Confession; Or, The Blind Heart. A Domestic StorySimms, William Gilmore
General
Confession; Or, The Blind Heart. A Domestic Story
Simms, William Gilmore
Domestic fiction
Having made my determination, I proceeded to prepare myself by a due
consideration of the case at large; the history of the transaction,
which involved the life of my client--(the allegation was for
murder)--and of the testimony of the witnesses so far as it had been
suggested in the EXPARTE examination before the grand jury. I reviewed
the several leading principles on the subject of the crime; its
character, the sort of evidence essential to conviction, and certainly,
to do myself all justice, as effectually prepared myself for the duties
of the trial as probably any young man of the time and community was
likely to have done. The case, I need not add, was hopelessly against
me; the testimony conclusive; and I had nothing to do but to weigh its
character with keen examination, pick out and expose its defects and
inconsistencies, and suggest as plausible a presumption in favor of
the accused, as could be reasonably made out from the possibilities
and doubts by which all human occurrences are necessarily attended.
Something, too, might be done by judicious appeals to the principle of
mercy, assuming for the jury a discretion on this subject which, by the
way, they have no right to exercise.
I was joined in the case by my friend, young Edgerton. So far our boyish
fortunes had run together, and he was not unwilling, though against his
father's counsel, to take the same occasion with me for entering the
world in company. The term began; the case was one of the last on the
criminal docket, and the five days which preceded that assigned for
the trial, were days, I am constrained to confess, of a thrilling and
terrible agitation to my mind. I can scarcely now recall the feelings
of that week without undergoing a partial return of the same painful
sensations. My soul was striving as with itself, and seeking an outlet
for escape. I panted, as if for breath--my tongue was parched--my lips
clammy--my voice, in the language of the poet, clove to the roof of my
throat. Altogether, I have never felt such emotions either before or
since.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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