by Ann Walsh
I held my breath. There wasn’t a sound to be heard in the crowded courtroom — not a rustle, not a voice, not a breath.
The foreman of the jury cleared his throat. “We find the prisoner Guilty, Your Honour,” he said. “Guilty as charged,” he repeated.
A deep sigh swept through the room, as if everyone there had released his breath at the same instant. Then movement began again. Heads turned, bodies shifted, and all eyes focused on James Barry.
Judge Begbie stood. “James Barry, this court has found you guilty of the murder of Charles Morgan Blessing on May 31, 1866. I am in complete accord with their decision. I, personally, can no more doubt your guilt than if I had been an eyewitness to it. I have no doubt that you persuaded your victim to leave the road and then perpetrated the crime; and that you did it for the sake of profit, the most sordid of motives. You have dyed your hands in blood … The law claims a death for a death.”
He slowly placed a square of black silk over his long wig before speaking again. “My painful duty now is to pass the last sentence of the law on you, which is that you be taken to jail whence you came, and from there to a public place of execution, there to be hanged by the neck until you are dead.”
He carefully removed the black silk square, then turned and left the bench, his long robes billowing out behind him. He paused briefly in front of the prisoner’s dock, looked at James Barry, shook his head almost sadly, then left the room. Constable Sullivan and Chief Constable Fitzgerald replaced the handcuffs on Barry who sat silent, looking as if he had been hit in the stomach. As they pulled him to his feet and began to lead him towards the door, towards his cell, he stopped and appealed to them. “But I’m innocent! Constable, you must believe me. I’m innocent!”
“Come along now, Barry” said Constable Sullivan. “If the judge and the jury have found you guilty, then guilty you are — as if we all didn’t know it long ago.”
James Barry’s eyes searched the courtroom until he saw me. “Master Percy, tell them!” he called. “Tell them I’m innocent. I could have killed you when I had the chance, but I spared your life. Would a murderer have done that? Tell them how I spared you; tell them I’m innocent!”
I said nothing, but sat and watched as he was pulled, none too gently, from the room.
From outside the courtroom I heard his voice, faintly, “I meant no harm to you, Ted. Tell them, tell them …”
I never saw him alive again.
17
A Life for a Life
August 8, 1867. The day James Barry was to die. The sky was blue, cloudless, and the sun beat down, warming the earth that would soon cover his body.
Barkerville was in a tremendous state of excitement. There had never been an execution on the Creek. People talked of nothing else all day, and the town was divided right down the middle — into those who planned to attend the hanging, and those who planned to do anything but!
My parents belonged to the last group. They said that they had no intention of watching a man die before their eyes, and I was strictly instructed to stay away too. “Any man, even a convicted murderer, deserves to die with dignity,” said Pa. “Making a public spectacle of his death takes that away from him. This family, at least, will let him die without standing around like hungry coyotes watching a sick rabbit. Mind now, you stay away from the Richfield courthouse this evening, Ted.”
I had no intention of going. James Barry’s speech to the court had upset me, upset me to the point where I was no longer sure of his guilt. He had sounded so reasonable, his story had seemed so logical, and he hadn’t shown any of the evil that I had sensed in him earlier. Maybe he hadn’t murdered Charles Blessing. Maybe the verdict was wrong.
The hanging was to take place that evening, at six o’clock. The scaffold had been built, and crowds had gathered just to watch it going up. According to the law, the scaffold had to be dismantled immediately after the execution. I had heard from Moses that the men responsible for taking it down had been accepting offers of money, money in exchange for a piece of wood on which a man had died! The thought made me sick.
I didn’t do much that day. I sat in Moses’s shop for a while, but neither of us had anything to say. We were both busy with our own thoughts. We didn’t dare talk about James Barry’s statement. Both of us had done all we could to see him arrested and tried; neither of us could face the thought that he might, after all, be innocent.
