But though the laboratory promptly supplied all the remedies needed in such a case, their application was vain. They gave relief, it is true: but they could not arrest the rapid advances which death was making upon the wretched old man.
“Jacob,” cried the doctor: “Jacob Smith, I say,” he repeated more impatiently, the lad not having heard his first summons; “hand me that bottle, and——”
“Jacob Smith!” cried Old Death, his moanings suddenly ceasing at the mention of that name: “is he here? Then let me tell him——My God! this burning sensation——Jacob—Jacob—my poor boy——Oh! my eyes—my eyes——doctor, do something to my eyes—they are like red hot coals in my head——Jacob—I—I—am your——father!”
“My father!” almost shrieked the lad, in the wildness of his amazement at these tidings: then, falling on his knees by the bed-side, he exclaimed, “Oh! if you are indeed my parent——”
“I am—I am, Jacob,” exclaimed the dying wretch: “but these tortures——why do they tear my flesh with pincers?—why do they put hot skewers into my eyes? Doctor—doctor——take away the red-hot iron——lift me out of the fire——take me away, I say—save me—save me—I am in flames—I am burning——My God! I am burning!”
“Father—father,” cried Jacob, in a tone of agonising appeal; “compose yourself—think of all your sins—repent——”
“Will no one snatch me from the fire?” yelled forth Old Death, writhing and tossing upon the bed in mortal pains: “perdition seize ye, wretches—I am burning—I am in flames—my eyes scorch me—my flesh is all seared over with red-hot irons——Oh! it is hell—it is hell! Yes—I am in hell——My God! this is my punishment! Oh! send me back to the world again—let me retrieve the past—let me live my existence once more—I will be good—I will not sin! No—no—for hell is terribly—terrible—and these fires——Oh! horror—horror—snakes of flame have seized upon me——they are gnawing at my heart—they have thrust their fiery stings into my eyes—they wind themselves round and round me—horror—horror—there—I feel them now—Oh! mercy—mercy——mercy——mer——”
“This is frightful!” whispered Tom Rain to Dr. Lascelles; and all the others present at the dreadful scene; shuddered from head to foot.
Jacob Smith buried his face in his hands and sobbed convulsively.
The dying man still continued to rave, and shriek, and yell for a short time longer: but his powers of articulation rapidly failed—his writhings grew less violent, until they ceased altogether,—and in a few minutes, the dark spirit which had never spared and never pitied human creature, fled for ever!
Three days had elapsed since that eventful evening on which so many exciting incidents occurred; and the scene now changes to the dwelling of Dr. Lascelles in Grafton Street.
It was about four in the afternoon and the physician was seated in his study, Lord Ellingham being his companion at the time.
“At length, my dear doctor,” said the nobleman, “you have found leisure to accord me an hour to give me those explanations which my afflicted brother feels himself incapable to enter into at present. The loss of Tamar, whose funeral is to take place the day after to-morrow, has proved almost a mortal blow to his generous heart: but the kindness of Mr. de Medina and Esther, who insisted upon having him with them at Finchley, must in some degree mitigate his grief. And yet, alas! that bereaved father and mourning sister have themselves such bitter need of solace! Just heaven! it was a frightful catastrophe!”
“And the murderer perished in a frightful manner,” added the physician. “But now that the excitement created by these appalling events, and by all the other circumstances which Old Death’s crime was the means of bringing to light, has somewhat subsided,—not only in respect to the public, but likewise with regard to the minds of those persons privately interested in the whole affair,—we may venture to converse upon the topic in the hope of approaching it with some degree of calmness. In the first place, my dear Arthur, tell me how you fared with the Home Secretary—I mean, give me the details of your visit to that Minister.”
“On my arrival at his official residence,” said the Earl, “on the dreadful night in question, I sent up my card with a message soliciting an immediate and private audience; and the favour was instantaneously granted. In as succinct a manner as possible, I explained to the Minister all that it was necessary to communicate. I told him that Thomas Rainford, who had been doomed to death and publicly executed, had survived the frightful ordeal of the scaffold; but relative to the means or the agents of his resuscitation, I proffered no explanation—and none was demanded of me. The Minister instantly recollected the circumstance of having signed a full and complete pardon on behalf of Rainford, some weeks ago, and at the intercession of the King; and, doubtless knowing well the wayward character of George the Fourth, he perhaps thought that the less he enquired into the business, the better. I then gave him as much information relative to the recent proceedings of Rainford as was known to myself; and when the Minister heard that he was the individual who had played so mysterious a part in the affair of Torrens, his brow lowered. But I immediately showed him the document signed by George the Fourth; and I gave him to understand that Rainford was acquainted with such proofs of the King’s profligacy and unprincipled character, as would positively compromise the safety of the throne if they were published. This species of threat I was compelled to hold out, inasmuch as the Home Secretary seemed inclined to permit matters to take their course without any interference on his part. But, when he heard that the King had given that solemn acknowledgment of obligation in order to hush up some affair of which he was ashamed and likewise seriously alarmed, the Minister intimated his readiness to do any thing I required to avoid a scandal that might compromise his royal master. He nevertheless urged that an immense excitement had already been created in the metropolis, and which would of course spread to the provinces, by that sudden discovery that Thomas Rainford had not only escaped the scaffold, but had actually taken upon himself the functions of a judge in disposing of the murderers of Sir Henry Courtenay, according to his own caprice and will. ‘In fact,’ said the Minister, ‘the public will imagine that Rainford himself was an accomplice in the assassination of the baronet; and every one will ask what has been done with the two men, Splint and Pedler, who have thus been spirited away.’—To this I could only reply that I was well assured of Rainford’s complete innocence in respect to the murder of Sir Henry Courtenay; that he had adopted certain opinions relative to the reformation of criminals, and had chosen to test his system by applying it to those men; that the men were no longer in the country, but whither they had been sent I knew full well Rainford would never divulge to the Government; and that the Minister must decide between two alternatives—namely, whether he would dare public opinion in the case, or whether he would have his royal master seriously compromised. I can assure you, my dear doctor, that it gave me great pain and was most repugnant to my feelings to be compelled to hold out any menace of this kind but could I leave a stone unturned that would serve the interest of my generous half-brother?”
