A hand reached out of the crowd and knocked off his helmet, to another burst of cheering.
Still weak and tired, Tom struggled to maintain the pace that the policemen were setting. They half pushed, half dragged him through the jostling mass of people. Many reached past the police to slap him on the back, but each well-meaning blow caused him to wince in pain.
The procession made its slow way up the steep, cobbled street to the Guildhall, a hundred yards from the quay where they had landed. The tall arched windows flanking the entrance were secured with thick iron bars.
Pale and sweating, Tom was helped up the steps. He had no more than a glimpse of the courtroom before the three of them were hustled down into the holding cell in the cellars.
‘Stay with them,’ Laverty said to one of his constables. ‘Make sure there is no talking between them.’
They waited in silence, listening to the tread of feet and the scrape of chairs on the wooden floor above their heads. Half an hour later they were summoned, and began to climb the steep flight of stone steps. The murmur of the spectators grew to a rumble as Tom and the others entered the dock.
The courtroom, no more than forty feet by twenty, was densely packed. Tom could see even more people blocking the street outside and fighting to press their noses against the windows.
Brooks sat down, but Tom’s wounds made it impossible for him to sit on the hard wooden bench and he took his stand at the front of the dock, gripping the rail. Stephens hesitated for a moment, then stood alongside him. He nudged Tom and gestured to the dog-collars on several of the spectators. ‘It seems as if every parson for fifty miles around is here.’
‘Let’s hope they’re here to pray for us.’
The justices’ clerk, John Genn, called for silence and the eight borough magistrates filed in, led by the chairman, Henry Liddicoat. Genn rose to his feet and read out the charge. Only one witness was called, James Laverty. His face reddened as every eye turned towards him. He bowed his head and began to read from his notebook in a slow West Country burr. He recounted what he had heard in the Long Room of the Customs House as Tom talked to Cheesman, then produced the knife from his pocket. There was a gasp from one or two of the spectators at the sight of the murder weapon.
Laverty placed his bony finger against the side of his neck. ‘Dudley told me he put the knife in there and the boy never moved,’ he said.
Mr Tilly rose to cross-examine. ‘Have you heard the captain say how long they were in the open boat?’
‘No, sir, I cannot say I did.’
‘Then do you know for a fact that they were in the boat for over twenty days?’
‘I never heard them say that,’ Laverty said. ‘I never had any personal intercourse with them.’
‘They voluntarily went to the collector of customs?’
‘Yes.’
‘And did you hear the collector examining them?’
Laverty paused, as if examining the question for traps. ‘No, sir, all I heard was an ordinary conversation between Dudley and the collector in the Long Room.’
‘I have nothing further to ask,’ Tilly said.
Genn turned to address the bench. ‘The solicitor to the Treasury has been instructed to carry on the prosecution,’ he said. ‘He has applied for a remand in custody.’
Tilly again rose to his feet. ‘May it please the bench,’ he said, mopping his brow, ‘I wish to ask you to allow bail for the prisoners.’
Liddicoat’s face showed his surprise. ‘And are you prepared to produce bail?’
‘I am informed by Captain Dudley that any reasonable bail should be given.’ He paused. ‘The reasons I make the application are on the grounds that what evidence has been adduced has been volunteered by the prisoners themselves. There has been no attempt in any way to conceal the facts of the case. Further, I would point out that these poor fellows had been twenty days in an open boat without food and without water before they did what they did.
‘There is no wish on their part to shirk inquiry. They have been actuated with no other idea than that of having the facts of the case brought before the tribunal of their country. On all these grounds I would ask you to admit them to bail.’
Liddicoat and his fellow magistrates consulted together for some time. As Tom stood there watching them, gripping the rail of the dock, he again felt tears welling up in his eyes. Although he felt foolish and embarrassed at weeping in front of this courtroom full of people, still he could not prevent the tears from rolling down his face.
Liddicoat rapped the bench with his gavel. ‘We have given the point serious consideration, but we regret that the circumstances of the case prevent us from granting the request for bail. The case is adjourned until Thursday of this week.’
There were mutterings from the public section and then a woman shouted, ‘Shame on you, Henry Liddicoat. Have they not suffered enough?’
The cry was taken up by the crowd outside. The mayor flushed and spread his hands, then directed a venomous look at Sergeant Laverty.
Tears still running down his face, Tom and the others were marched back through the streets to the borough lock-up. Tilly accompanied them. ‘If we are not to be allowed bail, Captain Dudley, the least we can do is ensure that your accommodation is rather more comfortable than the stinking cellars of this building.’
He raised his voice. ‘Superintendent Bourne?’
Rolling like a ship on the ocean as he walked, the rotund police superintendent had ambled over from the courtroom just in front of them, deep in conversation with the reporter from the Western Morning News.
‘Mr Tilly?’ His speech was as ponderous as his gait.
‘Superintendent, it is quite intolerable that after all the privations that these men have endured on the high seas, they are now incarcerated in your foul dungeons.’
‘They are charged with murder, Mr Tilly.’
‘That is a mere technicality, Superintendent. Would you throw them in gaol with common criminals?’
The superintendent hesitated. ‘What other accommodation would you propose?’
‘You have an apartment within this building, do you not?’
‘I do, but I hardly see—’
‘Then surely these men can be accommodated in one of the rooms there.’
‘I — I suppose they can.’
‘And the three of them will be accommodated together?’
As the superintendent again hesitated, Sergeant Laverty intervened, his face reddening with anger. ‘I cannot allow that. These men could then concoct whatever story they wished.’
Tom’s fists clenched in anger, but Tilly laid a restraining hand on his arm. ‘Really, Sergeant,’ he said. ‘These men have been at sea for almost six weeks since their rescue. If it had been their wish to concoct a story, surely that would have been time enough? Yet even you must admit they have exhibited no desire to do anything other than utter the plain, unvarnished truth.’
He held Laverty’s gaze and eventually the policeman muttered something indistinct and turned away.
Tilly touched the tips of his index fingers together as if ticking off the first point on a list. ‘And then there is the matter of food. These men were starved to the point of death. Look at them now. They are still little more than walking skeletons. They need decent food, not prison slops.’ He turned to Tom. ‘Do you have the means to pay for meals?’
‘I have enough to pay for meals for all three of us.’
‘You have no objection to food being sent in for them, Superintendent? Mr Dudley will pay for it.’
The police chief raised his shoulders in a faint shrug. ‘I have no objection.’