by Ann Walsh
Interlude
James Barry was not to stay long in the Richfield jail. There was a preliminary hearing at which it was decided that there was enough evidence against him for him to stand trial for the murder of Charles Morgan Blessing. However, the trial could not be held until July, when Judge Begbie would be making his next annual trip to the gold fields to hear cases.
Our small jail was not meant to hold murderers — only the occasional drunk miner or suspected claim jumper. It wasn’t large enough or secure enough to hold a probable murderer for any length of time. Consequently, Barry was taken to the larger, more secure prison in New Westminster.
Once he was out of town I relaxed a bit. I tried to forget about him and about the way his face looked when he told me he had a score to settle with me. I almost succeeded.
Life in Barkerville returned to normal. Moses’s shop continued to do good business — he was an excellent barber after all — but no longer did people line up outside for a chance to talk to him about Charles Blessing and the gold nugget stickpin. I went back to my books and to my music lessons with Mr. Malanion. Ma got me fed and rested to her heart’s content, and let me return to my habit of wandering the town in the afternoons.
Fall became winter. The snow fell and Williams Creek froze solid. A few hardy miners continued to work their deep shafts, cursing at the cold and the ice. Someone was found frozen stiff in his cabin. He was one of the unfortunate ones whose luck, grub, and firewood had all run out at the same time. Christmas came and went with much merriment and high spirits on the Creek. Finally, winter gave up its firm hold and the first signs of spring began to appear.
I turned thirteen that spring. Pa took a good, hard look at me and announced that all that book learning was fine, but I needed a trade as well, and it was high time I got myself one. I began to spend part of each afternoon in the carpentry shop with him, learning his skills. I grew to love the feel of freshly sanded wood, the rich smells of sawdust and glue, and the glow of pride I had when I earned my pa’s praise. “You’ve got the hands of a craftsman, Ted,” he told me. “You’ve a natural talent there. Now, let’s get to work on the things you can learn to help that talent along.”
Summer came, taking its time as it always does in the Cariboo. The house filled up with the smells of huckleberry jam, wild strawberry preserves and Saskatoon jelly as Ma boiled and stirred, laying in a stock of sweetness against the next winter.
My boots and overalls suddenly seemed too small. Over the winter and spring I had grown almost three inches. I was taller than Moses now, and we both laughed about it. “Looks as if you’re going to grow into that big name of yours, Ted,” he said one day. I was busier, too, and what with helping Pa in his shop as well as keeping up with my studies, I spent less time with Moses. But we were still friends, still close.
I had almost forgotten about James Barry. True, I did have nightmares once in a while when I would awaken, drenched with sweat, to find my parents beside my bed. “You were screaming again, son” they’d say. “Are you all right?”
“Another dream that’s all,” I’d tell them. “Just another dream.” Then I’d lie there, unable to sleep until I saw the first light of dawn. I never did tell them what I was dreaming about, but I think they knew. I never spoke of James Barry and his coming trial — not to Moses, not to my parents, not to anyone.
One afternoon, late in July, the stage pulled up at the express office across from the barbershop, and a tall figure stepped out. He had a full head of hair, a well-waxed moustache, and a grey beard with a broad streak of black down the centre. Chief Constable Fitzgerald greeted him respectfully, and the two of them went off to the House Hotel together.
I was in Moses’s shop, watching out the window. “Moses …” I called. He came to look.
“Ah! Judge Begbie is here. Court will be in session soon, I reckon.”
I shivered. That meant that James Barry would be returning to the small jail at Richfield to stand trial. Since Judge Begbie would be on the bench, Barry would have a fair hearing. Begbie was known for his passion for justice, as well as his strictness where law and order was concerned.
James Barry was brought back. The Richfield jail had been cleaned and made more secure for his arrival, and a constable was to stay on guard there, day and night. My nightmares increased, once Barry was back in town, but during the day I usually managed to put all thoughts of the coming trial out of my head. What was going to happen would have nothing to do with me. It would be up to Judge Begbie, the jury, and the law to decide Barry’s fate. My part was over, finished.
