Fleet Street. The wind whistling down the river lanes and moaning
through the courts. The night far advanced, and a thin section of the
moon rising behind the distant cathedral. Stars bright, and sparkling
like diamonds through the keen frosty air. The gas within the lamps
quivering in the chilling draught, and the policeman passing a figure
cowering in a dark alley near Temple-bar. The warder of the night
passes, and a single vehicle rattles by directly after, the horse's
breath rising like a vapour; and then wheels and footsteps gradually
fade upon the ear as they pass, echoing down the long street. The
bareheaded, coatless figure emerges from its concealment, and looks
around. All still as death, and no eye upon its actions but the stars
of heaven, as it were, spirits looking down to chronicle what passed.
The rattling of a shutter bar--the grating noise as of iron upon iron,
mingled with the crackling of woodwork; the figure wrenching and tearing
with maniacal fury at the firm fastenings, while huge drops of sweat
roll down his face. More resistance; more noise; but the figure,
straining with the might of a giant, again and again, till the iron
snaps in the frosty air; and then, wrenched out by its protecting bar,
an iron-sheeted shutter lies upon the pavement. To dash in the thick
glass, and, with bleeding hands, to seize watches, chains, trays of
rings, and sparkling jewels, and force them into a bag, is but the work
of a few moments, and, grasping with both hands all that he can clutch,
the figure turns to flee, just as the sharp report of a pistol rings
from the interior of the shop. The glass shivers, but the figure is
untouched, and grasping the stolen treasure, darts along the pavement,
hardly avoiding the blow aimed at him by a policeman. Away down the
well-lit street, followed by sounds that lend speed to the enfeebled
frame, for, joined to the shouts of the alarmed inmates of the house,
the policeman's rattle sends its harsh whirring alarm-notes through the
still night air. Onward, clutching the booty to his breast, and panting
as the pursuing steps sound fainter; a race for more than life, and the
street nearly passed, when another enemy darts from a side court, and
grasps the fugitive's arm. There is a sharp struggle for a few moments,
and the policeman falls, stricken to the ground by an iron bar, and the
figure dashes on again. But the alarm has spread as he turns down
Bridge Street, where the sharp air seems to numb the limbs of the
runner. Battle after rattle and shrill whistles are heard, and the
figure stands for a moment undecided, wiping the half-frozen drops from
his brow. Again onward, with enemies springing up on all sides, and
shouts ringing in his ears; panting up the steep slope of the old
bridge, but at the top two more enemies. Beaten, wearied, fainting; no
hope; escape closed; prison; felon's dock; transportation; a starving
wife and children; and a dishonoured name--all crowding thoughts,
rushing to the brain to add anguish to the moment, as, still clutching
his ill-gotten booty, the despairing wretch, with a last look around,
climbs the heavy stone balustrade, gives one wild shriek, and parts the
air in a plunge down into the dark abyss of rushing waters. The waters
part to receive him in their cold embrace, and then the struggle for
life--for breath--above water--borne away by the swirling eddies, and
dashed against the sharp buttress; gliding along by the slimy stone, and
hurried through the arch, to be caught by the back eddy, and swept into
still water, and borne down by the heavy booty. One glance at the
bright stars, with the stream bubbling at his mouth; arms failing with
beating the waves; and then the tide roaring in the drowning wretch's
ears, spreading his long hair for a moment upon the surface, and then
closing above his head--the concentric rings swept away, and all cold,
dark, and familiar once more--the gas in the court shining up through
the window upon the ceiling, and wife and children asleep upon the
floor.
Cold and stiff, Hez staggered to his feet; a heavy dew was upon his
brow; a deep groan burst from his breast; and, sinking upon his knees,
he covered his haggard face with his hands, and, by the side of his
sleeping ones, a prayer of thankfulness welled forth from the depths of
his heart that it was but a dream. Overwrought nature could bear no
more, and at last, sinking beside his sleeping wife, that happy
oblivion, given alike to rich and poor, closed his eyes once more in
rest.