In this woeful plight, moneyless, wifeless, horseless, corporalless,
with a gag in his mouth and a rope round his body, are we compelled to
leave the gallant Galgenstein, until his friends and the progress of
this history shall deliver him from his durance. Mr. Brock's adventures
on the Captain's horse must likewise be pretermitted; for it is our
business to follow Mrs. Catherine through the window by which she made
her escape, and among the various chances that befell her.
She had one cause to congratulate herself,--that she had not her baby at
her back; for the infant was safely housed under the care of a nurse,
to whom the Captain was answerable. Beyond this her prospects were but
dismal: no home to fly to, but a few shillings in her pocket, and a
whole heap of injuries and dark revengeful thoughts in her bosom: it was
a sad task to her to look either backwards or forwards. Whither was she
to fly? How to live? What good chance was to befriend her? There was an
angel watching over the steps of Mrs. Cat--not a good one, I think, but
one of those from that unnameable place, who have their many subjects
here on earth, and often are pleased to extricate them from worse
perplexities.
Mrs. Cat, now, had not committed murder, but as bad as murder; and as
she felt not the smallest repentance in her heart--as she had, in
the course of her life and connection with the Captain, performed and
gloried in a number of wicked coquetries, idlenesses, vanities, lies,
fits of anger, slanders, foul abuses, and what not--she was fairly bound
over to this dark angel whom we have alluded to; and he dealt with her,
and aided her, as one of his own children.
I do not mean to say that, in this strait, he appeared to her in the
likeness of a gentleman in black, and made her sign her name in blood
to a document conveying over to him her soul, in exchange for certain
conditions to be performed by him. Such diabolical bargains have always
appeared to me unworthy of the astute personage who is supposed to be
one of the parties to them; and who would scarcely be fool enough to pay
dearly for that which he can have in a few years for nothing. It is not,
then, to be supposed that a demon of darkness appeared to Mrs. Cat,
and led her into a flaming chariot harnessed by dragons, and careering
through air at the rate of a thousand leagues a minute. No such thing;
the vehicle that was sent to aid her was one of a much more vulgar
description.
The “Liverpool carryvan,” then, which in the year 1706 used to perform
the journey between London and that place in ten days, left Birmingham
about an hour after Mrs. Catherine had quitted that town; and as she sat
weeping on a hillside, and plunged in bitter meditation, the lumbering,
jingling vehicle overtook her. The coachman was marching by the side of
his horses, and encouraging them to maintain their pace of two miles an
hour; the passengers had some of them left the vehicle, in order to
walk up the hill; and the carriage had arrived at the top of it, and,
meditating a brisk trot down the declivity, waited there until the
lagging passengers should arrive: when Jehu, casting a good-natured
glance upon Mrs. Catherine, asked the pretty maid whence she was come,
and whether she would like a ride in his carriage. To the latter of
which questions Mrs. Catherine replied truly yes; to the former, her
answer was that she had come from Stratford; whereas, as we very well
know, she had lately quitted Birmingham.
“Hast thee seen a woman pass this way, on a black horse, with a large
bag of goold over the saddle?” said Jehu, preparing to mount upon the
roof of his coach.
“No, indeed,” said Mrs. Cat.
“Nor a trooper on another horse after her--no? Well, there be a mortal
row down Birmingham way about sich a one. She have killed, they say,
nine gentlemen at supper, and have strangled a German prince in bed.
She have robbed him of twenty thousand guineas, and have rode away on a
black horse.”
“That can't be I,” said Mrs. Cat, naively, “for I have but three
shillings and a groat.”
“No, it can't be thee, truly, for where's your bag of goold? and,
besides, thee hast got too pretty a face to do such wicked things as to
kill nine gentlemen and strangle a German prince.”
“Law, coachman,” said Mrs. Cat, blushing archly-- “Law, coachman, DO you
think so?” The girl would have been pleased with a compliment even on
her way to be hanged; and the parley ended by Mrs. Catherine stepping
into the carriage, where there was room for eight people at least, and
where two or three individuals had already taken their places. For these
Mrs. Catherine had in the first place to make a story, which she did;
and a very glib one for a person of her years and education. Being asked
whither she was bound, and how she came to be alone of a morning sitting
by a road-side, she invented a neat history suitable to the occasion,
which elicited much interest from her fellow-passengers: one in
particular, a young man, who had caught a glimpse of her face under her
hood, was very tender in his attentions to her.
