The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth

by William Harrison Ainsworth

  “Is this true, Sir?” cried Mrs. Sheppard, with an agonized look at Wood. “I know you’ll not deceive me. Is Jack what Mrs. Wood represents him?”

  “He’s not exactly what I could desire him to be, Joan,” replied the carpenter, reluctantly, “But a ragged colt sometimes makes the best horse. He’ll mend, I hope.”

  “Never,” said Mrs. Wood,— “he’ll never mend. He has taken more than one step towards the gallows already. Thieves and pickpockets are his constant companions.”

  “Thieves!” exclaimed Mrs. Sheppard, horror-stricken.

  “Jonathan Wild and Blueskin have got him into their hands,” continued Mrs. Wood.

  “Impossible!” exclaimed the widow, wildly.

  “If you doubt my word, woman,” replied the carpenter’s wife, coldly, “ask Mr. Wood.”

  “I know you’ll contradict it, Sir,” said the widow, looking at Wood as if she dreaded to have her fears confirmed,— “I know you will.”

  “I wish I could, Joan,” returned the carpenter, sadly.

  Mrs. Sheppard let fall her basket.

  “My son,” she murmured, wringing her hands piteously — , “my son the companion of thieves! My son in Jonathan Wild’s power! It cannot be.”

  “Why not?” rejoined Mrs. Wood, in a taunting tone. “Your son’s father was a thief; and Jonathan Wild (unless I’m misinformed,) was his friend, — so it’s not unnatural he should show some partiality towards Jack.”

  “Jonathan Wild was my husband’s bitterest enemy,” said Mrs. Sheppard. “He first seduced him from the paths of honesty, and then betrayed him to a shameful death, and he has sworn to do the same thing by my son. Oh, Heavens; that I should have ever indulged a hope of happiness while that terrible man lives!”

  “Compose yourself, Joan,” said Wood; “all will yet be well.”

  “Oh, no, — no,” replied Mrs. Sheppard, distractedly. “All cannot be well, if this is true. Tell me, Sir,” she added, with forced calmness, and grasping Wood’s arm; “what has Jack done? Tell me in a word, that I may know the worst. I can bear anything but suspense.”

  “You’re agitating yourself unnecessarily, Joan,” returned Wood, in a soothing voice. “Jack has been keeping bad company. That’s the only fault I know of.”

  “Thank God for that!” ejaculated Mrs. Sheppard, fervently. “Then it is not too late to save him. Where is he, Sir? Can I see him?”

  “No, that you can’t,” answered Mrs. Wood; “he has gone out without leave, and has taken Thames Darrell with him. If I were Mr. Wood, when he does return, I’d send him about his business. I wouldn’t keep an apprentice to set my authority at defiance.”

  Mr. Wood’s reply, if he intended any, was cut short by a loud knocking at the door.

  “‘Odd’s-my-life! — what’s that?” he cried, greatly alarmed.

  “It’s Jonathan Wild come back with a troop of constables at his heels, to search the house,” rejoined Mrs. Wood, in equal trepidation. “We shall all be murdered. Oh! that Mr. Kneebone were here to protect me!”

  “If it is Jonathan,” rejoined Wood, “it is very well for Mr. Kneebone he’s not here. He’d have enough to do to protect himself, without attending to you. I declare I’m almost afraid to go to the door. Something, I’m convinced, has happened to the boys.”

  “Has Jonathan Wild been here to-day?” asked Mrs. Sheppard, anxiously.

  “To be sure he has!” returned Mrs. Wood; “and Blueskin, too. They’re only just gone, mercy on us! what a clatter,” she added, as the knocking was repeated more violently than before.

  While the carpenter irresolutely quitted the room, with a strong presentiment of ill upon his mind, a light quick step was heard descending the stairs, and before he could call out to prevent it, a man was admitted into the passage.

  “Is this Misther Wudd’s, my pretty miss?” demanded the rough voice of the Irish watchman.

  “It is”, seplied Winifred; “have you brought any tidings of Thames Darrell!”

  “Troth have I!” replied Terence: “but, bless your angilic face, how did you contrive to guess that?”

  “Is he well? — is he safe? — is he coming back,” cried the little girl, disregarding the question.

  “He’s in St. Giles’s round-house,” answered Terence; “but tell Mr. Wudd I’m here, and have brought him a message from his unlawful son, and don’t be detainin’ me, my darlin’, for there’s not a minute to lose if the poor lad’s to be recused from the clutches of that thief and thief-taker o’ the wurld, Jonathan Wild.”

