Clouds were banking up along the
haunch of the hills, and there was every sign of an approaching change
of weather. A police boat was ready with ten armed men in her, and
Randolph Moore himself took the tiller as she shot out in pursuit of the
becalmed yawl. “Jelland and McEvoy, waiting wearily for the breeze which never came,
saw the dark speck which sprang out from the shadow of the land and grew
larger with every swish of the oars. As she drew nearer, they could see
also that she was packed with men, and the gleam of weapons told what
manner of men they were. Jelland stood leaning against the tiller, and
he looked at the threatening sky, the limp sails, and the approaching
boat. “‘It’s a case with us, Willy,’ said he. ‘By the Lord, we are two most
unlucky devils, for there’s wind in that sky, and another hour would
have brought it to us.’

“McEvoy groaned. “‘There’s no good softening over it, my lad,’ said Jelland. ‘It’s the
police boat right enough, and there’s old Moore driving them to row like
hell. It’ll be a ten-dollar job for every man of them.’

“Willy McEvoy crouched against the side with his knees on the deck. ‘My
mother! my poor old mother!’ he sobbed. “‘She’ll never hear that you have been in the dock anyway,’ said
Jelland. ‘My people never did much for me, but I will do that much for
them. It’s no good, Mac. We can chuck our hands. God bless you, old man! Here’s the pistol!’

“He cocked the revolver, and held the butt towards the youngster. But
the other shrunk away from it with little gasps and cries. Jelland
glanced at the approaching boat. It was not more than a few hundred
yards away. “‘There’s no time for nonsense,’ said he. ‘Damn it! man, what’s the use
of flinching? You swore it!’

“‘No, no, Jelland!’

“‘Well, anyhow, I swore that neither of us should be taken. Will you do
it?’

“‘I can’t! I can’t!’

“‘Then I will for you.’

“The rowers in the boat saw him lean forwards, they heard two pistol
shots, they saw him double himself across the tiller, and then, before
the smoke had lifted, they found that they had something else to think
of. “For at that instant the storm broke—one of those short sudden squalls
which are common in these seas. The _Matilda_ heeled over, her sails
bellied out, she plunged her lee-rail into a wave, and was off like a
frightened deer. Jelland’s body had jammed the helm, and she kept a
course right before the wind, and fluttered away over the rising sea
like a blown piece of paper. The rowers worked frantically, but the yawl
still drew ahead, and in five minutes it had plunged into the storm
wrack never to be seen again by mortal eye. The boat put back, and
reached Yokohama with the water washing half-way up to the thwarts. “And that was how it came that the yawl _Matilda_, with a cargo of five
thousand pounds and a crew of two dead young men, set sail across the
Pacific Ocean. What the end of Jelland’s voyage may have been no man
knows. He may have foundered in that gale, or he may have been picked up
by some canny merchantman, who stuck to the bullion and kept his mouth
shut, or he may still be cruising in that vast waste of waters, blown
north to the Behring Sea, or south to the Malay Islands. It’s better to
leave it unfinished than to spoil a true story by inventing a tag to
it.”




                                 B. 24


I told my story when I was taken, and no one would listen to me. Then I
told it again at the trial—the whole thing absolutely as it happened,
without so much as a word added. I set it all out truly, so help me God,
all that Lady Mannering said and did, and then all that I had said and
done, just as it occurred. And what did I get for it? “The prisoner put
forward a rambling and inconsequential statement, incredible in its
details, and unsupported by any shred of corroborative evidence.” That
was what one of the London papers said, and others let it pass as if I
had made no defence at all. And yet, with my own eyes I saw Lord
Mannering murdered, and I am as guiltless of it as any man on the jury
that tried me. Now, sir, you are there to receive the petitions of prisoners. It all
lies with you. All I ask is that you read it—just read it—and then that
you make an inquiry or two about the private character of this “lady”
Mannering, if she still keeps the name that she had three years ago,
when to my sorrow and ruin I came to meet her. You could use a private
inquiry agent or a good lawyer, and you would soon learn enough to show
you that my story is the true one. Think of the glory it would be to you
to have all the papers saying that there would have been a shocking
miscarriage of justice if it had not been for your perseverance and
intelligence! That must be your reward, since I am a poor man and can
offer you nothing. But if you don’t do it, may you never lie easy in
your bed again! May no night pass that you are not haunted by the
thought of the man who rots in gaol because you have not done the duty
which you are paid to do! But you will do it, sir, I know. Just make one
or two inquiries, and you will soon find which way the wind blows. Remember, also, that the only person who profited by the crime was
herself, since it changed her from an unhappy wife to a rich young
widow. There’s the end of the string in your hand, and you only have to
follow it up and see where it leads to. Mind you, sir, I make no complaint as far as the burglary goes. I don’t
whine about what I have deserved, and so far I have had no more than I
have deserved. Burglary it was, right enough, and my three years have
gone to pay for it. It was shown at the trial that I had had a hand in
the Merton Cross business, and did a year for that, so my story had the
less attention on that account. A man with a previous conviction never
gets a really fair trial. I own to the burglary, but when it comes to
the murder which brought me a lifer—any judge but Sir James might have
given me the gallows—then I tell you that I had nothing to do with it,
and that I am an innocent man. And now I’ll take that night, the 13th of
September, 1894, and I’ll give you just exactly what occurred, and may
God’s hand strike me down if I go one inch over the truth. I had been at Bristol in the summer looking for work, and then I had a
notion that I might get something at Portsmouth, for I was trained as a
skilled mechanic, so I came tramping my way across the south of England,
and doing odd jobs as I went. I was trying all I knew to keep off the
cross, for I had done a year in Exeter Gaol, and I had had enough of
visiting Queen Victoria. But it’s cruel hard to get work when once the
black mark is against your name, and it was all I could do to keep soul
and body together. At last, after ten days of wood-cutting and
stone-breaking on starvation pay, I found myself near Salisbury with a
couple of shillings in my pocket, and my boots and my patience clean
wore out.