This Thing Of Darkness (104 page)

‘But of the many natives who had grounds to bear a grudge against their captors, can we even be sure that we have before us the right man? Let us look in detail at the evidence of Coles the cook. He “reckons” - reckons, mark you - that he witnessed the defendant among a mob of some three hundred aggrieved natives, from a distance of a quarter of a mile away. By his own admission, he finds it difficult to distinguish one native from another. By his own admission, he did not actually see the defendant shoot Mr Phillips, or hurl the rock at Seaman Petersen, or administer the fatal blow in any of the cases under consideration. That simply is not good enough, gentlemen. That is not sufficient evidence to justify taking away a man’s life, even the life of a savage.

‘If Jemmy was indeed responsible, why then did he intercede on Coles’s behalf with his fellows? Why did he treat him with such care and compassion for nigh on half a year? Why did he feed him and clothe him? Why did he give him
a loaded gun
? He knew that there would most likely be reprisals — if he was indeed guilty, why then did he not simply kill Coles, hide the body, scuttle the
Allen Gardiner,
and claim that the missionaries had never even been there? Everyone would have assumed them lost in a storm! But no. When Captain Smyley arrived, the accused went on board the
Nancy
of his own volition.
Of his own volition
. Was this the act of a guilty man? I will tell you, gentlemen, what it was. It was the act of a Christian. For Jemmy Button learned to love God not at Keppel Island, where he laboured against his will, but in England, where he was taken to be educated by Captain FitzRoy of the Royal Navy many years ago. He has lived peacefully among our people. He has learned our language. He looked after one of our own when others wanted to kill him. And how have we repaid him? By abducting him, by throwing him in chains, and by putting him on trial for his life. Gentlemen of the jury, there is only one possible verdict open to you. If you call yourselves Christians, you must find this man innocent.’

Lamb sat down. He had rather enjoyed the experience of legal speechifying, and was beginning to think that he might have chosen the wrong career by going into the military. He was confident, even, that his arguments would absolve Jemmy of the main charge of carrying out the murders. The lesser charges of incitement and being an accessory, however, were a different matter; and all three charges carried the death penalty. The odds remained that Jemmy was currently enjoying, if that was the word for it, his penultimate day on earth.

Briskly, Governor Moore began his own summing-up.

‘Before I move on to the charges at hand, I should like to say this. It is almost certain from the statements of the defendant, from the discontented and threatening language used by the natives who were taken to Keppel, and from the bloody revenge which they took upon their return to Tierra del Fuego, that their residence at Keppel Island was enforced and irksome. I believe that it was practically impossible for Mr Despard or his agents, only acquainted as they were with a few words of the language of one tribe, to have made a contract which could for a moment be considered equal or fair with the savages. I should have hoped that, instead of availing himself of technical objections to defeat the course of this inquiry, Mr Despard might have availed himself of the opportunity to clear himself in open court of such grave suspicions. As it is, those suspicions have been necessarily aggravated by his studied concealment. In place of establishing the truth, the door has been left open for conjecture of all kinds. I am bound to say, too, that I do not think Mr Despard’s measure of searching the natives prior to their boarding the
Allen Gardiner
was in any way judicious; and I must note that those natives searched appear to have been foremost in the murders. But murders they were, however they were occasioned, and as such they cannot be left unpunished.

‘Gentlemen of the jury, I must stress to you that none of the provocations listed above constitute a justifiable defence for the act of murder. Nor are acts of Christian mercy, such as those shown by the defendant to the survivor Coles, to be classed as mitigating circumstances when it comes to determining the guilt or otherwise of the accused. You must concern yourself only with the facts of the case — did he or did he not commit the crimes of which he is charged? There is to be no balance of probability. You must be absolutely certain of his guilt before you enter a guilty verdict on any of the charges. On the charge of murder, you must be completely satisfied that the defendant personally took the life of one or more of the missionary party. On the charge of incitement, you must be completely satisfied that the defendant was a moving force in the mob, one of the ringleaders, if you like. On the charge of being an accessory, you must be completely satisfied that the defendant was a willing participant in the mob, that he was complicit in the crime and did nothing to try to prevent it. All three offences carry a capital sentence. This should not concern you. All you have to decide is the guilt, or otherwise, of the accused. You may retire now to consider your verdicts. Betimes in the morning, the court will reconvene to hear your decision, if you have yet reached one. The court is adjourned. Take the prisoner to the cells.’