“You already to some extent know the motives which induced Rainford to return to England instead of proceeding to America, and adopt the disguise under the cloak of which he broke up Old Death’s gang?” said the physician, enquiringly.
“I gathered a few rapid and broken details from the Medinas, during the ride from Finchley to Red Lion Street, on that fatal evening when Jacob Smith came to the Manor, where I happened to be at the time, to announce the awful event which had occurred,” replied the Earl. “But you may readily believe that both Mr. de Medina and Esther were too profoundly afflicted to be able to give me any very minute explanations. Moreover, I was myself so terribly excited, and so full of serious apprehensions——”
“I understand—’twas quite natural,” interrupted the doctor. “But pray proceed with your narrative of the interview with the Secretary of State.”
“I have little more to say upon that subject,” observed Lord Ellingham. “The Minister balanced for some minutes between the alternatives which I submitted to him, and it was evident that he felt deeply grieved and chagrined at the consequences of the royal indiscretions,—indiscretions which had led the King to sign two important papers, both seriously affecting the proper and legitimate course of justice. But, in the end, he yielded to the alternative which was favourable to our wishes; and, placing himself at his desk, he wrote the order to set Thomas Rainford free, which I delivered to the Bow Street officers on my return to Red Lion Street shortly after midnight.”
“It is therefore certain that no further apprehensions need be entertained on that head?” enquired the physician.
“None,” answered the Earl of Ellingham. “The Coroner’s Inquest, which sate upon the bodies of Tamar and Benjamin Bones yesterday, elicited, as you are well aware, the fact that the old man had been imprisoned by Rainford, and visited first by Esther, and on the last and fatal occasion by her unfortunate sister, merely with a view to his reformation and redemption from a course of crime——”
“And, therefore,” added the physician, “public opinion is actually in favour of Rainford at this moment. But how happened it that Lady Hatfield was enabled to procure that document which conferred a full pardon upon him?”
“That woman possesses a most generous—a most noble heart!” exclaimed the Earl. “The voluptuous monarch sought to render her the victim of his lust; and it suddenly struck her, when his designs became unmistakeably apparent, that she might avail herself of the circumstance to perform an act calculated to exhibit her sincere friendship for me. She accordingly affected to yield in a certain measure to his disgusting overtures: she overcame the natural scruples of a pure soul, so far as to give vague promises and encourage the King’s passion, in order to obtain from him the document which she required. And she succeeded. But, on the occasion of that interview with the King at which he presented her with the precious paper, she was nearly falling a victim to her generous conduct and to his brutal violence. An extraordinary combination of circumstances, however, had led Rainford into the palace on that very evening; and accident enabled him not only to deliver Georgiana from the power of the King, but likewise to extort from his Majesty that written promise of deep obligation which has proved so vitally important to his interests.”
“The entire affair is truly romantic,” observed the doctor. “And now you wish me to give you in detail an explanation of all Rainford’s late proceedings?”
“I am already acquainted with much concerning them, and conjecture enables me to comprehend more,” resumed the nobleman: “at the same time, I should be pleased to hear a connected account from your lips.”
“It is by no means a disagreeable task for me to narrate incidents which prove the existence of so many generous traits in the heart of that man whom I was the means of restoring to life and to the world,” said Dr. Lascelles; “for since that day on which he opened his eyes in my laboratory, I have regarded him almost in the light of a son. I must begin by informing you that Rainford was deeply touched by a conversation which he had with you, relative to the miseries and crimes of the poor and ignorant classes of society——”
“That conversation took place in the evening following his resuscitation,” observed Arthur,—“the same evening on which I captured Benjamin Bones, as he was ascending from the subterranean.”
