FATHER AND SON.

Waikato Times, Volume XXIV, Issue 1997, 25 April 1885, Page 5 (Supplement)

FATHER AND SON.

By G. R. SIMS.

Some years ago society was startled by the report that an eminent and highly esteemed judge had attempted to commit suicide. The rumour was speedily contradicted, and it was announced that his lordship had had an accident while shaving, and this had given rise to the absurd rumour. The public, or rather that portion of it which had heard the whisper, accepted the explanation, but the friends of the unfortunate gentleman were perfectly aware that the story was only too true. Mr. Justice Dash was one of the most humane and noble minded judges that ever adorned the English bench. He was wealthy, popular, and enjoyed the most robust health. Moreover, he was a man who not only professed but practised Christianity. He took an active interest in all religious movements, and was justly respected for his moral rectitude and simple piety. Such a man one would think would be the last person in tho world to attempt his own life, to hurl himself into the presence of the Righteous Judge, hia hands red with the crime of self destruction. Listen to hid story. He has been dead for years, and he has left no relatives behind whom the narrative will pain. Except one. In a convict prison there lingers still a miserable man, who escaped the death penalty which he had incurred only to drag out a miserable existence, knowing that he should be free never again, — knowing that though he lived to his threescore and ten he would mix with his fellow men no more, but would breathe his last eigh a felon in a folon's cell. It is a worse punishment this than painless and sudden death— it is death in life, death prolonged for years and years, which eeem to the victim centuries ; and yet it is supposed to be an sot of clemency which substitutes a life-long despair and degradation for the one minute's swift strangulation. This man is the hero of the judge's story. • • • • Mr. Dash, the rising barrister, had the misfortune to lose his wife within a year of their marriage. She died giving birth to a son, who from that moment became his father's idol. All the love that the man had lavished on his beautiful bride was now centred in the solitary link that bound him to that short, sweet year of happiness. As the boy grew up his likeness to hia dead mother became more and more apparent. And when he was old enough to sit with his father in the long evenings after dinner, the widower would find himself at times seeing nothing but that handsome face, and fancying that she who slept the long sleep was once more sitting by his Bide. Unfortunately, young Harold, if he had his mother's features, had not inherited her gently disposition. To the fathers intense grief he soon discovered that the idolised son had a bold, rebellious nature and a cold, unfeeling heart. In the first days of his liberty he would stray from his father's side at every opportunity, and he seemed to shun rather than appreciate the affection of which he was still the object. In his fifteenth year he was sent to a public school, and there unfortunately his evil qualities were developed. On his return for the first holidays the unhappy father found that his son openly braved his authority, and that he courted the society of grooms and stablemen and atfeated their vices. Rude and insolent when remonstrated with, he flatly refused to do as his father wished, and declared that he wasn't going to be mollycoddled up any longer, and that he was sick of being lectured, and meant to do as he liked. He did do as he liked — he did so much as he liked that before he was twenty-one he was a curse instead of a blessing to his parent. He drank and gambled and squandered his money in the lowest depravities, and ended by forging his fathers name to a cheque for a thousand pounds and running off to America with the money. On the day that the discovery of thia orime was made the unhappy father registered a vow that he would think of his son as a son no more. He obliterated his image from his heart, he forbade any mention of him to be made iv bis presence, he removed his name from bis will, and from that moment steeled his heart against the one who had so cruelly betrayed bis affection. Mr. Dash was an eminent barrister and a Q.C. at the time his son disappeared, and he turned to his profession to distract his thoughts from the terrible blow which he had sustained. Ho succeeded beyond his hopes. Ho worked now with redoubled onergy, for in that very energy he found what he ueeded — forgetf ulneaa. In due course he was raided to tho bench, and bacarno one of tho most popular judges of tho day. It was about this time that the son, who had never written him a line since his shameful flight, came once more on the scene. He visited his father at his private house, and obtained admission under an assumed name None of the old servants about tho place recognised him, neither did his father until ho spoke. Foreign travel and a wild hard life of dissipation and of privation had altered the once nandsome features beyond recognition, and a rough unkempt beard added to the disguise. The interview was short and stormy. The man was more evil than the lad had been. He oatne not to ask forgiveness, not to atone for the evil he had wrought, but to threaten ; to tell with unblushing face the foul story of | his evil life, and to brandish it before his fattier as a weapon — as something with "srhieb to extort money. " What would the world say if they knew that the great judge's son was a swindler and a scoundrel ! Give mo mouey, or I'll thrive and awindlo here as I have abroad, and sing out who I am if I'm caught." Ho appealed to the father, and the judgo answered him. " If the shame is to fall on me," ho said, " let id come, I will not buy your Beoreoy.

