“What’s this here kinchen in for?” asked Terence, as he and Quilt strode along, with Thames between them.
“What for?” rejoined Quilt, evasively.
“Oh! nothin’ partickler — mere curossity,” replied Terence. “By the powers!” he added, turning his lantern full upon the face of the captive, “he’s a nice genn-teel-lookin’ kiddy, I must say. Pity he’s ta’en to bad ways so airly.”
“You may spare me your compassion, friend,” observed Thames; “I am falsely detained.”
“Of course,” rejoined Quilt, maliciously; “every thief is so. If we were to wait till a prig was rightfully nabbed, we might tarry till doomsday. We never supposed you helped yourself to a picture set with diamonds — not we!”
“Is the guv’ner consarned in this job?” asked Terence, in a whisper.
“He is,” returned Quilt, significantly. “Zounds! what’s that!” he cried, as the noise of a scuffle was heard behind them. “The other kid’s given my partner the slip. Here, take this youngster, Terry; my legs are lighter than old Nab’s.” And, committing Thames to the care of the watchman, he darted after the fugitive.
“Do you wish to earn a rich reward, my good friend?” said Thames to the watchman, as soon as they were left alone.
“Is it by lettin’ you go, my darlin’, that I’m to airn it?” inquired Terence. “If so, it won’t pay. You’re Mister Wild’s pris’ner, and worse luck to it!”
“I don’t ask you to liberate me,” urged Thames; “but will you convey a message for me?”
“Where to, honey?”
“To Mr. Wood’s, the carpenter in Wych Street. He lives near the Black Lion.”
“The Black Lion!” echoed Terence. “I know the house well; by the same token that it’s a flash crib. Och! many a mug o’ bubb have I drained wi’ the landlord, Joe Hind. And so Misther Wudd lives near the Black Lion, eh?”
“He does,” replied Thames. “Tell him that I — his adopted son, Thames Darrell — am detained here by Jonathan Wild.”
“Thames Ditton — is that your name?”
“No,” replied the boy, impatiently; “Darrell — Thames Darrell.”
“I’ll not forget it. It’s a mighty quare ‘un, though. I never yet heard of a Christians as was named after the Shannon or the Liffy; and the Thames is no better than a dhurty puddle, compared wi’ them two noble strames. But then you’re an adopted son, and that makes all the difference. People do call their unlawful children strange names. Are you quite shure you haven’t another alyas, Masther Thames Ditton?”
“Darrell, I tell you. Will you go? You’ll be paid handsomely for your trouble.”
“I don’t mind the throuble,” hesitated Terence, who was really a good-hearted fellow at the bottom; “and I’d like to sarve you if I could, for you look like a gentleman’s son, and that goes a great way wi’ me. But if Misther Wild were to find out that I thwarted his schames — —”
“I’d not be in your skin for a trifle,” interrupted Quilt, who having secured Sheppard, and delivered him to Abraham, now approached them unawares; “and it shan’t be my fault if he don’t hear of it.”
“‘Ouns!” ejaculated Terence, in alarm, “would you turn snitch on your old pal, Quilt?”
“Ay, if he plays a-cross,” returned Quilt. “Come along, my sly shaver. With all your cunning, we’re more than a match for you.”
“But not for me,” growled Terence, in an under tone.
“Remember!” cried Quilt, as he forced the captive along.
“Remember the devil!” retorted Terence, who had recovered his natural audacity. “Do you think I’m afeard of a beggarly thief-taker and his myrmidons? Not I. Master Thames Ditton, I’ll do your biddin’; and you, Misther Quilt Arnold, may do your worst, I defy you.”
“Dog!” exclaimed Quilt, turning fiercely upon him, “do you threaten?”
But the watchman eluded his grasp, and, mingling with the crowd, disappeared.
* * *
CHAPTER XII. SAINT GILES’S ROUND-HOUSE.
