Читать книгу Charles Peace, or The Adventures of a Notorious Burglar - Anonymous - Страница 36

Peace had been placed in a tolerably comfortable bed; his clothes were dried and brought into his room by early dawn. He was requested to get up; and, when dressed, was conducted to one of the cells adjoining the court, there to await his turn for examination.

He found, upon entering the cell in question, that it contained another occupant besides himself.

His companion in misfortune was a tall, slim young man, apparently twenty or thereabouts. In appearance he was what some persons would call genteel; certainly there did not appear to be anything of the ruffian about him.

Peace regarded him with a searching glance, but did not offer any observation.

To say the truth, he was miserably depressed. Every bone in his body ached, his temples still throbbed, and the bumps on his head were as sore and troublesome as they well could be.

Presently the young man—​whose name was Green—​addressed Peace.

“What are you up for?” said Mr. Green. This being a slang expression for “What are you charged with?”

“I don’t know at present,” answered Peace, sulkily. “What are you up for?”

“Slinging my book”—​a professional term for picking pockets—​“but I’m as innocent as the babe unborn,” added Mr. Green.

“Oh, of course,” returned Peace; “so am I.”

Mr. Green whistled and looked up at the roof of the cell.

“You just mind your own business,” said our hero, “and speak only when you’re spoken to.”

“All right, mate,” returned Mr. Green, “there’s no occasion to be humpy with a fellow—​but there, I’ve done.”

Leaving the culprits in their narrow prison house we will enter the court. The bench of magistrates have taken their places, the night charges are as yet not over. There were the usual amount of drunken cases, assaults upon women, and others of an unimportant nature. The last assault case is being heard; two men were in the dock with bruised faces and torn garments, with unkempt hair and unshaven beards; taken altogether their appearance could not be considered prepossessing.

A tall, well-dressed gentleman was in the box giving his evidence. He had a long, aquiline nose, the skin of which had evidently been damaged some few hours before.

He told his story in a quiet, undemonstrative manner. It appeared, according to his statement, that, as he was turning the corner of a street in the neighbourhood, two men suddenly sprang upon him and tripped him up.

He fell upon his face, and his nose was seriously injured. Being under the impression that the men were bent upon committing a robbery he shouted out lustily for the police. A constable came and he gave his two assailants in charge.

“And do you believe that they intended to rob you?” inquired the stipendiary.

“I certainly was under the impression at the time that they were about to do so, but I should be sorry to say so now after what I’ve heard. They committed an assault; the effects of their violence I feel now.”

“Did they strike you?”

“No, I don’t think either of them did, but they sprang upon me.”

“Did you see them before the assault?”

“No, sir. They appeared to spring suddenly out of a narrow passage. The attack was so sudden that I am unable to say with anything like exactness where they came from.”

“What have you to say to this charge?” inquired the magistrate of the prisoners.

“Please, yer honour, it’s all a mistake,” said one of the culprits. “Quite a mistake, I assure you. Nobody ever thought of hurting the gentleman in any way. I’m very sorry for what has occurred, and humbly beg his pardon, yer worship.”

“That’s no answer to the charge. After violently assaulting a passenger in the street in the manner you have done, it is but a poor satisfaction to the injured party to beg his pardon.”

“Well, gentlemen, I’ll tell yer how it happened if so be as ye’ll listen to me.”

“I’m all attention. Proceed.”

“It happened in this ’ere way. I was a walking down King-street last night when I seed this ’ere man—​his fellow prisoner—​he says to me, says he, ‘Do yer want any o’ this?’ and with that he up with his fists, and put himself in a boxing attitude. Well, yer honour, saving yer honour’s presence, I warn’t a goin’ to be put upon like that, and so I says to him, ‘You aint the man to give it me.’ ‘Aint I?’ says he. ‘No, ye’re not,’ says I. Well, gentlemen, them words were ’ardly out o’ my mouth, when he gave me a dab in the eye.”

“And you retaliated, I suppose.”

“I landed him one on the nose. With that he strikes out, and lets me have it on the jaw. Seeing as how he was a little too long in the reach for me, I closed with him, and we were a strugglin’ and a strugglin’ like anything. He forced me down a narrow passage, and tried to bump my head agen the wall of the court, not this court, yer honour, but the court or passage as runs out of King-street. Well, arter that I gets one of my feet agen the railing, and I shoves him out of the court with all my might. Just at that time, yer honour, the gentleman was a passin’, and we both on us run full butt agen him, but it warn’t no fault o’ mine, indeed it warn’t.”

The man had told his story in such a naive manner that roars of laughter proceeded from the body of the court, in which the bench joined.

