CHAPTER LXIV

DOLEFUL v. JORROCKS

N due time the great suit of Doleful v. Jorrocks reached maturity. The captain feeling deeply injured, and cocksure of winning, lured perhaps by Lord Campbell’s assertion that theirs was the “cheap shop,” determined to trounce his quondam friend in Westminster Hall, instead of availing himself of the honest rough-and-readiness of the county court.

Accordingly one fine sunny morning a brace of brandy-nosed trumpeters, on long-tailed black cart-horses, dressed in silver-laced cocked hats, yellow coats, striped waistcoats, red plush breeches, and topboots, with the quarterings of many generations on their bugle-banners, were seen preceding a lofty coach-and-six, in which were seated Barons Botherem and Funnyfile, Mr. Marmaduke Muleygrubs, and his under sheriff, Mr. Jeremiah Capias, of Walsington. The coach, jobbed from London, and newly done up for the occasion, was dark claret, or Queen’s colour, with a flaming red hammercloth, and a coat of arms, under a sort of red petticoat, on the panel, that nearly filled the whole of the door. Behind were stationed our two footmen friends, in the costume we have seen them in at home, stiff neckcloths and all, with the addition of cocked hats, and silver-headed canes with red and yellow worsted tassels in their hands.

A large body of vaguely dressed, white wanded constables, under the command of Superintendents Shark and Chizeller, both pompously drunk, surrounded the coach to prevent the cargo being stolen. Two grooms in cocked hats, yellow frocks, plush breeches, and top-boots brought up the rear. In this order the cavalcade proceeded, at a foot’s pace, up the High Street of Walsington; the shaking of Baron Funnyfile’s cauliflower wig, from the inequalities of the pavement, striking terror into the minds of evil-doers as they eyed him through the coach window. Just as they passed the end of Cross Street, Mr. Jorrocks, who had driven his solicitor, Mr. Fleeceall, over from Handley Cross in his dog-cart, fell in behind; and what with the coach, the liveries, the brazen trumpet’s sound, the crowd, and the gig with John Jorrocks, M.F.H., painted up behind, things wore a very imposing appearance.—Mr. Marmaduke Muleygrubs was the first high sheriff who had sported six horses.

Great was the rush as the coach drew up at the venerable Saxon archway of the county courts, and it was not until the police had formed a double line that the under sheriff gave the stiff-necked footboy the signal to open the door. Out he popped; next came little Marmaduke himself in a full court dress, with an Elizabethan ruff, or what, in former times, was called “three steps and a half to the gallows,” from the size and number of its folds. Marmaduke had borrowed the idea from a portrait of one of his ancestors, wherein that worthy sporting moustachios, he had very appropriately added a pair to his own countenance.

Having descended the flight of steps from the coach with great caution, as well for the purpose of exhibiting his person as to prevent his tripping over his basket-handled sword, the judges followed and entered the building amid a prolonged flourish of trumpets.

This, and the rushing in of a white-wanded bailiff, exclaiming, “Gen’lemen of the grand jury wanted i’ Kurt!” startle a room full of rosy-gilled, John Bull-looking squires, in full cry after various subjects—hay, harrows, horses, hounds—who forthwith hide their hats and canes, hoping they’ll be forthcoming when wanted, pull on their buckskin gloves, and scramble into a spacious pen of a box just as the judge, Baron Funnyfile, is bowing to Messrs. Briefless, Doneup, Drearyface, and other ornaments of the “rope walk,” before taking his seat for the day. Silence being at length obtained, the commission of the peace is called over, and her Majesty’s most gracious proclamation against vice and immorality openly read, the loose hands nudging each other at appropriate passages, and saying, “That’s a hit at you, Smith!” or, “What a thing it is to be a loose fish, Jones!” The magnates of the grand-jury box then answer to their names and are sworn, the florid verbiage of the foreman’s oath contrasting with the bald plainness of the “you say ditto to that” of the rest.

His lordship then turns sideways in his richly carved crimson velvet chair, and glancing a laughing eye along the line of looming waistcoats, thus addresses the upright men inside them: “Gentlemen of the grand (hem) inquest—(hem) it is extremely gratifying (hem) to see such a full attendance of gentlemen of your (hem) figure and substance in the county”—his lordship thinking he never saw so many fat men before—“many of you, I make no doubt, have left your (hem) homes at great personal sacrifice and inconvenience”—(and to himself, “perhaps injury to your hay”). “The benefit of a resident magistracy,” continues he, “fulfilling all the (hem) duties of their (hem) station in the exemplary way they do in this (hem) county is abundantly testified by the lightness of the calendar before me”—(or, sotto voce, “it may be from not having a rural police to hunt up your (cough) crime”)—aloud: “your experience as magistrates”—(to himself, “a nice set of Solomons you are, I dare say”)—aloud again: “will enable you to deal with any cases that may be brought before you, but if there are any that you feel any difficulty about, I shall be most happy to render you any assistance in my power”—(to himself, “unless you prefer skying a copper yourselves”)—aloud again: “as you are not encumbered with depositions, or anything to distract your attention, you will, perhaps soon be able to favour me with a commencement of those valuable (hem) services for which a grateful (cough) country can never be sufficiently (hem) thankful.” Whereupon his lordship makes a solemn bow, which the grand jury return, each man after his own dancing-master’s fashion, and away they all scuttle to the place from whence they came, hoping to find their hats where they left them, declaring that his lordship is a most agreeable, sensible man, and believing that they are going to be uncommonly useful. Presently they all get settled to a long green baize-covered table, plentifully garnished with pens, ink, and paper, which each man appropriates as if he was going to make a full note of everything. This idea gradually subsides into a drawing of heads, a scribbling of notes, or a making of mems of things forgotten at home, to mend the gap between the seeds and the turnips, to send to Yallowfield to borrow the haymaker, to tell Lovelock the keeper to have an eye on Tom Brown, &c., &c. In due time they get up a general hum of conversation—much such as prevails at a race ordinary on the removal of the cloth; Mr. Girths asking Mr. Buckwheat what he will take for his brown mare; Squire Screecher wondering whether Captain Dips will want a subscription if he takes the hounds; Mr. Larkspur inquiring after some lupins he had sent Mrs. Lettuce; Captain Couples declaring he won’t vote for young Lord Longbow, unless he’ll subscribe to the coursing club; another asking about the dinner hour; a second about the luncheon hour—a general hum of conversation, we say, is interrupted by the loud knocking of Sir Thomas Tenpence, the foreman, on the table, followed by cries of “Silence! silence! order! chair!” from those who have been making the most noise.

