by M. R. James
MARTIN'S CLOSE
Some few years back I was staying with the rector of a parish in theWest, where the society to which I belong owns property. I was to go oversome of this land: and, on the first morning of my visit, soon afterbreakfast, the estate carpenter and general handyman, John Hill, wasannounced as in readiness to accompany us. The rector asked which part ofthe parish we were to visit that morning. The estate map was produced,and when we had showed him our round, he put his finger on a particularspot. 'Don't forget,' he said, 'to ask John Hill about Martin's Closewhen you get there. I should like to hear what he tells you.' 'What oughthe to tell us?' I said. 'I haven't the slightest idea,' said the rector,'or, if that is not exactly true, it will do till lunch-time.' And herehe was called away.
We set out; John Hill is not a man to withhold such information as hepossesses on any point, and you may gather from him much that is ofinterest about the people of the place and their talk. An unfamiliarword, or one that he thinks ought to be unfamiliar to you, he willusually spell--as c-o-b cob, and the like. It is not, however, relevantto my purpose to record his conversation before the moment when wereached Martin's Close. The bit of land is noticeable, for it is one ofthe smallest enclosures you are likely to see--a very few square yards,hedged in with quickset on all sides, and without any gate or gap leadinginto it. You might take it for a small cottage garden long deserted, butthat it lies away from the village and bears no trace of cultivation. Itis at no great distance from the road, and is part of what is therecalled a moor, in other words, a rough upland pasture cut up into largishfields.
'Why is this little bit hedged off so?' I asked, and John Hill (whoseanswer I cannot represent as perfectly as I should like) was not atfault. 'That's what we call Martin's Close, sir: 'tes a curious thing'bout that bit of land, sir: goes by the name of Martin's Close, sir.M-a-r-t-i-n Martin. Beg pardon, sir, did Rector tell you to make inquiryof me 'bout that, sir?' 'Yes, he did.' 'Ah, I thought so much, sir. I wastell'n Rector 'bout that last week, and he was very much interested. It'pears there's a murderer buried there, sir, by the name of Martin. OldSamuel Saunders, that formerly lived yurr at what we call South-town,sir, he had a long tale 'bout that, sir: terrible murder done 'pon ayoung woman, sir. Cut her throat and cast her in the water down yurr.''Was he hung for it?' 'Yes, sir, he was hung just up yurr on the roadway,by what I've 'eard, on the Holy Innocents' Day, many 'undred years ago,by the man that went by the name of the bloody judge: terrible red andbloody, I've 'eard.' 'Was his name Jeffreys, do you think?' 'Might bepossible 'twas--Jeffreys--J-e-f--Jeffreys. I reckon 'twas, and the taleI've 'eard many times from Mr Saunders,--how this young manMartin--George Martin--was troubled before his crule action come to lightby the young woman's sperit.' 'How was that, do you know?' 'No, sir, Idon't exactly know how 'twas with it: but by what I've 'eard he wasfairly tormented; and rightly tu. Old Mr Saunders, he told a historyregarding a cupboard down yurr in the New Inn. According to what herelated, this young woman's sperit come out of this cupboard: but I don'tracollact the matter.'
This was the sum of John Hill's information. We passed on, and in duetime I reported what I had heard to the Rector. He was able to show mefrom the parish account-books that a gibbet had been paid for in 1684,and a grave dug in the following year, both for the benefit of GeorgeMartin; but he was unable to suggest anyone in the parish, Saunders beingnow gone, who was likely to throw any further light on the story.
Naturally, upon my return to the neighbourhood of libraries, I madesearch in the more obvious places. The trial seemed to be nowherereported. A newspaper of the time, and one or more news-letters, however,had some short notices, from which I learnt that, on the ground of localprejudice against the prisoner (he was described as a young gentleman ofa good estate), the venue had been moved from Exeter to London; thatJeffreys had been the judge, and death the sentence, and that there hadbeen some 'singular passages' in the evidence. Nothing further transpiredtill September of this year. A friend who knew me to be interested inJeffreys then sent me a leaf torn out of a second-hand bookseller'scatalogue with the entry: JEFFREYS, JUDGE: _Interesting old MS. trial formurder_, and so forth, from which I gathered, to my delight, that I couldbecome possessed, for a very few shillings, of what seemed to be averbatim report, in shorthand, of the Martin trial. I telegraphed for themanuscript and got it. It was a thin bound volume, provided with a titlewritten in longhand by someone in the eighteenth century, who had alsoadded this note: 'My father, who took these notes in court, told me thatthe prisoner's friends had made interest with Judge Jeffreys that noreport should be put out: he had intended doing this himself when timeswere better, and had shew'd it to the Revd Mr Glanvil, who incourag'd hisdesign very warmly, but death surpriz'd them both before it could bebrought to an accomplishment.'
