exhortations of an enthusiast, whom he instantly recognised from a
description he had heard of him from Blaize. The name of this
half-crazed being was Solomon Eagle. Originally a Quaker, upon the
outbreak of the plague he had abandoned his home and friends, and roamed
the streets at night, denouncing doom to the city. He was a tall gaunt
man, with long jet-black hair hanging in disordered masses over his
shoulders. His eyes were large and black, and blazed with insane lustre,
and his looks were so wild and terrific, that it required no great
stretch of imagination to convert him into the genius of the pestilence.
Entirely stripped of apparel except that his loins were girt with a
sheep-skin, in imitation of Saint John in the Wilderness, he bore upon
his head a brazier of flaming coals, the lurid light of which falling
upon his sable locks and tawny skin, gave him an unearthly appearance.
Impelled by curiosity, Leonard paused for a moment to listen, and heard
him thunder forth the following denunciation:--"And now, therefore, as
the prophet Jeremiah saith, 'I have this day declared it to you, but ye
have not obeyed the voice of the Lord your God, nor anything for the
which he hath sent me unto you. Now, therefore, know certainly that ye
shall die by the sword, by the famine, and by the pestilence.' Again, in
the words of the prophet Amos, the Lord saith unto YOU by my mouth, 'I
have sent among you the pestilence after the manner of Egypt, yet have
you not returned unto me. Therefore, will I do this unto thee, O Israel;
and because I will do this unto thee, prepare to meet thy God?' Do you
hear this, O sinners? God will proceed against you in the day of His
wrath, though He hath borne with you in the day of His patience? O how
many hundred years hath He spared this city, notwithstanding its great
provocations and wickedness! But now He will no longer show it pity, but
will pour out His wrath upon it I Plagues shall come upon it, and
desolation; and it shall be utterly burnt with fire,--for strong is the
Lord who judgeth it!"
His address concluded, the enthusiast started off at a swift pace,
shrieking, in a voice that caused many persons to throw open their
windows to listen to him, "Awake! sinners, awake'--the plague is at
your doors!--the grave yawns for you!--awake, and repent!" And followed
by the crowd, many of whom kept up with him, he ran on vociferating in
this manner till he was out of hearing.
Hurrying forward in the opposite direction, Leonard glanced at the
ancient and picturesque houses on either side of the way,--now bathed
in the moonlight, and apparently hushed in repose and security,--and he
could not repress a shudder as he reflected that an evil angel was,
indeed, abroad, who might suddenly arouse their slumbering inmates to
despair and death. His thoughts took another turn as he entered the
precincts of Saint Paul's, and surveyed the venerable and majestic
fabric before him. His eyes rested upon its innumerable crocketed
pinnacles, its buttresses, its battlements, and upon the magnificent
rose-window terminating the choir. The apprentice had no especial love
for antiquity, but being of an imaginative turn, the sight of this
reverend structure conjured up old recollections, and brought to mind
the noble Collegiate Church of his native town.
"Shall I ever see Manchester again?" he sighed: "shall I take Amabel
with me there? Alas! I doubt it. If I survive the plague, she, I fear,
will never be mine."
Musing thus, he scanned the roof of the cathedral, and noticing its
stunted central tower, could not help thinking how much more striking
its effects must have been, when the lofty spire it once supported was
standing. The spire, it may be remarked, was twice destroyed by
lightning; first in February, 1444, and subsequently in June, 1561, when
it was entirely burnt down, and never rebuilt. Passing the Convocation
House, which then stood at one side of the southern transept, Leonard
struck down Paul's Chain, and turning to the right, speeded along Great
Knightrider-street, until he reached an old habitation at the corner of
the passage leading to Doctors' Commons.
Knocking at the door, an elderly servant presently appeared, and in
answer to his inquiries whether Doctor Hodges was at home, stated that
he had gone out, about half an hour ago, to attend Mr. Fisher, a
proctor, who had been suddenly attacked by the plague at his residence
in Bartholomew-close, near Smithfield.
"I am come on the same errand," said Leonard, "and must see your master
instantly."
"If you choose to go to Bartholomew-close," replied the servant, "you
may probably meet with him. Mr. Fisher's house is the last but two, on
the right, before you come to the area in front of the church."
"I can easily find it," returned Leonard, "and will run there as fast as
I can. But if your master should pass me on the road, beseech him to go
instantly to Stephen Bloundell's, the grocer, in Wood-street."
