Barnaby Rudge: A Tale of the Riots of 'Eighty
one consent expelled that sanctuary, and desired to bless some other
spot of earth, in preference. It chanced at that moment, that the
justices of the peace for Middlesex proclaimed by public placard that
they stood in need of a female turnkey for the County Bridewell, and
appointed a day and hour for the inspection of candidates. Miss Miggs
attending at the time appointed, was instantly chosen and selected from
one hundred and twenty-four competitors, and at once promoted to
the office; which she held until her decease, more than thirty years
afterwards, remaining single all that time. It was observed of this lady
that while she was inflexible and grim to all her female flock, she was
particularly so to those who could establish any claim to beauty: and
it was often remarked as a proof of her indomitable virtue and severe
chastity, that to such as had been frail she showed no mercy; always
falling upon them on the slightest occasion, or on no occasion at all,
with the fullest measure of her wrath. Among other useful inventions
which she practised upon this class of offenders and bequeathed to
posterity, was the art of inflicting an exquisitely vicious poke or dig
with the wards of a key in the small of the back, near the spine. She
likewise originated a mode of treading by accident (in pattens) on
such as had small feet; also very remarkable for its ingenuity, and
previously quite unknown.
It was not very long, you may be sure, before Joe Willet and Dolly
Varden were made husband and wife, and with a handsome sum in bank (for
the locksmith could afford to give his daughter a good dowry), reopened
the Maypole. It was not very long, you may be sure, before a red-faced
little boy was seen staggering about the Maypole passage, and kicking up
his heels on the green before the door. It was not very long, counting
by years, before there was a red-faced little girl, another red-faced
little boy, and a whole troop of girls and boys: so that, go to Chigwell
when you would, there would surely be seen, either in the village
street, or on the green, or frolicking in the farm-yard--for it was a
farm now, as well as a tavern--more small Joes and small Dollys than
could be easily counted. It was not a very long time before these
appearances ensued; but it WAS a VERY long time before Joe looked five
years older, or Dolly either, or the locksmith either, or his wife
either: for cheerfulness and content are great beautifiers, and are
famous preservers of youthful looks, depend upon it.
It was a long time, too, before there was such a country inn as the
Maypole, in all England: indeed it is a great question whether there has
ever been such another to this hour, or ever will be. It was a long time
too--for Never, as the proverb says, is a long day--before they forgot
to have an interest in wounded soldiers at the Maypole, or before Joe
omitted to refresh them, for the sake of his old campaign; or before
the serjeant left off looking in there, now and then; or before they
fatigued themselves, or each other, by talking on these occasions of
battles and sieges, and hard weather and hard service, and a thousand
things belonging to a soldier’s life. As to the great silver snuff-box
which the King sent Joe with his own hand, because of his conduct in the
Riots, what guest ever went to the Maypole without putting finger and
thumb into that box, and taking a great pinch, though he had never taken
a pinch of snuff before, and almost sneezed himself into convulsions
even then? As to the purple-faced vintner, where is the man who lived in
those times and never saw HIM at the Maypole: to all appearance as much
at home in the best room, as if he lived there? And as to the feastings
and christenings, and revellings at Christmas, and celebrations of
birthdays, wedding-days, and all manner of days, both at the Maypole and
the Golden Key,--if they are not notorious, what facts are?
Mr Willet the elder, having been by some extraordinary means possessed
with the idea that Joe wanted to be married, and that it would be well
for him, his father, to retire into private life, and enable him to live
in comfort, took up his abode in a small cottage at Chigwell; where
they widened and enlarged the fireplace for him, hung up the boiler,
and furthermore planted in the little garden outside the front-door, a
fictitious Maypole; so that he was quite at home directly. To this, his
new habitation, Tom Cobb, Phil Parkes, and Solomon Daisy went regularly
every night: and in the chimney-corner, they all four quaffed, and
smoked, and prosed, and dozed, as they had done of old. It being
accidentally discovered after a short time that Mr Willet still appeared
to consider himself a landlord by profession, Joe provided him with
a slate, upon which the old man regularly scored up vast accounts for
meat, drink, and tobacco. As he grew older this passion increased upon
him; and it became his delight to chalk against the name of each of his
cronies a sum of enormous magnitude, and impossible to be paid: and such
was his secret joy in these entries, that he would be perpetually seen
going behind the door to look at them, and coming forth again, suffused
with the liveliest satisfaction.
