the stalls were removed, the shops closed, and the window-shutters
nailed up. It was never, in fact, used at all, except by a few
countrymen and higglers, who ventured thither on certain days of the
week to sell fresh eggs, butter, poultry, and such commodities. The
manner of sale was this. The article disposed of was placed on a flag on
one side of the market, near which stood a pump and a trough of water.
The vendor then retired, while the purchaser approached, took the
article, and put its price into the water, whence it was removed when
supposed to be sufficiently purified.
As the party passed Grey Friars, the tramp of their horses was mistaken
for the dead-cart, and a door was suddenly opened and a corpse brought
forth. Leonard would have avoided the spectacle had it been possible,
but they were now too close to Newgate, where they were detained for a
few minutes at the gate, while their bills of health were examined and
countersigned by the officer stationed there. During this pause Leonard
glanced at the grated windows of the prison, the debtors' side of which
fronted the street. But not a single face was to be seen. In fact, as
has already been stated, the prison was shut up.
The gate was now opened to them, and descending Snow Hill they entered a
region completely devastated by the pestilence. So saddening was the
sight, that Leonard involuntarily quickened his horse's pace, resolved
to get out of this forlorn district as speedily as possible. He was,
however, stopped by an unexpected and fearful impediment. When within a
short distance of Holborn Bridge, he observed on the further side of it
a large black vehicle, and, unable to make out what it was, though a
fearful suspicion crossed him, slackened his pace. A nearer approach
showed him that it was the pest-cart, filled with its charnel load. The
horse was in the shafts, and was standing quite still. Rising in his
stirrups to obtain a better view, Leonard perceived that the driver was
lying on the ground at a little distance from the cart, in an attitude
that proclaimed he had been suddenly seized by the pestilence, and had
probably just expired.
Not choosing to incur the risk of passing this contagious load, Leonard
retraced his course as far as Holborn Conduit, then turning into
Seacole-lane, and making the best of his way to Fleet Bridge, crossed
it, and entered the great thoroughfare with which it communicated. He
had not proceeded far when he encountered a small party of the watch, to
whom he showed his certificate, and recounted the fate of the driver of
the dead-cart. At Temple Bar he was again obliged to exhibit his
passports; and while there detained, he observed three other horsemen
riding towards them from the further end of Fleet-street.
Though much alarmed by the sight, Leonard did not communicate his
apprehensions to his companions, but as soon as the guard allowed him to
pass, called out to Blaize to follow him, and urging his horse to a
quick pace, dashed up Drury-lane. A few minutes' hard riding, during
which nothing occurred to give the apprentice further uneasiness,
brought them to a road skirting the open fields, in which a pest-house
had just been built by the chivalrous nobleman whose habitation in
Berkshire they were about to visit. With a courage and devotion that
redound more to his honour than the brilliant qualities that won him so
high a reputation in the court and in the field, Lord Craven not merely
provided the present receptacle for the sick, but remained in London
during the whole continuance of the dreadful visitation; "braving," says
Pennant, "the fury of the pestilence with the same coolness that he
fought the battles of his beloved mistress, Elizabeth, titular Queen of
Bohemia, or mounted the tremendous breach of Creutznach." The spot where
this asylum was built, and which is the present site of Golden-square,
retained nearly half a century afterwards, the name of the Pest-house
Fields. Leonard had already been made acquainted by Doctor Hodges with
the earl's generous devotion to the public welfare, and warmly
commenting upon it, he pointed out the structure to Amabel. But the
speed at which she was borne along did not allow her time to bestow more
than a hasty glance at it. On gaining Hyde-park Corner, the apprentice
cast a look backwards, and his apprehensions were revived by perceiving
the three horsemen again in view, and evidently using their utmost
exertions to come up with them.
While Leonard was hesitating whether he should make known their danger
to Amabel, he perceived Solomon Eagle dart from behind a wall on the
left of the road, and plant himself in the direct course of their
pursuers, and he involuntarily drew in the rein to see what would ensue.
