[Illustration:  Thomas Fuller striking Ruiz in Court.]

  “The weariest and most loathed worldly life. 
  That age, ache, penury and imprisonment
  Can lay on Nature, is a Paradise
  To that we fear of Death.”

Death is a fearful thing.  The mere mention of it sometimes blanches the cheek, and sends the fearful blood to the heart.  It is a solemn thing to break into the “bloody house of life.”  Do not, because this man is but an African, imagine that his existence is valueless.  He is no drift weed on the ocean of life.  There are in his bosom the same social sympathies that animate our own.  He has nerves to feel pain, and a heart to throb with human affections, even as you have.  His life, to establish the law, or to further the ends of justice, is not required. Taken, it is to us of no value; given to him, it is above the price of rubies.

And Costa, the cabin boy, only fifteen years of age when this crime was committed—­shall he die?  Shall the sword fall upon his neck?  Some of you are advanced in years—­you may have children.  Suppose the news had reached you, that your son was under trial for his life, in a foreign country—­(and every cabin boy who leaves this port may be placed in the situation of this prisoner,)—­suppose you were told that he had been executed, because his captain and officers had violated the laws of a distant land; what would be your feelings?  I cannot tell, but I believe the feelings of all of you would be the same, and that you would exclaim, with the Hebrew, “My son! my son! would to God I had died for thee.”  This boy has a father; let the form of that father rise up before you, and plead in your hearts for his offspring.  Perhaps he has a mother, and a home.  Think of the lengthened shadow that must have been cast over that home by his absence.  Think of his mother, during those hours of wretchedness, when she has felt hope darkening into disappointment, next into anxiety, and from anxiety into despair.  How often may she have stretched forth her hands in supplication, and asked, even the winds of heaven, to bring her tidings of him who was away?  Let the supplications of that mother touch your hearts, and shield their object from the law.

After a luminous charge by Judge Story, the jury retired to agree upon their verdict, and at 9 o’clock the next morning came in with their verdict.

Clerk.  Gentlemen of the Jury, have you agreed upon your verdict?

Jury.  We have.

Clerk.  Who shall speak for you?

Jury.  Our foreman.

The prisoners were then directed severally to rise as soon as called, and receive the verdict of the jury.  The Captain, Pedro Gilbert, was the first named.  He arose, raised his hand, and regarded the jury with a firm countenance and steady eye.

Clerk.  Jurors look upon the prisoner; prisoner look upon the jurors.  How say you, Gentlemen, is the prisoner at the bar, Pedro Gilbert, guilty or not guilty?