The Mysteries of London Volume 1

by Reynolds, George W. M.

  “He always does at this season of the year, to meet the chiefs of the different districts, and settle a good deal of business. But you will see all about it when once we get up into the Holy Land—that is, if you’ve made up your mind to go with us.”

  “I have,” answered the Rattlesnake. “And now tell me all that has happened to you since we parted in that hurried manner—you know how.”

  “Well—I will,” cried Skilligalee: “so listen attentively, as all story-tellers say.”

  Then, clearing his throat with a loud hem, he commenced his narrative in the following manner.

  CHAPTER CXXXIII.

  SKILLIGALEE’S STORY.

  “YOU remember the day we parted, after having lived together for nearly six months. I gave you two guineas to find your way up to London, where I recommended you to proceed to seek your fortune; and I told you that I had as much left for myself, to help me to get away from a part of the country where the numerous burglaries I had committed had put all the constables on the alert after me. But in reality I had but two or three shillings remaining in my pocket. I knew that if I told you the real state of my finances, you would not accept so much as I had given you; but I was afraid that you might be implicated in my difficulties, and so I was determined that you should have sufficient to convey you clear away from Staffordshire.

  “Well, when we parted, I walked along the road leading away from the village, as disconsolate as might be; and yet you know that I am not naturally of a very mournful disposition. It was nine o’clock in the evening, if you remember, when I put you into the waggon that was to take you to London. I went on until I reached a lonely public-house, by the way-side. It was then eleven o’clock; and I was both tired and hungry. I entered the Three Compasses (which was the sign of the public-house), and sat down in the parlour. There was another traveller there—a short stout man, with a very red face, and who was committing desperate havoc upon a large cheese and loaf, from which he, however, occasionally diverted his attention, in order to pay his respects to a pot of porter. I ordered some refreshment, and inquired if I could be accommodated with a bed. The old widow woman who kept the place, said that the only bed she had to spare was already engaged by the gentleman then at supper, but that I might sleep in the hay-loft if I chose. Thereupon the red-faced man gave a long stare at me, shrugged his shoulders, and went on eating. I suppose that my appearance was not respectable enough to induce him to resign half of his bed for my accommodation; and, indeed, I was dreadfully shabby—almost in rags, as you may well remember. So I accepted the offer of the hay-loft; and retired to that place as soon as I had finished my supper.

  “But as I clambered up the ladder to my roosting-place, my unfortunate trousers caught a nail; and one leg was split completely down to the foot. I was now in a most wretched dilemma, not knowing how I should contrive to mend my luckless inexpressibles. But I soon fell asleep, in spite of my unpleasant reflections; and when I awoke, the dawn of the mild spring morning was just breaking. I examined my garment, and was reduced to despair at its appearance. At length I resolved to dress myself, go down stairs, borrow a needle and thread of the old woman, and be my own tailor. When I descended into the yard, I found a lad busily employed in cleaning a pair of boots, while a pair of trousers lay upon a bench, neatly folded up, having evidently gone through the process of brushing. I immediately recognised the stout drab pantaloons which the red-faced man wore on the preceding evening; and my eyes dwelt longingly upon them. In reply to my questions, the boy said that his grandmother (the old widow who kept the public-house) was not up yet, but that he could get me a needle and thread, as he knew where she kept her work-bag. I begged him to do so; and he very obligingly went into the house for that purpose.

  “The moment he had disappeared I snatched up the red-faced man’s drab trousers in one hand, and his excellent pair of bluchers in the other: then, without waiting to look behind me, I jumped over the fence which separated the stable-yard from the fields, and was speedily scampering across the open country as fast as my legs would carry me. When I had run about a mile, I reached a little grove, situated on the bank of a stream: and there I halted.

  “The red-faced gentleman’s boots were a wonderful improvement upon my old broken shoes; but his pantaloons fitted somewhat awkwardly, being a world too wide round the waist, and a foot too short in the legs. However, they were better than my old tattered unmentionables, and I could not complain that they were dear!

  “I pursued my way along the banks of the stream until past mid-day, when I came to a village, where I halted at a public-house to take some refreshment. My two or three shillings were still unchanged, because I had not paid a single penny for my entertainment at the Three Compasses. While I sate enjoying my bread and cheese and beer, I revolved in my mind various plans to better my condition. But my attention was speedily averted from that topic to the conversation of two old men, who were sitting at another table in the tap-room.

