The three worthies turned their faces towards The Boot, with the
intention of passing the night in that place of rendezvous, and of
seeking the repose they so much needed in the shelter of their old
den; for now that the mischief and destruction they had purposed were
achieved, and their prisoners were safely bestowed for the night, they
began to be conscious of exhaustion, and to feel the wasting effects of
the madness which had led to such deplorable results.
Notwithstanding the lassitude and fatigue which oppressed him now, in
common with his two companions, and indeed with all who had taken an
active share in that night’s work, Hugh’s boisterous merriment broke out
afresh whenever he looked at Simon Tappertit, and vented itself--much to
that gentleman’s indignation--in such shouts of laughter as bade fair to
bring the watch upon them, and involve them in a skirmish, to which in
their present worn-out condition they might prove by no means equal.
Even Mr Dennis, who was not at all particular on the score of gravity
or dignity, and who had a great relish for his young friend’s eccentric
humours, took occasion to remonstrate with him on this imprudent
behaviour, which he held to be a species of suicide, tantamount to a
man’s working himself off without being overtaken by the law, than which
he could imagine nothing more ridiculous or impertinent.
Not abating one jot of his noisy mirth for these remonstrances, Hugh
reeled along between them, having an arm of each, until they hove in
sight of The Boot, and were within a field or two of that convenient
tavern. He happened by great good luck to have roared and shouted
himself into silence by this time. They were proceeding onward without
noise, when a scout who had been creeping about the ditches all night,
to warn any stragglers from encroaching further on what was now such
dangerous ground, peeped cautiously from his hiding-place, and called to
them to stop.
‘Stop! and why?’ said Hugh.
Because (the scout replied) the house was filled with constables and
soldiers; having been surprised that afternoon. The inmates had fled
or been taken into custody, he could not say which. He had prevented a
great many people from approaching nearer, and he believed they had
gone to the markets and such places to pass the night. He had seen the
distant fires, but they were all out now. He had heard the people who
passed and repassed, speaking of them too, and could report that the
prevailing opinion was one of apprehension and dismay. He had not heard
a word of Barnaby--didn’t even know his name--but it had been said in
his hearing that some man had been taken and carried off to Newgate.
Whether this was true or false, he could not affirm.
The three took counsel together, on hearing this, and debated what it
might be best to do. Hugh, deeming it possible that Barnaby was in the
hands of the soldiers, and at that moment under detention at The Boot,
was for advancing stealthily, and firing the house; but his companions,
who objected to such rash measures unless they had a crowd at their
backs, represented that if Barnaby were taken he had assuredly been
removed to a stronger prison; they would never have dreamed of keeping
him all night in a place so weak and open to attack. Yielding to this
reasoning, and to their persuasions, Hugh consented to turn back and
to repair to Fleet Market; for which place, it seemed, a few of their
boldest associates had shaped their course, on receiving the same
intelligence.
Feeling their strength recruited and their spirits roused, now that
there was a new necessity for action, they hurried away, quite forgetful
of the fatigue under which they had been sinking but a few minutes
before; and soon arrived at their new place of destination.
Fleet Market, at that time, was a long irregular row of wooden sheds
and penthouses, occupying the centre of what is now called Farringdon
Street. They were jumbled together in a most unsightly fashion, in the
middle of the road; to the great obstruction of the thoroughfare and the
annoyance of passengers, who were fain to make their way, as they best
could, among carts, baskets, barrows, trucks, casks, bulks, and benches,
and to jostle with porters, hucksters, waggoners, and a motley crowd
of buyers, sellers, pick-pockets, vagrants, and idlers. The air was
perfumed with the stench of rotten leaves and faded fruit; the refuse of
the butchers’ stalls, and offal and garbage of a hundred kinds. It
was indispensable to most public conveniences in those days, that they
should be public nuisances likewise; and Fleet Market maintained the
principle to admiration.
To this place, perhaps because its sheds and baskets were a tolerable
substitute for beds, or perhaps because it afforded the means of a hasty
barricade in case of need, many of the rioters had straggled, not only
that night, but for two or three nights before. It was now broad day,
but the morning being cold, a group of them were gathered round a fire
in a public-house, drinking hot purl, and smoking pipes, and planning
new schemes for to-morrow.
