The White Coffin.
If the Conglomerates of our old town are troubled with many miseries, asthe consequences of their privations and vices, it is certain the wholesqualid theatre they play their strange parts in, is the scene of moreincidents, often humorous, nay romantic--if there can be a romance oflow life--than can be found in the quiet saloons of the higher grades inthe new town. The observation indeed is almost so trite, that I need notmention that while in the one case you have nature overlaid with the artof concealment, the slave of decorum, in the other you have the oldmother, free, fresh, and frisky--her true characters, rapid movements,quick thoughts, intertwined plots, the jerks of passion, the humorousand the serious, the comedy and the melodrama of the tale of life--anidiot's one, if you please, even in the grave ranks of the highest.
In February 1837, as I was on my saunter with my faithful Mulhollandamong the haunts of the old town, we observed our old friends AndrewIreland, John Templeton, and David Toppen, doubling the mouth of one ofthe closes leading to Paul's Work. These industrious gentry are neveridle; as they carry their tools along with them, they can work anywhere;and, like the authors, a species of vagabonds who live on their wits,and steal one from another, they need no stock in trade. It was clear tome that we were unobserved, and proceeding down another close, Iexpected to meet them probably about their scene of action. I maymention that I was somewhat quickened in my movements by somerecollections that Ireland had cost me a deal of trouble--the more bytoken that he was called "the Climber," as being the best hand at ascramble, when cats would shudder, in all the city, for which he hadrefused for some time to give me even the pledge of his body. We gotdown the close and round the corner, just in the nick of time to see thetail of Andrew's coat disappearing from the top of a pretty high dyke.The two others followed the example of the Climber, and when they haddisappeared, we placed ourselves at the side of the wall to receive themon their descent. The cackling of fowls soon told us the nature of theirwork, and the gluggering of choking craigs was a clear indication thatthe robbers were acting on the old rule that "the dead tell no tales."
"Sure of the Climber this time," I said to my assistant. "I will seizeAndrew and Templeton, and lay you hold of Toppen."
And the words were scarcely out of my mouth, when we received gratefullyour friends in our arms. The dead hens were flung away, and darting atthe throats of my two charges, I secured them on the instant. Mulhollandlost his hold, but so pleased was I at my capture, especially of Andrew,that I could not resist a few words in my old way.
"I was afraid you would fall and break your neck, Andrew," said I.
"Thank you for the warm reception," replied the cool rogue, as herecovered breath after the short tussle.
"No apology," said I. "I have told you by a hundred looks that I wantedyou."
"And sold for a hen at last," he added, with an oath.
"And not allowed to eat it," said I. "What a glorious supper you and theold woman would have had!"
The taunt was at least due to his oath.
"Pick up the hens, Mulholland," said I, "and let us march, we will havea laugh in the High Street."
And proceeding with my man in each hand till I came to the head of theclose, I gave one of them in charge of a constable, retaining the other.Mulholland with the hens brought up the rear, and I believe we cut agood figure in our march, if I could judge from the shouts of theurchins--tickled with a kind of walking anecdote, that carried itsmeaning so clearly in the face of it, for it is seldom that the bootymakes its appearance in these processions.
On arriving at the Office, my charges were locked up. Toppen was caughtthe same evening; and this part of my story of the metamorphosis beingso far prelusive, I may just say that my hen-stealers were forthwithtried by the Sheriff and a jury. Each got the price of his hen even at ahigher rate than the present price of a fashionable cockerel--Irelandgetting nine months, Templeton six, and Toppen four. But the Climbervindicated his great reputation in a manner that entitled him to stillgreater fame. Whether it was that the jailer was not made aware of hisabilities, or that he was placed in a cell which it was held to beimpossible for any creature without claws on all the four members to getout of, I cannot say; but true it is that, to the utter amazement ofevery one connected with the jail, Andrew Ireland got out by theskylight, and finding his way over ridges and down descents that mighthave defied an Orkney eagle-hunter, descended at the north back of theCanongate, and got clear off.
Once more "done" by my agile friend, my pride was up, and I must havehim by hook or by crook. I knew he was one of those enchanted beingswhose love to the old town prevents them from leaving it. It has such acharm for them that they will stick to it at all hazards, even when, dayby day, and night by night, they are hounded through closes and alleyslike wild beasts, and have, as it were, nowhere to lay their heads. Ihave known them sleep on the tops of houses, and in crannies of oldbuildings, half-starved and half-clothed, in all weathers, summer orwinter, rather than seek rest by leaving the scenes of their wildinfancy. And all this they will do in the almost dead certainty thatultimately they will be seized. I was thus satisfied that Andrew wasabout the town; and even when, after the lapse of months, I could get notrace of him, I still retained my conviction that he was in hiding.