“The discourse which yourself and your half-brother had together on that occasion,” resumed the doctor, “induced him to reflect profoundly upon the nature of crime—the circumstances which engender, and afterwards encourage it—and the best modes of producing a reformation. That train of thought led him to ponder upon other matters, essentially regarding yourself. For he saw that Benjamin Bones would prove your most implacable enemy: he knew that old man’s character well—and he felt assured that he would devise and carry into effect some atrocious schemes of vengeance against you. These convictions filled Rainford’s mind with the gloomiest apprehensions, although he contrived to veil them from you. He trembled lest you should fall into the snares which that incarnate fiend—God forgive me for speaking ill of the dead—was certain to spread at your feet; and he resolved to adopt some means to counteract the effects of that man’s malignant spite. In a word, he determined, at any sacrifice, to watch over that brother who had acted so generously and nobly towards him. But not to a soul did he communicate his ideas, until he had safely embarked, with Tamar, Jacob Smith, and Charley Watts, on board the American packet-ship at Havre-de-Grace. Then he revealed his intentions to Tamar; and she immediately fell into his views—for she knew no will save his own. The captain of the ship consented, for a reward, to touch at Guernsey; and there Rainford, his wife, the youth, and the boy, were landed in the middle of the night. The next morning, your half-brother and Cæsar appeared in the disguise of blackamoors; and from Saint Peter’s Port, the capital of the island, they sailed for Weymouth—Tamar with Charley Watts proceeding by way of Southampton. The rendezvous was London; and all Rainford’s plans, so far as he could forecast them, were already arranged. On her arrival in the metropolis, Tamar immediately sent for her father and sister to the inn at which she alighted; and to them she communicated her husband’s design. It was of course necessary to keep the entire scheme concealed from yourself; as it was well known that you would never rest until you had persuaded your brother to quit the country again, were you aware of his return. At that time you were not engaged to Esther; and she had therefore no hesitation in maintaining this much of duplicity towards you. Subsequently—I mean, after your engagement together—she felt herself bound still to guard inviolably a secret that had your welfare as its basis. Well, then, Mr. de Medina and Esther lent themselves to the project—and cheerfully too, because they recognised all the importance of allowing Rainford to adopt the necessary measures to ensure your complete safety. Tamar and Charley Watts accordingly took up their abode at Finchley Manor, the proper precautions being taken to enable them to dwell there in the strictest privacy, and the fidelity of the servants being well assured in respect to their presence at that house. So far all proceeded satisfactorily; and in the meantime Rainford, accompanied by Jacob Smith, whom he named Cæsar, arrived in London. You may conceive my surprise when one evening, having been informed by my servant that an East Indian gentleman was waiting to see me in the drawing-room, I proceeded to that apartment and found myself in the presence of Thomas Rainford! I did not recognize him at once; but he speedily made himself known to me; and, when his plans were developed, I readily agreed to aid him in their accomplishment. As he had expected and indeed calculated, I had full and complete control over the houses in Red Lion and Turnmill Streets; and he felt convinced that you would never think of visiting them. You had purchased them merely to deprive Benjamin Bones of the power of plunging his victims into the subterranean cells; and you allowed me the use of the premises for my laboratory. Under all these circumstances, the house in Red Lion Street was the best suited to Rainford’s designs; and it was speedily furnished in a suitable manner. The neighbours believed that a retired East Indian merchant had taken the place; and therefore no surprise—no excitement was occasioned, when they perceived that the new tenant had his private carriage and numerous dependants. But how did Rainford manage to obtain the assistance of several faithful persons, who were blindly obedient to his will, and to one of whom—named Wilton—he entrusted his entire history? They were all poor and deserving persons whom I knew well—men who had at different times been my patients, and in whom I felt an interest. Thus, in a very few days, the most complete arrangements were effected; and just at the moment when Rainford was prepared to commence operations, and when he had succeeded in tracing the abode of Benjamin Bones, chance threw him in the way of a certain John Jeffreys, whom he resolved to render subservient to his purposes in uprooting the atrocious gang.”
The physician then proceeded to relate the manner in which Rainford had drawn Jeffreys into his service,—the revelations made to him by that individual’s unfolding all the dreadful schemes of vengeance contemplated by Old Death, and directed against the happiness of the Earl himself,—the projected exhumation of the coffin in Saint Luke’s church-yard, and the ferocious idea of blinding Lady Hatfield and Esther de Medina,—the mode in which these diabolical aims were frustrated by the arrest of all the members of Old Death’s gang,—and the faithful conduct of Jeffreys. Dr. Lascelles also narrated the proceedings of Rainford in the difficult affair of Mr. Torrens,—how, disguised as an old man, and admirably sustaining that character, he had entrapped Sir Christopher Blunt to the house in Red Lion Street to preside at the examination of the two prisoners,—and how he (Dr. Lascelles) had become a party to that transaction,—all of which particulars are well known to the reader. Finally, the physician made the Earl acquainted with the nature and the results of the system of reformation applied to all the members of the gang,—how it had succeeded in respect to Tidmarsh, the Bunces, Pedler and Splint,—and how Esther de Medina had deputed her unfortunate sister to visit Benjamin Bones on that fatal evening which was characterised by a savage murder!
There was only one point connected with Rainford’s affairs, on which the Earl and the physician did not touch; and this was the parentage of little Charley Watts. The doctor was unacquainted with the fact that Rainford had some years back forcibly violated the person of Lady Hatfield, and that the issue of this crime was the boy who still bore the name by which we have just called him. The Earl of Ellingham naturally veiled the circumstance even from a friend so intimate and sincere as Lascelles; and though the doctor knew that Lady Hatfield had been a mother, he also kept this knowledge to himself, and was very far from suspecting the true history of Charley Watts. Lascelles, it will be remembered, had made the discovery relative to Georgiana on that occasion when he attended her in her severe illness, and when he gave her a soporific, as recorded in the early part of this work: but he had never mentioned that discovery to a soul;—and the Earl of Ellingham was as far from supposing that Lady Hatfield’s loss of chastity was known to the physician, as the physician was from entertaining even the remotest idea relative to the parentage of the boy.
