Barnaby Rudge: A Tale of the Riots of 'Eighty Read online

  Chapter 3

  Such were the locksmith's thoughts when first seated in the snug corner,and slowly recovering from a pleasant defect of vision--pleasant,because occasioned by the wind blowing in his eyes--which made it amatter of sound policy and duty to himself, that he should take refugefrom the weather, and tempted him, for the same reason, to aggravatea slight cough, and declare he felt but poorly. Such were still histhoughts more than a full hour afterwards, when, supper over, he stillsat with shining jovial face in the same warm nook, listening to thecricket-like chirrup of little Solomon Daisy, and bearing no unimportantor slightly respected part in the social gossip round the Maypole fire.

  'I wish he may be an honest man, that's all,' said Solomon, winding upa variety of speculations relative to the stranger, concerning whomGabriel had compared notes with the company, and so raised a gravediscussion; 'I wish he may be an honest man.'

  'So we all do, I suppose, don't we?' observed the locksmith.

  'I don't,' said Joe.

  'No!' cried Gabriel.

  'No. He struck me with his whip, the coward, when he was mounted and Iafoot, and I should be better pleased that he turned out what I thinkhim.'

  'And what may that be, Joe?'

  'No good, Mr Varden. You may shake your head, father, but I say no good,and will say no good, and I would say no good a hundred times over, ifthat would bring him back to have the drubbing he deserves.'

  'Hold your tongue, sir,' said John Willet.

  'I won't, father. It's all along of you that he ventured to do what hedid. Seeing me treated like a child, and put down like a fool, HE plucksup a heart and has a fling at a fellow that he thinks--and may wellthink too--hasn't a grain of spirit. But he's mistaken, as I'll showhim, and as I'll show all of you before long.'

  'Does the boy know what he's a saying of!' cried the astonished JohnWillet.

  'Father,' returned Joe, 'I know what I say and mean, well--better thanyou do when you hear me. I can bear with you, but I cannot bear thecontempt that your treating me in the way you do, brings upon me fromothers every day. Look at other young men of my age. Have they noliberty, no will, no right to speak? Are they obliged to sit mumchance,and to be ordered about till they are the laughing-stock of young andold? I am a bye-word all over Chigwell, and I say--and it's fairermy saying so now, than waiting till you are dead, and I have got yourmoney--I say, that before long I shall be driven to break such bounds,and that when I do, it won't be me that you'll have to blame, but yourown self, and no other.'

  John Willet was so amazed by the exasperation and boldness of hishopeful son, that he sat as one bewildered, staring in a ludicrousmanner at the boiler, and endeavouring, but quite ineffectually, tocollect his tardy thoughts, and invent an answer. The guests, scarcelyless disturbed, were equally at a loss; and at length, with a varietyof muttered, half-expressed condolences, and pieces of advice, rose todepart; being at the same time slightly muddled with liquor.

  The honest locksmith alone addressed a few words of coherent andsensible advice to both parties, urging John Willet to remember thatJoe was nearly arrived at man's estate, and should not be ruled withtoo tight a hand, and exhorting Joe himself to bear with his father'scaprices, and rather endeavour to turn them aside by temperateremonstrance than by ill-timed rebellion. This advice was received assuch advice usually is. On John Willet it made almost as much impressionas on the sign outside the door, while Joe, who took it in the bestpart, avowed himself more obliged than he could well express, butpolitely intimated his intention nevertheless of taking his own courseuninfluenced by anybody.

  'You have always been a very good friend to me, Mr Varden,' he said,as they stood without, in the porch, and the locksmith was equippinghimself for his journey home; 'I take it very kind of you to say allthis, but the time's nearly come when the Maypole and I must partcompany.'

  'Roving stones gather no moss, Joe,' said Gabriel.

  'Nor milestones much,' replied Joe. 'I'm little better than one here,and see as much of the world.'

  'Then, what would you do, Joe?' pursued the locksmith, stroking his chinreflectively. 'What could you be? Where could you go, you see?'

  'I must trust to chance, Mr Varden.'

  'A bad thing to trust to, Joe. I don't like it. I always tell my girlwhen we talk about a husband for her, never to trust to chance, but tomake sure beforehand that she has a good man and true, and then chancewill neither make her nor break her. What are you fidgeting about there,Joe? Nothing gone in the harness, I hope?'

  'No no,' said Joe--finding, however, something very engrossing to do inthe way of strapping and buckling--'Miss Dolly quite well?'

  'Hearty, thankye. She looks pretty enough to be well, and good too.'

  'She's always both, sir'--

  'So she is, thank God!'

