John Taggert’s Trial.

Golden Bay Argus, Volume 2, Issue 2, 10 June 1892, Page 2

John Taggert’s Trial.

By Mrs. Amelia E. Barr.

* . Thirty-five years ago this summer, I spent some delightful months in that most picturesque and charming of retreats—the Isle of Man, with my headquarters at Castletown. During the summer months, when the herring fishery was ai< its height, Castletown pier in the early hours of the morning was a most picturesque place, with its boats and masses of gleaming fish and queer fisherman —and fisherwomeu. too, for that matter— Irish and Scotch and Welsh and English and Manx

But towering, like Saul, head and shoulders ahove the crowd, l noticed always a young Manxman, who seemed to be an authority on all subjects of sale. He wore the common dress of blue flannel, out in the usual quaint, ungraceful form, but no form of dress oould have spoiled a figure moulded in nature’s noblest proportions. His bare, brown throat supported a head and face strikingly handsome, though it ws3 evident from its glowing, bronzed tint, that it had been set against the suns and winds of heaven for many a year.

We soon found out that this man was universally respected, and eagerly sought after, not only by his own class, but by leisurely visitors, to whom his knowledge of the sea and of the coast, and of every point of interest within a day’s pleasuring, was invaluable.

He seemed, however, to particularly attach himself to a young Englishman, called Philip Saville, who spent some of his time sketching, riding, and dining with the officers of the garrison; but the most of it in an open boat out at sea. Indeed, people soon began to notioe that Philip Saville and the fisherman, John Taggert, were never very long apart. The summer passed, and autumn, with its occasional stormy days, was upon us. Still Saville lingered, people said, solely because he oould not bear to part with John Taggert. I had, however, some doubts as to whether John was the only charm ; for twice when I had been gathering blackberries in Ballabeg woods, I had come upon Saville and a beautiful peasant girl, named Mary Boyd, belonging to the little mimleft on the sands, A few days after my second meeting of them, 1 received an invitation to attend a Manx fisherman’s wedding to be given in the great barn of Gwynne estate ; for the bride’s people had been retainers of the Gwynnes for centuries and the master of Gwynne and all his family were to dance at the bridal. Many of the officers and visitors of the city were guests, and among the rest, Philip Saville. His glance, on entering the barn, sought until it found Mary, and then it followed her every movement. It seemed to specially annoy Philip that John Taggert was on the most familiar terms with her, and after a while, as John passed him, he said, in a querulous voice :

“I should think, John, you would be tired trotting round after that little girl—• you have done nothing else for nearly three hours.”

John answered pleasantly : 11 And what for would I be tired in three hours, when it is all the days of my life I mean to trot after her?”

Philip’s face darkened visibly, but he made no answer. Soon after, however, I missed him, and looking through the room, I saw Mary wss also absent. It was a lovely September night, with a full, yellow moon, and as many of the visitors had left the barn for a stroll on the firm, dry sands, I took a friend’s arm and joined them. We had not walked far, when we met Philip and Mary hand in hand, and when John Taggert missed his love and his friend, he walked to the barn-door and instantly saw them sauntering together on the moonlit sandß.

It did not take him many minutes to reach them.

“ Mary,” be said, in an angry voioe, you come home with me at once, or I’ll—”

“ John, if you threaten me, I’ll never come with you again.” “You can pleass yourself, Mary Boyd; it’s not John Taggert, though he is your promised husband, that will ask you twioe.” And with a furious look at Philip, whioh Philip answered by a provoking little laugh, John went back to the wedding guests. But all his gaiety was gone: he would neither dance nor sing ; and long before the festivities were over, he left. As he went home, he glanced toward the sands. Philip and Mary were together. Philip held her hand, and stooped his proud head to listen to what she was saying. John glanoed but a moment at this bitter sight, then, with a muttered threat, not pleasant to hear, he took the other way. Unfortunately, several people heard the words, and they were afterward recalled to his condemnation. A party of Rock-Cod fishers came in one morning, bringing with them Philip’s private rowing-boat, whioh they had found floating a couple of miles out of harbor. His line and a ooupl“ of books were in the boat, and the oars wer fouml not far away; but there was no tri-o, f the young man. People began to inq i ,m next where John had bean during the il j -v of that morning’s tide, and when it was proved that he had been seen leaving the harbor very early that mornirg, many looked on him wit>. faces of dreadful meaning. Still, none liked to be premature, Mr Saville was always swayed by the caprice of tha moment, and it was suggested that he had perhaps met a fishing-smack, and gone with the crew to enioy some deep-Bea fishing.

