Crash—smash—crash! Were you ever in a house while the mob outside were breaking the windows? Perhaps not. 'Tis like a field of battle with the rattle of musquetry. At one moment half the windows in the house were broken: at the next moment the other half went: and still crash—crash—the stones flew into the windows tearing out what little glass remained.
Then there was silence again.
'Our time is nearly up,' said Jenny. 'Doll, wake up mother. Tie her hat under her chin, wrap her handkerchief round her neck—so. What will they do next? Jack, are you afraid to reconnoitre? Go up to the first floor, and look out of window.'
I went with him. The stones were still flying thickly through the windows. We made our way along the wall till we came to the window. Then we went on hands and knees and crept to the window. I wrapped one hand in a curtain and held it before my face while I looked out.
They were lighting torches and conferring together. By the torchlight I could make out their faces. They were of the type which I had had a recent opportunity of studying in Newgate: the type which means both the hunter and the hunted. It is a cruel and hard type: a relentless type: the faces all had the same expression—it meant 'Revenge.' 'We have been betrayed,' said the faces, 'by our friends, by the very people we trusted: we will have revenge. As we have sacked the Black Jack, so we will sack the Assembly Rooms. As we would have killed the landlady of the Black Jack: so we will kill her daughter, the Orange Girl, if we find her.' That is what the faces seemed to say.
They were conferring what to do next. One of them I could see, advocated breaking down the iron railings: but they had no instruments: another wanted to use a battering ram against the front door but they had no battering-ram: a third proposed a ladder and entering by the first floor windows. But they had no ladder.
While they were thus debating a man came into the Square who brought a ladder for them. There was no further hesitation. 'Come, Jack,' I said. 'There is no time to be lost: we must get away as quickly as possible.'
'You go on,' said Jack, 'I will follow.'
He waited. The ladder was raised to the window at which he watched. A fellow ran up quickly. Jack sprang to his feet, threw up the sash and hurled him headlong off the ladder. The poor wretch fell on the spikes. He groaned but only once. He was killed. There was silence for a moment. Then there arose a mighty scream—I say it was like the screaming of a woman. The mob had tasted blood. It was their own—but it was blood. They yelled and roared. Some of them ran to hold the ladder while a dozen men ran up. Jack prudently retired, but locked the door behind him.
'I believe I have killed him,' he said quickly. 'The one who ran up the ladder. I think he fell on the spikes.'