 Chapter 25. Mr. Eden had taken Mr. Lacey to the dark cells. Evans, who had no key of them, was sent to fetch Frye to open them. We will kill two birds with one stone, dissenter a patient for our leather and gallows, and a fresh incident of the Inquisition. Open this door, Mr. Frye. The door was opened. A feeble voice uttered a quavering cry of joy that sounded like wailing, and a figure emerged so suddenly and distinctly from the blackness that Mr. Lacey started. It was Thomas Robinson, who crept out white and shaking with a wild, haggard look. He ran to Mr. Eden like a great girl. Don't let me go back. Don't let me go back, sir. And the coward one could hardly help whimpering. Come, courage, my lad, rang out Mr. Eden, your troubles are nearly over. Feel this man's hands, sir. How he trembles! Why, he must be chicken-hearted. No, only he is one of your men of action, not of passive fortitude. He is imaginative, too, and suffers remorse for his crimes without the soothing comfort of penitence. Twenty-four hours of that black hole would deprive him or any such nature of the light of reason. Is this a mere opinion, or do you propose to offer me proof? Six men, driven by this means alone to the lunatic asylum, of whom, too, died there soon after. Hmm, of what nature is your proof? I cannot receive assertion. Entries made at the time by a man of unimpeachable honesty. Indeed, who hates me and adores Mr. Hawes. Very well, Mr. Eden, replied the other keenly. Whatever you support by such evidence as that, I will accept as fact and act upon it. Done. Done, and Mr. Lacey smiled good-humoredly. But it must be owned incredulously. Is that proof at hand, he added? It is, but one thing at a time. The leather gallows is the iniquity we are unearthing at present. Ah, here are Mr. Hawes and his subordinates. Subordinates? You will see why I call them so. Mr. Williams, I trust you will not accept the evidence of a refractory prisoner against an honest, well-tried officer whose conduct for two years past we have watched and approved. Mr. Lacey replied with dignity. Your good opinion of Mr. Hawes shall weigh in his favor at every part of the evidence, but you must not dictate to me the means by which I am to arrive at the truth. Mr. Williams bit his lip and was red and silent. But, your reverence, cried Robinson, don't let me be called a refractory prisoner when you know I am not. Then what were you in the black hole for? For obeying orders. Nonsense. Hmm. Explain. His reverence said to me, You are a good writer. Write your own life down. See how you like it when you look at it with reason's eye instead of passions, all spread out before you in its true colors. Tell the real facts, no false coin, nor don't put any sentiments down you don't feel to please me. I shall only despise you, said his reverence. Well, sir, I am not a fool. And so, of course, I could see how wise his reverence was and how much good might come to my poor, sinful soul by doing his bidding. And I said a little prayer he had taught me against a self-deceiving heart. His reverence is always letting fly at self-deception. And then I sat down and I said, Now I won't tell a single lie or make myself a pin better or worse than I really am. Well, gentlemen, I hadn't written two pages when Mr. Fry found me out and told the governor, and the governor had me shoved into the black hole where he found me. This is Mr. Fry, I think. My name is Fry. Was this prisoner sent to the black hole merely for writing his life by the chaplain's orders? You must ask the governor, sir. My business is to report offenses and to execute orders. I don't give him. Mr. Hawes was he sent to the black hole for doing what the chaplain had sent him to do by way of a moral lesson? He was sent for scribbling a pack of lies without my leave. What, when he had the permission of your superior officer? Of my superior officer? Your superior in the Department of Instruction, I mean. Can you doubt that he is so with these rules before you? Let me read you one of them. Rule 18. All prisoners, including those sentenced to hard labor, are to have such time allowed them for instruction as the chaplain may think proper, whether such instruction would draw them from their labor for a time or not. And again, by Rule 80. Each prisoner is to have every means of moral and religious instruction the chaplain shall select for each as suitable, so that you have passed out of your own department into a higher department, which was a breach of discipline, and you have affronted the head of that department and strained your authority to undermine his. And this is the face of Rule 18, which establishes this principle, that should the severities of the prison claim a prisoner by your mouth and religious or moral instruction claim him by the chaplains, your department must give way to the higher department. This is very new to me, sir, but if it is the law, why you see it is the law printed for your guidance. I undo your act, Mr. Haas. The prisoner Robinson will obey the chaplain in all things that relate to religious or moral instruction, and he will write his life as ordered. He is not to be put to hard labor for twenty-four hours. By this means he will recover his spirits and the time and moral improvement you have made him lose. You hear, sir? He added very sharply. I hear, said Haas so clearly. Go on with your evidence, Mr. Eden. Robinson, my man, you see that machine? Yes, I see it. For two months I've been trying to convince Mr. Haas that engine is illegal. I fail, but I have been more fortunate with this gentleman who comes from the Home Office. He has not taken as many minutes to see it as unlawful. Stop a bit, Mr. Eden. It is clearly illegal, but the torture is not proved. Nor ever will it be, put in Mr. Haas. So then, Robinson, no man on earth has the right to put you into that machine. Hurrah! It is therefore as a favor that I ask you to go into it to show its operation. A favor, your reverence, to you? I am ready in a minute. Robinson was jammed, throttled, and nailed in the man-press. Mr. Lacey stood in front of him and eyed him keenly and gravely. They seem very fond of you, these fellows. Can you give your eyes to that sight and your ears to me, asked Mr. Eden? I can. Then I introduce to you a new character, Mr. Frye. Mr. Frye is a real character, unlike those of romance and melodrama, which are apt to be either a streak of black paint or else a streak of white paint. Mr. Frye is variegated. He is a moral magpie. He is, if possible, as devoid of humanity as his chief. But to balance this defect, he possesses, all to himself, a quality, a very high quality, called honesty. Well, that is a high quality and none too common. He is one of those men to whom veracity is natural. He would hardly know how to tell a falsehood. They fly about him in this place like hailstones, but I never saw one come from him. Stay, does he side with you or with Mr. Hawes in this unfortunate difference? With me, cried Mr. Hawes eagerly. Mr. Eden bowed ascent. Hmm. This honest Nero is zealous according to his light. He has kept a strict record of the acts and events of the jail for four years past, i.e., rather more than two years of Captain O'Connor's jailorship and somewhat less than two years of the present jailer. Such a journal rigorously kept out of pure love of truth by such a man is invaluable. There are no facts are likely to be suppressed or colored since the record was never intended for any eye but his own. I am sure Mr. Fry will gratify you with the sight of this journal. Oblige me, Mr. Fry. Certainly, sir, certainly replied Fry, swelling with importance and gratified surprise. Bring it me at once, if you please. Fry went with alacrity for his journal. Mr. Lacey said Mr. Eden with a slight touch of approach. You can read not faces only, but complexions. You read in my yellow face and sunk an eye, prejudice. What do you read here? And he wheeled like lightning and pointed to Mr. Haas, whose face and very lips were then seen to be the color of ashes. The poor wretch tried to recover composure and retort defiance, but the effort came too late. His face had been seen and once seen that look of terror, anguish, and hatred was never to be forgotten. What is the matter, Mr. Haas? When I think of my long services and the satisfaction I have given to my superiors, and now my turnkey's journal to be taken and believed against mine, chorus of justices, it is a shame. Mr. Eden, very sharply, against yours, what makes him think it will be against his? The man is his admirer and an honest man. What injustice has he to dread from such a source? Mr. Lacey, I really cannot understand your objection to a man's evidence whose bias lies your way, and I must say it speaks well for Mr. Eden that he has proposed this man in evidence. At this juncture, the magistrates, after a short consultation, informed Mr. Lacey that they had business of more importance to transact and could give no more time to what appeared to them an idle and useless inquiry. At all events, gentlemen, replied Mr. Lacey, I trust you will not leave the jail. I am not here to judge Mr. Haas but to see whether Mr. Eden's demand for a formal inquiry into his acts ought to be granted or refused. Now, unless the evidence takes some new turn, I incline to think I must favor the inquiry. That is to say, should the chaplain persist in demanding it, which I shall. Should a royal commission be appointed to sit here, I should naturally wish to consult you as to the component members of the commission, and it is my wish to pay you the compliment usual in such cases of selecting one of the three commissioners from your body. But one question, gentlemen, before you go, have you complied with number one of these your rules? Have you visited every prisoner in his or her cell once a month? Certainly not. I'm sorry to hear it. Of course, at each visit, you have closely examined the jailor's book, a record of his acts and the events of the jail. Portions of it are read to us. This is a form which I believe is never omitted. Is it Mr. Haas? Never, gentlemen. Portions and a form. What then are your acts of supervision? Do you examine the turn keys and compare their opinions with the jailors? We would not be guilty of such un-gentlemanly behavior, replied Mr. Williams, who had been longing for some time to give Mr. Laceous slap. Do you examine the prisoners apart so there can be no intimidation of them? We always take Mr. Haas into the cells with us. Why do you do that, pray? We conceive that nothing would be gained by encouraging the refuse of mankind to make frivolous complaints against their best friend. Here the speaker and his mates were a marked air of self-satisfaction. Well, sir, has the present examination in no degree shaken your confidence in Mr. Haas's discretion? Not in the least. That is enough. Gentlemen, I need to tame you no longer from the business you have described as more important than this. Mr. Laceous shrugged his shoulders. Mr. Eden smiled to him and said quietly, As they were in the days