Every boat that came into the little porta adjacent was eagerly inquired of ; no one, how* ever, had seen anything of the missing man. Day by day the suspicion of foul play grew more definite. *

When ten days had elapsed, and no lettors or tidings came, the proper authorities took charge of Philip’s personal efftcts, and John Taggert was arrested on suspicion , but there being no positive evidence to confirm the vague suspicions regarding him, he was acquitted.

Bur. now began the worst nf his punishment. The severity of tha old laws of Man had made the peasantry look upon crime as something altogether dreadful; murder was a thing nearly unknown, and beyond the pale of excuse or pardon ; its very suspicion was a frightful thing. Jobn Taggert found himself in pretty much the same condition as the excommunicated man in the Dark Ages. He could get no work ; if ha had not had money saved, he must have starved or leifc Castletown, About Christmas time, he met on the sea-Bhore the rector of the church he had once so regularly attended. He would have passed him with a dark, averted face, but the good man would not let him ; he put out his hand and looked John Bteadily and kindly in the face. “ John,” he said, f ‘ do you think I am going to eat my Christmas dinner with your dark, stubborn face haunting me? Why have you not come to see me in your trouble?”

“ Your servants, sir, would have said I Isft a bloody step at the door-stone. Would you have allowed me to stand upon your hearth ?”

“ Did you ever try me, John? Turn now with me and come to my study, for I have something to say to you.,’ Then the good man led him on to tell all the petty insults whose tremendous cumulative power was fast turning him into a fieroe, bitter hater of his kind; and the poor fellow found comfort even in thi3 unburdening of his grief, as well as in the unspoken sympathy that glistened in his listener’s eyes. At last, when the heavy heart had unburdened all its agony, the rector said : “John, why don’t you go away from Castletown ?”

“No, sir,” he answered, passionately ; “I have done nothing to run away for. If there is any justice in Heaven, it will clear me in the sight of my neighbors and kinfolk. I can wait; but I want to be here on the spot when God is ready to hear my cause.” “ Are you suffering for money or necessaries ?”

“ Not much, sir; for since your reverence has been so kind to me, I will trust you with my one secret. Mary Boyd brings ms many a bowl of bread and milk to the old Druid stones. Our people don’t venture there after night, but Mary loves me, and love i 3 not afeared of ghosts. “I am glad to hear this, John. Then Mary, as well as I, believes you to be innocent?”

For a moment John could not speak ; then with full eyes, he answered : “ For them words, sir, God bless you ! If you and Mary believe me innocent. I am not quite hopeless. Mary has never doubted me ; she sought me out at once in my trouble and loneliness. I should have gone mad or died the last few weeks but for her.”

“If I should give you work and a little oottage, would Mary marry you. and thus enable, you to live down, in your own home, these suspicions?”

“ Yes, sir, she would leave all her people and come to me; but that is a thing I would not let her do. I would not stain my Mary’s name, and, perhaps, the unborn innocent, wita my misfortune. When I am proved guiltless is time enough for me to marry.” After this, John was sullen and silent enough, but he did the work the rector gave him, and tha support of a man so respected begin, in some slight degree, to change public sentiment.

But if there was any change in his neighbors, John took no notioe of it. He spoke to no one, he did what work the rector gave him, or spent whole days on the winter sea, comforted at rare, happy moments by a stolen visit from Mary. And so the weeks crept on, until tha middle of February. There had been a heavy wind all day, and the sea and the wind rose together as the day advanced. Going up Malew street, he met an old man who had once been his hearty admirer and friend. The man had not spoken to.him sinoe his trouble, but this time he said, timidly : ‘‘Going to be a very bad, dirty night, John.”

‘‘Yes,”replied John, curtly. “Small craft pretty near Quiggin Point. Hope she may not get too near them Scarlet Rooks.”

