CHAPTER VIII
A SUCCESSFUL CONSPIRACY
My way home lay through Dean Street as far as St. Ann's Church: then Ipassed across Leicester Fields: and through Green Street at thesouth-east angle of the Fields into St. Martin's Lane. All this part ofthe way is greatly infested at night by lurking footpads from the choicepurlieus of Seven Dials and Soho. Of footpads, however, I had verylittle fear: they are at best a cowardly crew, even two or threetogether, and a man with a stout cudgel and some skill at aquarter-staff or single-stick need not be afraid of them: generally, twoor three passengers will join together in order to get across the Fieldswhich are especially the dangerous part: on many nights it was so latewhen I left the Square that even footpads, highwaymen, pickpockets andall were fairly home and in bed before I walked through the streets.
This evening by bad luck, I was alone. I found no other passengers goingmy way. But I had no fear. I poised my cudgel and set out, expectingperhaps an encounter with a footpad, but nothing worse. And it was notyet late, as hours go, in London: there were still people in thestreets.
What had happened was this. As soon as Probus learned the truth aboutthe gaming-table--a fatal thing it was to disclose my knowledge--heunderstood two things: first, that his money was irrevocably gone: andsecond, that if I revealed the truth to the Alderman in his suburbanretreat, he must needs investigate the position of things in which caseBankruptcy would be precipitated. After that, whether I died or signedthe agreement, or refused to sign it would matter nothing to him.Whereas, on the other hand, if my signature could be obtained before thebankruptcy, then money could be raised upon the succession: and if Iwere to die, then the whole of the money would be paid on the day of mydeath to Matthew. Whatever was done must therefore be done as soon aspossible.
Therefore, he resolved that the plot should be carried into execution onthe very Monday evening. He caused the cottage to be watched by one ofthe girls who frequented the Black Jack: she followed me all the wayfrom Lambeth to Soho Square: and she carried intelligence where to findme to the tavern, where Probus himself with Merridew, the Bishop, andthe Captain, was now waiting.
They understood that I was playing at a concert: they therefore salliedout about the time when the concert would be finishing and waited for mein the Square: at eleven o'clock I sallied forth: I walked down DeanStreet: they ran down Greek Street to meet me at the other end, wherethere are fewer people: but (I heard this afterwards) changed theirminds and got over the Fields into Green Street behind the Mews, wherethey resolved to wait for me. The Bishop posted himself on one side: theCaptain on the other: Mr. Probus and Mr. Merridew waited a littlefurther down the street. It was a dangerous plot that they were going toattempt: I am not surprised that neither the Bishop nor the Captain hadmuch stomach for the play. At this place, which has as bad a reputationas any part of London, there are seldom any passengers after night-fall;after midnight, none. It is dark: the houses are inhabited by criminaland disorderly people--but all this is well known to everybody.
I walked briskly along, anticipating no danger of this kind. Suddenly, Iheard footsteps in front of me and behind me: there was a movement inthe quiet street; by such light as the stars gave, I saw before me therascally face of the Bishop: I lifted my cudgel: I halfturned:--crash!--I remember nothing more.
When I came to my senses, or to some part of my senses, I found myselflying on a sanded floor: my head was filled with a dull and heavy pain:my eyes were dazed: to open them brought on an agony of pain. For awhilethe voices I heard were like the buzzing of bees.
I grew better: I was able to distinguish a little: but I could not yetopen my eyes.
The first voice that I recognized was that of Mr. Probus--the rasping,harsh, terrifying voice--who could mistake it?
'A bad case, gentlemen,' he was saying, 'a very bad case: it wasfortunate that I was passing on my way, if only to identify theprisoner. Dear me! I knew his honoured father, gentlemen; I was hisfather's unworthy attorney. His father was none other than Sir PeterHalliday. The young man was turned out of the house for misconduct. Abad case----Who would have thought that Sir Peter's son would die atTyburn?'
