Cruikshank, George, 1792-1878; Illustration of books -- Great Britain -- 19th century; Watercolor painting, British
Of all the terrific yells that ever fell on mortal ears, none could
exceed the cry of the infuriated throng. Some shouted to those who
were nearest to set the house on fire; others roared to the officers
to shoot him dead. Among them all, none showed such fury as the man
on horseback, who, throwing himself out of the saddle, and bursting
through the crowd as if he were parting water, cried, beneath the
window, in a voice that rose above all others, ‘Twenty guineas to
the man who brings a ladder!’
The nearest voices took up the cry, and hundreds echoed it. Some
called for ladders, some for sledge-hammers; some ran with torches
to and fro as if to seek them, and still came back and roared again;
some spent their breath in impotent curses and execrations; some
pressed forward with the ecstasy of madmen, and thus impeded the
progress of those below; some among the boldest attempted to climb
up by the water-spout and crevices in the wall; and all waved to and
fro, in the darkness beneath, like a field of corn moved by an angry
wind: and joined from time to time in one loud furious roar.
‘The tide,’ cried the murderer, as he staggered back into the room,
and shut the faces out, ‘the tide was in as I came up. Give me a
rope, a long rope. They’re all in front. I may drop into the Folly
Ditch, and clear off that way. Give me a rope, or I shall do three
more murders and kill myself.’
The panic-stricken men pointed to where such articles were kept; the
murderer, hastily selecting the longest and strongest cord, hurried
up to the house-top.
All the window in the rear of the house had been long ago bricked
up, except one small trap in the room where the boy was locked, and
that was too small even for the passage of his body. But, from this
aperture, he had never ceased to call on those without, to guard the
back; and thus, when the murderer emerged at last on the house-top
by the door in the roof, a loud shout proclaimed the fact to those
in front, who immediately began to pour round, pressing upon each
other in an unbroken stream.
He planted a board, which he had carried up with him for the
purpose, so firmly against the door that it must be matter of great
difficulty to open it from the inside; and creeping over the tiles,
looked over the low parapet.
The water was out, and the ditch a bed of mud.
The crowd had been hushed during these few moments, watching his
motions and doubtful of his purpose, but the instant they perceived
it and knew it was defeated, they raised a cry of triumphant
execration to which all their previous shouting had been whispers.
Again and again it rose. Those who were at too great a distance to
know its meaning, took up the sound; it echoed and re-echoed; it
seemed as though the whole city had poured its population out to
curse him.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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