The servant assenting, Leonard hastily retraced his steps, and
traversing Blow-bladder-street and Saint-Martin's-le-Grand, passed
through Aldersgate. He then shaped his course through the windings of
Little Britain and entered Duck-lane. He was now in a quarter fearfully
assailed by the pestilence. Most of the houses had the fatal sign upon
their doors--a red cross, of a foot long, with the piteous words above
it, "Lord have mercy upon us," in characters so legible that they could
be easily distinguished by the moonlight, while a watchman, with a
halberd in his hand, kept guard outside.
Involuntarily drawing in his breath, Leonard quickened his pace. But he
met with an unexpected and fearful interruption. Just as he reached the
narrow passage leading from Duck-lane to Bartholomew-close, he heard the
ringing of a bell, followed by a hoarse voice, crying, "Bring out your
dead--bring out your dead!" he then perceived that a large,
strangely-shaped cart stopped up the further end of the passage, and
heard a window open, and a voice call out that all was ready. The next
moment a light was seen at the door, and a coffin was brought out and
placed in the cart. This done, the driver, who was smoking a pipe,
cracked his whip, and put the vehicle in motion.
Shrinking into a doorway, and holding a handkerchief to his face, to
avoid breathing the pestilential effluvia, Leonard saw that there were
other coffins in the cart, and that it was followed by two persons in
long black cloaks. The vehicle itself, fashioned like an open hearse,
and of the same sombre colour, relieved by fantastical designs, painted
in white, emblematic of the pestilence, was drawn by a horse of the
large black Flanders breed, and decorated with funeral trappings. To
Leonard's inexpressible horror, the cart again stopped opposite him, and
the driver ringing his bell, repeated his doleful cry. While another
coffin was brought out, and placed with the rest, a window in the next
house was opened, and a woman looking forth screamed, "Is Anselm
Chowles, the coffin-maker, there?"
"Yes, here I am, Mother Malmayns," replied one of the men in black
cloaks, looking up as he spoke, and exhibiting features so hideous, and
stamped with such a revolting expression, that Leonard's blood curdled
at the sight. "What do you want with me?" he added.
"I want you to carry away old Mike Norborough," replied the woman.
"What, is the old miser gone at last?" exclaimed Chowles, with an
atrocious laugh. "But how shall I get paid for a coffin?"
"You may pay yourself with what you can find in the house," replied
Mother Malmayns; "or you may carry him to the grave without one, if you
prefer it."
"No, no, that won't do," returned Chowles. "I've other customers to
attend to who _will_ pay; and, besides, I want to get home. I expect
friends at supper. Good-night, Mother Malmayns. You know where to find
me, if you want me. Move on, Jonas, or you will never reach Saint
Sepulchre's."
The woman angrily expostulated with him, and some further parley
ensued,--Leonard did not tarry to hear what, but rushing past them,
gained Bartholomew-close.
He soon reached the proctor's house, and found it marked with the fatal
cross. Addressing a watchman at the door, he learnt, to his great
dismay, that Doctor Hodges had been gone more than a quarter of an hour.
"He was too late," said the man. "Poor Mr. Fisher had breathed his last
before he arrived, and after giving some directions to the family as to
the precautions they ought to observe, the doctor departed."
"How unfortunate!" exclaimed Leonard, "I have missed him a second time.
But I will run back to his house instantly."
"You will not find him at home," returned the watchman "He is gone to
Saint Paul's, to attend a sick person."
"To Saint Paul's at this hour!" cried the apprentice. "Why, no one is
there, except the vergers or the sexton."
"He is gone to visit the sexton, who is ill of the plague," replied the
watchman. "I have told you all I know about him. You can do what you
think best."
Determined to make another effort before giving in, Leonard hurried back
as fast as he could. While threading Duck-lane, he heard the doleful
bell again, and perceived the dead-cart standing before a house, from
which two small coffins were brought. Hurrying past the vehicle, he
remarked that its load was fearfully increased, but that the
coffin-maker and his companion had left it. Another minute had not
elapsed before he reached Aldersgate, and passing through the postern,
he beheld a light at the end of Saint Anne's-lane, and heard the
terrible voice of Solomon Eagle, calling to the sleepers to awake and
repent.
