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BARNABY RUDGE
MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK
MUGBY JUNCTION
CLBARTYPE EDITION
THE WORKS OF
CHARLES DICKENS
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS
BARNABY RUDGE
MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK
MUGBY JUNCTION
BOOKS, INC.
NEW YORK BOSTON
'Barnaby Rudge was first published as a volume in 1841.^
after having run as a serial in the pages of 'Master
Humphrey's Clock' fro-m February ij^ 1841^
to November ^7, 1841. This Edition
contains all the copyright emen-
dations made in the text as
revised by the Au-
thor in 1 86 J
and 1868.
TYPESET, NICKELTYPED, PRINTED, AND BOL'XD
IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA BY
THE COLONIAL PRESS INC.. CLINTON, MASS.
I
C X T E X T 5
BARVABY RLT)GE 1
MASTER HL'MPHREY'S CLOCK fFoUowing Bamahy
Rudie^ .646
ML'GBY TLXCTION iFoUowing Master Humphreys
Clock) "' ' . 110
I
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Barnaby Rudge
THE ASTONISHED JOHN wiLLET Frontispiece
Facing Page
JOHN WILLET AND HIS GUESTS . 4
GABRIEL KISSES HIS DAUGHTER 38
SIMON TAPPERTIT DANGEROUS 4Q
JOHN LOOKING AT THE PLACE WHERE THE HORSE HAD BEEN 78
EMMA HAREDALE AND DOLLY VARDEN 156
MR. TAPPERTIT DETAINS MIGGS BY THE WRIST .... 174
SIM LOOKS CLOSELY AT HIS LEGS 246
THE BOOT TAVERN 298
"look you HERE, MY LORD. DO YOU KNOW THIS MAN?" . 336
STAGG, THE BLIND MAN, GUARDS THE THRESHOLD . . . 354
GRIP IN THE PROVINCES 364
THE POLE SWEPT THE AIR 384
LIBERTIES ARE TAKEN 420
BARNABY SUMMONED GRIP TO DINNER 440
' CONSTITUTIONAL TRIUMPH 458
MISS HAREDALE AND DOLLY VARDEN PRISONERS . . . 462
BARNABY's COMPANION 484
I. MR. DENNIS ON GUARD 508
DENNIS STOOD BEFORE THEM 540
; WHEN HANGING COMES HOME TO THE HANGMAN . . . 596
THE FOOT OF THE SCAFFOLD 608
vii
PREFACES
PREFACE TO THE THIRD VOLUME OF MASTER
HUMPHREY'S CLOCK ('BARNABY RUDGE')
If the object an author has had, in writing a book, cannot be dis-
covered from its perusal, the probability is that it is either very
deep, or very shallow. Hoping that mine may lie somewhere be-
tween these two extremes, I shall say very little about it, and that,
only in reference to one point.
No account of the Gordon Riots having been to my knowledge
introduced into any Work of Fiction, and the subject presenting
very extraordinary and remarkable features, I was led to project
this tale.
It is unnecessary to say that these shameful tumults, while they
reflected indelible disgrace upon the time in which they occurred,
and all who had act or part in them, teach a good lesson. That what
we falsely call a religious cry, is easily raised by men who have no
religion, and who in their daily practice set at nought the common-
est principles of right and wrong; that it is begotten of intolerance
and persecution; that it is senseless, besotted, inveterate, and un-
merciful; all History teaches us. But perhaps we do not know it in
our hearts too well, to profit by even so humble and familiar an ex-
ample as the 'No Popery' Riots of seventeen hundred and eighty.
However imperfectly these disturbances are set forth in the fol-
lowing pages, they are impartially painted by one who has no sym-
pathies with the Roman Church, although he acknowledges, as
most men do, some esteemed friends among the followers of its
creed.
It may be observed that, in the description of the principal out-
rages, reference has been made to the best authorities of that time,
such as they are ; and that the account given in this tale, of all the
main features of the Riots, is substantially correct.
ix
X BARNABY RUDGE
It may be further remarked, that Mr. Dennis's allusion to the
flourishing condition of his trade in those days, have their founda-
tion in Truth, not in the Author's fancy. Any file of old News-
papers, or odd volume of the Annual Register, will prove this with
terrible ease.
Even the case of Mary Jones, dwelt upon with so much pleasure
by the same character, is no effort of imagination. The facts were
stated exactly as they are stated here, in the House of Commons.