The initials W. G. are appended; I am advised that the original reportermay have been T. Gurney, who appears in that capacity in more than oneState trial.
This was all that I could read for myself. After no long delay I heard ofsomeone who was capable of deciphering the shorthand of the seventeenthcentury, and a little time ago the typewritten copy of the wholemanuscript was laid before me. The portions which I shall communicatehere help to fill in the very imperfect outline which subsists in thememories of John Hill and, I suppose, one or two others who live on thescene of the events.
The report begins with a species of preface, the general effect of whichis that the copy is not that actually taken in court, though it is a truecopy in regard to the notes of what was said; but that the writer hasadded to it some 'remarkable passages' that took place during the trial,and has made this present fair copy of the whole, intending at somefavourable time to publish it; but has not put it into longhand, lest itshould fall into the possession of unauthorized persons, and he or hisfamily be deprived of the profit.
The report then begins:
This case came on to be tried on Wednesday, the 19th of November, betweenour sovereign lord the King, and George Martin Esquire, of (I take leaveto omit some of the place-names), at a sessions of oyer and terminer andgaol delivery, at the Old Bailey, and the prisoner, being in Newgate, wasbrought to the bar.
_Clerk of the Crown._ George Martin, hold up thy hand (which he did).
Then the indictment was read, which set forth that the prisoner, 'nothaving the fear of God before his eyes, but being moved and seduced bythe instigation of the devil, upon the 15th day of May, in the 36th yearof our sovereign lord King Charles the Second, with force and arms in theparish aforesaid, in and upon Ann Clark, spinster, of the same place, inthe peace of God and of our said sovereign lord the King then and therebeing, feloniously, wilfully, and of your malice aforethought did make anassault and with a certain knife value a penny the throat of the said AnnClark then and there did cut, of the which wound the said Ann Clark thenand there did die, and the body of the said Ann Clark did cast into acertain pond of water situate in the same parish (with more that is notmaterial to our purpose) against the peace of our sovereign lord theKing, his crown and dignity.'
Then the prisoner prayed a copy of the indictment.
_L.C.J._ (Sir George Jeffreys). What is this? Sure you know that is neverallowed. Besides, here is as plain indictment as ever I heard; you havenothing to do but to plead to it.
_Pris._ My lord, I apprehend there may be matter of law arising out ofthe indictment, and I would humbly beg the court to assign me counsel toconsider of it. Besides, my lord, I believe it was done in another case:copy of the indictment was allowed.
_L.C.J._ What case was that?
_Pris._ Truly, my lord, I have been kept close prisoner ever since I cameup from Exeter Castle, and no one allowed to come at me and no one toadvise with.
_L.C.J._ But I say, what was that case you allege?
_Pris._ My lord, I cannot tell your lordship precisely the name of thecase, but it is in my mind that there was such an one, and I would humblydesire--
_L.C.J._ All this is nothing. Name your case, and we w
ill tell youwhether there be any matter for you in it. God forbid but you should haveanything that may be allowed you by law: but this is against law, and wemust keep the course of the court.
_Att.-Gen._ (Sir Robert Sawyer). My lord, we pray for the King that hemay be asked to plead.
_Cl. of Ct._ Are you guilty of the murder whereof you stand indicted, ornot guilty?
_Pris._ My lord, I would humbly offer this to the court. If I plead now,shall I have an opportunity after to except against the indictment?
_L.C.J._ Yes, yes, that comes after verdict: that will be saved to you,and counsel assigned if there be matter of law, but that which you havenow to do is to plead.
Then after some little parleying with the court (which seemed strangeupon such a plain indictment) the prisoner pleaded _Not Guilty_.
_Cl. of Ct._ Culprit. How wilt thou be tried?
_Pris._ By God and my country.
_Cl. of Ct._ God send thee a good deliverance.
