36
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BENTLEY'S
MISCELLANY.
VOL. VI.
LONDON:
RICHARD B E N T L E Y,
NEW BURLINGTON STREET.
1839.
LONDON I
PRINTED BY SAMUEL BENTLEY,
lidiigor House, Shoe Liine.
CONTENTS OF THE SIXTH VOLUME.
JACK SHEPPARD, by W. Harrison Ainsworth, Pages 1. 109. 221. 325. 429. 543
How to Feed a Lion, by Joyce Jocund, . . 23
The Crayon Papers, by Washington Irving, 24, 159
The Samphire Gatherer's Story, by A. H. Plunkett, . 33
Adventures of the Cannon Family, by the Author of" The Bee-hive," . 37
Old Morgan at Panama, ) \ r- v i • • 45
r™ ,-, 6 , /-, •> • I by G. E. Inman, _
The Conqueror s Grandsire, ) • .271
No Silver Spoon, by Thomas Haynes Bayly, 46
To a Lady Singing, . • • .50
Retiring from Business,
The Withered Rose,
The Dead Bird,
To Julia,
To Alura, .
Farewell Sonnet,
by J. A. Wade,
65
. 380
395
462
475
. 597
The Veterans of Chelsea Hospital, by the Author of" The Subaltern," 51. 450
Tales and Legends of the Isle of Wight, by A. Elder, 66. 253. 3G8
Adventures of a Maintop-crosstree-man, by Olinthus Jenkinson,
Barrister-at-Lavv, ..... 73
The Blind Girl and her Mother, . 78
Rambles among the Rivers, ) , ,,, , Mackav ' 79> 151> 20G
Ancient and Modern Mohocks, \ by L . . 357
A Lay of St. Dunstan, ~| 88
Ccelebs in search of a Cenotaph, >by Thomas Ingoldsby, . 3f>3
Some account of a new Play, j . . 639-
Colin Clink, by Charles Hooton, . . 96. 206. 414. 528. 623
To a Young Girl, by M. T. H. . . . .108
The Old Elm, by J. N. M'Jilton, . 140
The Dog Hospital of Paris, } , T 1 v Alknv • • 14*
Chronicles of the Place Vendome, \ y 381
Vincent Eden, or the Oxonian, by Quip, . .172. 341. 546
Recollections of the Alhambra, } by the Author of 185
The Enchanted Island, $" The Sketch-Book," . 274
Legends of the Lochs and Glens, communicated by the Author of " The
Subaltern," . . 195
American Niggers, . . . 262
The Hatchment, by Teutha, .... 286
The Spalpeen, . ] . 288. 396
Those sweet Days '. those happy Days ! >by P. M'Tcague, . 574
The Moonbeam, . J .614
National Songs, by Mrs. Gore, . . . 295
London by Moonlight, by Camilla Toulmin, . . 303
Character and Conduct of Louis the Sixteenth, by George Hogarth, 305
Baron Von Dullbrainz, by William Jerdan, . .316
Captain Jack, by a Colonist, . . 322
Mathews, John Kemble, and Mustapha the Cat, . . . 350
The First Farewell, . 352
The Grave ; from the German of Roscgarten, . . . 366
The Power of Beauty, .... 388
The Harem Unveiled, . . . 319
The Toledo Rapier, by It. B. Peake, . -. . 463.584
IV CONTENTS.
Moral Economy of large Towns, by Dr. W. Taylor, . 476. 575
The Reaper and the Flowers, by Henry Wordsworth Longfellow, . 482
The Patron King, by Mrs Trotlope, . 483
The Pyrenean Hunter, by the Hon. James Erskine Murray, 496
The Abbot's Oak, by Dalton, . . . 508
Remarkable Suicides, by Dr. Millingen, , . .516
Prospectus of a New Joint Stock Suicide Company, . . 540
Sonnet on the Anniversary of the Battle of Trafalgar, by Edward Herbert, 542
Katerina, the Dwarf of the Jungfernstieg, . . . 561
Poetry . .583
Lines on a Spot where it is intended to build a Church, . . 598
Prospectus of on intended Course of Lectures on the Philosophy of Hum-
bug, by Professor von Bibundtiicker, . . . 599
The Inquest, by Lieut. Johns, . . . 603
The City of the Doge, or Letters from Venice, by the author of " A Sum-
mer in Andalusia," . . . . .615
ILLUSTRATIONS.
THE ILLUSTRATIONS TO JACK SHEPPARD BY GEORGE CRUIKSHANK.
Jack Sheppard and Blueskin in Mr. Wood's Bedroom, . Page 1
Jack Sheppard, in company with Edgeworth Bess, escaping from Clerken-
well Prison, . . . . 22
Audacity of Jack Sheppard, ..... 109
Jack Sheppard visits his Mother in Bedlam, . . . 133
Jonathan Wild throwing Sir Rowland Trenchard down the Well-Hole, . 221,
Jack Sheppard escaping from the Condemned Hold, . . 236'
Jack Sheppard tricking Shotbolt the Gaoler, . . 325
Mr.Mathews as Caleb Pipkin, in" " The May Queen," by W. Greatbach, 352
The Portrait of Jack Sheppard, . . . 429
The Patron King — " Exquisitely beautiful !" — by A. Hervieu, . 492
Jack Sheppard 's Escapes: —
,' No. I. — The Castle. The Red Room. Door of the Red- Room. A
Door between the Red Room and the Chapel, . . 543
No. II. — Door going into the Chapel. Door leading out of the Chapel.
First Door between the Chapel and the Leads. Second Door in
the same passage, ..... 546
/No. III. — Lower Leads. The Highest Leads, and the Leads of the
Turner's House, ..... 550
BENTLEY'S MISCELLANY.
JACK SHEPPARD.
BY W. HARRISON AINSWORTH, ESQ.
AUTHOR OP " ROOKWOOD " AND " CRICHTON."
ILLUSTRATED BY GEORGE CRUIKSHAKK.
KPOCH THE THIRD. 1724.
CHAPTER I.
THE RETURN.
NEARLY nine years after the events last recorded, and about
the middle of May, 1724, a young man of remarkably prepos-
sessing appearance took his way, one afternoon, along Wych-
street ; and, from the curiosity with which he regarded the
houses on the left of the road, seemed to be in search of some
particular habitation. The age of this individual could not be
more than twenty-one; his figure was tall, robust, and gracefully
proportioned ; and his clear grey eye and open countenance be-
spoke a frank, generous, and resolute nature. His features were
regular, and finely-formed ; his complexion bright and bloom-
ing,— a little shaded, however, by travel and exposure to the
sun ; and, with a praiseworthy contempt for the universal and
preposterous fashion then prevailing, of substituting a peruke
for the natural covering of the head, he allowed his own dark-
brown hair to fall over his shoulders in ringlets as luxuriant
as those that distinguished the court gallant in Charles the
Second's days — a fashion, which we do not despair of seeing re-
vived in our own days. He wore a French military undress of
the period", with, high jack-boots, and a laced hat ; and, though
his attire indicated no particular rank, he; -had compjetejy.tjie air
of a person of distinction. Such was the effect produced upon'
the passengers by his good looks and manly deportment, that
few — especially of the gentler and more susceptible sex — failed
to turn round and bestow a second glance upon the handsome
stranger. Unconscious of the interest he excited, and entirely
occupied by his own thoughts — which, if his bosom could have
been examined, would have been found composed of mingled hopes
and fears — the young man walked on till he came to an old
house, with great, projecting, bay windows on the first floor, and
situated as nearly as possible at the back of St. Clement's church.
Here he halted ; and, looking upwards, read, at the foot of an
immense sign-board, displaying a gaudily-painted angel with
expanded pinions and an olive-branch, not the name he expected
to find, but that of WILLIAM KNEKBONE, WOOLLEN-
DRAPER.
VOL. VI. B
2 JACK SHEPPAKD.
Tears started to the young man's eyes on beholding the
change, and it was with difficulty he could command himself
sufficiently to make the inquiries he desired to do respecting
the former owner of the house. As he entered the shop, a tall
portly personage advanced to meet him, whom he at once recog-
nised as the present proprietor. Mr. Kneebone was attired in
the extremity of the mode. A full-curled wig descended half-
way down his back and shoulders ; a neckcloth of " right Mech-
lin " was twisted round his throat so tightly as almost to de-
prive him of breath, and threaten him with apoplexy; he had
lace, also, at his wrists and bosom ; gold clocks to his hose, and
red heels to his shoes. A stiff, formally-cut coat of cinnamon-
coloured cloth, with rows of plate buttons, each of the size of
a crown piece, on the sleeves, pockets, and skirts, reached the
middle of his legs ; and his costume was completed by the silver-
hiked sword at his side, and the laced hat under his left arm.
Bowing to the stranger, the woollen-draper very politely
requested to know his business.
" I 'm almost afraid to state it," faltered the other ; " but,
may I ask whether Mr. Wood, the carpenter, who formerly re-
sided here, is still living?"
" If you feel any anxiety on his account, sir, 1 'm happy to
be able to relieve it," answered Kneebone, readily. " My good
friend, Owen Wood, — heaven preserve him !• — is still living.
And, for a man who'll never see sixty again, he's in excellent
preservation, I assure you."
" You delight me with the intelligence," said the stranger, en-
tirely recovering his cheerfulness of look. " I began to fear,
from his having quitted the old place, that some misfortune
must have befallen him."
"Quite the contrary," rejoined the woollen-draper, laugh-
ing good-humouredly. " Everything has prospered with him
in an extraordinary manner. His business has thriven; legacies
have unexpectedly dropped into his lap ; and, to crown all, he
has made a large fortune by a lucky speculation in South-Sea
stock, — made it, too, where so many others have lost fortunes,
your humble servant amongst the number — ha ! ha ! In a word,
sir, Mr. Wood is now in very affluent circumstances. He stuck to
the shop as long as it was necessary, and longer, in my opinion.
When he left these premises, three years ago, 1 took them from
him ; or rather — to deal frankly with you, — he placed me in
them rent-free ; for, I 'm not ashamed to confess it, 1 've had
losses, and heavy ones; and, if it hadn't been for him, 1 don't
know where 1 should have been. Mr. Wood, sir," he added, with
much emotion, " is one of the best of men, and would be the
happiest, were it not that " and he hesitated.
" Well, sir ? " cried the other, eagerly.
" His wife is still living," returned Kneebone, drily.
" I understand," replied the stranger, unable to repress a
JACK SHEPPAKD. o
smile. "But, it strikes me, I've heard that Mrs. Wood was
once a favourite of yours."
"So she was," replied the woollen-draper, helping himself to
an enormous pinch of snuff, with the air of a man who does not
dislike to be rallied about his gallantry, — *' so she was. But
those days are over — quite over. Since her husband has laid me
under such a weight of obligation, I couldn't, in honour, con-
tinue— hem ! " and he took another explanatory pinch. '• Added
to which, she is neither so young as she was, nor is her temper
by any means improved — hem ! "
" Say no more on the subject, sir," observed the stranger,
gravely; "'but, let us turn to a more agreeable one — her
daughter."
" That is a far more agreeable one, I must confess," returned
Kneebone, with a self-sufficient smirk.
The stranger looked at him as if strongly disposed to chastise
his impertinence.
'• Is she married ?" he asked, after a brief pause.
" Married ! — no — no," replied the woollen-draper. " Winifred
Wood will never marry, unless the grave can give up its dead.
When a mere child, she fixed her affections upon a youth named
Thames Darrell, whom her father brought up, and who perish-
ed, it is supposed, about nine years ago ; and she has determined
to remain faithful to his memory."
" You astonish me," said the stranger, in a voice full of
emotion.
" Why, it is astonishing, certainly," remarked Kneebone, " to
find any woman constant — especially to a girlish attachment;
but, such is the case. She has hail offers innumerable ; for,
where wealth and beauty are combined, as in her instance, suitors
are seldom wanting. But she was not to be tempted."
" She is a matchless creature ! " exclaimed the young man.
" So I think," replied Kneebone, again applying to the snuff-
box, and by that means escaping the angry glance levelled at
him bv his companion.
" I have one inquiry more to make of you, sir," said the
stranger, as soon as he had conquered his displeasure, " and I
will then trouble you no further. You spoke just now of a
youth whom Mr- Wood brought up. As far as I recollect, there
were two. What has become of the other? "
" Why, surely you don't mean Jack Sheppard ? " cried the
woollen-draper, in surprise.
" That was the lad's name,1" returned the stranger.
" I guessed from your dress and manner, sir, that you must
have been long absent from your own country," said Kneebone;
" and now I 'm convinced of it, or you wouldn't have asked that
question. Jack Sheppard is the talk and terror of the whole
town. The ladies can't sleep in their beds for him; and as to
the men, they daren't go to bed at all. He-'s the most daring
B 2
JACK SIIEPPAHD.
and expert housebreaker that ever used a crow-bar. He laughs
at locks and bolts ; and the more carefully you guard your pre-
mises from him, the more likely you are to insure an attack.
His exploits and escapes are in everybody's mouth. He has
been lodged in every roundhouse in the metropolis, and has
broken out of them all, and boasts that no prison can hold him.
We shall see. His skill has not yet been tried. At present, he
is under the protection of Jonathan Wild.'1
" Does that villain still maintain his power ? " asked the
stranger sternly.
" He does," replied Kneebone, " and, what is more surpri-
sing, it seems to increase. Jonathan completely baffles and de-
rides the ends of justice. It is useless to contend with him, even
with right on your side. Some years ago, in 1715, just before
the Rebellion, I was rash enough to league myself with the Ja-
cobite party, and by Wild's machinations got clapped into
Newgate, whence I was glad to escape with my head upon my
shoulders. I charged the thief-taker, as was the fact, with having
robbed me, by means of the lad Sheppard, whom he instigated
to the deed, of the very pocket-book he produced in evidence
against me ; but it was of no avail — I couldn't obtain a hearing.
Mr. Wood fared still worse. Bribed by a certain Sir Rowland
Trenchard, Jonathan kidnapped the carpenter's adopted son,
Thames Darrell, and placed him in the hands of a Dutch skip-
per, with orders to throw him overboard when he got out to sea ;
and, though this was proved as clear as day, the rascal managed
matters so adroitly, and gave such a different complexion to the
whole affair, that he came off' with flying colours. One reason,
perhaps, of his success in this case might be, that having arrested
his associate in the dark transaction, Sir Rowland Trenchard, on
a charge of high treason, he was favoured by Walpole, who
found his account in retaining such an agent. Be this as it may,
Jonathan remained the victor ; and shortly afterwards, — at the
price of a third of his estate, it was whispered, — 'he procured
Trenchard's liberation from confinement."
At the mention of the latter occurrence, a dark cloud gathered
upon the stranger's brow.
" Do you know anything further of Sir Rowland ? " he asked.
" Nothing more than this,"1 answered Kneebone, — " that after
the failure of his projects, and the downfal of his party, he
retired to his seat, Ash ton Hall, near Manchester, and has
remained there ever since, entirely secluded from the world."
The stranger was for a moment lost in reflection.
" And now, sir," he said, preparing to take his departure,
" will you add to the obligation already conferred by informing
me where I can meet with Mr. Wood ? "
" With pleasure," replied the woollen-draper. " He lives at
Dollis Hill, a beautiful spot near Willesden, about four or five
miles from town, where he has taken a farm. If you ride
JACK SHKPPARD. 5
out there, — and the place is well worth a visit, for the magnifi-
cent view it commands of some of the finest country in the
neighbourhood of London, — you are certain to meet with him.
I saw him. yesterday, and he told me he shouldn't stir from
home for a week to come. He called here on his way back,
after he had been to Bedlam to visit poor Mrs. Sheppard."
" Jack's mother ! " exclaimed the young man. " Gracious
heaven ! — is she the inmate of a mad-house? "
" She is, sir," answered the woollen-draper, sadly, " driven
there by her son's misconduct. Alas ! that the punishment of
his offences should fall on her head. Poor soul ! she nearly died
when she heard he had robbed his master ; and it might have
been well if she had done so, for she never afterwards recovered
her reason. She rambles continually about Jack, and her hus-
band, and that wretch Jonathan, to whom, as far as can be
gathered from her wild raving, she attributes all her misery. I
pity her from the bottom of my heart. But, in the midst of all
her affliction, she has found a steady friend in Mr. Wood, who
looks after her comforts, and visits her constantly. Indeed, I 'vc-
heard him say that, but for his wife, he would shelter her under
his own roof. That, sir, is what I call being a Good Samaritan."
The stranger said nothing, but hastily brushed away a tear.
Perceiving he was about to take leave, Kneebone ventured to
ask whom he had had the honour of addressing.
Before the question could be answered, a side-door was
opened, and a very handsome woman of Arna/onian proportions
presented herself, and marched familiarly up to Mr. Kneebone.
She was extremely showily dressed, and her large hooped petti-
coat gave additional effect to her lofty stature. As soon as she
noticed the stranger, she honoured him with an extremely impu-
dent stare, and scarcely endeavoured to disguise the admiration
with which his good looks impressed her.
" Don't you perceive, my dear Mrs. Maggot, that I 'm en-
gaged," said Kneebone, a little disconcerted.
" Who've you got with you .'''"demanded the Amazon boldly.
"The gentleman is a stranger to me, Poll," replied the wool-
len-draper, with increased embarrassment. " I don't know his
name." And he looked at the moment as if he had lost all
desire to know it.
"Well, he's a pretty fellow, at all events," observed Mrs.
Maggot, eyeing him from head to heel with evident satisfac-
tion ; — " a devilish pretty fellow !"
" Upon my word, Poll," said Kneebone, becoming very red,
" you might have a little more delicacy than to tell him so be-
fore my face."
" What ! " exclaimed Mrs. Maggot, drawing up her fine figure
to its full height; "because I condescend to live with you, am
I never to look at another man, — especially at one so much to
my taste as this? Don't think it !"
6 JACK SHEPPAKD.
" You had better retire, madam," said the woollen-draper,
sharply, " if you can't conduct yourself with more propriety."
" Order those who choose to obey you," rejoined the lady scorn-
fully. " Though you lorded it over that fond fool, Mrs. Wood,
you shan't lord it over me, I can promise you. That for you !'
And she snapped her fingers in his face.
" Zounds!" cried Kneebone, furiously. "Go to your own
room, woman, directly, or I'll make you !"
" Make me ! " echoed Mrs. Maggot, bursting into a loud
contemptuous laugh. " Try P
Enraged at the assurance of his mistress, the woollen-draper
endeavoured to carry his threat into execution, but all his efforts
to remove her were unavailing. At length, after he had given
up the point from sheer exhaustion, the Amazon seized him by
the throat, and pushed him backwards with such force that he
rolled over the counter.
"There!" she cried, laughing, "that '11 teach you to lay
hands upon me again. You should remember, before you
try your strength against mine, that when I rescued you from
the watch, and you induced me to come and live with you, I
beat off four men, any of whom was a match for you — ha !
ha!"
" My dear Poll !" said Kneebone, picking himself up, " I in-
treat you to moderate yourself."
" Intreat a fiddlestick ! " retorted Mrs. Maggot : " I 'm tired
of you, and will go back to my old lover, Jack Sheppard. He 's
worth a dozen of you. Or, if this good-looking young fellow
will only say the word, I '11 go with him."
"You may go, and welcome, madam !" rejoined Kneebone,
spitefully. "But, I should think, after the specimen you Ve
just given of your amiable disposition, no person would be like-
ly to saddle himself with such an incumbrance."
" What say you, sir ? " said the Amazon, with an engaging
leer at the stranger. " You will find me tractable enough ; and,
with me by your side, you need fear neither constable nor watch-
man. I Ve delivered Jack Sheppard from many an assault. I
can wield a quarter-staff as well as a prize-fighter, and have
beaten Figg himself at the broadsword. Will you take me ?"
However tempting Mrs. Maggot's offer may appear, the
young man thought fit to decline it, and, after a few words of
well-merited compliment upon her extraordinary prowess, and
renewed thanks to Mr. Kneebone, he took his departure.
"Good b'ye !" cried Mrs. Maggot, kissing her hand to him.
" I ll find you out. And now," she added, glancing contempt-
uously at the woollen-draper, " I '11 go to Jack Sheppard."
" You shall first go to Bridewell, you jade ! " rejoined Knee-
bone. " Here, Tom," he added, calling to a shop-boy, " run,
and fetch a constable."
" He had better bring half-a-dozen," said the Amazon, taking
JACK SHEPPARD. 7
up a cloth-yard wand, and quietly seating herself; "one won't
do."
On leaving Mr. Kneebone's house, the young man hastened
to a hotel in the neighbourhood of Covent Garden, where,
having procured a horse, he shaped his course towards the west
end of the town. Urging his steed along Oxford Road, — as that
great approach to the metropolis was then termed, — he soon
passed Marylebone Lane, beyond which, with the exception of a
few scattered houses, the country was completely open on the
right, and laid out in pleasant fields and gardens ; nor did he
draw in the rein until he arrived at Tyburn-gate, where, be-
fore he turned off upon the Eclgeware Road, he halted for a
moment, to glance at the place of execution. This " fatal re-
treat for the unfortunate brave " was marked by a low wooden
railing, within which stood the triple tree. Opposite the gal-
lows was an open gallery, or scaffolding, like the stand at a
race-course, which, on state occasions, was -crowded \\ith spec-
tators. Without the inclosure were reared several lofty gibbets,
with their ghastly burthens. Altogether, it was a hideous and
revolting sight. Influenced, probably, by what he had heard from
Mr. Kneebone, respecting the lawless career of Jack Shep-
pard, and struck with the probable fate that awaited him, the
young man, as he contemplated this scene, fell into a gloomy
reverie. While he was thus musing, two horsemen rode past
him ; and, proceeding to a little distance, stopped likewise. One
of them was a stout square-built man, with a singularly swarthy
complexion, and harsh forbidding features. He was well
mounted, as was his companion ; and had pistols in his holsters,
and a hanger at his girdle. The other individual, who was a
little in advance, was concealed from the stranger's view. Pre-
sently, however, a sudden movement occurred, and disclosed
his features, which were those of a young man of nearly his
own age. The dress of this person was excessively showy, and
consisted of a scarlet riding-habit, lined and faced with blue,
and bedizened with broad gold lace, a green silk-knit waistcoat,
embroidered with silver, and decorated with a deep fringe, toge-
ther with a hat tricked out in the same gaudy style. His figure
was slight, but well-built ; and, in stature he did not exceed five
feet four. His complexion was pale ; and there was something
sinister in the expression of his large black eyes. His head was
small and bullet-shaped, and he did not wear a wig, but had his
sleek black hair cut off closely round his temples. A mutual re-
cognition took place at the same instant between the stranger
and this individual. Both started. The latter seemed inclined
to advance and address the former; but suddenly changing his
mind, he shouted to his companion in tones familiar to the stran-
ger's ear; and, striking spurs into his steed, dashed off at full speed
along the Edgeware Road. Impelled by a feeling, into which we
shall not now pause to inquire, the stranger -started after them ;
8 JACK S11EPPARD.
but they were better mounted, and soon distanced him. Re-
marking that they struck off' at a turning on the left, he took the
same road, and soon found himself on Paddington-Green. A row
of magnificent, and even then venerable, elms threw their broad
arms over this pleasant spot. From a man, who was standing
beneath the shade of one of these noble trees, information was
obtained that the horsemen had ridden along the Harrow Road.
With a faint view of overtaking them, the pursuer urged his
steed to a quicker pace. Arrived at Westbourne-Green — then
nothing more than a common covered with gorse and furze-
bushes, and boasting only a couple of cottages and an alehouse
— he perceived through the hedges the objects of his search
slowly ascending the gentle hill that rises from Ken sail-Green.
By the time he had reached the summit of this hill, he had
lost all trace of them ; and the ardour of the chase having in
some measure subsided, he began to reproach himself for his folly,
in having wandered — as he conceived — so far out of his course.
Before retracing his steps, however, he allowed his gaze to range
over the vast and beautiful prospect spread out beneath him,
which is now hidden from the traveller's view by the high walls
of the National Cemetery, and can, consequently, only be com-
manded from the interior of that attractive place of burial, — and
which, before it was intersected by canals and railroads, and
portioned out into hippodromes, was exquisite indeed. After
feasting his eye upon this superb panorama, he was about to
return, when he ascertained from a farmer that his nearest
road to Willesderi would be down a lane a little further on, to
the right. Following this direction, he opened a gate, and
struck into one of the most beautiful green lanes imaginable ;
which, after various windings, conducted him into a more
frequented road, and eventually brought him to the place he
sought. Glancing at the finger-post over the cage, which has
been described as situated at the outskirts of the village, and
seeing no direction to Dollis Hill, he made fresh inquiries as
to where it lay, from an elderly man. who was standing with
another countryman near the little prison.
" Whose house do you want, master ? " said the man, touch-
ing his hat.
" Mr. Wood's," was the reply.
" There is Dollis Hill," said the man, pointing to a well-
wooded eminence about a mile distant, " and there," he added,
indicating the roof of a house just visible above a grove of trees
" is Mr. Wood's. If you ride past the church, and mount the
hill, you ?11 come to Neasdon, and then you '11 not have above
half a mile to go."
The young man thanked his informant, and was about to fol-
low his instructions, when the other called after him —
" I say, master, did you ever hear tell of Mr. Wood's famous
'prentice ? "
JACK SHEPPARD.
" What apprentice?" asked the stranger, in surprise.
*' Why, Jack Sheppard, the notorious housebreaker, — him as
has robbed half Lunnun, to be sure. You must know, sir,
when he was a lad, the day after he broke into his master's
house in Wych Street, he picked a gentleman's pocket in our
church, during sarvice time, — that he did, the heathen. The
gentleman catched him i' th' fact, and we shut him up for safety
i' that pris'n. But," said the fellow, with a laugh, " he soon
contrived to make his way out on it, though. Ever since he's
become so famous, the folks about here ha' christened it Jack
Sheppard's cage. His mother used to live i' this village, just
down yonder ; but when her son took to bad ways, she went dis-
tracted,— and now she's i' Bedlam, I 've heerd."
" I tell e'e what, John Dump," said the other fellow, who had
hitherto preserved silence, " I don't know whether your talkin'
o' Jack Sheppard has put him into my head or not; but I once
had him pointed out to me, and if that were him as I seed then,
he 's just now ridden past us, and put up at the Six Bells."
" The deuce he has ! " cried Dump. " If you were sure o'
that, we might seize him, and get the reward for his appre-
hension.1'
" That 'ud be no such easy matter," replied the country-
man. "Jack's a desperate fellow, and is always well armed;
besides, he has a comrade with him. But I '11 tell e'e what we
might do "
The young man heard no more. Taking the direction pointed
out, he rode off. As he passed the Six Bells, he noticed the
steeds of the two horsemen at the door ; and glancing into the
house, perceived the younger of the two in the passage. The
latter no sooner beheld him than he dashed hastily into an
adjoining room. After debating with himself whether he should
further seek an interview, which, though now in his power, was
so sedulously shunned by the other party, he decided in the
negative ; and contenting himself with writing upon a slip of
paper the hasty words, — " You are known by the villagers, — be
upon your guard," — he gave it to the ostler, with instructions to
deliver it instantly to the owner of the horse he pointed out,
and pursued his course.
Passing the old rectory, and still older church, with its
reverend screen of trees, and slowly ascending a hill side, from
whence he obtained enchanting peeps of the spire and college of
Harrow, he reached the cluster of well-built houses which con-
stitute the village of Neasdon. From this spot a road, more
resembling the drive through a park than a public thoroughfare,
led him gradually to the brow of Dollis Hill. It was a serene
and charming evening, and twilight was gently stealing over the
face of the country. Bordered by fine timber, the road occa-
sionally offered glimpses of a lovely valley, until a wider open-
ing gave a full view of a delightful and varied prospect. On
10 JACK SHEPPARD.
the left lay the heights of Hampstead, studded with villas,
while farther off a hazy cloud marked the position of the metro-
polis. The stranger concluded he could not be far from his
destination, and a turn in the road showed him the house.
Beneath two tall elms, whose boughs completely overshadowed
the roof, stood Mr. Wood's dwelling, — a plain, substantial, com-
modious farmhouse. On a bench at the foot of the trees, with
a pipe in his mouth, and a tankard by his side, sat the worthy
carpenter, looking the picture of good-heartedness and benevo-
lence. The progress of time was marked in Mr. Wood by in-
creased corpulence and decreased powers of vision, — by deeper
wrinkles and higher shoulders, by scantier breath and a fuller
habit. Still he looked hale and hearty, and the country life he
led had imparted a ruddier glow to his cheek. Around him
were all the evidences of plenty. A world of hay-stacks, bean-
stacks, and straw-ricks flanked the granges adjoining his habita-
tion ; the yard was crowded with poultry, pigeons were feeding
at his feet, cattle were being driven towards the stall, horses
led to the stable, a large mastiff was rattling his chain, and
stalking majestically in front of his kennel, while a number of
farming-men were passing and repassing about their various
occupations. At the back of the house, on a bank, rose an old-
fashioned terrace-garden, full of apple-trees and other fruit-trees
in blossom, and lively with the delicious verdure of early spring.
Hearing the approach of the rider, Mr. Wood turned to look
at him. It was now getting dusk, and he could only imper-
fectly distinguish the features and figure of the stranger.
" I need not ask whether this is Mr. Wood's," said the latter,
" since I find him at his own gate."
" You are right, sir," said the worthy carpenter, rising. " I
am Owen Wood, at your service."
" You do not remember me, I dare say," observed the
stranger.
" 1 can't say I do," replied Wood. " Your voice seems fa-
miliar to me — and yet — but I 'm getting a little deaf — and my
eyes don't serve me quite so well as they used to do, especially
by this light."
" Never mind," returned the stranger, dismounting; " you '11
recollect me by and by, I Ve no doubt. I bring you tidings of
an old friend."
" Then you "re heartily welcome, sir, whoever you are. Pray,
walk in. Here, Jem, take the gentleman's horse to the stable —
see him dressed and fed directly. Now, sir, will you please to
follow me ? "
Mr. Wood then led the way up a rather high and, according
to modern notions, incommodious flight of steps, and introduced
his guest to a neat parlour, the windows of which were dark-
ened by pots of flowers and creepers. There was no light in
the room ; but, notwithstanding this, the young man did not
JACK SHEPPARD. 11
fail to detect the buxom figure of Mrs. Wood, now more buxom
and more gorgeously arrayed than ever, — as well as a young
and beautiful female, in whom he was at no loss to recognise
the carpenter's daughter..
Winifred Wood was now in her twentieth year. Her fea-
tures were still slightly marked by the disorder alluded to in
the description of her as a child, — but that was the only draw-
back to her beauty. Their expression was so amiable, that it
would have redeemed a countenance a thousand times plainer
than hers. Her figure was perfect, — tall, graceful, rounded, —
and, then, she had deep liquid blue eyes, that rivalled the stars
in lustre. On the stranger's appearance, she was seated near
the window busily occupied with her needle.
" My wife and daughter, sir," said the carpenter, introducing
them to his guest.
Mrs. Wood, whose admiration for masculine beauty was by
no means abated, glanced at the well-proportioned figure of
the young man, and made him a very civil salutation. Winifred's
reception was kind, but more distant, and after the slight cere-
monial she resumed her occupation.
" This gentleman brings us tidings of an old friend, my dear,""
said the carpenter.
" Ay, indeed ! And who may that be ? " inquired his wife.
" One whom you may perhaps have forgotten,'1'' replied the
stranger, " but who can never forget the kindness he expe-
rienced at your hands, or at those of your excellent husband."
At the sound of his voice every vestige of colour fled from
Winifred's cheeks, and the work upon which she was engaged
fell from her hand.
" I have a token to deliver to you,"'1 continued the stranger,
addressing her.
" To me ? " gasped Winifred.
" This locket," he said, taking a little ornament attached
to a black riband from his breast, and giving it her, — " do
you remember it ? "
" I do — I do ! " cried Winifred.
" What 's all this ? " exclaimed Wood, in amazement.
" Do you not know me, father?" said the young man, ad-
vancing towards him, and warmly grasping his hand. *' Have
nine years so changed me, that there is no trace left of your
adopted son ? "
" God bless me ! " ejaculated the carpenter, rubbing his eves,
" can — can it be ? "
" Surely," screamed Mrs. Wood, joining the group, " it isn't
Thames Darrell come to life again ? "
" It is — it is!" cried Winifred, rushing towards him, and
flinging her arms round his neck, — " it is my dear — dear bro-
ther ! "
" Well, this is what I never expected to. see," said the car-
12 JACK S1IEPFARD.
penter, wiping his eyes ; " I hope I "m not dreaming ! Thames,
my dear boy, as soon as Winny has done with you, let me em-
brace you.11
" My turn comes before yours, sir," interposed his better
half. " Come to my arms, Thames ! Oh ! dear ! Oh! dear ! "
To repeat the questions and congratulations which now en-
sued, or describe the extravagant joy of the carpenter, who,
after he had hugged his adopted son to his breast with such
warmth as almost to squeeze the breath from his body, capered
around the room, threw his wig into the empty fire-grate, and
committed various other fantastic actions, in order to get rid of
his superfluous satisfaction — to describe the scarcely less extrava-
gant raptures of his spouse, or the more subdued, but not less
heartfelt delight of Winifred, would be a needless task, as it must
occur to every one^s imagination. Supper was quickly served ;
the oldest bottle of wine was brought from the cellar ; the
strongest barrel of ale was tapped ; but not one of the party
could eat or drink — their hearts were too full.
Thames sat with Winifred's hand clasped in his own, and
commenced a recital of his adventures, which may be briefly
told. Carried out to sea by Van Galgebrok, and thrown over-
board, while struggling with the waves, he had been picked
up by a French fishing-boat, and carried to Ostend. After
encountering various hardships and privations for a long
term, during which he had no means of communicating with
Kngland, he, at length, found his way to Paris, where he was
taken notice of by Cardinal Dubois, who employed him as one
of his secretaries, and subsequently advanced to the service of
Philip of Orleans, from whom he received a commission. On
the death of his royal patron, he resolved to return to his own
country ; and, after various delays, which had postponed it to
the present time, he had succeeded in accomplishing his object.
Winifred listened to his narration with the profoundest atten-
tion ; and, when it concluded, her tearful eye an.d throbbing
bosom told how deeply her feelings had been interested.
The discourse, then, turned to Darrell's old playmate, Jack
Sheppard ; and Mr. Wood, in deploring his wild career, advert-
ed to the melancholy condition to which it had reduced his
mother.
" For my part, it 's only what I expected of him," observed
Mrs. Wood, " and I 'm sorry and surprised he hasn't swung for
his crimes before this. The gallows has groaned for him for
years. As to his mother, I 've no pity for her. She deserves
what has befallen her."
" Dear mother, don't say so," returned Winifred. " One of
the consequences of criminal conduct, is the shame and disgrace
which — worse than any punishment the evil-doer can suffer
-is brought by it upon the innocent relatives; and, if Jack
had considered this, perhaps he would not have acted as
JACK SHEPPAllD. lo
he has clone, and have entailed so much misery on his unhappy
parent."1
" I always detested Mrs. Sheppard," cried the carpenter's
wife bitterly ; " and, I repeat, Bedlam 's too good for her."
" My dear," observed Wood, " you should be more chari-
table-
" Charitable ! " repeated his wife, " that 's your constant cry.
Marry, come up ! I 've been a great deal too charitable. Here 's
Winny always urging you to go and visit Mrs. Sheppard in the
asylum, and take her this, and send her that ; — and I 've never
prevented you, though such mistaken liberality 's enough to pro-
voke a saint. And then, forsooth, she must needs prevent your
hanging Jack Sheppard after the robbery in Wych-Street, when
you might have done so. Perhaps you '11 call that charity ; /
call it defeating the ends of justice. See what a horrible rascal
you 've let loose upon the world ! "
" I 'm sure, mother," rejoined Winifred, " if any one was
likely to feel resentment, I was ; for no one could be more fright-
ened. But I was sorry for poor Jack — as I am still, and hoped
lie would mend."
'* Mend ! " echoed Mrs. Wood, contemptuously, "he'll never
mend till he comes to Tyburn."
"At least, I will hope so," returned Winifred. "But, as I
was saying, I was most dreadfully frightened on the night of the
robbery. Though so young at the time, I remember every cir-
cumstance distinctly. I was sitting up, lamenting your depart-
ure, dear Thames, when, hearing an odd noise, I went to the
landing, and, by the light of a dark lantern, saw Jack Sheppard
stealing up stairs, followed by two men with crape on their
faces. I 'm ashamed to say that I was too much terrified to
scream out — but ran and hid myself."
"Hold your tongue!" cried Mrs. Wood. "I declare you
throw me into an ague. Do you think /forget it ? Didn't they
help themselves to all the plate and the money — to several
of my best dresses, and, amongst others, to my favourite kincob
gown ; and I 've never been able to get another like it ! Marry,
come up ! I 'd hang "em all, if I could. Were such a thing to
happen again, I 'd never let Mr. Wood rest till he brought the
villains to justice."
" I hope such a thing never will happen again, my dear," ob-
served Wood, mildly ; " but, when it does, it will be time to
consider what course we ought to pursue."
" Let them attempt it, if they dare ! " cried Mrs. Wood, who
had worked herself into a passion ; " and, 1 11 warrant 'em, the
boldest robber among 'em all shall repent it, if he comes across
me."
" No doubt, my dear," acquiesced the carpenter, " no doubt."
Thames, who had been more than once on the point of men-
tioning his accidental rencounter with Jack S-heppard, not being
14 JACK SIIEPPARD.
altogether without apprehension, from the fact of his being in
the neighbourhood, — now judged it more prudent to say nothing
on the subject, from a fear of increasing Mrs. Wood's displea-
sure; and he was the more readily induced to do this, as the con-
versation began to turn upon his own affairs. Mr. Wood could
give him no furtherinformation respecting Sir Rowland Trenchard
than what he had obtained from Kneebone ; but begged him to
defer the further consideration of the line of conduct he meant
to pursue until the morrow, when he hoped to have a plan to
lay before him, of which he would approve.
The night was now advancing, and the party began to think
of separating. As Mrs. Wood, who had recovered her good
humour, quitted the room, she bestowed a hearty embrace on
Thames, and told him, laughingly, that she would " defer all
she had to propose to him until to-morrow."
To-morrow ! She never beheld it.
After an affectionate parting with Winifred, Thames was
conducted by the carpenter to his sleeping apartment — a com-
fortable cosy chamber; such a one, in short, as can only be
met with in the country, with its dimity-curtained bed, its
sheets fragrant of lavender, its clean white furniture, and an
atmosphere breathing of freshness. Left to himself, he took a
survey of the room, and his heart leaped as he beheld over the
chimney-piece a portrait of himself. It was a copy of the pencil
sketch taken of him nine years ago by Winifred, and awakened
a thousand tender recollections.
When about to retire to rest, the rencounter with Jack Shep-
pard again recurred to him, and he half blamed himself for
not acquainting Mr. Wood with the circumstance, and putting
him upon his guard against the possibility of an attack. On
weighing the matter over, he grew so uneasy that he resolved
to descend, and inform him of his misgivings. But, when
he got to the door with this intention, he became ashamed of
his fears; and feeling convinced that Jack — bad as he might be
— was not capable of such atrocious conduct as to plunder his
benefactor twice, he contented himself with looking to the
priming of his pistols, and placing them near him, to be ready
in case of need, lie threw himself on the bed, and speedily fell
asleep.
CHAPTER II.
THE BURGLARY AT DOLL1S HILL.
THAMES DARRELL'S fears were not, however, groundless. Dan-
o-er, in the form he apprehended, was lurking outside : nor was
he destined to enjoy long repose. On receiving the warning
note from the ostler, Jack Sheppard and his companion left
Willesdtn, and taking — as a blind — the direction of Harrow,
JACK SHEPPARD. 15
returned at nightfall by a by-lane to Neasdon, and put up at a
little public-house called the Spotted Dog. Here they remained
till midnight when, calling- for their reckoning and their steeds,
C^ •» Q O 7
they left the house.
it was a night well-fitted to their enterprise, — calm, still, and
profoundly dark. As they passed beneath the thick trees that
shade the road to Dollis Hill the gloom was almost impenetra-
ble. The robbers proceeded singly, and kept on the grass
skirting the road, so that no noise was made by their horses'
,, J
feet.
As they neared the house, Jack Sheppard, who led the way,
halted, and addressed his companion in a low voice: —
" I don't half like this job, Blueskin," he said ; "it always
went against the grain. But, since I Ve seen the friend and
companion of my childhood, Thames Darrell, I 've no heart for
it. Shall we turn back ?"
" And disappoint Mr. Wild, captain ?" remonstrated the
other, in a deferential tone. " You know this is a pet project.
It might be dangerous to thwart him."
" Pish ! " cried Jack : " I don't value his anger a straw. All
our fraternity are afraid of him ; but / laugh at his threats.
He daren't quarrel with me : and, if he does, let him look to
himself. I've my own reasons for disliking this job."
"Well, you know I always act under you orders, captain,"
returned Blueskin ; " and, if you give the word to retreat, I shall
obey, of course : but I know what Edgeworth Bess will say
when we go home empty-handed."
" Why, what will she say ?" inquired Sheppard.
" That we were afraid," replied the other ; " but never mind
her."
" Ay; but I do mind her," cried Jack, upon whom his com-
rade's observation had nroduced the desired effect. "We'll
do it."
" That's right, captain," rejoined Blueskin. "You pledged
yourself to Mr. Wild- -".
" 1 did," interrupted Jack ; " and I never yet broke an en-
gagement. " Though a thief, Jack Sheppard is a man of his
word."
" To be sure he is," acquiesced Blueskin ; " I should like to
meet the man who would dare to gainsay it."
" One word before we begin, Blueskin," said Jack, authori-
tatively ; " in case the family should be alarmed — mind, no vio-
lence. There 's one person in the house whom I wouldn't
frighten for the world."
" Wood's daughter, I suppose ?" observed the other.
" You 've hit it," answered Sheppard.
" What say you to carrying her off, captain ? " suggested
Blueskin. " If you 've a fancy for the girl, we might do it."
" No — no," laughed Jack. " Bess woilld'nt bear a rival.
l(j JACK SIIKPPAR1).
But if you wish to do old Wood a friendly turn, you may bring
off his wife."
" I shouldn't mind ridding him of her," said Blueskin,
gruffly ; " and if she comes in my way, may the devil seize me
if I don't make short work with her ! "
" You forget," rejoined Jack, sternly, " I've just said I '11
have no violence — mind that."
With this they dismounted ; and fastening their horses to a
tree, proceeded towards the house. It was still so dark, that
nothing could be distinguished except the heavy masses of
timber by which the premises were surrounded ; but as they
advanced, lights were visible in some of the windows. Pre-
sently, they came to a wall, on the other side of which the dog-
began to bark violently ; but Blueskin tossed him a piece of
prepared meat, and uttering alow growl, he became silent. They
then clambered over a hedge, and scaling another wall, got into
the garden at the back of the house. Treading with noiseless step
over the soft mould, they soon reached the building. Arrived
there, Jack felt about for a particular window ; and having dis-
covered the object of his search, and received the necessary im-
plements from his companion, he instantly commenced operations.
In a few seconds, the shutter flew open, — then the window, — and
they were in the room. Jack now carefully closed the shutters,
while Blueskin struck a light, with which he set fire to a candle.
The room they were in was a sort of closet, with the door locked
outside ; but this was only a moment's obstacle to Jack, who
with a chisel forced back the bolt. The operation was effected
with so much rapidity and so little noise, that even if any one
had been on the alert, he could scarcely have detected it. They
then took off their boots, and crept stealthily up stairs, tread-
ing upon the points of their toes so cautiously, that not a board
creaked beneath their weight. Pausing at each door on the land-
ing, Jack placed his ear to the key-hole, and listened intently.
Having ascertained by the breathing which room Thames oc-
cupied, he speedily contrived to fasten him in. He then tried
the door of Mr. Wood's bedchamber — it was locked, with
the key left in it. This occasioned a little delay; but Jack,
whose skill as a workman in the particular line he had chosen
was unequalled, and who laughed at difficulties, speedily cut out
a panel by means of a centre-bit and knife, took the key from
the other side, and unlocked the door. Covering his face
with a crape mask, and taking the candle from his associate,
Jack entered the room ; and, pistol in hand, stepped up to the
bed, and approached the light to the eyes of the sleepers.
The loud noise proceeding from the couch proved that their
slumbers were deep and real ; and, unconscious of the danger
in which she stood, Mrs. Wood turned over to obtain a more
comfortable position. During this movement, Jack grasped the
barrel of his pistol, held in his breath, and motioned to Blue-
JACK SHEPPARD. 17
skin, who had bared a long-knife, to keep still. The momentary
alarm over, he threw a piece of wash-leather over a bureau, so as to
deaden the sound, and instantly broke it open with a small crow-
bar. While he was filling' his pockets with golden coin from this
store, Blueskin had pulled the plate-chest from under the bed ;
and having forced it open, began filling a canvas bag with its con-
tents,— silver coffee-pots, chocolate-dishes, waiters, trays, tank-
ards, goblets, and candlesticks. It might be supposed that these
articles, when thrust together into the bag, would have jingled ;
but these skilful practitioners managed matters so well that no
noise was made. After rifling the room of everything portable,
including some of Mrs. Wood's ornaments and wearing apparel,
they prepared to depart. Jack then intimated his intention of
visiting Winifred's chamber, in which several articles of value
were known to be kept ; but as, notwithstanding his reckless
character, he still retained a feeling of respect for the object of
his boyish affections, he would not suffer Blueskin to ac-
company him, so he commanded him to keep watch over the
sleepers — strictly enjoining him, however, to do them no injury.
Again having recourse to the centre-bit, — for Winifred's door
was locked, — Jack had nearly cut out a panel, when a sud-
den outcry was raised in the carpenters chamber. The next
moment, a struggle was heard, and Blueskin appeared at the
door, followed by Mrs. Wood.
Jack instantly extinguished the light, and called to his com-
rade to come after him.
But Blueskin found it impossible to make off, — at least with
the spoil, — Mrs. Wood having laid hold of the canvas-bag.
" Give back the things ! " cried the ladv. " Help ! — help,
Mr. Wood ! "
" Leave go ! " thundered Blueskin, — " leave go — you 'd bet-
ter ! " — and he held the sack as firmly as he could with one
hand, while with the other he searched for his knife.
" No, I won't leave go ! " screamed Mrs. Wood. " Fire ! —
murder ! — thieves !— I 've got one of 'em ! "
" Come along,"" cried Jack.
" I can't," answered Blueskin. " This she-devil has got hold
of the sack. Leave go, 1^ tell you ! " and he forced open the
knife with his teeth.
" Help ! — murder ! — thieves ! " screamed Mrs. Wood ; —
" Owen— Owen !— Thames, help ! "
*' Coming ! " cried Mr. Wood, leaping from the bed. " Where
are you ? "
" Here," replied Mrs. Wood. « Help— I '11 hold him ! "
" Leave her," cried Jack, darting down stairs, amid a furious
ringing of bells, — " the house is alarmed, — follow me ! "
" Curses light on you ! " cried Blueskin, savagely ; " since you
won't be advised, take your fate."
And seizing her by the hair, he pulled Hack her head, and
VOL. VI. c
18 JACK SIlEl'PARD.
drew the knife with all his force across her throat. There
was a dreadful stifled groan, and she fell heavily upon the
landing.
The screams of the unfortunate woman had aroused Thames
from his slumbers. Snatching up his pistols, he rushed to the
door, but to his horror found it fastened. He heard the struggle
' CJCJ
on the landing, the fall of the heavy body, the groan, — and
excited almost to frenzy by his fears, he succeeded in forcing
open the door. By this time, several of the terrified domestics
appeared with lights. A terrible spectacle was presented to the
young man's gaze : — the floor deluged with blood, — the man-
gled and lifeless body of Mrs. Wood, - — Winifred fainted in
the arms of a female attendant, — and Wood standing beside
them almost in a state of distraction. Thus, in a few minutes,
had this happy family been plunged into the depths of misery.
At this juncture, a cry was raised by a servant from below,
that the robbers were flying through the garden. Darting to a
window looking in that direction, Thames threw it up, and dis-
charged both his pistols, but without effect. In another minute,
the tramp of horses' feet told that the perpetrators of the outrage
had effected their escape.
CHAPTER III.
JACK SHEPPARD'S QUARREL WITH JONATHAN WILD.
SCARCELY an hour after the horrible occurrence just related,
as Jonathan Wild was seated in the audience-chamber of his
residence at the Old Bailey, occupied, like Peachum, (for whose
portrait he sat,) with his account-books and registers, he was
interrupted by the sudden entrance of Quilt Arnold, who an-
nounced Jack Sheppard and Blueskin.
" Ah !" cried Wild, laying down his pen and looking up with
a smile of satisfaction. " 1 was just thinking of you, Jack.
What news. Have you done the trick at Dollis Hill ? —
brought off the swag — eh ?"
" No ;" answered Jack, flinging himself sullenly into a chair,
" I 've not."
" Why, how 's this ?" exclaimed Jonathan. " Jack Sheppard
failed ! I \\ not believe it, if any one but himself told me so."
" I \e not failed," returned Jack, angrily ; " but we've done
too much."
" I 'm no reader of riddles," said Jonathan. " Speak plainly."
*c Let this speak for me," said Sheppard, tossing a heavy bag
of money towards him. " You can generally understand that
language. There 's more than I undertook to bring. It has
been purchased by blood ! "
"What! have you cut old Wood's throat?" asked Wild,
with great unconcern, as he took up the bag.
" If I had, you 'd not have seen me here," replied Jack,
sullenly. " The blood that has been spilt is that of his wife."
JACK SHEPPARD. 19
" It was her own fault," observed Blueskin, moodily. " She
wouldn't let me go. I did it in self-defence."
" I care not why you did it," said Jack, sternly. " We work
together no more."
"Come, come, captain," remonstrated Blueskin. "I thought
you'd have got rid of your ill-humour by this time. You
know as well as I do that it was accident."
" Accident, or not," rejoined Sheppard ; " you 're no longer
pal of mine."
" And so this is my reward for having made you the tip-top
cracksman you are," muttered Blueskin; — "to be turned off
at a moment's notice, because I silenced a noisy woman. It 's
too hard. Think better of it."
" My mind 's made up," rejoined Jack, coldly, — " we part to-
night."
" I '11 not go," answered the othei*. " I love you like a son,
and will follow you like a dog. You 'd not know what to do
without me, and shan't drive me off."
"Well!" remarked Jonathan, who had paid little attention
to the latter part of the conversation ; " this is an awkward
business certainly ; but we must do the best we can in it.
You must keep out of the way till it's blown over. I can
accommodate you below."
" I don't require it," returned Sheppard. " I 'm tired of the
life I 'm leading. I shall quit it and go abroad."
" I '11 go with you," said Blueskin.
" Before either of you go, you will ask my permission," said
Jonathan, coolly.
" How ! " exclaimed Sheppard. " Do you mean to say you
will interfere — "
" I mean to say this," interrupted Wild, with contemptuous
calmness, "that I '11 neither allow you to leave England nor
the profession you 've engaged in. I wouldn't allow you to
be honest even if you could be so, — which I doubt. You are
my slave — and such you shall continue."
" Slave ?" echoed Jack.
" Dare to disobey," continued Jonathan : "neglect my orders,
and I will hang you."
Sheppard started to his feet.
" Hear me," he cried, restraining himself with difficulty.
" It is time you should know whom you have to deal with.
Henceforth, t utterly throw off the yoke you have laid upon
me. I will neither stir hand nor foot for you more. Attempt to
molest me, and I split. You are more in my power than
I am in yours. Jack Sheppard is a match for Jonathan Wild,
any day."
" That he is," added Blueskin, approvingly.
Jonathan smiled contemptuously.
" One motive alone shall induce me to go "on with you," said
Jack. c 2
20 JACK SHEPPARD.
" What's that r" asked Wild.
" The youth whom you delivered to Van-Galgebrok, —
Thames Darrell, is returned."
" Impossible !" cried Jonathan. " He was thrown overboard,
and perished at sea."
" He is alive," replied Jack, " I have seen him, and might
have conversed with him if 1 had chosen. Now, I know you
can restore him to his rights, if you choose. Do so ; and I am
yours as heretofore."
" Humph !" exclaimed Jonathan.
" Your answer ! " cried Sheppard. " Yes, or no ? "
" I will make no terms with you," rejoined Wild, sternly.
" You have defied me, and shall feel my power. You have
been useful to me, or I would not have spared you thus long. I
swore to hang you two years ago, but I deferred my purpose."
" Deferred !" echoed Sheppard.
" Hear me out," said Jonathan. " You came hither under
my protection, and you shall depart freely, — nay, more, you
shall have an hour's grace. After that time, I shall place my
setters on your heels."
" You cannot prevent my departure," replied Jack, daunt-
lessly, " and therefore your offer is no favour. But I tell you
in return, I shall take no pains to hide myself. If you want
me, you know where to find me."
" An hour," said Jonathan, looking at his watch, — " re-
member ! "
" If you send for me to the Cross Shovels in the Mint, where
I'm going with Blueskin, I will surrender myself without resist-
ance," returned Jack.
" You will spare the officers a labour then," rejoined Jona-
than.
" Can't I settle this business, captain," muttered Blueskin,
drawing a pistol.
*' Don't harm him," said Jack, carelessly : " he dares not do
it."
So saying, he left the room.
" Blueskin," said Jonathan, as that worthy was about to
follow, " I advise you to remain with me."
" No," answered the ruffian, moodily. " If you arrest him,
you must arrest me also."
" As you will," said Jonathan, seating himself.
Jack and his comrade went to the Mint, where he was joined
by Edgeworth Bess, with whom he sat down most unconcernedly
to supper. His revelry, however, was put an end to at the expi-
ration of the time mentioned by Jonathan by the entrance of a
posse of constables with Quilt Arnold and Abraham Mendez at
their head. Jack, to the surprise of all his companions, at once
surrendered himself; but Blueskin would have made a fierce
resistance, and attempted a rescue if he had not been ordered
JACK SHEPPARD. 21
by his leader to desist. He then made off. Edgeworth Bess,
who passed for Sheppard's wife, was secured. They were hur-
ried before a magistrate, and charged by Jonathan Wild with
various robberies ; but, as Jack Sheppard stated that he had
most important disclosures to make, as well as charges to bring
forward against his accuser, he was committed with his female
companion to the New Prison in Clerkenwell for further exa-
mination.
CHAPTER IV.
JACK SHEPPARD'S ESCAPE FROM THE NEW PRISON.
IN consequence of Jack Sheppard's desperate character, it was
judged expedient by the keeper of the New Prison to load him
with fetters of unusual weight, and to place him in a cell which,
from its strength and security, was called the Newgate Ward.
The ward in which he was confined, was about six yards in
length, and three in width, and in height might be about twelve
feet. The windows which were about nine feet from the floor,
had no glass ; but were secured by thick iron bars, and an oaken
beam. Along the floor ran an iron bar to which Jack's chain
was attached, so that he could move along it from one end of the
chamber to the other. No prisoner except Edgeworth Bess was
placed in the same cell with him. Jack was in excellent spirits ;
and by his wit, drollery, and agreeable demeanour, speedily be-
came a great favourite with the turnkey, who allowed him every
indulgence consistent with his situation. The report of his de-
tention caused an immense sensation. Numberless charges
were preferred against him, amongst others, information was
lodged of the robbery at Dollis Hill, and murder of Mrs.
Wood, and a large reward offered for the apprehension of
Blueskin ; and as, in addition to this, Jack had threatened to
impeach Wild, his next examination was looked forward to
with the greatest interest.
The day before this examination was appointed to take place
— the third of the prisoner's detention — an old man, respectably
dressed, requested permission to see him. Jack's friends were
allowed to visit him ; but, as he had openly avowed his inten-
tion of attempting an escape, their proceedings were narrowly
watched. The old man was conducted to Jack's cell by the
turnkey, who remained near him during the interview. He
appeared to be a stranger to the prisoner, and the sole motive
of his visit, curiosity. After a brief conversation, which Shep-
pard sustained with his accustomed liveliness, the old man
turned to Bess and addressed a few words of common-place
gallantry to her. While this was going on, Jack suddenly
made a movement which attracted the turnkey's attention ; and
during that interval the old man slipped some articles wrapped
in a handkerchief into Bess's hands, whq. instantly secreted
them in her bosom. The turnkey looked round the next mo-
22 JACK SHEPPARD.
merit, but the manoeuvre escaped his observation. After a
little further discourse the old man took his departure.
Left alone with Edgeworth Bess, Jack burst into a loud
laugh of exultation.
" Blueskin 's a friend in need," he said. " His disguise was
capital ; but I detected it in a moment. Has he given you the
tools?"
" He has," replied Bess, producing the handkerchief.
"Bravo!" cried Sheppard, examining its contents, which
proved to be a file, a chisel, two or three gimblets, and a piercer.
" Jonathan Wild shall find it 's not so easy to detain me. As
sure as he "s now living, I "11 pay him a visit in the Old Bailey
before morning. And then I "11 pay off old scores. It 's almost
worth while being sent to prison to have the pleasure of es-
caping. I shall now be able to test my skill." And, running
on in this way, he carefully concealed the tools.
Whether the turnkey entertained any suspicions of the old
man, Jack could not tell, but that night he was more than
usually rigorous in his search ; and having carefully examined
the prisoners and finding nothing to excite his suspicions, he de-
parted tolerably satisfied.
As soon as he was certain he should be disturbed no more
that night, Jack set to work, and with the aid of the file in less
than an hour had freed himself from his fetters. With Bess's
assistance he then climbed up to the window, which, as has
just been stated, was secured by iron bars of great thickness
crossed by a stout beam of oak. The very sight of these im-
pediments, would have appalled a less courageous spirit than
Sheppard's — but nothing could daunt him. To \vork then he
went, and with wonderful industry filed off two of the iron bars.
Just as he completed this operation, the file broke. The oaken
beam, nine inches in thickness, was now the sole but most
formidable obstacle to his flight. With his gimblet he con-
trived to bore a number of holes so close together that at last
one end of the bar, being completely pierced through, yielded ;
and pursuing the same plan with the other extremity, it fell
out altogether.
This last operation was so fatiguing, that for a short time
he was obliged to pause to recover the use of his fingers. He
then descended ; and having induced Bess to take off some
part of her clothing, he tore the gown and petticoat into
shreds and twisted them into a sort of rope which he fastened
to the lower bars of the window. With some difficulty he
contrived to raise her to the window, and with still greater
difficulty to squeeze her through it — her bulk being much
greater than his own. He then made a sort of running noose,
passed it over her body, and taking firmly hold of the bars,
prepared to guide her descent. But Bess could scarcely sum-
mon resolution enough to hazard the experiment ; and it was
only on Jack's urgent intreaties, and even threats, that she could
QAorafr fi
*
t
HOW TO FEED A LION. 23
be prevailed upon to trust herself to the frail tenure of the
rope he had prepared. At length, however, she threw herself
off; and Jack carefully guiding the rope she landed in safety.
The next moment he was by her side.
But the great point was still unaccomplished. They had
escaped from the New Prison, it is true ; but the wall of
Clerkenwell Bridewell, by which that jail was formerly sur-
rounded, and which was more than twenty feet high, and pro-
tected by formidable and bristling chevaux de frise, remained to
be scaled. Jack, however, had an expedient for mastering this
difficulty. He ventured to the great gates, and by inserting
his girnblets into the wood at intervals, so as to form points
upon which he could rest his foot, he contrived to ascend
them ; and when at the top, having fastened a portion of his
dress to the spikes, he managed, not without considerable risk,
to draw up his female companion. Once over the iron spikes,
Bess exhibited no reluctance to be let down on the other side
of the wall. Having seen his mistress safe down, Jack instantly
descended, leaving the best part of his clothes, as a memorial of
his flight, to the jailor.
And thus he effected his escape from the New Prison.
HOW TO FEED A LION !
BY J. JOCUND.
TAKE a wonder, — no matter what monster it be, —
A doctor of medicine, a pompous D.D.,
An actor, an author, a fiddler, a fool,
(In choosing a Lion the calling's no rule,)
Let the beast be eccentric, or learned, or sad,
A martyr to science, a poet half mad ;
Then, having assembled the greatest, the least
Of your friends, make this Lion the first at a feast ;
Give him the choice fare, 'mid the choicest of things,
Through soup, fish, and meat, to the game's breast and wings,
The pastry, the liqueurs, the ices, the pines,
The nicest of morsels, the choicest of wines !
Let him be your party, your guest, and your care,
.Devote not a look to another one there*;
And, as for good humour, bestow not a tittle,
Your lion looks greater, yourj'riends feel more little,
(Sufficient for them that they come, and you victual !)
Have no eyes, and no ears, no thoughts save for him.
If he smile, 'tis his wit ; if he growl, 'tis his whim ;
Dare not to disturb ; beware how you teaze ;
Let him frisk if he like; let him sulk if he please;
Whene'er he 's pathetic you tears mustn't fail ;
And with laughter expire as he " flashes his tail.' "
Let it be understood, (yet not strictly true,)
Though brutish to others, he 's gentle to you ;
And when 'gainst your pet curs open "full cry " on,
You vow "they don't know how to treat such a Lion !
They ought to be silent whenever he roars,
For the Lion 's above such a parcel of ' bores.' " .
And, though 'gainst this Lion they storm, rave, and swear,
They 're agreed on one point — " lie 's the biggest BEAST there! '
24
THE CRAYON PAPERS.
WOLFERT'S ROOST.
BY AVASHINGTON IRVING.
I HAVK observed that as a man advances in life, he is subject to
a kind of plethora of the mind, doubtless occasioned by the vast
accumulation of wisdom and experience upon the brain. Hence, he
is apt to become narrative and admonitory, that is to say, fond of
telling long stories, and of doling out advice, to the small profit and
great annoyance of his friends. As I have a great horror of becom-
ing the oracle, or, more technically speaking, the " bore," of the do-
mestic circle, and would much rather bestow my wisdom and tedi-
ousness upon the world at large, I have always sought to ease off
this surcharge of the intellect by means of my pen, and hence have
inflicted divers gossipping volumes upon the patience of the public.
I am tired, however, of writing volumes; they do not afford exactly
the relief I require; there is too much preparation, arrangement,
and parade, in this set form of coming before the public. I am grow-
ing too indolent and unambitious for any thing that requires labour
or display. I have thought, therefore, of securing to myself a snug
corner in some periodical work, where I might, as it were, loll at my
ease in my elbow chair, and chat sociably with the public as with an
old friend, on any chance subject that might pop into my brain.
Diedrich Knickerbocker, was one of mv earliest and most va-
lued friends, and the recollection of him is associated with some of
the pleasantest scenes of my youthful days. To explain this, and to
show how I came into possession of sundry of his posthumous works,
which I have from time to time given to the world, permit me to
relate a few particulars of our early intercourse. I give them with
the more confidence, as I know the interest taken in that departed
worthy.
My first acquaintance with that great and good man, — for such I
may venture to call him, now that the lapse of some thirty years
has shrouded his name with venerable antiquity, and the popular
voice has elevated him to the rank of the classic historians of yore,
— my first acquaintance with him was formed on the banks of the
Hudson, not far from the wizard region of Sleepy Hollow. He had
come there in the course of his researches among the Dutch neigh-
bourhoods for materials for his immortal history. For this purpose
he was ransacking the archives of one of the most ancient and histo-
rical mansions in the country. It was a lowly edifice, built in the
time of the Dutch dynasty, and stood on a green bank, overshadow-
ed by trees, from which it peeped forth upon the Great Tappan Zee,
so famous among early Dutch navigators. A bright, pure spring
welled up at the foot of the green bank ; a wild brook came babbling
down a neighbouring ravine, and threw itself into a little woody
cove in front of the mansion. It was, indeed, as quiet and sheltered
a nook as the heart of man could require, in which to take refuge
from the cares and troubles of the world ; and, as such, it had been
chosen in old times, by Wolfert Acker, one of the privy-councillors
of the renowned Peter Stuyvesant.
WOLFERT'S ROOST. 25
This worthy but ill-starred man had led a weary and worried life,
throughout the stormy reign of the chivalric Peter, being one of
those unlucky wights with whom the world is ever at variance, and
who are kept in a continual fume and fret by the wickedness of
mankind. At the time of the subjugation of the province by the
English, he retired hither in high dudgeon ; with the bitter determi-
nation to bury himself from the world, and live here in peace and
quietness for the remainder of his days. In token of this fixed reso-
lution, he inscribed over his door the favourite Dutch motto, " Lust
in Rust," (pleasure in repose.) The mansion was then called " Wol-
fert's Rust" — Wolfert's Rest ; but in process of time, the name was
vitiated into Wolfert's Roost, — probably from its quaint cock-loft
look, or from its having a weather-cock perched on every gable. This
name it continued to bear long after the unlucky Wolfert was driven
forth once more upon a wrangling world, by the tongue of a terma-
gant wife ; for it passed into a proverb through the neighbourhood,
and has been handed down by tradition, that the cock of the Roost
was the most hen-pecked bird in the country.
This primitive and historical mansion has since passed through
many changes and trials, which it may be my lot hereafter to notice.
At the time of the sojourn of Diedrich Knickerbocker, it was in pos-
session of the gallant family of the Van Tassels, who have figured
so conspicuously in his writings. What appears to have given it
peculiar value, in his eyes, was the rich treasury of historical facts
here secretly hoarded up, like buried gold ; for, it is said that Wol-
fert Acker, when he retreated from New Amsterdam, carried off
with him many of the records and journals of the province, pertain-
ing to the Dutch dynasty ; swearing that they should never fall into
the hands of the English. These, like the lost books of Livy, had
baffled the research of former historians ; but, these did I find the
indefatigable Diedrich diligently deciphering. He was already a
sage in years and experience, I but an idle stripling ; yet he did not
despise my youth and ignorance, but took me kindly by the hand,
and led me gently into those paths of local and traditional lore
which he was so fond of exploring. I sat with him in his little cham-
ber at the Roost, and watched the antiquarian patience and per-
severance with which he deciphered those venerable Dutch docu-
ments, worse than Herculanean manuscripts. I sat with him by the
spring, at the foot of the green bank, and listened to his heroic tales
about the worthies of the olden time, the paladins of New Amster-
dam. I accompanied him in his legendary researches about Tarry-
town and Sing-Sing, and explored with him the spell-bound recesses
of Sleepy Hollow. I was present at many of his conferences with
the good old Dutch burghers and their wives, from whom he derived
many of those marvellous facts not laid down in books or records,
and which give such superior value and authenticity to his history,
over all others that have been written concerning the New Nether-
lands.
But, let me check my proneness to dilate upon this favourite
theme ; I may recur to it hereafter. Suffice it to say, the intimacy
thus formed continued for a considerable time ; and, in company
with the worthy Diedrich, I visited many of the places celebrated by
his pen. The currents of our lives at length diverged. He remained
at home to complete his mighty work, while a -vagrant fancy led me
2<3 THE CRAYON PAPERS.
to wander about the world. Many, many years elapsed before I re-
turned to the parent soil. In the interim the venerable historian of
the New Netherlands had been gathered to his fathers, but his name
had risen to renown. His native city — that city in which he so
much delighted, — had decreed all manner of costly honours to his
memory. I found his effigy imprinted upon new-year cakes, and de-
voured with eager relish by holiday urchins ; a great oyster-house
bore the name of " Knickerbocker Hall ;" and I narrowly escaped
the pleasure of being run over by a Knickerbocker omnibus !
Proud of having associated with a man who had achieved such
greatness, I now recalled our early intimacy with tenfold pleasure,
and sought to revisit the scenes we had trodden together. The most
important of these was the mansion of the Van Tassels, the Roost of
the unfortunate Wolfert. Time, which changes all things, is but
slow in its operations upon a Dutchman's dwelling. I found the
venerable and quaint little edifice much as I had seen it during the
sojourn of Diedrich. There stood his elbow chair in the corner of
the room he had occupied ; the old-fashioned Dutch writing-desk at
which he had pored over the chronicles of the Manhattoes ; there
was the old wooden chest, with the archives left by Wolfert Acker,
many of which, however, had been fired off as wadding from the long
duck-gun of the Van Tassels. The scene around the mansion was
still the same, — the green bank, the spring beside which I had lis-
tened to the legendary narratives of the historian, the wild brook
babbling down to the woody cove, and the overshadowing locust
trees, half shutting out the prospect of the Great Tappan Zee.
As I looked round upon the scene, my heart yearned at the recol-
lection of my departed friend, and I wistfully eyed the mansion
which he had inhabited, and which was fast mouldering to decay.
The thought struck me to arrest the desolating hand of time, to
rescue the historic pile from utter ruin, and to make it the closing
scene of my wanderings; a quiet home, where I might enjoy " lust
in rust" for the remainder of my days. It is true, the fate of the
unlucky Wolfert passed across my mind ; but I consoled myself
with the reflection that I was a bachelor, and that I had no terma-
gant wife to dispute the sovereignty of the Roost with me.
I have become possessor of the Roost ! I have repaired and reno-
vated it with religious care, in the genuine Dutch style, and have
adorned and illustrated it with sundry reliques of the glorious days
of the New Netherlands. A venerable weather-cock, of portly
Dutch dimensions, which once battled with the wind on the top of
the Stadt-House of New Amsterdam, in the time of Peter Stuyve-
sant, now erects its crest on the gable end of my edifice, a gilded
horse, in full gallop, once the weather-cock of the great Vander Hey-
den Palace of Albany, now glitters in the sunshine, and veers with
every breeze, on the peaked turret over my portal : my sanctum
sanctorum is the chamber once honoured by the illustrious Diedrich,
and it is from his elbow-chair, and his identical old Dutch writing,
desk, that I pen this rambling epistle.
Here, then, have I set up my rest, surrounded by the recollec-
tions of early days, and the mementos of the historian of the Man-
hattoes, with that glorious river before me, which flows with such
majesty through his works, and which has ever been to me a river
of delight.
WOLFERT'S ROOST. 27
I thank God I was born on the banks of the Hudson ! I think it
an invaluable advantage to be born and brought up in the neighbour-
hood of some grand and noble object in nature, a river, a lake, or a
mountain. We make a friendship with it, we in a manner ally our-
selves to it for life. It remains an object of our pride and affections,
a rallying point to call us home again after all our wanderings.
" The things which we have learned in our childhood/' says an old
writer, " grow up with our souls, and unite themselves to it." So
it is with the scenes among which we have passed our early days ;
they influence the whole course of our thoughts and feelings ;
and I fancy I can trace much of what is good and pleasant in my
own heterogeneous compound to my early companionship with this
glorious river. In the warmth of my youthful enthusiasm, I used to
clothe it with moral attributes, and almost to give it a soul. I ad-
mired its frank, bold, honest character, its noble sincerity, and per-
fect truth. Here was no specious smiling surface covering the dan-
gerous sand-bar or perfidious rock; but a stream deep as it was
broad, and bearing with honourable faith the bark that trusted to its
waves. I gloried in its simple, quiet, majestic epic flow, ever straight
forward. Once, indeed, it turns aside for a moment, forced from its
course by opposing mountains ; but it struggles bravely through
them, and immediately resumes its straightforward march. Behold,
thought I, an emblem of a good man's course through life; ever
simple, open, and direct ; or if, overpowered by adverse circum-
stances, he deviate into error, it is but momentary ; he soon recovers
his onward and honourable career, and continues it to the end of his
pilgrimage.
Excuse this rhapsody, into which I have been betrayed by a revi-
val of early feelings. The Hudson is, in a manner, my first and
last love; and, after all my wanderings and seeming infidelities, I
return to it with a heartfelt preference over all the other rivers in
the world. I seem to catch new life, as I bathe in its ample billows,
and inhale the pure breezes of its hills. It is true, the romance of
youth is past that once spread illusions over every scene. I can no
longer picture an Arcadia in every green valley, nor a fairy land
among the distant mountains, nor a peerless beauty in every villa
gleaming among the trees; but though the illusions of youth have
faded from the landscape, the recollections of departed years and
departed pleasures shed over it the mellow charm of evening sun-
shine.
I have much to say about what I have seen, heard, felt, and
thought, through the course of a varied and rambling life, and some
lucubrations, that have long been encumbering my port-folio, to-
gether with divers reminiscences of the venerable historian of the
New Netherlands, that may not be unacceptable to those who have
taken an interest in his writings, and are desirous of anything that
may cast a light back upon our early history. Rest assured, that,
though retired from the world, I am not disgusted with it ; and that
if, in my communings with it, I do not prove very wise, I trust I
shall at least prove very good natured.
28 THE CRAYON PAPERS.
WOLFERT'S ROOST.
About five-and-twenty miles from the ancient and renowned city
of Manhattan, formerly called New- Amsterdam, and vulgarly called
New York, on the eastern bank of that expansion of the Hudson,
known among Dutch mariners of yore as the Tappan Zee, being, in
fact, the great Mediterranean Sea of the New Netherlands, stands a
little old-fashioned stone mansion, all made up of gable-ends, and as
full of angles and corners as an old cocked hat. Though but of small
dimenions, yet, like many small people, it is of mighty spirit, and
values itself greatly on its antiquity, being one of the oldest edifices,
for its size, in the whole country. It claims to be an ancient seat of
empire, I may rather say an empire in itself, and, like all empires,
great and small, has had its grand historical epochs. In speaking of
this doughty and valorous little pile, I shall call it by its usual appel-
lation of " The Roost ; " though that is a name given to it in modern
days, since it became the abode of the white man.
Its origin, in truth, dates far back in that remote region commonly
called the fabulous age, in which vulgar fact becomes mystified, and
tinted up with delectable fiction. The eastern shore of the Tappan
Sea was inhabited in those days by an unsophisticated race, existing
in all the simplicity of nature; that is to say, they lived by hunting
and fishing, and recreated themselves occasionally with a little toma-
hawking and scalping. Each stream that flows down from the hills
into the Hudson, had its petty sachem, who ruled over a hand's
breadth of forest on either side, and had his seat of government at its
mouth. The chieftain who ruled at the Roost, was not merely a great
warrior, but a medicine-man, or prophet, or conjurer, for they all
mean the same thing in Indian parlance. Of his fighting propensities
evidences still remain, in various arrow-heads of flint, and stone battle-
axes, occasionally dug up about the Roost: of his wizard powers,
we have a token in a spring which wells up at the foot of the bank, on
the very margin of the river, which, it is said, was gifted by him with
rejuvenating powers, something like the renowned Fountain of Youth
in the Floridas, so anxiously, but vainly, sought after by the veteran
Ponce de Leon. This story, however, is stoutly contradicted by an
old Dutch matter-of-fact tradition, which declares that the spring in
question was smuggled over from Holland in a churn, by Femmetie
Van Blarcom, wife of Goosen Garret Van Blarcom, one of the first
settlers, and that she took it up by night, unknown to her husband,
from beside their farm-house near Rotterdam ; being sure she should
find no water equal to it in the new country — and she was right.
The wizard sachem had a great passion for discussing territorial
questions, and settling boundary lines ; this kept him in continual
feud with the neighbouring sachems, each of whom stood up stoutly
for his hand-breadth of territory ; so that there is not a petty stream
nor ragged hill in the neighbourhood, that has not been the subject
of long talks and hard battles. The sachem, however, as has been
observed, was a medicine-man as well as warrior, and vindicated his
claims by arts as well as arms ; so that, by dint of a little hard fighting
here, and hocus-pocus there, he managed to extend his boundary-
line from field to field, and stream to stream, until he found himself
WOLFE RT'S ROOST. 29
in legitimate possession of that region of hills and valleys, bright
fountains and limpid brooks, locked in by the mazy windings of the
Neperan and the Pocantico.*
This last-mentioned stream, or rather the valley through which it
flows, was the most difficult of all his acquisitions. It lay half way
to the stronghold of the redoubtable sachem of Sing-Sing, and was
claimed by him as an integral part of his domains. Many were the
sharp conflicts between the rival chieftains for the sovereignty of this
valley, and many the ambuscades, surprisals, and deadly onslaughts,
that took place among its fastnesses, of which it grieves me much that
I cannot furnish the details, for the gratification of those gentle, but
bloody-minded readers of both sexes, who delight in the romance of
the tomahawk and scalping-knife. Suffice it to say, that the wizard
chieftain, was at length victorious, though his victory is attributed, in
Indian tradition, to a great medicine, or charm, by which he laid the
sachem of Sing-Sing and his warriors asleep among the rocks and re-
cesses of the valley, where they remain asleep to the present day,
with their bows and war-clubs beside them. This was the origin of
that potent and drowsy spell which still prevails over the valley of
the Pocantico, and which has gained it the well-merited appellation
of Sleepy Hollow. Often, in secluded and quiet parts of that valley,
where the stream is overhung by dark woods and rocks, the plough-
man, on some calm and sunny day, as he shouts to his oxen, is sur-
prised at hearing faint shouts from the hill sides in reply ; being, it
is said, the spell-bound warriors, who half start from their rocky
couches, and grasp their weapons, but sink to sleep again.
The conquest of the Pocantico was the last triumph of the wizard
sachem. Notwithstanding all his medicine and charms, he fell in
battle, in attempting to extend his boundary line to the east, so as to
take in the little wild valley of the Sprain, and his grave is still shown,
near the banks of that pastoral stream. He left, however, a great
empire to his successors, extending along the Tappan Zee, from
Yonkers quite to Sleepy Hollow ; all which delectable region, if
every one had his right, would still acknowledge allegiance to the
lord of the Roost — whoever he might be.t
The wizard sachem was succeeded by a line of chiefs, of whom
nothing remarkable remains on record. The last who makes any
* As every one may not recognise these boundaries by their original Indian
names, it may be well to observe, that the Neperan is that beautiful stream vulgar-
ly called the Saw-Mill River, which, after winding gracefully for many miles
through a lovely valley, shrouded by groves, and dotted by Dutch farm-houses,
empties itself into the Hudson, at the ancient dorp of Yonkers. The Pocantico is
that hitherto nameless brook, that, rising among woody hills, winds in many a
wizard maze through the sequestered haunts of Sleepy Hollow. We owe it to the
indefatigable researches of Mr. Knickerbocker, that those beautiful streams are
rescued from modern common-place, and reinvested with their ancient Indian
names. The correctness of the venerable historian may be ascertained, by reference
to the records of the original Indian grants to the Herr Frederick Philipsen, pre-
served in the county clerk's office at White Plains.
f In recording the contest for the sovereignty of Sleepy Hollow, I have called
one sachem by the modern name of his castle or strong-hold, viz. Sing-Sing. This,
I would observe, for the sake of historical exactness, is a corruption of the old In-
dian name O-sin-sing, or rather O-sin-song ; that is to say, a place where any
thing may be had for a song — a great recommendation for a market town. The
modern and melodious alteration of the name to Sing- Sing, is said to have been
made in compliment to an eminent Methodist singing-master, who first introduced
into the neighbourhood the art of singing through the nose.
30 THE CRAYON PAPERS.
figure in history, is the one who ruled here at the time of the dis-
covery of the country by the white man. This sachem is said to
have been a renowned trencherman, who maintained almost as potent
a sway by dint of good feeding, as his warlike predecessor had done
by hard fighting. He diligently cultivated the growth of oysters
along the aquatic borders of his territories, and founded those great
oyster beds which yet exist along the shores of the Tappan Sea.
Did any dispute occur between him and a neighbouring sachem, he
invited him, and all his principal sages and fighting men, to a solemn
banquet, and seldom failed of feeding them into terms. Enormous
heaps of oyster-shells, which encumber the lofty banks of the river,
remain as monuments of his gastronomical victories ; and have been
occasionally adduced, through mistake, by amateur geologists from
town, as additional proofs of the deluge. Modern investigators, who
are making such indefatigable researches into our early history, have
even affirmed that this sachem was the very individual on whom
Master Hendrick Hudson, and his mate Robert Juet, made that sage
and astounding experiment, so gravely recorded by the latter in his
narrative of the voyage : — " Our master and his mate determined to
try some of the cheefe men of the country, whether they had any
treacherie in them. So they took them down into the cabin, and gave
them so much wine and aqua vita?, that they were all very merrie ;
one of them had his wife with him, which sate so modestly as any
of our countrywomen would do in a strange place. In the end, one
of them was drunke ; and that was strange to them, for they could
not tell how to take it."*
How far Master Hendrick Hudson and his worthy mate carried
their experiment with the sachem's wife, is not recorded, neither does
the curious Robert Juet make any mention of the after-consequences
of this grand moral test ; tradition, however, affirms that the sachem,
on landing, gave his modest spouse a hearty rib-roasting, according
to the connubial discipline of the aboriginals; it farther affirms, that
he remained a hard-drinker to the day of his death, trading away all
his lands, acre by acre, for aquavits ; by which means the Roost and
all its domains, from Yonkers to Sleepy Hollow, came, in the regu-
lar course of trade, and, by right of purchase, into the possession of
the Dutchmen.
Never has a territorial right, in these new countries, been more
legitimately and tradefully established ; yet, I grieve to say, the
worthy government of the New Netherlands was not suffered to
enjoy this grand acquisition unmolested: for, in the year 1654, the
losel Yankees of Connecticut, — those swapping, bargaining, squatting
enemies of the Manhattoes, made a daring inroad into this neighbour-
hood, and founded a colony called Westchester, or, as the ancient
Dutch records term it, Vest Dorp, in the right of one Thomas Pell,
who pretended to have purchased the whole surrounding country of
the Indians ; and stood ready to argue their claims before any tri-
bunal of Christendom.
This happened during the chivalrous reign of Peter Stuyvesant,
and it roused the ire of that gunpowder old hero ; who, without
waiting to discuss claims and titles, pounced at once upon the nest of
nefarious squatters, carried off twenty-five of them in chains to the
Manhattoes ; nor did he stay his hand, nor give rest to his wooden
* See Juet's Journal, Purchas Pilgrim.
WOLFERT'S ROOST. 31
leg, until he had driven every Yankee back into the bounds of Con-
necticut, or obliged him to acknowledge allegiance to their High
Mightinesses. He then established certain out-posts, far in the Indian
country, to keep an eye over these debateable lands : one of these
border holds was the Roost, being accessible from New Amsterdam
by water, and easily kept supplied. The Yankees, however, had too
great a hankering after this delectable region to give it up entirely.
Some remained, and swore allegiance to the Manhattoes ; but, while
they kept this open semblance of fealty, they went to work secretly
and vigorously to intermarry and multiply, and, by these nefarious
means, artfully propagated themselves into possession of a wide tract
of those open arable parts of Westchester county, lying along the
Sound, where their descendants may be found at the present day ;
while the mountainous regions along the Hudson, with the valleys
of the Neperan and the Pocantico, are tenaciously held by the lineal
descendants of the Copperheads.
QThe chronicle of the venerable Diedrich here goes on to relate
how that, shortly after the above-mentioned events, the whole pro-
vince of the New Netherlands was subjugated by the British; how
that Wolfert Acker, one of the wrangling councillors of Peter Stuy ve-
sant, retired in dudgeon to this fastness in the wildei'ness, determining
to enjoy " lust in rust " for the remainder of his days, whence the place
first received its name of Woolf ert's Roost. As these and sundry
other matters have been laid before the public in a preceding article,
I shall pass them over, and resume the chronicle where it treats of
matters not hitherto recorded.]
Like many men who retire from a worrying world, says Diedrich
Knickerbocker, to enjoy quiet in the country, Wolfert Acker soon
found himself up to the ears in trouble. He had a termagant wife at
home, and there was what is profanely called "the deuce to pay"
abroad. The recent irruption of the Yankees into the bounds of the
New Netherlands had left behind it a doleful pestilence, such as is
apt to follow the steps of invading armies. This was the deadly
plague of witchcraft, which had long been prevalent to the eastward.
The malady broke out at Vest Dorp, and threatened to spread
throughout the country. The Dutch burghers along the Hudson,
from Yonkers to Sleepy Hollow, hastened to nail horse-shoes to
their doors, which have ever been found of sovereign virtue to repel
this awful visitation. This is the origin of the horse-shoes which
may still be seen nailed to the doors of barns and farm-houses, in
various parts of this sage and sober-thoughted region.
The evil, however, bore hard upon the Roost; partly, perhaps, from
its having in old times been subject to supernatural influences, during
the sway of the wizard sachem ; but it has always, in fact, been
considered a fated mansion. The unlucky Wolfert had no rest day
nor night. When the weather was quiet all over the country, the
wind would howl and whistle round his roof; witches would ride and
whirl upon his weather-cocks, and scream down his chimneys. His
cows gave bloody milk, and his horses broke bounds, and scampered
into the woods. There were not wanting evil tongues to whisper
that Wolfert's termagant wife had some tampering with the enemy ;
and that she even attended a witches' Sabbath in Sleepy Hollow ; nay,
32 THE CRAYON PAPERS.
a neighbour, who lived hard by, declared that he saw her harnessing
a rampant broomstick, and about to ride to the meeting ; though
others presume it was merely flourished in the course of one of her
curtain lectures, to give energy and emphasis to a period. Certain it
is, that Wolfert Acker nailed a horse-shoe to the front-door, during
one of her nocturnal excursions, to prevent her return ; but, as she
re-entered the house without any difficulty, it is probable she was
not so much of a witch as she was represented.*
After the time of Wolfert Acker, a long interval elapses, about
which but little is known. It is hoped, however, that the antiquarian
researches so diligently making in every part of this new country,
may yet throw some light upon what may be termed the Dark Ages
of the Roost.
