Asked to identify himself to the court, Boone saluted and blurted out his name in a manner not entirely appropriate to the proceedings, adding, only after prompting from Sir Robert, “Midshipman, His Majesty’s Ship Adventure.”
Then Sir Robert prompted him again: “Will you tell us, please, young man, what it was you had to tell Captain Hartsell regarding the death of Captain Markham?”
“Oh yes, sir, I will, sir.”
And then, simply put, reader, Boone told a lie. It was not only a great lie, it was also quite plainly a lie, for not content with simply presenting whole cloth, he felt called upon to embroider it with moral indignation and self-righteous anger. It was also greatly deficient in detail.
The lie was this: that at some uncertain time before the day of the great storm, Mr. Landon had expressed to Midshipman Boone his hatred of Captain Markham.” He had an evil smile upon his face when he said it, sir,” declared Boone, “like unto the Devil hisself. He said he had been insulted by the captain and would somehow get revenge upon him. He frightened me, he did. I protested to him, I did, sir, I said what I knew to be true, that Captain Markham was a good officer and a just man, though sickly. Then said Mr. Landon that mattered naught to him, for he would have his own back, no matter what.”
Having had his say, he gave a nod that was meant to convey an attitude of great certainty. He shifted his feet as if eager to be gone. Yet Sir Robert, perhaps insulted by the crudeness of this attempt to attribute a motive to Lieutenant Landon’s alleged actions, put to him a series of questions that confused Boone and the answers to which seemed to embarrass all those who heard them.
“Can you be more specific to when Lieutenant Landon made these remarks to you? ‘ asked Sir Robert.
“Uh, not exactly, sir. Just that it was before the big storm.”
“What was the occasion of these remarks?”
“Sir?”
“Surely he did not simply walk up to you one fine day and say, ‘Oh, by the by. Midshipman Boone, I hate the captain and will have revenge upon him.’ Are you telling the court that this is how it occurred?”
“Uh, no sir.”
“How then?”
“Well …” Boone delayed a long moment, trying to give some substance to his fantastic tale with an imagined detail or two. Finally: “It was at night, sir.”
“At night, was it? And you two were alone?”
“Yes, sir, on the quarterdeck.”
“On the quarterdeck? What about the helmsman?”
“He was there too.”
“Did he hear Lieutenant Landon say all this?”
“No sir, because Mr. Landon whispered.”
“I see. Did you say something to him that drew from him the sinister remarks you have quoted?”
“Uh, no, well, all I said was I liked the captain.”
“And that was sufficient to inspire such sedition?”
“Sir?”
“Oh, never mind,” said Sir Robert.” But let me hear from you why you waited so long to inform the acting captain. You yourself said that this alleged conversation took place before the great storm. Yet it was not until months later that you reported it. Why was that?”
“Because, sir, I was frighted of him—of Mr. Landon, I mean. He come up to me one day after the storm, and he said to me, ‘Tell no one of what I said, or you will get the same as the captain.’”
“And that was sufficient to buy months of silence from you?”
“Sir?”
“Stay where you are, Midshipman Boone. There may be more questions for you. ‘ Sir Robert looked about the room.” Captain Hartsell, will you rise, please? Keep your place, but tell me, was this boy’s story truly what swayed you to write that letter of accusation against Lieutenant Landon?”
“It was, sir, ” said Hartsell in a forthright manner. “He was truly frightened of Mr. Landon when he came to me, and the threat made to Mr. Boone by Mr. Landon seemed to carry with it a confession of guilt in the matter of the captain’s death.”
“You were satisfied that the supposed insult by Captain Markham provided Lieutenant Landon with all that he needed by way of a reason to kill the captain?”
“I was, sir.”
“Did you confront Lieutenant Landon with Mr. Boone’s story?”
“I did not, sir.”
“Did you make known to him your own suspicions?”
“I did not, sir.”
“Did you mention the matter at all to Mr. Landon?”
