Japhet in Search of a Father

Part 3—Chapter IV

Worse and Worse—If out of Gaol, it will be to go out of the World—I am resolved to take my Secret with me.

The handcuffs were now put on without resistance on my part, and I was led away to Hounslow by the two constables, while the others returned to secure the wounded man. On my arrival I was thrust into the clink, or lockup house, as the magistrates would not meet that evening, and there I was left to my reflections. Previously, however, to this, I was searched, and my money, amounting, as I before stated, to upwards of twenty pounds, taken from me by the constables; and what I had quite forgotten, a diamond solitaire ring, which I had intended to have left with my other bijouterie for Timothy, but in my hurry, when I left London, I had allowed to remain upon my finger. The gaol was a square building, with two unglazed windows secured with thick iron bars, and the rain having beat in, it was more like a pound for cattle, for it was not even paved, and the ground was three or four inches deep in mud. There was no seat in it, and there I was the whole of the night walking up and down shivering in my wet clothes, in a state of mind almost bordering upon insanity. Reflect upon what was likely to happen, I could not. I only ran over the past. I remembered what I had been, and felt cruelly the situation I then was in. Had I deserved it? I thought not. “Oh! father—father!” exclaimed I, bitterly, “see to what your son is brought—handcuffed as a felon! God have mercy on my brain, for I feel that it is wandering. Father, father—alas, I have none!—had you left me at the asylum, without any clue, or hopes of a clue, to my hereafter being reclaimed, it would have been a kindness; I should then have been happy and contented in some obscure situation; but you raised hopes only to prostrate them—and imaginings which have led to my destruction. Sacred is the duty of a parent, and heavy must be the account of those who desert their children, and are required by Heaven to render up an account of the important trust. Couldst thou, oh, father, but now behold thy son! God Almighty!—but I will not curse you, father! No, no—” and I burst into tears, as I leant against the damp walls of the prison.

The day at last broke, and the sun rose, and poured his beaming rays through the barred windows. I looked at myself, and was shocked at my appearance; my smock-frock was covered with black mud, my clothes were equally disfigured. I had lost my hat when in the water, and I felt the dry mud cracking on my cheeks. I put my hands up to my head, and I pulled a quantity of duck-weed out of my matted and tangled hair. I thought of the appearance I should make when summoned before the magistrates, and how much it would go against me. “Good God!” thought I, “who, of all the world of fashion—who, of all those who once caught my salutation so eagerly—who, of all those worldly-minded girls, who smiled upon me but one short twelve months since, would imagine, or believe, that Japhet Newland could ever have sunk so low—and how has he so fallen? Alas! because he would be honest, and had strength of mind enough to adhere to his resolution. Well, well, God’s will be done; I care not for life; but still an ignominious death—to go out of the world like a dog, and that too without finding out who is my father.” And I put my fettered hands up and pressed my burning brow, and remained in a sort of apathetic sullen mood, until I was startled by the opening of the door, and the appearance of the constables. They led me out among the crowd, through which, with difficulty, they could force their way; and followed by the majority of the population of Hounslow, who made their complimentary remarks upon the footpad, I was brought before the magistrates. The large stout man was then called up to give his evidence, and deposed as follows:—

“That he was walking to Hounslow from Brentford, whither he had been to purchase some clothes, when he was accosted by two fellows in smock-frocks, one of whom carried a bundle in his left hand. They asked him what o’clock it was; and he took out his watch to tell them, when he received a blow from the one with the bundle, (this one, sir, said he, pointing to me,) on the back of his head; at the same time the other (the wounded man who was now in custody) snatched his watch. That at the time he had purchased his clothes at Brentford, he had also bought a bag of shot, fourteen pounds’ weight, which he had, for the convenience of carrying, tied up with the clothes in the bundle; and perceiving that he was about to be robbed, he had swung his bundle round his head, and with the weight of the shot, had knocked down the man who had snatched at his watch. He then turned to the other (me), who backed from him, and struck at him with his stick. (The stick was here produced; and when I cast my eye on it, I was horrified to perceive that it was the very stick which I had bought of the Jew, for three-pence, to carry my bundle on.) He had closed in with me, and was wresting the stick out of my hand, when the other man, who had recovered his legs, again attacked him with another stick. In the scuffle he had obtained my stick, and I had wrested from him his bundle, with which, as soon as he had knocked down my partner, I ran off. That he beat my partner until he was insensible, and then found that I had left my own bundle, which in the affray I had thrown on one side. He then made the best of his way to Hounslow to give the information.” His return and finding me with the other man is already known to the readers.

