CHAPTER XXIV
COMMUTATION
At that very moment, while we were trying to find words befitting theoccasion which would not admit of grief yet demanded the respect due toDeath, arrived the news so long expected.
The Governor of the Prison, accompanied by our friend the Counsel forthe Prosecution, stood at the door, followed by one of the Turnkeys.
'Madame,' said the Governor, 'I come to bring you news.' But he lookedso serious that my heart sank.
'And I, Madame,' said the lawyer, 'shall be pleased to add a codicil tothis intelligence.'
'Gentlemen, I have already this morning received news enough for one dayat least. Am I, gentlemen, ordered to adorn the next procession alongthe Oxford Road?'
'No, Madame,' the Governor replied. 'But I wish the news were morejoyful. I had hoped--I had expected--considering the whole case----'
I looked at Jenny. She turned suddenly pale; I thought she was going tofaint. Consider: she had persuaded herself that a full and immediatepardon would be granted. She had no doubt as to that point. She did notfaint; she recovered and spoke with white lips and a hard forced voice.
'Tell me quick!'
'Madame, His Majesty has graciously commuted the sentence intotransportation to the plantations for the term of five years.'
Jenny made no reply. I groaned aloud. Transportation? To go out as aservant! To be bought by a planter and made to work in the tobaccofields under the lash? This for Jenny! All the world knew whattransportation meant and what were the mercies served out to convicts.
The Governor sighed and shook his head. The lawyer took up the tale.'Madame,' he said, 'believe me; everything has been done that could bedone. Had you pleaded Not Guilty you would most certainly have beenacquitted. Madame, I know your reasons, and I respect them. You pleadedGuilty. Your reasons were not such as could be laid before the King,unless privately. The Judge in your case is a lawyer of great eminence;that is to say, he is jealous of the Law; he holds that above all thingsthe Law must be feared. He is called a hanging Judge, being a mostmerciful man; but the Law must be respected. There must not be one Lawfor the rich rogue and another for the poor rogue.'
'Rich or poor,' said Jenny, 'I am a rogue for having stolen nightcaps inmy garrets; and I am a rogue and a vagabond because I am an actress.'
'Nay, Madame; but the Toast of the Town, the most lovely----'
'My loveliness does not stand me in much stead at this juncture. Tell meagain. I am to be shipped across seas: I am to stay there five years: Iam to herd on board with the wretched women outside: I am to work in thefields with them and with negroes: I am to be whipped by my master: I amto live on sweet potatoes. I am to wear sacking for all my clothes.Gentlemen,' she added with flushed cheek, 'go, tell the King that I willnot accept this mercy.'
'Nay, Madame,' said the lawyer with persuasive tongue. 'You go too fast.Those who have friends can evade the obligations of service; you, whohave so many friends, will find that you have nothing to fear beyond thevoyage and a short residence in a pleasant climate. For my own part,dear Madame, I hope to see you before another year begins back upon theboards of Drury Lane, with all the town at your feet. I pine, Madame, Ilanguish for the first evening to arrive.'
'Jenny,' I whispered, 'for Heaven's sake be careful. Consider; thisgentleman cannot be deceiving you. If there is, as he says, no realobligation to service; and if, as he says, the sentence means only ashort residence in a pleasant country--then surely you must accept.There is, however, the voyage. Perhaps, Sir,' I addressed the lawyer,'it will be possible for Madame to take the voyage in a private cabinapart from the rest of the--the company.'
'It will certainly be possible. She may take state rooms for herself andher maid: she will be treated as a gentlewoman. It is only a question ofarrangement with the Captain. Madame, I assure you, upon my honour, thatthe sentence means no more than what I have stated. It is a brief exilein which you will endure no other indignity than that of sailing onboard the ship which carries a few scores of the wretches going out asslaves--if one may call an Englishman a slave.'
Jenny wavered. Her cheek was still red with shame and disappointment.She wavered.
'Jenny,' I said, taking her hand.
She sat down. 'Let it be, then, as you will.'
'That is bravely resolved,' said the Governor. 'And now I shall have thepleasure of removing you immediately from this close and confinedchamber to one more airy and more commodious.'
'Gentlemen,' said Jenny, still crestfallen, 'I thank you both for yourgood intentions. I should love you better if you would put a swordthrough me and so end it. Perhaps, however, the ship may go to thebottom. Let us hope so. It must sink, I am sure, so heavy will be theheart of lead on board it.'
So, with renewed protestations of assistance and goodwill the lawyerwent away with the Governor. In the yard I observed that he stopped andlooked upon the crowd of women, many of whom he would help to thegallows. Does such a lawyer, always occupied in getting up and preparinga case, so as to persuade a jury into a verdict of 'Guilty' ever feelremorse at having done so, or repugnance at doing it again? Do theghosts of those whom he has sent to the other world haunt his bedside atnight? One may as well ask if the Judge who pronounces the sentencefeels remorse or pity. He is the mouth of the Law; the Counsel feeds themouth; the Governor of Newgate is the arm of the Law. However, that theCounsel for the Prosecution should take so much interest in the releaseof a prisoner is, I should think, without example in the history ofNewgate, where they have never had before, and can never have again, aprisoner so lovely, so attractive, so interesting, as Jenny. After himcame another visitor. It was my Lord Brockenhurst who brought us thenews we had already heard--but with a difference.
