This intelligence greatly alarmed the grocer, and he began to fear his plans would be defeated in an unexpected manner. He engaged Dallison to procure another trusty companion to take his place at night, and furnished him with money to purchase arms. He no longer slept as tranquilly as before, but frequently repaired to his place of observation to see that the watchman was at his post, and that all was secure. For the last few days, he had remarked with some uneasiness that a youth frequently passed the house and gazed at the barred windows, and he at first imagined he might be leagued with the nocturnal marauders he had heard of; but the prepossessing appearance of the stripling, who could not be more than sixteen, and who was singularly slightly made, soon dispelled the idea. Still, as he constantly appeared at the same spot, the grocer began to have a new apprehension, and to suspect he was an emissary of the Earl of Rochester, and he sent Dallison to inquire his business. The youth returned an evasive answer, and withdrew; but the next day he was there again. On this occasion, Mr. Bloundel pointed him out to Leonard Holt, and asked him if he had seen him before. The youth’s back being towards them, the apprentice unhesitatingly answered in the negative, but as the subject of investigation turned the next moment, and looked up, revealing features of feminine delicacy and beauty, set off by long flowing jet-black ringlets, Leonard started, and coloured.
“I was mistaken,” he said, “I have seen him before.”
“Is he one of the Earl of Rochester’s pages?” asked Mr. Bloundel.
“No,” replied Leonard, “and you need not be uneasy about him. I am sure he intends no harm.”
Thus satisfied, the grocer thought no more about the matter. He then arranged with Leonard that he should visit the window at certain hours on alternate nights with himself, and appointed the following night as that on which the apprentice’s duties should commence.
On the same night, however, an alarming incident occurred, which kept the grocer and his apprentice for a long time on the watch. The family had just retired to rest when the report of fire-arms was heard close to the street door, and Mr. Bloundel hastily calling up Leonard, they repaired to the room overlooking the street, and found that a desperate struggle was going on below. The moon being overclouded, and the lantern extinguished, it was too dark to discern the figures of the combatants, and in a few seconds all became silent, except the groans of a wounded man. Mr. Bloundel then called out to know what was the matter, and ascertained from the sufferer, who proved to be his own watchman, that the adjoining house, being infected, had been shut up by the authorities; and its owner, unable to bear the restraint, had burst open the door, shot the watchman stationed at it, and firing another pistol at the poor wretch who was making the statement, because he endeavoured to oppose his flight, had subsequently attacked him with his sword. It was a great grief to Mr. Bloundel not to be able to aid the unfortunate watchman, and he had almost determined to hazard a descent by the pulley, when a musical voice was heard below, and the grocer soon understood that the youth, about whom his curiosity had been excited, was raising the sufferer, and endeavouring to stanch his wounds. Finding this impossible, however, at Mr. Bloundel’s request, he went in search of assistance, and presently afterwards returned with a posse of men, bearing halberds and lanterns, who carried off the wounded man, and afterwards started in pursuit of the murderer.
Mr. Bloundel then entered into conversation with the youth, who informed him that his name was Flitcroft, that he was without a home, all his relations having died of the plague, and that he was anxious to serve as a watchman in place of the poor wretch who had just been removed. Leonard remonstrated against this arrangement, but Mr. Bloundel was so much pleased with Flitcroft’s conduct that he would listen to no objection. Accordingly provisions were lowered down in a basket to the poor youth, and he stationed himself in the hutch. Nothing material occurred during the day. Flitcroft resigned his post to Dallison, but returned in the evening.
At midnight, Leonard took his turn to watch. It was a bright moonlight night, but though he occasionally looked out into the street, and perceived Flitcroft below, he gave no intimation of his presence. All at once, however, he was alarmed by a loud cry, and opening the shutter, perceived the youth struggling with two persons, whom he recognised as Sir Paul Parravicin and Pillichody.
