Newspaper Page Text
BY
JOSEPH
CON RAD
CHAPTER 111.
f¥^Ki: ftrst de-ent word I had spoken
to me after that for months
came from my turnkey at New
p:ite. It was before the Thames Court
- stiate. The magistrate, a bad
tempered man. snuffy, with red eyes,
and the air of being a piece of worn
and dirty furniture of his court, had
snapped at-me when I tried to spe;»k:
•'Keep your lies for the Admiralty
Session. I've only time to commit you.
Dunn your Spaniards; why can't they
translate their own papers:'" had signed
something with a squeaky quill, tossed
it to his clerk, and grunted, "Next
case."
I bad gone back to Newgate.
The turnkey, a man with the air of
an innkeeper, bandy-legged, with a
bulbous, purple-veined nose and water
ing: eyes, slipped out of the gatehouse
door, whilst the exeat hollow-sounding
gate still shook behind me.
I hadn't heard anything for months
Rrui months of solitude, of darkness —
on board the admiral's ship, stranded
In the guardship at Plymouth, bump
ing round the coast, and now here in
Newgate. And it had been darkness
all the time. Jove! That Cuban time,
with its movements, its pettiness, its
intrigue, its warmth, even its villainies
showed plainly enough in the chill of
that blackness. It had been romance,
that life.
Little, and far away, and irrevocably
done with, it showed all golden. There
wasn't any romance where I lay then;
and there had been irons on my wrists;
gruff hatred, the darkness, and always
despair.
On board the flagship coming home I
had been chained down in the cable
tier —a place where I could feel every
straining of the great ship. Once these
had risen to a pandemonium, a fright
ful tumult. There was a great gale
outside. A sailor came down with a
lanthorn. and tossed my biscuit to me.
'You d——d pirate," he said, "maybe
it's you saving us from drowning."
He muttered—and the fact that he
spoke to me at all showed how great
the strain of the weather must have
been to wring any words out of him:
"Bad—there's a large Indiaman gone.
"V\ c saw her one minute and then
• * *" He went away, muttering.
I And suddenly the thought had come
Ho me. What if the Indiaman were the
— the Lion with Seraphina on
-ftoard? The man would not speak to
me when he came again. No one would
speak to me; I was a pirate who had
fired on his own countrymen. And the
thought had pursued me right into
Newgate—if she were dead; if I had
taken her-frorh that security, from that
peace, to end there. • • • And to
end myself.
'Swing!" the turnkey said; "you'll
swing right enough." He slapped the
great key on his flabby hand. 'You
can tell that by the signs. You. being
an Admiralty case, ought to have been
in the Marshalsea. And you're ordered
solitary cell, and I'm tipped the straight
wink against your speaking a blessed
tvord to a blessed soul. Why don't
they let you see an attorney? Why?
Eecause they mean you to swing."
I said, "Never mind that. Have you
heard of a ship called the Lion? Can
you find out about her?"
He shook his head cunningly, and did
not answer. If the Lion had been here,
I must have heard. They couldn't have
left me here.
I said, "For Gods sake find out. Get
a shipping gazette."
He affected not to hear.
"There's money in plenty," I said.
He winked ponderously and began
again. "Oh, you'll swing all right. A
man with nothing against him has a
chance, with the rhino he has it, even
if he's guilty. But you'll swing. Char
lie, who brought you back just now,
had a chat with the 'torney general's
devil's clerk, while old Nog o" Bow
Street was trying to read their Spanish.
He says, jt'e a gov'nment matter. They
wants to hang you bad. they do, so's to
go to the Jack Spaniards and say, 'He
were a nob. a nobby nob.' (So you are.
aren't you? One uncle an earl and
t'other a dean, if so be what they say's
true.) 'He were a nobby nob and we
swung 'im. Go you'n do likewise.'
They want a striking example t' keep
the West India trade quiet • • •••
■Find out about the Lion," I called,
as the door closed.
It cleared the air for me, that
speech. I understood that they wanted ]
to hang me, and I wanted not to be
hung, desperately, from that moment.
I had not much cared before; I had
caU it, moped. I had not really be
lieved, really sensed it out. It isn't ■
easy to conceive that one is going to'
be hanged, I doubt if one does even
with the rope round one's neck. I
hadn't much wanted to live, but now
I wanted to fight—one good fight be
fore I went under for good and all
condemned or acquitted. There wasn't
anything left for me to live for. Sera- >
phina could not be alive. The Lion
must have been lost.
