Monday, the 31st of August 1724,--a day long afterwards remembered by
the officers of Newgate,--was distinguished by an unusual influx of
visitors to the Lodge. On that morning the death warrant had arrived
from Windsor, ordering Sheppard for execution, (since his capture
by Jonathan Wild in Bedlam, as related in a former chapter, Jack had
been tried, convicted, and sentenced to death,) together with three
other malefactors on the following Friday. Up to this moment, hopes
had been entertained of a respite, strong representations in his
favour having been made in the highest quarter; but now that his fate
seemed sealed, the curiosity of the sight-seeing public to behold him
was redoubled. The prison gates were besieged like the entrance of a
booth at a fair; and the Condemned Hold where he was confined, and to
which visitors were admitted at the moderate rate of a guinea a-head,
had quite the appearance of a showroom. As the day wore on, the
crowds diminished,--many who would not submit to the turnkey's
demands were sent away ungratified,--and at five o'clock, only two
strangers, Mr. Shotbolt, the head turnkey of Clerkenwell Prison, and
Mr. Griffin, who held the same office in Westminster Gatehouse were
left in the Lodge. Jack, who had formerly been in the custody of both
these gentlemen, gave them a very cordial welcome; apologized for the
sorry room he was compelled to receive them in; and when they took
leave, insisted on treating them to a double bowl of punch, which
they were now discussing with the upper jailer, Mr. Ireton, and his
two satellites, Austin and Langley. At a little distance from the
party, sat a tall, sinister-looking personage, with harsh inflexible
features, a gaunt but muscular frame, and large bony hands. He was
sipping a glass of cold gin and water, and smoking a short black
pipe. His name was Marvel, and his avocation, which was as repulsive
as his looks, was that of public executioner. By his side sat a
remarkably stout dame, to whom he paid as much attention as it was
in his iron nature to pay. She had a nut-brown skin, a swarthy
upper lip, a merry black eye, a prominent bust, and a tun-like
circumference of waist. A widow for the fourth time, Mrs. Spurling,
(for she it was,) either by her attractions of purse or person, had
succeeded in moving the stony heart of Mr. Marvel, who, as he had
helped to deprive her of her former husbands, thought himself in duty
bound to offer to supply their place. But the lady was not so easily
won; and though she did not absolutely reject him, gave him very
slight hopes. Mr. Marvel, therefore, remained on his probation.
Behind Mrs. Spurling stood her negro attendant, Caliban; a hideous,
misshapen, malicious monster, with broad hunched shoulders, a flat
nose, and ears like those of a wild beast, a head too large for
his body, and a body too long for his legs. This horrible piece of
deformity, who acted as drawer and cellarman, and was a constant
butt to the small wits of the jail, was nicknamed the Black Dog of
Newgate.
In the general survey of the prison, taken in the preceding chapter,
but little was said of the Lodge. It may be well, therefore, before
proceeding farther, to describe it more minutely. It was approached
from the street by a flight of broad stone steps, leading to a
ponderous door, plated with iron, and secured on the inner side by
huge bolts, and a lock, with wards of a prodigious size. A little
within stood a second door, or rather wicket, lower than the first,
but of equal strength, and surmounted by a row of sharp spikes. As no
apprehension was entertained of an escape by this outlet,--nothing of
the kind having been attempted by the boldest felon ever incarcerated
in Newgate,--both doors were generally left open during the daytime.
