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pter 1 Shewing How Wrath Began

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 her all round; like Queen Elizabeth’s courtiers.

However, Dr. Wolf, seeing Alfred standing alone, said, “Let me introduce you,” and took him round to her. The courtiers fell back a little. The lady turned her stately head, and her dark eyes ran lightly all over Alfred in a moment.

He bowed, and blushed like a girl. She curtseyed composedly and without a symptom of recognition — deep water runs still — and Dr. Wolf introduced them ceremoniously.

“Mr. Hardie — Mrs. Archbold.”

Chapter 40

ON Alfred’s leaving Silverton, Mrs. Archbold was prostrated. It was a stunning blow to her young passion, and left her weary, desolate.

But she was too strong to lie helpless under disappointed longings. Two days she sat stupefied with the heartache; after that she bustled about her work in a fervour of half-crazy restlessness, and ungovernable irritability, quenched at times by fits of weeping. As she wept apart, but raged and tyrannised in public, she soon made Silverton House Silverton Oven, especially to those who had the luck to be of her sex. Then Baker timidly remonstrated; at the first word she snapped him up and said a change would be good for both of them. He apologised; in vain: that very day she closed by letter with Dr. Wolf, who had often invited her to be his “Matron.” Her motive, half hidden from herself, was to be anywhere near her favourite.

Installed at Drayton House, she waited some days, and coquetted woman-like with her own desires, the

 all who continued within the fatal walls, excepting two or three debtors, who probably saw no advantage

nterrogatively.

He told her triumphantly it was so.

“At that rate you are Julius and I am Elfrida,” said she.

“That is a bargain,” said he, and sealed it on the sweet lips that were murmuring Heaven so near him.

In this sore-tried and now happy pair the ardour of possession lasted long, and was succeeded by the sober but full felicity of conjugal love and high esteem combined. They were so young and elastic, that past sorrows seemed but to give one zest more to the great draught of happiness they now drank day by day. They all lived together at Albion Villa, thanks to Alfred. He was by nature combative, and his warlike soul was roused at the current theory that you cannot be happy under the same roof with your wife’s mother. “That is cant,” said he to Mrs. Dodd; “let us, you and I, trample on it hand in hand.”

“My child,” said poor Mrs. Dodd sorrowfully, “I am a poor hand at trampling; and everybody says a mother-inlaw in the house bores a young gentleman sadly.”

“If a young gentleman can’t live happy with you, mamma,” said he, kissing her, “he is a little snob, that is all, and not fit to live at all. Delenda est Cantilena! That means ‘Down with Cant!’”

They did live together: and behold eleven French plays, with their thirty-three English adaptations, confuted to the end of time.

 She came out much later than usual that day, for to tell the truth, her mother had detained her to show her Alfred’s letter, and her answer.

“Ah, mamma,” said poor Julia, “you don’t love me as you did once. Poor Alfred!”

Mrs. Dodd sighed at this reproach, but said she did not deserve it. No mother in her senses would consent to sucand bitter trials had failed.

But alas! it is often so.

Chapter 49

Both the parted lovers were wretched. Julia never complained, but drooped, and read the Psalms, and Edward detected her in tears over them. He questioned her and obtained a lame account; she being far more bent on screening Alfred than on telling the truth.

Edward called on the other; and found him disconsolate, and reading a Heathen philosopher for comfort, and finding none. Edward questioned him, and he was reserved and even sulky. Sir Imperturbable persisted quietly, and he exploded, and out came his wrongs. Edward replied that he was a pretty fellow: wanted it all his own way. “Suppose my mother, with her present feelings, was to take a leaf out of your book, and use all her power; where would you be then? Come, old fellow, I know what love is, and one of us shall have the girl he loves, unless any harm should come to my poor father owing to your blunder — oh, that would put it out of the question, I feel — but let us hope better. I pulled you out of the fire, and somehow I seem to like you better than ever after that; let me pull you out of this mess too.”

 evil!” said the other, and ran down the prison stair.

The person in female attire whom we have distinguished as one of the most active rioters, was about the same time at the ear of the young woman. “Flee, Effie, flee!” was all he had t

He then addressed Butler. “Now, sir, we have patiently heard you, and we just wish you to understand, in the way of answer, that you may as well argue to the ashlar-work and iron stanchels of the Tolbooth as think to change our purpose — Blood must have blood. We have sworn to each other by the deepest oaths ever were pledged, that Porteous shall die the death he deserves so richly; therefore, speak no more to us, but prepare him for death as well as the briefness of his change will permit.”