But I was going to make a fight for ;
It; curse it, I was going to give them
trouble. My "them" was not so much
the government that meant to hang
me as the unseen powers that suf
fered such a state of things, that al- i
lowed a number of little meannesses,
accidents, fatalities, to hang me. I
said to the turnkey again and again:
"Man, I will promise you a thousand
pounds or a pension for life. If you
will get a letter through to my mother
or Squire Rooksby. of Horton."
He said he daren't do it; enough was
known of him to hang Rim if he gave
offense. His flabby fingers trembled,
;ind his eyes grew large with succes
sive shocks of cupidity. He became
afraid of coming near me: of the strain
of the temptation. On the next day
lie did not speak a word, nor the next,
nor the next. I began to grow horri
bly afraid of being hung. The day be
fore the trial arrived. Towards noon
he flung the door open.
"Here's paper; here's pens," he said.
"You can prepare your defense. You
may write letters. Oh. hell: why didn't
they let it come sooner. I'd have had
your thousand pounds. I'll run a letter
down to your people fast as the devil
could_take it. I know a man, a gentle
man of the road. For twenty pun
promised, split between us. he'll travel
faster'n Turpin did to York." He was
■waving a large sheet of newspaper
agitatedly.
"What does it mean?" I asked. My
head was whirling.
"Radicle papers got a-holt of it," he
said. "Trust them for nosing out.
And the government's answering them.
They say you're going to suffer for
your crimes. Hark to this * ♦ *
urn, urn • ♦ • 'The wretched felon
now in Newgate will incur the just
penalty • • •' Then they slaps the
"West Indies in the face.. 'When the
planters threaten to recur to some other
power for^rotection, they, of course
believe that the loss of the colonies
would be severely felt. But * * **"
"The Lion's home," I said.
It burst upon me that she was—
that she must be. Williams —or Se
bright—he was the man, had been
speaking up for me. Or Seraphina had
been to the Spanish ambassador.
She was back; I should see her. I
started up.
ROMANCE
■ ' . ■ --H_l'' *w " i
"The Lion's home." I repeated.
The turnkey snarled. "She was post
ed as missing five days ago."
I couldn't believe it was true.
"I saw it in the papers." he grum
bled on. "I dursen't tell you." He
continued violently. 'Blow my dickey.
It would make a cat sick."
My sudden exaltation, my sudden
despair, save way to indifference.
"Oh. coming, coming!" he shouted,
in answer to an immense bellowing cry
that loomed down the passage with
out.
I heard him grumble, "Of course, of
course. I shan't make a penny." Then
he caught held of my arm. "Here,
come along, someone to see you in the
press-yard."
He pulled me along the noisome.
black warren of passages, slamming
the inner door viciously behind him.
I went and peered through the bars
at a faint object pressed against the
bars.
"What. Jackie, boy; what. Jackie?"
Blinking his eyes, as if the dim light
' '"* i _JL_l.' J^?^^^* 3Bg^"'^^^~^** "^^^^^^ Hb^^^9l BB^osjysc^^p^sf J^t^p^^J^Tt* i^~ jj^^S^^^^^?^^s^^^^^^P^^b^^^l^^^B
were too strong for them, a thin, bent
man stood there in a brilliant new
court coat. His face was meager in
the extreme, the nose and cheekbones
polished and transparent like a bigar
oon cherry. A thin tuft of reddish hair
was brushed back from his high, shin
ing forehead. It was my father. He
exclaimed:
"What, Jackie, boy! How old you
look!'" then waved his arms towards
me. "In trouble?" he said- "You in
trouble?"
He rubbed his thin hands together,
and looked round the place with a
cultured man's air of disgust. I said,
"Father!" and he suddenly began to
talk very fast and agitatedly of what
he had been doing for me. M^
mother, he said, was crippled with
rheumatism, and Rooksby and Veroni
ca on the preceding Thursday had set
sail for Jamaica. He had read to my
mother, beside her bed, the newspaper
containing an account of my case and
she had given him money, and he had
started with violent haste for London.
The haste and the rush were still daz
ing him. He had lived down there in
the farmhouse beneath the downs, with
the stackyards under his eyes, with his
books of verse and his few prints on
the wall. My God, how it all came back
to me.
Whilst he talked to me there, lines of
verse kept coming to his lips; and, after
the habitual pleasure of the apt quota
tion, he felt acutely shocked at the in
appropriateness of the place. And he
had tried so hard, in his emergency, to
be practical. When he had reached
London, before even attempting to see
me, he had run from minister to minis
ter trying to^ifluence them in my favor
—and he reached me in Newgate with
nothing at all effected.