of Shakespeare, so they were in the days of fielding. As they were in the days of fielding, so they are in the days of light. And as they are now, so will they remain until they are swept away from the face of the soil. Keep your eye on Mr. Haas, edging away there so adroitly. It is not their fault. It is their nature. Their constitution is rotten. In building them, the state ignored nature, as Haas ignores her in his self-invented discipline. What do you mean, sir? That no body of men ever gave for nothing anything worth anything, nor ever will. Now knowledge of law is worth something. Zeal, independent judgment, honesty, humanity, diligence are worth something. Are you watching Mr. Haas, sir? Yet the state, greedy goose, hopes to get them out of a body of men for nothing. Hmm, why has Mr. Haas retired? You know as well as I do. Oh, do I? Yes, sir. The man's terror when Frye's journal was proposed in evidence and his manner of edging away obliquely to the direction Frye took were not lost on a man of your intelligence. If you think that, why did you not stop him till Frye came back with the book? I had my reasons. Meantime, we are not at a standstill. Here's an attested copy of the journal in question. And here is Mr. Haas's log book. Frye's book intended for no mortal eye but his own. Haas is concocted for inspection. I see a number of projecting marks pasted into Frye's journal. Yes, sir. On some of these marks are written the names of remarkable victims, recurring at intervals. On others are inscribed the heads of villainy, the black hole, starvation, thirst, privation of exercise, of bed, of gas, of chapel, of human converse, inhuman threats, and the infernal torture called the Punishment Jacket, somewhat on the plan of Watts Bibliotheca Britannica. So that you can, at will, trace any one of Mr. Haas's illegal punishments and see it running like a river of blood through many hapless names. Or you can, if you like it better, track a feller creature dripping blood from punishment to punishment from one dark page to another till release, lunacy, or death closes the list of his recorded sufferings. Aided by Mr. Eden, who whirled over the leaves of Mr. Haas's logbook for him, Mr. Lacey compared several pages of the two books. The following is merely a selected specimen of the entries that met his eye. Mr. Frye, Joram, writing on his can, Bread and Water, Joram, Bread and Water, Mr. Haas, Joram, Refractory, Bread and Water, Mr. Frye, Joram, Bread and Water, Mr. Haas, Joram, Refractory, Crank, Bread and Water, Mr. Frye, Joram, Crank, Not Performed, Bread and Water, Joram, Punishment Jacket, Joram, Refractory, Crank, Bread and Water, Mr. Haas, Joram, Refractory, Bread and Water, Mr. Frye, Joram, Attempted Suicide, insensible when found, had cut off pieces of his hair to send to his friends, sick list. Mr. Haas, Joram, Famed Suicide, Cause religious despondency put on sick list. Mr. Frye, Joseph's, Crank, Not Performed, says he could not turn the crank number nine, Punishment Jacket. Mr. Haas, Joseph's, Refractory, said he would not work on crank nine, Punishment Jacket. Mr. Frye, Thompson, Communicating in Chapel, Dark Cell, 12 Hours, Thompson, Bread and Water, Mr. Haas, Thompson, Communicating, Dark Cells, Mr. Frye, Thompson, Crank, Not Performed, Punishment Jacket, Thompson, Dark Cells, Thompson, No Chapel, Thompson, Dark Cells, Mr. Haas, Thompson, Refractory, Jacket, Mr. Frye, Thompson, Melancholy, Thompson, Very Strange, Mr. Haas, Thompson, Afflicted with Remorse for Past Crimes, Surgeon, Mr. Frye, Thompson, Removed to Lunatic Asylum, Mr. Haas, Thompson, Removed to Asylum, Mr. Frye, Tanner, Nine Years Old, Caught up at Window, asked what he did there, said he wanted to feel the light, Jacket and Bread and Water, Three Days, Mr. Haas, Tanner, Caught up at Window, Answered Insulently, Jacket, Mr. Frye, Tanner, For Repining, Chapel and Gas Stopped Until Content, Mr. Haas, Tanner, Refractory Language, Forbidden Chapel Until Reformation, Can I see such a thing as a prisoner who has attempted suicide in quiety with lingering incredulity? Yes, there are three on this landing, come first to Joram, of whom Mr. Haas writes that he made a sham attempt on his life in a fit of religious despondency. Mr. Frye, that having been jacketed and put on bread and water for several days, he became depressed in spirits and made a real attempt on his life. Ah, here is Mr. Frye, he's coming this way to tell you his first falsehood. Haas has been all this while persuading him to do it. Where is your journal, Mr. Frye? Well, sir, replied Frye, hanging his head, I can't show it you. I lent it to a friend, now I remember, and he has taken it out of the jail. But, he added with a sense of relief, you can ask me any question you like and I'll answer them, all one is my book. Well then, was Joram's attempt at suicide a real or a feigned one? Well, I should say it was a real one. I found him insensible and he did not come to for the best part of a quarter of an hour. Open his cell. Joram, I am here from the Secretary of State to ask you some questions. Answer them truly and without fear. Some months ago, you made an attempt on your life. The prisoner shuddered and hung his head. Don't be discouraged, Joram, put in Mr. Eden kindly. This gentleman is not a harsh judge, he will make allowances. Thank you, gentlemen. What made you attempt your life, persisted Mr. Lacey. Was it from religious despondency? That it was not. What did I know about religion before his reverence here came to the jail? No, sir, I was clammed to death. Clammed? Yes, sir, clammed and no mistake. North country word for starved, explained Mr. Eden. No, sir, I was starved as well. It was very cold weather and they gave me nothing but a roll of bread no bigger than my fist one day for the best part of a week. So being starved with cold and clammed with hunger, I knew I couldn't live many hours more and then the pain in my vitals was so dreadful, sir. I was obliged to cut it short. I, I, your reverence, I know it was very wicked, but what was I to do? If I hadn't attempted my life, I shouldn't be alive now. A poor fellow doesn't know what to do in such a place as this. Well said Mr. Lacey, I promise you, your food shall never be tampered with again. Thank you, sir. Oh, I have nothing to complain of now, sir. They have never clammed me since I attempted my life. Mr. Eden, suicide is at a premium here. What was your first offense, asked Mr. Lacey, writing on my can, what did you write on the can? I wrote, I want to speak to the governor. Couldn't you ring and ask to see him? Ring and ask? I had rung a half dozen times and asked to see him. I could not get to see him. My hand was blistered and I wanted to ask him to put me on a different sort of work till such time as it could get leave to heal. Now, sir, said Mr. Eden, observe the sequence of inequity, a refractory jailer defies the discipline of the prison. He breaks rule 37 and other rules by which he is ordered to be always accessible to a prisoner. The prisoner being in a straight, through which the jailer alone can guide him, begs for an interview. Unable to obtain this in his despair, he writes one innocent line on his can, imploring the jailer to see him. None of the beasts say, what has he written? They say only, here be scratches, and they put him on bread and water for an illegal period. And Mr. Haas's new and illegal interpretation of bread and water is aimed at his life. I mean that instead of receiving three times per diem, a weight of bread equal to the weight of his ordinary diets, which is clearly the intention of the bread and water statute, he has once a day four ounces of bread. So because a refractory jailer breaks the discipline, a prisoner with whom no breach of the discipline originated is feloniously put to death unless he cuts it short by that which, in every spot of the earth, but jail is a deadly crime in heaven's eyes. Self-murder. What an eye your reverence had got for things. Well, now it doesn't sound quite fair, does it? But stealing is a dog's trick. And if a man behaves like a dog, he must look to be treated like one, and he will be too. That is right, Dorm. You look at it from that point of view, and we will look at it from another. Open nailer cell. Nailer, what drove you to attempt suicide? Oh, you know, sir, but this gentleman does not. Well, gents, they had been at me a pretty while one day and another, they put me in the jacket till I fainted away. Stop a minute, is the jacket very painful? There's nothing in the world like it, sir. What is its effects? What sort of pain? Why, all sorts. It crushes your very heart. Then it makes you ache from your hair to your heel till you would thank and bless any man to knock you on the head. Then it takes you by the throat and pinches you and rasps you all at one time. However, I don't think but what I could have stood up against that if I had had food enough. But how can a chap face trouble and pain and hard labor on a crumb a day? However, what finally screwed up my stocking altogether, gents, was their taking away my gas. It was the dark winter nights and there was me set with an empty belly and the cell like a grave. So then I turned a little queer in the head by all accounts and I saw things that didn't suit my complaint at all, you know? What things? Well, gents, it is all over now but it makes me shiver still so I don't care to be reminded. Let us drop it if it's all the same to you. But nailer for the sake of other poor fellows and then to oblige me. Oh, your reverence, if I can oblige you that alters the case entirely. Well then, sir, if you must know, I saw Child of Hell wrote in great letters of fire all over that side of the cell. Always, every evening, this was all my society as the saying is, Child of Hell wrote 10 times brighter than gas. Couldn't you shut your eyes and go to sleep, said Mr. Lacey? How could I sleep? And I did shut my eyes and then the letters they came through my eyelids. So when this fell on the head of all my troubles, I turned wild and I said to myself one afternoon, now here is my belly empty and nothing coming to it and there is the sun is setting and by and by my cell will be brimful of hellfire. Let me end my troubles and get one night's rest if I never see another. So I hung myself up to the bar by my hammock strap and that is all I remember except finding myself on my back with Mr. Fry and a lot round me, some coaxing and some cursing. And when I saw where I was, I fell a crying and a blubbering to think that I had so nearly broke prison and there they had got me still. I daresay Mr. Fry remembers how I took on. I, my man, I remember we got no thanks for bringing you to. I was a poor, unconverted sinner then, replied Mr. Naler demiorly and didn't know my fault and the consequences. But I thank you now with all my heart, Mr. Fry, sir. I am to understand then that you accused the jailer of driving you to suicide by unlawful severities. No, sir, I don't. I only tell you how it happened and you should not have asked me if he