After escaping from the turner's house, Jack Sheppard skirted St.
Sepulchre's church, and hurrying down Snow Hill, darted into the
first turning on the left. Traversing Angel Court, and Green Arbour
Court,--celebrated as one of Goldsmith's retreats,--he speedily
reached Seacoal Lane, and pursuing the same course, which he and
Thames had formerly taken, arrived at the yard at the back of
Jonathan's habitation.
A door, it may be remembered, opened from Wild's dwelling into this
yard. Before he forced an entrance, Jack tried it, and, to his great
surprise and delight, found it unfastened. Entering the house, he
found himself in a narrow passage leading to the back stairs. He
had not taken many steps when he perceived Quilt Arnold in the upper
gallery, with a lamp in his hand. Hearing a noise below, Quilt called
out, supposing it occasioned by the Jew. Jack hastily retreated, and
taking the first means of concealment that occurred to him, descended
the cellar steps.
Quilt, meanwhile, came down, examined the door, and finding
it unfastened, locked it with a bitter imprecation on his
brother-janizary's carelessness. This done, he followed the course
which Jack had just taken. As he crossed the cellar, he passed so
near to Jack who had concealed himself behind a piece of furniture
that he almost touched him. It was Jack's intention to have knocked
him down with the iron bar; but he was so struck with the janizary's
looks, that he determined to spare him till he had ascertained his
purpose. With this view, he suffered him to pass on.
Quilt's manner, indeed, was that of a man endeavouring to muster up
sufficient resolution for the commission of some desperate crime.
He halted,--looked fearfully around,--stopped again, and exclaimed
aloud, “I don't like the job; and yet it must be done, or Mr. Wild
will hang me.” With this, he appeared to pluck up his courage, and
stepped forward more boldly.
“Some dreadful deed is about to be committed, which I may perhaps
prevent,” muttered Jack to himself. “Heaven grant I may not be too
late!”
Followed by Jack Sheppard, who kept sufficiently near him to watch
his proceedings, and yet not expose himself, Quilt unlocked one
or two doors which he left open, and after winding his way along a
gloomy passage, arrived at the door of a vault. Here he set down
the lamp, and took out a key, and as he did so the expression of his
countenance was so atrocious, that Jack felt assured he was not wrong
in his suspicions.
By this time, the door was unlocked, and drawing his sword, Quilt
entered the cell. The next moment, an exclamation was heard in the
voice of Thames. Darting forward at this sound, Jack threw open the
door, and beheld Quilt kneeling over Thames, who'se hands and feet
were bound with cords, and about to plunge his sword into his breast.
A blow from the iron bar instantly stretched the ruffian on the
floor. Jack then proceeded to liberate the captive from his bondage.
“Jack!” exclaimed Thames. “Is it you?”
“It is,” replied Sheppard, as he untied the cords. “I might return
the question. Were it not for your voice, I don't think I should know
you. You are greatly altered.”
Captivity had, indeed, produced a striking alteration in Thames. He
looked like the shadow of himself--thin, feeble, hollow-eyed--his
beard unshorn--nothing could be more miserable.
“I have never been out of this horrible dungeon since we last met,”
he said; “though how long ago that is, I scarcely know. Night and day
have been alike to me.”
“Six weeks have elapsed since that fatal night,” replied Jack.
“During the whole of that time I have been a close prisoner in
Newgate, whence I have only just escaped.”
“Six weeks!” exclaimed Thames, in a melancholy tone. “It seems like
six long months to me.”
“I do not doubt it,” returned Jack; “none but those who have
experienced it can understand the miseries of imprisonment.”
“Do not speak of it,” rejoined Thames, with a look of horror. “Let us
fly from this frightful place.”
“I will conduct you to the outlet,” replied Jack; “but I cannot
leave it till I have ascertained whether my mother also is a prisoner
here.”
“I can answer that,” replied Thames. “She is. The monster, Wild, when
he visited my dungeon last night, told me, to add to my misery, that
she occupied a cell near me.”
“Arm yourself with that ruffian's weapons,” replied Jack, “and let us
search for her.”
Thames complied. But he was so feeble, that it seemed scarcely
possible he could offer any effectual resistance in case of an
attack.
“Lean on me,” said Jack.
Taking the light, they then proceeded along the passage. There was no
other door in it, and Jack therefore struck into another entry which
branched off to the right. They had not proceeded far when a low moan
was heard.
“She is here,” cried Jack, darting forward.
A few steps brought him to the door of the vault in which his mother
was immured. It was locked. Jack had brought away the bunch of keys
which he had taken from Quilt Arnold, but, none of them would open
it. He was therefore obliged to use the iron bar, which he did with
as much caution as circumstances would permit. At the first blow,
Mrs. Sheppard uttered a piercing scream.
“Wretch!” she cried, “you shall not force me to your hateful purpose.
I will never wed you. I have a weapon--a knife--and if you attempt to
open the door, will plunge it to my heart.”
“Oh God!” exclaimed Jack, paralysed by her cries. “What shall I do?
If I persist, I shall destroy her.”
“Get hence,” continued Mrs. Sheppard, with a frenzied laugh. “You
shall never behold me alive.”
“Mother!” cried Jack, in a broken voice. “It is your son.”
