THE HAND AND THE CLOAK
A furious barking from Mr. Ginger's dogs, shortly after the departure of
the drowsy youth, announced the approach of a grotesque-looking little
personage, whose shoulders barely reached to a level with the top of the
table. This was Old Parr. The dwarfs head was much too large for his
body, as is mostly the case with undersized persons, and was covered
with a forest of rusty black hair, protected by a strangely shaped
seal-skin cap. His hands and feet were equally disproportioned to his
frame, and his arms were so long that he could touch his ankles while
standing upright. His spine was crookened, and his head appeared buried
in his breast. The general character of his face seemed to appertain to
the middle period of life; but a closer inspection enabled the beholder
to detect in it marks of extreme old age. The nose was broad and flat,
like that of an ourang-outang; the resemblance to which animal was
heightened by a very long upper lip, projecting jaws, almost total
absence of chin, and a retreating forehead. The little old man's
complexion was dull and swarthy, but his eyes were keen and sparkling.
His attire was as singular as his person. Having recently served as
double to a famous demon-dwarf at the Surrey Theatre, he had become
possessed of a cast-off pair of tawny tights, an elastic shirt of the
same material and complexion, to the arms of which little green bat-like
wings were attached, while a blood-red tunic with vandyke points was
girded round his waist. In this strange apparel his diminutive limbs
were encased, while additional warmth was afforded by the greatcoat
already mentioned, the tails of which swept the floor after him like a
train.
Having silenced his dogs with some difficulty, Mr. Ginger burst into a
roar of laughter, excited by the little old man's grotesque appearance,
in which he was joined by the Tinker; but the Sandman never relaxed a
muscle of his sullen countenance.
Their hilarity, however, was suddenly checked by an inquiry from the
dwarf, in a shrill, odd tone, "Whether they had sent for him only to
laugh at him?"
"Sartainly not, deputy," replied the Tinker. "Here, lazy-bones, glasses
o' rum-an'-vater, all round."
The drowsy youth bestirred himself to execute the command. The spirit
was brought; water was procured from the boiling copper; and the Tinker
handed his guest a smoking rummer, accompanied with a polite request to
make himself comfortable.
Opposite the table at which the party were seated, it has been said, was
a staircase--old and crazy, and but imperfectly protected by a broken
hand-rail. Midway up it stood a door equally dilapidated, but secured by
a chain and lock, of which Old Parr, as deputy-chamberlain, kept the
key. Beyond this point the staircase branched off on the right, and a
row of stout wooden banisters, ranged like the feet of so many cattle,
was visible from beneath. Ultimately, the staircase reached a small
gallery, if such a name can be applied to a narrow passage communicating
with the bedrooms, the doors of which, as a matter of needful
precaution, were locked outside; and as the windows were grated, no one
could leave his chamber without the knowledge of the landlord or his
representative. No lights were allowed in the bedrooms, nor in the
passage adjoining them.
Conciliated by the Tinker's offering, Old Parr mounted the staircase,
and planting himself near the door, took off his greatcoat, and sat down
upon it. His impish garb being thus more fully displayed, he looked so
unearthly and extraordinary that the dogs began to howl fearfully, and
Ginger had enough to do to quiet them.
Silence being at length restored, the Tinker, winking slyly at his
companions, opened the conversation.
"I say, deputy," he observed, "ve've bin havin' a bit o' a dispute vich
you can settle for us."
"Well, let's see," squeaked the dwarf. "What is it?"
"Vy, it's relative to your age," rejoined the Tinker. "Ven wos you
born?"
"It's so long ago, I can't recollect," returned Old Parr rather sulkily.
"You must ha' seen some changes in your time?" resumed the Tinker,
waiting till the little old man had made some progress with his grog.
"I rayther think I have--a few," replied Old Parr, whose tongue the
generous liquid had loosened. "I've seen this great city of London
pulled down, and built up again--if that's anything. I've seen it grow,
and grow, till it has reached its present size. You'll scarcely believe
me, when I tell you, that I recollect this Rookery of ours--this foul
vagabond neighbourhood--an open country field, with hedges round it, and
trees. And a lovely spot it was. Broad Saint Giles's, at the time I
speak of, was a little country village, consisting of a few straggling
houses standing by the roadside, and there wasn't a single habitation
between it and Convent Garden (for so the present market was once
called); while that garden, which was fenced round with pales, like a
park, extended from Saint Martin's Lane to Drury House, a great mansion
situated on the easterly side of Drury Lane, amid a grove of beautiful
timber."
"My eyes!" cried Ginger, with a prolonged whistle; "the place must be
preciously transmogrified indeed!"
