Charles told me his most significant work had taken place before Admonition reached the court and even then his job was made easier by a note from Jabez pleading with her to confirm she had no knowledge of the smuggling. Charles pointed out to her that Jabez was not going to petition the king for leniency and his death would be pointless if she didn’t claim innocence. Although she refused to swear on the Bible and then deny her complicity, she did agree to not being called and the prosecution offered no objection.
The jury took two minutes to find her guilty and Charles was relieved when the judge didn’t don his black cap to deliver his verdict.
I had to tell Jabez that Admonition had been found guilty, but I was also able to tell him that the prosecution accepted he had claimed sole responsibility for any wrongdoing. They recognised he had maintained this position, even after being sentenced to death, and had also refused to give his attorney permission to petition for clemency, in case it had a detrimental effect upon his wife’s defence.
Although they didn’t believe her non-involvement, the prosecution were prepared to acknowledge his sacrifice and reduced their request for an execution sentence for Admonition to one of fourteen years transportation. Jabez was disappointed she’d been found guilty, but took solace in knowing she didn’t face the death penalty and I gently pointed out that they could have pressed for and probably got a longer sentence – even life.
The last time I saw him prior to his execution, Jabez was still calm and I was determined to stay with him as long as possible, no matter how bad the smell. That night, after I finally left, he was taken from his cell and across the small bridge that led to the apartment especially built for prisoner’s to spend their last hours. In the morning, prior to his execution, he was taken to Little St John’s chapel, which was attached to the apartment, and received his last rights. But on that last night, before we parted, he said he had one last request to make of me.
I assured him that if it were possible and legal, I would do anything he asked.
Although there was little chance we would be overheard, lowering his voice, he said,
“I think what I’m asking is legal, but if it isn’t, I’ll understand if you don’t want anything to do with it. It’s only because I believe you to be an honest man, Carlyle, that I’m asking you in the first place. So if you do think what I’m asking is illegal, all I ask is that you tell no one else of my request.”
Although I couldn’t be absolutely sure until I heard what he had to say, I nevertheless reassured him that anything he told me would be in confidence.
Reaching inside his smock, he extracted two sealed documents; he told me he’d had to pay the sheriff far too much to seal them for him. Handing me the first, he told me,
“This is for Admonition, but I only want you to give it to her when she returns to England. It will be of no use to her before then.”
Assuring him I would keep it safe until her return, I slipped the letter into my jacket pocket. Satisfied, Jabez then handed me the second.
“This is for you and you alone. It explains what I want you to do on her return, but it’s important you don’t open it until you know that she’s back.”
I took the letter from him, but I was curious to know why I should wait fourteen years before opening it. Jabez explained that if others discovered the letter’s contents, both Admonition and I could be in danger. The lawyer in me wanted to know more, but I could tell Jabez had said everything he intended to, so suppressing my curiosity, I put the letter with the other.
Before I left him for what we both knew was to be the final time, Jabez thanked me for all I had done for him and trusted I would follow his instructions regarding the letters. I tried one last time to persuade him to let me petition the King, but smiling, he shook his head and told me he felt he’d atoned for what he had done to Admonition and that he was now ready to meet his Maker. Knowing there was nothing further I could say or do, yet still with a heavy heart, I left him.
Elizabeth
A Fate Deserved
Adie’s gone and I know I’ll never see her again. I went to her trial because I wanted to speak up for her, tell them how her life had been. I wanted to tell them that if it hadn’t been for Tom, she would have still been with me and wouldn’t have even met Jabez Payne, let alone got involved in all that salt smuggling nonsense. But they wouldn’t let me. They were much more interested in asking me where Tom was. I told them I had no idea; after those men dragged him off, (I know it was the Nantwich gang, but I saw none of their faces, so I didn’t tell them that,) I never saw him again.
