JACK SHEPPARD
Volume III. (of III.)
A Romance
By W. Harrison Ainsworth
1839
_“Upon my word, friend,” said I, “you have almost made me
long to try what a robber I should make.” “There is a great
art in it, if you did,” quoth he. “Ah! but,” said I,
“there's a great deal in being hanged.”_
_Life and Actions of Guzman d'Alfarache._
[Illustration: 009]
[Illustration: titlepage]
ILLUSTRATIONS:
The Portrait ... to face the Title.
Jonathan Wild throwing Sir Rowland Trenchard down the Well
Jack Sheppard tricking Shotbolt the Gaoler
The Escape, No. I.
The Escape, No. II
The Escape, No. III
Jonathan Wild seizing Jack Sheppard at his Mother's Grave
Jack Sheppard's Irons knocked off in Newgate
The Procession from Newgate to Tyburn
The Last Scene
CHAPTER XI. DOLLIS HILL REVISITED.
About an hour after the occurrences at Newgate, the door of the small
back-parlour already described at Dollis Hill was opened by Winifred,
who, gliding noiselessly across the room, approached a couch, on
which was extended a sleeping female, and, gazing anxiously at her
pale careworn countenance, murmured,--“Heaven be praised! she still
slumbers--slumbers peacefully. The opiate has done its duty. Poor
thing! how beautiful she looks! but how like death!”
Deathlike, indeed, was the repose of the sleeper,--deathlike and
deep. Its very calmness was frightful. Her lips were apart, but no
breath seemed to issue from them; and, but for a slight--very slight
palpitation of the bosom, the vital principle might be supposed to
be extinct. This lifeless appearance was heightened by the extreme
sharpness of her features--especially the nose and chin,--and by the
emaciation of her limbs, which was painfully distinct through her
drapery. Her attenuated arms were crossed upon her breast; and
her black brows and eyelashes contrasted fearfully with the livid
whiteness of her skin. A few short, dark locks, escaping from beneath
her head-dress, showed that her hair had been removed, and had only
been recently allowed to grow again.
“Poor Mrs. Sheppard!” sighed Winifred, as she contemplated the
beautiful wreck before her,--“Poor Mrs. Sheppard! when I see her
thus, and think of all she has endured, of all she may yet have to
endure, I could almost pray for her release from trouble. I dare not
reflect upon the effect that her son's fate,--if the efforts to save
him are ineffectual,--may have upon her enfeebled frame, and still
worse upon her mind. What a mercy that the blow aimed at her by
the ruffian, Wild, though it brought her to the brink of the grave,
should have restored her to reason! Ah! she stirs.”
As she said this, she drew a little aside, while Mrs. Sheppard heaved
a deep sigh, and opened her eyes, which now looked larger, blacker,
and more melancholy than ever.
“Where am I?” she cried, passing her hand across her brow.
“With your friends, dear Mrs. Sheppard,” replied Winifred, advancing.
“Ah! you are there, my dear young lady,” said the widow, smiling
faintly; “when I first waken, I'm always in dread of finding myself
again in that horrible asylum.”
“You need never be afraid of that,” returned Winifred,
affectionately; “my father will take care you never leave him more.”
“Oh! how much I owe him!” said the widow, with fervour, “for bringing
me here, and removing me from those dreadful sights and sounds, that
would have driven me distracted, even if I had been in my right mind.
And how much I owe _you_, too, dearest Winifred, for your kindness
and attention. Without you I should never have recovered either
health or reason. I can never be grateful enough. But, though _I_
cannot reward you, Heaven will.”
“Don't say anything about it, dear Mrs. Sheppard,” rejoined Winifred,
controlling her emotion, and speaking as cheerfully as she could; “I
would do anything in the world for you, and so would my father, and
so would Thames; but he _ought_, for he's your nephew, you know. We
all love you dearly.”
“Bless you! bless you!” cried Mrs. Sheppard, averting her face to
hide her tears.
“I mustn't tell you what Thames means to do for you if ever he gains
his rights,” continued Winifred; “but I _may_ tell you what my father
means to do.”
“He has done too much already,” answered the widow. “I shall need
little more.”
“But, _do_ hear what it is,” rejoined Winifred; “you know I'm shortly
to be united to your nephew,--that is,” she added, blushing, “when he
can be married by his right name, for my father won't consent to it
before.”
“Your father will never oppose your happiness, my dear, I'm sure,”
said Mrs. Sheppard; “but, what has this to do with me?”
