Leonard; "and you know I speak from personal experience."
"You give me great comfort," said Blaize. "And so you really think I
shall get better?"
"I have no doubt of it, if you keep up your spirits," replied Leonard.
"The worst is evidently over. Behave like a man."
"I will try to do so," rejoined Blaize. "I have been told that if a
circle is drawn with a blue sapphire round a plague-blotch, it will fall
off. Couldn't we just try the experiment?"
"It will not do to rely upon it," observed the attendant, with a smile.
"You will find a small knob of red-hot iron, which we call the 'button,'
much more efficacious."
"Oh dear! oh dear!" exclaimed Blaize, "I already feel that dreadful
button burning into my flesh."
"On the contrary, you won't feel it at all," replied the attendant. "The
iron only touches the point of the tumour, in which there is no
sensibility."
"In that case, I don't care how soon the operation is performed,"
replied Blaize.
"Doctor Hodges will choose his own time for it," said the attendant. "In
the mean time, here is a cup of barley-broth for you. You will find it
do you good."
While the man applied the cup to the poor porter's lips--for he would
not unloose the straps, for fear of mischief--Leonard, who was sickened
by the terrible scene around him, took his departure, and quitted the
cathedral by the great western entrance. Seating himself on one of the
great blocks of stone left there by the workmen employed in repairing
the cathedral, but who had long since abandoned their task, he thought
over all that had recently occurred. Raising his eyes at length, he
looked toward the cathedral. The oblique rays of the sun had quitted the
columns of the portico, which looked cold and grey, while the roof and
towers were glittering in light. In ten minutes more, only the summit of
the central tower caught the last reflection of the declining orb.
Leonard watched the rosy gleam till it disappeared, and then steadfastly
regarded the reverend pile as its hue changed from grey to black, until
at length each pinnacle and buttress, each battlement and tower, was
lost in one vast indistinct mass. Night had fallen upon the city--a
night destined to be more fatal than any that had preceded it; and yet
it was so calm, so beautiful, so clear, that it was scarcely possible to
imagine that it was unhealthy. The destroying angel was, however,
fearfully at work. Hundreds were falling beneath his touch; and as
Leonard wondered how many miserable wretches were at that moment
released from suffering, it crossed him like an icy chill, that among
the number might be Amabel. So forcibly was he impressed by this idea,
that he fell on his knees and prayed aloud.
He was aroused by hearing the ringing of a bell, which announced the
approach of the dead-cart, and presently afterwards the gloomy vehicle
approached from Ludgate-hill, and moved slowly towards the portico of
the cathedral, where it halted. A great number of the dead were placed
within it, and the driver, ringing his bell, proceeded in the direction
of Cheapside. A very heavy dew had fallen; for as Leonard put his hand
to his clothes, they felt damp, and his long hair was filled with
moisture. Reproaching himself with having needlessly exposed himself to
risk, he was about to walk away, when he heard footsteps at a little
distance, and looking in the direction of the sound, perceived the tall
figure of Thirlby. Calling to him, the other, who appeared to be in
haste, halted for a moment, and telling the apprentice he was going to
Doctor Hodges's, desired him to accompany him thither, and went on.
* * * * *
III. THE HOUSE IN NICHOLAS-LANE.
On reaching Watling-street, Leonard and his companion found Doctor
Hodges was from home. This did not much surprise the apprentice, after
the information he had received from Solomon Eagle, but Thirlby was
greatly disappointed, and eagerly questioned the porter as to the
probable time of his master's return. The man replied that it was quite
uncertain, adding, "He has been in since you were last here, and has
seen Blaize. He had not been gone to the cathedral many minutes when a
gentleman arrived, desiring his instant attendance upon a young woman
who was sick of the plague."
"Did you hear her name?" asked Leonard and Thirlby, in a breath.
"No," replied the porter, "neither did I obtain any information
respecting her from the gentleman, who appeared in great distress. But I
observed that my master, on his return, looked much surprised at seeing
him, and treated him with a sort of cold respect."
"Was the gentleman young or old?" demanded Leonard, hastily.
"As far as I noticed," replied the porter, "for he kept his face covered
with a handkerchief, I should say he was young--very young."