  The carpenter, upon whom no part of this hurried dialogue had been lost, now made his appearance, and having obtained from Terence all the information which that personage could impart respecting the perilous situation of Thames, he declared himself ready to start to Saint Giles’s at once, and ran back to the room for his hat and stick; expressing his firm determination, as he pocketed his constable’s staff with which he thought it expedient to arm himself, of being direfully revenged upon the thief-taker: a determination in which he was strongly encouraged by his wife. Terence, meanwhile, who had followed him, did not remain silent, but recapitulated his story, for the benefit of Mrs. Sheppard. The poor widow was thrown into an agony of distress on learning that a robbery had been committed, in which her son (for she could not doubt that Jack was one of the boys,) was implicated; nor was her anxiety alleviated by Mrs. Wood, who maintained stoutly, that if Thames had been led to do wrong, it must be through the instrumentality of his worthless companion.

  “And there you’re right, you may dipind, marm,” observed Terence. “Master Thames Ditt — what’s his blessed name? — has honesty written in his handsome phiz; but as to his companion, Jack Sheppard, I think you call him, he’s a born and bred thief. Lord bless you marm! we sees plenty on ’em in our purfession. Them young prigs is all alike. I seed he was one, — and a sharp un, too, — at a glance.”

  “Oh!” exclaimed the widow, covering her face with her hands.

  “Take a drop of brandy before we start, watchman,” said Wood, pouring out a glass of spirit, and presenting it to Terence, who smacked his lips as he disposed of it. “Won’t you be persuaded, Joan?” he added, making a similar offer to Mrs. Sheppard, which she gratefully declined. “If you mean to accompany us, you may need it.”

  “You are very kind, Sir,” returned the widow, “but I require no support. Nothing stronger than water has passed my lips for years.”

  “We may believe as much of that as we please, I suppose,” observed the carpenter’s wife, with a sneer. “Mr. Wood,” she continued, in an authoritative tone, seeing her husband ready to depart, “one word before you set out. If Jack Sheppard or his mother ever enter this house again, I leave it — that’s all. Now, do what you please. You know my fixed determination.”

  Mr. Wood made no reply; but, hastily kissing his weeping daughter, and bidding her be of good cheer, hurried off. He was followed with equal celerity by Terence and the widow. Traversing what remained of Wych Street at a rapid pace, and speeding along Drury Lane, the trio soon found themselves in Kendrick Yard. When they came to the round-house, Terry’s courage failed him. Such was the terror inspired by Wild’s vindictive character, that few durst face him who had given him cause for displeasure. Aware that he should incur the thief-taker’s bitterest animosity by what he had done, the watchman, whose wrath against Quilt Arnold had evaporated during the walk, thought it more prudent not to hazard a meeting with his master, till the storm had, in some measure, blown over. Accordingly, having given Wood such directions as he thought necessary for his guidance, and received a handsome gratuity in return for his services, he departed.

  It was not without considerable demur and delay on the part of Sharples that the carpenter and his companion could gain admittance to the round-house. Reconnoitring them through a small grated loophole, he refused to open the door till they had explained their business. This, Wood, acting upon Terry’s caution, was most unwilling to do; but, finding he had no
alternative, he reluctantly made known his errand and the bolts were undrawn. Once in, the constable’s manner appeared totally changed. He was now as civil as he had just been insolent. Apologizing for their detention, he answered the questions put to him respecting the boys, by positively denying that any such prisoners had been entrusted to his charge, but offered to conduct him to every cell in the building to prove the truth of his assertion. He then barred and double-locked the door, took out the key, (a precautionary measure which, with a grim smile, he said he never omitted,) thrust it into his vest, and motioning the couple to follow him, led the way to the inner room. As Wood obeyed, his foot slipped; and, casting his eyes upon the floor, he perceived it splashed in several places with blood. From the freshness of the stains, which grew more frequent as they approached the adjoining chamber, it was evident some violence had been recently perpetrated, and the carpenter’s own blood froze within his veins as he thought, with a thrill of horror, that, perhaps on this very spot, not many minutes before his arrival, his adopted son might have been inhumanly butchered. Nor was this impression removed as he stole a glance at Mrs. Sheppard, and saw from her terrified look that she had made the same alarming discovery as himself. But it was now too late to turn back, and, nerving himself for the shock he expected to encounter, he ventured after his conductor. No sooner had they entered the room than Sharples, who waited to usher them in, hastily retreated, closed the door, and turning the key, laughed loudly at the success of his stratagem. Vexation at his folly in suffering himself to be thus entrapped kept Wood for a short time silent. When he could find words, he tried by the most urgent solicitations to prevail upon the constable to let him out. But threats and entreaties — even promises were ineffectual; and the unlucky captive, after exhausting his powers of persuasion, was compelled to give up the point.