But whether it was that she had been too much fatigued by the
occurrences of the past day and sleepless night, or whether the little
laudanum which she had drunk a few hours previously now began to act
upon her, certain it is that Mrs. Cat now suddenly grew sick, feverish,
and extraordinarily sleepy; and in this state she continued for
many hours, to the pity of all her fellow-travellers. At length the
“carryvan” reached the inn, where horses and passengers were accustomed
to rest for a few hours, and to dine; and Mrs. Catherine was somewhat
awakened by the stir of the passengers, and the friendly voice of the
inn-servant welcoming them to dinner. The gentleman who had been smitten
by her beauty now urged her very politely to descend; which, taking the
protection of his arm, she accordingly did.
He made some very gallant speeches to her as she stepped out; and
she must have been very much occupied by them, or wrapt up in her own
thoughts, or stupefied by sleep, fever, and opium, for she did not take
any heed of the place into which she was going: which, had she done,
she would probably have preferred remaining in the coach, dinnerless and
ill. Indeed, the inn into which she was about to make her entrance was
no other than the “Bugle,” from which she set forth at the commencement
of this history; and which then, as now, was kept by her relative, the
thrifty Mrs. Score. That good landlady, seeing a lady, in a smart hood
and cloak, leaning, as if faint, upon the arm of a gentleman of good
appearance, concluded them to be man and wife, and folks of quality too;
and with much discrimination, as well as sympathy, led them through the
public kitchen to her own private parlour, or bar, where she handed the
lady an armchair, and asked what she would like to drink. By this time,
and indeed at the very moment she heard her aunt's voice, Mrs. Catherine
was aware of her situation; and when her companion retired, and the
landlady, with much officiousness, insisted on removing her hood, she
was quite prepared for the screech of surprise which Mrs. Score gave on
dropping it, exclaiming, “Why, law bless us, it's our Catherine!”
“I'm very ill, and tired, aunt,” said Cat; “and would give the world for
a few hours' sleep.”
“A few hours and welcome, my love, and a sack-posset too. You do look
sadly tired and poorly, sure enough. Ah, Cat, Cat! you great ladies
are sad rakes, I do believe. I wager now, that with all your balls, and
carriages, and fine clothes, you are neither so happy nor so well as
when you lived with your poor old aunt, who used to love you so.” And
with these gentle words, and an embrace or two, which Mrs. Catherine
wondered at, and permitted, she was conducted to that very bed which the
Count had occupied a year previously, and undressed, and laid in it, and
affectionately tucked up by her aunt, who marvelled at the fineness of
her clothes, as she removed them piece by piece; and when she saw
that in Mrs. Catherine's pocket there was only the sum of three and
fourpence, said, archly, “There was no need of money, for the Captain
took care of that.”
Mrs. Cat did not undeceive her; and deceived Mrs. Score certainly
was,--for she imagined the well-dressed gentleman who led Cat from the
carriage was no other than the Count; and, as she had heard, from time
to time, exaggerated reports of the splendour of the establishment which
he kept up, she was induced to look upon her niece with the very highest
respect, and to treat her as if she were a fine lady. “And so she IS
a fine lady,” Mrs. Score had said months ago, when some of these
flattering stories reached her, and she had overcome her first fury at
Catherine's elopement. “The girl was very cruel to leave me; but we must
recollect that she is as good as married to a nobleman, and must all
forget and forgive, you know.”
