Caribbean: a novel Part 31

In some perplexity Jason listened as these bulldogs of justice ended the meeting. He, like Mill, was determined to see Eyre chastised publicly lest this man of flawed character become a national hero, but he wanted to go only so far. He was willing to throw words at the man but not legal sanctions, and this confusion led him to reflect: When Oliver and I came to London, it was for five or six months at most. The other day I heard a lawyer say that if a trial is held, it might take three years. I must have Beth by my side.'

Upon consulting with Croome, he found him of like mind, so they dispatched urgent notes to Jamaica: 'Please hurry up to London. We need you,' and when the women arrived to take charge of the mansions, Cavendish Square resembled the old days when the families spent nine months of each year in London.

At the end of the first week, Nell Croome read the signs: 'Beth, our men are planning to stay here not for months but for years,' and Beth replied: 'The better for us. I love our house here,' and she began to serve as hostess for the meetings of John Stuart Mill's committee, whose program was 'Governor Eyre to the gallows for murder.'

The closeness of the two wives encouraged Croome to believe that he had a chance of weaning his cousin away from the Mill madness and over to the side of responsible patriots defending Eyre: 'You simply must meet our men, Jason. They're the backbone of Britain, and right now I'm taking you to see the best of the bunch, Thomas Carlyle. He'll straighten you out.'

Jason said: 'It might be improper for me to meet him under false colors, as it were. I am against Eyre, you know,' and Oliver said: 'You won't be after today,' and Jason went with him, for he did want to see this formidable man whose writings recommending that slavery be reestablished had so astounded him, and who now fought so stubbornly to defend Eyre. They drove to a modest house in London where a man of smallish height greeted them in the very heavy Scottish tweed suit he preferred, his head of thick hair trimmed just above his eyebrows, his graying beard and mustache somewhat unkempt, but his deep-set eyes flashing with that intelligence which amazed his readers.

Recognizing Croome as one of his adherents in the Eyre case, Carlyle extended his hand, then asked: 'Is this young man also one of us?' and Croome lied: 'He is. And I brought him to fortify his commitment.' At this, Carlyle invited them to join him in his study; as he led the way, they pa.s.sed Mrs. Carlyle, who without any introduction said almost casually: 'So you're the men who are going to protect dear Governor Eyre from the n.i.g.g.e.rs?'

'Yes,' Croome said eagerly, and she said: 'Fight the good fight, young men. Evil spirits are afoot.'

When the three were comfortably seated, Carlyle gave an animated account of his recent efforts on behalf of Eyre, ending with the exciting news: 'The Earl of Cardigan, hero of Charge of the Light Brigade-excellent poem that, by our friend Tennyson-has come over to our side. Gallant fellow, the public loves him and will listen.'

His razor-sharp, steel-hardened mind moved from one topic to another, and when Jason made bold to ask: 'Do you still maintain the ideas you expressed in your essay on n.i.g.g.e.rs?' he growled: 'More than ever since the rebellion in your Jamaica,' and before Jason could protest, he added: 'If you read my essay closely, written in 1848 or '49 if I remember correctly, you'll find that I antic.i.p.ated almost everything that happened. Quashee, not satisfied with free pumpkins to his heart's desire, started a rebellion against law and order and paid the price. We must alert all Britain to the dangers involved if the persecution of Eyre for having done his duty succeeds,' and Jason noticed that Carlyle, as a devoted Scot, never spoke of England.

As Carlyle ticked off the charges being made by John Stuart Mill and his committee, whom he termed 'lunatic' and 'corrupt,' he became fiery in his denunciation: 'They seem not to realize it! They're threatening the very existence of the empire, all the good work our men have done in civilizing the savages, all to protect lazy Quashee so he can eat more pumpkins.'

