The Well Hole.
Jonathan Wild's first object, as soon as he had made good his retreat,
was to ascertain what had become of his janizaries, and, if possible, to
release them. With this view, he hurried to the spot where he had left
the post-chaise, and found it drawn up at the road-side, the postilion
dismounted, and in charge of a couple of farming-men. Advancing towards
them, sword in hand, Jonathan so terrified the hinds by his fierce looks
and determined manner, that, after a slight show of resistance, they
took to their heels, leaving him master of the field. He then threw
open the door of the vehicle, in which he found his janizaries with
their arms pinioned, and, leaping into it, ordered the man to drive off.
The postilion obeyed, and dashed off as hard as his horses could gallop
along the beautiful road leading to Neasdon and Willesden, just as the
serving-men made their appearance. Arrived at the latter place,
Jonathan, who, meanwhile, had contrived to liberate his attendants from
their bonds, drew up at the Six Bells, and hiring a couple of horses,
despatched his attendants in search of Jack Sheppard, while he proceeded
to town. Dismissing the post-chaise at the Old Bailey, he walked to
Newgate to ascertain what had occurred since the escape. It was just
upon the stroke of nine as he entered the Lodge, and Mr. Austin was
dismissing a host of inquirers who had been attracted thither by the
news,--for it had already been extensively noised abroad. Some of these
persons were examining the spot where the spike had been cut off; others
the spike itself, now considered a remarkable object; and all were
marvelling how Jack could have possibly squeezed himself through such a
narrow aperture, until it was explained to them by Mr. Austin that the
renowned housebreaker was of slender bodily conformation, and therefore
able to achieve a feat, which he, Mr. Austin, or any man of similar
dimensions, would have found wholly impossible. Affixed to the wall, in
a conspicuous situation, was a large placard, which, after minutely
describing Sheppard's appearance and attire, concluded thus:--"_Whoever
will discover or apprehend the above_ JOHN SHEPPARD, _so that he be
brought to justice, shall receive_ ONE HUNDRED GUINEAS REWARD, _to be
paid by_ MR. PITT, _the keeper of Newgate_."
This placard attracted universal attention. While Jonathan was
conversing with Austin, from whom he took care to conceal the fact of
his having seen Sheppard since his escape, Ireton entered the Lodge.
"Altogether unsuccessful, Sir," said the chief turnkey, with a look of
disappointment, not unmixed with apprehension, as he approached Wild.
"I've been to all the flash cases in town, and can hear nothing of him
or his wives. First, I went to Country Tom's, the Goat, in Long Lane.
Tom swore he hadn't set eyes on him since the trial. I next proceeded to
Jenny Bunch's, the Ship, in Trig Lane--there I got the same answer. Then
to the Feathers, in Drury Lane. Then to the Golden Ball, in the same
street. Then to Martin's brandy-shop, in Fleet Street. Then to Dan
Ware's, in Hanging Sword Court. Then to the Dean's Head, in St. Martin's
Le Grand. And, lastly, to the Seven Cities o' Refuge, in the New Mint.
And nowhere could I obtain the slightest information."
"Humph!" exclaimed Wild.
"Have you been more successful, Sir?" ventured Ireton.
Jonathan shook his head.
"Mr. Shotbolt thinks he has a scheme that can't fail," interposed
Austin; "but he wishes to know whether you'll be as good as your word,
in respect to the great reward you offered for Jack's capture."
"Have I ever broken my word in such matters, that he dares put the
question?" rejoined Jonathan sternly. "Tell Mr. Shotbolt that if he, or
any other person, takes Jack Sheppard before to-morrow morning, I'll
double it. Do you hear?"
"I do, Sir," replied Austin respectfully.
"Two hundred pounds, if he's lodged in Newgate before to-morrow
morning," continued Wild. "Make it known among your friends." And he
strode out of the place.
"Two hundred pounds!" exclaimed Ireton, "besides the governor's
offer--that's three hundred. I must go to work again. Keep a sharp look
out, Austin, and see that we lose no one else. I should be sorry if
Shotbolt got the reward."