Saint Giles’s Round-house was an old detached fabric, standing in an angle of Kendrick Yard. Originally built, as its name imports, in a cylindrical form, like a modern Martello tower, it had undergone, from time to time, so many alterations, that its symmetry was, in a great measure, destroyed. Bulging out more in the middle than at the two extremities, it resembled an enormous cask set on its end, — a sort of Heidelberg tun on a large scale, — and this resemblance was increased by the small circular aperture — it hardly deserved to be called a door — pierced, like the bung-hole of a barrell, through the side of the structure, at some distance from the ground, and approached by a flight of wooden steps. The prison was two stories high, with a flat roof surmounted by a gilt vane fashioned like a key; and, possessing considerable internal accommodation, it had, in its day, lodged some thousands of disorderly personages. The windows were small, and strongly grated, looking, in front, on Kendrick Yard, and, at the back, upon the spacious burial-ground of Saint Giles’s Church. Lights gleamed from the lower rooms, and, on a nearer approach to the building, the sound of revelry might be heard from within.
Warned of the approach of the prisoners by the increased clamour, Sharples, who was busied in distributing the Marquis’s donation, affected to throw the remainder of the money among the crowd, though, in reality, he kept back a couple of guineas, which he slipped into his sleeve, and running hastily up the steps, unlocked the door. He was followed, more leisurely, by the prisoners; and, during their ascent, Jack Sheppard made a second attempt to escape by ducking suddenly down, and endeavouring to pass under his conductor’s legs. The dress of the dwarfish Jew was not, however, favourable to this expedient. Jack was caught, as in a trap, by the pendant tails of Abraham’s long frock; and, instead of obtaining his release by his ingenuity, he only got a sound thrashing.
Sharples received them at the threshold, and holding his lantern towards the prisoners to acquaint himself with their features, nodded to Quilt, between whom and himself some secret understanding seemed to subsist, and then closed and barred the door.
“Vell,” he growled, addressing Quilt, “you know who’s here, I suppose?”
“To be sure I do,” replied Quilt; “my noble friend, the Marquis of Slaughterford. What of that?”
“Vot ‘o that!” echoed Sharples, peevishly: “Everythin’. Vot am I to do vith these young imps, eh?”
“What you generally do with your prisoners, Mr. Sharples,” replied Quilt; “lock ’em up.”
“That’s easily said. But, suppose I’ve no place to lock ’em up in, how then?”
Quilt looked a little perplexed. He passed his arm under that of the constable, and drew him aside.
“Vell, vell,” growled Sharples, after he had listened to the other’s remonstrances, “it shall be done. But it’s confounded inconvenient. One don’t often get sich a vindfal as the Markis — —”
“Or such a customer as Mr. Wild,” edged in Quilt.
“Now, then, Saint Giles!” interposed Sheppard, “are we to be kept here all night?”
“Eh day!” exclaimed Sharples: “wot new-fledged bantam’s this?”
“One that wants to go to roost,” replied Sheppard. “So, stir your stumps, Saint Giles; and, if you mean to lock us up, use despatch.”
“Comin’! comin’!” returned the constable, shuffling towards him.
“Coming! — so is midnight — so is Jonathan Wild,” retorted Jack, with a significant look at Thames.
“Have you never an out-o-the-vay corner, into vich you could shtow these troublesome warmint?” observed Abraham. “The guv’ner’ll be here afore midnight.”
Darrell’s attention was drawn to the latter part of this speech by a slight pressure on his foot. And, turning at the touch, he perceived Sheppard’s glance fixed meaningly upon him.
“Stow it, Nab!” exclaimed Quilt, angrily; “the kinchen’s awake.”
“Awake! — to be sure I am, my flash cove,�
� replied Sheppard; “I’m down as a hammer.”
“I’ve just bethought me of a crib as’ll serve their turn,” interposed Sharples, “at any rate, they’ll be out o’ the vay, and as safe as two chicks in a coop.”
“Lead the way to it then, Saint Giles,” said Jack, in a tone of mock authority.
The place, in which they stood, was a small entrance-chamber, cut off, like the segment of a circle, from the main apartment, (of which it is needless to say it originally constituted a portion,) by a stout wooden partition. A door led to the inner room; and it was evident from the peals of merriment, and other noises, that, ever and anon, resounded from within, that this chamber was occupied by the Marquis and his friends. Against the walls hung an assortment of staves, brown-bills, (weapons then borne by the watch,) muskets, handcuffs, great-coats, and lanterns. In one angle of the room stood a disused fire-place, with a rusty grate and broken chimney-piece; in the other there was a sort of box, contrived between the wall and the boards, that looked like an apology for a cupboard. Towards this box Sharples directed his steps, and, unlocking a hatch in the door, disclosed a recess scarcely as large, and certainly not as clean, as a dog-kennel.