Then, before either of his visitors could interrupt, he proceeded to lecture them on the realities of Britain's position: 'All sensible men during the troubled years just past supported the Southern side in the American rebellion, for it represented stability and strength of character. Those not concerned about the ultimate freedom of their nation or mankind favored the North. Same factors operate in the Eyre case. All who love decency and moral force defend Eyre. Those who care not for the continuity of empire attack him.' Jason was eager to challenge this, but the dour Scotsman thundered on, his beard almost sparking with the fire his words carried: 'And mind you this, young men. Trouble's brewing in Europe, and if the sad day ever comes when Britain aligns herself with France against Germany, the empire is doomed.'

'Why?' Jason asked, and Carlyle snapped his reply: 'Because Germany represents manly behavior, the highest aspirations of nationhood, France the pusillanimous female meanderings.'

'Then why is France a nation and Germany not?'

'Pitiful leadership. But with our strong men coming onto the scene, real heroes in the ancient sense of that word, Germany will reign supreme on the Continent, and we must support her and ally with her.' He also gave it as his opinion that it would not be until well into the next century that any country in Europe would have to take the United States seriously: 'They lack strong men. Lincoln was a disaster.'

Then abruptly he turned to Eyre: 'We shall see to it, if we all work properly, that not a strand of his handsome black hair shall be touched by the dogs baying in the alleyways. He behaved like a man of character, reminding Quashee that there is more to life than eating pumpkins in the indolent shade of some tree. Work, work is what saves a man, and we have work to do, honest man's work, in holding off those fools who would attack a man for having done his duty.'

'How will you defend him against the charge that he sanctioned brutality?' Jason asked, and Carlyle glowered at him, an intense man afire with righteousness: 'In the long run of history and in the defense of human progress, young man, do not brood sentimentally over the fate of Quashee and a few of his pumpkin-eating friends. We are fighting for salvation, Eyre was fighting for it too, the salvation of the human race. Quashee has nothing to do with that, he will never make any contribution to it. Eyre contributed a great deal in pacifying Jamaica. Forget Quashee. Defend Eyre.'

When his voice rose, reiterating his tirade against Quashee, Croome broke into applause: 'Sir, you make the truth so explicit!' but Jason thought: What was that word Mill used to define blind rage? Monomania? Isn't Carlyle an example of it too?

On the ride home Croome misinterpreted his cousin's perplexed silence as proof that Carlyle's forceful logic had changed Jason's view of Eyre, and he believed that if his cousin would now experience the persuasive power of the governor's princ.i.p.al defender, Alfred Tennyson, he would be converted. To that end he directed his driver to stop by the house in which the great poet was staying during meetings of the Eyre committee, and there he scratched a note on the back of an envelope, asking the butler at the door if it might be delivered to Mr. Tennyson.

'Highly irregular,' the man said stiffly, but Croome persisted: 'We're members of his committee, you know.' The man closed the door in their faces, but not before saying: 'I'll ask.' And in this way the two cousins from Jamaica worked their way in to see the most famous poet of his time.

They found him a tall, languid man dressed in formal black, with a heavy beard that covered most of his face, a very high forehead leading almost to baldness except that what hair he had was kept very long, almost obscuring his proper white collar. But his distinguishing mark was one which visitors never forgot, an unusually strong nose framed between a pair of deep-set eyes that seemed anguished and saddened by their view of the world. In every outward aspect, he was a poet in the grand visual tradition of Byron, Sh.e.l.ley and especially Keats.

'You do me honor,' he said in a resonant voice, 'you Two Gentlemen from Jamaica.'

'You may remember me,' Croome said. 'On your committee. Very strong for Governor Eyre.'

'No need to remind me, because I remember well in the last century the important role played in this city and in Parliament by your ancestor, gruff old Pentheny Croome.' Then, turning gently toward Jason, he asked: 'And would I be wrong in presuming that this young man's name is Pembroke? Two Peas in a Pod they were called in the old days.'

