Story 3--Chapter VII.
Harry Acton and his wife anxiously sat up till a late hour, waiting the return of Mr Maitland. When he did not appear the next morning, his son-in-law rode over to Christchurch to inquire for him. Harry became alarmed on hearing that he had left that place, and hastened to the nearest magistrate. A search was at once made in all directions. Mr Maitland’s body was at length found. It was evident how he had been killed, and it was at once suspected that some of the gang of smugglers who had murdered Bursey were guilty of the deed. While the party were waiting for a cart to convey the body to Christchurch, a man was caught sight of among the trees in the distance. On finding that he was observed, he took to flight. He was chased, and at length overtaken. His dress showed that he was a seaman, probably a smuggler, his countenance was haggard, his eyes bloodshot. He made no attempt to defend himself, though he had a brace of pistols in his belt, and they were both loaded. As he was being dragged along, blood was observed on his coat, and blood had flowed from the victim’s head. His name was asked.
“Geoferey Marwood,” he answered promptly.
“What do you know about the death of this man?” he was next asked.
“I did not kill him,” he answered.
“You will have a hard job to prove to the contrary,” observed one of his captors, as they dragged the unhappy man along.
Mr Maitland’s body was conveyed to Christchurch, where an inquest was held, when a verdict of murder was returned against Geoferey Marwood, and others not in custody. He, notwithstanding, protested his innocence, and accused four others of being guilty of the crime. Warrants were therefore issued for their apprehension, while he was conveyed to Winchester gaol to await his trial. Notwithstanding his protestations of innocence, it was generally supposed in the neighbourhood that Marwood was guilty of the murder of Mr Maitland, and that he had accused the other men in the hopes of prolonging his own life while search was being made for them. Though, however, they for a considerable time evaded the officers of justice, the whole were at length apprehended and conveyed to gaol. For many weeks the wretched man known as Geoferey Marwood lay in the felon’s cell. Arthur Maitland frequently visited him, though he could not do so without horror as the supposed murderer of his father. Yet his sense of duty overcame all other considerations, and he endeavoured to address him as he would have done any other prisoner. The man, however, seemed to have hardened his heart, and to have an utter indifference to his fate.
“I have said that I did not kill the old man; but if it is proved that I did it, they will hang me, I suppose, and there will be another man less in the world. It is no matter, for I have nothing to live for; if I had, I should not have been taken in the way I was.”
“But you have a soul, and that must live for ever,” urged Arthur. “If you die impenitent, still refusing to accept God’s offer of mercy, which He holds out even to the worst of sinners, that soul must spend eternity in misery unspeakable, cast out from His presence.”
Arthur then read to him the account of the Crucifixion, and of the Saviour’s gracious promise to the penitent thief.
“Great as is the crime that you are accused of, even if guilty, though man may not pardon you, God has promised to do so if you turn to Him and accept His offer. ‘The blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth from all sin,’”
“I tell you I am not guilty of that crime,” answered Marwood. “I have done a number of things I wish that I had not; but if they choose to hang me, they may—that’s all I have to say about it.”
Still, although Arthur had seldom met with a prisoner who appeared more hardened or more indifferent to his fate, he persisted in visiting him, and placing before him the truths of the gospel.
He had endeavoured to show him what sin is, how hateful it is in God’s sight, and he had warned him that God is a God of justice, and can by no means overlook iniquity. He had faithfully placed before him the fearful condemnation which he would bring down upon himself if dying impenitent. He now spoke to him of God’s long-suffering and kindness, of His mercy, and readiness to forgive. He inquired whether he remembered a fond mother and kind father whom he had offended.
“Surely when you did so, and went back to them and expressed your sorrow, they received you again, and forgave you.”
“I never remember my mother,” answered the prisoner. “My father was a good man, but he was stern, and because I disobeyed him and joined some wild companions, I was told that he would not forgive me, and so I ran off and kept out of his way. I found out afterwards that he thought me dead. It was too late then to go back, for I had done so many things which he would have condemned that I could not face him.”
