Watery Grave (40 page)

“I admit to feeling of two minds on this occasion,” said he.” For while I well know that Tom looks forward to a better berth than the one he had, and more, that his experience of the last two years and his native intelligence will make him a fme officer, I am sad that in these last days I have lost all faith in the service to which he now prepares to devote his life. Though I know he will not do so, I would not blame Tom, nor criticize him, if, knowing what he knows of one who sits condemned in the Tower, he would decline the honor that has been bestowed upon him by the King and depart the Navy as swiftly as I could arrange it. But, as I said, he will not do that, for I know he loves the sea as I did when I was his age — and I pray God he vill have the opportunity to continue to love it all his life long. And so, Tom, I drink to you and offer you but two cautions. The first is that as a midshipman and as an officer you always hew to what you know is right and just and not be swayed by those voices around you that urge what is expedient and easy. The second is this: that you never mention my name nor my relation to you to your shipmates, to your fellow officers, nor to anyone who wears a naval uniform. Tom, I drink to you, and may God bless and protect you.”

We all, save Tom, stood and emptied our glasses. Then we all sat, save Sir John, who tossed his napkin down on the table.

“If you will forgive me now,” said he, “I think I’ll be early to bed. I hope I shall be granted the sleep I need. It has not been easy the last few nights.”

I moved my chair from the table and made ready to assist him.

“No, no, Jeremy, don’t get up. I have not had so much wine that I cannot find my way to bed. Tom, I shall say a proper goodbye to you on the morrow. Good night, all.”

And thus he left us. We did not stay long at table afterward. Annie and I cleared the dishes and did the washing up. Tom and his mother took the candles and went into the parlor, where they talked long into the night. I know that to be so, for though I read till late, he had not made an appearance in the attic bedroom we shared.

It had been decided that Lady Fielding, and she alone, would accompany Tom to the Portsmouth stagecoach, and so we gathered in the kitchen to say our goodbyes to him. Annie he kissed boldly on the cheek, thrilling her and quite confounding his mother. From Sir John he received a manly hug, a warm shake of his hand, and a few solemn words whispered in his ear. They must have affected him deeply, for by the time he came to me, his eyes shone with tears. He took my right hand and shook it vigorously.

“Jeremy,” said he, “my brother, keep on the path you have chosen. I know it is the right one for you. I shall miss our talks at night.”

I was so overcome that he should call me his brother that I was scarce able to say the few simple words I had prepared. Yet I ignored my own tears, cleared the phlegm from my throat, and brought my left hand from behind my back. I offered him the book it held.

“What is this?”

“Anson’s Voyage Round the World,” said I. “You had not the chance to finish it. I thought you should have the opportunity. Keep it, Tom, for it is my gift to you.”

“I know not what to say. I shall keep it always and read it, and reread it, then reread it again. And each time I do, I shall think of you.”

Then, picking up the proper portmanteau that Lady Fielding had rushed out to buy him the day before, and nodding dumbly at us all, he went through the door and started down the stairs. His mother followed.

Of Tom’s departure, there is but one more thing to add. Well over an hour later, as I had returned from my buying in the Garden, I was once more back in the kitchen, Annie had gone out for a walk, wishing, I think, to be alone with the sorrow of Tom’s leaving. As I was putting away the vegetables in the bin, I heard steps on the stairs and thought it might be Annie returning. It was, however. Lady Fielding who came through the door. I greeted her, then returned to finish what I had been doing.

“Jeremy,” said she to me, “I have something to say to you.” There was a slight tremolo in her voice.

“Yes, my lady, ” said I, coming to her.

“I have withheld from you something you need, withheld it because I, unsure of my own place in this household, was unsure of your own, as well. I knew not how I should behave toward you. Jeremy, I have withheld my love from you. But my Tom called you brother, and that can only mean that I — ” She broke off in a sob. “That I am your mother.

From this day, I shall withhold nothing from you. You shall have all the love from me you deserve and want. From this day I shall be mother to you, too.”

With that, reader, she opened her arms to me, and I fled into them. And as you may suppose, we both of us wept copious tears —as I weep them now, remembering that moment.

Neither Sir John Fielding nor I attended the trial of Captain James Hartsell, so what I now give to you, in brief, has been gleaned from reports of it in the newssheets, and from one whom I met later in life who indeed was present.

Captain Hartsell was provided by the Royal Navy with proper counsel in the person of Sir Richard Calper, a distinguished and most successful barrister. He had a few cards to play, and one of them he played immediately. Sir Richard contested the composition of the jury, saying that in this case, “a trial by a jury of his peers” could only mean that Captain Hartsell must be tried by twelve others holding the naval rank of captain; he proposed that the trial be delayed until such a jury could be assembled. The Lord Chief Justice dismissed this argument, saying firstly that it was impractical, for such a jury as he proposed would be difficult to put together —“and might be damned impossible, which I suppose, Sir Richard, would suit your purposes well.” He added, too, that he liked not the reasoning that underlay it.” Are we to try by occupation? For make what you will of the rank of captain in the Royal Navy, it is but an occupation like any other. I daresay you would not care to be tried by a jury of your peers if that meant that twelve other barristers would sit in judgment upon you.” At that a ripple of laughter went through the courtroom.” No, I disallow your argument. The crime with which Captain Hartsell is charged was committed in London, so he may be tried before twelve ordinary citizens of our city. Let it be so.”