At six o'clock, the wicket was shut; and at nine, the jail was
altogether locked up. Not far from the entrance, on the left, was
a sort of screen, or partition-wall, reaching from the floor to the
ceiling, formed of thick oaken planks riveted together by iron bolts,
and studded with broad-headed nails. In this screen, which masked
the entrance of a dark passage communicating with the Condemned
Hold, about five feet from the ground, was a hatch, protected by
long spikes set six inches apart, and each of the thickness of an
elephant's tusk. The spikes almost touched the upper part of the
hatch: scarcely space enough for the passage of a hand being
left between their points and the beam. Here, as has already been
observed, condemned malefactors were allowed to converse with such of
their guests as had not interest or money enough to procure admission
to them in the hold. Beyond the hatch, an angle, formed by a
projection in the wall of some three or four feet, served to hide a
door conducting to the interior of the prison. At the farther end of
the Lodge, the floor was raised to the height of a couple of steps;
whence the whole place, with the exception of the remotest corner of
the angle before-mentioned, could be commanded at a single glance. On
this elevation a table was now placed, around which sat the turnkeys
and their guests, regaling themselves on the fragrant beverage
provided by the prisoner. A brief description will suffice for
them. They were all stout ill-favoured men, attired in the regular
jail-livery of scratch wig and snuff-coloured suit; and had all a
strong family likeness to each other. The only difference between the
officers of Newgate and their brethren was, that they had enormous
bunches of keys at their girdles, while the latter had left their
keys at home.
“Well, I've seen many a gallant fellow in my time, Mr. Ireton,”
observed the chief turnkey of Westminster Gatehouse, as he helped
himself to his third glass of punch; “but I never saw one like Jack
Sheppard.”
“Nor I,” returned Ireton, following his example: “and I've had some
experience too. Ever since he came here, three months ago, he has
been the life and soul of the place; and now the death warrant has
arrived, instead of being cast down, as most men would be, and as all
others _are_, he's gayer than ever. Well, _I_ shall be sorry to lose
him, Mr. Griffin. We've made a pretty penny by him--sixty guineas
this blessed day.”
“No more!” cried Griffin, incredulously; “I should have thought you
must have made double that sum at least.”
“Not a farthing more, I assure you,” rejoined Ireton, pettishly;
“we're all on the square here. I took the money myself, and _ought_
to know.”
“Oh! certainly,” answered Griffin; “certainly.”
“I offered Jack five guineas as his share,” continued Ireton; “but he
wouldn't take it himself, and gave it to the poor debtors and felons,
who are now drinking it out in the cellar on the Common Side.”
“Jack's a noble fellow,” exclaimed the head-jailer of Clerkenwell
Prison, raising his glass; “and, though he played me a scurvy trick,
I'll drink to his speedy deliverance.”
“At Tyburn, eh, Mr. Shotbolt?” rejoined the executioner. “I'll pledge
you in that toast with all my heart.”
“Well, for my part,” observed Mrs. Spurling, “I hope he may never see
Tyburn. And, if I'd my own way with the Secretary of State, he never
_should_. It's a thousand pities to hang so pretty a fellow. There
haven't been so many ladies in the Lodge since the days of Claude Du
Val, the gentleman highwayman; and they all declare it'll break their
hearts if he's scragged.”
“Bah!” ejaculated Marvel, gruffly.
“You think our sex has no feeling, I suppose, Sir,” cried Mrs.
Spurling, indignantly; “but I can tell you we have. And, what's more,
I tell you, if Captain Sheppard _is_ hanged, you need never hope to
call _me_ Mrs. Marvel.”
“'Zounds!” cried the executioner, in astonishment. “Do you know what
you are talking about, Mrs. Spurling? Why, if Captain Sheppard should
get off, it 'ud be fifty guineas out of my way. There's the
grand laced coat he wore at his trial, which I intend for my
wedding-dress.”
“Don't mention such a thing, Sir,” interrupted the tapstress. “I
couldn't bear to see you in it. Your speaking of the trial brings the
whole scene to my mind. Ah! I shall never forget the figure Jack cut
on that occasion. What a buzz of admiration ran round the court as
he appeared! And, how handsome and composed he looked! Everybody
wondered that such a stripling could commit such desperate robberies.
