The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth

by William Harrison Ainsworth

  On one side of the chapel there was a large grated window, but, as it looked upon the interior of the jail, Jack preferred following the course he had originally decided upon to making any attempt in this quarter.

  Accordingly, he proceeded to a gate which stood upon the south, and guarded the passage communicating with the leads. It was grated and crested with spikes, like that he had just burst open, and thinking it a needless waste of time to force it, he broke off one of the spikes, which he carried with him for further purposes, and then climbed over it.

  A short flight of steps brought him to a dark passage, into which he plunged. Here he found another strong door, making the fifth he had encountered. Well aware that the doors in this passage were much stronger than those in the entry he had just quitted he was neither surprised nor dismayed to find it fastened by a lock of unusual size. After repeatedly trying to remove the plate, which was so firmly screwed down that it resisted all his efforts, and vainly attempting to pick it with the spike and nail; he, at length, after half an hour’s ineffectual labour, wrenched off the box by means of the iron bar, and the door, as he laughingly expressed it, “became his humble servant.”

  But this difficulty was only overcome to be succeeded by one still greater. Hastening along the passage he came to the sixth door. For this he was prepared; but he was not prepared for the almost insurmountable obstacles which it presented. Running his hand hastily over it, he was startled to find it one complicated mass of bolts and bars. It seemed as if all the precautions previously taken were here accumulated. Any one less courageous than himself would have abandoned the attempt from a conviction of its utter hopelessness; but, though it might for a moment damp his ardour, it could not deter him.

  Once again, he passed his hand over the surface and carefully noted all the obstacles. There was a lock, apparently more than a foot wide, strongly plated, and girded to the door with thick iron hoops. Below it a prodigiously large bolt was shot into the socket, and, in order to keep it there, was fastened by a hasp, and further protected by an immense padlock. Besides this, the door was crossed and recrossed by iron bars, clenched by broad-headed nails. An iron fillet secured the socket of the bolt and the box of the lock to the main post of the doorway.

  Nothing disheartened by this survey, Jack set to work upon the lock, which he attacked with all his implements; — now attempting to pick it with the nail; — now to wrench it off with the bar: but all without effect. He not only failed in making any impression, but seemed to increase the difficulties, for after an hour’s toil he had broken the nail and slightly bent the iron bar.

  Completely overcome by fatigue, with strained muscles, and bruised hands; streaming with perspiration, and with lips so parched that he would gladly have parted with a treasure if he had possessed it for a draught of water; he sank against the wall, and while in this state was seized with, a sudden and strange alarm. He fancied that the turnkeys had discovered his flight and were in pursuit of him, — that they had climbed up the chimney, — entered the Red Room, — tracked him from door to door, and were now only detained by the gate which he had left unbroken in the chapel. He even thought he could detect the voice of Jonathan, urging and directing them.

  * * *

  So strongly was he impressed with this idea, that grasping the iron bar with both hands, he dashed it furiously against the door, making the passage echo with the blows.

  By degrees, his fears vanished, and hearing nothing, he grew calmer. His spirits revived, and encouraging himself with the idea that the present impediment, though the greatest, was the last, he set himself seriously to consider how it might best be overcome.

  On reflection, it occurred to him that he might, perhaps, be able to loosen the iron fillet; a notion no sooner conceived than executed. With incredible labour, and by the aid of both spike and nail, he succeeded in getting the point of the bar beneath the fillet. Exerting all his energies, and using the bar as a lever, he forced off the iron band, which was full seven feet high, seven inches wide, and two thick, and which brought with it in its fall the box of the lock and the socket of the bolt, leaving no further hinderance.

  Overjoyed beyond measure at having vanquished this apparently-insurmountable obstacle, Jack darted through the door.

  * * *

  CHAPTER XX. THE LEADS.

  Ascending a short flight of steps, Jack found at the summit a door, which being bolted in the inside he speedily opened.