“It is false,” cried Mrs. Sheppard. “Think not to deceive me,
monster. I know my son's voice too well. He is in Newgate. Hence!”
“Mother! dear mother!” cried Jack, in a voice, the tones of which
were altered by his very anxiety to make them distinct, “listen to
me. I have broken from prison, and am come to save you.”
“It is _not_ Jack's voice,” rejoined Mrs. Sheppard. “I am not to be
deceived. The knife is at my breast. Stir a foot, and I strike.”
“Oh Heavens!” cried Jack, driven to his wits' end. “Mother--dear
mother! Once again, I beseech you to listen to me. I am come to
rescue you from Wild's violence. I must break open the door. Hold
your hand for a moment.”
“You have heard my fixed determination, villain,” cried Mrs.
Sheppard. “I know my life is valuable to you, or you would not
spare it. But I will disappoint you. Get you gone. Your purposes are
defeated.”
“Footsteps are approaching,” cried Thames. “Heed her not. It is but a
wild threat.”
“I know not how to act,” exclaimed Jack, almost driven to
desperation.
“I hear you plotting with your wicked associates,” cried Mrs.
Sheppard. “I have baffled you.”
“Force the door,” said Thames, “or you will be too late.”
“Better she die by her own hand, than by that monster's,” cried Jack,
brandishing the bar. “Mother, I come to you.”
With this, he struck the door a heavy blow.
He listened. There was a deep groan, and the sound of a fall within.
“I have killed her,” exclaimed Jack, dropping the bar,--“by your
advice, Thames. Oh God! pardon me.”
“Do not delay,” cried Thames. “She may yet be saved. I am too weak to
aid you.”
Jack again seized the bar, and, dashing it furiously against the
door, speedily burst it open.
The unfortunate woman was stretched upon the floor, with a bloody
knife in her hand.
“Mother!” cried Jack, springing towards her.
“Jack!” she cried, raising her head. “Is it you?”
“It is,” replied her son, “Oh! why would you not listen to me?”
“I was distracted,” replied Mrs. Sheppard, faintly.
“I have killed you,” cried Jack, endeavouring to staunch the effusion
of blood from her breast. “Forgive--forgive me!”
“I have nothing to forgive,” replied Mrs. Sheppard. “I alone am to
blame.”
“Can I not carry you where you can obtain help?” cried Jack in a
agony of distress.
“It is useless,” replied Mrs. Sheppard: “nothing can save me. I die
happy--quite happy in beholding you. Do not remain with me. You may
fall into the hands of your enemy. Fly! fly!”
“Do not think of me, mother, but of yourself,” cried Jack, in an
agony of tears.
“You have always been, far dearer to me than myself,” replied
Mrs. Sheppard. “But I have one last request to make. Let me lie in
Willesden churchyard.”
“You shall--you shall,” answered Jack.
“We shall meet again ere long, my son,” cried Mrs. Sheppard, fixing
her glazing eyes upon him.
“Oh God! she is dying,” exclaimed Jack in a voice suffocated by
emotion. “Forgive me--oh, forgive me!”
“Forgive you--bless you!” she gasped.
A cold shiver ran through her frame, and her gentle spirit passed
away for ever.
“Oh, God! that I might die too,” cried Jack, falling on his knees
beside her.
After the first violent outbreak of grief had in some degree
subsided, Thames addressed him.
“You must not remain here,” he said. “You can render no further
service to your poor mother.”
“I can avenge her,” cried Jack in a terrible tone.
“Be ruled by me,” returned Thames. “You will act most in accordance
with her wishes, could she dictate them, by compliance. Do not waste
time in vain regrets, but let us remove the body, that we may fulfil
her last injunctions.”
After some further arguments, Jack assented to this proposal.
“Go on first with the light,” he said. “I will bear the body.” And he
raised it in his arms.
Just as they reached the end of the passage, they heard the voices of
Jonathan and the Jew in Thames's late place of confinement. Wild
had evidently discovered the body of Quilt Arnold, and was loudly
expressing his anger and astonishment.
“Extinguish the light,” cried Jack; “turn to the left. Quick! Quick!”
The order was only just given in time. They had scarcely gained
the adjoining cellar when Jonathan and the Jew rushed past in the
direction of the vault.
“Not a moment is to be lost,” cried Jack: “follow me.”
So saying, he hurried up stairs, opened the back door, and was
quickly in the yard. Having ascertained that Thames was at his heels,
he hurried with his ghastly burthen down Seacoal Lane.
“Where are you going?” cried Thames, who, though wholly
disencumbered, was scarcely able to keep up with him.
“I know not--and care not,” replied Jack.
At this moment, a coach passed them, and was instantly hailed by
Thames.
“You had better let me convey her to Dollis Hill,” he said.
“Be it so,” replied Jack.
Luckily it was so dark, and there was no lamp near, that the man did
not notice the condition of the body, which was placed in the vehicle
by the two young men.
“What will you do?” asked Thames.
“Leave me to my fate,” rejoined Jack. “Take care of your charge.”
“Doubt me not,” replied Thames.
“Bury her in Willesden churchyard, as she requested, on Sunday,” said
Jack. “I will be there at the time.”
So saying, he closed the door.
The coachman having received his order, and being offered an extra
fare if he drove quickly, set off at full speed.
As Jack departed, a dark figure, emerging from behind a wall, rushed
after him.