MR. DYKES AND HIS MYRMIDONS.
It was midnight; and profound silence reigned throughout the region of
Lock's Fields.
But suddenly that silence was broken by the tread of several persons,
who emerged from a bye-alley in the immediate vicinity of Brandon
Street.
At the corner of this street they paused to hold a hasty conference.
They were six in number—five men and a woman.
"This is the street," said the woman.
"Oh! this is it, Mrs. Bunce—eh?" returned Mr. Dykes, the Bow Street
officer, rubbing his nose with the knob of his stout ash-stick, while
his countenance, on which the bright moon-beams played, showed an
expression of calm determination.
"Yes: and that's the house—there: the ninth on t'other side of the way,"
added Mrs. Bunce.
"Well—now we don't want you no more, ma'am," said Dykes; "'cos women is
all very well in their place; and darling creatur's they are too. But
when a grab is to be made, they're best at home, a-bed and asleep. So
good night to you, ma'am."
"Good night, gentlemen all," responded Mrs. Bunce; and she hurried away.
"Now, Bingham and you fellers," said Mr. Dykes, "we must mind what we're
up to; for we shan't catch a weasel asleep. You, Bingham, take one of
the runners and get round to the back of the house. Me and t'other chaps
will make the entry in front. But we shan't stir a peg for one quarter
of an hour; and by that time you'll be at your post."
"All right," returned Mr. Bingham; and this individual accordingly moved
off, followed by one of the subordinate runners.
In the meantime, Tom Rainford was sleeping, not dreaming of danger, in
the arms of the beautiful Jewess.
Charley Watts was cradled in a little bed made up for him in the warmest
corner of the room.
A light burnt in the apartment, where naught was heard save the slow,
regular breathing of the sleepers.
The clear, transparent olive complexion of the beautiful Jewess
contrasted strongly with the florid countenance of the highwayman; and
the commingling of the raven hair of the one with the light, almost
yellow locks of the other, produced a strange effect, as the marked
discrepancy of hues was set off by the snowy whiteness of the pillow. By
the feeble light of the candle, it appeared as if ebony and gold were
blending on a white ground.
But, hark! what is that sound which breaks on the silence of the
chamber?—and wherefore does the highwayman start from his sleep?
He awakes—and listens.
The Jewess also awakes—and also listens,—one of her beautifully modelled
arms thrown around the neck of him whom she loved so fondly.
"Some one is trying the back-door," whispered Rainford at length; and he
leapt from the bed.
In less than a minute he had thrown on his clothes; and grasping his
pistols, he hastened to the window.
But at the same instant the back-door was forced in;—more violently, no
doubt, than Bingham and his co-operator had intended; and the sound was
too unequivocal to permit Tom Rain to doubt the meaning of the
disturbance.
Returning to the bed, he said in a hurried but solemn and deeply
impressive tone, "Dearest, I am betrayed. If I escape, you shall soon
hear from me: if I am captured, I charge you—by all the love I bear for
you—by all the love you bear for me—not to attempt to visit me in
prison! Farewell—dearest, dearest girl!"
He embraced her fondly—affectionately,—oh! most lovingly; while she
sobbed as if her heart would break.
Then in a moment he tore himself away:—footsteps—many footsteps were
already ascending—nay, rushing up—the stairs.
He darted from the room, sprang up a ladder which stood on the
landing—pushed up a trap-door—and in another moment was on the roof of
the house.
The officers were close upon him. Dykes and his two men had effected an
entry by the front-door of the house almost at the same moment that
Bingham and his follower had broken in at the back; and the entire
_posse_ reached the landing just at the moment that the trap-door fell
down heavily into its place.
"He has escaped by the roof!" cried Dykes. "Bingham, my boy, take a
couple of chaps, and watch the backs of the houses: he can't get away by
the front—it's too high for him to leap into the street. Me and t'other
chap will after him to the tilings."
Thus saying, Dykes ascended the ladder as quickly as his unwieldly form
would permit. The trap-door was easily raised, as it only fastened
inside; and the portly body of the Bow Street officer, who possessed
more courage than alacrity, was forced through the small aperture. The
operation was slow and difficult; but at last Mr. Dykes stood on a
narrow ledge which ran along the whole row of houses, and from which the
roof rose obliquely behind. This ledge was only protected by a parapet
about two feet high; and the officer felt his position to be any thing
but a safe one.