I seemed to know him then, so Inti
mately, «o much better than anything
else in the world.
He began, "I had my Idea in the up
coach last night. I thought, 'A very
great personage was indebted to me in
the old days (more indebted than you
are aware of, Johnnie). I will Inter
cede with him.' That was why my first
step was to my old tailor's in Conduit
street. Becauge • • • what is fit
for a farm for a palace were low." He
stopped, reflected, then said, "What is
fit for the farm for the palace were
low."
Hefelt across his coat for his breast
pocket. It was what he had done year*
and years ago, and all these years be
tween, inscribe ideas for lines of verse
in his pocketbook. I said:
"You have seen the king?"
His face lengthened a little. "Not
seen him. But I found one of the
duke's secretaries, a pleasant young
fellow • • • not such as we used
to be. But the duke was kind enough
to interest himself? Perhaps my name
has lived in the land. I was called
Curricle Kemp, as I may have told you,
because I drove a vermilion, one with
green and gilt wheels. • •* ♦"
His face, peering at me through the
bars, had, for a moment, a flush of
pride. Then he suddenly remembered,
and, as if to propitiate his own reproof,
he went on:
tfHE JST. FAUJL UIA>BE. fcUJNDAY, JUNE 26, 190 i
i saw the secretary of atate. and he
assured me, very civilly, that not evtn
the highest personage in the land.
* • *" He dropped his voice, "Jackie.
boy." he said, his narrow-lidded eyes
peering miserably across at me, "there's
not even hope of a reprieve after
wards."
I leaned my face wearily against the
iron bars.- What, after all, was the use
of fighting if the Lion were not buck?
Then, suddenly, as the sound of his
words echoed down the bare, black cor
ridors, he seemed to realize it. His
face grew absolutely white, he held his
head erect, as if listening tq a distant,
sound. And then he began to cry—
horribly, and for a long time.
It was I that had to comfort him.
His head had bowed at the conviction
of his hopeless us^lessness; all'through
his own life he had been made ineffect
ual by his indulgence in perfectly inno
cent, perfectly trivial enjoyments, and
now, in this extremity of his only son.
he was rendered almost fantastically
of no avail.
And then he began to cry horribly and for a long time.
"No, no, sir! You have done all
that anyone could; you couldn't break
these walls down. Nothing else would
help."
Small, hopeless sobs shook him con
tinualy. And I remembered that, now
that I could communicate with the out
er air, it was absolutely easy; he would
save my life. I said: "Look up the
addresses of Kingston planters, if any
are in London. They could testify that
I was in Jamaica all the while Nikola
el Escoces was in Rio Medio."
My father was fidgeting to be gone.
He had his line marked for him, and a
will directing his own. He was not
the same man. But I particularly told
him to send me a lawyer first of all.
"Yes, yes," he said, "I shall be able
to be of use to the solicitor. As a rule,
they are men of no great perspica
city."
And he went hurriedly away.
The real torture, the agony of sus
pense began then. I steadied my nerves
by trying to draw up notes for my
speech to the jury on the morrow. That
was the turnkey's idea.
He said. "Slap your chest, 'peal to
the honor of a British gent, and pitch
it in strong."
It was not much good; I could not
keep to any logical sequence of thought,
my mind was forever wandering to
what my father was doing. I pictured
him in his new blue coat, running agi
tatedly through crowded streets, his
coat-tails flying behind his thin legs.
The hours dragged on, and It was a
matter of minutes. I had to hold upon
the table edge to keep myself from
raging about the cell. I tried to bury
myself again in the scheme for my de
fense. I wondered whom my father
would have found. There was a man
called Cary who had gone home from
Kingston. He had a bald head and
blue eyes he must remember me. If
he would corroborate! And the lawyer,
when he came, might take another line
of defense. It began to fall dusk slow
ly, through the small barred windows.
The entire night passed without a
word from my father. I paced up and
down the whole time, composing
speeches to the jury. And then the day
broke. I calmed myself with a sort of
frantic energy.
Eariy the jailer came in, and began
fussing about my cell.
"Case comes on about t," he said.
"Grand jury at 12:30. No fear they
won't return a true bill. Grand jury,
five West India merchants. They
means to have you. 'Torney General,
S'lic'tor General, S'r Robert Mead and
five jurors again you. • • • You
take my tip. Throw yourself on the
mercy of the court, and make a rousing
speech with a young 'ooman in it. Not
that you'll get much mercy from them.
