MASTERS, MAGISTRATES, MUTINEERS, & MEN
Chapter 11: The Rope
John Thornton descended from his carriage far later than he had hoped after attending to a broken loom at the mill. The minutes had passed by like hours as he saw to the machine and closed the mill for the night. It was a brisk, chilly night and so he did not begrudge the carriage. Afterall, he had promised his mother he would see his sister home.
It was a strange thought – all these hours shared between Fanny and Margaret. He could not deny he was nearly bursting with curiosity to discover just what they spoke about when they were together. They were so different and yet they must have come into some accord, if what his mother assured him was to be believed. It was hardly fair that his sister – with her former indifference and ambivalence to the Hales- should be permitted so many hours in solemn conference with Margaret and he, who loved her so well, could only grasp stolen snatches of moments in company or when he caught her out on a walk. He sighed and chastised himself for his petulance… and impatience. He ought to rejoice in any companion who brought comfort to Margaret, especially during these hours when he knew it could not be himself. Who better than his mother and sister?
Now, though, he could not hide his anticipation as he drew near her home. John descended from the carriage and noted which windows of the Crampton house remained lit with the soft glow of candles behind the thick curtains. He could tell the parlor and kitchen remained inhabited and perhaps one of the upper bedrooms, but he was not certain which room belonged to which occupant. He was craning his head to see the windows on the uppermost floor when he heard his name called.
"Thornton! Good man! You have come just in time!"
John started and looked down to see Mr. Bell. The man wore a broad grin on his face- an unexpected and rare appearance compared with the dour expression that permeated his features during the previous days of this week.
"Mr. Bell. How do you do?"
"Oh, you have no idea how difficult this evening has been for me, Thornton! I ought not find anything humorous during such a week, but, if I was in the mood for amusement, this evening would have provided enough fodder for days."
"What has occurred?" John asked.
"The Hales had a very unexpected caller today, well, unexpected to me more so than to the Hales themselves. The fellow is a great friend of the family, I gather, though I would never have expected it. A mill hand, works for you, as it turns out, came to offer his condolences to the Hales."
"That would be Higgins, I expect."
"The very man! Yes! You see, it turns out that our Miss Hale once befriended the man's ailing daughter. And, the good parson's daughter that she is, she called upon them with a charity basket whenever hard times befell their family. Well, these Miltoners are a long way from Helstone and the Higgins family got it into their heads that this custom is a peculiarity of people from the South during a difficult time. So, the remaining daughter of this Mr. Higgins, knowing what a loss is facing the Hales, got it into her head to make a basket for the Hales in return. Sent her father over with it, too. Apparently after the death of the elder daughter, Mr. Hale did a deal in raising Higgins' spirits and he figured it was his turn to return the favor.
"Well, I wish you could have seen Margaret's face when Higgins handed her a basket and said he had 'come to keep her father from the gin house,' though, by the looks of it, I do believe the man snuck a small bottle of gin in that basket. Quite the generous offering, that, from such a family. Then there was some stew and bread. They must have taken quite the fancy to our Hales to be so generous. Well, Margaret was so dumbfounded she turned as red as a plum tart and could hardly find her words for five minutes all together."
John bit back a smile. "I wish I might have seen that."
"Well, for all the man is a rough fellow with boots that made Dixon nearly swoon, he's spent the better part of an hour with Richard and I only later realized he's the only one of the lot of us who has ever lost a wife and grown child. For all I never would have believed it, it just so happens he's been the best comfort for our old friend after all. I've left them to it and am just heading out to meet with Lennox."
"Higgins is still here, then?"
"That he is. He's holed up in Hale's study."
John smiled in earnest, then, at the discordant image of the rough mill hand giving words of wisdom to his old, learned tutor.
"I removed the bottle of gin before Margaret could come across it and have her delicate sensibilities offended. I believe Lennox and I are in far more need of it than Richard. You are welcome to join us at the inn, once you have completed your errand," Bell continued. "You have come to fetch your sister, I imagine." At John's nod of assent, the old man gave a mischievous smile. "I am no expert in the goings on of young females, but I do believe Miss Thornton has proved herself a good companion for my dear goddaughter. Knowing you and your mother as I do, I should not be surprised that Miss Thornton would have her own portion of Thornton loyalty, but there it is. She has stayed with Margaret all this long day and doing whatever young ladies do when they are holed up together. I believe drawings and sewing was involved. Perhaps some lace or demure poetry. I tried to join their company at one point. Then I discovered they were speaking matters of marriage and beaus and I admit this old bachelor rather fled the other way rather than intrude on such a conversation. Well, I'll be off then. Good night to you."
