What matters the rest, while the prim Scotsman, in full-bottomed wig, brandishes his pencil! Peter Williams, soldier, endorses all said by women Lacy and Faulkner, but clever Plumer shows him up, on the word of an officer, as “a lying, shuffling fellow.” Private Charles Timbs swears that ‘cats’ were all destroyed by the men, but no one heeds him. Deputy-Advocate Oldham instructs the tribunal that drum-head court-martials are never reported to Government Department. Thus, why should Wall report his small explosion to Secretary Townshend, why----? But what does this signify in face of what Law had laid down--“Never mind trial! Can prisoner prove the mutiny?” No need to press Deputy Oldham, for there is no chance of scoring another point at the expense of prisoner’s witness. Then arrives the great and proper time. The pencil has done its work, and Caledonian tongue now speaks, and Caledonian lip, having arrived at full tension, trembles. Important comments are delivered--a general ripping-up of the Wall witnesses. Chief Baron reads the report to Secretary Townshend, and adds footnote: “No mention of mutiny”--suspicious. Again: “Two officers returned from Goree at same time as the Governor. This,” he echoes Law-logic, “does not indicate existence of mutiny.” Further: “Prisoner made his escape when all witnesses who could prove his innocence were alive”--still more suspicious. Twelve good and honest brows grow still darker and more vengeful. The rope-ending is contrasted with the birching of children; marvellous parallel--as though the maternal heart bore resemblance to the provisions of Mutiny Acts! Back-slapping of leech-Ferrick is long and loud. “Be careful not to hurt a toss-pot,” declares the Lord-of-Isles, “for if he drinks himself to death, you are his murderer!” Wonderful Caledonian pencil that is able to out-logic wonderful Law. It is ten o’clock at night. For thirteen hours the unfortunate twelve have been box-fast. Within twelve honest waistcoats lies a dull and aching vacuum. The Laws, Plumers, and Lords-of-Isles have similar sensations, in spite of the adjournment-gorge in an upper chamber. Yet, when they retire, the good tradesmen debate this military cause sedulously for the space of sixty minutes. They have sons and brothers in the army, and doubtless much suppressed eloquence to explode. At last, an hour before midnight, they return into Court, faces stern and dark. The deaf giant receives the verdict with a start of surprise, but without tremor of limb. To him the proceedings have been a long, dreary mumble, and he longs for repose. In good set terms, for the benefit of reporters and the junior bar, the Recorder passes sentence, and, as the curtain falls, the gaol-bird mob outside growls forth its plaudits.