He made
his proclamation, and stuck to it. Stuck to it, and insisted upon a
trial. Here was an ominous thing; here was a new and peculiarly
formidable terror, for a motive was revealed here which society could not
hope to deal with successfully--VANITY, thirst for notoriety. If men
were going to kill for notoriety's sake, and to win the glory of
newspaper renown, a big trial, and a showy execution, what possible
invention of man could discourage or deter them? The town was in a sort
of panic; it did not know what to do.
However, the grand jury had to take hold of the matter--it had no choice.
It brought in a true bill, and presently the case went to the county
court. The trial was a fine sensation. The prisoner was the principal
witness for the prosecution. He gave a full account of the
assassination; he furnished even the minutest particulars: how he
deposited his keg of powder and laid his train--from the house to
such-and-such a spot; how George Ronalds and Henry Hart came along just
then, smoking, and he borrowed Hart's cigar and fired the train with it,
shouting, "Down with all slave-tyrants!" and how Hart and Ronalds made no
effort to capture him, but ran away, and had never come forward to
testify yet.
But they had to testify now, and they did--and pitiful it was to see how
reluctant they were, and how scared.
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