His firmness never deserted him till his old master, Mr. Wood,
was examined. Then he _did_ give way a bit. And when Mr. Wood's
daughter,--to whom, I've heard tell, he was attached years ago,--was
brought up, his courage forsook him altogether, and he trembled, and
could scarcely stand. Poor young lady! _She_ trembled too, and was
unable to give her evidence. When sentence was passed there wasn't a
dry eye in the court.”
“Yes, there was one,” observed Ireton.
“I guess who you mean,” rejoined Shotbolt. “Mr. Wild's.”
“Right,” answered Ireton. “It's strange the antipathy he bears to
Sheppard. I was standing near Jack at that awful moment, and beheld
the look Wild fixed on him. It was like the grin of a fiend, and made
my flesh creep on my bones. When the prisoner was removed from the
dock, we met Jonathan as we passed through the yard. He stopped us,
and, addressing Jack in a taunting tone, said, 'Well, I've been as
good as my word!'--'True,' replied Sheppard; 'and I'll be as good as
mine!' And so they parted.”
“And I hope he will, if it's anything to Jonathan's disadvantage,”
muttered Mrs. Spurling, half aside.
“I'm surprised Mr. Wild hasn't been to inquire after him to-day,”
observed Langley; “it's the first time he's missed doing so since the
trial.”
“He's gone to Enfield after Blueskin, who has so long eluded his
vigilance,” rejoined Austin. “Quilt Arnold called this morning to say
so. Certain information, it seems, has been received from a female,
that Blueskin would be at a flash-ken near the Chase at five o'clock
to-day, and they're all set out in the expectation of nabbing him.”
“Mr. Wild had a narrow escape lately, in that affair of Captain
Darrell,” observed Shotbolt.
“I don't exactly know the rights of that affair,” rejoined Griffin,
with some curiosity.
“Nor any one else, I suspect,” answered Ireton, winking
significantly. “It's a mysterious transaction altogether. But, as
much as is known is this: Captain Darrell, who resides with Mr. Wood
at Dollis Hill, was assaulted and half-killed by a party of ruffians,
headed, he swore, by Mr. Wild, and his uncle, Sir Rowland Trenchard.
Mr. Wild, however, proved, on the evidence of his own servants, that
he was at the Old Bailey at the time; and Sir Rowland proved that
_he_ was in Manchester. So the charge was dismissed. Another charge
was then brought against them by the Captain, who accused them of
kidnapping him when a boy, and placing him in the hands of a
Dutch skipper, named Van Galgebrok, with instructions to throw him
overboard, which was done, though he afterwards escaped. But this
accusation, for want of sufficient evidence, met with the same fate
as the first, and Jonathan came off victorious. It was thought,
however, if the skipper _could_ have been found, that the result of
the case would have been materially different. This was rather too
much to expect; for we all know, if Mr. Wild wishes to keep a man out
of the way, he'll speedily find the means to do so.”
“Ay, ay,” cried the jailers, laughing.
“_I_ could have given awkward evidence in that case, if I'd been so
inclined,” said Mrs. Spurling, “ay and found Van Galgebrok too. But I
never betray an old customer.”
“Mr. Wild is a great man,” said the hangman, replenishing his pipe,
“and we owe him much, and ought to support him. Were any thing to
happen to him, Newgate wouldn't be what it is, nor Tyburn either.”
“Mr. Wild has given you some employment, Mr. Marvel,” remarked
Shotbolt.
“A little, Sir,” replied the executioner, with a grim smile.
“Out of the twelve hundred subjects I've tucked up, I may safely
place half to his account. If ever he requires my services, he shall
find I'm not ungrateful. And though I say it that shouldn't say it,
no man can tie a better knot. Mr. Wild, gentlemen, and the nubbin'
cheat.”
“Fill your glasses, gentlemen,” observed Ireton, “and I'll tell you
a droll thing Jack said this morning. Amongst others who came to see
him, was a Mr. Kneebone, a woollen-draper in Wych Street, with whose
pockets, it appears, Jack, when a lad, made a little too free. As
this gentleman was going away, he said to Jack in a jesting manner,
'that he should be glad to see him to-night at supper.' Upon which
the other answered, 'that he accepted his invitation with pleasure,
and would make a point of waiting upon him,' Ha! ha! ha!”