But Rainford was already aware that this boy was his own son—the issue of the outrage which he had perpetrated upon Lady Hatfield! Yes—on the evening before this interview between the Earl of Ellingham and Dr. Lascelles, the former had so far intruded upon his brother’s profound grief, as to make to him a revelation which a sense of duty forbade him to delay. Rainford also learnt, at the same time, that Georgiana was herself acquainted with the fact of her child being in his care—placed under his protection as it were by the inscrutable decrees of Providence! But for the sake of the honour of Lady Hatfield, and of sparing Rainford from the necessity of giving unpleasant and degrading explanations to his friends, it had been determined between Lord Ellingham and himself that the boy should still continue to bear the name of Watts, and that his real parentage should be unacknowledged—at least for the present.
In order not to dwell with tedious minuteness upon this portion of our narrative, we shall briefly state that the funeral of Tamar took place on the day appointed; and if the tears of heart-felt grief streaming from the eyes of true mourners can avail for the souls of the departed, then the spirit of the murdered Jewess must have received ample solace and full propitiation in those regions to which it had taken wing!
But how deep a gloom had fallen upon the family of Medina;—and how poignant was the anguish which the bereaved father and sister experienced for the departed!
Nor less acute was the sorrow of the husband who survived that fair but prematurely crushed flower of Israel;—for immense was thy love for her, Tom Rain!
Passing through Portugal Street, Lincoln’s Inn Fields, you may perceive a low, dingy-looking building, protected by a row of tall iron railings, and with steps leading to the front entrance. This structure is of so dubious an aspect that it places the stranger in a profound state of uncertainty as to whether it be the lobby of a criminal prison or a Methodist chapel; and the supposed stranger is not a little surprised when he learns, on inquiry, that this architectural mystery is neither more nor less than the Court for the Relief of Insolvent Debtors.
At about nine o’clock in the morning the immediate vicinity of the Court begins to wear a very business-like appearance: that is to say, both sides of the street are thronged with the most curious specimens of human nature which it is possible to encounter outside of Newgate or of the Bench. The wonder is whence such a host of ill-looking fellows can have sprung, or whither they can be going, unless it is to either of the two places just named. Then comes the natural question, “But who are they?” The answer is at hand: some are the turnkeys of the County Prisons and the tipstaves of the Bench, having in their charge prisoners about to be heard at the Court,—others are the usual hangers-on and errand-seekers who are always to be found lurking about such places,—while a third set are the friends or else the opposing creditors of the Insolvents. The public-house opposite the Court, and the one at the side are also filled with persons of those descriptions; and before ten o’clock in the morning many pots of porter are disposed of—many quarterns of gin dispensed in two or three “outs”—and many screws of tobacco puffed off in smoke.
Inside the Court, business commences in somewhat a more serious manner. Four or five barristers take their places in a large box divided into two compartments like pews in a church: a couple of Commissioners seat themselves on a bench made in very humble imitation indeed of those in the Courts at Westminster;—a single reporter lounges into the snug crib so kindly allotted to the representatives of the press;—several attorneys and attorneys’ clerks gather round the table between the counsel’s seats and the bench:—the Insolvents are penned up altogether in a sort of human fold on the right as you go into the tribunal;—and at the back a crowd of unwashed faces rise amphitheatrically in the compartment appropriated to the audience. The Commissioners endeavour to look as much like the Judges of the Land as possible;—the barristers affect all the consequence and airs of Serjeants-at-Law or King’s Counsel;—the Insolvents try to seem as happy as if they had nothing awkward in their schedules to account for;—and the spectators raise heaven and earth to appear respectable: but each and all of these attempts are the most decided failures which it is possible to conceive. A general air of seediness pervades the place: the professional wigs are dirty and out of curl, and the forensic gowns thread-bare;—and the disagreeable impression thus created on the mind of the visitor, is enhanced to no trifling degree by a sickly smell of perspiration combined with the stale odour of tobacco smoke retained in the garments of the audience.
Amongst the Insolvents were two individuals whose appearance formed a most striking contrast. These were Mr. Joshua Sheepshanks and Mr. Frank Curtis.
The former was dressed in deep black, with a white neck-cloth, and black cotton gloves a great deal too large for his hands: he had also put black crape round his hat, in the hope of creating the sympathy of the Commissioners by producing the impression of having sustained some serious and recent family loss. His sallow face was elongated with the awful sanctimoniousness which characterised it: his black hair was combed sleekly down over his forehead;—and he sate bolt upright on the hard bench, every now and then raising his eyes to heaven—or rather to the lanthorn on the roof of the Court—as if in silent prayer.
Mr. Frank Curtis was attired in his habitually flash manner; and as he lolled back in his seat, he now and then bestowed a significant wink upon his attorney at the table, or exchanged a few familiar observations with the tipstaff, whom he had treated to egg-hot at the public-house opposite before they entered the Court.
