William Blake took the stagecoach to Chichester on the day before his trial so as to be in good time to attend. He booked a room in one of the cheaper hotels, spent an anxious night watching the moon describe its long parabola across the Sussex sky and rose early to prepare himself for his ordeal. But his careful planning came to nothing, for when he presented himself at the Guildhall at the appointed time, clean, newly shaved and having wound himself up to a high pitch of emotional preparedness, he discovered that the trial was to be delayed until four o’clock on the following day, which meant that he had to kick his heels in Chichester for more than twenty-four hours. He wrote to his poor Catherine to explain the delay and to hope she was feeling a little better, and then walked about the town, prowling up and down its four main streets and circling its walls, round and round and round, getting steadily more depressed and agitated, until darkness forced him to retreat to his hotel room again and to the bed in which he still couldn’t sleep. By the time he finally walked across the park to his fate on the following afternoon, he was in a very poor state indeed.
The Guildhall stood in damp and disconcerting isolation under a grey sky in the middle of a grey field. In ordinary circumstances he would have enjoyed the sight of it for, having been the chancel of an ancient monastery, it was built in the Gothic style, which he’d always admired, but on that day it seemed forbidding in the extreme, its stone walls a sign of entrenched and implacable power, its stone-flagged floor and high Gothic windows cold as the punishment that was sure to come. With every single one of those windows shuttered, it was dark inside the building even with a flutter of candles on every table, and it took a minute or two for him to become accustomed to the change of light and even longer to take in all the details of the busy scene before him.
The space inside the building was divided by a wooden screen, in the centre of which was a double gate, which now stood open to admit the participants. Beyond it, and in front of what had once been the high altar, there was a dais where the judge and his six accompanying magistrates were sitting, he in his red robes and full-bottomed wig, looking larger and more powerful than anyone else at the hall, they in top coats, winter hats and stout boots, for it was as cold inside the building as it had been out in the field, and all of them talking and laughing together as if they were members of a club at some happy social gathering. The sight of them was more chilling to Blake than the cold air. Below the dais was another long table where the two counsels, also wigged and gowned, were pretending to ignore one another, while their solicitors sat beside them shuffling papers, and behind them were the benches for the witnesses. He was encouraged to see so many of his old neighbours: Mr Grinder in a huge winter coat with a triple collar like a coachman; Betsy in her scarlet cloak sitting beside her mother who was wearing a hat like the one Mary Wollstonecraft used to wear; William the ostler bundled up in waistcoats and jackets like an over-wrapped parcel; Johnnie Boniface blowing on his hands to warm them. He tried to catch their eyes but they were all too busy talking to one another or looking round them at the judge and jury, who were ranged on two long benches, to the left of the judgement seat, looking like the tradesmen and labourers they were and plainly overawed by all the pomp and importance that surrounded them. And in the middle of it all, set apart and facing the judges and lawyers, was an empty box just big enough for a single occupant, where the witnesses would take the stand. Without doubt or any possibility of avoidance, he was in a court of law.
He stood before the gate, trying to still the anxious trembling of his heart, and emanations rose ice-white and sinister to coil about his body and numb his limbs. But then his counsel looked up, saw him and strode across the stone flags to welcome him. ‘Mr Blake, my dear sir, I trust I see you well.’
‘I am the better for seeing you, Mr Rose,’ Blake said, ‘although I could have wished our meeting anywhere but here.’
‘Tush man, have no fear,’ the counsellor said. ‘We are well prepared and will prevail.’ His Scottish accent was a comfort to Blake for it showed that he was an outsider too and not a member of the club at the high table. ‘However,’ he went on, ‘I should tell you that one of our judges is Mr Quantock who, as you probably remember, is the magistrate who took Scolfield’s original deposition.’
‘A bad omen,’ Blake said.
‘Not necessarily,’ his counsellor said. ‘Do not forget that you are being tried by jury and juries are unpredictable by their nature. That is their great strength.’