“Vill this do?” demanded the constable, taking the candle from the lantern, the better to display the narrow limits of the hole. “I call this ere crib the Little-Ease, arter the runaway prentices’ cells in Guildhall. I have squeezed three kids into it afore now. To be sure,” he added, lowering his tone, “they wos little ‘uns, and one on ’em was smothered — ough! ough! — how this cough chokes me!”
Sheppard, meanwhile, whose hands were at liberty, managed to possess himself, unperceived, of the spike of a halbert, which was lying, apart from the pole, upon a bench near him. Having secured this implement, he burst from his conductor, and, leaping into the hatch, as clowns generally spring into the clock-faces, when in pursuit of harlequin in the pantomime, — that is, back foremost, — broke into a fit of loud and derisive laughter, kicking his heels merrily all the time against the boards. His mirth, however, received an unpleasant check; for Abraham, greatly incensed by his previous conduct, caught him by the legs, and pushed him with such violence into the hole that the point of the spike, which he had placed in his pocket, found its way through his clothes to the flesh, inflicting a slight, but painful wound. Jack, who had something of the Spartan in his composition, endured his martyrdom without flinching; and carried his stoical indifference so far, as even to make a mocking grimace in Sharples’s face, while that amiable functionary thrust Thames into the recess beside him.
“How go you like your quarters, sauce-box?” asked Sharples, in a jeering tone.
“Better than your company, Saint Giles,” replied Sheppard; “so, shut the door, and make yourself scarce.”
“That boy’ll never rest till he finds his vay to Bridewell,” observed Sharples.
“Or the street,” returned Jack: “mind my words, the prison’s not built that can keep me.”
“We’ll see that, young hempseed,” replied Sharples, shutting the hatch furiously in his face, and locking it. “If you get out o’ that cage, I’ll forgive you. Now, come along, gem’men, and I’ll show you some precious sport.”
The two janizaries followed him as far as the entrance to the inner room, when Abraham, raising his finger to his lips, and glancing significantly in the direction of the boys, to explain his intention to his companions, closed the door after them, and stole softly back again, planting himself near the recess.
For a few minutes all was silent. At length Jack Sheppard observed:— “The coast’s clear. They’re gone into the next room.”
Darrell returned no answer.
“Don’t be angry with me, Thames,” continued Sheppard, in a tone calculated, as he thought, to appease his companion’s indignation. “I did all for the best, as I’ll explain.”
“I won’t reproach you, Jack,” said the other, sternly. “I’ve done with you.”
“Not quite, I hope,” rejoined Sheppard. “At all events, I’ve not done with you. If you owe your confinement to me, you shall owe your liberation to me, also.”
“I’d rather lie here for ever, than be indebted to you for my freedom,” returned Thames.
“I’ve done nothing to offend you,” persisted Jack. “Nothing!” echoed the other, scornfully. “You’ve perjured yourself.”
“That’s my own concern,” rejoined Sheppard. “An oath weighs little with me, compared with your safety.”
“No more of this,” interrupted Thames, “you make the matter worse by these excuses.”
“Quarrel with me as much as you please, Thames, but hear me,” returned Sheppard. “I took the course I pursued to serve you.”
“Tush!” cried Thames; “you accused me to skreen yourself.”
“On my soul, Thames, you wrong me!” replied Jack, passionately. “I’d lay down my life for yours.”
“And you expect me to believe you after what has passed?”
“I do; and, more than that, I expect you to thank me.”
“For procuring my imprisonment?”
“For saving your life.”
“How?”
