The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth

by William Harrison Ainsworth

  “She is here,” cried Jack, darting forward.

  A few steps brought him to the door of the vault in which his mother was immured. It was locked. Jack had brought away the bunch of keys which he had taken from Quilt Arnold, but, none of them would open it. He was therefore obliged to use the iron bar, which he did with as much caution as circumstances would permit. At the first blow, Mrs. Sheppard uttered a piercing scream.

  “Wretch!” she cried, “you shall not force me to your hateful purpose. I will never wed you. I have a weapon — a knife — and if you attempt to open the door, will plunge it to my heart.”

  “Oh God!” exclaimed Jack, paralysed by her cries. “What shall I do? If I persist, I shall destroy her.”

  “Get hence,” continued Mrs. Sheppard, with a frenzied laugh. “You shall never behold me alive.”

  “Mother!” cried Jack, in a broken voice. “It is your son.”

  “It is false,” cried Mrs. Sheppard. “Think not to deceive me, monster. I know my son’s voice too well. He is in Newgate. Hence!”

  “Mother! dear mother!” cried Jack, in a voice, the tones of which were altered by his very anxiety to make them distinct, “listen to me. I have broken from prison, and am come to save you.”

  “It is not Jack’s voice,” rejoined Mrs. Sheppard. “I am not to be deceived. The knife is at my breast. Stir a foot, and I strike.”

  “Oh Heavens!” cried Jack, driven to his wits’ end. “Mother — dear mother! Once again, I beseech you to listen to me. I am come to rescue you from Wild’s violence. I must break open the door. Hold your hand for a moment.”

  “You have heard my fixed determination, villain,” cried Mrs. Sheppard. “I know my life is valuable to you, or you would not spare it. But I will disappoint you. Get you gone. Your purposes are defeated.”

  “Footsteps are approaching,” cried Thames. “Heed her not. It is but a wild threat.”

  “I know not how to act,” exclaimed Jack, almost driven to desperation.

  “I hear you plotting with your wicked associates,” cried Mrs. Sheppard. “I have baffled you.”

  “Force the door,” said Thames, “or you will be too late.”

  “Better she die by her own hand, than by that monster’s,” cried Jack, brandishing the bar. “Mother, I come to you.”

  With this, he struck the door a heavy blow.

  He listened. There was a deep groan, and the sound of a fall within.

  “I have killed her,” exclaimed Jack, dropping the bar,— “by your advice, Thames. Oh God! pardon me.”

  “Do not delay,” cried Thames. “She may yet be saved. I am too weak to aid you.”

  Jack again seized the bar, and, dashing it furiously against the door, speedily burst it open.

  The unfortunate woman was stretched upon the floor, with a bloody knife in her hand.

  “Mother!” cried Jack, springing towards her.

  “Jack!” she cried, raising her head. “Is it you?”

  “It is,” replied her son, “Oh! why would you not listen to me?”

  “I was distracted,” replied Mrs. Sheppard, faintly.

  “I have killed you,” cried Jack, endeavouring to staunch the effusion of blood from her breast. “Forgive — forgive me!”

  “I have nothing to forgive,” replied Mrs. Sheppard. “I alone am to blame.”

  “Can I not carry you where you can obtain help?” cried Jack in a agony of distress.

  “It is useless,” replied Mrs. Sheppard: “nothing can save me. I die happy — quite happy in beholding you. Do not remain with me. You may fall into the hands of your enemy. Fly! fly!”

  “Do not think of me, mother, but of yourself,” cried Jack, in an agony of tears.

  “You have always been, far dearer to me than myself,” replied Mrs. Sheppard. “But I have one last request to make. Let me lie in Willesden churchyard.”

  “You shall — you shall,” answered Jack.

  “We shall meet again ere long, my son,” cried Mrs. Sheppard, fixing her glazing eyes upon him.

  “Oh God! she is dying,” exclaimed Jack in a voice suffocated by emotion. “Forgive me — oh, forgive me!”

  “Forgive you — bless you!” she gasped.

  A cold shiver ran through her frame, and her gentle spirit passed away for ever.

