which the judge himself joined.
"There wants no evidence besides me; for, as I tell you, I did it, and
I'm not going to deny it."
"Stop!" cried the judge; "this is singular. If Mr. Darbyshire means to
plead his own cause, and to include in it his evidence, he must be
sworn. Let the oath be administered to him."
"Nay, I reckon thou need put none of thy oaths to me! My father never
brought me up to cursing and swearing, and such like wickedness. He left
that to th' ragamuffins and rapscallions i' th' street. I'm no swearer,
nor liar neither,--thou may take my word safe enough."
"Let him take his affirmation, if he be a member of the Society of
Friends."
"Ay, now thou speaks sense, Lord Judge. Ay, I'm a member, I warrant me."
The clerk of the court here took his affirmation, and then Johnny
proceeded.
"Well, I don't feel myself any better or any honester now for making
that affirmation. I was just going to tell the plain truth before, and I
can only tell th' same now. And, as I said, I'm not going to deny what
I've done. No! Johnny Darbyshire's not the man that ever did a thing and
then denied it. Can any of these chaps i' th' wigs say as much? Ay, now
I reckon," added he, shaking his head archly at the gentlemen of the
bar, "now I reckon you'd like, a good many on you there, to be denying
this thing stoutly for me? You'd soon persuade a good many simple folks
here that I never did ride the mare, never broke her leg, nay, never
saw her that day at all. Wouldn't you, now? wouldn't you?"--
Here the laughter, on all sides, was loudly renewed.
"But I'll take precious good care ye _dunna_! No, no! that's the very
thing that I've stepped up here for. It's to keep your consciences clear
of a few more additional lies. O dear! I'm quite grieved for you, when I
think what falsities and deceit you'll one day have to answer for, as it
is."
The gentlemen, thus complimented, appeared to enjoy the satire of Johnny
Darbyshire; and still more was it relished in the body of the court.
But again remarked the judge, "Mr. Darbyshire, I advise you to leave the
counsel for the plaintiff to prove his case against you."
"I'st niver oss!" exclaimed Johnny, with indignation.
"I'st niver oss!" repeated the judge. "What does he mean?--I don't
understand him." And he looked inquiringly at the bar.
"He means," my lord, said a young counsel, "that he shall never
offer,--never attempt to do so."
"That's a Darbyshire chap now," said Johnny, turning confidentially
towards the jury-box, where he saw some of his county farmers. "He
understands good English."
"But, good neighbors there," added he, addressing the jury, "for I
reckon it's you that I must talk to on this business; I'm glad to see
that you are, a good many on you, farmers like myself, and so up to
these things. To make a short matter of it, then,--I had the mare and
foal to summer; and the gentleman laid it down, strong and fast, that
she shouldn't be ridden by anybody. And I promised him that I would do
my best, that nobody should ride her. I told him that I would use her
just as if she was my own,--and I meant it. I meant to do the handsome
by her and her master too; for I needn't tell you that I'm too fond of a
bit of good blood to see it willingly come to any harm. Nay, nay, that
never was the way of Johnny Darbyshire. And there she was, the pretty
creature, with her handsome foal cantering and capering round her in the
meadow; it was a pleasure to see it, it was indeed! And often have I
stood and leaned over the gate and watched them, till I felt a'most as
fond of them as of my own children; and never would leg have crossed her
while she was in my possession had that not happened that may happen to
any man, when he least expects it.
"My wife had been ill, very ill. My poor Lizzy, I thought I should ha'
certainly lost her. The doctors said she must be kept quiet in bed; if
she stirred for five days she was a lost woman. Well, one afternoon as I
was cutting a bit o' grass at th' bottom o' th' orchard for the osses,
again they came from ploughing the fallows, I heard a shriek that went
through me like a baggonet. Down I flings th' scythe. 'That's Lizzy, and
no other!' I shouted to myself. 'She's out of bed,--and, goodness! what
can it be? She's ten to one gone mad with a brain fever!' There seemed
to have fallen ten thousand millstones on my heart. I tried to run, but
I couldn't. I was as cold as ice. I was as fast rooted to the ground as
a tree. There was another shriek more piercing than before--and I was
off like an arrow from a bow--I was loose then. I was all on fire. I ran
like a madman till I came within sight of th' house; and there I saw
Lizzy in her nightgown with half her body out of the window, shrieking
and wringing her hands like any crazed body.