That conviction was destined to receive a grotesque and grimverification. I was one day at the top of Leith Wynd. A number of peoplewere looking at the slow march of some poor wretch's funeral, the coffinborne by some ragged Irishmen, a few others going behind. As I stoodlooking at the solemn affair--more solemn and impressive to right mindsthan the plumed pageant that leaves the mansion with the invertedshield, and goes to the vault where are conserved, with the care ofsacred relics, the remains of proud ancestors--a poor woman, who seemedto have been among the mourners, came up to me.
"And do you see your work, now?" quoth she, in a true Irish accent. "Doyou know who is in that white coffin there, wid the bit black cloth overit?"
"No," said I.
"And you don't know the darling you murthered for stealing a hen atPaul's Work?"
"You don't mean to say," replied I, "that that's the funeral of yourson, Mrs Ireland?"
"Ay, and, by my soul, I do, and murthered by you. He never lifted up hishead agin, but pined and dwined like a heart-broken cratur as he was;and now he's there going as fast as the boys can carry him to hisgrave."
"Well," said I, "I am sorry for it."
"The devil a bit of you, you vagabond! It's all sham and blarney, and aburning shame to you, to boot."
"Peace, Janet," said I; "he's perhaps happier now than he was herestealing and drinking. There are no sky-lights in the Canongate graves,and he'll not climb out to do any more evil."
"Sky-lights!" cried Janet; "ay, but there is, and Andrew Ireland willclimb out and get to heaven, while you, you varmint, will be breakingfirewood in h--to roast their honours the judges who condemned myinnocent darling."
"Quiet, Janet."
"Well, thin, to roast yourself; will that plaise ye?"
"Yes, yes," said I.
And fearing that the woman's passions, inflamed by her grief, mightreach the height of a howl, I moved away, while she, muttering words ofwrath, proceeded after the white coffin. Nor can I say I was altogethercomfortable as I proceeded to the Office, for there is something in thewild moving yet miserable lives of these Arabs of the wynds when woundup by death that is really touching. Nay, it is scarcely possible toavoid the thought that they are not free agents, if they do not claimfrom our sympathy the character of victims. In truth I was gettingmuffish, if I did not soliloquise a bit about other climbers whose feetrested on the backs of such poor wretches, and who, by means not verydifferent, get into high places, where they join the fashionable cryabout philanthropy--yes, a philanthropy that helps the devil, byallowing him to brain the objects they attempt to benefit.
But a police-office soon takes the softness out of a man. I had scarcelyentered when I got notice of a robbery, committ
ed on the prior night atthe workshop of Messrs Robb and Whittens, working silversmiths inThistle Street. On repairing to the spot, I ascertained that the robberhad made off with a number of silver articles, sugar-tongs, spoons, andother valuables; among the rest a number of silver screws. Iparticularly notice these, because they served my purpose in quiteanother way than that for which they were originally intended. But as tothe manner of the robbery, I could get no satisfactory informationbeyond the fact that a suspicion attached to two chimney-sweeps, who hadbeen passing in the morning, and had been employed to sweep the vents ofthe workshop; nor was my disappointment lessened by finding that thesweeps were utterly unknown to the parties connected with the shop. Theycould not even tell whether they came from the new town or the old. Thenas to identification, even had I been angel enough to bring sounrecognisable a creature before them, who ever heard of any distinctivefeatures in a chimney-sweep, if he has not a hump on his back or wants anose on his face! Even I, who have seen through all manner of disguises,am often at fault with them until I almost rub noses with them--aprocess in which I would catch a "devilish sight" more than I wanted.
Notwithstanding these difficulties, I did not altogether despair,insomuch as I at least became pretty well satisfied that it really wasthe gentlemen in black who had done the deed. So wherever there wassmoke to be cured and vents sweeped, I considered it my duty to call andtry if I could find, not the features of my men, but some trace of thetongs and screws; for in many cases where I have had right to search, Ihave got my pipe lighted at a fire, the light of which has shewn me whatI wanted. Yet all wouldn't do; nor was I a whit more lucky among thebrokers and pawn-shops. Nay, although I _screwed_ my ingenuity to thelast turn, could I trace anything of the stolen silver screws. It was nogo, as the lovers of slang say; and if it had not been that I was bornnever to know the meaning of "Give it up," I would have renounced thepursuit of men who are beyond the landmarks of society.
