On the morning following the arrest of Mr. Woodburn, he was brought before the assembled bench of county magistrates. The throng collected showed the importance attached to the case. A number of men had been suddenly summoned from Woodburn, and brought up in post-chaises. George Woodburn, assisted by Sir Henry Clavering, had also collected a number of men and women who had been engaged in both hayfields at the time, and had also brought Mrs. and Miss Woodburn, overwhelmed with grief as they were.
There was a formidable array of the Rockville, Bullockshed and Tenterhook section of the magistracy on the bench, for Sir Benjamin Bullockshed, whose steward Mr. Drury had become, had taken up the matter as a personal one, and had not hesitated to say amongst his particular friends, that he would make an example of Mr. Woodburn, who was a stiff, impracticable man, and a stout adherent of the Degge and pauper clique. Had this speech reached Sir Henry Clavering, he and Simon Degge would have insisted that Sir Benjamin should not occupy a place on the bench on this occasion. Able lawyers were engaged on each side. To make a short story of the proceedings, some of Mr. Woodburn’s own men were brought forward to prove that he had expressed a wish that Mr. Drury were removed from the neighbourhood, and that he was a nuisance. These men, who had talked this matter, as they did every matter over at the Grey Goose public-house, without noticing a stranger amongst them, were astonished and confounded to be brought against their own respected master. At first they refused to speak, but they were assured that if they did not they would be sent to prison; and Mr. Woodburn, who had no wish to deny those imprudent words, told them he wished them to speak out all that they knew, and said that it was true that he had said such words, but of course, with no evil intent. The men, thus having their tongues loosed, gave evidence, but never having been in a witness-box before, and being badgered by the opposing lawyer and by the magistrates, made a confused mess of it. It was taken down, as admitted evidence on their part, that Mr. Woodburn had uttered words of the sort evincing a strong feeling against Mr. Drury.
Evidence was brought from the hay-makers in the meadows to prove that Mr. Woodburn and Mr. Drury were in the meadows at the same time; that they both returned home by the ferry, Mr. Drury soon after Mr. Woodburn; that they had observed no other person about the ferry between the passing of Mr. Woodburn and Mr. Drury. It was also given in evidence by various persons summoned, amongst whom, to their inexpressible mortification, were Howell Crusoe and Job Latter, the blacksmith, that there was a sort of misunderstanding betwixt the two gentlemen. As for Crusoe and Latter, they added at the same time that they would sooner believe the moon would fall than that Mr. Woodburn would hurt a hair of any man alive.
On the other hand, evidence was brought on Mr. Woodburn’s side, that his having anything to do with the death of Mr. Drury was impossible, even if such a matter was in any way likely, because Mr. Woodburn was seen to leave the meadows half an hour before Mr. Drury, and was seen coming up the hollow road from the ferry as immediately following his quitting the meadows as it was possible in time. It was not possible that he could have waited to waylay Mr. Drury. He was on foot, Mr. Drury on horseback. He was seen walking up the hollow road by a dozen people in the hill-field, in his usual quiet way, without any evidence of excitement about him. George Woodburn, Betty Trapps and the other maid-servants, gave evidence that Mr. Woodburn returned home just at six, in his ordinarily quiet manner. He took his tea with his family in the garden, showing no excitement, no exhaustion, not a single trace on his clothes or on his person, of any unusual disturbance of mind or exertion of body, which could not have been the case had a man of his piety, his benevolence, his feeling and whole character been engaged in a murder. The horse of Mr. Drury was seen galloping up the village at half-past six, clearly under the effect of sudden fright. Whatever was the cause of Mr. Drury’s death, it had plainly taken place when Mr. Woodburn was tranquilly taking tea with his family in his garden.
But what produced the greatest sensation was to see Mrs. Woodburn and her daughter Ann successively appear and, though sinking under their grief, as a matter of social duty substantiate these latter facts. The evidence being closed, Mr. Woodburn was allowed to make a few observations. He said that such an accusation as this, and the situation in which he stood, appeared to him a dream,—seemed to his sober senses impossibilities. Yet, he so highly reverenced human life and those laws of his country which were established to protect it, that he did not object to stand there to answer to any charge of the nature which circumstances might make in the least degree colourable against him. All that wounded him was that any man or men who had known his general character, tone of mind and life for half a century, should suppose him capable of lifting his hand, under any circumstances, against any human being. Now he was ready to confess that there was that in the manner and dogmatism of Mr. Drury which grated on his own feelings, and of late had held him at a distance from him, and he admitted that he had uttered a wish in the hearing of his workpeople, that some fortunate circumstance would take Mr. Drury out of the neighbourhood. “It was some fortunate circumstance, gentlemen, that I especially spoke of,” said Mr. Woodburn, “and sincerely wished, namely, that from Mr. Drury’s eminent abilities in agricultural science, knowledge of stock, and other things, he might obtain a stewardship from some nobleman or great landed gentleman at a distance, which would remove him out of my immediate neighbourhood. But that I should have wished any evil, much less that I should personally attempt any evil against Mr. Drury, to whose only daughter my only son was engaged, or that I should wish, or try to enact evil against any human creature whatever, I am sure can never enter the mind of any one of my neighbours who know my character and habits. As the circumstances given in evidence show, moreover, that so far as I was concerned, the murder of Mr. Drury, if murder it shall be proved, was an absolute impossibility, I contend that there is no case against me. At the same time I trust that no exertions will be omitted to obtain some clue to the real causes and perpetrators, if such there be, of this, by me most deeply deplored event.”
