“Was He a spy?” asked Mr. Cruncher.“Old Bailey spy,” returned his informant. “Yaha! Tst! Yah! OldBailey Spi-i-ies!”“Why, to be sure!” exclaimed Jerry, recalling the Trial at whichhe had assisted. “I’ve seen him. Dead, is he?”“Dead as mutton,” returned the other, “and can’t be too dead.Have ’em out, there! Spies! Pull ’em out, there! Spies!”The idea was so acceptable in the prevalent absence of anyCharles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsA Tale of Two Citiesidea, that the crowd caught it up with eagerness, and loudlyrepeating the suggestion to have ’em out, and to pull ’em out,mobbed the two vehicles so closely that they came to a stop. Onthe crowd’s opening the coach doors, the one mourner scuffled outof himself and was in their hands for a moment; but he was soalert, and made such good use of his time, that in another momenthe was scouring away up by a by-street, after shedding his cloak,hat, long hatband, white pocket-handkerchief, and othersymbolical tears.These, the people tore to pieces and scattered far and wide withgreat enjoyment, while the tradesmen hurriedly shut up theirshops; for a crowd in those times stopped at nothing, and was amonster much dreaded. They had already got to the length ofopening the hearse to take the coffin out, when some brightergenius proposed instead, its being escorted to its destinationamidst general rejoicing. Practical suggestions being muchneeded, this suggestion, too, was received with acclamation, andthe coach was immediately filled with eight inside and a dozenout, while as many people got on the roof of the hearse as could byany exercise of ingenuity stick upon it. Among the first of thesevolunteers was Jerry Cruncher himself, who modestly concealedhis spiky head from the observation of Tellson’s, in the furthercorner of the mourning coach.The officiating undertakers made some protest against thesechanges in the ceremonies; but, the river being alarmingly near,and several voices remarking on the efficacy of cold immersion inbringing refractory members of the profession to reason, theprotest was faint and brief. The remodelled procession started,with a chimney-sweep driving the hearse—advised by the regularCharles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsA Tale of Two Citiesdriver, who was perched beside him, under close inspection, forthe purpose—and with a pie-man, also attended by his cabinetminister, driving the mourning coach. A bear-leader, a popularstreet character of the time, was impressed as an additionalornament, before the cavalcade had gone far down the Strand;and his bear, who was black and very mangy, gave quite anUndertaking air to that part of the procession in which he walked.Thus, with beer-drinking, pipe-smoking, song-roaring, andinfinite caricaturing of woe, the disorderly procession went itsway, recruiting at every step, and all the shops shutting up beforeit. Its destination was the old church of Saint Pancras, far off inthe fields. It got there in course of time; insisted on pouring intothe burial-ground; finally, accomplished the interment of thedeceased Roger Cly in its own way, and highly to its ownsatisfaction.The dead man disposed of, and the crowd being under thenecessity of providing some other entertainment for itself, anotherbrighter genius (or perhaps the same) conceived the humour ofimpeaching casual passers-by, as Old Bailey spies, and wreakingvengeance on them. Chase was given to some scores of inoffensivepersons who had never been near the Old Bailey in their lives, inthe realisation of this fancy, and they were roughly hustled andmaltreated. The transition to the sport of window-breaking, andthence to the plundering of public-houses, was easy and natural.At last, after several hours, when sundry summer-houses had beenpulled down, and some area-railings had been torn up, to arm themore belligerent spirits, a rumour got about that the Guards werecoming. Before the rumour, the crowd gradually melted away, andperhaps the Guards came, and perhaps they never came, and thisCharles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsA Tale of Two Citieswas the usual progress of a mob.Mr. Cruncher did not assist at the closing sports, but hadremained behind in the churchyard, to confer and condole withthe undertakers. The place had a soothing influence on him. Heprocured a pipe from a neighbouring public-house, and smoked it,looking in at the railings and maturely considering the spot.“Jerry,” said Mr. Cruncher, apostrophising himself his usualway, “you see that there Cly that day, and you see with your owneyes that he was a young ’un and a straight made ’un.”Having smoked his pipe out, and ruminated a little longer, heturned himself about, that he might appear before the hour ofclosing, on his station at Tellson’s. Whether his meditations onmorality had touched his liver, or whether his general health hadbeen previously at all amiss, or whether he desired to show a littleattention to an eminent man, is not so much to the purpose, asthat he made a short call upon his medical adviser—adistinguished surgeon—on his way back.Young Jerry relieved his father with dutiful interest, andreported No job in his absence. The bank closed, the ancientclerks came out, the usual watch was set, and Mr. Cruncher andhis son went home to tea.“Now, I tell you where it is!” said Mr. Cruncher to his wife, onentering. “If, as a honest tradesman, my wentures goes wrongtonight, I shall make sure that you’ve been praying agin me, and Ishall work you for it just the same as if I seen you do it.”The dejected Mrs. Cruncher shook her head.“Why, you’re at it afore my face!” said Mr. Cruncher, with signsof angry apprehension.