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Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
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period of 70 years or less, after the year of the author's death.
If it is under copyright in your country of residence,
do not download or redistribute this file.
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RGL e-Book Cover
Based on an image created with Microsoft Bing software
PRINCIPAL WARDER ROUSE, of Moorlands Gaol, walked down the long corridor of hall B, stopped opposite cell 57, and selecting a key from the bunch which dangled at his side, opened the door.
A small, elderly man in the blue striped outdoor dress was sitting on the stool in the center of the tiny, but sumptuously clean cell. On the bed lay a neat suit of dark cloth, together with a print shirt, a white collar, and the other essentials of civilian attire.
"What, Harley, not changed yet?" exclaimed the warden. "You'll be late for your train if you don't hurry up."
The convict raised his head, showing a shrewd and not ill looking face turned to the color of old leather.
"No, Mr. Rouse. I'm not changed—and I'm not going to change," he said obstinately. "I don't want to catch no train."
"Don't want to catch the train!" echoed the warder. "But don't you know your time is up? You're a free man."
"Begging your pardon, sir, I don't want my freedom. I prefer to stay on here an' look after the sheep as I has been doing for the last ten years."
Rouse's expression was almost comic in its bewilderment. In all his lengthy experience of convict prisons he had never yet known a man to refuse his liberty.
"But look here, Marley," he explained, "you don't seem to understand that you've got to go. You're the best shepherd we ever had. But the law says that you've got to leave Moorlands, and the law has got to be obeyed."
Marley got up and followed obediently down the corridor to the door of the governor's office. Grim old Col. Peyton raised his grizzled eyebrows in surprise at sight of Marley.
"What's the matter Rouse? This man ought to have left the prison half an hour ago."
"Yes, sir; but he won't go," blurted out the warder. "He says he wants to stay and look after the sheep as he has been doing for the past ten years."
"Is this true, Marley?" said Col. Peyton, bending a searching glance upon the old man.
"It's quite right, sir," said Marley eagerly. "I'd a deal rather stay where I be. I'm all right so long as I'm in here; but 'ow am I to live when I gets outside? Who'll give a job to a chap like me."
"Haven't you got any friends or relations who will give you a home or look after you?" asked the governor, and his tone was now more kindly than before.
"No sir. I haven't got no friends—at least, not outside of Moorlands," Reuben Marley added, with a touch of unconscious pathos.
"I am sorry for you, Marley," said the governor, "but for the present you must change your clothes and leave the prison."
"What, you're going to send me away!" exclaimed Marley, in tones of bitter disappointment. Then the old obstinate expression came back into his face. "Very well, sir; all I can tell you is it won't be long afore you sees me 'ere again. A chap can always get back into prison if he wants to."
So saying, he touched his cap respectfully and marched briskly out of the office.
AN hour later Col. Peyton, crossing the prison yard, met Rouse.
"There's a man wishes to see you, sir," said the chief warder. "Says his name's Marley. He's waiting in the office."
"Marley! What a strange coincidence!" said the colonel, hurrying off.
An upright square shouldered man of 40 stood up as the colonel entered.
"My name's Marley, sir—John Marley," he said. "I'm a son of Reuben Marley."
The governor started slightly.
"I had no idea that Marley had a son," he said. "He told me only this morning that he had no relatives."
"Very likely, sir. You see, sir, I went to Canada when I was still a lad. Now I've made a lot of money I've come back to England to find the old man. It was the Home Office told me where to look for him," he added with a touch of sadness. "So I came straight down. I understand he's due to come out today."
"He has come out already," said the governor. "He left for Plymouth by the 11:40 train."
An expression of alarm crossed John Marley's face.
"Then I must be after him at once sir. Could you tell me when the next train leaves?"
"I am sorry to say there is not one before five," replied the colonel.
Marley's look of dismay made Col. Peyton feel genuinely sorry for him.
"I am almost as anxious as yourself that no harm shall come to your father," he said. "If you care to take my car you can be in Plymouth in an hour."
He cut short Marley's thanks by ringing the bell and ordering the car, and within less than five minutes the old convict's son was being whirled rapidly in the direction of the sea.
His chauffeur dropped his passenger by the tram terminus, opposite the Royal Theater, and John Marley stood staring round him helplessly. Plymouth is a big place, and he had not the faintest idea in which direction to look for his father.
It was striking three as he passed Derry's clock. "I'm too late," he said to himself sadly. "The old man's been here a matter of two hours by now. It's long odds he's locked up by this time."
At that moment he caught sight of a small crowd opposite a jeweler's shop on the west side of the street.
"Go it, old 'un!" he heard a rough voice shout.
"Stop him! He's dangerous!" cried someone else.
"Stop me! There ain't no one can stop me." came in high, cracked tones which had a familiar ring in John Marley's ears.
"Great Scott, but it's father!" he gasped, and set to running as hard as he could.
As John Marley drew near there was a sudden surge among the knot of people. They drew back, and in an open space in the middle he saw his little, wizened, white haired father, with no hat on, prancing in front of the window and waving above his head a heavy knobbed stick.
"Father!" cried the younger Marley, making a dash through the crowd and shoving the people right and left.
He was too late. Before he could reach his father, the old man had struck at the window with all his force. The heavy plate glass broke with a noise like a gunshot, and the pieces fell in a rattling shower to the stone pavement. Instantly old Reuben thrust a skinny arm through the hole, snatched a handful of glittering trinkets and flung them broadcast among the people.
He was grabbing for another handful of the unlucky jeweler's stock, when his son grabbed him by one arm and a policeman by the other. At the same moment the jeweler, red faced and furious, came rushing out.
"Take him in charge officer!" cried the latter. "He deliberately smashed my window, and I don't know how much he hasn't stolen.
"Wait a moment," exclaimed John Marley breathlessly. "He's my father."
The policeman looked from one to the other, and gave a short sharp laugh."
"More likely his pal," he said, with a sneer. "You cheer off, or you'll find yourself in custody as well."
John Marley's heart sank. Once his father was taken to the police station nothing could save him from another long term of imprisonment. He turned to the jeweler.
"I give you my word it's true," he said earnestly. "I'm his son, but I haven't set eyes on him for 20 years till this minute. For the love of heaven don't prosecute him, sir! I'll pay for the damage—every penny of it!" And be pulled a handful of notes out of his pocket.
Whether it was John Marley's manner or the banknotes in his hand, the jeweler hesitated.
Suddenly old Marley, who had been standing perfectly still, with his eyes fixed upon his son, spoke.
"Why, it's John!" he said wonderingly. "My boy John!"
"Yes, it's John right, enough. Here am I all the way from Canada to look for you. And see how I find you."
"I never knowed you was alive," said the old man piteously. "I wouldn't 'ave done this if I 'ad. I'll go quiet, officer."
"'Bout time, too," growled the policeman, quite untouched.
But the jeweler's heart was not so hard.
"No!" he cried suddenly. "Let him go. officer. I shan't prosecute. If his son here pays, I'll say no more about it."
He cut short John Marley's fervent thanks by bundling him and his father both into the shop, and as the policeman marched away in a rage the fickle crowd raised a cheer.
Today Reuben Marley still spends his time tending sheep, but they graze on the prairie of western Canada, not on the stonewalled fields of the grim prison on the moor.
Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
Go to Home Page
This work is out of copyright in countries with a copyright
period of 70 years or less, after the year of the author's death.
If it is under copyright in your country of residence,
do not download or redistribute this file.
Original content added by RGL (e.g., introductions, notes,
RGL covers) is proprietary and protected by copyright.