Jonathan Wild's first object, as soon as he had made good his
retreat, was to ascertain what had become of his janizaries, and,
if possible, to release them. With this view, he hurried to the
spot where he had left the post-chaise, and found it drawn up at the
road-side, the postilion dismounted, and in charge of a couple of
farming-men. Advancing towards them, sword in hand, Jonathan so
terrified the hinds by his fierce looks and determined manner, that,
after a slight show of resistance, they took to their heels, leaving
him master of the field. He then threw open the door of the vehicle,
in which he found his janizaries with their arms pinioned, and,
leaping into it, ordered the man to drive off. The postilion obeyed,
and dashed off as hard as his horses could gallop along the beautiful
road leading to Neasdon and Willesden, just as the serving-men
made their appearance. Arrived at the latter place, Jonathan, who,
meanwhile, had contrived to liberate his attendants from their bonds,
drew up at the Six Bells, and hiring a couple of horses, despatched
his attendants in search of Jack Sheppard, while he proceeded to
town. Dismissing the post-chaise at the Old Bailey, he walked to
Newgate to ascertain what had occurred since the escape. It was just
upon the stroke of nine as he entered the Lodge, and Mr. Austin was
dismissing a host of inquirers who had been attracted thither by the
news,--for it had already been extensively noised abroad. Some of
these persons were examining the spot where the spike had been cut
off; others the spike itself, now considered a remarkable object;
and all were marvelling how Jack could have possibly squeezed himself
through such a narrow aperture, until it was explained to them by
Mr. Austin that the renowned housebreaker was of slender bodily
conformation, and therefore able to achieve a feat, which he, Mr.
Austin, or any man of similar dimensions, would have found wholly
impossible. Affixed to the wall, in a conspicuous situation, was a
large placard, which, after minutely describing Sheppard's appearance
and attire, concluded thus:--“_Whoever will discover or apprehend
the above_ JOHN SHEPPARD, _so that he be brought to justice, shall
receive_ ONE HUNDRED GUINEAS REWARD, _to be paid by_ MR. PITT, _the
keeper of Newgate_.”
This placard attracted universal attention. While Jonathan was
conversing with Austin, from whom he took care to conceal the fact of
his having seen Sheppard since his escape, Ireton entered the Lodge.
“Altogether unsuccessful, Sir,” said the chief turnkey, with a look
of disappointment, not unmixed with apprehension, as he approached
Wild. “I've been to all the flash cases in town, and can hear nothing
of him or his wives. First, I went to Country Tom's, the Goat, in
Long Lane. Tom swore he hadn't set eyes on him since the trial. I
next proceeded to Jenny Bunch's, the Ship, in Trig Lane--there I got
the same answer. Then to the Feathers, in Drury Lane. Then to the
Golden Ball, in the same street. Then to Martin's brandy-shop, in
Fleet Street. Then to Dan Ware's, in Hanging Sword Court. Then to
the Dean's Head, in St. Martin's Le Grand. And, lastly, to the Seven
Cities o' Refuge, in the New Mint. And nowhere could I obtain the
slightest information.”
“Humph!” exclaimed Wild.
“Have you been more successful, Sir?” ventured Ireton.
Jonathan shook his head.
“Mr. Shotbolt thinks he has a scheme that can't fail,” interposed
Austin; “but he wishes to know whether you'll be as good as your
word, in respect to the great reward you offered for Jack's capture.”
“Have I ever broken my word in such matters, that he dares put the
question?” rejoined Jonathan sternly. “Tell Mr. Shotbolt that if he,
or any other person, takes Jack Sheppard before to-morrow morning,
I'll double it. Do you hear?”
“I do, Sir,” replied Austin respectfully.
“Two hundred pounds, if he's lodged in Newgate before to-morrow
morning,” continued Wild. “Make it known among your friends.” And he
strode out of the place.
“Two hundred pounds!” exclaimed Ireton, “besides the governor's
offer--that's three hundred. I must go to work again. Keep a sharp
look out, Austin, and see that we lose no one else. I should be sorry
if Shotbolt got the reward.”
