Chapter XLVIII

by Charles Dickens

　　The Flight of SikesOf all bad deeds that, under cover of the darkness, had beencommitted with wide London's bounds since night hung over it,that was the worst. Of all the horrors that rose with an illscent upon the morning air, that was the foulest and most cruel.The sun--the bright sun, that brings back, not light alone, butnew life, and hope, and freshness to man--burst upon the crowdedcity in clear and radiant glory. Through costly-coloured glassand paper-mended window, through cathedral dome and rottencrevice, it shed its equal ray. It lighted up the room where themurdered woman lay. It did. He tried to shut it out, but itwould stream in. If the sight had been a ghastly one in the dullmorning, what was it, now, in all that brilliant light!He had not moved; he had been afraid to stir. There had been amoan and motion of the hand; and, with terror added to rage, hehad struck and struck again. Once he threw a rug over it; but itwas worse to fancy the eyes, and imagine them moving towards him,than to see them glaring upward, as if watching the reflection ofthe pool of gore that quivered and danced in the sunlight on theceiling. He had plucked it off again. And there was thebody--mere flesh and blood, nor more--but such flesh, and so muchblood!He struck a light, kindled a fire, and thrust the club into it.There was hair upon the end, which blazed and shrunk into a lightcinder, and, caught by the air, whirled up the chimney. Eventhat frightened him, sturdy as he was; but he held the weapontill it broke, and then piled it on the coals to burn away, andsmoulder into ashes. He washed himself, and rubbed his clothes;there were spots that would not be removed, but he cut the piecesout, and burnt them. How those stains were dispersed about theroom! The very feet of the dog were bloody.All this time he had, never once, turned his back upon thecorpse; no, not for a moment. Such preparations completed, hemoved, backward, towards the door: dragging the dog with him,lest he should soil his feet anew and carry out new evidence ofthe crime into the streets. He shut the door softly, locked it,took the key, and left the house.He crossed over, and glanced up at the window, to be sure thatnothing was visible from the outside. There was the curtainstill drawn, which she would have opened to admit the light shenever saw again. It lay nearly under there. He knew that. God,how the sun poured down upon the very spot!The glance was instantaneous. It was a relief to have got freeof the room. He whistled on the dog, and walked rapidly away.He went through Islington; strode up the hill at Highgate onwhich stands the stone in honour of Whittington; turned down toHighgate Hill, unsteady of purpose, and uncertain where to go;struck off to the right again, almost as soon as he began todescend it; and taking the foot-path across the fields, skirtedCaen Wood, and so came on Hampstead Heath. Traversing the hollowby the Vale of Heath, he mounted the opposite bank, and crossingthe road which joins the villages of Hampstead and Highgate, madealong the remaining portion of the heath to the fields at NorthEnd, in one of which he laid himself down under a hedge, andslept.Soon he was up again, and away,--not far into the country, butback towards London by the high-road--then back again--then overanother part of the same ground as he already traversed--thenwandering up and down in fields, and lying on ditches' brinks torest, and starting up to make for some other spot, and do thesame, and ramble on again.Where could he go, that was near and not too public, to get somemeat and drink? Hendon. That was a good place, not far off, andout of most people's way. Thither he directed hissteps,--running sometimes, and sometimes, with a strangeperversity, loitering at a snail's pace, or stopping altogetherand idly breaking the hedges with a stick. But when he gotthere, all the people he met--the very children at thedoors--seemed to view him with suspicion. Back he turned again,without the courage to purchase bit or drop, though he had tastedno food for many hours; and once more he lingered on the Heath,uncertain where to go.He wandered over miles and miles of ground, and still came backto the old place. Morning and noon had passed, and the day wason the wane, and still he rambled to and fro, and up and down,and round and round, and still lingered about the same spot. Atlast he got away, and shaped his course for Hatfield.It was nine o'clock at night, when the man, quite tired out, andthe dog, limping and lame from the unaccustomed exercise, turneddown the hill by the church of the quiet village, and ploddingalong the little