All right, then. Have you any conscientious scruples about capital
punishment?”
“Any which?”
“Would you object to finding a person guilty–of murder on evidence?”
“I might, sir, if I thought he wan’t guilty.”
The district attorney thought he saw a point.
“Would this feeling rather incline you against a capital conviction?”
The juror said he hadn’t any feeling, and didn’t know any of the parties.
Accepted and sworn.
Dennis Lafin, laborer. Have neither formed nor expressed an opinion.
Never had heard of the case. Believed in hangin’ for them that deserved
it. Could read if it was necessary.
Mr. Braham objected. The man was evidently bloody minded. Challenged
peremptorily.
Larry O’Toole, contractor. A showily dressed man of the style known as
“vulgar genteel,” had a sharp eye and a ready tongue. Had read the
newspaper reports of the case, but they made no impression on him.
Should be governed by the evidence. Knew no reason why he could not be
an impartial juror.
Question by District Attorney.
“How is it that the reports made no impression on you?”
“Never believe anything I see in the newspapers.”
(Laughter from the crowd, approving smiles from his Honor and Mr.
Braham.) Juror sworn in. Mr. Braham whispered to O’Keefe, “that’s the
man.”
Avery Hicks, pea-nut peddler. Did he ever hear of this case? The man
shook his head.
“Can you read?”
“No.” “Any scruples about capital punishment?”
“No.”
He was about to be sworn, when the district attorney turning to him
carelessly, remarked,
“Understand the nature of an oath?”
“Outside,” said the man, pointing to the door.
“I say, do you know what an oath is?”
“Five cents,” explained the man.
“Do you mean to insult me?” roared the prosecuting officer. ” Are you an
idiot?”
“Fresh baked. I’m deefe. I don’t hear a word you say.”
The man was discharged. “He wouldn’t have made a bad juror, though,”
whispered Braham. “I saw him looking at the prisoner sympathizingly.
That’s a point you want to watch for.”
The result of the whole day’s work was the selection of only two jurors.
These however were satisfactory to Mr. Braham. He had kept off all those
he did not know. No one knew better than this great criminal lawyer that
the battle was fought on the selection of the jury. The subsequent
examination of witnesses, the eloquence expended on the jury are all for
effect outside. At least that is the theory of Mr. Braham. But human
nature is a queer thing, he admits; sometimes jurors are unaccountably
swayed, be as careful as you can in choosing them.
It was four weary days before this jury was made up, but when it was
finally complete, it did great credit to the counsel for the defence.
So far as Mr. Braham knew, only two could read, one of whom was the
foreman, Mr. Braham’s friend, the showy contractor. Low foreheads and
heavy faces they all had; some had a look of animal cunning, while the
most were only stupid. The entire panel formed that boasted heritage
commonly described as the “bulwark of our liberties.”
The District Attorney, Mr.McFlinn, opened the case for the state. He
spoke with only the slightest accent, one that had been inherited but not
cultivated. He contented himself with a brief statement of the case.
The state would prove that Laura Hawkins, the prisoner at the bar, a
fiend in the form of a beautiful woman, shot dead George Selby, a
Southern gentleman, at the, time and place described. That the murder
was in cold blood, deliberate and without provocation; that it had been
long premeditated and threatened; that she had followed the deceased-from
Washington to commit it. All this would be proved by unimpeachable
witnesses. The attorney added that the duty of the jury, however painful
it might be, would be plain and simple. They were citizens, husbands,,
perhaps fathers. They knew how insecure life had become in the
metropolis. Tomorrow our own wives might be widows, their own children
orphans, like the bereaved family in yonder hotel, deprived of husband
and father by the jealous hand of some murderous female. The attorney
sat down, and the clerk called?”
“Henry Brierly.”
CHAPTER LV.