'That reward did not actuate you in arresting me on a charge of which you must know that I am innocent, if you have watched my conduct at all?'
'I _have_ watched your conduct, and know you to be an habitual associate of the Lawlesses, who, as a family, are known to be among the most clever horse and cattle stealers in New South Wales. I have known you to make a practice of gambling with them for large sums. It has been stated to me that you have lost as much as five hundred pounds to them at a sitting.'
'Did you not know that I had come straight from Ballarat when I rode up to the camp at Balooka?'
'I am not in a position to state where you came from. I saw you ride up with Kate Lawless, in whose company I have repeatedly seen you. On this occasion you and she were in possession of three horses--all stolen property--the one she rode, the one she led, and the horse you rode.'
'How could I know that the horse I bought from Ned Lawless was stolen?
He did not know, I believe, or he would not have sold it to me, I am sure.'
'That you will have to explain to the court,' returned the sergeant, with pitying contempt.
'Good God! Did I look like a guilty man when you arrested me?' exclaimed Lance, in a tone which had an echo of despair as plank by plank he felt his defence foundering, as it were, at every cold and sinister answer of this relentless foe.
'You made a most violent resistance,' replied the sergeant calmly, 'of which my face still bears the mark. I don't know whether that is to be taken as a proof of your innocence.'
'I appeal to your worship,' exclaimed the unfortunate accused as a nameless terror stole over him--such as Quentin Durward may have experienced when Tristan L'Hermite and Petit Andre were about to attach him to the fatal tree--lest, ignorant of all legal forms, he should be tried and condemned before he had a chance of exculpation. 'I appeal to your worship to permit my case to be adjourned, in order that I may bring witnesses who can prove my innocence, and also that I may obtain legal assistance. Surely you cannot sit there and see an innocent man wrongfully condemned. Though a miner, I am a gentleman of good, indeed ancient family; an act such as I have been accused of is, therefore, impossible to me. For God's sake, permit me an adjournment!'
The magistrate's face was impassive. His nature was probably not less compassionate than that of other men. But long familiarity with crime, long official acquaintance with every variety of villainy, had indurated his feelings to such an extent that but little trust in human nature, as ordinarily displayed within the precincts of his court, had survived. No doubt this young fellow looked and spoke like an innocent man; but how many criminals had looked and spoken likewise? The wholesale stealing of miners' and squatters' horses--now worth from fifty to a hundred pounds each in the Melbourne market--had reached such a pitch that the miners had declared their intention to shoot or lynch any future 'horse thieves,' as the American miners called them, if justice was not done them by the Government. Mr. M'Alpine had this in his mind at the time, and, with all proper respect for the rules of evidence, had come fully to the conclusion that it was high time that an exemplary sentence should be passed upon the very next culprit caught 'red-handed'; he therefore made no reply to the passionate appeal of the unlucky prisoner.
'Read over the evidence,' he said, in a cold voice, to the clerk of the court.
That official with colourless accuracy read out Dayrell's damaging statement on oath, as well as Lance's questions thereupon, which, as generally happens to the accused who essays his own defence, had injured rather than aided his case.
'Do you wish to ask the witness any other question?' he inquired, in a tone which would have led a bystander to think that the process was a pleasant interchange of ideas between gentlemen, which any prisoner might enjoy.
'No; certainly not, but I should like to say----'
'I understood you to apply for an adjournment, for the purpose of calling witnesses and employing a legal practitioner?'
'Certainly I did, but I wish----'
'The prisoner stands remanded to this day week at 10 A.M. Bail refused.
It is understood that any authorised person is not to be denied access to him. The court stands adjourned till ten o'clock to-morrow morning.'
As this closed proceedings, the police magistrate walked slowly forth, leaving Lance to be re-conducted to prison, with, however, permission to see all friends and legal advisers.
Before the proceedings closed the sergeant had made a formal request for the adjournment for a week of the case against Edward Lawless, assigning as a reason that he was not fully prepared with the necessary evidence.
This had been assented to: both prisoners were then marched back to gaol, and being locked up in separate cells, were left to their reflections.
From the sound of whistling and even singing which proceeded from the apartment occupied by Mr. Edward Lawless, the penalty of imprisonment did not appear to fall heavily upon his elastic spirits: the iron had not entered into his soul in any marked degree. But far otherwise was it with Lance Trevanion. He had buoyed himself up with the idea that he would only need to make a short explanation to the magistrate, and that he would be immediately set at liberty. In this expectation he had been bitterly disappointed. So far from his release being an easy matter, it seemed as if a fresh element of doubt, a dismal dread, undefined yet ominous, had been introduced into the affair. Would he perhaps _really_ be convicted and sentenced? The idea was maddening, but innocent persons had been found guilty before, if some of the tales which he had heard were not untrue. Why not again? This was a strange country. He had been deceived and thoroughly duped, as he could not help confessing to himself. Might he not find himself yet more fatally mistaken in all his conclusions?
