Promising as these outrages were to Gashford’s view, and much like
business as they looked, they extended that night no farther. The
soldiers were again called out, again they took half-a-dozen prisoners,
and again the crowd dispersed after a short and bloodless scuffle. Hot
and drunken though they were, they had not yet broken all bounds and
set all law and government at defiance. Something of their habitual
deference to the authority erected by society for its own preservation
yet remained among them, and had its majesty been vindicated in time,
the secretary would have had to digest a bitter disappointment.
By midnight, the streets were clear and quiet, and, save that there
stood in two parts of the town a heap of nodding walls and pile of
rubbish, where there had been at sunset a rich and handsome building,
everything wore its usual aspect. Even the Catholic gentry and
tradesmen, of whom there were many resident in different parts of the
City and its suburbs, had no fear for their lives or property, and
but little indignation for the wrong they had already sustained in
the plunder and destruction of their temples of worship. An honest
confidence in the government under whose protection they had lived for
many years, and a well-founded reliance on the good feeling and right
thinking of the great mass of the community, with whom, notwithstanding
their religious differences, they were every day in habits of
confidential, affectionate, and friendly intercourse, reassured them,
even under the excesses that had been committed; and convinced them that
they who were Protestants in anything but the name, were no more to
be considered as abettors of these disgraceful occurrences, than they
themselves were chargeable with the uses of the block, the rack, the
gibbet, and the stake in cruel Mary’s reign.
The clock was on the stroke of one, when Gabriel Varden, with his
lady and Miss Miggs, sat waiting in the little parlour. This fact; the
toppling wicks of the dull, wasted candles; the silence that prevailed;
and, above all, the nightcaps of both maid and matron, were sufficient
evidence that they had been prepared for bed some time ago, and had some
reason for sitting up so far beyond their usual hour.
If any other corroborative testimony had been required, it would have
been abundantly furnished in the actions of Miss Miggs, who, having
arrived at that restless state and sensitive condition of the nervous
system which are the result of long watching, did, by a constant rubbing
and tweaking of her nose, a perpetual change of position (arising from
the sudden growth of imaginary knots and knobs in her chair), a frequent
friction of her eyebrows, the incessant recurrence of a small cough, a
small groan, a gasp, a sigh, a sniff, a spasmodic start, and by other
demonstrations of that nature, so file down and rasp, as it were, the
patience of the locksmith, that after looking at her in silence for some
time, he at last broke out into this apostrophe:--
‘Miggs, my good girl, go to bed--do go to bed. You’re really worse
than the dripping of a hundred water-butts outside the window, or the
scratching of as many mice behind the wainscot. I can’t bear it. Do go
to bed, Miggs. To oblige me--do.’
‘You haven’t got nothing to untie, sir,’ returned Miss Miggs, ‘and
therefore your requests does not surprise me. But missis has--and
while you sit up, mim’--she added, turning to the locksmith’s wife,
‘I couldn’t, no, not if twenty times the quantity of cold water was
aperiently running down my back at this moment, go to bed with a quiet
spirit.’
Having spoken these words, Miss Miggs made divers efforts to rub her
shoulders in an impossible place, and shivered from head to foot;
thereby giving the beholders to understand that the imaginary cascade
was still in full flow, but that a sense of duty upheld her under that
and all other sufferings, and nerved her to endurance.
Mrs Varden being too sleepy to speak, and Miss Miggs having, as the
phrase is, said her say, the locksmith had nothing for it but to sigh
and be as quiet as he could.
But to be quiet with such a basilisk before him was impossible. If he
looked another way, it was worse to feel that she was rubbing her
cheek, or twitching her ear, or winking her eye, or making all kinds of
extraordinary shapes with her nose, than to see her do it. If she was
for a moment free from any of these complaints, it was only because of
her foot being asleep, or of her arm having got the fidgets, or of her
leg being doubled up with the cramp, or of some other horrible disorder
which racked her whole frame. If she did enjoy a moment’s ease, then
with her eyes shut and her mouth wide open, she would be seen to sit
very stiff and upright in her chair; then to nod a little way forward,
and stop with a jerk; then to nod a little farther forward, and stop
with another jerk; then to recover herself; then to come forward
again--lower--lower--lower--by very slow degrees, until, just as it
seemed impossible that she could preserve her balance for another
instant, and the locksmith was about to call out in an agony, to save
her from dashing down upon her forehead and fracturing her skull, then
all of a sudden and without the smallest notice, she would come upright
and rigid again with her eyes open, and in her countenance an expression
of defiance, sleepy but yet most obstinate, which plainly said, ‘I’ve
never once closed ‘em since I looked at you last, and I’ll take my oath
of it!’
At length, after the clock had struck two, there was a sound at the
street door, as if somebody had fallen against the knocker by accident.