  “Oh, God! that I might die too,” cried Jack, falling on his knees beside her.

  After the first violent outbreak of grief had in some degree subsided, Thames addressed him.

  “You must not remain here,” he said. “You can render no further service to your poor mother.”

  “I can avenge her,” cried Jack in a terrible tone.

  “Be ruled by me,” returned Thames. “You will act most in accordance with her wishes, could she dictate them, by compliance. Do not waste time in vain regrets, but let us remove the body, that we may fulfil her last injunctions.”

  After some further arguments, Jack assented to this proposal.

  “Go on first with the light,” he said. “I will bear the body.” And he raised it in his arms.

  Just as they reached the end of the passage, they heard the voices of Jonathan and the Jew in Thames’s late place of confinement. Wild had evidently discovered the body of Quilt Arnold, and was loudly expressing his anger and astonishment.

  “Extinguish the light,” cried Jack; “turn to the left. Quick! Quick!”

  The order was only just given in time. They had scarcely gained the adjoining cellar when Jonathan and the Jew rushed past in the direction of the vault.

  “Not a moment is to be lost,” cried Jack: “follow me.”

  So saying, he hurried up stairs, opened the back door, and was quickly in the yard. Having ascertained that Thames was at his heels, he hurried with his ghastly burthen down Seacoal Lane.

  “Where are you going?” cried Thames, who, though wholly disencumbered, was scarcely able to keep up with him.

  “I know not — and care not,” replied Jack.

  At this moment, a coach passed them, and was instantly hailed by Thames.

  “You had better let me convey her to Dollis Hill,” he said.

  “Be it so,” replied Jack.

  Luckily it was so dark, and there was no lamp near, that the man did not notice the condition of the body, which was placed in the vehicle by the two young men.

  “What will you do?” asked Thames.

  “Leave me to my fate,” rejoined Jack. “Take care of your charge.”

  “Doubt me not,” replied Thames.

  “Bury her in Willesden churchyard, as she requested, on Sunday,” said Jack. “I will be there at the time.”

  So saying, he closed the door.

  The coachman having received his order, and being offered an extra fare if he drove quickly, set off at full speed.

  As Jack departed, a dark figure, emerging from behind a wall, rushed after him.

  * * *

  CHAPTER XXIV. THE PURSUIT.

  After running to some distance down Seacoal Lane, Jack stopped to give a last look at the vehicle which was bearing away the remains of his beloved and ill-fated mother. It was scarcely out of sight, when two persons, whom, he instantly recognised as Jonathan and Abraham Mendez, turned the corner of the street, and made it evident from their shouts, that they likewise perceived him.

  Starting off at a rapid pace, Jack dashed down Turnagain-lane, skirted the eastern bank of Fleet-ditch, crossed Holborn Bridge, and began to ascend the neighbouring hill. By the time he had reached St. Andrew’s Church, his pursuers had gained the bridge, and the attention of such passengers as crowded the streets was attracted towards him by their vociferations. Amongst others, the watchman whose box was placed against the churchyard wall, near the entrance to Shoe-lane, rushed out and sprung his rattle, which was immediately answered by another rattle from Holborn-bars.

  Darting down Field-lane, Jack struck into a labyrinth of streets on the left; but though he ran as swiftly as he could, he was not unperceived.
His course had been observed by the watchman, who directed Wild which way to take.

  “It is Jack Sheppard, the noted housebreaker,” cried Jonathan, at the top of his sonorous voice. “He has just broken out of Newgate. After him! A hundred pounds to the man who takes him.”

  Sheppard’s name operated like magic on the crowd. The cry was echoed by twenty different voices. People ran out of their shops to join the pursuit; and, by the time Wild had got into Field-lane, he had a troop of fifty persons at his heels — all eager to assist in the capture.

  “Stop thief!” roared Jonathan, who perceived the fugitive hurrying along a street towards Hatton Garden. “It is Sheppard — Jack Sheppard — stop him!” And his shouts were reiterated by the pack of bloodhounds at his heels.