The next period at which we find this venerable and eventful pile
rising to importance, and resuming its old belligerent character, is
during the revolutionary war. It was at that time owned by Jacob
Van Tassel, or Van Texel, as the name was originally spelled, after
the place in Holland, which gave birth to this heroic line. He was
strong-built, long-limbed, and as stout in soul as in body ; a fit suc-
cessor to the warrior sachem of yore, and, like him, delighting in
extravagant enterprises, and hardy deeds of arms. Before I enter
upon the exploits of this worthy cock of the Roost, however, it is
fitting I should throw some light upon the state of the mansion, and
of the surrounding country, at the time. In your succeding Miscel-
lany this may be done.
* HISTORICAL NOTE. — The annexed extracts from the early colonial records,
relate to the irruption of witchcraft into Westchester county, as mentioned in the
chronicle : —
" July 7, 1670 — Katharine Harrysoii accused of witchcraft on complaint of Tho-
mas Hunt and Edward Waters, in behalf of the town, who pray that she may he
driven from the town of Westchester. The woman appears before the council.
* * * She was a native of England, and had lived a year in Weathersfield,
Connecticut, where she had been tried for witchcraft, found guilty by the jury, ac-
quitted by the bench, and released out of prison, upon condition she would remove.
Affair adjourned.
" August 24 — Affair taken up again, when, being heard at large, it was referred
to the general court of assize. Woman ordered to give security for good behaviour,
&c."
In another place is the following entry : —
" Order given for Katharine Harryson, charged with witchcraft, to leave West-
Chester, as the inhabitants are uneasy at her residing there, and she is ordered to
go off."
THE SAMPHIRE GATHERER'S STORY.
BY ARTHUR HUME PLUNKETT.
" IT was here, sir, that Mr. Clements descended."
" How fearful ! " I exclaimed, scarcely venturing to look down a
precipice at least six hundred feet in depth.
To repeat in a few words what had occupied nearly an hour, and
omitting his numerous digressions, the samphire gatherer's tale ran
thus: —
At the close of the last century he and his father, samphire ga-
therers by trade, had assisted in lowering one Mr. Clements down
the cliff under rather extraordinary circumstances. Mr. Clements
was returning home along the downs, from the then retired, but now
fashionable town of , when he recognised a boat about a mile
from the shore, strongly resembling one in which his wife and sister
were in the frequent habit of passing hours, in a little bay or inlet of
the sea near his house. He hastened home only to have all doubts
removed as to their identity ; and, hurrying back to the spot where
he had first observed them, found, to his extreme terror, that the
boat had been deserted by its occupants, who had been seen wan-
dering on the rocks under the cliff. To approach them by the sea
on either side in time to rescue them from their impending danger
was impossible. The tide was rising fast, and their destruction ap-
peared to be inevitable. In this emergency the samphire gatherers
were thought of, and sought for ; and, declining all their offers,
Clements insisted upon descending the cliff, in the hope of placing
his wife upon some rock or spot where she might remain in safety
till the arrival of the boats from . Thus far had the samphire
gatherer got in his story which he was relating to me as I was
strolling along the cliffs, when he paused, as I have already men-
tioned, and pointed to the spot where Mr. Clements descended.
Following his example, and taking a seat on the grass near him,
the old man continued his tale. I give it in his own words.
" Well, sir ; when we found we could not persuade him to let one
of us go down in his place, father, as usual, secured a crow-bar into
the earth, a few feet from the edge of the cliff; and then twining
the rope once round it, in order to give us the steadier hold on Mr.
Clements, fastened it under his arms. We then made him change
his coat for one of our frocks, such as you see the common people
wear in these parts ; and taught him how to put his feet steadily
against the side of the cliff — as it were thus ; and made him take the
rope between his hands just above the knot, and told him to lean out
from the rock as far as he could, and to work downwards with his
feet, and to look up, and keep a watch out for the stones and rubbish
which the rope might dislodge. We told him all this, sir ; and bade
him not be frightened at the birds, as they would not harm him ;
— the sun had set, sir; and they always make a horrid screeching if
you go down the cliff after they are gone to roost ; — and, that if he
altered his mind, and wished to come back, he had only to give the
rope a couple of pulls, and that we 'd haul him up directly. ' No —
no,' says Mr. Clements, ' there 's no necessity for that.' When I get
to the bottom, wait for a quarter of an hour ; if at the end of that
time I give no signal for you to pull me up, you-will know that the
ladies are safe, and then make what haste you can, and get a boat
VOL. VI. D
34 THE SAMPHIRE GATHERER'S STORY.
from . I am ready now,' says he, in a faint voice, and his teeth
all the while chattering with fear. Never was a man so frightened
as he was at that moment. Well, sir, father and I once more lifted
the rope, and Mr. Clements leaned back over the edge of the cliff.
Down he went. We soon lost sight of him.
" Working with his feet, as father had told him, we slowly sup-
plying out rope as he required it, he moved safely down for a bit ;
then he rested on a jutting rock. All this time he kept his eyes
fixed on the sky. Pressing cautiously with his feet against the chalk ;
his body almost at right-angles with the cliff; his hands grasping
the rope, or sheltering his face from the shower of stones and dirt
which it dislodged. He had got about a hundred feet from the top,
when, suddenly slipping from the cliff, his chest and face were flung
violently against it. He endeavoured to regain his footing against
the rocks, and in so doing broke through a resolution which he had
formed, and looked beneath him. It is a rare sight that for the first
time. Well do I remember how my head swam as I looked at the
water far far below ; and the waves that one could see, but not hear,
as they broke over the shingles. Presence of mind, on which Mr.
Clements so vaunted himself, where was it then ? He was about to
pull the rope ; but he thought of his poor wife, and one thought of
her was enough. On he went. To regain a footing was impossible.
Father and I kept gradually lowering the rope ; and, with his face
to the cliff; his hands outstretched, catching at each object as he
passed ; enveloped in a shower of chalk and stones, which he had
not the strength to avoid ; gasping and panting for breath, poor Mr.
Clements slided down for about another hundred feet. Here the
cliff arched inwards, forming an immense hollow, like yonder rock,
sir ; and, swinging to and fro, and round and round, as it were be-
twixt heaven and earth, down he went. At one moment the wide
ocean met his dizzy gaze ; at another, flocks of the startled birds
flew around his head, uttering their shrill and angry cries. Again,
sir, he found himself sliding down against the side of the cliff, his
flesh all sore and torn, and his body and arms in absolute torture
from the pressure of the rope. Again in agony he made a frantic
effort to regain a footing ; but, in so doing, fastened one of his legs
in a narrow fissure, or opening in the rock. Vain was the struggle
to release it, sir ; Mr. Clements was either too weak and faint, or the
limb too firmly secured in the rock. All his efforts were useless ;
and, I shudder at the bare recollection while I tell it, we continued to
supply the rope ! Hanging by his leg, head downwards, there he
lay ; the cormorants and sea-mews flitting around him, and joining
in his frightful shrieks."
" Horrible ! was he long thus? "
" Not long, sir. Father soon discovered that there was no weight
or pull upon the rope ; and, judging from his experience of what had
occurred, we raised it a few feet, and released Mr. Clements from
his painful situation. From this moment, he told me, he was uncon-
cious as to whether he was ascending or descending, until he heard
his name called in a faint voice. He opened his eyes. We had
lowered him over the arch of an immense cavern, within which all
was darkness. The sea was rolling in beneath him ; his feet touched
it ; he felt that he must either swim or drown ; he feebly grasped
the rope; a thrill of joy ran through his veins as he found an unex-
pected footing on a rock concealed by the waves in about three feet
THE SAMPHIRE GATHERER'S STORY. 35
water ; the depth around for the present mattered not. He remained
for a few moments motionless on the rock. His name was again
called ; it sounded from within the cave.
" Extricating himself from the rope, he made an effort to swim ;
found that he had more strength than he had thought, — swam for-
ward through the darkness up the cavern ; struggled — sank — rose
again — heard his name called louder and nearer, — made one effort
more — felt the sand, the smooth sand, under his feet, — staggered
forward, — reeled, and fell, exhausted, into the arms of his wife."
"And his sister? "
" The ladies were both there, sir. The cavern was about fifty feet
in depth, sloping upwards towards the back, and partly filled with
weeds, stones, and sand. Here Mrs. Clements and her sister had
been driven to take refuge by the rising tide. They had landed
from the boat on the rocks, at some distance below the cave, in the
hope of finding a pathway or outlet, by which they could escape up
the cliff. After a long and hopeless search, they bethought them of
the boat ; and, to their extreme terror, found that it had been carried
away by the rising tide, which now partly covered the rocks. They
had just time to climb into the cavern over the fallen rocks under the
arch, when the waters sweeping in, closed up all entrance to any but
a swimmer. Although the tide was fast rising, the ladies cheered
each other Avith the hope that they should escape. Fortunately the
darkness at the back of the cavern was sufficient to prevent their
discovering the height to which the water usually rose.
" As you may imagine, Mr. Clements was some time before he re-
covered his senses. His wife was kneeling beside him, chafing his
brows, when her sister, starting up, called their attention to the rope
by which he had descended. We were pulling it up ; and he shook
his head as it disappeared over the arch of the cavern. Well he
knew how useless it would have been for them to use it. ' It matters
not,' he said ; they (meaning us) have gone to . We shall have
boats here soon ; we are safe — quite safe,' and so on, endeavouring
to keep their spirits up, while he well knew that in the darkness the
chances were that the boat would never find the cave.
" Two hours, sir, — two long hours passed on in this way, and
Mr. Clements had given up all hope. The water kept rising and
rising, till at last the waves broke at their feet, and each instant
threatened their destruction. The ladies were almost dead with fear
and cold, when a large, heavy, Dutch-built boat — you don't see such
now, sir, — swept, with scarcely a sound, under the arch into the
cavern, her prow coming in close upon the spot where Mr. Clements
and the ladies were. They did not hear her until she was within the
cave; and no wonder, for the oars were muffled, and those who
were in her were as silent as the grave. It was part of the cargo of
a French smuggler, lying a few miles off, that her crew, assisted by
some of the fishermen, were about to land, and they had taken shel-
ter in the cavern, having been alarmed at the approach of a boat up
the coast. Fortunate was it that Mr. Clements prevented the ladies
from calling out for assistance from them "
" Why I should have thought at such a moment that even smug-
glers "
" Not they, sir, — not they ; and Mr. Clements knew it. Desperate
men like them would have left the poor things to drown, or have
murdered them. No ; Mr. Clements knew better. He tried a last
36 THE SAMPHIRE GATHERER'S STORY.
and a dangerous chance ; but it was his only one. Listen, sir : while
the men had their heads turned to the opening of the cavern, watch-
ing the boat pass, the sight of which had driven them into it, he
lifted the ladies gently into the end of the boat. They couldn't hear
him for the noise of the waves ; there was plenty of room for them,
and he drew a sail over them, and was just stepping in himself after
them, when one of the men turned, and he had only time to conceal
himself under the bows of the boat before she was again moving
silently out of the cave with, as her crew little suspected, the addition
of two to their number since she had entered it.
" They went about a quarter of a mile down under the cliff, and
landed a boy, who disappeared like a cat up the rocks. A dead
silence ensued ; no one ventured to speak ; the men rested on their
oars, and the boat gently rose and sank on the waves. At last the
silence was broken ; something dark was hurled down the cliff at a
short distance from the boat. It fell heavily on the rocks. ' God
forgive him, he 's tossed him over/ muttered one of the men. And so
it was, sir. The poor man on the look-out was asleep near the top
of the cliff; and we often hear of these men rolling over in their sleep.
There 's always a reason for it, sir. They were going to land their
cargo, when they heard a gun in the offing from one of the King's
cutters. The alarm had been given. Not a moment was to be lost ;
and, straining every nerve, they bore out to sea.
" They were about two miles from the shore, when some of the
men declared it was a lost job, and that they could go no further.
Mrs. Clements was quite senseless with cold and exhaustion, but her
sister listened eagerly to what the men said. They had some angry
words, but the meaning of their conversation she could not under-
stand. There was a little boat astern of the larger one, which they
drew to it, and entered one by one, the last man calling out as he
stepped in — - ' Now then, boys, pull for your lives ; they '11 make
after us when they find they 've lost their prize.'
" The boat had disappeared in the surrounding darkness before
the terrified lady comprehended all ; and then, sir, in a moment the
frightful truth flashed upon her. The devils had scuttled the boat,
and it was sinking fast. She said one prayer, and turned to kiss her
sleeping sister, when Mr. Clements's voice sounded almost at her side !
There he was, sir, — there he was, in the self-same little pleasure-boat
which had been the cause of all their misfortunes. He had just time
to lift the ladies out of the boat, and to get clear of her, when she
went down. The revenue-cutter came up, and took them on board
all alive ; but many months passed before Mrs. Clements recovered
the events of that dreadful night."
" What became of Mr. Clements when they left him in the cave ? "
" He held on to the boat for a few minutes till they got outside,
and then swam to the rocks, where he found the little pleasure-boat,
and entering it, followed in the track of the larger vessel in time to
save the life of Mrs. Clements and that of her sister. The sun is set-
ting, sir," said the samphire gatherer, touching his hat to me. " I
must be going homewards. Mayhap," he added, as he turned away
on his path, " one of these days, when you are strolling on the rocks
below, sir, you will look at the cavern where Mr. Clements found
his wife. You can imagine much better than I can describe what
must have been their feelings in such a place, an^ at such a time.
Good evening, sir."
37
PORTRAIT GALLERY.— No. VII.
ADVENTURES OF THE CANNON FAMILY.
IT was night before the cavalcading party returned to the once-
famed Bonomia, but in modern times the no less celebrated Boulogne.
What could they have been about all this time in a humble cottage ?
Miss Molly Cannon frightened out of her life, and Lucy Cannon
terrified to death ; one Frenchman wounded in the head, both smitten
in the heart. The fact simply was, that they were making love in
the most approved and scientific manner, which we unsophisticated
English should endeavour to imitate, since, by curious ancient ma-
nuscripts lately discovered in Pompeii, it is clearly proved that Ovid
was a native of Gascony.
The Comte des Oripeaux possessed a heart of crystal, suspended
round his Byronic neck by a chain of jet-black hair, evidently ap-
pertaining to the head that had belonged to the possessor of the
aforesaid heart, and from whence had also been ravished or bestow-
ed a raven-lock.
As Molly was pretending to play with affected indifference with
the dangling jewel, Des Oripeaux heaved a sigh ; Molly responded ;
Des Oripeaux groaned ; Molly hemmed ; and timidly asked — unso-
phisticated child ! — if that hair belonged to his sister ? Oripeaux
was silent. He drooped his head in his hands ; he then grasped his
throat. He seemed a prey to the pangs of upbraiding conscience ;
while, in fact, he was merely squeezing his jugular veins, to pro-
duce a crimson suffusion in his face. An English lover who has no
knowledge of anatomy, would never have hit upon such an ingeni-
ous stratagem. But here his friend, De la Blagne, who was instilling
in Lucy's ear all the devoted spirit of love's distillation, perceived his
embarrassment, and hastened to his relief.
" Mon ami," he said, " Miss Moli, is too subject — to bad shame —
vere bad shame — mauvaise hontc — and his impressionability is vere
much — ridicule — ma foi. Sometime he is quite assommant, — quite
knocky me down. De fac of de mattaire is, dat dis dere meche de chc-
veux — dat nick of hair did belong to a vere silly, foolish, susceptible
lady, one Duchesse de Gringullet ; and she did one day fancy him one
infidele, and she went for to travel for distraction ; till, one morning,
she take one chump in de river, from de top of de Euxine Bridge
— de Pont Euxine."
" Gracious me ! " exclaimed Molly Cannon. " The duchess — a real
duchess drowned herself! — noyau herself in the riviere — oh, dear 1 "
" Allans, mon ami," added De la Blagne, giving him a choke-
chicken thump, which would have rectified a hunchback. " Du
courage ! You know you naver did loaf dat foolish duchesse, whose
husband was saretainly the most magnifique gentleman I ever saw.
But, if de lady do chump into de vater for loaf, ve are no jisha-
man to chump aftaire. Eh, done ! — for, though one lady may be de
toste of de societie — eh ! — vhen she chumps in the river no gentel-
man likes toste in vater. No, by Gar ! dat is no cliam-paign, — ha !
ha ! eh ! done ! " This last ejaculation might lead one to suspect
that our witty Frank was a countryman of Ovid.
38 PORTRAIT GALLERY.
And now the count raised his head, with an appolectic-looking
face, as red as a cardinal's hat, and, hitting himself' a thump upon
the breast, that resounded like a double drum, he exclaimed —
" Miss Moli, loaf it is like de coqueluche, de hopping-cough, which
can nay vare be hid ; it only affecte one once in de life ; and my time
is to come. Je sens, I do smell dat you are mon tout, my hawl, my
ev'ry ting ;" and, so saying, he ferociously tore off the love-token of
former days, dashed it upon the ground, and began cutting sixes
over it, like an opera-dancer expressing pantomimic despair.
The effect was amusing — quite un coup de theatre. Molly Cannon,
beholding her triumph over a drowned duchess's mortal remains,
threw herself in the arms of the Frenchman ; when, — such is the
power of sympathy in pleasure and in pain, that, mechanically, spon-
taneously, combustively, and instinctively, Lucy, in a flood of tears,
sought the pocket-handkerchief of her lover's bosom, — an act which
La Blagne termed les delices d'un doux abandon ; but which a fasti-
dious surly Englishman would translate the " delights of an aban-
doned woman.
It was night before the young ladies recollected that it was rather
late, while the gentlemen had never forgotten that they had only eaten
an early dinner. The ladies would most willingly have lingered
longer, for they were feasted upon oaths the most solemn, promises
the most stringent, and vows the most terrific ; but, the gentlemen
were hungry, and talked of prudence, to secure future hours of bliss ;
and of their virtuous papa, and their interesting mamma : and, as
they slowly jogged back to town, their amatory vocabulary being
pretty nearly exhausted, they sang together amorous nocturnes, com-
pared to which Orpheus's strains were Grub-street ballads.
Scarcely, however, had the party entered the Rue de I'Enfcr, when
two mustachioed Frenchmen staggered out of the billiard-room; and
in the most outrageous, unmanly, unchivalrous manner, one of them
apostrophised Miss Molly Cannon in an Anglo-Gallic language,
doubly rich in energy, which would have made Minerva herself
hide her blushes under her shield, — language which assimilated the
ladies to persons whose virtue could not be insured at any pre-
mium, even at Lloyd's. Such an unprovoked insult could not pass
unpunished, and the Comte des Oripeaux rushed forward, and gave
the insolent intruder a slap in the face, which — to use a French
poetical and metaphorical expression — made him see all the lamps of
the town twinkling in his eyes. The only reply was a furious (C Sa-
cre Dieu ! " and " a demain, Monsieur le Comte ! " accompanied with
a grasp of the hand ; then another " a demain " in a treble key, to
which the Count replied with another shake of the hand ; and two
" a demains " in contralto intonations.
The parties separated ; the ladies, terrified and trembling, leaning
on their companions' arms, while these walked on in the silence of
concentrated passion, until Des Oripeaux exclaimed, " Demain, I
vil punish dis barbare !"
"Oh, mon hamy !" sighed Molly Cannon. "Surely you will not
batter yourself against a barber ? "
" A barber ! " exclaimed the Count. " He is no barber, — he is one
general, — de General Comte de Gongibus. Ha ! ha ! Monsieur de
Gongibus a barber, zfriseur ! Ha ! ha ! I vill tak a my pistolles
for a curling-iron. I vill skin him alive like one anguille, one eel, — to
CANNON FAMILY AT BOULOGNE. 39
make him papillotes. But, if de fortune de guerre, de property of
war, de decret, that I shall peris for you, Moli ; you shall have all
my little tresors ; and I hope you will vip over de cinders of your
maleroo loafer, — les cendres de votre inalheureux amant ! "
And here mutual sobbings interrupted their louder effusions until
they were at the gate of the hotel. Commodus Cannon was out,
having gone to " take a turn in the rooms." Mrs. Cannon, some-
what to their surprise, they found weeping over her sins and a bowl
of punch a. la Romaine, abjuring all reformation under the spiritual
guidance of a French priest, L'Abbe Caffard, a plenipo. of the Pro-
paganda mission ; but, as Molly and Lucy cared very little whether
their mother turned or returned, Unitarian, Latitudinarian, Longitu-
dinarian, or Anythingarian, provided she did not bother them, they
withdrew to their chambers, to give vent to their grief, and, at
the same time to ease their afflictions through the safety-valve of
vanity by comparing the qualities of their lovers.
Shortly afterwards the chambermaid brought in a parcel, with the
adieux of M. le Comte ; which the girl could scarcely deliver from
the agonized state of her feelings, as she expatiated upon all the
qualifications of a beau jeune liomme, with a mourir si jeune, followed
by an helas ! that would have done credit to any French theatrical
utilite.* Molly was too much moved to examine the precious trust ;
a task readily undertaken by her curious sister. This was the more
easily performed, as the sundry articles contained in the box were
specified in an inventory, of which the untravelled reader may
wish to have a translation. Here it is.
"Inventory of the effects of Charles Joseph Ame des Auguste de
la Vesse, Comte des Oripeaux, Officer of the Legion of Honour,
and of the Iron Crown, Colonel of Cavalry, &c. &c.
" 1. A book, containing the journal of my amours.
"2. A key to decipher the ladies' names therein contained.
"«3. The cross of the Legion of Honour, given to me on the field of
Wagram, after having broken through 14,000 cavalry with my regi-
ment.
" 4. A baton, taken by me from Vellington at the victory of Vittoria,
when I pared the claws of the British leopard with my bancal.^
" 5. A musket-ball extracted from my leg at Austerlitz ; a musket-
ball extracted from (blank) during the fatal retreat of Leipsic,
occasioned by the misconduct of a drunken corporal.
" 6. A nosegay given to me by the Queen of Prussia at Sans
Sou^i ; and the key of the back-door of her aforesaid majesty's
apartment.
" 7« A pair of garters, given to me as a ' true lover's knot ' by the
aforesaid queen, they having fallen on her ancles when her calves
were dispelled by grief a mon depart.
" 8. A paper of poison (mort aux rats), which I fortunately took
from the Polish Princess Ratowowwowsky, who was about to destroy
her husband to follow me to France.
" 9. The busk of her daughter, whom I carried off instead of the
mother, but who was unfortunately drowned in the Beresina.
* The French call utilites all the inferior performers who are compelled to per-
form any character, — to make themselves, in fact, generally useful,
j- Familiar name of the crooked cavalry sabre.
40 PORTRAIT GALLERY.
" 10. 727 love-letters in various languages.
" 11. 97 locks of hair — not the wig of a Dutch Chancellor, — given
to me by his lovely young frau, as a token of her ineffable contempt
for the old frump.*
" 12. The spy-glass with which the Princess of Asturias used to
look out for me from the windows of the Aranjuez Palace.
" 13. Two front teeth of the Princess Hohenlinden, knocked out in
a fit of jealousy by her barbarous husband ; and part of her beauti-
ful hair, which was cut off when she was immured in a nunnery for
life.
" 14. The veil of the abbess of St. Clara of Valladolid (gage
d'amour} ; with the beard of the Capuchin friar who detected us
(gage dc vengeance).
" 15. The papillotes of the Princess of Hohenlohe, made out of her
husband's prayer-books.
" The entire intrusted to the care, and sacrificed to the charms of
the only person whom I ever truly loved and adored a la vie, — a la
mort. Mademoiselle Moli du Cannon, Anglaise."
It may easily be imagined what effect this examination had upon
the young ladies. Molly was dissolved in tears ; while Lucy bit her
lips in the vexatious apprehension that her lover could not exhibit
similar testimonials of successful gallantry. Her only consolation
resulted from some slight doubts as to the genuineness of these trea-
sures. Examining one of the bullets, she said it looked very like
one of her brother's dumps; having, no doubt, been flattened on
a bone ; and that she did not think he was so old as to have been
at Austerlitz. Then she made various strange observations in re-
gard to the other vulgar ball, of nameless extraction, during the
flight of Leipsic: but love — true love is credulous, callous to advice,
and heedless even of irony. Lucy, finding that her words were idle,
thought it wiser to retire to rest : but jealousy, it is to be apprehend-
ed, cropped the poppies that might have been shed over her couch ;
while Molly Cannon was kept awake by the conflicting pangs of fear,
hope, and despair. She was sitting upon her couch like an aban-
doned damsel of romance, or, perhaps, like the lady in DubufFe's
Family Souvenirs. She was silently weeping ; but her streaming
eyes were devouring the treasures of her lover displayed before her,
and which to her were more precious than the most sacred regalia, —
nay, than the oriflamme of France. Soon, however, her anguish was
relieved. The clock had scarcely struck seven when the door was
violently thrown open, and in an instant Des Oripeaux was locked in
her fond embrace. He, poor fellow ! could not throw his arms round
her swanlike neck, — for one of them was in a sling, stained with his
precious blood, shed in her defence, in the cause of her honour. She
looked an encyclopaedia of human horrors; but he calmly smiled
upon her, adding —
" Dis is noting, my Moli — my vife — my ev'ry ting ; but, de general,
— ha ! ha ! — une — deux — ha ! ha ! — he do bite de dust."
However delighted Molly Cannon might have been, Lucy affected
to be " mightily shocked " at this untimely and unceremonious in-
trusion in their bedchamber, and forthwith sought to hide herself
under the bed-clothes, ordering the count, in a subterraneous sort of
* The French term was casse'dos, which I think the word frump tolerably conveys.
CANNON FAMILY AT BOULOGNE. 41
a voice, to " allez vous ong ;" but her modest wrath soon subsided
when she heard the intruder tell her sister that on that very morning
he and his dear friend, De la Blagne, would ask the consent of their
amiable papa and mamma.
Mrs. Cannon, who had gone to hear early mass with Abbe Caf-
fard, had returned to breakfast; and at the supplication of her
daughters, granted her consent, provided that their lovers were
good Catholics, and could show proper certificates of confession and
absolution ; while, to use her own expression, her daughters should
decant their former errors and heresies in the presence of at least a
bishop in partibus, — for such, it appears, was the Abbe Caifard.
It was now requisite to obtain the approbation of Old Cannon, who
was at breakfast, writhing under the severe losses he had experienced
on the preceding evening, when he, or rather the gallery, had detected
two French sharpers " doing him," or " cleaning him out," at ecarte ;
and who, upon being taken in the fact, told the old gentleman that
he should have to meet them the following morning to give them
satisfaction. When Count des Oripeaux and his friend were ushered
into his presence, taking them for the seconds, he trembled from
head to foot ; but when he was made acquainted with the busi-
ness that brought them, his courage rose with his wrath, and he
asked the bold intruders how dirty French adventurers could dare
aspire to the hand of the daughter of an English gentleman, a
magistrate, a churchwarden, a chairman of a committee ? The count
indignantly replied that it was doing honour to a shopkeeper, who
ought to feel proud in cutting off a yard of bobinet for a Chevalier
Fran9ais ; and, moreover, that a current of the noble blood of a
French count would purify a tradesman's puddle.
Cannon was wrought up to a pitch of frenzy ; and, although
little disposed to joke or to pun, roared out,
" Then, I '11 tell you what, Monseer Crapo, — or whatever you
are, — • Monseer count of Tag-rag-and-bob-tail, that you have
counted without your host, and take this on a-count to settle the
balance."
So saying, he pitched an omelette aux ragous, that was smoking
on his table, at the head of the indignant count, who thought proper
to retreat, exclaiming with much dignity, " If you vas not de papa,
de author of the days of Molt, you vas one dead man ! " He had
scarcely concluded the sentence, when a potage de vermicelle followed
the omelette. It was during this interesting scene that the Misses
Cannon expressed their readiness to follow their lovers as far as
the antipodes, when certain words were dropped about fortune,
and funded property, and cutting off to a shilling, and so forth; by
which the Frenchmen learnt that Molly Cannon's fortune was in
her own power, and derived from certain legacies ; but that Lucy's
depended entirely upon the pleasure of her crusty father. A light
beamed upon M. de la Blagne, the intimateyHe«</ of the count, and
he withdrew his friend to consult upon what was best to be done
before they decided upon an elopement.
What passed between these worthies is not recorded ; but the
issue, alas ! is but too well known. The conscience of La Blagne
smote him. With penitential looks he sought an interview with
Molly Cannon ; he fell upon one knee, then upon both ; then drew
a pistol, (an amatory weapon without a touchhole made expressly for
42 PORTRAIT GALLERY.
disappointed and desperate lovers,) he then threatened suicide,
homicide, or anyside, if she did not forgive him his base and atro-
cious conduct in aiding and abetting a deceit foul and infamous. He
then confessed that he was not a soldier, — as his mustachios might
have indicated, and his swearing confirmed, — but the eldest son of a
calicot manufacturer of great wealth and renown ; that his ami was
neither a count, nor a cavalry colonel, but simply a melodramatic per-
former, enacting tyrants at the Ambign Comique of Paris ; that no
duel had been fought for her ; and that General Gongibus was no
other than a billiard-room marker. That the supposed quarrel had
been " got up " to produce " an effect ;" and that the distinguished
blood of the Oripeaux that had stained his scarf, had been obtained,
en passant, from a calf's head suspended at a butcher's stall.
The only reply that Molly could make to this awful disclosure
was to fall in a befitting fit ; but Monsieur de la Blagne — whose true
name was Francois Blageur, — who well knew that when a lady
closed her eyes in a faint, her ears were more than usually open,
whispered into one of them that he merely had paid his addresses to
her sister, that he might have access to her, and glut his eyes upon
her divine charms. When, perceiving that she remained silent, he
loaded his pistol with half-a-dozen bullets and pellets, knelt down to
say his prayers, and then put the muzzle of the weapon in his mouth.
Seeing this Molly jumped up, and roaring " murder ! " and " voleur ! "
rushed out of the room, leaving the disappointed Frenchman in
utter dismay.
The first step that the indignant Molly Cannon adopted was to
inform Lucy, like an affectionate sister, that De la Blagne had merely
made love to her as a matter of convenience ; that she had always
been the true object of his devotions, and that he must really be a
most honest and upright young man thus to have saved her from ruin
and disgrace by marrying a strolling player ; and, finally, (for Molly
was a warm advocate of finality,} that she would send back to the
wretch all his treasures and valuables, which she now dignified with
the appellation of his " pitiful dirty traps.5'
It is difficult to say how this business might have terminated, and
how far Miss Molly Cannon might have felt it incumbent on her to
reward Monsieur Blageur for his candour (not, of course, to vex her
disappointed sister) ; but women propose, and sometimes the public
dispose. The fracas of this untoward event was even too great for
Boulogne ; and, by the advice of Abbe Caff'ard, the parties thought it
expedient to set out for Paris after a family council. The Misses
Cannon concluded that they should all become wives of some nobles ;
their brothers, that they should move in a society, in which they could
not have dared to thrust their provincial noses in London. Mrs.
Cannon was anxious to behold the rites of the Roman Catholic and
Apostolic Church performed in all its splendour ; and old Commo-
dus, — who had taken a vast fancy to ecarte playing, (and who, more-
over, had greatly admired a Parisian opera-dancer, who had been
" starring it " at Boulogne, on her return to Paris from a London
eclipse in the opening season,) fancied that in the French metropolis
he could afford to " do the genteel thing."
43
OLD MORGAN AT PANAMA.
IN the hostel-room we were seated in gloom, old Morgan's trustiest crew ;
No mirthful sound, no jest went round, as it erst was wont to do.
Wine we had none, and our girls were gone, for the last of our gold was spent ;
And some swore an oath, and all were wroth, and stern o'er the table bent ;
Till our chief on the board hurl'd down his sword, and spake with his stormy
shout,
" Hell and the devil ! an' this be revel, we had better arm and out.
Let us go and pillage old Panama,
We, the mighty Buccaneers I "
Straight at the word each girt on his sword, five hundred men and more ;
And we clove the sea in our shallops free, till we reached the mainland shore.
For many a day overland was our way, and our hearts grew weary and low,
And many would back on their trodden track, rather than farther go;
But the wish was quell'd, though our hearts rebell'd, by old Morgan's stormy
roar, —
" The way ye have sped is farther to tread, than the way which lies before."
So on we march'd upon Panama,
We, the mighty Buccaneers !
T was just sunset when our eyes first met the sight of the town of gold ;
And down on the sod each knelt to his god, five hundred warriors bold ;
Each bared his blade, and we fervent pray'd (for it might be our latest prayer),
" Hansom from hell, if in fight we fell, — if we lived, for a booty rare ! "
And each as he rose felt a deep repose, and a calm o'er all within ;
For he knew right well, whatever befell, his soul was assoil'd from sin,
Then down we march'd on old Panama,
We, the mighty Buccaneers !
The town arose to meet us as foes, and in order beheld us come ; —
They were three to one, but warriors none, — traders, and such like scum,
Unused to wield either sword or shield ; but they plied their new trade well.
I am not told how they bought and sold, but they fought like fiends of hell.
They fought in despair for their daughters fair, their wives, and their wealth,
God wot !
And throughout the night made a gallant fight, — but it mattered not a jot.
For had we not sworn to take Panama,
We, the mighty Buccaneers?
O'er dying and dead the morn rose red, and o'er streets of a redder dye ;
And in scatter'd spots stood men in knots, who would not yield or fly.
With souls of fire they bay'd our ire, and parry'd the hurl and thrust ;
But ere the sun its noon had won they were mingled with the dust.
Half of our host in that night we lost, — but we little for that had care ;
We knew right well that each that fell increased the survivor's share
Of the plunder we found in old Panama,
We, the mighty Buccaneers !
We found bars of gold, and coin untold, and gems which to count were vain ;
We had floods of wine, and girls divine, the dark-eyed girls of Spain.
They at first were coy, and baulk'd our joy, and seem'd with their fate downcast,
And wept and groan'd, and shriek'd and swoon 'd ; but 't was all the same at last.
Our wooing was short, of the warrior's sort, and they thought it rough, no doubt ;
But, truth to tell, the end was as well as had it been longer about.
And so we revell'd in Panama,
We, the mighty Buccaneers!
We lived in revel, sent care to the devil, for two or three weeks or so,
When a general thought within us wrought that 'twas getting time to go.
So we set to work with dagger and dirk to torture the burghers hoar,
And their gold conceal'd compell'd them to yield, and add to our common store.
And whenever a fool of the miser school declared he had ne'er a groat,
In charity due we melted a few, and pour'd them down bis throat.
This drink we invented at Panama,
We, the mighty Buccaneers !
44- OLD MORGAN AT PANAMA.
When the churls were eased, their bags well squeezed, we gave them our bless-
ing full fain,
And we kiss'd our girls with the glossy curls, the dark-eyed girls of Spain ;
Our booty we shared, and we all prepared for the way we had to roam,
When there rose a dispute as to taking our route by land or by water home.
So one half of the band chose to travel by land, the other to travel by sea :
Old Morgan's voice gave the sea the choice, and I followed his fortunes free,
And hasten'd our leaving old Panama,
We, the mighty Buccaneers !
A bark we equipp'd, and our gold we shipp'd, and gat us ready for sea ;
Seventy men, and a score and ten, mariners bold were we.
Our mates had took leave, on the yester-eve, their way o'er the hills to find,
When, as morning's light pierced through the night, we shook her sails to the
wind.
With a fresh'ning breeze we walked the seas, and the land sunk low and lower ;
A dreary dread o'er our hearts there sped we never should see land more —
And away we departed from Panama,
We, the mighty Buccaneers !
For a day or two we were busy enow in setting ourselves to rights,
In fixing each berth, our mess, and so forth, and the day's watch and the night's ;
But when these were done, over every one came the lack of aught to do,
We listless talk'd, we listless walk'd, and we pined for excitement new.
Oh ! how we did hail any shift in the gale, for it gave us a sail to trim !
We began to repent that we had not bent our steps with our comrades grim.
And thus we sail'd on from old Panama,
We, the mighty Buccaneers !
Day after day we had stagger'd away, with a steady breeze abeam ;
No shift in the gale ; no trimming a sail ; how dull we were, ye may deem !
Wre sung old songs till we wearied our lungs ; we pushed the flagon about ;
And told and re-told tales ever so old, till they fairly tired us out.
There was a shark in the wake of our bark took us three days to hook ;
And when it was caught we wished it was not, for we missed the trouble it took.
And thus we sail'd on from old Panama,
We, the mighty Buccaneers !
At last it befell, some tempter of hell put gambling in some one's head ;
The devil's device, the cards and the dice, broke the stagnant life we led :
From morn till night, ay, till next morn's light, we plied the bones right well;
Day after day the rattle of play clatter'd thorough the caravel.
How the winners laugh'd, how the losers quaff'd! 't was a madness, as it were.
It was a thing of shuddering to hark to the losers' swear.
And thus we sail'd on from old Panama,
We, the mighty Buccaneers !
From morn till night, ay, till next morn's light, for weeks the play kept on :
'Twas fearful to see the winner's glee, and the losers haggard and wan;
You well might tell, by their features fell, they would ill brook to be crost ;
And one morn there was one, who all night had won, jeer'd some who all night
had lost.
He went to bed — at noon he was dead — I know not from what, nor reck ;
But they spake of a mark, livid and dark, about the dead man's neck!
And thus we sail'd on from old Panama,
We, the mighty Buccaneers !
This but begun : and those who had won lived a life of anxious dread ;
Day after day there was bicker and fray ; and a man now and then struck dead.
Old Morgan stern was laugh'd to scorn, and it worry'd his heart, I trow ;
Five days of care, and his iron-grey hair was as white as the winter's snow:
The losers at last his patience o'erpast, for they drew their sword each one,
And cried, with a shout, "Hell take you ! come out, and fight for the gold ye
have won —
The gold that our blood bought at Panama :
We, the mighty Buccaneers ! "
OLD MORGAN AT PANAMA. 45
We never were slow at a word and a blow, so we cross'd our irons full faiu ;
And for death and life had begun the strife, when old Morgan stopt it amain,
And thunder'd out with his stormy shout, — " Dogs, ye have had your day !
To your berths \ " he roar'd. " Who sheaths not his sword, Heaven grant him
its grace, I pray !
For I swear, by God, I will cleave him like wood ! " There was one made an
angry sign ;
Old Morgan heard, and he kept his word ; for he clove him to the chine.
So ended his exploits at Panama :
He, the mighty Buccaneer !
At this we quail'd, and we henceforth sail'd, in a smouldering sort of truce ;
But our dark brows gloom'd, and we inward fumed for a pretext to give us
loose :
When early one morn — •" A strange sail astern ! " we heard the lookout-man
hail;
And old Morgan shout, " Put the ship about, and crowd every stitch of sail ! "
And around went we, surging through the sea at our island wild buck's pace ;
In wonderment what old Morgan meant, we near'd to the fated chase —
We, the pillagers of old Panama,
We, the mighty Buccaneers !
She went right fast, but we took her at last. T was a little brigantine thing ;
With some four men for crew, and a boy or two — a bark built for trafficking ;
Besides this crew were three women, too : her freight was salt-fish and oil :
For the men on board, they were put to the sword ; the women we spared
awhile.
And all was surmise what to do with the prize, when old Morgan, calling us aft,
Roar'd, " Ye who have fooled yourselves out of your gold take possession of
yonder craft,
And go pillage some other Panama,
Ye, the mighty Buccaneers !
We were reckless and rude, we had been at feud till 't was war to the very knife ;
But it clove each heart when we came to part from comrades in many a strife :
Over one and all a gloom seemed to fall, and in silence they packed their gear,
Amid curses and sighs, and glistening eyes, and here and there a tear.
We gave brooches and things for keepsakes and rings ; and some trucked the
weapons they wore :
This Spanish gun was a token from one who had fought me a week before,
While we diced for the spoils of old Panama,
We, the mighty Buccaneers !
Their traps all pack'd, there was nothing lack'd, but sharing the women three :
The odd one's choice was left to the dice, and she fell to the rich so free ;
When the losers' 'gan swear the dice were unfair, and brawl'd till our chief gat
wild,
And, without more ado, cut the woman in two, as Solomon shared the child.
Then each of each baud shook each old mate's hand, and we parted with hearts
full sore;
We all that day watch 'd them lessen away. They were never heard of more !
We kept merrily on from old Panama,
We, the mighty Buccaneers !
Their sufferings none know, but ours, I trow, were very, oh ! very sore ;
We had storm and gale till our hearts 'gan fail, and then calms,| which harassed
us more ;
Then many fell sick; and while all were weak, we rounded the fiery cape;
As I hope for bliss in the life after this, 'twas a miracle our escape !
Then a leak we sprung, and to lighten us, flung all our gold to the element:
Our perils are past, and we 're here at last, but as penniless as we went.
And such was the pillage of Panama
By the mighty Buccaneers!
G. E. INMAN.
NO SILVER SPOON!
BY THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY, ESQ.
" Take a poon, pig."— Miss EDGEWORTH'S " Simple Susan."
IT has been, time out of mind, a common saying, that young gentle-
men or ladies who come into the world on high days or holidays, for-
tunate days for the family, or days when unexpected legacies had
been received, or wealth realized, were born with silver spoons in
their mouths. Nay, in some modern farce a pert abigail declares that
such has been her young mistress's luck, that she could not have en-
tered existence with anything in her throat less valuable than a sil-
ver soup ladle ! Whether such massive accompaniments are incon-
venient to the innocent babes I have no means of ascertaining ; but
I do think that all mothers who have given birth to such treasures,
ought ever after to be treated with high respect. On the list of great
and illustrious persons they ought surely only to be placed second to
the far-famed goose, that laid a golden egg for her mistress daily. I
made my appearance a few days earlier than I was expected ; and the
very morning of my arrival intelligence was brought of the death of
an old Uncle Somebody, who died out somewhere, and who had been
supposed dead for years, having left my father five thousand pounds
a-year. My father and mother, who had been some years married,
had long sighed for a baby ; nor can it be doubted that, like other
folks but moderately off in the world, they had also sighed for a little
accession of fortune. Two aspirations were thus propitiously realized
in one day ; and, as I really seemed to make my appearance accom-
panied by the fortune which I was destined to inherit, it is not
surprising that my mother's only brother, a bachelor, Mr. Tidyman
Twig, who had undertaken the responsibility of being my godfather,
should give me what was intended for a fondling caress, squeeze the
breath almost out of my little body, set me howling, and then re-
placing me in the arms of my nurse, emphatically exclaim. " There,
if ever a boy was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, that 's the
very boy"
From this time my father seemed to become a new raan ; his habits
had hitherto been indolent. He was a merchant ; but, not having a
sufficient capital to enable him to engage in large and immediately
profitable speculations, and, being at the same time deficient in the
industry and perseverance which so often make a small property ex-
pand itself into a large one, he had made up his mind to live upon
his moderate income.
Now, however, affairs began to wear a different aspect. He took
a suburban villa ; he kept his carriage ; a well-situated and commo-
dious counting-house was fitted up ; and a round, ruddy, active, un-
exceptionable, sort of gentlemanlike partner was daily seated in an
inner room, where he represented the moiety of the firm of " Messrs.
Goodman and Cute."
Master Twig Goodman (meaning myself) having attained the age
of twelve years, was to be sent to school ; and godpapa having on all
eventful occasions taken me rather under his own jurisdiction, he
selected the seminary ; and, under his protection, and in his own
chaise, I was carried to the Rev. Mr. Sloane's ; a large, airy, old-
NO SILVER SPOON. 47
fashioned, but cheerful-looking brick building, standing in the midst
of a charming garden. Perhaps it was fortunate for me that Godpapa
Tidyman did take me under his wing ; for my father, as is generally
the case with persons of not very strong minds, had flown rather
hastily from one extreme to the other, and had latterly become as
fussy, fidgetty, over-anxious, and perplexed about his mercantile mat-
ters, as he had formerly been passive and even puerile. My poor mo-
ther, too, who never had been very strong, found time since she became
rich to complain of, and give way to any extent of debility which in-
dolence might require as a veil for its helplessness, or which doctors
who devote themselves to ladies' nervous systems might sanction,
never seemed to have time to do anything. She kissed rne, and
coaxed me, and gave me cakes, and called me pet, darling, and all
other endearing names ; and then it was evidently quite a relief to her
when she again put me into the nurse's arms, and, sinking back on
her cushions with a smelling-bottle to her nose, said, " Take him
away, nurse. Ta, ta, pet ! Don't let him cry here. Ma '11 see her
darling again to-morrow."
And thus it was from infancy to boyhood I was indulged and
spoiled, and she was always telling me how much she loved me. But
then she would check the more natural spirits of my age ; my noise
was too much for her ; and, alas ! her love was too little for me. Thus
it happened, I believe, that Godpapa Tidyman became to me a sort
of papa, and mamma, and godpapa, all in one ; and, when he kindly
and affectionately placed me under Mr. Sloane's care, there certainly
was no one in the world so dear to me as himself. I was very happy
at Mr. Sloane's. I liked the place and the people ; and, above all, my
schoolfellows, with whom, however, I certainly did at first involve
myself in a little personal annoyance, and entirely through my own
egotistical garrulity. I must needs tell them of my first birthday,
and the fortune of which I was the unconscious accompaniment.
This was nothing ; but I told them of the old adage, that with which
Godpapa Tidyman still never failed to greet me, and which, caught
from him, had daily been echoed by guests of every degree, and by
every servant who could take the liberty of addressing me so freely.
Yes, I told all the boys that I had been born with a silver spoon
in my mouth ! How little did I then anticipate the result ! From
that day to the day of my departure from school, I never failed to be
greeted as " little spoomj ! "
But little spoony managed to make his own way, — ay, and with-
out fighting to. I do not say that now and then I had not a skir-
mish, which ended in a black eye or cracked crown ; but it never
was my lot to encounter perpetual squabbles and bickerings with
those companions with whom I was in hourly intercourse ; and the
notion of a boy's Jtghling his way through a school has always
struck me as a most unamiable and unpromising way of beginning
life. " Little spoony " was still my nickname; but I had names just
as applicable for them ; and, when I bore mine with good humour,
I very soon found that the zest with which it was given had worn
off.
Passing rapidly from infancy to boyhood, and thence to maturity,
is very like shortening my own life. But I am only skipping, and
skipping in the memoirs of a boy is surely highly characteristic.
When I had become " young master " at home, and possessed dogs,
48 NO SILVER SPOON.
horses, a cab, and all other advantages usually sported by the only
sons of rich merchants, I heard more of the silver spoon than ever.
Godpapa Tidyman, when he greeted me, never had it off his tongue's
tip ; and certainly, taking it figuratively and metaphorically, when I
glanced around at the worldly advantages, comforts, and prospects I
possessed, I could not help admitting that something bright had been
propitious to my birth ; but, whether it was a radiant planet, or a
silver spoon, it was quite impossible for me to determine.
And now came the brightest event that ever blessed me under the
influence of that silver talisman ; I fell in love with youth, beauty,
amiability, accomplishments, ay, and greatest wonder of all, with a
girl of large and independent fortune, and without my being at all
aware of it, with the very girl long since chosen for my destined
bride by my father, my mother, and, above all, by dear Godpapa
Tidyman.
No two people could be happier than we were. My father and
her uncle were constantly closetted together, — as old people, I be-
lieve, always are on such occasions, — while we spent our mornings
rambling through the green-lanes of our pretty neighbourhood, and
in the evening went to some theatre, to which we inveigled my poor
mother. Anna Maria was herself motherless. Godpapa Tidyman
was in a state of the utmost joy and excitement, lavishing upon my
fair intended the most delicate presents ; and on myself he seemed
determined to bestow a regular matrimonial outfit, — chests of linen,
hampers of wine, packages of china, and a most elegant and useful
carriage, with imperials, cap-cases, bonnet-boxes, and I know not
what, all out of consideration for Anna Maria.
Nor did he forget the silver forks and spoons.
At this time I know not whether my silver spoon melted away ;
certain it is, that all my own bright prospects seemed to vanish one
by one. Bankruptcy, that old infirmity of firms, fell heavy on the
house of Goodman and Cute. That is, most decidedly on one half
of the house ; for it was whispered that Cute had been too much for
Goodman, and, having well feathered his own nest, had left my fa-
ther, nay, without a dry hard twig, unless, in his emergency he was
so fortunate as to find one in Godpapa Tidyman Twig.
Since the death of my poor mother, who had long since suf-
fered from the worrying indications of an approaching calamity — the
untimely knocks and rings, the unseasonable visits of men in low-
crowned hats with broad brims and shabby drab coats ; and had
pined away and perished even before the lean visage of want had
been suffered to encroach upon her actual wants ; — since her death,
my father's health had rapidly declined. Always of an indolent, in-
active, and inflammatory habit, he had latterly neglected himself;
and utterly unprepared for a reverse of fortune, and deeply hurt by
the conduct of his partner Cute, he was unable to endure the blow,
and a very few days after the failure, died of apoplexy.
When I met Godpapa Tidyman again, I of course expected to
hear nothing but condolences. These were, indeed, lavished on me
on account of my recent severe family losses, and the excellent old
gentleman shed many tears over the memory of his sister and her
husband. But, when we came to speak of the failure, to my utter
amazement he was full of congratulations, and actually exclaimed,
" Well, my dear godson, I always said you were born with a silver
spoon in your mouth, and you see I was not wrong."
NO SILVER SPOON. 49
" Not wrong, dear sir ? " said I. " Why, my father died a beggar.
Everything he possessed in the world must be sold off; and, even
then nothing will be raised to provide me with an income adequate
to the common necessaries of life."
" Oh ! but with your resources "
" My resources ! I was so completely in ignorance of the real state
of my father's affairs ; and, from the expectations held out to me,
was so little cautious as to the extent of my expenditure, that every
article I possess in the world must be sold off also ! "
" Well ; and what can that signify? " replied my still placid, and
now most incomprehensible Godpapa Tidyman. He paused ; and
then, with a very knowing look, continued, "Have you forgot Anna
Maria.."
" Forget Anna Maria ! " cried I, starting from my chair. " Forget
her! As soon could I forget "
" There, there, waste no rhapsodies on me. You do not forget her ;
can you suspect that she ceases to remember you ? That all your
vows, and promises, and protestations are cherished in her heart ;
and that she will rush to your arms, and be proud to replace you in
the position of wealth and luxurious comforts in whicli you were
when you first met, and which, with all the lover's fond enthusiasm,
you invited her to share?"
"True," I replied. "But — but then, there's nothing to share
now ; and sheha<$. And yet, those sweet blue eyes they never could
deceive, so full of — of — of — Do you really think she loved me for
myself alone ? " turning to my placid companion with a forlorn as-
pect.
" To be sure I do. Go to her at once. Fix your black eyes most
intently on her blue ones ; press both her hands in yours ; place
your lips on her own — on her cheek, or any place most accessible at
the moment ; and return to me in an hour, the happiest man in the
world, confessing to me that after all I was right, and that you
were born with a silver spoon in your mouth. I will wait for you
here."
To the feet of the gentle blue-eyed Anna Maria flew the impatient
Twig Goodman. We hate a twice-told tale ; and, as the result of
this amatory interview must be briefly detailed by the lover to the
very sanguine godpapa, we will let that one disclosure of an unsatis-
factory tale suffice.
The young lady had been speechless (so judicious when we have
nothing to say that we are not ashamed and afraid to utter). Her
blue eyes were invisible, partly from tears, but principally from her
pocket-handkerchief; when the kiss was offered it was evaded; and
when two hands were outstretched to press hers, a packet was placed
in them, evidently containing letters, trinkets, and a picture. The
fragile Anna Maria then rose, and tottered out of one door, while
the scarcely less fragile Twig Goodman pressed his forehead with his
clenched fist, and tottered out of the other !
Godpapa Tidyman was in despair, — that is, for a moment, not in
hopeless comfortless despair ; he paced the room for a short time,
and then, with a smiling countenance, he held out his hand to me,
and said,
"Well, after all, I said you were born with a silver spoon in your
mouth, and so you are. The more frequent your disappointments,
VOL. VI. K
50 NO SILVER SPOON.
the greater your luck in the end. I always intended you to inherit
my property ; but so many better and brighter things seemed to
spring up in your way, that I never thought of speaking to you on a
subject that seemed unimportant, nor did I think it necessary to make
a will ; now, however, everything shall be arranged to your satisfac-
tion ; and, though your income will not realize what I could have
wished, nor what you once expected, I know you will be satisfied.
I was full of gratitude ; and, as he considerately advised me to
change the air and scene, and go to some distant watering-place
while the sale of my effects was going on, I set off to Brighton, pro-
mising to return to him in ten days, when he said his arrangements
in my favour would be legally and satisfactorily arranged.
To Brighton I went ; and at the end of the week was recalled by
a letter, bearing a huge black seal, and written by the lawyer of my
dear friend.
Before the will was signed he had died suddenly ; the heir-at-law
had immediately taken possession of the property, removing from
the house all but a few tables and chairs, cracked crockery, knives
and forks, and an old japan waiter.
One old woman — or rather charwoman, I believe they call them,
— was left to do anybody's bidding who might come ; and, broken-
spirited as I was, I was still alive to the cravings of hunger. After
much solicitation she promised me a mutton-chop, and it was pre-
pared on a very rickety table, and exceedingly dirty table cloth.
At length it came ; black outside, red inside, and cold gravy.
" Mustard," said I ; there was none. Pepper, the coarsest and
the blackest, was set before me.
" Is there no Harvey's sauce ? "
" La no, sir ! they left no delicacies here."
" Well — well ; a spoon — a spoon for the gravy."
" Oh, dear me, sir ! what could make you ask for such a thing as
that ? There's no silver spoon ! "
TO A LADY SINGING.
THERE is a light about those eyes,
Warm, rich, but tender, like the hue
That *s left upon the vesper skies
When day has turn'd to misty blue :
A mild repose, as if the sun
Of joy had not been long departed ;
And twilight thoughts had just begun
Half blissfully — half broken-hearted !
Oh ! lady, look but thus,
And I could gaze for ever !
Within thy voice there is a tone,
Soft, sweet, and trembling, like the sighs
That night-birds through the valleys moan,
Thinking they sing gay melodies!
A tranquil sound, as if the tide,
The noisy tide of mirth and laughter,
Had fall'n adown youth's green hill side,
To flow in quiet ever after !
Oh ! lady, sing but thus — .
And I could hear for ever ! J. A. WADE.
r>\
THE VETERANS OF CHELSEA HOSPITAL.
BY THE KEV. G. R. GLEIG, AUTHOR OF "THE SUBALTERN," ETC.
CHAPTER III.
Proving that Jack himself can run rusty at times, and gains nothing by it.
IT took us several weeks after our arrival in Malta," said John
Bain, resuming the thread of his narrative, " to complete the repairs
of which we were in need ; for the island was not then in pos-
session of the English, neither was there English energy in any
of its establishments. But the job, though slowly done, was done
effectually ; after which we hastened back to rejoin the admiral.
We found him before Cadiz, blockading the port, and amusing him-
self from time to time by bombarding the fleet that found shelter
therein, the effects of which practice were to knock down a good
many houses, without, as far as I could discover, doing any serious
damage to the ships. But the shipping did not escape uninjured
neither. Signals would occasionally order the boats of particular
vessels to be manned, which after night-fall stole in beneath the
batteries ; and more than one prize, acquired by skill, and now and
then by hard fighting, testified to the excellency of the arrange-
ment. A cutting out, from such a situation as the harbour of Ca-
diz, at least, is under every circumstance a nervous affair ; so it
may not be amiss if I describe in detail a service of the kind in which
I was once engaged.
The inshore squadron, to which all the frigates were attached, had
it in charge to observe narrowly whether any vessels passed to or from
the harbour, and to report such changes of position as the fleet which
lay at moorings within the basin might attempt. One day a fine brig,
taking advantage of a skiff of wind, which did not reach us, came creep-
ing along the shore, and, in spite of a sharp chase from the boats, which
were immediately ordered out, succeeded in passing the cape, and
brought up under the guns of a strong battery. There was a sort of
bravado in this which Nelson, who commanded our squadron, did
not quite relish, so he determined to convince the Spaniard that he
was not so safe as he fancied himself to be. Accordingly, up went
the well-known signal for the boats of our ship and the Terpsichore
to get ready for service soon after nightfall, while the captains were
desired to come on board the admiral to receive orders. What
passed in the admiral's cabin I can't tell; but when the skippers
returned, the whisper soon went about that we were going to make a
prize of the saucy Spaniard; and, as volunteers were looked for to
execute a service of some hazard, every soul on board hastened to
give in his name. I had the good luck to be heard among the first,
and so was chosen ; and good luck I call it, because all the credit
and very little of the risk of hard service came to me. Well, we
stowed away our cutlasses and pistols in the proper place, ate a
merry supper with our comrades, drank our grog to the toast of suc-
cess, and about ten o'clock at night went quietly over the ship's side,
and awaited the order to start.
It was a calm and beautiful night. There was no moon in the
sky, but the stars were out by millions, and the'sea lay under their
E 2
52 THE VETERANS OF CHELSEA HOSPITAL.
soft pale glitter as still as a baby when it is sleeping. We were at
this time above five miles from the shore, yet upon the gentle air
there came off to us, even at that distance, the perfume of the many
scented shrubs which grow in abundance among the gardens that
surround the town. I don't know whence it came about, but I felt
unusually sobered down that night. I had no fear of death ; I did
not even fancy that I was going to be killed; but I became grave
and thoughtful to a degree which, without making me unhappy,
acted upon my spirits as in some situations we are apt to be affected
by melancholy music. I was sitting next one of my messmates,
with whom I had long lived on terms of great intimacy ; a fine bold
rollicking fellow, called Ben Hartley, a capital singer, a famous spin-
ner of a yarn, and the best dancer of Jacky-tar among all the ship's
company. We had been merry enough between decks while the
grog was circulating, and Ben seemed nowise inclined to check his
mirth now ; for he was the most thoughtless of mortals, and would
have cracked his joke, I verily believe, at the foot of the gallows.
However, I did not join chorus with my laugh, and once or twice I
gave him no answer.
" Why, Jack," said he, " what 's the matter ? Art out o' sorts, or
out o' spirits, — or what ails thee ? "
" Nothing, Ben," answered I ; "only, I can't tell how, but I fancy
that both you and I had better be grave than merry just at this mo-
ment."
" Why so, messmate? " answered he. "Afraid, I know you aint ;
but has the old fellow under hatches there been 'sinuating that he
might want you by and by ? "
" No, Ben," replied I ; " I think that / shall see the ship again ;
but others will not, and mayhap yourself rnay be of the number."
" So be it/' replied Ben gaily. " If it come to-night, it won't
come to-morrow ; and if it don't come now, it must come hereafter.
And yet, Jack, if it should be so, don't forget poor Sail. Give her
my backy-box, and tell her — Pooh ! — what 's the use of grieving."
The word was by this time passed to give way, and we stretched
on our oars lustily. Silence, too, was the order of the night ; for the
brig lay within half-musket shot of one battery, and was commanded
by the guns at a very narrow range of another. It was therefore as
much as many lives were worth that we should at least reach her
unobserved. Fortunately for us, the shadows of the land fell darkly
and strongly on us ; for we did not pull straight to the harbour's
mouth, but rather obliquely towards it ; so we succeeded beyond
our most sanguine expectations, and the prize seemed to have fallen
into our very hands. But we had reckoned a little beyond our host.
There was an open space to cross ; the harbour, though narrow, lay
between us and the brig, and we could not hope to pass it unnoticed.
Quietly, therefore, but resolutely, each said to his other, " Hurrah !
hurrah ! " and at her we dashed like men who pull for their lives.
There was a challenge from the brig's forecastle, — a single musket
was discharged, and we lay under her bows. Up we sprang, and in
five seconds she was ours.
Yet a blow or two had been struck while we were scrambling up,
and there was one plunge back into the water, nobody at the in-
stant could tell of whom. And now began the hoisting of canvass,
the cutting of cables, and the turning, with might and main, our prize
THE VETERANS OF CHELSEA HOSPITAL. 53
into mid-channel, that she might catch the land-wind, which blew
gently but steadily in our favour. It is astonishing to me even at
this moment that we should have been permitted to go through with
our work so quietly. Not a gun from the shore-battery opened ;
indeed we were actually under weigh, and leaving all danger behind,
before the Dons appeared to become conscious of our proceedings.
Then, indeed, there arose a prodigious bustle everywhere. Men
shouted, drums beat, and all Cadiz was roused, — but it was too late.
The batteries began to fire only when we were so far distant as to
render their efforts of small avail, and we escaped without having
been once struck. We brought our prize in triumph under the
admiral's quarter, and were thanked for the skill and gallantry
which we had displayed in securing her.
During the hurry of active operations, especially when they are
carried on at night, there is neither time nor opportunity to inquire
into the casualties that may have taken place. It was not, indeed,
till we broke up to return, each boat's-crew to its own ship, that the
absence of Ben Hartley was noticed, and even then we were slow to
believe that he had not joined himself to the other party. But when
we met on our own quarter-deck, and Ben answered not to his
name, all doubt on the subject was removed. I recollected the cir-
cumstance of which I have already spoken, — the splash that was
heard while we scrambled up the brig's sides, and Ben's fate was no
longer a mystery. How strange it is that the death of one man
should, when it occurs under such circumstances as this, affect us
much more powerfully than the loss of hundreds whom a general ac-
tion have swept away ! I declare that there was deeper and more
sincere lamentation over Ben than we had thought of paying to the
memory of all of whom the battle of Cape St. Vincent had deprived
us. For myself, I felt for a while like one whom some terrible per-
sonal calamity had overtaken, and there was not a soul in our mess
that did not mourn with me.
Besides this, and other expeditions of the kind, we moved in more
than once to cover the fire-ships, which in their endeavours to
destroy the Spanish fleet at its moorings wrought the town of Cadiz
no little damage. It was on one of these occasions that Nelson with
his boat's crew encountered and made prisoner of the Spanish com-
mandant Don Miguel Tyrason. I was not personally engaged in that
affair ; I only witnessed it from a distance, — I cannot therefore un-
dertake to describe it. But the superiority of British seamen was
fully proved by it, inasmuch as Nelson had but fifteen hands to back
him, while his adversary was supported by six-and-twenty. Out of
these eighteen were killed in the melee, and of the remainder all
received wounds before they surrendered.
And now I come to a matter concerning which I would willingly
keep silence, — first, because I really cannot sjieak in full of it as to
the designs of those engaged ; and next, because it forms the one
dark page in the volume of England's naval history. There was a
sad spirit of disaffection in those days throughout the British fleet.
Grounds of complaint the seamen doubtless had, and serious grounds
too when the movement began ; but these, at the period when Lord
St. Vincent's crews caught the infection, had been removed ; as far,
at least, as a compliance with the demands of the Portsmouth muti-
neers could remove them. The truth, however, I believe to be, that
54 THE VETERANS OF CHELSEA HOSPITAL.
a good deal of the misfortune is attributable to the mistaken means
which were then adopted of filling the King's ships. Neither by
voluntary enlistment nor the use of the press-gang could hands
enough be picked up, and recourse was had in an evil hour to the
prisons. Rogues and vagabonds from all quarters, pickpockets,
thieves, and swindlers; fellows who, if tried, were sure to cross the
herring-pond, if indeed they escaped the gallows, were allowed,
when brought before the magistracy, to volunteer for his Majesty's
navy, — nay, I am mistaken if, in some instances, the very inmates of
condemned cells were not cleared out, and handed over to the
officers commanding tenders. Now these fellows had all a certain
degree of education, with a great deal of cunning, and the gift of
the gab ; and they were always ready, not only to get up grievances
for themselves, but to impress upon the minds of those about them,
that they were aggrieved also. I know that in Lord St. Vincent's
fleet we had our own share of these land-sharks, and I am inclined
to think it was by them that our mutiny was got up. But, how-
ever this may be, the crews of several of the ships began about
the end of June to run rusty, and the officers found it no easy matter
to maintain even the appearance of discipline. And here again I
must take care to add, that I make these statements rather from
hearsay than personal knowledge ; for our ship never caught the
infection, though no efforts were spared to inoculate us. There
never came a boat from the St. George, for example, that did not
bring one or more disseminators of mischief, who did their very best to
make us discontented with our lot, and seemed both astonished and
annoyed that we would not adopt their views. But they had a
taut hand to deal with in old Jarvis, who made such good use of
the yard-arm, when the necessities of the case required, that he
came to be familiarly spoken of among the seamen as hanging Jarvis.
I don't mean to say that he ever hanged a man improperly ; and am
quite sure that the gentlemen whom he strung up on the present
occasion, richly deserved their fate.
Mutiny is the very last means to which either sailor or soldier will
think of resorting for the purpose of getting redress even of serious
grievances; but mutiny in the presence of an enemy — the man who
can think of that deserves more than hanging. Now such was pre-
cisely the situation of our fleet when symptoms of discontent became
so frequent and so glaring among us, as to render the interference
of authority prompt, bold, and ruthless, absolutely necessary. I
think it was in the St. George that this spirit first showed itself,
though it was not there that, in the outset, at least, matters were
carried to an extreme ; but the admiral having caused three rare
jail-birds to be tried by court-martial, determined that the St.
George's crew should have the honour of casting them off. The
people looked exceedingly blank when the prisoners came on board,
though they said nothing, neither was any opposition offered to the
arrangement which placed them, in close irons, under charge of the
marines ; but the same evening a remonstrance was presented to
Captain Peard, by which the delegates declared that the whole ship's
company would stand, and which he was required to lay before the
admiral. He took it, of course, — he could not well avoid taking it,
— and he carried it to the flag-ship. But the mutineers, if they cal-
culated on overawing Lord St. Vincent, had entirely mistaken their
THE VETERANS OF CHELSEA HOSPITAL. 55
man. Captain Peard was directed to return their paper to his
people, and to tell them that the culprits should be executed, as their
sentence required, at the yard-arm of their ship.
Captain Peard was a resolute man, and he was well supported by
his officers, especially by his first lieutenant, John Hatley. He saw,
from the bearing of his crew, that there was mischief brewing, and
he made up his mind to deal with it vigorously whenever it should
come to a head. Accordingly, when on the evening previous to the
day which had been fixed for the execution, intelligence reached him
that their plans had all been matured, he boldly threw himself with his
first lieutenant into the waste, where the ship's company were assem-
bled.— " I know what you are up to, my lads," said he. " You have
spoken of seizing the ship, turning the officers adrift, and giving these
scoundrels their liberty. I warn you that the attempt to do so will
cost you dear, for I will resist you to the utmost of my power ; and,
as I know the ringleaders, I will bring them, at all events, to justice."
—The men heard him ; but either fancying that matters had gone
too far, or worked upon by the obstinacy of their leaders, they not
only refused to go to their quarters, but gave utterance to threats of
defiance. Captain Peard and Mr. Hatley had taken their part, and
they went through with it. They rushed into the middle of the
throng, grasped the ringleaders by the collar, and dragging them out
unopposed, except by the efforts of the mutineers themselves, put
them in irons. There is nothing like a display of courage and self-
possession in such cases for getting rid of difficulties. The mutinous
seamen returned at once to their allegiance, and the same night there
was not a better conducted crew in all the fleet than that of the St.
George.
We knew nothing of what had happened, and were therefore at a
loss to assign a cause for the appearance of a signal, which as a
repeating frigate we sent on, requiring all the ships to draw
together round the St. George. This was about seven o'clock in the
evening of the 6th of June. But we obeyed it of course ; and I can
testify to the fact, that decks more quiet than those of the ship in
question were not to be seen throughout the fleet. We knew,
indeed, that an execution had been appointed for the morrow ; and
as the causes of that execution were more than usually stringent, we
should have taken it for granted that the object of this concentration
was to give to it all the weight of an extended example, had not the
position of the St. George been such as to carry us farther than
seemed to be convenient from the harbour's mouth. But as the case
stood, this hardly satisfied us, and we demanded one of another
whether all were right. No boats were permitted all that night to
pass from ship to ship ; no certain information therefore reached us.
Yet the care with which the admiral laid the Ville de Paris along-
side the St. George, and kept her there, left very little for a more
direct messenger to communicate. We suspected that here, as well as
elsewhere, evil spirits had been busy, and we watched for the dawn
of day with some anxiety. It came at last, and with it the firing of
the gun, and the hoisting of the pennant half-mast high, which told
of preparations going on for the violent extinction of human
life. There is something very awful, I had well-nigh said humilia-
ting, in such a scene as that of which I am now speaking. We may
hate the crime, and think hardly of the criminal ; but as the moment
G THE VETERANS OF CHELSEA HOSPITAL.
approaches which is to put an end to his career, we shrink almost
involuntarily from the sight of his last agonies. I defy you, indeed,
to close your eyes, or even to turn them away, so soon as the second
gun gives notice that all is in readiness ; and when the booming of
the third is followed by the running up of the doomed men to the
yard-arm, you watch them while they spin aloft, as if you were com-
pelled to do so by the influence of a spell. Poor devils ! the suffer-
ings of these three seemed to be very short. They never stirred a
muscle after their heads reached the block.
Let me hurry over this part of my story. There was another
court-martial on the leaders of the revolt in the St. George, another
condemnation, and another hanging match; but there the matter
ended. Both in her and in the rest of the ships the people returned
to their senses, and the blockade was continued with unremitting
energy and perfect success.
CHAPTER HI.
Containing some account of other perils than war which accompany a soldier's
life, and show ing how a man may establish a quiet claim of admission into Chelsea
Hospital.
FROM this date, up to the conclusion of the short peace in 1802, I
continued knocking about, through the Mediterranean, along the
Bay of Biscay, now and then takirg a cruise in the Adriatic, but
never setting foot on shore, at least in an English port. At last the
order arrived — a pleasant one for us — to make the best of our way
to Portsmouth, outside uhich we no sooner anchored than the cap-
tain left us. By and by came the signal to work in from Spithead
to the harbour, and to dismantle and strip the frigate, preparatory
to her being laid up in ordinary ; while to us, who were still kept
together, berths were assigned in an old hulk hard by, with full
liberty to go on shore as often as we liked. I enjoyed this season of
half work half play exceedingly, but it did not last long ; for just as
we were reckoning on being paid off, and sent adrift in concert,
fresh instructions were received, and the frigate was again put in
order of service. Away we next went to Deptford, where the Alarm,
of twenty-eight guns was lying, and into her we were, without the
smallest ceremony, bundled. But it soon came out that our con-
nexion with the new ship was not intended to be a lasting one. We
carried her round to Portsmouth, and almost immediately afterwards
got our discharge.
I had not forgotten Ben Hartley's injunction to seek out Sail, and
give her his dying message. I knew that she was to be heard of in
Portsmouth ; for, if the truth must be spoken, Sail was not, more
than sailors' sweethearts in general, very fastidious as to the sort of
company which she kept ; yet, somehow or another, I had not been
able, when there with the Caroline frigate, to discover any trace of
her. This time I was more fortunate. We were paid off on the
23d of April, and that same day I met her at the Point. Why should
I make a short tale long ? Sail was a kind creature ; she wept when
she saw Ben's backy-box, and she smiled through her tears as I endea-
voured to comfort her. We became sworn messmates on the spot,
and the very next day we were married.
My wife was a native of a village near Birmingham ; and, as all
parts of the world were the same to me, I agreed, at her suggestion,
THE VETERANS OF CHELSEA HOSPITAL. 57
to remove thither, and begin housekeeping. We went accordingly,
and for several years I spent my days there very pleasantly, if
at times somewhat hardly ; for Sail was an excellent manager ; my
pension was regularly paid, I picked up an odd job wherever I
could get it, and the arrears of my pay, which were at the time of
our marriage considerable, helped to keep the wolf from the door
even when work was slack. But the war broke out again, and the
press for seamen became by and by so great, that I could not reckon
from day to day on an escape from capture. Now I had got tired of
a sea life, before I abandoned it in 1802, and the thought of returning
to it, after so long a rest on shore, was very disagreeable to me.
Yet, as rewards were offered to such as would report to the officer
on the impress service where seamen might be found, I knew that I
was continually at the mercy of any person who might think it
worth his while to sell me. I became annoyed and irritable, and
said to myself, let come what will, I won't go to sea. Therefore, in
order to avoid that risk, I went one day to a public-house, where a
recruiting party from the thirty-eighth regiment hung out, and
having drunk pretty freely, I offered myself, and was accepted, as a
soldier. It was in the second battalion of the thirty-eighth, which
was then newly formed, that I enlisted. I cannot say that I retain
any very agreeable impression of the effect which was produced
upon me by my early career as a soldier. The perpetual drill was
a nuisance intolerable, especially to me, who could not for a long
while be made to understand their words of command ; and the stiff
stocks, and the pipe-clay, and all the rest of it, — I did not know
whether to laugh at the whole concern, or to be driven to my wits'
end by it. But custom reconciles us wonderfully to all things.
When we got our route for Ireland, about four months after I joined
the corps, I had beccme, though I say it myself, a smart soldier;
and during the entire period of my service with the regiment, I am
not aware that I ever forfeited the character.
I am not sure that much good would be accomplished were I to
give a detailed account of my home service, which wore itself out
partly in Ireland, partly in the inland of Guernsey. In the former
of these countries we went through the usual routine of marching, —
from Waterford to Cork, from Cork to Kinsale, from Kinsale to
Dublin, where for some time we were stationary. In the latter,
which we reached in the early part of 1810, we did not linger long.
We were ordered soon after our arrival to join the army in Portugal,
and embarked for that purpose. It was now, for the first time since
our marriage, that I parted from my poor wife, and a sore heart the
parting occasioned to both ; for, in spite of the haste with which the
wedding was got up, we loved each other tenderly. But there was
no help for it, inasmuch as her name did not come up in the list of
those who were to accompany the regiment. Accordingly she be-
took herself to her native village, unencumbered, happily for her,
with any children ; while I went away with my comrades on board
of the transport, which waited to receive us.
We had a fair passage, tedious perhaps, but not otherwise uncom-
fortable, and landed in Lisbon, where we were put into quarters till
the necessary field equipments should be supplied. These came in
due time ; after which we were marched up the-country, and joined
the army in its position behind the Coa, just as the French, under
58 THE VETERANS OF CHELSEA HOSPITAL.
Massena, were advancing to besiege Ciudad Rodrigo. We were im-
mediately attached to General Leith's division, and brigaded with
the first battalion of the ninth regiment, as gallant a corps as ever
shouldered arms, or drew trigger in presence of an enemy.
I am not going to describe the retreat to the lines of Torres
Vedras, nor yet the battle of Busaco, which broke in upon its mo-
notony. These tales have been told at least a hundred times, and I
could add nothing to the interest which others have shed over them.
For what could I relate, except that we toiled on day after day,
heavily laden, indifferently fed, and witnessing all round us spec-
tacles of desolation which wrung our very hearts. So also in refer-
ence to the battle ; if I were to give my version of it, there are fifty
chances to one if it would not be found to be at variance with the
versions of others. I saw nothing, and heard nothing, except the
line of Frenchmen whom my own regiment opposed, and the noise
of their and our musketry, enlivened by a heavy fire of cannon ; and
as to the rest, soldiers have described their feelings both before and
after so frequently, that there really seems to me nothing of which I
can make mention. Enough, then, is done when I state, that I went
through the day's work unscathed, and that the following morning I
retired with the rest of the army, pleased with the victory which we
had gained, yet well knowing that to retire was necessary.
I am not, and never was, a very strong man ; and even at the date
of the battle of Busaco I had passed my prime. My early habits,
too, were all against me in sustaining the fatigues of such a cam-
paign, and I sank before long under them. At Coimbra I fell sick,
and could keep my place in the ranks no longer. Together with many
others, whose case was similar to mine, I was accordingly put into
a waggon, and sent on under an escort to the general hospital at
Belem. I cannot say that everything was arranged here on the
scale of abundance which marked the arrangement of affairs in the
naval hospital at Plymouth; yet we had no right to complain, for
the medical gentlemen were unremitting in their attentions, and all
was done for us, I verily believe, which the state of the magazines
would allow. But it was found, after I had been an inmate of the
hospital for some time, that I was not likely to be of farther vise in
Portugal ; so they sent me home, together with a whole batch of
invalids, to be disposed of as the commander-in-chief might deem
expedient. To have kept me on the strength of the thirty -eighth
regiment, under such circumstances, would have been clearly an act
of imposture. I was accordingly transferred to the third garrison
battalion, and joined it in the autumn of 1812, while it was doing
duty among the forts and batteries, which at that period overlooked
in all directions the entrance of Cork harbour.
I do not know how far the composition of the garrison battalions,
as they then existed, may be generally understood. Originally embo-
died as an army of reserve, these corps, fourteen in number, were
never expected to serve beyond the limits of the United Kingdom, — •
that is to say, they were liable to be sent anywhere throughout Great
Britain and Ireland, and the islands adjacent, but could not be called
upon to cross the seas, even for the purpose of occupying one of our
more distant possessions. As the war thickened, however, this
reservation of their usefulness was found to be inconvenient ; so,
instead of enlisting fresh men, they had their casualties supplied by
THE VETERANS OF CHELSEA HOSPITAL. 59
drafts from regiments of the line, those persons being selected to do
duty with them whom wounds or natural infirmities had rendered
incapable of active service. As soon as by such means the numbers
of two or three of them became abundant, the limited-service men
were all drafted out of them, and thus they became available, as far
as a body of invalids could well be, for any service, in any part of
the world, to which the government might send them. The third
battalion was one of those which had been thus dealt with. In point
of numbers, too, it was, when I joined it, exceedingly strong. I
believe that our muster-roll told a tale of twelve hundred rank and
file, at the least. But such a collection of halt and lame, and blind,
and sick, and lazy ! I verily believe that a single good light com-
pany would have thrashed us all. Nevertheless, we were considered
quite efficient enough for garrison duty either at home or abroad ;
and abroad, it soon came out, that we were destined to go. I
had not occupied my barrack-room on Spike Island a month, when
we received orders to prepare for foreign service, and two or three
troop-ships coming in soon afterwards, we were with all practicable
haste put on board and sent to sea.
I had been rejoined by my wife at the Isle of Wight, whither, on
my return from Portugal, I was sent, and had brought her thence, not
anticipating another separation, to Ireland. We both pleaded hard
for leave to make the voyage together ; but this was contrary to the
rules of the service, and could not be acceded to. Once more, there-
fore, we bade each other farewell, and once again she went back sor-
rowful and faint-hearted to her relatives in the neighbourhood of
Birmingham. Meanwhile the regiment pursued its voyage, and
early in the spring of 1813 reached Malta. It may perhaps be sup-
posed that of service in that most quiet of quiet stations I can have
absolutely nothing to tell; and had Malta been circumstanced as it
usually is, the supposition would have been well founded. But the
case was quite otherwise. When we reached the place the plague
was raging with excessive violence, and the state of excitement in
which we were kept by it was extreme. I am quite ignorant whether
or not any account of that terrible visitation has ever appeared ; but
to what 1 myself both saw and heard I may in either case bear my
testimony, warning you that mine must necessarily be but a meagre
narrative, inasmuch as the utmost care was taken to hinder the
corps in garrison from holding any communication, verbal or other-
wise, with the inhabitants.
I have reason to believe that the plague was imported into Malta
so early as the year 1810 or 1811, and that it was brought thither by
a ship from the coast of Barbary, of which the lading was cotton. I
believe, too, that the infected goods were smuggled on shore ; for
the ship was put into quarantine as usual — and yet the disease
broke out. Be this, however, as it may, weeks and even months
elapsed before the authorities became aware of its prevalence in
the island; so fearful were the Maltese of the consequences which
were sure to follow, and of the total stop which the discovery
would put to their trade and their amusements. But by degrees
things came to such a pitch, that an universal alarm was created.
People died by dozens and scores daily ; and the knell rang so
often, and funeral processions became so frequent, that the attention
of the government was called to it, and an inquiry was instituted.
60 THE VETERANS OF CHELSEA HOSPITAL.
The result of that inquiry was to confirm beyond dispute the terrible
suspicions which were afloat. It was found that the disease, which
cut off so many of all ages and sexes, was no ordinary malady. It
did not show itself in all cases in the same way, neither were its
issues invariably fatal; but there was a character about it which
was not to be mistaken. Persons might be, or seem to be, in perfect
health up to a given moment ; they eat, and drank, and went about
their business as usual, till all at once a slight swelling, accompanied
by redness, made its appearance in some part of their bodies, arid
health and strength, and not unfrequently life itself, disappeared
with extraordinary rapidity. The boils in question affected often
the forehead, but more frequently still, the armpits. They showed
themselves, however, on other parts of the body likewise, and their
progress to maturity was marvellously quick. If the patient was
vigorous enough to hold out till they burst, then were his chances
of recovery considerable ; if they did not burst, he invariably died.
But this was not the only mode in which disease did its work.
People might be seen walking the street apparently in the highest
health and spirits, till suddenly they were seized Avith giddiness,
which did not throw them down, but spun them round and round,
like sheep when afflicted by the complaint which is called the stag-
gers. There was no instance of a patient surviving where the plague
took this form. He fell from one fit into another, and dying in a few
hours, becoming immediately afterwards black and livid, like one
who has been poisoned.
No sooner was the presence of the pest made known than the
governor adopted every possible precaution, in order to hinder the
contagion from being carried into the barracks, where as yet no
symptoms of the malady had shown themselves. The gates of all were
shut, and guards mounted, with orders to shoot those who should
attempt to pass, either from the military stations into the town, or
from the town into the military stations. Outposts likewise were
established, and a cordon drawn round the forts, any attempt to
break which was to be dealt with in like manner; while the troops
were ordered to send out the reliefs with bayonets fixed, and to
clear the way for themselves in passing along the streets, as if they
had been dealing with an enemy. In like manner each guard and
piquet, after it had been relieved at its post, was marched into one
of the casemated apartments, where the men were required to strip
to the skin, and to bathe in huge jars of oil. At the same time their
garments, and belts, and accoutrements were suspended over a fire
of charcoal, and thoroughly smoked ; a process which was said to
have contributed much to keep infection at a distance, but which
was certainly not of a nature to gratify the colonels of regiments,
who might have looked for a handsome reserve out of the government
allowance for clothing.
Whether it was owing to these precautions, or that the style of
living in barracks had something to do with it, or that Providence
took more care of us than we either expected or deserved, I cannot
tell ; but it is as certain as it is remarkable, that not one British sol-
dier died of the plague. Two years it was in the island, committing
fearful ravages everywhere, and sparing in its wrath neither the old
nor the young ; but it came not near the quarters of the garrison,
except in one instance, and that was a very remarkable one. Under
the cavalier of St. Jaques, in the counter-force of the Port, there
THE VETERANS OF CHELSEA HOSPITAL. 61
is a casemate, or bomb-proof lodging, in and near to which dwelt
two families, between whom all direct communication was, on ac-
count of the plague, cut off, though, in other and brighter days, they
had been the best friends possible. One of these consisted of a Mal-
tese functionary, the captain, as he was called, of the magazine,
whose duty it was to take care of the stores in that quarter, and of
whom all men spoke and thought favourably. He was an old man,
whom his very style of dress had rendered remarkable, for he wore
a scarlet coat, in shape resembling that which I now wear, scarlet
breeches, and crimson stockings, with a cocked-hat trimmed with
gold lace, and hooked with bands that were made of gold .
He, with his two daughters, inhabited apartments in the casemate,
and very quietly, albeit very contentedly, they passed their days
there. The other family of whom I have spoken was that of Sergeant
Crighton, of the British artillery, and which consisted of the sergeant
himself, his wife, and two children, who dwelt in a small detached
house hard by. Both parties had gardens, which a wall only divided ;
both parties, too, had goats, or rather the goats were their common
property ; and so just were they in their dealings one with the
other, that, rather than divide the produce on each occasion of
milking, they took it by turns to milk, and alternately kept the
whole. Thus, if the Maltese milked the goats in the morning, the
goats were driven to Sergeant Crighton's for milking in the evening ;
if the evening's gift went to the captain of the magazine, the Bri-
tish soldier put in his claim to whatever the morning might produce.
So long as the bills of health were everywhere clean, there neither
occurred, nor could occur, any interruption to this device ; indeed,
the goats soon came to understand as well as their owners what was
expected of them, and of their own accord went from house to
house at the appointed seasons. It came to pass, however, some
time after the plague had broken out, that Mrs. Crighton observed,
from the appearance of the goats' udders when they arrived, that
they had never been milked that morning. She was surprised ; but
either because no thought of evil entered into her mind, or that she
looked upon the circumstance as the result of accident, she took no
notice of it. The animals were milked, — they were turned loose
again, and betook themselves, as usual, to the place of pasturage.