  “ ‘So poor old Joe Dobbin’s scapegrace nephew is coming home at last?’ said one.—‘Yes,’ replied the other: ‘he has been seeking his fortune, as a sailor, all over the world, for the last ten years; and now that he hasn’t a penny, and is a-weary of a sea-faring life, he has written to say that he is coming home to his poor old blind uncle.’—‘Ah! Tom Tittlebat has been a wild ’un in his day, I’ll answer for it,’ said the first old man. ‘But his uncle seems quite delighted at the idea of seeing him again,’ observed the other old fellow.—‘He says that he shall persuade upon Tom to stay at home and take care of him; and then he’ll be able to turn away cross old Margery, who robs him and ill-treats him in a shameful manner.’

  “I devoured every word of this conversation; and my mind was instantly made up. I accordingly joined in the discourse, called for some ale, of which I made the two old fellows partake, and so artfully pumped them that in half an hour I knew all about old blind Dobbin and his graceless nephew Tom Tittlebat, without having appeared even to ask a single question concerning them. At length, when I had my lesson complete, I burst out into a hearty laugh, and cried out, ‘What, Master Buckley, don’t you remember me then? and you, good Master Dottings, am I quite a stranger to you too?’ The old men stared; and then, with another hearty laugh, I boldly announced myself to be Tom Tittlebat. You should have seen the old fellows—how glad they were! One swore that he had all along suspected who I was; and the other vowed that my features were unchanged since he last saw me, although my face was a little tanned! Then I called for more ale, and plied the old boys well, so that they might help to favour the imposture which I meditated.

  “Away we went to the cottage inhabited by old Dobbin, my two aged companions really showing me the way, while I pretended to be quite familiar with it. The moment we came in sight of my alleged uncle’s residence, old Buckley and Dottings (whose names I had found out from their own discourse with me) hobbled forward, exclaiming, ‘Here’s the prodigal returned, Brother Dobbin!’—‘Kill the fatted calf, Brother Dobbin!’ And in a few moments I was in my alleged uncle’s arms.

  “Then the fatted calf was indeed killed. Dame Margery, the old man’s housekeeper, was compelled to bustle about to prepare a copious supper—a duty which she performed with a very bad grace, and with sundry suspicious leers and side-glances towards me. I took no notice of her ill-humour, but rattled away about my adventures by sea and land till the three old men were quite astounded at the marvellous things I had seen and the tremendous perils that I had escaped. Buckley and Dotting were invited to stay to supper; and a merry meal we had. When the things were cleared away, I undertook to brew the punch, assuring the old folks that the compound would be made according to a recipe which I had obtained from the king of the Inaccessible Islands.

  “Well, the punch was made; and there it stood steaming in an enormous bowl upon the table. I was determined to enjoy myself; for I purposed to pack up every thing portabl
e during the night and decamp before dawn, for fear that the rightful nephew should return before I had turned my trick to advantage. So I filled the tumblers, and plied the punch to such an extent that even old Margery’s ill-humour was overcome by the gaiety of the scene; and she consented to sit down and join us.

  “I was just in the middle of a most exciting account of a conflict which I had with a shark at the South Pole, when a loud knock at the door resounded through the house. Margery hastened to obey the summons; and old Dobbin observed, ‘I shouldn’t be surprised if this was my cousin George, for I wrote to him the day before yesterday to say that my nephew Tom was coming home, and invited him down to pass a week or so on the happy occasion.’ I heard this remark; but the punch had produced such an effect upon me, that I felt no uneasiness. I thought I should be able to get over cousin George as easily as I had done uncle Dobbin; and so I amused myself by filling the glasses round from the second bowl, which had only just been mixed.

  “Meantime Dame Margery, having answered the door, returned, exclaiming, ‘It be Master George,’ and followed by a person whom her tall gaunt form in some measure hid from me until they were both close to the table. Then what a dreadful scene took place! In cousin George, to my horror and dismay, I beheld the red-faced man that I’d met at the Three Compasses, and whose drab trousers adorned me at that very moment!

