even for an Indian jury, where nine men out of every twelve are
accustomed to weighing evidence. Ortheris stood firm and was not
shaken by any cross-examination. The one weak point in his tale -
the presence of his rifle in the outer verandah - went
unchallenged by civilian wisdom, though some of the witnesses
could not help smiling. The Government Advocate called for the
rope; contending throughout
that the murder had been a deliberate one. Time had passed, he
argued, for that reflection which comes so naturally to a man
whose honour is lost. There was also the Law, ever ready and
anxious to right the wrongs of the common soldier if, in deed,
wrong had been done. But he doubted much whether there had been
any sufficient wrong. Causeless suspicion over-long brooded upon
had led, by his theory, to deliberate crime. But his attempts to
minimise the motive failed. The most disconnected witness knew -
had known for weeks - the causes of offence, and the prisoner, who
naturally was the last of all to know, groaned in the
dock while he listened. The one question that the trial circled
round was whether Raines had fired under sudden and blinding
provocation given that very morning, and in the summing up it was
clear that Ortheris's evidence told. He had contrived, most
artistically, to suggest that he personally hated the Sergeant,
who had come into the verandah to give him a talking to for
insubordination. In a weak moment the Government Advocate asked
one question too many, "Beggin' your pardon, sir," Ortheris
replied, "'e was callin' me a dam' impudent little lawyer." The
Court shook. The jury brought it in a killing, but with every
provocation and extenuation known to God or man, and the Judge put
his hand to his brow before giving sentence, and the Adam's apple
in the prisoner's throat went up and down mercury-pumping before a