They admir'ity jedges is all hangers.
'S we say, 'Oncet the anchor goes up
in the Old Bailey, there aint no hope.'
We begins to clean out the c'ndemned
cell, here. Sticks the anchor up over
their heads, when it is hadmir'lty case,"
he commented.
I listened to Jhim with strained at
tention. I made up. my mind to misa
Copyright. 1904.
by McCluro.
Phillips & Co.
not a word he uttered that day. It was
my only chance.
"You don't know anyone from Ja
maica?" I asked.
He shook his bullet head, and tap
ped his purple nose. "Can't be done,"
he said. "You'd get a ornery hallybi
fer a guinea a head, but. they'd keep
out of this case. They've necks like
you and me."
That was the end of my Romance!
Romance! The broad-sheet sellers
would see to it afterwards with a
"Dying confession."
CHAPTER IV.
I never saw my father again until
I was in the prisoner's anteroom at
the Old Bailey. It was full of loung
ing men, whose fleshy limbs bulged
out against the tight, loud checks of
their coats and trousers. These were
jailers waiting to bring in their pris
oners. On the other side of the black
door the Grand Jury was deliberating
on my case, behind another the court
was In waiting to" try me. All night
I had been pacing up and down, try
ing to bring my brain to think of
points—points In my defense. It was
very difficult. I knew thaf I must
keep cool, be calm, be lucid, be con
vincing, and my brain had reeled at
times, even m the darkness of the cell.
I knew it had reeled, because I re
membered that once I had fallen
against the stone of one of the walls,
and once against the door. Here, in
the light, with only a door between
myself and the last scene, I regained
my hold. I was going to fight every
inch from start to finish.
A hubbub of expostulation was going
on at the third door. My turnkey call
ed suddenly:
'Let the genman in, Charlie. Pal o'
ourn," and my father ran huntedly Into
the room. He began an endless tale of
a hackney coachman who had stood In
front of the door of his coach to pre
vent his number being taken; of a
crowd of caddee-smashers, who had
hustled him and filched his purse. "Of
course, I made a fight for it," he said,
"a damn good fight, considering. It's
in the blood. But the watch came, and,
in short —on such an occasion as this
there is no time for words —I passed
the night In the watch-house. Many
and many a night I passed there when
I and Lord . But lam losing time.**
"You ain't fit to walk the streets of
London alone, sir," the turnkey said.
My father gave him a corner of his
narrow-lidded eyes. "My man." he
said, "I walked the streets with the
highest in the land before your mother
bore you in Bridewell, or whatever jail
it was."
"Oh, no offense," the turnkey mut
tered.
A man with one eye poked his head
suddenly from behind the grand jury
door. He jerked his head in my direc
tion.
"Now, then, in with that carrion.
D'you want to keep the judges wait
ing?"
I stepped through the door straight
down Into the dock; there was a row of
spikes in the front of it. I wasn't
afraid; three men in enormous wigs
and ermine robes faced me; four in
short wigs had their heads together
like parrots on a branch. A fat man,
bareheaded, with a gilt chain round his
neck, slipped from behind into a seat
beside the highest placed judge. He
was wiping his mouth and munching
with his jaws. On each side of the
judges, beyond the short-wigged as
sessors, were chairs full of ladies and
gentlemen. I wondered why a young
girl with blue eyes and pink cheeks
tittered and shrugged her shoulders.
I did not know what was amusing.
A man was bawling out a number of
names. • • • "Peter Plimley, gent.,
any challenge. • • • Lazarus Co
hen, merchant, any challenge. • * •"
The turnkey beside me leant with
his back against the spikes. He was
talking to the man who had called us in.
The other man said. "S sh."
"His old dad give me five shiners to
put him up to a thing if 1 could," the
turnkey said again.
I didn't catch his meaning until an
old man with a very ragged gown was
hj tiding up a book to a row of other*
in a box so near that I could almost
have touched them. Then I ceajized
that the turnkey had been winking to
me to challenge the Jury. I culled out
at the highest of the judges;
"I protest against that jury. It is
packed. Half of them, at least, are
West Indian merchants."
There was a stir all over the court.
I realized then that what had seemed
only a mass of stuffs of some sort
were human being all looking at me.
The Judge I had called to opened a
pair of dim eyes upon me, clasped and
unclasped his hands, very dry. ancient,
wrinkled. The judge on his right called
angrily:
"Nonsense, it is too late. * • •
They are being sworn. You shtould
have spoken when the names were
read." Underneath his wig was an im
mensely broad face, with glaring yellow
eyes.
