Barnaby Rudge: A Tale of the Riots of 'Eighty
as nought; but not on any account, in case the fulness of time should
bring a general rising of ‘prentices, to damage or in any way disfigure
Temple Bar, which was strictly constitutional and always to be
approached with reverence. Having gone over these several heads with
great eloquence and force, and having further informed the novice that
this society had its origin in his own teeming brain, stimulated by a
swelling sense of wrong and outrage, Mr Tappertit demanded whether he
had strength of heart to take the mighty pledge required, or whether he
would withdraw while retreat was yet in his power.
To this the novice made rejoinder, that he would take the vow, though
it should choke him; and it was accordingly administered with many
impressive circumstances, among which the lighting up of the two skulls
with a candle-end inside of each, and a great many flourishes with
the bone, were chiefly conspicuous; not to mention a variety of grave
exercises with the blunderbuss and sabre, and some dismal groaning by
unseen ‘prentices without. All these dark and direful ceremonies
being at length completed, the table was put aside, the chair of state
removed, the sceptre locked up in its usual cupboard, the doors of
communication between the three cellars thrown freely open, and the
‘Prentice Knights resigned themselves to merriment.
But Mr Tappertit, who had a soul above the vulgar herd, and who, on
account of his greatness, could only afford to be merry now and then,
threw himself on a bench with the air of a man who was faint with
dignity. He looked with an indifferent eye, alike on skittles, cards,
and dice, thinking only of the locksmith’s daughter, and the base
degenerate days on which he had fallen.
‘My noble captain neither games, nor sings, nor dances,’ said his host,
taking a seat beside him. ‘Drink, gallant general!’
Mr Tappertit drained the proffered goblet to the dregs; then thrust
his hands into his pockets, and with a lowering visage walked among the
skittles, while his followers (such is the influence of superior genius)
restrained the ardent ball, and held his little shins in dumb respect.
‘If I had been born a corsair or a pirate, a brigand, genteel highwayman
or patriot--and they’re the same thing,’ thought Mr Tappertit, musing
among the nine-pins, ‘I should have been all right. But to drag out a
ignoble existence unbeknown to mankind in general--patience! I will be
famous yet. A voice within me keeps on whispering Greatness. I shall
burst out one of these days, and when I do, what power can keep me down?
I feel my soul getting into my head at the idea. More drink there!’
‘The novice,’ pursued Mr Tappertit, not exactly in a voice of thunder,
for his tones, to say the truth were rather cracked and shrill--but very
impressively, notwithstanding--‘where is he?’
‘Here, noble captain!’ cried Stagg. ‘One stands beside me who I feel is
a stranger.’
‘Have you,’ said Mr Tappertit, letting his gaze fall on the party
indicated, who was indeed the new knight, by this time restored to his
own apparel; ‘Have you the impression of your street-door key in wax?’
The long comrade anticipated the reply, by producing it from the shelf
on which it had been deposited.
‘Good,’ said Mr Tappertit, scrutinising it attentively, while a
breathless silence reigned around; for he had constructed secret
door-keys for the whole society, and perhaps owed something of his
influence to that mean and trivial circumstance--on such slight
accidents do even men of mind depend!--‘This is easily made. Come
hither, friend.’
With that, he beckoned the new knight apart, and putting the pattern in
his pocket, motioned to him to walk by his side.
‘And so,’ he said, when they had taken a few turns up and down, you--you
love your master’s daughter?’
‘I do,’ said the ‘prentice. ‘Honour bright. No chaff, you know.’
‘Have you,’ rejoined Mr Tappertit, catching him by the wrist, and
giving him a look which would have been expressive of the most deadly
malevolence, but for an accidental hiccup that rather interfered with
it; ‘have you a--a rival?’
‘Not as I know on,’ replied the ‘prentice.
‘If you had now--’ said Mr Tappertit--‘what would you--eh?--’
The ‘prentice looked fierce and clenched his fists.
‘It is enough,’ cried Mr Tappertit hastily, ‘we understand each other.
We are observed. I thank you.’
So saying, he cast him off again; and calling the long comrade aside
after taking a few hasty turns by himself, bade him immediately write
and post against the wall, a notice, proscribing one Joseph Willet
(commonly known as Joe) of Chigwell; forbidding all ‘Prentice Knights
to succour, comfort, or hold communion with him; and requiring them,
on pain of excommunication, to molest, hurt, wrong, annoy, and pick
quarrels with the said Joseph, whensoever and wheresoever they, or any
of them, should happen to encounter him.
Having relieved his mind by this energetic proceeding, he condescended
to approach the festive board, and warming by degrees, at length deigned
to preside, and even to enchant the company with a song. After this,
he rose to such a pitch as to consent to regale the society with a
hornpipe, which he actually performed to the music of a fiddle (played
by an ingenious member) with such surpassing agility and brilliancy of
execution, that the spectators could not be sufficiently enthusiastic in
their admiration; and their host protested, with tears in his eyes, that
he had never truly felt his blindness until that moment.
But the host withdrawing--probably to weep in secret--soon returned with
the information that it wanted little more than an hour of day, and that
all the cocks in Barbican had already begun to crow, as if their lives
depended on it. At this intelligence, the ‘Prentice Knights arose in
haste, and marshalling into a line, filed off one by one and dispersed
with all speed to their several homes, leaving their leader to pass the
grating last.
