Authors: George W. M. Reynolds,James Malcolm Rymer
THE REPUBLICAN AND THE THE RESURRECTION MAN
As Richard was walking up and down the
yard, an hour or two after his interview with Mr. Monroe, he was attracted by
the venerable appearance of an elderly gentleman who was also parading that
dismal place to and fro.
This individual was attired in a complete suit of black; and
his pale countenance, and long grey hair flowing aver his coat-collar, were
rendered the more remarkable by the mournful nature of his garb. He stooped
considerably in his gait, and walked with his hands joined together behind him.
His eyes were cast upon the ground; and his meditations appeared to be of a
profound and soul-absorbing nature.
Markham immediately experienced a strange curiosity to
become acquainted with this individual, and to ascertain the cause of his
imprisonment. He did not, however, choose to interrupt that venerable man's
reverie. Accident presently favoured his wishes, and placed within his reach
the means or introduction to the object of his curiosity. The old gentleman
changed his line of walk in the spacious yard, and tripped over a loose flagstone.
His head came suddenly in contact with the ground. Richard hastened to raise
him up, and conducted him to a bench. The old gentleman was very grateful for
these attentions; and, when he was recovered from the effects of his fall, he
surveyed Markham with the utmost interest.
"What circumstance has thrown you into this vile
den?" he inquired, in a pleasant tone of voice.
Richard instantly related, from beginning to end, those
particulars with which the reader is already acquainted.
The old man remained silent for some minute., and then fixed
his eyes upon Markham in a manner that seemed intended to read the secrets of
his soul.
Richard did not quail beneath that eagle glance; but a deep
blush suffused his countenance.
"I believe you, my boy -I believe every word you
have uttered," suddenly exclaimed the stranger - "you are the victim
of circumstances; and deeply do I commiserate your situation.
"I thank you sincerely - most sincerely for your good
opinion, said Richard. "And now, permit me to ask you what has plunged you
into a gaol? No crime, I feel convinced before you speak!"
Never judge hastily, young man," returned the old
gentleman. "My conviction of your innocence was principally established by
the very circumstance which would have led others to pronounce in favour of
your guilt. You blushed - deeply blushed, but it was not the glow of shame: it
was the honest flush of conscious integrity unjustly suspected. Now with regard
to myself, I know why you imagine me to be innocent of any crime; but, remember
that a mild, peaceable, and venerable exterior frequently covers a heart eaten
up with every evil passion, and a soul stained with every crime. You were,
however, right in your conjecture relative to myself. I am a person accused of
a political offence - a libel upon the government, in a journal of considerable
influence which I conduct. I shall be tried next session my sentence;
will not be severe, perhaps; but
it will not be the less unjust. I am the friend of my fellow countrymen and my
fellow-creatures: the upright and the enlightened denominate me a
philanthropist my enemies denounce me as a disturber of the public peace, a
seditious agitator, and a visionary. You have undoubtedly heard of Thomas
Armstrong?"
"I have not only heard of you, sir," said Richard,
surveying the great Republican writer with profound admiration and respect,
"but I have read your works and your essays with pleasure and
interest."
"In certain quarters," continued Armstrong,
"I am represented as a character who ought to be loathed and shunned by
all virtuous and honest people, - that I am a moral pestilence, - a social
plague; and that my writings are only deserving of being burnt by the bands of
the common hangman. The organs of the rich and aristocratic classes, level
every species of coarse invective against me. And yet, O God!" he added
enthusiastically, "I only strive to arouse the grovelling spirit of the
industrious millions to a sense of the wrongs under which they labour, and to
prove to them that they were not sent into this world to lick the dust beneath
the feet of majesty and aristocracy!"
"Do you not think," asked Richard, timidly,
"that you are somewhat in advance of the age? Do you not imagine that a
republic would be dangerously premature?"
"My dear youth, let us not discuss this matter in
a den where all our ideas are concentrated in the focus formed by our
misfortunes. Let me rather assist you with my advice upon the mode of conduct
you should preserve in this prison, so that you may not become too familiar
with the common herd, nor offend by being too distant."
Mr. Armstrong then proffered his counsel upon this point.
"I feel deeply indebted to you for your kindness,"
exclaimed Markham: "very - very grateful!"
"Grateful!" cried the old man, somewhat bitterly.
"Oh! how I dislike that word! The enemies who persecute me now, are those
who have received the greatest favours from me. But there is one - one whose
treachery and base ingratitude I never can forget - although I can forgive him?
