Gavel bang

"Next case!"

Joe was ushered up the stairs that led to the directly to the dock at the court.  His gait was slower than normal because he was terrified.
His throat was bone dry and his knees were weaker than usual. He dared not look around to see if his family were present.
There was some low whispering from the gallery behind him, but mostly oppressive silence. Gripping the railing that surrounded the box he stared at the elderly magistrate in his robes.  The room's dark panelling, vaulted ceiling, and massive coat of arms all oozed presence, serving to only heighten Joe's fears.

Could they hang him? Transport him to Australia?

The magistrate cleared his throat, studied Joe for a moment. Joe felt burning gazes from the judge and from those behind him.  He had fastened his top button, his jacket, and run his had through his hair to make himself presentable, but he could only do so much. The judge finished looking at Joe and then glanced down at a piece of paper.

"You are Joseph Blacke, 18, of -- Osway Street, Whitby?"