In an incredibly short space of time,--for her anxiety lent wings to her
feet,--Mrs. Sheppard reached the debtor's garrison. From a scout
stationed at the northern entrance, whom she addressed in the jargon of
the place, with which long usage had formerly rendered her familiar, she
ascertained that Blueskin, accompanied by a youth, whom she knew by the
description must be her son, had arrived there about three hours before,
and had proceeded to the Cross Shovels. This was enough for the poor
widow. She felt she was now near her boy, and, nothing doubting her
ability to rescue him from his perilous situation, she breathed a
fervent prayer for his deliverance; and bending her steps towards the
tavern in question, revolved within her mind as she walked along the
best means of accomplishing her purpose. Aware of the cunning and
desperate characters of the persons with whom she would have to
deal,--aware, also, that she was in a quarter where no laws could be
appealed to, nor assistance obtained, she felt the absolute necessity of
caution. Accordingly, when she arrived at the Shovels, with which, as an
old haunt in her bygone days of wretchedness she was well acquainted,
instead of entering the principal apartment, which she saw at a glance
was crowded with company of both sexes, she turned into a small room on
the left of the bar, and, as an excuse for so doing, called for
something to drink. The drawers at the moment were too busy to attend to
her, and she would have seized the opportunity of examining,
unperceived, the assemblage within, through a little curtained window
that overlooked the adjoining chamber, if an impediment had not existed
in the shape of Baptist Kettleby, whose portly person entirely obscured
the view. The Master of the Mint, in the exercise of his two-fold office
of governor and publican, was mounted upon a chair, and holding forth to
his guests in a speech, to which Mrs. Sheppard was unwillingly compelled
to listen.
"Gentlemen of the Mint," said the orator, "when I was first called, some
fifty years ago, to the important office I hold, there existed across
the water three places of refuge for the oppressed and persecuted
debtor."
"We know it," cried several voices.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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