In another moment, the horsemen, who were advancing at full gallop, and
whom Leonard now recognised as the Earl of Rochester, Pillichody, and
Sir Paul Parravicin, had approached within a few yards of the
enthusiast, and threatened to ride over him if he did not get of the
way. Seeing, however, that he did not offer to move, they opened on
either side of him, and were passing swiftly by, when, with infinite
dexterity, he caught hold of the bridle of Rochester's steed, and
checking him, seized the earl by the leg, and threw him to the ground.
Sir Paul Parravicin pulled up as soon as he could, and, drawing his
sword, rode back to assist his friend, and punish the aggressor; but the
enthusiast, nothing daunted, met him in full career, and suddenly
lifting up his arms, uttered a loud cry, which so startled the knight's
high-spirited horse, that it reared and flung him. All this was the work
of a few seconds. Pillichody had been borne forward by the impetuosity
of his steed to within a short distance of the apprentice, and seeing
the fate of his companions, and not liking Leonard's menacing gestures,
he chipped spurs into his horse, and rode up Park-lane.
Overjoyed at his unexpected deliverance, Leonard, whose attention had
been completely engrossed by what was passing, now ventured to look at
Amabel, and became greatly alarmed at her appearance. She was as pale as
death, except a small scarlet patch on either cheek, which contrasted
powerfully with the death-like hue of the rest of her countenance. Her
hands convulsively clasped the back of the pillion; her lips were
slightly apart, and her eyes fixed upon the prostrate form of the Earl
of Rochester. On finding they were pursued, and by whom, her first
impulse had been to fling herself from the pillion, and to seek safety
by flight; but controlling herself, she awaited the result with forced
composure, and was now sinking from the exhaustion of the effort.
"Thank Heaven! we are safe," cried the apprentice; "but I fear the shock
has been too much for you."
"It has," gasped Amabel, falling against his shoulder. "Let us fly--oh!
let us fly."
Inexpressibly shocked and alarmed, Leonard twined his left arm round her
waist so as to hold her on the steed, for she was utterly unable to
support herself, and glancing anxiously at Nizza Macascree, struck off
on the right into the road skirting the Park, and in the direction of
Tyburn, where there was a small inn, at which he hoped to procure
assistance. Before reaching this place, he was beyond description
relieved to find that Amabel had so far recovered as to be able to raise
her head.
"The deadly faintness is passed," she murmured; "I shall be better soon.
But I fear I am too weak to pursue the journey at present."
Leonard spurred on his steed, and in another instant reached Tyburn, and
drew up at the little inn. But no assistance could be obtained there.
The house was closed; there was a red cross on the door; and a watchman,
stationed in front of it, informed him that all the family had died of
the plague except the landlord--"and he will be buried beside them in
Paddington churchyard before to-morrow morning," added the man; "for his
nurse tells me it is impossible he can survive many hours."
As he spoke an upper window was opened, and a woman, thrusting forth her
head, cried, "Poor Master Sandys has just breathed his last. Come in,
Philip, and help me to prepare the body for the dead-cart."
"I will be with you in a minute," rejoined the watchman. "You may
possibly procure accommodation at the Wheatsheaf at Paddington," he
added to Leonard; "it is but a short distance up the road."
Thanking him for the information, Leonard took the course indicated. He
had not proceeded far, when he was alarmed by hearing a piteous cry of
"Stop! stop!" proceeding from Blaize; and, halting, found that the
porter had been so greatly terrified by the watchman's account of the
frightful mortality in the poor innkeeper's family, that he had applied
to his phial of plague-water, and in pulling it put had dropped his box
of rufuses, and the jar of anti-pestilential confection. He had just
ascertained his loss, and wished to go back, but this Nizza Macascree
would not permit. Enraged at the delay, Leonard peremptorily ordered the
porter to come on; and Blaize, casting a rueful glance at his treasures,
which he perceived at a little distance in the middle of the road, was
compelled to obey.
At Paddington, another disappointment awaited them. The Wheatsheaf was
occupied by two large families, who were flying from the infected city,
and no accommodation could be obtained. Leonard looked wistfully at
Nizza Macascree, as if to ascertain what to do, and she was equally
perplexed; but the difficulty was relieved by Amabel herself, who said
she felt much better, and able to proceed a little further. "Do not
return to London," she continued with great earnestness. "I would rather
die on the road than go home again. Some cottage will receive us. If
not, I can rest for a short time in the fields."