But where was Captain O’Blunderbuss? Had he deserted his friend on this trying occasion? Gentle reader, do not suppose for an instant that the gallant officer was capable of what he himself would describe to be the “most bastely maneness”—so long as Frank had a shilling left in his pocket, or the ability to raise one! The captain, then, was there—and in the vicinity of Mr. Curtis; for the terrible Irishman had posted himself as near as possible to the box in which the Insolvents stand to be examined—in the first place, that when Frank should mount to that “bad eminence,” he might be close by to encourage him with his looks; and, in the second place, he had taken that particular stand as the one whence he could best dart ferocious glances at the Commissioners, in case these functionaries should take it into their heads to deal harshly with his friend.
And now the business of that day’s proceeding, commenced; and the Clerk of the Court bawled out in a loud tone—“Joshua Sheepshanks!”
“Here, my Christian friend!” groaned the religious gentleman, drawing himself slowly up to his full, thin, lanky height, and beginning to move slowly and solemnly towards the box above-mentioned.
“Now, then—Joshua Sheepshanks!” cried the clerk, in a sharp tone.
“Come—Joshua Sheepshanks—look alive!” grumbled the official who administers the oaths to the Insolvents.
“Cut along, old fellow,” whispered Frank Curtis, giving the sanctimonious dissenter a hearty pinch on the leg as he passed by.
Mr. Sheepshanks uttered a low moan—cast up his eyes towards the lanthorn—muttered something about his having “fallen amongst the ungodly”—and ended by hoisting himself into the box with some degree of alacrity, his slow movements having rendered the Court impatient.
“Does any counsel appear for you, Joshua Sheepshanks?” demanded the clerk.
“None—unless it be the Lord’s will that I should be supported by divine grace,” answered the dissenting minister, in so doleful a tone and with such a solemn shaking of the head that the whole Court was alarmed lest he was about to go off in a fit.
“I appear to oppose on behalf of several creditors,” said Mr. Bulliwell, one of the leading barristers practising in that Court.
“Oh! the persevering bitterness of those rancorous men!” exclaimed Mr. Sheepshanks, clasping his hands together, and turning up the whites of his eyes in an appalling fashion.
“Silence, Insolvent!” cried the clerk, in a sharp tone.
Meantime, the Commissioners had both been taking a long and simultaneous stare at the religious gentleman; and though one was purblind and the other in his dotage, they nevertheless seemed to arrive in the long run at pretty well the same conclusion—which was, that Mr. Sheepshanks was a dreadful humbug. The glances they interchanged through their spectacles expressed to each other this conviction; and the sharper of the two, who rejoiced in the name of Sneesby, forthwith proceeded to examine the schedule.
“I see that you were once a missionary in the South-Sea Islands Bible Circulating Society, Insolvent?” said this learned functionary.
“Under the divine favour, I was such a vessel in the good cause,” answered Mr. Sheepshanks, with the invariable nasal twang of hypocrisy.
“A what?” demanded Mr. Commissioner Sneesby, in an impatient tone.
“He says he was a vessel, sir,” observed Mr. Bulliwell, the barrister. “It is a word much in vogue amongst the religious world.”
“Oh! the Insolvent calls himself a vessel—does he?” exclaimed the Commissioner. “Well—he has come to a pretty anchorage at last.”
“And yet, sir, I can assure you he is no anchorite,” said Mr. Bulliwell.
These were jokes on the part of the Commissioner and the counsel; and therefore the attorneys, the clerks, and the audience tittered, as in duty bound when the wig forgot its wisdom and indulged in wit; and the Insolvents all laughed too—but for another reason. In fact, Mr. Frank Curtis had applied his right hand to his nose, and extended it in a fan-like form—or, in other words, he “took a sight” at the learned Commissioner, and worked an imaginary coffee-mill at the same time with his left hand.
Order being restored, the business proceeded.
“And, having been a missionary, I observe by your schedule, that you turned a Dissenting Minister, Insolvent?” said Mr. Commissioner Sneesby, interrogatively.
“I was a brand snatched from the burning, sir,” replied Mr. Sheepshanks; “and, having sorely wrestled with Satan——”
“Give me a direct answer, man!” cried the Commissioner, sharply. “Did you leave an institution connected with the Established Church and become a dissenter?”
“Heaven so willed it,” responded the sanctimonious insolvent, in a droning voice: “I had a call—and I obeyed it.”
“Who opposes this man?” enquired the Commissioner.
“Jeremiah Chubbley!” vociferated the Clerk of the Court.
“Here!” growled a man dressed as a bricklayer.
“Now, then, Jeremiah Chubbley—stand up in the witness-box,” continued the clerk.
“Come, Mr. Chubbley—make haste,” said Mr. Bulliwell, the barrister, speaking more civilly and using the honorary prefix of Mister, because he had been retained by the individual to whom he applied it.
Mr. Chubbley mounted the witness-box; and while the oath was being administered to him, both the Commissioners inflicted a long stare on his countenance just to satisfy themselves by this physiognomical scrutiny whether he were a trust-worthy person or not;—for Commissioners in the Insolvents’ Court are great physiognomists—very great physiognomists indeed.
“Your name is Jeremiah Chubbley?” said Mr. Bulliwell, rising in a stately manner, and darting a ferocious glance towards Mr. Sheepshanks, as much as to say—“Now, my man, I am going to elicit things against you that will prove you to be the greatest rogue in existence.”
