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148 ‘a labourer,’ whereas everybody knows he never labours. But to continue:

“Oh! oh! so you have been robbing our quiet friend here on the highway! For shame, Jack. I am now foreman of the grand jury. I examine the witnesses. I am sorry to say that they seem to make out such a case against you, that there being eleven jurors present who, with me, of course, form a majority of the twenty-three, I write the words—a ‘true bill,’ and sign my initials on the back of the indictment. You are not present, Jack, nor is evidence heard on your behalf at this investigation. It is only held to ascertain if there be good reason for putting you on your trial before ‘my lord,’ and if there be not, I whip out my penknife and cut the bill across.”

“And then what would become of me?” asked Jack.

“If no other bill were found against you, you would be discharged at the close of the assizes.”

“Having ‘found’ a batch of bills, I proceed with some of my brother jurors to the court and hand them to the clerk of assize. I do not trouble myself to select a fitting time for so doing—I care not to take advantage of a pause in the proceedings, during which I might despatch my business without disturbing other people at theirs. By no means. I like to come shouldering through the crowd of spectators, and clambering over the benches at the most interesting part of a case. If I can calculate the time when a defending counsel will have warmed into his speech, or when the witness is just in the middle of some complicated explanation; that is the precise moment for me to enter, to the disturbance of everybody, and impress the public with my vast importance, as evinced by my being able to be so discourteous.”

“That really is what the grand jury did today,” Grace whispered to her mother who had joined the party.

“I hand in my bills,” Charley resumed, “and our decision on them is read out thus:

‘No bill against James Smith, for burglary.’

‘A true bill against Henry Brown, for murder.’

‘A true bill against Mary White, for bigamy.’

‘A true bill against John Wardleur, for highway-robbery,’ &c. &c. And then, Jack, with Brown, White, & Co., is brought up into the dock to say whether he pleads ‘guilty’ or ‘not guilty’ to the charge.”

“But suppose he refuses to plead,” said Mabel.

“Then,” replied Charlie, “a jury will be sworn to try whether he stands ‘mute of malice,’ or ‘by the visitation of God,’ that is, if he be merely obstinately silent, or if he be incapable of answering, by reason of being deaf or dumb, or of unsound mind. If it be ascertained that he stands mute of malice, a plea of ‘not guilty’ will be entered for him, and the trial will proceed; but if he be silent by the visitation of God, so as to be quite incapable of understanding what is taking place, the trial will be postponed, and he will be remitted to some asylum. Thank your stars, Jack, that you do not live in the ‘good old times’ some people boast about. Your obstinacy would have been dealt with in a very different manner, then. A prisoner who refused to plead was sentenced to the ‘peine forte et dure,’ which was inflicted in different ways. Holinshed tells us that, in his time, the back of the criminal was pressed against a sharp stone till the pain made him plead. Other writers describe a sort of rack, which was used to conquer sulky persons, by dragging their arms and legs towards the four corners of the cell. The practice at the Old Bailey, in the reign of Queen Anne, was to fasten the prisoner’s thumbs together with whipcord, and to twist it tighter and tighter till the pain forced him to plead. In the year 1721 a woman, named Mary Andrews, continued so obstinate that three whipcords were broken round her thumbs, before she would say ‘guilty’ or ‘not guilty.’

“The most ordinary infliction, however, was by pressure. The accused was taken into the yard of the prison, laid upon his back, and weights of iron were placed upon his chest. He was allowed for food three morsels of the worst bread upon the first day, and three draughts of the stagnant water that was nearest the prison-door, on the second. The weights were increased every morning till he died, or, as the judgment ran, ‘till he answered.’ Sometimes a sentence of the ‘peine forte et dure,’ was equivalent to a sentence of death, so barbarously was it inflicted. In the year 1659, a Major Strangeways refused to plead when placed upon his trial for murder, and he was pressed to death in ‘eight minutes,’ many persons in the press-yard casting stones at him to hasten his decease.

“By an account of this execution, published in the fourth volume of the Harleian Miscellany, it would seem that the press was brought to a point where it touched the body, and that it was usual to place a sharp piece of wood under the victim to double his torture.”

“Horrible!” exclaimed Grace with a shudder; “but why did the poor wretches refuse to plead?”

“One of the principal reasons was, that a conviction of felony caused the forfeiture of all the convict’s goods. There was an old case in which a gentleman of property, who had murdered his wife and all his children but one, in a fit of jealousy, by throwing them from the battlements of his castle, and who was only prevented by a fierce