The next evidence who came forward was the Jew, from whom I had bought the clothes and sold my own. He narrated all that had occurred, and swore to the clothes in the bundle left by the footpad, and to the stick which he had sold to me. The constable then produced the money found about my person and the diamond solitaire ring, stating my attempt to escape when I was seized. The magistrate then asked me whether I had anything to say in my defence, cautioning me not to commit myself.

I replied, that I was innocent; that it was true that I had sold my own clothes, and had purchased those of the Jew, as well as the stick: that I had been asked to hold the horse of a gentleman when sitting on a bench opposite a public-house, and that someone had stolen my bundle and my stick. That I had walked on towards Hounslow, and, in assisting a fellow-creature, whom I certainly had considered as having been attacked by others, I had merely yielded to the common feelings of humanity—that I was seized when performing that duty, and should willingly have accompanied them to the magistrate’s, had not they attempted to put on handcuffs, at which my feelings were roused, and I knocked the constable down, and made my attempt to escape.

“Certainly, a very ingenious defence,” observed one of the magistrates; “pray where—” At this moment the door opened, and in came the very gentleman, the magistrate at Bow Street, whose horse I had held. “Good morning, Mr Norman; you have just come in time to render us your assistance. We have a very deep hand to deal with here, or else a very injured person, I cannot tell which. Do us the favour to look over these informations and the defence of the prisoner, previous to our asking him any more questions.”

The Bow Street magistrate complied, and then turned to me, but I was so disguised with mud, that he could not recognise me.

“You are the gentleman, sir, who asked me to hold your horse,” said I. “I call you to witness, that that part of my assertion is true.”

“I do now recollect that you are the person,” replied he, “and you may recollect the observation I made, relative to your hands, when you stated that you were a poor countryman.”

“I do, sir, perfectly,” replied I.

“Perhaps then you will inform us by what means a diamond-ring and twenty pounds in money came into your possession?”

“Honestly, sir,” replied I.

“Will you state, as you are a poor countryman, with whom you worked last—what parish you belong to—and whom you can bring forward in proof of good character?”

“I certainly shall not answer those questions,” replied I: “if I chose I might so do, and satisfactorily.”

“What is your name?”

“I cannot answer that question either, sir,” replied I.

“I told you yesterday that we had met before; was it not at Bow Street?”

“I am surprised at your asking a question, sir, from the bench, to which, if I answered, the reply might affect me considerably. I am here in a false position, and cannot well help myself. I have no friends that I choose to call, for I should blush that they should see me in such a state, and under such imputations.”

“Your relations, young man, would certainly not be backward. Who is your father?”

“My father!” exclaimed I, raising up my hands and eyes. “My father! Merciful God!—if he could only see me here—see to what he has reduced his unhappy son,” and I covered my face and sobbed convulsively.

Part 3—Chapter V

By the committing of magisterial Mistakes I am personally and penally committed—I prepare for my Trial by calling in the Assistance of the Tailor and the Perfume—I am resolved to die like a Gentleman.

“It is indeed a pity, a great pity,” observed one of the magistrates, “such a fine young man, and evidently, by his demeanour and language, well brought up; but I believe,” said he, turning to the others, “we have but one course; what say you, Mr Norman?”

“I am afraid that my opinion coincides with yours, and that the grand jury will not hesitate to find a bill, as the case stands at present. Let us, however, ask the witness Armstrong one question. Do you positively swear to this young man being one of the persons who attacked you?”

“It was not very light at the time, sir, and both the men had their faces smutted; but it was a person just his size, and dressed in the same way, as near as I can recollect.”

“You cannot, therefore, swear to his identity?”