“Yes—my name be Chubbley, sir,” answered the opposing creditor. “But I paid you to tackle that there sneaking-looking chap over there, and not to ke-vestion me.”
“My dear sir,” said Mr. Bulliwell, blandly, “this is the way of conducting an opposition where counsel is employed. Your name is Jeremiah Chubbley; and you are a master-bricklayer, I believe?”
“I told ’ee so a veek ago,” replied the opposing creditor, savagely.
“Yes—yes: but you must tell the learned Commissioners all over again what you told me,” gently remonstrated Mr. Bulliwell. “I believe you are the proprietor of a chapel in the Tottenham Court Road?”
“Yes—I be, sir,” responded Mr. Chubbley. “I built she—and a stronger, better, or more comfortabler place of washup you wouldn’t find in all London—least ways, barrin’ St. Paul’s.”
“Well—and this chapel was to let some three or four months ago, I believe?” continued Mr. Bulliwell.
“Yes—it were, sir: and I had blackguards up at the grocer’s round the corner——”
“Had what, man?” demanded the Commissioners simultaneously, and as it were in the same breath.
“He means that he put placards up at a neighbouring grocer’s, sir,” mildly explained Mr. Bulliwell, then, turning again to the opposing creditor, the learned counsel said, “And I believe that the Insolvent was attracted by the placards, and applied to you in consequence?”
“He come round to my house, sir, jest as me and my missus was a sitting down to dinner,” answered Mr. Chubbley. “It was biled pork and greens we had, I remember; cos says I to my missus, says I——”
“Well—well, Mr. Chubbley,” interrupted the counsel: “we will proceed, if you please. The Insolvent came round to you, and enquired about the chapel that was to let?”
“Yes—he did: and he axed a many ke-vestions about the orgin and the pulpit, and the westry—and so on.”
“And, being satisfied with your replies, he agreed to take the chapel?”
“Yes—and to pay a ke-varter in adwance, which was eleven pound ten,” answered Mr. Chubbley.
“Well—what took place next?” inquired one of the Commissioners, growing impatient, while his brother-judge took a nap.
“Please, my lud, he sits down and pitches into the biled pork and greens,” responded the opposing creditor.
There was a laugh amongst the audience; but as the joke did not arise from either the bench or the bar, the ushers bawled out “Silence!” as loudly as they could.
“The Insolvent, I believe, not only omitted to pay the quarter in advance,” said Mr. Bulliwell, “but succeeded in obtaining from you the loan of forty pounds?”
“In hard cash—and that’s what aggerewates me and my missus so agin him,” replied the opposing creditor.
“But in what manner did he obtain those forty pounds?” asked Mr. Bulliwell. “Tell the learned Commissioners——”
“Vy—one on ’em’s asleep—and so it’s no use a-speaking to he!” exclaimed Mr. Chubbley.
There was another laugh, which the clerks and ushers immediately suppressed; and Captain O’Blunderbuss ran a narrow risk of being ignominiously bundled out of the Court for observing in a tone somewhat above a whisper, “Be Jasus! and that’s as thrue as that every rale Irishman loves potheen!” But the best of the business was that the somnolent Commissioner woke up; and catching the fag end of a laugh accompanied by the loud cries of “Silence!” on the part of the officials of the Court, he immediately fancied that some person had perpetrated a great breach of decorum, and exclaimed in a severe tone, “Whoever is the cause of disturbance must be turned out.” Hereupon there was another laugh; and even Mr. Bulliwell himself was compelled to stoop down and pretend to examine his brief in order to conceal the mobility of his risible muscles.
“Come, come—let the business proceed,” said Commissioner Sneesby, anxious to relieve his brother-functionary from any farther embarrassment; for the latter learned gentleman was quite bewildered by the renewed hilarity which his words had provoked.
“Tell the bench how the Insolvent obtained from you the forty pounds, Mr. Chubbley,” exclaimed Mr. Bulliwell.
“Please, sir—my missus has on’y got von eye——”
“Well—and what has that to do with it?” demanded Mr. Commissioner Sneesby.
“Jest this, my lud—that that ’ere sneaking feller got on the blind side of she, and began a pitching into she all kind of gammon,—calling his-self a chosen wessel, and telling her how she would be sartain sure of going to heaven if we on’y let him have the funds to set up in business as a preacher. He swore that all the airistocracy was a-dying to hear him in the pulpit: and so he persuades my missus to be pew-opener; and he gammons me to call myself a Helder——”
“A what?” exclaimed Commissioner Sneesby.
“An Elder, sir,” observed Mr. Bulliwell: for it is to be remarked that when Judges at Westminster or Commissioners in Portugal Street cannot understand any thing—or affect not to do so—the counsel are always prepared to give them an explanation;—yet when these counsel become Judges or Commissioners in their turn, they grow just as opaque of intellect and as slow of comprehension as those whom they were once accustomed to enlighten.
“Well—go on, man,” said Commissioner Sneesby, addressing himself to the opposing creditor.