The two soldiers were arriving, pushing through the wooden doors as if they were storming a citadel, bright in their red jackets, blue facings rich in the candlelight, buttons polished to a gleam, epaulettes dangling gold, wearing their white doeskin trousers for the occasion with their red greatcoats slung about their shoulders and looking extremely tall and imposing under their black cocked hats. Their counsel was on his feet at once to greet them, which he did very loudly, and to lead them in military procession to the seats beside him. They were causing a stir and they knew it and enjoyed it.
Blake sat beside Counsellor Rose, as far away from his adversaries as he could get and tried to appear unconcerned. But the usher was calling the court to order, banging on the flagstones with his staff and singing ‘Silence in the court!’ in a very loud voice. ‘The case of William Blake engraver versus Private Scolfield of His Majesty’s First Regiment of Dragoons, His Honour the Duke of Richmond presiding.’ His ordeal was about to begin.
It was humiliating to be named so publicly and loudly, alarming to watch the gates being closed and to know that they were all shut in, demoralising to realise that all eyes had turned in his direction and that most seemed unfriendly. He looked along the line of judges, trying to guess which one was Mr Quantock and saw that the gentleman sitting at the end of the table was Mr Poynz, who lived in Aldwick and was an old customer of his, and that encouraged him a little. But even so the chains of torment held him shackled and his heart shook in his breast.
The formalities were gone through, the two counsels were required to identify themselves, as Counsellor Rose and Counsellor Bowen, and the charge was read. ‘That on the twelfth day of August in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and three, War was carrying on between the persons exercising the powers of Government in France and our said Lord the King, to wit, at the parish of Felpham in the County of Sussex, one WILLIAM BLAKE, late of the said Parish of Felpham in the said County of Sussex, being a Wicked Seditious and Evil disposed person and greatly disaffected to our said Lord the King and Wickedly and Seditiously intending to bring our said Lord the King into great Hatred Contempt and Scandal with all his liege and faithful subjects of this realm and the Soldiers of our said Lord the King to Scandalize and Vilify and intending to withdraw the fidelity and allegiance of his said Majesty’s Subjects from his said Majesty and to encourage and invite as far as in him lay the enemies of our said Lord the King to invade this Realm and Unlawfully and Wickedly to seduce and encourage his Majesty’s Subjects to resist and oppose our said Lord the King.’
The sonorous words and the convoluted manner of their delivery were enough to strike terror into any one, let alone an accused man, and, as if that weren’t enough, Counsellor Bowen stood up at once to underline the severity of the charge and spell out its implications.
He would, he said, produce incontrovertible proof that the accused had uttered an abominable and seditious calumny upon His Majesty the King and all his subjects, that the words he had uttered were: – damn the King (meaning our said Lord the King) and Country (meaning this Realm) his Subjects (meaning the subjects of our said Lord the King) and all you Soldiers (meaning the Soldiers of our said Lord the King) are sold for slaves. ‘Gentlemen,’ he said, inclining his bulk towards the jury, ‘this is a very uncommon accusation. It is foreign to our natures and opposite to our habits. Do you not hear every day, from the mouths of thousands in the streets, the exclamation of “God Save the King!” It is the effusion of every Englishman’s heart. The charge therefore laid in the indictment is an offence of so extraordinary a nature, that evidence of the most clear, positive, and unobjectionable kind will be necessary to induce you to believe it, which I shall presently lay before you. Extraordinary vices, gentlemen, are very rare, which is all the more reason why they should be dealt with swiftly and decisively, that their malignancy – for that is what it is – should be rooted out from our loyal and God-fearing society and that any unprincipled, malignant and evil wretch, such as the man who stands here accused, should, if found guilty, as I truly believe will be the case, be punished for his seditious utterances. Truly, I wonder that a counsellor of such eminence as my esteemed colleague, Mr Rose, should undertake to defend such a wretch, when he must surely be aware of the atrocity and malignity of the crime of which he is accused.’ Then, looking plumply pleased with himself, he smiled at the jurymen, bowed to the duke and sat down.
