Chapter 18
Gliding along the silent streets, and holding his course where they weredarkest and most gloomy, the man who had left the widow's house crossedLondon Bridge, and arriving in the City, plunged into the backways,lanes, and courts, between Cornhill and Smithfield; with no morefixedness of purpose than to lose himself among their windings, andbaffle pursuit, if any one were dogging his steps.
It was the dead time of the night, and all was quiet. Now and then adrowsy watchman's footsteps sounded on the pavement, or the lamplighteron his rounds went flashing past, leaving behind a little track of smokemingled with glowing morsels of his hot red link. He hid himself evenfrom these partakers of his lonely walk, and, shrinking in some arch ordoorway while they passed, issued forth again when they were gone and sopursued his solitary way.
To be shelterless and alone in the open country, hearing the wind moanand watching for day through the whole long weary night; to listen tothe falling rain, and crouch for warmth beneath the lee of some oldbarn or rick, or in the hollow of a tree; are dismal things--but notso dismal as the wandering up and down where shelter is, and beds andsleepers are by thousands; a houseless rejected creature. To pacethe echoing stones from hour to hour, counting the dull chimes of theclocks; to watch the lights twinkling in chamber windows, to think whathappy forgetfulness each house shuts in; that here are children coiledtogether in their beds, here youth, here age, here poverty, here wealth,all equal in their sleep, and all at rest; to have nothing in commonwith the slumbering world around, not even sleep, Heaven's gift toall its creatures, and be akin to nothing but despair; to feel, by thewretched contrast with everything on every hand, more utterly alone andcast away than in a trackless desert; this is a kind of suffering, onwhich the rivers of great cities close full many a time, and which thesolitude in crowds alone awakens.
The miserable man paced up and down the streets--so long, so wearisome,so like each other--and often cast a wistful look towards the east,hoping to see the first faint streaks of day. But obdurate night hadyet possession of the sky, and his disturbed and restless walk found norelief.
One house in a back street was bright with the cheerful glare of lights;there was the sound of music in it too, and the tread of dancers,and there were cheerful voices, and many a burst of laughter. To thisplace--to be near something that was awake and glad--he returned againand again; and more than one of those who left it when the merrimentwas at its height, felt it a check upon their mirthful mood to see himflitting to and fro like an uneasy ghost. At last the guests departed,one and all; and then the house was close shut up, and became as dulland silent as the rest.
His wanderings brought him at one time to the city jail. Instead ofhastening from it as a place of ill omen, and one he had cause to shun,he sat down on some steps hard by, and resting his chin upon his hand,gazed upon its rough and frowning walls as though even they became arefuge in his jaded eyes. He paced it round and round, came back to thesame spot, and sat down again. He did this often, and once, with a hastymovement, crossed to where some men were watching in the prison lodge,and had his foot upon the steps as though determined to accost them. Butlooking round, he saw that the day began to break, and failing in hispurpose, turned and fled.
He was soon in the quarter he had lately traversed, and pacing to andfro again as he had done before. He was passing down a mean street, whenfrom an alley close at hand some shouts of revelry arose, and there camestraggling forth a dozen madcaps, whooping and calling to each other,who, parting noisily, took different ways and dispersed in smallergroups.
Hoping that some low place of entertainment which would afford him asafe refuge might be near at hand, he turned into this court when theywere all gone, and looked about for a half-opened door, or lightedwindow, or other indication of the place whence they had come. It wasso profoundly dark, however, and so ill-favoured, that he concluded theyhad but turned up there, missing their way, and were pouring out againwhen he observed them. With this impression, and finding there was nooutlet but that by which he had entered, he was about to turn, when froma grating near his feet a sudden stream of light appeared, and the soundof talking came. He retreated into a doorway to see who these talkerswere, and to listen to them.
The light came to the level of the pavement as he did this, and a manascended, bearing in his hand a torch. This figure unlocked and heldopen the grating as for the passage of another, who presentlyappeared, in the form of a young man of small stature and uncommonself-importance, dressed in an obsolete and very gaudy fashion.
'Good night, noble captain,' said he with the torch. 'Farewell,commander. Good luck, illustrious general!'
In return to these compliments the other bade him hold his tongue, andkeep his noise to himself, and laid upon him many similar injunctions,with great fluency of speech and sternness of manner.