It sou want money, work honestly and earn ii. While you aie what jou are I do not know you. Laave my house 1" TJip judge's eon turned on his heel. " Why, you hard-hearted old wretch," he exclaimed , „ I believe if I ever came before you, you'd stretch the law to give it me hot. Pretty father you are 1 bang you ! " " If ever you come before me, which Heaven forbid," was the answer, " I will deal with you as I would with the veriest stranger. You aie no son of mine. Begone." m Two years had passed away, and the newspapers contained the story of a foul and brual murder. A man caught cheating at cards at a low gambling hell, frequented by German and Polish Jews, in Whitechapel, liad turned upon his accuser and stabbed him. The man was taken red-handed, and brought up brfore the magistrate and committed for trial. He gave the nama of John Smith, and refused all other particulars. He had no friends who came forward ; the people about the place where the crime waa committed knew him only as frequenting the room. He wa3 a gentleman, they believed, for he could read and write and spoke like a but ho was an awful blackguard for all that, they thought. The preliminary examination over, all interest in hia oaae died out until the day of the trial at the Old Bailey came, and then, there being neither romance nor mystery about it, the first ccitcnenf ■"vis not renewed. Still there was one incident which enlivened the proceedings. It was a hot July day when the case came on, and the judge who presided fainted just aa the priaoner was put into the dock. The papers made a line of it on the contents bill and paragraphed it as a proof of the vile ventilation of the court and the excessive heat of the weather. The judge was Mr. Justice Dash. The prisoner was John Smith — that waa tho only name ho gave. When the judge recovered and took hia heat again their eyes met. The judge was deadly pale, but the prisoner never flinched or altered the look of careless indifference which he had assumed from the first. The trial was a monotonous affair, and all plain sailing. It was murder, determined and dastardly, without one extenuating circumstance. The jury took ten minutes, for form's aake. Guilty 1 The judge speaks. " Prisoner at the bar, have you anything to say why sentence of death should not be pronounced upon you ?" The prisoner at the bar lifts his head. There is a dead silence in the court. "My lord," he says, and the spectators fanoy they detect a smile on his lips, "my lord, I could say something perhap3 why you should not sentence me to death, But I prefer not to. Do your duty." The judge is still deadly pale. Hi puts on the black cap and hia lips move, but for a few moments no sound is emitted. Presently he clears hia throat, and the words come slowly and distinctly. He pronounces the dread and ghastly formula of death, his eyes fixed always on the prisoner's face. There is another moment of dead silence, and the prisoner is led away. And then for the second time the judge is seized with a iainting fit. The ventilation of the court," says the special reporter in tho morrow's paper, "ia most disgraceful. The spectacle of a judge fainting twioe from the heat is unworthy a civilised community." * • • * Two days later the prisoner requests an interview in hia cell with the judge who tried him. The authorities inform him that hi9wishis sure not to be acceded to, but they will see that hi 3 message is delivered. The authorities are wrong. Mr- Justice Dash ia a humane and ChrisliaTr*" judge. He grants tho condemned man's prayer and sees him. The authorities, at the judge's speoial solicitation allow the interview to be private. It ia a very short orre. Stern at first, the judge stands in th« presence of the criminal, and bids him apeak, and speak quickly. But the judge breaks down presently, and a father wrings hia hands and moans, and prays God's mercy on his knees for his moat unhappy son. The man, face to face with death, ia contrite now. The Bham devil-may-caredom of the trial ia gone, and the wretched sinner has asked forgiveness of the father he has so oruelly wronged. " I spared jou the shame, you see," he says. „It was the leabt I could do. I wanted you to see I wasn't bad enough for that, although I threatned it. They 11 hang John Smith, and no one will be the wiser till the Judgment Day." The last solemn words of farewell are spoken. The father will not look upon his son's face any more. The judge goes home. Hia brain ia on fire now when he thinks of what he has done. The old yearning love has returned, and his dead wife hovera by hia side, and moans and cries aloud that he has slain their child. The judge is dead now, and only the father fives. He will saeriGce everything to save hi 3 son from a shameful death. Ho will cry aloud from the housetops his shame and the deed he has done. He will plead for that son's life. In Christian England they will not let a father send a son to death. Men's minds will be filled with horror,, and will cry out as one man against the deed. What shall he do 1 Hia head whirls now when he thinks about it. There is only a fortnight left in which to act. He must write to tho Horns Secretary at once. He writes a wild, incoherent letter ; but he is the Judge who tried the case, and it receives every attention. The Home Secretary makes inquiries, and tionds for the Judge. The result of the interview ia soon knowa. Tue papers chronicle shortly the astonishing fact that the sentence of death recently pronounced on John Smith has been commuted by the Home Secretary to penal servitude for life. Why? Men are lost in amazement when they read the statement. It was a cold-blooded brutal murder, without one extenuating circumstance. The papers have leaders on the subject. There are hints that private influence has been at work. The upright, honest Judge, heart-stricken at the fate of his only son, and horrified at the part he has played in the fearful business, is now tortured by the knowledge that he has tampered with Justice. His brain gives away, and in a fit of madness he attempts his own life. Hia hand is arreßted in tune, and the story is contradicted. But his health has broken down, and he retirea from the bench, and fades slowly out of life, a broken down invalid, who has strange fancies and mutters etrange words, and ia watched night and day by tsusty servants. And in a convict's cell John Smith drags out his weary existcnoo. But no man guesses he is the sou of the judgo who sentenced him to death that hot day at the Old bailey.