  The room in which he was detained — that lately occupied by the Mohocks, who, it appeared, had been allowed to depart, — was calculated to inspire additional apprehension and disgust. Strongly impregnated with the mingled odours of tobacco, ale, brandy, and other liquors, the atmosphere was almost stifling. The benches running round the room, though fastened to the walls by iron clamps, had been forcibly wrenched off; while the table, which was similarly secured to the boards, was upset, and its contents — bottles, jugs, glasses, and bowls were broken and scattered about in all directions. Everything proclaimed the mischievous propensities of the recent occupants of the chamber.

  Here lay a heap of knockers of all sizes, from the huge lion’s head to the small brass rapper: there, a collection of sign-boards, with the names and calling of the owners utterly obliterated. On this side stood the instruments with which the latter piece of pleasantry had been effected, — namely, a bucket filled with paint and a brush: on that was erected a trophy, consisting of a watchman’s rattle, a laced hat, with the crown knocked out, and its place supplied by a lantern, a campaign wig saturated with punch, a torn steen-kirk and ruffles, some half-dozen staves, and a broken sword.

  As the carpenter’s gaze wandered over this scene of devastation, his attention was drawn by Mrs. Sheppard towards an appalling object in one corner. This was the body of a man, apparently lifeless, and stretched upon a mattress, with his head bound up in a linen cloth, through which the blood had oosed. Near the body, which, it will be surmised, was that of Abraham Mendez, two ruffianly personages were seated, quietly smoking, and bestowing no sort of attention upon the new-comers. Their conversation was conducted in the flash language, and, though unintelligible to Wood, was easily comprehended by this companion, who learnt, to her dismay, that the wounded man had received his hurt from her son, whose courage and dexterity formed the present subject of their discourse. From other obscure hints dropped by the speakers, Mrs. Sheppard ascertained that Thames Darrell had been carried off — where she could not make out — by Jonathan Wild and Quilt Arnold; and that Jack had been induced to accompany Blueskin to the Mint. This intelligence, which she instantly communicated to the carpenter, drove him almost frantic. He renewed his supplications to Sharples, but with no better success than heretofore; and the greater part of the night was passed by him and the poor widow, whose anxiety, if possible, exceeded his own, in the most miserable state imaginable.

  At length, about three o’clock, as the first glimmer of dawn became visible through the barred casements of the round-house, the rattling of bolts and chains at the outer door told that some one was admitted. Whoever this might be, the visit seemed to have some reference to the carpenter, for, shortly afterwards, Sharples made his appearance, and informed the captives they were free. Without waiting to have the information repeated, Wood rushed forth, determined as soon as he could procure assistance, to proceed to Jonathan Wild’s house in the Old Bailey; while Mrs. Sheppard, whose maternal fears drew her in another direction, hurried off to the Mint.

  * * *

  CHAPTER XIV. THE FLASH KEN.

  In an incredibly short space of time, — for her anxiety lent wings to her feet, — Mrs. Sheppard reached the debtor’s garrison. From a scout stationed at the northern entrance, whom she addressed in the jargon of the place, with which long usage had formerly rendered her familiar, she ascertained that Blueskin, accompanied by a youth, whom she knew by the description must be her son, had arrived there about three hours before, and had proceeded to the Cross Shovels. This was enough for the poor widow. She felt she was now near her boy, and, nothing doubting her ability to rescue him from his perilous situation, she breathed a fervent prayer for his deliverance; and bending her steps towards the tavern in question, revolved within her mind as she walked along the best means of accomplishing her purpose. Aware of the cunning and desperate characters of the persons with whom she would have to deal, — aware, also, that she was in a quarter where no laws could be appealed to, nor assistance obtained, she felt the absolute necessity of caution. Accordingly, when she arrived at the Shovels, with which, as an old haunt in her bygone days of wretchedness she was well acquainted, instead of entering the principal apartment, which she saw at a glance was crowded with company of both sexes, she turned into a small room on the left of the bar, and, as an excuse for so doing, called for something to drink. The drawers at the moment were too busy to attend to her, and she would have seized the opportunity of examining, unperceived, the assemblage within, through a little curtained window that overlooked the adjoining chamber, if an impediment had not existed in the shape of Baptist Kettleby, whose portly person entirely obscured the view. The Master of the Mint, in the exercise of his two-fold office of governor and publican, was mounted upon a chair, and holding forth to his guests in a speech, to which Mrs. Sheppard was unwillingly compelled to listen.

