Rookwood Part 10

"The finest of all boys," exclaimed Jack, with a kindred enthusiasm, "are those birds of the night, and minions of the moon, whom we call, most unjustly, poachers. They are, after all, only _professional sportsmen_, making a business of what we make a pleasure; a nightly pursuit of what is to us a daily relaxation; there's the main distinction. As to the rest, it's all in idea; they merely thin an overstocked park, as _you_ would reduce a plethoric patient, doctor; or as _you_ would work a moneyed client, if you got him into Chancery, Mister Attorney. And then how much more scientifically and systematically they set to work than we amateurs do! how noiselessly they bag a hare, smoke a pheasant, or knock a buck down with an air-gun!

how independent are they of any license, except that of a good eye, and a swift pair of legs! how unnecessary is it for them to ask permission to shoot over Mr. So-and-so's grounds, or my Lord That's preserves!

they are free of every cover, and indifferent to any alteration in the game laws. I've some thoughts, when everything else fails, of taking to poaching myself. In my opinion, a poacher's a highly respectable character. What say you, Mr. Coates?" turning very gravely to that gentleman.

"Such a question, sir," replied Coates, bridling up, "scarcely deserves a serious answer. I make no doubt you will next maintain that a highwayman is a gentleman."

"Most undoubtedly," replied Palmer, in the same grave tone, which might have pa.s.sed for banter, had Jack ever bantered. "I'll maintain and prove it. I don't see how he can be otherwise. It is as necessary for a man to be a gentleman before he can turn highwayman, as it is for a doctor to have his diploma, or an attorney his certificate. Some of the finest gentlemen of their day, as Captain Lovelace, Hind, Hannum, and Dudley, were eminent on the road, and they set the fashion. Ever since their day a real highwayman would consider himself disgraced, if he did not conduct himself in every way like a gentleman. Of course, there are pretenders in this line, as in everything else. But these are only exceptions, and prove the rule. What are the distinguishing characteristics of a fine gentleman?--perfect knowledge of the world--perfect independence of character--notoriety--command of cash--and inordinate success with the women. You grant all these premises? First, then, it is part of a highwayman's business to be thoroughly acquainted with the world. He is the easiest and pleasantest fellow going. There is Tom King, for example: he is the handsomest man about town, and the best-bred fellow on the road. Then whose inclinations are so uncontrolled as the highwayman's, so long as the mopuses last? who produces so great an effect by so few words?--'STAND AND DELIVER!' is sure to arrest attention. Every one is captivated by an address so _taking_. As to money, he wins a purse of a hundred guineas as easily as you would the same sum from the faro table. And wherein lies the difference? only in the name of the game. Who so little need of a banker as he? all he has to apprehend is a check--all he has to draw is a trigger. As to the women, they dote upon him: not even your red-coat is so successful. Look at a highwayman mounted on his flying steed, with his pistols in his holsters, and his mask upon his face.

What can be a more gallant sight? The clatter of his horse's heels is like music to his ear--he is in full quest--he shouts to the fugitive horseman to stay--the other flies all the faster--what chase can be half so exciting as that? Suppose he overtakes his prey, which ten to one he will, how readily his summons to deliver is obeyed! how satisfactory is the appropriation of a l.u.s.ty purse or corpulent pocket-book!--getting the brush is nothing to it. How tranquilly he departs, takes off his hat to his accommodating acquaintance, wishes him a pleasant journey, and disappears across the heath! England, sir, has reason to be proud of her highwaymen. They are peculiar to her clime, and are as much before the brigand of Italy, the contrabandist of Spain, or the cut-purse of France--as her sailors are before all the rest of the world. The day will never come, I hope, when we shall degenerate into the footpad, and lose our _Night Errantry_. Even the French borrow from us--they have only one highwayman of eminence, and he learnt and practised his art in England."

"And who was he, may I ask?" said Coates.

"Claude Du-Val," replied Jack; "and though a Frenchman, he was a deuced fine fellow in his day--quite a tip-top macaroni--he could skip and twirl like a figurant, warble like an opera-singer, and play the flageolet better than any man of his day--he always carried a lute in his pocket, along with his snappers. And then his dress--it was quite beautiful to see how smartly he was rigg'd out, all velvet and lace; and even with his vizard on his face, the ladies used to cry out to see him.

Then he took a purse with the air and grace of a receiver-general. All the women adored him--and that, bless their pretty faces! was the best proof of his gentility. I wish he'd not been a Mounseer. The women never mistake. _They_ can always discover the true gentlemen, and they were all, of every degree, from the countess to the kitchen-maid, over head and ears in love with him."

"But he was taken, I suppose?" asked Coates.

"Ay," responded Jack, "the women were his undoing, as they've been many a brave fellow's before, and will be again." Touched by which reflection, Jack became for once in his life sentimental, and sighed.

"Poor Du-Val! he was seized at the Hole-in-the-Wall in Chandos-street by the bailiff of Westminster, when dead drunk, his liquor having been drugged by his dells--and was shortly afterwards hanged at Tyburn."

"It was thousand pities," said Mr. Coates, with a sneer, "that so fine a gentleman should come to so ignominious an end!"

"Quite the contrary," returned Jack. "As his biographer, Doctor Pope, properly remarks, 'Who is there worthy of the name of man, that would not prefer such a death before a mean, solitary, inglorious life?'

By-the-by, t.i.tus, as we're upon the subject, if you like I'll sing you a song about highwaymen."

"I should like it of all things," replied t.i.tus, who entertained a very favorable opinion of Jack's vocal powers, and was by no means an indifferent performer; "only let it be in a minor key."

Jack required no further encouragement, but disregarding the hints and looks of Coates, sang with much unction the following ballad to a good old tune, then very popular--the merit of which "n.o.body can deny."

