Barnaby Rudge: A Tale of the Riots of 'Eighty

  Chapter 58

  They were not long in reaching the barracks, for the officer whocommanded the party was desirous to avoid rousing the people by thedisplay of military force in the streets, and was humanely anxiousto give as little opportunity as possible for any attempt at rescue;knowing that it must lead to bloodshed and loss of life, and that if thecivil authorities by whom he was accompanied, empowered him to order hismen to fire, many innocent persons would probably fall, whom curiosityor idleness had attracted to the spot. He therefore led the partybriskly on, avoiding with a merciful prudence the more public andcrowded thoroughfares, and pursuing those which he deemed least likelyto be infested by disorderly persons. This wise proceeding not onlyenabled them to gain their quarters without any interruption, butcompletely baffled a body of rioters who had assembled in one of themain streets, through which it was considered certain they would pass,and who remained gathered together for the purpose of releasing theprisoner from their hands, long after they had deposited him in a placeof security, closed the barrack-gates, and set a double guard at everyentrance for its better protection.

  Arrived at this place, poor Barnaby was marched into a stone-flooredroom, where there was a very powerful smell of tobacco, a strongthorough draught of air, and a great wooden bedstead, large enough for ascore of men. Several soldiers in undress were lounging about, or eatingfrom tin cans; military accoutrements dangled on rows of pegs along thewhitewashed wall; and some half-dozen men lay fast asleep upon theirbacks, snoring in concert. After remaining here just long enough tonote these things, he was marched out again, and conveyed across theparade-ground to another portion of the building.

  Perhaps a man never sees so much at a glance as when he is in asituation of extremity. The chances are a hundred to one, that ifBarnaby had lounged in at the gate to look about him, he would havelounged out again with a very imperfect idea of the place, and wouldhave remembered very little about it. But as he was taken handcuffedacross the gravelled area, nothing escaped his notice. The dry, aridlook of the dusty square, and of the bare brick building; the clotheshanging at some of the windows; and the men in their shirt-sleeves andbraces, lolling with half their bodies out of the others; the greensun-blinds at the officers' quarters, and the little scanty trees infront; the drummer-boys practising in a distant courtyard; the men atdrill on the parade; the two soldiers carrying a basket between them,who winked to each other as he went by, and slily pointed to theirthroats; the spruce serjeant who hurried past with a cane in his hand,and under his arm a clasped book with a vellum cover; the fellows in theground-floor rooms, furbishing and brushing up their different articlesof dress, who stopped to look at him, and whose voices as theyspoke together echoed loudly through the empty galleries andpassages;--everything, down to the stand of muskets before theguard-house, and the drum with a pipe-clayed belt attached, in onecorner, impressed itself upon his observation, as though he had noticedthem in the same place a hundred times, or had been a whole day amongthem, in place of one brief hurried minute.

  He was taken into a small paved back yard, and there they opened a greatdoor, plated with iron, and pierced some five feet above the ground witha few holes to let in air and light. Into this dungeon he was walkedstraightway; and having locked him up there, and placed a sentry overhim, they left him to his meditations.

  The cell, or black hole, for it had those words painted on the door, wasvery dark, and having recently accommodated a drunken deserter, by nomeans clean. Barnaby felt his way to some straw at the farther end, andlooking towards the door, tried to accustom himself to the gloom, which,coming from the bright sunshine out of doors, was not an easy task.

  There was a kind of portico or colonnade outside, and this obstructedeven the little light that at the best could have found its way throughthe small apertures in the door. The footsteps of the sentinel echoedmonotonously as he paced its stone pavement to and fro (remindingBarnaby of the watch he had so lately kept himself); and as he passedand repassed the door, he made the cell for an instant so black by theinterposition of his body, that his going away again seemed like theappearance of a new ray of light, and was quite a circumstance to lookfor.

  When the prisoner had sat sometime upon the ground, gazing at thechinks, and listening to the advancing and receding footsteps of hisguard, the man stood still upon his post. Barnaby, quite unable tothink, or to speculate on what would be done with him, had been lulledinto a kind of doze by his regular pace; but his stopping roused him;and then he became aware that two men were in conversation under thecolonnade, and very near the door of his cell.

