The String of Pearls; Or, The Barber of Fleet Street. A Domestic Romance.

"It may, or it may not be so," said the man, "but whether it is or not, you and I are very likely soon to find out, for the old craft is going at last." "Going?" "Yes. It's all up with her, and it will soon be all down with her, likewise." "But the ship goes easier through the sea." "Oh, ah, she's filling, you see, and settling lower down in the water, so you can't have quite so much pitching and tossing as you had an hour ago, hardly." "You can't mean that? You do not mean to tell me that there is no hope? Oh, say not so!" "Well, you can please yourself. I can tell you that the rudder has gone.--We have not a mast standing. There is already five feet of water in the hold, and we are drifting as hard as we can upon a lee-shore, so if you can make anything satisfactory out of that, I leave you to do it." "Did you say we were drifting to shore?" "A lee-shore." "Oh, dear. I'm glad to hear it. Any shore will do for me, if I can but get out of this confounded ship. What is that afar off? Is it a light? Oh, yes, it is a light." "It is. We are on the Sussex coast, somewhere, but I can't take upon myself to say where; but it don't matter a bit, for we shall go to pieces long before we reach the surf, and then in such a sea as this you might as well try to swallow the Channel at a few draughts as to swim." "But I can't swim at all." "It don't matter a bit." "But, my dear friend--" "Hold your row--I am not your dear friend nor anybody else's, just now. I tell you we shall be all drowned, and the best thing you can do, is to take it as easy as possible. What can be the good of making a fuss about it?" This information was to Todd of so deplorable a character--for to none is death so terrible as to the guilty--that he wept aloud and screamed with terror as the spray of the sea struck him on the face, and the wind roared and whistled over him. "Oh, no--no!" he cried. "I cannot die yet--I must not. Spare me--spare me! I am afraid to die!" "Oh, you stupid," said the sailors. "That comes now of not having had a proper sort of education. I make no doubt but your howling will pretty soon be put an end to." The situation of the ship was undoubtedly one of the greatest possible peril. Having by the violence of the tempest lost all her masts, and having had her rudder torn away, she was quite at the mercy of the winds and the waves; and the set of the sea, as well as the direction of the wind, carried her sometimes stern foremost and at other times head foremost, and at times broadside, on to the coast of Sussex, upon which the lights were at intervals dimly visible through the thick haze of the storm. It was truly a dreadful night, and such as fully merited the worst apprehensions of the sailor, who had spoken so coolly to Todd of his coming fate. There was but one chance for those on board of the vessel, and that was that the wind might abate sufficiently to enable some boats to put off from the Sussex coast, provided they happened to be off a part of it where such accommodation was to be had, and rescue those upon the wreck. The lights that at intervals were visible, rather favoured the supposition that it was a populous part of the coast that the ill-starred struggling ship was driving fast upon. Todd, however, did not know of that slender hope, and he gave himself up to despair. To a landsman nothing could exceed the real horrors of the scene on board the ship, and, indeed, to one well accustomed to the sea, there was quite enough to produce much terror. All but three persons connected with the working of the ship had been washed overboard during the gale. Both of the men with whom Todd had had the meeting in the cart were at the bottom of the sea, and all their struggles and smugglings were over. Todd did not know that, though. It was quite evident to practical observers that the gale was abating, for it no longer was so steady and so continuous a wind that blew with fury over the fated ship; and although the sea still ran high, it did not break over the vessel with such thundering impetuosity. A very faint glow of daylight, too, began to come over the sea. If Todd had had mind enough left to look about him now, he would have seen that there was some food for hope, although not much; but the fact was, that he had so thoroughly made up his mind that all was lost, that he did not look for consolation. How poor and how miserable appeared to him, at this moment, all his struggles for wealth--that wealth, for the attainment of which he had struggled through such gigantic crimes! How much happier, he could not help thinking, it would have been for him to have gone on all his life in plodding industry, than to endeavour as he had done to find a short road to fortune, and only to end in finding a short one to death. One of the seamen cried out in a loud voice-- "Save themselves who can! We shall be on shore, now, in less than five minutes! We are all going now as safe as nuts!" CHAPTER CLXIX. TAKES A PEEP AT SOME FRIENDS OF THE READER. For a brief space, now, in order to connect more closely the events of this narrative, we will leave Sweeney Todd to the perils and chances of the disabled ship, and the storm in the Channel, while we conduct the reader to the society of other persons, in whom it is to be presumed we are largely interested. In the most cheerful room of one of the prettiest houses at Brighton, facing the beach upon the Esplanade, which is unrivalled, was a rather select party. That party consisted of old and well-tried friends of the reader, and when we announce of whom it was composed, it will be seen that their society is decidedly good. First of all, there was Ben the beef-eater. Poor Ben had never before been at a