Barnaby Rudge: A Tale of the Riots of 'Eighty
monster, I arrest you in the name of God, who has delivered you into my
hands. No. Though you had the strength of twenty men,’ he added, as the
murderer writhed and struggled, ‘you could not escape me or loosen my
grasp to-night!’
Chapter 57
Barnaby, armed as we have seen, continued to pace up and down before
the stable-door; glad to be alone again, and heartily rejoicing in the
unaccustomed silence and tranquillity. After the whirl of noise and riot
in which the last two days had been passed, the pleasures of solitude
and peace were enhanced a thousandfold. He felt quite happy; and as he
leaned upon his staff and mused, a bright smile overspread his face, and
none but cheerful visions floated into his brain.
Had he no thoughts of her, whose sole delight he was, and whom he had
unconsciously plunged in such bitter sorrow and such deep affliction?
Oh, yes. She was at the heart of all his cheerful hopes and proud
reflections. It was she whom all this honour and distinction were to
gladden; the joy and profit were for her. What delight it gave her
to hear of the bravery of her poor boy! Ah! He would have known that,
without Hugh’s telling him. And what a precious thing it was to know she
lived so happily, and heard with so much pride (he pictured to himself
her look when they told her) that he was in such high esteem: bold among
the boldest, and trusted before them all! And when these frays were
over, and the good lord had conquered his enemies, and they were all at
peace again, and he and she were rich, what happiness they would have
in talking of these troubled times when he was a great soldier: and when
they sat alone together in the tranquil twilight, and she had no longer
reason to be anxious for the morrow, what pleasure would he have in the
reflection that this was his doing--his--poor foolish Barnaby’s; and
in patting her on the cheek, and saying with a merry laugh, ‘Am I silly
now, mother--am I silly now?’
With a lighter heart and step, and eyes the brighter for the happy tear
that dimmed them for a moment, Barnaby resumed his walk; and singing
gaily to himself, kept guard upon his quiet post.
His comrade Grip, the partner of his watch, though fond of basking in
the sunshine, preferred to-day to walk about the stable; having a great
deal to do in the way of scattering the straw, hiding under it such
small articles as had been casually left about, and haunting Hugh’s
bed, to which he seemed to have taken a particular attachment. Sometimes
Barnaby looked in and called him, and then he came hopping out; but
he merely did this as a concession to his master’s weakness, and soon
returned again to his own grave pursuits: peering into the straw with
his bill, and rapidly covering up the place, as if, Midas-like, he were
whispering secrets to the earth and burying them; constantly busying
himself upon the sly; and affecting, whenever Barnaby came past, to
look up in the clouds and have nothing whatever on his mind: in short,
conducting himself, in many respects, in a more than usually thoughtful,
deep, and mysterious manner.
As the day crept on, Barnaby, who had no directions forbidding him to
eat and drink upon his post, but had been, on the contrary, supplied
with a bottle of beer and a basket of provisions, determined to break
his fast, which he had not done since morning. To this end, he sat down
on the ground before the door, and putting his staff across his knees in
case of alarm or surprise, summoned Grip to dinner.
This call, the bird obeyed with great alacrity; crying, as he sidled
up to his master, ‘I’m a devil, I’m a Polly, I’m a kettle, I’m a
Protestant, No Popery!’ Having learnt this latter sentiment from the
gentry among whom he had lived of late, he delivered it with uncommon
emphasis.
‘Well said, Grip!’ cried his master, as he fed him with the daintiest
bits. ‘Well said, old boy!’
‘Never say die, bow wow wow, keep up your spirits, Grip Grip Grip,
Holloa! We’ll all have tea, I’m a Protestant kettle, No Popery!’ cried
the raven.
‘Gordon for ever, Grip!’ cried Barnaby.
The raven, placing his head upon the ground, looked at his master
sideways, as though he would have said, ‘Say that again!’ Perfectly
understanding his desire, Barnaby repeated the phrase a great many
times. The bird listened with profound attention; sometimes repeating
the popular cry in a low voice, as if to compare the two, and try if it
would at all help him to this new accomplishment; sometimes flapping
his wings, or barking; and sometimes in a kind of desperation drawing a
multitude of corks, with extraordinary viciousness.
Barnaby was so intent upon his favourite, that he was not at first
aware of the approach of two persons on horseback, who were riding at a
foot-pace, and coming straight towards his post. When he perceived them,
however, which he did when they were within some fifty yards of him, he
jumped hastily up, and ordering Grip within doors, stood with both hands
on his staff, waiting until he should know whether they were friends or
foes.
He had hardly done so, when he observed that those who advanced were a
gentleman and his servant; almost at the same moment he recognised Lord
George Gordon, before whom he stood uncovered, with his eyes turned
towards the ground.
‘Good day!’ said Lord George, not reining in his horse until he was
close beside him. ‘Well!’
‘All quiet, sir, all safe!’ cried Barnaby. ‘The rest are away--they went
by that path--that one. A grand party!’
‘Ay?’ said Lord George, looking thoughtfully at him. ‘And you?’
‘Oh! They left me here to watch--to mount guard--to keep everything
secure till they come back. I’ll do it, sir, for your sake. You’re a
good gentleman; a kind gentleman--ay, you are. There are many against
you, but we’ll be a match for them, never fear!’
‘What’s that?’ said Lord George--pointing to the raven who was peeping
out of the stable-door--but still looking thoughtfully, and in some
perplexity, it seemed, at Barnaby.
