Slowly, and for him very soberly, with his eyes bent upon the ground,
and his thoughts heavier than his own statues, Van Noost took his way
across the little street towards a turning which led away to the
westward some small distance higher up. He had not passed the doors of
three houses, however, when suddenly a voice called him by name; and,
turning round, he saw the outline of a man's figure standing some way
down a narrow entrance passage, and beckoning to him with his hand.
"Van Noost," said the voice again, "come hither. I want you. Come
hither, man of flesh and lead. There is no danger to your carcase. A
dagger would lose itself before it found your ribs. Don't you know me,
man?"
"I can't see your face," replied Van Noost, "but, odds wounds! your
voice is very like that of Master Richard Newark, who left us at
Rothbury."
"Come in, come!" cried the other. "Do not stand chattering there like
a pie on an elm tree, calling all the other birds to wonder what the
fool is prating of. If you know my tongue, that is enough. Sound is as
good as sight, and sometimes better. Come in, I say, thou man of
molten images."
Without farther question, Van Noost entered the doorway, although
with some degree of trepidation; for the poor man had been sadly
shaken by all that he had lately undergone--fat being no
case-hardening of the nerves, as many of us must very well know. No
sooner was he within the door, however, than Richard Newark threw it
sharply to, caught him by the arm, and drew him along towards a small
room on the left, where the stronger light showed the statuary that he
had not been mistaken. The small chamber was a fair specimen of an
ordinary lodging house of the day--dingy with ages of uncleaned walls
and unwhitened ceilings. Wooden chairs of an indescribable brown; a
table of the same hue and material; a corner-cupboard garnished with
broken cups and saucers--a piece of sealing-wax--a tallow candle
in a brass candlestick, and a bottle with two or three glasses; a
looking-glass of the breadth of one's hand; an old cracked
punch-bowl, and two apostle spoons, made up the furniture. To these
were added a pair of tobacco-pipes on the table, with a pile of shag
tobacco in an open box, and several other articles, the peculiar
property of the young tenant.
But if to find Richard Newark, the son of the wealthy and somewhat
ostentatious Sir John, in so lowly a dwelling, excited the wonder of
the statuary, what was his surprise at the appearance of the young man
himself! The gay apparel which Richard, with youthful vanity, had ever
affected, was partly cast aside, and he stood before Van Noost in the
garb of a seaman, with large breeches tied with enormous bunches of
rib-band at the knees, grey stockings, and half a foot of clean shirt
shown at his waist. The upper man displayed the marks of a rather
superior station. The long-waisted broad-flapped coat, with a small
silver lace, seemed to indicate an aspirant to future command, and at
the same time gave him the appearance of a man five or six years older
than he really was; while the waistcoat of embroidered silk, and the
laced cravat, showed the remnant of still higher pretensions.
"Will Van Noost sit down and take a pipe?" said Richard Newark. "We
will soon have a glass of grog and a good gossip. Ay, do not stare
till your eyes leap into the tobacco-box. Here I am, a sailor for the
nonce; and, on my life and soul, I have a great mind to remain one
till my dying day. Why, man, I never knew what freedom was before.
Here I can go where I like, do what I like, say anything I please, to
man, woman, or child, and no one takes offence or calls me a fool for
my pains. 'Tis but a mad trick of the sailor-lad, do what I will, and
I have learned more man's knowledge in this garb, during the month I
have been in London, than I should have learned during ten years at
Ale."
"Pray God, Master Richard, you have not learned more than is good for
you!" ejaculated Van Noost. "I had an apprentice from the country, who
was quite spoiled with three months' residence in London."
"But I am no apprentice, noble lead-boiler," retorted Richard. "What
makes you think there is anything spoilable in me? I am not a haunch
of venison, nor a new-caught trout, a cream tart, nor a jelly, to grow
mouldy on a moist day, or stink in the nose when the wind is
southerly. What makes you think I may, can, might, could, should, or
ought to be spoiled?"