“You shall hear,” replied Winifred; “when this marriage takes place,
you and I shall be closely allied, but my father wishes for a still
closer alliance.”
“I don't understand you,” returned Mrs. Sheppard.
“To be plain, then,” said Winifred, “he has asked me whether I have
any objection to you as a mother.”
“And what--what was your answer?” demanded the widow, eagerly.
“Can't you guess?” returned Winifred, throwing her arms about her
neck. “That he couldn't choose any one so agreeable to me.”
“Winifred,” said Mrs. Sheppard, after a brief pause, during which
she appeared overcome by her feelings,--she said, gently disengaging
herself from the young girl's embrace, and speaking in a firm voice,
“you must dissuade your father from this step.”
“How?” exclaimed the other. “Can you not love him?”
“Love him!” echoed the widow. “The feeling is dead within my breast.
My only love is for my poor lost son. I can esteem him, regard him;
but, love him as he _ought_ to be loved--that I cannot do.”
“Your esteem is all he will require,” urged Winifred.
“He has it, and will ever have it,” replied Mrs. Sheppard,
passionately,--“he has my boundless gratitude, and devotion. But I am
not worthy to be any man's wife--far less _his_ wife. Winifred, you
are deceived in me. You know not what a wretched guilty thing I am.
You know not in what dark places my life has been cast; with what
crimes it has been stained. But the offences I _have_ committed are
venial in comparison with what I should commit were I to wed your
father. No--no, it must never be.”
“You paint yourself worse than you are, dear Mrs. Sheppard,” rejoined
Winifred kindly. “Your faults were the faults of circumstances.”
“Palliate them as you may,” replied the widow, gravely, “they _were_
faults; and as such, cannot be repaired by a greater wrong. If you
love me, do not allude to this subject again.”
“I'm sorry I mentioned it at all, since it distresses you,” returned
Winifred; “but, as I knew my father intended to propose to you, if
poor Jack should be respited--”
“_If_ he should be respited?” repeated Mrs. Sheppard, with startling
eagerness. “Does your father doubt it? Speak! tell me!”
Winifred made no answer.
“Your hesitation convinces me he does,” replied the widow. “Is Thames
returned from London?”
“Not yet,” replied the other; “but I expect him every minute. My
father's chief fear, I must tell you, is from the baneful influence
of Jonathan Wild.”
“That fiend is ever in my path,” exclaimed Mrs. Sheppard, with a
look, the wildness of which greatly alarmed her companion. “I cannot
scare him thence.”
“Hark!” cried Winifred, “Thames is arrived. I hear the sound of his
horse's feet in the yard. Now you will learn the result.”
“Heaven support me!” cried Mrs. Sheppard, faintly.
“Breathe at this phial,” said Winifred.
Shortly afterwards,--it seemed an age to the anxious mother,--Mr.
Wood entered the room, followed by Thames. The latter looked very
pale, either from the effect of his wound, which was not yet entirely
healed, or from suppressed emotion,--partly, perhaps, from both
causes,--and wore his left arm in a sling.
“Well!” cried Mrs. Sheppard, raising herself, and looking at him as
if her life depended upon the answer. “He is respited?”
“Alas! no,” replied Thames, sadly. “The warrant for his execution is
arrived. There is no further hope.”
“My poor son!” groaned the widow, sinking backwards.
“Heaven have mercy on his soul!” ejaculated Wood.
“Poor Jack!” cried Winifred, burying her face in her lover's bosom.
Not a word was uttered for some time, nor any sound heard except the
stilled sobs of the unfortunate mother.
At length, she suddenly started to her feet; and before Winifred
could prevent her, staggered up to Thames.
“When is he to suffer?” she demanded, fixing her large black eyes,
which burnt with an insane gleam, upon him.
“On Friday,” he replied.
“Friday!” echoed Mrs. Sheppard; “and to-day is Monday. He has three
days to live. Only three days. Three short days. Horrible!”
“Poor soul! her senses are going again,” said Mr. Wood, terrified by
the wildness of her looks. “I was afraid it would be so.”
“Only three days,” reiterated the widow, “three short short
days,--and then all is over. Jonathan's wicked threat is fulfilled
at last. The gallows is in view--I see it with all its hideous
apparatus!--ough!” and shuddering violently, she placed her hands
before her, as if to exclude some frightful vision from her sight.
“Do not despair, my sweet soul,” said Wood, in a soothing tone.
