THE REVENGE.
It was about eleven o'clock in the night of the first Saturday of June,
that the Resurrection Man—the terrible Anthony Tidkins—issued from the
dwelling of Mr. Banks, the undertaker in Globe Lane, Globe Town.
Mr. Banks followed him to the threshold, and, ere he bade him good
night, said, as he retained him by the sleeve, "And so you are
determined to go back to the old crib?"
"Yes—to be sure I am," returned Tidkins. "I've been looking after that
scoundrel Crankey Jem for the last two years, without even being able so
much as to hear of him. The Bully Grand has set all his Forty Thieves to
work for me; and still not a trace—not a sign of the infernal villain!"
"Well," observed Banks, "it does look as if the cussed wessel had made
his-self scarce to some foreign part, where it's to be hoped he's dead,
buried, and resurrectionised by this time."
"Or else he's living like a fighting-cock on all the tin he robbed me
of," exclaimed Tidkins, with a savage growl. "But I'm sure he's not in
London; and so I don't see any reason to prevent me from going back to
my old crib. I shall feel happy again there. It's now two years and
better since I left it—and I'm sick of doing nothing but hunt after a
chap that's perhaps thousands of miles off."
"And all that time, you see," said Banks, "you've been doing no good for
yourself or your friends; and if it wasn't for them blessed coffins on
economic principles, which turn me in a decent penny, I'm sure I don't
know what would have become of me and my family."
"You forget the swag we got from the old woman in Golden Lane,"
whispered Tidkins, impatiently. "Didn't I give you a fair half, although
you never entered the place, but only kept watch outside?"
"Yes—yes," said Mr. Banks; "I know you treated me very well, Tony—as
you've always done. But I'm sorry you used the wicked old creetur as you
did."
"Why did she resist, then, damn her!" growled the Resurrection Man.
"Ah! well-a-day," moaned the hypocritical undertaker: "she's a blessed
defunct now—a wenerable old carkiss—and all packed up nice and cozy in a
hospital coffin too! But they can't get up them coffins as well as me: I
can beat 'em all at that work—'cause its the economic principles as does
it."
"Hold your stupid tongue, you infernal old fool!" muttered Tidkins; "and
get yourself to bed at once, so that you may be up early in the morning
and come to me by eight o'clock."
"You don't mean to do what you was telling me just now?" said Banks,
earnestly. "Depend upon it, he'll prove too much for you."
"Not he!" exclaimed Tidkins. "I've a long—long score to settle up with
him; and if he has neither seen nor heard of me for the last two years,
it was only because I wanted to punish Crankey Jem first."
"And now that you can't find that cussed indiwidual," said Banks, "you
mean to have a go in earnest against the Prince?"
"I do," answered Tidkins, with an abruptness which was in itself
expressive of demoniac ferocity. 'You come to me to-morrow morning; and
see if I won't invent some scheme that shall put Richard Markham in my
power. I tell you what it is, Banks," added the Resurrection Man, in a
hoarse—hollow whisper, "I hate that fellow to a degree I cannot explain;
and depend upon it, he shall gnash his teeth in one of the dark cells
yonder before he's a week older."
"And what good will that do you?" asked the undertaker.
"What good!" repeated Tidkins, scornfully: then, after a short pause, he
turned towards Banks, and said in a low voice, "We'll make him pay an
immense sum for his ransom—a sum that shall enrich us both, Ned: and
then——"
"And then?" murmured Banks, interrogatively.
"And then—when I've got all I can from him," replied Tidkins, "_I'll
murder him!_"
With these words—uttered in a tone of terrible ferocity—the Resurrection
Man hastened away from the door of the undertaker's dwelling.
The sky was overcast with dark clouds of stormy menace: the night was
dark; and big drops of rain began to patter down, as Tidkins hurried
along the streets leading towards his own abode—that abode which he was
now on the point of revisiting after an absence of two years!
At length he reached the house; and though he stopped for a few minutes
to examine its outward appearance from the middle of the street, the
night was so dark that he could not distinguish whether its aspect had
undergone any change.
Taking from his pocket the door-key, which he had carefully retained
ever since he abandoned the place after the discovery of the loss of his
treasure, he soon effected an entrance into the house.
