The American captain was a rude, uncouth
Down-Easter, about thirty years old, and sat on a bench, doubled and bent
into an indescribable attitude, out of which he occasionally straightened
himself, all the time toying with a ruler, or some such article. The
case was one of no interest; the man had been frost-bitten, and died from
natural causes, so that no censure was deserved or passed upon the
captain. The jury, who had been examining the body, were at first
inclined to think that the man had not been frostbitten, but that his
feet had been immersed in boiling water; but, on explanation by the
surgeon, readily yielded their opinion, and gave the verdict which the
coroner put into their mouths, exculpating the captain from all blame.
In fact, it is utterly impossible that a jury of chance individuals
should not be entirely governed by the judgment of so experienced and
weighty a man as the coroner. In the court-room were two or three police
officers in uniform, and some other officials, a very few idle
spectators, and a few witnesses waiting to be examined. And while the
case was going forward, a poor-looking woman came in, and I heard her, in
an undertone, telling an attendant of a death that had just occurred.
The attendant received the communication in a very quiet and
matter-of-course way, said that it should be attended to, and the woman
retired.
THE DIARY OF A CORONER would be a work likely to meet with large popular
acceptance.
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