“_Did_ he say so?” cried Shotbolt. “Then I advise you to look sharply
after him, Mr. Ireton; for may I be hanged myself if I don't believe
he'll be as good as his word.”
At this juncture, two women, very smartly attired in silk hoods and
cloaks, appeared at the door of the Lodge.
“Ah! who have we here?” exclaimed Griffin.
“Only Jack's two wives--Edgeworth Bess and Poll Maggot,” replied
Austin, laughing.
“They can't go into the Condemned Hold,” said Ireton,
consequentially; “it's against Mr. Wild's orders. They must see the
prisoner at the hatch.”
“Very well, Sir,” replied Austin, rising and walking towards them.
“Well, my pretty dears,” he added, “--to see your husband, eh? You
must make the most of your time. You won't have him long. You've
heard the news, I suppose?”
“That the death warrant's arrived,” returned Edgeworth Bess, bursting
into a flood of tears; “oh, yes! we've heard it.”
“How does Jack bear it?” inquired Mrs. Maggot.
“Like a hero,” answered Austin.
“I knew he would,” replied the Amazon. “Come Bess,--no whimpering.
Don't unman him. Are we to see him here?”
“Yes, my love.”
“Well, then, lose no time in bringing him to us,” said Mrs. Maggot.
“There's a guinea to drink our health,” she added, slipping a piece
of money into his hand.
“Here, Caliban,” shouted the under-turnkey, “unlock Captain
Sheppard's padlock, and tell him his wives are in the Lodge waiting
to see him.”
“Iss, Massa Austin,” replied the black. And taking the keys, he
departed on the errand.
As soon as he was gone, the two women divested themselves of their
hoods and cloaks, and threw them, as if inadvertently, into
the farthest part of the angle in the wall. Their beautifully
proportioned figures and rather over-displayed shoulders attracted
the notice of Austin, who inquired of the chief turnkey “whether he
should stand by them during the interview?”
“Oh! never mind them,” said Mrs. Spurling, who had been hastily
compounding another bowl of punch. “Sit down, and enjoy yourself.
I'll keep a look out that nothing happens.”
By this time Caliban had returned, and Jack appeared at the hatch.
He was wrapped in a loose dressing-gown of light material, and stood
near the corner where the women's dresses had just been thrown down,
quite out of sight of all the party, except Mrs. Spurling, who sat on
the right of the table.
“Have you got Jonathan out of the way?” he asked, in an eager
whisper.
“Yes, yes,” replied Edgeworth Bess. “Patience Kite has lured him
to Enfield on a false scent after Blueskin. You need fear no
interruption from him, or any of his myrmidons.”
“That's well!” cried Jack. “Now stand before me, Poll. I've got the
watch-spring saw in my sleeve. Pretend to weep both of you as loudly
as you can. This spike is more than half cut through. I was at work
at it yesterday and the day before. Keep up the clamour for five
minutes, and I'll finish it.”
Thus urged, the damsels began to raise their voices in loud
lamentation.
“What the devil are you howling about?” cried Langley. “Do you think
we are to be disturbed in this way? Make less noise, hussies, or I'll
turn you out of the Lodge.”
“For shame, Mr. Langley,” rejoined Mrs. Spurling: “I blush for you,
Sir! To call yourself a man, and interfere with the natural course
of affection! Have you no feeling for the situation of those poor
disconsolate creatures, about to be bereaved of all they hold dear?
Is it nothing to part with a husband to the gallows? I've lost four
in the same way, and know what it is.” Here she began to blubber
loudly for sympathy.
“Comfort yourself, my charmer,” said Mr. Marvel, in a tone intended
to be consolatory. “I'll be their substitute.”