When, however, the same appearances presented themselves again
and again, Mrs. Crighton became alarmed, and, without communi-
cating her intention to her husband, she determined to ascertain
whether all were well with her neighbours. For this purpose she
clambered over the wall, and made her way to the apartments of the
casemate ; but, though she knocked several times, nobody paid
attention to the signal. She then pushed open the door and entered.
In one room lay the father in bed, and his two daughters stretched
at length along the floor beside him. The Maltese family were dead,
and the appearance of the bodies left no room to doubt that they had
died of the prevailing malady.
Mrs. Crighton returned to her own home a sadder, if not a wiser
woman, — but she returned not unscathed. Either she had contracted
the seeds of the pest during the brief space which she stood in the
dead chamber, or the udders of the goats which she milked conveyed
to her the infection, — for she had caught the plague. She commu-
nicated it, moreover, to her children, and within the customary period
all became its victims ; for it was one of the horrible parts of this
G2 THE VETERANS OF CHELSEA HOSPITAL.
horrible tragedy, that people and houses which were suspected of
infection became things to be shunned by all around them, and that
the very consciousness of this, as well as of other consequences
which were sure to follow, caused the unhappy creatures themselves
to conceal their misery. Hence both of these families, as well as
many more which became utterly extinguished in Malta, died in
secret ; no one being aware that there was illness among them, till
its results became palpable to the whole world.
As a matter of course, one of the first measures adopted by govern-
ment, as soon as the state of the city became known, was to erect
everywhere, in the ditches, and resting against the scarps of the
glacis, numerous temporary hospitals. These were composed of a
few boards only, which being hastily fastened together, were run
up beside the breast-work of the fortifications, and covered over, so
as to be impervious to the weather, with light deals and tarpaul-
ins. The orders issued were, that every person who was taken
with the plague, no matter of what age, sex, rank, or condition,
should be immediately conveyed to one of these pest-houses, and
that all the wearing apparel and cotton and linen furniture belonging
to the invalid, or to the house of which he might have been an inmate,
should be immediately burned. These were terrible, though perhaps
necessary, orders, — with which no human being complied who could
avoid it ; for cupidity is in the human breast a stronger passion than
the love of life itself; and men preferred running the almost inevi-
table risk of infection, rather than that their property should be
destroyed. In like manner there were particular persons appointed
to remain and bury the dead, — a body of wild Burgomotes from
Smyi*na, whom the temptation of large pay lured over to face the
enemy, and to die or not, as chance, or rather Providence, might
determine. There was something fearfully picturesque in the dress
and bearing of these charnelites. They wore coarse canvass smock-
frocks, with gloves which reached above the elbow, boots of untan-
ned leather, and caps which, buttoning down over the ears, left only
a small portion of their swarthy visages exposed. Their implement
of office, again, was a long hook, in form and size nbt unlike to a
boat-hook, with which they seized the dead body, and dragged it
from the place where it lay, and threw it in the cart ; for in Malta,
as in London long ago, the dead-cart traversed the streets both day
and night, that corpses might be piled upon it, — that unceremo-
niously torn from hands which would have naturally prepared them
for the grave,. — they might be cast unshrived, unblest, unmourned,
into holes which the strange scavengers dug.
The plague in Malta was, as I believe it generally is, very capri-
cious in its operations. Multitudes caught it no one could tell how,
and perished ; whereas others who came in perpetual contact with
the dying and the dead escaped. Sergeant Crighton, of whom men-
tion has already been made, offered a striking example of this fact.
His wife and children died beside him ; he watched them in their
decline; and, when life became extinct, he did for them the last
offices which he was permitted to do. He sewed the corpses in linen
bags, took them one after another on his shoulder, carried them to
the top of the garden- wall by means of a ladder, and dropped them
one after another into the dead- cart,— yet he never caught the infec-
tion. The Burgomotes, on the other hand, though they carefully
THE VETERANS OF CHELSEA HOSPITAL. 63
abstained from handling the dead bodies, — though they never touched
them except with their hooks, and underwent frequent ablutions in
jars of oil and vinegar, — all, to a man, contracted the loathsome dis-
ease, and all died under its ravages. Ay, and more remarkable
still, a thorough-paced ruffian of an Irish seaman, who, being under
sentence of death for murdering his captain, had accepted the alter-
native which was offered to him, and became a charnel-man, — ate
and drank, and grasped the infected corpses with his naked hands,
and went about unwashed and unmasked, and almost always in a
state of intoxication, yet exhibited no symptoms of plague to the
last. What became of him eventually I do not know; but that the
pest had no influence over him is certain.
There occurred, as was to be expected in a place so visited, fre-
quent cases both of tenderness and its opposite, which were very
remarkable. Among others, the following struck me at the time,
and is remembered now as more than commonly affecting. At a
place called Vittorosia, not far from the magazine where Mrs.
Crighton died, there dwelt a Maltese family, — to what rank of life
belonging I cannot tell, but certainly none of the meanest, though
scarcely noble. From the non-appearance in public of any member
of that household, it was surmised that the plague had broken out
among them, and by and by this suspicion became confirmed in a
way which moved all who saw it even to tears. There came to the
balcony of that house one day two little children, the eldest about
five, the youngest scarcely four years old, who, weeping bitterly, said
that their father and mother, and all the rest, were asleep, and that
they could not waken them. The fact was, that in that infected
habitation there was no living thing except these children. All had
died, — and such was the horror effacing such a danger, that nobody
could be prevailed upon to remove the little ones from their living
tomb. Yet they were not wholly neglected. Day after day they
came to the balcony, and letting down a basket by a string, their
neighbours supplied them with food and drink, which they drew up
for themselves and consumed. I have forgotten how long this state
of things continued ; but I know that it went on for some time. At
last intelligence of the matter came to the governor's ears, and the
police received orders to remove the children to a place more suited
to their condition, while the house was cleansed of its putrefying in-
mates, and all the furniture burned.
It was about this time that the obstinacy of the inhabitants in
concealing the ravages which the plague was making among them
rose to such a height, that the authorities were obliged to counter-
work it by means the most vigorous. Not only would each deny
that there was sickness in his dwelling, but their dead they buried
under the hearths of their kitchens, in the very wells, — anywhere, in
short, so that they might only escape the vigilance of the officers of
the sanitary corps, and the confiscation of property which went
along with it. The practice, shocking under any circumstances, but
in such a case as the present pregnant with danger to themselves
and others, began by degrees to be suspected by the police ; and an
order went forth, that the names of all who inhabited each particular
house should be posted on the door, and that twice a-day they should
be required to answer from the balcony, when the roll was called
over. By these means many a train of infection came to light, which
(>4 THE VETERANS OF CHELSEA HOSPITAL.
would have otherwise been concealed for ever, and many lives were
saved, though at the expense of a great deal of valuable but polluted
property. Yet a bad feeling was engendered by it in the minds of
the inhabitants. They began to hate the troops,— first, because they
regarded them as instruments of oppression ; and next, because they
learned, to their astonishment, that not a single case of plague had
appeared in any of the barracks. To what horrible inventions will
men not be carried, if a spirit of rancorous and deadly hate towards
their fellow-creatures once obtain a mastery over them ! Seeing
that our guards were incorruptible, and their vigilance untiring, -
that nothing was permitted to pass the barrack-gates, not even pro-
visions or other necessaries, till they should have undergone a pro-
cess of fumigation, — the Maltese adopted the expedient of throwing
money, and especially paper money, in the way of the men on duty,
in the hope that by it infection might be carried into their quarters.
The motive which actuated them in this proceeding was not for a
while suspected; but the probable consequence of bringing any un-
clean thing, even money, within the barricade could not be over-
looked ; so the soldiers were forbidden, on pain of death, to lift
aught from the streets, and positive orders were given, in case any
man should be caught in the act of disobedience, to shoot him on the
spot. I do not believe that in a single instance our people disobeyed
these orders ; but there were others whose sense of duty was not
capable of overmastering their thirst of gain, and who followed their
ruling impulse to their sorrow.
In addition to the ordinary police, a number of Maltese were at
this time enrolled as a sanitary force, whose exclusive business it
was to take care that the orders of government in reference to
the sick and their effects were not violated. In particular, they had
it in charge to burn the effects of all who died of the plague ; and as
they were regularly officered, and the officers paid upon a liberal
scale, little apprehension was entertained that they would fail in
their duty. The government was deceived in this respect. Several
of the officers were accused of appropriating to their own use large
quantities of valuable stuff, which ought to have been consumed ;
and being put upon their trial, the charge was brought home to
them. They were1 condemned to death ; and a gallows being erected
in the principal square of Fort Manuel, they were all hanged without
mercy. Moreover, the better to impress the people with the wisdom
of paying obedience to the laws, the names of the several culprits,
with a statement of their respective ranks, and of the offences for
which they suffered, were inscribed on marble slabs, which slabs
were introduced into the piers of the gallows, and may yet, I dare
say, be seen. I believe that the effect of this example was good ; at
all events, the burnings became more frequent after it had taken
place than ever, — and the heaps of ashes which were thus accumu-
lated, as they lay in sheltered corners, chiefly in the ditches, have
often been turned over since in search of jewels and coins, and not
always, as I ascertained, unsuccessfully.
My tale of active life is told ; and the residue of a personal history
such as mine may be expressed within the compass of a few words.
I continued to do duty with the third garrison battalion till the year
1816, when, my term of service having expired, I was ordered home
for the purpose of getting my discharge. The board at Chelsea
RETIRING FROM BUSINESS I A BARGAIN. 65
obtained me a pension of sevenpence a-day, which, together with my
fourpence from Greenwich, brought me within a penny of the shil-
ling ; and, as my wife was still alive, I betook me once more to
Wassail, where for some time we lived in tolerable comfort. But it
was God's will to separate us in 1825, and I became after her decease
a homeless man. Under these circumstance, I applied for admission
into the Hospital, — and here I am.
RETIRING FROM BUSINESS: A BARGAIN.
i.
POOR Love growing old, sent a message to Wealth,
A friendly one though, by the by ;
Hot rivals were they, till the little god's health
Began, like his business, to die.
" Friend Wealth," said Dan Cupid, " I wish to retire, —
I 'm weary of dealing in hearts :
I 've a large stock on hand, which I hope you '11 admire —
I '11 sell them en gros or in parts.
ir.
" N° 1 is a lot that I started with first —
They were Sweethearts — poor sensitive things !
By Hope and myself they were carefully nursed,
Till Jealousy shot forth her stings,
And poison'd one so with her venomous pain,
That Hope left the other to moan ; —
Though I think I could manage to join them again,
If Pride would but let them alone.
in.
" N° 2 is a Spinster lot — obstinate — tough — •
Which has hung a long time upon hand ;
But, with your assistance, I think soon enough
A sale it is sure to command.
N° 3 is a heart that was broken by me
Once, forgetting its frangible mould :
I tried oft to mend it, — but fail'd, as you '11 see,
And I fear that it ne'er can be sold.
IV.
" N° 4 is a lot that I grieve to resign, —
The material is all of the best ;
But whether it comes from their being too fine,
They 've not had a chance like the rest !
In short, you will see that, on setting up trade,
I laid in a various supply,
And am sure, in your hands, that the stock can be made
To fetch cent, per cent, by and by ! "
v.
Says Wealth, in response, " My dear Love, for your sake
The proposal I gladly will meet.
The goods at your own valuation I '11 take ;
So send them per bearer tout-de-suite .'"
For well did the cunning old alchymist know, ,
Let them e'en of their kinds be the worst,
He had only to gild them, and custom would flow
To buy them all up as the first !
.1. A. WADE.
VOL. VI.
OG
TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE ISLE OF WIGHT.
WITH THE ADVENTURES OF THE AUTHOR IN SEARCH OF THEM.
BY ABRAHAM ELDER, ESQ.
ST. NICHOLAS.
" ST. NICHOLAS, Bishop of Myra in the fourth century, was a saint
of great virtue, and disposed so early in life to conform to ecclesias-
tical rule, that when an infant at the breast he fasted on Wednesday
and Friday, and sucked but once on each of those days, and that
towards night.* An Asiatic gentleman sending his two sons to
Athens for education, ordered them to wait on the bishop for his
benediction. On arriving at Myra with their baggage, they took up
their lodging at an inn, purposing, as it was late in the day, to defer
their visit till the morrow ; but in the mean time the innkeeper, to
secure their effects to himself, killed the young gentlemen, cut them
into pieces, salted them, and intended to sell them for pickled pork.
St. Nicholas, being favoured with a sight of these proceedings in a
vision, went to the inn and reproached the cruel landlord for his
crime, who immediately confessing it, entreated the saint to pray to
Heaven for his pardon. The bishop, moved by his confession and
contrition, besought forgiveness for him, and supplicated restoration
of life to the children. He had scarcely finished when the pieces
reunited, and the animated youths threw themselves from the brine-
tub at the bishop's feet. He raised them up, exhorted them to return
thanks to God alone, gave them good advice for the future, bestowed
his blessing upon them, and sent them to Athens with great joy to
prosecute their studies.
" St. Nicholas was the patron of scholars and of youth, of sailors,
and of the company of parish clerks of London. He,, was called the
Child Bishop, on account of the strictness with which he fasted
when an infant at the breast. Formerly, in all our cathedrals, his
anniversary, the Gth of December, was thus celebrated : A boy to
represent the boy bishop was elected from among the choristers.
He was invested with great authority, and had the state of a diocesan
bishop from the time of his election until Innocents' Day (the 28th
of the same month). He was to bear the name and maintain the
state of a bishop, habited with a crosier or pastoral-staff in his hand,
and a mitre on his head. His fellows, the rest of the children of the
choir, were to take upon them the style and office of prebendaries,
and yield the bishop canonical obedience ; and further, the same
service as the very bishop himself, with his dean and prebendaries,
had thus been used to officiate, were to have performed, the very
same, mass excepted, was done by the chorister and his canons upon
the eve and holiday. It further appears that this infant bishop did,
to a certain limit, receive to his own use rents, capons, and other
emoluments of the church. In case the little bishop died within the
* Ribandineira, vol. ii. p. 503.
TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE ISLE OF WIGHT. 67
month, his exequies were solemnized with great pomp, and he was
interred, like other bishops, with all his ornaments. There is still to
be seen in the cathedral at Salisbury a monument erected to one of
these boy bishops. On the stone is sculptured the figure of a child
clad in the episcopal habits. It has sorely puzzled many respectable
antiquaries.
" St. Nicholas was also considered to be the patron of maidens,
In many convents it is said that he used to come in the night of the
eve of his feast-day and fill the nuns' stockings with sugar-plums
whilst they were asleep."
" Pray what is the latest date at which these boy bishops made
their appearance ? " asked the tutor ; " for the ceremony seems very
extraordinary."
" Queen Elizabeth finally put an end to it. But it is not near so
extraordinary as the Feast of Fools, that was annually celebrated in
the neighbouring abbey of Quarr, or Quarraria. Upon New-year's-
day they elected a Fool Abbot, who was dressed out in imitation of
the real abbot. He was attended by his proper officers, ridiculously
habited. One of the ceremonies was to shave the precentor of fools
upon a stage erected before the chapel, in the presence of the people,
who were amused during the operation by his loose and vulgar dis-
courses, accompanied by actions equally reprehensible.
" They afterwards entered the chapel, and performed the service,
attended by every species of buffoonery ; some wearing masks repre-
senting monsters, or with their faces smutted or chalked; some
personated females, and conducted themselves indecorously. During
divine service they sang indecent songs in the choir, ate rich pud-
dings upon the altar, and burnt old shoes for incense, and ran
jumping all over the chapel. The Abbot of Fools performed the
service habited in pontifical garments, and gave his benediction.
The mass, however, was composed for the occasion, and was called
the Fool's Prose.
" These abominable and impious ceremonies were probably ori-
ginally instituted with a view to Christianise the Bacchanalia and
Saturnalia. They were called the December Liberties."
" Pray, sir, who was this King Stuff, sole monarch of the Isle of
Wight, that you spoke of just now? " asked the tutor.
" Never heard of King Stuff? " said the antiquary. " Why, Mr.
Elder informed me that you were a Master of Arts, and had taken
first-class honours at Oxford. You must at least have read of Stuff
and Witgar in the Saxon Chronicles ? "
" I never heard of the Saxon Chronicles," was the reply.
" Never heard of the Saxon Chronicles ! " said the antiquary, lift-
ing up his hands in astonishment. " Perhaps you never heard of
King Alfred ? "
" I read about him at school ; but I never troubled myself about
the history of England after I got to the University. A man
may take every degree that Oxford confers without even having
heard of William the Conqueror. But I can tell you all about Ju-
piter, and Mars, and Venus ; and I could give you a very correct
account of the lives and the amours of the heathen gods and god-
desses, all which it was absolutely necessary for me to learn ; besides
which — "
P2
68 TALES AND LEGENDS OF
" But am I to understand, then, that the study of the language
and the history of England is totally neglected ? "
" Oh no, — not the language certainly. We study diligently the
Greek and Latin languages, from which our English tongue is
derived."
The antiquary puffed out both his cheeks, and gave a very long
peculiar whistle, to the utter astonishment of all of us, of me not the
least, for I had never heard the old gentleman whistle before. I had
no idea that he knew how to whistle. The two undergraduates,
convulsed with laughter, dropped behind to enjoy their laugh more
at their ease. The tutor and myself looked at one another, and con-
trived to keep our countenance. After a long pause, the antiquary
said,
" And so you think that the English tongue is derived from the
Greek and Latin ! Pray young man," said he, addressing one of the
Oxonians, " what do you consider the Latin word homo to be derived
from ? "
" Quasi ex hnmo" was the reply.
. " Right," said the tutor.
" Quasi ex fiddlestick ! " said the antiquary. "Homo is derived
from the English word man, or at least from the Gothic, which is
only an old form of the English." The tutor smiled, and arched up
his eyebrows. The antiquary continued — " Homo, like most of the
common words in every language, has been much corrupted and, as
it were, worn by use. We meet with the root, however, in the ge-
nitive case ho?>«/m. The adjective humanus is, however, quite clear.
Hu-man signifies the good man."
" Eu, certainly does mean good," said the tutor.
" In Greek," added one of the younger ones.
" Signifies good ! — to be sure it does," said the antiquary ; " what
is more, it is derived from the word good." The tutor's eyebrows
went up again. The antiquary went on — " G and y were formerly
pronounced alike ; so that good is that which yoo'd, or made good.
It is a regular participle-past, though the rest of tshe verb is ob-
solete."
" I do not quite follow your meaning," said the tutor.
"Well, then," said the antiquary, "what is the meaning of the
word humanus ? It means — like the action of a good man. Inhu-
manus means — unlike the action of a good man. Now let us leave
out the hu, and see what becomes of it. Immanis means monstrous,
or unlike the action of a man at all."
" This is very curious, it must be confessed," replied the tutor,
who was completely puzzled by this display of learning. But you
forgot to tell me who this King Stuff was."
" King Stuff," replied the antiquary, " was the nephew of Cerdic,
King of the West Saxons, who was the son of Elesa, who was the
son of Esla, who was the son of Gewis, the son of Wye, the son of
Frewin, the son of Frithgar, the son of Brand, the son of Baldav,
the son of Woden."
Thank you, thank you, thank you," said the tutor, fearing that
the antiquary was only stopping to take breath before he carried the
pedigree up to Adam.
THE ISLE OF WIGHT. 69
Here ragged Jack impudently put in his word in support of his
patron — "I can assure you, sir, that he came of a very respectable
family."
But the antiquary reproved him with dignity, saying, "Jack, you
can know nothing about it."
"And pray, Mr. Winterblossom, who succeeded King Stuff in his
island kingdom ? "
" There is very little known of the history of the island after that
time till the invasion of Wulfhere, about which there is a very plea-
sant history still remaining."
" We should consider ourselves under great obligations to you, if
you would favour us with it."
" I shall have great pleasure in doing so."
WULFHERE THE KINU-HEAKTED.
" In the year 661, Wulfhere, the son of Penda, invaded the Isle
of Wight. He penetrated with his ships up the lake of Brerding
(now called Brading Haven), and sei/ed upon the town of Woolver-
ton, to which he did no injury ; for he came to free the inhabitants
from the cruelties of Sebert, who reigned over them, and to cause
the Christian truths to be preached to the Jutes,* who then dwelt in
the Isle of Wight. But the Jutes, when they saw the Angles under
Wulfhere land and take possession of their town by force of arms,
would not trust to their offers of friendship ; but they assembled on
the hills around, under the banners of Sebert, and descending like
a storm from the mountain, fell upon the army of Wulfhere ; and
Redwald, surnamed the Bold, with twenty followers penetrated to
where the chief of the Angles fought in person. But as they lifted
their spears to throw them, Wulfhere said, ' Before our blood flows,
let me speak one word. I come not here for conquest, or to destroy
the lives of the Jutes, but to free them from the cruelties of Sebert.'
Then Redwald the Bold answered, ' The Jutes trust not to the
Angles when they come in arms and wet their spears in our blood.'
Balday threw his spear, but Wulfhere avoided it ; and the spear of
Wulfhere struck the shield of Redwald, but did him no injury. But
the Angles were in great power, and the Jutes were driven back to
their hills. Many, indeed, fled early in the day, for they loved not
their leader Sebert.
" Wulf here crossed the river Yar, and rested at Brerding.t Here
he built a Christian church, and Eoppa.a mass-priest who came with
him, consecrated it, and stood ready to baptize the Pagan Jutes.
" After which Wulfhere pursued Sebert, and burned his castle
of Witgarisberig.+ Afterwards they met in battle, and Sebert was
slain ; but Redwald still held them at bay. He was left almost alone,
* Jutis, — Bede, Hist. Ecdes.vol. i. p. IT), — not Vitis, as Gibson quotes him.
The Goths, Jutes, and GetiE were the same people ; whence the peninsula of Jut-
land, as well as the isle of Gothland, is called Gotland hy King Alfred in the peri-
plus of Oht-here. From Jutna-cynn, Jeatna-kyn, come Jenkyn, Jenkyns, Jen-
kins, &c. facts highly interesting to a number of persons at present inhabiting the
principality of Wales.
•j- Brading. t Carisbrook.
70 TALES AND LEGENDS OF
and the spears of several were lifted to strike him, when a maiden
rushed in and threw herself at the feet of Wulf here.
" ' Save him ! save him ! oh Wulfhere, surnamed the Kind-
hearted ! '
" Her arms were clasped round his knees, and her long yellow
hair poured in flowing ringlets on the ground ; her face, as it looked
up for pity, was the fairest he had ever beheld. Wulfhere's voice
was heard, and the points of his warriors' spears were turned up-
ward.
" ' Maiden, thy prayer is granted.' He raised her from the
ground. ' And who art thou ? ' he said.
" ' I am Edith of Stenbury,' she replied.
" Kedwald threw down his weapon, and crossed his arms upon his
breast,
" ' King of the Angles, I am your prisoner.'
" ' Chieftain/ Wulf here replied, ' I take no prisoners. You are
free to come and to go as the winds of heaven, — free to walk in
peaceful garb or wear the arms of a warrior. The cruelties of Sebert
are no more; — let those who have suffered injuries come to me, and
I will right them.'
" ' Wulfhere,' answered Redwald, ' you are justly surnamed the
Kind-hearted. We doubted the word of a stranger ; but now we
know you. You have brought freedom and happiness to ouv
island.'
" After which Wulfhere and Redwald became as brothers, and for
a time they ruled the island together.
" Wulfhere loved the chase, and he said one day to Redwald,
" ' Where shall we chase the boar ? '
" Redwald replied, ' The stag is on all our hills, but the finest
boars harbour in the forest of Bordwood.'
" Foresters were sent to track the boars to their lairs, and in the
evening the two chieftains took up their abode in the neighbourhood
of Bordwood, with their dogs and foresters. The fire was lighted
in the middle of the floor, and the smoke rolled up through the
opening in the roof. While the venison for their evening meal was
being roasted, Wulfhere and Redwald related to one another the tra-
ditions of other days, and the deeds of arms that their fathers had
done. At length the meat is placed upon the board, and the wine-
cup passes round ; the foresters and henchmen share the feast, and
the dogs sit watching for their portion by their master's knee. The
time wore on— at length the straw is spread upon the ground. The
two chieftains sleep side by side — chiefs, foresters, and hounds are
soon wrapped in sleep. But Cuthin, the henchman of Wulfhere,
lies with his body across the wicker door, and his two rough boar-
hounds sleep beside him. Long before the dawn of day the morning
meal was broiling on the fire, and the wine-cup again passed round ;
and before the sun had risen from the sea they were threading the
tangled copsewood of Bordwood.
" Wulfhere and Redwald at length stop, and Cuthin, the henchman
of Wulfhere, holding a single boar-hound in a leash, stands a little
behind them. The forester has gone round with his two hounds to
rouse the boar, and drive him towards the hunters. The forester's
horn is heard— the boar is up. Wulfhere motions to Redwald to take
THE ISLE OF WIGHT. 71
the first. Presently the boar is heard crashing through the copse-
wood ; Redwald stands beside the open pathway, and raises his spear
on high. As the boar rushed past, the spear struck him behind the
shoulder, and he fell dead.
" ' Well struck, Prince of the Island ! ' shouted Wulf here. ' The
next is mine/
" They went to another spot. The forester's horn is heard again.
Wulfhere takes his place; but the huge monster saw the hunter in
his track, and would have turned off' on one side, but one of the
hounds that followed saw him swerve, and sprung forward and
drove him back again towards the hunter. But the boar's course
was unsteady, and Wulfhere's spear gave no mortal wound, but
glanced down the side of his rib, and stuck into the ground. The
boar passed by, and then turning round with blood-shot eye and
foaming mouth, he rushes full upon Wulfhere. Wulfhere drew his
sword, and holding his cloak before him with his left hand, he dropt
upon his knee, and awaited the attack. The boar's tusk had already
stirred the folds of the cloak before Wulfhere moved ; he then
sprang from behind the cloak, and plunged his sword into the side
of the boar.
" ' Well struck, King of the Angles ! " shouted Redwald.
" ' It 's a fine beast ! The next is yours, Redwald.'
" ' I '11 try if I can spit him on the spear's point, as the Britons
do,' was the reply.
" When they came to where the next boar was harboured, Redwald
threw off his short cloak, and gave it to his henchman, unbelted his
sword, and laid the naked blade upon the ground by his feet; he
placed the spear under his arm, shortening it so that his arm was
about the middle of the shaft ; he held the point firmly before him
with both his hands ; and as the boar approached, he dropped upon
one knee. The boar, which was very large and fierce, ran straight
at him, and pierced himself dead upon the spear.
" ' That boar was right well slain, Redwald. If the forester has
another harboured, I will try my luck with the spear's point.'
" Another boar was found, — the forester's horn sounded. Wulf-
here had prepared himself as Redwald had done: there came, how-
ever, only two half-grown swine. Wulfhere stood aside, and let
them pass; but as he was turning away, he heard the brushwood
crackling, and the dogs barking behind. He had hardly time to
drop upon his knee and bring his spear up before the boar was upon
him. The spear's point did not strike the animal truly ; and before
Wulfhere could leap aside, the beast's tusk was fixed in his thigh,
and, had not Redwald quickly spitted the animal with his spear,
Wulfhei'e's body would have been ripped up by the tusk. As it
was, though it had not time to tear the flesh, the tusk had made a
fearful hole.
" The foresters made a litter of boughs, and carried Wulfhere
home, and melancholy were the countenances of all, both Saxons
and Jutes. The fair Edith of Stenbury attended his bedside,
and bound up his wound. Night and day she sat by his couch
watching the changes of the fever, or altering the bindings, or
putting ointments to his wound. At length the fever left him,
and strength was returning to his limb. He walked about leaning
72 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE ISLE OF WIGHT.
on his staff. One evening that he was alone with Edith, he said
to her,
" ' Edith, I enjoy everything that wealth, and power, and honour
can give ; yet one thing is wanting to make me truly happy.' He
paused — Edith also remained silent. ' Before I landed on this
island, my mind was free as the air, I had no care beyond that of the
passing moment; but now my mind is full of anxious thoughts, and
hopes, and fears. Since I first beheld you, my fairest Edith, my
bosom burns with love : be mine, and I shall be the happiest of men.
Say that you love me not, and I shall be the most unhappy.'
" Edith coloured deeply, and her looks were bent upon the
ground. At length she said,
" O generous Prince of the Angles ! my hand and my life are at
your disposal. Edith of Stenbury is an orphan, and you are her
only chieftain ; it is for you to bestow her hand and her lands upon
whom it may please you. She knows the duty of a Saxon maiden
too well to question your authority, or to speak of her own wishes.
But as you have thought to honour me above all the maidens that
you have ever seen, to bestow upon me the pri/e that the fairest of
my sex are sighing for, it is but right that I should tell you, that
though I would serve you in all humility and duty ; yet that love
which is already possessed by another it is not in my power to be-
stow. Wulfhere, I am not worthy of you — I could not render you
happy."
" Wulfhere and the maiden long looked upon the ground in
silence — they were both very sorrowful. At length Wulfhere asked,
" ' Does he who holds your affection love you in return.'
" ' That I know not.'
" ' Now it flashes across my mind. The tone of voice — the de-
voted energy with which you prayed for Eedwald's life — Have
I guessed right ? '
" The maiden gave no answer, but her cheek was tinged with a
deeper crimson. Wulfhere called his henchman.
" ' Bring Redwald here. — Kedwald, speak truly. Do you love
this maiden ? '
4f Redwald replied, ' I do from the bottom of my heart; but I fear
she returns not my love.'
" Wulfhere said, ' You are both believers in the Christian truth :
let Eoppa pronounce his blessing on you, that God may prosper the
union.'
" It was done so.
" Then said Wulfhere, ' The south wind which now blows will
to-morrow fill my sail. J shall leave you, my dear friends, and this
beautiful island, never to return again. Govern the islanders in
justice, as I have done. Ethel ward,' the king of the South Saxons,
will protect you with his powerful arms, for I was his sponsor in
baptism.'
'' The next day Wulfhere entered his ship; and as he took his
leave of Redwald and Edith he passed his rough hand across his eyes.
' Farewell ! Farewell for ever ! ' "
73
SOME PASSAGES IN THE
LITERARY LIFE OF OLINTHUS JENKINSON,
BARRISTER- AT-LA\V.
IN order to prove to you that my power of execution is in
no way inferior to my imagination, I send you the enclosed com-
mencement of a nautical tale, which I had prepared some time ago
for a magazine ; and, would you believe it, it was returned to me.
Since then, fifteen long years have elapsed. But, even now, except
a few trifling professional inaccuracies (too trivial to be mentioned,)
I can see no reason why the laurels that decorate the heads of other
men should not also flourish round the head of Olinthus Jenkinson.
Judge between us.
" ADVENTURES OF A MAINTOP-CUOSSTREE-MAN.
" I was born of respectable and affluent parents in the town of
Sunderland, and at my baptism received the name of Theophilus
Gangway. I had always had a penchant for a sailor's life, and at
last rny desires were gratified. Many were the tears that my poor
mother shed when the fatal post brought the letter from my uncle,
Sir Hector Blowhard, ordering me to join the Outrageous, then
lying at Portsmouth, and fitting up for the West Indies. It was an
event I had long earnestly desired ; but when I came to see all the
preparations for my knapsack (so I understood that one's clothes,
and the portmanteau that contained them were termed in the navy),
I must own that my feelings fairly got the better of me. I could
not help thinking that I had better have remained at the classical
and commercial academy where I was in course of being instructed in
every single thing that could render a man a useful or agreeable
member of society : but it was now too late, my maintop-crosstree-
man's commission had received the royal signature, and I was an
officer and a gentleman. My knapsack was carefully stocked with
all the little comforts that might be necessary for my voyage;
it contained six flannel waistcoats, two pairs of stockings, four-
teen pairs of Angola gloves, one of white kid, and a piece of
Indian-rubber to clean them, for the balls at Bermudas, one pair
of Scotch galligaskins in case of a hurricane, a package of sootjee,
or vital potion, and a tureen full of portable soup in case of a wreck,
one flowered dressing-gown, two pairs of superfine black kersey-
meres, with large fobs to keep the watches in, and lastly, two dozen
toothbrushes, and a few copies of Byron's Corsair. By making
presents of these last, it was my intention to conciliate to myself the
good will of the sailors. It was with a heavy heart that we sat
down to dinner that day ; my father employed the few moments that
were left in giving me a few useful admonitions for mv conduct.
* Offey, my boy,' said he, ' you are about to leave us for a watery
home :' he also quoted Burns, and informed me that my march was
to be on the mounting wave, my home within the deep ; this was to
support his last observation. ' Ay, ay, sir !' said I (this I under-
stood to be the correct expression). — ' Eye, eye, sir? mind your own
eye, I tell you ; and take this as my last paternal warning : — Never-
smoke except in a gale ; and never, oh never touch ardent spirits
74 THE MAINTOP-CROSSTREE-MAN,
except in a fog !' — ' Lor, father/ said my little sister, ' I just fancy I
see our Offey ordering the men about. What will you say to them,,
Offey?' — 'You be hung!' replied I, in my altitudes. ' Offey,
Offey, you '11 break your mother's heart if you take to swearing like
a trooper in that fashion !' — 'A trooper,' said I, bristling up like a
lieutenant ; ' ah, mamma, I beg your pardon, but do not British tars
always swear ?' — ( Never you swear, whatever other naughty boys
do ; but try to engage your companions' affections by uniformly
amiable conduct, gentlemanly manners, and virtuous habits ; sooner
or later, my dear boy, depend on it, you will -gain the esteem of the
whole fleet, and be consulted by the port admiral as long as he
lives !'
" All things must come to an end, and so did our dinner. It was
now four o'clock, and the mail in which my place had been booked
was to pass at six ; we therefore cried and kissed alternately for the
hundred and twenty minutes that were yet remaining. My mother
as a parting gift provided me with six cambric pocket handker-
chiefs, in case I should be troubled with catarrhs ; my father, on his
part, presented me with his blessing, and three deal planks for
boarding, taken from poor Carlo's kennel. These last were tied to
the top of my gun case, — or, as I afterwards learned to call it, gun-
carriage, — and were, I understood, indispensable as a part of my
outfit : lastly, my little sister, hanging round my neck, pressed into
my hand a little pink box, with a white lable on the middle, on
which was inscribed in gold characters, ' A Souvenir from Sunder-
land.' At last, bidding them all good b'ye, and giving Carlo a pinch
on the ear to keep him in mind of me, for which he gave me a bite
on the thumb to keep me in mind of him, I left the home of my
youth : Tom, the footman, accompanied me down to the mail, which
had already heaved-to opposite the Hen and Chickens. My knap-
sack, consisting of two trunks and the gun-carriage, was shipped on
board, and I stowed myself away in the hold.
" There were already in before me one old gentleman, and a boy
about my own age, who, with his aunt, was proceeding to a semi-
nary in the vicinity of London. My language now became strictly
technical. ' Well, messmate, what 'cheer ? ' said I, poking the boy
amidships, for I wished to impress him with proper notions of my
dignity. ' Sir ! ' — < What cheer, eh, brother ? ' — ' I do not know what
you allude to, sir.' — ' Here's a hay-making son of a sea-cook ! May-
hap, old lady, this youngster a'nt in the service? ' — ' In service, sir !
do you take my nephew for a footboy ? ' — < Avast ! avast ! old lady,
slow your jaw, and mind your helm, will you ? I only wished to
know if this youngster had the honour of serving his king and coun-
try, as I have, instead of wearing out his lubberly carcass at home
in idleness.' — ' A tea-pot in a storm !' said the old gentleman in the
corner, who had as yet said nothing. — ' A tea-pot, sir ? Do you
allude to me ? I will tell you what it is, old fellow, I will clear
away my guns, and fire into you in a pig's whisper, if you poke
your fun at me in that fashion.' — ' Ah, you '11 clear away your guns
and fire into me in a pig's whisper, if I poke my fun at you ; you
will, will you? '—'Ay, that will I, old fellow; so mind your eye,
my hearty, and haul down your foretopmast stay-sail ! If you don't
look to yourself 1 '11 luff you in less than no time, and have you into
the latter end of next week before you know where you are ! '
A NAUTICAL TALE. 75
As this last observation produced nothing but a laugh, I felt
somewhat nettled; but I durst scarcely proceed to open demon-
strations of hostility as I might have chanced to get the worst of
it, so I pretended not to hear, but put my head out of the window,
and hailed the coachman with ' Maintop a hoy ! how 's the weather ? '
— ' Pretty well, youngster ; how are you ? '
" This second rebuff' fairly drove me into port ; but I contented
myself with thinking of the old proverb of the pearls and swine,
and kept my nautical demonstrations to myself for the rest of the
voyage. Suppose this ended, and me landed at the White Horse,
Fetter Lane. Here I found a servant waiting for .me, who con-
ducted me to a dark-looking house in Fore Street in the city, te-
nanted by a wholesale draper, who had been in the habit of trans-
acting all my father's pecuniary business for him. He was a little,
short, middle-aged man, by name and surname John Stubbs, and
had lately provided himself with a helpmate, who was amazingly
fine on the strength of having received her education at a boarding-
school at Peckham : to me she was all sugar, to her husband all
lemon. She talked a good deal of Italian skies, and asked me if I
had seen the last Keepsake, and when I had last had the felicity of
meeting with my revered uncle Sir Hector, and how Lady Blow-
hard and the olive branches were getting on. I returned satisfac-
tory answers to the queries ; and as all evenings must come to an
end, so did this, although it was somewhat of the longest. Next
day I had a private conference with Mr. Stubbs as touching my
outfit, and was surprised to find that most of the articles with which
I had provided myself were, comparatively speaking, useless. This,
however, he undertook to set to rights for me. Accordingly he
acted as my guide to a house in Cornhill, well known to all those
gentlemen whose fate it is to be outward bound ; and here I was
provided with all things that might be necessary as a viaticum in my
future progress to the Nelsonship of England. All these matters
being settled, and my place taken in the Portsmouth mail, I partook
of my farewell dinner with Mr. and Mrs. Stubbs, and wended on
my way, like John Bunyan's pilgrim, rejoicing.
" I could not help feeling rather surprised at finding the same old
gentleman as a companion, with whom I had travelled up from
Sunderland ; he, too, seemed to recognize me, but did not show any
outward symptoms of being aware of my presence. I must own
that I felt somewhat cowed, I scarcely knew why, and refrained
from demonstrating my nautical ardour by any outward tokens, so
the journey passed heavily enough, being only interrupted by a
dispute between two drunken sailors on the top of the coach, and a
cheating pot-boy. It is, however, scarcely worth while recording
all the questions and answers delivered on both sides till the matter
ended by the pot-boy being knocked head over heels by one of the
sailors whom he attempted to cheat. Suppose us, then, to have
arrived at Portsmouth, and to be fairly deposited at the Fountain ;
and now having smelt the salt water, I felt myself all alive again.
I ought at once to have reported myself, but this I was determined
not to do until I had aired my uniform a little. -I proceeded, there-
fore, down the street, and called in at the Blue Posts for a nor'-
wester, requesting the waiter to amalgamate the alcohol and lymph
in the proportions of one half grog and the other half spirits neat,
76 THE MAINTOP-CROSSTKEE-MAN,
thus speedily setting at nought my father's precepts, as it was as
bright a day as a man would Avish to look upon. But, as before
remarked, I was now an officer and gentleman, and wished in this
manner to demonstrate my independence.
" I now lighted a weed, and proceeded onwards ready for any
adventure that might befall me. My first impulse was to stop at a
small optician's shop, to contemplate my epaulettes in one of those
round mirrors which are there to be found suspended in the win-
dow. Upon seeing my mouth elongated to an unnatural size, and
my head degenerated into somewhat the appearance of a Norfolk
biffin, I Avas immediately seized with the not unnatural desire to
proceed to the voir du fait, and retaliate this insult upon the ag-
gressor. In pursuance of this object, I shoved my fist through the
window, thereby breaking and creating many panes, and was imme-
diately collared by a whey-faced apprentice, who demanded my
name, and the sum of fourteen and sixpence for damages. With
the first I was very ready, — Maintop-crosstree-man, Theophilus
Gangway, H.M.S. Outrageous, now lying at Portsmouth, and fitting
out for the West Indies, nephew to Sir Hector Blowhard, now one
of the Lords' Commissioners of the Admiralty ; but as to the latter
demand, I could only reply — no effects; for although I had the where-
withal about me to satisfy the demand, I thought that it must be
beneath the dignity of an officer and a gentleman to pay for that
which he had damaged. Accordingly, I left my dirk in pledge,
and being somewhat rudely ejected from the tenement, I snatched
a parting glance at my epaulettes, and proceeded down the High
Street, with the most professional swagger I could muster up.
" I was much surprised at the small respect which was paid me,
as also at the ill-suppressed sneer, and the impertinent stare with
which the announcement of my rank was received. I determined,
however, to gain that by my own exertions which was denied to me
by the ignorant vulgar. I soon found myself at the Battery,
where there were two or three sentinels upon duty ; and being-
somewhat nettled by the ill-usage I had met, I determined to
prove to the world the extent of that authority with which his
Majesty had been pleased to invest me ; so I saluted the sentries
with, ' Heave-to, ye lubbers, and bear up on the topsail tack ; fore
and main-sails haul up, now back the maintop-sail, and fire a broad-
side up to larboard, d 'ye hear ! ' — ' Ay, ay, sir ; if you tells us, I
suppose we must; but it's clear ag'in orders! I say, Bill, does he
take us for marines ? but if this officer says we must do it, I 'spose we
must, so bear a hand — sharp 's the word ! — But, please your honour,
the admiral's stopped our allowance of powder, as he says, to re-
trench the expenditure of the executive : how can we manage ? '-
' Why double shot the guns, to be sure, you set of know nothings ! '
This last observation proceeded from a gentleman habited like myself,
and I of course, ashamed to have been non-plushed, chimed in with,
« Bear a hand, and about it smartly ! ' — ' Knock off the guns ! ' said my
new friend, ' Stand by — cant 'em round — all ready there forward? '—
' Ay, ay, sir ! ' — ' Fire away then !'
" I had screwed myself up to concert pitch to hear the explosion ;
but instead of the guns going off, I was surprised to hear all my
friends bursting out into a laugh that seemed to be a direct insult to
me, so I addressed them with, ' 1 will tell you what it is, my line ft-1-
A NAUTICAL TALE. 77
lows, if you do not put your helm up, and stand by to run right up
to the top of the square-sail in less than no time, I will have you all
confined in the court martial, as sure as I am an officer and a gen-
tleman !'
" Having thus expectorated my spleen, and shown them who it was
they had to deal with, I prepared to evacuate the ground, as I felt
myself scarcely equal to carry on the dialogue. My brother officer
turned round, and severely reprimanded the military ; and then join-
ing me, took my arm, and requested to know to what ship I belonged,
at the same time expressing a wish to improve my acquaintance. He
told me that he had made physiognomy a study, and had never seen
so fine a developement of countenance as mine ; indeed he might say
that he had dabbled in bumpology, and could at once inform me in
what part of the service I was likely to succeed : if I would but permit
him, he thought that he might be of some service to me in this way.
He then twitched off my cap, and proceeded to demonstrate. ' Hem !
a large organ of boarding. — Well, I never ! I say, messmate, have you
met with an accident here ? the organ of rising in the service most
prominent ! — Destruction clearly marked ! A most promising indi-
cation of secretiveness ; why you'll be a treasure to the mess!' —
' Mess, sir ! ' said I, bristling up, ' what d 'ye mean ? ' — ' Why that you
are a broth of a boy, as the Kilkenny cats are in the habit of observ-
ing ; and that you 'II prig bottles of wine from the gunroom, till all 's
blue again. But I '11 tell you what it is, my hearty, we 'd better get
on board, for the chancellor of the exchequer has issued orders to that
effect.' — ' No, you don't say so ! ' — ' Yes, but I do, though ; so we '11
get into the gig, and be on board in the twinkling of a bed-post ! '
c In a gig ? None of your tricks upon travellers ; I 'm up to snuff, my
fine fellow ! ' — ' Ay, and a pinch or two over; we shan't do you in a
hurry, I see !'
" I felt invigorated by this compliment, and accompanied my new
friend down to the Point, where we stepped into a boat and shoved
off. He soon pointed out to me a black-looking ship with two masts,
which he informed me was H.M.S. Outrageous, of one hundred and
twenty guns, only the guns were not yet on board. There were a
number of dark men in tarpaulin hats, hauling sacks of coals up the
side ; he observed, as a matter of course, that the junior lieutenants
had taken more than usual exercise this morning. As my cue was
not to be surprised at anything, I contented myself with agreeing with
him, and we pulled up alongside. My friend observed that the com-
panion-ladder had been removed in consequence of the equinoctial
gales, but that we could easily mount by means of a rope. In a few
moments I had scrambled up the side, and every vein swelled with
patriotic pride, as I trod for the first time the quarter-deck of my
gallant ship." * * *
My gentle public, when you were a little boy (I speak of you col-
lectively), was it ever your fate in those halcyon days, when a nail
brush and a dancing-master were things " to dream of not to tell ;"
when you despised your sisters because they were girls, and liked
lollypops and Bonaparte's ribs because they were sweet ; — was it, I
say, ever your fate to come across two compilations, or either of them,
of which one was called Tales of Terror, the other Legends of Hor
ror ? In these were to be found Agnes, or the Bloody Nun, and the
Field of the Forty Footsteps, in all their primal glory. You have, I
78 A NAUTICAL TALE.
am sure. Then you must remember that the style of conclusion to
each number was this, — that they wound your infant mind up to the
highest pitch of expectation, and then, when you had twisted one or
more of the metal buttons off your bottle-green suit with intensity of
interest, that you were let down short (like an upset at the corner of
Hatton Garden, where the eight pennyworth of danger rises to its
highest power), by one of the conjunctions copulative or disjunctive.
" The lady sate in that lone and distant turret, listening to the fitful
sobbing of the moaning breeze ; she clasped her infant to her breast,
and looked at the clock, for well she knew that the fatal hour was
come when that dark and malignant spirit might no more influence
the destiny of Sir Bertoldo's heiress. The hand is now upon the
hour ! one second more, and she is safe ! — one — only one ! Merciful
Heaven ! a sound of footsteps is heard in the corridor, the door bursts
open, and — "
So, even so, by the malignity of that base and degrading editor is
the public cut off from the conclusion of the history of this gallant
youth; all the sprees in Portsmouth, the metaphysical allusions to
soap, the quarter-deck scene, the cockpit scene, the gunroom scene,
the maintop scene, the nigger scene, two shipwreck scenes, and one
of famine — unmitigated famine, two battle scenes, and a ball at
Bermuda !
THE BLIND GIRL TO HER MOTHER.
O mother dear ! I *m sure 'tis spring —
Pray lead me forth among the flowers
To where my gentle brothers play,
And pass such happy hours;
To where the stream runs purling by,
Whose tiny waves, as I am told,
Look, when reflected by the sun,
Like beauteous dazzling gold.
0 mother dear ! my sisters kind
They bring me flowers I cannot soe,
And talk of things so beautiful,
The sight of which is not for me ;
Of how the sun shines forth at day,
And decks a sky most fair to view ;
How moon and stars appear at night,
Amid a space of azure blue.
While, mother dear, the sun, and moon,
And stars to me are all the same, —
Flowers, and streams, and budding trees,
I know them only by their name.
But yet, clear mother, I 'm not sad ;
For, when I 'in seated on thy knee,
1 hear thee whisper " God is love," —
That He will ever watch o'er me.
And when, dear mother, thou art gone,
And sisters, brothers pass'd away,
I hear thee whisper, <• lie '11 be near,
To guide my steps and cheer my way."
My mind you fill with holy things ;
And, though I cannot see,
That unto others seeming dark
Is light and clear to me. J. j\f Q
79
RAMBLES AMONG THE RIVERS.— No. IV.
THE THAMES AND HIS TRIBUTARIES.
BY CHARLES MACKAY.
Approach to Richmond. — The grave of Thomson. — Wit among the Tomhstones.—
Richmond Palace. — The Battle of the Gnats. — View from Richmond Hill. — A
Song by Mallet — Gay, the poet. — Traditions of Ham House. — Eel-pie Island. —
The Poetical Sawyer. — Anecdote of Kean.
As we passed Kew-Bridge our mind was filled with a multitude
of confused thoughts, reminiscences intricately blended, of poetry
and the poets; of Jeanie Deans, and the Duke of Argyl ; of Rich-
mond Hill, and the -charms of its far-famed lass ; and of " maids of
honour " — the chief delicacies of the place, — which, with a carnivor-
ous appetite, we longed to devour. But, as we approached nearer
our thoughts became more distinct, and finally fixed themselves
upon the memory of James Thomson, the delightful bard of the Sea-
sons, who is buried upon the spot. " O ! yes," said we, quoting the
ode of his friend Collins,
" Remembrance oft shall haunt the shore
When Thames in summer wreaths is drest,
And oft suspend the dashing oar,
To bid thy gentle spirit rest."
We were thus musing, when a merry strain now broke in upon our
meditations. The band which had accompanied the steam-boat from
London struck up the familiar air, " The lass of Richmond Hill ;" a
custom which has been observed ever since steam-boats have plied
in this part of the river, to give us notice that we were at our jour-
ney's end.
Without stopping to ascend the hill, we struck at once into the
lower parts of the town, and, by dint of inquiry, found ourselves in a
few moments in front of the ancient, humble, but, in our eyes, beau-
tiful church of Richmond. We forthwith strolled through the
churchyard, in search of the sexton or door-keeper, that we might
give him his fee, and be admitted inside. One of the first objects
that caught our attention was a neat marble tablet upon the wall,
with a medallion head sculptured upon it, and inscribed with the
simple words, " To the memory of Edmund Kean : erected by his
son, Charles Edmund Kean, 1839." We paused a moment, and took
off our hat, for we are of the number of those who pay reverence to
the inanimate sod, and the senseless ashes beneath it, if those ashes
have ever been warmed by the soul of genius, or of goodness. We
are also of the number of those who are critical in monumental in-
scriptions, and we considered this brief one for awhile, and, owning
that it was enough, passed on. After inquiry at one of the cottages
that skirt the churchyard, we were directed next door, to the pew-
opener, and that personage readily undertook to escort us over her
little building ; as important to her, and containing monuments as
magnificent, and as well worth looking at, as either St. Paul's or
Westminster Abbey. If we were pleased with the outside appear-
ance of the church, we were still better pleased when we entered
80 THE THAMES.
within. It is an old-fashioned edifice, just large enough for a village,
with a fine organ, neatly carved, and well-covered pews, and walls
almost hidden by monumental tablets, and the whole looking as
grand and modest as true piety itself.
Our cicerone, like one who was well accustomed to her task, was
leading us round the church, beginning from the beginning, and
showing us in due order the tombs of the worthies of Richmond,
when we broke in upon her established practice, and requested her
to point out at once the grave of Thomson. She led the way imme-
diately to the darkest corner of the church, when, opening a pew-
door, she bade us enter. We had heard much talk of the munifi-
cence of the Earl of Buchan in erecting a memorial over the poet's
ashes, and we looked around us accordingly for some handsome piece
of monumental marble, which might be worthy of the donor, and
sufficient for its avowed purpose, — the satisfaction of the bard's ad-
mirers. We could not conceal the expression of our disappointment,
when the pew-opener, bidding us mount upon the seat of the pew,
pointed out to us a piece of copper about eighteen inches square, so
out of the reach of the ordinary observer, — so blackened by time, —
and so incrusted by the damp, that it was quite impossible to read
one line of the inscription.
" Then you have not many visiters to this tomb ? " said we to the
pew-opener.
" O ! yes, we have," replied she ; " but they are not so particular
as you, sir : not one in a hundred cares to read the incription ; they
just look at it from below, and pass on."
We took out our pocket-handkerchief, and began to rub the damp
verdigrise from the copper as the pew-opener spoke ; which, she
observing, mounted also upon the bench, and, taking her own hand-
kerchief from her pocket, rubbed away with as much earnestness as
we did. The dirt was an inch thick upon it ; besides which, the
letters were of the same colour as the plate on which they are en-
graven, so that, after all, we were afraid we should be obliged to give
over the attempt as quite hopeless.
" There," she said, " now I think you will be ablo to read it," as
the rust, by a vigorous application of her hands, was transferred
from the tablet to her handkerchief. " I think you might manage
to make it out, if you are particularly anxious about it."
We tried again accordingly, and, with some trouble, read the fol-
lowing inscription.
" In the earth below this tablet are the remains of James Thom-
son, author of the beautiful poems, entitled, ' The Seasons,' e The
Castle of Indolence,' &c. who died at Richmond on the 22nd of Au-
gust, and was buried there on the 29th, O.S. 1748. The Earl of
Buchan, unwilling that so good a man, and sweet a poet, should be
without a memorial, has denoted the place of his interment for the
satisfaction of his admirers, in the year of our Lord 1792.
" Father of light and life ! Thou good supreme !
Oh ! teach me what is good ! Teach me Thyself!
Save me from folly, vanity, and vice,
From every low pursuit, and feed my soul,
With knowledge, conscious peace, and virtue pure,
Sacred, substantial, never-fading bliss ! ''
AND HIS TRIBUTARIES. 81
" We wish," said we to ourselves, " that his lordship's taste had
been as good as his intentions, and that, instead of this trumpery
piece of brass, — which cannot have cost him much more than five
pounds, — he had put up a marble tablet, which one might have read
without all this scrubbing. How much better, too, it would have
been, if his lordship had not obtruded his own name upon it!" If we
had continued our soliloquy much longer, we should have found
fault not only with the taste and liberality, but with the motives of
his lordship ; but we were saved from the uncharitableness by the
pew-opener, who broke in upon our meditation to remind us that
immediately under the pew on which we stood lay the ashes of the
poet.
"What, was he buried within the church ? " said we.
" No," replied the pew-opener, "on the outside, just against the
wall ; but the church has been enlarged since that day to make
room for the organ ; so that the wall passes right across his coffin,
and cuts the body in two, as it were."
"Cuts the body in two!" repeated we, "and, did no charitable
soul, when this thing was proposed, so much as hint that the church
might have been made a little larger, so that the whole body might
have been brought inside ? "
" I never inquired," said the pew-opener ; " but, surely, sir,
you '11 go and see the grave of the great Mary Ann Yates ? Lord
bless you, sir, more people go to see that grave than any other in the
church ! "
" The great Mary Ann Yates ! " said we in some perplexity ; for,
to our shame be it spoken, we had forgotten the name, and we did
not like to expose our ignorance to the pew-opener. " Oh, by all
means," said we, making the best of the matter, and following our
conductress to the other end of the church towards the communion-
table.
" There," said the pew-opener, removing a small mat with her foot,
and directing our attention to a plain slab on the floor, " there lies
the body. Of course you 've heard of her ? "
We said nothing, but made a feint of being so engrossed with the
epitaph as not to have heard the inquiry.
"She was very celebrated, I've been told," added she, after a
pause; "and, indeed, I've heard that Mrs. Siddons wasn't anything
like equal to her."
This observation enlightened us ; our ignorance was cleared up.
We gazed upon the grave of the great Mary Ann Yates, — the tragic
actress, Mrs. Yates, so greatly admired in her day, and a woman
of undoubted genius in the pursuit she had chosen. " And such,"
thought we, " is fame ; a mere matter of circles and classes. Pilgrims
come to the tomb of a person celebrated in one sphere, who are ig-
norant that in the next grave sleeps one who was just as celebrated in
another, and who do not even know that such a person ever existed.
The worshippers of poetry never heard of the actress; the admirers
of the actress, in all probability, never heard of the poet, and so on,
through all the various ranks and denominations of society." We
were thus cogitating, when the pew-opener told us- that she had some
other very fine tombs to show us, and with such an emphasis upon
the -wordjine, as impressed us with the notion that she would think
we slighted her monuments, (and she was evidently proud of them )
VOL. vi. <;
82 THE THAMES
if we refused to look at them. We went round accordingly, and
up into the galleries, where several tablets were pointed out to us,
with warm eulogia upon the sculptured cherubim, or other or-
naments that supported them. But one only struck us as remarka-
ble, a plain blue stone, with a Latin inscription to the memory of
Robert Lewes, a Cambro-Briton and a lawyer, who died in the year
1649, "and who," said the epitaph, " was such a great lover of peace
and quiet, that when a contention began in his body between life
and death, he immediately gave up the ghost to end the dispute."
There is wit and humour even in the grave. There is an entertain-
ing French work, entitled " Des grands Hommes qui sont morts en
plaisantant ;" one as entertaining might be made upon the subject of
" Wit among the tombstones." It would not be uninstructive either,
and would afford numberless illustrations of that unaccountable pro-
pensity of many people to choose the most solemn things as the ob-
jects of their merriment. The richest comedy ever penned fails to
excite more laughter than the lugubrious jokes of the grave-diggers
in Hamlet ; and sextons, mutes, and undertakers, are the legitimate
butts of the jester and caricaturist all over the world.
Having lingered in the church until we had satisfied our curi-
osity, we proceeded towards Rosedale House, where Thomson re-
sided, and where the chair on which he sat, the table on which he
wrote, and the peg on which he hung his hat, are religiously pre-
served, as relics of departed genius. Greatly to our sorrow, we
were unable to procure admission. It was an inconvenient hour for
the family, and we had not come properly provided with an intro-
duction. There was no help for it, and we therefore walked on to-
wards the Green. The house, after the poet's death, was purchased
by a Mr. Ross, who had so much veneration for his memory that he
forbore to pull it down, though small and inconvenient, but enlarged
and repaired it, at an expense of nine thousand pounds. It was
afterwards inhabited by the Honourable Mrs. Boscawen, the widow
of the admiral, who participated in this feeling of her predecessor,
and repaired the alcove in the garden, where the poet used to write
in the fine weather. Within it she replaced his tablj?, and inscribed
over the entrance,
" Here Thomson sung the seasons, and their change."
Over the back seat at this table hangs a board, upon one side of
which are the following words, " James Thomson died at this place,
August 22nd, 1748 ;" and, upon the other a longer memorial, with a
strange and unpleasing affectation of fine writing about it, which
runs as follows : — " Within this pleasing retirement, allured by the
music of the nightingale, which warbled in soft unison to the melody
of his soul, in unaffected cheerfulness, and genial though simple ele-
gance, lived James Thomson. Sensibly alive to all the beauties of
nature, he painted their images as they rose in review, and poured
the whole profusion of them into his inimitable ' Seasons.' Warmed
with intense devotion to the Sovereign of the Universe, its flame
glowing through all its compositions, animated with unbounded be-
nevolence, with the tenderest social sensibility, he never gave one
moment's pain to any of his fellow-creatures, save by his death,
which happened at this place on the 22nd of August, 1748."
AND HIS TRIBUTARIES. 83
From Rosedale House, the present name of this dwelling, we
strolled up Kew Foot-Lane, and soon arrived at the Green, a large
open space, which does not belie its name, surrounded with many
comfortable-looking houses, and rows of venerable trees.
The ancient palace of the Kings of England stood upon this spot.
There is little of it left now except the gateway, and that little
offers nothing to satisfy the gaze of any but the mere antiquary. It
does not look old and venerable enough for the lover of the pic-
turesque, being so patched up by and wedged in between surrounding
houses as to have almost lost its distinctive character. Several kings
and queens of England lived and died upon this spot, Edward I.
and II. resided here, and Edward III. died here, deserted in that last
hour by all the flatterers and parasites who had fattened upon his
bounty ; even Alice Pierce, the mistress of his bosom, flying from his
side, and leaving him to die with no more attendance than if he had
been a beggar, giving up the ghost in a ditch. Richard II. the next
king, passed much of his time at this manor ; in whose days, at Sheen,
as we are informed by that veracious chronicler, Stowe, " there was a
great fighting among the gnats ! They were so thick gathered," says
he, " that the air was darkened with them, and they fought and made
a great battle. Two parts of them being slain, fell down to the
ground, the third part having got the victory, flew away, no man
knew whither. The number of the dead was such that they might
be swept up with besoms, and bushels filled with them." With what
a gusto does the old historian describe this battle ! how persuaded he
seems of its truth ! and, with what a relish for the marvellous, and
expectation to find the same in his reader, does he note every circum-
stance ! Many of the battles between the rival houses of York and
Lancaster, are dismissed by him with hardly more notice.
Anne, the queen of Richard II. died in this building. She was so
tenderly beloved by her husband, that he cursed the place where she
died, and would never afterwards inhabit it. The very sight of the
building so moved him to grief, that he gave directions that it should
be pulled down. The order was only partially executed, but the
building remained in a ruinous condition until the time of Henry V.
who repaired it, and founded three religious houses near it. It was
destroyed by fire in the reign of Henry VII, who built it up again
more magnificently than before, and first altered the name of the
village from Sheen to Richmond, which it has ever since borne.
Henry VIII. also resided here in the early part of his reign, and
once instituted a grand tournament on the Green, at which he fought
in disguise. He afterwards exchanged it with Wolsey, for the more
magnificent palace of Hampton Court ; but, after the fall and death
of that minister, the palace again reverted to the crown. Elizabeth
was confined in it for a short time, during the reign of her sister, and
here she died broken-hearted for the death of the Earl of Essex.
During the dissensions of the revolution, this palace met some rough
treatment from the hands of the republicans, and the greater part of
it was pulled down. It has never since held up its head in the world,
but has gradually pined away to its present condition.
There are fewr, and those few must be insensible to the charms of
natural beauty, who ever pass Richmond without ascending its far-
famed hill, and gazing upon the landscape which stretches beneath
it. How beautiful is the oft-quoted exclamation of her poet.
81 THE THAMES
" Enchanting vale, beyond whate'er (he muse
Has of Achaia or Hesperia sung!
O, vale of bliss ! (), softly-swelling hills,
On which the power of cultivation lies,
And joys to see the wonder of his toil.
Heavens ! what a goodly prospect spreads around
Of hills and dales, and woods and lawns, and spires,
And glittering towns, and gilded streams ! "
We have read many descriptions of this favourite spot ; and, be-
fore we had seen it we were almost afraid to visit it, for, like Words-
worth and the Yarrow, " we had a vision of our own/' and dreaded
lest the reality should " undo it." But curiosity was at last tri-
umphant, and we went, and found reality more lovely than the pic-
tures which had been drawn of her either by the pencil or the pen.
The first time we ever ascended the hill, the landscape was illumined
by the rays of a bright noon-tide sun, and the waters of the Thames,
stretching out right before us, were illumined with a long streak of
light, and the far forests gleamed in the radiancy as their boughs
were waved to and fro by a strong, but pleasant, south-west
wind. Distant Windsor was visible ; and, hundreds of neat villas,
and other pleasing objects, gratified the eye, to whichever side it
turned ; the Thames freshening and enlivening the whole. As we
stood the sky became overcast ; dark clouds arose upon the horizon ;
the wind blew colder than its wont ; while a few large drops of rain
gave notice of an impending storm. The Terrace was soon bare of
its visiters ; all sought shelter from the rain ; but we remained to
watch the tempest, and the changes it wrought upon the landscape.
It was glorious to see how the trees waved, like fields of corn, as the
storm blew over them, and the smart showers whirled around ; now
hiding one spot by the thickness of the rain, and now wheeling past
another, and obscuring it in like manner. The distant heights were
no longer visible, and we could just see the Thames winding at the
foot of the hill, and curling itself into tiny waves under the breath
of the storm. The blossoms of the wild chestnut trees fell thick
around us, as we stood, diffusing a more delicious fragrance through
the air ; and the very dust of the ground seemed odorous as the
moisture fell upon it. Suddenly there was a flash right over Wind-
sor Castle, and all its towers were perceptible for an instant, and
then hidden again. Successive flashes illumined other spots ; and,
while the rain was piercing through our garments, we had no other
thought than a strong desire to become an artist by the inspiration of
the moment, and at one touch of our pencil, to fasten upon enduring
canvass a faithful representation of the scene.
It was admiration of this spot that inspired the now neglected
Mallet, the friend of Thomson, and a dweller in the neighbourhood,
to write that beautiful song of his in praise of the Thames, which
deserves to be better known.
"Where Thames, along the daisy'd meads,
His wave, in lucid mazes leads,
Silent, slow, — serenely flowing,
Wealth on either shore bestowing,
There, in a safe, though small retreat,
Content and Love have fixed their seat;
AND HIS TRIBUTARIES. 85
Love, that counts his duty pleasure ;
Content, .that knows and hugs his treasure.
" From art, from jealousy secure,
As faith unblamed, as friendship pure,
Vain opinion nobly scorning,
Virtue aiding, life adorning,
Fair Thames, along thy flowery side,
May those whom Truth and Reason guide,
All their tender hours improving,
Live like us, beloved and beloving."
Descending the terrace, and crossing the bridge, how pleasant is the
walk along the Middlesex bank of the river to the village of Twick-
enham, and its old grey church, where Pope lies buried ! But, plea-
santer still is it to take a boat, and be rowed up the middle of the
stream, unlocking the stores of memory as we pass, and saying to
ourselves, "Here, on the right, lived Bacon. — Yonder, at West
Sheen, lived Sir William Temple ; and there was born the cele-
brated Stella ; and at the same place Swift first made her acquaint-
ance. — And here, again, is Marble Hall, where the beauteous Lady
Suffolk kept open house for all the wits of the neighbourhood."
Among the most conspicuous of the places we pass there is a neat
little rural hut, called Gay's Summer-house, where, according to
tradition, that amiable poet wrote his celebrated fables for the infant
Duke of Cumberland, currying court favour, but getting nothing
but neglect for his pains. " Dear Pope," he wrote to his brother
poet, " what a barren soil I have been striving to produce something
out of! Why did I not take your advice before my writing fables
for the Duke, not to write them, or rather to write them for some
young nobleman. It is my hard fate, — I must get nothing, write
for or against them." Poor Gay ! Too well he knew, as Spenser so
feelingly sings in his Mother Hubbard's Tale,
" What hell it was in suing, long to bide,
To lose good days, that might be better spent ;
To waste long nights in pensive discontent;
To speed to-day, to be put back to-morrow ;
To feed on hope, to pine with fear and sorrow ;
To fret the soul with crosses and with cares ;
To eat the heart through comfortless despairs;
To fawn, to crouch, to wait, to ride, to run,
To spend, to give, to want, to be undone !"
Yet one cannot help thinking, after all, that it served him right ; for,
according to his own confession, he was ready to wield his pen either
for or against the court, as might be most profitable. Who but must
regret that a man of genius should ever have been reduced to
so pitiful an extremity ? Who but must sigh that he should, even
to his bosom friend, have made such a confession ?
At a short distance beyond Gay's Summer-house, and on the same
side of the river, stands Ham House, formerly the residence of the
noted Duke of Lauderdale, and where he and his four colleagues,
Clifford, Ashley, Buckingham, and Arlington, "held those secret
meetings, which acquired for them a name infamous in English his-
tory, the Cabal, — a word which their initials happened to compose.
86 THE THAMES
In the house, now the residence of the Countess of Dysart, are pre-
served many memorials of the Lauderdale family. According to
tradition, this is one of the places in which Charles the Second took
refuge after the battle of Worcester ; and it is also said that the
great gate leading to the Ham avenue, has never been opened to any
meaner visiter since the hour when the fugitive king, after he left
the wood of Boscabel, was admitted within it for a night's shelter.
Another tradition, which is still more questionable, asserts that here
also, as at Boscabel, he hid himself among the branches of an oak to
escape a party of his eager pursuers. A shattered trunk of a tree in
Ham Lane was formerly shown to the visiter as the identical royal
oak ; and a fair which is annually held on the spot on the 29th of
May, has tended to countenance the belief among the people of the
neighbourhood, who have no notion that any incredulous and too
precise examiner into dates and facts should deprive them of their
traditions. However, " truth is strong," and truth compels us to
say, that their royal oak is only a counterfeit.
Just before we arrive at Twickenham, there is a small island in
the middle of the river, called by some " Twickenham Ait," but
better known to the people of London as " Eel-pie Island." The
tavern upon the island is famous for its eels, and the mode of dress-
ing them, and during the summer season is visited by great crowds
from the metropolis. Clubs, benefit societies, trades' unions, and
other confederations, frequently proceed thither, each member with
his wife and children, or his sweetheart, to feast upon the dainties of
the spot. On a fine Sunday especially, Eel-pie Island is in all its
glory, thronged with " spruce citizens," " washed artisans," and
" smug apprentices," who repair hither, as Byron has it, " to gulp
their weekly air,"
" And o'er the Thames to row the ribbon'd fair,"
or to wander in the park, which, thanks to the public spirit of one
humble individual, is still open to every pedestrian. Though some-
what of an episode, the history of the right of way through this
pleasant park is deserving of mention. In the year 1758, the Princess
Amelia, daughter of George the Second, who was ranger, thought
fit to exclude the public ; but an action was brought against her by
Mr. John Lewis, a brewer, and inhabitant of Richmond, which he
gained, and the princess was forced to knock down her barriers.
The public right has never since been disputed, and the memory of
the patriotic brewer is still highly esteemed in all the neighbourhood,
and his portraits sought after, as memorials of his courage and per-
severance.
But to return again to Eel-pie Island. The place was the favourite
resort of Kean for a few months before his death. The boatman we
were fortunate enough to hire was the boatman generally employed
by the great actor, and from him we learned, that after the fatigues
of the night were over at the theatre, he often caused himself to be
rowed to Eel-pie Island, and there left to wander about by moon-
light till two or three o'clock in the morning. The tavern used at
that time to be frequented by a poetical sawyer of Twickenham,
whose poetry Kean greatly admired. The first time he heard the
sawyer s rhymes, he was so delighted that he made him a present of
AND HIS TRIBUTARIES. 87
two sovereigns, and urged him to venture upon the dangerous seas
of authorship. By his advice the sawyer rushed into print, and
published a twopenny volume upon the beauties of Eel-pie Island,
the delights of pie-eating, and various other matters of local and
general interest. Keaii at this time was so weak, that it was neces-
sary to lift him in and out of the wherry, — a circumstance which
excited the boatman's curiosity to go and see him in Richard the
Third at the Richmond theatre. " There was some difference then,
I reckon/' said the honest fellow ; 'f so much, that I was almost
frightened at him. He seemed on the stage to be as strong as
a giant, and strutted about so bravely, that I could scarcely be-
lieve it was the same man. Next morning he would come into
my boat with a bottle of brandy in his coat-pocket, as weak as a
child, until he had drunk about half the brandy, when he plucked
up a little. One morning he came on board, — I shall never forget
him, — he was crying like a child, and sobbing as if his heart was
breaking, — 'twas the morning when his ' lady ' ran away from him,
and he told me all about it as well as he could for his tears. He had
a bottle of brandy with him then. He gave me a quartern of it,
and drank all the rest before we got to Twickenham, and then he
was much better. But he was never the same man afterwards ; he
said his heart was broken ; and I believe it was, for he never held
up his head again, poor fellow ! "
We thought the boatman (we should mention his name — George
Cripps) seemed affected at the thought, and we asked if Kean had
been kind to him.
tc Many 's the time," replied he, " that I have carried him in mv
arms in and out of the boat, as if he were a baby : — but he wasn't
particularly kind. He always paid me my fare, and never grumbled
at it, and was very familiar and free-like. But all the watermen
were fond of him. He gave a new boat and a purse of sovereigns to
be rowed for every year."
" Ah ! that accounts for it," said we.
" When he died," continued the boatman, " a great many of the
watermen subscribed their little mite towards his monument.
" Was there much gathered ? " inquired we.
" About seven or eight hundred pounds, I think," replied the
boatman, " and it was to have been placed in Richmond church ;
but we hear nothing of it now, or whether it 's ever to be erected at
all. But here we are, sir, at Twickenham church ; and if you please
to step ashore, I '11 wait for you, and then row you up to the
Grotto."
This was exactly the arrangement that suited us, and we walked
into the dirty village of Twickenham, to pay our homage at the
grave of Pope.
88
THE GOLDEN LEGEND.— No. III.
BY THOMAS INGOLDSBY.
A LAY OF ST. DUNSTAN.
"Ojt's f)oh> djiRte Dunston toas fcornc fn ge i?rre of our Horlic
$ xxv. tfiat tgtne rrgmmgr in tfjis lonlrc IStngc attjdston. * * *
"5123fjan if so teas tfiat Sagnt Bunston teas terry of prater tfian nsrti
to tocrfte in golUsmytfifs tocrfec toitf) fjis oton fian&es for to escfietoe u&eln
If.
ST. DUNSTAN stood in his ivy'd tower,
Alembic, crucible, all were there ;
When in came Nick to play him a trick,
In guise of a damsel passing fair.
Every one knows
How the story goes :
He took up the tongs and caught hold of his nose.
But I beg that you won't for a moment suppose
That I mean to go through in detail to you
A story at least as trite as it 's true ;
Nor do I intend
An instant to spend
On the tale, how he treated his monarch and friend,
When, bolting away to a chamber remote,
Inconceivably bored by his Witen-gemote,
Edwy left them all joking,
And drinking, and smoking,
So tipsily grand, they 'd stand nonsense from no King,
But sent the Archbishop
Their Sovereign to fish up,
With a hint that perchance on his crown he might feel taps,
Unless he came back straight and took off his heel-taps.
You don't want to be plagued with the same story twice,
And may see this one, painted by \V. DYCE,
Exhibited now, at a moderate price,
In the Royal Academy, very well done,
And mark'd in the catalogue Four, seven, one.
You may there view the Saint, who in sable array'd is,
Coercing the Monarch away from the Ladies ;
His right hand has hold of his Majesty's jerkin,
The left points to the door, and he seems to say, " Sir King,
Your most faithful Commons won't hear of your shirking ;
Quit your tea, and return to your Barclai and Perkyn,
Or, by Jingo,* ere morning no longer alive, a
Sad victim you '11 lie to your love for Elgiva ! "
No farther to treat
Of this ungallant feat,
What I mean to do now is succinctly to paint
A particular fact in the life of the Saint,
* St. Jingo, or Gengo (Gengulphus), sometimes styled " The Living Jingo,"
from the great tenaciousness of vitality exhibited by his severed members. For his
Legend, see BENTLEY'S MISCELLANY for March last.
A LAY OF ST. DUNSTAN.
Which somehow, for want of due care, I presume,
Has escaped the researches of Rapin and Hume,
In recounting a miracle, both of them men who a
Great deal fall short of Jaques Bishop of Genoa,
An historian who likes deeds like these to record —
See his Aurea Legenda, by 5KHimfcim fcc ^ortlf .
St. Dunstan stood again in his tower,
Alembic, crucible, all complete ;
He had been standing a good half hour,
And now he utter'd the words of power,
And call'd to his Broomstick to bring him a seat.
The words of power ! — and what be they
To which e'en Broomsticks bow and obey ?
Why, 'twere uncommonly hard to say,
As the prelate I named has recorded none of them,
What they may be,
But I know they are three,
And ABRACADABRA, I take it, is one of them :
For I 'm told that most Cabalists use that identical
Word, written thus, in what they call " a Pentacle :"
89
However that be,
You '11 doubtless agree
It signifies little to you or to me,
As not being dabblers in Grammarye ;
Still, it must be confess'd, for a Saint to repeat
Such language aloud is scarcely discreet ;
For, as Solomon hints to folks given to chatter,
" A Bird of the air may carry the matter ;"
And, in sooth,
From my youth
I remember a truth
Insisted on much in my earlier years,
To wit, " Little Pitchers have very long ears !"
Now, just such a " Pitcher" as those I allude to
Was outside the door, which his " ears" appeared glued to.
90 THE GOLDEN LEGEND.
Peter, the Lay-brother, meagre and thin,
Five feet one in his sandal-shoon,
While the Saint thought him sleeping,
Was listening and peeping,
And watching his master the whole afternoon.
This Peter the Saint had pick'd out from his fellows,
To look to his fire, and to blow with the bellows,
To put on the Wall's-Ends and Lambton's whenever he
Chose to indulge in a little orfeverie ;
For, of course, you have read
That St. Dunstan was bred
A Goldsmith, and never quite gave up the trade ;
The Company — richest in London, 'tis said —
Acknowledge him still as their Patron and Head ;
Nor is it so long
Since a capital song
In his praise — now recorded their archives among —
Delighted the noble and dignified throng
Of their guests, who, the newspapers told the whole town,
With cheers " pledged the wine-cup to Dunstan's renown,"
When Lord Lyndhurst, THE DUKE, and Sir Robert, were dining
Last year at the Hall with the Prime Warden Twining.
I am sadly digressing — a fault which sometimes
One can hardly avoid in these gossiping rhymes —
A slight deviation 's forgiven ; but then this is
Too long, I fear, for a decent parenthesis,
So I '11 rein up my Pegasus sharp, and retreat, or
You '11 think I 've forgotten the Lay-brother Peter,
Whom the Saint, as I said,
Kept to turn down his bed,
Dress his palfreys and cobs,
And do other odd jobs, —
As reducing to writing
Whatever he might, in
The course of the day or the night, be inditing,
And cleaning the plate of his mitre with whiting;
Performing, in short, all those duties and offices
Abbots exact from Lay-brothers and Novices.
It occurs to me here
You'll perhaps think it queer
That St. Dunstan should have such a personage near,
When he 'd only to say
Those words, — be what they may, —
And his Broomstick at once his commands would obey. —
That 's true — but the fact is
'Twas rarely his practice
Such aid to resort to, or such means apply,
Unless he 'd some " dignified knot " to untie,
Adopting, though sometimes, as now, he 'd reverse it,
Old Horace's maxim, " Nee Broomstick inicrsit"
A LAY OF ST. DUNSTAN. 91
Peter, the Lay-brother, meagre and thin,
Heard all the Saint was saying within ;
Peter, the Lay-brother, sallow and spare,
Peep'd through the key-hole, and — what saw he there ? —
Why, — A BROOMSTICK BRINGING A RUSH-BOTTOM'D CHAIR!
dfotte JHK
What Shakspeare observes, in his play of King John,
Is undoubtedly right,
That Cl ofttimes the sight
Of means to do ill deeds will make ill deeds done."
Here 's Peter the Lay-brother, pale-faced and meagre,
A good sort of man, only rather too eager
To listen to what other people are saying,
When he ought to be minding his business, or praying,
Gets into a scrape, — and an awkward one too,
As you '11 find, if you 've patience enough to go through,
The whole of the story
I 'm laying before ye,
Entirely from having " the means " in his view
Of doing a thing which he ought not to do !
Still rings in his ear
Distinct and clear
Abracadabra ! that word of fear !
And the two which I never yet happen'd to hear.
Still doth he spy
With Fancy's eye
The Broomstick at work, and the Saint standing by ;
And he chuckles, and says to himself with glee,
" Aha ! that Broomstick shall work for me ! "
Hark ! — that swell
O'er flood and o'er fell,
Mountain, and dingle, and moss-cover'd dell !
List ! — 'tis the sound of the Compline bell,
And St. Dunstan is quitting his ivy'd cell ;
Peter, I wot,
Is off like a shot,
Or a little dog scalded by something that 's hot,
For he hears his Master approaching the spot
Where he 'd listen'd so long, though he knew he ought not.
Peter remember'd his Master's frown —
He trembled — he 'd not have been caught for a crown ;
Howe'er you may laugh,
He had rather, by half,
Have run up to the top of the tower and jump'd down.
The Compline hour is past and gone,
Evening service is over and done ;
82 THE GOLDEN LEGEND.
The monks repair
To their frugal fare,
A snug little supper of something light
And digestible, ere they retire for the night.
For, in Saxon times, in respect to their cheer,
St. Austin's Rule was by no means severe,
But allowed, from the Beverley Roll 'twould appear,
Bread and cheese, and spring onions, and sound table beer,
And even green peas, when they were not too dear ;
Not like the Rule of La Trappe, whose chief merit is
Said to consist in its greater austerities ;
And whose monks, if I rightly remember their Jaws,
Ne'er are suffer'd to speak,
Think only in Greek,
And subsist, as the Bears do, by sucking their paws.
Hence, a monk of La Trappe is as thin as a rat,
While an Austin Friar was jolly and fat ;
Though, of course, the fare to which I allude,
With as good table-beer as ever was brew'd,
Was all " caviare to the multitude,"
Extending alone to the clergy, together in
Hall assembled, and not to Lay-brethren.
St. Dunstan himself sits there at his post,
On what they say is
Called a Dais,
O'erlooking the whole of his clerical host,
And eating poached eggs with spinach and toast ;
Five Lay-brothers stand behind his chair,
But where is the sixth ? Where 's Peter ? — Aye, WHERE ?
'Tis an evening in June,
And a little half moon,
A brighter no fond lover ever set eyes on,
Gleaming, and beaming,
And dancing the stream in,
Has made her appearance above the horizon ;
Just such a half moon as you see, in a play,
On the turban of Mustapha Muley Bey,
Or the fair Turk who weds with the " Noble Lord Bateman ;"
— FzWeplate in George Cruickshank's memoirs of that great man ,
She shines on a turret remote and lone,
A turret with ivy and moss overgrown,
And lichens that thrive on the cold dank stone;
Such a tower as a Poet of no mean calibre
I once knew and loved, poor, dear Reginald Heber,
Assigns to Oblivion*— a den for a She bear ;
Within it are found,
Strew'd above and around,
* And cold Oblivion, midst the ruin laid,
Folds her dank wing beneath the ivy shade.
PALESTINE.
A LAY OF ST. DUNSTAN. 93
On the hearth, on the table, the shelves, and the ground,
All sorts of instruments, all sorts of tools,
To name which and their uses would puzzle the Schools,
And make very wise people look very like fools ;
Pincers, and hooks,
And black-letter books,
All sorts of pokers, and all sorts of tongs,
And all sorts of hammers, and all that belongs
To Goldsmiths' work, chemistry, alchymy, — all,
In short, that a Sage
In that erudite age
Could require, was at hand, or at least within call.
In the midst of the room lies a Broomstick ! — and there
A Lay-brother sits in a rush-bottom'd chair !
Abracadabra, that fearful word,
And the two which, I said, I have never yet heard,
Are utter'd — 'Tis done !
Peter, full of his fun,
Cries " Broomstick ! you lubberly Son of a gun !
Bring ale ! bring a flagon, — a hogshead, — a tun !
'Tis the same thing to you ;
I have nothing to do ;
And, 'fore George, I '11 sit here, and I '11 drink till all 's blue !
No doubt you 've remark'd how uncommonly quick
A Newfoundland puppy runs after a stick,
Brings it back to his master, and gives it him — Well,
So potent the spell,
The Broomstick perceived it was vain to rebel,
So ran off like that puppy; — some cellar was near,
For, in less than ten seconds 'twas back with the beer.
Peter seizes the flagon ; but ere he can suck
Its contents, or enjoy what he thinks his good luck,
The Broomstick comes in with a tub in a truck ;
Continues to run
At the rate it begun,
And, au pied de lettre, next brings in a tun !
A fresh one succeeds, then a third, then another,
Discomfiting much the astounded Lay-brother ;
Who, had he possess'd fifty pitchers or stoups,
They had all been too few, for, arranging in groups
The barrels, the Broomstick next started the hoops ;
The ale deluged the floor,
But, still, through the door,
Said Broomstick kept bolting, and bringing- in more.
E'en Macbeth to MacdufF
Would have cried " Hold ! enough ! "
If half as well drench'd with such " perilous stun0,"
94 THE GOLDEN LEGEND.
And Peter, who did not expect such a rough visit,
Cried lustily, " Stop ! That will do, Broomstick ! — Svfficit f '
But ah, well-a-day !
The devil, they say,
Tis easier at all times to raise than to lay.
Again and again
Peter roar'd out in vain
His Abracadabra, and t' other words twain; —
As well might one try
A pack in full cry
To check, and call off from their headlong career,
By bawling out " Yoicks I " with one's hand at one's ear.
The longer he roar'd, and the louder and quicker,
The faster the Broomstick was bringing in liquor.
The poor Lay-brother knew
Not on earth what to do —
He caught hold of the Broomstick and snapt it in two. —
Worse and worse ! — Like a dart
Each part made a start,
And he found he 'd been adding more fuel to fire,
For both now came loaded with Meux's Entire ;
Combe's, Delafield's, Hanbury's, Truman's — no stopping —
Coding's, Charenton's, Whitbread's continued to drop in,
With Hodson's pale ale, from the Sun Brewhouse, Wapping.
The firms differ'd then, but I can't put a tax on
My memory to say what their names were in Saxon.
To be sure the best beer
Of all did not appear;
For I 've said 'twas in June, and so late in the year
The " Trinity Audit Ale " is not come-at-able,
As I found to my great grief last month when at that table.
Now extremely alarm'd, Peter scream'd without ceasing,
For a flood of Brown-stout he was up to his knees in,
Which, thanks to the Broomsticks, continued increasing;
He fear'd he 'd be drown'd,
And he yell'd till the sound
Of his voice, wing'd by terror, at last reach'd the ear
Of St. Dunstan himself, who had finish'd his beer,
And had put off his mitre, dalmatic, and shoes,
And was just stepping into his bed for a snooze.
