The Tailor and the Shipwright

by Robert Westphal

  Thomas continued to work for King, being paid on consignment, rather than receiving an annual income. This enabled him to keep his other frequent customers.

  4.

  Elizabeth Foster

  WARWICK, MARCH 1801

  Elizabeth Foster stood gazing at the Warwick Crown Court House. She had never seen it before, or indeed been this far south of Nuneaton, the small village near the coal mining centre, where she lived. She was away from all that was familiar, her family, her friends.

  The courthouse was situated in the centre of town where the four crossroads met, which had made it easy for her to find. She was dazzled by the size of the building, made of huge blocks of stone, enormous glass windows and a grand entrance with clanging iron gates.

  The day before, she had taken the few coins saved from her recent needlework at the manor from the mantelpiece, and walked the several miles to the coach station. Although it was early spring the last vestige of winter was still evident. It was a bitterly cold, close to freezing, blustery day with rain in the air, forcing her to bend and pull her cloak tighter around herself. The ride to Warwick had been long, cold and uncomfortable.

  Calls from the busy merchants selling wares at their nearby market stalls momentarily distracted Elizabeth but as her eyes took in the sight of a large tree across the road, the reason for her journey returned to her thoughts.

  She shivered, not particularly from the cold northern winds whipping around her but from the despair of what today would bring. Her eldest child, of just twelve, was to face the Justice of the Assizes on a charge of housebreaking. This charge, if he were found guilty, would most likely result in a death sentence. Beside the tree stood a gallows, which had given this place the name ‘fatal tree’. The guilty were expected to confess before bowing their head in the hangman’s noose and swinging from the rope until they breathed no more.

  Could this be the fate of her William? No details of the alleged crime had been given to the family before William was taken away. The parish constables did explain he would be kept at the local pound at Nuneaton overnight before they took him to the gaol at Warwick the next day. Elizabeth knew of others from nearby villages that had been accused of housebreaking. Most were found guilty and hanged.

  Elizabeth had seen the extreme gap between the wealthy and the poor. Most of the more than 200 crimes punishable by death were to protect the property of the wealthy. On this day she expected there would be other cases of theft being heard, from livestock and food, to other items, often of very little value, which could be later sold.

  This court would also deal with cases of murder, forgery and rioting. The judges were part of the periodic courts who travelled to all parts of England and Wales. The Midland Circuit, which included Northampton, Oakham, Nottingham, Derby, Leicester and Coventry, had Warwick as its last stop. This meant they only sat at the Warwick court about four times a year.

  Where had she gone wrong to be facing these circumstances? Elizabeth’s family were simple farming people. She was doing as much as she could to make ends meet. Her skills as a seamstress were good, learned from her mother, and she often helped at the manor house.

  William had not been too interested in school and she had struggled to keep him there. He was good at sums but he battled with reading and writing. What he really enjoyed was the feel of wood in his hands, working it to the shape he wanted, be it a door, stair handrail or pieces of household furniture and he had often talked about getting an apprenticeship with a carpenter and joiner. In this ambition he had his father’s full support. What good was reading and writing in this job, William’s father had often asked Elizabeth.

  William had been in this place for over a month now, waiting for the judges to arrive. How would he be? Gaols were notorious for their diseases, inadequate food, cold, violence between inmates, and uncaring, harsh wardens.

  Again she shivered. She needed to seek better shelter out of the cold and wind, so she moved closer to the building itself and its protruding edifice. At least it provided some relief as she waited for someone to open a door and allow her inside. Other people were gathering around with, she guessed, the same intention.

  Further along the building three doors marked the entrance to the cells and dungeons. After a few more minutes, one door to the cells facing the street opened. The rush of putrid air that escaped made Elizabeth quickly turn her head for some clean air. The other two doors remained firmly shut.

  Determined that her son should look his best for this day, Elizabeth had brought along William’s other set of clothes. She had spent recent nights by firelight repairing and mending his Sunday best in order for him to give a good impression to the judge. She moved quickly towards the cell door. Now the guard was looking at her and she proffered the parcel containing the clothes.

  ‘For William Foster, please. For his court appearance, if you would be so kind, sir.’

  Her eyes flicked to beyond the guard and inside the dark cell. Where was William? The cells were supposed to house about twenty prisoners but it looked more like eighty inside. She could not see her son! Surely he was not in the dungeon, the lowest point of the building where prisoners who misbehaved were sent? Stairs led down to a dark, circular room where posts for chaining the prisoners were affixed to the floor. A small grate above exposed the chained prisoners to the elements. Not many survived extended periods down there.

  Again she shivered.

  5.

  The Trial

  WARWICK COURT HOUSE, MARCH 1801

  Beyond where Elizabeth could see, the occupants of the prison cells sat clustered together wherever they could find room. They were a mix of people – men, children, the insane, serious criminals, petty criminals and debtors. This confined, cramped space reeked of the worst of human smells; rats scuttled across the floor and the dimness of light accentuated the cheerless, desperate atmosphere. A prison bell tolled out the hour, a regular reminder to all that their time of judgment was getting nearer.

