Hawksmoor

by Peter Ackroyd

  Why then, says he, here's a Health to my Arse; and he raised his Pot.

  This is agreed, I replied.

  When I left him it was a very dark Night and yet I stept towards the Hay-market to entertain my self, there mixing with a Crowd about two Ballad-singers who sang a mad Catch in the glare of their Lanthorns: For that he was some Fiend from Hell who stole, Having for Pride been burnt there to a Cole.

  I could not tell where this foul Thing should be: A Succubus it did appear to me.

  And then they seemed to turn their Faces to me, tho' they were quite blind, and I walked on into the Night.

  It was my set Purpose to rid my self of the workmen who were even then imployed about my Church in Wapping; they were wooden headed Fellows but, as I suspected, they looked on me strangely and whisper'd behind my Back. And so I wrote thus to the Commission: Of the New Church of Wapping, Stepney, call'd St Georgesin-the East, the Foundacions have been begun without that due Consideration which is requisite, so that unless I take them up again I am out of all Hope that this Désigne will succeed; I have no prejudice against the Workmen but that they are Ignorant Fellows. I have admonished them to the utmost of my Power to perform the Workes according to the agreements, but notwithstanding I have observ'd the Mortar not altogether so well beat, and a vast Quantity of Spanish has been mix'd with the Bricks altho' the Workmen pretend that there is no more than what is allowed by the Commissioners. I therefore pray you to give me liberty to bring in my own Workmen to build the said Church at Wapping. I have examined and enquired into their Abilities, and conceeved that they are fit for the Places desired: and have set their Charge as before at 21-per diem. AH of which is humbly submitted, Nich: Dyer.

  After this I awaited the Issue, which was not long in coming favourable to me. The work men were dismissed and while the Foundacions were empty Joseph did his Work: the Blood was spilled in its due Time, and became (as it were) the Wave on which my Bark rose. Yet first it was necessarie to conceal the Corse and, with the Reason that the Foundacions were so ill laid that I must needs take them up againe without any Delay, I worked with Joseph in this Manner: I dug a Hole of about 2 Feet wide, in which I placed a little Deal-box containing nine Pounds of Powder and no more; a Cane was fixed to the Box with a Quick-match (as Gunners call it), and reached from the Box to the Ground above; along the Ground was laid a Train of Powder and, after the Hole was carefully closed up again with Stones and Mortar, I then lit the Powder and watch'd the effect of the Blow. This little Quantity of Powder lifted up the Rubbidge which had formed the Foundacions; and this it seemed to do somewhat leisurely, lifting visibly the whole Weight about nine Inches which, suddenly jumping down, made a great Heap of Ruines in that Place where now the Corse lay quite buried. He had been a little pretty Boy, about as tall as my Knee and but lately turned upon the Streets to beg. These were my Words to him: Boys and Girls come out to play, The Moon doth shine as bright as Day.

  And these were his last Words to me: Dan never do so no more. Pitie I cannot, for I am not so weak; but it is not to be believed that he who holds the Knife or the Rope is without his own Torment.

  My Inke is very bad: it is thick at the bottom, but thin and waterish at the Top, so that I must write according as I dip my Pen. These Memories become meer shortened Phrases, dark at their Beginning but growing faint towards their End and each separated so, one from another, that I am not all of a peece. Here laying beside me is my convex Mirror, which I use for the Art of Perspecktive, and in my Despair I look upon my self; but when I take it up I see that my right Hand seems bigger than my Head and that my Eyes are but glassy Orbs: there are Objects swimming at the Circumference of the Glass and here I glimpse distended a cloaths chest beneath the Window, with the blew damask Curtains blowing above it, a mahogany Buroe beside the Wall and there the Corner of my Bed with its blankets and bolster; there is my Elbow-chair, its Reflection curved beneath my own as I hold the Mirror, and next to it my side-board Table with a brass Tea-Kettle, lamp and stand. As my Visual rays receive from the Convex superficies a curved Light, these real Things become the surface of a Dream: my Eyes meet my Eyes but they are not my Eyes, and I see my Mouth opening as if to make a screaming Sound. Now it has grown Darke, and the Mirror shows only the dusky Light as it is reflected on the left side of my Face. But the voice of Nat is raised in the Kitchen below me, and coming back to my self I place a Candle in my Lan thorn.