“Devilish hard! I'm not allowed a chance,” grumbled Austin, as he
was left alone. “However, some one _must_ look after the jail; and
they're all gone but me. It's fortunate we've no more Jack Sheppards,
or I should stand but a poor chance. Well, I don't think they'll any
of 'em nab him, that's one comfort.”
On quitting the Lodge, Wild repaired to his own habitation. Telling
the porter that he would attend to the house himself, he bade him go
in search of Jack Sheppard. There was something in Jonathan's manner,
as he issued this command, that struck the man as singular, and he
afterwards recalled it. He, however, made no remark at the time, but
instantly prepared to set out. As soon as he was gone, Jonathan went
up stairs to the audience-chamber; and, sitting down, appeared for
some time buried in reflection. The dark and desperate thoughts that
were passing through his mind at this time will presently be shown.
After a while, he raised his eyes; and, if their glance could
have been witnessed at the moment, it could not have been easily
forgotten. Muttering something to himself, he appeared to be telling
upon his fingers the advantages and disadvantages of some scheme
he had in contemplation. That he had resolved upon its execution,
whatever it might be, was evident from his saying aloud,--
“I will do it. So good an opportunity may never occur again.”
Upon this he arose, and paced the room hastily backwards and
forwards, as if further arranging his plans. He then unlocked a
cabinet, opened a secret drawer, and, lifter ransacking its contents,
discovered a paper he was in search of, and a glove. Laying these
carefully aside, he restored the drawer to its place. His next
occupation was to take out his pistols, examine the priming, and rub
the flints. His sword then came in for his scrutiny: he felt at, and
appeared satisfied with its edge. This employment seemed to afford
him the highest satisfaction; for a diabolical grin--it cannot be
called a smile--played upon his face all the time he was engaged in
it. His sword done with, he took up the bludgeon; balanced it in his
hand; upon the points of his fingers; and let it fall with a smash,
intentionally, upon the table.
“After all,” he said, “this is the safest weapon. No instrument I've
ever used has done me such good service. It _shall_ be the bludgeon.”
So saying, he slung it upon his wrist.
Taking up a link, which was blazing beside him, he walked across the
room; and touching a spring in the wall, a secret door flew open.
Beyond was a narrow bridge, crossing a circular building, at the
bottom of which lay a deep well. It was a dark mysterious place, and
what it was used for no one exactly knew; but it was called by those
who had seen it the Well Hole. The bridge was protected on either
side by a railing with bannisters placed at wide intervals. Steps to
aid the descent, which was too steep to be safe without them, led
to, a door on the opposite side. This door, which was open, Jonathan
locked and took out the key. As he stood upon the bridge, he held
down the light, and looked into the profound abyss. The red glare
fell upon the slimy brick-work, and tinged the inky waters below. A
slight cough uttered by Jonathan at the moment awakened the echoes of
the place, and was returned in hollow reverberations. “There'll be
a louder echo here presently,” thought Jonathan. Before leaving the
place he looked upwards, and could just discern the blue vault and
pale stars of Heaven through an iron grating at the top.
On his return to the room, Jonathan purposely left the door of the
Well Hole ajar. Unlocking a cupboard, he then took out some cold meat
and other viands, with a flask of wine, and a bottle of brandy, and
began to eat and drink voraciously. He had very nearly cleared the
board, when a knock was heard below, and descending at the summons,
he found his two janizaries. They had both been unsuccessful. As
Jonathan scarcely expected a more satisfactory result, he made no
comment; but, ordering Quilt to continue his search, and not to
return until he had found the fugitive, called Abraham Mendez into
the house, and shut the door.
“I want you for the job I spoke of a short time ago, Nab,” he said.
“I mean to have no one but yourself in it. Come up stairs, and take a
glass of brandy.”
Abraham grinned, and silently followed his master, who, as soon as
they reached the audience-chamber, poured out a bumper of spirits,
and presented it to him. The Jew swallowed it at a draught.
“By my shoul!” he exclaimed, smacking his lips, “dat ish goot--very
goot.”
“You shall finish the bottle when the job's done,” replied Jonathan.
“Vat ish it, Mishter Vild?” inquired Mendez. “Shir Rowland
Trenchard's affair--eh?”
“That's it,” rejoined Jonathan; “I expect him here every minute. When
you've admitted him, steal into the room, hide yourself, and don't
move till I utter the words, 'You've a long journey before you.'