"Devilish hard! I'm not allowed a chance," grumbled Austin, as he was
left alone. "However, some one _must_ look after the jail; and they're
all gone but me. It's fortunate we've no more Jack Sheppards, or I
should stand but a poor chance. Well, I don't think they'll any of 'em
nab him, that's one comfort."
On quitting the Lodge, Wild repaired to his own habitation. Telling the
porter that he would attend to the house himself, he bade him go in
search of Jack Sheppard. There was something in Jonathan's manner, as he
issued this command, that struck the man as singular, and he afterwards
recalled it. He, however, made no remark at the time, but instantly
prepared to set out. As soon as he was gone, Jonathan went up stairs to
the audience-chamber; and, sitting down, appeared for some time buried
in reflection. The dark and desperate thoughts that were passing through
his mind at this time will presently be shown. After a while, he raised
his eyes; and, if their glance could have been witnessed at the moment,
it could not have been easily forgotten. Muttering something to himself,
he appeared to be telling upon his fingers the advantages and
disadvantages of some scheme he had in contemplation. That he had
resolved upon its execution, whatever it might be, was evident from his
saying aloud,--
"I will do it. So good an opportunity may never occur again."
Upon this he arose, and paced the room hastily backwards and forwards,
as if further arranging his plans. He then unlocked a cabinet, opened a
secret drawer, and, lifter ransacking its contents, discovered a paper
he was in search of, and a glove. Laying these carefully aside, he
restored the drawer to its place. His next occupation was to take out
his pistols, examine the priming, and rub the flints. His sword then
came in for his scrutiny: he felt at, and appeared satisfied with its
edge. This employment seemed to afford him the highest satisfaction; for
a diabolical grin--it cannot be called a smile--played upon his face all
the time he was engaged in it. His sword done with, he took up the
bludgeon; balanced it in his hand; upon the points of his fingers; and
let it fall with a smash, intentionally, upon the table.
"After all," he said, "this is the safest weapon. No instrument I've
ever used has done me such good service. It _shall_ be the bludgeon." So
saying, he slung it upon his wrist.
Taking up a link, which was blazing beside him, he walked across the
room; and touching a spring in the wall, a secret door flew open. Beyond
was a narrow bridge, crossing a circular building, at the bottom of
which lay a deep well. It was a dark mysterious place, and what it was
used for no one exactly knew; but it was called by those who had seen it
the Well Hole. The bridge was protected on either side by a railing with
bannisters placed at wide intervals. Steps to aid the descent, which was
too steep to be safe without them, led to, a door on the opposite side.
This door, which was open, Jonathan locked and took out the key. As he
stood upon the bridge, he held down the light, and looked into the
profound abyss. The red glare fell upon the slimy brick-work, and tinged
the inky waters below. A slight cough uttered by Jonathan at the moment
awakened the echoes of the place, and was returned in hollow
reverberations. "There'll be a louder echo here presently," thought
Jonathan. Before leaving the place he looked upwards, and could just
discern the blue vault and pale stars of Heaven through an iron grating
at the top.
On his return to the room, Jonathan purposely left the door of the Well
Hole ajar. Unlocking a cupboard, he then took out some cold meat and
other viands, with a flask of wine, and a bottle of brandy, and began to
eat and drink voraciously. He had very nearly cleared the board, when a
knock was heard below, and descending at the summons, he found his two
janizaries. They had both been unsuccessful. As Jonathan scarcely
expected a more satisfactory result, he made no comment; but, ordering
Quilt to continue his search, and not to return until he had found the
fugitive, called Abraham Mendez into the house, and shut the door.
"I want you for the job I spoke of a short time ago, Nab," he said. "I
mean to have no one but yourself in it. Come up stairs, and take a glass
of brandy."
Abraham grinned, and silently followed his master, who, as soon as they
reached the audience-chamber, poured out a bumper of spirits, and
presented it to him. The Jew swallowed it at a draught.
"By my shoul!" he exclaimed, smacking his lips, "dat ish goot--very
goot."
"You shall finish the bottle when the job's done," replied Jonathan.
"Vat ish it, Mishter Vild?" inquired Mendez. "Shir Rowland Trenchard's
affair--eh?"
