ome's battle had begun. Besides the counsel already named, there were
on the slave's side a second Upton and a Bonford, and on the master's
side a Sigur, a Caperton, and a Lockett. The redemptioners had made the
cause their own and prepared to sustain it with a common purse.

Neither party had asked for a trial by jury; the decision was to come from
the bench.

The soldier, in the tableaux of Judge Buchanan's life, had not dissolved
perfectly into the justice, and old lawyers of New Orleans remember him
rather for unimpeachable integrity than for fine discrimination, a man of
almost austere dignity, somewhat quick in temper.

Before him now gathered the numerous counsel, most of whose portraits have
long since been veiled and need not now be uncovered. At the head of one
group stood Roselius, at the head of the other, Grymes. And for this there
were good reasons. Roselius, who had just ceased to be the State's
attorney-general, was already looked upon as one of the readiest of all
champions of the unfortunate. He was in his early prime, the first full
spread of his powers, but he had not forgotten the little Dutch brig
_Jupiter_, or the days when he was himself a redemptioner. Grymes, on the
other side, had had to do--as we have seen--with these same redemptioners
before. The uncle and the father of this same Sally Miller, so called, had
been chief witnesses in the suit for their liberty and hers, which he
had--blamelessly, we need not doubt--lost some twenty-five years before.
Directly in consequence of that loss Salome had gone into slavery and
disappeared. And now the loser of that suit was here to maintain that
slavery over a woman who, even if she should turn out not to be the lost
child, was enough like to be mistaken for her. True, causes must have
attorneys, and such things may happen to any lawyer; but here was a cause
which in our lights to-day, at least, had on the defendant's side no moral
right to come into court.

One other person, and only one, need we mention. Many a New York City
lawyer will recall in his reminiscences of thirty years ago a small,
handsome, gold-spectacled man with brown hair and eyes, noted for
scholarship and literary culture; a brilliant pleader at the bar, and
author of two books that became authorities, one on trade-marks, the other
on prize law. Even some who do not recollect him by this description may
recall how the gifted Frank Upton--for it is of him I write--was one day
in