CHAPTER XXIII

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*"The Scourge of the West"*

For one long, awful week I had lain a prisoner in that foul den, when at length, on the third day of September, the roll of drums and blare of trumpets told us that Lord Chief Justice Jeffreys was come into the town to hold assize. Next morning he attended service at St. Mary's Church, and 'tis said that when the preacher mentioned mercy Jeffreys laughed aloud; and I can well believe it, for with him "the quality of mercy", so far from being "strained", was utterly unknown.

That day the bloody work began. Prisoners were hurried off in batches to the court-house to be tried, and soon returned with faces which told plainly of the sentence passed upon them. It had been pressed upon us by our jailers that our only chance of pardon lay in pleading guilty, but this was quickly found to be nothing save a wicked trap to hasten on the business; for no sooner did a man plead guilty than he was condemned to death. Never shall I forget the woeful, desperate looks of those poor fellows as they were thrust back into the prison with the shadow of the gallows over them. It was as though each had the noose already round his neck.

All day long this branding for the death went forward, until at last, when the judge rose from his labours, nearly a hundred had been sentenced; Dr. Temple, old Sam Larkyns, and Sampson Larke, the grey-haired Baptist minister of Lyme, among them.

Next day the ugly tale was taken up afresh--over another hundred were condemned. Then Sunday brought a pause--but what a pause! The fate of two parts of the prisoners was already sealed, while for the rest the future held no sort of hope; nay, rather was that Sabbath but a black suspense which lay between us and our doom. Despite the jailers, hymns and prayers went up through that day of gloom, and when night fell a simple, fervid faith had brought real fortitude to many, though here and there loud cries and sobs betokened broken hearts which naught could heal.

My turn came on the Monday, and I recollect how sweet it seemed, in spite of that which lay before me, to pass from such pestiferous foulness into the sunlight and breathe the cool, refreshing air again. But we (there were some eighty of us) had little time to drink in these delights, being hurried, under strong guard, along the streets and so into the court-house.

The hall was hung with scarlet (fit colour for so murderous a place!), and at the far end, seated in a high-backed chair upon a crimson-covered dais (as though he swam in blood), I beheld the man whose very name was already a terror and a byword, not only in the stricken West, but throughout the length and breadth of England--the infamous Judge Jeffreys. At a table beneath him sat the Crown lawyers, barristers and others, shuffling and docketing their papers with much show of zeal, as if, forsooth, the trial were a fair and righteous one rather than the ghastly farce it was. On his left, in a sort of long narrow pew, sat the jury--twelve fat, well-liking fellows--picked men from the county, who could be counted on to send their fellow-countrymen to death at Jeffreys' bidding.

But though all this was new and strange to me it was the judge himself who most surprised me. I had pictured him an ugly, coarse-faced fellow, with something of the butcher in his bearing, but instead thereof I found a not ill-featured man of under forty, who, notwithstanding that debauchery had set its mark upon him, had still some claim to handsomeness.

As he sat there, with his chin upon his hand, watching us in a dreamy, thoughtful fashion as we filed into the hall, it seemed scarce credible that this was the wild, ferocious brute whose ravening thirst for blood had made a mockery of law and justice. But the grim truth soon crashed on us like a thunderbolt.

As soon as we were all assembled there was dead silence for a good half minute, then Jeffreys suddenly shot up and for a time stared at us with a look of startled horror, as though he knew not who we were. At last he leaned slowly forward with his hands upon the chair and said:

"What have we here? Can it be? Another batch of wickedness already! How many do they number?"

"Eighty-and-eight, my lord," replied a clerk, rising with swift readiness.

"Eighty-and-eight!" exclaimed the judge in horrified amazement. "Eighty-and-eight more workers of iniquity! Eighty-and-eight more traitors to as good and kind a king as e'er wore crown! Eighty-and-eight more sinks of villainy and rank rebellion! Good Lord! when shall we reach the end of this long tale of wickedness? Heavens! if it doth not make me ill to think on't! Yes, verily, it breaks my heart!"