Whether they afforded as much entertainment to the merry gen-
tlemen assembled there, as some other most affecting circumstances
of a similar nature mentioned by Sir Samuel Romilly, is not re-
corded.
It is a great pleasure to me to add in this place ā for which I
have reserved the acknowledgment ā that for a beautiful thought,
in the last chapter but one of The Old Curiosity Shop I am indebt-
ed to Mr. Rogers. It is taken from his charming Tale ^Genevra':
'And long might'st thou have seen
An old man wandering as in quest of something,
Something he could not find ā he knew not what.'
Devonshire Terrace, York Gate,
November, 1841.
PREFACE TO THE FIRST CHEAP EDITION OF
'BARNABY RUDGE'
As it is Mr. Waterton's opinion that ravens are gradually becom-
ing extinct in England, I offer a few words here about mine.
The raven in this story is a compound of two great originals, of
whom I have been, at different times, the proud possessor. The
first was in the bloom of his youth, when he was discovered in a
modest retirement in London, by a friend of mJne, and given to me.
He had from the first, as Sir Hugh Evans says of Anne Page, 'good
gifts,' which he improved by study and attention in a most exem-
plary manner. He slept in a stable ā generally on horseback ā and
so terrified a Newfoundland dog by his preternatural sagacity, that
he has been known, by the mere superiorit}^ of his genius, to walk
off unmolested with the dog's dinner, from before his face. He was
PREFACES xl
rapidly rising in acquirements and virtues when, in an evil hour,
his stable was newly painted. He observed the workmen closely,
saw that they were careful of the paint, and immediately burned to
possess it. On their going to dinner, he ate up all they had left be-
hind, consisting of a pound or two of white lead; and this youthful
indiscretion terminated in death.
While I was yet inconsolable for his loss, another friend of mine
in Yorkshire discovered an older and more gifted raven at a village
public-house which he prevailed upon the landlord to part with
for a consideration, and sent up to me. The first act of this Sage,
was, to administer to the effects of his predecessor by disinterring
all the cheese and halfpence he had buried in the garden ā a work
of immense labour and research, to which he devoted all the ener-
gies of his mind. When he had achieved this task, he applied him-
self to the acquisition of stable language, in which he soon became
such an adept, that he would perch outside my window and drive
imaginary horses with great skill, all day. Perhaps even I never
saw him at his best, for his former master sent his duty with him,
'and if I wished the bird to come out very strong, would I be so
good as show him a drunken man' ā which I never did, having (un-
fortunately) none but sober people at hand. But I could hardly
have respected him more, whatever the stimulating influences of
this sight might have been. He had not the least respect, I am sorry
to say, for me in return, or for anybody but the cook; to whom he
was attached ā ^but only, I fear, as a policeman might have been.
Once, I met him unexpectedly, about half a mile off, walking down
the middle of the public street, attended by a pretty large crowd,
and spontaneously exhibiting the whole of his accomplishments.
His gravity under those trying circumstances, I never can forget,
nor the extraordinary gallantry with which, refusing to be brought
home, he defended himself behind a pump, until overpowered by
numbers. It may have been that he was too bright a genius to live
long, or it may have been that he took some pernicious substance
into his bill, and thence into his maw ā which is not improbable,
seeing that he new-pointed the greater part of the garden wall by
digging out the mortar, broke countless squares of glass by scrap-
ing away the putty all round the frames, and tore up and swallowed,
in splinters, the greater part of a wooden staircase of six steps and
xii BARNABY RUDGE
a landing ā but after some three years he too was taken ill, and died
before the kitchen fire. He kept his eye to the last upon the meat
as it roasted, and suddenly turned over on his back with a sepul-
chral cry of ^Cuckoo! ' Since then I have been ravenless.
Of the story of Barnaby Rudge itself, I do not think I can say
anything here, more to the purpose than the following passages
from the original Preface.
'No account of the Gordon Riots having been to my knowledge
introduced into any Work of Fiction, and the subject presenting
very extraordinary and remarkable features, I was led to project
this Tale.
'It is unnecessary to say, that those shameful tumults, while they
reflect indelible disgrace upon the time in which they occurred,
and all who had act or part in them, teach a good lesson. That
what we falsely call a religious cry is easily raised by men who have
no religion, and who in their daily practice set at nought the com-
monest principles of right and wrong; that it is begotten of intol-
erance and persecution; that it is senseless, besotted, inveterate,
and unmerciful; all History teaches us. But perhaps we do not
know it in our hearts too well, to profit by even so humble an ex-
ample as the "No Popery" riots of Seventeen Hundred and Eighty.
