The Gift of the Sailor: The String of Pearls & Sweeney Todd, the Demon Barber of Fleet Street — page 126: what you’re looking at

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

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN THE PRISONER’S PLAN OF ESCAPE FROM THE PIES Mrs. Lovett was a woman of judgement, and when she told Sweeney Todd that the prisoner was getting impatient in the lower regions of that house which was devoted to the manufacture of the delicious pies, she had guessed rightly his sensations with regard to his present state and future prospects. We last left that unfortunate young man lying upon the floor of the place where the steaming and tempting manufacture was carried on; and for a time, as a very natural consequence of exhaustion, he slept profoundly. That sleep, however, if it rested him bodily, likewise rested him mentally; and when he again awoke it was but to feel more acutely the agony of his most singular and cruel situation. There was a clock in the place by which he had been enabled to accurately regulate the time that the various batches of pies should take in cooking, and upon looking up to that he saw that it was upon the hour of six, and consequently it would be three hours more before a batch of pies was wanted. He looked about him very mournfully for some time, and then he spoke. “What evil destiny,” he said, “has placed me here? Oh, how much better it would have been if I had perished, as I have been near perishing several times during the period of my eventful life, than that I should be shut up in this horrible den and starved to death, as in all human probability I shall be, for I loathe the pies. Damn the pies!” There was a slight noise, and upon his raising his eyes to that part of the place near the roof where there were some iron bars and between which Mrs. Lovett was wont to give him some directions, he saw her now detested face. “Attend,” she said; “you will bake an extra batch tonight, at nine precisely.” “What?” “An extra batch, two hundred at least; do you understand me?” “Hark ye, Mrs. Lovett. You are carrying this sort of thing too far; it won’t do, I tell you, Mrs. Lovett; I don’t know how soon I may be numbered with the dead, but, as I am a living man now, it will make no more of your detestable pies.” “Beware!” “Beware yourself! I am not one to be frightened at shadows. I say I will leave this place, whether you like it or not; I will leave it; and perhaps you will find your power insufficient to keep me here. That there is some frightful mystery at the bottom of all the proceedings here, I am certain, but you shall not make me the victim of it!” “Rash fool!” “Very well, say what you like, but remember I defy you.” “Then you are tired of your life, and you will find, when too late, what are the consequences of your defiance. But listen to me: when I first engaged you, I told you you might leave when you were tired of the employment.” “You did, and yet you keep me a prisoner here. God knows I’m tired enough of it. Besides, I shall starve, for I cannot eat pies eternally; I hate them.” “And they so admired!” “Yes, when one ain’t surfeited with them. I am now only subsisting upon baked flour. I cannot eat the pies.” “You are strangely fantastical.” “Perhaps I am. Do you live upon pies, I should like to know, Mrs. Lovett?” “That is altogether beside the question. You shall, if you like, leave this place tomorrow morning, by which time I hope to have got someone else to take over your situation, but I cannot be left without anyone to make the pies.” “T don’t care for that, I won’t make another one.” “We shall see,” said Mrs. Lovett. “I will come to you in an hour, and see if you persevere in that determination. I advise you as a friend to change, for you will most bitterly repent standing in the way of your own enfranchisement.” “Well, but—she is gone, and what can I do? I am in her power, but shall I tamely submit? No, no, not while I have my arms at liberty, and strength enough to wield one of these long pokers that stir the coals in the ovens. How foolish of me not to think before that I had such desperate weapons, with which perchance to work my way to freedom.” As he spoke, he poised in his hand one of the long pokers he spoke of, and, after some few minutes spent in consideration, he said to himself, with something of the cheerfulness of hope, “I am in Bell Yard, and there are houses right and left of this accursed pie-shop, and those houses must have cellars. Now surely with such a weapon as this, a willing heart, and an arm that has not yet quite lost all its powers, I may make my way from this abominable abode.” The very thought of thus achieving his liberty lent him new strength and resolution, so that he felt himself to be quite a different man to what he had been, and he only paused to consider in which direction it would be best to begin his work. After some reflection upon that head, he considered that it would be better to commence where the meat was kept—that meat of which he always found abundance, and which came from—he knew not where; since, if he went to sleep with little or none of it upon the shelves where it was placed for use, he always found plenty when he awoke. “Yes,” he said, “I will begin there, and work my way to freedom.” Before, however, he commenced operations, he glanced at the clock, and found that it wanted very little now to seven, so that he CORniclooo S CO)