The Chequers.—Britton’s Corner.—An Alarm.—The Mysterious Stranger.—A Quarrel.—A Fight and a Little Anatomy.
While all these important circumstances are taking place, intoxication was doing its fell work upon even the iron frame of Andrew Britton, and each day saw him more coarse, bloated, and wayward in his various fancies. He was but as an infant in the interval between his fits of drunkenness, and it was never until he had taken enough ardent spirits to kill any ordinary person that he felt his energies increase and his blood course through his veins with its accustomed activity. The fearful excitement of drink was deluding him with its present support, at the same time it was sapping the very springs of his life, and weakening the foundations of his strength.
He had already expended a small fortune at the Chequers, and yet his gold, to the surprise of the landlord and the frequenters of the house, appeared to be inexhaustible. Endless were the conjectures of who and what he was; and one person had actually called upon Sir Francis Hartleton to mention his strong suspicions that all was not right as regarded Britton; but we know that the magistrate had ample and judicious reasons for not alarming Learmont by a useless interference with Andrew Britton; and although he received the communication with politeness, he replied that he saw no reason at present to take any steps as regarded the drunken smith, who held his nightly orgies at the Chequers; so that the party left his office rather discouraged than otherwise, and Britton pursued his career unchecked.
On the very night which had witnessed the denunciation of Jacob Gray by Ada at Whitehall, and the various harrowing incidents, directly and, indirectly arising therefrom, Britton had been holding high revel in the parlour of the Chequers.
He had that morning visited Learmont, and was now freely lavishing around him the gold pieces, which appeared to have no limit, but to be produced by him as freely as if he had discovered the much coveted secret of the transmutation of metals.
There was one man who lately Britton had taken much to, and that was on account principally of his wonderful capacity for drink, in which he vied with the smith himself. This man was a butcher, residing in the immediate vicinity, and in every respect he was indeed a fit companion for Britton. Brutal, coarse, strong, and big, he combined in himself all that Britton admired; and as he had no money, and Britton had plenty, which he was, moreover, willing to spend freely, they became quite great cronies and friends.
On this occasion Britton and the butcher, whose name was Bond, occupied two seats near the fire-place, and were indulging in a bowl of hot arrack punch, which steamed before them, and from which they dipped large quantities with pewter measures.
The rest of the room presented its usual mostly appearance. There were persons of all kinds and conditions below, the respectable, and a steam of hot breaths, vapour of mixed liquors, and all sorts of villanous compounds, to which was added copious volumes of tobacco smoke, which ascended to the roof.
All was boisterous, rough mirth and roaring jollity, the only distinguishing feature of which was that Britton took care his voice should be heard above all the surrounding din, and if any one presumed to laugh as loud as he, or raise his voice to as stentorian a pitch, he either commissioned the butcher, or went himself, to nob the said person on the head with the pewter measure. Britton was in one of his treating humours, and he had just ordered jugs of strong ale all round when the landlord came in and said,—
“Gentlemen all, there’s some rare news—most rare news!”