Baboo Hurry Bungsho Jabberjee, B.A./Chapter 30

by Thomas Anstey Guthrie

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Mankletow v. Jabberjee (part heard.) Mr Jabberjee finds cross-examination much less formidable than he had anticipated.

XXX

 

It is now the second day of my celebrated case, which is such a transcendental success that already the Court is tight as a drum, while a vast disappointed crowd is barricading imploringly at the doors!

I was about to harangue these unfortunates, assuring them I was not responsible for their exclusion, and promising to exert my utmost influence with the Hon'ble Judge that they were all to be admitted.

But my solicitor, seizing me by the forearm, hurried me through the entrance with the friendly recommendation that I was not to be the bally-fool.

In the trough I perceive Jessimina seated, in a hat even more resplendently becoming than her yesterday head-dress, and I am not a little puffed with pride to be proceeded against by a plaintiff of such a stylish and elegant appearance.

10.25 a.m.—After all, Witherington, Q.C., has paid me the marked compliment of turning up to personally conduct my cross-examination. At which Smartle, Esq., becomes lugubrious, averring that he is capable of turning my inside out in no time unless I am preciously careful. But, knowing that such inhuman barbarities are not feasible in civilised regions, I enter the box with a serene and smiling countenance. . . .

Later.—I am unspeakably delighted with the urbanity (on the whole) with which I have been cross-examined. For, to my wonderment, Witherington, Q.C., commenced with displaying a respectful and sympathetic interest in my career, &c., which rendered me completely at my ease, and though on occasions he did suddenly manifest inquisitorial severity, I soon discovered that his anger was mere wind from a tea-pot, and that he was in secret highly gratified by the nature of my replies. And for the most part he had the great condescension to treat me with a kind and facetious familiarity.

I had privately commissioned a shorthanded acquaintance of mine with instructions to take down nothing but my answers, but with inconceivable doltishness he has done the exact converse, and transcribed merely the utterances of Mister Witherington! However, as I do not accurately recall my responses, I am to insert the report here pro tanto, trusting to the ingenuity of the public to read between the lines.

 

WITHERINGTON, Q.C.

 

 

Here Follows the Report.

