“Wherefore not?” asked the apprentice.
“Do not question me, but leave me,” rejoined the enthusiast.
“Do you know aught of Amabel — of her retreat?” persisted Leonard, who had a strange misgiving that the enthusiast’s errand in some way referred to her.
“I do,” replied Solomon Eagle, gloomily; “but I again advise you not to press me further.”
“Answer me one question at least,” cried Leonard. “Is she with the Earl of Rochester?”
“She is,” replied Solomon Eagle; “but I shall allay your fears in that respect when I tell you she is sick of the plague.”
Leonard heard nothing more, for, uttering a wild shriek, he fell to the ground insensible. He was aroused to consciousness by a sudden sense of strangulation, and opening his eyes, beheld two dark figures bending over him, one of whom was kneeling on his chest. A glance showed him that this person was Chowles; and instantly comprehending what was the matter, and aware that the coffin-maker was stripping him previously to throwing him into the dead-cart, which was standing hard by, he cried aloud, and struggled desperately to set himself free. Little opposition was offered; for, on hearing the cry, Chowles quitted his hold, and retreating to a short distance, exclaimed, with a look of surprise, “Why, the fellow is not dead, after all!”
“I am neither dead, nor likely to die, as you shall find to your cost, rascal, if you do not restore me the clothes you have robbed me of,” cried Leonard, furiously. And chancing to perceive a fork, dropped by Chowles in his hasty retreat, he snatched it up, and, brandishing it over his head, advanced towards him. Thus threatened, Chowles tossed him a rich suit of livery.
“These are not mine,” said the apprentice, gazing at the habiliments.
“They are better than your own,” replied Chowles, “and therefore you ought to be glad of the exchange. But give me them back again. I have no intention of making you a present.”
“This is the livery of the Earl of Rochester,” cried Leonard.
“To be sure it is,” replied Chowles, with a ghastly smile. “One of his servants is just dead.”
“Where is the profligate noble?” cried Leonard, eagerly.
“There is the person who owned these clothes,” replied Chowles, pointing to the dead-cart. “You had better ask him.”
“Where is the Earl of Rochester, I say, villain?” cried Leonard, menacingly.
“How should I know?” rejoined Chowles. “Here are your clothes,” he added, pushing them towards him.
“I will have an answer,” cried Leonard.
“Not from me,” replied Chowles. And hastily snatching up the livery, he put the cart in motion, and proceeded on his road. Leonard would have followed him, but the state of his attire did not permit him to do so. Having dressed himself, he hastened to the cathedral, where he soon found the attendant who had charge of Blaize.
“Doctor Hodges has been with him,” said the man, in reply to his inquiries after the porter, “and has good hopes of him. But the patient is not entirely satisfied with the treatment he has received, and wishes to try some remedies of his own. Were his request granted, all would soon be over with him.”
“That I am sure of,” replied Leonard. “But let us go to him.”
“You must not heed his complaints,” returned the attendant. “I assure you he is doing as well as possible; but he is so dreadfully frightened at a trifling operation which Doctor Hodges finds it necessary to perform upon him, that we have been obliged to fasten him to the bed.”
“Indeed!” exclaimed Leonard, suspiciously. “Has Judith Malmayns had no hand in this arrangement?”
“Judith Malmayns has been absent during the whole of the afternoon,” said the man, “and another nurse has taken her place in Saint Faith’s. She has never been near Blaize since I have had charge of him.”
By this time they had reached the pallet in which the porter was laid. His eyes and a small portion of his snub-nose were alone visible, his head being still enveloped by the linen cloth, while his mouth was covered by blankets. He looked so anxiously at the apprentice, that the latter removed the covering from his mouth, and enabled him to speak.
“I am glad to find you are getting on so well,” said Leonard, in a cheerful tone. “Doctor Hodges has been with you, I understand?”