'However imperfectly those disturbances are set forth in the fol-
lowing pages, they are impartially painted by one who has no sym-
pathy with the Romish Church, although he acknowledges, as most
men do, some esteemed friends among the followers of its creed.
Tt may be observed that, in the description of the principal out-
rages, reference has been had to the best authorities of that time,
such as they are; and that the account given in this Tale, of all the
main features of the Riots, is substantially correct.
'It may be further remarked, that Mr. Dennis's allusions to the
flourishing condition of his trade in those days, have their founda-
tion in Truth, and not in the Author's fancy. Any file of old News-
papers, or odd volume of the Annual Register, will prove this, with
terrible ease.
'Even the case of Mary Jones, dwelt upon with so much plea-
sure by the same character, is no effort of invention. The facts
were stated, exactly as they are stated here, in the House of Com-
mons. Whether they afforded as much entertainment to the merry
I
PREFACES xili
gentlemen assembled there, as some other most affecting circum-
stances of a similar nature mentioned by Sir Samuel Romilly, is
not recorded.'
That the case of Mary Jones may speak the more emphatically
for itself, I now subjoin it, as related by Sir William Meredith in a
speech in Parliament, 'on Frequent Executions,' made in 1777.
'Under this act,' the Shop-lifting Act, 'one Mary Jones was ex-
ecuted, whose case I shall just mention; it was at the time when
press-warrants were issued, on the alarm about Falkland Islands.
The woman's husband was pressed, their goods seized for some
debts of his, and she, with two small children, turned into the
streets a-begging. It is a circumstance not to be forgotten, that she
was very young (under nineteen), and most remarkably handsome.
She went to a linen-draper's shop, took some coarse linen off the
counter, and slipped it under her cloak; the shop-man saw her,
and she laid it down: for this she was hanged. Her defence was (I
have the trial in my pocket), "that she had lived in credit, and
wanted for nothing, till a press-gang came and stole her husband
from her ; but, since then, she had no bed to lie on ; nothing to give
her children to eat ; and they were almost naked ; and perhaps she
might have done something wrong, for she hardly knew what she
did!" The parish officers testified the truth of this story; but it
seems, there had been a good deal of shop-lifting about Ludgate ; an
example was thought necessary ; and this woman was hanged for the
comfort and satisfaction of shopkeepers in Ludgate Street. When
brought to receive sentence, she behaved in such a frantic manner,
as proved her mind to be in a distracted and desponding state ; and
the child was sucking at her breast when she set out for Tyburn.'
London, March, 1849.
BARNABY RUDGE
.DaFnaty JK.TULclge
CHAPTER I
IN the year 1775, there stood upon the borders of Epping Forest,
at a distance of about twelve miles from London ā measuring
from the Standard in Cornhill, or rather from the spot
on or near to which the Standard used to be in days of yore
ā a house of public entertainment called the Maypole; which
fact was demonstrated to all such travellers as could neither
read nor write (and at that time a vast number both of travellerf
and stay-at-homes were in this condition) by the emblem reared on
the roadside over against the house, which, if not of those goodly
proportions that Maypoles were wont to present in olden times, was
a fair young ash, thirty feet in height, and straight as any arrow
that ever English yeoman drew.
The Ma3^ole ā by which term from henceforth is meant the
house, and not its sign ā the Maypole was an old building, with
more gable ends than a lazy man would care to count on a sunny
day; huge zig-zag chimneys, out of which it seemed as though even
smoke could not choose but come in more than naturally fantastic
shapes, imparted to it in its tortuous progress; and vast stables,
gloomy, ruinous, and empty. The place was said to have been built
in the days of King Henry the Eighth ; and there was a legend, not
only that Queen Elizabeth had slept there one night while upon a
hunting excursion, to wit, in a certain oak-panelled room with a
deep bay-window, but that next morning, while standing on a
mounting-block before the door with one foot in the stirrup, the
virgin monarch had then and there boxed and cuffed an unlucky
page for some neglect of duty. The matter-of-fact and doubtful
1
2 BARNABY RUDGE
folks, of whom there were a few among the Maypole customers, as
unluckily there always are in every little community, were inclined
to look upon this tradition as rather apocryphal; but, whenever the
landlord of that ancient hostelry appealed to the mounting-block
itself as evidence, and triumphantly pointed out that there it stood i
in the same place to that very day, the doubters never failed to be
put down by a large majority, and all true believers exulted as in
a victory.
