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himself in his phantom…haunted dreams。
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Chapter 8
lear of the locksmith’s house； Sim Tappertit laid aside his
cautious manner； and assuming in its stead that of a
C
ruffling； swaggering； roving blade； who would rather kill a
man than otherwise； and eat him too if needful； made the best of
his way along the darkened streets。
Half pausing for an instant now and then to smite his pocket
and assure himself of the safety of his master key； he hurried on to
Barbican； and turning into one of the narrowest of the narrow
streets which diverged from that centre； slackened his pace and
wiped his heated brow； as if the termination of his walk were near
at hand。
It was not a very choice spot for midnight expeditions； being in
truth one of more than questionable character； and of an
appearance by no means inviting。 From the main street he had
entered； itself little better than an alley； a low…browed doorway led
into a blind court； or yard； profoundly dark； unpaved； and reeking
with stagnant odours。 Into this ill…favoured pit； the locksmith’s
vagrant ’prentice groped his way； and stopping at a house from
whose defaced and rotten front the rude effigy of a bottle swung to
and fro like some gibbeted malefactor； struck thrice upon an iron
grating with his foot。 After listening in vain for some response to
his signal； Mr Tappertit became impatient； and struck the grating
thrice again。
A further delay ensued； but it was not of long duration。 The
ground seemed to open at his feet； and a ragged head appeared。
‘Is that the captain？’ said a voice as ragged as the head。
‘Yes；’ replied Mr Tappertit haughtily； descending as he spoke；
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‘who should it be？’
‘It’s so late； we gave you up；’ returned the voice； as its owner
stopped to shut and fasten the grating。 ‘You’re late； sir。’
‘Lead on；’ said Mr Tappertit； with a gloomy majesty； ‘and make
remarks when I require you。 Forward！’
This latter word of command was perhaps somewhat theatrical
and unnecessary； inasmuch as the descent was by a very narrow；
steep； and slippery flight of steps； and any rashness or departure
from the beaten track must have ended in a yawning water…butt。
But Mr Tappertit being； like some other great commanders；
favourable to strong effects； and personal display； cried ‘Forward！’
again； in the hoarsest voice he could assume； and led the way； with
folded arms and knitted brows； to the cellar down below； where
there was a small copper fixed in one corner； a chair or two； a form
and table； a glimmering fire； and a truckle…bed； covered with a
ragged patchwork rug。
‘Welcome； noble captain！’ cried a lanky figure； rising as from a
nap。
The captain nodded。 Then； throwing off his outer coat； he stood
composed in all his dignity； and eyed his follower over。
‘What news to…night？’ he asked； when he had looked into his
very soul。
‘Nothing particular；’ replied the other； stretching himself—and
he was so long already that it was quite alarming to see him do it—
‘how come you to be so late？’
‘No matter；’ was all the captain deigned to say in answer。 ‘Is the
room prepared？’
‘It is；’ replied the follower。
‘The comrade—is he here？’
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‘Yes。 And a sprinkling of the others—you hear ’em？’
‘Playing skittles！’ said the captain moodily。 ‘Light…hearted
revellers！’
There was no doubt respecting the particular amusement in
which these heedless spirits were indulging； for even in the close
and stifling atmosphere of the vault； the noise sounded like distant
thunder。 It certainly appeared； at first sight； a singular spot to
choose； for that or any other purpose of relaxation； if the other
cellars answered to the one in which this brief colloquy took place；
for the floors were of sodden earth； the walls and roof of damp
bare brick tapestried with the tracks of snails and slugs； the air
was sickening； tainted； and offensive。 It seemed； from one strong
flavour which was uppermost among the various odours of the
place； that it had； at no very distant period； been used as a
storehouse for cheeses； a circumstance which； while it accounted
for the greasy moisture that hung about it； was agreeably
suggestive of rats。 It was naturally damp besides； and little trees of
fungus sprung from every mouldering corner。
The proprietor of this charming retreat； and owner of the
ragged head before mentioned—for he wore an old tie…wig as bare
and frowzy as a stunted hearth…broom—had by this time joined
them； and stood a little apart； rubbing his hands； wagging his
hoary bristled chin； and smiling in silence。 His eyes were closed；
but had they been wide open； it would have been easy to tell； from
the attentive expression of the face he turned towards them—pale
and unwholesome as might be expected in one of his underground
existence—and from a certain anxious raising and quivering of the
lids； that he was blind。
‘Even Stagg hath been asleep；’ said the long comrade； nodding
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towards this person。
‘Sound； captain； sound！’ cried the blind man； ‘what does my
noble captain drink—is it brandy； rum； usquebaugh？ Is it soaked
gunpowder； or blazing oil？ Give it a name； heart of oak； and we’d
get it for you； if it was wine from a bishop’s cellar； or melted gold
from King George’s mint。’
‘See；’ said Mr Tappertit haughtily； ‘that it’s something strong；
and comes quick； and so