_Foreshadows_
AH! with that little Gipsey-party went all the Smiles I was to see for many
a Day, though I knew it not.
My Father about this Time seemed dull and sorry of Cheer. I asked him if
aught ailed him in Body or Mind, or had gone wrong in his Affairs. He
said, no—that he was sensible of a Heaviness on his Spirits, but could
no Ways account for it. And, with that Stoutness of Heart which had
become a second Nature, he bustled about and tried to cast it off. Still
I watched him narrowly, but could detect no Signs of Disorder. I lay
awake at Night, thinking of him; and amid the Stillness all about, could
faintly hear the distant Wail of that poor distracted Madman, who
incessantly ran about the Streets of the City, crying, “Oh! the great
and dreadful GOD!”
After Breakfast, my Father said to me, “_Cherry_, I shall be absent for
an Hour or two, but you may expect me punctually at Dinner.”
I said, “Oh, Father! why must you go forth? is there any pressing
Occasion?”
“Why, yes, there is,” said he, “for a Man who owes me Money is going to
make the Plague a Pretext for leaving the Country, and has succeeded, I
understand, in getting a clean Bill of Health.”
I said, “Let it be, if it be no great Matter.”
“Nay,” he said gently, “it _is_ a great Matter to People in our
Condition, with whom Trade is at a Stand-still. I have not yet held
aloof from any necessary Affairs, but I give you my Word I will run no
needless Risks.”
And so was going forth, when I said, “There is a little white on your
shoulder,” and brushed it off with my Apron. When I had done it, he
turned about and kissed me.
We were to have Bacon and Eggs that Day. I had a Presentiment he would
be after his Time, in spite of what he had said, and told _Dolly_ not to
fry them till he came in. Hour after Hour passed, long after
Dinner-time, and still he came not. Then I grew troubled, and kept
looking along the _Bridge_.
At last, when it was growing dusk, I put on my Hood and went to the
Bridge Gate. I said to the Gate-keeper, “Did you see my Father pass the
Gate this Morning, Master _Princeps_?”
“Yes, Mistress _Cherry_, I did,” returned he, “more by Token he said he
was going either through or to _Lime Street_, I forget which.”
I said, “I can’t think why he don’t come back.”
“Oh!” says he, “he’ll be back presently,” which, though spoken entirely
at random, yet being uttered in a cheerful Tone, somewhat heartened me,
and I returned Home.
Master _Benskin_ was putting up his Shop Shutters. I said, “I can’t
think what has become of my Father, Master _Benskin_.” He said, “Has not
he come Home? Oh, Something unforeseen must have delayed him. You know
that might happen to any of us.” And put the Screw in his last Shutter.
I said, “What should you do if you were me?” He said, “Well, I’m sure I
can’t tell what I should do—I don’t see I could do Anything—He’ll come
Home presently, I dare say ... don’t be uneasy.” And went in. I thought,
“_Job’s_ Comforters are ye all.”
About ten o’ the Clock at Night, I went down to the Bridge Gate again.
They were shutting it up for the Night, and making up the great Bonfire
in the Middle of the Street. This Time I could hardly speak for crying;
I said, “Master _Princeps_, I can’t think _why_ my Father doesn’t come
back! I think Something must have happened!”
“Nay,” says he, “what can have happened? Very likely he has been
unexpectedly detained, and thinks he shall not be back before the Gate
is shut, and is too neighbourly to wish to knock me up. So he takes a
Bed with the Friend he is with.—Now we’ve got it all clear, depend upon
it!”
“But,” said I, “there’s no Friend he can be with, that I know of.”
“Why, in _Lime Street_!” says he, with all the Confidence imaginable.
“_Lime Street?_ Dear Master _Princeps_, my Father knows nobody in _Lime
Street_.”
—“Don’t he though?” says he doubtfully. “Well, I’m sure I think he said
he was going through or to _Lime Street_, I can’t justly remember
which.”
I turned away in deep Disappointment and Trouble. As I passed under the
deep Shade of the Houses, some one coming close up to me, said,
“_Cherry!_ pretty _Cherry_! is that you?” But it was not my Father’s
Voice, and I passed on in Disgust. I would not fasten the House-door,
and sat just within it all Night, a Candle set in the Window. I opened
my Bible at random, in Hope of Something to hearten and comfort.—The
Words I lighted on were, “I sought him, but could not find him; I called
him, but he gave me no Answer.” And the Page was wet with my Tears.