He shouted to them to release their captive, but they laughed at his vociferations, and in spite of his resistance dragged the youth away. Maddened at the sight, Leonard lowered the rope as quickly as he could with the intention of descending by it. At this moment, Flitcroft turned an agonized look behind him, and perceiving what had been done, broke suddenly from his captors, and before he could be prevented, sprang into the basket, and laid hold of the rope. Leonard, who had seen the movement, and divined its object, drew up the pulley with the quickness of thought; and so expeditiously was the whole accomplished, that ere the knight and his companion reached the spot, Flitcroft was above their heads, and the next moment was pulled through the window, and in safety by the side of Leonard.
II.
HOW FIRES WERE LIGHTED IN THE STREETS.
Nizza Macascree, for it is useless to affect further mystery, as soon as she could find utterance, murmured her thanks to the apprentice, whose satisfaction at her deliverance was greatly diminished by his fears lest his master should disapprove of what he had done. Seeing his uneasiness, and guessing the cause, Nizza hastened to relieve it.
“I reproach myself bitterly for having placed you in this situation!” she said, “but I could not help it, and will free you from my presence the moment I can do so with safety. When I bade you farewell, I meant it to be for ever, and persuaded myself I could adhere to my resolution. But I was deceived. You would pity me, were I to tell you the anguish I endured. I could not accompany my poor father in his rambles; and if I went forth at all, my steps involuntarily led me to Wood-street. At last, I resolved to disguise myself, and borrowed this suit from a Jew clothesman, who has a stall in Saint Paul’s. Thus equipped, I paced backwards and forwards before the house, in the hope of obtaining a glimpse of you, and fortune has favoured me more than I expected, though it has led to this unhappy result. Heaven only knows what will become of me!” she added, bursting into tears. “Oh! that the pestilence would select me as one of its victims. But, like your own sex, it shuns all those who court it.”
“I can neither advise you,” replied Leonard, in sombre tone, “nor help you. Ah!” he exclaimed, as the sounds of violent blows were heard against the door below— “your persecutors are trying to break into the house.”
Rushing to the window, and gazing downwards, he perceived Sir Paul Parravicin and Pillichody battering against the shop door, and endeavouring to burst it open. It was, however, so stoutly barricaded, that it resisted all their efforts.
“What is to be done?” cried Leonard. “The noise will certainly alarm my master, and you will be discovered.”
“Heed me not,” rejoined Nizza, distractedly, “you shall not run any risk on my account. Let me down the pulley. Deliver me to them. Anything is better than that you should suffer by my indiscretion.”
“No, no,” replied Leonard; “Mr. Bloundel shall know all. His love for his own daughter will make him feel for you. But come what will, I will not abandon you.”
As he spoke a timid knock was heard at the door, and a voice without exclaimed, in accents of the utmost trepidation, “Are you there, Leonard? — Robbers are breaking into the house. We shall all be murdered.”
“Come in, Blaize,” returned Leonard, opening the door and admitting the porter— “you may be of some assistance to me.”
“In what way?” demanded Blaize. “Ah! who’s this?” he added, perceiving
Nizza— “what is this page doing here?”
“Do not concern yourself about him but attend to me,” replied Leonard. “I am about to drive away those persons from the door. You must lower me down in the basket attached to the pulley.”
“And will you dare to
engage them?” asked Blaize, peeping out at the shutter. “They are armed. As I live, one is Major Pillichody, the rascal who dared to make love to Patience. I have half a mind to go down with you, and give him a sound drubbing.”
“You shall not encounter this danger for me,” interposed Nizza, endeavouring to stay Leonard, who, having thrust a sword into his girdle, was about to pass through the window.
“Do not hinder me,” replied the apprentice, breaking from her. “Take hold of the rope, Blaize, and mind it does not run down too quickly.”
