"And the upper classes wonder that there are so many incendiary fires: my only surprise is, that there are so few! Ah! the Lucifer-match is a fearful weapon in the hands of the man whom the laws, the aristocracy, and the present state of society have ground down to the very dust. I felt all my power—I knew all my strength—I was aware of all my importance as a man, when I read of the awful extent of misery and desolation which I had thus caused. Oh! I was signally avenged!
"I now bethought me of punishing the baronet in the same manner. He had been the means of sending me for two years to the hulks at Woolwich. Pleased with this idea, I jogged merrily on towards Walmer. It was late at night when I reached home. I found my mother watching by my father's death-bed, and arrived just in time to behold him breathe his last. My mother spoke to me about a decent interment for him. I laughed in her face. Had he ever allowed any one to sleep quietly in his grave? No. How could he then hope for repose in the tomb? My mother remonstrated: I threatened to dash out her brains with my stout ash stick; and on the following night I sold my father's body to the surgeon who had anatomised poor Kate Price! This was another vengeance on my part.
"Not many hours elapsed before I set fire to the largest barn upon the baronet's estate. I waited in the neighbourhood and glutted myself with a view of the conflagration. The damage was immense. The next day I composed a song upon the subject, which I have never since forgotten. You may laugh at the idea of me becoming a poet; but you know well enough that I received some trifle of education—that I was not a fool by nature—and that in early life I was food of reading. The lines were these:—
"THE INCENDIARY'S SONG.
"The Lucifer-match! the Lucifer-match!
'Tis the weapon for us to wield.
How bonnily burns up rick and thatch,
And the crop just housed from the field!
The proud may oppress and the rich distress,
And drive us from their door;—
But they cannot snatch the Lucifer-match
From the hand of the desperate poor!
"The purse-proud squire and the tyrant peer
May keep their Game Laws still;
And the very glance of the overseer
May continue to freeze and kill.
The wealthy and great, and the chiefs of the state,
May tyrannise more and more;—
But they cannot snatch the Lucifer-match
From the hand of the desperate poor!
"'Oh! give us bread!' is the piteous wail That is murmured far and wide; And echo takes up and repeats the tale— But the rich man turns aside. The Justice of Peace may send his Police To scour the country o'er; But they cannot snatch the Lucifer-match From the hand of the desperate poor!
"Then, hurrah! hurrah! for the Lucifer-match;
'Tis the weapon of despair:—
How bonnily blaze up barn and thatch—
The poor man's revenge is there!
For the worm will turn on the feet that spurn— And surely a man is more?— Oh! none can e'er snatch the Lucifer-match From the hand of the desperate poor!
"The baronet suspected that I was the cause of the fire, as I had just returned to the neighbourhood; and he had me arrested and taken before a justice; but there was not a shadow of proof against me, nor a pretence to keep me in custody. I was accordingly discharged, with an admonition 'to take care of myself'—which was as much as to say, 'If I can find an opportunity of sending you to prison, I will.'
"Walmer and its neighbourhood grew loathsome to me. The image of Kate Price constantly haunted me; and I was moreover shunned by every one who knew that I had been at the hulks. I accordingly sold off all the fishing tackle, and other traps, and came up to London with the old Mummy.
"I need say no more."
"And there's enough in your history to set a man a-thinking," exclaimed the waiter of the boozing-ken; "there is indeed."
"Ah! I b'lieve you, there is," observed the Cracksman, draining the pot which had contained the egg-flip.
The clock struck mid-day when Holford entered the parlour of the boozing-ken.
CHAPTER LXIII.
THE PLOT.
"Well, young blade," cried the Cracksman, "you haven't kept us waiting at all, I suppose?"
"And do you fancy that I could wake myself up again in a minute when I had once laid down?" demanded the lad, sulkily.
"Oh! bother to the laying down, Harry," said the Cracksman. "Don't you think me and Tony wants sleep as well as a strong hearty young feller like you? and we haven't put buff in downy[74] since the night afore last."
"Well, never mind chaffing about that," cried the Resurrection Man impatiently: then, having dismissed the waiter, he continued, "Now, about this business at the palace? We must have no delay; and when we make appointments in future, they must be better kept. But I won't speak of this one now, because there's some allowance to be made for you, as you were up the best part of the night, and you ain't accustomed to it as we are. But to the point. How is this affair to be managed?"
"I don't see how it is to be managed at all," answered Holford, firmly.
"The devil you don't," cried the Cracksman.
"Then what was you doing all that time in the palace?"
"Running a thousand risks of being found out every minute——"
"So we all do at times."
"And sneaking about at night-time to find food."
"I think you managed to discover the right place for the grist," said the Resurrection Man, his cadaverous countenance wearing an ironical smile; "for you must recollect that I found you in the pantry."
"And the pantry's a good neighbourhood: it can't be far from where the plate's kept," observed the Cracksman.
"The plate is kept where no one can get at it," said Holford.
"How do you know that, youngster?"
"I overheard the servants count it, lock it up in a chest, and take it up to the apartments of—of—the Lord Steward, I think they call him."
"The deuce!" ejaculated the Cracksman, in a tone of deep disappointment.
"Now I tell you what it is, young fellow," said the Resurrection Man; "I think that for some reason or another you're deceiving us."
"You think so?" cried the lad. "And why should you fancy that