The Maypole cronies, little drearning of the change so soon to comeupon their favourite haunt, struck through the Forest path upontheir way to London; and avoiding the main road, which was hot anddusty, kept to the by-paths and the fields. As they drew nearer totheir destination, they began to make inquiries of the people whomthey passed, concerning the riots, and the truth or falsehood ofthe stories they had heard. The answers went far beyond anyintelligence that had spread to quiet Chigwell. One man told themthat that afternoon the Guards, conveying to Newgate some rioterswho had been re-examined, had been set upon by the mob andcompelled to retreat; another, that the houses of two witnessesnear Clare Market were about to be pulled down when he came away;another, that Sir George Saville"s house in Leicester Fields was to be burned that night, and that it would go hard with Sir George ifhe fell into the people"s hands, as it was he who had brought inthe Catholic bill. All accounts agreed that the mob were out, instronger numbers and more numerous parties than had yet appeared;that the streets were unsafe; that no man"s house or life was worthan hour"s purchase; that the public consternation was increasingevery moment; and that many families had already fled the city.
One fellow who wore the popular colour, damned them for not havingcockades in their hats, and bade them set a good watch to-morrownight upon their prison doors, for the locks would have astraining; another asked if they were fire-proof, that theywalked abroad without the distinguishing mark of all good and truemen;--and a third who rode on horseback, and was quite alone,ordered them to throw each man a shilling, in his hat, towards thesupport of the rioters. Although they were afraid to refusecompliance with this demand, and were much alarmed by thesereports, they agreed, having come so far, to go forward, and seethe real state of things with their own eyes. So they pushed onquicker, as men do who are excited by portentous news; andruminating on what they had heard, spoke little to each other.
It was now night, and as they came nearer to the city they haddismal confirmation of this intelligence in three great fires, all close together, which burnt fiercely and were gloomily reflected inthe sky. Arriving in the immediate suburbs, they found that almostevery house had chalked upon its door in large characters "NoPopery," that the shops were shut, and that alarm and anxiety weredepicted in every face they passed.
Noting these things with a degree of apprehension which neither ofthe three cared to impart, in its full extent, to his companions,they came to a turnpike-gate, which was shut. They were passingthrough the turnstile on the path, when a horseman rode up fromLondon at a hard gallop, and called to the toll-keeper in a voiceof great agitation, to open quickly in the name of God.
The adjuration was so earnest and vehement, that the man, with alantern in his hand, came running out--toll-keeper though he was-andwas about to throw the gate open, when happening to look behindhim, he exclaimed, "Good Heaven, what"s that! Another fire!"
At this, the three turned their heads, and saw in the distance-straightin the direction whence they had come--a broad sheet offlame, casting a threatening light upon the clouds, which glimmeredas though the conflagration were behind them, and showed like awrathful sunset.
"My mind misgives me," said the horseman, "or I know from what farbuilding those flames come. Don"t stand aghast, my good fellow.
Open the gate!"
"Sir," cried the man, laying his hand upon his horse"s bridle as helet him through: "I know you now, sir; be advised by me; do not goon. I saw them pass, and know what kind of men they are. You willbe murdered."
"So be it!" said the horseman, looking intently towards the fire,and not at him who spoke.
"But sir--sir," cried the man, grasping at his rein more tightlyyet, "if you do go on, wear the blue riband. Here, sir," he added,taking one from his own hat, "it"s necessity, not choice, thatmakes me wear it; it"s love of life and home, sir. Wear it forthis one night, sir; only for this one night."
"Do!" cried the three friends, pressing round his horse. "MrHaredale--worthy sir--good gentleman--pray be persuaded."
"Who"s that?" cried Mr Haredale, stooping down to look. "Did I hear Daisy"s voice?"
"You did, sir," cried the little man. "Do be persuaded, sir. Thisgentleman says very true. Your life may hang upon it."
"Are you," said Mr Haredale abruptly, "afraid to come with me?"
"I, sir?--N-n-no."
"Put that riband in your hat. If we meet the rioters, swear that Itook you prisoner for wearing it. I will tell them so with my ownlips; for as I hope for mercy when I die, I will take no quarterfrom them, nor shall they have quarter from me, if we come hand tohand to-night. Up here--behind me--quick! Clasp me tight roundthe body, and fear nothing."
In an instant they were riding away, at full gallop, in a densecloud of dust, and speeding on, like hunters in a dream.
It was well the good horse knew the road he traversed, for neveronce--no, never once in all the journey--did Mr Haredale cast hiseyes upon the ground, or turn them, for an instant, from the lighttowards which they sped so madly. Once he said in a low voice, "It is my house," but that was the only time he spoke. When they cameto dark and doubtful places, he never forgot to put his hand uponthe little man to hold him more securely in his seat, but he kepthis head erect and his eyes fixed on the fire, then, and always.
The road was dangerous enough, for they went the nearest way-headlong--far from the highway--by lonely lanes and paths, wherewaggon-wheels had worn deep ruts; where hedge and ditch hemmed inthe narrow strip of ground; and tall trees, arching overhead, madeit profoundly dark. But on, on, on, with neither stop nor stumble,till they reached the Maypole door, and could plainly see that thefire began to fade, as if for want of fuel.
"Down--for one moment--for but one moment," said Mr Haredale,helping Daisy to the ground, and following himself. "Willet-Willet--where are my niece and servants--Willet!"
Crying to him distractedly, he rushed into the bar.--The landlordbound and fastened to his chair; the place dismantled, stripped,and pulled about his ears;--nobody could have taken shelter here.