_L.C.J._ Why, how is this? Here has been a great to-do that you shouldnot be tried at Exeter by your country, but be brought here to London,and now you ask to be tried by your country. Must we send you to Exeteragain?
_Pris._ My lord, I understood it was the form.
_L.C.J._ So it is, man: we spoke only in the way of pleasantness. Well,go on and swear the jury.
So they were sworn. I omit the names. There was no challenging on theprisoner's part, for, as he said, he did not know any of the personscalled. Thereupon the prisoner asked for the use of pen, ink, and paper,to which the L. C. J. replied: 'Ay, ay, in God's name let him have it.'Then the usual charge was delivered to the jury, and the case opened bythe junior counsel for the King, Mr Dolben.
The Attorney-General followed:
May it please your lordship, and you gentlemen of the jury, I am ofcounsel for the King against the prisoner at the bar. You have heard thathe stands indicted for a murder done upon the person of a young girl.Such crimes as this you may perhaps reckon to be not uncommon, and,indeed, in these times, I am sorry to say it, there is scarce any fact sobarbarous and unnatural but what we may hear almost daily instances ofit. But I must confess that in this murder that is charged upon theprisoner there are some particular features that mark it out to be suchas I hope has but seldom if ever been perpetrated upon English ground.For as we shall make it appear, the person murdered was a poor countrygirl (whereas the prisoner is a gentleman of a proper estate) and,besides that, was one to whom Providence had not given the full use ofher intellects, but was what is termed among us commonly an innocent ornatural: such an one, therefore, as one would have supposed a gentlemanof the prisoner's quality more likely to overlook, or, if he did noticeher, to be moved to compassion for her unhappy condition, than to lift uphis hand against her in the very horrid and barbarous manner which weshall show you he used.
Now to begin at the beginning and open the matter to you orderly: AboutChristmas of last year, that is the year 1683, this gentleman, Mr Martin,having newly come back into his own country from the University ofCambridge, some of his neighbours, to show him what civility they could(for his family is one that stands in very good repute all over thatcountry), entertained him here and there at their Christmas merrymakings,so that he was constantly riding to and fro, from one house to another,and sometimes, when the place of his destination was distant, or forother reason, as the unsafeness of the roads, he would be constrained tolie the night at an inn. In this way it happened that he came, a day ortwo after the Christmas, to the place where this young girl lived withher parents, and put up at the inn there, called the New Inn, which is,as I am informed, a house of good repute. Here was some dancing going onamong the people of the place, and Ann Clark had been brought in, itseems, by her elder sister to look on; but being, as I have said, of weakunderstanding, and, besides that, very uncomely in her appearance, it wasnot likely she should take much part in the merriment; and accordinglywas but standing by in a corner of the room. The prisoner at the bar,seeing her, one must suppose by way of a jest, asked her would she dancewith him. And in spite of what her sister and others could say to preventit and to dissuade her--
_L.C.J._ Come, Mr Attorney, we are not set here to listen to tales ofChristmas parties in taverns. I would not interrupt you, but sure youhave more weighty matters than this. You will be telling us next whattune they danced to.
_Att._ My lord, I would not take up the time of the court with what isnot material: but we reckon it to be material to show how this unlikelyacquaintance begun: and as for the tune, I believe, indeed, our evidencewill show that even that hath a bearing on the matter in hand.
_L.C.J._ Go on, go on, in God's name: but give us nothing that isimpertinent.
_Att._ Indeed, my lord, I will keep to my matter. But, gentlemen, havingnow shown you, as I think, enough of this first meeting between themurdered person and the prisoner, I will shorten my tale so far as to saythat from then on there were frequent meetings of the two: for the youngwoman was greatly tickled with having got hold (as she conceived it) ofso likely a sweetheart, and he being once a week at least in the habit ofpassing through the street where she lived, she would be always on thewatch for him; and it seems they had a signal arranged: he should whistlethe tune that was played at the tavern: it is a tune, as I am informed,well known in that country, and has a burden, '_Madam, will you walk,will you talk with me?_'
_L.C.J._ Ay, I remember it in my own country, in Shropshire. It runssomehow thus, doth it not? [Here his lordship whistled a part of a tune,which was very observable, and seemed below the dignity of the court. Andit appears he felt it so himself, for he said:] But this is by the mark,and I doubt it is the first time we have had dance-tunes in this court.The most part of the dancing we give occasion for is done at Tyburn.[Looking at the prisoner, who appeared very much disordered.] You saidthe tune was material to your case, Mr Attorney, and upon my life I thinkMr Martin agrees with you. What ails you, man? staring like a player thatsees a ghost!