  The fresh air, which blew in his face, greatly revived him. He had now reached what was called the Lower Leads, — a flat, covering a part of the prison contiguous to the gateway, and surrounded on all sides by walls about fourteen feet high. On the north stood the battlements of one of the towers of the gate. On this side a flight of wooden steps, protected by a hand-rail, led to a door opening upon the summit of the prison. This door was crested with spikes, and guarded on the right by a bristling semicircle of spikes. Hastily ascending these steps, Jack found the door, as he anticipated, locked. He could have easily forced it, but preferred a more expeditious mode of reaching the roof which suggested itself to him. Mounting the door he had last opened, he placed his hands on the wall above, and quickly drew himself up.

  Just as he got on the roof of the prison, St. Sepulchre’s clock struck eight. It was instantly answered by the deep note of St. Paul’s; and the concert was prolonged by other neighbouring churches. Jack had thus been six hours in accomplishing his arduous task.

  Though nearly dark, there was still light enough left to enable him to discern surrounding objects. Through the gloom he distinctly perceived the dome of St. Paul’s, hanging like a black cloud in the air; and nearer to him he remarked the golden ball on the summit of the College of Physicians, compared by Garth to a “gilded pill.” Other towers and spires — St. Martin’s on Ludgate-hill, and Christchurch in Newgate Street, were also distinguishable. As he gazed down into the courts of the prison, he could not help shuddering, lest a false step might precipitate him below.

  To prevent the recurrence of any such escape as that just described, it was deemed expedient, in more recent times, to keep a watchman at the top of Newgate. Not many years ago, two men, employed on this duty, quarrelled during the night, and in the morning their bodies were found stretched upon the pavement of the yard beneath.

  Proceeding along the wall, Jack reached the southern tower, over the battlements of which he clambered, and crossing it, dropped upon the roof of the gate. He then scaled the northern tower, and made his way to the summit of that part of the prison which fronted Giltspur Street. Arrived at the extremity of the building, he found that it overlooked the flat-roof of a house which, as far as he could judge in the darkness, lay at a depth of about twenty feet below.

  Not choosing to hazard so great a fall, Jack turned to examine the building, to see whether any more favourable point of descent presented itself, but could discover nothing but steep walls, without a single available projection. As he looked around, he beheld an incessant stream of passengers hurrying on below. Lights glimmered in the windows of the different houses; and a lamp-lighter was running from post to post on his way to Snow Hill.

  Finding it impossible to descend on any side, without incurring serious risk, Jack resolved to return for his blanket, by the help of which he felt certain of accomplishing a safe landing on the roof of the house in Giltspur Street.

  Accordingly, he began to retrace his steps, and pursuing the course he had recently taken, scaling the two towers, and passing along the wall of the prison, he descended by means of the door upon the Lower Leads. Before he re-entered the prison, he hesitated from a doubt whether he was not fearfully increasing his risk of capture; but, convinced that he had no other alternative, he went on.

  During all this time, he had never quitted the iron bar, and he now grasped it with the firm determination of selling his life dearly, if he met with any opposition. A few seconds sufficed to clear the passage, through which it had previously cost him more than tw
o hours to force his way. The floor was strewn with screws, nails, fragments of wood and stone, and across the passage lay the heavy iron fillet. He did not disturb any of this litter, but left it as a mark of his prowess.

  He was now at the entrance of the chapel, and striking the door over which he had previously climbed a violent blow with the bar, it flew open. To vault over the pews was the work of a moment; and having gained the entry leading to the Red Room he passed through the first door; his progress being only impeded by the pile of broken stones, which he himself had raised.

  Listening at one of the doors leading to the Master Debtors’ side, he heard a loud voice chanting a Bacchanalian melody, and the boisterous laughter that accompanied the song, convinced him that no suspicion was entertained in this quarter. Entering the Red Room, he crept through the hole in the wall, descended the chimney, and arrived once more in his old place of captivity.