Shutting his ears to the cry, Leonard did not halt till he reached the
great western door of the cathedral, against which he knocked. His first
summons remaining unanswered, he repeated it, and a wicket was then
opened by a grey-headed verger, with a lantern in his hand, who at first
was very angry at being disturbed; but on learning whom the applicant
was in search of, and that the case was one of urgent necessity, he
admitted that the doctor was in the cathedral at the time.
"Or rather, I should say," he added, "he is in Saint Faith's. I will
conduct you to him, if you think proper. Doctor Hodges is a good man,--a
charitable man," he continued, "and attends the poor for nothing. He is
now with Matthew Malmayns, the sexton, who was taken ill of the plague
yesterday, and will get nothing but thanks--if he gets those--for his
fee. But, follow me, young man, follow me."
So saying, he shut the wicket, and led the way along the transept. The
path was uneven, many of the flags having been removed, and the verger
often paused to throw a light upon the ground, and warn his companion of
a hole.
On arriving at the head of the nave, Leonard cast his eyes down it, and
was surprised at the magical effect of the moonlight upon its
magnificent avenue of pillars; the massive shafts on the left being
completely illuminated by the silvery beams, while those on the right
lay in deep shadow.
"Ay, it is a noble structure," replied the old verger, noticing his look
of wonder and admiration, "and, like many a proud human being, has known
better days. It has seen sad changes in my time, for I recollect it when
good Queen Bess ruled the land. But come along, young man,--you have
something else to think of now."
Bestowing a momentary glance upon the matchless choir, with its groined
roof, its clerestory windows, its arched openings, its carved stalls,
and its gorgeous rose-window, Leonard followed his conductor through a
small doorway on the left of the southern transept, and descending a
flight of stone steps, entered a dark and extensive vault, for such it
seemed. The feeble light of the lantern fell upon ranks of short heavy
pillars, supporting a ponderous arched roof.
"You are now in Saint Faith's," observed the verger, "and above you is
the choir of Saint Paul's."
Leonard took no notice of the remark, but silently crossing the nave of
this beautiful subterranean church (part of which still exists),
traversed its northern aisle. At length the verger stopped before the
entrance of a small chapel, once dedicated to Saint John the Baptist,
but now devoted to a less sacred purpose. As they advanced, Leonard
observed a pile of dried skulls and bones in one corner, a stone coffin,
strips of woollen shrouds, fragments of coffins, mattocks, and spades.
It was evidently half a charnel, half a receptacle for the sexton's
tools.
"If you choose to open that door," said the verger, pointing to one at
the lower end of the chamber, "you will find him you seek. I shall go no
further."
Summoning up all his resolution, Leonard pushed open the door. A
frightful scene met his gaze. At one side of a deep, low-roofed vault,
the architecture of which was of great antiquity, and showed that it had
been a place of burial, was stretched a miserable pallet, and upon it,
covered by a single blanket, lay a wretch, whose groans and struggles
proclaimed the anguish he endured. A lamp was burning on the floor, and
threw a sickly light upon the agonized countenance of the sufferer. He
was a middle-aged man, with features naturally harsh, but which now,
contracted by pain, had assumed a revolting expression. An old crone,
who proved to be his mother, and a young man, who held him down in bed
by main force, tended him. He was rambling in a frightful manner; and as
his ravings turned upon the most loathly matters, it required some
firmness to listen to them.
At a little distance from him, upon a bench, sat a stout,
shrewd-looking, but benevolent little personage, somewhat between forty
and fifty. This was Doctor Hodges. He had a lancet in his hand, with
which he had just operated upon the sufferer, and he was in the act of
wiping it on a cloth. As Leonard entered the vault, the doctor observed
to the attendants of the sick man, "He will recover. The tumour has
discharged its venom. Keep him as warm as you can, and do not let him
leave his bed for two days. All depends upon that. I will send him
proper medicines and some blankets shortly. If he takes cold, it will be
fatal."
The young man promised to attend to the doctor's injunctions, and the
old woman mumbled her thanks.
"Where is Judith Malmayns?" asked Doctor Hodges: "I am surprised not to
see her. Is she afraid of the distemper?"
"Afraid of it!--not she," replied the old woman. "Since the plague has
raged so dreadfully, she has gone out as a nurse to the sick, and my
poor son has seen nothing of her."