“No, sir.”
“You chose, rather, to send the letter accusing him of murder?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And why was that? Why did you not attempt to convene a court-martial in Bombay?”
“For two reasons, sir. First, there were not at that time —nor, I believe, at any time while we were in Indian waters — a sufficient number of ships of the Royal Navy to provide senior officers for a panel of judges. Most of the time we in the Adventure were all alone there with naught but the East India Company’s merchantmen to keep us company. And second, sir, having lost the captain, we could not afford to lose more of our complement of officers. In point of fact, we did lose another officer, Lieutenant Highet, not quite a year later. Lieutenant Landon’s performance as an officer on the Adventure was satisfactory in every way but one: he had murdered Captain Markham.”
Sir John and I had heard this little joke of his before. Hearing it again annoyed me. What annoyed me further was hearing a number of those present, including Captain Bender of the Brutol, break into laughter at it. Hartsell waited for the laughter to subside.
“That was why, in short,” said he, “that I chose to defer the matter of Lieutenant Landon until our duty was done.”
“In fact, you waited until you had come to your present anchor before informing him, did you not?” asked Sir Robert.
“It was, in truth, the night before.”
“You may seat yourself, Captain Hartsell.”
He looked right and left to his fellow judges.” Are there any questions for Midshipman Boone?” Receiving no positive response from either Rear Admiral Semloe, nor from Captain Bender, he called out, “Mr. Byner, have you questions for Mr. Boone?”
“None, sir.”
“Very well, you may go, Mr. Boone.”
And indeed he quite fled. No longer so pleased with himself, he returned with his head low to his chair next to Hartsell s and simply sat down.
“Lieutenant William Landon, please present yourself,” spake Sir Robert.
And forth went Mr. Landon to the table whereat the panel of judges sat. After saluting and identifying himself, he adopted the same pose Hartsell had taken before the judges —feet planted wide and hands clasped behind him. I noted that in one hand he held a sheaf of foolscap rolled tight. Upon Sir Robert’s order, he launched upon his version of the events in question which occurred on April 12, 1767, the day of the great storm off the Cape of Good Hope.
It was essentially and in most of its particulars the tale he had told two days before in his uncle’s office at the Navy Board. It was clear that he had meant to report it in as cold and forthright a manner as his adversary, Hartsell, yet he could not. He faltered as he approached the climax, that moment upon the poop deck when Captain Markham slipped from his grasp and was propelled by the motion of the ship to the taffrail. As he attempted to describe his final efforts to save him, holding him, feeling him pulling away, Mr. Landon gave in at last to tears. Such displays of emotion were and are, of course, considered quite unseemly among officers of the Royal Navy; and when he blurted out, “… I was left with his shoe in my hand,” and quite lost control, sobbing and sniveling as any child might, a disapproving murmur went round the assemblage. The judges themselves averted their eyes.
“You have done then, Lieutenant Landon,” said Sir Robert. It was no interrogative but a statement, near a command.
Mr. Landon lifted his head.” No … sir, I … have not done. I have more to tell, of how this perfidi
ous charge came to be lodged against me, of how —”
“Lieutenant, you have done.”
“But I must —”
“You must nothing more —unless the other judges … No? Mr. Byner, have you anything to ask within the limits of this inquiry?”
“No questions, sir,” said Mr. Byner, “but a statement to be read in support of Lieutenant Landon.”
“What? Oh … oh yes, from the ship’s surgeon, not so?”
But of a sudden Mr. Landon had turned round and seemed to be addressing all present, waving the sheaf of foolscap he had kept tight in his hand all through his testimony.
“I have a statement!” cried he.” It is set forth in plain English what iniquitous, unnatural acts were perpetrated by that man!” He jabbed a finger angrily in the direction of Hartsell.
“Let me have that!” Sir Robert had risen from his chair.
“I demand the right to read it out in this court.”
“I must look at it first to determine its relevancy.”