Then there was another voice: rich and rolling, like a low stop of theorgan--I knew that too. It was the voice of the Bishop.
'My name, Mr. Constable, is Carstairs; Samuel Carstairs; the Rev. SamuelCarstairs, Doctor of Divinity, Sanctae Theologiae Professor, sometime ofTrinity College, Dublin. I am an Irish clergyman, at present withoutcure of souls. I was walking home after certain godly exercises'--in theBlack Jack--I suppose--'when this fellow ran out in front of me, crying"Your money or your life." I am not a fighting man, Sir, but a servantof the Lord. I gave him my purse, entreating him to spare my life. As hetook it, some other gentleman, unknown to me, ran to my assistance, andknocked the villain down. Perhaps, Mr. Constable, you would direct hispockets to be searched. The purse contained seventeen guineas.'
I felt hands in my pocket. Something was taken out.
'Ha!' cried the Doctor. 'Let the money be counted.'
I heard the click of coin and another voice cried 'Seventeen guineas.'
'Well,' said Mr. Probus, 'there cannot be much doubt after that.'
'I rejoice,' said the Doctor, 'not so much that the money isfound--though I assure you, worthy Sir, I could ill afford the loss--asbecause it clearly proves the truth of my evidence--if, that is to say,there could be any question as to its truth, or anyone with thehardihood to doubt it.'
At this point, I was able to open my eyes. The place I knew for a RoundHouse. The Constable in charge sat at a table, a book before him,entering the case: Mr. Probus stood beside him, shaking his virtuoushead with sorrow. The Doctor was holding up his hands to express a goodclergyman's horror of the crime: Mr. Merridew was standing on the otherside of the Constable, and beside him the Captain, who now steppedforward briskly.
'My name,' he said, 'is Ferdinando Fenwick. I am a country man fromCumberland. I was walking with this gentleman'--he indicated Mr.Merridew. 'We were walking together for purposes of mutual protection,for I have been warned against this part of London, when I saw theaction described by this pious clergyman. The man ran forward raisinghis cudgel. I have brought it with me--You can see, Sir, that it is amurderous weapon. I saw the gentleman here, whose name I did notcatch----'
'Carstairs--By your leave, Sir--Samuel Carstairs--The Rev. SamuelCarstairs--Doctor of Divinity--Sanctae Theologiae Professor.'
'Thank you, Sir. I saw him hand over his purse. The villain raised hiscudgel again. I verily believe he intended to murder as well as to robhis victim. I therefore ran to the rescue and with a blow of my stickfelled the ruffian.'
The Constable looked doubtfully at Mr. Merridew, whom he knew by sight,as everybody connected with the criminal part of the law certainly did:he knew him as Sheriff's officer, nominally: thief-taker by secretprofession: thief-maker, as matter of notoriety at the Courts. From himhe looked at Mr. Probus, but more doubtfully, because he knew nothingabout him except that he was an attorney, which means to such people asthe Constable, devil incarnate. He also looked doubtfully at theCaptain, whose face, perhaps, he knew. Considering that the Captain hadbeen living for eight years at least in and about St. Giles's, androbbing about all the roads that run out of London, perhaps theConstable did know him by sight.
'Well,' he said, 'I suppose Sir John will look into it to-morrow. As forthis gentleman who says he is----I remember----'
Here Mr. Probus slipped something into his hand.
'It is not for me,' the worthy Constable added, 'to remember anything.Besides, I may be wrong. Well, gentlemen, you will all attend to-morrowmorning at Bow Street and give your evidence before Sir John Fielding.'
So they went away and I lay on the floor still wondering stupidly whatwould happen next.
Just then two watchmen came in. One was leading, or dragging, orcarrying a young gentleman richly dressed but so drunk that he couldneither stand nor speak: the other brought with him a poor cre
ature--awoman--young--only a girl still--dressed in rags and tatters;shivering: unwashed; uncombed; weak and emaciated: a deplorable object.
The Constable turned to the first case.