"Why, because I find you here, sir, masquerading in a low house,"
replied Van Noost, "while your beautiful cousin is pining in solitude
in a house hard by, your father a prisoner in the Tower, and your best
friend in bonds at Preston."
Richard Newark was instantly serious, and he leaned his head on his
hand for a moment, in deep thought.
"You are wise," he said at length; "very wise, as this world's wisdom
goes. So all men would judge me, seeing only what you see. But you are
mistaken, nymph-maker. As to my father, his life is saved, if it ever
was in danger, which I do not think. The son's virtue in abandoning
rebels has been taken for an equipoise to the father's guilt in
encouraging them underhand. That I have made sure of. Deserters and
recreants are prime favourites now at court; and, as I was one of the
first, I was abundantly well received."
He paused, with a bitter and sarcastic expression of countenance, and
then went on--
"As to Emmeline, do not think, Master lead-melter, that I forget her.
What am I here for? What am I in this garb for? Is it not to watch
over her in secret, and turn the danger from her when it may come? Do
I not know every step she takes through the streets? Do I not know
when she goes out and when she returns? Do I not see every one who
approaches her door? Poor Smeaton!" he continued, in a sadder tone;
"what help can be given to him, Heaven knows! I do not. I wonder if it
be true that he is one of the prisoners at Preston. Methinks he is not
a man to be taken in the same sweep of the net with less fishes."
"Ay, sir, but he would not leave the less fish in the net and break
through it himself, as he might have done," replied Van Noost.
"And as you did," said Richard Newark; and then, after a moment's
silence, he added. "And so did I. Pshaw, man, do not look red in the
gills about it! We are the wise men, and Smeaton the fool; but there
are wiser men even than ourselves. For instance, the man who not only
turns his back upon his friends, but sells them; the man who makes a
merit of his treason, and bargains for something better than
forgiveness. Do you understand me?"
"Faith, but darkly, Master Richard," answered Van Noost. "If you know
any such, you know more than I do."
"I know one at least," replied Richard; and then, in his usual
rambling way, he returned to the subject of his friend, saying,
"Poor Smeaton! his has been a hard fate, to be lured into the fatal
trap--cheated into the net at the very moment of his happiness. He has
had foul play, Van Noost."
"Ay, he complained much of Lord Stair," observed Van Noost. "That man
did not behave well to him."
"Lord Stair!" cried Richard Newark, with a laugh. "There were others
who behaved worse than Lord Stair. Indeed, I know not that Lord Stair
behaved ill at all; but others did. Lord Stair did not intercept his
letters; Lord Stair did not lure him to meetings of conspirators upon
false pretences; Lord Stair did not give information secretly against
him, pretending to be his friend; but others did. Lord Stair did not
take every means to drive him into rebellion, in order to get his
estate; but others did."
"Who--who?" asked Van Noost, eagerly.
"My father," answered Richard Newark; and a dead silence followed for
several minutes.
At length Van Noost said, in a low quiet tone--
"I think, Master Richard, if all this can be proved, the government
would deal with the Earl of Eskdale's case favourably."
"And who is to prove it?" exclaimed Richard, vehemently. "Am I to go
and denounce my own father to the government? Am I to expose all these
turnings and windings of his to grave officials in flowing wigs?"
"No; but you might tell Lord Stair himself," replied Van Noost. "You
might show him how this noble lord has been wronged; and, if he really
have any regard for him, and be the man that people say he is, he will
intercede for him with the King."
Richard Newark leaned his head upon his hand, and mused.
"Lord Stair is in Paris," he said, at length; "and I cannot--I must
not--quit this spot. Besides, how do we know that Smeaton is living
even now? They have shot some forty of their prisoners at Preston."
"Those were only officers who had served in King George's forces,"
replied Van Noost, "and, being found in rebellion, were tried by a
court martial and executed on the spot; but the noble Lord was not
amongst them. I have seen the list this very day. He is amongst those
whom they are marching up to London."