  “I leapt from my seat, and was making as fast as I could to the door, when cousin George shouted out, ‘Holloa! who have we here?’—and, springing forward, he collared me in a moment. ‘What’s the matter? what’s the matter?’ demanded old Dobbin.—‘My stars! what’s this mean?’ exclaimed Dame Margery.—‘Why, it means that this fellow is a robber, and has got on my breeches and boots!’ vociferated cousin George, growing purple in the face with rage, and giving me a violent shake.—‘Your breeches!’ cried old Buckley.—‘Your boots!’ mumbled old Dottings.—‘Yes, to be sure!’ shouted the red-faced man. ‘Go and fetch a constable.’—‘Why, you don’t mean that nephew Tom has done this?’ said old Dobbin.—‘Nephew Tom!’ exclaimed cousin George, letting go his hold upon my coat: ‘no!’—‘But I say yes, though,’ said I, putting a bold face upon the matter: ‘I knew you directly when I met you at the Three Compasses last night, and only did it by way of a lark.’

  “But this turn did not serve me. While I spoke, cousin George surveyed me attentively; and, again rushing upon me, he roared out, ‘He’s a cheat! he’s an impostor! Tom has a mole on the left cheek, and he’s none: Tom has a cut over the right eye, and he hasn’t. Go for a constable.’—‘Well, I thought all along he was a rogue,’ cried Dame Margery, hurrying off to execute this most unpleasant order.

  “My case now seemed desperate; and not a moment was to be lost. Casting my eyes rapidly around in search of some weapon of defence or avenue of escape, I espied the punch-bowl, three parts full of steaming liquor, within my reach. With the rapidity of lightning I seized it, and dashed it over like a hat upon cousin George’s head. He uttered a terrific yell as the hot punch streamed down him; and I precipitated myself from the room as if a blood-hound was at my heels.

  “Away I scudded—a hue and cry after me: but I ran like a race-horse; and in a few minutes was beyond the sound of the ‘Stop, thief!’ raised by cousin George’s ominous voice.

  “That was an excellent adventure: I have often and often laughed at it since, and wondered whether the real Tom Tittlebat ever did return. At all events I kept cousin George’s trousers and boots; but they got me into more scrapes yet.

  “I strolled along through the fields, diverting myself with reflection upon the past, and pondering upon what might be in store for the future, until I reached a large market town, where I went boldly to the tap-room of the principal tavern. I ordered an excellent supper, with plenty of ale, feeling convinced that some lucky adventure would enable me to pay for my cheer—for I had now but one shilling left, the remainder of my money having been spent at the inn where I met the two old acquaintances of blind Dobbin.

  “The tap-room was filled with people; and the conversation was pretty general. There was, however, one individual who took no part in the discourse, but sate apart in an obscure corner smoking his pipe. He did not even appear to listen to what was said around him; but maintained his eyes moodily fixed on the floor. His horrible sallow complexion, deep wrinkles, and large mustache, gave him an aspect very far from inviting. Nevertheless, I endeavoured to enter into conversation with him—simply, I suppose, because he appeared to be so reserved, and my curiosity was excited with respect to him; but he threw upon me a look of the most sovereign contempt, and made me no answer. I shrank back from the fierce glance of his dark black eyes, and felt abashed and cowed—I scarcely knew why. But soon recovering my usual good spirits, I also called for my pipe and my pot, and mingled in the conversation. Rattling away with my anecdotes, and now and then singing a snatch of a song, I speedily made myself so agreeable to the drovers and waggoners assembled in the tap-room, that they called for punch and invited me to partake of it with them.

  “At twelve o’clock the waiter came in, and bawled out, ‘Any more orders, gentlemen? any more orders?’ No answer being given, he said, ‘I will receive each gentleman’s account, if you please.’—This announcement came like a clap of thunder upon me: I had but a shilling in my pocket, and owed nearly three. What to do I could not tell. Meantime the waiter went round, collecting the money due to him from each individual: and the nearer he drew to the table where I was sitting, the more fidgetty I became. As I glanced round me with feverish anxiety, I saw the dark black eyes of the sallow-faced stranger fixed upon me; and I thought that they glared with fiendish delight, as if they had penetrated my secret. I felt ashamed—and my eyes fell beneath the demon-like glance. In another moment the waiter stood before me. ‘Now, sir—if you please, sir: steak, one shilling—taturs, penny—bread, penny—fourteen-pence; two pints of ale, eight-pence—screw of bakker, penny—pot porter, four-pence,—that’s two-and-three, sir.’ I sat aghast for a few moments, and then began to fumble in my pockets, the waiter every moment growing more impatient. At that instant the sallow-faced stranger pointed to the bench on which I was sitting, and said in a surly tone, ‘No wonder, young man, that you can’t find your money in your pocket, when you let it roll about in all directions.’ He then sank back into his corner, and seemed to take no more notice of me or my concerns. I thought he had a mind to banter me; but, turning my eyes towards the place which he had indicated, to my surprise I perceived a couple of half-crowns lying there. I am sure the waiter must have seen how my countenance brightened up with sudden joy; but he made no remark; and I paid my bill. He then passed on to the sallow-faced man, who settled his own account, and hastily left the room, without condescending to cast another glance upon me.