"If I were to describe the changes that have taken place in London since
I've known it, I might go on talking for a month," pursued Old Parr.
"The whole aspect of the place is altered. The Thames itself is unlike
the Thames of old. Its waters were once as clear and bright above London
Bridge as they are now at Kew or Richmond; and its banks, from
Whitefriars to Scotland Yard, were edged with gardens. And then the
thousand gay wherries and gilded barges that covered its bosom--all are
gone--all are gone!"
"Those must ha' been nice times for the jolly young vatermen vich at
Black friars wos used for to ply," chanted the Tinker; "but the steamers
has put their noses out o' joint."
"True," replied Old Parr; "and I, for one, am sorry for it. Remembering,
as I do, what the river used to be when enlightened by gay craft and
merry company, I can't help wishing its waters less muddy, and those
ugly coal-barges, lighters, and steamers away. London is a mighty city,
wonderful to behold and examine, inexhaustible in its wealth and power;
but in point of beauty it is not to be compared with the city of Queen
Bess's days. You should have seen the Strand then--a line of noblemen's
houses--and as to Lombard Street and Gracechurch Street, with their
wealthy goldsmiths' shops--but I don't like to think of 'em."
"Vell, I'm content vith Lunnun as it is," replied the Tinker,
"'specially as there ain't much chance o' the ould city bein' rewived."
"Not much," replied the dwarf, finishing his glass, which was
replenished at a sign from the Tinker.
"I s'pose, my wenerable, you've seen the king as bequeathed his name to
these pretty creaters," said Ginger, raising his coat-pockets, so as to
exhibit the heads of the two little black-and-tan spaniels.
"What! old Rowley?" cried the dwarf--"often. I was page to his favourite
mistress, the Duchess of Cleveland, and I have seen him a hundred times
with a pack of dogs of that description at his heels."
"Old Rowley wos a king arter my own 'art," said Ginger, rising and
lighting a pipe at the fire. "He loved the femi-_nine_ specious as well
as the ca-_nine_ specious. Can you tell us anythin' more about him?"
"Not now," replied Old Parr. "I've seen so much, and heard so much, that
my brain is quite addled. My memory sometimes deserts me altogether,
and my past life appears like a dream. Imagine what my feelings must be,
to walk through streets, still called by the old names, but in other
respects wholly changed. Oh! if you could but have a glimpse of Old
London, you would not be able to endure the modern city. The very
atmosphere was different from that which we now breathe, charged with
the smoke of myriads of sea-coal fires; and the old picturesque houses
had a charm about them, which the present habitations, however
commodious, altogether want."
"You talk like one o' them smart chaps they calls, and werry properly,
penny-a-liars," observed Ginger. "But you make me long to ha' lived i'
those times."
"If you _had_ lived in them, you would have belonged to Paris Garden, or
the bull-baiting and bear-baiting houses in Southwark," replied Old
Parr. "I've seen fellows just like you at each of those places. Strange,
though times and fashions change, men continue the same. I often meet a
face that I can remember in James the First's time. But the old places
are gone--clean gone!"
"Accordin' to your own showin', my wenerable friend, you must ha' lived
uppards o' two hundred and seventy year," said Ginger, assuming a
consequential manner. "Now, doorin' all that time, have you never felt
inclined to kick the bucket?"
"Not the least," replied Old Parr. "My bodily health has been excellent.
But, as I have just said, my intellects are a little impaired."
"Not a little, I should think," replied Ginger, hemming significantly.
"I don't know vether you're a deceivin' of us or yourself, my wenerable;
but von thing's quite clear--you _can't_ have lived all that time. It's
not in nater."
"Very well, then--I haven't," said Old Parr.
And he finished his rum-and-water, and set down the glass, which was
instantly filled again by the drowsy youth.
"You've seen some picters o' Old Lunnon, and they've haanted you in your
dreams, till you've begun to fancy you lived in those times," said
Ginger.
"Very likely," replied Old Parr--"very likely."
There was something, however, in his manner calculated to pique the
dog-fancier's curiosity.
"How comes it," he said, stretching out his legs, and arranging his
neckcloth,--"how comes it, if you've lived so long, that you ain't
higher up in the stirrups--better off, as folks say?"
The dwarf made no reply, but covering his face with his hands, seemed a
prey to deep emotion. After a few moments' pause, Ginger repeated the
question.
"If you won't believe what I tell you, it's useless to give an answer,"
said Old Parr, somewhat gruffly.
"Oh yes, _I_ believe you, deputy," observed the Tinker, "and so does the
Sandman."