"Well, we shall see, we shall see," said Richard. "We shall have time,
at least. Time is everything in this world, as the grasshopper says;
and, if I dared stir from this place, perhaps I might do something;
but I must see Smeaton first. They keep them somewhat loosely in their
prisons; and I shall get in, I dare say."
"But what keeps you here, sir?" asked Van Noost. "You surely cannot be
tied down to this one little street."
"Very nearly," replied the young gentleman. "I am seldom absent for
many minutes till that house opposite is shut up at night. Did you
ever see a cat sitting before a mouse-hole, Van Noost, hour after
hour, looking half asleep, yet ready to spring the moment the little
brown gentleman, with the long tail, pops out, and nothing showing her
impatience but by the convulsions of the tip of her tail? Well, I am
just the cat, watching for I what know will follow, though I know not
when. My scoundrel mouse is winding about in his secret holes and
crannies, and thinking I know nothing of his doings. But let us talk
of other things. I will think of all this, and you come and see me
every day. There, drink some brandy and smoke your pipe. Or will you
have wine? We will get wine in a minute. Here, William, John! My two
hounds, where are you?"
To Van Noost's surprise, two men, or rather lads, for neither of them
certainly was two-and-twenty, appeared in answer to the young
gentleman's summons, dressed both alike, yet not exactly in livery,
though they evidently acted the part of Richard Newark's servants. One
was sent one way for meat, and another for wine; and, changing his
place, the young gentleman seated himself behind a blind near the
window, whence he could see down the little street in which the house
stood. When the men had returned and set down the things which had
been ordered, with plates, glasses, and knives, Richard moved his
place again, saying to the elder of the two--
"Mind the watch, for I shall be busy for an hour or so."
"A bird shall not fly past without our seeing him," replied the man,
and left the room with his companion.
At all times, and in all circumstances, Van Noost was well pleased to
eat and drink. Care, fear, or anxiety never took away his appetite,
and he did ample justice to the viands set before him.
A rambling desultory conversation followed; but Richard Newark would
not suffer it to fall back into the channels through which it had been
previously flowing. He talked of all that had occurred during the
insurrection, of his own escapade to the north, and of what he had
seen and done while travelling about with the Northumbrian gentlemen;
and, though his conversation and his manners were now more like his
former self, yet Van Noost could not help being much struck with the
great change which had come over him within the last few months. That
short period of busy existence--the companionship of men, and the
association with superior minds--had effected a remarkable
transformation; but the manliness of manner and decision of thought
which he had gained could only be attributed to the habit and
necessity of acting for himself, and the development, under such
necessity, of a character naturally decided, sharp, and fearless,
though rather distorted and out of shape.
The time passed pleasantly enough, and, on his departure, Van Noost
promised to return. He did not fail to keep his word, but went back
more than once, gaining in some degree upon Richard Newark's
confidence at each visit, and consulting with him upon what was to be
done in the case of the Earl of Eskdale.
The result of these consultations we shall see hereafter; but one
thing Van Noost could not comprehend in his companion; namely, the
obstinacy with which he refrained from going to see his fair cousin,
and from even letting her know that he was in her immediate
neighbourhood. The good statuary tried many circuitous ways of
arriving at his motives; and, when at length he asked him distinctly,
Richard replied, with one of his wild laughs--
"Ay, you could not understand, Van Noost; and, to say truth, I myself
do not understand. I have seen birds caught by perching on lime twigs.
Things have been put into my head which I wish had never come into it.
Besides, I am better where I am. I can do more, devise more, prevent
more, when I am working unseen. No, no, it would never do; but I must
tell you what, good friend; I must have a little liberty and some
fresh air. I must arrange, and trust to my two boys for a day now and
then. I am getting ill in this close hole, and my brain begins to spin
and whirl round as it used to do at school. Can you not contrive to
hire us a couple of horses? for mine I sold when I came to London. We
will have a ride, Van Noost--we will have a ride on the north road."
