The Gift of the Sailor: The String of Pearls & Sweeney Todd, the Demon Barber of Fleet Street — page 246: what you’re looking at

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

“Be of good cheer, your desolate condition will not last long. It is not easy under present circumstances to enter at large into matters which might induce you to declare who you really are, but when you and I meet in the bright sunshine from which you have been debarred for so long, you will think very differently from what you do now upon many things.” “Well, sir, perhaps I shall.” “Good night to you. Take what rest and refreshment you can, my good friend, and believe that there are better days in store for 39 you. “T will strive to think so.— Good night.” There was such a mournful cadence in the voice of the imprisoned young man, as he said “Good night,” that the secretary remarked in a low voice to Sir Richard— “Would it not be a mercy now to let him free, and take him away with us?” “T don’t like his concealing his name, my lord.” “Well, it is not the thing exactly.” “His imprisonment now will be of very short duration indeed, and his liberation is certain, unless by some glaring act of imprudence he mars his own fortune. But now, gentlemen, I have a sight to show you in these vaults that you have come to see, and yet, that I think it would have been wise if you had left unseen.” “Indeed!” “Yes. You will soon agree with me in opinion.” Sir Richard, bearing the lantern in his hand, led the way for a considerable distance back again, until they were fairly under the church, and then he said— “A large vault belonging to a family named Weston, which is extinct I fancy, for we can find no one to claim it, has been opened near this spot.” “By whom?” “That you will have no difficulty in guessing. It is that vault that I wish to show you. There are others in the same condition, but one will be enough to satiate your appetites for such sights. This way, gentlemen, if you please.” As the light from the two lanterns fell upon the faces of Sir Richard Blunt’s companions, curiosity and excitement could be seen paramount upon their features. They followed him as their guide without a word, but they could not but see that he trod slowly, and that now and then a shudder crossed his frame. “Even you are affected,” said the secretary, when the silence had lasted some minutes. “T were something more or less than human,” replied Sir Richard Blunt “if I could go unmoved into the presence of that sight, that I feel it to be my duty to show to you.” “Tt must be horrible indeed.” “Tt is more horrible than all the horrors your imagination can suggest. Let us go quicker.” Apparently with a desperate feeling of resolution, such as might actuate a man who had some great danger to encounter, and who after shrinking from it for a time, should cry. “Well, the sooner it is over the better,” did the magistrate now quicken his steps, nor paused he until he arrived at the door of the vault of which he had spoken. “Now, Mr. Villimay,” he said. “Be so good as to hold up your lantern as high as you can, at the same time not to get it above the doorway, and I will do the same by mine. All that we want is a brief but clear view.” “Yes, yes. Quite brief,” said the secretary. Sir Richard Blunt laid his hand upon the door of the vault, which was unfastened, and flung it open. “Behold!” he said, “one of the vaults of old St. Dunstan’s.” For the space of about a minute and a half no one uttered a word, so it behoves us to state what that vault contained, to strike such horror into the hearts of bold educated men. Piled one upon each other on the floor, and reaching half way up to the ceiling lay, a decomposing mass of human remains. Heaped up one upon another, heedlessly tossed into the disgusting heap any way, lay the gaunt skeletons with pieces of flesh here and there only adhering to the bones. A steam—a foetid steam rose up from the dead, and upon the floor was a pool of corruption, creeping along as the declivities warranted. Eyes, teeth, hands half denuded of flesh—glistening vermin, shiny and sleek with the luxurious feeding they there got, slipped glibly in and out of the heaped-up horror. “No more—no more!” cried the secretary. “I sicken,” said his friend, “I am faint.” Sir Richard Blunt let go the door, and it slammed shut with a hollow sound. “Thank God!” he said. “For—for what?” gasped Mr. Villimay. “That you and I, my friend, need not look upon this sight again. We are all sufficient evidence upon our oaths that it is here to see.” “Yes—yes.” “Come away,” said the secretary. “You told me something of what was to see, Sir Richard Blunt, but my imagination did not picture it to be what it is.” “T told you that likewise, my lord.” “You did-you did.” CORniclooo S CO)