“No, sir; but to the best of my knowledge and belief, he is the man.”

“Take that evidence down as important,” said Mr Norman; “it will assist him at his trial.”

The evidence was taken down, and then my commitment to the county gaol was made out. I was placed in a cart, between two constables, and driven off. On my arrival I was put into a cell, and my money returned to me, but the ring was detained, that it might be advertised. At last, I was freed from the manacles; and when the prison dress was brought to me to put on, in lieu of my own clothes, I requested leave from the gaoler to wash myself, which was granted; and, strange to say, so unaccustomed had I been to such a state of filth, that I felt a degree of happiness, as I returned from the pump in the prison-yard, and I put on the prison dress almost with pleasure; for degrading as it was, at all events, it was new and clean. I then returned to my cell, and was left to my meditations.

Now that my examination and committal, were over, I became much more composed, and was able to reflect coolly. I perceived the great danger of my situation—how strong the evidence was against me—and how little chance I had of escape. As for sending to Lord Windermear, Mr Masterton, or those who formerly were acquainted with me, my pride forbade it—I would sooner have perished on the scaffold. Besides, their evidence as to my former situation in life, although it would perhaps satisfactorily account for my possession of the money and the ring, and for my disposing of my portmanteau—all strong presumptive evidence against me—would not destroy the evidence brought forward as to the robbery, which appeared to be so very conclusive to the bench of magistrates. My only chance appeared to be in the footpad, who had not escaped, acknowledging that I was not his accomplice; and I felt how much I was interested in his recovery, as well as in his candour. The assizes I knew were near at hand, and I anxiously awaited the return of the gaoler, to make a few inquiries. At night he looked through the small square cut out of the top of the door of the cell, for it was his duty to go his rounds and ascertain if all his prisoners were safe. I then asked him if I might be allowed to make a few purchases, such as pens, ink, and paper, etcetera. As I was not committed to prison in punishment, but on suspicion, this was not denied, although it would have been to those who were condemned to imprisonment and hard labour for their offences; and he volunteered to procure them for me the next morning. I then wished him a good night, and threw myself on my mattress. Worn out with fatigue and distress of mind, I slept soundly, without dreaming, until daylight the next morning. As I awoke, and my scattered senses were returning, I had a confused idea that there was something which weighed heavily on my mind, which sleep had banished from my memory. “What is it?” thought I; and as I opened my eyes, so did I remember that I, Japhet Newland, who but two nights before was pressing the down of luxury in the same habitation as Lady de Clare and her lovely child, was now on a mattress in the cell of a prison, under a charge which threatened me with an ignominious death. I rose, and sat on the bed, for I had not thrown off my clothes. My first thoughts were directed to Timothy. Should I write to him? No, no! why should I make him miserable? If I was to suffer, it should be under an assumed name. But what name? Here I was interrupted by the gaoler, who opened the door, and desired me to roll up my mattress and bed-clothes, that they might, as was the custom, be taken out of the cell during the day.

My first inquiry was, if the man who had been so much hurt was in the gaol.

“You mean your ’complice,” replied the gaoler. “Yes, he is here, and has recovered his senses. The doctor says he will do very well.”

“Has he made any confession?” inquired I.

The gaoler made no reply.

“I ask that question,” continued I, “because if he acknowledges who was his accomplice, I shall be set at liberty.”

“Very likely,” replied the man, sarcastically; “the fact is, there is no occasion for king’s evidence in this case, or you might get off by crossing the water; so you must trust to your luck. The grand jury meet to-day, and I will let you know whether a true bill is found against you or not.”

“What is the name of the other man?” inquired I.

“Well, you are a good ’un to put a face upon a matter, I will say. You would almost persuade me, with that innocent look of yours, that you know nothing about the business.”

“Nor do I,” replied I.

“You will be fortunate if you can prove as much, that’s all.”

“Still, you have not answered my question: what is the other man’s name?”

“Well,” replied the gaoler, laughing, “since you are determined I shall tell you, I will. It must be news to you, with a vengeance. His name is Bill Ogle, alias Swamping Bill. I suppose you never heard that name before?”

“I certainly never did,” replied I.

