THE LAST oF THE "CLAIMANT."

Nelson Evening Mail, Volume IX, Issue 129, 1 June 1874, Page 2

THE LAST oF THE "CLAIMANT."

We take from the letter o. the London correspondent of the Australasian the following graphic account of the closing scene of the celebrated Tichborno trial: — The aspect of the court and of the streets that day was a eight not to be forgotten. The morning was chill and misty — though before noon the sun shone forth as on a morning in midMay. But long before the raw mist had cleared, the streets lending to the court were thronged with sight-seers. In Palace-yard and Westminster Hall, and all about tbe roadway near the venerable Abbey of Westminster, excited groups were discussing the probabilities of the verdict. The marvellous summing-up of the Lord Chief Justice Cockburn had—not from any manifest bias in tbe judge — but from the sheer weight of facts, destroyed the last vestige of faith in the minds of those who read and reflect; but among the multitude, admiration of '* Sir Roger " was still far from being extinct. A good quarter of nn hour earlier tban need have been, his neat carriage and coachman in Bober undress livery, made a furrow through the multitude, who followed with the usual noisy demonstration, while the stout man within raised his hat with the curled up brim, aud bowed from time to time right and left, with all tbe old regal dignity. But bis heart was ill at ease. It must have been a shock to him to find the court crowded beyond nil previous crowding by barristers in wigs, and gentlemen and ladies in gay attire. In tbe galleries double-barrelled ivory opera-glasses were in more tban usual force; and the hum and buzz of conversation and persons indifferent to his fate, and curious only about the result of the great trial, must have grated on his ear. To those who eat scanning him from the opposite seats, and within n few yards of tbe little baisse table, it was easy to see that the hopes of this hitherto buoyant rascal had began to suffer dismal eclipse. The shadow of penal servitude had fallen on bis countenance, his face looked careworn, his eyes hollow — his whole expression of feature was distressed and anxious. More than once I saw him make an effort to moisten his lips with bis mouth. When eyes that he knew well were upon him, he would fall to busying himself with scribbling notes or clipping paper with the Utile pair of scissors that have so often afforded him comfort when his falsehoods were beiog exposed by counsel for the prosecution; but in a minute or two tbe anxious look returned, the scissors dropped, and his hands fidgetted about his pockets and the buttons of his coat. When his counsel, the truculent Kenealy, came in there was an ostentatious shake of the hand between advocate and client, and then the real smile was in full play again. But it was of no use Gloom and depression were depicted in every movement, and in every attitude of tbat unwieldy bulk. The laßt words of the judge were terribly, damaging, the censures from the Bench upon tbe recklessness, the unscrupulous arts, tbe cowardly ferocity of the speech of counsel for the defence, were listened to by all tbe audience in court, and greeted more than once with applause which no mortal ush-^r could have checked. But in these latter moments the eyes of the accused had wandered to the jury box, and were ranging up and down tbe two rows of faces there. Some words that fell from the judge about the duties of a jury seemed to have aroused his attention, for they referred lo the possibility of one man, wise in his own conceit, determining, from a feeling of vanity, to hold out against the opinion of his brethren. His lordship was evidently alluding to nothing but the mere abstract principle that auy one man finding himself at variance with 11 colleagues in the jury-box, should at least hold his views witb modest diffidence, and not obstiuately adhere to them, until he had given patient hearing and full weight to all tbat his brethren bad to say. But the words evidently brought to the defendant the only ray of comfort that be had fonnd that day. Perhaps they awakened something of the old gambling spirit and inclination to hope beyond the chances. For there had long been rumours abroad of one mysterious juryman who would take no counsel with the rest ; who ate with them at their mid-day lunch in silence ; and who had boasted that nobody knew about what effect had been produced upon him by the mass of evidence that had come before them. There was not, and never had been any such juryman ; but tbis was only one of a hundred silly rumours which had found believers ; and the defendant, though he knew well enough that he hud little to hope for, might at tbat moment have been tempted to cling to the notion of the one juryman — the dark horse in the stable — who would yet enable him to win the race. When the jury finally retired to consider their verdict, it was one of the strangest things of all to observe how suddenly ell that crowded assembly took to chattering and eating sandwiches, and drinking wine out of flasks, without so much as bestowing a glance upon the central figure of all the seene — the man whose web of falsehood had taken bo many years to unravel, As for the claimant, when a quarter of an hour had passed, he began himself to chat with his counsel, and to smile " all over, his face," as one witness graphiqally describes that unpleasant move-.

ment of his flabby features. But the joyousness was of short duration. There was a sudden stir, and then the words, "the jury are coming" ran through the court, and all settled down to listen decorously. Meanwhile it was evident enough tbat the accused had now given up nil hope. By his side sat, as usual, the fine mulatto youth, Bogle's son. To him tbe claimant whispered a few words, and then hurriedly and fumblingly detaching the maesive double chain from his broad waistcoast, he passed it quickly, together with a splendid gold chronometer watch — the gift of some imbecile worshipper — to his whitey-brown attendant. In a few minutes more tbe fatal words, " Guilty on all counts," had been heard ; and Mr Justice Mellor, with emphatic allusions to the inadequacy of the punishment to the enormity of his fraudulent contrivances and wicked slanders, had passed the sentence of 14 years' penal servitude. During this time the prisoner stood up as directed, aod with head slightly bent and his knuckles resting on the green baize table, listened in manifest agitation. At the close he looked up, and in a voice strangely changed, inquired, " May I reply, my Lord?" The Lord Chief Justice had not caught the words, and asked what he bad said; on which the question was repeated in the modified form, "Am I allowed to say a few words?" The rascal has picked up a knack of speechmaking in his various public appearances ; and I have no doubt was even then prepared for more solemn asse vera! inns that be was " Roger Charles Tichborne," and that everybody who said he was not was a perjurer — or, at least, an unreasonably prejudiced person. But tbe stern rejoinder from the bench, "Certainly not," nipped his last chance of appeal to the mob in tbe bud. The handa-of the three ominous sirangers were quickly on his shoulders, and away went the once proud and flattered " Sir Roger "' to be searched iv a private room. Great was the excitement among tbe mob outside when the words "fourteen years" were passed from mouth to mouth, and many an hour elapsed before tbe crowd had dwindled away, baulked of tbeir expectations of having a last look. It was of no avail to wait. For the first 1 time these ten months, tbe coachman

in the sober grey livery drove the elegant brougham back from the court much lighter than it came. Still there wbb no token of " Sir Roger." Westminster Hall is as full of windings as Fair Rosamond's bower, and it communicates directly with the vast pile of the Houses of Parliament. From the beginning of the proceedings that day there bad been concealed under the back entrance of the great Victoria Tower a sombre-looking vehicle with only one horse, and not a window or other aperture to be seen. It was thither that the three mysterious men were by many private passages conducting their bulky prisoner, who spoke no word save once, when he remarked that he was " hot, and going a little too fast." In an instant he was huddled into the sombre vehicle. The driver, in prison uniform, then whipped his horse, and by a circuitous but quiet route, unobserved by the multitude, who were far away, Sir Roger was conveyed to Newgate, thence to Mil Lank, and there an end.