“This is kind, Jacob, but not more than I expected of you—I made sure that I should see you to-night or to-morrow morning. How’s poor Mary? I care only for her now—I am satisfied—she loves me, and—I knocked out the sergeant’s eye—spoilt his wooing, at all events.”
“But, Tom, are you aware of the danger in which you are placed?”
“Yes, Jacob, ; I shall be tried by a court-martial and shot. I’ve made up my mind to it—at all events, it’s better than being hung like a dog, or being flogged to death like a nigger. I shall die like a gentleman, if I have never been one before, that’s some comfort. , I shall go out of the world with as much noise as if a battle had been fought, or a great man had died.”
“How do you mean?”
“Why there’ll be more than one bullet-in.”
“This is no time for jesting, Tom.”
“Not for you, Jacob, as a sincere friend, I grant; not for poor Mary, as a girl; not for my poor father and mother—no, no,” continued Tom. “I feel for them, but for myself I neither fear nor care. I have not done wrong—I was pressed against the law and Act of Parliament, and I . I was when I was drunk and mad, and I deserted. There is no disgrace to me; the disgrace is to the government which suffers such acts. If I am to be a victim, well and good—we can only die once.”
“Very true, Tom; but you are young to die, and we must hope for the best.”
“I have given up all hope, Jacob. I know the law will be put in force. I shall die and go to another and a better world, as the parson says, where, at all events, there will be no to clean, no drill, and none of your confounded pipe-clay, which has almost driven me mad. I should like to die in a blue jacket—in a red coat I will not, so I presume I shall go out of the world in my shirt, and that’s more than I had when I came in.”
“Mary and her father are coming down to you, Tom.”
“I’m sorry for that, Jacob; it would be cruel not to see her—but she blames herself so much that I cannot bear to read her letters. But, Jacob, I will see her, to try if I can comfort her—but she must not stay; she must go back again till after the court-martial, and the sentence, and then—if she wishes to take her farewell, I suppose I must not refuse.” A few tears dropped from his eyes as he said this. “Jacob, will you wait and take her back to town?—she must not stay here—and I will not see my father and mother until the last. Let us make one job of it, and then all will be over.”
As Tom said this the door of the cell again opened, and Stapleton supported in his daughter. Mary to where Tom stood, and fell into his arms in a fit of convulsions. It was necessary to remove her, and she was carried out. “Let her not come in again, I you, Jacob; take her back, and I will bless you for your kindness. Wish me farewell now, and see that she does not come again.” Tom me by the hand, and turned away to his . I nodded my head in , for I could not speak for emotion, and followed Stapleton and the soldiers who had taken Mary out. As soon as she was recovered to require no further medical aid, I lifted her into the post-chaise, and ordered the boys to drive back to Brentford. Mary continued in a state of during the journey; and when I arrived at my own house, I gave her into the charge of the gardener’s wife, and despatched her husband for medical assistance. The application of Mr Wharncliffe was of little avail, and he returned to me with disappointment in his . The whole of the next week was the most that I ever passed; arising from my anxiety for Tom, my daily to reason Mary into some degree of to the will of Providence—her of herself and her own —her incoherent ravings, calling herself Tom’s murderer, which alarmed me for her reason; the distress of old Tom and his wife, who, unable to remain in their , came all to me for intelligence, for comfort, and for what, ! I dare not give them—hope. All this, added to my separation from Sarah during my attendance to what I considered my duty, reduced me to a debility, arising from mental , which changed me to almost a skeleton.
At last the court-martial was held, and Tom was to death. The sentence was approved of, and we were told that all appeals would be unavailing. We received the news on the Saturday evening, and Tom was to suffer on the Tuesday morning. I could no longer refuse the appeals of Mary; indeed, I received a letter from Tom, requesting that all of us, the Dominie included, would come down and bid him farewell. I hired a carriage for old Tom, his wife, Stapleton, and Mary, and putting the Dominie and myself in my own chariot, we set off early on the Sunday morning for Maidstone. We arrived about eleven o’clock, and put up at an inn in close to the barracks. It was arranged that the Dominie and I should see Tom first, then his father and mother, and lastly, Mary Stapleton.
“Verily,” said the Dominie, “my heart is heavy, exceeding heavy; my soul yearneth after the poor lad, who is thus to lose his life for a woman—a woman from whose I did myself escape. Yet is she exceeding fair and , and now that it is unavailing, appeareth to be .”
I made no reply; we had arrived at the gate of the barracks. I requested to be admitted to the prisoner, and the doors were unbarred. Tom was dressed with great care and cleanliness in white trousers and shirt and waistcoat, but his coat lay on the table; he would not put it on. He extended his hand towards me with a faint smile.
“It’s all over now, Jacob; and there is no hope that I am aware of, and I have made up my mind to die; but I wish these last farewells were over, for they unman me. I hope you are well, sir,” continued Tom to the Dominie.
“Nay, my poor boy, I am as well as age and infirmity will permit, and why should I complain when I see youth, health, and strength about to be sacrificed; and many made , when many might be made so happy?” And the Dominie blew his nose, the sound of which re-echoed through the cell, so as to induce the sentry to look through the bars.
“They are all here, Tom,” said I. “Would you like to see them now?”
“Yes; the sooner it is over the better.”
“Will you see your father and mother first?”
“Yes,” replied Tom, in a tone.
I went out, and returned with the old woman on my arm, followed by old Tom, who after me with the assistance of his stick. Poor old Mrs Beazeley fell on her son’s neck, convulsively.
“My boy—my boy—my dear, dear boy!” said she at last, and she looked up in his face. “My God! he’ll be dead to-morrow!”
Her head again sank on his shoulder, and her were choking her. Tom kissed his mother’s forehead as the tears coursed down his cheeks, and motioned me to take her away. I placed her down on the floor, where she remained silent, moving her head up and down with a slow motion, her face buried in her shawl. It was but now and then that you heard a convulsive drawing of her breath. Old Tom had remained a silent but spectator of the scene. Every muscle in his weather-beaten countenance convulsively, and the tears at last forced their way through the deep on his cheeks. Tom, as soon as his mother was removed, took his father by the hand, and they sat down together.
“You are not angry with me, father, for deserting?”
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