Not altogether without a result, however, these vain searches. I wasimpressed with a curiosity about chimney-sweeps, and I never eyed onewithout a wish to know something about him. They had formerlyinterested me very little; for, to do them justice, though they havemeans of entering houses seldom in the power of others, and which nonebut fiery lovers ever think of, they have seldom qualified themselvesfor my attentions. They have no likings for the whitewashing processesof jails. At the same time, however, as cleanliness is next togodliness, they seldom appear in church; the grace would not pay thesoap.
With this affection for the tribe still hanging about me, I was one day,a considerable period after the robbery, going along the Pleasance, inan expedition connected with the house called the Castle of Clouts,where I expected to find some remnants not left by the builder of thatfamous pile. I was not looking for sweeps, and yet my pipe was not out.I had been blowing some puffs, when, on turning round, I saw two of myblack gentlemen standing smoking loungingly, with their backs to thewall. "Ah, some of the bright creatures of my fancy," thought I; "yea,those aerial beings who for months have been hovering over me in mydreams, yet altogether without wings." My first act was to put that samepipe out, my next to watch their movements. They were very busy talkingto each other; but what interested me most was the curiosity with whichthey were contemplating some articles which one of them was shewing tothe other,--nay, there seemed to be a silvery look about the things,which was the more apparent that they were a contrast to the hands thatheld them.
So straightway my pipe, which I had extinguished, required a light, andthese curers of smoke could even produce that which they professed tobanish. In a moment I was standing before them.
"Well, lads," said I, "can you give me a light?"
One of them recoiled a little as he caught my eye. He seemed to know me,though I am free to confess I did not know him.
"To be sure," said the other.
And striking a match upon the wall he handed me a light, whereupon Ibegan to puff away; and as smoking is a social act, I found myselfirresistibly attracted by my friend, who in my first going up appearedto be so shy.
"Do you know where the Castle of Clouts is?" said I, as I peered andpeered into the dark face of him who tried to avoid my gaze.
But I was still at fault. His features were familiar to me, but the sootstill came between me and my identification. At length I got my clue.
"Andrew Ireland," said I, "when did you come out of the Canongatechurchyard? Was there a skylight in the top of the coffin?"
"Andrew Stewart is my name," replied the black ghost.
"And when did you turn sweep, Andrew?"
"When seven years old," said he; "but I tell you my name is Stewart, andbe d----d to you."
"Well, I don't apprehend names," said I, "only bodies. Then I'm not sureif you are not a spirit, for Janet shewed me your coffin on its way tothe Canongate."
"Perhaps it was Andrew Ireland's coffin you saw," said he. "It wasn'tmine, anyhow."
"Oh, I see," said I, "it would be Andrew Stewart's, and I have committeda mistake. No matter; I want to know what you have in your rightcoat-pocket."
And at the same instant I held up my hand. My assistant was presently atmy side. I saw by the fire of his eye--something like a chimney onfire--that he was bent on resistance, and instantly taking him by theneckcloth with my right hand, I was proceeding to plunge my left intohis pocket, when he seized me with his wonted ferocity, and for hispains got himself laid on his back.
"Now, Andrew," said I, as he lay grinning at me so like another blackgentleman when angry, "as sure as you are your mother's darling, I willtake you up and throw you again if you are not peaceable, and behaveyourself like a gentleman."
And getting my assistant to hold him, I took from his pocket threesilver screws. It was all up with my ghost, who almost instantly becameas gentle as these creatures, even the real white kind, generally are.He got up, and we proceeded to the Office. Nor did all the parts ofthis remarkable case end here, for, as we passed along St Mary's Wynd,whom should we meet but Janet Ireland. The moment she saw us, sheappeared stupified.
"He is risen again, Janet," said I, in a kind of whisper, "they forgotto fasten the coffin with the silver screws."
"And the more shame yours, you thaif of a thousand," she cried, "tosteal the darling boy of a poor widow. Dead! isn't he worse than deadwhen in the hands of the biggest scoundrel that ever walked the airth?"
And what, in addition to this ingenuous turn which Janet gave to thestory of the white coffin, Janet said or roared, I cannot tell, for wehurried away to avoid a gathering crowd.
I will never forget the look of the Superintendent when I told him thatthe man before him was the dead and buried Andrew Ireland, the stealerof the hens, the climber through the skylight of the jail, and therobber of the silversmiths' shop. What puzzled him most was, how, withthe conviction on my mind that the lad was dead and buried, I could haverecognised him through the soot. He looked at him again and again, norcould he say that, with the minutest investigation, he could say that herecognised the well-known thief who had cost us so much trouble.
Andrew was tried for the escape from prison as well as for the robbery;and that the judges did not think he was the short-lived persondescribed by Janet, appears from the judgment, which condemned him tofourteen years' transportation.
At War with Society; or, Tales of the Outcasts Page 5