Whether these, and many other stories of the like nature, were
true or untrue, the Maypole was reall)^ an old house, a very old
house, perhaps as old as it claimed to be, and perhaps older, which
will sometimes happen with houses of an uncertain, as with ladies
of a certain age. Its windows were old diamond-pane lattices, its
floors were sunken and uneven, its ceilings blackened by the hand
of time, and heavy with massive beams. Over the doorway was an
ancient porch, quaintly and grotesquely carved; and here on sum-
mer evenings the more favoured customers smoked and drank ā ay,
and sang many a good song too, sometimes ā reposing on two grim-
looking high-backed settles, which, like the twin dragons of some
fairy tale, guarded the entrance to the mansion.
In the chimneys of the disused rooms, swallows had built their
nests for many a long year, and from earliest spring to the latest
autumn whole colonies of sparrows chirped and twittered in the
eaves. There were more pigeons about the dreary stable-yard and
outbuildings than anybody but the landlord could reckon up. The
wheeling and circling flights of runts, fantails, tumblers, and pout-
ers, were perhaps not quite consistent with the grave and sober
character of the building, but the monotonous cooing, which never
ceased to be raised by some among them all day long, suited it ex-
actly, and seemed to lull it to rest. With its overhanging stories,
drowsy little panes of glass, and front bulging out and projecting
over the pathway, the old house looked as if it were nodding in its |
sleep. Indeed, it needed no very great stretch of fancy to detect in
it other resemblances to humanity. The bricks of which it was
built had originally been a deep dark red, but had grown yellow
and discoloured like an old man's skin; the sturdy timbers had de-
cayed like teeth ; and here and there the ivy, like a warm garment
BARNABY RUDGE 3
to comfort it in its age, wrapt its green leaves closely round the
t time-worn walls.
It was a hale and hearty age though, still: and in the summer or
: autumn evenings, when the glow of the setting sun fell upon the
; oak and chestnut trees of the adjacent forest, the old house, partak-
i ing of its lustre, seemed their nt companion, and to have many
. good years of life in him yet.
The evening with w^hich we have to do, was neither a summer nor
an autumn one, but the twilight of a day in March, when the wind
howled dismally among the bare branches of the trees, and rumbl-
ing in the wide chimneys and driving the rain against the win-
dows of the ^Maypole Inn, gave such of its frequenters as chanced
to be there at the moment an undeniable reason for prolonging their
stay, and caused the landlord to phophesy that the night would
certainly clear at eleven o'clock precisely, ā which by a remarkable
coincidence was the hour at which he always closed his house.
The nam^e of him upon whom the spirit of prophecy thus descend-
ed was John Willet, a burly, large-headed man with a fat face,
which betokened profound obstinacy and slowness of apprehension,
combined with a very strong reliance upon his own merits. It was
John Willet's ordinary boast in his more placid moods that if he
were slow he was sure; which assertion could, in one sense at least,
be by UD means gainstaid, seeing that he was in everything unques-
tionably the reverse of fast, and withal one of the most dogged and
positive fellows in existence ā always sure that what he thought or
said or did was right, and holding it as a thing quite settled and or-
dained by the laws of nature and Providence, that anybody who
said or did or thought otherwise must be inevitably and of neces-
sity wrong.
]Mr. Willet walked slowly up to the window, flattened his fat
nose against the cold glass, and shading his eyes that his sight might
not be affected by the ruddy glow of the fire, looked abroad. Then
he walked slowly back to his old seat in the chimney-corner, and
composing himself in it with a slight shiver, such as a man might
give way to and so acquire an additional relish for the warm blaze,
said, looking round upon his guests ā
'It'll clear at eleven o'clock. No sooner and no later. Not before
and not arterwards.'
4 BARNABY BUDGE
'How do you make out that?' said a little man in the opposite
corner. The moon is past the full, and she rises at nine.'
John looked sedately and solemnly at his questioner until he had
brought his mind to bear upon the whole of his observation, and
then made answer, in a tone which seemed to imply that the moon
was peculiarly his business and nobody else's ā
'Never you mind about the moon. Don't you trouble yourself
about her. You let the moon alone, and I'll let you alone.'
'No offence, I hope?' said the little man.
