The Gift of the Sailor: The String of Pearls & Sweeney Todd, the Demon Barber of Fleet Street — page 386: what you’re looking at

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

CHAPTER CXVII. THE ROUTE TO NEWGATE - MRS. LOVETT’S DANGER FROM THE MOB. Mrs. Lovett, upon hearing these words, turned ghastly pale, but she did not speak. The officers looked at each other with something like dismay, and then before either of them could say another word, there arose a wild prolonged shout from without. “Out with her—out with her! Kill her! Tear her to bits and hang her on the lamp-post in the middle of Bell Yard! Out with her! Drag her out! Hang her! hang her!” “The coach, you say, is waiting, Crotchet?” said the officer, who had been intrusted by Sir Richard Blunt with the conduct of the whole business connected with Mrs. Lovett’s capture. “It were,” said Crotchet, “and that coachman ain’t the sort of fellow to move on till I tell him. I knows him.” “Very good, then we must make a dash for it, and get her away by main force. It must be done, let the risk and the consequences be what they may, and the sooner the better, too. Come on, madam.” “Death—death!” said Mrs. Lovett. “Kill me here, some of you, kill me at once; but do not let me be torn to pieces by a savage mob. Oh, God, they yell for my blood! Save me from them, and kill me here. A knife! oh, for a knife!” “And a fork too, mum,” said Crotchet, “in course, if you wants ’em. I tells you what it is, Mr. Green, that there mob is just savage, and we have about as much chance of getting her down to Fleet Street with her head on her shoulders, as all of us have of flying over the blessed house tops.” “We must. It is our duty, and if we fail, they must kill us, which I don’t think they will do. Come on.” “T will go with you,” said the cook, starting up from the chair upon which he had on account of his weakness been compelled to seat himself, “I will go with you, and implore the people to let the law take its course upon this woman.” “In the cupboard, in the parlour,” said Mrs. Lovett, speaking in a strange gasping tone, “there is a letter addressed by me to Sir Richard Blunt. It will be worth your while to save it from the mob. Let me show you where to lay your hands upon it, and if you have any wish to take a greater criminal than I, go to the shop of one Sweeney Todd, a barber, in Fleet Street. His number is sixty nine. Seize him, for he is the head of all the criminality you can possibly impute to me. Seize him, and I shall be content.” “The man you mention,” said Mr Green, “has been in Newgate an hour nearly.” “Newgate?” “Yes. We took him first, and then attended to you.” “Todd—captured—in Newgate—and I in fancied security here remained wasting the previous moments upon which hung my life. Oh, fool—fool—dolt—idiot. A knife! Oh, sirs, I pray you to give me the means of instant death. What can the law do, but take my life? What have you all come here, and plotted and planned for, but to take my life? I will do it. Oh, I pray you to give me the means, and I will satisfy you and justice, and die at once.” Another loud roar from the infuriated people without, drowned whatever the officer might have said in reply to this appeal from Mrs. Lovett, and again arose the wild shouts of — “Out with her!—Out with her!—Hang her!—Hang the murderess!—Hang her in the yard!—Out with her!” “Forward!” cried Mr. Green. “To hesitate is only to make our situation ten times worse. Forward!” “Hold a bit,” cried Crotchet, “let me speak to the people; I knows how to humour ’em. Only you see if I don’t get her along. Come, mum, just step this a-ways if yer pleases. Open the door, Mr. Cook, and let me out first.” The cook opened the door, and before the mob could rush into the place, Crotchet stepped on to the threshold of the shop, and in a tremendous voice that made itself heard above all others, he cried— “Hurrah! Hurrah!” Nothing is easier than to throw a cry into a crowd, and to get it echoed to your heart’s content; and so some couple of hundred voices now immediately cried—“Hurrah!” and when the vast volume of sound had died away, Crotchet in such a voice that it must have been heard in Fleet Street quite plainly, said— “My opinion is, that Mrs. Lovett ought to be hung outright, and at once without any more bother about it.” “Hurrah!—Hang her!—Hang her!” shouted the mob: “And,” added Crotchet, “I propose the lamp-post at the top of Fleet Market as a nice public sort of place to do the job in. She says she won’t walk, but I have a coach in Fleet Street, and we will pop her into that, and so take her along quite snug.” “Yes, yes,” cried the people. “Bring her along, that will do.” “Oh, will it?” muttered Crochet to himself. “What a precious set of ninnies you are. If I get her once in the coach, and she gets out again except to step into the stone jug, may I be hanged myself.” “T think you have managed it, Crotchet,” whispered Mr. Green, “I think that will do.” “To be sure it will, sir. All’s right. Bless your heart, mobs is the stupidest beasts as is. You may do anything you like with them if you will only let them have their own way a little, but if so be as you tries to fight ’em, they is all horns and porkipine’s quills and stone walls and iron rails, they is!” “You are right enough, Crotchet; and now then, let Smith stay here and mind the house, and shut it all up snug till the morning, when it can be thoroughly searched, and you and I and Simmons here will go with Mrs. Lovett.” CORniclooo S CO)