The trial proceeded, apparently along the lines of the hearing in Sir John’s Magistrate’s Court, except for the addition of two new witnesses. The first of them was Mr. Singh, the Lascar seaman of the
Adventure
to whom I had talked that day of our second visit to the ship. The barrister objected that in appearing before the court he was in violation of orders that he remain aboard the
Adventure
; he was, in effect, a deserter, and a man in such a state should not be allowed to testify in a court of law. The Lord Chief Justice informed Sir Richard that Mr. Singh had come at the invitation of the court, and the court’s wishes superseded naval regulations. Free then to have his say, Mr. Singh gave it that he was one of a crew of Lascar seamen who had rowed Captain Hartsell and Midshipman Boone to the Tower Wharf on the night of the crime; that they had waited over two hours for their return, which was after midnight; and that on their way back the two had talked openly of the murder of Tobias Trindle, how his body jumped when the shot was fired, and afterward, how cleverly they had eluded their pursuit.

In cross-examination, the barrister tried to suggest that the two villains would never talk so openly before others.” Why should they do such a stupid thing as that, Mr. Singh?”

“Because they think we only Inja boys and cannot understand English. But I understand all they say. Oh yes.”

Then came Seth Tarkin, the innkeeper of the Green Man, to tell his Judas role in Hartsell’s murderous enterprise. He told also that Mr. Boone was next the captain when he made his inquiry regarding Black Emma’s lodgings.

Next, of course, Emma Black was called —she the most important of all to the case, for hers was eyewitness testimony. And at that point, Sir Richard Calper played his last card.

“M’Lord,” said he, “I object to the appearance of this woman as a witness as she is a criminal, currently and actively engaged in crime. She is a known whore, m’Lord. She was called such by the last witness. Prostitution is a crime, and therefore she is a criminal.”

The Lord Chief Justice was forced to give this some consideration, yet it ended in this colloquy between judge and witness.

“Miss Black, are you currently and actively engaged in prostitution? You must remember that you are now under oath.”

“No sir, I am not. I am a resident of the Magdalene Home for Penitent Prostitutes, learning the trade of seamstress.”

“So you say you were a prostitute but are no longer. Is that so?”

“Yes, sir. If you knew the truth, half the women in London sold themselves one time or another, including the married ones. ‘

“While I suspect and hope your estimate is a bit high, I accept the principle of what you say, and I am satisfied you are not currently and actively so engaged. This witness may testify.”

And once she had done so. Captain James Hartsell was a doomed man. Then came Midshipman Albert Boone and made it all the more certain. He told of his visit to Old Isaac, what he had learned from him, and how the plan of murder had been hatched and executed. He told of their escape and confirmed their discussion of the crime on their return to the
Adventure
.

“You admit then that you were Captain Hartsell’s accomplice in this act?”

“I do, m’Lord, but I was only following orders.”

“Have promises been made to you for your testimony?”

“None sir, except Sir John, the blind one, said he would make recommendations.”

“He has done that. The court will take them under advisement when you are tried. You may step down.”

It is interesting to note that the matter of motive was brought up neither by the prosecution nor by the defense. The prosecution had no need to, since the weight of testimony against the captain was so strong. The defense did not challenge this, for of course the Navy had no wish to make his motive in all its details known in court as part of the public record.

The jury went out and returned within minutes. The verdict was guilty.

The Lord Chief Justice sentenced Captain James Hartsell to hang in two days’ time.

That afternoon, late, Sir John dictated a letter to Mr. Marsden and entrusted it to me to deliver. I ran most of the distance to Tower Hill and at the desk I was told that the admiral was still in his office but had left word that he was not to be disturbed under any circumstances. I had no choice but to leave the letter with the petty officer in charge.

What was in it? I know not for certain. I can only guess that in it he pointed out that now it was certain that his nephew had been convicted on the testimony of a perjurer and a murderer, for Captain Hartsell had been convicted. I am sure he made a final appeal for the life of Lieutenant Landon. Yet, as I say, I know not its contents for certain, since Mr. Marsden took Sir John’s dictation.

Midshipman Albert Boone was tried the following day. All the witnesses who had appeared at Captain Hartsell’s trial again appeared at Boone’s trial, with the addition of Old Isaac Tenker. Boone could simply have pled guilty and relieved them of this trouble, yet he insisted on pleading not guilty, with the defense he had simply been following the captain’s orders and had been made to help in what he knew to be a wrong and unlawful act. Yet he was convicted by the jury. And the judge who heard the case, who was not the Earl of Mansfield, took into consideration Boone’s testimony against his captain and followed the recommendation of Sir John Fielding. He condemned the convicted felon to transportation to the colony of Georgia and ten years’ hard labor there.

As fate had it, Lieutenant William Landon and Captain James Hartsell were hanged on the same day, August 1, 1769. By all reports, Captain Hartsell gave the better show. During his ride in the tumbrel to Tyburn Hill, he snarled, cursed, and spat at the jeering crowd. Pushed up upon the gallows platform, he kicked so vigorously at his executioner that his feet, too, had to be tied. Yet hanged he was, bobbing and choking on the rope, gasping until his tongue lolled from his lips. Lieutenant Landon, on the other hand, went to the gallows on Execution Dock with solemn dignity. He blessed the executioner and forgave all who had wronged him. He died, they say, like a true Christian gentleman.