Читать книгу Botany Bay - James Norman Hall - Страница 6

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Tom and I were taken to the men’s Common Side, which was worse, if possible, than the dismal hole for the women. We paid our garnish and then were double-ironed and triple-ironed. Our decent clothing stood us in bad stead here, for we were judged to be men with money, or who would have money later, when we could send to friends outside. And so we were loaded with three sets of shackles to our feet so that we could be forced to buy easement of irons when, and if, our funds came in. It was past midnight when we were shown into a cell room that was no more than a corridor eight feet wide and three times as long, filled to suffocation with sleeping men. The door and two small barred windows high in the wall offered all the ventilation there was. A whale-oil lamp burned in this place, and by its light I could dimly see the inmates, old men, young men, and mere boys, huddled on a wooden platform raised about six inches from the stone floor. This was the common bed with nothing but the bare boards to sleep on. Some had pieces of filthy canvas for covering, but most of them only the clothes they lay in. Along the narrow passage at the foot stood the slop tubs.

At first Oakley and I stood by the wall, resolved to wear out the night in that position. It required something beyond mere fortitude to stretch out in that huddle of human beings. Nevertheless, we were forced to it in the end. There was no place else to go and we couldn’t sleep on our feet. So we shoved our way into the mass of snoring, groaning, cursing prisoners, and before day came we slept as soundly as the others.

We spent three days in the men’s Common Side, and hour by hour Tom became more restless and impatient for news from outside. On the first morning he had sent word to one Nick Sabb, who, Tom said, was his fence. Sabb was a man of great influence, not only in the underworld of London, but among the police as well. He had been in and out of prison a dozen times, but never for long. He was, ostensibly, a pawnbroker, with a shop in Cloak Lane, off the Poultry, but this was merely the front behind which he carried on his various activities. Aside from his business as a receiver of stolen goods, he was a great vender of counterfeit money, the real source of his wealth. Sabb was far too astute to coin on his own, for the penalty, on conviction, was certain death. But by one of the many inconsistencies of criminal law, the buying and selling of base money was ranked only as a misdemeanour and the punishment for it light. Sabb, said Oakley, was the most prosperous merchant in this line in the whole of London.

“Nick never fails a friend,” Oakley was saying as we paced the court on the afternoon of our third day. “I love the old rogue like a father; there never was a man with a kinder heart, and why the devil I’ve not heard from him afore this ... My note’s not reached him, that’s sure. The cursed wardsman has pocketed my shilling and spared himself the trouble of sending it out.”

I was as much in the dumps over this miscarriage of plan as Oakley himself, for I do not believe there is a human situation more truly miserable than that of men without money in Newgate prison. Heaven be thanked, we did not have to suffer it for long. It was getting on for dusk that same afternoon when a turnkey, the fellow who had first brought us here, came into the court and bustled up the moment he spied us.

“I’m to fetch ye out o’ this, masters,” he said with a grin. “Why couldn’t ye a told me in the first place ye’re friends o’ Nick Sabb’s? He’s here, in quod himself.”

“What!” said Tom.

“Aye,” said the man; “on the State Side. Ye’re to come with me directly ye’ve had easement of irons, for he’s paid for that in advance.”

With that the turnkey gave him a note scribbled on a bit of grimy paper. Tom read it eagerly; then passed it to me:—

Tom:

The note went to Cloak Lane and back here. I’ve had it only this minute. Welcome to Newgate. You and your friend are to lodge next to Ned Inching and me.

“All’s well now,” said Oakley, “but what Ned Inching’s doing in Newgate is more than I can guess.”

“Who is he?” I asked.

“The cleverest pickpocket in the Kingdom, bar none. He’s been at that game since babyhood, ye might say, but I’ve never known of his being in quod before.”

“Now, gents, if ye’ll step along,” said the turnkey.

Hard stepping it was with three sets of irons to our legs, but the two extra sets were struck off in a little room close by; we then followed the turnkey through a labyrinth of passages leading to the State Side. As the man was unlocking a door, Oakley regarded me with a faint smile, and I could detect a glint of anxiety in his eye.

“Has it come home to ye, this place?” he asked.

“It’s beginning to,” I replied; “all but the irons.”

Tom nodded. “They’re a cursed nuisance and no mistake, but there’s no buying easement of the one pair. We’ll be obliged to wear ’em to the end, whichever way it goes with us. We’ve an anxious time to come, but never lose heart. We’re not turned off yet. But what I would say is this: here we are, two honest highwaymen, set down amongst thieves, pickpockets, forgers, coiners, housebreakers, and the Lord knows what all. Can ye take ’em as they come?”

“Of course. Why not?” I replied.

Oakley gave me a hearty slap on the back. “Forgive me, lad, I might ha’ known ye’re not the man to sit on a high horse. And I want ye to take to Sabb. As he stands, I’d choose him for a friend above many that sits in the seats of Parliament.”