Seated on the floor of his cell, he rapidly fell into a state of semi-stupor as these sombre imaginings coursed through his brain, sometimes slowly and with saddest procession, at other times with almost delirious haste. Was he indeed Lance Trevanion, the free, fearless traveller of a week since? It surely could not be! What was he to do next? Life or liberty, which came to the same thing, was surely worth fighting for. He must have legal assistance if it were possible. There was hardly a lawyer in Ballarat that was _practising his profession_. A sufficient number there abode doubtless, but they were all in the year 1852 engaged in mining. After a while the ebb of adventure set in, on which a return took place to nearly all the professions. But in the spring of 1852 the golden tide was at flood-mark. It was hard to find any man in the place or position which he had formerly held.
From this mood of doubt and despair Trevanion was aroused by steps in the corridor and the opening of the door of the cell. He had but scant time to rise and stand erect when Hastings and Jack Polwarth entered--the latter with an expression of alarm and astonishment that but for his evident sincerity would have been ludicrous.
'Why, Mr. Lance--Mr. Trevanion,' cried Jack, in tones of subdued horror, 'whatever has come to ye, that they have had the face to do this? Can they stand by it, think ye, Mr. Hastings? Locking up a gentleman like Mr. Lance here and makin' oot as he's stolen a trumpery 'oss, him as wouldn't do the like for a Black Forest full of 'em. It's fair murther and worse--all the gully's talking on it, and I could fetch a hundred Cousin Jacks and Devon lads as'lld pull the place about their ears if you'd but say the word, Mr. Lance?'
'I'm afraid that would do no good, Jack,' said Hastings, whose concern, not so freely expressed, was as deep and sincere as that of Lance's faithful partner. 'I see no reason though, Trevanion, why you shouldn't be out in a week. However, all this is deucedly annoying and vexatious.
Still we must be patient. Queer things happen on a goldfield. You remember my plight when first we made acquaintance?'
'Annoying!' replied Trevanion, slowly turning his frowning face, in which the lurid passion-light of his gloomy eyes had commenced to burn.
'Why in the world should I have been selected by Providence for this damnable injustice? I feel already as if I was disgraced irrevocably.
How can I ever show my face among my equals again after having been arrested, handcuffed, charged with felony, locked up like a criminal?
Great God! when I think of it all I wonder why I don't go mad!'
'It's no use getting excited over it,' said Hastings. 'The thing is to _do_ all that we can, not to think or talk about it over-much. Stirling will be here to-morrow. He could not come to-day, but will leave his bank before the stars are out of the sky to-morrow, and will be here by breakfast-time. He could not come to-day because of business. We will see about your witnesses and manage to get a lawyer up from Melbourne in time. Keep up your spirits. There are dozens of men, and women too, that can prove an _alibi_. If my claim was as good as yours I'd swap places cheerfully with you.'
'Don't be too sure of that,' returned Lance with a sardonic smile. 'I have a kind of presentiment that evil will come of this business. Why, I know not, but still the feeling haunts me. Well, Jack, we never thought of this on board the _Red Jacket_ when we were so jolly, eh?'
'Just to think of it,' exclaimed Jack, with the tears running down his honest face. 'And never a Trevanion in a prison before since that king--I can't mind his name--shut up one of them in the old Tower of London and cut his head off. But that was dying like a gentleman--that ever I should have lived to see this! I could never show my face at Wychwood or St. Austell's again.'
'Why, Jack, you're about as foolish as your--master, I was nearly saying--as your mate there, at any rate. Why, Lance is not even committed for trial. All sorts of things may happen in the meantime.
_Must_ happen; _must_ happen. Now, we must say good-bye, Lance. I'll send you in some books. I don't see many about. For God's sake, keep up your spirits.'
The time fixed for the remand having expired, Lance and his fellow-prisoner, Ned Lawless, were brought up for their preliminary trial. All necessary arrangements had been completed; no further reason existed for delay either on the part of the Crown or of the prisoners.
The sergeant was quite ready with his witnesses; Stirling and Hastings had secured the services of the celebrated Mr. England, the great criminal lawyer, about whose capacity the general miners' opinion, as expressed on the occasion, ran thus: 'Well, if England don't get him off, nobody will.'
These important preliminaries having been settled, the crowd waited with impatience mingled with a certain satisfaction that so important a trial was really to come off and not to be strangled in its infancy, like many promising legal melodramas to which they had looked forward. There would be no mistake about this one at any rate. Sergeant Dayrell had come down in full uniform from the camp at an early hour. The show would be on soon after the clock struck ten.
At that hour punctually Mr. M'Alpine took his seat upon the bench. In five minutes the court was crowded. After the ordinary business two men were marched in with a policeman on either side and placed in the dock.
