“Oh! Mr. Frank, Mr. Frank,” cried old Bettesworth, “have pity upon us! Speak in favour of these boys of mine! Think what a disgrace it is to me in my old age, to have my sons brought this way to a public trial! And if they should be transported! Oh! Mr. Frank, say what you can for them! You were always a good young man, and a good-natured young man.”
Frank was moved by the entreaties and tears of the unhappy father; but his good-nature could not make him consent to say what he knew to be false. “Do not call me to speak to their characters upon this trial,” said he; “I cannot say any thing that would serve them: I shall do them more harm than good.”
Still they had hopes his good-nature would, at the last moment, prevail over his sense of justice, and they summoned him.
“Well, sir,” said Bettesworths’ counsel, “you appear in favour of the prisoners. You have known them, I understand, from their childhood; and your own character is such that whatever you say in their favour will doubtless make a weighty impression upon the jury.”
The court was silent in expectation of what Frank should say. He was so much embarrassed betwixt his wish to serve his old neighbours and playfellows, and his dread of saying what he knew to be false, that he could not utter a syllable. He burst into tears. {Footnote: This is drawn from real life.}
“This evidence is most strongly against the prisoners,” whispered a juryman to his fellows.
The verdict was brought in at last—Guilty!—Sentence—transportation.
As the judge was pronouncing this sentence, old Bettesworth was carried out of the court: he had dropped senseless. Ill as his sons had behaved to him, he could not sustain the sight of their utter disgrace and ruin.
When he recovered his senses, he found himself sitting on the stone bench before the court-house, supported by Frank. Many of the town’s-people had gathered round; but regardless of every thing but his own feelings, the wretched father exclaimed, in a voice of despair, “I have no children left me in my old age! My sons are gone! And where are my daughters? At such a time as this, why are not they near their poor old father? Have they no touch of natural affection in them? No! they have none. And why should they have any for me? I took no care of them when they were young; no wonder they take none of me now I am old. Ay! Neighbour Frankland was right: he brought up his children ‘in the way they should go.’ Now he has the credit and the comfort of them; and see what mine are come to! They bring their father’s grey hairs with sorrow to the grave!”
The old man wept bitterly: then looking round him, he again asked for his daughters. “Surely they are in the town, and it cannot be much trouble to them to come to me! Even these strangers, who have never seen me before, pity me. But my own have no feeling; no, not for one another! Do these girls know the sentence that has been passed upon their brothers! Where are they? Where are they? Jessy, at least, might be near me at such a time as this! I was always an indulgent father to Jessy.”