"You are sure it was not Lord Rochester?" pursued Leonard.
"How should I be sure of it," rejoined the porter, "since I have never
seen his lordship that I am aware of? But I will tell you all that
happened, and you can judge for yourselves. My master, as I have just
said, on seeing the stranger, looked surprised and angry, and bowing
gravely, conducted him to his study, taking care to close the door after
him. I did not, of course, hear what passed, but the interview was brief
enough, and the gentleman, issuing forth, said, as he quitted the room,
'You will not fail to come?' To which my master replied, 'Certainly not,
on the terms I have mentioned.' With this, the gentleman hurried out of
the house. Shortly afterwards the doctor came out, and said to me, 'I am
going to attend a young woman who is sick of the plague, and may be
absent for some time. If Mr. Thirlby or Leonard Holt should call, detain
them till my return.'"
"My heart tells me that the young woman he is gone to visit is no other
than Amabel," said Leonard Holt, sorrowfully.
"I suspect it is Nizza Macascree," cried Thirlby. "Which way did your
master take?"
"I did not observe," replied the porter, "but he told me he should cross
London Bridge."
"I will go into Southwark in quest of him," said Thirlby. "Every moment
is of consequence now."
"You had better stay where you are," replied the old porter. "It is the
surest way to meet with him."
Thirlby, however, was too full of anxiety to listen to reason, and his
impatience producing a corresponding effect upon Leonard, though from a
different motive, they set forth together. "If I fail to find him, you
may expect me back ere long," were Thirlby's last words to the porter.
Hurrying along Watling-street, and taking the first turning on the
right, he descended to Thames-street, and made the best of his way
towards the bridge. Leonard followed him closely, and they pursued their
rapid course in silence. By the time they reached the north gate of the
bridge, Leonard found his strength failing him, and halting at one of
the openings between the tall houses overlooking the river, where there
was a wooden bench for the accommodation of passengers, he sank upon it,
and begged Thirlby to go on, saying he would return to Watling-street as
soon as he recovered from his exhaustion. Thirlby did not attempt to
dissuade him from his purpose, but instantly disappeared.
The night, it has before been remarked, was singularly beautiful. It was
almost as light as day, for the full harvest moon (alas! there was no
harvest for it to smile upon!) having just risen, revealed every object
with perfect distinctness. The bench on which Leonard was seated lay on
the right side of the bridge, and commanded a magnificent reach of the
river, that flowed beneath like a sheet of molten silver. The apprentice
gazed along its banks, and noticed the tall spectral-looking houses on
the right, until his eye finally settled on the massive fabric of Saint
Paul's, the roof and towers of which rose high above the lesser
structures. His meditations were suddenly interrupted by the opening of
a window in the house near him, while a loud splash in the water told
that a body had been thrown into it. He turned away with a shudder, and
at the same moment perceived a watchman, with a halberd upon his
shoulder, advancing slowly towards him from the Southwark side of the
bridge. Pausing as he drew near the apprentice, the watchman
compassionately inquired whether he was sick, and being answered in the
negative, was about to pass on, when Leonard, fancying he recognised his
voice, stopped him.
"We have met somewhere before, friend," he said, "though where, or under
what circumstances, I cannot at this moment call to mind."
"Not unlikely," returned the other, roughly, "but the chances are
against our meeting again."
Leonard heaved a sigh at this remark. "I now recollect where I met you,
friend," he remarked. "It was at Saint Paul's, when I was in search of
my master's daughter, who had been carried off by the Earl of Rochester.
But you were then in the garb of a smith."
"I recollect the circumstance, too, now you remind me of it," replied
the other. "Your name is Leonard Holt as surely as mine is Robert
Rainbird. I recollect, also, that you offended me about a dog belonging
to the piper's pretty daughter, Nizza Macascree, which I was about to
destroy in obedience to the Lord Mayor's commands. However, I bear no
malice, and if I did, this is not a time to rip up old quarrels."
"You are right, friend," returned Leonard. "The few of us left ought to
be in charity with each other."