Moore stood up, accompanied by his two fellow judges, and rustled out. Jemmy was pulled to his feet, chains clinking.

‘Please sir,’ he asked Moore’s departing back, ‘can Jemmy go home now?’

 

A typical Falklands gale howled that night, tearing in off the South Atlantic across the low, sodden hills. Loose tiles were plucked from the half-finished roofs of ramshackle houses; untethered tarpaulins were ripped from window-frames and sent scurrying into the night. The inhabitants of Stanley battened down the hatches and clustered in taciturn groups around guttering tallow candles. Down in the harbour, the water was black and choppy, and the ships at anchor heaved and gasped. In the harbour channel there was pandemonium, and in the ocean outside the breakers furled unchecked, pounding against the rocky coast. It was not a night to be out at sea. But had anyone braved the lashing rain and wind that buffeted the harbour front just after ten o’clock that evening, they would have seen that there were, indeed, brave souls prepared to risk the fury of the elements on such a night: a ship was running the harbour channel. Her sail had been shortened, but not perhaps as closely as it might have been. Whoever her captain was, he was in a hurry, and he was prepared to take risks. He was also an expert sailor: he was running the channel on a close-reefed foretopsail, a treble-reefed main topsail and a fore staysail, the whole manoeuvre executed with the precision of a surgeon, though her masts swayed like marram grass. Within a half-hour she was safe and anchored, and her cutter had been hoisted out. An imposing figure in a dark boat-cloak climbed down into the bucking little craft, and was rowed ashore with the minimum of fuss.

As the cutter bit into the seaweed-choked foreshore, the accompanying crunch torn away and flung unheard into the South Atlantic, the cloaked figure stepped out into the storm’s embrace. He strode unhesitating up the muddy lanes, with which he obviously shared long intimacy. The occasional swaying lantern cast bright lurching ovals upon the rain-slicked mud, but the stranger had no need of any navigation lights. Within a minute his unerring footsteps had led him to the courthouse door, upon which he began to pound, a low, relentless drumbeat underscoring the sibilant hiss of the rain. Grumbling, one of the gaolers was roused from his stupor and stumbled to the door, a volley of choice words ready for whoever was foolish enough to be abroad on a night such as this. But when he drew back the bolts, and saw the identity of the newcomer, his demeanour changed. Deference and humility took over: he ushered his visitor in and respectfully took his cloak.

‘Am I too late?’

‘Sir?’

‘Am I too late? The court case - is it done?’

‘The case is done, sir, but the verdict is not due ’til the morrow.’

‘Then there may be time yet. Show me to him.’

‘Sir?’

‘Show me to the prisoner.’

The gaoler did not hesitate, or question the newcomer’s right to be shown to the defendant’s cell; such was the man’s instinctively commanding presence. His lantern flaring in the wintry gusts that squeezed themselves between the badly nailed planks, he led the way down the dirt-floored passage. At the end was a door, fastened with two bolts and a single stout padlock. Hands shaking with cold, he unfastened the lock and drew back the bolts. The door creaked open. The small, frightened figure of Jemmy Button sat behind a rough deal table, alone save for a flickering rushlight. Jemmy looked up, gave a little yelp of astonishment, drew back his chair and jumped to his feet. The visitor moved forward to embrace him. They made a strange pair, clutching each other in the gloom of that soaking Falklands night: the one short, round, woeful, clad in the cheapest prison garb; the other more than a foot taller, stern of brow and bald as an eagle, immaculately suited in the uniform of a British naval officer.

‘Capp’en Sulivan,’ said Jemmy.

‘You may leave us,’ said Sulivan to the guard, who obeyed without question.

‘Capp’en Fitz‘oy has sent you to Jemmy?’

‘He is Admiral FitzRoy now. We both are. It is a higher rank than captain.’

