MASTERS, MAGISTRATES, MUTINEERS & MEN
Chapter 6: The Book
Mr. Thornton was the first to depart the company of the unlikely trio, leaving Mr. Bell solely to the care of Mr. Lennox. While he could hear the faint footsteps of Mrs. Thornton upstairs, the lower levels of the house were reserved for the remaining visitors. Mr. Bell proved himself to be one of the sorts of men who drowned his discomfort with spirits and the events of the night were more than he could manage while sober. Thus, it fell to the lot of Henry Lennox to refill his glass and keep the old gentleman company – at least, until he could persuade the old man to finally retire. Even then, it fell to Henry Lennox to escort the man to his room to ensure he did not tumble over on the way.
While Henry would have much preferred to be the sought-out companion of Margaret Hale, Mr. Bell proved an entertaining, nearly exasperating, conversation partner. Henry was no stranger to arguing points or taking the opposing side of an argument for argument's sake. Mr. Bell, even with his increasingly slurred speech, proved a formidable opponent. It took very little effort to find opinions the pair differed on and, indeed, their personalities proved so disparate that there were very few topics of conversation that did not progress into a debate - of various levels of import.
Oxford must be superior to London. Scholars were far more invaluable to society than barristers. It was the young and arrogant who must learn from the aged and wise. A plump duck was far preferable to a dish of goose and a raspberry tart must be superior to a plum. For most of their conversation, Henry assumed his companion was inciting arguments simply for his own entertainment and purposefully attempting to ruffle Henry's feathers with his outlandish remarks. That is, until Henry made a comment on the Hale's change of circumstances and then the tone of Mr. Bell's response grew in vehemence and passion. While he could just as well blame the change on yet another emptied glass of brandy, he could also attribute it to stumbling upon a true disagreement between them.
"Is adherence to conscience always correct? Are there not some circumstances where it is, indeed, more selfish and immoral to follow one's conscience than to not?" Henry had posed, in reference to not only young Frederick Hale, but to the elder Hale as well.
Of course, Mr. Bell had tumbled into a soliloquy on the merits of conscience, morals, ethics, and the philosophy of man. Somehow, Plato and Aristotle were named and probably a few other long dead patriarchs of Greco-Roman paganism. Henry assumed it was the wisdom of mind and not the strength of morals of Odysseus and Tacitus that Mr. Bell hoped to invoke with his references, but Henry dared not interrupt his companion to find out. Mr. Bell continued unabated in his praise of the merits of both his friend and godson and made a series of jests at the depravity of London society that were more veiled insults than true jests. Henry Lennox had no intention to argue the merits of London morality or the adherence of his society of peers to their sense of conscience and instead sank further and further into silence.
Long after depositing Mr. Bell in his bed, Henry Lennox still mulled over the substance of their debate. However flippantly he might have initiated the debate, the longer he thought of it, the more the argument sent tenterhooks into his mind. He could not help but contrast the Hales of Helstone with the Hales of Milton. In the same way, he compared what he knew of both father and son. He found them far more similar than initial impressions would imply - and it was not in their appearance or manner that they revealed their relation but in their shared value to conscience and the paths their lives would take.
Frederick and Richard Hale both abandoned their professions and their societies due to the troubles of their indomitable consciences. Each rebelled against authority they saw as overreaching and unjust and they organized their own localized revolts in response. Henry had to wonder, though, if the leadership of either man was less tyrannical than the forbears who they sought to replace. Did they actually further the cause of justice with their actions or was it evidence of a "morbid state of conscience"?
