Christian name was Joseph Maria, and that he was an Austrian ?’

‘ Bis passport says no more, Sir President,’ meekly objected the accused. ‘ True, but then we all know that they are not particular about passports in the New World. However, you were the man’s friend and companion for years. It is barely ci’edible that you should never have conversed together of your birthplaces, families, school years, and many other subjects in which people, more particularly far away from their native lands, are apt to take a lively interest. How is this ? Can you account for it in any way ?’ ‘ I can only repeat, Sir President, that we never talked about such matters. lam not inquisitive by nature and temperament, Sir President, and I assure you it never occurred to me to ask Joseph about his home and his family. I thought I knew the man, which was sufficient lor me to know. I never troubled about his connections. I did not even ask him to whom he was writing iu London on the day when he gave me the slip. I suppose Joseph took no interest in my family affairs either; for, until we reached Eisenach, he never even asked me about Fichtenhain.’

‘Well, let that pass then,’ said the presi dent, with a dissatisfied air. ‘ But now I must put a crucial question to you. How did it happen that, when you had slain a fellow-creature in self-defence, admitted for aigument’s sake, you never thought of giving information of the fact to the authorities at the nearest place within your reach say at your own village ? You must have felt that it was your imperative duty, aud, if innocent, your safest course to do so. How eao you account for not having breathed a syllable of this occurrence even to your own parents ? ‘1 fully feel the weight of your remark, -Sir Pxesideut. It was, imleed, a most fatal omission. 1 ought to have given information at once, All 1 can say in explanatioi of this grievous mistake is, that I felt oatu

rally reluctant to break in so rudely upon the joy of my poor parents. I wanted to let the Lord’s day pass in peace and quiet. On Monday morning I was ready to take all necessary steps, but you know I was arrested on Sunday.’ ‘True, Conrad Tucbmann, but you must see that the court can hardly avoid looking upon this statement of your intention as an atter-thought. Then, again, you say that the mysterious stranger in the blue coat had actually threatened the deceased with his likely evidence in the event that he should resort to violence against you. You say also that the stranger must have heard the shot fired What more natural than to suppose that he would at once communicate with the authorities ? Did not this impress you with the imperative necessity upon you to make your statement at once ?’ ‘ But then, Sir President, if the stranger had made a statement to the authorities, he would have cleared me. So there could be no harm done to my cause, I thought, by two days’ delay. I now feel how fatally wrong I have been in this.’

‘ Well, let that also pass. But now 1 come to a point where I am sorry to find your statement flatly contradicted by two witnesses in the case. You have told us that you defrayed all travelling expenses from London to here. Have you done so throughout ? ‘ I have, Sir President ; I paid all expenses on the road.’ Here the president, turning to the usher of the court, told that official to call Michael and Maria Weber, the landlord and landlady of the inn where Tuchmann and Sprenger had dined on their way to Fichten--bain.

They both swore positively that it was the deceased, and not the accused, who had paid the bill at the inn.

‘ “What have you to say to this ? said the president, with some severity, addressing the prisoner.

‘ I cannot understand it, Sir President. I cannot for the life of me b-ing it to mind otherwise than that I paid everywhere on the road.’

‘ It seems rather strange that the poor hanger-on, who was, according to your statement, dependent on your charity, should have paid the bill. Yet here we have good evidence of the fact.’

The prisoner helplessly placed his hand on bis brow, then sank back on his seat, murmuring rather than saying, 1 I cannot account for it, I cannot. I only know I thought I had paid everywhere.’ This completed the exposition of the facts of the case. The president adjourned the court for an hour. The accused was led back to his cell, whilst the judges, jury, counsel, and audience went to dine. In the Hotel Zum Schwarzen Mohren a dozen guests were sitting at table. Among them were several of the jurors and a few advocates learned in the law.