His Holiness paused when he heard such a clatter ;
He could not conceive what on earth was the matter.
Slipping on a few things, for the sake of decorum,
He issued forthwith from his sanctum sanctorum,
And calling a few of the lay-brothers near him,
Who were not yet in bed, and who happen'd to hear him,
At once led the way,
Without farther delay,
To the tower where he 'd been in the course of the day.
A LAY OF ST. DUNSTAN. 95
Poor Peter ! — alas! though St. Dunstan was quick,
There were two there before him — Grim Death and Old Nick! —
When they opened the door out the malt-liquor flow'd,
Just as when the great Vat burst in Tot'nam Court Road ;
The Lay-brothers nearest were up to their necks
In an instant, and swimming in strong double X ;
While Peter, who, spite of himself, now had drank hard,
After floating awhile, like a toast in a tankard,
To the bottom had sunk,
And was spied by a monk,
Stone dead, like poor Clarence, half drown'd and half drunk.
In vain did St. Dunstan exclaim " Vade retro
Strongbeerum ! discede a Lay-fratre Petro ! " —
Queer Latin, you '11 say
That praefix of " Lay"
And Strongbeerum! — I own they'd have call'd me a blockhead if
At school I had ventured to use such a Vocative,
'Tis a barbarous word, and to me it 's a query
If you'll find it in Patrick, Morell, or Moreri ;
But, the fact is, the Saint was uncommonly flurried,
And apt to be loose in his Latin when hurried ;
At a time, too, like this, you can well understand,
That he had not, like Bentley, an Ainsworth at hand.
The Brown-stout, however, obeys to the letter,
Quite as well as if talk'd to, in Latin much better,
By a grave Cambridge Johnian,
Or graver Oxonian,
WThose language, we all know, is quite Ciceronian.
It retires from the corpse, which is left high and dry ;
But, in vain do they snuff and hot towels apply,
And other means used by the faculty try.
When once a man 's dead
There 's no more to be said,
Peter's " Beer with an e " was his " Bier with an i !! "
floral.
Byway of a moral, permit me to pop in
The following maxims : — Beware of eaves-dropping ! —
Don't make use of language that isn't well scann'd ! —
Don't meddle with matters you don't understand! —
Above all, what I 'd wish to impress on both sexes
Is, — Keep clear of Broomsticks, Old Nick, and three XXXs.
IL'CBnbopc.
In Goldsmith's Hall there 's a handsome glass case,
And in it a stone figure found on the place,
When, thinking the old Hall no longer a pleasant one,
They pull'd it all down, and erected the present one.
If you look, you'll perceive that this ston» figure twists
A thing like a broomstick in one of its fists.
It 's so injured by time, you can't make out a feature ;
But it is not St. Dunstan, — so no doubt it 's Peter.
COLIN CLINK.
BVT CHARLES HOOTON.
CHAPTER XII.
Briefly details a slight love-skirmish between Sammy and Miss Sowersoft, which
took place before Colin, while that youth was supposed to be asleep, and also
illustrates the manner in which old maids sometimes endeavour to procure
themselves husbands — Colin's employment at the lodge. — He becomes involved
in. a dilemma, which threatens unheard of consequences.
AFTER Colin had spent some twenty minutes where we left
him at the conclusion of the eleventh chapter, he crept into
bed. The room in which he lay being partly in the roof, ad-
mitted only of a very small window in the upright portion of
the wall, and that was placed so close to the floor as to throw
very little light into the apartment, except during a strong day
or moonlight.
The candle being extinguished, Colin could see nothing save
a small square of dim light where the window was. Below
stairs he could hear the muttering of voices, as Miss Sowersoft
dabbed Palethorpe's eyes with her cloth and warm water ; and
in the false floor over his head the sound of rats, who were at
work in the roof, making noise sufficient over their labours to
have kept awake, during the whole night, any person less accus-
tomed to that kind of nocturnal entertainment than the inhabit-
ants of country-houses usually are. Colin could usually have
slept soundly had all the rats in Christendom been let loose in a
legion about him, but he could not sleep to-night. It was pitch-
dark ; he was in a strange place, with brutal employers, who
disliked him only because he had offered to relieve a poor old
man of some portion of his labours. Who knew — for such
things had been heard of, and passionate men often took their
revenge, regardless of consequences — who knew, as Mr. Pale-
thorpe was to occupy the adjoining bed, that he might not take
advantage of his sleep, and steal out in the night to murder
him ? He might do so, and then throw him down the brook,
as he had threatened, or perhaps bury him deep in the garden,
and say in the morning that he had run away.
With these, and similar imaginations, did Colin keep himself
awake in a feverish state of terror during a space of time
which to him seemed almost endless ; for, however groundless
and ridiculous such fears may be deemed by the stout-hearted
reader who peruses this by broad daylight, he must be pleased
to call to mind that poor Colin was neither of an age nor in a
situation in which great account is commonly made of probabi-
lities. The boy's fancies were at length interrupted by the
appearance of something more real. A light shot through the
chinks of the door, and run an ignis-fatuus kind of chase
COLIN CLINK. 97
round the walls and ceiling, as it advanced up stairs in the
hands of the maid Sally. 'Shortly afterwards the door was gently
pushed open ; and while Colin's heart beat violently against the
bars of its cage, and his breath came short and loud, like that
of a sleeper in a troubled dream, he saw a huge warming-pan
flaring through its twenty eyes with red-hot cinders, protruded
through the opening, and at the other end of the handle Miss
Sally herself. She placed her candle down in the passage, in
order to avoid awakening Colin with its light, and then com-
menced warming Mr. Palethorpe's bed with that peculiar skill
and delicacy of touch, which at once betrayed the experienced
hand of a mistress. By the time that operation was about
finished, the feet of two other individuals creeping cautiously
up were heard on the stairs. Then a voice whispered circum-
spectly, but earnestly,
" Now, Sammy, make haste and get in while it is nice and
hot, or else it will do you no good ; and in a minute or two 1 '11
be up again with that warm posset, so that you can have it
when you Ve lain down."
Sammy and Miss Sowersoft then entered, the latter having
come up stairs with no other intention, apparently, than that of
frustrating by her presence any design which Palethorpe might
else have had of rewarding Sally for her trouble with a gentle
salute upon the cheek. Having seen the maid safe out of the
chamber, Miss Maria returned down stairs.
Colin now began to tremble in earnest ; for he indistinctly
heard Palethorpe muttering words of violence against every one
of them without exception, and threatening to kick the house
upside down before another day was over his head. By and by
the cautious approach of his footsteps towards Colin's bed
caused the boy to peep out through the merest chink between
his eyelids, when he beheld the hideous face of the farming-man
almost close to his own, with its huge swollen and blackened
features fixed in an expression of deep malice upon him, and a
ponderous clenched fist held threateningly near his face, as the
horrible gazer muttered between his forcibly closed teeth.
" I '11 pay you your wages for this, young man ! I '11 reckon
with you in a new fashion before long ! You shall repent this
night to the last end of your life, that shall you ! I could split
your skull now, if you were not asleep. But you may rest this
time ! "
Saying which, he retired to bed. Immediately afterwards
Miss Maria Sowersoft glided noiselessly in, with a huge basin of
treacle-posset in one hand, and one of her own linen nightcaps,
which she had been heating by the fire, in the other. This last-
named article she at once proceeded to place on Sammy's head,
and tie under his chin ; because the long tabs' with which it was
supplied, would cover his bruised face much better than any
cap of his own. As Colin glanced from under the clothes he
VOL. vi. a
98 COLIN CLINK.
could scarcely forbear laughing, in spite of his fears, at the odd
combination which his mistress's Cupid suggested, — of a copper-
coloured, black-bearded face, with the primly-starched, snowy
trillings of a woman's nightcap.
" Is he asleep, Sammy ?" asked Miss Maria in a low whisper.
" A deal faster than he deserves to be," replied that worthy.
" I will just step across, and see," observed the lady ; and ac-
cordingly trod lightly over the floor in order to assure herself of
the fact. Colin's closed eyes, his silence, and his quick full
breathing, confirmed her in the pleasing delusion ; and she re-
turned to Palethorpe's bedside, and deposited herself in a chair
with the remark that, under those circumstances, she would sit
with him a few minutes. As she gazed with admiration on the
uncouth countenance of Palethorpe, set, like a picture, in the
white frame of her own cap ; and watched him deliberately trans-
fer spoonful after spoonful of the posset from the basin into the
ill-shaped hole in his own face, she heaved a profound sigh,
which seemed one moment to inflate her bosom like a balloon,
and the next to collapse it again as closely as poor Cooking's pa-
rachute. Palethorpe went on with his posset.
" Ay, dear ! " she sighed again.
" What's amiss, meesis ? " asked Sammy as soon as the emp-
tied basin left him at liberty to speak.
" Nothing, Sammy, — nothing. Ay, dear ! I 'm quite well,
as far as that goes," replied Miss Maria very despondingly.
" But you have summat not right, I 'm sure," persisted he.
" Oh, it is of no matter ! " she sighed again.
" But, what is it ? " he a third time asked.
" It does not signify much," she again remarked ; " it will be
all the same a few years hence."
" You Ve tired yourself to death with that mangle, I sup-
pose ? " said Sammy.
" Oh, no ! " she exclaimed in a tone of voice which betrayed
some slight offence at the vulgarity of his suggestion ; " it is a
very different sort of mangle to that. I am sure I am mangled
enough by people's indifference."
" Why, as for that," replied Sammy, trying to exculpate him-
self from any charge of neglect, " you are meesis of th1 house,
and don't want to be pressed to your meat and drink like a
visiter."
" Meat and drink ! " she exclaimed, as though indignant that
such animal ideas should degrade the present elevation of her
soul, " I care nothing about meat and drink, not I. You seem
as if you could see nothing, though people make the plainest
allusions that female propriety considers decent for any woman
to do."
Mr. Palethorpe looked astonished as he observed,
" Well, I 'm sure, meesis, you can't say that ever I made any
allusions to female propriety."
COLIN CLINK. 99
« NO? — that 's it ! there it is ! " sighed Miss Maria ; " though
you get all the fat of the land, and are treated more like a gen-
tleman in the house than like what you are, you never make the
least allusions."
Palethorpe protested that under those circumstances he ought
to feel all the more ashamed of himself if he did make allusions,
or else other people would think it very odd of him.
"Oh, then the truth's out at last, is it?" said Miss Maria,
" you have other people, have you ? Ay, dear ! " and she ap-
parently fell a-crying. " It 's impossible, then, for all the good-
ness in the world to make any impression. Oh, Sammy —
Sammy !"
Saying which she rose up, with her handkerchief to her eyes,
and walked towards the door, muttering as she went, that since
he seemed so very fond of other people, other people might feed
him, as that was the last posset he would ever have from her
hands. Mr. Palethorpe endeavoured several times to recall her;
but Miss Sowersoft's new jealousy of other people had rendered
her inexorable ; and, in the course of a few more seconds her own
chamber-door was heard to slam to, and to be most resolutely
bolted and locked behind her. Our worthy uttered a discontented
groan, and composed himself to sleep; an example which Colin
was enabled some long time after to follow ; though not before
his weariness had completely overpowered his fears of danger
from the savage sharer of his dormitory.
While yet in the middle of his slumber, and busy with a dream
of home, which placed him again in the bright warm sunshine
by the step of his mother's door, Colin was suddenly startled
by the dragging of every inch of bed-covering from off him,
and the not very sparing application of a hand-whip about
his body, while the voice of Palethorpe summoned him, under
the courteous title of a lazy heavy-headed young rascal, to turn
out, and get himself off to work. It was nearly broad day -light ;
and our hero obeyed the summons with considerable alacrity,
though not without informing his driver at the same time that
there was no occasion for a whip to him, because a word would
have done quite as well, if not better.
" Then you shall have both, to make sure, and plenty of
them too," replied Mr. Palethorpe. " If long scores are ever to
be cleared off', we should begin to pay ""em betimes ; and I have a
score chalked on for you that will want interest before it is dis-
charged, I know. Mark, you will have this every morning re-
gularly if you are not down stairs as the clock strikes six, neither
sooner nor later. If you get up too soon, I shall lay on you just
the same as if you got up too late, — for a right hour is a right
hour, and six exactly is our time. I '11 make you feel where
your mistake was, my boy, when you thought of coming mester
here ! There's last night's job I owe you for yet, and a good
price you shall pay for it, or else I don't know how to reckon."
JOO COLIN CLINK,
A blow on the right ear, and another on the left, immediately
after, in order to keep his head in the middle, fell to Colin's lot
at the conclusion of this harangue ; and a push at the back of
the neck which followed directly, enabled him to get out of the
room somewhat more speedily than he would have done without
that assistance. But to all this — though taken much in dudgeon
—being mildness itself as compared with what might have been
expected, Colin submitted in a sturdy mood, and without saying
anything ; though he did not forget to promise himself at some
future day to adjust the balances between them.
In consequence of the lack-a-daisical turn which Miss Sower-
sofVs interview with Sammy had taken on the preceding night,
that lady denied to the household the pleasure of her company
at breakfast, as she could not meet the ungrateful Mr. Pale-
thorpe before company again, until an explanation in private
had taken place. Poor old George, all benignity, and looking
like an elder of some by -gone age, seemed more than usually
anxious to promote good feeling amongst his fellows, and to
restore that harmony which had been destroyed the evening
before, on his account. But Palethorpe was unforgiving, and
Abel unrepentant : so that, whatever might be the disposition
of others, those two characters at least regarded each other
over the table much in the same manner as, it might be sup-
posed, would two of Mr. WombwelFs beasts placed on opposite
sides of his menagerie, when before a meal-time they address
each other in that language of the eyes of which poets speak,
and seem to intimate a very unequivocal desire to dine upon one
another.
That day Master Colin took his first lesson in field-craft, by
being set to gather stones from off the wheat-sown lands, before
the blade was more than an inch or two out of the ground.
His out-door labours were concluded at six in the evening ;
after which time, as the horses remained to be put up, he was
drilled in the art of cleaning, bedding, harnessing, and manag-
ing those animals: and, after that was done, he was allowed,
by way of amusement, to spend the remaining few hours be-
fore bed-time in setting rat-traps, or accompanying some one
or other of the men in weasel-shooting along the banksides
and hedges.
Some few days elapsed without a reconcilement having taken
place between Palethorpe and his mistress ; during which time
our hero fared considerably better than otherwise he might
have done ; partly because Miss Sowersoft's attention was not
now so completely engrossed as it had hitherto been, by her
favourite; and partly because that very pleasant personage
himself, while unsupported by the smiles and attentions of his
mistress, was by no means so formidable in his displays of
courage as otherwise he would have been. The prospect which
had broken on Colin's mind on his first introduction to Snitter-
COLIN CLINK. 101
ton began accordingly to brighten considerably. He liked his
employment in the fields, as well as all that followed it, so
well, that, when on the ensuing Sunday he asked for leave to
walk over to Bramleigh for the purpose of seeing his mother
and Fanny, and was at once peremptorily denied, he felt that
denial as no very great hardship ; but soon made up his mind to
spend the day as pleasantly as he could, and to write a letter to
Fanny, detailing his thoughts and opinions, his likings and dis-
likings, instead.
These resolves he eventually put into execution : and every-
thing very probably might have gone on smoothly enough, had
not a circumstance utterly unforeseen, occurred, whereby lie
himself was brought into a second dilemma with his mistress
and Palethorpe, still worse than the previous one ; and whereby,
also, the plain-spoken epistle which he had secretly indited for
the private and especial perusal of his mother and Fanny, was,
in an evil hour, thrown into the hands of the identical parties
about whom, in its honest simplicity, it told so many truthful
libels. But the shame of Miss Sowersoft was so deep, and the
rage of Palethorpe so high, and the consequences of both to our
hero so important, that I verily believe it will occupy nearly
the whole of the next chapter to describe them.
CHAPTER XIII.
Demonstrates, in the case of Miss Sowersoft and Mr. Samuel Palethorpe, the folly
of people being too curious about the truth, in matters better left in the dark.
Colin is subjected to a strict examination, in which the judge, instead of the cul-
prit, is convicted. Colin's punishment.
THAT period of the year having now arrived when the days
were materially lengthened, as well as increased in warmth, Colin
selected an hour or two one evening after his day's labour was over,
for the purpose of writing that letter to his mother and Fanny
which he had projected some short time before. In order to do
this, both by a good light, and away from the probability of in-
trusion, he selected a little spot of ground, formed by an obtuse
angle of the brook, at the bottom of the garden ; though divided
• •
from it by a thick clump of holly, intermingled with hawthorn
and wild briar. On this grassy knoll he sat down to his task ;
making a higher portion of its slope serve as a natural table to
hold his ink and paper.
Those vespers which Nature herself offers up to her Creator
amidst the magnificent cathedral columns of her own tall trees;
the loud songs of the blackbird and the thrush, and the occa-
sional shrill cry of the discontented pewet as it swept in tem-
pestuous circles over the distant arable land, were loudly heard
around him ; while, some two or three yards below the spot
where he sat, a ridge of large stones, placed across the rivulet
for the greater convenience of crossing, partially held up the
102 COLIN CLINK.
water, and caused an eternal poppling murmur, as that portion
which forced its escape between them, rushed with mimic velo-
city into the tiny gulf that lay some ten or twelve inches below.
Colin felt elevated and happy. He could scarcely write many
complainings there ; although he had been so disappointed and
ill-used on his arrival. At the same time he felt bound to tell the
truth as far as it went, though not to represent himself as mate-
rially unhappy in consequence of the behaviour which had been
adopted towards him. In this task, then, he proceeded, until
the hundreds of bright twinkling leaves which at first glittered
around him in the stray beams of sunlight, had all resolved
themselves into one mass of broad shade ; to this succeeded a
red horizontal light upon the upper portions of the trees to the
eastward, as though their tops were tipped with fire ; which
also rapidly faded, and left him, by the time he had about con-
cluded his letter, scarcely able any longer to follow with his
sight the course of his pen upon the paper.
Having wrapped his epistle awkwardly up, he placed it in his
pocket, and was about to emerge from his rural study, when the
leisurely tread of feet approaching down the garden-path, and
the subdued sound of tongues which he too well knew, caused
him to step back, and closer to the clumps of holly, in the hope
of getting away unobserved when the individuals whom he
wished to avoid, had passed. They still continued to converse;
and the first distinct words Colin heard were these : —
" I am sure, out of the many, very many excellent offers, I
have had made me, — excellent offers they were, — I might have
done so over and over again ; but I never intended to be mar-
ried. I always liked to be my own mistress and my own master ;
and, besides that, it does entail so much trouble on people in
one way or another. Really, when I look on that great family
of my brother Ted, I am fit to fancy it is pulling him down to
the ground ; and, I positively believe it would, if he did not
take advantage of his situation in trade, and rap and wring every
farthing out of everybody in any way that he possibly can,
without being at all particular ; — though they are sweet chil-
dren, they are I Ay, but something must be risked, and some-
thing must be sacrificed ; we cannot have it both ways, — at least
— a — humph ! — I mean to say, that when people do get married,
they must make up their minds to strike the best balance between
them mutually that they are able. That is my candid opinion
of things; and, when I look upon them in that light — when I
think about them in that manner, and say to myself, there is
this on this side, and nothing on that side, which should I take?
I lose my resolution, — • I don't know ; I feel that, by a person
to whom I had no objection in any other shape, I might perhaps
be superinduced to do as others have done, and to make a sacri-
fice of my little something, whatever it is, for the sake of spend-
ing our lives in that kind of dome>tic combination which binds
COLIN CLINK. 103
people together more than anything else ever can. I am weak
on that point, I know ; 'but then, the home affections, as Mr.
Longstaff says, constitute a very worthy and amiable weakness."
Miss Sowersoft uttered this last sentence in such a peculiar
tone of self-satisfied depreciation, as evidently proved that she
considered herself a much more eligible subject, on account of
that identical weakness which she had verbally condemned, than
she would have been if wholly free from it.
" Well, meesis," replied Mr. Palethorpe, with considerate deli-
beration, " I should have no objection to our union, if it so hap-
pened that we were not doing very well as we are at present ;
and, while we are making a little money to put by every week, I
think it is as well just now to let good alone. 1 should like —
"Oh, you misunderstand me !" exclaimed Miss Maria; "I
did not make any allusions to you in particular. Oh, no ! I have
had very many most excellent offers, and could have them now
for that matter; but then, you see, I was only just saying,
as the thought came across my mind, that there is some-
thing to be said against being married, and something against
keeping single. I remember the time when I could not bear
the very thoughts of a man about me ; but, somehow, as one
gets older we see so much more of the world, and ont's ideas
change almost as much as one's bodies; really, I am as different
as another woman to what. I once was. Somehow, I don't know
how, but so it happens — Ah ! " shrieked Miss Sowersoft, in-
terrupting herself in the demonstration of this very meta-
physical and abstruse point in her discourse, " take hold of me,
dear, — take hold of me ! I \e trod on a toad, I believe ! "
At the same time she threw her arms up to Mr. Palethorpe
for protection ; and, very accidentally, of course, they chanced
to alight round that worthy's neck. A round dozen of rough-
bearded kisses, which even he, stoic as he was, could not refrain
from bestowing upon her, in order to revive and restore her spi-
rits, smacked loudly on the dusky air, and set poor little Colin
a-laughing in spite of himself.
" Who the deuce is that !" earnestly whispered the farming-
man. " There 's somebody under the brook bank ! " and, as he
instantly disengaged Miss Sowersoft from his arms, he rushed
round the holly-bushes, and caught fast hold of Colin, just as
that unlucky lad was making a speedy retreat across the rivulet
into the opposite orchard. " What ! it is you, you young divel,
is it ? " exclaimed he in a fury, as he dragged the boy up the
sloping bank, and bestowed upon him sundry kicks, scarcely in-
ferior to those of a vicious horse, with his heavy, clench-nailed,
quarter-boots. " You 're listening after your meesis, now, are
you ? Dang your meddling carcass ! I '11 stop your ears for you ! "
And, bang went his ponderous fist on Colin's organs of Secre-
iveness and Acquisitiveness, until his head sung again through-
out, like a seething caldron.
1C4< COLIN CLINK.
" Tliat 's right ! " cried Miss Sowersoft ; " make him feel ;
drag him up ; my face burns with shame at him ; I 'm as hot as
a scarlet-fever, I am — a young scoundrel !"
And Colin was pulled up on to the level part of the garden,
more like a half-killed rat than a half-grown human being.
" We'll know how this is, meesis," said Mr. Palethorpe, when
he had fairly landed his cargo. " I '11 see to th' bottom of it be-
fore he goes into th' house. He sha'n't have a chance of being
backed up in his impudence as he was t'other night."
" Take him into the thrashing-barn," advised Miss Sowersoft,
"and we can have him there in private."
Colin now found breath to put in a protest against the bill of
indictment which they were preferring against him.
" I was not listening," said he ; "I was only writing a letter
to my mother, I 'm sure !"
" What ! at dark hour ? " ejaculated Palethorpe with a laugh.
" Come along, you young liar ! you sha'n't escape that way."
Accordingly he dragged the lad up the garden, and behind
the house, into the spacious barn, of which Miss Sowersoft had
spoken: and, while that innocent lady went to procure a lan-
tern, her favourite held him tightly by the collar; save when,
occasionally, to beguile the time until her return, he regaled him
with a severe shake, and an additional curse or two upon his
vagabond and mischievous carcass.
" Do you think he knows anything about it ? " asked Miss
Sowersoft aside to Palethorpe, as she entered the barn, and the
dim light of her horn-lantern summoned to view the spectral ap-
pearances— rather than the distinct objects themselves — of vari-
ous implements of husbandry, and of heaps of thrashed wheat
and straw scattered around.
"Well, I don't know; but I should think not much," said he.
" I hope not," rejoined Miss Maria, " or it will get into every-
body's mouth. But, we will question him very closely; we'll
have it out of him by hook or by crook."
She then held a broken side of the lantern a little above
Colin's face, in order to cast the better light upon it ; and pro-
ceeded to question the culprit.
" Now, before I ask you a single question, promise to tell me
the truth, and nothing but the truth. Now, mark ; I shall
know whether you speak the truth or not, so it will be of no use
to try to deceive me. Tell me whether you heard me and
Sammy talking in the garden ; and whether you saw him pick
me up so very kindly when I slipped down ; and then tell me for
what purpose you were standing behind those trees ? No false-
hoods, now. The truth, nothing else. Take care ; because if
you say anything untrue I shall know it directly ; and then woe
be to you for your trouble ! "
" I always do tell truth," replied Colin, crying, " without
being frightened into it that way. I 'm sure I had only been
COLIN CLINK. 105
writing a letter to my mother and Fanny ; and I stood there
because I did not want anybody to catch me."
" And why did not you want anybody to catch you ? "
" Why, because I didn't," answered Colin.
" Because you didn't ! " exclaimed Sammy, as he emerged
from out the shadow of Miss Sowersoft's figure ; " what answer
is that, you sulky ill-looking whelp? Give her a proper answer,
or I '11 send my fist in your face in a minnit ! "
Miss Maria put her hand on Sammy's arm to keep him back,
— not so much to prevent him carrying his threat into exe-
cution, as because his interference seemed to imply a doubt
of her own abilities in worming all she wanted to know out of
the boy before her.
" But why didn't you ? " she asked again, more emphatically.
" Because they might want to read my letter."
" Oh, — there "s something in it not to be seen, is there ? "
continued the inquisitor, as her cheeks reddened with fears of
she knew not what.
" It is all truth, — every word of it ! " contended Colin.
" Ay, ay, my lad, we must see about that. I cannot let you
send a whole pack of falsehoods over to Bramleigh, and make
as much mischief in my family as your mother made in Mr.
Longstaff's. It is needful to look after your doings. Is the
letter in your pocket ? "
Having received an answer in the affirmative, she directed
Palethorpe to search him for it ; an operation which that amiable
individual very soon concluded by drawing the desired document
from his trowsers.
" Oh, this is it, is it ?" said Miss Maria, as she partly opened
it to assure herself. " Well, well," folding it up again : " we 11
read this by and by. Now, what did you hear us talking
about ? If you say anything shameful, now, — and we shall
know whether it is true or not directly that we hear it, — if you
do not say something — a — . You know what Scripture tells
you, — always to speak well of your mistress and master. Be
careful, now. What did we say ? "
" Please, 'um," replied Colin, " you said, that when people
get married they strike a balance between them ; and that if
one thing was on one side, and nothing on the other, you should
lose your resolution, and make a sacrifice of your little some-
thing, whatever it is."
" Oh, you little wretch ! " ejaculated Maria. " Go on with
your lies, go on ! and you shall have it on your shoulders when
you have done. What else, you vile toad ?"
Colin stood mute.
" What next, I say ! " stormed the lady, with a furious stamp
of the right foot.
" Why, then, mum," added Colin, " I heard Palethorpe kiss-
ing you as hard as he could."
VOL. VI. J
!()(> COLIN CLINK.
" Kissing me ! — kissing me, you young rascal ! " and the
face of Miss Sowersoft became as red as the gills of one of
her own turkey-cocks at the discovery. " If you dare to say
such a thing as that again, I ""II strip the very skin off your
back, — I will, you caitiff ! Kissing me, indeed ! A pretty
tale to tell as ever I heard ! "
" I 'm sure it 's true," blubbered the boy ; " for I heard it
ever so many times."1
" Oh ! " exclaimed the virtuous Miss Sowersoft, " so we have
got it out of you at last. What ! — your mother has set you to
watch your mistress, has she ? That 's all her schooling, is it ?
But Mr. Palethorpe shall learn you to spy about this house, —
he shall, you dog ! "
That worthy was now about to pounce upon his victim, but
was again arrested by his mistress.
" Stop, stop ! — we have not done yet," pulling the letter
before mentioned from her bosom ; " there is a pretty budget
here, I '11 be bound to say. After such as this, we may expect
anything. There is nothing too bad for him."
While Palethorpe held the culprit fast by one hand, and the
lantern in the other, he and Miss Sowersoft enjoyed the high
gratification of perusing together the authenticated letter which
follows : —
" DEAR MOTHER AND FANNY,
" As I promised to write if they would not let me come on
Sunday, which they did not do, I take this opportunity after
tea to tell you all about it. I like this house very well, and
have caught fourteen rats with traps of my own setting, besides
helping Abel to shoot foomards, which he fired at, and I looked
on while. I can harness a horse and curry him down already.
But when I first got here I did not think I should like it at all,
as Palethorpe flew at me like a yard-dog because I spoke to him,
and Miss Sowersoft was mangling, and as cross as patch. I did
think of coming home again ; but then I said to myself, ' Well,
I '11 lay a penny if I do, mother will send me back ; so it will be
of no use, and I shall have my walk for nothing.' I do not like
mistress a bit. When she was at our house, she told you a pack
of the biggest fibs in the world. I never heard of a bigger
fibber than she is in my life ; for all the good victuals she made
such a bother about are made up for Sammy, and I have to eat
his leavings. He is like a master-pig in a sty, because he
crunches up the best of everything. Mistress seems very fond of
him, though ; for after we had had a shindy the first night, and
Palethorpe made my nose bleed, I went to bed, and saw her tie
her nightcap on his head, and feed him with a posset. I could
not help laughing, he looked such a fool. Then I heard her
courting him as plain as sunshine ; for she tries as hard as she
can to get him to marry her ; but I would not have her, if I
COLIN CLINK. 107
were him, she is so very mean and pretending. But then he is
a savage idle fellow himself: and as Abel said to him, said he,
* You never touch plough nor bill-hook once a- week,' — no more
he does. Our mistress backs him up in it, and that is the reason.
I shall come over as soon as I can, as I want to see you and
Fanny very much indeed.
" Yours affectionately,
" COLIN CLINK.
At all events the murder was out here, and no mistake. The
letter dropped from Miss Sowersoft's hand, and she almost fainted
in Mr. Palethorpe's arms, as she faintly sighed,
" Oh, Sammy, Sammy ! — he'll be the death of me !"
When Miss Maria was somewhat recovered, Palethorpe turn-
ed in great wrath towards Colin, uttering a more fearful as-
severation than I can repeat, that if he could make no better
use than that of his eyes when he went to bed, he would knock
them out of his head for him. Seizing the boy ferociously by
the nape of the neck with one hand, and a portion of his
clothes with the other, he lifted him from the ground, like a dog
by head and tail, and carried him straight into the yard, dashing
him violently into the horse-trough, very much to the satisfac-
tion of the indignant Miss Sowersoft, who had suddenly reco-
vered on beholding this spectacle, and followed her favourite
with the lantern. While Palethorpe held him down in the
trough, Miss Sowersoft proceeded with great alacrity to pump
upon him very vigorously until her arms were tired.
The boy's cries soon brought several of the domestics of the
establishment together. Sally rushed out of her kitchen in-
quiring what Colin had done to be ducked.
" Spying after the private things of meesis ! " exclaimed the
wrathful Mr. Palethorpe.
" Spying ! " echoed the maid.
" Yes, spying ! " added Maria, in corroboration of Pale-
thorpe1 s statement. " We have caught him out, according to his
own confession, in spying after the secrets of everybody about
the premises, and sending it all in writing to his mother ! "
" Ay ! I "d souse him well ! " observed Sally, who began to
fear that some of her own secret interviews with Abel had very
probably been registered in black and white, for the edification
of the good people of Bramleigh.
" What has he been a-gate of ? " asked Abel, who had come
up just in time to catch the end of the above conversation.
" Oh, he 's been watching you come into the dairy when I
was there ! " added Sally, accompanying her remark with a
broad simper, and a sly blushing glance at Abel, which caused
Abel to shuffle on his feet, and dangle his legs about, as though
at a loss what to do with them.
" Then a sheep-washing will do him no harm for sheep's
108 COLIN GLINK.
eyes,"" rejoined Abel, rounding off his sharp-pointed wit with a
broad laugh.
When the ducking was concluded, they drove him, bruised,
drenched, and weeping, into the kitchen. Old George, who had
been a distant and silent spectator of the scene, stood at the door
as he entered.
" Ay, poor boy ! " said he, pityingly, as the child passed by
him, " they 'd more need to nurse him by the fireside than half
drown him this way. It ^s sad wages — sad wages, indeed, for a
nest-babe like him ! But they don't heed what I say. I 'm an
old man, and have no right to speak."
Miss Sowersoft seized the earliest opportunity she could to
place Colin's letter upon the fire, which she did with a spoonful
of salt upon it, in order that its flames should be of the same
colour as its contents.
In the mean time Colin had shuffled off his mortal coil of wet
clothes, and in a moist skin gone silently off to bed. At supper-
time old George carried him up the pint of warm ale which had
been served out for himself. Colin accepted it, less because he
relished it, than because he knew not how at that moment to
refuse the hand by which it was offered ; and within ten minutes
afterwards, notwithstanding all his troubles, he fell into a sound
state of repose.
TO A YOUNG GIRL.
TRANSLATED FROM VICTOR HUGO.
" Pourquoi te plaindre, tendre fille,
Ses jours n'appartiennent-ils pas a la premiere jeunesse."
ALL infancy's sweet joys thou canst not tell ;
Yet, envy not, fair child, our riper years,
\Vhen the heart bleeds or struggles to rebel,
And e'en our smiles are sadder than thy tears.
Thy gentle age passes without a trace,
Softly, as sighs that mingle with the breeze,
As joyous sounds which distance must efface,
Or Halcyon floating o'er the summer seas.
Let thy thoughts blossom in their later hours,
But now enjoy the dawn ! Enjoy the spring !
Thy days are like a wreath of budding flowers,
Spare them, till scatter'd by Time's blighting wing.
Await the future,— fate, alas ! for thee,—
As for us all, — has deep regrets in store ;
Falsehood, and every ill, we blush to see,
And worthless pleasures, that we should deplore.
Yet, laugh ! unconscious of all evil now,
No shade should cloud the azure of thine eyes !
The peaceful innocence of that fair brow
Reveals thy spirit, and reflects the skies. M. T H.
109
JACK SHEPPARD.
BY W. HARRISON AINSWORTH, ESQ.
AUTHOR OP "ROOKWOOD" AND "CRICHTON."
ILLUSTRATED BY GEORGE CRUIKSHANK.
EPOCH THE THIRD. 1724.
CHAPTER V.
THE DISGUISE.
IN a hollow in the meadows behind the prison whence Jack
Sheppard had escaped, — for, at this time, the whole of the
now thickly-peopled district north of Clerkenwell Bridewell
was open country, stretching out in fertile fields in the direc-
tion of Islington, — and about a quarter of a mile off, stood a
solitary hovel, known as Black Mary's Hole. This spot, which
still retains its name, acquired the appellation from an old crone
who lived there, and who, in addition to a very equivocal cha-
racter for honesty, enjoyed the reputation of being a witch.
Without inquiring into the correctness of the latter part of the
story, it may be sufficient to state, that Black Mary was a person
in whom Jack Sheppard thought he could confide, and, as
Edgeworth Bess was incapable of much further exertion, he
determined to leave her in the old woman's care till the follow-
ing night, while he shifted for himself, and fulfilled his design—
for, however rash or hazardous a project might be, if once con-
ceived, Jack always executed it, — of visiting Jonathan Wild at
his house in the Old Bailey.
It was precisely two o'clock on the morning of Whitmonday,
the 25th of May 1724, when the remarkable escape before de-
tailed was completed : and, though it wanted full two hours to
daybreak, the glimmer of a waning moon prevented it from
being totally dark. Casting a hasty glance, as he was about to
turn an angle of the wall, at the great gates and upper windows
of the prison, and perceiving no symptoms of pursuit, Jack pro-
ceeded towards the hovel at a very deliberate pace, carefully
assisting his female companion over every obstacle in the road,
and bearing her in his arms when, as was more than once the
case, she sank from fright and exhaustion. In this way he
crossed one or two public gardens and a bowling-green, — the
neighbourhood of Clerkenwell then abounded in such places of
amusement, — passed the noted Ducking Pond, where Black
Mary had been frequently immersed; and, striking off to the
left across the fields, arrived in a few minutes at his destination.
Descending the hollow, or rather excavation, — 'for it was
an old disused clay-pit, at the bottom of which the cottage was
VOL. vi. K
HO JACK SHCPPARD.
situated, — he speedily succeeded in arousing the ancient sibyl,
and having committed Edgeworth Bess to her care, with a pro-
mise of an abundant reward in case she watched diligently over
her safety, and attended to her comforts till his return, — to all
which Black Mary readily agreed, — he departed with a heart
lightened of half its load.
Jack's first object was to seek out Blueskin, whom he had
no doubt he should find at the New Mint, at Wapping, for
the Old Mint no longer offered a secure retreat to the rob-
ber ; and, with this view, he made the best of his way along a
bye-lane leading towards Hockley-in-the-hole. He had not pro-
ceeded far when he was alarmed by the tramp of a horse, which
seemed to be rapidly approaching, and he had scarcely time to
leap the hedge and conceal himself behind a tree, when a tall
man, enveloped in an ample cloak, with his hat pulled over his
brows, rode by at full speed. Another horseman followed
quickly at the heels of the first ; but just as he passed the
spot where Jack stood, his steed missed its footing, and fell.
Either ignorant of the accident, or heedless of it, the foremost
horseman pursued his way without even turning his head.
Conceiving the opportunity too favourable to be lost, Jack
sprang suddenly over the hedge, and before the man, who was
floundering on the ground with one foot in the stirrup, could
extricate himself from his embarrassing position, secured his
pistols, which he drew from the holsters, and held them to his
head. The fellow swore lustily, in a voice which Jack instant-
ly recognised as that of Quilt Arnold, and vainly attempted to
rise and draw his sword.
" Dog ! " thundered Sheppard, putting the muzzle of the
pistol so close to the janizary's ear, that the touch of the cold
iron made him start, " don't you know me ?"
" Blood and thunder ! " exclaimed Quilt, opening his eyes
with astonishment. " It can't be Captain Sheppard ! "
" It z's," replied Jack ; " and you had better have met the
devil on your road than me. Do you remember what I said
when you took me at the Mint four days ago. I told you my
turn would come. It has come, — and sooner than you ex-
pected."
" So I find, captain," rejoined Quilt, submissively ; " but
you 're too noble-hearted to take advantage of my situation.
Besides, I acted for others, and not for myself."
" I know it," replied Sheppard, " and therefore I spare your
life."
" I was sure you wouldn't injure me, captain," remarked Quilt,
in a wheedling tone, while he felt about for his sword; " you're
far too brave to strike a fallen man."
" Ah ! traitor !" cried Jack, who had noticed the movement ;
" make such another attempt, and it shall cost you your life."
JACK SHEPPARD. Ill
So saying, he unbuckled the belt to which the janizary's hanger
was attached, and fastened it to his own girdle.
" And now," he continued, sternly, " was it your master who
has just ridden by ? "
" No," answered Quilt, sullenly.
" Who, then ? " demanded Jack. " Speak, or I fire ! "
" Well, if you will have it, it 's Sir Rowland Trenchard."
"Sir Rowland Trench ard !" echoed Jack, in amazement.
" What are you doing with him ?"
" It's a long story, captain, and I \e no breath to tell it, —
unless you choose to release me," rejoined Quilt.
" Get up, then," said Jack, freeing his foot from the stirrup.
« Now— begin."
Quilt, however, seemed unwilling to speak.
" I should be sorry to proceed to extremities," continued
Sheppard, again raising the pistol.
" Well, since you force me to betray my master's secrets,"
replied Quilt, sullenly, "I've ridden express to Manchester to
deliver a message to Sir Rowland."
" Respecting Thames Darrell ? " observed Jack.
" Why, how the devil did you happen to guess that ? " cried
the janizary.
" No matter," replied Sheppard. " I 'm glad to find I 'm
right. You informed Sir Rowland that Thames Darrell was
returned ? "
" Exactly so," replied Quilt, " and he instantly decided upon
returning to London with me. We 've ridden post all the way,
and I 'm horribly tired, or you wouldn't have mastered me so
easily.
" Perhaps not," replied Jack, to whom an idea had suddenly
occurred. " Now, sir, I '11 trouble you for your coat. I 've left
mine on the spikes of the New Prison, and must borrow yours."
" Why, surely you can't be in earnest, captain. You
wouldn't rob Mr. Wild's chief janizary ? "
"I'd rob Mr. Wild himself if I' met him," retorted Jack.
" Come, off with it, sirrah, or I '11 blow out your brains, in the
first place, and strip you afterwards."
" Well, rather than you should commit so great a crime, cap-
tain, here it is," replied Quilt, handing him the garment in ques-
tion. " Anything else ? "
" Your waistcoat."
" 'Zounds ! captain, I shall get my death of cold. I was in
hopes you 'd be content with my hat and wig."
"I shall require them as well," rejoined Sheppard; "and
your boots."
" My boots ! Fire and fury ! They won't fit you ; they're
too large. Besides, how am 1 to ride home without them ? "
"Don't distress yourself," returned Jack, " you shall walk.
K'2
JACK SHEPPARD.
Now," he added, as his commands were reluctantly obeyed,
" help me on with them."
Quilt knelt down, as if he meant to comply ; but, watching
his opportunity, he made a sudden grasp at Sheppard's leg,
with the intention of overthrowing him.
But Jack was too nimble for him. Striking out his foot, he
knocked half a dozen teeth down the janizary's throat ; and,
seconding the kick with a blow on the head from the butt-end
of the pistol, stretched him, senseless and bleeding, on the
ground.
" Like master like man," observed Jack as he rolled the inani-
mate body to the side of the road. " From Jonathan Wild's
confidential servant what could be expected but treachery ? "
With this, he proceeded to dress himself in Quilt Arnold's
clothes, pulled the wig over his face and eyes so as com-
pletely to conceal his features, slouched the hat over his brows,
drew the huge boots above his knees, and muffled himself up in
the best way he could. On searching the coat, he found, amongst
other matters, a mask, a key, and a pocket-book. The latter
appeared to contain several papers, which Jack carefully put by,
in the hope that they might turn out of importance in a scheme
of vengeance which he meditated against the thieftaker. He
then mounted the jaded hack, which had long since regained its
legs, and was quietly browsing the grass at the road-side, and,
striking spurs into its side, rode off. He had not proceeded far
when he encountered Sir Rowland, who having missed his at-
tendant, had returned to look after him.
" What has delayed you ? " demanded the knight, impa-
tiently.
" My horse has had a fall," replied Jack, assuming to perfec-
tion — for he was a capital mimic — the tones of Quilt Arnold.
" It was some time before I could get him to move."
" I fancied I heard voices," rejoined Sir Rowland.
" So did I," answered Jack ; " we had better move on. This
is a noted place for highwaymen."
" I thought you told me that the rascal who has so long been
the terror of the town — Jack Sheppard — was in custody."
" So he is," returned Jack ; " but, there 's no saying how long
he may remain so. Besides, there are greater rascals than Jack
Sheppard at liberty, Sir Rowland."
Sir Rowland made no reply, but angrily quickened his pace.
The pair then descended Saffron-hill, threaded Field-lane, and,
enteringHolborn, passed over the little bridge which then cross-
ed the muddy waters of Fleet-ditch, mounted Snow-hill, and
soon drew in the bridle before Jonathan Wild's door. Aware of
Quilt Arnold's mode of proceeding, Jack instantly dismounted,
and, instead of knocking, opened the door with the pass-key.
The porter instantly made his appearance, and Sheppard ordered
him to take care of the horses.
JACK SHEPPAHD. 113
" Well, what sort of journey have you had, Quilt ? " asked
the man as he hastened to assist Sir Rowland to dismount.
" Oh ! we 've lost no time, as you perceive," replied Jack.
" Is the governor within ? "
" Yes; you'll find him in the audience-chamber. He has got
Blueskin with him."
" Ah ! indeed ! what 's he doing here ? " inquired Jack.
" Come to buy off Jack Sheppard, I suppose," replied the
fellow. " But it won't do. Mr. Wild has made up his mind ;
and, when that's the case, all the persuasion on earth won't
turn him. Jack will be tried to-morrow; and, as sure as
my name's Obadiah Lemon he'll take up his quarters at the
KingVHead," pointing to Newgate, " over the way."
" Well, we shall see," replied Jack. " Look to the horses,
Obadiah. This way, Sir Rowland."
As familiar as Quilt Arnold himself with every part of Wild's
mysterious abode, as well as with the ways of its inmates, Jack,
without a moment's hesitation, took up a lamp which was burn-
ing in the hall, and led his companion up the great stone stairs.
Arrived at the audience-chamber, he set down the light upon a
stand, threw open the door, and announced in a loud voice, but
with the perfect intonation of the person he represented, — " Sir
Rowland Trenchard."
Jonathan, who was engaged in conversation with Blueskin,
instantly arose, and bowed with cringing ceremoniousness to the
knight. The latter haughtily returned his salutation, and flung
himself, as if exhausted, into a chair.
" You 've arrived sooner than I expected, Sir Rowland,"
observed the thief-taker. *' Lost no time on the road — eh? — I
didn't expect you till to-morrow at the earliest. Excuse me an
instant while 1 dismiss this person. — You Ve your answer, Blue-
skin," he added, pushing that individual, who seemed unwilling
to depart, towards the door ; " it 's useless to urge the matter
further. Jack is registered in the Black Book."
" One word before I go," urged Blueskin.
" Not a syllable," replied Wild. " If you talk as long as an
Old Bailey counsel, you '11 not alter my determination."
" Won't my life do as well as his ? " supplicated the other.
" Humph ! " exclaimed Jonathan, doubtfully. " And you
would surrender yourself — eh ? "
" I'll surrender myself at once, if you '11 engage to bring him
off; and you '11 get the reward from old Wood. It's two hun-
dred pounds. Recollect that."
" Faithful fellow ! " murmured Jack. " I forgive him his
disobedience."
" Will you do it ? " persisted Blueskin.
" No," replied Wild ; " and I 've only listened to your ab-
surd proposal to see how far your insane attachment to this lad
would carry you."
1 11 JACK. SHKITARD.
" I (/o love him," cried Klueskin, " and that 's the long niul
short of it. 1 've taught him all he can tin ; and there isn't his
fellow, and never will be again. 1 've seen ninny a elever
cracksman, but never one like him. If you hang' Jack Shep-
pard, you '11 cut oil' the flower o' the purfession. l>nt 1 '11 not
believe it of yon. It 's all very well to read him a lesson, and
teach him obedience ; but yon 've gone far enough for that."
u Not quite," rejoined the thieftaker, significantly.
" "NVell," growled lllueskin, " yon 've had my oiler."
" And von mv warning," retorted Wild. " Good ni<iht ! "
" Hlueskin,'' whispered Jack, in his natural tones, as the other
passed him, •• wait without."
" Powers o' mercy ! " cried Blueskin, starting.
" What 's the matter? " demanded Jonathan, harshly.
" Nothin'— nothin'," returned Blneskin; "only 1 thought — "
" Yon saw the hangman, no doubt," said Jack. " Take con-
rage, uian ; it 's only Quilt Arnold. Come, make yourself scarce.
l>on't you see Mr. Wild's busy." And then he added, in an
under tone, " Conceal yourself outside, and be within call."
Hlneskin nodded, and left the room. Jack affected to close
the door, but left it slightly ajar.
"What did you say to him?" inquired Jonathan, suspi-
ciously.
t% 1 advised him not to trouble you farther about Jack Shep-
pard," answered the supposed jani/arv.
" He seems infatuated about the lad," observed Wild. " I
shall be obliged to hang him to keep him company. — And now,
Sir Rowland/' he continued, turning to the knight, '* to our
own concerns. It *s a long time since we met — eight years, and
more. 1 hope you've enjoyed your health. 'S life ! you're
wonderfully altered. 1 should scarcely have known yon."
The knight was indeed greatly changed. Though not much
past the middle term of life, he seemed prematurely stricken
with old age. His frame was wasted, and slightly "bent ; his
eyes were hollow, his complexion haggard, and his beard,
which had remained unshorn during his hasty journey, was
perfectly white. His manner, however, was as stern and
haughty as ever, and his glances retained their accustomed tire.
*" 1 did not come hither to consult you as to the state of my
health, sir," he observed, displeased by Jonathan's allusion to
the alteration in his appearance.
" True," replied Wild. " You were no doubt surprised by
the unlooked-for intelligence 1 sent yon of your nephew's re-
turn ?"
»« Was it unlooked-for on your part ? " demanded the knight,
distrustfully.
»' On my soul, yes," rejoined Jonathan. " 1 should as soon
have expected the bones of Tom Sheppard to reunite themselves
*nd walk out of that case, as Thames Pairell to return. The
JACK SHEPPAKD. 115
skipper, Van Galgebrok, afKnueil to me, — nay, gave me the
additional testimony of two of his crew, — that he was thrown
overboard. But it appears he was picked up by fishermen, and
carried to France, where he has remained ever since, and where
it would have been well for him if he had remained altogether."
" Have you seen him ? " asked Trent-hard.
" I have," replied Wild ; l% and nothing but the evidence of
my senses would have made me believe he was living, after the
positive assurance I received to the contrary. He is at pre-
sent with Mr. Wood, — the person whom you may remember
adopted him, — at Dollis Hill, near Willesden ; and it 's a sin-
gular but fortunate circumstance, so far as we are concerned,
that Mrs. Wood chanced to be murdered by Blueskin, the
fellow who just left the room, on the very night of his return,
us it has thrown the house into such confusion, and so dis-
tracted them, that he has had no time as yet for hostile move-
ments."
*' And what course do you propose to pursue in reference to
him ? " asked Sir Rowland.
" My plan is a very simple one," rejoined the thief-taker,
smiling bitterly. " 1 would treat him as you treated his father,
JSir Rowland."
" Murder him !" cried Trent-hard, shuddering.
" Ay, murder him, if you like the term," returned Wild. " I
should call it putting him out of the way. Hut, no matter
how you phrase it, the end is the same."
" 1 cannot consent to it," replied Sir Rowland, firmly.
*' Since the sea has spared him, I will spare him. It is in vain
to struggle against the arm of fate. 1 will shed no more blood."
" And perish upon the gibbet," rejoined Jonathan, contemp-
tuously.
" Flight is still left me," replied Trent-hard. ** I can escape
to France."
" And do you think I "11 allow you to depart," cried Jonathan,
in a menacing tone, " and compromise tin/ safety ? No, no.
We are linked together in this matter, and must go through
"with it. You cannot — shall not retreat."
" Death and hell ! " cried Sir Rowland, rising and drawing
his sword; '• do you think you can shackle my free will, vil-
lain?"
" In this particular instance I do, Sir Rowland," replied Jo-
nathan, calmly, " because you are wholly in my power. But be
patient. 1 am your fast friend. Thames Darrell MUST die. Our
mutual safety requires it. Leave the means to me."
" More blood ! more blood ! " cried Trenchard, passing his
hand with agony across his brow. " Shall I .never banish those
horrible phantoms from my couch — the father with his bleeding-
breast and dripping hair ! — the mother with her wringing hands,
and looks of vengeance and reproach ! — And must another be
116 JACK SHEPPARD.
added to their number — their son ! Horror ! — let me be spared
this new crime ! And yet the gibbet — my name tarnished — -
my escutcheon blotted by the hangman ! — No. I cannot submit
to that."
" I should think not," observed Jonathan, " who had some
practice in the knight's moods, and knew how to humour him.
" It 's a miserable weakness to be afraid of bloodshed,, The
general who gives an order for wholesale carnage never sleeps a
wink the less soundly for the midnight groans of his victims,
and we should deride him as a coward if he did. And life is
much the same, whether taken in battle, on the couch, or by the
road-side. Besides those whom I 've slain with my own hand,
I 've brought upwards of thirty persons to the gallows. Most
of their relics are in yonder cases ; but I don't remember that
any of them have disturbed my rest. The mode of destruction
makes no difference. It 's precisely the same thing to me to bid
my janizaries cut Thames Darrell's throat, as to order Jack
Sheppard's execution."
As Jonathan said this, Jack's hand involuntarily sought a
pistol.
" But to the point," continued Wild, unconscious of the peril
in which the remark had placed him, — " to the point. On the
terms that procured your liberation from Newgate, I will free
you from this new danger."
" Those terms were a third of my estate," observed Tren-
chard, bitterly.
" What of that ? " rejoined Jonathan. " Any price was better
than your head. If Thames Darrell escapes, you will lose both
life and property."
" True, true," replied the knight, with an agonized look ;
" there is no alternative."
" None whatever," rejoined Wild. " Is it a bargain ? "
" Take half of my estate — take all — my life, if you will — I
am weary of it ! " cried Trenchard, passionately.
" No," replied Jonathan, " I '11 not take you at your word,
as regards the latter proposition. We shall both, I hope, live
to enjoy our shares — long after Thames Darrell is forgotten —
ha ! ha ! A third of your estate I accept. And, as these
things should always be treated as matters of business, I'll just
draw up a memorandum of our arrangement."
And, as he spoke, he took up a sheet of paper, and hastily
traced a few lines upon it.
" Sign this," he said, pushing the document towards Sir
Rowland.
The knight mechanically complied with his request.
" Enough !" cried Jonathan, eagerly pocketing the memoran-
dum. "And now, in return for your liberality, I'll inform
you of a secret with which it is important you should be
acquainted.1'
JACK SHEPPARD. 117
" A secret ! " exclaimed Trenchard. " Concerning whom ? "
" Mrs. Sheppard," replied Jonathan, mysteriously.
" Mrs. Sheppard ! " echoed Jack, surprised out of his caution.
" Ah ! " exclaimed Wild, looking angrily towards his sup-
posed attendant.
" I beg pardon, sir," replied Jack, with the accent and man-
ner of the janizary ; " I was betrayed into the exclamation by
my surprise that anything in which Sir Rowland Trenchard
was interested could have reference to so humble a person as
Mrs. Sheppard."
" Be pleased, then, in future not to let your surprise find
vent in words," rejoined Jonathan, sternly. " My servants,
like Eastern mutes, must have eyes, and ears, — and hands, if
need be, — but no tongues. You understand me, sirrah ?"
" Perfectly," replied Jack. " I 'in dumb."
" Your secret ? " demanded Trenchard, impatiently.
" I need not remind you, Sir Rowland," replied Wild, " that
you had two sisters — Aliva and Constance."
" Both are dead," observed the knight, gloomily.
*c Not so ; " answered Wild. " Constance is yet living."
" Constance alive ! Impossible ! " ejaculated Trenchard.
" 1 've proofs to the contrary," replied Jonathan.
" If this is the case, where is she? "
" In Bedlam," replied the thieftaker, with a Satanic grin.
** Gracious heaven ! " exclaimed the knight, upon whom a
light seemed suddenly to break. " You mentioned Mrs. Shep-
pard. What has she to do with Constance Trenchard ? "
" Mrs. Sheppard is Constance Trenchard," replied Jonathan,
maliciously.
Here Jack Sheppard was unable to repress an exclamation of
astonishment.
" Again," cried Jonathan, sternly ; " beware ! "
" What ! " vociferated Trenchard. ''' My sister the wife of one
condemned felon ! the parent of another ! It cannot be."
" It is so, nevertheless," replied Wild. " Stolen by a gipsy
when scarcely five years old, Constance Trenchard, after various
vicissitudes, was carried to London, where she lived in great
poverty, with the dregs of society. It is useless to trace out
her miserable career; though I can easily do so if you re-
quire it. To preserve herself, however, from destitution, or
what she considered worse, she wedded a journeyman carpenter,
named Sheppard."
" Alas ! that one so highly born should submit to such a de-
gradation ? " groaned the knight.
" I see nothing surprising in it," rejoined Jonathan. " In the
first place, she had no knowledge of her, birth ; and, con-
sequently, no false pride to get rid of. In the second, she
was wretchedly poor, and assailed by temptations of which
you can form no idea. Distress like hers might palliate far
118 JACK SHEPPARD.
greater offences than she ever committed. With the same
inducements we should all do the same thing. Poor girl I
she was beautiful once ; so beautiful as to make me, who care
little for the allurements of women, fancy myself enamoured
of her."
Jack Sheppard again sought his pistol, and was only withheld
from levelling it at" the thieftaker's head, by the hope that he
might gather some further information respecting his mother.
And he had good reason before long to congratulate himself on
his forbearance.
" What proof have you of the truth of this story ? " inquired
Trenchard.
"This," replied Jonathan, taking a paper from a portfolio,
and handing it to the knight, " this written evidence, signed by
Martha Cooper, the gipsy, by whom the girl was stolen, and
who was afterwards executed for a similar crime. It is attested,
you will observe, by the Reverend Mr. Purney, the present or-
dinary of Newgate."
" I am acquainted with Mr. Purney's hand-writing," said
Jack, advancing, " and can at once decide whether this is a for-
gery or not."
" Look at it, then," said Wild, giving him the portfolio.
" It 's the ordinary's signature, undoubtedly," replied Jack.
And as he gave back the portfolio to Sir Rowland he con-
trived, unobserved, to slip the precious document into his sleeve,
and from thence into his pocket.
" And, does any of our bright blood flow in the veins of a ruf-
fianly housebreaker?" cried Trenchard, with a look of bewilder-
ment. " I '11 not believe it."
"Others may, if you won't," muttered Jack, retiring. "Thank
heaven ! I 'm not basely born."
"Now, mark me,"" said Jonathan, "and you'll find I don't
do things by halves. By your father, Sir Montacute Tren-
chard's will, you are aware, — and, therefore, I need not repeat
it, except for the special purpose I have in view, — you are
aware, 1 say, that, by this will, in case your sister Aliva, died
without issue, or, on the death of such issue, the property re-
verts to Constance and her issue."
" I hear," said Sir Rowland, moodily.
" And I," muttered Jack.
" Thames Darrell once destroyed," pursued Jonathan, " Con-
stance— or, rather, Mrs. Sheppard — becomes entitled to the es-
tates; which eventually — provided he escaped the gallows —
would descend to her son."
" Ha ! " exclaimed Jack, drawing in his breath, and leaning
forward with intense curiosity.
" Well, sir ? " gasped Sir Rowland.
"But this need give you no uneasiness," pursued Jonathan ;
" Mrs. Sheppard, as I told you, is in Bedlam, an incurable ma-
JACK SHEPPARD. 119
niac ; while her son is in the New Prison, whence he will only
be removed to Newgate and Tyburn."
" So you think," muttered Jack, between his ground teeth.
" To make your mind perfectly easy on the score of Mrs.
Sheppard,'' continued Jonathan ; " after we Ve disposed of
Thames Darrell, 111 visit her in Bedlam ; and, as I understand
I form one of her chief terrors, I '11 give her such a fright
that I '11 engage she shan't long survive it.1'
" Devil ! " muttered Jack, again grasping his pistol. But,
feeling secure of vengeance, he determined to abide his time.
" And now, having got rid of the minor obstacles," said Jo-
nathan, " I '11 submit a plan for the removal of the main diffi-
culty. Thames Darrell, I 've said, is at Mr. Wood's at Dollis-
hill, wholly unsuspicious of any designs against him, and, in
fact, entirely ignorant of your being acquainted with his return,
or even of his existence. In this state, it will be easy to draw
him into a snare. To-morrow night — or rather to-night, for we
are fast verging on another day — I propose to lure him out of
the house by a stratagem which I am sure will prove infallible ;
and, then, what so easy as to knock him on the head. To make
sure work of it, 1 '11 superintend the job myself. Before mid-
night, I'll answer for it, it shall be done. My janizaries shall
go with me. You hear what I say, Quilt ? " he added, look-
ing at Jack.
" I do," replied Sheppard.
" Abraham Mendez will like the task, — for he has entertained
a hatred to the memory of Thames Darrell ever since he received
the wound in the head, when the two lads attempted to break
out of St. Giles's roundhouse. I 've despatched him to the New
Prison. But I expect him back every minute."
" The New Prison ! " exclaimed Sheppard. " What is he
gone there for ? "
" With a message to the turnkey to look after his prisoner,"
replied Wild, with a cunning smile. " Jack Sheppard had a
visiter, I understand, yesterday, and may make an attempt to
escape. It's as well to be on the safe side."
" It is," replied Jack.
At this moment, his quick ears detected the sound of foot-
steps on the stairs. He drew both his pistols, and prepared for
a desperate encounter.
" There is another mystery I would have solved," said Tren-
chard, addressing Wild; "you have told me much, but not
enough."
" What do you require further ? "' asked Jonathan.
" The name and rank of Thames DarrelFs father," said the
knight.
** Another time," replied the thieftaker, evasively.
" I will have it now," rejoined Trenchard, " or our agreement
is void."
120 JACK SHEPPARD.
" You cannot help yourself, Sir Rowland," replied Jonathan,
contemptuously.
" Indeed ! w" replied the knight, drawing his sword, " the
secret, villain, or I will force it from you."
Before Wild could make any reply, the door was thrown
violently open, and Abraham Mendez rushed into the room,
•with a face of the utmost consternation.
"He hash eshcaped ! " cried the Jew.
*' Who ? Jack ! " exclaimed Jonathan.
" Yesh," replied Abraham. " I vent to de New Prish'n, and
on wishitin' his shell vid de turnkey, vot should ve find but de
shains on de ground, de vinder broken, and Jack and Ageoorth
Besh gone."
" Damnation ! " cried Jonathan, stamping his foot with un-
controllable rage. " I 'd rather have given a thousand pounds
than this had happened. But he might have broken out of
prison, and yet not get over the wall of Clerkenwell Bridewell.
Did you search the yard, fool?"
" Ve did," replied Abraham ; " and found his fine coat and
ruffles torn to shtrips on de shpikes near de creat cate. It vosh
plain he vent dat vay."
Jonathan gave utterance to a torrent of imprecations.
While he thus vented his rage, the door again opened, and
Quilt Arnold rushed into the room, bleeding, and half-dressed.
" 'Sblood ! what 's this ? " cried Jonathan, in the utmost sur-
prise. " Quilt Arnold, is that you ? "
" It is, sir," sputtered the janizary. " I "ve been robbed, mal-
treated, and nearly murdered by Jack Sheppard."
"By Jack Sheppard !" exclaimed the thieftaker.
" Yes ; and I hope you '11 take ample vengeance upon him,"
said Quilt.
" I will, when I catch him, rely on it," rejoined Wild.
" You needn't go far to do that," returned Quilt ; " There he
stands.
" Ay, here I am," said Jack, throwing off his hat and wig,
and marching towards the group, amongst whom there was a
general movement of surprise at his audacity. " Sir Rowland,
1 salute you as your nephew."
" Back, villain !" said the knight, haughtily. " I disown you.
The whole story of your relationship is a fabrication."
"Time will show," replied Jack with equal haughtiness.
" But, however, it may turn out, I disown you"
"• Well, Jack," said Jonathan, who had looked at him with
surprise not unmixed with admiration, "you are a bold and
clever fellow, I must allow, Were I not Jonathan Wild, 1 'd
be Jack Sheppard. I 'm almost sorry I 've sworn to hang you.
But, it can't be helped. I 'm a slave to my word. Were I to
let you go, you 'd say I feared you. Besides, you 've secrets
JACK SHEPPARD. 121
which must not be disclosed. Nab and Quilt to the door ! Jack,
you are my prisoner."
" And you flatter yourself you can detain me ? " laughed Jack.
" At least I '11 try," replied Jonathan, sarcastically. " You
must be a cleverer lad than even / take you for, if you get
out of this place.1'
" What ho ! Blueskin ! " shouted Jack.
" Here I am, captain," cried a voice from without. And the
door was suddenly thrown open, and the two janizaries felled to
the ground by the strong arm of the stalwart robber.
" Your boast, you see, was a little premature, Mr. Wild,"
said Sheppard. " Adieu, my worthy uncle. Fortunately, I 've
secured the proof of my birth."
" Confusion ! " thundered Wild. " Close the doors below !
Loose the dogs ! Curses ! they don't hear me ! I '11 ring the
alarm-bell." And he raised his arm with the intention of exe-
cuting his purpose, when a ball from Jack's pistol passed through
the back of his hand, shattering the limb. " Aha ! my lad ! "
he cried, without appearing to regard the pain of the wound ;
*' now 111 show you no quarter." And, with the uninjured
hand he drew a pistol, which he fired, but without effect, at
Jack.
" Fly, captain, fly ! " vociferated Blueskin ; " I shan't be able
to keep these devils down. Fly ! They shall knock me on the
head — curse 'em ! — before they shall touch you."
" Come along ! " cried Jack, darting through the door. " The
key 's on the outside — quick ! quick ! "
Instantly alive to this chance, Blueskin broke away. Two
shots were fired at him by Jonathan; one of which passed
through his hat, and the other through the fleshy part of his
arm ; but he made good his retreat. The door was closed —
locked, — and the pair were heard descending the stairs.
" Hell's curses ! " roared Jonathan. " They '11 escape. Not
a moment is to be lost."
So saying, he took hold of a ring in the floor, and disclosed a
flight of steps, down which he hurried, followed by the janizaries.
This means of communication instantly brought them to the
lobby. But, Jack and his companion were already gone.
Jonathan threw open the street-door. Upon the pavement
near the court lay the porter, who had been prostrated by a blow
from the butt-end of a pistol. The man, who was just able to
move, pointed towards Giltspur-street. Jonathan looked in that
direction, and beheld the fugitives riding off in triumph.
" To-night it is their turn," said Jonathan, binding up his
wounded fingers with a handkerchief. "To-morrow it will be
mine"
122 JACK SHEPPAKD.
CHAPTER VI.
WINIFRED RECEIVES TWO PROPOSALS.
THE tragical affair at Dollis Hill, it need scarcely be said, was
a dreadful blow to the family. Mr. Wood bore up with great
fortitude against the shock, attended the inquest, delivered his
evidence with composure, and gave directions afterwards for the
funeral, which took place on the day but one following — Sun-
day. As soon, however, as the last solemn rites were over, and
the remains of the unfortunate woman committed to their final
resting-place in Willesden churchyard, his firmness completely
deserted him, and he sank beneath the weight of his affliction.
It was fortunate that by this time Winifred had so far recovered,
as to be able to afford her father the best and only solace that,
under the circumstances, he could have received, — her personal
attentions.
The necessity which had previously existed of leaving the
ghastly evidence of the murderous deed undisturbed, — the pre-
sence of the mangled corpse, — the bustle of the inquest, at
which her attendance was required, — all these circumstances
produced a harrowing effect upon the young girl's imagination.
But when all was over, a sorrowful calm succeeded, and, if
not free from grief, she was tranquil. As to Thames, though
deeplv and painfully affected by the horrible occurrence that
had marked his return to his old friends, he was yet able to
control his feelings, and devote himself to the alleviation of the
distress of the more immediate sufferers by the calamity.
It was Sunday evening — a soft delicious evening, and, from
the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed
of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. The
birds were singing blithely amid the trees, — the lowing of the
cows resounded from the yard, — a delicious perfume from the
garden was wafted through the open window, — at a distance,
the church-bells of Willesden were heard tolling for evening ser-
vice. All these things spoke of peace ; — but there are seasons
when the pleasantest external influences have a depressing effect
on the mind, by painfully recalling past happiness. So, at least,
thought one of two persons who were seated together in a small
back-parlour of the house at Dollis Hill. She was a lovely girl,
attired in deep mourning, and having an expression of profound
sorrow on her charming features. Her companion was a portly
handsome man, also dressed in a full suit of the deepest mourn-
ing, with the finest of lace at his bosom and wrists, and a sword
in a black sheath by his side. These persons were Mr. Knee-
bone and Winifred.
The funeral, it has just been said, took place on that day.
Amongst others who attended the sad ceremony was Mr. Knee-
bone. Conceiving himself called upon, as the intimate friend
of the deceased, to pay this last tribute of respect to her me-
JACK SHEPPARD.
mory, he appeared as one .of the chief mourners. Overcome by
his affliction, Mr. Wood had retired to his own room, where he
had just summoned Thames. Much to her annoyance, therefore,
Winifred was left alone with the woollen-draper, who, following
up a maxim of his own, that " nothing was gained by too much
bashfulness," determined to profit by the opportunity. He had
only been prevented, indeed, by a fear of Mrs. Wood from
pressing his suit long ago. This obstacle removed, he thought
he might now make the attempt. Happen what might, he
could not be in a worse position.
" We have had a sad loss, my dear Winifred," he began, —
" for I must use the privilege of an old friend, and address you
by that familiar name, — we have had a sad loss in the death of
your lamented parent, whose memory I shall for ever revere."
Winifred's eyes filled with tears. This was not exactly what
the woollen-draper desired. So he resolved to try another tack.
" What a very remarkable thing it is," he observed, applying
to his snuff-box, " that Thames Darrell, whom we all supposed
dead," — Kneebone in his heart sincerely wished he had been so,
— "should turn out to be alive after all. Strange, I shouldn't
know him when he called on me."
" It is strange," replied Winifred, artlessly. " / knew him.
at once."
" Of course," rejoined Kneebone, a little maliciously ; " but
that's easily accounted for. May I be permitted, as a very old
and very dear friend of your lamented parent, whose loss I shall
ever deplore, to ask you one question ?"
" Undoubtedly," replied Winifred.
" And you will answer it frankly ? "
" Certainly."
" Now for it," thought the woollen-draper. " I shall, at
least, ascertain how the land lies. — Well, then, my dear," he
added aloud, " do you still entertain the strong attachment you
did to Captain Darrell ? "
Winifred's cheeks glowed with blushes, and fixing her eyes,
Avhich flashed with resentment, upon the questioner, she said,
" I have promised to answer your question, and I will do so.
I love him as a brother."
" Only as a brother ? " persisted Kneebone.
If Winifred remained silent, her looks would have disarmed a
person of less assurance than the woollen-draper.
" If you knew -how much importance I attach to your
answer," he continued, passionately, " you would not refuse me
one. Were Captain Darrell to offer you his hand, would you
accept it ? "
" Your impertinence deserves very different treatment, sir,"
said Winifred ; " but, to put an end to this annoyance, I will
tell you — I would not."
" And why not ? " asked Kneebone, eagerly.
124 JACK SHErPARD.
" I will not submit to be thus interrogated," said Winifred,
angrily.
" In the name of your lamented parent, whose memory I shall
for ever revere, I implore you to answer me," urged Kneebone,
" why — why would you not accept him ? "
" Because our positions are different,1'1 replied Winifred, who
could not resist this appeal to her feelings.
" You are a paragon of prudence and discretion," rejoined the
woollen-draper, drawing his chair closer to hers. " Disparity
of rank is ever productive of unhappiness in the married state.
When Captain DarrelFs birth is ascertained, I've no doubt
he'll turn out a nobleman's son. At least 1 hope so for his
sake, as well as my own," he added, mentally. *" He has quite
the air of one. And now, my angel, that I am acquainted with
your sentiments on this subject, I shall readily fulh'l a promise
which I made to your lamented parent, whose loss I shall ever
deplore."
"A promise to my mother ?" said Winifred, unsuspiciously.
" Yes, my angel, to her — rest her soul ! She extorted it from
me, and bound me by a solemn oath to fulfil it."
"Oh! name it?"'
" You are a party concerned. Promise me that you will not
disobey the injunctions of her whose memory we must both of
us ever revere. Promise me."
" If in my power — certainly. But, what is it ? What did
you promise ? "
" To offer you my heart, my hand, my life," replied Knee-
bone, falling at her feet.
" Sir ! " exclaimed Winifred, rising.
" Inequality of rank can be no bar to our union," continued
Kneebone. " Heaven be praised, / am not the son of a noble-
man.
In spite of her displeasure, Winifred could not help smiling at
the absurdity of this address. Taking this for encouragement,
her suitor proceeded still more extravagantly. Seizing her
hand, he covered it with kisses.
" Adorable girl ! " he cried, in the most impassioned tone, and
with the most impassioned look he could command. " Adora-
ble girl, I have long loved you to desperation. Your lamented
mother, whose loss- I shall ever deplore, perceived my pas-
sion, and encouraged it. Would she were alive to back my
suit !"
" This is beyond all endurance," said Winifred, striving to
withdraw her hand. "• Leave me, sir ; I insist."
" Never!" rejoined Kneebone, with increased ardour, —
" never, till I receive from your own lips the answer which is to
make me the happiest or the most miserable of mankind. Hear
me, adorable girl ! You know not the extent of my devotion.
No mercenary consideration influences me. Love — admiration
JACK SHEPPARD. 125
for your matchless beauty alone sways me. Let your father — if
he chooses — leave all his wealth to his adopted son. I care not.
Possessed of you-) I shall have a treasure such as kings could
not boast."
"Pray, cease this nonsense," said Winifred, "and quit the
room, or I will call for assistance."
At this juncture the door opened, and Thames entered the
room. As the woollen-draper's back was towards him, he did
not perceive him, but continued his passionate addresses.
" Call as you please, beloved girl,1' he cried ; " I will not
stir till I am answered. You say that you only love Captain
Darrell as a brother "
" Mr. Kneebone!"
" That you would not accept him were he to offer "
" Be silent, sir ! "
*' He then,"" continued the woollen-draper, " is no longer to
considered "
" How, sir ?" cried Thames, advancing. "What is the mean-
ing of your reference to my name ? Have you dared to insult
this lady ? If so—
" Insult her ! " replied Kneebone, rising, and endeavouring to
hide his embarrassment under a look. of defiance. " Far from it,
sir. I have made her an honourable proposal of marriage, in
compliance with the request of her lamented parent, whose me-
mory—
"Dare to utter that falsehood in my hearing again, scoun-
drel," interrupted Thames, fiercely, " and I will put it out of
your power to repeat the offence. Leave the room ! leave the
house, sir ! and, enter it again at your peril."
" I shall do neither, sir," replied Kneebone, " unless I am re-
quested by this lady to withdraw, — in which case I shall com-
ply with her request. And you have to thank her presence,
hot-headed 6oy, that I do not chastise your insolence as it de-
serves.''1
" Go, Mr. Kneebone — pray go ! " implored Winifred.
" Thames, I entreat "
" Your wishes are my laws, beloved girl," replied Kneebone,
bowing profoundly. " Captain Darrell,11 he added, sternly,
" you shall hear from me."
" When you please, sir,11 said Thames, coldly.
And the woollen-draper departed.
" What is all this, dear Winny ? " inquired Thames, as soon
as they were alone.
" Nothing — nothing," she answered, bursting into tears.
" Don't ask me about it now."
" Winny," said Thames, tenderly, " something which that
self-sufficient fool said has so far done me a service in enabling
me to speak upon a subject which I have long had upon my
lips, but have not had courage to utter."
VOL. vi. L
126 JACK SHEPPARD.
" Thames ! "
" You seem to doubt my love," he continued, — " you seem
to think that change of circumstances may produce some change
in my affections. Hear me then, now, before I take one step to
establish my origin, or secure my rights. Whatever those
rights may be, whoever I am, my heart is yours. Do you ac-
cept it."
" Dear Thames ! "
" Forgive this ill-timed avowal of my love. But, answer me.
Am I mistaken ? Is your heart mine ? "
« It is — it is ; and has ever been," replied Winifred, falling
upon his neck.
Lovers' confidences should be respected. We close the
chapter.
CHAPTER VII.
JACK SHEPPARD WARNS THAMES DARRELL.
ON the following night — namely, Monday, — the family assem-
bled together, for the first time since the fatal event, in the
chamber to which Thames had been introduced on his arrival at
Dollis Hill. As this had been Mrs. Wood's favourite sitting-
room, and her image was so intimately associated with it, nei-
ther the carpenter nor his daughter could muster courage to en-
ter it before. Determined, however, to conquer the feeling as
soon as possible, Wood had given orders to have the evening
meal served there ; but, notwithstanding all his good resolutions
upon his first entrance, he had much ado to maintain his self-
command. His wife's portrait had been removed from the
walls, and the place it had occupied was only to be known by
the cord by which it had been suspended. The very blank,
however, affected him more deeply than if it had been left.
Then, a handkerchief was thrown over the cage, to prevent the
bird from singing ; it was her favourite canary. The flowers
upon the mantel-shelf were withered and drooping — she had
gathered them. All these circumstances — slight in themselves,
but powerful in their effect, — touched the heart of the widowed
carpenter, and added to his depression.
Supper was over. It had been discussed in silence. The
cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the win-
dow as possible — for it was getting dusk — put on his spectacles,
and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation
in affliction is derived, and left the lovers — for such they may
now be fairly termed — to their own conversation. Having al-
ready expressed our determination not to betray any confidences
of this sort, which, however interesting to the parties concerned,
could not possibly be so to others, we shall omit also the " love
passages," and, proceeding to such topics as may have general
interest, take up the discourse at the point when Thames Dar-
JACK SHEPPARD. 127
rell, expressed his determination of starting for Manchester as
soon as Jack Sheppard's examination had taken place.
" I am surprised we have received no summons for attendance
to-day," he remarked ; " perhaps the other robber may be se-
cured."
" Or Jack have escaped," remarked Winny.
" I don't think that 's likely. But, this sad affair disposed
of, I will not rest till I have avenged my murdered parents."
" * The avenger of blood himself shall slay the murderer J " said
Wood, who was culling for himself certain texts from the scrip-
tures.
" It is the voice of inspiration," said Thames ; " and I receive
it as a solemn command. The villain has enjoyed his security
too long."
" ' Bloody and deceitful men shall not live half their days? "
said Wood, reading aloud another passage.
" And yet, he has been spared thus long; perhaps with a wise
purpose," rejoined Thames. " But, though the storm has
spared him, / will not."
"'No doubt? " said Wood, who had again turned over the
leaves of the sacred volume, — " ' no doubt this man is a mur-
derer, whom, though he escaped the seas, yet vengeance sujfereth
not to live.'' "
" No feelings of consanguinity shall stay my vengeance," said
Thames, sternly. " I will have no satisfaction but his life."
" ' Thou shalt take no satisfaction for the life of a murderer
which is guilty of death, but he shall surely be put to death," said
Wood, referring to another text.
" Do not steel your heart against him, dear Thames," inter-
posed Winifred.
" ' And thine eye shall not pity, " said her father, in a tone
of rebuke, " ' but, life shall be for life, eye for eye, tooth for
tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot?"
As these words were delivered by the carpenter with stern
emphasis, a female servant entered the room, and stated that a
gentleman was at the door, who wished to speak with Captain
Darrell on business of urgent importance.
" With me ? " said Thames. " Who is it ? "
" He didn't give his name, sir," replied the maid ; "but he's
a young gentleman."
" Don't go near him, dear Thames," said Winifred ; " he may
have some ill intention."
" Pshaw ! " cried Thames. " What ! refuse to see a person
who desires to speak with me. Say I will come to him."
" Law ! miss," observed the maid, " there 's nothing mis-
chievous in the person's appearance, I 'm sure. He 's as nice
and civil-spoken a gentleman as need be ; by the same token,"
she added, in an under tone, " that he gave me a span new crown
piece."
L2
128 JACK SHEPPARD.
"'The thief cometh in the night, and the troop of rolltra
spoikth without?" said Wood, who had a text for every emer-
gency.
" Lor' ha' mussy, sir ! — how you do talk," said the woman ;
" this is no rohber, I 'm sure. I should have known at a glance
if it was. He's more like a lord than
As she spoke, steps were heard approaching ; the door was
thrown open, and a young man marched boldly into the room.
The intruder was handsomely, even richly, attired in a scar-
let riding-suit, embroidered with gold; a broad belt, to which a
hanger was attached, crossed his shoulders ; his boots rose above
his knee, and he carried a laced hat in his hand. Advancing to
the middle of the chamber, he halted, drew himself up, and
fixed his dark, expressive eyes, on Thames Darrell. His appear-
ance excited the greatest astonishment and consternation amid
the group. Winifred screamed. Thames sprang to his feet,
and half drew his sword, while Wood, removing his spectacles
to assure himself that his eyes did not deceive him, exclaimed in
a tone and with a look that betrayed the extremity of surprise —
" Jack Sheppard ! "
"Jack Sheppard !" echoed the maid. "Is this Jack Shep-
pard ? Oh, la ! I 'm undone ! We shall all have our throats
cut ! Oh ! oh ! " And she rushed, screaming, into the pas-
sage, where she fell down in a fit.
The occasion of all this confusion and dismay, meanwhile, re-
mained perfectly motionless ; his figure erect, and with some-
what of dignity in his demeanour. He kept his keen eyes
steadily fixed on Thames, as if awaiting to be addressed.
" Your audacity passes belief," cried the latter, as soon as his
surprise would allow him utterance. " If you have contrived to
break out of your confinement, villain, this is the last place
where you ought to show yourself/"1
" And, therefore, the first I would visit," replied Jack, boldly.
" But, pardon my intrusion. I was resolved to see you. And,
fearing you might not come to me, I forced my way hither, even
with certainty of discomposing your friends."
" Well, villain ! " replied Thames, " I know not the motive of
your visit. But, if you have come to surrender yourself to jus-
tice, it is well. You cannot depart hence."
" Cannot ! " echoed Jack, a slight smile crossing his features.
" But, let that pass. My motive in coming hither is to serve
you, and save your life. If you choose to requite me by detain-
ing me, you are at liberty to do so. I shall make no defence.
That I am not ignorant of the reward offered for my capture
this will show," he added, taking a large placard headed ' Mur-
der"1 from his pocket, and throwing it on the floor. " My de-
meanour ought to convince you that I came with no hostile
intention. And, to show you that I have no intention of flying,
I will myself close and lock the door. There is the key. Are
you now satisfied ? "
JACK SHEPPARD. 129
" No," interposed Wood, furiously, " I shall never be satisfied
till I see you hanged on the highest gibbet at Tyburn."
u A time may come when you will be gratified, Mr. Wood,"
replied Jack, calmly.
" May come ! — it will come ! — it shall come ! " cried the car-
penter, shaking his hand menacingly at him. " I have some
difficulty in preventing myself from becoming your executioner.
Oh ! that I should have nursed such a viper ! "
" Hear me, sir," said Jack.
" No, I won't hear you, murderer," rejoined Wood.
" I am no murderer," replied Sheppard. " I had no thought
of injuring your wife, and would have died rather than commit
so foul a crime."
" Think not to delude me, audacious wretch," cried the car-
penter. " Even if you are not a principal, you are an accessary.
If you had not brought your companion here, it would not have
happened. But you shall swing, rascal, — you shall swing."
'* My conscience acquits me of all share in the offence," re-
plied Jack, humbly. " But the past is irremediable, and I did
not come hither to exculpate myself. I came to save your life,"
he added, turning to Thames.
** I was not aware it was in danger," rejoined Darrell.
" Then you ought to be thankful to me for the warning.
You are in danger."
" From some of your associates ? "
" From your uncle, — from my uncle, — Sir Rowland Trench-
ard."
" What means this idle boasting, villain ? " said Thames.
" Your uncle, Sir Rowland ? "
" It is no idle boasting," replied the other. " You are cousin
to the housebreaker, Jack Sheppard."
" If it were so, he would have great reason to be proud of the
relationship, truly," observed Wood, shrugging his shoulders.
" It is easy to make an assertion like this," said Thames, con-
temptuously.
" And equally easy to prove it," replied Jack, giving him the
paper he had abstracted from Wild. " Read that."
Thames hastily cast his eyes over it, and transferred it with a
look of incredulity to Wood.
" Gracious heavens ! this is more wonderful than all the rest,"
cried the carpenter, rubbing his eyes. " Thames, this is no
forgery."
"• You believe it, father ? "
" From the bottom of my heart. I always thought Mrs.
Sheppard superior to her station."
" So did 1," said Winifred. " Let me look at the paper."
" Poor soul ! — poor soul ! " groaned Wood, brushing the tears
from his vision. "Well, I'm glad she's spared this. Oh!
Jack, Jack, you 've much to answer for ! "
130 JACK SHEPPARD.
" I have, indeed," replied Sheppard, in a tone of contrition.
" If this document is correct," continued Wood, " and I am
persuaded it is so, — you are as unfortunate as wicked. See what
your misconduct has deprived you of— see what you might have
been. This is retribution."
" I feel it," replied Jack, in a tone of agony, " and I feel it
more on my poor mother's account than my own."
" She has suffered enough for you," said Wood."
" She has, she has," said Jack, in a broken voice.
" Weep on, reprobate," cried the carpenter, a little softened
" Those tears will do you good."
" Do not distress him, dear father," said Winifred ; " he suffers
deeply. Oh, Jack ! repent, while it is yet time, of your evil
conduct. I will pray for you."
*' I cannot repent. — I cannot pray," replied Jack, recovering
his hardened demeanour. " I should never have been what I
am, but for you."
" How so ?" inquired Winifred.
" I loved you," replied Jack, — " don't start — it is over now
— I loved you, I say, as a boy, hopelessly, and it made me des-
perate. And now I find, when it is too late, that I might have
deserved you — that I am as well born as Thames Darrell. But
I mustn't think of these things, or I shall grow mad. I have
said your life is in danger, Thames. Do not slight my warning.