He sank back, groaning, in his chair and sobbed aloud. But this was quickly past, and then he broke out on us with such a wild vehemence as made the very lawyers gape upon him in amazement. He waved his arms, stamped his feet, and struck the desk before him; his face went red and white by turns, his throat swelled out until it seemed as though his words would choke him. I never saw such blind, ungovernable fury. It was as though some inward demon strove to rend him.

I will not make the vain attempt to set down here that mad harangue, for no pen could do it rightly. Not till his breath forsook him did he stop; then, having rested for a moment and refreshed himself with wine, he started straightway on his work of butchery, sending men to their doom at such a pace as gave them scarcely time to realize what had befallen them. The dock was filled and emptied, filled and filled again. No witnesses were called, and though a lawyer, briefed by the Crown, was there for our defence, he soon proved but a puppet in the one great farce, for when he spoke, a look or word from Jeffreys sent him, white and trembling, into ignominious silence. And, if a prisoner dared to raise his voice, he was immediately shouted down, with threatening violence, by the judge.

Thus did that cruel, heartless work go on until at last it came to my turn.

As I stepped forward and faced that demon in the wig and gown, the court and all that it contained, save him--lawyers, jury, prisoners, and everything--seemed to vanish, leaving us two alone. A pair of cruel, ravening eyes I saw, and nothing else. Yet 'tis certain that I felt no fear; and, indeed, I should have been a poltroon if I had, after seeing how some four-score simple fellows had already faced this bullying monster with unflinching courage and met their fate like heroes. Therefore, with such brave examples as my guide, and looking on my fate as settled, I only wished to get the business over speedily, and to show Jeffreys that, although he had the power to kill me, nothing he might say or do could shake my fortitude.

Thus, for what seemed to me some minutes, we stared at one another; then Jeffreys leaned slowly forward, and, in a purring voice, like some great cat about to spring, said:

"So you are Michael Fane, eh?"

"That is my name," I answered coldly.

"Ah! Michael Fane," he went on in the same low tones, "thou overgrown young shoot of perfidy; thou offshoot of that gnarled old tree of evil, Gilbert Fane, I----"

"Stop!" I broke in hotly. "Your power to hang me doth not include the right to smirch a fair, good name. My father was as true and brave a gentleman as e'er----"

[Illustration: MICHAEL FANE BEFORE JUDGE JEFFREYS]

"What's that, sirrah?" shrieked the judge with throttling fury. "You dare to interrupt me! Behold him, gentlemen!" he added, turning to the jury, while he waved a hand at me. "Hark how yon mountain of iniquity doth brazenly affront and flout me! Didst ever hear the like of such amazing impudence? Oh, Michael Fane, thou cunning, treacherous dog, have a care, yea, have a care, or 'twill be bad indeed for thee! Again I say you are the offspring of as traitorous and false a sire as----"

"And I say again----" I began; but at that his fury burst forth like a cataract.

"Sirrah," he shouted, waving his arms and thumping the desk in front of him, "you dare to interrupt again! Have a care, yea, have a care, you bellowing bull of Bashan! Another word, and, by my life, I'll have you swung off now from yonder beam! Ah! that tames you, does it? Say, how tall are ye?"

"Six feet two."

"Six feet two! Behold him, gentlemen! Measure him with your eyes! Seventy and four inches of such vileness as you ne'er set eyes upon before! And how old are ye, pray?"

"Eighteen."

"Eighteen!" cried Jeffreys, raising both hands as though amazed. "Eighteen, say ye! Gentlemen, gentlemen! Just consider it! To think that such a sapling should have brought forth such a crop of wickedness! Heavens, if it doth not almost make my heart stop beating! Oh, Michael Fane, thou lusty limb of infamy! doth it not seem to you a mockery that I should have to ask what plea you make? Yet, as the law is fair and merciful e'en to such rogues as you, I must. What is it, counsel?"

The lawyer who, as I have said, was there for our defence, rose tremblingly and answered:

"The prisoner pleads not guilty, your lordship."

