AN IRISH JURY.
KISHIJTG A JUHY. ' Ah,' said the- sub-sheriff, ' the times have changed since I first knew this place. It is just thirty-five years ago since I stopped here with a kished jury.' I was returning wet and weary after a day's rather unsuccessful troutfishing, when I met my friend the sheriff; a seat on his car was quickly accepted, and our passage through the little village of loulkes' Mill, in the county of Wexford, caused the observation. ' A kished jury!' I exclaimed. ' What on earth is that ?' ' Well, you see,' replied my friend, ' the old law was, that in case a jury could not agree, the assistant barrister at sessions, or judge at assizes, could order the jury to be taken to the next town in which the sessions were held, or to the confines of the county, and there discharge them. The practice here was—l'm not sure whether it was quite legal or not—to put the jury into turf kishes or creels, and discharge them by simply tilting the car up.' 'But you don't mean to say such a thing was done in your time?' ' Egad, 1 do. As I told you, it was the first year I tilled the office of sheriff, thirty-five years ago. There was a trial for a riot at the .Ross sessions, and as it all arose out of an election squabble, party feeling ran very high. As might be expected, the jury disagreed, and old Moore, the assistant-barrister, who thought the evidence quite strong enough against the prisoner, was almost beside himself with rage at the idea of his getting off. He went over the strong points in the evidence ; he bullied them; but it was no use—they would not agree. He then locked them up all night; but in the morning they were no nearer a verdict. He then declared he would take them to Wexford that day, and ordered me to provide jaunting cars, and to produce the jury and prisoner before him that evening in Wexford. But here the jury made a row ; they said that they did not mind going to Wexford, but they did mind the forms of the law, and that as the old and legal way was to go in turf kishes on farmers' carts, they would go by no ether conveyance. The foreman told the magistrates that if he was sent in any other thing than a kish he would bring an action against them. When it came to this point I think Moore would have liked to he able to dischrago them quietly, but as he had made the order he was too proud to alter it; so he told me to take them in kishes. Now of course I wasn't going to take a jury and prisoner twenty Irish miles through a rough country without a good escort, and as it happened that a troop of the 10th Hussars was quartered in the town I ordered them out. The jurors objected to having more than two in each kish. The prisoner—he was Peter Murphy's father, and was one of the best "off men in Eoss, and one of the great leaders of the Repealers brought his own gig, so we made a pretty fine show. First came the six country carts, each with a turf creel containing two jurors, then came the prisoner and myself in the gig—the vehicles being surrounded by thirty or forty Hussars with drawn swords, and followed by the greater part, of the population of Boss, waving green boughs and yelling like so many Indians. The journey was the greatest fun you can imagine. When we got rid of the crowd, several of the juiy sang capital songs, and the foreman managed to pick up a wandering piper, who played jigs and hornpipes for some who danced. And, by Jove! well they did dance, too, though they
had only the floor of the car, for the kish prevented them falling off. In this style, and full of devilment, we came into Foulkes' MilJs here. We had sent on a messenger to order dinner at Mrs Roche's, so we found everything ready for us. But, egad ! by this time I was in a funk about the state my jury would be in by the time they reached "Wexford, for many of them were half drank already. I insisted that each man should lie limited to four tumblers of punch. They all promised readily enough, but I found that when the four tumblers had been despatched, that did not prevent them proceeding to mix a fifth, and I made up my mind to having a rasping fine inflicted on me by old Moore. Still the dinner was worth, the price. Sir Charles Clifton, the Captain of the Hussars, took the chair, and the prisoner the vice, and well they filled them. Songs and stories never flagged ; at six o'clock, the hour at which I had been ordered to produce the jury in Wexford, found them all very drunk ; four of them were dancing a reel at the lower end of the room, while the foreman and'one of the Hussar officers whistled, and the captain and prisoner were playing beggar-my-neighbour at the other end, to see who should pay for the dinner. At last I got them on the road again, but it was two o'clock in the morning when we entered Wexford, and drew up before Moore's lodgings. The jurors were quiet enough now, as they were all drunk and asleep in the kishes. I backed the cars in a line opposite the the door. The escort was drawn up behind, and the prisoner was carefully supported by two policemen, who happened to be patrolling. It was very dark and bitterly cold, so I hoped Moore might not perceive the state of the party. I went and knocked at his bedroom door in great trepidation. 