A Tale of the Plague and the Fire, William Harrison Ainsworth [free e books to read online TXT] 📗

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"She was brought to us by two richly-attired lacqueys," replied the man, "in this very litter. They paid us to carry her here without loss of time."

"You have an idea whose servants they were?" pursued Hodges.

"Not the least," replied the fellow; "but I should judge, from the richness of their dress, that they belonged to some nobleman."

"Did they belong to the royal household?" inquired Leonard.

"No, no," rejoined the man. "I am certain as to that."

"The poor girl shall not remain here," observed Hodges, to the apprentice. "You must convey her to my residence in Great Knightrider-street," he added, to the porters.

"We will convey her wherever you please," replied the men, "if we are paid for our trouble."

And they were about to close the curtains, when Nizza, having caught sight of the apprentice, slightly raised herself, and cried, in a voice of the utmost anxiety, "Is that you, Leonard?"

"It is," he replied, approaching her.

"Then I shall die happy, since I have seen you once more," she said. "Oh, do not stay near me. You may catch the infection."

"Nizza," said Leonard, disregarding the caution, and breathing the words in her ear; "allay my fears by a word. You have not fallen a victim to the villain who carried you away?"

"I have not, Leonard," she replied, solemnly, "I resisted his importunities, his threats, his violence, and would have slain myself rather than have yielded to him. The plague, at length, came to my rescue, and I have reason to be grateful to it; for it has not only delivered me from him, but has brought me to you."

"I must now impose silence upon you," interposed Hodges, laying his finger on his lips; "further conversation will be hurtful."

"One question more, and I have done," replied Nizza. "How came Bell with you--and where is my father? Nothing has happened to him?" she continued, observing Leonard's countenance change. "Speak! do not keep me in suspense. Your silence fills me with apprehension. Speak, I implore you. He is dead?"

"No," replied Leonard, "he is not dead--but he is an inmate of this place."

"Ah!" exclaimed Nizza, falling back senseless upon the pillow.

And in this state she was conveyed with the greatest expedition to the doctor's residence.

Leonard only tarried to visit the piper, whom he found slightly delirious, and unable to hold any conversation with him, and promising to return in the evening, he set out after the litter. Nizza was placed in the best apartment of the doctor's house, and attended by an experienced and trustworthy nurse. But Hodges positively refused to let Leonard see her again, affirming that the excitement was too much for her, and might militate against the chance of her recovery.

"I am not without hopes of bringing her through," he said, "and though it will be a severe struggle, yet, as she has youth and a good constitution on her side, I do not despair. If she herself would second me, I should be yet more confident."

"How mean you?" inquired Leonard.

"I think if she thought life worth a struggle--if, in short, she believed you would return her attachment, she would rally," answered Hodges.

"I cannot consent to deceive her thus," rejoined Leonard, sadly. "My heart is fixed elsewhere."

"Your heart is fixed upon one who will soon be in her grave," replied the doctor.

"And with her my affections will be buried," rejoined Leonard, turning away to hide his tears.

So well was the doctor's solicitude rewarded, that three days after Nizza had come under his care, he pronounced her out of danger. But the violence of the attack left her so weak and exhausted, that he still would not allow an interview to take place between her and Leonard. During all this time Bell never left her side, and her presence was an inexpressible comfort to her. The piper, too, was slowly recovering, and Leonard, who daily visited him, was glad to learn from the young chirurgeon that he would be able to leave the pest-house shortly. Having ascertained from Leonard that his daughter was under the care of Doctor Hodges, and likely to do well, the piper begged so earnestly that the packet might not be delivered to her, that, after some consultation with Hodges, Leonard restored it to him. He was delighted to get it back, felt it carefully over to ascertain that the seals were unbroken, and satisfied that all was safe, had it again sewn up in his gown, which he placed under his pillow.

"I would rather disclose the secret to her by word of mouth than in any other way," he said.

Leonard felt doubtful whether the secret would now be disclosed at all, but he made no remark.

Night was drawing on as he quitted the pest-house, and he determined to take this opportunity of visiting the great plague-pit, which lay about a quarter of a mile distant, in a line with the church of All-Hallows-in-the-Wall, and he accordingly proceeded in that direction. The pit which he was about to visit was about forty feet long, twenty wide, and the like number deep. Into this tremendous chasm the dead were promiscuously thrown, without regard to sex or condition, generally stripped of their clothing, and covered with a slight layer of earth and quick lime.

The sun was setting as Leonard walked towards this dismal place, and he thought he had never witnessed so magnificent a sight. Indeed, it was remarked that at this fatal season the sunsets were unusually splendid. The glorious orb sank slowly behind Saint Paul's, which formed a prominent object in the view from the fields, and threw out its central tower, its massive roof, and the two lesser towers flanking the portico, into strong relief. Leonard gazed at the mighty fabric, which seemed dilated to twice its size by this light, and wondered whether it was possible that it could ever be destroyed, as predicted by Solomon Eagle.