  'I hope,' said Joe after some hesitation, 'that you won't tell thisstory against me--this of my having been beat like the boy they'd makeof me--at all events, till I have met this man again and settled theaccount. It'll be a better story then.'

  'Why who should I tell it to?' returned Gabriel. 'They know it here, andI'm not likely to come across anybody else who would care about it.'

  'That's true enough,' said the young fellow with a sigh. 'I quite forgotthat. Yes, that's true!'

  So saying, he raised his face, which was very red,--no doubt from theexertion of strapping and buckling as aforesaid,--and giving the reinsto the old man, who had by this time taken his seat, sighed again andbade him good night.

  'Good night!' cried Gabriel. 'Now think better of what we have justbeen speaking of; and don't be rash, there's a good fellow! I have aninterest in you, and wouldn't have you cast yourself away. Good night!'

  Returning his cheery farewell with cordial goodwill, Joe Willet lingereduntil the sound of wheels ceased to vibrate in his ears, and then,shaking his head mournfully, re-entered the house.

  Gabriel Varden went his way towards London, thinking of a greatmany things, and most of all of flaming terms in which to relate hisadventure, and so account satisfactorily to Mrs Varden for visiting theMaypole, despite certain solemn covenants between himself and that lady.Thinking begets, not only thought, but drowsiness occasionally, and themore the locksmith thought, the more sleepy he became.

  A man may be very sober--or at least firmly set upon his legs on thatneutral ground which lies between the confines of perfect sobriety andslight tipsiness--and yet feel a strong tendency to mingle up presentcircumstances with others which have no manner of connection with them;to confound all consideration of persons, things, times, and places;and to jumble his disjointed thoughts together in a kind of mentalkaleidoscope, producing combinations as unexpected as they aretransitory. This was Gabriel Varden's state, as, nodding in his dogsleep, and leaving his horse to pursue a road with which he was wellacquainted, he got over the ground unconsciously, and drew nearer andnearer home. He had roused himself once, when the horse stopped untilthe turnpike gate was opened, and had cried a lusty 'good night!' to thetoll-keeper; but then he awoke out of a dream about picking a lock inthe stomach of the Great Mogul, and even when he did wake, mixed up theturnpike man with his mother-in-law who had been dead twenty years. Itis not surprising, therefore, that he soon relapsed, and jogged heavilyalong, quite insensible to his progress.

  And, now, he approached the great city, which lay outstretched beforehim like a dark shadow on the ground, reddening the sluggish air with adeep dull light, that told of labyrinths of public ways and shops, andswarms of busy people. Approaching nearer and nearer yet, this halobegan to fade, and the causes which produced it slowly to developthemselves. Long lines of poorly lighted streets might be faintlytraced, with here and there a lighter spot, where lamps were clusteredround a square or market, or round some great building; after a timethese grew more distinct, and the lamps themselves were visible; slightyellow specks, that seemed to be rapidly snuffed out, one by one, asintervening obstacles hid them from the sight. Then, sounds arose--thestriking of church
clocks, the distant bark of dogs, the hum of trafficin the streets; then outlines might be traced--tall steeples loomingin the air, and piles of unequal roofs oppressed by chimneys; then,the noise swelled into a louder sound, and forms grew more distinct andnumerous still, and London--visible in the darkness by its own faintlight, and not by that of Heaven--was at hand.

  The locksmith, however, all unconscious of its near vicinity, stilljogged on, half sleeping and half waking, when a loud cry at no greatdistance ahead, roused him with a start.

  For a moment or two he looked about him like a man who had beentransported to some strange country in his sleep, but soon recognisingfamiliar objects, rubbed his eyes lazily and might have relapsed again,but that the cry was repeated--not once or twice or thrice, but manytimes, and each time, if possible, with increased vehemence. Thoroughlyaroused, Gabriel, who was a bold man and not easily daunted, madestraight to the spot, urging on his stout little horse as if for life ordeath.

  The matter indeed looked sufficiently serious, for, coming to the placewhence the cries had proceeded, he descried the figure of a man extendedin an apparently lifeless state upon the pathway, and, hovering roundhim, another person with a torch in his hand, which he waved in the airwith a wild impatience, redoubling meanwhile those cries for help whichhad brought the locksmith to the spot.

  'What's here to do?' said the old man, alighting. 'How'sthis--what--Barnaby?'

  The bearer of the torch shook his long loose hair back from his eyes,and thrusting his face eagerly into that of the locksmith, fixed uponhim a look which told his history at once.

  'You know me, Barnaby?' said Varden.

