Gliding along the silent streets, and holding his course where
they were darkest and most gloomy, the man who had left the widow's house
crossed London Bridge, and arriving in the City, plunged into the backways,
lanes, and courts, between Cornhill and Smithfield; with no more fixedness of
purpose than to lose himself among their windings, and baffle pursuit, if any
one were dogging his steps.
It was the dead time of the night, and all was quiet. Now and then a drowsy
watchman's footsteps sounded on the pavement, or the lamplighter on his rounds
went flashing past, leaving behind a little track of smoke mingled with glowing
morsels of his hot red link. He hid himself even from these partakers of his
lonely walk, and, shrinking in some arch or doorway while they passed, issued
forth again when they were gone and so pursued his solitary way.
To be shelterless and alone in the open country, hearing the wind moan and
watching for day through the whole long weary night; to listen to the falling
rain, and crouch for warmth beneath the lee of some old barn or rick, or in the
hollow of a tree; are dismal things--but not so dismal as the wandering up and
down where shelter is, and beds and sleepers are by thousands; a houseless
rejected creature. To pace the echoing stones from hour to hour, counting the
dull chimes of the clocks; to watch the lights twinkling in chamber windows, to
think what happy forgetfulness each house shuts in; that here are children
coiled together in their beds, here youth, here age, here poverty, here wealth,
all equal in their sleep, and all at rest; to have nothing in common with the
slumbering world around, not even sleep, Heaven's gift to all its creatures, and
be akin to nothing but despair; to feel, by the wretched contrast with
everything on every hand, more utterly alone and cast away than in a trackless
desert; this is a kind of suffering, on which the rivers of great cities close
full many a time, and which the solitude in crowds alone awakens.
The miserable man paced up and down the streets--so long, so wearisome, so
like each other--and often cast a wistful look towards the east, hoping to see
the first faint streaks of day. But obdurate night had yet possession of the
sky, and his disturbed and restless walk found no relief.
One house in a back street was bright with the cheerful glare of lights;
there was the sound of music in it too, and the tread of dancers, and there were
cheerful voices, and many a burst of laughter. To this place--to be near
something that was awake and glad--he returned again and again; and more than
one of those who left it when the merriment was at its height, felt it a check
upon their mirthful mood to see him flitting to and fro like an uneasy ghost. At
last the guests departed, one and all; and then the house was close shut up, and
became as dull and silent as the rest.
His wanderings brought him at one time to the city jail. Instead of hastening
from it as a place of ill omen, and one he had cause to shun, he sat down on
some steps hard by, and resting his chin upon his hand, gazed upon its rough and
frowning walls as though even they became a refuge in his jaded eyes. He paced
it round and round, came back to the same spot, and sat down again. He did this
often, and once, with a hasty movement, crossed to where some men were watching
in the prison lodge, and had his foot upon the steps as though determined to
accost them. But looking round, he saw that the day began to break, and failing
in his purpose, turned and fled.
He was soon in the quarter he had lately traversed, and pacing to and fro
again as he had done before. He was passing down a mean street, when from an
alley close at hand some shouts of revelry arose, and there came straggling
forth a dozen madcaps, whooping and calling to each other, who, parting noisily,
took different ways and dispersed in smaller groups.
Hoping that some low place of entertainment which would afford him a safe
refuge might be near at hand, he turned into this court when they were all gone,
and looked about for a half-opened door, or lighted window, or other indication
of the place whence they had come. It was so profoundly dark, however, and so
ill-favoured, that he concluded they had but turned up there, missing their way,
and were pouring out again when he observed them. With this impression, and
finding there was no outlet but that by which he had entered, he was about to
turn, when from a grating near his feet a sudden stream of light appeared, and
the sound of talking came. He retreated into a doorway to see who these talkers
were, and to listen to them.
The light came to the level of the pavement as he did this, and a man
ascended, bearing in his hand a torch. This figure unlocked and held open the
grating as for the passage of another, who presently appeared, in the form of a
young man of small stature and uncommon self-importance, dressed in an obsolete
and very gaudy fashion.
'Good night, noble captain,' said he with the torch. 'Farewell, commander.
Good luck, illustrious general!'
In return to these compliments the other bade him hold his tongue, and keep
his noise to himself, and laid upon him many similar injunctions, with great
fluency of speech and sternness of manner.