“He has,” groaned Blaize; “but he has done me no good — none whatever. I could doctor myself much better, if I might be allowed; for I know every remedy that has been prescribed for the plague; but he would adopt none that I mentioned to him. I wanted him to place a hot loaf, fresh from the oven, to the tumour, to draw it; but he would not consent. Then I asked for a cataplasm, composed of radish-roots, mustard-seed, onions and garlic roasted, mithridate, salt, and soot from a chimney where wood only has been burnt. This he liked no better than the first. Next, I begged for an ale posset with pimpernel soaked in it, assuring him that by frequently drinking such a mixture, Secretary Naunton drew the infection from his very heart. But the doctor would have none of it, and seemed to doubt the fact.”
“What did he do?” inquired Leonard.
“He applied oil of St. John’s wort to the tumour,” replied Blaize, with a dismal groan, and said, “if the scar did not fall off, he must cauterize it. Oh! I shall never be able to bear the pain of the operation.”
“Recollect your life is at stake,” rejoined Leonard. “You must either submit to it or die.”
“I know I must,” replied Blaize, with a prolonged groan; “but it is a terrible alternative.”
“You will not find the operation so painful as you imagine,” rejoined
Leonard; “and you know I speak from personal experience.”
“You give me great comfort,” said Blaize. “And so you really think I shall get better?”
“I have no doubt of it, if you keep up your spirits,” replied Leonard.
“The worst is evidently over. Behave like a man.”
“I will try to do so,” rejoined Blaize. “I have been told that if a circle is drawn with a blue sapphire round a plague-blotch, it will fall off. Couldn’t we just try the experiment?”
“It will not do to rely upon it,” observed the attendant, with a smile. “You will find a small knob of red-hot iron, which we call the ‘button,’ much more efficacious.”
“Oh dear! oh dear!” exclaimed Blaize, “I already feel that dreadful button burning into my flesh.”
“On the contrary, you won’t feel it at all,” replied the attendant. “The iron only touches the point of the tumour, in which there is no sensibility.”
“In that case, I don’t care how soon the operation is performed,” replied Blaize.
“Doctor Hodges will choose his own time for it,” said the attendant. “In the mean time, here is a cup of barley-broth for you. You will find it do you good.”
While the man applied the cup to the poor porter’s lips — for he would not unloose the straps, for fear of mischief — Leonard, who was sickened by the terrible scene around him, took his departure, and quitted the cathedral by the great western entrance. Seating himself on one of the great blocks of stone left there by the workmen employed in repairing the cathedral, but who had long since abandoned their task, he thought over all that had recently occurred. Raising his eyes at length, he looked toward the cathedral. The oblique rays of the sun had quitted the columns of the portico, which looked cold and grey, while the roof and towers were glittering in light. In ten minutes more, only the summit of the central tower caught the last reflection of the declining orb. Leonard watched the rosy gleam till it disappeared, and then steadfastly regarded the reverend pile as its hue changed from grey to black, until at length each pinnacle and buttress, each battlement and tower, was lost in one vast indistinct mass. Night had fallen upon the city — a night destined to be more fatal than any that had preceded it; and yet it was so calm, so beautiful, so clear, that it was scarcely possible to imagine that it was unhealthy. The destroying angel was, however, fear
fully at work. Hundreds were falling beneath his touch; and as Leonard wondered how many miserable wretches were at that moment released from suffering, it crossed him like an icy chill, that among the number might be Amabel. So forcibly was he impressed by this idea, that he fell on his knees and prayed aloud.
He was aroused by hearing the ringing of a bell, which announced the approach of the dead-cart, and presently afterwards the gloomy vehicle approached from Ludgate-hill, and moved slowly towards the portico of the cathedral, where it halted. A great number of the dead were placed within it, and the driver, ringing his bell, proceeded in the direction of Cheapside. A very heavy dew had fallen; for as Leonard put his hand to his clothes, they felt damp, and his long hair was filled with moisture. Reproaching himself with having needlessly exposed himself to risk, he was about to walk away, when he heard footsteps at a little distance, and looking in the direction of the sound, perceived the tall figure of Thirlby. Calling to him, the other, who appeared to be in haste, halted for a moment, and telling the apprentice he was going to Doctor Hodges’s, desired him to accompany him thither, and went on.
