CHAPTER V.
From his early boyhood Rowland Hill delighted in long walks. He would go many a mile to see either fine scenery or an old building. Of what had pleased him as a boy, he never grew weary as a man. He had never, he said, to the best of his belief, come within thirty miles of Stonehenge without going to see it. When he was a lad of eleven he paid a visit to Shrewsbury. How deeply what he saw impressed him is shown by an account which he drew up in his old age:—
“Those who have travelled along the same road will remember [he writes] the fine view which bursts upon the sight from the top of a hill a little beyond Shifnal, and may imagine the delight felt thereat by three lads accustomed to little but the plains of Warwickshire.”
No less charmed was he with his first sight of the Severn:—
“Those who have lived from infancy where a river flows can have no conception of its attraction to those who at a later age see it for the first time. The motion of the water, the breadth of the stream, the barges on its surface, with their sails sometimes unfurled to the wind, the lofty bridges, with their series of arches, were such never-ending charms that we could not understand how any one could regard them with indifference.”
It was Assize time at Shrewsbury, and he was taken to see a criminal trial:—
“Of all that passed before our eyes or occupied our thoughts during this ever-to-be-remembered visit, incomparably the most striking and impressive scene was a criminal trial. The spacious court, the crowded benches, the barristers in their robes, the servitors with their javelins, the awful presence of the judge when he entered amidst the sound of the trumpet and took his seat on the lofty bench, all prepared our minds for the solemn inquiry about to begin. The case was one of burglary, attended with violence. The cottage of an aged couple had been entered and robbed, the old man being severely beaten by one of the offenders, who all—three in number—had been subsequently apprehended. Of these, one—whose part in the proceeding had gone no further than keeping watch at the door (so at least he alleged)—had, while in prison on another charge, given the information which enabled justice to lay hands on the others, and had consequently been admitted as King’s evidence. I need not say that we felt towards him the dislike and contempt with which an approver is generally regarded. His fellows in crime, particularly the chief offender, took their places at the bar with a demeanour that astonished us, so completely did it differ from all that we had expected. Doubtless they were seeking to cover their real trepidation with an appearance of unconcern; but this we could not then understand. They taboured on the front of the dock with their fingers, looked about in a defiant manner, and nodded in various directions, as if in recognition of acquaintances. They were defended by counsel; and an attempt was made to take the offence out of the category of burglary, first by the plea that it was not committed by night (the hour being no later than nine on a summer’s evening), and, secondly, by the allegation that as the door was on the latch, the house could not be said to have been broken open—points made, of course, in desperation, and very summarily dealt with by the judge. The only further attempt was to discredit the evidence of the approver, who was severely cross-examined, though the following short passage is all that I now remember of the process: ‘How came you to think of informing?’ ‘Because my conscience told me I had done wrang.’ ‘And why didn’t your conscience tell you you had done wrang before you got into prison for stealing the pig?’ The evidence was too strong to be shaken, and both prisoners were convicted. Of course when such a host of minor offences were capital, so grave a crime as this was on the fatal list; and we heard the judge, after putting on the black cap, pronounce the terrible sentence of death. The defiant look put on at first was still maintained by both prisoners; but when the judge, after warning the more ruffianly of the two that he could not hold out to him any hope of mercy, addressed his companion, telling him that, as he had abstained from violence, his life would be spared, this latter at once broke down, falling upon his knees, while he poured out his thanks and promises of amendment. Shortly afterwards the sentence passed on the other was executed; and somewhat beyond the fatal hour, while going on an errand, I unfortunately and most unintentionally caught a distant sight of the hanging body.”