_Pris._ My lord, I was amazed at hearing such trivial, foolish things asthey bring against me.
_L.C.J._ Well, well, it lies upon Mr Attorney to show whether they betrivial or not: but I must say, if he has nothing worse than this he hassaid, you have no great cause to be in amaze. Doth it not lie somethingdeeper? But go on, Mr Attorney.
_Att._ My lord and gentlemen--all that I have said so far you may indeedvery reasonably reckon as having an appearance of triviality. And, to besure, had the matter gone no further than the humouring of a poor sillygirl by a young gentleman of quality, it had been very well. But toproceed. We shall make it appear that after three or four weeks theprisoner became contracted to a young gentlewoman of that country, onesuitable every way to his own condition, and such an arrangement was onfoot that seemed to promise him a happy and a reputable living. Butwithin no very long time it seems that this young gentlewoman, hearing ofthe jest that was going about that countryside with regard to theprisoner and Ann Clark, conceived that it was not only an unworthycarriage on the part of her lover, but a derogation to herself that heshould suffer his name to be sport for tavern company: and so withoutmore ado she, with the consent of her parents, signified to the prisonerthat the match between them was at an end. We shall show you that uponthe receipt of this intelligence the prisoner was greatly enraged againstAnn Clark as being the cause of his misfortune (though indeed there wasnobody answerable for it but himself), and that he made use of manyoutrageous expressions and threatenings against her, and subsequentlyupon meeting with her both abused her and struck at her with his whip:but she, being but a poor innocent, could not be persuaded to desist fromher attachment to him, but would often run after him testifying withgestures and broken words the affection she had to him: until she wasbecome, as he said, the very plague of his life. Yet, being that affairsin which he was now engaged necessarily took him by the house in whichshe lived, he could not (as I am willing to believe he would otherwisehave done) avoid meeting with her from time to time. We shall fur
thershow you that this was the posture of things up to the 15th day of May inthis present year. Upon that day the prisoner comes riding through thevillage, as of custom, and met with the young woman: but in place ofpassing her by, as he had lately done, he stopped, and said some words toher with which she appeared wonderfully pleased, and so left her; andafter that day she was nowhere to be found, notwithstanding a strictsearch was made for her. The next time of the prisoner's passing throughthe place, her relations inquired of him whether he should know anythingof her whereabouts; which he totally denied. They expressed to him theirfears lest her weak intellects should have been upset by the attention hehad showed her, and so she might have committed some rash act against herown life, calling him to witness the same time how often they hadbeseeched him to desist from taking notice of her, as fearing troublemight come of it: but this, too, he easily laughed away. But in spite ofthis light behaviour, it was noticeable in him that about this time hiscarriage and demeanour changed, and it was said of him that he seemed atroubled man. And here I come to a passage to which I should not dare toask your attention, but that it appears to me to be founded in truth, andis supported by testimony deserving of credit. And, gentlemen, to myjudgement it doth afford a great instance of God's revenge againstmurder, and that He will require the blood of the innocent.
[Here Mr Attorney made a pause, and shifted with his papers: and it wasthought remarkable by me and others, because he was a man not easilydashed.]
_L.C.J._ Well, Mr Attorney, what is your instance?
_Att._ My lord, it is a strange one, and the truth is that, of all thecases I have been concerned in, I cannot call to mind the like of it. Butto be short, gentlemen, we shall bring you testimony that Ann Clark wasseen after this 15th of May, and that, at such time as she was so seen,it was impossible she could have been a living person.
[Here the people made a hum, and a good deal of laughter, and the Courtcalled for silence, and when it was made]--
_L.C.J._ Why, Mr Attorney, you might save up this tale for a week; itwill be Christmas by that time, and you can frighten your cook-maids withit [at which the people laughed again, and the prisoner also, as itseemed]. God, man, what are you prating of--ghosts and Christmas jigs andtavern company--and here is a man's life at stake! [To the prisoner]: Andyou, sir, I would have you know there is not so much occasion for you tomake merry neither. You were not brought here for that, and if I know MrAttorney, he has more in his brief than he has shown yet. Go on, MrAttorney. I need not, mayhap, have spoken so sharply, but you mustconfess your course is something unusual.