Leonard then recollected that he had heard the woman, who called out of
the miser's house, addressed as Mother Malmayns by the coffin-maker, and
had no doubt that she was the sexton's wife. His entrance having been so
noiseless that it passed unnoticed, he now stepped forward, and,
addressing Doctor Hodges, acquainted him with his errand.
"What!" exclaimed the doctor, as soon as he concluded, "a son of Stephen
Bloundel, the worthy grocer of Wood-street, attacked by the plague! I
will go with you instantly, young man. I have a great regard for your
master--a very great regard. There is not a better man living. The poor
lad must be saved, if possible." And hastily repeating his instructions
to the attendants of the sick man, he left the vault with the
apprentice.
They found the verger in the charnel, and before quitting it, the doctor
drew a small flask of canary from his pocket, and applied it to his
lips.
"This is my anti-pestilential drink," he remarked with a smile, "and it
has preserved me from contagion hitherto. You must let us out of the
south door, friend," he added to the verger, "for I shall be obliged to
step home for a moment, and it will save time. Come with me, young man,
and tell me what has been done for the grocer's son."
As they traversed the gloomy aisle of Saint Faith, and mounted to the
upper structure, Leonard related all that had taken place since poor
Stephen's seizure. The doctor strongly expressed his approval of what
had been done, and observed, "It could not be better. With Heaven's
help, I have no doubt we shall save him, and I am truly glad of it for
his father's sake."
By this time they had reached the southern door, and the verger having
unlocked it, they issued forth. It was still bright moonlight, and
Leonard, whose mind was greatly relieved by the assurances of the
physician, felt in some degree reconciled to the delay, and kept up his
part in the conversation promoted by his companion. The doctor, who was
an extremely kind-hearted man, and appeared to have a great regard for
the grocer, made many inquiries as to his family, and spoke in terms of
the highest admiration of the beauty of his eldest daughter. The mention
of Amabel's name, while it made Leonard's cheek burn, rekindled all his
jealousy of Wyvil, and he tried to make some excuse to get away, but his
companion would not hear of it.
"I tell you there is no hurry," said the doctor; "all is going on as
well as possible. I will make your excuses to your master."
"On reaching the doctor's house they were ushered into a large room,
surrounded with bookshelves and cases of anatomical preparations. Hodges
seated himself at a table, on which a shaded lamp was placed, and
writing out a prescription, desired his servant to get it made up at a
neighbouring apothecary's, and to take it, with a couple of blankets, to
the sexton of Saint Paul's. He then produced a bottle of medicated
canary, and pouring out a large glass for the apprentice, drained
another himself.
"I will answer for its virtue," he said: "it is a sure preservative
against the plague."
Having furnished himself with several small packets of simples, a few
pots of ointment, one or two phials, and a case of surgical instruments,
he told Leonard he was ready to attend him.
"We will go round by Warwick-lane," he added. "I must call upon Chowles,
the coffin-maker. It will not detain us a moment; and I have an order to
give him."
The mention of this name brought to Leonard's mind the hideous attendant
on the dead-cart, and he had no doubt he was the person in question. It
did not become him, however, to make a remark, and they set out.
Mounting Addle-hill, and threading Ave-Maria-lane, they entered
Warwick-lane, and about half-way up the latter thoroughfare, the doctor
stopped before a shop, bearing on its immense projecting sign the
representation of a coffin lying in state, and covered with scutcheons,
underneath which was written, "ANSELM CHOWLES, COFFIN-MAKER."
"I do not think you will find Mr. Chowles at home," observed Leonard:
"for I saw him with the dead-cart not half an hour ago."
"Very likely," returned the doctor; "but I shall see one of his men. The
coffin-maker's business is now carried on in the night time," he added,
with a sigh; "and he drives a flourishing trade. These sad times will
make his fortune."
As he spoke, he rapped with his cane at the door, which, after a little
delay, was opened by a young man in a carpenter's dress, with a hammer
in his hand. On seeing who it was, this person exhibited great
confusion, and would have retired; but the doctor, pushing him aside,
asked for his master.
"You cannot see him just now, sir," replied the other, evidently
considerably embarrassed. "He is just come home greatly fatigued, and is
about to retire to rest."
"No matter," returned the doctor, entering a room, in which three or
four other men were at work, hastily finishing coffins; "I _must_ see
him."
No further opposition being offered, Hodges, followed by the apprentice,
marched towards an inner room. Just as he reached the door, a burst of
loud laughter, evidently proceeding from a numerous party, arose from
within, and a harsh voice was heard chanting the following strains:
SONG OF THE PLAGUE.
