“What time did he give better folk for preparing their account?” answered several voices. “Let us mete to him with the same measure he measured to them.”
But the opinion of the spokesman better suited the temper of those he addressed, a temper rather stubborn than impetuous, sedate though ferocious, and desirous of colouring their cruel and revengeful action with a show of justice and moderation.
For an instant this man quitted the prisoner, whom he consigned to a selected guard, with instructions to permit him to give his money and property to whomsoever he pleased. A person confined in the jail for debt received this last deposit from the trembling hand of the victim, who was at the same time permitted to make some other brief arrangements to meet his approaching fate. The felons, and all others who, wished to leave the jail, were now at full liberty to do so; not that their liberation made any part of the settled purpose of the rioters, but it followed as almost a necessary consequence of forcing the jail doors. With wild cries of jubilee they joined the mob, or disappeared among the narrow lanes to seek out the hidden receptacles of vice and infamy, where they were accustomed to lurk and conceal themselves from justice.
Two persons, a man about fifty years old and a girl about eighteen, were all who continued within the fatal walls, excepting two or three debtors, who probably saw no advantage in attempting their escape. The persons we have mentioned remained in the strong room of the prison, now deserted by all others. One of their late companions in misfortune called out to the man to make his escape, in the tone of an acquaintance. “Rin for it, Ratcliffe—the road’s clear.”
“It may be sae, Willie,” answered Ratcliffe, composedly, “but I have taen a fancy to leave aff trade, and set up for an honest man.”
“Stay there, and be hanged, then, for a donnard auld deevil!” said the other, and ran down the prison stair.
The person in female attire whom we have distinguished as one of the most active rioters, was about the same time at the ear of the young woman. “Flee, Effie, flee!” was all he had time to whisper. She turned towards him an eye of mingled fear, affection, and upbraiding, all contending with a sort of stupified surprise. He again repeated, “Flee, Effie, flee! for the sake of all that’s good and dear to you!” Again she gazed on him, but was unable to answer. A loud noise was now heard, and the name of Madge Wildfire was repeatedly called from the bottom of the staircase.
“I am coming,—I am coming,” said the person who answered to that appellative; and then reiterating hastily, “For God’s sake—for your own sake—for my sake, flee, or they’ll take your life!” he left the strong room.
The girl gazed after him for a moment, and then, faintly muttering, “Better tyne life, since tint is gude fame,” she sunk her head upon her hand, and remained, seemingly, unconscious as a statue of the noise and tumult which passed around her.
That tumult was now transferred from the inside to the outside of the Tolbooth. The mob had brought their destined victim forth, and were about to conduct him to the common place of execution, which they had fixed as the scene of his death. The leader, whom they distinguished by the name of Madge Wildfire, had been summoned to assist at the procession by the impatient shouts of his confederates.