Through the Fray: A Tale of the Luddite Riots by G. A. Henty (i read books .TXT) 📖

not be arranged; however, as it has been put in your hands it is now too late, and things must take their course; the magistrates are not sitting today. I will guarantee that my son shall be present at the sitting on Thursday, I suppose that will be sufficient?”

“Yes, oi supposes if you promises to produce him, that will do,” the constable said. “Oi doan't suppose as nought will come o't; these schoolmaister chaps does thrash t' boys cruel, and oi ain't surprised as t' little chaps roises ag'in it soometoimes. T'others all seem moighty glad o' it: oi heard 'em shouting and, cheering in t' yard as if they was all mad.”

Captain Sankey shook his head. “I'm afraid the magistrates won't see it in that light, Harper; discipline is discipline. However, we must hope for the best.”

The story that there had been a rebellion among the boys at Hathorn's, that the schoolmaster had his shoulder broken, and that Captain Sankey's son was to go before the magistrates, spread rapidly through Marsden, and the courthouse was crowded at the sitting of the magistrates on Thursday.

There were two magistrates on the bench. Mr. Thompson the local banker, and Squire Simmonds of Lathorpe Hall, three miles from the town. Several minor cases were first disposed of, and then Ned's name was called. Captain Sankey had been accommodated with a seat near the magistrates, with both of whom he had some personal acquaintance. Ned was sitting by the side of the lawyer whom his father had retained to defend him; he now moved quietly into the dock, while Mr. Hathorn, with his arm in a sling, took his place in the witness box.

Ned had recovered now from his fit of passion, and looked amused rather than concerned as the schoolmaster gave his evidence as to the fray in the schoolroom.

“I have a few questions to ask you, Mr. Hathorn,” Mr. Wakefield, Ned's lawyer, said. “Had you any reason for expecting any outbreak of this kind among your boys?”

“None whatever,” Mr. Hathorn said.

“You use the cane pretty freely, I believe, sir.”

“I use it when it is necessary,” Mr. Hathorn replied.

“Ah, and how often do you consider it necessary?”

“That must depend upon circumstances.”

“You have about thirty boys, I think?”

“About thirty.”

“And you consider it necessary that at least fifteen out of that thirty should be caned every day. You must have got a very bad lot of boys, Mr. Hathorn?”

“Not so many as that,” the schoolmaster said, flushing.

“I shall be prepared to prove to your worships,” the lawyer said, “that for the last six months the average of boys severely caned by this man has exceeded sixteen a day, putting aside such minor matters as one, two, or three vicious cuts with the cane given at random. It fortunately happened, as I find from my young friend in the dock, that one of the boys has, from motives of curiosity, kept an account for the last six months of the number of boys thrashed every day. I have sent round for him, and he is at present in court.”

Mr. Hathorn turned pale, and he began to think that it would have been wiser for him to have followed Ned's advice, and not to have brought the matter into court.

“Your worships,” the lawyer said, “you have been boys, as I have, and you can form your own ideas as to the wretchedness that must prevail among a body of lads of whom more than half are caned daily. This, your worships, is a state of tyranny which might well drive any boys to desperation. But I have not done with Mr. Hathorn yet.

“During the ten days previous to this affair things wore even more unpleasant than usual in your establishment, were they not, sir? I understand that the whole of the boys were deprived of all play whatever, and that every minute was occupied by extra tasks, and moreover the prospect was held out to them that this sort of thing would continue for months.”

There had already been several demonstrations of feeling in court, but at this statement by the lawyer there was a general hiss. The schoolmaster hesitated before replying.

“Now, Mr. Hathorn,” the lawyer said briskly, “we want neither hesitation nor equivocation. We may as well have it from you, because if you don't like telling the truth I can put the thirty miserable lads under your charge into the box one after the other.”

“They have had extra tasks to do during their play time,” Mr. Hathorn said, “because they refused to reveal which among them brutally murdered my cat.”

“And how do you know they murdered your cat?”

“I am sure they did,” the schoolmaster said shortly.

“Oh! you are sure they did! And why are you so sure? Had they any grudge against your cat?”

“They pretended they had a grudge.”

“What for, Mr. Hathorn?”

“They used to accuse her of upsetting the ink bottles when they did it themselves.”

“You did not believe their statements, I suppose?”

“Not at all.”

“You caned them just the same as if they had done it themselves. At least I am told so.”

“Of course I caned them, especially as I knew that they were telling a lie.”

“But if it was a lie, Mr. Hathorn, if this cat did not upset their ink, why on earth should these boys have a grudge against her and murder her?”

The schoolmaster was silent.

“Now I want an answer, sir. You are punishing thirty boys in addition to the sixteen daily canings divided among them; you have cut off all their play time, and kept them at work from the time they rise to the time they go to bed. As you see, according to your own statement, they could have had no grudge against the cat, how are you sure they murdered her?”

“I am quite sure.” Mr. Hathorn said doggedly. “Boys have always a spite against cats.”

“Now, your honors, you hear this,” Mr. Wakefield said. “Now I am about to place in the witness box a very respectable woman, one Jane Tytler, who is cook to our esteemed fellow townsman, Mr. Samuel Hawkins, whose residence is, as you know, not far from this school. She will tell you that, having for some time been plagued by a thieving cat which was in the habit of getting into her larder and carrying off portions of food, she, finding it one day there in the act of stealing a half chicken, fell upon it with a broomstick and killed it, or as she thought killed it, and I imagine most cooks would have acted the same under the circumstances.

“She thought