'Madame,' he said, after telling us what we had already heard, 'I shallalways regret that I was not the first to let you know. Indeed, I haveflown. The commutation of the sentence involves a voyage; that cannot bedenied; but there is no obligation to service. That will be arranged foryou; I can undertake so much, if necessary. The voyage is no greatmatter; six weeks if you are fortunate; eight weeks, at most, will setyou on shore; the country is said to be beautiful; the climate ishealthy, the Virginians are mostly gentlemen of good family.'
'I thank you, my Lord, for your kind words.'
'There is another thing, Madame. I am empowered to assure you that thePetition which you drew up for your young protegee here has beengraciously received by Her Majesty the Queen. She has herself asked forthe remission of the capital sentence. The girl's life will be spared.'
'This is good news, at least.'
'On conditions, which you must expect. She will go with you to Virginiafor five years. You can take her as your maid, if you please.'
'With me for five years?' Jenny repeated. 'I know so little of what isordered----'
'Briefly, Madame, a prisoner under sentence of transportation is engagedas a servant, generally on a tobacco plantation, where he works with thenegroes. If there should happen to be one among them of a superior classhe becomes an accountant or even a manager; or if he can commandinfluence or money his engagement is merely nominal. Your engagementwill be a form which I shall arrange for you. This girl can remain withyou. When you come home you can bring her with you.'
'In five years?'
'No--in much less time--in a few months. I am permitted on the highestauthority to assure you that your banishment will be but short. As soonas it can with decency be asked for, a full pardon will be asked for andit will be granted. You will then only have to return in order todelight your friends once more.'
'When shall I have to go?'
'A ship is now fitting out. She sails in a week or a fortnight. You willsail as a cabin passenger, entrusted to the protection of the Captain.The--the other--passengers will be confined between decks, I believe.'
'My Lord, I am deeply touched by all your kindness.'
'Madame, _I_ have done little--little indeed. Would it had been more! Ishall now, with your pe
rmission, make arrangements with the Captain ofthe ship for your entertainment on the voyage and your reception onreaching the port.'
'So,' said Jenny, 'in one day I am deprived of my husband. I am a widowwho never was a wife. I am deprived of my country--which is London; andof all my friends.'
His lordship's face changed. 'Your husband, Madame? Is he dead?'
'He died last night. Let us not speak of him.'
'Then you are free' He glanced at me: I saw his meaning and the purposein his eyes. 'You are free.'
I stepped out, leaving them together. In a few minutes he came out withthe look of one distracted, and not knowing what he was doing or whitherhe went.
Within the cell Jenny was sitting at the table with red and tearfuleyes.
'That good and noble friend, Will, would make me Lady Brockenhurst.'
'Jenny--why not?'
'He would go with me: he would marry me here and sail with me. No--no--Ipromised his sister. What? Because I love a man--the best of men--shouldI give him children who would be ashamed of their mother and her origin?Mine would be a pretty history for them to learn, would it not? No,Will, no. Believe me I love him too well. Even if he were a meaner man,I could never bring my history to smirch the chronicles of a respectablefamily.'
She was silent a little. 'Will,' she said presently, looking up, 'allthat I foretold has proved true. I want no money. I am going out to astrange country. It is not Ireland as I thought. It is Virginia. I seeit again so plain--so clear--I shall know it when I land. But I can seeno farther. There will be no return for me to Drury Lane. My visionstops short--now that I see you--somewhere--with me--I see Alice also.But I cannot see England or London--or the Black Jack or Drury Lane.'
Then we moved to the more commodious chamber, where I soothed herspirits with a cup of tea which is better far than wine or cordials forthe refreshment of the mind. Presently she began to recover a littlefrom her disappointment.
'It will be lonely at first,' she said, 'without a single friend, and Isuppose that a transported convict--say that for me, Will--it hath astrange sound. It is like a slap in the face--a transported convict----'
'Nay, Jenny, do not say it.'
'I must. I say that though a transported convict must be despised, yet Ishall have my girl here with me, and perhaps my Lord will prove rightand I may come home again. Yet I do not think so. Will, there is oneconsolation. At last I shall get clean away from my own people. Theyused to congregate round the stage-door of the Theatre to congratulatetheir old friend on her success. The Orange-Girls were never tired ofclaiming old friendship. I married in order to get away from them, butMatthew never meant to keep his promise--I am tired, Will, of my ownpeople. They have made me suffer too much. Henceforth let them go andhang without any help from me.'
'It is high time, Jenny.'
'The Act ends lamely, perhaps. It may be the last Act of the Play. Theship leaves the Quay. On the deck stands the heroine in white satin,waving her handkerchief. The people weep. The bo's'n blows his whistle.The sailors stamp about; the curtain falls. Will, if things arereal--what am I to do when I get back--if I do get back? How am I tolive?'
'Jenny,' I said seriously, 'I believe that one so good and so fearless,for whom daily prayers are offered, will be led by no will of her own,into some way of peace and happiness.'
'Think you so, good cousin? There spoke Alice. It is her language. Shesays that beyond the stars are eyes that can see and hands that canlead. Why, Will, for my people, the only hand that leads is the hand ofhunger: the only hand that directs is the hand with the whip in it; asfor eyes that see'--she shook her head sadly--'I wish there were,' shesaid. 'Perhaps there would then be some order in St. Giles's. And therewould be some hope for the poor rogues. Oh! Will--the poor helpless,ignorant, miserable rogues--of whom I am one--a transported convict--atransported convict--how we suffer! how we die! And pass away and areforgotten! Will ... Will ... I go with a heavy heart--I go to meet mydeath. For never more shall I return. Where is the eye that sees? Oh!Will--where is the hand that leads?'