“I am saying nothing.”Charles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsA Tale of Two Cities“Well, then; don’t meditate nothing. You might as well flop asmeditate. You may as well go again me one way as another. Dropit altogether.”“Yes, Jerry.”“Yes, Jerry,” repeated Mr. Cruncher sitting down to tea. “Ah! Itis yes, Jerry. That’s about it. You may say yes, Jerry.”Mr. Cruncher had no particular meaning in these sulkycorroborations, but made use of them, as people not unfrequentlydo, to express general ironical dissatisfaction.“You and your yes, Jerry,” said Mr. Cruncher, taking a bite outof his bread-and-butter, and seeming to help it down with a largeinvisible oyster out of his saucer. “Ah! I think so. I believe you.”“You were going out tonight?” asked his decent wife, when hetook another bite.“Yes, I am.”“May I go with you, father?” asked his son, briskly.“No, you mayn’t. I’m a going—as your mother knows—afishing. That’s where I’m going to. Going a fishing.”“Your fishing-rod gets rayther rusty; don’t it, father?”“Never you mind.”“Shall you bring any fish home, father?”“If I don’t, you’ll have short commons, tomorrow,” returnedthat gentleman, shaking his head; “that’s questions enough foryou; I ain’t a going out, till you’ve been long a-bed.”He devoted himself during the remainder of the evening tokeeping a most vigilant watch on Mrs. Cruncher, and sullenlyholding her in conversation that she might be prevented frommeditating any petitions to his disadvantage. With this view, heurged his son to hold her in conversation also, and led theCharles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsA Tale of Two Citiesunfortunate woman a hard life by dwelling on any causes ofcomplaint he could bring against her, rather than he would leaveher for a moment to her own reflections. The devoutest personcould have rendered no greater homage to the efficacy of anhonest prayer than he did in this distrust of his wife. It was as if aprofessed unbeliever in ghosts should be frightened by a ghoststory.“And mind you!” said Mr. Cruncher. “No games tomorrow! If I,as a honest tradesman, succeed in providing a jinte of meat or two,none of your not touching of it, and sticking to bread. If I, as ahonest tradesman, am able to provide a little beer, none of yourdeclaring on water. When you go to Rome, do as Rome does. Romewill be a ugly customer to you, if you don’t. I’m your Rome, youknow.”Then he began grumbling again:“With you flying into the face of your own wittles and drink! Idon’t know how scarce you mayn’t make the wittles and drinkhere, by your flopping tricks and your unfeeling conduct. Look atyour boy: he is your’n, ain’t he? He’s as thin as a lath. Do you callyourself a mother, and not know that a mother’s first duty is toblow her boy out?”This touched young Jerry on a tender place; who adjured hismother to perform her first duty, and whatever else she did orneglected, above all things to lay especial stress on the dischargeof that maternal function so affectingly and delicately indicated byhis other parent.Thus the evening wore away with the Cruncher family, untilYoung Jerry was ordered to bed, and his mother, laid undersimilar injunctions, obeyed them. Mr. Cruncher beguiled theCharles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsA Tale of Two Citiesearlier watches of the night with solitary pipes, and did not startupon his excursion until one o’clock. Towards that small andghostly hour, he rose up from his chair, took a key out of hispocket, opened a locked cupboard, and brought forth a sack, acrowbar of convenient size, a rope and chain, and other fishingtackle of that nature. Disposing these articles about him in skilfulmanner, he bestowed a parting defiance on Mrs. Cruncher,extinguished the light, and went out.Young Jerry, who had only made a feint of undressing when hewent to bed, was not long after his father. Under cover of thedarkness he followed out of the room, followed down the stairs,followed down the court, followed out into the streets. He was inno uneasiness concerning his getting into the house again, for itwas full of lodgers, and the door stood ajar all night.Impelled by a laudable ambition to study the art and mystery ofhis father’s honest calling, Young Jerry, keeping as close to housefronts, walls, and doorways, as his eyes were close to one another,held his honoured parent in view. The honoured parent steeringnorthward, had not gone far, when he was joined by anotherdisciple of Izaak Walton, and the two trudged on together.Within half an hour from the first starting, they were beyondthe winking lamps, and the more than winking watchman, andwere out upon a lonely road. Another fisherman was picked uphere—and that so silently, that if Young Jerry had beensuperstitious, he might have supposed the second follower of thegentle craft to have, all of a sudden, split himself in two.The three went on, and Young Jerry went on, until the threestopped under a bank overhanging the road. Upon the top of thebank was a low brick wall, surmounted by an iron railing. In theCharles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsA Tale of Two Citiesshadow of bank and wall the three turned out of the road, and up ablind lane, of which the wall—there, risen to some eight or ten feethigh—formed one side. Crouching down in a corner, peeping upthe lane, the next object that Young Jerry saw was the form of hishonoured parent, pretty well defined against a watery and cloudedmoon, nimbly scaling an iron gate. He was soon over, and then thesecond fisherman got over, and then the third. They all droppedsoftly on the ground