The Poacher; Or, Joseph Rushbrook

The next party who gave his evidence was Lucas, the game-keeper. He deposed that he knew the pedlar, Byres, and that being anxious to prevent poaching, he had offered him a good sum if he would assist him in convicting any poacher; that Byres had then confessed to him that he had often received game from Rushbrook, the father of the boy, and still continued to do so, but Rushbrook had treated him ill, and he was determined to be revenged upon him, and get him sent out of the country; that Byres had informed him on the Saturday night before the murder was committed, that Rushbrook was to be out on Monday night to procure game for him, and that if he looked out sharp he was certain to be taken. Byres had also informed him that he had never yet found out when Rushbrook left his cottage or returned, although he had been tracking the boy, Joey. As the boy was missing on Monday morning, and Byres did not return to the ale-house, after he went out on Saturday night, he presumed that it was on the Sunday night that the pedlar was murdered.

The keeper then farther deposed as to the finding of the body, and also of a bag by the side of it; that the bag had evidently been used for putting game in, not only from the smell, but from the feathers of the birds which were still remaining inside of it.

The evidence as to the finding of the body and the bag was corroborated by that of Martin and Dick, the underkeepers.

Mr Furness then made his appearance to give voluntary evidence, notwithstanding his great regard expressed for the Rushbrooks. He deposed that, calling at the cottage, on Monday morning, for his pupil, he found the father and mother in great distress at the disappearance of their son, whom they stated to have left the cottage some time during the night, and to have taken away his father’s gun with him, and that their son had not since returned; that he pointed out to Rushbrook the impropriety of his having a gun, and that Rushbrook had replied that he had carried one all his life, and did not choose to be without one; that they told him they supposed that he had gone out to poach, and was taken by the keepers, and had requested him to go and ascertain if such was the fact. Mr Furness added that he really imagined that to be the case now that he saw the bag, which he recognised as having been once brought to him by little Joey with some potatoes, which his parents had made him a present of; that he could swear to the bag, and so could several others as well as himself. Mr Furness then commenced a long flourish about his system of instruction, in which he was stopped by the coroner, who said that it had nothing to do with the business.

It was then suggested that Rushbrook and his wife should be examined. There was a demur at the idea of the father and mother giving evidence against their child, but it was over-ruled, and in ten minutes they both made their appearance.

Mrs Rushbrook, who had been counselled by her husband, was the first examined; but she would not answer any question put to her. She did nothing but weep; and to every question her only reply was, “If he did kill him, it was by accident; my boy would never commit murder.” Nothing more was to be obtained from her; and the magistrates were so moved by her distress, that she was dismissed.

Rushbrook trembled as he was brought in and saw the body laid out on the table; but he soon recovered himself, and became nerved and resolute, as people often will do in extremity. He had made up his mind to answer some questions, but not all.

“Do you know at what time your son left the cottage?”

“I do not.”

“Does that gun belong to you?”

“Yes, it is mine.”

“Do you know that bag?”

“Yes, it belongs to me.”

“It has been used for putting game into—has it not?”

“I shall not answer that question. I’m not on trial.”

Many other questions were put to him, but he refused to answer them; and as they would all more or less have criminated himself as a poacher, his refusals were admitted. Rushbrook had played his game well in admitting the gun and bag to be his property, as it was of service to him, and no harm to Joey. After summing up the whole evidence, the coroner addressed the jury, and they returned a unanimous verdict of Wilful Murder against Joseph Rushbrook the younger; and the magistrates directed the sum of 200 pounds to be offered for our hero’s apprehension.

Chapter Nineteen

A Friend in Need is a Friend indeed

Rushbrook and Jane returned to their cottage. Jane closed the door, and threw herself into her husband’s arms. “You are saved at least,” she cried: “thank Heaven for that! You are spared. Alas! we do not know how much we love till anger comes upon us.”

Rushbrook was much affected: he loved his wife, and had good reason to love her. Jane was a beautiful woman, not yet thirty; tall in her person, her head was finely formed, yet apparently small for her height her features were full of expression and sweetness. Had she been born to a high station, she would have been considered one of the greatest belles. As it was, she was loved by those around her; and there was a dignity and commanding air about her which won admiration and respect. No one could feel more deeply than she did the enormity of the offence committed by her husband; and yet never in any moment since her marriage did she cling so earnestly and so closely by him as she did now. She was of that bold and daring temperament, that she could admire the courage that propelled to the crime, while the crime itself she abhorred. It was not, therefore, anything surprising that, at such a moment, with regard to a husband to whom she was devoted, she thought more of the danger to which he was exposed than she did of the crime which had been committed.