They had suffered the unfortunate Porteous to put on his night-gown and slippers, as he had thrown off his coat and shoes, in order to facilitate his attempted escape up the chi

mney. In this garb he was now mounted on the hands of two of the rioters, clasped together, so as to form what is called in Scotland, “The King’s Cushion.” Butler was placed close to his side, and repeatedly urged to perform a duty always the most painful which can be imposed on a clergyman deserving of the name, and now rendered more so by the peculiar and horrid circumstances of the criminal’s case. Porteous at first uttered some supplications for mercy, but when he found that there was no chance that these would be attended to, his military education, and the natural stubbornness of his disposition, combined to support his spirits.

“Are you prepared for this dreadful end?” said Butler, in a faltering voice. “O turn to Him, in whose eyes time and spa

ce have no existence, and to whom a few minutes are as a lifetime, and a lifetime as a minute.”

“I believe I know what you would say,” answered Porteous sullenly. “I was bred a soldier; if they will murder me without time, let my sins as well as my blood lie at their door.”

“Who was it,” said the stern voice of Wildfire, “that said to Wilson at this very spot, when he could not pray, owing to the galling agony of his fetters, that his pains would soon be over? — I say to you to take your own tale home; and if you cannot profit by the good man’s lessons, blame not them that are still more merciful to you than you were to others.”

The Porteous Mob

The procession now moved forward with a slow and determined pace. It was enlightened by many blazing, links and torches; for the actors of this work were so far from affecting any secrecy on the occasion, that they seemed even to court observation. Their principal leaders kept close to the person of the prisoner, whose pallid yet stubborn features were seen distinctly by the torch-light, as his person was raised considerably above the concourse which thronged around him. Those who bore swords, muskets, and battle-axes, marched on each side, as if forming a regular guard to the procession. The windows, as they went along, were filled with the inhabitants, whose slumbers had been broken by this unusual disturbance. Some of the spectators muttered accents of encouragement; but in general they were so much appalled by a sight so strange and audacious, that they looked on with a sort of stupified astonishment. No one offered, by act or word, the slightest interruption.

The rioters, on their part, continued to act with the same air of deliberate confidence and security which had marked all their proceedings. When the object of their resentment dropped one of his slippers, they stopped, sought for it, and replaced it upon his foot with great deliberation.1

As they descended the Bow towards the fatal spot where they designed to complete their purpose, it was suggested that there should be a rope kept in readiness. For this purpose the booth of a man who dealt in cordage was forced open, a coil of rope fit for their purpose was selected to serve as a halter, and the dealer next morning found that a guinea had been left on his counter in exchange; so anxious were the perpetrators of this daring action to show that they meditated not the slightest wrong or infraction of law, excepting so far as Porteous was himself concerned.

Leading, or carrying along with them, in this determined and regular manner, the object of their vengeance, they at length reached the place of common execution, the scene of his crime, and destined spot of his sufferings. Several of the rioters (if they should not rather be described as conspirators) endeavoured to remove the stone which filled up the socket in which the end of the fatal tree was sunk when it was erected for its fatal purpose; others sought for the means of constructing a temporary gibbet, the place in which the gallows itself was deposited being reported too secure to be forced, without much loss of time. Butler endeavoured to avail himself of the delay afforded by these circumstances, to turn the people from their desperate design. “For God’s sake,” he exclaimed, “remember it is the image of your Creator which you are about to deface in the person of this unfortunate man! Wretched as he is, and wicked as he may be, he has a share in every promise of Scripture, and you cannot destroy him in impenitence without blotting his name from the Book of Life — Do not destroy soul and body; give time for preparation.”

“What time had they,” returned a stern voice, “whom he murdered on this very spot? — Th

 masses of thick black hair sat on her grand white poll like a raven on a marble pillar.

It was not easy to get near her;mach. Still he was rather mystified.

In the evening Alfred came dressed into the drawing-room, and found several gentlemen and ladies there. One of the ladies seemed to attract the lion’s share of male homage. Her back was turned to Alfred: but it was a beautiful back, with great magnificent neck and shoulders, and a skin like satin; she was tall but rounded and symmetrical, had a massive but long and shapely white arm, and perfect hand: and masses of thick black hair sat on her grand white poll like a raven on a marble pillar.

