CHAPTER XI.
HOW THE DOCTOR DISMISSED HIS FRIENDS.
Those of the guests who had not already departed, were sitting or lyingasleep upon the floor or on the chairs. The last to succumb had beenLord Chudleigh, not because his was the strongest head, but because hehad drunk the least and struggled the hardest not to fall a victim tothe punch. Sir Miles had long since sunk peacefully upon the floor,where he lay in oblivion, one of the men having loosened his cravat toprevent the danger of apoplexy. Solomon Stallabras, among whose viceswas not included the love of strong drink, was one of the earliest todepart; the young Templar whom the Doctor exhorted to virtue early inthe evening, was now lying curled up like a child in the corner, hisvirtuous resolutions, if he had ever formed any, forgotten. Othersthere were, but all were crapulous, stupid, senseless, or asleep.
The Doctor stood over his victims, victorious. He had taken, singly,more punch than any three of them together; yet there they all layhelpless, while he was steady of head and speech; it was past twoo'clock in the morning; the candles, low now, and nearly spent, burneddim in the thick, tobacco-laden air; the walls were streaming with theheat generated by the presence of so many men and so much drink. Roger,with the red nose and pale cheeks, still stood stolidly at the door,waiting for the half-finished bowl and the last orders; beside him, hisfellow-lackey and clerk William.
"Turn all out, Roger," said the Doctor.
"Aye, sir," said Roger.
Both men addressed themselves to the task. They were accustomed toturn out their master's guests in this fashion. First, they lifted thefallen form of Sir Miles, and bore him carefully to his lodging; thenthey carried out the young Templar and the others who lay snoring uponthe floor, and deposited them upon the stalls of the market outside,where the fresh air of the night might be expected to restore themspeedily.
Meanwhile, Roger and William, for their better protection, wouldthemselves watch over them until such time as they should awake, rise,and be ready to be led home with tottering step and rolling gait, forsuch reward as the varlets might demand.
The Doctor's clerks had a hard life. They began to tout on Ludgate Hilland the Fleet Bridge at eight; they fought for their couples all themorning with other touts; in the evening, they waited on the Doctor'sguests; at midnight, they bore them into the market; there they watchedover them till they could be taken home. A hard and difficult service.But there were few of the men about the Fleet who did not envy asituation so well paid; indeed, one cannot but admire the hardness ofmen to whom a daily fight, with constant black eyes, broken teeth, andbleeding nose, appears of such slight importance in the day's work, asnot to be taken into account.
There remained Lord Chudleigh, who had fallen asleep in his chair, andwas the last.
"As for this young gentleman, Roger," said the Doctor, "carry himupstairs and lay him upon my bed; he is of different stuff. Do not wakehim, if you can help it."
Nothing but an earthquake or an explosion of gunpowder could haveawakened the young man, so senseless and heavy was he. They bore him upthe stairs, the Doctor following; they took off his boots, his coat,and waistcoat, put on him the Doctor's nightcap, and laid him in thebed.
All finished, the Doctor bade them drink off the rest of the punch, andbegone.
The Doctor, left quite alone, opened the windows and doors, and steppedout into the market. At two o'clock on a cold October morning, eventhat noisy place is quiet; a west wind had driven away the smoke, andthe sky was clear, glittering with innumerable stars. The Doctor threwopen his arms and took a deep breath of the cold air, standing with hiswig off, so that the wind might freshen his brain. Before him he saw,but he took no heed, the helpless forms of his guests, lying on thestalls; beside them sat, wrapped in heavy coats, his two serving-men,looking like vultures ready to devour their prey, but for fear of theirmaster, who would infallibly cause them to be hanged.
After a few minutes in the open air, the Doctor returned to his room;he was sober, although he had taken enough punch to make ten men drunk;and steady of hand, although he had smoked so much tobacco; but theveins on his face stood out like purple cords, his eyes were bloodshot,his great lips were trembling.
He did not go to bed, but lit a fresh pair of candles, and sat in hischair thinking.
His thoughts carried him back to some time of trouble, for he presentlyreached out his hand, seized his tobacco-pipe, and crushed it infragments; then he took the glass from which he had been drinking, andcrushed that, too, in his great strong fingers.
"I knew not," he murmured, "that the villain was dead. If I had knownthat he was ill, I should have gone to see him, if only to remind him,with a curse, of the past. He is dead; I can never curse him face toface, as I hoped to do. I did not think that he would die before me; heseemed stronger, and he was younger. I looked to seek him out at anytime, when I wanted a holiday, or when I wanted a diversion. I thoughtI would take him in his own house, and show him, in such words as onlyI can command, how mean a creature he was, and what a treacherous cur.Now he is dead. He actually never will be punished at all."
This reflection caused him the greatest sadness. He shook his head ashe thought it over.