  Jack, meanwhile, heard, the shouts, and, though alarmed by them, held on a steady course. By various twistings and turnings, during all which time his pursuers, who were greatly increased in numbers, kept him in view, he reached Gray’s-Inn-lane. Here he was hotly pursued. Fatigued by his previous exertions, and incumbered by his fetters, he was by no means — though ordinarily remarkably swift of foot — a match for his foes, who were fast gaining upon him.

  At the corner of Liquorpond Street stood the old Hampstead coach-office; and, on the night in question, a knot of hostlers, waggoners, drivers, and stable-boys was collected in the yard. Hearing the distant shouts, these fellows rushed down to the entrance of the court, and arrived there just as Jack passed it. “Stop thief!” roared Jonathan. “Stop thief!” clamoured the rabble behind.

  At no loss to comprehend that Jack was the individual pointed out by these outcries, two of the nearest of the group made a dash at him. But Jack eluded their grasp. A large dog was then set at him by a stable-boy; but, striking the animal with his faithful iron-bar, he speedily sent him yelping back. The two hostlers, however, kept close at his heels; and Jack, whose strength began to flag, feared he could not hold much longer. Determined, however, not be taken with life, he held on.

  Still keeping ahead of his pursuers, he ran along the direct road, till the houses disappeared and he got into the open country. Here he was preparing to leap over the hedge into the fields on the left, when he was intercepted by two horsemen, who, hearing the shouts, rode up and struck at him with the butt-ends of their heavy riding-whips. Warding off the blows as well as he could with the bar, Jack struck both the horses on the head, and the animals plunged so violently, that they not only prevented their riders from assailing him, but also kept off the hostlers; and, in the confusion that ensued, Jack managed to spring over the fence, and shaped his course across the field in the direction of Sir John Oldcastle’s.

  The stoppage had materially lessened the distance between him and his pursuers, who now amounted to more than a hundred persons, many of whom carried lanterns and links. Ascertaining that it was Sheppard of whom this concourse was in pursuit, the two horsemen leapt the hedge, and were presently close upon him. Like a hare closely pressed, Jack attempted to double, but the device only brought him nearer his foes, who were crossing the field in every direction, and rending the air with their shouts. The uproar was tremendous — men yelling — dogs barking, — but above all was heard the stentorian voice of Jonathan, urging them on. Jack was so harrassed that he felt half inclined to stand at bay.

  While he was straining every sinew, his foot slipped, and he fell, head foremost, into a deep trench, which he had not observed in the dark. This fall saved him, for the horsemen passed over him. Creeping along quickly on his hands and knees, he found the entrance to a covered drain, into which he crept. He was scarcely concealed when he heard the horsemen, who perceived they had overshot their mark, ride back.

  By this time, Jonathan and the vast mob attending him, had come up, and the place was rendered almost as light as day by the links.

  “He must be somewhere hereabouts,” cried one of the horsemen, dismounting. “We were close upon him when he suddenly disappeared.”

  Jonathan made no answer, but snatching a torch from a bystander, jumped into the trench and commenced a diligent search. Just as he had arrived at the mouth of the drain, and Jack felt certain he must be discovered, a loud shout was raised from the further end of the field that the fugitive was caught. All the assemblage, accompanied by Jonathan, set off in this direction, when it turned out that the supposed housebreaker was a harmless beggar, who had been found asleep under a hedge.

  Jonathan’s vexation at the disappointment was expressed in the bitterest imprecations, and he returned as speedily as he could to the trench. But he had now lost the precise spot; and thinking he had examined the drain, turned his attention to another quarter.

  Meanwhile, the excitement of the chase had in some degree subsided. The crowd dispersed in different directions, and most fortunately a heavy shower coming on, put them altogether to flight. Jonathan, however, still lingered. He seemed wholly insensible to the rain, though it presently descended in torrents, and continued his search as ardently as before.

  After occupying himself thus for the best part of an hour, he thought Jack must have given him the slip. Still, his suspicions were so strong, that he ordered Mendez to remain on guard near the spot all night, and, by the promise of a large reward induced two other men to keep him company.

  As he took his departure, he whispered to the Jew: “Take him dead or alive; but if we fail now, and you heard him aright in Seacoal Lane, we are sure of him at his mother’s funeral on Sunday.”