The worthy baronet, assisted by a few friends on either side of the chair, has been endeavouring to grope his way to the truth through a long list of witnesses, on the back of a formidable-looking bill of indictment, against the celebrated Lucifer Crowbar, the London cracksman, for burglary, and which, though bolstered up with a fine array of circumstantial evidence, is deficient in the main proof. The fact is, that Tom Tripper, the great thieves’ attorney, has palmed the principal witness Joseph Hobnail, whose farmhouse was broken into, and Joe’s memory has failed him. Tripper knows well that grand juries have no depositions to guide them, and always marks his sense of their services by drinking their healths first at his thieves’ ordinary, thus:—“The grand jury! the magsman’s best friend!” Tripper has operated successfully this time.

What Hob swore to point-blank before the magistrate he only thinks now; and altogether he is painfully conscientious. He “wouldn’t like to swear nothin’ he’s not certain of.” There’s an earnest honesty about his wrinkled, sunburnt face, shaded with venerable snow-white locks, that looks like truth. Sir Thomas Tenpence is puzzled. “Pray attend to this, gentlemen!” he exclaims, from the top of the table.

“What’s the number?” asked Mr. Buckwheat, referring to his calendar.

“Six,” replies Mr. Screecher, across the table.

“Is that the assault on the woman?” asks Mr. Badlad, from below.

“No,” growls Mr. Prettyman, with a frown.

Sir Thomas, in a clear business-like way, then states the difficulty, observing that he does not think a petty jury will convict on the evidence, while if they ignore the bill, and any fresh evidence be afterwards procured, Crowbar can then be put on his trial.

“That’s to say if you can catch him again,” observes Mr. Screecher.

“Wish you may get him!” exclaims Mr. Larkspur.

“Bird in the hand’s worth two in the bush,” suggests Mr. Buckwheat.

“Precious little chance of getting any further evidence if he’s in the hands of any of the great perverters,” observes Mr. Girths. “Alibis, five pund; suppression of evidence, two pund ten; witnesses to character, seven and six each.” (Laughter.)

“Well, gentlemen, what do you think?” asks Sir Thomas.

“Oh! give him a squeak for it now,” says Captain Couples.

“Cost no more,” observes Mr. Buckwheat.

“No doubt he did it,” says Mr. Snoreem.

“Or something quite as bad,” joins Mr. Boreem.

“Or he wouldn’t be here,” asserts Mr. Floorem.

“His name’s enough,” adds Mr. Quorum.

On a show of hands, however, the bill is thrown out, and, on the application of Mr. Drearyface, his lordship allows the cost of the judicial farce.

The filthy Tripper reels off with the prisoner, vowing that he will bring an action on behalf of his most respectable and much-injured client!

But we have made a mistake and gone into the wrong Kurt, Mr. Jorrocks’s business is in the other one. Let us look at him, as Sterne did at his captive.

Few are ignorant of the miseries of hanging about a court of justice,—either they have appeared in the characters of injured plaintiffs, or the still less enviable one of unwilling defendants, or they have been subpœnaed as witnesses, summoned as jurors, or waited for those who were. Unlike other crowds, the fever of excitement never flags.—Crowds rush in to supply the place of those whom victory sends rushing out, or those whom blighted hopes send stalking unconsciously through the throng.

In the box on the judge’s right are the “specials,”— men who have little to do in court, and less at home, and yet think themselves desperately oppressed by being called on at all. Opposite are the common jurors— tradesmen, mechanics, farmers, and so on, drawn from their homes at a great inconvenience, for fourpence a verdict, and no thanks. The bench is sprinkled with pretty faces, ranged like milliners’ bonnets for sale. Below is the bar-table, round which are wigs and gowns, whose owners could tell fearful tales of hope deferred and disappointed expectations.

There is the leader, with a bag full of briefs; not a cause is called on but he is engaged; the judge lends his ear, and the fawning juniors flutter at his frown. Next him, with whiskers matching the colour of his wig, is one whose day is gone by,—whose well-stored bag has dwindled to a single brief, the winter of whose discontent is sharpened by the recollection of the prosperity he once knew. The rosy-gilled gentleman on his left is a country practitioner, who reaps a small harvest at assizes and sessions, without enduring the pangs of Westminster Hall, the turmoil of the circuit, or the confinement of inn-chambers. Another great leader follows on, sallow, solemn, and careworn; and then comes a long file of juniors, with health ripening on each brow, until we come to the pink-and-white youth with the wig and gown of yesterday.

Some judges consider special jury cases, which Doleful’s was, peculiarly the property of the rich, consequently have no compunctions about letting them remain to the last, and Baron Botherem was of this opinion. Four mornings did Mr. Jorrocks fall into the rear of Mr. Marmaduke Muleygrubs’ coach, each morning showing the fading finery of the set-out: the trumpeters’ boots grew less bright, the harness lost its polish, Marmaduke’s ruff began to droop, and on the fourth morning the stiff-necked flunkies appeared in black cravats. Still, despite all the worthy high sheriff’s assurances to Mr. Jorrocks that he would make the judge take his cause out of order, Baron Botherem went pertinaciously through the list according to the order in which they had been set down. The fourth day was the last, and there were four special jury cases to be tried, Doleful v. Jorrocks being the third, the briefs in those before it being of such a size as to make the trials appear well calculated to last for ever. The first, however, went off unexpectedly; and at half-past ten the cause immediately before that in which our worthy friend was to figure came on before a full special jury, with a string of witnesses that occupied the court till eight o’clock at night. It was a dull, uninteresting affair, respecting the liability of an insurance office, and the verdict was heard with apparent indifference by a crowded court, all anxious for Doleful v. Jorrocks to be called on.