Just at that moment the warders arrived at the door to conduct him to the court. His trial was about to commence. He and the other four men accused of the murder of Mr Maitland were placed in the dock. The junior counsel for the prosecution was Hugh Maitland. As had occurred at the commencement of his career, his senior counsel was unable, on account of sudden illness, to attend. His private feelings, as well as his professional interest, induced him to exert all his talents to procure the condemnation of the prisoners, whom he believed to be guilty. Every effort had been made to obtain proof against them. Of this they well knew.
Evil-doers, though often faithful to each other while success attends them, are frequently, for the sake of saving their own lives, ready to betray each other.
One of the men had offered to turn king’s evidence. Hugh brought him forward as a witness.
The trial went on. The evidence contributed to fix the guilt on all the prisoners. That, however, of their traitorous companion was crushing. The jury were convinced that Marwood was guilty, as well as the three others. The blood on his coat, and his having been found in the neighbourhood, left no doubt on their minds, notwithstanding all the counsel of the accused could say in their favour. The jury brought in a verdict of “guilty.” The judge was about to pronounce sentence, when one of the condemned men claimed to be heard. He acknowledged that he and his three companions were the murderers of Mr Maitland, and that though he had not struck the fatal blow, he had been assisting; but that Marwood, though he had arrived at the moment, had no notion of their intention, but, on the contrary, had interfered and endeavoured to stop them. This evidence was considered of so much value, that though the judge condemned the whole to death, he recommended Marwood to mercy.
In those days a brief time only was allowed between sentence and execution. The three other prisoners knew that they had no hope of escaping, and Arthur felt it his duty to warn Marwood that the Government were so determined to put an end to the smuggler’s traffic, and to punish all who fell into their hands, that he must not entertain much expectation of being reprieved.
“I care not for my life; but of this crime, as I have always said, I am innocent, and would die a thousand deaths rather than suffer for it,” he answered. “And tell me, sir, who was that lawyer that appeared against me. I heard his name; it is one I once well knew.”
“He is a barrister of high talent, the eldest son of the murdered man.”
The prisoner, who was now in the condemned cell, lifted his manacled hands, exclaiming, involuntarily it seemed—
“My brother appear against me! God have mercy on him, for through him I have been unjustly condemned. As there is a God in heaven, whom I have so often blasphemed, I tell you again that I am guiltless of the crime for which I am condemned!”
Arthur was too much agitated to speak for a moment.
“You the brother of Hugh Maitland?” he exclaimed, “I am his brother. We had but one other brother, Gilbert, who lost his life when a mere lad; so we believed, and long mourned him as dead.”
“Arthur! Arthur!” exclaimed Gilbert, for he was indeed the prisoner. “I recognise your features, although I had not till now done so. Can you believe me guilty of our father’s death? I confess to countless crimes, but of that I am innocent.”
Arthur at length recovered himself. From several circumstances which Gilbert brought to his memory, he was thoroughly convinced that he was indeed his brother.
“I before hoped that you might escape death, and now that I am convinced that you are innocent, I must use every exertion to prevent the risk of the reprieve not reaching Winchester in time to stay your execution.”
Arthur hastened away in search of Hugh, who was on the point of starting for London. The calm, self-confident barrister sunk almost fainting into a chair when he heard Arthur’s account. He, however, soon recovered his self-possession.
“If Gilbert is innocent, I am guilty of fratricide, and shall have contributed to bring disgrace on our family!” he exclaimed.
Together they set out for London. A reprieve, which had hitherto been refused, was granted.
It was on the very morning that the execution of the prisoners was to take place. An accident might delay them. It was daylight before they reached the gaol. They found the Governor in a state of agitation, for one of the prisoners had escaped. He was greatly relieved on finding that it was the man for whom they had brought a reprieve.
“One difficulty is got over,” he observed; “but I should have had to keep him here, for he and another were accused, by that fellow who turned king’s evidence, and who hopes to get the promised reward, of being implicated in Bursey’s murder.”