Almost four years ago, I accidently learnt that a young man of pleasing
appearance, genteel manners, and good acquirements, was in a state of the
deepest distress, in an obscure lodging in Hoxton Old Town, I called upon him: the
account which had reached my ears was too true. He was bordering upon
starvation, and - although he assured me that he had relations and friends
moving in a wealthy sphere - he declared that particular reasons, which he
implored me not to dive into, compelled him to refrain from addressing them. I
relieved his necessities; I gave him money and procured him clothes. I then
took him as my private secretary, and soon put the greatest confidence in him.
Alas! how was I recompensed? He betrayed all my political secrets to the
government: he literally sold me! At length absconded, taking with him a
considerable sum of money, which be abstracted from my desk."
"How despicable!" ejaculated Richard.
"That is not all. I met him afterwards, and forgave
him!" said Armstrong.
"Ah! you possess, sir, a noble heart," cried
Richard: "I hope that this misguided young man gave sincere proofs of
repentance!"
"Oh! he was very
grateful!" ejaculated Mr. Armstrong, with a satirical smile: "when he
heard that there was a warrant issued for my apprehension upon a charge of
libel on the government, he secretly instructed the officers relative to my
private haunts and thus sold me again!"
"The villain!" cried Markham, with unfeigined
indignation. "Tell me his name, that I may avoid him as I would a
poisonous viper!"
"His name is George Montague," returned Mr
Armstrong.
"George Montague!" cried Richard.
"Do you know him
?
have you heard of him before? If
you happen to be aware of his present abode —"
"You would send and have han arrested for the robbery
of the money in your desk?"
" No - write and assure him of my forgiveness once
more," replied the noble-hearted republican. "But how came you
acquainted with his name?"
"I have heard of that young man before, but not in a
way to do him honour. A
tale of robbery and seduction -
of heartless cruelty and vile deceit - has been communicated to me relative to
this George Montague. Can you forgive such a wretch as he is?"
"From the bottom of my heart," answered the
republican.
Markham gazed upon that venerable gentleman with profound
respect. He remembered to have seen the daily Tory newspapers denounce that
same old man as "an unprincipled agitator - the enemy of his country
- the foe to morality - a political ruffian - a bloody-minded votary of
Robespierre and Danton:" - and he now beard the sweetest and holiest
sentiment of Christian morality emanate from the lips of him who had thus been
fearfully represented. And that sentiment was uttered without affectation, but
with unequivocal sincerity!
For a moment, Richard forgot his own sorrows and
misfortunes, as he contemplated the benign and holy countenance of him whom a
certain class loved to depict as a demon incarnate!
The old man did not notice the interest which he had thus
excited, for he had himself fallen into a profound reverie.
Presently the conversation was resumed; and the more that
Markham saw of the Republican, the more did he respect and admire him.
In the course of the afternoon, Markham was accosted by one
of his fellow-prisoners, who beckoned him aside in a somewhat mysterious
manner. This individual was a very short, thin, cadaverous looking man, with
coal-black hair and whiskers, and dark piercing eyes half concealed beneath
shaggy brows of the deepest jet. He was apparently about five and thirty years
of age. His countenance was down cast; and when he spoke, he seemed as if he
could not support the glance of the person whom he addressed. He was dressed in
a seedy suit of black, and wore an oil-skin cap with a large shade.
This person, who was very reserved and retired in his
habits, and seldom associated with his fellow-prisoners, drew Markham aside,
and said, "I've taken a liberty with your name; but I know you won't mind
it. In a place like this we must help and assist each other."
"And in what way —" began Markham.
"Oh! nothing very important; only it's just as well to
tell you in case the turnkey says a word about it. The fact is, I haven't half
enough to eat with this infernal gruel and soup that they give those who, like
me are forced to take the gaol allowance and my old mother - who is known by
the name of the Mummy - has promised to send me in presently a jolly good
quartern loaf and three or four pound of Dutch cheese."
"But I thought that those who took the gaol allowance
were not permitted to receive, any food from outside?" said Markham.
"That's the very thing," said the man: "so I
have told the Mummy to direct the parcel to you, as I know that you grub
yourself at your own cost."
"So long as it does not involve me —"
"No - not in the least, my good fellow,"
interrupted the other. "And, in return," he added, after a moment's
pause, "if I can ever do you a service, outside or in, you may reckon upon
the Resurrection man."