_Att._ Nobody knows it better than I, my lord: but I shall bring it to anend with a round turn. I shall show you, gentlemen, that Ann Clark's bodywas found in the month of June, in a pond of water, with the throat cut:that a knife belonging to the prisoner was found in the same water: thathe made efforts to recover the said knife from the water: that thecoroner's quest brought in a verdict against the prisoner at the bar, andthat therefore he should by course have been tried at Exeter: but that,suit being made on his behalf, on account that an impartial jury couldnot be found to try him in his own country, he hath had that singularfavour shown him that he should be tried here in London. And so we willproceed to call our evidence.
Then the facts of the acquaintance between the prisoner and Ann Clarkwere proved, and also the coroner's inquest. I pass over this portion ofthe trial, for it offers nothing of special interest.
Sarah Arscott was next called and sworn.
_Att._ What is your occupation?
_S._ I keep the New Inn at--.
_Att._ Do you know the prisoner at the bar?
_S._ Yes: he was often at our house since he come first at Christmas oflast year.
_Att._ Did you know Ann Clark?
_S._ Yes, very well.
_Att._ Pray, what manner of person was she in her appearance?
_S._ She was a very short thick-made woman: I do not know what else youwould have me say.
_Att._ Was she comely?
_S._ No, not by no manner of means: she was very uncomely, poor child!She had a great face and hanging chops and a very bad colour like apuddock.
_L.C.J._ What is that, mistress? What say you she was like?
_S._ My lord, I ask pardon; I heard Esquire Martin say she looked like apuddock in the face; and so she did.
_L.C.J._ Did you that? Can you interpret her, Mr Attorney?
_Att._ My lord, I apprehend it is the country word for a toad.
_L.C.J._ Oh, a hop-toad! Ay, go on.
_Att._ Will you give an account to the jury of what passed between youand the prisoner at the bar in May last?
_S._ Sir, it was this. It was about nine o'clock the evening after thatAnn did not come home, and I was about my work in the house; there was nocompany there only Thomas Snell, and it was foul weather. Esquire Martincame in and called for some drink, and I, by way of pleasantry, I said tohim, "Squire, have you been looking after your sweetheart?" and he flewout at me in a passion and desired I would not use such expressions. Iwas amazed at that, because we were accustomed to joke with him abouther.
_L.C.J._ Who, her?
_S._ Ann Clark, my lord. And we had not heard the news of his beingcontracted to a young gentlewoman elsewhere, or I am sure I should haveused better manners. So I said nothing, but being I was a little put out,I begun singing, to myself as it were, the song they danced to the firsttime they met, for I thought it would prick him. It was the same that hewas used to sing when he came down the street; I have heard it veryoften: '_Madam, will you walk, will you talk with me?_' And it fell outthat I needed something that was in the kitchen. So I went out to get it,and all the time I went on singing, something louder and more bold-like.And as I was there all of a sudden I thought I heard someone answeringoutside the house, but I could not be sure because of the wind blowing sohigh. So then I stopped singing, and now I heard it plain, saying, '_Yes,sir, I will walk, I will talk with you_,' and I knew the voice for AnnClark's voice.
_Att._ How did you know it to be her voice?
_S._ It was impossible I could be mistaken. She had a dreadful voice, akind of a squalling voice, in particular if she tried to sing. And therewas nobody in the village that could counterfeit it, for they oftentried. So, hearing that, I was glad, because we were all in an anxiety toknow what was gone with her: for though she was a natural, she had a gooddisposition and was very tractable: and says I to myself, 'What, child!are you returned, then?' and I ran into the front room, and said toSquire Martin as I passed by, 'Squire, here is your sweetheart backagain: shall I call her in?' and with that I went to open the door; butSquire Martin he caught hold of me, and it seemed to me he was out of hiswits, or near upon. 'Hold, woman,' says he, 'in God's name!' and I knownot what else: he was all of a shake. Then I was angry, and said I,'What! are you not glad that poor child is found?' and I called to ThomasSnell and said, 'If the Squire will not let me, do you open the door andcall her in.' So Thomas Snell went and opened the door, and the windsetting that way blew in and overset the two candles that was all we hadlighted: and Esquire Martin fell away from holding me; I think he felldown on the floor, but we were wholly in the dark, and it was a minute ortwo before I got a light again: and while I was feeling for the fire-box,I am not certain but I heard someone step 'cross the floor, and I am sureI heard the door of the great cupboard that stands in the room open andshut to. Then, when I had a light again, I see Esquire Martin on thesettle, all white and sweaty as if he had swounded away, and his armshanging down; and I was going to help him; but just then it caught my eyethat there was something like a bit of a dress shut into the cupboarddoor, and it came to my mind I had heard that door shut. So I thought itmight be some person had run in when the light was quenched, and washiding in the cupboard. So I went up closer and looked: and there was abit of a black stuff cloak, and just below it an edge of a brown stuffdress, both sticking out of the shut of the door: and both of them waslow down, as if the person that had them on migh
t be crouched downinside.