street, crept into a small public-house, whosescanty light had guided them to the spot. There was a fire inthe tap-room, and some country-labourers were drinking before it.They made room for the stranger, but he sat down in the furthestcorner, and ate and drank alone, or rather with his dog: to whomhe cast a morsel of food from time to time.The conversation of the men assembled here, turned upon theneighboring land, and farmers; and when those topics wereexhausted, upon the age of some old man who had been buried onthe previous Sunday; the young men present considering him veryold, and the old men present declaring him to have been quiteyoung--not older, one white-haired grandfather said, than hewas--with ten or fifteen year of life in him at least--if he hadtaken care; if he had taken care.There was nothing to attract attention, or excite alarm in this.The robber, after paying his reckoning, sat silent and unnoticedin his corner, and had almost dropped asleep, when he was halfwakened by the noisy entrance of a new comer.This was an antic fellow, half pedlar and half mountebank, whotravelled about the country on foot to vend hones, stops, razors,washballs, harness-paste, medicine for dogs and horses, cheapperfumery, cosmetics, and such-like wares, which he carried in acase slung to his back. His entrance was the signal for varioushomely jokes with the countrymen, which slackened not until hehad made his supper, and opened his box of treasures, when heingeniously contrived to unite business with amusement.'And what be that stoof? Good to eat, Harry?' asked a grinningcountryman, pointing to some composition-cakes in one corner.'This,' said the fellow, producing one, 'this is the infallibleand invaluable composition for removing all sorts of stain, rust,dirt, mildew, spick, speck, spot, or spatter, from silk, satin,linen, cambrick, cloth, crape, stuff, carpet, merino, muslin,bombazeen, or woollen stuff. Wine-stains, fruit-stains,beer-stains, water-stains, paint-stains, pitch-stains, anystains, all come out at one rub with the infallible andinvaluable composition. If a lady stains her honour, she hasonly need to swallow one cake and she's cured at once--for it'spoison. If a gentleman wants to prove this, he has only need tobolt one little square, and he has put it beyond question--forit's quite as satisfactory as a pistol-bullet, and a great dealnastier in the flavour, consequently the more credit in takingit. One penny a square. With all these virtues, one penny asquare!'There were two buyers directly, and more of the listeners plainlyhesitated. The vendor observing this, increased in loquacity.'It's all bought up as fast as it can be made,' said the fellow.'There are fourteen water-mills, six steam-engines, and agalvanic battery, always a-working upon it, and they can't makeit fast enough, though the men work so hard that they die off,and the widows is pensioned directly, with twenty pound a-yearfor each of the children, and a premium of fifty for twins. Onepenny a square! Two half-pence is all the same, and fourfarthings is received with joy. One penny a square!Wine-stains, fruit-stains, beer-stains, water-stains,paint-stains, pitch-stains, mud-stains, blood-stains! Here is astain upon the hat of a gentleman in company, that I'll takeclean out, before he can order me a pint of ale.''Hah!' cried Sikes starting up. 'Give that back.''I'll take it clean out, sir,' replied the man, winking to thecompany, 'before you can come across the room to get it.Gentlemen all, observe the dark stain upon this gentleman's hat,no wider than a shilling, but thicker than a half-crown. Whetherit is a wine-stain, fruit-stain, beer-stain, water-stain,paint-stain, pitch-stain, mud-stain, or blood-stain--'The man got no further, for Sikes with a hideous imprecationoverthrew the table, and tearing the hat from him, burst out ofthe house.With the same perversity of feeling and irresolution that hadfastened upon him, despite himself, all day, the murderer,finding that he was not followed, and that they most probablyconsidered him some drunken sullen fellow, turned back up thetown, and getting out of the glare of the lamps of a stage-coachthat was standing in the street, was walking past, when herecognised the mail from London, and saw that it was standing atthe little post-office. He almost knew what was to come; but hecrossed over, and listened.The guard was standing at the door, waiting for the letter-bag.A man, dressed like a game-keeper, came up at the moment, and hehanded him a basket which lay ready on the pavement.'That's for your people,' said the guard. 