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Lord Mayors of London 1750-74
| 1750 | John BLACHFORD | 1756 | Marshe DICKINSON | 1766 | Sir Robert KITE |
| Francis COCKAYNE | 1757 | Sir Charles ASGILL | 1767 | Thomas HARLEY | |
| 1751 | Thomas WINTERBOTTOM | 1758 | Sir Richard GLYN | 1768 | Samuel TUMER |
| 1752 | Robert ALSOP | 1759 | Sir Thomas CHITTY | 1769 | William BECKFORD 2nd term |
| Crisp GASCOYNE | 1760 | Sir Mathew BLAKISTON | 1770 | Barlow TRECOTHICK | |
| 1753 | Edward IRONSIDE | 1761 | Sir Samuel FLUDYER | Brass CROSBY | |
| Thomas RAWLINSON | 1762 | William BECKFORD | 1771 | William NASH | |
| 1754 | Stephen T. JANSSEN | 1763 | William BRIDGEN | 1772 | James TOWNSEND |
| 1755 | Slingsby BETHELL | 1764 | Sir William STEPHENSON | 1773 | Frederick BULL |
| 1765 | George NELSON | 1774 | John Wilkes | ||
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From
"THE LORD MAYOR OF LONDON: OR CITY LIFE IN THE LAST CENTURY"
by William Harrison Ainsworth, published by Chapman & Hall, 193 Piccadilly, London, 1862 (vol. iii)
A work of fiction in which the secondary characters appear to have been real-life persons.
Time of the story: before Crosby became Lord Mayor, i.e. 1750's—60's.
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Scene: A duel is to be fought, and the inn "White Conduit House" is to be the venue. (Wilkes did fight a duel, at the "Red Lion" in Bagshot, of which Mr. Thomas Tilbury was landlord: see links beneath.)
CHAPTER XIV
WHICH EXHIBITS THE REAL ESTATE OF THE LORD MAYOR'S FEELINGS TOWARDS HIS SON
"... I don't know how the affair originated, but Mr. Crutchet tells me it is to be settled at eight o'clock to-morrow morning, on the bowling-green at White Conduit House, Islington. I thought it my duty to inform your lordship of the matter, that you may take any steps you deem proper."
"The bowling-green at White Conduit House! An odd place to fix upon for a hostile meeting! Ah! now I recollect hearing that a set of young reprobates, styling themselves the 'Capuchins,' and wearing the habits of Franciscan friars, meet once a week at White Conduit house to carouse. Wilkes is chairman of the club. He and his crew may intend some practical joke. Herbert mustn't be made their sport."
"Shall I go there, my lord, and look after Herbert?"
"Perhaps I may go myself — but secretly — for I shan't interfere, save in case of necessity. You shall go with me, and I will take sufficient force to prevent any disturbance. I know Tilbury, the landlord of White Conduit House, and a very obliging fellow he is. I'll give him a hint of my intentions."
"Better not, my lord. He may blab, and spoil all. Don't take him into your confidence till the last moment."
"Ay, ay, we must have the laugh against the Capuchins. But who acts as Herbert's second?"
"Sir Felix Bland, my lord."
"Sir Felix Bland! Gadzooks! you surprise me! — the most pacific person of my acquaintance, and the last I should expect to be engaged in a duel at all." . . .
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CHAPTER XVI — pages 27-39
WHITE CONDUIT HOUSE
"When Herbert, fully equipped for the fight, and warpped in a long cloak, entered his cousin's room, a little before seven o'clock next norming, he found that Tradescant had fully completed his toilette, and was in the act of putting on a roquelaure, aided by Tiplady.
"How do you find yoursef?" cried Tradescant; "Nerves steady eh?"
"Perfectly so," replied the other, in a cheerful tone.
"That's right! Then we'll set out at once. A coach is waiting for us in Queen-street. Carry these two swords, Tip, and come with us."
On this the trio descended the staircase as noiselessly as they could, and were let out by the hall-porter, who laughed to himself at what was going on, having let out the Lord Mayor and Candish some quarter of an hour previously.
Beneath the porch outside they found the faithful Crutchet, protected from the cold foggy air by cloak and woollen comforter. Hard by was a hackney-coach, and, without making any remarks, all the party entered it with the exception of Tiplady, who, mounting the box, directed the coachman to drive to Aldersgate-street.
The morning was dull and foggy — such as might be expected to usher in a regular November day. The miserable lamps with which Cheapside was at that time provided were still burning, but their feeble glimmer scarcely served to pierce through the murky atmosphere. A few link-boys were seen wandering about with lighted flambeaux, and a couple of these offered their services to the gentlemen in the coach, and were engaged by them. Here and there a shop was opened, but, generally speaking, doors and windows were closed, and the inmates of the houses, it is to be presumed, still a-bed. The few people in the street looked like ghosts, and carts and other vehicles moved slowly and cautiously along.