It was not easy to get near her; for the mad gentlemen were fawning on old woman; of whom anon. There were also three ladies and one gentleman, who had been deranged, but had recovered years ago. This little incident, Recovery, is followed in a public asylum by instant discharge; but, in a private one, Money, not Sanity, is apt to settle the question of egress. The gentleman’s case was scarce credible in the nineteenth century: years ago, being undeniably cracked, he had done what Dr. Wycherley told Alfred was a sure sign of sanity: i.e., he had declared himself insane; and had even been so reasonable as to sign his own order and certificates, and so imprison himself illegally, but with perfect ease; no remonstrance against that illegality from the guardians of the law! When he got what plain men call sane, he naturally wanted to be free, and happening to remember he alone had signed the order of imprisonment, and the imaginary doctor’s certificates, he claimed his discharge from illegal confinement. Answer: “First obtain a legal order for your discharge.” On this he signed an order for his discharge. “That is not a legal order.”—“It is as legal as the order on which I am here.” “Granted; but, legally or not, the asylum has got you; the open air has not got you. Possession is ninety-nine points of Lunacy law. Die your own illegal prisoner, and let your kinsfolk eat your land, and drink your consols, and bury you in a pauper’s shroud” All that Alfred could do for these victims was to promise to try and get them out some day, D.V. But there was a weak-minded youth, Francis Beverley, who had the honour to be under the protection of the Lord Chancellor. Now a lunatic or a Softy, protected by that functionary, is literally a lamb protected by a wolf, and that wolf ex officio the cruellest, cunningest old mangler and fleecer of innocents in Christendom. Chancery lunatics are the richest class, yet numbers of them are flung among pauper and even criminal lunatics, at a few pounds a year, while their committees bag four-fifths of the money that has been assigned to keep the patient in comfort.

Unfortunately the protection of the Chancellor extends to Life dissuaded him from receiving Captain Dodd. He stared at her. “What, turn away a couple of thousand pounds?”

“But they will come to visit him; and perhaps see him.”

“Oh, that can be managed. You must be on your guard: and I’ll warn Rooke. I can’t turn away money on a chance.”

One day Alfred found himself locked into his room. This was unusual: for, though they called him a lunatic in words, they called him sane by all their acts. He half suspected that the Commissioners were in the house.

Had he known who really was in the house, he would have beate

She hissed this fiendish threat out between her white teeth.

“Ay, sir,” she said, “hitherto your reason has only encountered men. You shall see now what an insulted woman can do. A lunatic you shall be ere long, and then I’ll make you love me, dote on me, follow me about for a smile: and then I’ll leave off hating you, and love you once more, but not the way I did five minutes ago.”

At this furious threat Alfred ground his teeth, and said, “Then I give you my honour that the moment I see my reason the least shaken, I’ll kill you: and so save myself from the degradation of being your lover on any terms.”

“Threaten your own sex with that,” said the Archbold contemptuously; “you may kill me whenever you like; and the sooner the better. Only, if you don’t do it very quickly, you shall be my property, my brain-sick, love-sick slave.”

Chapter 41a maniac like a teetotum, the restraint chairs, and all the paraphernalia were sent into the stable, and so disposed that, even if found, they would look like things scorned and dismissed from service: for Wolf, mind you, professed the non-restraint system.

Alfred asked what was up, and found all this was in preparation for the quarterly visit of the Commissioners: a visit intended to be a surprise; but Drayton House always knew when they were coming, and the very names of the two thunderbolts that thought to surprise them.

Mrs. Archbold communicated her knowledge in off-hand terms. “It is only two old women: Bartlett and Terry.”

The gentlemen thus flatteringly heralded arrived next day. One an aetter, but very thankful for the wine Mrs. Dodd had sent her. This answer given, she went without any apparent hurry and sat by Edward, and fixed two loving imploring eyes on him in silence. Oh, subtle sex! This feather was to turn the scale, and make him talk unquestioned. It told. She was close to him too, and mamma at the end of the room.