'Now, look alive inthere, will you. Damn that 'ere bag, it warn't ready night aforelast; this won't do, you know!''Anything new up in town, Ben?' asked the game-keeper, drawingback to the window-shutters, the better to admire the horses.'No, nothing that I knows on,' replied the man, pulling on hisgloves. 'Corn's up a little. I heerd talk of a murder, too,down Spitalfields way, but I don't reckon much upon it.''Oh, that's quite true,' said a gentleman inside, who was lookingout of the window. 'And a dreadful murder it was.''Was it, sir?' rejoined the guard, touching his hat. 'Man orwoman, pray, sir?''A woman,' replied the gentleman. 'It is supposed--''Now, Ben,' replied the coachman impatiently.'Damn that 'ere bag,' said the guard; 'are you gone to sleep inthere?''Coming!' cried the office keeper, running out.'Coming,' growled the guard. 'Ah, and so's the young 'ooman ofproperty that's going to take a fancy to me, but I don't knowwhen. Here, give hold. All ri--ight!'The horn sounded a few cheerful notes, and the coach was gone.Sikes remained standing in the street, apparently unmoved by whathe had just heard, and agitated by no stronger feeling than adoubt where to go. At length he went back again, and took theroad which leads from Hatfield to St. Albans.He went on doggedly; but as he left the town behind him, andplunged into the solitude and darkness of the road, he felt adread and awe creeping upon him which shook him to the core.Every object before him, substance or shadow, still or moving,took the semblance of some fearful thing; but these fears werenothing compared to the sense that haunted him of that morning'sghastly figure following at his heels. He could trace its shadowin the gloom, supply the smallest item of the outline, and notehow stiff and solemn it seemed to stalk along. He could hear itsgarments rustling in the leaves, and every breath of wind cameladen with that last low cry. If he stopped it did the same. Ifhe ran, it followed--not running too: that would have been arelief: but like a corpse endowed with the mere machinery oflife, and borne on one slow melancholy wind that never rose orfell.At times, he turned, with desperate determination, resolved tobeat this phantom off, though it should look him dead; but thehair rose on his head, and his blood stood still, for it hadturned with him and was behind him then. He had kept it beforehim that morning, but it was behind now--always. He leaned hisback against a bank, and felt that it stood above him, visiblyout against the cold night-sky. He threw himself upon theroad--on his back upon the road. At his head it stood, silent,erect, and still--a living grave-stone, with its epitaph inblood.Let no man talk of murderers escaping justice, and hint thatProvidence must sleep. There were twenty score of violent deathsin one long minute of that agony of fear.There was a shed in a field he passed, that offered shelter forthe night. Before the door, were three tall poplar trees, whichmade it very dark within; and the wind moaned through them with adismal wail. He could not walk on, till daylight came again; andhere he stretched himself close to the wall--to undergo newtorture.For now, a vision came before him, as constant and more terriblethan that from which he had escaped. Those widely staring eyes,so lustreless and so glassy, that he had better borne to see themthan think upon them, appeared in the midst of the darkness:light in themselves, but giving light to nothing. There were buttwo, but they were everywhere. If he shut out the sight, therecame the room with every well-known object--some, indeed, that hewould have forgotten, if he had gone over its contents frommemory--each in its accustomed place. The body was in its place,and its eyes were as he saw them when he stole away. He got up,and rushed into the field without. The figure was behind him.He re-entered the shed, and shrunk down once more. The eyes werethere, before he had laid himself along.And here he remained in such terror as none but he can know,trembling in every limb, and the cold sweat starting from everypore, when suddenly there arose upon the night-wind the noise ofdistant shouting, and the roar of voices mingled in alarm andwonder. Any sound of men in that lonely place, even though itconveyed a real cause of alarm, was something to him. Heregained his strength and energy at the prospect of personaldanger; and springing to his feet, rushed into the open air.The broad sky seemed on fire. Rising into the air with showersof sparks, and rolling one above the other, were sheets of flame,lighting the atmosphere for miles round, and driving clouds ofsmoke in the direction where he stood. The shouts grew louder asnew voices swelled the roar, and he could hear the cry of Fire!mingled