“Perhaps you do not know your own name? Yet I can tell it you, for Bill Ogle has blown upon you so far.”

“Indeed,” replied I; “and what name has he given to me?”

“Why, to do him justice, it wasn’t until he saw a copy of the depositions before the magistrates, and heard how you were nabbed in trying to help him off, that he did tell it; and then he said, ‘Well, Phill Maddox always was a true ’un, and I’m mortal sorry that he’s in for’t, by looking a’ter me.’ Now do you know your own name?”

“I certainly do not,” replied I.

“Well, did you ever hear of one who went by the name of Phill Maddox?”

“I never did,” replied I; “and I am glad that Ogle has disclosed so much.”

“Well, I never before met with a man who didn’t know his own name, or had the face to say so, and expect to be believed; but never mind, you are right to be cautious, with the halter looking you in the face.”

“O God! O God!” exclaimed I, throwing myself on the bedstead, and covering up my face, “give me strength to bear even that, if so it must be.”

The gaoler looked at me for a time. “I don’t know what to make of him—he puzzles me quite, certainly. Yet it’s no mistake.”

“It is a mistake,” replied I, rising; “but whether the mistake will be found out until too late, is another point. However, it is of little consequence. What have I to live for,—unless to find out who is my father?”

“Find out your father! what’s in the wind now? well, it beats my comprehension altogether. But did not you say you wished me to get you something?”

“Yes,” replied I; and I gave him some money, with directions to purchase me implements for writing, some scented wax, a tooth-brush, and tooth-powder, eau de cologne, hair-brush and comb, razors, small looking-glass, and various implements for my toilet.

“This is a rum world,” said the man, repeating what I asked for, as I put two guineas in his hand. “I’ve purchased many an article for a prisoner, but never heard of such rattletraps afore; however, that be all the same. You will have them, though what ho de colum is I can’t tell, nor dang me if I shall recollect—not poison, be it, for that is not allowed in the prison?”

“No, no,” replied I, indulging in momentary mirth at the idea; “you may inquire, and you will find that it’s only taken by ladies who are troubled with the vapours.”

“Now I should ha’ thought that you’d have spent your money in the cookshop, which is so much more natural. However, we all have our fancies;” so saying, he flitted the cell, and locked the door.

Part 3—Chapter VI

I am condemned to be hung by the Neck until I am dead, and to go out of the World without finding out who is my Father—Afterwards my Innocence is made manifest, and I am turned adrift a Maniac in the high Road.

It may appear strange to the reader that I sent for the above-mentioned articles, but habit is second nature, and although, two days before, when I set out on my pilgrimage, I had resolved to discard these superfluities, yet now in my distress I felt as if they would comfort me. That evening, after rectifying a few mistakes on the part of the good-tempered gaoler, by writing down what I wanted on the paper which he had procured me, I obtained all that I required.

The next morning he informed me that the grand jury had found a true bill against me, and that on the Saturday next the assizes would be held. He also brought me the list of trials, and I found that mine would be one of the last, and would not probably come on until Monday or Tuesday. I requested him to send for a good tailor, as I wished to be dressed in a proper manner, previous to appearing in court. As a prisoner is allowed to go into court in his own clothes instead of the gaol dress, this was consented to; and when the man came, I was very particular in my directions, so much so, that it surprised him. He also procured me the other articles I required to complete my dress, and on Saturday night I had them all ready; for I was resolved that I would at least die as a gentleman.

Sunday passed away, not as it ought to have passed, certainly.

I attended prayers, but my thoughts were elsewhere—how, indeed, could it be otherwise? Who can control his thoughts? He may attempt so to do, but the attempt is all that can be made. He cannot command them. I heard nothing, my mind was in a state of gyration, whirling round from one thing to the other, until I was giddy from intensity of feeling.

On Monday morning the gaoler came and asked me whether I would have legal advice. I replied in the negative. “You will be called about twelve o’clock, I hear,” continued he; “it is now ten, and there is only one more trial before yours, about the stealing of four geese, and half a dozen fowls.”