This speech had been made to Doctor Dobbs, who was in the habit of
taking a pipe and a tankard at the “Bugle,” and it had been roundly
reprobated by the worthy divine; who told Mrs. Score, that the crime
of Catherine was only the more heinous, if it had been committed from
interested motives; and protested that, were she a princess, he would
never speak to her again. Mrs. Score thought and pronounced the Doctor's
opinion to be very bigoted; indeed, she was one of those persons who
have a marvellous respect for prosperity, and a corresponding scorn for
ill-fortune. When, therefore, she returned to the public room, she
went graciously to the gentleman who had led Mrs. Catherine from the
carriage, and with a knowing curtsey welcomed him to the “Bugle;” told
him that his lady would not come to dinner, but bade her say, with her
best love to his Lordship, that the ride had fatigued her, and that she
would lie in bed for an hour or two.
This speech was received with much wonder by his Lordship; who was,
indeed, no other than a Liverpool tailor going to London to learn
fashions; but he only smiled, and did not undeceive the landlady, who
herself went off, smilingly, to bustle about dinner.
The two or three hours allotted to that meal by the liberal coachmasters
of those days passed away, and Mr. Coachman, declaring that his horses
were now rested enough, and that they had twelve miles to ride, put the
steeds to, and summoned the passengers. Mrs. Score, who had seen with
much satisfaction that her niece was really ill, and her fever more
violent, and hoped to have her for many days an inmate in her house, now
came forward, and casting upon the Liverpool tailor a look of profound
but respectful melancholy, said, “My Lord (for I recollect your Lordship
quite well), the lady upstairs is so ill, that it would be a sin to move
her: had I not better tell coachman to take down your Lordship's trunks,
and the lady's, and make you a bed in the next room?”
Very much to her surprise, this proposition was received with a roar
of laughter. “Madam,” said the person addressed, “I'm not a lord, but
a tailor and draper; and as for that young woman, before to-day I never
set eyes on her.”
“WHAT!” screamed out Mrs. Score. “Are not you the Count? Do you mean to
say that you a'n't Cat's--? DO you mean to say that you didn't order her
bed, and that you won't pay this here little bill?” And with this she
produced a document, by which the Count's lady was made her debtor in a
sum of half-a-guinea.
These passionate words excited more and more laughter. “Pay it, my
Lord,” said the coachman; “and then come along, for time presses.” “Our
respects to her Ladyship,” said one passenger. “Tell her my Lord can't
wait,” said another; and with much merriment one and all quitted the
hotel, entered the coach, and rattled off.
Dumb--pale with terror and rage--bill in hand, Mrs. Score had followed
the company; but when the coach disappeared, her senses returned. Back
she flew into the inn, overturning the ostler, not deigning to answer
Doctor Dobbs (who, from behind soft tobacco-fumes, mildly asked the
reason of her disturbance), and, bounding upstairs like a fury, she
rushed into the room where Catherine lay.
“Well, madam!” said she, in her highest key, “do you mean that you have
come into this here house to swindle me? Do you dare for to come with
your airs here, and call yourself a nobleman's lady, and sleep in the
best bed, when you're no better nor a common tramper? I'll thank you,
ma'am, to get out, ma'am. I'll have no sick paupers in this house,
ma'am. You know your way to the workhouse, ma'am, and there I'll trouble
you for to go.” And here Mrs. Score proceeded quickly to pull off the
bedclothes; and poor Cat arose, shivering with fright and fever.
She had no spirit to answer, as she would have done the day before, when
an oath from any human being would have brought half-a-dozen from her in
return; or a knife, or a plate, or a leg of mutton, if such had been to
her hand. She had no spirit left for such repartees; but in reply to the
above words of Mrs. Score, and a great many more of the same kind--which
are not necessary for our history, but which that lady uttered with
inconceivable shrillness and volubility, the poor wench could say
little,--only sob and shiver, and gather up the clothes again, crying,
“Oh, aunt, don't speak unkind to me! I'm very unhappy, and very ill!”
“Ill, you strumpet! ill, be hanged! Ill is as ill does; and if you are
ill, it's only what you merit. Get out! dress yourself--tramp! Get to
the workhouse, and don't come to cheat me any more! Dress yourself--do
you hear? Satin petticoat forsooth, and lace to her smock!”
