The next day, London awoke to a sensation. As early as ten o’clock in
the morning, it was known that something astounding had happened; though
the general public still lacked information as to what it was. Had
Bonaparte escaped from St. Helena, and landed at Gravesend? Was his
Majesty George Third dead at last? Had the Pope been proclaimed
Spiritual and Temporal ruler of Great Britain? Or had another Gunpowder
Plot been discovered? City men, meeting one another on their way to
their shops and offices, asked each other such questions, half jocosely,
half in earnest. The people on the street caught up echoes of these
dialogues, and spread them about with amplifications and variations. Up
till noon, only a handful of persons knew the truth: but before sunset
it was familiar in the mouths of millions. The great banking house of
Bendibow Brothers had failed.
Yes, after a career of almost unparalleled success and splendor, the
mighty structure, founded, nearly a century ago, by grim Abraham
Bendibow, had fallen with a crash, and thousands of hapless people were
involved in the ruins. Financial England was shaken to its foundations
by that catastrophe; on the Continent, the news created only less
dismay; but in London itself the destruction wrought by it was terribly
wide-spread and apparent. By order of the Government, which received
early information of what had happened, a company of soldiers was sent
down to guard the bank,--a wise precaution, as the threatening crowd
that soon began to gather in front of it proved. A very ugly and
turbulent crowd it was, as London mobs are apt to be: and in this case
its passions were inflamed by the presence in the midst of it of numbers
of luckless depositors, who had lost all they possessed, and were
shrieking for vengeance. Was such enormous robbery to be perpetrated,
and the guilty not to suffer? A scape-goat was wanted, and must be had.
And who was the thief? Who, but Sir Francis Bendibow? Where was Sir
Francis Bendibow? Where was the man who had made himself rich and fat on
the life-blood of thousands of honest men and women? Was he in the bank?
The captain of the soldiers assured the questioners that he was not;
that the bank contained nothing but money, and very little of that; and
this, in due time, would be fairly divided among those who could show a
claim to it. For the rest, he had orders to fire should any act of
violence be attempted; and he was ready to obey his orders. Hereupon the
mob laughed, as if the defiance pleased them; but it was evident that a
few score of soldiers would not be a mouthful for such a roaring
multitude, should they choose to attack. At this juncture, however, a
fresh suggestion was disseminated, none knew how: but it was caught up
at once. Sir Francis Bendibow owned a town mansion, only a mile or two
distant. Why not look for him there? That was a more likely place to
find him; and if he were gone, at all events the house and its contents
would remain, and be at the mob’s disposal. Away, then, to the Bendibow
mansion! There were no naked bayonets and loaded musket-barrels there;
but there were valuables of all kinds to smash or to purloin, and
possibly there were provisions in the larder, and wines in the cellar.
So off to Sir Francis Bendibow’s!
In a surprisingly short time the vast mass of men had begun to move in
the direction of their new object, sweeping everything before them, and
gaining new recruits at every street corner. Along the Strand they
poured, a seething and howling torrent of lawless humanity, swollen
continually by confluents streaming down the narrow streets from the
north; more than half of them, no doubt, ignorant whither they were
bound, or wherefore they were gathered together, but all alike ready for
mischief and exulting in disorder. Meantime the warning of their
approach preceded them, and shop-keepers hurriedly put up their
shutters, and householders barred their doors. Westward they roared
along, appalling to see and hear, and yet grotesquely fascinating,
insomuch that law-abiding and respectable citizens, beholding them, were
seized with a strange longing to cast themselves into that irresistible
current, to imbibe its purpose and join in its achievements. Alas for
Francis Bendibow, should he fall into the clutches of these his
fellow-creatures!