Hugh and his two friends being known to most of these men, were received
with signal marks of approbation, and inducted into the most honourable
seats. The room-door was closed and fastened to keep intruders at a
distance, and then they proceeded to exchange news.
‘The soldiers have taken possession of The Boot, I hear,’ said Hugh.
‘Who knows anything about it?’
Several cried that they did; but the majority of the company having
been engaged in the assault upon the Warren, and all present having been
concerned in one or other of the night’s expeditions, it proved that
they knew no more than Hugh himself; having been merely warned by each
other, or by the scout, and knowing nothing of their own knowledge.
‘We left a man on guard there to-day,’ said Hugh, looking round him,
‘who is not here. You know who it is--Barnaby, who brought the soldier
down, at Westminster. Has any man seen or heard of him?’
They shook their heads, and murmured an answer in the negative, as each
man looked round and appealed to his fellow; when a noise was heard
without, and a man was heard to say that he wanted Hugh--that he must
see Hugh.
‘He is but one man,’ cried Hugh to those who kept the door; ‘let him
come in.’
‘Ay, ay!’ muttered the others. ‘Let him come in. Let him come in.’
The door was accordingly unlocked and opened. A one-armed man, with
his head and face tied up with a bloody cloth, as though he had been
severely beaten, his clothes torn, and his remaining hand grasping a
thick stick, rushed in among them, and panting for breath, demanded
which was Hugh.
‘Here he is,’ replied the person he inquired for. ‘I am Hugh. What do
you want with me?’
‘I have a message for you,’ said the man. ‘You know one Barnaby.’
‘What of him? Did he send the message?’
‘Yes. He’s taken. He’s in one of the strong cells in Newgate. He
defended himself as well as he could, but was overpowered by numbers.
That’s his message.’
‘When did you see him?’ asked Hugh, hastily.
‘On his way to prison, where he was taken by a party of soldiers. They
took a by-road, and not the one we expected. I was one of the few who
tried to rescue him, and he called to me, and told me to tell Hugh where
he was. We made a good struggle, though it failed. Look here!’
He pointed to his dress and to his bandaged head, and still panting for
breath, glanced round the room; then faced towards Hugh again.
‘I know you by sight,’ he said, ‘for I was in the crowd on Friday, and
on Saturday, and yesterday, but I didn’t know your name. You’re a bold
fellow, I know. So is he. He fought like a lion tonight, but it was of
no use. I did my best, considering that I want this limb.’
Again he glanced inquisitively round the room or seemed to do so, for
his face was nearly hidden by the bandage--and again facing sharply
towards Hugh, grasped his stick as if he half expected to be set upon,
and stood on the defensive.
If he had any such apprehension, however, he was speedily reassured by
the demeanour of all present. None thought of the bearer of the tidings.
He was lost in the news he brought. Oaths, threats, and execrations,
were vented on all sides. Some cried that if they bore this tamely,
another day would see them all in jail; some, that they should have
rescued the other prisoners, and this would not have happened. One man
cried in a loud voice, ‘Who’ll follow me to Newgate!’ and there was a
loud shout and general rush towards the door.
But Hugh and Dennis stood with their backs against it, and kept them
back, until the clamour had so far subsided that their voices could be
heard, when they called to them together that to go now, in broad day,
would be madness; and that if they waited until night and arranged a
plan of attack, they might release, not only their own companions, but
all the prisoners, and burn down the jail.
‘Not that jail alone,’ cried Hugh, ‘but every jail in London. They shall
have no place to put their prisoners in. We’ll burn them all down; make
bonfires of them every one! Here!’ he cried, catching at the hangman’s
hand. ‘Let all who’re men here, join with us. Shake hands upon it.
Barnaby out of jail, and not a jail left standing! Who joins?’
Every man there. And they swore a great oath to release their friends
from Newgate next night; to force the doors and burn the jail; or perish
in the fire themselves.