  The Chief Gaoler appeared at the cell door behind the guard. In his hand was the list of names, sequenced as to their appearance in court. The prisoners could see a large metal tub filled with cold, greyish water through the open door behind him.

  The gaoler announced in a booming voice, ‘Now listen ’ere, you dogs! It’s yah day in court. I’ll call yah name. One by one move ya’self to the cell door. You’ll be let out. Strip off yah clothes, get in and wash ya’self clean in the vat o’er there. Same water, same towel. Get dressed. Yah’ll be placed in irons then led up to the court where yah fate will be decided.’

  He looked down at his list. ‘Palmer, John.’

  Palmer rose slowly. He knew today he could not escape his crime and his time on this earth was ebbing quickly away. He would only have days to live. The gaoler led him to the vat. Palmer stripped off his filthy clothing and leapt into the water. It was especially cold but he felt impervious to its chill. In quick time he was out, dried and dressed. Irons were locked around his feet. A warder led him away to the court as the next name was called.

  Elizabeth had made her way into the great room that was the court. At one end of the room a large fireplace held a blazing fire and its warmth was welcome. She found a seat in the middle of the viewing section and waited with dread in her heart. The room filled quickly with people, their interest being with the first case: that of John Palmer, accused of murder.

  Hannah, sister of John Palmer, was first to be brought before the court. Her brother soon joined her. The prosecutor read out the charges. Both, in collusion with their mother who had already died in gaol, were charged with planning the murder of John’s wife, whose throat, it was alleged, was cut by John while the other two women held her down. The Palmers looked sorry figures, with their heads bowed.

  The prosecution’s case was clear and it did not take long for the jury to decide the verdict. The judge picked up his black hat and placed it on his head.

  ‘I believe that throughout your time in this
gaol you both have shown no contrition as was expected of the condemned. Instead you have displayed a “studied sullenness, or unfeeling stupidity”. The court will show no mercy on you and you are both found guilty of murder. You will be hung in chains at the “fatal tree” next Wednesday.’

  The Palmers were led from the court.

  The room emptied a little as the main excitement for the day was over. Elizabeth did not move.

  The next to be placed in the dock was Thomas Stokes, just seventeen years old. He was accused of stealing a purse of money and in short order was found guilty. Sentenced to death.

  Then Mr Dudley and Mr Nock, the former accused of uttering a forged bill of exchange, were left for sentencing on Wednesday next.

  Thomas Hughes, twenty-four years of age, was led up the stairs next. He was accused of stealing a clock and other articles. Hughes, like Stokes, had no defence and had been caught with the goods in his possession. The judge issued a sentence of death.

  Elizabeth’s fear increased. These last sentences were extremely harsh. There was little the defendant could do or say to rebut the charges. How could William defend himself? Only a strong alibi from persons of reputation would suffice. The Fosters did not have those sorts of contacts.

  The next to meet his fate was Henry Hunt. The guards dragged the terrified boy into the dock. The charges were read. Housebreaking. Elizabeth’s heart leapt. This was the same crime that William was accused of. A lesser sentence than death, surely. Hunt did not look like a criminal, cleanly dressed and appearing younger than his twenty years. He could offer nothing in his own defence other than ‘Not guilty, Your Honour.’ The prosecutor advised the court that Hunt had been seized inside another’s house. He was found guilty and sentenced to death.

  Elizabeth’s heart beat loudly inside her chest. She wanted to cry and scream but she needed to be stoic for her son. He was the next to enter the court. She gazed at him as he walked across the floor, dragging his ill-fitting chains. He stumbled. He was the youngest to face court today. A small boy with dark brown hair pulled back into a ponytail and a complexion that was deathly pale, wearing clean, well-fitting clothes. William’s eyes searched desperately around the room for his mother. Their eyes met. He mouthed the words, ‘Don’t worry, Ma.’

  ‘William Foster, you are accused of housebreaking. How do you plead?’

  ‘Not guilty, Your Honour,’ William responded in a firm but quiet voice.

  The parish constable, who had arrested William, was called.

  ‘Your Honour, Foster was seized in a place that was not his home. His intentions were clearly not honourable. I arrested him after an alert from the occupants of the house.’

  The judge’s next question was the one Elizabeth had dreaded.

  ‘Foster, is there anyone here today who can provide you with an alibi or a respectable inhabitant who will attest to your good character and implore upon the mercy of the court on your behalf?

  ‘Only my Ma, Your Honour.’

  While William’s eyes were downcast, Elizabeth focused all her attention on the judge.

  ‘William Foster, I find you guilty of the offence of housebreaking and you are therefore capitally convicted and hereby sentenced to death.’

  ‘Please, no!’ Elizabeth wanted to scream but she could not move. Her knees were weak. She could not breathe. She watched silently as her son, head bowed and tears streaming down his face, was led from the room.