Poor, wretched, chattering, burning, shivering Catherine huddled on her
clothes as well she might: she seemed hardly to know or see what she was
doing, and did not reply a single word to the many that the landlady let
fall. Cat tottered down the narrow stairs, and through the kitchen, and
to the door; which she caught hold of, and paused awhile, and looked
into Mrs. Score's face, as for one more chance. “Get out, you nasty
trull!” said that lady, sternly, with arms akimbo; and poor Catherine,
with a most piteous scream and outgush of tears, let go of the door-post
and staggered away into the road.
*****
“Why, no--yes--no--it is poor Catherine Hall, as I live!” said somebody,
starting up, shoving aside Mrs. Score very rudely, and running into
the road, wig off and pipe in hand. It was honest Doctor Dobbs; and
the result of his interview with Mrs. Cat was, that he gave up for ever
smoking his pipe at the “Bugle;” and that she lay sick of a fever for
some weeks in his house.
*****
Over this part of Mrs. Cat's history we shall be as brief as possible;
for, to tell the truth, nothing immoral occurred during her whole stay
at the good Doctor's house; and we are not going to insult the reader
by offering him silly pictures of piety, cheerfulness, good sense, and
simplicity; which are milk-and-water virtues after all, and have no
relish with them like a good strong vice, highly peppered. Well, to be
short: Doctor Dobbs, though a profound theologian, was a very simple
gentleman; and before Mrs. Cat had been a month in the house, he had
learned to look upon her as one of the most injured and repentant
characters in the world; and had, with Mrs. Dobbs, resolved many plans
for the future welfare of the young Magdalen. “She was but sixteen, my
love, recollect,” said the Doctor; “she was carried off, not by her own
wish either. The Count swore he would marry her; and, though she did not
leave him until that monster tried to poison her, yet think what a
fine Christian spirit the poor girl has shown! she forgives him as
heartily--more heartily, I am sure, than I do Mrs. Score for turning her
adrift in that wicked way.” The reader will perceive some difference in
the Doctor's statement and ours, which we assure him is the true one;
but the fact is, the honest rector had had his tale from Mrs. Cat, and
it was not in his nature to doubt, if she had told him a history ten
times more wonderful.
The reverend gentleman and his wife then laid their heads together; and,
recollecting something of John Hayes's former attachment to Mrs. Cat,
thought that it might be advantageously renewed, should Hayes be still
constant. Having very adroitly sounded Catherine (so adroitly, indeed,
as to ask her “whether she would like to marry John Hayes?”), that young
woman had replied, “No. She had loved John Hayes--he had been her early,
only love; but she was fallen now, and not good enough for him.” And
this made the Dobbs family admire her more and more, and cast about for
means to bring the marriage to pass.
Hayes was away from the village when Mrs. Cat had arrived there; but he
did not fail to hear of her illness, and how her aunt had deserted her,
and the good Doctor taken her in. The worthy Doctor himself met Mr.
Hayes on the green; and, telling him that some repairs were wanting in
his kitchen begged him to step in and examine them. Hayes first said no,
plump, and then no, gently; and then pished, and then psha'd; and then,
trembling very much, went in: and there sat Mrs. Catherine, trembling
very much too.
What passed between them? If your Ladyship is anxious to know, think of
that morning when Sir John himself popped the question. Could there be
anything more stupid than the conversation which took place? Such stuff
is not worth repeating: no, not when uttered by people in the very
genteelest of company; as for the amorous dialogue of a carpenter and
an ex-barmaid, it is worse still. Suffice it to say, that Mr. Hayes, who
had had a year to recover from his passion, and had, to all appearances,
quelled it, was over head and ears again the very moment he saw Mrs.
Cat, and had all his work to do again.
Whether the Doctor knew what was going on, I can't say; but this matter
is certain, that every evening Hayes was now in the rectory kitchen, or
else walking abroad with Mrs. Catherine: and whether she ran away with
him, or he with her, I shall not make it my business to inquire; but
certainly at the end of three months (which must be crowded up into this
one little sentence), another elopement took place in the village. “I
should have prevented it, certainly,” said Doctor Dobbs--whereat his
wife smiled; “but the young people kept the matter a secret from me.”