"That's it," rejoined Jonathan; "I expect him here every minute. When
you've admitted him, steal into the room, hide yourself, and don't move
till I utter the words, 'You've a long journey before you.' That's your
signal."
"And a famoush goot shignal it ish," laughed Abraham. "He hash a long
journey before him--ha! ha!"
"Peace!" cried Jonathan. "There's his knock. Go, and let him in. And
mind you don't arouse his suspicions."
"Never fear--never fear," rejoined Abraham, as he took up the link, and
left the room.
Jonathan cast a hasty glance around, to see that all was properly
arranged for his purpose; placed a chair with its back to the door;
disposed the lights on the table so as to throw the entrance of the room
more into shadow; and then flung himself into a seat to await Sir
Rowland's arrival.
He had not to wait long. Enveloped in a large cloak, Sir Rowland stalked
into the room, and took the seat assigned him; while the Jew, who
received a private signal from Jonathan, set down the link near the
entrance of the Well Hole, and, having made fast the door, crept behind
one of the cases.
Fancying they were alone, Sir Rowland threw aside his cloak, and
produced a heavy bag of money, which he flung upon the table; and, when
Wild had feasted his greedy eyes sufficiently upon its golden contents,
he handed him a pocket-book filled with notes.
"You have behaved like a man of honour, Sir Rowland," said Wild, after
he had twice told over the money. "Right to a farthing."
"Give me an acquittance," said Trenchard.
"It's scarcely necessary," replied Wild; "however, if you require it,
certainly. There it is. 'Received from Sir Rowland Trenchard, 15,000
£.--Jonathan Wild: August 31st, 1724.' Will that do?"
"It will," replied Trenchard. "This is our last transaction together."
"I hope not," replied Wild.
"It is the last," continued the knight, sternly; "and I trust we may
never meet again, I have paid you this large sum--not because you are
entitled to it, for you have failed in what you undertook to do, but
because I desire to be troubled with you no further. I have now settled
my affairs, and made every preparation for my departure to France, where
I shall spend the remainder of my days. And I have made such
arrangements that at my decease tardy justice will be done my injured
nephew."
"You have made no such arrangements as will compromise me, I hope, Sir
Rowland?" said Wild, hastily.
"While I live you are safe," rejoined Trenchard; "after my death I can
answer for nothing."
"'Sblood!" exclaimed Wild, uneasily. "This alters the case materially.
When were you last confessed, Sir Rowland?" he added abruptly.
"Why do you ask?" rejoined the other haughtily.
"Because--because I'm always distrustful of a priest," rejoined
Jonathan.
"I have just parted from one," said Trenchard.
"So much the worse," replied Jonathan, rising and taking a turn, as if
uncertain what to do.
"So much the better," rejoined Sir Rowland. "He who stands on the verge
of the grave, as I do, should never be unprepared."
"You're strangely superstitious, Sir Rowland," said Jonathan, halting,
and looking steadfastly at him.
"If I were so, I should not be here," returned Trenchard.
"How so?" asked Wild, curiously.
"I had a terrible dream last night. I thought my sister and her murdered
husband dragged me hither, to this very room, and commanded you to slay
me."
"A terrible dream, indeed," said Jonathan thoughtfully. "But you
mustn't indulge these gloomy thoughts. Let me recommend a glass of
wine."
"My penance forbids it," said Trenchard, waving his hand. "I cannot
remain here long."
"You will remain longer than you anticipate," muttered Wild.
"Before I go," continued Sir Rowland, "I must beg of you to disclose to
me all you know relative to the parentage of Thames Darrell."
"Willingly," replied Wild. "Thinking it likely you might desire to have
this information, I prepared accordingly. First, look at this glove. It
belonged to his father, and was worn by him on the night he was
murdered. You will observe that a coronet is embroidered on it."
"Ha!" exclaimed Trenchard, starting, "is he so highly born?"
"This letter will inform you," replied Wild, placing a document in his
hand.
"What is this!" cried Sir Rowland. "I know the hand--ha! my friend! and
I have murdered _him_! And my sister was thus nobly, thus illustriously
wedded. O God! O God!"
And he appeared convulsed with agony.
"Oh! if I had known this," he exclaimed, "what guilt, what remorse might
have been spared me!"