A CHAPTER OF HIGHWAYMEN

Of every rascal of every kind, The most notorious to my mind, Was the Cavalier Captain, gay JEMMY HIND![7]

_Which n.o.body can deny._

But the pleasantest c.o.xcomb among them all For lute, coranto, and madrigal, Was the galliard Frenchman, CLAUDE DU-VAL![8]

_Which n.o.body can deny._

And Tobygloak never a coach could rob, Could lighten a pocket, or empty a fob, With a neater hand than OLD MOB, OLD MOB![9]

_Which n.o.body can deny._

Nor did housebreaker ever deal harder knocks On the stubborn lid of a good strong box, Than that prince of good fellows, TOM c.o.x, TOM c.o.x![10]

_Which n.o.body can deny._

A blither fellow on broad highway, Did never with oath bid traveller stay, Than devil-may-care WILL HOLLOWAY![11]

_Which n.o.body can deny._

And in roguery naught could exceed the tricks Of GETTINGS and GREY, and the five or six Who trod in the steps of bold NEDDY WICKS![12]

_Which n.o.body can deny._

Nor could any so handily break a lock As SHEPPARD, who stood on the Newgate dock, And nicknamed the jailers around him "_his flock_!"[13]

_Which n.o.body can deny._

Nor did highwaymen ever before possess For ease, for security, danger, distress, Such a mare as d.i.c.k TURPIN'S Black Bess! Black Bess!

_Which n.o.body can deny._

"A capital song, by the powers!" cried t.i.tus, as Jack's ditty came to a close. "But your English robbers are nothing at all, compared with our Tories[14] and Rapparees--nothing at all. They were the _raal_ gentlemen--they were the boys to cut a throat _aisily_."

"Pshaw!" exclaimed Jack, in disgust, "the gentlemen I speak of never maltreated any one, except in self-defence."

"Maybe not," replied t.i.tus; "I'll not dispute the point--but these Rapparees were true brothers of the blade, and gentlemen every inch.

I'll just sing you a song I made about them myself. But meanwhile don't let's forget the bottle--talking's dry work. My service to you, doctor!"

added he, winking at the somnolent Small. And tossing off his gla.s.s, t.i.tus delivered himself with much joviality of the following ballad; the words of which he adapted to the tune of the _Groves of the Pool_:

THE RAPPAREES

Let the Englishman boast of his Turpins and Sheppards, as c.o.c.ks of the walk, His Mulsacks, and Cheneys, and Swiftnecks[15]--it's all botheration and talk; Compared with the robbers of Ireland, they don't come within half a mile, There never were yet any rascals like those of my own native isle!

First and foremost comes REDMOND O'HANLON, allowed the first thief of the world,[16]

That o'er the broad province of Ulster the Rapparee banner unfurled; Och! he was an elegant fellow, as ever you saw in your life, At fingering the blunderbuss trigger, or handling the throat-cutting knife.

And then such a dare-devil squadron as that which composed REDMOND'S _tail_!

Meel, Mactigh, Jack Reilly, Shan Bernagh, Phil Galloge, and Arthur O'Neal; _Shure_ never were any boys like 'em for rows, _agitations_, and sprees, Not a _rap_ did they leave in the country, and hence they were called _Rap_parees.[17]

Next comes POWER, the great Tory[18] of Munster, a gentleman born every inch, And strong JACK MACPHERSON of Leinster, a horse-shoe who broke at a pinch; The last was a fellow so _lively_, not death e'en his courage could damp, For as he was led to the gallows, he played his own "march to the camp."[19]

PADDY FLEMING, d.i.c.k BALF, and MULHONI, I think are the next on my list, All adepts in the beautiful science of giving a pocket a twist; JEMMY CARRICK must follow his leaders, _ould_ PURNEY who put in a huff, By dancing a hornpipe at Tyburn, and bothering the hangman for snuff.

There's PAUL LIDDY, the curly-pate Tory, whose noddle was stuck on a spike, And BILLY DELANEY, the "_Songster_,"[20] we never shall meet with his like; For his neck by a witch was anointed, and warranted safe by her charm, No hemp that was ever yet twisted his wonderful throttle could harm.

And lastly, there's CAHIR NA CAPPUL, the handiest rogue of them all, Who only need whisper a word, and your horse will trot out of his stall; Your t.i.t is not safe in your stable, though you or your groom should be near, And devil a bit in the paddock, if CAHIR gets _hould_ of his ear.

Then success to the Tories of Ireland, the generous, the gallant, the gay!

With them the best _Rumpads_[21] of England are not to be named the same day!

And were further proof wanting to show what precedence we take with our _prigs_, Recollect that _our_ robbers are Tories, while those of _your_ country are Whigs.

"Bravissimo!" cried Jack, drumming upon the table.

"Well," said Coates, "we've had enough about the Irish highwaymen, in all conscience. But there's a rascal on our side of the Channel, whom you have only incidentally mentioned, and who makes more noise than them all put together."

"Who's that?" asked Jack, with some curiosity.

"d.i.c.k Turpin," replied the attorney: "he seems to me quite as worthy of mention as any of the Hinds, the Du-Vals, or the O'Hanlons, you have either of you enumerated."

"I did not think of him," replied Palmer, smiling; "though, if I had, he scarcely deserves to be ranked with those ill.u.s.trious heroes."

"Gads bobs!" cried t.i.tus; "they tell me Turpin keeps the best nag in the United Kingdom, and can ride faster and further in a day than any other man in a week."

"So I've heard," said Palmer, with a glance of satisfaction. "I should like to try a run with him. I warrant me, I'd not be far behind."

"I should like to get a peep at him," quoth t.i.tus.