Penny Dreadful Multipack Vol. 1 (Illustrated. Annotated. 'Wagner The Wehr-Wolf,' 'Varney The Vampire,' 'The Mysteries of London Vol. 1' + Bonus Features) (Penny Dreadful Multipacks) (197 page)

THE OLD HOUSE IN SMITHFIELD AGAIN

THE visitor to the Polytechnic Institution or the Adelaide
Gallery, has doubtless seen the exhibition of the microscope. A drop of the
purest water, magnified by that instrument some thousands of times, appears
filled with horrible reptiles and monsters of revolting forms.
    Such is London.
    Fair and attractive as the mighty metropolis may appear to
the superficial observer, it swarms with disgusting, loathsome, and venomous
objects, wearing human shapes.
    Oh! London is a city of strange contrasts!
    The hustle of business, and the smile of pleasure, - the
peaceful citizen, and the gay soldier, - the splendid shop, and the itinerant
pastry-stall, - the gorgeous equipage, and the humble market-cart, - the
palaces at nobles, and the hovels of the poor,- the psalm from the chapel, and
the shout of laughter from the tavern,- the dandies lounging in the west-end
streets, and the paupers cleansing away the mud, - the funeral procession, and
the bridal cavalcade,- the wealthy and high-born lady whose reputation is above
all cavil, and the lost girl whose shame is below all notice,- the adventurer
who defends his honour with a duel, and the poor tradesman whom unavoidable
bankruptcy has branded as a rogue,- the elegantly-clad banker whose insolvency
must soon transpire, and the ragged old miser whose wealth it not suspected, -
the monuments of glory, and the hospitals of the poor,- the temples where men
adore a God with affectation, and the shrines at which they lose their gold to
a deity whom they adore without affectation,- in a word, grandeur and squalor,
wealth and misery, virtue and vice,- honesty which has never been tried, and
crime which yielded to the force of irresistible circumstances,- all the
features, all the characteristics, all the morals, of a great city, must occupy
the attention of him who surveys London with microscopic eye.
    And what a splendid subject for the contemplators of the
moralist is a mighty city which, at every succeeding hour, presents a new phase
of interest to the view;- in the morning, when only the industrious and. the
thrifty are abroad, and while the wealthy sod the great are sleeping off the
night's pleasure and dissipation - at noon, when the streets are swarming with
life, as if some secret source without the walls poured at that hour myriads of
animated streams into the countless avenues and thoroughfares;- in the evening,
when the men of pleasure again venture forth, and music, and dancing, and
revelry prevail around;- and at night, - when every lazar-house vomits forth
its filth, every den lets loose its horrors, and every foul court and alley
echoes to the footsteps of crime!
    It was about two o'clock in the morning, (three hours after
the burglarious attempt upon the villa,) that a man, drenched by the rain which
continued to pour in torrents, with his hat drawn over his eyes, and his hands
thrust in his pockets to protect them against the cold, crept cautiously down
West Street, from Smithfield, dodged past the policeman, and entered the old house
which we have described at the opening of our narrative.
    Having closed and carefully bolted the front door, he
hastily ascended to the room on the first floor where Walter Sydney had seen
him and his companion conceal their plunder four years and four months
previously.
    This man - so wet, so cold, and so miserable - was Bill
Bolter, the murderer.
    Having groped about for a few moments, he found a match,
struck it, and obtained a light. One of the secret recesses furnished a candle;
and the flickering glare fell upon the haggard, unshaven. and dirty countenance
of the ruffian.
    Scarcely had he lighted the candle, when a peculiar whistle
was heard in the street, just under the window. The features of Bolter became
suddenly animated with joy; and, as he hastily descended the stairs, he
muttered to himself, "Well, at all events here's one on 'em."
    The individual to whom be opened the door was Dick Flairer -
in no better plight, mentally and bodily, than himself.
    "Is there any bingo, Bill?" demanded Dick, the
moment he set foot in the up-stairs room.
    "Not a drain," answered Bolter, after a close
inspection of the cupboard in the wall between the windows; "and not a
morsel of grub neither."
    "Blow the grub," said Dick. "I ain't in no
humour for eating; but I could drink a gallon. I've been thinking as I come
along, and after the first shock was over, wot cursed fools you and me was to
be humbugged in this here affair. Either that young feller was the brother of
the one which we threw down the trap —"
    "No: I could swear that he is the same,"
interrupted Bill.
    "Well - then he must have made his escape  -and
that's all," added Dick Flairer.
    "That must be it," observed Bolter, after a long
pause. "But it was so sudden upon us - and then without no time to think -
and all that —"
    "You may say what you like, Bill - but I shall never
forgive myself. I was the first to bolt; and I was a coward. How shall I ever
be able to look the Cracksman in the face again, or go to the parlour of the
boozing-ken?"
    "It's no use complaining like this, Dick. You was used
to be the bold 'un - and now it seems as if it was me that must say 'Cheer
up.' The fact is, someot must be done without delay. I told you and Tom what
had happened at my crib; and so, lay up for some time I must. Come, now - Dick,
you won't desert a pal in trouble?"
    "There's my hand, Bill. On'y say wot you want done, and
I'm your man."
    "In the first place, do you think it's safe for me to
stay here? Won't that young feller give the alarm, and say as how his house was
attempted by the same cracksmen that wanted to make a stiff 'un of him between
four and five years ago at this old crib; and then won't the blue-bottles come
and search the place from chimley-pot down to foundation-stone?"
    "Let 'em search it," ejaculated Flairer:
"they'll on'y do it once; and who cares for that? You can lie as snug down
stairs for a week or so as if you was a thousand miles off. Besides, who'd
think for a instant that you'd hide yourself in the wery spot that the young
feller could point out as one of our haunts? Mark me, Bill - if yer goes up to
Rat's Castle in Saint Giles's, you would find too many tongues among them
cursed Irishers to ask '
Who is he?
'
 