'Give the gentleman a chair,' he said. 'Put him before the fire. Reachme his watch and his purse. Search his pockets, watchman.'
'Please your honour,' said the watchman, 'I have searched his pockets.We came too late, Sir. Nothing in them.'
'The town is full of villains--full of villains,' said the officer, withhonest indignation. 'Well, put him in the chair. A gentleman can sendfor guineas if he hasn't got any guineas. Did he assault you, watchman?I thought so--Well--Let him sleep it off. Who's this woman?'
The watchman deposed to finding her walking about the deserted streetsbecause she had nowhere to go.
'Has she got any money? Then just put her in the strong room--and carrythis poor devil in after her. If that story holds--well--lay him on thebench--and take care of his head.'
They pushed the girl into the strong-room: carried me after her: laid medown on a wide stone bench without any kind of pillow or covering. Thenthey went out locking the door behind them.
I suppose that I should have suffered more than I did had it not beenfor the stupefying effect of the blow upon my head. I have only a dimrecollection of the night. The place was filled with poor wretches, menand women, who could not afford to bribe the Constable. In this land offreedom to be a poor rogue is hanging matter: to be a rogue with moneyin pocket and purse is quite another thing: that rogue goes free. Therogue runs the gauntlet: first, he may get off by bribing the watchman:if he fails to do that, he may bribe the constable: or if the worsthappens, he may then bribe the magistrate. I understand, however, thatthis has been changed, and that there are now no Justices who takebribes. Now, if the watchman brings few cases to the constable, andthose all poor rogues, he may lose his place: and if the constablepockets all the bribes and brings the magistrate none, he may lose hisplace. So that it is mutually agreed between the three that each is tohave his share. All mankind are for ever seeking and praying forJustice, and behold, this is all we have got in the boasted eighteenthcentury. I suppose, however, that in such a case as mine, a charge ofhighway robbery, in which the prisoner was taken red-handed, noconstable would dare to take a bribe.
From time to time in the night we were disturbed by the grating of thekey in the lock as the door was opened for the admission of another poorwretch. Then these interruptions ceased, and we were left in quiet.
When the day broke through the bars of the only window, I could lookround upon the people, my companions in misfortune. There were three orfour women in tawdry finery--very poor and miserable creatures who wouldbe happier in the worst prison than in the way they lived: two or threepickpockets and footpads: one or two prentices, who would be sent toBridewell and flogged for being found drunk. There was very little talk.Mostly, the wretches sat in gloomy silence. They had not even thecuriosity to ask each other as to the offenses with which they werecharged.
As the light increased the women began to whisper. They exhorted eachother to courage. Before them all, in imagination, stood the dreadfulwhipping-post of Bridewell. Some of them have had an experience of thatpunishment.
'It takes but two or three minutes,' they said. 'Then it soon passesoff. Mind you screech as if they were murdering you. That frightens theAlderman, and brings down the knocker. Don't begin to fret about it.'They were talking about their whippings in Bridewell. 'Perhaps Sir Johnwill let you go. Sometimes he does.' My head pained, and I closed myeyes again.
At about eight o'clock the doors were flung wide open. Everyone started,shuddered, and stood up. 'Now, then,' cried a harsh voice, 'out withyou! Out, I say.'
I was still giddy with last night's blow: my hair was stiff with blood:my head ached, but I was able to walk out with the others. Theconstables arranged us in a kind of procession, and put the handcuffs onevery one. Then we were marched through the streets two by two, guardedby constables, to Bow Street Office, the Magistrate of which was thenSir John Fielding.
There was some slight comfort in the thought that he was blind: he couldnot be prejudiced against me by my appearance, for my face was smearedwith blood: my hair was stiff with blood. There was blood on my coat,and where there was not blood there was the mud of the street in which Ihad lain senseless.