Not without more than one stoppage did the coachman find his way to Aldersgate-street, and, guided by Tiplady, pulled up at Sir Felix Bland's door. Little could be discerned of the alderman's dwelling, and indeed there was nothing worth notice about it, except that it was a good substantial structure, the lower part being used as a saddler's shop, with a great gilt horse for a sign. The little alderman's chariot, however, was in waiting, and the instant the bell was rung Sir Felix answered the summons in person. He insisted upon Herbert riding with him, andthe young man felt bound to comply. In this way the two vehicles proceeded slowly towards the place of rendezvous.
White Conduit House, whither our friends were bound, not on pleasure, but with hostile intent, on this foggy November morning, was situated in the neighbourhood of the pleasant and salubrious suburb of Islington, and much resorted to by the citizens of the last century. It may be described as a second-rate Vauxhall, since it possessed some of the features of the well-known place of entertainment on the Surrey side of the river — now, we regret to say, numbered with the past. But though the fêtes of White Conduit House could not be compared in point of splendour with those of the more fashionable establishment — thought its lamps were less numerous, its fireworks less brilliant, and its musicians inferior to those of Vauxhall — though few of the beau-monde patronised the gardens, still they were tolerably attractive, and had the recommendation of furnishing far better eatables and drinkables, at a much less cost, than the more ostentatious place of amusement. Really good punch, a slice of ham somewhat thicker than a wafer, and a fowl that COULD be carved, and eaten when carved, might be obtained at White Conduit House at a moderate price; and if there were not as many fine folks there as might be seen at Vauxhall, that didn't matter to the citizens, who liked to smoke their pipes and quaff their punch comfortably, while their wives and daughters found plenty of amusement in listening to the strains from the orchestra, wathing the fireworks, dancing, or exploring the shady walks with their gallants. In a word, White Conduit House was a huge suburban tavern, with extensive gardens attached to it. Like Vauxhall, it was in existence only a few years ago, though greatly on the decline, and was removed to make way for the street now occupying its site. Besides the house itself, at the period in quetion, there were two ornamental buildings, containing a handsome ball-room and refreshment-rooms, and in the midst of the gardens, which, as we have said, were prettily enough disposed with walks, shady groves, alcoves, pavilions, and orchestras, was a round fish-pond of considerable size, encircled by a high quickset hedge, in which were inserted boxes for the accommodation of the company — these boxes being adorned with paintings copied from the Dutch and Flemish masters. Of course, the fish-pond would have been incomplete without a boat or two, and these were not wanting. A large punt, provided with seats, rods, and fishing-tackle, was moored in the centre of the water. In another part of the garden was a spacious and well-kept bowling-green, with boxes at either end, and this bowling-green and the fish-pond constituted with many the chief attractions of the place. No ridottos al fresco, no festinos or masked balls, were given there as at Ranelagh or Vauxhall, but on special occasions there were fêtes, with fireworks, rope-dancing, and other amusements, highly satisfactory to the pleasure-loving citizens.
But the season was over, and the gardens, which had been thronged during the warm weather, were now deserted. The tavern, however, being noted for the excellence of its cookery and wines, still attracted many customers, and amongst others Wilkes and his friends, who, as the reader is already aware, held on of their clubs there.
This club — the "Capuchins" — had some peculiarities, which cannot very well be explained without describing its origin. Thus, then, it arose. Amongst Wilkes's possessions in Bucks were the remains of a once noble, and still remarkably picturesque monastic establishment, called Medmenham Abbey, delightfully situated on the banks of the Thames between Henley and Marlow. No more charming retreat for one sated with pleasure and desirous of solitude could be found; and thither in summer, when town became insupportable, and the country was in perfection, Wilkes repaired. But it was not for temporary seclusion from society that the witty Sybarite sought the cells and cloisters of Medmenham; it was not for meditation, or study, or to bury himself in the surrounding groves; it was not for boating or fishing that he came there, but, we regret to say, for unrestrained indulgence in riot and excess. As may be supposed, he did not go there alone, but took with him persons of congenial taste, whose habits were as abandoned as his own, and scandalously were the venerable walls desecrated by the licentious crew. Comus and his rabble were not worse than Wilkes and his reprobate associatess. In order to give piquancy to their orgies, they styled themselves Monks of Saint Francis, and assumed the garb of the brethren of that order. But devotional exercises, it will easily be conceived, formed no part of their practice. Their hymns were in praise of heathen deities, their worship at unholy shrines. Over the entrance of the hall wherein their revelries were held was inscribed the Rabelaisian motto, FAYS CE QUE VOUDRAS — and they acted up to it, giving free scope to their inclinations.
Of this society Wilkes was president, or, as he was styled by the brotherhood, Father Abbot.