That's your signal.”
“And a famoush goot shignal it ish,” laughed Abraham. “He hash a long
journey before him--ha! ha!”
“Peace!” cried Jonathan. “There's his knock. Go, and let him in. And
mind you don't arouse his suspicions.”
“Never fear--never fear,” rejoined Abraham, as he took up the link,
and left the room.
Jonathan cast a hasty glance around, to see that all was properly
arranged for his purpose; placed a chair with its back to the door;
disposed the lights on the table so as to throw the entrance of the
room more into shadow; and then flung himself into a seat to await
Sir Rowland's arrival.
He had not to wait long. Enveloped in a large cloak, Sir Rowland
stalked into the room, and took the seat assigned him; while the Jew,
who received a private signal from Jonathan, set down the link near
the entrance of the Well Hole, and, having made fast the door, crept
behind one of the cases.
Fancying they were alone, Sir Rowland threw aside his cloak, and
produced a heavy bag of money, which he flung upon the table; and,
when Wild had feasted his greedy eyes sufficiently upon its golden
contents, he handed him a pocket-book filled with notes.
“You have behaved like a man of honour, Sir Rowland,” said Wild,
after he had twice told over the money. “Right to a farthing.”
“Give me an acquittance,” said Trenchard.
“It's scarcely necessary,” replied Wild; “however, if you require
it, certainly. There it is. 'Received from Sir Rowland Trenchard,
15,000£. --Jonathan Wild: August 31st, 1724.' Will that do?”
“It will,” replied Trenchard. “This is our last transaction
together.”
“I hope not,” replied Wild.
“It is the last,” continued the knight, sternly; “and I trust we may
never meet again, I have paid you this large sum--not because you are
entitled to it, for you have failed in what you undertook to do,
but because I desire to be troubled with you no further. I have now
settled my affairs, and made every preparation for my departure to
France, where I shall spend the remainder of my days. And I have made
such arrangements that at my decease tardy justice will be done my
injured nephew.”
“You have made no such arrangements as will compromise me, I hope,
Sir Rowland?” said Wild, hastily.
“While I live you are safe,” rejoined Trenchard; “after my death I
can answer for nothing.”
“'Sblood!” exclaimed Wild, uneasily. “This alters the case
materially. When were you last confessed, Sir Rowland?” he added
abruptly.
“Why do you ask?” rejoined the other haughtily.
“Because--because I'm always distrustful of a priest,” rejoined
Jonathan.
“I have just parted from one,” said Trenchard.
“So much the worse,” replied Jonathan, rising and taking a turn, as
if uncertain what to do.
“So much the better,” rejoined Sir Rowland. “He who stands on the
verge of the grave, as I do, should never be unprepared.”
“You're strangely superstitious, Sir Rowland,” said Jonathan,
halting, and looking steadfastly at him.
“If I were so, I should not be here,” returned Trenchard.
“How so?” asked Wild, curiously.
“I had a terrible dream last night. I thought my sister and her
murdered husband dragged me hither, to this very room, and commanded
you to slay me.”
“A terrible dream, indeed,” said Jonathan thoughtfully. “But you
mustn't indulge these gloomy thoughts. Let me recommend a glass of
wine.”
“My penance forbids it,” said Trenchard, waving his hand. “I cannot
remain here long.”
“You will remain longer than you anticipate,” muttered Wild.
“Before I go,” continued Sir Rowland, “I must beg of you to disclose
to me all you know relative to the parentage of Thames Darrell.”
“Willingly,” replied Wild. “Thinking it likely you might desire to
have this information, I prepared accordingly. First, look at this
glove. It belonged to his father, and was worn by him on the night he
was murdered. You will observe that a coronet is embroidered on it.”
“Ha!” exclaimed Trenchard, starting, “is he so highly born?”
“This letter will inform you,” replied Wild, placing a document in
his hand.
“What is this!” cried Sir Rowland. “I know the hand--ha! my friend!
and I have murdered _him_! And my sister was thus nobly, thus
illustriously wedded. O God! O God!”
And he appeared convulsed with agony.
“Oh! if I had known this,” he exclaimed, “what guilt, what remorse
might have been spared me!”
