Part 29 (1/2)

The Constable looked doubtfully at Mr. Merridew, whom he knew by sight, as everybody connected with the criminal part of the law certainly did: he knew him as Sheriff's officer, nominally: thief-taker by secret profession: thief-maker, as matter of notoriety at the Courts. From him he looked at Mr. Probus, but more doubtfully, because he knew nothing about him except that he was an attorney, which means to such people as the Constable, devil incarnate. He also looked doubtfully at the Captain, whose face, perhaps, he knew. Considering that the Captain had been living for eight years at least in and about St. Giles's, and robbing about all the roads that run out of London, perhaps the Constable did know him by sight.

'Well,' he said, 'I suppose Sir John will look into it to-morrow. As for this gentleman who says he is----I remember----'

Here Mr. Probus slipped something into his hand.

'It is not for me,' the worthy Constable added, 'to remember anything.

Besides, I may be wrong. Well, gentlemen, you will all attend to-morrow morning at Bow Street and give your evidence before Sir John Fielding.'

So they went away and I lay on the floor still wondering stupidly what would happen next.

Just then two watchmen came in. One was leading, or dragging, or carrying a young gentleman richly dressed but so drunk that he could neither stand nor speak: the other brought with him a poor creature--a woman--young--only a girl still--dressed in rags and tatters; s.h.i.+vering: unwashed; uncombed; weak and emaciated: a deplorable object.

The Constable turned to the first case.

'Give the gentleman a chair,' he said. 'Put him before the fire. Reach me his watch and his purse. Search his pockets, watchman.'

'Please your honour,' said the watchman, 'I have searched his pockets.

We came too late, Sir. Nothing in them.'

'The town is full of villains--full of villains,' said the officer, with honest indignation. 'Well, put him in the chair. A gentleman can send for guineas if he hasn't got any guineas. Did he a.s.sault you, watchman?

I thought so--Well--Let him sleep it off. Who's this woman?'

The watchman deposed to finding her walking about the deserted streets because she had nowhere to go.

'Has she got any money? Then just put her in the strong room--and carry this poor devil in after her. If that story holds--well--lay him on the bench--and take care of his head.'

They pushed the girl into the strong-room: carried me after her: laid me down on a wide stone bench without any kind of pillow or covering. Then they went out locking the door behind them.

I suppose that I should have suffered more than I did had it not been for the stupefying effect of the blow upon my head. I have only a dim recollection of the night. The place was filled with poor wretches, men and women, who could not afford to bribe the Constable. In this land of freedom to be a poor rogue is hanging matter: to be a rogue with money in pocket and purse is quite another thing: that rogue goes free. The rogue runs the gauntlet: first, he may get off by bribing the watchman: if he fails to do that, he may bribe the constable: or if the worst happens, he may then bribe the magistrate. I understand, however, that this has been changed, and that there are now no Justices who take bribes. Now, if the watchman brings few cases to the constable, and those all poor rogues, he may lose his place: and if the constable pockets all the bribes and brings the magistrate none, he may lose his place. So that it is mutually agreed between the three that each is to have his share. All mankind are for ever seeking and praying for Justice, and behold, this is all we have got in the boasted eighteenth century. I suppose, however, that in such a case as mine, a charge of highway robbery, in which the prisoner was taken red-handed, no constable would dare to take a bribe.

From time to time in the night we were disturbed by the grating of the key in the lock as the door was opened for the admission of another poor wretch. Then these interruptions ceased, and we were left in quiet.

When the day broke through the bars of the only window, I could look round upon the people, my companions in misfortune. There were three or four women in tawdry finery--very poor and miserable creatures who would be happier in the worst prison than in the way they lived: two or three pickpockets and footpads: one or two prentices, who would be sent to Bridewell and flogged for being found drunk. There was very little talk.

Mostly, the wretches sat in gloomy silence. They had not even the curiosity to ask each other as to the offenses with which they were charged.

As the light increased the women began to whisper. They exhorted each other to courage. Before them all, in imagination, stood the dreadful whipping-post of Bridewell. Some of them have had an experience of that punishment.

'It takes but two or three minutes,' they said. 'Then it soon pa.s.ses off. Mind you screech as if they were murdering you. That frightens the Alderman, and brings down the knocker. Don't begin to fret about it.'

They were talking about their whippings in Bridewell. 'Perhaps Sir John will let you go. Sometimes he does.' My head pained, and I closed my eyes again.

At about eight o'clock the doors were flung wide open. Everyone started, shuddered, and stood up. 'Now, then,' cried a harsh voice, 'out with you! Out, I say.'

I was still giddy with last night's blow: my hair was stiff with blood: my head ached, but I was able to walk out with the others. The constables arranged us in a kind of procession, and put the handcuffs on every one. Then we were marched through the streets two by two, guarded by constables, to Bow Street Office, the Magistrate of which was then Sir John Fielding.

There was some slight comfort in the thought that he was blind: he could not be prejudiced against me by my appearance, for my face was smeared with blood: my hair was stiff with blood. There was blood on my coat, and where there was not blood there was the mud of the street in which I had lain senseless.

The business of the Court was proceeding. The Magistrate sat at a table: his eyes were bandaged. The eyes of Justice should be always bandaged.