Later, I went home and took out my violin. Although I practiced for two hours, I couldn’t keep my mind on what I was doing, and my fingers refused to co-operate. Finally I put the violin aside and went down to the carpentry shop to see if Pa needed me. For a while, working with the clean wood, feeling the rough texture of sandpaper in my hands, and watching the shavings curl away from the plane, I almost forgot what was to happen that evening. Almost, but not quite.
Dinner was quiet. My parents left at about half past five. There was a special church service that evening, scheduled for the time of the hanging. Many people were going to the service. They were mostly those who didn’t approve of the public execution. I guess they planned on praying for James Barry’s soul. I didn’t want to go. I just wanted to get this long day over with, over and forgotten.
“Are you sure you don’t want to change your mind and come with us?” asked Ma as she tied on her bonnet. “You won’t be worried, staying alone right now?”
“No, Ma.” I managed a small smile. “I’ll be all right. It’s over now, you know. All over.”
“Well, we’ll be going, then. You could split a load of wood for the cookstove. We’re running low,” said Pa. Then they were gone, and I was alone.
I planned on splitting the wood. I went outside, sharpened the axe, and even took a few swings with it. But then I turned, and started up the hill, drawn towards Richfield, towards the hanging.
I don’t know what I was thinking. I didn’t want to see James Barry hanged, but I did want to know for sure that he was dead, that he could never come back and settle his score with me. Maybe I halfway expected that he wouldn’t be hanged, that there would be a last minute stay of execution. Perhaps the jury had reconsidered — could a jury do that? I didn’t know. All I knew was that I had to find out what was happening. So I walked up the hill, towards the newly built gallows.
Long before I reached the courthouse I could hear the crowd. Voices reached down the trail to me, almost as if they were urging me to hurry. I kept walking, wondering why the last few yards seemed so steep today. Then I rounded a corner, and the tall, white building was in front of me.
The crowd must have been fifty thick in some places. I knew the scaffold was there, but I couldn’t see it. It was completely surrounded by people. There were people perched in the trees, standing on rocks, and pressing closely around the front of the courthouse.
I turned around again. I didn’t want to watch, anyway. I found a large pine tree, just off the path, and sat down with my back to it. I could hear the crowd, hear them laughing and pushing and shuffling their feet, but I couldn’t see anything.
I waited, and listened.
The crowd gasped and a voice called out, “There he is! There’s the murderer!” The noise grew louder. It seemed that everyone had a comment to make.
“Doesn’t he look dreadful?”
“I heard that he’s been sick.”
“Sick my foot! That’s the face of a guilty conscience.”
“Oh, look! There’s a priest with him.”
“Hope he’s said his prayers, not that they’ll do him any good where he’s going!”
Silence fell, and then a single voice, I don’t know whose, echoed down to me. “James Barry, have you any last words to say before you go to meet your maker?”
The silence returned, silence so deep that the rustle of the leaves in the big cottonwood trees outside the courthouse sounded loud and out of place.
“I am innocent. You are killing an innocent man.” There was no mistaking Barry’s voice. It rose above the
crowd, clear and loud. “God rest your souls,” he continued, “for I am innocent of this deed.”
A murmur ran through the crowd. I heard a few snatches of conversation, “Not likely … did you hear that, innocent as a killer wolf … the man’s a liar.” Then all was quiet again.
In the silence, the absolute quiet that had come over the spectators, a sudden loud crash rang out — the sound of a heavy trap door falling and crashing against its supports. As one, the crowd sighed.
It was done.
18
It Ends – Perhaps
“Ted!” the voice was loud and came from behind me. I jumped and turned around. Moses stood on the trail, looking at me.
“Ted. I met your ma and pa in town. They said you were home alone, so I thought I’d come up and stay with you. I figured you could do with some company right now. I know I didn’t want to be alone this evening.”
“I just …”
“Your pa said that on no account were you to go to the hanging, but when I found your house empty I knew where you would be. Why, Ted, why?”