The jury-box was at length cleared, the judge supplied with fresh pens and a few green-shaded block-tin-standed compos scattered promiscuously about the bar-table, while the crier made proclamation for all special jurors in the action of Doleful v. Jorrocks to appear and answer to their names. This was a signal for a general commotion in the court; jurors fought their ways out, while others fought their ways in; and a messenger having been despatched to the Criminal Court, for both judges were working double tides in order to get away in good time to dine with the Lord Lieutenant next day, the high sheriff entered in such a hurry that he tripped over his sword and blobbed head-foremost into court at the back of Baron Botherem, who was sadly discomposed by his awkwardness.

Order was at length restored, and five top-booted and five trousered esquires having answered to their names, two gentlemen in drabs and continuations (described in the panel as merchants) fill up the jury, who, having taken the oath by threes to a book, settle themselves into their box, looking both solemn and wise. Mr. Jorrocks, having the entrée, plants himself behind the judge’s chair, and Captain Doleful confronts him below, near the witness-box.

Our old friend, the Hon. Mr. Lollington, having muttered something beginning with “My Lud,” and ending with “issue,” sits down, and Mr. Burley Bolster, a large pasty-faced gentleman, in silver-rimmed spectacles and a patent wig, presents his ample front to the jury. Clearing his voice, he leans with his thumb on the table and scrutinizes the jury as he thus addresses them:—

“Gentlemen of the jury, the plaintiff in this case, as my learned friend has told you, in somewhat more technical than intelligible language, is Captain Miserrimus Doleful, a gentleman not only holding her Majesty’s commission in the army; but also the important and highly honourable office of master of the ceremonies of Handley Cross Spa, a watering-place with which, I make no doubt, you are all more or less acquainted; and my distinguished client comes into court this day to seek at your hands that reparation which one John Jorrocks refuses to afford him out of it. Jorrocks, he understood, was manager of the Handley Cross Fox-hounds, a situation that enabled him to obtain all manner of information relative to horses; and he regretted to see a man whose appearance was respectable so far losing sight of all honour and gratitude, as to avail himself of his superior knowledge to the injury of a friend, to whom he was under the greatest obligations, and who had fought and bled for his country.

“Captain Doleful, as he said before, was an officer— one whose life had been devoted to the service of his country, and who now applied his energies to the promotion of the happiness and hilarity of the public. Jorrocks, in another line, was also a servant of the public, and he could not but regret that services so dissimilar should have been unfortunately brought in collision by the misconduct of either party. He would not trouble the jury, at that late hour of the night, with a detailed account of the obligations Mr. Jorrocks was under to the plaintiff, not only for obtaining him the mastership of the Handley Cross hounds, but also for introducing him to the élite of the aristocratic society frequenting the celebrated Spa; but he would content himself by showing how Jorrocks now sought to kick down the ladder by which he had risen to fame by injuring the man to whom he was under such onerous obligations.” (Mr. Burley Bolster shook his head, as though he felt it desperately, and referred to his brief. Doleful grinned with delight.)

“Towards the close of last hunting season, gentlemen,” continued Mr. Bolster, “the defendant, for reasons best known to himself, offered the whole of his stud for sale by public auction, but, among other horses that were not sold, was one called Xerxes, which was afterwards purchased by my client by private contract of the defendant’s servant, who, by the direction and consent of his master, warranted the horse sound,— warranted the horse sound, I say. It was a long and troublesome negotiation, carried on sometimes by letter with the principal, at other times by conversation with his servant, whom I shall call before you! but, ultimately, a bargain was concluded, and the sum of twenty-five pounds paid to the defendant as the price and value of the horse.

“Value, did I say, gentlemen?” exclaimed Mr. Burley Bolster, suddenly checking himself; “I made use of an erroneous expression, for he was absolutely valueless; but the sum of twenty-five pounds was paid as the price of the animal. Well, gentlemen, the plaintiff immediately removed him to a most comfortable and commodious private stable, where he had every attention and accommodation that a horse can require—corn the soundest, hay the sweetest, water the purest, grooming the most elaborate and scientific, but, somehow or other, he throve not. My client’s amiable and unsuspecting nature never allowing him to imagine that he had so long fostered a viper in his bosom (casting a contemptuous look at Mr. Jorrocks), went on, day by day, and for several days, in the hope that the change was merely occasioned by a difference of treatment or of food, and that the horse would speedily resume his wonted appearance; but, alas! ‘hope,’ as usual, ‘told a flattering tale.’ He went on, from bad to worse, and when at length the consuming fever had worked deeply into his constitution, my unsuspecting client, awaking from the trance of confidence in which he had been so long enthralled, wrote to the defendant, representing how matters stood; that individual, so far from expressing his regret at the inconvenience he had caused my client, and offering to take back the horse, actually treated the matter with levity, and added insult to injury, by laughing at the man he had so basely defrauded. My client, then, has no alternative but presenting himself before a jury of his country, and I am happy to see that the defendant has empanelled a special one, at whose intelligent hands, I feel no manner of doubt, my defrauded client will receive that reparation which John Jorrocks so unjustly denies him.

“Were it not for the appearance of the defendant in court and the voluminous brief I see before my learned friend Mr. Chargem, I should have imagined that judgment would be suffered to go by default, as in the case of an undefended action; and even now, gentlemen, I am at a loss to imagine what defence my learned friend’s ingenuity will enable him to offer; for I submit, under the guidance of his lordship, that it is clear law, that where an article is asked for to answer a particular purpose, the seller impliedly warrants that it is fit for that purpose, so that even should I fail in my proof of actual warranty, which, however, I do not anticipate, I shall still be entitled to your verdict on the general construction of the agreement; for, had my client been in want of a coughing, consumptive horse, he would have asked this defendant, Jorrocks, if he had such an animal, instead of which, throughout the transaction, he goes on the principle of obtaining a useful, though not a handsome horse.

“And now, gentlemen, one word with respect to a person of the name of Pigg, whom I shall presently call before you, though, perhaps, he will appear rather in the nature of a reluctant witness. This Pigg is huntsman and general stable manager to the defendant Jorrocks, and seems to be a convenient sort of person, on whom Jorrocks foists such jobs as he does not like to take upon himself, and Pigg will be placed in the witness-box to show that he was the accredited servant of the defendant, from which a legal axiom arises, laid down by the great Lord Ellenborough himself, in the case of Helyear v. Hawke (Espinasse, page 72): that if a servant is sent with a horse by his master, and gives directions respecting his sale, that the servant thereby becomes the accredited agent of his master, and what he says respecting the horse is evidence.