'How could you know that?' Jason asked in amazement, and Tennyson replied: 'I know much about the old days ... the gallant fighters for what side was right ... ancestors of those who are fighting the good fight today.' He said this in a rather high, wavering voice.

Inviting them to sit, he called for tea, and as it was being served, he pointed to one cup that had been left empty: 'Fortunate you came when you did. The Earl of Cardigan is stopping by, and you must meet him, the great hero of the charge at Balaklava, a veritable lion in defense of Eyre,' and with the utterance of that name his voice lowered, became more grave and sharpened.

'We have much work to do, gentlemen. John Stuart Mill and his scientists are mounting a formidable a.s.sault on the splendid man we must defend,' but holding his princ.i.p.al comments until Cardigan arrived, he turned to Jason and asked: 'In Jamaica, did you get a good supply of books?'

'Oh yes! I remember so well that exciting day when the first copy of Locksley Hall arrived. I must have been no more than fourteen and Mother thought it too complex for me, but I read it anyway, and tears came when I realized that he was not going to win the girl he loved.'

'It is good to know tears when you are very young and trying to sort out the world, and also when you're very old and realize what you've missed. But no tears in the middle years. Then there's work to be done, and a man must be a man.'

'When I was older I became fascinated by one of your most powerful lines: "Better fifty years of Europe than a cycle of Cathay." '

'You have a good ear. That was effective, because it makes an important point with clarity, yet in simple words that can be easily comprehended.'

'The line often came to haunt me when I was trying to decide, like your hero, whether to live in London like my grandparents or in Jamaica like Father and Mother.'

'See! Life imitates art. The problem arises in every generation, where to apply one's talents.'

'But did you honestly mean that fifty years in Luxembourg, say, was better than a thousand years in China and j.a.pan?'

'Unfair! Unfair! I never mentioned Luxembourg, which I'm sure is an attractive place. But are fifty years in the Europe of Paris, Berlin, Rome and London more meaningful to the human race than a cycle of China and j.a.pan? Yes, a thousand times yes, because the great work of the world has been performed here, the worthy ideas hammered out, and very little of significance has been contributed by Asia.' He said this with great firmness, then added: 'Of course, in the future, as exchange between various parts of the world improves, we may expect this to change. Even India, under our tutelage, will undoubtedly develop the capacity to make contributions, but for the present I will stand by the line you find troublesome.'

This speculation ended when the butler announced the arrival of one of the flamboyant men of the age, the resplendent Earl of Cardigan, a lean, handsome man, approaching seventy but with a sure step, a head of gold-streaked white hair, dramatic sideburns, clean dimpled chin and a gargantuan mustache, heavy over the lip, majestic in its extended waxed tips that reached parallel to his ears. Wearing a neat, simple uniform decorated with only three of the two dozen medals he was ent.i.tled to show, and with a heavy leather belt encasing his slim waist, he was a fighting man to be admired, and he knew it.

Tennyson spoke first: 'Ah, Cardigan, our strong right arm. These are two of our young friends from Jamaica. They know full details of the Eyre business and have come to help us protect our hero.'

Cardigan, sitting primly with teacup balanced easily in his left hand, said in the mumbling, harrumphing manner he affected for dealing with the junior officers in the regiment whose colonelcy he had bought, and on which he spent a reputed ten thousand a year of his own money: 'd.a.m.ned poor business, hauling a governor up like this. He should have shot not four hundred of the black b.u.g.g.e.rs but four thousand. Man is sent out to the ends of the world to govern, he's supposed to govern.'

To Pembroke's surprise, it was Croome who objected, not on the question of the executions but on the phrase of 'ends of the world' to describe Jamaica: 'My lord, and begging your pardon, a hundred years ago the sugar planters of Jamaica controlled one-third of Parliament, and pa.s.sed fine cautious laws.'

'Gallant crew, I've heard. Where did they so lose their courage that they allowed their splendid governor to be so abused?'