didn't care to know. And as for blaming folk, the man I blame the most is John Naler. His reverence there has taught me to look at home. If I hadn't robbed honest folk, I shouldn't have robbed myself of character and liberty and health. And Mr. Hawes wouldn't have robbed me of food and light and life well nigh. Certainly there is a deal of ignorance and stupidity in this year jail. The governor has no headpiece. Can't understand that a prisoner is made out of the same stuff as he is, skin and belly, heart, soul, bones and all. I should say he wasn't fit to be trusted with the lives of a litter of pigs, let alone a couple of hundred men and women. But all is one for that. If he was born without any gumption, as the saying is, I wasn't and I did not to be in a fool's power. That is my fault entirely, not the fools, ain't it now? If I hadn't come to the mill, the miller would never have grinded me. I sticks to that. Well said, nailer, come sir, one higher than the state takes precedence here. We must on no account shake a Christian frame of mind or rekindle a sufferer's wrongs. Yes, nailer, forgive and you shall be forgiven. I am pleased with you, greatly pleased with you, my poor fellow. There is my hand. Nailer took his reverence's hand and his very forehead, reddened with pride and pleasure at so warm a word of praise from the beard mouth. They went out of the cell. Being now in the corridor, Mr. Eden addressed the government official thus. My proofs draw to a close. I could multiply instances at infinitum, but what is the use? If these do not convince you, you would not believe though one rose from the dead. What do I say? Have not nailer and jorum and many others come back from the dead to tell you by what roads they were driven there? One example remains to be shown. To a philosophical mind, it is no stronger than the rest, but there are many men who can receive no very strong impression except through their senses. You may be one of these, and it is my duty to give your judgment every aid. Where is Mr. Fry? He has left us. I am coming to attend you, sir, cried Evans from above. Mr. Fry has gone to the governor. Where are we going? asked Mr. Lacey. To examine a prisoner whom the jailer tortured with the jacket and starved and ended by robbing him of his gas and his bed contrary to law. Evans, since you are here, relate all that happened to Edward Joseph's on the fourth of this month. And mind you, don't exaggerate. Well, sir, they had been at him for near a month, overtasking him and then giving him the jacket and starving him and overtasking him again on his empty stomach till the poor lad was a living skeleton. On the fourth, the governor put him in the jacket and there he was kept till he swooned. Ah! Then they flung two bucks of water over him and that brought him too. Then they sent him to his cell and there he was in his wet clothes. Then him being there shaking with cold, the governor ordered his gas to be taken away. His hands were shaking over it for a little warmth when they robbed him of that bit of comfort. Home. Contrary to law, put in Mr. Eden. Well, sir, he was a quiet lad, not given to murmur, but at losing his gas he began to cry out so loud you might hear him all over the prison. What did he cry? Sir, he cried murder. Go on. Then I came to him and found him shivering and dripping and crying fit to break his poor heart. And did you do nothing for him? I did what I could, sir. I took him and twisted his bed clothes so tight round him the air could not get in. And before I left him his sobs went down and he looked like warm and sleeping after all his troubles. Well, sir, they can tell you better that did the job but it seems the governor sent another turnkey called Hodges to take away his bed from under him. Oh! Well, sir, oh dear me, I hope your reverence I shall never have to tell this story again for it chokes me every time. And the man was unable to go on for a while. Well, sir, the poor thing it seems didn't cry out as he had about the gas. He took it quite quiet. That might have let them know but some folk can see nothing till it is too late. And he gave Hodges his hand to show he bore him no mouse. Hey, dear, hey, dear, wood to heaven I had never seen this wicked place. A wicked place indeed, said Mr. Lacey solemnly. You make me almost dread to ask the result. You shall see the result. Evans. Evans opened cell 15 and he and Mr. Eden stood sorrowful aside while Mr. Lacey entered the cell. The first thing he saw was a rude coffin standing upright by the window. The next a dead body lying stark upon a mattress on the floor. The official uttered a cry like the scream of a woman. What is this? Dare you bring me to such a place as this? This is that Edward Joseph's whose sufferings you have heard and pitied. Oh, wretch, heaven forgive us, what did he, did he? He took one step to meet inevitable death. He hanged himself that same night by his handkerchief to this bar. Turn his poor body, Evans. See, sir, here is Mr. Hawes's mark upon his back. These livid stripes are from the infernal jacket and help to lash him into his grave. You are ill, here, some wine for my flask. You will faint else. Thank you, yes, I was rather faint. It has passed, Mr. Eden. I find my life has been spent among words. Things of such terrible significance are new to me. God, forgive us, how came this to pass in England in the 19th century? Scoundrel, kick him out of the jail, but do not swear, it is a sin. By removing him from his great temptation we may save even his bloodstained soul. But the souls of his victims? Oh, sir, when a good man is hurried to his grave, our lamentations are natural but unwise. But think what he commits who hurries thieves and burglars and homicides unprepared for their eternal judge. In this poor boy lay the materials of a saint, mild, docile, grateful believing. I was winning him to all that is good when I fell sick. The sufferings I saw and could not stop. They made me sick. You did not know that when you let my discolored cheeks prejudice you against my truth. Oh, I forgive you, dear sir, yes, heaven is inscrutable. For had I not fallen ill, yes, I was leading you up to heaven. Was I not? Oh, I lost sheep, my poor lost sheep. And the faithful shepherd at the bottom of whose wit and learning lay a heart simpler than beets in any dunce forgot haws and everything else and began to mourn by the dead body of his wandering sheep. Then in that gloomy abode of blood and tears heaven wrought a miracle. One who for 20 years past had been an official became a man for full five minutes. Light burst on him. Nature rushed back upon her truant son and seized her long forgotten empire. The frost and reserve of office melted like snow and summer before the sun of religion and humanity. How unreal and idle appeared now the 20 years gone in tape and circumlocution. Away went his life of shadows, his career of watery polysyllables meandering through the great desert into the dead sea. He awoke from his desk and saw the corpse of an Englishman murdered by routine and the tears of a man of God dripping upon it. Then his soul burst its desk and his heart broke its polysyllables and its tap and bonds and the man of office came quickly to the man of God and seized his hand with both his which shook very much and pressed it again and again and his eyes glistened and his voice faltered. This shall never be again. How these tears honor you but they cut me to the heart. There, there, I believe every word you have told me now. Be comforted, you are not to blame. There were always villains in the world and fools like us that could not understand or believe an apostle like you. We are all in fault but not you. Be comforted, law and order shall be restored this very day and none of these poor creatures shall suffer violence again or wrong of any sort by God. So these two grasped hands and pledged faith and for a while at least joined hearts. Mr. Eden thanked him with a grace and dignity all his own. Then he said with a winning sweetness, go now my dear sir and do your duty. Act for once upon an impulse. At this moment you see things as you will see them when you come to die. A light from heaven shines on your path at this moment. Walk by it air the world dims it. Go and lead me to repent the many un-Christian tempers I have shown you in one short hour. My heat and bitterness and arrogance in this solemn place. His un-Christian temper, poor soul. There, take me to the justices, Mr. Evans and you follow me as soon as you like. Yes, my worthy friend, I will act upon an impulse for once. Ugh! Wheeling rapidly out of the cell as unlike his past self as a pinwheel in a shop door and ditto ignited. He met at the very door Mr. Haas. You have been witnessing a sad sight, sir, and one that nobody I assure you deplores more than I do, said Mr. Haas, in a gentle and feeling tone. Mr. Lacey answered Mr. Haas by looking him all over from head to foot and back. Then looking sternly into his eyes, he turned his back on him sharp and left him standing there without a word. End of chapter 25. Chapter 26 of It Is Never Too Late to Mend. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Mary Maxwell. It Is Never Too Late to Mend by Charles Reed. Chapter 26. The jailer had been outwitted by the priest. Haas had sneaked after Fry to beg him for heaven's sake, that was the phrase he used, not to produce his journal. Fry thought this very hard and it took Haas 10 minutes to coax him over. Mr. Eden had calculated on this and worked with the attested copy, while Haas was wasting his time suppressing the original. Haas was too cunning to accompany Fry back to Mr. Lacey. He allowed five minutes more to elapse, all which time his antagonist was pumping truth into the judge a gallon of stroke. At last, up came Mr. Haas to protect himself and baffle the person. He came, he met Mr. Lacey at the dead prisoner's door and read his defeat. Mr. Lacey joined the justices in their room. I have one question to ask you gentlemen before I go. How many attempts at suicide were made in this jail under Captain O'Connor while sold jailer? I don't remember, replied Mr. Williams. It would be odd if you did, for no one such attempt took place under him. Are you aware how many attempts at suicide took place during the two years that this Haas governed a part of the jail, being kept in some little check by O'Connor, but not much, as unfortunately you encouraged the inferior officer to defy his superior. Five attempts at suicide during this period gentlemen. And now do you know how many such attempts have occurred since Mr. Haas has been sold jailer? I really don't know. Prisoners are always shamming, replied Mr. Woodcock. I do not allude to feigned attempts, of which there have been several, but to desperate attempts, some of which have left the prisoner insensible. Some have resulted in his death. How many of these? Four or five, I believe. Ah, you have not thought it worthwhile to inquire. Well, 14 at least. Come in Mr. Eden. Gentlemen, you have neglected your duty. Making every