“And in another place his Lordship adds, ‘I think the master having entrusted the servant to sell, he is entrusted to do all he can to effectuate the sale, and if he does exceed his authority, in so doing he binds his master.’ Now, gentlemen, I shall prove by a letter, in the handwriting of the defendant, that Pigg was authorized by the defendant not only to receive the purchase-money, but also to warrant the horse; and having established that point, I shall proceed to prove, by competent witnesses, that the horse was labouring under a mortal disease at the time of the sale. That done, I feel assured you will arrive at the only conclusion open to sensible men, and find a verdict for my client.”

The letters, as already given, being admitted, were put in, and read amid much laughter, and Mr. Burley Bolster then desired the crier to call James Pigg.

“James Pigg! James Pigg! James Pigg!” sounded all around the building, and passed outside.

“Ar’s here!” exclaimed a voice at the back of the witness-box, where he had been sleeping; and presently James Pigg made his appearance in front.

A solitary mould-candle placed on the crier’s desk at the side shed a dim light over James’s person, showing the lustre of his eye and the careworn character of his countenance. He was dressed in a dark coat, with a striped waistcoat, and white neckcloth, upon the tie of which was a large stain of tobacco-juice, which in the gloom of the court looked like an extensive brooch.

“Now, Pigg!” said Mr. Bolster, in a familiar tone.

“Now, Wig!” responded James, in the same way.

“Mind what you are about, sir!” said Baron Botherem, with a frown.

“You are, I believe, huntsman to Mr. Jorrocks, the defendant in this action?” observed the learned counsel.

Pigg.—“Yes, ar is,” replied James, brandishing his hat over the brass rail of the witness-box, “but ar de believe gin ar had me reets, ar’d be a gen’l’man this day, and huntin’ me own h’unds, only ye see, mar foreelder John —John Pigg, ye see—”

“Well, never mind about your foreelder, John,” interrupted Mr. Bolster, “we want to know about Mr. Jorrocks; and you say you are huntsman to him. Now, tell me, do you remember a horse he had, called Xerxes?”

Pigg.—“Nicely!”

“Now, what became of that horse? Raise your voice and speak out, so that the gentlemen of the jury, many of whom are deaf, may hear you,” pointing to the jury-box.

Pigg.—“He dee’d!” roared Pigg.

“He died!” repeated Mr. Bolster. “Ah, but before he died, whose hands did he pass into?”

Pigg.—“Ard Doleful’s.”

“Now then, Pigg, you seem an honest, intelligent sort of man,” continued Mr. Bolster, smoothingly, “try if you can recollect what passed between Captain Doleful and you as to that horse.”

“A! ar ken nicely—’twas just twenty-five pund.”

Mr. Bolster.—“No, that’s not what I mean—I want to know what inducement you held out to Captain Doleful to buy him.”

Pigg.—“Sink ar said nout.”

“What does the witness say?” exclaimed Baron Botherem, who had been fidgetting about ever since Pigg appeared.

Mr. Bolster (very obsequiously).—“He says, my lord, that there was nothing the matter with the horse.”

“No, I beg pardon,” interposes Mr. Chargem, “I understand him to mean that he said nothing to Captain Doleful.”

“Precisely, what I say,” rejoined Mr. Bolster; “Captain Doleful asked him what was the matter with the horse, and he said ‘nothing.’ ”

“The question, as I understand it,” said Baron Botherem, “was what inducement he held out to Captain Doleful to buy the horse? But what answer he gives, I cannot for the life of me make out.”

Mr. Chargem.—“Precisely so, my lud. My learned friend asks what inducement the witness held out to plaintiff to buy the horse, and the witness, in the language of the colliery country from whence he comes, replies, ‘Ar said nout;’ meaning, I did not say anything. Perhaps your ludship would have the kindness to put the question yourself.”

“Witness—Pigg!—attend to me!” exclaimed his lordship. “Tell the gentlemen of the jury what you said in praise or commendation of the horse to induce Captain —— What’s his name, to buy him.”

Pigg.—“Ar said nout—T’ard man was aye comin’ to wor stable, and he axed me yen day gin hus had had meazles.”

“I can’t understand a word the witness says!” exclaimed the judge, shaking his head in despair.

Mr. Bolster.—“He says, my loord, that the plaintiff inquired if the horse had had the measles—Now what did you say to that?”

Pigg.—“ ‘Measles!’ said I—‘aye, hoopin’-cough tee!’ ”

“Measles and hooping-cough too,” repeated Mr. Burley Bolster, with great gravity, to the convulsion of the jury.

Cross-examined by Mr. Chargem.

“I suppose, Mr. Pigg, you are a pretty good judge of a horse?”

Pigg.—“Top judge.”

“What sort of a judge is that?” exclaimed Baron Botherem in despair.

“My lud, he says he is a good, or supreme, judge;” adding sotto voce, though loud enough to be heard by the bench, “Much such a judge as your ludship, in fact.”

Baron Botherem.—“Humph!—really we ought to have an interpreter. Well, now go on.”

Mr. Chargem.—“Now, Mr. Pigg, will you have the kindness to tell the gentlemen of the jury if, in the course of your experience, you ever knew a horse have the measles?”

Pigg.—“Niver!”

Mr. Chargem.—“Or the hooping-cough?”

Pigg.—“Niver!”

Mr. Chargem.—“So that, when you told Captain Doleful that this horse had had both, you meant to say that he had had neither?”

Pigg.—“T’ard gouk was aye axin’ me about the hus, whiles if he slept well, whiles if he had the lumbago, whiles if he liked eatin’, and ar was tied to tell him summut.”

Mr. Chargem.—“But what you said was merely loose, off-hand conversation, and not intended as an inducement to get him to buy?”

Pigg.—“De’il a bit! It was nout to me whether t’ard sinner bought him or no, se lang as he held his gob, and didn’t keep fashin a’ me about him.”

“Oh, dear, this subterranean language puzzles me exceedingly!” exclaimed the judge, weary in mind and body; “I didn’t catch one word of that sentence.”

