Watery Grave (39 page)

“You say you have a chain of witnesses to give testimony that includes one who viewed the act and an accomplice who is willing to testify against him?”

“I have, my Lord, ” said Sir John.

“Then, captain or no, he shall be tried like any common criminal. We cannot have one law for the Navy and another for the rest of us.”

“No, indeed we cannot.”

“Yet why would they cause such havoc? What were they looking for?”

“For the most part,” said Sir John, “I believe it was ordered done in a fit of pique by the officer in charge of the invading party. He expected to find me or Captain Hartsell, or both of us. And finding neither of us, he ordered the marines to create this disorder.”

“Reprehensible! Intolerable!”

“My young assistant also informs me that they were searching for notes, memoranda, anything pertinent to recent investigations. In my view, they were after the names of our witnesses against Captain Hartsell.”

“Indeed! Well, they shall not have them. If must be, then those witnesses will have the protection of the court.”

Thus began one of the greatest and truly earnest games of tug that London has ever seen. Vice-Admiral Sir Robert Redmond wanted Captain Hartsell. The Lord of the Admiralty wanted him. It seemed that the whole of His Majesty’s Navy wanted him. Against them all stood the Lord Chief Justice. It was generally agreed of William Murray, the Earl of Mansfield, that by nature he had one outstanding characteristic, and that was stubbornness. By others it was judged either a failing or a virtue, depending upon whichever side of the Lord Chief Justice they might find themselves in any particular disagreement. Yet he was one who would hold firm on what he judged to be a question of principle, no matter what the cost and no matter what forces were ranged against him.

The Lord of the Admiralty came calling upon him and came away cursing him for a pigheaded fool. The Prime Minister invited him for a visit that they might discuss the Hartsell question; the Lord Chief Justice wrote him that there was no reason to make such a visit, for there was nothing to discuss. It was said that even the King had made discreet inquiries into the circumstances, then quite sensibly decided to allow the two warring parties to battle it out, each with the other. As by rumor and titbits dropped in the columns of two of the newssheets the matter became known to the public, it also became widely discussed; the opinion of the public was staunchly with the Lord Chief Justice. I doubt, however, that he knew this, nor knowing, would he have cared a farthing. What mattered to him was that he had set the date of the trial at Old Bailey for the thirtieth of July, just five days following the indictment handed down by Sir John Fielding at that special session of the Bow Street Court; and that he, as chief judge, would preside. That was all that concerned him.

Though in all the furor, it might have seemed that the cause of Lieutenant William Landon was lost and forgotten, this was not so: Sir John had not forgotten him, nor did he deem the cause lost. I know this to be so, for on the day following that one of great excitement whereon the lieutenant was convicted, I was summoned to take a letter dictated by the magistrate, then sent to deliver it to Vice-Admiral Sir Robert Redmond. Because Sir John had not been specific as to what matter he wished to discuss, the recipient must have supposed it was what concerned him most: the question of Captain Hartsell. So enlivened was he by what he judged an opportunity for conciliation that he made ready to leave immediately for Bow Street. He called for his coach to be brought round and, as a gesture of his optimistic good feeling, invited me to come along. (It is worth mentioning at this point that his order was conveyed to an unfamiliar younger lieutenant; Mr. Byner was conspicuous by his absence that day.) But because as we waited for the coach, the admiral questioned me without success on Sir John’s state of mind, I was made to ride up top next his murderous footman. Nevertheless, I was glad to ride that long walk back from Tower Hill —and glad, too, to ride it in silence.

The arrival of Sir Robert was well noted by Mr. Fuller, who may have expected an even larger detachment of marines to enter behind him, and by Mr. Marsden, who interrupted his continuing work of sorting and filing to stare at him resentfully as he passed by. Sir Robert ignored them, as admirals will, and asked me simply which was Sir John’s door. I pointed it out to him and offered to announce him, but he waved me aside and charged on, straight through the door, leaving it open.

I will not say that it was my intention to eavesdrop, curious though I may have been. Nevertheless, reader, as it was my habit to sit upon the bench outside the door to Sir John’s chambers that I should be at hand for whatever errands or tasks he might have for me, I saw no reason to break that habit. And, taking my usual place beside the open door, I happened to hear every word that passed between them.

