I was not uneasy about the result of the trial, but on the contrary felt
that as soon as the large auditory of Americans present should hear how
that the rowdies had set the dogs on me when I was going peacefully along
the street, and how, when I was all torn and bleeding, the officers
arrested me and put me in jail and let the rowdies go free, the gallant
hatred of oppression which is part of the very flesh and blood of every
American would be stirred to its utmost, and I should be instantly set at
liberty. In truth I began to fear for the other side. There in full
view stood the ruffians who had misused me, and I began to fear that in
the first burst of generous anger occasioned by the revealment of what
they had done, they might be harshly handled, and possibly even banished
the country as having dishonoured her and being no longer worthy to
remain upon her sacred soil.
The official interpreter of the court asked my name, and then spoke it
aloud so that all could hear. Supposing that all was now ready, I
cleared my throat and began–in Chinese, because of my imperfect English:
“Hear, O high and mighty mandarin, and believe! As I went about my
peaceful business in the street, behold certain men set a dog on me,
and–
“Silence!”
It was the judge that spoke. The interpreter whispered to me that I must
keep perfectly still. He said that no statement would be received from
me–I must only talk through my lawyer.
I had no lawyer. In the early morning a police court lawyer (termed, in
the higher circles of society, a “shyster”) had come into our den in the
prison and offered his services to me, but I had been obliged to go
without them because I could not pay in advance or give security. I told
the interpreter how the matter stood. He said I must take my chances on
the witnesses then. I glanced around, and my failing confidence revived.
“Call those four Chinamen yonder,” I said. “They saw it all. I remember
their faces perfectly. They will prove that the white men set the dog on
me when I was not harming them.”
“That won’t work,” said he. “In this country white men can testify
against Chinamen all they want to, but Chinamen ain’t allowed to testify
against white men!”
What a chill went through me! And then I felt the indignant blood rise
to my cheek at this libel upon the Home of the Oppressed, where all men
are free and equal–perfectly equal–perfectly free and perfectly equal.
I despised this Chinese-speaking Spaniard for his mean slander of the
land that was sheltering and feeding him. I sorely wanted to sear his
eyes with that sentence from the great and good American Declaration of
Independence which we have copied in letters of gold in China and keep
hung up over our family altars and in our temples–I mean the one about
all men being created free and equal.
But woe is me, Ching Foo, the man was right. He was right, after all.
There were my witnesses, but I could not use them. But now came a new
hope. I saw my white friend come in, and I felt that he had come there
purposely to help me. I may almost say I knew it. So I grew easier.
He passed near enough to me to say under his breath, “Don’t be afraid,”
and then I had no more fear. But presently the rowdies recognised him
and began to scowl at him in no friendly way, and to make threatening
signs at him. The two officers that arrested me fixed their eyes
steadily on his; he bore it well, but gave in presently, and dropped his
eyes. They still gazed at his eyebrows, and every time he raised his
eyes he encountered their winkless stare–until after a minute or two he
ceased to lift his head at all. The judge had been giving some
instructions privately to some one for a little while, but now he was
ready to resume business. Then the trial so unspeakably important to me,