Bruce Alexander - Smuggler's Moon

This then was the scene when Mr. Sarton entered his courtroom and his clerk did solemnly order: ”All rise.” And all the rest of us did scramble to our feet.

(Sir John had long ago dispensed with this bit of ceremony at Number 4 Bow Street, and so I was taken somewhat by surprise, though no more than by what followed.)

Once Mr. Sarton was firmly settled in his seat at the table, the clerk urged all to be seated, and the session was begun.

It seemed that the charge against all four of the men was public drunkenness and brawling. All four were obliged to give their names, then the three prisoners who were unknown to us chose one of their number to speak for them. His name was the only one of the three I now remember. It was Samson Strong, a difficult one to forget. He did, in a sense, live up to his name, for though not tall, he was thick through the shoulders and chest-but no more so than his two companions. He did not present a trustworthy appearance.

“Where did all this difficulty take place?” asked Mr. Sarton.

“In Alfred Square, m’lord.”

“I am but a magistrate and do not deserve so august a title. Call me ‘sir.’ That will do.”

“Yes sir, m’lord … sir.”

“Hmmm, well, where specifically did it take place?”

“More or less at the Turk’s Head, sir.”

“I might have known. Most of the trouble in Alfred Square begins or ends there. I’ve a notion to close that place down as a public nuisance.”

“Yes sir.”

“Tell your story.”

“Well, we three, who are old friends and well known each to the other, we was sittin’ together at the Turk’s bar, havin’ an ale together when this fella here-”

“Just a moment,” said Mr. Sarton, interrupting the prisoner. ”How long had you been there? How much ale had you drunk?”

”That’s a little hard to say, sir. What’s today? What day of the week?”

“Why, it is Thursday.” Mr. Sarton turned to his clerk. ”Is it not?” The clerk muttered something in the affirmative.

“Well, if it’s Thursday,” said the spokesman for the three, ”then we was in there since Tuesday.”

“Tuesday? You mean you were drinking ale in that place for two days?”

“Aw, it wasn’t so bad. Every once in a while they’d come through and sweep it out, and if we needed a lie-down, there was always a whore to oblige. You can ask the innkeeper if it wasn’t just so. His name’s Harley.”

Mr. Sarton, taking note of Clarissa’s presence beside Sir John, gave him a warning: ”I shall ask you, Mr. Strong, to watch your language, for there is a child present in the courtroom. That is the only warning I shall give. If you err again in that way, I shall hold you in contempt of my court. Is that understood?”

“Yes sir,” said he.

“Continue.”

“Well, in comes this one-armed cod, and, without so much as a by-your-leave, he sits right down at the bar. And then he-”

“Let me interrupt,” said Mr. Sarton. ”There was an empty place at the bar?”

“There was, yes sir.”

“And you expected him to ask your permission before he took it?”

“Well, an’t that the proper way? I mean, there was an empty place at the bar, true enough-in fact, there was more than one-but there might not’ve been. There mighta been one more of us and him gone off to take a-” He caught himself just in time. ”To answer one of nature’s calls, if you get my meaning, sir.”

“Indeed I do. Continue.”

“Well, he was friendly enough in his way, I s’pose. He offered to buy a round of ale for us, and we accepted his offer. He said he’d come to Deal lookin’ for work, and then he began askin’ all these questions.”

“Such as?”

“Oh, he wanted to know such things as, who were we, and what did we do, and did we think there was any chance for a job in our line of work. And we didn’t like it.”

“Why not? Those seem innocently enough intended to me.”

“Maybe so, sir, but it wasn’t what the questions were as how he asked them.”

“And how did he ask them?”

“Well, he asked them in such a way like he really expected an answer.”

“Isn’t that how it’s usually done? Isn’t that how I am putting questions to you now?”

“Yes sir, that’s just it, y’see. He was askin’ questions like it was our duty to answer them, just like it’s our duty to answer your questions now.”