"It is not," he said to himself, "that I wished to be revenged on him(though doubtless, as men are but frail, that desire entered somewhatinto my hopes), so much as that I saw in him a man who, above mostmen, deserved to be punished. I break the law daily, incurring therebythe penalty of a hundred pounds, which I never pay, for each offence.Yet truly am I less burdened in my conscience than should have beenthis Lord Chudleigh. And he hath died in honour. In this world oneman steals a pig, and receives the approbation of his kind; anotherlooks over a wall, and is clapped in gaol for it; one man slaughtersa thousand, and is made a duke; another kills one, and is hanged. Iam in prison, who never did anything against the law until I camehere, nor harmed any except my creditors. My lord, who thought theten commandments made for creatures of baser blood, and the roundworld, with all that therein is, only created for his own insatiableappetite, lives in honour and dies--what can I tell?--perhaps in grace;fortified, at least, with the consolations of the Church and thebenedictions of his chaplain. So all things seem matter of chance. AsSolomon Stallabras says, in one of his fables:
"'We little flies who buzz and die, Should never ask the reason why.'"
He yawned; then, struck with a sudden thought, he took one of thecandles and softly mounted the stairs. Shading the light with hishand, he looked upon the face of the young man sleeping on his bed. Ahandsome young man, with regular features strongly marked, delicatelips, and pointed chin.
"Truly," said the Doctor, "a youth of great beauty. Another David. Heis more handsome than his father, even in those young days when hecaressed me to my ruin, and led me on with promises to my undoing.Yet he hath the trick of the Chudleigh lip, and he hath his father'snose. Would that his father were alive, and that it was he and nothis son lying here at my mercy! The son is something; out of regardto his father's memory, he shall not get off scot-free. But what isto be done? There is nothing, I think, that I would not do"--his redface grew purple as he thought of his wrongs--"were his father living,and could I make him feel through his son. Nothing, I believe. As Iam a Christian man, if my lord were alive this day, I think I couldtie a stone round the boy's neck and chuck him into the Fleet Ditchat Holborn Bridge. And yet, what a poor and miserable thing to do! Amoment of brutal satisfaction in thinking of the father's agony--aneternity of remorse. But his father is dead; he cannot feel at all anymore, whatever I do. If I could"--his face grew dark again, and heground his teeth--"I believe I could drag the boy downwards, little bylittle, and destroy his very soul, to make his father suffer the more."
He gasped and caught his breath.
"Why," he murmured, "what is this? It is well for men that they arenot led into temptation. This young lord hath fallen into my hands.Good. What shall I do with him? He knows nothing. Yet he must suffersomething. It is the law. We are all under t
he law. For the third andfourth generation--and he is only the first generation. His childrenand his grandchildren will have to suffer after him. It is not myfault. I am clearly carrying out the law. He is providentially ledhere, not that I may take revenge upon the son of my enemy for hisfather's wrong, but that he might receive chastisement at my hands,being those of the fittest person, even as Solomon was chosen to slayboth Joab and Shimei. What then shall I do? The Reverend GregoryShovel cannot murder the boy; that would be the common, vulgar thoughtof a Fleet Market butcher or a hodman. Murder? A nauseous thought."
He took up the candle and stole noiselessly down the stairs, as if thethought had driven him from the place.
When he was back in his own room he began to walk up and down, thinking.
"He is but a boy," he said, "a handsome boy; 'twould be a sin to harmhim. Yet, being sent here as he is, in a way that can be no other thanprovidential, 'twould be a sin to let him go. How if I make him pay allmy debts, and so leave the Liberties and live respectably ever after?Respectably!" he laughed a little. "Why, who would believe that thegreat Doctor Shovel could be respectable? The mud of this place, thisdwelling beside a ditch, hath entered into my soul as the iron of thechains entereth into the soul of the prisoner. My name is too deeplydaubed with the Fleet mud; it cannot be cleansed. And should I giveup my place? Should I leave to another the honour I have won and theincome I make therefrom? Shall there be another Chaplain of the Fleetwhile I survive? No; that will never do. How could I live away fromthis room wherein I wallow day and night? Here am I at mine ease; hereI get wealth; I cannot leave this place."
He was in great perplexity. He wandered up and down; he was tornbetween his wrath against the father and his consciousness that itwould be a mean and dreadful villainy to take revenge upon the son.
"I must have taken too much punch," he said, "thus to be agitated.Punch, like wine, 'is a mocker, strong drink is raging.' The Christianshould forgive; the father is dead; the lad is a handsome lad and maybe good. Besides, whatever I do to the boy, his sire will neither knownor feel. I might as well suppose that the legs and heads on TempleBar feel what is said about them below. I am a fool; yet am I but aman. For such a crime even a saint would feel a righteous wrath. Yet itis cowardly to take revenge upon the son, the committer of the crimehaving gone to his own place. Yet he _is_ that man's son. What then todo?"
He turned the question over a thousand times, yet found no answer.At last a thought came to him. He nodded his head and laughed aloud.Then he sought his arm-chair, adjusted his ample gown so as to get thegreatest amount of comfort out of it, placed his feet upon a stool, andfolded his arms.
"I have taken at least a quart of punch more than is good for me. Thatis most certain. Otherwise I should have known at once what I shoulddo. I have actually forgotten the peculiarities of my own position.Which shows that I am neither so young nor so strong as I have been.Perhaps the system wants a fillip. I will take a dose of Norwaytar-water to-morrow. But first, my lord, you shall find out, early inthe morning, why I am called the Chaplain of the Fleet."
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