Great Britain -- Social conditions -- 19th century; London (England) -- Description and travel
The miserable young creature who had given birth to this child within a
very few days, and who had cleaned the cold wet door-steps immediately
afterwards, was brought before us when we resumed our horse-hair chairs,
and was present during the proceedings. She had a horse-hair chair
herself, being very weak and ill; and I remember how she turned to the
unsympathetic nurse who attended her, and who might have been the
figure-head of a pauper-ship, and how she hid her face and sobs and tears
upon that wooden shoulder. I remember, too, how hard her mistress was
upon her (she was a servant-of-all-work), and with what a cruel
pertinacity that piece of Virtue spun her thread of evidence double, by
intertwisting it with the sternest thread of construction. Smitten hard
by the terrible low wail from the utterly friendless orphan girl, which
never ceased during the whole inquiry, I took heart to ask this witness a
question or two, which hopefully admitted of an answer that might give a
favourable turn to the case. She made the turn as little favourable as
it could be, but it did some good, and the Coroner, who was nobly patient
and humane (he was the late Mr. Wakley), cast a look of strong
encouragement in my direction. Then, we had the doctor who had made the
examination, and the usual tests as to whether the child was born alive;
but he was a timid, muddle-headed doctor, and got confused and
contradictory, and wouldn’t say this, and couldn’t answer for that, and
the immaculate broker was too much for him, and our side slid back again.
However, I tried again, and the Coroner backed me again, for which I ever
afterwards felt grateful to him as I do now to his memory; and we got
another favourable turn, out of some other witness, some member of the
family with a strong prepossession against the sinner; and I think we had
the doctor back again; and I know that the Coroner summed up for our
side, and that I and my British brothers turned round to discuss our
verdict, and get ourselves into great difficulties with our large chairs
and the broker. At that stage of the case I tried hard again, being
convinced that I had cause for it; and at last we found for the minor
offence of only concealing the birth; and the poor desolate creature, who
had been taken out during our deliberation, being brought in again to be
told of the verdict, then dropped upon her knees before us, with
protestations that we were right—protestations among the most affecting
that I have ever heard in my life—and was carried away insensible.
(In private conversation after this was all over, the Coroner showed me
his reasons as a trained surgeon, for perceiving it to be impossible that
the child could, under the most favourable circumstances, have drawn many
breaths, in the very doubtful case of its having ever breathed at all;
this, owing to the discovery of some foreign matter in the windpipe,
quite irreconcilable with many moments of life.)
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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