allowance for your inexperience, it still is clear that you have undertaken the supervision of a jail, and yet have exercised no actual supervision. Even now, the life or death of the prisoners seems to you a matter of indifference. If you are reckless on such a point as this, what chance have the minor circumstances of their welfare of being watched by you? And frankly, I am puzzled to conceive what you propose to yourselves when you undertook an office so important, and requiring so great vigilance. I say this, gentlemen, merely to explain why I cannot have the pleasure I did promise myself, of putting one of your names into the Royal Commission, which will sit upon this prison in compliance with the chaplain's petition. Mr. Eden bowed gratefully, and his point being formally gained, he hurried away to make up for lost time and visit his longing prisoners. While he passed like sunshine from cell to cell, Mr. Lacey took a note or two in solemn silence, and the injustices confirmed. Mr. Palmer whispered, we had better have taken Mr. Eden's advice. The other two snorted ill-assured defiance. Mr. Lacey looked up. You will hold yourselves in readiness to be examined before the Commission. At this moment, Mr. Hawes walked into the room without his mask, and in his own brutal voice, the voice he spoke to prisoners with, addressed himself with great insolence of manner to Mr. Lacey. Don't trouble yourself to hold commissions over me. I think myself worth a great deal more to the government than they have ever been to me. What they give me is little enough for what I have given them, and when insults are added to a man of honor and an old servant of the Queen, he flings his commission in your face, and the unveiled ruffian raised his voice to a roar, and with his hand flung an imaginary commission into Mr. Lacey's face, who drew back astounded, then resuming his honeyed manner, Hawes turned to the justices. I return into your hands, gentlemen, the office I received from you. I thank you for the support you have afforded me in my endeavors to substitute discipline for the miserable laxity and slovenliness and dirt we found here, and your good opinion will always console me for the insults I've received from a crack-brained parson and his tools in the jail and out of it. Your resignation is accepted, said Mr. Lacey coldly, and as your connection with jail is now ended, in virtue of my powers from the Secretary of State, which I here produce, I give you the use of the jailer's house for a week that you may have time to move your effects, but for many reasons it is advisable that you should not remain in the jail a single hour. Be so good, therefore, as to quit the jail as soon as you conveniently can. One of the turnkeys shall assist you to convey to your house whatever you have in this building. I have nothing to take out of the jail, man, replied Hawes rudely, except, and here he did a bit of pathos and dignity, my zeal for her majesty's service and my integrity. Ah, replied Mr. Lacey quietly, you won't want any help to carry them. Mr. Hawes left the room, bowing to the justices and ostentatiously ignoring the government official. Mr. Williams shouted after him, he carries our respect wherever he goes, said this magistrate with a fidelity worthy of better cause. The other two hung their heads and did not echo their chief. The tide was turned against jailer Hawes and these two were not the articles to swim against a stream, even though that stream was truth. Mr. Hawes took his time, he shook hands with Frye who bait him farewell with regret. Who is there that somebody does not contrive to like and rejecting even this Mastiff's company, he made a gloomy solitary progress through the prison for the last time. How clean and beautiful it all is, it wasn't like that when I came to it and it never will again. Some gleams of remorse began to flit about that thick skull and self-deceiving heart for punishment suggests remorse to sordid natures. But his strong and abiding feeling was a sincere and profound sense of ill usage, long service, couldn't overlook a single error, ungrateful government, et cetera. Prison go to the devil now and serve them right. At last he drew near the outer court and there he met a sight that raised all the fiend within him. There was Mr. Eden, ushering strut into the garden and telling Evans the old man was to pass his whole days there till he was better. So that is the way you keep the rules now you have undermined me. No sell at all. I thought what you would come to, you haven't been long getting there. Mr. Hawes replied the other with perfect good temper. Rule 34 of this prison enjoins that every prisoner shall take daily as much exercise in the open air as is necessary for his health. You have violated this rule so long that now struts health requires him to pass many more hours in the air than he otherwise would. He's dying for air and amusement and he shall have both sooner than die for the one of them or of anything I can give him. And what is it to him? reported Evans with rude triumph. He is no longer an officer of this jail. He has got the sack and orders to quit into the bargain. Fear is entertained that Mr. Evans had listened more or less at the door of the justice's room. Is this so, sir? Ask Mr. Eden gravely, politely and without a shadow of visible exultation. You know it is you sneaking undermining villain. You have outmaneuvered me. When was an honest soldier a match for a person? Ah, cried Mr. Eden. Then run to the gate Evans and let the men into the jail with the printing press and the looms. They have been waiting four hours for this. Paws turned black with rage. Oh, I know you made sure of winning. A black guard that loads the dice can always do that. Your triumph won't be long. I was in this jail honored and respected for four years till you came. You won't be four months before you are kicked out and no one to say a good word for you. A petty Christian to suborn my own servants and rob me of my place and make a beggar in my old age. A man you are not worthy to serve under. A man that served his country by sea and land before you were welped, you black hypocrite. You a Christian, you? I thought that I'd turn atheist or anything you poor backbiting, tail telling sneaking undermining false witness bearing. Unhappy man, cried Mr. Eden. Turn those perverse eyes from the faults of others to your own danger. The temptations under which you fell and hear. Then let their veil fall from your eyes and you may yet bless those who came between your soul and its everlasting ruin. Your victims are dead. Their eternal fate is fixed by you. Heaven is more merciful. It has not struck you dead by your victim's side. It gives you the greatest sinner of all, a chance to escape. Seize that chance. Waste no time in passion and petulance. Think only of your forfeited soul. Mad man to your knees. What dare you die as you have lived these three years past? Dare you die aboard of heaven? Fool, see yourself as every eye on earth and in heaven sees you. The land contains no criminals so black as you. Other homicides have struck hastily on provocation or stung by injury or thrust or drawn by some great passion. But you have deliberately gnawed away men's lives. Others have seen their one victim die but you have looked on your many victims dying yet not spared them. Other homicides hands are stained but yours are steeped in blood. To your knees man slayer. I dare not promise you that a life given to penitence and charity were saved so foul a soul but it may for heaven's mercy is infinite. Seize on that small chance. Seize it like one who feels Satan clutching him and dragging him down to eternal flames. Life is short, eternity is close, judgment is sure. A few short years and you must meet Edward Joseph's again before the eternal judge. What a tribunal to face your victims opposite you. There the long standing prejudices that save you from a felon's death here will avail you nothing. There the quibbles that pass current on earth will be blasted with the lips that dare to utter and the hearts that coin them. Before him who has neither body nor parts yet created all the forms of matter vainly will you pretend that you did not slay because forsooth the weapons with which you struck at life were invisible and not to be comprehended by a vulgar shallow sensual earthly judge. There too the imperfection of human language will yield no leaf of shelter. Hope not to shift the weight of guilt upon poor Joseph's there. On earth muddleheads will catch his death and the self-murderers by one name of suicide. And so dream the two acts were one. But you cannot gull omniscience with a word. The wise man's counter and the money of a fool. Be not deceived as Rosamond took poison in her hand and drank it with her own lips and died by her own act. Yet died assassinated by her rival. So die Joseph's. As men taken by pirates at sea and pricked with cold steel till in despair and pain they flung themselves into the sea. So die Joseph's and his fellows murdered by you. Be not deceived. I a minister of the gospel of mercy. I whose character leans toward charity tell you that if you die impenitent so surely as the sun shines and the Bible is true the murder of Edward Joseph's and his brothers will damn your soul to the flames of hell forever and forever and forever. Be gone then poor miserable creature. Do not look behind you. Fly from this scene where crime and its delusion still cling around your brain and your self deceiving heart. Waste no more time with me. A minute lost may be a soul lost. The avenger of blood is behind you. Run quickly to your own home. Go up to your secret chamber and there fall down upon your knees before God and cry loud and long to him for pardon. Cry mightily for help. Cry humbly and groaning for the power to repent. Away, away wash those red hands and that black soul in years and years of charity in tears and tears of penitence and in our redeemer's blood. Be gone and darken and trouble us here no more. The cow jailer shrank and cowered before the thunder and lightning of the priest, who, mild by nature, was awful when he rebuked an impenitent sinner out of holy writ. He slunk away, his knees trembling under him, and the first fiery seeds of remorse sewn in his dry heart. He met the printing press coming in and the loom following it naturally. He scowled at them and groaned. Evans held the door open for him with a look of joy that stirred all his bile again. He turned on the very threshold and spat a volley of oaths upon Evans. Evans, at this, put down his head like a bowl and, running fiercely with the huge door, slammed it close on his heel with such ferocity that the report rang like a thunder clap through the entire building and the ex-jailer was in the street. Five minutes more, the printing press and loom were reinstalled and the punishment jacket packed up and sent to London to the home office. Ten minutes more, the cranks were examined by the artists in iron Mr. Eden had sent for and all condemned. It being proved