This splendid argument, close, searching, irresistible, gave the coup de grace to the crown case.  The prisoners having called no evidence, according to honourable custom having almost the force of law, the prosecution was disentitled to any rejoinder.  Nevertheless, the crown put up its ablest speaker—­a man far surpassing in attainments as a lawyer and an orator both the Attorney and Solicitor-General—­Mr. Ball, Q.C., to press against the accused that technical right which honourable usage reprehended as unfair!  No doubt the crown authorities felt it was not a moment in which they could afford to be squeamish or scrupulous.  The speeches of Mr. Sullivan and Mr. Martin had had a visible effect upon the jury—­had, in fact, made shreds of the crown case; and so Mr. Ball was put up as the last hope of averting the “disaster” of a failure.  He spoke with his accustomed ability and dignity, and made a powerful appeal in behalf of the crown.  Then Mr. Justice Fitzgerald proceeded to charge the jury, which he did in his own peculiarly calm, precise, and perspicuous style.  At the outset, referring to the protest of the accused against the conduct of the crown in the jury challenges, he administered a keen rebuke to the government officials.  It was, he said, no doubt the strict legal right of the crown to act as it had done; yet, considering that this was a case in which the accused was accorded no corresponding privilege, the exercise of that right in such a manner by the crown certainly was, in his, Mr. Justice Fitzgerald’s estimation, a subject for grave objection.

Here there was what the newspaper reporters call “sensation in court.”  What!  Had it come to this, that one of the chief institutions of the land—­a very pillar of the crown and government—­namely, jury-packing, was to be reflected upon from the bench itself.  Monstrous!

The charge, though mild in language, was pretty sharp on the “criminality” of such conduct as was imputed to the accused, yet certainly left some margin to the jury for the exercise of their opinion upon “the law and the facts.”

At two o’clock in the afternoon the jury retired to consider their verdict, and as the judges at the same moment withdrew to their chamber, the pent-up feelings of the crowded audience instantly found vent in loud Babel-like expressions and interchange of comments on the charge, and conjectures as to the result.  “Waiting for the verdict” is a scene that has often been described and painted.  Everyone of course concluded that half-an-hour would in any case elapse before the anxiously watched jury-room door would open; but when the clock hands neared three, suspense intense and painful became more and more visible in every countenance.  It seemed to be only now that men fully realized all that was at stake, all that was in peril, on this trial! A conviction in this case rendered the national colour of Ireland for ever more an illegal and forbidden emblem!  A conviction in this case would degrade the symbol of nationality into a badge of faction!  To every fevered anxious mind at this moment rose the troubled memories of gloomy times—­the “dark and evil days” chronicled in that popular ballad, the music and words of which now seemed to haunt the watchers in the court:—­