At this, Mr. Bell gave John a wink, shook his hand, and disappeared down the street, leaving John standing frozen in place on the steps to the house. It took John a moment or two to rouse himself and realize that Bell was gone. He glared back in the way the old man had gone and shook his head. Then, he rang the bell. It was Dixon who answered the bell, her eyes red-rimmed, but her movements prompt and uncharacteristically humble.
Apparently, his mother's chastisement of the maid had done its office, he noted to himself.
He was ushered into the parlor where he found Fanny and Margaret sitting across from each other, each with a workbasket at their feet and their fingers busily commanding a needle and thread.
"Oh, John!" Fanny said, her voice and eyes bright. "Come all this way just to escort me home? What a thoughtful, gallant brother you are! Strange. You so rarely escort me home from my visits to Miss Slickson or Miss Hamper," and her tone turned teasing as she spoke.
"Crampton is quite a distance farther than the Slickson's or Hamper's," he responded sharply.
"Oh, it cannot be much farther," Fanny replied with an airy cast of her hand.
John chose to ignore her and turn to her companion. "You are well, Miss Hale?" He inquired, leaning down to shake her hand.
She gave a brief nod, her eyes refusing to leave his just as surely as her hand stayed in place beneath his. She was so pale, so drawn. He felt overcome by all the words he wished to say, the questions he wished to ask. He gently squeezed her palm and was about to speak again when his sister interrupted.
"Well, let us be off then. I've been here the better part of the day and I'm ready to return home," she said as she rose to leave.
John frowned and was about to insist they remain longer when he realized she had already swept out of the room. He sighed and cast Miss Hale an apologetic smile.
"I will come as early as I am able tomorrow," he promised.
"We will be glad to see you, Mr. Thornton," she said, her grey eyes flagrant in their sincerity. He nearly forgot to follow after his sister in that moment, but a cleared throat from the hall goaded him onward.
"Why so hasty, Fanny?" he protested, once they were in the carriage together. His sister cast him a smile that was far too knowing and she failed to answer. Instead, she held up a partially finished drawing in her hand. It was not a particularly adept pencil sketch and if it were not for Fanny's explanation that she was the subject, he might have guessed it was any number of women.
"I do not understand. I thought Miss Hale quite proficient in drawing," John said, only belatedly realizing the unintended insult in his response.
"Aye, that she is," Fanny answered with a giggle. "Her mind was not fully taken to drawing today, I am afraid. Perhaps I do not make a compelling subject and she would do better if it were you sitting before her. Then, I imagine she would attend far more diligently. However, it was far better she draw poorly than to mope about and be melancholy. I will try not to take offense at her lack of enthusiasm with my person as her subject."
"Fanny...," he began, but his sister handed him the sketch and began to rummage through her basket. "Here, this one is far better," she said, holding up a watercolour of a cottage by a stream.
"It is. I imagine that is Helstone."
"Yes. She spoke of Helstone at great length today. I have rather taken a fancy to the notion of seeing it myself one day, even if it is not so grand as London or as romantic as Spain."
"Helstone is far easier to reach than Spain."
"So it is. You know, you and Margaret's brother are not so very different in age," his sister remarked, taking him by surprise both with her shift in subject and with her comparison.
"No, I suppose not," he answered.
She appeared thoughtful for a few moments before continuing, "Imagine if you had gone to sea when you were a lad? It would have just been Mother and I. I rather think I would have liked it."
He snorted. "What would you have eaten?"
"Oh, I would have eaten your share at meals"
"You already ate my portion at meals, even with me there, but my income as a sailor would hardly have kept you fed."
"Would it have been so different from your salary as a draper's assistant?"
"I do not know. But I do not like the thought of you and Mother on your own."
"Of course you wouldn't," she said with an exaggerated scoff. "You and Mother could not bear to be parted, in any case. I've no doubt she'd have gone to sea with you if you had tried to go. Then she'd have made her way to become an admiral before any were the wiser and then where would we be?"
"Somewhere in the Caribbean, no doubt."