Mr. Chargem interprets.—“He did not care, my lud, whether Captain Doleful bought the horse or not, so long as he held his gob—which, I presume, means his tongue.”

Benjamin Brady was the next witness.

“Now, Mr. Brady,” said Mr. Burley Bolster, eyeing him through his spectacles; “you are, I believe, a servant with Mr. Jorrocks?”

“I’m first vip,” replied the boy, with great dignity.

Mr. Bolster.—“You remember the plaintiff in this action, Captain Doleful, coming to your master’s stable about a horse called Xerxes?”

Ben.—“Yes; he came werry often.”

Mr. Bolster.—“Well, what did he say?”

Ben.—“The first time he came, he inquired most about the other ’osses, and only axed the pedigree of Xerxes.”

Mr. Bolster.—“And what answer did Pigg give him?”

Ben.—“He gave him our usual pedigree—said he was by President, out of a Vaxy mare.”

Mr. Bolster.—“Your master keeps but one pedigree, then?”

Ben.—“One for ’osses; he has another for ’ounds.”

Mr. Bolster.—“Then all your horses are by President, out of Vaxy mares.”

Ben.—“Yes, sir.”

Mr. Bolster.—“Now you say the plaintiff came very often to your stable; can you tell the gentlemen of the jury how many times, on the whole, he might be there?”

Ben.—“Perhaps ten or a dozen times.”

Mr. Bolster.—“Did he come alone?”

Ben.—“No, he always brought one or two chaps with him,—Miss Jelly came once.”

Mr. Bolster.—“And what used they to say?”

Ben.—“Oh, they would look, first at one horse, then at another, and ax about them.”

Mr. Bolster.—“And Mr. Pigg, I suppose, was very glad to see them?”

Ben.—“No, ’deed wasn’t he! He used to swear very hard.”

Mr. Bolster.—“He’s a heavy swearer, is he?”

Ben.—“Uncommon!”

“Very improper,” remarked the judge, with a shake of the head.

Mr. Bolster.—“And what questions, in particular, did the plaintiff ask?”

Ben.—“Oh, why, he used to ax if this ’orse was a good ’un, and that a good ’un; and Pigg used to swear they were all good ’uns, there weren’t no choice among ’em.”

Mr. Bolster.—“Was that said of any horse in particular, or generally of the stud?”

Ben.—“He said it of whatever horse the captain was axing about.”

Mr. Bolster.—“Can you remember the words he made use of?”

Ben.—“ ‘Best ’orse goin’,’ he used to say; ‘best ’orse goin’.’ ”

Mr. Bolster.—“Do you remember the captain inquiring if a horse called Xerxes had had the measles?”

Ben.—“I can’t say I do,—remember his axin’ if he had been innoculating him.”

Mr. Bolster.—“What made him ask that?”

Ben.—“The horse had been bled, and there was the mark on his neck.”

Mr. Bolster.—“Now do you remember the plaintiff coming to the stable for Xerxes?”

Ben.—“Yes.”

Mr. Bolster.—“What did he say?”

Ben.—“That he had come for Xerxes.”

Mr. Bolster.—“And what said Mr. Pigg?”

Ben.—“He axed for the brass—he could not let him gan without.”

“He asked for the what?” inquired the judge.

“My lord, witness says that Pigg asked for the brass, which is a north country corruption of the word money.”

“Oh!” said the judge, who thought it was part of the bridle.

Mr. Bolster.—“Now, when Pigg asked Captain Doleful for the brass, what took place?”

Ben.—“The captain paid him five-and-twenty golden sovereigns, sayin’, ‘I s’pose he’s all right;’ and Pigg said, ‘Sound wind and limb.’ ”

Mr. Bolster, repeating after the witness, and eyeing the jury all the time, “And Pigg said, ‘Sound wind and limb.’ You give your evidence very creditably,” observed Mr. Bolster to the boy.

“Yez-ir,” replied Benjamin.

Cross-examined.—“Is not on the best of terms with Mr. Pigg. Pigg has given him too much of what he calls ‘cobbler’s-wax oil’—thrashing with a strap. Was not in the stable when the sale of the horse took place,—was in the loft, playing cards with Tom Turnbin, Mr. George Smith’s helper, and Joe Haddock. Saw what took place through a hole in the floor. Is certain Pigg said ‘Sound wind and limb’—heard him say it twice.”

John Scott is a helper and occasional groom.—“Remembers accompanying Captain Doleful to Mr. Jorrocks’s stables when he bought the horse.—James Pigg was there. The captain said he had come for Xerxes. Pigg asked if he had brought the brass for him, as he could not let him gan without. The captain produced twenty-five sovereigns. Pigg was very angry, swore that his master was an ard gouk, and had sold the best horse in the stable. The captain said, Mr. Jorrocks would soon pick up another. Pigg swore very much. The captain paid the money, saying, ‘I suppose he’s all sound.’ Pigg swore he was sound wind and limb, and it would be lucky for the captain if he were half as sound. Witness then led the horse away. In going along he coughed.”

Cross-examined.—“Witness has lived in several situations, but has been out of place for three years or so,— maybe for want of a character. Looks after six horses and two flys. Servants in place think two horses and one fly enough at a time.—Makes a great difference whether a servant is in place or out as to the quantity of work he can do. Had a blow-up with James Pigg about the merits of their masters—that is to say, about Mr. Jorrocks and Captain Doleful. Pigg complained that the captain had not given him a glass when he bought the horse. Witness told him, perhaps the captain didn’t know the custom. Pigg said it was all his eye, and that he was a nasty, mangy beggar. Witness replied that the captain was as good a man as his master, and that he, witness, wouldn’t stay in a place to be ’bused as he understood Mr. Jorrocks ’bused his servants. Pigg said he’d rather be d—d by his master than dine with mine. Then he said he wouldn’t borrow half-a-crown to get drunk with mine, that he was fit for nout but a Dorm (Durham) farmer, and a great deal more wulgarity of that sort.

