A Place Called Freedom (1995)

“I assume my commanding officers feared trouble.”

“Sidney Lennox warned them, I suppose,” the juror said, and there was a ripple of laughter.

Pym continued to question Jay, who said that when he and his men arrived at the coal yard there was a riot in full progress, which was true. He told how Mack had attacked him—also true—and had been knocked out by another soldier.

Mack asked him: “What do you think of coal heavers who riot?”

“They are breaking the law and should be punished.”

“Do you believe most folk agree with you, by and large?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think the riot will turn folk against the coal heavers?”

“I’m sure of it.”

“So the riot makes it more likely that the authorities will take drastic action to end the strike?”

“I certainly hope so.”

Beside Mack, Caspar Gordonson was muttering: “Brilliant, brilliant, he fell right into your trap.”

“And when the strike is over, the Jamisson family’s coal ships will be unloaded and you will be able to sell your coal again.”

Jay began to see where he was being led, but it was too late. “Yes.”

“An end to the strike is worth a lot of money to you.”

“Yes.”

“So the coal heavers’ riot will make money for you.”

“It might stop my family losing money.”

“Is that why you cooperated with Sidney Lennox in provoking the riot?” Mack turned away.

“I did no such thing!” said Jay, but he was speaking to the back of Mack’s head.

Gordonson said: “You should be a lawyer, Mack. Where did you learn to argue like that?”

“Mrs. Wheighel’s parlor,” he replied.

Gordonson was mystified.

Pym had no more witnesses. The skeptical juror said: “Aren’t we going to hear from this Lennox character?”

“The Crown has no more witnesses,” Pym repeated.

“Well, I think we should hear from him. He seems to be behind it all”

“Jurors cannot call witnesses,” the judge said.

Mack called his first, an Irish coal heaver known as Red Michael for the color of his hair. Red told how Mack had been on the point of persuading the coal heavers to go home when they were attacked.

When he had finished, the judge said: “And what work do you do, young man?”

“I’m a coal heaver, sir,” Red replied.

The judge said: “The jury will take that into account when considering whether to believe you or not.”

Mack’s heart sank. The judge was doing all he could to prejudice the jury against him. He called his next witness, but he was another coal heaver and suffered the same fate. The third and last was also a coal heaver. That was because they had been in the thick of things and had seen exactly what happened.

His witnesses had been destroyed. Now there was only himself and his own character and eloquence.

“Coal heaving is hard work, cruelly hard,” he began. “Only strong young men can do it. But it’s highly paid—in my first week I earned six pounds. I earned it, but I did not receive it: most was stolen from me by an undertaker.”

The judge interrupted him. “This has nothing to do with the case,” he said. “The charge is riot.”

“I didn’t riot,” Mack said. He took a deep breath and gathered his thoughts, then went on. “I simply refused to let undertakers steal my wages. That’s my crime. Undertakers get rich by stealing from coal heavers. But when the coal heavers decided to do their own undertaking, what happened? They were boycotted by the shippers. And who are the shippers, gentlemen? The Jamisson family which is so inextricably involved in this trial today.”

The judge said irritably: “Can you prove that you did not riot?”

The skeptical juror interjected: “The point is that the fighting was instigated by others.”

Mack was not put off by the interruption. He simply continued with what he wanted to say. “Gentlemen of the jury, ask yourselves some questions.” He turned away from the jurors and looked straight at Jay. “Who ordered that wagons of coal should be brought down Wapping High Street at an hour when the taverns are full of coal heavers? Who sent them to the very coal yard where I live? Who paid the men who escorted the wagons?” The judge was trying to break in again but Mack raised his voice and plowed on. “Who gave them muskets and ammunition? Who made sure the troops were standing by in the immediate neighborhood? Who orchestrated the entire riot?” He swung around swiftly and looked at the jury. “You know the answer, don’t you?” He held their gaze a moment longer, then turned away.

He felt shaky. He had done his best, and now his life was in the hands of others.

Gordonson got to his feet. “We were expecting a character witness to appear on McAsh’s behalf—the Reverend Mr. York, pastor of the church in the village of his birth—but he has not yet arrived.”

Mack was not very disappointed about York, for he did not expect York’s testimony to have much effect, and neither did Gordonson.

The judge said: “If he arrives he may speak before sentencing.” Gordonson raised his eyebrows and the judge added: “That is, unless the jury finds the defendant not guilty, in which case further testimony would be superfluous, needless to say. Gentlemen, consider your verdict.”