THE LAW OF THE LAND.
One comfort there was among all this trouble, and terror, and
perplexity--little _Jess_ was not dead, as reported; nor even inclined
to die, just at present. It was true that she had been horribly slashed
with a spade, or shovel, or whatever it might have been; and had made
her way home on three legs by slow stages, and perhaps with many a
fainting fit. But when she had brought her evil tidings, and thrown down
her staunch little frame to die, at the spot where she was wont to meet
her master, it happened that Mr. Sharland crossed the garden from the
stables. This was a Veterinary Surgeon, full of skill, and large of
heart, awake to the many pangs he caused in systems finer than the
human, and pitiful to the drooping head, and the legs worn out in man's
service. In a moment he had gathered up the story of poor _Jess_, and he
said, "if any dog deserves to be saved, it is this faithful little
dear."
Then he pulled off his coat, and tucked up his sleeves, and pronounced
with a little pomposity--for a good man should make his impression--
"Deep cut across the humerus. Compound fracture of the ulna. Will never
do much with that limb again. But if the little thing is only half as
sagacious as she is faithful, and pyretic action does not supervene, we
shall save her life; and it is worth saving."
_Jess_ licked his hand, as if she understood it all, and resigned
herself to human wisdom. And now she had a sweet bed in a basket, airy
and buoyant, yet proof against cold draughts; and there she was
delighted to receive old friends, with a soft look of gratitude in large
black eyes, and a pretty little quiver of the tail too wise to wag, for
fear of arousing their anxiety. _Pixie_, the pug, had many qualms of
jealousy, as well as some pangs of deep interest--for what dog, however
healthy, could feel certain in his heart that he might not be reduced to
the same condition? And he was apt to get a human kick, when he pressed
his kind enquiries.
But upon the loftier level of anthropic interests, less of harmony
prevailed, and more of hot contention. The widowed lady of the house had
felt her loss intensely; and with the deeper pain, because her generous
nature told her of many a time when she had played a part a little over
the duty of a loyal wife. Her strong will, and rather imperious style,
and widely different view-point, had sometimes caused slight
disagreements between the Spanish lady and the English squire; and now
she could not claim the pleasure of having waived herself to please him.
But she had the sorrow of recalling how often she had won the victory,
and pushed it to the utmost, and how seldom she had owned herself in the
wrong, even when she had perceived it. A kinder and a nobler husband no
woman was ever blessed with; and having lost him, how could she help
disparaging every other man, as a tribute to his memory?
Even with her daughter Inez, she was frequently provoked, when she saw
the tears of filial love, or heard the unconsidered sigh. "What is her
loss, compared with mine?" "But for this child, he would have loved me
more." "Shallow young creature, like a tinkling zither--she will start a
new tune, in a week or two." Such were her thoughts; but she kept them
to herself, and was angry with herself for forming them.
So it may be supposed, what her fury was, or rather her boundless and
everlasting rage, when she heard of the miscreant villainy, which could
not long be concealed from her. Her favourite maid, Tamar Haddon, was
the one who first let fall an unwary word; and that young woman
received a shock, which ought to have disciplined her tongue for life.
With a gaze, and a gesture, there was no withstanding, her mistress tore
out of her everything she knew, and then with a power of self-control
which few men could have equalled, she ordered the terrified damsel
away, and sat down alone, to think miserably.
How long she stayed thus, was unknown to any; for Tamar made off with
all speed to her room, and was seized with a fit of hysterics. But the
lady's only movement was to press one hand upon her labouring heart. By
and by she rose, and unlocked the door of her little oratory--a place
not very often favoured with her presence. There she took down a
crucifix of ivory--not the Indian, but the African, which hardens and
whitens with the lapse of years, though green at first, as truth is--and
she set it upon a velvet shelf, and looked at it without much reverence.
In the stormy times, when Spain was writhing under the heel of an
infidel, her daughters lost their religious grounding, and gained fierce
patriotism. "My Country is my God," was a copy set in schools.
At first she looked with scorn and pity at such meek abandonment. What
had her will and heart to do with mild submission, drooping head, and
brow of wan benignity? But the sculptor had told more than that. He had
filled the sufferer's face with love, and thrilled the gaze of death
with sweet celestial compassion. So well had the human hand conveyed the
tender heart of heaven.
The sting of mortal injuries began to grow less venomous. The rancorous
glare was compelled to soften, and suffused with quivering tears. She
had come to have a curse attested, and a black vow sanctified; but
earthly wrong and human wrath were quelled before the ruth of heaven,
and conquest of the Tortured One. She fell upon her knees, and laid her
hands upon the spike-torn feet; and her face became that of a stricken
woman, devoted to sorrow, but not to hate.