“Well, my lud,” proceeded Mr. Chubbley, “that there sniggering feller come over us all in sich a vay vith his blessed insinivations, that we all thought him a perfect saint; and we was glad to vipe off the dust of sich a man’s shoes, as the sayin’ is. So I goes to my friend Cheesewright, the grocer, and I says, says I, ‘Cheesey, my boy, you must be a Helder, too.’ So Cheesewright axes what a Helder is; and when I tells him that it’s to purside over a chapel in which a reglar saint holds forth, and that all Helders is booked for the right place in t’other world, he says, says he, ‘Chubbley, my boy, tip us your fist; and I’m your man for a Helder too.’”
“And now tell the learned Commissioners what this business has to do with your opposition to the Insolvent’s discharge,” said Mr. Bulliwell, seeing that the bench was growing impatient.
“Vy, my luds,” continued Chubbley, scratching his head, “that there insinivating chap gets Cheesey to lend him his acceptance for thirty pounds, and he comes to me and gets me to write my name along the back on it—and so he gets it discounted, and leaves us to pay it.”
Here Mr. Joshua Sheepshanks held up his hands and groaned aloud—as if in horrified dismay at the construction put upon his conduct.
“Silence, Insolvent!” exclaimed the usher, ferociously.
“And now, Mr. Chubbley,” resumed Mr. Bulliwell, “what answer did you obtain from the Insolvent when you stated to him that you had heard certain reports which made you anxious to receive security for the rent of the chapel, the forty pounds, and the amount of the bill for which you were liable?”
“He said as how that the chapel hadn’t succeeded as he thought it would have done—that he’d been disappinted—and that me and Cheesewright must have patience.”
“And when you told him that you and Mr. Cheesewright would not wait any longer—what did he say?”
“He said we was a generation of wipers.”
“And when you put him into prison?”
“He sent for me, and said I mustn’t hope to be paid in this world; but as I’d laid up for myself a treasure in heaven, he expected me to let him out of quod for nothink.”
There was a general titter in which bench and bar joined; and the only demure countenances present were those of the creditor who was done, and Mr. Sheepshanks who had done him. In fact this pious gentleman was so overcome by the unpleasantness of his position, that he compared himself, in the religious anguish of his spirit, to the man who went down to Jericho and fell amongst thieves.
Silence being again restored, two other opposing creditors were examined in their turn; and their evidence went to prove that Mr. Joshua Sheepshanks had obtained from them a quantity of goods under such very questionable pretences, that he might think himself exceedingly fortunate in having been sent to the King’s Bench instead of to Newgate.
The opposition having arrived at this stage, Mr. Bulliwell proceeded to address the Court in a long and furious speech based upon the testimony that had been given against the Insolvent. The agreeable appellations of “sanctimonious hypocrite,” “double-faced ranter,” “unprincipled trader in pious duplicities,” and such like terms, were freely applied to Mr. Joshua Sheepshanks in the course of this oration. The learned gentleman dwelt bitterly—but not one atom more severely than the subject deserved—upon the rascally scoundrelism which is practised by those persons who are denominated “saints;” and he concluded a rather eloquent speech by praying the Court to express its sense of the Insolvent’s criminality by remanding him for as long a period as the Act of Parliament would allow.
When called upon for any thing he might have to say in his defence, Mr. Sheepshanks applied a white handkerchief to his eyes; and, after shaking his head solemnly for several moments, he revealed his lugubrious countenance once more—purposely elongating it until he fancied he had tortured himself into as impressive a pitch of misery as one could wish to behold. He then began a tedious and doleful dissertation upon the “vanity of earthly things”—marvelled that his opposing creditors should “prefer the filthy lucre to the welfare of their immortal souls”—declared that when he first went amongst them he found them “lamentably benighted,” but that he had “at one time brought them to a state of grace”—complained that they had treated him as if he had been “a vessel of wrath,” whereas he flattered himself that he was in “a most savoury state of godliness”—hinted rather significantly that he looked upon his present predicament as a “glorious martyrdom in the good cause”—and wound up with an earnest prayer to the Commissioners that they would not be “moved by the men of Belial against him,” but that even as “heaven tempered the wind to the shorn lamb,” they would modify their judgment according to his lamentable condition.
To this speech, delivered in the most approved nasal twang of the dissenting pulpit, and with many doleful moans and frightful contortions, Commissioner Sneesby listened with exemplary patience: so, indeed, did his learned brother-judge—but in this latter case it was with the eyes shut. The moment, however, the harangue was brought to an end, the eyes alluded to opened slowly and gazed rather vacantly around: but with judicial keenness, they speedily comprehended the exact stage of the proceedings; and the possessor of the sleepy optics forthwith began to consult with his coadjutor in solemn whispers. Their conversation ran somewhat in the ensuing manner:—
“It is getting on for one o’clock, and I begin to feel quite faint,” said the somniferous Commissioner.
“A chop and a glass of sherry will do us each good,” observed Mr. Sneesby.
“Bulliwell does make such long-winded speeches!”
“Well—so he does: but I always pretend to listen to them—and thus he enjoys the reputation of having the ear of the Court.”
“I am going to dine with Serjeant Splutterby this evening—and so I shall leave at about four o’clock.”
“Very well,” said Mr. Commissioner Sneesby. “I shall sit till six. But what are we to do with this canting hypocrite of an Insolvent?”
“Six months, I suppose: he is a dreadful villain.”
