The Tables Turned | Page 6

you may not know, a set of wicked persons in the country, mostly, it is true, belonging to that class of non-respectable foreigners of whom my lord spoke with such feeling, taste, and judgment, who are plotting, rather with insolent effrontery than crawling secrecy, to overturn the sacred edifice of property, the foundation of our hearths, our homes, and our altars. Gentlemen of the Jury, it might be thought that such madmen might well be left to themselves, that no one would listen to their ravings, and that the glorious machinery of Justice need no more be used against them than a crusader's glittering battle-axe need be brought forward to exterminate the nocturnal pest of our couches. This indeed has been, I must say unfortunately, the view taken by our rulers till quite recently. But times have changed, gentlemen; for need I tell you, who in your character of shrewd and successful men of business understand human nature so well, that in this imperfect world we must not reckon on the wisdom, the good sense of those around us. Therefore you will scarcely be surprised to hear that these monstrous, wicked, and disreputable doctrines are becoming popular; that murder and rapine are eagerly looked forward to under such names as Socialism, revolution, co- operation, profit-sharing, and the like; and that the leaders of the sect are dangerous to the last degree. Such a leader you now see before you. Now I must tell you that these Socialist or Co-operationist incendiaries are banded together into three principal societies, and that the prisoner at the bar belongs to one if not two of these, and is striving, hitherto in vain, for admittance into the third and most dangerous. The Federationist League and the International Federation, to one or both of which this man belongs, are dangerous and malevolent associations; but they do not apply so strict a test of membership as the third body, the Fabian Democratic Parliamentary League, which exacts from every applicant a proof of some special deed of ferocity before admission, the most guilty of their champions veiling their crimes under the specious pretexts of vegetarianism, the scientific investigation of supernatural phenomena, vulgarly called ghost-catching, political economy, and other occult and dull studies. But though not yet admitted a neophyte of this body, the prisoner has taken one necessary step towards initiation, in learning the special language spoken at all the meetings of these incendiaries: for this body differs from the other two in using a sort of cant language or thieves' Latin, so as to prevent their deliberations from becoming known outside their unholy brotherhood. Examples of this will be given you by the witnesses, which I will ask you to note carefully as indications of the dangerous and widespread nature of the conspiracy. I call Constable Potlegoff.
[CONSTABLE POTLEGOFF sworn.
_Mr. H_. Have you seen the prisoner before?
Pot. Yes.
_Mr. H_. Where?
Pot. At Beadon Road, Hammersmith.
_Mr. H_. What was he doing there?
Pot. He was standing on a stool surrounded by a dense crowd.
_Mr. H_. What else?
Pot. He was speaking to them in a loud tone of voice.
_Mr. H_. You say it was a dense crowd: how dense? Would it have been easy for any one to pass through the crowd?
Pot. It would have been impossible. I could not have got anywhere near him without using my truncheon--which I have a right to do.
_Mr. H_. Is Beadon Road a frequented thoroughfare?
Pot. Very much so, especially on a Sunday morning.
_Mr. H_. Could you hear what he said?
Pot. I could and I did. I made notes of what he said.
_Mr. H_. Can you repeat anything he said?
Pot. I can. He urged the crowd to disembowel all the inhabitants of London. (Sensation.)
_Mr. H_. Can you remember the exact words he used?
Pot. I can. He said, "Those of this capital should have no bowels. You workers must see to having this done."
_J. N_. Stop a little; it is important that I should get an accurate note of this (_writing_). Those who live in this metropolis must have their bowels drawn out--is that right?
Pot. This capital, he said, my lord.
_J. N_. (_writing_). This capital. Well, well, well! I cannot guess why the prisoner should be so infuriated against this metropolis. Go on, Mr. Hungary.
_Mr. H_. (_to witness_). Can you remember any other words he said?
Pot. Yes; later on he said, "I hope to see the last Londoner hung in the guts of the last member of Parliament."
_J. N_. Londoner, eh?
Pot. Yes, my lord; that is, he meant Londoner.
_J. N_. You mustn't say what he meant, you must say what you heard him say.
Pot. Capital, my lord.
_J. N_. I see; (_writing_). The last dweller in the metropolis.
Pot. Capital, my lord.
_J. N_. Yes, exactly; that's just what I've written--this metropolis.
Pot. He said capital, my lord.
_Mr. H_. Capital, the