The days crept by, the trial date drawing closer and closer. Barkerville seemed almost to hold its breath with excitement as it waited. I waited anxiously, too.
14
The Trial
The day of Barry’s trial the Richfield courthouse was packed to overflowing. Long before the arrival of the prisoner or Judge Begbie, the wooden benches were crammed with eager spectators. The first row, right behind the lawyers’ table, was reserved for witnesses. I sat in the second row between Ma and Pa.
I hadn’t wanted to go to the trial, but my parents had insisted. I think that they wanted me to see James Barry again, see that he was well guarded and unable to escape. My nightmares had been pretty bad lately. I hoped Ma and Pa were right and the dreams of him that troubled me would disappear once I saw him again, saw him securely guarded, well out of my way.
As the jury filed into the courtroom the spectators looked up eagerly, and the whispering and muttering that had filled the tall room stopped. The members of the jury solemnly took their places. They were all men of substance in the community. No one could serve on a jury unless he could prove that he had at least fifty dollars or owned property. These twelve men would listen to the evidence for and against James Barry, and decide on his guilt or innocence. They all looked as if they were taking that responsibility seriously.
There was a gasp from the spectators as Chief Constable Fitzgerald came through the back door. James Barry followed him, and was led to his place in the prisoner’s dock. Once inside, Barry’s handcuffs were removed. He sat down on the small stool in the dock, and calmly turned to look at the spectators.
I tried to duck behind the head of the person in front of me, but I was too late. As James Barry spotted me, his lips twisted into a cruel smile, and he lifted his hand and waved to me. “Morning, Master Percy,” he called. “Remember now …”
“Quiet, Barry.” The chief constable put a restraining hand on Barry’s shoulder. No talking!”
Barry kept his peace after that, but I don’t think he took his eyes from me during the whole trial. I looked at the judge’s bench, and at the elaborate carving that arched over it. I looked at the backs of people’s necks, at the lawyers, at the witnesses. But whenever my eyes flickered to the prisoner, James Barry was still watching me. Looking, smiling, thinking …
The trial took two full days, two unpleasant days. I didn’t want to go back the second day, but Constable Sullivan said that I might be called to testify, if they needed someone to support his statement. I spent the two days squirming in my seat, listening to the evidence, trying not to look at James Barry.
There were many witnesses. The packer who had found Charles Blessing’s body was first. Someone laughed when he told of following a grouse, hoping for an easy dinner, and all but stepping on the corpse. “I tell you, Yer Honour, I got so derned upset when I saw that thing, Mr. Blessing’s body, I mean, lying there that I let the grouse get clean away. Went hungry that night, I can tell you!”
“Silence in the courtroom!” Judge Begbie spoke harshly as he looked down from his raised bench.
“Ladies and Gentlemen. This is a court of law, not a performance at the Theatre Royal. If you cannot restrain yourselves and control these unseemly outbursts I shall have the bailiff clear the courtroom and conduct this trial without benefit of onlookers!”
Everyone was quiet after that, and stayed quiet, too, right thro
ugh the rest of the testimony.
Moses took the stand, looking as nervous as I felt. He told his story: how he had first met Blessing, then James Barry; how Barry had tried to borrow money from him; how he had never again seen his friend, Charles Blessing, but had recognized the nugget stickpin worn by the prisoner.
“One moment, Mr. Moses,” interrupted Judge Begbie. “Is this nugget pin available for inspection?” The nugget was produced for Judge Begbie to look at and then passed to Moses on the judge’s instructions.
The judge watched as Moses inspected the pin. “It is necessary to find out if, in fact, it is the same pin that Mr. Moses saw Mr. Blessing wearing.”
“Yes, Your Honour. It is the same stickpin, the one Charles showed to me on Cariboo Road, the same one I later saw in James Barry’s coat lapel. Charles called it his ‘luck’ — although it doesn’t seem to have brought him much — and it’s easy to recognize because of the face in it.”