How long this higher influence would last is quite another point,
especially with a woman. But it proved at least that she was not
altogether narrow, and hard, and arrogant. Then she went to her bed, and
wept for hours; and perhaps her reason was saved thereby. At any rate
her household, which had been in wretched panic, was saved from the
fearful outburst, and the timid cast-up of their wages.
On the following morning, she was calm, at least to all outward
semblance, and said not a word to any one of the shock she had suffered
yesterday. But as soon as business-time allowed, she sent for Mr.
Webber, the most active member of the steady firm, in which her husband
had placed confidence. He was good enough to come at once, although, as
he told his nervous wife, he would have preferred an interview with the
lioness, who had just escaped from a travelling menagerie.
But like all other terrors, when confronted, this proved tolerably
docile; and upon his return he described this foreign lady's majestic
beauty, and angelic fortitude, in warmer terms than his wife thought
needful over his own mahogany. After recounting all he knew, and being
heard with patience, he had taken instructions which he thought
sagacious and to the purpose, for they were chiefly of his own
suggestion.
Now this Mr. Webber was a shrewd, as well as a very upright man, but of
rather hasty temperament, and in many of his conclusions led astray,
without the least suspicion of it, by prejudices and private feelings.
One of his favourite proverbs was--"A straw will show how the wind
blows;" and the guiding straw for him was prone to float on the breath
of his own favour. Although he knew little of Dr. Fox, he was partly
prepared to think ill of him, according to the following inclination.
Waldron Webber, the lawyer's eldest son, and Godson of the brave Sir
Thomas, had shown no capacity for the law, and little for anything else,
except a good thumb for the gallipots. Good friends said--"What a doctor
he will make!" and his excellent mother perceived the genius, and felt
how low it would be to lament that such gifts were seldom lucrative,
till half the life is over. So the second son took to the ruler, and the
elder to the pestle, instruments of equal honour, but of different
value. And Waldron, although his kind father had bought him a snug
little practice at Perlycombe, was nibbling at the bottom of the bag at
home, while his brother cast in at the top of it.
Why was this? Simply because young Fox, the heir of a wealthy family,
had taken it into his wicked head to drop down from the clouds at
Perlycross. It was true that he had bought a practice there; but his
predecessor had been a decent fellow, observing the rules of the
Profession. If a man could not pay for it, let him not be ill; or at any
rate go to the workhouse, and be done for in the lump. But this
interloper was addicted to giving tick unlimited, or even remission of
all charges, and a cure--when nature would not be denied--without the
patient paying for it, if he had no money. One thing was certain--this
could not last long. But meanwhile a doctor of common sense was
compelled to appeal to his parents.
"All cannot be right," Mr. Webber senior had observed with emphasis,
when he heard the same tale from his son's bosom friend, Jervis Jackson
of Perliton; "there are certain rules, my dear, essential to the
existence of all sound Professions; and one of the most fundamental is,
to encourage nobody who cannot pay. This Fox must be a sadly Radical
young man, though his family is most respectable. Mischief will come of
it, in my firm opinion."
The mischief was come, and in a darker form than the soundest lawyer
could anticipate. Mr. Webber lamented it; and his wife (who had seen
Jemmy waltzing at a Taunton ball with one of her pretty daughters, and
been edified with castles in the air) lifted up her hands, and refused
to listen to it; until she thought of her dear son. "If it is the will
of God," she said, "we must accept it, Theodore."
But this resignation is not enough for an Attorney with a criminal case
in hand. Lady Waldron had urged despatch; and he knew that she was not
to be trifled with. He had taken the blacksmith's deposition, which
began as if his head were on the anvil, as well as Farmer John's, and
Channing's, and that of Mr. Jakes the schoolmaster. And now it was come
to Monday night; and nothing had been heard of Fox.
But it was not so easy to know what to do. There was no Police-force as
yet to be invoked with certainty of some energy, and the
Bow-Street-Runners, as they were called--possibly because they never
ran--had been of no service in such cases, even when induced to take
them up. Recourse must be had to the ancient gear of Magistrate and
constable; for to move any higher authorities would require time and
travel. Strong suspicion there might be, but no strong chain of
evidence; for no connexion could be established (whatever might be the
inference) between the occurrence at Susscot and the sacrilege at
Perlycross.
Moreover, our ancient laws are generally rough, and brisk, and
able-bodied to stick out bravely for the purse, but leave the person to
defend itself. If it cannot do this after death, let it settle the
question with its Maker; for it cannot contribute to the Realm, and
belongs to the Resurrection. This larger view of the matter will explain
to the live content how it came to pass that the legislature (while
providing, for the healthy use of anatomy, the thousands of criminal
bodies despatched for the good of their choicer brethren) failed to
perceive any duty towards those who departed this life in the fear of
God, after paying their rates and taxes, for the term prescribed by
Heavenly Statute. In a word, when the wicked began to fall
short--through clemency human or Divine--no man of the highest
respectability could make sure of what he left behind. Only, by the
ancient Common Law, to dig him up again, without a Faculty, was
indictable as a Misdemeanour.