Mr. Landon looked wildly about for a moment, as if searching for some higher authority to whom he might appeal. Finding none, he weakened. When he spoke next, it was in a smaller voice, and in a tone near pleading.
“Or at least, sir,” said he, “let it be inserted into the record of this trial.”
With that, Mr. Landon threw down the wadded and rolled sheaf upon the judges’ table. Sir Robert picked it up, unrolled it, and, still standing, gave it but a moment or two of his attention.
“This will not do,” said he.
And having said it, he set about to rip those papers into small bits and pieces. Mr. Landon watched him do so, and of course made no movement to stop him.
“You are no better than any of them,” said he to his uncle. “It is not in my nature to curse, but I call down God’s judgment upon you all.”
He went to his chair against the wall between the two marines and sat down, staring blindly ahead.
A silence of considerable duration Followed. I, for one, was aware of the quick, heavy breathing that seemed to come from the judges’ table. Sir Robert still stood, yet with difficulty. He supported himself but barely by his two arms. He was red-faced and panting. But he managed to gain control of himself and eased himself back down into his chair.
“Mr. Byner, read the statement from the surgeon.”
He proceeded to do that. Though I had been present as it was drafted, I found that I bare remembered it. Mr. MacNaughton’s words seemed not to be his own, as I indeed knew them to be. What he had insisted was an addiction to alcohol had become “a strong propensity to drink”; what he had diagnosed as a liver distended by alcohol was now “an abdominal swelling.” It had in such subtle ways as these become denatured, weaker. It did end, however, with a eulogy to Mr. Landon as “the finest Christian gentleman I have ever had the honor to know,” and a statement of certainty that Lieutenant Landon could never have committed the act of which he had been accused.” Surely a mistake of judgment has been made.”
Coming, as it did, after the drama that was played out before us by nephew and uncle, there was something anticlimactic about it all, not least because Mr. Byner read the statement aloud in a monotone and mispronounced the surgeon’s name when he had done.
“That will do to be inserted into the trial record,” said Sir Robert, now somewhat recovered. “Pass it to the clerk. Mr. Byner.”
Vice-Admiral Sir Robert Redmond looked left and right at his fellow judges, and then addressed them as follows: “You will note that the statement just read is somewhat at variance with the testimony given us by Captain Hartsell. No mention was made earlier by Captain Hartsell of Captain Markman’s ‘propensity to drink,’ nor of the latter’s frequent long absences above decks which Mr. MacNaughton attributed to that propensity. No doubt it was Captain Hartsell s generosity of spirit that prevented him from mentioning these as faults of his former captain. However, Mr. MacNaughton’s opinion, as a medical man, should probably be given greater weight.
“Having noted this for the record, I believe we have heard as much testimony as we need to make our decision. We shall absent ourselves for as long as it takes for us to reach it, and then we shall return with our verdict.”
He rose then, Rear Admiral Semloe and Captain Bender with him, and the three filed through a door at the rear of the room to the hall.
“Jeremy,” said Sir John beside me, “I should like you to see me down the stairs, since I know not the way, and then I want you to return here.”
He rose from his chair. I saw others stand and stretch, but we were the only two in the room who made for the door. As I moved him along to the nearby stairs, and as we descended them, he continued his instructions to me. And though they puzzled me somewhat, I asked for no explanation, since I perceived a sense of urgency in what he said to me.
“Once the judges return, and their decision is handed down, you must not let Hartsell and that young idiot Boone out of your sight. IF they take this route, which I expect they will do, then simply follow. If they take another, then stay with them long enough to be sure of their path, then run to me and tell me where to look for them. Is that understood?”
“Uh … yes sir.”
“Good. Now here is the door, is it not?”
He leaned forward and fumbled at it, searching for the handle. Finding it, he swung open the door —and there, to my surprise, standing quite nearby, was Benjamin Bailey, captain of the Bow Street Runners. Behind him I glimpsed Constable Perkins, which surprised me further.
