Jeremy Poldark

by Winston Graham

  The first case was soon disposed of. Demelza could not follow the matter at all. The counsel speaking had such a plummy voice that she only caught one word in three, but she gathered it was something to do with what were called the prisoner’s recognizances. These being discharged, the man was marched out of the dock again. Then there was a hum of interest as three men and two women were ushered in together. One of the men was Ross Poldark. His dark coppery hair was well combed, the scar, as always at times of stress, noticeable on his cheek. He looked paler from his week’s imprisonment. She remembered Jim Carter’s fate.

  They were swearing in a jury, but she heard nothing of it. She was thinking of Ross as she had seen him for the first time, that day years ago at Redruth Fair. To her it seemed a century—yet though she had grown older, changed beyond recognition or imagining, he had become curiously younger to her while remaining in essence the same. He was a man of moods, yet he was her constant, something unchanging, infinitely reliable, the pivot of her life. There could never be anyone else. Without him she would not be more than half alive.

  Mr. Justice Lister looked hollow-eyed and inhuman this morning, capable of any enormity. The jury were sworn in and there were no objections. Now, to Demelza’s surprise, all but one of the prisoners were led out again, Ross among them. The trial of the Grown versus Boynton, F.R., for larceny had begun.

  She didn’t listen to it. It passed over her head in a sickly haze which would be remembered more vividly than it was experienced. Only some time later she heard the jury find the prisoner guilty of stealing a pair of knit-thread lady’s stockings, value two shillings and sixpence, and a packet containing half a thousand pins, value sixpence, from a haberdasher’s shop. She heard Mr. Justice Lister take into account that this was a first offence and sentence him to be burnt in the hand and discharged. Hardly had he been led away than the two women came in and the next case was on. She realized with a dreadful sinking apprehension that Ross was next.

  The two women were vagrants. They had been caught flagrantly begging. They had no visible means of support. It was a plain case and the jury speedily found them guilty. But this was a crime on which the Hon. Mr. Justice lister felt rather strongly and he delivered a long and damning homily on the evils of such a life. Looking at him, Demelza realized there was no mercy here. His diction was beautiful, his phrases as elegantly rounded as if they had been written out the night before. But the substance was to condemn. Abruptly, without any raising of the voice or change of expression, he sentenced the two women to be whipped and the case was over.

  At this there was a good deal of stirring in the court, for some of the men wanted to push their way out to see the women stripped and flogged in the church square, and others were as anxious to take the vacant places; so it was in the midst of this confusion that Ross was led in. This time as he passed to the dock he glanced a moment aside and his eyes caught Demelza. A faint encouraging smile flickered across his face and was gone.

  “Quiet,” said Verity. “Quiet, my dear. We must try to keep calm.” She put her arm round Demelza and held her tight.

  It was clear now that this was the important case of the day. More barristers-at-law came in, and the bench on which they sat was full. Demelza tried to see some change in the judge’s expression, some flicker of interest, but there was none. He might never have met Mrs. Ross Poldark the night before. Mr. Jeffery Clymer sat just below the dock, where he could maintain contact with his client. Henry Bull, KC, leading counsel for the Crown, had left the preceding cases to his junior, but this one he was handling himself. A dark man and handsome in a coarse way, with skin so olive and eyes so amber as to suggest a touch of the tar brush. It had been to his disadvantage all his life; he had had to struggle hard against the whispering voices of his colleagues and rivals—and the struggle had left its mark.

  The clerk of arraigns began proceedings by saying:

  “Ross Vennor Poldark, hold up thy hand. Gentlemen of the jury, look upon the prisoner. He stands indicted by the name of Ross Vennor Poldark, of Nampara, of the County of Cornwall, Esquire, who, on the seventh of January in the year of our Lord seventeen hundred and ninety, not having the fear of God before his eyes but being moved and seduced by the instigation of the devil, did incite divers peaceable citizens to riot, and furthermore did commit riot contrary to the laws of the land. And furthermore that the said Ross Vennor Poldark feloniously, wilfully, and with malice aforethought, with force and arms, did plunder, steal, destroy, and take away divers goods belonging to two ships in distress. And furthermore…”

  The voice went on, it seemed to Demelza for hours, saying the same things over and over again in different words. She felt really faint now, but tried to hide it. Eventually the voice stopped. Then Ross said: “Not guilty,” and the clerk said: “Culprit, how will thou be tried?” and Ross said: “By God and my country.” Then the dark foreign man got up and began to say it all over again.

  But here was a difference. The clerk had droned his words—legal phrases dry and brittle as seed husks which didn’t seem to have any life in them. Mr. Henry Bull, KC, breathed on them and brought them to life with a vengeance. He was telling a simple story to the jury—no official stuff in this—just a simple story which anyone could follow.