“_You!_” cried the tapstress, with a look of horror: “Never!”
“Confusion!” muttered Jack, suddenly pausing in his task, “the saw
has broken just as I am through the spike.”
“Can't we break it off?” replied Mrs. Maggot.
“I fear not,” replied Jack, despondingly.
“Let's try, at all events,” returned the Amazon.
And grasping the thick iron rod, she pushed with all her force
against it, while Jack seconded her efforts from within. After
great exertions on both parts, the spike yielded to their combined
strength, and snapped suddenly off.
“Holloa--what's that?” cried Austin, starting up.
“Only my darbies,” returned Jack, clinking his chains.
“Oh! that was all, was it?” said the turnkey, quietly reseating
himself.
“Now, give me the woollen cloth to tie round my fetters,” whispered
Sheppard. “Quick.”
“Here it is,” replied Edgeworth Bess.
“Give me your hand, Poll, to help me through,” cried Jack, as he
accomplished the operation. “Keep a sharp look out, Bess.”
“Stop!” interposed Edgeworth Bess; “Mr. Langley is getting up, and
coming this way. We're lost.”
“Help me through at all hazards, Poll,” cried Jack, straining towards
the opening.
“The danger's past,” whispered Bess. “Mrs. Spurling has induced him
to sit down again. Ah! she looks this way, and puts her finger to her
lips. She comprehends what we're about. We're all safe!”
“Don't lose a moment then,” cried Jack, forcing himself into the
aperture, while the Amazon, assisted by Bess, pulled him through it.
[Illustration: 303]
“There!” cried Mrs. Maggot, as she placed him without noise upon the
ground; “you're safe so far.”
“Come, my disconsolate darlings,” cried Austin, “it only wants five
minutes to six. I expect Mr. Wild here presently. Cut it as short as
you can.”
“Only two minutes more, Sir,” intreated Edgeworth Bess, advancing
towards him in such a manner as to screen Jack, who crept into the
farthest part of the angle,--“only two minutes, and we've done.”
“Well, well, I'm not within a minute,” rejoined the turnkey.
“We shall never be able to get you out unseen, Jack,” whispered Poll
Maggot. “You must make a bold push.”
“Impossible,” replied Sheppard, in the same tone. “That would be
certain destruction. I can't run in these heavy fetters. No: I must
face it out. Tell Bess to slip out, and I'll put on her cloak and
hood.”
Meanwhile, the party at the table continued drinking and chatting as
merrily as before.
“I can't help thinking of Jack Sheppard's speech to Mr. Kneebone,”
observed Shotbolt, as he emptied his tenth tumbler; “I'm sure he's
meditating an escape, and hopes to accomplish it to-night.”
“Poh! poh!” rejoined Ireton; “it was mere idle boasting. I examined
the Condemned Hold myself carefully this morning, and didn't find
a nail out of its place. Recollect, he's chained to the ground by a
great horse-padlock, and is never unloosed except when he comes to
that hatch. If he escapes at all, it must be before our faces.”
“It wouldn't surprise me if he did,” remarked Griffin. “He's audacity
enough for anything. He got out in much the same way from the
Gatehouse,--stole the keys, and passed through a room where I was
sitting half-asleep in a chair.”
“Caught you napping, eh?” rejoined Ireton, with a laugh. “Well, he
won't do that here. I'll forgive him if he does.”
“And so will I,” said Austin. “We're too wide awake for that. Ain't
we, partner?” he added, appealing to Langley, whom punch had made
rather dozy.
“I should think so,” responded the lethargic turnkey, with a yawn.
During this colloquy, Jack had contrived unobserved to put on the
hood and cloak, and being about the size of the rightful owner,
presented a very tolerable resemblance to her. This done, Edgeworth
Bess, who watched her opportunity, slipped out of the Lodge.
“Halloa!” exclaimed Austin, who had caught a glimpse of her departing
figure, “one of the women is gone!”