“I’m here, Sir John,” said Mr. Bailey.
“Good. Now, Jeremy, you must return. But one last word: Do not let Boone get away.”
Boone? thought I as I jog-trotted back up the stairs. What importance had he? What had been planned? Could they not have trusted me sufficient to include me in their strategy?
I felt much confused and a little hurt as I reentered the hearing room and slipped into the chair by the door which I had left only a minute or two before. Those who had stood were still on their feet. There was some discussion between two or three, which was carried on in low, quiet tones. None made so bold as to walk about. Hartsell and Boone sat together; not a word passed between them. Lieutenant Landon was but a few feet away. His eyes were open, yet somehow blank; it was as though he had removed himself from this room, in which he had been so humiliated and abused, and taken himself away to some friendlier place where justice and charity ruled.
We had not long to wait. It could not have been much more than five minutes when the door to the hall reopened and the three judges returned through it and made their way back to their table. They remained standing.
“Will the prisoner come forward?”
It was necessary that one of the marines prod Lieutenant Landon to return him to the proper time and place, so far had he gone. Yet once back, he responded in the approved manner and presented himself to the judges of the court-martial. He saluted.
Vice-Admiral Sir Robert Redmond said as follows: “Lieutenant William Landon, you are found by the judges of this court-martial guilty of the murder of Captain Josiah Markham by means of drowning. You are hereby sentenced to be hanged by the neck until dead at Execution Dock one week from today. Corporal of the guard, return the prisoner to the Tower.” At that Mr. Landon saluted once again, which quite amazed me.
The rest was all carried out with great swiftness. The marines surrounded the lieutenant; and the corporal, barking out a series of commands, moved the entire party dovn the aisle past me through the door. Mr. Landon gave me no sign of recognition as he went by. Though I had been prepared for this outcome, I was dumbstruck nevertheless.
First to their feet were Hartsell and Boone. The newly made captain turned and looked about as if he expected to receive congratulations. He got none. Those who had assembled, for whatever reason, to witness these proceedings turned away from him as if from a leper. The judges of the court-martial disappeared through their portal at the far end
of the room. Others followed them out. A few trailed out the door just to my right, among them Hartsell and Boone. The captain paid me no mind; the midshipman, however, gave me a scowl which, I believe, was meant to frighten me. I allowed one or two to get between me and them so that my pursuit -would not seem obvious.
Thus we went down the stairs, and thus we exited through the door into the warm July morning. I came through the door just in time to hear Mr. Bailey say, “Captain Hartsell?”
And the foolish man looked up, smiled after his fashion, and said, “Why, yes” — as if he believed he was at last about to receive the recognition he was due tor his daring and cleverness.
“Right this way, sir.”
Curious, he followed Mr. Bailey toward the waiting coach. Neither he nor Boone noticed when Constable Perkins and I fell in behind them.
“Just inside, sir, ” said Mr. Bailey, most polite.” The coach will take you to your destination.”
Satisfied with that, Hartsell took himself up and was nearly inside, when (as I later learned) he spied Black Emma and the innkeeper from the Green Man awaiting him, alongside Sir John.
“That is the man,” said Black Emma.
“Aye,” said the innkeeper.” That’s him.”
“You are under arrest, sir, for the murder of Tobias Trindle,” said Sir John.
Then tried Hartsell vainly to clamber out. Mr. Perkins dealt him a great blow upon the backside wath his club, and Mr. Bailey picked him up by his trousers and threw him bodily inside.
That left Boone for me. He turned, wild-eyed, and looked where he might run. He found no place, for I delivered him a stout blow in his midsection for which he was in no wise prepared. He doubled over, and I gave him another in the face.
“That’ll do,” said Mr. Perkins to me.
And indeed it would, for Mr. Bailey picked Boone up then and with no trouble at all threw him in atop his master. Then he jumped in after them both.
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