Jason broke in with: 'How does it feel, milord, to be the hero of a poem that everyone in the world is quoting, and with such admiration for both the poet and his subject?'

Cardigan, approving of both the idea and the gracious manner in which it was expressed, nodded first to Tennyson, then to Pembroke, and mumbled through his elegant mustache: 'Man gives an artist something to work with, and if he's a genius, he does something with it, eh, Tennyson?' and he slapped the poet on the knee. Tennyson nodded.

'Are we making headway against those who would tear down the empire?' Cardigan asked, and Tennyson told the aging warrior: 'We have thousands of men like these who agree with me. We'll give our lives rather than see Eyre abused, for we know we're fighting for the soul and future of England.'

'Hear, hear!' Cardigan cried, banging his saucer and its cup on the table. 'Day's past for allowing atheists like Mill and that Quaker Bright and Darwin, d.a.m.n his heretical mind, to corrupt our government abroad. d.a.m.n me, you'd think we'd learn something from the Indian Mutiny-allow the little black ones to make one move on their own, they want to govern the world. You stop that nonsense with force, force I say,' and all the teacups except Pembroke's rattled from the banging.

Then Tennyson spoke in a quieter tone: 'His Lordship is correct. We cannot allow the lesser cla.s.ses to dictate to those designated to govern. That way lies chaos. We must retain that hallowed discipline that allowed Cardigan here to lead his men into the mouths of the Russian guns, and encouraged his men to follow. When that spirit of n.o.bility is lost in the world, the world is lost.'

'What one must do, all nations, all times,' Cardigan said, 'is give manly men duties to do and support 'em when they do 'em. Eyre will not be persecuted so long as I have a right arm to defend him.'

More gravely, Tennyson said: 'Not fighting fire with fire, Cardigan. Fighting unreason with reason, an appeal to the everlasting qualities of patriotism, loyalty, love of queen. A return to the faith that made us great in the first place.'

Cardigan rattled his saucer again, then asked: 'What did you think of Charles Kingsley's suggestions that we ask the queen to elevate Eyre to the peerage? Suggested he be made an earl. I'd be proud to have him join me, very proud.'

'We must not move too fast,' Tennyson said. 'Do nothing that might raise questions or ridicule. In private life Eyre is, after all, barely qualified to call himself a gentleman. An earldom? No, too soon. It would divert attention. Our task is to put out fires.'

The rest of the afternoon was spent in devising strategies that would keep Governor Eyre out of the courts and out of jail, and in the discussion, Jason noted, the driving force was Tennyson, this almost effeminate poet who showed repeatedly, at difficult points, a courage to make decisions and the valor to execute them. 'He sees himself,' said Pembroke to his cousin, 'as one of his embattled knights in one of his ancient lays. One goal, one path of honor, one right arm to strike the blow for justice. He will be formidable, and he will save Governor Eyre.'

His chance meeting with Carlyle and Tennyson so disoriented Jason that on the drive back to Cavendish Square he listened attentively as Oliver tried to persuade him to abandon his allegiance to the men trying to persecute Eyre and join the vast majority of patriots who were defending him: 'Jason, Eyre's one of us. He represents all that's good in England, all that's safe and proper-our church ... our queen ... How can you turn your back on everything the Pembrokes have stood for through the centuries? Eyre represents us, he defends us against the hordes ... and we must rally round.'

The hammering continued without respite, forcing Jason to question the propriety of heckling a man whom so many sensible people considered a wronged governor and a brave one. In an effort to defend himself he asked: 'But the brutality during martial law? You saw Ramsay. I was with Hobbs. Those men, supposed to be officers, behaved like beasts.'

'Jason! It was war. Black brutes against all we held dear. I saw no excess. Harsh punishment for evil acts, nothing more.'

'You lack judgment if you saw no excess in Ramsay's behavior.'

'But even if I grant that, it in no way touches the governor. He was not there. He did not condone their behavior. And certainly he did not order it.'