He never recovered the surprise the Rioters had given him, and remained
in the same mental condition down to the last moment of his life. It was
like to have been brought to a speedy termination by the first sight of
his first grandchild, which appeared to fill him with the belief that
some alarming miracle had happened to Joe. Being promptly blooded,
however, by a skilful surgeon, he rallied; and although the doctors
all agreed, on his being attacked with symptoms of apoplexy six months
afterwards, that he ought to die, and took it very ill that he did
not, he remained alive--possibly on account of his constitutional
slowness--for nearly seven years more, when he was one morning found
speechless in his bed. He lay in this state, free from all tokens
of uneasiness, for a whole week, when he was suddenly restored to
consciousness by hearing the nurse whisper in his son’s ear that he was
going. ‘I’m a-going, Joseph,’ said Mr Willet, turning round upon the
instant, ‘to the Salwanners’--and immediately gave up the ghost.
He left a large sum of money behind him; even more than he was supposed
to have been worth, although the neighbours, according to the custom of
mankind in calculating the wealth that other people ought to have saved,
had estimated his property in good round numbers. Joe inherited the
whole; so that he became a man of great consequence in those parts, and
was perfectly independent.
Some time elapsed before Barnaby got the better of the shock he had
sustained, or regained his old health and gaiety. But he recovered
by degrees: and although he could never separate his condemnation and
escape from the idea of a terrific dream, he became, in other respects,
more rational. Dating from the time of his recovery, he had a better
memory and greater steadiness of purpose; but a dark cloud overhung his
whole previous existence, and never cleared away.
He was not the less happy for this, for his love of freedom and interest
in all that moved or grew, or had its being in the elements, remained
to him unimpaired. He lived with his mother on the Maypole farm, tending
the poultry and the cattle, working in a garden of his own, and helping
everywhere. He was known to every bird and beast about the place, and
had a name for every one. Never was there a lighter-hearted husbandman,
a creature more popular with young and old, a blither or more happy soul
than Barnaby; and though he was free to ramble where he would, he never
quitted Her, but was for evermore her stay and comfort.
It was remarkable that although he had that dim sense of the past, he
sought out Hugh’s dog, and took him under his care; and that he never
could be tempted into London. When the Riots were many years old,
and Edward and his wife came back to England with a family almost as
numerous as Dolly’s, and one day appeared at the Maypole porch, he knew
them instantly, and wept and leaped for joy. But neither to visit them,
nor on any other pretence, no matter how full of promise and enjoyment,
could he be persuaded to set foot in the streets: nor did he ever
conquer this repugnance or look upon the town again.
Grip soon recovered his looks, and became as glossy and sleek as ever.
But he was profoundly silent. Whether he had forgotten the art of Polite
Conversation in Newgate, or had made a vow in those troubled times to
forego, for a period, the display of his accomplishments, is matter of
uncertainty; but certain it is that for a whole year he never indulged
in any other sound than a grave, decorous croak. At the expiration of
that term, the morning being very bright and sunny, he was heard to
address himself to the horses in the stable, upon the subject of the
Kettle, so often mentioned in these pages; and before the witness who
overheard him could run into the house with the intelligence, and add
to it upon his solemn affirmation the statement that he had heard him
laugh, the bird himself advanced with fantastic steps to the very door
of the bar, and there cried, ‘I’m a devil, I’m a devil, I’m a devil!’
with extraordinary rapture.
From that period (although he was supposed to be much affected by the
death of Mr Willet senior), he constantly practised and improved himself
in the vulgar tongue; and, as he was a mere infant for a raven when
Barnaby was grey, he has very probably gone on talking to the present
time.