Hood, Howe, Rodney, Anson, and Nelson for naval heroes; Groome and Cooke for their old occupations, then Bass and Whitbread for the imported beverages their masters had drunk.
Sir Samuel Whitbread, Member of Parliament, seated in the middle of the courtroom's spectator area that afternoon, perhaps didn't find it quite so amusing, but…
What Rodney described were sailors' antics, the sorts of things that young men of any race might risk when in drink and high spirits; and the adventures! Trampled by Cape Buffalo, mauled and bitten by a lion on a hunting, trapping jaunt into the wilds of mysterious Africa with a circus? Battling pirates in the Caribbean, the French and Spanish, with lashings of prize-money to prove their mettle, and success, why, what English lad didn't wish to run away to sea and have such adventures!
Lewrie peeked at the gentlemen in the jury box and was heartened to see a fair number of them smiling, or shaking their heads in kindly wonder over such doings.
'And you were paid the same as any British sailor in your rate, Seaman Rodney?' MacDougall good-naturedly asked him.
'Ev'ry penny t'th' jot an' tittle, sah,' Rodney answered. 'Ol' Mistah Coote, de Pursah, an' Cap'm Lewrie'z fair men, sah. An' ev'ry prize we take, I git my share same'z anybody. We whup de Creole pirates two year ago in Looziana, I made t'ree years' wages right dere!'
'And now you're a free man, Seaman Rodney,' MacDougall continued in a softer voice, 'do you wish to remain a British sailor, and a free man?'
'Best life I evah know, sah. Aye, I ain't nevah let any one make me a slave again,' Rodney declared, with some heat. 'I learn t'read an' write 'board ship, so nobody gon' trap me makin' my mark on somethin' I don't understand… got cypherin', too, so nobody gon' cheat me outta money, neither. War be ovah, I 'spect I'll ship out on a merchantman, 'less I find me a good girl an' start a fam'ly.'
'And, finally, Seaman Rodney… what do you think of Captain Lewrie?' MacDougall asked him.
'He be a fine man, sah,' Rodney gushed, 'a fightin' man, and a good 'un, an' I just thank God he free me, an' God bless him fo 'evah.'
And MacDougall's summation was glorious, of course, focussing not so much on denying the theft of slaves as he did praising it for a courageous Christian act. With the Jamaica trial transcript out, he could not refer to it, except to ask the jury to consider why not one accuser was present in court, even though the Beaumans had pursued the matter with white-hot eagerness, and at the cost of thousands of pounds for several years; did they suddenly fear being taken up themselves for laying a false and vengeful prosecution?
'And lastly, gentlemen,' MacDougall declaimed in histrionic fashion, his arms outstretched, 'consider that the dozen slaves, not worth three hundred pounds as less-than-human hewers of wood and drawers of water, worked to death in a few short years, then easily replaced with fresh young muscles… the merest pittance of those who yearly perish… the most minute fraction of all those hundreds of thousands yearning to live free!… have shed their blood for you, given their lives for you, who sleep snug at night behind Britain's 'wooden walls'! Go aloft, serve the guns, endure the boredom of blockading, and bravely face all the perils of weather and the wrath of the sea on our men-o'-war all round the world, this very minute, this very hour! Ask how many more would wish to emulate these stalwart young men. Yes, I say men, not dumb beasts, men who feel pain and joy, suffer disappointment and revel in victory… who serve God, King, and Country, in whose breasts burn the fires of patriotism as strongly as yours.
'It would be unconscionable to deny England their services… just as it would be equally unconscionable to return these men to the vengeful cruelty of slavery, to their former master, Mister Hugh Beauman of Jamaica!' MacDougall declared.
'And that, sirs, would be the logical result if the instrument of their new-found freedoms was condemned for a selfless act of liberation,' MacDougall told the jury. 'Human bondage had been outlawed in our happy isle for nearly fifty years, yet, do you find that Captain Alan Lewrie is guilty of stealing human beings, you reduce these men to chattel status once more, tacitly admit that they were mere property! Property, I say, with as little right to determine their own destinies as a bed-stead, or a dining room table! To even reward Hugh Beauman a single shilling per head as a compromise settlement would be tantamount to calling these eager young volunteers in our Navy no more men than a dozen pair of shoe buckles!