within the gate, and lay there a little—listening perhaps. Then they moved away on their hands andknees.It was now Young Jerry’s turn to approach the gate: which hedid, holding his breath. Crouching down again in a corner there,and looking in, he made out the three fishermen creeping throughsome rank grass! and all the gravestones in the churchyard—itwas a large churchyard that they were in—looking on like ghostsin white, while the church tower itself looked on like the ghost of amonstrous giant. They did not creep far, before they stopped andstood upright. And then they began to fish.They fished with a spade, at first. Presently the honouredparent appeared to be adjusting some instrument like a greatcorkscrew. Whatever tools they worked with, they worked hard,until the awful striking of the church clock so terrified YoungJerry, that he made off, with his hair as stiff as his father’s.But, his long-cherished desire to know more about thesematters, not only stopped him in his running away, but lured himback again. They were still fishing perseveringly, when he peepedin at the gate for the second time; but now they seemed to have gota bite. There was a screwing and complaining sound down below,and their bent figures were strained, as if by a weight. By slowCharles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsA Tale of Two Citiesdegrees the weight broke away the earth upon it, and came to thesurface. Young Jerry very well knew what it would be; but, whenhe saw it, and saw his honoured parent about to wrench it open,he was so frightened, being new to the sight, that he made offagain, and never stopped until he had run a mile or more.He would not have stopped then, for anything less necessarythan breath, it being a spectral sort of race that he ran, and onehighly desirable to get to the end of. He had a strong idea that thecoffin he had seen was running after him; and, pictured ashopping on behind him, bolt upright, upon its narrow end, alwayson the point of overtaking him and hopping on at his side—perhaps taking his arm—it was a pursuer to shun. It was aninconsistent and ubiquitous fiend too, for, while it was making thewhole night behind him dreadful, he darted out into the roadwayto avoid dark alleys, fearful of its coming hopping out of them likea dropsical boy’s-Kite without tail and wings. It hid in doorwaystoo, rubbing its horrible shoulders against doors, and drawingthem up to its ears, as if it were laughing. It got into shadows onthe road, and lay cunningly on its back to trip him up. All this timeit was incessantly hopping on behind and gaining on him, so thatwhen the boy got to his own door he had reason for being halfdead. And even then it would not leave him, but followed himupstairs with a bump on every stair, scrambled into bed with him,and bumped down, dead and heavy, on his breast when he fellasleep.From his oppressed slumber, Young Jerry in his closet wasawakened after daybreak and before sunrise by the presence ofhis father in the family room. Something had gone wrong withhim; at least so Young Jerry inferred, from the circumstance of hisCharles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsA Tale of Two Citiesholding Mrs. Cruncher by the ears, and knocking the back of herhead against the headboard of the bed.“I told you I would,” said Mr. Cruncher, “and I did.”“Jerry, Jerry, Jerry!” his wife implored.“You oppose yourself to the profit of the business,” said Jerry,“and me and my partners suffer. You was to honour and obey;why the devil don’t you?”“I try to be a good wife, Jerry,” the poor woman protested, withtears.“Is it being a good wife to oppose your husband’s business? Is ithonouring your husband to dishonour his business? Is it obeyingyour husband to disobey him on the wital subject of his business?”“You hadn’t taken to the dreadful business then, Jerry.”“It’s enough for you,” retorted Mr. Cruncher, “to be the wife ofa honest tradesman, and not occupy your female mind withcalculations when he took to his trade or when he didn’t. Ahonouring and obeying wife would let his trade alone altogether.Call yourself a religious woman? If you’re a religious woman, giveme a irreligious one! You have no more nat’ral sense of duty thanthe bed of this here Thames river has of a pile, and similarly itmust be knocked into you.”The altercation was conducted in a low tone of voice, andterminated in the honest tradesman’s kicking off his clay-soiledboots, and lying down at his length on the floor. After taking atimid peep at him lying on his back, with his rusty hands under hishead for a pillow, his son lay down too, and fell asleep again.There was no fish for breakfast, and not much of anything else.Mr. Cruncher was out of spirits, and out of temper, and kept aniron pot-lid by him as a projectile for the correction of Mrs.Charles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsA Tale of Two CitiesCruncher, in case he should observe any symptoms of her sayingGrace. He was brushed and washed at the usual hour, and set offwith his son to pursue his ostensible calling.Young Jerry, walking with the stool under his arm at hisfather’s side along sunny and crowded Fleet Street, was a verydifferent Young Jerry from him of the previous night, runninghome through the darkness and solitude from his grim pursuer.His cunning was fresh with the day, and his qualms were gonewith the night—in which particulars it is not improbable that hehad compeers in Fleet Street and the City of London, that finemorning.“Father,” said Young Jerry, as they walked along: taking care tokeep at arm’s length and to have the stool well between them:“what’s a Resurrection-Man?”