  And in this small Circle of Light I set down all exactly as it occurred. I must write of extreme Things in the dismal Night, for it was by Ratcliffe Dock that I built in trust to the dark Powers and above the filthy passages of Wapping, with its Lanes and Alleys of small Tenements, my third Church rises. Here all corrupcion and infection has its Centre: in Rope Walk lived Mary Crompton, the bloody Midwife who had six Sceletons of children of several Ages in her Cellar (these Sceletons are now to be seen at the Ben-Johnson's Head near St Brides Church). The Watch found two other Children also destroyed, lying in a Hand-baskett in the Cellar and looking like the Carcasses of Catts or Doggs, their Flesh eat with Vermin. And this one Mary Crompton averred that she had been moved and seduced by the Divil who appear'd to her in Humane form as she passed by Old Gravill Lane. It was next to this place, in Crab Court, where Abraham Thornton carryed out his Murthers and Tortures: on the Murder of the two young Boys, he said upon Oath that the Divil put him upon it when an Apparition came to him. The Black-Boy Tavern in Red-Maide Lane is also very unfortunate for Homicides, and has seldom been Tenanted. An old woman who last lodged there sat musing by her Fire and happened by Accident to look behind her and saw a dead Corps, to her thinking, lie extended upon the Floor; it was just as a Body should be, excepting that the Foot of one Leg was fix'd on the Ground as it is in a Bed when one lies with one Knee up (as I lie now); she look'd at it a long while, but on a sudden this melancholy Spectacle vanished -it is held by common report that this was the Apparition of a Man murdered, but it is my Belief that it was an ancient Murtherer returning to the Spot of his old Glory.

  Here in Angell Rents next the Ratcliffe High-way was Mr Barwick barbarously killed, his Throat being cut, the right side of his Head open'd and his Scull broke: I suppose it was done with a Hammer or some such Weapon. A Tub-woman that carries Ale and Beer to the private Houses thereabouts heard the Victim and his Destroyer call out, and when I walk among these Passages I hear such Voices still: How can you strike a sick Man, you are a Dead Man, O Christ do not do it, Damn you are you not dead yet echo by the River. The Murtherer was afterwards hang'd in Chains near the place of his Crime -thus it is call'd Red Cliff, or Ratcliffe, the hanging Dock opposite my Church where the Bodies of the Damned are washed by the Water until they fall to Bits from the effects of Time. Many cry out Jesus, Maria, Jesus, Maria as they go to their Deaths but there was one Boy who killed his whole Family in Betts-Street and was taken in Chains to the Dock to be hang'd: when he saw the Gibbet he laugh'd at first, but then he raved and cried for Damnation. The Mobb could hardly forebear tearing him to Pieces, and yet they knew that if they trod upon the same Stones where Malefactors are done to Death, they would suffer a brief Agonie also. Destruction is like a snow-ball rolled down a Hill, for its Bulk encreases by its own swiftness and thus Disorder spreads: when the woman nam'd Maggot was hanged in Chains by here, one hundred were crushed to Death in the Tumult that came to stare upon her. And so when the Cartesians and the New Philosophers speak of their Experiments, saying that they are serviceable to the Quiet and Peace of Man's life, it is a great Lie: there has been no Quiet and there will be no Peace. The streets they walk in are ones in which Children die daily or are hang'd for stealing Sixpence; they wish to lay a solid Groundwork (or so they call it) for their vast Pile of Experiments, but the Ground is filled with Corses, rotten and rotting others.

  Be informed, also, that this good and savoury Parish is the home of Hectors, Trapanners, Biters who all go under the general appelation of Rooks. Here are all the Jilts, Cracks, Prostitutes, Nightwalkers, Whores,
Linnen-lifters, who are like so many Jakes, Privies, Houses of Office, Ordures, Excrements, Easments and piles of Sir-reverence: the whores of Ratcliffe High-way smell of Tarpaulin and stinking Cod from their continuall Traffick with seamen's Breeches. There are other such wretched Objects about these ruined Lanes, all of them lamentable Instances of Vengeance. And it is not strange (as some think) how they will haunt the same Districts and will not leave off their Crimes until they are apprehended, for these Streets are their Theatre. Theft, Whoredom and Homicide peep out of the very Windows of their Souls; Lying, Perjury, Fraud, Impudence and Misery are stamped upon their very Countenances as now they walk within the Shaddowe of my Church.