“Do you know this man? Your fellow-prisoner, I mean,” inquired the stipendiary.

“No, yer worship. I never set eyes upon him afore he sed ‘do you want anything of this?’”

“What have you to say to the charge?” said the examining magistrate, addressing the other prisoner.

“I’m very sorry, gentlemen,” returned the man. “What he’s sed is all true enough. We were having a mill, and the gentleman ’appened to be coming by, and that’s how it was. I’ve never been in trouble afore, gentlemen.”

“What are you? What’s your occupation?”

“I’m a groom, yer worship.”

“You are a pair of silly troublesome fellows, and ought to be heartily ashamed of your conduct. It seems hardly possible that two men, who are perfect strangers to one another, and who, moreover, had no quarrel or dispute to settle, should break the peace in the foolish and ridiculous manner you have done. You really deserve to be imprisoned. However, as the gentleman whom you have assaulted does not wish to press the charge, we shall discharge you upon the payment of a fine of ten shillings each.”

Upon this the men were removed.

It appeared afterwards that they were unable to pay the fines, only being able to master up twelve shillings between them.

The gentleman, however, generously made up the difference.

This case concluded the night charges.

Mr. Green was now brought into court.

His countenance was the very personification of simplicity and injured innocence. He made a most respectful obeisance to the magistrates, and looked benignly at the spectators.

Mr. Green had the misfortune to be charged with picking pockets.

It was said that he was “a snapper-up of unconsidered trifles,” but his appearance belied the accusation.

The charge was read over, and the usual formalities gone through. The prosecutor was then put in the witness-box and sworn.

He stated that a crowd was collected in consequence of an accident in the street. A horse had run away; the wheel of the chaise he was dragging came into collision with a lamp-post, the chaise was overturned, its occupants precipitated into the roadway, and picked up in a senseless condition; the shafts were broken short off, and with these the horse galloped off.

The prosecutor was looking at the broken vehicle in the road when he felt a tug at his watch, and saw it fall against his waistcoat.

Turning round he seized Mr. Green by the collar, and promptly charged him with the theft, upon which the young gentleman burst into a flood of tears, and pityfully exclaimed two or three times—

“Oh, my poor dear mamma!”

So ingenuous indeed was Mr. Green’s manner that his fervent protestations of innocence would in all probability have had their effect upon the prosecutor had not the watch itself—​such was the cruel irony of fate—​been seen at the very moment to drop from his hand.

The case was, therefore, very black against Mr. Green.

The prosecutor, however, seemed to give his evidence with reluctance, being under the impression that it was the youth’s first offence.

“What have you to say to this charge?” inquired the magistrate.

“I hope you will be merciful to me,” said Mr. Green. “I’ll tell you the truth, sir. I’ve been led away by bad company day after day, and that’s what’s brought me to this—​it has indeed, sir. I trust you will have mercy on me as this is my first offence, and I’ll take good care it shall be my last, for I would not let my father and mother know, for this would break their hearts, and get me a bad name. I hope you will have the case settled here to-day, as I have been waiting a week, for I did not have nothing to do with the watch; but I leave it to you, sir, to determine. Only I am anxious that my dear father and mother should know nothing of the dreadful charge.”

“It is quite impossible for any rational person to believe in your innocence after the evidence that has been offered,” said the magistrate. “Still you are young, and may have been led into crime through bad associates, but that is no excuse.”

“Oh, do have pity on me!” exclaimed Mr. Green. “I’ll tell you the honest truth.”

The story which Mr. Green, to use a forensic phrase, invited the bench to believe, did great credit to his ingenuity, but there were other ugly facts brought forward which went far towards prejudicing him in the eyes of all present.

Mr. Green said in continuation:

“I came to Hull a short time since upon a little matter of business. In the train I met a young man who invited me to his house. When the train got to the station all the people got out, so did me and the young man. Soon after our arrival in the town we seed a crowd of persons in the street. The young man sed to me, ‘Here, I’ll get this gentleman’s clock,’ and he went up to this gentleman (pointing to the prosecutor) and pulled it out. He wanted to give it to me, but I would not take it, and the gentleman caught hold of me. This is how I got into this. But he (alluding to the prosecutor) did not get the right one, though I was with him. Gentlemen, have mercy on me do, for I am guilty of being with that young man who got away, but who ought to be here instead of me.”

The policeman who took the prisoner into custody, and was on the spot at the time of the robbery, was put in the box, and swore distinctly that he saw the watch drop out of Mr. Green’s hand.

