Black Bess; or, The Knight of the Road — A Tale of the Good Old Times — page 389: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

BLUESKIN: He then turned the whole of his attention to the door, which was the only one visible. It was of iron. The feel and the lock of it told him that, No other fastenings were visible, save a couple of bolta, which were shot into their sockets. One was near the top and the other near the bottom of the door. This was awkward. To pass through this door the bolts must be withdrawn, and when he got on the other side, how were they to bo shot into their sockets again ? Had it been a wooden inatead of an iron door, Blueskin might perhaps l@ve managed to accomplish the feat. Now it was out of the question. Lhe drawn bolts would show at once the route which he had taken. But he could not hold back for this one untoward cir- cumstance. He had a hope, too, that he might find fastenings on the other side, or, at least, be able to do something which would obstruct the passage of his enemies through it, even if they were successful in tracking kim so far. The bolts were drawn back and the door opened. A gloomy-looking passage was disclosed beyond, butits extent could not be ascertained without a much better light than Blueskin could procure. Boldly enough he crossed the threshold of the mys- terious-looking portal, and then, turning round, closed it after him. There were no fastenings of any kind on the other side. Nor could he see any movea. objects with which he aa construct a barricade, and prev- t it being opened easily. He was obliged to leave it just as it was. But he reso!ved to push on, for he might be lucky enough to come to some place where he could safely hide himself, or else, better still, find some other means of emerging from the subterraneous place. Animated by this hope, he quickened his pace from a walk to a run, but he was scon compelled to panse, for the little wax taper burned dimiaer and dimmer every moment, and the rapid motion threatened its immediate extinguishment. The whole of the passage was covered with sawdust, so that, as he trod, Blueskin produced no more sound than a spectre. He was now some considerable distance from the iron door, and he paused to listen. All was still. No trampling of feet, no overturning of various objects, no loud shouts, announced the approach of Wild and his nicn. Suddenly, however, and just as he was about to move away, a sound arose, which for a momeAt made him tremble and his blood to rush with a sickening sensation to his heart. He leaned up against the wall of the passage. ‘What was that?” he said. “Oh! what was that? I trust I may never hear that sound again.” There was ascared look upon Blueskin’s face as he spoke these words. The sound which so alarmed kim was a groan, or some- thing that sounded like ene. A groan uttered by some person in more than mortal agony, if one might judge from the tone of it. What could it mean ? Cold beads of perspiration stood upon Blueskin’s fore- head as he asked the question. His knees trembled beneath him. Blueskin was not a coward. ; The numberless exploits which, in the course of this aarrative, we have seen him perform, will all attest, in jne most satisfactory manner, to his courage. But he was @ man, and not exempt from human in- fluence. The place in which he was oxercised a great effect upon his mind. It was impossible it could be otherwise. And he was not superstitious. Far from it. Ata time when superstition was more rife and, conse- quently more excusable than it ts now, he was less jainted with it than many were. A ROMANC2, 887 —. (wower ae But the solemnity of the vaulted passage beneath West- minster Abbey— The deep silence which prevailed—~ The intense darkness, which the taper he carricd only served to exhibit instead of to disperse— The sickly, clammy feel of the atmosphere in that sub- terraneous region— All these effects combined conspired to produce in his mind a feeling of dread—of shaking terror. In the broad open eye of day, had he heard that sound, it would not have had that effect upon him which it did now. But here the case was different. Again came the awful sound. The wax taper trembled in his grasp, and cast odd-look-~ ing shadows on the walls. Had his life depended upon his giving a reply, Blueskin could not have told from what direction the fearful cry proceeded. It seemed to fill all the dense impure air in the passage, to be borne along by it, and it sounded on all sides of him just alike. But such a sound! No imagination, however vivid—no description, however Benpesued—ge give the least idea of what it was like. All that could be said was that it was horrible~—moat horrible. What could be the meaning of that sound ? Ere now, Blueskin had many a time heard how disem- bodied spirits roamed the earth, and how strange sounds lad been heard and strange sights seen in those receptacles provided for the interment of the decd. Strange sights seen. As this reer liection occurred to him, he glared with straining, startling eyeballs up and down the passage, and his excited fancy pictured awful forms, which in reality had no existence. We can scarcely feel surprised at Blueskin’s feelings. A writer to whom the human heart, and all the varying feelings which swayed it, were well knowa, once said that he must indeed be something more or less than a man who could boldly stand forward and proclaim that he was entirely free from all taint of superstition. We think so too. Everything was calculated to produce au effect upon Blueskin’s mind. The midnight hour. The ghostlike passage. And, in fine, all those appearances which have ever been deemed accessories to such a scene. Not for one moment did he think that such a sound as that which he now heard, heart-chilling as it was, pro- ceeded from his foes. In the strange, prolonged, wailing cry, there was such a tone of intense agony as no one could possibly imitate. It was real. But he strove to call logic to his aid, and to fancy that it was but his heated imagination which had conjured up the sound that so alarmed him. Vain hope. Even as he tried to cheat himself into the belief, he caught himself stretching his sense of hearing to ths utmost, waiting for the sound to come again. Bui would it do so? That was the question. Blueskin listened. ome ee CHAPTER CCOLVIIL BLUESKIN FATHOMS THE MYSTERY OF THE AWPUL CRY WICH SO ALARMED 11M. T's horrible groan which had broken in upon t’ 6 intense silence of that gloomy place, was a sound so awful that it saemed quite impossible for it to be repeated a third time. It was such acry as one could conceive some tortured spirit would utter when the dread sentence of overlastiug punishment should be pronounced. Jonathan Wild was forgotten. The danger with which he might fairly be presumed to be menaced was unheeded. aes All his faculties were bent upon that cne of listening lS oe | EO NOOKS C (SO) 5}