After a considerable time- he could not tell how long- his senses struggled to a half-consciousness, and as he lay with closed eyes vaguely wondering where he was and what had been happening, he noted a murmurous sound, the sullen beating of rain upon the roof. Asnug sense of comfort stole over him, which was rudely broken, the next moment, by a chorus of piping cackles and coarse laughter. It startled him disagreeably, and he unmuffled his head to see whence this interruption proceeded. A grim and unsightly picture met his eye.
A bright fire was burning in the middle of the floor, at the other end of the barn; and around it, and lit weirdly up by the red glare, lolled and sprawled the motliest company of tattered gutter-scum and ruffians, of both sexes, he had ever read or dreamed of. There were huge, stalwart men, brown with exposure, long-haired, and clothed in fantastic rags; there were middle-sized youths, of truculent countenance, and similarly clad; there were blind medicants, with patched or bandaged eyes; crippled ones, with wooden legs and crutches; there was a villain-looking peddler with his pack; a knife-grinder, a tinker, and a barber-surgeon, with the implements of their trades; some of the females were hardly grown girls, some were at prime, some were old and wrinkled hags, and all were loud, brazen, foul-mouthed; and all soiled and slatternly; there were three sore-faced babies; there were a couple of starveling curs, with strings around their necks, whose office was to lead the blind.
The night was come, the gang had just finished feasting, an orgy was beginning, the can of liquor was passing from mouth to mouth. Ageneral cry broke forth:
'A song! a song from the Bat and Dick Dot-and-go-One!'
One of the blind men got up, and made ready by casting aside the patches that sheltered his excellent eyes, and the pathetic placard which recited the cause of his calamity. Dot-and-go-One disencumbered himself of his timber leg and took his place, upon sound and healthy limbs, beside his fellow-rascal; then they roared out a rollicking ditty, and were reinforced by the whole crew, at the end of each stanza, in a rousing chorus. By the time the last stanza was reached, the half-drunken enthusiasm had risen to such a pitch that everybody joined in and sang it clear through from the beginning, producing a volume of villainous sound that made the rafters quake.
These were the inspiring words:
'Bien Darkmans then, Bouse Mort and Ken, The bien Coves bings awast, On Chates to trine by Rome Coves dine For his long lib at last.
Bing'd out bien Morts and toure, and toure, Bing out of the Rome vile bine, And toure the Cove that cloy'd your duds, Upon upon the Chates to trine.'*(15)Conversation followed; not in the thieves' dialect of the song, for that was only used in talk when unfriendly ears might be listening. In the course of it it appeared that 'John Hobbs' was not altogether a new recruit, but had trained in the gang at some former time. His later history was called for, and when he said he had 'accidentally' killed a man, considerable satisfaction was expressed; when he added that the man was a priest, he was roundly applauded, and had to take a drink with everybody. Old acquaintances welcomed him joyously, and new ones were proud to shake him by the hand. He was asked why he had 'tarried away so many months.' He answered:
'London is better than the country, and safer these late years, the laws be so bitter and so diligently enforced. An I had not had that accident, I had stayed there. I had resolved to stay, and nevermore venture countrywards- but the accident had ended that.'
He inquired how many persons the gang numbered now. The 'Ruffler,'
or chief, answered:
'Five and twenty sturdy budges, bulks, files, clapperdogeons and maunders, counting the dells and doxies and other morts.*(16) Most are here, the rest are wandering eastward, along the winter lay. We follow at dawn.'
'I do not see the Wen among the honest folk about me. Where may he be?'
'Poor lad, his diet is brimstone now, and over hot for a delicate taste. He was killed in a brawl, somewhere about midsummer.'
'I sorrow to hear that; the Wen was a capable man, and brave.'
'That was he, truly. Black Bess, his dell, is of us yet, but absent on the eastward tramp; a fine lass, of nice ways and orderly conduct, none ever seeing her drunk above four days in the seven.'
'She was ever strict- I remember it well- a goodly wench and worthy all commendation. Her mother was more free and less particular;a troublesome and ugly-tempered beldame, but furnished with a wit above the common.'
'We lost her through it. Her gift of palmistry and other sorts of fortune-telling begot for her at last a witch's name and fame.
The law roasted her to death at a slow fire. It did touch me to a sort of tenderness to see the gallant way she met her lot- cursing and reviling all the crowd that gaped and gazed around her, whilst the flames licked upward toward her face and catched her thin locks and crackled about her old gray head- cursing them, said I?- cursing them!
why an thou shouldst live a thousand years thou'dst never hear so masterful a cursing. Alack, her art died with her. There be base and weakling imitations left, but no true blasphemy.'
The Ruffler sighed; the listeners sighed in sympathy; a general depression fell upon the company for a moment, for even hardened outcasts like these are not wholly dead to sentiment, but are able to feel a fleeting sense of loss and affliction at wide intervals and under peculiarly favoring circumstances- as in cases like to this, for instance, when genius and culture depart and leave no heir.
However, a deep drink all round soon restored the spirits of the mourners.
'Have any other of our friends fared hardly?' asked Hobbs.