I said, '"It is scandalous. You want
to murder me. How should I know
what you do in your courts 0 I say
the jury is packed."
The very old judge closed his eyes,
opened them again, then gasped out:
■"Silence. We are h«re to try you.
This Is a court of law."
The turnkey pulled my sleeve under
cover of the pjanking. 'Treat him
civil," he whispered. "Lord Justice
Stowell, of the Hadmir'ity. 'Tothej's
Baron Garrow. of the Common Law;
a beast; him as hanged that kid. You
can sass him; it doesn't matter."
Lord Stowell waved his hand to the.
clerk with the ragged gown; the book
passed from hand to hand along the
faces of the jury, the clerk gabbling
all the while. The old judge said sud
denly, in an astonishingly deep, ma
jestic voice:
"Prisoner at the bar, you must
understand that we are here to give
you an impartial trial, according to the
laws of this land. If you desire advice
as to the procedure of this court you
can have it."
I said, "I still protest against that
Jury. lam an innocent man, and "
He answered querulously, "Yes, yes,
afterwards." And then creaked, "Now
the indictment. • • *''
Someone hidden from me by three
barristers began to read in a loud voice
not very easy to follow. I caught:
"For that the said John Kemp, alias
Xichols, alias Nikola el Escoces, alias
el Demonio, alias el Diabeletto, on the
twelfth of May last, did feloniously
and upon the high seas piratically
seize a certain ship called the Vic
toria • • • urn • ♦ • urn
• • • the properties of Hyman Co
hen and others • • • and did steal
and take therefrom 630 barrels of cof
fee of the value~bf • • • urn
• • * urn • • • urn • • •
101 barrels of coffee of the value of
• • • ninety-four half kegs • • *
and divers others."
I gave an immense sigh. • • *
That was it, then. I had heard of the
Victoria; it was when I was at Horton
that the news of her loss reached us.
Old Macdonald had sworn; it was the
day a negro called Apollo had taken
to the bush. I ought to be able to
prove that. Afterwards, one of the
judges asked me if I pleaded guilty or
not guilty. I began a long wrangle
about being John Kemp, but not Niko
la el Escoces. I was going to fight
every inch of the way. They said:
"You will have your say afterwards.
At present, guilty or not guilty?"
I refused to plead at all; I was not
the man. The third judge woke up,
and said hurriedly:
"That is a plea of not guilty, enter
it as such." Then he went 'to sleep
again. The young girl on the bench
beside him laughed joyously, and Mr.
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Baron Gar row nodded round at her.
then snapped viciously at me:
"You don't make your case any bet
ter by this sort of foolery." His eyes
glared at., me like an awakened owl's.
I said, "I'm fighting for my neck
* * * and you'll have to flffht, too,
to get it."
The old judge said angrily, "Silence,
or you will have to be removed."
I said, "I urn righting for my life."
There was a sort of buz/ all round
the court.
Ix>rd Stowell said, "Yes, yes;" and
then, "Now, Mr. King's Advocate, I
suppose Mr. Alfonso Jervis opens for
you."
A dusty wig swam up from just be
low my left hand, almost to a'-levei
with the dock.
The old judge shut his eyes, with an
air of a, man who is going a long jour
ney in a post-chaise. Mr. Baron Gar
row dipped his pen into an Invisible
ink pot, and scratched it on his desk.
A long story began to drone from
under the wig, an interminable farrago
of dull nonsense, in a hypochondriacs!
voice; a long tale about piracy in gen
eral; piracy in the times of the Greeks,
piracy in the times of William the
Conqueror • • • pirata nequissima
Eustachio, and thanking God that a
case of the sort had not been heard
in that court for an immense lapse of
years. Below me was an array of
wigs, on each side a compressed mass
of humanity, squeezed so tight that all
the eyeballs seemed to be staring out
of the heads towards me. From the
wig below, a translation of the florid
phrases of the Spanish papers was
coming:
'His very Catholic majesty, out of
his great love for his ancient friend
and ally, his Britannic majesty, did
surrender the body of the notorious
El Demonio, called also • • ***
I began to wonder who had composed
that precious document, whether it was
the Juez de la Primeria Instancia,
bending his yellow face and sloe-black
eyes above the paper, over there in
Havana—or whether it was O'Brien,
who was dead since the writing.
All the while the barrister was dron
ing: on. I did not listen because I had
heard all that before —in the room of
the Judge of the First Instance at
Havana. Suddenly appearing behind
the backs of the row of gentlefolk on
the bench was the pale, thin face of
my father. I wondered which of his
great friends had got him his seat.