  “I was at a loss to make out whether the sallow-faced stranger had done a most generous action, or whether some one else had dropped the money there, and he had really fancied it to be mine. I did not, however, lose much time in conjecture; but, taking the whole affair for a good omen, ordered another glass, and then went jovially to bed, I awoke early, had some breakfast, and went out to take a stroll in the town. I naturally directed my steps towards the market-place, knowing that it was market-day, and hoping to find a watch or a purse in the crowd.

  “Elbowing my way through the graziers, drovers, and butchers, I got into the middle of the market, and there a most extraordinary spectacle met my eyes. A man was leading a woman along by a halter, which was tied round her neck. At first, I thought that a public execution was about to take place; but, seeing no gibbet—no police—no sheriffs—and no clergyman,—and observing, at a second glance, that the woman was giggling and laughing very much unlike a person just going to be hanged, I was at a loss to account for so strange a sight. The crowd appeared to enjoy the fun—for fun it evidently was—excessively; and, at length, I learnt that ‘Bob Fosset, the dog’s-meat-man,
was about to sell his wife to Will Wyatt, the costermonger.’ And, sure enough, such was the fact. Bob Fossett led his wife—a comely-looking woman enough—to the centre of the market, and tied the halter to a sheep-pen. He then mounted on the top bar of the pen, and shouted out: ‘I hereby put up my wife, Jenny Fossett, to public auction; and I declare that she shall go to the highest bidder.’—‘So I will, Bob,’ cried the woman.—‘Hooray, Bob Fossett,’ bawled the crowd assembled; and then there was such laughing, and joking, and sky-larking, it seemed for all the world just like a fair. Well, Will Wyatt steps forward, and exclaims: ‘I bid one shilling for that woman.’—‘One shilling bid,’ said Bob Fossett.—‘One shilling and a pot of beer,’ cries some wag in the crowd.—‘One shilling and a pot of beer is bid,’ shouts Fossett; ‘who bids any more?’—‘One shilling and a gallon of beer!’ bawls Will Wyatt.—‘One shilling and a gallon of beer for this woman!’ cries Bob Fossett: ‘who’ll advance on that? Going for one shilling and a gallon of beer; going—going,—will no one bid?—gone! Will Wyatt, my lad, that woman’s yours.’ So Will Wyatt steps forward, kisses the woman, takes off the halter, and tucks her under his arm as cozy as if they’d just been spliced at church. Then they all three went off to the nearest public-house, the crowds hooraying, and shouting, and squeaking, and roaring, as they made way for the party to pass along. I determined to see the remainder of the fun, and so I followed them to the public-house.

  “The moment we entered the parlour, I saw a person sitting in one corner, whose face seemed more or less familiar to me. He was a fine, tall, powerfully-built man; and his countenance was very handsome, but so dark that he appeared to be an East-Indian. But it was the peculiar expression of the mouth, and the piercing glance of the eyes, that struck me. I looked—and looked again; and thought that a slight smile curled the stranger’s lips as I surveyed him, although he did not seem to take any notice of me, or even to know that I was staring at him. ‘Well,’ I thought to myself, ‘if you are not my sallow-faced friend of last-night, I’m terribly mistaken—that’s all;’ for I knew too much of disguises myself to be bothered by the difference of complexions. So I went and sat down close by him; and, having ordered something to drink, at length boldly whispered to him, ‘I have seen you before.’—‘Very likely,’ answered the man, coolly; ‘but take care of yourself, or you may still get into a scrape on account of cousin George’s breeches.’ With these words he rose, drained his glass, and walked coolly out of the room.