Anyway, they know where he is now, don’t they? ’Cos they found him drowned in the Boar’s Head’s well, a couple of days after he was taken. Bound with his hands tied to his feet, they say he’d been weighed down with boulders so that he drowned quickly. But I’m not so sure that’s true. I think he was probably stoned after they threw him in the well ’cos the Nantwich Gang’s known for killing people that way. But it doesn’t matter to me how he went. The main thing is that he’s gone and I’m glad. There, I’ve said it. I know some will say I should never talk like that about the man I married, but I’ve learnt a lot more about him since he was killed and though I don’t want to talk about it, I will just say I now know I was married to a monster.
I tried to see Adie in prison after she’d been convicted, but she refused to see me. She told her lawyer to tell me it was too late, that when she’d come to see me, I’d pushed her away, called her a liar and it would be best if we never saw each other again. Mr Dowle told me he didn’t think that was really the truth. He thought because she knew she was leaving England and might never return, she believed for us to see each other would be pointless and upsetting.
I don’t think he’s right even though what she said was true. I did do and say those things. I still wonder whether they are the real reasons she doesn’t want to see me. You see, I remember a conversation we had a long time ago when she told me she thought her name was a curse for anyone she grew close to. Then I told her it wasn’t true, but now I’m not so sure. After all Tom was murdered, Jabez’ been executed and I’m about to head for the workhouse because I have no money and no way of earning any. So I wouldn’t be surprised if she was thinking her name is to blame. I still can’t believe a name can be a curse but I think that may be the real reason she won’t see me and maybe, just maybe, she’s right and that it’s best for both of us if we stay apart.
Anyway, I do know I will miss her deeply and I know things would have been so different if only I had believed her about Tom. But I didn’t and that’s definitely my curse.
Henry
Ignorance, Neglect and Contempt
My old chair, a blazing fire and a large brandy. Balm on a ragged day, that’s what Jane calls it and over twenty-five years, she’s learned to judge my moods like a seasoned helmsman judges the weather. If she could see dark clouds were gathering, she’d turn my sights to somewhere brighter, our plans for the evening (We love to go to the theatre.) or, when they were young, something one of the boys had said or done. If she judged I needed distracting, that the clouds would sail on by if only I would look away from them, then she pointed me straight in the direction of the boys themselves; I might help John with his Latin (He always disliked Latin and that’s maybe why he hasn’t followed me into Law, becoming an engineer instead.) or perhaps I’d play marbles with Kit, his young brother.
Jane understood that dealing with difficult clients, robust prosecutors, bribed witnesses and wrong decisions by juries, were all part of a defence lawyers day; we both did. What is more, I think Jane would say that the man who came home to her in the evening was usually the same as the one who left her in the morning. But on those few occasions when I came home with a storm still raging about my head, then that’s when she applied the balm.
Both boys have left us now. John is in Manchester where he’s an engineer working in a cotton mill, whilst Kit will shortly be on his way to New Holland as the
surgeon on a ship.
But now, for the first time, Jane’s balm just isn’t working. I’ve seen many go to the gallows and if I’ve defended them, to me it seems only right that I should be present to witness their demise. There were some who were executed that I’ve thought were harshly sentenced and a few, mercifully a very few, who I genuinely believe were wholly innocent. There have also been a number, whom I still defended to the best of my ability, even though I knew them to be guilty. I must also confess that in some of those cases, I’ve believed the sentence fitted the crime.
Nevertheless, whatever my view might be, the mob who attended these executions always behaved the same way. Whether the prisoners looked strong, weak, happy or sad, whether they cried, laughed, (It’s true. I really did see a few go to their grave laughing.) pleaded for mercy or screamed their innocence, they were always met by a crowd jeering and baying for blood. That is until today.
The Boughton crowd had already seen one poor soul go to meet his Maker that morning and had responded in their usual manner. But for Jabez, things were remarkably different. As the cart bearing him came into view, the crowd fell silent. There were none of the usual ribald comments, none of the jeers or the cries for his death.