“Look here, Ju,” said he, putting his hands in his pockets, “we two have always been friends as well as brother and sister; and somehow it does not seem like a friend to keep things dark;” then to Mrs. Dodd: “She is not a child, mother, after all; and how can it be wrong to tell her the truth, or right to suppress the truth? Well then, Ju, there’s an advertisement in the ’Tiser, and it’s a regular riddle. Now mind, I don’t really think there is anything in it; but it is a droll coincidence, very droll; if it wasn’t there are ladies present, and one of them a district visitor, I would say, d — d droll. So droll,” continued he, getting warm, “that I should like to punch the advertiser’s head.”

“Let me see it, dear,” said Julia. “I dare say it is nothing worth punching about.”

“There,” said Edward. “I’ve marked it.”

Julia took the paper, and her eye fell on this short advertisement:

AILEEN AROON. — DISTRUST APPEARANCES.

Looking at her with some anxiety, they saw the pa

Two ladies carried a paper to Whitehall out of charity to a stranger.

Therein the elder was a benefactress to a man she had never spoken of but as “the Wretch;” the younger held her t

 he winds. He has.”

She tried not to think of him too ns and good humour won the regard of the moderate patients and of the attendants, all but three; Rooke, the head keeper, a morose burly ruffian; Hayes, a bilious subordinate, Rooke’s shadow; and Vulcan, a huge mastiff that would let nobody but Rooke touch him; he was as big as a large calf, and formidable as a small lion, though nearly toothless with age. He was let loose in the yard at night, and was an element in the Restraint system; many a patient would have tried to escape but for Vulcan. He was also an invaluable howler at night, and so cooperated with Dr. Wolf’s bugs and fleas to avert sleep, that vile foe to insanity and all our diseases, private asylums included.

Alfred treated Mrs. Archbold with a distant respect that tried her hard. But that able woman wore sweetness and unobtrusive kindness, and bided her time.

In Drayton House the keeperesses eclipsed the keepers in cruelty to the poorer patients. No men except Dr. Wolf and his assistant had a pass-key into their department, so there was nobody they could deceive, nobody they held worth the trouble. In the absence of male critics they showed their real selves, and how wise it is to trust that gentle sex in the dark with irresponsible power over females. With unflagging patience they applied the hourly torture of petty insolence, needless humiliation, unreasonable refusals to the poor madwomen; bored them with the poisoned gimlet, and made their hearts bleeding pin-cushions. But minute cruelty and wild caprice were not enough for them, though these never tired nor rested; they must vilify them too with degrading and savage names. Billingsgate might have gone to school to Drayton House. Inter alia, they seemed in love with a term that Othello hit upon; only they used it not once, but fifty times a day, and struck decent women with it on the face, like a scorpion whip; and then the scalding tears were sure to run in torrents down their silly, honest, burning cheeks. But this was not all; they had got a large tank in a flagged room, nominally for cleanliness and cure, but really for bane and torture. For the least offence, or out of mere wantonness, they would drag a patient stark naked across the yard, and thrust her bodily under water again and again, keeping her down till almost gone with suffocation, and dismissing her more dead than alive with obscene and insulting comments ringing in her ears, to get warm again in the cold. This my ladies called “tanking.”

In the ordinary morning ablutions they tanked without suffocating. But the immersion of the whole body in cold water was of itself a severe trial to those numerous patients in whom the circulation was weak; and as medical treatment, hurtful and even dangerous. Finally, these keeperesses, with diabolical insolence and cruelty, would bathe twenty patients in this tank, and then make them drink that foul water for their meals.

“The dark places of the land are full of horrible cruelty.”

One day they tanked so savagely that Nurse Eliza, after months of sickly disapproval, came to the new redresser of grievances, and told.

What was he to do? He seized the only chance of redress; he ran panting with indignation to Mrs. Archbold, and blushing high, said imploringly, “Mrs. Archbold, you used to be kindhearted ——” and could say no more for something rising in his throat.

Mrs. Archbold smiled encouragingly on him, and said softly, “I am the same I always was — to you Alfred.”

“Oh, thank you; then pray send for Nurse Eliza, and hear the cruelties that are being done to the patients within a yard of us.”

“You had better tell me yourself, if you want me to pay any attention.”

“I can’t. I don’t know how to speak to a lady of such things as are done here. The brutes! the cowardly she-devils! Oh, how I should like to kill them.”