To do Rushbrook himself justice, his person and mind were of no plebeian mould. He was a daring, venturous fellow, ready at any emergency, cool and collected in danger, had a pleasure in the excitement created by the difficulty and risk attending his nocturnal pursuits, caring little or nothing for the profits. He, as well as his wife, had not been neglected in point of education: he had been born in humble life, and had, by enlisting, chosen a path by which advancement became impossible; but had Rushbrook been an officer instead of a common soldier, his talents would probably have been directed to more noble channels, and the poacher and pilferer for his captain might have exerted his dexterity so as to have gained honourable mention. His courage had always been remarkable, and he was looked upon by his officers—and so he was by his companions—as the most steady and collected man under fire to be found in the whole company.

We are the creatures of circumstances. Frederick of Prussia had no opinion of phrenology; and one day he sent for the professor, and dressing up a highwayman and a pickpocket in uniforms and orders, he desired the phrenologist to examine their heads, and give his opinion as to their qualifications. The savant did so, and turning to the king, said, “Sire, this person,” pointing to the highwayman, “whatever he may be, would have been a great general, had he been employed. As for the other, he is quite in a different line. He may be, or, if he is not, he would make, an admirable financier.” The king was satisfied that there was some truth in the science; “for,” as he very rightly observed, “what is a general but a highwayman, and what is a financier, but a pickpocket?”

“Calm yourself, dear Jane,” said Rushbrook; “all is well now.”

“All well!—yes; but my poor child—200 pounds offered for his apprehension! If they were to take him!”

“I have no fear of that; and if they did, they could not hurt him. It is true that they have given their verdict; but still they have no positive proof.”

“But they have hanged people upon less proof before now, Rushbrook.”

“Jane,” replied Rushbrook, “our boy shall never be hanged—I promise you that; so make your mind easy.”

“Then you must confess, to save him; and I shall lose you.”

A step at the door interrupted their colloquy. Rushbrook opened it, and Mr Furness, the schoolmaster, made his appearance.

“Well, my good friends, I am very sorry the verdict has been such as it is, but it cannot be helped; the evidence was too strong, and it was a sad thing for me to be obliged to give mine.”

“You!” exclaimed Rushbrook; “why, did they call you up?”

“Yes, and put me on my oath. An oath, to a moral man, is a very serious responsibility; the nature of an oath is awful; and when you consider my position in this place, as the inculcator of morals and piety to the younger branches of the community, you must not be surprised at my telling the truth.”

“And what had you to tell?” inquired Rushbrook, with surprise.

“Had to tell—why, I had to tell what you told me this morning; and I had to prove the bag as belonging to you; for you know you sent me some potatoes in it by little Joey, poor fellow. Wilful Murder, and two hundred pounds upon apprehension and conviction!”

Rushbrook looked at the pedagogue with surprise and contempt.

“Pray, may I ask how they came to know that anything had passed between us yesterday morning, for if I recollect right, you desired me to be secret.”

“Very true, and so I did; but then they knew what good friends we always were, I suppose, and so they sent for me, and obliged me to speak upon my oath.”

“I don’t understand it,” replied Rushbrook; “they might have asked you questions, but how could they have guessed that I had told you anything?”

“My dear friend, you don’t understand it; but in my situation, looking up to me, as every one does, as an example of moral rectitude and correctness of conduct—as a pattern to the juvenile branches of the community,—you see—”

“Yes, I do see that, under such circumstances, you should not go to the ale-house and get tipsy two days, at least, out of the week,” replied Rushbrook, turning away.

“And why do I go to the ale-house, my dear friend, but to look after those who indulge too freely—yourself, for instance? How often have I seen you home?”

“Yes, when you were drunk and I was—” Jane put her hand upon her husband’s mouth.

“And you were what, friend?” inquired Furness, anxiously.

“Worse than you, perhaps. And now, friend Furness, as you must be tired with your long evidence, I wish you a good night.”

“Shall I see you down at the Cat and Fiddle?”

“Not for some time, if ever, friend Furness, that you may depend upon.”

“Never go to the Cat and Fiddle! A little wholesome drink drowns care, my friend; and, therefore, although I should be sorry that you indulged too much, yet, with me to look after you—”

“And drink half my ale, eh? No, no, friend Furness, those days are gone.”

“Well, you are not in a humour for it now but another time. Mrs Rushbrook, have you a drop of small beer?”

“I have none to spare,” replied Jane, turning away; “you should have applied to the magistrates for beer.”