Having closed the door, he immediately lighted a lantern which he had
brought with him; and then, holding it high above his head, he hastily
scrutinized the walls, the stairs, and as much of the landing above the
precipitate steps, as his range of vision could embrace.
There was not the least indication of the presence of intruders: the
dust had accumulated upon the stairs, undisturbed by the print of
footsteps; and the damp had covered the walls with a white mildew.
Tidkins was satisfied with this scrutiny, and ascended to the
first-floor rooms, the doors of which were closed—as if they had never
been opened during his absence of two years.
The interior appearance of the two chambers was just the same as when he
was last there—save in respect to the ravages of the damp, the
accumulation of the dust, and the effects of the rain which had forced
its way through the roof.
"Well, nothing has been disturbed up here—that's certain enough," said
Tidkins to himself. "Now for a survey of the vaults."
Taking from a shelf the bunch of skeleton-keys, which had suffered
grievously from the damp, the Resurrection Man descended the stairs,
issued forth into the street, and turned up the alley running along the
side of the house.
His first attempt to open the door in that alley was unsuccessful, there
being evidently some impediment in the lock: but a moment's reflection
reminded him that he himself had broken a key in the lock, ere he had
quitted the premises at the end of May, 1841.
Nearly ten minutes were occupied in picking the lock, which was sadly
rusted; but at length this task was accomplished—and the Resurrection
Man entered the ground-floor of his abode.
The condition in which he had found the lock of the door in the alley
would have been a sufficient proof, in the estimation of any less crafty
individual, that no intrusive footstep had disturbed that department of
the dwelling: but Tidkins was resolved to assure himself on all points
relative to the propriety of again entrusting his safety to that abode.
"I think it's all right," he muttered, holding up his lantern, and
glancing around with keen looks. "Still the lock might have been picked
since I was here last, and another key purposely broken in it to stave
off suspicion. At any rate, it is better to examine every nook and
corner of the whole place—and so I will!"
He entered the front room on the ground-floor: the resurrection tools
and house-breaking implements, which were piled up in that chamber, had
not been disturbed. Huge black cob-webs, dense as filthy rags, were
suspended from mattock to spade, and from crow-bar to long flexible iron
rod.
Tidkins turned with an air of satisfaction into the back room, where the
dust lay thick upon the floor, and the walls were green with damp.
"Yes—it _is_ all right!" he exclaimed, joyfully: "no one has been here
during my absence. I suppose that villain Jem Cuffin was content with
all the gold and jewels he got, and took no farther steps to molest me.
But, by Satan! if ever I clap my eyes on him again!"—and the
Resurrection Man ground his teeth furiously together. "Well," he
continued, speaking aloud to himself in a musing strain, "it's a
blessing to be able to come back and settle in the old crib! There's no
place in London like it: the house in Chick Lane is nothing to it. And
now that I _have_ returned," he added, his hideous countenance becoming
ominously dark and appallingly threatening, as the glare of the lantern
fell upon it,—"one of these deep, cold, cheerless dungeons shall soon
become the abode of Richard Markham!"
As he uttered these last words in a loud, measured, and savage voice,
the Resurrection Man raised the stone-trap, and descended into the
subterranean.
The detestable monster gloated in anticipation upon the horrible revenge
which he meditated; and as he now trod the damp pavement of the vaulted
passage, he glanced first at the four doors on the right, then at the
four doors on the left, as if he were undecided in which dungeon to
immure his intended victim.
At length he stopped before one of the doors, exclaiming, "Ah! this must
be the cell! It's the one, as I have been told, where so many maniacs
dashed their brains out against the wall, when this place was used as an
asylum—long before my time."
Thus musing, Tidkins entered the cell, holding the lantern high up so as
to embrace at a glance all the gloomy horrors of its aspect.
"Yes—yes!" he muttered to himself: "this is the one for Richard Markham!
All that he has ever done to me shall soon be fearfully visited on his
own head! Ah, ah! we shall see whether his high rank—his boasted
virtues—his immense influence—and his glorious name can mitigate one
pang of all the sufferings that he must here endure! Yes," repeated
Tidkins, a fiendish smile relaxing his stern countenance,—"_this_ is the
dungeon for Richard Markham!"