Sir Rowland Trenchard is aware of your return to England. I
saw him last night at Jonathan Wild's, after my escape from the
New Prison. He had just arrived from Manchester, whence he
had been summoned by that treacherous thief-taker. I over-
heard them planning your assassination. It is to take place to-
night."
" Oh heavens ! " screamed Winifred, while her father lifted
up his hands in silent horror.
" And when I further tell you," continued Jack, " that, after
yourself and my mother, / am the next heir to the estates of my
grandfather, Sir Montacute Trenchard, you will perhaps own
that my caution is sufficiently disinterested."
" Could I credit your wild story, I might do so," returned
Thames, with a look of perplexity.
" Here are Jonathan Wild's written instructions to Quilt Ar-
nold," rejoined Sheppard, producing the pocket-book he had
found in the janizary's clothes. " This letter will vouch for me
that .a communication has taken place between your enemies."
Thames glanced at the despatch, and, after a moment's reflec-
tion, inquired, " In what way is the attempt upon my life to be
made ? "
" That I couldn't ascertain," replied Jack ; " but I advise
you to be upon your guard. For aught I know, they may be
in the neighbourhood at this moment."
JACK SHEPPARD. 131
" Here !" ejaculated Wood, with a look of alarm. " Oh lord !
I hope not."
" This I do know," continued Jack, — " Jonathan Wild super-
intends the attack."
" Jonathan Wild ! " repeated the carpenter, trembling. " Then
it 's all over with us. Oh dear ! — how sorry I am I ever left
Wych-street. We may be all murdered in this unprotected
place, and nobody be the wiser."
" There ""s some one in the garden at this moment," cried
Jack ; " I saw a face at the window."
" Where — where ? " cried Thames.
" Don't stir," replied Jack. " I will at once convince you of
the truth of my assertions, and ascertain whether the enemy
really is at hand."
So saying, he advanced towards the window, threw open the
sash, and called out in the voice of Thames Darrell,
" Who's there?"
He was answered by a shot from a pistol. The ball passed
over his head, and lodged in the ceiling.
" I was right," replied Jack, returning as coolly as if nothing
had happened. " It is Jonathan. Your uncle — our uncle is
with him. I saw them both."
" May I trust you ? " cried Thames, eagerly.
" You may," replied Jack ; " I '11 fight for you to the last
gasp."
" Follow me, then," cried Thames, drawing his sword, and
springing through the window.
" To the world's end," answered Jack, darting after him.
" Thames ! — Thames ! " cried Winifred, rushing to the win-
dow. " Oh ! he will be murdered ! — oh ! "
" My child ! — my love ! " cried Wood, dragging her forcibly
back.
Two shots were fired, and presently the clashing of swords
was heard below.
After some time, the scuffle grew more and more distant, until
nothing could be heard.
Wood, meanwhile, had summoned his men-servants, and
having armed them with such weapons as could be found, they
proceeded to the garden, where the first object they encountered
was Thames Darrell, extended on the ground, and weltering in
his blood. Of Jack Sheppard or the assailants they could not
discover a single trace.
As the body was borne to the house in the arms of the farm-
ing-men, Mr. Wood fancied he heard the exulting laugh of
Jonathan Wild.
132 JACK SHEPPARD.
CHAPTER VIII.
OLD BEDLAM.
WHEN Thames Darrell and Jack Sheppard sprang through
the window, they were instantly assailed by Wild, Trenchard,
and their attendants. Jack attacked Jonathan with such furv»
that he drove him into a shrubbery, and might perhaps have
come off the victor, if his foot had not slipped as he made a des-
perate lunge. In this state it would have been all over with
him, as, being stunned by the fall, it was some moments before
he could recover himself, if another party had not unexpectedly
come to his rescue. This was Blueskin, who burst through the
trees, and sword in hand assaulted the thief-taker. As soon as
Jack gained his legs, he perceived Blueskin lying, as he thought,
dead in the plantation, with a severe cut across his temples, and
while he was stooping to assist him, he heard groans at a little
distance. Hastening in the direction of the sound, he discovered
Thames Darrell stretched upon the ground.
" Are you hurt, Thames ? " asked Jack, anxiously.
" Not dangerously, I hope," returned Thames; " but fly-
save yourself."
" Where are the assassins ? " cried Sheppard.
" Gone," replied the wounded man. " They imagine their
work is done. But I may yet live to thwart them."
" I will carry you to the house, or fetch Mr. Wood,"" urged
Jack.
" No, no," rejoined Thames; " fly — or I will not answer for
your safety. If you desire to please me, you will go."
" And leave you thus ?" rejoined Jack. " I cajinot do it."
"Go, I insist," cried Thames, "or take the consequences
upon yourself. I cannot protect you."
Thus urged, Jack reluctantly departed. Hastening to the
spot where he had tied his horse to a tree, he vaulted into the
saddle, and rode off across the fields, — for he was fearful of en-
countering the hostile party, — till he reached the Edgeware
Road. Arrived at Paddington, he struck across Marylebone
Fields, — for as yet the New Road was undreamed of, — and
never moderated his speed until he reached the city. His desti-
nation was the New Mint. At this place of refuge, situated in
the heart of Wapping, near the river-side, he arrived in less
than an hour, in a complete state of exhaustion.
In consequence of the infamous abuse of its liberties, an act
for the entire suppression of the Old Mint was passed in the
ninth year of the reign of George the First, not many months
oefore the date of the present epoch of this history ; and as,
after the destruction of Whitefriars, which took place in the
reign of Charles the Second, in consequence of the protection
4
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*
.-tcuijn. Richaxc
JACK SHEPPARD. 133
afforded by its inmates to the Levellers and Fifth- monarchy-
men, when the inhabitants of Alsatia crossed the water, and
settled themselves in the borough of Southwark, • — so now,
driven out of their fastnesses, they again migrated, and re-
crossing the Thames, settled in Wapping, in a miserable quarter
between Artichoke Lane and Nightingale Lane, which they
termed the New Mint. Ousted from his old retreat, the Cross
Shovels, Baptist Kettleby opened another tavern, conducted
upon the same plan as the former, which he denominated the
Seven Cities of Refuge. His subjects, however, were no longer
entirely under his control ; and, though he managed to enforce
some little attention to his commands, it was evident his autho-
rity was waning fast. Aware that they would not be allowed to
remain long unmolested, the New Minters conducted them-
selves so outrageouslv, and with such extraordinary insolence,
that measures were at this time being taken for their effectual
suppression.
To the Seven Cities of Refuge Jack proceeded. Having dis-
posed of his steed, and swallowed a glass of brandy, without
taking any other refreshment, he threw himself on a couch,
where he sank at once into a heavy slumber. When he awoke it
was late in the day, and he was surprised to find Blueskin seated
by his bed-side, watching over him with a drawn sword on his
knee, a pistol in each hand, and a blood-stained cloth bound
across his brow.
" Don't disturb yourself,11 said his follower, motioning him to
keep still ; " it 's all right."
" What time is it ? " inquired Jack.
" Past noon," replied Blueskin. " I didn't awake you, be-
cause you seemed tired."
" How did you escape?" asked Sheppard, who, as he shook
off his slumber, began to recall the events of the previous night.
" Oh, easily enough," rejoined the other. " I suppose I
must have been senseless for some time; for, on coming to my-
self, I found this gash in my head, and the ground covered with
blood. However, no one had discovered me, so I contrived to
drag myself to my horse. I thought if you were living, and not
captured, I should find you here, — and I was right. I kept
watch over you, for fear of a surprise on the part of Jonathan.
But what 's to be done ? "
"The first thing I do," replied Jack, "will be to visit my
poor mother in Bedlam."
" You 'd better take care of your mother's son instead," re-
joined Blueskin. " It 's runnin1 a great risk."
" Risk, or no risk, I shall go," replied Jack. " Jonathan has
threatened to do her some mischief. I am resolved to see her,
without delay, and ascertain if it 's possible to remove her."
"It's a hopeless job," grumbled Blueskin, "and harm will
134 JACK SHEPPARD.
come of it. What are you to do with a mad mother at a time
when you need all your wits to take care of yourself ?"
" Don't concern yourself further about me," returned Jack.
" Once for all, I shall go."
" Won't you take me ? "
" No ; you must await my return here."
*' Then I must wait a long time," grumbled Blueskin.
" You 11 never return."
" We shall see," replied Jack. " But, if I should not return,
take this purse to Edgeworth Bess. You '11 find her at Black
Mary's Hole."
And, having partaken of a hasty breakfast, he set out.
Taking his way along East Smithfield ; mounting Little Tower-
hill, and threading the Minories and Hounsditch, he arrived
without accident or molestation, at Moorfields.
Old Bethlehem, or Bedlam, — every trace of which has been
swept away, and the hospital for lunatics removed to Saint
George's Field, — was a vast and magnificent structure. Erected
in Moorfields in 1675, upon the model of the Tuileries, it is said
that Louis the Fourteenth was so incensed at the insult offered
to his palace, that he had a counterpart of St. James's built for
offices of the meanest description. The size and grandeur of the
edifice, indeed, drew down the ridicule of several of the wits of
the age : by one of whom — the facetious Tom Brown — it was
said, " Bedlam is a pleasant place, and abounds with amuse-
ments ; — the first of which is the building so stately a fabric for
persons wholly insensible of the beauty and use of it : the out-
side being a perfect mockery of the inside, and admitting of two
amusing queries, — Whether the persons that ordered the build-
ing of it, or those that inhabit it, were the maddest ? and,
whether the name and thing be not as disagreeable as harp and
harrow." By another — the no less facetious Ned Ward — it
was termed, " A costly college for a crack-brained society,
raised in a mad age, when the chief of the city were in a great
danger of losing their senses, and so contrived it the more
noble for their own reception ; or they would never have flung
away so much money to so foolish a purpose." The cost of the
building exceeded seventeen thousand pounds. However the
taste of the architecture may be questioned, which was the formal
French style of the period, the general effect was imposing. In-
cluding the wings, it presented a frontage of five hundred and
forty feet. Each wing had a small cupola ; and, in the centre
of the pile rose a larger dome, surmounted by a gilded ball and
vane. The asylum was approached by a broad gravel walk,
leading through a garden edged on either side by a stone balus-
trade, and shaded by tufted trees. A wide terrace then led to
large iron gates, over which were placed the two celebrated
figures of Raving and Melancholy Madness, executed by the
JACK SHEPPARD. 135
elder Gibber, and commemorated by Pope in the Dunciad, in
the well-known lines : —
" Close to those walls where Folly holds her throne,
And laughs to think Monroe would take her down,
Where, o'er the gates, by his famed father's hand,
Great Gibber's brazen, brainless brothers stand."
Internally, it was divided by two long galleries, one over the
other. These galleries were separated in the middle by iron
grates. The wards on the right were occupied by male patients,
on the left by the females. In the centre of the upper gallery
was a spacious saloon, appropriated to the governors of the
asylum. But, the besetting evil of the place, and that which
drew down the severest censures of the writers above-mentioned,
was that this spot, — which of all others should have been most
free from such intrusion — was made a public exhibition. There
all the loose characters thronged, assignations were openly made,
and the spectators diverted themselves with the vagaries of its
miserable inhabitants.
Entering the outer gate, and traversing the broad gravel walk
before-mentioned, Jack ascended the steps, and was admitted,
on feeing the porter, by another iron gate, into the, hospital.
Here he was almost stunned by the deafening clamour resound-
ing on all sides. Some of the lunatics were rattling their chains;
some shrieking ; some singing ; some beating with frantic vio-
lence against the doors. Altogether, it was the most dreadful
noise he had ever heard. Amidst it all, however, there were
several light-hearted and laughing groups walking from cell to
cell, to whom all this misery appeared matter of amusement.
The doors of several of the wards were thrown open for
these parties, and as Jack passed, he could not help glancing
at the wretched inmates. Here was a poor half-naked crea-
ture, with a straw crown on his head, and a wooden sceptre
in his hand, seated on the ground with all the dignity of a mo-
narch on his throne. There was a mad musician, seemingly
rapt in admiration of the notes he was extracting from a child's
violin. Here was a terrific figure gnashing his teeth, and howl-
ing like a wild beast ; — there a lover, with hands clasped to-
gether, and eyes turned passionately upward. In this cell was
a huntsman, who had fractured his skull while hunting, and was
perpetually hallooing after the hounds ; — in that, the most me-
lancholy of all, the grinning gibbering lunatic, the realization of
" moody madness, laughing wild."
Hastening from this heart-rending spectacle, Jack soon reached
the grating that divided the men's compartment from that appro-
priated to the women. Inquiring for Mrs. -Sheppard, a matron
offered to conduct him to her cell.
" You 11 find her quiet enough to-day, sir," observed the
woman, as they walked along ; " but she has been very out-
rageous latterly. Her nurse says she may live some time ; but
she seems to me to be sinking fast.""
136 JACK SHEPPARD.
" Heaven help her ! " sighed Jack. " I hope not.1'
" Her release would be a mercy," pursued the matron. " Oh !
sir, if you 'd seen her as I 've seen her, you ""d not wish her a
continuance of misery."
As Jack made no reply, the woman proceeded.
" They say her son 's taken at last, and is to be hanged. I 'm
glad of it, I 'm sure ; for it ""s all owing to him his poor mother 's
here. See what crime does, sir. Those who act wickedly bring
misery on all connected with them. And so gentle as the poor
creature is, when she 's not in her wild fits — it would melt a
heart of stone to see her. She will cry for days and nights to-
gether. If Jack Sheppard could behold his mother in this state,
he 'd have a lesson he 'd never forget — ay, and a severer one than
even the hangman could read him. Hardened as he is, that
would touch him. But he has never been near her — never."
Rambling in this way, the matron at length came to a halt,
and taking out a key, pointed to a door and said, " This is Mrs.
Sheppard's ward, sir."
" Leave us together, my good woman," said Jack, putting a
guinea into her hand.
" As long as you please, sir,11 answered the matron, dropping
a curtsey. " There, sir," she added, unlocking the door, " you
can go in. Don't be frightened of her. She 's not mischievous,
— and besides, she 's chained, and can't reach you."
So saying, she retired, and Jack entered the cell.
Prepared as he was for a dreadful shock, and with his nerves
strung to endure it, Jack absolutely recoiled before the appalling
object that met his gaze. Cowering in a corner upon a heap of
straw sat his unfortunate mother, the complete wreck of what
she had been. Her eyes glistened in the darkness — for light
was only admitted through a small grated window— like flames,
and, as she fixed them on him, their glances seemed to penetrate
his very soul. A piece of old blanket was fastened across her
shoulders, and she had no other clothing except a petticoat. Her
arms and feet were uncovered, and of almost skeleton thinness.
Her features were meagre, and ghastly white, and had the fixed
and horrible stamp of insanity. Her head had been shaved, and
around it was swathed a piece of rag, in which a few straws
were stuck. Her thin fingers were armed with nails as long as
the talons of a bird. A chain, riveted to an iron belt encircling
her waist, bound her to the wall. The cell in which she was
confined was about six feet long and four wide ; the walls were
scored all over with fantastic designs, snatches of poetry, short
sentences and names, — the work of its former occupants, and of
its present inmate.
When Jack entered the cell, she was talking to herself in the
muttering unconnected way peculiar to her distracted condition ;
but, after her eye had rested on him some time, the fixed ex-
pression of her features relaxed, and a smile crossed them. This
smile was more harrowing even than her former rigid look.
JACK SHEPPARD. 137
" You are an angel," she cried, with a look beaming with de-
light.
" Rather a devil," groaned her son, " to have done this.""
" You are an angel, I say," continued the poor maniac ; " and
my Jack would have been like you, if he had lived. But he
died when he was a child — long ago — long ago — long ago."
" Would he had done so ! " cried Jack.
" Old Van told me if he grew up he would be hanged. He
showed me a black mark under his ear, where the noose would
be tied. And so I '11 tell you what I did — "
And she burst into a laugh that froze Jack's blood in his
veins.
" What did you do ? " he asked, in a broken voice.
" I strangled him — ha ! ha ! ha ! — strangled him while he
was at my breast — ha ! ha ! " — And then with a sudden and fear-
ful change of look she added. " That's what has driven me
mad. I killed my child, to save him from the gallows — oh ! oh !
One man hanged in a family is enough. If I 'd not gone mad,
they would have hanged me."
" Poor soul ! " ejaculated her son.
u I '11 tell you of a dream I had last night," continued the
unfortunate being. " I was at Tyburn. There was a gallows
erected, and a great mob round it — thousands of people, and
all with white faces like corpses. In the midst of them there
was a cart with a man in it — and that man was Jack — my son
Jack — they were going to hang him. And opposite to him, with
a book in his hand, — but it couldn't be a prayer-book, — sat Jo-
nathan Wild, in a parson's cassock and band. I knew him in
spite of his dress. And when they came to the gallows, Jack
leaped out of the cart, and the hangman tied up Jonathan in-
stead — ha ! ha ! How the mob shouted and huzzaed — and I
shouted too — ha ! ha ! ha ! "
" Mother ! " cried Jack, unable to endure this agonizing scene
longer. " Don't you know me, mother ? "
" Ah ! " shrieked Mrs. Sheppard. " What's that ? —Jack's
voice ! "
" It is," replied her son.
" The ceiling is breaking ! the floor is opening ! he is coming
to me ! " cried the unhappy woman.
" He stands before you," rejoined her son.
" Where ? " she cried. " I can't see him. Where is he ? "
" Here," answered Jack.
" Are you his ghost, then ? "
"No — no," answered Jack. "I am your most unhappy
son."
" Let me touch you, then ; let me feel if you are really flesh
and blood," cried the poor maniac, creeping towards him on all
fours."
Jack did not advance to meet her. He could not move ; but
138 JACK SHEPPARD.
stood like one stupified, with his hands clasped together, and
eyes almost starting out of their sockets, fixed upon his unfortu-
nate parent.
" Come to me ! " cried the poor maniac, who had crawled
as far as the chain would permit her, — " come to me ! " she
cried, extending her thin arm towards him.
Jack fell on his knees beside her.
" Who are you ? " inquired Mrs. Sheppard, passing her hands
over his face, and gazing at him with a look that made him
shudder.
" Your son," replied Jack, — " your miserable, repentant
son."
" It is false," cried Mrs. Sheppard. " You are not. Jack
was not half your age when he died. They buried him in Wil-
lesden churchyard after the robbery."
" Oh, God ! " cried Jack, " she does not know me. Mother —
dear mother ! " he added, clasping her in his arms. " Look at
me again."
" Oft' ! " she exclaimed, breaking from his embrace with a
scream. " Don't touch me. I '11 be quiet. 1 11 not speak of
Jack or Jonathan. I won't dig their graves with my nails.
Don't strip me quite. Leave me my blanket ! 1 'm very cold
at nights. Or, if you must take off my clothes, don't dash cold
water on my head. It throbs cruelly."
'* Horror ! " cried Jack.
" Don't scourge me," she cried, trying to hide herself in the
farthest corner of the cell. " The lash cuts to the bone. I
can't bear it. Spare me, and I '11 be quiet — quiet — quiet ! "
" Mother ! " said Jack, advancing towards her.
" Off! " she cried, with a prolonged and piercing shriek. And
she buried herself beneath the straw, which she tossed above her
head with the wildest gestures.
" I shall kill her if I stay longer," muttered her son, com-
pletely terrified.
While he was considering what it would be best to do, the
poor maniac, over whose bewildered brain another change had
come, raised her head from under the straw, and, peeping round
the room, asked in a low voice, " If they were gone ? "
" Who ? " inquired Jack.
" The nurses," she answered.
" Do they treat you ill ? " asked her son.
" Hush ! " she said, putting her lean fingers to her lips.
" Hush ! — come hither, and I '11 tell you."
Jack approached her.
" Sit beside me," continued Mrs. Sheppard. " And, now I '11
tell you what they do. Stop ! we must shut the door, or
they '11 catch us. See ! " she added, tearing off' the rag from her
head, — " I had beautiful black hair once. But, they cut it all
off."
JACK SHEPPARD. 139
" I shall go mad myself if I listen to her longer," said Jack,
attempting to rise. " I must go."
" Don't stir, or they ""II chain you to the wall," said his
mother, detaining him. " Now, tell me why they brought you
here ? "
" I came to see you, dear mother ! " answered Jack.
" Mother ! " she echoed, — " mother ! why do you call me by
that name ? "
" Because you are my mother."
" What ! " she exclaimed, staring eagerly in his face. " Are
you my son ? Are you Jack ? "
" I am," replied Jack. " Heaven be praised, she knows me at
last."
" Oh, Jack ! " cried his mother, falling upon his neck, and
covering him with kisses.
" Mother — dear mother ! " said Jack, bursting into tears.
" You will never leave me," said the poor woman, straining
him to her breast.
" Never — never ! "
The words were scarcely pronounced, when the door was vio-
lently thrown open, and two men appeared at it. They were
Jonathan Wild and Quilt Arnold.
" Ah ! " exclaimed Jack, starting to his feet.
"Just in time," said the thieftaker. " You are my prisoner,
Jack."
" You shall take my life first," rejoined Sheppard.
And, as he was about to put himself into a posture of defence,
his mother clasped him in her arms.
" They shall not harm you, my love ! " she exclaimed.
The movement was fatal to her son. Taking advantage of
his embarrassed position, Jonathan and his assistant rushed upon
him, and disarmed him.
" Thank you, Mrs. Sheppard," cried the thieftaker, as he
slipped a pair of handcuffs over Jack's wrists, " for the help
you have given us in capturing your son. Without you, we
might have had some trouble."
Aware, apparently in some degree, of the mistake she had
committed, the poor maniac sprang towards him with frantic
violence, and planted her long nails in his cheek.
" Keep off, you accursed jade ! " roared Jonathan, — " Keep
off, I say, or — " And he struck her a violent blow with his
clenched hand.
The miserable woman staggered, uttered a deep groan, and
fell senseless on the straw.
" Devil ! " cried Jack ; " that blow shall cost you your life."
" It '11 not need to be repeated, at all events," rejoined Jona-
than, looking with a smile of satisfaction at the body. " And,
now, — to Newgate."
140
THE OLD ELM.
THOU standest on the forest's edge, proud monarch of the wood,
Thy sturdy form the goings forth of many a storm bath stood ;
Age doth not seem to weaken thee; thy greenness doth not fail ;
In years to come thy hoary head shall bow before the gale.
Thou art a faithful sentinel, and Time hath fix'd thee there
To mark the flight of fleeting years as ever on they wear ;
And, though the winter's sweeping blasts thy leaves have often slain,
The flowering summer hath renew'd thy emerald robes again.
Like a true friend, old favour'd Elm, thy form to me appears ;
Strange visions of wild fantasy come up from other years ;
And shades of dark mysterious gloom are o'er my senses cast
While musing on the varied scenes that crowd the fertile past.
How many young and happy hearts have thrilled in wild delight,
Anticipating richer bliss in manhood's glorious might;
Trusting the world's bright promises — more bright, alas! than true, —
Beneath the deep and ample shade thy towering branches threw !
And many forms of fairest mould, and cheeks of youthful bloom,
Have pass'd to manhood, and to age, and to the dreary tomb,
While thou wert waving in thy pride, — a prince among the trees,
With all thy glowing pinions spread in beauty on the breeze.
Oft hast thou seen the flaxen locks on childhood's brow of snow,
Uplifted by the slightest breeze, in graceful ringlets flow ;
Hast seen them thicken and assume a darker, sterner hue,
Until the hand of age at length the silver o'er them threw.
And thou hast mark'd the ruddy cheek, and forehead bright and fair,
Before Time's iron hand had writ on them a line of care;
The cheek before thy sight has blanch'd, the forehead furrow'd o'er,
And both were placed beneath the sod, to bloom and blanch no more.
My grandsire, when a thoughtless boy, beneath thy boughs has laid ;
My father's form of infancy was cradled in thy shade;
And thou hast seen life's changing flood full often o'er them sweep,
Now shelter'd from the winter's storms, and, watch'd by thee, they sleep.
And I — the wayward youth, the man — have wandered near thy side ;
Matured in strength before thee now, I stand in manhood's pride ;
Beside the dead a narrow place untenanted I see ;
Soon with my fathers I may rest, — that place is left for me.
Ere long the greensward at thy base will show another grave,
And over me as green as now will thy long branches wave ;
And other feet shall wander here, and other hearts be gay,
When I, like my ancestral race, from earth have passed away.
And summer suns will roll on high as brilliantly as e'er,
And summer skies, as broad, as blue, as beautiful, as clear,
Will shine above the busy world when life with me is done,
And few, ah ! very few indeed, will know that I am gone.
J. N. MC JlLTON.
Baltimore, U. S.
141
THE DOG HOSPITAL OF PARIS.
BY TOBY ALLSPY.
MY friend Leonard d'Egoville is one of the happiest rascals of my
acquaintance ; there is a provoking self-satisfaction in the fellow's
looks, which is apt to put the rest of the world out of humour
with his prosperity. D'Egoville is always triumphant, ever exult-
ing,— overpowering one with his selfish sense of enjoyment, and
perpetual demands on one's admission of inferiority. Why not, for
instance, allow me to eat my mutton cutlets in peace, without in-
forming me that yesterday he dined on chevreuil? Why not let me
enjoy my humble dish of larks, without boasting, with a punch in
the ribs, that last ni^ht lie supped on beccaficos ? For my part, I
can contentedly swallow my paltry pint of Pouilly under the acacia-
trees of the " Vendanges de Bourgogne," without insulting the porteur
d'eau I see making wry faces at the nearest guinguctte, over his viti
de Surcne, by enlarging upon its delicate flavour ; and, methinks, I
have a right to expect similar forbearance on the part of the chuck-
ling Monsieur d'Egoville, when he comes parading to me about his
iced St. Peray or choice Sauterne. I am not more envious than my
neighbours, yet I swear there are moments when it would be a
relief to me to see my friend Leonard receive a whacking box on the
ear, in retribution of his exultations.
For several years past, D'Egoville has been in the enjoyment of a
capital bachelor's apartment on the Boulevard des Capucines, and a
charming little villa at Montmorency, — and I admit that he would
be an ungrateful dog, were he not to thank Heaven morning, even-
ing, and at odd times between, for the auspicious ordering of his des-
tinies ; but he has no right to tantalize a poor wretch of a scribbler
like myself by bragging of the coolness of his cellars, the marrow-
like softness of his sofa-cushions, the sharpness of his razors, or the
smoothness of his parquets.
" This is a cheering sight," said I, on meeting him the other day
at the exhibition of the arts and manufactures of France, now open
in the Champs Elysees, " a most gratifying thing for Louis Philippe
and the French nation, to perceive how vast a progress has been
made during the last five years in the texture of their cloths, the
growth of their wool, and the temper of their cutlery. The jury
will find it a difficult task, I conceive, to award their medals and
prizes among so many meritorious competitors."
" What the devil do / care for the jury, its medals, or prizes ! "
exclaimed D'Egoville, with a self-complacent laugh. " I come here,
my dear fellow, solely on my own errand. Happening to look yes-
terday at my banker's book, and to find the balance, as usual, on the
right side, I instantly drew a cheque for a few thousand francs, with
the view of adding more comforts to my bachelor's hall, yonder at
Montmorency. For a man who has a little money to throw away,
this place is really a resource. One sees all the new inventions, all
the last improvements, without the bore of driving from shop to
shop, to be bored and solicited to death ; and after all, perhaps,
flummeried into the purchase of a service of plate or a boot-jack of
VOL. VI. M
THE DOG-HOSPITAL OF PARIS.
last year's fashion. Look at this magnificent stained crystal from
Alsace — I have just ordered myself a most exquisite little cabaret
for my eau sucree, white embossed with garnet colour, for two hun-
dred francs. I should have paid half as much again for some rococo
machine or other of the same kind, had I contented myself with a
puny look at the Palais Royal. Again, yonder magnificent carpet
of Sallandrouze's, with the peacock waving his gorgeous tail as a
centre-piece — I have bought it for my drawing-room, for two thou-
sand francs, instead of closing for the quizzical Aubusson for which
I was bargaining with my upholsterer. I am now on my road to
the next gallery, to settle about some carved ebony consoles. I
can't make up my mind exactly which I like best, — those with or
without the ivory inlaying."
" The difference of price between the two must be considerable,"
I inadvertently observed.
" Ay, ay, — that is the point always uppermost in the thoughts of
you pen-and-ink gentry. Luckily, a thousand or two of francs more
or less in the cost signifies very little to me ! All I have to consider
is, which kind will harmonize best with the new Venetian hangings
which Lesage is putting up in my saloon. And, by the way, what
think you of those mechanical beds yonder, with their reading-desk,
lamp-stand, and table-service, appearing and disappearing by the
touch of a spring ? I have some thoughts of getting one against my
first fit of the gout. Even in this hot weather it is pleasant enough
to be waited upon, without being offended by the sight of one's
footmen's shining faces."
" Certainly, certainly," said I, striving to get away, and follow
my own devices in the examination of the curious works of art and
science abounding in the gallery.
"Why, where the deuce are you hurrying to?" cried Leonard
d'Egoville ; " what can you want here ? " he continued, with a su-
percilious glance from my seedy coat to one of Ancoq's gorgeous
dressing-cases of sculptured gold.
" Not much, indeed ! " I replied, forcing a laugh. " But there is
some consolation in examining and philosophising upon yonder
anatomical model of an unsophisticated man, (with its demonstration
of veins and arteries, proving all the sons of Adam to be condemned
to the same organization,) in comparison with the various displays
of finery, lace, embroidery, and brocade, which furnish the worldly
distinction between my lord and his valet, — between the Croesus and
the beggar ! "
My irony was thrown away.
" Brocade ? — embroidery ? " cried D'Egoville, catching at the only
sounds comprehensible to him in my harangue ; " where the devil
are they ? I have seen only those devoted to the service of the
altar, which, by the way, your millionary Roman Catholic English
Lord* has been buying up by the waggon-load for his new church.
There is nothing worth speaking of in the way of embroidery that I
am aware of."
" Not even the exquisite court train and cushion marked with
the initials of the young Queen of England ? " cried I, with indigna-
tion.
" As I told you before, I am in search only of objects applicable
* The Earl of Shrewsbury.
THE DOG-HOSPITAL OF PARIS. 143
to my own use. What are court-trains to me ? But, by the way,"
continued Leonard, pointing to a stall we were passing covered with
toupets and peruques, of every size, shape, sort, and shade, betwixt
black, chinchjlli, and hoary silver, betwixt the full-bottom and the
astucian's lour de tete,} "even you might surely find things here
adapted both to your wants and pockets. See, my poor friend ! — .
cauls of very decent aspect for your bald crown, at ten francs
a-piece ! And look beyond — superb rateliers of teeth for three louis
a-set, or half-a-crown by the single grinder. Ears, too, in gold,
silver, or caoutchouc, permanent or temporary, with acoustic tubes,
affixable at pleasure. — And, as I live, glass eyes ! of every hue, from
sparkling black to sentimental blue. But you enjoy, I fancy, the
use of both your eyes, eh ? — your imperfect vision being merely
the result of your time of life. Well — no need to despair ! Plere
is an optician who promises that, by the use of a pair of five-franc
spectacles, you shall be able to read diamond editions by candle-
light."
"• There are also yonder crutches for the lame, iron bandages for
the deformed, and even strait-waistcoats for the insane," cried I,
enraged beyond my patience by his insolent egotism. " I natter
myself that I stand in need of neither ; yet I am thankful to Heaven
that I am able to admire the progress of human ingenuity, without
reference to my personal wants or deficiencies."
" Why, by Jupiter, I do believe you are affronted ! " cried D'Ego-
ville. "' My dear fellow, ten million of pardons ! Perhaps I am a
little too apt to overlook the raws and sores of other people ; yet I
have certainly no reason to disparage those arising from — from a
deficiency in the financial department," said he, afraid of again
offending me. " Only a few years ago, I used to come here myself
with wistful eyes and watering mouth, like the chimney-sweepers
who thaw their noses in hard weather against the panes of the pasti-y-
cooks' shops. I did not then dare so much as lift my ambition to a
cane and tassel, by way of equipage, — / who, this very season, have
launched a couple of carriages and a fourgon!"
I was amazed — though the bragging propensities of Leonard
D'Egoville ought to have forewarned me of the parvenu, — his hard-
ness of heart had caused me to set him down in my mind as one
born and nurtured in the sunshine of prosperity. So little had he
learned mercy, that I could not conceive he had ever suffered perse-
cution.
" You look surprised," cried he, detecting my amazement. " Did
I never confide to you the strange origin of my fortune ? Let me
see — when we first made our acquaintance crossing St. Bernard,
four years ago — "
" You were, as now, in the enjoyment of wealth and independ-
ence," said I. " During the illness following the accident which
then befell me, — me, a poor wayfarer, — you were lavish in your
offers of assistance — "
" Pooh, pooh ! — I have heard enough of that — it was not of that
we were talking," cried D'Egoville. " I was telling you, or wanting
to tell you, how, from a poor devil in arrears for the rent of his
fusty lodging in the Quartier Latin, I achieved my present position.
The story is a long one, and would do me little honour in the ears of
the idlers of the Exposition, should it chance to be overheard.
M 2
144 THE DOG-HOSPITAL OF PARIS.
Come down, therefore, with me to Montmorency, — my Pelham is at
the door, — come down with me, I say, to Montmorency, and dine
and sleep, and you shall have the narrative of my chequered life,
including a description of the memorable temple of Esculapius, —
PHopital des chiens, — which was the making of me."
" You kept a dog-hospital ! " cried I, inexpressibly astonished.
" Not exactly," replied Leonard, more diverted, however, than
indignant at the accusation. " Trust me, I had not wherewithal to
entertain any establishment half so costly. But I see that your cu-
riosity is excited; — let us be going. I dine at six precisely, — ay,
precisely, even to a friend."
" I am sorry I cannot accept your obliging invitation," said I,
drawing up. " Although I lodge in a cinquicme, and the meal awaiting
me is only my daily soupe and bouilli, the good woman who prepares
it would be apt in her anxiety to go and interrogate the police,
should her methodical master commit so strange a breach of routine
as to tarry from home for board and bed, without having duly ap-
prized her."
" Stuff and nonsense ! We will take the Rue Miromenil in our
way out of town, instead of crossing through Les Thermes ; and you
may at once apprize your Megara, and snatch up a change of linen,
in case you are tempted to remain with me to-morrow," cried
D'Egoville. " Come, come ! — we must not lose our time. A good
entree waits for no man ; and owcjilels dc canatan will be spoiled, if
you stand hem-ing and ha-ing thus."
And though I did my utmost to evade the engagement, between
threats, promises, and cajolements, Monsieur d'Egoville took such
forcible possession of my rnind and body, that we had reached St.
Omer before I was half reconciled to my own inconsistency of pur-
pose.
" How full of historical reminiscences are all the environs of
Paris ! " cried D'Egoville, with a sentimental air, as we drove within
view of the aristocratic parks of St. Omers, " betwixt the great De
Stael, Du Cayla, and Ferrand of Merino-sheep renown, — how many
illustrious names connect themselves with the history of St. Omers !
But I forget — I have promised to talk to you of a person less illus-
trious— of my obscure self."
And as he spoke, he began to caress his crossed leg with an air of
complacency, implying that, in his own estimation, Charlemagne was
a footboy to him.
"I have a tale to tell which, as my coachman has no more ear for
Christian discourse than one of the brutes he is driving, can never
be more safely adventured than here on the Citizen King's high-
way," he resumed. " In the first place, know that, high as I have
ascended in the scale of society, your humble servant was born in
the confined sphere of a porter's lodge. The cordon, my natural
inheritance, was neither that of the St. Esprit nor of the Golden
Fleece, but simply that cord by which my tender mother let in and
out the visiters to an obscure house in the Rue Vendome. Ay —
shrug your shoulders ! — gay and brilliant as you behold me, I am
actually a native of that most humdrum quarter of Paris, the Ma-
rais ! Superior to, or perhaps only ashamed of, her humble voca-
tion, my mother announced herself to me, as I grew to boy's estate,
as the widow of a captain of the grande armee ; in witness whereof,
THE DOG-HOSPITAL OF PARIS. 143
she kept among the edibles in her corner-cupboard an old ribbon of
the Legion of Honour, and a bottle of eau de Cologne cast in the
effigy of Napoleon, — incontestable evidence of my parentage, to
which I did due homage every time I paid my devoirs to her Gru-
yere cheese. I have my doubts whether the lodgers of the old den
to which her services were attached were equally respectful ; for I
remember that rny venerable parent was apt to treat them (behind
their backs) with sovereign contempt, from the retired clockmaker,
whose family occupied the first floor, to the employes in the marc/ie
mix viei/x linges, who lodged on the sixieme. Of the whole hordes
who dealt out their five-franc pieces to her on New Year's Day, and
their discontents and damn-mes the remaining three hundred and
sixty-four, there was only one whom Madame Goville — "
" Goville? " I indiscreetly reiterated.
" Ay, my good sir. Since I have consented to deliver my round
unvarnished tale, I may as well admit that only the two latter syl-
lables of my name are derived from the ghost of the captain of the
grande a mice, or from his soi-disant widow. To resume, — where you
so unnecessarily suspended my story, — there was only one among
the lodgers especially recommended by my mother to my assiduity
and forbearance.
" ' Be sure,' she used to say, as she sat with her Roman nose
crooked into the stocking she was mending, (for, in spite of the
ribbon of the Legion of Honour, Madame Goville stooped to follow
the calling of a ravaudeuse,} — ' be sure, Leonard, never to pass on the
stairs or in the entry without a salutation either to Mademoiselle
Brigitte, the maiden lady on the second floor, or la mere Pinson, her
woman of all work. Of all the abiders in this dog-hole of a house,
they, my dear son, are to be respected. So little trouble as they
give, and such handsome vails ! — two three-livre crowns on the first
of January, and another on mademoiselle's fete day, — and yet in bed
every night of the blessed year by eight o'clock, and not a single
visiter from one year's end to another, either to mistress or maid, to
take the needle out of my hand, or give me the trouble of saying
" At home," or " Not at home ! " To be sure, there is the nuisance
of opening the gate three times a-day for her beast of a poodle,
when, for discretion sake, la mere Pinson brings him down to the
street; to say nothing of my anxieties in keeping the peace betwixt
Mademoiselle Brigitte and Madame Alain, the old cat on the first
floor, who swears that her mignionette arid nasturtiums are as good
as ruined by the noisy beast of a cockatoo that hangs out of ma'am-
selle's window.'
" ' Say what you will against ma'amselle's cockatoo, mother,' cried
I, ' but not a word against poor Mouton. Mouton is the cleverest
dog and the best creature in the wide world.'
" ' Ay, ay, — as troublesome and mischievous as thyself,' was the
rejoinder of the captain's widow. ' But no matter ; leave the poodle
to itself, Nanard, and the poodle will leave thee. But whatever
thou dost, be sure never to lose an opportunity of obliging or
serving Mademoiselle Brigitte or her maid. I have heard it whis-
pered by a little bird, who never sings false, that mademoiselle (who
has not a relation upon earth) is inscribed in the great bank of
France as owner of twice as large an amount of fortune as the
richest proprietors in the Rue de Vendome ! '
146 THE DOG-HOSPITAL CF PARIS.
" You -will admit that Madame Goville, good woman, took a
stupid way of interesting the feelings of a child. The great bank
of France was a mystery beyond my powers of developement ; and
it was chiefly as the mistress of Mouton that I felt inclined to love,
honour, or obey Mademoiselle Brigitte Duval ; for Mouton was the
joy of my days, the dream of my nights, — a huge, woolly, rusty-
coated poodle, unanimously kicked and cuffed by its mistress's fel-
low-lodgers whenever occasion offered, — the poor beast bestowed
upon myself, his solitary friend, the rich treasure of his affections.
Harassed out of his life by the exaction of the two old women, to
whom his antics afforded the sole diversion of their unincidental
life, Mouton was only too rejoiced to escape from the stifling atmo-
sphere of Mademoiselle Brigitte's apartment to frolic with me in
the narrow court-yard, or, when opportunity favoured our escape,
to play truant with me for a course among the chestnut-trees of the
Place Koyale. Right happy were we, Mouton and I, when we
could fly together, — ay, even at the risk of a good beating a-piece
on our return to those in authority over us.
" All my regard for Mouton, however, did not prevent my perpe-
tually incurring the displeasure of his mistress. A spell seemed set
upon my endeavours to recommend myself to Mademoiselle Bri-
gitte Duval's favour. I it was who admitted into the house the
identical bundled cat by which the hopes of her first brood of ca-
naries was demolished ; the cherry-stone over which la mere Pin-
son's luckless foot slipped one summer morning, thereby originating
a fracture which might have cost her her life, and did cost her lady
a fortune in doctors' bills, was traced to a pound of bigarreaux
which I had purchased on the sly, and devoured on the staircase, by
way of giving a lesson to Mouton in fetching and carrying with the
stones. In short, whatever evil chanced to the lady or the lady's
maid, Leonard Goville was sure to be at the bottom of it. Luckily
enough for me, for to insure my absence six days out of the seven,
Mademoiselle Brigitte finally consented to unclose her purse-strings
to pay for my schooling ; and, but for my indefatigability in para-
ding poor Mouton on the landing-place every morning, with his
mistress's purloined parasol for a musket, to go through his manual
exercise, I might have remained guiltless of the common rudiments
of learning.
" I was almost repaid for the afflictions of exile from my illiterate
home by the howl of rapture wherewith Mouton used to greet me
every Sunday, the moment my well-known step was heard on the
stairs. Mademoiselle Brigitte grumbled, indeed, that even this Sab-
batical release from the labours of learning should be conceded to
me ; but on that point I was firm, swearing that, unless allowed to
return home on Sundays, in order to pay my respects to my beloved
parent and my beloved poodle, I would not" go to school at all.
" Three years had I been toiling through the labyrinth of letters ;
and the clumsy booby often was stretching into the lanky youth of
thirteen, when my domestic happiness was overcast by perceiving
that my faithful friend no longer enjoyed the blessings of vigorous
health. In proportion as my frame became elongated, that of the
pampered poodle grew globose ; and, instead of the saltatorial salu-
tations wherewith he was wont to denote his joy at my weekly ar-
THE DOG-HOSPITAL OF PARIS. 147
rival, he began to find some difficulty in wheezing his way to the
head of the staircase to do me honour. It could not be old age ; for
Mouton, when introduced into my mother's lodge five years before
in the apron of Madame Pinson, was a mere puppy — round, white,
helpless, and featureless, as if he had rolled out of a filbert-nut. So
sudden a progress of decay must clearly arise from inward disease ;
and tears burst on more than one occasion from my eyes, on learning
that Mouton was given over by the faculty as under the influence of
a confirmed liver-complaint ! It was a tender subject to Mademoi-
selle Brigitte : she who had witnessed without a pang the extinc-
tion of her numerous family could not summon courage to contem-
plate the day when Mouton was to be removed from her.
" ' They have fed the poor dog to death, and there 's an end of it,'
was the reply of Captain Goville's widow when I appealed to her
sympathy.
" ' No, no, — not an end of it ! ' cried I. ' Something might surely
be done. Abounding, as this great metropolis does, in scientific
practitioners, Mouton might yet be saved. Yes, mother, — yes,
madam, Mouton might yet be saved.'
" ' I 'm sure I shouldn't care a pinch of snuff if he were strung up
to yonder clothes-line ! ' was the hard-hearted rejoinder of Madame
Goville. ' But, true it is that the grand dog-doctor who came last
week all the way from the Champs Elysees in his own carriage for a
consultation, swore that the dog had a do/en years' life in him, if his
mistress would only consent to put him upon a regiment.'
" ' Into a regiment ?' said I, somewhat astonished.
" ' No, child ! To starve him till the bones come through his skin.
That 's what the faculty call ( putting upon a regiment.' Yet, for all
I can argue, or the doctor can devise, mademoiselle persists in kill-
ing him with kindness, The last gentleman who attended him,
from the famous Hopilal des Chiens in the Rue de Clichy, swore
that if they went on stuffing the poor beast, Mouton hadn't a month
to live ; and then,' continued my mother with a grim smile, ' if
they like they may stuff him for good and all.'
" She ought not to have jested, — for the tears were coursing each
other down her son's innocent nose. Escaping from her presence, I
hurried to the Rue de Clichy. I resolved to know the worst. I
chose to see the Dupuytren of the canine race, and learn the fate of
Mouton from scientific lips.
" Did you ever happen to notice in your wanderings," continued
D'Egoville, turning abruptly towards me, "just opposite to the gates
of the Tivoli Gardens, and perfumed by the fragrant atmosphere of
its lilacs and roses, an elegant architectural-looking edifice, the door
of which is surmounted by the effigy of a dog ? That airy structure
is the Hopital des Chiens, — I say ' the ' par excellence, to distinguish
it from the numerous dog-hospitals which drain the purses of the
dowagers of Paris. After a timid ring at the bell I was admitted
into the bureau of the establishment ; a handsome room, furnished
with illustrated editions of the best physiological authorities, and a
desk, on which lay the day-books and ledgers of the hospital. It
had not struck eleven ; till which hour I knew that Dr. Mirabeau
received patients previous to setting forth in his carriage for his
daily consultations.
148 THE DOG-HOSPITAL OF PARIS.
"I had not yet ventured to take a seat, when the doctor appeared,
• — a snug, smiling, greyheaded gentleman, habited in professional
black, and wearing diamond studs in his shirt, and at his button-
hole the riband of the national order. He entered, rubbing his
hands with the self-gratulating air peculiar to his obnoxious species.
"In a few words I explained my errand.
" ' Let me see,' said he, taking from his pockect a richly-gilt mo-
rocco pocket-book, containing notes of his consultation. ' Last week,
you say; a grey poodle, in the Rue de Vendome? Exactly. Here
we have him. Mouton, aged five years and three months, the pro-
perty of Mademoiselle Brigitte Duval. A very serious case, sir,' he
continued, shaking his head. ' Complete derangement of the epi-
gastric region, hepatic inflammations, irregular action of the pulse, —
altogether an important complication. Nevertheless, I have hope,
removed from the disadvantages under which he at present labours,
my patient might still live to be a delight to the Duval family. But
it is one of the misfortunes, sir, which beset the gentlemen of my
profession, that our best endeavours are counteracted by the injudi-
cious indulgence of the ladies and gentlemen to whom we look for
the reward of our labours. If the individual in question, for in-
stance, were to be only one month an inmate of my establishment, I
would answer for restoring him to perfect health.'
" With a heavy sigh (for I was painfully aware that, sooner than
part with poor Mouton, even for a day, Mademoiselle Brigitte
would resign her right hand) I now put into Monsieur Mira-
beau's hand the two- franc piece, which I understood to be his fee ;
and received, in return, a low bow, and the tariff of his establish-
ment.
" ' Monsieur would, perhaps, like to inspect the hospital ? ' said
he, accompanying me forth ; and, on my eager assent he conducted
me across a yard sanded with scrupulous neatness, and adorned with
orange-trees, and other flowering shrubs, to an airy building divided
into several wards ; one partitioned into kennels, others having com-
modious beds, while a third consisted in rows of perches and cages,
as an infirmary for birds. Of the patients with which they were
filled, both bipeds and quadrupeds bestowed on my conductor most
affectionate greetings, which were requited by Monsieur Mirabeau
with an air of tender affability, such as may have been assumed by
Bonaparte in visiting the lazaretto of Jaffa; or, by Louis Philippe,
when parading the Hotel Dieu, after the revolution of July. From
the asthmatic pug, panting on its straw, to the opera-dancer's deli-
cate Italian greyhound, about to be in the straw, all present turned
their eyes gratefully on the benefactor of their race.
'' ' They love me, poor little animals ! ' said Monsieur le Docteur,
with a magnanimous glance along the ward. ' One of my most
exquisite rewards is the gratitude of the little beings committed
to my care.'
" As we re-crossed the yard he was accosted by a mincing grisette,
elegantly attired, with inquiries after the health of < cette pauvre Ze-
phyrine.'
" ' Zf'phyrine ? ' reiterated the doctor in an inquiring tone.
' The griffon of Madame la Baronne de Montgelas.'
" 'Allow me to consult my registers,' replied Monsieur Mirabeau,
THE DOG-HOSPITAL OF PARIS. 149
hurrying into his sanctum, while I waited with the waiting-maid at
the door, and saw him, spectacles on nose, examine his books of
entry.
" ' DEAD/ was the result of the investigation ; a monosyllable that
called forth a torrent of ejaculation from the sonbrette ; while Mon-
sieur Mirabeau proceeded to read aloud, " Zephyrine, a while griffon,
introduced into the establishment on the 13th of May ; died on the
27th." Out, mademoiselle! On Wednesday last my little patient
breathed her last. According to custom, I performed the autopsy
of the body. The disease proved to be inflammation of the brain,
precisely as I hinted to Madame la Baronne, on first pointing out to
her that the fits of her griffon were of an epileptic nature.'
" Leaving the doctor and the lady to discuss the disease of Ze-
phyrine together, I hastened to reflect upon the doom of a being more
interesting to my affections. But already my determination was
taken.
" That evening, my dear sir, Mouton disappeared from the Rue de
Vendome. I leave you to guess the astonishment, anguish, and
surmises produced by his inexplicable disparition. Though in-
capable, by reason of his malady, of descending the staircase,
he was gone ; either the victim of malice, or the prey of cupidity ;
either assassinated by a fellow-lodger, or stolen for the sake of his
skin. A handsome reward was instantly offered for his recovery ;
and the walls of the Marais were covered with handbills. But in
vain.
" I leave you to guess the indignant agonies of Mademoiselle
Brigitte and her maid ; more especially as every soul in the
house evinced unequivocal symptoms of satisfaction. Three whole
weeks did they pass in tears, — three whole weeks did Madame
Pinson, according to her own account, remain utterly sleepless.
The two disconsolate women were accustomed to sit in the dusk
every evening, recounting to each other's sympathy the feats and
accomplishments of their lost favourite — now probably numbered
with the dead. When, lo ! at the close of the fourth week,
Mademoiselle Brigitte was startled out of her sleep one Sunday
morning by an unwonted scratching at her door ; and, on unclosing
it, in bounded a handsome healthy quadruped, faintly resembling
the idol of other time. The well-combed coat, and shapely form of
the new-comer, bore, however, little affinity to the wheezing lump,
which in latter days had answered to the name of Mouton ; and
when, at the ejaculation of that once-loved name, the intruder raised
himself on his hinder legs, and, advancing towards Ma'mselle
Brigitte's head, performed a succession of well-remembered feats of
agility, the astonished old lady began to fancy that the grave had
yielded up its dead. ; Mouton !' cried she again; and, laying its
now gelid muzzle to her beloved hand, the faithful beast licked it in
a paroxysm of tenderness. Yes ; it ivas her Mouton — her own —
her only, — restored to health, beauty, youth, and happiness.
" But, by what extraordinary interposition was the miracle ac-
complished ? None could say. The delighted mistress and maid
were forced to content themselves with the belief that supernatural
aid had been vouchsafed to restore their darling — a new Eurydice —
to their affections.
150 THE DOG-HOSPITAL Oi-' PARIS.
« It was not till, on the following winter, I received something
nearly approaching to a thrashing from Madame Goville, on the
discovery that my warm great coat had disappeared as unaccounta-
bly as poor Mouton ; that, by way of defence I ventured to place in
her hand the card of the
' IIUPITAL POUR LES CHIENS,
Chats, Olseaux, ct. (nitres Ammaux, ienu par M. LE DOCTEUR
lUiRABEAU, qui prcnd aussi des pensionnaircs.
PKIX.
1 consultation . . 2 francs
1 visite . . . .3 —
1 saignee . . . 3 —
1 coupe d'oreilles . . 2 francs
1 idem de queue . . 1 —
1 autopsie . . .3 —
1 pose de sangsues . .3 — •
Pour les fractures et autres operations, on traite de convenance, &c. &c.
having on the reverse a lithographic vignette, representing the Dog
Hospital.
"• ' I see how it is ! ' cried Madame Goville, after casting her eyes
over an annexed bill, amounting to forty-three francs, ten sous, for
a month's board of a sick poodle, bran baths, sea-weed poultices,
drugs, and other remedies, supplied for the same. ' Unprincipled
little wretch ! You actually disposed of your warm paletot in order
to insure the restoration of that beast of a dog. Just as you please!
but / will take care that you have never another great coat to your
back till you have earned one by your own exertions.'
" ' He has earned one ! ' was Mademoiselle Brigitte's exclamation
when the secret transpired, and reached her ears. ' And, so long as
Leonard lives, he shall never want a warm coat to his back.'
" Such, my dear sir, (for here we are within view of my gate,)
such was the trivial cause which determined the old lady to give
me the education of a gentleman. Three years afterwards, on the
opening of her last will and testament, it was discovered that Made-
moiselle Brigitte had left me her universal legatee. The ill-natured
world persists in believing rne to be her son. But it is no such
thing. Like other great men, I am lejfls de mes ccuvrcs ; and, my
chef d'ceuvre was my preservation of the life of poor Mouton by
kidnapping him to L'HOPITAL DES CHIENS."
151
RAMBLES AMONG THE RIVERS.— No. V.
BY CHARLES MACKAY,
THE THAMES AND HIS TRIBUTARIES.
Twickenham. — The Poet's Grave. — Pope's Grotto. — Relics of Genius. — Straw-
berry Hill. — Etymology and Chronology. — The Heart of Paul Whitehead
Swans upon the Thames. — The tragical story of Edwy and Elgiva. — An odd
petition of the inhabitants of Kingston.
How simple, neat, quiet, and unassuming are all the village
churches of England ! It is worth a man's while, whose unlucky
destiny compels him to fritter himself away among brick walls for
six days of the week, to walk out on a Sunday morning ten or
twelve miles to church, — far away from the tumult and the dust, to
some secluded hamlet or village, where he may worship his Maker,
— not more earnestly, indeed, but more refreshed in mind and body,
than he could in one of the more pompous temples of the metro-
polis, where saucy wealth elbows him still, and where he cannot
procure a seat, unless he gives evidence of his gentility by the tender
of a shilling. It was not Sunday when we strayed into Twicken-
ham church : but even in its emptiness we could not help con-
trasting its unostentatious sanctity, its meek elegance, to the more
spacious places in town, and forming, but not expressing, a slight
wish that we lived in a village. We checked it, however, almost as
soon as it was formed, for we thought, after all, that if we lived in a
village, we should not so much prize a country walk, or have such
affection for a country church as now, when we wander forth from
busy London, thirsting after the fresh air, and pining for the ver-
dure and the simplicity of rural spots, and enjoying them so much
the more for our long and forced abstinence. Perhaps it was the
knowledge that we were at the grave of a great poet that made us
take so sudden a liking to village churches in general, and to Twick-
enham church above all others. It ought not to have been so, we
are aware. The mere fact that the remains of a clay creature, of
more than common note, was lying within its precincts was no true
motive for any additional reverence to the temple of God — but so it
was. Even Westminster Abbey itself and all its treasured ashes
ought, strictly speaking, to inspire no more awe than the humblest
chapel where the Great Spirit is truly worshipped ; but the me-
mory of the illustrious dead — a sort of half persuasion that their
dim ghosts, though unseen, may be hovering above us, works upon
the fancy in spite of the reason, telling us that
" Where'er we tread, 'tis haunted holy ground,"
and forcing us into more solemn reverence than we might otherwise
feel. Some such influence it was, no doubt, that impressed us with
unwonted awe, as we wandered alone from tomb-stone to tomb-
stone in search of the tablet to the memory of Pope. We were
without the aid, or, as it very often happens, the impediment of
a professional guide to point out to us the " thought-deserving-
152 THE THAMES
nesses" (to borrow an expressive German phrase) of the spot. Our
eyes, however, soon caught a view of a very large tablet in the gal-
lery, with a Latin inscription, to the memory of Alexander Pope.
We ascended accordingly, and found that it was the one erected by
the poet to the memory of his ftither and mother. His own was not
far off, and was equally ostentatious as regarded size, being about
three times larger than any other tablets in the church. The in-
scription, also in Latin, bore that it was erected to the Poet's
memory by his friend the Bishop of Gloucester. Underneath, in
English, follow Pope's own lines, " for one who would not be
buried in Westminster Abbey,"
Poeta loquitur.
' Heroes and kings, your distance keep,
In peace let one poor poet sleep,
Who never flatter'd folks like you —
Let Horace blush and Virgil too."
Here again, thought we, is vanity in death. Horace and Virgil
were no greater courtiers to rank and wealth than Pope was. In
fact, it may be questioned whether they were so much so ; for
among all the literati of the age, Pope stands pre-eminent for his
constant respect to mere title. If he did not flatter heroes, he flat-
tered lords, and would have been sorry indeed if they had kept
at a distance from him when he was living. But in every sense
the inscription is faulty and singularly inappropriate. While
we stood uncovered at the spot, and while these thoughts passed
rapidly through our mind, we remembered that the fault of
this bad taste, if such it were, was not chargeable upon Pope, but
upon his friend the bishop, who had erected the monument. In
short, the epitaph was written by Pope in a fit " of that ambitious
petulance, " (to use the words of Johnson,) " with which he affected
to insult the great," and ought never to have been placed upon his
grave-stone. With this impression we turned again to the me-
morial that Pope himself had erected to his parents, and there we
found no such evidences of vanity. The inscription was simple and
unpretending, and set forth, in terms such as a son should use, the
piety and the probity of the honoured dead. So, venting our harm-
less displeasure upon Warburton, and exonerating Pope from all
offence, we strolled down to the river side, where our boatman was
awaiting us.
In a few minutes more we reached the building now known as
Pope's villa. The poet's residence itself has been demolished, with
the exception of the grotto near which it stood. Much indignation
has been lavished upon Lady Howe, who pulled down the original
building, and erected the present enlarged edifice by the side of it.
She has been accused of barbarism, want of feeling, deadness of
soul, Vandalism, and many other offences. We will not join in this
mouthing of the pack; because, however much she may have
destroyed of the poet's dwelling, she has left the grotto for the reve-
rence of posterity, — by far the most valuable part of it, containing
the rooms in which he was accustomed to study, and in which he
entertained his friends, his St. John and his Marchmont, with his
wisdom and his wit. There was formerly a willow tree overhanging
the river, which has also been removed ; but with the destruction of
AND HIS TRIBUTARIES. 153
this Lady Howe is not chargeable. So numerous were the visiters,
and such pilferers were they, where a relic was concerned, that the
tree was soon stripped both of leaves and branches. Slips of it were
sent for from all parts of the world ; and the owner was at last so
pestered, that she was obliared in self-defence to uproot the tree, and
make a relic of it, which would not entail so much trouble upon its
possessor. Nothing but the root now remains, which is safely housed
in the grotto : forming a substance too hard to be taken away in
little bits by the penknife of the visiter, and too bulky to be carried
off entire. Visiters formerly used to play the same tricks with the
very stones and spars of the grotto ; but, upon inquiry of our guide,
we were informed that such was not the case now to any great
extent, although occasionally a person is detected trying to notch off
a flint or a shell, and a lady holding an open reticule ready to receive
it. The grotto was made by Pope about the year 1715. " Being,"
as Dr. Johnson says, " under the necessity of making a subterra-
neous passage to a garden on the other side of the road, he adorned
it with fossil bodies, and dignified it with the title of a grotto, — a
place of silence and retreat, from which he endeavoured to persuade
his friends and himself that cares and passions could be excluded.
* * * The excavation was necessary as an entrance to his garden ;
and, as some men try to be proud of their defects, he extracted an
ornament from an inconvenience, and vanity produced a grotto,
•where necessity enforced a passage." And quite right too. It was
a little spark of the true philosophy, after all ; and men in general
would be much happier if they would imitate the example, and ex-
tract ornaments from all their inconveniences, and good out of all
their evils. Some years after its construction, Pope wrote the fol-
lowing lines in reference to his grotto, which some of the guide-
books inform us are actually inscribed upon it. We made diligent
search, and were not able to discover them.
"Thou who shall stop where Thames' translucent wave
Shines, a broad mirror, through the shady cave,
Where lingering drops from mineral roofs distil,
And pointed crystals break the sparkling rill ;
Unpolish'd gems no ray on pride bestow,
And latent metals innocently glow.
Approach ! great Nature studiously behold,
And eye the mine, without a wish for gold !
Approach ! but awful. Lo ! the Egerian grot,
W here, nobly pensive, St. John sat and thought,
Where British sighs from dying Wyndham stole,
And the bright flame was shot through Marchmont's soul.
Let such, such only, tread this sacred floor,
Who dare to love their country and be poor."
Mentally repeating these lines, we entered the grotto, and were first
shown by the gardener of Sir Wathen Waller, the present owner of
the villa, who officiated as the cicerone, into the cell on the left hand
side, which used to be the study. At every convenient place, and
wherever the stones presented a surface sufficiently large, visiters
had scratched their names ; but we noticed none of any note among
the defacers. At the end, upon a pedestal, was a plaster bust of the
poet. The cell on the right hand side used to be the kitchen, — at
least so said our guide, — and in this is placed the root of the willow-
THE THAMES
tree, with a skull upon it. We took the latter in our hands, and
found it to be a plaster cast from the veritable skull of the poet,
which was disturbed accidentally a few years ago, upon digging a
grave in Twickenham churchyard ; it struck us as being remark-
ably small. The skull was re-buried with due reverence, after the
cast had been taken. In this cell the present proprietor has placed
a statue of honest John Bunyan, which, when we saw it, put us in
mind of the well-known lines upon the spider in amber,
" Not that the thing was either rich or rare, —
One wondered how the devil it came there."
To our mind, it marred the uniformity of the grotto. In that place,
Bunyan seemed an intruder upon the privacy of Pope, and we
wished the statue of the good Christian had been placed somewhere
else, no matter where, and we would have gone to visit it, and paid
it all honour.
Though some of the " pointed crystals " alluded to in the lines
above quoted still remain, the "sparkling rill" trickles no more.
The ingenious contrivance by which the roof was transformed into
a sort of camera obscura has been removed, and the fragments of
mirrors that still remain have experienced so many of the buffettings
of time, that they have lost their original brilliancy, and reflect but
indistinct images of the passing objects on the river.
In the garden on the other side of the road, and to which the
grotto forms the passage, are two tall cedar-trees, which, according
to our friend the gardener, who laid claim to a knowledge of such
matters, must be about a hundred years old. If so, they must have
been planted in the time of Pope, perhaps by the bard himself.
Hitherto, however, they have escaped that reputation, which, if it
became general or well-authenticated, might perchance be the means
in a short time of denuding them of all their verdure, like their
predecessor the willow.
As we walked along the terrace, we noticed more particularly
than we did when we entered, the flight of steps leading to the
water. This, said we, must be the place where Martha Blount, the
best-beloved of the poet, made use of that unfeeling expression about
his death, which Johnson has preserved to her eternal discredit.
" While he (Pope) was yet capable of amusement and conversation,"
says the biographer, " as he was one day sitting in the air, with Lord
Bolingbroke and Lord Marchmont, he saw his favourite, Martha
Blount, at the bottom of the terrace, and asked Lord Bolingbroke to
go and hand her up. Bolingbroke, not liking his errand, crossed his
legs and sat still ; but Lord Marchmont, who was younger and less
captious, waited on the lady, who, when he came to her, asked,
' What, is he not dead yet?' It does not appear that this thoughtless
and unkind expression ever reached the ear of Pope ; but he took
her general inattention and neglect of him in his days of sickness and
decay, very deeply to heart. She who had sat a loving and enrap-
tured listener, when his faculties were in all their brightness, turned
away from him not only with neglect, but with scorn, in the time
of his tribulation. How unlike her sex in general,
" Who still are the kindest
When fortune is blindest,
And brightest in love 'raid the darkness of fate."
AND HIS TRIBUTARIES. 155
Alas ! poor Pope ! alas ! for the boasted intellect of our kind. What
can be more affecting, or afford more matter for solemn thought,
than the last hours of this great man. " On the 6th of May, 1744,"
says Johnson, " he was all day delirious, which he mentioned four
days afterwards as a sufficient humiliation of the vanity of man. He
afterwards complained of seeing things as through a curtain, and in
false colours ; and one day, in the presence of Dodsley, asked what
arm it was that came out of the wall ? He said that his greatest in-
convenience was inability to think. Bolingbroke sometimes Avept
over him in this state of helpless decay, and was tolcl by Spence, that
Pope, at the intermission of his deliriousness, was always saying
something kind either of his present or absent friends, and that his
humanity seemed to have survived his understanding." Almost his
last expressions were, " There is nothing meritorious but virtue and
friendship : friendship itself is only a part of virtue."
We were thinking of these things, and were so wrapt in them, that
we hardly noticed that we had re-entered the boat, and were only
recalled to a consciousness of surrounding objects by the voice of our
boatman, who stopped on his oars, and called out that we were at
Strawberry Hill.
This place also has its reminiscences. It was originally a very
small house, built about the year 1698, by a coachman and let as ;i
lodging-house. Colley Gibber was at one time a tenant of it, and
there wrote one of his comedies, — ct The Refusal ; or the Lady's Phi-
losophy." It was some years afterwards let on lease to Mrs. Cheve-
nix, a toywoman ; from whose possession it came into that of Horace
Walpole. The latter amused himself for many years in enlarging
and beautifying it, and made quite a plaything of it. Writing to his
friend, General Con way, on the 8th of June, 1747, and dating from
this place, he says, " You perceive that I have got into a new camp,
and have left my tub at Windsor. It is a little plaything house that
I have got out of this Chevenix's shop, and is the prettiest bauble
you ever saw. It is set in enamelled meadows, with filigree hedges ;
A small Euphrates through the piece is rolled,
And little fishes wave their wings of gold.
Two delightful roads, that you would call dusty, supply me continu-
ally with coaches, and chaises ; and barges, as solemn as barons of the
exchequer, move under my window. Richmond Hill and Ham
Walks bound my prospect ; but, thank God ! the Thames is between
me and the Duchess of Queensbury. Dowagers, as plenty as floun-
ders, inhabit all around; and Pope's ghost is just now skimming
under my window by a most poetical moonlight."
Horace Walpole succeeded in making a very pretty residence of
it, and stored it with " fouth of auld nick-nackets," pictures, busts,
and antiques of every description. There were scarcely any of his
contemporaries eminent for their wit or their learning, who were not
at one time or another his guests here. It now belongs to the Earl
of Waldegrave.
Between this place and Teddington is the cottage given by Wal-
pole to Mrs. Clive, the actress. At her death he place! an urn in the
gardens, with this inscription —
" Ye Smiles and Jests still hover round,
This is Mirth's consecrated ground ;
156 THE THAMES
Here lived the laughter-loving dame,
A matchless actress, Clive her name.
The comic Muse with her retired,
And shed a tear when she expired."
Teddington is a small place, chiefly remarkable for the first or last
lock upon the Thames, in aid of the navigation. Etymologists found
a very satisfactory explanation of the name of this village, and
plumed themselves mightily upon their cleverness. The tides flow
up no further than Teddington, and therefore, said they, the deriva-
tion of the word is obvious, "Tide-ending-town — from whence, by
corruption and abbreviation, — Tide-ing-ton — Teddington." This
was all very satisfactory : there was not a word to be said against
it. Unluckily, however, Mr. Lysons, one of your men of dates
and figures ; one of those people, whose provoking exactitude so
often upsets theories, discovered that the original name of the place
was not Teddington, but Totyngton. After this, the etymologists
had nothing to say for themselves ; " a plain tale put them down,"
unless, like the French philosopher, in similar circumstances, they
consoled themselves with the reflection that it was very unbecoming
in a fact to rise up in opposition to their theory.
Among the most celebrated residents of Teddington were the Earl
of Leicester, the favourite of Elizabeth ; Penn the Quaker ; and
Paul Whitehead the poet. The last is buried in Teddington
church, with the exception of his heart, which was removed to High
Wycombe, and deposited in a mausoleum belonging to his patron,
the Lord le Despencer. Paul bequeathed fifty pounds for the urn
which was to contain it. The ceremony of depositing it in the mau-
soleum was very curious. It was attended from the house by a mili-
tary procession, and a choir of vocalists. Dr. Arne composed a piece
of music for the occasion to the following poetry — we beg pardon,
words — which were sung as the urn was deposited : —
" From earth to heaven Paul Whitehead's soul is fled !
Refulgent glories beam about his head !
His Muse concording with resounding strings,
Gives angel's words to praise the King of Kings."
The ceremony itself was sufficiently absurd ; but these lines were the
topping absurdity of all.
At this place we dismissed our boatman ; and, landing on the
Surrey shore, walked on towards Kingston, sometimes stopping by
the river's brink to watch the minnows at the bottom of the water,
(for it is as clear as crystal,) scudding away in shoals as we ap-
proached them, and sometimes in idle mood watching the swans
disporting themselves, or turning over the leaves of our favourite
Spencer, to find the lines which describe them : —
" See the fair swans on Thamis' lovely side,
The which do trim their pennons silver bright ;
In shining ranks they down the water's glide ;
Oft have mine eyes devoured the gallant sight! "
There are great numbers of these birds upon the river. They are
under the special guardianship of the Lord Mayor of London, who
annually, either by himself or deputy, goes up the river in his state
AND HIS TRIBUTARIES. 157
barge, accompanied by the Vintners and Dyers, to mark the young
ones — which ceremony bears the name of swan-hopping. The legis-
lature has often made these swans its peculiar care. By an act of Ed-
ward IV. it was declared a felony, punishable with imprisonment for
a year and a day, and a fine at the king's will, to steal their eggs. A
curious custom at one time existed with regard to the stealing of
these birds, which is mentioned in Coke's reports. Whoever stole a
swan, lawfully marked, in any open or common river, was mulcted
in the following manner : — The swan was taken and hung by the
beak from the roof of any house, so that the feet just touched the
ground. Wheat was then poured over the head of the swan, until
there was a pyramid of it from the floor sufficient to cover and hide
the bird completely. A like quantity of wheat, or its value, was the
fine to be paid to the owner.
Upon our arrival at the very ancient town of Kingston we pro-
ceeded straight to the market-place, the spot where, nearly a thou-
sand years ago, the old Saxon monarchs of England were crowned
in sight of all the people. Egbert, the first king of all England, held
a grand council here in the year 838 ; and, in the records of that
event, the town is styled " Kyngngeston, that famous place." The
following is a list of the kings crowned here, — most of them on a
raised platform in the open air, and the rest in the church. Edward
the Elder, in the year 900 ; Athelstan, in 925 ; Edmund, in 940 ;
Edred, in 946 ; Edwy, in 955 ; Edward the Martyr, in 975 ; and
Ethelred, in 978. Kingston, although the fact has been overlooked
by nearly every writer, was the scene of one of the most romantic in-
cidents in early English history — the loves and misfortunes of Edwy
and Elgiva. It gives one but a poor notion of the value of history,
or the fidelity of historians, to consult about a dozen writers for a
record of the same event. Your hero, or principal personage, is
called a monster by one, a saint by another, or a fool by a third : the
actions of his life are exaggerated in their good parts by one, and in
their evil by the next ; while another, perhaps, dismisses him and his
whole career as altogether insignificant and unworthy of notice. It
is a hard matter to get at the truth, even upon the most trivial point,
and you are tempted to sweep your dozen of historians from your
table at a blow of your hand, and whistle the chorus of the old
ballad, " Tanta-ra-rara — rogues all!" Upon reading the touch-
ing history of King Edwy and his bride, as recorded in Hume, we
turned to Osborne, Stowe, Grafton, Holinshed, Harding, William
of Malmesbury, Fabian, Rapin, and others ; but the only facts that
seemed to be really well established were, that Edwy was king of
England, and that he banished Saint Dunstan from his dominions.
All the rest was a mass of confusion. A chaos of antagonist opinions,
assertions, and denials, or a most scandalous conflict, in which Hatred,
Superstition, Revenge, Self-interest, Party Motives, Carelessness,
and Indolence, all set upon poor Truth, shouting and hallooing, with
a view to prevent her voice from being heard at all amid their hub-
bub. To Hume's account, therefore, we adhered ; not because it is
the most interesting and romantic, but because it is the most fair
and probable, merely supplying such particulars of the scene of the
tragedy as he has left unnoticed.
King Edwy, in his seventeenth year, was crowned with great mag-
nificence in the market-place of Kingston. He was of a handsome
VOL. VI. N
158 THE THAMES AND HIS TRIBUTARIES.
figure and a most amiable disposition. Before his accession he had
been smitten with the charms of Elgiva, a noble lady, his kinswo-
man, whom he married secretly, in spite of the fulminations of Saint
Dunstan, and Odo, the Archbishop of Canterbury, who had repre-
sented to him that their relationship was too near to allow of their
union. Upon the day of his coronation a grand feast was prepared
for all the nobles ; but the king, disliking their rude merriment and
drunkenness, took an early opportunity to withdraw, and spend the
remainder of the day in the more congenial society of his best-be-
loved Elgiva. The nobles, after he was gone, expressed great dissa-
tisfaction at the indignity with which they were treated in being
abandoned by their entertainer; and Saint Dunstan, best known to
posterity as the devil's nose pincher, was deputed by the rest to
bring back the monarch to the table. Saint Dunstan, who was in
all probability drunk at the time, readily undertook the mission, and
accompanied by Odo, the archbishop of Canterbury, who was also
highly indignant at the disrespect Edwy had shown to the church,
rushed into the royal apartment, and found the king dallying with
his bride. The brutal Dunstan immediately tore him from her arms,
and, applying an opprobrious epithet to the queen, dragged the
young monarch by force into the banquetting-hall of the nobles. It
was not to be expected that any woman, however mild her temper,
could forgive so deep an insult as this, and Elgiva exercised all the
influence she possessed over her husband's mind to bring about the
ruin of the presuming and unmannerly priest. An opportunity
was soon found ; charges were brought against him, from which
he could not clear himself, and he was finally banished from
the kingdom, and forced to take refuge in Flanders. But the
Archbishop of Canterbury still remained behind. The unhappy
Elgiva, in espousing the king, had gained to herself a host of
troubles and of enemies ; and, instead of intimidating, had only
embittered the latter by the means she had adopted. Intrigues
were fomented against the young couple, who had lovsd so well, but
so unwisely. The queen, all fresh in youth, and all radiant in her
beauty, was seized by the archbishop, at the head of a party of ruf-
fians, and held forcibly upon the ground, while a wretch with a hot
iron burnt her "damask cheeks "to obliterate the traces of that
transcendent loveliness which had set enmity between the civil and
ecclesiastical power. She was then carried away to the sea-coast,
and hidden for some days, till an opportunity was found to convey
her to Ireland. She remained in that country for some months,
when she effected her escape. The scars on her face had healed ;
the brutal work had not been effectually done, and she shone in as
great beauty as ever, and was hastening to Kingston, to the embraces
of her royal spouse, when she was intercepted at Gloucester by the
spies of the relentless archbishop. At this time revolt was openly
declared against the authority of Edwy, and, to show him how
strong and how reckless the conspirators were, the archbishop gave
orders that the unhappy princess should be put to death by the
most horrible tortures which could be devised. It was finally re-
solved that she should be hamstrung. The cruel sentence was car-
ried into execution, and the poor queen was left to linger on a couch
of straw, without nourishment or attendance of any sort, until death
put a period to her sufferings a few days afterwards. Edwy was
THE CRAYON PAPERS. 159
soon afterwards deposed. He did not long survive his Elgiva :
crownless, and what to him was worse — wifeless, he died of a broken
heart before he attained his twentieth year.
Portraits of all these old Saxon kings, and of Edwy among the
rest, used formerly to adorn the walls of Kingston Church, and we
procured admission into the sacred edifice with the full expectation
of seeing them, upon the faith of two or three guide-books which we
had consulted. We ascertained, however, that our guides were not
to be trusted, the portraits having been removed to Windsor Castle
more than a century ago.
We also made inquiry after another relic — the stone upon which
these old monarchs were crowned, and which formerly stood in the
market-place. We were informed that it was at present in the safe
custody of the mayor, where it will remain until the new town-hall
is built ; in which it is proposed to set apart an honourable place for
it. This may be now considered the only relic — and that but a poor
one, which Kingston possesses of all its former grandeur. Part of
the chapel in which the coronation ceremony was sometimes per-
formed, fell down in the year 1730, and has not been rebuilt in its
former style, but merely patched up to keep the wind and the rain
out. The site of the chapel is the same ; but the original edifice,
which saw the inauguration of Athelstan and Edwy must have long
since disappeared.
Kingston at one time sent members to parliament ; but the practice
of election, very different to what it is now, imposing upon the consti-
tuent body, and not upon the candidates, the necessity of spending
money, the good people grumbled at the expense, and finally prayed
to be relieved from it for evermore by a formal petition to King
Edward III. Their prayer was granted ; and Kingston, penny-wise
and pound-foolish, has dwindled away into a very inconsiderable
place.
A small, but very clear stream, called the Hog's Mill river, runs
into the Thames at Kingston. It takes its rise near Ewell, and is
much frequented by anglers.
THE CRAYON PAPERS.
WOLFERT'S ROOST.
BY WASHINGTON IRVING.
THE situation of the Roost is in the very heart of what was the
debatable ground between the American and British lines during
the war. The British held possession of the city of New- York, and
the island of Manhattan, on which it stands. The Americans drew
up toward the Highlands, holding their head-quarters at Peekskill.
The intervening country, from Croton River to Spiting Devil Creek,
was the debatable land, subject to be harried by friend and foe, like
the Scottish borders of yore. It is a rugged country, with a line of
rocky hills extending through it, like a back bdhe, sending ribs on
either side ; but, among these rude hills are beautiful winding valleys,
like those watered by the Pocantico and the Neperan. In the fast-
nesses of these hills, and along these valleys, exist a race of hard-
headed, hard-handed, stout-hearted Dutchmen, descendants of the
N2
160 THE CRAYON PAPERS.
primitive Nederlanders. Most of these were strong Whigs through-
out the war, and have ever remained obstinately attached to the soil,
and neither to be fought nor bought out of their paternal acres.
Others were Tories, and adherents to the old kingly rule ; some of
whom took refuge within the British lines, joined the royal bands of
refugees, — a name odious to the American ear, — and occasionally re-
turned to harass their ancient neighbours.
In a little while this debatable land was overrun by predatory
bands from either side ; sacking hen-roosts, plundering farm-houses,
and driving off' cattle. Hence arose those two great orders of border
chivalry, the Skinners and the Cow-boys, famous in the heroic
annals of Westchester county. The former fought, or rather ma-
rauded, under the American, the latter under the British banner ;
but both, in the hurry of their military ardour, were apt to err on
the safe side, and rob friend as well as foe. Neither of them stopped
to ask the politics of horse or cow which they drove into captivity ;
nor, when they wrung the neck of a rooster, did they trouble their
heads to ascertain whether he were crowing for Congress or King
George.
While this marauding system prevailed on shore, the Great Tap-
pan Sea, which washes this belligerent region, was domineered over
by British frigates, and other vessels of war, anchored here and there,
to keep an eye upon the river, and maintain a communication be-
tween the various military posts. Stout galleys also, armed with
eighteen-pounders, and navigated with sails and oars, cruised about
like hawks, ready to pounce upon their prey.
All these were eyed with bitter hostility by the Dutch yeomanry
along shore, who were indignant at seeing their great Mediterranean
ploughed by hostile prows ; and would occasionally throw up a mud
breast- work on a point or promontory, mount an old iron field-piece,
and fire away at the enemy, though the greatest harm was apt to
happen to themselves, from the bursting of their ordnance; nay
there was scarcely a Dutchman along the river that would hesitate to
fire with his long duck gun at any British cruiser that came within
reach, as he had been accustomed to fire at water-fowl.
I have been thus particular in my account of the times and neigh-
bourhood, that the reader might the more readily comprehend the
surrounding dangers, in this the Heroic Age of the Roost.
It was commanded at the time, as I have already observed, by the
stout Jacob Van Tassel. As I wish to be extremely accurate in this
part of my chronicle, I beg that this Jacob Van Tassel of the Roost
may not be confounded with another Jacob Van Tassel, commonly
known in border story by the name of "Clump-footed Jake," a
noted Tory, and one of the refugee band of Spiting Devil. On the
contrary, he of the Roost was a patriot of the first water, and, if we
may take his own word for granted, a thorn in the side of the enemy.
As the Roost, from its lonely situation on the water's edge, might be
liable to attack, he took measures for defence. On a row of hooks
above his fire-place, reposed his great piece of ordnance, ready
charged and primed for action. This was a duck, or rather goose-
gun, of unparalleled longitude, with which it was said he could kill
a wild goose, though half-way across the Tappan Sea. Indeed, there
are as many wonders told of this renowned gun, as of the enchanted
weapons of the heroes of classic story.
WOLFERT'S ROOST. 161
In different parts of the stone walls of this mansion he had made
loop-holes, through which he might fire upon an assailant. His wife
was stout-hearted as himself, and could load as fast as he could fire ;
and then, he had an ancient and redoubtable sister, Nochie Van Wur-
mer, — a match, as he said, for the stoutest man in the country. Thus
garrisoned, the little Roost was fit to stand a siege, and Jacob Van
Tassel was the man to defend it to the last charge of powder.
He was, as I have already hinted, of pugnacious propensities ;
and, not content with being a patriot at home, and fighting for the
security of his own fire-side, he extended his thoughts abroad, and
entered into a confederacy with certain of the bold, hard-riding lads
of Tarry town, Petticoat-Lane, and Sleepy Hollow, who formed a
kind of Holy Brotherhood, scouring the country to clear it of Skin-
ner and Cow-boy, and all other border vermin. The Roost was one
of their rallying points. Did a band of marauders from Manhattan
island come sweeping through the neighbourhood, and driving off
cattle, the stout Jacob and his compeers were soon clattering at
their heels, and fortunate did the rogues esteem themselves if they
could but get a part of their booty across the lines, or escape them-
selves without a rough handling. Should the moss-troopers succeed
in passing with their cavalgada, with thundering tramp and dusty
whirlwind, across Kingsbridge, the Holy Brotherhood of the Roost
would rein up at that perilous pass, and, wheeling about, would in-
demnify themselves by foraging the refugee region of Morrissania.
When at home at the Roost, the stout Jacob was not idle ; but
was prone to carry on a petty warfare of his own, for his private
recreation and refreshment. Did he ever chance to espy, from his
look-out place, a hostile ship or galley anchored or becalmed near
shore, he would take down his long goose-gun from the hooks over
the fire-place, sally out alone, and lurk along shore, dodging be-
hind rocks and trees, and watching for hours together, like a veteran
mouser intent on a rat-hole. So sure as a boat put off for shore, and
came within shot, bang ! went the great goose-gun ; a shower of
slugs and buck-shot whistled about the ears of the enemy, and before
the boat could reach the shore, Jacob had scuttled up some woody
ravine, and left no trace behind.
About this time the Roost experienced a vast succession of warlike
importance, in being made one of the stations of the water-guard.
This was a kind of aquatic corps of observation, composed of long,
sharp, canoe-shaped boats, technically called whale-boats, that lay
lightly on the water, and could be rowed with great rapidity. They
were manned by resolute fellows, skilled at pulling an oar, or hand-
ling a musket. These lurked about in nooks and bays, and behind
those long promontories which run out into the Tappan Sea, keeping
a look-out to give notice of the approach or movements of hostile
ships. They roved about in pairs ; sometimes at night, with muffled
oars, gliding like spectres about frigates and guard-ships riding at
anchor, cutting off any boats that made for shore, and keeping the
enemy in constant uneasiness. These musquito-cruisers generally
kept aloof by day, so that their harbouring places might not be dis-
covered, but would pull quietly along, under shadow of the shore at
night, to take up their quarters at the Roost. Hither, at such time,
would also repair the hard-riding lads of the hills, to hold secret
councils of war with the " ocean chivalry ;" and in these nocturnal
THE CRAYON PAPERS.
meetings were concerted many of those daring forays, by land and
water, that resounded throughout the border.
The chronicle here goes on to recount divers wonderful stories of
the wars of the Roost, from which it would seem that this little war-
rior nest carried the terror of its arms into every sea, from Spiting
Devil Creek to Antony's Nose ; that it even bearded the stout island
of Manhattan, invading it at night, penetrating to its centre, and
burning down the famous Delancy house, the conflagration of which
makes such a blaze in revolutionary history. Nay more, in their
extravagant daring, these cocks of the Roost meditated a nocturnal
descent upon New York itself, to swoop upon the British com-
manders, Howe and Clinton, by surprise, bear them oft' captive, and
perhaps put a triumphant close to the war !
All these and many similar exploits are recorded by the worthy
Diedrich with his usual minuteness and enthusiasm, whenever the
deeds in arms of his kindred Dutchmen are in question ; but though
most of these warlike stories rest upon the best of all authority, that
of the warriors themselves, and though many of them are still cur-
rent among the revolutionary patriarchs of this heroic neighbourhood,
yet I dare not expose them to the incredulity of a tamer and less
chivalric age. Suffice it to say, the frequent gatherings at the Roost,
and the hardy projects set on foot there, at length drew on it the
fiery indignation of the enemy ; and this was quickened by the con-
duct of the stout Jacob Van Tassel, with whose valorous achieve-
ments we resume the course of the chronicle.