The turnkey opened a last door leading to the State Side Court. Compared with the place we had left, it seemed to embody the height of comfort and luxurious ease. Money, as I was to learn, could do anything at Newgate, save open the door to freedom or banish the cold prison stench. It was now the shank of the evening for Newgate’s nobility and gentry. The court was thronged with them, some as well dressed as respectable citizens on ’Change. There were candles and spermaceti lamps a-plenty: the brisk stir and bustle, the laughter and loud talk, the running about of waiters with trays of ale, grog, and hot food brought in from the cookshops outside, put me in mind of some London tavern when the evening coaches come in, and the passengers, after their long journeys, are in the best of spirits, thinking of the good cheer at hand.

I would not go so far as to say that the State Side at Newgate resembled any of the London inns for homely comfort. Far from it. The place was mean and dingy; but there were fires going in the various rooms off the court, beds to sleep on, and some, at least, of the comforts and conveniences of life. We looked into rooms where men were sitting at cards; in others they were making merry over bowls of hot punch, for prisoners with money could send out for what they pleased in the way of food, ale, or spirits. Only the occasional clank of fetters reminded me that these men were felons.

We crossed the court and entered the room which Nicholas Sabb shared with his friend Inching. Sabb waved his hand at sight of Oakley.

“What cheer, Tom?” he called. “Here’s a stout heart! He lets himself get nabbed to keep an old friend company!”

Sabb was a man of middle age, and his belly alone would have made three Ned Inchings. His round, high-coloured face gleamed in the lamplight, and he wore his own hair, an untidy shock that stood out in all directions. Inching looked to be around fifty. His face was the colour of old untanned leather and seamed with a thousand wrinkles, and his ears stood out from his head like the handles of an urn. His hands were no larger than those of a boy. There was a third man present, Mr. Mortimer Thynne, and he looked strangely out of place in a prison. He was a little under middle height, slender of build, with a pale face of considerable refinement. His expression changed from moment to moment according to his mood, but for the most part, gayety shone from his grey eyes as though it came from an inexhaustible fund within.

There was no mistaking the sincerity of Sabb’s welcome, and he received me with the same cordiality. The introductions over, places were made for us at the table. There was a good fire burning at one end of the room, and on the opposite side were two beds furnished with comfortable mattresses, pillows, and coverlets. A wash-hand stand stood by the wall with a small mirror over it. On the table itself were two bottles of Canary wine, and Sabb immediately ordered in two more for our benefit.

“Lads, sluice your gobs,” he said, heartily. “We’ll sup directly, but now’s the hour for a whet. Wonders will never cease! Here’s a merry party of friends and to-be-friends to meet up in the shade of the Old Bailey!”

“Is it not, Nick?” said Thynne. “Mr. Oakley, Mr. Tallant, here’s to our better acquaintance.”

The conversation that followed was kept going at a lively pace by Sabb and Thynne, with Oakley putting in a word now and again. Inching’s comments comprised a series of grunts, and squeaks like the rasping of a saw or file, and an occasional shrill chortle that always seemed to be cut off in the middle with a sharp “ik!” Not a word was said as to why any of us was in Newgate, nor was the least curiosity shown in the matter (though we learned later that Sabb, for all his wealth and influence, and for all his cleverness in keeping clear of the harder clutches of the law, had at last run afoul of it in such a manner that he had been tried and convicted as a receiver of stolen goods and sentenced to seven years’ transportation). We might have been a group sitting in a coffeehouse, as free of the law as so many respectable citizens. The talk was mostly of places, people, and events I knew nothing about, but I pricked up my ears when Thynne referred to his wife, who was with him in Newgate. He spoke of her with great respect, in a frank easy manner, as though it were perfectly natural and in the course of events that she too should be an inmate of Newgate. Presently he rose.

“Nick, my thanks and compliments. Better Purl Royal I’ve never tasted. And now I must be going.”

“But why not stop with us?” said Sabb. “There’s a hamper of vittles on the way; enough for a half a dozen.”

Thynne smiled. “Another time, Nick. Mrs. Thynne and I are dining en famille. As you know, I cultivate the domestic virtues. Gentlemen, good evening, and bon appétit!”

Sabb had said no more than the truth about the coming supper. A waiter, himself a needy prisoner in Sabb’s hire, brought it. He laid out the tableware and then set before us dishes of sliced turkey’s gizzard, pickled oysters, cold pickled tongue with West Indian potargo, veal-and-ham pies, an excellent joint of beef, a bean tansey piping hot, in a huge earthenware dish, and another dish of boiled, creamed onions. And there was ale in plenty to wash all down. Tom and I needed no urging to do full justice to the meal, for we were all but starved after the miserable pickings of the penniless on the Common Side.