‘Why, don’t you know!’ retorted Barnaby, with a wondering laugh. ‘Not
know what HE is! A bird, to be sure. My bird--my friend--Grip.’
‘A devil, a kettle, a Grip, a Polly, a Protestant, no Popery!’ cried the
raven.
‘Though, indeed,’ added Barnaby, laying his hand upon the neck of Lord
George’s horse, and speaking softly: ‘you had good reason to ask me what
he is, for sometimes it puzzles me--and I am used to him--to think
he’s only a bird. He’s my brother, Grip is--always with me--always
talking--always merry--eh, Grip?’
The raven answered by an affectionate croak, and hopping on his master’s
arm, which he held downward for that purpose, submitted with an air of
perfect indifference to be fondled, and turned his restless, curious
eye, now upon Lord George, and now upon his man.
Lord George, biting his nails in a discomfited manner, regarded Barnaby
for some time in silence; then beckoning to his servant, said:
‘Come hither, John.’
John Grueby touched his hat, and came.
‘Have you ever seen this young man before?’ his master asked in a low
voice.
‘Twice, my lord,’ said John. ‘I saw him in the crowd last night and
Saturday.’
‘Did--did it seem to you that his manner was at all wild or strange?’
Lord George demanded, faltering.
‘Mad,’ said John, with emphatic brevity.
‘And why do you think him mad, sir?’ said his master, speaking in a
peevish tone. ‘Don’t use that word too freely. Why do you think him
mad?’
‘My lord,’ John Grueby answered, ‘look at his dress, look at his eyes,
look at his restless way, hear him cry “No Popery!” Mad, my lord.’
‘So because one man dresses unlike another,’ returned his angry master,
glancing at himself; ‘and happens to differ from other men in his
carriage and manner, and to advocate a great cause which the corrupt and
irreligious desert, he is to be accounted mad, is he?’
‘Stark, staring, raving, roaring mad, my lord,’ returned the unmoved
John.
‘Do you say this to my face?’ cried his master, turning sharply upon
him.
‘To any man, my lord, who asks me,’ answered John.
‘Mr Gashford, I find, was right,’ said Lord George; ‘I thought him
prejudiced, though I ought to have known a man like him better than to
have supposed it possible!’
‘I shall never have Mr Gashford’s good word, my lord,’ replied John,
touching his hat respectfully, ‘and I don’t covet it.’
‘You are an ill-conditioned, most ungrateful fellow,’ said Lord George:
‘a spy, for anything I know. Mr Gashford is perfectly correct, as I
might have felt convinced he was. I have done wrong to retain you in
my service. It is a tacit insult to him as my choice and confidential
friend to do so, remembering the cause you sided with, on the day he was
maligned at Westminster. You will leave me to-night--nay, as soon as we
reach home. The sooner the better.’
‘If it comes to that, I say so too, my lord. Let Mr Gashford have his
will. As to my being a spy, my lord, you know me better than to believe
it, I am sure. I don’t know much about causes. My cause is the cause of
one man against two hundred; and I hope it always will be.’
‘You have said quite enough,’ returned Lord George, motioning him to go
back. ‘I desire to hear no more.’
‘If you’ll let me have another word, my lord,’ returned John Grueby,
‘I’d give this silly fellow a caution not to stay here by himself. The
proclamation is in a good many hands already, and it’s well known that
he was concerned in the business it relates to. He had better get to a
place of safety if he can, poor creature.’
‘You hear what this man says?’ cried Lord George, addressing Barnaby,
who had looked on and wondered while this dialogue passed. ‘He thinks
you may be afraid to remain upon your post, and are kept here perhaps
against your will. What do you say?’
‘I think, young man,’ said John, in explanation, ‘that the soldiers may
turn out and take you; and that if they do, you will certainly be hung
by the neck till you’re dead--dead--dead. And I think you had better go
from here, as fast as you can. That’s what I think.’
‘He’s a coward, Grip, a coward!’ cried Barnaby, putting the raven on the
ground, and shouldering his staff. ‘Let them come! Gordon for ever! Let
them come!’
‘Ay!’ said Lord George, ‘let them! Let us see who will venture to attack
a power like ours; the solemn league of a whole people. THIS a madman!
You have said well, very well. I am proud to be the leader of such men
as you.’
Barnaby’s heart swelled within his bosom as he heard these words. He took
Lord George’s hand and carried it to his lips; patted his horse’s crest,
as if the affection and admiration he had conceived for the man extended
to the animal he rode; then unfurling his flag, and proudly waving it,
resumed his pacing up and down.
Lord George, with a kindling eye and glowing cheek, took off his hat,
and flourishing it above his head, bade him exultingly Farewell!--then
cantered off at a brisk pace; after glancing angrily round to see that
his servant followed. Honest John set spurs to his horse and rode after
his master, but not before he had again warned Barnaby to retreat,
with many significant gestures, which indeed he continued to make, and
Barnaby to resist, until the windings of the road concealed them from
each other’s view.
Left to himself again with a still higher sense of the importance of
his post, and stimulated to enthusiasm by the special notice and
encouragement of his leader, Barnaby walked to and fro in a delicious
trance rather than as a waking man. The sunshine which prevailed around
was in his mind. He had but one desire ungratified. If she could only
see him now!
The day wore on; its heat was gently giving place to the cool of
evening; a light wind sprung up, fanning his long hair, and making