Bruce Alexander - Blind Justice

And that, reader, is all that I recall of my gulling.

As I regained consciousness, I was aware, primarily, of a prodigious pain in my head, and secondarily of a great hubbub around me. My eyes opened to a scene the like of which I had never before beheld: It brought fresh into mind the ideas of London roguery and wickedness which I conceived from my reading of The Lives of Convicts and other such pennybooks. There were whores and greasy blackguards assembled together. Had I been dumped into a convocation of drabs and cutpurses, or perhaps transported willy-nilly to Bedlam? The shrill babble and cackle from those about me set me to wonder..

I sought to raise me up for a better view of this curious assemblage and was thrust down instantly and rudely where I sat. Turning to my captor, I found him to be none other than that Bledsoe, who had involved me as victim of his malevolent charade. Beyond him sat Slade, his partner and conspirator. There was no chance for me to escape these two, for Bledsoe had his big hand wrapped around the back of my neck and with it held me in a tight grip. He bent toward me and, blowing his foul gin breath in my face, said, “There’s a good lad. Cause us no trouble, and you’ll not be knocked about.”

“But I-”

“Quiet!” He interrupted me with a brutal squeeze of my neck. “We’ve not long to wait.”

And indeed it was so. I sat miserably thus a few minutes more, aware at last that what little attention there was from the raucous crowd was focused toward the front of the large room upon two men who sat at graduated elevation, facing out above the rest. The man situated higher was then in earnest confabulation with a man who stood alone before him. Suddenly he broke off his parley and banged down hard with a mallet upon the high table at which he sat. The fellow with whom he had but a moment before been deep in talk was then led away by a burly pair who stepped forth from a side gathering of spectators. The other man, who was sitting below the first at a small desk, then rose and bellowed out: “Bledsoe, Thomas, independent thief-taker. Bring your prisoner forth.”

With that, I was jerked to my feet and hurried down the aisle, pushed forward at all speed from behind by that same Thomas Bledsoe, until at last I stood before the two men. The lesser of the two, who had summoned us but a moment before, looked upon me gravely and asked my name.

“Jeremy Proctor, sir.”

The man with the mallet leaned forward then with great interest in my direction. Perceived thus closely, he offered a rather fearsome visage. His corpulent face was set in a solemn expression. Yet it was not his features I found frightening but rather the fact that his eyes were completely hidden from me. As I gazed up at him, I saw that a band of black silk covered them. The customary tricorn which he wore had obscured this at the distance from which I first saw him. I realized that he was blind. At last he spoke: “How old are you. Proctor?”

“Just past thirteen, sir.”

Bledsoe shook me roughly by the scruff of the neck. “You calls him m’lord-and don’t forget it.”

There came a great outburst of comment and snickering from the throng behind, so that the blind man was forced once again to beat with his mallet upon the table until order was restored. “Let the boy speak as he sees fit,” said he. And then to me: “You are accused of larceny. How say you?”

“Sir?” Immediately I felt the grip tighten upon my neck. “I mean, m’lord?”

“Larceny-thieving. How say you? Guilty or not guilty?”

“Oh …” Suddenly realizing the magnitude of my predicament, I hesitated a moment, which I immediately feared might be taken as indecision on my part. And so I then nearly shouted my plea: “Not guilty!”

The blind man’s stern face then softened into a smile of amusement. “Very good,” said he. “Clerk, enter that Jeremy Proctor pleads not guilty to the charge.” Then, with a sigh: “And now, Bledsoe, tell your tale.”

A tale it was-and a tale of lies. According to his perjured testimony, Bledsoe merely happened to be strolling along Shoreditch when, of a sudden, he heard a great hue and cry of stop-thief and immediately noted a figure-“this lad here”-running at top speed out of Chick Lane with a man in pursuit. He then had no choice- or so said he-but to apprehend the malefactor by whatever means was available. He tripped him with his staff and then, when the lad made to resist and continue his flight, smote him sharply, knocking him senseless, and brought him direct here to Bow Street.

“You stand by that?”

“I do, m’lord.”

Though all that was in me cried out against what I had heard, I had the good sense to hold my peace. I waited, hopeful that this blind man would see through it all. He then called out loudly, “Are there any witnesses?”

“There is one, m’lord,” Bledsoe piped up. “And the very one he stole from, William Slade by name.”

“Let him speak.”

The man who had sent me from the Cock and Bull on that bootless mission now came forward and bore false witness against me. He alleged that he had just stepped forth from that establishment, purse in hand, when he was suddenly set upon “by this young rogue,” who wrenched the purse from his grasp and started away at great speed. He set out in pursuit, crying after him as he went, and turned onto Shoreditch just in time to see the young thief tripped up “by this heroic gentleman here”-Bledsoe-who recovered the purse and invited his company to the Bow Street Court in order to prosecute the miscreant before that paragon of the judiciary, Sir John Fielding.

That last bit clearly annoyed the blind man, whom I now knew to be Sir John. He scowled, sniffed, and said, “Spare us, please.”

“But, m’lord, I only-”

“You say the purse was recovered?”

“It was, and ain’t I glad, for it contained a goodly sum.”

“Hand it over to the clerk.”

Slade looked dubiously at Bledsoe, who answered with a sharp nod. Reluctantly, he did as he was bade. The clerk immediately set about ransacking its contents.

“And now, Master Proctor,” said Sir John, “you have heard the testimony offered against you. What can you say in your own behalf?”

“Only the truth, sir,” said I. And I then gave a simple and direct account of the events already described to you, my reader, only in somewhat abbreviated form.

When I finished. Sir John seemed well pleased by my recital. He nodded, said nothing for a moment, then leaned forward as though to see me better. “You are well spoken, boy, though not from these parts. Am I correct?”

“Yes, sir-m’lord.”

” ‘Sir’ is an acceptable form of address. Where are you from then?”

“I was born in Lichfield.” I wished to make no mention of the town I had left.

“Lichfield? Close, close, but I would have put you somewhat nearer to us. Penkridge, say, or Stoke Poges?”

I was amazed. Could he fix me so precisely by my manner of speech? Yet fix me he had, and I saw nothing for it but to admit my dissimulation. Hanging my head, I said, “I was the last years in Stoke Poges.”

“Ah-hah!” he crowed loudly in delight, “done it again, have I not? There’s not a man in London can place a body by his speech as I can!” He roared out a great booming laugh of triumph. But he calmed suddenly and grew serious again. “Mark you,” said he, speaking in the direction of the clerk yet to the court at large, “the boy told no falsehood. I asked him where he was from, and he said he was born in Lichfield, which I’m sure is true. He thinks as a lawyer thinks, which is both a blessing and a curse. But it strikes me. Master Proctor, that you wished to conceal from the court that you had come to London from Stoke Poges. Why is that?”