The Resurrection Man!" ejaculated Richard, appalled, in
spite of himself, at this ominous title.
"Yes - that's my name and profession," said the
man. "My godfathers and godmothers called me Anthony, and my parents had
previously blessed me with the honourable appellation of Tidkins: so you may
know me as Anthony Tidkins, the Resurrection Man."
"And are you really —" began Richard, with a
partial shudder; "are you really a —"
"A body-snatcher?" cried Anthony; "of course
I am - when there's any work to be done; and when there isn't, then I do a
little in another line."
"And what may that be?" demanded Markham.
This time the Resurrection Man
did
look his interlocutor full in the face; but it was only for a
moment; and he again averted his glance in a sinister manner, as he jerked his
thumb towards the wall of the yard, and exclaimed, "Crankey Jem on t'other
side will tell you if, you ask him. They would not put us together: no - no,"
he added, with a species of chuckle; "they know a trick worth two of that.
We shall both be tried together: fifteen years for him - freedom for me! That's
the way to do it."
With these words the Resurrection Man turned upon his heels,
and walked away to the farther end of the yard.
We shall now take leave of Markham for the present: when we
again call the reader's attention to his case, we shall find him standing in
the dock of the Central Criminal Court, to take him trial upon the grave
accusation of passing forged notes.
THE DUNGEON
RETURN we now to Bill Bolter, the murderer, who had taken refuge
in the subterranean hiding-place of the Old House in Chick Lane.
Heavily and wearily did the hours drag along. The inmate of
that terrible dungeon was enabled to mark their lapse by the deep-mouthed bell
of St. Sepulchre's Church, on Snow Hill, the sound of which boomed ominously at
regular interrals upon his ear.
That same bell tolls the death-note of the convict on the
morning of his execution at the debtor's door of Newgate.
The murderer remembered this, and shuddered.
A faint - faint light glimmered through the little grating
at the end of the dungeon; and the man kept his eyes fixed upon it so long,
that at length his imagination began to conjure up phantoms to appal him. That
small square aperture became a frame in which hideous countenances appeared;
and then, one gradually changed into another - horrible dissolving views that
they were!
But chiefly be beheld before him the tall gaunt form of his
murdered wife - with one eye smashed and bleeding in her head:- the other
glared fearfully upon him.
This phantasmagoria became at length so fearful and so real
in appearance, that the murderer turned his back towards the little grating
through which the light struggled into the dungeon in two long, narrow, and
oblique columns.
But then he imagined that there were goblins behind him; and
this idea soon grew as insupportable is the first;- so he rose, and groped his
way up and down that narrow vault - a vault which might become his tomb!
This horrible thought never left his memory. Even while he
reflected upon other things, - amidst the perils which enveloped his career,
and the reminiscences of the dread deeds of which he had been guilty, - amongst
the reasons which he assembled together to convince himself that the hideous
countenances at the grating did not exist in reality, - there was that one idea
- unmixed - definite - standing boldly out from all the rest in his imagination,
that he might be left to die of
starvation!
At one time the brain of this wretch was excited to such a
pitch that he actually caught his head in his two hands, and pressed it with
all his force - to endeavour to crush the horrible visions which haunted
his imagination.
Then he endeavoured to hum a tune; but his voice seemed to
choke him. He lighted a pipe, and sate and smoked; but as the thin blue vapour
curled upwards, in the faint light of the grating, it assumed shapes and forms
appalling to behold. Spectres, clad in long winding sheets - cold grisly
corpses, dressed in shrouds, seemed to move noiselessly through the dungeon.
He laid aside the pipe; and, in a state of mind bordering
almost upon frenzy, tossed off the brandy that had remained in the flask.
But so full of horrible ideas was his mind at that moment,
that it appeared to him as if he had been drinking blood!
He rose from his seat once more, and groped up and down the
dungeon, careless of the almost stunning blows which he gave his head, and the
violent contusions which his limbs received, against the uneven walls.
Hark! suddenly voices fell upon his ears.
He listened with mingled fear and joy, - fear of being
discovered, and joy at the sound of human tones in the midst of that
subterranean solitude.
Those voices came from the lower window of the dwelling on
the other side of the ditch.
"How silent and quiet everything has been lately in the
old house opposite," said a female.
"Last night, - or rather early this morning, I heard
singing there," replied another voice, which was evidently that of a young
woman.