and '
What is he?
' 
 
If you goes over to the Mint, you'll be sure to be twigged by a
lot a' them low buzgloaks and broken-down magsmen as swarms there; and they'll
nose upon you for a penny. Whitechapel back-slums isn't safe; for the
broom-gals, the blacks, and the ballad singers which occupies all that
district, is always a quarrelling; and the blue-bottles is constantly poking
their nose in every crib in consekvence. Here you are snug; and I can bring you
your grub and tell you the news of an evenin' arter dark."
    "But to be penned up in that infernal hole for a
fortnit or three weeks, till the storm's blowed over, is horrible to think
on," said Bill.
    "And scragging
 
more horrible still," said
Dick, significantly. 
    Bill Bolter shuddered; and a convulsive motion agitated his
neck, as if he already felt the cord around it. His countenance became ashy
pale; and, as he glanced fearfully around, he exclaimed, "Yes, you're
right, Dick: I'll take myself to the hiding-crib, and you can give me the
office
 
at any moment, if things goes wrong. To-morrow you must try and
find out whether there's much of a row about the affair in the Court."
    The ruffian never expressed the least anxiety relative to
the fate of his children.
    "To-morrow!" exclaimed Dick: "to-day you mean
- for it can't be far off from three o'clock. And now talking about grub is all
very easy; but getting it is quite another thing. Neither you nor me hasn't got
a scurrick; and where to get a penny loaf on tick I don't know."
    "By hell, I shall starve, Dick!" cried the murderer,
casting a glance of alarm and horror upon his companion.
    "Whatever I get shall be for you first, Bill; and to
get anythink at all I must be wide awake. The grass musn't grow under my
feet."
    At that moment a whistle, similar to the sound by which Dick
Flairer had notified his approach to Bill Bolter, emanated from the street and
fell upon the ears of those worthies.
    Dick hastened to respond to this summons, and in short time
introduced the Cracksman.
    The moment this individual entered the room, he demanded if
there were anything to eat or to drink upon the premises. He of course received
a melancholy negative: but, instead of being disheartened, his countenance
appeared to wear a smile of pleasure. 
    "Now, you see, I never desert a friend in
distress," he exclaimed; and, with these words, he produced from his
pocket a quantity of cold victuals and a
 