“If Bhe was worth her sails she would have put into her harbor early to-day.” It was the longest conversation Jobn had held with any of his comrades for months. He suddenly remembered the fact, and walked hurriedly away. “Poor fellow 1” muttered the old man. “ Maybe, now, he is none to blame.” That night the storm grew wilder and wilder until midnight, and long before dawn, in the pauses of the wind, could be faintly heard the gun of a ship in distress. As soon as it was light, a crowd of men gathered on the shore, watching eagerly the orafc in danger. It was hard to tell what she was all her masts were gone, and she seemed to be rapidly breaking up. Yet the sea ran so high, and the danger of launching a boat was so imminent, that the oldest sailor feared to risk it.

Then John Taggert stepped eagerly forward.

“ Will any man go with me,” he said, “ to save yonder poor fellows?”

No one Bpoke. Of all races the Manx are the most superstitious; and if John was really a murderer, they did not wish to share his fate; so no one answered his appeal by word or movement. Jobn set his lip 3 and frowned darkly.” * “Is there any man here, then, who will help me launch a boat, and I will go alone?” e

“ I will,” said the old man, who had spoken to him the day before. N jw, if ever a human being was in a mood to command winds and waters, John Taggert was that morning. He leaped off the quay into the dropped boat, and all though' for a moment that he had found his death, but presently they saw him grasping both oars, erect and firm. Just then the rector reached the anxious crowd.

‘‘God blesa you, John 1” he cried. But John heard not the blessing ; his face was sec seaward, every muscle, every sense was strained to the uttermost, and yet he afterward said he wbb sensible of no exertion. He rowed as a man in a dream might row. Through marvellous dangers and difficulties he reached the wreck ; then as he neared it, he gave a great shout, for, clinging to a remnant of the mainmast, wa3 a figure be knew but too well. He could not doubt his eyes—it was, it certainly was Philip Saville ! Here was his vindication. John never doubted but that Heaven had sent it. and even as he toiled in rowing, he did not forget the uplifting of his heart in unutterable gratitude. How he got the meu off the wreck and brought the crowded boat back safe to Castletown quay was always a mystery to Jobn. He was always inclined to regard the whole affair as somewhat supernatural. In truth, he was possessed by feelings far beyond those that move us to ordinary action, and the enthusiasm that filled bis own soul he imparted to the half-drowned men be came to save. They obeyed him as if he had been a god, and John had part oi his reward in the shouts that greeted tha boat as she slowly and dangerously neared the land.

But when John himself lilted Philip Saville out of it f and in hia strong, loving arms carried him as a mother would carry a child, men wera afraid to speak ; for there was an exaltation in his manner that awed them ; so. also, when the rector drew him into the square, and a great crowd gathered round the justified man, there were more hand-shakings than words, for the Manx are a silent people, more given to actions than professions. Philip’s explanation was a natural one. Early one morning, he had met out at sea the yacht of an old companion, and learned from him that his elder brother had been killed by a railway accident, and that the family lawyer was looking for him. As there was only two steamers a week between the Island and Liverpool, and as it would be impossible to catch the one sailing that day. his friend had offered to run him across to Liverpool in his yacht. Without much thought, he had accepted the offer, leaving a note in the boat to iniorm his 'andlady what to do with his effects if anyone found the boat, which was almost certain to be the ease. Pie had also instructed his lawyer to write to Castletown ; but both directions had failed. Probably tbs note had been blown away ; and the lawyer, amid the more important business of settling up and transferring the estate had not thought the few sovereigns lying in Castletown of urgent interest, and of graver consequences he was totally ignorant. Then Pnilip had been compelled to leave England immediately with a sister, whose delicate health the ahoek of her brother’s death had greatly injured. Amid the delights of Rome, he forgot his Castletown life, until one morning, about a month previous, in a package of delayed English letters, he found one from the rector of Castletown, detailing the wretched consequences of Mr. S ivillo’a disappearance. This letter had been sent to the family seat after Philip’s departure for Italy, had been forwarded to bis lawyer in London, and, after many delays, finally reached the right person.

Without a moment’s delay, Philip had started for England, and finding that in winter steamers only run once a week between the Island and Liverpool, he hired a small craft to bring him over at once to Castletown, aDd he had thus met the storm that had so nearly proved fatal. There are some calamities that never meet adequate compensation, for Job does not always recover his sons and daughters, but everything that a friendship consecrated and sealed in the very presence of death could devise, and everything that abundant wealth could perform, Philip did to recompense the weary, shameful months that were irreolaimable. Henceforward, John sailed his own ship, and Mary received as her wedding gift the prettiest cottage in her native village, and together they have seen many good days, and had their full share of prosperity.