Later in the year, when Medmenham Abbey lost its attractions, the Capuchins held occasional meetings in town, and had lately chosen White Conduit House for that purpose, being influenced in their choice by the good wines and good cookery to be had there, as well as by the complaisance of the host Mr. Tilbury, who made no objections to their proceedings. To speak truth, the Capuchins did not suit every house, and more than one tavern-keeper had declined the honour of their custom. However, as they paid well, and it was the dull season, and he had plenty of rooms to spare, Mr; Tilbury not only consented to receive them, but gave them the best his kitchen and cellars could produce. Magnificent was the claret he set before them, and many a dozen of it was consumed by the jovial Capuchins, who sometimes prolonged their revels throughout the night.
From this it will be easily understood why Wilkes appointed White Conduit House as a place of rendezvous with Herbert. As the Capuchins supped there overnight, he could settle the affair without inconvenience. A duel would be an agreeable finish to the entertainment. He had merely to step on to the bowling-green to meet his man, and return to breakfast — victor of course — and talk over the encounter with his friends. This was what he meant to do, but a little variation was made in the plan, as will more fully appear hereafter.
All the Capuchins — the club was limited to a dozen — were not assembled on the occasion; but the party consisted of Lord Sandwich, Sir William Stanhope, Sir Francis Dashwood, and of course Tom Potter and Wilkes. In accordance with the rules of the society they all wore the grey gowns proper to the religious order whose name they had borrowed, with cowls for the head and cords for the waist. WILKE's attire as abbot differed so far only from the others in that his gown was made of somewhat richer material, while he wore an ornamental girdle round his waist. Over the chimney-piece was suspended the motto of the fraternity. A jolly night they had of it, surfeiting themselves with claret, and continuing their libations until they all fell asleep in their chairs.
And now to return to the opposite party. The fog was as dense as ever when the two conveyances reached White Conduit House, and it seemed scarcely possible that a duel could take place on a morning to unpropitious.
"If you fight at all, it must be by torchlight," observed Sir Felix. "It appears to get darker each moment. I can scarcely make out whether this is White Conduit House or not."
"All right, sir," cried a voice from some invisible person. "All right."
"Is that you, Mr. Tilbury?" inquired the little alderman, as a stout personage presented himself before the chariot.
"Yes, yes, 'tis I, Sir Felix," replied the host. "Will it please you to alight? Mr. Wilkes and his friends expect you."
"Oh, they're here, are they?" cried the little alderman, rather surprised. "I was afraid this bad morning might have kept them away."
"So it might," rejoined Tilbury, with a laugh; "but they took the precaution of coming over-night. They supped here, Sir Felix. You're not a monk, I suppose, sir?"
"A monk! What d'ye mean, Mr. Tilbury? No, sir, I'm a member of the Established Church. A strange question!"
"You'll not think it so strange when you go into the house, Sir Felix, and see the gentlemen in their gowns."
"Night-gowns or morning-gowns, Mr. Tilbury?"
"Their gowns serve both purposes, Sir Felix," laughed the host. "Pray come in, gentlemen. I'll show you the way."
By this time the whole party had alighted, and now followed the landlord into the house.
Calling for a pair of lighted candles, which were quickly brought him, Tilbury preceded them down a passage, and at last threw open the door of a large room, on entering which an extraordinary scene was presented to their gaze.
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CHAPTER XVII — pages 40...
THE "CAPUCHINS"
Round a table covered with wine-glasses and long-necked flasks, and on which candles were still alight, though well-nigh burnt down to the socket, sat five friars — for such they seemed — fast asleep. Being without their wigs, the close-shaven heads of the mock Franciscans materially aided their resemblance to the characters assumed.
"Who are these?" inquired Sir Felix, in a low voice.
"Don't you know, sir?" rejoined Tilbury. "These are Mr. Wilkes and his friends."
"The deuce they are!" exclaimed the little alderman. "Bless my life! I could never have believed it."
"Stay a moment, Tilbury," said Tradescant, as the landlord was about to arouse the sleepers. "We'll have a jest with them. Give one of those swords to Mr. Crutchet, Tip, and draw the other yourself. That's well. Now each of you follow my example." And drawing his sword, he held it in a menacing attitude over Wilkes's head.
Willing to humour the jest, Herbert stood with his drawn sword over Tom Potter, while Sir Felix assumed a similar position beside Lord Sandwich, and Crutchet and Tiplady presented their weapons at Dashwood and Stanhope.
No sooner was this done than Tilbury called out in a stentorian voice, "Wake up, gentlemen!" instantly rousing the sleepers, who were greatly startled by finding themselves thus menaced.
"Here, take my purse and spare my life!" cried Wilkes, fancying himself assailed by highwaymen.