“Do not despair!” echoed Mrs. Sheppard, with a laugh that cut the
ears of those who listened to it like a razor,--“Do not despair! And
who or what shall give me comfort when my son is gone? I have wept
till my eyes are dry,--suffered till my heart is broken,--prayed
till the voice of prayer is dumb,--and all of no avail. He will be
hanged--hanged--hanged. Ha! ha! What have I left but despair and
madness? Promise me one thing, Mr. Wood,” she continued, with a
sudden change of tone, and convulsively clutching the carpenter's
arm, “promise it me.”
“Anything, my dear,” replied Wood, “What is it?”
“Bury us together in one grave in Willesden churchyard. There is a
small yew-tree west of the church. Beneath that tree let us lie. In
one grave, mind. Do you promise to do this?”
“Solemnly,” rejoined the carpenter.
“Enough,” said the widow, gratefully. “I must see him to-night.”
“Impossible, dear Mrs. Sheppard,” said Thames. “To-morrow I will take
you to him.”
“To-morrow will be too late,” replied the widow, in a hollow voice,
“I feel it will. I must go to-night, or I shall never behold him
again. I must bless him before I die. I have strength enough to drag
myself there, and I do not want to return.”
“Be pacified, sweet soul,” said Wood, looking meaningly at Thames;
“you _shall_ go, and I will accompany you.”
“A mother's blessing on you,” replied Mrs. Sheppard, fervently.
“And now,” she added, with somewhat more composure, “leave me,
dear friends, I entreat, for a few minutes to collect my scattered
thoughts--to prepare myself for what I have to go through--to pray
for my son.”
“Shall we do so?” whispered Winifred to her father.
“By all means,” returned Wood; “don't delay an instant.” And,
followed by the young couple, who gazed wistfully at the poor
sufferer, he hastily quitted the room, and locked the door after him.
Mrs. Sheppard was no sooner alone than she fell upon her knees by the
side of the couch, and poured forth her heart in prayer. So absorbed
was she by her passionate supplications that she was insensible
to anything passing around her, until she felt a touch upon her
shoulder, and heard a well-known voice breathe in her ear--“Mother!”
She started at the sound as if an apparition had called her,
screamed, and fell into her son's outstretched arms. “Mother! dear
mother!” cried Jack, folding her to his breast.
“My son! my dear, dear son!” returned Mrs. Sheppard, returning his
embrace with all a parent's tenderness.
Jack was completely overcome. His chest heaved violently, and big
tears coursed rapidly down his cheeks.
“I don't deserve it,” he said, at length; “but I would have risked a
thousand deaths to enjoy this moment's happiness.”
“And you must have risked much to obtain it, my love. I have scarcely
recovered from the shock of hearing of your condemnation, when I
behold you free!”
“Not two hours since,” rejoined Jack, “I was chained down in the
Condemned Hold in Newgate. With a small saw, conveyed to me a few
days since by Thames Darrell, which I contrived to conceal upon my
person, I removed a spike in the hatch, and, with the aid of some
other friends, worked my way out. Having heard from Thames that you
were better, and that your sole anxiety was about me, I came to give
you the _first_ intelligence of my escape.”
“Bless you for it. But you will stay here?”
“I dare not. I must provide for my safety.”
“Mr. Wood will protect you,” urged Mrs. Sheppard.
“He has not the power--perhaps not the will to do so. And if he
would, _I_ would not subject him to the annoyance. The moment my
escape is known, a large reward will be placed on my head. My
dress, my person will be minutely described. Jonathan Wild and his
bloodhounds, with a hundred others, incited by the reward, will be
upon my track. Nay, for aught I know, some of them may even now have
got scent of me.”
“You terrify me,” cried Mrs. Sheppard. “Oh! if this is the case, do
not stay an instant. Fly! fly!”
“As soon as I can do so with safety, I will return, or send to you,”
said Jack.
“Do not endanger yourself on my account,” rejoined his mother. “I
am quite easy now; receive my blessing, my dear son; and if we never
meet again, rest assured my last prayer shall be for you.”
“Do not talk thus, dear mother,” returned Jack, gazing anxiously at
her pale countenance, “or I shall not be able to quit you. You must
live for me.”
“I will try to do so,” replied the widow, forcing a smile. “One last
embrace. I need not counsel you to avoid those fatal courses which
have placed you in such fearful jeopardy.”
“You need not,” replied Jack, in a tone of the deepest compunction.