that the value of their resistance stated on their lying faces was scarce one third of their actual resistance, so much for unerring science. The effect of this little bit of science may be thus stated, men for two years had been punished as refractory for not making all day 2,000 revolutions per hour of a 15 pound crank. When all the while it was a 45 pound crank they had been vainly struggling against all day. The proportions of this gory lie never varied. Each crank tasked the Sisyphus three times what it professed to do. It was calculated that four prisoners on an average crank marked 10 pound had to exert an aggregate force equal to one horse and this exertion was prolonged day after day far beyond a horse's power of endurance and in many cases on a modicum of food so scanty that no horse ever fold so fed could have drawn an armchair a mile. Five minutes more Mr. Eden had placed in Mr. Lacey's hand a list of prisoners to whom a free pardon ought now to be extended. Some having suffered a somewhat shorter period but a greater rate of misery than the judges had contemplated in their several senses and others being so shaken and depressed by separate confinement pushed to excess that their life and reason now stood in peril for want of open air, abundant light and free intercourse with their species. At the head of these was poor strut and old man crushed to clay by separate confinement recklessly applied. So alarming was this man's torpor to Mr. Eden that after trying in vain to interest him in the garden that observer ventured on a very strong measure. He had learned from strut that he could play the fiddle. What does he do but runs and fetches his own violin into the garden, tunes it and plays some most inspiring rollicking old English tunes to him. A spark came into the fishy eye of strut. At the third tune the old fellow's fingers began to work impatiently. Mr. Eden broke off directly put the fiddle and bow into strut's hand and ran off to the prison again to arrest melancholy, despair, lunacy, stagnation, mortification, putrefaction by every art that philosophy and mother wit could suggest to Christianity. This determined man had collected his teaching mechanics again and he had them all into the prison the moment Hawes was out. He could not get the cranks condemned as monsters. The day was not yet come for that. So he got them condemned as liars and in their place tasks of rational and productive labor were set to most of the prisoners and London written two for six more trades and arts. A copy of the prison rules was cut into eight portions and eight female prisoners set to compose each her portion. Copies to be printed on the morrow and put up in every cell according to the wise provision of rule 10, defied by the late jailer for an obvious reason. Thus in an hour after the body of Hawes had passed through the gate, a firm and a droid hand was wiping his gloomy soul out of the cells as we wipe a blotch of ink off a written page. Care too was taken every prisoner should know the late jailer was gone forever. This was done to give the wretches a happy night. Ejaculations of thanksgiving burst from the cells every now and then. By some mysterious means the emirates seemed to share the joyful tidings with their fellows and one pulse of hope and triumph to beat and thrill through all the life that wasted and withered there encased in stone. And until sunset the faint notes of a fiddle struggled from the garden into the temple of silence and gloom and astounded every ear. The merry tunes a strut played them sounded like dirges but they enlivened him as they sighed forth. They stirred his senses and through his senses his mind and through his mind his body. And so the anthropologist made a fiddle help save a life in which fact no mortal man will believe whose habit it is to chatter blindfolded about man and investigate the crustacean denigli. The cranks being condemned, rational industry restored and the law receded on the throne a manslaughtering dunce had usurped. The champion of human nature went home to drink his tea and write the plot of his sermon. He had won a great battle and felt his victory. He showed it too in his own way. On the evening of this great day his voice was remarkably gentle and winning and a celestial light seemed to dwell in his eyes. No word of exultation nor even of self-congratulation. And he made no direct mention of the prison all the evening. His talk was about Susan's affairs and he paid his warm thanks to her and her aunt for all they had done for him. You have been true friends, true allies said he. What do I not owe you? You have supported me in a bitter struggle and now that the day is won I can find no words to thank you as I ought. Both these honest women colored and glistened with pleasure but they were too modest to be ready with praise or to bandy compliments. As for you Susan, it was a master stroke you're venturing into my den. Oh, we turn bold when a body is ill don't we aunt? I am not shy for one at the best of times remarked a latter. Under heaven you saved my life, at least I think, says Susan. For the medicinal power of soothing influences is immense. I am sure it is apt to be underrated. And then it was you who flew to Malvern and dragged gulsing to me at the crisis of my fate. Dear little true-hearted friend, I am sorry to think I can never repay you. You forget, Mr. Eden, said Susan, almost in a whisper. I was paid beforehand. I wish I could convey the native grace and gentle dignity of gratitude with which the farmer's daughter murmured these four words, like a duchess acknowledging a kindness. A. inquired Mr. Eden. Oh, ah, I forgot, he said naively. No, that is nonsense, Susan. You have still an immense credit against my name, but I know away, Mrs. Davies. For as simple as I sit here, you see in me the ecclesiastic that shall unite this young lady to an honest man, who, report says, loves her very dearly. So I mean to square our little account. That is fair, Susan, what do you say? La, aunt, why I shouldn't look upon it as a marriage at all if any clergyman but Mr. Eden said the words. That is right, left, Mr. Eden. Always set some little man above some great thing, and then you will always be a woman. I must write the plot of my sermon, ladies, but you can talk to me all the same. He wrote and purred every now and then to the women who purred to each other and now and then to him. Neither pause nor any other irritation rankled in his heart, or even stuck fast in his memory. He had two sermons to prepare for Sunday next, and he threw his mind into them as he had into the battle he had just won. Hock Agabat. End of chapter 26. Chapter 27 of It is never too late to mend. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. It is never too late to mend by Charles Reed, chapter 27. His reverence in the late battle showed himself a strategist and one without bringing up his reserves. If he had failed with Mr. Lacy, he had another arrow behind in his quiver. He had been twice to the mayor and claimed a coroner's jury to sit on a suicide. The mayor had consented and the preliminary steps had been taken. The morning after the jailer's dismissal, the inquest was held. Mr. Eden, Evans, Fry and others were examined and the case came out as clear as the day and black as the night. When 12 honest Englishmen, men of plain sense, not men of system, men taken from the public, not from public offices, sat in a circle with the corpse of a countryman at their knees, fire-butt locks, as though 12 sons had burst into a dust hole. Man slaughter cried day and they sent their spokesman to the mayor and said, yet more light must be led into this dust hole and the mayor said, I and it shall too. I will write to London and demand more light and the men of the public went to their own homes and told their wives and children and neighbors what cruelty and villainy they had unearthed and their hearers being men and women of that people who just got in intellect and in heart, compared with the critical stars that tried to misguide it with their shallow guesses and count and with the clocks that executed in other men's names cry out, say now, what is the use of building courts of law or prisons unless they are to be open unto us? Shut us out, keep walls and closed gate between us and our servants and what comes of our courts of law and our prisons why they turn nests of villainy in less than no time? The 12 honest Englishmen had hardly left the jail an hour crying man slaughter and crying shame when all in a moment Tom fell a single heavy stroke of the great prison bell. The heart of the prison leaped and then grew cold, a long chill pause then Tom again. The jury man had told most of his fellow sufferers how Joseph's was driven into his grave and now Tom. The remorseless iron tongue crushed out one by one. The last sad stern monosyllables of the sorrowfulness of human tales. They put him in his coffin, Tom, a boy of 16 who would be alive now, but that kites whom God confound on earth made life an impossibility to him. Tom and that shallows and wood cocks whom God confound on earth and unconscious non-inspecting inspectors, flankies, humbugs, hirelings whom God confounded on earth, Tom. Left these scoundles month after month and year after year unwatched, though largely paid by the queen and the people to watch them, Tom. Look on your work hirelings and listen to that bell which would not be toiling now if you had been man of brains and scruples instead of sordid hirelings. The priest was on his knees praying for help from heaven to go through the last sad office with composure for he feared his own heart when he should come to say ashes to ashes and dust to dust over this hapless boy that ought to be in life still. And still the great bell told and many of the prisoners were invited kindly in a whisper to come into the chapel. But Fry could not be spared and Hodges fiercely refused. And now the bell stopped and as it stopped the voice of the priest arose. I am the resurrection and the life. A deep and sad gloom was upon all as the last sad offices were done for this poor young creature cut short by foul play in the midst of them. And for all he could do the priest's voice trembled often and the heavy sigh mingled more than once with the holy words. What is that? This our brother. A thief our brother, eh? The priest made no mistake. Those were the words. Pause on them. Two great characters contradicted each other to the face over dead Josephs. Unholy state said, here is the carcass of a thief whom I and society honestly believe to be of no more importance than a dog. So it has unfortunately got killed between us no matter how. Take this carcass and bury it, said unholy state. Holy church took the poor abused remains with reverence, prayed over them as she prays over the just and laid them in the earth, calling them this our brother. Judge now, which is all in the wrong? Unholy state or holy church? For both cannot be right. Now, while the grave is being filled in, judge, women of England and America, between