Roger Kyffin's Ward Part 26

Several other persons were in the room, which was closed by a strong door, barred and locked. Five or six other pallets, a rickety table, and several three-legged stools completed the furniture of the apartment. The young man's companions had apparently been amusing themselves at his expense. The more angry he became, the more they laughed and jeered.

"Laugh while you may," he growled out. "You will laugh on the wrong side of your mouth when dragged out to Tyburn. I can, even now, fancy I see you dangling on the gibbet, and more thorough jailbirds have never been taken out to be hung!"

These remarks, of course, produced retorts of equal bitterness.

"As to me, I have no fear of the sort," at length exclaimed the young man. "To be accused of a crime and to be proved guilty are two different things. No evidence can be brought against me--of that I am certain."

While he was speaking, the door opened, and the jailer appeared, a couple of armed guards standing behind him. The prisoners gazed at him anxiously; although none of them were convicted, yet all of them in that chamber were accused of capital offences, and each supposed that it might be his turn to be led forth for trial. Most of them knew pretty well that it would be the last scene but one of their existence. The last would be on the scaffold at Tyburn.

"It is an old gentleman wants to see you," said the jailer, looking at the young man on the pallet bed. "Now you others, behave civilly to him, or I will be down upon you," he added, turning to the other prisoners.

As he spoke, Mr. Sleech, the owner of Stanmore, entered the prison room.

"Oh! is it you?" said the young man, looking at Mr. Sleech. "Well, I am glad you have come at last. Here, there's room for two of us; sit down.

It is not a handsome reception-room, and my attendants are somewhat noisy. We must take things as they are. Well, what news?"

Old Mr. Sleech was no stranger to similar scenes. He had often visited jails professionally to consult with his clients, but the case in this instance was somewhat altered. The prisoner he now came to see was his own son Silas. It might have occurred to him that he had not brought him up in the way that an honest man should go. The other prisoners, hardened villains most of them, were gathering round with the intention of mocking at the old man.

"He is my father!" said Silas, rising with a greater approach to dignity than he had yet exhibited. "Some of you have fathers. If one of them was to come and see you, you would not like the others to stand round and see him insulted."

The address had its effect, and the ruffians, in spite of the inclination exhibited by one or two to continue their sport, retired to the farther end of the room, where they sat down at the rickety table.

One of them pulling out a greasy pack of cards, they commenced playing.

"How did you manage to get yourself into this trouble?" asked old Sleech; "I thought you were too wise for that."

"My wisdom will be shown in getting out of it," answered Silas. "I played a somewhat bold game, and might have made a false move or two, but it cannot be helped now. There will be no evidence brought against me, I am very sure of that Young Harry Tryon went aboard ship, you know that. Well, besides, he was on board the `Sandwich,' and Parker mixed him well up in the mutiny. He was seen with him at the dockyard at Sheerness. I learned all that from an acquaintance of mine--young Gilby. He saw him with his own eyes, so there's no doubt about it."

"He may have been mistaken," observed old Sleech.

"Not a bit of it," said his son, "he knows Harry almost as well as I do.

He has met him scores of times, both at Mr. Coppinger's house and at some of the places which Harry used to frequent. Never fear, it is all right; I shall soon be out of this, and down at Stanmore to enjoy myself. I say, father, we shall want a little ready money to keep up the game. We must make the old trees fall right and left, and you know, at a pinch, you and I can sell a few dirty acres. In my opinion there is nothing like enjoying a thing when we have got it."

The further conversation between the father and his estimable son need not be repeated. Silas had fallen considerably in his parent's estimation since he had so committed himself as to get into prison. He was, also, not quite so sanguine as his son was as to the result of the trial; but he performed a parent's part in securing the best counsel to be obtained. He also made interest with the governor to procure a better room and superior food for his son. Silas did not, however, exhibit the grat.i.tude which might have been expected.

"It would not do to let the heir of Stanmore dangle on a gibbet, eh, dad, would it?" he observed, when his father told him what he had done.

"No chance of that, or I could not joke on the subject."

The day of the trial arrived. Silas Sleech stood at the bar. He gazed round the court with an air of confidence, and nodded familiarly to some of his acquaintances. His eye fell for a moment as he encountered the stern glance of Mr. Coppinger, Mr. Kyffin, and other persons who had been brought in as evidence against him. The case was gone into. He was ably defended, and his counsel laid great stress on the non-appearance of the person whose signature he was said to have forged, and whose ruin it appeared he had taken great pains to effect. Silas smiled as he heard these remarks, and attempted to throw an expression of injured innocence into his countenance. The counsel for the Crown replied; but the defence made by the defendant's counsel seemed to have great weight with the jury, when there was a slight movement in the court. A slip of paper was put into the hand of the Crown counsel. He turned round and spoke a few words to a well-dressed young man, who had at that time entered.

"The defendant declares," he observed, "that no evidence can be brought forward to prove that he forged the signature of Mr. Stephen Coppinger, a.s.serting that it was the act of another person. Here stands that other person, whose statement you will hear. I produce him as a witness; should you consider him unworthy of belief, you will acquit the prisoner; if not, I am ready to prove that no other person than Silas Sleech, the prisoner at the bar, could have committed the forgery."

As Silas caught sight of the countenance of the young man, he gazed at him as at one risen from the dead, and a sudden tremor seized his frame.

"He knows I did not do it; he knows I did not," he gasped out; but Harry Tryon took no notice of him.