  * * *

  CHAPTER XXV. HOW JACK SHEPPARD GOT RID OF HIS IRONS.

  About an hour after this, Jack ventured to emerge from his place of concealment. It was still raining heavily, and profoundly dark. Drenched to the skin, — in fact, he had been lying in a bed of muddy water, — and chilled to the very bone, he felt so stiff, that he could scarcely move.

  Listening attentively, he fancied he heard the breathing of some one near him, and moved cautiously in the opposite direction. In spite of his care, he came in contact with a man, who, endeavouring to grasp him, cried, in the voice of Mendez, “Who goes dere? Shpeak! or I fire!”

  No answer being returned, the Jew instantly discharged his pistol, and though the shot did no damage, the flash discovered Sheppard. But as the next moment all was profound darkness, Jack easily managed to break away from them.

  Without an idea where he was going, Jack pursued his way through the fields; and, as he proceeded, the numbness of his limbs in some degree wore off, and his confidence returned. He had need of all the inexhaustible energy of his character to support him through his toilsome walk over the wet grass, or along the slippery ploughed land. At last, he got into a lane, but had not proceeded far when he was again alarmed by the sound of a horse’s tread.

  Once more breaking through the hedge he took to the fields. He was now almost driven to despair. Wet as he was, he felt if he lay down in the grass, he should perish with cold; while, if he sought a night’s lodging in any asylum, his dress, stained with blood and covered with dirt, would infallibly cause him to be secured and delivered into the hands of justice. And then the fetters, which were still upon his legs: — how was he to get rid of them?

  Tired and dispirited, he still wandered on. Again returning to the main road, he passed through Clapton; and turning off on the left, arrived at the foot of Stamford Hill. He walked on for an hour longer, till he could scarcely drag one leg after another. At length, he fell down on the road, fully expecting each moment would prove his last.

  How long he continued thus he scarcely knew; but just before dawn, he managed to regain his legs, and, crawling up a bank, perceived he was within a quarter of a mile of Tottenham. A short way off in the fields he descried a sort of shed or cow-house, and thither he contrived to drag his weary limbs. Opening the door, he found it littered with straw, on which he threw himself, and instantly fell asleep.

  When he awoke it was late in the day, and raining heavily. For some time he could not stir, but felt sick and exhaust
ed. His legs were dreadfully swelled; his hands bruised; and his fetters occasioned him intolerable pain. His bodily suffering, however, was nothing compared with his mental anguish. All the events of the previous day rushed to his recollection; and though he had been unintentionally the cause of his mother’s death, he reproached himself as severely as if he had been her actual murderer.

  “Had I not been the guilty wretch I am,” he cried, bursting into an agony of tears, “she would never have died thus.”

  This strong feeling of remorse having found a natural vent, in some degree subsided, and he addressed himself to his present situation. Rousing himself, he went to the door. It had ceased raining, but the atmosphere was moist and chill, and the ground deluged by the recent showers. Taking up a couple of large stones which lay near, Jack tried to beat the round basils of the fetters into an oval form, so as to enable him to slip his heels through them.

  While he was thus employed a farming man came into the barn. Jack instantly started to his feet, and the man, alarmed at his appearance, ran off to a neighbouring house. Before he could return, Jack had made good his retreat; and, wandering about the lanes and hedges, kept out of sight as much as possible.

  On examining his pockets, he found about twenty guineas in gold, and some silver. But how to avail himself of it was the question, for in his present garb he was sure to be recognised. When night fell, he crept into the town of Tottenham. As he passed along the main thoroughfare, he heard his own name pronounced, and found that it was a hawker, crying a penny history of his escapes. A crowd was collected round the fellow, who was rapidly disposing of his stock.

  “Here’s the full, true, and particular account of Jack Sheppard’s last astonishing and never-to-be-forgotten escape from the Castle of Newgate,” bawled the hawker, “with a print of him taken from the life, showing the manner, how he was shackled and handcuffed. Only one penny — two copies — two pence — thank you, Sir. Here’s the — —”