After this I awaited the Issue, which was not long in coming favourable to me. The work men were dismissed and while the Foundacions were empty Joseph did his Work: the Blood was spilled in its due Time, and became (as it were) the Wave on which my Bark rose. Yet first it was necessarie to conceal the Corse and, with the Reason that the Foundacions were so ill laid that I must needs take them up againe without any Delay, I worked with Joseph in this Manner: I dug a Hole of about 2 Feet wide, in which I placed a little Deal-box containing nine Pounds of Powder and no more; a Cane was fixed to the Box with a Quick-match (as Gunners call it), and reached from the Box to the Ground above; along the Ground was laid a Train of Powder and, after the Hole was carefully closed up again with Stones and Mortar, I then lit the Powder and watch'd the effect of the Blow. This little Quantity of Powder lifted up the Rubbidge which had formed the Foundacions; and this it seemed to do somewhat leisurely, lifting visibly the whole Weight about nine Inches which, suddenly jumping down, made a great Heap of Ruines in that Place where now the Corse lay quite buried. He had been a little pretty Boy, about as tall as my Knee and but lately turned upon the Streets to beg. These were my Words to him: Boys and Girls come out to play, The Moon doth shine as bright as Day.
And these were his last Words to me: Dan never do so no more. Pitie I cannot, for I am not so weak; but it is not to be believed that he who holds the Knife or the Rope is without his own Torment.
My Inke is very bad: it is thick at the bottom, but thin and waterish at the Top, so that I must write according as I dip my Pen. These Memories become meer shortened Phrases, dark at their Beginning but growing faint towards their End and each separated so, one from another, that I am not all of a peece. Here laying beside me is my convex Mirror, which I use for the Art of Perspecktive, and in my Despair I look upon my self; but when I take it up I see that my right Hand seems bigger than my Head and that my Eyes are but glassy Orbs: there are Objects swimming at the Circumference of the Glass and here I glimpse distended a cloaths chest beneath the Window, with the blew damask Curtains blowing above it, a mahogany Buroe beside the Wall and there the Corner of my Bed with its blankets and bolster; there is my Elbow-chair, its Reflection curved beneath my own as I hold the Mirror, and next to it my side-board Table with a brass Tea-Kettle, lamp and stand. As my Visual rays receive from the Convex superficies a curved Light, these real Things become the surface of a Dream: my Eyes meet my Eyes but they are not my Eyes, and I see my Mouth opening as if to make a screaming Sound. Now it has grown Darke, and the Mirror shows only the dusky Light as it is reflected on the left side of my Face. But the voice of Nat is raised in the Kitchen below me, and coming back to my self I place a Candle in my Lan thorn.
And in this small Circle of Light I set down all exactly as it occurred. I must write of extreme Things in the dismal Night, for it was by Ratcliffe Dock that I built in trust to the dark Powers and above the filthy passages of Wapping, with its Lanes and Alleys of small Tenements, my third Church rises. Here all corrupcion and infection has its Centre: in Rope Walk lived Mary Crompton, the bloody Midwife who had six Sceletons of children of several Ages in her Cellar (these Sceletons are now to be seen at the Ben-Johnson's Head near St Brides Church). The Watch found two other Children also destroyed, lying in a Hand-baskett in the Cellar and looking like the Carcasses of Catts or Doggs, their Flesh eat with Vermin. And this one Mary Crompton averred that she had been moved and seduced by the Divil who appear'd to her in Humane form as she passed by Old Gravill Lane. It was next to this place, in Crab Court, where Abraham Thornton carryed out his Murthers and Tortures: on the Murder of the two young Boys, he said upon Oath that the Divil put him upon it when an Apparition came to him. The Black-Boy Tavern in Red-Maide Lane is also very unfortunate for Homicides, and has seldom been Tenanted. An old woman who last lodged there sat musing by her Fire and happened by Accident to look behind her and saw a dead Corps, to her thinking, lie extended upon the Floor; it was just as a Body should be, excepting that the Foot of one Leg was fix'd on the Ground as it is in a Bed when one lies with one Knee up (as I lie now); she look'd at it a long while, but on a sudden this melancholy Spectacle vanished -it is held by common report that this was the Apparition of a Man murdered, but it is my Belief that it was an ancient Murtherer returning to the Spot of his old Glory.
Here in Angell Rents next the Ratcliffe High-way was Mr Barwick barbarously killed, his Throat being cut, the right side of his Head open'd and his Scull broke: I suppose it was done with a Hammer or some such Weapon. A Tub-woman that carries Ale and Beer to the private Houses thereabouts heard the Victim and his Destroyer call out, and when I walk among these Passages I hear such Voices stilclass="underline" How can you strike a sick Man, you are a Dead Man, O Christ do not do it, Damn you are you not dead yet echo by the River. The Murtherer was afterwards hang'd in Chains near the place of his Crime -thus it is call'd Red Cliff, or Ratcliffe, the hanging Dock opposite my Church where the Bodies of the Damned are washed by the Water until they fall to Bits from the effects of Time. Many cry out Jesus, Maria, Jesus, Maria as they go to their Deaths but there was one Boy who killed his whole Family in Betts-Street and was taken in Chains to the Dock to be hang'd: when he saw the Gibbet he laugh'd at first, but then he raved and cried for Damnation. The Mobb could hardly forebear tearing him to Pieces, and yet they knew that if they trod upon the same Stones where Malefactors are done to Death, they would suffer a brief Agonie also. Destruction is like a snow-ball rolled down a Hill, for its Bulk encreases by its own swiftness and thus Disorder spreads: when the woman nam'd Maggot was hanged in Chains by here, one hundred were crushed to Death in the Tumult that came to stare upon her. And so when the Cartesians and the New Philosophers speak of their Experiments, saying that they are serviceable to the Quiet and Peace of Man's life, it is a great Lie: there has been no Quiet and there will be no Peace. The streets they walk in are ones in which Children die daily or are hang'd for stealing Sixpence; they wish to lay a solid Groundwork (or so they call it) for their vast Pile of Experiments, but the Ground is filled with Corses, rotten and rotting others.
Be informed, also, that this good and savoury Parish is the home of Hectors, Trapanners, Biters who all go under the general appelation of Rooks. Here are all the Jilts, Cracks, Prostitutes, Nightwalkers, Whores, Linnen-lifters, who are like so many Jakes, Privies, Houses of Office, Ordures, Excrements, Easments and piles of Sir-reverence: the whores of Ratcliffe High-way smell of Tarpaulin and stinking Cod from their continuall Traffick with seamen's Breeches. There are other such wretched Objects about these ruined Lanes, all of them lamentable Instances of Vengeance. And it is not strange (as some think) how they will haunt the same Districts and will not leave off their Crimes until they are apprehended, for these Streets are their Theatre. Theft, Whoredom and Homicide peep out of the very Windows of their Souls; Lying, Perjury, Fraud, Impudence and Misery are stamped upon their very Countenances as now they walk within the Shaddowe of my Church.