As soon as Day broke, I was again at the Door. People going to Market
early looked at me strangely as they passed. It struck me my Appearance
was not very tidy, so I went in, washed and re-dressed myself, which
refreshed me a little, drank a Cup of Milk, and then put on my Hood and
went down to the Gate. I said, “Master _Princeps_, I can’t think what’s
come to my Father.”
“Bless my Soul!” cries he, “what, has he not been Home all Night? Then
you see, he _must_ be sleeping out, and will not have risen yet, to
disturb his Friend’s Family. So, go your Ways back, Mistress _Cherry_,
and don’t be fretting; rely on it he will return as soon as he has
breakfasted, which he cannot have done yet.”
So I turned away, sad at my Heart; and as I passed _John Armytage’s_
Shop, I looked up at _Violet’s_ Window, and saw her dressed, and just
putting back her white Curtains. She looked down on me, and nodded, and
smiled, but I shook my Head sorrowfully, and turned my Face away. Before
I reached my own Door, I felt some one twitching my Cloak behind, and
she comes up to me all panting.
“_Cherry!_ dear _Cherry_!” says she breathlessly, “what’s the Matter?”
“I’ve lost my Father,” said I, with filling Eyes.
“Dead!” cries she, looking affrighted.
“He may be,” said I, bursting into Tears, “for he has not come Home all
Night.”
“Oh, if that’s all,” says she, putting her Arm round me and drawing me
into the House, “all may yet be well.—How many Women might cry,
_Cherry_, if they thought their Husbands and Fathers were dead, every
Time they stayed out all Night! Come, tell me all about it——” And she
entered with such Concern into my Grief that its Bitterness was allayed.
“Come,” she said, “let us give him till Dinner-time—he may drop in any
Minute, you know, and if you go looking for him, you know not where, you
may miss him. So give him till Dinner-time, and after that, if he comes
not, go and knock at every Door in _Lime Street_, if you will.”
And she stayed, wiling the slow Time as long as she could with talking
of this and that. At length, Dinner-time came; I could scarce await it,
and directly the Clock struck, I started forth. It occurred to me I
would go to _Mark_.
As I approached the Gate, I heard Master _Princeps_ say to the second
Gate-keeper, “I’ll lay you a Wager this Girl is coming again to ask me
why she can’t find her Father.”
[Illustration:
Cherry seeking her father
]
Instead of which, I only said as I came up to him, “I’m going to look
for my Father, Master _Princeps_.”
“Well,” says he, “I wish you may find him with all my Heart, but it
seems like looking for a Pin in a Hayfield.—Perhaps he’ll return while
you are away.... Take Care where you go; the Streets and Lanes are
dangerous——”
There were People paying Toll; and while I was waiting to pass, I heard
one Man ask another if he had seen the great Plague-pit dug in
_Aldgate_, forty Feet long, and twenty Feet deep; adding, he believed
many People that were picked up in the Streets were cast into it before
it was well known if they were dead or alive.
I darted through the Toll-gate the Moment it was clear, and made for
_Cheapside_. Oh! how awful the Change, during a few Weeks! Not a
Creature stirring, where lately all had been alive.—At the Turn of a
Lane I met a Man wheeling a dead Person in a Hand-barrow, and turning
his own Head aside. Houses were deserted or silent, marked with the
fatal red Cross. Within one, I heard much wailing and sobbing. At length
I reached _Mark’s_ House. ’Twas all shut up!—and a Watchman sat smoking
on the Door-step. He said, “Young Woman, what do you want?” I said, “I
want to speak to _Mark Blenkinsop_.” ... He said, “Nobody must go out or
in—the House is under Visitation.”—My Heart sank when I remembered
_Mark’s_ Forebodings of himself, and I said, “Is he dead?” “I know not
whether he be dead or no,” replied the Watchman; “a Maid-servant was put
into the Cart the Night before last, and a ’Prentice the Night before
that.—Since then, they’ve kept mighty quiet, and asked for Nothing,
though I’ve rung the House-bell two or three Times. But the Night-watch
told me that a Woman put her Head out of Window during the Night, and
called out, ‘Oh! Death, Death, Death!’ three several Times.”
I said, “Ring the Bell again!”
He did so, and pulled it so violently this Time, that the Wire broke. We
gave each other a blank Look.
“See!” said I, “there’s a Window open on the Second Story——”
“’Tis where the Woman put out her Head and screeched, during the Night,”
said he.
“Could not you get a Ladder,” said I, “and look in?”
“Well,” said he, “I will, if you will stay here and see that no one
comes out while I’m gone.”
So I said I would, but I should have been a sorry Guard had any one
indeed rushed forth, so weak was I and trembling. I thought of _Mark_
lying within, perhaps stiff and cold.