He was nodding to me and smiling
faintly. I nodded, too, and smiled back.
I was going to show them that I was
not cowed. The voice of the barrister
said:
"M'luds and gentlemen of the jury,
that finishes the Spanish evidence,
which was taken on commission on
the island of Cuba. We shall produce
the officer of H. M. S. Erephant, to
whom he was surrendered by the
Spanish authorities at Havana, thus
proving the prisoner to be the pirate
Nikola, and no other. We come, now,
to the specific instance, m'luds and gen
tlemen, an instance as vile • * •"
It was some little time before I had
grasped how absolutely the Spanish
evidence damned me. It was as if,
once I fell into the hands of the Eng
lish officer on Havana quays, the iden
tity of Nikola could by no manner of
means be shaken from round my neck.
The barrister came to the facts.
A Kingston ship had been boarded
• * • and there was the old story
over again. I seemed to see the Rio
Medio schooner rushing towards where
I and old Lumsden looked back from
the poop to see her come alongside; the
strings of brown pirates pour in empty
handed and out laden. Only in the
case of the Victoria there were added
the ferocities of "the prisoner at the
bar, m'luds and gentlemen of the jury,
a fiend in human shape, as we shall
prove with the aid of the most respect
able witnesses. • • •"
The man in the wig sat down, and.
before I understood what was happen
ing, a fat. rosy man—the attorney
general—whose cheerful gills gave him
a grotesque resemblance to a sucking
pig, was calling "Edward Sadler," and
the name blared like sudden fire leap
ing up all over the court. The attor
ney general wagged his gown into a
kind of bunch behind his hips, and a
man, young, fair, with a reddish beard
and a shiny suit of clothes, sprang into
a little box facing the jury. He bowed
nervously in several directions, and
laughed gently; then he looked at me
and scowled. The attorney general
cleared his throat pleasantly • • •
"Mr. Edward Sadler, you were on
May 25th, chief mate of the good ship
Victoria. * • •"
The fair man with the beard told hfs
story of the ship with its cargo of cof
fee and dye-wood; Its good passage
past the Grnn Caymanos: the becalm
ing off the Cuban shore in latitude so
and so, and the boarding of a black
schooner, calling itseW a Mexican pri
vateer. I could see all that.
"The prisoner at the bar came along
side in a boat, with seventeen Span
iards," he said, in a clear, expression
less voice, looking me full in the face.
I called out to the old judge. "My
Lord • • • I protest. This ia per
jury. I was not the man. It was Nich
ols, a Nova Scotian."
Mr. Baron Garrow roared, "Silence,'*
his face suffused with blood.
Old Lord Stowell quavered, "You
must respect the procedure. • • •"
"Am I to hear my life sworn away
without a word?" I asked.
He drew himself frostily into Ms
robes. "God forbid," he said; but at
the proper time you can cross-examine,
if you think fit."
The attorney-general smiled at the
Jury box and addressed himself to Sad
ler, with an air of patience very much
tried:
"You swear the prisoner is the man?"
The fair man turned his sharp blue
eyes upon me. I called, "For God's
sake, don't perjure yourself. You are
a decent man."
"No, I won't swear," he said slowly.
"I think he was. He had his face black
ened then, of course. When I had
sight of him at the Thames Court I
thought he was; and seeing the Span
ish evidence, I don't see Where's the
room. * • *"
"The Spanish evidence is part of the
plot," I said.
The attorney general snickered. "Go
on, Mr. Sadler," he said. "Let's have
the rest of the plot unfolded."
A Juryman laughed suddenly, and re
sumed an abashed sudden silence.
Sadler Jvrent on to tell the old story.
* • * I saw it all as he spoke; only
gaunt, shiny-faced, yellow Nichols was
chewing and hitching his trousers In
place of my Tomas, with his sanguine
oaths and jerked gestures. And there
was Nichols' wanton, aimless ferocity.
"He had two pistols, which he fired
twice each, while we were hoisting the
studding-sails by his order, to keep up
with the schooner. He fired twice into
the crew. One of the men hit died
afterwards. * * •*'
JLater another vessel, an American,
had appeared in the offing, and the
pirates had gone in chase of her. He
finished, and Lord Stowell moved one
of his ancient hands. It was as if a
gray lizard had moved on his desk, a
little toward me.
"Now, prisoner," he said.
(To be continued.)
When in doubt as to how your money
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33