  How different were his present feelings compared with those he had experienced on quitting it. Then, though full of confidence, he half doubted his power of accomplishing his designs. Now, he had achieved them, and felt assured of success. The vast heap of rubbish on the floor had been so materially increased by the bricks and plaster thrown down in his attack upon the wall of the Red Room, that it was with some difficulty he could find the blanket which was almost buried beneath the pile. He next searched for his stockings and shoes, and when found, put them on.

  While he was thus employed, his nerves underwent a severe shock. A few bricks, dislodged probably by his last descent, came clattering down the chimney, and as it was perfectly dark, gave him the notion that some one was endeavouring to force an entrance into the room.

  But these fears, like those he had recently experienced, speedily vanished, and he prepared to return to the roof, congratulating himself that owing to the opportune falling of the bricks, he had in all probability escaped serious injury.

  Throwing the blanket over his left arm and shouldering the iron bar, he again clambered up the chimney; regained the Red Room; hurried along the first passage; crossed the Chapel; threaded the entry to the Lower Leads; and, in less than ten minutes after quitting the Castle, had reached the northern extremity of the prison.

  * * *

  Previously to his descent he had left the nail and spike on the wall, and with these he fastened the blanket to the stone coping. This done, he let himself carefully down by it, and having only a few feet to drop, alighted in safety.

  Having now fairly got out of Newgate for the second time, with a heart throbbing with exultation, he hastened to make good his escape. To his great joy he found a small garret-door in the roof of the opposite house open. He entered it; crossed the room, in which there was only a small truckle-bed, over which he stumbled; opened another door and gained the stair-head. As he was about to descend his chains slightly rattled. “Oh, lud! what’s that?” exclaimed a female voice, from an adjoining room. “Only the dog,” replied the rough tones of a man.

  Securing the chain in the best way he could, Jack then hurried down two pair of stairs, and had nearly reached the lobby, when a door suddenly opened, and two persons appeared, one of whom held a light. Retreating as quickly as he could, Jack opened the first door he came to, entered a room, and searching in the dark for some place of concealment, fortunately discovered a skreen, behind which he crept.

  * * *

  CHAPTER XXI. WHAT BEFELL JACK SHEPPARD IN THE TURNER’S HOUSE.

  Jack was scarcely concealed when the door opened, and the two persons of whom he had caught a glimpse below entered the room. What was his astonishment to recognise in the few words they uttered the voices of Kneebone and Winifred! The latter was apparently in great distress, and the former seemed to be using his best efforts to relieve her anxiety.

  “How very fortunate it is,” he observed, “that I happened to call upon Mr. Bird, the turner, to give him an order this evening. It was quite an unexpected pleasure to meet you and your worthy father.”

  “Pray cease these compliments,” returned Winifred, “and, if you have any communication to make, do not delay it. You told me just now that you wished to speak a few words to me in private, concerning Thames Darrell, and for that purpose I have left my father below with Mr. Bird and have come hither. What have you got to say?”

  “Too much,” replied Kneebone, shaking his head; “sadly too much.”

  “Do not needlessly alarm me, I beseech you,” replied Winifred. “Whatever your intelligence may be I will strive to bear it. But do not awaken my apprehension, unless you have good cause for so doing. — What do you know of Thames? — Where is he?”

  “Don’t agitate yourself, dearest girl,” rejoined the woollen-draper; “or I shall never be able to commence my relation.”

  “I am calm — perfectly calm,” replied Winifred. “Pray, make no further mystery; but tell me all without reserve.”

  “Since you require it, I must obey,” replied Kneebone; “but prepare yourself for a terrible shock.”

  “For mercy’s sake, go on!” cried Winifred.

  “At all hazards then then you shall know the truth,” replied the woollen-draper, in a tone of affected solicitude,— “but are you really prepared?”