While Richard Hale left the Church of England, it necessarily followed that the women of his family must follow his cause - not out of their own consciences' sake but in their subservient roles as wife and daughter under his protection. Regardless of their own loyalty (or disloyalty) to the Church of England, Mrs. Hale and Margaret would bear the weight of shame and loss from Mr. Hale's decision. Richard Hale rebelled against both his agrarian parish and his old profession, settling his family in the reduced circumstances in Milton, far from every comfort and connection they had known previously. Similarly, Frederick Hale mutinied against the Royal Navy. He, also, overthrew the set order of things, taking the mantle of authority on himself to follow the mandates of his conscience. He organized those who agreed with him (and a few who didn't and had no choice) and led them in a direction that would change the course of the rest of their lives. All of Frederick Hale's caught accomplices were hung, save for the two that were transported to Australia. Did those who followed him know the cost they would pay for their actions? Did young Hale?
Perhaps it was Henry Lennox' profession and his further ambitions for politics. Perhaps it was his frequent intercourse with the great minds and leaders of London society, but he was convinced that justice was served more effectively by efforts to shift laws and leaders and the opinions of those who made decisions for all. Perhaps he, too, was still young and idealistic enough to believe authority could be reasoned with and change could be implemented without violence. Perhaps, more years and experience would teach him otherwise. Until then, better a long-simmering coal that eventually sets a fire than a large burst of flame that all can see and is immediately extinguished, he thought.
If Richard Hale's conscience decried practices and doctrines in the Church of England, then he should throw his efforts into changing what he saw was amiss. Find like-minded men, speak with the bishop and archbishop and other leaders of the Church, write pamphlets and sermons and push forward to see the Church changed. Instead, Mr. Hale simply left it all behind. He retired himself out of a desire to both appease his conscience and cause no conflict in his wake.
Similarly, if Frederick Hale had simply held his peace, if he had completed tenure on the Russell, he could have organized his followers and appealed to the Admiralty. He could have joined with the growing movement of voices decrying the injustices of naval law at a parliamentary level and given his account as evidence. Henry Lennox had heard about the push William Williams of Coventry gave to change the very laws regulating the navy. He spoke out about the need for more regulation, oversight, and the ability to appeal. His efforts succeeded in the 1847 revisions to the Articles of War and he continued to press for even more change- lasting change that would impact all involved. Frederick's actions might have been brave and bold and grand, but ultimately, he did not shift the course of Captain Reid's career nor make changes for future generations of sailors. It was a grand gesture, but ultimately meaningless.
Richard Hale's initial martyrdom could be respected for the strength and courage such an action required. To leave all behind, head held high, for the sake of something so grand as "conscience" was a fine thing indeed- but his actions that followed- those required more justification. There were other cities in England, other villages and towns. There were other possible locations Richard Hale could have found employment as a tutor. His primary argument for Milton, if Henry understood Mr. Bell's explanation properly, was its stark contrast to Helstone. Not the benefit of the place to his family. Not the opportunity therein for his young daughter to thrive and establish herself. Not the rightness of such a move for his wife's well-being. Not the improvements he could implement for society in Milton or a sense of divine calling. It was simply an escape from the old- a jarring rupture from his past and an almost self-flagellating desire to fulfill his stated aim of martyrdom to its bitter end. If his successive move after leaving Helstone was not as self-sacrificing and misery-inducing as possible, then it was not acceptable. In each decision, the locus of import was Richard Hale himself- his conscience, his desires, his fears, and his lacks.
Frederick, too, may have done a grand thing in standing up to the tyrannical captain on behalf of the worn and ragged midshipmen, but then he led them straight into an early grave. Perhaps, if he had packed himself into the longboat and set himself afloat for the cause of justice without stealing an entire ship and its cargo and part of its crew, the grandeur of his scheme could be more easily argued. Perhaps, if he had chosen what cause he wished to fight for, rather than the cause he wished to fight against, it could be more easily understood. To throw all caution and morals in the wind in order to set a course that was as anti-England as possible was harder to justify.
Both men delighted in their small martyrdoms and gloried in the stance they took in opposition to their perceived injustices. Then, both retired into exile -ineffectual and silent. The cost of their martyrdom was paid more heavily by those forced to follow them than by the men themselves... at least, until now. No, on the brink of court-martial, so soon after the death of Mrs. Hale, both father and son were forced to face their deeds done in the name of conscience and it would not be their own sense of right and wrong to determine their fate. Yet, perhaps it was that same adherence which would grant them a more favorable hearing from the Almighty in the judgement to come.