  How long they had been talking there, he could not tell, for he hadfallen into an unconsciousness of his real position, and when thefootsteps ceased, was answering aloud some question which seemed to havebeen put to him by Hugh in the stable, though of the fancied purport,either of question or reply, notwithstanding that he awoke with thelatter on his lips, he had no recollection whatever. The first wordsthat reached his ears, were these:

  'Why is he brought here then, if he has to be taken away again so soon?'

  'Why where would you have him go! Damme, he's not as safe anywhere asamong the king's troops, is he? What WOULD you do with him? Would youhand him over to a pack of cowardly civilians, that shake in theirshoes till they wear the soles out, with trembling at the threats of theragamuffins he belongs to?'

  'That's true enough.'

  'True enough!--I'll tell you what. I wish, Tom Green, that I was acommissioned instead of a non-commissioned officer, and that I had thecommand of two companies--only two companies--of my own regiment.Call me out to stop these riots--give me the needful authority, andhalf-a-dozen rounds of ball cartridge--'

  'Ay!' said the other voice. 'That's all very well, but they won't givethe needful authority. If the magistrate won't give the word, what's theofficer to do?'

  Not very well knowing, as it seemed, how to overcome this difficulty,the other man contented himself with damning the magistrates.

  'With all my heart,' said his friend.

  'Where's the use of a magistrate?' returned the other voice. 'What'sa magistrate in this case, but an impertinent, unnecessary,unconstitutional sort of interference? Here's a proclamation. Here's aman referred to in that proclamation. Here's proof against him, and awitness on the spot. Damme! Take him out and shoot him, sir. Who wants amagistrate?'

  'When does he go before Sir John Fielding?' asked the man who had spokenfirst.

  'To-night at eight o'clock,' returned the other. 'Mark what follows. Themagistrate commits him to Newgate. Our people take him to Newgate. Therioters pelt our people. Our people retire before the rioters. Stonesare thrown, insults are offered, not a shot's fired. Why? Because of themagistrates. Damn the magistrates!'

  When he had in some degree relieved his mind by cursing the magistratesin various other forms of speech, the man was silent, save for a lowgrowling, still having reference to those authorities, which from timeto time escaped him.

  Barnaby, who had wit enough to know that this conversation concerned,and very nearly concerned, himself, remained perfectly quiet until theyceased to speak, when he groped his way to the door, and peeping throughthe air-holes, tried to make out what kind of men they were, to whom hehad been listening.

  The one who condemned the civil power in such strong terms, was aserjeant--engaged just then, as the streaming ribands in his capannounced, on the recruiting service. He stood leaning sideways againsta pillar nearly opposite the door, and as he growled to himself, drewfigures on the pavement with his cane. The other man had his backtowards the dungeon, and Barnaby could only see his form. To judge fromthat, he was a gallant, manly, handsome fellow, but he had lost his leftarm. It had been taken off between the elbow and the shoulder, and hisempty coat-sleeve hung across his breast.

  It was probably this circumstance which gave him an interest beyond anythat his companion could boast of, and attracted Barnaby's attention.There was something soldierly in his bearing, and he wore a jaun
ty capand jacket. Perhaps he had been in the service at one time or other.If he had, it could not have been very long ago, for he was but a youngfellow now.

  'Well, well,' he said thoughtfully; 'let the fault be where it may, itmakes a man sorrowful to come back to old England, and see her in thiscondition.'

  'I suppose the pigs will join 'em next,' said the serjeant, withan imprecation on the rioters, 'now that the birds have set 'em theexample.'

  'The birds!' repeated Tom Green.

  'Ah--birds,' said the serjeant testily; 'that's English, an't it?'

  'I don't know what you mean.'

  'Go to the guard-house, and see. You'll find a bird there, that's gottheir cry as pat as any of 'em, and bawls "No Popery," like a man--orlike a devil, as he says he is. I shouldn't wonder. The devil's loosein London somewhere. Damme if I wouldn't twist his neck round, on thechance, if I had MY way.'

  The young man had taken two or three steps away, as if to go and seethis creature, when he was arrested by the voice of Barnaby.

  'It's mine,' he called out, half laughing and half weeping--'my pet,my friend Grip. Ha ha ha! Don't hurt him, he has done no harm. I taughthim; it's my fault. Let me have him, if you please. He's the only friendI have left now. He'll not dance, or talk, or whistle for you, Iknow; but he will for me, because he knows me and loves me--though youwouldn't think it--very well. You wouldn't hurt a bird, I'm sure. You'rea brave soldier, sir, and wouldn't harm a woman or a child--no, no, nora poor bird, I'm certain.'