  “Gentlemen of the Mint,” said the orator, “when I was first called, some fifty years ago, to the important office I hold, there existed across the water three places of refuge for the oppressed and persecuted debtor.”

  “We know it,” cried several voices.

  “It happened, gentlemen,” pursued the Master, “on a particular occasion, about the time I’ve mentioned, that the Archduke of Alsatia, the Sovereign of the Savoy, and the Satrap of Salisbury Court, met by accident at the Cross Shovels. A jolly night we made of it, as you may suppose; for four such monarchs don’t often come together. Well, while we were smoking our pipes, and quaffing our punch, Alsatia turns to me and says, ‘Mint,’ says he, ‘you’re well off here.’— ‘Pretty well,’ says I; ‘you’re not badly off at the Friars, for that matter.’— ‘Oh! yes we are,’ says he.— ‘How so?’ says I.— ‘It’s all up with us,’ says he; ‘they’ve taken away our charter.’— ‘They can’t,’ says I.— ‘They have,’ says he.— ‘They can’t, I tell you,’ says I, in a bit of a passion; ‘it’s unconstitutional.’— ‘Unconstitutional or not,’ says Salisbury Court and Savoy, speaking together, ‘it’s true. We shall become a prey to the Philistines, and must turn honest in self-defence.’— ‘No fear o’ that,’ thought I.— ‘I see how it’ll be,’ observed
Alsatia, ‘everybody’ll pay his debts, and only think of such a state of things as that.’— ‘It’s not to be thought of,’ says I, thumping the table till every glass on it jingled; ‘and I know a way as’ll prevent it.’— ‘What is it, Mint?’ asked all three.— ‘Why, hang every bailiff that sets a foot in your territories, and you’re safe,’ says I.— ‘We’ll do it,’ said they, filling their glasses, and looking as fierce as King George’s grenadier guards; ‘here’s your health, Mint.’ But, gentlemen, though they talked so largely, and looked so fiercely, they did not do it; they did not hang the bailiffs; and where are they?”

  “Ay, where are they?” echoed the company with indignant derision.

  “Gentlemen,” returned the Master, solemnly, “it is a question easily answered — they are NOWHERE! Had they hanged the bailiffs, the bailiffs would not have hanged them. We ourselves have been similarly circumstanced. Attacked by an infamous and unconstitutional statute, passed in the reign of the late usurper, William of Orange, (for I may remark that, if the right king had been upon the throne, that illegal enactment would never have received the royal assent — the Stuarts — Heaven preserve ‘em! — always siding with the debtors); attacked in this outrageous manner, I repeat, it has been all but ‘up’ with US! But the vigorous resistance offered on that memorable occasion by the patriotic inhabitants of Bermuda to the aggressions of arbitrary power, secured and established their privileges on a firmer basis than heretofore; and, while their pusillanimous allies were crushed and annihilated, they became more prosperous than ever. Gentlemen, I am proud to say that I originated — that I directed those measures. I hope to see the day, when not Southwark alone, but London itself shall become one Mint, — when all men shall be debtors, and none creditors, — when imprisonment for debt shall be utterly abolished, — when highway-robbery shall be accounted a pleasant pastime, and forgery an accomplishment, — when Tyburn and its gibbets shall be overthrown, — capital punishments discontinued, — Newgate, Ludgate, the Gatehouse, and the Compters razed to the ground, — Bridewell and Clerkenwell destroyed, — the Fleet, the King’s Bench, and the Marshalsea remembered only by name! But, in the mean time, as that day may possibly be farther off than I anticipate, we are bound to make the most of the present. Take care of yourselves, gentlemen, and your governor will take care of you. Before I sit down, I have a toast to propose, which I am sure will be received, as it deserves to be, with enthusiasm. It is the health of a stranger, — of Mr. John Sheppard. His father was one of my old customers, and I am happy to find his son treading in his steps. He couldn’t be in better hands than those in which he has placed himself. Gentlemen, — Mr. Sheppard’s good health, and success to him!”