“Jack, Jack,” said Sir Robert, in a most effusive manner, “I was so happy to receive your invitation that I rushed here immediate. I was about to write you and ask that I might come, hat in hand, to present my apology.”

“I concede that one is due me,” said Sir John.

“A terrible mistake was made yesterday. Lieutenant Byner far exceeded his brief. I understand that he left this place in a terrible state. For that you have my sincerest and most profound apology. It was an insult to you, and for that I am most deeply sorry.”

“I accept your apology. ‘

“He has been relieved of his duties. He will be disciplined in some way, probably sent off to sea. Would you believe it? The fellow has not had sea duty since he was a midshipman.”

“Yes, I would believe that,” said Sir John. “But Bobbie, the fact remains that he was sent to the Bow Street Court with a party of marines, and I can only suppose that their purpose was to free a prisoner — namely. Captain James Hartsell —by force, if necessary. Was that not why they were sent?”

“Well … yes, Jack, it was.”

“That, you may believe me, was a greater insult to my court and to the entire body of law upon which this nation is founded than you will ever know.”

“But you must realize our position. Captain Hartsell is a naval officer, and therefore he must be tried by a naval court-martial. We will deal with him, believe me. You will see how sternly and swiftly naval justice can work.”

“I have seen naval justice, Bobbie, and I was not favorably impressed.”

“Ah, Jack, that unfortunate business —let us put it behind us. Believe me, I did what I could to save that boy.” (This, reader, in a most plaintive voice.) “I did, truly.”

“I give you credit,” said Sir John.” I believe that within the limits you had set for yourself you did the best that you could. You questioned Hartsell closely and, I thought, well on the matter of his tardy accusation. You sought to expose Midshipman Boone’s story for the preposterous tale that it was. I am sure, too, that in deliberation with the other two judges you argued for acquittal, yet gave in to them when the vote was cast.”

“I did! I did!”

“Yet it was not enough to save him.”

“No,” said Sir Robert bleakly, “it was not.”

There was a pause. I heard a drawer open and shut.

“I believe, however, that this will be.”

“What is this?”

“It is a document witnessed by me and my court clerk and signed by Midshipman Albert Boone wherein he admits giving perjured testimony in the trial by court-martial of Lieutenant William Landon, and of having done so at the instigation of Captain —then Lieutenant — James Hartsell.”

Silence. Sir Robert cleared his throat. Then further silence. “I must give this some study.”

“Indeed, you may have it. I have another copy, equally valid — worded exactly as this one is, witnessed, and signed in the same way. I want you to take it, and use it as the basis to declare the trial by court-martial invalid and drop all charges against Lieutenant Landon,”

“Jack, I am not sure I could do that. I am not sure I have that power.”

“And why not? You served as chief judge in the trial. You saw through the boy’s testimony. That much is evident from the trial record. I should think you would welcome this.”

“I do, I do, but…” There was another long pause. Then, of a sudden. Sir Robert spoke up in a cautious, knowing manner: “Now, Jack, I think I see your game.”

“My game? What could you mean? I have no game.”

“Oh, perhaps, perhaps, but it seems to me that what has been suggested here verv quietly is a kind of trade —Landon for Hartsell. Well, let me say that such an arrangement might indeed be a possibility’. I shall have to confer with my superiors, of course, but what you suggest is certainly not beyond the realm of possibility’.”

Another silence, yet on this occasion it was Sir John who was slow to respond. Then at last: “You have misjudged me entirely. Let me assure you that if you fear that you have not the power to declare Mr. Landon’s trial invalid, I am certain that I have not the power to alter Captain Hartsell’s status. He has been bound over for trial in the felony court. The date of the trial has been set. Nothing can change that —nor should it.”

“But surely, Jack, if you could talk to the Lord Chief Justice it would —

“Would do nothing at all. Your captain will be tried here at Old Bailey and there is no way round that. But good God, Bobbie, I thought you would be eager for this document I have given you. You can save Mr. Landon with it. He is, after all, your nephew —or need I remind you of that? And you know him, as I do, to be innocent of the charge on which he was convicted. And you have it before you, he was convicted on the testimony of a perjurer and a murderer.”