'Commend me, captain, to the stricken Miggs,' returned the torch-bearerin a lower voice. 'My captain flies at higher game than Miggses. Ha, ha,ha! My captain is an eagle, both as respects his eye and soaring wings.My captain breaketh hearts as other bachelors break eggs at breakfast.'
'What a fool you are, Stagg!' said Mr Tappertit, stepping on thepavement of the court, and brushing from his legs the dust he hadcontracted in his passage upward.
'His precious limbs!' cried Stagg, clasping one of his ankles. 'Shall aMiggs aspire to these proportions! No, no, my captain. We will inveigleladies fair, and wed them in our secret cavern. We will unite ourselveswith blooming beauties, captain.'
'I'll tell you what, my buck,' said Mr Tappertit, releasing his leg;'I'll trouble you not to take liberties, and not to broach certainquestions unless certain questions are broached to you. Speak whenyou're spoke to on particular subjects, and not otherways. Holdthe torch up till I've got to the end of the court, and then kennelyourself, do you hear?'
'I hear you, noble captain.'
'Obey then,' said Mr Tappertit haughtily. 'Gentlemen, lead on!' Withwhich word of command (addressed to an imaginary staff or retinue) hefolded his arms, and walked with surpassing dignity down the court.
His obsequious follower stood holding the torch above his head, and thenthe observer saw for the first time, from his place of concealment, thathe was blind. Some involuntary motion on his part caught the quickear of the blind man, before he was conscious of having moved an inchtowards him, for he turned suddenly and cried, 'Who's there?'
'A man,' said the other, advancing. 'A friend.'
'A stranger!' rejoined the blind man. 'Strangers are not my friends.What do you do there?'
'I saw your company come out, and waited here till they were gone. Iwant a lodging.'
'A lodging at this time!' returned Stagg, pointing towards the dawn asthough he saw it. 'Do you know the day is breaking?'
'I know it,' rejoined the other, 'to my cost. I have been traversingthis iron-hearted town all night.'
'You had better traverse it again,' said the blind man, preparing todescend, 'till you find some lodgings suitable to your taste. I don'tlet any.'
'Stay!' cried the other, holding him by the arm.
'I'll beat this light about that hangdog face of yours (for hangdog itis, if it answers to your voice), and rouse the neighbourhood besides,if you detain me,' said the blind man. 'Let me go. Do you hear?'
'Do YOU hear!' returned the other, chinking a few shillings together,and hurriedly pressing them into his hand. 'I beg nothing of you. I willpay for the shelter you give me. Death! Is it much to ask of such asyou! I have come from the country, and desire to rest where there arenone to question me. I am faint, exhausted, worn out, almost dead. Letme lie down, like a dog, before your fire. I ask no more than that. Ifyou would be rid of me, I will depart to-morrow.'
'If a gentleman has been unfortunate on the road,' muttered Stagg,yielding to the other, who, pressing on him, had already gained afooting on the steps--'and can pay for his accommodation--'
'I will pay you with all I have. I am just now past the want of food,God kn
ows, and wish but to purchase shelter. What companion have youbelow?'
'None.'
'Then fasten your grate there, and show me the way. Quick!'
The blind man complied after a moment's hesitation, and they descendedtogether. The dialogue had passed as hurriedly as the words could bespoken, and they stood in his wretched room before he had had time torecover from his first surprise.
'May I see where that door leads to, and what is beyond?' said the man,glancing keenly round. 'You will not mind that?'
'I will show you myself. Follow me, or go before. Take your choice.'
He bade him lead the way, and, by the light of the torch which hisconductor held up for the purpose, inspected all three cellars narrowly.Assured that the blind man had spoken truth, and that he lived therealone, the visitor returned with him to the first, in which a fire wasburning, and flung himself with a deep groan upon the ground before it.
His host pursued his usual occupation without seeming to heed him anyfurther. But directly he fell asleep--and he noted his falling into aslumber, as readily as the keenest-sighted man could have done--he kneltdown beside him, and passed his hand lightly but carefully over his faceand person.
His sleep was checkered with starts and moans, and sometimes with amuttered word or two. His hands were clenched, his brow bent, and hismouth firmly set. All this, the blind man accurately marked; and as ifhis curiosity were strongly awakened, and he had already some inklingof his mystery, he sat watching him, if the expression may be used, andlistening, until it was broad day.
Barnaby Rudge: A Tale of the Riots of 'Eighty Page 19
