"Very," said he.
"As clannish as the Highlanders?" said I.
"Yes," said he, "and a good deal more."
We came to the house of the wounded butcher, which was some way out
of the town in the north-western suburb. The magistrate was in the
lower apartment with the clerk, one or two officials, and the
surgeon of the town. He was a gentleman of about two or three and
forty, with a military air and large moustaches, for besides being
a justice of the peace and a landed proprietor, he was an officer
in the army. He made me a polite bow when I entered, and I
requested of him permission to be present at the examination. He
hesitated a moment and then asked me my motive for wishing to be
present at it.
"Merely curiosity," said I.
He then observed that as the examination would be a private one, my
being permitted or not was quite optional.
"I am aware of that," said I, "and if you think my remaining is
objectionable I will forthwith retire." He looked at the clerk,
who said there could be no objection to my staying, and turning
round to his superior said something to him which I did not hear,
whereupon the magistrate again bowed and said that he should he
very happy to grant my request.
We went upstairs and found the wounded man in bed with a bandage
round his forehead, and his wife sitting by his bedside. The
magistrate and his officials took their seats, and I was
accommodated with a chair. Presently the prisoner was introduced
under the charge of a policeman. He was a fellow somewhat above
thirty, of the middle size, and wore a dirty white frock coat; his
right arm was partly confined by a manacle. A young girl was
sworn, who deposed that she saw the prisoner run after the other
with something in his hand. The wounded man was then asked whether
he thought he was able to make a deposition; he replied in a very
feeble tone that he thought he was, and after being sworn deposed
that on the preceding Saturday, as he was going to his stall, the
prisoner came up to him and asked whether he had ever done him any
injury? he said no. "I then," said he, "observed the prisoner's
countenance undergo a change, and saw him put his hand to his
waistcoat-pocket and pull out a knife. I straight became
frightened, and ran away as fast as I could; the prisoner followed,
and overtaking me, stabbed me in the face. I ran into the yard of
a public-house and into the shop of an acquaintance, where I fell
down, the blood spouting out of my wound." Such was the deposition
of the wounded butcher.
