Charles Dickens - Barnaby Rudge — A Tale Of The Riots Of Eighty

Mr Haredale threw himself from his horse, but he had no need to knock at the door, for it was already open, and there stood upon the step a portly old man, with a very red, or rather purple face, who with an anxious expression of countenance, was remonstrating with some unseen personage upstairs, while the porter essayed to close the door by degrees and get rid of him. With the intense impatience and excitement natural to one in his condition, Mr Haredale thrust himself forward and was about to speak, when the fat old gentleman interposed:

“My good sir,” said he, “pray let me get an answer. This is the sixth time I have been here. I was here five times yesterday. My house is threatened with destruction. It is to be burned down tonight, and was to have been last night, but they had other business on their hands. Pray let me get an answer.”

“My good sir,” returned Mr Haredale, shaking his head, “my house is burned to the ground. But heaven forbid that yours should be. Get your answer. Be brief, in mercy to me.”

“Now, you hear this, my lord?'—said the old gentleman, calling up the stairs, to where the skirt of a dressing-gown fluttered on the landing-place. “Here is a gentleman here, whose house was actually burnt down last night.”

“Dear me, dear me,” replied a testy voice, “I am very sorry for it, but what am I to do? I can't build it up again. The chief magistrate of the city can't go and be a rebuilding of people's houses, my good sir. Stuff and nonsense!”

“But the chief magistrate of the city can prevent people's houses from having any need to be rebuilt, if the chief magistrate's a man, and not a dummy—can't he, my lord?” cried the old gentleman in a choleric manner.

“You are disrespectable, sir,” said the Lord Mayor—'leastways, disrespectful I mean.”

“Disrespectful, my lord!” returned the old gentleman. “I was respectful five times yesterday. I can't be respectful for ever. Men can't stand on being respectful when their houses are going to be burnt over their heads, with them in “em. What am I to do, my lord? AM I to have any protection!”

“I told you yesterday, sir,” said the Lord Mayor, “that you might have an alderman in your house, if you could get one to come.”

“What the devil's the good of an alderman?” returned the choleric old gentleman.

“—To awe the crowd, sir,” said the Lord Mayor.

“Oh Lord ha” mercy!” whimpered the old gentleman, as he wiped his forehead in a state of ludicrous distress, “to think of sending an alderman to awe a crowd! Why, my lord, if they were even so many babies, fed on mother's milk, what do you think they'd care for an alderman! Will YOU come?”

“I!” said the Lord Mayor, most emphatically: “Certainly not.”

“Then what,” returned the old gentleman, “what am I to do? Am I a citizen of England? Am I to have the benefit of the laws? Am I to have any return for the King's taxes?”

“I don't know, I am sure,” said the Lord Mayor; “what a pity it is you're a Catholic! Why couldn't you be a Protestant, and then you wouldn't have got yourself into such a mess? I'm sure I don't know what's to be done. —There are great people at the bottom of these riots. —Oh dear me, what a thing it is to be a public character!— You must look in again in the course of the day. —Would a javelinman do?—Or there's Philips the constable,—HE'S disengaged,—he's not very old for a man at his time of life, except in his legs, and if you put him up at a window he'd look quite young by candlelight, and might frighten “em very much. —Oh dear!—well!—we'll see about it.”

“Stop!” cried Mr Haredale, pressing the door open as the porter strove to shut it, and speaking rapidly, “My Lord Mayor, I beg you not to go away. I have a man here, who committed a murder eightand-twenty years ago. Half-a-dozen words from me, on oath, will justify you in committing him to prison for re-examination. I only seek, just now, to have him consigned to a place of safety. The least delay may involve his being rescued by the rioters.”

“Oh dear me!” cried the Lord Mayor. “God bless my soul—and body— oh Lor!—well I!—there are great people at the bottom of these riots, you know. —You really mustn't.”

“My lord,” said Mr Haredale, “the murdered gentleman was my brother; I succeeded to his inheritance; there were not wanting slanderous tongues at that time, to whisper that the guilt of this most foul and cruel deed was mine—mine, who loved him, as he knows, in Heaven, dearly. The time has come, after all these years of gloom and misery, for avenging him, and bringing to light a crime so artful and so devilish that it has no parallel. Every second's delay on your part loosens this man's bloody hands again, and leads to his escape. My lord, I charge you hear me, and despatch this matter on the instant.”

“Oh dear me!” cried the chief magistrate; “these an't business hours, you know—I wonder at you—how ungentlemanly it is of you— you mustn't—you really mustn't. —And I suppose you are a Catholic too?”

“I am,” said Mr Haredale.

“God bless my soul, I believe people turn Catholics a'purpose to vex and worrit me,” cried the Lord Mayor. “I wish you wouldn't come here; they'll be setting the Mansion House afire next, and we shall have you to thank for it. You must lock your prisoner up, sir—give him to a watchman—and—call again at a proper time. Then we'll see about it!”

Before Mr Haredale could answer, the sharp closing of a door and drawing of its bolts, gave notice that the Lord Mayor had retreated to his bedroom, and that further remonstrance would be unavailing. The two clients retreated likewise, and the porter shut them out into the street.

“That's the way he puts me off,” said the old gentleman, “I can get no redress and no help. What are you going to do, sir?”

“To try elsewhere,” answered Mr Haredale, who was by this time on horseback.

“I feel for you, I assure you—and well I may, for we are in a common cause,” said the old gentleman. “I may not have a house to offer you to-night; let me tender it while I can. On second thoughts though,” he added, putting up a pocket-book he had produced while speaking, “I'll not give you a card, for if it was found upon you, it might get you into trouble. Langdale—that's my name—vintner and distiller—Holborn Hill—you're heartily welcome, if you'll come.”

Mr Haredale bowed, and rode off, close beside the chaise as before; determining to repair to the house of Sir John Fielding, who had the reputation of being a bold and active magistrate, and fully resolved, in case the rioters should come upon them, to do execution on the murderer with his own hands, rather than suffer him to be released.

They arrived at the magistrate's dwelling, however, without molestation (for the mob, as we have seen, were then intent on deeper schemes), and knocked at the door. As it had been pretty generally rumoured that Sir John was proscribed by the rioters, a body of thief-takers had been keeping watch in the house all night. To one of them Mr Haredale stated his business, which appearing to the man of sufficient moment to warrant his arousing the justice, procured him an immediate audience.

No time was lost in committing the murderer to Newgate; then a new building, recently completed at a vast expense, and considered to be of enormous strength. The warrant being made out, three of the thief-takers bound him afresh (he had been struggling, it seemed, in the chaise, and had loosened his manacles); gagged him lest they should meet with any of the mob, and he should call to them for help; and seated themselves, along with him, in the carriage. These men being all well armed, made a formidable escort; but they drew up the blinds again, as though the carriage were empty, and directed Mr Haredale to ride forward, that he might not attract attention by seeming to belong to it.