The two brothers looked at each other. Hugh could scarcely restrain his feelings; a sense of bitter shame predominated, however, for the disgrace he had hoped to escape might still fall on his family. Arthur earnestly prayed that the information might be false, and that his unhappy brother was innocent. The prisoner was supposed to have made his way to Southampton, and to have escaped on board a foreign-bound ship.
Several months passed away; it was the autumn. Arthur had gone to spend some days with Mary and her husband. He had ridden over to call on some friends at Christchurch. A heavy equinoctial gale was blowing from the south-west. As he was returning along the coast, wishing to obtain a view of the stormy sea, now covered with foaming waves, he observed a large lugger, under a press of sail, standing towards the shore. A number of people were collected on the beach, and he guessed, from the light waggons and horses of which he had caught sight, that preparations were being made for running a cargo of smuggled goods, then often done in open day, the Revenue officers being either enticed away or bribed not to interfere.
The danger a vessel must encounter venturing in at that time appeared fearfully great. He could not bring himself to leave the spot. The reason of the lugger’s attempting the hazardous experiment, however, was evident. In the offing appeared a sloop-of-war, and one, he knew, had been sent to cruise after smugglers. From remarks he overheard, he discovered that the lugger was the Saucy Sally, commanded by Slippery Rogers. Every moment the gale was increasing, and the surf came rolling with greater and greater force upon the beach. Those on shore threw up a signal to show that landing was impossible, but the fearless crew of the lugger pushed madly on. One instant she appeared with her broad spread of canvas swelling to the gale; the next, surrounded by the fierce waves dashing up madly around her, she lay shattered to fragments on the shingly beach, her crew struggling vainly in the surf. Some few amid the wreck, and casks and bales, which formed her cargo, were washed on shore, but the greater number were carried out far beyond human reach by the receding waves. Of those who were saved, several were fearfully injured, some breathed their last as they were dragged out of the water. Arthur offered that assistance which the rough men were little able to afford. He had sent off for a surgeon, and having attended to two of the sufferers, hastened to the side of a third, who seemed to have received some severe injuries. As he knelt down he recognised the countenance of his unhappy brother Gilbert, who, opening his eyes, fixed them on his face.
“We obtained a reprieve,” said Arthur. “Why did you escape? you knew I had gone to obtain it.”
“I did not trust to the king’s mercy; and as I had the opportunity, I determined to avail myself of it,” answered Gilbert in a feeble voice.
“Our king is a merciful sovereign; he has ever shown a readiness to forgive when his sense of justice will allow him,” answered Arthur. “But oh! how much more merciful is our Father in heaven; and His justice having been amply satisfied by the willing sacrifice of His dear Son, who died for sinners, He is abundantly ready to forgive the sinner who trusts to that full atonement made for his sins! I speak thus, dear Gilbert, for I fear your time on earth is short.”
“I know it is,” answered Gilbert. “Oh! continue to speak as you have begun. I knew myself to be a guilty, outcast sinner before I left the prison. What you had said to me sunk into my heart. It was for your sake and for Hugh’s more than my own that I escaped; and I came back in the lugger resolved not to participate in the profits of the enterprise.”
Arthur sighed.
“Those who associate with evil-doers share in their doings,” he was compelled to remark, but he dwelt not on that subject.
“My dear brother,” he continued, “we are all sinners in the sight of a pure and holy God, who cannot look upon iniquity; but He in His love and mercy has provided a fountain in which all our sins, however black, however foul, can be washed away; and He tells us in His Word that though they be red like crimson, they shall become as white as snow, and though they be as scarlet, they become as wool—that He will put them as far from us as the east is from the west. To that fountain which flowed from the side of Jesus when He hung on the cross, offering himself up as a full and sufficient sacrifice in God’s sight for the sins of all who trust in Him, let me urge you to turn your eyes; believe in that loving Saviour that He died for you, as well as for other sinners; that His heart yearns toward you; that He desires you to come to Him and be saved.”