‘Good night, noble captain,’ whispered the blind man as he held it open
for his passage out; ‘Farewell, brave general. Bye, bye, illustrious
commander. Good luck go with you for a--conceited, bragging,
empty-headed, duck-legged idiot.’
With which parting words, coolly added as he listened to his receding
footsteps and locked the grate upon himself, he descended the steps,
and lighting the fire below the little copper, prepared, without
any assistance, for his daily occupation; which was to retail at the
area-head above pennyworths of broth and soup, and savoury puddings,
compounded of such scraps as were to be bought in the heap for the least
money at Fleet Market in the evening time; and for the sale of which
he had need to have depended chiefly on his private connection, for the
court had no thoroughfare, and was not that kind of place in which
many people were likely to take the air, or to frequent as an agreeable
promenade.
Chapter 9
Chroniclers are privileged to enter where they list, to come and go
through keyholes, to ride upon the wind, to overcome, in their soarings
up and down, all obstacles of distance, time, and place. Thrice blessed
be this last consideration, since it enables us to follow the disdainful
Miggs even into the sanctity of her chamber, and to hold her in sweet
companionship through the dreary watches of the night!
Miss Miggs, having undone her mistress, as she phrased it (which means,
assisted to undress her), and having seen her comfortably to bed in
the back room on the first floor, withdrew to her own apartment, in
the attic story. Notwithstanding her declaration in the locksmith’s
presence, she was in no mood for sleep; so, putting her light upon the
table and withdrawing the little window curtain, she gazed out pensively
at the wild night sky.
Perhaps she wondered what star was destined for her habitation when
she had run her little course below; perhaps speculated which of those
glimmering spheres might be the natal orb of Mr Tappertit; perhaps
marvelled how they could gaze down on that perfidious creature, man, and
not sicken and turn green as chemists’ lamps; perhaps thought of nothing
in particular. Whatever she thought about, there she sat, until her
attention, alive to anything connected with the insinuating ‘prentice,
was attracted by a noise in the next room to her own--his room; the room
in which he slept, and dreamed--it might be, sometimes dreamed of her.
That he was not dreaming now, unless he was taking a walk in his sleep,
was clear, for every now and then there came a shuffling noise, as
though he were engaged in polishing the whitewashed wall; then a gentle
creaking of his door; then the faintest indication of his stealthy
footsteps on the landing-place outside. Noting this latter circumstance,
Miss Miggs turned pale and shuddered, as mistrusting his intentions; and
more than once exclaimed, below her breath, ‘Oh! what a Providence it
is, as I am bolted in!’--which, owing doubtless to her alarm, was a
confusion of ideas on her part between a bolt and its use; for though
there was one on the door, it was not fastened.
Miss Miggs’s sense of hearing, however, having as sharp an edge as her
temper, and being of the same snappish and suspicious kind, very soon
informed her that the footsteps passed her door, and appeared to have
some object quite separate and disconnected from herself. At this
discovery she became more alarmed than ever, and was about to give
utterance to those cries of ‘Thieves!’ and ‘Murder!’ which she had
hitherto restrained, when it occurred to her to look softly out, and see
that her fears had some good palpable foundation.
Looking out accordingly, and stretching her neck over the handrail,
she descried, to her great amazement, Mr Tappertit completely dressed,
stealing downstairs, one step at a time, with his shoes in one hand
and a lamp in the other. Following him with her eyes, and going down a
little way herself to get the better of an intervening angle, she beheld
him thrust his head in at the parlour-door, draw it back again with
great swiftness, and immediately begin a retreat upstairs with all
possible expedition.
‘Here’s mysteries!’ said the damsel, when she was safe in her own room
again, quite out of breath. ‘Oh, gracious, here’s mysteries!’
The prospect of finding anybody out in anything, would have kept Miss
Miggs awake under the influence of henbane. Presently, she heard the
step again, as she would have done if it had been that of a feather
endowed with motion and walking down on tiptoe. Then gliding out as
before, she again beheld the retreating figure of the ‘prentice; again
he looked cautiously in at the parlour-door, but this time instead of
retreating, he passed in and disappeared.
Miggs was back in her room, and had her head out of the window, before
an elderly gentleman could have winked and recovered from it. Out he
came at the street-door, shut it carefully behind him, tried it with
his knee, and swaggered off, putting something in his pocket as he
went along. At this spectacle Miggs cried ‘Gracious!’ again, and then
‘Goodness gracious!’ and then ‘Goodness gracious me!’ and then, candle
in hand, went downstairs as he had done. Coming to the workshop, she saw
the lamp burning on the forge, and everything as Sim had left it.
‘Why I wish I may only have a walking funeral, and never be buried
decent with a mourning-coach and feathers, if the boy hasn’t been and
made a key for his own self!’ cried Miggs. ‘Oh the little villain!’
This conclusion was not arrived at without consideration, and much
peeping and peering about; nor was it unassisted by the recollection
that she had on several occasions come upon the ‘prentice suddenly,
and found him busy at some mysterious occupation. Lest the fact of Miss