"Well, then," replied the dwarf, "I'll tell you how it comes to pass.
Fate has been against me. I've had plenty of chances, but I never could
get on. I've been in a hundred different walks of life, but they always
led down hill. It's my destiny."
"That's hard," rejoined the Tinker--"werry hard. But how d'ye account
for livin' so long?" he added, winking as he spoke to the others.
"I've already given you an explanation," replied the dwarf.
"Av, but it's a cur'ous story, and I vants my friends to hear it," said
the Tinker, in a coaxing tone.
"Well then, to oblige you, I'll go through it again," rejoined the
dwarf. "You must know I was for some time servant to Doctor Lamb, an old
alchemist, who lived during the reign of good Queen Bess, and who used
to pass all his time in trying to find out the secret of changing lead
and copper into gold."
"I've known several indiwiduals as has found out that secret,
wenerable," observed Ginger. "And ve calls 'em smashers, nowadays--not
halchemists."
"Doctor Lamb's object was actually to turn base metal into gold,"
rejoined Old Parr, in a tone of slight contempt. "But his chief aim was
to produce the elixir of long life. Night and day he worked at the
operation;--night and day I laboured with him, until at last we were
both brought to the verge of the grave in our search after immortality.
One night--I remember it well,--it was the last night of the sixteenth
century,--a young man, severely wounded, was brought to my master's
dwelling on London Bridge. I helped to convey him to the laboratory,
where I left him with the doctor, who was busy with his experiments. My
curiosity being aroused, I listened at the door, and though I could not
distinguish much that passed inside, I heard sufficient to convince me
that Doctor Lamb had made the grand discovery, and succeeded in
distilling the elixir. Having learnt this, I went down-stairs,
wondering what would next ensue. Half-an-hour elapsed, and while the
bells were ringing in the new year joyfully, the young man whom I had
assisted to carry up-stairs, and whom I supposed at death's door,
marched down as firmly as if nothing had happened, passed by me, and
disappeared, before I could shake off my astonishment. I saw at once he
had drunk the elixir."
"Ah!--ah!" exclaimed the Tinker, with a knowing glance at his
companions, who returned it with gestures of equal significance.
"As soon as he was gone," pursued the dwarf, "I flew to the laboratory,
and there, extended on the floor, I found the dead body of Doctor Lamb.
I debated with myself what to do--whether to pursue his murderer, for
such I accounted the young man; but, on reflection, I thought the course
useless. I next looked round to see whether the precious elixir was
gone. On the table stood a phial, from which a strong spirituous odour
exhaled; but it was empty. I then turned my attention to a receiver,
connected by a worm with an alembic on the furnace. On examining it, I
found it contained a small quantity of a bright transparent liquid,
which, poured forth into a glass, emitted precisely the same odour as
the phial. Persuaded this must be the draught of immortality, I raised
it to my lips; but apprehension lest it might be poison stayed my hand.
Reassured, however, by the thought of the young man's miraculous
recovery, I quaffed the potion. It was as if I had swallowed fire, and
at first I thought all was over with me. I shrieked out; but there was
no one to heed my cries, unless it were my dead master, and two or
three skeletons with which the walls were garnished. And these, in
truth, did seem to hear me; for the dead corpse opened its glassy orbs,
and eyed me reproachfully; the skeletons shook their fleshless arms and
gibbered; and the various strange objects, with which the chamber was
filled, seemed to deride and menace me. The terror occasioned by these
fantasies, combined with the potency of the draught, took away my
senses. When I recovered, I found all tranquil. Doctor Lamb was lying
stark and stiff at my feet, with an expression of reproach on his fixed
countenance; and the skeletons were hanging quietly in their places.
Convinced that I was proof against death, I went forth. _But a curse
went with me!_ From that day to this I have lived, but it has been in
such poverty and distress, that I had better far have died. Besides, I
am constantly haunted by visions of my old master. He seems to hold
converse with me--to lead me into strange places."
"Exactly the case with the t'other," whispered the Tinker to the
Sandman. "Have you ever, in the coorse o' your long life, met the young
man as drank the 'lixir?" he inquired of the dwarf.
"Never."
"Do you happen to rekilect his name?"
"No; it has quite escaped my memory," answered Old Parr.
"Should you rekilect it, if you heerd it?" asked the Tinker.
"Perhaps I might," returned the dwarf; "but I can't say."
"Wos it Auriol Darcy?" demanded the other.
"That _was_ the name," cried Old Parr, starting up in extreme surprise.
"I heard Doctor Lamb call him so. But how, in the name of wonder, do you
come to know it?"
"Ve've got summat, at last," said the Tinker, with a self-applauding
glance at his friends.