* * * * *
III.
THE HOUSE IN NICHOLAS-LANE.
On reaching Watling-street, Leonard and his companion found Doctor Hodges was from home. This did not much surprise the apprentice, after the information he had received from Solomon Eagle, but Thirlby was greatly disappointed, and eagerly questioned the porter as to the probable time of his master’s return. The man replied that it was quite uncertain, adding, “He has been in since you were last here, and has seen Blaize. He had not been gone to the cathedral many minutes when a gentleman arrived, desiring his instant attendance upon a young woman who was sick of the plague.”
“Did you hear her name?” asked Leonard and Thirlby, in a breath.
“No,” replied the porter, “neither did I obtain any information respecting her from the gentleman, who appeared in great distress. But I observed that my master, on his return, looked much surprised at seeing him, and treated him with a sort of cold respect.”
“Was the gentleman young or old?” demanded Leonard, hastily.
“As far as I noticed,” replied the porter, “for he kept his face covered with a handkerchief, I should say he was young — very young.”
“You are sure it was not Lord Rochester?” pursued Leonard.
“How should I be sure of it,” rejoined the porter, “since I have never seen his lordship that I am aware of? But I will tell you all that happened, and you can judge for yourselves. My master, as I have just said, on seeing the stranger, looked surprised and angry, and bowing gravely, conducted him to his study, taking care to close the door after him. I did not, of course, hear what passed, but the interview was brief enough, and the gentleman, issuing forth, said, as he quitted the room, ‘You will not fail to come?’ To which my master replied, ‘Certainly not, on the terms I have mentioned.’ With this, the gentleman hurried out of the house. Shortly afterwards the doctor came out, and said to me, ‘I am going to attend a young woman who is sick of the plague, and may be absent for some time. If Mr. Thirlby or Leonard Holt should call, detain them till my return.’”
“My heart tells me that the young woman he is gone to visit is no other than Amabel,” said Leonard Holt, sorrowfully.
“I suspect it is Nizza Macascree,” cried Thirlby. “Which way did your master take?”
“I did not observe,” replied the porter, “but he told me he should cross
London Bridge.”
“I will go into Southwark in quest of him,” said Thirlby. “Every moment is of consequence now.”
“You had better stay where you are,” replied the old porter. “It is the surest way to meet with him.”
Thirlby, however, was too full of anxiety to listen to reason, and his impatience producing a corresponding effect upon Leonard, though from a different motive, they set forth together. “If I fail to find him, you may expect me back ere long,” were Thirlby’s last words to the porter. Hurrying along Watling-street, and taking the first turning on the right, he descended to Thames-street, and made the best of his way towards the bridge. Leonard followed him closely, and they pursued their rapid course in silence. By the time they reached the north gate of the bridge, Leonard found his strength failing him, and halting at one of the openings between the tall houses overlooking the river, where there was a wooden bench for the accommodation of passengers, he sank upon it, and begged Thirlby to go on, saying he would return to Watling-street as soon as he recovered from his exhaustion. Thirlby did not attempt to dissuade him from his purpose, but instantly disappeared.
The night, it has before been remarked, was singularly beautiful. It was almost as light as day, for the full harvest moon (alas! there was no harvest for it to smile upon!) having just risen, revealed every object with perfect distinctness. The bench on which Leonard was seated lay on the right side of the bridge, and commanded a magnificent reach of the river, that flowed beneath like a sheet of molten silver. The apprentice gazed along its banks, and noticed the tall spectral-looking houses on the right, until his eye finally settled on the massive fabric of Saint Paul’s, the roof and towers of which rose high above the lesser structures. His meditations were suddenly interrupted by the opening of a window in the house near him, while a loud splash in the water told that a body had been thrown into it. He turned away with a shudder, and at the same moment perceived a watchman, with a halberd upon his shoulder, advancing slowly towards him from the Southwark side of the bridge. Pausing as he drew near the apprentice, the watchman compassionately inquired whether he was sick, and being answered in the negative, was about to pass on, when Leonard, fancying he recognised his voice, stopped him.
