Chapter XVIII.
The Night of Terror.
As the dreaded Day approached, the public Panic increased to that Degree, that even the Sceptics with a Scoff on their Lips thought it would be as well to "keep out of Harm's Way," and "Follow the Fashion." Not that they intended Penitence and Self-recollection, no, no; but since London was to be swallowed up, they would take Lodgings, that Night, in the Country.
In Consequence of this, every one that had a Room or Bed to let, in Chelsea, Hammersmith, Kensington, Kew, Richmond, or anywhere within a moderate Distance of the Metropolis, raised their Prices to an immoderate Height; and in every little Shop or Parlour Window a Card or Paper, ill writ and ill spelt, might be seen pasted or wafered, notifying that "Hear might be had a Bedd or Bedds on the ensewing Nite of the Erthquak." Nay, Women whose Fortunes or Occupations did not admit of their leaving their City Homes, quilted themselves warm "Earthquake Bedgowns," in which to take Flight in the Night, if their Houses should tumble about their Ears.
It might be about a Week before the Event was expected, and while the Churches were daily filled to overflowing, that Gatty came to inquire whether her Lady could have the Sitting-room and Bed-chamber formerly occupied by Mr. Fenwick, for "the Earthquake Night." Though the Apartments were unlet, my Mother did not much relish Lady Betty for her Guest, even for twenty-four Hours, and said she did not know she was minded to let the Rooms at all; she was sure we could not do Things to my Lady's liking. However, Gatty, who was to be Lady Betty's Companion, and had a great Fancy for coming to us on her own Account, said she was instructed to offer us any Price within Reason, and of her own Head offered so handsome a Sum, that my Mother said she should be ashamed of taking it for one Night. There was Nothing in that, Gatty said; Lady Betty never grudged any Money on herself, and could well afford to pay it, and would rather like boasting beforehand and afterwards, how much her Earthquake Lodgings cost her. So, as we well knew all our Neighbours were making the same Market, and we should really be disaccommodated by having her Ladyship and finding a Lodging for Mr. James, we would not be so nice as to hold out, but accepted the Terms in consideration of the Trouble. I should, indeed, have put in a Proviso for Mr. Fenwick, whose Safety was infinitely more important than my Lady's, had I believed there was the least Chance of his consenting to occupy his old Quarters; but I knew already that he would by no Means forsake his poor People in Shoreditch, even on the Supposal of any especial Dangerousness on that Night, which he did not, averring the mysterious Intentions of Providence to be altogether hidden out of Sight, in spite of the Presagings of Impostors and Fanatics.
Gatty joyfully left us therefore, having, she owned, been a little infected by the Fears of those around her, which were especially prevalent in the Servants' Hall, where the poor Maids and Men were to be left in their ordinary Charge; my Lady not entertaining the same Fear of their being swallowed up alive as of herself.
And was it not strange, now, that a Lady who might have commanded the Use of various Country Seats, or have hired an entire House somewhere in the remoter Parts by the Week, for about the same Sum she was to pay for a single Night, should prefer her own selfish Accommodation before that of her whole Household? But, I am sorry to say, hers was not a singular Case.
The Bustle into which we and our Neighbours were put, by the Expectance of our Quality-Lodgers, had Something in it strangely dissonant to the Occasion. Here were Carts arriving at the Door with my Lady's own Feather-Bed and Blankets, my Lady's own Linen and Toilette, my Lady's own Cushions and Foot-stool, even my Lady's own Parrot: and Wine, and Cordials, and Sweetmeats, and Packs of Cards; though the Supper was to be provided by us, "for the good of the House." It seemed that though my Lady intended to be only a Mile or two beyond the Prospect of burying alive, and within Sound and Sight of an engulfed City, she by no Means purposed a reflective Watch and Pause while the Crisis impended, but rather thought to kill Time and drown Fear by Jollity and Entertainment. To this End, she invited certain of her Intimates, including Mr. Paul Caryl, (for she had got tired of keeping the Men at a Distance,) who had likewise secured Lodgings in Chelsea, to spend the Evening with her, and pursue their Diversions far into the Night.
We were not to expect her till the Afternoon previous to the Occasion; but however, shoals of poor, terrified People who had engaged Lodgings in remoter and less expensive Parts, could not be hindered of pouring into the Country for two or three Days beforehand; and as every imaginable Vehicle was pressed into the Service, all the Highroads and leading Thoroughfares of London were absolutely blockaded with Coaches, Chaises, and Chairs, as well as innumerable Foot-Passengers, often inextricably wedged together for ten or fifteen Minutes. One Family, I understood, even took Flight in a Hearse: indeed, Dr. Elwes said it could be likened to Nothing but the consternated Flight that took place at the Beginning of the Great Plague. He added, that the Fields were full of People preparing to Camp out for the Night; just as they were constrained to do after the Fire of London; and finished by observing with an ironical Laugh, "There's a good Time coming for the Doctors; for plenty of Colds will be caught to-night in the wet Fields, to say Nothing of damp Lodgings."