Oh! never had the human tones sounded so sweet and musical
upon the murderer's ears before!
"It is very seldom that any one ever goes into that old
house now," said the first speaker.
'Strange rumours are abroad concerning it: I heard that
there are subterranean places in which men can conceal themselves, and no power
on earth could find them save those in the secret."
"How absurd, I was speaking to the policeman
about that very thing a few days
ago; and he laughed at the idea. He says it is impossible ; and of course he
knows best."
"I am not so sure of that. Who knows what fearful deeds
have those old walls concealed from human eye? For my part, I can very well
believe that there are secret cells and caverns. Who knows but that some poor
wretch is hiding there this very moment?"
"Perhaps the man that murdered his wife up in Union
Court."
"Well -who knows? But at this rate we shall never
get on with our work."
The noise of a window being shut down fell upon the
murderer's ears: and he heard no more.
But he had heard enough! Those girls had spoken of him:-they
had mentioned him as
the man who had murdered his wife.
The assassination, then, was already known: the dread deed
was bruited abroad:-thousands and thousands of tongues had no doubt repeated
the tale here and there - conveying it hither and thither - far and wide!
And throughout the vast metropolis was he already spoken of
as
the man who had murdered his wife!
And in a few hours more, would millions in all parts hear of
the man who had murdered his
wife!
And already were the officers of
justice actively in search of
the man who had murdered his
wife!
Heavily - heavily passed the
hours.
At length the dungeon became pitch dark; and then the
murderer saw sights more appalling than when the faint gleam stole through the
grating.
In due time the sonorous voice of St. Sepulchre proclaimed
the hour of nine.
Scarcely had the last stroke of that iron tongue died upon
the breeze, when a noise at the head of the spiral staircase fell upon the
murderer's ears. The trap-door was raised, and the well-known voice of Dick
Flairer was heard.
"Well, Bill - alive or dead, eh - old fellow!"
exclaimed the burglar.
"Alive - and that's all, Dick," answered Bill
Bolter, ascending the staircase.
"My God! how pale you are, Bill," said Dick, the
moment the light of the candle fell upon the countenance of the murderer, as he
emerged from the trap-door.
"Pale, Dick!" ejaculated the wretch, a shudder
passing over his entire frame; "I do not believe I can stand a night in
that infernal hole."
"You must, Bill - you must," said Flairer:
"all is discovered up in Union Court there, and the police are about in
all directions."
"When was it found out? Tell me the particulars -
speak!" said the murderer, with frenzied impatience.
"Why, it appears that the neighbours heard a devil of a
noise in your room, but didn't think no-think about it, cos you and Polly used
to spar a bit now and then. But at last the boy - Harry, I mean -
went down stairs, and said that his mother wouldn't move, and that his father
had gone away. So up the neighbours went - and then everything was blown. The
children was sent to the workus, and the coroner held his inquest this
afternoon at three. Harry was had up before him; and —"
"And what?" demanded Bolter, hastily.
"And, in course," added Dick, "the Coroner got
out of the boy all the particklars: so the jury returned a verdict —"
"Of
Wilful Murder,
eh?" said Bill, sinking his
voice almost to a whisper.
"
Wilful Murder against William Bolter
,"
answered Dick, coolly.
"That little vagabond Harry! "cried the criminal -
his entire countenance distorted with rage; "I'll he the death on
him!"
"There's no news at all about t'other affair up at
Clapton, and no stir made in it at all," said Dick. after a moment's
pause:" so that there business is all right. But here's a lot of grub and
plenty of lush, Bill: that'll cheer ye, if nothink else will."
"Dick!" exclaimed the murderer, " I cannot go
back into that hole - I had rather get nabbed at once. The few hours I have
already been there have nearly drove me mad; and I can't - I won't attempt the
night in that infernal cold damp vault. I feel as if I was in my coffin."
"Well, you know best," said Dick, coolly. "A
hempen neckcloth at Tuck-up fair, and a leap from a tree with only one leaf, is
what you'll get if you're perverse."
"My God - my God!" ejaculated Bolter, wringing his
hands, and throwing glances of extreme terror around the room; "what am I
to do? what am I to do?"
"Lie still down below for a few weeks, or go out and be
scragged," said Dick Flairer. "Come, Bill, be a man; and don't take
on in this here way. Besides, I'm in a hurry, and, must be off. I've brought
you enough grub for three days, as I shan't come here too often till the
business has blowed over a little."