But he was not the man to shrink from danger.
"Come along, you feller," he cried out to his follower, who speedily
emerged from the opening. "You cut along that way, and I'll go this."
And they proceeded in different directions on the roof of the house.
The moon shone brightly, but Thomas Rainford was not to be seen.
Suddenly an exclamation of triumph burst from the yard at the back of
one of the adjacent houses.
"Holloa?" vociferated Dykes, from the eminence on which he stood.
"We've got him, fast enough," returned Bingham.
A piercing shriek from a window that had been thrown open, denoted the
anguish of the Jewess, whose ears had caught these words.
Mr. Dykes and his attendant subordinate now retraced their way to the
trap-door, through the aperture of which they once more forced
themselves; and when they had regained the landing Dykes said, "Now you
go and join my partner Bingham, 'cos this Rainford is a desperate
feller, and the more there is to guard him the better."
The man accordingly took his departure, and Mr. Dykes knocked gently at
the door of the bed-room.
"Who is there?" asked a voice within,—a voice soft and melodious, but
now expressive of the most intense anguish.
"Beg pardon, ma'am," said Dykes; "but I must do my duty; and if so be
you'll have the kindness to dress yourself, I should like to examine the
boxes and cupboards, and such like—just for form's sake, and that's
all."
"Must you thus add to the grief which is already——"
The plaintive voice was interrupted by a violent fit of sobbing, with
the mournful sounds of which the crying of the little boy now
commingled.
"I don't want to annoy you, ma'am," returned Dykes.
"I should hope not, indeed!" exclaimed the landlady, who, having been
alarmed by the disturbance, had got up and dressed herself, and was now
ascending the stairs. "But what is it all about? and why do you break
into a respectable house in this way? I don't suppose you're thieves—or
else——"
"I am an officer, ma'am," exclaimed Dykes, drawing himself up with
offended dignity, as the candle which the landlady carried in her hand
lighted the landing-place:—"I am an officer, ma'am—and my partners have
just taken one Thomas Rainford, a highwayman——"
"A highwayman!" ejaculated the widow, who had never suspected the
character of her lodger, and who was a prudent woman that never troubled
herself about other people's business so long as her rent was regularly
paid.
"Yes—a highwayman," added Dykes. "But I've no time to stand palavering.
I b'lieve there's a lady in this room here; and as I must overhaul the
place—as the case is a serious one—you'll do well to step in and let me
do the job quietly. I don't want to annoy her: the law isn't at
loggerheads with her—and so she's nothing to fear. As for me, I'm as
gentle as a lamb when a lady's concerned."
The widow urged the afflicted girl within the room to open the door; and
as the latter had by this time dressed herself, the request was complied
with.
But the Jewess wore a deep black veil over her head, when the officer
and the landlady entered the bed-chamber; and, taking Charley in her
arms, she seated herself in a chair near the bed, whispering a few words
of consolation to the little boy even amidst the terrible violence of
her own grief.
As for Charles, he knew that something wrong was occurring; but he was
too young to comprehend the real nature of the appearances which
terrified him.
Dykes just opened a cupboard, plunged his hands into a trunk, and turned
out the contents of a carpet-bag: but he did not prosecute his search
any farther; for he was too much experienced in the ways of robbers and
rogues to suppose for a moment that he should find on the premises any
portion of the money stolen from Sir Christopher Blunt,—this being the
charge on which Rainford was arrested.
The search, such as it was, was merely for form's sake; because the
magistrate was sure to inquire whether the prisoner's lodgings had been
carefully examined; and this superficial glance at the contents of the
boxes would enable Mr. Dykes to give an affirmative answer without any
very great deviation from the actual truth.
He accordingly quitted the room within a minute after entering it; but
he turned on the landing just to beg "the dear young lady not to take on
too much," and also to assure the mistress of the house that she should
be recompensed for the injury done to her abode by the violent entry
effected by himself and his companions.[23]
We must leave the landlady to console—or endeavour to console the
unhappy Jewess,—and accompany Mr. Dykes, who passed out of the house by
the back way, and stepped over two or three low fences which separated
the yards of the respective dwellings, until he reached that one where
Tom Rain was in the custody of Bingham and the subordinate runners.