There was a flutter of interest as Mr Rose stood to make his opening statement. He began smoothly and with great courtesy. ‘I perfectly agree with my learned friend,’ he said, ‘with regard to the atrocity and malignity of the charge now laid before you. I am also much obliged to him for having given me the credit that no justification or extenuation of such a charge would be attempted by me, supposing the charge could be proved to your satisfaction – and I must be permitted to say, that it is a credit which I deserve. If there be a man, who can be found guilty of such a transgression, he must apply to some other person to defend him. My task is to show that my client is not guilty of the words imputed to him. We stand here not merely in form, but in sincerity and truth, to declare that we are not guilty. There is no doubt that the crime which is laid to the charge of my client is a crime of the most extraordinary malignity – I chose the term malignity purposely – for if the offence be clearly proved I am willing to allow that public malignity and indelible disgrace are fixed upon my client. If on the other hand when you have heard the witnesses, which I shall call, you should be led to believe that it is a fabrication for the purpose of answering some scheme of revenge, you will have little difficulty in deciding that it is a still greater malignity on the part of the witness Scolfield.’
It was a skilled answer and Blake was cheered by it, but the chains still bit, for now Private Scolfield was being asked to take the stand. There was much neck craning on the public benches, as the soldier removed his cocked hat, put it under his arm and marched to the witness box.
He agreed to his name and rank and allowed that Mr Bowden should take him back ‘to the day in question, when you were in Mr Blake’s garden, were you not?’
‘I was, sir.’
‘Would you tell the court what took you there?’
‘Well, sir, I walked across from The Fox Inn…’
‘Where I was billeted, yes, sir. I walked across, like I said, sir, with a message for the ostler. He was helping in the garden on account of there wasn’t much work in the inn at the time.’
‘Did you deliver your message?’
‘I did, sir.’
‘And what then?’
‘Well, then, sir, Mr Blake, he come out the cottage and he sees me there and starts shouting at me.’
‘Had you said anything to him to occasion such behaviour?’
‘No, sir. I had not.’
‘Quite. Pray continue. Can you recall the words he used when he started to shout at you?’
‘I can indeed, sir, on account of they was such shameful words, seditious words, words against King and Country, sir, words what in my opinion, ought never to have been said.’
‘Your opinion does you credit,’ Mr Bowen approved. ‘Pray continue.’
‘Well, sir, he said the king should be damned and the people of England were like a parcel of children what would get burnt in the fire and they would be damned and when Bonaparte came, he would be master of Europe in an hour, and England could depend on it that when he set foot on English ground every Englishman would have a choice whether to have his throat cut or join the French. And he said he was a strong man and would certainly begin to cut throats. It will be cut throat for cut throat, he said, and the weakest will go to the wall.’
‘What else?’
‘Well, sir, he damned the King, and his country, and his subjects, and he said soldiers were all bound for slaves and all the poor people in general. And then his wife came out and she said she would fight as long as she had a drop of blood in her and Blake said, “My dear, you would not fight against France”, and she said she would fight for Bonaparte.’
There was a hiss of indrawn breath at such a wicked utterance. The little sound tipped Blake into open fury. He sprang to his feet and roared at the soldier ‘False!’, his voice so loud in the echo chamber of the hall that several people jumped.
The Duke of Richmond was displeased. ‘I will have order in my court,’ he boomed. ‘If you cannot contain yourself, Mr Blake, I will have you ejected.’
The desire to fight back rose in Blake like a black tide but Mr Rose had a restraining hand on his arm and was gentling him back into his seat, sending him eye signals that he was to obey, and the moment passed.
‘To continue, Private Scolfield,’ Mr Bowen said. ‘How did you reply to these seditious remarks?’
Having seen his adversary publicly rebuked the trooper puffed up like a turkey cock. ‘I remonstrated with him, sir, and said he shouldn’t be saying such things.’
‘Quite. And what happened next?’
‘Then Mrs Blake she said, “Turn him out the garden”.’
‘And then?’
‘Mr Blake come at me, sir, to try to grab hold of me.’
‘What did you do then?’
‘I prepared to defend myself, sir, as an Englishman and a soldier of the line.’
‘You fought him?’
‘I defended myself from his attack, sir.’
‘Quite. Was anything further said?’
‘Yes, sir. He went on shouting and saying dreadful things all the way to The Fox Inn.’