They were Lance Trevanion and Edward Lawless. The latter looked calmly around at the crowd as if there was no particular occasion for seriousness of mien. His mental attitude was easily comprehended by those of his compatriots who were present, whatever might be thought by the emigrant miners who were so visibly in the majority. Ned had played for a heavy stake--he had staked his liberty on the hazard and lost. If he had won there was a matter of two or three thousand pounds--indeed more--in the pool. That would have set him up in a decent-sized cattle station capable of indefinite development. It was a fair risk. He had taken it knowingly and with his eyes open. Now that he had lost, as the cards had been against him, there was nothing for it but to pay up. It would be three years' gaol, or perhaps five at the outside.
When Lance Trevanion stood up in the dock, confronting squarely the assembled crowd and the Bench, an almost audible shudder, accompanied by a species of gasping sigh, passed through the court. Quietly but correctly dressed, access having been possible to his raiment at Growlers', he looked thoroughly a gentleman, a man of race and gentle nurture. As he stood, calm and impassive, with a steadfast unflinching gaze, the most suspicious person, however permeated with universal distrust, could not have connected him with the meaner crimes. In a half-smile, haughty and grimly humorous, his features relaxed for a moment as he met the sorrowful gaze of Mrs. Polwarth. Then he drew himself up to his full height and awaited the first act of the drama in which he played so important a part.
The curtain was not long in rising. The clerk of the court stood up and read out the evidence of Senior-Sergeant Dayrell, taken at the first hearing of the case, as also the order of adjournment signed by the police magistrate. A stoutish dark man, with a mobile face and direct clear glance, stood up and said, 'May it please your honour, I beg pardon, your worship, I appear for the prisoner, Launcelot Trevanion.'
'By all means, pleased to hear it, Mr. England. Sergeant Dayrell, your first witness.'
'Call Herbert Jeffreys,' and in answer to the stentorian call outside of the court a gentlemanlike man with a bronzed countenance and of quiet demeanour stepped into the witness-box. On being sworn, he deposed as follows: 'My name is Herbert Jeffreys, I am a land-holder and grazier, residing at Restdown, which is distant about one hundred and twenty miles from Ballarat. I have seen a bright bay horse with a star, outside of the court, branded "H. J.," which is our station brand, at least for all horses and cattle running on the Campaspe. I swear to the horse as my property. He has been missing for nearly twelve months. I am perfectly certain it is the horse, and cannot be mistaken. I notice a slight cut inside of the hock, which was the result of an accident. I never sold him or gave prisoner or any other person authority to take him. He is a valuable animal, worth between eighty and a hundred pounds, as prices go. We have had a large number of horses stolen during the past year.'
Cross-examined by Mr. England: 'We had more than two hundred horses before the diggings. We have offered a hundred pounds reward for the conviction of any person found stealing our horses or cattle. It was a measure of self-defence. We should soon not have had one left. Do not consider it an inducement to the police to make up imaginary cases. If people do not steal our horses the reward is a dead-letter. If they do, they deserve punishment. I never saw the prisoner Trevanion before. If I had, I should probably not have been here to-day.' (Asked why.) 'Because any one can see that he is a gentleman, and doubtless unused to this kind of work. I have no doubt that he purchased my horse without suspicion that he had been stolen. Can't say whether or not the horse has been in the pound since I saw him last.'
Trevanion looked over at the witness as he spoke thus with a frank expression of gratitude, while Mr. Jeffreys, having descended from the witness-box and signed his deposition, sat down in a chair provided for him to watch the trial.
The next witness called was Carl Stockenstrom. 'My name--ja wohl--I am a dikker from Palooga. Haf been dere all der wege more 'an dree months. On Thursday neuntzehn Zepdember, I saw de brisoner at the Gemp's Greek, ten mile from der Palooga. He was ride mit de fraulein Lawless. He ride not the horse outside de court. It was anoder. They was having one fine lark. She can ride--she ride like nodings dat I never shall see. I swear positif to de prisoner, his face, his figure, above all dings to his eyes.'
Cross-examined by Mr. England: 'I have lost a good horse myself. I did not advertise him in the local baper. Many of my mates lost theirs. I did not think it worth while. The two were driving some horses when I see dem. I saw two of them in Ned Lawless's yard, and was told they was sdolen. Police dook dem away mit de oders anyways.'
'Call Hiram Edwards.'
A gaunt American miner stalked forward, and with characteristic self-possession stepped into the witness-box.
'Diggin' at Balooka? Yes, sir; followed the first rush. Heard talk of hoss-thieves among the boys; advised to hang the first man caught riding a wrong horse, just to skeer other critters. Worked well in San Francisco, that simple expedient. Do not know prisoner personally, but saw a man durned like him on Friday, 20th September last, in company with that skunk, Ned Lawless, trading horses.
'Lost no horse? No, sir; know too much to keep one on a placer workin'.
Sold mine same day I struck the gulch.'