“Will swear positively that the horse conghed on his way from Mr. Jorrocks’s stable to Captain Doleful’s. When he got him to the latter place, Captain Doleful borrowed a saddle and bridle, and rode the horse to Bumpmead. Had him in harness the same evening to take him to a tea-party. The night might be wet, but witness does not remember. Does not know how long he waited for the captain,—might be half-an-hour,— might be an hour,—does not think it was two hours. The captain rode the horse to Deepdene Park the next day,—fifteen miles, and back. Had him in the fly again at night. There was a party at Miss Fribble’s, and the captain conveyed all the young ladies from Miss Birch’s seminary, there and back, by ten at a time.”

Mr. Horseman, veterinary surgeon.—“Has been in practice three years. Remembers being sent for to attend a horse that Captain Doleful had bought of Mr. Jorrocks. Found him labouring under idiopathic fever in its most malignant form, which soon turned to inflammation of the lungs. Did what he could for him, but without avail. The horse had then been some time in Captain Doleful’s possession, but from the appearance he presented on his being first called in, witness has little doubt but he had the seeds of the disease upon him at the time he was sold.”

Cross-examined.—“Is not a member of the Royal Veterinary College—is a self-dubbed doctor. Found the horse in a stable along with a monkey and bear belonging to a travelling showman. The stable was cold, perhaps damp, and witness will not say that the horse might not have caught cold by his removal from a warm to a cold stable. Horses soon catch cold, inflammation quickly follows, and death soon comes after. Is certain the horse is dead,—knows it, because he skinned him.” This was the plaintiff’s case.

Mr. Burley Bolster having resumed his seat with great self-complacency, Mr. Chargem gave the front of his wig a pull, and his gown a hitch at the right shoulder, and turned to the “specials.”

“May it please your Ludship,—Gentlemen of the jury,” said he, “I hardly know whether I am justified in trespassing upon your valuable time, particularly at this late period of the night, by rebutting a charge so feebly sustained as the case my learned friend, Mr. Burley Bolster, has laid—has presented to your notice. I hardly know whether I should not be best discharging my duty to my client, by closing my brief, and submitting to your verdict, which I am satisfied will be for the defendant, instead of exposing those fallacies that carry a too palpable conviction along with them. But, gentlemen, lest by any chance it might be inferred that I have not the satisfactory evidence invariably required by a British jury, I will hazard a brief trespass on your time while I glance at the evidence now before you, and call a few witnesses in disproof of the statements of my learned friend.

“The case, gentlemen, I take to be simply this. Captain Doleful, no great conjuror in horse-flesh, treats for a horse in Mr. Jorrocks’s stud. There is a good deal of haggling, as you have seen, about the transaction, Captain Doleful offering Mr. Jorrocks less than he asks, and Mr. Jorrocks, on the other hand, insisting on his price. And here let me draw your attention to the fact, that, throughout the transaction, the plaintiff is the anxious party. Mr. Jorrocks holds out no temptation to get him to buy; on the contrary, he admits the horse is not first-rate; but, speaking of him in the language of friendship, Mr. Jorrocks says he is calculated for much honourable exertion in many of the minor fields of horse enterprise, which, I suppose, is a figurative mode of saying, that if he is not fit for a hunter, he will make what the defendant would call a werry good ‘chay-’oss.’ (Laughter.) And again, when the plaintiff hesitates about the price, does my client evince any anxiety to get him to give it? Surely not! So far from that, he says, in one of the letters you have heard read, that if the plaintiff does not like to give the twenty-five pounds, he is to ‘say no more about it;’ and again, when the plaintiff bothers him to take fifteen pounds, and give a receipt for twenty-five, he scouts the idea, and desires ‘the plaintiff will make up his mind one way or other, as he hates haggling.’ Does all this, I ask you, bespeak the man anxious to foist a bad horse off upon a friend. or a man anxious to get rid of a horse at all? I need not tell you who the defendent in this action is. Despite my learned friend’s sneering ignorance, and talking of him in the disrespectful way he did as this Jorrocks and that Jorrocks, he could not conceal from himself,—still less from you, gentlemen of the jury, that he was keenly alive to the celebrity and importance of my most distinguished client,—a gentleman whose name precludes the idea of his being mistaken for any other, and who, in every relation of life, has worn the broad arrow mark of probity and honour!”

“Keep the tamborine a rowlin’!” exclaimed James Pigg, causing a roar of laughter throughout the court, and procuring James the promise of a commitment from his lordship.

“And now, gentlemen,” resumed Mr. Chargem, as order was restored, “we come to the gist of the action, as regards the plaintiff. Captain Doleful says he will take the horse, ‘provided, of course, he is all right, et cetera.’ That et cetera, gentlemen, was once described by Lord Mansfield as the largest word in the English language, and assuredly the plaintiff is of the same opinion, for he intends to make it cover a most comprehensive range over an unlimited period. That et cetera is to guarantee the horse from all illness and infirmity, not only at the time he was sold, but for ever after, under whatever treatment he may be subjected to, or to whatever vicissitudes exposed. It is to guarantee his safe career over Bumpmead Heath by day, his health in harness at night, and his convalescence in that comfortable abode which he enjoyed in common with the monkey and bear belonging to a travelling showman. (Laughter.) All this is meant to be covered by this little et cetera!

“My learned friend, well knowing his weak point, anticipated the failure of his evidence of warranty, and bespoke your verdict on the supposed terms of the agreement; but I also submit, under the guidance of his lordship, that, in an action on a breach of warranty, distinct and positive evidence of an undoubted warranty must be given to entitle a plaintiff to recover, and no constructive evidence will supply the place of clear and distinct warranty. I grant, that if the plaintiff had wanted a diseased horse, he would probably have asked for one; but, then, you must also take this along with you, that if he had applied to my client for a horse that would stand all the racketing that this poor beast was exposed to, he would have said that nothing but an iron horse would stand such work, and have recommended him to an engine-builder. So that, even supposing my learned friend had made out a case of distinct warranty, still I would submit that the plaintiff’s treatment of the animal was not such as a prudent man would adopt, and that so far from the result being matter of surprise, it would have been much more singular if it had not happened. My learned friend places Mr. Pigg, the huntsman, in the witness-box to prove his warranty, with what success I need hardly say. I think his evidence went as much against the plaintiff as for him. Next, we have the boy whipper-in, who seems to come in for a share of the whip himself, who speaks to a conversation he overheard while playing cards in the hayloft; and you are expected to believe that this boy could distinguish which horse Mr. Pigg was praising, when, upon his cross-examination, he admits that Pigg was in the habit of praising them all.—‘Best horse goin’!’ he used to say of them all.