“We have met somewhere before, friend,” he said, “though where, or under what circumstances, I cannot at this moment call to mind.”
“Not unlikely,” returned the other, roughly, “but the chances are against our meeting again.”
Leonard heaved a sigh at this remark. “I now recollect where I met you, friend,” he remarked. “It was at Saint Paul’s, when I was in search of my master’s daughter, who had been carried off by the Earl of Rochester. But you were then in the garb of a smith.”
“I recollect the circumstance, too, now you remind me of it,” replied the other. “Your name is Leonard Holt as surely as mine is Robert Rainbird. I recollect, also, that you offended me about a dog belonging to the piper’s pretty daughter, Nizza Macascree, which I was about to destroy in obedience to the Lord Mayor’s commands. However, I bear no malice, and if I did, this is not a time to rip up old quarrels.”
“You are right, friend,” returned Leonard. “The few of us left ought to be in charity with each other.”
“Truly, ought we,” rejoined Rainbird. “For my own part, I have seen so much misery within the last few weeks, that my disposition is wholly changed. I was obliged to abandon my old occupation of a smith, because my master died of the plague, and there was no one else to employ me. I have therefore served as a watchman, and in twenty days have stood at the doors of more than twenty houses. It would freeze your blood were I to relate the scenes I have witnessed.”
“It might have done formerly,” replied Leonard; “but my feelings are as much changed as your own. I have had the plague twice myself.”
“Then, indeed, you can speak,” replied Rainbird. “Thank God, I have hitherto escaped it! Ah! these are terrible times — terrible times! The worst that ever London knew. Although I have been hitherto miraculously preserved myself, I am firmly persuaded no one will escape.”
“I am almost inclined to agree with you,” replied Leonard.
“For the last week the distemper has raged fearfully — fearfully, indeed,” said Rainbird; “but yesterday and to-day have far exceeded all that have gone before. The distempered have died quicker than cattle of the murrain. I visited upwards of a hundred houses in the Borough this morning, and only found ten persons alive; and out of tho
se ten, not one, I will venture to say, is alive now. It will, in truth, be a mercy if they are gone. There were distracted mothers raving over their children, — a young husband lamenting his wife, — two little children weeping over their dead parents, with none to attend them, none to feed them, — an old man mourning over his son cut off in his prime. In short, misery and distress in their worst form, — the streets ringing with shrieks and groans, and the numbers of dead so great that it was impossible to carry them off. You remember Solomon Eagle’s prophecy?”
“Perfectly,” replied Leonard; “and I lament to see its fulfilment.”
“‘The streets shall be covered with grass, and the living shall not be able to bury their dead,’ — so it ran,” said Rainbird. “And it has come to pass. Not a carriage of any description, save the dead-cart, is to be seen in the broadest streets of London, which are now as green as the fields without her walls, and as silent as the grave itself. Terrible times, as I said before — terrible times! The dead are rotting in heaps in the courts, in the alleys, in the very houses, and no one to remove them. What will be the end of it all? What will become of this great city?”
“It is not difficult to foresee what will become of it,” replied Leonard, “unless it pleases the Lord to stay his vengeful arm. And something whispers in my ear that we are now at the worst. The scourge cannot exceed its present violence without working our ruin; and deeply as we have sinned, little as we repent, I cannot bring myself to believe that God will sweep his people entirely from the face of the earth.”
“I dare not hope otherwise,” rejoined Rainbird, “though I would fain do so. I discern no symptoms of abatement of the distemper, but, on the contrary, an evident increase of malignity, and such is the opinion of all I have spoken with on the subject. Chowles told me he buried two hundred more yesterday than he had ever done before, and yet he did not carry a third of the dead to the plague-pit. He is a strange fellow that Chowles. But for his passion for his horrible calling there is no necessity for him to follow it, for he is now one of the richest men in London.”
The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth Page 267