Henry supposed he far preferred debating the merits of different sides of an issue than holding the weight of final judgement at the end.
ooooo
A long night and even longer intermediary day passed before John spoke with his mother again. He had seen her before he departed from the Hales', of course, but only long enough for her to send him home from Crampton, assured with her promises that she would remain with Margaret as long as required. He did not miss his mother's use of Margaret's Christian name or the look of staunch determination on his mother's face. He could not help the twinge of jealousy he felt knowing that his mother was permitted such liberties, such uninterrupted companionship with the woman he loved and he remained excluded.
It was late the next afternoon when he found his mother waiting for him in the mill office. He could not tell by her expression how long she had waited or the nature of her tidings. She gave a terse nod in welcome when he entered but she did not speak. Her quick eyes had already taken in the pile of papers he carried and she would not venture to speak until he had completed his assessment of each document. He sighed. He had not attended well to his work that morning and his mother's stoic and long-suffering presence would not assist his focus. He quickly signed and read through the first five documents before placing the rest in his desk drawer. With a satisfied click of the lock, he leaned forward on his desk and gave his full attention to his mother.
"You are back, then?" He stated.
"I sent Fanny to Crampton for the evening."
"Fanny?" John asked in surprise.
"Your sister was quite put out that we have failed to include her in our affairs with the Hales. I informed her of what she needed to know and sent her to sit with the Hales in my stead."
John wanted to question her judgement, but it was his mother and he dare not. She must know what she was about, but he could not imagine Fanny being of use in such circumstances. As if reading his mind, Mrs. Thornton arched an eyebrow and frowned disapprovingly.
"Fanny's cheerfulness will prove a balm, I think. After the last few days, the Hales could benefit from some petty small talk and someone entirely unconnected with the whole affair to bring some new air into that drafty old house. She has brought a book to read aloud and says she can sit quiet-like if needed."
"Not the book on Spain, I hope," John said with a slight grimace.
"The Tales of the Alhambra might do them good."
"Or put their thoughts even more on young Hale and his tenure in Spain."
"Have some faith, John. Let Fanny prove herself useful, in her own way. Mr. Bell and Mr. Lennox are taking turns sitting with Mr. Hale and Margaret and it will do everyone good to have another woman about."
John sighed and rubbed at his forehead, the day feeling far longer than it had that morning. "I will come by as soon as I am able."
By his mother's expression, he knew she wished to chide him to remain at home, but she held her tongue. He was glad of it. He had no wish to explain his desire to return to Crampton was more to put his own thoughts at ease than for any assistance he could grant to the occupants. There were enough friends about to tend to their needs and he knew he could offer little more than those present could give. However, if he could but see Margaret for a moment… Ensure her well-being with his own eyes…
No, he chided himself. It was folly and he knew it. A moment would never be enough. An hour would prove only a tantalizing taste and leave him wishing for a day, a month, a year. How he longed for more! To feast his eyes on her upon waking each morning and to rest himself alongside her each night, to be welcomed past the boundaries of drawing rooms and dining rooms and into the inner sanctums of her heart and life.
Yet, it could not be. Not yet.
He was brought out of his reverie by his mother's voice – neither chiding nor sharp. Instead, it was as if she was voicing her own musings – a practice as unfamiliar to her normal habits as wearing any color other than black.
"... Those young ones...I cannot help but think of the family of those sailors - both those who mutinied and those who did not- and how terrible it must have been to receive such news."
"I beg your pardon?"
She gave him a stern, reprimanding stare for his inattention, then she slowly reached out to smooth the ruffles on her black skirt. "I was saying, young Mr. Hale was not so much younger than you were, you know. Why, he must have been but twelve or thirteen at most when he left home and took to sea."