"How do you come to know it, I say?" repeated the dwarf, in extreme
agitation.
"Never mind," rejoined the Tinker, with a cunning look; "you see I does
know some cur'ous matters as veil as you, my old file. Yo'll be good
evidence, in case ve vishes to prove the fact agin him."
"Prove what?--and against whom?" cried the dwarf.
"One more questin, and I've done," pursued the Tinker. "Should you know
this young man agin, in case you chanced to come across him?"
"No doubt of it," replied Old Parr; "his figure often flits before me in
dreams."
"Shall ve let him into it?" said the Tinker, consulting his companions
in a low tone.
"Ay--ay," replied the Sandman.
"Better vait a bit," remarked Ginger, shaking his head dubiously.
"There's no hurry."
"No; ve must decide at vonce," said the Tinker. "Jist examine them
papers," he added, handing the pocket-book to Old Parr, "and favour us
vith your opinion on 'em."
The dwarf was about to unclasp the book committed to his charge, when a
hand was suddenly thrust through the banisters of the upper part of the
staircase, which, as has been already stated, was divided from the
lower by the door. A piece of heavy black drapery next descended like a
cloud, concealing all behind it except the hand, with which the dwarf
was suddenly seized by the nape of the neck, lifted up in the air, and,
notwithstanding his shrieks and struggles, carried clean off.
Great confusion attended his disappearance. The dogs set up a prodigious
barking, and flew to the rescue--one of the largest of them passing over
the body of the drowsy waiter, who had sought his customary couch upon
the coals, and rousing him from his slumbers; while the Tinker, uttering
a fierce imprecation, upset his chair in his haste to catch hold of the
dwarf's legs; but the latter was already out of reach, and the next
moment had vanished entirely.
"My eyes! here's a pretty go!" cried Ginger, who, with his back to the
fire, had witnessed the occurrence in open-mouthed astonishment. "Vy,
curse it! if the wenerable ain't a-taken the pocket-book with him! It's
my opinion the devil has flown avay with the old feller. His time wos
nearer at 'and than he expected."
"Devil or not, I'll have him back agin, or at all events the
pocket-book!" cried the Tinker. And, dashing up the stairs, he caught
hold of the railing above, and swinging himself up by a powerful effort,
passed through an opening, occasioned by the removal of one of the
banisters.
[Illustration: The Hand and the Cloak.]
Groping along the gallery, which was buried in profound darkness, he
shouted to the dwarf, but received no answer to his vociferations;
neither could he discover any one, though he felt on either side of the
passage with outstretched hands. The occupants of the different
chambers, alarmed by the noise, called out to know what was going
forward; but being locked in their rooms, they could render no
assistance.
While the Tinker was thus pursuing his search in the dark, venting his
rage and disappointment in the most dreadful imprecations, the staircase
door was opened by the landlord, who had found the key in the greatcoat
left behind by the dwarf. With the landlord came the Sandman and Ginger,
the latter of whom was attended by all his dogs, still barking
furiously; while the rear of the party was brought up by the drowsy
waiter, now wide awake with fright, and carrying a candle.
But though every nook and corner of the place was visited--though the
attics were searched, and all the windows examined--not a trace of the
dwarf could be discovered, nor any clue to his mysterious disappearance
detected. Astonishment and alarm sat on every countenance.
"What the devil can have become of him?" cried the landlord, with a look
of dismay.
"Ay, that's the questin!" rejoined the Tinker. "I begin to be of
Ginger's opinion, that the devil himself must have flown avay vith him.
No von else could ha' taken a fancy to him."
"I only saw a hand and a black cloak," said the Sandman.
"I thought I seed a pair o' hoofs," cried the waiter; "and I'm quite
sure I seed a pair o' great glitterin' eyes," he added, opening his own
lacklustre orbs to their widest extent.
"It's a strange affair," observed the landlord gravely. "It's certain
that no one has entered the house wearing a cloak such as you describe;
nor could any of the lodgers, to my knowledge, get out of their rooms.
It was Old Parr's business, as you know, to lock 'em up carefully for
the night."
"Vell, all's over vith him now," said the Tinker; "and vith our affair,
too, I'm afeerd."
"Don't say die jist yet," rejoined Ginger. "The wenerable's gone, to be
sure; and the only thing he has left behind him, barrin' his topcoat, is
this here bit o' paper vich dropped out o' the pocket-book as he wos
a-takin' flight, and vich I picked from the floor. It may be o' some use
to us. But come, let's go down-stairs. There's no good in stayin' here
any longer."
Concurring in which sentiment, they all descended to the lower room.