"Ha! ha! don't you know me?" exclaimed Tradescant, lowering his sword, and indulging in a hearty fit of laughter, in which the rest of the company joined.
"Death and fiends! is it you Lorimer?" cried Wilkes, starting to his feet with a furious expression of countenance. And he was proceeding in an angry strain, but finding his rage only increased the general merriment, he changed his tone, and inquired, "What brings you here at this unearthly hour?"
"Unearthly hour!" rejoined Tradescant, laughing. "Why, it's eight o'clock, the hour you yourself appointed for a meeting with my cousin Herbert."
"The deuce it is!" exclaimed Wilkes. "I must have overslept myself sadly. I fancied it was the middle of the night. It's Tilbury's fault — he ought to have roused me at seven o'clock. Is your cousin here?"
page 43...
"Yes, there he is," replied Tradescant, pointing to Herbert.
"Pray make my excuses to him for my want of punctuality," pursued Wilkes. "It has been entirely unintentional on my part. Our club — the Capuchins — met here last night, and we drank rather too much claret."
"That will account for your sleeping so soundly," observed Tradescant."And now, what's to be done?"
"Done! why, in the first place, we'll adjourn to the bowling-green and settle this little affair, and then return to breakfast."
"Easily said," rejoined Tradescant; "but there's a regular November fog out of doors which may hinder you. You won't be able to see each other."
"Diable! exclaimed Wilkes. "That's unlucky!"
"With submission to both parties," interposed Sir Felix, "I would venture to suggest that the affair be postponed to a more favourable opportunity."
"Deferred, at all events, till the fog clears off," observed Tom Potter. "In an hour it may be all right. Breakfast first, and fight afterwards. That's my proposition."
"The fog isn't likely to clear off," observed Sir Felix. "We may be kept here till to-morrow. I vote that the duel be postponed."
"I object to any delay," said Herbert. "Be the weather what it may — and I own it is bad enough — I am ready to meet my adversary. Our chances are equal."
"Very ture, sir!" cried Wilkes. "I object to delay as strongly as yourself. A fog will never stop two men really bent on fighting. I'll be with you in a trice."
And withdrawing behind a screen, he presently reappeared in his ordinary attire.
"Hear me, gentlemen," cried Sir Felix. "I protest against the course you are about to pursue. The fog is so thick that you might as well fight in this room with the lights put out."
"A capital suggestion!" cried Wilkes. "Suppose we do fight here. We have only to remove this tables."
"The place is perfectly immaterial to me," observed Herbert. "Here, or elsewhere, I am at your service."
"But it's not immaterial to me," interposed Tilbury. "No fighting in this room, gnetlement. I don't mind it on the bowling-green, but if either of you should be killed here, it would be exceedingly unpleasant, and might ruin the custom of the house."
"Our host's reasons are unanswerable," observed Wilkes, with a laught. "Nothing for it but the bowling-green. We'll there at once. Fetch a couple of lanterns, Tilbury."
"Bless you, sir, lanterns would be of no avail. There are some link-men outside. Shall I hire their flambeaux?"
"A bright idea!" exclaimed Wilkes. "About it at once, Tilbury, and bring the links to us in the garden. A duel by torchlight will be a novelty — something to talk about. But how is it I see you here, Lorimer, and apparently on my opponent's side? A day or two ago, you wouldn't acknowledge your kinsman. Now, you are hand and glove with him."
"Since we last met, Mr. Wilkes, I am a good deal changed in many respects," replied Tradescant; "and I have discovered qualities in my cousin to which I was stupidly blind before. As this quarrel partly originated with me, or at least arose out of circumstances with which I was connected, I could wish it might be amicably arranged."
"I don't see how that can be," said Wilkes; "it has gone too far now."
By this time, the Capuchins, having divested themselves of their gowns, and resumed their usual attire, the whole party were about to leave the room, when they were stopped by Sir Felix.
"I tell you what it is, gnetlemen," said he. "I don't approve of this fighting in a fog. There's no precedent for such a duel. If fatal consequences ensue, the seconds will be hanged — yes, gentlement, hanged. I must decline, therefore, to be a party to the encounter."
"Then I will take your place," said Tradescant. "I am willing to run the risk of a halter in such a cause."
"Mr. Herbert must excuse me for deserting him at the last moment, but I really can't assist in such an irregular proceeding; and I must again protest — "
"Protest be hanged!" cried Tom Potter. "Come along! The affair ought to have been over by this time."
On this the whole party, with the exception of Sir Felix, quitted the room, and repaired to the garden.
The day had not improved. The fog was as dense as ever; orange-tawny in colour, and almost palpable. Even at a yard's distance a post could scarcely be distinguished.
"Upon my soul, it is a most execrable day!" exclaimed Wilkes. "I had no idea the fog was so bad. Shall we go on?"
"Certainly," replied Herbert. "The first step is taken. We must go through with it now."
