XXVI. THE JOURNEY TO LIVERPOOL.
"Like a bark upon the sea, Life is floating over death; Above, below, encircling thee, Danger lurks in every breath.
"Parted art thou from the grave Only by a plank most frail; Tossed upon the restless wave, Sport of every fickle gale.
"Let the skies be e'er so clear, And so calm and still the sea, Shipwreck yet has he to fear Who life's voyager will be." --RUCKERT.
The early trains for Liverpool, on Monday morning, were crowded byattorneys, attorneys' clerks, plaintiffs, defendants, and witnesses,all going to the Assizes. They were a motley assembly, each withsome cause for anxiety stirring at his heart; though, after all,that is saying little or nothing, for we are all of us in the samepredicament through life; each with a fear and a hope from childhoodto death. Among the passengers there was Mary Barton, dressed inthe blue gown and obnoxious plaid shawl.
Common as railroads are now in all places as a means of transit, andespecially in Manchester, Mary had never been on one before; and shefelt bewildered by the hurry, the noise of people, and bells, andhorns; the whiz and the scream of the arriving trains.
The very journey itself seemed to her a matter of wonder. She had aback seat, and looked towards the factory-chimneys, and the cloud ofsmoke which hovers over Manchester, with a feeling akin to the"Heimweh." She was losing sight of the familiar objects of herchildhood for the first time; and unpleasant as those objects are tomost, she yearned after them with some of the same sentiment whichgives pathos to the thoughts of the emigrant.
The cloud-shadows which give beauty to Chat-Moss, the picturesqueold houses of Newton, what were they to Mary, whose heart was fullof many things? Yet she seemed to look at them earnestly as theyglided past; but she neither saw nor heard.
She neither saw nor heard till some well-known names fell upon herear.
Two lawyers' clerks were discussing the cases to come on thatAssizes; of course, "the murder case," as it had come to be termed,held a conspicuous place in their conversation.
They had no doubt of the result.
"Juries are always very unwilling to convict on circumstantialevidence, it is true," said one, "but here there can hardly be anydoubt."
"If it had not been so clear a case," replied the other, "I shouldhave said they were injudicious in hurrying on the trial so much.Still, more evidence might have been collected."
"They tell me," said the first speaker--"the people in Gardener'soffice, I mean--that it was really feared the old gentleman wouldhave gone out of his mind, if the trial had been delayed. He waswith Mr. Gardener as many as seven times on Saturday, and called himup at night to suggest that some letter should be written, orsomething done to secure the verdict."
"Poor old man," answered his companion, "who can wonder?--an onlyson,--such a death,--the disagreeable circumstances attending it; Ihad not time to read the Guardian on Saturday, but I understand itwas some dispute about a factory girl."
"Yes, some such person. Of course she'll be examined, and Williamswill do it in style. I shall slip out from our court to hear him,if I can hit the nick of time."
"And if you can get a place, you mean, for depend upon it the courtwill be crowded."
"Ay, ay, the ladies (sweet souls) will come in shoals to hear atrial for murder, and see the murderer, and watch the judge put onhis black cap."
"And then go home and groan over the Spanish ladies who take delightin bull-fights--'such unfeminine creatures!'"
Then they went on to other subjects.
It was but another drop to Mary's cup; but she was nearly in thatstate which Crabbe describes--
"For when so full the cup of sorrows flows, Add but a drop it instantly o'erflows."
And now they were in the tunnel!--and now they were in Liverpool;and she must rouse herself from the torpor of mind and body whichwas creeping over her; the result of much anxiety and fatigue, andseveral sleepless nights.
She asked a policeman the way to Milk House Yard, and following hisdirections with the savoir faire of a town-bred girl, she reached alittle court leading out of a busy, thronged street, not far fromthe Docks.
When she entered the quiet little yard, she stopped to regain herbreath, and to gather strength, for her limbs trembled, and herheart beat violently.
All the unfavourable contingencies she had, until now, forbiddenherself to dwell upon, came forward to her mind--the possibility,the bare possibility, of Jem being an accomplice in the murder--thestill greater possibility that he had not fulfilled his intention ofgoing part of the way with Will, but had been led off by some littleaccidental occurrence from his original intention and that he hadspent the evening with those, whom it was now too late to bringforward as witnesses.
But sooner or later she must know the truth; so, taking courage, sheknocked at the door of a house.
"Is this Mrs. Jones's?" she inquired.
"Next door but one," was the curt answer.
And even this extra minute was a reprieve.
Mrs. Jones was busy washing, and would have spoken angrily to theperson who knocked so gently at the door, if anger had been in hernature; but she was a soft, helpless kind of woman, and only sighedover the many interruptions she had had to her business that unluckyMonday morning.
But the feeling which would have been anger in a more impatienttemper, took the form of prejudice against the disturber, whoever heor she might be.
Mary's fluttered and excited appearance strengthened this prejudicein Mrs. Jones's mind, as she stood, stripping the soap-suds off herarms, while she eyed her visitor, and waited to be told what herbusiness was.
But no words would come. Mary's voice seemed choked up in herthroat.
"Pray what do you want, young woman?" coldly asked Mrs. Jones atlast.
"I want--oh! is Will Wilson here?"
"No, he is not," replied Mrs. Jones, inclining to shut the door inher face.
"Is he not come back from the Isle of Man?" asked Mary, sickening.
"He never went; he stayed in Manchester too long; as perhaps youknow, already."
And again the door seemed closing.
But Mary bent forwards with suppliant action (as some young treebends, when blown by the rough, autumnal wind), and gasped out--
"Tell me--tell--me--where is he?"
Mrs. Jones suspected some love affair, and, perhaps, one of not themost creditable kind; but the distress of the pale young creaturebefore her was so obvious and so pitiable, that were she ever sosinful, Mrs. Jones could no longer uphold her short, reservedmanner.
"He's gone this very morning, my poor girl. Step in, and I'll tellyou about it."
"Gone!" cried 'Mary. "How gone? I must see him,--it's a matter oflife and death: he can save the innocent from being hanged,--hecannot be gone,--how gone?"
"Sailed, my dear! sailed in the John Cropper this very blessedmorning."
"Sailed!"