Van Noost readily consented, and it was agreed that the next day, at
the hour of noon, he should be with a pair horses in Smithfield, where
Richard Newark was to join him.
The young gentleman was on the spot before him, and there was an
eagerness and excitement in his look, which the statuary did not
understand. Springing on the horse's back, Richard Newark set off at a
pace much too fast to be agreeable to his companion. They soon cleared
the suburbs of London, however, passing a great number of people on
the road, some on horseback and some on foot, who were all tending the
same way, though at a more sober pace.
"I wonder what these people are all pouring out of London for," said
Van Noost, as they rode along. "There must be some sport going
forward."
"Ha! ha! don't you know!" exclaimed Richard, wildly. "They are going
to meet the prisoners coming in, and so am I!"
This announcement was not altogether palatable to the good statuary,
who felt certain that he should be recognized by some of the
prisoners, and be placed in an awkward position. It was not, indeed,
that he feared his acquaintance with those who had joined in the
insurrection would in any degree endanger his personal safety; and, to
do him justice, he would have risked that under any circumstances;
but, as it was, he had made a clean breast of it to the Secretary of
State, and obtained even more than he could expect, amounting, in
fact, to a conditional pardon. The thought, however, of having fled
from Preston; of not remaining with Roman courage (which he always had
an ambition of displaying, if his constitution would but have let him)
to fall with a falling cause, and of having sneaked away in much haste
and trepidation at the approach of real danger, made him feel very
awkward when he thought of encountering his former companions in
rebellion. He explained his feelings to Richard Newark as well as he
could, hinting, at the same time, that the young gentleman himself was
in a similar situation.
But Richard only laughed aloud, saying, "Well, get out of the way
then, when we come near them. Pop into an inn, or hide your
shame-faced noddle in some barn or shed. As for me, I shall go up and
speak to any one I know. I am not the least ashamed of anything I have
done, and I will cut that man's throat who says I have cause to be."
They rode on as far as Highgate, leaving the crowd behind them as they
went; and, a little beyond that place, they saw a cloud of dust upon
the road before them, which seemed to announce the approach of the
prisoners. There was a small public-house near, in which Van Noost
took refuge as speedily as possible. Richard Newark dismounted also;
but he remained on the outside of the house, with his arms folded on
his chest. Half an hour elapsed, however, before the procession which
they expected appeared; for the dust which they had seen was raised
merely by a large party of horse grenadiers and foot guards, sent out
to meet the unfortunate prisoners from Preston and escort them into
London.
After calling for something for the good of the house, Van Noost
placed himself at the window of the little sanded parlour, with a
number of other persons, while the road before him was occupied by a
small crowd from Highgate and the neighbouring villages. At length,
the advance of a large body of men along the road was descried; and on
they came at a slow pace, while a loyal shout of "Long live King
George, and down with the Pretender!" burst from the crowd without.
Poor Van Noost's heart felt very big; and, when he saw the whole
indignity to which his poor friends had been subjected, it was too
much for him. Noblemen and gentlemen of high and distinguished
character, men of honour and refinement and unblemished reputation,
were being marched into London with their arms pinioned with ropes,
each of their horses led by one of the foot guards, often by a mere
common halter, while a large party of cavalry preceded and followed
but did not flank them, as if for the express purpose of exposing them
fully to the gaze of the multitude. Van Noost caught a momentary
glance of many whom he knew, and especially of the Earl of Eskdale;
but he saw little of what passed after, except that Richard Newark ran
forward, laid his hand upon Smeaton's knee, and spoke to him eagerly,
walking by the side of his horse till one of the soldiers put him
rudely back.
The poor statuary's eyes filled with tears; and, retiring from the
window, he made place for those who were struggling to get forward.