Bitter Eden Read online

  Her heart pounding in fright, Callie erred in giving Gent a mighty kick at the same time the crossing horsemen thundered past. With a great toss of his head Gent bolted forward, plunging off the path and through the low brush toward the other horses. Having lost the small control she had, Callie clung to the animal's mane, her knees pressed tightly to the saddle, her arms and fingers aching with the effort to stay seated. She didn't dare to lift her head.

  Around her men shouted wildly. "Halt!" "Flank them!" Horses snorted; some crashed through the brush. The yeoman and the Swing men shoved at each other wielding great sticks like cudgels. Others slashed at their adversaries with spades and shovels, matching their crude implements against swords and muskets.

  Amid the straining grunts of men fighting in the pitch-dark forest, Callie pressed harder against Gent's neck. He lunged forward as he was hit on the rump, only to slam into another horse. An enraged cry came from the rider. He brought his crop down hard on Gent's flank. "Hah!" Again the crop came down as he lashed at the seemingly riderless horse. Gent took off

  in an erratic twisting canter, brushing past trees with Callie plastered to his back holding back cries of pain and fright. Not until the sounds were fading behind them did Callie even attempt to gain control of the horse.

  Finally she let out the cramped, hurting sobs she'd been holding back. Albert's men were everywhere. They were rounding up the laborers. Had Peter been one of those shouting, cursing, battling men whose ragged ranks she'd just passed through? She didn't even know how to control her horse. How could she help? Why had she ever come out tonight? What could she do?

  Dry sobs caught at her chest and stomach with each breath. She was terrified. And alone. And she didn't know how to help Peter. The sounds of the fight grew more distant. Without seeing, or even understanding how she knew, Callie was sure the Swing men had lost. They were being taken to the village.

  She shuddered. It was over. Her fear of the horse forgotten, she sat straight in the saddle, her hands firmer on the reins. She looked around her, her e^es fixing in the direction of the farm. Almost roughly she pulled Gent up short She wouldn't give up. With a firm tug on the reins she turned the horse to the road leading to Seven Oaks. She'd risk no more encounters along the woods path.

  She would find Peter in the open. She should have realized from the beginning that all she could do was wait in the village to see if the yeomen brought him in as a prisoner. She jogged along the narrow row of cottages, coming as near to the town square as she dared.

  She waited in the shadows there for nearly two hours. Groups of men came in, some passing right by her. Loud triumphant voices cut through the night as other, quiet, beaten men were herded toward the

  square. Callie tensed as each new group came, her ears alert, her eyes straining to recognize one face among the many. Tired and frightened, her neck and back aching from tension, she nearly cried out as she saw one man with hair lighter than the others. He wore no hat Peter seldom did, even in the worst weather. She bit her lip, racked with fear and indecision. She wasn't sure. It was dark. Was it Peter?

  She began to smooth her dress, torn by branches and filthy with dirt and bits of twigs and burrs. Then she thought better. She took a stick and added a fresh scratch to the others on her face. She rubbed dirt into her forehead and on the shoulders and front of her coat. Satisfied that she looked sufficiently disheveled to have fallen from a horse, she wandered up to the town square.

  "Can you tell me where I'll find Mr. Albert Foxe?" she asked one of the yeomen. "He is a friend of my family's . . . I've had an accident . . . please."

  Callie carefully avoided looking at the line of men being shoved into some kind of order on the far side of the square. If he were not with them, she would lose heart when she saw Albert, not to mention the trouble she'd be in. If he were there, she would be frightened witless. She followed the man, keeping her eyes down.

  The streets were filled with men milling about, and yeomen shouting orders, obscenities, and threats at the laborers. There was a carnival air in the night, the same sadistic glee attendant at a bear baiting. She was taken to a building and told to wait in the entry.

  "Callie?" Albert didn't try to hide his surprise as he walked out of one of the rooms toward her. "What in mercy's name are you doing here? Does anyone know you are out? Who is with you? What's happened?"