The trial proceedings to be presently resumed formed, of course, the exclusive subject of conversation. The jurors were naturally reticent ; but the advocates talked freely. ‘ What think you of the prisoner’s statement, uncle ?’ said one of the younger lawyers to a sedate middle aged counsel, who, to judge by the respectful attention paid to every word that fell from his lips, was evidently looked upon as a big gun. ‘ Looking to the man and to the manner in which he gave his speech, I should mihesitatingly opine that the statement deserved the jury’s most serious attention. But the matter was cut a little too artistically, to my mind ; the details seemed to tally too nicely : in a word, the prisoner seemed to me to speak too well. Somehow I could not altogether dismiss the notion which would obtrude itself on my mind, that AYolff (the prisoner’s counsel) had had an over-large share in the composition of the prisoner’s utterances. Well, we shall soon see what Wolff will make of it. The prisoner could not have hit npon a better advocate, and I am sure Wolff will make a determined stand and a hard fight of it. Only Ido not see quite clearly how he is to dispmse of those two damning pieces of evidence—the letter and the proved fact, so strenuously disputed by the prisoner, that in the only one instance which the instruction could by any chance bring to light, it was the deceased beggar who paid the bill, not his wealthy companion. Still, the man’s tale may be true to the letter. We lawyers are in the habit of seeing such strange things happen.’ ‘ But,’ returned the younger man, ‘ the looks of the poor fellow speak volumes in his favor to my mind. Besides, I really do not think that the prosecution has made out a clear case. It is all circumstantial, after all. It has always seemed hard to me to call upon the accused to prove that he is nut guilty ; it seems to me tantamount to asking him to prove a negative. The onus prohandi should really and absolutely lie with the prosecution.’ ‘So it does, my dear nephew; so it docs,’ returned the elder counsel, ‘But the proof need only be sufficient to satisfy reasonable minds, men of plain common sense, you see.’ The young barrrister bowed ironically. * And you must bear in mind that we have a partial admission in this case. Of course, if the prisoner’s averment can be made out, that he killed deceased fairly and of necessity in selfdefence, there is an end of the matter. But if not, you must clearly perceive that the admission is a most important item in the subject-matter before the jury.’ ‘ But you cannot divide a man’s confession. You must take the whole or none of it. There is an old legal maxim, I take it ?’

‘Do you think the prisoner innocent V asked a juror across the table. ‘I do indeed !’ replied the young man. ‘ I feel inclined to go a little, or rather a great deal, by instinct in such matters. And to my instinct there was truth in every word that unhappy young man uttered. ’ ‘Hem !’ said the juror, with a doubtful shake of the head.

‘ Jnqenuus puer ! Happy youth, who can still follow the guidance of instinct and act upon impulse !’ cried the senior barrister, patronisihgly patting the head of his junior. ‘ The time will come but to soon when the sad experiences of life will make you throw all your generous instincts and impulses to the winds, and submit to the guidance of cold reason alone. 1 would indeed gladly go along with you in your belief in the innocence of the man. I say again I like his looks much ; but you see there ar« these awkward facts against him, which it is so difficult to get over. Then there is that mysterious stranger. He is made to play such a very important, yet so highly inconsistent, part.

One can barely avoid thinking that Wolff has had something to do with the meteoric appearance of that stranger in the wood. Lilienfeld’s evidence may have suggested it to him. Mind, I do not say that it did so, hut surely it is not improbable it may have done so. What, in the name of all that is sensible, can have become of that bluecoated mystery? “Look you, sir,’ he says to a total stranger in a wood, “here is a witness if you do anything wrong; so you bad better mind what you are about.” Then goes off, and though he must have heard a shot fired soon after, he never takes the least notice, and apparently disappears from the face of the earth. Life is not a fairy tale, my boy. But I think we had better be off. We are the last two left at table, everybody else is gone back to the court. Let’s be moving. I am afraid it will go hard with the prisoner as matters stand—• unless a miracle were to happen. ’ ‘Do yon believe in miracles ? ’ asked a stranger, who suddenly stood before the two barristers.

He was a tall, gentlemanly, middle-aged man, dressed in a long blue aurtout. He had a small travelling-bag of morocco leather slung over his shoulder, and wore a lowcrowned gray-felt hat. He had a highly intellectual, most mobile face, with very remarkable sharp dark piercing eyes, which seemed to travel restlessly over the faces of those whom he was addressing with glances like flashes of lightning, taking in and reading every feature and every motion, and apparently striving to gaze straight through the windows of the mind into the depth of its most hidden recesses.

He had been seated in a far corner of the room, where he had been watching with deep interest the conversation of the dinnertable.

