Merry’s Adventures.
CHAPTER XXIII.
About a week after my imprisonment, as I was sitting in the large room of the jail, occupied in observing the several persons around me, the door of the prison opened, and a well-known face presented itself to my view: it was that of Bill Keeler! He did not immediately see me, for I was at a distance from him, and there were several persons between us: he, however, looked around, evidently seeking some one. I could not doubt that this was myself, and my first impulse was to rush into his arms; but a sense of shame—a feeling of degradation—at being found in such a place withheld me. I therefore, kept my seat on the floor, and buried my face between my knees.
I sat in this position for some time, when at last I felt a hand laid on my shoulder, and the familiar voice of Bill, half whispering, said, close to my ear, “Robert—Bob—look up—I’m here!” I could not resist this, but sprang to my feet, and clasped Bill to my bosom. My feeling of shame vanished, my humiliation was forgotten for the moment, and I fully indulged the warm emotions of friendship.
Having talked over a great many things, Bill at length said, “Well, now as to this being in the jug—how do you like it?” The tears came to my eyes—my lip trembled, and I could not speak. “Oh, don’t mind it,” said he, “we’ll get you out, somehow or other.”
“Get me out—how is that to be done?” said I.
“Why, we must first know how you got in,” he replied.
“They put me in!” was my answer.
“Yes, yes,” said my friend, “but for what?”
I here related the whole story; how my negligence at the shop had brought down the fury of the old bookseller upon my head; how I had wandered forth in a state of distraction; how a thief, pursued, slipped by me, and how I was taken to be the rogue, and condemned as such. Bill listened attentively, and after I had done, looked me steadily in the face for a moment. He then clasped his hands firmly together, and said, with deep emotion, “Thank Heaven, you are innocent! I knew it was so: I told ’em it was so.” He could say no more—for his breast heaved, and the tears ran down his cheeks. He turned away as if ashamed, and hastily effacing the traces of his emotion, shook me by the hand—said he would see me again soon, and, giving me no opportunity to detain him, went away.
I did not then guess the meaning of this, or conjecture the plan he had in view; but I afterwards learned that he went straight to the city attorney, who had conducted the prosecution against me, and sought an interview. He told the lawyer his errand, and stated that as he knew I was innocent, he hoped I might be released.
“How do you know he is innocent?” said the lawyer.
“He says he is innocent!” said Bill.
The lawyer smiled—but did not speak.
“You think he is not innocent?” said my friend. “I know he is—Bob Merry could not steal, any more than a cow could climb a tree; he wan’t brought up to’t, and he han’t got a turn for it. Why, Robert was eddicated a gentleman, and he never could draw a mug of cider without spillin’ half on’t! And now, arter he’s bin in New York less than a fortnit, you make him out an accomplished rogue. I ax your pardon, mister, but it don’t stand to reason, that an honest boy becomes a thief just as a pollywog turns into a frog.”
“Can you prove his innocence?” said the lawyer, dryly.
“Prove it!” said Bill, indignantly: “hav’nt I proved it? Don’t he say he’s innocent? Don’t I know he’s innocent? Prove it, to be sure! Pray, mister, what do you take me for?”
“I take you to be a very honest fellow, but very ignorant of these matters,” said the lawyer. “The question is not whether your friend is innocent,”—
Here Bill opened his eyes, and drew the edges of his lips into a circle. The lawyer proceeded,—
“The question is not whether your friend is innocent; but, it is whether you can prove him to be so. If you can bring forward witnesses to swear that he was in another place, and, therefore, could not have committed the crime charged; and, if you can make the judge believe this, and if you can pay the expenses of the court, and the fees of the lawyers, we can get him out—not otherwise.”
This was said in a manner so cold and yet so decisive, as to discourage Bill; so he took his hat and went away. But he did not abandon his project here. After walking about for some time, considering what was to be done, he went to the court-room, with the intention of appealing to the judge. When he got there, however, he was abashed by the imposing aspect of the scene. The judge, sitting upon his bench, high above the rest, appearing to be regarded with awe by the lawyers, and other persons around, was too formidable a personage to be readily approached, even by one who paid so little respect to outward circumstances as Bill Keeler. He therefore paused, and his attention was soon absorbed by the trial that was going forward.