It appeared that the gallant highwayman, finding how hotly he was
pursued when he was escaping by means of the trap-door, and dreading
lest the whole neighbourhood should be alarmed ere he could possibly get
away, had resolved on the dangerous expedient of sliding down from the
roof to the back of the buildings, by means of the perpendicular leaden
water-pipe. But when he was half-way down in his perilous descent, he
missed his hold, and fell upon the stone pavement of the yard beneath.
He endeavoured to get up and escape—but could not: his right ankle was
sprained, almost to dislocation; and in a few minutes he was discovered
and captured by the detachment under the orders of Bingham.
He heard the piercing scream which followed the announcement of his
arrest by this officer; and that scream—oh! it went to thy generous
heart, Tom Rain!
But he uttered not a word: he offered no resistance, although he had his
pistols about him. He not only shrank from the idea of shedding human
blood: but he was also well aware that his case was now too desperate to
be benefited by even desperate means. For, even if he slew all the
officers, he could not drag himself away ere the neighbours would
collect and capture him.
And by this time, the whole line of houses was awake with bustle and
excitement. Light after light appeared at the different casements:
windows were thrown up; and the rumour spread like wildfire, that a
famous highwayman had just been arrested.
The reader may well conceive the nature of the sensation which now
prevailed all along the back of Brandon Street;—but in one room there
was a beauteous woman convulsed with torturing—maddening anguish,—for
deep was her love for thee, Tom Rain!
"Now, then," cried Dykes, as he made his appearance in the yard, where
the highwayman was sitting on an inverted wash-tub, surrounded by the
runners, to whom he had surrendered his pistols;—"now, then lads—let's
off with him to quod. How d'ye do, Mr. Rainford! Don't want to crow over
a gentleman in trouble—but thought I should have you some day or
another." Then, stooping down, he whispered in Tom's ear, "I was
obleeged to give a look in at the crib up there just now; but I only
stayed a moment, and shan't trouble the poor lady any more. She had a
veil over her face—and so I don't know who she is: that is, you see, I
_shan't_ know, if I'm asked any questions by the beak:—but of course I'm
aware it's the handsome Jewess that did the diamond business."
"You are mistaken—you are mistaken," said Rainford, emphatically. "But,
if you showed her any civility, I sincerely thank you——"
"Lord bless you! Mr. Rainford—I wouldn't do any thing to annoy you for
the world. I can't help admiring a brave man—and you're one. The poor
dear lady will be troubled no more by us; and it's nothing to me who she
is, or who she is not. The law don't want _her_, at all events."
"One word more," said Tom. "Who has done this business for me?"
"A lawyer named Howard," was the answer. "But I can't say no more——"
"Then what is the charge against me?" asked Tom, a considerable load
already removed from his mind.
"Sir Christopher Blunt's little business—that's all," replied Dykes.
"But come along: we must be off to Horsemonger."
Mr. Dykes and Mr. Bingham politely offered Rainford their arms; and the
procession passed through the house, in the yard belonging to which the
capture had been made. The occupants of that dwelling—men, women, and
children, all in their night-dresses—crowded on the stairs to catch a
glimpse of the "terrible highwayman," whose good looking appearance
excited the sympathy of the female portion of the spectators.
Half an hour afterwards Tom Rain was lodged in a cell in the criminal
department of Horsemonger Lane Gaol;—but his heart was lighter than the
reader might possibly suppose—for he was relieved of the first and most
natural fear that had assailed him: namely, that it was on account of
Benjamin Bones's death that he was pursued!
"If I must be hanged," he thought within himself, "I would rather it
should be for highway robbery than aught else!—But, O Tamar! Tamar! what
is to become of _thee_?"
And, as he sate on the humble pallet in the darkness of his solitary
cell, he buried his face in his manacled hands.
In another moment a moonbeam penetrated through the barred window; and
in that silver ray glistened the tears which trickled between his
fingers.
And yet it was not for himself he wept:—thou wast no coward—but thou
hadst a generous heart, Tom Rain!
-----
Footnote 23:
We should observe that at the time of which we are writing, it was by
no means unusual for Bow Street officers to be employed in the pursuit
or capture of desperate characters in Surrey, although this county was
not strictly within their district.