“Listen to me, Thames. You’re in a more serious scrape than you imagine. I overheard Jonathan Wild’s instructions to Quilt Arnold, and though he spoke in slang, and in an under tone, my quick ears, and acquaintance with the thieves’ lingo, enabled me to make out every word he uttered. Jonathan is in league with Sir Rowland to make away with you. You are brought here that their designs may be carried into effect with greater security. Before morning, unless, we can effect an escape, you’ll be kidnapped, or murdered, and your disappearance attributed to the negligence of the constable.”
“Are you sure of this?” asked Thames, who, though as brave a lad as need be, could not repress a shudder at the intelligence.
“Certain. The moment I entered the room, and found you a prisoner in the hands of Jonathan Wild, I guessed how matters stood, and acted accordingly. Things haven’t gone quite as smoothly as I anticipated; but they might have been worse. I can save you, and will. But, say we’re friends.”
“You’re not deceiving me!” said Thames, doubtfully.
“I am not, by Heaven!” replied Sheppard, firmly.
“Don’t swear, Jack, or I shall distrust you. I can’t give you my hand; but you may take it.”
“Thank you! thank you!” faltered Jack, in a voice full of emotion. “I’ll soon free you from these bracelets.”
“You needn’t trouble yourself,” replied Thames. “Mr. Wood will be here presently.”
“Mr. Wood!” exclaimed Jack, in surprise. “How have you managed to communicate with him?”
Abraham, who had listened attentively to the foregoing conversation, — not a word of which escaped him, — now drew in his breath, and brought his ear closer to the boards.
“By means of the watchman who had the charge of me,” replied Thames.
“Curse him!” muttered Abraham.
“Hist!” exclaimed Jack. “I thought I heard a noise. Speak lower. Somebody may be on the watch — perhaps, that old ginger-hackled Jew.”
“I don’t care if he is,” rejoined Thames, boldly. “He’ll learn that his plans will be defeated.”
“He may learn how to defeat yours,” replied Jack.
“So he may,” rejoined Abraham, aloud, “so he may.”
“Death and fiends!” exclaimed Jack; “the old thief is there. I knew it. You’ve betrayed yourself, Thames.”
“Vot o’ that?” chuckled Abraham. “You can shave him, you know.”
“I can,” rejoined Jack; “and you, too, old Aaron, if I’d a razor.”
“How soon do you expect Mishter Vudd?” inquired the janizary, tauntingly.
“What’s that to you?” retorted Jack, surlily.
“Because I shouldn’t like to be out o’ the vay ven he arrives,” returned Abraham, in a jeering tone; “it vouldn’t be vell bred.”
“V
ouldn’t it!” replied Jack, mimicking his snuffling voice; “then shtay vere you are, and be cursed to you.”
“It’s all up,” muttered Thames. “Mr. Wood will be intercepted. I’ve destroyed my only chance.”
“Not your only chance, Thames,” returned Jack, in the same undertone; “but your best. Never mind. We’ll turn the tables upon ’em yet. Do you think we could manage that old clothesman between us, if we got out of this box?”
“I’d manage him myself, if my arms were free,” replied Thames, boldly.
“Shpeak up, vill you?” cried Abraham, rapping his knuckles against the hatch. “I likes to hear vot you says. You can have no shecrets from me.”
“Vy don’t you talk to your partner, or Saint Giles, if you vant conversation, Aaron?” asked Jack, slyly.
“Because they’re in the next room, and the door’s shut; that’s vy, my jack-a-dandy!” replied Abraham, unsuspiciously.
“Oh! they are — are they?” muttered Jack, triumphantly; “that’ll do. Now for it, Thames! Make as great a row as you can to divert his attention.”
With this, he drew the spike from his pocket; and, drowning the sound of the operation by whistling, singing, shuffling, and other noises, contrived, in a few minutes, to liberate his companion from the handcuffs.
“Now, Jack,” cried Thames, warmly grasping Sheppard’s hand, “you are my friend again. I freely forgive you.”
Sheppard cordially returned the pressure; and, cautioning Thames, “not to let the ruffles drop, or they might tell a tale,” began to warble the following fragment of a robber melody: —
“Oh! give me a chisel, a knife, or a file,
And the dubsmen shall find that I’ll do it in style!
Tol-de-rol!”
“Vot the devil are you about, noisy?” inquired Abraham.
The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth Page 83
