This Thing Of Darkness (103 page)

‘The defendant actually interceded for your life? What did he say?’

‘Well, I don’t rightly know, sir, not speaking the lingo an’ all, but he tells me later, he’s told ‘em English gentlemen don’t kill their prisoners, sir. Leastways, they gives me over to him, and he finds me some stockings, my own hat and trousers, and the captain’s boots, and he gives me some food, sir. Then later on he gives me Mr Phillips’s musket, a nightcap full of powder, some shot and some percussion caps, so’s I can hunt for myself, sir.’

‘He actually
gave
you Mr Phillips’s musket? And ammunition?’

‘Yes, sir. He said it was the good Christian thing to do, sir. And he said he’d buried all the bodies, sir, given ’em all a Christian burial, like. He said it’s what Captain FitzRoy would have done, sir. He kept goin’ on about the captain. He was no end funny about him, sir. He used to go on board the
Allen Gardiner
and sleep all night in the captain’s cabin. I reckon it made him feel closer to old Captain FitzRoy in a funny way, sir. Not that there was anything left on board, mind - they even ate the soap. I heard two of ’em died from doin’ that. They even smashed up the ship’s clock when it stopped ’cause they reckoned it was dead.’

‘So the defendant looked after you and kept you safe, until Captain Smyley arrived in the
Nancy?’

‘Yes, sir. Then I passed over here, sir.’

‘Let me take you back now, Coles, to conditions at the Cranmer Mission on Keppel Island. Would you say that the Fuegians were happy there?’

‘No, I wouldn’t, sir. They wasn’t happy at all.’

‘Why not?’

‘Well, ’cause they was little more ’n slaveys, sir. Reckon as they didn’t like that much. Then Mr Despard, sir, he kept orderin’ they’s stuff to be searched. There was a few scuffles, like. Things was gettin’ out o’ hand once or twice.’

Despard, from across the courtroom, fixed Coles with a fiery glare that threatened to scorch him to a crisp.

‘Were you ever involved in any of these “scuffles”?’

‘No more than I never ought to,’ replied Coles uncomfortably. ‘That’d be Mr Phillips, in the main.’

‘So you deny that you yourself, Coles, once pushed one of the Fuegians into the hold of the
Allen Gardiner?’

‘Does you intend to ’criminate me sir? ‘Cause I won’t be ’criminated, sir, ‘cause I ain’t done nothin’ sir.’

‘Objection sir,’ sniffed Longden, haughtily.

‘Objection sustained,’ agreed Moore.

‘Er, thank you, Coles,’ said Lieutenant Lamb, retreating once again in disarray. ‘There are no further questions, Your Honour. I mean, sir.’

The next witness was to be Jemmy himself. A buzz of genuine hostility circulated around the cramped courtroom, rising above the flapping and banging of a few badly fixed planks, which were being shoved and slapped by the relentless winds outside. The little Fuegian looked frightened, aware at last perhaps that he had got himself into a precarious situation.

‘Tell me, Jemmy,’ said Longden in a deceptively friendly manner, ‘did you enjoy your stay at Keppel Island?’

‘No sar. Jemmy don’t like Keppel Island, don’t want to stop there, don’t like it. Too much work, no seals to eat. Always Jemmy has to work.’

‘And Mr Phillips and Captain Fell - were they among those who ordered you to do too much work?’

‘Yes sar, Mister Phillips, Captain Fell, Mister Despard, always say do too much work sar. Not let Jemmy go home, sar.’

‘So all in all, you might think you had a reasonable grievance against those gentlemen - kept there longer than you wished, made to work hard?’

‘Yes sar, yes,’ agreed Jemmy enthusiastically, pleased that at last someone was prepared to entertain his point of view. ‘Reasonable grievance sar, yes.’

‘Tell me, Jemmy, did you witness the deaths of Captain Fell and the others?’

‘Yes sar, I see Captain Fell killed, all men killed, I put them in ground.’

‘But you say you did not kill anybody yourself.’

‘No sar. Jemmy kill nobody’

‘The court has heard, Jemmy, that your son Threeboys shot Mr Phillips. Is this what you saw?’

‘No sar. Threeboys a good boy sar. No kill anybody. Please sar, do not punish Threeboys sar. He is a good boy.’

‘So if you did not kill anybody, Jemmy, and Threeboys did not kill anybody ... who did?’

‘Oens-men, sar.’

‘“Oens-men”?’