these two, unholy state and holy church. The earth contains no better judges of this doubt than you. Judge and I will bow to your verdict with a reverence. I know mail clicks too well to feel for them in a case where the great capacious heart alone can enlighten the clever little narrow, shallow brain. Thus, in the 19th century, in a kind-hearted nation under the most human sovereign the world has ever witnessed on an earthly throne, holy church in vain denouncing their miserable sinners that slay the thief their brother, Edward Joseph's has been done to death in the queen's name, in the name of England and in the name of the law. But each of these great insulted names has its sworn defenders, its honored and paid defenders. It is not for us to suppose that men so high in honor will lay aside themselves and turn curves. Here I close this long story. Let us hope I shall be able to relate with what zeal and honor statesmen disowned and punished wholesale manslota done in the name of the state. And with what zeal and horror judges disowned and punished wholesale manslota done in their name. And so in all good's man's eyes washed off the blood with which a highling and bespattered the state airmen and the snow-white robe of law. For the present, the account between Joseph's and the law stands thus. Joseph's has committed the smallest theft imaginable. He has stolen food. For this the law professing to punish him with certain months imprisonment has inflicted capital punishment. Has over-tasked, crucified, starved, over-tasked, starved, crucified, robbed him of light, of sleep, of hope, of life. Has destroyed his body and perhaps his soul. Some total first page of account. Joseph's a larcenist and a corpse. The law, a liar and a felon. End of chapter 27. Chapter is 28 and 29 of It is never too late to mend. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. It is never too late to mend, by Charles Reid. Chapter 28. Joseph's has dropped out of our story. Mr. Huey's has got himself kicked out of our story. The other prisoners of whom casual mention has been made were never in our story anymore than the boy Zuri in Robinson Crusoe. There remains to us in the prison Mr. Eden and Robinson, a saint and a thief. My readers have seen how the saint has saved the thieves life. They shall guess a while, how on earth Susan Merton can be affected by that circumstance. They have seen a set of bipeds acting on the notion that all prisoners are incurable. They have seen a thief thus dispaired of, driven toward despair and almost made incurable through being thought so. Then they have seen this supposed incurable fall into the hands of a Christian that held it is never too late to mend. And generally I think that, feebly as my pen has drawn so great a character, they can calculate by what Mr. Eden has already done, what he will do while I'm with Susan and George. What love, what eloquence, what ingenuity he will move to save this wandering sheep, to turn this thief honest and teach him how to be honest yet not starve. I will ask my reader to bear in mind that the good and wise priest has no longer his hands tied by a jailer in the interest of the foul fiend. But then against all this is to be set the slippery heart of a thief, a thief almost from his cradle. Here are great antagonist forces and they will be in daily almost hourly collision for months to come. In life nothing stands still. All this will work good word or bad word, I must leave it to work. Chapter 29 Mr. Eden's health improved so visibly that Susan Merton announced her immediate return to her father. It was a fixed idea in this young lady's mind that she and Mrs. Davis had no business in the house of a saint upon earth, as she called Mr. Eden, except as nurses. The parting of attached friends has always a touch of sadness needless to dwell on at this time. Enough that these two parted as brother and young sister and a spiritual advisor and advised with warm expressions of Christian amity and an agreement on Susan's part to write for advice and sympathy were never needed. On her arrival at the Grasmere farm there was Mr. Meadows to greet her. Well, that is attentive, cried Susan. There was also a stranger to her and Mr. Clinton. As nothing remarkable occurred this evening, we may as well explain this Mr. Clinton. He was a speculator and above all, a setter on foot of rotten speculations and a keeper on foot a little while of lame ones. No man exceeded him in the art of rose tinting, bad paper or parchment. He was sanguine and fluent. His mind had two eyes and eagles and a bats. With the first he looked at the pros and with the second at the cons of a spec. He was an old acquaintance of Meadows and had come 30 miles out of the way to show him how to make 100% without the shadow of a risk. Meadows declined to violate the law of nature, but said he if you like to stay a day or two I will introduce you to one or two who have money to fling away. And he introduced him to Mr. Martin. Now that Worthy had a fair stock of latent cupidity and Mr. Clinton was the man to tempt it. In a very few conversations, he convinced the farmer that there were a hundred ways of making money. All of them quicker than the slow process of farming and the unpleasant process of denying one's self-superfluities and growing saved pennies into pounds. What do you think, John? said Martin one day to Meadows. I have got a few hundred slews. I'm half-minded to try and turn them into thousands for my girl's sake. Mr. Clinton makes it clear, don't you think? Well, I don't know, was the reply. I have no experience in that sort of thing, but it certainly looks well the way he puts it. In short, Meadows did not discourage his friend from cooperating with Mr. Clinton. For his own part, he spoke him fair and expressed openly a favorable opinion of his talent and his various projects and always found some excuse or other for not risking a half penny with him. End of CHAPTERS XXXVIII and XXIX CHAPTER XXXXI. One day Mr. Meadows walked into the post office of Farnborough and said to Jeffries, the postmaster, a word with you in private, Mr. Jeffries. Certainly, Mr. Meadows, come to my back parlor, sir. A fine day, Mr. Meadows, but I think we shall have a shower or two. Shouldn't wonder, do you know this five-pound note? Can't say I do. Why, has it passed through your hands? Has it? Well, a good many of them pass through my hands in the course of the year. I wish a few of them would stop on the road. This one did. It stuck to your fingers as the phrase goes. I don't know what you mean, sir, said Jeffries huddly. You stole it, explained Meadows quietly. Take care, quiet Jeffries, in a loud quaver. Take care what you say. I'll have my action of defamation against you double quick if you dare to say such a thing of me. So be it. You will want witnesses. Defamation is no defamation, you know, till the scandal is published. Call in your lodger. Ugh, and call your wife, cried Meadows, raising his voice in turn. Heaven forbid, don't speak so loud for goodness sake. Hold your tongue then and don't waste my time with your gammon, said Meadows sternly. Then, resuming his former manner, he went on in the tone of calm explanation. One or two in this neighborhood lost money coming through the post. I said to myself, Jeffries is a man that often talks of his conscience. He will be the thief. So I baited six traps for you, and you took five. This note came over from Ireland. You remember it now? I am ruined. I am ruined. You changed it at Evans the Grocers. You had four sovereigns and silver for it. The other baits were a note in two sovereigns and two half sovereigns. You spared one sovereign, the rest you nailed. They were all marked by Lawyer Crawley. They have been traced from your hand and lie locked up ready for next to sizes. Good morning, Mr. Jeffries. Jeffries turned a cold jelly where he sat, and Meadows walked out, primed Crawley, and sent him to stroll inside of the post office. Soon a quavering voice called Crawley into the post office. Come into my back parlor, sir. Oh, Mr. Crawley, can nothing be done. No one knows my misfortune but you and Mr. Meadows. It is not for my own sake, sir, but my wife's. If she knew I had been tempted so far astray, she would never hold up her head again. Sir, if you and Mr. Meadows will let me off this once, I will take an oath on my bended knees never to offend again. What good will that do me, asked Crawley contemptuously. Ah, cried Jeffries, a light breaking in. Will money make it right? I'll sell the coat off my back, if it was only me. But Mr. Meadows has such a sense of public duty, and yet, hmm, I know a way to influence him just now. Oh, sir, do pray use your influence with him. What will you do for me if I succeed? Do for you, cut myself in pieces to serve you. Well, Jeffries, I'm undertaking a difficult task. To turn such a man is Meadows, but I will try it. And I think I shall succeed. But I must have charms. Every letter that comes here from Australia you must bring to me with your own hands directly. I will, sir. I will. I shall keep it an hour or two, perhaps, not more. And I shall take no money out of it. I will do it, sir, and with pleasure. It is the least I can do for you. And you must find me ten pounds. The little rogue must do a bit on his own account. I must pinch to get it, said Jeffries ruefully. Pinch, then, replied Crawley Cooley. And let me have it directly. You shall. You shall. Before the day is out. And you must never let Meadows know I took this money of you. No, sir, I won't. Is that all? That is all. Then I am very grateful, sir, and I won't fail. You may depend. Thus the two battle-doors played with this poor little undetected one, whom his respectability no less than his roguery placed at their mercy. CHAPTER XXXI Whenever Mr. Meadows could do Mr. Levi an ill turn he did, and vice versa. They hated one another like men who differ about baptism. Susan sprinkled dew-drops of charity on each in turn. Levi listened to her with infinite pleasure. Her voice said he is low and melodious like the voice of my own people in the East. And then she secretly quoted the New Testament to him, having first ascertained that he had never read it. And he wondered where on earth this simple girl had picked up so deep a wisdom and so lofty and self-denying a morality. Meadows listened to her with respect from another cause, but the ill offices that kept passing between the two men counteracted her transitory influence and fed fat the ancient grudge. CHAPTER XXXII Still Fielding is in the town. I'm to arrest him, as agreed last night. Hmm. No. Why have I got the judgment in my pocket and the constable at the public hard-buy? Never mind. He was saucy to me in the market yesterday. I was angry, and—but anger is a snare. What shall I gain by locking him up just now? Let him go. Well, sir, your will is law, said Crawley obsequiously, but sadly. Now to business of more importance. At your service, sir. But the business of more importance was interrupted by a sudden knock at the outside