"I suppose we were of similar ages when we felt the weight of responsibility," he answered, unsure how else to reply.
She was silent for a moment or two, her eyes distant. "I wonder what you would have done – what you would have felt was right, if you had been in his place?"
He knew what she was thinking of and she was seeing affairs with the eyes of a mother, as she was wont to do. John and Frederick Hale were both still boys when they were thrust into the world of men and masters, captains and mutineers – forced to prove themselves in a world as unforgiving as unfeeling as the open sea during a storm. They were, both of them, held responsible for the choices they made and the men they had become.
"I do not know," he finally said. "I have asked that question myself, over and over again, since last night. I cannot know what I would have done in young Hale's position anymore than I am certain about the justice of my own actions in the affair."
"What can you mean, John?" His mother asked.
"At first, upon hearing about the circumstances of young Hale, I wished the Hales trusted me enough to speak frankly about Frederick Hale. However, now I must wonder. Had I known… what would I have done? I am not certain. If I chose to willingly harbor a known mutineer and pirate out of loyalty to the Hales, what does that reveal about my principles and justice as a magistrate? If I handed over young Hale, what would that reveal about my friendship for the Hales?
"Miss Hale protected her brother because he was her brother, yet, he had done wrong. I protected Miss Hale from the police inspector, though I knew she lied, out of loyalty to the Hales. We are both guilty- even if we did not know what precisely we were guilty of. I did not know she harbored a wanted fugitive and she did not know the depths of Frederick Hale's crimes- yet, would it have mattered if we knew?"
John turned in his chair and picked up a book from his desk. He opened the cover and let his fingers trail over the words. He did not read what they said, but simply the shape and contrast of the letters against paper calmed him. He looked up at his mother's grave, concerned face, her emotions evident by the furrow on her brow.
His mother reached out, her hand clasping his on top of the open page of the book. "I am glad you did not know – about young Hale, I mean. I am glad you did not have to make such a choice."
"It is those choices that define us and prove a man! I cannot say I am glad to have missed the opportunity to prove myself. Then, also, how affairs might have progressed differently! If I had known… perhaps, young Hale would not have been caught."
"You think too highly of yourself and the influence you hold over such affairs."
He snorted and cast his mother a wry smile. She answered it with a slight smile of her own.
"Isn't this the same arbitrary, impressionable measure of justice that is being decried in parliament about the justice of the admiralty? The voices for change declare that justice ought not be swayed by relational connections or the greyed judgement of those sitting on the court martial. Yet, how can it not? Can justice truly be blinded and unimpressed by human connection?" John mused.
"Perhaps," his mother replied. "I suppose, if young Hale were a relative of the queen, his ill-deeds would matter less."
"He would face a far more forgiving set of judges from the Admiralty if they received a pardon from the queen."
"And Miss Hale benefited from her intimacy with a Milton magistrate. We will take our small mercies and favorable connections where we may, John. You may not be a member of the royal family, but you are one of the leading members of Milton and that is a position you earned yourself. I will continue to hold my head high knowing I have such a son who has such a position in Milton."
"It is you who first informed me I think too highly of myself and now you put such notions of my own importance into my head," he said, offering his mother a smile.
She clicked her tongue in fond chastisement. "It is for a mother to both praise and humble."
"Well, then, we, all of us, can only make the best of the circumstances we find ourselves in," he answered.
"And your position is the Master of Marlborough Mills. I will leave you to your work," she said. She rose and gave him a final nod before departing through the door.
Author's Notes:
Information on William Williams comes from Michael D. Lewis' article entitled, "Mutiny in the Public Sphere Debating Naval Power in Parliament, the Press, and Gaskell's 'North and South'" Victorian Review, Vol. 36, No. 1 (Spring 2010) JSTOR
It was in 1860 when voices for change in maritime law succeeded and the Naval Discipline Acts overhauled the previously standing Articles of War. The sentencing and punishments for transgressions at sea changed and the number of capital punishments dropped dramatically.