Mr. Webber was familiar with all these truths, and obliged to be careful
of their import. If the theft of a sheep could be brought home to Fox,
the proceeding would have been more simple, and the penalties far
heavier. But, for his enemies, the social outrage was the thing to look
at. As it stood, there was small chance yet of saddling the culprit with
legal guilt; nevertheless if the tide of general opinion set against
him, even the noblest medical science must fail to make head against it.
And the first step was to give some public form to the heinous
accusation, without risk of enormous damages. Hence the application to
Mr. Mockham, under the name of Tapscott, as before related, and justly
refused by that Magistrate.
Mr. Webber of course did not appear, nor allow his name to be quoted,
knowing how small the prospect was of the issue of a warrant. But his
end was gained, for all who were present--including the Magistrate
himself--left the place with dark and strong suspicion against the
absent Doctor. The question was certain now to be taken up by County
Journals; whereupon the accused might well be trusted to do something
foolish, even if nothing more were learned from the stealthy watch kept
on him.
There was much to justify this view; for Fox did many foolish things,
and even committed blunders, such as none but the sagest of the sage
could avoid in his position. He was young, and hot of blood, and raging
at the sweet readiness of his friends--as such dastards dared to call
themselves--to accept the wicked charge against him, on such worthless
evidence. Now was the time for any generous nature to assert itself; for
any one with a grain of faith, or even of common charity, to look him in
the face, and grasp his hand, and exclaim with honest anger--"Not a word
of those cursed lies do I believe. You are an honest fellow, Jemmy,
whatever skulks and sneaks may say; and if any one says it in my
presence, down he goes like a dabchick."
Did any one do this, of all who had been so much obliged to him, or even
of those who without that had praised him in his prosperous days, and
been proud of his acquaintance? It made his young heart cold with
bitterness, and his kind eyes flash with scorn, when even young fellows
of healthy nature, jovial manners, and careless spirit, spied something
of deepest interest across the road, as he came by; or favoured him with
a distant nod, and a passing--"How doo, Doctor?" perhaps with an
emphasis on the title, suggestive of dissection. It was enough to sour
any man of even bright intelligence, and fair discrimination; for large
indeed is the heart of him, and heavenly his nature, who does not judge
of his brethren, by their behaviour to this brother.
Yet there were some few, who did behave to this poor brother, as if they
had heard of the name of Christ, or deserved, in a way, to do so. These
were the very poor, who feel some gratitude for kindness; because it
comes not as a right, but a piece of rare luck to them. "'Tis nort to I,
what the lad hath dooed, and I'll never belave a' dooed it. If it worn't
for he, our little Johnny would be in Churchyard, instead of 's cot."
So spake one or two; and if the reasoning was unsound, why then, so much
the worse for reason.
But a fine young farmer, of the name of Gilham (a man who worked hard
for his widowed mother, at the North West end of the parish) came
forward like a brave Englishman, and left no doubt about his opinion.
This young man was no clod-hopper; but had been at a Latin school,
founded by a great High-Priest of the Muses in the woollen line, and
worthy of the _infula_. Gilham had shown some aptness there, and power
in the resurrection of languages, called dead by those who would have no
life without them. His farm was known as the "White Post," because it
began with a grand old proof of the wisdom of our ancestors. Upon the
mighty turnpike road from London even to Devonport, no trumpery stick of
foreign fir, but a massive column of British oak had been erected in
solid times, for the benefit of wayfarers. If a couple of them had been
hanged there, as tradition calmly said of them, it was only because they
stopped the others, and owed them this enlightenment.
Frank Gilham knew little of Doctor Fox, and had never swallowed physic;
which may have had something to do perhaps with his genial view of the
subject.
"A man is a man," he said to his mother, as if she were an expert in the
matter; "and Fox rides as straight as any man I ever saw, when his horse
has not done too much parish-work. What should I do, if people went
against me like this, and wouldn't even stand up to their own lies? That
old John Horner is a pompous ass; and Crang loses his head with a young
horse, by daylight. Where would his wits be, pulled out of bed at night,
with a resurrection-man standing over him? I am thoroughly ashamed of
the parish, mother; and though some of our land is under Lady Waldron, I
shall go and see Fox, and stick up for him."
So he did; and though he was a younger man than Jemmy, and made no
pretence of even offering advice, his love of fair play, and fine
healthy courage, were more than a houseful of silver and gold, or a
legion of soldiers direct from heaven.