To others the Plague a foe may be,
To me 'tis a friend--not an enemy;
My coffins and coffers alike it fills,
And the richer I grow the more it kills.
_Drink the Plague! Drink the Plague!_
For months, for years, may it spend its rage
On lusty manhood and trembling age;
Though half mankind of the scourge should die,
My coffins will sell--so what care I?
_Drink the Plague! Drink the Plague!_
Loud acclamations followed the song, and the doctor, who was filled with
disgust and astonishment, opened the door. He absolutely recoiled at the
scene presented to his gaze. In the midst of a large room, the sides of
which were crowded with coffins, piled to the very ceiling, sat about a
dozen personages, with pipes in their mouths, and flasks and glasses
before them. Their seats were coffins, and their table was a coffin set
upon a bier. Perched on a pyramid of coffins, gradually diminishing in
size as the pile approached its apex, Chowles was waving a glass in one
hand, and a bottle in the other, when the doctor made his appearance.
A more hideous personage cannot be imagined than the coffin-maker. He
was clothed in a suit of rusty black, which made his skeleton limbs look
yet more lean and cadaverous. His head was perfectly bald, and its
yellow skin, divested of any artificial covering, glistened like
polished ivory. His throat was long and scraggy, and supported a head
unrivalled for ugliness. His nose had been broken in his youth, and was
almost compressed flat with his face. His few remaining teeth were
yellow and discoloured with large gaps between them. His eyes were
bright, and set in deep cavernous recesses, and, now that he was more
than half-intoxicated, gleamed with unnatural lustre. The friends by
whom he was surrounded were congenial spirits,--searchers, watchmen,
buriers, apothecaries, and other wretches, who, like himself, rejoiced
in the pestilence, because it was a source of profit to them.
At one corner of the room, with a part-emptied glass before her, and
several articles in her lap, which she hastily pocketed on the entrance
of the doctor, sat the plague-nurse, Mother Malmayns; and Leonard
thought her, if possible, more villainous-looking than her companions.
She was a rough, raw-boned woman, with sandy hair and light brows, a
sallow, freckled complexion, a nose with wide nostrils, and a large,
thick-lipped mouth. She had, moreover, a look of mingled cunning and
ferocity inexpressibly revolting.
Sharply rebuking Chowles, who, in springing from his lofty seat, upset
several of the topmost coffins, the doctor gave him some directions,
and, turning to the nurse, informed her of her husband's condition, and
ordered her to go to him immediately. Mother Malmayns arose, and glancing
significantly at the coffin-maker, took her departure.
Repeating his injunctions to Chowles in a severe tone, the doctor
followed; and seeing her take the way towards Saint Paul's, proceeded at
a brisk pace along Paternoster-row with the apprentice. In a few minutes
they reached Wood-street, and knocking at the door, were admitted by
Blaize.
"Heaven be praised, you are come at last!" exclaimed the porter. "Our
master began to think something had happened to you."
"It is all my fault," returned Doctor Hodges; "but how is the young
man?"
"Better, much better, as I understand," replied Blaize; "but I have not
seen him."
"Come, that's well," rejoined Hodges. "Lead me to his room."
"Leonard will show you the way," returned the porter, holding back.
Glancing angrily at Blaize, the apprentice conducted the doctor to the
inner room, where they found the grocer, with the Bible on his knee,
watching by the bedside of his son. He was delighted with their
appearance, but looked inquisitively at his apprentice for some
explanation of his long absence. This Hodges immediately gave; and,
having examined the sufferer, he relieved the anxious father by
declaring, that, with due care, he had little doubt of his son's
recovery.
"God be praised!" exclaimed Bloundel, falling on his knees.
Hodges then gave minute directions to the grocer as to how he was to
proceed, and told him it would be necessary for some time to keep his
family separate. To this Bloundel readily agreed. The doctor's next
inquiries were, whether notice had been given to the Examiner of Health,
and the grocer referring to Leonard, the latter acknowledged that he had
forgotten it, but undertook to repair his omission at once.
With this view, he quitted the room, and was hastening towards the shop,
when he observed a figure on the back stairs. Quickly mounting them, he
overtook on the landing Maurice Wyvil.
* * * * *
III. THE GAMESTER AND THE BULLY.