“Then, Mr. Sharpman, you may proceed with further evidence.”

But Sharpman was still smarting from the blow inflicted by his opponent.  “I desire, first,” he said, “that the court shall take measures to protect me and my client from the unfounded and insulting charges of counsel for the defence.”

“We will see,” said the judge, “that no harm comes to you or to your cause from irrelevant matter interjected by counsel.  But let us get on with the case.  We are taking too much time.”

Sharpman turned again to his papers and called the name of “Anthony Henderson.”

An old man arose in the audience, and made his way feebly to the witness-stand, which had just been vacated by Craft.

After he had been sworn, he said, in reply to questions by Sharpman, that he was a resident of St. Louis; that in May, 1859, he was on his way east with his little grandson, and went down with the train that broke through the bridge at Cherry Brook.

He said that before the crash came he had noticed a lady and gentleman sitting across the aisle from him, and a nurse and child a few seats further ahead; that his attention had been called to the child particularly, because he was a boy and about the age of his own little grandson.

He said he was on the train that carried the rescued passengers to Philadelphia after the accident, and that, passing through the car, he had seen the same child who had been with the nurse now sitting with an old man; he was sure the child was the same, as he stopped and looked at him closely.  The features of the old man he could not remember.  For two days he searched for his grandson, but being met, on every hand, by indisputable proof that the child had perished in the wreck, he then started on his return journey to St. Louis, and had not since been east until the week before the trial.

“How did the plaintiff in this case find you out?” asked Goodlaw, on cross-examination.

“I found him out,” replied the witness.  “I learned, from the newspapers, that the trial was to take place; and, seeing that it related to the Cherry Brook disaster, I came here to learn what little else I might in connection with my grandchild’s death.  I went, first, to see the counsel for the plaintiff and his client.”

“Have you learned anything new about your grandson?”

“No, sir; nothing.”

“Have you heard from him since the accident?”

“I have not.”

“Are you sure he is dead?”

“I have no doubt of it.”

“Can you recognize this boy,” pointing to Ralph, “as the one whom you saw with the nurse and afterward with the old man on the night of the accident?”

“Oh, no! he was a mere baby at that time.”

“Are you positive that the boy in court is not your grandson?”

“Perfectly positive, there is not the slightest resemblance.”

“That will do.”