“Oh, Moses.” I suddenly found it hard to speak. I swallowed, and went on. “I don’t know why. I wasn’t going to come to the hanging, really I wasn’t. It just — happened.”
Moses left the road and came to sit down beside me. A few people began to drift away from the crowd. One lady was crying. The rest of them stayed, watching.
“He’s dead, Moses,” I said. “I heard the noise as the trap fell. He’s dead.”
“Yes. He won’t be troubling you again, Ted.”
“But he’s dead! They killed him.”
“We killed him, Ted. The law is ours, the people’s. It does things in our name, to protect us and keep us safe.”
“But Moses, the law — we — have no right to take a man’s life.”
He sighed. “Ted, it’s just punishment for what he did to my friend Charles. An eye for an eye — and a life for a life. It’s justice.”
“No, Moses, it isn’t. It isn’t right!” I put my head between my hands. I was shaking, shaking right down to my toes, and the palms of my hands were sweating. I hoped I wasn’t going to cry.
“It isn’t right,” I said again, my voice muffled. “He spared my life. He didn’t shoot me when he had the chance. And I …” I swallowed hard again. “I helped to kill him, Moses!”
Moses reached out a hand and put it on my shoulder. “You did what you had to do, Ted. You helped the law, helped me, helped all of us. You aren’t responsible for his death. He is. James Barry is responsible for his own death because he took the life of a fellow man.”
“Are we sure, Moses? When you listened to him talking in the courtroom, were you sure that he was guilty?”
Moses thought for a while before he answered. “No, Ted, I guess we can never be absolutely sure that he wasn’t telling the truth. But the judge and jury didn’t believe him; they found him guilty. He spoke well, but the evidence was against him.”
“Moses, what if he is … was innocent? What if we hanged an innocent man?”
“That is the trouble with hanging, Ted. You can’t change your mind, and say ‘We made a mistake, sorry.’ I believe he was guilty, though. In my heart I knew that he was guilty, that he murdered my friend in cold blood.”
“I hope your heart is right, Moses. I hope it’s telling you the truth.”
Moses stood up and looked down at me, smiling slightly. “I’m sure of it, Ted. James Barry was guilty.”
I stood, too. “But still, even if he was guilty, we didn’t have the right to murder him in return. What we did, what the law did, is as wrong as what he did.”
“Perhaps, Ted, perhaps.” Moses began to walk down the trail. I walked with him, slowly.
“Right or wrong, it’s the law, Ted. Maybe someday they’ll change it. Maybe sometime in the future they’ll figure out what to do with evil men, with murderers, without killing them in return.”
We went on in silence. Dusk was growing thicker, and the night sounds of the gold fields began to make themselves heard — the slow croak of frogs, the sleepy noises of birds settling down for the night, the gurgling, splashing of the creek itself. We reached my house and stopped.
“Your ma and pa aren’t back yet,” said Moses, noticing the dark windows. “I shouldn’t mention where you’ve been tonight, if I were you.”
“No, I won’t.”
“Do you want me to come in with you?”
“No, I’ll be all right, Moses. Thank you. I guess I never thought much about what they’d do to him, to Barry, if they found him guilty. I never thought that he would have to pay with his life — that I would help to send a man to his death.”
Moses spoke softly. “It’s over now, Ted. It’s over.”
We looked at each other in silence for a while. Moses finally sighed and spoke, “Well, I’ll be going, then. Come and visit with me when you’re not busy in your pa’s shop.”
“I will, Moses, I will.”
He walked away, down the trail, a slender, dark figure almost invisible in the growing dusk. Suddenly he stopped, turning back towards me. “Remember, Ted,” he called, “it’s over. He’s gone. You’ll sleep easier from now on.”
I wonder. I wonder if I will.
