Amid these many strange and dubious, ludicrous or pathetic characters, some few heroic figures appeared. From time to time there came into our midst Vera Marcel, the Red Virgin of the barricades, the heroine of the Commune of Paris--a woman of blood and smoke and of infinite mercies towards men and beasts. I can see her still, almost beautiful in her rugged ugliness, her eyes full of the fire of faith and insane fanaticism, her hair dishevelled, her clothes uncared for. I can hear the wonderful ring of her tragic voice as she pleaded the misery of the poor and suffering, of the oppressed, the outcast, the criminal, the rejected, and as it rose higher and higher to invoke fire and sword and bloodshed in expiation. Then I seem to hear its magic and inspired ring as her wonderful faith conjured up visions of the future when the whole of humanity shall live in peace and brotherhood, and the knife, which in time of revolution had shed the blood of the oppressors, shall "cut nothing deadlier than bread." A strange gaunt figure she was, a woman who had never hesitated at shedding blood in the good Cause, nor feared to face death for it; but with her friends, and especially with children and dumb animals, she was as gentle as the gentlest of her s.e.x; and no words can describe the extreme sweetness of her voice.

As publication time approached, all-night sittings became necessary, when all this heterogeneous a.s.sembly met together, and amidst Anarchist song and Anarchist enthusiasm forwarded or hindered, each in his degree, the publication of the _Tocsin_. I can see in my mind's eye the much-littered, overcrowded office in all the confusion of those nights, with its dark corners hidden in shadow, where slept tired fighters weary of the fray, and its brightly-lighted patches, under the lamps, where the work of the night was being carried on. Some dozen voices, more or less musical, are chanting Anarchist war-songs, and the _Inno di Caserio_ and the _Ma.r.s.eillaise_ ring out through the open windows to the dormant or drunken denizens of Lysander Grove. The Reincarnation is patiently turning the wheel of the printing machine, and rolling out fresh _Tocsins_, thinking, no doubt, of that tocsin which, at no distant date, shall ring out from a loftier sphere to rouse the deluded inhabitants of this globe to a different millennium from that dreamed of by Anarchists. But, whatever his thoughts, he grinds away with much Christian endurance and fort.i.tude. Wainwright, who is tired after a long turn at the wheel, subsequent to a hard day's work in the brick-yard, is relating to a few interested listeners the strange story of his life, or discussing points of Anarchist principle and propaganda.

Then, somehow, the Bleeding Lamb would find his way in, and looking over at his reincarnated rival at the wheel with undisguised contempt, he whispers: "I know what sort of a wheel his unhallowed hoof ought to be turning!"

Armitage and Kosinski at such times would be busy folding the papers, both absorbed in their work, happy to think that they were thus advancing the great Cause. And Short, shivering discontentedly at the cold, or swearing amid much perspiration at the heat, would smoke his pipe and eat his unattractive pastry, whilst crawling into his rugs and banners, until Beppe, in an outburst of indignation, drags him out by the scruff of the neck and compels him to lock up the forms.

One night there was a grand banquet, for Beppe had turned in, bearing under his long cloak a prime conditioned tom-cat, whose disconcerted mews were rapidly ended by a dexterous twist of the neck, and whose plump person was before long stewing in wine and vinegar in the _Tocsin_ stockpot, after his liver had been previously fried for the private consumption of the ever-hungry Beppe.

When this succulent repast had been disposed of towards 3 A.M. (all the _Tocsin_ workers had admirable digestions) a brief respite from work ensued, during which Beppe sang pieces of Italian opera, accompanied by Gnecco on his mandolin, and M'Dermott treated us to brief recitations from Shakespeare. Much stamping and gesticulation accompanied, I remember, the soliloquy of Hamlet, and our flesh crept at the witches'

incantations from "Macbeth." The old cobbler delighted in Shakespeare and dictionaries, between the perusal of which he spent most of his time. "Like Autolycus in the 'Winter's Tale,'" he said to me one day, "I am a 'snapper-up of unconsidered trifles,' and during the riots of 18--I snapped up a sufficient number of these to enable me to set myself up with a small library, and I did no work during eighteen months, devoting my entire time to Shakespeare and Johnson's Dictionary."

Sometimes a phrenologist who had strayed into our midst would follow on with a brief phrenological seance, and nothing afforded the comrades more satisfaction than to be informed that their b.u.mps showed undoubted criminal propensities.