'What was that again? He himself was not culpable? Not personally?'

'No! No! And he did terminate martial law as soon as possible. He stands guiltless, and you must call off your dogs.'

They had reached Cavendish Square when Oliver made these final strong points, all of which Jason had to concede, and for some time they stood in the gra.s.sy area between their two houses while Oliver nailed down his persuasive reasoning: 'A few blacks were killed after having murdered the queen's representatives. That and nothing more. Tomorrow you must go with me to Tennyson and inform him that you're joining his crusade to save an innocent man.'

Bewildered, Jason crossed to his mansion where the gargantuan statues writhed in their marble agonies, and he sat in considerable confusion between them, knowing on the one hand that Governor Eyre had been morally responsible for a terrible chain of crimes, but knowing also that Oliver was right: Eyre had not ordered Hobbs and Ramsay to do the dreadful things they did, nor had he been present when they were carried out. 'No court will convict him,' he said to Mars and Venus. 'Our effort to punish him is doomed.'

This conclusion so distressed him that he left the mansion, whistled for a carriage, rode posthaste to the modest house where John Stuart Mill kept his headquarters during the battle for men's minds, and there blurted out his apprehensions: 'Eyre cannot be held technically responsible for something he did not order or personally supervise. I do fear our effort will be fruitless.'

The powerful intellect behaved as always when a problem was placed before it, pausing and evaluating relevant facts. Then the man with the placid face and endless brow asked quietly: 'Now, friend Jason, what experience inspired this defeating conclusion?' and he listened intently as Pembroke described his discussions with Carlyle, Tennyson, the Earl of Cardigan and his cousin Oliver Croome.

At the end of the long report Mill sat silent, his fingers forming a cathedral at his waist, and finally he said in a steady voice, never betraying scorn or anger as he delivered his scathing denunciations: 'Surely, Jason, you must know from what you've read and heard that Thomas Carlyle has a blemished mind which glories only in power and is incapable of pity, moral distinctions or the rights of the oppressed. No man who has written jocularly as he has about slavery and advocated our returning to it is a credible witness in dealing with Governor Eyre. To Carlyle, the man's grossest misbehavior becomes his badge of honor, solely because he acted in defense of what Carlyle calls "the sacred obligation to law and order." Whose law and order-his or humanity's?'

'But Tennyson was persuasive. You can't charge that immortal poet with playing the brute.'

'A hundred years from now, Jason, Tennyson will be uncovered for what he is, a doddering old fellow in bedroom slippers who played the sycophant to anyone higher on the social scale than himself. His immortal poetry, as you call it, will be laughed at by those who know what real poetry is, the cry of a human heart. My father recommended that poets be barred from society because they made untruth and irrelevance palatable, deceiving the public with their wit and lack of brains. Tennyson with his sugary confections best exemplifies what my father despised. Do not take him as your moral guide in this troubled year when so much is coming to decision.'

'The Earl of Cardigan said about the same as Tennyson-Eyre is to be commended, not condemned.'

Upon hearing this dubious hero cited as an authority of anything, Mill leaned back, turned his face upward, closed his eyes and reflected for some moments: 'How can I phrase this so as to do justice to the truth and to the present debate. I'll try.' Opening his eyes, he twisted his head so as to face Pembroke, and said quietly: 'Cardigan is an a.s.s. And far from being a hero at Balaklava, he proved he was an a.s.s, sacrificing his Light Brigade in his stupidity. And he is the perfect example of Carlyle's nonsense about heroes and hero worship. Heroes are usually counterfeit in their creation and preposterous in the adoration they receive, none more so than Cardigan.'

'But he did lead his men personally, none braver than he, Tennyson said so.'