About five o'Clock in the Afternoon, my Lady arrived in her Coach. She was handed out by her Nephew, Mr. Sandys, and her Physician Dr. Plumptree; and Gatty followed with the Lap-Dog. Her Ladyship wore a cherry-colour Sacque and large Straw Hat; but neither the Shadow of the one nor the hue of the other could conceal how her Beauty was ruinated by her sad Complaint. She was no longer even ordinarily comely; all her fine red and white and smooth Skin lost, and her Eyes bleared and spoilt. With much Fuss we got her settled in the upper Parlour; but to say Nothing of her own two Servants, she contrived, the whole of the Time she was under our Roof, to keep Prue and me continually on the Trot. Inquiry soon was made for Mr. Caryl; he had not appeared: my Lady was disappointed; she had expected him to be the Life of the Party. By-and-by, in spite of her Shawls and Cushions, she fancied a Draught from the Window; I was summoned to cure it, and had to cobble an additional Breadth of Dimity to the Curtain as quickly as I could; while my Lady stroked her Lap-Dog at the Fire, and chatted with her two Companions.
"Awfully cold," says the Doctor.
"Screaming cold," says the Nephew. "These inferior Houses always have thin Walls; one might think it was January. To-night, all London's out of Town—Lady Frances Arundel, and Lord and Lady Galway have gone ten Miles into the Country, to play Brag till five in the Morning, and then come back."
"A good many will play Brag," said the Doctor, simpering—"the real Braggarts, I think, are those that stay behind."
"Then you really are afraid, Doctor?" says Lady Betty.
"Well, my Lady, I think it would be a Tempting of Providence to incur any Risk needlessly."
Just then, in came Mr. Caryl. "A thousand Excuses," says he. "I was coming along the Five Fields, when a couple of crazy old Houses tumbled down and blocked up the Way, so I was obliged to come round."
"A lucky Escape for you, Paul," says Mr. Sandys, "it might have been as bad for you as an Earthquake."
"Why, yes," says Mr. Caryl, "though not easily fluttered, it did give me a Qualm, I confess. Besides, it might have been a premonitory Quake that brought the Houses down."
"My Salts, Gatty!" cries Lady Betty.
"Any Casualties?" says the Doctor carelessly.
"To tell you the Truth," says Mr. Caryl, "I was so rejoiced to save my own Bones that I did not stop to inquire whether anyone else had theirs broken." And lightly laughed.
"Feeling!" mutters Mr. Sandys.
"Quack!" responds Mr. Caryl softly.
And then I knew them, that Moment, for the Fox and the Goose!
"Whereabouts in the Five Fields did it happen?" resumes the Doctor.
"Just by that old, empty House, Doctor, wherein two Women were found starved to Death with Cold and Hunger, somewhere about Christmas."
"I'm sure such Things as that ought not to occur," says Lady Betty, dabbing her Forehead with some Essence, "so well as the Poor are provided for."
"Oh yes, especially this Christmas," says Mr. Sandys carelessly—"for, you know, a great many Hogs were seized by the Church-wardens and Overseers of St. George's Parish, that were kept in private Houses and Yards contrary to the Statute made and provided; whereby the Poor, of that Parish at least, if they had not their Christmas Beef, had their Christmas Pork; for it was distributed among them."
"Not gratis, though," said the Doctor.
"No, but very cheap;" said Mr. Sandys. "So I understood."
"I wonder you should understand or hear Anything about it, Harry," says Lady Betty contemptuously.
"Well, Aunt, I happened to hear it named by Mr. Arbuthnot."
"When is Mr. Arbuthnot to marry Lady Grace?" says Mr. Caryl.
"After Lent, I believe," said the Doctor,—"They that marry in Lent will live to repent."
"Why so?" says Lady Betty.
"Nay, Madam, ask your Chaplain. I suppose People should not be feasting when they ought to be fasting."
"Ah, that's it, no Doubt," says Lady Betty—"Let us have Tea now, Gatty; and Plenty of Genoa Macaroons."
The next Time I went up Stairs, which was not till after Dark, they were all playing at Brag.