As the front of the mob entered the street in which the Bendibow mansion
stood, a hackney carriage was being driven rapidly out of it in the
opposite direction. Before it could turn the corner, a stone, flung at
random, struck the driver on the head, and knocked him off the box. At
this mishap the mob set up a jeering howl, and a number of them rushed
forward to see what game they had brought down. But hereupon the door of
the carriage opened, and a man got out, wearing a heavy caped cloak; an
elderly man, but stout and broad-shouldered. The collar of his cloak was
turned up, and the brim of his hat drawn down over his forehead, so that
little of his face was visible. This man, after casting a glance toward
the crowd, mounted quickly on the vacant box, and gathering up the reins
with a practiced hand, laid the whip sharply across the horse’s back. A
ragged scarecrow sprang at the animal’s bit with outstretched hand, but
the lash of the whip smote him across the eyes, and he staggered back
with a shriek of agony. The vehicle was now at the street corner; but
before turning it, the man on the box, taking the reins in his left
hand, passed his right beneath his cloak, and drew forth a long pistol.
He leveled it at the thick of the crowd, which was now swarming before
the doomed house, and fired. The ball passed through the neck of a
gigantic ruffian, who had just smashed one of the front windows of the
mansion, and buried itself in the heart of a pallid stripling a couple
of yards further on, who had been swept along in the rush, against his
own will, and without the least notion of what all the uproar was about.
Both the stricken men fell; and the hackney carriage and its driver
disappeared.
All this had passed so rapidly that few were aware it had occurred, or
knew whence the shots came, or what damage they had done; and all eyes
and thoughts being now centered on the house, no pursuit of the fugitive
was attempted. The house, of course, had never been designed to stand a
siege, nor did there seem to be any garrison to defend it: the doors and
windows were speedily battered in, and the mob, meeting with no
resistance and seeing no adversaries, crowded in pell-mell, and the work
of sack and destruction began. It was speedily apparent, however, that
the amount of the spoil was altogether out of proportion with the number
of the spoilers,--so much so that at least nine-tenths of the latter
must needs come off, not only empty-handed, but without even the
gratification of having destroyed anything. In half an hour the lately
splendid residence of the proprietor of the greatest private
banking-house in London was gutted from cellar to ridge-pole, and such
of its contents as could profitably be stolen had passed through the
hands of hundreds of temporary possessors, one snatching from another,
until everything had vanished, it was impossible to say where, and
nobody--save those who had been crushed, beaten, trampled, or torn
within an inch of their lives or less--were in the slightest degree
satisfied. In this predicament, a very obvious resource presented
itself. If Sir Francis Bendibow’s house could not fill the mob’s
pockets, there were in London plenty of similar houses which might, in
the aggregate, realize the desired end: a good beginning had been made
here; why not go on and sack all Belgravia? The suggestion had only to
be made to be acted upon; and in a few minutes more the whole vast crowd
was in full cry toward Pall Mall. Here, however, an unexpected and
chilling obstacle presented itself. The Duke of Wellington, who happened
to have come over from Paris for a few days, and had received
information of the disturbance, had shortly before despatched a battery
of artillery in that direction: and as the mob swept round the corner of
the Haymarket, they found themselves almost on the gaping muzzles of
half-a-dozen big cannon, the same that had mowed down the French at
Waterloo, and which seemed cordially disposed to do as much for the
cockney roughs in Pall Mall. An amazing scene of confusion followed,
those behind being as yet ignorant of the passionate desire of those in
front to get out of the way; and the confusion was kindled into a wild
panic when the tramp of horses was heard on the left, and the black
plumes and glancing breastplates of a hundred heavy dragoons were seen
charging at a brisk trot upon the flank of the rioters. This charge, and
the accompanying arrest of many of the ringleaders, dispersed the mob
even more quickly than it had been assembled; it plunged headlong
wherever an opening presented itself, and its wicked old mother, London,
swallowed it up; as Spenser’s monster swallowed her filthy offspring, at
the attack of the Red Cross Knight. All mobs are cowardly: but the
London mob is the most cowardly of all, because it is the least
excitable, and is without convictions.
