“This won't do!” snapped the judge. “This trial will degenerate into nothing but a cat fight if we are not careful.” Then a bright idea suggested itself to his Occidental mind. “Suppose I appoint an official umpire to say which of the other two interpreters is correct-and let them decide who he shall be?”
This proposition was received with grunts of satisfaction by the two antagonists, who conferred together with astonishing amiability and almost immediately conducted into the court room a tall, emaciated Chinaman who they alleged was entirely satisfactory to both of them. He was accordingly sworn as a third interpreter, and the trial began again.
It was observed that thereafter there was no dispute whatever regarding the accuracy of the testimony, and as each interpreter was paid for his services at the rate of ten dollars a day it was rumored that the whole affair had been arranged by agreement between the two societies, which divided the money, amounting to some eighteen hundred dollars, between them. But, as O'Brien afterward asked Peckham, “How in thunder could you tell?”
The court's troubles had, however, only begun. Ah Fong was a whimsical-looking person, who gave an impression of desiring to make himself generally agreeable. He was, of course, the star witness-if a Chinaman can ever be a star witness-and presumably had been carefully schooled as to the manner in which he should give his testimony. He and he alone had seen the whole tragedy from beginning to end. He it was, if anybody, who would tuck Mock Hen comfortably into his coffin.
The problem of the interpreters having been solved Fong settled himself comfortably in the witness chair, crossed his hands upon his stomach and looked complacently at Mock Hen.
“Well, now let's get along,” adjured His Honor. “Swear the witness.”
Mr. Tutt immediately rose.
“If the court please,” said he, “I object to the swearing of the witness unless it is made to appear that he will regard himself as bound by the oath as administered. Now this man is a Chinaman. I should like to ask him a preliminary question or two.”
“That seems fair, Mr. O'Brien,” agreed the court. “Do you see any reason why Mr. Tutt shouldn't interrogate the witness?”
“Oh, let me qualify my own witness!” retorted O'Brien fretfully. “Ah Fong, will you respect the oath to testify truthfully, about to be administered to you?”
The interpreter delivered a broadside of Chinese at Ah Fong, who listened attentively and replied at equal length. Then the interpreter went at him again, and again Ah Fong affably responded. It was interminable.
The two muttered and chortled at each other until O'Brien, losing patience, jumped up and called out: “What's all this? Can't you ask him a simple question and get a simple answer? This isn't a debating society.”
The interpreter held up his hand, indicating that the prosecutor should have patience.
“Ah-ya-ya-oo-aroo-yung-ung-loy-a-a-ya oo-chu-a-oy-ah-ohay-tching!” he concluded.
“ A-yah-oy-a-yoo-oy-ah-chuck-uh-ung-loy-oo-ayah-a-yoo-chung-chung-szt-oo-aha-oy-ou-ungaroo-yah-yah-yah!” replied Ah Fong.
“Thank heaven, that's over!” sighed O'Brien.
The interpreter drew himself up to his full height.
“He says yes,” he declared dramatically.
“It's the longest yes I ever heard!” audibly remarked the foreman, who was feeling his oats.
“Does not that satisfy you?” inquired the court of Mr. Tutt.
“I am sorry to say it does not!” replied the latter. “Mr. O'Brien has simply asked whether he will keep his oath. His reply sheds no light on whether his religious belief is such that it would obligate him to respect an oath.”
“Well, ask him yourself!” snorted O'Brien.
“Ah Fong, do you believe in any god?” inquired Mr. Tutt.
“He says yes,” answered the interpreter after the usual interchange.
“What god do you believe in?” persisted Mr. Tutt.
Suddenly Ah Fong made answer without the intervention of the interpreter.
“When I in this country,” he replied complacently in English, “I b'lieve Gees Clist; when I in China I b'lieve Chinese god.”
“Does Your Honor hold that an obliging acquiescence in local theology constitutes such a religious belief as to make this man's oath sacred?” inquired Mr. Tutt.
The judge smiled.
“I don't see why not!” he declared. “There isn't any precedent as far as I am aware. But he says he believes in the Deity. Isn't that enough?”
“Not unless he believes that the Deity will punish him if he breaks his oath,” answered Mr. Tutt. “Let me try him on that?”
“Ah Fong, do you think God will punish you if you tell a lie?”
Fong looked blank. The interpreter fired a few salvos.
“He says it makes a difference the kind of oath.”
“Suppose it is a promise to tell the truth?”
“He says what kind of a promise?”
“A promise on the Bible,” answered Mr. Tutt patiently.
“He says what god you mean!” countered the interpreter.
“Oh, any god!” roared Mr. Tutt.
The interpreter, after a long parley, made reply.
“Ah Fong says there is no binding oath except on a chicken's head.”
Judge Bender, O'Brien and Mr. Tutt gazed at one another helplessly.
“Well, there you are!” exclaimed the lawyer. “Mr. O'Brien's oath wasn't any oath at all! What kind of a chicken's head?”
“A white rooster.”
“Quite so!” nodded Mr. Tutt. “Your Honor, I object to this witness being sworn by any oath or in any form except on the head of a white rooster!”
“Well, I don't happen to have a white rooster about me!” remarked O'Brien, while the jury rocked with glee. “Ask him if something else won't do. A big book for instance?”
The interpreter put the question and then shook his head. According to Ah Fong there was no virtue in books whatever, either large or small. On some occasions an oath could be properly taken on a broken plate-also white-but not in murder cases. It was chicken or nothing.
“Are you not willing to waive the formality of an oath, Mr. Tutt?” asked the judge in slight impatience.
“And wave my client into the chair?” demanded the lawyer. “No, sir!”
“I don't see what we can do except to adjourn court until you can procure the necessary poultry,” announced Judge Bender. “Even then we can't slaughter them in court. We'll have to find some suitable place!”
“Why not kill one rooster and swear all the witnesses at once?” suggested Mr. Tutt in a moment of inspiration.
“My God, chief!” exclaimed O'Brien at four o'clock. “There ain't a white rooster to be had anywhere! Hens, yes! By the hundred! But roosters are extinct! Tomorrow will be the twenty-first day of this prosecution and not a witness sworn yet.”
However, a poultryman was presently discovered who agreed simply for what advertising there was in it to furnish a crate of white roosters, a hatchet and a headsman's block, and to have them in the basement of the building promptly at ten o'clock.
Accordingly, at that hour Judge Bender convened Part IX of the General Sessions in the court room and then adjourned downstairs, where all the prospective witnesses for the prosecution were lined up in a body and told to raise their right hands.
Meantime Clerk McGuire was handed the hatchet, and approached the coop with obvious misgivings. Ah Fong had already given a dubious approval to the sex and quality of the fowls inside and naught remained but to submit the proper oath and remove the head of the unfortunate victim. A large crowd of policemen, witnesses, reporters, loafers, truckmen and others drawn by the unusual character of the proceedings had assembled and now proceeded without regard for the requirements of judicial dignity to encourage McGuire in his capacity of executioner, by profane shouts and jeers, to do his deadly deed.