“No--no,” hastily interposed Mrs. Spurling; “they're both here. Don't
you see they're putting on their cloaks?”
“That's false!” rejoined Marvel, in a low tone; “I perceive what has
taken place.”
“Oh! goodness!” ejaculated the tapstress, in alarm. “You won't betray
him.”
“Say the word, and I'm mum,” returned the executioner.
“Will you be mine!”
“It's a very unfair advantage to take--very,” replied Mrs. Spurling;
“however I consent.”
“Then I'll lend a helping hand. I shall lose my fees and the laced
coat. But it's better to have the bride without the weddin' dress,
than the weddin' dress without the bride.”
At this moment, Saint Sepulchre's clock struck six.
“Close the wicket, Austin,” vociferated Ireton, in an authoritative
tone.
“Good bye!” cried Jack, as if taking leave of his mistresses,
“to-morrow, at the same time.”
“We'll be punctual,” replied Mrs. Maggot. “Good bye, Jack! Keep up
your spirits.”
“Now for it!--life or death!” exclaimed Jack, assuming the gait of a
female, and stepping towards the door.
As Austin rose to execute his principal's commands, and usher the
women to the gate, Mrs. Spurling and Marvel rose too. The latter
walked carelessly towards the hatch, and leaning his back against the
place whence the spike had been removed, so as completely to hide it,
continued smoking his pipe as coolly as if nothing had happened.
Just as Jack gained the entrance, he heard a man's footstep behind
him, and aware that the slightest indiscretion would betray him, he
halted, uncertain what to do.
“Stop a minute, my dear,” cried Austin. “You forget that you promised
me a kiss the last time you were here.”
“Won't one from me do as well?” interposed Mrs. Maggot.
“Much better,” said Mrs. Spurling, hastening to the rescue. “I want
to speak to Edgeworth Bess myself.”
So saying, she planted herself between Jack and the turnkey. It was a
moment of breathless interest to all engaged in the attempt.
“Come--the kiss!” cried Austin, endeavouring to pass his arm
familiarly round the Amazon's waist.
“Hands off!” she exclaimed, “or you'll repent it.”
“Why, what'll you do?” demanded the turnkey.
“Teach you to keep your distance!” retorted Mrs. Maggot, dealing him
a buffet that sent him reeling several yards backwards.
“There! off with you!” whispered Mrs. Spurling, squeezing Jack's arm,
and pushing him towards the door, “and, don't come here again.”
Before Austin could recover himself, Jack and Mrs. Maggot had
disappeared.
“Bolt the wicket!” shouted Ireton, who, with the others, had been not
a little entertained by the gallant turnkey's discomfiture.
This was done, and Austin returned with a crest-fallen look to the
table. Upon which Mrs. Spurling, and her now accepted suitor, resumed
their seats.
“You'll be as good as your word, my charmer,” whispered the
executioner.
“Of course,” responded the widow, heaving a deep sigh. “Oh! Jack!
Jack!--you little know what a price I've paid for you!”
“Well, I'm glad those women are gone,” remarked Shotbolt. “Coupling
their presence with Jack's speech, I couldn't help fearing some
mischief might ensue.”
“That reminds me he's still at large,” returned Ireton. “Here,
Caliban, go and fasten his padlock.”
“Iss, Massa Ireton,” replied the black.
“Stop, Caliban,” interposed Mrs. Spurling, who wished to protract the
discovery of the escape as long as possible. “Before you go, bring
me the bottle of pine-apple rum I opened yesterday. I should like Mr.
Ireton and his friends to taste it. It is in the lower cupboard.
Oh! you haven't got the key--then _I_ must have it, I suppose. How
provoking!” she added, pretending to rummage her pockets; “one never
_can_ find a thing when one wants it.”