'Commend me, captain, to the stricken Miggs,' returned the torch- bearer in a
lower voice. 'My captain flies at higher game than Miggses. Ha, ha, ha! My
captain is an eagle, both as respects his eye and soaring wings. My captain
breaketh hearts as other bachelors break eggs at breakfast.'
'What a fool you are, Stagg!' said Mr Tappertit, stepping on the pavement of
the court, and brushing from his legs the dust he had contracted in his passage
upward.
'His precious limbs!' cried Stagg, clasping one of his ankles. 'Shall a Miggs
aspire to these proportions! No, no, my captain. We will inveigle ladies fair,
and wed them in our secret cavern. We will unite ourselves with blooming
beauties, captain.'
'I'll tell you what, my buck,' said Mr Tappertit, releasing his leg; 'I'll
trouble you not to take liberties, and not to broach certain questions unless
certain questions are broached to you. Speak when you're spoke to on particular
subjects, and not otherways. Hold the torch up till I've got to the end of the
court, and then kennel yourself, do you hear?'
'I hear you, noble captain.'
'Obey then,' said Mr Tappertit haughtily. 'Gentlemen, lead on!' With which
word of command (addressed to an imaginary staff or retinue) he folded his arms,
and walked with surpassing dignity down the court.
His obsequious follower stood holding the torch above his head, and then the
observer saw for the first time, from his place of concealment, that he was
blind. Some involuntary motion on his part caught the quick ear of the blind
man, before he was conscious of having moved an inch towards him, for he turned
suddenly and cried, 'Who's there?'
'A man,' said the other, advancing. 'A friend.'
'A stranger!' rejoined the blind man. 'Strangers are not my friends. What do
you do there?'
'I saw your company come out, and waited here till they were gone. I want a
lodging.'
'A lodging at this time!' returned Stagg, pointing towards the dawn as though
he saw it. 'Do you know the day is breaking?'
'I know it,' rejoined the other, 'to my cost. I have been traversing this
iron-hearted town all night.'
'You had better traverse it again,' said the blind man, preparing to descend,
'till you find some lodgings suitable to your taste. I don't let any.'
'Stay!' cried the other, holding him by the arm.
'I'll beat this light about that hangdog face of yours (for hangdog it is, if
it answers to your voice), and rouse the neighbourhood besides, if you detain
me,' said the blind man. 'Let me go. Do you hear?'
'Do YOU hear!' returned the other, chinking a few shillings together, and
hurriedly pressing them into his hand. 'I beg nothing of you. I will pay for the
shelter you give me. Death! Is it much to ask of such as you! I have come from
the country, and desire to rest where there are none to question me. I am faint,
exhausted, worn out, almost dead. Let me lie down, like a dog, before your fire.
I ask no more than that. If you would be rid of me, I will depart to-morrow.'
'If a gentleman has been unfortunate on the road,' muttered Stagg, yielding
to the other, who, pressing on him, had already gained a footing on the
steps--'and can pay for his accommodation--'
'I will pay you with all I have. I am just now past the want of food, God
knows, and wish but to purchase shelter. What companion have you below?'
'None.'
'Then fasten your grate there, and show me the way. Quick!'
The blind man complied after a moment's hesitation, and they descended
together. The dialogue had passed as hurriedly as the words could be spoken, and
they stood in his wretched room before he had had time to recover from his first
surprise.
'May I see where that door leads to, and what is beyond?' said the man,
glancing keenly round. 'You will not mind that?'
'I will show you myself. Follow me, or go before. Take your choice.'
He bade him lead the way, and, by the light of the torch which his conductor
held up for the purpose, inspected all three cellars narrowly. Assured that the
blind man had spoken truth, and that he lived there alone, the visitor returned
with him to the first, in which a fire was burning, and flung himself with a
deep groan upon the ground before it.
His host pursued his usual occupation without seeming to heed him any
further. But directly he fell asleep--and he noted his falling into a slumber,
as readily as the keenest-sighted man could have done--he knelt down beside him,
and passed his hand lightly but carefully over his face and person.
His sleep was checkered with starts and moans, and sometimes with a muttered
word or two. His hands were clenched, his brow bent, and his mouth firmly set.
All this, the blind man accurately marked; and as if his curiosity were strongly
awakened, and he had already some inkling of his mystery, he sat watching him,
if the expression may be used, and listening, until it was broad day.
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