'Who's there? What's all this row about ?' roared Moore. ' It's me your Worship ; I have brought the jury and prisoner,' I replied. ' And what the deuce delayed you till this hour, sir ?' . ' Bad roads and the breaking down of cars, your Worship.' ' You must keep them till morning. I can't get up now,' he growled. ' Oh, your Worship,' said I, * I have no place to keep them. They are halfdead already, with fatigue and want of food. If you detain them much longer something serious will happen.' Just then I heard the prisoner making a desperate attempt to sing ' The Young May Moon,' but the police managed to stop him. After considerable delay Moore made his appearance in his dressinggown and slippers, and came grumbling down-stairs to the door. The escort saluted, and I hurried to the foreman's side. ' Do the jury answer to their names, Sheriff?' said Moore, peering into the darkness, and shivering as the frosty air played with the folds of his dressinggown. ' Oh, yes, your Worship,' said I, holding down the foreman, who had awakened up, and wishing to make a speech from the car. ' Well, gentlemen, have you agreed to your verdict ?' ' The foreman says they can't agree, your Worship,' I answered holding my hand over the said foreman's mouth. * Why does he not speak out,' roared Moore angrily. 'He has become hoarse from the cold, your Worship,' I replied. ' I don't wonder ; it has almost given me my death. Discharge thejury and prisoner too,' said Moore, banging the door and rushing back to bed. The cars were tilted up and their burthens shot out on the street, and telling the police to look after them, I hurried off to bed. That was the last time a jury was ever kished in this country.
The Loss of a Letter.—-The London Examiner complains as follows of an English innovation which we decline to father-.—"A process, of selection, whether natural or not we decline to determine, is gradually eliminating Z from its old place in the formation of words belonging to the English language. The great majority of writer for the pulic Press have lately, as though by common consent, substituted the letter S for this ill-used consonant. Authorization, secularization, organization now only appear thus in dictionaries. Whatever may be the merits of the change, it must, at all events, be no slight boon to the translators from the French, to whom the necessary change from S to Z was apt to he a sad pitfall. The present neglect of the letter Z is, however, attributed by the few who have become cognizant of its wrongs, to American, not to French influence. If so, it is to be hoped we shall know when to stop, or we may come to writing leveler caviler, and counseler, of all which abominations wc have specimens every day in the Ameiican papers. Somebody describing the absurd appearance of a man dancing the polka, says he looks as though he had a hole in his pocket, and was trying to shake a shilling down the leg of his trousers. A clergyman, who was consoling a young widow on the death of her husband, spoke in a very serious tone, remarking that he was one of the few—such a jewel of a Christian—you cannot find his equal, you well know. To which the sobbing. fair one replied, with an almost broken heart, " I'll bet I will.
Permanent link to this item
Hononga pūmau ki tēnei tūemi
https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/WEST18730225.2.23
Bibliographic details
Ngā taipitopito pukapuka
Westport Times, Volume VII, Issue 1049, 25 February 1873, Page 4
Word count
Tapeke kupu
1,559AN IRISH JURY. Westport Times, Volume VII, Issue 1049, 25 February 1873, Page 4
Using this item
Te whakamahi i tēnei tūemi
No known copyright (New Zealand)
To the best of the National Library of New Zealand’s knowledge, under New Zealand law, there is no copyright in this item in New Zealand.
You can copy this item, share it, and post it on a blog or website. It can be modified, remixed and built upon. It can be used commercially. If reproducing this item, it is helpful to include the source.
For further information please refer to the Copyright guide.