“Ah, there, Jack, now you take too much upon yourself. Captain Hartsell has not yet been convicted. Innocence is presumed, guilt must be proven. Even I know that much about the law.”

“In this case, you are merely quibbling. You may be as sure of it as it is me before you now that he will be convicted and that he will hang.”

Then, without a word of goodbye, Sir Robert came through the door he had entered only minutes before. He moved less swiftly, however, and much less surely, and I noted that in his hand he held the confession of perjury signed by Midshipman Boone.

Next day, in the midst of all this, Tom Durham received a letter that quite changed his life. When it was put in his hand it puzzled and then astonished him (as he told me later), for it bore the Royal Seal. It was, in effect, a communication from the King, and indeed it bore the royal signature at bottom. It was a “King’s letter,” appointing him midshipman in the Royal Navy.

Unbeknownst to me, for the pertinent pleas had been dictated to Mr. Marsden, Sir John had taken the advice given him by Sir Robert when first the matter was discussed. He had made formal application for Tom for a King’s-letter appointment, and at the same time had written a more personal note to Queen Charlotte asking her swift intercession on Tom’s behalf; he had merely pointed out to her what was true —that though well educated, Tom was a court boy, and that he had distinguished himself in his service on the H.M.S.
Adventure
, rising from galley scullion to ordinary seaman during the term of the frigate’s tour in Indian waters, and that he was known for his bravery in battle and steadfastness in executing all orders given him. Tom Durham’s success proved the worthiness of the scheme to which she had so generously given her royal support; to recognize him with a King’s-letter appointment as midshipman would give it further distinction and dignity; and what was more, Sir John had added quite prophetically, young Mr. Durham would make a superb naval officer.

Thus it had been accomplished. Though the matter had not slipped from Sir John’s mind certainly, he had refused to offer the appointment by the King as a possibility to Lady Fielding and Tom, for as he had occasion later to instruct me, it is always a risky matter to depend upon royal favor in any matter. He thought it best not to raise their hopes, so that they might not later be dashed.

It was, of course, cause for great celebration. I was sent forth to buy Mr. Tolliver’s best beef roast. Annie cooked it worthily and served it in the dining room complete with a pudding made from its drippings; she was invited to sit with us there, as she always did in the kitchen, and for the occasion she had put on her best frock.

There were but two matters that marred that festive evening. The first was Tom’s early departure. A note accompanying the King’s letter stipulated that he must leave the following day and report to Portsmouth for duty on the H.M.S. Leviathan, a seventy-gun ship of the line which would sail in a week’s time for service in the Mediterranean. He would have just enough time to be fitted with his midshipman’s uniform and learn his new duties.

Sir John’s mood also cast some gloom over that evening. I knew him to be most pessimistic, following the admiral’s visit, regarding Lieutenant Landon’s chances of escaping hanging at Execution Dock. Yet, I thought, surely these grand tidings for Tom, which Sir John himself had brought to pass, would at least temporarily raise his spirits. Yet I had reckoned without a full appreciation of the deep sadness that the entire affair had caused him.

He had raised his glass and drunk with the rest of us when, alter we had eaten. Lady Fielding proposed her toast to a long life and a great career for her son. Yet then he remained silent, offering no toast of his own, sinking down, rather, into that deep, contemplative silence into which I had seen him slip before in his darker moments. I, of course, was not the only one at table who noticed.

“Jack,” said Lady Fielding, “are you not happy at Tom’s good fortune? Of all of us here you should be most pleased, for it was you brought this about.” Then she raised her glass again. “All of you, I give you my husband, who can work wonders, a man who makes the impossible possible and gives hope to the hopeless.”

While what she offered was well intentioned, it was not the sort of tribute to enliven the spirits of one who feared, with good reason, that a great injustice was to be done, one who believed he had used up the last chance to halt the march of an innocent man to the gallows. Yet he rose and took up his glass.