It was an impressive performance and Blake could see that the jury was impressed. He looked at Mr Rose as he stood to cross-examine and wondered what he would say in his defence.
The counsellor gave the soldier the benefit of his gentle smile. ‘You were once a sergeant, were you not?’ he asked.
Private Scolfield was surprised and said he couldn’t see what that had to do with it. But Mr Rose persisted.
‘You were, were you not?’
It was grudgingly admitted.
‘Would you kindly tell the court the reason why you were degraded.’
The private was annoyed to be brought down to such a petty level, but after a long pause he admitted that it had been on account of having been a little the worse for wear on one occasion.
‘Drunk, you mean?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Drunk and disorderly?’
‘’Twas said.’
‘Thank you, Private Scolfield. No further questions.’
There was a shift and a shuffle, as Private Scolfield stood down, and those who needed to cough, coughed, which gave Mr Rose the chance to wink at his client, and to whisper that they had made a good start. Then Mr Bowen called his second witness, Private Cock, who answered every question in exactly the same way as his comrade, like a red-coated echo. He had heard all the words mentioned in the charge, every single one, he’d take his oath on it.
‘Very well,’ Counsellor Bowen said. ‘Will you tell the court exactly what happened.’
He’d been in the stables, the trooper said, and he’d heard a row and come out to see what it was.
‘And what was it?’ Counsellor Bowen prompted.
‘It was Mr Blake attacking Private Scolfield.’
Counsellor Rose put his hand on Blake’s shoulder because he could feel him bristling. ‘No,’ he whispered. ‘Let it ride. Leave it to me.’
‘And did you hear what was being said?’
Indeed he did and could repeat it, word for word, in exactly the same way as Private Scolfield had done. ‘He said, damn the king and damn his country and damn his subjects and soldiers were bound for slaves and all the poor people were slaves.’
‘You heard this clearly? There is no mistake in what you heard?’
‘Yes, sir, very clearly. There’s no mistake. We both heard it, sir.’
This time Counsellor Bowen handed over to Counsellor Rose with a nod of triumph. Private Cock had been firm in his evidence and had not had the misfortune to be demoted.
Counsellor Rose had to pause for a few seconds to cough into a white handkerchief, but when he spoke he was kindly and patient. ‘Let us see if we can be completely clear,’ he said. ‘You say that you heard Mr Blake say all the words on the charge. We need not rehearse them, for I am sure everybody in the court knows what they are by now. You heard them all, is that correct?’
‘I did, sir.’
‘These are the words that Private Scolfield says he heard when he was in the garden, is that correct?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Then, explain to me, if you will, how it was you were able to hear them too. You were in the stables at the time they were spoken, I believe, and did not come out into the street until you heard a noise. Is that correct?’
Private Cock admitted that it was but he looked puzzled as if he knew he was being led into a trap and couldn’t see how to avoid it.
‘So if you were in the stables at the time, you couldn’t have heard what was being said in the garden. Is that correct?’
Private Cock said he supposed it was and added that he must have heard the words when he was in the street.
‘Ah! So what you are telling us is that Mr Blake spoke these incriminating words on two separate occasions, once in the garden when they were heard by Private Scolfield and once in the street when they were heard by you?’
The trooper was surly but said he supposed so.
‘We must be quite sure about this,’ Counsellor Rose said, after pausing to cough again. ‘Either you did hear them, or you did not. Supposition is not enough.’
‘I did hear them, sir. On my oath.’
‘In the street?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘But not in the garden.’
‘No, sir.’
‘You are certain about that?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘But when you began your evidence for Counsellor Bowen you were certain you had heard the accused say all the words on the charge when he was in the garden, were you not?’
‘I suppose so, sir.’
‘And now you are not so certain.’
By this point, Private Cock was so uncertain he couldn’t answer.
‘Your certainty,’ Mr Rose observed, as he resumed his seat, ‘would appear to be something of a moveable feast. No further questions, Your Grace.’