_Att._ What did you take it to be?
_S._ I took it to be a woman's dress.
_Att._ Could you make any guess whom it belonged to? Did you know anyonewho wore such a dress?
_S._ It was a common stuff, by what I could see. I have seen many womenwearing such a stuff in our parish.
_Att._ Was it like Ann Clark's dress?
_S._ She used to wear just such a dress: but I could not say on my oathit was hers.
_Att._ Did you observe anything else about it?
_S_. I did notice that it looked very wet: but it was foul weatheroutside.
_L.C.J._ Did you feel of it, mistress?
_S._ No, my lord, I did not like to touch it.
_L.C.J._ Not like? Why that? Are you so nice that you scruple to feel ofa wet dress?
_S._ Indeed, my lord, I cannot very well tell why: only it had a nastyugly look about it.
_L.C.J._ Well, go on.
_S_. Then I called again to Thomas Snell, and bid him come to me andcatch anyone that come out when I should open the cupboard door, 'for,'says I, 'there is someone hiding within, and I would know what shewants.' And with that Squire Martin gave a sort of a cry or a shout andran out of the house into the dark, and I felt the cupboard door pushedout against me while I held it, and Thomas Snell helped me: but for allwe pressed to keep it shut as hard as we could, it was forced out againstus, and we had to fall back.
_L.C.J._ And pray what came out--a mouse?
_S._ No, my lord, it was greater than a mouse, but I could not see whatit was: it fleeted very swift over the floor and out at the door.
_L.C.J._ But come; what did it look like? Was it a person?
_S._ My lord, I cannot tell what it was, but it ran very low, and it wasof a dark colour. We were both daunted by it, Thomas Snell and I, but wemade all the haste we could after it to the door that stood open. And welooked out, but it was dark and we could see nothing.
_L.C.J._ Was there no tracks of it on the floor? What floor have youthere?
_S._ It is a flagged floor and sanded, my lord, and there was anappearance of a wet track on the floor, but we could make nothing of it,neither Thomas Snell nor me, and besides, as I said, it was a foul night.
_L.C.J._ Well, for my part, I see not--though to be sure it is an oddtale she tells--what you would do with this evidence.
_Att._ My lord, we bring it to show the suspicious carriage of theprisoner immediately after the disappearance of the murdered person: andwe ask the jury's consideration of that; and also to the matter of thevoice heard without the house.
Then the prisoner asked some questions not very material, and ThomasSnell was next called, who gave evidence to the same effect as MrsArscott, and added the following:
_Att._ Did anything pass between you and the prisoner during the time MrsArscott was out of the room?
_Th._ I had a piece of twist in my pocket.
_Att._ Twist of what?
_Th._ Twist of tobacco, sir, and I felt a disposition to take a pipe oftobacco. So I found a pipe on the chimney-piece, and being it was twist,and in regard of me having by an oversight left my knife at my house, andme not having over many teeth to pluck at it, as your lordship or anyoneelse may have a view by their own eyesight--
_L.C.J._ What is the man talking about? Come to the matter, fellow! Doyou think we sit here to look at your teeth?
_Th._ No, my lord, nor I would not you should do, God forbid! I know yourhonours have better employment, and better teeth, I would not wonder.
_L.C.J._ Good God, what a man is this! Yes, I _have_ better teeth, andthat you shall find if you keep not to the purpose.