While these matters were in progress, the hackney-carriage had gone on
its way unmolested, and having reached Oxford street, turned eastward,
and rattled along swiftly toward the city. It was now nearly four
o’clock, and the early London dusk had begun to settle over the dingy
streets. The driver sat erect and square on the box, turning his head
neither to the right nor left, but occasionally touching the horse
smartly with the whip. To look at him, one would have supposed him to be
absorbed in a gloomy revery: he scarcely seemed to notice where he was
going. Presently, however, he turned down a street to the right; and in
ten minutes more drew up in front of the office of Mr. Merton Fillmore,
Solicitor, in the neighborhood of Cornhill. Throwing the reins on the
tired animal’s back, he got leisurely down from his seat, and with his
hat-brim still pulled down over his brows, he entered the doorway and
went up stairs.
He was about to lay his hand on the handle of the office door, when it
was opened from within, and Fillmore, with his hat and top coat on,
stepped across the threshold, but stopped short on seeing his visitor.
For a moment he stood silent and motionless: then he grasped the other
by the arm and drew him into the office, where the clerks were locking
up their desks, and across it into the inner room, closing the door
behind them.
“Well, Bendibow, I’m glad you have escaped,” he said. “I sent after you
to the bank and to your house this forenoon, but you were at neither
place. Where did you spend the night?”
“At an inn in Pimlico.”
“Your house is probably in ruins by this time.”
The baronet took a pistol from beneath his cloak, and showed Fillmore
that it had been discharged. “I just came from there,” he remarked. “I
gave an account of two or three of ’em, first.”
“Of course you know your life is in danger?”
“I’m dangerous myself,” replied the other, with a short laugh.
“You had better lose no time in getting out of London.”
“Not I! I’m satisfied. I shall give myself up.”
“That may be the best thing you can do. Did you know this was coming
on?”
“I suppose so. It had to come some time. I haven’t known much, one way
or another, lately. If Tom had been alive, I should have tried to stave
it off. It’s all one to me now, damn ’em! I wish I could have ruined all
England.”
“You have done enough, Bendibow. What was the cause of this?”
The baronet laughed again. “The cause of it? Ask the historians of the
eighteenth century. If Abraham Bendibow had never succeeded, I never
should have failed. It was bound to happen, from the beginning. Have you
got anything to drink, Fillmore?”
The lawyer shook his head. “And you had better let brandy alone for the
present,” he said. “Your head has not been right, as it is, for the last
four months.”
“My head will last my time,” said Sir Francis, carelessly. “I can bring
my wits together when there’s need for it. Four months, is it? Should
have thought it was four days--or a century! Tom is dead ... did you
know that? You don’t know what killed him, though! Well, give me
something to eat, then: I’m hungry.”
Fillmore opened the door, and ordered the clerk to bring some bread and
meat from the neighboring tavern. Sir Francis sat heavily down at the
table, and supported his head between his hands. He was greatly changed
from the courtly and fastidious baronet of last summer. There was
something coarse and reckless about him. The germ of it had always been
there, perhaps; but it had been kept out of sight till now. Fillmore
leaned in thought against the mantelpiece, with his arms folded. After a
while the clerk came in, with the bread and meat. He put it down before
Sir Francis, who roused himself, and began to eat ravenously. When he
had finished, he leaned back in his chair, and fixed his eyes upon the
solicitor.
“You’re a good fellow, after all, Fillmore,” he said. “I’ll tell you all
about it: ’twill be known soon enough, without my telling. Ever hear of
Rackett’s?”
“The gambling house in Jermyn street?”
“That’s it. Well, that was Bendibow Brothers--that was the real place.
It brought me in hundreds per cent., where the bank brought me in tens.
We should have gone down long ago if it hadn’t been for Rackett’s. But
the devil was in it all.”
“I knew you had something of the sort going on; but you never chose to
explain, and I didn’t care to make inquiries. But I never thought of
Rackett’s. ’Tis the most scandalous place in London.”