"Or off the coast of Spain," she said, her voice becoming whimsical and her eyes obviously fixed on the Alhambra and not Milton.
They fell silent for a few minutes as the carriage continued to bump its way along the dark, lamplit streets. A handful of vendors remained on the roads, catching what remaining customers they could for the night. John's thoughts remained fixed within the parlor of the Crampton house when his sister interrupted his musings again.
"John?"
"Fanny."
"Margaret asked me about Father."
"Did she?"
"I do not believe another soul has ever asked me to speak about Father."
"Did you?"
"I tried. But, John, I do not remember him. At least, not much."
"You were a might young, then."
"You remember him?"
"I was fifteen when he died, Fanny."
"Of course. You have always been old, ever since I was born, and you are older still," she said, her head thrown back to challenge him to oppose her. When he didn't, she grew serious again. "I remember more of you from then, but him? There are only bits and pieces. I remember his dark hair and the smell of gin and cigars. I remember rooms full of men with dark coats and large laughs. He brought me home a lovely doll once and liked to pinch my cheek. And then I remember seeing him so still and silent and Mother cried when we weren't attending and then she pretended she had no tears. Then, we left that old house and there were no more sweets and we took our tea without sugar. That is all."
"Do you wish you remembered more?"
"No… it is only…oh, never mind."
There had been a blanket of uncomfortable silence around George Thornton, ever since the day he was buried. It was a thick, deep, smothering omission – all the more obvious for its silence. It was comforting, in a way, to think Margaret could sympathize with that sentiment. How long had it been since she could openly speak of her brother?
He was about to comment on this to his sister when Fanny spoke first. She began to describe in great detail how she had spent her time that day and he was glad of it. At least, if he could not be there with her, he could know how she spent the long hours of these interminable days of waiting.
"Wouldn't you like to know what Margaret and I spoke of all day?" she asked, after describing books and drawing and tea. By the coquettish smile on her face, John knew she must be trying to incite his curiosity.
"It is not my place to inquire," he said, secretly hoping her own desire to impart news would overcome his scruples and her judgement.
She cast him a sideways glance and then looked down to pick at the edges of her gloves. "We spoke of you, but I shall not tell you any details because it will bother you all the more not to know."
"Fanny…" he protested, but it only made her grin wider.
"Oh, she did take a liking to those flowers you sent. They were lovely, John," Fanny added.
"I'm glad," he answered, smiling more broadly than he ought. "Anything else I ought to know?"
"Oh, no. Not that I can tell without breaking a confidence… and I make it a point to always keep secrets that are entrusted to me."
"Fanny, you have never kept a secret in your life."
"What better way to learn than by keeping one now?" she answered and then made a show of closing her lips.
For the first time in his life, John Thornton wished his sister would loosen her tongue.
Oooo
It was early the next morning when everything changed again. John had been surprised not to find his mother waiting for him at breakfast. He doubted his mother remained abed but he wondered where she had gone to so early. Then again, they had frequently missed crossing paths with each other this week.
What a strange, terrible, wonderful, awful week it had been! Had it been only a week? He glanced down at his morning paper to confirm and it was true. Oh, how much had happened!
He just as quickly forgot all about the date and days and times as his eyes fell upon that headline – the one they had all been waiting for and dreading each day since this all began.
...
Execution of Frederick Hale for Mutiny. Victory, Friday Evening.
Yesterday the seaman of the Russell, under Captain Reid, Frederick Hale who was found guilty in being concerned in the mutiny onboard that ship on the 15th of June, 1845 and sentenced to death by a Court Martial, was executed at the fore-yard arm of the HMS Victory, Admiral Young. In the morning at eight o'clock, a gun was fired from on board his Majesty's ship, HMS Sparrow lying off the coast, Vice Admiral Arthur's flag ship, and the yellow flag, the signal of capital punishment, was hoisted, which was immediately repeated by the Victory hoisting the same colour on her fore top. Each ship in the fleet at this time sent a boat off with a Lieutenant, and a party of marines, to attend the Victory; and the crews of all were piped to the forecastle, and the marines drawn up on the quarter-decks, to be witnesses of the execution. The prisoner, who had taken his usual repast in the berth allotted him in the gun-room, was awakened a little after six o'clock from a sound sleep by the Provost Martial, who, with a sword drawn and with a file of marines, became his guard: he arose with cheerfulness, and requested permission might be asked for a barber to attend him, which was granted; he soon dressed himself in a neat suit of mourning, (waistcoat excepted) sent him by a friend. He then took his breakfast, talked of the last letter he had written; and after that lamented the misfortune that had been brought on by the mutiny.