Thinking it best to comply, Leonard proceeded along the Harrow-road.
Soon after crossing Paddington Green, he overtook a little train of
fugitives driving a cart filled with children, and laden with luggage.
Further on, as he surveyed the beautiful meadows, stretching out on
either side of him, he perceived a line of small tents, resembling a
gipsy encampment, pitched at a certain distance from each other, and
evidently occupied by families who had fled from their homes from fear
of infection. This gave a singular character to the prospect. But there
were other and far more painful sights on the road, which could not fail
to attract attention. For the first half-mile, almost at every hundred
yards might be seen some sick man, who, unable to proceed further, had
fallen against the hedge-side, and exhibited his sores to move the pity
of the passers-by. But these supplications were wholly unheeded.
Self-preservation was the first object with all, and the travellers
holding handkerchiefs steeped in vinegar to their faces, and averting
their heads, passed by on the other side of the way.
The pestilence, it may be remarked, had visited with extraordinary
rigour the whole of the higher country at the west and north-west of the
metropolis. The charmingly-situated, and, at other seasons, healthful
villages of Hampstead and Highgate, suffered severely from the scourge;
and it even extended its ravages as far as Harrow-on-the-Hill, which it
half depopulated. This will account for the circumstance of a large
pest-house being erected in the neighbourhood of Westbourne Green, which
the party now approached. Two litters were seen crossing the fields in
the direction of the hospital, and this circumstance called Leonard's
attention to it. Shudderingly averting his gaze, he quickened his pace,
and soon reached a small farmhouse on the summit of the hill rising from
Kensal Green. Determined to seek a temporary asylum here for Amabel, he
opened a gate, and, riding into the yard, fortunately met with owner of
the house, a worthy farmer, named Wingfield, to whom he explained her
situation. The man at first hesitated, but, on receiving Leonard's
solemn assurance that she was free from the plague, consented to receive
the whole party.
Assisting Amabel to dismount, Wingfield conveyed her in his arms into
the house, and delivered her to his wife, bidding her take care of her.
The injunction was scarcely needed. The good dame, who was a middle-aged
woman, with pleasing features, which lost none of their interest from
being stamped with profound melancholy, gazed at her for a moment
fixedly, and then observed in an under-tone, but with much emotion, to
her husband, "Ah! Robert, how much this sweet creature resembles our
poor Sarah!"
"Hush! hush! dame," rejoined her husband, hastily brushing away the
moisture that sprang to his eyes; "take her to your chamber, and see
that she wants nothing. There is another young woman outside, whom I
will send to you."
So saying, he returned to the yard. Meantime, the others had dismounted,
and Wingfield, bidding Nizza Macascree go in, led the way to the barn,
where the horses were tied up, and fodder placed before them. This done,
he conducted his guests to the house, and placing cold meat, bread, and
a jug of ale before them, desired them to fall to--an injunction which
Blaize, notwithstanding his previous repast of roasted figs and pickled
walnuts, very readily complied with. While they were thus employed, Dame
Wingfield made her appearance. She said that the poor creature (meaning
Amabel) was too ill to proceed on her journey that day, and begged her
husband to allow her to stop till the next morning, when she hoped she
would be able to undertake it.
"To-morrow morning, say you dame?" cried Wingfield; "she may stop till
the day after, and the day after that, if you desire it, or she wishes
it. Go tell her so."
And as his wife withdrew, well pleased at having obtained her request,
Wingfield addressed himself to Leonard, and inquired the cause of
Amabel's illness; and as the apprentice saw no necessity for secresy,
and felt exceedingly grateful for the kind treatment he had experienced,
he acquainted him with the chief particulars of her history. The farmer
appeared greatly moved by the recital.
"She resembles my poor Sarah very strongly," he said. "My daughter was
hurried into an early grave by a villain who won her affections and
betrayed her. She now lies in Willesden churchyard, but her seducer is
one of the chief favourites of our profligate monarch."
"Do you mean the Earl of Rochester?" cried Leonard.
"No, no," replied the farmer, whose good-natured countenance had assumed
a stern expression. "The villain I mean is worse, if possible, than the
earl. He is called Sir Paul Parravicin."
"Gracious Heaven!" exclaimed Leonard, in astonishment; "what a strange
coincidence is this!"