‘Yes sar. Oens-men. The same as Patagonia bow-and-arrow men. Big bad men sar, come to my country, kill many people. No sabe God sar. Yamana man run away, sar.’

‘I see.’ Longden raised an eyebrow. ‘And did you sleep in Captain Fell’s cabin after his death?’

‘No sar.’

‘No? Who did?’

‘Oens-men, sar.’

‘The Oens-men slept in Captain Fell’s cabin?’

‘Yes sar. And - and men from York’s country sar,’ added Jemmy, desperately.

‘“mean from York’s country”.’

‘Yes sar — York Minster’s country sar. Very bad men — eat other men. No sabe God sar.’

‘And you say that your own tribe, your own family, was entirely innocent in this matter?’

‘Yes sar, yes sar,’ agreed Jemmy, clinging with relief to the fact that this man was clearly on his side.

Longden smiled. ‘No further questions, Your Honour.’

Lamb rose with an overwhelming feeling of futility. By apportioning the blame to every conceivable demon that he could dredge from his imagination, his ‘client’ had as good as tied the noose about his own neck.

‘Jemmy, the court has heard that you saved the life of Alfred Coles. Why did you do that?’

‘Mr Coles is English gen’leman sar, like Jemmy.’

‘And how long did you look after Coles, once you had saved his life?’

‘Four moons sar. Then Capp’en Smyley come, sar.’

‘Whereupon you personally escorted him on board the Nancy and out of harm’s way.’

‘Yes sar. Mr Coles is Jemmy’s frien’ sar. Capp‘en Smyley is Jemmy’s frien’ sar.’

Lamb could think of nothing else. ‘Thank you, Jemmy No further questions, sir.’

Beaming optimistically at having been allowed to make his position clear, Jemmy was led back to his seat. The final witness, the Reverend George Packenham Despard, then took the stand; but before he could answer any questions, a rotund, black-gloved Irishman rose to his feet, his face a tracery of tiny broken veins, and made his presence known. ‘I am Mr Lane, sir, a solicitor of this town,’ he informed the governor.

‘Yes, Mr Lane, I know perfectly well who you are,’ replied Moore brusquely. Lane was the only professional solicitor in Stanley: a notorious drunk, he had been struck off in Dublin, and had headed south to make his fortune, somewhat unsuccessfully to date. ‘What do you want?’

‘My services have been retained, sir, by the Reverend Mr Despard.’

‘You have been retained by Mr
Despard?’
said a puzzled Moore. ‘Mr Despard is merely a witness. He is not on trial.’

‘Nonetheless, sir, in view of the importance of this case to the future operations and reputation of the Patagonian Missionary Society, Mr Despard has retained me as his attorney.’

‘Well, this is most irregular.’ Moore did not press the matter. The entire proceedings, in a town devoid of judges and containing only one professional lawyer, were most irregular. ‘Your witness, Mr Longden.’

Longden sniffed again, to Moore’s considerable irritation.

‘Mr Despard, would you say you are well acquainted with the defendant?’

‘Most certainly. I came to know him extremely well after he
volunteered
to stay at Keppel Island.’ Despard looked across at Lane for approval. Clearly, he had been coached to steer well clear of any possible accusations of slavery.

‘And how would you describe the defendant’s character? Was he well conducted?’

Despard drew himself up to his full height and assumed an expression of pious regret. ‘I am afraid he was without doubt the most lazy and lackadaisical of the natives at Cranmer. I found him to be dishonest, untrustworthy and argumentative; and, what is more, I had strong reason to suspect him of being a persistent thief.’

‘You
lie
!’ exploded Jemmy Button.

‘You will be silent,’ commanded Moore, ‘or I shall have you removed from this court.’

Longden continued: ‘Were you surprised, Mr Despard, when you heard of the tragic events that had unfolded at Woollya?’

‘My heart was heavy with sorrow but, no, I was not surprised. Such an act of treachery was not at all inconsistent with what I had come to know of the defendant’s character. But while we must all lament the cruel treachery of a supposedly friendly people, should we not thereby recognize the even more urgent duty of making known to them the word of truth and righteousness? Is the faithfulness unto death of the men whose loss we now deplore a signal for us to forsake the work they loved? I think not, gentlemen!’ Despard looked round questioningly, in full pulpit mode now, his upper teeth bristling.

‘That such a barbaric act should take place on the Sabbath day must have been particularly upsetting for you.’