with the ringing of an alarm-bell, the fall of heavybodies, and the crackling of flames as they twined round some newobstacle, and shot aloft as though refreshed by food. The noiseincreased as he looked. There were people there--men andwomen--light, bustle. It was like new life to him. He dartedonward--straight, headlong--dashing through brier and brake, andleaping gate and fence as madly as his dog, who careered withloud and sounding bark before him.He came upon the spot. There were half-dressed figures tearingto and fro, some endeavouring to drag the frightened horses fromthe stables, others driving the cattle from the yard andout-houses, and others coming laden from the burning pile, amidsta shower of falling sparks, and the tumbling down of red-hotbeams. The apertures, where doors and windows stood an hour ago,disclosed a mass of raging fire; walls rocked and crumbled intothe burning well; the molten lead and iron poured down, whitehot, upon the ground. Women and children shrieked, and menencouraged each other with noisy shouts and cheers. The clankingof the engine-pumps, and the spirting and hissing of the water asit fell upon the blazing wood, added to the tremendous roar. Heshouted, too, till he was hoarse; and flying from memory andhimself, plunged into the thickest of the throng. Hither andthither he dived that night: now working at the pumps, and nowhurrying through the smoke and flame, but never ceasing to engagehimself wherever noise and men were thickest. Up and down theladders, upon the roofs of buildings, over floors that quaked andtrembled with his weight, under the lee of falling bricks andstones, in every part of that great fire was he; but he bore acharmed life, and had neither scratch nor bruise, nor wearinessnor thought, till morning dawned again, and only smoke andblackened ruins remained.This mad excitement over, there returned, with ten-fold force,the dreadful consciousness of his crime. He looked suspiciouslyabout him, for the men were conversing in groups, and he fearedto be the subject of their talk. The dog obeyed the significantbeck of his finger, and they drew off, stealthily, together. Hepassed near an engine where some men were seated, and they calledto him to share in their refreshment. He took some bread andmeat; and as he drank a draught of beer, heard the firemen, whowere from London, talking about the murder. 'He has gone toBirmingham, they say,' said one: 'but they'll have him yet, forthe scouts are out, and by to-morrow night there'll be a cry allthrough the country.'He hurried off, and walked till he almost dropped upon theground; then lay down in a lane, and had a long, but broken anduneasy sleep. He wandered on again, irresolute and undecided,and oppressed with the fear of another solitary night.Suddenly, he took the desperate resolution to going back toLondon.'There's somebody to speak to there, at all event,' he thought.'A good hiding-place, too. They'll never expect to nab me there,after this country scent. Why can't I lie by for a week or so,and, forcing blunt from Fagin, get abroad to France? Damme, I'llrisk it.'He acted upon this impluse without delay, and choosing the leastfrequented roads began his journey back, resolved to lieconcealed within a short distance of the metropolis, and,entering it at dusk by a circuitous route, to proceed straight tothat part of it which he had fixed on for his destination.The dog, though. If any description of him were out, it wouldnot be forgotten that the dog was missing, and had probably gonewith him. This might lead to his apprehension as he passed alongthe streets. He resolved to drown him, and walked on, lookingabout for a pond: picking up a heavy stone and tying it to hishanderkerchief as he went.The animal looked up into his master's face while thesepreparations were making; whether his instinct apprehendedsomething of their purpose, or the robber's sidelong look at himwas sterner than ordinary, he skulked a little farther in therear than usual, and cowered as he came more slowly along. Whenhis master halted at the brink of a pool, and looked round tocall him, he stopped outright.'Do you hear me call? Come here!' cried Sikes.The animal came up from the very force of habit; but as Sikesstooped to attach the handkerchief to his throat, he uttered alow growl and started back.'Come back!' said the robber.The dog wagged his tail, but moved not. Sikes made a runningnoose and called him again.The dog advanced, retreated, paused an instant, and scoured awayat his hardest speed.The man whistled again and again, and sat down and waited in theexpectation that he would return. But no dog appeared, and atlength he resumed his journey.