“Oh, Mr. Policeman!” exclaimed the young gentleman, “how can you say such a thing?” Then, turning to the magistrates, he said, “It was a young man by me, gentlemen, and he ses to me, he ses, ‘Hold this ere,’ and he shoves the watch into my hand, an’ with that the constable he catches ’old of me and ses, ses he——”

“You must ask the witness what he said.”

“Thank you, sir, I will,” returned Mr. Green. “Now then,” said he, turning to the witness, “now then, wasn’t there a young man a standin’ by me when you came up?”

“No—​certainly not; there was no young man by you.”

“Ah! Mr. Policeman,” ejaculated the prisoner, in a deprecating tone, “how can you say so? Think again.”

“There was not,” repeated the witness.

“I don’t know what my father and mother will say to this, gentlemen,” exclaimed Mr. Green, blubbering. “I would not get my father and mother in any disgrace not, for anythink. I will take good care I never get into bad company again. When I get over this I will go home and be happy with my father and mother. Gentlemen, have mercy on me, gentlemen. If I come here again you may do as you like with me.”

Mr. Green, with all his cunning and affected innocence, showed a more than usual confidence in human nature, if he imagined that he could impose upon the bench of magistrates with so hackneyed a plea.

His line of defence was as well known between St. Paul’s Church-yard and Farringdon-street, as is the Propria que Maribus at Eton.

The magistrates, after consulting together, elected to send the case to the sessions.

The prosecutor was bound over in his own recognisances, and Mr. Green, “like Niobe—​all tears,” was taken back to his cell.

Peace, who had given the name of Parker when arrested, was now placed in the dock.

He glanced round the court to see if his female assailant was there to press the charge.

To his dismay he beheld the elderly female sitting on a bench by the side of the witness-box.

She was a tall, sharp-featured, angular, bony woman; her cast of features and general contour denoted inflexible determination.

Peace presented a most rueful appearance; two plasters covered the large and painful bumps on his head.

His face gave unmistakable evidence of the blow received from the housemaid’s mop.

Mrs. Pocklington, the prosecutrix, had engaged a solicitor to conduct the case.

After the usual formalities had been gone through, the gentleman in question rose and briefly narrated the circumstances which had led to the capture of the prisoner on the preceding night.

Mrs. Pocklington was then put into the box, and gave a succinct account of all that had transpired.

“Upon my word, Mrs. Pocklington,” said the chairman, when the lady had concluded, “it would appear that you are well able to protect yourself.”

“I hope I am,” returned Mrs. Pocklington, sharply. “It is not the first time an attempt has been made to break into my house.”

“I never attempted to break into her house, gentlemen,” cried Peace. “Don’t believe what she says; she’s almost killed me.”

“What were you doing at the front of her residence, then? And what right had you to be there at all? It is clearly a case of attempted burglary, but you had better reserve your defence; we have other witnesses to examine.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Peace; “I will not make any further observations at present.”

The servant girl was now placed in the box. She corroborated the evidence given by her mistress.

The two constables were next examined. They proved that the large lock of the door had been forced open—​proved also that housebreaking instruments were found upon the prisoner, together with a bunch of skeleton keys—​“and all these facts pointed to one conclusion,” said Mrs. Pocklington’s lawyer—​“namely, that the prisoner is a professional burglar.”

Unfortunately for Peace, this was proved beyond all question. A detective was placed in the box, who said he knew the prisoner well, that he had undergone one month’s imprisonment in December, 1851.

Peace denied this in a most positive manner; nevertheless his assertions had but little effect upon the bench, who decided upon sending the case for trial.

“I’ve been punished quite enough, I should think,” ejaculated Peace, “considering I never intended to rob the house—​but—”

“If you take my advice,” said one of the stipendiary magistrates, “you will reserve your defence. Anything you say now will be given in evidence against you, and it will in no way effect our decision. If you have a legal defence, reserve it till your trial comes on at the sessions. Do not prejudice your case by offering any observations.”

“I am obliged to you, sir, for your advice,” returned Peace “I have a defence, but if you have decided upon sending it to the sessions it is no use of my speaking now. Before I go, however, I hereby solemnly declare that that wicked old woman has not spoken the truth; she has committed perjury.”

“Don’t you dare to insult me, you nasty ugly little villain,” exclaimed Mrs. Pocklington, rising from her seat and shaking her umbrella menacingly at the speaker.

“Hush! Silence! Order in court!” cried the usher.

“Sit down, madam, if you please,” said one of the magistrates.

The old lady did as she was bid, but she kept rocking herself to and fro, muttering the while to herself inarticulate sentences.

Peace was removed, and found himself once more in his cell, in company with the ill-used Mr. Green.

Another prisoner was brought in—​he was charged with horse stealing.