door of Mr. Meadows' study. Well? A young lady to see you. A young lady, inquired Meadows, with no very amiable air. I am engaged. Do you know who it is? Miss Farmer Merton's daughter, David, says. Miss Merton cried Meadows with a marvellous change of manner. Show her up directly. Crawley, run into the passage, quick man, and wait for signals. He bundled Crawley out, shut the secret door, threw open both the others, and welcomed Susan warmly at the threshold. Well, this is good of you, Miss Merton, to come and shine in upon me in my own house. I have brought your book back," replied Susan, colouring a little. That was my errand. That is, said she, that was partly my errand. She hesitated a moment. I am going to Mr. Levi. Meadows' countenance fell, and I wouldn't go to him without coming to you, because what I have to say to him I must say to you as well. Mr. Meadows, do let me persuade you out of this bitter feeling against the poor old man. Oh, I know you will say he is worse than you are. So he is. A little. But then consider he has more excuse than you. He has never been taught how wicked it is not to forgive. You know it. But don't practice it. Meadows looked at the simple-minded enthusiast, and his cold eye deepened in colour as it dwelt on her, and his voice dropped into the low and modulated tone which no other human creature but this ever heard from him. The nature is very revengeful. Few of us are like you. It is my misfortune that I have not often or a lesson from you. Perhaps you might charm away this un-Christian spirit that makes me unworthy to be your—your friend. Oh, no, no, cried Susan. If I thought so, should I be here? Your voice and your face do make me at peace with all the world, Susan. I beg your pardon, Miss Martin. And why not, Susan? said the young lady kindly. Well, Susan is a very inviting name. La, Mr. Meadows, cried Susan, arching her brows. Why, it is a frightful name. It is so old-fashioned. Nobody is christened, Susan, nowadays. It is a name for everything that is good, and gentle, and lovely. A moment more in passion would have melted all the icy barriers prudence and craft had reared round this deep heart. His voice was trembling, his cheek flushing, but he was saved by an enemy. Susan cried a threatening voice at the door, and there stood William Fielding with a look to match. Rage burned in Meadows' heart. He said briskly, Come in! And, seizing a slip of paper, he wrote five words on it and taking out a book, flung it into the passage to Crawley. He then turned toward William Fielding, who by this time had walked up to Susan. He was on the other side of the screen. "'Was told you had gone in here,' said William quietly, so I came after you.' "'Now that was very attentive of you,' replied Susan ironically. "'It is so nice to have a sensible young man like you following forever at one's heels. Like a dog?' "'A world of quiet scorn embellished this little remark.' "'William's reply was happier than usual. The sheep find the dog often in their way. But they are all the safer for him.' "'Well, I'm sure,' cried Susan, her scorn giving way to anger. "'Mr. Meadows put in, I must trouble you to treat Miss Martin with proper respect when you speak to her in my house.' "'Who respects her more than I?' retorted William. "'But you see, Mr. Meadows, sheep are no match for wolves when the dog is away.' "'So the dog is here.' "'I see the dog is here and by his own invitation. All I say is that if the dog is to stay here he must behave like a man.' "'William gasped at this hit. He didn't trust himself to answer Meadows. In fact, a blow of his fist seemed to him the only sufficient answer. He turned to Susan. "'Susan, do you remember poor George's last words to me, with a tear in his eye and his hand in mine?' "'Well, I keep my promise to him. I keep my eye upon such as I think capable of undermining my brother.' "'This man is a schemer, Susan, and you were too simple to fathom him. The look of surprise crafty Meadows put on here in William Fielding's implied compliment of his own superior sagacity struck Susan as infinitely ludicrous, and she looked at Meadows and laughed like a peel of bells. Of course, he looked at her and laughed with her. At this all-young Fielding's self-restraint went to the winds and he went on. But sooner than that all twist as good a man's neck has ever schemed in Jack Meadows' shoes. At this defiance Meadows wheeled round on William Fielding and confronted him with his stalwart person and eyes glowing with gloomy wrath. Susan screamed with terror at William's insulting words and at the attitude of the two men, and she made a step to throw herself between them if necessary. But before the words could end and blows a tap at the study-door caused a diversion, and a cringing sort of voice said, May I come in? Of course you may, shouted Meadows. The place is public. Anybody walks into my room to-day, friend or foe. Don't ask my leave. Come in, man, whoever you are. Mr. Crawley. Well, I didn't expect a call from you any more than from this one. Now don't you be angry, sir. I had a good reason for intruding on you this once. Jackson? Jackson stepped forward and touched William Fielding on the shoulder. You must come along with me, said he. What for? inquired Fielding. You are arrested on this judgment, explained Crawley, letting the document peep a moment from his west-good pocket. William threw himself into an attitude of defense. His first impulse was to knock the officer down and run into another county. But the next moment he saw the folly and injustice of this and another sentiment overpowered the honest, simple fellow. Shame. He covered his face with both his hands and groaned aloud with the sense of humiliation. Oh, my poor William! cried Susan. Oh, Mr. Meadows, can nothing be done? Why, Miss Merton, said Meadows, looking down, you can't expect me to do anything for him. If it was his brother now, lawyer Crawley shouldn't ever take him out of my house. Susan flushed all over. That I am sure you would, Mr. Meadows cried she for feeling obscured grammar. Now see, dear William, how your temper and unworthy suspicions alienate our friends. But Father Shant let you lie in prison. Mr. Meadows, will you lend me a sheet of paper? She sat down, pen in hand, in generous excitement. While she wrote, Mr. Meadows addressed Crawley. And now a word with you, Mr. Crawley. You and I meet on business now and then, but we are not on visiting terms that I know of. How come you to walk into my house with a constable at your back? Well, sir, I did it for the best, said Crawley apologetically. Our man came in here, and the street door was open, and I said, He is a friend of Mr. Meadows. Perhaps it would be more delicate to all parties to take him in doors than in the open street. Oh, yes, cried William, it is bitter enough as it is, but that would have been worse. Thank you for arresting me here. And now take me away and let me hide from all the world. Fools! said a farmed voice behind the screen. Fools! at this word and a new voice Susan started up from the table and William turned his face from the wall. Meadows did more. Another! cried he in utter amazement. Why, my house is an inn! Ah! While speaking he could run round the screen and come plump upon Isaac Gleevi seated in a chair. And looking up in face was stern composure. His exclamation brought the others round after him, and a group of excited faces encircled this old man seated sternly composed. Fools! repeated he. These tricks were stale before England was a nation. Which of you two has the judgment? I, sir, said Crawley at a look from Meadows. The amount? A hundred and six, thirteen, four. Here is the money. Give me the document. Here, sir, Levi read it. This action was taken off on a bill of exchange. I must have that, too. Here it is, sir. Would you like an acknowledgment, Mr. Levi? said Crawley obsequiously. No, foolish man. Are not these sufficient vouchers? You are free, sir, said Crawley to William with an error of cheerful congratulation. Am I? Then I advise you to get out of my way, for my fingers do itch to fling you head foremost down the stairs. From this hint out-riggled Mr. Crawley with a semi-circle of bows to the company. Constable touched his front lock and went straight away as if he was going through the opposite wall of the house. Meadows pointed after him with his finger and said to Levi, You see the road. Get out of my house. The old man never moved from his chair to which he had returned after paying William's debts. It is not your house, said he coolly. The other started. No matter, replied Meadows sharply, it is mine till my mortgage is paid off. I am here to pay it. Ah! Principal in interest calculated up to twelve o'clock this eleventh day of March. It wants five minutes to twelve. I offer you principal in interest eight hundred and twenty-two pounds, fourteen shillings, and five pence, three farthings, before these witnesses, and demand the title deeds. Meadows hung his head. He was not a man to waste words in mere scolding. He took the blow with forced calmness as who should say this is your turn, the next is mine. Miss Martin, said he almost in a whisper, I never had the honor to receive you here before, and I never shall again. How long do you give me to move my things? Can you not guess, inquired the other with a shade of curiosity? Why of course you will put me to all the inconvenience you can. Now, am I to move all my furniture and effects out of this great house in twenty-four hours? I give you more than that. How kind! What! You give me a week, perhaps? Ask Meadows incredulously. More than that, you fool. Don't you see that it is on next lady-day you will be turned into the street? Aha! Woman worshiper on lady-day. A tooth for a tooth. And the old man ground his teeth which were wide as ivory and his fist clenched itself while his eye glittered and he swelled out from the chair and literally bristled with hate. A tooth. For a tooth. Oh, Mr. Levi, said Susan Sorrowfully, how soon you have forgotten my last lesson. Meadows for a moment felt a chill of fear at the punctiliousness of revenge in this Oriental whom he had made his enemy. To this succeeded the old hate multiplied by ten, but he made a monstrous effort and drove it from his face down into the recesses of his heart. Well, said he, may you enjoy this house as I have done this last twelve months. That does you credit good Mr. Meadows, cried simple Susan, missing his meaning. Meadows continued in the same tone. And I must make shift with the one you vacate on lady-day. Solomon teach me to outwit this dog. Come, Mr. Levi, I have visited Mr. Meadows, and now I am going to your house. You shall be welcome. Kindly welcome, said the old man with large and flowing courtesy. And will you show me, said Susan, very tenderly, where Leah used to sit? Ah! And where Rachel and Sarah loved to play? Ah, me. Ah, me. Ah, me. Yes, I could not show another these holy places, but I will show you. And will you forget a while this unhappy quarrel and listen to my words? Surely