With this, he got into the basket, and as the porter carefully obeyed his instructions, he reached the ground in safety. On seeing him, Pillichody bolted across the street, and flourishing his sword, and uttering tremendous imprecations, held himself in readiness to beat an immediate retreat. Not so Parravicin. Instantly assailing the apprentice, he slightly wounded him in the arm. Seeing how matters stood, and that victory was pretty certain to declare itself for his patron, Pillichody returned, and, attacking the apprentice, by their combined efforts, he was speedily disarmed. Pillichody would have passed his sword through his body, but the knight stayed his hand.
“The fool has placed himself in our power,” he said, “and he shall pay for his temerity; nevertheless, I will spare his life provided he assist us to get into the house, or will deliver up Nizza Macascree.”
“I will do neither,” replied Leonard, fiercely.
Parravicin raised his sword, and was about to strike, when, at the moment, the basket was again quickly lowered to the ground. It bore Nizza Macascree, who, rushing between them, arrested the stroke.
“Oh! why have you done this?” cried Leonard, in a tone of reproach.
“I will tell you why,” rejoined Parravicin, triumphantly; “because she saw you were unable to defend her, and, like a true woman, surrendered herself to the victor. Take care of him, Pillichody, while I secure the girl. Spit him, if he attempts to stir.”
And twining his arms round Nizza, notwithstanding her shrieks and resistance, he bore her away. Infuriated by the sight, Leonard Holt threw himself upon Pillichody, and a desperate struggle took place between them, which terminated this time successfully for the apprentice. Wresting his long rapier from the bully, Leonard rushed after Parravicin, and reached the end of Wood-street, just in time to see him spring into a coach, and drive off with his prize. Speeding after them along Blowbladder-street, and Middle-row, as Newgate-street was then termed, the apprentice shouted to the coachman to stop, but no attention being paid to his vociferations, and finding pursuit unavailing, he came to a halt. He then more slowly retraced his steps, and on arriving at the grocer’s residence, found the basket drawn up. Almost afraid to call out, he at length mustered courage enough to shout to Blaize to lower it, and was answered by Mr. Bloundel, who, putting his head through the window, demanded in a stern tone why he had left the house?
Leonard briefly explained.
“I deeply regret your imprudence,” replied his master; “because I can now no more admit you. It is my fixed determination, as you well know, not to suffer any member of my family who may quit my house, to enter it again.”
“I shall not attempt to remonstrate with you, sir,” replied Leonard. “All I pray of you is to allow me to occupy this hutch, and to act as your porter.”
“Willingly,” rejoined Mr. Bloundel; “and as you have had the plague, you will run no risk of infection. You shall know all that passes within doors; and I only lament that you should have banished yourself from the asylum which I hoped to afford you.”
After some further conversation between them, a bundle was lowered by the grocer, containing a change of clothes and a couple of blankets. On receiving these, Leonard retired to the hutch, and tying a handkerchief round his wounded arm, wrapped himself in a night trail, and stretching himself on the ground, in spite of his anxiety, soon sank asleep. He awoke about four o’clock in the morning, with a painful consciousness of what had taken place during the night. It was just beginning to grow light, and he walked across the street to gaze at the house from which he was exiled. Its melancholy, uninhabited look did not serve to cheer him. It seemed totally altered since he knew it first. The sign, which then invited the passers-by to enter the shop and deal with its honest owner, now appeared no longer significant, unless — and it will be remembered it was the Noah’s Ark — it could be supposed to have reference to those shut up within. The apprentice looked at the habitation with misgiving, and, instead of regarding it as a sanctuary from the pestilence, could not help picturing it as a living tomb. The last conversation he had had with Amabel also arose forcibly to his recollection, and the little likelihood there appeared of seeing her again gave him acute agony. Oppressed by this painful idea, and unable to exclude from his thoughts the unhappy situation of Nizza Macascree, he bent his steps, scarcely knowing whither he was going, towards Saint Paul’s.
