Chapter FORTY-FIVE: The Way of the Cross

There had been wild doings in Douglas since the Chief Constable's visit to Government House. Stones had been thrown and windows broken. At length the Mayor, not without personal risk, had read the Riot Act from the steps of the Town Hall.

The result had been the reverse of what the Governor expected. The police, a small force, had charged the mob with their batons, but they had soon been overpowered. Then the soldiers from Castletown, a little company of eighty, had attempted to intimidate the crowd with their rifles, but twice as many stalwart fishermen, coming up behind, had disarmed them. After that the people had surged through the streets in delirious triumph.

At ten o'clock the throng was densest outside Government Office, which stands midway on the steep declivity of the Prospect Hill. The police and the soldiers had as much as they could do to guard the doors of the building. The space in front of it was packed with people of both sexes and all ages. They were squirming about like worms on an upturned sod. There were loud shouts and derisive cries.

"Down with the Governor!"

"Tell him the steamer leaves for England at nine in the morning."

Suddenly, with the rapidity of a desert wind, word went through the crowd that mounted soldiers from England had just been landed at the pier, and were riding up the principal thoroughfares, driving everything before them.

A cold fear came, culminating in terror. Presently the cavalry were seen to turn the bottom of the hill. They were swinging the flats of their swords to scatter the crowd. The people screamed and ran in frantic haste to the parapets on either side of the street. In a moment the broad space in front of Government Office was clear.

Clear, save for one tiny object. It was a child, a little girl of four, who had been clinging to her mother's skirts and in the scramble had lost her hold of them.

The cavalry were now coming up the hill at a gallop and the little one's danger was seen by all.

"Save the child," people shouted, and more than one ran out a few paces and then ran back, for the horses seemed to be almost upon them. The mother was screaming and trying to break into the open, but women were holding her back.

At that moment a man, whom nobody recognised at first, pushed his way through the crowd with powerful arms, and darted out in the direction of the child.

"Come back; you'll be killed," cried someone, but the others held their breath.

At the next instant the man was lost to sight in the midst of the cavalry. In the confused movement that followed one of the horses was seen to rear and swing aside, as if it had been struck in the mouth by a strong hand.

When the crowd were conscious of what happened next the cavalry had galloped past, with its clang of hoofs and rattle of steel, and the broad space was once more empty.

Empty save for the man. His head was bare, his hand was bleeding, and the skirt of the loose overcoat he wore was torn as if a sword had accidentally slashed it. But in his arms was the child--unhurt and untouched.

Then the people saw who he was. He was the Deemster, and they crowded about him. He gave the little one back to its mother, who had a still younger child at her breast, and was too breathless from fright to thank him.

He tried to conceal himself in the crowd, but they followed him--down the hill to Athol Street, where the Court-house is--a long train, chiefly of women and children, with wet eyes and open mouths, crying to him and to each other,

"The Deemster! God bless him!"

They thought he was going to the Court-house to sit on the bench as Judge, but when he came to the big portico he passed it, and, turning down a side street, he stopped at a little black door and knocked.

The door was opened by a police sergeant who was not wearing his helmet. The Deemster stepped into the vault-like place within and the door was closed behind him.

It was the Douglas prison.

II

The High Bailiff of Douglas held a Court that day. The court-house was almost empty. Not more than six or seven persons sat in the places assigned to the public. Three young reporters yawned over their note-books in their box beside the wall. In the well allotted to Counsel there were only two advocates in wig and gown.

A few bare-headed policemen stood near the bench and the Clerk of the Court sat under it. There was nobody else in the court-house except the High Bailiff himself, an elderly man with a red face and a benevolent expression.

He was trying a number of petty cases, chiefly of larceny and drunkenness. The light was low and the voices echoed in the vacant chamber. But from time to time a deadened rumble came from the streets outside--the clang of horses' hoofs, the derisive cries of a crowd, the loud shout of a commanding officer, and then a scamper of feet that was like heavy rain pelting down on the pavement.

Behind the Jury-box, which was empty, there was a door that led to the prison below. The last case was being heard when this door was opened and the Chief Constable came up into Court, followed by Stowell and a policeman. The Chief Constable took a seat in the advocates' well; Stowell and the policeman sat on the public benches.

When the High Bailiff, who was a great respecter of authority, saw the Deemster enter, he sent a policeman to ask him to come up to a seat by his side on the bench, but Stowell shook his head.

The case being tried was that of a farmer who was charged with driving his country cart on the high road without a stern light. The defence was that the lamp was alight when he left town, and had been put out by a high wind that was blowing. On this issue there was a long questioning and cross-questioning by the advocates, but at length the case came to a close.

"Half-a-crown and costs," said the High Bailiff; and then reaching over to his clerk he asked if that was the last case for the day.

"Yes, your Worship," said the Clerk, and the High Bailiff was pushing back his chair, when the Chief Constable rose with an air of importance.

"Your Worship, I have a serious charge to make."

He beckoned to the policeman at the back, who opened the door of the dock and Stowell stepped into it.

"I charge his Honour Deemster Victor Stowell, on his own confession, with breaking prison on Sunday night last between the hours of ten and twelve, to effect the escape from custody of a prisoner lying there under sentence of death."

The High Bailiff seemed to be stupefied and the charge had to be repeated to him.

"Eh? What? God bless my soul! On his own confession, you say? Is the Deemster well? What conceivable motive...."

"I will give formal evidence, your Worship, and ask for a committal to General Gaol, when the question of motive will be fully gone into."