This doughty Dutchman, continues the sage Diedrich Knicker-
bocker, was not content with taking a share in all the magnanimous
enterprises concocted at the Roost, but still continued his petty war-
fare along shore. A series of exploits at length raised his confidence
in his prowess to such a height, that he began to think himself and
his goose-gun a match for anything. Unluckily, in .the course of
one of his prowlings, he descried a British transport aground, not
far from shore, with her stern swung toward the land, within point-
blank shot. The temptation was too great to be resisted ; bang ! as
usual, went the great goose-gun, shivering the cabin windows, and
driving all hands forward. Bang ! bang ! the shots were repeated.
The reports brought several sharpshooters of the neighbourhood to
the spot ; before the transport could bring a gun to bear, or land a
boat, to take revenge, she was soundly peppered, and the coast eva-
cuated. This was the last of Jacob's triumphs. He fared like some
heroic spider that has unwittingly ensnared a hornet, to his immortal
glory, perhaps, but to the utter ruin of his web.
It was not long after this, during the absence of Jacob Van Tassel
on one of his forays, and when no one was in garrison but his stout-
hearted spouse, his redoubtable sister, Nochie Van Wurmer, and a
strapping negro wench, called Dinah, that an armed vessel came to
anchor off the Roost, and a boat full of men pulled to shore. The
garrison flew to arms, that is to say, to mops, broomsticks, shovels,
tongs, and all kinds of domestic weapons ; for unluckily the great
piece of ordnance, the goose-gun, was absent with its owner. Above
all, a vigorous defence was made with that most potent of female
weapons, the tongue. Never did invaded hen-roost make a more
WOLFE RT'S ROOST. 163
vociferous outcry. It was all in vain. The house was sacked and
plundered, fire was set to each corner, and in a few moments its
blaze shed a baleful light far over the Tappan Sea. The invaders
then pounced upon the blooming Laney Van Tassel, the beauty of
the Roost, and endeavoured to bear her off to the boat. But here
was the real tug of war. The mother, the aunt, and the strapping
negro wench, all flew to the rescue. The struggle continued down
to the very water's edge, when a voice from the armed vessel at
anchor ordered the spoilers to let go their hold ; they relinquished
their prize, jumped into their boats, and pulled off, and the heroine
of the Roost escaped with a mere rumpling of the feathers.
The fear of tiring my readers, who may not take such an interest
as myself in these heroic themes, induces me to close here my ex-
tracts from this precious chronicle of the venerable Diedrich. Suffice
it briefly to say, that shortly after the catastrophe of the Roost, Jacob
Van Tassel, in the course of one of his forays, fell into the hands of
the British, was sent prisoner to New York, and was detained in
captivity for the greater part of the war. In the mean time, the
Roost remained a melancholy ruin, its stone walls and brick chim-
neys alone standing, blackened by fire, and the resort of bats and
owlets. It was not until the return of peace, when this belligerent
neighbourhood once more resumed its quiet agricultural pursuits,
that the stout Jacob sought the scene of his triumphs and disasters,
rebuilt the Roost, and reared again on high its glittering weather-
cocks.
Does any one want farther particulars of the fortunes of this event-
ful little pile ? Let him go to the fountain-head, and drink deep of
historic truth. Reader ! the stout Jacob Van Tassel still lives, a
venerable, grey-headed patriarch of the Revolution, now in his ninety-
fifth year ! He sits by his fireside, in the ancient city of the Man-
hattoes, and passes the long winter evening surrounded by his chil-
dren, and grand-children, and great-grand-children, all listening to
his tales of the border wars, and the heroic days of the Roost. His
great goose-gun, too, is still in existence, having been preserved for
many years in a hollow tree, and passed from hand to hand among
the Dutch burghers, as a precious relique of the revolution. It is
now actually in possession of a contemporary of the stout Jacob,
one almost his equal in years, who treasures it up at his house in the
Bowerie of New Amsterdam, hard by the ancient rural retreat of
the chivalric Peter Stuy vesant. I am not without hopes of one day
seeing this formidable piece of ordnance restored to its proper station
in the arsenal of the Roost.
Before closing this historic document, I cannot but advert to cer-
tain notions and traditions concerning the venerable pile in question.
Old-time edifices are apt to gather odd fancies and superstitions about
them, as they do moss and weather-stains, and this is in a neighbour-
hood a little given to old-fashioned notions, and who look upon the
Roost as somewhat of a fated mansion. A lonely", rambling, down-
hill lane leads to it, overhung with trees, with a wild brook dashing
along, and crossing and re-crossing it. This lane I found some of
the good people of the neighbourhood shy of treading at night ; why
I could not for a long time ascertain, until I learned that one or two
164 THE CRAYON PAPERS.
of the rovers of the Tappan Sea, shot by the stout Jacob during the
war, had been buried hereabout in unconsecrated ground.
Another local superstition is of a less gloomy kind, and one which
I confess I am somewhat disposed to cherish. The Tappan Sea, in
front of the Roost, is about three miles wide, bordered by a lofty
line of waving and rocky hills. Often, in the still twilight of a sum-
mer evening, when the sea is like glass, with the opposite hills throw-
ing their purple shadows half across it, a low sound is heard, as of
the steady, vigorous pull of oars, far out in the middle of the stream,
though not a boat is to be descried. This I should have been apt to
ascribe to some boat rowed along under the shadows of the western
shore, for sounds are conveyed to a great distance by water, at
such quiet hours, and I can distinctly hear the baying of the watch-
dogs at night, from the farms on the sides of the opposite mountains.
The ancient traditionists of the neighbourhood, however, religiously
ascribe these sounds to a judgment upon one Rumbout Van Dam,
of Spiting Devil, who danced and drank late one Saturday night, at
a Dutch quilting frolic at Kakiat, and set off alone for home in his
boat, on the verge of Sunday morning, swearing he would not land
till he reached Spiting Devil, if it took him a month of Sundays. He
was never seen afterward, but is often heard plying his oars across
the Tappan Sea, a Flying Dutchman on a small scale, suited to the
size of his cruising-ground ; being doomed to ply between Kakiat
and Spiting Devil till the day of judgment, but never to reach the
land.
There is one room in the mansion, which almost overhangs the
river, and is reputed to be haunted by the ghost of a young lady
who died of love and green apples. I have been awakened at night
by the sound of oars and the tinkling of guitars beneath the window,
and seeing a boat loitering in the moonlight, have been tempted to
believe it the Flying Dutchman of Spiting Devil, and to try whether
a silver bullet might not put an end to his unhappy cruisings ; but,
happening to recollect that there was a living young lady in the
haunted room, who might be terrified by the report of fire-arms, I
have refrained from pulling trigger.
As to the enchanted fountain, said to have been gifted by the
wizard sachem with supernatural powers, it still wells up at the foot
of the bank, on the margin of the river, and goes by the name of the
Indian spring ; but I have my doubts as to its rejuvenating powers;
for though I have drunk oft and copiously of it, I cannot boast that
I find myself growing younger.
SLEEPY HOLLOW.
Having pitched my tent, probably for the remainder of my days,
in the neighbourhood of Sleepy Hollow, I am tempted to give some
few particulars concerning that spell-bound region ; especially as it
has risen to historic importance, under the pen of my revered friend
and master, the sage historian of the New Netherlands. Beside, I
find the very existence of the place has been held in question by
many; who, judging from its odd name, and from the odd stories
current among the vulgar concerning it, have rashly deemed the
whole to be a fanciful creation, like the Lubber Land of mariners. I
SLEEPY HOLLOW. 165
must confess there is some apparent cause for doubt, in consequence
of the colouring given by the worthy Diedrich, to his descriptions
of the Hollow, who, in this instance, has departed a little from his
usually sober, if not severe, style ; beguiled, very probably, by his
predilection for the haunts of his youth, and by a certain lurking
taint of romance, whenever anything connected with the Dutch was
to be described. I shall endeavour to make up for this amiable
error, on the part of my venerable and venerated friend, by present-
ing the reader with a more precise and statistical account of the
Hollow ; though I am not sure that I shall not be prone to lapse, in
the end, into the very error I am speaking of, so potent is the
witchery of the theme.
I believe it was the very peculiarity of its name, and the idea of
something mystic and dreamy connected with it, that first led me in
my boyish ramblings into Sleepy Hollow. The character of the
valley seemed to answer to the name ; the slumber of past ages
apparently reigned over it ; it had not awakened to the stir of im-
provement, which had put all the rest of the world in a bustle. Here
reigned good old long-forgotten fashions ; the men were in home-
spun garbs, evidently the product of their own farms, and the ma-
nufacture of their own wives ; the women were in primitive short
gowns and petticoats, with the venerable sun-bonnets of Holland
origin. The lower part of the valley was cut up into small farms,
each consisting of a little meadow and corn-field ; an orchard of
sprawling gnarled apple-trees, and a garden, where the rose, the
marigold, and the hollyhock were permitted to skirt the domains of
the capacious cabbage, the aspiring pea, and the portly pumpkin.
Each had its prolific little mansion teeming with children ; with an
old hat nailed against the wall for the house-keeping wren ; a mo-
therly hen under a coop on the grass-plot, clucking to keep around
her a brood of vagrant chickens ; a cool stone well, with the moss-
covered bucket suspended to the long balancing-pole, according to
the antediluvian idea of hydraulics ; and its spinning-wheel hum-
ming within doors the patriarchal music of home manufactui'e.
The Hollow at that time was inhabited by families which had
existed there from the earliest times, and which, by frequent inter-
marriage, had become so interwoven, as to make a kind of natural
commonwealth. As the families had grown larger, the farms had
grown smaller, every new generation requiring a new subdivision,
and few thinking of swarming from the native hive. In this way
that happy golden mean had been produced, so much extolled by
the poets, in which there was no gold, and very little silver. One
thing which doubtless contributed to keep up this amiable mean was
a general repugnance to sordid labour. The sage inhabitants of
Sleepy Hollow had read in their Bible, which was the only book
they studied, that labour was originally inflicted upon man as a
punishment of sin; they regarded it, therefore, with pious abhor-
rence, and never humiliated themselves to it but in cases of extre-
mity. There seemed, in fact, to be a league and covenant against it
throughout the Hollow, as against a common enemy. Was any one
compelled by dire necessity to repair his house, mend his fences,
build a barn, or get in a harvest, he considered it a great evil, that
entitled him to call in the assistance of his friends. He accordingly
proclaimed a " bee," or rustic gathering ; whereupon all his neigh-
16() THE CRAYON PAPERS.
hours hurried to his aid, like faithful allies, attacked the task with
the desperate energy of lazy men eager. to overcome a job; and
when it was accomplished, fell to eating and drinking, fiddling and
dancing, for very joy that so great an amount of labour had been
vanquished with so little sweating of the brow.
Yet let it not be supposed that this worthy community was with-
out its periods of arduous activity. Let but a flock of wild pigeons
fly across the valley, and all Sleepy Hollow was wide awake in an
instant. The pigeon season had arrived : every gun and net was
forthwith in requisition. The flail was thrown down on the barn
floor, the spade rusted in the garden, the plough stood idle in the
furrow ; every one was to the hill-side and stubble-field at day-
break, to shoot or entrap the pigeons in their periodical migrations.
So, likewise, let but the word be given that the shad were ascend-
ing the Hudson, and the worthies of the Hollow were to be seen
launched in boats upon the river, setting great stakes, and stretching
their nets, like gigantic spider-webs, half 'across the stream, to the
great annoyance of navigators. Such are the wise provisions of
Nature, by which she equalizes rural affairs. A laggard at the plough
is often extremely industrious with the fowling-piece and fishing-
net ; and whenever a man is an indifferent farmer, he is apt to be a
first-rate sportsman. For catching shad and wild pigeons, there were
none throughout the country to compare with the lads of Sleepy
Hollow.
As I have observed, it was the dreamy nature of the name that
first beguiled me, in the holiday rovings of boyhood, into this se-
questered region. I shunned, however, the populous parts of the
Hollow, and sought its retired haunts, far in the foldings of the hills,
where the Pocantico " winds its wizard stream," sometimes silently
and darkly through solemn woodlands, sometimes sparkling between
grassy borders in fresh green meadows, sometimes stealing along the
feet of ragged heights, under the balancing sprays of beech and
chestnut trees. A thousand crystal springs, with which this neigh-
bourhood abounds, sent down from the hill-sides their whimpering
rills, as if to pay tribute to the Pocantico. In this stream I first
essayed my unskilful hand at angling. I loved to loiter along it,
with rod in hand, watching my float as it whirled among the eddies,
or drifted into dark holes, under twisted roots and sunken logs,
where the largest fish are apt to lurk. I delighted to follow it into
the brown recesses of the woods ; to throw by my fishing gear, and
sit upon rocks beneath toAvering oaks and clambering grape-vines ;
bathe my feet in the cool current, and listen to the summer breeze
playing among the tree-tops. My boyish fancy clothed all nature
around me with ideal charms, and peopled it with the fairy beings I
had read of in poetry and fable. Here it was I gave full scope to
my incipient habit of day-dreaming, and to a certain propensity to
weave up and tint sober realities with my own whims and imagin-
ings, which has sometimes made life a little too much like an Arabian
tale to me, and this " working-day world " rather like a region of
romance.
The great gathering place of Sleepy Hollow, in those days, was
the church. It stood outside of the Hollow, near the great highway,
on a green bank shaded by trees, with the Pocantico sweeping round
it, and emptying itself into a spacious mill-pond. At that time the
SLEEPY HOLLOW. 167
Sleepy Hollow church was the only place of worship for a wide
neighbourhood. It was a venerable edifice, partly of stone and partly
of brick, the latter having been brought from Holland in the early
days of the province, before the arts in the New Netherlands could
aspire to such a fabrication. On a stone above the porch were in-
scribed the names of the founders, Frederick Filipsen, a mighty
patroon of the olden time, who reigned over a wide extent of this
neighbourhood, and held his seat of power at Yonkers ; and his wife,
Katrina Van Courtlandt, pf the no less potent line of the Van Court-
landts of Croton, who lorded it over a great part of the Highlands.
The capacious pulpit, with its wide-spreading sounding-board,
were likewise early importations from Holland, as also the commu-
nion-table, of massive form and curious fabric. The same might be
said of a weather-cock perched on top of the belfry, and which was
considered orthodox in all windy matters, until a small pragmatical
rival was set up on the other end of the church above the chancel.
This latter bore, and still bears, the initials of Frederick Filipsen,
and assumed great airs in consequence. The usual contradiction
ensued that always exists among church weather-cocks, which can
never be brought to agree as to the point from which the wind
blows, having doubtless acquired, from their position, the Christian
propensity to schism and controversy.
Behind the church, and sloping up a gentle acclivity, was its ca-
pacious burying-ground, in which slept the earliest fathers of this
rural neighbourhood. Here were tombstones of the rudest sculp-
ture, on which were inscribed, in Dutch, the names and virtues of
many of the first settlers, with their portraitures curiously carved in
similitude of cherubs. Long rows of grave-stones, side by side, of
similar names, but various dates, showed that generation after gene-
ration of the same families had followed each other, and been gar-
nered together in this last gathering-place of kindred.
Let me speak of this quiet grave-yard with all due reverence, for
I owe it amends for the heedlessness of my boyish days. I blush to
acknowledge the thoughtless frolic with which, in company with
other whipsters, I have sported within its sacred bounds during the
intervals of worship, chasing butterflies, plucking wild flowers, or
vieing with each other who could leap over the tallest tombstones,
until checked by the stern voice of the sexton.
The congregation was in those days of a really rural character.
City fashions were as yet unknown, or unregarded, by the country
people of the neighbourhood. Steam-boats had not as yet confounded
town with country. A weekly market-boat from Tarrytown, the
" Farmers' Daughter," navigated by the worthy Gabriel Requa, was
the only communication between all these parts and the metropolis.
A rustic belle in those days considered a visit to the city in much
the same light as one of our modern fashionable ladies regards a
visit to Europe; an event that may possibly take place once in the
course of a lifetime, but to be hoped for rather than expected.
Hence the array of the congregation was chiefly after the primitive
fashions existing in Sleepy Hollow ; or if by cliance there was a
departure from the Dutch sun-bonnet, or the apparition of a bright
gown of flowered calico, it caused quite a sensation throughout the
church. As the dominie generally preached by the hour, a bucket
of water was providently placed on a bench near the door in sum-
168 THE CRAYON PAPERS.
mer, with a tin cup beside it, for the solace of those who might be
athirst, either from the heat of the weather or the drouth of the
sermon.
Around the pulpit, and behind the communion-table, sat the elders
of the church, reverend, grey-headed, leathern-visaged men, whom I
regarded with awe, as so many apostles. They were stern in their
sanctity, kept a vigilant eye upon my giggling companions and my-
self, and shook a rebuking finger at any boyish device to relieve the
tediousness of compulsory devotion. Vain, however, were all their
efforts at vigilance. Scarcely had the preacher held forth for half an
hour, in one of his interminable sermons, than it seemed as if the
drowsy influence of Sleepy Hollow breathed into the place: one
by one the congregation sank into slumber ; the sanctified elders
leaned back in their pews, spreading their handkerchiefs over their
faces, as if to keep off the flies ; while the locusts in the neighbour-
ing trees would spin out their sultry summer notes, vicing with the
sleep-provoking tones of the dominie.
I have thus endeavoured to give an idea of Sleepy Hollow and its
church, as I recollect them to have been in the days of my boyhood.
It was in my stripling days, when a few years had passed over my
head, that I revisited them, in company with the venerable Diedrich.
I shall never forget the antiquarian reverence with which that sage
and excellent man contemplated the church. It seemed as if all his
pious enthusiasm for the ancient Dutch dynasty swelled within his
bosom at the sight. The tears stood in his eyes as he regarded the
pulpit and the communion-table ; even the very bricks that had come
from the mother country seemed to touch a filial chord within his
bosom. He almost bowed in deference to the stone above the porch,
containing the names of Frederick Filipsen and Katrina Van Court-
landt, regarding it as the linking together of those patronymic names
once so famous along the banks of the Hudson; or, rather as a key-
stone, binding that mighty Dutch family connexion of yore, one foot
of which rested on Yonkers, and the other on the Croton. Nor did
he forbear to notice with admiration the windy contest which had
been carried on since time immemorial, and with real Dutch perse-
verance, between the two weathercocks ; though I could easily per-
ceive he coincided with the one which had come from Holland.
Together we paced the ample church-yard. With deep veneration
would he turn down the weeds and brambles that obscured the mo-
dest brown grave-stones, half sunk in earth, on which were recorded
in Dutch the names of the patriarchs of ancient days, the Ackers,
the Van Tassels, and the Van Warts. As we sat on one of the tomb-
stones he recounted to me the exploits of many of these worthies ;
and my heart smote me when I heard of their great doings in days
of yore, to think how heedlessly I had once sported over their
graves.
From the church the venerable Diedrich proceeded in his re-
searches up the Hollow. The genius of the place seemed to hail its
future historian. All nature was alive with gratulation. The quail
whistled a greeting from the corn-field ; the robin carolled a song of
praise from the orchard ; the loquacious cat-bird flew from bush to
bush, with restless wing, proclaiming his approach in every variety
of note, and anon would whisk about, and perk inquisitively into his
face, as if to get a knowledge of his physiognomy ; the wood-pecker
SLEEPY HOLLOW. 169
also tapped a tattoo on the hollow apple-tree, and then peered know-
ingly round the trunk, to see how the great Diedrich relished his sa-
lutation ; while the ground-squirrel scampered along the fence, and
occasionally whisked his tail over his head, by way of a huzza !
The worthy Diedrich pursued his researches in the valley with
characteristic devotion ; entering familiarly into the various cottages,
and gossipping with the simple folk in the style of their own simpli-
city. I confess my heart yearned with admiration to see so great a
man, in his eager quest after knowledge, humbly demeaning himself
to curry favour with the humblest ; sitting patiently on a three-
legged stool, patting the children, and taking a purring grimalkin on
his lap, while he conciliated the good will of the old Dutch house-
wife, and drew from her long ghost stories, spun out to the hum-
ming accompaniment of her wheel.
His greatest treasure of historic lore, however, was discovered in
an old goblin-looking mill, situated among rocks and waterfalls, with
clanking wheels, and rushing streams, and all kinds of uncouth noises.
A horse-shoe, nailed to the door to keep off witches and evil spirits,
showed that this mill was subject to awful visitations. As we ap-
proached it an old negro thrust his head, all dabbled with flour, out
of a hole above the water-wheel, and grinned and rolled his eyes,
and looked like the very hobgoblin of the place. The illustrious
Diedrich fixed upon him at once as the very one to give him that in-
valuable kind of information never to be acquired from books. He
beckoned him from his nest, sat with him by the hour on a broken
millstone by the side of the waterfall, heedless of the noise of the
water and the clatter of the mill ; and I verily believe it was to his
conference with this African sage, and the precious revelations of the
good dame of the spinning wheel, that we are indebted for the sur-
prising, though true, history of Ichabod Crane, and the headless
horseman, which has since astounded and edified the world.
But, I have said enough of the good old times of my youthful
days ; let me speak of the Hollow as I found it after an absence of
many years, when it was kindly given me once more to revisit the
haunts of my boyhood. It was a genial day as I approached that
fated region. The warm sunshine was tempered by a slight haze, so
as to give a dreamy effect to the landscape. Not a breath of air
shook the foliage. The broad Tappan Sea was without a ripple ; and
the sloops, with drooping sails, slept on its glassy bosom. Columns
of smoke from burning brushwood rose lazily from the folds of the
hills, on the opposite side of the river, and slowly expanded in mid
air. The distant lowing of a cow, or the noontide crowing of a cock,
coming faintly to the ear, seemed to illustrate rather than disturb
the drowsy quiet of the scene.
I entered the Hollow with a beating heart. Contrary to my appre-
hensions, I found it but little changed. The march of intellect, which
had made such rapid strides along every river and highway, had
not yet, apparently, turned down into this favoured valley. Perhaps
the wizard spell of ancient clays still reigned over the place, binding
up the faculties of the inhabitants in happy contentment with things
as they had been handed down to them from yore. There were the
same little farms and farm-houses, with their old hats for the house-
keeping wren ; their stone wells, moss-covered buckets, and long
balancing poles. There were the same little rills whimpering down
170 THE CRAYON PAPERS.
to pay their tributes to the Pocantico ; while that wizard stream still
kept 'on its course, as of old, through solemn woodlands and fresh
green meadows: nor were there wanting joyous holiday boys, to
loiter along its banks, as I had done; throw their pin-hooks in the
stream, or launch their mimic barks. I watched them with a kind of
melancholy pleasure, wondering whether they were under the same
spell of the fancy that once rendered this valley a fairy-land to me.
Alas ! alas ! to me everything now stood revealed in its simple reality ;
The echoes no longer answered with wizard tongues ; the dream of
youth was at an end ; the spell of Sleepy Hollow was broken !
' I sought the ancient church on the following Sunday. There H
stood on its green bank among the trees ; the Pocantico swept by it
in a deep, dark stream, where I had so often angled ; there expanded
the mill-pond, as of old, with the cows under the willows on its mar-
gin, knee-deep in water, chewing the cud, and lashing the flies from
their sides with their tails. The hand of improvement, however, had
been busy with the venerable pile. The pulpit fabricated in Hol-
land had been superseded by one of modern construction ; and the
front of the semi-Gothic edifice was decorated by a semi-Grecian
portico. Fortunately the two weathercocks remained undisturbed
on their perches at each end of the church, and still kept up a diame-
trical opposition to each other on all points of windy doctrine.
On entering the church the changes of time continued to be appa-
rent. The elders round the pulpit were men whom I had left in the
gamesome frolic of their youth, but who had succeeded to the sanc-
tity of station of which they once had stood so much in awe. What
most struck my eye was the change in the female part of the congre-
gation. Instead of the primitive garbs of homespun manufacture and
antique Dutch fashion, I beheld French sleeves, French capes, and
French collars, and a fearful fluttering of French ribands.
When the service was ended, I sought the church-yard in which
I had sported in my unthinking days of boyhood. Several of the
modest brown stones, on which were recorded in Dutch the names
and virtues of the patriarchs, had disappeared ; and had been suc-
ceeded by others of white marble, with urns, and wreaths, and scraps
of English tombstone poetry, marking the intrusion of taste and lite-
rature, and the English language, in this once unsophisticated Dutch
neighbourhood.
As I was stumbling about among these silent, yet eloquent, memo-
rials of the dead, I came upon names familiar to me ; of those who
had paid the debt of nature during the long interval of my absence.
Some I remembered my companions in boyhood, who had sported
with me on the very sod under which they were now mouldering ;
others who in those days had been the flower of the yeomanry,
figuring in Sunday finery on the church-green ; others, the white-
haired elders of the sanctuary, once arrayed in awful sanctity around
the pulpit, and ever ready to rebuke the ill-timed mirth of the wan-
ton stripling, who, now a man, sobered by years, and schooled by vi-
cissitudes, looked down pensively upon their graves. " Our fathers,"
thought I, " where are they ! — and the prophets, can they live for
ever ! "
I was disturbed in my meditations by the noise of a troop of idle
urchins, who came gambolling about the place where I had so often
gambolled. They were checked, as I arid my playmates had often
SLEEPY HOLLOW. 171
been, by the voice of the sexton, a man staid in years and demeanour,
I looked wistfully in his face ; had I met him anywhere else, I
should, probably, have passed him by without remark ; but, here I
was alive to the traces of former times, and detected in the demure
features of this guardian of the sanctuary the lurking lineaments of
one of the very playmates I have alluded to. We renewed our ac-
quaintance. He sat down beside me on one of the tombstones over
which we had leaped in our juvenile sports, and we talked together
about our boyish days, and held edifying discourse on the instability
of all sublunary things, as instanced in the scene around us. He was
rich in historic lore, as to the events of the last thirty years, and the
circumference of thirty miles, and from him I learned the appalling
revolution that was taking place throughout the neighbourhood. AH
this I clearly perceived he attributed to the boasted march of intel-
lect, or rather, to the all-pervading influence of steam. He bewailed
the times when the only communication with town was by the week-
ly market boat — the " Farmers' Daughter," which, under the pilotage
of the worthy Gabriel Requa, braved the perils of the Tappan Sea.
Alas ! Gabriel, and the " Farmers' Daughter" slept in peace. Two
steam-boats now splashed and paddled up daily to the little rural
port of Tarrytown. The spirit of speculation and improvement had
seized even upon that once quiet and unambitious little dorp. The
whole neighbourhood was laid out into town lots. Instead of the
little tavern below the hill, where the farmers used to loiter on mar-
ket-days, and indulge in cider and ginger-bread, an ambitious hotel,
with cupola and verandahs, now crested the summit, among churches
built in the Grecian and Gothic styles, showing the great increase of
piety and polite taste in the neighbourhood. As to Dutch dresses
and sun-bonnets, they were no longer tolerated, or even thought of ;
not a farmer's daughter but now went to town for the fashions ; nay,
a city milliner had recently set vip in the village, who threatened to
reform the heads of the whole neighbourhood.
I had heard enough ! I thanked my old playmate for his intelli-
gence, and departed from the Sleepy Hollow church, with the sad
conviction that I had beheld the last lingerings of the good old
Dutch times, in this once-favoured region. If anything were want-
ing to confirm this impression, it would be the intelligence which has
just reached me, that a bank is about to be established in the aspiring
little port just mentioned. The fate of the neighbourhood is, there-
fore, sealed. I see no hope of averting it. The golden mean is at
an end. The country is suddenly to be deluged with wealth. The
late simple farmers are to become bank-directors, and drink claret
and champagne ; and their wives and daughters to figure in French
hats and feathers ; for French wines and French fashions commonly
keep pace with paper money. How can I hope that even Sleepy
Hollow may escape the general awakening ? In a little while I fear
the slumber of ages will be at an end ; the strum of the piano will
succeed to the hum of the spinning-wheel ; the trill of the Italian
opera to the nasal quaver of Ichabod Crane ; and the antiquarian
visitor to the Hollow, in the petulance of his disappointment, may
pronounce all that I have recorded of that once spell-bound region,
a fable.
GEOFFREY CRAYON.
172
VINCENT EDEN;
OR, THE OXONIAN.
BY QUIP.
CHAPTER VII.
THE HIEROKOSMION.— AN AVOWAL.— A NUNEHAM PARTY.— THE BROTHERS.
THUS terminated, as recorded in our last chapter, the Fresh-
man's first adventure with the Proctor; and, after a due partici-
pation in the sympathetic condolences of the social circle at
present engaged in the discussion of Raffleton's champagne, on
the subject of that gentleman's rustication, and a full explana-
tion of the somewhat ludicrous circumstances which had led to
it, he took his leave of the party, and prepared to return once
more to his rooms, with the firm determination of losing no time
in setting about his imposition for the Reverend Burnaby
Birch.
Just as he had descended the staircase a mild-looking person-
age with a snowy neckcloth, neatly- trimmed whiskers, and an
appearance altogether strongly resembling that of a beneficed
clergyman of the established church, glided into the passage,
and, with the sweetest of smiles, volunteered to open the street-
door for him.
" I beg you won't think of giving yourself any such trouble,
sir,11 said Eden, wondering who the polite gentleman could be,
and surmising that it might possibly be Raffleton1s private tutor,
lodging in the same house with him. " Really', sir — I must
beg "
" Trouble, sir ! " said the mild man ; " there are moments
when trouble becomes a pleasure. Dear me ! " added he, after
fumbling at the door-handle for some time, — " dear me, this
handle does stick so. Perhaps you would'nt mind walking
round. This way, sir, if you please. I say,1' resumed the mild
man, as Eden followed him through the passage, — "I say, I 'm
afraid our friend up there has got into a scrape with the Proctor
this morning — eh ? "
More fully convinced than ever of the relation in which the
mild man stood to Raffleton by the interest which he evidently
took in his welfare, Eden briefly narrated the circumstances of
his friend's rustication.
" You don't say so ! " ejaculated the mild man. " Ah ! " pro-
ceeded he, halting suddenly, and catching Eden gently by the
arm, — " ah ! what a pity it is, my dear young sir, that youth
will still be youth ! What a pity it is, I say, that all those fine
feelings, all those fervid aspirations, all that buoyancy and elasti-
city of spirit which belong to the spring-time of life, should only
VINCENT EDEN. 173
tempt their gay possessor to pass the rubicon of prudence as
easily as — as — he would a double post and rail. Ah ! "
Here the mild man stopped short, and scrutinized Eden's face
for a moment.
" Sir," he then resumed, — " sir, I give you my honour that,
in losing Mr. Raffleton, I shall lose more than I can express.
By the playfulness of his disposition, the profuseness of his libe-
rality, the — I had almost said nobility of his manners, he has
endeared himself to all the house. Ah ! why will not Proctors
remember that they too have once been young ? "
Here the mild man suddenly threw open a door which led
into a most extensive shop, evidently devoted to the tailoring
business.
" You appear, sir," said the mild man, " to have been but a
short time in Oxford. In that short time, however, it is not ab-
solutely impossible that the name of Mr. Walrus and his Hiero-
kosmion may have reached you."
" Mr. Walrus and his what ?" asked Eden, fairly astonished
at last beyond all power of suppression.
" Hierokosmion," said the mild man. " I am that Mr. Wal-
rus— this is my Hierokosmion."
" Oh ! " said Eden, becoming at once alive to the reason why
the street-door had stuck, and he himself been invited to make
his exit through the shop. " Oh ! I see now."
" Yes," resumed Mr. Walrus, looking with an air of ineffable
dignity, blended with extreme sweetness, round the shop ; " this
is my Hierokosmion, or temple of fashion ; being a Greek word
— as I need not tell yow, sir, compounded of hieron — fashion,
and kosmos — a temple. Bring down some of them summer
waistcoatings, Jemes."
Jemes, who was the shop-boy, with a rival white tie to his
master's, instantly proceeded to obey.
" Thank you," said Eden, " I 'm not exactly in want of "
" No, sir," said Mr. Walrus ; " I should only wish you, as a
friend of Mr. Raffleton's, just to glance over the establishment,
with a view to future favours. More stripes, Jemes. Our
waterproof cloaks, sir, are unrivalled — allow me. There is a
fact, sir, connected with these, which is, I believe, not generally
known. You have heard of Grace Darling, of course, sir."
" Oh, yes," said Eden, somewhat at a loss to know what was
coming next. " The lady who saved some lives at a wreck, you
mean. Yes. Well-
" Well, sir," said Mr. Walrus, mysteriously sinking his voice
to a whisper, — " well, sir, it is not generally known, — as I said
before, — but, during the whole of that tremendous storm, when
the waves ran mountains high, and the rain fell in torrents
round the frail boat in which they had embarked, that heroic
girl and her aged parent were enveloped in two of my patent
waterproofs, and were thus enabled to brave alike the blast and
VOL. vi. o
174 VINCENT EDEN.
the billow in the cause of suffering humanity. I never see the
picture of her, sir, but I identify myself in a manner with that
cause. You smile, sir ; I can refer to my books for the fact.
« Walrus waterproofs ' we used to call them before; 'Darling
dreadnoughts' we call them ever since, for the alliteration, you
perceive, sir.— Some of them figured Egyptian silks in the win-
dow, Jemes."
"Yes," said Eden, "it's all very well; and you're very
poetical, Mr. Walrus ; but really I don't happen to "
" No, sir," said Mr. Walrus; "of course not — that is, at
present. Sweet thing this rose and rhododendron pattern, sir.
This is a nice quiet thing, too, for breakfasting with a tutor, or
anything in a mild way. Allow me, sir ; more to the light — so."
" You seem to have reduced the study of dress to a science,"
said Eden.
" Science, sir," said the mild man ; " I believe you. Science !
ah ! where should we be without it ? We, sir, who breathe a
classical air — who live, if I may be allowed the expression, in a
logical atmosphere, unconsciously learn to systematise our ideas
on the most trifling matters, — much more so on such a noble
study as that of dress. There are in Oxford, sir, four sorts of
dress: in a logical moment I divided them. There is, first, the
quiet, or gentlemanly ; secondly, the romantic, or ultra-gorgeous;
and thirdly, the sporting, or cord-and-cut-away costume ; and,
fourthly, the domestic, or dirty; which last is confined solely to
reading-men. Jemes, show the gentleman that romantic dress-
waistcoat we made for the Earl of May to go to the Woodstock
ball in. Singularly ultra-gorgeous, is it not, sir ?"
If there be any among my readers whose lot it has been, even
as it once was mine, to be exposed, as Freshmen, to the tender
mercies of Mr. Walrus, they will readily believe that our hero
found himself utterly unable to extricate himself from the
meshes of the " Hierokosmion," until he had been fairly (or ra-
ther unfairly) seduced into an order for a full suit of " quiet or
gentlemanly " vestments.
" And, mind you let me have them soon, Mr. Walrus," said
Eden ; or else, you know, ' youth will still be youth,' and I
shall come and blow you up."
" Youth be d — d ! " said the mild man, in the surliest of
tones, and with a total change of manner, as his new customer
quitted the shop. " I say, Jemes," shouted this double-faced
Janus of the Temple of Fashion, — " Jemes, that Raffleton 's
been and got rusticated at last. I knew he would before long.
You see and get the money for his lodgings out of him this
blessed day, and make him give me a note of hand, payable at
three months, for his tailor's bill, or else I '11 put him in the
Vice-Chancellor's Court before he goes, and keep him there all
the Long Vacation, tell him."
Shortly after Eden's departure from the « Temple of Fashion,"
VINCENT EDEN. 175
he was joined in his rooms by Mr. Richardson Lane, who had
stopped at Raffleton's to see the champagne out.
"That Raffleton," said he, "is a most extraordinary fellow."
" Yes, he is," said Eden. " And you 're something in the
same way," he thought.
" What on earth do you think he's going to do before he
goes ? " pursued his friend.
" I 'm sure I haven't the faintest idea," was the answer — and
the truth.
" Soon after you left us," said Mr. Lane, " his landlord, Wal-
rus— you 've seen Walrus, perhaps ? "
" I have," replied Eden ; and a vision of the " quiet or gen-
tlemanly " suit that was to be, rose up in judgment before him as
he said so.
"Well," said his friend, " well -- Walrus took it into his
head to send up his compliments and his bill to Raffleton, and
said he was going to be paid, or some such nonsense — which, of
course, our friend seemed to think was a fiction. Well, Wal-
rus came up himself, — got rather savage, — and began to talk
about the Vice-Chancellor's Court, and so on. Raffleton's con-
duct was beautiful ; an angel couldn't have behaved better.
' Mr. Walrus,' said he, ; will you take a glass of champagne to
begin with ? '
" ' No, sir,' said the infuriated Walrus, ' I will not take a
glass of champagne to begin with. I want my money — that 's
all about it."
" ' Mr. Walrus,' said Raffleton, ' don't let us quarrel. I am
about, as you see, to do a little " Future in r//s," — as the school-
boy said when he got to the last but one of the Latin parti-
ciples.'
"'I don't want any of your jokes,' said the monster, 'I want
my money, or a note of hand.'
"'Well, Mr. Walrus,' said our friend; 'of course, if you
must have the note of hand, you must. At three months, you
say?1
" The mercenary monster assented.
" * You shall have it,' said Raffleton, who had evidently got
some scheme into his head. ' Give it me now, and I '11 sign it.
Now, will you take a glass of champagne ? '
" The mollified Walrus took the wine, and drank it.
" ' Walrus,' said our friend, — ' Walrus, you are a trump ! "
" The trump looked as if he was about to deny the cha-
racter.
" * You are,' said Raffleton, — ' you know ^ou are. Now I
know I behaved very rudely to you on Saturday night, and I
should like to make you some amends. I '11 tell you what it is.
To-morrow is the terminal jubilee of " The Brothers," — a club
of which I am president, and I 've engaged to dine at Nuneham
with them, and so start by the mail afterwards. Now, if you
o 2
176 VINCENT EDEN.
like to come down and dine with us — I can take a friend — at
Nuneham, — house-boat, and so on, you know— why, the club
will be very glad to see you, that's all. Eh ? what do you say ? '
" The Walrus," said Mr. Lane, " was in such a good humour
at getting his promissory note, that he assented immediately.
Now, I know our friend means to make a fool of him somehow ;
but how he wouldn't say. All I know is, there's sure to^be
some fun or other ; and, if you like to come and meet the Wal-
rus, each member can take a friend, and you shall dine with
me.
It is needless to say that Eden accepted Mr. Richardson Lane's
invitation for the following day ; having conceived a violent
curiosity to be made acquainted with the nature of the plot
which it was too evident had been formed against the unsus-
pecting Walrus, and, at the same time, to become a witness of
the proceedings of a club so original as one boasting " The
Brothers " for its name, Mr. John Raffleton for its president,
and Mr. Richardson Lane for one of its members, could not
possibly fail to prove.
At the appointed hour, our hero was carried off by
Mr. Richardson Lane to the scene of embarkation for Nune-
ham. On their arrival at the river side, they found the barge
belonging to Messrs. Davis and King already thronged with a
large assembly of " Brothers," some smoking, some stepping
first out of the barge into the house-boat, and then back again
out of the house-boat into the barge ; some making very parti-
cular inquiries concerning the quantity of champagne ordered,
and others following their example respecting the number of
quarts of ice ; all, however, behaving in the most fraternal man-
ner, and all clad alike in the full uniform of the club, with white
hats, white trowsers, white waistcoats, and elegant buttons to
their light green coats, with the delicately chased initials of the
"Brothers' Club" in deep relief upon their surface. In the
centre stood Raffleton, exhorting and imploring everybody to
get into the house-boat, which was a capital imitation of the
children's pictures of Noah's Ark, and about to be manned by
almost as miscellaneous and extraordinary a crew, as soon as
they possibly could ; and close to him appeared a mild, benevo-
lent-looking individual, whom, in spite of the total alteration of
costume which he had adopted, Eden had no difficulty in recog-
nising as the illustrious proprietor of the Hierokosmion.
The theory on dress with which the mild man had favoured
Eden on the preceding day had certainly been reduced to prac-
tice on the present occasion, in the adornment of the theorist's
own proper person. The " quiet, or gentlemanly " suit of black
had been replaced by a most "romantic, or ultra-gorgeous"
blue checked shirt, with a picturesque and nautically-knotted
neckcloth ; a bluejacket, with fancy buttons representing a dol-
phin in the act of swallowing an anchor, which seemed uncom-
VINCENT EDEN. 177
monly likely to choke him ; a pair of voluminous white trow-
sers, and blue ribbed silk stockings, terminating in what might,
at first sight, have been taken for two small and shining patches
of black sticking-plaster, but which in reality were pumps, with
an enormous pair of horns to them, which looked a great deal
more like pump-handles than pump-strings.
In short, Mr. Walrus had done it, and he was fully aware of
the circumstance. Meanwhile Raffleton kept alternately tread-
ing on the patches of sticking-plaster, and stirring him up with
a boat-hook, to make him lay aside his benevolent and solemn
air, and look what he called " lively." After which he would
turn to another tall, stout, jolly-looking personage, who was the
crack hatter and mercer of Oxford, and had been asked, as well
for his own convivial qualities, as to keep the proprietor of the
Hierokosmion in countenance, and inquire with a grave air " if
he did not think Walrus was quite the sailor?" And then the
mercer would acquiesce, and the proprietor of the Hierokosmion
would lay his hand upon his heart, look more benevolent than
ever, and say it was the least he could do upon such an occasion
as the present.
Just before the house-boat was about to be put in motion by
two antique animals meant for horses, and attached (with a boy)
to the other end of a chain extending from the boat itself, Raffle-
ton returned from a private conference which he had been hold-
ing for the last five minutes with Mr. King, the proprietor of
the various craft destined to convey the " Brothers" and their
fortunes on their expedition.
" I think," said Raffleton, " upon consideration, that the din-
ner and the champagne, and all that, will be safer with me than
with you. You shall all go in the house-boat, and I '11 go on
with the eatables in a four-oar. Let me see — who is there will
come with me ? Eden, you 're light, you shall steer ; I '11 look
after the provisions — and the crew must be Duffil, Dean, — yes,
and Ravelall," — (here he winked at the mercer, who returned it)
— " and — ah, to be sure — and Walrus for bow-oar. Yes."
The proprietor of the Hierokosmion began to say that he
wasn't much of a hand at pulling, but was instantly cut short.
" Not pull ! " said Raffleton, with an expression of supreme
incredulity. " Do you mean for one moment to tell me that
that shirt, and those trowsers, and those pumps," (here he trod
heavily upon the last-mentioned articles,) " and those stockings,
haven't been used to pulling all their lives ? Oh ! come — that 's
too good. Come along — in with you — none of your modesty —
eh ? Not pull ! — that's capital. Come along*! "
The unfortunate man was immediately bundled into the boat
by Ravelall, the mercer, who seemed to have received private
orders to make him as miserable as possible ; and away went the
four-oar, Eden steering, and Raffleton sitting on six dozen of
champagne and a portable ice-house in the bows, and, as he
178 VINCENT EDEN.
said, looking out for rocks a-head, but in reality gloating with a
fiend-like satisfaction upon the evident anxiety of the would-be-
gentlemanly Walrus concerning the management of his oar.
First of all he struck himself a severe blow on the nose with it ;
and then somehow or other it would slip out of the rowlock, and
nearly drag him into the water after it; while, to make his
misery complete, the athletic mercer, who was a sort of Crichton
in Oxford, and could do everything better than anybody else,
gave a tremendously fast and fatiguing stroke, admirably fol-
lowed up by Messrs. Duffil and Dean, who both belonged to a
racing-boat ; and Raffleton, after searching through a provision-
basket, was busily engaged in painting a miniature representa-
tion of the interior of the Hierokosmion, in mustard, upon the
exterior of its proprietor's white trowsers, as he bobbed back-
wards and forwards. Every now and then the miserable man
caught a crab, and up went the patches of sticking-plaster into
the air, and down went his head into his tormentor's lap.
"Time!" shouted Raffleton, and "Time!" echoed Messrs.
Ravelall, Duffil, and Dean to the wretched Walrus, to whom
the voyage to Nuneham seemed a great deal more like a very
painful fore-glimmering of eternity.
On — on they went. — Iffley and Sandford, each in their turn
receded and disappeared from the seared and scorched eyesight
of the miserable man, till NunehairTs gay green shores, with
their rustic bowers and picturesque bridge, received the gliding
boat, and the unfortunate galley-slave was allowed at last to
throw himself upon the grass with a countenance tortured into
the fac-simile of a full-blown peony after a heavy shower, and
listen to Raffleton 's encomiums on the beauty o£ the day and
refreshing warmth of the sun, with sundry little parentheses as
to what a deal of good it would do, and how thankful they ought
to be for it. It might have been a mistake, too, — but Eden
certainly did fancy, as he assisted the waiters, who had preceded
them, in removing the cargo up the bank, that he heard some-
thing very like an actual and formal denunciation of the whole
" Brotherhood," and everything appertaining to them, issue
from the parched and panting lips of their prostrate and un-
grateful guest.
" Bill at three months, eh ? " muttered Raffleton, as he passed
the prostrate Walrus.
The arrival of the house-boat, and the landing of the " Bro-
thers," was hailed by the most tremendous shouts ; three musi-
cians, hired for the occasion, struck up a lively tune ; dinner
served up on a long range of tables on the lawn, and down they
sat, with the president at the head of the table, ably supported by
Mr. Richardson Lane at the other extremity, and the once more
mild and benevolent looking proprietor of the Hierokosmion
carefully encased, within drinking distance of everybody, be-
tween the jovial mercer and a tnree-bottle gentleman from Bra-
VINCENT EDEN. 17f)
zen-Nose, specially retained for the purpose, as Raffleton said, of
putting the Walrus into his native element, and seeing him half
seas over when he got there. Shortly after, every one seemed to be
seized with a violent desire to drink wine with him ; and, the effect
probably of his health being drunk so often, his benevolent face
began gradually to assume an aspect of the most roseate and sa-
lubrious hue. Meanwhile Mr. Duffil, who was seated next Eden,
began to compliment him on the manner in which he had steered
the boat.
" Oh, I 'm used to the water," said Eden ; "I live near the sea."
"This is your first term in Trinity," said Mr. Duffil, who was
also of that college. " I wish we had some more Freshmen like
you."
"Why? "asked Eden.
" You look very strong," remarked Mr. Duffil, answering his
question somewhat indirectly.
" I am, pretty well," said Eden, " thank you."
" I know you must be," was the rejoinder. " I saw you move
the college-roller in the garden yesterday."
Eden smiled. This was the identical college-roller for the
loan of which Mr. John Tomes had petitioned the Dean.
" Noble exercise boating," said Mr. Duffil. " Some cham-
pagne ? "
" With pleasure," said Eden. " It is a fine exercise."
" The honour of Trinity," said Mr. Duffil, who was getting
rather excited, — " the honour of Trinity must be maintained."
" Oh ! of course," said Eden, not exactly seeing how.
" Thews and sinews are the things," said Mr. Duffil, who re-
sembled a Hercules in white trowsers, minus his club.
" They are," said Eden, rather wondering what they were the
things for.
" Take another glass of champagne," said Mr. Duffil. " Would
— would you like to belong to our racing-boat ? "
" Oh ! " said Eden, beginning at last to understand. " I don't
know. I know nothing about your rules, — your system of
racing here, — your "
" Very simple," said Mr. Duffil. " You subscribe five pounds."
" Yes," said Eden. " Very simple that."
" You get up at five o'clock every morning, and practise
down to Iffley in a two-oar."
" Hem ! " said Eden, who, if the truth must be known, was
rather too fond of his bed for a hero.
" Then, in the evening you go down to Sandford in the regu-
lar racing-boat, play skittles, and come up again best pace," said
his informant.
" Ah ! " said Eden, " I see."
" The diet is the principal thing," said Mr. Duffil. "You are
fined a shilling every time you touch ice, or pastry, or drink
more than two glasses of wine."
180 VINCENT EDEN.
" Oh ! " said Eden, eyeing his friend's glass, and a large vase
of ice which had just been placed before him, alternately.
" And a guinea every time you speak to a pretty girl," said
Mr. Duffil.
" What's that for?" asked Eden.
" I don't know exactly,'1 said Mr. Duffil. " They say it tends
to — to make one effeminate, I believe."
" Ah I " said Eden. " I really— I don't think I should like
it much. I say, what 's going to be done ? " The cloth had been
removed, and the jolly mercer had been called upon for a song,
not in vain.
" I will give you, gentlemen," said Mr. Ravelall, if you will
allow me, one I had the honour of composing myself for the
gentlemen of a certain college, which shall be nameless, on the
occasion of their commons being somewhat unmercifully curtail-
ed by their head. It is called
"THE STARVED STUDENT'S STAVE.
" Oh ! feel you no shame, Mr. Dean,
For your pitiful ' Rules of Reduction ? '
Fire and famine ! it soon will be seen
That we can't live, like snipes, upon suction.
"Who can doubt but you like ' quantum sujf. ?'
And you have it, or else I 'm mistaken ;
Then, surely you should not speak gruff
Because gentlemen fry their own bacon ;
"Because noblemen gridirons keep,
A steak or a kidney to put on ;
Or, now and then ride over sheep,
Being compelled, sir, to kill their own mutton.
" Are we sent here apprenticed to cooks,
To learn to dress larks, or pluck pigeons?
How can we attend to our books
While dangling our woodcocks or widgeons ?
" As gentlemen, gentlemen treat ;
And you '11 never have reason to rue it;
But, in Heaven's name ! sir, give us more meat —
Or we '11 — yes, sir, you 'd better look to it.
" We '11 pull down old Wolsey, and stew him ;
Vi et armis the larder we '11 storm ;
We '11 appeal to some Rad — nor cease through him
To clamour for 'Victualling Reform."
" And, although we should fail in this measure,
Still no longer we '11 bow to your rod ;
For, we '11 e'en come it Nebuchadnezzar,
And eat all the grass in < Tom Quad.' "
Tumultuous cheers from the whole family of Brothers crown-
ed the conclusion of the merry mercer's endeavour to promote
the hilarity of the meeting ; in the midst of which the thin, shrill
treble of the by this time uproarious Walrus was distinctly
heard above the universal din.
" I say," screamed he, " I tell you what it is, Ravelall. If
you '11 just write me a bang-up puff about the Hierokosmion, to
VINCENT EDEN. 181
sing at public meetings, eh ! I wouldn't — no, that I wouldn't —
grudge finding you in the Irish labourer's dress, a stock, and a
pair of gaiters, gratis for nothing all the year round ; — eh ?
come, that 's fair : or, I wouldn't mind, if it couldn't be done
without, flinging you a flash cut-away coat in, with fly-away
flaps, and buttons — Lord bless you ! — as bang these here Brum-
magem concerns of the Brothers, or whatever they call them-
selves, all to bits — eh ? "
" Silence ! " shouted Ravelall, cramming both fists into the
open mouth of the obstreperous Walrus, who had long ago for-
gotten all that he ever knew about playing it gentlemanly ; and
" Silence ! " shouted the whole chorus of Brothers. The vice-
president was on his legs. He was proposing the health of their
inestimable but exiled president, John Raffleton, Esq., and his
speedy return.
Enthusiastically was that toast drunk, and majestically did
the subject thereof glance round the festive board, as, after a
glance expressive of supreme satisfaction at the rapid progress
which the Walrus was evidently making under the joint auspices
of the jovial mercer and his coadjutor from Brazen-Nose, he
slowly and solemnly rose to return thanks for the honour just
done him. He commenced by observing that hitherto, in ad-
dressing them, his feelings had ever been, like the champagne be-
fore them, unadulterated and sparkling. But, upon the present
occasion, the chalk of pain was mingled with the cream of plea-
sure— so much so that his sensations rather resembled the half-
and-half in which his friend, Mr. Walrus, had indulged at the
villages where theyshad halted on their voyage. (Several " Hear,
hears ! " and a particularly drunken one from Mr. Walrus.) And
how had that chalk been inserted ? By whom had that half-and-
half been compounded ? By one whose very name would cast a
cloud over their present happiness; by one whom he would
leave to the cries of his own conscience, and those of that innocent
babe, to whom, he trusted, he had by this time rendered the jus-
tice which was its due. That individual — he might be permitted
to say, that miscreant — had doomed him to a temporary exile
from the Brothers whom he had loved so long and so well. (Loud
groans and hisses.) It was not his intention to expatiate upon
the origin or merits of that festive and fraternal society, which
he now saw around him, he feared, for the last time. Everybody
knew, who knew anything at all, that, while there were Political
Clubs, Professional Clubs, Boating Clubs, Boxing Clubs, Sing-
ing Clubs, Archery Clubs, Military Clubs, and_ Naval Clubs, to
be met with in all directions, there was but one club which had
for its express aim and object, its sole and common bond of
union, it 's very essence of fraternity, the promotion of FUN !
(Tremendous cheering.) He called upon them all, as men and
brethren, to state whether, during the presidency of the unwor-
thy ("No ! no ! ") individual who now addressed them, the cause
182 VINCENT EDEN.
of "Fun" had, or had not, been promoted to the best of his
ability. It would be egotism on his part to recount the various
funny exploits which lie had, as a member of the brotherhood,
instigated, participated in, or performed. He would not pay so
poor a compliment to the memory of any individual present as to
suppose that he could by any possibility have forgotten the cele-
brated cracker case, (" Hear, hear !") when squibs were inserted in
the box intended for the reception of the Prize Poems; and the
Registrar of the University was thrown into fits, which lasted
ten days, in consequence. Neither could he imagine that that
njght — that memorable night — would ever fade from their me-
mories, when a chosen band of Brothers sallied forth with carv-
ing-knives from a late supper, scaled the school-railings, and
brouo-ht away the noses and whiskers of three out of the thir-
teen illustrious stone busts which surmounted them. The ab-
duction of the sign-board from the " Three Goats," and its subse-
quent elevation over the Vice-Chancellor's door, — was that a
thino- to be forgotten ? It was not : neither was the similar case
of the optician's sign ; the gigantic spectacles taken forcibly
from over the shop-door, and adapted, he might say, by his par-
ticular request, to the large metal proboscis which looked down
from the gates of Brazen-Nose College. In all these feats,
trifling as they might be, he might without vanity be permitted
to remind them that he, as their president, as their elder brother,
had played a prominent part. (Here the applause became per-
fectly frightful.) He trusted that, ere he that night left them, he
should be enabled to show them yet more fun. The painful
part of his duty now remained for him to discharge. He must
resign that post, which would ever be cherished by him in me-
mory as a sign-post which pointed back to the blissful days
which he had spent among them.
The orator concluded by proposing Mr. Richardson Lane, of
Trinity, as their future president, and Mr. Fluke, of Christ
Church, as vice-president ; and, the motion being carried unani-
mously and univocally, sat down, covered with applause and
perspiration.
Here a somewhat inebriated Brother rose to propose the
rather curious toast of " The health of that sporting gentleman,
the Archbishop of York, who kindly permits his grounds to
be devoted to such jolly meetings as the present." This being
drunk, another, and still more inebriated Brother, suggested the
propriety of the admission of the statues of Cain and Abel in
the Brazen-Nose quadrangle as honorary members of the Bro-
thers' Club. This was, however, overruled by the new Presi-
dent whose health followed, backed by a long and somewhat
inarticulate speech ; after which the Brothers got rather noisy,
and gradually deserted their seats to join in the classical games
of leap-frog and foot-racing. And a truly edifying spectacle it
was to see the mild, the philanthropic Walrus knuckling down
for everybody, knocked down by everybody, and picked up by
VINCENT EDEN. 183
Ravelall on purpose to be knocked down as soon as anybody
was ready at the former of those noble pastimes.
At last, to Eden's unspeakable delight, Raffleton proposed
that they should mount the two jaded wretches of quadrupeds
who had dragged the house-boat, and revive the tilts and tour-
naments of bygone days. This device was, it is needless to say,
specially designed for the further torture of the unsuspecting
Walrus ; who, accordingly, being a great deal too far gone to
make any resistance, was speedily equipped in a table-cloth for
a mantle, a boat-hook for a lance, and a dish- cover tied on his
head with a handkerchief for a helmet. He was then placed,
forthwith, upon the worst horse, and ridden at by Raffleton with
another boat-hook on the other animal, for the space of a quar-
ter of an hour, at the rate of two severe pokes with the boat-
hook and one tumble per minute, to the excessive gratification
of the Brothers assembled, — particularly those who owed him
anything.
" Bill at three months, eh ? " said Raffleton, as he helped to
pick him up for the last time.
Evening closed in upon the frolicsome festivities of the Bro-
thers ; the hour for parting arrived ; the house-boat was, after
considerable difficulty in collecting straggling members of the
fraternity, once more manned ; the four-oar fastened astern ;
the three musicians installed upon the roof, and a merry tune
struck up for the more lively of the Brothers to dance to ; while
Messrs. Raffleton, Richardson Lane, and Duffil sat down to play
whist with a " Dummy " below. This amusement, however,
they were shortly compelled to abandon, in consequence of Mr.
Lane's manifesting a strange disposition to kick the aforesaid
"Dummy" under the table for not playing right, as he said;
and, failing in discovering the exact pair of legs belonging to that
much calumniated gentleman, kicking all those that he could
find instead.
Night came on before they reached Oxford ; but there was a
moon for those on deck, and a lamp, which shone dimly down
upon the cabin-table, shone also down upon three figures. One
of these was passive, being extended at full length upon the
table with his eyes closed and his mouth open. The other two
were anxiously inspecting him.
" He 's sound asleep at lust," whispered one of them. It was
the jovial mercer.
" I see," was the answer. " Hush ! I think it will do now."
And Raffleton, for he it was, went cautiously towards a little
cupboard. When he returned to the table, one "hand held a large
iron pot, full of something which smelt uncommonly like tar,
and the other a small canvass-bag.
" Now then," whispered Raffleton. " Gently !"
So soundly did their victim slumber, — so well had the cham-
pagne done its work, — that not a quiver of the limbs, not a mur-
mur of the lips escaped from the lifeless-looking mass of human-
184 VINCENT EDEN.
ity, till a layer of tar, and a thick sprinkling of feathers, had so
diso-uised that once mild and benevolent countenance, that an
ormthologist would have hailed it as a most felicitous and full-
grown specimen of an hitherto undiscovered tribe of owls.
" Bill at three months, eh ? " said the late president of the
Brothers' Club, hardly able to restrain himself and Ravelall
from shouting aloud in their glee.
" This is delicious," said the mercer. " Hush ! he'll awake."
The fear was vain. The eyes opened once, but the Walrus saw
not out of them ; champagne was over all his faculties, — he was
insensible.
As the clocks gave out the last quarter to eleven, a long pro-
cession might have been seen proceeding through several by-
lanes in the direction of College. It was not exactly the
shortest way that they took ; but it was the quietest. There
was no policeman in their route.
The four first and steadiest of the procession bore a man's
body and an owl's head along upon their shoulders. At the gate
of the College these four halted, set the figure upon its legs,
threw a handkerchief over his head, knocked, entered unchal-
lenged by the porter, and halted once more at a door on the
ground-floor. The rest of the procession remained outside the
gates.
The handkerchief was removed, — the figure placed upon its
knees at the door, — a tremendous series of knocks given, — and a
retreat effected to their companions outside the gate.
That knock was no common knock. He who heard it had
been used to knocks of all kinds. The cunning single knock of
a dun had been familiar to him of yore, — the timid double
knock of an undergraduate was his daily delight, — but he had
never heard such a knocking as this ! He was undressing, but
he rushed out.
To have seen the Reverend Burnaby Birch at any time would
have been a treat, — to have seen him in a flannel waistcoat,
flannel dressing-gown, and flannel drawers a great treat ; but to
have seen him, as he now stood, with the face of astonishment
which crowned those articles of clothing, would have been a
treat far greater than either.
There was a pause. The Reverend Burnaby was trying to
remember which it was,— Guy Faux Day, or the First of May.
Neither Guy Faux nor the chimney-sweepers wore feathers on
their face — it could be neither. In speechless horror he gazed
on the prostrate figure before him, who had fallen off his knees
on his head, where he lay face upwards.
" Who — what — are you ? " said the reverend gentleman, hav-
ing ascertained that the figure did not bite.
No answer, — and a tremendous shake from the interrogator.
" Who are you ? " roared he.
** Hier — Hiero — " came faintly from the feathers.
" Who 's Hiero ? " said the Reverend Burnaby.
RECOLLECTIONS OF THE ALHAMBRA. 185
' Kos — kosmion," said the feathers.
' Eh ? " screamed the Proctor.
< Bro — brothers," in-articulated the feathers.
1 What 's your name ? " shrieked the Reverend Burnaby.
' It 's — it 's on — my shirt," was the interesting and indistinct reply.
The Reverend Burnaby grew furious. It must be another practi-
cal joke of the departed and distinguished foreigners. He rushed to
the opposite door, knocked the Reverend James Smiler up, and held
a consultation over him of the feathers.
At last an undergraduate who was passing by, amid screams of
laughter, recognised the proprietor of the Hierokosmion.
The Reverend James Smiler first said " Good Heavens ! " and then
thought it would be best to take him home. Accordingly they sum-
moned the only scout not gone out of College, and dragged their half
insensible burthen up the High Street. The door opened, and a fe-
male mouth with it ; there was a fearful scream, and the talons of the
female Walrus were imbedded in the cheeks of the Reverend Burnaby
Birch.
" Stand — stand off, woman ! " roared the Reverend Burnaby.
" Murder ! " screamed the Reverend James Smiler.
" I '11 murder everybody ! " burst from the feminine fury.
" Hurrah ! " said the undergraduate, pulling at the gown of the
virago.
" Who did it ? " shouted Mrs. Walrus.
" I 'm the Proctor ! " screamed Burnaby.
The light fell upon the velvet sleeves — he was the Proctor. In an
instant his assailant fell off, cried out for pardon, caressed the fea-
thers, and sobbed unceasingly.
From the yard of the Mitre, about twenty individuals witnesses
the whole transaction. They saw also that the conflicting parties ap-
peared to part amicably at last ; and as soon as they saw this, and the
door was closed upon the feathers, a triumphant laugh broke from
them. It is supposed from this, and from the additional circum-
stance of one of the party taking a most affectionate leave of them at
the Angel, from his inquiring for sundry articles of luggage and
clothing which had been sent there some time before, from his
shortly after ascending the box of the London and Worcester mail,
as well as from the words, " Bill at three months, eh ? " which escaped
him as he did so, — that those twenty individuals composed the Bro-
thers' Club, and that the passenger to London was no other than
their rusticated president.
RECOLLECTIONS OF THE ALHAMBRA.
BY THE AUTHOR OF THE SKETCH-BOOK.
DURING a summer's residence in the old Moorish palace of the
Alhambra, of which I have already given numerous anecdotes to the
public, I used to pass much of my time in the beautiful hall of the
Abencerrages, beside the fountain celebrated in the tragic story of
that devoted race. Here it was that thirty-six cavaliers of that he-
roic line were treacherously sacrificed, to appease the jealousy or
allay the fears of a tyrant. The fountain, which now throws up its
sparkling jet, and sheds a dewy freshness around, ran red with
186 RECOLLECTIONS OF THE ALHAMBRA.
the noblest blood of Granada ; and a deep stain on the marble pave-
ment is still pointed out by the cicerones of the pile, as a san-
guinary record of the massacre. I have regarded it with the same
determined faith with which I have regarded the traditional stains of
Rizzio's blood on the floor of the chamber of the unfortunate Mary,
at Holyrood. I thank no one for endeavouring to enlighten my cre-
dulity on such points of popular belief. It is like breaking up the
shrine of the pilgrim ; it is robbing a poor traveller of half the re-
ward of his toils ; for, strip travelling of its historical illusions, and
what a mere fag you make of it !
For my part, I gave myself up during my sojourn in the Alham-
bra, to all the romantic and fabulous traditions connected with the
pile. I lived in the midst of an Arabian tale, and shut my eyes as
much as possible to everything that called me back to every-day
life ; and, if there is any country in Europe where one can do so, it
is in poor, wild, legendary, proud-spirited, romantic Spain, where
the old magnificent barbaric spirit still contends against the utilitari-
anism of modern civilization.
In the silent and deserted halls of the Alhambra, surrounded with
the insignia of regal sway, and the still vivid though dilapidated
traces of oriental voluptuousness, I was in the stronghold of Moorish
story, and everything spoke and breathed of the glorious days of
Granada when under the dominion of the crescent. When I sat in
the hall of the Abencerrages, I suffered my mind to conjure up all
that I had read of that illustrious line. In the proudest days of Mos-
lem domination, the Abencerrages were the soul of everything noble
and chivalrous. The veterans of the family, who sat in the royal
council, were the foremost to devise those heroic enterprises which
carried dismay into the territories of the Christians ; and what the
sages of the family devised, the young men of the name were the
foremost to execute. In all services of hazard, in all adventurous
forays and hair-breadth hazards, the Abencerrages were sure to win
the brightest laurels. In those noble recreations, too, which bear so
close an affinity to war, — in the tilt and tourney, the riding at the ring,
and the daring bull-fight, — still the Abencerrages carried off the palm.
None could equal them for the splendour of their array, the gallantry
of their devices ; for their noble bearing and glorious horsemanship.
Their open-handed munificence made them the idols of the populace,
while their lofty magnanimity and perfect faith gained them golden
opinions from the generous and high-minded. Never were they
known to decry the merits of a rival, or to betray the confidings of a
friend ; and the " word of an Abencerrage " was a guarantee that
never admitted of a doubt.
And then their devotion to the fair ! Never did Moorish beauty
consider the fame of her charms established until she had an Abencer-
rage for a lover ; and never did an Abencerrage prove recreant to his
vows. Lovely Granada ! City of delights ! Who ever bore the
favours of thy dames more proudly on their casques, or championed
them more gallantly in the chivalrous tilts of the Vivarambla ? Or
who ever made thy moon-lit balconies, thy gardens of myrtles and
ro?es, of oranges, citrons, and pomegranates, respond to more tender
serenades ?
I speak with enthusiasm on this theme ; for it is connected with
the recollection of one of the sweetest evenings and sweetest scenes
THE ABENCERRAGE. 187
that ever I enjoyed in Spain. One of the greatest pleasures of the
Spaniards is, to sit in the beautiful summer evenings, and listen to
traditional ballads and tales about the wars of the Moors and Chris-
tians, and the " buenas andanzas " and " grandcs hechos," the " good
fortunes" and "great exploits" of the hardy warriors of yore. It is
worthy of remark, also, that many of these songs, or romances, as
they are called, celebrate the prowess and magnanimity in war, and
the tenderness and fidelity in love, of the Moorish cavaliers, once
their most formidable and hated foes. But centuries have elapsed to
extinguish the bigotry of the zealot ; and the once detested warriors
of Granada are now held up by Spanish poets as the mirrors of
chivah-ic virtue.
Such was the amusement of the evening in question. A number of
us were seated in the Hall of the Abencerrages, listening to one of the
most gifted and fascinating beings that I had ever met with in my
wanderings. She was young and beautiful ; and light and ethereal ;
full of fire, and spirit, and pure enthusiasm. She wore the fanciful
Andalusian dress ; touched the guitar with speaking eloquence ; im-
provised with wonderful facility ; and, as she became excited by her
theme, or by the rapt attention of her auditors, would pour forth in
the richest and most melodious strains a succession of couplets full
of striking description or stirring narration, and composed, as I was
assured, at the moment. Most of these were suggested by the place,
and related to the ancient glories of Granada, and the prowess of her
chivalry. The Abencerrages were her favourite heroes ; she felt a
woman's admiration of their gallant courtesy and high-souled ho-
nour; and it was touching and inspiring to hear the praises of that
generous but devoted race chaunted in this fated hall of their cala-
mity by the lips of Spanish beauty.
Among the subjects of which she treated was a tale of Moslem
honour, and old-fashioned Spanish courtesy, which made a strong
impression on me. She disclaimed all merit of invention, however,
and said she had merely dilated into verse a popular tradition ; and,
indeed, I have since found the main facts inserted at the end of
Conde's History of the Domination of the Arabs, and the story itself
embodied in the form of an episode in the Diana of Montemayor. From
these sources I have drawn it forth, and endeavoured to shape it ac-
cording to my recollection of the version of the beautiful minstrel ; hut
alas ! what can supply the want of that voice, that look, that form, that
action, which gave magical effect to her chaunt, and held every one rapt
in breathless admiration ! Should this mere travesty of her inspired
numbers ever meet her eye in her stately abode at Granada, may it
meet with that indulgence which belongs to her benignant nature.
Happy should I be if it could awaken in her bosom one kind recollec-
tion of the lonely stranger and sojourner for whose gratification she did
not think it beneath her to exert those fascinating powers which were
the delight of brilliant circles ; and who will ever recall with enthusi-
asm the happy evening passed in listening to her stcains in the moon-
lit halls of the Alhambra.
GEOFFREY CRAYON.
THE ABENCERRAGE.— A SPANISH TALE.
On the summit of a craggy hill, a spur of the mountains of Ronda,
stands the castle of Allora, now a mere ruin, infested bv bats and
188 RECOLLECTIONS OF THE ALHAMBRA.
owlets, but in old times one of the strong border holds of the Chris-
tians, to keep watch upon the frontiers of the warlike kingdom of
Granada, and to hold the Moors in check. It was a post always con-
fided to some well-tried commander ; and, at the time of which we
treat, was held by Rodrigo de Narvaez, a veteran famed both among
Moors and Christians, not only for his hardy feats of arms, but also for
that magnanimous courtesy which should ever be entwined with the
sterner virtues of the soldier.
The castle of Allora was a mere part of his command ; he was
Alcayde, or military governor of Antiquera, but he passed most of his
time at this frontier post, because its situation on the borders gave
more frequent opportunity for those adventurous exploits which were
the delight of the Spanish chivalry. His garrison consisted of fifty
chosen cavaliers, all well mounted and well appointed; with these he
kept vigilant watch upon the Moslems, patrolling the roads, and paths,
and defiles of the mountains, so that nothing could escape his eye ; and
now and then signalizing himself by some dashing foray into the very
Vega of Granada.
On a fair and beautiful night in summer, when the freshness of the
evening breeze had tempered the heat of day, the worthy Alcayde sallied
forth, with nine of his cavaliers, to patrol the neighbourhood, and seek
adventures. They rode quietly and cautiously, lest they should be
overheard by Moorish scout or traveller ; and kept along ravines and
hollow ways, lest they should be betrayed by the glittering of the full
moon upon their armour. Coming to where the road divided, the Al-
cayde directed five of his cavaliers to take one of the branches, while
he, with the remaining four, would take the other. Should either
party be in danger, the blast of a horn was to be the signal to bring their
comrades to their aid.
The party of five had not proceeded far, when, in passing through a
defile overhung with trees, they heard the voice of a man singing.
They immediately concealed themselves in a grove on the brow of a de-
clivity, up which the stranger would have to ascend. The moonlight,
which left the grove in deep shadow, lit up the whole person of the
wayfarer as he advanced, and enabled them to distinguish his dress and
appearance with perfect accuracy. He was a Moorish cavalier ; and his
noble demeanour, graceful carriage, and splendid attire, showed him to
be of lofty rank. He was superbly mounted on a dapple-grey steed, of
powerful frame and generous spirit, and magnificently caparisoned. His
dress was a marlota, or tunic, and an albernoz of crimson damask,
fringed with gold. His Tunisian turban, of many folds, was of silk
and cotton striped, and bordered with golden fringe. At his girdle
hung a scimitar of Damascus steel, with loops and tassels of silk and
gold. On his left arm he bore an ample target, and his right hand
grasped a long double-pointed lance. Thus equipped, he sat negli-
gently on his steed, as one who dreamed of no danger, gazing on the
moon, and singing, with a sweet and manly voice, a Moorish love-
ditty.
Just opposite the place where the Spanish cavaliers were concealed,
was a small fountain in the rock, beside the road, to which the horse
turned to drink ; the rider threw the reins on his neck, and continued
his song.
The Spanish cavaliers conferred together ; they were all so pleased
with the gallant and gentle appearance of the Moor that they resolved
TH£ ABENCERHAGE. 189
not to harm, but to capture him, which, in his negligent mood, pro
raised to be an easy task ; rushing, therefore, from their concealment,
they thought to surround and seize him. Never were men more mis-
taken. To gather up his reins, wheel round his steed, brace his buck-
ler, and couch his lance, was the work of an instant ; and there he sat,
fixed like a castle in his saddle, beside the fountain.
The Christian cavaliers checked their steeds, and reconnoitred him
warily, loath to come to an encounter which must end in his de-
struction.
The Moor now held a parley: " If you be true knights," said he,
" and seek for honourable fame, come on singly, and I am ready to meet
each in succession; but, if you be mere lurkers of the road, intent on
spoil, come all at once, and do your worst ! "
The cavaliers communed for a moment apart, when one, advancing
singly, exclaimed : "Although no law of chivalry obliges us to risk the
loss of a prize when clearly in our power, yet we willingly grant, as a
courtesy, what we might refuse as a right. Valiant Moor ! defend
thyself!"
So saying, he wheeled, took proper distance, couched his lance, and,
putting spurs to his horse, made at the stranger. The latter met him
in mid career, transpierced him with his lance, and threw him head-
long from his saddle. A second and a third succeeded, but were un-
horsed with equal facility, and thrown to the earth, severely wounded.
The remaining two, seeing their comrades thus roughly treated, forgot
all compact of courtesy, and charged both at once upon the Moor. He
parried the thrust of one, but was wounded by the other in the thigh,
and, in the shock and confusion, dropped his lance. Thus disarmed,
and closely pressed, he pretended to riy, and was hotly pursued.
Having drawn the two cavaliers some distance from the spot, he sud-
denly wheeled short about, with one of those dexterous movements for
which the Moorish horsemen were renowned ; passed swiftly between
them, swung himself down from his saddle, so as to catch up his lance;
then, lightly replacing himself, turned to renew the combat.
Seeing him thus fresh for the encounter, as if just issued from his
tent, one of the cavaliers put his lips to his horn, and blew a blast that
soon brought the Alcayde and his four companions to the spot.
The valiant Narvaez, seeing three of his cavaliers extended on the
earth, and two others hotly engaged with the Moor, was struck with
admiration, and coveted a contest with so accomplished a warrior. In-
terfering in the fight, he called upon his followers to desist, and, ad-
dressing the Moor with courteous words, invited him to a more equal
combat. The latter readily accepted the challenge. For some time
their contest was fierce and doubtful, and the Alcayde had need
of all his skill and strength to ward off the blows of his antagonist.
The Moor, however, was exhausted by previous fighting, and byloss of
blood. He no longer sat his horse firmly, nor managed him with his
wonted skill. Collecting all his strength for a last assault, he rose in
his stirrups, and made a violent thrust with his lance; the Alcayde
received it upon his shield, and at the same time wounded the Moor
in the right arm ; then, closing in the shock, he grasped him in his
arms, dragged him from his saddle, and fell with him to the earth :
when, putting his knee upon his breast, and his dagger to his throat,
" Cavalier ! " exclaimed he, " render thyself my prisoner, for thy life is
in my hands ! "
VOL. vi. p
190 RECOLLECTIONS OF THE ALHAMBRA.
« Kill me rather," replied the Moor, " for death would be less griev-
ous than loss of liberty."
The Alcayde, however, with the clemency of the truly brave, as-
sisted the Moor to rise, ministered to his wounds with his own hands,
and had him conveyed with great care to the castle of Allora. His
wounds were slight, and in a few days were nearly cured ; but the
deepest wound had been inflicted on his spirit. He was constantly
buried in a profound melancholy.
The Alcayde, who had conceived a great regard for him, treated
him more as a friend than a captive, and tried in every way to cheer
him, but in vain ; he was always sad and moody, and, when on the
battlements of the castle, would keep his eyes turned to the south,
with a iixed and wistful gaze.
" How is this ? " exclaimed the Alcayde, reproachfully, " that you,
who were so hardy and fearless in the field, should lose all spirit in
prison ? If any secret grief preys on your heart, confide it to me as
to a friend, and I promise you, on the faith of a cavalier, that you
shall have no cause to repent the disclosure."
The Moorish knight kissed the hand of the Alcayde. " Noble
cavalier," said he, " that I am cast down in spirit is not from my
wounds, which are slight ; nor from my captivity, for your kindness
has robbed it of all gloom ; nor from my defeat, for to be conquered
by so accomplished and renowned a cavalier is no disgrace. But, to
explain to you the cause of my grief, it is necessary to give you
some particulars of my story ; and this I am moved to do by the
great sympathy you have manifested toward me, and the magnani-
mity that shines through all your actions.
" Know, then, that my name is Abendaraez, and that I am of the
noble but unfortunate line of the Abencerrages of Granada. You
have doubtless heard of the destruction that fell upon our race.
Charged with treasonable designs, of which they were entirely inno-
cent, many of them were beheaded, the rest banished ; so that not an
Abencerrage was permitted to remain in Granada, excepting my
father and my uncle, whose innocence was proved, even to the sa-
tisfaction of their persecutors. It was decreed, however, that,
should they have children, the sons should be educated at a dis-
tance from Granada, and the daughters should be married out of the
kingdom.
" Conformably to this decree, I was sent, while yet an infant, to
be reared in the fortress of Cartama, the worthy Alcayde of which
was an ancient friend of my father. He had no children, and re-
ceived me into his family as his own child, treating me with the
kindness and affection of a father, and I grew up in the belief that he
really was such. A few years afterwards his wife gave birth to a
daughter ; but his tenderness towards me continued undiminished.
I thus grew up with Xarisa, for so the infant daughter of the Alcayde
was called, as her own brother, and thought the growing passion
which I felt for her was mere fraternal affection. I beheld her
charms unfolding, as it were, leaf by leaf, like the morning rose, each
moment disclosing fresh beauty and sweetness.
" At this period I overheard a conversation between the Alcayde
and his confidential domestic, and found myself to be the subject.
' It is time/ said he, ' to apprise him of his parentage, that he may
adopt a career in life. I have deferred the communication as long
THE ABENCERRAGE. 191
as possible, through reluctance to inform him that he is of a pro-
scribed and an unlucky race.'
" This intelligence would have overwhelmed me at an earlier
period ; but the intimation that Xarisa was riot my sister operated
like magic, and in an instant transformed my brotherly affection into
ardent love.
" I sought Xarisa, to impart to her the secret I had learned. I
found her in the garden, in a bower of jessamines, arranging her
beautiful hair by the mirror of a crystal fountain. The radiance of
her beauty dazzled me. I ran to her with open arms, and she
received me with a sister's embraces. When we had seated ourselves
beside the fountain, she began to upbraid me for leaving her so long
alone.
l< In reply, I informed her of the conversation I had overheard.
The recital shocked and distressed her. ( Alas ! ' cried she, ' then is
our happiness at an end ! '
" ' How ! ' exclaimed I, < wilt thou cease to love me, because I am
not thy brother ? '
" ' Not so/ replied she; ' but do you not know that when it is
once known we are not brother and sister, we can no longer be per-
mitted to be thus always together ? '
" In fact, from that moment our intercourse took a new character.
We met often at the fountain among the jessamines ; but Xarisa no
longer advanced with open arms to meet me. She became reserved
and silent, and would blush, and cast down her eyes, when I seat-
ed myself beside her. My heart became a prey to the thousand
doubts and fears that ever attend upon true love. I was restless and
uneasy, and looked back with regret to the unreserved intercourse
that had existed between us, when we supposed ourselves brother
and sister ; yet I would not have had the relationship true for the
world.
" While matters were in this state between us, an order came from
the king of Granada for the Alcayde to take command of the for-
tress of Coyn, which lies directly on the Christian frontier. He
prepared to remove with all his family, but signified that I should
remain at Cartama. I exclaimed against the separation, and declared
that I could not be parted from Xarisa. ' That is the very cause,'
said he, ' why I leave thee behind. It is time, Abendaraez, that
thou shouldest know the secret of thy birth, — that thou art no son of
mine, neither is Xarisa thy sister.' — ' I know it all ! ' exclaimed I,
' and I love her with tenfold the affection of a brother. You have
brought us up together ; you have made us necessary to each
other's happiness; our hearts have entwined themselves with our
growth ; do not now tear them asunder. Fill up the measure of
your kindness; be indeed a father to me, by giving me Xarisa
for my wife.'
" The brow of the Alcayde darkened as I spoke. ' Have I then
been deceived ? ' said he. ' Have those nurtured m my very bosom
been conspiring against me? Is this your return for my paternal
tenderness ? — to beguile the affections of my child, and teach her to
deceive her father ? It was cause enough to refuse thee the hand of
my daughter that thou wert of a proscribed race, who can never
approach the walls of Granada. This, however, I might have passed
p 2
19£ RECOLLECTIONS OF THE ALHAMBRA.
over ; but never will I give my daughter to a man who has endea-
voured to win her from me by deception.'
" All mv attempts to vindicate myself and Xarisa were unavailing.
I retired in anguish from his presence, and, seeking Xarisa,, told her
of this blow, which was worse than death to me. ' Xarisa,' said I,
' we part for ever ! I shall never see thee more ! Thy father will
o-uard thee rigidly. Thy beauty and his wealth will soon attract
some happier rival, and I shall be forgotten ! '
" Xarisa reproached me with my want of faith, and promised me
eternal constancy. I still doubted and desponded, until, moved by
my anguish and despair, she agreed to a secret union. Our espousals
made, \ve parted, with a promise on her part to send me word from
Coyn, should her father absent himself from the fortress. The very
day after our secret nuptials, I beheld the whole train of the Alcayde
depart from Cartama; nor would he admit me to his presence, or
permit me to bid farewell to Xarisa. I remained at Cartama, some-
what pacified in spirit by this secret bond of union ; but everything
around me fed my passion, and reminded me of Xarisa. I saw the
windows at which 1 had so often beheld her. I wandered through
the apartment she had inhabited, the chamber in which she had
slept. I visited the bower of jessamines, and lingered beside the
fountain in which she had delighted. Everything recalled her to
my imagination, and filled my heart with tender melancholy.
"At length a confidential servant brought me word that her father
was to depart that day for Granada on a short absence, inviting me
to hasten to Coyn, describing a secret portal at which I should apply,
and the signal by which I would obtain admittance.
" If ever you have loved, most valiant Alcayde, you may judge of
the transport of my bosom. That very night I arrayed myself in
my most gallant attire, to pay due honour to my bride, and arming
myself against any casual attack, issued forth privately from Cartama.
You know the rest, and by what sad fortune of war I "found myself,
instead of a happy bridegroom in the nuptial bower of Coyn, van-
quished, wounded, and a prisoner, within the walls of Allora. The
term of absence of the father of Xarisa is nearly expired. Within
three days he will return to Coyn, and our meeting will no longer
be possible. Judge, then, whether I grieve without cause, and
whether I may not well be excused for showing impatience under
confinement."
Don Rodrigo de Narvaez was greatly moved by this recital ; for,
though more used to rugged war than scenes of amorous softness, he
was of a kind and generous nature.
" Abendaraez," said he, " I did not seek thy confidence to gratify
an idle curiosity. It grieves me much that the good fortune which
delivered thee into my hands should have marred so fair an enter-
prise. Give me thy faith as a true knight to return prisoner to my
castle within three days, and I will grant thee permission to accom-
plish thy nuptials."
The Abencerrage would have thrown himself at his feet to pour
out protestations of eternal gratitude, but the Alcayde prevented
him. Calling in his cavaliers, he took the Abencerrage by the right
hand in their presence, exclaiming solemnly, « You promise, on the
faith of a cavalier, to return to my castle of Allora within three days,
and render yourself my prisoner? " And the Abencerrao-e said " I
promise."
THE ABENCERRAGE. 193
Then said the Alcayde, " Go ! and may good fortune attend you !
If you require any safeguard, I and my cavaliers are ready to be
your companions. '
The Abencerrage kissed the hand of the Alcayde in grateful ac-
knowledgment. " Give me," said he, " my own armour and my
steed, and I require no guard. It is not likely that I shall again
meet with so valorous a foe."
The shades of night had fallen when the tramp of the dapple grey
steed resounded over the draw-bridge, and immediately afterwards
the light clatter of hoofs along the road bespoke the neetness with
which the youthful lover hastened to his bride. It Avas deep night
when the Moor arrived at the castle of Coyn. He silently and cau-
tiously walked his panting steed under its dark Avails, and, having
nearly passed round them, came to the portal denoted by Xarisa.
He paused and looked round to see that he Avas not observed, and
then knocked three times with the butt of his lance. In a little while
the portal was timidly unclosed by the duenna of Xarisa. " Alas !
senor," said she, " what has detained you thus long? Every night
have I watched for you, and my lady is sick at heart with doubt and
anxiety."