“And, oh! forgive me, though I can never forgive myself, for the
misery I have caused you.”
“Forgive you!” echoed his mother, with a look radiant with delight.
“I have nothing to forgive. Ah!” she screamed, with a sudden change
of manner; and pointing to the window, which Jack had left open, and
at which a dark figure was standing, “there is Jonathan Wild!”
“Betrayed!” exclaimed Jack, glancing in the same direction. “The
door!--the door!--death!” he added, as he tried the handle, “it is
locked--and I am unarmed. Madman that I am to be so!”
“Help!” shrieked Mrs. Sheppard.
“Be silent,” said Jonathan, striding deliberately into the room;
“these cries will avail you nothing. Whoever answers them must assist
me to capture your son. Be silent, I say, if you value his safety.”
Awed by Jonathan's manner, Mrs. Sheppard repressed the scream that
rose to her lips, and both mother and son gazed with apprehension at
the heavy figure of the thief-taker, which, viewed in the twilight,
seemed dilated to twice its natural size, and appeared almost to
block up the window. In addition to his customary arms, Jonathan
carried a bludgeon with a large heavy knob, suspended from his wrist
by a loop; a favourite weapon, which he always took with him on
dangerous expeditions, and which, if any information had been
requisite, would have told Sheppard that the present was one of them.
“Well, Jack,” he said, after a pause, “are you disposed to go back
quietly with me?”
“You'll ascertain that when you attempt to touch me,” rejoined
Sheppard, resolutely.
“My janizaries are within call,” returned Wild. “I'm armed; you are
not.”
“It matters not. You shall not take me alive.”
“Spare him! spare him!” cried Mrs. Sheppard, falling on her knees.
“Get up, mother,” cried Jack; “do not kneel to him. I wouldn't accept
my life from him. I've foiled him hitherto, and will foil him yet.
And, come what will, I'll balk him of the satisfaction of hanging
me.”
Jonathan raised his bludgeon, but controlled himself by a powerful
effort.
“Fool!” he cried, “do you think I wouldn't have secured you before
this if I hadn't some motive for my forbearance?”
“And that motive is fear,” replied Jack contemptuously.
“Fear!” echoed Wild, in a terrible tone,--“fear! Repeat that word
again, and nothing shall save you.”
“Don't anger him, my dear son,” implored the poor widow, with a look
of anguish at Jack. “Perhaps he means well.”
“Mad as you are, you're the more sensible of the two, I must say,”
rejoined Jonathan.
“Spare him!” cried Mrs. Sheppard, who fancied she had made some
impression on the obdurate breast of the thief-taker,--“spare him!
and I will forgive you, will thank you, bless you. Spare him! spare
him!”
“On one condition I _will_ spare him,” returned Wild; “on one
condition only.”
“What is it?” asked the poor woman.
“Either he or you must return with me,” answered Jonathan.
“Take _me_, then,” replied the widow. And she would have rushed to
him, if she had not been forcibly withheld by her son.
“Do not go near him, mother,” cried Jack; “do not believe him. There
is some deep treachery hidden beneath his words.”
“I _will_ go,” said Mrs. Sheppard, struggling to get free.
“Attend to me, Mrs. Sheppard,” said Jonathan, looking calmly on at
this distressing scene, “Attend to me, and do not heed him. I swear
to you, solemnly swear to you, I will save your son's life, nay more,
will befriend him, will place him out of the reach of his enemies, if
you consent to become my wife.”
“Execrable villain!” exclaimed Jack.
“You hear that,” cried Mrs. Sheppard; “he swears to save you.”
“Well,” replied her son; “and you spurn the proposal.”
“No; she accepts it,” rejoined Jonathan, triumphantly. “Come along,
Mrs. Sheppard. I've a carriage within call shall convey you swiftly
to town. Come! come!”
“Hear me, mother,” cried Jack, “and I will explain to you _why_ the
villain makes this strange and revolting proposal. He well knows
that but two lives--those of Thames Darrell and Sir Rowland
Trenchard,--stand between you and the vast possessions of the family.
Those lives removed,--and Sir Rowland is completely in his power, the
estates would be yours--HIS! if he were your husband. Now do you see
his motive?”
“I see nothing but your danger,” replied his mother, tenderly.
“Granted it were as you say, Jack,” said Wild;--“and I sha'n't
take the trouble to contradict you--the estates would be _yours_
hereafter.”