"What!" shrieked the judge, addressing me. "You dare to make so false a plea? Are ye not afraid of instant judgment from above for uttering so black a lie? Zounds! if I think not that this very court is in rank peril from avenging thunderbolts while we share it with such a Jonah of a villain! Not guilty, quotha? You, who like a wolf in sheep's skin, made pretence to fight at Sedgemoor, and, as I'll warrant me, killed many a king's man under cover of the darkness! You, who aided and abetted rebels! You, who defied that zealous soldier, Colonel Kirke, and strove to stop him in his duty! You, who with rank insolence deserted your sovereign's service! What say ye to these charges, fellow?"

"It seems as though 'twere folly to say anything," I answered. "Yet will I swear that I fought not treacherously at Sedgemoor, but fair and straight, and that 'twas only Colonel Kirke's abominable cruelty to helpless prisoners which made me----"

"Stop! stop!" shrieked the judge, thumping the desk before him with both hands. "Such brazen, lying impudence beats everything! I will not listen to it!"

And, as he plugged his ears up with his fingers, 'twas useless for me to proceed.

"Ye hear him, gentlemen, ye hear him!" he continued, perceiving I was silent. "Mark well his words. Remember them; yet know that what already hath been said is not the twentieth, nay, nor the hundredth part of that which stands against him. Listen! On a morning in June last, yon wretch, while holding guilty converse with his villain of a father, was overheard to utter vile, seditious words against his king. But even that is nothing when compared with this, for here I have such evidence against him as would hang a hundred men."

Then, indeed, I started, for in the parchment which Jeffreys waved triumphantly above his head I recognized the Black Box documents.

"Ah! ye may well turn white and tremble," quoth the judge, regarding me with a malicious grin which bared his teeth. "Behold him, gentlemen, and see how even such brazen wickedness and cunning is at last brought low. Here is the corner-stone of his amazing falsity. For what are these?" he added, spreading out the parchments. "Why, nothing more nor less than written lies which seek to prove that Monmouth (who hath already met so well-deserved a fate) was the rightful heir to England's throne. Ye have all heard that monstrous story of a Black Box. Well, here at last we have the secret of it. Forgeries, rank forgeries! the work of that prince of plotters, that sink of falsity, one Robert Ferguson, who hath not thought it shame thus to forge the signature of our late sovereign, King Charles of blessed memory; and who, Heaven grant, may yet be caught. Again, with these vile productions there is a letter to a man, one Jones of Lyme (who, by my life, shall swing for it on a tree in his own garden), warning him secretly of Monmouth's landing. And where, think ye, gentlemen, all these accursed documents were found? Ah! ye may well shake your heads, and ye will scarce credit it when I tell ye that they were found in yonder false, designing miscreant's house! They reached me but this very morning, coming from one unknown, who signs himself 'a friend of good King James'--and truly so, for a friend he is indeed; yea, and 'tis a thousand pities that he hides himself, for otherwise he should have been most handsomely rewarded. Take them, read them for yourselves, and then tell me if ye ever saw so villainous a piece of make-believe."

While the jury, with heads clubbed together, were examining the documents, Jeffreys fixed me with a murderous look and hissed:

"Well, sirrah, and what say ye now? Wilt, perhaps, deny that they were found inside your house, eh?"

"I do nothing of the kind," I answered. "They were there, and they were stolen from it by one of Ferguson's tools."

"Ah! a pretty tale, quotha! But, say, how came ye by the Black Box which, as reported, held these treasonable things?"

"My father took it years ago from Ferguson himself by force."

"What!" cried Jeffreys, starting upright in his chair. "Attention, gentlemen, attention! Ah! so your father was a friend of Ferguson?"

"He was no friend of his," I answered curtly. "My father met Ferguson in London, not knowing that 'twas he, for he called himself Elijah Annabat, and professed to be a scrivener in the city. My father trusted him with money, and, when robbed of it, took the Black Box instead."