Miss Miggs immediately jumping up and clapping her hands, cried with a
drowsy mingling of the sacred and profane, ‘Ally Looyer, mim! there’s
Simmuns’s knock!’
‘Who’s there?’ said Gabriel.
‘Me!’ cried the well-known voice of Mr Tappertit. Gabriel opened the
door, and gave him admission.
He did not cut a very insinuating figure, for a man of his stature
suffers in a crowd; and having been active in yesterday morning’s work,
his dress was literally crushed from head to foot: his hat being beaten
out of all shape, and his shoes trodden down at heel like slippers. His
coat fluttered in strips about him, the buckles were torn away both from
his knees and feet, half his neckerchief was gone, and the bosom of
his shirt was rent to tatters. Yet notwithstanding all these personal
disadvantages; despite his being very weak from heat and fatigue; and
so begrimed with mud and dust that he might have been in a case, for
anything of the real texture (either of his skin or apparel) that the
eye could discern; he stalked haughtily into the parlour, and throwing
himself into a chair, and endeavouring to thrust his hands into the
pockets of his small-clothes, which were turned inside out and displayed
upon his legs, like tassels, surveyed the household with a gloomy
dignity.
‘Simon,’ said the locksmith gravely, ‘how comes it that you return home
at this time of night, and in this condition? Give me an assurance that
you have not been among the rioters, and I am satisfied.’
‘Sir,’ replied Mr Tappertit, with a contemptuous look, ‘I wonder at YOUR
assurance in making such demands.’
‘You have been drinking,’ said the locksmith.
‘As a general principle, and in the most offensive sense of the words,
sir,’ returned his journeyman with great self-possession,
‘I consider you a liar. In that last observation you have
unintentionally--unintentionally, sir,--struck upon the truth.’
‘Martha,’ said the locksmith, turning to his wife, and shaking his head
sorrowfully, while a smile at the absurd figure beside him still played
upon his open face, ‘I trust it may turn out that this poor lad is not
the victim of the knaves and fools we have so often had words about, and
who have done so much harm to-day. If he has been at Warwick Street or
Duke Street to-night--’
‘He has been at neither, sir,’ cried Mr Tappertit in a loud voice, which
he suddenly dropped into a whisper as he repeated, with eyes fixed upon
the locksmith, ‘he has been at neither.’
‘I am glad of it, with all my heart,’ said the locksmith in a serious
tone; ‘for if he had been, and it could be proved against him, Martha,
your Great Association would have been to him the cart that draws men
to the gallows and leaves them hanging in the air. It would, as sure as
we’re alive!’
Mrs Varden was too much scared by Simon’s altered manner and appearance,
and by the accounts of the rioters which had reached her ears that
night, to offer any retort, or to have recourse to her usual matrimonial
policy. Miss Miggs wrung her hands, and wept.
‘He was not at Duke Street, or at Warwick Street, G. Varden,’ said
Simon, sternly; ‘but he WAS at Westminster. Perhaps, sir, he kicked a
county member, perhaps, sir, he tapped a lord--you may stare, sir, I
repeat it--blood flowed from noses, and perhaps he tapped a lord. Who
knows? This,’ he added, putting his hand into his waistcoat-pocket,
and taking out a large tooth, at the sight of which both Miggs and Mrs
Varden screamed, ‘this was a bishop’s. Beware, G. Varden!’
‘Now, I would rather,’ said the locksmith hastily, ‘have paid five
hundred pounds, than had this come to pass. You idiot, do you know what
peril you stand in?’
‘I know it, sir,’ replied his journeyman, ‘and it is my glory. I was
there, everybody saw me there. I was conspicuous, and prominent. I will
abide the consequences.’
The locksmith, really disturbed and agitated, paced to and fro in
silence--glancing at his former ‘prentice every now and then--and at
length stopping before him, said:
‘Get to bed, and sleep for a couple of hours that you may wake penitent,
and with some of your senses about you. Be sorry for what you have
done, and we will try to save you. If I call him by five o’clock,’ said
Varden, turning hurriedly to his wife, and he washes himself clean
and changes his dress, he may get to the Tower Stairs, and away by the
Gravesend tide-boat, before any search is made for him. From there he
can easily get on to Canterbury, where your cousin will give him
work till this storm has blown over. I am not sure that I do right in
screening him from the punishment he deserves, but he has lived in this
house, man and boy, for a dozen years, and I should be sorry if for this
one day’s work he made a miserable end. Lock the front-door, Miggs, and
show no light towards the street when you go upstairs. Quick, Simon! Get
to bed!’
‘And do you suppose, sir,’ retorted Mr Tappertit, with a thickness
and slowness of speech which contrasted forcibly with the rapidity and
earnestness of his kind-hearted master--‘and do you suppose, sir, that I
am base and mean enough to accept your servile proposition?--Miscreant!’
