New York - The Novel

to declare that if indeed the accused did not deny publishing the libels, then the jury must find him guilty. Glancing a little nervously at Hamilton, he also reminded the jury that it didn’t matter whether the newspaper articles were true or false. It was libel anyway. Then, for a considerable time, citing law, custom and the Bible, the Attorney explained to the jury why libel was so serious a crime, and why, under law, they had no choice but to pronounce Zenger guilty. Finally, he sat down.
    “Hamilton’s lost it already,” Kate whispered to her father, but he only answered, “Wait.”
    The old man from Philadelphia seemed to be in no hurry.
    He waited while Chambers said a few words for the defense, then, having shuffled his papers, he slowly rose. Though he addressed the court politely, the look on his face seemed to suggest that he was slightly puzzled by the whole proceedings.
    For it was hard for him, he told them, to see why they were all here. If a reasonable complaint about a bad administration was a libel, it was news to him. Indeed—he gave the jury a wry, sideways glance—he wouldn’t even have realized that the articles in Zenger’s paper referred to the governor personally, if the prosecutor hadn’t assured the court that they did. At this, several of the jurymen grinned.
    Moreover, he pointed out, the legal authority for the prosecutor’s idea of libel came from the tyrannical Star Chamber court of fifteenth-century England. Hardly encouraging. And besides, wasn’t it possible that a law made in England, centuries ago, might have become inappropriate for the American colonies today?
    It seemed to Kate that this sounded disloyal to England, and she glanced at her father; but he leaned across and whispered: “Seven of the jurors have Dutch names.”
    Yet for some reason, the old man suddenly seemed to wander. It was just like the case of American farmers, being subject to English laws that were designed for a different kind of landholding system, he declared. He seemed to have a particular interest in farming. He talked of horses and cattle, and was just warming to the subject of fencing livestock, when the prosecutor rose to point out that all this had nothing to do with the case. And Kate might have concluded that the old man from Philadelphia had indeed lost the thread of his argument, if she had not noticed that three of the jurors, who looked like farmers, gave the prosecutor a black look.
    The prosecutor would not be denied, however. The charge was libel, he reminded them, and the defense had already admitted it. But now old Andrew Hamilton was shaking his head.
    “We are charged with printing and publishing ‘a certain false, malicious, seditious and scandalous libel,’” he pointed out. It was up to the Attorney now to prove that Zenger’s complaints about the evil governor were false. For in fact, he offered, he’d be happy to prove that every word was true.
    The faces of the jurors lit up. They were looking forward to this. But Kate saw her father shake his head.
    “It won’t wash,” he muttered. And sure enough, for several minutes,though the old lawyer struggled with might and main, the Attorney and the judge interrupted him again and again to deny him his point. The law was the law. Truth made no difference. He had no defense. The prosecutor looked satisfied; the jury did not. Old Andrew Hamilton stood by his chair. His face was strained. He seemed to be in pain, and about to sit down.
    It was over, then. By a monstrous law, poor Zenger was to be doomed. Kate looked at the printer, who was still very pale and upright in his box, and felt not only sympathy for him, but shame at the system that was about to condemn him. She was most surprised, therefore, to see her father suddenly gaze at old Hamilton with admiration.
    “By God,” he murmured to himself. “The cunning old fox.” And before he could explain it to her, they saw the Philadelphia lawyer turn.
    The change was remarkable. His face had cleared. He stood tall. It was as if, like a magician, he had suddenly transformed himself. There was a new light of fire in his eyes. As he started to speak, his voice rang out with a new authority. And this time, no one dared interrupt him.
    For his summing-up was as masterful as it was simple. The jury, he reminded them, was the arbiter in this court. Lawyers could argue, the judge could direct them how to find; but they had the power to choose. And the duty. This