“I understand. Continue.”

“Well, sir, we just decided we’d go and leave him alone with all his questions. We drank up, and we left.”

“Then how did this great brawl occur?”

“I was gettin’ to that. We were standin’ round outside, the three of us, when out comes this one-armed cod, and he was just askin’ for a fight.”

“You mean that literally? He asked to fight you three?”

“No sir, he wasn’t even that proper about it. He just up and attacked us.”

“He attacked all three of you?”

“You might say so, sir. Anyways, he didn’t fight fair. He did a lot of head-butting and kicking and suchlike, not the kind of fighting I’d call fair. And … well … that’s our story of how it happened. An’t it boys?”

He looked round him at his two companions. They grunted, nodded, and gave their assent.

”All right, Mr. Strong, you may be seated,” said Mr. Sarton. He turned to his clerk and asked a whispered question. In return, he received a response spoken just as quietly. ”Now, Mr. Perkins, if you will please, give us your side of the matter.”

Constable Perkins rose and came forward so that he stood just opposite Mr. Sarton with only the table between them. He took a deep breath and began:

“In its general outline, sir, I cannot take exception to what you have heard from Mr. Strong just now. Yet it’s in the details that my version differs. Let me say, first of all, that I’m a native of these parts. I grew up here and worked on farms hereabouts till I was enlisted in the Army. I saw service in the American colonies during the war with the French after which I’ve gone through life with but half an arm here on the left side. This has made it hard for me to get and keep work. I tried London. I thought I might try where I was born in.”

At this point he paused, apparently to organize his thoughts. Mr. Perkins had a good head upon his shoulders, and when called upon, could deliver testimony as well or better than any of the Bow Street Runners. Here he was called upon to testify in his own behalf. So far he was making a good job of it.

“Now that you have explained your presence here in Deal,” said Mr. Sarton, ”let us go quickly to your entrance into the Turk’s Head and your meeting with the three men seated behind you.”

“As you say, sir. I had been asking about work at every inn in town. I had heard that Alfred Square was a most lively part of town, and the Turk’s Head, I’d heard, was the liveliest place of all. So I come to Alfred Square-oh, about eleven o’clock it must’ve been, not yet midnight, anyways. Though I’d drunk a little ale, asking at one place and then another, I was still sober. You may take my word on that, sir. I headed into the Turk’s Head, and I saw that all the tables were filled up, but there was plenty of room at the bar-just these three behind me sitting there. There were plenty of empty places there. Now, I should’ve taken that as a caution, shouldn’t I? If these three were sitting all by themselves like that, must be because nobody wanted to be near them. I should’ve taken a hint that they were troublemakers-but I didn’t.

“Instead, I took a place right nearby, ordered an ale and asked if I might buy them another of what they were drinking. They were willing enough to accept an ale from me but not to answer my questions-or so it seemed to me. For when I asked how it was they earned their bread, a common enough question amongst those wishin’ to have a bit of talk over their ale, there was a bit of wrangling over how it should be described. Finally, him who addressed you, sir, came up with a phrase that seemed to satisfy them all. He said, ‘You might say we was casual laborers.’ I said they seemed to be doing well at it, for they had already boasted they’d been drinking at the Turk for two days running. ‘But,’ I put it to them, ‘in what trade are you casual laborers? Would there be work for me in it?’ At that they commenced to laughing most uproariously. When I asked what I had said that struck them as so funny, this man, Samson Strong, he told me they was in the owling trade, and he asked me, did I know what that was. I told him being from round Deal I had a pretty good idea. Then he offered me what I can only call a sneer, and he asked if I really thought there was likely to be any work for a one-armed man in the owling trade. Then one of the other two-I cannot say which-he told me, ‘Try again when you finished growing that other arm.’ That struck them as the funniest thing that had yet been said. To be honest, sir, I do not take kindly to such remarks regardin’ my disability. And so I fear I made some hasty remarks which I would rather not repeat here.”