“Yes—and while you were asleep he made a frightful long speech——”
“Oh! in that case, then, let us give him a twelvemonth—and then for the chops and the sherry.”
“Good: a twelvemonth—and then the chops and the sherry.”
Mr. Commissioner Sneesby, having thus assented to the suggestions of his sleepy coadjutor, turned in a solemn manner towards Mr. Joshua Sheepshanks and addressed that miserable-looking creature in the following terms:—
“Insolvent, the Court has maturely deliberated upon your case. We have listened with deep attention to the evidence of the opposing creditors and the address of the learned counsel on their behalf. We have likewise followed you with equal care throughout your defence; and we feel ourselves bound to pronounce an adverse judgment. Your conduct has been most reprehensible—aggravated, too, by the fact that your offences have been committed under the cloak of religion. My learned brother agrees with me in the opinion that your proceedings have been most fraudulent. We might even use harsher terms; but we will forbear. The judgment of the Court is that you, Joshua Sheepshanks, be remanded at the suit of your three opposing creditors for the period of twelve calendar months from the date of your vesting order.”
“Stand down, Insolvent!” cried the clerk.
The discomfitted Mr. Sheepshanks raised his eyes and hands upwards, and gave vent to a hollow groan, which made the audience think for a moment that it was a ghost from the tomb who was passing through the Insolvents’ Court.
“Silence, Insolvent!” vociferated an official, making much more noise to enforce his command than the pious gentleman did in provoking the injunction.
“You must swear to your schedule,” said the usher, as Mr. Sheepshanks was descending from the box.
“Damn the schedule!” muttered the reverend Insolvent, in a savage whisper.
“What do you say?” demanded the usher.
“I pray to heaven to have mercy upon my relentless persecutors, even as I forgive them!” answered Mr. Sheepshanks, with a solemn shake of the head.
He then quitted the box, and forthwith accompanied the tipstaff who had charge of him to the public-house opposite, where he drowned his cares in such a quantity of hot brandy-and-water, that the tipstaff aforesaid was compelled to put him into a cab and convey him back to the King’s Bench in a desperate state of intoxication.
In the meantime the two Commissioners retired to partake of their chops and sherry: the learned counsel likewise withdrew to their private room, where they also refreshed themselves;—the attorneys stole away for a quarter of an hour:—and the audience took little portable dinners of saveloys and biscuits from their pocket-handkerchiefs, so that the compartment of the Court allotted to spectators suddenly appeared to have been transformed into a slap-bang shop on an inferior scale.
The fifteen minutes’ grace having expired, Commissioners, counsel, and lawyers returned to their places—the audience wiped their mouths—and the Clerk of the Court called forth the name of “Francis Curtis!”
Captain O’Blunderbuss surveyed his friend with a degree of admiration amounting almost to envy, as the latter leapt nimbly into the box; but when the two Commissioners inflicted upon the Insolvent the simultaneous long stare which seemed to form a portion of the judicial proceedings, the gallant officer fixed upon those learned functionaries a look of the most ferocious menace,—muttering at the same time something about the “punching of heads.” As for Mr. Frank Curtis, he returned the stare of the Commissioners in so deliberately impudent and yet good-humoured a manner that it was quite evident the physiognomical discrimination of the bench was at least for once completely set at naught. In plain terms, the Commissioners did not know what the deuce to make of the young gentleman.
“I appear for the Insolvent, sir,” said one of the learned counsel, Mr. Cadgerbreef by name.
“And I attend for an opposing creditor, sir,” observed Mr. Bulliwell.
The Clerk of the Court handed up the schedule to the Commissioners, who occupied some minutes in looking over it, the document being somewhat a lengthy one.
“I see you have got upwards of a hundred and fifty creditors, Insolvent,” said Mr. Commissioner Sneesby, fixing his eyes severely upon the youthful candidate for the process of white-washing.
“Be Jasus! and my frind’s a jintleman—every inch of him!” cried Captain O’Blunderbuss: “and no jintleman could think of petitioning the Court with less than a hunthred and fifty creditors.”
The whole Court was struck with dismay—the bench being perfectly aghast—at this interruption; while the captain stood as dauntless and menacing as if he seriously contemplated the challenging of Commissioners, learned counsel, lawyers, and all. Even the usher was so astounded by his conduct that he forgot to bawl out his usual noisy cry for silence.
“Who is this person?” enquired Mr. Commissioner Sneesby, turning towards his brother-judge, as if the latter knew any better than himself.
“Person, be Jasus! Don’t call me a person,” vociferated the gallant gentleman, stamping his martial foot heavily upon the floor. “Is it me name ye’d be afther finding out? If so, I’ll hand ye my car-r-d—and you’ll find that I’m Capthain O’Bluntherbuss, of Bluntherbuss Park, Connemar-r-ra, Ir-r-reland!” added the Insolvent’s bosom-friend, rattling the r in such an appalling manner that it seemed as if a waggon laden with iron bars was passing through the Court.
“Turn him out!” exclaimed Mr. Commissioner Sneesby.
“Be Jasus! and it’ll take tin of ye to do that!” ejaculated the captain, taking so firm and dauntless a stand that he appeared literally nailed to the ground. “But we’ll make a compromise, if ye plaze—and that is, I’ll hould my tongue.”