The Collected Novels - William Harrison Ainsworth

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had been partially cut through, snapped near the staple. Before any assistance could be rendered by the jailers, who stood astounded, Blueskin had got Wild in his clutches. His strength has been described as prodigious; but now, heightened by his desire for vengeance, it was irresistible. Jonathan, though a very powerful man, was like an infant in his gripe. Catching hold of his chin, he bent back the neck, while with his left hand he pulled out a clasp knife, which he opened with his teeth, and grasping Wild’s head with his arm, notwithstanding his resistance, cut deeply into his throat. The folds of a thick muslin neckcloth in some degree protected him, but the gash was desperate. Blueskin drew the knife across his throat a second time, widening and deepening the wound; and wrenching back the head to get it into a more favourable position, would infallibly have severed it from the trunk, if the officers, who by this time had recovered from their terror, had not thrown themselves upon him, and withheld him.

      “Now’s your time,” cried Blueskin, struggling desperately with his assailants and inflicting severe cuts with his knife. “Fly, Captain — fly!”

      Aroused to a sense of the possibility of escape, Jack, who had viewed the deadly assault with savage satisfaction, burst from his captors and made for the door. Blueskin fought his way towards it, and exerting all his strength, cutting right and left as he proceeded, reached it at the same time. Jack in all probability, would have escaped, if Langley, who was left in the Lodge, had not been alarmed at the noise and rushed thither. Seeing Jack at liberty, he instantly seized him, and a struggle commenced.

      At this moment, Blueskin came up, and kept off the officers with his knife. He used his utmost efforts to liberate Jack from Langley, but closely pressed on all sides, he was not able to render any effectual assistance.

      “Fly!” cried Jack; “escape if you can; don’t mind me.”

      Casting one look of anguish at his leader, Blueskin then darted down the passage.

      The only persons in the Lodge were Mrs. Spurling and Marvel. Hearing the noise of the scuffle, the tapstress, fancying it was Jack making an effort to escape, in spite of the remonstrances of the executioner, threw open the wicket. Blueskin therefore had nothing to stop him. Dashing through the open door, he crossed the Old Bailey, plunged into a narrow court on the opposite side of the way, and was out of sight in a minute, baffling all pursuit.

      On their return, the jailers raised up Jonathan, who was weltering in his blood, and who appeared to be dying. Efforts were made to staunch his wounds and surgical assistance sent for.

      “Has he escaped?” asked the thief-taker, faintly.

      “Blueskin,” said Ireton.

      “No — Sheppard?” rejoined Wild.

      “No, no, Sir,” replied Ireton. “He’s here.”

      “That’s right,” replied Wild, with a ghastly smile. “Remove him to the Middle Stone Hold — watch over him night and day, do you mind?”

      “I do, Sir.”

      “Irons — heavy irons — night and day.”

      “Depend upon it, Sir.”

      “Go with him to Tyburn — never lose sight of him till the noose is tied. Where’s Marvel?”

      “Here, Sir,” replied the executioner.

      “A hundred guineas if you hang Jack Sheppard. I have it about me. Take it, if I die.”

      “Never fear, Sir,” replied Marvel.

      “Oh! that I could live to see it,” gasped Jonathan. And with a hideous expression of pain, he fainted.

      “He’s dead,” exclaimed Austin.

      “I am content,” said Jack. “My mother is avenged. Take me to the Stone Room. Blueskin, you are a true friend.”

      The body of Jonathan was then conveyed to his own habitation, while Jack was taken to the Middle Stone Room, and ironed in the manner Wild had directed.

      CHAPTER 28.

       WHAT HAPPENED AT DOLLIS HILL.

       Table of Contents

      “At length this tragedy is at an end,” said Mr. Wood, as, having seen the earth thrown over the remains of the unfortunate Mrs. Sheppard, he turned to quit the churchyard. “Let us hope that, like her who ‘loved much,’ her sins are forgiven her.”

      Without another word, and accompanied by Thames, he then took his way to Dollis Hill in a state of the deepest depression. Thames did not attempt to offer him any consolation, for he was almost as much dejected. The weather harmonized with their feelings. It rained slightly, and a thick mist gathered in the air, and obscured the beautiful prospect.

      On his arrival at Dollis Hill, Mr. Wood was so much exhausted that he was obliged to retire to his own room, where he continued for some hours overpowered by grief. The two lovers sat together, and their sole discourse turned upon Jack and his ill-fated mother.

      As the night advanced, Mr. Wood again made his appearance in a more composed frame of mind, and, at his daughter’s earnest solicitation, was induced to partake of some refreshment. An hour was then passed in conversation as to the possibility of rendering any assistance to Jack; in deploring his unhappy destiny; and in the consideration of the course to be pursued in reference to Jonathan Wild.

      While they were thus occupied, a maid-servant entered the room, and stated that a person was without who had a packet for Captain Darrell, which must be delivered into his own hands. Notwithstanding the remonstrances of Wood and Winifred, Thames instantly followed the domestic, and found a man, with his face muffled up, at the door, as she had described. Somewhat alarmed at his appearance, Thames laid his hand upon his sword.

      “Fear nothing, Sir,” said the man, in a voice which Thames instantly recognised as that of Blueskin. “I am come to render you a service. There are the packets which my Captain hazarded his life to procure for you, and which he said would establish your right to the estates of the Trenchard family. There are also the letters which were scattered about Wild’s room after the murder of Sir Rowland. And there,” he added, placing in his hands a heavy bag of money, and a pocket-book, “is a sum little short of fifteen thousand pounds.”

      “How have you procured these things?” asked Thames, in the utmost astonishment.

      “I carried them off on the fatal night when we got into Wild’s house, and you were struck down,” replied Blueskin. “They have ever since been deposited in a place of safety. You have nothing more to fear from Wild.”

      “How so?” asked Thames.

      “I have saved the executioner a labour, by cutting his throat,” replied Blueskin. “And, may I be cursed if I ever did anything in my whole life which gave me so much satisfaction.”

      “Almighty God! is this possible?” exclaimed Thames.

      “You will find it true,” replied Blueskin. “All I regret is, that I failed in liberating the Captain. If he had got off, they might have hanged me, and welcome.”

      “What can be done for him?” cried Thames.

      “That’s not an easy question to answer,” rejoined Blueskin. “But I shall watch night and day about Newgate, in the hope of getting him out. He wouldn’t require my aid, but before I stopped Jonathan’s mouth, he had ordered him to be doubly-ironed, and constantly watched. And, though the villain can’t see his orders executed, I’ve no doubt some one else will.”

      “Poor Jack!” exclaimed Thames. “I would sacrifice all my fortune — all my hopes — to liberate him.”

      “If you’re in earnest,” rejoined Blueskin, “give me that bag of gold. It contains a thousand pounds; and, if all other schemes fail, I’ll engage to free him on the way to Tyburn.”

      “May

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