"Truly, ought we," rejoined Rainbird. "For my own part, I have seen so
much misery within the last few weeks, that my disposition is wholly
changed. I was obliged to abandon my old occupation of a smith, because
my master died of the plague, and there was no one else to employ me. I
have therefore served as a watchman, and in twenty days have stood at
the doors of more than twenty houses. It would freeze your blood were I
to relate the scenes I have witnessed."
"It might have done formerly," replied Leonard; "but my feelings are as
much changed as your own. I have had the plague twice myself."
"Then, indeed, you _can_ speak," replied Rainbird. "Thank God, I have
hitherto escaped it! Ah! these are terrible times--terrible times! The
worst that ever London knew. Although I have been hitherto miraculously
preserved myself, I am firmly persuaded no one will escape."
"I am almost inclined to agree with you," replied Leonard.
"For the last week the distemper has raged fearfully--fearfully,
indeed," said Rainbird; "but yesterday and to-day have far exceeded all
that have gone before. The distempered have died quicker than cattle of
the murrain. I visited upwards of a hundred houses in the Borough this
morning, and only found ten persons alive; and out of those ten, not
one, I will venture to say, is alive now. It will, in truth, be a mercy
if they are gone. There were distracted mothers raving over their
children,--a young husband lamenting his wife,--two little children
weeping over their dead parents, with none to attend them, none to feed
them,--an old man mourning over his son cut off in his prime. In short,
misery and distress in their worst form,--the streets ringing with
shrieks and groans, and the numbers of dead so great that it was
impossible to carry them off. You remember Solomon Eagle's prophecy?"
"Perfectly," replied Leonard; "and I lament to see its fulfilment."
"'The streets shall be covered with grass, and the living shall not be
able to bury their dead,'--so it ran," said Rainbird. "And it has come
to pass. Not a carriage of any description, save the dead-cart, is to be
seen in the broadest streets of London, which are now as green as the
fields without her walls, and as silent as the grave itself. Terrible
times, as I said before--terrible times! The dead are rotting in heaps
in the courts, in the alleys, in the very houses, and no one to remove
them. What will be the end of it all? What will become of this great
city?"
"It is not difficult to foresee what will become of it," replied
Leonard, "unless it pleases the Lord to stay his vengeful arm. And
something whispers in my ear that we are now at the worst. The scourge
cannot exceed its present violence without working our ruin; and deeply
as we have sinned, little as we repent, I cannot bring myself to believe
that God will sweep his people entirely from the face of the earth."
"I dare not hope otherwise," rejoined Rainbird, "though I would fain do
so. I discern no symptoms of abatement of the distemper, but, on the
contrary, an evident increase of malignity, and such is the opinion of
all I have spoken with on the subject. Chowles told me he buried two
hundred more yesterday than he had ever done before, and yet he did not
carry a third of the dead to the plague-pit. He is a strange fellow that
Chowles. But for his passion for his horrible calling there is no
necessity for him to follow it, for he is now one of the richest men in
London."
"He must have amassed his riches by robbery, then," remarked Leonard.
"True," returned Rainbird. "He helps himself without scruple to the
clothes, goods, and other property, of all who die of the pestilence;
and after ransacking their houses, conveys his plunder in the dead-cart
to his own dwelling."
"In Saint Paul's?" asked Leonard.
"No--a large house in Nicholas-lane, once belonging to a wealthy
merchant, who perished, with his family, of the plague," replied
Rainbird. "He has filled it from cellar to garret with the spoil he has
obtained."
"And how has he preserved it?" inquired the apprentice.
"The plague has preserved it for him," replied Rainbird. "The few
authorities who now act have, perhaps, no knowledge of his proceedings;
or if they have, have not cared to interfere, awaiting a more favourable
season, if it should ever arrive, to dispossess him of his hoard, and
punish him for his delinquencies; while, in the mean time, they are
glad, on any terms, to avail themselves of his services as a burier.
Other people do not care to meddle with him, and the most daring robber
would be afraid to touch infected money or clothes."
"If you are going towards Nicholas-lane," said Leonard, as if struck
with a sudden idea, "and will point out to me the house in question, you
will do me a favour."