"No—it is _thine_!" thundered a voice; and at the same moment the door
of the cell closed violently upon the Resurrection Man.
Tidkins dropped the lantern, and flung himself with all his strength
against the massive door;—but the huge bolt on the outside was shot into
its iron socket too rapidly to permit that desperate effort to prove of
the least avail.
[Illustration]
Then a cry of mingled rage and despair burst from the breast of the
Resurrection Man,—a cry resembling that of the wolf when struck by the
bullet of the hunter's carbine!
"The hour of vengeance is come at last!" exclaimed Crankey Jem, as he
lighted the candle in a small lantern which he took from his pocket.
"There shall you remain, Tidkins—to perish by starvation—to die by
inches—to feel the approach of Death by means of such slow tortures that
you will curse the day which saw your birth!"
"Jem, do not say all that!" cried the Resurrection Man, from the
interior of the dungeon. "You would not be so cruel? Let me out—and we
will be friends."
"Never!" ejaculated Cuffin. "What! have I hunted after you—dogged
you—watched you—then lost sight of you for two years—now found you out
again—at length got you into my power—and all this for nothing?"
"Well, Jem—I know that I used you badly," said the Resurrection Man, in
an imploring tone: "but forgive me—pray forgive me! Surely you were
sufficiently avenged by plundering me of my treasure—my hoarded gold—my
casket of jewels?"
"Miserable wretch!" cried Crankey Jem, in a tone of deep disgust: "do
not imagine that I took your gold and your jewels to enrich myself. No:
had I been starving, I would not have purchased a morsel of bread by
means of their aid! Two hours after I had become possessed of your
treasure, I consigned it all—yes, all—gold and jewels—to the bed of the
Thames!"
"Then are you not sufficiently avenged?" demanded Tidkins, in a voice
denoting how fiercely rage was struggling with despair in his breast.
"Your death, amidst lingering tortures, will alone satisfy me!" returned
Crankey Jem. "Monster that you are, you shall meet the fate which you
had reserved for an excellent nobleman whose virtues are as numerous as
your crimes!"
"What good will my death do you, Jem?" cried Tidkins, his tone now
characterised only by an expression of deep—intense—harrowing despair.
"What good would the death of Richard Markham have done _you_?" demanded
James Cuffin. "Ah! you cannot answer that question! Of what advantage is
your cunning now? But listen to me, while I tell you how I have
succeeded in over-reaching you at last. One night—more than two years
ago—I was watching for you in the street. I had found out your den—and I
was waiting your return, to plunge my dagger into your breast. But when
you did come home that night, you was not alone. Another man was with
you; and a woman, blindfolded, was being dragged between you up the
alley. I watched—you and the man soon afterwards re-appeared; but the
woman was not with you. Then I knew that she was a prisoner, or had been
murdered; and I thought that if I could place you in the hands of
justice, with the certainty of sending you to the scaffold, my revenge
would be more complete. But my plan was spoilt by the silly affair of
young Holford; for I was locked up in prison on account of that
business. But I got my liberty at last; and that very same night I
returned to this house. I knew that you had been arrested and was in
Coldbath Fields; and so I resolved to examine the entire premises. By
means of skeleton keys I obtained an easy entrance into the lower part
of the house; and, after a little careful search, I discovered the
secret of the trap-door. I visited the cells; but the woman was not in
any of them. And now you know how I came to discover the mysteries of
your den, Tidkins; and you can guess how at another visit I found the
hiding-place of your treasure."
"Jem, one word!" cried the Resurrection Man, in a hoarse—almost hollow
tone. "You have got me in your power—do you mean to put your dreadful
threat into execution?"
"No persuasion on earth can change my mind!" returned the avenger, in a
terrible voice. "Hark! this is a proof of my determination!"
A dead silence prevailed in the subterranean for two or three minutes;
and then that solemn stillness was broken by the sounds of a hammer,
falling with heavy and measured cadence upon the head of a large nail.
"Devil!" roared the Resurrection Man, from the interior of the cell.
Crankey Jem was nailing up the door!