"'Stop! stop!' I cried, 'Lizzy! Lizzy! back! back! for Heaven's sake!'
"'There! there!' screamed she, pointing with staring eyes and ghastly
face down into the Darrant that runs under the windows.
"'O God!' I exclaimed, 'she'll drown herself! she's crazed, she means to
fling herself in'--groaning as I ran, and trying to keep crying to her,
but my voice was dead in my throat.
"When I reached her chamber, I found her fallen on the floor,--she was
as white as a ghost, and sure enough I thought she was one. I lifted her
upon the bed, and screamed amain for the nurse, for the maid, but not a
soul came. I rubbed Lizzy's hands; clapped them; tried her
smelling-bottle. At length she came to herself with a dreadful
groan,--flashed open her eyes wide on me, and cried, 'Didst see him?
Didst save him? Where is he? Where is he?'
"'Merciful Providence!' I exclaimed. 'She's gone only too sure! It's all
over with her!'
"'Where is he? Where's my dear Sam? Thou didn't let him drown?'
"'Drown? Sam? What?' I cried. 'What dost mean, Lizzy?'
"'O John! Sammy!--he was drowning i' th' Darrant--oh!--'
"She fainted away again, and a dreadful truth flashed on my mind. She
had seen our little Sammy drowning; she had heard his screams, and
sprung out of bed, forgetful of herself, and looking out, saw our
precious boy in the water. He was sinking! He cried for help! there was
nobody near, and there Lizzy stood and saw him going, going, going down!
There was not a soul in the house. The maid was gone to see her mother
that was dying in the next village; the nurse had been suddenly obliged
to run off to the doctor's for some physic; Lizzy had promised to lie
still till I came in, and in the mean time--this happens. When I
understood her I flew down stairs, and towards the part of the river she
had pointed to. I gazed here and there, and at length caught sight of
the poor boy's coat floating, and with a rake I caught hold of it, and
dragged him to land. But it was too late! Frantic, however, as I was, I
flew down to the meadow with a bridle in my hand, mounted the blood
mare,--she was the fleetest in the field by half,--and away to the
doctor. We went like the wind. I took a short cut for better speed, but
it was a hobbly road. Just as I came in sight of the doctor's house
there was a slough that had been mended with stones and fagots and
anything that came to hand. I pushed her over, but her foot caught in a
hole amongst the sticks, and--crack! it was over in a moment.
"Neighbors, neighbors! think of my situation. Think of my feelings. Oh!
I was all one great groan! My wife! my boy! the mare! it seemed as if
Job's devil was really sent out against me. But there was no time to
think; I could only feel, and I could do that running. I sprang over the
hedge. I was across the fields, and at the doctor's; ay, long before I
could find breath to tell him what was amiss. But he thought it was my
wife that was dreadfully worse. 'I expected as much,' said he, and that
instant we were in the gig that stood at the door, and we were going
like fire back again. But--"
Here Johnny Darbyshire paused; the words stuck in his throat,--his lips
trembled,--his face gradually grew pale and livid, as if he were going
to give up the ghost. The court was extremely moved: there was a deep
silence, and there were heard sobs from the throng behind. The judge
sate with his eyes fixed on his book of minutes, and not a voice even
said "Go on."
Johnny Darbyshire meantime, overcome by his feelings, had sate down at
the bar, a glass of water was handed to him,--he wiped his forehead with
his handkerchief several times, heaved a heavy convulsive sigh or two
from his laboring chest,--and again arose.
"Judge, then," said he, again addressing the jury, "what a taking I was
in. My boy--but no--I canna touch on that, he was--gone!" said he in a
husky voice that seemed to require all his physical force to send it
from the bottom of his chest. "My wife was for weeks worse than dead,
and never has been, and never will be, herself again. When I inquired
after the mare,--you can guess--when was a broken leg of a horse
successfully set again? They had been obliged to kill her!
"Now, neighbors, I deny nothing. I wunna!--but I'll put it to any of
you, if you were in like case, and a fleet mare stood ready at hand,
would you have weighed anything but her speed against a wife and--a
child?--No, had she been my own, I should have taken her, and that was
all I had promised! But there, neighbors, you have the whole
business,--and so do just as you like,--I leave it wi' you."