“I remember, Arthur, that you said this to me in prison; but I hardened my heart. I was strong and well, and feared not death,” answered Gilbert, with a deep sigh. “I can do nothing to merit heaven—it’s too late now, it’s too late.”
“It is never too late,” exclaimed Arthur. “The arms of Jesus are ever ready to receive all who come to Him in simple faith, trusting to His merits alone, and not to any merits of their own, or anything they ever can do to deserve His favour; banish such a thought from your mind. By His free grace He gives us salvation: remember the thief on the cross; he simply turned his dying eye on his crucified Lord, acknowledging that He was the Son of God, and the same answer Jesus gave to him He will give to you if you believe on Him. Remember, too, how the Israelites in the wilderness, bitten by the fiery serpents, were told to look on the serpent of brass, the emblem of healing held up by Moses, and no sooner did they look than they were healed. How merciful, how loving, how gracious, is our Father in heaven, who, knowing the frailty of poor human beings, has thus provided so simple, so easy, and yet so all-sufficient a means by which they may be saved.”
Arthur, animated by love for his brother’s soul, continued thus to plead with him, for he dreaded lest he might die in the attempt to move him. He would have pleaded, however, in the same way with any other sufferer, for he knew the value of human souls.
At length several of the people assembled round him, and charitably offered to convey the injured man to a cottage at some little distance from the beach.
“Let me be taken there,” whispered Gilbert; “there is another I should wish to see, to ask her forgiveness for all the pain and sorrow I have caused her, but do not leave me.”
A litter was speedily formed with a couple of spars and a piece of sail, and Gilbert being placed on it, four fishermen conveyed him towards the cottage, Arthur walking by his side, still holding his hand. The men seeing that Arthur was a clergyman, were not surprised at the attention he paid to the dying man, nor did they suspect the relationship.
“I am praying for you,” whispered Arthur; “and oh, let me entreat you to pray for yourself.”
“I am trying to do so, but I find it hard. My faith is weak—too weak I fear to avail me,” gasped the dying man.
“Though it be but like a grain of mustard seed, He has promised that it shall remove mountains,” answered Arthur.
The cottage, happily the abode of Christian people, was reached. The sufferer was placed on a bed prepared for him by the good woman of the house, and Arthur immediately sent off a messenger to summon Mary and her husband, as well as a surgeon, in the hopes that his skill might benefit his brother. Anxiously he watched the livelong night by the side of Arthur’s couch, and it was with joy unspeakable that towards morning he heard him whisper, “God has answered my prayer; I believe that His Son Jesus Christ died for me, the just for the unjust, and that through His merits my numberless sins are put away.” Soon afterwards the surgeon arrived. After examining Gilbert, he took Arthur aside. “The injuries the poor fellow has received are such as I fear no human skill can remedy. I will do my best, but I can give no hopes of his recovery; he is a fitter subject for your care than mine, though these smugglers are such ruffians that I do not suppose you will be able to do much with him.”
“We are all by nature rebels to God,” answered Arthur, endeavouring to conceal his feelings. “I will, as you advise, remain with the poor man, and follow the directions you give.”
The surgeon told Arthur what he advised and took his departure, and Arthur hastened back to his brother. Mary and her husband arrived early in the morning. Gilbert, though too weak to speak, knew his sister, and showed by signs that he understood what she said. He pressed her hand, and a smile lighted up his countenance when she assured him that she had never ceased to pray for him, and to feel the same affection for him as of yore.
“Those prayers have been answered, have they not?” said Arthur bending over his brother, and he repeated the last words Gilbert had uttered, “I believe that the blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth from all sin.” Again a bright look passed across Gilbert’s countenance, and holding the hands of the loving ones kneeling by his side, his spirit passed away. One of his last requests had been that he might be buried with his hapless companions who had been rescued from the waves. It was complied with, and no one besides those who were with him at his death knew that the shipwrecked smuggler was Gilbert Maitland.
Oh that the young could see the fearful termination of the broad road they are tempted by Satan to follow, ere they take the first downward step along it!
The End.