  This latter adjuration was addressed to the serjeant, whom Barnabyjudged from his red coat to be high in office, and able to seal Grip'sdestiny by a word. But that gentleman, in reply, surlily damned him fora thief and rebel as he was, and with many disinterested imprecations onhis own eyes, liver, blood, and body, assured him that if it rested withhim to decide, he would put a final stopper on the bird, and his mastertoo.

  'You talk boldly to a caged man,' said Barnaby, in anger. 'If I was onthe other side of the door and there were none to part us, you'd changeyour note--ay, you may toss your head--you would! Kill the bird--do.Kill anything you can, and so revenge yourself on those who with theirbare hands untied could do as much to you!'

  Having vented his defiance, he flung himself into the furthest cornerof his prison, and muttering, 'Good bye, Grip--good bye, dear old Grip!'shed tears for the first time since he had been taken captive; and hidhis face in the straw.

  He had had some fancy at first, that the one-armed man would help him,or would give him a kind word in answer. He hardly knew why, but hehoped and thought so. The young fellow had stopped when he called out,and checking himself in the very act of turning round, stood listeningto every word he said. Perhaps he built his feeble trust on this;perhaps on his being young, and having a frank and honest manner.However that might be, he built on sand. The other went away directlyhe had finished speaking, and neither answered him, nor returned. Nomatter. They were all against him here: he might have known as much.Good bye, old Grip, good bye!

  After some time, they came and unlocked the door, and called to him tocome out. He rose directly, and complied, for he would not have THEMthink he was subdued or frightened. He walked out like a man, and lookedfrom face to face.

  None of them returned his gaze or seemed to notice it. They marchedhim back to the parade by the way they had brought him, and there theyhalted, among a body of soldiers, at least twice as numerous as thatwhich had taken him prisoner in the afternoon. The officer he had seenbefore, bade him in a few brief words take notice that if he attemptedto escape, no matter how favourable a chance he might suppose he had,certain of the men had orders to fire upon him, that moment. They thenclosed round him as before, and marched him off again.

  In the same unbroken order they arrived at Bow Street, followed andbeset on all sides by a crowd which was continually increasing. Herehe was placed before a blind gentleman, and asked if he wished to sayanything. Not he. What had he got to tell them? After a very littletalking, which he was careless of and quite indifferent to, they toldhim he was to go to Newgate, and took him away.

  He went out into the street, so surrounded and hemmed in on every sideby soldiers, that he could see nothing; but he knew there was a greatcrowd of people, by the murmur; and that they were not friendly to thesoldiers, was soon rendered evident by their yells and hisses. How oftenand how eagerly he listened for the voice of Hugh! There was not a voicehe knew among them all. Was Hugh a prisoner too? Was there no hope!

  As they came nearer and nearer to the prison, the hootings of the peoplegrew more violent; stones were thrown; and every now and then, a rushwas made against the soldiers, which they staggered under. One of them,close before him, smarting under a blow upon the temple, levelled hismusket, but the officer struck it upwards with his sword, and orderedhim on peril of his life to desist. This was the last thing he sawwith any distinctness, for directly afterwards he was tossed about,and beaten to and fro, as though in a tempestuous sea. But go wherehe would, there were the same guards about him. Twice or thrice he wasthrown down, and so were they; but even then, he could not elude theirvigilance for a moment. They were up again, and had closed about him,before he, with his wrists so tightly bound, could scramble to his feet.Fenced in, thus, he felt himself hoisted to the top of a low flight ofsteps, and then for a moment he caught a glimpse of the fighting inthe crowd, and of a few red coats sprinkled together, here and there,struggling to rejoin their fellows. Next moment, everything was dark andgloomy, and he was standing in the prison lobby; the centre of a groupof men.

  A smith was speedily in attendance, who riveted upon him a set of heavyirons. Stumbling on as well as he could, beneath the unusual burden ofthese fetters, he was conducted to a strong stone cell, where, fasteningthe door with locks, and bolts, and chains, they left him, well secured;having first, unseen by him, thrust in Grip, who, with his head droopingand his deep black plumes rough and rumpled, appeared to comprehend andto partake, his master's fallen fortunes.