large flask of brandy.
    Without waiting to ask questions or give explanations, the
three thieves fell tooth and nail upon the provender.
    "I knowed you'd come to this here crib, because Bill
don't dare go to the boozing-ken till the affair of the Court's blowed
over," said the Cracksman, when his meal was terminated; "and so I
thought I'd jine you. Arter I left the place out by Clapton —"
    "And how the devil did you get away?" demanded
Dick.
    "Just the same as you did. It would have sarved you
right if I'd never spoke to you agin, and blowed you at the ken into the
bargain; but I thought to myself, thinks I, 'It must be someot very strange
that made the Flairer and the Bolter cut their lucky and leave their pal in the
lurch; so let's hear wot they has to say for themselves fust.' Then, as I come
along, I found a purse in a gentleman's pocket just opposite Bethnal Green New
Church; and that put me into good humour. So I looked in at the ken, got the
grub and the bingo, and come on here.
    "You're a reg'lar trump, Tom !" ejaculated Dick
Flairer; "and I'll stick to you like bricks from this moment till I die.
The fact is - me and Bill has told you about that young feller which we throwed
down the trap some four or five year back."
    "Yes - I remember."
    "Well - we seed him to-night."
    "To-night! What-at the crib up there?"
    "The swell that you got a grip on in the dark. was the
very self-same one."
    "Then he must have got clear off - that's all!"
cried the Cracksman. It was no ghost - but rale plump flesh and hot blood, I'll
swear."
    "So we both think now, to be sure," said Dick
"but you don't bear any ill-will, Tom ?"
    "Not a atom. Here's fifteen couters
 
which was in the purse of the
swell which I met at Bethnal Green; and half that's yourn. But, about Bill
there - wot's he a-going to do ?"
    Dick pointed with his finger downwards: Tom comprehended the
signal, and nodded approvingly.
    The brandy produced a cheering effect upon the three
ruffians: and pipes and tobacco augmented their joviality. Their discourse
gradually became coarsely humorous; and their mirth boisterous. At length Bill
Bolter, who required every possible means of artificial stimulant and
excitement to sustain his spirits in the fearful predicament in which he was
placed, called upon the Cracksman for a song.
    Tom was famous amongst his companions for his vocal
qualifications; and he was not a little proud of the reputation he had acquired
in the parlours of the various "boozing-kens" and
"patter-cribs" of which he was in the habit of frequenting. He was
not, therefore, backward in complying with his friend's request; and, in a
somewhat subdued tone, (for fear of making
 
too much noise -
 
complaint not
 
often heard in Chick Lane), he
sang the following lines:-

THE THIEVES' ALPHABET.

A was an Area - sneak leary and sly;
B was a Buzgloak, with fingers so fly;
C was a Cracksman, that forked all the plate;
D was a Dubsman, who kept the jug-gate.
    For we are rollicking chaps,
    All smoking, singing, boosing;
    We care not for the traps,
    But pass the night carousing!

E was an Efter, that went to the play;
F was a Fogle he knapped on his way;
G was a Gag, which he told to the beak;
H was a Hum-box, where parish-prigs speak.
    CHORUS
I was an Ikey
 
with swag all encumbered;
J was a Jug, in whose cell he was lumbered;
K was a Kye-bosh, that paid for his treat;
L was a Leaf
 
that fell under his feet.
    CHORUS
M was a Magsman, frequenting Pall-Mall;
N was a Nose that turned chirp on his pal;
O was an Onion, possessed by a swell;
P was a Pannie, done niblike and well.
    CHORUS.
Q was a Queer-screen, that served as a blind;
R was a Reader,
 
with flimsies well lined;
S was a Smasher, so nutty and spry;
T was a Ticker,
 
just faked from a cly.
    CHORUS.
U was an Uptucker,
 
fly with the cord;
V was a Varnisher,
 
dressed like a lord;
Y was a Yoxter
 
that eat caper sauce;
Z was a Ziff who was
flashed on the horse.
   