Johnny Darbyshire stepped down from the bar, and disappeared in the
crowd. There was a deep silence in the court, and the very jury were
seen dashing some drops from their eyes. They appeared to look up to the
judge as if they were ready to give in at once their verdict, and nobody
could doubt for which party; but at this moment the counsel for the
plaintiff arose, and said:--
"Gentlemen of the jury,--you know the old saying--'He that pleads his
own cause has a fool for his client.' We cannot say that the proverb has
held good in this case. The defendant has proved himself no fool. Never
in my life have I listened to the pleadings of an opponent with deeper
anxiety. Nature and the awful chances of life have made the defendant in
this case more than eloquent. For a moment I actually trembled for the
cause of my client,--but it was for a moment only. I should have been
something less than human if I had not, like every person in this court,
been strangely affected by the singular appeal of the singular man who
has just addressed you; but I should have been something less than a
good lawyer if I did not again revert confidently to those facts which
were in the possession of my witnesses now waiting to be heard. Had this
been the only instance in which the defendant had broken his
engagement, and mounted this mare, I should in my own mind have flung
off all hope of a verdict from you. God and nature would have been too
strong for me in your hearts; but, fortunately for my client, it is not
so. I will show you on the most unquestionable evidence that it was not
the first nor the second time that Mr. Darbyshire had mounted this
prohibited but tempting steed. He had been seen, as one of the witnesses
expresses it, 'frisking about' on this beautiful animal, and asking his
neighbors what they thought of such a bit of blood as that. He had on
one occasion been as far as Crich fair with her, and had allowed her to
be cheapened by several dealers as if she were his own, and then proudly
rode off, saying, 'Nay, nay, it was not money that would purchase pretty
Nancy,' as he called her." Here the counsel called several respectable
farmers who amply corroborated these statements; and he then proceeded.
"Gentlemen, there I rest my case. You will forget the wife and the
child, and call to mind the 'frisking,' and Crich fair. But to put the
matter beyond a doubt we will call the defendant again, and put a few
questions to him."
The court crier called,--but it was in vain. Johnny Darbyshire was no
longer there. As he had said, "he had left it wi' 'em," and was gone.
The weight of evidence prevailed; the jury gave a verdict for the
plaintiff,--one hundred pounds.
The verdict was given, but the money was not yet got. When called on for
payment, Johnny Darbyshire took no further notice of the demand than he
had done of the action. An execution was issued against his goods; but
when it was served, it was found that he had no goods. A brother stepped
in with a clear title to all on Johnny's farm by a deed dated six years
before, on plea of moneys advanced, and Johnny stood only as manager.
The plaintiff was so enraged at this barefaced scheme to bar his just
claim, Johnny's bail sureties being found equally unsubstantial, that he
resolved to arrest Johnny's person. The officers arrived at Johnny's
house to serve the writ, and found him sitting at his luncheon alone. It
was a fine summer's day,--everybody was out in the fields at the hay.
Door and window stood open, and Johnny, who had been out on some
business, was refreshing himself before going to the field too. The
officers entering declared him their prisoner. "Well," said Johnny, "I
know that very well. Don't I know a bum-baily when I see him? But sit
down and take something; I'm hungry if you ar'na, at all events."
The men gladly sate down to a fine piece of cold beef, and Johnny said,
"Come, fill your glasses; I'll fetch another jug of ale. I reckon you'll
not give me a glass of ale like this where we are going."
He took a candle, descended the cellar, one of the officers peeping
after him to see that all was right, and again sitting down to the beef
and beer. Both of them found the beef splendid; but beginning to find
the ale rather long in making its appearance, they descended the cellar,
and found Johnny Darbyshire had gone quietly off at a back door.
Loud was the laughter of the country round at Johnny Darbyshire's
outwitting of the bailiff's, and desperate was their quest after him. It
was many a day, however, before they again got sight of him. When they
did, it was on his own hearth, just as they had done at first. Not a
soul was visible but himself. The officers declared now that they would
make sure of him, and yet drink with him too.
"With all my heart," said Johnny; "and draw it yourselves, too, if you
will."
"Nay, I will go down with you," said one; "my comrade shall wait here
above."