It appeared that there were no further witnesses for the prosecution either but Counsellor Rose said he had several people he wished to call and proceeded to name them – Mr Grinder, the landlord of The Fox and his wife, Mrs Grinder, Mr Cosens, the miller, Mrs Haynes, wife to the miller’s servant and her daughter, Mr Hosier, gardener to Mr Hayley and his under-gardener, William Smith, the ostler from The Fox, who was working as Mr Blake’s gardener at the time, and ‘if your Grace is agreeable’ he would begin with Mr Hayley himself, ‘a gentleman well-known to you, Your Grace.’
The duke hoisted his red robes about him. ‘Are all these witnesses really necessary?’ he asked.
‘If they were not, Your Grace, I would not call them.’
‘Oh, very well then.’
So Mr Hayley was called and stepped into the witness box, tall and imposing in his fine greatcoat with a bandage dramatic round his left temple and identified himself, with a modest smile, as William Hayley Esquire, the celebrated poet. He was a long-standing friend and colleague of the accused, he said, and knew him to be a man of singular honour, one of the foremost engravers in the land and an artist, hard-working, loyal in his friendships, admirable to a degree.
‘Would you say he is a quarrelsome man?’ Mr Rose asked.
The answer was forthright. ‘No, sir. Not in the least. He is an artist and a man of peace.’
‘Would you say he is a patriotic man?’
‘Entirely so, sir. Oh, indubitably. I would not have brought him into this part of the country and given him encouragement and employed him in my house, had I conceived it possible that he could have uttered those abominable sentiments.’
Mr Bowen said he had no questions to ask the celebrated poet, so Mr William Hayley took his greatcoat and bandage back to the witness benches and was replaced by the bundle of clothes that contained William the ostler.
He was so nervous he had to clear his throat three times before he could acknowledge his name and occupation. But as Mr Rose eased him into his story he took heart and gradually spoke more confidently. He’d been working in Mr Blake’s garden, he said, when Private Scolfield came in with a message. He’d invited him in ‘more’s the pity, for I wouldn’t have, if I’d know’d then what I knows now’.
‘Of course,’ Mr Rose understood. ‘Then Mr Blake came out into the garden. Is that right?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And what did he say?’
‘He asked Private Scolfield what he was a-doing in the garden, an’ Private Scolfield he said he was a soldier of the king an’ could go where he pleased. He was a bit saucy like.’
‘And then?’
‘Mr Blake told him to get out.’
‘Just that?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘You didn’t hear Mr Blake say anything else?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Not damn the King. Or damn the country. Or damn his subjects.’
‘No, sir.’
‘Would you kindly estimate the size of the garden for the court.’
‘’Tis about ten yards square, sir, give or take.’
‘And was it a blustery day? Was there a wind blowing?’
‘No, sir. ’Twas a fine clear day, very still.’
‘So if anything else had been said by either of these men, you would have heard it?’
‘Yes, sir. But I didn’t, sir, on account of nothin’ else was said.’
Counsellor Bowen took his time to stand for his cross-examination, hoisting his robes about him and fixing the ostler with the sternest look the young man had ever seen.
‘Come now, Mr Smith,’ he said. ‘We must discover if your memory is truly as faulty as would appear.’
The ostler didn’t answer.
‘Do you seriously expect me to believe that not one angry word was uttered when Mr Blake turned Private Scolfield out of the garden?’
‘They was both angry, sir.’
‘So there was a deal of shouting?’
‘Yes, sir, there was. A great deal a’ shoutin’.’
‘A great deal of shouting,’ the counsellor repeated thoughtfully. ‘Yet you maintain that you heard every word that was uttered.’
‘Yes, sir, I did.’
‘I put it to you, sir, that in the heat and noise of the quarrel you misheard what was said.’
William was confused and said he s’pposed ‘twere possible.
‘I put it to you, sir, that you have forgotten half of what was said, or chosen to forget it. It is now six months since the incident in question and memories, as we all know, have a tendency to fade.’
William s’pposed that were possible too.
‘In short, you could have heard all the words of the charge, could you not, and subsequently forgotten them.’