 
For we are rollicking chaps
    All smoking, singing, boosing:
    We care not for the traps,
    But pass the night carouslng.

    In this manner did the three thieves pass the
first hours of morning at the old house in Chick Lane.
    At length the heavy and sonorous voice of Saint Paul's
proclaimed six o'clock. It still wanted an hour to sun-rise; but they now
thought it prudent to separate.
    Tom the Cracksman and Dick Flairer arranged together a
"little piece of business" for the ensuing night, which they hoped
would prove more fortunate than their attempt on the villa at Upper Clapton;
but Dick faithfully promised Bill Bolter to return to him in the evening before
he set out on the new expedition.
    Matters being thus agreed upon, the moment for the
murderer's concealment arrived. We have before stated that the entire grate in
the room which the villains frequented, could be removed; and that, when taken
out of its setting, it revealed an aperture of considerable dimensions. At the bottom
of this square recess was a trap-door, communicating with a narrow and spiral
staircase, that led into a vault adjoining and upon the same level with the
very cellar from which Walter Sydney had so miraculously escaped.
    The possibility of such an architectural arrangement being
fully carried out, with a view to provide a perfect means of concealment, will
be apparent to our readers, when we state that the side of the house farthest
from the Fleet Ditch was constructed with a double brick wail, and that the
spiral staircase consequently stood between those two partitions.
    The mode in which the huge chimneys were built, also tended
to ensure the complete safety of that strange hiding-place, and to avert any
suspicion that might for a moment be entertained of the existence of such a
retreat in that old house.
    Even in case the secret of the moveable grate should be
discovered, the eye of the most acute-thief- taker would scarcely detect the
trap-door at the bottom of the recess, so admirably was it made to correspond
with the brick-work that formed its frame.
    The vault with which the spiral staircase corresponded, was
about fourteen feet long by two-and a-half wide. An iron grating of eight
inches square, overlooking the Fleet Ditch, was all the means provided to
supply that living tomb with fresh - we cannot say pure - air. If the
atmosphere of the hiding- place were thus neither wholesome nor pleasant, it
did not at least menace existence; and a residence in that vault for even weeks
and weeks together was deemed preferable to the less "cribbed, cabined,
and confined" sojourn of Newgate.
    But connected with the security of this vault was one
fearful condition. The individual who sought its dark solitude, could not
emancipate himself at will. He was entirely at the mercy of those confederates
who were entrusted with his secret. Should anything happen to these men, -
should they be suddenly overtaken by the hand of death, then starvation must be
the portion of the inmate of that horrible vault: and should they fall into the
hands of justice, then the only service they could render their companion in
the living tomb, would be to reveal the secret of his hiding-place.
    Up to the time of which we are writing, since the formation
of that strange lurking-hole in the days of the famous Jonathan Wild, three or
four persons had alone availed themselves of the vault as a means of personal
concealment. In the first place, the secret existed but with a very few; and
secondly, it was only in cases where life and death were concerned that a
refuge was sought in so fearful an abode.
    When the grate was removed and the trap-door was opened, the
entire frame of Bill Bolter became suddenly convulsed with horror. He dreaded
to be left to the mercy of his own reflections!
    "It's infernally damp," said Bill, his teeth
chattering as much with fear as with the cold.
    Fearful, however, of exciting the disgust and contempt of
his companions at what might be termed his pusillanimous conduct, he mustered
up all his courage, shook hands with the Cracksman and Flairer, and then
insinuated his person through the aperture.
    "You may as well take the pipes and baccy along with
you, old feller," returned Dick.
    "And heres a thimble-full of brandy left in the flask,"
added the Cracksman.
    "This evenin' I'll bring you a jolly week of the
bingo," said Flairer.
    Provided with the little comforts just specified, the
murderer descended the spiral staircase into the vault.
    The trap-door closed above his head; and the grate was
replaced with more than usual care and caution.
    The Cracksman and Dick Flairer then took their departure
from the old house, in the foundation of which a fellow creature was thus
strangely entombed alive!