"Good," said Johnny, lighting a candle.
"Now, mind, young man," added he, going hastily forwards towards the
cellar steps,--"mind, I say, some of these steps are bad. It's a dark
road, and--nay, here!--this way,--follow me exactly."
But the man was too eager not to let Johnny go too far before him; he
did not observe that Johnny went some distance round before he turned
down the steps. There was no hand-rail to this dark flight of steps, and
he walked straight over into the opening.
"Hold!--hold! Heavens! the man's gone,--didn't I tell him!--"
A heavy plunge and a groan announced the man's descent into the cellar.
"Help!--help!" cried Johnny Darbyshire, rushing wildly into the room
above. "The man, like a madman, has walked over the landing into the
cellar. If he isn't killed, it's a mercy. Help!" snatching another
candle; "but hold--take heed! take heed! or thou'lt go over after him!"
With good lighting, and careful examination of the way, the officer
followed. They found the other man lying on his back, bleeding
profusely from his head, and insensible.
"We must have help! there's no time to lose!" cried Johnny Darbyshire,
springing up stairs.
"Stop!" cried the distracted officer, left with his bleeding fellow, and
springing up the steps after Johnny. But he found a door already bolted
in his face; and cursing Johnny for a treacherous and murderous
scoundrel, he began vainly denouncing his barbarity in leaving his
comrade thus to perish, and kicked and thundered lustily at the door.
But he did Johnny Darbyshire injustice. Johnny had no wish to hurt a
hair of any man's head. The officer had been eager and confident, and
occasioned his own fall; and even now Johnny had not deserted him. He
appeared on horseback at the barn where threshers were at work; told
them what had happened; gave them the key of the cellar door, bade them
off and help all they could; and said he was riding for the doctor. The
doctor indeed soon came, and pronounced the man's life in no danger,
though he was greatly scratched and bruised. Johnny himself was again
become invisible.
From this time for nine months the pursuit of Johnny Darbyshire was a
perfect campaign, full of stratagems, busy marchings, and expectations,
but of no surprises. House, barns, fields, and woods, were successively
ferreted through, as report whispered that he was in one or the other.
But it was to no purpose; not a glimpse of him was ever caught; and fame
now loudly declared that he had safely transferred himself to America.
Unfortunately for the truth of this report, which had become as well
received as the soundest piece of history, Johnny Darbyshire was one
fine moonlight night encountered full face to face, by some poachers
crossing the fields near his house. The search became again more active
than ever, and the ruins of Wingfield Manor, which stood on a hill not
far from his dwelling, were speedily suspected to be haunted by him.
These were hunted over and over, but no trace of Johnny Darbyshire, or
any sufficient hiding-place for him, could be found, till, one fine
summer evening, the officers were lucky enough to hit on a set of steps
which descended amongst bushes into the lower part of the ruins. Here,
going on, they found themselves, to their astonishment, in an ample old
kitchen, with a fire of charcoal in the grate, and Johnny Darbyshire
with a friend or two sitting most cosily over their tea. Before they
could recover from their surprise, Johnny, however, had vanished by some
door or window, they could not tell exactly where, for there were sundry
doorways issuing into dark places of which former experience bade them
beware. Rushing up again, therefore, to the light, they soon posted some
of their number around the ruins, and, with other assistance sent for
from the village, they descended again, and commenced a vigilant search.
This had been patiently waited for a good while by those posted without,
when suddenly, as rats are seen to issue from a rick when the ferret is
in it, Johnny Darbyshire was seen ascending hurriedly a broken
staircase, that was partly exposed to the open day by the progress of
dilapidation, and terminated abruptly above.
Here, at this abrupt and dizzy termination, for the space of half a
minute, stood Johnny Darbyshire, looking round, as if calmly surveying
the landscape, which lay, with all its greenness and ascending smokes of
cottage chimneys, in the gleam of the setting sun. Another instant, and
an officer of the law was seen cautiously scrambling up the same ruinous
path; but, when he had reached within about half a dozen yards or so of
Johnny, he paused, gazed upwards and downwards, and then remained
stationary. Johnny, taking one serious look at him, now waved his hand
as bidding him adieu, and disappeared in a mass of ivy.