It must be supposed that this appalling conviction worked the mind of
the immured victim up to a pitch of madness; for he now threw himself
against the door with a fury that made it crack upon its hinges—massive
and studded with iron nails though it were!
But Crankey Jem pursued his awful task; and as nail after nail was
driven in, the more demoniac became the feelings of his triumph.
Tidkins continued to rush against the door, marking the intervals of
these powerful but desperate attempts to burst from his living tomb,
with wild cries and savage howls such as Cuffin had never before heard
come from the breast of a human being.
At length the last nail was driven in; and then the struggles against
the door ceased.
"Now you can understand that I am determined!" cried the avenger. "And
here shall I remain until all is over with you, Tidkins. No! I shall now
and then steal out for short intervals at a time, to procure food—food
to sustain _me_, while _you_ are starving in your coffin!"
"Infernal wretch!" shouted Tidkins: "you are mistaken! I will not die by
starvation, if die I must. I have matches with me—and in a moment I can
blow the entire house—aye, and half the street along with it—into the
air!"
"You will not frighten me, Tidkins," said Crankey Jem, in a cool and
taunting tone.
"Damnation!" thundered the Resurrection Man, chafing against the door
like a maddened hyena in its cage: "will neither prayers nor threats
move you? Then must I do my worst!"
Crankey Jem heard him stride across the dungeon; but still the avenger
remained at his post,—leaning against the door, and greedily drinking in
each groan—each curse—each execration—and each howl, that marked the
intense anguish endured by the Resurrection Man.
Presently James Cuffin heard the sharp sound of a match as it was drawn
rapidly along the wall.
He shuddered—but moved not.
Solemn was the silence which now prevailed for a few moments: at length
an explosion—low and subdued, as of a small quantity of gunpowder—took
place in the cell.
But it was immediately followed with a terrific cry of agony; and the
Resurrection Man fell heavily against the door.
"My eyes! my eyes!" he exclaimed, in a tone indicative of acute pain: "O
God! I am blinded!"
"Sight would be of no use in that dark dungeon," said Crankey Jem, with
inhuman obduracy of heart towards his victim.
"Are you not satisfied now, demon—devil—fiend!" almost shrieked the
Resurrection Man. "The powder has blinded me, I say!"
"It was damp, and only exploded partially," said the avenger. "Try
again!"
"Wretch!" exclaimed Tidkins; and James Cuffin heard him dash himself
upon the paved floor of the cell, groaning horribly.
* * * * *
Ten days afterwards, Crankey Jem set to work to open the door of the
dungeon.
This was no easy task; inasmuch as the nails which he had driven in were
strong, and had caught a firm hold of the wood.
But at length—after two hours' toil—the avenger succeeded in forcing an
entrance into the cell.
He knew that he incurred no danger by this step: for, during that
interval of ten days, he had scarcely ever quitted his post outside the
door of the dungeon;—and there had he remained, regaling his ears with
the delicious music formed by the groans—the prayers—the screams—the
shrieks—the ravings—and the curses of his victim.
At length those appalling indications of a lingering—slow—agonising
death,—the death of famine,—grew fainter and fainter; and in the middle
of the ninth night they ceased altogether.
Therefore was it that on the morning of the tenth day, the avenger
hesitated not to open the door of the dungeon.
And what a spectacle met his view when he entered that cell!
The yellow glare of his lantern fell upon the pale, emaciated, hideous
countenance of the Resurrection Man, who lay on his back upon the cold,
damp pavement—a stark and rigid corse!
Crankey Jem stooped over the body, and examined the face with a
satisfaction which he did not attempt to subdue.
The eyes had been literally burnt in their sockets; and it was true that
the Resurrection Man was blinded, in the first hour of his terrible
imprisonment, by the explosion of the gunpowder in an iron pipe running
along the wall of the dungeon!
The damp had, however, rendered that explosion only partial: had the
train properly ignited, the entire dwelling would have been blown into
the air.
* * * * *
A few hours afterwards, the following letter was delivered at Markham
Place by the postman:—
"Your mortal enemy, my lord, is no more. My vengeance has overtaken
him at last. Anthony Tidkins has died a horrible death:—had he
lived, you would have become his victim.
"JAMES CUFFIN."