The business of the Court was proceeding. The Magistrate sat at a table:his eyes were bandaged. The eyes of Justice should be always bandaged.Over his head on the wall hung the Lion and the Unicorn: the prisonerswere placed in a railed space: the witnesses in another, those in mycase, I observed, were in readiness and waiting: three or four BowStreet runners were standing in the Court: there was a dock for theprisoner facing the magistrate.
The cases took little time. There is a dreadful sameness about thecharges. The women were despatched summarily and sent off to Bridewell:they received their sentences with cries and lamentations, which stoppedquickly enough when they found that they could not move the magistrate:the pickpockets were ordered to be whipped: the other rogues werecommitted to prison. They were destined, for the most part, totransportation beyond the seas. It is useful for the country to get ridof its rogues: it seems also humane to send them to a country where theymay lead an honest life. Alas! the humanity of the law is marred by theexecution of the sentence, for though the voyage does not last more thansix or eight weeks, the gaol fever taken on board the ship; the seasickness; the stench; the dirt; the foul air of the ship, commonly killat least a third of the poor creatures thus sent out. As for those whoare left, many of them run away from their masters: make their way to aport, get on board a ship, and are carried back to London, where theyare fain to go back to their old companions and resume their old habits,and get known to Mr. Merridew and his friends, and so at last findthemselves in the condemned cells.
My case came on, at last. I was placed in the dock facing themagistrate. The clerk read to him the notes of the case provided by thechief constable.
'Your name, prisoner?' he asked.
'I am William Halliday,' I said, 'only son of the late Sir PeterHalliday, formerly Lord Mayor of London. I am a musician now in theemployment of Madam Vallance, Proprietor of the Assembly Rooms in SohoSquare.'
The Magistrate whispered to his clerk.
Then the evidence was given. One after the other they manfully stoodup: kissed the book: and committed perjury. Sir John Fielding asked theDoctor several questions. He was evidently doubtful: his clerk whisperedagain: he pressed the doctor as to alleged profession and position.However, the man stuck to his tale. The fact that the purse was found inmy pocket was very strong. Then the Captain told his story.
Mr. Merridew did not attempt any disguise: he was too well knownin Court: he stated that he was a Sheriff's officer--namedMerridew--everybody in the court gazed upon him with the greatestcuriosity, the women whispering and looking from him to me. 'Who is he?'they asked each other. 'What has he done? Do you know him--do you?' Thesurprise at the appearance of a stranger in the dock charged on theevidence of the worthy sheriff's officer caused general surprise.However, Mr. Merridew took no notice of the whispering. He wasapparently callous: he took it perhaps as proof of popularity andadmiration: he gave his evidence in the manner of one accustomed to bearwitness, as indeed he was, having perhaps given evidence oftener thanany other living man. He stated that he had joined a stranger to walkfrom the Tottenham Court Road to Charing Cross, each carrying a cudgelfor self-defence: that he observed the action described by the worthyand learned Doctor of Divinity from Ireland: that his companion, thisgallant young gentleman, rushed out to the rescue of the clergyman, andso forth. So he retired with a front of iron.
Mr. Probus added to the evidence which you have already heard thestatement that he came accidentally upon the party and after thebusiness was over: that he happened to have been attorney to the lateSir Peter Halliday: that he recognized the robber as the unnatural sonof that good man, turned out of his father's
home for his many crimesand vices: and that in the interest of justice and respect for the lawsof his country he went out of his way, and was at great personal lossand inconvenience in order to give this evidence.
The Magistrate put no questions to him. He turned to me and asked if Ihad anything to say or any evidence to offer.
I had none, except--that I was no highwayman, but a respectablemusician, and that this was a conspiracy.
'You will have the opportunity,' said Sir John, 'of proving the fact.Meantime, in the face of this evidence, conspiracy or not, I have nochoice but to commit you to Newgate, there to remain until your trial.'
They set me aside and the next case was called.
So you understand, there are other ways of compassing a man's deathbesides simple murder. It is sufficient to enter into a conspiracy andto charge him with an offence which, by the laws of the country, ispunishable by death.
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