The astonished officer on the ruined stair now hastily retreated
downwards; the watchers on the open place around ran to the side of the
building where Johnny Darbyshire had thus disappeared, but had scarcely
reached the next corner, when they heard a loud descent of stones and
rubbish, and, springing forward, saw these rushing to the ground at the
foot of the old Manor, and some of them springing and bounding down the
hill below. What was most noticeable, however, was Johnny Darbyshire
himself, lying stretched, apparently lifeless, on the greensward at some
little distance.
On examining afterwards the place, they found that Johnny had descended
between a double wall,--a way, no doubt, well known to him, and thence
had endeavored to let himself down the wall by the ivy which grew
enormously strong there; but the decayed state of the stones had caused
the hold of the ivy to give way, and Johnny had been precipitated,
probably from a considerable height. He still held quantities of leaves
and ivy twigs in his hands.
He was conveyed as speedily as possible on a door to his own house,
where it was ascertained by the surgeon that life was sound in him, but
that besides plenty of severe contusions, he had broken a thigh. When
this news reached his persecutor, though Johnny was declared to have
rendered himself, by his resistance to the officers of the law, liable
to outlawry, this gentleman declared that he was quite satisfied; that
Johnny was punished enough, especially as he had been visited with the
very mischief he had occasioned to the mare. He declined to proceed any
further against him, paid all charges and costs, and the court itself
thought fit to take no further cognizance of the matter.
Johnny was, indeed, severely punished. For nearly twelve months he was
confined to the house, and never did his indomitable and masterful
spirit exhibit itself so strongly and characteristically as during this
time. He was a most troublesome subject in the house. As he sate in his
bed, he ordered, scolded, and ruled with a rod of iron all the women,
including his wife and daughter, so that they would have thought the leg
and the confinement nothing to what they had to suffer.
He at length had himself conveyed to the sitting-room or the kitchen, as
he pleased, in a great easy-chair; but as he did not satisfy himself
that he was sufficiently obeyed, he one day sent the servant-girl to
fetch him the longest scarlet-bean stick that she could find in the
garden. Armed with this, he now declared that he would have his own
way,--he could reach them now! And, accordingly, there he sate, ordering
and scolding, and, if not promptly obeyed in his most extravagant
commands, not sparing to inflict substantial knocks with his pea-prick,
as he called it. This succeeded so well that he would next have his
chair carried to the door, and survey the state of things without.
"Ay, he knew they were going on prettily. There was fine management, he
was sure, when he was thus laid up. He should be ruined, that was
certain. O, if he could but see the ploughing and the crops,--to see how
they were going on would make the heart of a stone ache, he expected."
His son was a steady young fellow, and, it must be known, was all the
while farming, and carrying on the business much better than he himself
had ever done.
"But he would be with them one of these days, and for the present he
would see his stock at all events."
He accordingly ordered the whole of his stock, his horses, his cows, his
bullocks, his sheep, his calves, his pigs, and poultry, to be all, every
head of them, driven past as he sate at the door. It was like another
naming of the beasts by Adam, or another going up into the Ark. There he
sate, swaying his long stick, now talking to this horse, and now to that
cow. To the old bull he addressed a long speech; and every now and then
he broke off to rate the farm-servants for their neglect of things.
"What a bag of bones was this heifer! What a skeleton was that horse!
Why, they must have been fairly starved on purpose; nay, they must have
been in the pinfold all the time he had been laid up. But he would teach
the lazy rogues a different lesson as soon as he could get about."
And the next thing was to get about in his cart with his bed laid in it.
In this he rode over his farm; and it would have made a fine scene for
Fielding or Goldsmith, to have seen all his proceedings, and heard all
his exclamations and remarks, as he surveyed field after field.
"What ploughing! what sowing! Why, they must have had a crooked plough,
and a set of bandy-legged horses, to plough such ploughing. There was no
more straightness in their furrows than in a dog's hind leg. And then
where had the man flung the seed to? Here was a bit come up, and there
never a bit. It was his belief that they must go to Jericho to find half
of his corn that had been flung away. What! had they picked the windiest
day of all the year to scatter his corn on the air in? And then the
drains were all stopped; the land was drowning, was starving to death;
and where were the hedges all gone to? Hedges he left, but now he only
saw gaps!"
So he went round the farm, and for many a day did it furnish him with a
theme of scolding in the house.