  And in this world of Corrupcion I had as like forgot the House for Buggaronies next to the High-way, where grave Gentlemen dress in Women's cloaths, then patch and paint their Faces. They assume the Language as well as the Shape of Women, viz For God's sake, Ladies, what do you mean to use a tender Woman, as I am, with such Barbarity (the Cord is wound around its Neck and its Body suspended by Ropes), I come to make you a civil Visit and here you have prepared Cords and cruel Bands to bind me (the Rods are laid upon its pale Back), I beg of you to use me kindly for you will find me a Woman like your selves (and it comes off with a great Sigh, Nature discharg'd).

  This puts me in mind of a Story: there is an Inn on the road between White-chapel and Limehouse, where on one gusty Evening a Gentleman rode up and ask'd for Lodgings. He took his Supper with some other Travellers, and astcnish'd the Company as much by the powers of his Conversation as by the elegance of his Manner. He was an orator, a poet, a painter, a musician, a lawyer, a divine and the magick of his Discourse kept the drowsy Company awake long after their usual Hour. At length, however, wearied Nature could be charmed no more but on observing the Fatigue of the society, the Stranger dis cover'd manifest signs of Uneasinesse: he therefore gave new force to his Spirits, but the departure of his Guests could not be long delay'd and he was eventually conducted to his Chamber. The remains of the Company retired also, but they had scarce closed their Eyes when the house was alarmed by the most terrible Shrieks that were ever known.

  Frightened at what they heard, several of them rang their Bells and, when the Servants came, they declared that the horrid Sounds proceeded from the stranger's Chamber. Some of the Gentlemen immediately arose, to inquire into the extraordinary Disturbance; and while they were dressing themselves for the purpose, deeper Groans of Despair, and shriller Shrieks of agony, again astonished and terrified them. After knocking some time at the Stranger's door, he answered them as one woken from Sleep, declared he heard no Noise and desired he might not again be disturbed. Upon this they returned to their Chambers and had scarce begun to communicate their Sentiments to each other when their Converse was interrupted by a renewal of yells, screams and shrieks which once more they traced to the Stranger's chamber, the door of which they instantly burst open, and found him upon his Knees on his Bed, in the act of Scourging himself with the most unrelenting Severity, his Body streaming with Blood. On their seizing his Hand to stop the Strokes he begged them, in the most wringing tone of Voice, that as an act of Mercy they would retire for the Disturbance was now over. In the morning some of them went to his Chamber, but he was not there; and, on examining the Bed, they found it to be one Gore of Blood. Upon further Enquiry, the servants said that the Gentleman had come to the Stable booted and spurred, desired his Horse to be immediately saddled, and then rode at full speed towards London. The Reader may wonder how I, who make no mention of my being there, should be able to relate this as of my own Knowledge; but if he pleases to have Patience, he will have intire Satisfaction in that Point.

  The Night is now so cold that I must put my Coat upon the Bed to warm me, and I meditate upon what follows as if it were a Dreame: for was it not a Dreame to see Sir Chris, his Hands steeped in Blood up to the Wrist-bones, and then scratching his head until his Wigg was tainted with it? It was his filthy Curiosity to pore in Humane Corses and so to besmear himself that he might trace each Nerve and all the private Kingdom of Veins and Arteries. I remark on it in this Place, after the history of the Gentleman Traveller, so that you may anatomise the Mind of him who looks into that Blood and Corrupcion and not only of him who Whips it from himself and spills it upon a Bed.

  Sir Chris, was well known to those impannelled as Coroners to be a Man who understood the Anatomical Administration of the Humane Body, by means of his geometrical and mechanical Speculations, and one who showed such keen Inclination to cut the fresh Corses that he could be call'd upon in the Ministration of their Office. So it was that one day when I was working with him, on the making of Sewers at the West End of a Church, a packet arrived with a Messenger who desir'd an answer instantly -the Letter saying that the Corps of a Woman was even then lying in the Gate-house at Southwark Reach, having been taken from the River, and that if Sir Chris, should bring his Instruments they would be much obliged to him. Well, well; says he, another Body: I had been hoping for one. And then he asked the Messenger what was the fatal Stroke?

  She drowned herself in the Thames, Sir, or so it seems.

  Good, good, Sir Chris, goes on hardly hearing this News, but we have little time to prepare ourselves: have you the Stomach for it Nick?

  It is not my Stomach, I replied and he laugh'd out loud, while the Messenger looked on bemus'd.

  Come then, says he, we will cross the River and see about this Affair.