'Jason, I shall give you Cardigan in a few sentences. Incredibly stupid in school. Was able to join a regiment only because he paid his way in. Bought the colonelcy, no military talent whatever. Ruled his officers like an insane tyrant, so wretched that most quit and one of his own men with spirit dueled the old fool in an effort to kill him. At Balaklava he and his equally stupid brother-in-law the Earl of Lucan got their orders from that cla.s.sic incompetent Lord Raglan ... all mixed up, and disaster followed. The three should have been court-martialed and shot; instead, a silly poem makes the worst offender a hero. Jason, I pray you, do not look to a ninny like Cardigan for guidance.'

'Do you hold all members of the other side in contempt?'

'Charles Kingsley wants to have the queen create Eyre an earl? You really don't want me to comment on him, do you? I believe even Carlyle and Tennyson have begged him to remain mute, and not a moment too soon.'

'Surely, d.i.c.kens ...'

'A master storyteller whom time will not treat kindly. Can tug at the heartstrings, but no brain at all.' He brought his fingertips to his lower lip, bowed his head in dismay, and then looked up with a rueful smile: 'Our nation is not under good leadership these days.' When Jason said nothing, Mill added, his voice growing ever more determined: 'But we fight on many battlegrounds, Jason, and we lose individual skirmishes here and there, but in the long run we win the war. Our fight to bring Eyre to justice is a struggle we may lose, but in doing so, we shall educate the people in the greater questions of social justice, and it is our war for the reform of Parliament that we shall win. Great Britain will be a finer place when you and I are through.'

'Then you're surrendering in the Governor Eyre case?'

The answer to this penetrating question came in a curious way, not in words but in actions, for a messenger from the rest of the Jamaica Committee broke in with startling news: 'The magistrates of Market Drayton have refused to indict Governor Eyre! He goes free!'

Mill did not rise from his chair, nor did he speak until he had rung for a servant, who received instructions: 'I think you had better speed about and a.s.semble the others,' and on that night of defeat, with Bright at his elbow and powerful men like Huxley and Darwin in support, Mill revealed his daring strategy: 'English law allows any citizen who has been outraged by the refusal of ordinary channels to deal with an obnoxious case, especially where murder is concerned, to bring his own charges, which the courts must adjudge. Tomorrow I shall lodge a formal accusation of murder against Governor Eyre, and I shall take Jason Pembroke with me to establish a Jamaica connection.'

Some of the members considered this so radical a move, and so likely to fail, that they dissociated themselves from the attempt, but the icy determination of Mill kept Jason and others in line, and early next morning Mill and he reported to legal authorities and took the first steps toward entering a charge of murder against the governor, thus throwing all of thoughtful Britain into a great debate.

It degenerated into a savage affair, with Carlyle tossing incendiary bombs of his turgid prose at anyone who spoke or acted against his hero, and Mill hanging on like a determined bulldog and infuriating the stable central portion of the population who resented any attack upon 'a brave man what only done his duty.' Jason, volunteering to handle the flood of letters that reached Mill, opened each week many that promised 'to throw you out of Parliament come next election,' and a regular two or three whose anonymous writers threatened to a.s.sa.s.sinate the austere philosopher.

One night, as Jason walked slowly back to Cavendish Square, he thought: I've watched three fine men trapped in the toils of their monomanias the way a peccary in some South American jungle is encoiled by a python. Eyre was so determined to punish Gordon that his judgment was affected. Carlyle is driven almost insane by his desire to establish Eyre as a hero and to protect him against all charges. And Mill, in his cold way, sees himself as an avenging angel ... Then Jason broke into a laugh: And the Church of England zealots see the whole affair as proper punishment for the Baptist nonconformists. A crazy world.

But it was not until he reached his door and turned to look at the other Jamaican mansion facing his that he appreciated how painfully this affair had separated the families: There's Oliver and Nell in their lonely hall, there's Beth and me in ours, and that's insupportable. And despite the late hour, he determined to have a talk with his cousin. Quickly he went across the square and banged on Oliver's door until a light showed, and when the butler asked in sleepy tones: 'What's this?' he brushed his way in and ran up the stairs. He found Oliver and Nell in their bedroom, exhausted by hours of rushing about London, drumming up support for Eyre.