Bill Bolter took a long draught from a quart bottle of rum
which his friend had brought with him ; and he then left his spirits revive.
Horrible as the prospect of a long sojourn in the dungeon appeared, it was
still preferable to the fearful doom which must inevitably follow his capture;
and, accordingly, the criminal once more returned to his hiding-place.
Dick Flairer promised to return on the third evening from
that time; and the trap-door again closed over the head of the murderer.
Bolter supped off a portion of the provisions which his
friend had brought him, and then lay dawn upon the hard stone bench to sleep. A
noisome stench entered the dungeon from the Ditch, and the rats ran over the
person of the inmate of that subterranean hole. Repose was impossible: the
miserable wretch therefore sat up, and began to smoke.
By accident he kicked his leg a little way beneath the stone
bench: the heel of his boot encountered something that yielded to the touch;
and a strange noise followed.
That noise was like the rattling of bones!
The pipe fell from the man's grasp; and he him. self was
stupified with sudden terror.
At length, exercising immense violence over his feelings, he
determined to ascertain whether the horrible suspicions which had entered his
mind were well-founded or not.
He thrust his hand beneath the bench, and encountered the
mouldering bones of a human skeleton.
With indescribable feelings of agony and horror he threw
himself upon the bench - his hair on end, and his heart palpitating violently.
Heaven only can tell how he passed that long weary night -
alone, in the darkness of the dungeon, with his own thoughts, the skeleton of
some murdered victim, and the vermin that infected the subterranean hole.
He slept not a
wink throughout those live-long hours, the lapse of which was proclaimed by the
voice of Saint Sepulchre's solemn mid deep-toned bell.
And none who heard the bell during that night experienced feelings of such
intense anguish and horror as the murderer in his lurking-hole. Not even the
neighbouring prison of Newgate, nor the hospital of Saint Bartholomew, nor the
death-bed of a parent, knew mental suffering so terrible as that which wrung
the heart of this guilty wretch.
The morning dawned; and the light returned to the dungeon.
The clock had just struck eight, and the murderer was
endeavouring to force a mouthful of food down his throat, when the voice of a
man in the street tell upon his ear. He drew close up to the grating, and
clearly heard the following announcement:-
"Here is a full and perfect account of the horrible
assassination committed by the miscreant William Bolter, upon the person of his
wife; with a portrait of the murderer, and a representation of the room as it
appeared when the deed was first discovered by a neighbour. Only one Penny! The
fullest and most perfect account - only one Penny!"
A pause ensued, and then the voice, bawling more lustily
than before, continued thus:-
"A full and perfect account of the bloody and crud
murder in Upper Union Court; shewing how
the assassin first dashed out one
of his victim's eyes, an
d
then fractured her skull upon the
floor. Only one Penny, together with a true portrait of the murderer, for whose
apprehension a reward of One Hundred Pounds is offered! Only one Penny!"
"A reward of one hundred
pounds!" cried another voice "my eye! how I should like to find
him!"
"Wouldn't I precious soon give him up!" ejaculated
a third.
"I wonder whereabouts he is," said a fourth.
"No doubt that he has run away - perhaps to America - perhaps to
France."
"That shews how much you know about such things,"
said a fifth speaker. "It is a very strange fact, that murderers always
linger near the scene of their crime; they are attracted towards it, seemingly,
as the moth is to the candle. Now, for my part, I shouldn't at all wonder if
the miscreant was within a hundred yards of us at the present moment."
" Only one Penny! The fullest and most perfect account
of the horrible and bloody murder — "
The itinerant vender of pamphlets passed on, followed by the
crowd which his vociferations had collected; and his voice soon ceased to break
the silence of the morning.
Bolter sank down upon the stone bench, a prey to maddening
feelings and fearful emotions.
A hundred pounds were offered for his capture! Such a sum
might tempt even Dick Flairer or Tom the Cracksman to betray him.
Instinctively he put his fingers to his neck, to feel if the
rope were there yet, and he shook his bead violently to ascertain if he were
hanging on a gibbet, or could still control his motions.
The words "miscreant," "horrible and bloody
murder," and "portrait of the assassin," still rang in his ears
- loud - sonorous - deep - and with a prolonged echo like that of a bell!
Already were men speculating upon his whereabouts, and
anxious for his apprehension - some for the reward, others to gratify a morbid
curiosity: already were the newspapers, the cheap press, and the pamphleteers
busy with his name.
None now mentioned him save as