_Th._ I humbly ask pardon, my lord, but so it was. And I took upon me,thinking no harm, to ask Squire Martin to lend me his knife to cut mytobacco. And he felt first of one pocket and then of another and it wasnot there at all. And says I, 'What! have you lost your knife, Squire?'And up he gets and feels again and he sat down, and such a groan as hegave. 'Good God!' he says, 'I must have left it there.' 'But,' says I,'Squire, by all appearance it is _not_ there. Did you set a value on it,'says I, 'you might have it cried.' But he sat there and put his headbetween his hands and seemed to take no notice to what I said. And thenit was Mistress Arscott come tracking back out of the kitchen place.
Asked if he heard the voice singing outside the house, he said 'No,' butthe door into the kitchen was shut, and there was a high wind: but saysthat no one could mistake Ann Clark's voice.
Then a boy, William Reddaway, about thirteen years of age, was called,and by the usual questions, put by the Lord Chief Justice, it wasascertained that he knew the nature of an oath. And so he was sworn. Hisevidence referred to a time about a week later.
_Att._ Now, child, don't be frighted: there is no one here will hurt youif you speak the truth.
_L.C.J._ Ay, if he speak the truth. But remember, child, thou art in thepresence of the great God of heaven and earth, that hath the keys ofhell, and of us that are the king's officers, and have the keys ofNewgate; and remember, too, there is a man's life in question; and ifthou tellest a lie, and by that means he comes to an ill end, thou art nobetter than his murderer; and so speak the truth.
_Att._ Tell the jury what you know, and speak out. Where were you on theevening of the 23rd of May last?
_L.C.J._ Why, what does such a boy as this know of days. Can you mark theday, boy?
_W._ Yes, my lord, it was the day before our feast, and I was to spendsixpence there, and that falls a month before Midsummer Day.
_One of the Jury._ My lord, we cannot hear what he says.
_L.C.J._ He says he remembers the day because it was the day before thefeast they had there, and he had sixpence to lay out. Set him up on thetable there. Well, child, and where wast thou then?
_W._ Keeping cows on the moor, my lord.
But, the boy using the country speech, my lord could not well apprehendhim, and so asked if there was anyone that could interpret him, and itwas answered the parson of the parish was there, and he was accordinglysworn and so the evidence given. The boy said:
'I was on the moor about six o'clock, and sitting behind a bush of furzenear a pond of water: and the prisoner came very cautiously and lookingabout him, having something like a long pole in his hand, and stopped agood while as if he would be listening, and then began to feel in thewater with the pole: and I being very near the water--not above fiveyards--heard as if the pole struck up against something that made awallowing sound, and the prisoner dropped the pole and threw himself onthe ground, and rolled himself about very strangely with his hands to hisears, and so after a while got up and went creeping away.'
Asked if he had had any communication with the prisoner, 'Yes, a day ortwo before, the prisoner, hearing I was used to be on the moor, he askedme if I had seen a knife laying about, and said he would give sixpence tofind it. And I said I had not seen any such thing, but I would ask about.Then he said he would give me sixpence to say nothing, and so he did.'
_L.C.J._ And was that the sixpence you were to lay out at the feast?
_W._ Yes, if you please, my lord.
Asked if he had observed anything particular as to the pond of water, hesaid, 'No, except that it begun to have a very ill smell and the cowswould not drink of it for some days before.'
Asked if he had ever seen the prisoner and Ann Clark in company together,he began to cry very much, and it was a long time before they could gethim to speak intelligibly. At last the parson of the parish, Mr Matthews,got him to be quiet, and the question being put to him again, he said hehad seen Ann Clark waiting on the moor for the prisoner at some way off,several times since last Christmas.
_Att._ Did you see her close, so as to be sure it was she?
_W._ Yes, quite sure.
_L.C.J._ How quite sure, child?
_W._ Because she would stand and jump up and down and clap her arms likea goose [which he called by some country name: but the parson explainedit to be a goose]. And then she
was of such a shape that it could not beno one else.
_Att._ What was the last time that you so saw her?
Then the witness began to cry again and clung very much to Mr Matthews,who bid him not be frightened.
And so at last he told his story: that on the day before their feast(being the same evening that he had before spoken of) after the prisonerhad gone away, it being then twilight and he very desirous to get home,but afraid for the present to stir from where he was lest the prisonershould see him, remained some few minutes behind the bush, looking on thepond, and saw something dark come up out of the water at the edge of thepond farthest away from him, and so up the bank. And when it got to thetop where he could see it plain against the sky, it stood up and flappedthe arms up and down, and then run off very swiftly in the same directionthe prisoner had taken: and being asked very strictly who he took it tobe, he said upon his oath that it could be nobody but Ann Clark.