sea-coast town, and everything was consequently to him new and strange. Yet he felt amazingly happy, because he was surrounded by those whom he loved with all his heart; and if he had now and then a wandering thought, it was to the animals in the Tower, to whom he was accustomed, and who, no doubt, missed Ben quite as much, if not more, than he missed them. Then there was Tobias. Yes, Tobias was there, looking so fresh and so well, notwithstanding that he knew Sweeney Todd was at large, that it was quite a congratulation for those who felt that they were his friends to see him. The rest of the party consisted of Mr. and Mrs. Ingestrie, and Colonel Jeffrey and his young bride, and Mr. and Mrs. Oakley, so that there was really quite an assemblage in that room. The colonel holds a letter in his hands, and is speaking, while all eyes are turned upon him. "Yes," said the colonel, "this letter is from Sir Richard Blunt, and I will read it to you, if you will be so good as to listen to it." "Oh, yes--yes," said everybody. "Very well. Here it is, then." Upon this, the colonel read as follows:-- "Craven Street, London. "MY DEAR COLONEL,--No news of Todd. We are sparing neither pains nor expense in tracking him; and it is an absolute impossibility that he should escape us long. Accident, I am convinced, much more than any design or luck upon his part, has had the effect as yet of keeping him out of our hands. But I do not think that it would be very difficult to count the time, in hours, between this and the period when he must be dead or a prisoner. "I hope that all our dear friends with you are quite well, and that they will banish from their minds all fear of the revenge of Todd. Nothing is more improbable than that he should dream of finding his way to the obscure little village where you are. I hope all of you are benefiting much by the health-giving breezes of the ocean. "With kind regard to all, I am, my dear colonel, "Yours very truly, "RICHARD BLUNT." "Still at large!" said Mark Ingestrie, upon the conclusion of the letter. "So the rascal is still at large?" "Yes," said the colonel; "but you hear what the magistrate says, that he will soon have him." "Yes, but that is rather a hope than a certainty." Tobias changed colour, and Johanna turned to him, saying, in a kind tone-- "Nay, now, Tobias, you have nothing to fear from Todd. Did you not hear what the letter said upon that point?" "Yes oh, yes!" replied Tobias. "I will fear nothing while you are all so good to me." "I tell's you what it is," said Ben. "That 'ere fellow is for all the world just like one of the wild beastesses as declines being tamed. We had one once as got away one night, and he swam over the river, you see." "And did you catch him?" said Tobias. "After a time, yes. Easy did it." "Who did it, sir?" "Easy--It ain't a who. It's a way of doing things. You take it easy, you know." "Oh, yes, I understand now." "Well, I went arter the fellow, and traced him up and down the streets on the Surrey side, till I got him into a court where there was no thoroughfare, and then I nabbed him." "And he did no mischief?" "None to signify. He settled a couple of old women and five or six children, that was all." Tobias shuddered, and the colonel said-- "I cannot but be surprised that Sir Richard has not yet found out the retreat of Todd, and my own opinion is that he is dead." "It is more than probable," said Ingestrie; "I have thought so several times. When he found that there was no hope for him, and that he was in a state of destitution, or something near it, which must be the fact, it is likely enough that he has laid violent hands upon himself, and his body may not be found for a long time." "Well," said the colonel "let us get out for a stroll upon the beach. It will be dark in another half hour, and as there is no moon to-night, we shall not like to remain out." They all rose upon this suggestion, but the evening dropped so rapidly, and several black clouds piled themselves up in the sky, that Ingestrie, after stepping out upon the balcony and looking at the weather, came back again, and said-- "You had better remain in, all of you. I have seen enough of the sea, and heard enough of the wind, to prophesy that this will be a rough night in the Channel." "Will there be a storm, Mark?" said Johanna. "There will be a very good imitation of one, you may depend, if not a real one." "If there should be," said the colonel, "you will be rather surprised, for, I can tell you, that a gale off this coast is no joke. You would be truly amazed at the violence with which a regular south-western sets upon this shore." "I can easily imagine it," said Mark Ingestrie. "See, it darkens every minute, and what an angry look that small cloud right away in the horizon has." "It has, indeed," said Johanna, as she clung to the arm of her husband. "Do you think, Mark, that any poor souls will be wrecked to-night?" "Probably enough; but the coast of Suffolk and the Irish Channel will be the worst. It will be child's play here in comparison." A strange booming noise came across the sea at this moment, and the colonel cried out-- "Is that a gun, or is it thunder?" "Thunder!" said Ingestrie; "hark! there it is again! There is a storm some forty or fifty miles off. It's right away in the German Ocean, most likely; but only look now even, dark as it is getting, how the sea is rising, and what an odd seething condition it is getting into." They all stood on the balcony and looked out towards the sea. The surface of it was to the eye only undulating quite gently, and yet, strange to say, it was rapidly covering with white foam, and that from no perceptible cause, for as yet the wind was a mere trifle. "How is that?" said Johanna. "The sea is not very rough, and yet it is