“Never mind it, my dear Mrs. Spurling,” rejoined Ireton; “we can
taste the rum when he returns. We shall have Mr. Wild here presently,
and I wouldn't for the world--Zounds!” he exclaimed, as the figure
of the thief-taker appeared at the wicket, “here he is. Off with you,
Caliban! Fly, you rascal!”
“Mr. Wild here!” exclaimed Mrs. Spurling in alarm. “Oh gracious! he's
lost.”
“Who's lost?” demanded Ireton.
“The key,” replied the widow.
All the turnkeys rose to salute the thief-taker, whose
habitually-sullen countenance looked gloomier than usual. Ireton
rushed forward to open the wicket for him.
“No Blueskin, I perceive, Sir,” he observed, in a deferential tone,
as Wild entered the Lodge.
“No,” replied Jonathan, moodily. “I've been deceived by false
information. But the wench who tricked me shall bitterly repent it. I
hope this is all. I begin to fear I might be purposely go out of the
way. Nothing has gone wrong here?”
“Nothing whatever,” replied Ireton. “Jack is just gone back to the
Condemned Hold. His two wives have been here.”
“Ha!” exclaimed Jonathan, with a sudden vehemence that electrified
the chief turnkey; “what's this! a spike gone! 'Sdeath! the women,
you say, have been here. He has escaped.”
“Impossible, Sir,” replied Ireton, greatly alarmed.
“Impossible!” echoed Wild, with a fearful imprecation. “No, Sir, it's
quite possible--more than possible. It's certain. I'll lay my life
he's gone. Come with me to the Condemned Hold directly, and, if I
find my fears confirmed, I'll--”
He was here interrupted by the sudden entrance of the black, who
rushed precipitately into the room, letting fall the heavy bunch of
keys in his fright.
“O Massa Ireton! Massa Wild!” ejaculated Caliban, “Shack Sheppart
gone!”
“Gone? you black devil!--Gone?” cried Ireton.
“Iss, Massa. Caliban sarch ebery hole in de place, but Shack no dere.
Only him big hoss padlock--noting else.”
“I knew it,” rejoined Wild, with concentrated rage; “and he escaped
you all, in broad day, before your faces. You may well say it's
impossible! His Majesty's jail of Newgate is admirably guarded, I
must say. Ireton, you are in league with him.”
“Sir,” said the chief turnkey, indignantly.
“You _are_, Sir,” thundered Jonathan; “and, unless you find him, you
shan't hold your place a week. I don't threaten idly, as you know.
And you, Austin; and you Langley, I say the same thing to you.”
“But, Mr. Wild,” implored the turnkeys.
“I've said it,” rejoined Jonathan, peremptorily. “And you, Marvel,
you must have been a party--”
“I, Sir!”
“If he's not found, I'll get a new hangman.”
“Zounds!” cried Marvel, “I--”
“Hush!” whispered the tapstress, “or I retract my promise.”
“Mrs. Spurling,” said Jonathan, who overheard the whisper, “you owe
your situation to me. If you have aided Jack Sheppard's escape, you
shall owe your discharge to me also.”
“As you please, Sir,” replied the tapstress, coolly. “And the next
time Captain Darrell wants a witness, I promise you he shan't look
for one in vain.”
“Ha! hussy, dare you threaten?” cried Wild; but, checking himself, he
turned to Ireton and asked, “How long have the women been gone?”
“Scarcely five minutes,” replied the latter.
“One of you fly to the market,” returned Jonathan; “another to the
river; a third to the New Mint. Disperse in every direction. We'll
have him yet. A hundred pounds to the man who takes him.”
So saying, he rushed out, followed by Ireton and Langley.
“A hundred pounds!” exclaimed Shotbolt. “That's a glorious reward. Do
you think he'll pay it?”
“I'm sure of it,” replied Austin.
“Then I'll have it before to-morrow morning,” said the keeper of the
New Prison, to himself. “If Jack Sheppard sups with Mr. Kneebone,
I'll make one of the party.”
END VOLUME II