  "Peter . . . Peter knows, but that is alt" she whis-

  pered, cowering from the sight and sound of the activity around her.

  "Here, here, come inside with me where we can talk." He led her into the room he had just left. "You'll have to excuse the clutter. We've been at this day and night," he said, indicating the makeshift cots and pallets. "Now, what's all this? Here! You're hurt. Let me clean your face and see to that scratch."

  "I'm all right. I scratched it when I fell. In the confusion Peter and I got separated. I mean we were out for a ride, and then all these people were everywhere and I got lost. I can't find him. Do you know where he is?"

  Albert tugged at his mustache. "What made you come here? Why should I know of Peter's whereabouts?"

  Callie sat speechless for a moment, her mouth working but no thought coming to fill it with words. "I didn't know who else to ask," she said finally, then looked up at him imploringly. "Do you know where he is?"

  "I might. You got separated, you say? Where?"

  "I fell off my horse. I don't ride very well. Peter was helping me when it happened."

  "What happened?"

  "Horsemen! All around us and the next thing I knew I was all alone and I couldn't find Peter. You said you know where he is. Will you take me to him?"

  He watched her carefully. She was embarrassed and uncomfortable. "He's been arrested, Callie. I suppose you didn't know that"

  A great shudder ran through her making it difficult to speak. "Oh, no! No, I didn't know, but it's a mistake! Surely you can see that. Could he please take me home now, Albert? I am very tired. Aunt Meg will be so angry."

  J

  "I should think so. It is nearly two in the morning. Do you and Peter often go for midnight rides?"

  Callie stared at him dry-mouthed. "Just this once," she said softly. "Will you take me to Peter now, please?"

  "Perhaps. But there is one thing, Callie. You understand that Peter was arrested in the midst of a band of Swing men? Since you claim he was with you and not where we found him, you will be willing to testify in court to that effect, will you not?"

  "Testify?"

  "Yes. Of course, my men will have to tell the opposite story from yours so it will involve a risk on your part The judges will have to see that someone is lying. A man cannot be in two places at one time doing two different things. But if your story is the true one, you have nothing to fear. Are you still willing to challenge the word of my men, Callie? Bear false witness?"

  Callie's face was as white as the wall behind her. She trembled so, her head shook like that of an old woman. But her eyes, so filled with purpose, looked steadily at Albert "I'll testify."

  Sighing, Albert shook his head. "Shall we go see if Peter recalls having lost you this evening? Perhaps if he is as smart as he is lucky you may be able to get him out of this mess after all. That is if he doesn't make you a liar with the first words out of his mouth."

  She walked by Albert's side as they crossed the square, afraid to utter another word. When they were within a few feet of the group of prisoners, Callie spotted Peter. She bolted free of Albert and ran to him. "Oh! After we got lost, I thought I'd never find you again. All those people yelling and running aboutl I was so frightened of the horses," she cried, clinging to the front of his coat His arms closed around her.

  He looked up, angry eyes blazing at Albert. "What are you doing with her?"

  Albert smiled catlike. He moved a step Nearer. Tm not with her. She claims you were. Let's hear it, Peter. What were you doing tonight? Make it good. I'd hate to see all her efforts go for naught. She's willing to risk perjury for
you."

  Peter's arms tightened around Callie. With a hard, cold-eyed smile, he said, "Didn't you hear her, Albert, I was busy being a fool and losing track of Callie. She might never have f ound me again."

  "But where were you?"

  "I already told you, Albert! We'd gone for a ride and I got lost from him in a crowd of your men," Callie said quickly. Peter grinned and repeated what she had said.

  Albert looked from one of them to the other, undecided, tempted. A half-smile crossed his face; his tongue licked his partially open lips.

  Callie clung tighter to Peter's coat, the material bunched in her fists. "Albert . . ." she whispered, "please ... let us go home."