"Repentance comes too late when the deed's done," returned Wild,
bitterly.
"It is not too late to repair the wrong I have done my nephew," cried
Trenchard. "I will set about it instantly. He shall have the estates. I
will return to Manchester at once."
"You had better take some refreshment before you start," rejoined Wild.
"'_You've a long journey before you._'"
As the signal was given, the Jew, who had been some time in expectation
of it, darted swiftly and silently behind Sir Rowland, and flung a cloth
over his head, while Jonathan, rushing upon him in front, struck him
several quick and violent blows in the face with the bludgeon. The
white cloth was instantly dyed with crimson; but, regardless of this,
Jonathan continued his murderous assault. The struggles of the wounded
man were desperate--so desperate, that in his agony he overset the
table, and, in the confusion, tore off the cloth, and disclosed a face
horribly mutilated, and streaming with blood. So appalling was the
sight, that even the murderers--familiar as they were with scenes of
slaughter,--looked aghast at it.
During this dreadful pause the wretched man felt for his sword. It had
been removed from the scabbard by the Jew. He uttered a deep groan, but
said nothing.
"Despatch him!" roared Jonathan.
Having no means of defence, Sir Rowland cleared the blood from his
vision; and, turning to see whether there was any means of escape, he
descried the open door behind him leading to the Well Hole, and
instantly darted through it.
"As I could wish!" cried Jonathan. "Bring the light, Nab."
The Jew snatched up the link, and followed him.
A struggle of the most terrific kind now ensued. The wounded man had
descended the bridge, and dashed himself against the door beyond it;
but, finding it impossible to force his way further, he turned to
confront his assailants. Jonathan aimed a blow at him, which, if it had
taken place, must have instantly terminated the strife; but, avoiding
this, he sprang at the thief-taker, and grappled with him. Firmly built,
as it was, the bridge creaked in such a manner with their contending
efforts, that Abraham durst not venture beyond the door, where he stood,
holding the light, a horrified spectator of the scene. The contest,
however, though desperate, was brief. Disengaging his right arm,
Jonathan struck his victim a tremendous blow on the head with the
bludgeon, that fractured his skull; and, exerting all his strength,
threw him over the rails, to which he clung with the tenacity of
despair.
"Spare me!" he groaned, looking upwards. "Spare me!"
Jonathan, however, instead of answering him, searched for his knife,
with the intention of severing his wrist. But not finding it, he had
again recourse to the bludgeon, and began beating the hand fixed on the
upper rail, until, by smashing the fingers, he forced it to relinquish
its hold. He then stamped upon the hand on the lower bannister, until
that also relaxed its gripe.
Sir Rowland then fell.
A hollow plunge, echoed and re-echoed by the walls, marked his descent
into the water.
"Give me the link," cried Jonathan.
Holding down the light, he perceived that the wounded man had risen to
the surface, and was trying to clamber up the slippery sides of the
well.
"Shoot him! shoot him! Put him out of hish mishery," cried the Jew.
"What's the use of wasting a shot?" rejoined Jonathan, savagely. "He
can't get out."
After making several ineffectual attempts to keep himself above water,
Sir Rowland sunk, and his groans, which had become gradually fainter and
fainter, were heard no more.
"All's over," muttered Jonathan.
"Shall ve go back to de other room?" asked the Jew. "I shall breathe
more freely dere. Oh! Christ! de door's shut! It musht have schwung to
during de schuffle!"
"Shut!" exclaimed Wild. "Then we're imprisoned. The spring can't be
opened on this side."
"Dere's de other door!" cried Mendez, in alarm.
"It only leads to the fencing crib," replied Wild. "There's no outlet
that way."
"Can't ve call for asshistanche?"
"And who'll find us, if we do?" rejoined Wild, fiercely. "But they
_will_ find the evidences of slaughter in the other room,--the table
upset,--the bloody cloth,--the dead man's sword,--the money,--and my
memorandum, which I forgot to remove. Hell's curses! that after all my
precautions I should be thus entrapped. It's all your fault, you shaking
coward! and, but that I feel sure you'll swing for your carelessness,
I'd throw you into the well, too."