Numbers of gentlemen, as well as neighbours of Mr. Woodburn, of different classes, came forward to bear testimony to the uniformly high moral character of Mr. Woodburn; amongst them Mr. Heritage, Mr. William Fairfax, Mr. Simon Degge, the Rev. Thomas Clavering, &c.; whilst Sir Henry Clavering and Mr. Degge gave their opinion that there was not an atom of a case against him, and voted for his instant discharge. A long and warm discussion took place; the friends of Sir Benjamin Bullockshed were strong on the bench, and a majority was obtained for the committal of Mr. Woodburn for trial at the March Assizes. It was not a bailable offence, and Mr. Woodburn was committed to the felons’ side of the county prison. Sir Henry Clavering and Simon Degge, however, exerted their influence so far as to procure him comfortable apartments in the gaol, and the privilege of admittance to his immediate connections and intimate friends. The Rockville faction having so far obtained their desire for his incarceration and trial, were willing to make a grace of affording him all alleviations consistent with his security.
The sensation in Woodburn and the country round on the news of this extraordinary fact exceeded anything known in the memory of man. Bins’ Farm, deserted by its afflicted inhabitants, was not so melancholy a place as Woodburn Grange, whence Mrs. and Miss Woodburn had fled to be near the beloved husband and father in Castleborough. George only was seen occasionally there, giving orders, and returning hastily to the town. Sir Henry Clavering was nearly as little at Cotmanhaye, but in turn occupied with all sorts of thoughts and plans for the comfort of Mr. Woodburn, for supporting the dreadfully oppressed minds of his family, and for prosecuting inquiries in the country if possible to catch some small thread, if it were only that of a gossamer, to lead to a solution of the mystery of Wink’s Ferry. He inclined to the belief in its being murder, and that some cause might yet lead to the detection of the murderer. The only thing which puzzled him and others was the absence of any evidence of robbery.
Poor Letty Thorsby! This frightful turn of affairs had once more broken down the few supports which she had found in her own prior affliction to her resolute determination to work for her husband’s reform. She fell into violent convulsions on the first news of the astounding charge, and, when admitted to see her father, she rushed to his neck with a wild cry and fainted in his arms. It was many days before she could rally in her that strong part of her soul which had borne her so bravely through so much before. The whole sorrowful family were at Letty’s, where also Sir Henry Clavering was almost always. Horrible fears assailed them lest, after all, the most terrible result might take place—the did condemnation of Mr. Woodburn. In vain Sir Henry scout any such idea, declaring that there was not a single iota of ground to go upon against Mr. Woodburn. That, independent of his character, there was no proof whatever of his or indeed, yet, of any one’s participation in this catastrophe; but, on the contrary, he had positive proof against it. But the unhappy sufferers were haunted by cases of conviction under circumstantial evidence, and of persons suffering whose innocence was too late made manifest.
Sad and agonising were the days which passed over them—Sir Henry and other friends exerting all their ingenuity to inspire them with hope. It was only when they were with Mr. Woodburn that they forced themselves to appear cheerful and hopeful. For himself, he was calm and resigned. He would not believe that any sentence could be obtained against him upon such an utter absence of proof. He begged to have his favourite books, his Theocritus and Virgil, whose Idyls and Georgics carried him into the country; his Plato and Epictetus, whose philosophy and morals raised him above despondency; his Homer and Euripides, whose heroic narratives and dramatic life made him forget his actual solitude. Above all, his Bible and his favourite religious authors. These were brought, and various articles of furniture to make his rooms more agreeable, or to accommodate his friends who came to cheer him. Amongst these were often Mr. and Mrs. Heritage, Mr. William Fairfax, and the different members of the Degge family. The gaoler, Mr. Wright, was a man noted for his intelligence and kindness, and stretched Mr. Woodburn’s privileges to the utmost limit of his own responsibility. He contrived to allow Mr. Woodburn the range of the prison-yard when the other prisoners were in their cells, so that he could enjoy sufficient exercise without being exposed to unwelcome notice.
So passed on that long and miserable autumn, that long and melancholy winter. During this time Letty received a letter from her husband, which informed her and Mr. Barnsdale that he had followed on the trail of the flying miscreant, through New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Virginia, and into Ohio. The man seemed possessed by a spirit of unrest, or of fear of pursuit, which kept him constantly in motion. Sometimes he had been on his very heels; sometimes he lost his trail for weeks. In his lonely journeys he had met with some strange occurrences, too numerous to detail; but everywhere he carried in his pocket-book the severe letter of Mrs. Heritage, and inflicted a proper penance on himself by looking at his past image in it, as in a glass. “Ah!” he said, “it is in these long, solitary journeys, through deep woods and through swampy jungles, or amid total strangers, that the brightness and beauty of his once heavenly but abused home came over him with a force which made him curse his now inconceivable folly. And yet,” added he, “that will-o’-the-wisp nature in me is not yet extinct. One day I came upon a great camp-meeting in the midst of the woods, and after witnessing the strange scene for some time I was seized by a spirit of fire, and sprung up into a waggon, and poured forth a harangue on sin and its sorrow; on the strength of weakness in some souls carrying them like maniacs into the whirlwinds of crime and woe; on repentance and backsliding; on heaven and damnation, in such a rush and hurricane of passionate speech, such cries of despair and shouts of ‘Help! help!’ within me to God and Christ, as drew the scattered thousands around me, and flung them into the wildest commotion and shrieks and ejaculations; which seemed more like the riot of a raging ocean tempest than the tumult of human creatures. Suddenly I dropped down, and disappeared amongst the trees; but for days and weeks afterwards I heard of what they called ‘The Wild-fire Preacher,’ who came and went so mysteriously.”