“The face?” The judge was interested in the stickpin and had Moses demonstrate how the face became visible when the nugget was turned upside-down. Judge Begbie held it carefully while he made a quick sketch of it in his trial notebook, then had the pin shown to the jury. Each of them studied it, turning it first one way and then the other until the face became clear, then passed it on to his neighbour.
Other witnesses followed Moses and gave their evidence. A Mr. Stark told of seeing the two of them, Barry and Blessing, together on the road from Quesnel. His testimony was supported by a Mr. Elliot who also saw the two men, this time camped near Pinegrove Creek, on the evening of May 30, 1866. A shudder ran through the courtroom as we all realized that he must have been the last person to see Charles Blessing alive — except for his murderer!
The owner of a lodging house testified that James Barry had taken a room in his house early in June, paying with a twenty-dollar gold piece. He also stated that Barry hadn’t seemed to work much, but always had money to spend. After this, Moses was recalled to the witness stand to confirm that James Barry, a few days earlier, had been broke and tried to borrow money from both him and Charles Blessing.
Constable Sullivan’s testimony took a long time. He told of finding me tied up in the miner’s shack, of what I had told him about Barry’s escape plans, and of the trap he had set at the swinging bridge. “It was young Ted identified him for me, Your Honour,” he said. “The prisoner would have got clean away if it hadn’t of been for Ted.”
“Well, Constable, in that case it seems as if this court owes Master Ted its thanks,” said Judge Begbie, nodding to me as he spoke. “You have served the law well, Theodore MacIntosh, and we are all grateful.”
Everyone in the courtroom turned to look at me. I could feel my ears burning, and hoped I wasn’t blushing. There was a moment’s silence before the trial continued, and in that silence James Barry spoke, softly but clearly.
“I owe him something, too, Your Honour — but it isn’t my thanks!”
15
The Other Side of the Story
There were more witnesses, many more. The lawyers asked questions, the witnesses answered, and Judge Begbie called for more information. The white walls of the large courtroom seemed to reflect the voices back to the spectators who added their quiet murmurings to the sound. It wasn’t a loud noise, but it seemed to fill the courtroom like a distant swarm of bees. And, like bees, the words bumbled around and around in my head as I listened to the evidence growing against James Barry. Every witness seemed to have something to say that added to his guilt; words were piling on top of him, closing in on him, smothering him with their weight. Yet he said nothing throughout the long days; just sat, listened, and stared at me.
Finally there were no more witnesses to be called, no more questions to be asked. The courtroom grew completely still while Judge Begbie wrote a final few notes in his trial book. Then he turned to the prisoner.
“We will now hear any statement the accused has to make in his own defence. “You may speak, Mr. Barry.”
James Barry rose, faced the judge, and began to talk in a clear, level voice.
“Your Honour, I am not guilty. There has been a terrible mistake made, one which I will try to clear up right now. I never travelled with Charles Blessing at all. We bunked together for one night, but the morning we were to leave Quesnel he said he had sore feet, and I went on alone. The witnesses who claim to have seen me with him on the road are wrong. They saw Charles Blessing with another man, a man who was his murderer!”
He took his eyes from the judge and once again glanced my way before continuing. “Blessing left the place where we bunked before I was packed up. He said he was going to see a doctor about his feet. After he had gone, I found his stickpin near where he had slept. It was that same gold nugget that has caused so much excitement in this court. I took it with me, knowing how much he cherished it. I planned to return it to him as soon as I saw him in Barkerville. I, too, was surprised when he didn’t turn up at the Creek within a few days. I was holding the nugget pin in safekeeping, waiting for my chance to give it back to him. After all, he had loaned me money to get started — that very twenty-dollar gold piece that I paid to the owner of the lodging house. The least I could do for him was to look after his luck.