Then again the heavy roll of the machine would drown all lesser noises with its monotonous grinding, as the most resolute and earnest among us returned undaunted to the fray, whilst others, less energetic, curled up on the floor in varying uncomfortable att.i.tudes about the office--inside the dormitory shed and out, propped against posts and type-racks, or stretched on stacks of paper--and slumbered in blissful ignorance of the future fortunes of the _Tocsin_.

CHAPTER VIII

THE DYNAMITARD'S ESCAPE

May-Day was at hand, and we had been working all night at the office of the _Tocsin_ in order to have the paper ready in time to distribute to the provincial groups. Since Friday morning I had hardly left the office at all--merely going home for dinner and returning at once to the fray--and by four o'clock Sunday morning we had rolled off the last of the five thousand copies of the _Tocsin_, which, along with two thousand leaflets drawn up by myself and Armitage, were ready for distribution.

The 1st of May fell on the following Wednesday, and we had for once the satisfaction of knowing that we had taken Time by the forelock.

Short had retired to his shake-down in the dormitory about midnight, and the loud creaking of his boots against the boards was the only sign he gave of life. Kosinski, Armitage, and Giannoli, after making up and addressing the last parcel, had left for their respective abodes; Beppe and Meneghino, having turned the wheel the whole evening, had fallen to sleep exhausted, stretched on a bench in the machine-room; and I, after having partaken of a cup of tea and some hot b.u.t.tered toast which old M'Dermott had provided for me, sat nodding and dozing on one side of the fire. The old cobbler had fallen fast asleep on the other side while poring over a dictionary, noting down sonorous and impressive-sounding words with which to embellish the oration he intended to deliver on May-day in Hyde Park.

About half-past five, just as the first cold rays of the chilly spring dawn cast a ghastly blue light on the dormant figures around me, deadening the yellow flame of the lamp which was burning itself out, I was roused from my torpor by a light rap at the outside door. In the office all was quiet, but for the heavy and rhythmic snores of the weary comrades, and wondering who could claim admittance at such an unearthly hour, I rose with a shiver and opened the door. To my surprise I found myself face to face with Bonafede.

Since that bitter January day when Bonafede and his companions had emerged from the London fog and made their unexpected entrance on the scene of the _Tocsin_, I had not seen very much of him, though we had never quite lost sight of one another, and I frequently heard his news through mutual friends. As I have already stated, Gnecco and Bonafede had retired to lodgings in the Italian quarter in the unsavoury neighbourhood of Saffron Hill. They had a little money, but only enough to last for two or three weeks. Gnecco had a few valuables in the shape of a gold watch and chain, a pearl breast-pin, and a fur-lined coat, and he soon had recourse to my friendly help to dispose of these articles to the best advantage with a p.a.w.nbroker, and on the proceeds, eked out by some small help which he received from his family, he managed to rub along, and he and his mandolin were soon familiar features at the office. But with Bonafede the case was different. He was a man of too active and independent a character to be long idle. He was by profession an engineer, and in Italy, before his career had been interrupted by his political activity, he had held an important post on the Italian railways. But for many years his life had been a stirring one, and he had learned to turn his hand to whatever offered, and had in turn worked as a dock labourer, a sailor before the mast, a gilder employed in church decorations, a house-decorator in a lunatic asylum and a cutter-out of military trousers at Ma.r.s.eilles, a warehouse porter and a navvy. Whatever job turned up he accepted; if it was work at which he had no experience he would look up some comrade in that line and get from him a few hints, and this, supplemented by reading up particulars in some trade encyclopaedia at a public library, enabled him to accomplish his task satisfactorily. He had hardly been in London a fortnight when he looked about him for work, and, nothing better offering, he engaged himself as washer-up at one of Veglio's many restaurants. After six weeks he was rescued from the uncongenial drudgery of scullion by a comrade, a fellow-Calabrian, who earned a good living as decorator of West-end cafes, and who took on Bonafede to a.s.sist him in frescoing a ceiling at the Trocadero, not, however, before the latter had laid the foundations of a _lega di resistenza_ between the Italians employed in restaurant kitchens. At the end of a month the ceiling was painted, and Bonafede parted company with his compatriot, pocketing 10, plus his keep whilst the job lasted. One of his first steps was to visit me at the office of the _Tocsin_ and arrange for the printing of an Italian pamphlet and of a booklet of revolutionary songs, the production of Gnecco, which were to be smuggled into Italy for distribution. The cost of paper and carriage of these works ran into the better part of 3. With the remaining cash in his pocket, Bonafede went to look up old friends and comrades in the French and Italian quarters.