"Be it so," cried Wilkes. Keep near me. I'm acquainted with the place, and will endeavour to show the way."
With this he moved on, and the rest followed. But nothing is more deceptive than a fog, and though Wilkes made sur ehe was going in the right direction, he soon found himself on the edge of the fish-pond, into which another step would have plunged him.
"Halt!" he exclaimed. "We're wrong. I shall never be able to find the way without the torches. What the devil is Tilbury about that he doesn't send them?"
"Here they are!" exclaimed Tradescant, as lights were seen struggling through the gloom.
"Halloo! where are you, gentlement?" shouted Tilbury.
"Here! — almost in the fish-pond," rejoined Wilkes. "Come to the rescue — quick!"
"Why, who the deuce are these?" cried Lord Sandwich, as the landlord came up, attended by five Capuchins, bearing torches. Each monk had his cowl drawn over his head, so as to shroud his visage.
"Zounds! the rascals have made free with our gowns," cried Dashwood.
"No other members of the club were expected," said Stanhope. "Who are these fellows, Tilbury?"
"Only some of my men, Sir William," replied the host. "I thought Mr. Wilkes would like to have them arrayed in this way."
"You've taken a great libert,y Mr. Tilbury," said Wilkes. "Death! sir, we shall never be able to wear our gowns again."
"I'm very sorry, sir," replied the host, in an apologetic tone. "I did it to please you. I'm something of an artist, sir, and I thought these monkish figures, holding torches, would give a picturesque effect to the conflict. I may be wrong, Mr. Wilkes, but that was my motive."
"Gad! I think you are right, Tilbury?" cried Lord Sandwich, laughing.
"Don't stop talking hee, for Heaven's sake!" exclaimed Tom Potter. "I'm half choked with this infernal fog. Show the way to the bowling-green, Tilbury, as quickly as you can — consistently with our safety."
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CHAPTER XVII — page 51...
A DUEL IN A FOG
Directing the monkish torchbearers to march in advance, Tilbury put himself at their head, and proceeded cautiously along a covered walk leading to the bowling-green, which they luckily r'ached without further hindrance.
After a brief consultation between Tom Potter and Tradescant, the whole party proceeded to what they judged to be the centre of the green, and having ascertained by holding down the links that the ground was free from obstruction of any kind, they at once prepared for the business in hand; the first care of the seconds being to place the torchbearers in such a position that no undue advantage should be given to either side.
This was a task of some difficulty, as the seconds could not exactly agree, but at length it was satisfactoily accomplished. Four of the monks were arranged in a square, one at each corner, and exactly four yards apart, while the fifth man was ordered to stand beside the combatants. Those at the corners were enjoined to remain perfectly motionless whatever might occur, but the central torchbearer might follow the movements of the combatants, but must be careful to keep out of the way, and distribute the light as fairly as possible. The links at each angle were to be held aloft, and not waved or shifted on any account, but the central torch was not to be so much elevated, and might be raised orlowered according to the exigencies of the moment, at the discretion of the bearer. Not a word was to be uttered by any of the torchbearers.
These regulations made, the two antagonist, who by this time had divested themselves of coat and waistcoat, stepped into the square, while the seconds retired, and the rest of the party, who looked on with considerable interest, grouped themselves around.
At this moment the scene was exceedingly picturesque, and must have delighted the artistic eye of Mr. Tilbury. Seen through the thick tawny vapour with which the torchlight ineffectually contended, the monkish figures, cowled and gowned, had a strange fantastic effect, and looked like assistants at some dread and mysterious ceremonial. Viewed through the same opaque medium, and only imperfectly distinguished by the spectators, the chief actors in this singular scene had an equally ghostly appearance, and by a very slight stretch of the imagination might have been taken for phantoms of fierce duellists who had perished by each other's hands, and had been summoned from a bloody grave to renew their strife.
Unconscious, however, of the effect they produced on the beholders, and feeling strongly enough that they still belonged to this world, the two antagonists approached each other, and lighted by the central rotchbearer, who carried out his instructions as carefully as he could, courteously saluted each other, taking off their hats and replacing them. They then beat the appeal and engaged.
No sooner did the combat begin than they both made the discovery that it was more difficult to fight under circumstances like the present than in the dark. Sight and judgment were alike at fault, and the well-meant efforts of the torch-bearer only served to distract them still more.
"Confound you! keep that torch away. You put out my eyes," cried Wilkes.
After another moment, Herbert called out,
"Bring the torch nearer! I can't see."
Puzzled by these conflicting orders, the torch-bearer stood still, not knowing what to do, when Tradescant shouted to him,
"Keep near them, will you, and don't attend to any orders but mine."
"Don't stir, sirrah!" cried Tom Potter. " The torch blinds my man."