‘Whatever you please, Sim, but get to bed. Every minute is of
consequence. The light here, Miggs!’
‘Yes yes, oh do! Go to bed directly,’ cried the two women together.
Mr Tappertit stood upon his feet, and pushing his chair away to show
that he needed no assistance, answered, swaying himself to and fro, and
managing his head as if it had no connection whatever with his body:
‘You spoke of Miggs, sir--Miggs may be smothered!’
‘Oh Simmun!’ ejaculated that young lady in a faint voice. ‘Oh mim! Oh
sir! Oh goodness gracious, what a turn he has give me!’
‘This family may ALL be smothered, sir,’ returned Mr Tappertit, after
glancing at her with a smile of ineffable disdain, ‘excepting Mrs V.
I have come here, sir, for her sake, this night. Mrs Varden, take this
piece of paper. It’s a protection, ma’am. You may need it.’
With these words he held out at arm’s length, a dirty, crumpled scrap of
writing. The locksmith took it from him, opened it, and read as follows:
‘All good friends to our cause, I hope will be particular, and do no
injury to the property of any true Protestant. I am well assured that
the proprietor of this house is a staunch and worthy friend to the
cause.
GEORGE GORDON.’
‘What’s this!’ said the locksmith, with an altered face.
‘Something that’ll do you good service, young feller,’ replied his
journeyman, ‘as you’ll find. Keep that safe, and where you can lay your
hand upon it in an instant. And chalk “No Popery” on your door to-morrow
night, and for a week to come--that’s all.’
‘This is a genuine document,’ said the locksmith, ‘I know, for I have
seen the hand before. What threat does it imply? What devil is abroad?’
‘A fiery devil,’ retorted Sim; ‘a flaming, furious devil. Don’t you put
yourself in its way, or you’re done for, my buck. Be warned in time, G.
Varden. Farewell!’
But here the two women threw themselves in his way--especially Miss
Miggs, who fell upon him with such fervour that she pinned him against
the wall--and conjured him in moving words not to go forth till he was
sober; to listen to reason; to think of it; to take some rest, and then
determine.
‘I tell you,’ said Mr Tappertit, ‘that my mind is made up. My bleeding
country calls me and I go! Miggs, if you don’t get out of the way, I’ll
pinch you.’
Miss Miggs, still clinging to the rebel, screamed once vociferously--but
whether in the distraction of her mind, or because of his having
executed his threat, is uncertain.
‘Release me,’ said Simon, struggling to free himself from her chaste,
but spider-like embrace. ‘Let me go! I have made arrangements for you in
an altered state of society, and mean to provide for you comfortably in
life--there! Will that satisfy you?’
‘Oh Simmun!’ cried Miss Miggs. ‘Oh my blessed Simmun! Oh mim! what are
my feelings at this conflicting moment!’
Of a rather turbulent description, it would seem; for her nightcap
had been knocked off in the scuffle, and she was on her knees upon
the floor, making a strange revelation of blue and yellow curl-papers,
straggling locks of hair, tags of staylaces, and strings of it’s
impossible to say what; panting for breath, clasping her hands, turning
her eyes upwards, shedding abundance of tears, and exhibiting various
other symptoms of the acutest mental suffering.
‘I leave,’ said Simon, turning to his master, with an utter disregard of
Miggs’s maidenly affliction, ‘a box of things upstairs. Do what you
like with ‘em. I don’t want ‘em. I’m never coming back here, any more.
Provide yourself, sir, with a journeyman; I’m my country’s journeyman;
henceforward that’s MY line of business.’
‘Be what you like in two hours’ time, but now go up to bed,’ returned
the locksmith, planting himself in the doorway. ‘Do you hear me? Go to
bed!’
‘I hear you, and defy you, Varden,’ rejoined Simon Tappertit. ‘This
night, sir, I have been in the country, planning an expedition which
shall fill your bell-hanging soul with wonder and dismay. The plot
demands my utmost energy. Let me pass!’
‘I’ll knock you down if you come near the door,’ replied the locksmith.
‘You had better go to bed!’
Simon made no answer, but gathering himself up as straight as he could,
plunged head foremost at his old master, and the two went driving out
into the workshop together, plying their hands and feet so briskly that
they looked like half-a-dozen, while Miggs and Mrs Varden screamed for
twelve.
It would have been easy for Varden to knock his old ‘prentice down,
and bind him hand and foot; but as he was loth to hurt him in his then
defenceless state, he contented himself with parrying his blows when he
could, taking them in perfect good part when he could not, and keeping
between him and the door, until a favourable opportunity should present
itself for forcing him to retreat up-stairs, and shutting him up in his
own room. But, in the goodness of his heart, he calculated too much upon
his adversary’s weakness, and forgot that drunken men who have lost
the power of walking steadily, can often run. Watching his time, Simon
Tappertit made a cunning show of falling back, staggered unexpectedly
forward, brushed past him, opened the door (he knew the trick of that
lock well), and darted down the street like a mad dog. The locksmith
paused for a moment in the excess of his astonishment, and then gave
chase.