“Good God!” thought I, “and am I mixed up with such deeds as these?” I dressed myself with the utmost care and precision, and never was more successful. My clothes were black, and fitted well. About one o’clock I was summoned by the gaoler, and led between him and another to the court-house, and placed in the dock. At first my eyes swam, and I could distinguish nothing, but gradually I recovered. I looked round, for I had called up my courage. My eyes wandered from the judge to the row of legal gentlemen below him; from them to the well-dressed ladies who sat in the gallery above; behind me I did not look. I had seen enough, and my cheeks burnt with shame. At last I looked at my fellow-culprit, who stood beside me, and his eyes at the same time met mine. He was dressed in the gaol clothes, of pepper and salt coarse cloth. He was a rough, vulgar, brutal-looking man, but his eye was brilliant, his complexion was dark, and his face was covered with whiskers. “Good heavens!” thought I, “who will ever imagine or credit that we have been associates?”

The man stared at me, bit his lip, and smiled with contempt, but made no further remark. The indictment having been read, the clerk of the court cried out, “You, Benjamin Ogle, having heard the charge, say, guilty or not guilty?”

“Not guilty,” replied the man, to my astonishment.

“You, Philip Maddox, guilty or not guilty?”

I did not answer.

“Prisoner,” observed the judge in a mild voice, “you must answer, Guilty or Not guilty. It is merely a form.”

“My lord,” replied I, “my name is not Philip Maddox.”

“That is the name given in the indictment by the evidence of your fellow-prisoner,” observed the judge; “your real name we cannot pretend to know. It is sufficient that you answer to the question of whether you, the prisoner, are guilty or not guilty.”

“Not guilty, my lord, most certainly,” replied I, placing my hand to my heart, and bowing to him.

The trial proceeded; Armstrong was the principal evidence. To my person he would not swear. The Jew proved my selling my clothes, purchasing those found in the bundle, and the stick, of which Armstrong possessed himself. The clothes I had on at the time of my capture were produced in court. As for Ogle, his case was decisive. We were then called upon for our defence. Ogle’s was very short. “He had been accustomed to fits all his life—was walking to Hounslow, and had fallen down in a fit. It must have been somebody else who had committed the robbery and had made off, and he had been picked up in a mistake.” This defence appeared to make no other impression than ridicule, and indignation at the barefaced assertion. I was then called on for mine.

“My lord,” said I, “I have no defence to make except that which I asserted before the magistrates, that I was performing an act of charity towards a fellow-creature, and was, through that, supposed to be an accomplice. Arraigned before so many upon a charge, at the bare accusation of which my blood revolts, I cannot and will not allow those who might prove what my life has been, and the circumstances which induced me to take up the disguise in which I was taken, to appear in my behalf. I am unfortunate, but not guilty. One only chance appears to be open to me, which is, in the candour of the party who now stands by me. If he will say to the court that he ever saw me before, I will submit without murmur to my sentence.”

“I’m sorry that you’ve put that question, my boy,” replied the man, “for I have seen you before;” and the wretch chuckled with repressed laughter.

I was so astonished, so thunderstruck with this assertion, that I held down my head, and made no reply. The judge then summed up the evidence to the jury, pointing out to them that of Ogle’s guilt there could be no doubt, and of mine, he was sorry to say, but little. Still they must bear in mind that the witness Armstrong could not swear to my person. The jury, without leaving the box, consulted together a short time, and brought in a verdict of guilty against Benjamin Ogle and Philip Maddox. I heard no more—the judge sentenced us both to execution: he lamented that so young and prepossessing a person as myself should be about to suffer for such an offence: he pointed out the necessity of condign punishment, and gave us no hopes of pardon or clemency. But I heard him not—I did not fall, but I was in a state of stupor. At last, he wound up his sentence by praying us to prepare ourselves for the awful change, by an appeal to that heavenly Father. “Father!” exclaimed I, in a voice which electrified the court, “did you say my father? O God! where is he?” and I fell down in a fit. The handkerchiefs of the ladies were applied to their faces, the whole court were moved, for I had, by my appearance, excited considerable interest, and the judge, with a faltering, subdued voice, desired that the prisoners might be removed.