  And so we walked straight to the Wharf at White-hall, where we hired an Oarsman to take us over. And even tho' the River-men set up their usual cacophony of Billingsgate abuse, Sir Chris, was lost in the Anticipation of his Work: Anatomy, says he as the Oaths fly about him, is a noble Art -You shitten skulled son of a Turd that has Spit your Brains in my Face, who was begot in Buggery, born in a House of Office, delivered at the Fundament -just as, Nick, the Body it self is a perfect peece of Work from the Hand of the Omniscient Architect -You Brandy-Faced Bawdy Son of a Brimstone Whore. Sir Chris, listens for a moment to the River-men and then speaks once more: Do you know that I have shown the Geometric Mechanics of Rowing -Piss up my arse, Buggar onie -to be a Vectis on a moving or cèdent Fulcrum -Every time you Conjobble with your Mother may she beget a Bellyfull of Crab lice. And then he smiles upon our Oarsman saying, He is a good Gentleman; and the Oarsman on hearing this shouts out to us: Well, Sirs, can you riddle me a riddle?

  Oh yes, says Sir Chris., is it a Rhyme?

  And then the man sings: Riddle my Riddle, my ree, And tell me what my Riddle shall be.

  Long, white and slender,

  Tickles Maids where they are tender

  Lyes where Hair grows,

  And hath long Slit under the Nose.

  Why, cries Sir Chris., this is a Bodkin! And the Oarsman, looking sourly upon him, says You are right, Sir. And Sir Chris., lying back and smiling, trails his Finger in the Water until we reached the other Side.

  We coach'd it at once to the Gate-house (being only about a Mile from where we landed) and thereupon the Coroner took us into a small Chamber where the naked Body of the Woman was to be seen.

  Sir Chris, rapidly surveyed the Corse: She must have been a fine woman when she was dressed, he muttered as he started work upon her with his Surgeon's Tools. The Romans held it unlawfull to look on the Entrails, says he as he cuts into the Skin, but now Anataomy is a free and generall Practice. You see here, Nick, (shewing me the Inside of the Corse as he spoke), you see the Valve at the entrance of the gut Colon, and here the Milkie Veins and the Lymphatick Vessels (he looked up, his Hands dangling and bloody, and I heard a Roaring in my Ears); so we have discover'd the art of Transfusion of the Blood from one living Animal to another. It is of use, he continued, in Pleurisies, Cancers, Leprosies, Ulcers, Small Pox, Dotage, and all such Distempers.

  There was a lady, I said when Sir Chris, had paused, who seeing Hoggs and other Creatures cut up and their Bowels taken out, tormented her self with the Thought that she also carried about with her in
her own Body such stinking Filth, as she call'd it, inclosed.

  Upon which she conceeved a sudden Abhorrence, and hated her own Body so that she did not know what Course to take to free her self from Uncleanness.

  Meer Phrensy, Sir Chris, replied. See here, the Body is still fresh and what is this Corrupcion you mention but the Union and Dissolution of little Bodies or Particles: have you no Sense, Nick? I kept my Peace but I thought to myself: The meerest Rake-hell has a finer Philosophie.

  The Coroner now returned into the Room, having gone out for Air, and asked Sir Chris, his Judgment on this poor, poor Girl (as he put it).

  It was not self-murther, he replied, and I am induced to believe that she was knocked down with a Blow on her left Ear, from the large Settlement of Blood there (and he pointed to the Head with his little Hammer): after she was fell'd to the Ground by the Blow it is probable, with the Gripe of a strong Hand, that she was throttled, and this to be understood from the Stagnation on both sides of her Neck under her Ears; and from the Settlement of Blood on her Breast, he went on, I am inclined to believe that the person who throttled her rested his Arm on her Breast to gripe the stronger. She is not long Dead, he continu 'd, for although she was found floating upon the Thames, I find no Water in the Stomach, Intestines, Abdomens, Lungs, or cavity of the Thorax.

  She did not drown her self for Shame neither, since her Uterus is perfectly free and empty.

  I survey'd the woman's Face, flinching as if my own Body had felt the Blows she endured, and then I saw what she had seen: Well Madam, says her Murtherer, I was walking here as I generally do, will you not walk with me a little? And I saw the first Blow and suffer'd the first Agonie of her Pain. He has taken a white Cloath from his Breeches, looks at it, then throws it upon the Ground and his Hand goes around my Throat: You need not be afraid, he whispers, for you will be sure to get what you Want. And now I feel the Torrents of my own Blood surging in my Head.