Presently the Watchman returned with a Ladder, but it was too short, so
then he had to go for another. This Time he was much longer gone, so
that I was almost beside myself with waiting. All this Time not a
Creature passed. At length a Man came along the Middle of the Street,
holding a red Rod before him. He cried, “What do you there?” I said, “We
know not whether the Family be dead or have deserted the House—a
Watchman has gone for a Ladder to look through the open Window.” He
said, “I will send some one to look to it,” and passed on.
Then the Watchman and another Man appeared, carrying a long Ladder
between them. They set it against the Window, and the Watchman went up.
When he had looked in, he cried out in a fearful Voice, “There’s a Woman
in white, lying all along on the Floor, seemingly dead, with a Casket of
Jewels in her Hand.—Shall I go in?”—“Aye, do,” I exclaimed. The other
Man, hearing talk of Jewels, cried, “Here, come you down, if you be
afraid, and I’ll go in,” and gave the Ladder a little Shake; which,
however, only made the Watchman at once jump through the Window. Then up
came two Men, saying, “We are from my _Lord Mayor_, empowered to seal up
any Property that may be left, if the Family indeed be dead.”—So they
went up the Ladder too, and the other Man had no Mind to go now; and
presently the Watchman comes out of the House-door, looking very pale,
and says he, “Besides the Lady on the Floor, with all her Jewels about
her, there’s not a Soul, alive nor dead, in the House; the others must
have escaped over the back Walls and Out-houses.”
Then my Heart gave a great Beat, for I concluded _Mark_ had escaped,
leaving his Wife to die alone; and now all my Thoughts returned to my
Father. I hastened to one or two Acquaintances of his, who, it was just
possible, might have seen him; but their Houses were one and all shut
up, and, lying some Way apart from each other, this took up much Time. I
now became bewildered and almost wild, not knowing where to look for
him; and catching like a drowning Man at a Straw, I went to _Lime
Street_. Here I went all up one Side and all down the other, knocking at
every Door that was not padlocked. At first I made my Inquiries
coherently enough, and explained my Distress and got a civil Answer;
but, as I went on and still did not find him, my Wits seemed to
unsettle, and, when any one came to the Door, which was often not till
after much knocking and waiting, I had got nothing to say to them but,
“Have you seen my Father?” and when they stared and said, “Who is your
Father?” I could not rightly bring his Name to Mind. This gave me some
Sign of Wildness, I suppose, for after a While, the People did not so
much look strange as pitying, and said, “Who is your Father, poor Girl?”
and waited patiently for me to answer. All except one rough Man, who
cried fiercely, “In the Dead-pit in _Aldgate_, very likely, where my
only Child will be to-night.” Then I lost Sense altogether, and
shrieked, “Oh! he’s in the Pit! _Father! Father!_” and went running
through the Streets, a-wringing my Hands. At length a Voice far off
answered, “Daughter! Daughter! here I am!” and I rushed towards it,
crying, “Oh, where? I’m coming! I’m coming!” And so got nearer and
nearer till it was only just at the Turn of the next Street; but when I
gained it, I came upon a Party of disorderly young Men. One of them
cries, “Here I am, Daughter!” and burst out laughing. But I said, “Oh,
you are not he,” and brake away from him.
“Stay, I know all about him,” cries another. “Was he tall or short?” Oh,
wicked, wicked Men, thought I, ’tis such as you that break Fathers’
Hearts!
[Illustration]
How I got back to the _Bridge_, I know not. I was put to Bed in a raging
Fever. In my Deliration I seemed to see my Father talking earnestly with
another Man whose Face I knew not, and who appeared to hear him with
Impatience, and want to leave him, but my Father laid his Hand upon his
Arm. Then the other, methought, plucked a heavy Bag from under his
Cloke, and cast it towards my Father, crying, “Plague take it and you
too!” Then methought my Father took it up and walked off with it into
the Street, but as he went, he changed Colour, stopped short, staggered,
and fell. Presently I seemed to hear a Bell, and a dismal Voice crying,
“Bring out your Dead!”—and a Cart came rumbling along, and a Man held a
Lanthorn to my Father’s Face, and without more Ado, took him up and cast
him into the Cart. Then methought, a Man in the Cart turned the Horse
about, and drove away without waiting to call anywhere else, to a dismal
lone Field, lying all in the Blackness of Darkness, where the Cart
turned about, and shot a Heap of senseless Bodies into a great, yawning
Pit ... them that a few Hours back had been strong, hearty Men,
beautiful Women, smiling Children.
[Illustration]
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