  He looked at Peter again, his eyes hard and filled with dislike. Then he glanced about angrily until he spotted one of his men. Roughly he pulled Peter out of the line of prisoners. "Don't you know better than to arrest one of our own men!" he shouted angrily at the deputy. His eyes still cold, he said to Peter, "Take her home before someone else hears her cockeyed tale."

  "Albert—she wouldn't lie. Just look at her," Peter said, his lips twitching in amusement, his eyes sparkling as though what he and Albert played was after all a game.

  "I have," Albert said curtly and walked away from them.

  "Peter, please hurry. Don't stay here any longer. I'm afraid." Callie pulled at his hand, urging him from the square and back to the row of cottages where she had tethered Gent.

  "Wait a minute, you little devil's spawn! What do you think you are doing out on a night like this, alone? What do I have to do to keep you safe? Tie you to your bed nights?" Peter's voice was low as he turned her toward him.

  "You needed . . ."

  He laughed out loud and swung her up into his arms, whirling her around and around until she was dizzy. "Do you know what you did? What you risked? Is my life worth trading your own for?"

  "Albert said I will have to testify that you were with me. What shall I xlo if they don't believe me, Peter? What will happen to us?"

  "Not a thing," he whispered into her ear. "Because Albert is never going to have you testify to anything. I'd kill him with my bare hands before I'd let him harm you. There are too few like you on this earth, Callie. Even idiots like me know something special when we see it."

  She was not very steady when he released her, but she was speechless, and remained so most of the way home.

  "Would Albert have let you go if I hadn't come?" she asked as they neared the farm.

  "I doubt it. Albert is a duty-bound man, and he's been wanting to catch me out for a long time." Peter laughed mirthlessly. "Even if he'd wanted to release me, which he didn't, Albert never does anything improper if he can help it. If it isn't in the book, Albert won't do it. Poor Albert; he was probably as relieved as I was to see you. What a tale! A midnight ride in the middle of the Swing riot arrests . . . with you."

  She wriggled on the saddle behind him. "Well, it wasn't so easy trying to think up a reason that I should be there, you know. It was the best I could do."

  "It worked. That makes it good enough; and anyway it will give us all a good story to laugh about/'

  "You're not going to tell everyone!"

  "Of course. Why not? They'd enjoy a laugh over it."

  "But Peter! I'm not supposed to be out. They think I am asleep. Aunt Meg will be terribly angry. I only came because Frank said it would kill Uncle James if he found out you were gone."

  "You didn't come for me?"

  She blushed and remained silent.

  "I think you came for me," he said.

  "Please—I don't want you to tell them."

  "You're a heroine, Callie. It's not every day a man s life is saved by a pretty girl. You can't make me keep that a secret, can you? You alone made an effort to help me. You think my family shouldn't be told that? I suppose they'd see me hang before they'd risk a hair off their own heads. No, Callie darling, I'm going to tell them."

  Frank had been no more honest with Callie than she had been with him. The difference between the two was Frank's lethargic patience. About an hour after Peter had left, Frank went to the stables. He found not one, but two of the riding horses missing. He raced to Callie's room. In his agitation, he awakened the entire household.

  They gathered one by one, coming sleepy-eyed from their rooms into the hallway. The confusion and

  hushed talk, as plans were made for Stephen and Frank to take the carriage, wakened James.

  "What is going on out there?" he called from his room.

  "It's nothing, Pa," Frank answered and shushed everyone, but not enough. James was too alert.

  "It's twelve thirty. What's happened? Meg! Meg!" He struggled from his bed, clinging to the furniture. He stumbled and bumped the table. His face contorted as he grabbed for the chair and fell.

  Frank and the others stood in shocked stillness, then ran to his bedroom.

  James had suffered a second attack.

  The carriage was put to use to fetch the doctor.

  Meg again took up her vigil by his side. She sat in the darkness and wondered if she were to lose both her husband and her son tonight. And where was Cal-lie? What had happened to the child?

  Anna went down to the kitchen and made hot chocolate. No one except Rosalind and Natalie had been able to go back to sleep. They all sat waiting to hear what had taken place, hoping for the best and dreading the worst.