A young man was before the court, charged with theft. The evidence was clear and conclusive; and his lawyer had, therefore, advised him to plead guilty: to tell the truth, and throw himself upon the mercy of the judge. He was just about to commence his confession, when Bill’s attention was drawn to him. He went on to say that he had been for some time connected with a gang of thieves, and proceeded to state some of his exploits. In the course of his narrative, he said that, three weeks before, he had stolen some money and other articles from a house, and, being discovered, was pursued; but escaped, as another young man whom he passed in his flight, was apprehended in his place.
“You say,” said the judge, “that another young man was apprehended in your place”—
“Yes, sir!”—said Bill Keeler—who had watched the scene with intense interest—and who had gradually sidled through the crowd, and now stood close to the prisoner—“Yes, sir—another young man was apprehended in his place, and that’s Robert Merry, as honest as the cooper’s cow—and you sent him to jail, Mr. Judge, and he’s there now.”
“Order—order!” said the constable.
“Who is this fellow?” said the judge.
“It’s me sir,” said Bill, nothing daunted, now that he had opened his lips; and, brave as a soldier after the first fire, he went on. “It’s me, sir, Bill Keeler, of Salem. I’m a shoemaker, sir, and don’t know nothing about law in York. But, sir, if a feller’s innocent, we don’t put him in the jug, up our way.”
“Hold your tongue!” said the officer.
“I’m going to,” said Bill—“so as to have it ready!”
The prisoner went on with his confession, and all he said tended to confirm the fact, that he was the thief for whose crime I was imprisoned. Bill waited till the case was closed; he then left the court-room, and again went to the lawyer whom he had before visited. As this man had witnessed the scene at the court-room, and of course now understood the mistake by which I had been imprisoned, Bill expected to find him prepared to set about my release.
“You see, Sir,” said he, “that I was right.”
“Right! About what?”
“Oh, you know well enough—you was at the court to-day, and you heard that gallows-bird tell how it happened that he stole the money and spoons, and left Bob Merry to go to jail for ’t.”
“Well; what is all this to me?”
“Why, ain’t you a lawyer?”
“Yes.”
“Well, ain’t it the business of a lawyer to see that justice is done?”
“Not at all; a lawyer has nothing to do with justice.”
“Indeed! What is his business then?”
“To serve his client. I am the city lawyer, and the city is my client; it is my duty to try persons charged with offences, and get them committed, if I can. What have I to do with justice?”
“Why,” said Bill, scratching his head—“all this kind o’ bothers me, for I’m just from the country, where we have a notion that there’s such a thing as justice and law, and that it is designed to protect the innocent and punish the guilty: but it seems that I’m rather green here at York! Howsomdever, I should like to ax one question.”
“Certainly,” said the lawyer.
“Well,” said Bill, casting his eyes knowingly at the attorney—“you got Bob into the pound, and you know how to get him out: set a thief to ketch a thief, as we say—no offence, Mister. ‘The hair of the same dog’—you understand!’ Now, as I said, you got Robert into the jug, and you know how to get him out. You was the lawyer of the city to get him into prison—will you be my lawyer to get him out of the prison?”
“Of course, if I am paid.”
“And what is your fee?”
“Twenty dollars.”
“Whew! what did you charge for getting Bob into jail?”
“The same.”
“Well, what a queer trade this of yours is! Twenty dollars for a job, whether it’s to imprison the innocent, or to release the innocent! It’s a beautiful trade—an honest trade—and, besides, it’s profitable! It works both ways; twenty dollars for doing wrong, twenty dollars for doing right! twenty dollars for justice, twenty dollars for injustice! Fegs! I should like to be a lawyer myself! But to business. I will pay you what you ax, if you’ll get Robert out of jail.”
“You must pay down!”
“No, no; he’s a good customer that pays when the work is done.”
“That may be; but I must have my money before I begin.”
“Well, here it is; though it’s the last dollar I’ve got. I wish you’d take ten, and let me have the rest to get back to Salem with.”
“I can’t take less than twenty.”
“Take fifteen?”
“Not a cent less than twenty.”
“Well—then, take it! Now, when’ll you have Bob out?”
“This afternoon.”
Here Bill left the lawyer, who was as good as his word, and that very day I was released.