As he looked around the crowd, Jabez looked bewildered. I’m sure he had prepared himself for a reception much as I described, but the silence continued as the cart reached and stopped at the foot of the gallows.
Then, as he was helped down from the cart and began to climb the scaffold, a lone voice started to chant.
"Jabez. Jabez.
Jabez. Jabez."
I looked in the direction the voice was coming from and there, at the front of the crowd, fearlessly chanting Jabez’ name was Sam Baker, the leader of the Nantwich Gang. I say fearless, because I knew there was a price on his head; not only had he and some of his gang members not yet been captured, but all had been tried in their absence and found guilty of salt smuggling. Since his tied and weighted body was pulled from the well at the Boar’s Head, they were also sought on suspicion of murdering Tom Rider.
As he continued chanting, a second voice, then a third and a fourth joined him. I looked around and recognised all of them as members of the Nantwich Gang and I knew that each one was risking his freedom – or worse. As I watched, others in the crowd joined in, until soon the whole crowd was chanting his name.
I looked towards the gallows where, by this time, Jabez had reached the platform where the hangman was waiting. He looked around as the crowd’s chanting reached a crescendo. As I’ve said before, in all the time I spent with Jabez, I truly believe I got to know him better than most and I’m sure, even though he faced imminent death, I saw the trace of a smile on his lips. Then, with the crowd still calling his name, I saw the hangman, who looked equally nonplussed, speak into Jabez’ ear; Jabez shook his head. After a moment, the hangman placed the noose over his head, plainly Jabez had refused the hood; I suppose he wanted the sight of the crowd calling his name to be the last thing he saw.
After first removing the leg irons, the hangman took no time in pushing him from the platform; I suppose he saw it as a kindness not to delay. A groan rose from the crowd as Jabez’ legs jerked twice. Then he hung lifelessly. I’ve seen men, women and children struggle for up to five minutes against strangulation; the less they weigh, the longer it can take to kill them. Unfortunately children, unless weighed down, are particularly likely to suffer. Mercifully, Jabez’ neck had broken and in moments he was dead.
His body was taken and as he’d arranged, given a decent burial next to Jack Dodds in the graveyard of his local village church. Living five miles outside Chester, I usually take a carriage home, but on this occasion I decided to go by foot to see if walking would clear my head and perhaps let me understand the unique scene I had just witnessed.
But the walk failed to have the desired effect. The questions that filled my head then were still with me when I got home; their persistence was also the reason Jane’s balm failed to work. There were two questions that plagued me then, and I think always will. First, if every man woman and child called out for him, if everyone believed his hanging was wrong and if some had even risked their lives to voice their support for him, then why is Jabez Payne dead? Of course, the other question I have to ask, the one that weighs heaviest, is: why wasn’t I able to save him?
I must have sat there most of the evening, brandy in hand just staring into the fire. Did I make any progress? Some I think. To start, it’s clear to me that had Jabez allowed me to petition the King, his sentence would have been commuted to life in prison or to a lengthy term of transportation; that’s certainly true of similar cases I’ve known. But I think there were two reasons Jabez went to the gallows rather than let me plead for him. First, I know how guilty he felt about allowing Admonition to become embroiled in his smuggling and he truly thought if he claimed all responsibility, Admonition would be set free. Second, (and this is my judgement rather than something he said) he’d seen life in prison and knew that once convicted, conditions for him would be even worse: I believe Jabez saw prison or, Heaven preserve us, the hulks, simply as a drawn out execution and he’d therefore chosen what he saw as the shorter sentence.
So I have at least satisfied myself that there was nothing more I could have done to save him. But what I cannot resolve is why, even if he was guilty of everything they accused him of, they should consider Jabez’ crime and that of so many others like it, meriting such a draconian sentence.