Harry briefly and clearly gave an account of the circ.u.mstances with which the reader is already acquainted.

The jury were perfectly satisfied of the guilt of the prisoner.

"But he is a convicted felon, he cannot be brought as evidence against me. He was one of the mutineers of the Nore. He ought to have been hung with his companion Parker."

"The prisoner is mistaken, my lord," said Mr. Kyffin; "the young gentleman is as free as any one in this court. He is my ward, and I am sure that his name will not be found among the mutineers of the Nore."

The jury returned a verdict of guilty, but recommended the prisoner to mercy. In spite of Sleech's criminality, Mr. Coppinger and others exerted themselves, and the sentence of death was commuted to that of transportation for life, and Mr. Silas Sleech was among the next batch of prisoners shipped off on board a convict ship for Botany Bay. Mr.

Tony Sleech did not allow his heart to break at the loss of his son. He was legally dead, and his next boy must, therefore, be the heir of Stanmore. He was of a somewhat more hopeful character than Silas, though not possessing the same amount of talent. He was a dunce, indeed, in his father's estimation, and had been so in that of his school companions. He had, however, sense enough to appreciate the change of position from a younger son to that of the heir of a fine estate, and very soon gave himself so many airs that his brothers and sisters could not help having a secret wish that he might be despatched after Silas.

The cost of his son's defence had been very considerable, and Mr. Sleech therefore considered it desirable to repay himself by cutting down more of the Stanmore trees, although the proceeds were not to be expended in the way Silas had proposed.

He was one day, soon after his return to Stanmore, superintending this proceeding, when Mr. Wallace arrived at the park, and proceeded into the grounds to look for him. The two lawyers bowed stiffly to each other.

"I have come, Mr. Sleech," said the other, "on the part of my client, to _warn_ you of the danger of your proceeding. For every tree that falls you will be made responsible. I have thorough confidence that Captain Everard will ere long prove his right to the property."

"No danger at all about the matter, my good sir," answered Mr. Sleech, with an air of indifference which he did not altogether feel. "I have a right over these trees, and have determined to cut them down, and therefore, I say, let any man interfere with me if he dare."

"We are not going to proceed by force, Mr. Sleech," answered Mr.

Wallace, "we are not driven to that; but I again repeat that, not only will you be compelled to pay the value of every tree which you cut down, but also you will be heavily fined for the damage which you have committed on the property."

"I will stand the consequences," repeated Sleech, but his voice somewhat failed him as he spoke.

Mr. Wallace marked it.

"Well," he said, "my good sir, we are fellow-townsmen, and though often professionally opposed to each other, I speak to you as a friend. Be warned in time. Your son has been dealt leniently with, and has escaped death, but depend upon it, if you persist in injuring this estate, you will be made to pay heavily in purse. No mercy will be shown you, I can a.s.sure you."

Saying this, Mr. Wallace bowed to his brother lawyer, and without further ceremony took his way back to the house. Mr. Sleech soon afterwards proceeded in the same direction, doubtful, apparently, what course to pursue.

"I won't be bullied," he said to himself, "and yet they seem pretty confident. I don't quite like the look of matters."

Scarcely had Mr. Sleech left the wood when another person appeared on the scene. Paul Gauntlett was well known to all the labourers around.

He walked up, armed as usual with a stout cudgel. He might have been seen day after day since his return from London walking round and round the grounds, just outside, evidently considering that he was acting in some way as guardian of the place.

Madam Everard had warned him that he could not legally enter it. As, however, he saw from a distance the tall boughs of the trees falling towards the ground, he could resist no longer.

"You are employed on a fine work, my friends," he said, gazing round him. "What now would you say if you saw the colonel standing in the midst of you? He would be wonderfully pleased at seeing these shady trees which he loved so well cut down one after the other at the beck of a pettifogging attorney. That is what Mr. Sleech is, even though he has got into the big house here. That is what he will ever remain. But I tell you what, lads, he will not hold Stanmore long. Of that I am very certain. The captain will have his own again before many weeks are over, mark me. Now I say, I don't want to take the bread out of your mouths, but if any of you can get better work than this, I say go and take it. I shall mark every man who stays on here, and he may never expect another day's work on Stanmore as long as I live, if he lays his hand against one of these trees after I have warned him. There never was a better master than the colonel; and the captain, his nephew, is likely to be every bit as good a one. Now, boys, just take your own course, you have heard what I have got to say. What will you do? There is Farmer Giles and Farmer Jobson, and Mr. Timmins, down at the mill, and twenty others want hands. You will all get as good wages as this old skinflint can pay you, and be employed in an honest way."

Paul's address had a great effect among the labourers. They consulted together for some time, and one after the other agreed that they would not again lay an axe against the root of one of the trees of Stanmore.

A few held out. They had got work and did not see why some old trees should not come down at the bidding of one man as well as that of another.

"Take your own way," answered Paul. "If the trees fall, some one will have to pay, and you will not forget my words."

Several of the men shouldered their axes and prepared to move.

"I would sooner lose a week's work than offend the captain," exclaimed one.

"Well said, John Hobby, you are a true man," exclaimed Paul. "To my mind none of you will have to lose a day's work. I don't make promises for other people, but my opinion is that a generous, open-handed man like the captain would not let a fellow suffer for being true to him."

"Hurrah! I will not lift an axe against another tree in this place till the captain orders me," cried Hobby.

"Nor I, nor I, nor I," answered others.