And so he would, had he known it; but though Mrs. Dobbs had made
several attempts to acquaint him with the precise hour and method of the
intended elopement, he peremptorily ordered her to hold her tongue. The
fact is, that the matter had been discussed by the rector's lady many
times. “Young Hayes,” would she say “has a pretty little fortune and
trade of his own; he is an only son, and may marry as he likes; and,
though not specially handsome, generous, or amiable, has an undeniable
love for Cat (who, you know, must not be particular), and the sooner she
marries him, I think, the better. They can't be married at our
church you know, and--” “Well,” said the Doctor, “if they are married
elsewhere, I can't help it, and know nothing about it, look you.” And
upon this hint the elopement took place: which, indeed, was peaceably
performed early one Sunday morning about a month after; Mrs. Hall
getting behind Mr. Hayes on a pillion, and all the children of the
parsonage giggling behind the window-blinds to see the pair go off.
During this month Mr. Hayes had caused the banns to be published at the
town of Worcester; judging rightly that in a great town they would cause
no such remark as in a solitary village, and thither he conducted his
lady. O ill-starred John Hayes! whither do the dark Fates lead you? O
foolish Doctor Dobbs, to forget that young people ought to honour their
parents, and to yield to silly Mrs. Dobbs's ardent propensity for making
matches!
*****
The London Gazette of the 1st April, 1706, contains a proclamation
by the Queen for putting into execution an Act of Parliament for the
encouragement and increase of seamen, and for the better and speedier
manning of Her Majesty's fleet, which authorises all justices to issue
warrants to constables, petty constables, headboroughs, and tything-men,
to enter and, if need be, to break open the doors of any houses where
they shall believe deserting seamen to be; and for the further increase
and encouragement of the navy, to take able-bodied landsmen when seamen
fail. This Act, which occupies four columns of the Gazette, and another
of similar length and meaning for pressing men into the army, need
not be quoted at length here; but caused a mighty stir throughout the
kingdom at the time when it was in force.
As one has seen or heard, after the march of a great army, a number of
rogues and loose characters bring up the rear; in like manner, at
the tail of a great measure of State, follow many roguish personal
interests, which are protected by the main body. The great measure of
Reform, for instance, carried along with it much private jobbing and
swindling--as could be shown were we not inclined to deal mildly with
the Whigs; and this Enlistment Act, which, in order to maintain the
British glories in Flanders, dealt most cruelly with the British people
in England (it is not the first time that a man has been pinched at home
to make a fine appearance abroad), created a great company of rascals
and informers throughout the land, who lived upon it; or upon extortion
from those who were subject to it, or not being subject to it were
frightened into the belief that they were.
When Mr. Hayes and his lady had gone through the marriage ceremony at
Worcester, the former, concluding that at such a place lodging and food
might be procured at a cheaper rate, looked about carefully for the
meanest public-house in the town, where he might deposit his bride.
In the kitchen of this inn, a party of men were drinking; and, as
Mrs. Hayes declined, with a proper sense of her superiority, to eat in
company with such low fellows, the landlady showed her and her husband
to an inner apartment, where they might be served in private.
The kitchen party seemed, indeed, not such as a lady would choose to
join. There was one huge lanky fellow, that looked like a soldier,
and had a halberd; another was habited in a sailor's costume, with a
fascinating patch over one eye; and a third, who seemed the leader
of the gang, was a stout man in a sailor's frock and a horseman's
jack-boots, whom one might fancy, if he were anything, to be a
horse-marine.
Of one of these worthies, Mrs. Hayes thought she knew the figure and
voice; and she found her conjectures were true, when, all of sudden,
three people, without “With your leave,” or “By your leave,” burst into
the room, into which she and her spouse had retired. At their head was
no other than her old friend, Mr. Peter Brock; he had his sword drawn,
and his finger to his lips, enjoining silence, as it were, to Mrs.
Catherine. He with the patch on his eye seized incontinently on Mr.
Hayes; the tall man with the halberd kept the door; two or three heroes
supported the one-eyed man; who, with a loud voice, exclaimed, “Down
with your arms--no resistance! you are my prisoner, in the Queen's
name!”
And here, at this lock, we shall leave the whole company until the next
chapter; which may possibly explain what they were.