I shall listen to you, for even now your voice is to my ear like the wind, sighing among the cedars of Lebanon, and the wave that plays at night upon the sands of Galilee. Tis but the frail voice of a foolish woman who loves and respects you. And yet, said Susan, her color mantling with enthusiasm, with it I can speak you words more beautiful than Lebanon's cedars or Galilee's shore. I, old man, words that make the stars brighter and the sons of the morning rejoice. I will not tell you whence I had them, but you shall say surely they never came from earth, selfish, cruel, revengeful earth, these words that drop on our hot passions like to do, and speak of trespasses forgiven, and peace and goodwill among men. Oh, magic of a lovely voice speaking the truths of heaven! How still the room was as these goodly words rang in from a pure heart. Three men there had all been raging with anger and hate. Now a calming music fell like oil upon these human waves and stilled them. The men drooped their heads and held their breath to make sure the balmy sounds had ceased. Then leave I answered in a gentle tone, firm and low, very different from his last. Susanna, bitterness fades from my heart as you speak. But experience remains. He turned to meadows. When I wander forth at lady-day she shall still be watched over though I be far away. My eye shall be here, and my hand shall still be so over you all, and raising his thin hand he held it high up, the nails pointing downward. It looked just like a hawk hovering over its prey. I will say no bitterer word than that to-day, and in fact he delivered this without apparent heat or malice. Come then with me, Susanna, a goodly name. It comes to you from the despised people. Come like peace to my dwelling, Susanna. You know not this world's wiles as I do, but you can teach me the higher wisdom that controls the folly of passion and purifies the soul. The pair were gone, and William and Meadows were left alone. The latter looked sadly and gloomily at the door by which Susan had gone out. He was in a sort of torpor. He was not conscious of William's presence. Mother said William had a misgiving. In the country a man's roof is sacred. He had affronted Meadows under his own roof, and then Mr. Levi had come in and affronted him there, too. William began to doubt whether this was not a little hard. Moreover he thought he had seen Meadows brush his eye hastily with the back of his hand as Susan retired. He came toward Meadows with his old, sulky, honest, hang-the-head manner, and said Mr. Meadows, seems to me we have been a little hard upon you in your own house. And I am not quite easy about my share on't. Meadows shrugged his shoulders imperceptibly. Well, sir, I am not the Almighty to read folks' hearts, least of all such a one is yours. But if I have done you wrong, I ask your pardon. Come, sir, if you don't mean to undermine my brother with the girl, you can give me your hand, and I can give you mine. And there it is. Meadows wished this young man away, and seeing that the best way to get rid of him was to give him his hand, he turned round, and scarcely looking toward him gave him his hand. William shook it and went away with something that sounded like a sigh. Meadows saw him out and locked the door impatiently. Then he flung himself into a chair and laid his beating temples on the cold table. Then he started up and walked wildly to and fro the room. The man was torn this way and that with rage, love, and remorse. What shall I do? Thus ran his thoughts. That angel is my only refuge, and yet to win her I shall have to walk through dirt and shame and every sin that is. I see crimes ahead. Such a heap of crimes my flesh creeps at the number of them. Why not be like her? Why not be the greatest saint that ever lived instead of one more villain added to so many? Let me tear this terrible love out of my heart and die. Oh, if someone would but take me by the scruff of the neck and drag me to some other country a million miles away, where I might never see my tempter again till this madness is out of me. Susan, you are an angel, but you will plunge me to hell. Now it happened while he was thus raving and suffering the preliminary pangs of wrongdoing that his old servant knocked at the outside of the door and thrust a letter through the trap. The letter was from a country gentleman. One Mr. Chester for whom he had done business. Mr. Chester wrote from Lancashire. He informed Meadows he had succeeded to a very large property in that county. It had been shockingly mismanaged by his predecessor. He wanted a capable man's advice, and moreover all the estates thereabouts were compelled to be surveyed and valued this year, which he deplored, but since it was so he would be surveyed and valued by none but John Meadows. Come by return of post, added this hasty squire, and I'll introduce you to half the landed proprietors in this county. Meadows read this, and seizing a pen, wrote thus, Dear sir, yours received this day at one p.m. and will start for your house at six p.m. He threw himself on his horse and rode to his mother's house. Mother, I am turned out of my house. Why, John, you don't say so. I must go into the new house I have built outside the town. What, the one you thought to let to Mr. James? The same. I have only got a fortnight to move all my things. Will you do me a kindness now, will you see them put into the new house? Me, John, why I should be afraid something would go wrong. Well, it isn't fair of me to put this trouble on you at your age, but read this letter. There is fifteen hundred pounds waiting for me in the north. The old woman put on her spectacles and read the letter slowly. Go, John, go by all means. I will see all your things moved into the new house, don't let them be a hindrance. You go. Your old mother will take care of your things or not hurt moving, nor you're wronged in the way of expanse. Thank you, mother. Thank you. They say there is no friend like a mother, and I dare say they are not far wrong. No such friend but God. None such but God, said the old woman with great emphasis in looking meadows in the face with the searching eye. Well, then here are the keys of the new house, and here are my keys. I am off to-night, so good-bye, mother. God bless you. He had just turned to go when by an unusual impulse he turned, took the old woman in his hands, almost lifted her off the ground for she weighed light, and gave her a hasty kiss on the cheek. Then he sat her down and strode out of the house about his business. When curious Hannah ran in the next moment she found the old lady in silent agitation. Oh, dear. What is the matter, day meadows? Nothing at all, silly girl. Nothing. And look at you, all of a tremble. He took me up all in a moment and kissed me. I dare say it is five and twenty years since he kissed me last. He was a curly-headed lad, then. So this had set the poor old thing trembling. He soon recovered her firmness in that very evening Hannah and she slept in John's house, and the next day set to and began to move his furniture and prepare his new house for him. CHAPTERS 33, 34, and 35 of it is never too late to mend. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. It is never too late to mend by Charles Reid. CHAPTER 33 Peter Crawley received a regular allowance during his chief's absence, and remained in constant communication with him, and was as, here to fore, his money-bag, his tool, his invisible hand. But if anybody had had a microscope in lots of time they might have discovered a gloomy hue spreading itself over Crawley's soul. A pleasant illusion had been rudely shaken. All men have something they admire. Crawley admired cunning. It is not a sublime quality, but Crawley thought it was, and revered it with pious affection at all. He had always thought Mr. Meadows, number one, in cunning. But now came a doleful suspicion that he was number two. Losing a portion of his veneration for the chief he had seen outmaneuvered, he took the liberty of getting drunk contrary to his severe command, and, being drunk and maudlin, he unbuzzened himself on this head to a low woman, who was his confidant whenever drank loosened his tongue. I'm outspirits, Al. I'm tebly outspirits. Where shall we all go to? I didn't think there was a great man on earth as Mr. Meadows. But the worlds wide, Ms. Aliva is great a man. A much greater man. He was down upon us like an armor. His Jews I went through our little skim like a gimlet. Fools, says he, that's me and Meadows. These dodges were used up in our family before London was built. Fools, Ms. Aliva despises me and Meadows, and I respect him accordingly. I'm tebly outspirits. CHAPTER 34 Farmer Martin received a line from Meadows telling him he had gone into Lancashire on important business, and did not expect to be back for three months except perhaps for a day at a time. Martin handed the letter to Susan. We shall miss him, was her remark. That we shall. He is capital company. And a worthy man into the bargain said Susan warmly, spite of what little-minded folks say and think. What do you think that Will Fielding did only yesterday? I don't know. Well he followed me into—there. It is not worth while having an open quarrel, but I shall hate the sight of his very face. I can't think how such a fool can be George's brother. No wonder George and he could not agree. Poor Mr. Meadows, to be affronted in his own house just for treating me with respect and civility. So that is a crime now. What are you saying, girl, that young pauper affront my friend Meadows, the warmest man for fifty miles round? If he has he shall never come on my premises again. You may take your oath of that. Susan looked aghast. This was more than she had bargained for. She was the last in the world to set two people by the ears. Now don't you be so peppery, father, said she. There is nothing to make a quarrel about. Yes there is, though, if that ignorant beggar insulted my friend. No. No. No. Why, what did you say? I say— That here is Mr. Clinton coming to the door. Let him in, girl, let him in. And you needn't stay, we are going to talk business. CHAPTER XXXV Mrs. Meadows, preparing her son's new home and defeating the little cheating tradesmen and workmen that fasten like leeches on such as carry their furniture to a new house, Hannah working round and round her in a state of glorious excitement, Crawley smelling of bets, British brandy, and slightly regretting he was not No. 1's tool, Levi's, instead of No. 2's, as he now bitterly called him, and writing of sequious letters to and doing the dirty work of the said No. 2, Old Martin speculating sometimes losing, sometimes winning, Meadows gone to Lancashire with a fixed idea that Susan would be his ruin if he could not cure himself of his love for her, Susan rather regretting his absence and wishing for his return, that she might show him how little she sympathized with Will Fielding's suspicions, injustice, and brutality. Leaving all this to work, our story follows an honest fellow to the other side of the globe.