“ ’Tis nothing now, but four walls and a bailiff. Scandalous, eh? Well,
so it was! I’ve had there, in one night, the Prince of Wales, Brummel,
Fox, Rivers, Aubrey, and Dennis O’Kelly. Dick England--do you remember
him? He was a great pal of mine a score of years ago. Tippoo Smith--he
was another. Egad, I had ’em all! They never knew where their money went
to--except those who were in the secret: never suspected Frank Bendibow
of having any connection with such scandalous doings! We had Lady
Kendall of Ross there once; and we made his lordship pay one hundred
thousand pounds down, to save my lady’s reputation. Dear at the price,
wasn’t it?”
“Aye, you were a clever man, Bendibow, ill as your cleverness has served
you in the end. And in nothing more clever than in the way you kept
your connection with this business concealed. Something was always
suspected, but nothing was known.”
“No, nothing was known. Do you know the reason? ’Twas because I knew how
to choose men, and how to make them work for me. Frank Bendibow was a
Napoleon, in his own way; but he’s had his Waterloo! The only one who
ever found me out was that jade Perdita; and she forced me to pay her
ten thousand pounds for it, when I could easier have spared her as many
drops of my heart’s blood. I was a fool not to have taken her into
partnership ten years ago, instead of marrying her to that French
imbecile. She is worth more than the best dozen men I ever came across,
begad!”
“She is worth too much ever to have mixed herself up in any such
thievish business,” said Fillmore sternly.
“Maybe she is: ’tis all over now,” returned the other carelessly. “I’m
glad to be at the end of it. They’ve been bothering me for weeks past,
curse ’em! bringing me their fears and complaints, and asking me what
they should do. I bade ’em go to the devil: I had other things to think
about. If Tom had been alive ... well, no matter! I believe that
scoundrel, Catnip, that I took out of the street, damme, and had in my
own office, and made a prosperous man of--I believe he was the one who
betrayed us. You call me a swindler, Merton Fillmore; but if every man
had been as square as I’ve been, I wouldn’t be here now.”
“You are what I would have been, under the same conditions,” said
Fillmore. “I neither condemn nor praise any man. Had you warning of the
crash, yesterday?”
“At ten o’clock last night, at Vauxhall.”
“At Vauxhall?”
“That surprises you, eh? ’Twas our trysting-place, where we met to
concoct our nefarious schemes, as they say in the play: and the safest
one we could have chosen. Well, I thought I was ready for anything; but
when they told me that, I called out, and struck the fellow down, and I
don’t know what happened for a while after that. Here’s a queer thing: I
had a notion I saw that Lockhart girl--the one that married
Lancaster--just before I dropped; and again, at the inn, I thought I
heard her voice. At the inn I awoke this morning, and that’s all I know
about it. Faces and voices sometimes come before a man that way, when
he’s a bit beside himself. But what made me think of her, eh?” He arose
as he spoke, and began to button up his cloak.
“Is that all you have to tell me?” asked Fillmore.
“All? No. That’s all at present. The words in which I tell you all--you,
or any one else--will be the last words that Frank Bendibow speaks. What
do you care? What does anybody care? Let ’em find out, if they can. I
shall be there: I am not going to run away, as Grantley did.”
“You must come home and spend the night with me.”
“No: my board and lodging will be at the expense of the government from
this day on. Say what you like of Rackett’s, there was virtue enough in
it to secure me that, at any rate. Thank you all the same, Fillmore:
you’re the last man I shall ever give thanks to. Well, I’m off. Good day
to you.”
“Where are you going?”
Bendibow named the station at which he proposed to surrender himself.
“If you are resolved to go, I will drive you there,” said Fillmore. “But
you had better accept my invitation, for one night at least.”
The baronet shook his head. “My liabilities are heavy enough already; I
am not going to risk being the cause of your house being used as mine
has been. I’m poison: but I can prevent your taking me.”
And with this jest, he led the way out of the office.