  It seemed that in the great gale of January last, which they would all no doubt remember, a ship—a Cornish-owned ship, mark you—got into distress and was driven ashore on Hendrawna Beach, just below the house of the prisoner, a man comfortably circumstanced, a mine owner and a landowner with an ancient name. The jury might have expected that such a man’s first thought—he being the first to see the ship—would have been for the safety of those on board. Instead, as evidence would be brought to prove, his only concern had been to rouse the lawless spirits of the neighbourhood in great numbers, so that when the wreck came in it should be plundered with the utmost dispatch. And that it was plundered, in a matter of a few hours, and without a thought for the safety of the crew or any attempt to help them ashore, witnesses would be called to show. The man who stood in the dock had personally swum out to the wreck before anyone else and personally directed operations for the dismemberment of the ship. At this time there had been one passenger still left on board. No one knew whether prompt help could have saved him. It was only known that no such help was given and that the man lost his life.

  Counsel further suggested that the prisoner had had watchers posted all along the cliffs keeping a lookout for further prey, for when yet another ship, the Pride of Madras, was driven ashore a few hours later, all the dissident and lawless sweepings from five parishes were waiting to welcome her in—and it was doubtful if, even supposing the crew could have got her off again with the flood tide, she could not have been held ashore by sheer weight of numbers. All this at the instigation of the prisoner, who must bear the perfidy of the acts of his followers. Some of the crew of this ship had been severely beaten as they struggled ashore and robbed even of their clothes. They had been left insensible and naked in the freezing cold, and it was virtually certain that among those who lost their lives there were several who should be alive today had they received the Christian treatment any distressed sailor was entitled to expect. Their ship had been torn to pieces in a single tide. The ship’s master, Captain A. V. Clark, would be called to testify that he had not been so barbarously used when cast ashore among the savages of Patagonia two years earlier.

  Even this was not all—by no means the worst of it—and Henry Bull wagged a long brown forefinger. When His Majesty’s excise men, supported by a small contingent of dismounted dragoons, had come upon the scene the prisoner had come before them and warned them not to interfere, at peril of their lives—had threatened them in the most direct and offensive manner. When they disregarded this and went down upon the beach they were set on by the prisoner and others, and a serious fight had developed and one of the excise men, John Coppard, had received very serious injuries. Ther
e were, in fact, two deaths on the beach that night among the rioters, and many injured. Reliable witnesses put the numbers of the wreckers at two thousand.

  The voice went on, welling sometimes in Demelza’s ears, at others growing faint and far away. Indiscriminately it piled up the calumny, the truth, the lies, and the half-truths, until she felt she must scream. It was very hot in the hall; the windows were steaming up and the walls running with moisture. She wished now she had never come—anything better than listening to this. She tried to stop her ears, but that was no use. If the worst was to be heard she had to listen.

  At last Bull came to the close of his speech. It was not within his present scope to call the jury’s attention, he said, to the previous acts of lawlessness which had disfigured the prisoner’s character. But…

  Here Mr. Jeffery Clymer, who had been drawing circles and squares with his pen, leapt to his feet and vehemently protested—a protest which was upheld by the judge, and Mr. Bull was forced to withdraw. This he did willingly, having planted what he wanted in the jury’s mind. It was not permissible to say anything about the prisoner’s previous character, he went on; but—and here was the big but—it was admissible and very relevant to draw deductions from certain statements prisoner had made to the examining justice—statements which attempted to justify his actions, statements which branded him as an obvious Jacobin and an admirer of the bloodshed and tyranny across the water. Such men, Bull went on to imply, were doubly dangerous at times like these. Each member of the jury must be possessed of some property. If he wished to keep that property intact, men like the prisoner must be made an example of. The flame of sedition and unrest must be stamped on at its very outset. A sometime soldier and gentleman had a special responsibility. For him to side with the rogues and riffraff of the towns, encouraging them and instructing them in acts of violence they would not by themselves have the wit or intelligence to conceive, was an outrage on society. Such a man deserved to be put away. Hanging was barely good enough. Justice must be done, and he demanded no less than justice.

  When he sat down there was a visible stirring in the court; and then after a minute junior counsel for the Crown got up and added a further speech of his own, it being the custom in serious cases to allow two speeches for the prosecution and none for the defence. At last it was over and the first witness was called. This was Nicholas Vigus.

  He came into the courtroom blinking, hesitating, a cherub surprised in some nefarious practice. In an age when wigs were so much worn, the smooth fresh tight skin of his head seemed in indecent contrast with the pockmarks in his face. In his thin sly voice, growing more confident as he went on, he testified that on the morning in question he had been wakened soon after dawn by the prisoner thunderously knocking on the next-door cottage and calling “Zacky! Zacky! Good pickings for all! There’s a wreck coming ashore and we’ll strip her to the last plank!” Later he deposed to seeing the prisoner on the shore leading operations and generally directing the crowds, also that the accused had been the first to swim to the ship and board her. Also he had directed operations against the second ship and been generally active all through the day. Witness had seen accused go up to excise officers when they arrived and have high words with them but had not been near enough to hear what passed. Later he had gone away and not been present at the fight. That concluded his evidence. Everyone looked at Ross.