“After the boy Brady comes one of those questionable creatures,—a servant out of place, who is the only witness that at all goes to the second point—supposing the warranty to be proved—of the horse being unsound at the time he was sold. And what does he say? Why, that the horse coughed on his way from Mr. Jorrocks’s stable to that of the travelling showman. Such evidence, I feel, will have no weight with you, gentlemen. A hundred things might make him cough. Perhaps the occasional groom had been trying his wind by the usual pinching of the windpipe, or a bit of hay might have lodged in his throat; but if the horse had such a violent cold upon him, do you think it could have escaped all the lynx-eyed witnesses the plaintiff had to inspect him? Is there none of all that numerous host to come forward and say that the horse was unsound at the time he was sold? None but this gentleman, who, it seems, Mr. Pigg would prefer being damned by to dining with. (Laughter.)

“Such evidence is not worth rebutting. It would be an insult to your understandings to suppose so. Mr. Horseman alone requires contradiction. He has been in practice for the long period of three years, and says, from the appearance of the horse, he has little doubt but he had the seeds of the disease upon him when sold. To rebut that, I propose placing another veterinary surgeon in the witness-box; and although by so doing I shall entitle my friend to a reply, yet I feel his case is so hopelessly weak that I shall not injure my client’s cause by throwing him the chance, confident as I am of obtaining your verdict.”

Mr. Castley, a veterinary surgeon of ten years’ standing, deposed that he made a post-mortem examination of the horse. The lungs presented one confused and disorganized mass of blackness. The appearance would lead the inexperienced to imagine that long inflammation had gradually broken down the substance of the lungs. Proves no disease of long standing, but inflammation, intense in its nature, which had speedily run its course. The horse died from suffocation, every portion of the lungs being choked up with this black blood, which had broken into and filled all the air-cells, by means of which it should have been purified.

Two other witnesses spoke to the healthy appearance of the horse at the time he was sold.

John Brown was the next witness. He deposed that he was pad-groom to Mr. Barnington, a Cheshire gentleman of large fortune, who kept a good stud of hunters at Handley Cross. Was well acquainted with James Pigg and with all Mr. Jorrocks’s horses. Their stables adjoin. Was at exercise on the morning of the sale with James Pigg, who rode Xerxes and led Ginnums. Never heard the horse cough all the time. Was out two hours. Would have been sure to have noticed it if he had coughed. Grooms are always on the look-out for coughs.

Joseph Haddock, a lad of fourteen, being sworn, deposed that his mother was a washerwoman, and he turned the mangle and sought the dirty clothes in a donkey-cart. Is well acquainted with Mr. Benjamin Brady the whipper-in. Was playing cards with him in the hay-loft on the morning of the sale. Mr. Brady lost one and ninepence and was very angry. The game was blind hookey, and Mr. Brady played without intermission till one o’clock. Is quite certain Mr. Brady never stopped playing to see what was going on below or to listen. Brady is a desperate gambler. Will play at anything, or swear to anything.

Cross-examined.—“Witness remembers the day, because Mr. Brady had not paid him. Believes Mr. Brady had the money, but insinuated that witness had cheated; quarrelled in consequence. Had been very intimate before. Mr. Brady used to let him ride his led horse when Mr. Pigg was not at exercise. Used to gallop and race along the road. Owes Mr. Brady money on the balance of their racing account. The largest stake they ever run for was five shillings, four miles along the Appledove Road. Mr. Brady on Xerxes and witness on Arterxerxes. Mr. Brady won, but witness afterwards heard that he had given Arterxerxes a pail of water before starting, and he refused to pay. Had tossed for choice of horses the night before the race. The case is referred to the editor of Bell’s Life, who has not yet given his decision. Expects it in the notice to correspondents. Been before the editor since the spring. Should say that Mr. Brady is what they call a ‘sharp hand’—not much the gent.”

Bolster replied at great length, during which process Baron Botherem went through his notes, preparatory to charging the jury. He began almost before Bolster got sate down, as if to reprove his unseasonable prolixity. Thus he instructed them:—

“Gentlemen of the jury,” said he “this action, as you have heard, is brought by Captain Doleful against Captain Jorrocks, both of them filling distinguished offices at Handley Cross Spa, one being master of the ceremonies, the other master of the blood-hounds; and it is much to be regretted that gentlemen in their exalted stations should not be able to arrange their differences without the intervention of a judge and jury; however, as they come here, we must endeavour to do justice between them. The action is brought to recover the price of a horse, and the point you will have to consider will be, first, whether there was any warranty at all or not, and if you think there was a warranty, then you must consider to what extent it went.

“The evidence, as usual in these cases, is very conflicting, one witness swearing point blank the reverse of what another one swears.

“First, you have James Pigg, the huntsman, who informs us, in his subterranean language—if, indeed, it can be called a language—that he said ‘nout,’ which, I suppose, is meant to imply that he did not warrant the horse; the word ‘nout’ doubtless being one of extensive signification in the colliery country, from which this witness comes.

“Then you have Mr. Benjamin Brady—the whipper-in, I think he is called—who says, ‘I was lying in the hay-loft, and heard a conversation between Pigg and the plaintiff, when Pigg distinctly stated, two several times, that the horse was sound wind and limb.’ Then, on his cross-examination, he admits that the plaintiff was in the habit of coming into the stable, and asking all sorts of questions, and that Pigg was in the habit of giving the same character to every horse; so that, you see, he might be talking about any of the others, for anything Mr. Brady knows to the contrary. All this is very perplexing, to say nothing of the flat contradiction given by the last witness, Mr. Joseph Haddock, to the material point of Mr. Brady’s evidence. I may be wrong, but they appear to me to be what would be—hem, hum, haw,—not exactly what they ought to be.

