SILAS SLEECH DEPARTS FROM THE SCENE.--HOW MR. SLEECH ENJOYED HIS
POSSESSION OF STANMORE.
Prisons even in those days were fearful dens, although considerably
improved by the exertions of the noble Howard. In an ill-ventilated
room with grated windows, on a straw pallet, sat a young man. His
cheeks had gained the prison paleness. A frown was on his brow, and an
expression on his countenance, which betokened numerous bad passions.
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 gratitude 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,
asserting 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 circumstances 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
assure 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.
The whole party with one accord, headed by Paul Gauntlett, marched off
the ground, leaving four or five trees where they lay, with their
branches still attached to them. There seemed no probability of more of
the timber of Stanmore being felled that day, or perhaps for some days
to come.
We must now return to Mr. Thornborough's house in London. Mabel was
staying with her godfather and his kind sister. After she had obtained
the King's signature for his pardon, though feeling certain that he
would be released, her nerves at length gave way, and she was utterly
unable to accompany Mr. Kyffin, as she wished to do, to carry the pardon
down to him. She therefore returned to Mr. Thornborough's house, while
Mr. Kyffin again went down the banks of the Thames to the prison ship.
Mr. Kyffin had a double reason for haste. He was less anxious,
possibly, than Mabel, on account of Harry's safety, for he felt sure
that that was secured; but the next day had been fixed for the trial of
Silas Sleech, and he wished to obtain his ward's evidence, without which
he foresaw that the conviction of the culprit was very uncertain. Harry
could scarcely believe that he was at liberty, though he saw the prison
door open, and his guardian, accompanied by the governor of the prison
and other officials who had come to set him at liberty. They were soon
on shore, and at the inn where Mr. Kyffin had left his carriage. He had
thoughtfully brought a suit of clothes for Harry, who, with a
satisfaction which can be best understood by those who have suffered as
he had done, having gone through a thorough ablution, once more dressed
himself as a gentleman. He was pale, but in other respects greatly
improved. His figure was fuller, and his appearance more manly. His
arrival in court, in time to secure Silas Sleech's conviction, has
already been described. Mabel was all day in a state of nervous
agitation. Frequently when Mrs. Barbara addressed her she scarcely
understood what was said. When she took up a book, her eyes ran over
the pages without reading a line. She tried to work, but her fingers
refused to move. Mrs. Barbara observed her state. "Poor girl," she
thought, "how wonderful it is that she should love that young man so
much." A carriage stopped at the door. She endeavoured to rise, but
found it impossible to move. She drew her breath quickly. The door
opened, and a middle-aged gentleman entered. She lifted up her head.
In an instant she was in his arms.
"Oh! papa, this is almost too much for me," she exclaimed, as Captain
Everard returned her embrace. In a few words he told her what had
occurred. "But the loss of Stanmore is a severe blow," he observed.
"Oh! for me it is nothing," answered Mabel; "I feel for you, though that
cannot take away your position as a post-captain."
"No, indeed," answered the captain, "it is a position a man may well be
proud of."
"And as for the fortune, my little god-daughter must not be without
something," observed Mr. Thornborough. "Here, Barbara, give her that
paper. A present is better than a bequest, and I have had the amount
transferred to her name in the funds."
Mabel's eyes were too full of tears to distinguish clearly what was
written on the paper, though she could make out the sum of 10,000
pounds. She was springing forward to thank her godfather, when another
carriage drove up to the door. Again the drawing-room door opened, and
two gentlemen entered. This time Mabel did not spring into the arms of
either of them, but she stood for an instant motionless till the
youngest advanced towards her. Then unconsciously forgetting that any
one else was present, she lifted up her arms and let them fall on the
young man's shoulders.
"What! Andrew Brown, the brave seaman who saved my life?" exclaimed
Captain Everard. "But can it be? I wonder that all that time I did not
recognise my young friend Harry Tryon."