Having passed so much of his time of late in the cathedral, Leonard began to regard it as a sort of home, and it now appeared like a place of refuge to him. Proceeding to the great western entrance, he seated himself on one of the large blocks of stone left there by the masons occupied in repairing the exterior of the fane. His eye rested upon the mighty edifice before him, and the clear sparkling light revealed numberless points of architectural grandeur and beauty which he had never before noticed. The enormous buttresses and lofty pinnacles of the central tower were tinged with the beams of the rising sun, and glowed as if built of porphyry. While gazing at the summit of this tower, and calling to mind the magnificent view he had recently witnessed from it at the same hour, if a wish could have transported him thither at that moment, he would have enjoyed it again. But as this could not be, he tried to summon before his mental vision the whole glorious prospect — the broad and shining river, with its moving or motionless craft — the gardens, the noble mansions, the warehouses, and mighty wharfs on its banks — London Bridge, with its enormous pile of habitations — the old and picturesque city, with its innumerable towers, and spires, and girdle of grey walls — the green fields and winding lanes leading to the lovely hills around it — all these objects arose obedient to his fancy, and came arrayed in colouring as fresh as that wherein they had before appeared to him. While thus occupied, his gaze remained riveted on the summit of the central tower, and he fancied he perceived some one leaning over the balustrade; but as little beyond the upper part of the figure could be discerned, and as it appeared perfectly motionless, he could not be quite sure that his eyes did not deceive him. Having gazed at the object for some minutes, during which it maintained the same attitude, he continued his survey of the pile, and became so excited by the sublime emotions inspired by the contemplation, as to be insensible to aught else.
After a while he arose, and was about to proceed towards the portico, when, chancing to look at the top of the tower, he remarked that the figure had disappeared, and while wondering who it could be, he perceived a person emerge from one of the tall windows in the lower part of the tower. It was Solomon Eagle, and he no longer wondered at what he had seen. The enthusiast was without his brazier, but carried a long stout staff. He ran along the pointed roof of the nave with inconceivable swiftness, till, reaching the vast stone cross, upwards of twelve feet in height, ornamenting the western extremity, he climbed its base, and clasping the transverse bar of the sacred symbol of his faith with his left arm, extended his staff with his right, and described a circle, as if pointing out the walls of the city. He then raised his staff towards heaven to invoke its vengeance, and anon pointed it menacingly downwards. After this he broke into loud denunciations; but though the apprentice could not hear the words, he gathered their purport from his gestures.
By this time a few masons had assembled, and producing their implements, commenced working at the blocks of stone. Glancing at the enthusiast, one of them observed with a smile to his companion, “There is Solomon Eagle pronouncing his morning curse upon the city. I wonder whether the judgments he
utters against it will come to pass.”
“Assuredly, Phil Gatford,” replied the other mason, gravely; “and I look upon all the work we are now doing as labour thrown away. Was he not right about the plague? Did he not foretell the devouring scourge by which we are visited? And he will be right also about the fire. Since he has doomed it, this cathedral will be consumed by flames, and one stone will not be left standing on another.”
“It is strange, Ned Turgis,” observed Gatford, “that, though Solomon Eagle may always be seen at daybreak at the top of the tower or on the roof of the cathedral — sometimes at one point and sometimes at another — no one can tell where he hides himself at other times. He no longer roams the streets at night, but you may remember when the officers of justice were in search of him, to give evidence against Mother Malmayns and Chowles, he was not to be found.”
“I remember it,” replied Turgis; “but I have no doubt he was hidden in some out-of-the-way corner of the cathedral — perhaps among the immense wooden beams of the clerestory.”
“Or in some of the secret passages or cells contrived in the thickness of the walls,” rejoined the first speaker. “I say, Ned Turgis, if the plague increases, as there is every likelihood it will, Solomon Eagle will be the only preacher left in Saint Paul’s. Neither deans, prebends, minor-canons, nor vicars will attend. As it is, they have almost abandoned it.”
“Shame on them!” exclaimed Leonard Holt, who, being much interested in the conversation of the masons, had silently approached them. “At this season, more than ever, they are bound to attend to their duty.”
The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth Page 249