"But mine can't see," cried Tradescant. "Go nearer, I tell you."
"Stay where you are, rascal!" roared Wilkes. "If you come any closer, I'll cut your throat when the fight's over."
"And I'll let light into your body unless you give us some here," cried Herbert.
"What am I to do, gentlemen?" said the perplexed torchbearer, drawing a little nearer. "I can't please you both."
But the combatants were now too much occupied with each other to notice him. A thrust in tierce by Wilkes was well parried by Herbert, and returned by him with such dexterity and quickness, that had there been light enough, the combat might have been suddenly terminated. As it was, Herbert's sword passed through his adversary's shirt near the right breast.
"A hit!" exclaimed Herbert.
"A mere scratch! I scarcely felt it. Look to yourself, sir!" cried Wilkes, delivering a thrust in carte, which was instantly parried and returned.
"They're well at it now," cried Dashwood. Will you back your man for a hundred, Lorimer?"
"I'd back him and give odds, but I don't bet now, Sir Francis," replied Tradescant.
"So Tom Potter told me," said Dashwood; "but I didn't believe him."
"I wish I could see their play," said Lord Sandwich; "they seem to fence well."
"Wonderfully well, all things considered," replied Sir William Stanhope. "Wilkes seems to have found his match. I thought he would have settled it before this."
page 57...
"I though so," rejoined Tom Potter; "the young draper is a maître d'escrime."
"No jokes about drapers, Tom, if you please," said Tradescant. "Recollect, I'm one myself."
"Pshaw! you needn't carry on that farce here. We're not in Cheapside."
At this moment the clash of steel proved that the two combatants were sharply engaged.
"Sa! sa! there they go!" cried Potter — "thrust — parry — reposte — pass in carte — feint in carte over the arm — disengage — counter disengage — thrust — recovery in carte."
"Why, you can't see them, Tom?" cried Lord Sandwich.
"No, but I can hear. I know exactly what they're about. There, one of them is beating fiercely with the edge of his sword on the other's blade. That must be Wilkes trying to disarm his antagonist."
"But he hasn't succeeded, you find," observed Tradescant; "and is now being attacked in his turn."
"Well done, draper!" exclaimed Potter. "The lad fights with spirit. Did you mark that? There was a thrust in tierce, parried with the prime, and followed by a strong smart beat on the feeble -down goes the sword."
"Whose sword?" cried Tradescant.
"The draper's," rejoined Potter. "Your man is worsted."
"I'm not sure of that," replied Tradescant.
"But I am," replied Potter.
And they both hurried to the scene of strife, when Potter's conjecture proved to be correct. Herbert's sword had been beaten from his grasp.
"This wouldn't have happened if I had had mor light," said the young man, angily.
"Say you so?" cried Wilkes. "Then we'll have another bout. Take your sword, and begin again."
"No, no, this musn't be," cried Tradescant.
"Why not?" rejoined Tom Potter. "It isn't for you to object if we are willing. You ought to be infintely obliged by having a second chance allowed you."
"Why, so we are," sid Tradescant; "but —"
"Now, sir," cried Wilkes, impatiently. "Either own yourself defeated and apologise for your insolence, or stand up again."
"I wouldn't have kept you waiting so long, sir," rejoined Herbert, "but I can't find my sword."
"Here are a couple of swords," said Tom Potter. "Take your choice."
And as Herbert took one of them, Wilkes flung aside his own weapon, and armed himself with the other.
"Now we are fairly matched — have at you, sir!" he cried, attacking Herbert.
And ere the seconds had retired, the combatants were again engaged, and evidently with greater fury than before.
"Come nearer, fellow," cried Wilkes to the torchbearer; "you shan't complain of want of light this time, sir."
"Your politeness deserves a better return than I can make for it," rejoined Herbert.
"They're in earnest now," said Tom Potter. "Passes and parades are so rapid I can't follow 'em."
"The combat ought not to have been renewed," observed Tradescant. "Enough had been done before."
"Why didn't you make your man apologise, then?" said Potter. "But don't be uneasy. Wilkes will soon disarm him again. He's about it now, or I'm much mistaken. The draper disengages and thrusts — Wilkes counter-disengages and aprries, forcing the draper's blade upwards with the fort of his own — a disarm after the parade."
"No such thing," replied Tradescant. "Both swords are still in hand, as you may hear. There was a half thrust and an appeal — an answer, a feint on the inside with a disengage on the outside, and a pass — ha! some one is hit!"
"By Heaven! 'tis Wilkes," cried Tom Potter, rushing towards the combatants, followed by Tradescant and the others.
They found Wilkes, scarcely able to stand, supporting himself with his sword, and pressing his hand against his breast, from which the blood was pouring, his shirt being dyed with the sanguinary stream. Beside him stood Herbert, whose looks showed his distress at the victory he had gained.