Acknowledgements
The author wishes to thank the following people for their help and encouragement: W.G. Quackenbush, Curator, Barkerville Historic Town; Michael Rawluk; Kim Herdman; Alvin Sanders; Ron Young; Teacher Librarian Maria Lepetitch; and the students of 150 Mile School.
Historical Notes
This book is fictionalized history. All characters and most events are factual, with the exception of my hero, Ted, and his family. Therefore, although James Barry did hang for the murder of Charles Morgan Blessing, it is unlikely that he was ever involved with a twelve-year-old boy.
This story was difficult to write because of the many versions of the Blessing murder that exist. In one version the nugget was reported to look like an angel; in other versions, a man’s face or a skull. Similarly, the discovery of the nugget is told in many ways. One story says that Barry gave it to a saloon girl who tried to pay Moses with it, a second that Moses saw someone else wearing it, and yet another that Moses himself recognized it while shaving Barry. Barry was captured either at Yale or at the Alexandra suspension bridge; again, it depends on which book you read. I took parts of each story to write this book, which is why, if you read another version of the Blessing murder, some things may be told differently.
Some of my material comes directly from the Cariboo Sentinel, Barkerville’s paper, some from the files in the Barkerville “Curatorial Service,” some from talking to people who have studied this era, and a great deal from various history books.
I have taken liberties with the setting of the story. Barkerville, in its entirety, burned down in September of 1868, and what visitors see today is a reconstruction of the new town. The events in this story occurred in 1866 and 1867, but I have used Barkerville after the fire — specifically, reconstructed Barkerville — as my setting. That Barkerville is what can be seen by any visitor today, and places in the town mentioned in this story are easily recognized.
Similarly, the Richfield Courthouse was not built until 1882, years after James Barry was sentenced and hanged. However, I have chosen again to use the setting that is there now, rather than describing the small building that served as a courthouse until 1882. The new courthouse still stands, and is well worth the mile long uphill hike to see it. An actor portraying Judge Begbie holds court there during the summer session for anyone willing to take the steep walk
Characters
Wellington Delaney Moses
Wellington (or Washington, as some books refer to him) Moses was sometimes known as The Barkerville Barber. He died in 1890, and was most probably buried in the Barkerville cemetery in one of the many unmarked graves that still exist. His role in the story is accurate, with the exception of his friendship with Ted. His barbershop, the one
now on display in Barkerville, wasn’t actually built until 1879. However, he did have a shop in the town before the fire, and he did keep a diary, samples of which may be seen outside his shop today. His hair restorer, which he made himself from a secret formula, was famous throughout the gold fields.
Charles Morgan Blessing
Very little, only that which Moses could report, is known about Charles Morgan Blessing. I have included almost everything I could find out about him in this story. He did own the strangely-shaped nugget stickpin, but his story about it being his “luck” is my own invention.
James Barry
Not too much is known about James Barry, either. However, I did find one quote that stated he looked like “a tall, hard-faced Texan.” Another source thought that he was Irish. His statement to the jury is my own invention; nowhere could I find any record of his having explained how he came to have Charles Blessing’s nugget stickpin, or in any way defending himself against the charge of murder. However, he did repeat, over and over, that he was innocent. He was hanged on August 8, 1867, at six in the morning. (For dramatic reasons I have changed the time in this story to six in the evening.) No one knows for sure just where he was buried. Another man was tried and hanged at the same time, but information about him and whom he murdered is very scanty. He has no part in this story, so I have left him out. He and James Barry were the only two men ever hanged in the Williams Creek area.
James Barry was convicted mainly on the testimony that I have included in this book. No one, not even Judge Begbie, whose summing up I have slightly paraphrased, seemed to have any doubt as to his guilt. However, as I researched this story, I began to have doubts. It seems to me that a good modern trial lawyer could have saved him from the gallows; the evidence against him was all circumstantial and much depended on Moses’s testimony. But James Barry is definitely the villain of this story, and I leave it to the reader to decide if the jury was correct in its decision.