Mr Witherington, Q.C. Well, Mr Jabberjee, so it seems that it is all a mistake about your being a Prince, eh? . . . . And, however such an idea may have originated, you never represented yourself as a Rajah, or anything of the kind?. . . . I was sure you would say so. You have such a high regard for truth, and such a deep sense of the obligation of an oath, that you are incapable of a deliberate falsehood at any time—may I take that for granted? . . . . Very glad to hear it. And of course, Mr Jabberjee, it was no fault of yours if people chose to assume, from a certain magnificence in your appearance and way of living and so on, that you must be of high rank in your own country? . . . . But, though you don't set up to be a Prince, you are, I believe, a recent acquisition to the honourable profession of which we are both members? . . . . And also a journalist of some distinction, are you not? . . . . Indeed? I congratulate you—a highly respectable periodical. And no doubt the proprietors have shown a proper appreciation of the value of your services, in a pecuniary sense? . . . . Really? You are indeed to be envied, Mr Jabberjee! Not many young barristers can rely upon making such an income by their pen while they are waiting for the briefs to come in. May I ask if you intend to practice in this country? . . . . The Calcutta Bar, eh? Then I suppose you can count upon influence out there? . . . . Your father a Mooktear is he? I'm afraid I don't know what that is exactly. . . . A solicitor? Now I understand. So he will give you cases—in which I am sure you will distinguish yourself. But you'll have to work hard, won't you? . . . . I thought so. No more pig-sticking or tiger-shooting, eh? . . . . That's a drawback, isn't it? You're passionately devoted to tiger-shooting, aren't you? Unless I'm mistaken, you first won the plaintiff's admiration by the vivid manner in which you described your "moving accidents by flood and field"—another parallel between you and Othello, eh? Well, tell me, I'm no sportsman myself—but it's rather a thrilling moment, isn't it, when a tiger is trying to climb up your elephant, and get inside the—what do you call it—howlah?—oh, howdah, to be sure; thank you, very much. . . . So I should have imagined. Still, I suppose, when you're used to it, even that wouldn't shake your nerve to any appreciable extent. You would bowl over your tiger at close quarters without turning a hair, would you not? . . . Just so. A great gift, presence of mind. And pig-sticking, now—isn't a boar rather an awkward customer to tackle? . . . . "You never found him so"? But suppose you miss him with your spear, and he charges your horse? . . . . Ah, you're a mighty hunter, Mr Jabberjee, I perceive! Ever shoot any elephants? . . . . No elephants? That's a pleasure to come, then. Now, about your relations with the plaintiff prior to your engagement—you were a good deal in her company, weren't you?. . . . Well, you constantly escorted her to various places of amusement, come? . . . . Yes, yes; I am quite aware a chaperon was always present. We are both agreed that my client has acted throughout with the most scrupulous propriety—but you liked being in her society, didn't you? . . . . Exactly so, and, at that time at all events, you admired her extremely? . . . . "Merely as a friend," eh? no idea of proposing? Well, just tell us once more how it was you came to engage yourself. . . . You were afraid your landlady would summon a boarder and ask him to give you a kicking? . . . . And the prospect of being kicked terrified you to such an extent that you were willing to promise anything—is that your story? . . . . But you are a man of iron nerve, you know, you've just been giving us a description of your performances in the jungle. How did you come to be so alarmed by a boarder, when the attack of the fiercest tiger or wild boar never made you turn a hair? . . . . But that is what you gave us to understand just now, wasn't it? . . . . Then do you tell his lordship and the jury now that, as a matter of fact, you never shot a solitary tiger or speared a single boar in your life? Why didn't you say so at once, Sir. . . . Do you consider a misrepresentation of that kind a mere trifle? . . . . In spite of the fact that you have solemnly sworn to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth? . . . . Very well, Sir, I will take your answer. Now, just look at this letter of yours. (Your lordship has a copy of the correspondence. . . . Yes, it is all admitted, my lord.) I'll read it to you. (Reads it.) Now, Sir, is it the fact that you ever actually consulted the gentleman who enjoys the distinction of being astrologer to your family upon your marriage with the plaintiff? Be careful what you say. . . . And did he ever forbid you to contract such an alliance? . . . Then was there a word of truth in all that? . . . . I thought as much. Let me read you another letter. (He reads.) Here, you see, you make quite another excuse. You are already married, and can only offer the plaintiff the position of a rival wife, or "sateen" as you call it. Have you ever contracted an infant marriage in India? . . . Oh, that is true, is it? But why, when you were paying these attentions to the plaintiff, did it never occur to you to mention the fact that you were a married man? . . . . "You don't know?" May it not have been because you were a widower? Was your infant wife alive or dead when you wrote this letter? . . . . Then why did you write of her as if she were alive? . . . . I quite believe that—but why were you so anxious to break it off just then? . . . . Well, when you were cross-examining the plaintiff you asked her about a certain china ornament you had given her, which seems to have been originally intended for another young lady. We needn't mention her name here—but you made her acquaintance some time after your engagement, didn't you? . . . . And since you left Porticobello House, you have seen a good deal of her, eh? . . . . You were a great admirer of hers, weren't you? . . . . I'm not asking you whether she is engaged to a Scotch gentleman at the present moment—I'm putting it to you that, at the time you were writing these letters to the plaintiff, you had already formed the conclusion that this other young lady was more deserving of the honour of being the second Mrs Jabberjee I am not suggesting that you could help it—but wasn't it so? . . . . Very well—that is all I have to ask you Mr Jabberjee. You can go. . . . .

I must not omit to record that my replies and the reading of my letters did excite frequent and vociferous merriment, and in other respects I have testified so exhaustively that my solicitor informs me it is not worth a candle to call any further witnesses—especially as Hon'ble Cummerbund has intimated that he prefers to blow unseen, and as for Baboo Chuckerbutty Ram, he, it seems, has of course been seized by such violent indisposition that he was compelled to leave the Court.

So I am now to deliver one more brief oration, which will infallibly secure me the plerophory of the jury and exalt my head to the skies as Cock of the Roost.

Only I regret that Jessimina's visage is now completely invisible to me, being obscured by the dimensions of her hat, also that she should carry on such protracted confabulations with her curly-headed professional adviser—which is surely lacking in most ordinary respect for myself and Hon'ble Justice Honeygall!