I know it’s illegal to own it and even Jane doesn’t know I have a copy, but I’ve recently been re-reading Thomas Paine’s The Rights of Man and one phrase stays with me more than any other, ‘Ignorance, neglect, or contempt of human rights are the sole causes of public misfortunes and corruptions of government.’ Not only do I agree with Paine, but I also believe that until things are righted, we will continue to see good men like Jabez Payne go to the gallows.
Part Five
Admonition
Survival
Thank God! Today we sailed.
The Sydney Cove is going to be our home for the next five months or so, and after the disease-ridden hell I’ve been in for the past four, anything has to be better. So before the journey really gets underway, let me go back a little and explain what happened after my conviction.
After sentencing, I spent around a month in solitary confinement. Exactly how long I can’t say, because with no sun and little light, it was hard to tell where one day ended and the next one started. But I must just say how grateful I am to Jane Carlyle, because after I was sentenced to fourteen years transportation (At least Jabez lived long enough to know I was not to face execution.), Henry brought me a parcel of clothes from her. He had told her I only had those that I stood in, so she had taken pity on me.
The parcel contained: a gown, two chemise, two shifts, a pair of boots (worn, but still serviceable) and best of all, a warm jacket. They were all old and I think Jane knew or, at least Henry must have told her, that brand new clothes would raise too much interest from prisoners and wardens alike. Henry also must have noticed that she and I were of similar height and frame because everything fitted, although the boots did pinch a little.
I took my old clothes off and put on all the new ones; I thought wearing them meant they couldn’t be stolen. The new clothes had been wrapped in an old piece of cloth which I wrapped my old ones in; six months in gaol had taught me that nothing should be wasted. Then, over eight days, shackled and in the back of an open wagon, they moved me to a prison hulk moored in the River Medway off a place called Chatham – I’d never heard of either, but to me they seemed just as far from home as I imagined New Holland to be.
There were eight of us in that wagon, all sentenced to transportation. Although it was still early September, it was unseasonably cold and Ann, the only other woman in the wagon, wore barely enough to cover her dignity and shivered uncontrollably. When I offered her my parcel, she said she had nothing to offer in exchange. I thoug
ht one day I might regret it, but I let her have it anyway. She grabbed it like I’d given her roast beef – I suppose she thought I might change my mind. She then put everything on over her old rags and even wrapped the old cloth around her shoulders. Her feet had been unshod so I could see that, even though they were much too big for her, my old shoes were especially precious to her.
Over those eight days, I discovered all of us were sentenced to varying lengths of transportation. Ann, who was thin, sallow and coughed incessantly, was sentenced to seven years, but to me she didn’t look like she’d survive a few months living on a hulk, never mind the rigours of transportation. In fact, when we were rowed out to the Brunswick, the Commandant refused to allow her on board, insisting instead that she be taken to the hospital ship moored nearby. I was never to see Ann again nor, even though I enquired, was I to hear anything of her. It’s true that on recovery, she could have been taken to a different hulk, that sometimes happened, but more often, if someone doesn’t return to a ship it’s because they’ve succumbed. Now that I’m away from that place I allow myself to accept Ann probably died, but I still like to hope that she survived.
The Brunswick was to hold us until a ship became available to transport us to New Holland and I survived for four months there, avoiding many dangers including theft, rape, hunger and disease. But the worst risk was from asphyxiation. The ship was so overcrowded that when we arrived, we were made to join about twenty others and make the best we could of sleeping on the top deck. Death, transportation and occasional releases led to a fairly steady turnover of convicts which meant that after a couple of weeks, I was moved down to the orlop deck. Whilst living on the top deck, I’d been glad to be wearing all my extra clothes, particularly when early morning mist rolled across the ship and chilled me to the bone. But now at night, when we were locked in the orlop, we were so crowded we stripped down beyond decency. The lucky ones found a hammock by a porthole and hung on to the porthole’s bars no matter how hard others tried to displace them. I found it impossible to reach the portholes but survived because another convict, who told me she’d already been on the Brunswick for over four months, explained to me the best way to survive.
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