“Repentance comes too late when the deed's done,” returned Wild,
bitterly.
“It is not too late to repair the wrong I have done my nephew,” cried
Trenchard. “I will set about it instantly. He shall have the estates.
I will return to Manchester at once.”
“You had better take some refreshment before you start,” rejoined
Wild. “'_You've a long journey before you._'”
As the signal was given, the Jew, who had been some time in
expectation of it, darted swiftly and silently behind Sir Rowland,
and flung a cloth over his head, while Jonathan, rushing upon him in
front, struck him several quick and violent blows in the face with
the bludgeon. The white cloth was instantly dyed with crimson; but,
regardless of this, Jonathan continued his murderous assault. The
struggles of the wounded man were desperate--so desperate, that in
his agony he overset the table, and, in the confusion, tore off the
cloth, and disclosed a face horribly mutilated, and streaming with
blood. So appalling was the sight, that even the murderers--familiar
as they were with scenes of slaughter,--looked aghast at it.
During this dreadful pause the wretched man felt for his sword. It
had been removed from the scabbard by the Jew. He uttered a deep
groan, but said nothing.
“Despatch him!” roared Jonathan.
Having no means of defence, Sir Rowland cleared the blood from his
vision; and, turning to see whether there was any means of escape,
he descried the open door behind him leading to the Well Hole, and
instantly darted through it.
“As I could wish!” cried Jonathan. “Bring the light, Nab.”
The Jew snatched up the link, and followed him.
A struggle of the most terrific kind now ensued. The wounded man had
descended the bridge, and dashed himself against the door beyond it;
but, finding it impossible to force his way further, he turned to
confront his assailants. Jonathan aimed a blow at him, which, if
it had taken place, must have instantly terminated the strife; but,
avoiding this, he sprang at the thief-taker, and grappled with him.
Firmly built, as it was, the bridge creaked in such a manner with
their contending efforts, that Abraham durst not venture beyond the
door, where he stood, holding the light, a horrified spectator of the
scene. The contest, however, though desperate, was brief. Disengaging
his right arm, Jonathan struck his victim a tremendous blow on the
head with the bludgeon, that fractured his skull; and, exerting all
his strength, threw him over the rails, to which he clung with the
tenacity of despair.
[Illustration: 059]
“Spare me!” he groaned, looking upwards. “Spare me!”
Jonathan, however, instead of answering him, searched for his knife,
with the intention of severing his wrist. But not finding it, he had
again recourse to the bludgeon, and began beating the hand fixed
on the upper rail, until, by smashing the fingers, he forced it
to relinquish its hold. He then stamped upon the hand on the lower
bannister, until that also relaxed its gripe.
Sir Rowland then fell.
A hollow plunge, echoed and re-echoed by the walls, marked his
descent into the water.
“Give me the link,” cried Jonathan.
Holding down the light, he perceived that the wounded man had risen
to the surface, and was trying to clamber up the slippery sides of
the well.
“Shoot him! shoot him! Put him out of hish mishery,” cried the Jew.
“What's the use of wasting a shot?” rejoined Jonathan, savagely. “He
can't get out.”
After making several ineffectual attempts to keep himself above
water, Sir Rowland sunk, and his groans, which had become gradually
fainter and fainter, were heard no more.
“All's over,” muttered Jonathan.
“Shall ve go back to de other room?” asked the Jew. “I shall breathe
more freely dere. Oh! Christ! de door's shut! It musht have schwung
to during de schuffle!”
“Shut!” exclaimed Wild. “Then we're imprisoned. The spring can't be
opened on this side.”
“Dere's de other door!” cried Mendez, in alarm.
“It only leads to the fencing crib,” replied Wild. “There's no outlet
that way.”
“Can't ve call for asshistanche?”
“And who'll find us, if we do?” rejoined Wild, fiercely. “But they
_will_ find the evidences of slaughter in the other room,--the table
upset,--the bloody cloth,--the dead man's sword,--the money,--and my
memorandum, which I forgot to remove. Hell's curses! that after all
my precautions I should be thus entrapped. It's all your fault,
you shaking coward! and, but that I feel sure you'll swing for your
carelessness, I'd throw you into the well, too.”