Black Bess; or, The Knight of the Road — A Tale of the Good Old Times — page 70: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

door. A chain which was twisted and knotted into many con- volutions puzzled him. At last it gave way. . But before he could introduce the key into the lock and «pen the door, Jonathan was upon him. — Wild held in one hand the hanger which had done him such good service, and in the other he held a pistol. Surrender,” he yelled. ‘‘ Surrender, or I'll shoot you where you stand.” ‘Never,’ said Jack, whirling the heavy wooden bar round his head. ‘ Never, villam. Come on if you are tired of your life.” As he uttered these words Jack dropped the master- key upon the floor, and whispered to Sir Marmaduke— Quick—quick. Open the door. It is only locked now. Quick, I say, and all may yet be well. 1 will keep them at bay for a tew moments.” The baronet stooped and possessed himself of the key. “Drop that,” roared Wild, as he saw the action. “Drop that, Sir Marmaduke, or I fire.” | . But, paying no attention to what he said, Sir Marma- duke Osborn put the key in the lock. Jonathan fired. At the same instant three or four men rushed down the staircase. Wild saw them. “ Birea!”’ he cried. escape. Fire, I say.” But ere the men could obey this order the baronet had unlocked the door and it swung opens “ Death and fury!’ said Jonathan, rushing forward, but Jack met him with the wooden bar which he used in the fashiou of a lance. Ile caught Wild full in the chest, who, uttering a hideous groan, toppled backwards on to the floor. “Ply, Sir Marmaduke,” cried Jack, as he ran to the “ Fly—tly—or we are lost.” The men on the stairs who had hesitated to fire when Wild interposed his body between them and their aim, now discharged their weapons. But they were too late to effectuate anything. In fact, the whole of these occurrences, so startling in their character, had happened so quickly that they hardly knew what they were about. Indeed, although it has taken some time to relate, yet it would be no exaggeration to say that not more than a ininute elapsed from the time Wild uttered the yell on the stairs until Jack and Sir Marmaduke rolled down the steps in front of Wild’s house into Newgate-street. Yes, rolled, for both lost their footing. Jack grasped the baronet by the collar and raised lim to his feet. “ Speak—speak,” he said, hurriedly. ‘ Are you hurt ?” TI fear so.” ** Alas! alas!” ‘Do not think of it. It is nothing.” “Can you bear up against it forarew moments? If you cannot we are lost indeed.” *T will do so.” ‘This way then,” said Jack, and, lending all the assist- ance in his power, he dragged lim round the corner into Newgate Market before Wild’s men reached the door- © Shoot them both. Neither must step. hi that silent hour of the mght the old market was cacies, and he !ed bis companion onwards with the greatest confidence. In a minute or two they emerged into Warwick-lane, then a more disreputable and unsavoury thoroughfare than it is now, and Heaven knows that is needless. Urging the baronet to make his utmost speed, Jack continued down Ave Maria-lane on to Ludgate-hill. In this region all was still. Dim and dark, and casting a huge shadow upon all about its base, was St. Paul’s Cathedral. Jack crossed over to the palings and there stopped. “ We may rest in safety now for a few minutes,” he said. ‘ Weare, I think, out of immediate danger. Where are you wounded, Sir Marmaduke ?”’ The baronet was glad to cling to the irex church paings for support, as he said faintly,— ‘Tt is nothing, absolutely nothing, my friend. I wall yast stay to recover breath, and then we will proceed.” “But,” said Jack, who was far from satisfied with his Wee em a “ee oe ee ee ee wee ae a mie ne FE comrade’s assurance, “tell me where you were hit. Is it bleeding ?” “Only a httle. The bullet {from Wild’s pistol has grazed my ear and cheek.” , “Is that all?” “It is. At first I thought I was seriously hurt, but I am glad to say it is no worse.”’ “Then allis well. It is too dark here for me to see, but there is a lamp at the corner of Paul’s Chain. Cross over and let me look at the wound.” This Sir Marmaduke was nothing loath to do, and, taking hold of Jack’s arm, they immediately proceeded in the direction Jack had indicated. For the benefit of those who may not be conversant with that portion of the metropolis, it will, perhaps, be as well to state that Paul’s Chain is the name of a very narrow turning leading from the south side of St Paul’s Churchyard to the banks of the river Thames at a point about midway between Blackfriars and Southwark Bridges. As Jack had stated, there was at the corner of this street ove of those miserable oil lamps which, by a stretch of imagination, were supposed to illuminate the streets of London. But so far from doiug this they only served, by the per- plexing shadows which they cast, to make the surrounding darlness appear all the more obscure. When, however, Jack stood close under this lamp, there was just light enough for him to see his companion’s face. As Sir Marmaduke had said, the bullet had merely grazed the side of his face. It had cut through the upper portion of his ear and furrowed up the skim along his cheek. “ You are all vight,” said Jack. ‘The blood has con- gealed over it, and it has now ceased to bleed. In fact, it can scarcely have bled at all.” “ T am glad to hear that,” said Sir Marmaduke, “ for I am sure I have no blood to spare.” ‘ No, indeed. In fact, it is a mystery to me how you have contrived to bear up so long as you have.” “ Tt was the will.” “ But you speak but faintly now, sir.” “Dole” You do, indeed.” ; “T caunot wonder at it, for I am almost exhausted. Can you hear nothing of Wild and his myrmidons ? ” Nothing.” sion “Then perhaps there would not be much danger in our resting somewhere, and getting some refreshment.” “Very little. I was about to propose the same thing.” * But it is late. Where shall we find a place open ? ”’ “ Down nearer to the river’s side, doubtless. But Sir Marmaduke, if you will take my advice, you will, with as little delay as possible, make your way homeward.” © That is what I should wish.” * Where is your abode ?” “ At Tilburyness.”’ ‘ “ Tilburyness ? That is on the river bank, surely.” “It is, but it is some thirty miles from here.”’ “Make your way there at once. Jf you will be guided by me you will go by water.” “Why sor” “Chiefly because you are more likely to elude Wild dark and deserted, but Jack was familiar with its intri- | than if you went by road, besides which, in your present | state, travelling by water would be best adapted for you, since it would be the easiest mode of transit.” “ You are right.”’ “You may depend,” said Jack, “that a terrible re- action will take place after this, and it therefore behoves you to be more than usually careful.’ ‘Thanks, my young friend, for your caution! I will remember it.” During this briéf dialogue, the pair had made their way at an easy pace down the street. We shall surely come to a public-house perore long,” said Jack, “‘ where they have not yet retired to rest. We will halt there and take some light refreshment, for it would be most injudicious on your part now to make either a hearty meal, or partake of any strong hquors.” ‘Tam well aware of that. A little bread soaked in wine and water will be, I should think, the best thing I can have.” _“ Undoubtedly.” SOM GOOG <SaGoln