"Lies! lies! lies!" broke in Jeffreys like a maniac, waving his hands and fairly frothing at the mouth. "Oh, Michael Fane, thou wicked son of Anak! Truly, thou art the child of Ananias, of whom we read in Holy Scripture, and, like him, shalt pay the penalty. Ye hear him, gentlemen, how he doth add unto his infamy by mocking us with lying tongue. Was ever so much villainy encompassed in one man before? It seems scarce possible that only eighteen years can have borne so great a crop of evil fruit. The very sight of such a monster of iniquity doth make my eyes sore and my blood run cold. To think that our all-generous, wise, and loving king hath this creature for his subject is more than I can bear; yea, verily, it bursts my heart."

With that he leaned forward, with his head upon his arms, and broke out sobbing.

While he was thus engaged in grieving for my many sins, a man came pushing through the crowded court until he reached a place in front. To my astonishment I found that it was Dassell, who, as ye well remember, was so much to the fore at Monmouth's landing. He turned and gave me one swift, meaning glance, then stood waiting till the judge at length looked up; then he spoke.

"My lord," said he, "by your leave, I would say a word for yonder prisoner."

"What's that!" roared Jeffreys, glaring at him fiercely. "Have my senses left me? Ye would speak for yonder heap of infamy! Who are ye, fellow?"

"I am Samuel Dassell, my lord, deputy searcher of the port of Lyme."

"Ah, and what would ye say?" asked Jeffreys, with a heavy frown.

"Why, this, my lord," said Dassell with great haste, "that I have known the prisoner, Michael Fane, and his father many years, and have ever found them true and loyal gentlemen. I never heard a whisper against either of them, and if----"

"Stop!" roared the judge, bringing a fist down on the desk. "What fresh infamy is this, that you should dare to speak in favour of yon villain? Think ye it not a burning shame that you, who serve the King and eat his very bread, should raise your voice in favour of his enemies? Ah! Samuel Dassell, you are surely in the wrong place; ye should be either in the dock or else in prison. Yea, verily, methinks I see you dancing at a rope-end even now. Deputy searcher, quotha! Go ye and search for the loyalty ye lack! Away with ye! I say, before my zeal doth tempt me to lay hands upon you. Go!"

And with a long sad look at me, poor Dassell left the court-house.

Then Jeffreys swept the hall with one swift, flashing glance, and, turning to the jury, said:

"Gentlemen, ye have surely heard enough, aye, and far more than that, concerning yonder giant of iniquity. Have ye, then, your verdict ready?"

"We have, your lordship," said the foreman, rising with eager readiness.

"And it is----"

"Guilty, your lordship."

"Ah, by my life, and I should think so," roared Jeffreys. "Guilty, indeed! guilty as any man who ever faced a judge. Listen, Michael Fane! Ye have tried lying, brazen impudence, and every other wile to save your neck, but all have failed you. One more question: Where is the box in which 'tis said these documents were stored?"

"How should I know, seeing they were stolen from us?" I answered warily, not meaning to enlighten him on that point. "Ask those who stole them."

"Ah! so we flout and snarl unto the end, eh? Well, well, it matters not, for verily that mocking tongue of yours will soon be put to silence. Listen, Michael Fane! Ye die, and would that I only had your wicked father here, that I might send him to his death along with you. He hath sorely cheated me by dying of his own accord. Ye die, I say, and as ye hail from Lyme--that sink of rank rebellion--there ye hang, and that as near as may be to the spot where Monmouth landed. If ye be not quartered also, 'twill be marvellous. I have already twelve more knaves to hang at Lyme--some who came ashore there with their pretty Duke, and some who waited for his coming. Ye make thirteen--a good round baker's dozen! (Make a note of that, clerk--Michael Fane to hang at Lyme with others on the twelfth of this month; and mark it that he dies the last of them.) Oh, Michael Fane, thou lusty scoundrel, doth not even a heart so base as yours feel some small gratitude that I have it in my power to end a life so wicked in its early days? Consider what ye would have grown to, and use what little time remains to you on earth in thinking deeply on your awful sins. Away with ye!"

He waved his hands, the warders seized me, and so, like one a-dreaming, I was hurried back to prison. I found it much less crowded than it had been, for many had already gone to death. Many, also, were to die upon the morrow, and for all of us who gathered there that night there was not left a single ray of hope.

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