'Jason!' Oliver said, startled at this sudden appearance. 'What brings you here?'

'My committee is haling Governor Eyre into court ... Charge? Murder.'

'Oh my G.o.d!' Like a tense spring uncoiling, Oliver was out of bed. 'This is terrible. Are your people out of their minds? Can't they see that all England is against them?'

'Mill says that doesn't signify. He's out to establish a principle.'

'Let him write a book, not destroy a good man.' Gripping his cousin by the arm, he said with great fervor: 'And he is a good man, Jason, misguided in details perhaps, but d.a.m.ned good.'

'I'm beginning to see that. Mill forced me to lodge the complaint, but I will refuse to testify against the governor. Tell him that.'

'You shall tell him,' and calling to Nell to bring him his trousers, he joined his cousin in the square, then waited while Jason ran to inform Beth that he would be away for a bit longer.

'Doing what?' she pleaded, and he kissed her: 'I've a job to do. An error to correct,' and he hurried to the cab which his cousin had waiting. Through the London night they sped to the modest house into which Eyre had moved from his sanctuary in Market Drayton. There they wakened him, and in his nightclothes he sat with them and listened quietly as Jason spoke: 'I've supported Mill and his men because, as I warned you in Kingston, I felt you were persecuting poor Gordon for solely personal reasons. Many have abused you for that. But I cannot stand by and see a loyal public servant charged with murder because of atrocities committed by his half-crazed subordinates when he was in no way involved.'

The gaunt hero of Australian exploration, in only his early fifties but his life already ruined, nodded deferentially to the young man who had in recent years been his enemy. His hair was still a solid black, but his copious beard now showed flecks of white and his once-fierce eyes had lost their ardor: 'Thank you, Pembroke, for your gentlemanly support. I shall stand trial and testify as to my motives. But I a.s.sure you of this. I have never wavered in my belief that the English people and their splendid courts of law will in the end vindicate me as a civil servant who faced a cruel crisis and handled it as best he could. Do I repent the cruelties that others perpetrated during my proclamation of martial law? Of course. But do I repent of anything I myself did to save Jamaica for the empire? Never. Never.' Thanking Croome for having brought him the news, he nodded gravely to Pembroke and went off to bed.

Mill had his way, for in response to the pressures he exerted, a London court charged Eyre with murder-and a shudder pa.s.sed through the population. Threats against Mill's own life tripled, but before the case could come to trial, court officials decided in private consultation that since a somewhat similar case involving the military officers who had conducted the Jamaican courts-martial had been thrown out for lack of merit, the charges against Eyre were also invalid. He was set free, with all charges permanently dropped, to the delight of the cheering mobs who had rallied to his defense. Twice Mill had tried to send Eyre to jail and twice he had failed.

When Jason hurried to Mill's quarters to report the news, he saw the great leader at his best and worst. When Mill learned that he had lost again, he showed neither rage nor pa.s.sive disappointment: 'The courts have spoken and all must abide.' But then, his brow darkening and his fists clenching: 'Those courts have spoken. But there are other courts, and to them we shall drag him.'

'Oh, sir! You're not going to go through this again?'

'I have determined that Eyre shall be punished, humiliated in public for the great wrong he did to the concept of just colonial government,' and like a dog gnawing at a bone, he immediately started proceedings to have Eyre hauled into another court, in another jurisdiction to face a completely new set of charges. Reluctantly, the court ordered Eyre to stand trial once again, this time for high crimes and misdemeanors. A date was set to begin, 2 June 1868, almost three years after the riots and the courts-martial, but an impa.s.sioned defense lawyer asked members of the preliminary grand jury to 'put yourselves in Eyre's place,' and consider what steps a man facing a wild rebellion might do to save his island, his empire and the honor of his queen. Public observers in the courtroom cheered, and early next morning the jury announced that all charges were dismissed. At long last Eyre was really a free man, and at the next election John Stuart Mill would be thrown out of Parliament.