At half past eight, he was told the Chaplain of the ship was ready to attend him to prayers upon the quarter-deck, which he immediately ascended, uncovered; at his first entrance on deck he looked a little paler than common, but soon recovered his usual complexion; he bowed to the witnesses, and a chair being allowed him, he sat down a few moments, and steadily surveyed the military array of marines under arms, round, the deck; he arose, and told the Clergyman he wished to attend him; the Chaplain informed him he had selected two Psalms appropriate to his situation: to which the prisoner assented. At nine o'clock the preparatory gun was fired from the Sparrow, which he heard without the smallest emotion. Prayers being soon after closed, he rose. His arms being now bound, the solemn procession moved from the quarter deck to the forecastle. The whole passed through a double file of marines on the starboard side to a platform erected on the forecastle with an elevated projection. Arriving there, he knelt with the Chaplain, and joined in some devout ejaculations; to all which he repeated loudly, "Amen". Rising again, the Admiral's warrant: of execution, addressed to Captain Moss, was now read by the Clerks, in which the sentence of the Court Martial, Order of the Board of Admiralty, and her Majesty's approbation of the whole proceedings, were fully recited, which the prisoner heard with great attention, and bowed his head, as if in assent, at the close of it.
He now requested "a minute to collect himself," and knelt down alone about that space of time; then rising up, said, "I am ready," and holding his head up with considerable dignity. The Marshal Provost placed the halter over his head, (which had been prepared with grease). The baiter was then spliced to the reeved rope; all this being adjusted, the Marshall attempted to put a cap on which he refused: but on being told it was indispensable, he submitted, requesting it might not be pulled over his eyes till he desired it.
He then took leave of the ship's company, saying this was the happiest moment of his life; but although he had committed crimes sufficient to sentence him to death, and acknowledged the justice of his sentence, yet he denied being concerned in the commission of the crime for which he was to suffer, although he was convicted on the clearest evidence. He now ascended the platform. Then the cap being drawn over his face, waiting by firm degrees up to the extremity of the scaffold and at the moment as he was springing off, the fatal bow-gun fired, and the reeve-rope catching him, run him up, though not with great velocity, to the yard-arm! When suspended about midway, by the elasticity of the rope, his body appeared extremely convulsed for a few seconds, immediately after which no appearance of life remained and he was launched into eternity.
All the boats in the fleet attended, manned, and armed round the flag ship, to witness this awful execution for piracy, mutiny and treason.
He suffered at exactly half past nine, and was lowered down, after hanging at the yard arm a full hour, when the yellow flag was struck, and his body instantly put into a boat, put into a shell, and carried ashore for internment in the new naval burying ground. He was interred exactly at noon.
May his unhappy fate have a proper influence on all those British seamen who were called to view his execution or who hear of his rebellion.
...
There it was. The end. It was all over, John Thornton thought to himself.
He clutched the morning paper in his hands, his heart sinking as he read the newsprint before him. Without a second thought he rose and quickly made his way to the front door, paper still clutched in his hands.
Oooo
Author's note: First off, you have all my apologies. When I first had the germ of an idea for this story, I really thought Frederick could be saved. Unfortunately, research made that impossible. I know, I know- "it's fanfiction" that that should give gross allowance for creative interpretation of history in favor of HEA. However, since I started off by doing far too much research, I've had to continue on in favor of historical accuracy. So, sorry Fred (and readers). I shall leave much happier fates for Fred in the hands of other authors.
Also, along those lines, I will confess to blatant plagiarism in the newspaper announcement of the execution. In an attempt at historical accuracy, I copy-pasted and adapted the newspaper article straight from various articles (listed below). It's a bit more gruesome and detailed than I would have written- but it's real life.
Articles used:
EXECUTION OF RICHARD PARKER FOR MUTINY.
Derby Mercury - Thursday 06 July 1797
THE BRITISH LIBRARY BOARD
Parker Execution
Aris's Birmingham Gazette - Monday 03 July 1797
Policf (Execution of seaman convicted in Hermoine mutiny)
London Courier and Evening Gazette - Tuesday 21 October 1806
British Newspaper Archive