Presently, it came again, subsided, came once more, grew louder,fainter--swelled into a roar. It was on the road, and varied with its windings. All at once it burst into a distinct sound--thevoices, and the tramping feet of many men.
It is questionable whether old John Willet, even then, would havethought of the rioters but for the cries of his cook and housemaid,who ran screaming upstairs and locked themselves into one of theold garrets,--shrieking dismally when they had done so, by way ofrendering their place of refuge perfectly secret and secure. Thesetwo females did afterwards depone that Mr Willet in hisconsternation uttered but one word, and called that up the stairsin a stentorian voice, six distinct times. But as this word was amonosyllable, which, however inoffensive when applied to thequadruped it denotes, is highly reprehensible when used inconnection with females of unimpeachable character, many personswere inclined to believe that the young women laboured under somehallucination caused by excessive fear; and that their earsdeceived them.
Be this as it may, John Willet, in whom the very uttermost extentof dull-headed perplexity supplied the place of courage, stationedhimself in the porch, and waited for their coming up. Once, itdimly occurred to him that there was a kind of door to the house,which had a lock and bolts; and at the same time some shadowy ideas of shutters to the lower windows, flitted through his brain. Buthe stood stock still, looking down the road in the direction inwhich the noise was rapidly advancing, and did not so much as takehis hands out of his pockets.
He had not to wait long. A dark mass, looming through a cloud ofdust, soon became visible; the mob quickened their pace; shoutingand whooping like savages, they came rushing on pell mell; and in afew seconds he was bandied from hand to hand, in the heart of acrowd of men.
"Halloa!" cried a voice he knew, as the man who spoke came cleavingthrough the throng. "Where is he? Give him to me. Don"t hurthim. How now, old Jack! Ha ha ha!"
Mr Willet looked at him, and saw it was Hugh; but he said nothing,and thought nothing.
"These lads are thirsty and must drink!" cried Hugh, thrusting himback towards the house. "Bustle, Jack, bustle. Show us the best-thevery best--the over-proof that you keep for your own drinking,Jack!"
John faintly articulated the words, "Who"s to pay?"
"He says "Who"s to pay?"" cried Hugh, with a roar of laughter whichwas loudly echoed by the crowd. Then turning to John, he added,"Pay! Why, nobody."
John stared round at the mass of faces--some grinning, some fierce,some lighted up by torches, some indistinct, some dusky andshadowy: some looking at him, some at his house, some at eachother--and while he was, as he thought, in the very act of doingso, found himself, without any consciousness of having moved, inthe bar; sitting down in an arm-chair, and watching the destructionof his property, as if it were some queer play or entertainment, ofan astonishing and stupefying nature, but having no reference tohimself--that he could make out--at all.
Yes. Here was the bar--the bar that the boldest never enteredwithout special invitation--the sanctuary, the mystery, thehallowed ground: here it was, crammed with men, clubs, sticks,torches, pistols; filled with a deafening noise, oaths, shouts,screams, hootings; changed all at once into a bear-garden, amadhouse, an infernal temple: men darting in and out, by door andwindow, smashing the glass, turning the taps, drinking liquor out of China punchbowls, sitting astride of casks, smoking private andpersonal pipes, cutting down the sacred grove of lemons, hackingand hewing at the celebrated cheese, breaking open inviolabledrawers, putting things in their pockets which didn"t belong tothem, dividing his own money before his own eyes, wantonly wasting,breaking, pulling down and tearing up: nothing quiet, nothingprivate: men everywhere--above, below, overhead, in the bedrooms,in the kitchen, in the yard, in the stables--clambering in atwindows when there were doors wide open; dropping out of windowswhen the stairs were handy; leaping over the bannisters into chasmsof passages: new faces and figures presenting themselves everyinstant--some yelling, some singing, some fighting, some breakingglass and crockery, some laying the dust with the liquor theycouldn"t drink, some ringing the bells till they pulled them down,others beating them with pokers till they beat them into fragments:
more men still--more, more, more--swarming on like insects: noise,smoke, light, darkness, frolic, anger, laughter, groans, plunder,fear, and ruin!