And he then proceeded to relate to Wingfield the persecution which Nizza
Macascree had endured from the profligate knight The farmer listened to
his recital with breathless interest, and when it was ended arose, and,
taking a hasty turn round the room, halted at the table and struck it
forcibly with his clenched hand.
"I hope that man will never cross my path," he said, all the blood
mounting to his face, and his eye kindling with fury. "As God shall
judge me, I will kill him if I meet him."
"Then I hope you never will meet him," observed Leonard. "He has injured
you enough already, without putting you out of the pale of Divine
mercy."
"These rascals have done us all an injury," observed Blaize. "Patience
has never been like herself since Major Pillichody entered my master's
dwelling, and made love to her. I feel quite uneasy to think how the
little hussy will go on during my absence. She can't get out of the
house, that's one comfort."
"You have mentioned another wretch, who was constantly with Sir Paul,"
cried Wingfield. "Perdition seize them!"
"Ay, perdition seize them!" echoed Blaize, striking the table in his
turn--"especially Major Pillichody."
"Did you ever suspect Sir Paul to be of higher rank than he pretends?"
asked Leonard.
"No," rejoined Wingfield; "what motive have you for the question?"
Leonard then told him of the inquiries instituted by Doctor Hodges
relative to Nizza's retreat, and how they had been baffled. "It is
strange," he continued, "that Nizza herself never heard the real name of
her persecutor; neither can she tell where the house to which she was
conveyed, when in a fainting condition, and from which she was removed
when attacked with the plague, is situated."
"It is strange indeed," observed the farmer, musingly.
Soon after this, Nizza Macascree made her appearance, and informed them
that Amabel had fallen into a tranquil slumber, which, in all
probability, would completely renovate her.
"I hope it will," said Wingfield. "But I shall not part with her
to-day."
He then entered into conversation with Nizza, and after a little time,
proposed to her and Leonard to walk across the fields with him to
Willesden, to visit his daughter's grave.
"My wife will take charge of Amabel," he said; "you may safely trust her
in her hands."
Leonard could raise no objection, except the possibility that the Earl
of Rochester and his companions might discover their retreat, and carry
off Amabel in his absence; but, after a little reflection, considering
this altogether unlikely, he assented, and they set out. A pleasant walk
across the fields brought them to the pretty little village of Willesden
and its old and beautiful church. They proceeded to the grave of poor
Sarah Wingfield, which lay at the east of the church, beneath one of the
tall elms, and Nizza, as she stood by the rounded sod covering the
remains of the unfortunate girl, could not restrain her tears.
"This might have been my own fate," she said. "What an escape I have
had!"
"I did not bring you here to read you a lesson," said Wingfield, in a
tone of deep emotion, "but because you, who know the temptation to which
the poor creature who lies there was exposed, will pity her. Not alone
did remorse for her conduct prey upon her spirits--not alone did she
suffer from self-reproach,--but the scoffs and jeers of her sex, who
never forgive an erring sister, broke her heart. She is now, however,
beyond the reach of human malice, and, I trust, at peace."
As he said this, he walked away to hide his emotion, and presently
afterwards rejoining them, they quitted the churchyard together.
As they recrossed the fields, Wingfield observed two men digging a hole
in the ground, and, guessing their object, paused for a few minutes to
watch them. Having thrown out the earth to the depth of a couple of
feet, one of them took a long hooked pole, and attaching it to the body
of a victim to the pestilence, who had wandered into the fields and died
there, dragged it towards the pit. As soon as the corpse was pushed into
its narrow receptacle, the clay was shovelled over it, and trodden down.
"This is a sad mode of burial for a Christian," observed Wingfield. "But
it would not do to leave an infected body to rot in the fields, and
spread the contagion."
"Such a grave is better than the plague-pit," rejoined Leonard,
recalling the frightful scenes he had witnessed there.
On reaching Wingfield's dwelling, they found from the good dame, that
Amabel had awakened from her slumber greatly refreshed; but she gave it
as her opinion that she had better remain undisturbed. Accordingly, no
one went into the room to her except Nizza Macascree. A substantial
dinner was provided for his guests by the hospitable farmer; and Blaize,
who had been for some time confined to salt provisions at his master's
house, did ample justice to the fresh meat and vegetables.