Again John waited leisurelj'' until the observation had thorough-
ly penetrated to his brain, and then replying, 'No offence as yet/
applied a light to his pipe and smoked in placid silence; now and
then casting a sidelong look at a man wrapped in a loose riding-coat
with huge cuffs ornamented with tarnished silver lace and large
metal buttons, who sat apart from the regular frequenters of the
house, and wearing a hat flapped over his face, which was still fur-
ther shaded by the hand on which his forehead rested, looked un-
sociable enough.
There was another guest, who sat, booted and spurred, at some
distance from the fire also, and whose thoughts ā to judge from his
folded arms and knitted brows, and from the untasted liquor be-
fore him ā were occupied with other matters than the topics under
discussion or the persons who discussed them. This was a young
man of about eight-and-twenty, rather above the middle height,
and though of a somewhat slight figure, gracefully and strongly
made. He w^ore his own dark hair, and was accoutred in a riding-
dress, which together with his large boots (resembling in shape and
fashion those worn by our Life Guardsmen at the present day),
showed indisputable traces of the bad condition of the roads. But
travel-stained though he was, he was well and even richly attired,
and without being over-dressed looked a gallant gentleman.
Lying upon the table beside him, as he had carelessly thrown
them do\vn, were a heavy riding-whip and a slouched hat, the lat-
ter worn no doubt as being best suited to the inclemency of the
weather. There, too, were a pair of pistols in a holster-case, and a
short riding-cloak. Little of his face was visible, except the long
dark lashes which concealed his downcast eyes, but an air of care-
BARNABY RUDGE 5
less ease and natural gracefulness of demeanour pervaded the fig-
ure, and seemed to comprehend even those slight accessories, which
were all handsome, and in good keeping.
Towards this young gentleman the eyes of Mr. Willet wandered
but once, and then as if in mute inquiry whether he had observed
his silent neighbour. It was plain that John and the young gentle-
man had often met before. Finding that his look was not returned,
or indeed observed by the person to whom it was addressed, John
gradually concentrated the whole power of his eyes into one focus,
and brought it to bear upon the man in the flapped hat, at whom
he came to stare in course of time with an intensity so remarkable,
that it affected his fireside cronies, who all, as with one accord, took
their pipes from their lips, and stared with open mouths at the
stranger likewise.
The sturdy landlord had a large pair of dull fish-like eyes, and
the little man who had hazarded the remark about the moon (and
who was the parish-clerk and bell-ringer of Chigwell ; a village hard
by) had little round black shiny eyes like beads; moreover this
little man wore at the knees of his rusty black breeches, and on his
rusty black coat, and all down his long flapped waistcoat, little
queer buttons like nothing except his eyes; but so like them, that
as they twinkled and glistened in the light of the fire, which shone
too in his bright shoe-buckles, he seemed all eyes from head to foot,
and to be gazing with every one of them at the unknown custom-
er. Xo w^onder that a man should grow restless under such an in-
spection as this, to say nothing of the eyes belonging to short Tom
Cobb the general chandler and post-office keeper, and long Phil
Parkes the ranger, both of whom, infected by the example of their
companions, regarded him of the flapped hat no less attentively.
The stranger became restless; perhaps from being exposed to
this raking fire of eyes, perhaps from the nature of his previous
meditations ā most probably from the latter cause, for as he
changed his position and looked hastily round, he started to find
himself the object of such keen regard, and darted an angry and
suspicious glance at the fireside group. It had the effect of imme-
diately diverting all eyes to the chimney, except those of John Wil-
let, who finding himself, as it were, caught in the fact, and not be-
6 BARXABY RUDGE
ing (as has been already observed) of a very ready nature, re-
mained staring at his guest in a particularly awkward and discon-
certed manner.
'Well?' said the stranger.
' Well. There was not much in well. It was not a long speech. 'I
thought you gave an order,' said the landlord, after a pause of two
or three minutes for consideration.
The stranger took off his hat, and disclosed the hard features of
a man of sixty or thereabouts, much vĀ»^eather-beaten and worn by
time, and the naturally harsh expression of which was not improved
by a dark handkerchief which was bound tightly round his head,
and, while it served the purpose of a wig shaded his forehead, and
almost hid his eyebrows. If it were intended to conceal or divert
attention from a deep gash, now healed into an ugly seam, which
when it was first inflicted must have laid bare his cheek-bone, the
object was but indifferently attained, for it could scarcely fail to
be noted at a glance. His complexion was of a cadaverous hue, and
he had a grizzly jagged beard of some three weeks' date. Such was
the figure (very meanly and poorly clad) that now rose from the
seat, and stalking across the room sat down in a corner of the chim-