  “Quite — quite!” replied Winifred. “This suspense is worse than torture.”

  “I am almost afraid to utter it,” said Kneebone; “but Thames Darrell is murdered.”

  “Murdered!” ejaculated Winifred.

  “Basely and inhumanly murdered, by Jack Sheppard and Blueskin,” continued Kneebone.

  “Oh! no — no — no,” cried Winifred, “I cannot believe it. You must be misinformed, Mr. Kneebone. Jack may be capable of much that is wicked, but he would never lift his hand against his friend, — of that I am assured.”

  “Generous girl!” cried Jack from behind the skreen.

  “I have proofs to the contrary,” replied Kneebone. “The murder was committed after the robbery of my house by Sheppard and his accomplices. I did not choose to mention my knowledge of this fact to your worthy father; but you may rely on its correctness.”

  “You were right not to mention it to him,” rejoined Winifred, “for he is in such a state of distress at the mysterious disappearance of Mrs. Sheppard, that I fear any further anxiety might prove fatal to him. And yet I know not — for the object of his visit here to-night was to serve Jack, who, if your statement is correct, which I cannot however for a moment believe, does not deserve his assistance.”

  “You may rest assured he does not,” rejoined Kneebone, emphatically, “but I am at a loss to understand in what way your father proposes to assist him.”

  “Mr. Bird, the turner, who is an old friend of our’s, has some acquaintance with the turnkeys of Newgate,” replied Winifred, “and by his means my father hoped to convey some implements to Jack, by which he might effect another escape.”

  “I see,” remarked Kneebone. “This must be prevented,” he added to himself.

  “Heaven grant you may have been wrongly informed with respect to Thames!” exclaimed Winifred; “but, I beseech you, on no account to mention what you have told me to my poor father. He is not in a state of mind to bear it.”

  “Rely on me,” rejoined Kneebone. “One word before we part, adorable girl — only one,” he continued, detaining her. “I would not venture to renew my suit while Thames lived, because I well knew your affections were fixed upon him. But now that this bar is removed, I trust I may, without impropriety, urge it.”

  “No more of this,” said Winifred, angrily. “Is this a season to speak on such a subject?”

  “Perhaps not,” rejoined the woollen-draper; “but the uncontrollable violence of my passion must plead my excuse. My whole life shall be devoted to you, beloved girl. And when you reflect how much at heart your poor mother, whose loss we must ever deplore, had our union, you will, I am persuaded, no longer refuse me.”

  “Sir!” exclaimed Winifred.

  “You will make me the happiest of man
kind,” cried the woollen-draper, falling on his knees, and seizing her hand, which he devoured with kisses.

  “Let me go,” cried Winifred. “I disbelieve the whole story you have told me.”

  “By Heaven!” cried Kneebone, with increasing fervour, “it is true — as true as my affection for you.”

  “I do not doubt it,” retorted Winifred, scornfully; “because I attach credit neither to one nor the other. If Thames is murdered, you are his assassin. Let me go, Sir.”

  The woollen-draper made no answer, but hastily starting up, bolted the door.

  “What do you mean?” cried Winifred in alarm.

  “Nothing more than to obtain a favourable answer to my suit,” replied Kneebone.

  “This is not the way to obtain it,” said Winifred, endeavouring to reach the door.

  “You shall not go, adorable girl,” cried Kneebone, catching her in his arms, “till you have answered me. You must — you shall be mine.”

  “Never,” replied Winifred. “Release me instantly, or I will call my father.”

  “Do so,” replied Kneebone; “but remember the door is locked.”

  “Monster!” cried Winifred. “Help! help!”

  “You call in vain,” returned Kneebone.

  “Not so,” replied Jack, throwing down the skreen. “Release her instantly, villain!”

  Both Winifred and her suitor started at this sudden apparition. Jack, whose clothes were covered with dust, and whose face was deathly pale from his recent exertion, looked more like a phantom than a living person.