The Abencerrage hung his lance, and shield, and scimitar against
the wall, and then folloAved the duenna with silent steps up a winding
staircase to the apartment of Xarisa. Vain would be the attempt to
describe the raptures of that meeting. Time fle\v too SAviftly, and
the Abencerrage had nearlv7 forgotten until too late his promise to
return a prisoner to the Alcayde of Allora. The recollection of it
came to him with a pang, and suddenly aAvoke him from his dream
of bliss. Xarisa saw his altered looks, and heard with alarm his
stifled sighs ; but her countenance brightened when she heard the
cause. " Let not thy spirit be cast down," said she, throwing her
white arms around him. " I have the keys of my father's treasures;
send ransom more than enough to satisfy the Christian, and remain
with me."
" No/' said Abendaraez, " I have given my word to return in
person, and, like a true knight, must fulfil my promise. After that,
fortune must do Avith me as it pleases."
" Then," said Xarisa, " I will accompany thee. Never shall you
return a prisoner, and I remain at liberty."
The Abencerrage was transported Avith joy at this new proof of
devotion in his beautiful bride. All preparations were speedily
made for their departure. Xarisa mounted behind the Moor on his
powerful steed ; they left the castle walls before day-break, nor did
they pause until they arrived at the gate of the castle of Allora,
which Avas flung wide to receive them.
Alighting in the court, the Abencerrage supported the steps of his
trembling bride, who remained closely veiled, into the presence of
Rodrigo de Narvaez. " Behold, valiant Alcayde," said he, " the way
in which an Abencerrage keeps his word. I promised to return to
thee a prisoner, but I deliver two captives into your power. Behold
Xarisa, and judge whether I grieved without reason over the loss of
such a treasure. Receive us as your OAvn, for I confide my life and
her honour to your hands."
The Alcayde was lost in admiration of the beauty of the lady, and
the noble spirit of the Moor. " I know not," said he, " which of
you surpasses the other ; but I know that my castle is graced and
194 RECOLLECTIONS OF THE ALHAMBRA.
honoured by your presence. Enter into it, and consider it your own
while you deign to reside with me."
For several days the lovers remained at Allora, happy in each
other's love, and in the friendship of the brave Alcayde. The latter
wrote a letter full of courtesy to the Moorish king of Granada, relat-
ing the whole event, extolling the valour and good faith of the Aben-
cerrage, and craving for him the royal countenance.
The king was moved by the story, and was pleased with an op-
portunity of showing attention to the wishes of a gallant and chival-
rous enemy ; for though he had often suffered from the prowess of
Don Rodrigo de Narvaez, he admired the heroic character he had
gained throughout the land. Calling the Alcayde of Coyn into his
presence, he gave him the letter to read. The Alcayde turned pale,
and trembled with rage on the perusal. " Restrain thine anger,"
said the king ; " there is nothing that the Alcayde of Allora could
ask that I Avould not grant, if in my power. Go thou to Allora ;
pardon thy children ; take them to thy home. I receive this Aben-
cerrage into my favour, and it will be my delight to heap benefits
upon you all."
The kindling ire of the Alcayde was suddenly appeased. He
hastened to Allora, and folded his children to his bosom, who would
have fallen at his feet. The gallant Rodrigo de Narvaez gave liberty
to his prisoner without ransom, demanding merely a promise of his
friendship. He accompanied the youthful couple and their father to
Coyn, where their nuptials were celebrated with great rejoicings.
When the festivities were over, Don Rodrigo de Narvaez returned
to his fortress of Allora.
After his departure, the Alcayde of Coyn addressed his children :
" To your hands," said he, " I confide the disposition of my wealth.
One of the first things I charge you, is not to forget the ransom you
owe to the Alcayde of Allora. His magnanimity you can never
repay, but you can prevent it from wronging him of his just dues.
Give him, moreover, your entire friendship ; for he merits it fully,
though of a different faith."
The Abencerrage thanked him for his generous proposition, which
so truly accorded with his own wishes. He took a large sum of gold,
and inclosed it in a rich coffer, and, on his own part, sent six beau-
tiful horses, superbly caparisoned, with six shields and lances,
mounted and embossed with gold. The beautiful Xarisa at the same
time wrote a letter to the Alcayde, filled with expressions of grati-
tude and friendship ; and sent him a box of fragrant cypress wood,
containing linen of the finest quality for his person. The valiant
Alcayde disposed of the present in a characteristic manner. The
horses and armour he shared among the cavaliers who had accom-
panied him on the night of the skirmish. The box of cypress wood
and its contents he retained for the sake of the beautiful Xarisa, and
sent her by the hands of the messenger the sum of gold paid as a
ransom, entreating her to receive it as a wedding present. This
courtesy and magnanimity raised the character of the Alcayde Ro-
drigo de Narvaez still higher in the estimation of the Moors, who
extolled him as a perfect mirror of chivalric virtue ; and from that
time forward there was a continual exchange of good offices between
them.
195
LEGENDS OF THE LOCHS AND GLENS.— No. II.
COMMUNICATED BY THE AUTHOR OF " THE ONLY DAUGHTER."
THE PHANTOM FUNERAL.
AT the distance of several miles from the scene which in a former
legend we described, there is a winding passage through the hills,
which leads to a very narrow and precipitous defile, called Glenshee,
or Glensheich, — that is to say, the Valley of Spirits. The glen itself
is formed by the bases of the mountains, which fall, many of them,
in a sharp declivity, for several hundred feet, and is in its gorge
filled with the waters of a small dark lake, over which no ray
of sunshine has ever been known to shed a character of gladness.
Along its farther margin there occur here and there nooks or corners
of table-land. Narrow they are, and always of a grotesque forma-
tion ; for the hills are peculiarly wild and sterile in their character,
inasmuch as a shelving mass of debris is the only surface which
many of them present, while others are composed entirely of broken
and rugged rocks. Yet, although narrow, there was a time when
one, and not the broadest, of these table-lands sustained a hearth
round which a poor but honest family were wont to assemble. The
hut which contained that hearth was indeed of the very humblest
order. It lay beneath the shelter of the precipice ; and, save that
its wicker chimney emitted at all seasons a delicate wreath of smoke,
something more than a careless glance would have been re-
quired to convince you that such a thing was there. Moreover,
round it, or near at hand, were such traces of man's industry as
such a spot might alone be expected to exhibit. A patch of green
was beside the cabin door, which, from the strong contrast it
presented to the brown and stunted herbage near, you were at no
loss to determine must be a potato field. A couple of goats, too,
were tethered beside the threshold; while a few fowls, less than
half-domesticated, scraped a scanty subsistence for themselves from
among the roots of the heather. But in other respects sign there
was none, that in this melancholy defile man had set up his rest ;
for the very roof of the cottage waved with long rank grass, and
the blue-bell and wild thyme were abundantly intermixed with it.
Wild as Glenshee is, however, and desolate, and lonely, there are
not wanting features here and there which effectually redeem it from
the hazard of being condemned as utterly repulsive. A clear moun-
tain stream comes tumbling down the hill, making the ear glad with its
everlasting music, and falls into the lake, not till it has threaded its way
for a long space amid overhanging rows of mountain-ash and the deli-
cate alder. Over its banks, too, the sward grows rich and sweet, as if
the soil were fertilized by the course of the torrent ; while here and
there the intervention of a rock gathers the waters into a heap, that
they may spring off' again in a tiny cataract of most pellucid beauty.
But this is not all. The rivulet in question flows westward, — a cir-
cumstance not to be overlooked, as connected with the burthen of
our history ; for streams which take this course have a virtue pecu-
196 LEGENDS OF THE LOCHS AND GLENS.
liarly their own. When the shadows of the trees fall on them, or
of the rocks, or even of the clouds above, they become scrolls in
which the favoured among men " may read strange matters ;" and
many a time and oft has this particular rivulet shown to the eyes
which studied them events that were to come.
A good many years ago, the hut of which I have spoken was
inhabited by old Robin Ure, the shepherd of Glenshee, a thoughtful
and somewhat contemplative man, who had arrived at one of the
latter stages of human existence, through some enjoyment, and a
good deal of suffering. Robin was one of those philosophers of
nature's forming, who feel that perfect happiness is not to be ex-
pected upon earth, and who therefore school themselves to bear with
patience, to look back with resignation, and forward in hope. Robin
was also a religious man in his own peculiar way ; for, though
he seldom went to church, from which, indeed, his occupation cut
him off, he carried his Bible with him to the hill-side, and read it
gratefully. And much need there was that Robin should find both
there, and in the world of imagination which his native poetry
created, some solace for the trials which the world of busy men
brought him. He had a kind, cheerful, and industrious partner,
to be sure, who used her best endeavours to render his home happy ;
but, woe is me ! even the tenderness of a wife will not always
suffice if it come alone. Out of the seven children, all of them
daughters, whom God had given them, one only survived ; and she,^
albeit the very apple of their eyes, was to her parents a source of
unremitting anxiety. She was a fragile and a delicate thing, tender
and sensitive in her frame, which was but little adapted to struggle
against the rude blasts of her native glen, and the privations to
•which at times she was subjected. Indeed Mary, or, as the wild and
poetic dialect of the glen has it, Mari, was a living instance of that
caprice of nature, which plants flowers in a glacier, and scatters rills
through a desert waste. Yet hers was not a mere physical debility,
— that is to say, the feebleness of the frame had a deeper source than
ordinary disease. The order of her destiny had entailed upon Mari
a supernatural gift, which sapped the foundations of her life, and
stript her of every source of interest and employment belonging to
her sex and to her nature. She was born to the inheritance of the
second-sight, — that strange and most mysterious faculty, which may
be traced nowhere except in the Highlands of Scotland ; and the
consequence was, that from her very cradle she had been an object of
awe, I had almost said of terror, even to those who loved her with the
tenderest affection. Accordingly the poor child grew almost to wo-
man's estate without having even an ordinary acquaintance with any
beyond her own narrow family circle ; and, as Robin and his wife
could not fail to fall in some degree under the shadow of their un-
happy child's proscription, a stranger within the narrow vale of
Glenshee — unless, indeed, it mi^ht be Murdoch, the shepherd of the
opposite mountain, who sometimes came with a bonnet-full of black-
berries, or a lamb's-skin for Mari's winter bed-quiit, — would have been
almost as much an object of curiosity as Gulliver in Brobdignag, or
the first ship to the South Sea Islanders. Yet, as matters stood
within, the household of Glenshee was by no means an unhappy one,
when the spirit of the lonely maiden rested from the trouble of its
waters ; for in the long nights of winter, when the wooden boards
THE PHANTOM FUNERAL. 197
were drawn snugly over the window, and the logs of dried fir glowed
and crackled on the hearth, the good wife turned her wheel cheerily,
and Mari rested her chin upon her father's knee, and turned up to
him the lustrous eyes which seemed to form quite the largest half of
the pale face they lighted, to listen to the wonders of \vild poesie
which he drew from a Gaelic volume of Ossian, — the commonest
study of such among the Highlanders as study at all. When
summer came again, the wizard maiden loved well to carry to the
mountain's brow afar off the broth or sowens which formed her
father's simple meal, and to linger upon some bare peak which over-
hung the lake, till the sun went down in his glory, and the stars
came forth in their gentleness. For it is one of the peculiarities of
this strange malady, if malady it may be called, that the fit of inspi-
ration neither comes when the seer may desire its coming, nor admits
of control or repression. There is, and there has been, divination
everywhere. The Pythoness of old, the astrologer of the middle
ages, the fortune-teller of our own times, all have, or pretend to
have, intercourse with unseen powers which they control ; but the
second-sight is peculiar to the Scottish Highlanders, and a heavy
burthen it is upon those individuals on whom destiny may lay it.
Mari was standing on the threshold of her fifteenth year when my
tale commences, though her weak frame and stinted proportions did
not seem to claim, by several years, a period of life so far advanced
towards maturity. If the healthful breeze of the mountains had
blown upon her cheek with the invigorating influence which so often
attends upon it, she would probably have been a beautiful specimen
of her peculiar style of peasant loveliness ; for her features were
regular and open, and in the period of health, which she occasionally
enjoyed, wore an expression of touching sweetness which spoke to
the heart. She had a beseeching light in her deep grey eyes, which
gave you an impression that there was some fervent and unuttered
desire within which this world could not grant ; and the melan-
choly languor of the other features, and the frequency with which
her face was turned towards heaven, suggested the idea that her
longing was to be at rest.
One clear, blue, biting evening at the end of October, that beautiful
Scottish season when the varied covering of tree and mountain is yet
stationary under the bright frosty atmosphere of winter, Murdoch,
the shepherd, took his way up the margin of Lochshee with his plaid
drawn round him, and his bonnet pulled over his eyes, in testimony
of the sharpness of the air. The breeze came keenly over the
mountain-tops, and swept the atmosphere of every trace of cloud or
haze ; but without rippling the surface of the water, which lay, as
usual, dark, clear, and motionless, as if under the spell of some
viewless influence. The leaves of the mountain-ash were falling
with that sad sighing motion, which seems to say that they are
grieving to resign their bright and brief existence ; but the hardier
wych-elms yet retained their dark green foliage, and, though rare
and straggling, they connected the bright blue sky and the delicate
tint of the sunset with the departing season to which they seemed to
belong.
Murdoch took less heed of the beauty of the evening than we
have done, for he was pushing briskly forward, and appeared to
view with some complacency the unusual breadth of the column of
198 LEGENDS OF THE LOCHS AND GLENS.
smoke which rose from the cottage chimney, as if betokening the
additional warmth of the blaze within. The shepherd had rounded
the last turn of the rocky footpath,, which led him by a long sweep
from the opposite margin of the lake, and had put his foot upon the
nearest of the stepping-stones which were to take him dry-shod over
the broad part of the stream, as it flowed over the level ground,
when his eye caught the flutter of a plaid, and he looked hastily up
the river to discover the owner of it, not doubting that Elspeth's hour
of milking had arrived, and that she had wrapt herself up to follow
its duties out of doors. The plaid, however, as his quick eye soon
perceived, was suspended from a tree, and its folds prevented him
from tracing any figure to whom it might belong, or which might
have sheltered behind it. The thought glanced across him that Mari
might have retreated to her favourite haunt, and he pushed his way
through the brechans, with the intention of winning her home out of
the chill autumn air to her mother's warm hearth ; but when he
drew aside the plaid, which hung like a screen from some hazels, he
became like one transfixed at the vision which met him. The poor
child stood like one spell-stricken close by the verge of the stream-
let, with her small fleshless feet touching the water, her hands
pressed convulsively over her breast, and her eyes fixed with a wild
and rigid stare upon the surface of the stream, while the masses of
long black hair, which waved by the action of the wind back from
her unearthly and colourless features, gave her, even in the eyes
that were familiar with her wildest moods, an expression of frenzied
excitement.
Murdoch hesitated for a moment, in doubt whether or not he
could with safety arrest the young Pythoness in her mood of inspi-
ration ; but apprehension for the afflicted creature's bodily health
prevailed, and he advanced slowly, yet with a warning noise, to her
side, and said softly,
" The burn side is ower chilly for you, Mari dear ; come with me
to your mother's fire. See how the chimney smokes ; I warrant it is
cozier by the nook this bitter even than standing there without plaid
or brogues upon you. Come your ways, Mari."
And he advanced nearer and nearer, with always a deeper tone of
entreaty. The maiden stretched out her hand without looking to-
wards him, and drew her friendly visitant closer to the water's edge.
" Look you there, and see what your morning work will be. You
are come to ask Robin Ure to hunt the fox on Craig Caillach — ay,
ay; but Heaven sends me the power to keep him. And I would
keep you too ; for you are one half o' my treasure of dust. There !
— there ! — Will you do as I have warned you, or will ye dree the
weird that mun surely come ? "
Murdoch looked eagerly into the water, but his gaze discovered
nothing, except a dark spot upon its surface, caused by the sha-
dow from one of the sharp cliffs as it deepened in the increasing
twilight.
" Well, well, Mari dear," answered he at last, " there is nothing
but the figure of the craig — there is surely nothing to frighten you
in a rock near which you have lived all your life. And if I do wile
your father to the fox-hunt the morn, he kens all the wild places in
the corri ower well to make it a dangerous chase to him."
THE PHANTOM FUNERAL. 199
Mari made a movement of impatience, and exclaimed hastily, and
as it seemed angrily,
" Ah ! dull dark eye-balls — clogged with worldly wisdom — see
you not that withered cluster of beechen leaves that floats upon the
burn? — there is blood in its track, and it has lodged in the shadow
of the Devil's Dyke. See ! — see ! — it shivers and trembles, and the
water gurgles under it. Blood — blood and brains ! — God be with
us, Murdoch ! — one of ye will find his last chase on yon craig to-
morrow. Come — come ! "
The unfortunate young prophetess, overcome by the terrible
frenzy of her vision, staggered backwards, and fell into the arms of
the terrified and compassionate shepherd.
Murdoch's blood ran cold at the mysterious language of the ex-
cited creature before him. That he had sought the cottage of Glen-
shee for the express purpose of persuading Robin to join in the sport
to which she had alluded was true ; but it was equally certain that
no living thing had as yet been apprised of that intention ; and the
information of Mari must have been conveyed by a channel such as
Murdoch was far too genuine a Highlander to contemplate without
a shudder. He carried his unconscious burthen to her home, and
committed her to the mournful and anxious attendance of Elspeth,
who found a ready solution to the riddle of Murdoch's scared and
solemn looks in the situation of the poor little sufferer, whom he
loved, as she well knew, like a sister, and whom he had but seldom
before seen in the paroxysms of her disease. Robin was from home
far over the mountain, and, although the good wife was in hourly
expectation of his return, yet Murdoch was not to be prevailed upon
to wait for him, but avowed his intention of returning straight to his
home, as the business which brought him to the glen was not of
so pressing a nature as to demand his longer sojourn. He satisfied
himself, accordingly, that the hour of Robin's return from a toilsome
trudge over the hill would place his accidental attendance on the
fox-chase out of the question ; and having so secured the safety of
the old man from the perils which threatened him, he availed him-
self of the good wife's proffered repast of cheese and bannocks, and
once more retraced his steps down the side of the lake, forbearing,
from motives which may be traced to the sensitiveness of the super-
stitious, to lighten the load that weighed him down with its mystery
by imparting any portion of it to the maternal heart of Elspeth.
A fox-chase over the giant hills, cliffs, and crags of the Highlands
is, no doubt, a species of amusement that may prove somewhat
startling to the ear of a southern sportsman ; but when the hunt is
described as performed on foot, and for the sole purpose of exter-
minating the creature, which the sheep-farmer finds so inimical to
the interests of his fold, the practicability of the exploit may be
admitted, though the perils attending it continue as before ; for
they who have had an opportunity of seeing the. stout and fearless
agility with which the young Highlander springs from crag to
crag after his prey, or follows the hounds down the shelving
sides of scaur and corri, will confess that the chamois is won
through scarcely superior hazard. Accordingly, Mari's prediction of
danger to the hunters on that rugged and most dangerous promon-
tory of the mountain called the Devil's Dyke was by no means chi-
merical, as Murdoch, with all his strength of limb and nerve,
200 LEGENDS OF THE LOCHS AND GLENS.
acknowledged ; and he waited in considerable anxiety the reports of
the chase throughout the early part of the morning that followed its
occurrence. It was not long that his suspense continued ; for before
noontide a gilly from the other side of the hill came over to tell him
that Angus^Bane had slid from the uppermost pinnacle of the craig,
and dashed his head to atoms among the rocks at the foot of the corri
called the Devil's Stair, and to bid Murdoch come over to his funeral
on the day following.
A thoughtful and an awe-stricken man was Murdoch that evening,
as he once more took his solitary way over the path that led him to
Glenshee. His blood curdled in his veins as he considered the veri-
fication of Mari's prophecy, with the natural timidity which, even
among the most steady believers in the supernatural, fails not to assail
them on any immediate experience of its effects. He longed to be
himself the first to communicate to the girl the fulfilment of her wild
prediction, partly because he wished to judge of her faith in her own
powers by her manner of receiving it, and partly because he was
apprehensive of evil consequences, should she hear of the accident
from a less heedful informant. His heart beat quickly as he passed
the scene of his last night's adventure, and he asked himself if it
were possible that a frame so feeble could struggle long with
such fierce emotions as he had witnessed there ; and, as the question
arose, he involuntarily quickened his pace, as if in anxiety to learn
the well-being of the unfortunate Mari. The shadows had deepened
as he sped along, and before Murdoch had crossed the burn its surface
was dimmed by the descending night ; but a bright spark glowed
from the cottage window, and the wayfarer strode forward enli-
vened, and almost reassured, by the picture his fancy presented of
the snug group, and the warm welcome which awaited him. His
visions, however, were interrupted ; for before he crossed the
threshold he saw the door open, and a figure closely muffled, which
he, nevertheless, recognised to be Mari, stepped out into the dark-
ness. He drew aside for an instant to watch her motions, half
afraid to cross the young prophetess for the second time by his pre-
sence, and yet determined, if possible, to prevent so dismal a triumph of
her disease as that to which he had been witness on the previous night.
He was concealed under the hazel bushes as she passed, but her
garments touched him, and from within the folds of her plaid he
heard a loud sob and a plaining sound, that convinced him she was
weeping bitterly, and there was something in the natural and fami-
liar evidence of such suffering which transformed the afflicted being
before him from an object of dread and horror to one of sympathy
and compassion.
" Is it you, Mari dear ? " said he in a gentle voice, and walking up
to her from behind. " What 's takin' you out at this time o' night,
an' the sky sae dark, an' the wind sae snell as it is e'en now ? Surely
the beasts are a' closed in by this time ; an' your mother could ha'e
nae bit errand to tak' ye doon the loch side after gloaming. Come
your ways hame again, dearie, and leave that silly moon to look frae
behind the clouds at her ain white face in the water, an' ye shall see
her some other night, when there is nae wind to drive the black cur-
tain ower, an' to cut ye through as this does."
The girl turned round to him at once, and answered in a plaintive
and sorrowful tone as she withdrew the screen from her face.
THE PHANTOM FUNERAL. 201
" Is it you, Murdoch ? I am thankful to God for sending you to
me. I would have had a cold walk over Ben Shee if you had not
come."
" Ben Shee !" repeated the shepherd. "Was it over Ben Shee
that ye were bound, Mari, and in search o' me? What can I do for
you? Tell me that. I 'se do it, whatever it may be," and he drew
her towards him, and wrapt the sheltering plaid closer round her
shivering frame, while she continued to weep piteously, and clung
to his strong arm, as if in entreaty.
" Promise me one thing, Murdoch of Ben Shee — promise me,"
said she in a paroxysm of anxiety, — " promise, as ye would on a
dying bed, one thing that I shall ask you ; for, if you refuse, it
will bring me to the grave. Old Robin Ure, my father, the kindest
of fathers, and the wisest and the best, he that would not break one
of the least of the commands of God, nor teach others to disregard
them, has refused me, and the sin shall be upon his head, and the
suffering upon mine. Promise me that you will be less headstrong,
Murdoch, and that you will add your words to mine, that we may
move the old man from his purpose ; promise that you will not at-
tend the funeral of Angus Bane."
Murdoch gave the excited creature the promise she desired, and
then stood silent for a few moments, surprised and bewildered.
"Oh, Murdoch! Murdoch !" said Mari in a voice of utter de-
spair, "what shall we do to keep my father at home? Remember
my words last night, and then ask if any childish whim is on my
spirit now. You, Murdoch, you can testify to the truth of mine ob-
servance. You can say whether phantasies struggle with truth
within my brain till it be crazed. Oh, Murdoch ! Murdoch ! tell you
the old man, that if he go to the burial, he will never return. Tell
him that he will leave his child an orphan, and his wife a widow,
and that his own old bones shall whiten where never a voice will
wail his coronach, nor kindly hand be nigh to close his eyelids, or to
streak his corpse ; that no lyke wake will be held over him, nor
grass grow green upon his heart. Oh, Murdoch ! Murdoch ! is it
not an awful thing to die unblessed, and by our own wilful agency ?
to sleep with unhallowed things, and to leave those we love best with-
out a prayer for them or ourselves? "
The poor girl stopped her gasping address, and her whole form
seemed to heave with agitation. Murdoch soothed her for a while
with promises of his uttermost endeavours to move the resolution of
her father, and she grew calmer under the hopes of success with
which he strove to reassure her.
" An' what for should we no follow poor old Angus to his lang
hame, Mari ? " asked he at last. " Angus was one of your father's
oldest friends on all Ben Shee; an' he must hae a glide reason for 't
before he agree to stay at hame, an' let others mourn for him. Tell
me, Mari dear, what ye are afraid for? "
Mari flung the plaid far back from her face and head, and turned
her forehead up to the white moonshine, till Murdoch could see that
the beam itself was not more wan and deathlike. Her features were all
at work with the spell of her malady ; she waved her arms for him
to follow, and then flitted past him to a small ridge, or knoll, on the
margin of her favourite stream. When she had gained the summit,
she stood with her back towards the waters, her face turned fully
LEGENDS OF THE LOCHS AND GLENS.
up to the sky, and her arms stretched out over the valley at her feet,
the impersonation of an inspired priestess.
" See, see, they are coming," said she in an eager and concen-
trated tone, and with her eyes fastened upon some object in the val-
ley, which Murdoch fancied the dim night alone prevented him
from tracing : " they are coming slowly — slowly — a bonny burial,
an' six mourners at the bier: they are coming o'er the moor o'
Chrom Dhu, and their black shadows are following them like
spirits. Stand aside, Murdoch ; they will pass even now, and we
may count the bearers, and see if Robin Ure be among them."
Murdoch stared wistfully at the spell-bound creature before him,
and, as he scanned the deathly features and gleaming eyes, his heart
swelled with a compassionate longing to arrest, even in its progress,
the destroying influence that was upon her. He felt that it could be
no visible shadow on which her gaze was fixed with such a fearful
intensity, for the moor of Chrom Dhu was far away over the other
side of the mountain. He took both her cold hands, and, chafing
them gently with his own, spoke kindly to her in words of comfort
and remonstrance.
" Yon 's no Chrom Dhu, Mari dear ; it 's your ain bonnie Glen-
shee, an' there 's nae living shadows moving on it ; it is but the
waving of your ain black firs you are looking at, and the clouds that
are scudding so mirkily ower the moor. Let us go, Mari ; ye will
catch your very death in this dreary night."
" Trees and clouds ! " said the maiden with a terrible laugh : " do
they bury each other, and walk in such goodly ranks as these do?
Kneel down, poor clay, and you shall see."
Murdoch almost unconsciously obeyed her, and she stood hanging
over him, so as to bring their figures into the closest possible contact ;
then, placing one hand upon her side, she made him look through the
angle formed by her elbow, and speak not till his gaze was done.
The prohibition was unnecessary. Murdoch drew his breath be-
tween his closed teeth, the blood stood still in his veins, his flesh
moved, and his brain sickened with horror.
A funeral procession, in solemn and regular array, moved steadily
along within a few paces of the spot where he stood. The pall, the bier,
the coffin, and the mourning habiliments, all were as distinct and pal-
pable as the commonest occurrences of life, and they gradually ap-
proached nearer and nearer with their slow and measured move-
ment, and their noiseless tread, till the gazer felt his eye-strings
crack as he measured the diminishing distance. On they came —
dark, dismal, and solemn — nearer, nearer, and nearer, — on they came
with a tread which was the more horrible because it gave back no
sound. Murdoch felt the atmosphere of a crowd ; felt their gar-
ments stir the air as they passed him ; felt the burial-pall flap beside
his very cheek, and his soul shuddered with horror. The faces of
friends and kinsmen were among that company of wraiths, and
Murdoch felt the arm of Mari grasp his neck with a convulsive
clutch as the last stragglers passed the spot. Another, and another
lingered ; one more, — it was Robin Ure. A white mist fell upon
the vision of Murdoch, and, with a scream of agony, he fell senseless
upon the heather.
When Murdoch awoke from his trance he was alone. Mari had
disappeared, the sky was pure and cloudless, and the full moon
THE PHANTOM FUNERAL. 203
shed light and gladness over the valley. The shepherd arose,
with a heavy sickness at his heart, and a bewilderment in his brain,
that rendered his memory dim. He was gradually conscious of some
deadly peril that hung over his old and valued friend ; a peril which
he had promised all his efforts to avert, and which rendered his pre-
sence in the cottage an immediate necessity.
The next moment he had turned his back upon the shealing,
and was wending his way with enfeebled steps towards his home.
" I have seen the future," was his reflection, " and is mine a hand to
change the decrees of Providence ? " Human companionship at that
moment would have shaken again the scarcely-established intellect,
and he walked homeward. Sleep was not destined to visit the eyes of
Murdoch during that, nor many succeeding nights of his existence,
and the whole of the next day he walked about like one in a dream,
with the horrible spell of his memory clinging to him like a fiend,
and making the very sunshine black with its presence.
A dreadful mystery was before him : he knew not what evil it
portended, but, to look upon the similitude of the living, he well
knew, was to number them shortly with the dead, and he felt, as it
were, instinctively that he had seen Robin for the last time. A fe-
verish desire was upon him to make one in that company of wraiths;
and, despite his solemn vow to Mari, the temptation rose strong and
vivid to follow in the train of Angus's funeral, and witness, even at
the cost of participating in, the danger that threatened it.
The burial would take place at early morning ; and, as the church-
yard lay far away, it was necessary that he should set out overnight,
that he might join the procession in its march. He was resolved to
go. The clouds of the previous night had fulfilled their omen, for a
heavy fall of snow continued throughout the day, and, by the hour
of starting, had rendered the mountain-path neither pleasant nor
safe to traverse ; but Murdoch was determined to share the peril of
which he alone had received the warning, and by midnight he was
prepared to start. The storm still raged, and the wind drifted the
snow about in wreaths, till the density of the atmosphere became
appalling; yet the spell-stricken shepherd did not waver in his
purpose. He folded his plaid about him, and quenched his solitary
fire, and was about to extinguish the lamp before he went forth, when
a low knocking at the door, and a feeble and continued moan, sent the
blood to his heart, and the tremor to his limbs, which a less myste-
rious incident might have lent them in the present fever of his
imagination.
After a few moments of hesitation, however, the knocking was re-
peated, and Murdoch advanced to the door, wondering if any human
applicant could indeed seek shelter on such a night. The gust blew
out the lamp as he slowly undid the fastening of the door, and
looked abroad upon the tempest. A dim object lay half across the
threshold, and he moved it with his hand before, he could be con-
vinced that thence issued the piteous moaning which met his
ear. A very slight exertion was sufficient to place the creature — by
whatever denomination it went — upon its feet, and Murdoch turned
it to the half-open door, that the vague light of the sky might give
him the means, which the darkened cottage withheld, of identifying
it.
"God pity you, poor shorn lamb ! is it you ? " exclaimed the stout
LEGENDS OF THE LOCUS AND GLENS.
Highlander in a faltering voice, as the wasted lineaments of Mari be-
came visible from the folds of the plaid; "is it you, or is 't your
wraith that has breasted the wind and the storm for nae purpose but
to scare the little sense that ye left me, clean awa' ?"
" Murdoch ! Murdoch ! " answered the poor maiden in a spent
and feeble tone, that sounded itself like the wail of the tempest,
" come your ways ;• it was indeed the spirit that brought this wretch-
ed body over the mountain in life. Blessings on you, Murdoch, for
expecting me ; the plaid and the brogues will not be to seek. Come
quickly, Murdoch. My strength failed me, or I should have been
earlier. Come — come! they are near the Chrom by this time,"
and she pulled the corner of his plaid, and turned once more to-
wards the door.
" An' where is it ye would lead me now, Mari ? " said the shep-
herd. " Ye are no able for a longer walk the night. Sit down, an'
rest ye, Mari dear, and take off that snowy plaid, and I '11 kindle up
the logs again ; and here 's new milk in the corner, that I brought
in, little thinking ye would need it, and you'll soon be warm and
strong again; and by morning dawn we'll set off to Glenshee.
Your poor mother will be half-crazed when she misses you." And
he strove earnestly to lead her mind from the subject of her con-
tinued ramble, but it was all in vain ; she stamped her foot upon
the ground impatiently. " Warmed and fed ! " said she indignantly,
" when I might be looking my last upon those who will never be
warmed or fed again ! Man ! I tell you to come with me, if you
would not rue it to the last moment of your life," and she turned
from him again with a gesture of command.
"Whither then, Mari," said the shepherd submissively, "whither
am I to follow you ? You cannot reach Chrom Dhu, were you as
strong as I am, before morning, unless you climb the south shoulder
of the Devil's Dyke; and, when ye are even on the tjpp o' the crag,
it takes a stronger limb and a firmer foot than yours to make its way
down the other side."
" There is no need, Murdoch," answered the unfortunate in her
former tone of helplessness. " We can but look upon the work of
doom were we beside it, — that may as well be done from the crao-
• A i /> y> * °
itself.
The storm was somewhat abated when they set forth, and, though
the snow still fell heavily, there was no impenetrable mist of moving
wreaths to make their progress one of danger as well as of difficulty.
Murdoch was hurried along by his frail conductress with an activity
that seemed the effect of some supernatural gift. She made her way
through the drifted snow with a speed which taxed even his own
powers ; and glided up the toilsome ascent which led to the Devil's
Dyke so quickly and easily, that Murdoch felt his blood chill with
the remembrance that she was not gifted like himself. At length the
summit of the crag was gained, and Mari stood fearlessly on its
ridge, and looked over into the wild hollow of Chrom Dhu.
The Chrom was a lonely moor, or, rather a peat-hagg, leafless and
trackless, that yawned in one long stripe of savage sterility at the
foot of the precipice. In the middle of the waste lay a small sheet
of moss-water, unfathomably deep, but generally discernible from
all points, stagnant and motionless as it was, from the pitchy colour
of its surface, which was esteemed a sufficient warrant for the safety
THE PHANTOM FUNERAL. 205
of the cattle, that might otherwise have been tempted to its mar-
gin. The wild singularity of the Chrom was this night completely
veiled by the pure covering of snow that lay deep and spotless upon
its bosom. Even the black pool had been previously frozen up,
and retained, in consequence, its share of the universal shroud. The
dull white light of the sky, and the uniformity of the earth, made
every object, even at the foot of the crag, distinctly visible ; and
Murdoch stood motionless, gazing downwards, expecting each mo-
ment that he numbered to see the funeral procession of Angus Bane
enter the Chrom on its progress to the churchyard.
The snow had ceased, and the dawn was far advanced, leaving the
whole sweep of the valley at their command ; and before Murdoch
had recovered breath from the steep .ascent of the crag, the foremost
of the train of mourners appeared in view. They came in one large
group, closely gathered about the bier, and followed by one or two
straggling lingerers, exactly as Murdoch remembered their arrange-
ment in his vision of the night. On they went, — their black figures
clearly traced upon the white ground, and each one casting a long
shadow, that loomed far over the earth, with a strange and frightful
appearance in the solitude. On they came ; and Mari's breath came
in suffocating gasps, and she tossed her arms wildly to the sky.
Murdoch watched them with an eagerness that bound every sense
into one long gaze. On they came, slowly, steadily, — on and on, till
they had reached the middle of the moor. Murdoch's heart quailed
and sickened within him, and Mari laughed in her agony with a cry
of madness.
" God be merciful ! The pool ! the pool ! " shouted Murdoch till
his broad chest heaved and strained with the effort.
It was in vain : the doomed train had missed their way on that
trackless desert, and were all in the centre of the lake before the
treacherous ice gave way. It was the work of an instant. One
crackling sound reached even to the ears of the watchers, — one fell
plunge, and the bier and the mourners, the dead and the doomed,
were engulfed for ever. Murdoch caught Mari in his arms, as in
her frenzy she would have leapt from the crag at the moment of their
immersion, and, flinging her over his shoulder like a three years
child, he took his sorrowful way to the desolate cottage of Glenshee.
The afflicted creature moaned and sobbed for awhile in his arms,
as if the fury of her paroxysm were subsiding, and as each gasp came
feebler and feebler, Murdoch pleased himself with the thought that
her terrible exertions were repaid by sleep. At last the sounds of
her mourning ceased entirely ; her head hung heavier and heavier
on his neck, and Murdoch reached the shealing like one who walks
in a dream. Mari was dead ; and Murdoch gave to poor old Els-
peth the body of her child, and the news of her widowhood, at the
same moment.
Murdoch's experience of second sight was not fatal. He is still
alive, and,
A better and a wiser man
He rose the morrow morn.
VOL. VI.
COLIN CLINK.
BY CHARLES HOOTON.
CHAPTER XIV.
The benefits of being soused in a horse-trough. — Some farther specimens of Miss
Sowersoft's moral excellence. — An unlooked-for discovery is partially made,
which materially concerns Miss Fanny Woodruff and Dr. Rowel.
ON the following morning Palethorpe arose, and finding Colin
still asleep, was proceeding, whip in hand, to help him up ac-
cording to custom, when, as he turned down the clothes that
almost enveloped the child's head, the unusual appearance of
his countenance arrested the man's attention as well as his hand.
His veins were swollen with rapid bounding blood, and his heart
thumped audibly in its place, and with doubly accelerated mo-
tion, as though eagerly hastening to beat out its appointed
number of pulsations, and leave the little harassed life it con-
tained again free from the pains and vexations of this lower
world.
A blush of remorse passed for a moment over the man's
dark countenance as he gazed. What had they done to him ?
— what was amiss ? He covered the boy carefully up again,
and hastened down stairs to communicate the news to Miss
Sowersoft.
" Oh, — it 's all nonsense ! " she exclaimed, on hearing all that
Mr. Palethorpe had to say about it. " The lad \ got a bit of a
cold, — that ?s all. I '11 make him a basin of milk, with a little of
that nice feverfew out of the garden boiled in it, and then if
you wake him up, and let him take that, it will stick to his
ribs, and do him an amazing deal of good."
But as there was no hurry about such a matter, Miss Maria
very leisurely took her own breakfast before she set about car-
rying her very charitable project into execution. When the
milk, with some sprigs of feverfew boiled in it, was ready, Sally
was sent up stairs with it. She found Colin awake, but weak
and ill; and, much to her surprise, on presenting him with a
lump of bread and the basin of milk, which more closely re-
sembled a light green wash for stencilling walls, than any true
Christian dish, he could neither touch nor bear the sight of
either.
" La !" cried Sally, " why, I never heard anything like it, as
to neither eat nor drink ! Come, cram a bit down your throat
with your finger, and see if it will not get you an appetite.
Why, /can eat and drink very well, and why shouldn't you?
Come, come,-— don't be soft, and refuse what Goramighty sends
you, while jt lies in your power to get it. I 'm sure this milk is
very nice, indeed.11
COLIN CLINK. OQ7
In corroboration of her statement she took a sip. But Colin
shook his head feebly and heavily, and declared it would do him
no good. He could take nothing, — he wanted nothing, but to
be left alone, that he might think and wish, and weep as he
thought and wished, that he were but once more at home, or
that his mother or Fanny were but with him.
Shortly after Sally had returned below stairs, and communi-
cated the astounding intelligence that Colin would take neither
bit nor sup, Miss Sowersoft herself crept up stairs. She assured
him he had plenty of colour in his face; that there could not be
anything particularly amiss with him ; advised him against put-
ting on pretences of sickness, lest he should be struck with
sickness in reality as a judgment on him, like the children that
mocked the prophet Elijah, and were eaten up by bears; and
concluded by insinuating, that if he were tickled with a whip-
thong, he would in all probability be a great deal better directly.
" Send me home.'1' bitterly ejaculated Colin, bursting into
tears. " Put me in a cart, and send me home ! — I want to go
home ! — I must go home ! — Mother ! — Fanny ! — Oh, come
to me ! — I shall die — I shall die ! "
Miss Sowersoft felt rather alarmed ; but reflecting that there
was nothing like showing a liitle spirit and resolution when
young folks took such whims as those into their heads, she
severely taunted him with being home-sick and mother-sick;
told him that neither she nor Fanny, if they were present, could
do more for him than she could ; and threatened that, if he did
not leave off that hideous noise, which was disgraceful to a great
lad of his age, she would tie a stocking round his mouth, and
stop him that way. There being no great consolation in all this,
it is not surprising that our hero made such slight application of
it, that, for the matter of any difference it made in him, Miss
Sowersoft might just as well have tied her stocking across her
own mouth, or stuffed it in either, which ever she might prefer,
as have given utterance to it. She was therefore constrained to
submit to the lad's own way, and to confess in her own mind that
there really was something more amiss with him than at first she
had believed.
By mid-day he had become a great deal worse ; and in the
afternoon, as his disorder still rapidly increased, Mr. Palethorpe
was despatched on horseback to Bramleigh, for the purpose of
consulting Dr. Rowel.
About six o'clock in the evening he returned home, bringing
with him a packet of white powders in little blue papers, tied
together much in the fashion of that little pyrotechnic engine of
mischief usually denominated a cracker.
Certain fears which had by this time crept over the mind of
Miss Sowersoft caused her to be more than usually charitable
and eager in her inquiries after the doctor's opinion about Colin :
but the answers she received were neither very conclusive nor
Q 2
<>08 COLIN CLINK.
very satisfactory. She was, in fact, obliged to seek for consola-
tion, for the present, in the belief, which she struggled hard to
impress firmly upon herself, that the boy's illness had arisen
wholly in consequence of his sitting on the ground so late in
the evening to write his letter ; and that his subsequent sousing
in the horse-trough had no connexion whatever with it ; as he
might very easily have fallen accidentally into a river instead,
and received no more harm from it than he had from the afore-
said pumping.
During several subsequent days, the boy continued in such a
state as filled his mistress's heart with continual apprehensions
lest her house should eventually be troubled with his corpse.
About his death, considering that event solely by itself, she
cared very little ; he might live or die, just as his constitution
inclined him, for aught she would choose between the two ;
only, in case he should not survive, it would annoy her very
much indeed to have all the trouble of getting another body's
corpse prepared for the ground, without, in all likelihood, ever
receiving from Mrs. Clink a single halfpenny in return for it.
She mentioned her apprehensions to Mr. Palethorpe, who replied,
that it was all silly childishness to allow herself to be imposed
on by her own good feelings, and that talk about humanity
would never do for folks so far north as they were. On this
unquestioned authority Miss Sowersoft would inevitably have
acted that very day, and removed our hero, at any risk, to
Bramleigh, in order to give him a chance of dying comfortably
at home, had not fortune so ordered it, that, while preparations
were being made for taking him from a bed of fever into an
open cart which stood ready in the yard, Dr. Rowel chanced to
ride up, and at once put his veto upon their proceedings. Not
that the doctor would by any means have purposely ridden half
the distance for the sake of such a patient ; but as chance
not unfrequently favours those whom their own species despise,
it happened that his professional assistance had that after-
noon been required in the case of a wealthy old lady in the
neighbourhood ; and, as the doctor's humanity was not, at all
events, so very short-legged as not to be able to carry him one
quarter of a mile when it lay in his way, he took Snitterton
Lodge in his circuit, for the sake of seeing Master Colin.
It will readily be supposed that during these few days, (as
the boy had not made his appearance at home on the previous
Sunday, according to conditional promise,) both his mother and
Fanny had almost hourly been expecting to hear from him. Nor
had various discussions on the cause of his silence been by any
means omitted. Mrs. Clink attributed it to the fact of his hav-
ing found everything so very pleasant at Snitterton Lodge, that
he really had had neither time nor inclination to wean himself
for a few short hours from the delights with which he was sur-
rounded ; but Fanny, whose mind had been dwelling ever since
COLIN CLINK. 209
his departure upon the dismal forebodings with which Miss
Sowersoft's appearance had filled it, expressed to Mrs. Clink her
full belief that something had happened to Colin, or he would
never have neglected either to come himself, or to write, as he
had promised.
" I am sure," she continued, very pensively, " it has made
me so uneasy all this last week, that I have dreamed about him
almost every night. Something has happened to him, I am as
certain as if I had seen it ; for I can trust to Colin's word
just as well as though he had taken his oath about it. How-
ever, I will walk over this afternoon and see ; for I shall never
rest until I know for a certainty.""
" Walk, fiddlesticks I" exclaimed Mrs. Clink. " If you go
over there in that suspicious manner, as though you fancied
they had murdered him, it is a hundred to one but you will
affront Miss Sowersoft, and get Colin turned out of a situation
that may be the making of him. Stay where you are — do; and
if you cannot make anything, do not mar it by interfering in
a matter that you know nothing about. I have had trouble
enough with him one way or another, without his being brought
back on my hands, when he is as comfortable, I dare say, as he
possibly can be."
Though the latter remark was evidently intended to apply to
Fanny's supposed injudicious solicitude for Colin's welfare, the
girl passed it by without observation. She hurried her day's
work forwards, in order to gain the necessary time for making
her projected visit ; and at about the middle of the afternoon
suddenly disappeared from the eyes of Mrs. Clink, without in-
forming her previously touching her place of destination.
While Dr. Rowel was yet in attendance on Colin, Fanny
arrived, and introduced herself to Miss Sowersoft, as she was
employing herself in picking the pips off a handful of cowslips
which lay in her lap. On seeing Fanny thus unexpectedly, and
under circumstances which she felt would require some very
ingenious explanation or evasion, her countenance seemed to
darken as though a positive shadow had been cast upon it. A
struggle between her real feelings and her consciousness of the
necessity to disguise them ensued ; and in the course of a few
brief seconds the darkness of her countenance passed away, and
she affected to salute her unwelcome visiter with much cor-
diality.
In reply to Fanny's inquiry respecting Colin, Miss Maria
stated that he was improving very nicely under Mr. Palethorpe's
tuition, although they had had some trouble to make him do as
he was bid ; that he had enjoyed the most extraordinary good
health until a few days ago, when he took a little cold, which had
made him rather poorly.
" There ! — I was sure of it ! " cried Fanny, interrupting her ;
" I said so to his mother before I came away. I knew there was
210 COLIN CLINK.
something amiss, or he would have written to us before now.
And how did he take such a cold, Miss Sowersoft ? "
" Take cold ! why, you know there are a hundred different
ways of taking' cold, and it is impossible sometimes for even
a person himself to say how he took it. I am sure Palethorpe
gets tremendous colds sometimes, and how he gets them is a
perfect miracle. But, on my word, cold is so insinuating, that
really, as I say sometimes, there is not a part but it will find
its way to at one time or another."
« Yes but where is Colin now ? — because I shall want to
see him before I go back."
" Oh, he is somewhere about the house," replied Miss Maria,
with an unprecedented degree of effrontery ; " but your seeing
him is not of the least consequence. It cannot cure his cold;
and as for anything else, it would very likely make him all the
more discontented when you were gone again. If you take my
advice, you would not see him, especially when I can tell you
everything just the same as though you saw it yourself?1
At this moment the foot of the doctor, as he groped his way
down stairs, was overheard by the speaker. She started up
instantly, and endeavoured to hurry Fanny out of the room
before that professional gentleman should enter it ; but her
manoeuvre failed, and before Miss Sowersoft could caution him
to be silent the doctor remarked, in a sufficiently loud tone to
be heard distinctly by both, that unless the boy was taken great
care of, there was little chance left of his recovery.
" What boy ? " exclaimed Fanny, rushing forward. " What !
is he so ill as that ? For God's sake let me see hin\! "
Concluding from the direction in which the doctor had come
that Colin was somewhere in the regions above, she flew rather
than walked up stairs, without waiting for an invitation or a
conductor, and soon threw her arms in an ecstasy of grief upon
his neck.
" Oh, Colin ! God has sent me on purpose to save you ! Do
be better, and you shall go home again very soon."
But Colin could only put up his pallid arms in an imploring
action, and cry for very joy, as he gazed in the face of one of
those only two who had occupied his day and night thoughts,
and been the unconscious subjects of his unceasing and most
anxious wishes.
The trouble of this first meeting being over, some more quiet
conversation ensued ; and, although almost too ill and weak to
be allowed to talk, Colin persisted in stating briefly to the horror-
stricken Fanny the kind of reception he had met with on his
arrival, his treatment afterwards, the taking of his letter from
him, and the brutal conduct which had caused his present ill-
ness. The girl stood silent, merely because she knew not what
to think, what to believe, what to doubt ; and was besides utterly
lost for words to express properly her strangely mingled
COLIN CLINK.
thoughts. It was almost impossible — incredible ! Why could
they do it ? There was no cause for it — there could be no cause
for it. Human nature, and especially human nature in the
shape of woman, was incapable of anything so infamous. Yet
Colin was sensible — he had told an intelligible tale ; and, most
true of all, there he lay, a mere vision of what he was so
brief a time ago, — a warranty plain and palpable that griev-
ous wrong had been endured. Her brain was absolutely
bewildered — she looked like one hovering on the doubtful
boundary between sense and insanity. She cast her eyes around
for surety — on the bed — at him. A burst of tears, as of a
spring that for the first time breaks its bounds, succeeded, —
and then another and another, as she fell on her knees and
buried her face in the clothes that covered him.
By and by, the doctor and Miss Maria were present in the
room with her. Fanny raised her head and beheld Colin's mis-
tress attempting, in the presence of the doctor, to do the at-
tentive, by adjusting the sheet about the boy's neck to keep off
the external air.
" Do not touch him ! " exclaimed Fanny, springing to her
feet ; " he shall have nothing from your hands, for you are a
disgrace to the name of a woman ! "
" Ay ! " cried the doctor : " young woman, what now, what
now ? "
'* What now ? Sir, you may well say what now ! I have
heard all about it — he has told me all — and I say that woman
shall not touch him while I am here. She has nearly killed him,
and now wants to show, because you are here, how kind and
good she is ! "
So saying, Fanny resolutely set about making the arrange-
ment which Miss Sowersoft had contemplated with her own
hands.
" Why — what — who is this young woman ? " asked the doc-
tor, somewhat astonished at the unexpected scene which had
just passed before him.
" Nobody ! " replied Miss Sowersoft ; " she is only Mrs.
Clink's servant, and a pert impudent hussey too."
At the same time she looked in the doctor's face, and endea-
voured to smile contemptuously, though it " came off" in such
a manner as would inevitably have frightened anybody less
accustomed than was Dr. Rowel to witness the agonies of the
human countenance.
" Yes, sir," added Fanny, " I am only a servant ; but I am
a woman, whether servant or mistress. I nursed this lad when
I was but six years old myself, and have taken care of him ever
since. She shall not drown him like a blind puppy, though she
thinks she will ! "
" Me drown him ! " exclaimed Miss Sowersoft in feigned
amazement.
COLIN CLINK.
" Yes,1' replied Fanny, "you drown him. If you had not
half murdered him in that trough, he would never have been
here now."
" Do let us go down stairs, doctor," observed Miss Sower-
soft ; " it is not worth hearing such rubbish as this." And she
made her way towards the door.
" Where is that letter ? " cried Fanny eagerly, fearful lest
the lady to whom she addressed herself should escape.
" Pshaw ! nonsense! don't catechise me !" replied Miss Sower-
soft, as she tripped down stairs ; while the doctor, half in solilo-
quy and half addressing Miss Sowersoft, remarked, in allusion
to Fanny,
" She 's a damsel of some spirit too ! " Then addressing the
girl herself, " Are you the little girl I saw at Mrs. Clink's when
this boy was born ? "
" Yes, sir, I am," answered Fanny, as her passion sunk al-
most to nothing, and she blushed to be so questioned.
" Ah, indeed ! " cried Doctor Rowel. " Well, I should not
have thought it. Why, you are quite a fine young woman now.
Dear-a-me ! I had quite lost sight of you. I could not have
believed it. Humph ! " And the doctor surveyed her fair pro-
portions with something of astonishment, and a great deal of
satisfaction. To think that from such a little pale, half-fed, un-
happy thing of work and thought beyond her years as she then
was there should have sprung up the full-sized, the pretty fea-
tured, and naturally genteel-looking girl now before him ! But
then, he had not that benefit which the reader enjoys, of reflecting
how worldly circumstances, how poverty and plenty, sway the
tempers of mankind ; and that, as Mistress Clink's circumstances
improved, so had Fanny improved likewise ; and from seven or
eight years old upwards, Fanny had enjoyed a much more com-
fortable home than, on his first introduction to her might rea-
sonably have been expected.
Lest the reader should unnecessarily marvel how her indi-
viduality should have been unrecognised by the physician, I
beg to inform him, that while the person of every great man is
as familiar to all the poor eyes of the neighbourhood as though
he were their born and natural uncle, he himself remains as
much in the dark as to the identity of every poor face he meets,
even though he chance to meet it every day, as though he had
never seen it once in the whole course of his life.
Doctor Rowel resumed his conversation.
"And, how came you to be put to service so very early ? for
you had not, if I remember rightly, either health or strength to
recommend you."
Colin's eyes as he lay were fixed, as it might have been the
eyes of a picture, on the doctor's countenance.
" I don't know, I 'm sure, sir," replied Fanny : but after a few
moments' hesitation, added, " I suppose it was because I had no
friends."
COLIN CLINK. 213
** No friends ! " the doctor repeated,—" why, where were your
father and mother ? "
** I never knew them, sir."
" Indeed ! never knew them ! "
" No, sir ! " and Fanny sobbed at the very recollection of her
childhood's helplessness.
" Hunlph ! " ejaculated the doctor ; " you scarcely seem to
have been born for a servant. Where did Mrs. Clink find
you ? "
" I do not know, sir. She never told me."
" Ah ! — oh ! oh ! — well ! It 's odd she never told you. So
you do not know either who your father, or your mother, or
your friends were ? "
" No, sir, — I do not. But I remember "
" Well, — go on, — you remember, — what do you remember?
where did you come from ? Do you know that ? "
" I think, from Leeds, sir."
" Leeds ! " exclaimed the doctor ; " and, what else now do
you remember ? "
" I can remember, sir, — though I but just remember it, — that
my father was taken away from me once, and I never saw him
again."
" And, what 's your name ? " continued the doctor in evident
excitement.
" Fanny Woodruff," she replied.
The doctor's features looked pale and rigid, and his eyes were
fixed almost immovably upon her."
" God bless my soul ! " he slowly ejaculated, as he rose to
leave the room ; "she should have been lost, or dead !"
But he turned again when at the head of the stairs.
" Now, young woman, — if you can keep a secret, — tell no-
body, not even your mistress, what has passed. Take no notice ;
and perhaps, I may do something for you. But I thought we
had seen the last of your face seventeen years ago ! "
Fanny and Colin were left alone.
" He knows something about me ! " was the first thought that
arose in Fanny's mind. But she did not utter it, and only asked
very softly, if Colin had heard what the doctor said.
" Yes," he replied, " and I shall never forget it."
" But, say nothing," added the girl : " he promised to do
something for me. I wonder what it is ! "
" So do I," added Colin ; " something worjh having, I dare
say"
Thus they talked till evening. Colin said how much bet-
ter he felt since she had been with him; and Fanny declared
she would not leave him again for another day, until he was
well ; and, when he was well, then she would get him away from
such unfeeling people, even though she had to go down on her
knees to beg another situation for him elsewhere.
214 COLIN CLINK.
When, some little time afterwards, Fanny went down stairs,
and informed the mistress of the house of her resolution to stay
and attend on Colin until he was better, that amiable creature
replied,
" I think you won't, then. We have not any room to spare.
As if I was going to keep beds at liberty, to accommodate any
trunnion that may think fit to cram herself into my house !
We've plenty of work on our hands without having to wait on
other people's servants. What do you say, Sammy t "
" Well, I don't know, meesis," replied Mr. Palethorpe ; " it
seems as if Mr. Rowel was understood to say he was very bad,
and must be waited on pretty constantly."
"Pm sure / shan't wait on him neither constantly nor in-
constantly !" very pertly exclaimed Miss Sowersoft; and, cer-
tainly giving a very ingenious turn to her own views, as soon as
she found which way her lover's needle pointed ; "I'm not go-
ing to trot up and down stairs a thousand times a day for the
sake of such a thing as a plough-lad. Them may wait on him
that likes him, if he is to be waited on ; but I 'm positive /
shan't, nor anybody else that belongs to me ! "
This conclusion left, without another word, the field wholly
open to Fanny ; and, as Miss Sowersoft, on concluding her
speech, bounced off, into the dairy, not another word was
needed.
Whatever might be the views entertained by the lady of the
house, touching the treatment most proper for Colin, there still
were individuals amongst that rude community, whose feelings
were of a somewhat more Catholic kind than tliose of their
mistress ; so that Fanny found no difficulty in procuring a vo-
lunteer, in the person of Abel, to go over to Bramleigh for the
purpose of informing Mistress Clink how affairs stood, and of
bringing back such few needful articles as Fanny might require
during her stay at the farm.
All that night she passed a sleepless watch by the side of
Colin's bed, beguiling the hours not devoted to immediate attend-
ance on him, partly by looking over the little books which had
come from home in his box, but more by employing her mind
in the creation of every possible description of fanciful suppo-
sitions touching her own origin, her history, her parents, and the
knowledge which the doctor appeared to have of her earliest life.
What was it? — what could it be? and, what could he mean
by enjoining her to mention nothing of all this to any second
person ? In her he had unexpectedly found one whom he had
known a baby, and had believed to be dead, or lost in the vast
promiscuous crowds of poverty long ago. Had she been born to
better things than surrounded her now ? Had she been de-
frauded of her rights ? And, did the doctor bid her be silent
because he might have to employ stratagem in order to recover
them again ? Perhaps she was born — nay ! she knew not what
COLIN CLINK. 215
she was born ; nor dare she trust herself to think, scarcely ;
though, certain it is that a visionary world of ladies and gentle-
men, and fine things, and wealth to set Colin up in the world and
to make his mother comfortable, and to exalt herself over all the
petty enemies by whom they were now surrounded, passed in
pleasant state before her prolific imagination : while, it is equally
certain, that — blushing, though unseen and in secret, at the
very consciousness, — a prouder feeling sprung up in her bosom,
and she began to feel as though she must be more genteel, and
more particular, and less like a common servant, than she had
hitherto been.
Such were the golden fancies, and the pretty resolves, that
crowded round her brain that night. Neither, as a honest
chronicler of human nature, would I take upon me to assert that
she did not once or twice during these reveries rise to contem-
plate her own features in the glass, and to adj ust her hair more
fancifully, and wonder — if it should be so, — what kind of look-
ing lady she should make. Truly, it was a pretty face that
met her eyes in the mirror. As Colin woke up from a partial
slumber, and raised his head slightly from the pillow, to see for
his guardian, and to ascertain what had become of her, the re-
flection of her countenance as she was " looking the lady,"
chanced to catch his eye : and, though he smiled as he gently
sunk down again, he thought that that face would never again
pass from before him.
CHAPTER XV.
Fanny is deceived by the doctor. — A scene in Rowel's " Establishment for the In-
sane " at Nabbfield.
POOR girl ! What pains she takes — if not to " curse herself,"
at least to form that paradise out of the chaos of her own
thoughts, which her supposed benefactor, the physician, never in-
tended to realize. She was deceived, utterly and deeply deceived ;
and deceived, too, by the very means which the doctor had re-
commended to her apparently for the attainment of success. For,
great as some of our modern diplomatists have incontestably
been considered in the noble and polite art of deception, I
much question whether the man more capable of aspiring to
higher honours in it than was Doctor Rowel of Nabbfield, is
not yet to be born.
As the doctor rode homewards, after his interview with
Fanny, recorded in the preceding chapter, true enough it is
that he did several times over, and with inexpressible inward
satisfaction, congratulate and compliment himself upon having
achieved such a really fine stroke of policy at a very critical mo-
ment, as no other man living could, he verily believed, have at
all equalled. Within the space of a few brief moments he had
to his infinite astonishment, discovered, in the person of a serv-
216 COLIN CLINK.
ing-girl, one whom he himself had endeavoured, while she was
yet an infant, to put out of the way ; and upon whose father he
had perpetrated one of the most atrocious of social crimes, for the
sole purpose of obtaining the management of his property while
he lived, and its absolute possession on his decease. He had
ascertained that the girl retained some indistinct recollection
of the forcible arrest and carrying away of her parent, of
which he himself had been the instigator; and thus, suddenly
he found himself placed in a position which demanded both
promptitude and ingenuity in order to secure his own safety
and the permanency of all he held through this unjust tenure.
Since any discovery by Fanny of what had passed between
them would inevitably excite public question and inquiry, the
very brilliant idea had instantaneously suggested itself to his
mind that — as in the girl's continued silence alone lay his own
hopes of security, — no project in the capacity of man to con-
ceive was more likely to prove successful in obtaining and pre-
serving that silence, than that of representing it as vital to her
own dearest interest to keep the subject deeply locked for the
present in her own bosom. This object, he flattered himself, he
had already succeeded in achieving, without exciting in the
mind of Fanny herself the least suspicion of his real and ulti-
mate purpose. At the same time he inwardly resolved not to
stop here, but to resort to every means in his power calculated
still more deeply to bind the unsuspecting young woman to the
preservation of that silence upon the subject, which, if once
broken, might lead to the utter overthrow of a system which
he had now maintained for many years.
Elated with the idea of his own uncommon cleverness, he can-
tered along the York road from the moor with corresponding
briskness ; turned down a green lane to the left ; cleared several
fences and a pair of gates in his progress ; and reached within
sight of his "Establishment for the Insane" at Nabbfield, as
the last light of another unwished-for and unwelcome sun shot
through the barred and grated windows of the house, and served
dimly to show to the melancholy habitants of those cells the ex-
tent of their deprivations and their misery.
Far advanced as it was in the evening, the doctor had not yet
dined ; his professional duties, together with some other causes
already explained, having detained him beyond his usual hour.
Nevertheless, for reasons best known to himself, but which, it
may be supposed, the events of the afternoon had operated in
producing, the doctor had no sooner dismounted, and resigned
his steed to the care of a groom, who appeared in waiting the
instant that the clatter of his hoofs sounded on the stones of the
yard, than, instead of retiring to that removed portion of the
building, in which, for the purpose of being beyond reach of the
cries of those who were kept in confinement, his own private
apartments were situated, he demanded of one of the keepers the
key of a particular cell. Having obtained it, —
COLIN CLINK. 217
" Shall I attend you, sir ? " asked the man.
" No, Robson. James is harmless. I will see him into his
cell myself to-night."
" He is in the patient's yard, sir," replied the keeper.
" Very well — very well. Wait outside ; and, if I want assist-
ance, I will call you."
The man retired, while Doctor Rowel proceeded down a long
and ill-lighted passage, or corridor, in which were several angu-
lar turns and windings ; and when nearly lost in the gloom of
the place, he might have been heard to draw back a heavy bolt,
and raise a spring-latch like an iron bar, which made fast the
door that opened upon the yard, or piece of ground to which
the keeper had alluded.
It was just at that brief, but peculiar time, at the turn of day
and night, which every observer of Nature must occasionally
have remarked, when the light of the western atmosphere, and
that of a rayless moon high up the southern heaven, mingle
together in subdued harmony, and produce a kind of illumina-
tion, issuing from no given spot, but pervading equally the
whole atmosphere, — like that which we might imagine of a
Genii's palace, — without any particular source, neither wholly
of heaven nor of earth, but partaking partially of each.
The passage-door was thrown back, and the doctor stood
upon its threshold. A yard some forty feet square, surrounded
by a wall about six yards high, and floored with rolled gravel,
like the path of a garden, was before him. Near the centre
stood a dismal-looking yew-tree, its trunk rugged, and indented
with deep natural furrows, as though four or five shoots had
sprung up together, and at last become matted into one ; its black
lines of foliage, harmonizing in form with the long horizontal
clouds of the north-west quarter, which now marked the close ap-
proach of night. Nothing else was to be seen. As the eye, how-
ever, became somewhat more accustomed to the peculiar dusky
light which pervaded this place, the figure of a man standing
against the tree-trunk, became visible; with his arms tightly
crossed upon his breast, and bound behind him, as though they
had almost grown into his sides; and his hair hanging long
upon his shoulders, somewhat like that of a cavalier, or royalist,
of the middle of the seventeenth century.
The doctor raised his voice, and called, in a lusty tone,
"Woodruff!"
The patient returned no answer, nor did he^move.
" James Woodruff ! " again shouted the doctor.
A slight turn of the head, which as quickly resumed its pre-
vious attitude, was the only response made to the doctor's sum-
mons.
Finding he could not call this strange individual to him,
Doctor Rowel stepped across the yard, and advanced up to
him.
" James," said he mildly, " it is time you were in your cell."
218 COLIN CLINK.
The man looked sternly in his face, and replied,
" I have been there some thousands of times too often already."
" Never heed that," answered Rowel. " You must go to
rest, you know."
" Must go — ay ? Ah ! and so I must. I am helpless. But,
had I one hand free — only one hand — nay, with one finger and
thumb, I would first put you to rest where you should never
wake again ! When am I to go free ? "
" Will you go to your room ? " said the doctor, without re-
garding his question.
" I ask again," cried the alleged madman, " as I have asked
every day past counting, when am I to be loosed of this accursed
place ? How long is this to last ? "
" Only until you are better," remarked, with deep dissimula-
tion, this worthy member of the faculty.
"Better!" exclaimed Woodruff, with rising passion, as he
tugged to loosen his arms from the jacket which bound him,
though as ineffectually as a child might have tugged at the roots
of an oak sapling. " I could curse you again and doubly for
that word, but that I have cursed till language is weak as water,
and words have no more meaning. I am sick of railing. Bet-
ter ! Till I am better! Thief! — liar! — villain! — for you are
all '^these, and a thousand more, — I am WELL. You know it.
Sound in mind and body, — only that these girths have crippled
me before my time. How am I mad? I can think, reason,
talk, argue, — hold memory of past life. I remember, villain !
when you and your assassins seized me ; stole my child from
me ; swore that I was mad ; and brought me here, rlow seventeen
years ago ; and all that you might rob me of my property ! —
I remember that. Is that madness ? I remember, before that,
that I married your sister. Was it not so ? I remember that
she died, and left me a little pattern of herself, that called you
uncle. Was not that so ? Where is that child? What has
become of her ? Or are you a murderer besides ? All this I
remember : and I know now that I have power of will, and apt-
ness to do all that man^s mind is called to do. How, then, am
I mad ? Oh ! for one hand free ! One hand and arm. Only
one ! Give me that half chance to struggle with you. Let us
end it so, if I am never to go free again. Take two to one ; and
if you kill me, you shall stand free of the scaffold ; for I will
swear with my last breath that you did it in self-defence. Do
that. Let me have one grapple — a single gripe — and, if you can
master me, why God forgive you ! "
The doctor smiled, as in contempt of the impotent ravings
and wild propositions of his brother-in-law ; for such, it is al-
most needless to state, James Woodruff was. But the alleged
maniac continued his discourse.
" Then, as you are such a rank, arrant coward, give me my
whole liberty ; let me go beyond this house, and I will never
touch you. I will not ruffle a hair of your accursed head. Do
COLIN CLINK. 219
that, and I will leave you to God for the reward of all you have
done to me and mine ! Set me free ! Untie my limbs, and let
me out this night ! It is dark. Nobody can tell where I came
from. Let me go, and I will never mention your name in com-
plaint, nor lift a hand against you. Think, man, — do but think !
To spend seventeen years of nights in that dungeon, and seven-
teen years of days on this speck of ground ! To you who have
been at liberty to walk, and breathe freely, and see God's crea-
tion, it may be idle ; but I have seen nothing of seventeen
springs but their light skies ; nor of summers, but their heat
and their strong shadows ; nor of autumn, but the random
leaves which the wind whirled over into this yard ; nor of win-
ter, but its snow and clouds. I want to be upon the green
earth, — the grass, — amongst the fields. I want to see my wife's
grave again ! — some other human face than yours ! — and — and
— Man, — if you be man, — I want to find my daughter ! "
He flung himself on the ground, and groaned as in utter
despair.
The doctor was accustomed to witness these fits of frenzy,
and therefore paid no farther attention now than consisted in an
effort to raise the man again upon his feet, and a renewed soli-
citation to him to retire into his room.
" No," said he ; "I have something to speak of yet. I have
come to another determination. In my mind, villain ! there has
been seventeen years of rebellion against your wrong ; and I
have sworn, and have kept my oath till now, that you should
never compel me to give up my rights, in virtue of my wife, to
you. But time has outworn the iron of my soul : and seventeen
years of this endurance cannot be set against all the wealth of
the world. What is it to me ? To dig the earth, and live on
roots ; but to be free with it ; to go and come as I list ; to be at
liberty, body and limb ! This would be paradise compared with
the best palace that ever Mammon built in hell. Now, take these
straps from off me, and set me free. Time is favourable. Take
me into your house peaceably and quietly, and I will make over
to you all I have, as a free gift. What you have stolen, you
shall keep. Land, houses, gold, everything; I will not retain
of them a grain of sand, a stone, or a sparkle of metal. But let
me out ! Let me see this prison behind me ! "
" It would be the act of a lunatic, and of no effect," replied
the doctor.
" How lunatic ? To give that which is of, no use to me for
that which is dearer than life ? Besides, I am sane — sound of
mind."
" No," interrupted the doctor, " you are wrong on one ques-
tion. Your disease consists in this very thing. You fancy I
keep you confined in order to hold your property myself."
" Fancy you do ! " savagely exclaimed Woodruff, stamping
the ground with rage ; " this contradiction is enough to drive
me mad. I know it ! You know it. There is no fancy in the
22Q COLIN CLINK.
case. It is an excuse, a vile pretence, a lie of seventeen years'
standing. It was a lie at first. Will you set me free ? "
" It cannot be," said the doctor ; " go to your room."
" It shall be ! " replied Woodruff; " I will not go."
*' Then I must call assistance," observed Rowel, as he at-
tempted to approach the door at which he had entered.
" You shall not ! " replied the patient, placing himself in
front of the doctor, as though resolutely bent on preventing his
approach to the door, although he had not the least use of his
arms, which might have enabled him to effect his purpose.
** Stand aside, fool ! " Rowel exclaimed, as he threw out his
right arm in order to strike off the intruder. But Woodruff
anticipated him ; and, by a sudden and dexterous thrust of his
foot in a horizontal line, he knocked the doctor's legs from
under him, and sent him sprawling on the ground. Woodruff
fell upon him instantly, in order to keep him down, and to stifle
the loud cries of " Robson ! Robson ! " which were now issuing
in rapid succession from the doctor's larynx. At the same time
a tremendous struggle, rendered still more desperate by the
doctor's fears, took place on the ground ; during which the un-
happy Woodruff strove so violently to disengage his hands from
the ligatures of the waistcoat which bound him, that the blood
gushed somewhat copiously from his mouth and nostrils. His
efforts were not altogether unavailing. He partly disengaged
one hand ; and, with a degree of activity and energy only
to be accounted for from the almost superhuman spirit which
burned within him, and for which his antagonist, with all his
advantages, was by no means an equal match, he succeeded in
planting his forefinger and thumb, like the bite of a crocodile,
upon the doctor's throat.
" Swear to let me free, or I '11 kill you ! " he exclaimed.
" Yes, — y — e — s, — I sw— ear ! " gurgled through the wind-
pipe of the vanquished physician as he kicked and plunged like
a horse in a bog to shake off his foe. The light of a lamp
flashed upon them, and Robson rushed into the yard.
" Let me out ! " again demanded Woodruff.
" I will ; I will ! " replied the doctor.
Before Robson could interfere, the grasp upon his neck was
loosed, and Woodruff stood quietly upon his feet. The doctor
soon followed.
" Seize him, Robson ! " said he ; and, in an instant, before
Woodruff was aware, the strong man had him grasped as in a
vice.
" You swore to set me free ! " cried the patient.
" Yes," replied the doctor, with a triumphant sneer, as he
followed the keeper until he had pitched Woodruff into his
room, and secured the entrance. « Yes," he repeated, staring
maliciously at his prisoner through the little barred opening in
the door, — "yes, you shall be let out — of this cell into that yard
again, when you have grown a little tamer ! "
221
JACK SHEPPARD.
BY W. HARRISON AINSWORTH, ESQ.
AUTHOR OF "ROOKWOOD" AND "CRICHTON."
ILLUSTRATED BY GEORGE CRUIKSH A N K.
EPOCH THE THIRD. 1724.
CHAPTER IX.
OLD NEWGATE.
AT the beginning of the twelfth century, — whether in the
reign of Henry the First, or Stephen is uncertain, — a fifth gate
was added to the four principal entrances of the city of London ;
then, it is almost needless to say, surrounded by ramparts,
moats, and other defences. This gate, called Newgate, " as
being latelier builded than the rest," continued, for upwards of
three hundred years, to be used as a place of imprisonment for
felons and trespassers ; at the end of which time, having grown
old, ruinous, and " horribly loathsome," it was rebuilt and en-
larged by the executors of the renowned Sir Richard Whitting-
ton, the Lord Mayor of London : whence it afterwards obtained
amongst a certain class of students, whose examinations were
conducted with some strictness at the Old Bailey, and their
highest degrees taken at Hyde-park-corner, the appellation of
Whittington's College, or, more briefly, the Whit. It may here
be mentioned that this gate, destined to bequeath its name — a
name, which has since acquired a terrible significance, — to every
successive structure erected upon its site, was granted, in 1400,
by charter by Henry the Sixth to the citizens of London, in
return for their loyal services, and thenceforth became the com-
mon gaol to that city and the county of Middlesex. Nothing
material occurred to Newgate, until the memorable year 1666,
when it was utterly destroyed by the Great Fire. It is with the
building raised after this direful calamity that our history has
to deal.
Though by no means so extensive or commodious as the
modern prison, Old Newgate was a large and strongly-built
pile. The body of the edifice stood on the south side of New-
gate Street, and projected at the western extremity far into the
area opposite Saint Sepulchre's Church. One small wing lay at
the north of the gate, where Giltspur Compter'novv stands ; and
the Press Yard, which was detached from the main building, was
situated at the back of Phoenix Court. The south, or principal
front, looking doiun the Old Bailey, and not upon it, as is the
case with the present structure, with its massive walls of rough-
ened free-stone, — in some places darkened by the smoke, in
others blanched by exposure to the weather, — its heavy pro-
VOL. VI. R
JACK SHEPPARD.
jecting cornice, its unglazed doubly-grated windows, its gloomy
porch decorated with fetters, and defended by an enormous iron
door, had a stern and striking effect. Over the Lodge, upon
a dial, was inscribed the appropriate motto, "Venio siMi/itr"
The Gate, which crossed Newgate Street, had a wide arch for
carriages, and a postern, on the north side, for foot-passengers.
Its architecture was richly ornamental, and resembled the style of
a triumphal entrance to a capital, rather than a dungeon, having
battlements and hexagonal towers, and being adorned on the
western side with a triple range of pilasters of the Tuscan order,
amid the intercolumniations of which were niches embellished
with statues. The chief of these was a figure of Liberty, with a
cat at her feet, in allusion to the supposed origin of the fortunes
of its former founder, Sir Richard Whittington. On the right of
the postern against the wall was affixed a small grating, sustain-
ing the debtor's box ; and any pleasure which the passer-by
might derive from contemplating the splendid structure above-
described was damped at beholding the pale faces and squalid
figures of the captives across the bars of its strongly-grated
windows. Some years after the date of this history, an immense
ventilator was placed at the top of the Gate, with the view of
purifying the prison, which, owing to its insufficient space and
constantly-crowded state, was never free from that dreadful and
contagious disorder, now happily unknown, the gaol-fever. So
frightful, indeed, were the ravages of this malady, to which
debtors and felons were alike exposed, that its miserable victims
were frequently carried out by cart-loads, and thrown into a pit
in the burial-ground of Christ-church, without ceremony.
Old Newgate was divided into three separate prisons, — the
Master's Side, the Common Side, and the Press Yard. The first
of these, situated at the south of the building, with the excep-
tion of one ward over the gateway, was allotted to the better
class of debtors, whose funds enabled them to defray their
chamber-rent, fees, and garnish. The second, comprising the
bulk of the gaol, and by many degrees worse in point of accom-
modation, having several dismal and noisome wards under-
ground, was common both to debtors and malefactors, — an as-
sociation little favourable to the morals or comforts of the
former, who, if they were brought there with any notions of
honesty, seldom left with untainted principles. The last, — in
all respects the best and airiest of the three, standing, as has
been before observed, in Phrenix Court, at the rear of the main
fabric, — was reserved for state-offenders, and such persons as
chose to submit to the extortionate demands of the keeper : from
twenty to five hundred pounds premium, according to the rank
and means of the applicant, in addition to a high weekly rent,
being required for accommodation in this quarter. Some excuse
for this rapacity may perhaps be found in the fact, that five
thousand pounds was paid for the purchase of the Press Yard
JACK SHEPPARD.
by Mr. Pitt, the then governor of Newgate. This gentleman,
tried for high treason, in 1716, on suspicion of aiding Mr.
Forster, the rebel general's escape, but acquitted, reaped a
golden harvest during the occupation of his premises by the
Preston rebels, when a larger sum was obtained for a single
chamber than (in the words of a sufferer on the occasion)
" would have paid the rent of the best house in Saint James's
Square or Piccadilly for several years."
Nor was this all. Other, and more serious impositions, inas-
much as they affected a poorer class of persons, were practised
by the underlings of the gaol. On his first entrance, a prisoner,
if unable or unwilling to comply with the exactions of the turn-
keys, was thrust into the Condemned Hold with the worst de-
scription of criminals, and terrified by threats into submission.
By the old regulations, the free use of strong liquors not being
interdicted, a tap-house was kept in the Lodge, and also in a
cellar on the Common Side, — under the superintendence of Mrs.
Spurling, formerly, it may be remembered, the hostess of the
Dark House at Queenhithe, — whence wine, ale, and brandy
of inferior quality were dispensed, in false measures, and at
high prices', throughout the prison, which in noise and de-
bauchery rivalled, if it did not surpass, the lowest tavern.
The chief scene of these disgusting orgies — the cellar, just re-
ferred to, — was a large low-roofed vault, about four feet below the
level of the street, perfectly dark, — unless when illumined by a
roaring fire, and candles stuck in pyramidal lumps of clay, — with
a range of butts and barrels at one end, and benches and tables at
the other, where the prisoners — debtors and malefactors, male
and female — assembled as long as their money lasted, and con-
sumed the time in drinking, smoking, and gaming with cards
and dice. Above, was a spacious hall, connected with it by a
flight of stone steps, at the further end of which stood an
immense grated door, called in the slang of the place " The
Jigger," through the bars of which the felons in the upper wards
were allowed to converse with their friends, or if they wished
to enter the room, or join the revellers below, they were at
liberty to do so, on payment of a small fine. Thus, the same
system of plunder was everywhere carried on. The gaolers rob-
bed the prisoners : the prisoners robbed one another.
Two large wards were situated in the Gate ; one of which,
the Stone Ward, appropriated to the master debtors, looked
towards Holborn ; the other called the Stone Hall, from a
huge stone standing in the middle of it, upon which the irons
of criminals under sentence of death were knocked off previously
to their being taken to the place of execution, faced Newgate-
street. Here, the prisoners took exercise ; and, a quaint, but
striking picture has been left of their appearance when so en-
gaged, by the author of the English Rogue. " At my first being
acquainted with the place," says this writer, in the ' Miseries of
R 2
224 JACK SHEPPARD.
a Prison,' — " the prisoners, methought, walking up and clown tlie
Stone Hall, looked like so many wrecks upon the sea. Here the
ribs of a thousand pounds beating against the Needles — those
dangerous rocks, credulity ; here floated, to and fro, silks, stuffs,
camlets, and velvet, without giving place to each other, accord-
ing to their dignity ; here rolled so many pipes of canary, whose
bungholes lying open, were so damaged that the merchant may
go rToop for his money." A less picturesque, but more truthful,
and, therefore, more melancholy description of the same scene, is
furnished by the shrewd and satirical Ned Ward, who informs
us, in the " Delectable History of Whittington's College," that
" When the prisoners are disposed to recreate themselves with
walking, they go up into a spacious room, called the Stone Hall ;
where, when you see them taking a turn together, it would puz-
zle one to know which is the gentleman, which the mechanic, and
which the beggar, for they are all suited in the same garb of
squalid poverty, making a spectacle of more pity than execu-
tions; only to be out at the elbows is in fashion here, and a
great indecorum not to be threadbare."
In an angle of the Stone Hall was the Iron Hold ; a chamber
containing a vast assortment of fetters and handcuffs of all
weights and sizes. Four prisoners, termed " The Partners," had
charge of this hold. Their duty was to see who came in, or
went out ; to lock up, and open the different wards ; to fetter
such prisoners as were ordered to be placed in irons ; to distri-
bute the allowances of provision ; and to maintain some show of
decorum ; for which latter purpose they were allowed to carry
whips and truncheons. When any violent outrage was com-
mitted,— and such matters were of daily, sometimes hourly, oc-
currence,— a bell, the rope of which descended into the hall,
brought the whole of the turnkeys to their assistance. A nar-
row passage at the north of the Stone Hall led to the Bluebeard's
room of this enchanted castle, a place shunned even by the reck-
less crew who were compelled to pass it. It was a sort of cooking-
room, with an immense fire-place flanked by a couple of caldrons ;
and was called Jack Ketch's Kitchen, because the quarters of per-
sons executed for treason were there boiled by the hangman in
oil, pitch and tar, before they were affixed on the city gates, or
on London Bridge. Above this revolting spot was the female
debtor's ward ; below it a gloomy cell, called Tangier ; and,
lower still, the Stone Hold, a most terrible and noisome dungeon,
situated underground, and unvisited by a single ray of day-
light. Built and paved with stone, without beds, or any other
sort of protection from the cold, this dreadful hole, account-
ed the most dark and dismal in the prison, was made the re-
ceptacle of such miserable wretches as could not pay the cus-
tomary fees. Adjoining it was the Lower Ward, — " Though, in
what degree of latitude it was situated," observes Ned Ward,
" I cannot positively demonstrate, unless it lay ninety degrees
JACK SHEPPARD. 225
beyond the North Pole ; for, instead of being dark there but
half a year, it is dark all the year round." It was only a shade
better than the Stone Hold. Here were imprisoned the fines;
and, " perhaps," adds the before-cited authority, " if he behaved
himself, an outlawed person might creep in among them." As-
cending the gate once more on the way back, we find over the
Stone Hall another large room, called Debtors1 Hall, facing New-
gate-street, with "very good air and light." A little too much of
the former, perhaps ; as the windows being unglazed, the pri-
sonere were subjected to severe annoyance from the weather and
easterly winds.
Of the women felons' rooms nothing has yet been said. There
were two. One called Waterman's Hall, a horrible place adjoining
the postern under the gate, whence, through a small barred aper-
ture, they solicited alms from the passengers : the other, a large
chamber, denominated My Lady's Hold, was situated in the
highest part of the gaol at the northern extremity. Neither
of these wards had beds, and the unfortunate inmates were
obliged to take their rest on the oaken floor. The condition of
the rooms was indescribably filthy and disgusting ; nor were the
habits of the occupants much more cleanly. In other respects,
they were equally indecorous and offensive. " It is with no small
concern," writes an anonvmous historian of Newgate, " that I
am obliged to observe that the women in every ward of this
prison are exceedingly worse than the worst of the men, not
only in respect to their mode of living, but more especially as to
their conversation, which, to their great shame, is as profane and
wicked as hell itself can possibly be."
There were two Condemned Holds, — one for each sex. That
for the men lay near the Lodge, with which it was connected by
a dark passage. It was a large room, about twenty feet long
and fifteen broad, and had an arched stone roof. In fact, it had
been anciently the right hand postern under the gate leading to-
wards the city. The floor was planked with oak, and covered with
iron staples, hooks, and ring-bolts, with heavy chains attached
to them. There was only one small grated window in this hold,
which admitted but little light.
Over the gateway towards Snow Hill were two strong wards,
called the Castle and the Red Room. They will claim particular
attention hereafter.
Many other wards, — especially on the Master Debtors' side, —
have been necessarily omitted in the foregoing hasty enumeration.
But there were two places of punishment whieh merit some no-
tice from their peculiarity. The first of these, the Press Room, a
dark close chamber, near Waterman's Hall, obtained its name
from an immense wooden machine kept in it, with which such
prisoners as refused to plead to their indictments were pressed
to death — a species of inquisitorial torture not discontinued until
so lately as the early part of the reign of George the Third, when
'226 JACK SHEPPARD.
it was abolished by an express statute. Into the second, deno-
minated the Bilbowes, — also a dismal place, — refractory prisoners
were thrust, and placed in a kind of stocks, whence the name.
The Chapel was situated in the south-east angle of the gaol ;
the ordinary at the time of this history being the -Reverend
Thomas Purney ; the deputy chaplain, Mr. Wagstaff.
Much has been advanced by modern writers respecting the de-
moralising effect of prison society ; and it has been asserted that
a youth once confined in Newgate, is certain to come out a con-
firmed thief. However this may be now, it was unquestionably
true of Old Newgate. It was the grand nursery of vice, — " a
famous university," observes Ned Ward, in the London Spy,
" where, if a man has a mind to educate a hopeful child in
the daring science of padding ; the light-fingered subtlety of
shop-lifting ; the excellent use of jack and crow ; for the
silently drawing bolts, and forcing barricades ; with the knack
of sweetening ; or the most ingenious dexterity of picking
pockets ; let him but enter him in this college on the Common
Side, and confine him close to his study but for three months ;
and, if he does not come out qualified to take any degree of
villainy, he must be the most honest dunce that ever had the ad-
vantage of such eminent tutors."