Rainbird nodded assent, and they walked on together towards
Fish-street-hill. Ascending it, and turning off on the right, they
entered Great Eastcheap, but had not proceeded far when they were
obliged to turn back, the street being literally choked up with a pile
of carcasses deposited there by the burier's assistants. Shaping their
course along Gracechurch-street, they turned off into Lombard-street,
and as Leonard gazed at the goldsmiths' houses on either side, which
were all shut up, with the fatal red cross on the doors, he could not
help remarking to his companion, "The plague has not spared any of these
on account of their riches."
"True," replied the other; "and of the thousands who used formerly to
throng this street not one is left. Wo to London!--wo!--wo!"
Leonard echoed the sentiment, and fell into a melancholy train of
reflection. It has been more than once remarked that the particular day
now under consideration was the one in which the plague exercised its
fiercest dominion over the city; and though at first its decline was as
imperceptible as the gradual diminution of the day after the longest has
passed, yet still the alteration began. On that day, as if death had
known that his power was to be speedily arrested, he sharpened his
fellest arrows, and discharged them with unerring aim. To pursue the
course of the destroyer from house to house--to show with what
unrelenting fury he assailed his victims--to describe their
sufferings--to number the dead left within their beds, thrown into the
streets, or conveyed to the plague-pits--would be to present a narrative
as painful as revolting. On this terrible night it was as hot as if it
had been the middle of June. No air was stirring, and the silence was so
profound, that a slight noise was audible at a great distance. Hushed in
the seemingly placid repose lay the great city, while hundreds of its
inhabitants were groaning in agony, or breathing their last sigh.
On reaching the upper end of Nicholas-lane, Rainbird stood still for a
moment, and pointed out a large house on the right, just below the old
church dedicated to the saint from which the thoroughfare took its name.
They were about to proceed towards it, when the smith again paused, and
called Leonard's attention to two figures quickly advancing from the
lower end of the street. As the apprentice and his companion stood in
the shade, they could not be seen, while the two persons, being in the
moonlight, were fully revealed. One of them, it was easy to perceive,
was Chowles. He stopped before the door of his dwelling and unfastened
it, and while he was thus occupied, the other person turned his face so
as to catch the full radiance of the moon, disclosing the features of
Sir Paul Parravicin. Before Leonard recovered from the surprise into
which he was thrown by this unexpected discovery, they had entered the
house.
He then hurried forward, but, to his great disappointment, found the
door locked. Anxious to get into the house without alarming those who
had preceded him, he glanced at the windows; but the shutters were
closed and strongly barred. While hesitating what to do, Rainbird came
up, and guessing his wishes, told him there was a door at the back of
the house by which he might probably gain admittance. Accordingly they
hastened down a passage skirting the churchyard, which brought them to a
narrow alley lying between Nicholas-lane and Abchurch-lane. Tracking it
for about twenty yards, Rainbird paused before a small yard-door, and
trying the latch, found it yielded to his touch.
Crossing the yard, they came to another door. It was locked, and though
they could have easily burst it open, they preferred having recourse to
an adjoining window, the shutter of which, being carelessly fastened,
was removed without noise or difficulty. In another moment they gained a
small dark room on the ground-floor, whence they issued into a passage,
where, to their great joy, they found a lighted lantern placed on a
chair. Leonard hastily possessed himself of it, and was about to enter a
room on the left when his companion arrested him.
"Before we proceed further," he said in a low voice, "I must know what
you are about to do?"
"My purpose will be explained in a word," replied the apprentice in the
same tone. "I suspect that Nizza Macascree is confined here by Sir Paul
Parravicin and Chowles, and if it turns out I am right in my conjecture,
I propose to liberate her. Will you help me?"
"Humph!" exclaimed Rainbird, "I don't much fancy the job. However, since
I am here, I'll not go back. I am curious to see the coffin-maker's
hoards. Look at yon heap of clothes. There are velvet doublets and
silken hose enow to furnish wardrobes for a dozen court gallants. And
yet, rich as the stuffs are, I would not put the best of them on for all
the wealth of London."
"Nor I," replied Leonard. "I shall make free, however, with a sword," he
added, selecting one from the heap. "I may need a weapon."
"I require nothing more than my halberd," observed the smith; "and I
would advise you to throw away that velvet scabbard; it is a certain
harbour for infection."