He did not brood about his defeat. When he learned that his young supporter Jason Pembroke and his wife were heading back to Jamaica, he stopped by their mansion to say farewell. Seated in the reception room in which the Pembrokes of 1760 had helped frame the good laws that determined the future of Great Britain, he looked with quiet amus.e.m.e.nt at Hester Pembroke's ma.s.sive statues, and said: 'Jason, we've lost every battle, you and I. We've allowed a great scoundrel to slip through our net unpunished. I'm about to lose my seat in Parliament, while Carlyle and Tennyson and Cardigan reign triumphant. And you slink back to Jamaica having accomplished nothing, so far as your public can see. But in reality, my young friend, you and I have achieved a tremendous victory. In the future, tin-soldier colonial governors will think twice before throwing their islands into martial law or allowing their underlings to terrorize people of a darker skin. Reform of Parliament has pa.s.sed. Britain will be a better place for our efforts.' Poking with his stick at the contorted figure of Mars wrestling with Venus, he confessed: 'Had the jury found Eyre guilty of murder, as it should have, I would have been first in line to plead for clemency and a full pardon. It was the idea of the thing that mattered, the establishing of a principle.'

Jason, confused by what he had witnessed in the past three years, asked: 'Professor Mill, about that interesting word you used. Do you think your hounding of Governor Eyre was an example of monomania?'

Mill, appreciating the acuity of the question, allowed a smile to touch his icy countenance and said: 'When the other fellow does it, we call it monomania. When I do it, we describe it as unwavering adherence to principle.'

As he rose to go, he brought his stick down on one of the huge statues and said gruffly: 'Get that monstrosity out of your home, Jason. Leave such outmoded images to Tennyson and Carlyle.'

Jason took his advice. On his last day in London he arranged for stone-cutters to segment the statues, haul them out of the mansion, and rea.s.semble them in a park attached to a zoo.

The final word on these hectic events was one which, had it been antic.i.p.ated, might have saved Jamaica its travail and Great Britain the bitterness of its inflamed debate. Not long after the turbulence at St. Thomas-in-the-East, both Colonel Hobbs, the laughing monster with whom Pembroke had served, and Police Inspector Ramsay, whose savage behavior Croome approved, committed suicide, the first by shooting himself, the second by leaping off a steamship in midocean. Competent medical experts judged that the men had already been insane when performing their atrocities but that no one had noticed, because when martial law rages, insanity becomes the norm.

ON 8 JANUARY 1938, Dan Gross, editor in chief of the Detroit Chronicle, saw on the a.s.sociated Press ticker a throwaway color item which could have been of interest to only a few American editors but which excited him enormously, for it fit like a searched-for piece in one of his jigsaw puzzles.

The Chronicle faced a unique problem. Because of the meandering way in which the international border separating Canada from the United States twisted and turned as it picked its path through the Great Lakes system, at this point Canada lay well south of the United States. This made Detroiters refer to the important Canadian city of Windsor as 'our southern suburb,' and Detroit newspapers which circulated widely there were forever trying to develop stories attractive to their Canadian readers.

The item which excited Gross read: Today the King of England nominated the famous cricket captain Lord Basil Wrentham to be his next governor general of the island of All Saints in the Leeward Islands of the Caribbean West Indies. It is presumed that the appointment will be well received by All Saints, since Lord Wrentham led the first English cricket team ever to play on that island, where he was extremely popular because of the gracious manner in which he accepted the only loss suffered by a first-cla.s.s English team in the West Indies up to then. England won the series, three matches to one, but the stunning islanders' victory is remembered on All Saints as an historic event. The new governor general will take the oath of office on 10 February 1938.