When the meal was over, Inching left us to join the crowd in the court, and Tom then spoke of Nellie Garth. He was telling Sabb who she was and what she was, and where she was now lodged, when Nick halted him.

“Say no more,” he said. “I’ll have the good woman out of that before the hour strikes.”

He sent his lackey to fetch the wardsman, and in five minutes’ time he had arranged that Mrs. Garth was to have a room to herself,—the one we had looked out from when we watched her battle,—with coals, candles, bedding, food, and everything needful for her comfort.

“God bless ye, Nick,” said Oakley. “Ye’ve never served a better turn to a better woman.”

“And why shouldn’t I?” said Sabb. “But Tom, how come’s it ye’re as stony as all this?”

Tom then related our story, explaining my part in it, and how we had been taken by Baxter’s men. “And the worst of it was, Nick,” he added, “that they got the whole of the money, save for a couple of guineas spent, and the fault for this is mine. Worse still, there was French and Spanish pieces amongst the English guineas, the same young Baxter had won at Bath.”

“There’s no great danger in that,” said Sabb, “for there might well be foreign coins in any bag of guineas.” He was silent for some little time; then he added, “But that’s evidence, of course, and there’s this beside: the pistol wound of your friend, here; your mare and Tallant’s recognized, or thought to be recognized.... What else? They can’t swear to your faces?”

“They was covered,” said Tom.

“Was anything took off ye to tell against ye?”

“Aye, my striking-watch, mebbe,” said Tom. “Ye’ve seen it, but that was christened.”

Sabb was again silent, and at last Oakley said: “Well, Nick, out with it. How do we stand, think ye?”

“Not bad, mebbe ... and none so good, neither. Have ye a weatherproof story to account for Tallant’s shoulder?”

“Aye, that’s ready,” said Tom.

“Ye was a fool to keep the watch,” said Sabb. “Christened or not, it may do ye harm, for there’s none cleverer than watchmakers for knowing their own handiwork. If they do, there’s a piece of circumstantial evidence that’ll tell.... Well, Tom, ye’re far from being hung. But I’ll say this: I’d sooner have my head on Tallant’s neck than yours.”

Sabb was no comforter; he had too much good sense to play that role. Late that night, a good two hours after Oakley and I had gone to bed in the adjoining room, Tom called, “Hugh, are ye sleeping?” and I knew that he was thinking as soberly as myself.

We had been some days in Newgate when the Governor himself came into court one morning, and inquired for Oakley and me by name. He was a tall, lean, middle-aged man, with a face that glowed like a sea-coal fire, noted for having a thirstier gullet than any of his pensioners, and for his favours to some of the younger, more personable female prisoners, several of whom were always employed as servants in his bachelor establishment. A turnkey followed with a bundle of clothing, and another fellow with a hammer and chisel. The Governor glanced at us incuriously when we had answered to our names. Our irons were then struck off and we were ordered to dress in our boots and riding clothes, fetched for the purpose from Garth’s place. Presently we were handcuffed and led by two guards to the street in front of the prison. I was surprised to find that Tom and I held the centre of the stage for the crowd gathered there; furthermore, Tom’s mare and the sorrel I had ridden on the night of the robbery were awaiting us. Oakley forgot the crowd when he saw Rosamond, and the mare laid her head on his shoulder, fondling him with her lips.

We were ordered to mount, and then the horses were led back and forth in front of the gate while the crowd looked us over. Notice had been printed in the papers and elsewhere that the two highwaymen, suspected of having robbed the coach of Reginald Baxter, Esq., on the Bath Road on the night of December eighth, would be exhibited before the main gate at Newgate, and that any gentlemen having been robbed in recent months were requested to be present to view these men.

It was a trying ordeal, and I all but sweat blood lest I should chance to be seen by some of my Loyalist acquaintances. However, nothing of the sort happened, and when we had been viewed by a crowd of, I dare say, five hundred people, from first to last, we were ordered to dismount and led back into the prison.

And now, if anyone wishes to hear the whole story of the trial and conviction of Messrs. Hugh Tallant and Thomas Oakley, he can whistle for it, so far as I am concerned, or go to the records, for the year 1787, kept at the Old Bailey Sessions House. We were tried at the January assizes—tried, convicted, and condemned to death, and the weeks that followed I have spent forty-five years of my life trying to forget. Oakley and I both had reason to thank God for that quality in our race which forbids an Englishman, not wholly sure of his ground, to swear away the life of another man. Nevertheless, the evidence pointed so strongly to our guilt that a verdict was found against us, but with it went a recommendation of clemency. It was not until early in March that we learned that our sentences had been commuted by His Majesty’s Privy Council to transportation for life. Poor Nellie Garth was given seven years’ transportation for being an accessory.