“On my way to Barkerville, I passed two men camping near Pinegrove Creek, but I went further on that night and didn’t stop near them. That witness, too, is mistaken when he claims to have seen me and Charles Blessing camped at Pinegrove. I had long since passed the spot, and Mr. Blessing was not travelling with me.
“May I remind your honour and the respected jury, that it was dusk when Mr. Elliot claims to have passed the camp at Pinegrove, and at dusk one’s eyes can be tricked by the light. It is easy to mistake one man for another. It was some other man he saw camped there with Charles Blessing, not me.”
Again he paused, this time smiling slightly as he looked in my direction. “Now, Your Honour, we come to the unfortunate part of my story. When young Percy here called me a murderer I am afraid that I panicked, which is why I acted in such an unseemly manner towards him. I truly hope he has forgiven me and my rough ways. I never meant to frighten the lad.
“I was afraid that just what has happened would happen; that Mr. Moses, a man never known for minding his own business, would jump to conclusions regarding me and Mr. Blessing and how I came to have the nugget pin. I thought that suspicion would fall on me, and wishing to avoid any unpleasantness, such as being shut up in jail, I decided to take my leave of Barkerville. I see now that I was wrong. I should have stayed and told my story, as I am telling it now.
“Charles Blessing was a good man. He lent me money and offered to lend me more, should I need it. I found his nugget by accident, and I was never with him on the Quesnel road. I know that Your Honour and you gentlemen of the jury are intelligent and logical men and will understand how a combination of unfortunate circumstances and unreliable witnesses have brought me to stand before you — unjustly!
“I repeat, I am innocent of this charge. I did not kill Charles Blessing. God rest his soul. I never saw him again after that morning in Quesnel when his feet were bothering him so. I am sure the facts of my innocence will be obvious to such learned men as yourselves, and you will allow how it has all been a terrible mistake and bring in a verdict of Not Guilty. For indeed, gentlemen, I am not guilty!”
He bowed slightly to the jury, and then sat down. No one moved. Even Judge Begbie seemed taken aback by Barry’s long speech. He had spoken so reasonably without any of the cruelty he had shown towards me, and appeared to be just what he said he was — an unfortunate man caught in a web of events that made him look guilty.
“Thank you, Mr. Barry.” Judge Begbie finally spoke. “I am sure that your statement, which you have presented so eloquently, will be duly considered by the jury.”
He spoke to the jury for a few minutes more while going over the evidence that had been heard. Finally he cautioned them. “I must impress on you that if, in your
minds, there is a reasonable doubt that it is possible the accused did not commit this murder, then you must return a verdict of Not Guilty and allow him his freedom.”
The twelve men nodded their heads, and at a signal from the bailiff, rose and filed out of the room. Judge Begbie returned to his chambers. The spectators stood, stretched, and began to talk to their neighbours. All around me I could hear discussion about Barry’s testimony. It had sounded so logical, so sensible, so reasonable. Perhaps it had happened just the way he told it; perhaps he was innocent.
But then — why had he tied me up, held his gun to my head, and threatened me after he had been caught? Why did he tell Moses the stickpin was his? And why didn’t he tell his story at once, instead of waiting until he stood before the Judge and jury?
I couldn’t really believe that he was innocent. Somewhere deep inside me I knew, positively knew, that he had murdered Charles Blessing.
But if the jury believed him, they would have to set him free. Free to come and settle his score with me!
16
The Verdict
It took the jury only one hour to decide whether James Barry was guilty or innocent. They filed back into the courtroom, looking even more serious than they had at the beginning of the trial. James Barry was led in and once again placed in the prisoner’s dock. The spectators, many of whom had gone outside to stretch their legs, rushed back to their seats, some barely reaching their places before the bailiff announced, “All rise,” when Judge Begbie entered the courtroom from his chambers.
“Gentlemen of the jury,” he asked, “Have you reached a verdict?”
“We have, Your Honour,” answered the foreman, his voice low.
“Then kindly inform the court of that verdict. And please, speak up.” The judge settled back in his large, carved chair, waiting.