Long after the sun had set, the sky was stained with crimson, and the grey walls of the city were tinged with rosy radiance. The heat was intense, and Leonard, to cool himself, sat down in the thick grass--for, though the crops were ready for the scythe, no mowers could be found--and, gazing upwards, strove to mount in spirit from the tainted earth towards heaven. After a while he arose, and proceeded towards the plague-pit. The grass was trampled down near it, and there were marks of frequent cart-wheels upon the sod. Great heaps of soil, thrown out of the excavation, lay on either side. Holding a handkerchief steeped in vinegar to his face, Leonard ventured to the brink of the pit. But even this precaution could not counteract the horrible effluvia arising from it. It was more than half filled with dead bodies; and through the putrid and heaving mass many disjointed limbs and ghastly faces could be discerned, the long hair of women and the tiny arms of children appearing on the surface. It was a horrible sight--so horrible, that it possessed a fascination peculiar to itself, and, in spite of his loathing, Leonard lingered to gaze at it. Strange and fantastic thoughts possessed him. He fancied that the legs and arms moved--that the eyes of some of the corpses opened and glared at him--and that the whole rotting mass was endowed with animation. So appalled was he by this idea that he turned away, and at that moment beheld a vehicle approaching. It was the dead-cart, charged with a heavy load to increase the already redundant heap.

The same inexplicable and irresistible feelings of curiosity that induced Leonard to continue gazing upon the loathly objects in the pit, now prompted him to stay and see what would ensue. Two persons were with the cart, and one of them, to Leonard's infinite surprise and disgust, proved to be Chowles. He had no time, however, for the expression of any sentiment, for the cart halted at a little distance from him, when its conductors, turning it round, backed it towards the edge of the pit. The horse was then taken out, and Chowles calling to Leonard, the latter involuntarily knelt down to guide its descent, while the other assistant, who had proceeded to the further side of the chasm, threw the light of a lantern full upon the grisly load, which was thus shot into the gulf below.

Shovelling a sufficient quantity of earth and lime into the pit to cover the bodies, Chowles and his companion departed, leaving Leonard alone. He continued there a few moments longer, and was about to follow them, when a prolonged and piercing cry smote his ear; and, looking in the direction of the sound, he perceived a figure running with great swiftness towards the pit. As no pursuers appeared, Leonard could scarcely doubt that this was one of the distracted persons he had heard of, who, in the frenzy produced by the intolerable anguish of their sores, would often rush to the plague-pit and bury themselves, and he therefore resolved, if possible, to prevent the fatal attempt. Accordingly, he placed himself in the way of the runner, and endeavoured, with outstretched arms, to stop him. But the latter dashed him aside with great violence, and hurrying to the brink of the pit, uttered a fearful cry, and exclaiming, "She is here! she is here!--I shall find her amongst them!"--flung himself into the abyss.

As soon as he could shake off the horror inspired by this dreadful action, Leonard ran to the pit, and, gazing into it, beheld him by the imperfect light struggling in the horrible mass in which he was partially immersed. The frenzied man had now, however, begun to repent his rashness, and cried out for aid. But this Leonard found it impossible to afford him; and, seeing he must speedily perish if left to himself, he ran after the dead-cart, and overtaking it just as it reached Moor-gate, informed Chowles what had happened, and begged him to return.

"There will be no use in helping him out," rejoined Chowles, in a tone of indifference. "We shall have to take him back in a couple of hours. No, no--let him remain where he is. There is scarcely a night that some crazy being does not destroy himself in the same way. We never concern ourselves about such persons except to strip them of their apparel."

"Unfeeling wretch!" cried Leonard, unable to restrain his indignation. "Give me your fork, and I will pull him out myself."

Instead of surrendering the implement, Chowles flourished it over his head with the intention of striking the apprentice, but the latter nimbly avoided the blow, and snatching it from his grasp, ran back to the plague-pit. He was followed by Chowles and the burier, who threatened him with loud oaths. Regardless of their menaces, Leonard fixed the hook in the dress of the struggling man, and exerting all his strength, drew him out of the abyss. He had just lodged him in safety on the brink when Chowles and his companion came up.

"Keep off!" cried Leonard, brandishing his fork as he spoke; "you shall neither commit robbery nor murder here. If you will assist this unfortunate gentleman, I have no doubt you will be well rewarded. If not, get hence, or advance at your peril."

"Well," returned Chowles, who began to fancy something might be made of the matter, "if you think we should be rewarded, we would convey the gentleman back to his own home provided we can ascertain where it is. But I am afraid he may die on the way."

"In that case you can apply to