A's wife was expecting her confinement, B needed an outfit in order to enter on a job as waiter which he had secured at a club; C had been out of work for three months and had five small mites to feed and clothe, and so forth. At the end of this expedition rather less than 15s.

remained in his pocket, and once more he sought employment. This time he got taken on by a contractor who asphalted the London streets, a work done entirely by Italians. Here he remained for nearly two months, during which time he organised the men into a union and induced them to strike for better conditions. The men won their point, and returned to work on the condition that the agitator who had got up the strike should be dismissed, and Bonafede left of his own accord, unwilling to cause loss to the men by prolonging the struggle. After a few weeks' enforced idleness, during which he was lost sight of by the comrades, he reappeared one evening at a group meeting held at our office, and informed us that he was taken on as electrician at the Monico.

Ten days had now pa.s.sed since I last saw him, and my expression was eloquent of my amazement at his unexpected appearance.

"You are surprised at my coming at such an unusual hour, Comrade," he began with his strong Calabrian accent; "but you will understand when I tell you that ever since yesterday evening I have been awaiting an opportunity to get round here without being followed by my guardian angels of Scotland Yard. Gnecco told me that you were pa.s.sing the night in the office, and so I seized on a favourable moment and came." He stopped, glanced round the room, walked up to the bench on which the two Italians were sleeping the sleep of the just, and having satisfied himself that no one could overhear us he explained the motive of his visit to me.

"You doubtless know that Jean Matthieu, suspected of complicity in the P.... bomb explosions, has been hiding in London for some time past."

I nodded a.s.sent: he had even been pointed out to me one evening by Giannoli at a meeting in the East End.

"Well, since yesterday we have the certainty that the police are on his track, that they are aware of his whereabouts. It has become absolutely necessary for him to leave London without further delay--within the next twenty-four hours. Everything is arranged. The police will be watching the Continental trains, so he will go for the present to Leicester, and stay with a comrade who has a French wife, and who will pa.s.s him off as his wife's uncle. From there we hope, within a week or so to get him off to America; but all this requires money: the least that we can give him is twenty pounds. I had five by me, left with me to make use of for the Cause, a few French comrades have handed me over another seven. But we are still in need of eight pounds to make up the necessary sum. Could you let us have it?"

The last days of the month always found me at the end of my resources.

I had but two pounds in my purse. "What a pity," I exclaimed, "that you could not let me know yesterday! Today is Sunday; it will be impossible for me to get at any money. Raymond is certain only to have a pound or two on him, if he has as much; the Bank is closed. I have some jewellery by me on which I could easily raise ten or twelve pounds, but the p.a.w.n-shops are not open on Sundays. What am I to do? Can you not wait until tomorrow?"

Bonafede explained that every minute was of consequence: Matthieu must leave at once or he would inevitably be arrested. We both remained silent, hesitating, for a few minutes. At last he spoke: "Madame Combrisson has the money by her, I am sure, but she will never give it.

You say, however, you have some jewellery that you would be willing to pledge: perhaps with that as security she would advance us the money.

Anyhow we can but try."

It was arranged that I should go home for my valuables and repair to the house of the Combrissons, where, Bonafede informed me, Matthieu was at that moment concealed.

"But do you think he is safe there?" I inquired.

"Oh yes, perfectly. Jules is a good comrade, and both he and his wife have every reason to wish to remain on good terms with the Anarchists.

They know on which side their bread is b.u.t.tered. I shall go now and you will find me at the Combrissons'."

I knew the French couple well by reputation, though I had never yet crossed their threshold. Combrisson had come over to England some twelve years ago; he had been mixed up in the Anarchist propaganda, and had seen fit to expatriate himself; it was rumoured that he had been actively mixed up with a gang of coiners, amongst whom were several Anarchists who thought it good warfare to make the hated bourgeois pay for the propaganda by falsifying the currency. They had not been long in London when they took a large house in Grafton Street, letting out rooms to comrades. They also kept on the ground floor a small _depot_ of foreign revolutionary literature, and received for a consideration the correspondence of the refugees. Combrisson, who worked as a carpenter and joiner, had the reputation of being a good comrade, and always set down to his wife's account all actions not strictly in accordance with the principles of solidarity, such as turning out comrades who did not pay their rent, refusing small loans and subscriptions, and such like.

By eight o'clock I was in Grafton Street. As I turned down the corner which leads from the Tottenham Court Road, I became aware that I was being followed. A young man with a sandy moustache, a celestial nose, and fishy blue eyes, got up to look like a counter-jumper on a holiday, whom I had long since learned to know as Detective Limpet, was walking a few steps behind me on the other side of the road. I stopped at Number 9, my destination, and I saw Limpet likewise stop outside a public-house which stood opposite, and exchange a few words with a hulking brute leaning against the wall, characterised by a heavy jaw, lowering brows, and a strong Irish brogue, in whom I recognised Detective O'Brien. They both turned their eyes on me as I stood on the door-step pulling the bell handle, and I saw a stupid grin overspread the countenance of the Limpet.