Leonard did not neglect the caution, and pushing open the door, they
entered a large room which resembled an upholsterer's shop, being
literally crammed with chairs, tables, cabinets, moveable cupboards,
bedsteads, curtains, and hangings, all of the richest description.
"What I heard is true," observed Rainbird, gazing around in
astonishment. "Chowles must have carried off every thing he could lay
hands upon. What can he do with all that furniture?"
"What the miser does with his store," replied Leonard: "feast his eyes
with it, but never use it."
They then proceeded to the next room. It was crowded with books,
looking-glasses, and pictures; many of them originally of great value,
but greatly damaged by the careless manner in which they were piled one
upon another. A third apartment was filled with flasks of wine, with
casks probably containing spirits, and boxes, the contents of which they
did not pause to examine. A fourth contained male and female
habiliments, spread out like the dresses in a theatrical wardrobe. Most
of these garments were of the gayest and costliest description, and of
the latest fashion, and Leonard sighed as he looked upon them, and
thought of the fate of those they had so lately adorned.
"There is contagion enough in those clothes to infect a whole city,"
said Rainbird, who regarded them with different feelings. "I have half a
mind to set fire to them."
"It were a good deed to do so," returned Leonard; "but it must not be
done now. Let us go upstairs. These are the only rooms below."
Accordingly, they ascended the staircase, and entered chamber after
chamber, all of which were as full of spoil as those they had just
visited; but they could find no one, nor was there any symptom that the
house was tenanted. They next stood still within the gallery, and
listened intently for some sound to reveal those they sought, but all
was still and silent as the grave.
"We cannot be mistaken," observed Leonard. "It is clear this house is
the receptacle for Chowles's plunder. Besides, we should not have found
the lantern burning if they had gone forth again. No, no; they must be
hidden somewhere, and I will not quit the place till I find them." Their
search, however, was fruitless. They mounted to the garrets, opened
every door, and glanced into every corner. Still, no one was to be seen.
"I begin to think Nizza cannot be here," said the apprentice; "but I am
resolved not to depart without questioning Chowles on the subject."
"You must find him first," rejoined Rainbird. "If he is anywhere, he
must be in the cellar, for we have been into every room in this part of
the house. For my own part, I think you had better abandon the search
altogether. No good will come of it."
Leonard, however, was not to be dissuaded, and they went downstairs. A
short flight of stone steps brought them to a spacious kitchen, but it
was quite empty, and seemed to have been long disused. They then peeped
into the scullery adjoining, and were about to retrace their steps, when
Rainbird plucked Leonard's sleeve to call attention to a gleam of light
issuing from a door which stood partly ajar, in a long narrow passage
leading apparently to the cellars.
"They are there," he said, in a whisper.
"So I see," replied Leonard, in the same tone. And raising his finger to
his lips in token of silence, he stole forward on the points of his feet
and cautiously opened the door.
At the further end of the cellar--for such it was--knelt Chowles,
examining with greedy eyes the contents of a large chest, which, from
the hasty glance that Leonard caught of it, appeared to be filled with
gold and silver plate. A link stuck against the wall threw a strong
light over the scene, and showed that the coffin-maker was alone. As
Leonard advanced, the sound of his footsteps caught Chowles's ear, and
uttering a cry of surprise and alarm, he let fall the lid of the chest,
and sprang to his feet.
"What do you want?" he cried, looking uneasily round, as if in search of
some weapon. "Are you come to rob me?"
"No," replied Leonard; "neither are we come to reclaim the plunder you
have taken from others. We are come in search of Nizza Macascree."
"Then you have come on a fool's errand," replied Chowles, regaining his
courage, "for she is not here. I know nothing of her."
"That is false," replied Leonard. "You have just conducted Sir Paul
Parravicin to her."
This assertion on the part of the apprentice, which he thought himself
justified under the circumstances in making, produced a strong effect on
Chowles. He appeared startled and confounded. "What right have you to
play the spy upon me thus?" he faltered.
"The right that every honest man possesses to check the designs of the
wicked," replied Leonard. "You admit she is here. Lead me to her
hiding-place without more ado."