The meal over, Leonard, who felt exceedingly curious to learn what had
become of the mysterious stranger whose child he had carried to the
plague-pit, and who had appeared so strangely interested in Nizza
Macascree, determined to walk to the pest-house in Finsbury Fields and
inquire after him. On communicating his intention to his host, Wingfield
would have dissuaded him; but as Leonard affirmed he had no fear of
infection, he desisted from the attempt. Just as the apprentice was
starting, Blaize came up to him, and said,--"Leonard, I have a great
curiosity to see a pest-house, and should like to go with you, if you
will let me."
The apprentice stared at him in astonishment.
"You will never dare to enter it," he said.
"I will go wherever you go," replied the porter, with a confidence
mainly inspired by the hospitable farmer's strong ale.
"We shall see," replied Leonard. "I shall keep you to your word."
In less than an hour they reached Marylebone Fields (now the Regent's
Park), and, crossing them, entered a lane, running in pretty nearly the
same direction as the present New-road. It Drought them to Clerkenwell,
whence they proceeded to Finsbury Fields, and soon came in sight of the
pest-house. When Blaize found himself so near this dreaded asylum, all
his courage vanished.
"I would certainly enter the pest-house with you," he said to Leonard,
"but I have used up all my vinegar, and you know I lost my box of
rufuses and the pot of anti-pestilential confection this morning."
"That excuse shall not serve your turn," replied Leonard. "You can get
plenty of vinegar and plague medicine in the pest-house."
"But I have no money to pay for them," rejoined Blaize.
"I will lend you some," said Leonard, placing a few pieces in his hand.
"Now, come along."
Blaize would fain have run away, but, afraid of incurring the
apprentice's anger, he walked tremblingly after him. They entered the
garden-gate, and soon reached the principal door, which, as usual, stood
open. Scarcely able to support himself, the porter tottered into the
large room; but as he cast his eyes around, and beheld the miserable
occupants of the pallets, and heard their cries and groans, he was so
scared that he could not move another step, but stood like one
transfixed with terror. Paying little attention to him, Leonard walked
forward, and at the further extremity of the chamber found the young
chirurgeon whom he had formerly seen, and describing the stranger,
inquired where he was placed.
"The person you allude to has been removed," returned the chirurgeon.
"Doctor Hodges visited him this morning, and had him conveyed to his own
dwelling."
"Was he sensible at the time?" asked the apprentice.
"I think not," replied the chirurgeon; "but the doctor appeared to
recognise in him an old friend, though I did not hear him mention his
name; and it was on that account, I conclude, that he had him removed."
"Is he likely to recover?" asked Leonard, whose curiosity was aroused by
what he heard.
"That is impossible to say," replied the young man. "But he cannot be in
better hands than those of Doctor Hodges."
Leonard perfectly concurred with him, and, after a few minutes' further
conversation, turned to depart. Not seeing Blaize, he concluded he had
gone forth, and expected to find him in the garden, or, at all events,
in the field adjoining. But he was nowhere to be seen. While wondering
what had become of him, Leonard heard a loud cry, in the voice of the
porter, issuing from the barn, which, as has already been stated, had
been converted into a receptacle for the sick; and hurrying thither, he
found Blaize in the hands of two stout assistants, who had stripped him
of his clothes, and were tying him down to a pallet. On seeing Leonard,
Blaize implored him to deliver him from the hands of his persecutors;
and the apprentice assuring the assistants that the poor fellow was
perfectly free from infection, they liberated him.
It appeared, on inquiry, that Blaize had fallen against one of the
pallets in a state almost of insensibility, and the two assistants,
chancing to pass at the time, and taking him for a plague patient, had
conveyed him to the barn. On reaching it, he recovered, and besought
them to set him free, but they paid no attention to his cries, and
proceeded to strip him, and bind him to the bed, as before related.
Thus released, the porter lost no time in dressing himself; and Leonard,
to allay his terrors, had a strong dose of anti-pestilential elixir
administered to him. After which, having procured him a box of rufuses,
and a phial of plague-water, Blaize shook off his apprehension, and they
set out at a brisk pace for Kensal Green.
VII. THE JOURNEY.