‘A’miral Fitz’oy.’ Jemmy rolled the new word round his tongue, tried it out for size. ‘A’miral Fitz‘oy has sent you to Jemmy?’

‘Yes. That’s right. Admiral FitzRoy has sent me to you.’

‘Why he no come himself, A’miral Sulivan?’

‘Although he is an admiral his position is ... difficult. It is not as easy for him to take leave, to command a ship, as it is for me. So I came instead.’

‘You came to save Jemmy.’

Sulivan looked serious. ‘I do not know, Jemmy. That depends.’

‘That depends?’

‘I came to tell the truth, Jemmy. I came to tell the court that I know you - that I know you to be a good man. But I will not lie to the court for you, Jemmy. You must know that. Once I have sworn my oath upon the Bible, I will tell only the truth.’

Silence breathed between them.

Sulivan was the first to break it. ‘Tell me, Jemmy. Tell me everything that happened. From the very beginning.’

And so Jemmy told him the entire story of Keppel Island, from the arrival of the
Allen Gardiner
to his abduction by the
Nancy
.

When he had finished his tale, Sulivan took each of Jemmy’s hands in his own. Their eyes locked. ‘Before God, Jemmy, I need you to tell me the honest truth. If you tell the truth, then there is nothing to be afraid of, for God will take care of you. It is very important that you understand that. Do you understand that?’

‘Yes, A’miral Sulivan.’

‘Now — did you kill any of those men?’

‘No, A’miral Sulivan.’

‘Did you have anything whatsoever to do with the deaths of those men? Did you encourage the idea, or even agree with it?’

‘No, A’miral Sulivan.’

‘Do you swear by Almighty God that that is the whole, the unvarnished truth?’

‘Yes, A’miral Sulivan.’

‘You would not lie to me, Jemmy, would you?’

‘No, A’miral Sulivan. Jemmy swear it.’

Sulivan gazed searchingly into Jemmy’s soul, hunting for some clue, some tiny sign that would point him towards the truth of what had happened.

I simply do not know,
he had to admit
. I simply do not know whether or not he is telling the truth.

 

‘Another witness, Lieutenant Lamb?’ complained Moore testily. ‘You have already delivered your closing statement. I have never heard of such a thing.’

‘The gentleman is a material witness, sir - a character witness - whose testimony was unfortunately not available until today, sir.’

‘It is quite ridiculous. While we may find ourselves many thousands of miles from the mother country, that in itself is no reason to abdicate all sense of procedural responsibility. I will not allow it.’

‘It is Rear-Admiral Sulivan, sir.’

‘Rear-Admiral Sulivan? Why the devil didn’t you say so? Fetch him in.’

Sulivan was duly fetched in, and introduced to the jury, although there was little need of it: all there knew, or had heard tell, of the islands’ most famous former inhabitant.

‘Rear-Admiral Sulivan’s record of service,’ intoned Lamb, ‘both in defence of these islands and of his country, is second to none. Although he has now withdrawn from active service to take up the position of chief naval officer at the Board of Trade in London, it is but thirty-six months since he took command of HMS
Lightning
, the first ever naval paddle steam vessel, and HMS
Merlin
thereafter, in our glorious victory against the Russians. He was the author of the attack on Sweaborg, for which heroic action he was made Companion of the Bath. Last year he was selected to lead the naval review of the Baltic Fleet by Her Gracious Majesty the Queen at Spithead. He is without question the most celebrated, valorous inhabitant of these islands, in all their brief history.’

Sulivan found himself bathed in the frank admiration of the jury.

‘Rear-Admiral Sulivan, how long have you known the defendant?’

‘I have known him, indeed I have been proud to call him my friend, for twenty-seven years.’

‘Would you say that the defendant is possessed of a savage - even a murderous — disposition?’

‘Far from it. The defendant is a gentle man and a devout Christian. The defendant may have been left to his own devices in his native country these last two dozen years - and I blame myself as much as anyone for that lamentable state of affairs - but Jemmy Button once resided in England, and moved in the very gentlest society. Indeed, he was on intimate terms with no less a person than the King of England.’

This caused a considerable stir in the courtroom.