“Liar!” cried Jack. “Do you affect ignorance that I am a condemned
felon, and can inherit nothing? But do not imagine that under any
circumstances I would accept your terms. My mother shall never
degrade herself by a connection with you.”
“Degrade herself,” rejoined Jonathan, brutally. “Do you think I would
take a harlot to my bed, if it didn't suit my purposes to do so?”
“He says right,” replied Mrs. Sheppard, distractedly. “I am only fit
for such as him. Take me! take me!”
“Before an hour you shall be mine,” said Jonathan advancing towards
her.
“Back!” cried Jack fiercely: “lay a finger on her, and I will fell
you to the ground. Mother! do you know what you do? Would you sell
yourself to this fiend?”
“I would sell myself, body and soul, to save you,” rejoined his
mother, bursting from his grasp.
Jonathan caught her in his arms.
“Come away!” he cried, with the roar of a demon.
This laugh and his looks alarmed her.
“It _is_ the fiend!” she exclaimed, recoiling. “Save me!--save me!”
“Damnation!” vociferated Jonathan, savagely. “We've no time for
any Bedlam scenes now. Come along, you mad jade. I'll teach you
submission in time.”
With this, he endeavoured to force her off; but, before he could
accomplish his purpose, he was arrested, and his throat seized by
Jack. In the struggle, Mrs. Sheppard broke from him, and filled the
room with her shrieks.
“I'll now pay the debt I owe you,” cried Jack, tightening his grip
till the thief-taker blackened in the face.
“Dog!” cried Wild, freeing himself by a powerful effort, and dealing
Jack a violent blow with the heavy bludgeon, which knocked him
backwards, “you are not yet a match for Jonathan Wild. Neither you
nor your mother shall escape me. But I must summon my janizaries.” So
saying, he raised a whistle to his lips, and blew a loud call; and,
as this was unanswered, another still louder. “Confusion!” he cried;
“something has happened. But I won't be cheated of my prize.”
“Help! help!” shrieked Mrs. Sheppard, fleeing from him to the
farthest corner of the room.
But it was of no avail. Jonathan again seized her, when the door was
thrown open, and Thames Darrell, followed by Mr. Wood and several
serving-men, all well armed, rushed into the room. A glance sufficed
to show the young man how matters stood. He flew to the window, and
would have passed his sword through the thief-taker's body, if the
latter had not quickly interposed the person of Mrs. Sheppard, so
that if the blow had been stricken she must have received it.
“Quilt!--Mendez!--Where are you?” vociferated Wild, sounding his
whistle for the third time.
“You call in vain,” rejoined Thames. “Your assistants are in my
power. Yield, villain!”
“Never!” replied Jonathan.
“Put down your burthen, monster!” shouted Wood, pointing an immense
blunderbuss at him.
“Take her,” cried Jonathan; and, flinging the now inanimate body of
the poor widow, who had fainted in the struggle, into the arms of
Thames, he leapt through the window, and by the time the latter could
consign her to Wood, and dart after him, he had disappeared.
“Pursue him,” cried Thames to the attendants, “and see that he does
not escape.”
The order was promptly obeyed.
“Jack,” continued Thames, addressing Sheppard, who had only just
recovered from the blow, and regained his feet, “I don't ask _how_
you came here, nor do I blame your rashness in doing so. Fortunately,
ever since Wild's late murderous attack, the household has all been
well armed. A post-chaise seen in the road first alarmed us. On
searching the grounds, we found two suspicious-looking fellows in
the garden, and had scarcely secured them, when your mother's cries
summoned us hither, just in time to preserve her.”
“Your arrival was most providential,” said Jack.
“You must not remain here another instant,” replied Thames. “My horse
is at the door, saddled, with pistols in the holsters,--mount him and
fly.”
“Thames, I have much to say,” said Jack, “much that concerns your
safety.”
“Not now,” returned Thames, impatiently. “I cannot--will not suffer
you to remain here.”
“I will go, if you will consent to meet me at midnight near the old
house in Wych Street,” replied Jack. “By that time, I shall have
fully considered a plan which occurs to me for defeating the schemes
of your enemies.”
“Before that time you will be captured, if you expose yourself thus,”
rejoined Thames. “However, I will be there. Farewell.”
“Till midnight,” replied Jack.
And imprinting a kiss upon his mother's cold lips, he left the room.
He found the horse where Thames told him he would find him, mounted,
and rode off across the fields in the direction of town.