‘ Do you believe in miracles ? ’ asked the stranger. ‘ I daresay you do not,’ he ran on, without waiting a reply. ‘ You are lawyers —matter-of-fact men ; you believe in nothing —least of all in wonders. Yet you believe in chance. Of course you do. Chance is one of the most important factors in the affairs of man, particularly in those that generally come under your more especial cognisance. Now, you see, to me chance and miracle are interchangeable terms. What is chance 1 what is miracle ? Why, they are both simply occurrences whose causes and objects escape our penetration. And of course we are not to believe in them because we cannot fathom the laws which underlie them ? Pshaw ! there are more things in heaven and on earth than are dreamt of in our philosophy, you know. Why, look at me- lam a wonder ! ’ The two barristers looked at one another.

‘ Here we have our mysterious stranger,’ whispered the elder to the younger ; 4 and he seems to turn out something - if not exactly like a lunatic, still clearly with a tile loose somehow ; which is a pity, as something might have been got from him in favour of protege, Charles.’ ‘lt is a pity indeed,’ responded Charles briefly, in a whisper. What do you know about it ? ’ said the stranger, with perfect composure, taking in and fixing both their faces simultaneously, as it were, in one and the same sweeping glance. ‘ Why must I have a tile loose ? Because I talk unusual sense - is that it ? ’ The two basristers looked embarrased. They had spoken in whispers; yet this strange man, with his mysterious uncanny eyes, had heard them. ‘ Never mind,’ the stranger continued, a flue ironical snide flitting over his intelligent f ace —‘never mind, gentlemen: you are quite right. Though not much of a lunatic ’ (smiling). * I am indeed the man to whom you allude ; and that’s why I talk about a miracle. It is by the merest accident that I am here. I arrived here an hour and a half ago, just in time to miss my train. Had I not accidentally dropped in here to dine, I should have been off again at five o’clock. Now, of course, I will go along with you to the court to give my evidence in the case—that is, supposing you will kindly allow me to accompany you, ’ ‘ With the greatest pleasure, s'r,’ said the elder barrister. ‘I am delighted that a lucky chance should have thrown us thus together. Let us go.’ Then, in a barely audible win-per to his nephew, ‘lf he does not change his mind on the way, and give us the slip. He looks to me as volatile as his eyes.’ * No, no, you need ? ot be afraid that I mean to give you the slip. Jam not quite so volatile as that,’ said the stranger, smiling affably upon them ‘ Lord, what acute hearing you have!’ cried the old barrister involuntarily. ‘ Have I ?’ returned the stranger, with a chuckle.

This put an end, of course, to all further attempts at whispering, and the three went silently along to the court-house. They were some twenty minutes behind time. The attorney-general was addressing the jury. A shrewd lawyer and good forensic speaker, he had just placed before the jury a most lucid summary of the facts of the case as they had come out in evidence ; and he had seemingly demonstrated, by the almost irresistible force of logical reasoning, the inherent weakness and lack of probability of the accused’s attempted exculpation.

4 Gentlemen of the jury,’ he continued impressively, 4 is there any one present in this court who has attentively followed the proceedings and listened to the evidence with a fair, unbiassed rational mind, but must feel convinced that the highly ingenious statement pleaded in defence and explanation is naught but a clever concoction, suggested, perhaps, to the accused by his eminent advocate ? X am indeed rather curious to sec with what digestive sauce that rather indigestible dish will be set before us by my learned friend, who is in the constant habit of surprising judges, juries, bar, and public by the brilliancy of his oratory, the extent and profundity of his legal lore, the acuteness and subtlety of his analytical mind, and his unrivalled power of proving almost anything he has set his mind on to prove. Where is this mysterious witness who is so passionately adjured to step forth in support of the (with a sneer) ‘ingenious romance of the defence ? I have a shrewd notion, gentlemen of the jury, that if the witness were to appear he would turn the tables upon the prisoner ; he would irrefragably show that the prisoner has fitted his own story, his own character, his own acts and deeds, upon his now dumb-mouthed victim. Do we not know’ that almost anything may be safely put upon the dead? they cannot contradict, they cannot disprove. No matter. I ask again, whore ia this mysterious witness I where is he ? where? Alas, echo answers ’ [To be continued ,l

Do you Feel Uneefreshed, Languid and devoid of appetite for breakfast in the morning p If so, be sure that there is a want of activity and regularity in the vital machinery, and that you require a wholesome tonic and corrective. If you put off meditation, positive disease may develop itself. Take a wine-glassful at night, in the morning, and in the middle of the day of Udolpho Wolfe’s Schiedam Aromatic Schnapps, and you will rise refreshed and with a hearty appetite. —[Advt.]