The pain on William’s face was plain for everyone to see. He knew he was being manipulated and that he ought to fight against it but the knowledge was making his brain spin and he couldn’t think what to say. He looked across at Mr Rose, but he was coughing again and not looking at anybody. He looked at his friends and neighbours, and particularly at Johnnie, who was sitting stock still with concern, and Betsy who was biting her lip. Then he noticed that Johnnie was mouthing something and concentrated hard to see what it was. ‘Say no.’ Was that it? The duke turned his head to scowl in disapproval but Johnnie ignored him and signalled again. ‘Say no. Say no.’ And at that, William’s brain unlocked itself and he could think and speak.
‘No,’ he said. ‘No, sir, that ent the way of it. I knows what I heard right enough an’ them words what he’s charged with was not spoke, leastways not in the garden they weren’t. I give ’ee my word on it. If they had been I’d’ve heard ’em.’
He was so clear and so firm about it that Counsellor Bowen decided he had no further questions. So Mr Rose called his next witness. This time it was Mrs Haynes, who adjusted her Mary Wollstonecraft hat and strode to the stand as if she was off to the wars.
She had come out of her house when she heard the noise, she said, and had seen Mr Blake propelling the trooper along the road by his arms, ‘as if he was pushing a wheelbarrow’. She had watched as the two men struggled, seen them parted by Mr Grinder and Mr Cosens and seen Private Cock arrive. She had heard every word that was said and was quite certain that Mr Blake had not said any of the words he was charged with saying.
‘Not a one, sir,’ she said, ‘an’ I was as close to him an’ Private Scolfield as I am to you. I’ve heard a lot of quarrels in my time, sir, an’ ’tis my experience that when people quarrel they always charge each other with some offence, and repeat it to anyone around, over an’ over, an’ this time they never said a word about this offence, neither to one another nor to us, so my opinion of it is that it was all made up in the stable afterwards, as a way of gettin’ revenge.’
When Mr Bowen stood to cross-examine her she squared her shoulders like a prize-fighter. ‘No, sir,’ she said. ‘I did not hear any of the words you mention, an’ before you asks me I’ll tell you I have a very good memory and very good hearing. If they had been said, I’d’ve heard ’em, an’ if I’d heard ’em I’d’ve remembered ’em.’
It was such a spirited answer that her friends on the witness benches burst into a cheer and even Mr Blake managed a smile and allowed himself the first faint hope that he might be acquitted.
The duke was very annoyed. ‘You will refrain from applause,’ he told them sternly. ‘This is a court of law not a theatre.’
But she had made her stand and now all that was necessary was for the other witnesses to follow her lead, which they did, one after the other. Mr Grinder described how he’d pulled Private Scolfield away from Mr Blake and persuaded him to go into the inn, Mr Cosens remembered that Private Scolfield had threatened to punch Mr Blake’s eyes out, Mrs Grinder said she’d thought they were in for a nasty fight and was glad when her husband intervened, Mr Hosier described the way Mr Blake had twisted the trooper’s arms behind his back so that he ‘couldn’t punch no one and had to walk whether he would or no’, Betsy volunteered that Mr Blake had never offered violence to anyone and was only trying to protect himself and Mr Hosier said he’d heard Private Scolfield vow to be revenged on Mr Blake. And none of them had heard a single word on the charge and said so forcefully.
The last man to take the stand was Johnnie Boniface, who stood in the box like an avenging angel, fiery sword in hand, his shock of fair hair bright in the candlelight.
He gave his name, said that he was the under-gardener at Turret House and told the court that, like all the others, he had come out into the street to see what all the row was about and that he hadn’t heard any of the words on the charge being spoken.
‘Not one?’ Counsellor Rose asked, after coughing a little.
‘No, sir. Not one.’
‘When Private Cock arrived,’ the Counsellor prompted, ‘you went to speak to him, did you not.’
‘I did, sir. I asked him if his comrade was drunk.’
‘And was he, in your opinion?’
‘He smelt drunk, sir, an’ he was spoiling for a fight. He kept saying he’d punch Mr Blake’s eyes out. That was really all I did hear him saying, that an’ a lot a’ swearing – apart from when he left us.’
‘And what did he say then?’