Mrs. Archbold laughed a little at his enthusiasm (fancy caring so what was done to a pack of women), and sent for Nurse Eliza. She came and being questioned told Mrs. Archbold more than she had Alfred. “And, ma’am,” said she, whimpering, “they have just been tanking one they had no business to touch; it is Mrs. Dale, her that is so close on her confinement. They tanked her cruel they did, and kept her under water till she was nigh gone. I came away; I couldn’t stand it.”

Alfred was walking about in a fury, and Nurse Eliza, in making this last revolting communication, lowered her voice for him not to hear, but his senses were quick. I think he heard, for he turned and came quickly to them.

“Mrs. Archbold, you are strong and brave — for a woman; oh, do go in to them and take them by the throat and shake the life out of them, the merciless, cowardly beasts! Oh that I could be a woman for an hour, or they could be men, I’d soon have my foot on some of the wretches.”

Mrs. Archbold acted Ignition. “Come with me both of you,” she said, and they were soon in the female department. Up came keeperesses directly, smirking and curtseying to her, and pretending not to look at Adonis. “Which of you nurses tanked Mrs. Dale?” said she sternly.

“‘Twasn’t I, ma’am, ‘twasn’t I.”

“Oh, fie!” said Eliza to one, “you know you were at the head of it.”

She pointed out two as the leaders. The Archbold instantly had them seized by the others — who, with treachery equal to their cowardice, turned eagerly against their fellow-culprits, to make friends with Power — and, inviting all the sensible maniacs who had been tanked, to assist or inspect, she bared her own statuesque arms, and, ably aided, soon plunged the offenders, screaming, crying, and whining, like spaniel bitches whipped, under the dirty water. They swallowed some, and appreciated their own acts. Then she forced them to walk twice round the yard with their wet clothes clinging to them, hooted by the late victims.

“There,” said Alfred, “let that teach you men will not own hyaenas in petticoats for women.”

Poor Alfred took all the credit of this performance; but in fact, when the Archbold invited him to bear a hand, he showed the white feather.

“I won’t touch the blackguardesses,” said he, haughtily turning it off on the score of contempt. “You give it them! Again, again! Brava!”

Mosaic retribution completed, Mrs. Archbold told the nurses if ever “tanking recurred she would bundle the whole female staff into the street, and then have them indicted by the Commissioners.”

These virtuous acts did Edith Archbold for love for a young man. Whether mad women or sane, women pregnant, or the reverse, were tanked or not, she cared at heart no more than whether sheep were washed or no in Ettrick’s distant dale. She was retiring with a tender look at Alfred, and her pulse secretly unaccelerated by sheep-washing of she-wolves, when her grateful favourite appealed to her again:

“Dear Mrs. Archbold, shall we punish and not comfort? This poor Mrs. Dale!”

The Archbold could have boxed his ears. “Dear boy,” she murmured tenderly, “you teach us all our duty.” She visited the tanked one, found her in a cold room after it, shivering like ague, and her teeth chattering. Mrs. Archbold had her to the fire, and got her warm clothes and a pint of wine, and probably saved her life and her child’s — for love of a young man.

Why I think Mrs. Dale would otherwise have left this shifting scene, Mrs. Carey, the last woman in her condition they tanked and then turned into a flagged cell that only wanted one frog of a grotto, was found soon after moribund; on which they bundled her out of the asylum to die. She did die next day, at home, but murdered by the asylum; and they told the Commissioners she died through her friends taking her away from the asylum too soon. The Commissioners had nothing to do but believe this, and did believe it. Inspectors who visit a temple of darkness, lies, cunning, and hypocrisy, four times a year, know mighty little of what goes on there the odd three hundred and sixty-one days, five hours, forty-eight minutes, and fifty-seven seconds.23

23 Arithmetic of my boyhood. I hear the world revolves some minutes quicker now.

“Now, Alfred,” said Mrs. Archbold, “I can’t be everywhere, or know everything; so you come to me when anything grieves you, and let me be the agent of your humanity.”

She said this so charmingly he was surprised into kissing her fair hand; then blushed, and thanked her warmly. Thus she established a chain between them. When he let too long elapse without appealing to her, she would ask his advice about the welfare of this or that patient; and so she cajoled him by the two foibles she had discerned in him — his vanity and his humanity.

Besides Alfred, there were two patients in Drayton House who had never been insane; a young man, and an

vely

n receivihe had spoken on t

an was twenty

If the infliction of pain and misery is, as I believe, the worst form of crime, 

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