  He nodded--not once or twice, but a score of times, and that with afantastic exaggeration which would have kept his head in motion foran hour, but that the locksmith held up his finger, and fixing his eyesternly upon him caused him to desist; then pointed to the body with aninquiring look.

  'There's blood upon him,' said Barnaby with a shudder. 'It makes mesick!'

  'How came it there?' demanded Varden.

  'Steel, steel, steel!' he replied fiercely, imitating with his hand thethrust of a sword.

  'Is he robbed?' said the locksmith.

  Barnaby caught him by the arm, and nodded 'Yes;' then pointed towardsthe city.

  'Oh!' said the old man, bending over the body and looking round as hespoke into Barnaby's pale face, strangely lighted up by something thatwas NOT intellect. 'The robber made off that way, did he? Well, well,never mind that just now. Hold your torch this way--a little fartheroff--so. Now stand quiet, while I try to see what harm is done.'

  With these words, he applied himself to a closer examination ofthe prostrate form, while Barnaby, holding the torch as he had beendirected, looked on in silence, fascinated by interest or curiosity, butrepelled nevertheless by some strong and secret horror which convulsedhim in every nerve.

  As he stood, at that moment, half shrinking back and half bendingforward, both his face and figure were full in the strong glare of thelink, and as distinctly revealed as though it had been broad day. Hewas about three-and-twenty years old, and though rather spare, of a fairheight and strong make. His hair, of which he had a great profusion, wasred, and hanging in disorder about his face and shoulders, gave to hisrestless looks an expression quite unearthly--enhanced by the palenessof his complexion, and the glassy lustre of his large protruding eyes.Startling as his aspect was, the features were good, and there wassomething even plaintive in his wan and haggard aspect. But, the absenceof the soul is far more terrible in a living man than in a dead one; andin this unfortunate being its noblest powers were wanting.

  His dress was of green, clumsily trimmed here and there--apparently byhis own hands--with gaudy lace; brightest where the cloth was mostworn and soiled, and poorest where it was at the best. A pair of tawdryruffles dangled at his wrists, while his throat was nearly bare. He hadornamented his hat with a cluster of peacock's feathers, but they werelimp and broken, and now trailed negligently down his back. Girt to hisside was the steel hilt of an old sword without blade or scabbard; andsome particoloured ends of ribands and poor glass toys completed theornamental portion of his attire. The fluttered and confused dispositionof all the motley scraps that formed his dress, bespoke, in a scarcelyless degree than his eager and unsettled manner, the disorder of hismind, and by a grotesque contrast set off and heightened the moreimpressive wildness of his face.

  'Barnaby,' said the locksmith, after a hasty but careful inspection,'this man is not dead, but he has a wound in his side, and is in afainting-fit.'

  'I know him, I know him!' cried Barnaby, clapping his hands.

  'Know him?' repeated the locksmith.

  'Hush!' said Barnaby, laying his fingers upon his lips. 'He went outto-day a wooing. I wouldn't for a light guinea that he should never goa wooing again, for, if he did, some eyes would grow dim that are now asbright as--see, when I talk of eyes, the stars come out! Whose eyes arethey? If they are angels' eyes, why do they look down here and see goodmen hurt, and only wink and sparkle all the night?'

  'Now Heaven help this silly fellow,' murmured the perplexed locksmith;'can he know this gentleman? His mother's house is not far off; I hadbetter see if she can tell me who he is. Barnaby, my man, help me to puthim in the chaise, and we'll ride home together.'

  'I can't touch him!' cried the idiot falling back, and shuddering aswith a strong spasm; 'he's bloody!'

  'It's in his nature, I know,' muttered the locksmith, 'it's cruel to askhim, but I must have help. Barnaby--good Barnaby--dear Barnaby--if youknow this gentleman, for the sake of his life and everybody's life thatloves him, help me to raise him and lay him down.'

  'Cover him then, wrap him close--don't let me see it--smell it--hear theword. Don't speak the word--don't!'

  'No, no, I'll not. There, you see he's covered now. Gently. Well done,well done!'

  They placed him in the carriage with great ease, for Barnaby was strongand active, but all the time they were so occupied he shivered from headto foot, and evidently experienced an ecstasy of terror.

  This accomplished, and the wounded man being covered with Varden's owngreatcoat which he took off for the purpose, they proceeded onward ata brisk pace: Barnaby gaily counting the stars upon his fingers, andGabriel inwardly congratulating himself upon having an adventure now,which would silence Mrs Varden on the subject of the Maypole, for thatnight, or there was no faith in woman.