‘Do you know, Mr Longden,’ smiled Despard, ‘that was my first thought. But then I reasoned that God Himself must have appointed this day for the commission of these terrible crimes, in order to communicate the fact that here was Satan, raging against His work.’

On the word ‘Satan’, Despard’s gaze swivelled accusingly in the direction of Jemmy, who glowered back at him like a sullen nephew at a hated uncle.

It was Lamb’s turn to question the president of the Patagonian Missionary Society.

‘Mr Despard, do you feel that your treatment of the natives at Cranmer contributed in any way to a build-up of resentment among them that might have occasioned the fatal attack?’

‘Objection!’

It was Lane, the solicitor.

‘These proceedings are being carried out under Sections 432 and 433 of the Merchant Shipping Act, and may concern themselves only with the abandonment of the
Allen Gardiner
and the fate of its crew. Lieutenant Lamb’s question falls outside that remit.’

‘Sir,’ said Lamb to the governor, ‘I am merely endeavouring to ascertain the precise nature of the relationship between the accused and the murder victims, the better to understand what happened at Woollya Cove.’

‘Objection overruled, Mr Lane,’ said Moore, shortly. ‘Mr Despard, you will answer the question.’

‘I do not wish to,’ pronounced Despard munificently, his arms spread.

‘Do you
decline
answering?’ asked the astonished Moore.

‘I have a right of silence, I believe?’

There was an outbreak of conferring on the bench. Lamb tried again. ‘Did you search the bags of the natives at Keppel?’

Lane butted in: ‘Once again, sir, that question is outside the remit of these proceedings according to the Merchant Shipping Act.’

‘This is my court, Mr Lane. Will you answer the question, Mr Despard?’

‘I will not.’

‘You will permit me to observe that your conduct can only redound on you, to your own discredit.’

‘I answer first and foremost to the authority of the good Lord, Mr Moore,’ pronounced Despard sanctimoniously. ‘It is by His desiring that I do not submit myself to such an impertinent line of questioning.’

‘Very well,’ said Moore, bristling. ‘You may stand down. You too, Lieutenant Lamb.’

The remaining witnesses had little to add, being for the most part mission workers who remained stubbornly loyal to Despard, or who - on occasion - echoed Coles’s reservations about their master’s treatment of the Fuegians. Moore kept proceedings moving: by the morning of the third day, the court was ready to hear the closing statements.

Longden was the first to close, reminding the jury of what Coles had seen, and of his apparent conviction that Jemmy had been at the heart of things, before summing up: ‘It is not very long since we deplored the frightful slaughter in India of whole companies of Christians. Lucknow, Cawnpore and Delhi are names written in letters of anguish on the hearts of thousands of our countrymen. The blood of Englishmen — the blood of martyrs — was shed there, just as it has been shed here, because of the treachery of the native race and the trusting nature of Britons everywhere. The Reverend Mr Phillips trusted Jemmy Button. Captain Fell trusted Jemmy Button. Both of them, and many other good men and true, have paid the price for that trust with their lives. For was it not this man’s own son who fired the fatal shot? What knowledge does a young boy have of firearms and ammunition, unless so directed by his father? The defendant asks us to believe that strange tribesmen arrived from other lands without warning, and perpetrated some of the most terrible crimes that ever were heard of. Come, come, this won’t do with me, and it won’t do with twelve honest citizens of these islands either. The defendant is a cheat, a liar and a murderer, and were it not for the bravery and ingenuity of Captain Smyley he would not be before this court; but Captain Smyley’s quick thinking was his loss and justice’s gain. Gentlemen of the jury, death is the only fitting punishment for crimes of this magnitude. Order must be restored, just as it was so effectively restored in India. Shall we see our world descend into chaos? Or shall we see civilized values reign triumphant? The decision is yours.’

Lieutenant Lamb, aware that it would be difficult now to extricate Jemmy from the commission of the crime, began his reply by attacking Despard instead. ‘This gentleman
claims
that he is in the business of converting savages to Christianity. But can he show us one single native that he can confidently point out as converted? He cannot. Indeed, he cannot even find the courage, the honesty, to answer one or two simple questions. Had he answered those questions, gentlemen, it would have been no difficult matter to establish that Mr Despard is in fact little more than a grazier, a cattle-breeder, who enticed or entrapped a number of Fuegians into becoming his unpaid servants, or, to put it in other words, his slaves. If those natives were indeed kidnapped, and then kept to forced labour, is it surprising that murder should follow? I think not.