  It was to a quiet, saddened house that Callie and Peter returned. Peter's high spirits were out of tempo with the tense drawn faces that greeted him. Their anxiety turned quickly to anger. Callie fled to her room as Peter lashed back at his brothers with anger of his own. Only when he was told of James did he quiet. Then he took the stairs two at a time. Meg, nodding sleepily, roused as he came into the room.

  "Peter? It's you . . . you're safe . . • and Callie?" She began to cry softly.

  Peter remained with her that night, watching over James more carefully than she, if that was possible. As always, after he had stepped out of the bounds of

  good sense, he was mortified and repentant. Primarily he was frightened. It was as though someone had caught him from behind when all his concentration was in front of him. By an appalling lack of prudence he had endangered the lives of three people: himself, Callie, and James. Two of them he loved dearly.

  James recovered slowly and unsatisfactorily. His mind no 'longer responded with the quick clarity of old. But his first fear was allayed when he was told immediately that his son was safe and unharmed. James was the one person in the family who approved Callie's rash action, so Meg's scolding was mild. Instead Anna kindly and mildly reminded her of the dangers she had faced. Nice girls were not known to go riding out in the middle of the night for any reason whatever.

  The arrested men did not have such good fortune on their side. By December it was bitingly cold again, and the rioting in Kent was a thing of the past. Hundreds of prisoners awaited trial. Most of them were poor and illiterate. In spite of a touted and prized system of justice, there would be no justice for them.

  No man was able to testify in his own defense without implicating himself or his friends in the riots. There was no counsel for the defense. It was a desperate situation for them, and for the magistrates who had to see the matter cleared up. Bribes were offered to any person who could be persuaded to testify against his fellow rioters. The offers were tempting, for over the heads of the rioters loomed the Act of 1827, which prescribed penalties. Destruction of threshing machines could mean being transported for seven years. One of the most common offenses was the firing of ricks. For that the penalty was death.

  Peter began to realize how closely he had courted real trouble. The causes of the riots—the poverty, joblessness, hunger, injustice—were all disregarded in the ^ensuing trials. Evidence given about background was ruled out. Most of the laborers' problems were attributed to drink. Through drinking a man would suffer distress. Wages and conditions had nothing to do with it. In the end all extenuating circumstances becam
e irrelevant. The prejudices and preconceptions of the judges and lawyers were the ultimate evidence.

  The single factor favorable to the laborers was the reluctance of the juries to convict them. That quickly became an embarrassment. So Special Commissions convicted the prisoners. The Special Commission at Winchester convicted one hundred prisoners. Six were sentenced to hang; the others were to be transported for life. A second Commission sat at Salisbury. Two men were sentenced to death. One hundred and fifty were transported for life. Some of those convicted were young; one'was seven years old.

  The Special Commissions and the trials moved throughout the countryside to Dorchester, Reading, Aylesbury, and Abingdon. Fortunately, as they went their inclination toward leniency increased. Winchester and Salisbury had served to produce the desired effect. Everyone knew how far into tragedy the Swing riots had plunged them.

  The riots reached every home of every hamlet. Daily, families of the men involved stood at the prison gates begging for leniency. There was sympathy for these destitute people, but no help. People talked in the comfort of their homes of a situation that was "heartbreaking." The men were convicted heartbreak-ingly.

  By the end of the trials four hundred and fifty-seven men had been transported for some designated

  period of time. The length of the term mattered little, for, having served his term, a man then had to pay his way back to England. Few of those transported would ever see their families again.

  It was agreed generally that wages should now be raised. People were still anxious. Perhaps the riots would start up again. It had been frightening to see the quiet countryside become a raging mass of determined, hungry mobs. With the transported rioters on their way to Van Diemen s Land or Australia, wages went up, and remained high as long as people remained anxious and worried. But as soon as memories dimmed and things became normal, the wages returned to seven shillings a week.