The door was opened by a little maid-of-all-work who seemed doubtful as to whether she should let me in or no, till a head adorned with curl-papers appeared above the kitchen steps, calling out in a shrill voice, "Jane, you fool, show the young lady in."

Next minute I was in the front kitchen, where Madame Combrisson, her husband, and Bonafede awaited me.

The house was a good-sized, solidly-built one, originally intended for a gentleman's residence, but fallen now on evil days. An odour of fried onions and sawdust pervaded the establishment, for Madame Combrisson boarded three or four of her lodgers, regaling them princ.i.p.ally on "_soupe a l'ognon_," and Combrisson carried on in the back kitchen his carpentry business at which he kept these same lodgers employed, paying them in kind with food and house-room, and doling out a few shillings now and again as pocket-money. In this way he succeeded in combining philanthropy and business, and though, after a few months, his employees invariably left as soon as they had learned a little of the English language and English prices, still there were always new-comers willing, nay anxious, to replace them.

After a few preliminary words of introduction, I produced the jewellery for Madame Combrisson's inspection. She was a small wiry woman, with hard, covetous grey eyes, grizzled hair screwed up in a tight knot on the top of her head, a nose like the beak of a bird of prey, and thin blue lips. Her eyes lit up as her hands turned over the little diamond brooch and finely-chased gold bracelet which I submitted to her inspection.

"Of course I am not a judge," she said, "but I should think we could easily raise a little money on these. I wish I had it myself, I would willingly give it for the Cause, but, _que voulez vous, mademoiselle_?

we are but poor folk; however, I know some one near here who might perhaps be able to oblige us; I will go and see."

Bonafede winked at me and I could see that he considered the matter settled. He and Combrisson left the kitchen and I remained alone with madame, who proceeded to take her fringe out of the curl-papers, and to exchange her petticoat and red flannel jacket for a somewhat rusty black dress. Whilst performing her toilette she eyed me carefully. I noticed that since she had inspected the jewellery she had involuntarily a.s.sumed a more respectful tone in addressing me. "I hear from the comrades that you are very active in the Cause, mademoiselle; have you been long in the movement?"

I replied that it was getting on for two years.

"And your family, are they Anarchists also?"

I explained that my parents were dead and that I was the only one of my family who worked in the movement. She seemed surprised at this information, "But you must be rich," she said: "that jewellery you have brought is very beautiful; you are young, you could enjoy yourself, mix with those of your own cla.s.s; why do you work in a printing-office instead?"

"But I am an Anarchist. We must all do what we can to help the Cause, I do my best; not more, however, than other comrades."

She seemed by now to have summed me up, though I was evidently still somewhat of a mystery to her, and she merely said:--

"Oh, of course we are all Anarchists; we all do our best for the Cause."

As she was leaving, Bonafede came down and said that Matthieu would like to see me if I saw fit, and together we mounted to the back attic where the dynamitard was concealed.

n.o.body could have guessed on sight that the puny little man before me could be the dreaded Anarchist for whom the police of Europe had been searching high and low during the past seven months. Matthieu was a tailor by trade, and his physique bore traces of the sedentary work and of the long hours pa.s.sed in close unhealthy rooms. He was slightly hunchbacked, his chest narrow and hollow, his legs bowed; his pale blue eyes with their swollen red lids had the strained expression of one accustomed to make use of the last rays of daylight before lighting the lamp. His ma.s.sive jaw and firm round chin, and high narrow forehead were the only features which revealed in him the man of action and the fanatic. Yet this was the man who, by a series of explosions culminating in the blowing up of a police station, had spread terror in the ranks of the French bourgeoisie.

We shook hands, and I told them how I had been followed by Detective Limpet and how he and O'Brien were stationed opposite the house.

"Yes," said Bonafede, "it is certain that they suspect Matthieu's presence here; we must try to get rid of them in some way for a short while; set them off on some false scent, so as to enable our comrade to leave the house."

"If you would only let me do as I wish," broke in Matthieu, "I would soon be out of this. I have a good revolver and I am not afraid to use it. I would make a rush for it, and ten to one I should get off scot-free; and anyhow better be taken fighting than caught like a rat in a hole."

We both tried to dissuade him, arguing that there was always time to take such a step, and that with a little patience and ingenuity it was almost certain that a means would be found for his safe escape.