‘He said, “I’ll be revenged on you, damn your eyes. You just wait an’ see if I don’t”.’ And he turned to glance at the jury to see what impact that was having on them. Oh, what power there was in outwitting a pair of villains in a court of law!
‘And then,’ Counsellor Rose prompted again, ‘he went into the stables with his comrade.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Mr Rose smiled at his client. The defence was proved. ‘No further questions my lord.’
Mr Bowen seemed disgruntled as he rose to sum up. He confined himself to praising the good offices of the military in general, ‘here to protect us in our hour of need’ and of Privates Scolfield and Cock in particular, ‘fine men who are rightly concerned when seditious sentiments are uttered in their presence and have brought this charge to ensure that such sentiments are never uttered again.’ ‘I call upon you,’ he said addressing the jury directly, ‘to do your patriotic duty and to find this seditious person guilty as charged.’
Counsellor Rose, on the other hand was gently persuasive, and sounded frail after the rumbustious tone of his opponent, pausing from time to time to cough into his white handkerchief. ‘Here then, gentlemen,’ he said, ‘is a charge attended with circumstances of the most extraordinary nature. A man, we have been told, comes out of his house for the purpose of addressing a malignant and unintelligible discourse to those who are most likely to injure him for it. For it has been said under oath that he came out into the garden and, without any provocation, without one word being spoken on either side, began to utter the seditious expressions with which he is being charged. This, if you believe the evidence given by the two troopers, is what you must also believe. On the other hand, if you believe the evidence of Mr Blake’s neighbours, you will believe that not one word on the charge was actually said. Scolfield confines himself to the words in the garden, the other says they were uttered before the public house. If they were spoken in the garden, the ostler must have heard them – but he has said on oath that he did not – if they were uttered before the public house, the other witnesses must have heard them – and they swear on oath that they did not. In short, the testimony of these soldiers…’
But at that point he was overcome by such a violent coughing fit that he had to sit down and was quite unable to speak. Blake was most concerned and so, as the coughing went on, was the duke. He conferred briefly with his fellow judges, as Blake bent to ask his champion if there was anything he could do for him and the courtroom buzzed and fidgeted with concern, then he sent the usher out for water and brandy, rose and made an announcement.
‘My fellow judges and I,’ he said, ‘are of the opinion that there is no need to prolong this trial by an adjournment. All the necessary evidence has been adequately given, the closing speeches have been made to all intents and purposes. In the light of the indisposition of our colleague, and if both counsellors are agreeable, we suggest that the jury should now consider its verdict.’
They were remarkably quick. By the time the usher had returned with the brandy and Counsellor Rose had taken a few sips and had begun to recover his breath, the foreman was on his feet, signalling that he was ready to give their decision.
It was short and to the point. They found the defendant not guilty and that was the verdict of them all.
There was an uproar, as people cheered and threw their hats in the air and declared what a splendid verdict it was. Blake’s friends and neighbours ran from their uncomfortable benches to shake their hero by the hand and thump him between the shoulder blades and tell him how glad they were to see him set free, ‘which is no more than you deserve an’ we thanks God for it,’ as he smiled and smiled and grew rosy with triumph and relief. After such a long anxious wait he felt like a bird released from its cage, rising on a current of pure clear air and dizzy with the delight of freedom.
The soldiers were gone in a second and in high dudgeon, but everybody else stayed where they were to celebrate. Mr Hayley wept for joy, Mr Rose, still pale but no longer coughing, was praised and cheered until he said they were making his head spin, and Mrs Haynes and Johnnie were the heroes of the hour, thumped and patted and congratulated until their arms were sore. Finally, Mr Hayley dried his eyes and strode to the dais to congratulate his old enemy on a job well done.
‘I congratulate Your Grace,’ he said, ‘that after having been wearied for so long with the condemnation of sorry vagrants, you have at last had the gratification of seeing an honest man honourably delivered from an infamous persecution. Mr Blake is a pacific, industrious and deserving artist.’
The duke accepted his dubious congratulations in the spirit in which they had been offered. ‘I know nothing of him,’ he said coldly. ‘Clear the court.’