"Well, well! Good gracious me! If it must be it must. It is my painful duty to put the Deemster back for trial. But I suggest that a doctor be asked to see him immediately. And meantime" (the High Bailiff turned to the reporters, who were now busy enough over their note-books), "may I request the representatives of the press to publish nothing about this painful matter at present?"

It was all over in a few minutes. The door behind the Jury-box was opened again and Stowell and the policeman returned to the cells.

In less than half-an-hour the news was all over the town. Special editions of the newspapers (single sheets) had been run off in furious haste, and the newsboys were shouting through the streets,

_Arrest of Deemster Victor Stowell._

The news fell on the public like a thunderbolt. It eclipsed their interest in the soldiers.

III

Like lightning out of a thunder-cloud the news fell on Government House also. On hearing it the Governor, who had been thinking less about the riot than about Stowell's last words if him, broke into uncontrollable rage.

"The fool! The infernal fool! After I had given him such a chance, too!"

With a determined step he went into the library, where Fenella was writing letters, and broke the news to her with a kind of fierce joy. At first her eyes filled with tears and then a proud smile shone through them.

"You were right after all, Fenella. I see now that you must throw the man up," said the Governor.

"On the contrary," said Fenella. "Now I must stand by him."

"What on earth do you mean?"

"I mean that Victor has justified himself."

"Justified himself?"

"Yes. The only thing I was afraid of was that he might take his life to escape from his dishonour. But now that he has made his choice I have made mine also."

"Your choice?"

"I cannot cut him out of my heart because he has been brave enough to face the consequences of his crime."

"But good heavens, girl, don't you see that he will be brought up for trial, and then all the wretched story of the Collister girl will come out?"

"I'm prepared for that, father."

"Fenella," said the Governor, white with the passion that was mastering him, "if you were my son instead of my daughter do you know what I should do with you?"

"You mean you would turn me out of the house? There will be no need for that--I will go of myself, father."

"Fenella! Fenella!" cried the Governor, recovering himself, but Fenella had gone from the room.

The Governor returned to his smoking-room. For a long half-hour he ranged about, kicking things out of his way, ringing bells and snapping at the servants. What was Fenella doing? Could it be possible that she was taking him at his word? Unable to contain himself any longer he sent for Miss Green. He got nothing out of the old lady except lamentations.

"Oh, dear, oh dear, what is the world coming to?"

At length, with an air of authority, he went up to Fenella's bedroom, and found her on her knees before an open trunk into which she was packing her clothes.

"Fenella," he said, "this is nonsense. It cannot be."

"I'm afraid it must be, father."

"Look here, girl, when a man's angry he doesn't always mean what he says. I never meant you were to go."

"It's better that I should, father."

The Governor struggled hard with his pride and said,

"Listen. Don't make me ridiculous in the eyes of the whole island, Fenella. I may not have acted wisely in relation to Stowell and the advice I gave him--I see that now. But if so perhaps it was because I was thinking less of the public service than of you. If you were a father you would understand that. But you cannot wish to leave me. You are my only child. I am your father, remember. What, after all, is this man to you?"

Fenella leaned back on her heels and her eyelids quivered for a moment. Then she said,

"We are told that a man must leave father and mother and cling to his wife, and surely it's the same with a woman and her husband. Victor is my husband, or soon will be."

"Good Lord, what are you saying, girl?"

"I promised myself to him, and I intend to keep my promise."

"But he's a prisoner, and if the governing authority objects...."

"In that case I'll wait until he is a prisoner no longer, and then .... then I'll marry him."

"That you never shall. Not in this island anyway. No clergyman here will marry you to that man against my wish."

"Then I'll go to him just the same."

"What?"

"Yes, I'm prepared even for that sacrifice."

"You're mad. You're both mad--stark mad."

Again the Governor returned to his smoking-room. After a while he heard a hackney carriage coming up the drive to the porch, and then old John, the watchman, lugging a trunk along the corridor. A moment later, looking through the window, he saw Fenella, in the blue and white costume of her Settlement (the same in which, with so much pride, he had brought her up to the house from the pier in his big landau), stepping into the coach.

Then his anger and emotion together burst all bounds. He tore open his door with the intention of countermanding Fenella's orders and driving the hackney carriage off his grounds. But before he could bring himself to do so he heard the door of the carriage close and saw its wheels moving away.

Miss Green came back to the house with her handkerchief to her eyes, saying,

"She was crying as if her heart would break, poor darling!"

The Governor went slowly back to his room once more. The masterful man, who had never known before what it was to have tears in his eyes, was utterly broken. He had lost his daughter; he was to be a childless man henceforward; he was to spend the rest of his life alone. But after a while he thought of Stowell as the man who had taken Fenella from him, and his anger rose again.

"He wants punishment, does he? Very well, he shall have it, and damned quick too."

Two hours later Fenella was at Castle Rushen, in the living-room of the new jailer and his wife.

"I hear you want a female warder, and I've come to offer myself," she said.

The new jailer, who was embarrassed, stammered something about menial labour, but Fenella was not to be gainsaid.

"I'm a trained nurse, and have experience in managing people--will you take me?"

"Well .... if the Governor doesn't .... for the present, perhaps."

"For good," said Fenella.

Within a few minutes she was settled in her new quarters--a large, dark, cell-like chamber, of irregular shape, with a deeply-recessed window, a piece of cocoa-nut matting, a deal table, a chair, a wash-stand and a truckle bed.

Two hundred years before it had been the 'tiring room of the greatest of her ancestors, Charlotte de la Tremouille (Countess of Derby), when, in the absence of her husband, she held the fortress for weeks against the siege of Cromwell's forces.

The blood of the Stanleys was in it still.