To bring down this imperfect sketch of Newgate to the pre-
sent time, it may be mentioned that, being found inadequate to
the purpose required, the old gaol was pulled down in 1770.
Just at the completion of the new gaol, in 1780, it was assailed
by the mob during the Gordon riots, fired, and greatly damaged.
The devastations, however, were speedily made , good ; and,
in two years more it was finished.
It is a cheering reflection, that in the present prison, with its
clean, well-whitewashed, and well-ventilated wards, its airy
courts, its infirmary, its improved regulations, and its humane
and intelligent officers, many of the miseries of the old gaol are
removed. For these beneficial changes society is mainly indebted
to the unremitting exertions of the philanthropic HOWARD.
CHAPTER X.
HOW JACK SHEPPARD GOT OUT OF THE CONDEMNED HOLD.
MONDAY, the 31st of August 1724, — a day long afterwards
remembered by the officers of Newgate, — was distinguished by
an unusual influx of visitors to the Lodge. On that morning
the dead warrant had arrived from Windsor, ordering Sheppard
for execution, (since his capture by Jonathan Wild in Bedlam,
as related in a former chapter, Jack had been tried, convicted,
and sentenced to death,) together with three other malefactors,
on the following Friday. Up to this moment, hopes had been
entertained of a respite, strong representations in his favour
having been made in the highest quarter ; but now that his fate
seemed sealed, the curiosity of the sight- seeing public to behold
JACK SHEPPARD.
him was redoubled. The prison gates were besieged like the
entrance of a booth at a fair ; and the Condemned Hold, where
he was confined, and to which visitors were admitted at the mo-
derate rate of a guinea a-head, had quite the appearance of a
show-room. As the day wore on, the crowds diminished, — many
who would not submit to the turnkey's demands were sent away
ungratified, — and at five o'clock, only two strangers, Mr. Shot-
bolt, the head turnkey of Clerkenwell Prison, and Mr. Griffin,
who held the same office in Westminster Gatehouse, were left in
the Lodge. Jack, who had formerly been in the custody of
both these gentlemen, gave them a very cordial welcome: apolo-
gized for the sorry room he was compelled to receive them in;
and when they took leave, insisted on treating them to a double
bowl of punch, which they were now discussing with the upper
gaoler, Mr. Ireton, and his two satellites, Austin and Langley.
At a little distance from the party, sat a tall sinister-looking per-
sonage, with harsh inflexible features, a gaunt but muscular
frame, and large bony hands. He was sipping a glass of cold
gin and water, and smoking a short black pipe. His name was
Marvel, and his avocation, which was as repulsive as his looks,
was that of public executioner. By his side sat a remarkably
stout dame, to whom he paid as much attention as it was in his
iron nature to pay. She had a nut-brown skin, a swarthy upper
lip, a merry black eye, a prominent bust, and a tun-like circum-
ference of waist. A widow for the fourth time, Mrs. Spurling,
(for she it was,) either by her attractions of purse or person,
had succeeded in moving the stony heart of Mr. Marvel, who,
as he had helped to deprive her of her former husbands, thought
himself in duty bound to offer to supply their place. But the
lady was not to be so easily won ; and though she did not abso-
lutely reject him, gave him very slight hopes. Mr. Marvel,
therefore, remained on his probation. Behind Mrs. Spurling
stood her negro attendant, Caliban ; a hideous, misshapen, mali-
cious monster, with broad hunched shoulders, a flat nose, and
ears like those of a wild beast, a head too large for his body, and
a body too long for his legs. This horrible piece of deformity,
who acted as drawer and cellarman, and was a constant butt to
the small wits of the gaol, was nicknamed the Black Dog of
Newgate.
In the general survey of the prison, taken in the preceding
chapter, but little was said of the Lodge. It may be well,
therefore, before proceeding farther, to describe it more minute-
ly. It was approached from the street by a flight of broad
stone steps, leading to a ponderous door, plated with iron, and
secured on the inner side by huge bolts, and a lock, with wards
of a prodigious size. A little within stood a second door, or ra-
ther wicket, lower than the first, but of equal stength, and sur-
mounted by a row of sharp spikes. As no apprehension was en-
tertained of an escape by this outlet, — nothing of the kind
228 JACK SHEPPARD.
having been attempted by the boldest felon ever incarcerated in
Newgate, — both doors were generally left open during the day-
time. At six o'clock, the wicket was shut ; and at nine, the gaol
•was altogether locked up. Not far from the entrance, on the
left, was a sort of screen, or partition- wall, reaching from the
floor to the ceiling, formed of thick oaken planks riveted toge-
ther by iron bolts, and studded with broad-headed nails. In this
screen, which masked the entrance of a dark passage communi-
cating with the Condemned Hold, about five feet from the
ground, was a hatch, protected by long spikes set six inches
apart, and each of the thickness of an elephant's tusk. The
spikes almost touched the upper part of the hatch ; scarcely
space enough for the passage of a hand being left between their
points and the beam. Here, as has already been observed, con-
demned malefactors were allowed to converse with such of their
guests as had not interest or money enough to procure ad-
mission to them in the hold. Beyond the hatch, an angle,
formed by a projection in the wall of some three or four feet,
served to hide a door conducting to the interior of the prison.
At the farther end of the Lodge, the floor was raised to the
l\eight of a couple of steps ; whence the whole place, with the
exception of the remotest corner of the angle before-mentioned,
could be commanded at a single glance. On this elevation a
table was now placed, around which sat the turnkeys and their
guests, regaling themselves on the fragrant beverage provided
by the prisoner. A brief description will suffice for them. They
were all stout ill-favoured men, attired in the regular gaol-
livery of a scratch wig and a snuff-coloured suit ; and had all a
strong family likeness to each other. The only difference be-
tween the officers of Newgate and their brethren was, that they
had enormous bunches of keys at their girdles, while the latter
had left their keys at home.
" Well, I 've seen many a gallant fellow in my time, Mr.
Ireton," observed the chief turnkey of Westminster Gatehouse,
as he helped himself to his third glass of punch ; " but I never
saw one like Jack Sheppard."
" Nor I," returned Ireton, following his example : " and I 've
had some experience too. Ever since he came here, three
months ago, he has been the life and soul of the place; and now
the dead warrant has arrived, instead of being cast down, as most
men would be, and as all the others ore, he 's gayer than ever.
Well, / shall be sorry to lose him, Mr. Griffin. We 've made a
pretty penny by him— sixty guineas this blessed day."
"No more! "cried Griffin, incredulously; "I should have
thought you must have made double that sum at the least."
"Not a farthing more, I assure you," rejoined Ireton,
pettishly; " we're all on the square here. I took the money my-
self, and ought to know."
" Oh ! certainly," answered Griffin ; "certainly."
JACK SHEPPARD. 229
" I offered Jack five guineas as his share," continued Ireton ;
" but he wouldn't take it himself, and gave it to the poor
debtors and felons, who are now drinking it out in the cellar on
the Common Side."
" Jack 's a noble fellow," exclaimed the head-gaoler of Clerken-
well Prison, raising his glass; "and, though he played me a
scurvy trick, I '11 drink to his speedy deliverance."
" At Tyburn, eh, Mr. Shotbolt ? " rejoined the executioner.
" I "11 pledge you in that toast with all my heart."
" Well, for my part," observed Mrs. Spurling, " I hope he
may never see Tyburn. And, if I 'd my own way with the Se-
cretary of State, he never should. It's a thousand pities to hang
so pretty a fellow. There haven't been so many ladies in the
Lodge since the days of Claude Du Val, the gentleman high-
wayman ; and they all declare it '11 break their hearts if he 's
scragged."
" Bah ! " ejaculated Marvel, gruffly.
" You think our sex has no feeling, I suppose, sir," cried
Mrs. Spurling, indignantly ; " but I can tell you we have.
And, what 's more, I tell you, if Captain Sheppard is hanged,
you need never hope to call me Mrs. Marvel."
" ""Zounds ! " cried the executioner, in astonishment. " Do
you know what you Ye talking about, Mrs. Spurling? Why, if
Captain Sheppard should get off', it 'ud be fifty guineas out of
my way. There's the grand laced coat he wore at his trial,
which I intend for my wedding-dress."
" Don't mention such a thing, sir," interrupted the tapstress ;
" I couldn't bear to see you in it. You 're speaking of the trial
brings the whole scene to my mind. Ah ! I shall never forget
the figure Jack cut on that occasion. What a buzz of admiration
ran round the court as he appeared ! And, how handsome and
composed he looked ! Everybody wondered that such a strip-
ling could commit such desperate robberies. His firmness
never deserted him till his old master, Mr. Wood, was exa-
mined. Then he did gave way a bit. And when Mr. Wood's
daughter, — to whom, I 've heard tell, he was attached years ago,
— was brought up, his courage forsook him altogether, and he
trembled, and could scarcely stand. Poor young lady ! She
trembled too, and was unable to give her evidence. When sen-
tence was passed there wasn't a dry eye in the court."
" Yes, there was one," observed Ireton.
" I guess who you mean," rejoined Shotbolt. " Mr. Wild's."
" Right," answered Ireton. "It's strange the antipathy he
bears to Sheppard. I was standing near Jack at that awful
moment, and beheld the look Wild fixed on him. It was like
the grin of a fiend, and made my flesh creep on my bones.
When the prisoner was removed from the dock, we met Jona-
than as we passed through the yard. He stopped us, and, ad-
dressing Jack in a taunting tone, said, * Well, I 've been as
230 JACK SIIEPPARD.
good as my word ! ' — ' True,' replied Sheppard ; ' and I '11 be as
good as mine ! ' And so they parted."
"And I hope he will, if it's anything to Jonathan's disad-
vantage," muttered Mrs. Spurling, half aside.
" I 'm surprised Mr. Wild hasn't been to inquire after him
to-day," observed Langley ; "it's the first time he's missed
doing so since the trial."
" He 's gone to Enfield after Blueskin, who has so long
eluded his vigilance," rejoined Austin. " Quilt Arnold called
this morning to say so. Certain information, it seems, has been
received from a female, that Blueskin would be at a flash-ken
near the Chase at five o'clock to-day, and they 're all set out
in the expectation of nabbing him."
" Mr. Wild had a narrow escape lately, in that affair of
Captain Darrell," observed Shotbolt.
" I don't exactly know the rights of that affair," rejoined
Griffin, with some curiosity.
" Nor any one else, I suspect," answered Ireton, winking sig-
nificantly. " It 's a mysterious transaction altogether. But,
as much as is known is this. Captain Darrell, who resides with
Mr. Wood at Dollis Hill, was assaulted and half-killed by a
party of ruffians, headed, he swore, by Mr. Wild, and his uncle
Sir Rowland Trenchard. Mr. Wild, however, proved, on the
evidence of his own servants, that he was at the Old Bailey at
the time ; and Sir Rowland proved that he was in Manchester.
So the charge was dismissed. Another charge was then brought
against them by the captain, who accused them of kidnapping him
when a boy, and placing him in the hands of a Dutch skipper,
named Van Galgebrok, with instructions to throw him over-
board, which was done, though he afterwards escaped. But this
accusation, for want of sufficient evidence, met with the same
fate as the first, and Jonathan came off" victorious. It was
thought, however, if the skipper could have been found that the
result of the case would have been materially different. This
was rather too much to expect ; for we all know, if Mr. Wild
wishes to keep a man out of the way, he '11 speedily find a
way to do so."
" Ay, ay," cried the gaolers, laughing.
" /could have given awkward evidence in that case, if I'd
been so inclined," said Mrs. Spurling, " ay, and found Van
Galgebrok too. But I never betray an old customer."
" Mr. Wild is a great man," said the hangman, replenishing
his pipe, " and we owe him much, and ought to support him.
Were anything to happen to him, Newgate wouldn't be what
it is, nor Tyburn either."
" Mr. Wild has given you some employment, Mr. Marvel,"
remarked Shotbolt.
" A little, sir," replied the executioner, with a grim smile.
" Out of the twelve hundred subjects I 've tucked up, I may
JACK SHEPPARD. 231
safely place half to his account. If ever he requires my ser-
vices, he shall find I 'm not ungrateful. And though 1 say it
who shouldn't say it, no man can tie a better knot. Mr. Wild,
gentlemen, and the nubbin'-cheat."
" Fill your glasses, gentlemen," observed Ireton, " and I rll
tell you a droll thing Jack said this morning. Amongst others
who came to see him, was a Mr. Kneebone, a woollen-draper in
Wych Street, with whose pockets, it appears, Jack, when a lad,
made a little too free. As this gentleman was going away, he
said to Jack in a jesting manner, ' that he should be glad to see
him to-night at supper.' Upon which the other answered, ' that
he accepted his invitation with pleasure, and would make a point
of waiting upon him.' Ha ! ha ! ha ! "
" Did he say so?" cried Shotbolt. " Then I advise you to
look sharply after him, Mr. Ireton ; for may I be hanged myself
if I don't believe he '11 be as good as his word."
At this juncture, two women, very smartly attired in silk
hoods and cloaks, appeared at the door of the Lodge.
" Ah ! who have we here ? " exclaimed Griffin.
*' Only Jack's two wives — Edgeworth Bess and Poll Mag-
got," replied Austin, laughing.
" They can't go into the Condemned Hold," said Ireton, con-
sequentially ; " it 's against Mr. Wild's orders. They must see
the prisoner at the hatch."
" Very well, sir," replied Austin, rising and walking towards
them. " Well, my pretty dears," he added, — " come to see
your husband, eh ? You must make the most of your time. You
won't have him long. You 've heard the news, I suppose ?"
" That the dead warrant 's arrived," returned Edgeworth
Bess, bursting into a flood of tears ; " oh, yes ! we've heard it."
" How does Jack bear it ? " inquired Mrs. Maggot.
" Like a hero," answered Austin.
" I knew he would," replied the Amazon. " Come, Bess, —
no whimpering. Don't unman him. Are we to see him here?"
" Yes, my love."
" Well, then, lose no time in bringing him to us," said Mrs.
Maggot. " There 's a guinea to drink our health," she added,
slipping a piece of money into his hand.
" Here, Caliban," shouted the under-turnkey, " unlock Cap-
tain Sheppard's padlock, and tell him his wives are in the Lodge
waiting to see him."
" Iss, Massa Austin," replied the black. And taking the
keys, he departed on the errand.
As soon as he was gone, the two women divested themselves
of their hoods and cloaks, and threw them, as if inadvertently,
into the farthest part of the angle in the wall. Their beau-
tifully proportioned figures and rather over-displayed shoulders
attracted the notice of Austin, who inquired of the chief turnkey
" whether he should stand by them during the interview ? "
232 JACK SHEPPARD.
" Oh ! never mind them," said Mrs. Spurling, who had been
hastily compounding another bowl of punch. " Sit down, and
enjoy yourself. I '11 keep a look out that nothing happens.""
By this time Caliban had returned, and Jack appeared at the
hatch. He was wrapped in a loose dressing-gown of light ma-
terial, and stood near the corner where the women's dresses had
just been thrown down, quite out of sight of all the party,
except Mrs. Spurling, who sat on the right of the table.
" Have you got Jonathan out of the way ?" he asked, in an
eager whisper.
" Yes, yes," replied Edgeworth Bess. " Patience Kite has
lured him to Knfield on a false scent-after Blueskin. You need
fear no interruption from him,' or any of his myrmidons."
" That's well ! " cried Jack. " Now stand before me, Poll.
I 've got the watch-spring saw in my sleeve. Pretend to weep
both of you as loudly as you can. This spike is more than half
cut through. I was at work at it yesterday and the day before.
Keep up the clamour for live minutes, and I 11 finish it."
Thus urged, the damsels began to raise their voices in loud
lamentation.
" What the devil are you howling about ?" cried Langley.
" Do you think we're to be disturbed in this way ? Make less
noise, hussies, or 1 11 turn you out of the Lodge."
" For shame, Mr. Langley," rejoined Mrs. Spurling : " I
blush for you, sir ! To call yourself a man, and interfere with
the natural course of affection ! Have you no feeling for the
situation of those poor disconsolate creatures, about to be be-
reaved of all they hold dear ? Is it nothing to part with a hus-
band to the gallows ? I 've lost four in the same way, and know
what it is." Here she began to blubber loudly for sympathy.
44 Comfort yourself, my charmer," said Mr. Marvel, in a tone
intended to be consolatory. " 1 11 be their substitute."
" You !" cried the tapstress, with a look of horror : " Never!"
" Confusion ! " muttered Jack, suddenly pausing in his task,
*' the saw has broken just as I am through the spike."
" Can't we break it off?" replied Mrs. Maggot.
" I fear not," replied Jack, despondingly.
" Let 's try, at all events," returned the Amazon.
And grasping the thick iron rod, she pushed with all her
force against it, while Jack seconded her efforts from within.
After great exertions on both parts, the spike yielded to their
combined strength, and snapped suddenly off.
" Halloa ! — what's that ?" cried Austin, starting up.
" Only my darbies," returned Jack, clinking his chains.
"Oh ! that was all, was it?" said the turnkey, quietly re-
seating himself.
" Now, give me the woollen cloth to tie round my fetters,"
whispered Sheppard. " Quick ! "
" Here it is," replied Edgeworth Bess.
JACK SHEl'PABD. 233
" Give me your hand, Poll, to help me through," cried Jack,
as he accomplished the operation. " Keep a sharp look out,
Bess."
" Stop ! " interposed Edgeworth Bess ; " Mr. Langley is get-
ting up, and coming this way. We 're lost ! "
** Help me through at all hazards, Poll," cried Jack, straining
towards the opening.
" The danger's past," whispered Bess. " Mrs. Spurling has
induced him to sit down again. Ah ! she looks this way, and
puts her finger to her lips. She comprehends what we 're about.
We 're all safe ! "
"Don't lose a moment, then," cried Jack, forcing himself
into the aperture, while the Amazon, assisted by Bess, pulled
him through it.
" There ! " cried Mrs. Maggot, as she placed him without
noise upon the ground ; " you 're safe so far."
" Come, my disconsolate darlings," cried Austin, " it only
wants five minutes to six. I expect Mr. Wild here presently.
Cut it as short as you can."
" Only two minutes more, sir," intreated Edgeworth Bess,
advancing towards him in such a manner as to screen Jack, who
crept into the farthest part of the angle, — " only two minutes,
and we 've done."
" Well, well, I 'm not within a minute," rejoined the turnkey.
" We shall never be able to get you out unseen, Jack," whis-
pered Poll Maggot. " You must make a bold push."
" Impossible," replied Sheppard, in the same tone. " That
would be certain destruction. I can't run in these heavy fetters.
No : I must face it out. Tell Bess to slip out, and 1 '11 put on
her cloak and hood."
Meanwhile, the party at the table continued drinking and
chatting as merrily as before.
" I can't help thinking of Jack Sheppard's speech to Mr.
Kneebone," observed Shotbolt, as he emptied his tenth tumbler ;
" I'm sure he's meditating an escape, and hopes to accomplish
it to-night."
"Poh ! poh !" rejoined Ireton ; "it was mere idle boasting.
I examined the Condemned Hold myself carefully this morning,
and didn't find a nail out of its place. Recollect, he's chained
to the ground by a great horse-padlock, and is never unloosed
except when he comes to that hatch. If he escapes at all, it
must be before our faces."
" It wouldn't surprise me if he did," remarked Griffin. " He's
audacity enough for anything. He got out in much the same
way from the Gatehouse, — stole the keys, and passed through a
room where I was sitting half-asleep in a chair."
"Caught you napping, eh?" rejoined Ireton, with a laugh.
"Well, he won't do that here. I '11 forgive him if he does."
"And so will I," said Austin. "We're too wide awake for
234 JACK SHEPPARD.
that. Ain't we, partner ? " he added, appealing to Langley,
whom punch had made rather dozy.
" I should think so," responded the lethargic turnkey, with a
yawn.
During this colloquy, Jack had contrived unobserved to put
on the hood and cloak, and being about the size of the rightful
owner, presented a very tolerable resemblance to her. This
done, Edgeworth Bess, who watched her opportunity, slipped
out of the Lodge.
" Halloa ! " exclaimed Austin, who had caught a glimpse of
her departing figure, — " one of the women is gone ? "
" No — no," hastily interposed Mrs. Spurling ; " they 're both
here. Don't you see they 're putting on their cloaks ? "
" That 's false ! " rejoined Marvel, in a low tone ; " I perceive
what has taken place."
" Oh ! goodness ! " ejaculated the tapstress, in alarm. " You
won't betray him."
" Say the word, and I 'm mum," returned the executioner.
" Will you be mine ? "
" It 's a very unfair advantage to take — very," replied Mrs.
Spurling; " however, I consent."
" Then I "11 lend a helping hand. I shall lose my fees and the
laced coat. But it's better to have the bride without the wed-
din'-dress, than the weddin'-dress without the bride."
At this moment, Saint Sepulchre's clock struck six.
" Close the wicket, Austin," vocifereated Ireton, in an autho-
ritative tone.
" Good b'ye ! " cried Jack, as if taking leave of his mistresses,
" to-morrow, at the same time."
" We 11 be punctual," replied Mrs. Maggot. " Good b'ye,
Jack ! Keep up your spirits."
*' Now for it ! — life or death ! " exclaimed Jack, assuming the
gait of a female, and stepping towards the door.
As Austin rose to execute his principal's commands, and usher
the women to the gate, Mrs. Spurling and Marvel rose too. The
latter walked carelessly toward the hatch, and, leaning his back
against the place whence the spike had been removed, so as com-
pletely to hide it, continued smoking his pipe as coolly as if no-
thing had happened.
Just as Jack gained the entrance, he heard a man's footstep
behind him ; and, aware that the slightest indiscretion would
betray him, he halted, uncertain what to do.
" Stop a minute, my dear," cried Austin. " You forget that
you promised me a kiss the last time you were here."
" Won't one from me do as well ? " interposed Mrs. Maggot.
" Much better," said Mrs. Spurling, hastening to the rescue.
" I want to speak to Edgeworth Bess myself."
So saying, she planted herself between Jack and the turnkey.
It was a moment of breathless interest to all engaged in the
attempt.
JACK SHEPPARD.
" Come — the kiss ! " cried Austin, endeavouring to pass his
arm familiarly round the Amazon's waist.
" Hands off ! " she exclaimed ; " or you '11 repent it."
" Why, what '11 you do ? " demanded the turnkey.
" Teach you to keep your distance ! " retorted Mrs. Maggot,
dealing him a buffet that sent him reeling several yards back-
wards.
" There ! off with you ! " whispered Mrs. Spurling, squeezing
Jack's arm, and pushing him towards the door, " and, don't
come here again."
Before Austin could recover himself, Jack and Mrs. Maggot
had disappeared.
" Bolt the wicket ! " shouted Ireton, who, with the others, had
been not a little entertained by the gallant turnkey's discom-
fiture.
This was done, and Austin returned with a crest-fallen look
to the table. Upon which Mrs. Spurling, and her now accepted
suitor, resumed their seats.
" You '11 be as good as your word, my charmer," whispered
the executioner.
" Of course," responded the widow, heaving a deep sigh.
'; Oh! Jack! Jack! — you little know what a price I've paid
for you ! "
" Well, I 'm glad those women are gone," remarked Shotbolt.
" Coupling their presence with Jack's speech, I couldn't help
fearing some mischief might ensue."
" That reminds me he 's still at large," returned Ireton. " Here,
Caliban, go and fasten his padlock.1'
" Iss, Massa Ireton," replied the black.
"Stop, Caliban," interposed Mrs. Spurling, who wished to
protract the discovery of the escape as long as possible.
" Before you go, bring me the bottle of pine-apple rurn I
opened yesterday. I should like Mr. Ireton and his friends to
taste it. It 's in the lower cupboard. Oh ! you haven't got the
key — then / must have it, I suppose. How provoking ! " she
added, pretending to rummage her pockets ; " one never can
find a thing when one wants it."
" Never mind it, my dear Mrs. Spurling," rejoined Ireton ;
" we can taste the rum when he returns. We shall have Mr.
Wild here presently, and I wouldn't for the world — Zounds ! "
he exclaimed, as the figure of the thieftaker appeared at the
wicket, '* here he is. Off with you, Caliban ! Fly, you ras-
cal!"
" Mr. Wild here ! " exclaimed Mrs. Spurling in alarm. " Oh
gracious ! he 's lost ! "
" Who 's lost ? " demanded Ireton.
" The key," replied the widow.
All the turnkeys rose to salute the thieftaker, whose habitu-
ally-sullen countenance looked gloomier than usual. Ireton
rushed forward to open the wicket for him.
236 JACK SHEPPARD.
" No Blueskin, I perceive, sir," he observed, in a deferential
tone, as Wild entered the Lodge.
" No,11 replied Jonathan, moodily. " I Ve been deceived by
false information. But the wench who tricked me shall bitterly
repent it. I hope this is all. I began to fear I might be pur-
posely got out of the way. Nothing has gone wrong here ? "
" Nothing whatever," replied Ireton. " Jack is just gone
back to the Condemned Hold. His two wives have been here."
" Ha ! " exclaimed Jonathan, with a sudden vehemence that
electrified the chief turnkey ; " what 's this ! — a spike gone ! —
'Sdeath ! — the women, you say, have been here. He has es-
caped."
" Impossible, sir," replied Ireton, greatly alarmed.
" Impossible ! " echoed Wild, with a fearful imprecation.
" No, sir, it 's quite possible — more than possible. It 's certain.
I '11 lay my life he's gone. Come with me to the Condemned
Hold directly, and, if 1 find my fears confirmed, I'll—
He was here interrupted by the sudden entrance of the black,
who rushed precipitately into the room, letting fall the heavy
bunch of keys in his fright.
" O Massa Ireton ! — Massa Wild ! " ejaculated Caliban, -
" Shack Sheppart gone ! "
" Gone ! you black devil ! — Gone ?" cried Ireton.
" Iss, Massa. Caliban sarch ebery hole in de place, but
Shack no dere. Only him big hoss padlock — noting else."
" I knew it,"' rejoined Wild, with concentrated rage ; " and
he escaped you all — in broad day — before your faces. You may
well say it 's impossible ! His Majesty's gaol of Newgate is
admirably guarded, I must say. Ireton, you are in league with
him."
" Sir ! " said the chief turnkey, indignantly.
" You are, sir," thundered Jonathan ; " and, unless you find
him, you shan't hold your place a week. I don't threaten idly,
as you know. And you, Austin, — and you, Langley, — I say
the same thing to you."
" But, Mr. Wild — " implored the turnkeys.
" I've said it," rejoined Jonathan, peremptorily. " And you,
Marvel, you must have been a party — "
" I, sir ! "
" If he's not found, I '11 get a new hangman."
" Zounds !" cried Marvel, " I—"
" Hush!" whispered the tapstress, " or I retract my pro-
mise."
" Mrs. Spurling," said Jonathan, who overheard the whisper,
" you owe your situation to me. If you have aided Jack Shep-
pard's escape, you shall owe your discharge to me also."
" As you please, sir," replied the tapstress, coolly. " And
the next time Captain Darrell wants a witness, I promise you
he shan't look for one in vain."
JACK SHEPPARD. 237
" Ha ! hussy, dare you threaten ? " cried Wild ; but, checking
himself, he turned to Ireton and asked, " How long have the
women been gone ? "
" Scarcely five minutes," replied the latter.
" One of you fly to the market," returned Jonathan, " an-
other to the river, — a third to the New Mint. Disperse in
every direction. We '11 have him yet. A hundred pounds to
the man who takes him."
So saying, he rushed out, followed by Ireton and Langley.
"• A hundred pounds!" exclaimed Shotbolt. " That's a glo-
rious reward. Do you think he'll pay it?"
" I 'm sure of it," replied Austin.
" Then I '11 have it before to-morrow morning," said the
keeper of the New Prison, to himself. " If Jack Sheppard sups
with Mr. Kneebone, I '11 make one of the party."
CHAPTER XI.
DOLLIS HILL REVISITED.
ON the same evening, and about an hour after the occurrences
at Newgate, the door of the small back-parlour already de-
scribed at Dollis Hill was opened by Winifred, who, gliding
noiselessly across the room, approached a couch, on which was
extended a sleeping female, and, gazing anxiously at her pale
careworn countenance, murmured, — " Heaven be praised ! she
still slumbers — slumbers peacefully. The opiate has done its
duty. Poor thing ! how beautiful she looks ! but how like
death ! "
Deathlike, indeed, was the repose of the sleeper, — deathlike
and deep. It 's very calmness was frightful. Her lips were apart,
but no breath seemed to issue from them ; and, but for a slight
— very slight palpitation of the bosom, the vital principle might
be supposed to be extinct. This lifeless appearance was height-
ened by the extreme sharpness of her features — especially the
nose and chin, — and by the emaciation of her limbs, which was
painfully distinct through her drapery. Her attenuated arms
were crossed upon her breast ; and her black brows and eye-
lashes contrasted fearfully with the livid whiteness of her skin.
A few, short, dark locks, escaping from beneath her head-dress,
showed that her hair had been removed, and had only been re-
cently allowed to grow again.
" Poor Mrs. Sheppard ! " sighed Winifred, as she contem-
plated the beautiful wreck before her, — " Pool' Mrs. Sheppard !
when I see her thus, and think of all she has endured, of all she
may yet have to endure, I could almost pray for her release
from trouble. I dare not reflect upon the effect that her son's
fate, — if the efforts to save him are ineffectual, — may have upon
her enfeebled frame, and still worse upon her mind. What a
mercy that the blow aimed at her by the ruffian, Wild, though
VOL. vi. s
238 JACK SHEPPARD.
it brought her to the brink of the grave, should have restored
her to reason ! Ah ! she stirs."
As she said this, she drew a little aside, while Mrs. Sheppard
heaved a deep sigh, and opened her eyes, which now looked
larger, blacker, and more melancholy than ever.
'* Where am I ? " she cried, passing her hand across her brow.
" With your friends, dear Mrs. Sheppard," replied Winifred,
advancing.
" Ah ! you are there, my dear young lady," said the widow,
smiling faintly ; "when I first waken, I'm always in dread of
finding myself again in that horrible asylum."
" You need never be afraid of that," returned Winifred, affec-
tionatelv ; " my father will take care you never leave him more."
" Oh ! how much I owe him ! " said the widow, with fervour,
" for bringing me here, and removing me from those dreadful
sights and sounds, that would have driven me distracted, even if
I had been in my right mind. And how much I owe yow, too,
dearest Winifred, for your kindness and attention. Without
you I should never have recovered either health or reason. I
can never be grateful enough. But, though / cannot reward
you, Heaven will.'1
"Don't say anything about it, dear Mrs. Sheppard," rejoined
Winifred, controling her emotion, and speaking as cheerfully as
she could ; " I would do anything in the world for you, and so
would my father, and so would Thames ; but he ought, for he 's
your nephew, you know. We all love you dearly."
" Bless you ! bless you ! " cried Mrs. Sheppard, averting her
face to hide her tears.
" I mustn't tell you what Thames means to do for you if ever
he gains his rights," continued Winifred ; " but I may tell you
what my father means to do.'1
" He has done too much already,'1 answered the widow. " I
shall need little more."
** But, do hear what it is," rejoined Winifred ; "you know
I 'm shortly to be united to your nephew, — that is," she added,
blushing, "when he can be married by his right name, for my
father won't consent to it before."
" Your father will never oppose your happiness, my dear, I 'm
sure," said Mrs. Sheppard ; " but, what has this to do with
me?"
" You shall hear," replied Winifred ; " when this marriage
takes place, you and I shall be closely allied, but my father
wishes for a still closer alliance."
" I don't understand you," returned Mrs. Sheppard.
" To be plain, then," said Winifred, " he has asked me whe-
ther I have any objection to you as a mother."
" And what — what was your answer ? " demanded the widow,
eagerly.
" Can't you guess ? " returned Winifred, throwing her arms
JACK SHEPPARD. 239
about her neck. s<That he couldn't choose any one so agreeable
to me."
'( Winifred,1' said Mrs. Sheppard, after a brief pause, during
which she appeared overcome by her feelings, — " Winifred," she
said, gently disengaging herself from the young girl's embrace,
and speaking in a firm voice, " you must dissuade your father
from this step."
" How ? " exclaimed the other. " Can you not love him ? "
" Love him 1 " echoed the widow. " The feeling is dead within
my breast. My only love is for my poor lost son. I can esteem
him, regard him; but, love him as he ought to be loved — that
I cannot do."
" Your esteem is all he will require," urged Winifred.
" He has it, and will ever have it," replied Mrs. Sheppard,
passionately, — " he has my boundless gratitude and devotion.
But I am not worthy to be any man's wife — far less his wife.
Winifred, you are deceived in me. You know not what a
wretched guilty thing I am. You know not in what dark
places my life has been cast; with what crimes it has been
stained. But the offences 1 have committed are venial in com-
parison with what I should commit were I to wed your father.
No — no, it must never be."
" You paint yourself worse than you are, dear Mrs. Shep-
pard," rejoined Winifred kindly. " Your faults were the
faults of circumstances."
" Palliate them as you may," replied the widow, gravely,
" they were faults ; and as such, cannot be repaired by a greater
wrong. If you love me, do not allude to this subject again."
" I 'm sorry I mentioned it at all, since it distresses you," re-
turned Winifred ; " but, as I knew my father intended to pro-
pose to you, if poor Jack should be respited "
"T/^he should be respited!1' repeated Mrs. Sheppard, with
startling eagerness. " Does vour father doubt it ? Speak !
tell me ? "
Winifred made no answer.
" Your hesitation convinces me he does," replied the widow.
" Is Thames returned from London ? "
" Not yet," replied the other ; " but I expect him every
minute. My father's chief fear, I must tell you, is from the
baneful influence of Jonathan Wild."
" That fiend is ever in my path," exclaimed Mrs. Sheppard,
with a look, the wildness of which greatly alarmed her compa-
nion. " I cannot scare him thence."
" Hark I" cried Winifred, " Thames is arrived. I hear the
sound of his horse's feet in the yard. Now you will learn the
result."
" Heaven support me ! " cried Mrs. Sheppard, faintly.
" Breathe at this phial," said Winifred.
Shortly afterwards, — it seemed an age to the anxious mother,
s 2
240 JACK SIIEPPARD.
— Mr. Wood entered the room, followed by Thames. The latter
looked very pale, either from the effect of his wound, which was
not yet entirely healed, or from suppressed emotion, — partly,
perhaps, from both causes, — and wore his left arm in a sling.
" Well ! " cried Mrs. Sheppard, raising herself, and looking
at him as if her life depended upon the answer. " He is
respited ?"
" Alas ! no," replied Thames, sadly. " The warrant for his
execution is arrived. There is no further hope."
" My poor son ! " groaned the widow, sinking backwards.
" Heaven have mercy on his soul ! " ejaculated Wood.
" Poor Jack ! " cried Winifred, burying her face in her lover's
bosom.
Not a word was uttered for some time, nor any sound heard
except the stifled sobs of the unfortunate mother.
At length, she suddenly started to her feet; and, before Wini-
fred could prevent her, staggered up to Thames.
" When is he to suffer?" she demanded, fixing her large
black eyes, which burnt with an insane gleam, upon him.
" On Friday," he replied.
" Friday ! " echoed Mrs. Sheppard ; " and to-day is Monday.
He has three days to live. Only three days. Three short days.
Horrible ! "
" Poor soul ! her senses are going again," said Mr. Wood,
terrified by the wildness of her looks. " I was afraid it would
be so."
" Only three days," reiterated the widow, " three short, short
days, — and then all is over. Jonathan's wicked threat is ful-
filled at last. The gallows is in view — I see it, with all its
hideous apparatus! — ough ! " and shuddering violently, she
placed her hands before her, as if to exclude some frightful
vision from her sight.
" Do not despair, my sweet soul," said Wood, in a soothing
tone.
" Do not despair ! " echoed Mrs. Sheppard, with a laugh that
cut the ears of those who listened to it like a razor, — " Do not
despair ! And who or what shall give me comfort when my son
is gone ? I have wept till my eyes are dry, — suffered till my
heart is broken, — prayed till the voice of prayer is dumb, — and
all of no avail. He will be hanged — hanged — hanged. Ha !
ha ! What have I left but despair and madness ? Promise me
one thing, Mr. Wood," she continued, with a sudden change of
tone, and convulsively clutching the carpenter's arm, " promise
it me."
" Anything, my dear," replied Wood. " What is it ?"
" Bury us together in one grave in Willesden churchyard.
There is a small yew-tree west of the church. Beneath that
tree let us lie. In one grave, mind. Do you promise to do this ?"
" Solemnly," rejoined the carpenter.
JACK SHEPPARD. 241
" Enough," said the widow, gratefully. " I must see him
to-night."
" Impossible, dear Mrs. Sheppard," said Thames. " To-
morrow I will take you to him."
" To-morrow will be too late," replied the widow, in a hollow
voice, ** I feel it will. I must go to-night, or I shall never be-
hold him again. I must bless him before I die. I have strength
enough to drag myself there, and I do not want to return."
" Be pacified, sweet soul," said Wood, looking meaningly at
Thames ; " you shall go, and I will accompany you."
" A mother's blessing on you," replied Mrs. Sheppard, fer-
vently. " And now," she added, with somewhat more composure,
" leave me, dear friends, I entreat, for a few minutes to collect
my scattered thoughts — to prepare myself for what I have to
go through — to pray for my son."
" Shall we do so ? " whispered Winifred to her father.
" By all means," returned Wood ; " don't delay an instant."
And, followed by the young couple, who gazed wistfully at the
poor sufferer, he hastily quitted the room, and locked the door
after him.
Mrs. Sheppard was no sooner alone than she fell upon her
knees by the side of the couch, and poured forth her heart in
prayer. So absorbed was she by her passionate supplications,
that she was insensible to anything passing around her, until
she felt a touch upon her shoulder, and heard a well-known
voice breathe in her ear — " Mother ! "
She started at the sound as if an apparition had called her,
screamed, and fell into her son's outstretched arms.
" Mother ! dear mother ! " cried Jack, folding her to his
breast.
" My son ! my dear, dear son ! " returned Mrs. Sheppard, re-
turning his embrace with all a parent's tenderness.
Jack was completely overcome. His chest heaved violently,
and big tears coursed rapidly down his cheeks.
" I don't deserve it," he said, at length ; " but I would
have risked a thousand deaths to enjoy this moment's happi-
ness."
" And you must have risked much to obtain it, my love.
I have scarcely recovered from the shock of hearing of your
condemnation, when I behold you free ! "
" Not two hours hence," rejoined Jack, " I was chained down
in the Condemned Hold in Newgate. With a small saw, con-
veyed to me a few days since by Thamesr Darrell, which I
contrived to conceal upon my person, I removed a spike in
the hatch, and, with the aid of some other friends, worked
my way out. Having heard from Thames that you were better,
and that your sole anxiety was about me, I came to give
you \\\e first intelligence of my escape.."
" Bless you for it. But you will stay here ? "
242 JACK SHEPPARD.
" I dare not. I must provide for my safety."
" Mr. Wood will protect you," urged Mrs. Sheppard.
" He has not the power — perhaps not the will to do so.
And if he would, / would not subject him to the annoyance.
The moment my escape is known, a large reward will be placed
on my head. My dress, my person will be minutely described.
Jonathan Wild and his blood-hounds, with a hundred others,
incited by the reward, will be upon my track. Nay, for aught
I know, some of them may even now have got scent of me."
" You terrify me," cried Mrs. Sheppard. " Oh ! if this is
the case, do not stay an instant. Fly ! fly ! "
*' As soon as I can do so with safety, I will return, or send
to you," said Jack.
" Do not endanger yourself on my account," rejoined his
mother. " I am quite easy now ; receive my blessing, my dear
son ; and if we never meet again, rest assured my last prayer
shall be for you."
" Do not talk thus, dear mother," returned Jack, gazing an-
xiously at her pale countenance, " or I shall not be able to quit
you. You must live for me."
" I will try to do so," replied the widow, forcing a smile.
" One last embrace. I need not counsel you to avoid those
fatal courses which have placed you in such fearful jeopardy."
" You need not," replied Jack, in a tone of the deepest com-
punction. " And, oh ! forgive me, though I can never forgive
myself, for the misery I have caused you."
" Forgive you !" echoed his mother, with a look radiant with
delight. "I have nothing to forgive. Ah!" she screamed,
with a sudden change of manner ; and pointing to the win-
dow, which Jack had left open, and at which a dark figure was
standing, " there is Jonathan Wild ! "
" Betrayed ! " exclaimed Jack, glancing in the same direction.
" The door ! — the door ! — death ! " he added, as he tried the
handle, " it is locked — and I am unarmed. Madman that I am
to be so ! "
" Help ! " shrieked Mrs. Sheppard.
" Be silent," said Jonathan, striding deliberately into the
room ; " these cries will avail you nothing. Whoever answers
them must assist me to capture your son. Be silent, I say, if
you value his safety."
Awed by Jonathan's manner, Mrs. Sheppard repressed the
scream that rose to her lips, and both mother and son gazed
with apprehension at the heavy figure of the thieftaker, which,
viewed in the twilight, seemed dilated to twice its natural size,
and appeared almost to block up the window. In addition to his
customary arms, Jonathan carried a bludgeon with a large heavy
knob, suspended from his wrist by a loop ; a favourite weapon,
which he always took with him on dangerous expeditions, and
which, if any information had been requisite, would have told
Sheppard that the present was one of them.
JACK SHEPPARD. 243
" Well, Jack," he said, after a pause, " are you disposed
to go back quietly with me ? "
" You '11 ascertain that when you attempt to touch me," re-
joined Sheppard, resolutely.
" My janizaries are within call," returned Wild. u I 'm armed .
you are not."
" It matters not. You shall not take me alive."
" Spare him ! spare him ! " cried Mrs. Sheppard, falling on
her knees.
" Get up, mother," cried Jack ; " do not kneel to him. I
wouldn't accept my life from him. I 've foiled him hitherto,
and will foil him yet. And, come what will, I '11 baulk him of
the satisfaction of hanging me."
Jonathan raised his bludgeon, but controlled himself by a
powerful effort.
" Fool ! " he cried, "do you think I wouldn't have secured
you before this if I hadn't some motive for my forbearance ? "
" And that motive is fear," replied Jack, contemptuously.
" Fear ! " echoed Wild, in a terrible tone, — " fear ! Repeat
that word again, and nothing shall save you."
" Don't anger him, my dear son," implored the poor widow,
with a look of anguish at Jack. " Perhaps he means well."
" Mad as you are, you 're the more sensible of the two, I must
say," rejoined Jonathan.
" Spare him ! " cried Mrs. Sheppard, who fancied she had
made some impression on the obdurate breast of the thieftaker,
— " spare him ! and I will forgive you, will thank you, will
bless you. Spare him ! spare him ! "
" On one condition I will spare him," returned Wild ; " on
one condition only."
" What is it ? " asked the poor woman.
" Either he or you must return with me," answered Jonathan.
" Take me, then," replied the widow. And she would have
rushed to him, if she had not been forcibly withheld by her son-
" Do not go near him, mother," cried Jack ; "do not believe
him. There is some deep treachery hidden beneath his words."
" I will go/' said Mrs. Sheppard, struggling to get free.
"Attend to me, Mrs. Sheppard," said Jonathan, looking calm-
ly on at this distressing scene. " Attend to me, and do not
heed him. I swear to you, solemnly swear to you, I will save
your son's life, nay more, will befriend him, will place him out
of the reach of his enemies, if you consent to become my wife."
" Execrable villain ! " exclaimed Jack.
" You hear that," cried Mrs. Sheppard ; " he swears to save
you."
" Well," replied her son ; " and you spurn the proposal."
"No; she accepts it," rejoined Jonathan, triumphantly*
" Come along, Mrs. Sheppard. I've a carriage within call shall
convey you swiftly to town. Come ! come ! "
244 JACK SHEPPARD.
" Hear me, mother," cried Jack, " and I will explain to you
whij the villain makes this strange and revolting proposal. He
well knows that but two lives — those of Thames Darrell and
Sir Rowland Trenchard, — stand between you and the vast pos-
sessions of the family. Those lives removed, — and Sir Rowland
is completely in his power, the estates would be yours — HIS ! if
he were your husband. Now do you see his motive ? "
" I see nothing but your danger," replied his mother, ten-
derly.
" Granted it were as you say, Jack," said Wild ; — " and I
shaVt take the trouble to contradict you — the estates would
be yours hereafter."
" Liar !" cried Jack. " Do you affect ignorance that I am
a condemned felon, and can inherit nothing ? But do not ima-
gine that under any circumstances I would accept your terms.
My mother shall never degrade herself by a connection with
you."
"Degrade herself," rejoined Jonathan, brutally. "Do you
think I would take a harlot to my bed, if it didn't suit my
purposes to do so ? "
" He says right," replied Mrs. Sheppard, distractedly. " I am
only fit for such as him. Take me ! take me ! "
" Before an hour you shall be mine," said Jonathan, advan-
cing towards her.
" Back ! " cried Jack, fiercely ; " lay a finger on her, and I
will fell you to the ground. Mother ! do you know what you
do ? Would you sell yourself to this fiend ? "
" I would sell myself, body and soul, to save you," rejoined
his mother, bursting from his grasp.
Jonathan caught her in his arms.
" Come away ! " he cried, with the roar of a demon.
This laugh and his looks alarmed her.
" It is the fiend ! " she exclaimed, recoiling. " Save me ! —
save me ! "
" Damnation ! " vociferated Jonathan, savagely. " We 've no
time for any Bedlam scenes now. Come along, you mad jade.
I '11 teach you submission in time."
With this, he endeavoured to force her off; but, before he
could accomplish his purpose, he was arrested, and his throat
seized by Jack. In the struggle, Mrs. Sheppard broke from
him, and filled the room with her shrieks.
" I '11 now pay the debt I owe you," cried Jack, tightening
his gripe till the thieftaker blackened in the face.
" Dog ! " cried Wild, freeing himself by a powerful effort,
and dealing Jack a violent blow with the heavy bludgeon, which
knocked him backwards, "you are not yet a match for Jonathan
Wild. Neither you nor your mother shall escape me. But I
must summon my janizaries." So saying, he raised a whistle to
his lips, and blew a loud call; and, as this was unanswered,
JACK SHEPPARD. 245
another still louder. " Confusion ! " he cried ; " something has
happened. But I won't be cheated of my prize."
" Help ! help ! " shrieked Mrs. Sheppard, fleeing from him to
the farthest corner of the room.
But it was of no avail. Jonathan again seized her, when the
door was thrown open, and Thames Darrell, followed by Mr.
Wood and several serving-men, all well armed, rushed into the
room. A glance sufficed to show the young man how matters
stood. He flew to the window, and would have passed his
sword through the thieftaker's body, if the latter had not quickly
interposed the person of Mrs. Sheppard, so that if the blow had
been stricken she must have received it.
" Quilt ! — Mendez ! — Where are you ? " vociferated Wild,
sounding his whistle for the third time.
" You call in vain," rejoined Thames. " Your assistants
are in my power. Yield, villain ! "
" Never ! " replied Jonathan.
" Put down your burthen, monster ! " shouted Wood, point-
ing an immense blunderbuss at him.
" Take her," cried Jonathan ; and, flinging the now inanimate
body of the poor widow, who had fainted in the struggle, into
the arms of Thames, he leapt through the window, and by the
time the latter could consign her to Wood, and dart after him,
he had disappeared.
" Pursue him," cried Thames to the attendants, " and see
that he does not escape."
The order was promptly obeyed.
" Jack," continued Thames, addressing Sheppard, who had
only just recovered from the blow, and regained his feet, " I
don't ask how you came here, nor do I blame your rashness in
doing so. Fortunately, ever since Wild's late murderous at-
tack, the household has all been well armed. A postchaise
seen in the road first alarmed us. On searching the grounds,
we found two suspicious-looking fellows in the garden, and had
scarcely secured them when your mother's cries summoned us
hither, just in time to preserve her."
" Your arrival was most providential," said Jack.
" You must not remain here another instant," replied Thames.
" My horse is at the door, saddled, with pistols in the holsters,
— mount him and fly."
" Thames, I have much to say," said Jack, " much that con-
cerns your safety."
" Not now," returned Thames, impatiently. " I cannot—-
will not suft'er you to remain here."
" I will go, if you will consent to meet me at midnight near
the old house in Wych Street," replied Jack. " By that time,
I shall have fully considered a plan which occurs to me for de-
feating the schemes of your enemies.1'
" Before that time you will be captured, if you expose your-
246 JACK SHEPPARD.
self thus," rejoined Thames. " However, I will be there. Fare-
well."
" Till midnight," replied Jack.
And imprinting a kiss upon his mother's cold lips, he left the
room. He found the horse where Thames told him he would
find him, mounted, and rode off across the fields in the direc-
tion of town.
CHAPTER XII.
THE WELL HOLE.
JONATHAN WILD'S first object, as soon as he had made good
his retreat, was to ascertain what had become of his janizaries,
and, if possible, to release them. With this view, he hurried to
the spot where he had left the post-chaise, and found it drawn
up at the road-side, the postilion dismounted, and in charge of
a couple of farming-men. Advancing towards them, sword in
hand, Jonathan so terrified the hinds by his fierce looks and de-
termined manner, that, after a slight show of resistance, they
took to their heels, leaving him master of the field. He then
threw open the door of the vehicle, in which he found his
janizaries with their arms pinioned, and, leaping into it, or-
dered the man to drive off'. The postilion obeyed, and
dashed off as hard as his horses could gallop along the beau-
tiful road leading to Neasdon and Willesden, just as the
serving-men made their appearance. Arrived at the latter
place, Jonathan, who, meanwhile, had contrived to liberate
his attendants from their bonds, drew up at the Six Bells,
and hiring a couple of horses, despatched his attendants in
search of Jack Sheppard, while he proceeded to town. Dis-
missing the post-chaise at the Old Bailey, he walked to Newgate
to ascertain what had occurred since the escape. It was just
upon the stroke of nine as he entered the Lodge, and Mr. Aus-
tin was dismissing a host of inquirers who had been attracted
thither by the news, — for it had already been extensively
noised abroad. Some of these persons were examining the spot
where the spike had been cut off; others the spike itself, now
considered a remarkable object ; arid all were marvelling how
Jack could have possibly squeezed himself through such a nar-
row aperture, until it was explained to them by Mr. Austin
that the renowned housebreaker was of slender bodily con-
formation, and therefore able to achieve a feat, which he, Mr.
Austin, or any man of similar dimensions, would have found
wholly impossible. Affixed to the wall, in a conspicuous situa-
tion, was a large placard, which, after minutely describing Shep-
pard's appearance and attire, concluded thus : — " Whoever will
discover or apprehend the above JOHN SHEPPARD, so that he be
brought to justice, shall receive ONE HUNDRED GUI-
NEAS REWARD, to be paid by MR. PITT, the keeper of
Newgate"
JACK SHEPPARD. 247
This placard attracted universal attention. While Jonathan
was conversing with Austin, from whom he took care to conceal
the fact of his having seen Sheppard since his escape, Ireton
entered the Lodge.
" Altogether unsuccessful, sir," said the chief turnkey, with a
look of disappointment, not unmixed with apprehension, as he
approached Wild. " I 've been to all the flash cases in town,
and can hear nothing of him or his wives. First, I went to
Country Tom's, the Goat, in Long Lane. Tom swore he hadn't
set eyes on him since the trial. I next proceeded to Jenny
Bunch's, the Ship, in Trig Lane — there I got the same answer.
Then to the Feathers, in Drury Lane. Then to the Golden
Ball, in the same street. Then to Martin's brandy-shop, in
Fleet Street. Then to Dan Ware's, in Hanging Sword Court.
Then to the Dean's Head, in St. Martin's Le Grand. And,
lastly, to the Seven Cities o' Refuge, in the New Mint. And
nowhere could I obtain the slightest information."
" Humph I" exclaimed Wild.
" Have you been more successful, sir ? " ventured Ireton.
Jonathan shook his head.
" Mr. Shotbolt thinks he has a scheme that can't fail," inter-
posed Austin ; " but he wishes to know whether you '11 be as
good as your word, in respect to the great reward you offered for
Jack's capture."
" Have I ever broken my word in such matters, that he darea
put the question ? " rejoined Jonathan, sternly. " Tell Mr.
Shotbolt that if he, or any other person, takes Jack Sheppard
before to-morrow morning, I'll double it. Do you hear?"
*' I do, sir," replied Austin, respectfully.
" Two hundred pounds, if he's lodged in Newgate before to-
morrow morning," continued Wild. " Make it known among
your friends." And he strode out of the place.
" Two hundred pounds ! " exclaimed Ireton, " besides the
governor's offer — that 's three hundred. I must go to work
again. Keep a sharp look out, Austin, and see that we lose no
one else. I should be sorry if Shotbolt got the reward."
" Devilish hard ! I 'm not allowed a chance," grumbled Aus-
tin, as he was left alone. " However, some one must look after
the gaol ; and they 're all gone but me. It 's fortunate we 've
no more Jack Sheppards, or I should stand but a poor chance.
Well, I don't think they'll any of 'em nab him, that's one
comfort."
On quitting the Lodge, WTild repaired te his own habita-
tion. Telling the porter that he would attend to the house
himself, he bade him go in search of Jack Sheppard.
There was something in Jonathan's manner, as he issued this
command, that struck the man as singular, and he afterwards
recalled it. He, however, made no remark at the time, but in-
stantly prepared to set out. As soon as he was gone, Jonathan
£48 JACK SHEPPARD.
went up stairs to the audience-chamber; and, sitting down, ap-
peared for some time buried in reflection. The dark and de-
sperate thoughts that were passing through his mind at this time
will presently be shown. After a while, he raised his eyes ; and,
if their glance could have been witnessed at the moment, it
could not have been easily forgotten. Muttering something to
himself, he appeared to be telling upon his fingers the advan-
tages and disadvantages of some scheme he had in contempla-
tion. That he had resolved upon its execution, whatever it
might be, was evident from his saying aloud, —
" I will do it. So good an opportunity may never occur
again."
Upon this he arose, and paced the room hastily backwards
and forwards, as if further arranging his plans. He then un-
locked a cabinet, opened a secret drawer; and, after ransacking
its contents, discovered a paper he was in search of, and a
glove. Laying these carefully aside, he restored the drawer
to its place. His next occupation was to take out his pistols,
examine the priming, and rub the flints. His sword then came
in for his scrutiny : he felt at, and appeared satisfied with its
edge. This employment seemed to afford him the highest satis-
faction ; for a diabolical grin — it cannot be called a smile —
played upon his face all the time he was engaged in it. His
sword done with, he took up the bludgeon ; balanced it in his
hand; upon the points of his fingers; and let it fall with a
smash, intentionally, upon the table.
" After all," he said, " this is the safest weapon. No instru-
ment I 've ever used has done me such good service. It shall
be the bludgeon." So saying, he slung it upon his wrist.
Taking up a link, which was blazing beside him, he walked
across the room ; and touching a spring in the wall, a secret door
flew open. Beyond was a narrow bridge, crossing a circular
building, at the bottom of which lay a deep well. It was a dark
mysterious place, and what it was used for no one exactly knew ;
but it was called by those who had seen it the Well Hole.
The bridge was protected on either side by a railing with
banisters placed at wide intervals. Steps to aid the descent,
which was too steep to be safe without them, led to a door on
the opposite side. This door, which was open, Jonathan locked
and took out the key. As he stood upon the bridge, he held
down the light, and looked into the profound abyss. The red
glare fell upon the slimy brick-work, and tinged the inky wa-
ters below. A slight cough uttered by Jonathan at the moment
awakened the echoes of the place, and was returned in hollow
reverberations. " There '11 be a louder echo here presently,"
thought Jonathan. Before leaving the place he looked up-
wards, and could just discern the blue vault and pale stars of
heaven through an iron grating at the top.
On his return to the room, Jonathan purposely left the door
JACK S1IEPPARD. 249
of the Well Hole ajar. Unlocking a cupboard, he then took
out some cold meat and other viands, with a flask of wine, and
a bottle of brandy, and began to eat and drink voraciously. He
had very nearly cleared the board, when a knock was heard be-
low, and descending at the summons, he found his two janizaries.
They had both been unsuccessful. As Jonathan scarcely ex-
pected a more satisfactory result, he made no comment ; but,
ordering Quilt to continue his search, and not to return until
he had found the fugitive, called Abraham Mendez into the
house, and shut the door.
" I want you for the job I spoke of a short time ago, Nab,"
he said. " I mean to have no one but yourself in it. Come up
stairs, and take a glass of brandy."
Abraham grinned, and silently followed his master, who, as
soon as they reached the audience-chamber, poured out a bum-
per of spirits, and presented it to him. The Jew swallowed it
at a draught.
" By my shoul !" he exclaimed, smacking his lips, " dat ish
goot — very goot."
tl You shall finish the bottle when the job 's done," replied
Jonathan.
" Vat ish it, Mishter Vild ? " inquired Mendez. " Shir Row-
land Trenchard's affair — eh ? "
" That 's it," rejoined Jonathan ; " I expect him here every
minute. When you've admitted him, steal into the room, hide
yourself, and don't move till I utter the words, ' You 've a long-
journey before you.' That 's your signal."
" And a famoush goot shignal it ish," laughed Abraham.
" He hash a long journey before him — ha ! ha ! "
" Peace ! " cried Jonathan. " There 's his knock. Go, and
let him in. And mind you don't arouse his suspicions."
" Never fear — never fear," rejoined Abraham, as he took up
the link, and left the room.
Jonathan cast a hasty glance around, to see that all was pro-
perly arranged for his purpose ; placed a chair with its back to
the door ; disposed the lights on the table so as to throw the en-
trance of the room more into shadow ; and then flung himself
into a seat to await Sir Rowland's arrival.
He had not to wait long. Enveloped in a large cloak, Sir
Rowland stalked into the room, and took the seat assigned him ;
while the Jew, who received a private signal from Jonathan,
set down the link near the entrance of the well-hole, and, having
made fast the door, crept behind one of the ca'ses.
Fancying they were alone, Sir Rowland threw aside his cloak,
and producedaheavy bag of money, which he flung upon the table;
and, when Wild had feasted his greedy eyes sufficiently upon its
golden contents, he handed him a pocket-book filled with notes.
" You have behaved like a man of honour, Sir Rowland," said
Wild, after he had twice told over the money. " Right to a
farthing."
250 JACK SHEPPARD.
" Give me an acquittance," said Trenchard.
" It 's scarcely necessary," replied Wild ; " however, if you
require it, certainly. There it is. ' Received from Sir Row-
land Trenchard, ^15,000— Jonathan Wild : August 31st, 1724.'
Will that do ? "
" It will,"" replied Trenchard. " This is our last transaction
together."
" I hope not," replied Wild.
" It is the last," continued the knight, sternly ; " and I trust
we may never meet again. I have paid you this large sum —
not because you are entitled to it, for you have failed in what
you undertook to do, but because I desire to be troubled with
you no further. I have now settled my affairs, and made every
preparation for my departure to France, where I shall spend the
remainder of my days. And I have made such arrangements
that at my decease tardy justice will be done my injured
nephew."
" You have made no such arrangements as will compromise
me, I hope, Sir Rowland ? " said Wild, hastily.
" While I live you are safe," rejoined Trenchard ; " after my
death I can answer for nothing."
" 'Sblood ! " exclaimed Wild, uneasily. " This alters the
case materially. When were you last confessed, Sir Rowland?"
he added abruptly.
" Why do you ask?" rejoined the other, haughtily.
" Because — because I 'm always distrustful of a priest," re-
joined Jonathan.
" I have just parted from one," said Trenchard. .,
" So much the worse," replied Jonathan, rising and taking a
turn, as if uncertain what to do.
"So much the better," rejoined Sir Rowland. "He who
stands on the verge of the grave, as I do, should never be un-
prepared."
" You 're strangely superstitious, Sir Rowland," said Jona-
than, halting, and looking steadfastly at him.
" If I were so, I should not be here," returned Trenchard.
" How so ? " asked Wild, curiously.
" I had a terrible dream last night. I thought my sister and
her murdered husband dragged me hither, to this very room,
and commanded you to slay me."
"A terrible dream, indeed," said Jonathan, thoughtfully.
" But you mustn't indulge these gloomy thoughts. " Let me
recommend a glass of wine."
" My penance forbids it," said Trenchard, waving his hand.
*' I cannot remain here long."
" You will remain longer than you anticipate," muttered
Wild.
" Before I go," continued Sir Rowland, " I must beg of you
to disclose to me all you know relative to the parentage of
Thames Darrell."
JACK SHEPPARD. 251
" Willingly," replied Wild. " Thinking it likely you might
desire to have this information, I prepared accordingly. First,
look at this glove. It belonged to his father, and was worn by
him on the night he was murdered. You will observe that a
coronet is embroidered on it."
" Ha ! " exclaimed Trenchard, starting, " is he so highly
born ? "
** This letter will inform you," replied Wild, placing a docu-
ment in his hand.
" What is this ? " cried Sir Rowland. " I know the hand —
ha ! my friend ! and I have murdered him ! And my sister was
thus nobly, — thus illustriously wedded. O God ! O God ! "
And he appeared convulsed with agony.
" Oh ! if I had known this," he exclaimed, " what guilt,
what remorse might have been spared me ! "
" Repentance comes too late when the deed 's done," returned
Wild, bitterly.
" It is not too late to repair the wrong I have done my
nephew," cried Trenchard. " I will set about it instantly. He
shall have the estates. I will return to Manchester at once."
" You had better take some refreshment before you start,"
rejoined Wild. " ' You 've a long journey before you? "
As the signal was given, the Jew, who had been some time in
expectation of it, darted swiftly and silently behind Sir Row-
land, and flung a cloth over his head, while Jonathan rushing
upon him in front, struck him several quick and violent blows
in the face with the bludgeon. The white cloth was instantly
dyed with crimson ; but, regardless of this, Jonathan con-
tinued his murderous assault. The struggles of the wound-
ed man were desperate — so desperate, that in his agony he
overset the table, and, in the confusion tore off the cloth, and
disclosed a face horribly mutilated, and streaming with blood.
So appalling was the sight, that even the murderers — familar
as they were with scenes of slaughter, — looked aghast at it.
During this dreadful pause the wretched man felt for his
sword. It had been removed from the scabbard by the Jew.
He uttered a deep groan, but said nothing.
Despatch him ! " roared Jonathan.
Having no means of defence, Sir Rowland cleared the blood
from his vision ; and, turning to see whether there was any means
of escape, he descried the open door behind him leading to the
Well Hole, and instantly darted through it.
"As I could wish!" cried Jonathan. *<• Bring the light,
Nab."
The Jew snatched up the link, and followed him.
A struggle of the most terrific kind now ensued. The
wounded man had descended the bridge, and dashed himself
against the door beyond it; but, finding it impossible to force
his way further, he turned to confront his assailants. Jonathan
JACK SHEPPARD.
aimed a blow at him, which, if it had taken place, must ave
.instantly terminated the strife; but, avoiding this, he sprang at
the thieftaker, and grappled with him. Firmly built, as it was,
the bridge creaked in such a manner with their contending ef-
forts, that Abraham durst not venture beyond the door, where
he stood, holding the light, a horrified spectator of the scene.
The contest, however, though desperate, was brief. Disengag-
ing his right arm, Jonathan struck his victim a tremendous blow
on the head with the bludgeon that fractured his skull ; and,
exerting all his strength, threw him over the rails, to which he
clung with the tenacity of despair.
" Spare me ! " he groaned, looking upwards. " Spare me ! "
Jonathan, however, instead of answering him, searched for
his knife, with the intention of severing his wrist. But not find-
ing it, he had again recourse to the bludgeon, and began beating
the hand fixed on the upper rail, until, by smashing the fingers,
he forced it to relinquish its hold. He then stamped upon the
hand on the lower banister, until that also relaxed its gripe.
Sir Rowland then fell.
A hollow plunge, echoed and re-echoed by the walls, marked
his descent into the water.
" Give me the link," cried Jonathan.
Holding down the light, he perceived that the wounded man
had risen to the surface, and was trying to clamber up the slip-
pery sides of the well.
" Shoot him ! shoot him! Put him out r of hish mishery,"
cried the Jew.
"What's the use of wasting a shot?'' rejoined Jonathan,
savagely. " He can't get out."
After making several ineffectual attempts to keep himself
above water, Sir Rowland sunk, and his groans, which had be-
come gradually fainter and fainter, were heard no more.
"All 's over," muttered Jonathan.
" Shall ve go back to de other room ? " asked the Jew. " I
shall breathe more freely d ere. Oh ! Chrisht ! de door "s shut !
It musht have schwung to during de schuffle ! "
"• Shut ! " exclaimed Wild. " Then we 're imprisoned. The
spring can't be opened on this side."
"Dere's de other door ! " cried Mendez, in alarm.
" It only leads to the fencing crib," replied Wild. " There's
no outlet that way."
" Can't ve call for asshistanche ? "
" And who '11 find us, if we do ? " rejoined Wild, fiercely.
" But they will find the evidences of slaughter in the other
room, — the table upset, — the bloody cloth, — the dead, man's
sword, — the money, — and my memorandum, which I forgot to
remove. Hell's curses ! that after all my precautions I should
be thus entrapped. It 's all your fault, you shaking coward !
and, but that 1 feel sure you '11 swing for your carelessness, I 'd
throw you into the well, too."
MfYlk
. Rickarl IJ
253
LEGENDS OF THE ISLE OF WIGHT.
WITH THE ADVENTURES OF THE AUTHOR IN SEARCH OF THEM.
BY ABRAHAM ELDER, ESQ.
BORTHWOOD forest was an extensive tract of wild and well- wooded
country, lying on this side of Shanklin. You will see,, when you
pass that way, a singularly-pointed conical hill, with a peasant's
cottage perched upon the top of it, rising out of a comparatively
level country. It is known to this day by the name of " The
Queen's Bower." Its use, and the origin of its name, are as fol-
low : —
It was the custom of our Norman ancestors, when they gave a
grand hunting entertainment, to select an open space, as near as
might be in the centre of their hunting-ground ; and choosing some
natural mount, or forming an artificial one, they erected upon it a
pavilion, in which were placed the ladies, and such of their company
as did not intend personally to take a part in the chase. A large
portion of the forest was then surrounded by as many of the chief
retainers as could be got together. These advanced in a circle,
making a great noise, gradually contracting the area of the circle,
until at length all the beasts that they had disturbed were driven
into the appointed hunting-ground. Here the knights who had
assembled for the chase, lay in wait for them near the openings
through which it was probable that the game would issue from the
forest. The knights were generally on horseback, armed with bows
and arrows, and attended with their squires holding their dogs in
leash. As the deer passed, they shot their arrows, and let their dogs
loose upon the game, and generally with fatal effect ; for skill in
every branch of the art of hunting appears to have been the great
test of a man's being a gentleman.
The hill still called the Queen's Bower derives its name from the
circumstance of Isabella de Fortibus, the lady of the Isle of Wight
in the reign of Edward the First, having there erected her hunting-
pavilion. This lady, so celebrated in the local history of the island,
was sometimes styled the Queen of the Isle of Wight; and, indeed,
though feudally subject to the Crown of England, her authority
within her own dominions was quite despotic, and she lived in her
castle of Carisbrook in a magnificence and state worthy of royalty.
A very curious account of a hunting of this lady, or Queen of the
Isle of Wight, in Borthwood forest, is preserved in an ancient manu-
script* in the British Museum. It appears that a certain knight
visited her court in disguise; and Isabella, wishing to satisfy her
doubts as to whether he was come of noble blood or not, without
committing a breach of ancient hospitality by asking him questions,
proposes a grand hunting-match, that he might prove his noble
breeding by his skill in the chase. The manuscript is as follows : —
" On the morrow, whan yt was day,
To her men she gan to say,
• Ancient MS. Brit. Mus. Harl. MSS. 2252,44. Wart. Eng. Poet. vol. i. p. 198.
VOL. VI. T
254' LEGENDS OF
' To-morrow, whan it is daylight,
Lok ye be all redy dight, ,
With your houndis more and lesse
In forrest to take my gresse,*
And tharc I will myself be,
Your games to beholde and see.'
Ippomedon had houndis three,
That he brot from his countrec,
Whan they were to the wood gone,
This ladye and her men ichone,f
And with hem her houndis ladde,^
All that any houndis hadde,
Syr Tholomevv forgate he nought
His maistres houndis thythere he brought,
That many a day he had run ere ;
Full well he thought to note hem there.
Whan they came to the lande on hight,
The queen's pavylyon there was pight,§
That she might see all the best
All the game of the forrest;
And to the ladye brought many a best,
Herte and hynd, buck and doe,
And other bestis many mo.
The houndis that were of gret prise
Plucked down deer all atryse.
Ippomedon, he with his houndis throo,||
Drew down both buck and doo,
More he took with houndis three
Than all that othir compagnie.
Their squyers uridydlf their deer,
Eche man after his mauere:
Ippomedon a deer gede unto,
That full konningly gon he it
So fair, that very son he gan to dight
That both him byheld squyre and knighte ; k
The ladye looked out of her pavylyon,
And saw hitn dight the venyson ;
There she had grete daintee,
And so had alle that dyd hym see.
She sawe all that he down threu,
Of huntynge she wist he could enou,
And thought in her heart then
That he was come of gentilmen.
She bad Jason her men to calle,
Home then passed gret and smalle.
Home thei come soon anon,
This ladye to her meat gan gon,**
And of venery4- had her fill,
For they had taken game at will."
Thus this royal lady having ascertained that Sir Ippomedon was a
good shot with a bow, that his greyhounds were of the right breed,
and that he knew how to cut up his deer when he had brought it
down, goes home to dinner satisfied that the stranger knight is
a gentleman every inch of him.
* Gresse — game. -f Ichone — each one, i. e. all. £ Ladde — led.
§ Fight — pitched. || Three. 1f To undo a deer, is to cut it up.
** To her meat gan gon — went to dinner. 4. Veuery — hunting.
THE ISLE OF WIGHT. 255
GODSHILL.
Having received a letter from Captain Nosered, of Violet Cottage,
Ventnor, containing an invitation for Mr. Winterblossom and myself
to spend the day with him, stating at the same time that he had a
tale for me connected with that neighbourhood, very curious, and
well-authenticated, which he wished to show me ; as the captain
was an old friend of mine, we accepted the invitation, and set out in
a car together the next day.
" Pray, sir," said I, as we went along, " what is that church that
I see yonder perched up at the top of a hill ? "
" Godshill," answered the antiquary.
" Godshill ! Pray can you inform me how it got that name ? It
cannot be because it is nearer to heaven than the country round it."
c< I certainly never heard that reason for it before. 1 always un-
derstood that it had been named Godshill in commemoration of a
miracle that tradition tells us was performed at the building of the
church. The story, as it is now told, and by many still believed, in
the Isle of Wight, is as follows : —
"A sum of money having been given by certain pious individuals,
whose names unfortunately are now lost, for the erection of a church,
the religious authorities of the island, under whose direction it was
to be erected, looked out for a proper site for it. After mature de-
liberation, they fixed upon a spot at the foot of the steep eminence
upon which the present church stands.
" Having arranged this to their own satisfaction, they sent a mes-
senger to the proprietor of the land, informing him that the Bishop
of the Isle of Wight, after a solemn consultation with a council com-
posed of ancient and holy men, having at heart the spiritual welfare
of his island flock, had at length decided upon conferring upon him
the high honour and distinction of allowing the church to be built
upon his land ; and he begged him moreover riot to be puffed up
with pride thereat, but to receive the favour thus conferred upon
him with all humility and gratitude.
" Now it so happened that the owner of this land was a poor
franklin (a freeholder), of very limited means and a very large family,
and moreover he was by no means of a religious turn of mind. In
his heart he hated all priests and monks ; he went to sleep at mass
when he did attend it ; fast-day and feast were to him alike ; and as
for confession, he avoided it altogether, — not because he had nothing
to confess, but because he was afraid of frightening the priests if he
told the truth ; and where was the good of confession if he told lies.
" There were, however, occasional exceptions to this rule. There
was a certain jolly wandering friar, who used to visit him occasion-
ally and shrive him, without being too particular about trifles ; and,
besides, he used to hear his confession after supper, which tended to
make it pass off very smoothly. Once, indeed, the friar ordered^ him
a slight penance ; but then upon that visit he found his landlord's ale
a little turned, which might in some degree have soured his temper.
The franklin used to say, that a simmering mug of ale, with a roasted
crab bobbing about in it, would get him absolution from any sin in
the world.
" This being the character of the man who owned the land, it may
easily be imagmed that, although he avoided the first evil of being
256 LEGENDS OF
puffed up with pride, he could not bring himself to acknowledge
the favour conferred upon him with all the humility and gratitude
required of him.
" He did not, however, dare to fly in the face of his powerful self-
styled benefactors. He hemmed, and hawed, and coughed, and then
remarked what a splendid site for the church there was just at the
top of the hill.
" He was informed that that situation had been well considered,
and it was thought to be too much exposed.
" The franklin then changed his tone, and, looking down to the
ground with well-feigned humility, he said to the monk —
" ' Father, the fact is, I am a very great sinner ; and if the church
is built upon land belonging to me, it will be erected upon unholy
ground. I pray you, father, consider this well. My neighbours on
both sides are pious persons, and their land contains magnificent sites
for building churches. If you build your church upon their land, it
will not stand upon unholy ground ; and the high honour will be
conferred upon a pious person, who is worthy to be distinguished by
the favour of the bishop and his reverend council.'
" The monk replied, ' Your being a sinner is no obstacle, but the
reverse ; for, when the foundation-stone is laid, you will receive ab-
solution for all your sins, be they ever so black ; and as for the land
being tainted with unholiness, we can consecrate that.'
" The franklin now was sorely puzzled what to say. He muttered
something about the largeness of his family and the smallness of his
farm, and how the spot fixed upon was the best bit of the whole, and
how he might be reduced to poverty.
"The monk, however, turned a deaf ear to all this, affecting either
not to hear or not to understand the drift of his argument ; and so,
without in the least committing himself by any hint about the possi-
bility of compensation, he hied him back to his masters, and told
them how, when he had delivered his message, the franklin bent his
eyes with all humility towards the ground, and replied, that he was
too great a sinner for so high an honour to be conferred upon him.
" In the due course of time the bishop's architect came to survey
the spot, and trace out the lines of the foundation, and some stones
from the quarry at Binstead were piled in a heap, ready for the
commencement of the building. The next morning the architect and
the masons made their appearance. How great was their astonish-
ment to find not a single stone remaining where they had placed it,
and not a single peg or mark put in by the architect remaining
there !
" They stood here for some time, first staring at the bare field,
then looking at one another, and then staring at the ground again.
" ' Where are all the building-stones gone to ? " said one.
" ' Where are all my pegs that marked out the lines of the found-
ation ? ' said the architect.
" < Where are all the stones and the pegs gone to, Master Franklin ?
What tricks have you been playing us, Master Franklin ? ' said one
of them to the owner of the field.
' The franklin looked innocence itself, then opened his eyes and
fiis mouth, and raised up his hands in mute astonishment.
" ' It strikes me,' said one of the labourers, scratching his head,
THE ISLE OF WIGHT. 257
' that we must just have mistaken our way, and come to the wrong
field.'
" ' That 's quite impossible ! ' said two or three of the others,
speaking together.
" While they were thus debating, the owner of the land at the top
of the hill made his appearance among them.
" ' Is this fair ? — is this right ? — is this honourable? ' said he.
" ' What fair ? — what right ? ' rejoined the architect. ' We do not
understand you.'
" ' I know well/ said the man from the top of the hill, ' that land
is oftentimes seized to erect a church upon, without compensation
being given to the owner ; but I ask you is it not hard, very hard,
that the foundations of a church should be pegged out, and the
stones placed ready for the builder, upon my land, without my being
told a word about it beforehand ? Sir, I honour the priesthood and
holy men, as a good man ought ; but not when they come like
a thief in the night to plunder me of my patrimony. Fie ! fie ! Master
Architect. What ! — must you come in the night, while I am asleep,
to mark out your foundations, and place your building-stones all
ready to begin with ? Why, if I had overslept myself, I might al-
most have found when I awoke my best field converted into build-
ings and churchyards.'
" ( What can the man mean ? ' said the architect, when the little
man from the top of the hill stopped to take breath.
" e Why, it is just what I thought/ said one of the masons ;
' there must be two fields somehow or other so exactly alike, that
we must have mistaken the one for the other.'
" ' I can assure you/ said our friend the franklin, putting in his
word, ' that, although he appears a little excited at present, he is a
very sensible, respectable, pious man ; but what he is talking about
I cannot imagine.'
" ' Look up there/ said the little man from the top of the hill ;
' there they have already brought stones to commence a church with,
and have actually begun to mark out the direction of the found-
ations.'
" In consequence, everybody did look up in the direction he
pointed, and certainly they did perceive the tops of two heaps of
stones showing themselves above the brow of the hill. The architect
and his assistants immediately directed their steps there, and, to their
great astonishment, they found the building-stones disposed in much
the same order on the top of the hill that they had placed them in
the field below.
" What was to be done? The bishop had arranged that he should
come that very afternoon to lay the first stone of the church himself.
There was, therefore, no time to be lost ; so, without speculating
farther how the stones had contrived to get up to the top of a steep
hill without assistance, they set themselves to work in good earnest
to bring them down again ; and before the appointed time for the
bishop's arrival the stones were all heaped up as they were before,
the architect had pegged out the shape of the new church, and
a little part of the foundation had been dug, ready to receive the first
stone.
" Shortly after the hour at which the bishop was expected, a
258 LEGENDS OF
group of monks and other ecclesiastics were seen collected together
in the distance waiting for him. After the lapse of about twenty
minutes, the dignitary himself, riding on a mule, attended by about
six or seven mounted attendants, joined their inferior brethren, who
•were awaiting him. They now formed themselves into a procession,
walking two and two, those on foot marching first, then the bishop ;
his mounted companions followed two and two, and a few more at-
tendants on foot brought up the rear.
" As they advanced at a slow pace, they chaunted a psalm. One
half of them chaunted the first verse, the other half replied to them
in a higher note, while here and there their united voices swelled
into a loud chorus.
" The workmen and the peasantry, who were assembled round the
destined site of the new church, listened with deep devotion to the
solemn notes of the holy song, now swelling loud, now dying away
upon the summer wind.
" When the procession arrived at the spot, the monks on foot filed
to the right and to the left, still raising their voices, and turning up
their eyes towards heaven. The bishop on his mule now arrived in
front, and it was expected that he would dismount and offer up a
prayer for the success of their undertaking. Had he been on foot,
there is no doubt but that he would have done so ; but mules are
animals proverbially obstinate, delighting in showing that they have
a will of their own, independent of their master's. So was it in the
present instance ; for the animal, instead of stopping short, as he was
directed to do, continued to walk leisurely on, till at length he
quickened his pace into a trot, and he had actually ascended half way
up the steep hill in front before he could be brought to a full stop.
At length the bishop returned crest-fallen and out of humour, and
having taken his appointed place, he commenced his prayer for the
success of the undertaking, resting his knee upon aij embroidered
footstool, while the rest of the congregation knelt upon the ground.
After his prayer was concluded, some masonic tools and a small silver
coin were given to him. He now, with the assistance of two masons,
deposited the coin, and settled down the stone upon it. They
chaunted a psalm ; and when this was concluded, the bishop's at-
tendant deacon called for the franklin by name. When he had
come, the bishop said, ' Kneel down.'
" The franklin knelt.
" The bishop then, after praising him for his piety, pronounced a
full absolution for all his sins, and all the ecclesiastics responded in a
deep ' Amen.' The bishop then gave the whole assembly his parting
benediction, and the ceremony was at an end.
" As the venerable fathers rode home together, they discussed and
re-discussed, and commented upon the curious tale of which they
had heard several versions that morning ; how all the building-stones,
together with the architect's markers and pegs, had been myste-
riously conveyed away from their allotted spot to the top of a steep
hill in the neighbourhood. It could not have been chance. If the
stones had rolled from the top of the hill down to the bottom, it
would have been another thing ; but stones cannot roll up a hill.
" Was it a miracle ? Catholic priests in all ages of the world are
supposed to be oftener preachers than believers of the miracles that
take place under their own eyes ; so, though the possibility of its
THE ISLE OF WIGHT. 259
having been a miracle was thrown out once or twice, the majority
were decidedly against the opinion that a miracle had been workeu
in the present instance.
" Then there was a third supposition. It might have been a trick
played upon them by some base reprobate. This appeared to them
all to be much more unlikely than either of the two foregoing sup-
positions. Where could a man be found so utterly wicked as to wish
to do such an action ? Certainly not in the Isle of Wight, so cele-
brated for its piety. But even suppose such a man was found, how
was it possible to imagine for a moment that he would dare to do it ?
The Church can excommunicate as well as bless ; besides, people
had been burnt alive for sacrilege before ; then Avhat object could
any person possibly have in doing so? It certainly could not be
merely for the sake of running the chance of being burnt alive, with
the addition of the curses of the Church, and the execration of all
mankind. Then, again, how could he possibly carry his intentions
into execution, even if he was mad enough to desire it ? It could
have been no light labour to have carried all the stones up the hill ;
and it was evidently quite impossible to have done it without being
observed by some of the neighbours ; and what neighbour would
dare to conceal such an action from the Holy Church ?
" At length one of the brothers interrupted this discussion, saying
in a most solemn tone,
" ' In the blindness of your hearts, and in the eagerness of your
talking, you have altogether forgotten the most important fact of all.'
" ' What is that ? ' demanded two or three at once.
" ' Had it not been for the assistance of two strong men in stop-
ping his mule, the bishop himself would have been carried up to the
top of the hill.'
" It would never have done for the other ecclesiastics to have cast
any reflections upon the horsemanship of their superior ; so it was
absolutely necessary for them all to come to the conclusion that there
was something very supernatural and wonderful in the whole affair.
Thus ostensibly, at any rate, the theory of the miracle carried it
hollow.
" The bishop, however, between whom and the mule similar dif-
ferences of opinion, attended with precisely the same results, had
frequently occurred before, could not in his heart subscribe to the
proof that appeared to have convinced the rest ; so he thus addressed
his attendants.
" ' Brethren, however singular may have appeared what we have
heard and seen this day, we ought not lightly to adopt an opinion
that anything has occurred out of the common order of nature, lest
other causes, simple and obvious to the unlearned, should by chance
be brought to light, sufficient to account for what has happened, and
thus the authority of the Church be brought into jeopardy. I will
therefore order two men to be placed to watch the spot to-night, and
to-rnorrow we will discuss this matter again, after they shall have
made their report.'
" One of his attendants was in consequence sent back to direct
two of the workmen to remain on the spot all night, and to give
them his blessing, which was accordingly done.
" A messenger from the bishop was sent to them again in the
morning, to see whether all had remained quiet during the night.
260 LEGENDS OF
The account that he brought back was, that he found the two men
lying upon the ground in a helpless state, like men weary in body,
and oppressed with strong drink. lie roused them with some
trouble, and they then gave a very strange and marvellous account
of what they had seen and heard during the night.
" The most extraordinary fact, however, that the messenger had
to report was, that the stones had all contrived to get up to the top
of this hill again ; the foundation-stone had been taken away, and
the trench filled up, and the turf laid smooth again.
" Upon ascending the hill, they found the building-stones bestowed
in the same form they were the morning before ; the lines of the
foundation were in the same manner pegged out by the architect's
marks ; a small portion of the foundation had been dug, and the first
stone had been laid, — the identical first stone that had been laid by
the bishop in another place the evening before.
" The bishop, upon hearing this, ordered the two watchers and all
the other persons who had been employed the day previous to be
brought before him. The account that the two watchers gave was, that
about midnight they were startled by a low rumbling noise, which
appeared to issue from the heaps of stones. Presently the stones
were observed to move, rolling about one against another, just as if
there was a large body moving about and kicking in the midst of the
heap ; then a little stone rolled off the top of the heap, and tumbled
on the ground ; but it quite made their hair stand on end to see that,
instead of stopping there, it kept on rolling and rolling, — where the
ground was rough it hopped and skipped, and then went on rolling
again in the direction of the hill. Then out came another stone, and
rolled, and skipped, and rolled like the first. In a little time, when
the stones had contrived to shake themselves out of the heap, where
they seemed to be very much in one another's way, they all began
rolling away together, — the little ones going faster and more nimbly
than the others. The watchers said that they had some difficulty in
getting out of their way, there were so many of them on the move
together. A large stone, indeed, did come foul of one of them, hit
him on the shin, and knocked him out of the way, nearly breaking
his leg, and then went'bowling on, as if it did not care whether his
leg was broken or not.
" When the stones had all gone by, they determined, though they
were very much frightened at the time, t 
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