Thereafter his master was called, and gave evidence that the boy had comehome very late that evening and been chided for it, and that he seemedvery much amazed, but could give no account of the reason.
_Att._ My lord, we have done with our evidence for the King.
Then the Lord Chief Justice called upon the prisoner to make his defence;which he did, though at no great length, and in a very halting way,saying that he hoped the jury would not go about to take his life on theevidence of a parcel of country people and children that would believeany idle tale; and that he had been very much prejudiced in his trial; atwhich the L.C.J. interrupted him, saying that he had had singular favourshown to him in having his trial removed from Exeter, which the prisoneracknowledging, said that he meant rather that since he was brought toLondon there had not been care taken to keep him secured frominterruption and disturbance. Upon which the L.C.J. ordered the Marshalto be called, and questioned him about the safe keeping of the prisoner,but could find nothing: except the Marshal said that he had been informedby the underkeeper that they had seen a person outside his door or goingup the stairs to it: but there was no possibility the person should havegot in. And it being inquired further what sort of person this might be,the Marshal could not speak to it save by hearsay, which was not allowed.And the prisoner, being asked if this was what he meant, said no, he knewnothing of that, but it was very hard that a man should not be sufferedto be at quiet when his life stood on it. But it was observed he was veryhasty in his denial. And so he said no more, and called no witnesses.Whereupon the Attorney-General spoke to the jury. [A full report of whathe said is given, and, if time allowed, I would extract that portion inwhich he dwells on the alleged appearance of the murdered person: hequotes some authorities of ancient date, as St Augustine _de cura promortuis gerenda_ (a favourite book of reference with the old writers onthe supernatural) and also cites some cases which may be seen inGlanvil's, but more conveniently in Mr Lang's books. He does not,however, tell us more of those cases than is to be found in print.]
The Lord Chief Justice then summed up the evidence for the jury. Hisspeech, again, contains nothing that I find worth copying out: but he wasnaturally impressed with the singular character of the evidence, sayingthat he had never heard such given in his experience; but that there wasnothing in law to set it aside, and that the jury must consider whetherthey believed these witnesses or not.
And the jury after a very short consultation brought the prisoner inGuilty.
So he was asked whether he had anything to say in arrest of judgement,and pleaded that his name was spelt wrong in the indictment, being Martinwith an I, whereas it should be with a Y. But this was overruled as notmaterial, Mr Attorney saying, moreover, that he could bring evidence toshow that the prisoner by times wrote it as it was laid in theindictment. And, the prisoner having nothing further to offer, sentenceof death was passed upon him, and that he should be hanged in chains upona gibbet near the place where the fact was committed, and that executionshould take place upon the 28th December next ensuing, being Innocents'Day.
Thereafter the prisoner being to all appearance in a state ofdesperation, made shift to ask the L.C.J. that his relations might beallowed to come to him during the short time he had to live.
_L.C.J._ Ay, with all my heart, so it be in the presence of the keeper;and Ann Clark may come to you as well, for what I care.
At which the prisoner broke out and cried to his lordship not to use suchwords to him, and his lordship very angrily told him he deserved notenderness at any man's hands for a cowardly butcherly murderer that hadnot the stomach to take the reward of his deeds: 'and I hope to God,'said he, 'that she _will_ be with you by day and by night till an end ismade of you.' Then the prisoner was removed, and, so far as I saw, he wasin a swound, and the Court broke up.
I cannot refrain from observing that the prisoner during all the time ofthe trial seemed to be more uneasy than is commonly the case even incapital causes: that, for example, he was looking narrowly among thepeople and often turning round very sharply, as if some person might beat his ear. It was also very noticeable at this trial what a silence thepeople kept, and further (though this might not be otherwise than naturalin that season of the year), what a darkness and obscurity there was inthe court room, lights being brought in not long after two o'clock in theday, and yet no fog in the town.
* * * * *
It was not without interest that I heard lately from some young men whohad been giving a concert in the village I speak of, that a very coldreception was accorded to the song which has been mentioned in thisnarrative: '_Madam, will you walk?_' It came out in some talk they hadnext morning with some of the local people that that song was regardedwith an invincible repugnance; it was not so, they believed, at NorthTawton, but here it was reckoned to be unlucky. However, why that viewwas taken no one had the shadow of an idea.