It was an excellent season for a run, for at that silent hour the
streets were deserted, the air was cool, and the flying figure before
him distinctly visible at a great distance, as it sped away, with a long
gaunt shadow following at its heels. But the short-winded locksmith had
no chance against a man of Sim’s youth and spare figure, though the day
had been when he could have run him down in no time. The space between
them rapidly increased, and as the rays of the rising sun streamed upon
Simon in the act of turning a distant corner, Gabriel Varden was fain
to give up, and sit down on a doorstep to fetch his breath. Simon
meanwhile, without once stopping, fled at the same degree of swiftness
to The Boot, where, as he well knew, some of his company were lying,
and at which respectable hostelry--for he had already acquired the
distinction of being in great peril of the law--a friendly watch had
been expecting him all night, and was even now on the look-out for his
coming.
‘Go thy ways, Sim, go thy ways,’ said the locksmith, as soon as he could
speak. ‘I have done my best for thee, poor lad, and would have saved
thee, but the rope is round thy neck, I fear.’
So saying, and shaking his head in a very sorrowful and disconsolate
manner, he turned back, and soon re-entered his own house, where Mrs
Varden and the faithful Miggs had been anxiously expecting his return.
Now Mrs Varden (and by consequence Miss Miggs likewise) was impressed
with a secret misgiving that she had done wrong; that she had, to the
utmost of her small means, aided and abetted the growth of disturbances,
the end of which it was impossible to foresee; that she had led remotely
to the scene which had just passed; and that the locksmith’s time for
triumph and reproach had now arrived indeed. And so strongly did Mrs
Varden feel this, and so crestfallen was she in consequence, that while
her husband was pursuing their lost journeyman, she secreted under her
chair the little red-brick dwelling-house with the yellow roof, lest it
should furnish new occasion for reference to the painful theme; and now
hid the same still more, with the skirts of her dress.
But it happened that the locksmith had been thinking of this very
article on his way home, and that, coming into the room and not seeing
it, he at once demanded where it was.
Mrs Varden had no resource but to produce it, which she did with many
tears, and broken protestations that if she could have known--
‘Yes, yes,’ said Varden, ‘of course--I know that. I don’t mean to
reproach you, my dear. But recollect from this time that all good things
perverted to evil purposes, are worse than those which are naturally
bad. A thoroughly wicked woman, is wicked indeed. When religion goes
wrong, she is very wrong, for the same reason. Let us say no more about
it, my dear.’
So he dropped the red-brick dwelling-house on the floor, and setting his
heel upon it, crushed it into pieces. The halfpence, and sixpences,
and other voluntary contributions, rolled about in all directions, but
nobody offered to touch them, or to take them up.
‘That,’ said the locksmith, ‘is easily disposed of, and I would to
Heaven that everything growing out of the same society could be settled
as easily.’
‘It happens very fortunately, Varden,’ said his wife, with her
handkerchief to her eyes, ‘that in case any more disturbances should
happen--which I hope not; I sincerely hope not--’
‘I hope so too, my dear.’
‘--That in case any should occur, we have the piece of paper which that
poor misguided young man brought.’
‘Ay, to be sure,’ said the locksmith, turning quickly round. ‘Where is
that piece of paper?’
Mrs Varden stood aghast as he took it from her outstretched hand, tore
it into fragments, and threw them under the grate.
‘Not use it?’ she said.
‘Use it!’ cried the locksmith. No! Let them come and pull the roof about
our ears; let them burn us out of house and home; I’d neither have the
protection of their leader, nor chalk their howl upon my door, though,
for not doing it, they shot me on my own threshold. Use it! Let them
come and do their worst. The first man who crosses my doorstep on such
an errand as theirs, had better be a hundred miles away. Let him look to
it. The others may have their will. I wouldn’t beg or buy them off, if,
instead of every pound of iron in the place, there was a hundred weight
of gold. Get you to bed, Martha. I shall take down the shutters and go
to work.’
‘So early!’ said his wife.
‘Ay,’ replied the locksmith cheerily, ‘so early. Come when they may,
they shall not find us skulking and hiding, as if we feared to take our
portion of the light of day, and left it all to them. So pleasant dreams
to you, my dear, and cheerful sleep!’
With that he gave his wife a hearty kiss, and bade her delay no longer,
or it would be time to rise before she lay down to rest. Mrs Varden
quite amiably and meekly walked upstairs, followed by Miggs, who,
although a good deal subdued, could not refrain from sundry stimulative
coughs and sniffs by the way, or from holding up her hands in
astonishment at the daring conduct of master.