“Indeed, the only undisputed point seems the death of the horse. One veterinary surgeon says that he has no doubt he had the seeds of disease upon him at the time he was sold; and the other, that the symptoms he saw on the post-mortem examination prove nothing of the sort. The plaintiff’s occasional groom swears the horse coughed on his way from the stable on delivery. Counsel for the defendant cross-examined him as to his present servitude; but I do not think anything was elicited that should throw discredit on the witness’s testimony. To contradict him, then, I should observe, you have John Brown, who describes himself as ‘bad groom to Mr. Jones.’ It seems an odd character for a man to give himself,” chuckled his lordship, “but I suppose we must take his word for it.”

A titter ran through the court, which the judge, attributing to his wit, proceeded.

“This witness says he was at exercise on the morning of the day of sale with Captain Pigg, and the horse never coughed; ‘I should have been sure to have noticed it if he had,’ he adds. So there again, you see, the evidence is at direct variance.

“Altogether, it is a most perplexing case, and one that we, who have passed our lives in courts of law, are but ill-calculated to unravel. I would rather try ten insurance cases than one horse cause. All I can do is to put the points that you will have to decide, and leave you to judge of the worth of the evidence. The points are, whether or not there was a warranty, and, assuming you find there was a warranty, then you must consider whether the horse had the seeds of disease upon him when sold, or acquired them after he had passed into the plaintiff’s possesssion. On the other hand, if you are of opinion there was no warranty, then the second point will not arise, and your verdict will be for the defendant.

“In the event of your finding for the plaintiff, the measure of damages will be the price paid for the horse; and, haw, ha, hem, I think, gentlemen, that is about all the assistance I can give you.” Saying which, Baron Botherem bowed, and threw himself back in his throne.

The jury immediately seized their hats and coats, and while the usher is swearing the bailiff to keep them in some safe place, without meat, drink, or fire—candle-light only excepted—till they agree upon their verdict, they betake themselves from the heated atmosphere of a suffocating court, to the chilly, vault-like dampness of the retiring-room; a rough deal table, with a bench on each side, is all the accommodation that greets them, while a single candle, showing the massive gratings of a lofty window, and the dull clank of the lock, as the bailiff turns the key upon them, reminds them of the importance of an early agreement of their verdict. Twelve strangers are thus left to make each other’s acquaintance by arriving at the same conclusion.

“Well,” said Mr. Strong, throwing himself on the table below the window, “I suppose we shall have no difficulty about this case. We must find for the plaintiff, of course.”

Mr. Strong was one of the three gentlemen described in the panel as merchants, and was under obligations to Captain Doleful for getting partners for his plain daughters.

“I don’t know that,” replied Mr. Heartley, one of the top-booted gentry; “I am neither satisfied that there was a warranty, nor yet that the horse was unwell when he left Mr. Jorrocks’s stable.”

“That’s my view of the case, too!” exclaimed half-a-dozen voices, glad to follow a leader.

“Nay, then,” exclaimed Mr. Strong, “I think it seems clear, by the evidence, that Pigg warranted the horse; and, that being the case, the law says, the owner is bound by the representation of his servant.”

“I think so too,” observed another.

“The evidence on that point is very unsatisfactory,” exclaimed two or three.

“I’m afraid we can’t make it any better,” replied Mr. Strong.

“If there was no warranty, there can be no damages; perhaps we had better divide on that point first. Those gentlemen who are of opinion that Mr. Jorrocks warranted his horse will have the kindness to hold up their hands.”

Mr. Strong then took the candle, and waving it round the gloomy room, found he had three in his favour. That was not very encouraging, but he had been in a worse situation, and carried his point after all, so he deliberately set down the candle and pulled a book out of his pocket.

That looked ominous.

The conversation was then taken up promiscuously, the jurymen huddling in groups, with their hats on, talking to keep themselves warm.

“Perhaps we had better have some more candles,” observed Mr. Strong, looking off his book; “I suppose we arn’t stinted as to them.”

“I should hope we won’t want them,” observed a shivering youth, who had left his hat in the jury-box.

“Don’t know that,” responded Mr. Strong, pulling a night-cap out of his pocket.

Again they huddle into groups, or walk hurriedly about, stamping, and clapping their arms.

After some half-hour consumed in this way, a knock at the heavy door arrests their attention, and the bailiff announces that the judge desires to know if they are likely to agree on their verdict.

“Yes!”—“No!”—“Yes!” respond half-a-dozen voices, which, the bailiff understanding, informs his lordship that they are not; so, arranging that the verdict shall be taken by the officer of the court, his lordship awakes the dozing under-sheriff, who rouses the drowsy trumpeters, and as the Town Hall clock chimes twelve, his lordship arrives at his lodgings.

The dying notes of the shrill trumpets fall with clear and melancholy cadence on the ears of the pent-up jurymen, and again the most tractable attempt an accommodation. Mr. Strong only replies by winding up his repeater, and striking the hour.

“It’s as cheap sitting as standing,” observes one of the jurymen, taking his place at the table, an example followed by the rest, to the ejectment of Mr. Strong from the end, and the whole party sit down as if to a meal.

They now begin the case anew, going through the evidence with an accuracy considerably promoted by hunger. One o’clock strikes—two—three—and yet they are as far from agreeing as ever. Day begins to dawn, and at length finds its way even through the iron bars of the dingy prison window.

The jury eye each other like through railway passengers eye those who have got in during the night, and Mr. Strong puts out the candle.

Mr. Heartley has a pocketful of horse-beans, which he begins eating, offering them liberally to his friends, with the assurance that he has enough for a week. Mr. Strong produces a cold tongue, which is in more demand, and he gets little himself. Cold and hunger tell upon his supporters, and at four o’clock he stands alone.

At half-past he gives in.

The joyous jury almost break the door in awakening the sleeping sentinel, and they rush into court to deliver their verdict.

How changed the scene! The heated hall is cleared—Mr. Jorrocks sleeps in the judge’s chair, his wig is awry—James Pigg and the crier are nodding, back to back in the witness-box—Benjamin is curled up on the bar-table—and the attorneys and their clerks are huddled together at opposite corners, lest they should fight in their sleep. A crier is found in the bottom of the reporters’ box—and the officer left to take the verdict being summoned from his coffee in the gaoler’s house, hurries in with Captain Doleful, and hears a verdict for the defendant.

The crier dissolves the court, and James Pigg, frantic with delight, hoorays, and hoops, and yells, and proclaims that he’ll be the death of a sovereign!