As I went down, a sudden Blast of Wind from the front Door of the House blew my Candle out, and I groped along into the Shop, muttering, "Who on Earth can be standing in the Draught such a cold Night as this?" At the same Moment I caught a Glimpse of a Couple of dusky Figures standing in the Doorway, and heard, in earnest Under-tones, the Words, "Gatty! is that you?" "Mr. Heavitree! can it be you? What in the World can have brought you here, and at this Time of Night?"—"To be with you, dearest Gatty, in case of your being alarmed, and—and—in case of Anything happening...."
I would not overhear another Word, but went straight into the Parlour and lit my Candle, saying quietly to my Mother, "There's Mr. Heavitree outside, talking to Gatty."
"Have him in!" cries my Father, whose Ears were quicker than I thought, "I want to see what the young Chap is like."—"Hush, Father, he'll overhear you—Maybe he will prefer saying a few Words to Gatty by herself first." "Very likely, very likely," says my Father chuckling—"but I hope he won't go away without coming in, for all that."
I now thought I might go out again with the Candle, and set it in the Shop; but the Current of Air from the Door again nearly blew it out, though I screened it with my Hand. The Stream of Light fell upon Gatty, who turned about and said, "Patty, here's an old Acquaintance,—I'm sure I may ask him in, may not I?" "And welcome," said I. "I am almost too dirty to be seen," says Mr. Heavitree, coming in. "Why, you are all muddy from Head to Foot," cries Gatty, "What can you have been doing?"
Just then, Lady Betty's Bell was pulled pretty sharply, and Gatty was obliged to run off. I could see, by Mr. Heavitree's wincing, that he could not abide the Remembrance of her menial Position, and that it would not be his Fault if she long retained it. I ushered him into the Parlour. My Father, in his easy Chair, stretches out his Hand to him. "Mr. Heavitree," says he heartily, "I'm glad to see you." "You see a very dirty Fellow, Sir," says Mr. Heavitree laughing. "Why, you are dirty, indeed," says my Father, surveying him; "is this the Way you come a-courting? I should say you had been rolling in the Gutter." "Something like it," says Mr. Heavitree; "we Country Folks got feared by this Talk of the Earthquake, so I thought I'd just come up to Town and look after Gatty; but, Sir, what a Place this London is! My Danger along the Road, of being attacked by the Fellow they call the Flying Highwayman, was nothing to what it was when I got into the Streets. I put up my Horse at an Inn, and then set forth, as clean as you'd wish to see me, to Lady Betty's, where I expected to find Gatty; but it was already getting dark, and by Reason of the Panic the Town was almost deserted except by the very worst Sort, who care neither for Heaven nor Earth, and who seemed minded to make the Desertion of Houses an Occasion for pretty general Plunder. Here and there twinkled a miserable little solitary Oil Lamp; here and there a Lantern flitted across, or a Ray of a Tallow Candle streamed from some Window, but with these Exceptions, which only seemed to make Darkness more dismal, there was Nothing to prevent one from breaking one's Shins against Posts and Door-Steps, or walking straight into the Gutters. I was hustled once or twice, and began to think Affairs were not much mended since my Lord Mayor and the Aldermen went up to the King. Suddenly I was pounced on by three disorderly Fellows, who collared me and dragged me into a dark Cellar. One of them held a Lantern to my Face and said, 'Jem, this isn't our Man,' on which I was pushed out pretty near as roughly as I was pulled in. This did not hinder me of taking to my Heels, which occasioned my stumbling into an enormous Heap of wet Mud by the Side of the Foot-Path, with ne'er a Lamp near it, which made me in the Pickle you see. However, I got to Lady Betty's, where I found the Mansion deserted by all save one poor Maid, who sate reading of her Bible by the Light of a Kitchen Candle; all the rest having decamped as soon as my Lady was off, in the Opinion that their Safety was quite as dear to them as hers to her. I asked the poor Creature if she were not afeared to be alone at such a Crisis; but she seemed to be Something of a Predestinarian, and said her Time could come but once, and when the Lord would; she could trust herself in his Hands. I obtained from her that Gatty and my Lady had gone to the Chelsea Bun-House; so then I knew they were with you, Mrs. Patty; and having got a Direction to Chelsea, I soon made out, when I reached it, my Way here. But oh, what a State all the Fields and waste Grounds about you are in! People in Tents, Booths, Carts, Coaches, and Caravans; awaiting the Morning Light. The Field Preachers are busy among them, and are exhorting attentive Multitudes: but will the Impression survive To-morrow?—I think, Sir, my Mud is dry now; and if you will lend me a Clothes-Brush, I'll step out and groom myself a little."