"I hope you are not much hurt, sir?" he inquired, in tones of the greatest anxiety.
"My business, I fear, is done," rejoined Wilkes, in a feeble voice; "but I freely forgive you, and beg you to take care of your own safety — oh!"
And he would have sunk to the ground if Tom Potter had not caught him in his arms and sustained him.
"Here's a sad mischance!" exclaimed Tradescant. "But you know how averse I was to the renewal of the fight. I feared mischief would come of it. Would that my advice had been taken!"
"It was my fault," groaned Wilkes.
"No, no, you are far too generous, sir," cried Herbert. "I am to blame. I shall for ever reproach myself with what I have done."
"Away with you!" cried Wilkes. "My life is ebbing fast. Consult your safety by flight."
"Yes, fly, sir, fly!" urged Tom Potter.
"What shall I do? — Where shall I go? cried the young man, distractedly.
"Hold a moment!" said Crutchet, stepping up to him.
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CHAPTER XIX — pages 63...
HOW A MARVELLOUS CURE WAS WROUGHT BY CANDISH
"A surgeon! a surgeon! In Heaven's name fetch a surgeon!" shouted Tradescant. "Will none of you stir?" he added to the torchbearers, who appeared perfectly apathetic, remaining in their places and holding up their flambeaux as if nothing had happened. "There ought to have been a surgeon in attendance."
"I'll bring one instantly," said the host.
"It is useless," said Wilkes, checking him. " I am past all surgical aid. My only concern is for my antogonist's safety. Isn't he here still? Take him away — take him away, Lorimer."
"Where's Mr. Crutchet?" asked Tradescant.
"Here, sir," replied that personage.
"Go with Herbert," said Tradescant. "Take him to your own lodgings, till I see how this affair terminates."
"I don't think it likely to terminate very seriously, sir," replied Crutchet, in an under tone.
"I'm of a different opinion. Mr. Wilkes, fear, is mortally wounded."
"He won't die of his present injuries, sir," rejoined Crutchet. "It's all a trick. Don't you observe how easily the other gentlemen take it? Some of 'em are laughing. The landlord is evidently in the plot. And as to those torch-bearers, they don't seem to care a button about the occurrence. A trick, sir, you may depend."
"By Heaven! I believe you are right," cried Tradescant. "Yet how can it have been managed? He must have been hit. Ah! I see! Tom Potter gave them fresh swords."
"Foils, I suspect, sir," rejoined Crutchet.
"That's soon found out," said Tradescant, snatching the weapon which Herbert still held in his grasp, and feeling the point. "You are right, Crutcher, it is a foil."
At this moment the voice of Sir Felix Bland was heard, calling out, "Here's a surgeon! Where's the wounded man. Where's Mr. Wilkes?"
"This way, Sir Felix!" rejoined Tradescant. "This way!"
In another instant the little alderman became visible. With him was a little man, habited in black, whom Tradescant and Crutchet at once recognised as Candish. He was followed by a much taller and stouter personage, wrapped in an ample cloak, and so muffled up about the face that his features could not be discerned. Crutchet, however, had some suspicions as to the identity of the latter.
"You are come in good time, Sir Felix" said Tradescant. "Poot Mr. Wilkes, I grieve to say, is dangerously hurt."
"Sorry to hear it," rejoined the little alderman; "but here's a surgeon who will save him, if any man can."
"I'll do my best," rejoined Candish. "By your leave, gentlemen — by your leave!" he added, pressing towards Wilkes. "Bring the torch this way."
"No; keep it off!" cried Wilkes. "The light distresses me dreadfully."
"You must put up with a little inconvenience, sir," said Candish. "Let me see the wound. Off with your shirt, sir."
"Off with yourself," rejoined Wilkes. "Don't disturb me. Let me die in peace."
"Excuse me, sir," said Candish, "my business is to prevent you from dying. This to begin." And he proceeded to tear open the other's shirt.
"Zounds, sir! what are you about?" roared Wilkes.
"Hold him fast, sir!" said Candish to Tom Potter. "Hold him fast, while I apply a potent styptic to the wound, that will stanch the bleeding in no time."
"Curse your styptic!" roared Wilkes. "I'll have none of it."
"Patience, my good sir — patience," cried Candish. "You are in my hands, and must submit to such treatment as I may deem advisable. I won't disguise from you that the application of this blue vitriol" — producing a phial as he spoke — "will give you some pain; but though sharp, it will be momentary."
"Blue vitriol!" exclaimed Wilkes. 'Blue devils! you mean. Their chief seems to have visited me in person."
"Besides the blue vitriol," pursued Candish, "I have powdered agaric, a very powerful astringent."
"Powdered agaric! D'ye hear that?" cried Tom Potter, unable to refrain from laughing.
"Apply the blue vitriol and agaric at once, sir. I'll hold the patient."