  More souls were to be convicted on this day but for Elizabeth it was over. After a minute she stood and, as if in a bad dream, moved out of the room and into the cold of the street. She pressed her back against the stone wall of the courthouse, needing the support of something solid to help her stand. What was she to do?

  A well-dressed stranger approached.

  ‘Excuse me, Ma’am,’ he said very gently.

  Elizabeth looked up at the man as he appeared in her vision. He looked important. Why was he approaching her?

  He spoke to her in a well-educated English accent, ‘The wee lad at the end just now? Was he your son?’

  Elizabeth nodded.

  ‘He looks so young. I just want to tell you sometimes the sentence of death for some lesser crimes can be commuted by Royal Mercy.’

  Elizabeth straightened, her heart again beating too fast.

  ‘But that’s the good news. The judge almost always commutes the sentence to transportation. Could be for seven or ten years but could be for life. Come back at the end of the hearings when sentences are reviewed. Godspeed.’

  The man turned and headed down the thoroughfare.

  Elizabeth felt a slender hope that her son would not be hanged on the fatal tree. It was all she had to hold onto for now.

  William was returned to the cells.

  He wished he could undo all the harm he had caused. If he had the chance to live his life over again he would do his upmost to be a very good person. He moved across the room to join the friends he had made in the last month – boys who had been convicted of a similar crime as himself and with the same outcome. They were older than William but had included him in their group. Now they were each crying quietly and somehow their company soothed the tension in his body.

  Over the next few days William often thought of his family. He thought of his parents, who had brought him into the world and nurtured him all these years. He thought also of his younger siblings, but as the eldest child, felt an extra connection to his mother and was remorseful about all he had put her through.

  By the end of the week, of the 80 prisoners in the cells with William only 9 were acquitted. William and his 3 friends were part of the 37 who were convicted and 34 remained in the cells to await the judges on their next visit. How many of those would still be alive then, William wondered?

  Before the court was officially closed the judge called upon the gaoler to bring Foster, Hughes, Hunt and Stokes to appear before him. They were shackled and duly brought up to the bench. The judge looked at each in turn, left to right and then right to left. The four all had their eyes to the floor, not daring to move a muscle.

  ‘Prisoners, step forward. The court has found each of you capitally convicted and sentenced to hang. By the power vested in me under the “Petition for Mercy for Reduction of Sentences” this sentence of death will be overturned and you will all be transported to a penal colony for the term of your natural life. You will be sent by dray to Portsmouth whereupon you will be transported to New South Wales.’ The judge concluded, ‘You are hereby dismissed. Take the convicts away.’

  Elizabeth Foster was in the court to hear the judgment. Providence had shined upon her family. She was ecstatic, overjoyed that her precious son would not be executed. He would have a long trip in front of him. She did not understand the arduous journey he would have to survive and did not have much concept of how far away he would be taken. It would take some years for her to realise that she would never see him again. She kept her eyes on him as he was led away and just as he was about to pass through the door he turned. Mother and son looked at each other for what would be the last time. Tears flowed.

  Nine days later, on 1 April, the occupants of the cells did not witness the hanging of John and Hannah Palmer, although William and the others could hear the noisy crowds and shouting voices. It was relayed to the prisoners that the pair had behaved with great propriety, confessing their offence. John Palmer also declared he had no malice in his heart against his wife, and that he should never have married her but for the persuasion of his mother, whom he said, ‘would let him have no peace until he had got rid of her’.

  William wondered whether John Palmer felt remorse for sending his sister, who was only nineteen, to her death or if he blamed it all on his mother. Whatever the case, William vowed that he would honour his reprieve and his mother by behaving like a good person from this day forwards.

  Yet more days passed for the boys waiting in the cell. Then, one very early morning William woke to the booming voice of the chief gaol
er. He was issuing orders: ‘Foster, Hughes, Hunt and Stokes at the door now with your belongings. Now!’

  The four boys, William, Thomas, Henry and Tom, were friends, and glad to be staying together.

  ‘Lads, let’s stick together – we can make it through,’ stated Stokes.

  ‘Yea,’ said William softly.

  They were lucky, and they knew it: usually male convicts had to walk in chains with both feet fettled. Chafing and wounds making the task impossibly painful on the long 130-mile (209-kilometre) trip to Portsmouth, but for some reason this was to be an exception. The dray taking them had been fitted with a cell to hold prisoners and would be cramped, especially as the numbers increased at each goal they passed. All were being taken to the prison hulks in Portsmouth Harbour to await transfer to a ship for the penal colony of New South Wales.

  When the dray pulled out, with the convicts securely chained, William took one last, slow look at the courthouse and fatal tree, and realised how close he had come to losing his life.

  The dirt road was full of ruts, bumps and puddles of water. The two armed sentries walking each side of the dray perhaps had it easier, after all. Their job was to ensure there was no opportunity for an escape. Since recapture after a failed attempt was a certain road to the noose, William and his companions were not contemplating escape.