The mob cheered. It would have been well if this had been all, but no: as soon as ever the old lady told her story that she had been seized for a guy, an effort was immediately made to secure the offenders. The constable, who happened to be present, laid hold of me and cousin Simon; several others were seized by the bystanders; and the whole, with the exception of Quidd, were dragged off to what in the country is called the goose-house—that is, the cage. Quidd, lawyer-like, contrived to get out of the scrape, leaving others in it. So we were all put into the cage, and bolted and barred. It was very dark, and as we were terribly frightened, we all began to howl most hideously.
As to Quidd, he went homewards, as if nothing had happened, and soon made his reappearance, prepared for the usual squibbing and cracking, with his pockets full of squibs and crackers. He was so pleased with the success of the scheme in which he had been so forward an actor that he determined to have more fun before he went to bed; so he looked about, and it was not long before he saw a fit object, as he thought.
At the corner of the street leading to the market-place sat poor old Hannah Grimly, as she was called. She had sold roasted chestnuts on the fifth of November for a score of years, and many a pinch of gunpowder had been put under the lid of the saucepan upon which the chestnuts were laid. Quidd determined to have a good explosion, and took the opportunity, while the chestnuts were being put into his hand, to introduce a packet of gunpowder into the kettle. He thought to run away before it should ignite, but there being a small hole in the paper, the moment it touched the fire the whole went off with a loud explosion. Quidd's hand was shattered to pieces, and he fell stunned with the effects of the powder. He was taken home senseless, and put to bed.
The rest of the conspirators, including myself, were kept in the cage all night in bitter tears. The next morning we were taken before the magistrates. The chairman, who happened to be the very squire who had given us the seven-shilling piece, looked very severely at us, and said:
"This is the most horrible plot I ever heard of—seizing an old woman for a guy! Gentlemen," said he to those around him, "if this be permitted none of us are safe."
Some people used to call the magistrates old women, and so this raised a laugh.
He then called to the clerk to look over the Act of Parliament to see what could be the punishment for such an offence, but found none. Quidd was right—there was no law against seizing an old woman for a guy. The bench were puzzled what to do. At last Quidd's father said we should be indicted for stealing his chair, and be put on our trial for robbery and sacrilege—the first for the abduction of the chair, the second for keeping the old lady from church.
Our fathers and mothers, however, pleaded so eloquently that, after a severe admonition, we got off upon payment of the costs and a handsome compensation to Dame Clackett. When I reached home my father took me into the stable and gave me a sound whipping, and at the conclusion of the flagellation said:
"Now, Peter Parley, I think you will not again seize an old woman for a guy!"