"At your peril!" roared Wilkes. "Let me go, Tom. Zounds, this is carrying the jest too far."
"A jest, Mr. Wilkes!" exclaimed Candish. "Do you think I would jest with a patient in your condition?"
"In my condition!" echoed Wilkes, breaking from Potter. "'Sdeath, sir! I'm as free from injury as yourself. If you are what you profess, you ought to have discovered my wound to be a mere sham."
"The discovery was needless, Mr. Wilkes," rejoined Candish. "I was aware of the deception from the first."
Loud laughter from those around, in which the torchbearers joined, followed this confession of the trick.
"It is a great relief to me to find you are unhurt, Mr. Wilkes," said Herbert; "but I should have had just reason to complain, if you had let me depart under the impression that I had killed you."
"I won't attempt to say anything in my defence," rejoined Wilkes. "But I'm glad you didn't go; and as the laugh has been decidedly against me, you will, perhaps, feel disposed to forgive me."
"Readily," returned Herbert. "And now, let me add, that I regret the observations I made upon you in the City Mall, and at which you took umbrage."
"Enough," said Wilkes. "I am perfectly satisfied. Animosity no longer exists on my part. Indeed, if you will permit me, I shall be happy to become your friend, for I admire your spirit." And he offered him his hand, which Herbert cordially grasped.
"We ought to thank you for your interference, Sir Felix," said Tom Potter, "since you have so pleasantly terminated the affair."
"Nay, sir, you must thank Mr. Candish," rejoined the little alderman. "It's his doing — not mine."
"I have met Mr. Candish before, I think," observed Potter. "Were you not at Picard's when the bank was broken, sir?"
"I was," replied Candish. "I had reasons for going there. But I mean it to be my last appearance in a gaming-house."
"As it shall be mine," observed Tradescant.
"'Tis a pity the Lord Mayor can't hear your praiseworthy determination, Lorimer," remarked Tom Potter, with a sneer. "It might have a good effect upon him, and reinstate you in his favour."
"The Lord Mayor DID hear the observation, Mr. Potter," said the stout personage standing by Sir Felix, unmuffling the lower part of his face as he spoke, and disclosing the features of Sir Gresham. "The Lord Mayor DID hear it, sir," he repeated, " and it is likely to have the effect you anticipate, since he believes it to be sincere. You may be surprised to see me here, gentlemen," he continued, "and I owe you some explanation of my presence. I am not here to spy upon your actions, or to interfere with your proceedings. But having learnt that a duel was to take place on this spot between my nephew and Mr. Wilkes, and suspecting, I confess, from the strange locality chosen, and from other reasons, which I need not particularise, that my nephew was to be the victim of some wild frolic, I took precautions — not to prevent the meeting, for I felt perfectly certain that Herbert was well able to defend his own honour — but to counteract any trick, should such be intended. These torchbearers are my men, and I trust Mr. Tilbury will not incur your displeasure for the slight assistance he has rendered me in my scheme — assistance, I may add, which he could not very well refuse."
"We ought to express regret at having brought your lordship out at such an early hour, and on such a wretched morning," rejoined Wilkes; "but any circumstance which procures us the honour of your company must be gratifying to the Capuchins, and we trust, since you are here, you will do us the favour to stay and breakfast with us."
"I accept your invitation with great pleasure, Mr. Wilkes," replied Sir Gresham. "Though I should not have ventured to sup with the jovial monks of St. Francis, I am not afraid to breakfast with them. But you must let me eat and drink what I please."
"'Fays ce que voudras' is our device," rejoined Wilkes. "Your lordship shall do just what you will."
"Then I am with you," replied Sir Gresham; "and the sooner we sit down the better; for, in spite of the fog, I have a famous appetite."
"I am glad to hear it," replied Wilkes; "and I trust Mr. Tilbury will use you well."
"His lorship shall have the best my house can furnish," replied Tilbury; "but this is an honour I did not expect."
"Make no apologies, sir," said Sir Gresham; "what will do for the epicurean Capuchins may very well do for a plain man like myself."
On this the whole party, lighted by the torchbearers, returned to the house, where an excellent breakfast was presently served, to which they sat down, and did full justice. Placed between Wilkes and Lord Sandwich, the Lord Mayor laughed as heartily at the piquant sallies and diverting stories of the ugly wit as the great moralist, Dr. Johnson, did on the memorable occasion when he dined in Wilkes' company. "Sir, there was no resisting the dog."
By the time the repast was over, the fog had cleared off, so that the Lord Mayor and Sir Felix Bland had a pleasant ride together to the Mansion House; while Tradescant and Herbert, accompanied by Crutcher, found their way back to Cheapside."
END OF THE THIRD BOOK
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Thomas Tilbury & Wilkes' Duel at Bagshot