  Ross cleared his throat. The beginning for him. Till now he had been unable to disrelate himself from a spectator’s part, critical, unstirred, noting the colour of Mr. Henry Bull’s fingernails more than his invective, judging the ages and occupations of the jury without much thought to the fact that they were judging him. Now he must stir himself to fight, must feel this thing personally and passionately if he were to survive. The conflict between Clymer’s advice and his own inclinations was still unresolved. But sight of Demelza had made him feel that he must fight.

  “Was there a very strong gale blowing that morning, Nick?”

  Vigus blinked slyly at Ross, the confidence ebbing again. “S, I reckon.”

  “It’s true, isn’t it, that the Martin cottage is not next door to yours but next but one.”

  “S, I reckon. Daniel’s is between.”

  “You must have had good hearing to have been sure of what I said so far away.”

  “Oh, tisn’t so far away. I ’eard what you said sure ’nough.”

  “Have you always resented it that I didn’t wake you?”

  There was a little cackle of laughter at the back of the court.

  “Made no diff’rence to me,” said Vigus sullenly. “I wasn’t consarned with a wreck.”

  “But you were on the beach all through the day?”

  “Off and on, like. I went down to see what was to do.”

  “Did you not play any part in salvaging things that were being washed ashore?”

  “No. I aren’t one of those sort.”

  “Not ever?”

  “No.”

  “D’you mean you live near the beach and yet never pick up things that are washed ashore from wrecks?”

  “Oh…sometimes. But not this time. Not when tis a proper wreck with men drowning, and the like.”

  “Did you help the men who were drowning?”

  “No-o.”

  “Why not?”

  “I didn’t happen to see any.”

  “Did you see me swim out to the first wreck?”

  “…Yes.”

  “Didn’t I carry a line with me?”

  “Mebbe. I don’t recall.”

  “What does that suggest?”

  “Don’t know. It don’t suggest nothing to me.”

  Ross glanced at Mr. Clymer, who instantly shook his wigged head. Nick Vigus was allowed to go. Three more witnesses were brought in to testify to certain aspects of the story and to confirm what Nick Vigus said. Then the usher spoke again.

  “Call Jud Paynter.”

  Demelza stared at their onetime servant as he sidled slowly to the witness box, walking rather as if he hoped he wouldn’t be noticed getting there. It was quite unbelievable to her that he should be in this company—prepared to testify against Ross, barefaced in a court of law. Verity put a restraining hand on her arm again as she seemed about to stand up. Jud mumbled through the oath, then looked round for somewhere to spit, but thought better of it and glanced at Mr. Henry Bull who was waiting for him.

  “Your name is Jud Paynter and you live with your wife in Grambler village?”

  “Ais.”

  “Tell us what happened on the morning of the seventh January last.”

  “Well…” Jud cleared his throat. “Me and the old woman was asleep—that’s Prudie, see…”

  “You mean your wife?”

  “Well…yes, sur, in a manner o’speaking…” Jud smiled apologetically. “Prudie and me was asleep when along come Cap’n Ross makin’ a rare to-do, and afore I can spring up and unclitch the door ’e bursts it off its hapses and rushes in and says there’s a ship ashore down to Hendrawna Beach. ‘Do ee bestir yourself good an’ fine,’ he says. We was always the best of friends, Cap’n Ross and me. Many’s the time when ’e was a little tacker no biggerer’n pot high—”

  “Yes, yes. Keep to the point. What then?”

  Jud’s bloodshot eyes roamed round the court, carefully avoiding contact with all comers.

  “Well, what then?”

  “Then he says to me he says, ‘Do ee go run and roust all the men ye can—for like as not thur’s women and childer on the ship,’ he says, ‘and they must be saved from a watery grave…’”

  There was a moment’s irritable consultation between the law officers.

  “Come, my man, recollect yourself,” said Henry Bull. “Think again.”

  Jud stared up at the Gothic roof for inspiration. Then he licked his gums.

  “Well?
”

  “Well, that’s what ’e said, sur. Sure ’nough.”

  “And I tell you to think again. What you say is not in accordance with your sworn statement.”

  “What?”

  “You did not say this when giving testimony before the Crown’s attorney and his clerk.”

  “Eh?”

  “Tell us what you originally said.”

  “That’s what I said: no more’n no less.”

  “Nonsense, man. Have I your lordship’s permission? What you said was—let me read it to you—‘When Captain Poldark came to my hut he told me to hurry down and rouse my friends because there was a wreck, and the sooner it was stripped the better, before the preventive men turned up.’ That was what you said.”

  Jud squeezed up his face for a second, and then let it set into a look of hurt reproach.

  “Nay, nay, sur, I never heard such words out of me mouth! Yer worship, I never thought upon no such thing. Tedn fair, tedn just, tedn right.”

  “This statement, I would remind you, Paynter, was made before witnesses and signed with your mark. It was read over to you before you signed.”

  “Well, I’m ’ard of hearing,” said Jud, staring barefaced at the counsel. “Tes more’n likely they mistook what I did say an’ I mistook what they did say. Tes more’n likely, that’s for certain.”

  Mr. Bull angrily swung his gown behind him and bent over his brief. He proceeded to lead Jud through the story of the day, but very soon there was another disagreement and another angry argument. Upon it came Mr. Justice Lister’s cold quiet voice.