'No, gentlemen, don't do it,' MacDougall urged the jury. 'Deem what Captain Lewrie did a courageous act, the leeward gun fired in the challenge to a foe… as our beloved Admiral Horatio Nelson urges all captains to fire no matter the odds, or risk… a first, tentative, but significant blow against the abominable practice of Negro slavery that I am sure all true Britons despise… a bold geste done not for personal aggrandisement, which, I am also certain all Britons cheer, with nought but admiration for Captain Lewrie's courage in striking any sort of blow to this despicable institution, and expose its putrescent evils for all the world to see.
'We sing, gentlemen,' MacDougall said, lowering his arms, sounding weary and exhausted, of a sudden, which forced the twelve men of the jury to lean a bit forward. ' 'Britons never, never, never shall be slaves.' Fine for us, for we were born free men, and are now engaged in a war, defending our ancient right to remain free of a conquering tyrant with bulldog tenacity and determination. Can we deny the right to others who are just as determined to become free? Can we condemn a heroic Paladin who freed the first few?
'Find these charges baseless and mean, gentlemen!' MacDougall cried, suddenly finding new energy. 'Acquit Captain Lewrie and set him free upon our nation's foes, and, in doing so, condemn the brutes who would make scornful mock of freedom for any man, Black or White, slave or free! Acquit, acquit, acquit, and show the world what true Britons think of human bondage!'
The jury shuffled out to their deliberation chamber, and Lewrie had time to visit the 'jakes' for a long-delayed pee. Making his way through the throngs of supporters in the hallways, who had not gained seats in the courtroom, was a maddening hindrance 'pon his bladder, and it was with an immense sense of relief that he could stroll back out after doing up his breeches buttons to face the gauntlet once again, now of much better, less impatient takings.
'Sir! Sir, come quick!' MacDougall's clerk, Mr. Sadler, urged, making a narrow aisle through the crowd and beckoning in some haste. 'The jury is ready to render. Bless me, not above eight minutes, in total. Never seen the like!'
'Is that good or bad?' Lewrie asked, considering that, whilst in the 'necessary,' it might have been a good idea to throw on his boat-cloak, exchange hats with a civilian gentleman, and 'take leg-bail' for parts unknown.
'Might be very good, sir. On the other hand… excuse us?'
I'd love t'meet a one-armed law clerk or lawyer, Lewrie told himself; who can't say 'on the other hand.'
MacDougall gave him a tentative smile as he re-entered the grim courtroom, and a shrug as Lewrie re-mounted to the railed dock, where he felt too unsettled to sit down. Lewrie paced the tiny enclosure, a fair approximation of a condemned man's cell, he could imagine, trying to appear stoic, with a slight touch of bemusement, as he looked over the refilling courtroom from his elevated vantage point.
Damme, there's a stunner! he irrelevantly thought, espying an especially attractive young lady in a lavender gown and matching hat; Hope springs eternal… all that. It cheered him that the handsome lass smiled at him and dipped him a brief bow of encouragement.
Bang! went the bailiff's mace, and the cry of 'Oyez!' as Lord Justice Oglethorpe resumed his place in the banc, and court functionaries filed in and took their own places… as the twelve men of the jury re-entered the courtroom through a side door and took seats in their own railed-off box. There was much shuffling of feet, coughing into fists, the rustling of gowns and men's coats, the creaking of a new pair of boots, and the bang! of a stubbed toe against the pew-like benches of the spectators' gallery. Oddly, there was no whispering or chatting, this time; only an expectant hush worthy of the last act of a tragedy staged in Drury Lane.
'The jury has determined a verdict in the matter of Beauman versus Lewrie?' Lord Justice Oglethorpe enquired, once the last of the traditional forms had been acted out.
'We have, my lord,' the elected foreman announced.
'Pray, do you declare it,' Oglethorpe ordered.
'Ahem!' from the foreman.
'Free him, pray God!' some feminine voice was heard to utter.
'We, the jury, find, in the matter of Beauman et al. versus Captain Alan Lewrie, Royal Navy, that the defendant is not guilty.'
'Halleluah!' a male spectator shouted, a second before womanly shrieks of relief and joy, and a general 'hoo-
